M1S8 PARDOE'S 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 THE CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS JULIA PARDOE. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 ^•^ OF THE v^ 
 
 [U1II7BESIT7] 
 J) I) tltt 5 c TpTTi a : 
 
 T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET, 
 

 ^8 5*1^ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Thb only explanation required by the following pages is, perhaps, a brief account of 
 the manner in which they came into my possession. Driven, for change of air, into a 
 distant county, after a long and severe illness, I accepted the hospitality of a friend liv- 
 ing in one of those beautiful villages which are to be found in no other country than our 
 own. The castellated cottage of my hostess, half-smothered in creeping roses, white 
 jasmine, and passion-flowers, stood midway upon a gentle slope which formed the 
 southward boundary of the village-green : the gray old church, overtopped by three 
 venerable yews, and surrounded by its humble gravestones, joined the shrubberies on 
 the east ; snug cottages, with each its fenced-in garden, and its group of fruit-trees, 
 were scattered along the base of a low range of hills, clothed with beeches ; and, at an 
 easy walk from the hamlet, rose a stately mansion, with an extensive park, stocked 
 with dcf r, and rich in timber. This noble property was inhabited by a widow lady, 
 whose extraordinary matron-beauty startled me when I saw her, for the first time, at 
 the village- church ; and induced inquiries on my part, to which the replies only served 
 to increase my curiosity. I was told that she was immensely rich, profusely and un- 
 weariedly charitable, but that a dark shadow hung over her former life, by which, even 
 now, her mood and manner were occasionally influenced. 
 
 Her circle was limited, for she would not tolerate mere acquaintance ; and some of 
 the families of the neighborhood shrank from decided friendship with an individual who 
 might compromise them, although her hair had become gray, and that her lofty figure 
 was somewhat bowed beneath the pressure of time. 
 
 From her own hand I received this written record of the past, only a week or two 
 befoxe her death ; and I give it (with her permission) to the world, in all confidence 
 that such a transcript of the real struggles of a woman's mind, and of the actual trials 
 of a woman's life, will present more lasting and wholesome interest than the romaniia 
 creations of fiction, or the poetical miseries of a merely fertile fancy. 
 
 March, 184&. 
 
CONFESSIONS OP A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1 DO not know why I am about lo write my 
 own memoirs. It is said that a bhnd man 
 should not judge of colors, but I am by no 
 means inclined to submit to the truth of the 
 sentiment. Why should not a ci-devant beauty, 
 reduced to a tour de tele and metallic teeth, be 
 able to lay hare the intricate recesses of a 
 pretty woman's heart, because that woman may 
 chance to have been herself! Perhaps it is 
 merely to prove the invalidity of the proverb 
 that I have conceived the project of recording 
 nay own confessions ; and it is very possible 
 that I may, in this, be about as wise as the boy 
 who thrust bis hand into a wasp's nest, to se- 
 cure the honey before any one else could appro- 
 priate the prize ; but 1 have at least tile conso- 
 lation of feeling that I can only be canvassed 
 and condenmed in effigy, for I have far too 
 much respect for the tranquillity of my old age 
 to appear on tlie title-page of a book ; and the 
 success of my afternoon nap, or my evening 
 rubber, will consequently run no risk of being 
 periled by the comments and criticism of the 
 public ; or the guesses and gossipry of my own 
 immediate circle, who will at once find a reply 
 to their suspicions when they look me in the 
 face. 
 
 Heroes, monarchs, and statesmen (I place the 
 heroes in advance advisedly) have bards and 
 historians to sing and say all their great deeds ; 
 therefore, it is truly an excess of self-immola- 
 tion when they meddle with the work, and rub 
 in the shadows of the picture as a pastime ; 
 and an equal fully when they take pen in hand, 
 for the purpose of broadening th-e lights. In the 
 first case, all the world laugh at tliem as fools, 
 for having betrayed their own poor and petty 
 weaknesses; while in the second it is still 
 worse, inasmuch as no one believes one sylla- 
 ble of the self-laudatory labor, which to all, 
 save the workman, appears to be a mere web of 
 egotism and fatuity. This, however, is far 
 from being the case with that potent and influ- 
 ential portion of the creation entitled pretty 
 women. Where lives the man who could un- 
 dertake the biography of one of these 1 He 
 can talk of well-Cougbt battles, intriguing cab- 
 inets, court-gossip, or party measures ; but what 
 knows he about flirtations, or palpitations, or 
 heart-economy! How can he undertake to 
 raise one veil after another, each as mysterious 
 as that of Vesta, so as to lay bare the myriad 
 mysteries of a woman's spirit 1 
 
 Pooh ! pooh ! Man, all self-sufficient as he es- 
 teems himself, would deserve the fate of the 
 
 I detected school-boy, did he even attempt so im- 
 possible a feat. 
 
 I can give another reason, also, for thus vol- 
 unteering a record of the past in its relation to 
 myself The world has run wild, of late years, 
 upon biographies and auto-biographies. Every 
 class of society has contributed its quota to 
 satisfy the curiosity of "a discerning public;" 
 and each succeeding triplicate of volumes has 
 been received with welcome. From the quaint 
 sketching of dear old Pepys, and the sonorous 
 periods of stately Clarendon, to the "dramatic 
 twaddle" of Miss Burney, and the professional 
 sallies and struggles of defunct players, nothing 
 appears to have come amiss ; and this is just 
 as it should be. 
 
 " The proper study of mankind is man ;" 
 and it acquires an additional zest when we 
 have reason to apprehend (as must frequently 
 be the case) that we were never intended to 
 have the opportunity of doing it at all. How 
 many "sayings and doings," meant for the se- 
 clusion of liome ; how many opinions and sen- 
 timents, uttered only for the privacy of the 
 family circle ; how many letters, scratched of! 
 a tutto volo da penna, have been put to press, 
 injurious to the memory of the dead, and painful 
 to the feelings of the living ! 
 
 For my own part, whenever I meet with an 
 advertised announcement of the forthcoming 
 " biography" or " memoirs" of some deceased 
 celebrity, whether noble, political, literary, fash- 
 ionable, or dramatic, I am invariably hst in as- 
 I tonishment at the reckless courage of the indi- 
 ! vidual who left such a task of delicacy and diffi- 
 I culty to be performed by others ; when, at the 
 j expense of a little labor, he could have accoiin- 
 j plished it himself, adducing his own motives, and 
 assigning his own reasons, for a thousand ac 
 tions which must inevitably suffer from miscon- 
 struction. 
 ! If then such false readings may and must 
 be the result of the interference of a second 
 person in the written lives of statesmen, poets, 
 and players, what had / to expect, if I left mj 
 motives, reasons, actions, and impulses, to he 
 decided upon by others 1 Truly, a pretty woman 
 resolved (as I am) to be frank, and truthful, 
 I and honest, has more than sufficient cause to 
 I apprehend a host of evil judgments, not only 
 from one sex, but from both ; and can, there- 
 fore, ill afford to leave herself without that best 
 of all advocacy — her own. An acknovvledgefi' 
 beauty, like the turquoise-flowering flax, ia 
 marked, even from the first years of her bloom- 
 ing girlhood, for future appreciation : the germ 
 is the index of the maturity ; but she must bo 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 weil immersed in the stuj.'nant waters of envy | 
 and maliciousness, and well beaten by tbe i 
 cudgels of jealousy and miscon&truclioii, be- 
 fore she is deemed fitted for the uses of the ' 
 world ; and the parallel holds good to t^ie last ; 
 for neither the beauty nor the flax is estimated 
 at its real value, until all that charmed the eye 
 has been destroyed, and that nothing is left but 
 the. good touuh fibre which may render their 
 available qualities serviceable to others. 
 
 Let no one imagine, however, that I deem it 
 expedient to offer an apology for these my coti- 
 fessions. Far from it. I consider that I am 
 doing the world a service by their transcription. 
 My own sex may learn better to analyze their 
 feelings and actions by the perusal, and the 
 other to be less ready to misjudge both. 
 
 Of this I am well assured, that men, in the 
 aggregate, can form no just or correct idea of 
 the trials and struggles of a woman's life. It is 
 an admitted conventionalism, that the world 
 was made (or man, and home for woman. Be 
 it sw. on the broad basis upon which it should 
 be understood. I<et the stronger and the holder 
 portion of creation strive and wrestle with the 
 ocean-waves of public life : they are the best 
 fitted to its duties ; hut let them not imagine 
 that there can be no " death from drowning" 
 in the mere placid-seeming river. The violence 
 of the cataract corrodes but slightly the face of 
 the rock over which it pours its impetuous 
 volume; hut the slow and monotonous dropping 
 of the domeslii drain wears a deep hollow in 
 the surface of li e stone upon which it falls. 
 
 Now and then we hear of a suicide in what 
 is called " genteel life ;" and it is always a man 
 who has had recourse to the razor or the pistol 
 — the moral coward's remedy for worldly dis- 
 appointment. No woman, save among the more 
 degraded of the sex (except, indeed, in very 
 rare instances, where she commits self-destruc- 
 tion in conjunction %vith a lover or a husband, 
 and cannot, consequently, be correctly esteemed 
 a free agent, but rather as acting under a tan- 
 gible and controlling influence), ever contem- 
 plates such a method of release from trial ; and 
 thus the obituary of the year teems with cases 
 of female consumpticm and heart-complaint. 
 Ay, truly ! 'lis no misnomer — heart-complaint ! 
 — where the thread is most worn, there it 
 breaks; and the " we^tker vessel" carries her 
 sorrows with Ik.t to the grave, and hides them 
 there. 
 
 But the word grave has startled me ! I have 
 no intention to moralize. My life contains iis 
 own moral. I will leave men to tlieir sell- 
 satisficd view of the economy of human nature. 
 It is, at best, a very harmless egotism : for ilu-y 
 arc -lo sooner in care or in nece.ssity. than they, 
 one and all, recant their error — at least, until 
 they no longer re(|uire counsel or consolation ; 
 ami this fact may well make women smile at 
 their ilelusion, and forgive it. 
 Thus much by way of preface. 
 My father v. as a wealthy merchant. Of a 
 highly respectable but impovcriabed family, he 
 had received for all portion an admirable com- 
 mercial education, and a re(;oiniMendatory letter 
 to one of the first eslabli.>diiiients in London. 
 
 Unlike such lMls^lTes in general, which are 
 commonly "bought off" by a family dinner, 
 »»r •• thrown off" with an apology, the docu- 
 
 ment in question procured for him a hish stooi 
 in the oflice of the Messieurs Ostialdiston, and 
 a daily seat at their table, while his own good 
 and useful qualities did the rest. 
 
 There was, I believe, some distant relation- 
 ship between the principals and their young 
 clerk, wliicb doubtless cemented the connec- 
 tion ; but, be that as it may, thus much is 
 certain, that my father had not been more than 
 five years in their counting-house, when he was 
 intrusted with a mission of great importance to 
 the West-Indies; of which he acquitted him- 
 self so skilfully, that the brothers, on his return, 
 felt that they could offer to him no recompense 
 more adequate than a share in their gigantic 
 establishment. They were no longer young 
 men : began to prefer port wine to burgundy, 
 and a comfortable nap in an easy chair aftei 
 dinner, to a renewal of business ; and thus they 
 found it pleasant and profitable to transfer the 
 overplus of their occupation to their young, and 
 active, and intelligent partner. 
 
 My father made three voyages to the islands 
 before the death of the younger Mr. Osbaldis- 
 ton ; and became an experienced man of busi- 
 ness at an age when most merchants are merely 
 in their novitiate. Advancing years, and the 
 loss of his only brother and near relative, and 
 moreover his junior, began to produce their 
 effect upon the head of the firm ; who, ere long, 
 abandoned all the interests of the house to my 
 father, and contented himself with sinning his 
 name to transfer-deeds and bank-checks, loun- 
 ging away his mornings in the warehouses, 
 and giving himself up to the care of his cook 
 and valet for the remainder of the day. 
 
 Nor had the old gentleman ever reason to 
 repent his confidence ; for when he was. in his 
 turn, gathered to his fathers, he died calmly, in 
 the comfortable conviction that all his depend- 
 ents could live respectably thereafter on their 
 several legacies, without seeking a new and 
 strange servitude ; and that my father was not 
 only the proprietor of a magnificent business, 
 but that his name was " good " for some £80,000 
 at his banker's. 
 
 Happy testator ! and still happier legatee ! 
 My father was only two-and-thirty years of age 
 when he was thus cast upon the world ; but, 
 unlike many other young men, he did not relax 
 an effort in the pleasant occupation of money- 
 making. Let it not be supposed, however, that 
 his per.-<everance arose from a sordid love ot 
 gold. Far from it. He had his projects. Riches 
 were to be the means, and not the enil. of his 
 ambition. He admitted no partner into the 
 hou.se. He was sufficient to himself; and he 
 would not delay the accom|)lishment of his 
 hope, by dividing and subdividing his receipts. 
 At the termination of a couple of years he 
 ventured upon a gigantic speculation. Many 
 of his friends shrugged their shoulders, and 
 exclaimed upon his rashness, in an unctuous 
 and tranquil lone, which satisfied their hearers 
 that It would be no particular heart-break to 
 themselves even if he should happen to have, 
 as they expressed it, "kicked down all that he 
 was worth ;" but, luckily, they were not put to 
 the trial, for he was still the favorite of for- 
 tune ; and, after the suspense of a few months, 
 he awoke one morning worth X500,000. 
 
 I think I have already shown that my father 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 was a wise man ; nor did his mother-wit for- 
 sake him on this occasion. He was no gambler 
 at heart, so he abandoned all speculation for 
 the future; and while his anxious friends were 
 awaiting from day to day the intelligence that 
 he had again tempted the smiles of his slippery 
 patroness, they were startled and surprised 
 (in some cases it was even hinted not pleas- 
 antly), by learning that he had disposed of his 
 house in the city for an enormous sum, and 
 was on the point of starting for a tour on the 
 Continent. 
 
 Circumstances alter habits, says the Span- 
 iard ; and it was certainly an apothegm per- 
 fectly ap|)licab]e to my father's case ; for he no 
 sooner saoolc the dust of commerce from his 
 feet, than he flung away with it all the habits 
 of his past life. Not to play the purse-proud 
 faineant, however, did he do this. He had 
 higher aims than that of lounging through ex- 
 istence. He knew that he had been a capital 
 man of business. He was reminded of the fact 
 by every hat that was lifted to him as he passed 
 along the city streets ; his purpose was now to 
 become an accomplished gentleman ; not a pro- 
 found scholar, nor a scientific virtuoso ; he well 
 knew that it was too late to indulge in such 
 lofty dreams as those ; nor was he quite sure 
 that erudite acquirements would at all further 
 the plan and project upon which he had built 
 up his own particular Chateau en Espagne. His 
 aim was simply to become a man of tFie world ; 
 what, in the days of Addison and Steele, would 
 have been called " a pretty fellow ;" and what 
 we, in our times, understand by " a man about 
 town ;" only shorn of his vices, and delivered 
 from his duns. 
 
 Abroad he went then. Conveniently but not 
 ostentatiously attended, he traversed France, 
 Germany, Switzerland, and Italy ; visited cathe- 
 drals, galleries, mountains, and waterfalls ; ope- 
 ras, grottoes, and Houses of Assembly ; learned 
 to distinguish one popular singer from another, 
 and to call the premieres danseuses of the three 
 great capitals by their correct names ; pur- 
 chased a few undoubted {copies of) rare pic- 
 tures, some fine Roman medals (manufactured 
 and verdigreased at Milan), and several equally 
 well authenticated busts and statues ; which 
 were all carefully packed, and transmitted to 
 an English warehouse, to await his return 
 home ; after which he had nothing more to do 
 than to amuse himself, and be careful not to 
 suffer any opportunity of accomplishing his 
 cherished purpose to escape him. 
 
 He was not, however, destined to succeed 
 while on his tour. He had made many eligible 
 acquaintance, but he was a shrewd man ; and 
 he did not require to be told that the fashiona- 
 bles and hyper fashionables with whom he had 
 partaken of champagne dinners, and whom he 
 had accommodated with seats in his opera-box 
 on an equal footing on the Continent, might 
 perchance look more coldly upon him in Eng- 
 land, when they discovered that, in their own 
 set, he was utterly unknown. Nevertheless, 
 he did not despair. Gross geld, grosser glaube, 
 and he knew it ; so he was content to bide his 
 time. 
 
 Among the many pressing invitations which 
 ho received, to renew at home the friendship 
 so pleasantly commenced abroad, was one so 
 
 frequently and so earnestly repeated, that my 
 father could not doubt its sincerity ; and ho 
 accordingly promised to accept it. That ho 
 was flattered by the pertinacity of the mviter, 
 there can be no doubt; for he was not only a 
 man of ripe age and matured judgment, but, 
 moreover, a Scottish peer. 
 
 That the Earl of Gleufillan was not wealthy, 
 was sufficiently evident from the facility with 
 which he availed himself of the different domes- 
 tic luxuries of his new friend : and the remark- 
 able tardiness which he exhibited in making 
 any return not purely verbal. This, however, 
 was perfectly immaterial to my father, who 
 required nothing at his hands ; and who was 
 by far too proud a man to have suffered their 
 positions to be reversed. And so Lord Glen- 
 fiUan rode my father's horses, ate my father's 
 dinners, traveled in my father's carriage, and 
 borrowed my father's money, to his heart's con- 
 tent ; while he received in return the I Us 
 of his noble friend, and the reiterated invitations 
 to which I have already alluded. 
 
 "Did Mr. Tilden fish and shoot 1" 
 
 My father at that time did neither, but he m- 
 tended to do both ; so, as a matter of course, 
 he replied in the affirmative. There was mag- 
 nificent fishing and shooting at Glenfillan ! 
 Four thousand acres of moorland, and a lake 
 like an inland sea, visible from the windows of 
 the' castle. Mr. Tilden was an admirable bil- 
 liard-player. His lordship was rejoiced at it, 
 for they had the best table in Scotland at Glen- 
 fillan — rather out of repair, he was afraid, for 
 his gout had obliged him to abandon the game, 
 and the ladies of his family did not understand 
 it ; but he would have it set to rights against 
 he had the honor of receiving Mr. Tilden, who, 
 perhaps, would be able to induce " Flora and 
 Madelaine" to make an attempt at learning. 
 
 Of course my father was delighted at the 
 prospect of teaching two hoydening girls to 
 play billiards on a rickety old table ; and he felt 
 half-tempted to ofTer the earl a new one of his 
 own selecting ; which, without doubt, he might 
 have done safely, as Lord Glenfillan was not 
 prone to take offence at such trifling matters ; 
 but he forbore, for he was strongly imbued with 
 a strange sort of delicacy, which always prompt- 
 ed him to make his wealth as little conspicuous 
 as possible, and never to presume upon it by 
 taking liberties with others. 
 
 The close of their continental communioji 
 took place at Calais, whither my father had 
 conveyed his lordly friend from Marseilles m 
 his own carriage ; and, as a matter of course, 
 the earl had been his guest throughout the 
 journey. This arrangement was agreeable lo 
 both parties ; for, as the courier who had ac- 
 companied my father from England, transacted 
 all business upon the road, so neither of the 
 milords in the caleche and four, which opened 
 the traveling procession, were broken in upon 
 by dull details of the day's expenses. In short, 
 they got on together admirably. The earl 
 shared my father's carriage ; his solitary man- 
 servant was de tiers with my father's valet and 
 his I kef ; all the luggage jolted along amicably in 
 the same voiture d'occasion, guarded hy the 
 sleepy grooms ; and nothing could be more 
 amicable or more pleasant than the whole 
 arrangement. 
 
a CyjSc^s>olOiS>3 yJl A litEl"! i WOMAN. 
 
 Once or twice his lordship of Glenfiilan ex- of his own society, and glad of any incideHl 
 eeeded a little at table upon the road ; but that which promised a nnomentary amnsement. 
 was the fault of my father's hospitality, and the No better prelude to rapid acquaintanceship 
 hyper-zeal of Ins attendants ; and the noble could have been suggested by the most prac- 
 earl had a gout-mixture in the carriage-pocket ticed social tactician. Lord Glenfiilan was drug- 
 near his hand, which, diluted in a little pale ging, gorging, and frightening hiriiself into his 
 brandy, generally succeeded in procuring him grave, with all possible expedition ; and there 
 an hour's sleep; so that, upon the whole, he he sat, with his foot swathed in flannels, a Glen- 
 might have been worse off on the rugged high- garry cap upon his gray head, a tartan waist- 
 ways of -a belle France ; and he admtlted the coat covering his acr.ple chest, and a flowered 
 fact with a graceful frankness which could not dressing-gown en'^.vjloping his tall and bony 
 but convince my father of the sinceriiy of his figure ; with an English journal a fortnight old 
 assertion. (lor in those days Galignani was not, and 
 
 By the by, Lord Glenfiilan, as I should have L'Echo du Continent lay hushed in chaos), en- 
 explamed, had visited the French capital lor i deavoring to read, for the twentieth time, the 
 the purpose of consulting a celebrated gout-doc- | speech of one of his political opponents, most 
 tor of that day ; from whose skill he had been jprovokingly broken up by "hear! hear!" and 
 led to expect that he should obtain both speedy i " cheers from all parts of the house." 
 and permanent relief. But it is certain that if J once heard it declared by a gallant officer, 
 his counselors had themselves really derived I now >n his grave, that the greatest misery of 
 any benefit from the Gallic Galen in a similar human life was to hall with a party of men in 
 extremity, they had been of a different order of a country village, and to remain throughout the 
 men from the earl, who backed up all the reine- < day in its sohiary inn, with, for all companion- 
 dies of his medical adviser, with dinners served ship, an old Army List, in which your own par- 
 ai Les Fieres Fiuccngaux, and burgundy from ticuiar regiment was torn out. I am tempted, 
 Jusim. however, to believe that I should have pre- 
 
 This state of things, or rather this system of ferred even that dilemma to the earls. Be it 
 curative ethics, could not, of course, last lung, as it may, he averred that this unlucky paper 
 wittioul convincing his most giislaiive lordship was his only resource between his paroxysms 
 that he was rather becoming worse than better. ; of pain, which, as he was a fabid politician, il 
 
 That It was reruler pour mienx sanfer, he was ' had probably assisted to multiply, 
 not altogether clear ; and in this dilemma, with | No wonder that my father soon ceased to be 
 very real and natural reluctance to tear him- considered as a stranger, and that his daily ad- 
 self from the flesh-pots of Egypt, and a still vent in the sick room was hailed with delight by 
 more invincible ohjectitin to be conveyed home the querulous invalid. Ere long. Lord Glenfiilan 
 in a leaden receptacle, .six feet by two, he had extorted a promise from his friend not to 
 seized with avidity the hope held out to him of abandon him during his illness , and soon after- 
 better success With an Italian empiric eslab- wards it was agreed that they should make the 
 lished at .Marseilles; and forthwith departed homeward journey together ; and this was how 
 for the fair city of the south. i ii came to pass that the earl and my father 
 
 Alas for tlie goui-iormented earl ! To an in- | arrived at Calais in company, 
 dividual of hi.o tendencies, this was fairly a 
 case of cadcr dalta padclla nclla brace ; for at 
 Marseilles, in addition to the sublime cuisine of 
 
 Paris, he found all the luxuries of the East; CHAPTER 
 
 all the Iruiis of the earth; and all the fish of| 
 the sea. .My Lord Glenfiilan bad such a fit of | It has just struck me that I ought to give 
 the gout ai Ins hotel in the Rue de Rome, eight some idea of the personal appearance of my 
 days after his arrival n the paradise of gastion- father. I remember him well, for I loved him 
 omers, that he alforded a noble opportunity for very dearly ; and my memory supplies me with 
 the display of skill possessed by II Signor Eer- the picture of a tall, finely made, and aristocrat- 
 dinando della Placida— the very name of the ic-looking man, with large gray eyes, a hand- 
 man would have seemed to me to he either an some but somewhat too prominent nose, haii 
 insult or an epigram — and began to have se- which had once been almost black, magnificent 
 nous thoughts ot making his w ill. ! teeth, and a smile so beautiful that at times I 
 
 It was at this period that my father returned still see it in my dreams. His extreme nicety 
 from Malta; and, having heard that he was and neatness might have passed into a proverb ; 
 under the same root with a sick countryman, , but he was no whit a prig ; and he had so thor- 
 veiy inellicienily attended, and in the hands of oughly divested himself of all the formalities 
 an Ignorant pretender, who was dc moilic with and technicalities of his early pursuits, and fall- 
 the cook in winding up what had been an affair en back so easily and so naturally upon the 
 olinany years' standing, in a very complete and proud old blood which filled his veins, that I 
 concise manner ; he sent m his card to his feel convinced, had he ever been raised to 
 noble neighbor, and begged permission to wait j the peerage, no one could have considered him 
 upon him. | misplaced. 
 
 The gouty lord desired no better, for he had al- I have a miniature lying beside me now, how- 
 ready heard from his valet of the arrival of a ' ever, which has preserved a far more flattering 
 mttord, the fracas of whose return to Ins old portrait of my father than even my loving mem- 
 apartments had reached even to the sick cham- ory. It was taken the year of his marriage, as 
 ber; had received a detailed account of the ^ a bridal-gilt to my mother; and, judging from 
 nature and number of his attendants, equipages, I the ivory counterfeit, he must at that period 
 horses, am* packages ; and was, moreover, tire; lavc been supremely handsome. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 Moreover, most courteous reader, he was my 
 father ! 
 
 After a few months spent in London, which 
 were fuliy occupied by the arrangement of his 
 monetary affairs, the purchase of an eligible 
 residence, and daily practice at a shooting-gal- 
 lery to fit him for his coming campaign in Scot- 
 land, my father began seriously to meditate a 
 descent on Glenfillan. The earl had, at times, 
 been grandiloquent on the subiect of his pater- 
 nal estate; and his visitor consequently left 
 town with very magnificent ideas of the local- 
 ity which he was about temporarily to inhabit. 
 
 There was no steam at this time, so that the 
 journey was rather a long one ; but my father 
 was glad of the opportunity of seeing Edin- 
 burgh, and would not allow himself to consider 
 it tedious. 
 
 He spent a week in Auld Reekie, and then 
 started for the Highlands. He saw all the 
 "lions" (as per guide-book) before his depart- 
 nre ; but I am afraid that he was deficient in 
 historical sentiment, if not in morals ; for he 
 took no interest in Holyrood, simply because he 
 had not made up his mind whether Mary were 
 a martyr or a culprit, and rather inclined to the 
 latter opinion. Now, if my father carried one 
 particular prejudice to excess, it was against 
 coquetry and coquets ; therefore it requires no 
 explanation that the very idea of conjugal infi- 
 dehty was to him hateful beyond the power of 
 words. 
 
 He was the very aftertype of Caesar. 
 
 This, par parcnthcse. 
 
 When he advanced beyond Edinburgh, the 
 scene changed. Glenfillan lay, like a lion's lair, 
 in the very centre of the Highlands, and the roads 
 were anything but macadamized. All around 
 him was wild and grand, but the air was hun- 
 gry ; and as he had left all his establishment in 
 town, save his body-servant and a couple of 
 grooms, he fared, as he traveled, somewhat 
 roughly. He had no taste for mountain-dew ; 
 not a soul to speak to except his man, who be- 
 gan to wax slightly sulky, as he left, according 
 to his own opinion, all civilization and comfort 
 behind him ; and, altogether, his progress was 
 as dreary as it was slow. 
 
 At length, however, they reached a hamlet 
 with an unpronounceable name, where they 
 found half a dozen of the earl's retainers, who 
 had already been waiting there several days, 
 with as many wild-looking, wiry, ungroomed 
 mountain ponies, to serve as guides to the cas- 
 tle, and to help the -Sassenach gentlemen over 
 sundry " bad bits" which they had to traverse 
 on their way. Only one among them could 
 make himself understood, and they were all as 
 savage-looking as a party of bandits ; but nev- 
 ertheless they were a relief to the monotony of 
 his journey, and to the eye of an artist would 
 have been in admirable "keeping" with the 
 scene. They were, moreover, active, strong, 
 and willing ; and proved eminently useful to 
 the unaccustomed and helpless travelers. 
 
 From the crest of a mountain which it had 
 ta4<en them three dreary hours to ascend, and 
 which my father had partly mounted on foot, 
 his guide at length pointed out a small gray ob- 
 ject which he exultingly announced as Glenfil- 
 lan Castle. He was answered by a shudder. 
 Nothing could be more desolate than the aspect 
 
 of the " promised land" from the spot chosen U 
 make it known. 
 
 The travelers were standing, as I have said, 
 on the brow of a high mountain, covered en- 
 tirely with heather, and utterly destitute of trees , 
 before them and beneath them, at the distance 
 of several miles, lay a deep valley, backed by 
 another rugged and cloud-capped height ; and 
 in this hollow stood the castle ; while, about a 
 furlong off, commenced a bleak, cold, unshel- 
 tered sheet of water, which was lost in the dis- 
 tance as it wound round the base of the giant 
 mountain that shut in the view. 
 
 There was an expression compounded of 
 contempt and mortification on the countenance 
 of the highlander, as he met the look of disap- 
 pointment and disgust which my father c(*uld 
 not repress ; but he gave no signs of annoy- 
 ance beyond leaving his side, and talking in a 
 quick and indignant tone to his companions. 
 
 The descent of the mountain proved to the 
 full as tedious as its rise; and thus, fortunate- 
 ly for himself, my father had both time and op 
 portunity to amend his first judgment, and tr 
 give due admiration to the several really noble 
 features of the scene. The sun, " that great 
 landscape painter," threw in opportunely a few 
 touches which greatly relieved the vastness of 
 the picture ; and as the light vapors swept 
 along the sky, casting their flying shadows Hp- 
 on the hills, and succeeding each other like 
 pleasant thoughts in a weary mind, he began to 
 see positive beauty where half an hour befose 
 all had seemed black and barr,en. As they ad- 
 vanced, too, the old gray castle loomed out 
 majestically from the green heather, and grew 
 into size and importance. My father could dis- 
 tinguish a round tower of res[)ectabte altitude, 
 and a length of wall tvhich might be a battle- 
 ment or a terrace, but which, in either case, 
 gave a dignified and solid air to the whole edi- 
 fice. Trees there were none, even about the 
 building, at least none that he could discern on 
 his approach ; but, nevertheless, he felt more 
 reconciled than he had done on the mountain- 
 top, and became at last even interested in the 
 aspect of bis temporary home. 
 
 They had no sooner reached the outskirts of 
 the glen than one of the guides, springing to 
 the back of his pony, rode off at a p9ce of which 
 my father had never believed the animal to be 
 capable, in order to announce the arrival of 
 the expected guest to his noble master; and 
 in about an hour the well-appointed English 
 chariot passed the gate of Glenfillan Castle, and 
 my father found its lordly owner waiting to re- 
 ceive him on the threshold of his own stately halL 
 
 The day was far advanced ; and after a warm 
 but brief welcome, the visitor was ushered to 
 his dressing-room to refresh himself after his 
 journey, and to prepare for dinner. The ladies 
 were already busied with their toilets ; and 
 my father consequently retired without having 
 been presented to any member of the lamily 
 He was conducted to his apartments by a fine- 
 looking, gray-headed, soleiim butler, who seem- 
 ed almost coeval with the building, and who 
 appeared to consider himself the greatest per» 
 sonage on earth, except Ills lord. 
 
 Tlie dressing-bell was already ringing oui 
 sonorously from the belfry-tower, and the sound 
 harmonized agreeably with my father's sensji- 
 
10 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 lions. He was gratified by the reception of the 
 earl, somewliat impressed by the ancient state- 
 liness of all around hira, and disposed to see ! 
 everything en beau. His apartment was spa- 
 cious and somewhat gloomy. The bed and 
 window were alike hung with dark-green 
 damask ; and the walls were of richly carved 
 oak, into which were panneled a series of what 
 were evidently family portraits, the size of life, 
 all grim and ^liastly with age. The bed itself 
 was (jftlial capiicious description which would 
 lead one to infer that oi>e's forefathers and 
 foremolhers iniist have been of unconscionably 
 broad dimensions , the window, deeply pierced 
 into the miis^ive wall, was of a totally different 
 character, for it was narrow to an inconvenient 
 degree ; hut, en revanche, it reached from the , 
 ceiling nearly to the floor, while its arch was 
 filled with stained glass to the depth of half a' 
 dozen of the <tiamond-fashioned panes, which 
 reduced the alreaily small quantity of light ad- 
 mitted into the chamber to something still less. 
 There was, moreover, an aspect of decay and 
 rustmess about everything, which betrayed 
 that the Taplow and Holland of the day had 
 not laid thcif refined and renovating spell upon 
 the place, but that it was mouldering away 
 quietly and comfortably, without interlerence 
 of any kind. Although it was yet early in the 
 summer, the air of that mountain-valley was 
 still keen enough to render the huge fire which 
 was burning upon the hearth the most attractive 
 object in the room ; and, as my father's valet 
 somewhat sulkily remarked, " it was a relief, 
 in such a hobgoblin-looking place, that nobody 
 could understand who hadn't seen it." 
 
 The gold-furnished dressing-case had scarce- 
 ly given up all its costly contents for the decora- 
 tion of the loilttiable, when the second bell 
 rang, and my father prepared to obey the sum- 
 mons ; but a difficulty arose as to the means of 
 reaching Uui dining-room without a guide ; 
 there was no bell in the room ; while my father 
 felt, en preux cheralier, that he would rather 
 nsk any inconvenience than detain the ladies 
 from the dining-room, and create an unfavora- 
 ble impn ssion within the very hour of his ar- 
 rival. He opened the door of his apartment 
 abruptly ; rushed out into the gallery ; and 
 nearly fell into the arms of the same solemn 
 old genileiiian who had marshaled him from 
 thepnsenie of the earl, and who was patiently 
 waiting to conduct him back. 
 
 And now I come to an event fiil moment in 
 my father's life, and otie to whii-h I owe my 
 own existence. The double doors of a spacious 
 drawing-room, comforlably draperied with tap- 
 estry, were thrown back by two livened at- j 
 lendants ; and as my father entered, the earl 
 abandoned his posiiir)n upon the hearth-rug, 
 where he had been ct)infortably facing the la- j 
 dies, and backing to the fire, in that peiuliarly 
 graceful style wliich has been popular among 
 the male sex in the United Kingdom of Great 
 Driiain and Ireland from time immemorial ; and 
 advanci il lo meet him with a mixture of state* 
 Ij urbanity and hospitable frankness. 
 
 He was presented in turn to Miss Alargery 
 Macspleuilian, a tall, stiff, bony, high-cheeked, 
 sharp-nosed spinster of some filty, "or, by'r 
 lady, threes(;ore" years, attired in a very stout 
 and rather rusty dress of black labinei, with a 
 
 pointlace apron and ruffles ; the ostensible dawu 
 chatelaine, and sister-in-law of the earl ; to the 
 Lady Flora Glenfillan, his lordship's elder daugh- 
 ter, a sepia facsimile of her maiden aunt ; and 
 ultimately, to the Lady Madelaine •' of that ilk," 
 his youngest child, the offspring of a second 
 marriage, and one of the loveliest' maidens who 
 ever furnished forth the day-dream of a poet. 
 
 The Lady Flora was all smiles and welcome ; 
 she spoke with a strong accent, and laughed 
 until she displayed an awful vacuum, where 
 teeth were not. She was, as I have said, a 
 modified duplicate of her aunt, who had been 
 the sister of her mother. She was not quite so 
 stiff, nor so tall, nor so bony ; her cheeks were 
 not quite so prominent ; and her nose was a lit- 
 tle more moderate in its sharpness ; all, or 
 most of which circumstances, were probably to 
 be accounted for by the fact ,hat she had not 
 long passed her thirtieth year ; neither was 
 her sable silk quite so rusty, nor her point quite 
 so yellow ; but in all about her there was 
 goodly promise that the likeness would in- 
 crease from day to day. 
 
 Lord Glenfillan had, in his first matrimonial 
 venture, made a prodigious mesalliance, having 
 marrieddthe daughter of a petty laird, no one 
 could ever rationally decide wherefore. But 
 Jessie Macspleuchan was a shrewd body ; she 
 required rw spectacles to detect the prominent 
 weakness of the great man ; and she according- 
 ly reverenced with so awful a reverence, and 
 worshiped with so hurnhle a worship, the digni- 
 ty of his peerage, that the plain, homely, prim no- 
 body soon grew to be the most sensible woman 
 of the earl's acquaintance. Her nose was no 
 longer sharp ; her voice had ceased to be shrill ; 
 her dull gray eyes were turned with so much 
 meek wonder upon his coronet, that he felt as- 
 sured, in his own mind, that even matrimony 
 itself would never induce any undue familiarity 
 or pretensions of equality on the part of Miss 
 Macspleuchan. 
 
 So, to the astonishment of every one save 
 the lady herself, she became, after due delibera- 
 tion on the gentleman's side. Countess of Glen- 
 fillan ; and then she taught the proud peer a 
 lesson which he never afterwards unlearned. 
 She had not " served seven years" for her cor- 
 onet, crushing every natural impulse, and quell- 
 ing every rebel disposition, to be "shelved" 
 by her own husband, and made a nonentity in 
 her own house. Contention, as the word is 
 Usually understood, could not occur between 
 them, for Lord Glentillan was too innately a 
 gentleman so to degrade himself; added to 
 which, he soon learnt to feel that he was no 
 verbal match for his lady ; but for years it was 
 a war of wits, and a war of will, that most ef- 
 fectually prevented all stagnation in the estab- 
 lishment. At length, however, the earl, whose 
 armor began to chafe him from constant wear 
 and who had no wish to die in his harness, pru- 
 dently laid down his arms, and my Lady Glen- 
 fillan had il all her own way. 
 
 This state of things lasted for six years, 
 during which period she became the mother of 
 a daughter — the Lady Flora, to whom my reader 
 has been already introduced — and whom she 
 only lived to see enter her second year. 
 
 The noble widower was not disconsolate; 
 and, whether il were from respect for his de- 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 11 
 
 parted wife that he was anxious to demonstrate 
 his confidence in her family, or, on the con- 
 trary, that he desired to remove from bef( re his 
 eyes everything which could remind him of llie 
 deceased lady, he never declared ; but it is cer- 
 tain that he forthwith proposed to his honored 
 fatheF-in-law, the laird, that his daughter Mar- 
 gery should lake charge of the infant until she 
 became of an age to require more accomplished 
 guidance. Miss Macspleuchan desired nothing 
 better; and declared herself quite ready to re- 
 move to the castle, and to receive her dear little 
 niece from tlie hands of her noble parent, " di- 
 rectly after the great wash ;" but this conces- 
 sion by no means formed part of the earl's 
 arrangement. 
 
 He had been Macspleuchaned long enough, 
 and their season was over. He did not wish 
 his will and pleasure to be put into competition 
 with soap and blue ; and he, therefore, gave 
 Miss Margery civilly to understand, that the 
 conventionalities of life would not permit a man 
 of his age to otTer a home beneath his roof even 
 to the sister of his wife. That the Lady Flora 
 Glenfillan would be no burden upon her moth- 
 er's family, he deemed it almost needless to 
 add ; and he felt convinced that, when Miss j 
 Macspleuchan had taken time to reflect upon j 
 the subject, she would find that her obliging 
 proposal was utterly out of the question. 
 
 Now, all this was not said, but written — writ- 
 ten upon a very ample sheet of paper, and 
 sealed with the earl's coat-of-arms ; to produce 
 which effectively, it required almost sealing- 
 wax enough to fill a tea-saucer. This signet 
 never failed to produce its efTect. It was the 
 fet-faw-fum which announced to refractory ten- 
 ants that their rents must be paid ; and to pre- 
 suming petty lairds that his lordship, the earl, 
 understood nothing about liberty and equality. 
 It may, consequently, be imagined that its ap- 
 parition at the hill-farm rendered further discus- 
 sion useless. In short, it performed a miracle, 
 for it shut Miss Margery's mouth. 
 
 Th3 Lady Flora was accordingly transferred 
 from the castle to the laird's house, and from 
 the cold caresses of her noble father to the 
 hearty hugs of her less exalted relations ; and 
 in due time initiated into all the mysteries of 
 meal-porridge, baked sheep's heads, and haggis. 
 
 A happy man was Lord Glenfillan ; a very 
 happy man ! He felt vastly as Sinbad must 
 have done, when he shook the old gentleman 
 from his shoulders, whose organ of adhesive- 
 ness he had so long mentally voted a nuisance. 
 Right glad was he, when his eye chanced to 
 rest upon the hatchment which he had caused 
 to droop, like a heavy eyelid, over the upper 
 section of one of the drawing-room windows, 
 as a last token of respect to the deceased — 
 much on the same principle that a man who 
 has completed an unpleasant letter appends an 
 enormous flourish to his signature, in the exu- 
 berant joy of his heart that he has come to an 
 end of it — right glad was he, I say, that her 
 departed ladyship had not presented him with 
 an heir to his family honors. A son of Miss Jes- 
 sie Macspleuchan to inherit the name and rank 
 of the Glenfillans — faugh ! And he was still, as 
 he reflected, so young and active, that a season 
 in London, and careful making up, would repair 
 all the ravages of carelessness and seclusion. 
 
 This idea haunted him for several years ; hut 
 no man, not even a Lord Glenfillan, can throw 
 ofT, withoit a violent eflbrt, the bonds which 
 time and habit have woven about him. The 
 ■parvenue countess had reduced her husband's 
 confidence in himself, and in Itis own value, 
 full fifty per cent. ; and, although he still talked 
 very big to himself, he shrank involuntarily 
 from the effort of testing the opinions of others. 
 
 At length, however, he arrived at the conclu- 
 sion that it behoved him to marry again with 
 all convenient speed ; but he had become a 
 wiser man than he was when " caught" by the 
 Macspleuchan ; and consequently now, when he 
 was many years older by the calendar of time, 
 and twice as many by the gnawing of mortifica- 
 tion and disappointment, he decided that two 
 things were absolutely indispensable in the for 
 tunate woman whom he should select as his 
 second wife — extreme personal beauty, and an 
 undeniable pedigree. A few thousands into the 
 bargain would not, he felt, be amiss ; but, in 
 favor of the two former attributes, he resolved 
 not to make a point of the last. 
 
 He had remained throughout all these years 
 at Glenfillan, visiting his orphan child scrupu- 
 lously once in each month, and shuddering as 
 he remarked how much the Macspleuchan nose 
 and bone were beginning to develop themselves; 
 but eventually he put his purpose into execu 
 tion, and started for England. He had not 
 reckoned without his host. A clever artiste 
 succeeded in making him up admirably ; and, 
 being really a fine man, and moreover a peer, 
 he was soon the cherished friend of half a score 
 middle-aged widows, fashionable demireps, and 
 matrons with marriageable daughters. My noble 
 grandpapa was not, however, so practicable as 
 he might have been, had he not already learned 
 wisdom. He listened, smiled, and looked about 
 him ; and th.e more he looked, the less chance 
 had the ladies in question of making him their 
 prey. 
 
 Many young and beautiful girls did he see in 
 the hotbed of London society — girls in look, and 
 women in mind — who would gladly have bar- 
 tered their loveliness against his coronet; but 
 half of them were parvenues, and the other hah 
 nobodies. Many a titled dowager, whose quar- 
 terings rendered her eligible for a German 
 court circle, and whose diamonds were far 
 brighter than her eyes, did not scruple to let 
 him understand that she was not inexorable ; 
 but my Lord Glenfillan was anxious for an heir. 
 The very eligihles, the young, the beautiful, and 
 the high-born — the creatures of his dreams — 
 considered him too old, or too poor, or hated 
 widowers, or could not contemplate the horror 
 of being molhers-in-law ; and thus, entre chien 
 ct lou.p, he made no progress. 
 
 The London season was drawing to a close 
 
 " Fashion, you know, prescribes tlie minute 
 VViien to be out of it, and in it: 
 Slie waves lier liand, and woe betide 
 Tlie lingering few, unless they hide. 
 Or swear they're passing through, to go 
 To Norfolk, in an hour or sn ; 
 And mean, next month, to show their faces 
 If possible, in twenty places." 
 
 The earl was just contemplating a journey to 
 "the moors," and sighing as he remembered that 
 the solitude of Glenfillan must remain unbroken 
 for another year ; when he was accidentally 
 
13 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 introduced to the honorable Dennis O'Finistree, 
 who was on his way ihrDugh town, with his 
 fair sister Madelaine, whom he had escorted 
 from Naples ; and who, after a brief sojourn in 
 London, was to be his companion to their 
 paternal home in the wilds of Connaught. 
 
 Every one, who is any one, must know all 
 about the O'Finisirees, so it were a mere waste 
 of words for me to expatiate here upon the an- 
 tiquity of their family, or to explain in what 
 manner their patrimonial estate had dwindled 
 into one-tenth of its original splendor, and " their i 
 noble" had, actually as well as figuratively, 
 "come to ninepence." They were also, as 
 they always declared, lineally descended from 
 the kings of Connaught, (who, soil dil en pas- 
 sant, if all be true which is laid to their charge 
 in this way, must have been wonderfully pro- 
 lific !) an assertion which few persons felt dis- 
 posed to question, for the O'Finisirees were all 
 celebrated shots. 
 
 The honorable Dennis took a great fancy to 
 my grandfather. He was a high-spirited, dash- 
 ing, fine-looking young fellow, and a perfect 
 man of the world. After a time, he proposed 
 to introduce his new friend to his sister, who , 
 was residing perdue at an hotel' near Portman 
 Square. The earl thought of his star; and, I 
 without asking any questions, accepted the civ- 
 ility. He did right. Madelaine O'Finistree was 1 
 a genuine Irish beauty, with dark hair and eye- 
 lashes, anil eyes of a deep rich blue, which, 
 when she laughed, looked positively black. She 
 was tall, and well-proportioned ; had something 
 of a foreign deportment, tempered, however, by 
 extreme gracefulness, and a spice of haughti- 
 ness which went straight to the heart of my 
 grandfather. 
 
 Of course, the gay, thoughtless Dennis had 
 never contemplated any serious results from 
 the acquaintance of his sister and Lord Glen- 
 fillan. He could not have heard from his asso- 
 ciates that the Scotch peer had rejoiced in the 
 name of " the wife-hunter" throughout the sea- 1 
 son ; and it could not, consequently, have been ! 
 in the hope of " bringing down his bird" that he I 
 had detained Madelaine in London, when their 
 finances had "dwindled to the shortest span," 
 and that every guinea was to them thrice-refined 
 gold. Nevertheless, everything fell out well. { 
 The earl returned home, "seven fathom deep" | 
 in love with the fair Hibernian. He felt that! 
 his hour was come. She was so utterly unlike I 
 Jessie Macspleuchan. She was so graceful, | 
 so beautiful. Her proud brow looked as though 
 (how novel-like is the phrase upon which I have 
 Btumbled !) nature had designed to cincture it 
 with a coronet. In short, Lord GlenfiUan wasj 
 a lost man, fmm half-past four o'clock p. m. on 
 that 29th of June. 
 
 He was found again, however, a few months 
 afterwards. The hatchment of the defunct lady 
 had, years before, been consigned to the attic ; I 
 the earl bad almost forgotten her thrall ; and 
 he was flying along the highroad between Lon- 
 don and EdinliiirL'h in a traveling chariot and ' 
 four, with the' new Countess of GlenfiUan by 
 bis side. 
 
 A year subsequently, my grandfather was , 
 once more a widower. His beautiful and high- ' 
 born wife gave birth to a dai^jhter, and in so 
 doing, resigned her own life ; hut it was a year 
 
 of happiness which cast its spell over the after 
 existence of the bereaved husband, 'ihe first 
 wish cf his heart — the first object of his ambi- 
 tion, had indeed been disappointed. He had no 
 son to inherit his name and honors ; but the 
 memory of his young and gentle wife was, 
 nevertheless, too dear to be obliterated by a 
 newer tie. 
 
 His only consolation wa3 derived from the 
 fact, that she had left to him an infant image of 
 herself, a second Madelaine, in whom, as she 
 grew to womanhood, he might trace a renewal 
 of her mother's beauty, and to whom he might 
 thereafter devote his best affections for that 
 mother's sake. Nay, so unaffected was the 
 self-abnegation of the widowed father, that he 
 gratefully accepted the proposal of an aunt of 
 Mr. O'Finistree's, the widow of an old English 
 baronet, who divided her time between Went- 
 worken Hall and her house in Cavendish Square, 
 to take the motherless infant into her own care ; 
 and so well did Lady Sinclair, who was herself 
 childless, fulfil her voluntary duties, that at each 
 successive visit to England, the earl found his 
 daughter more beautiful, more graceful^ and 
 more accomplished than at their previous 
 meeting. 
 
 At rare intervals. Lady Sinclair accompanied 
 her niece to GlenfiUan Castle, where they were 
 met by Lady Flora and Miss Margery, who, on 
 such occasions, contrived to display her houso- 
 wifely capabilities to great advantage in the 
 eyes of the earl ; while she found so much and 
 such serious occupation in the buttery and still- 
 room, that she was rarely visible elsewhere. In 
 short. Miss Margery was a genuine Macspleu- 
 chan, and as sharp as a needle ; and she looked 
 upon these opportunities as " the very skimming 
 of her life's milk," as she herself graphically 
 expressed it to a particular friend. It was now 
 or never with her, and she played her cards 
 well ; for when, on the death of Lady Sinclair, 
 which happened just as Madelaine had completed 
 her eighteenth year. Lord GlenfiUan found it 
 necessary to establish both his daughters be- 
 neath his own roof, he could not deny that she 
 was the most correct and eligible person whom 
 he could select, to relieve thern from tiie drud- 
 gery of housekeeping, and to throw a matronly 
 air over the establishment. 
 
 Fortunately also, as Lord GlenfiUan consider- 
 ed, Macspleuchan of Macspleuchan had paid the 
 debt of nature, though he had left several less 
 imperative debts unpaid ; and there being no 
 son to perpetuate the name and vulgarity of his 
 father, the earl felt less repugnance to offering 
 a home to the solitary Miss Margery. 
 
 Such, therefore, was the organization of Lord 
 Glenfillan's household when my father became 
 his guest. The lovely Lady Madelaine had 
 already been an inmate of the castle for a te- 
 dious year, during several months of which 
 period she had been condemned to the sole 
 companionship of her sister and her aunt ; the 
 earl's gout expedition having taken him from 
 home, before she had logg been domesticated 
 beneath his roof 
 
 And now, how am I to i 
 Madelaine 1 I have said 
 nineteen, that loveliest of all .nges 
 when, in additicm to her owi individual attrac- 
 tions, she possesses also wlun a French write' 
 
 to drscrihe the said Lady J 
 
 said that she was ju.st I 
 
 of all .Hges for a woman; 1 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 13 
 
 has wittily der.ned as la beaiUi du diable, that 
 sweet anj evanescent freshness, which, after 
 the age of twenty, is gone forever. 
 
 Like her mother, she was tall, and fair, and 
 fracelul, with regular and well-cut features ; 
 eyes like amethysts ; and a mouth of that rare 
 »nd peculiar description, which, when it is met 
 with, appears to convey more expression than 
 all the rest of the face combined. Her smile 
 was the very sunshine of the heart ; and her 
 scorn was so naturally seated upon the arched 
 and ruby lip, that it would have been insolent 
 in any one of less rank than a peer's daughter. 
 Perhaps, indeed, this latter expression was the 
 more habitual one to that fair mouth ; for, un- 
 fortunately, the exclusive education and habits 
 of Lady Madelaine had prepared her to find much 
 to despise in her natural home ; nor did her 
 French suivantc suffer any of the deficiencies of 
 either persons or things at Glenfillan to pass 
 unobserved. The " Aunt Margery" of the elder 
 sister never ceased to be the " Miss Macspleu- 
 chan" of the younger — an alien alike to her 
 heart and to her blood. She never forgot that 
 Lady Flora, altho|gh the first-born of an earl, | 
 was nevertheless the child of a roturirre ; and, 
 as Felicie delicately expressed it, merely "sa 
 s(Kur par rneprise." The family-coach was a ] 
 never-ceasing theme for contempt ; and the 
 family expedients something almost too absurd 
 to provoke a laugh. 
 
 From such of these as arose from certain 
 deficiencies in the Glenfillan treasury, the 
 haughty young beauty was happily exempt, 
 Lady Sinclair having considerately wound up 
 all her account of kindness and affection, by 
 bequeathing several hundreds-a-year to her be- 
 loved niece ; and, perhaps, to this circumstance 
 might be attributed much of the deference with 
 which she was regarded by her female relatives. 
 
 But, although pride was the predominant fea- 
 ture of Lady Madelaine's character, it must not 
 be supposed that she was destitute of other and 
 more endearing qualities. Her generosity was 
 unbounded. Her purse was a common prop- 
 erty whenever it could be rendered available ; 
 and her nature was enthusiastic and unsuspi- 
 cious. 
 
 Thus, it was only to, her very particular 
 friends that Miss Margery ventured to pour out 
 her vial of wrath against the " stuck-up Eng- 
 lish-bred quean who dared to look down upon 
 her niece Flora, her own niece by blood, and 
 own daughter to the right honorable the Earl 
 of Glenfillan ; and herself, own sister as she 
 was to the right honorable the countess," in 
 some of those quiet hours of gossipry and local 
 scandal, wliicii she contrived to secure in her 
 morning room ; and which helped to support 
 her through the tedium of a life, which, how- 
 ever enviable she had esteemed it so long as it 
 appeared to be unattainable, she had since learnt 
 to consider as an existence of constraint ; obli- 
 ging her, as she graphically expressed it, "always 
 to wear her company face." But, as Miss Mar- 
 gery was not a bad woman at heart, it is only 
 fair to remark, that even after these little con- 
 ferences, aUnough they always were held " with 
 closed doors " her conscience frequently pricked 
 her, as some act of uncaiculating generosity on 
 the part of the '• stuck-up English-bred quean" 
 toward herselt suddenly Pushed upon her mind. 
 
 Nor should the haughtiness of my mother—^ 
 for the beautiful and accomplished Lady Made- 
 laine was my mother ; and, as I am not writing 
 a melodrame, and have no genius for mystery, 
 I may as well say so at once — nor should her 
 haughtiness be too severely censured, inasmuch 
 as it had been one of the darling endeavors of 
 Lady Sinclair to iinpress her, from her earliest 
 girlhood, with an exalted idea of her own posi- 
 tion in society. Such a lesson is readily learnt, 
 for few things ^re more susceptible than human 
 vanity. " I will not," had said the cautious 
 aunt, " talk to her, at so early an age, of her 
 own personal attractions. The knowledge of 
 those will come soon enough ;" and so the dis- 
 creet lady only poured the guano over the soil 
 which was to produce " the earl's daughter," 
 and left the comments of her friends and ser- 
 vants to administer the unctuous matter which 
 was to force into bloom the budding vanity of 
 " the little beauty." 
 
 Thus she grew up — thanks to the care of her 
 anxious teachers — moderately vain, and uncom- 
 promisingly haughty ; whilst all her better qual- 
 ities were the spontaneous growth of her own 
 purer and nobler nature. A solitary season in 
 town, immediately before the death of her aunt, 
 during which she had been " the observed of all 
 observers," had not tended to diminish these 
 failings ; and thus, in her nineteenth year, the 
 Lady Madelaine Glenfillan was possessed of a 
 perfectly accurate knowledge of her own pre- 
 tensions, both personal and social, only to be 
 condemned, without any consolation save the 
 companionship of her French maid and her 
 Marlborough spaniel, to the solitude of a high- 
 land castle. 
 
 CHAPTER HL 
 
 And now some curious reader may wish to 
 be informed what motive the Earl of Glenfillan, 
 who, as the reader must have gathered, was by 
 no means a wealthy man, could have had in 
 pressing a casual acquaintance like my father, 
 and one, moreover, to whom he owed money, 
 to visit him in his home, and to see him sur- 
 rounded by his Dii Penates in the undress cos- 
 tume of a Scottish country gentleman. 
 
 Heaven bless the bonhomie of the simple- 
 hearted individual who ventures the inquiry ! 
 My lord had a penniless daughter, on the wrong 
 side of thirty, still unmarried ; and it had natu- 
 rally suggested itself to his mind that her quality 
 was an admirable counterpoise to my father's 
 wealth ; and that the luxurious commoner 
 would be unable to resist the temptation ol 
 hearing himself and his wife announced as Mr. 
 and Lady Flora Tilden, in the saloons of his 
 London friends. 
 
 But those who calculate without their host 
 require two reckonings. The noble lord did 
 not understand my father. That he had re- 
 solved never to marry any woman save one ot 
 high rank, was perfectly true ; but he was also 
 determined that she should do as much credit 
 to his taste as she would do honor to his name ; 
 and it was consequently in vain that poor Lady 
 Flora had received that very mysterious in- 
 junction, which is frequently given to young 
 ladies under such circumstances, <o " make thff 
 moat of herself ;" and . . n Mis*^- Ma'-gery an 
 
14 CONFHSSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 Douiiced, in close conclave, to her favorite gos- 1 driven home to the very head bY a determined 
 
 sips, lhat« Southron, worth his weight in golil, 
 was coming to the castle to marry her pet 
 niece. 
 
 I think I mentioned, when I originally intro 
 
 hand. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was easy for lookers-on to 
 perceive thai the earl quite considered lite rich 
 Englishman (to use a phrase of Madame de 
 
 duced the reader tolhe earl's family circle, that I Sevigne), as. un chou de son jardin. Noil 
 the Lady Flora was all smiles and welcome: could- exceed his delightful urbanity. In hi? 
 she was' doing as she was bid ; and, after her ' self-graliilation at having caught such a gudgeor. 
 first glance at the stranger, she found the task for his first-born, he performed upon himself 
 
 by no means difficult. My father bowed and 
 amiled, and his how was very graceful, and his 
 smile very gracious, but his eyes had already 
 
 exactly the same ceremony to whicti Mr. Petti- 
 grew subjects his mummies. One slifT fold 
 was cautiously unrolled after another, until at 
 
 wandered to a sofa, which was occupied by a I length the complete " form and fashion" of his 
 beautiful girl and a small lapdog. Having said I gracious composition was laid bare, and his 
 all that she could well say at such a moment, i whole purpose stood revealed to his astonished 
 the Lady Flora suffered Lord Glenfillan to lead 1 guest. 
 
 his guest toward his other daughter; and the ] Meanwhile, as I have said, the dessmts des 
 fair vision by which he had already been at- | carles was palpable enough to all save the pre- 
 tracted t)ent her snowy throat in a mule saluta- ' occupied lover. Every one could at once have 
 tion, worthy of an empress. Something like a laid a finger upon the truth. Lady Madelaine, 
 mocking smile played for an instant about her I indeed, was not left to the natural perspicacity 
 mouth; but she did not raise her eyes, as she ' of her own nature. She was duly informed by 
 again fell back upon her cushions, and pursued the earl of his lordship's condescending inlen- 
 her occupation of clasping a string of coral ^ tions ; and, at the moment, she opened wide 
 about the neck of the spaniel. both her fine eyes and her riroy lips, in intended 
 
 She was plainly but richly dressed in deep expostulation ; but an instant's reflection de- 
 mourning, which she had never thrown off since cided her to silence. Who shall determine 
 the death of her aunt : and ihe dazzling white- i wherefore 1 I think that 1 am myself suffi- 
 ness of her neck and arms was rendered still | ciently cognizant of the impulses and inirica 
 more conspicuous from the contrast. I shall cies of a pretty woman's heart to give a shrewd 
 enter into no further detail. I have already ! guess— but I forbear. 
 
 Slated that my mother was eminently beautiful ; j Miss Margery was radiant with happiness, 
 and, having given the grand outline of the pic- She had lived long enough in her youth among 
 ture, I Will leave my reader to wash in the lints the involved expedients and manoeuvres, to 
 as he may see lit. 1 which those housewives devote themselves 
 
 The curtain had now fairly risen upon the who act upon the homely old proverb that " a 
 drama which was to be enacted at Glenfillan. penny saved 's a penny got," to appreciate at 
 Like tho renowned Marquis of Carabbas, the , its full value the extent of my father's wealth, 
 earl believed that the world and all its con- ' so far as she was enabled to comprehend it. 
 tents, sentient and non-sentient, were created ' To be sure, as she remarked more than once 
 for the comfort and convenience of the aristoc- I to her pet gossip, " her niece Lady Flora Glen- 
 racy ; while no price could be too high for the fiUan had a right to look higher ; but ' a fat 
 plebeian to pay, for the privilege of entering its purse makes lean sorrow ;' and if she gained no 
 charmed circle ; and, with these sentiments, it title by this marriage, she would, at least, not 
 is not wonderful that he considered the mar- I lose her own." 
 
 riage of his elder daughter as certain as though I My father had been bidden to the castle for 
 it had been solemnized at St. George's, Hanover | "a few weeks ;" and when three of these sec- 
 Square, "in the presence of a select circle of tional periods of time had elapsed, desperately 
 distinguished friends." It would be a dignified, as he loved the Lady Madelaine, he lelt that 
 and lordly (and convenient) way of repaying as she had '• made no sign," despite all his ef- 
 all his obligations to his worthy guest: and he | forts to awaken her from her indifference, it 
 
 resolved that he would do the thing freely, and 
 
 cordially, and as though he scarcely looked upon 
 
 it as a condescension. 
 
 Oh, delicious self-delusion ! In what exquisite 
 
 was incumbent upon him to appear occupied 
 
 with parting intentions, leaving it for awhile to 
 
 absence and memory to work some miracle ia 
 
 IS behalf; but this free flight of the yet unjess- 
 
 mummery does poor human nature occasionally ed falcon formed no part of the earl's scheme, 
 indulge ! I He could not tell, if he thus launched the noble 
 
 For a time my father had no suspicion of the I bird once more into the wide horizon of London 
 generous intentions of the earl. How should I society, what quarry he might chance to strike ; 
 hel It was only by the common and necessary | and, moreover, there were, as I have already 
 courtesies of life that he was recalled to the fact I hinted, some small pecuniary matters still 
 of Lady Flora's existence. His heart had soon pending between them, which at that particular 
 followed the thrall of his eyes. He was passion- I moment it was not altogether convenient to 
 
 ately in love with the scornful Madelaine ; si 
 was precisely what novel-writers call " the 
 realization of his dreams ;" and, for the first 
 time in his life, my father began to believe that 
 he had found a woman of whom he was not 
 worthy: (or that Lord Glcntillan should have 
 had the audacity to couple him even in thought 
 with his elder daughter, was an idea which 
 could never enter his imagination, until it was 
 
 himself to investigate; it was, consequently, 
 not surprising that, with such strong reasons 
 on either side to remain together, the importu- 
 nities of the earl, breathing, as they cIkI, all 
 the disinterestedness of overflowing hospitality, 
 soon convinced my father that the weeks of his 
 residence at Glenfillan might grow into months, 
 without any impropriety on his part ; an ar 
 rangement which would enable him, m all protv 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 15 
 
 ability, to ascertain his fate before he parted 
 from Lady Madelaine. 
 
 My fatlier was no petulant and peevish lover. 
 He had wisdom enough to feel that if he were 
 indeed compelled to renounce all hope of win- 
 ning the noble beauty, ilie sooner he was made 
 conscious of the fact the better ; and that he 
 should be less an object of commiseration to 
 himself on his departure, if knowing the truth, 
 even although it should be an unpleasant one, 
 than living on in a slate of uncertainty for 
 months ; only, perhaps, to be ultimately disap- 
 pointed, when lime had rendered the one en- 
 grossing subject of his thoughts essential to the 
 after-happiness of his life. i 
 
 The only disinterested member of the family 
 was the little Marlborough spaniel, which, as it 
 lay on the sofa beside its mistress, rolled its 
 bright eyes over the group, with an expression 
 of luxurious and languid indifference. 
 
 To thejiospitable entreaties of the earl that 
 my father would extend his visit, both Lady 
 Flora and Miss Margery added their own ; but 
 the younger lady, toward whom the guest 
 glanced anxiously more than once during the 
 discussion, preserved a profound and apparently 
 unobservant silence. Lord jGlenfillan was so 
 earnest that he became heated by his own elo- 
 quence. Miss Macspleuchan, when she re- 
 flected upon the probable consequences of the 
 "rich Southron's" departure, grew positively 
 agitated. She had so long accustomed herself 
 to look upon his marriage with her favorite 
 niece as a matter of course — for the earl had 
 duly informed her also of his gracious purposes, 
 even before my father's arrival at the castle — 
 that she actually felt herself aggrieved ; and 
 she sat fuming and fidgeting, like one laboring 
 in silence under an affront which would gladly 
 have revenged itself in words. But Lady Flora 
 surpassed all the other actors in this exciting 
 scene. At first she had mingled her own en- 
 treaties with those of her father ; then, sud- 
 denly, she sank into silence, keeping her eyes 
 steadily and imploringly fixed upon the yielding 
 guest, who had no sooner murmured the assent 
 for which she was so eagerly listening, than, 
 uttering a faint and smothered exclamation, she 
 covered her face with her hands, and rushed 
 from the room. 
 
 By a spontaneous movement the earl seized 
 the hand of his guest, and wrung it earnestly, 
 with a most expressive gravity of countenance. 
 Miss Margery rose hastily, in a state of great 
 alarm, and followed her niece ; and, it so chan- 
 ced that, at the same moment, a servant enter- 
 ed to announce that a gentleman who had called 
 by appointment was awaiting Lord Glenfillan in 
 the library. 
 
 For the first time since his residence in the 
 castle, the Lady Madelaine and my father were 
 tite-a-Ute. 
 
 It was a sufficiently perplexing position for 
 the visitor, who could not quite repress his mor- 
 tification at the studied indifference of his young 
 hostess ; nor was the difficulty lessened by the 
 fact that, even when she heard her father sum- 
 moned from the room, she never raised her eyes 
 from the book upon which she had been engaged 
 tkf ^'ghout the conference. The earl had been 
 enchanted with her dignified reserve, forming, 
 as it did, to admirable a contrast to her sister's 
 
 emotion ; and he had consequently made no ef- ' 
 fort to obtain her cooperation. Miss Margery 
 considered that, for once, she had acted with 
 proper discretion in not interfering wilh the pros- 
 pects of her elder: while Lady Flora herself was 
 so absorbed by her own hopes and lears, that 
 she had utterly forgotten her existence. 
 
 Poor Lady Flora, meanwhile, was really an 
 object of pity. She had been pompously in- 
 structed by her father to overlook Mr. Tilden's 
 want of rank, when he was first expected, and 
 to accept at once the hand whicli would assured- 
 ly be at her disposal belbre he left Scotland, and 
 even then she (elt no whit inclined to disobey, 
 for her position in her paternal home was by no 
 means hyper-pleasurable. She heard that the 
 Englishman was immensely rich, and unusually 
 handsome ; and when the earl admitted that 
 he had reason to believe, from certain words 
 which had dropped from Mr. Tilden himself, 
 that he had been at some period engaged in com- 
 merce, he somewhat abruptly reminded her ihat 
 this fact would by no means render ilic match 
 a misalliance, as it would have done in ilie case 
 of Lady Madelaine ; her own mother having, pre- 
 viously to her marriage with himself, occupied a 
 station much less exalted than that of an English 
 merchant. 
 
 Lady Flora felt no inclination to contend the 
 question. She was satisfied wilh complaining 
 of the taunt to her sympathizing aunt. She had 
 almost begun to consider her establishment as 
 hopeless ; for even among the petty lairds who 
 were occasionally received at the casile, there 
 was a sufficient taste for youth and beauty to 
 fortify them against the prestige of her rank ; 
 and strangers were rarely indeed guests at 
 Glenfillan. 
 
 Like many persons whose means have been 
 inadequate to their pretensions, Lady Flora had 
 an inordinate idea of the power of wealth. She 
 could conceive no earthly evil, save death itself, 
 to which it could not afford a remedy — while 
 even to this exception it lent a sort of glory 
 which almost divested it of its bitterness — the 
 glory of lead, and mahogany, and gold-headed 
 nails : of armorial bearings, and velvet, and 
 feathers. The rich man's last sad and solemn 
 mockery ! 
 
 In this acquiescent mood of mind, she met 
 my father ; and what had at first been mere cu- 
 riosity and self-gratulation, soon grew into a 
 deeper feeling. Although utterly undble to ap- 
 preciate, as they deserved, either the elegance 
 of his person, or the refinement of his manner, 
 Lady Flora could nevertheless feel that he was. 
 to every man, save her father, with whom she 
 had hitherto been brought into contact, as " Hy 
 perion to a satyr." Assured that she was to 
 become his wife, she made no attempt to checV 
 the admiration with which she regarded him ; 
 and, from day to day, the feeling grew and 
 strengthened, until she began, for the first time, 
 to indulge in a violent jealousy of her young aim 
 beautiful sister. 
 
 Despite the remonstrances of Miss .Margery, 
 who affected to talk of Lady Madelaine as a fro- 
 ward child, she could not blind herself lo liie 
 fact that she was a most formidable rival ; and 
 it was only the dreaded beauty liersuH who suc- 
 ceeded in relieving the mind of Lady Flora from 
 its unaccustomed weight. Her coldness, bf 
 
16 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 indifference, her apparent abstraction, ultimately 
 satisfied the more vehement and less refined 
 mind of the bride presumptive that she was 
 perfectly uniniereste'l in the English stranger ; 
 and she accordingly pursued the even tenor of 
 her way, arranging with her prime minister, 
 Miss Margery, all her intended movements, 
 when she should have become Lady Flora Til- 
 den, the mistress of countless thousands, and 
 the titled member of an untitled family, who 
 would, as a matter of course, appreciate the 
 honor of her alliance. Miss Margery's projects 
 of housewifery were miraculous, and would 
 have astonished Meg Dodds herself; while those 
 of her nieco, although their magnificence did not 
 fail to dazzle the conspirators by whom they 
 were mooted, would have made no very serious 
 inroad upon my father's income. 
 
 Singular, meanwhile, had been the transition- 
 state of Lady Madelaine's feelings. When first 
 informed of the expected advent of the English 
 stranger, and the intended purpose of the earl, 
 she only curled her lip, and murmured some- 
 thing which sounded like "roturier!" at which 
 Lord Glenfillan laughed, patted her smooth 
 cheek, and bade her remember that it was not 
 herself whom he was anxious to establish. Her 
 own independence of the arrangement she could 
 easily understand ; nor was her noble father's 
 anxiety to provide for her plain, and, as Feiicie 
 called her, antediluvian sister, at all difficult to 
 comprehend ; but the result of the conference 
 was a deep and scornful contempt for the mo- 
 neyed plebeian, who could thus be disposed of 
 at the will of a tilled acquaintance. So utter, 
 indeed, was her disdain, that she never heard 
 his name mentioned without a feeling of annoy- 
 ance. The unknown guest was her bete noire; 
 and she shuddered as she reflected on the abso- 
 lute necessity of showing civility to such a 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 When they at length met, the graceful, and 
 withal haughty demeanor of my father, in some 
 degree, disturbed her calculations; but as she 
 had a most powerful prejudice to overcome, she 
 almost persuaded herself that she dislrivcd him. 
 The high-bred simplicity of his character, his 
 utter want of value for wealth, save as a mean 
 for the attainment of higher objects, she de- 
 nounced as a pitiful afTeciation. How was it 
 possible that a man should under-estimate his 
 only advantage! 
 
 Three weeks, as I have already stated, had 
 elapsed from the arrival of my father at Glenfil- 
 lan Castle, to the morning on which he announ- 
 ced his intention of departure. Why did the 
 volume, upon which the Lady Madelaine ap- 
 peared to be so earnestly engaged, tremble in 
 her clasp 1 No, sapient reader ! you are wrong. 
 She did not love my father. And yet his threat- 
 ened evasion afltcted her powerfully. Here is 
 the word of the enigma. In the first place, Lady 
 Madelaine was a woman : in the next place, she 
 was a pretty woman : and, in the third place, she 
 was young and vain. She had soon suspected 
 that my father loved her : she had penetration and 
 judgment enough to decide that he was a gentle- 
 man, and that he was quite conscious of all that 
 was due to himself as such ; to all which con- 
 victions was superadded the fact that, since her 
 domestication at Glenfillan, she had never pre- 
 vioufcly seen any one on whom it would not have 
 
 been caviare to expend her brilliant coquetries. 
 There was someiWmg fiquanie, too, in the idea 
 of having, without one poor effort, won the heart 
 which was already considered as " property" by 
 another, although that other did chance to be 
 plain and antediluvian ; and there was, par des- 
 sus tout, a spice of mortification in being com- 
 pelled to believe that the net was too frail to 
 hold the capture. 
 
 And thus it chanced, gracious reader, that 
 the volume did tremble in the clasp of the Lady 
 Madelaine, when my father announced his in- 
 tention to depart on the morrow. Lady Flora 
 had, as I have stated, rushed from the room in 
 the attitude of a tragic actress : Miss Margery 
 had followed with more good-will than dignity; 
 his lordship of Glenfillan had been summoned 
 to an interview ; and the Lady Madelaine and 
 my father were, for the first time in their lives, 
 titc-li-tete. 
 
 For a moment there was silence. ^My fathei 
 stood where his host had left him, near the ta- 
 ble in the centre of the vast apartment ; and the 
 lady sat, half-buried amid her cushions, in a 
 lounging-chair near the open window. The po- 
 sition was embarrassing for the gentleman ; but 
 he soon rallied, and, approaching the silent 
 beauty, remarked steadily — 
 
 " If I could only flatter myself that the Lady 
 Madelaine was not utterly indifferent to my de- 
 cision...." 
 
 He was met by such a look of scornful won- 
 derment that he was at once answered ; for it 
 said, as plainly as a look could say : " How do 
 you imagine that it can have awakened my in- 
 terest!" and then the large eyes were once 
 more dropped upon the book, and their long, 
 dark lashes rested like a fringe upon the slightly- 
 suffused cheek. My father bowed profoundly, 
 with a haughtiness worthy of Lady Madelaine 
 herself, and turned to leave the room. 
 
 " Do not mistake me, sir ;" said the sweet 
 voice to which he loved to listen, before he 
 had traversed the floor ; " I am happy that Lord 
 Glenfillan should have been enabled to render 
 his residence sufficiently agreeable to his guest, 
 to make him willing to extend his visit ; but I 
 have never considered myself privileged to in- 
 terfere with any of my father's arrangements." 
 
 There must have been something infinitely 
 less cold in the tone than in the words of this 
 address ; for it is certain that, instead of leaving 
 tlve room, according to his original intention, 
 my father reversed his movement, and again 
 approached the lady. 
 
 This was her first triumph. She felt that she 
 had not deceived herself— that he could not leave 
 her coldly — that he did love her. The convic- 
 tion brought a bloom to her cheek. Her wo- 
 man-vanity was satisfied ; and she valued his 
 preference the more that she had seen him in 
 the very act of sacrificing his passion to his 
 pride. Accustomed as she had been since her 
 girlhood to admiration, she felt the dreary and 
 monotonous tenor of her life at Glenfillan agree- 
 ably relieved by the certainty of a new adorer; 
 and one, too, whom, in her heart of hearts, she 
 was conscious that she could not despise. With 
 these sentiments, nothing could be more natural 
 than that she should be averse to the departure 
 of so eligible an inmate. 
 
 Let no rigid moralist decide that this course 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 17 
 
 CI a ;ti(>n involved treacliery to Lady Flora. My \ 
 tiioilier was well awnre, lieiore the Englishman j 
 had passed a week in the casiie, that her father's ' 
 P'.oject must I'atl. He was not one of those 
 inanageahlo and will-less heinu:s, who are mere \ 
 numan thistle-down, sa:liM<,', wahoui reluctance, 
 along any wmd wlneh may chance to blow ; and , 
 still less did I.e resemble the mean-spirited para- 
 sites who feci SPfMrity only in the stability of 
 the object to which I hey cling. She had long been 1 
 convinced that even had there existed no Lady 
 Madelaine GhnliUan, there would assuredly 
 never have been a Lady Flora Tihh'n. Mt/ 
 f'itlier and her sister were, as she at once dis- 
 covered, the very antipodes of each olh?r ; they 
 were oil and water — snow and fire — romance 
 and reality — sentimeni and maiter-of-fact — the 
 two e.Kiremities of a straight line, never destined 
 by any possibiliiy to ciuiie together; and, such 
 being the case, her (tonscience was at ease as 
 regarded her d^niy to her family, while she felt 
 no inclinatKin lo Ibiego the opportunity of re- 
 lieving her own cnmu. 
 
 If I go on ampliiyiiig iny explanation so large- 
 ly, however, i shall never terminate tlie tetc-a- ' 
 f&te upon which I have ventured lo intrude ; and ! 
 I will, therelbre, resume it with the second ar- j 
 rival of my fiither beside the lounging-chair. 
 Pygmalion had at least awakened the statue 
 into life, and he was naturally anxious to ascer- 
 tain in how lar his skill would turn to his own 
 advantage. 
 
 " Do ytm indeed believe, Lady Madelaine," 
 he asked, in the same suppressed voice in which 
 he had tirst spoken, " thai your presence under 
 his lordship's roof can tail to exert a despotic 
 power over all within ihe sphere ol its inHiiencel ' 
 And am I to he the only milortunate individual to , 
 whom it is hrrbuhlen to acknowledge its suprein- ' 
 aoy 1 Surely this is someuhat ungenerous!" j 
 
 "Nay, nay!" exclaimed the lady, with a 
 half-coijiieiiish and all-harmomous laugh, as .she 
 extended iowaids him her small white hand ; 
 "you remain here, and we cannot aflbrd, in 
 such a sohtude as this, o live together in en- 
 uiity. At all events, I p opose a iruce." 
 
 "And 1 accept your u rms," said my father, 
 bending his lips u|)on Ihf hand he held. 
 
 "Do you admire Ka" ne !" asked the lady, 
 raising her Ixauiiful ey. 3 to his face for an in- 
 stant ; " with all his monotony of cadence, 
 surely he was a great fr..et." 
 
 "And lived in a grct age," was the reply ; 
 " great ahke in its Iu7-..ry, its ambition, and its 
 vices. It is, 1 conff.?.i, somewhat difficult to 
 me, as I turn ove/ the pages of his tragic 
 dramas, to f^.^i-e to myself the auihor of An- 
 dromache fj'.e/ ,-)g 'Jic caprices of a court, and 
 the chances r; r^ camp." — (Uy this time my i 
 father had dr ,w , a chair near that of the lady, I 
 and estal)lislicd '.irnielf comfortably at her side.) 
 — " Nor do 1 h.) j it more easy to reconcile the 
 pliability at' ler.perament which enabled the 
 man of genius to v^ie with a group of witless 
 courtiers in (lailrr:ng a vain and sensual mon- 
 arch, beyond t^c bounds of modesty and rea- 
 son." 
 
 "Racine!" exclaimed the Lady Madelaine, 
 interested in spite of herself by the turn which 
 her own quesl'oii had given to the conversa- 
 tion ; " I do not remember to what you allude. 
 Perhaps you will relate the anecdote." 
 C 
 
 " It is brief and simple," said my father 
 " \\'hen Louis XIV. pensioned Racine and D(!S 
 preaiix as the historians of his reign, the war 
 against Germany was still at its height ; and a 
 few days after the Marshal de (/reijiii compelled 
 the Prince of Saxe and Senac to capiiulaie, the, 
 king remarked to them that he regretted their 
 absence Iroiii the army upon that occasion, a3 
 it would have enabled them to see a little light- 
 ing, without much exertion or fatigue; upon 
 which Racme replied, ' Sire, wc are two citi- 
 zens, who have only jirovided ourselves with a 
 costume suited to peace and study ; we had in- 
 deed ordered suits more appropriate to the 
 camp, but your majesty takes the places which 
 you attack with such rapidity, that our tailors 
 have not had time to hnisb them.' Surely 
 this was unworthy of a great genius." 
 
 "Paliry and pitiful!" acquiesced the lady, 
 with a contemptuous toss of her little head ; 
 "a woman would have spurned st) coarse and 
 so fulsome a flattery." 
 
 Now I am quite sure that my reader was to- 
 tally unprepared for siu-li a dialogue as this ; 
 and yet, all hough il progressed m preci.sely the 
 same manner lo its clo.se, and Uial not one 
 word of gallantry escaped the li()s of my f.ilher, 
 and not one seiitein'c ,il' eiieou.ragemiiU was 
 uttered by those of his companion, both paitiea 
 were c<mscious, when the reappearance of tlie 
 earl broke up liie conversation, thai each was 
 an object of interest to the other. My father 
 had, by a delicacy of tact natural to him. avoid- 
 ed every opportunity of alarming the piide of 
 the young beauty, and eonse(|uenlly made more 
 progress in her favor than he could have done 
 by a sc(ire of idle flattejries. She was indi-bled 
 to him for an hour of calm and rational enjoy- 
 ment ; and, moreover, she felt she had con- 
 vinced him that her beauty was not ihe only 
 quality for which she was worthy lo be loved. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My father's orders were countermanded. His 
 valet somewhat sullenly, and very reliictanily, 
 replaced all the cosily toys on the dressing- 
 table, and returned all the linen lo the drawers. 
 There was no Lady Madelaine in the .servant's 
 hall. 
 
 A few days subsequently the earl ceased to 
 address his guest as "Mr. Tildm ;" he believed 
 that he had now all the court-cards in Ins own 
 hand; and it was simply " TiKlen," or '''my 
 dear fi How." He made no comment upon the 
 fact that both gun and fishing-rod were aban- 
 doned, and thai my failier lounged away all his 
 mornings beside the work-table of the ladies, 
 tuning Lady Madelaine's guitar, or drawing 
 patterns for her sister's worstedwork. 
 
 By the by. Lady Flora never looked so com- 
 pletely as though she were fulfilling the end ol 
 her creation, as when seen behind her frame, 
 and amid piles of (Jerman wool. The labori- 
 ous idleness of this heating and ponderous em- 
 pioyirient just suited her capacity. She felt 
 that she was busy, that she appeared indnstiious;. 
 and, moreover, nothing could be more conve- 
 nient Ihan the fact that when she ventured tc 
 lake part in a conversation to which she was 
 not competent, and could not readily exlncats 
 
18 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 herself from the consequences of her own ' 
 temerity, she found a never-failing resnurce in 
 the " one, two, three, light green — two, dark ' 
 preen — one. two, three, yellow" — and so on, 
 by which she contrived to wind up her periods, i 
 
 Tins was, however, a case of " voluntary la- 
 bor ;" for I do not hclieve tiiat eitiier I,ady 
 Madeleine or my father would have remarked 
 the circumstance, even had she strangled every I 
 sentence in the utterance. I 
 
 Miss Margery was tiie only blot upon this | 
 picture of still life. She was so essentially j 
 what the French denominate remuanfe, that ! 
 she Was never quiet in one place for half an I 
 hour logfiher. If her niece were born to exe- 
 cute large pieces of worstedwork, which, when 
 they were linished (and very few elaborate un- 
 deriakiiigs of this nature ever are linished), 
 looked almost as well as squares of indifferent- 
 ly-woven carpet ; she was as certainly sent 
 into the world to 
 
 "chronicle smnll beer;" 
 
 and, accordingly, her miiuiie avocations were, 
 if not altogether without aim, decidedly with- 
 out end. 
 
 Dut, alas ! this state of things could not last 
 forever. The earl, quite convinced of the wis- 
 dom and desirability of his own arrangements, 
 never suffered himself to doubt, for a moment, 
 to which of his daughters Mr. Tilden was de- 
 voting himself. Of course, he would not pre- 
 sume to lift his eyes to the Lady Madelaine ; [ 
 and equally of course, the large fortune of the | 
 handsome commoner should not be allowed to ' 
 go out of the family. Noihing, theielore, could 
 have happened better. The Glenfillau star was 
 in ilie ascendant. Flora would soon be provi- 
 ded for; and he should orfly have to find a suit- 
 able and satisfactory parti for his bcautiiul 
 .Madi'laine. In this there could be no dilhculty. 
 The climax of his reflections was their most 
 raiioiial feature. 
 
 All these fair visions, dovetailing so pleasant- 
 ly together in his mind, like 
 
 '• A liiikeJ chain of sweelness long drawn out," 
 naturally rendered him anxious to force for- 
 ward their realization; and my lather was ac- 
 cordinj;ly disturbed one morning — ^just as he 
 was dcfply engaged in looking over, with l.ady 
 Madelaiiic, a portfolio of drawings and prints 
 l)y which he had illustrated his European tour, 
 and accompanying each landscape or cobtume 
 with soini' appropriate anecdote — by a message 1 
 from the earl, requesting, should Mr. Tilden | 
 not be oilierwisB employed, the pleasure of his 
 company in his lordship's study. i 
 
 Ajircipos — What a singular caprice it ra on I 
 the priit of all stupid men to nickname one I 
 cosy, snug, .sleep-mviiing liiile a|)arimenl in 
 their houses by tliis imp>ising name; crowding 
 Its walls with shelves lull of books which they | 
 never read, and its tables with paper upon which | 
 they never write I I rarely enter one of these [ 
 calumniated cabinets without thinking of the ; 
 Uashfiil Man in the Spectator, who, m helping 
 hims'lf to what he supposed to be a voIuuk; oI' 
 Xenophon, drew down on his unhapjty head a 
 ponderous lioard, leathered artd gill into tlie (air | 
 semblance of a set of classics ; and expended i 
 upon his best suit the ink of the cajiacious I 
 stand wh;ch had been destined to dry up in | 
 quiet and undisturbed dignity. He is probably [ 
 
 not the only individual who has suffered from 
 a similar mistake. 
 
 The request was peculiarly ill timed, for my 
 father felt that he had never yet hi en listened 
 to with an attention so marked and fiattering. 
 'J'he fair lady had taken so unaffected an inter- 
 est in the liille episodes of his traveling life, 
 and had received with so much genuine pleasure 
 the half-dozen drawings and cameos, which he 
 had ventured to offer to her, that a bright hope 
 sprang up in his heart which he had never he- 
 fore entertained. There was, however, n' 
 remedy for the evil. Common politeness co!.i- 
 pelled his immediate acquiescence in the carl's 
 request: and he closed the portf(dio with a lit- 
 tle gesture of impatience, easily interpreted by 
 his companion. 
 
 " I beseech you, do not run away with it," 
 she said, smilingly ; " if you have sufficient con- 
 fidence in my good taste to believe that it will 
 prove a charming resource for my indolence, 
 while my lord asks your advice on some mat- 
 ter of agricultural interest, or country justice; 
 though I warn you that I may probably lay 
 aside all that strikes my fancy ; and condemn 
 you, on your return, to such graphic and legerj- 
 dary illustration as may sorely try your pa- 
 tience." 
 
 " I will willingly encounter the risk, hazard- 
 ous though it be," replied my father as he lelt 
 the room.'w'ith a firm intention to render the 
 period of his absence as short as possible. 
 
 His own impression, as, preceded by the 
 grave old butler, he wended his way to the 
 earl's sanctum, was simply that Lord Glenfil- 
 lan was psobably in want of a few additional 
 hundreds, and was about to do him the lionor 
 of asking them at his hands ; and no idea could 
 possibly have been more agreeable to my fathei. 
 It vvould be another link of kindness and good- 
 will between them ; and he was naturally anx- 
 ious to create these by every means in his pow 
 er, while this was one of the most ready and 
 easy which he could encounter. 
 
 One glance at my lord, as he entered the 
 room, however, sufficed to undeceive him. 
 The earl had' by no means ihe appearance of a 
 m;in about to ask- a loan. There was a self- 
 gratulatory graciousncss about him, which for 
 an instant made my father fear that, on the 
 contrary, he was about to rescind that which 
 he had already contracted. But, in this, he 
 was equally at fault. 
 
 Lrtira Glf.nfillan was in the true study cos- 
 tume : a brocaded silk dressing-gown, yellow 
 morocco slippers, and a velvet skull-cap. He 
 was rubbing his palms together gently and 
 quietly, like a person well-satisfied, who was 
 prepared to be amiable ; and when tired of this 
 amusement, he indulgfd the playfulness of his 
 spirit by twirling the tassels which were at- 
 tached to the cord that confined his dressing- 
 gown at the waist. He inoti(.ned my tather to 
 an easy chair with a sweet smile and a grace- 
 ful wave ol the hand ; and seated liii)i>elf oppo- 
 site to him with much the same air as a mon- 
 arch assumes when he is about to give audi- 
 eiiee. He had evidently more trouble in "ton- 
 ing down" his urbuniiy, than in creating a 
 semblance to the virtue when he had it not 
 He was, in short, the very embodiment of h" 
 man sunshine. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 19 
 
 Hf- opened the conference with a sapient re- 
 mark upon the weather. The dense log which, 
 8t iJayhreak, iiunir like a dark douil upon the lake, 
 and maite the larches on the opposite hill quite 
 invisible from the windows, had really cleared 
 off in a most extraordinary manner. Indeed, 
 he did not kno'v wlien he ha(l seen a finer day. 
 It was almost a sin in a young man, like his 
 friend Tilden, to remain mewed up in the house 
 when he might be amid tiie heather with his 
 gun upon his shoulder. He, however, could 
 not hut feel the contrary mode of action as a 
 vast coinplimant to his family circle; and was 
 delighted to find that there was amusement 
 enough within the castle walis, to satisfy so 
 truant a personage as his present guest. 
 
 My faiher, of course, could only bow, and 
 smiie, and declare that he could expect no en- 
 joyment without, even upon the heathery hills, 
 with sport at pleasure, to equal that which he 
 could command within. And then there was 
 a short pause. The guest waited to learn what 
 was to he the subject of the tctc-atcte ; and Use 
 host did not altogether know how to broach it. i 
 
 At length he assumed his most sonny look, | 
 and throwing himself back upon his seat, while ! 
 he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon an experi- 
 ment which he was trying, and which consisted 
 in joining the fingers of iiis two hands at tlie | 
 point; and then, closing the palms slowly and 
 caiefully together, as thocgh he were anxious 
 to convince himself that they were both per- j 
 fectly of a size, he said, in an accent of great 
 benignity— | 
 
 " I am more than pleased, my dear fellow, 
 that it should be so ; for, although no longer 
 young myself, I have not yet quite forgotten 
 that men of yojir age do not abandon the sports | 
 of the field, and ihe manly exercises to which 
 they are accu.stomed. without a powerful induce- 
 ment ; and, even delicately situated as I arn, I \ 
 cannot resist telling you, Tilden, how much I j 
 rejoice that such should be the case." | 
 
 And the earl, having by this time satisfied 
 himsell that his hands were indubitably fellows, 
 extended one of them to his vrsitiir, with a 
 frankness which \vas quite beautiful. 
 
 My lather was s<miew|iat startled, but still 
 more gratified. He eagerly grasped the offered 
 hand, and was about to reply, when, with a nod 
 of intelligence, Lord Glenlillan continued : 
 
 '• I am the last man in the wiirld, as I am 
 sure that you who know me will concede at 
 once, to approve of fetnale demonstration in 
 delicate aflairs of this kind : but still, I am 
 aware that women, even of the purest minds 
 and most refined natures, have certain little oc- 
 cult methods of testilying their preference, of 
 N\hich ilipy are themselves almost uoconscious, 
 !2ut whi(th iriust carry conviction to the mind of 
 the person so distinguished ; nor do I fear to 
 have deceived myself, in the belief that you 
 have IkjUi experienced and reciprocated these 
 evidences in my dear girl." 
 
 " My h)rd,'" exclaimed my father, earnestly : 
 ** this IS indeed noble on your part ! For I can- 
 not, 1 Will not affect to misinterpret the gene- 
 rous feding which has prompted you to speak 
 thus openly. I only fear that your friendship 
 for me has led you to exaggerate in my favor the 
 few sfght marks of attention with which the lady I 
 kas honored mc." i 
 
 " Tush ! tush !" coughed his lordship, sup- 
 pressing under this slight convulsion the sm-ile 
 that was rising to his lips ; " I will be your se- 
 curity ; and, had I valued you less, either as a 
 man or as a friend, than I actually do, 1 would 
 not have been so imprudent as to domesticate 
 you for weeks together with my daughters. 
 Had I been merely ambitious for them, I might 
 doubtlessly have tna.ried them to rank equal, 
 if not su[)erior, to my own ; but I am at on<;e a 
 father, and a man of the world. As the first, I 
 desire only their happiness. As the second. I 
 feel that I shall be more honored in a son-in 
 law like yourself, than in many a titled booby, 
 who has but his ancestry to keep his folly and 
 his vice in countenance. Permit me — " (lor 
 my father was about to speak) — " I did not re- 
 quest the pleasure of your presence here this 
 morning in order that we might bandy compli- 
 ments, but simply that man to man we might 
 speak openly and frankly on equal ground.''^ 
 (Here the emphasis was ponderous ; and the 
 earl coughed again, for he felt tliat he had sur- 
 passed himself) "If' I am not deceived, and 
 that you love my daughter, say so unreservedly ; 
 and I, on my side, will venture to assure you 
 ttiat you are not indifferent to her." 
 
 " My lord," said my father, in considerable 
 agitation, " I do love her, and that with no 
 common affection, but with the whole energy 
 of a heart which bad ever hitherto been insen- 
 sible to the attractions of her sex." 
 
 '* I rejoice extremely to hear it," replied Lord 
 Glenfillan, " extremely ; and rather that, like 
 your own, hers, I can venture to affirm, is also 
 her first love. Such marriages are of rare oc- 
 currence in the worhl at the present day." 
 
 And the earl looked intelligent and senten- 
 tious, and as though he had discovered the nest 
 of the phcenix, and was about to rifle its ashes. 
 
 " Will your lordship pardon me," said the visi- 
 tor, " if, despiie the encouragement which your 
 opinion is so well calculated to hold out, I ven- 
 ture to hesitate, ere I yield to the hope of so 
 much happiness ; for / cannot conceal from 
 myself the conviction, that the lady has never 
 given me the most remote cause to believe that 
 she entertained any regard for me, save that 
 which she considered to be my due as lier 
 noble father's guest." 
 
 " And yet, my dear Tilden, I am so well con- 
 vinced to the contrary," replied the earl, " that 
 we will, if you please, lay aside that considera- 
 tion this morning, in order to discuss others of 
 more irioment. But first" (and once more he 
 extended his hand, with a gesture of affection- 
 ate and paternal frankness), "let me tell you 
 that you have made me a happy man — a very 
 happy man. My dear, motherless girls are my 
 greatest treasure on earth ; and to feel that, to 
 all human seeming, I have secured the happi- 
 ness of one of them, is huleed a great comfort. 
 Having premised tln^s uiuch, however, I consid- 
 er it due to myself; as a man of honor and a 
 gentleman, to warn you, before the affair ia 
 mentioned to my daughter, that I shall be en- 
 abled to do little,- very little, for her, as regards 
 fortune." 
 
 " My dear lord ! . . ." 
 
 " Nay, my good sir, do me the favor (o hear 
 me out. The lailure of a son to succeed to my 
 title and estates, and who would, moreove- 
 
20 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY \^ OMAN. 
 
 have doubtlessly lell it to be his duty to portion l 
 Ills biaU'i's as hecuiiie llieir rank, has Irainiiieled j 
 me in a paintnl degree. 'I'he lutiire Earl of, 
 Glenfillan is a morose recluse, with a needy i 
 family of five boys. There is nothing to he ex- ' 
 peeled from him ; and the rather, that there has 
 been feud between us for tlie last twenty years. 
 In fact, we were never friends, even from our I 
 'joylioud. He was apt to piesume upon our re- 
 lHiionshi(); and I, Mr. Tilden. was, on my side, ! 
 quite willing to foigei it. Enough, iiowever, | 
 of the luture earl. The fortunes vvliich I can 
 otier wiih my daughters are, consequently, only 
 the fruits of my personal economy ; and I am, 
 therefore, an.xious tliat the liitle which they do 
 possess should be secured to ihein." 
 
 " Sutler me to he equally concise, my lord," 
 said my Jalher, when tiiere was a pause. " I 
 am ready to settle ten thousand a year upim 
 liie Lady Madelaine Glentillan, to be di.-;posed 
 of as she shall see fit at her demise: and — " 
 
 " To settle upon iclwm, sir?" asked the earl, 
 grasping his knees wiili his hands, and leaning 
 lorward in his eh.nr, until his face almost 
 touclied tliat of his companion. 
 
 "Upon your lordship's daughter, the Lady 
 Madelaine." 
 
 " The Lady Madelaine !" gasped out the be- 
 wildered nobleman. " Surely you never imagin- 
 ed, sir, that I was offering to you the hand of 
 l!ie L<)dy Madelaine!" 
 
 " I know not how (Hherwise to interpret your 
 lordohip's words," said my lather, with ofl'end- 
 ed dignity; "1 caniioi sup()ose that such an 
 interview was inieiuied as a jest." 
 
 •> Have I not two daughters, sir? Does not 
 « father n:iturally seek to establish the elder I 
 Is the l.ady Elora a cipher ! I offered to you, 
 sir, I he hand of the Lady Flora." 
 
 " In that case, my lord," said the guest, ris- 
 ing Irom his seat, " our conl'erenco is ended. I 
 have the greatest possible re.--pect for Lady 
 Fhira CJlenrillan ; but I must he excused if Ij 
 decline to hecome the husband of any woman 
 for whom 1 could never enieriain a warmer 
 feeling. I deeply regret the misunderstanding 
 which lias led to so unpleasant a scene ; but 
 feel satisfied that l)oih the lady and yourself 
 will exonerate me trom tilame when you have 
 calmly and in detail passed my conduct in re- 
 view." 
 
 '• I have uttered no word of blame, sir," said 
 the earl sullenly, as he also ro.-^e ; "I confess 
 myself deceived by appearances, by prohahili- 
 lies — perhaps somewhat by the bent of my own j 
 wishes." I 
 
 My father bowed coldly. "Has your lord- 
 ship any commands for England !" 
 
 '• IS'ay, nay, Mr. 'I'ilden, do noi be so jjrecipi- 
 taie," said his host, in a more concdiaioiy 
 lone. "13ecau;e I have conlebsed that 1 de- 
 eired y(tu as a son-in-law, and that vou have 
 declined the alliance which I proposeil, we need 
 not, in consequence, become sii angers — I will 
 not say eneiMcs; f.ir 1 know my own nature, 
 and have loo good an opiniim of yours, to be- 
 lieve such an extreme prol),d)le." 
 
 " You do no more than justice to both of us, 
 my lord," rejihi'd my failier ; " but, my eyes 
 being now (qiened to the hopelessness <d an at- 
 ta<diiiient winch I have not scrupled to confess, 
 I will be frank enough to avow, moreover, that 
 
 r dare not remain within the influence of thfl 
 Lady Mddelaine's beauty, fi)r tiie sake of my 
 own peace. I may yet be enabled to overcome 
 the passion which I have conceived for lier. I 
 will, at all events, struggle to do so; but the 
 longer I expose myself to the charnjs of an in- 
 tercourse, which brings me into constant con 
 tact with her lovely person and accomplished 
 mind, the less hope can I ratiimaiiy entertain 
 of regaining the peace that 1 have lost. I have, 
 as I believe 1 may have mentioned to your 
 lordship, occasionally contemplated a voyage to 
 the East. I will now execute that intention. 
 I shall leave none behind to regret me, be my 
 fate what it may " 
 
 There was a sadness, almost a bitterness, in 
 the tone wiih wl»icb the last words were utter- 
 ed, which served as a fair apology for the emo- 
 tion with which the earl grasped the arm of his 
 companion, as he exclaimed hurriedly — 
 
 " For my own sake, for the sake of hospitali- 
 ty, my good sir, I cannot siitFer you to leave 
 Glenfillan in such a mood of mind. Surely you 
 have roved about enough, and owe something 
 to your country and your friemls." 
 
 " My friends are few," was the reply ; •' and 
 to my couniiy I can be of no service whatever. 
 I have now only to learn to live for myself, and 
 the lesson is scarcely worth the pains that it 
 will cost." 
 
 " Nay, nay — the world has too many claima 
 upcm you to suffer that you should fall into mis- 
 anthropy," persisted Lord Glenfillan. " Your 
 very wealth multiplies your duties, while it as- 
 sures you alike power and enjoyment." 
 
 " Do not mock me, my lord," said my father, 
 with increased bitterness; "an hour has not 
 yet elapsed since your own words taught me 
 the amount of each which riches could com- 
 mand. After what has passed between us, I 
 feel that I must necessarily he dc trup under 
 your roof, both to the Ladies Glenfillan and to 
 myself." 
 
 " Do not wrong /hem — do not wrong us all, 
 my dear Tilden. Be ruled for once. Again I 
 beg of you not to leave us in such a mood oj 
 mind. Indeed we cannot spire you at this mo- 
 ment. You have made 'several engagementa 
 with the ladies, for which they depend on you. 
 Promise me that you will not leave us with 
 a sudtlenness which may excite surprise, and 
 perhaps remark. I ask this as a favor." 
 
 " Your lordship's reipiest is undoubtedly too 
 flattering to he opposed," said my failier. "1 
 will not leave the casile, at least, for a day oi 
 two, since such is really your wish ; hut suffei 
 me now to retire to my room, for I feel that 1 
 am somewhat agitated, and shall be beltei 
 alone." 
 
 "Ten thousand a year!" muttered the earl, 
 as he again sank into his chair, when my fathei 
 bad left ihe room: "ten thousand a year, to 
 be disposed of at will, on her demise ! and — I 
 wonder what was to follow ! Could 1 have 
 sup|)ressed my aimoyanf-e, I might have heard 
 all. Fo<d that I am ! I ought to have foreseen 
 that a fellow as proud as Lucifer, and as rich 
 as Gia?sus, woulil never marry Flora. J won- 
 der if M.idelaine might be induced to bend hei 
 proud spirit to the match. Certain it is, thai 
 she will never again have such an opportunity. 
 However, au jour la journce, i must dciaiu hira 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 21 
 
 ^e^e, and trust to time and foituiie fof the Mr. Tilden has, indeed, become attached — pow 
 
 rest." erlully attached — to a member of my family; 
 
 And having finished his soliloquy, the earl but, I fear, hopelessly." 
 
 rang his hell, and desired a servant to summon 
 the Lady Madelaine. 
 
 You fear, my lord !" exclaimed the young 
 lady, suddenly looking up with a flash of her 
 natural haughtiness. At that moment she en- 
 tirely lost sight of the interesting and refined 
 companion, and saw only the plebeian in her 
 nohle father's guest. 
 
 "I used the word advisedly, my dear Made 
 laine. You well know how highly I estimate 
 our proud and ancient blood, as well .as your 
 own excelling lovelmess and merit; but I have 
 already hinted to you, that for a time our con- 
 versation was carried on in nnitual misunder- 
 
 corne the husband of Lady Flora' 
 
 "I (lid, indeed, commit that extravagance," 
 said the earl, somewhat offended by the tone 
 in which tlie question was put ; " nor do I con- 
 sider it so extreme as it may appear to your- 
 self Mr. Tilden is no longer a boy ; therefore 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In about ten minutes the r,ady Madelaine ap- 
 peared, fiillowod by lier Marlborough spaniel, 
 who, with all the confidence of a spoiled favor- 
 ite, intruded himself into the conft-rence. 
 
 There was an expression of tremor and anx- 
 iety about the young beauty, very unusual ; 
 and, as she took possessi<m of the chair to i standing. \, very naturally, thought only of 
 which the earl motioned her, she raised her your sister; Mr. Tilden, full of his own feelings, 
 eyes to bis face with an earnestness which be- thought only of yourself; and thus we dis- 
 spoke at once curiosity and alarm. | cussed the affair without either having named 
 
 "You will npver believe, Madelaine," com- j the person of whom he spoke, until, in allusion 
 menced Lord Glenfillan, " that I have requested to the settlement which he proposed to make 
 your presence here on such a suiiject as the , upon his wife, Mr. Tilden mentioned the Lady 
 refusal of a commoner to form an alliance with j Madelaine Glenfillan. You may imagine my 
 tny family." asionishmeni !" 
 
 The cheeks and forehead of the lady grew | " And is it really pf)ssible, my lord," asked 
 suddenly crimson, and her eyes flashed ; but | the lady, with the pretty scorn of a spoiled 
 she did not utter a syllable. I beauty, "that, having so long made the ac- 
 
 "I see how sensibly — how deeply — you fee! quaintance of this proud cominoner, you should 
 this affront." pursued her father; "for which have conceived it probable that he would be- 
 ymi must have been as unprepared as I myself 
 was; hut high birth and noble blood are now 
 at a discount in this country — gold is the great 
 principle with al! ranks. Yet I cannot avoid 
 thinking that, al'ter the extreme step which I 
 took in mooting the subject, when I was de- 
 cidedly the condescending party. Mr. Tilden the age of your sister was by no Uicans a fair 
 should have been less abrupt in bis negative." objection. In other resppcts, the one p'recisely 
 
 "Surely, my dear father — surely, my lord," I possesses what the other needs; for Tilden 
 said the Lady Madelaine, in a tone of offended I recjuires only connection to command every 
 dignity, "you did not o/fcr your daughter's hand jgood which this, world can offer." 
 to Mr. Tilden !" j "You would not include the Macspleuchan 
 
 " Certainly not — decidedly not," was the sen- physiognomy in this list of advantages, I trust, 
 tenti<Mis answer. " Your delicacy alone makes my dear father," laughed the lady ; " I thought 
 you jump to such a conclusion. I flatter my- that you 'had suffered persecution, and learnt 
 self that I conducted the affair in a manner at mercy !' " 
 
 once dignified and diplomatic ; .and, for a con-' The earl could not resist the contagion of 
 siderahle tiine, I had every reason to conclude her saucy mirth : he smiled without any .symp- 
 (hat Mr. Tiiden was transported with gratitude tom of displeasure ; and the more cordially that 
 and happiness — hut — in short — can you not im- his lovely daughter appeared by no means so 
 agine bow the c'/uivoi/ue arose ^ — can you not inuch shocked at the presumption of my father 
 guess in what his rejection of Lady Flora's { as be had anticipated, 
 hand originated I" "Imagine my delight," he pursued, after a 
 
 His fair daushter had suddenly become sin- momentary pause, "when I heard, as I sup- 
 gnlarly interested in disentangling two curls of posed, a settlement of ten thousand pounds a 
 one of the long, and lustrous ears of her little i year made upon Lady Flora — " 
 favoriie; and she did not immediately reply. "I can well understand it," said the beauty, 
 
 "That Mr. Tilden had become strongly at- quietly. 
 Inched to some member of my family, was evi- "Ten thousand a year," repeated his lord- 
 jent," continued the earl ; "and I accordingly ship, complacently, "upon a wife whose entire 
 never entertained a doubt that my project for fortune consists of precisely half that amount, 
 the establishment of your sister had fully sue- Nor, evidently, was this all which Mr. Tiidea 
 ceeded. lfo?/W not suppose that he had become Was about to propose, when, in my astonish 
 enamored of Miss Margery Macspleuchan," — ment at bis mention of your own name, I in 
 here his lordship smiled at the facetiousness of.terrupted him. The offer was certainly most 
 fiis own conceit — "and I u-ou!d not think that | princely." 
 
 lie had raised his eyes and his hopes to your- 1 He paused, not altogether certain how far he 
 self." — and here he fixed a long and scrutiniz- 1 might proceed with safety upon this new tack — 
 ing look upon the young lady — "there was, I but be paused in vain ; for I.ady Madelaine ap- 
 consequently, no other meihnij of accounting j peared resolved not to come "to the rescue." 
 for what I saw ; and I acted upon that very ra-j Why was she thus silent] We can only say, 
 tiona! conclusitm. I was wrong, however, my with the German proverb, Dan Hcrz liigt nicht. 
 'eve — wrong in all my premises, save «J'*» irst. I "What a splendid figure might be made by 
 
y2 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 a woman of fashion and beauty upon an unen-' 
 cumbered len thousand a year!" once more 
 declainud his lordship; "I must again repeal j 
 that ihe ofl'er was princely." 
 
 "And intended (or myself, if I have under- 
 8too-^. you rightly, my lord," said I^ady Made-i 
 laine. "It ahnost makes me smile, when 1 1 
 remember the marvelous projects of my poor 
 aunt in my favor, liiat the tirst suitor who has 
 6eriou.^ly pretended to my hand should be a, 
 commoner, and one, moreover, who has l)een 
 contaminated l)y commerce; and that I should! 
 say — knowing myself as 1 do — that I pray you 
 not to precipitate this matter. Of course Mr. , 
 Tilden leaves the castle at once." 
 
 " Such was his intention," said the earl, who ] 
 could scarcely conceal his astonishment at the 
 words and bearing of his daughter; "but, in 
 compliance with my request, he has consented 
 to remain for a couple of days longer." 
 
 "With any hope of succeeding in his suit I" 
 asked the lady, with a very peculiar expression. 
 
 " VViiliout the shghtest," replied the earl; 
 *a.id very reluctantly ; hut I asked it as a fa- 
 vor, to prevent the possibility of remark among 
 the hou-sehold." 
 
 "You have acted wisely, my dear father, as 
 you ever do," said Lady Madelame ; and she 
 removed the spaniel from her lap, and drew her 
 chair directly opposite to that of the earl, 
 sweeping away as she did so the piles of pa- 
 pers wlii(di occupied the tai)le before her ; and 
 then she leant her head upon her hand for a 
 time, in an attitude of grave thought. " That I 
 was not quite unprepared for this event," she 
 said at length, after a ccnisiderable pause, upon 
 which his bewildered lordship did not attempt 
 to break, " I will at once concede. I could not 
 mistr..ce the manner of Mr. Tilden, guarded as' 
 it has been ; nor was I blind to the fact that 1 
 am not altogether calculated to play respecta- 
 bly the role of a nonentity with which your I 
 lordship had favored me in this domestic drama. \ 
 Lady Flora has been de tiers, and not myself. 
 So much for the state of things at home ; and i 
 now, I will give you a slight sketch of the rea- 
 sons which have induced me to tolerate the 
 proposal of Mr. Tilden." j 
 
 As she ceased speaking, she glanced towards 
 the earl, who replied only by a silent inclina- 
 tion of the head. "I know that I am hanti- i 
 some — all the world have so dec ded, and all I 
 tlie world mujt be right. I know that my fam- 
 ily, on both sides, is unexceptionable, and in 
 antiquity would do no dishonor to a German' 
 court; and I am assuredly not of a tempera- I 
 menl to consider such advantages as a matter' 
 of indiHerence. But these are not the only 
 truths which the world has taught me. I am 
 young in years, but old in experience. Tiie 
 tuition of Lady Sinclair was able, and I have , 
 learnt somewhat of myself I have been flat- ' 
 tered, fetal, and followed ; but the mention of j 
 my piispects has always hitherto sulliced to 
 cool the passion created hy my person. I am ! 
 liaughiy and aml)itiou3. Glentillan is to me ex- ' 
 ile fiom all the haunts and habits of my early I 
 and brilliant girlliood. You have considerately ] 
 warned me that I must not hope to revisit Lon- 
 don for several years ; and I, m my turn, have ' 
 asked myself what, under existing circumstan- 
 ces, I can liope from another season, when 1 1 
 
 am f rippled in my resources, and have Tost my 
 affectionate and skilful chaperone. And now ] 
 have, perhaps, my lord, said enough to justify 
 my present apparently capricious conduct with 
 regard to Mr. Tilden." 
 
 " I have listened with as much admiration as 
 surprise," exclaimed the earl. " I had fallen 
 into a somewhat similar train of reasoning while 
 awaiting you. But remember, my dear child, 
 that you are still very young, and that you are 
 very beautiful. I will be as frank as yourself, 
 and at once admit that this marriage appt^ars to 
 me to be singularly desirable. Reflect, never- 
 theless. You have great advantages on your 
 side — youth, beauty, and patrician birth. You 
 are doing great honor to Mr. Tilden, even by 
 this deliberate consideration of his proposal." 
 
 "I am not insensible to the fact, my lord; 
 nor, I have reason to believe, will he be so. I 
 do not profess to love Mr. Tilden. Tiio thing is 
 impossible under the circumstances ; but i re- 
 spect his intellect, and admire his person. He 
 is, in short, perfectly presentable; and, vvherj 
 you have ascertained that his fortune is as it 
 lias been represented to you by others, I will 
 engage to permit his addresses; — and the ra- 
 ther," added her ladyship, with a little of the 
 sententioiisness of her father, "that, as you did 
 me the honor to rontide to me,' you are at pres- 
 ent under some i)ecuniary engagement to the 
 gentlem'an." 
 
 As she ceased speaking, she rose, and hav- 
 ing bent her head gracefully to the earl, glided 
 out of the room. 
 
 And thus it came to pass, gentle reader, that 
 at the end of three iTionihs, my father became 
 the delighted husband of the lovely, the young, 
 the high-horn Lady Madelaine; the brilliancy oJ 
 whose presentation at court during the ensuing 
 season was the theme of universal comment 
 and envy. 
 
 Lady Madelaine Tilden's jewels. Lady Made- 
 laine Tilden's equipages, and town house, hei 
 beauty, her rank, and her perfect high-breeding, 
 were the "lion" of the day; and when, at the 
 close of the spring, she retired with her hus- 
 band to a magnificent estate in the west ol 
 England, situated within six miles of the couirty 
 town, and in the very centre of a fastidious and 
 aristocratic neighborhood (a purchase made 
 by my father from a bankrupt duke), she car- 
 ried away with her the hearts of all the men. 
 and the hatred of half the women. She felJ 
 that she had not lived in vain ! 
 
 And what of Lady Flora 1 
 
 Little, and yet much. Her sister's parting 
 present was the bequest of Lady Sinclair to 
 herself. Lady Flora was a sort of heiress a* 
 Glenfillan, and a match for a laird !• She wep< 
 over her disappointment, but she did not breal 
 her heart ; she only sat still closer to hei 
 worstedwork, and executed with great rapidity 
 and precision a serie.s of blue p.irrots, geranium- 
 colored ladies, and knights in armor, with pea- 
 green gauntlets, and swords somewhat taller 
 than themselves. 
 
 Miss Margery was furious. Even the annuity 
 did not console her ; and she became so garru- 
 lous and vetiement in her displeasure, (hat the 
 earl found it necessary to dispatch from his 
 study to her apartment a very concise and 
 lordly letter, sealed with his seal of office 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 »?hen the missive so ably performed its duty 
 thai the ihuiidcrs of" Miss Margery's wrath sud- 
 denly died away iu low grovvis of dl-suppressed 
 indignation. 
 
 And what of my Lord GlenfiUan himself 1 
 Liite his daii},'liter, he felt all the mortification 
 of Mr. Tilden's pleheianility ; but like her he had 
 also very readily tmt Ic chat en poche, and satis- 
 fied himsdf that s.he was not altogether to be 
 pitied. His ov\n little money matters were ar- 
 ranged witii his son-in-law by a cordial shai<e 
 of the hand ; and when, as he lounged in his 
 dressing-gown and slippers in his study, with 
 the "Morning Post" in his hand, he read, with 
 eparkling eyes and gratified pride, of all his fair 
 and wealthy daughter's triumphs, he was much 
 in the same mood of mind as he who sang on a 
 somewhat similar occasion : 
 
 "'Tis a very fine tiling to be father-in-law 
 To a, very niajjiiificenl thiee-tailed basUaw." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. • 
 
 The newly-married couple bad, as I have al- ' 
 ready stated, at the close of the London season, 
 repaired to liiC west of England, to take posses- 
 sion of their new estate ; whilber they were to 1 
 be followed in August by a numerous ^arty of { 
 sporting men and pretty women. It had been 
 my father's first earnest request to his beautiful i 
 young bride that they should proceed there 
 alone. It was his only rational prospect of a | 
 quiet month with the fair creature whom he 
 now called his wife ; and she conceded the j 
 point, although with considerable reluctance, j 
 She remembered Glenfillan, and considered that 
 she had already sacrificed sufficiently to daty 
 in that way. Moreover, Sir James Domton 
 was liie best riding companion in the world, 
 and Mr. De Clifford was to teach her billiards, ; 
 and she wanted the second of Lord Otterford in ' 
 her new duets; and it was very vexatious to 
 suffer dictation on the subject of filling her own 
 house ; but, as she was not yet the wife of a 
 year, she determined to yield ; and having come 
 to this virtuous resolution, she was too high- 
 bred, and too conscious of what was due to her 
 own dignity, to do so sullenly, and like a pout- 
 ing scliool-miss. She only asked herself, with 
 Bometliing like a shudder, how long the month 
 was likely to endure, which she was destined 
 to pass in solitude with Mr. Tildenl 
 
 As for my father, be was still deeply and pas- 
 sionately in love with his young bride. He 
 would not beheve that either pride or indiffer- 
 ence was the root of ihe unswerving (roldness, 
 the calm, fashionable placidity, with which she 
 met all the ardor of his generous and self-abne- 
 gating affection. No, no. Since their mar- 
 riage, they had been in one constant whirl of 
 dissipation and frivolity. Her heart had not bad 
 time to speak — poor, self-deluding reasoner ! 
 as though the heart were not independent of 
 all such secondary influences. They were not 
 yet thoroughly acquainted. He had not hitherto 
 been essential to her happiness. When they 
 were left (or awhile alone, among the lawns and 
 glades of llooksley, nature would speak out in 
 tenderness, and they should become everything 
 to each oiher. 
 
 A wit. celebrated during the regency, amused 
 
 himself by advising the newly-marrif^d to bo- 
 ware of exhausting all their slock of hearl-(>n- 
 thusiasm during the solitude of the honeymoon, 
 and to avoid the'peril of the 
 
 " Long probationary week 
 Of clofJC rL'Tirtiticiit, as profound 
 As if they both were undeigroiinil ;' 
 
 warning them of the consequences likely to ac- 
 crue from entire and uninterrupted mutual do 
 pendence. 
 
 " Be counseled. — Stir not, near or far, 
 But st;iy, L charge you, where you are. 
 The dream of passion, soon or late, 
 Is liriiken — don't anticipate. 
 Haste not to lose your hopes in fear."). 
 Stark mad for moments, dull for years; 
 Devour not, for your comfort's sake. 
 At onci!, like children, all your cake ; 
 Truth (on your memory well engrave It) 
 Whis|)ers, you cannot eat and have it. 
 Gold IS too precious— lay it not 
 So thickly on a single spot; 
 But beat the. bullion — husbands, wives — 
 And spread it over all your lives." 
 
 My mother's worldly sense had been pro- 
 phetic of this counsel. Married quietly and un- 
 ostentatiously at Glenfillan — for, as both she 
 and the earl agreed, the less parade made on 
 the occasion of becoming the wife of a com- 
 moner, the better — it was not for (hem to seem 
 to invite congratulations — the journey to town 
 had occupied a sufficient space of time to eiiahSe 
 Lady Madelaine to announce herself at. once lo 
 the gay world, and to rally around her all the 
 hundred and one friends whom she bad left, 
 grief-stricken, when she was last coiTipilled to 
 abandon "London and its dear delights." The 
 anticipation of coming pleasures — the foretaste 
 of anticipated triumphs — the newly-insured 
 possession of affluence and independence — all 
 conduced to make the mood of the lovely bride 
 sunny and sweet as the tnost exacting bride- 
 groom could desire ; while the pleasant languor 
 arising from a long journey so luxuriously and 
 deliberately performed as to make fatigue im- 
 possible, rendered the anxious and tender 
 attentions of the newly-made husband alike 
 well-timed and welcome ; and they were conse- 
 quently so gracefully and graciously received 
 that my father was enraptured with the bright- 
 ness of his destiny. 
 
 From the hour in which they reached town, 
 all was changed. The splendiilly-mounted 
 mansion, which had been carefully prepared 
 for the occupatitm of its young mistress, j^tariied 
 her into an exclamation of delighted acknowl- 
 edgment. Her boudoir, lined with plate-glass, 
 and draperied with pale-blue silk; her toilet, 
 covered with costly toys; her morning-room, 
 where pictures by the old masters were pan- 
 eled into walls hung with crimson velvet, and 
 exquisite statuettes, mounted on pedestals of 
 ormolu, filled up the ni(;hes ; the spacious ro- 
 cepi ion-rooms, over whose arrangement the 
 hand of wealth and elegance had successfully 
 presided ; all these tlattered the pride, and satis- 
 fied the ambition of the earl's daughter. The 
 better feelings of her nature were awakened t)y 
 the effort, everywhere visible, which had been 
 made to gratify her peculiar tastes and wishes ; 
 and the first evening " at home" was spent 
 tete-a-tctc by my father and his patrician brido 
 in harmony and happiness. 
 
 There was. bO uiuch to examine — so much t« 
 
24 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 admire — and when, on toncliing the spring of a ' 
 casket w,.ich stood upon her toilet, .is the hd 
 flew up, my mother discovered a set of dia- 
 monds which a iimnarch miyht have envied, j 
 she forgot her moif^ne for a moment, and gave 
 loose to all the sincere delight inspired by the 
 princely present. I 
 
 My failier was, as a matter of course, over- j 
 paid for all ; and he believed, unhappily for him, 
 lliatthis was but I he commencement of a long lite 
 of love and confidence. No friendly voice had 
 whispered in his ear that the beautiful Lady 
 Madidaine Glenfillan had considered it neces- 
 sary to apologize to her own pridtJ for her con- \ 
 descension m becoming his wile ; and that his ■ 
 magnificence gratified her the more because it 
 tended to show her that, at whatever sacrifice ' 
 of dignity, she had done riL'ht. He believetl j 
 that they had met upon equal terms. The earl | 
 was a needy man, to whom the retention of the 
 slender portion destined to his daujihter was an 
 object of great and serious importance — he had | 
 asked only the fiand and heart, and not the por- 
 tion, of that (laughter. The first had been ceded 
 to him readily and gracefully ; he had yet to 
 learn in how far he had secured the other. 
 . Lady Madelaine Tilden had taken her meas- 
 ures skilfully, and like a good tactician. The 
 first evening of her arrival in Giosvenor Square 
 ^Tas the last which she was compelled to 
 spend alone with her husband, and perhaps it 
 was better so : for these compulsatory matri- 
 monial duels are more frequently cases of moral 
 dosa-dos than tcle-a-tcte ; and it is diflicult to 
 decide, when this occurs, which individual of 
 the ctinjugal duo is the best entitled to com- 
 miseration. 
 
 A woman, however pretty and graceful she 
 may be at oiher times, when once she has re-] 
 solved on investing her spirit in its wrapping-' 
 gown and papillolcs ; and a man, however in- 
 tellectual and fascinating in society, who deter- 1 
 mines on pcnnilting his higher faculties to ap- 
 pear at home in the easy negligence of a robe 
 de chamhie and slippers, are each apt to appear 
 considerably less attractive to the one looker-on, 
 for whose peculiar benefit the scene has been , 
 got up, than may be altogether desirable. Cer- 
 tain it is that the system of "hanging up the 
 fiddle at home" is a somewhat dangerous one 
 lor the performer, who is accustomed to " dis- 1 
 course eloquent music" elsewhere. 
 
 Here, then, was another peril from which 
 Lady Madelaine wisely resolved to deliver her- 
 self at once. It was out of the question that 
 she, young, handsome, highly-born, and fash- 
 ionable, should hide her advantages from a 
 wtirld which she was so well calculated both to 
 enjoy and to adorn, in order to shut herself up 
 with Mr. Tilden, even in a room lined with 
 |)late-glass and dra|)eried with pale-blue silk ; i 
 and, acting upon this principle, she had been ! 
 careful to a|)piise her friends of the probable 
 period of her arrival in town. ^ 
 
 The season was just commencing. The 
 race of idleness and folly had scarcely begun. 
 The arrival of the beautiful bride of the wealthy 
 Mr. 'J'llden (the lame of whose large liMlune had 
 reached Loiidcm, through the medium of the 
 earl, some weeks before) was an agreeable 
 event ; and not the least pleasurable emo- 
 lion which she had experienced on taking pos- , 
 
 session of her new home flushed the cheek of 
 my mother, as she saw the table in her nioru- 
 ing-room coverevl w'ih minute notes, and up- 
 heaped with visiting tickets. 
 
 She had no sooner examined them on the 
 morrow than she found herself in the very vor- 
 tex of dissi[)aiion. Admiraiipn in some, and 
 curiosity in others, had <-oiiibmed to send "all 
 the world" to Lady Madelaine"s door, and each 
 had some engagement in which she was in- 
 cluded. Her e) e brightened, and her lip smiled, 
 as she threw aside each note after a hasty peru- 
 sal, until she opened one upon which she dwelt 
 long and earnestly, with a heightened color 
 and a healing pulse, and which she consigned 
 to her reticn'e as soon as she had, for the 
 second time, reached its conclusion. 
 
 Here it is : — 
 
 " Eureka ! you are really, then, once more 
 on your way to town, ma toiitr. idle ! I am en- 
 chanted, and so is Sir Herbert. Ol' Otterlbrd I 
 say nothing, save that I have not been able to 
 trust him out -of my sight, since the news ar- 
 rived. Al btion intcvdidure. pochc parok hastano ! 
 Can you condescend to the opera l)el()re Easter ! 
 I shall reserve a seat in my bo.v for Saturday, 
 as perhaps you may not yet be mo/ilcc there ; 
 at all events, let me have yon the first night ■ 
 Pray make my baisemains to ;/ mnrito. and say 
 how much I regret that I cannot make rooru 
 for him ; but I have been persecuted since this 
 French dnnscuse made her appearance, about 
 whom all the men in the world, save one, have 
 gone mad ; and I have not moral courage 
 enough to say ' no,' so long as I have a chair 
 left. She goes to Milan next week, so don't 
 fail me for your own sake. How did you leave 
 Lord Glenfillan? 
 
 " Toutc-a-rous ! 
 
 " Sydney Devereux.' 
 
 And this was Saturday. This was her first 
 day under her husband's roof For a moment 
 she hesitated. Mr. Tilden might think it un- 
 gracious were she to leave him the first evenirjg 
 in a house as sirange to himself as to her. He 
 might not approve of her appearing for the first 
 time in pul)lic under any protection but his own. 
 But then the French dancer, whom she might 
 never see at all, if she missed her to-night ! It 
 was very provoking that there should be no 
 room in the box for Mr. Tilden. To whom 
 could Lady Devereux have promised ail her 
 ivories 1 It was a strange question for my 
 mother to ask herself, as she had been so long 
 absent from town ; hut nevertheless, she did 
 bL'gin guessing who were to be the occupants 
 of ihe box. No more women, she knew. Lady 
 Devereux was far too fastidious to hold a par- 
 liament of petticoats at the king's theatre. Sir 
 Herbert detested all places save the pit. (There 
 was no onmibns in my mother's time.) And 
 the result of her self-questioning- upon the su!>- 
 jecl was — Lord Otterlurd. 
 
 Lady Madelaine threw herself back among 
 the satin cushions of her bcrfr'eie, and fell into 
 a fit of deep musing. Lord Otterford had wor- 
 shiped her for a whole year. Her aunt had 
 looked forvvard with confidence to their mar 
 riage. They had sung, danced, and rode to- 
 gether. Otterford was very handsome, with 
 large, almond-shaped black eyes, a well-formed 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 25 
 
 and prominent nose, fine teeth, and a graecfiil I 
 figure. Had there been any mind under tlie 
 mask, he would have been eniinenily handsome. 
 As ii was, Otieriiird was only a musician and a j 
 roue. He had pursue<l the Lady .Madelaine un- 
 til he discovered that slie was tiearly penniless ; | 
 when, havmg bestowed upon her, in a fit of 
 sentimental regi^t, the title of /a ucllc rr.al dotce, 
 he quietly withdrew his pretensions to her hand, 
 and left it to be sought by others with fewer 
 wants and more resources than himself. 
 
 Lady Madelaine felt bis secession severely. 
 It was not thai she loved him, for she had at once 
 discovered his tnental deficiencies, while his 
 moral lapses had been more than once hint- 
 ed at in her presence ; hut he was well-look- 
 ing, fashionable, and heir to an earldom ; and 
 she liad, moreover, become accustomed to his | 
 assiduities, and conscious of his admiration. 
 Among the defections of this nature, which we ' 
 elsewhere hinted to have been comprised in Itie j 
 early experiences of the flattered beauty, she 
 had been less insensible to that of Lord Otter- , 
 foul than to those of n)aiiy more wealthy, and, ! 
 iii the acceplaii'ja of the world, more eligible 
 admirers. 
 
 The lip of Lady Madelaine curled, as, in think- 
 ing of the past, she remembered how her flat- 
 terers had likened her to a new and brilliant 
 sun in the hemisphere of fashion ; and how 
 truly they had borne out their own hyperbole, 
 by melting away like snow-wreaths under her 
 influence, when they discovered that she had 
 little beyond her beauty and her high birth, with 
 which to compensate their homage ; and as the 
 memory came back up(m her, siie instinctively 
 sufTered her eye to wander over the magnifi- 
 cent accessories of her married home. But 
 with these reminiscences of her first triumphs 
 came also the dangerous recollection, that Lord 
 Otterford had Ireen the last arid the most re- 
 l)ictant to witbd>raw his pretensions, and that, 
 in truth, his expensive habits and comfiarative- 
 ly sleiwler res()urces ha<l left him without an' 
 alternative ; for Lady iMadelaine had no concep- 
 tion of the beautiful self-abnegation, which will 
 occasionally lead a man who truly loves to di- 
 vcs^t himself of his own tastes, and to "cleanse 
 jiis bosom of the perilous stuff" wiiich separates 
 him from the object of his affection. 
 
 Her first impulse, after these reflections, was 
 to show the note of Lady Devereux to her 
 husband, and to claim, upon the score of her old 
 attachment to her friend, his indulgence on the 
 present occasion ; but, on recurring to the note 
 itself, it struck her that it was not exactly cal- 
 culated to afford him any particular satisfac- 
 tion ; or to impress him with any great preju- 
 .iice in favor of the fair writer ; "and then her 
 two besetting sins came to her aid. Her pride 
 told her that she owed it to herself not to ap- 
 pear to shrink fiom a meeting with her former 
 admirer, who would he an eligible acquaintance 
 for Mr. Tilden, and who could, of course, never 
 again be more to herself: while her haughtiness 
 reminded her that it was unworthy of Lady 
 Madelaine Gleiifillan to suffer herself to be 
 trammeled in li^^r social arrangements by any 
 one, simply because that "any one" had' been 
 honored i)y h^r hari 
 
 Just as'she bad arrived at this conclusion, a 
 Wxricle drove to the door, and a fooinian shortly i 
 
 afterwards put a card intt ner hand, with an 
 intimation that Lord Olterlord was at the door, 
 but would nut inijiidii optm her at so unseemly 
 an hour; having merely called at the desire of 
 his cousin. Lady Deveienx, to request a verba*, 
 reply to the note which had been left s(une days 
 previously, in order lo save her ladyship the 
 trouble of a written answer so immediately 
 upon her arrival. My mother hesitated for an 
 instant — the position was sufficiently perplex- 
 ing — but, in the next, an affirmative reply was 
 given, and the well-appointed curricle drove off. 
 
 The rubicon was passed. At whatever cost 
 of annoyance lo licr husl)and, the engagement 
 must be kept ; and the haughty lady practiced 
 her first lesson it» dissimulation, by tearing the 
 little note of her giddy and thoughtless friend 
 into minute jiicces, and throwing them into the 
 superb basket of Sevres porcelain, which stood 
 under her writing-table. 
 
 Mr. Tilden returned lo dinner at eight o'clock, 
 having been engaged during the morning at the 
 Heralds' Office, in ihe agreeable occupation of 
 superintending the quartering of the Glenfillan 
 arms into his own shield, and in selecting a su- 
 perb pariire of pearls for his beautiful young 
 wife. He was somewhat surprised, but infi- 
 nitely more flattered, by the exquisite toilet 
 in which he was received ; and hastened, alter 
 a brief and eager greeting, lo fasien upon the 
 throat and arms of the young beauty the orna- 
 ments of which he was the bearer, and which 
 he tenderly denominated " her welcooMi home." 
 They could not have been presented more 
 apropos, for they gave the last touch of elegance 
 to the simple and rich costume which she had 
 selected ; although it is equally certain that 
 they, at the same time, rendered the ungracious 
 act which she was about lo commit tenfold 
 more difficult. 
 
 It was, however, necessary that an imme- 
 diate expIanaiKin should be given, as Lady 
 Madelaine had ordered her carriage at nine 
 o'clock ; and she accordingly mentioned her 
 engagement wiih as mui.-h insouciavce as she 
 could command ; dwelling pri!>ci|)ally upon the 
 French dancer, and the regret of Lady Deve- 
 reux that, on this occasion, she was unable to 
 offer Mr. Tilden a seal in her box ; and wind- 
 ing up her communication by entreating, with 
 the sweetest smile in the world, that he would 
 not trouble himself to dress, as she had not a 
 monaent to spare, and would therefore, for her 
 own sake, overlook the solecism. 
 
 The astonishment with which my father list 
 ened requires no comment. He was slung to 
 the very soul ; and had Lady Madelaine raised 
 her eyes to his countenance as he kfi ihe room, 
 she would have be?n at no loss to understand 
 the effect which her words had pr(«hiced ; but 
 she was already too good a tactician to ex- 
 pose herself to unnecessary annoyance, and 
 she ctmsequently kept thetu riveted upon her 
 bracelet. 
 
 My father was no longer a young inan, and 
 he loved for the first lime It i.s, therefore, 
 scarcely lo he wondered at, that i)efore he de- 
 scended from his dressing closet, after a hasty 
 and imperfect toilet, to ciindu(;t his bride lo the 
 dining-room, he had found what lie endeavored 
 to believe were siidicirni excuses for her 
 thoughtlessness. She was so youn^j, and so 
 
26 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 aJtiiired — bore lio invnluntarily wincptl a lilile, 
 but soon recuvorpil himself. Slie had heen so 
 is&laled at (jlenfillan ; and now slie was again 
 among the I'l lends of lier early youth, and the 
 6cencs of lier first girlisli liuppiness : sucii a 
 circunislance would not, iti all pmhability. oc- 
 cur again. She had been taken by siir|irise. 
 and could not propt^rly be blamed for waiiiiug 
 the consideration whii h a married woman, con- 
 siderably her senior, had not deemed it neces- 
 eary to display towards hiiiiself. Still, it was 
 proveking ; and when he had fancied, too, that 
 the becoming and careful toilet had been made 
 for him ! 
 
 There %vas, however, no possibility of show- 
 ing even the sliadow of harshness to so beauli- 
 fui a being — the bride of two weeks only — and 
 60 — most gracious reader ! my father reentered 
 the drawing-room, in which he was to spend 
 liis solitary evening, with a smile upon his lips, 
 and thus taught Ins fair wife a lesson on her 
 own power, which she tiever afterwards un- 
 learned ; and, at the elose of a constrained and 
 hurried dinner, handed her carefully to her car- 
 riage, to feel, as she drove towards the Hay- 
 market, that, afier all, Mr. Tilden was really 
 less imreasonahle than many men whom she 
 had known ; and to wonder whether Lord Ol- 
 terford would he glad to meet her again. 
 
 She was nut hmg left in suspense; for, as 
 her carriage slopped at the Opera House, the 
 subject of her thoughls stood at llie portal, 
 ready to assist her to alight, and to conduct her 
 to La<ly Dcvereux's box. She at once saw, 
 however, I hat he was no longer the laughing, 
 joyous raliie, from whom she had parted a few 
 months befnre. There was a tremor in his 
 voice as he addressed her; an unsteadiness in 
 the arm wh;eh he intended for her support ; an 
 evident eHort in ihe cold and brief congraiula- 
 tions which he irrminated with a smothered 
 sigh, as ihough their utteranee had cost him a 
 pang; and his manner was altogether so con- 
 tagious, that Lady Madelaine fell confused and 
 nncomforiatile in her turn; and was glad to 
 find herself in the box of her friend, as though 
 the presen<*e of a third person were neofssary 
 to restore her self-possession and composure. 
 
 As the carriage drove off, my father lighted 
 a cigar, and strcdied into the square ; and when 
 he was weary of this ainuseintnl, he returned 
 to his splendid home. The two footmen who 
 had alleiidetl " my lady" were already in the 
 hall, and he knev/ thai she had arrived safely 
 at her de.stinaiion. When he reached the draw- 
 ing-room, he took up a b</ok, but he could not 
 read. Disguise it as he Wdiild from himself, 
 he was wounded to the heart. He knew no- 
 thing of Lord Otterfoid — how should he! but 
 he could not avcnd (eelmg that he had bef>n 
 treated, if not exacily wiili contempt by his 
 ■ wife, at Irasl with a want of courtesy emi- 
 nently galling to a ppiud spirit like his. In 
 short, his reverie was anything l)ut pleasant ; 
 and he was 'ilad wIk n, at midnight, he heard 
 the carrii'ge oiiee more drive from the dour to 
 feleh h(mie his iriiant wife. 
 
 On this occasion he, for the first lime, paid 
 the penally of his wealih ; for his esiablishment 
 was formed on so extensive a scale, that it was 
 impossible for him lo relieve the tedium of his 
 soli'.ude by making one aflcclionate arrange- 
 
 ment to welcome her return. There was no- 
 thing which he could do that would nol he tenfold 
 belter done by her maid or her fuoiman ; so he 
 amused himself by walking up and down the 
 spacious apartment, and accommodating his 
 paces to the patiern of the carpet, in order that, 
 at least, he might nol appear weary wlien she 
 came in. 
 
 Bui amusements, even as intellectual as that 
 which he had selected, will not interest for- 
 ever; and my father had omitted to remember, 
 that the departure of a carriage did nol neces- 
 sarily involve the return of its mistress ; and so 
 it proved in this case; for Lady Devereux hat" 
 a petit soiipfr after the opera, and she declared, 
 and Lord Otierford looked, the impossibility of 
 consuming chickens and champagiK? Wft!n)Ut 
 their long-lost friend ; while Lady Madelaine 
 was so delighted with the admiration which 
 she had elicited "from all parts of the bouse," 
 and was so bewildered by the strange and un- 
 accountable melanclndy of the once gay and 
 brilliant man who had stood throughout the 
 evening behind her chair, taking no share in 
 the lively conversation of his cousin, but as- 
 siduous in his silenl atleniinns to lierscK, that 
 she could not forbear a feeling of curiosity a-s 
 lo its cause; so she resolved to join ihe sup- 
 per, anil lo take an ,9pporiuniiy of iiueslioniiig 
 Lady Devereux upon the subject. 
 
 There is assuredly a spell m lliosc Opera sup- 
 pers ; and this paitieular one was enehaiumg! 
 As she left ihe house. Lady Devereux was be- 
 sieged by entreat les for permission to accom- 
 pany her home, but, having formed her party, 
 she was obdmale. '• Not to-night, my huci — not 
 to-nighl, my dear sir. — Impossible, Sir James ; I 
 never exceed a dozen" — formed the running 
 accompaniment to her retreat ; and when 
 Lady Madelaine drove off in her iVieinrs cha- 
 riot, her own w;as ordered to follow her to Port- 
 land Place. 
 
 Half past two o'clock on Sunday morning 
 liad chimed, when once more the knocker ol 
 the hall door sent its s/oc':«/o.thun<ler through 
 the house ; but, loud and prolonged as it was, 
 it failed to awaken my father, who, worn »)ut 
 with watching, had, an hour previously, fiung 
 himself upon a sofa, and fallen inio a deep 
 sleep. 
 
 Lady Madelaine, pale and exhausted, hurried 
 to her aressing-room, and, having iirgeil liei 
 Abigail to expedition, soon was, m seemed to 
 be, buried in as profound a slumber as that 
 which had overtaken her liii>band. 
 
 And so ended their second iiiglil in town. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The last ball had been given ; the last dinner 
 eaten ; the la-st lounger had dejiarted, or. finite de 
 nttcitx, bad declared himself gmie, and become 
 temporarily invisible; the belle of fi\e seasona 
 had reluctantly admitted lo h^rsell', and been 
 reminded by her chaperone, iliat anoi her chance 
 was lost, and had despairingly belaken herself 
 lo a cheap watering-place, to ijecruit alike her 
 healih and li(;r finances, and to sigh over the 
 past; the last beiiefii was over ; Ihe drive was 
 dusty and deserted ; a few who had announced 
 tiial they were '■ oil' tu the cunlineni'' had beea 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY. WOMAN. 
 
 87 
 
 compplled to content themselves with crossing 
 the water in liie neiirJihuriiooiJ of liie Uoioiigh ; 
 peileshirtns could venture upon passing (Voni the 
 pavement of one great thorouglifare to another, 
 wiuidut risking their necks ; tradesmen hegan 
 to reckon up their profits, and fathers of lainilies 
 to letlect upon tlieir biils ; in short, " Lonihm 
 itself was out of town," and still my mother 
 lingered. Rookslcy, and a matrimonial icle-a- 
 teic of a month's duration, were more th;in she 
 had courage to contemplate, alter the brilliant 
 and triumpiiant debut which she had made. 
 ' There was, however, no aliernative. Tiie 
 season was at an end. Lady Madelaine Tilden 
 had i)een the fashion. Royally had eulogized 
 lier beauty and her grace ; diiiers-out had de- 
 cided on the excellence of her c/ief ; sour dow- 
 agers h.ul sneered at her mesalliance ; and bud- 
 ding beauties had intrigued and entreated for 
 invitations to her ball ; where 
 
 " ' Wreathed smiles' went round, and speeches 
 
 Fine. I'Drceil, ;ind pleniiful — as (waches; 
 
 And cosily wines on every side 
 
 Tuared ih'eir bright current t'ur and wide." 
 
 And what role, it may be asked, did my father 
 en.ici in this brilliant drama ! I am proud to 
 answer, that it was one so dignitied and irre- 
 proachalile, that Lady Madelaine herself, had 
 she had lime to remark it, must have felt how 
 greatly her own consequence was enhrtnccd by 
 the noble bearing of her husband. They were 
 occasionallv seen together in public ; espacially , 
 at the Opera, where she had secured a ho.x next 
 to that of Lady Devereux ; and, on these oc- 
 casions, ihe manly beauty and graceful hearing 
 of Mr. Tilden never failed to elicit both com- j 
 mcnt and curiosity. Who was he ! Where did 
 bis money come froml These were the two 
 priiicii)al queries; and, although they were fre- 
 quently answered, it was always by inference 
 or surmise ; for the "set" into whi.-li his mar- 
 riage had introduced him, were as little likely to 
 know anyihuig of the late tirm of Osbaldislon 
 and Co , as of the leading tea-mart at Pekin. 
 That he was a man of refined tastes and fas- 
 tidious habits was visible at once — there was 
 notliing of the parvenu about him. Half a dozen 
 titled acquainiance volunteered to propose him 
 at their respectiveclubs ; a few accommodating 
 friends were anxious to transfer to him some of 
 the best horses in England ; bijt they quickly 
 discovered that Mr. Tilden knew as much of 
 horse-flesh as themselves, although he might not 
 condi'scend to make his talent quite so profita- 
 ble ; and, in short, it was soon evident to every 
 body who was anybody, and tiiese composed 
 Lady Madelaine"s visiting list, that Mr. Tilden. 
 be he who he might, was not a man who 
 could either be " shelved" or "done." 
 
 And now, a circumstance has just struck me, 
 which, from my own knowledge of the veracity 
 of my narrative, never before presented itself to 
 my mind ; but which riiay very fairly have in- 
 duced some dout)t in those of su(;h of my 
 readers as may feel disposed to be difficult and I 
 hypei critical. I 
 
 I have made repeated allusions to the refined 
 mind and elegant tastes of my father, and there 
 may he individuals, who, themselves liighly-born 
 and elaborately educated, may revert to the 
 early training and occupation of the young mer- 
 diaut with a feeiiog of fastidiousness and cou- i 
 
 tempt; and pirascihemselves by believing in the 
 impossibility of so utter a change a> ihat which I 
 have represented, and in comparatively .so short 
 a space of lime. They have only, however, to 
 
 remember that human will is a st powerful 
 
 engine ; and that where it was worked by am- 
 biinin, pride, and self-respect, it was urged on 
 l>y three of ihe great impulses of our nature. 
 Nor was the social conversion of my father a 
 sudden miracle, wrought by the mere [)ossessiori 
 of wealth ; it was the slowly and sti;adily at- 
 tained result of time, and distance, and applica- 
 tion. I have myself not spared the satisfied ig- 
 norance of the traveled novice, who, anxious to 
 assume the attribuies of a connoisseur, dabbled 
 in doubtful originals, and consigned to the ad- 
 dress of his agent in England a case or two ol 
 worthless pictures : but those ftdlies were the 
 early mistakes tW his inexperience, by which he 
 had far loo much sense and discriiiiination to he 
 long misled. A total estrangement from the 
 scenes, the associates, and the pursuits of his 
 early manhood, threw the active iniiul <if my 
 father upon the individuals and habits of those 
 by whom he was surrounded ; an I ilie same 
 steady and strong will which had iiiiiiaied him 
 into the complicated mysteries of commerce, 
 soon provided him with an open sesame to the 
 more easily-atlained conventionalisms of general 
 society. Wherever he paused during lus travels, 
 he applied himself strenuously to the examina- 
 tion and comprehension of all that fell under 
 his notice ; while he was careful to select his 
 casual society among that description of persons 
 with whom he was desirous thenceforth to as- 
 sociate on equal terms. His evident wealth and 
 total want of pretension rendered this by no 
 means so ditRcull a matter as at first sight it 
 may appear. Long voyages al sea, in the in- 
 fancy of stream, and the generalizing accommo- 
 dations of foreign posting houses, were able aids • 
 to his design. But who thai has traveled, even 
 of late years, has not experienced the truth 
 which I am here endeavoring to enlbrce ! Suf- 
 fice It that my father did succeed to the full ex- 
 tent of his wishes; and that at the period of his 
 iwarriage with Lady Madelaine Ulenlillan he 
 was at once a finished gentleman and a complete 
 man of the world ; and perhaps he bad the more 
 readily adopted the tastes and usa<ies of the 
 noble anil the wealthy, because in t!ie outset of 
 his career of ambition he had nn/hini,r in nndo. 
 
 It is only those who h.ive tramneled them- 
 selves with low-bred associates, and degraded 
 their own minds by low-bred hajiiis, who cannot 
 rise Willi their fomines ; and this is a fact which 
 the narrow-minded insolence ol the " exclusive" 
 would do well to learn, inslead of atlecting to 
 believe that his '• order" came into the world 
 after " every god had set his seal" upon it, 
 while all other classes of society were branded 
 with the mark of Cam. 
 
 To this, my reader's first possible objection, 
 not only to the positive veracity, hut even to the 
 verisiinilitgde of my family skeich. he may also 
 advance the. improbability of the decision and 
 the world-wisdom of which I have shown my 
 mother to be possess(;d at so early an age as 
 nineteen ; hut, should he imleed do so, he can 
 know little of woman's nature. With women, 
 I do not hesitate to affirm that inielleci. strong 
 will, and extraordinary powers of perspicacity 
 
28 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 and fitneas, are of no particular aire. Watch an 
 intelli;^n'rit 1,'irl as she parses ("nun chililhood into 
 youtii, ami my arirunifnl will ho at once horne 
 out. I am hazarding no rash opinion. Tiie 
 assertion is fmnidHd upon extensive experience. 
 Gcnerailv spnakin^, the youth at sixteen is still 
 a boy, ahsoihed hy his lexicon, his Imat, and his 
 pony; hut the girl who a^ sixteen is not a 
 woman, alike in mlcllcct and in heart, hids fair 
 to die a child or a simpleton at the dose of a 
 long life. All children, particularly those who 
 are banished to the nursery, and consigned to 
 the coiiip;mionshi|) of hiielmgs. necessarily hear 
 many tilings wlucli they are not supposed to 
 remark, f.ir less to understand; hut the young 
 are peculiarly siisceptihle to all that is passing 
 about ihi'iM. and miiliing falls to the ground un- 
 heeded which is hrouglit, under their otiservation. 
 
 In comparative infancy hoys experience tliis 
 external influence far less ih-\n their sisters. 
 Their liahits, at oAce boisterous and active, 
 afford to them fewer op[)ortunities of hearing 
 discussions, and ar,giiments, and inferences, re- 
 lating to social ties and social usages. The 
 sedentary amusements of girls lend themselves, 
 on the contrary, not only to mouientary atten- 
 tion, hut to afi(>r-speculation. Jemima, as she 
 trims her fiock. is frequently employed in won- 
 dering what mamma meant last nigiit hy telling 
 Mrs. Smiih that Miss Jones hail jilted Mr. 
 Drown, because she discovered thai Mr. Rob- 
 inson was a richer man ; and when the frock 
 is coinpleKMl a day or two afterwards, she is j 
 very prot)ai)ly still occtupied in wondering wliet.h- 
 er, when she is a little older, she shall ever j 
 jilt any one, and if it is a pleasant amusement, j 
 and what it really means. Fanny, as she 
 dresses her didl, liids her be good and quiet, I 
 an-d then she shall have a rich husl)and, and 
 ride in a carriage, and dn just as slic likes ; for 
 mamma told papa yesterday, when he was an- 
 gry with her. that she would do as she liked — 
 while the girl of thirteen already begins to crit- 
 icise ner mother's beauty, and to ask herself 
 what will be the probable effects produced by 
 her own 
 
 Where there are strong powers of mind, 
 these are merely subordinate speculations. The 
 intellect, as it awakens, is insatiable ; and it 
 seizes upon every aliment within its reach. How 
 often do we all witness instances of this fact 1 
 How often do we see the really clever and in- 
 telligent girl sink into the dull and mindless I 
 woman ! Woe be to them by whom the holy I 
 lamp of intelligence was suffered to' liicker and ' 
 go out ! I 
 
 Gifted with extraordinary powers of percep- 1 
 tion, of retention, and of analysis, my mother, 
 under the aide tuition of the world-worshiping! 
 Lady Sini-I.ijr, was at fifteen a wdman in tact ' 
 and fa.-.liion. Slie fully understooil the priv- 
 ileges of her high birth, the advantages of 
 her exlrctni' beauiy, and the necessity of mak- 
 ing both contribule to her after-establishment. 
 These were her aunt's lessons. Tlie world 
 itself, ere Unig, taught her others.. Intoxicated 
 by the adulatmn (if the men and the envy of the 
 women, she miglit have become insolent, had 
 she not felt the «m;>o/(cy of such a weakness ; and 
 the eame admirable tact which preserved her in 
 this insiancc, saved her a second time, when, 
 as her fiaiierers fell away, " each after each," 
 
 I on discovering the slender amount of her dowry, 
 I she learnt that even she — the higlily-burn and 
 the beautiful — could he put into a huiuiiiating 
 competition with — money! Then, again, her 
 woman-wit lent its aid ; and, where a weaker 
 mind would have become hitter, she unly became 
 wise Her after-fate confirmed this wisdom. In 
 the seclusion of her father's castle, and ren- 
 dered painfully aware of that father's trammeled 
 position, she had time to revert to the past. 
 She began to concede that tiie fortune-liiinling 
 adorers, by whom she had been first worshiped 
 and then deserted, might advance a valid ex-' 
 cuse fornheir aposiacy — she began to discover 
 that there was wisilom as well as wit in the old 
 song, which declares that 
 
 " Not even love can live on flowers ;" 
 
 and — she married my father. 
 
 Lady Madelaiiie Tilden had not studied (or 
 the nine long years of awakening wuiii.inJKJod 
 under such al)le tutors as the world- and Lady 
 JSinclair ; she had not suffered mortilicalion and 
 disappointment ; she had not fell her pride 
 prostrated, her self-love woundeil, and her heart, 
 made the toy of idle ami inteiesied f'oplmgs ; 
 she had not been suddenly withdrawn Inim the 
 giddy vortex of fashion and celebrity, and buried 
 alive in the Highlands, to muse over ih(; motives, 
 the impulses, the feelings, and the weaknesses 
 of those among whom she had previously lived, 
 to reappear in the same l)iiglit and busy world 
 a wcunan in stature, l>iit a child at heart. 
 
 Remeiiibering my mother vividly, as I still do, 
 I feel satisfied that, with the saiiie experience 
 (had that been possible), she would have played 
 at fitteen the same cold, and haughty, and deci- 
 sive part. Age has no influence upon princi- 
 ples, and feelings, and prejudices, like those of 
 Lady Madelaine Tilden. 
 
 The seasmi was at an end. The woods and 
 glades of Rooksley were in ah their beauty 
 The domain was exiensive, and in admirablo 
 taste. If a fault could be found, M existed in 
 the absence of all ancient timber — the leafy 
 honors of Rooksley Chace had been stricken 
 down by the hammer of the auctioneer. It is 
 true, thai greai skill had been evnujed in repair- 
 ing this evil, in so far as it was suscepiilile ot 
 reparation ; but the anti(|ue grandeur of the 
 mansion seeiiied to frown forth, in haughty 
 scorn of the new generation of forest timber 
 that was growing up about it. 
 
 Lady jDevereux, on her first visit to the 
 Chace, laughingly told her cousin tiiat tiie new 
 acquisition of Mr. Tilden reminded lier of him- 
 self : it was very stately and very magnificent, 
 but it wauled time ! 
 
 " At. last, my sweet Madelaine," said her hus- 
 band, as for the -second time they sat leic-h-icie 
 by lamplight under their own roof, "at last )ou 
 are all my own, and I have time to ask you a 
 thousand (piestions, which you, more slraii^jely 
 still, have iiiik! to answer. And, first, how do 
 you like Rooksley !" 
 
 " It IS impossible not to like a place upon 
 which the Duke of Dorchester prided himseU 
 so much," replied my mother, who had never 
 been surprised out of her ml admiran since her 
 arrival in Grosvenor Square; "but it sadly 
 wants timber." 
 
 ' Our woods are very promising, and we must 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 29 
 
 have patienrG," said my fallier, in whose voice 
 llitTC was a sliglit tone ol disappoiiitineiit. 
 
 "And you must excuse me if I add, Mr. Til- 
 den, that itie liouse as sadly requires — inmates. 
 We are positively lost here alone." 
 
 " Bill just now, my dear Madelai.ne, repose 
 and quiet are so essential to yon.' Your roses 
 have waned fearfully during the past season. I 
 shall ni.l be iiappy until I see them bloom again." 
 
 " Have we any neighborhood !" asked the 
 young wife in her turn. 
 
 " i have not yet made the inquiry. I only 
 fear that we shall ascertain the fact too soon. 
 In so line a sporting country, there can be little 
 doubt that we shall find many resident families, 
 who will not fad to seize so ailmirable an op- 
 ^Jomlnlly ol making the acciiiaintaiice of the 
 fair ami Cashiimalile Lady Madelaine Tildti.." 
 
 " ProvHied thatjhey prove visitable. > will be 
 a blessing ;" said my mother, as she suppressed 
 a jawn ; " Glentillan has perfectly disgjsied me 
 wall einpty.eclioing, overgrown family houses." 
 
 My laibfr walked to the open window, and 
 drawiiiii back the curtain, looked out upon the 
 beautiful expanse of wood and water, which lay 
 steeped in moonlight, beyond the lawn. Tlie 
 tleer were lying in groups u|)(m the soft green 
 sward of the home-park, and their long shadows 
 formed fantastic outlines upon llie grass. The 
 nigbiingales were answering each other from 
 the ieal-laden boughs. At intervals a ' hare 
 started from the untlerwood, and scudded across 
 the open glades, brushing away the heavy drops 
 of dew which fringed tlie blades of the long 
 grass ; and the peculiar cry .of the pheasants 
 broke the silence for an instant, as it rose from 
 the more distant preserves. 
 
 It was a scene of rich and tranquil English 
 landscape beauty; and as my father mentally 
 ran over tite vaiij>us and vaunted spots which 
 he bad visited during his wanderings, he could 
 recall noihing by which it seemed to him to be 
 rivaled in pure and placid loveliness. 
 
 After having contemplated the enchanting 
 view for a time in silence, be could not refrain 
 from expatiating upon its extreme beauty to 
 Lady Madelaine, who rose languidly from her 
 chair, as if rather with a courteous desire to 
 give bim pleasure, than fiom an idea of receiv- 
 ing any herself My moiher was no whit a sen- 
 timentalist: she had never been taught to con- 
 sider the country otherwise than ai the most 
 correct refuse after the season, and that portion 
 of Ihe British empire in which the (lowers were 
 growH that composed her bouquets. But even 
 she was not altogether proof against the spell 
 ofihe(|uiel holiness of nature: and, for a time, 
 she gazed long and silently on the clear glory 
 of that summer night ; watched the reflection 
 of the blight stars, as they appeared to dance 
 upon the undulating ripple of the lake ; and then 
 sent her long and searching glances deep into 
 the blue and cloudless sky, over which they 
 were strown like diamcmd-sluds upon a regal 
 mantle : while the moon, that lay lovingly upon 
 the open glades, and on the glittering waters, 
 oiily touched the summits of the tall trees, and 
 trowned them with silver, leaving broad masses 
 of shadow about and beneath them, which lent 
 a mysierious indistinctness to t!ie distance. 
 
 Hers was not, however, a nature to remain 
 ang thus absorbed. The very beauty of the 
 
 scene soon suggested other and more worldly 
 ideas. She beg;in to think how admiiably Iho 
 park lent itself to the idea of a br.lliant fcle 
 champclre. P'ireworks would have a dtdightfnl 
 effect, if let olF from the island on the lake. 
 Noihing could be prettier! And two or three 
 boats, gaily decked with streamers and colored 
 lights, would be I'airy-like and ma^jical, as they 
 appeared and disappeared among the overhang- 
 ing willows. Then she peopled the lawn with 
 dancing booths, marquees, and [)arii-colored 
 groups ; and then she heaved a sigh, as she re- 
 membered that they were utter strangers in the 
 county, and that, to do all this, the lew friends 
 whom they expected would not suffice ; while, 
 even for the advent of those few, she had yet a 
 weary month to wait. 
 
 " Is it not calm and lovely 1" asked my father 
 at length, as vvitb affectionate anxiety he threw 
 a shawl over her shoulders, and passed bis arm 
 about her waist. " The long', deep sigh, to 
 which you just now gave utterance, awoke me, 
 j my sweet wife, from the most delicious train of 
 thought in which I had ever indulged. Dare I 
 tell you what was its suliject !" 
 ' "As it would seem that we were similarly 
 engaged, we have alike done treason to the 
 beauty upon which we looked ;" was the reply ; 
 ! " for in me, also, it induced a chateau en Es- 
 ' pagne, that was not without its charms." 
 j " Will you not confide it to me I" 
 
 "I see no reason why I should refuse. I was 
 picturing to myself how beautiful a fete we 
 might give here, and how well everything would 
 tell, for no natural accessory is wanted ; when 
 I suddenly remembered that we knew no one, 
 and that, consequently, I could do nothing, save 
 cons(de myself with the Italian jiroverb, Soffri 
 il male, e asjjetta U bc?ie.'' 
 
 ' "And I," said the husband, as he looked 
 down fondly, and yet somewhat mournfully, 
 ] upon the beaulilul face, on which the moonlight 
 ' shed its clear, calm radiance; " I was thinking 
 ^ with how proud a heart I might one day see 
 ' you lead fcutn our child to gamtxd on that vel- 
 vet lawn, and to sport beside those glittering 
 waters. I was thinking — " 
 i " I beseech you, do not read me a homily ;" 
 said my mother, withdrawing herself from hia 
 clasp with a slight shudder, and reiurning to 
 her seat: "that is a suliject ubich I by no 
 means wish to dwell on. I assiiie you, Mr. 
 , Tilden, that to a young and fashimiable woman 
 such a pros[)ect is by no means a pleasant one." 
 I "But to a wife, Madelaine — " 
 I " Ha, that is the text of another homily. Fif- 
 ; teen years hence I shall myself, perh.ips, babble 
 of maternal dunes ; at piesenl 1 ilo not affect 
 to understand them, and am.only thankful that, 
 at all events, such tilings have been created as 
 nursery-maids and governesses." 
 
 "Que day I trust that you will feel difTer- 
 ently," said my father, forcing a smile. 
 1 "Perhaps;" was the cold reply; "but at 
 ' present 1 will only ask you to ring for the chess- 
 board." 
 
 CnAFTEU VIII. 
 The dreaded irionth went by more rapidly 
 than the Lady Madelaine had aiiticipalcd. It 
 was impossible to be thrown entirely upon mv 
 
20 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 father's society witliout appreciating his many 
 adtniraWe qiirililies ; and had not ihe twelve 
 previous weeks of dissipaiiim, coquetry, and 
 folly, thor<tui;lily unhinged tiic mind, and per- 
 vi-rted tiie ft-ehngs of the young wife, slie miglit, 
 
 with the easy and winning manners of tha 
 Ladies Trevor ; but, as the frani< polilf ncss of 
 my fallier offered an agreeahle rehel Iroin ihe 
 supercdiiius insouciance of his wife, »\u\ invjiri- 
 ablv lieaied the wounds which her indifference 
 
 possihly, have learnt to love her hushand as he had inflicted on the self-love of their vi.-iiors, 
 deserved. But. alas ! those twelve short weeks no decided affront was given to the female por- 
 had heen sufficient to destroy this hope forever. I tion of the guests ; wiiile the extreme hi-auiy 
 
 Let it not he tlmiiglit that my mother wil- 1 and inherent love of admiiation wliirli ma. le my 
 fully, and with her eyes open, plunged herself mutlier so aitractive to ihe other sex, sulficienlly 
 into positions of difficulty, and rcs(dved to in- propitiated their hushands and brothers, to in- 
 dulge her own predilections co»'/e 7»i couic. Far duce ihem lo believe and to declare that Lady 
 from it. Had she imagined that Lord Otter- Madelaine Tdden was an angel ! 
 ford was a deliberate and cold-blooded proQi- 1 As a matter of cour.se, invitations poured in 
 gate, who was amusing himself at the expense ' at llookshy ; and among the rest, came oni* 
 of her vaniiy and inexperience, she would have from the Vernons, whose estate j<iined that ot 
 shrunk from him with horror. It was that my father. Mrs. Vernon was a widow, whose 
 very vaniiy and inexperience which Minded husband had represented the county m parlia- 
 her. Had she gone a step further, and sus- ment ; and who, although he had been dead for 
 peeled that he had yet darker and more guilty several years, had never quite recovered her 
 designs, she would, in all prohabiiiiy, have loss. She was a genile. amiable woman, still 
 sought for protection and refuge in the affec- possessing Ihe remains of great heauiy, but 
 tion of the man to whom stit; hail given her I thoroughly indifferent to everything, sav(! the 
 hand ; but no such jdea ever crossed the pure I happiness of her son and dauuhler, at whose 
 mind of Lady Mailelaine. She was vain, im- | entreaty she had emerged fnuu retirement, to 
 prudent, and exacting. She required homage, ! make the acquaintance of the new owners of 
 but blie never dreamt of paying it by a return. | liooksley. 
 
 The haiiuhtiness of her natural disposition made I Frederick Vernon was a fine young man of 
 hoT jealous of all interference on the pari of her six-and-twenty, with a full appreciation of hii 
 husiinnd ; and the line of conduct which she personal and worldly advantages ; which latter 
 had adopted immediately after her marriage had attribute i mention rather to give a proof of his 
 so thoroughly emancipated her from his control, consistency, than from conceiving it to be an 
 that she -soon ceased to understand that he had extiaoidiiiary feature of his hi.si.uy which re- 
 aiiy riglit to exert it. It was true— as her friend ([uired to be put on record. He had lerenlly 
 Lady Devereux had sententiously observed, in ! rciurned from a lour of Europe, and was strongly 
 one of tiiose hours of female confidence which tinged with foreign habits and ideas. To bun 
 are productive, at times, of a vast amount of the sojourn of Verncm Pricuy, beautiful as it was, 
 cvd— iliat Mr. Tilden had rescued her from the would have been insupportable, had not the ex- 
 monotonous exile of Glenfillan, and surrounded treme affection which he hove U> his moiber and 
 her with magnificence; but what had she not sister made every spot which they inhabited no» 
 done for A;m.' Look at her rank— her coiinex- only bearable, but pleasant lo him. Fiederi< 
 ion — her beauty! Was he not almost old Vernon was not constituted for retirement. His 
 enough to be her father 1 And— her dear Mad- ' talents were dazzling, hut by no mC-aiis solid ; his 
 elaine must forgive her for speaking frankly— j acquirements were barely respectable ; but he 
 was he not, before their marriage, a nobody I had the tad lo ajjpear far wiser than he was — 
 
 All this was undeniable — and iijion these pre- ' a secret more generally diffused in society than" 
 mises my mother acted. There can be no ' it is supposed to be, and pariitularly easy to 
 doubt that there must have heen moments in ' practice by a handsome young man of good 
 which the (luestion K-ou/(/ arise in her own heart, ! property, whom no one is vastly disposed to 
 in how far her renewal of intimacy with Lord ' criticise with severity. His success abroad had 
 Olterford was either desirable or correct ; but, heen considerable; and it was even rumoied 
 if it were so, the extreme pride, which was her ihat he had been requested to quit the territories 
 besetting sin, must equally in those momenis of a petty Ilahaii /Ji/ra within twenty-foui hours, 
 have proved her worst enemy, by blinding her although it had never ocemred to Mr. Vernon 
 to the danger she had so thoughtlessly evoked, j to have any political opmmu out of bus own 
 
 Be all this, however, as it may, ibe monih of' country ; hut he had danced, and sighed, and 
 matrimonial domestication wore away swiftly ; ' looked love-lorn m a quarter where such | ro- 
 the neigidiorbood provjng not only vis. table but [ ceeiling--. win: m>t admissible ; and he accoid- 
 eociabie. My father's surmise was a coirect ' mgly o^reyed wiihout demur the obliging sug- 
 one. The fame of the dashing Lady .Madi-laine gestion of the oMn-ial who waited upon liinj at 
 'Jilden had preceded her, and all the cotiniry j his hotel ; and passed out of the di.chy vn the 
 were anxious to be numbered among her ac- lollowing morning, carrying away with hirn a 
 quainlance. 'J'be men were prepared lo lose | heavy heart and an exceedingly magnificent 
 their hearts, and the women to profit by so ad- brilliant ring. 
 
 mirable an opportunity of imitating the dre.-s | No one could exactly decide how this travel- 
 and style of a celebraied beauty. It is true, ing adventure became whispered in England, 
 that the extremely cold and sometimes arrogant as his valet w.is, of course, as secret as the 
 bearing of my mother, led a few of the most im- grave ; and the affair w as allogcther loo delicate 
 porianl lamilies to doubt whether, after all, the ! to have borne mention Iroui himself; but, 
 long-talked-of Tildens would prove any very nevertheless, it jras whimpered ; and it is, there 
 great acquisition ; and to contrast the haughty fore, not sinprisinir llial Mr. Frederic Vernon 
 and indolent courtesies of their new neighbor i was considered, and con.sidert>d himself lo be. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 31 
 
 the hero of the county. He had fits of abstrac- 
 tion — in siicicty ; occasionally started painfully 
 as his eye fell upon the ring; sunj; one partic- 
 ular and pathetic Italian ballad with peculiar 
 pathos and expression to his guitar; and was, 
 in short, a drawing-rooiiti Corvdon. 
 
 Eiriily Vernon was a charming girl of 
 eighteen. Tall, and fair, and gentle; tenderly 
 aitaciii^d to her widowed mother, and devotedly 
 fond of her handsome and sentimental brother ; 
 wiihoiit one thought of self, or one craving for 
 admiration. 
 
 Mr. Tddi'n had been from home when the 
 Vernons called, and my mother had returned 
 the visit without him, by leaving cards at their 
 lodge-gate during her drive; nor had she con- 
 sidered it necessary to mention the circum- 
 stance, until the arrival of the dinner-card ; 
 wlien she carelessly inquired of my father if 1'3 
 considered it expedient to accept the invitation. 
 
 " Since you request my opinion, I should say 
 decidedly yes;" was the reply. "On passing 
 tiieir place, a day or two since, I inquired to 
 whom it belonged, and was informed that the 
 late |)roprielor represented tiie county during 
 several sessions, and that the ladies of liie 
 (kiiiily were almost domesticated at Rooksley, 
 with the daughters of the duke !" * 
 
 " And Felicie tells me," followed up my 
 mother, "that Mrs. Vernon's son, who is now 
 at the Priory, is a sort of hero de roman, who 
 eloped with an Italian Principessa, fought a duel 
 with the prin(;e, and was expelled the country 
 by the p<ii)e himself — n personage, in short, who 
 is coniiaband over half Europe." 
 
 " Ha, indeed ! Is it so 1 Am I fated to find 
 my old traveling comrade, Frederic Vernon, in 
 my nearest neighbor 1" said my father with a 
 smile. "The name was not sufficiently un- 
 common to strike me: hut the affair with the 
 Italian Di(cliessa settles the point." 
 
 ".-\nd was he really involved in a duel, and 
 afterwards expelled the country !" asked my 
 mother, roused for a moment into a feeling of 
 interest. 
 
 " JSo it was said ; and it is certain that liis 
 disparition from the duchy was so sudden that 
 he did not favor his friemls by any leave-taking. 
 There was decidedly some mystery attached to 
 him ; hut as we never ai'terwards chanced to 
 meet, I am unable to afford any precise infor- 
 mation on the subject." 
 
 " We will dine with the Vernons, at all 
 events," said the bride ; "I will c^incel my ac- 
 ceptance to Lady O'Halloran ; the hall is at 
 least four miles from hence; and the Vernons 
 live nearly at the park gale ; the fatigue will 
 be much lessened by the change." 
 
 And having so decided, my mother once 
 more bent her fair head over her desk ; gave 
 the note which she had already written to Lady 
 O'Halloran to herspaniel for a plaything ; wrote 
 an accejitance to Mrs. Vernon with her best 
 crowqiiill; and then threw herself back among 
 her cushions, to wonder what effect her own 
 beauty would produce upon a man who had 
 been expelled Irom an Italian duchy, to save 
 the honor of its female sovereign. 
 
 For the first time since her arrival in the 
 country. Lady Madelaine took considerable in- 
 terest in the operations of Felicie, on the even- 
 ing of Mrs. Vernon's dinner. She resolutely 
 
 resisted all the cndcavois of her attendant ia 
 induce her to make her delmt in the eoiiniiy en 
 grande dame: relused to wear any ornameni*, 
 and, notwithstanding the volul)le horror and 
 visible mortification of the scuhic/lc, declared 
 her intention of eschewing all coiffure save hei 
 own magnificent hair. Felicie urged, entreat- 
 ed, and eventually wept over the extraordinary 
 resolution of her mistress; and closed drawers 
 and caskets with a series of gestures of offend- 
 ed dignity which were quite indescribable ; al- 
 though she afterwards conceded to Mrs. Lockall, 
 the housekeeper, that it was a comfort to know, 
 in spite of the cavrice which induced Miladtj to 
 go out for the first time in a costume better 
 suited to a pctile fiUe, than to thi; wife of a 
 millionaire, that she had seldom seen lier look 
 so well ; and therefore, it was ea.sy to imagine 
 how she would have looked had she been mise 
 comme il/nul ! 
 
 It was, hf)wever, as I need scarcely explain, 
 no part of Lady Madeline's system to owe ad- 
 miration to a ribbcm or a set of baubles. If sh-e 
 could not command it by the graces of her per- 
 son, she scorned to win it by the magnificence 
 of her attire; or to share it vvi'Ji diamonds and 
 gauzes. That she had judged wisely, in the 
 present instance, she at once perceived by the 
 expression of her husband's countenance, as 
 she joined him in the library, previous to their 
 departure for Vernon Priory. SIk^ had indeed, 
 as Felicie wisely remarked, seMoin looked so 
 beautiful. There was an utter absence of pre- 
 tension in her whole appearance; ;i (IJLniitiod 
 simplicity in her dress and bi'aring, which de- 
 lighted my father. She had evidenily no inten- 
 tion of overawing her new ac(juaintance by the 
 power of her wealth — that most uiiderioned ot 
 all amhiti(jn — and her extreme loveliness was 
 so conspicuous in the utter absence of extra- 
 neous ornament, that, as he raised her hand to 
 his lips, he could not resist the iiiteraiice of a 
 cimiplimeiit more lover-like than matrimonial. 
 
 Five minutes' drive from their own pari<gate 
 brought theiTi to that of Mrs. Vernon ; and 
 even in the twilight my father could not forbear 
 remarking the magnificence of the (dd avenue 
 through which they approadied the house, 
 which was surrounded on all sides by elms and 
 beeches of stately growth. The building itself 
 appeared to be coeval with the timber. A great 
 portion of the exterior was overgrown with ivy, 
 amid which the lofiy lancet-headed windows, 
 streaming with light, produced at that hour b. 
 magical effect ; while the deep perspective ot 
 tiie principal entrance, whose receding arches 
 were terminated by massive doors of iron-stud 
 ded oak, gave an antique stateliness to the edi- 
 fice, and heightened its monastic character. 
 
 Considerably less extensive than Kooksley, 
 Vernon Priory was infinitely more attractive to 
 a stranger. No woodman's axe had ever 
 sounded in that quiet spot. It was easy to see 
 that sire and son had alike resf ected the place 
 of their birth, and the liome of their ancestors. 
 When a giant tree lay prone within the la; 
 of the moss-grown fences, it was because lime 
 had eaten away its stout heart, and rilaxed its 
 weakened roots; and while the scattered rooks 
 cawed their hoarse requiem over the prostrate 
 ruin, it conveyed no reproach to the lords ol 
 the soil. No croupier's rake had ever swept 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 32 
 
 away Ihe leaTy honors of ihe Vernon woods ; 
 no dice box liad ever r.itiled its triumph over 
 their sturdy lrunl<s. Lii<e the treasure of the 
 pre-adaiiiiio siiUaiis, to which travelers tell us 
 that every monarch is compelled to add his 
 share, wlulc none are permitted to withdraw 
 any portion of tiiat alieady hoarded, so did 
 every succeeding? Vernon plant his saplings in 
 the soil o( his ancestors ; while each would have 
 considered it as sacrilege to destroy the work, 
 or counteract the intenlmn of his predecessor. 
 When my father and I'.adv Madclaine entered 
 Mrs. Vermin's drawmg-roi.m, the party, which 
 was hy no means a l.trgn one, had already as- 
 scmhled ; ihe hostess received her stranger 
 guests with a quiet elegance of demeanor which 
 accorded well with her stalely although faded 
 beauty, and her deej) m<iuriiing dress ; and af- 
 ter having presented her son and daughter, 
 proceeded to introduce my mother to the lady 
 who occujiied a pinlion of the sofa to which she 
 led her, while my father renewed his acquaint- 
 ance with Mr: Vermui. 
 
 Tins lady, whM chanced to be Lady O'Hallo- 
 ran, found an iimncdiaie topic of conversation, 
 in her regret tliat Mrs Vernon should have 
 proved mcire fortunate than herself, in being 
 the first to receive their new neighbor ; and 
 then she proceeded to congratulate herself on 
 having at least so agreealde an opportunity of 
 making her acquainlaiice. Lady Madelaine 
 bowed and smiled, aliliough she felt greatly 
 disposed to yawn ; hut she I'ound the volubility 
 of her new fneii I less importunate when she 
 discovered that there was no necessity fur her 
 to olTer any reply ; so she conimued to bow 
 and smile at intervals during the five minutes 
 which preceded dinner; and she had scarcely 
 left her seal, and taken the aim of Mr. Vernon 
 on its amioimcemciit, ere Lady O'Halloran as- 
 sured Dr. James, the reclur, under whose es- 
 cort she was preparing to follow, that Lady 
 Madelaine 'I'ilden had been cruelly misrepre- 
 sented by her corre.si)iN)dent, Mrs. Gordon, for 
 that she had sehloin met with a more simply- 
 mannered or sensible person. 'I'he worthy 
 gentlewoman was n-ot aware, or had forgotten 
 that "the beard docs not make the philoso- 
 pher;" and that it was very possible for a 
 fashionable beauty to be all that she had heard, 
 when. she fell il expedient to assert herself ; 
 • and yet patiently to suinr tlie garrulous civility 
 of an cliieily genllewnm.ui where she was anx- 
 ious to disarm lucal criticism. 
 
 Lady U'll.illoran was, accordingly, by no 
 means ilw; only person svhose goUlen opinion 
 my moiher won that evening. Mrs. Vernon 
 was dcligtited at the jirospect of obtaining such 
 a friend l.ir her g* ntle Emily ; who. on her part, 
 was t'licbanled with the (juiet grace and high- 
 brcediiig of the new unstress of Rooksley. 
 Ijiitof all those whom she thralled, not one was 
 so thoroughly the slave of her fascinations as 
 Mr. l''rcd«ric Vernon. He assured Mrs. Alex- 
 ander, wlio s,it on his left hand, that liady 
 Madelaine 'I'llden niinndcd htm almost pain- 
 fully ol a wiiinan id' high rank whom he had 
 kiwvvn abroad ; and then he sighed, and glanced 
 down upon Ins brilliant ring, and fell into a fit 
 of ah>iractii>n ; ilnring which his <lark blue 
 eyes were riveted on the table-clolli, and he 
 looked like one who lived rather upon the 
 
 mernoiy of the past, than the realities of lbs 
 present. 
 
 When the ladies retired to the drawing.room, 
 my moiher turned the light of her most sunny 
 smiles upim Emily Vernon. She was precisely 
 the person calculated to please a handsome 
 young married woman of high fashion. Strik- 
 ingly pretty, and highly accmnplislied, she was 
 ! nevertheless so gentle and i^o new tu the world, 
 that her attractions were veiled by her extreiae 
 timidity — she had not within her ihe elements 
 i of a rival ! Nothing could liave been so fortu- 
 nate; and, acting upon this conviction, Lady 
 i Madelaine, instead of closing her eyes, and 
 throwing herself upon a sofa to await the re- 
 I appearance ol the gentlemen, at once entered 
 I into conversation with her young hostess ; and 
 I ere twenty minutes had elapsed, she was seated 
 I at Miss Vernon's harp, explaining to her a difli- 
 cull passage in a popular piece of music ; allei 
 I which, as enlliusiasiically as though she had 
 only thai ime delighted auditor, she swept the 
 chords with a master hand, and electrified the 
 assembled paity by her brilliant execution ; and 
 then, sudiieiily suffering the strings to vibrate 
 [ inio silence, om^e nune established herself be- 
 side liie astimislred and delighted giil, and re- 
 |Suined The conversation which the music had 
 I interrupted. 
 
 "You kiow Rooksiey well, I nnderstand," 
 she said in a subdued voice. 
 
 " Oh, very well — 1\..' well. t was almopt as 
 much my home as this, befoi i Ihe duke's' — 
 She paused, uol knowing how jest to shape he; 
 meaning. 
 
 "I understand;" said Lady Madelaine aa 
 she laid her own beauiilul hand u|)oii that o) 
 her companion ; "but. Miss Vernon, you must 
 cease lo say ' too well,' or I shall despair ol 
 making it again agreeable to you. llemember 
 that you aie my nearest neighbor, and that I 
 shall depend greatly upon your kindness. 
 Doubtlessly you had your own aj)ariment at 
 ' Rooksley; ymi niusi come back, and take pos- 
 ; session once inure " 
 
 1 'i ears swehed in the mild eyes of her list- 
 ener. 
 
 " Mr. Tildcn and I are at present /lislcs com' 
 me ties liunncls dc niiit," pursued my moiher ; 
 "but we pidinise to behave heiler ere long. I 
 am supposed lo be worn out hy the Loiid(»n 
 season, and am consequently sentenced to a 
 month's quiet. I S\\a\\ not regret it so much if 
 you consent occasionally to share my solilude 
 We expect a sliootmg parly in August, and 
 Mr. TiKlen is already lull of anxiety about hia 
 preserves,— in faitt, he is endeavoring lo be- 
 come a respcclable country gentleman ; which 
 is, I imagine, quiie correci under the circutu- 
 stances." 
 
 I " His Grace of Dorchester was immensely 
 popular," said the eldest, over-dressed, Misa 
 Alexander, who sat near them. 
 I My moiher turned upon her a freezing look 
 !of non-recognilion, and then calmly withdrew 
 her eyes. 
 
 ! " Von are not, I believe. Lady Madelaine 
 Tilden, acinjainled with Miss Alexander," said 
 Emily Vernon, whose check was crimson with 
 confusion. " Will you permit me to present 
 her]" 
 , The ladies bowed ; and at the conclusion ol 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 33 
 
 'he ceremony my mother threw herself back 
 jpon the sofii, and made no reply to the remark 
 31" Miss Alexander, that her mother had done 
 lerselt" the honor of calling at Rooksley. It 
 was no [lart ol her system to be condescending 
 and approachable to all the connty. 
 
 The gentlemen and the cotree appeared to- 
 gether; and Mrs. Vernon hastened to make 
 known to her new neighbors Dr. James, the 
 worthy rector of the parish, and chaplain to his 
 grace ihe Duke of Dorchester. Nothing could 
 be more amiable than the reception which he 
 nuet Willi from my mother; and Miss Alexan- j 
 der was once more compelled to feel how | 
 charming Lady Madelaine Tilden could make 
 herself when she pleased, and how exceedingly 
 iil-bred she was when she thought proper to l)e 
 BO. Indeed, as Dr. James afterwards remarked, 
 the Lady Madehune Tilden not only met him ! 
 ill the most charming spirit in the worhl, but 
 even summoned her husband, who was at the 
 moment in deep conversation with young Ver- 
 non, in Older that he might reiterate her own 
 friendly assurances of a universal welcome at 
 Rooksley. 
 
 And Dr. James was quite correct in this state- 
 ment. When he \jas led up to my mother, ; 
 Miss Vernon was summoned to her lieTp ; and, 
 when Miss Vernon obeyed the summons, the i 
 reverend doctor remained standing before his j 
 fair and smiling inteilocutor, until a gesture 
 brought her hiisband to her side, leaving Mr. | 
 Vernon plantc m the centre of the room ; who, ' 
 as a matter of course, no sooner saw the doe- ( 
 tor engrossed by Mr. Tilden, than be hastened ! 
 to establish bimsell in the seat which had been ; 
 vacated by his sister. i 
 
 It was a /eeling compounded of coquetry and 
 curiosity, which led my mother to exert her 
 utmost lasciiiatiuns against Mr. Vernon. She 
 w.as not new enough to flattery and adulation I 
 to value them for their own sake ; but her van- ! 
 ity was pKjueil in this instance, and she was -at 
 present thrown U[)on every passing folly for 
 amusement. She did not even remark (as she 
 (lid sul)*e(iiienily) that Frederic VerQon was [ 
 amaziniily iiandsomc, and that ^ he had the! 
 sweetest voice and the whitest hand in the : 
 world ; she only thought o-f the Duchessa, and j 
 was anxious to see if, indeed, as Felicie had in- 1 
 formeil her, "// n'avoit plus de gout -pour Ic scxe." \ 
 
 Need I say that s'hc had arrived at a totally i 
 different decision before her carriage was an- 
 nounced ; or that, as he handed her up the I 
 steps, and saw Mr. Tilden take his place beside j 
 hei, Mr. Vernon believed himself to be once 
 more des|ierately in love 1 I 
 
 My moling loft one heavy heart behind her : 
 when she (luiiicd Vernon Priory; and that j 
 heart beat in the bosom of Miss Caroline Alex- 
 ander. Slic lia.l long loved the truant knight, 
 who had evidently become the slave of the 
 beauliliil and fashionable stranger; while Mr. ! 
 Vernon, on his side, had everT previously to i 
 this evening, appeared more hapi)y in her so- ; 
 ciety ibaij in that of any other marriageable j 
 young lady in the county; and, with that un- ' 
 Ibrtuf.aiK faciliy common to gnod looking and . 
 well-downed girls, who are frequently thrown j 
 into the sociny of handsome and idle men of 
 Bentiiiifiiial tendencies, she had very readily ! 
 «Jlowed herself to believe that the inclination \ 
 
 was mutual ; an opinion strongly supported by 
 Ifer mother, a dashing widow, who was quite 
 willing to see her daughters established ; and 
 by her elder sister, who being a year or two 
 Mr. Vernon's senior, had no designs upon him 
 on her own account. 
 
 Jt will be easily understood, therefore, that 
 the undisguised admiration of Mr. Vernon for 
 my mother, sent a pang to the liearl of Caro- 
 line Alexander; and when, on his return to the 
 drawing-room, he proceeded at once to the in- 
 strument v\here his sister had again taken up 
 her station, instead of sharing the lounge upon 
 which she was herself seated alone, she had 
 great difficulty in suppressing the tears which 
 rose to her eyes. Stie had dreaded, during his 
 absence from the room, that on his reappearance 
 she should be condemned to listen to his admi- 
 ration of the new star which had risen in their 
 hemisphere ; but she did expect that she should 
 have been the auditor whom he would select; 
 and she accordingly comforted herself with the 
 recollection that Lady Madelaine Tilden was a 
 mairied woman; very heroically compelled her- 
 self to join in the comments which were made 
 upon her grace and be<?uty direc;ly she had ta- 
 ken leave ; and had also quite ileiermined on 
 agreeing with her recreant lover (lor such she 
 believed him to be) in every |)ariiciilar, however 
 provoking his hyperbole might prove. 
 
 The unexpected movement which he had 
 made, however, on entering the room, and his 
 utter silence on the subject of the departed 
 guest, counteracted all her projects ; r.«id as 
 she watched him, half buried in a large chair, 
 with his eyes fixed upon the carpet, and the 
 thick masses of his auburn hair falling partially 
 over his face, she for the first time fell a bittei 
 pang of jealousy and doubt. Tlie memory of 
 the Duchessa did not affect her — but the appa- 
 rition of my mother rendered her wretched ; 
 and the rather as she was compelled to ac- 
 knowledge to herself that it was an effect pro- 
 duced without efl'ort. Nothing could be more 
 unpretending than Lady Madelaine's manner; 
 nothing more simple than her costume. What 
 would it be should Frederic be fated to see her 
 in all the magnificence of dress and fashion, as 
 she had been described in Mrs. Gordon's letter 
 to Lady O'Halloran ! Poor Caroline looked 
 down Ujiun her own elaborate toilet, and could 
 have wept. It was a relief to her overcharged 
 heart when her mother's carriage was an- 
 nounced, and they, in their turn, departed from 
 the Priory, which had so long been the centre 
 of all her hopes and of all her ambition. 
 
 Nothing could be more simple than that the 
 Vernons, who, in addition to their near neigh- 
 borhood, claimed, through the gentlemen, a 
 previous acquaintance, should become speedily 
 intimate at Rooksley. The fair Eoiily pioved 
 an admirable cicerone to my mother ihroiigh the 
 mysteries and beauties of her own domain ; 
 while she soon discovered that Mr. Vernon 
 rode as well as Sir James Doriiton. and was 
 even more careful. Under these circumstan- 
 ces, the time ceased to hang so heavy indeed, 
 when in addition to her new inmai.es, for such 
 they neaily were. Lady Madelauie linind her- 
 self absorbed in a never-ending round of dinner 
 engagements, she had no longer a moment un- 
 eniployed. 
 
J4 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN- 
 
 My father, through the medium of Mr. Ver- | particular; and they accordingly proceeded to- 
 niui, stKiR made accjuahiiance with all the gen- | geihcr, and selected a spot at the entrance of 
 try on bis own side of the county ; and was [the village, where a handsome gothic edifice 
 prevailed upon to make some extensive purcha- was soon in progress, wherein all the poor 
 se.s in land, which hrought him into close con- 'children in the county might have heen com- 
 laci with the farming interest. His old hahits I modiously lodged and taught. Such heing the 
 of business enabled him to do this at less loss | case, the centre was appropriated to ihe schools, 
 than generally attends upon such speculations; | and the wings were fitted up as alms-houses ; 
 and he derived perpetual amusement from his an arrangement which at once rendered Lady 
 schemes of improvement and amelioration. At j Madelaine popular throughout the parish. The 
 the suggestion of Emily Vernon, my mother I respectable inhabitants got up an address ot 
 adopted the scho(ds which had been established i thanks, wiiich was presented by Dr. James ; 
 by tiiu Ladies Trevor, under the sanction of the ' and the sensation was so new and so delightful, 
 duke, and spared no expense in rendering them that for a time my mother was engrossed by 
 
 " model-sell. lols." The children wore the pret- 
 til ^i of all pretty uniforms ; they had a dinner 
 in the serviuus" hall at Rooksley every Sunday ; 
 the leacht-rs were amply supplied with books 
 
 this novel occupation ; but, unfortunately, just 
 as the walls began to show themselves above 
 the ground, llooksley suddenly became full of 
 uests, and the thoughts of la dame Chatdaiug 
 
 of every description ; and, in short, the gentle suffered a serious revulsion. 
 Emily was rejoiced to see all the schemes car- ] The first arrivals were Sir Herbert and Lady 
 ried out whicli iiad been the day-dream of her j Devereux, who had, as lier ladyship expressed 
 former friends. But the Ladies Trevor, never- lit, been stupifying at their place in Kent, until 
 tlieless, had done for these local schools what ' the happy moment .when they should fly to 
 my miulier was by no means inclined to imi- [ Rooksley. She cast a surprised and rather 
 tale : they had watched over the individual ' chilling glance upon Miss Vernon, whom she 
 welfare and progress of their little scholars ; found calmly employed at her embroidery-lVame 
 and, tliroogh the medium of their artless com- in my mother's morning-roam ; aiid, the iieoes- 
 iiiunicaiiims, they had ascertained the necessi- sary introduction over, llirevv I erself upon a 
 ties and ttru^gles of many a deserving family, sofa near her hostess, and forthwith plunged 
 
 and had thus heen enabled to relieve their wants 
 w ith judgment as well as kindness. 
 
 into iiie detail of the establishment, my mo- 
 ther WHS, on the contrary, quite incompetent 
 to enier. Her ideas of poverty did not extend 
 >!i->oiid the deprivation of particular luxuries, 
 or, at worst, comforts ; but she liked to see 
 the chiidreii looking pretty and well-dressed in 
 cliurcli on ihe Sunday ; and it was pleasant to 
 led iliat 11 was her own work. She really felt 
 glad, loo, when Miss Vernon suggested tlvat the 
 si'hool-house, which stood on the verge of the 
 Rooksley estate, was in a dilapidated condition ; 
 and that on driving out with her friend to look 
 at it, she discovered that it was an unsightly 
 barn-like building, which had been erected with 
 a VII w ui do the greatest possible good at the 
 oinallesi jjossible amount of outlay. This was 
 a charming circuiiislance ; and before they left 
 the village, a cottage, which chanced to be un- 
 tenanted, was at once secured by Lady Made- 
 laine Im- the use of ihe children until their own 
 school-house could be rebuilt ; and, immediately 
 on their return home, my lather was commis- 
 sioned to write to town Ibr architectural draw- 
 ings, from which a design might be selected to 
 replace the present building. 
 
 No proposition could more thoroughly have 
 dehghied Mr. Tilden. He was rejoiced to see 
 so wholesome a taste superseding the frivolous 
 piirsiiiis by which Ins beautiful wife had hitii- 
 eito bfcn totally engrossed ; and, as he lost not 
 a moinent in complying with her desire, the 
 pi. ins soon arrived, and were at once submitted 
 to the lair speculators. 
 
 Alter iireat deliberation, the choice of Miss 
 Vernon was absolutely negatived. It was too 
 s'riiill, too .plain, an<l too insignificant. Lady 
 M.idt lame was anxious for an erection which 
 should hi; at once imposing and picturesque ; 
 and, when my father smih.d at her earnestness, 
 sh;' looked serious, and talked of improving the 
 
 estate. Mr Vernon agrwed with her in every j ful as she is '." 
 
 into a stream of fashionable jargon totally unin- 
 telligible to the simple-minded Emily. 
 
 "And now, cara!" she cyniinued, after a 
 momentary pause, "how have you manaL'ed to 
 exist so long alone in the country 1 You really 
 deserve to be canonized I So idolized as you are 
 in the world, your virtue must have been Spar- 
 tan to bear you up. I am well aware that cosa 
 nuova sempre piace, but this of yours was really 
 an extreme case. What have you done ! AVhere 
 have you been 1 I am not cruel enough to 
 taunt you by asking — whom have you seen 1 
 I suppose you have a parson in the parish. I 
 believe thera always is one where there is a 
 church, and I saw yours on my way here — ct 
 a pics '" 
 
 '• Aprgs," was the reply ; " there is (uir neigh- 
 bor — our near neighbor, Mrs. Vernon — the moth- 
 er of my young friend here ;" (Lady Devereux) 
 drew her eyebrows together, and again gLinceil 
 at Emily) "her daughter and her son, who is 
 now walking with Mr. Tilden : — llien there are 
 half a score of county families within twenty 
 miles, with all of whom we have made a sort of 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Ah, yes — I perceive. Will you allow me 
 to ring for my maid, and change my dress !" 
 
 "I will accompany you," said my mother, 
 risin~g as she spoke. " I am quite sure that Miss 
 Verno.n will excuse me." 
 
 " Oiterfitrd will be here to dinner," observed 
 Lady Devereux, as she lounged out of the room. 
 " Sir Il(;rbert wished him to accompany us ; but 
 he was not proof against a journey with D-.inioh 
 and Phillis ; that is, after their loves had heen 
 rendered dull and legitimate by matrimony." 
 And she disappeared, followed by my mother. 
 
 " And is this the chosen friend of Lady .Made- 
 laine Tilden 1" murmured Emily Vernon to 
 herself, as her eye followed their reiirin<; fig- 
 ures. "Alas', alas! how unfavoalde is the 
 impression which she has made on me, beauti- 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The distaste which Miss Vernon instinctively 
 felt towards Lady Devereux was returned witli 
 interest by Lord Olterford towards her brother. 
 When they met, there was i\ mutual freling of 
 distrust and suspicion. The handsome person, 
 insinuating manners, and romantic reputation 
 of Mr. Vernon, had rendered hun higlily accep- 
 table to my mother ; while to my father, com- 
 paratively m a land of strangers, he had stood 
 in the position of an old friend— a link between 
 the past and the present. I have already hinted 
 that he was a vain man ; and I am bound in 
 justice to add that he had become passionately 
 attached to my mother, although she had never 
 for a moment suspected tliat such was the case. 
 His quiet but zealous attentions had flattered 
 her vanity; his evident admiration had gratified 
 her self-love ; he had amused her idleness, and 
 piqued her curiosity — but that was all. 
 
 Nor had Frederic Vernon any ulterior designs 
 in his adoration of the beautiful wife of his 
 friend. He loved her ardently, but he never 
 looked beyond the moment. He was jealous of 
 every hour that was spent out of her presence ; 
 happy under the influence of her smiles; proud 
 of the confidence with which she honored him ; 
 and anxious to render himself necessary to her 
 by every means in his power. Had he been 
 suddenly deprived of her friendship, he would 
 have felt it bitterly. It would have been to him 
 afar more severe trial than his romantic separa- 
 tion from the Duchcssa ; but he never suffered 
 himself to speculate upon such a contingency, 
 and so lived on, an jour la journee, occupied 
 only in devising new methods of givingpleasure 
 to the bright object of his homage. 
 
 But, as Lord Otterford could only form his 
 judgment of others from his experience of him- 
 self, and of his own motives and impulses, so 
 he could not for a moment imagine such a state ( 
 of things as this. He saw before him a man 
 eminently handsome, evidently well-bred, and ! 
 pal[)ahly established as rami de la maison. He 
 watched him closely for five minutes, and 
 thenceforward honored him with his hatred. 
 Lord Otterford patronized no half measures. 
 
 Was it not enough that throughout his sojourn 
 at Rooksley, he should have Mr. Tilden for 
 ^ver in his path 1 Before the party separated 
 for the night, he had vowed vengeance against 
 this new intruder. But how to accomplish if? 
 "An idle brain is the devil's workshop," says a 
 quaint old proverb ; and man seldom prepares 
 the anvil, that his satanic majesty fails to pro- 
 vide the hammer! 
 
 From the period of Lady Devereux's adveut 
 at Rooksley, each day witnessed some new ar- 
 rival, until the expected party Was complete. 
 The gentle Emily was nearly domesticated with 
 her new friends, and became completely so, 
 when important business suddenly and unex- 
 pectedly called Mrs. Vernon to town. After 
 having duly escorted his mother on her journey, 
 and seen her safely established in the house of 
 her sister, Frederi" returned in all haste to the 
 Priory ; for his .ocal knowledge and his ready 
 kindness had rendered him so indispensable to 
 my father, that they saw each other daily, al- 
 most hourly. His moments of active usefulness 
 were given to Mr. Tdden ; while those of re- 
 laxntion and feeling were all devoted to his wife. 
 
 Rooksley became the scene of perpetual dis- 
 sipation and amusement. The game had been 
 well preserved, and the prowess of the sport»- 
 men was sulKciently murderous to merit men- 
 tion in the county paper. Nor was the slaugh- 
 ter within doors inferior to that without. Blight 
 eyes did as certain. execution as patent fowling 
 pieces ; and the wet days and the long evenings 
 were perhaps more full of peril to the said 
 sportsmen than was their own aim to the par- 
 tridges and pheasants. More than one of them 
 ere long abandoned the sport altogether, be- 
 neath the influence of some more potent attrac- 
 tion. Among the first — the ladies called thera 
 " rationals," and the gentlemen "deserters" — 
 was Lord Olterford, at whose special instiga- 
 tion the party had originally been made. The 
 sportsman, par excellence, whose admirable lenue 
 and skilful shot might have suggested the de» 
 scription of a witty poet of more recent times •— 
 " Ne'er was such a brown and green 
 
 In gaiters or in jiicket seen. 
 
 Indeed no partridge could do less 
 
 Than tremble at the shooting-dre,ss, 
 
 In which, through all the livelong day, 
 
 Fresh and untired, he hUlzed away. 
 
 Scrambling through bush and briar to traco 
 
 Haply, but /ia//anotlier brace; 
 
 Till, near the house, one might leinarlc 
 
 From both his barrels, just at dark. 
 
 Two short, smart pops — ill-omened sound. 
 
 Echoed o'er many a turnip-ground. 
 
 Where coveys fed, in fearand sorrow. 
 
 Prophetic of their fate to- morrow." 
 
 His secession was, under the circumstances, 
 matter of amazement to all parties. Sir Her- 
 bert Devereux, who lived only during the hunt- 
 ing and shooting seasons, and contrived unac- 
 countably to exist, Ite never thoroughly under- 
 stood hoio, for the rest of the year, was unspar- 
 ing in his sarcasms and comments ; all of which 
 produced upon his friend much the same im- 
 pression as pumice flung against a rock. Lord 
 Otterford was decidedly a man of character. 
 
 Surrounded by a phalanx of her own friends, 
 and thus secure from all undue neighborly fa- 
 miliarity, my mother issued continual invita- 
 tions to the families who had left iheir namns 
 at Rooksley ; while she held herself excused 
 from all return visits by the guests whom she 
 was compelled to entertain at home ; and 
 among those who never failed to obey her sum- 
 mons were Mrs. Alexander and her daughters 
 The lady hers«lf had a passion for nr.aking new 
 acquaintance. She was never ha py save in a 
 crowd. The elder Miss \lexander, tall, dres.'sy, 
 showy, and perfectly self-possessed, felt that, 
 at eight and twenty, there was no time for her 
 to throw away in solitude, if she ever contem- 
 plated an establishment ; while poor Caroline 
 was eager to find herself in a house in which 
 she was but too well aware that Frederic Ver- 
 non spent two-thirds of his time. 
 
 To Lady O'Halloran, the great attraction ot 
 Rooksley was the table. She was at onee 
 gourmette and gouimandc. During her lord's 
 life they had kept open house in the county 
 Kildare ; a fact which had compelled her, as a 
 widow, to close her doors. The family estate 
 was, at this period, " at nurse" for her son ; an<l, 
 as she herself declared, " the lawye-rs proved 
 very sorry dry-nurses indeed." Lady O'Hal- 
 loran was universally popular ; she was earnest 
 in everything, and thoroughly good-natured ; 
 frank to a fault, accommodating, /ac/7e a vicn' 
 
36 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 and of a temper proof against all trial. To my 
 mother, she was, however, notwiihsianding al. 
 these siicial (jualifications, displeasing in an im- 
 minent degree. To her, the earliest frankness 
 and joyous good-humor of the Irish widow con- 
 veyed nothing but vulgarity and coarseness ; 
 but as she had no plausible pretext for declin- 
 ing her society, and as she was certain to find 
 her in every visitable house in the neighborhood, 
 she contented herself by expressing her disgust 
 to her own immediate friends, and suffered her 
 laughing ladyship to be included in every invi- 
 tation which collected at Rooksley her particu- 
 lar intimates. 
 
 Since I have grown old, and have been com- 
 pelled to make ho^ie-avocaiions, I have found a 
 great resource in novel-reading. I have a few 
 sententious associates, who tell me that such a 
 pursuit is too trifling for my years ; but I let 
 them say on, and read not a volume the less. 
 My retrospective vanity is flattered by the grace- 
 ful fictions, which so often make power, wealth, 
 and even virtue itself, bow down before the om- 
 nipotence of beauty. I iove to identify myself 
 with the bright-eyed heroine ; to live over 
 again, in her company, past experiences of tri 
 umph ; and, although all this may, in point of 
 fact, be trifling, it is oidy the more consistent, and 
 worthily wiudsup thelife of a pretty woman. Of 
 art, doubtlessly I have had my share in my time : 
 the only science svhich 1 ever understood was 
 the science of pleasing ; how then was I to gain- 
 say in my old age the pursuits of my whole lifel 
 
 My motive for this apparent digression is to 
 remark that if, in the said works of fiction, it be 
 admissible for the aullwr, who has all the uni- 
 ties at his control, and who may take what 
 liberties he pleases, both wiih times, places, and 
 persons, to put ten or twenty years into a pa- 
 renthesis, I may well be excused lor arrogaiing 
 to myself a similar liberty in wriiing my own 
 veritable memoirs. All that I have yet placed 
 upon record was, of course, in my case merely 
 traditionary ; but I felt it to be necessary that 
 my readers should know my father and mother 
 " m their habits as they lived, wiih the habits 
 they'd acqnireil," before 1 introiiuced that more 
 important personage — myself; and, as I was 
 born within eigiiteen months after the marriage 
 of my parents, all reasonable readers must at 
 once concede that I hi.ve availed myself of my 
 privilege with singular c; -cretion. 1 shall there- 
 fore make no apology, m_» conscience being at 
 peace. 
 
 It may he as well, however, to premise that, 
 in the interval, the school-house was con)pleled, 
 and that its expanded winus afforded shelter to 
 twenty aged paupers. The ceremony of the 
 " opening" was a festival ihr the neighborhood ; 
 there were drums and fiddles, and beer and beef, 
 for the poorer classes ; and a procession, in 
 which ihe children ap|ieared in new uniforms, 
 the old men in blue coals and gray worsted 
 stockings, and the old women in brown gowns 
 and seal let cloaks. These having been duly 
 inetalled in tlieir pinnacled and |)iciiiiesqiie dom- 
 icile, the "gentry" were, in Iheir turn, enter- 
 tained at Rooksley. where a splendid ball suc- 
 ceeded a sumptuous dinner, ami where many 
 Bpnecbes were made, on the disappearance of 
 the ladies, tf'iiding to impress upon my father 
 the extent of his worth, and the many virtues 
 
 of his wife ; for which he, deeply impressed by 
 the unexpected (I) honor done to Lady Madelaine 
 and himself, returned thanks in a speech eulo- 
 gistic of the friend who had made himself this 
 " bright honor's mouthpiece," and begged to 
 propose the health of some one else then pres- 
 ent, who did the same in his turn, until, at 
 length, the whole company presented the spec- 
 tacle of " a suit of dittos ;" alter which, there 
 remaining nothing of importance to detain them 
 longer, they joined the guests, who were al- 
 ready rapidly filling the ball-room. 
 
 This was the great starting-pomt of my 
 father's popularity in the county. 
 
 It is true that the Duke of Dorchester had 
 not only given the land upon which the original 
 school-iiouse stood, but built the house itself; 
 while his amiable daughters had clothed the 
 children, and, as I have already shown, more- 
 over made them the medium of far more exten- 
 sive charities; but the duke had a very expen- 
 sive family, and had been involved by his sons 
 to an extent which compelled him to sell off a 
 portion of his estates, and to retire into Italy 
 with his daughters for a few years, in order to 
 give bin) time to retrieve himself 
 
 Now ii was, perhaps, somewhat unreasonable 
 in his Grac? of Dorchester, when he disposed of 
 Rooksley, to consider that he had done quite 
 sufficient for the parish, in giving them the said 
 land and house in perpetuity. He should have 
 remembered that llie parochial authorities had 
 a claim upon him. He had built the schocl- 
 housc for his own gratification, and it had been 
 a great amusement to the ladies of his family; 
 and such was the opinion of the vestry, when 
 an intimation was made to them at one of their 
 ' meetings, that some repairs were needed to 
 I the building. They very naturally decided that, 
 I had not the Duke of Dorchester thought proper. 
 I at his own instigation, and on his own author- 
 iiy, to build the said school-house, the parish 
 would not have been burdened with its repaiis ; 
 the chililren learnt very well previously in Mar- 
 gery Drake's cottage ; and it was perfectly 
 I dear that if noblemen and gentlemen had a 
 I fancy for building schools, it w'as their duty to 
 I endow them, and to prevent their becoming a 
 burden to the parish. 
 
 In short, the neat, plain, appropriate little 
 tenement, which had been the admiration of 
 the churchwardens and other local authorities, 
 when it replaced the brick-paved kitchen in 
 
 which the young ideas in had previously 
 
 been taught to shoot, and for which profuse 
 
 thanks had been lavished upon his grace on its 
 
 erection, was no sooner discovered to need 
 
 j some trifling reparation, than it was decided to 
 
 ; be " a burden on the parish ;" and as, under 
 
 j such circumstances, the conscientious members 
 
 of the " select vestry" would have considered 
 
 j it a dereliction of principle to apply the paro- 
 
 : chial funds, where it was so clear and self-evi- 
 
 I dent that the Duke of Dorchester was the re- 
 
 ' sponsible person, it was unanimously agreed that 
 
 i an olhcial letter should be written to his grace, 
 
 I representing the stale of the building; and 
 
 suggesting, at the same time, that as the num- 
 
 I ber of scludars had greatly increased of late, 
 
 some additional forms and desks would be very 
 
 j acceptable. This luminous idea was at once 
 
 I acted upon ; but the letter superscribed " Imme 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 37 
 
 tfiate," in order that their noble correspondent 
 miglit not keep them in unnecessary suspense 
 by attending to any irrelevant personal all'airs 
 before he replied to it, never received any an- 
 swer, having been f«»rvvarded to Florence from 
 the duke's lovvn-house, and lost on the way. 
 
 My nioiher, at ihe suggestion of Emily Ver- 
 non, took ihc affair into her own hands, at ihe 
 most fortunate moment in the world. The 
 slight dilapidations, which, had they been imme- 
 diately attended to, might have been effectually 
 checked, had increased greatly during the pro- 
 gress of a h)ng and wet winter. The relatives 
 of the children, anxious to preserve themas long 
 as possible from the weather, had patched and 
 pieced the roof during a stray leisure hour, but 
 the great evil remained unremedied ; and, as I 
 have already stated, my mother, in the first 
 burst of her philanthropy, found herself com- 
 pelled to hire a cottage even for the temporary 
 accommodation of her little protegees, before 
 the great work of building the new edifice com- 
 menced. 
 
 Nothing could have been better timed. The 
 intention alone aflbrded conversation to the 
 whole neighborhood ; and, when half a score 
 of carpenters and masons, who h'ad been for 
 some weeks out of employ, found themselves 
 once more in full work, and that the result of 
 their labors began to show itself above ground, 
 the county-papf r spread the news far and wide. 
 Paragraphs, headed, " princely liberality !" 
 "generous munificence!" and "noble ex- 
 ample TO LANDED PROPRIETORS !" appeared in 
 weekly succession. The festival of the " open- 
 ing" settled the business. Not a man got 
 drunk upon my father's strong ale that day, 
 who ever remembered such a gentleman, or 
 who had ever seen such a lady. And when, in 
 the midst of all this excitement, it was ascer- 
 tained that my father had purchased some ex- 
 tensive farms in the neighborhood, every indi- 
 vidual present was ready, glass in hand, to work 
 upon them for nothing; an arrangement which 
 would, no doubt, have proved extremely eco- 
 nomical, had it ever been acted upon. 
 
 Most political reader ! do you not discover 
 the embryo M. P. under all this popularity, and 
 all this acquisition of land 1 Of course, you do. 
 Will It be objected that my father was new in 
 the county, and that there were old ties and old 
 sympathies still existing, and still dear to true 
 hearts and fast memories 1 Pooh, pooh ! the 
 Marquis of Portintown, the duke's elder son, 
 had, it is true, represented the county during 
 three sessions ; but hia noble father was no 
 longer a resident ; and it had been evident, even 
 at the last election, that the marquis did not 
 " bleed" so freely as formerly ; and as to the 
 letter which he wrote on the dissolution of par- 
 liament, stating his perfect reliance on the 
 stedfastness, good-faith, and old attachment of 
 
 vhe " worthy and independent electors of ," 
 
 it was, of course, " nothing but proper, and 
 what they had a right to expect, seeing what 
 they had done for him ;" but, unfortunately, 
 straightforward, manly letters, even written by 
 the sons of dukes, will not suffice to pay bills, 
 or to supply "unlimited refreshments" at the 
 Angel or the George — and my father was known 
 to be very rich. 
 
 The Marquis of Portictown was a superb, 
 
 I young man, whose aristocr;f?y was written on 
 I his brow; and he was, moreover, aflahic, and 
 i polite, and considerate. The women were, one 
 : and all, in his favor; i)ut my father had a hand- 
 1 some wife ; and, although the ladies might 
 j have the voices, their husbands had the votes. 
 And thus ii occurred that my birth took place 
 I on the close of a contested election, during 
 I which money, and heavy dinners, and slili 
 heavier speeches had been at a discount, al- 
 though " bribery and corruption " had be(!n 
 sonipiilously eschewed. A few small land- 
 holders got their farms that year for a pefiper- 
 corn rent. The tiines wer^j hard, and my 
 father's agent was a man of intense feeling. 
 There was an immense display of new gowns 
 and showy ribbons at church for the next 
 j month. My mother was a philanthropist, and 
 I liked to see happy faces about her. The cir- 
 cumstances of certain families changed in a 
 sudden and extraordinary manner ; but who 
 requires to be reminded of the unaccountable 
 mutations of fortune 1 Th? school-children, 
 wearing the Tilden colors, paraded the streets 
 with banners, and created a general feeling ol 
 generous enthusiasm ; for, wijen they appeared, 
 they not only reminded the local authorities ol 
 what the new candidate had done, but of what 
 the father of the old one had left undone, which 
 was better still. 
 
 In short, my father's gold, his agent's tact, 
 and my mother's beauty, carried the day. All 
 the old ducal virtue, and liberality, and munifi- 
 cence were forgotten ; but still, it must be 
 said, in my father's praise, that so thoroughly 
 satisfied was tlie marquis with the frank and 
 manly bearing of his adversary in the struggle, 
 that he consented, at the close of the election, 
 to become a guest at Rooksley for a couple ot 
 days, while he arranged certain matters of local 
 business; and where the family tradition de- 
 clares that the bright eyes of my mother so 
 thralled him, that he extended his visit to a 
 week, and ultimately took his departure on the 
 best possibJe terms with his successor in sena- 
 torial honors. 
 
 My birth followed closely upon his retreat. 
 Extreme fatigue and excitement had overtasked 
 the strength of my mother; and the establish- 
 ment was still sens dessus dcssous, when I ap- 
 peared to claim some sJiare of the public atten- 
 tion. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 My first tangible memory attaches itself to a 
 frock of white muslin, looped on the shoulders 
 with strings of jet. 1 was supposed to be in 
 mourning for my maternal grandfather, the 
 Right Honorable Alexander DiiiK'an, Earl ol 
 Glenfillan. My name was Eveleen, and I was 
 the pet and plaything of a party of ladies, who 
 passed me from one lap to another, and from one 
 pair of white arms to a second quite as hand 
 some, under tlie light of a superb chandelier. I 
 believe that this was my debut in polished so- 
 ciety, and that I was indebted for my early 
 honors to Lord Otterford ; who, having met me 
 by accident in one of the galleries, when re- 
 turning from a walk in the park with my nurse, 
 was so enchanted with my likeness to rav 
 
J8 
 
 CONi'^i-ISSlONS OF A rRE'lTY WOMAN. 
 
 ruoihei, that he petitioneil for my immediate ' 
 pieseiitJilioii 'II the drawing-niom. ' 
 
 I liave said tua! this was my first tangible 
 memory, but I had maii> others, misty, indis- 
 tinct, dreamhke, yet nevertheless far rno-e 
 deliglilfiil. Memories of tender endearinents 
 hivisiied on me by day and niglit, amid my ; 
 nursery sports, and over my hitle bed. The 
 endearments of a fond father, bestowed, in ail ^ 
 their lender profusion, upon his tirsl-born. And | 
 yet, surely I must have been a breathing disap- ' 
 pDinlment to that fond father, who had doubt- 
 lessly sigiied for a son and heir, an inheritor ol 
 his name ; wliydi, however iusigniiicant it 
 might liave appeared to my mother, iier friend 
 Lady Devereux, and id genus omne, was with- 
 out doubt a matter of interest toliimself. If 
 such indeed I were, however, it' was a fact 
 whicli I never learned. The apparition of my 
 father was to me the signal for a scream of 
 joy; his presence always brought delight : hut 
 it was not until I grew to girlJiood, and was 
 compelled to feel its loss, that 1 learnt to ap- 
 preciate his value, both as a father and a man. 
 
 The noise, the glare, and liie novelty of the 
 drawing-room delighted me. It is probable that, 
 half unconsciously, I looked around for my 
 good genius in this scene of enchantment ; but, 
 be that as it may, it is certain that my father 
 was not there ; while it so chanced that, satis- 
 tied wiih feeling that my nurse was near me, I 
 exhil)iied du fear, I utiered no cry ; and thus I 
 was transferred from each to each, receiving 
 from every one in turn a word of delighted 
 commi'ndalion. ; 
 
 " *iV'bal an angel!" exclaimed one. "Wliali 
 a lovely creature !'" said another. "-What a 
 porlcia image of Lady Madelaine !" apostro- 
 pliizt.-d a third. " What a miniature of perlec- j 
 tioii !" expatiated a fourtli ; and then I was 
 rekissed, rehiigged, and dismissed to the un- 
 known regions in which the nurseries were | 
 situated. I 
 
 This opening scene of my little drama of 
 exisieiice i.-- the more forcibly im|)ressed upon | 
 my mind, finm the unpleasant effect of the j 
 transition whii-h immediately supervened. The 
 liead-nurse, on arriving in her own dominions, 
 forthwith gave me over to the tender mercies 
 of a deputy, while she doffed her best cap and 
 collar, exclaiming loudly against the new ca- 
 price which had at once hroknii up her evening 
 naj), and delayed her lea-drinking. 
 
 The voice of murmuting and complaint, com- 
 ing so directly afier the pleasant whisperings 
 ol adulation and endearment, produced an uii- 
 coiiiforiable contrast, lo which, young as I was, 
 I was nevertlicless fully susceptible ; and ac- 
 cordingly, while Mrs. Harris retired to her 
 lirivate apartment to deposit iier finery, I com- 
 menced afeH dc joie of screams and lisping en- 
 treaties to be carried back to the beauiilul 
 ladies. I might as well have a^sked for the 
 moon. I was first soothed, and then threaten- 
 ed, and then shook, until my feeble breath caine 
 gaspingly from my little lieart, and ultimately 
 put into the corner, with a chair before me to 
 prevent my escape, and left lo sob as I pleased, 
 while my guardian resumi^d her novel. This 
 was, however, hurriedly restored to her pocket, 
 and myself once more caught up in her arin^ 
 on the reappearance of her principal. 
 
 O course a renewal of shrieks broke up the 
 quiet of the nursery, and the "miniature per- 
 fection" of the drawing-room was suddenly 
 transferred into the " brat" of the north wing, 
 in which the apartments ot myself and my de- 
 pendents were siluat?d. 
 
 But the ice was broken. My vain and beau- 
 tiful mother was, it appeared, herself struck by 
 my infantile loveliness, to which she had pre- 
 viously paid no attention ; the reflected com- 
 pliments induced by my appearance were pleas- 
 ing from their novelty ; and the caresses which 
 I lavished upon her were an agreeable variety 
 in her daily existence. Thenceforward 1 be- 
 can)e her frequent companion. My childish 
 attractions were enhanced by all the auxiliaries 
 of dress, I was one of the "lions" of Rooks- 
 ley : while lo its mistress I was a new toy, an 
 animated plaything. 
 
 Alas ! I was destined to outgrow this char- 
 acter ; nor was such an amusement suited long 
 to satisfy the tastes of a young and fashionable 
 woman, surrounded by flatterers, greedy of 
 pleasure, and devoted to dissipation. 
 
 Abandoned, as a matter of course under such 
 circumstances, to the care of hirelings during 
 three-fouribs of the day, I imbibed instinctively 
 and unconsciously the germ of the many defects 
 which my after-life so sadly developed. Nor 
 did the violent transition from the high-breed- 
 ing and luxury of my mother's circle to the 
 sordid and interested tactics *of the nursery 
 tend to iiiiprove my natural disposition. I 
 came, with my mother's kiss still warm upon 
 my cheek, into my own apartments, to hear 
 the dress, the temper, and, above all, the liber- 
 ality of her guests freely canvassed. I was so 
 very a child, that all was discussed unhesitat- 
 ingly before me ; and although I understood 
 much of what I heard, it was probably fortu- 
 nate for me that my perception was not more 
 extensive; for the morals of my mother's inti- 
 mates met, at times, with quite as" little quar- 
 ter as their manners. 
 
 The first lesson which I learnt, and it was 
 by no means inculcated with gentleness, was 
 the necessity of utter silence upon all that oc- 
 curred in the nursery : I was neither to repeat 
 what I heard there, nor to mention who were 
 its visitors. No wonder that, when I began to 
 be conscious that I understood a great deal 
 which 1 was not supposed to hear, far less to 
 comprehend, I should instinctively keep this 
 secret as well as the other. 1 saw much, in 
 caricature, in my own apartments, which I wit- 
 nessed in high comedy in the saloon of my 
 mother. If Lord Otterford or Frederic Vernon 
 kissed the hand of Lady Madelaine, so did my 
 falber'Si "gentleman" kiss the cheek of Mrs. 
 Harris. There were the same coquetries, the 
 same grimaces, the same interchange of un- 
 meaning follies ; the only difference existed in 
 the fact, that, in one instance, the canvas was 
 touched by the pencil of a master, and in the 
 other, daubed by the brush of a sign-painter. 
 
 At six years old I was provided with a French 
 governess. She was a sister of Felicie, who 
 had, like herself, been destined to the honors ol 
 the dressing-room, but who ha^l not evinced 
 sufficient talery, to be intrusted with the toilet 
 of a woman ol rank, and who naturally could 
 not condescend to serve a bourgeoise. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 When my mother decided upon this appon 
 dage U) my mdivuinal establishment, she named 
 it, as a matter of course, lo her attendant, who 
 immediately, like an atlectionate sister, recom- 
 mended Mademoiselle Josephine, who, as she 
 assured her lady, ''avail des talents cxlraoriU- 
 Mtrcs pour I' education!'' Such an assurance 
 from such a quarter settled the affair at once ; 
 my mother merely stipulating that she nmst 
 "lonk at" mademoiselle hefore she was detini- 
 lively engaged ; and as Feiicie felt that nothing 
 Oi'wKi t)e more reasonahle, her extraordinarily 
 tal^iiwd sistf r, wiid was ti>o dull lo dress hair 
 and " ;,'et up" poini-Iace, was immediately sum- 
 moned ; and being very pretty, very graceful, 
 and remarkably well-dressed, was secured at 
 once by Lady Madelaine at a high salary, to 
 form my manners and direct my mind. 
 
 Her installation in her new dignities followed 
 within a month ; the day-nursery was duly pro- 
 moted into a school-room ; and Mrs. Harris, 
 not with the best grace in the .world, subsided 
 into vice-president. 
 
 Soon after the arrival of Mademoiselle Jose- 
 phine we removed to Grosvenor Square. Par- 
 liament had assembled, and my father was at 
 his po^t. It took two or three weeks to settle 
 my p.i'jther comfortably for the season. Hei 
 arrangements were minute and complicated. 
 •During this period I saw but little of her. The 
 rooms appropriated t(j myself and my precep- 
 tress were situated at the back of the house ; 
 and save that my father generally came into my 
 sleeping chamber on tiptoe, on his return from 
 St. Stephen's, to kiss me as I slept, and that I 
 v» as informed of the circumstance on the mor- 
 row by my maid, I might well have believed 
 mysell to be forgotten. 
 
 Psevertheless, mademoiselle did not partici- 
 pate in my ennui. The transition from a home 
 of penury, where she Had been daily reproached 
 with a want of common capacity, which threat- 
 ened to make her a burden upon her family, to 
 a situation of authority and trust in the man- 
 sion of Lady Madelaine Tilden, was of itself 
 happiness; but when to this circumstance was 
 superadded the control of a carriage which was 
 called mine, and a liveried lackey, nicknamed in 
 like manner, she was intoxicated with her 
 good-forliine. 
 
 How I hated the everlasting Park, where 
 we drove slowly to and fro, amid dust, and 
 noise, and clatter I It used to make my head 
 swim, and my eyes ache. It had, however, a 
 far different effect upon my companion. Sb* 
 was too pretty to pass unobserved. Her iden- 
 tity was soon ascertained ; and Miss Tilden's 
 governess was, ere long, as well known lo the 
 horsemen as the Serpentine itself. But if the 
 drives were thus distasteful to me, the walks 
 were a hundredfold worse. I remembered the 
 woods and glades of Ilooksley, its glancing lights 
 and shifting shadows, and contrasted lliein in 
 sadness with the dreary and i;nonotonous gar- 
 den of the Square, and the unfamiliar and peo- 
 ple-thronged avenues of Kensington Gardens. 
 In trnie, however, I became reconciled to both, 
 and thus the last touch of nature was removed 
 from my heart. 
 
 My mother's personal arrangements once 
 made, she turned her attention lo myself, and 
 masters of every description were forthwith 
 
 provided for me. The exert'ons of mademoi- 
 selle had already commenced. Jt was decided 
 that, short as had been the period of her dicta- 
 torship, I was undeniably improved — in ajjpear- 
 ance. I made a more graceful courtesy, had 
 got rid of my shyness, and did nitl, by any un- 
 landladylike demonstrations of energy, disturb 
 the propriety of my dress. 
 
 Nothing could be belter ! Compliments were 
 showered upon mademoiselle, and praises upon 
 myself; after which we each made a lower add 
 more elegant courtesy than before, and with 
 drew to our ultima Thule. 
 
 Under the care of this invali^ble preceptress 
 I learnt to apply the apothegm which has since 
 been (falsely) attributed lo her distinguished 
 countryman Prince Talleyrand, that " words 
 j were given to us to disguise our thoughts." — 
 j By the way, how frequently it occurs tliat the 
 world fastens upon an acknowledged wit, a 
 shrewd saying to which he has never given ut- 
 terance ! It would appear that individuals who 
 occasionally stumble upon a good thing, of which 
 they themselves do not perhaps appreciate the 
 full merit, anxious that it should not be lost, ter- 
 miwate it with " as so and so said ;" and in this 
 manner, in order to save their saying, sacrifice 
 themselves. Even so, I should imagine, was the 
 really profound and diplomatic " saw" which I 
 have just quoted fastened upon the modern Ma- 
 chiavel, who, nevertheless, disclaimed its pa- 
 rentage. 
 
 I learnt, also, to agree — at least in words — 
 with every one upon every subject, and never 
 to betray my own sentiments and opinions; to 
 look upon everything through the medium of 
 expediency ; and to appreciate rank and riches 
 beyond all other human attributes. 
 1 In this manner, and under this guidance, I al- 
 ternated between Grosvenor Square and Rooks- 
 ley, until I had reached eleven years of age. I 
 had been told incidentally that I had a sister, 
 who was born twelve months after myself, but 
 I had never seen her. . The reason for this ex- 
 traordinary fact, as I afterwards ascertained, 
 existed in the circumstance that her birth near- 
 ly cost the life of my mother, who continued 
 for many months afterward a confirmed inva- 
 , lid ; while, pour comble dc malheur, the infant 
 i proved so sickly and so irreclaiinably plain that 
 ' Lady Madelaine could not endure its presence ; 
 ^ and it was consequently, at the instigation of 
 my father, sent down lo Scotland under the 
 charge of a trusty nurse, and placed in the care 
 of Lady Flora Glentillan. 
 
 I well remember that my first sensation on 
 hearing I had a sister was one of intense de- 
 light. I longed to fold her in my arms, to flasp 
 her to my heart. I felt the blood rush into my 
 face, and the tears, into my eyes. For a mo- 
 ment my whole 'oeing overfltiwed wiili love. 
 But these highly-wrought feelings were soon 
 repressed by Mademoiselle Josephine ; who, not 
 being herself troubled with any par'.icular senti- 
 ment toward her own sister, save one of in- 
 j tense jealousy, was at a loss to understand the 
 meaning of my emotion ; and who most ellect- 
 I ually rebuked it by reminding me that had 
 \miladi considered this invisible sister as so 
 ' great a blessing, she would not have been ex- 
 iled from her paternal home ; ihat I .should be 
 I more reasonable, if I gave m;'scll ihe trouble li« 
 
40 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 lecollect that my fortune would be diminished Frederic Vernon ; but I also discovered more 
 Jn«-half by the birth of tliis sister, whom I was than this. I saw that ihesweel and dove-eyed 
 prepared to love so ardently; and who, being j Emily— she, whose caresses were to n)e Ihe 
 he'll ugly and sickly, would, of course, be con- most welcome, and whose praises were tiie 
 stantly envious of my beauty and grace. j most judicious and well-timed — loved the sel- 
 
 No argument was ever more effective. I fish and cold-hearted nohiemaii who woie my 
 dried my tears, stilled the beating of my heart, mother's chains. How often did I long to clasp 
 and sat down to think ! What subjects of re- [ my arms about her neck, and tell her how, in my 
 flection were these for a pure young mind ! No j young spirit, I loathed — I knew not, nor cared 
 marvel, trained as I had been, that the evil seed j not wherefore — that polished liypocrite ! But 
 took root quickly ; and that, at the close of the ' I had studied in too faJse a school to give way 
 longest fit of musing in which I had ever in- i to so natural and pure an impulse; and so I 
 dulged, I almost loved Mademoiselle Josephine looked on, and marveled, and reasoned with 
 for the generous devotion to my interests, which myself, as children will do, upon tlie social phe- 
 made her so vehement against my unknown nomena that were taking place about me. 
 Sister. j I was not then aware of the vow taken b/Ot- 
 
 It was provoking that I, certain as I was of terford on his first meeting with Frederic Ver- 
 
 creatiiig a sensatiim by my beauty, should be 
 robbed of half my wealth by one so greatly my 
 inferior. Mademoiselle was right. This un- 
 wisheri-forand unloved younger sister was bet- 
 ter away. This was my conviction at eleven 
 
 or in the pale cheek and aching heart of 
 the fair and innocent girl before me, I might 
 have traced the operations of his vengeance. 
 
 How well do I remember a certam evening 
 in August I The first dressing-bell had rung. 
 
 years of age ; and as my mother had never in and all the Rooksley guests had obeyed its sum- 
 her life mentioned to me the existence of her I mons. As I was, of course, excluded by my ten- 
 
 second child, I had no difficulty in avoiding the 
 subject. 
 
 Of my father I saw less than ever. As a pub- 
 lic man he was popular and powerful, but at 
 
 der age from my mother's table, it conveyed no 
 warning to me, and I consequently lingnred in 
 the drawing-room after it was deserted. For a 
 time I amused myself among the costly toys 
 
 home he was a cipher. No voice had ever been which were scattered in all directions ; but, as 
 raised against Lady Madelaine ; no murmur ^ they were familiar to me, I soon weaned of an 
 low but deep had ever turned toward her the | occupation so devoid of novelty ; and being at- 
 eye of suspicion or the finger of scorn ; but my tracted by an 'unusually brilliant sunset. 1 saun- 
 father was no lass a wretched man. Fortunate tered into a smaller apartment formed in one of 
 indeed was it for him that ambition was the ' the turrets, and known as the octagon-room ; a 
 most powerful principle of his nature; for it place of comparative retreat occasionally sought 
 enabled him to pass by without comment or by those of the company to whom, from some 
 expostulation those thousand small and minute passing cause, the movement and hilarity of the 
 indications of indifierence and supercilious cold- more public reception-room were for a moment 
 ness which characterized the bearing of my distasteful. The large bayed window stood in- 
 inother. He felt that they were touched so vitingly open, and I approached it, and leant out, 
 lightly and so skilfully, that, taken individually, watching the rich and changeful colors of the 
 they would be almost imperceptible to a com- j western skyi unconscious that I was screened 
 mon observer, and that the world could have no from observation by the ample crimson curtain 
 sympathy with such sorrows. He therefore which was drawn partially across the recess, 
 folded them closely in his heart; and, satisfied ' How long I had been thus engaged I know 
 that the very egotism of ray mother's nature not, when I was aware of voices in the adjoin- 
 was his best safeguard against dishonor, endeav- ing apartment, and immediately afterward, of 
 ored to forget, in the vortex of political excite- ' steps approaching the spot on which 1 stood, 
 ment, that he had ever forined dearer visions of My first impulse was to discover myself, but a 
 happiness. , feeling of false shame — a fear of appearing to 
 
 Many who were acquainted with public men have overheard what had been already said — de- 
 and public measures upwards of half a century terred me; and I drew still farther back behind 
 ago, will have little trouble in deciding the iden- the folds of the damask drapery. Peihaps, had 
 tiiy of my father. another moment been left to me for decision, 1 
 
 I have already said that I had attained my might have obeyed the better prompting which 
 eleventh year, i had naturally quick talents, had suggested my first thought, but the hesita- 
 and great powers of observation ; it was con- tion of an instant had rendered this impossible, 
 secjuenlly not wcjnderful that my progress in My heart heat painfully. Accustomed as I had 
 all womanly accomplishments was rapid. My been to mean and unworthy theories, I had 
 masters spoke of mc in flattering terms ; my never yet reduced them to practice ; and I con- 
 mother's guests londled and praised the " show- sequcntly shrank like a coward from the bare 
 child" who relieved their high-bred weariness I semblance of a dishonesty which I had still 
 with her harj) or with her voice ; and forgot ' nerve enough to execute, 
 that the same instinct which awoke in me the The voices became more distinct — theynrere 
 power of combination and exertion in the one those of Miss Vernon and Lord Oilerford. 
 •nstance, was not likely to lie dormant where j Theie was a tender persuasiveness in his tones, 
 my own personal feelings were still more active ' which struck me on the instant. I had heard 
 
 Hiid acute. ; iiiu) gay, and sententious, and seiitim(?ntal, and 
 
 Young as I was, I required no prompter to even eloquent; but this was an inflection of 
 point out to me that my mother lived only fori lis voice altogether new to me. They entered 
 admiration, and that among the most devoted .he room — they paused beside the window, just 
 <j. Iier g'aves were Lord Otterfoid and Mr. I heycmd the curtain, wl ere the last beam of th^ 
 
CONFESSIONS Of^ A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 41 
 
 tapiilly descending sun sent a ray of brightness 
 to the brow of Eioily, and made her luxuriant 
 hair ghtte,r hke threads of gold. She was hang- 
 ing upon the arm of her cotnpanion, heavily, 
 languidly, like one who rather sought than 
 needed his support. 
 
 I was still a mere child, but I. had already 
 read her secret — she loved him ! 
 
 What a rush of thought swept across my 
 brain ! I was bewildered. I had seen him look 
 into my mother's eyes, as though he knew no 
 otiier light. I had seen him bow to her slight- 
 est caprice, as though her will invested it with 
 reason : and yet there could be no doubt that he 
 loved my best friend, my gentle, indulgent Em- 
 ily. I was lost in difficulty. Had I even doubt- 
 ed the latter fact, I should at once have had that 
 doubt removed when he next spoke, and that I 
 could distinguish his words. 
 
 " You are ungenerous, Emily," he said, in an 
 accent of tender reproach ; " you accord nothing 
 to the dilfic-uhy of my position. Why will you 
 thus persist in misinterpreting my every word 
 and action 1" 
 
 A deep and painful sigh was the only an- 
 swer. 
 
 " Look dispassionately at my very delicate 
 and peculiar position in this family, my sweet 
 girl," resumed his lordship. " You are well 
 aware that my cousin Lady Devereux is Lady 
 Madelaine's chosen friend ; that I have known 
 her for years ; and that, in short, like all spoiled 
 beauties, she exacts unlimited devotion from her 
 male acquaintance. See your own brother, for 
 example ! Has he eyes, ears, or senses, for 
 any woman save our fair and haughty host- 
 ess? And yet, do you believe that if his heart 
 were to speak in opposition to his fancy, his 
 reason would not soon sever the idle links which 
 bind him now! Fie! fie! You are a child, 
 my dear one, and must be schooled into more 
 sober judgment." 
 
 " But Frederic," faltered Miss Vernon, "nev- 
 er knew, never loved Lady Madelaine before 
 her marriage; and I have heard — " 
 
 "WhatV interposed her companion, impetu- 
 ously ; " that, in all probability, I did both. 
 Why, this is still more idle ! I did know this 
 vain beauty in her first youth — in all the in- 
 solent glory of her opening loveliness ; and yet 
 you see that I have survived her union- with 
 Mr. Tiiden. Think you that, had I willed she 
 should be mine, she, with her haughty and 
 imperious spirit, would have rejected me, to 
 give her noble hand to a commoner] Surely 
 you know her belter." 
 
 "All this may be, my lord," was the reply; 
 " and yet I feel degraded by the part which I am 
 now playing. To me your suit can but bring 
 honor, and surely to yourself it can convey no 
 disgrace. / also am a commoner, the titleless 
 daughter of a gentleman, but one of no mean 
 race, and of no tarnished memory. I have 
 done wrong, very wrong, in so long permitting 
 you to talk to me on such a subject, without the 
 knowledge of my mother. While you are pres- 
 ent, 1 find a thousand excuses for my weakness ; 
 but when I am alone, my reflections are one 
 long reproach " 
 
 "These refinements, Emilj','' said the wily 
 voice of her lover, "are unworthy of you — of 
 both of us. If you believe that there never 
 
 existed a man insensible to the spells of this 
 wedded Cine, then must I frankly tell you thai 
 you argue from your perfect ignorance of the 
 world, and in the very wantonness of your own 
 over-susceptible nature. Am I too bold if I ask 
 more even-handed justice !" 
 
 " It may be as you say," replied Miss Vernon ; 
 " but as the Circe — since you see fit so to de- 
 signate your friend and mine — is the wife ol 
 another, why should there exist a necessity for 
 the mystery which you have flung over our 
 mutual affection 1 The ambition of my own 
 mother would have been satisfied with less. She 
 asks for my husband only a gentleman, and a 
 man of honor ; and her principle is to me sacred. 
 Do me justice, my lord ; I am no love-sick girL 
 That I esteem you — that I — in short — I scarce- 
 ly know what I meant to say ; but of this be 
 assured, that if, since the moment of enthusiasm 
 which prompted you to tell me that you loved 
 me, you have seen cause to regret the impulse ; 
 if, in calmer hours, you have thought it probable 
 
 , that a union with myself would not realize the 
 hopes of your family — your own views in life — 
 
 1 or the interests of your ambition, speak frankly. 
 
 j Be assured that, far from reproaching, I shall 
 honor you, and reverence your truth. There 
 are some things, my lord, which are often learn- 
 
 ■ ed too late for all parties concerned." 
 
 There was an instant's pause. His habitually 
 fluent lordship was evidently probed to the quick, 
 
 j but he soon rallied. 
 
 " I see — I see it all," he said, with a light and 
 bitter laugh. " You are kind, you are generous, 
 Miss Vernon, to open my eyes at once. It saves 
 suspense — it spares the necessity of doubt. And 
 
 ! now, perhaps, in this moment of overweening 
 confidence, you will even intrust me with the 
 whole secret, and tell me who is the happy mar 
 by whom I am so suddenly supplanted. Sir 
 James Dornton is, as I am well aware, an Apollo 
 in the eyes of your sex; and De Clifford is a 
 millionaiTe. I must abide my fate." 
 
 " My lord," said Emily, haughtily, as she rais 
 ed her drooping head, and withdrew her hand 
 from his supporting arm, "you outrage me, 
 and I have not deserved this insult. But I ap- 
 peal to yourself — to yoi^ own ideas of justice 
 and propriety — whether the silence which you 
 have imposed upon me, on the most important 
 measure of my whole life, is either womanly 
 or correct? I would be respected as well aa 
 loved." 
 
 " You are both — on my soul, both !" exclaim- 
 ed Lord Otterford, repossessing himself of the 
 hand that she had withdrawn ; " but, for the mo- 
 ment, all mention of our mutual attachment 
 would be inexpedient in the highest degree. 
 Can you not trust me 1 Have you, rigid moralist 
 as you are, given your heart to a man in whose 
 good faith you have no confidence ? I will not 
 
 I — I dare not believe it. I ask only for time, and 
 I ask it for my own sake, fondly hoping that I 
 
 I can urge no stronger plea." 
 
 I " But surely to my mother — " murmured the 
 
 j soft and tremulous voice of the agitated girl. 
 
 I "I have done," said his lordship, coldly, i'' 
 his turn. " I have deceived myself, and hav«j 
 no desire to blame you in what lias taken placa 
 I have perhaps merited no better treatment. ' 
 
 The sound of low and suffocating sobs sue 
 ceeded. 
 
43 
 
 CONFESSION'S OF A .^RKTTY WOMAxN. 
 
 '• Nay, nay ; do not distress yourself, Miss 
 Vernon." pursued Lord Ollerl'ord ; •• we will 
 niuiually forgel and forgive. You will proba- 
 bly hear of me occasionally, and you shall have 
 no reason to deprecate the period of our friend- 
 sliip — ()f our iniimacy — of our — " 
 
 " I cannot bear this, my lord ; indeed I can- 
 not bear it," wept his victim. " Why will you 
 so wilfully misunderstand me ! Do not con- 
 found me with the heartless coquets of fash- 
 ionable life. Remember that I have been edu- 
 cated in retirement — that I am unused to the 
 world's ways — tliat I am but as a child in your 
 hands." 
 
 " Only swear to me that you love me." 
 
 A^ain there was an instant of deep silence. 
 
 " Do you really love me, Emily V 
 
 " Deeply — devotedly'!" 
 
 The murmuring lips %vere silenced by a kiss. 
 I heard it — I felt it— and I hated him thencefor- 
 ward with a tenfold haired. 
 
 " And you will trust me 1" 
 
 " As my own soul." 
 
 And once more she hung upon his arm ; her 
 hand was clasped in his ; and his breath trem- 
 bled in her hair. They stood thus for several 
 minutes, and then it was the voice of Emily 
 which broke the stillness. 
 
 " Only promise me that you will be less en- 
 grossed by Lady Madelaine. I love her. She 
 is my friend. I am ashamed of my own weak- 
 ness ; but when I see you devoting your every 
 care, your every thought to her, I feel as though 
 my heart would break." 
 
 I heard a sudden movement. I leaned for- 
 ward. I saw Miss Vernon clasped to the heart 
 of her lover. Her head rested on his shoulder ; 
 her lovely face was hidden in his breast ; but it 
 was only for a moment. By a sudden and de- 
 termined action she liberated herself from his 
 grasp, and I saw the tears stealing silently down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " You are answered, Emily," said Lord Ot- 
 terford, as he stood tenderly beside her. " Ls 
 it possible that yoM — you, young, pure, innocent, 
 and lovely, can be jealous of the meretricious at- 
 tractions of a practiced woman of the world] — 
 How little do you knov^our sex ] How little are 
 you able to appreciate the merits of your own ! 
 Should you indeed require the assurance that I 
 more value the clasp of this small white hand 
 than all the blamli&hments thai can be lavished 
 upon me by a Lady Madelaine Tilden." 
 
 " Yet, why, why do I feel so self-reproach- 
 ed." 
 
 " Because, dear girl, you love for the first 
 time, and love is born of fear. See, now, how 
 very a coward it can make of me ! I shall not 
 approach her splendid ladyship to-night, with- 
 out the dread of seeing tears in the deep blue 
 eyes which may be turned upon me." 
 
 "Not tears, my lord I" 
 
 " Yes, tears, m^ little lady. Traitorous tears, 
 springing from want of faith where faith is due. 
 Know you not that such faith will be your 
 boundcn duly, when — " 
 
 "Enough, enough," said his companion; 
 and the tones of her voice were rich and mel- 
 low With happiness ; " I will promise to be less 
 weak." 
 
 '' I must have a pledge." 
 
 'My honor," said Miss Vernon, almost gaily. 
 
 Lord Otterford laughed. The laugh grated 
 unpleasantly upon my ear. 
 I " Shylock, w ho was learned in bonds and 
 mortgages, refused so uniang-We a deposit. 1 
 , must have better security." 
 
 " My bracelet" — laughed . Miss Vernon — in 
 her turn, but in a different spirit, as she aflect 
 ed to unclasp the jewel from her arm. 
 
 " Your lips !" whispered her lover ; and once 
 I more he pressed them to his own His peace 
 was made. 
 
 Voices were heard in the next room. Twi- 
 light had'fallen over the earth. The servants 
 were busied in lighting the lamps ; and, ere 
 long, the dinner-bell rang out. The supposed 
 solitude of the lovers was over ; yet still they 
 stood an instant side by side, and hand in hand. 
 They spoke no more. There was no need oj 
 words. 
 
 A light laugh in the drawing-room herald- 
 ed the reentrance of Lady Devereux, and her 
 cousin immediately sauntered forth to meet her, 
 after one long, last look into the eyes of Emily. 
 For a moment she believed herself alone. She 
 stood where he had left her, motionless. Gradu-. 
 ally, her head sank upon her bosom ; and a deep 
 sigh, drawn from the very depths of her spirit, 
 fell sadly on the silence. After a time she ral- 
 lied, but it was evidently by a violent and pain- 
 ful effort : a slight shiver passed over her grace- 
 ful limbs ; and then she hastily approached the 
 window, and leaned out, as if greedy of the re- 
 freshing breeze which swept into the apartment. 
 
 Need I say that I shrank into the most re- 
 mote corner of my retreat 1 I felt as though I 
 should expire upon the spot. My brow burned ; 
 my heart beat almost to bursting ; my clench- 
 ed hands were rigid in their tension. I had 
 heard my mother mocked at — made the theme 
 of scorn and banter — branded as a Circe I — and, 
 although I knew not then the precise meaning 
 of the appellation, the tone in winch it had been 
 applied had lelt me little doubt that it was one 
 which reflected slight honor upon her own. 
 
 And still Emily Vernon stood there, and I 
 had no opportunity of escape. I thought that I 
 w-as suddenly smitten with fever. I felt the 
 curtain quiver with the' trembling of my limbs. 
 My tongue was parched, and 1 had set my teeth 
 so hard, that 1 heard the laboring breath as it 
 escaped from between them. But she heard 
 nothing. She was alone in that siill hour ot 
 darkne.ss, with her love, and with her doubts. 
 Ay, they were there still — hushed, but not an- 
 mhilaled ; for she sighed, and at intervals swept 
 from her cheeks the tears which had gathered 
 there, and shuddered, as if some vision darker 
 than the night had risen upon her spirit. Poor 
 Emily ! Even in the paro.\ysm of my rage I 
 pitied her. There was a prophet whisper in 
 her ear that told of ills to come! 
 
 When she at length withdrew her head from 
 the window, smoothed her bright hair, and slov ly 
 prepared to leave the room, the sound of voices 
 was loud in Ihe next apartment. Theie uaa 
 no other egress from the retreat that she had 
 chosen ; and accordingly, after shrinking back 
 into the darkness more than once, she event- 
 ually disappeared ; and then I threw myself uoon 
 a sofa, and wept bitterly. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRF/PTY WOMAN. 
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ffAD I been dilferenily conslitiitod, or bad I 
 Deeii differeiilly educated, I sliould pn)bal)ly at 
 once have iviade my way to my mother's dress- 
 iiig-rdoiii, and, m ibe f-ank and overflowing con- 
 titience of girlhood, have told her all. No snch 
 'dea, however, crossed my brain even for a 
 moment. I had never been a child. I had 
 siiiung from the infant into the woman, as the 
 hiiilioiise flower is forced into premature blos- 
 som by unnatural warmth. The examples by 
 which I was surrounded, the spirit in which I 
 Mas tutored, the self-appreciation in which I 
 was encouraged, all tended to the same point. 
 I felt as if upon me, and me only, devolved the 
 duty of revenging the affront offered to my 
 parent. 
 
 The vengeance of a girl of eleven years of 
 age appears absurd, and no doubt generally is | 
 80. I know one tall hoyden, of about that pe- 1 
 riod of life, whose ideas of mischief to others ' 
 were all concentrated in throwing stones at 
 them; and laughable as this may seem, it is 
 doubtlejisly quite as rational as many other 
 methods of revenge adopted by children of the 
 same age ; but such is not universally the case. 
 .All we adults and centenarians may rest assured 
 that there are many instances of precocious 
 thought as well as of precocious action ; and 
 we should be wise to remember that there is a 
 small species of worm in existence, which has 
 frequently destroyed a three-decker. \ 
 
 ■^ Had I been able to appreciate my father's real 
 character, it is also probable that I might have | 
 unveiled to him the true moral qualities of my 
 mother's favorite guest : but with the close of| 
 my infancy came also the cessation of that 1 
 demonstrative paternal tenderness which had ' 
 made the joy of my baby life. I no sooner de- 
 ■generated into the plaything of the drawing- 
 room, differing only in stature from those about 
 nie; engrossed by the same vanities, encour- 
 aging the same seltishness, and eager after the 
 same adulation, than my father seemed alto- 
 gether to have forgotten my existence. He 
 visited my little bed no more. When we acci- 
 dentally met, he had always a kind word and a 
 hasty kiss for me; but neither his voice nor his 
 caress was what it had once been ; and as 
 occasionally, when more hurried than common, 
 instead of pressing his lips to iriine, he merely 
 greeted me with, " Ha, Eveleen, is that youl" 
 and patted me on the head without stopping, my 
 dignity took offence, and I universally returned 
 the salutation by, "Really, papa, you are too 
 bad ; you derange my hair in a shocking man- 
 ner!" 
 
 My poor father ! How, as I look back upon 
 these things, I can now understand what closed 
 his once loving heart against his home, making 
 a cold and careless world the shrine at which 
 he knelt, and that world's smile his idol. ! 
 
 Under all circumstances, it cannot, however, 
 be matter of surprise that 1 confided not my 
 secret to any one. In about half an hour, during 
 which time coffee had been served in the draw- 
 ing-room, and my retreat hau continued unin- 
 vaded, I contrived to overcome my agitation ; 
 and, creeping once more to the fatal window, I 
 turned my hot brow and my aching eyes to- 
 ward the sweet evening wind that was lifting 
 the leaves of the trees and the buds of the i 
 
 flowers, and weaving a double web of perfumf 
 and melody over the bosom of nature. .1 had. 
 however, at the moment, no such poetical as 
 sociaiion with the said wind. All I soiigiit war 
 that it shoulit restore the freshness to i..y *o>-e' 
 head and the brightness to my eyes . that il 
 should, in short, be af efficient aid in my lirsl 
 grand essay in hypocifsy. And it was so ; thf 
 fair, full cheek and the sparkling eye of earlj 
 youth do not tell their tale of suffering like thr 
 worn features of after-years. The green ani' 
 vigorous leaves of June, moistened lliough thej 
 may be by the thunder-shower, are restored tc 
 vigor and to beauty by the next gush of sun 
 shine ; but those which have outlived the sum- 
 mer months, are scattered by the raindrops, 
 less heavy, perhaps, but more frequent, to which 
 they are exposed. 
 
 Even so was it with me. Ten minutes after 
 I had mastered my emotion, and sought in the 
 sweet influences of nature for the relief I needed, 
 I was once more perfectly presentable ; and did 
 not hesitate to join my mother's guests : but I 
 reentered not that luxurious drawing-room as I 
 had left it. The best and purest moral remnant 
 of my girlhood had been torn away. I hau 
 learnt that even my own proud and beaiitifu. 
 mother had descended from her pedestal, and 
 could be spoken of in other terms than those of 
 adoration. Emily, too, the mild, the loving, the 
 gentle Emily, whom hitherto I had considered 
 faultless, she had also her secret sin — her cher- 
 ished hypocrisy — her dangerous mystery. As 
 for Otterlbrd, words have no power to tell how 
 bitterly, how utterly I loathed him. 
 
 As I passed into the saloon, I saw him, as I 
 had seen him a hundred limes before, lolling 
 over the back of the large lounging-chair which 
 was sacred to Lady Madelaine. The company 
 were scattered in groups over the room ; Lady 
 Devereux and Frederic Vernon occupied the 
 same Persian couch, and were almost lost 
 among the yielding cushions. I had grown an 
 age in experience within the last two hours; 
 and the first-fruits of my awakened perceptions 
 might have been discovered in the fixed and 
 almost stern attention with .which I observed 
 these two friends of mynnnother. Lady Dev- 
 ereux was languidly, but not the less assidu- 
 ously, endeavoring to appropriate the thoughts 
 and glances of the handsome young man beside 
 her. Her magnilicent arm, half-veiled by rich 
 black lace, lay, in all its rounded beauty, upon 
 the pillow against which he leant. The ample 
 folds of her black velvet dress were confined by 
 a plain girdle, clasped with jewels, whicli drew 
 the eye to the sii.allness of her waist, and the 
 fulness of her beautifully- moulded neck. Hei 
 little feet were coquettishly grouped togelhei 
 upon a cushion, and were visible beneath the 
 embroidered stockings even to the well-turned 
 ancle. There was an arch smjje playing about 
 her lips, and a languid softness glistening in hei 
 eyes, which rendered her more beautiful than I 
 had ever previously believed her to be. 
 
 As I advanced up the room, I saw that she 
 was speaking pla} fully, almost tenderly, though 
 I could not hear her words ; but a single glance 
 sufficed to show me that her companion little 
 heeded their import. His look was riveted upon 
 my mother; not fully ar>d freely, but with all 
 the caution uf one who cares not that his secret 
 
44 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 shouiil be read by idle eyes — and how full of 
 misery was that look ! j 
 
 1 /oTiowed its direction. The triumph of un- > 
 striving and uiidi)iibting vanity sat on my moth- 
 er's brow, and fluslied her cheek. Her eyes 
 were closed, hut the play of iier rich lips, and 
 the frequent inoiion (d her small head, showed 
 that she did not listen onheedingly to the low 
 murmur that fill upon her ear. And Lord Otter- 
 ford 1 He it was who was breathing those 
 honeyed sounds ; but, though he bent over Lady 
 Madelaine, his gaze was turned elsewhere. 
 Emily Vernon stood near the harp, which she 
 had been engaged in tuning and at her side 
 was Mr. De Clifford. To those who, unlike 
 myself, were not in the secret of .Miss Vernon's 
 heart, she must have appeared all calmness and 
 mental repose. The tears had been dried, the 
 pulse had ceased its tumultuous throbbings, the 
 flush had faded from the fevered brow ; she was 
 graceful, ea-sy, and self-possessed. Her taper 
 fingers wantoned among the chords of the instru- 
 ment ; her small foot pressed down the yielding 
 pedals : and ultimately, at the close of a hrd- 
 iiant prelude, she shook back her long ringlets, 
 and looked up with a smile in reply to a remark 
 of De ClilTord's, when her eye chancing to wan- 
 der further, I saw her suddenly falter and turn 
 pale ; the sinile (led from her lips, and the light 
 from lier countenance ; while at the same mo- 
 ment Lord Otterford started from his position 
 near my moiher, and, passing rapidly beside 
 her, I heard the word " Woman !" breathed 
 bitterly from between his clenched teeth. 
 
 Here, then, was another coil of the reptile ; 
 for, in my present excited and suspicious state of 
 feeling. I was at no loss to read, in the alarmed 
 expression of De Clifford's face, as he marked 
 the change which had so suddenly come over 
 his fair companion, a more lively interest than 
 mere friendship would have inspired. Ke loved 
 her — hut the serpent liad already made its way 
 into his Eden ; his dream was nearly o\er. 
 
 Lady O'Halloran was asleep. Miss Alexan 
 der was endeavoring to draw the fashiorablc 
 and fastidious Sir James Dornton into i (liita- 
 ton ; and her sister sat apart, beyond tl e More 
 busy guests, with her eyes riveted on Proderic 
 Vernon. Mrs. Alexander, all blonde and biar;c- 
 lets, was doing her utmost to appear interested 
 in a political discussion which was going on 
 between my father and Lord Cornbury, a broth- 
 er member ; while good old Dr. James, more 
 sincere, and already outwearied by their pro- 
 lixity, had settled himself comfortably in an 
 an)ple fauUuil, and was half-way to the land of 
 dreams. 
 
 How false, how hollow, and how tedious, 
 everytliing appeared to me, child as I was! I 
 felt saddened, disappointed, dissatisfied. I had 
 indeed succ-eeded in subduing all trace of the 
 violent emolHuj which 1 had lately undergone ; 
 but I soon discovered that I had by no means 
 resumed my ordinary manner, from the expres- 
 sion of n:y father's eye, as, during a '^ause in 
 his conversation, it clianced to turn upon me. 
 
 "You are unwell, Eveleen," he said, ten- 
 derly, as he approached and took my hand. 
 "Your cheek is pale, my poor child; these 
 hours and .hese habits are undermining your 
 health. Would tlwt I could see it otherwise !" 
 
 I f«lt a deep blush rise to my brow. " In- 
 
 deed, I am well, quite well," 1 answered, nnr 
 riedly. " I have been annoyed — agitated — but 
 it is all over now." 
 
 ".And may a grave, middle-aged, old-fashioneu 
 individual, like myself," said Lord Cornbury, ir. 
 a lone of quiet sarcasm, as he also api)roached 
 and seated himself upon the sofa beside me, 
 " venture to inquire what event can have oc- 
 curred of sufhcient importance to 'agitate' and 
 'annoy' the charming Miss Tilden, the em- 
 bryo beauty, he precocious wit, and the envied 
 heiress !" 
 
 It was the first lime that I had ever been ad- 
 dressed in such an accent, and my indignation 
 fully equaled my surprise ; nor was it by any 
 means diminished, when, on glancing towards 
 my lather, as though I looked to him to revenge 
 liie insult, I saw a quiet smile dancing in his 
 eye, and playing al)out the corners of his mouth. 
 I was petrified. 1 could not have spoken, had 
 my earthly happiness depended on the exer- 
 tion : but I felt my forin dilate, and a frown of 
 offended dignity gatlier upon my brow. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this, Eveleen I" 
 asked iny father, somewhat severely, after a 
 moment's pause. " Did you not hear Lord 
 Cornbury address you I and have you forgot- 
 ten — quite ! — " and he sighed as be spoke, 
 "that you are yet a child, and should be grate- 
 ful for the notice which is accorded to you ?" 
 
 I hesitated for an instant, and then, turning 
 calmly towards the astonished nobleman, I 
 said, with all the composure I could command, 
 "Since Lord Cornbury is obliging enough to 
 take so evident an interest in my joys and sor- 
 rows, and since it is my father's wish that I 
 should do so, I feel bound to inform him that I 
 have been 'annoyed' to find falsehood where I 
 looked for truth, and 'agitated* to discover hy- 
 pocrisy where nothing but sincerity should have 
 existed." And, as 1 ceased speaking, I rose 
 from the sofa, courtesied ceremoniously to my 
 father and his companion, and moved away. 
 
 "An extraordinary girl, that. Tilden. i'faiih," 
 I heard his lordship exclaim, as I cn^ssed the 
 floor. My father's reply I could not catch ; and 
 the rather that, as I approached Miss Alexan- 
 der (who was just in the act of commencing a 
 laborious sonata to Mr. De Clifford's flute ac- 
 companiment, evidently much to her own an- 
 noyance, and equally to the relief of Sir James 
 Dointon, whose flirting vocabulary was fairly 
 at its close, in so far as it regarded herself), I 
 saw poor Emily, half-concealed behind the folds 
 of an Indian screen, pale, listless, and droop- 
 ing. Otterford, meanwhile, had resumed his 
 station near my mother, and they were sup- 
 posed to be deeply engaged in a game of 
 chess. 
 
 It must not be imagined that, at so early an 
 age, I was able to estimate, or even wise euBugh 
 to glance at the probable results to my mother's 
 reputation, of the heedless and reckless loose 
 which she was thus giving to her vanity. My 
 only and absorbing feeling was one of haughty 
 I indignation against the man who had dared to 
 love another, while he professed lobe her slave; 
 ! nor can I deny that a considerahie portion of 
 j this displeasure was reflected upon Emily her- 
 self I knew nothing then of the tyranny of an 
 I awakened passion. I looked not beyond the 
 I visible homage which, frorn the mcmenl of mjr 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 45 
 
 d mission to my mother's circle, had been the ' 
 immediate object of my ambition. I bad be- ' 
 lieved it to be real and genuine — a spdntaneous I 
 oflering at llie shrine of tieauty — and I was by 
 no means prepared to fiiiu that it was a mere 
 pleasing delusion — a shadow upon the wall — a 
 vapor! I had heard at least twenty times a 
 day of my own loveliness ; for, when it became 
 the fashion in the saloon to enumerate all my 
 diiidish attractions, I was forthwith the ad- 
 mired idol of the servants' hall. Not a foot- 
 man passed me on my way from the nurseries 
 to the drawing-room, who did not assume a 
 countenance of wondering admiration as he 
 stepped aside ; not a female servant, from the 
 housekeeper to the laundry-maid, who did not 
 utter a whispered comment loud enough to 
 meet my ear. and (lattering enough to make my 
 little heart beat more quickly ; while my inesti- 
 mable governess, as time went by, buckled on 
 the armor of her ignorance in quiet, satisfied 
 that with my beauty, and my six masters — 
 (tiiere were no professors then for young la- 
 dies I) I was quite independent of her teaching ; 
 and she was frank enough to tell me so. 
 
 The understanding wa.s a comfortable one, 
 as, being under no obligation to mademoiselle, 
 even fur doing her best, which I must have 
 been, at least morally, had she made a stand 
 against her own ignorance, and struggled to do 
 her duty, I was thus enabled to despise her at 
 my ease; which I accordingly did, at an age 
 when I should not yet have been permitted to 
 form an opinion of tiiose about me. 
 
 Sycophants, paid and unpaid, how little do 
 ve relleet upon the pernicious consequences of 
 your time-serving and degrading condescension, 
 especially -.ipon tiie minds of the young ! 
 
 Years have passed — long, and weary, and 
 eventful years, since the evening which I am 
 now endeavoring to describe ; since that first 
 awakening of doul)t, and suspicion, and hatred, 
 in my girlish heart ; and yet is all as distinct 
 and fresh about me, even as when the moments 
 were speeding by. It was a dark lesson, which 
 I was never to unlearn. It taught me to muse, 
 to reason, and to combine upon subjects ill- 
 fitted to my age. It laid a false foundation for 
 my after-life. 
 
 I roused Miss Vernon from her reverie. At 
 first my conversation was evidently irksome to 
 her ; but, as she strove against her preoccupa- 
 tion, it became a palpable relief. I watclied 
 her narrowly. At times she sighed, even when 
 we were speaking on the most indifferent sub- 
 jects ; and at others her eyes wandered to the 
 chess-table, and she answered, as if uncon- 
 sciously and quite irrelevantly, to my ques- 
 tions. Had she loved any other than Lord Ot- 
 terford, I could have wept over her ! 
 
 I once read a quaint German story, in which 
 t\ie secret marriage of a wealthy young widow, 
 whose fortune was to be forfeited in the event 
 of her disposing of her hand a second time, was 
 betrayed to the watchful eyes of the heirs-at- 
 lavv, by the fact of her dropping her fan in so- 
 ciety, while in conversation with her new hus- 
 band, and picking it up herself without his 
 interference. I was then ignorant of the tale ; 
 but assuredly, judging from such -premises, my 
 mother was as free as air. Her slightest ges- 
 ure was sufficient. Que would have thought 
 
 that Otterford could read her heart, and that 
 speech was, in her case, supererogatory. 
 
 Six weeks afterward iny mother returned to 
 Grosvenor Square for the season ; and for the 
 first time I was left at Rooksley, under the 
 very satisfactory and efficient charge of Made- 
 moiselle Josephine. My pride was wounded : 
 I had begun to believe that 1 was necessary to 
 the happiness of Lady Madelaine. It was a 
 natural mistake. In her drawing-roorn in the 
 country I was an attractive ornament. I cre- 
 ated conversation, and I afl"oide(l to the guests 
 in the house numerous and happy opportunities 
 of flattering my mother, both directly and in- 
 ferentially. I was a miniature representative 
 of the prevailing fashion, however oulrcc; thus 
 proving to the initiated that if the beautiful wife 
 of Mr. Tilden clung to the graceful and the be- 
 coming, it was purely from taste, and not from 
 lack of acquaintance with the reigning mode. 
 My flippancy had been elevated ir.to wit; and 
 as cliildren are naturally fearless, 1 had more 
 than once spoken with a point well calculated 
 
 . to amuse all, save those who were the suffer- 
 ers ; while my whole education had been con- 
 ducted on a system of surface and display, 
 which made me a welcome plaything to the 
 idle and the unthinking. 
 
 Religion I had none. Mademoiselle tried the 
 village church, and the preaching of good T)r. 
 James, on one solitary occasion, and then 
 pleaded her conscience as an excuse for ab- 
 
 I senting herself ihencefol-ward. I had occa- 
 
 I sionally accompanied my mother and her party; 
 but as the family pew was closely curtained 
 round with heavy damask, and I sat on a 
 cushion beside the fire, amusing myself with 
 the richly-illustrated prayer-books, and catching 
 fragments of their conversation, wliich out of 
 respect for the place was carried on in soft 
 whispers, and thereby only rendered the more 
 attractive, 1 seldom heard more than the re- 
 sponses, and the extremely inharmonious sing- 
 ing of the children of Lady Madelaine's schools, 
 which, even at that early age, used to set my 
 teeih on edge. 
 
 My notions of religion were consequently of 
 a very vague and unformed description. When, 
 
 I as I sometimes saw my mother and her guests 
 preparing to attend the morning service with 
 undisguised and even acknowh dged reluctance, 
 I ventured to inquire for what reason she sub- 
 mitted to an annoyance which it was in her 
 
 ! power to avoid, she answered me veiy senten- 
 tiously that she went t(» church " for the sake 
 of example" — that " it was necessary that the 
 lower orders should see persons of station up- 
 hold the clergy, or they might presume to ab- 
 sent themselves in their turn, which was a thing 
 not to be thought of" .She did not explain for 
 what reason, nor did I inquiie, for she was evi- 
 dently weary of the subject ;' while I, on my 
 side, felt no particular interest, in its continu- 
 ance. I was accordingly quite satisfied from 
 that time forth, whenever I swelled the train of 
 my mother on this septenary duty, that I was 
 setting an example to the "lower orders," and 
 was consequently a person of considerable im 
 portance both to Dr. .lames and his parish. 
 
 Such was I, in body and mind, at the close 
 of my eleventh year. My entrance into the 
 twelfth was uawimessed by any sav my own 
 
46 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTV WOMAN. 
 
 attendants ; for, as 1 have already stated, I was 
 left at Rooksley on the next departure of the 
 family for town. 
 
 I pouted for eight-and-forty hours after their 
 departure. My fattier had kissed me hurriedly, 
 and put five guineas ihto my hand, as he 
 stepped into his chariot. My mother had 
 pressed her lips to my hrow, and then turned 
 away to desire mademoiselle not to suffer me 
 to spoil my complexion over the fire. Lady 
 Devereux had saluted*me with an injunction 
 not to grow any taller, lest \n a year or two I 
 should oblige Lady Madelaine to shut me up, 
 and keep me out of sight ; wtiile the gentlemen 
 were all so much occupied in final arrangements 
 about their dogs, their horses, and llieir guns, 
 that they overlooked my existence altogether. 
 
 Emily Vernon was the only individual of tho 
 party who embraced me vviili effusion and evi- 
 dent regret. She was. to lie Lady Madclaine's 
 traveling companion to town, and then to join 
 her motlier'in Curzon Street. What a ^ong, 
 sad, wistful gaze she turned upon all the fa- 
 miliar objects from which she was about to 
 separate ! She visited the octagon-room more 
 than once : it had, doubtless, been the locality 
 of many sirfiilar scenes to that which I had 
 witnessed ; and in wtiat had they terminated 
 so far? Even I could read the riddle on her 
 pure young brow^in uncertainty and doubt, in 
 anxiety and heart-sickness. Pooi: Emily ! and 
 amid all her sorrow, she was the only one who 
 thought of me. 
 
 My heart swelled with resentment as I saw 
 the party disappear ; and I retreated to my 
 " room, fully resolved to tax ttie patience ot 
 Mademoiselle Josephine to the utmost, by the 
 manifestations of my virtuous indignation. 
 But, alas ! I had no opportunity of so doing, 
 for during two hours no mademoiselle made 
 (ler appearance. I was totally abandoned. 
 This was, indeed, a new phase of my exist- 
 ence ! Had not the little Frencli clock upon my 
 mantlepiece convinced me that my solitude 
 had endured no longer than the said hundred 
 and twenty minutes, I should have computed 
 It at a day, so sad, and weary, and desolate did 
 it appear. I rang the bell. It was answered 
 by my own footman ; and even he, as he open- 
 ed the door, was evidently working himself into 
 his coat, as though he had drawn it on hurriedly. 
 I inquired for mademoiselle. She was just then 
 particularly engaged with the housekeeper. 
 Did I want anything 1 I replied ttiat I did not 
 think proper to be left any longer alone ; and I 
 was met by tlie remark that my liarp-niaster 
 would l)e with me in less than twenty minutes; 
 at tlie close of which ot)liging and pleasant 
 piece of information the man tiastily withdrew, 
 before I could make any rejoinder. 
 
 This was the commencement of my new 
 mode of existence ; and such, with very slight 
 variations, it continued. The visits of my sev- 
 eral tutors broke in, agreeably rather than the 
 reverse, upon the daily monotony ; and, more- 
 over, a sudden fancy for carriage-exercise 
 seized upon my preceptress. It is true that, 
 esclK'wing all the romantic cross-roads which 
 hail hittierto been familiar lo us, we no hinger 
 drove in any other direction than to the post- 
 town, where mademoiselle lounged from one 
 shou 10 tlie other, making purchases of the 
 
 most heterogeneous description, and coMecting 
 all the gossip of the neighborhood. 
 ■ To me, young as I was, these hitherto for- 
 bidden excursions were disagreeable to an ex- 
 treme degree. I had never forgotten the 
 malicious inuendos and withering witticisms 
 which formed the staple Conversation of my 
 nursery; and, since I had become baliituatcd 
 to the polished elegance and epigrammatic wit 
 of my mother's circle, the female cackle to 
 which I was occasionally condemned in my 
 own apartments was absolutely abliorrent. It 
 may well be supposed, therefore, that 1 in no 
 wise interfered with the new vocation of 
 Mademoiselle Josephine ; and it was wIuIp she 
 was collecting her " shreds and patches" lor 
 the edification of the housekeeper's room, that 
 I first imbibed tliat love of books, to which I 
 am indebted for some of the happiest hours in 
 my stormy existence. 
 
 It will be readily understood that I had not 
 been idle during the fortnight which intervet:ed 
 between the eventful evening last described 
 and the departure of the family for town. I 
 had closely watched the chief actors in the 
 " Comedy of Errors," represented at Rooksley. 
 The more narrowly I observed my mother, the 
 more plainly I discovered that her vanity was 
 a slirine, before which she required that a lamp 
 should be constantly burning ; but that her af- 
 fections were quite independent of her self- 
 esteem. Now as there existed nothing upon 
 earth half so attractive in my eyes as mv 
 mother, and as children ever seek to imitate 
 those whom they admire, so my scrutiny only 
 made me tlie more stedfaslly resolve to emu- 
 late the Lady Madelaine in all things. That I 
 resembled her in person had been so endlessly 
 repeated in- my presence, that I was already 
 aware of my natural advantages. Merely to be 
 the ol)ject of general comment and admiration 
 did not, however, satisfy me ; I felt that there 
 was a marked and unpleasant distincticm be 
 tween the homage paid to my mother, and ll 
 caresses lavished upon myself; and for some 
 lime, as I pondered over tliis fact in my en- 
 forced solitude, I was unable to comprehend 
 it. 
 
 For a while my vanity had been gratified by the 
 flatteries and blandistunents poured out upun 
 me ; but. the feeling once awakened, that I was 
 not worshiped like my mother, thenceforward 
 rendered the triumph incomplete ; and my pride 
 was wounded as I rememt)ered that, while I had 
 merely tieen tlie pet and plaything of the idle 
 and the thoughtless. Lady Madelaine was an 
 object of deep and exclusive devotion ; making 
 ilie happiness of one worshiper, and the misery 
 of another. Why was thisi 
 
 I was on the ttireshold of my twelfth year. 1 
 had been the almost constant companion of a 
 young, giddy, flirting, and ignorant French gov- 
 erness since I emerged from the nursery, the 
 remainder of my life having been spent in the 
 society of my mother and her friends. Is it then 
 matter of surprise that I soon discovered the 
 solution of the enigma 1 " My mother is loved !" 
 I whispered to myself; "and I — they look 
 upon me still as a ctiild, but this will not last 
 forever. Einify VeT.on is younger than Lady 
 Madelaine, and yet Lord Otterford loves her — 
 ay, and better than he loves my mother ; foi 
 
 H 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 47 
 
 (liJ he not, to make Miss Vernon smile, call her 
 a Circe ! 1 will know wlial he meant." 
 
 I seized my (iiclionary, but I sought in vain. 
 I was in despair ; when, as a forlorn hope, [ 
 appealed to m idenioiselle. " Cirrc, Circe! mais 
 ccrtainc})ieiit" said she, as a sudden recollection 
 came upon her, " Circe, c' est une decsse. I re- 
 member an old schoolfellow of mine, qui fit un 
 tres beau manuge. She became a modiste fort 
 disliitgiice. Rue Richelieu, and her enseigne was 
 A L.\ CIRCE. C'ctait une tele charmante, el admi- 
 rahlfimeyU coiffee." 
 
 This hint 'sufficed. My mythology completed 
 the information. Mine was not the age of de- 
 duction, inference, or analysis ; and I accord- 
 ingly laid aside the volume, murmuring to my- 
 self, " and I too will be a Circe !" 
 
 I wearied in a. week or two of my school-room 
 volumes. I had many hours of solitude at 
 home, many in the carriage ; and, as Mademoi- 
 selle Josephine and I appeared, as I have before 
 remarked, to have entered into a tacit agree- 
 ment to interfere as little as possible with each 
 other, she made no comment when she saw me 
 surrounded by books withdrawn from my moth- 
 er's library. It were needless to do more than 
 to observe that they were invariably novels and 
 roinances ; and that, through their medium, I 
 soon began to comprehend more perfectly both 
 my own position and that of my mother. 
 
 I remember that I threw aside Sir Charles 
 Grandison in disgust. It appeared to me cold, 
 formal, and tedious. I had no taste for the 
 tender passion treated mathematically ; and I 
 found many other works upon the same shelves 
 which revenged me upon his monotony. From 
 my first admittance to the drawing-room, I had 
 heard the subject of love constantly discussed — 
 my presence was unheeded ; cliildren are com- 
 monly overlooked at such moments; and yet 
 upon children nothing is lost. Several argu- 
 ments and opinions, of which I had thus be- 
 come an auditor, remained impressed upon my 
 memory ; and now, when I began to reason 
 and to reflect, they returned vividly to my recol- 
 lection. 
 
 The example of my mother imprinted them 
 on my heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Unhappily for myself, I was abandoned to 
 •his existence of perverted taste and unwhole- 
 some occupation for upward of a long, w^eary 
 year. At the close of the season, Lady Dev- 
 ereux, whose beauty was on the wane, and 
 whose coquetry became only the more exacting 
 in consequence, persuaded my mother to travel. 
 My father's approbation was requested as a 
 matter of form, and yielded as listlessly as it 
 was asked. He could always establish a genial 
 home at his club ; and he had, inoreover, the 
 good sense to feel that what must ultimately 
 be conceded was better unopposed. 
 
 To Paris, accordingly, the party proceeded ; 
 consisting of my mother, and her friend Lady 
 Devereux, Sir Herbert, Lord Oiterford, Fred- 
 eric Vernon, and his sister. Thence they pro- 
 gressed to Home, and ultimately to Sicily ; 
 returning to winter in Pari.s, where the ele- 
 gance and beauty of Lady Madelaine created an 
 Jrtense sensation at the French court. The 
 
 pure, pale loveliness of Miss Vernon also pro- 
 duced its eflect, but her health was undermined 
 — that precious health, to produce whose res- 
 toration her an.xious mother Kad alone been 
 prevailed upon to pernut her absence ; and her 
 spirits were strangely depressed. 
 
 Nevertheless, as they traveled en grayids sei- 
 gnmrs, and met with neither obstacle nor acci- 
 dent, the tweKe months passed rapidly away ; 
 and the ladies returned to London for the sea 
 son, renovated in health and refulgent in fashion. 
 
 I had meanwhile, ere their reappearance at 
 Rooksley, entered my fourteenth year. 
 
 I have often since, after experiencing in my- 
 self the chances and changes of the world, 
 looked back in wonder at tlie tenacity with 
 which my mother's coterie held together. It is 
 extremely probable that, were I aware of the 
 personal motives and interests which conduced 
 to this result, it might be no longer matter of 
 marvel ; but, with no other guide than my own 
 bitter, recollectionsj it is still to me'a subject of 
 unceasing wonder. True it is, that it was com- 
 posed of individuals whose worldly position 
 placed them beyond the hazard of requiring 
 deep sympathy or serious assistance the one 
 from the other. They w^ere all butterflies, 
 sporting in the sunshine of fortune. There was 
 more matter than mind in the bond which held 
 them together; and I have. lived too long to 
 plh,,e any reliance on the soi-disant friendship, 
 which is alimented by the popularity or the 
 wurldly qualities of its object. Let one party 
 be exposed to the pressure of circumstances ; 
 let health fail ; let necessities sicken the heart 
 and depress the energies ; and, on the other 
 side, let modish fools lisp lightly of a tie which 
 they are unable to comprehend ; let new pur., 
 suits, new flatterers, and new prospects super- 
 vene, and wliat becomes of the sick, the sad, 
 tlie suffering absentee \ There is still verbal 
 pity — there is still lip-deep regret — where all 
 good feeling is not utterly annihilated ; but there 
 is also more than this. There is a luant, there 
 is a necessity, for the favorite of fortune, first to 
 conceal, and ere long to throw off these incon- 
 venient feelings. The race of pleasure must be 
 run; the path must he made easy, and the 
 journey light ; the shadow of another's suffer- 
 ings breaks the comfortable and self-caressing 
 progress of the better dowried child of chance ; 
 and it is accordingly swept aside, or passed by 
 unheeded. Little think or reck they whose 
 chariots press forward in the race, of the over 
 burdened hearts which they assist to break! 
 
 But, psliavv ! Complaint is not my purpose. 
 I know the world. The lesson is, perchance, 
 difficult to learn ; but, once well conned, it is 
 one which is never forgotten ; and, after all, 
 philosophy teaches us that we were born to 
 trial ; ^\\\\g a bette. faith points to a still more 
 valuable truth. 
 
 And now, fet me revert to myself as I was. 
 
 A year and a half of desulttny, anil in many 
 cases of pernicious reading ; of partial solitude, 
 broken oidy by still more lU-boding companion 
 ship, at a period of life when the mind works 
 out its self-development, and searches eagerly 
 for subjects of interest and excitement ; coupled 
 with a disposition naturally precocious and ob- 
 servant, had done its silent, but no less cer- 
 tain work upon me, mentally and morally ; now 
 
48 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 had it failed to produce also its physical effect, 
 [needed no prompter to whisper this. The 
 looking-glass .at which, on the departure of my 
 mother, I could only satisfy myself of the pro- 
 priety of my head-dress, now reflected my 
 whole face ; nor was I, by any means, inclined 
 Id quarrel wiili the reflection. One of my fa- 
 vorite amusements was to compare my features 
 with those of a magnificent full-length portrait 
 of my mother, which was suspended ahove the 
 mantle of the library ; and I was perfectly sat- 
 isfied with (he results of my scrutiny; while 
 my heart bounded, as I remembered (thanks 
 to Lady Madelaine's book shelves !) that my 
 triumph was but beginning, while hers would 
 oe, ere long, upon the wane ! Still I was con- 
 scious that there was a charm, a spell, about 
 my mother, wanting to my unformed and neg 
 iected girlhood ; and as I had treasured her 
 looks, and tones, and caprices in my memory, 
 I forthwith began to practice them, to the great 
 annoyance of MiHiemoiselle Josephine and my 
 maid. I was unable to appreciate her better 
 qualities, and therefore they escaped me ; while 
 I clung to her defects, with a tenacity which 
 soon made them perfectly my own. 
 
 The ne.vt step was one which may appear ex- 
 aggerated and unnatural. Let those who so 
 esteem it reflect ere they affect to doubt ; for 
 they can know little of a woman's nature. It 
 is a common assertion that events have been 
 preordained — 1 had been preiiducated, in that 
 most uncertain of ail mysteries, the intricacies 
 of the heart. And therefore — my next step 
 was jealousy of the homage which my mother 
 had liiiiierlD engrossed. I had been often told 
 of my beauty, of my grace, of my attractions, 
 but it was in another tone. The child had been 
 pelted and pampered as a child ; but the van- 
 ity of the girl could no longer be satisfied with 
 such questionable worship. 
 
 When I made my first appearance in the 
 drawing- roiim, on the evening of my mother's 
 return to Rooksley — for she had not previously 
 found a leisure moment in which to receive 
 me — I remarked that a look of vague wonder 
 f(dlowed my steps as I crossed the floor ; but, 
 as I fell liiat my appearance was unexception- 
 able, I consequently interpreted the sensation 
 which I had cieaied in a way well suited to 
 gratify my vanitv ; although it received a very 
 severe shock in the extrcma coldness of my 
 mother's recognilicm. She looked (or a mo- 
 ment as though she really doubted myjdenlily; 
 and then a slight flush spread over her brow, 
 and she tuiiiud lier head aside, as if anxious to 
 shut out an olijcct that was disagreeable. 
 
 Resolved lo follow up the effect which I had 
 produceil upon her circle, I had no sooner made 
 the circuit of the room, and exchanged greet- 
 ings with the guests, than I seated myself un- 
 bidden al the liarp ; and as this had been my 
 favoritf! study, im;jclled as I was to exertion by 
 a knowledge of the admiration which Lady 
 Madelainc had always commanded when per- 
 forming upon that showy and graceful instru- 
 ment, my pr(!rinency was, as I have reason to 
 *jclieve, something extraordinary ; while it is 
 pnihahlc that its effect was enhanced by the 
 listless and unsettled mood of my hearers, who 
 had not vfi re.covcr<;d the dissipations and ex- 
 aclioiis of Loudon life. 
 
 Be that as it may, however, it is certain that 
 exclamations of wonder and delight resounded 
 on all sides ; and that I engrossed, for full five 
 minutes, the entire attention of the company. 
 My father was not present. He was attending 
 his parliamentary duties. It was well that I 
 enjoyed my triumph freely and fully, for it was 
 not destined to be soon repeated. 
 
 On the morrow, during the progress of mj 
 mother's toilet. Mademoiselle Josephine was 
 summoned to her dressing-room, to make a re- 
 port of my mental and moral progress ; and ten 
 minutes afterward I was myself bidden to the 
 conference. 
 
 Assuredly, Lady Madelaine was very beauti- 
 ful ; and on this particular occasion I was more 
 than ever impressed by the fact. Slie was 
 seated in a large lounging-chair, her fine hair fall- 
 ing in masses over her shoulders, her graceful 
 figure loosely draped by the soft folds of a wrap- 
 ping-gown of pale blue cashmere ; and the ex- 
 tremities of her small feet thrust into a pair of 
 crimson velvet slippers, edged with swans- 
 down. Immediately opposite, and refiecting the 
 whole of her person, stood a cheval glass of im- 
 mense proportions, set into a frame of or-molu ; 
 upon which, after her first brief salutation on my 
 entrance, the eyes of my mother were riveted 
 with great complacency. 
 
 " What is this. Miss Tilden, that I hear of 
 youl" sheexclaimed, with a harshness of which, 
 had I ever reflected upon the subject, I should 
 have considered her incapable ; " mademoiselle 
 informs me that your vanity is so great, and so 
 troublesome, that your maid has repeatedly 
 complained of late both of your caprice and of 
 your violence." 
 
 "Indeed !" I replied, with all the composure 
 that I could assume ; " I was not aware that 
 mademoiselle considered it as a part of her duty 
 to enter into the details of our late proceed- 
 ings ; but, since such is the case, I may proba- 
 bly, on my side, be enabled to afford your lady 
 ship some interesting information." 
 
 My mother was evidently petrified at my au- 
 dacity, while the frown and the bhi.sh which 
 simultaneously spread over the brow and cheeks 
 of the conscious Freni^hwoman turned her com- 
 plexion purple. I kept my eye steadily fixed 
 upon her ; she knew that she was in my pow. 
 er ; and I never, thereafter, sufl'ered her to 
 overlook the fact. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this, Eveleen 1" 
 asked my mother, after a momentary silerre. 
 
 "Much, or nothing, as Mademoiselle Jos^ 
 phine may consider best," I answered, quietly. 
 
 " If you expect. Miss Tilden," pursued Lady 
 Madelaine, evidently higlily provoked, but en- 
 deavoring to conceal her annoyance, " that I 
 shallconsent to waste my time upon your crimi- 
 nations and recriminations, I beg you at once to 
 undeceive yourself Thus much, however. I feel 
 it my duty to remark — that, had mademniselle 
 acted fearlessly and energetically, and as i had 
 every right, from the recommendations upon 
 which she was received into this family, ti»hope 
 that she would have done — these complaints 
 against mydaughier nevercould baveoccuired." 
 
 No wonder that Felicie tossed her little head, 
 and snuff-^d the air with an expression of vir- 
 tuous imlignation and outraged dignity, when 
 she remembered that it was by her own un- 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 49 
 
 tssisled cleverness that '' ccltc bete de Josephine" Had I been in the Piesenno, I c-oiild not have 
 rjad lieeii s(i pleasanily established. made a more punctilious courtes) than that with 
 
 •• Vanity '" continued Lady Madelaine in a which I withdrew, foMowed by the shriiikina 
 tune of contemptuous mockery, which, looking and trembling Josephine. I turned one loox 
 upon her at that moment, was quite an epigram ; upon the unhappy delinquent, who was stand- 
 " can there be a more despicable, a more un- , .'ng apart, crying bitterly with mingled pain and 
 worthy vice? Felicie, I am leally weary of passion; but I have no doubt that she was easi- 
 le/hng you that I will jw't have my ringlets so ly consoled, for I saw heron the following Sun- 
 uiassed together ! Scatter them, in order that day, glorious in a dress of violet lutestring. 
 the lines of the forehead may be traced in pro- which I remembered to have once noticed upim 
 file ; and do not let me have to remind you of my mother. 
 
 this again. — Then I have been compelled to | Need I say that no particularly high moral 
 hear of your violence, Miss Tilden. Upon my ^ efl'ect was produced u[)on me by the interview 
 word ! Your education has progressed in less which had been so strangely terminated. I 
 than two years, since you have learned within was no longer a child — I felt my power. My 
 that period to strike your maid." | own mother had shrunk from my observation. 
 
 I own that I did now feel considerably I forgot all that she had uttered, both in reproach 
 ashamed. The rebuke which I had just re- j and warning ; but the action which had suc- 
 ceived for my vanity rather amused than dis- ; ceeded the words was, for months afterward, 
 concerted me. My mother was off her guard ; still vividly before me. Example is a hundred 
 she forgot that I was two years older in time fold more potent than precept upon the spirit of 
 since we parted, and she had yet to learn that the young. When the hour came at which I 
 I was ten years older in knowledge of the world, I had formerly been in the habit of joining my 
 or rather in that shrewd and active observation ; mother's circle, I was already deep in doubt be- 
 t)y which it is the most easily attained. The sec- tween a dress of white muslin, and a frock of 
 ond charge brought against me was less easily , blue brocade, when mademoiselle very senlen- 
 
 excused to my own heart. I was as proud as 
 Lady Madelaine herself; and when my trans- 
 gression was thus abruptly laid before me, there 
 was a coarseness about it by which I was re- 
 volted. 
 
 Well had it been had my mother dismissed 
 me at that moment, while a wholesome feeling 
 of compunction planted a burning flush upon my 
 -well, alike for the respect which I owed 
 
 tiously informed me that miladi would dispense 
 with my presence, and that I was not again to 
 present myself e?;. socicte, until I had received in- 
 structions to that effect. 
 
 A week before — even a day before — such a 
 message would have made me furious ; now, I 
 received it with perfect calmness ; and desiring 
 that my maid would replace the rival dresses in 
 my wardrobe, I flung myself upon a sofa, and 
 to her, and for the effect produced upon my i was soon, to all appearance, deeply engaged in 
 own character. But this was not to he. Lady the last volume of Fielding's Amelia. I could 
 Madelaine, who detested the exertion which she see that my unquestioning resignation astonish- 
 considered herself in this instance called upon i ed both my governess and my waiting-woman ; 
 li» make, and who had evidently determined to they exchanged glances of surprise which did 
 avoid, if possible, all chance of its recurrence, i not escape me, and which was just what 1 Je- 
 had yet a few more "last words" to deliver; | sired ; but they had no sooner left me to my- 
 
 and I was still standing silently beside her, self- 
 condemned and humbled in my own eyes, when 
 Felicie, who was, unfortunately for herself, 
 much more intent upon the conversation that 
 was going on about her, than upon her own oc- 
 cupation, and who had just commenced opera- 
 tions on the other side of her lady's ringlets, be- 
 gan once more to pile the glossy curls thickly 
 
 self than I laid aside the book, and began, as 
 was now my invariable custom, to search for 
 the explanation of my mother's conduct. Task- 
 ed myself why she, who had been formerly so 
 blind to my faults, so demonstrative in her affec- 
 tion, so indulgent in her rule when I was a mere 
 mindless child, should suddenly have become 
 cold, repelling, and even harsh in her bearing. 
 
 together ; when the taper fingers of the angry now that I had attained a more companionable 
 beauty suddenly wound themselves about the : age, and was more capable of appreciating kind- 
 handle of the brush, and wresting it from herlnessi The simple banishment from her imme- 
 hand, flung it violently into her face, whence it j diate circle I could at once, and without difii- 
 bounded off, and falling upon a table on which culty, have attributed to her annoyance at my 
 stood a breakfast service of Nankin china, | presence during the scen.e of the morning, and 
 brought the cup and saucer about to be used by \ her anxiety that the impression should have 
 my mother to the floor, where they lay scatter- time to become fainter ere we again met. I 
 ed in fragments; at the same instant when did not waste a moment upon that phase of the 
 Felicie, with a faint shriek, raised her black silk affair. It was the abrupt, uncompronrising 
 apron to her face, to stanch the blood which dictatorial tone which she had assumed at that 
 was flowing from her nose. j very interview, which struck me as incongru- 
 
 I remained for an instant aghast and motion- ous and inexplicable. That she had listened to 
 less, and then I fear that, despite my better rea- the complaints made against me, and to the cir- 
 8on, I smiled. I imagine that I must have cumstances which had called them forth, was 
 done so, for at that very moment, as the eyes evident from the spirit of her rebuke ; but that 
 of my mother and my own chanced to meet, I she should not coiidescend to make some ap- 
 saw a cloud gather upon her brow. Her little peal to me individually, and thus enable me to 
 hand instinctively clenched itself, and her slip- excuse or to justify myself, was the great sub- 
 pereu foot beat against the floor, as she exclaim- ject of my bewilderment. 
 ed hurrie-dls "Leave the room. Miss Tilden! Had I not for years been encouraged and 
 Have you not the good taste to leave the room? " applauded whenever I endeavored to imitate 
 G 
 
60 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 her either in air or manner? HaJ I not bpcn 
 praisetl and petted when I succeeded in ai)iii^a 
 Hme or a gesture with t-utficient accuracy to in- 
 sure Its immediate recognition] Mad she not 
 frequently chidden me for the disorder of a stray 
 ringlet, or the discomposure of a ruffled flounce ! 
 Had I not received repeated injunctions not to 
 spread liie muscles of my hands, hy attempting 
 to grasp objects too large fur them, and to be 
 careful to tread evenly, lest I should spoil the 
 turn of my ancle! Was not her parting com- 
 mand to Mademoiselle Josephine connected with 
 the preservation of my complexion? and were 
 not all these cases so many incentives to van- 
 ity 1 My reason answered " Yes ;" and I felt 
 that lierein at least I was entitled to the high- 
 est coniinendation for my implicit and unvary- 
 ing obedience. 
 
 I walked to the glass. There could be no 
 doubt that on this point my mother had every 
 reason to be satisfied. Stie had given me a 
 text, and I had composed a whole volume upon 
 thai single sentence. There could be no doubt, 
 I say, upon the subject. I was decidedly a 
 beauty, and it was beauty of a very high order. 
 1 tried my head in several positions, and it came j 
 triumphantly through every ordeal. I was tall, 
 too ; I felt it was extremely probable that in two j 
 years more I should be as tall as Lady Made- 
 jaine herself; and in two years I should be six- 1 
 teen. How many of my most cherished heroines 
 had been fenced in by lovers at sixteen ! 1 1 
 wondered whether this fact had ever struck her ; , 
 she must have known it, for I learnt it from her i 
 own books. 
 
 Decidedly she could not have been disap- 1 
 pointed wiih my appearance. Wherein then j 
 could lie the cause of my disgrace 1 I was 
 satisfied that my masters would report well of 
 my progress, one and all ; and, indeed, I had 
 already afforded to Lady Madelaine herself the , 
 opportunity of estimating my musical profi- 
 ciency. I had excite;l not only attention, but 
 even astonishment. Here again I was conse- 
 quently blameless. I could find no clue to the 
 enigma. 
 
 CHAPTER xnr. 
 
 On one point I was, at the close of my delib- 
 erations, absolutely determined ; and this was 
 to endure the maternal caprice, for simply as 
 such did I consider it, in dignified sil'-tn-e. I 
 would not condescend to complain. I was no 
 longer a child to be chiiiden without a cause. 
 In two years I should be sixteen, and there 
 was to me impunity and emancipation in the 
 very thought. 
 
 As I resolved, so I acted. That I suffered 
 deeply I will not deny ; for, greedy of admira- 
 tion, and accustomed to indulgence, I could 
 not think of the brilliant circle collected in the 
 other wing of the house, without severe morti- 
 fication ; but I sulfeied in silence. I did not 
 relax a tittle in my application to the various 
 accomplishments which formed my duties. I 
 pursued my reading with the same avidity as 
 erer ; but I was now driven to the general 
 library, for I dared no longer invade the book- 
 shelves of Lady Madelaine. I found, however, 
 on ample store of fiction even there, although, 
 fortunately for me, it was of a higher class. 
 
 Still, I had many unoccupied moments, and 
 these were invariably employed in speculating 
 upon my mother's extraordinary change of 
 feeling ; and in building some very magnificent 
 " castles in the air," of which I was one day to 
 become the tenant. 
 
 Things remained in this position for a fort- 
 night, at the end of which lime my father 
 arrived from town ; and with this information 
 was coupled the command of Lady Madelaine, 
 that I should take my coffee, as I h d formerly 
 done, in the drawing-room. I ob( ,ed with the 
 same composure as on the occasion of my 
 banishment. In vain did mademoiselle, who 
 condescended to superintend my toilet, en- 
 deavor to elicit from me some expression oj 
 surprise or curiosity; for, sllhough I studi- 
 ously tried the patience both of herself and my 
 attendant, and three times clianged my dre-ss 
 when they supposed me ready to join my 
 mother's guests, not a syllable did I sufler to 
 escape my lips upon the subject which actually 
 engrossetl my mind. At length their toil was 
 over. I confessed myself satisfied — gave a 
 last look at the glass — arranged a stray hair — 
 and descended to the drawing-room, if not with 
 the same feeling, at least with the same ap- 
 pearance of coniposure as though I had never 
 been exiled from its gaieties. 
 
 As I anticipated, my father was the first who 
 greeted me on my entrance. Absorbed by 
 public business, as my mother had been by 
 pleasure; and, moreover, with little cause to 
 hope that my companionship would repay him 
 for personal inconvenience, he had never once 
 visited Roolcsley during the whole period of 
 her absence ; and I observed that he appeared 
 no less struck hy the change in my person than 
 Lady Madelaine and her friends had been upon 
 the former occasion ; but his surprise was 
 evidently pleasurable. There was a proud ex- 
 pression in his eyes as they lingered upon my 
 face, and a deep tenderness in the tone with 
 which he addressed me ; nor was I slow to 
 reinark that, mingled with that tendeiness, 
 there was a courteous deference of manner, of 
 which a really high-bred man can never divest 
 himself when conversing with a woman, but 
 whicli I had never before observed in him when 
 speaking to myself. 
 
 The conviction gave me courage. " In my 
 father's eyes I am no longer a child !'' I 
 whispered proudly to my own heart ; and, 
 after having liiigi'red for a moment at his side, 
 I slowly aijproached the lounging-chair of Lady 
 Madelaine, without looking either to the right 
 or left, hut making my way with all the grace 
 and self-possession of which 1 was capable. 
 When I stood before her, my mother gave me 
 a slight nod, and a faint smile, just what would 
 have been a graceful and becoming acknowl- 
 edgment of my propriety of bearing. Lad we 
 only parted an hour or two [jreviously : and 
 who, save myself, was aware that it was iidso ! 
 I This ceremony over, 1 found my hand cl isped 
 } in that of Miss Vern(m, wlio, drawing me aside, 
 began eagerly to explain that Lady Madelaine 
 had peremptorily forbidden all invasion of the 
 school room, or that she should have shared 
 my solitude frequently, very frequently. I 
 thanked her with ft beaming smile and a 
 hrighteGed color ; b\i*. .t "rv not her affection 
 
CXDNFESSIONS OP A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 51 
 
 we ad(!ress which had elicited either the one 
 or llie other. At the very tiionieiil that she 
 was speaking. 1 iiear.l the voice ol" Sir James 
 Dornioii, who exclaimed, m an accent loud 
 t'nougli to reach my ear — 
 
 •' Can It be possible that the beautiftil girl I 
 see yotidcr is M.ss Tiltlen !— tiie little Evtleen 
 of a lew moiiilis ago 1 Egad, in a year or two 
 Biy Lady Madelaiiie hersell' must look to her 
 laurels." 
 
 I ha<l never thought the fastidious baronet 
 half so agreeable ; and was glad wben lie soon 
 afterward approa-ched nie, and I found that he 
 had just arrived from town witli my father. 
 
 " We traveled «« tiers, Miss'rilden.'Mie said, 
 affecting inlciise disgust; "which is what no 
 one siiould do who is not prepared to risk all 
 the conse<iiiences, however fatal ; and this 
 alarming (act I considerately laid before youi 
 senatorial |>apa ; but lie gave no heed to my 
 remonstrance ; and accordingly, after we had 
 each possessed ourselves of a corner of the 
 chariot, the process was complcleu by the appli- 
 cation ()•! a human wedge in the shape of ihal tall 
 young gentleman, wlio is now louivging against 
 the maritle-piece.and staring most impertinently 
 Hit' (he face of a young lady with whom I have 
 Uit- honor of being in conversation." 
 
 1 instinctively iooketl in tlie diiecti(m which 
 hi indicated ; and as I did so, even raiiidly as 
 -lie withdrew his gaze, my eyes met those of 
 the stranger lor an instant 1 bad never be- 
 fore seen such eyes ; so large, so dark, and so 
 soft in I heir expression, 'full, and slight, but 
 with an air of fashion, and a gracefulness of 
 attitude which appeared to realise all the nii)ied 
 perlectum of the heroes of my imagination, I 
 saw at the first glance that the new guest was 
 a mere stri|)ling ; hut I dared not pursue my 
 scrutiny: and the pause was consequently biief, 
 which I terminated by inquiring his identity. 
 
 " That very fortunate young gentleman," 
 said Sir James, "is the only child of your 
 mother's pet friend. Lady Devereux — que voild, 
 showing her pretty foot to the insensible 
 Frederic Vernon — and he is consequently the 
 sole heir of Sir Herbert, who. 1 have been con- 
 fidently assured, loves him almost as well as 
 (lis favorite hunter. Think of that, Miss Til- 
 lien I and emulate his perfections. The jolt 
 faj-^on hasjiist left college; and as his lady- 
 mother is of opinion that black and scarlet 
 Wend very harmoniously, she has coaxed bis 
 onwilling papa — whose principal study is, as 
 you are prolsably aware, how to do the least 
 possible good in the longest possible time : or, 
 oerbaps, 1 should rather say, to live out his life 
 vithout dx;ing anything— to allow her darling 
 to go inio tiie Guards; and, such as you see 
 him, be is actually and l.'ona fide, at this mo- 
 nient, one of the defenders of his country, and 
 has run down to Rooksley to ' kiss hands' on 
 t!ie momentous occasion." 
 
 " He appears to be very young," I hazarded 
 IB reply. 
 
 " He completed his seventeenth year a day 
 01 two since ; but you must venture no remark 
 upon his juvenility ; horse-guardsmen of that 
 age being wonderlully punctilious on the matter 
 of their manliness." 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered when my 
 fethir, followed t^ ^cang Devereux, advanced 
 
 to the sofa, upon which we wore sealed, when 
 the subjectof our conversation was made know.q 
 to me; and Sir Jamts, with a saicastic ceio- 
 mony, for which at the moment I deiested liirrj, 
 rose, and resigned his place beside me to the 
 stranger, who, however, possessed himself of it 
 with a composure and good faith which soon 
 restored my complacency. 
 
 I felt as though I [;?w saw one of my favor- 
 ite novels in action, and that I was to becomu 
 the heroine of a plot full of romance and inter- 
 est. I required no prompting to teach me thai 
 he admired my person ; and I had been too 
 long prepared lor a similar event, to be found 
 wanting in the attempt to display my perfections 
 in the most favorable light. 1 closed my eyes 
 languidly, after the fashion of my mother; and 
 wben the long lashes bad produced their cflecl, 
 I raised them suddenly to the face of my com- 
 panion, only to avert them in the same haste. 
 .My triumph was great as I remarked his grow- 
 ing interest. He was evidently '.visuspicious of 
 artifice ; and as all my mother s lady-guests 
 were absorbed in their own peculiar partialities 
 and avocati(ms, no comment was made upon the 
 factof our continuinginconveisation throughout 
 the evening, and parting only when mademoi- 
 selle entered to reclaim what she was pleased 
 to call her pupil. 
 
 As my father's public duties would not permit 
 of bis leinaining long absent from town, it was 
 intimated to me, that, with the exception of 
 those hours which were habitually dedicated to 
 my several masters, my time and movements 
 were at my own disposal. I had suddenly at- 
 tained to happiness I I was free to come and 
 to go. I was beloved — this, above all, was the 
 thought which gave a new charm lo my exist- 
 ence ; nor did i suffer mysell to doubt iliai ic 
 must he so. It is true that at the cud of a 
 week I began to have some misgivings of the 
 progress of tlie devoted attachment ol which I 
 was resolved to become the object. Engrossed 
 by my own vanity, the idea of the conquest whicli 
 J bad made was ever present to me ; nor could 
 I force myself to feel an interest in any othei 
 subject. I did not reflect that it was lar other- 
 wise with young Devereux. He might admire 
 me as a pretty girl, and find a pleasure in con- 
 versing with one who treated his sentimenisauJ 
 attentions with respect; but he had aUo other 
 contemplations even more agreeable. He bad 
 justescaped the trammelsof college. and taken a 
 decided and honorable position in society. Diight 
 visions of the future mingled, therefore, with his 
 enjoyment of ttie present; and it is probable that 
 long after I argued myself into the belief that I 
 held {lis happiness in my hands, the placid rev- 
 eries in which he loved to indulge wen; fi'.Il of 
 gold lace and tborougb-bied cbar.ije.-o, instead 
 of bright eyes and weil-turned atikles. 
 
 This coldness did noi, however, longcontinua. 
 He was dazzled by tlu; showiness of my accom- 
 plishments, flattered by the pltasure which I 
 did not attempt to conceal when we met, and 
 surrounded by an atmosphere redolent of gal- 
 lantry and dissipaMon. Nevertheless, Herbert 
 Devereux was a greater novice than myself lu 
 the language of admiration. Timid, wholly 
 unconscious of his personal advantages, anil 
 deeply imbued with respect for the sex, he was 
 guarded in every word and look. He lived in 
 
58 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 perpetual fear of offending, and took alarm, ' workmanship. The Glenfillan arms, her own 
 more than once, at the very jueans whicli I , cipher, and other appropriate ornaments, were 
 adopted to give him confidence. Time and wrouglil upon it, with a delicacy and finish 
 opportunity, however, were my hest allies. My which rendered it of extreme .value, especially 
 lather returned to town, leaving the young to Lady Madelaine herself 
 solflier quietly domesticated under his roof: This fan she one evening chanced to mislay, 
 and thus the only watchful and wary eye which nor could any of the servants succeed in find- 
 might have delected our childish folly was with- j ing it. A search hy the guests ensued the fol- 
 drawn. ; lowing morning, after luncheon ; and while each 
 
 Sir James Dornton was the first person who was engaged in disarranging some article of 
 directed aitentioii to the precocious flirtation in furniture in the saloon, under the plea of seek- 
 winch we were engaged; but as he did so in ing for the lost fan, I passed on into the octa- 
 iiierry mockery rather than in prudent warning, gon-room, followed by Herbert Devereux. 
 it was acknowledged only to become the new As I was really anxious lor the recovery of 
 amuseiiienl of the circle. They even jested the pretty toy, I did not remark the circum- 
 with us on the subject. They were wrong. | stance ; but approaching a sofa which stood in 
 Tiiese boy and girl attachments frequently lead a recess, I at once began to displace the cush- 
 lo more serious results than is imagined by j ions, when I suddenly felt an arm folded about 
 
 my waist, and a warm lip pressed to my cheek. 
 I started, and turned round. My woman- 
 instinct had at once told me who was the 
 aggressor ; but I had no time to chide, for in the 
 doorway also stood my mother, with her dark 
 that even her only son would have had some and angry eyes riveted upon us. 
 difficulty in making a more judicious mar- j Herbert drew back in evident consternation 
 riage, in a worldly point of view. So, while 
 
 those who look on them in sport. 
 
 Lady Devereux alone never appeared to re- 
 liiark our growing fancy. It was her policy to 
 affect perfect indifference and contempt of so 
 extremely improliable" an idea. It is certain 
 
 ..ord Otterford jested with my mother upon the 
 prepossession of his young cousin, and revolted 
 against the threat of my renewed banishment 
 from the drawing-room, Lady Devereux pursued 
 the even tenor of her way, leaving events to 
 dl^|H)se of litemselves. 
 
 iMy mother, always self-absorbed, and unwil- 
 ling to contend with her devoted admirer upon 
 80 very immaterial a subject, left us in peace, 
 and soon ceased altogether to remark our pro- 
 ceedings. Many romantic hours did we spend 
 upon the lake ; across which Herbert Devereux 
 
 — it was the first time that he had dared so 
 much, and he was cowed at the etfects of his 
 audacity. My own heart beat violently, and I 
 felt the hot blood mantling over my brow ; but 
 1 stood my ground. Tlie after-conduct of my 
 mother, however, for a time humbled and dis- 
 concerted me. She softly closed the door be- 
 hind her, and pushed the boll ; and, this done, 
 she seated herself haughtily upon the sofa, and 
 turned towards young Devereux, who support- 
 ed himself, as he stood, against a chair. 
 
 " I have intruded upon you at an unfortunate 
 moment. Mi. Devereux," siie said coldly ; " but 
 
 used to row until the boat was fairly hidden you must pardon me.- This child is my daugh- 
 among the willow-boughs which fringed the | ter, and with her I shall know how to deak 
 island that intervened between them and the With regard to yourself, you must pardon me 
 house. Here, with one of my favorite books, ' once more, if I say that you had better, without 
 all which were new to my companion, or with more delay, enter upon your military duties." 
 riiy guitar, which he played to admiration, we I "Miss Tilden is blameless, madam — " com- 
 s;(eiit lonjz hours, during the riding excursions : 
 
 "ig 
 
 menced the agitated young man, hurriedly. 
 
 " Of course she is — she is my daughter, sir," 
 interrupted Lady Madelaine, in the same tone 
 of forced composure as before ; " she has not 
 yet escaped from the nursery, and is conse- 
 quently quite unable to take care of herself I 
 will henceforth be cautious that she shall not 
 mere girl ; nor did \, on my side, pause to re- \ require to .do so. The mail passes through 
 member the fact. My day-dre,uu was accom- Rooksley to-night ; and perhaps you would novr 
 plished. I stood on the same level with my like to go, and take leave of your mother." 
 mother ; and when the elegant stripling raised ' Devereux was thuniierstiuck. He made an- 
 my hand to his lips, and prayed me to pardon other attempt to obtain a hearing; but Ladv 
 
 of Lady Madelame's party ; while the park 
 afforded walks sufficiently secluded to satisfy 
 even my exacting spirit of romance. At length 
 Herbert told me that he loved me. Tall in 
 stature, and perfectly self possessed in man- 
 ner, he had soon forgotten tliat I was still a 
 
 the avowal. I was violent iy anilated. It was 
 the first great triumph of my vanity, and I felt 
 as though earth could thereafter hold no evil 
 destiny for me. 
 
 My emotion gave me new charms in the eyes 
 of my young admirer. He was too unworldly 
 ^uspect Its source ; nor was it a confidence 
 
 Madelaine was inexorable. 
 
 " Enough, enough," she said impetuously ; 
 •'you to your parade-ground, and this child to 
 her school-room. All argument is useless." 
 
 Overpowered by her manner, Herbert bowed 
 profoundly, turned one long, supplicating look 
 toward me, as though to crave my pardon for 
 
 which I felt called upon to make ; but from that the displeasure which he had brought upon me, 
 hour I vvas conscious of my power, and resolved and shooting hack the holt, slowly left the room. 
 
 to exert it. 
 
 An incident which shortly afterward occur- 
 red, nevertheless, changed materially, not only 
 my ftiellnga oi self-reliance, but the actual tenor 
 of my life. 
 
 Lady Madelaine had received from a friend 
 iu India a fan of carved ivory of magnificent 
 
 You have commenced early, Miss Tilden," 
 was the sarcastic observation of my mother, 
 when he had disappeared; "your education 
 has indeed progressed far beyond my expecta- 
 tions, and you are likely to do honor to your 
 father's name. These are then the creditable 
 results of the vanity which I sought in vain to 
 
CONFESSIOxVS OF A PRET FY WOMAN. 
 
 5S 
 
 cdrtt ' Do you not remember how seriously I 
 exposuilateJ vvitli you upon Uiis subject not a 
 uiuiUli suice !"' 
 
 " I do, madam," I replied, witli a courage 
 which it astonishes me even now to look back 
 upon. "Your ladyship rebuked me, both for 
 my vanity and for my violence. I am not likely 
 to forget the circumstance ; nor, from my own 
 experience, to doubt the correctness of the Ital- 
 ian proverb, which says, ' Come canta il capal- 
 lano, cose rcspundc il sacristan.' " 
 
 " Ha ! you attempt also to speak in epigrams," 
 exclaimed Lady Madelaine, intensely provoked ; 
 'truly you are a precocious young lady, and 
 cannot fail to be one day a credit to your fam- 
 ily ! Ho'w long, may I venture to inquire, have 
 these familiarities been permitted between your- 
 self and Mr. Devereux |"' 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " It is not your pleasure to satisfy me upon 
 this point. Perhaps you are right. I shall at 
 least know when they terminated forever. 
 And now, listen to me, Miss Tilden. I have, 
 as you are aware, lately purchased a villa upon 
 the Thames. Thither I shall remove, with my 
 guests, in the course of a few days. You will 
 remain here ; not under the guidance of a weak 
 and too indulgent governess, but under strict 
 and siringent guardianship. I have conde- 
 scended to explain this, because I shall never , 
 again permit myself to hold any conversation 
 with you on the subject." 
 
 "And my father — "I asked proudly; "is 
 your ladyship well assured that he will sanc- 
 tion the imprisonment of a daughter whom he 
 love.-!" 
 
 "Tlie experiment shall be tried," answered 
 my mother coldly. " I am, at all events, well 
 provided with reasons for tlie step which I am i 
 about to take ; nor do 1 believe that .Mr. Tilden j 
 will be insensible to the disgrace which has I 
 already been brought upon him by your levity." 
 
 '.' Disgrace !" I exclaimed recklessly; " I deny 
 that 1 have in any way disgraced my father. 
 My fault, if fault it be, was involuntary. I was 
 not even aware of Mr. Devereux's presence. 
 I will not be denounced to my father as having! 
 forgotten the respect I owe to myself." 
 
 "You will not. Miss Tilden T' 
 
 " I will not, madam. It was the first occa- 
 sion upon which Lady .Devereux's son had 
 done more than kiss my hand. I trust that he 
 did not err in so mere a triUe as that salutation, 
 and that I am not to biame in having permitted 
 it. Stunild it be otherwise, your ladyship will ! 
 forgive me if I once more recall the Italian 
 proverb." 
 
 For the moment, I knew that my mother was | 
 in my power ; there was no escape from the \ 
 room, as 1 have before mentioned, save through 
 the saloon in which the guests were now as- ! 
 sembled ; nor did she dare to raise her voice, \ 
 lest the sounds of altercation should attract 
 their notice ; and it was doubtlessly the knowl- j 
 edge that such was the case which inspired 
 ine With a* temporary daring, ill-suited alike to 
 my age and to our relative position. 
 
 For a brief interval, Lady .Madelaine exhibit- 
 ed, however, no inclination to reply. She was 
 petrified by my insolence. She little knew or 
 guessed the education which her own neglect 
 and baneful example had combined to work 
 
 out, in a nature as confident and as self-wiiled 
 as her own. 1 feared her still ; but, girl as I 
 was, I had almost ceased to respect her. I 
 was aware of her power ; but I was also quit*" 
 as cognizant of her weakness. 
 
 "This to me!" she at length gasped out, 
 with an eye that flamed with indignant anger, 
 and in a suppressed 'voice which vainly strug 
 gled to be calm ; '• is this the return whic!i you 
 make for my indulgence ^ Eveleen, Eveleen, I 
 never anticipated this. Do you presume to 
 measure your own conduct — the conduct of a 
 mere child — by that of those about you 1 It is 
 indeed time that the viper should be crushed 
 I shall waste no more words ; you are unwor 
 thy of them. Follow me." 
 
 She rose, drew up her stately figure to its 
 full height, and disappeared into the saloon, 
 lea ing the door of communication open. I 
 stood (or an instant irresolute. My pride re- 
 volted at the possibility of being subjected to 
 the ridicule of the assembled guests, should 
 my mother deem it expedient to betray the un- 
 guarded action of Herbert ; while I shrank with 
 almost equal repugnance I'rom the idea that I 
 might be dismissed to my room like a chidden 
 child, after having played the part of a woman 
 before her circle. Suddenly a thought flashed 
 upon me — Tlie window, which was pierced 
 nearly to the ground, stood invitingly open. I 
 laid my hand upon the frame, and sprang out. 
 The sounds of laughter reached me from the 
 drawing-room ; and my brow burnt as I figured 
 to myself that I was, in all probability, the ob- 
 ject of the ridicule. I, so proud, so vain, and 
 so self-centred. — The pang was terrible ! For~ 
 a time I had not courage to escape from the 
 odious merriment, but supported mysell' against 
 the wall of the house, and listened with an in- 
 tensity which seemed to absorb all the faculties 
 of my being; this state of emotion was, how- 
 ever, too violent to last. I had already main^ 
 tained a severe struggle with myself, in order 
 to preserve an appearance of composure before 
 my mother; and this last trial was almost 
 more than I could support. After a short 
 pause, therefore, 1 rushed away into the wood 
 which skirted the lawn, where 1 was alone 
 with itiy own feelings, with no eye upon me; 
 and where the voice of ridicule and sarcasm 
 could not meet my ear. 
 
 I threw myself down under a treC: and tried 
 to think ; but I could not. Every pu^e throb- 
 bed almost to bursting, and the pain in my head 
 was intolerable. I clasped my forehead with 
 my spread hands, and wept — tears of passion- 
 ate energy, such as were ill-suited to my years. 
 1 felt that I had been harshly used — that I liad 
 been rebuked for errors similar to those which 
 were hourly passing before my eyes — that all 
 opportunity of justification had been coldly de- 
 nied to me. I experienced no remorse for tlie 
 mortification vv'luch I had entailed upon my 
 mother ; but rather, on the contrary, believed 
 myself worthy of praise, for the generous for- 
 bearance which had induced me to conceal 
 fronn her the interview of Emily Vernon and 
 Lord Olterford on the very spot which she had 
 so lately occupied as an inexorable judge. I un 
 derstood her suflficiently to know that by such 
 a revelation she would have been humbled ta 
 the jjust, however successfully she mi;;ht have 
 
64 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 struggled to conceal il. I might have done used as a blind for his oocasinnii) insotenee t» 
 IhisrJiiui did not ; ami by a strange anuinaly ot those around liun ; giClfd vmiIi exiraordiniiry 
 feelintf, prrleei'.y incoiTiprehensible lc« inysc'lf, I llm-ncy, and a reieniive inenmry ; pnliie anJ 
 rejoiced that il was so. It was Uie one con- fascinating in ins nime amiable in..n)enis ; iin- 
 Bolalory point of my relleclions. when at len;zih coii.proaiising and decided m iliose of greaU 
 I was cnahied to reflect; and t'hc cool night- er importance, and singularly handsome. Sir 
 air and the deep stillness had, ere long, so James Domion was ilio tn/a«i <:/?«(» of his set ; 
 benelicial an efTect upon my nerves, that I a welcome visitor to the gay and the idle ; and 
 arose in a state of comparative calm; and, celebrated among the dissipated as a «(j/c/i/«n,i 
 slowly retracing my steps to the house, pro- — which means, that in keeping his own secrrls, 
 ceedud at once °to my own room ; where, ring- 1 which he was always clever enough to do, he 
 ing for my maid, I retired immediately to rest, at the saii>e lime kepi theirs. There can he no 
 (jirthe plea of sudden indisposition. ! doubt that there is a certain degree of talent m 
 
 Did I say to rest ! It was a mere profana- , being al)le to do this, 
 lion of the word. I could not close my eyes; ' 1 need scarcely say, that this is not the por- 
 and now that I had in a great degree overcome trail vvliich 1 should have drawn of the baronet 
 the effects of my interview with my mother, at fourteen ; it is the production of a more 
 my thoughts reverted to Herbert ; and a burn- ; practiced and familiar pencil, 
 ing blush overspread my cheeks as I remein- And now — revcnons a n«s mrmlons. 
 bered tiiat I had been treated in his presence | My reverie was long and earnest ; but I still 
 as a froward child, who needed chastisement, .failed to discover the actual moiives of my 
 He was about to depart, too; to mingle with nioihrr's conduct; and I consei|uenlIy, alter a 
 the world of which 1 believed and feared that ; considerable time, turned fmm the speculative 
 lie would soon become the idol ; he might for- 1 to the actual position wluch I now occupied, 
 yet me, or remember me ere long only in the I was once more to be abandoned to the soj.i- 
 odioiis character which it had pleased Lady tude of llooksley. The tirsi use lo which I.ady 
 Madelaine to attribute to me; and this was iMadeiaine proposed to convert her river villa, 
 the most bitter thought of all. j was that of ridding her of the obtrusive presence 
 
 I found some consolation, however, in dwell- of a daugliler who had gradually become dis- 
 ing upon the changed manner of all the men tasteful to her. .Mademoiselle Josephine was 
 who formed my mother's circle. They, at to be discarded from the school-room. This, 
 least, it was suliicicntly evident, had ceased to at least, was a relief; it was the only pout of 
 regard me in the same light as Lady Madelaine. light in the picture. The Frenchwoman was 
 Foremost among those who had admitted my peculiarly disagreeable to me — she was the 
 claim to be otherwise considered was Sir James most contemptible of all things—a cipher; a 
 Dornioii ; and I did not seek to restrain a feel- creature at once aimless and heartless, whorD 
 ing of triumpii wiien 1 remembered this, j it was a waste of feeling even to despise ; and 
 
 Perhaps I could not choose a more fitting I very soon saiislied myself thai I should cmi- 
 place in which to describe the said baronet ; nently prefer the '• strict and stringent guardi- 
 who plaved so promment a part in the history anship," with which I was thrcaiened, let i» 
 of mv aUer-life.that it is necessary to introduce come in what shape it might. My present " 
 
 him lormally to the reader. 
 
 piled subserviency to a discarded lady's-maid 
 was ignoble ; there would be some glory, at 
 least, in conieniion, if contend I must, agains* 
 a superior intellect, and a less equivocal au- 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Sir James DoRNTo.N,one of the most impor- thoriiy. 
 tant pcr.>on3 in my history, was of a lamily , I can look back now upon this haughty reas- 
 more ancient than illustrious. His fortune was oning with a smile, when I remember the 
 greatly inferior to his ambition ; and he valued result ; but at the time il afforded my only con- 
 money, as those universally do value it whose j eolation. 
 
 liabits of personal luxury bear no proportion to The threat of Lady Madelaine was by no 
 the capability of its indulgence. I need scarcely j means an idle one. Her removal to Putney 
 remark, however, that this undignilied passion , followed wuhiri a month; and llooksley was 
 was carclully concealed. Sir James was as j bereft of many of its more costly ornaments for 
 proud as he was poor. He was one of those | ihe decoration of the new villa. Nor was this 
 men of fashion, some of whom are encountered , all. There were signs, impossible to be mis 
 every day, who have the tact of passing off : understood, which convince<l me. witlmut a hint 
 their counterfeit ascurrent coin, wiilioul sulfer- I (lom others, that she did not Uudi forward to a 
 ing the penalty of the law for their social forgery, speedy return. So nmch, indeed, was ihme, oi 
 Nature had done everything for him physically, 1 rather undone, that the mansion ere long as 
 but had been extremely economical in her i sumed the apjiearance of a religious house, 
 dowry of virtue. He was tall and graceful ; rather than 11. e abode of luxury whicli it had 
 with a fine and expressive countenance ; re- lately been. I confess that this fact wounded 
 maikably quick at repartee; and, like all per- me deeply. The elegances by which 1 had been 
 sons who care not, when they launch their surrounded from my childhood had become 
 arrows, whom they may ultimately wound, so necessary to oie. I worshiped the graceful 
 long as their flight attracts attention, he passed and the beautiful. They were essential to my 
 for a man of wit. Peeling he had none, save comloit. My mother was already revenged ! 
 for his own comfort and convenience ; and his , How often did I laugh in the hitierness of my 
 principle was as accommodating as his senli- spirit, as I walked hurriedly about the nobla 
 nipnt. Afliecting a hyper-fastidiousness which | park, seeking in violent exertion to still the un 
 exonerated himself from criticism, and was i comfortable feelings by whicli I was haunted. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 6» 
 
 wftei I rememViercd that here at least Lady 
 Mailelaine had been unable to separate me from ; 
 llie liivelmess I so mucli prized. My lai'ier's 
 apartments alone remained iniact. The genius , 
 of desolation had not invaded their precincts ; ! 
 and there I consequently spent a great portion i 
 of my time. | 
 
 As the idea of my mother was always painful 
 to me, ])resent itself in what shape it might, I 
 began to lurn with more interest than I had 
 ever hitlierto felt, to that of my father ; and to 
 examine careluUy and earnestly every object 
 which could allbrd an insight into his hal)its 
 and feelings. The more I studied the subject, 
 the more I recalled his early caresses, his sub- 1 
 dued tones, his tender indulgence ; and coupled 
 with these tlie many evidences of his fine taste 
 and cultivated mind by which I was now sur- 
 rounded, the more deeply I felt that I had never i 
 returned his affection as I ought. I had just | 
 discovered the delight of being beloved; and 
 Iherefoie I, for tlie first time, rightly unde.r- 
 stood the bitter feelings with which he must 
 have seen his tenderness rejected. This con- 
 viction carried me far, very far; for I instinc- 
 tively traveled from my own vvant of sympathy \ 
 :o that of my mother. Et lu. Brute ! was the } 
 aspiration of my heart. Yes — it was even so ■ 
 — tlie wife of his bosom did not appreciate his 
 worth. The holy shrine of home, which should 
 have been wreathed with blossoms, was heaped 
 with ice ; and the only garlands by which it | 
 was rendered attractive were beaten out of cold 
 and sordid gold. | 
 
 Involuntarily my thoughts glanced towards 
 Otterford ; and my breath came thick as I re- 
 membered that his bland hypocrisy and unmean- 
 ing gallantries had turned away the eyes and 
 heart of my mother from the higher and more 
 noble qualities of the man on whom she had be- | 
 stowed her hand. [ 
 
 Amid these uneasy and conflicting reveries 
 time wore slowly on. Despite the new rule to j 
 which I had been informed that I was about to 
 become subject, no alteration had as yet been 
 made in the household, with the sole exception 
 that Mademoiselle Josephine had laid aside even 
 the affectation of supremacy, and had quietly de- 
 generated into a sullen and very inexpert at- j 
 tendant ; wliile I could trace an expression of 
 triumph in the manner of the bustling Mrs. j 
 Harris, in our occasional encounters, evidently ! 
 intended to provoke inquiry. Such condescen- 
 sion was, however, foreign to my character. 
 Lady Madelaine had made the communications 
 which she deemed expedient, and I neither 
 sought nor cared for any others. 
 
 Of iiiv own fate I was still comparatively care- 
 kss — my leading anxiety was my present posi- 
 tion with Herbert Devereux. Could I have 
 been I'ully assured of the continuance of his 
 affection, I might have put even my mortified 
 vanity to rest. Had we been separated with 
 some degree of delicacy and consideration, I 
 might, at least, have looked back in calm and 
 dignified sorrow to our parting ; but now its 
 memory rev(dted me. I had been placed in a 
 position for which the whole course of my ex- 
 tensive reading olFercd no precedent. l" had ! 
 been humbled in the eyes of my first lover ! — j 
 anti, let those laugh who list, this was no slight i 
 tnal to a- budding beauty, looking forward to | 
 
 her fifteenth year. When not overwhelmed by 
 this recollection, I occupied myself in specula- 
 ting upon the possible renewal of my fiilher'a 
 affection. I was more conscious, day by day, 
 of the value of the friend whom I had lost ; and 
 I becanie comparatively anxious to make some 
 attempt to reillumine liis extinguished tender- 
 ness. Alas ! such a blessing was not de^stined 
 to me — his heart had been for years a closed 
 casket, of which he had flirng away the key. 
 Kind, and gentle, and indulgent, he could still 
 be, for these endearing qualities were natural 
 to him ; but they grew no longer out of the 
 deep feelings of a husband and a father. 
 
 Mr. Tilden in his own house resembled a 
 stately forest-tree planted in a conservatory, and 
 he sickened at the unwholesomeness of the at 
 mosphere. 
 
 It was the beginning of autumn ; Mrs. Vernon 
 was still detained in town ; and it had been de- 
 termined that her daughter should remain there 
 also throughout the winter, in order that she 
 might secure the best advice for what the 
 Galen of Rooksley had decided to be a confirm- 
 ed ciiest-complaint. Mrs. Alexander and her 
 daughters were sojourning at Cheltenham ; and 
 of all my mother's habitual circle, no one re- 
 mained in the neighborhood save Lady O'Hal- 
 loran and Dr. James. 
 
 I had been accustomed to hear her portly 
 ladyship so slightingly mentioned when she 
 chanced to be absent ; to hear both her physical 
 and moral attributes so freely and wittily dis- 
 cussed ; and to look upon her so decidedly as a 
 person rather tolerated than desired, that I 
 confess it was with a feeling very far from 
 pleasurable that I heard her name one day an- 
 nounced, and thus saw my solitude for the first 
 time invaded. 
 
 It was immediately evident that she perceived 
 the impression produced by her presence, but 
 she was too generous to show any resentment. 
 
 " You are surprised to see me. Miss Tilden," 
 she said kindly, as she extended her hand ; 
 " nor should I have intruded at iio(d<sIey contrary 
 to the express request of Lady Madelaine, had 
 it not been at the desire of your excellent 
 father." 
 
 This assurance changed at once the whole 
 current of my feelings : I both looked and ex- 
 pressed my acknowledgments. 
 
 " I thought you also were absent from the 
 neighborhood," I said in conclusion, "for I 
 was not aware of my mother's prohib.ijcn ;_ 
 and believed it probable, that had any of her' 
 friends been within reach, they would have 
 taken pity on the poor prisoner." 
 
 "No, my dear young lady," said my visitor 
 with a smile; "I am content to rcinnin at 
 home throughout the year, when necessity 
 does not call me to town. I have a holier and 
 a better use for the little I can spare, than 
 squandering it in folly and in dress. Not, how- 
 ever," she added hastily, with a delicacy which 
 did her honor, " that I blame those who enter 
 into the gaieties of a London life, or who find 
 pleasure in change of scene ; in all probability, 
 I should have done both under different circum- 
 stances. And now, my dear girl, what can I dO' 
 to be either useful or agreeable to you !" 
 
 For a moment I did not reply, fur the lan- 
 guage of Lady O'Halloran was new to me. I 
 
66 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY vVOMAN. 
 
 «ad been so accustomed to consider that, as i and in every folly — I was made the idol not only 
 a matter of course, all persons of a certain con- 1 of others, but of myself also, in order that ihere- 
 dition in life had eo'.d at command, and that to verse should be more deeply felt. You talk of the 
 declare yourself poor was to acknowledge your | feelings of a mother, Lady O'Halloran ; you talK 
 own want of caxic and consequence, that I was | as I have read of them in books ; yon do not un- 
 thiuidcrstruck. I recovered myself, however, I derstand the nature of Lady Madelaine Tilden." 
 I'n the instant ; and warmly thanking my visitor ' " I implore you to speak no longer in such a 
 for her kmd mteiiiions in my favor, I requested | strain, or you will banish me the house," said 
 her, in the first plaite, to give me tidings of my my visitor, shrinking beneath the violent pas- 
 father. . ' sion which I displayed. " It is quite true that 
 
 " Mr. Tilden is doubtlessly quite well," she ' you were prematurely dragged from the nur- 
 said ; " for he writes nothing on the subject of i sery, and made to play a part utterly unsuited 
 his health, which is always to me, at least, con- j to your years, to the great regret of all who 
 elusive. \Ve are all so apt to dwell upon our ' cared to speculate on the results of such a sys- 
 little ailments, both of body and spirit ; and it j tern ; but this was merely for the gratilication 
 does us so much good to prose where we feel of a whim. You are now loo oid to be made 
 sure to meet with sympathy, that I do not think, I a toy ; and your mother, on discovering her 
 had anyihing been amiss, he would have suf- error, has, probably in her haste to repair it, 
 fered so excellent an opportunity to escape ; exceeded somewhat in severity. But you are 
 whereas his whole letter is filled with an.\ieiy still very young, my dear Miss Tilden ; and, 
 for your happiness and comfort, wiiich he , sliould you resolve to exert your good sense, 
 seems to fear will both sutler from tlie contein- and meet the new inmates of llooksley in a 
 plated arrangement. He tells me that yeu have feeling of welcome and relationship, it will he 
 never seen either your sister or your aunt ; and but a passing trial, which will ultimately tend 
 therefore it was that he encouraged me to to enhance the pleasures of tliat world to which 
 break through the ban of excommunication, you must necessarily return in a short lime, 
 thinking that a familiar face, even though it Beside, — reflect only for a moment. Shull yoa 
 siiould be that of an old woman, may occasion- j experience no delight in holding to your heart 
 ally afford you pleasure." a younger sister, ready to love yuu, and to 
 
 " My sister ! my aunt !" I exclaimed breath- cling to you for companionship and sympathy 1 
 
 lessly ; "what can you possibly mean! I Remember the long and tedious banishment 
 
 entreat of you, my dear Lady O'Halloran, to i which this unoffending sister has already under- 
 
 . explain yourself" gone, while you have been lapped in luxury, and 
 
 It was now my guest's turn to feel surprise i cradled in indulgence." 
 — she looked at me with an expression of won- j I laughed scornfully, as I recalled to mind all 
 dering pity. " Can it really be, my poor child," | the comments which I had heard made in the 
 she said at length, after a pause which to me nursery on the young lady whose cause my 
 appeared interminable, "that you have been j zealous visitor was advocating. 
 kept in ignorance ol' Lady Madeline's inten- "Listen to me for a moment. Lady O'Hallo- 
 tion 1" " I ran," I said, as quietly as though I were arguing 
 
 "I know nothing," I answered, bitterly, ' a mere abstract question ; "you are evidently 
 •save that I am forsyken and disliked — that I laboring in the dark. Have you ever heard 
 have become an alien from my motiier's heart." , Lady Madelaine Tilden mention her younger 
 
 Lady O'Halloran drew her chair closer to ' child 1" 
 mine, and gently look my hand. " Do not suf- 1 " Never ; but your father — " 
 fer yoursell to believe so," she said gravely ; j J waved my hand impatiently. 
 •' such morbid fancies will only serve lo rentier " Shall I tell you why ! Her advent into this 
 your own life miserable, while they can afi'ect world nearly cost the life of her mother. Was 
 no one but yourself To your father you are an this no crime 1 That mother's recovery was 
 oiiject of deep and sincere interest ; but, young slow and precarious. Was this no sin 1 ay, 
 as you are, you must already be aware that he and sin past all lorgiveness, in the eyes of aa 
 jsnot demonstrative in his feelings. That your acknowledged beauty, whose triumph was de- 
 mother is at present exasperated against yuu pendent upon time. The child, sickly from 
 liiere can be no doubt ; while, however, it is its birth, was fretful and plain, and gave no 
 quite as certain that the feeling will soon pass promise of physical perfection. Did not this 
 by. I know by experience," she continued, with fact exonerate a fashionable parent from all 
 a sigh, "that no mother can long retain dis- natural ties 1 Of course — of course. All the 
 pleasure against her child." j world knew that the beautiful Lady Madelaine 
 
 •* But my lather. Lady O'Halloran — may I { Tilden had given birth to a second daughter, 
 not ask somewhat of him '. You spoke, too, of whom she had thrust forth in her inlancy, be- 
 
 ly aunt — of my sister. Did I, could 1 indeed cause — But shame upon me !" I continued con- 
 
 understand iliat they are coming herel" 1 templuousiy ; "I was about to give a reason 
 
 I feared that they would already have pre- ! for the act ; and why should I ! Throughout 
 
 ceiled me," she replied calmly ; " and I entreat the world which she worshiped, none sought 
 you to remember, my dear girl, that one is to ask one of the Lady Madelaine ; nor did she 
 your own sister, and the other the sister of win a smile the less." 
 
 your mother." I " Calm yourself, my dear child, I beseec> 
 
 I, mdeed, required lo bear this in mind," I j you," murmured the astonished Lady O'Hallo- 
 
 remarked, with increased bitterness ; " I 
 understand all the extent of Lady Madelaine's 
 diplomacy. In my childhood I was petted and 
 caressed — I was encouraged in every caprice 
 
 ran. 
 
 " Have no fear for me, madam," I said 
 proudly ; " you have been kind enough lo ex- 
 press a wish to serve me, and I will be frank 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 67 
 
 With you. You shall not lavish your civility 
 upon ail ingratc. I have been disciplined in a 
 strange scliool ; and would fain convince you 
 that I have learned to judge for myself. I have 
 told you what is Miss Adela Tdden's relative 
 situation with her mother; now learn what it 
 IS toward myself. Pliysically, her worldly ca- 
 leermust bca blank, fur she is totally devoid 
 111 personal attractions. Of her education you 
 will, at once, he enabled to form a correct idea, 
 when I tell you that, since the death of Lord 
 Glenfillaii, niy maternal grandfather, the Lady 
 Flora, at once his daughter and my sister's 
 guardian, has resided in the heart of the High- 
 lands, witii III) other assistance in forming the 
 mind and manners of her young ward than 
 what could be afforded by a widow lady of good 
 family and slender means, whociiaiiced to have 
 buried herself in the neighborhood ; and who 
 was happy to embrace any method of increasing 
 her inadequate income. In addition to these 
 circumstances, I pray you also to remember, 
 that my own fortune will, in all probability, be 
 dimiiiishedone-half by the existence of a sister 
 so little calculated to do honor, either to her- 
 self or to her family, in those circles where it 
 is essential that she should shine ; and then I 
 think that you will readily exonerate me in 
 your heart for any repugnance which 1 may 
 testify to her close companionship. At present 
 we are uiier strangers ; mere matter of tradi- 
 tion the one to the other ; and this is as it 
 Bhould be. Why disturb so simple an arrange- 
 ment ] When I was first told that I had a sis- 
 ter, my heart bounded to meet her ; but I was 
 rebuked and ridiculed for the impulse. I have 
 been tutored into indifference — it may be into 
 something more. I ask only to be left as cir- 
 cumstances have made me." 
 
 "You wrong your nature by such an argu- 
 ment, my dear girl," said my good-natured vis- 
 itor; "these are prejudices which have been 
 instilled by those around you ; they cannot be 
 the growth of your own mind, for they belong 
 neither to your age, your sex, nor your disposi- 
 tion. You are, and have always been, essen- 
 tially companionless ; for I cannot consider your 
 tolerated appeaiance among your mother's 
 guests as society to one of your tender years. 
 Reflect only how beautiful a bond is that which 
 unites two sisters ; especially when, as in your 
 case, the two are alone to love each other ; 
 and believe ine when I tell you that a very few 
 weeks of close and affectionate communion will 
 suffice to convince you that your present feel- 
 ings are both erroneous and ungenerous." 
 
 " Have you the same, or as ellicient consola- 
 tion to ofler as regards the Lady Flora Glenfil- 
 lan, madam 1" I asked, with a smile conijiound- 
 ed of scorn and melancholy. 
 
 " In her case, my dear, 1 can say nothing," 
 was the frank reply ; " for, as I never had the 
 honor of meeting the sister of Lady Madelaine, 
 I am necessarily hors de combat. I would, how- 
 ever, venture to remind you of lier near rela- 
 tionship to both your mother and yourself." 
 
 " Which you must permit me at once and 
 most unequivocally to deny, as regards myself. 
 Lady O'Halloran," I said, haughtily. "My 
 grandfatiier was twice married — in the first in- 
 stance, to the daughter ol some obscure Scotch 
 farmer, m hose ve v name has escaped me — if, 
 H 
 
 indeed, it was ever uttered beneath this roof 
 and the second time, to a woman of rank ecjual to 
 his own, and probaldy of more ancient descent 
 — my grandmother. The Lady Flora is descend- 
 ed from ihe petty Highland laird ; and is con- 
 sequently a connection of mine, not a relative." 
 
 Lady O'Halloran shook her head in evident 
 sadness. " I have done, my dear Miss Tilden ; 
 and yet, for your own sake, I would fain see 
 you adopt a more conciliating spirit. Leaving 
 this point, however, to your serious and dispas- 
 sionate consideration, let me assure you that il 
 my occasional ])resence at llooksley can afford 
 you either comfort or gratification, I shall glad 
 ly avail myself of the suggestion of your father, 
 and risk the displeasure of Lady Madelaine, to 
 reconcile you to your new mode of life." 
 
 " Surely, madam," I said hastily, " neither 
 this Scotch connection nor this uiik*nown youn- 
 ger sister will interfere with my hoine-habitg 
 and occupations ! Am I now at an age in 
 which the novelty of unaccustomed coercion 
 can be tamely borne 1" 
 
 " Will you forgive me, dear girl, if I am hon- 
 est enough to tell you that in the false idea 
 which you have just put forth, lies yolir most 
 dangerous error 1" asked my visitor in her turn ; 
 " after all, what is this age of which you speak, 
 and in which you would find a safeguard against 
 authority 1 Had you been less thoughtlessly- 
 I was about to say, less viciously — educated, you 
 would still have been a mere child, withyournur- 
 sery and your school-room for a world ; but your 
 mind is like an exotic plant forced into prema- 
 ture blossom ; you have begun to think and to 
 judge at a period when otiier girls only act, and 
 even then merely as automata of which others 
 direct the springs." 
 
 My dignity was wounded, and although Lady 
 O'Halloran paused, as if in expectation of some 
 rpply, I remained resolutely silent. To tell me 
 — I who was beloved and who loved in turn 
 with all the ardor and romance of a first passion 
 — that my proper an<l fitting sphere was the 
 nursery, and my sole duty a blind and unreason- 
 ing obedience, was an excess of plain speaking 
 to which I dared not trust mysell to answer. 
 
 " That I am a sharp and rude [iliysician, I am 
 well aware," continued my companion, after a 
 glance at my clouded countenance ; " but this 
 is a subject which I have often discussed with 
 your excellent father, to whom I have faithfully 
 promised that I will leave no measure unat- 
 tenijjted to secure your happiness ; and I have 
 boldly braved your anger at once in order that 
 you should be convinced I am really earnest in 
 the work." 
 
 I bowed coldly. I had not yet recovered my 
 self-ccimmand. 
 
 • " When you have taken time to think, you 
 will remember also, my dear child," puisued 
 Lady O'Halloran, perfectly unmoved by my dis- 
 pleasure, " Ihat if this premature ph-a of age is 
 to avail yourself, your sister may also urge it in 
 her own behalf, with almost equal pretensions, 
 for she is merely one year younger than your- 
 self; and you would probably, twelve months 
 ago, have advocated your privileges upon this 
 score as tenaciously as you do to-day. More- 
 over, believe me when I assure you that thh 
 society of a sister will be very dear to you. Ii 
 1 is a pure and holy tie ; and, in yout case 't wik 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 be doubly swppt ; for, reared as this poor girl I 
 has been, at a disiaiice frmn all iiossiliility of, 
 acqiiirinjj those acc(iiii|ilisbiritMiis to wlncJi so 
 larye an amoiiiil of your own life has been tie- 1 
 voted, yon have it in yonr power lo be to her a 
 nosl generous and valuable (rienil. and to bind 
 her snil more closely lo you by gratitude lliaii 
 Uood." 
 
 I became inslinciively interested. 
 
 " Will yon not endeavor to accomplish this 
 bcauliCiil and sisterly undertakin;^ !" 
 
 " I will. Miadam." 
 
 Laily O'Halinraii bent over me, and. as if in- 
 voluntarily, pressed her lips to my foreiu-'ad. 
 That calm and aliinst solemn kiss had a strange 
 effect npiin me. I bad been accuslomcd lo liie 
 most lavish caresses from my infaiury, and I be- 
 lieve that I esiimaled lliem at Iheir just value ; 
 but there w'as soimiliin!^ so liearMcIl, so ma- 
 tronly, so real, in that of Lady O'llalloraii, that I 
 raised iier fingers to my li|)s, and the large tears 
 gushed from my eyes. 
 
 "Why was I never before treated like a 
 reasonnide being?" f e.xclaimed mournfully. 
 "If I were old enough to play my part among 
 the other puppets in my m<illier"s drauing-room, 
 was I not also capable of being bid by heller 
 impulses than liiose of vanity and selfishness ? 
 I have been unfairly dealt with ; but I have at 
 last a friend I u-ill love this unknnwri sister, 
 dear Lady O'Hallcnan — liiai is, I will strive to 
 love her ; but my heart tells me tiiai there is 
 much to undo." 
 
 "She will come to you, meek, timid, and, it 
 may be, strangely ignorant of all ihe showy lore 
 of modern seliolarslii[), perhaps," pursued my 
 companion ; '• hut then she will also come to 
 you pure, and fresh, and charming; knowing 
 no guile, uri.sijspicious of deceit, coiiliding, sim- 
 ple, and adectionate. Would you close your 
 heart against so genial an inm.iie ! Credit me 
 when 1 assure you that it would be no easy 
 task. But you have already decided that the 
 attempt siiall not be made ; and 1 iiave sutfi- 
 cient reliai.ee on your honor and good failh, my 
 dear iMiss Tilden — " 
 
 " Call me Eveleen !" I cried passionately. 
 "All the world — even my own moliier — seems 
 to have foigetlen that I bear another name be- 
 side that of my family ; but you — dear, kind 
 Lady O'Halloran — you, wiio are at once the 
 friend id' the iailier and ihe child, surely you 
 will cease to address me so coldly, when i con- 
 vince you I hat 1 am not altogether unworthy of 
 your regard." 
 
 " Your father, at least, understood you, my 
 poor victimized girl," said my visiKir, as she 
 opened her arms, and 1 dung myself, deeply 
 HiOved, upon her bosom. " He told me that 
 jou Would well repay my zeal ; and you will 
 repay il, will you not, Eveleen ! And I shall 
 see the liitle family-paity at Rookslcy at once 
 atlectionaie and happy, even including the 
 'Sooteh connection.'" 
 
 1 could not jiiin in the smile. Her descrip- 
 tion of the meek, coiitiding, delicieiit sister, to 
 whom I w,is ere long to he all in all, had over- 
 wlielmed me with romantic delight ; but the 
 \ision of La ly Fhua Glcnhllaii — whose " strin- 
 gent guardianship" had been the most bitter 
 threat of my mother, passed like a dark shadow 
 over my heart. 
 
 " I will pledge myself no further tn-day, even 
 to Lady O'Halloran," I said at lengtii. 
 
 " Well, well, perhaps I am unreasonaide to 
 e.xpect more," replied the good lady, gaily. 
 " I hope lo see you again before your new in- 
 mates arrive ; you will then have recovered 
 the first shock of your surprise. And now, 
 will you do mc a pleasure, my dear— Eveleen 1 
 If so, tie on your shawl and bonnet, jump into 
 my pimy-chair, and S|)end the remainder of this 
 bright day with me. Your carriage can con- 
 vey you home at night; and 1 promise, indeed 
 1 (In. that unless you yourself provoke it, tne 
 suhjecl which we have just been so eai-.-stly 
 discussing shall not be touched upoi again. 
 So come fearlessly, my dear girl, p'.j admire 
 the hundred expedients by which ' ndeavor to 
 conceal from myself the fact Xh^ ^ am no lon- 
 ger rich ; and learn, at the . ame time, the 
 wholesome truth, that it is very possible to be 
 bajipy without either esiahiishment or equipage, 
 when the heart is filled by a much dearer in- 
 terest." 
 
 Need I say that I accepted an invitation so 
 given as frankly as I received it. Far, how- 
 ever, from shrinking away from the subject of 
 the forthcoming change in my destiny, I recur- 
 red to it more than once; and when I at length 
 parted from my Kind hostess, it was with a 
 feeling of increased respect for her ; and what 
 1 had never in my life experienced until that 
 moment, a growing distrust of my own perfect- 
 ibility. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was fortunate that Lady O'llalloran's at- 
 tention to my father's retpiest had been so 
 prompt, for the travelers arrived on the suc- 
 ceeding evening. Never shall 1 forget my sen- 
 sations when their arrival was announced to 
 me ! Before 1 left tin! Hall, my zealous hostess 
 had wrung from my reluctant lips thai I would 
 do my best to love, not only my unknown sis- 
 ter, hut also the guardian of her childhooil; in 
 making the latter promise, however. I felt that 
 iTiy heart had no part in the pledge. Civil I 
 knew that 1 should necessarily be, for I be- 
 lii.'ved thai 1 was too well-bred to degrade my- 
 self by any e.xhibition of rudeness ; r.nd I re- 
 solved to struggle at courtesy ; but I'or auglil 
 beyond this I was still quite unprepared. 
 
 I rt)se from my harp with a throbbing heart. 
 Stir a step beyond the room to welcome the 
 new-comers I could not. I felt sick and faint. 
 1 was angry with myself An- my ill-timed emo- 
 tion, but 1 could not overcome it ; and while I 
 was endeavoring to rebuke myself into at least 
 the semblance of composure, they were ushered 
 intii the apartment. 
 
 In the vail stalked a tall, gaunt figure, draped 
 in a cloak of woolen plai.l ; which checkered 
 horror, I was subsequently informed, was the 
 Gli.'iitillan tartan. There was a heail-dress also 
 id some nameless material and indescribalde 
 form, which was fiung off abruptly ; and before 
 I ciiuld command my.self sufficiently to give ut- 
 terance to one word of greeting, or bad even 
 caught a glimpse of my sister, I found mysell 
 clas|)ed in two long arms, and hugged so lightly 
 to tlie Glenfillan tartan, that I had not breath 
 even lo scream ; while a shrill voice, in a strong 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 Srotcli accent, was pouring forth a flood of ve- 
 lienieiil ejaculations. 
 
 I will not alienipt to expatiate on my disgust. 
 This was stringent guardiansliip. indeed ! The 
 travel-reeking cloak ; tlie hot hreath that seem- 
 ed to stagnate upon my forehead ; the fearful 
 clutch from which I really believed my very 
 bones to be endangered, settled the relative po- 
 sitions of Lady Flora and myself forever. It 
 was an unaccustomed and coarse contact tt) 
 which I instinctively felt thai I could never 
 submit witliout the deepest repugnance. I was 
 at once terrified and disgusted ; and when the 
 grasp was at length rela.xed, and that my tor- 
 mentor (for sucii she seemed at the moment) 
 drew back, and held me at arms' 'nglh, in 
 order to e.xamine my person at her ase, and 
 that I saw the prominent cheek-i mes, the 
 sliarp nose and chin, and the disoidered and 
 uncurled masses of grizzled hair which had es- 
 caped from beneath what was evidently intend- 
 ed to repiesent a cap, I involuntarily closed my 
 eyes to shut out the unpleasant object which 
 had f(irced itself upon me so abruptly. 
 
 jMi/ aunt ! No, no — even in that moment of 
 intense annoyance, I found leisure to thank the 
 fates that if this were indeed the Lady Flora 
 Glenfillan, she was at least no aunt of mine. 
 
 "And my sister — " I at length gasped out; 
 "where is my sister?" 
 
 "Ay, come, Addy, and show yourself!" ex; 
 claimed the gaunt apjiarition, in a tone which 
 betrayed at least as much asperity as affection. 
 ♦'Come and show yourself, child. Ye have no 
 reason, that I ken of, to be ashamed of facing 
 even your town-bred sister!" 
 
 And "Addy" did come forth from her hiding- 
 place behind her aunt; and my romantic sus- 
 ceptibilities were somewhat chilled by the fact 
 that while I had been imprisoned in the arms 
 of Lady Flora, instead, as I anticipated, of be- 
 ing overwhelmed with emotion, curiosity, and 
 avi-e, fclie had quietly divested herself of her 
 traveling wraps, and was just giving a last 
 touch to the glossy bands of auburn hair which 
 were parted upon her forehead. I nevertheless 
 opened iny arms to receive her ; but, instead of 
 availing herself of the movement, she folded 
 her hands primly over her bosom, and dropped 
 nie a courtesy which would not have been out of 
 keeping at the close of a dancing lesson. 
 
 "Hech! child, is that what I bid you doT' 
 harshly demanded the titled duenna. " Do you 
 not know that Eve-leen is your own sister? 
 Why should you not make free with her ! ■ Did 
 you see me stand courtesying and making cere- 
 monies 1 Are you not under your own mother's 
 roof? And have you not as nmch right to ex- 
 pect a loving welcome as she has to otfer it?" 
 
 1'he apparent automaton, ujjon tiiis judicious, 
 well-timed, and conciliating address, did as she 
 was desired. The cheek was cold, however, 
 which was pressed to mine, for our lips, as if 
 through mutual disappointment, did not meet; 
 tlie pulsations of the heart which for a brief 
 instant beat against my own were calm and 
 regular. I was altogether taken by surprise. 
 
 When we had sealed ourselves, awaiting the 
 announcement of refreshments, of which the 
 travelers stood greatly in need — for Lady Flora 
 had lived all her life beyond the Tweed, and 
 made it a principle not to scatter her money 
 
 upon the road — refreshments which, par parr.tf 
 these, she was provident enough to oicier as she 
 passed through the hall, I had leisure to exam- 
 ine my two new companions. With the aunt 
 my curiosity was soon fully satisfied. I felt 
 that Lady O'Halloran herself would not have a 
 word to say on that subject ; and when I turned 
 my eyes upon the niece, I discovered that she 
 was similarly occupied with myself What ef- 
 fect had been produced by my appearance upon 
 the mind of my sister I could not, however, even 
 guess. There was not a trace of emotion of 
 any sort upon her countenance. She was as 
 calm, as cold, and as composed, as though no- 
 thing had occurred for which she was not per- 
 fectly prepared. 
 
 As our eyes met, those of Adela were quietly 
 withdrawn ; and I pursued my survey in the 
 intervals of a conversation in which I was little 
 more than an auditor. It consisted of reminis- 
 cences of the road ; comments on the grievous 
 outlay to which they had been subjected by 
 their journey; surmises of impositions, to 
 which, nevertheless, Lady Flora could not at- 
 tach any tangible proof; and other etfually high- 
 bred and interesting topics. I had, however, 
 no alternative, save to sit by as i)atiently as I 
 could, and endeavor to form some idea of what 
 my sister miffht be, when relieved from the 
 strait-waistcoat of her guardian's presence. 
 
 With her personal appearance I was aston 
 ished. She was decidedly not a beauty; nor 
 did she give any promise of ever becoming 
 such ; but she had one of those piquante and 
 peculiar faces which frequently prove more at- 
 tractive than merely regular features. It was 
 evidently a countenance capable of immense 
 expression ; although at the present moment it 
 was as passionless and immobile as a paste- 
 board mask. She was unusually tall; indeed, 
 in this particular, she had the advantage of me, 
 for despite my year of eldership I stood no whit 
 higher than herself; nor had she been under 
 the roof of Rooksley many hours ere I discov- 
 ered that if I had acquired elegance by study 
 and long habit, my sister was no less gifted 
 with a gracefulness to the full as desirable. 
 Even disguised as she was in a costume in 
 which I would not have permitted my waiting- 
 woman to officiate at my toilet, this fact did 
 not escape me ; and it induced a feeling of in- 
 terest in the fair creature who displayed so 
 much good material to work upon. 
 
 "And now, lassies," said Lady Flora, before 
 we left the supper-room, where she had con- 
 sumed a greater quantity of food than had ever 
 been previously contemplated by the attend- 
 ants ; " now, we are all quite at home together, 
 and shall, I dare say, get on weel (Mieugh. 
 What Eve-leen does not know, you, Addy, can 
 teach her; for I dare say her education, as 
 they call it, has been but a strange rumgumfery 
 o' useless and unprofitable nonsense; and il 
 she should chance to know anything that you 
 have not been taught, why, she can teach you. 
 I shall say naething o' other things to-night. 
 To-morrow will be a new day, and we shall 
 soon understand each other." 
 
 I felt that we already understood each other; 
 and my contempt for the new authority which 
 had been set over me was so great, that an ex- 
 pression of scorn rose involuntarily to roy lip, 
 
60 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 which I instantly discovered, by the aeep flush ' 
 that passed transiently over her face, was not 
 lost upon lay sister. 
 
 " I have consented to leave my home," pur- 
 sued Lady Flora, turning the lounging-chair 
 upon whicli slic had been seated at table to- ' 
 ward the fire, throwing herself back in an at- 
 titude infinitely more easy than graceful, and 
 crossing iier feet upon the fender, with an 
 expression of well-fed resignation; "I have 
 consented to leave my dear GlenfiUan, for the 
 first time in my life, in order to be useful to my 
 sister and her cliildrtn. It is na every one 
 who is cumiieient to lake charge of two young 
 ladies wi' noble blood in their veins, and co- 
 heiresses into the bargain." (I winced slightly, 
 as she spoke; but, on looking into the placid 
 face of my sister, the feeling vanished.) "I 
 flatter myself, however, even although I liave j 
 heard some sad rumors o-f your giddy doiiigs, I 
 Eve-leen, that all will end conformably," con- \ 
 tinued the lady, very sententiously, while I felt 
 my brow burn on discovering that the large 
 brown eyes of Adela were riveted uptm me. 
 " You will have a gude example in your sister, 
 and a still belter one in me ; for I am proud to 
 feel that never from my girlhood even to the 
 present day — or I sliould rather, perhaps, say 
 night, for I'm afraid that its growing awfu' late 
 — has any one ventured even to hint a doubt of 
 the virtue and propriety of Lady Flora Glenfil- 
 lan." 
 
 " I can quite believe it, madam," I said, with 
 another saucy smile, as I looked her stedfastly 
 in the face. i 
 
 "And not only it was never doubted," she re- 1 
 sumed, " but I may also boast that there never j 
 was cause for it to be sae." 
 
 " The one position is as easily credited as the j 
 other," 1 again lejilied, in the same tone. "A 
 woman's reputation, like the water of the ocean, 
 should not only be able to reject all impurities, 
 but also to resist all taint; a task in which it 
 is probably sometimes assisted by its natural 
 nauseousness." 
 
 I was conscious that my sister started as the 
 words fell upon her ear; and their cool inso- 
 lence was too palpable even for the obtuseness 
 of Lady Flora. She turned her small, light, , 
 gray eyes upon me with a questioning expies- j 
 6ion to which her lips did not, however, provide 
 an echo. The trope had bewildered her, and 
 she could not clearly see her wny. 
 
 "It is no sina" thing," whistled the shrill 
 voice once more after a moment's pause, " to 
 root out a' one's old habits, and to leave all 
 one's old friends, to live in a strange place and 
 among strangers; and, had the present Lord 
 GlenfiUan been a little more civil and wiselike 
 towards his own kith and kin, I do not know 
 that I sliould have had resolution to upset all ' 
 my plans and arrangements, to come wandering ; 
 the world now-a-days ; but to be shut out o' the i 
 castle, where I had been born and bred, was ! 
 more than I could bear; and, besides, it was 
 time that Addy made acquaintance with herl 
 nearest blood relations, and had a chance of 
 showing what was in her; and tlte diflt-rence' 
 between a good, honest, steady education in the 
 heart of the Highlands, and a flashy, tricky, 
 ne'er-do-weel bringing-up by JVench flirts and 
 fly away dancing-masters ; and so you see, I 
 
 Eve-leen, here we are ; and I ohall De glad .f, 
 by doing my duty to my sister, I should haplj 
 be the saving of you, while it's yet time ; for, 
 being both my nieces — " 
 
 "Your ladyship will pardon me," I hastilj 
 and resolutely interposed ; (or I was now urgeO 
 beyond my forbearance by the stolid self-suffi- 
 ciency of the speaker, and felt that the struggle 
 for supremacy must come, and that, conse- 
 quently, the sooner it were commenced, the 
 less difficult I should find it to assert my i)re- 
 tensions and to secure the victory; "your 
 ladyship must really pardon me, if 1 disabuse 
 you without further delay of the error under 
 which you appear to be laboring. Neither Miss 
 Adela Tilden nor myself have the honor of be- 
 ing your nieces. Our connection with you, 
 through the medium of our mother, is at once 
 slight and undefined. We are the descendants 
 of the Earl of GlenfiUan throuj;h his marriage 
 with the Honorable Miss O'Finistree; and we 
 claim no -kindred with the race of Mac — some- 
 thing — I have really forgotten the precise name 
 — from which you are yourself descended." 
 
 I shall never forget the pause which ensued. 
 Lady Flora lay back upon her cushions, with 
 her small eyes dilated, and her large mouth 
 wide open. The demure countenance of my 
 sister was bent down over the hearth-rug ; and 
 I sat erect, and panting with indignation and 
 offended dignity, confronting my victim. 
 
 " Heard ever human ears the like V at length 
 ejaculated Lady Flora in a tone of horror. " Be- 
 fore Addy would dare to breathe such blasphemy 
 against the family-name, she would consent to 
 be laid in the family-vault. And you not fifteen ! 
 Well was it that my father, the earl, was car- 
 ried there before these things came to pass !" 
 
 " You appear to have taken your present step 
 under a delusion, madam," I said coolly, so 
 soon as she had delivered herself of this some- 
 what irrelevant apostrojihe ; " and I consider it 
 better at once to undeceive you. The induce- 
 ment held out by Lady Madelaine, which has 
 decided you to undertake the charge of my con- 
 duct and princiides, is, of course, best known 
 to yourself Tliat I should find your dtlcgated 
 authority essentially disagreeable, and discord- 
 ant to all the past habits of my life, my mother 
 very considerately hinted to me ; and I as reso- 
 lutely made up my mind to abate the annoyance 
 to the uttermost of my power. I had conse- 
 quently schooled myself to receive you with 
 civility and respect — even to go further than 
 this, if I found it possible, and lo -endeavor to 
 look upon you as a family conncctMui. You 
 have, however, at once and forever relieved me 
 frtim the extreme difficulty of such an attempt ; 
 for you have met me in the spirit of a task-inis- 
 ircss, and sought to humble me, noi only in my 
 own eyes, but even in those of a younger sister, 
 utterly unknown to me until within the last few 
 hours. This line of conduct, as unexpected as 
 it is indelicate;, quite exoneraies me'to my own 
 heart, for the future ; and, as my mother has 
 decided that you are to be an inmate of Rooks- 
 ley for some lime at least, we had better come 
 to an understanding at once. You have been 
 pleased to depreciate, in by no means measur- 
 ed terms, the education which 1 have received. 
 It is a system, nevertheless, that I have not the 
 most remote intention to abandon, and in which 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 6l 
 
 it ts more than probable that, your ladyship will i several inmates), to imagine that she differed 
 not feel the slightest interest. Your propo^al greatly in ail points fVoni iier more gilted and 
 that I should make it uselul to my sister I ac- favored relative ; I had only, howevi-r, to pass 
 cept cheert'ully, (brshejs niy sister — and I shall the salient points of her career in review, to 
 esteem it a happiness to i)e of service to her. j teel that my astonishment was misplaced. The 
 This concession is, however, the only one which ^ pupil of Miss Margery Macspleuclian, actually, 
 I feel inclined to make. In your eyes, I may | if not nominally, deserted throughout her girl 
 probably be still loo young to assume such a hood by her father — the despised siep-child of 
 position, but I have been reared with different j a high-born mother-in-law — the tolerated corn- 
 ideas ; and an appeal to Lady Madelame Tilden I panion of a half-sister, with whom she had 
 will convince you that I am quite capable of neither taste nor sympathy in common — still 
 maintaining the resolution which, from your dependent on the will and sulr^cled lo the con- 
 own over\veening assumption of authority, and j tact of a vulgar aunt — the rejected kinswoman 
 want of regard for my feelings, I have found it of the tenant of her dead father's home — and 
 necessary to adopt at once." | the great lady of a low circle, into which she 
 
 I was somewhat overcome by my own effiirt was flung by circumstances, could not fairly be 
 at eloquence, but its effect was infinitely greater j expected to make a very brilliant figure in the 
 upon my auditor. She was absolutely transfix- new position into which she was now forced. 
 ed with astonishment, and quite unequal to the | Then came the question — How bad my sister 
 emergency. It was, indeed, scarcely surprising : escaped ! only to be followed by the more 
 that under the circumstances my indignation startling one of — Had she, in truth, escaped! 
 should have been great, for the transition was and I felt a pang when I was obliged to answer 
 too violent and too sudden, from ttie adulation | my own query by the avowal that I could not 
 and encouragement of the refined and the j judge. I had scarcely heard her utter a dozen 
 educated, to the coarse comments and vulgar [ sentences. I knew only that she was attractive 
 dictation of the ungainly woman before me. ' and graceful in her person ; with a voice ot 
 Feeling, nevertheless, that I had better not trust | unusual sweetness, so slightly impregnated with 
 myself" with further discussion, and satislied i the Scottish accent as rather to increase than 
 .that I should be wise to follow up the impres- diminish its charm ; and that she had about her 
 sion which I had visibly produced, I rose I a collt'ctedness and self-possession which would 
 haughtily from my chair; and without giving necessarily protect her against the vulgarity 
 my discomfited antagonist time to rally, I said, , of which she had so fearful an example before 
 in a tone of sarcastic cduitesy, "As I presume her eyes. Altogether, she was an enigma, 
 that we are ail equally at home on all points at Lady Flora had even urged her to assert 
 Kooksley, and, as your ladyship must need re- herself; but her ladyship had no Pygmalion 
 pose after such multifarious exertions, I will touch, and the maible uwuld not breathe, 
 have tlie honor of wishing you good-night I" At length I fell asleep, and dreamt that my 
 and laying my hand upon the bell, I rang for my sister was dumb, and that I was inventing a 
 maid. i system of shorthand by which I might be ena- 
 
 Still Lady Flora was silent. She was half- 1 bled to converse with her ; when suddenly the 
 frightened, and half-exaspeiated ; while the sounds of heavenly music stole upon my ear, 
 scene in which I had enacted the tragic muse j and Isaw her seated beside my bed, endeavoring 
 did not appear to discompose my incomprehen- , to awaken me by the most delicious ballad to 
 sible sister in the slightest degree. She still which I had ever listened. I saw her distinctly, 
 wore the same expression of listless fatigue and Therewerethesamesoul-speaking, clear, brown 
 unsympathizing ennui with which she had met eyes, the same attractive face, the "ame tall, 
 my welcoming embrace; and, on the entrance slight, graceful form; but now every feature 
 ol my attendant, when I had courtesied silently | spoke ; every lineament was redolent of radiant 
 and distantly to the elder lady, she placed her and loving expression ; her gentle h)ok was 
 passive hand in mine, and echoed my "good- turned upon me; her fair arms were outspread 
 night" as calndy as though she had never in her to embrace me; we were indeed sisters, in 
 life retired to rest without our having exchang- heart as well as name, 
 ed a similar greeting. 
 
 When I reached my own apartment, and had 
 hurried through the necessary duties in order to 
 be once more alone, I dismissed Josephine, and 
 flung myself upon my bed in a paro.xysm of pas- 
 sionate morlihcalion. Was tliis the clinging, 
 
 It was a beautiful apotheosis ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 I WAS wide awake on the following morning 
 
 for hours before Josephine made herappearance, 
 confiding, loving sister, whose aff"eciion was To but I could not resolve to rise ; for I felt that 
 repay me for every trial, and for every disap- thencel.irth I should be able to command no 
 puintmenl? Was this the guardian who was solitude save that which was afforded by my 
 to control my destiny 1 This ! j own apartment ; and, for aught that I could tell, 
 
 I need not expatiate on the result of my delib-i even that might, in its turn, be invaded by the 
 erations. I was at first startled at the extreme extraordinary auihority which it had ph-ased 
 wantof breeding and the homely idioms of Lady' my mother to set over me. As i recalled the 
 Flora, when I remembered that she was the image of Lady Flora, I at times doubted if I 
 sister of my dignified and fastidious mother,, were not bewildered bv a wild dream, in whicfi 
 even prepared as I had been by the inferences I had so blended fallacies with facts that I r ould 
 andcommentsofthenursery (wheremy latlier'Sj not, at once, disentangle them. But no . the 
 valet, during his period of favor with Mrs. more I dwelt upon the events of the past even- 
 Harris, had often beguiled the tmie by his broad i ing, and the more I cast off" the lingering 
 sketches of the castle in the Highlands and its| trammels of sleep, the more I became conscioun 
 
m 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 of the hirleo<is reality. I felt sick and feverish 
 vvjiji disgust; and I strove to put away the 
 iiria!;e of the elder lady, and to (iiink oidy of my 
 sistpr. Here, at least, there was interesting 
 food for s|ipculali(in. I could not have seen her 
 :n her real character. Such coldness and reserve 
 were innoinpatiljle with her sex and youth ; and 
 under the peculiar circumstances of the case, 
 almost impossihle had she heen a free agent. My 
 dream, too ! Had not my dream siiown me 
 what she really was, when delivered from the 
 incid)us of Lady Flora's presence ] Yes — yes 
 -1 had found at once a sister and a friend. 
 And then my vanity awoke. How I should 
 astonish this iiiountain-nraidcn hy iheexhibition 
 of my dazzling accomplishments; and how de- 
 lighted she would be when I undertook to in- 
 iiiaie her in the same brilliant mysteries ! Her 
 toilet, too, must be relbriried ; and she should 
 make use of my wanlrolie until her own was 
 rendered available. 1 was full of [irojecls ; and 
 still my iiarmonioiis and graceful dream gave a 
 charm and a melody to all which related to this 
 new-found sister. I even became anxious lest 
 Lady O'llalltuan should not do her justice, in 
 lier hfirror of the maiden aunt. 
 
 •• I fear that the sleei) of mademoiselle was 
 disturbed last night," said Josejjhine, as she 
 drew hack my curtains, and let in a glorious 
 gush of bunshine. 
 
 •• liy no ineans ; I never slept more soundly, 
 nor tiieamt more pleasantly." 
 
 "'I'hen mademoiselle did not hear her sis- 
 ter!" 
 
 "Hear my sister! Why, what apartments 
 did she occupy 1" 
 
 "'I'liose next to mademoiselle. It was the 
 order of miladi ; and miidamc la tanle has the 
 rooms opposite. Tiie gallery is now full." 
 
 ".Ah, indeed! And did my sister walk the 
 said gallery all night, that you imagined she 
 had broken my r(;st !" 
 
 " riiint du lou/,'' said the Frenchwoman, 
 somewhat surprised at the iiKiuiry, and mar- 
 veling still wKue at any question from my lips; 
 " but before she went to rest, (a dame icossaise 
 was an hour wiili her in her dressing-room, 
 Rhere they were em[)loyed in reading ; after 
 R-liich jMadeiiioiselle Allele sang a hymn ; ct 
 mrdi, c'cst unc licllc x-oixl " 
 
 tiang a hyiiin ! My own sister sang a hymn 
 jcfore she retired to her bed ! I fell as though 
 1 had received a heavy blow. I couhl liave 
 oetler borue anything than this! I was so 
 overwhelmed that I remained tor an instant 
 with my eyes riv(;led upon Josephine, and ut- 
 terly unable to articulate a word. A mocking 
 smile sat on the t;ountenance of the .suuhrcUc. 
 She evidently enjoyed my discomfiture, but I 
 was indili'ereiit lo her triuin|)h. 1 bad but one 
 feeling of monilicaiion, of disappoiiiimeiit, of 
 humiliation. My dream had not been all a 
 dream — and mv only sister was — a Methodist ! 
 This was, inil"od, an unlooked-lor mislnriune 
 — an almost irremediable evil. She mighi have 
 Btayed away from church forever, and relused 
 to set an example to the lower orders, as 1 oc- 
 casionally thought it right to do ; she would 
 have met with no inteilereiu-e from .me, nor 
 shoidd 1 have commented upon her absence ; 
 but to fall into the other exiieme was so low, 
 80 unladylike ! 1 had no distinct perception of 
 
 the meaning of the term "Methodist," but 1 
 knew that it must he low, that it mux/ he un- 
 ladylike, for I remembered to have oiu^e beard 
 Dr. James tell my father that nearly all the 
 tradespeople at the post-town were Meihodists ; 
 and I knew, moreover, that my mother hati re- 
 fused to suffer a servant who jwofesseil .Methud- 
 isin to he received into her househola. 
 
 And now— here was my sister psalm-singing 
 under her very roof! These were the results 
 of Lady Flora's guardianship. Poor Adela's 
 prospects were ruined, if once her delintiuency 
 was noised abroad. I had no longer any hope 
 of seeing her make a figure in the world. 
 Without this misfortune, with time, and my 
 instructions, she miffht have been rendered pre- 
 sentable ; but .now all was over. Who could 
 make anything of a Methodist 1 Of course, as 
 she sang hymns, she sang nothing else ; while 
 dancing and drawing must be deadly sms. No 
 wonder that she always sat in silence; she 
 evidently considered it wrong to converse ; so 
 
 ', there was an end of all pro.spect of companion- 
 ship. She might, under other circiimsiances, 
 have consoled me for the advent of Lady Flora ; 
 but now it was a case of Gog and Magog ; and 
 I should be inevitably tutored, and i)rayed, and 
 preached to death! How sincerely I pitied 
 myself, I need not say ; nor in how haughty and 
 self centred a mood I descended to breakfast. 
 / had, at all events, sung no vesper or matin 
 hymn. 
 
 Lady Flora had taken a violent cold, and 
 remained in bed. How happy this casually 
 would have made me had it not been for Jo- 
 sei)hine's unlucky news ; but now I met my 
 sister with a face as composed as her own ; 
 
 j and while we uttered our earliest greeting, 
 each extended her hand, and neither ap|)eared 
 
 I to desire a warmer salutation. I ought to 
 have rememl.«ered the h(dy calm, the delicious 
 
 I happiness which was shed over my dream, but 
 
 i 1 did not. I felt only that my sister was a 
 Methodist ! 
 
 There is a strange and startling power in 
 that mystic word, esjjecially to th(»se who, like 
 myself, were altogether ignorant of its meaning. 
 1 looked upon it as a kill-joy, as a marplot ; 
 and, worse than all, as something quite beyond 
 
 ' the pale of fashionable society. " We are all 
 horn to trouble as the sparks fly upward ;" but 
 this was a trouble — a misfoitune beyond all 
 polite calculation ! Even my moihei, m her 
 lirst outbreak ol displeasure against me, could 
 never have imagined or conceived that she was 
 about to make me the daily and hourly com- 
 panion of a Methodist. 
 
 When our almost silent breakfast was at 
 length brought to an end, 1 proposed to my sis- 
 ter that we should pass into the saloon, as I 
 was anxious to prepare for my rausic-masler, 
 Wiiom 1 expected that morning. She complied 
 in the same tame, listless manner which had, 
 since her arrival, distinguished her bearing. 
 My principal motive in this arrangement was, 
 however, as my reader will at once have guess- 
 ed, to astonish her hy my musical proliciency. 
 After a slight apology for leaving her to amuse 
 heisi.'ll for an hour, 1 sealed myself at the harp, 
 and began to ppclude, with a rapid hnger and a 
 steady touch, which I t(;lt convinced must elec- 
 trily my solitary auditor, but my skill produced 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 63 
 
 no such eflpct ; or, if Miss Adela Tilden worn 
 indeed asUmislied, lier surprise was sufficnenily 
 great to prevent all outward exliibitiim ; for 
 wiieii I at ieiigtii perinilted myself to glanee 
 toward lier. slie was (piietly lying hack on a 
 sofa, and deeply engaged ii()on a small volume 
 which she had taken from her reticule — a huok 
 of J'rayers, of course ! 
 
 I wiilulrew my indignant eyes, and grew 
 strong in the very recklessness of my mortili- 
 cation. My harp-master had lately hrought to 
 inc a piece of music (illed with elai)orate and 
 diliicult passages ; and alihough I as yet had 
 studied it hut imperfectly, still I fell satisfied 
 that I had mastered its intricacies siittieienlly 
 to make an advantageous display hefore a no- 
 vice like my sister. 1 accordingly commenced 
 my undertaking with some little assumption of 
 consequence — placed myself in a more studied 
 attitude, and was difficult in the arrangement 
 of my music-stand. At last, slapdash into my 
 task I plunged, each moment in danger of heing 
 brought to a decided stand-still, and yet, thanks 
 to my presence of mind, constantly extricating 
 myself hy some hold interpolation or omission, 
 until I ultimately thundered through the last 
 page. 
 
 Faulty as my performance had heen, I never- 
 theless felt desirous of applause, and I accord- 
 ingly turned toward my sister^ and, in as mod- 
 est a manner as I could acconriplish, injiuired 
 her opinion, not of my own science, but of ihe 
 rondo itself. 
 
 I have no doubt that it is very fine," was the 
 unmoved reply ; " but I confess that I have found 
 it impossible to follow all its movements. To 
 me, possibly from my ignorance of the subtle- 
 ties of harmony, there has seemed occasionally 
 to be a great incoherency ; but, as I before re- 
 marked, the deficiency was most probably in 
 myself" 
 And she calmly resumed her reading. 
 I fell the blood rush over my face ! I looked 
 earnestly toward her, but I might with as 
 much profit have consulted the ceiling for her 
 latent meaning, if she really had one, as the 
 iuimol)ile features that met my view. Still I 
 by no means satisfied, for, I was conscious 
 that the incoherencies alluded io had been (juile 
 Tceplible to myself, and I began to a|)preiiend 
 hat they might have been even more so to a 
 istener. I was deeply mortified. My first 
 flbn at display had lieen a decided failure. I 
 ad neither courage nor temper to make another 
 ttenipt ; so, thrusting my harp from me, 1 ap- 
 roached the sofa on which my sister was seat- 
 d, and iiKpiired if she were musicaH 
 
 «• Not what you woul'l consider musical. I 1 
 im afraid," she said, with a faint smile. "I I 
 
 no harpist, and know only enough of the 
 nore humble piano to set me above the neces- 
 ity of troubling others to accompany my voice. I 
 yline has been rather the teaching of nature 
 han of art; but still, such as it is, it will at I 
 ast enable me to return your own amiable ' 
 sndeavor to amuse ;" and laying down her 
 lOok, without one moment's hesitation, without j 
 ne synijitom of shyness or reluctance, she 
 eated herself at the instrimumt. 
 Her account of herself had been a thoroughly 
 rrect one. She was by no means either a I 
 iriiliant or a scientific musician ; but she had i 
 
 not completed one stanza of the ballad which 
 she ha(. selected, before I perfecily undersiood 
 that she had a faultless ear, and an unusually 
 melodious voice. I thonghi of my patchwork 
 rondo, and could have wept with annoyance at 
 having so needlessly exposed myself 
 
 \\'hen she ceased singing, my sister rose as 
 calmly as she had sat down, and again moved 
 toward her sola, but I resolved not to yield 
 tamely to what I cimsidered as a defeat ; and 
 therefore ringing f(!r a servant, I desired that 
 my drawing portfolios might be brougUl into 
 the room. They soon ap|)eared, and I did Ihe 
 honors of what my master had declared to ha 
 my performances, but which bad derived no lit 
 tie advantage from his own skilful " fHiishing 
 up," as demurely as I could. They were of a 
 heterogeneous, or, as I should at that period 
 have said, of an universal description, 'i'here 
 was no style which I had left untouched; fig- 
 ures, flowers, landscapes, interiors, busts, and 
 portraits. 
 
 Fortunately, idle young ladies and gentlemen 
 had not then learned the art of degrading art, 
 save by their imperfect eflbrts to jiorlray it, 
 so that my books contained neither poonah- 
 paintings, nor transfer-pieces, nor japan-woik, 
 nor any other of those cheap, and tiespicable, 
 and worthless monstrosities which in the jires- 
 ent day are one of the triumphs of ignorant 
 indolence over artist-aspiration. 
 
 My sister turned leaf after leaf with equal pa 
 tience and (dacidity : she made no comment — 
 she offered no criticism. She seemed to feel 
 that by looking at each iti turn, and persevering 
 to the end, she had done all that could be e.v- 
 pected of her; or, more encouraging thought! 
 that here at least she must not venture an 
 opinion. 
 
 " You paint, of course," I said, carelessly. 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "Nor drawV 
 
 " Not, probably, as you understand the term. 
 I can do none of these brilliant and showy 
 things. I merely sketch from nature. 1 am 
 an adopted child of the mountains, as you know, 
 and needed little assistance to learn how best 
 to make them all my own." 
 
 My sister was growing every moment more 
 inexplicable — 1 had almost said, more provok- 
 ing. She was certainly an extraoidinary girl; 
 as womanly for her years even as mysell, but 
 from totally diflerent causes. We had not lived 
 a week under the same roof, ere I discovered 
 that, whatever advantage I might have over her 
 in society by the greater variety and brilliancy 
 of my acquirements, I must be particularly 
 careful to avoid all rivalry in the higher and 
 more solid branches of education. While I had 
 been striving to attain to the fashionable jar- 
 gon of my mother's set, she had been biirieil in 
 books. While I had been talking, she had been 
 thinking; and while I had been cheated out of 
 my childhood by constant contact with a crov/d, 
 she had been beguiled of hers by the companion 
 ship of two staid elderly women, and tlie sop 
 tude of a mountain home. 
 
 Lady O'lialloran. who drove to Rooksley a 
 day or two after the arrival of its new imnalos, 
 was enchanteil with her. 
 
 The cold which Lady Flora had taken on the 
 road Droved more severe thin she had antici- 
 
64 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 paled, and she was still confined to her mom, 
 greatly to my relief. I, therefore, induced my 
 kind nei<;lihor to remain durini; the day, which, 
 believing that she might benefit us by lier pres- 
 ence, she leadily consented to do. It required 
 no great penetration on her part to discover the 
 restraint which existed between my sister and 
 myself; and with the most amiable zeal she at 
 once endeavored to remove it ; but the work of 
 years can seldom be overthrown in a day. It 
 requires extraordinary impulse and emotion to 
 open l>earts which have longbeen closed against 
 each other; and we were alike, upon this sub- 
 ject, too indifTereiit for either. Had it been 
 otherwise. Lady OHalloran might in some de- 
 gree have succeeded ; for, by a happy coinci- 
 dence, the post brought me that day a letter 
 from my father, announcing his intention of 
 running down to llooksley to spend a week or 
 ten days with his long-separated children, di- 
 rectly that parliament should be prorogued. 
 My delight knew no bounds. A letter from my 
 father— his first letter ! Unlike the epistles of 
 my mother, it contained no lurking sarcasm — 
 no cold, dictatorial commands ; no supercilious 
 warnings ; — it breathed only affection, hope, 
 and coiilidence. I turned, full of joy, towards 
 my sister. 
 
 " Do you*know our father, Adela ]" 
 
 " I have seen him twice." 
 
 "In the Highlands 1" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 I was silent for a moment. During the two 
 years that I was left to the ciiarge of menials 
 at Rooksley, he had never sought me. A feel- 
 ing of jealou.sy crept coldly over my heart ; but 
 I was too happy In the prospect of his promised 
 visit to dwell upon this new mortification, and 
 I once more turned to the letter. Lady 0"Hal- 
 loran, with instinctive watchfulness, had ob- 
 served the change which came over me, and, 
 she hastened to e.xclaim : — 
 
 " But twice, my dear child, during your whole 
 life ! You have indeed been subjected to a de- 
 privation beyond your comprehension. Now, 
 however, we will trust that greater happiness 
 is in store for you, for you cannot yet under- 
 stand all the value of such a father." 
 
 " And yet, madam," said my sister, with 
 more feeling than she had before betrayed, 
 •' you will believe that he is, nevertheless, very 
 dear to me, when I tell you that to him I am, 
 as yet. indebted for the few hours of hopeful 
 ■happiness that I have ever known. It was 
 from his lips I learned that I was not altogeth- 
 er an alien from the hearts and hearths of my 
 parents, and that all the affection which they 
 had to give iiad not been utterly poured out 
 upon their first-born." 
 
 " And you have full proof that such was tlie 
 fact," said onr visitor, with good-humored 
 eagerness. " You came into the world weak and 
 sickly, my dear Miss Adela ; the atmosphere of 
 London was poison to your tender lungs ; phy- 
 sicians recommended quiet and a bracing air 
 until you should have grown to girlhood. Their 
 injunctions were carefully observed ; the period 
 ol trial is happily overpast ; and now, here you 
 are, under the same roof with your only sister, 
 where I hope soon to see but one heart and one 
 interest between you." 
 
 A bitter smile played about the expressive 
 
 lips of Adela. Like myself, she felt at that 
 moment the utter impossibility that such should 
 
 - ever be the case. Place the past in as kind 
 and favorable a light as she might. Lady 
 0"Halloran could not remove the conviction 
 from my sister's mind that she had been the 
 viciim of an undue partiality for myself While 
 hundreds had already been lavished upon my 
 education ; while I was even now a woman 
 of fashion in dress, in manner, and in self- 
 possession, she had been comparatively left to 
 her own moral resources for all progress. I 
 say comparatively ; for her next remark, still 
 addressed to our guest, explained much in her 
 acquirements and manners which had hitherto 
 appeared to me inexplicable. 
 
 I " The extreme care and anxiety which Lady 
 Madelaine Tilden displayed to preserve my con 
 stitution from possible hazard, my dear madam, 
 is an obligation which I am never likely to for- 
 get. Had she extended her solicitude to my 
 
 I education, it would undoubtedly have been still 
 heavier ; and the fact that my father did so, 
 
 I must be my apology, if all the filial affection 
 
 ; which I have been able to call into action un- 
 der the very peculiar circumstances of my 
 position, are consequently centered upon him. 
 
 I To his care I owe the friendship and guidance 
 of Mrs. Davenport, a lady whose widowhood 
 
 i reduced her income so considerably as to de- 
 termine her, at the entreaty of my father, to 
 take up her residence in a highland village, in 
 order to superintend my education. She had 
 formerly moved in the first circles of fashion, 
 and she felt the contempt for such society 
 which must pervade every well-regulated mind. 
 She taught me to estimate at its just value the 
 
 j emptiness, liollowness, and falsehood of what 
 
 j is presumptuously enough called The World ! 
 
 ' — to hold time as too precious to he frittered 
 away upon frivolous acquirements bereft of all 
 intrinsic value ; and to be sulhcienily the mis- 
 tress of myself to withhold my friendship and 
 my confidence from the mere butterllies of van- 
 ity." 
 
 " And I should have decided that she acted 
 
 I wisely, my dear young lady," said Lady O'Hal- 
 
 1 loran, with admirai)le calmness, as she marked 
 the red and angry spot that was burning on my 
 cheek at the covert sarcasm of the extraordi- 
 
 I nary girl beside her. " I should have decided 
 that she had acted wisely, had she waited ten 
 years longer before she inculcated a lesson ot 
 
 i suspicion and self-righteousness upon a mere 
 child, totally unable to subsliiute, for the bril- 
 liant trilles which she denounced, better and 
 more solid qualities of mind and heart: or, had 
 she shown sulficieiit good taste to ascertain 
 what might be the wishes of your immediate 
 relatives upon so serious a subject. At your 
 age, you should have no misgivings, no doubts 
 of others ; it is only time and experience which 
 can give the right to judge those aliout us ; and 
 who can tell the secret springs of soul which 
 are touched to produce certain results, even 
 then t Believe me — and I say it with regret — 
 that upon so faulty a foundation as distrust and 
 contempt of your fellow-creatures, a hideous 
 superslructuie of selfishness, arrogance, and 
 
 j prejudice may be easily built up. You must ■ 
 
 I not be angry or offended at my frankness. I 
 
 , am your father's friend. I am anxious to see 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 6f> 
 
 his children happy in each otlipr. You have 
 both much to undo, my dear girls. You have 
 been estranged, as well in heart as in person, 
 by peculiar circumstances. You are both suf- 
 fering in feeling and in disposition from an 
 extreme system of education. You have both 
 been forced beyond your years ; Eveleen, my 
 dear Miss Adela, who wdl, I believe, enter upon 
 her fifteenth birth-day next week, has been for 
 years one of the ' butterflies of vanity' whom 
 you have just denounced : you, who are barely 
 fourteen, are putting forth dogmas more seemly 
 for thirty or thirty-five — for the lips of matured 
 woman liood — than for those of an inexperi- 
 enced girl, who knows nothing of the world 
 beyond the mountains which overhang the se- 
 cluded home of her infancy, and the sentiments 
 ot" in all probability, an amiable but disappoint- 
 ed woman. Eveleen has been prematurely 
 fasl)ional)le — you have been precociously wise 
 — each, understand me, in your own conceit ; 
 qnd you are alike self-deceived. You have still 
 much to learn. Now, take my frank advice, 
 and you will both live to feel that it is worth 
 attention. Endeavor each to profit by the good 
 qualities, whether natural or acquired, of your 
 companion, and the advantage will be mutual. 
 It is this fancied superiority on both sides 
 which will prevent all perfect understanding 
 and all kind feeling between you. Divest your- 
 selves alike of personal and mental assump- 
 tion ; be what Heaven willed that you should 
 ne, gentle, mild, and loving ; and, trust me, you 
 have long years of happiness and aflection be- 
 'ore you."' 
 
 As the child of her friend, and as the victim 
 of a mother's caprice, Lady O'Halloran was 
 evidently prepared, even before they met, to 
 encourage a partiality for my sister. Delight- 
 ed by her intelligence, by the docility with 
 which she listened to her admonitions and ad- 
 vice, and with the extraordinary development 
 of her intellect, so broadly contrasted with my 
 orerweening vanity and violent deportment, 
 she watclied her narrowly, almost fondly ; and, 
 I verily believe, succeeded in persuading her- 
 self, before she left us that evening, that she 
 thoroughly comprehended her character. 
 
 The result proved her mistake. Circum- 
 stances alone could develop so peculiar a na- 
 ture. Never, withaut being false, was there 
 such a reserved (iisjjosition. Adela s|)oke little 
 — her explanatory speech to Lady O'Halloran, 
 which I lately (juoted, was, as far as I can re- 
 member, the longest I ever heard her utter — 
 and when she did converse, it was deliberately 
 and guardedly. Occa.sionally vehement, but 
 never gay ; gloomy rather than serious in her 
 general mood ; passionately fond of pleasure, 
 while afTi.'cting to despise its frivolity ; her 
 wishes and her will were like a spring, of 
 which the power increases in proportion to the 
 violence of the means used to counteract it. 
 Sufficiently pretty to feel it unnecessary to 
 shrink from com|)ctition, endowed with a fair 
 portion other mother's haughtiness, and gifted 
 With a happy appreciation of her own advan- 
 tages. Lady OHalloran at once decided that 
 she already betrayed tbe elements of a superior 
 nature. She was astonished to find a girl of 
 fourteen possessed of so much presence of 
 mind, strength of character, and that faculty, 
 
 so rare among young people, nf rapid decision, 
 whenever she was called upon either to act or 
 to offer any opinion. We were, in truth, most 
 singularly contrasted. Gay, lively, and even 
 giddy, where my spirits were excited, I was 
 frank and open by nature, and what dissimula- 
 tion I possessed was the extraneous produce 
 of education ; and was, at all times, ill-sustain- 
 ed, and easy of detection. Yielding, and weak 
 of purpose, when opposed ; readily led away by 
 my own tastes, by example, and by novelty, I 
 required alike guidance and restraint ; and I 
 should not, in all probability, have found a com- 
 panion better suited tome than my sister, if we 
 could, as Lady O'Halloran suggested, have di- 
 vested ourselves of the false estimate which 
 we had each made of our peculiar personal su- 
 periority, and placed confidence in one anolhsr. 
 But from this 
 
 "Consummation devoutly to be wished," 
 we were a thousand leagues off Our zealous 
 friend pleased herself, nevertheless, by believ- 
 ing that, despite all which had gone before, we 
 were still so young that the mere force of habit, 
 when we had resided for a few months under 
 the same roof, would produce affection, with 
 all its blessed attributes of trust, and confidence, 
 and peace. She forgot that all those by whom 
 we were surrounded were not working in the 
 same spirit as herself. 
 
 Adela, whose sickly infancy and weakly child- 
 hood had deprived her of the opportunities of 
 physical exertion and healthful recreation which 
 she could otherwise have commanded in hear 
 mountain solitude, was early thrown upon her 
 own mental resources for occupation and amuse- 
 ment. The contracted ideas of Lady Flora, 
 and the bitter retaliation of Mrs. Davenport 
 upon a world from which her necessities had 
 put her forth, were the only moral engines em- 
 ployed to direct and develop the extraordinary 
 powers and feelings of the student-girl. No 
 wonder that her mind and tastes were prema- 
 turely aged. I have before confessed that, in 
 the sterner and more severe branches of edu- 
 cation, she was greatly my superior. I felt 
 and knew this ; and the conviction should have 
 brought with it a sense of humiliation. It had, 
 however, a totally dilTerent eflcct. Not one of 
 my sister's acquirements — save, indeed, that 
 which taught her to give its full value to a 
 voice of wonderful compass and harmony — was 
 calculated to produce the slightest effect upon 
 the circle in which she was destined to move. 
 She had been educated for the closet, not the 
 court. 
 
 I, on the contrary, was early sufl[ered to let 
 the higher and more precious powers of my in- 
 tellect run entirely to waste. As regarded that 
 species of knowledge which the old moralist 
 declared to be " better than houses or land," 1 
 was profoundly ignorant. I had laid up no 
 store for the winter of life. But then its sweet 
 sprirg, and its blooming summer! There, in- 
 deed, I was unap[)roachable. I was already 
 of the world, worldly. What though I might 
 be deficient alike in self-knowledge and in 
 1<nowledge of my fellow mortals, I was not the 
 less a proficient in the argot of the drawing- 
 room, and the affectations of fashionable so- 
 ciety. 1 was preeminently handsome, perfectly 
 self-possessed ; I could lake my position, like 
 
66 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN- 
 
 finished woman of the world ; and as for all 
 that lay deeper, all that was buried beneath 
 Ihe surlace, and which must he dug for before 
 it could he reached — cui bono? Once satisfied 
 of my superiority, I resolved to give less way 
 to the feelings which had surprised me on our 
 first meeting. ^ly affection had been flung 
 back upon me ; I had not been understood. 
 Here again I was conscious that I took high 
 ground, and I determined to maintain it. I had 
 too long been accustomed to admiration and 
 applause to quail before a course of dry reading 
 and antiquated knowledge. The result may be 
 imagmed. Poor Lady O'Halloran had taken 
 loo much for granted when she asserted that 
 lime and propinquity would necessarily produce 
 affection. They did quite the contrary. Nei- 
 ther Adela nor I would bend. We were like 
 two young forest trees which had each followed 
 a transverse direction ; and the admonitions 
 of the kind-hearted matron produced only the 
 same effect upon us as an occasional gust of 
 wind may be supposed to have producea upon 
 the said saplings ; they ruffled for a moment 
 the' fresh leaves of our self-love, even bowed 
 us toward each other for an instant, as though 
 attracted by a new instinct ; and then rebound- 
 ed the more sturdily to compel us to reassume 
 our original position. 
 
 Before Lady O'Halloran left Rooksley, she 
 reminded me of the promise which I had made 
 to spend another day at the Hall before the close 
 of the month, and I joyfully renewed the pledge. 
 I felt that I had tnuch to tell her in private, 
 much to discuss, and, perhaps, something^ to 
 justify. How was my gratification blighted, 
 however, when I heard her extend the invi- 
 tation to my sister — to Adela, of whom she 
 knew absolutely nothing ! I felt wronged, griev- 
 ously wronged. That could no longer be es- 
 teemed a privilege which was so freely offered 
 to a stranger. My heart leapt with indigna- 
 tion. I had passed months at Rooksley, aban- 
 doned, if not to the sole fellowship of servants 
 — for from that degradation my own sense of 
 propriety and natural pride of character had 
 preserved me — at least to their unbroken con- 
 tact ; and no Lady O'Halloran had terminated 
 my enforced solitude unid urged to do so by my 
 father; while, even before I had been allowed 
 time and o[)portunity to feel that I had won the 
 regard of my self-constituted friend, the same 
 measure of civility was unhesitatingly meted 
 out to my stranger sister ! 
 
 It was a bitter moment. I felt as though I 
 were deeply injured ; and the more readily that 
 Adela rather acquiesced in the arrangement 
 than responded to the courtesy. To her the 
 jroposition and its result were evidently mat- 
 ters of equal indifference. She even made a 
 stipulation that she would accompany ine only 
 in the event of an improvement in Lady Flora's 
 health. The reservation was met by a smilmg 
 rejoinder, and thus the affair was definitely ar- 
 ranged. 
 
 Lady O'Halloran's pony-carriage was an- 
 nounced ; and I entreated her to put on her 
 bonnet arid mantle in my dressing-room. She 
 consented; and at length we were alone. 1 
 considered myself too seriously aggrieved to 
 lose a moment in telling her precisely what I 
 fell. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear Eveleen," she said, 
 affectionately, as she seated herself upon the 
 sofa, and drew me to her side, " foi this natu- 
 ral and unaflfected proof of your confidence and 
 regard. My most earnest wish is, that I may 
 win your lovg ; yet, remember that I do not 
 ask it all ; I shall be content with just so much 
 as you may be able to grant to me, without 
 wronging those who have a ris'ht to claim af- 
 fection froiTi you. And now let us quietly dis- 
 cuss the subject of your compla'iit. Am I to 
 understand that you have an objection to visit- 
 ing in company with your sister!" 
 
 " No, my dear Lady O'Halloran : in that 
 point of view, it is a matter of perfect indiffer- 
 ence whether I am or am not accompanied by 
 Adela ; but, as regards yourself, I had hoped 
 that yoii would have made some distinction 
 between' us, and that I should have been your 
 most frequent guest."' 
 
 "And wherefore 1" 
 
 " Because I have learnt to love yon. and I 
 flattered myself that you woidd not overlook 
 the fact." 
 
 " And it is in order to win also the affection 
 of your sister that I wish to see as much as 
 possible of her. She is an extraordinary girl, 
 Eveleen — a very extraordinary girl ; and I fore- 
 see that she will never steer a middle course 
 through life — she will either be the victim of 
 society or its tyrant. Hers is no common char- 
 acter, but she is, as yet, far too young for self- 
 guidance. Would you envy her the possession 
 of a sincere and disinterested friend !" 
 
 I turned away my head, and made no reply. 
 
 " Consider," continued my monitress, " how 
 necessary such a resource cannot fail to be at 
 her early age. The responsibility of depriving 
 her of so essential a support would be a terrible 
 one ! Long estranged from her family, sud- 
 denly separated from the lady who had hitherto 
 acted toward her the part of a mother as well 
 as that of an instructress, plunged into new 
 scenes, surrounded by new faces, — can you not 
 imagine somewhat of the desolation of her 
 young heart ■? Can you not believe that it 
 yearns for companionship and kindness '" 
 
 " I am also an alien from my mother's hearth," 
 I said moodily. 
 
 " Nay, nay, I admit no parallel in the two po 
 sitions," persisted Lady O'Halloran. "Again, 
 I entreat of you to recall the past to memory. 
 While Adela was an exile whose very name 
 was never uttered in her natural home, you 
 were the pelted child of luxury and indulgence ; 
 and yet she had the same claim upon her pa 
 rents as yourself You were a beauty, and as 
 such you were cherished; your sister was de- 
 clared to be plain and unattractive, and she 
 was, according to the same parity of reasoning, 
 put forth, and when such was possible, forgotten. 
 But do you not see and feel how completely na 
 lure has revenged her? Do you not perceive I 
 under that calm and undemonstrative deport- 
 ment, a gracefulness and self-possession as re- 
 markable as they are charming ! Neglected, 
 as I am compelled to admit, even to you, that 
 she has been, you ought to — " 
 
 " I am bound liv no obligation which can re- 
 gard Miss Adela Tilden, madam," I said, warm- 
 ly ; " it is from no fault of mine that she lias 
 suffered the evils which you have enumerated ' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 67 
 
 "JSor do I blame you for tlie errors of those 
 over whom you can exercise no control," was 
 the quiet rejoinder. " Had it been otherwise, 
 and that you had even lent yourself to such in- 
 justice from motives of jealousy and selfish- 
 ness, I should have despised you too heartily to 
 evince the least interest or exertion in your 
 fate. But surely this very negative and merit- 
 less fact of your non-interference does not ex- 
 onerate you from the duty of endeavoring to 
 make the present existence of your sister a 
 bright and happy contrast from the past 1 Sure- 
 ly it does not place you beyond the pale of blot- 
 ting out by your affection the mortifications 
 which have hitherto been heaped upon her!" 
 
 " 3/y affection !" I exclaimed, with strong 
 emphasis ; " believe me when I assure you, my 
 dear Lady O'Halloran, that such a privilege is 
 not reserved for me. I have already probed my 
 sister's spirit to its depths ; the only feeling 
 ■which I have aroused in her heart is avoidance 
 — aversion were, perhaps, the filter word : she 
 has been taught to dislike me, and she has been 
 an apt j)upil." 
 
 " Eveleen, beware !" said Lady O'Halloran 
 coldly, as she rose from her seat, and folded 
 her mantle about her ; " reflect ere it be too 
 late. Wide as is the world, the children of the 
 same parents must inevitably sometimes meet 
 in its paths. Strive then that neither of you 
 may have cause to shrink from those meet- 
 ings. Consider the old age of your father, 
 when his daughters must be his prop and stay. 
 Kneel and pray that you may be delivered from 
 the prejudices by which you are enslaved. 
 Let me see you soon at the Hall, happy in each 
 other's affection. And now — good n)ght !" 
 
 what she gained in exigence. Emily Vernon 
 had disniissci! Mr. De Clifford ; she was .still 
 living, or rather existing, in a fool's paradise ; 
 she was still struggling lo believe liiat Otter- 
 fiird loved her, for he lost no opportunity of 
 telling her so whenever they chanced to meet 
 in private ; and although his actions continued 
 to belie his words, how could she doubt him, 
 when she was only too conscious that her ha[)- 
 piness and her life alike depended upon his 
 truth ] Alas ! for the woman who gives away 
 her heart, whe.re she receives only asseveration 
 in return ! Alas ! for the faith that builds uj 
 its strength U[)on the honor of a roue, which, 
 like the pine-tree, produces neither blossaii nor 
 fruit. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 Lest my reader should tire of Rooksley, and 
 above all, of myself, I will at once transport 
 him, or her, to Grosvenor Square, and relate 
 wliat had occurred in Lady Madelaine's imme- 
 diate circle before the arrival of my sister in 
 England. The Putney villa was declared per- 
 fect. My mother, who had carried out all her 
 projects most triumphantly, was in high beauty 
 and spirits, and at the very acme of her popu- 
 larity. Very few persons had ever seen the 
 tall daughter of whom she had found it expe- 
 dient to rid herself for a year or two, and still 
 fewer cared to remember her. Lady Made- 
 laine, at very infrequent intervals, made some 
 vague allusion to "the children"— always a 
 safe and indefinite species of phraseology as 
 to age, like the gargon of France, and thepost- 
 boy of our own country— but she risked noth- 
 ing beyond a bare mention fcf their existence, 
 considering it both impertinent and unnecessary 
 to do more. 
 
 Miss Alexander had eloped with a French 
 marquis, very poor and very proud ; and (as 
 French marquises were, during my girlhood, 
 most interestingly scarce) she returned to 
 towr. after her marriage, quite satisfied to have 
 bartered her five hundred a year for the title of 
 tnudame la tnartjiiise. Poor Caroline was still 
 constant to her truant admirer ; who, when he 
 was not worshiping the bright eyes of my 
 mother, was dreaming beside Lady Devereux, 
 who, in her turn, was daily losing in beauty 
 
 And what of Otterford himself? I may have 
 seemed to deal harshly toward him ; for, 
 hitherto, my readers will have discovered no 
 symptom of profligacy in him ; and those of his 
 own sex will have readily forgiven the little 
 duplicity of which I have shown him to be 
 guilty. Women, according to the creed of the 
 said sex masculine, are infinitely too credulous ; 
 they should be more cautious before they yield 
 to feelings too powerful to be combated by 
 creatures so weak of mind and so fragile of 
 frame. It is a happy argument, and a safe 
 one, for they are not likely themselves to test 
 its truth. Ay, truly : women who were cre- 
 ated 10 be chosen, not to choose, should be 
 born suspicious, calculating,, and selfish : the 
 will which is after marriage to be as pliant as 
 the stem of the osier, should be previously firm 
 and immutable, until reason and interest have 
 convinced it of the safety and expediency ol 
 abandoning its perpendicular, and yielding to 
 the force of circumstances. 
 
 There may be some slight inconsistency in 
 such an argument ; perhaps, also, a little want 
 of generosity ; but it has long been decided that 
 such ought to be the case ; and there is little 
 probability that an opinion so acceptable to the 
 more lordly portion of the community will ever 
 be rescinded. 
 
 Unfortunately for her, poor Emily was 
 strangely deficient in this species of world- 
 wisdom. Lord Otterford had told her that he 
 loved her; he had even sworn it upon hi9 
 knees : he was young, earnest, handsome, and 
 attractive. She saw him welcomed in every 
 circle, even where he appeared the least anx- 
 ious to please. He had assured her that, how- 
 ever trammeled by the exacting vanity olLa.ly 
 Madelaine, beloved her only. Simple-hearted, 
 affectionate, and grateful, she had believed him 
 — she had no alternative. Blame her not, 
 however, ye who have shared a brighter for- 
 tune : for she was expiating, fearfully expiating 
 her error, by her failing health and her breaking 
 heart. 
 
 licvenons a noire Imp. Otterford was be- 
 coming weary of the constraint in which he had 
 so long lived. He was consistent even in his 
 vices. He had not been the slave of Lady 
 Madelaine's caprice s\\np\y pour I' amour tie scs 
 beaux yeux ; he had no such weakness; the 
 triumph was inadequate, and Otterford was a 
 utilitarian in his way. Time and op[)ortunity 
 were the capital upon which he traflicked, and 
 he had already made great sacrifices to obiaia 
 a very inconsequent return. And yet — nothing 
 
COxXFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAn 
 
 eould seem more promising. He was Vami de 
 la maison : the favored cavalier of its lovely mis- 
 tress ; and she was, in her turn, if not a for- 
 6aken, at least a delaissee wife : whether hy her 
 own agency or the will of her husband signified 
 little. The fac-t itself sufficed. Otterford ar- 
 gued calmly, an<] the raiher that he was per- 
 fectly aware of ihe ten thousand a-year which 
 my father had settled upon his high-born bride. 
 It is pleasant for a man of fashion to win a fine 
 woman who can neverbecume dcAarn^e; indeed, 
 H is douijtful that, had he been ignorant of this 
 small chapter of Lady Madelaine"s private his- 
 tory, he would liave so long pursued his project. 
 Be that as it may, however, he had begun to 
 think that the probation had endured long 
 enough ; and that, as iMr. Tilden had ap- 
 peared to be thoroughly blind, and Lady Made- 
 laine perfectly self-centered and fearless, it 
 was quite time that the catastrophe of the 
 drama should be played out. 
 
 That my mother had never contemplated 
 such a finale to her innocent and amusing flir- 
 tation, and was satistied that her smiles must 
 overpay all the adoration which she so blandly 
 and quieily accepted, I am quite convinced ; for 
 the egoiisni of her vanity would scarcely per- 
 mit her to form any other conclusion ; and she 
 was consequently not at all likely to suspect 
 the abstruse calculations of her most devoted 
 slave. She might as well have been expected 
 to nurse a presentiment of his declared passion 
 for Emily ; Lady Madelaine, all woman of 
 fashion as she was, could not be considered 
 (regarding the expression in its just sense) as 
 a woman of the world. True, she was ac- 
 quainted with its elegances, its conventionali- 
 ties, its caprices, its shallow faith, and even its 
 hollowness ; but of its actual vices she was 
 nearly ignorant. Of its systematic sentiment, 
 commencing in mawkish affectation, adopted 
 as a resource against ennui, leading to folly and 
 imprudence, and terminating in dishorsor, she 
 had, of course, heard more than once ; but 
 always as of something extraneous and anti- 
 podean, with which she could, individually. 
 have no possible interest or connection. Such 
 matters were to her the mere on-dils of the 
 day ; the food which nourished the bitter -per- 
 sjjla^c of polished society ; and happy indeed 
 are those whose rare and enviable fate it is to 
 live and die without further enlightenment upon 
 so ungrateful and uiigraceful a subject. Such, 
 however, was not to be my mother's destiny. 
 
 It was a mild, bland morning — one of those 
 delicious intervals, which, extraordinary as it 
 appears to those who ever speculate upon the 
 several degrees of comparison which exist be- 
 tween causes and efitcts, sometimes induce 
 even the pleasure- worn and selfish votaries of 
 fashi(m to believe that there may exist some- 
 thing for which it is not altogether impossible 
 that it might be really worth while to live even 
 beyond the confines of the metropolis — a lin- 
 gering, sickly, ill-nurtured remnant of or.ginal 
 purity and nature, which the hot and fetid 
 breath of dissipation and idleness caimot al- 
 ways contrive to destroy, try it as it may. 
 Every ime who has run the gauntlet through 
 hall a dozen seasons in London is well aware 
 ef the description of morning to which I allude ; 
 just before the close of spring ; I mean really 
 
 spring, when the race of social extravagance 
 and folly is at its lieight ; when the mignonette 
 in the balconies, forced into premature bloom 
 in order to "meet the demand" six weeks be- 
 fore it was intended to blossom under the 
 more genial sunshine of unassisted nature, is 
 beginning to turn golden under its coal of dust 
 and soot ; when the grass of the parks is bald 
 in patches, and grimy as a wlndc ; when mil- 
 liners grow consequential, and fine lady-cus- 
 tomers conciliating, atlable, and persuasive. 
 Such was the precise moment at which oc- 
 curred the morning in question ; and, as my 
 mother was undergoing the subtle penance of 
 Mademoiselte Felicie's taste in the selection 
 of half a dozen new head-dresses for the cam- 
 paign of the ensuing week, she chanced, on one 
 occasion, most accidentally to glance towards 
 the garden of the square instead of into her 
 toilet-glass ; and although the turf wore a 
 sickly tint as though the soil beneath ccmld 
 afford but grudging nurture, and the trees bore 
 a great resemblance to the " slock in trade'' of 
 an umbrella and cane merchant, which had 
 been suddenly induced to sprout by some oc- 
 cult influence, they nevertheless reminded her 
 of the beauty of the season ; and forthwith she 
 remembered Putney, and the shrub-belted lawn 
 which stretched dosvn to the Thames. The 
 moment was propitious ; she was free until the 
 hour of dinner — she had neither made a new 
 friend whom it was necessary to see at least 
 once during the twenty-four hours, nor had she 
 discovered an old intimate whom it was neces- 
 sary to hate ; and she had, consequently, 
 nolliing of importance on her hands; while, 
 fortunately, all the half-dozen coiffures were si> 
 unbecoming, that everything like indecision 
 was out of the question, and therefore they 
 created no delay. 
 
 "Take away all those horrors, Felicic, and 
 order the open carriage for Putney," she said, 
 suddenly; "giving strict charge that it come 
 round instantly.'' 
 
 The soubretle disappeared. 
 
 " I slept wretchedly last night," yawned 
 Lady Madelaine when her waiting- woman re- 
 entered ; " I shall go alone ; the fresh air from 
 the river will refresh me." 
 
 " But miladi will be ennuice en route,'''' sug- 
 gested Felicie in some surprise. 
 
 "No — I shall endeavor to sleep. Desire that 
 the paper which contains Mr. Tilden's last 
 speech inay be put into the landeau. Jervis 
 will know which I mean. It is on impressment, 
 or colonization, or the bread bill, or something of 
 that sort. She will find it in one of the morn- 
 ing rooms." 
 
 The waiting-woman rang for her deputy ; and 
 having, in all probability, a project of Ikt own 
 which the absence of her lady would by no 
 means tend to mar, very speedily arranged the 
 new costume which had so suddenly become 
 necessary ; and my mother then descended to 
 the library to await the appearance of her equi- 
 page. 
 
 There was something very delicate and 
 touching in Lady Madelaine's idea of making 
 iV-i elo(juent speech of her husband the com- 
 panicm of her suburban excursion. It was 
 wifely and womanly. But, alas! we have it 
 upon record that the Princess Talleyrand, being 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 69 
 
 desirous on one occasion to do homage to the 
 talent o( DtMion, by atlecting an acquaintance 
 witJi his \viitint;s, and unhappily confusing iiis 
 name with that ol' Defoe, whose Robinson Cru- 
 soe was one of the few books that she had ever 
 really read, inquired, during a pause in the din- 
 ner at which he was an honored guest wliom 
 the prince was anxious to conciliate, " What 
 had become ol his man Friday !" and I am 
 greaily afraid that, liad any one been indiscreet 
 enough lo ask Lady Madelauie, in her opera- 
 box that evening, the actual subject of the afore- 
 said burst of ehiquence with which my father 
 had electrified the Commons, and which shared 
 her drive to Putney, they must have contented 
 themselves with an equally lucid description as 
 that with which Felicie had previously been 
 favored. 
 
 The little impromptu excursion was delight- 
 ful. The atmosphere, when once the close 
 streets were left behind, was redolent of 
 sweetness. The breeze came lovingly to the 
 cheek and brow of my mother ; and she sank 
 luxuriously upon her padded silk damask, and 
 slept quietly; while Psyche, her favorite and 
 petted spaniel, amused its cnnui by tearing to 
 pieces the printed record of my father's parlia- 
 mentary prowess. Suddenly, however, both 
 were startled by the rapid galloping of a horse- 
 man wlu) appeared to be endeavoring to over- 
 take the carriage ; and the noise of whose ap- 
 proach rendered the high-bred bays who drew it 
 somewhat unmanageable. Their uneasy move- 
 ments dispelled Lady Madeline's slumber ; 
 and, as she looked up suddenly, the first ob- 
 ject upon which her eyes rested, was the 
 scrupulously well-gloved hand of Lord Otter- 
 ford, resting upon the side of the landeau. For 
 the only time, perhaps, since they had been 
 acquamied, my mother blushed instead of^mil-' 
 ing her welcome ; for, unaccountable as it may 
 seem, she had really wished to be alone for two 
 or three hours ; and, as it was a wholesome 
 inclination which might have produced a good 
 result, the more beneficial from its novelty, it 
 was provokmg enough that she was fated to 
 disappointment. 
 
 "You are doubtlessly bound Putneyward, my 
 dear Lady Madelaine, since I find you here!" 
 he commenced, as he lifted his hat. "Nothing 
 was surely ever so pleasantly devised. 1 
 caught a glimpse of your equipage as I turned 
 an angle of the road ; and here 1 am ready to 
 protect you in your rural reveries ; and to pre- 
 vent your running tlie chance of losing yourself 
 so far from St. James's, and becoming a novel 
 specimen of a demoiselle errante, without her 
 Enight." 
 
 "I am not quite sure that I shall admit of 
 your atlenilance," was the languid reply ; " the 
 day is so lovely, and I am so dismuvree and ex- 
 hausted that 1 really want rest — added lo which 
 I wished lo say something civil to Mr. Tilden 
 concerning Ins Wednesday night's speech, which 
 every one who meets me is perpetually com- 
 plimenting mc upon, and of which I have not 
 read a word ; and I intended to skim it over in 
 one of tlie lawn chairs ; though that part of my 
 plan is, I see, rendered abortive. Psyche having 
 disposed of the paper in a manner mcjre con- 
 sonant to her own ideas of its value." 
 
 "And do you actually intend to be so cruel as 
 
 to refuse me the pleasant cffice of rem/j/afan/: lo 
 a torn gazette 1" 
 
 " 1 have, at all events, no seat to offer yun 
 here. Pysche must not have her airing spoilt 
 by your presuming caprices." 
 
 " I submit. Haroun will walk quietly bc.«Kle 
 your triumphal car," said Otterford laugh- 
 ingly, as he bent low over the neck of bis 
 beautiful Arabian, which made a mute reply to 
 his caresses. " Only promise that when you 
 alight, you will not issue orders to your senes- 
 chal to shut the gates upon me as 1 gain the 
 boundary of Eden." 
 
 My mother, half-pleased and half-annoyed, 
 smiled again ; and then, throwing herself back 
 in the corner of the carriage, closed her eyes, 
 and afiected to renew her reverie. She had 
 nevertheless, not only no fear, but not even the 
 most vague suspicion of Otterford's real princi- 
 ples ; but she was proud. She believed, in hei 
 heart of hearts, that she had never been de 
 graded by the most idle breath of calumny. She 
 felt satisfied that she was perfectly irreproach- 
 able. How could it be otherwise ? She was con- 
 stantly in a crowd. She admitted no teu-a-tcte , 
 and, therefore, if men of fashion chose to ufficher 
 themselves as her admirers under the eyes ol 
 the public, the fault was wholly their own, and 
 she had nothing whatever to do with it. She 
 was, herself, perpetually en evidence ; made no 
 mysteries; encouraged no penchants; main- 
 tained her own dignity ; never uttered a word 
 of which her husband might not have been an 
 auditor; and — consequently — she defied the 
 world ! 
 
 It is to be supposed that my mother did not 
 probe her conscience too deeply. All opera- 
 tions are irksome and painful ; a self-inliicted 
 smart is never a favorite amusement with any 
 of us. How then could it be imagined that 
 a young and flattered beauty would submit to 
 writhe beneath such unprohtable and uninviting 
 penance] And yet — as she remembered that 
 she was on the brink of a lengthened tcie-a-tcie 
 with Otterford amid the solitude of her subur- 
 ban villa, visions of a score of Mrs. Grundys, 
 with mob-caps and ruffles, sliarj) eyes, and shnll 
 voices, rose upon her mental perception with 
 appalling distinctness. But in tiie next instant 
 she felt a contempt for her own weakness. 
 Was she to suffer tlie idle and ignorant gos.sipry 
 of a few ill-natured and (what was wor.ie 
 still) ill-bred women, to control ht-r move- 
 ments, and to decide upon her motives. She 
 replied to her own question by a laU;>h of 
 mockery. 
 
 And in five minutes more they reached the 
 villa. 
 
 " Never was there a more charming device 
 than this marble basin hlled with lilac lotus, 
 Lady .Madelaine," said Otterford, when he had 
 handed my mother from the carriag<s and, arm 
 in arm, they had reached the river-lri>iit of the 
 house : " to me. a lawn like a green baize cloth, 
 without ornament or relief of any kind, is ae in- 
 sipid as a water sachet, or your dear friend 
 Devereux's wife." 
 
 " H-u-m 1" intonated my mother ; " I cannot 
 quite agree to the position. A handsome lawn 
 is always an agreeable object, and perfectly 
 harmless, at all events." 
 
 " I stand corrected," said the gentleman. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRHTTY WOMAN. 
 
 70 
 
 with mnck gravity ; " and beg to rescind my 
 ti:ci>ii ' comparison ; Ibr, according to your more 
 oorrrtt view of ilie case, it does not by any 
 means apply." 
 
 "Which object did it involve'" asked my 
 mother, iaugiiingly ; " the fish or ..lo idy !" 
 
 "I am compelled to confess to the bdla e 
 eara." 
 
 "Surely you do not attempt to imply that 
 Lady Devereux — " 
 
 " Is a woman, and a withering beauty 1 Yes, 
 I do. And did you, fair lady, ever know one 
 such fraction of society who was not a viper ] 
 If you can conscientiously lay your hand upon 
 your heart and say 'Yes,' then will I ttll you. 
 what, i)efore such an avowal, I believe to be an 
 utter impossibility, and — " 
 " And that is — 1" 
 
 " That you can really be in error as well as 
 the rest of your sex." 
 
 The lady bluidied, and said "Pshaw!" but 
 she iieveriheless accepted the compliment very 
 calmly ; and as she seated herself under a wil- 
 low, and motioned her companion to a chair 
 beside her, she remarked quietly — "I cannot 
 account for the fact, but it is certain that you 
 never did like poor Lady Devereux." 
 
 " Do you consider it remarkable that such 
 should have been the case T' asked the gentle- 
 man, ijathering up half a dozen loose stones 
 from llie gravel, and throwing them at regular 
 ani' slow intervals into the water. 
 
 '• Most assuredly I do. She is so generally a 
 favorite." 
 
 "There was a time when that circumstance 
 Blone would have sufficed to make me detest a 
 woman," was the incorrigible reply. 
 '• li.iw truly al)surd 1" 
 
 •' SI ail I tell you to whom I am indebted for 
 having cured me of the said absurdity 1" 
 
 " You had better not, if it be a secret. You 
 know the proverb, 'Se il segrcLo e confideto, non 
 i pill, sfgrcto.' " 
 
 " lla^ indeed ! is that your creed 1" demand- 
 ed tlie gentleman, somewhat maliciously ; " I 
 irtusl in tliai case answer you by another ; " ' Chi 
 ben acrra, ben aprc.'' " 
 
 " 1 do not understand you." 
 " iNo ! and yet it is as fair Italian as your 
 own." 
 
 My mother bit her lip, and turned aside. She 
 felt dis|Jeascd, although she scarcely knew 
 wherefore. 
 
 " Then you do not care to learn my myste- 
 ry ■:" pursued her companion. 
 
 " It can he matter of interest only to your- 
 self," was the chilling reply. 
 
 "True, very true," said Olterford, bitterly; 
 " I was to blame to imagine lliat it could be 
 subject otConcorn to any oiher pcrs(jn ; and I 
 should also have remembered that I am now too 
 old to play the coxcomb gracefully." 
 
 Lady Madelaine was no whit appeased. On 
 the contrary, she became more irritable and 
 uneasy than before. 
 
 "And yet, it is just possible," continued Ot- 
 Icrford. " Do not mistake me. Lady Madelaine ; 
 I simply say it is just possible — that, in the pres- 
 ent idsiaiKJe, you may mrt have altogether pro- 
 nounced an absolute verity. Indeed, i venture 
 to affirm tha't, in this particular case, you have 
 assuredly not done so ; for it is to yourself that 
 
 I am indebted for emancipation from this unju3t 
 and ungenerous prejudice." 
 
 "To me. my lord ! You surely jest." 
 
 " By no means. At a moment like the pres- 
 ent, when all my words are taken au grand 
 sericiix, I want courage to presume so far." 
 
 " You are actually childish," said my mother, 
 forcing a smile. 
 
 " I trust that childhood is too happy an age 
 to know the miserable feeling with which I last 
 spoke." 
 
 ' Again I repeat, Otterford." said Lady Mad- 
 elaine, hurriedly, but less coldly, " that I do not 
 understand you." 
 
 " I begin to fear that you have never done 
 so." 
 
 " You are really inexplicable to-day — a per- 
 fect sphinx. You profess to love the country, 
 while you make, in truth, a miserable Cela- 
 don." 
 
 "Is that my fault 1" 
 
 " Most decidedly. Am I to blame for this, 
 alsol" 
 
 " I adopt your own words — most decidedly." 
 
 " You really put me beyond my patience." 
 
 *" You have long tried the same experiment 
 upon me." 
 
 Lady Madelaine gasped for breath. What 
 could this mean 1 She felt that she was crim 
 son ; something told her that she ought to be 
 displeased; and she was intuitively conscious 
 that siie should at once terminate so singular a 
 dialogue. She did not hesitate for a moment. 
 She had, unfortunately, ordered luncheon as 
 she alighted ; and she saw at once that sl»e 
 had no plausible pretext for leaving the house 
 without partaking of it; for she shrank from 
 the idea that Otterford should suspect her 
 alarm : and accordingly she rose as he ceased 
 speaking, and complaining that the river-breeze 
 had affected her head, proposed that they should 
 return to take some refreshment, and order the 
 carriage. 
 
 The gentleman obeyed without uttcri.ig a 
 syllable; and, gravely offering his arm, they 
 passed through the French doors into the din- 
 ing-room, in utter silence. 
 
 The movement of my mother was as natural 
 as it was ill-judged. In her anxiety to escape 
 from a continuance of so inauspicious a dia- 
 logue, she forgot that the seat upon which she 
 had originally placed herself partially protected 
 her : she could only be verbally annoyed, over- 
 looked as was the lawn from the river on one 
 side, and by the windows of the villa on the 
 other; whereas, by entering the house, she 
 rendered the solitude of her position inlinitely 
 more decided. If she were blinded to this fact 
 by her increasing agitation, it is not, however, 
 to be supposed that her companion wa^ so com- 
 pletely a novice as to be so likewise. He did 
 not attempt to controvert the abruptness of her 
 resolution, for which mark of consideration to- 
 ward her she felt grateful; and she almost be- 
 gan to doubt if she had ncrt been deceived by 
 her own fears. She accordingly seated herself 
 at the table wiili more calmness and self-pos 
 session than she had expected ; and during the 
 attendance of the servants, sustained a desul- 
 tory conversation witli her chance-guest with 
 very commendable indifference. This was, 
 however, fated lo be somewhat shaken by the 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRKTTY WOMAN. 
 
 71 
 
 intelligence that her coachman had discoverr>l 
 a loose shoe upon one of the horses, which it 
 was necessary to secure before her return to 
 town. Instinctively, in her hrsl vexation, she 
 ■ilaiiced toward Otterford ; but he did not ap- 
 pear to have even heard the sollo voce comtnu- 
 nication of the servant. He was busdy em- 
 ployed iti arranging a number of bread-crumbs 
 which had been scattered beside his plate into 
 a variety of miniature ramparts, extremely in- 
 gpninus and imaginative. 
 
 This, at least, was consoling; and Lady 
 Rl.id.'laine. havin<r desired that all possible 
 haste might be made, saw the man depart with- 
 out any visible feeling of misgiving She nev- 
 ertheless retained her seat at the table, and for 
 a moment remained silent ; but, conscious of 
 the awkwardness of such a silence at such a 
 tiine, she suddenly affected great interest in 
 the elaborate invention of the impromptu pro- 
 fessor of fortification. 
 
 " I was not aware," she said, hurriedly, anx- 
 ious only to break the stillness, " thai you were 
 so skilful a master of the art of defem-e." 
 
 "It has long been necessary for me to en- 
 courage the study," replied Otterford, raising 
 his large, earnest eyes to her face ; "for during 
 the last — I was about to say, fifteen years, but 
 I dare not, as it would involve others beside 
 myself— I have constantly been called .upon to 
 defend myself against misconstructions, disap- 
 pointments, cold hearts, and malicious tongues." 
 
 " You really make me sinile," said Lady 
 Madelaine, forcing a poor attempt at raillery. 
 •'You who are so thoroughly the enfant gate of 
 the world — that were it not for half a dozen in- 
 uividudis, who have evinced sufficient moral 
 courage to doubt your perfectibility, you would 
 at this moment be little better than unbearable." 
 
 "I am greatly indebted to their very kindly 
 exertions," was the retort ; " and am possibly 
 the most so to your ladyship for the formation 
 of so notable a c/iyue of critics." 
 
 " By no means. I only joined their ranks." 
 
 "From some well-reasoned conviction, I 
 have no doubt ; and perhaps with more cause 
 than many who have enrolled themselves." 
 
 " I complain of nottiing very heinous." 
 
 "And yet, upon consideration, you might 
 have done so." 
 
 " I wished to be a generous opponent, and 
 the more so, that I was conscious of being in a 
 minority." 
 
 " I would much rather that you had shown 
 resentment tlian cowardice." 
 
 " Ivesentinent 1" 
 
 " Even so. Do you remember. Lady Made- 
 laine, that I have known you for seventeen 
 years 1" 
 
 " Perfectly. Can no modern philosopher 
 discover a means of staying the progress of 
 time !" 
 
 " Can you recall the period," pursued the 
 gentleman, regardless of the question, "when 
 you made your first appearance in society un- 
 der the guardianship of that paragon of chape- 
 rones. Lady Sinclair, with a face and form which 
 set competition at defiance, and a heart as proud 
 as it was piirel You may have forgotten it, 
 but I never shall." 
 
 " And am I to resent your having known me 
 U that happy timel" 
 
 " yes, and no: in one respect you dare not 
 hold me in disjjleasure, for you are well awaro 
 that I no sooner saw you than 1 became your 
 devoted slave." 
 
 "A romantic appellation, truly, for the part- 
 ner of a drawing-room flirtation !"' 
 
 " \'ou are not ingenuous. Lady Madelaine 
 Tilden ; did your clever and careful aunt per- 
 mit such ' drawing-room flirtations,' save where 
 she thorougtily ajjproved the possible results'! 
 I think not. Thus far I have, I trust, proved 
 that I was worthy of your notice — of your 
 friendship — of your companionship — for 1 was 
 fully conscious of the value of the privilege 
 which had been accorded to me; but although 
 I enjoyed it long and intimately, and altliough I 
 had not hesitated to afficlier myself as the de- 
 voted slave (for I persist in maintaining my per- 
 sonage) of the new idol ; still, on the death of 
 Lady Sinclair, Reginald Otterford went on the 
 Continent — a bachelor ; and the Marguerite des 
 Marguerites returned to the Highlands — Lady 
 Madelaine Glenfillan." 
 
 " My lord, you astonish me !" said my mother, 
 haugbtily. 
 
 " Nay, nay ; believe' me that you mistake the 
 term ; I only '■emind you , nor should you take 
 offence at the frank confession which I am 
 making of my sins. Look you ; I have leveled 
 one of my outworks in token of a first defeat. 
 You had every reason and every right to expect 
 an explanation at my hands." 
 
 " I am at a loss to know to what climax such 
 a conversation, or almost, I might say, such a 
 monologue as the present, is to lend 1" 
 
 "Simply to my own self-justification." 
 
 " It is perfectly needless, my lord. Nothing 
 had ever passed your lips by which I was enti- 
 tled to believe that you considered yourself 
 compromised ; nor had I ever given you the 
 slightest reason to infer that you were other- 
 wise than perfectly indifferent to myself." 
 
 Her companion quietly shook his head, as he 
 again, with great composure, fixed his eyes 
 upon hers, which were flaming with insulted 
 pride ; and there was a strangely withering in- 
 tonation in his voice, as he said — " You do not 
 do yourself justice by such an assertion. Cus- 
 tom has placed a padlock upon tbe lips ol 
 women, of which society keeps the key ; but 
 custom and convention, and even policy itself, 
 can do no more than this, while human beings 
 possess eyes, and hearts, and preferences. 
 Either I was then beloved, or you were not the 
 pure being before whom I poured out my wor- 
 ship ; and this I will not tlunlv. No, no — you 
 could not at that early age have been a callous, 
 cold, and calculating coquet — one of tbose heart- 
 less and selfish triflers with the happiness of 
 others, who have studied to a nicety how far 
 they may make a traffic of a man's feelings 
 with safety to themselves. I would not over- 
 throw the bright and beautiful visions of seven- 
 teen years, to embrace so foul a creed for all my 
 future hopes in life. You loved me, then, or 
 there is no truth in nature !" 
 
 My mother silently laid her hand upon a silver 
 hell beside her. She could not trust herseii to 
 speak. I'he summons was instantly answered, 
 and her inquiry for the carriage met by the in- 
 formation that the hoisc had not yet icliiined 
 Irom the village I'orge. Poor Lady MadelaiiiH 
 
72 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 n-as not aware that the groom of Lord Otter- 
 ford always obeyed the directions of his noble 
 master to the leiter, and that he had accordingly 
 Bubdued all symptoms of undue impatience on 
 the part ol litr ladyship's coachman in a way 
 wliich did him honor. 
 
 They were once more alone ; and then, and 
 not till then, the gentleman resumed the thread 
 of his discourse. 
 
 "This point conceded, then — for, in order to 
 cast the responsibility of tliis cold parting wholly 
 upon me, it is necessary that it should be so — 
 may I not, in extenuation of my .self-abnegatory 
 offence, explain the cause which induced me 
 to silence, where inclination, tenderness, and 
 honor appeared to exact an explanation 1" 
 
 '• It were worse than idle to impose so un- 
 gracious a task upon you," said my mother, 
 bitterly. " It was my want of fortune." 
 
 '• Say rather that it was my own," interposed 
 Ottcrford, "that it was my poverty — my debts 
 — which closed my lips, and only left me the 
 more keenly susceptible of my own uncalculat- 
 ing and egregious folly ! Still, something whis- 
 pered me tiiat we should meet again, and I fled 
 from London in order to retrench, and give 
 myself room for hope when that meeting came. 
 We did meet again," and a disdainful smile 
 played for an instant round his proud lips; 
 " but how ?" 
 
 " Surely, my lord," gasped my mother, "you 
 liave forgotten that I am a wife !" 
 
 "Forgotten it!" exclaimed Otterford, as he 
 Btarted from his chair, and began to pace the 
 room, with ha.-ty and uneven steps. "Can I 
 forget my own vitality] Can I forget that I 
 have flung the whole tide of my affections on 
 ihe thirsty sandsl I pray you not mock me 
 by such a supposition !" 
 
 " What am I to reply to rhapsodies like 
 these 1" faltered my mother. "You take an 
 ungenerous advantage of our momentary se- 
 clusion, of which I have ever hitherto believed 
 you incapable. Once more let me enjoin you 
 to remember that I am a wife." 
 
 " Yon are," said her companion, pausing im- 
 mediately beside her; "you are: the haughty 
 and high-born daughter of Lord GlenfiUan — the 
 star of fashion — the beloved of all — the fair 
 prize which so many were eager to win and 
 wear — had woven out a new and erratic des- 
 tiny for herself before our second meeting came. 
 The peer's daughter had become the wife of 
 an ob.-jcure and nameless (for he was nameless 
 then at least) — of an obscure and nameless 
 commoner — the bright star had shot downward 
 •.hrough the heavens — the iihtl had overthrown 
 her own shrine — the prize had been awarded, 
 none could understand wherefore, niilil the 
 name of Lady Madelaine Tilden was lo be seen 
 written in diamonds and gold-dust in every re 
 sort of luxury and fashion. And yet — although 
 I knew this — alihough 1 was compelled to ad- 
 mit it to my own heart, still — " and, as he suf- 
 fered the apparent mortification of his disap- 
 pointment to carry him along by its impetuous 
 violence, he possessed himself of my mother's 
 hand ; " still was 1 fated to remain the victim 
 of my hlighieil and unlucky passion. And now 
 — ,„,'\v — when I have suffered the long mariyr- 
 doiii of years — when I have, if not patiently, 
 at least guardedly, lived within the spell of 
 
 y(uir resistles.s influence, with all my old hopes 
 and as|)irations still clinging ch>sely about my 
 spirit — even now, will ytiu not actjuit me of 
 either word, or look, or action, calculated to 
 pain you V 
 
 I could have done so this mornmg." 
 And have you not pronounced your own 
 condemnation by thus acquitting me 1 Can 
 you venture to assert that you feel no self-re- 
 proach at having permitted the perpetual wor- 
 ship of a devoted heart without one quickening 
 pulse 1 — without one gratclul fee'ing? It can- 
 not be — it shall not be I" and still retaining the 
 captive hand, he flung himself on his knees 
 before his quailing and speeclile.<s victim. " By 
 heaven I you have long known aisd understood 
 the impulse upon which I acted : you offered 
 no resistance to the exclusivencss of my atten- 
 tions — either your heart or your vanity h.-vs 
 spoken loudly for me, and I will not believe 
 that it could be so pitiful an influence as the 
 last, upon which you coldly saw fit to hinge my 
 destiny. Why, then, noble and high-hearted 
 woman, do you thus, year alter year, persiat 
 in playing the tyrant and the prude, when — " 
 
 " Enough, sir, enough !" exclaimed n)y moth- 
 er, in a shrill whisper, and with quivering lips, 
 as white as the hand which she proudly with- 
 drew from his clasp; "you have said more 
 t-han enough. I am sufficiently humbled. I 
 have mistaken both you and myseli I will 
 utter no reproach — I can find none which would 
 suffice for so cruel and cowardly an attack. 
 We meet henceforth as strangers ; and I now 
 si)urn you as I would cast a foul reptile from 
 the folds of my veil." 
 
 As she ceased speaking, Lady Madelaine 
 prepared to pass into the garden, a movement 
 which her companion sprang from his knee to 
 prevent ; and as she was in the act of placing 
 her foot on the gravel, he seized her arm, ex- 
 claiming — "Do not hope it, madam, we part 
 not thus !" 
 
 " Fie — for shame, my lord," said tlie lady, 
 as she paused, and looked upon him with an 
 eye as cold as stone, and a contemptuous smile, 
 which made his pulses beat with liquid fire ; 
 " have you no mercy upon an unprotected wo- 
 man 1 Am I to be subjected also to violem-p 
 under my Own roof 1" 
 
 There was a majesty in the magnificent beau 
 ty and suppressed indignation of my mother, 
 which did not fail in its effect even upon her 
 dissolute companion. Without another effort to 
 detain her, he removed his grasp ; and, bowing 
 stiffly, followed her to the water's edge, where 
 they stood for a few instants side by sid-' in 
 perfect silence, and it was, probably, no slight 
 relief to either when Lady Madelaine's carriage 
 was announced. Lord Otterford assisted h r 
 to enter it with as much care and courtesy as 
 he had shown on all former occasions ; and 
 then, haughtily raising his. hat, he vaulted into 
 the saddle, and galloped off in the direction of 
 London, while my moilier, burying herself as 
 much as possible among her cushions, gave free 
 way to her pent-up feedings, and wept bitterly. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 It is really curious, in after life, to look back 
 U|)on the various incidents by which our pa^*^ 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 73 
 
 existence has been diversified, and even gov- 
 erned III iis great outline, or by which its inter- 
 ests have been involved so inextricably as to 
 have (i|jeralcd even upon our most sacred and 
 secret relations ; and then to weave their ante- 
 cedents and their results into its checkered web, 
 with the aid of lime and experience. Episodes, 
 incomprehensible at the moment of their intro- 
 duction, fall quite naturally into their places 
 during these reminiscent reveries, although 
 they appeared at the instant of their occur- 
 rence alike extraneous and impertinent ; and 
 events, once considered as extraordinary and 
 altogether gratuitous, prove to have been only 
 the natural result of a certain line 6t' conduct, 
 and a certain succession of ideas, and to form 
 no mort than a regular link in the great chain 
 of calculation and expediency. 
 
 But enough of such reflections as these, 
 which only serve to sadden the writer and to 
 weary ths reader, without making either the 
 one o'r the other a jot the wiser. They might 
 be all very well in the time of our great-grand- 
 fathers, when people had much more leisure — 
 when gentlemen made their wills before jour- 
 neying from York to London, and dispatched 
 bulletins of health to their anxious families at 
 the close of every longer stage than usual — 
 when ladies made one piece of tapestry work 
 extend over a whole life — and young men 
 served, like Jacob, seven years for their wives. 
 Then, indeed, a grave thought or a serious ap- 
 othegm might have been welcome, pour pas- 
 ser tt temps ; but it is not so with us ; we, who 
 are ineessantly running after him, to hold him 
 back, and seldom clutching even a single feather 
 for our pains. Such being the case, I will at 
 4»nce resume my narrative. 
 
 By the way, this allusion to the said narra- 
 tive reminds me that I ought to congratulate 
 myself u[)(in my original resolve to declare my- 
 J self guiltless of all design to perpetrate a novel. 
 I I never had any such intention. I could not 
 I have done it if I would. I have attempted 
 j nothing beyond my own personal history — and 
 surely, fair ladies and formidable critics, I have 
 \ a right to do that as I please] Nevertheless, I 
 will pledge my faith willingly to be as veracious 
 ' as a traveler, as conscientious as a money- 
 t 2ender, as self-denying as an alderman, and as 
 j prudent as a newly emancipated heir : and hav- 
 i ing volunteered thus much, let the ladies and the 
 1 critics quarrel with me — if they can. 
 i It is scarcely necessary to re-.nark that I knew 
 ! nothingof the adventure related in the last chap- 
 ter for years after its occurrence ; and I was 
 comparatively astonished by the receipt of a let- 
 ter from my mother, which lollowed closely upon 
 that of .\Ir. Tilden, to announce her intention of 
 being his companion to Rooksley ; in order, as 
 ; she said, to welcome the new-comers, and to 
 iii.l'.rc liy her own observation, in how far I had 
 iiiyscir profited l)y the salutary solitude to which 
 Bhe |i;id (bund it necessary to subject me, with 
 a view to the correction of my unfortunately 
 impcriuus and overbearing temper. Had I been 
 aware at the time of the a,ctual cause of Lady 
 Mailelainc's sudden solicitude, and her anxiety 
 to absent herself from town, it is probable that 
 I should have been very difTerenlly affected. 
 
 " Here is a letter from our mother," I said 
 carelessly, as I laid it, open as it was, beside 
 
 my sister. " Read it ; you will doubtlessly 
 find it amusing ; and it will also gratify you to 
 ascertain how perfectly your own quiet and re- 
 served temperament will suit her. I quite 
 prophesy already an alliance, buth ofTensivo 
 and defensive. Only," I added, as I turned to 
 leave the room, " I have one serious counsel 
 to give you — be careful not to grow any taller !" 
 And with these words, uttered with a laugh 
 which expressed far more bitterness than pleas- 
 a.itry, I disappeared. 
 
 Lady Madelaine had adopted any other than 
 a judicious mode of improving my natural dis- 
 position. She had commenced upon a wrong 
 system, and she had persevered in her error 
 year after year with a tenacious fidelity, as 
 little creditable to herself as it was mortifying 
 to me. I was determined to show her this ; 
 and I could discover no method more efTectual 
 of so doing than that of exhibiting her letter to 
 whomsoever might be supposed to take any 
 interest in its contents. It was too late for 
 me to be browbeaten into reformation. She 
 had herself made a woman of the child, and the 
 work of her own hands could not now be un- 
 done. 
 
 In about half an hour, Adela returned the 
 "letter through the hands of my maid, carefully 
 inclosed in an envelope, which I immediately 
 redirected and dispatched to Lady Flora, as a 
 solace to her sick-room : it was a becoming at- 
 tention on my part; and as it was the first 
 which I had found occasion to offer her, I had 
 no doubt whatever of its being properly ap- 
 preciated. On her return from her mission, 
 charged with the acknowledgments of the inter- 
 esting invalid, Josephine made me her compli- 
 ment on the happy intelligence contained in the 
 letter of miladi. I inquired upon what premi- 
 ses she presumed that its contents were so hy- 
 peragreeable, when she nawcly replied that she 
 had inferred as much from the eagerness with 
 which Lady Flora had possessed herself of the 
 packet, and the pleasure which beamed in the 
 eyes of Mademoiselle Adele, qui gagnoit cton- 
 nantement a cetlc petite mine eveillee. 
 
 For a moment I had a sore struggle with my- 
 self. There could be no doubt of the correct- 
 ness of Josephine's report, simply because she 
 could have no motive in the present instance to 
 suspect that my sister was triumphing in what 
 she supposed to be my mortification ; and for a 
 few instants I was mortified ; less at the un- 
 generous amusement of so near a relative, than 
 at the idea that Lady Flora Glenfillan, the object 
 of my supreme contempt and dislike, was the 
 partner of her pastime. I was at first templed 
 to regret my mode of proceeding, and to blame 
 myself for not having sim[)ly announced the 
 approaching advent of my mother, without am- 
 pliation or comment of any kind ; but this was 
 a mere transitory weakness, which my pride 
 soon enabled me to conquer. I had a higher 
 aim than that of striving to shine in the e\es ol 
 a Lady Flora. She was to be my companion 
 for months — perhaps for years. The trial lor 
 mastery between us had commenced on the 
 very evening of her arrival 1 felt, moreover, 
 that I must brave the combat alone ; while she 
 had a stanch and a subtile ally in my sister, and 
 might, for aught that I could determine, soon 
 find a second in my own friend, Lady O" Hallo 
 
74 
 
 COxNFESSlONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 ran, whoso leaning toward Adela had already 
 lifcome |jal|)al)le ; hut, alihouyli il may be liue; 
 f nough, as a jjuneral principle, that il peace ! 
 groAsa divura il piccolu, still 1 was conscious ol | 
 a power wuhin myself which would in every \ 
 case preserve me from the risk of becoming so 
 very small a lisli as to move among my adver- 
 bariet; without troubling the water. 
 
 ■Vi; iliese thoughts swept rapidly through my 
 brain, and my resolutions were instantly taken. 
 I at once felt that I must he consistent or my 
 cause was lost ; and accordingly I again dis- 
 patched my souhrcttc to Lady Flora's apartment, 
 to request the restoration of the letter, which I 
 was aii.xious to forward, without loss of time, to 
 Lady O llalloran, lest the expected visit of my 
 mollier should interfere with any of her arrange- 
 ments. As 1 had foreseen, my message created 
 what is, in the present day, denominated a 
 "great sensation." The invalid insisted that 
 Josephine had committed some grand mistake. 
 " It was no' tiiat jjossible," she declared, 
 "that the lassie could purpose to do oiiything 
 sae awfu' ! Why, it was a clean shaming o' 
 her own proudfu' nature— and she would advise 
 her—" 
 
 What the valuable counsel would have been, 
 and in what degree it might have operated upon 
 my deierminaiion, it is impossible to decide, as 
 ihe hand of my sister, pressed heavily upim the 
 irm of the eager orator, arrested her utterance 
 at the critical moment ; while, in a calm and 
 low tone, she said quietly, " Forgive me, my 
 dear aunt ; but had Eveleen believed that she 
 required advi'^o upon this extraordinary occa- 
 sion, she would, in all probability, have asked 
 it of yourself. She has not done so : and 
 believe me, that it is far too good to be flung 
 away, as it most decidedly would be, in this 
 case." 
 
 "A' vi-eel, a' weel," replied the aunt; '"wil- 
 fu' woman maun ha' her way,' as the poet says. 
 Give the lass the letter, and gude luck go wi' 
 it ! It's a rampaging scrawl, to say the best 
 of it." 
 
 In live minutes it was on its way to the 
 Hall. 
 
 The morrow was the day appointed for my 
 own visit to the kind-hearted widow, but I had 
 ceased to look forward to it with pleasure. Like 
 the skeleton of the Egyptian banquets, the 
 presence of my incomprehensible sister would 
 sudice, as I well knew, to poison my enjoy- 
 ment. It was to me like the coupling of the 
 dead man and the living one in tho German 
 story ; and the simile was the more perfect 
 that Adela a|)peared wholly heedless or uncon- 
 scious of tiie annoyance of our compulsatory 
 union ; while to myself it was hateful. Had I 
 possessed one feeling or sentiment in common 
 with my sister, 1 migtit have looked forward to 
 brighter and better times ; but, unhap|)ily, the 
 solitary sympaihy which had ever existed be- 
 tween us had served only to sunder us in heart 
 and spirit. We had each been brought up to 
 despise the other — our earliest jealousies had 
 taken the same direction, and had been quick- 
 ened and nourished until they had become as 
 bitter as the waters of iMarah, and as numer- 
 ous as the sands of the African desert. In my 
 own cuse, other feelings no less hostile liad 
 blended themselves with this first principle of 
 
 future hate. My sister had always been de- 
 scribed to me by the autocrats of the nursery and 
 the school-room in negatives. She was not 
 handsome ; she was not accomplished ; she 
 was ncrt. fashionable ; she was a mere wild, sun- 
 freckled, Ignorant child of the hills, without 
 either lounmre or pretensions. 
 
 ' At first 1 was shocked, and even sorry for the 
 poor neglected girl ; then 1 proceeded to hope 
 that she would remain at Glentillan all her life, 
 lest by approaching town, and undergoing the 
 inspection of my mother's " set," she should 
 disgrace not only herself, but me. And why 
 could she not remain there ! Glenfillan might 
 also be considered her birth-place. At all 
 events, it was her home, and it would be so 
 easy for her to marry there! With her name, 
 and her fortune, she could assuredly captivate 
 some Highland chief, with a kilt, and a cock's 
 feather in his bonnet, who would h)rgive her 
 want of beauty in consideration of the " siller ;" 
 and never be aware of her want of education. 
 Decidedly she had no business in England. This 
 was the second phase of my vision ; but the 
 third was not slow in its succession. Adela 
 might have no partiality for kilts and cock's 
 feathers ; and, as she grew older, might be in- 
 considerate ehough to assert her rights ; and, 
 as in dear, righteous old England, there are no 
 convents for the reception of refractory yoiing 
 ladies, the claim could not ultimately he neglect- 
 ed. In this case, she must appear in the world — 
 she must share at once both my aristocjatic 
 home and my brilliant destiny — that is, in as 
 far as, under all her disadvantages, the world 
 would permit her to do so ; and this reflection 
 was to me insufl'erable. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Accustomed even from my babyhood to bo 
 the toy of the saloon and the tyrant of the 
 sehool-room — to he caressed and flattered, in- 
 dulged and petted, I was indebted only to the 
 occasional caprices of Lady Madelaine for re- 
 membering from time to time that I'was mor- 
 tal ; and for the last two years even the whims 
 alluded to had considerably augmented my self- 
 esteem, for I had discovered the valuable secret 
 of my mother's jealousy — of her dread of 
 rivalry from her own daughter ; and this knowl- 
 edge was not calculated to teach me humility. 
 
 That I easily imbibed the belief that Lady 
 Madelaine was not alarmed altogether cause- 
 lessly, I have already shown. I knew that she 
 had ])assed her thirtieth year ; and to a girl of 
 fifteen, she seemed indeed to be growing old 
 enough to abdicate her throne. To whom, then, 
 could she more fitly resign it than to her own 
 daugiiler ! Her discourtesies, therefore, as I 
 readily decided, grew out of a weak vanity, 
 which il was my duty to pity rather than to 
 despise ; and I gave it my commiseration ac- 
 cordingly, and only appreciated my.sell the more 
 highly fiir my generosity. It was, probably, 
 very difficult for a ci-devanl beauty, and an 
 acknowledged leader of fashion, to grow old 
 gracel'ully. There //ihs^ be someihuig revolting 
 in "the first gray hair" and the first incipient 
 wrinkle ; all this I was quite capable of feel- 
 ing ; and I had not met my mother for so long 
 a period that I actually felt nervous when I re- 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 75 
 
 fleeted on the effect which might be produced 
 upon her when we once more stood face to face, 
 scanning the traces left by time on either side 
 during our separation. Poor Lady Madeiaine ! 
 I ivnew i>eyond a doubt that I no k)nger wanted 
 more than a couple of inches to be precisely the 
 same height as herself. I had placed this point 
 beyond dispute, by making Josephine, on tbe 
 firsL day of every month, mark my exact meas- 
 urement upon the wall of my room with a pen- 
 ciled lir\e. I was equally aware that I had 
 also improved in beauty, and that, even if not 
 yet quite so handsome as my mother, I was at 
 least fifteen years younger; while the very 
 time which was dady paling her roses would 
 only serve to shower their leaves upon me. 
 
 All these were pleasant thoughts, and pecu- 
 liarly characteristic of my nature. I was born 
 with a hiving heart; but my affections had 
 either been trifled with, or repulsed — and yet 
 not altogether so, for to two persons, at least, 
 I had been dear— my father and Emily Vernon ; 
 but of the first I bad seen far too little to be 
 enabled to return or to appreciate his tender- 
 ness, whde the considerate kindness of poor 
 Ennly had been circumscribed by the tyranny of 
 my mother. Under these circumstances, my best 
 and holiest feelmgs had been flung back upon me ; 
 and, profiting by the example continually before 
 my eyes, young as I was, I had taken refuge in 
 coquetry ; and my reader is already aware that J 
 trifled with this new pastime until I subjected 
 my.self to s.evere mortification ; and became, 
 moreover, conscious that it had left behind it a 
 deeper feehng of regret and tenderness in my 
 own bosom than I could easily shake off, even 
 had I endeavored to overcome it, which was far 
 from being tbe case. I have said nothing for a 
 long time of Devereux ; but it must not be sup- 
 posed that I had forgotten him. It was the only 
 romantic page in the little volume of my life ; 
 ;and I dwelt upon it unceasingly. 
 
 Poor commonplace probability waged but un- 
 lequal war against my girlish vanity; I would 
 inot believe it possible that he had forgotten me. 
 i] must some day be released from my present 
 'stale of exile, and produced in the world. My 
 •mother and Lady Devereux were still insepa- 
 irable ; and it was consequently evident that our 
 i renewed meeting could not be prevented for- 
 lever. It was a subject of unceasing regret to 
 'me that I had no one to whom I could speak of 
 ;him, and to whom I could explain all the energy 
 ! and constancy of my feelings. I was too proud 
 to make a confidant of Josephine; I dared not 
 venture to trust the sympathy of Lady O'Hal- 
 loran, for she \i'ould, in all probability, have 
 made a jest of my anxiety, and even considered 
 ;it her duty to lay the matter before my father. 
 il was utterly and hopelessly alone with my se- 
 !cret ; and it weighed the more heavily upon my 
 heart in consequence. 
 
 • My sister? Ay, there indeed I might have 
 found a friend, a counselor, a confidant, had 
 she been any other than Miss Adela Tilden ; 
 but, under the present circumstances, there was 
 no prospect of such a solace. 
 ! Never was gray-haired matron more imprac- 
 ticable than my sister ; cold, silent, and self- 
 centered, there was not a grain of romance in 
 her composition. She had never, since herar- 
 .i«al, displaced a single novel on the shelves : 
 
 her conversation was a string of axioms and 
 aphorisms ; Pygmalion might have worn out 
 all his tools upon her, and she never would 
 have breathed, though his impious daring had 
 wrapped the world in flames. 
 
 Still, despite these reflections and convictions, 
 the idea continued to haunt me. Adela was so 
 young, and a young heaK is naturally so prone 
 to take an interest in every history of affection. 
 Nay, who could say that such a confidence as 
 this might not lessen the distance between usT 
 Thus argued my eager inclination to ease my 
 overburdened heart, by sharing its load with 
 another ; and accordingly I began to watch my 
 sister closely, in order to encourage every glim- 
 mering manifestation of feeling or interest on 
 her part ; but I might as soon have awaited 
 light and fire from the piled-up ashes of an ex- 
 tinguished conflagration. Sometimes I became 
 angry with myself for being so weak as to an- 
 ticipate such a result — at others I pitied her 
 impassibility, and felt that no lute could sound 
 until its cords were struck ; and this, in Adela's 
 case, was clearly impossible. 
 
 In this wavering mood of mind I was pre- 
 pared to sacrifice my own feelings and ideas 
 during our visit to the Hall, to which I have al- 
 ready alluded; and I so far succeeded in at 
 least accomplishing their concealment, that on 
 our- departure thence, Lady O'llalioran drew 
 me apart, and warmly congratulated me upon 
 the victory which I had obtained over myself 
 in my altered and less authoritative mannei 
 toward my sister. 
 
 "Depend upon it, my dear dsild," she said, 
 warmly, "you are working out your own hap- 
 piness as well as hers. How shall I rejoice 
 the affectionate and anxious feelings of your 
 father by this joyful intelligence ! Your heart 
 is good, Eveleen ; it must suffer from your er- 
 rors, for I am perfectly convinced that you are 
 quite conscious of them, even at the very mo- 
 ment of tlieir committal ; you owe them rather 
 to your age, and to your peculiar education, 
 than to your nature. In order to be all for 
 which you were originally intended, my love, 
 let me now entreat you to make a yet mightier 
 effort over yourself than you have eveiidone 
 within these last few weeks ; abjure, and not 
 only abjure, but repair them all. Open up the 
 treasures of your really loving heart to Adela. 
 You will one day learn how precious a treas- 
 [ ure is the affection of an only sister. Yours 
 has a thousand good qualities ; but, even if she 
 had a thousand faults, so that they were merely 
 involuntary, and that she regretted iheuTWhen 
 committed, you should^onsider yourself only 
 the more compelled to s\iain and comfort her. 
 Come, my dear Eveleen, and promise me, here 
 in my arms, and upon my heart, that you will 
 use all your most tender influence to make her 
 happy. From what you tell me, and from what 
 I had myself ascertained, her guardian aunt is 
 ill-calculated to be either an appropriate com- 
 panion or a judicious guide. You have it in 
 your power to be both. Be to her then a fond 
 sister and a firm friend. You will do this, will 
 you notT' 
 
 " Alas ! you seek to compel me to a Hercu- 
 lean task," I said, sadly; "would she only 
 meet me half-way, I should have courage to 
 make the attempt." 
 
76 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 "In ll'.at case it would require none," in- 
 Bisteil my warm-hearted moiiiiress; "but you 
 expect success too soon. Redouble your at- 
 tempts to overcome her coldness, and your 
 merit will only be the greater wlien it is con- 
 quered : that she will resist it resolutely for a 
 time assure yourself, for you must feel that the 
 poor child has much to forgive." 
 
 " But not to forgive me, Lady O'Halloranl" 
 " You are in error, Eveleen. Are not all the 
 preferences— all the outlay— all the cares which 
 have been so profusely lavished upon yourself, 
 and so grudgingly bestowed upon her — all the 
 superiority which you have assumed — are these 
 not wrongs in which you have, voluntarily as 
 well as involuntarily, borne a part ! and are not 
 these likely to fester in a young, fresh heart, 
 unconscious of evil ! I iiave no doubt she has 
 made you feel that she has not borne them all 
 without a pang. Such conduct would have 
 been sublime, and who would dare to expect 
 subliiniiy from a girl of thirteen years of age ! 
 I am equally convinced that she will be long, 
 very long, before she can overcome their with- 
 ering eliccls, or cease to show you that they 
 still rankle in her mind ; but this should only 
 stimulate you to greater concessions ; and re- 
 member that it is tiie province of the happy to 
 heal the wounds of those who suffer, and that 
 the sufferer should be met by kindness, forbear- 
 ance, and the most delicate deaionstrations of 
 affecliun." 
 
 As she ceased speaking. Lady O'Halloran 
 embraced me affectionately, while I wept from 
 a mingled feeling which I did not seek to 
 analyze. This judicious friend affected to mis- 
 take the motive of my emotion ; she congratu- 
 lated me upon my worthy sympatliy in the past 
 sorrows of iny sister, and my evident intention 
 to terminate them ; and then haslily.but clearly 
 explained to me the line of conduct which she 
 would advise me to pursue. I whispered out 
 my deteriiunation to follow it up to the letter 
 upon her bosom, making but one reservation. 
 
 "Permit me only, my friend," I said hur- 
 riedly, " 10 leave everything \X\ its present state 
 and to make no demonstration, until after the 
 visit ofiiur parents. When we are again alone, 
 I will apply myself resolutely to this formidable, 
 and, 1 f' ar, hopeless undertaking." 
 
 " I can admit of no such moral cowardice, my 
 Eveleen," was her calm reply; "every hour 
 of su|)ineness is an hour lost, which you may, 
 hereafter, biiterly regret. I will not give you 
 a day's respite — not an hour's. The ascend- 
 ency wliijli you will have gained over yourself 
 and your own egotism, before the arrival of Lady 
 Madelaine and Mr. Tiiden, will strengthen you 
 to recommence a trial, which will be no longer 
 in its first infancy. Their visit may be delayed, 
 even deferred ; m short, trust not to circum- 
 stances III so holy a duty, but to yourself" 
 
 Her firmness, aided by my own secret wish, 
 determined me at once. I was, moreover, great- 
 ly agiiaitil at the moment ; nor could I hear to 
 let hi'r feel that I was less generous than she 
 had believed. I accordingly withdrew my op- 
 position, and promised all she wished. 
 
 My first attempts at conciliation and friend- 
 ship were not, however, successful. Adela 
 was too far-sighted to believe for an instant that 
 I had so suddenly changed my nature. She 
 
 suspected a snare, or at least imagined a weak- 
 ness and inconsistency of character which 
 irritated her, and put her upon the defensive. 
 Every look of kindness which I turned upon 
 her she studiously avoided ; my most concil- 
 iatory words were unanswered, or only induced 
 a reply so cold, and dry, and formal, that it 
 froze me to the soul ; while, by a strange coin- 
 cidence, I became in my turn embarrassed and 
 timid in her presence, and divested myself un- 
 consciously of my natural arrogance. How- 
 ever much I might gain in the opinion of a third 
 person by this extraordinary transformation, it 
 never produced even a momentary effect upon 
 Adela, while it made me absolutely unhappy. 
 I did not know myself. I had not even the 
 consolation of feeling that I wa.s doing right, 
 for I was burdened with the everlasting con- 
 sciousness that my present conduct sprang 
 from no impulse, was actuated by no principle 
 of my own ; but that I was a meie puppet, and 
 that the vuires by which I was moved were in 
 tne hands of another. I was nothing more than 
 an awkward and inexperienced actress, saying 
 what was "set down for me," and constrained 
 at every instance to sacrifice myself to the part 
 which I represented. 
 
 Often did I indulge in bitter reveries on my 
 extraordinary and irksome position. Often did 
 I repeat to myself thai ogni medaglia ha il suo 
 rovescio. I was undergoing this moral misery, 
 to reclaim the heart of Adela. But would it 
 consent to be reclaimed 1 "Would it ever ex- 
 change its haughty indifference for the thraldom 
 of a sister's regard ] And, alas ! seldom, very 
 seldom, could 1 compel myself to answer " yes." 
 Why, then, should I any longer tamely under- 
 go this martyrdom, which made me a stranger 
 even in my home ! I can scarcely anssver the 
 question. Sutfice it, that I remembered my 
 promise to Lady O'HaHoran, and also that I had 
 never yet compelled myself to any measure in 
 which my pride had suffered me to fail through 
 my own weakness. 
 
 This remark reminds me, that the letter ol 
 Lady Madelaine, which I had foi warded to the 
 Hall, had been received by its inislioss with a 
 full appreciation of the feeling wiiicli had in- 
 duced me to send it. She well knew my 
 haughty disposition, and that I would rathei 
 brave the little world about me than shun its 
 blame. She first chided me jestingly, but took 
 an after-opportunity of pointing out the danger 
 and impolicy of such a proceeding, and earnestly 
 entreated me never to repeat it. 
 
 Had I only possessed such a friend a few 
 years earlier ! But, alas ! this is an implied 
 excuse for my past faults, which at the present 
 day. I should be too proud and too just to make. 
 Let me rather remember in my old age, that, 
 whatever may have been the errors of those 
 around me, I was, nevertheless, my own worst 
 enemy. It is so easy to iimtate when both 
 egotism and vanity are gratified by the mimicry. 
 
 But, to recur for a moment to my nevy state 
 of existence, I can, upon looking back, frankly 
 xioviatv my conviction, that either my health or 
 my will must have yielded before the stoicism 
 of my sister and my own internal sttuggle, had 
 it been fated to endure much longer. It was 
 not— it was fearfully and fatally abridged ' il 
 
 — -♦ 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 77 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I i!rtE, meanwhile, continued its heavy course. 
 Day alter day sariK into night. Lady Flora had 
 declared her&tdf, at last, to be convalescent ; 
 and descended to the drawing-room, closely 
 enveloped in the Glenfillan tartan, to the great 
 amusement of that portion of the establishment 
 whom she dignified by the appellation of "the 
 flunkies." Nor had she made her second ap- 
 pearance without a firm resolution to assert her 
 privileges as the temporary mistress of the 
 mant^ion. Her orders and her lectures, ere long, 
 became infinite. For a lime I ventured to op- 
 Dose her distasteful and ungentlewdmanly in- 
 novations, but she met me with the glance of a 
 vixen, and the accents of a shrew, and against 
 these I could not condescend to contend. I 
 then ventured upon expostulation, but my failure 
 was signal ; and after these efforts to save the 
 respectability of poorRooksley, I abstained from 
 all cmnment or expostulation, to the great 
 astonishment and manifest disappointment of 
 Lady Flora, who had evidently anticipated a long 
 and exciting course of domestic warfare. 
 
 Before the arrival of Lady Madelaine's Scotch 
 connection I had been constantly annoyed by 
 intimations from the liousekeeper that the under- 
 servants were, one and all, threatening to leave 
 tmy father's service, unless they were allowed 
 at stated periods to replace those in town — the 
 iquiet uniioimity of Rooksley not suiting either 
 jLheir volatile spirits or their social habits. 
 fThcse terrible announcements had, as will be 
 believed, never disturbed my equanimity for a 
 naornent. My universal reply was expressive 
 [)f the necessity of their communicating their 
 iiscontents to Mr. Tilden ; and for a time I had 
 leard no more of the kitchen rebellions. Now, 
 lowever, the case was indeed changed — there 
 ivas no more stagnation in the house. Lady 
 j'lora commenced by papering and bagging up 
 jvery remain of ornamental furniture left, in 
 ilooksley. She even invaded the apartments 
 )f my father; but I no sooner discovered this, 
 .han causing.^very remnant of rag and paper 
 rvith which she had desecrated them to be in- 
 ilantly removed, I turned the master-key which 
 ;ave admittance to the whole suite, and never 
 igain suffered it to paiss from my own posses- 
 sion. 
 
 So far, the Rooksley servants cared little for 
 he innovations of LadyFora, who now appear- 
 ed to be really in her element ; the only person 
 A'ho was annoyed and inconvenienced being 
 ' myself; for .Vtlela sat by, perfectly unmoved, 
 like oue accustomed to similar proceedings, and 
 for whom they possessed neither interest nor 
 fiindrance. But when, having made everything 
 kbout her wear as wretched an appearance as 
 jt was cajiaiile of assuming, the thrifty Scotch 
 pdy condescended to descend to the servants' 
 iall, to connnence her reformation in that 
 j)rivilegcd department, matters at once became 
 esperate. She had already once or twice been 
 leard to mutter between her teeth at the dinner- 
 able something about " awfu' extravagance ;" 
 nd coiistquently the whole establishment, each 
 eing interested in the question, were fully pre- 
 ared for the assault. Lady Flora talked loud, 
 nt the liousekeeper talked still louder, and 
 Tecisely at the same moment, and consequently 
 
 no one heard a syllable of the noble maiden's 
 harangue. When she sought to enter the but- 
 ler's sanctum, he accidentally let a basket of 
 plate fall upon her right foot, which, from some 
 cause or other, was peculiarly susceptible to 
 contact with any hard substance ; and, while 
 she was leaning against the wall, and writhing 
 with pain, he quickly locked the door of the 
 room, and, putting the key in his pocket, walked 
 away. 
 
 When the victim of his obstinacy had in some 
 degree recovered from the shock she had re- 
 ceived, she next attempted an inroad upon the 
 kitchen, where she was received by the cook 
 bearing a greasy spit, with which, as she crossed 
 the floor, she brushed violently against her un- 
 welcome visitor; but the Glenfillan tartan was 
 proof against all such unctuous contact ; and 
 the resolute spinster stood her ground, until 
 men and maids rushed in a phalanx through 
 the open door; and the unfortunate reformer 
 was so unmercifully hustled, jostled, and run 
 over, that she was glad to make good her re- 
 treat to her legitimate sphere of action. 
 
 1 shall never forget her when she reentered. 
 I dare not venture to describe her appearance. 
 Suffice it that I burst into an involuntary flt of 
 laughter, so undisguised and so genuine, that I 
 believe it obtained for me her life-long hatred. 
 My sister looked at her for a moment without 
 the movement of a muscle, and then calmly 
 continued her work. 
 
 Habit is assuredly all-powerful, or I am con- 
 vinced that Adela, stoic as she seemed, must 
 have laughed as I did at the comical eti'ects of 
 Lady Flora's foray. 
 
 Batfled, but not defeated, the resolute lady 
 returned on the morrow to the charge ; but, as 
 she had, on the first onslaught, encountered 
 such bitter perils, she saw fit, on her second 
 j essay, to remember that " discretion is the bet- 
 ter part of valor ;" and feeling, no doubt, that 
 : the pantries and sculleries were hupelessly 
 ' closed against her, she assumed a more digni- 
 ] fied position, and summoned the delinquent 
 housekeeper to the breakfast-room, where she 
 1 was duly apprised that Lady Flora would, in 
 , future, herself regulate the supplies of both the 
 j upper and lower tables ; and that Mrs. Locks- 
 ley must be responsible for all additional outlay 
 which might occur from iier want of obedience 
 I to the maudale issued for her observance. The 
 ! worthy soul looked absolutely petrified with 
 horror and mortification for a few seconds, but 
 she soon rallied sufficiently to say that she was 
 not sure that she had understood her ladyship, 
 for she did not speak Scotch ; nor, indeed, for 
 that matter, did any servant in the house; but 
 she was sure, from the orders she had received 
 from her own lady, that Lady Madelaine Tilden 
 had never entertained an idea that her ladyship 
 would demean herself by meddling with the 
 housekeeping. 
 
 j This perfectly respectful, but stinging rejoin 
 der, told in two ways, and I saw a burning spo' 
 , of red mount t ) the brow of Lady Flora, while 
 her lips turned blue with suppressed rage. Shfl 
 struggled resolutely against it, however; anf 
 contented herself by remarking that she expect 
 ed obedience, and not argument. 
 
 " But, Miss Tilden— Miss Eveleen" — com 
 menced the excited guardian of the keys. 
 
78 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 I merely waved my hand to silence all refer- 
 ence to myself. My disgust was too great for 
 me to venture any attempt at utterance. 
 
 " But pray, my dear young lady, for my sake, 
 for all our sakes, do remember that when my 
 ^-jnored lady is absent, you are the mistress of 
 liie house — " persisted Mrs. Locksley. 
 
 I was still silent; but not so the thrifty daugh- 
 ter of Glenlillan. In words infinitely more 
 energetic than eloquent, the dismayed and de- 
 posed functionary was ordered to leave the 
 room on the instant ; and she obeyed with most 
 undignified alacrity, evidently more from be- 
 wilderment of mind than from any intention of 
 acquiescence to the will of her new tyrant. 
 Throughout the whole scene I had suffered bit- 
 terly. Wounded pride, suppressed indignation, 
 and withering. contempt, had each, in turn, 
 swelled my heart almost to bursting. I felt 
 that Rooksley and its inhabitants would be- 
 come the fable of the neighborhood. The 
 world, ever ready to seize the malicious side 
 of every question, would reluctantly adinit the 
 possibility that any guest, however closely con- 
 nected with the mistress of the house, could 
 permit herself to interfere with its domestic 
 economy. It would, therefore, be believed that 
 all the steps so authoritatively and unceremo- 
 niously taken by the new inmate, had been 
 suggested by my mother herself; and the 
 haughty Lady Madelaine, who had borne .her- 
 self so proudly, towards the first families in the 
 county, would be rni.\ed up in legends of fam- 
 ished housekeepers, and exasperated under- 
 lings. I was, in short, so thoroughly excited by 
 Lady Flora's presumption, exhibited as it was, 
 moreover, with the coarsest vulgarity, that, as 
 I chanced to glance toward the unmoved and 
 immovable Adela, who, flung back in an arm- 
 chair, was calmly amusing herself with a vol- 
 ume of Florian's Pastorals, I could have torn 
 the book from her hand, and hurled it to the 
 other extremity of the apartment. 
 
 My reader may possibly feel some surprise 
 that, suffering so acutely as I did from what 
 was passing before my eyes, I did not retire to 
 my own room, and shut out so painful a spec- 
 tacle. It would have been contrary to my na- 
 ture to have made so undeniable a demonstra- 
 tion of cowardice. There was something in 
 the self-gratulalory and magnificent deportment 
 of the lady wlio now ruled Rooksley, which 
 convinced me that the despicable drama was 
 not yet played out ; and I resolved to remain, 
 in order to ascertain how far the disgrace of 
 my parents was to extend. I remarked that 
 the keen gray eye of Lady Flora had been sev- 
 eral times turned earnestly towards me since 
 the exit of Mrs. Locksley, and I felt convinced 
 that she was anxious to see it succeeded by 
 my own. Brave matters as she might, «he 
 could not contfeal that I was de trop ; and I was 
 glad of it. I accordingly seated myself more 
 commodiously in my chair, and took up a daily 
 paper which was lying on the table beside me. 
 She saw at once that ihere was no hope of my 
 disappearance ; and lost not a moment in as- 
 serting her supposed power over myself in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 " Ring the hell, Eve-leen," she said abruptly. 
 
 I neither moved nor looked up. 
 
 «• Do yo no' hear me. Miss Tiiden 1" 
 
 Yes, madam," I answered, in a calm voice, 
 as I deposited the paper once more upon the 
 table, and looked her demurely and steadily in 
 the face. 
 
 Then, why did ye no' ring the bell when I I 
 desired yel" 
 
 " Because I only obey the orders of those ! 
 who have a right to give them. Had you made • 
 a request, madam, I might possibly have com- 
 plied with it." 
 
 " The Lord be gude unto me I" exelainied the 
 irate lady ; "things are come to a pretty pass, 
 indeed, when a set-up miss will no' obey her 
 own aunt !" 
 
 " You are not my aunt, Lady Flora Glenfil- 
 lan," I replied haughtily ; " I have already, upon 
 a former occasion, explicitly made this known 
 to you. None of the blood of the Macspleu- 
 chans runs in my veins." 
 
 " And ye obstinately refuse to do as I desire 
 ye 1 Ye will no' ring the bell V 
 
 " I absolutely refuse — I will «o^" 
 
 Lady Flora groaned aloud ; and then, abruptly 
 reverting to my slighting remark on her family, 
 she said, with a sneer which appeared to be tbo 
 most natural expression of her coiintoiiance, so 
 instantly and easily did it settle itself upon her 
 shrewish features, " Ye'll be telling us soon, I 
 suppose. Miss Eve-leen Tiiden, that the young 
 lady opposite is no" your sister." 
 
 " I never amuse myself by useless fallacies, 
 and far less by direct untruths, mail.im ; and I 
 am well aware that, by the accident of birth, 
 Adela and myself bear the relationship you 
 mention. I am aware that wc are the children 
 of the same parent^, and consequently as ] 
 have just remarked — by birth at least — sisters."; 
 
 I had emphasized my reply as markedly as 1. 
 could ; and I detected a quick glance anil a ner-' 
 vous movement in Adela, which, for an instant 
 led me to hope that I had provoked a rejoinder 
 hut I deceived myself In the next moment 
 she sat calm and still, with her eyes once more 
 riveted on the Pastorals. 
 
 " Hech, sirs I here's wonderfu' condcscen 
 sion," ejaculated the worsted enemy, gnispin; 
 the leathern arms of her chair and littin:: iier 
 self half out of it, only to regain her seal wiih :[ 
 sudden jerk might dy unpoctical in sound. " Ai 
 earl's daughter is no' grand enough for the up' 
 start queans o' the present day ; and me lookd 
 up to at my own place as a leader! It's wise 
 like that, o' my conscience." 
 
 Then, after a momentary silence which I ha 
 felt no inclination to break, she exelaimeil, w;i 
 a startling vehemence which made me spun 
 in my chair — 
 
 " Ring the bell, Adela." 
 
 " Yes— aunt," said the young lady thus genii 
 apostrophized ; and having complied with th 
 .command, she demurely resumed her scat. 
 
 A servant instantly appeared. 
 
 " I wish to speak with Mr. Botvlemore — ii 
 stantly," said the prima-donna. 
 
 The man bowed, and withdrew ; but not b« 
 fore I had delected a roguish smile playin 
 about his lips. 
 
 The precise and polite butler made his ai 
 pearance within five minutes, during whic 
 time no word had been spoken in the breakfas 
 room. 
 
 Lady Flora leaned forward in her chair, ar 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 telurned his punctilious salutation with an 
 elongauiry motion o( her chin. She evidently 
 felt liersel! at thai moment in a very responsi- 
 ble and di{,niitied position. Not another mo- 
 ment was lost. In the sam« masterly style in 
 which she had discussed with poor, discomfited 
 Mrs. Locksley, the peculiarly agreeable and 
 well-chosen subject of cookery, 
 
 " all the way_ 
 
 From soup {ofnndu and souffii';" 
 
 although, to quote once more the same witty 
 poet, the busy lady could 
 
 " scarcely tell 
 
 A Salmi from a BecAamelle," 
 
 and bewildered my mother's good and clever 
 housekeeper quite as much in her turn, by talk- 
 ing of " bannocks," and " griddlecakes," and 
 other delicacies of her highland table, not 
 omitting the popular "stirabout," which she 
 had been preeminently anxious to introduce 
 into the Rooksley kitchen — even after the same 
 fashion did she proceed to question, and to di- 
 rect staid Mr. Bottlemore, my father's especial 
 favorite. 
 
 "Nothing but port and sherry at the upper 
 table, did I understand your ladyship to say 1" 
 asked the demure voice ; " even in the event 
 of guests." 
 
 "Do I no' speak plain, sirl" was the coun- 
 ter-question. 
 
 " Most assuredly, my lady ; your ladyship's 
 I voice is very distinctly audible ; a trifle of difii- 
 , culty there may be, perhaps, in the expression 
 I of your ladyiliip's meaning occasionally ; but 
 I with patience and attention on my part, that 
 I may, wahout doubt, be yvercome." 
 I Lady Flora looked delightfully mystified. 
 I With all his polite placidity of countenance and 
 ) demeanor, she evidently had a suspicion that 
 I Mr. Bottlemore was laughing at her. As for 
 me, I coulil have knighted him on the spot, had 
 i I been a sovereign, and worn a sword. Under 
 my actual circumstances, I was obliged to con- 
 tent myself by sitting sitent, and playing with 
 Uie poker. 
 
 Let her impression have been what it might, 
 howevsr, before she next spoke, the great agi- 
 tator had made up her mind to pacific measures 
 for the moment; and when the sly old man 
 iiKluired, with a profound inclination, whether 
 her Iddyship had any further orders for him be- 
 fore ho withdresv, she put the finishing stroke 
 to her financial arrangements by strictly forbid- 
 ding all wine, of whatever description, at the 
 housekeeper's table. 
 
 Boiileiiiore smiled quietly, as he remarked 
 that perhaps her ladyship was not aware that, 
 in all large establishments, this privilege was a 
 matter of course at the tables of the upper ser- 
 vants. 
 
 "Then the sooner ye're all unprivileged the 
 better," angrily exclaimed my mother's repre- 
 sentative ; " a pack o' lazy looons that are na' 
 worth your saul I Set ye up, forsooth, with 
 wine ! It .shan't be done, I say, while I am 
 misticss here. Gude save us a' ! wine, indeed ! 
 Why. my sister maun he distraught. Ye have 
 my last word, Mr. Butler — no more wine shall 
 ye have, to sit guzzling o'er below there, in- 
 stead o; minding to do your business." 
 
 ••I fear, my lady, that I must disobey your 
 ladyship's 7ommands on this subject," said the 
 / 
 
 placid individual she addressed; "and not 
 only disobey tlicm myself, but also assist Mrs. 
 Locksley and the ladies' maids to do the samf>. 
 The wine, my lady, is in our agreeuKMils." 
 
 Again the dark, red spot rose to the forehead 
 of Lady Flora ; Bottlemore's last assertion was 
 not to be overruled ; yet still, with an obstinacy 
 wtiich spoke volumes for her nerve, she deter- 
 mined not to be entirely balllcd ; and accord- 
 ingly, assuming an air of majestic authority, 
 which, the subject considered, made her look at 
 the moment exceedingly like the superannu- 
 ated Siddons of a barn-tragedy, she thundered 
 out, in a voice whicli would havi; made itself 
 audible amid the very "fury of the elements," 
 
 "Then, sir, ye maun drink Cape !" 
 
 Poor Boiilemore ! I think I see him once 
 more belbre me. He, whose fastidious master 
 declared him to be the best judge of wme with 
 whom he had ever come into contact — never 
 shall I forget his look of blank amazement. ' He 
 was several minutes before he recovered the 
 shock ; but he had no sooner done so than, in 
 an accent of indignation which almost revenged 
 the injured dignity of Rooksley, he exclaimed 
 boldly :— 
 
 " I am proud to say, madam, that the cellars 
 of Mr. Tilden, since I have had control over 
 them, have never been disgraced by the filthy 
 compound it has pleased your ladyship to men- 
 tion. Mr. Tilden, madam, drinks wine, not 
 drugs; and so do all who have the honor to 
 belong to him. I regret to seem wanting in 
 respect to your ladyship; but this I solemnly 
 declare, that I will neither be art nor part in 
 the purchase of any such poison, nor will I be 
 held responsible for any such proceeding." 
 
 "Hout, tout, man, gie us nane o' your dial" 
 vehemently broke in Lady Flora ; " I'm just 
 deafened wi' it. Can I no' buy the wine my- 
 sel!" 
 
 " Certainly, madam, if your ladyship also 
 purposes to drink it after it is bought," said 
 the butler, sturdily; "but tiiis much, my lady, 
 I most respectfully inform you, that not a single 
 cork shall be drawn in Mrs. Locksley's room; 
 nor shall a drop he forced down the throat of 
 my dear young lady here." Then, approaching 
 me with the greatest deference, he asked, in a 
 low and well-bred tone — "What description of 
 wine shall I supply for your use, madam, under 
 the new regulation of the family T' 
 
 "I leave it entirely to yourself, my good 
 Bottlemore," I said smilingly ; " only, pray do 
 not allow me to be poisoned. I am too young 
 to bo envious of such a fate." 
 
 He bowe.d, and at once left the room, without 
 any further impediment from bis tormenter; 
 anil when I had allowed him sufficient time to 
 traverse the gallery, I rose from my chair, and 
 pausing for a moment before the chagrined and 
 disappointed author of my present mortification, 
 I said, slowly and coldly, " I have borne all the 
 hideous scene of this morning, madam, in si 
 lence ; but I can bear no more ; ami I now 
 leave you to the pleasant triumph which you 
 must necessarily feel after your well-bred con- 
 tention with my father's menials. I have bul 
 one remark to make, one piece of ailvice to 
 offer you, and I do it emphatically. Suffer the 
 disgrace which you have this day v/ilfully 
 brought upon your sister to suOice ; believe 
 
S9 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 me, is already more than sufficient ; and do 
 i.o' venture, tor your own sake, to drive to the 
 (■o:i!ity-to\vii with tlie Tilden liveries, to make 
 f-iirchases wliich will render my jiiinily the 
 common laughing-stock of the neighborhood. 
 Yon do not understand my father, or you would 
 not have dared the impertinences of this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 I had no opportunity of ascertaining the ef- 
 fect of my words ; for, when I ceased to utter 
 '.hem I left the room ; and, shutting myself 
 mto my own chamber, gave free vent to the 
 bitter feelings which I had so long suppressed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXr. 
 
 »Jn the following morning, immediately that 
 I had left tlie hrcakf;isl-room, and was awaiting 
 in the saloon — the wretched-looking, desolate 
 apartment which, during my mother's residence 
 at Rooksley, had always been a scene of light 
 and movement — the arrival of one of my mas- 
 ters, I was in my turn'honored with a deputation 
 from tlie servants' hall. I sickened as I saw 
 them enter, hut there was no remedy ; and, ac- 
 cordingly, when I beheld Mrs. Locksley and 
 Mr. Boitlemore respectfully approach me, while 
 the remainder of the party paused deferentially 
 just within the door, which they closed carefully 
 after them, I threw myself into a seat, and aban- 
 doned myself to my fate. 
 
 I was not left long in suspense as to their 
 purpose. Complaints, loud and long ; expostu- 
 lations, logical and earnest ; and entreaties, anx- 
 ious and emphatic, were poured out before me. 
 " Her Scotch ladyship" was declared to be more 
 than they could bear up agamst ; she had not 
 left her room more than three or four hours be- 
 fore their peculiar territories were invaded, and 
 their ears assailed by unsavory epithets, which 
 to them a|)peared even more obnoxious from 
 their not being able to understand half their 
 Cleaning ; and now their supplies were to be 
 cut off, and the garrison to be starved out, un- 
 less it pleased " their young lady" to come to 
 the rescue. 
 
 " Only imagine. Miss Tilden," sobbed out the 
 housekeeper, when the general grievances had 
 been laid before me; "only imagine, ma'am, 
 the disgrace to my situation and my time of life, 
 to be followed up and scolded at, like a common 
 kitchen-maid ! I couldn't live through it. I'm 
 sure, it would break my heart. And then the 
 bill of fare every day for both tables. Miss 
 Eveleen ! — we shall all he starved before the 
 year's at an end. Sheep's heads, with the wool 
 on, ma'am, and cakes made of oats. I'he 
 coachman was the (irst to declare that he would 
 leave if they were set before him ; for he should 
 be; afraid his own liorscs would run over him 
 out of pure spile, if he was guilty even of tasting 
 them. And if such a prospect frightened Jones, 
 Miss Evclccn, who .is not a man to be easily 
 daunted, only think of tlieir being served up 
 to you." 
 
 " But, if that were all," broke in the modula- 
 ted tones of the butler, " it might be got over, 
 madam, for it would be a mere case of ' lake it 
 or leave it ;' but the wine. Miss Eveleen, is a more 
 serious matter. I have already declared my 
 mind on the subject to her ladyship, who, it seems 
 to uie «if i rany say so without disrespect lo the 
 
 family), doesn't appear to understand clearlj 
 what she's about, and has undertaken more 
 than she can manage ; but I can't endure to live 
 in this state of ojien rebellicm under tlic! roof ol 
 so kind and honored a master; and tliertfore, 
 madam — therefore, Miss Tilden" — and heie he 
 paused a moment in order to clear his throat, 
 and render the utterance of what he still had to 
 say less difficult — " therefore, I have consented, 
 in the name of all the establishinent (including 
 the out-door servants), to wait upon you for the 
 purpose of entreating your interlcreiice ; or, in 
 the event of your relusiiig it, to inform you of our 
 intention to quit Mr. Tilden's service, although 
 we are all grateful for the past, and shall at all 
 times be happy to acknovvled;;e that we shall 
 never find a better than it uns" 
 
 Here the phalanx of men c.'.d maids upon the 
 threshold performed divers sha.iiefaced and awk- 
 ward salutations. 
 
 "As for myself," continued the spokesman, 
 at the close of this pantomime, " I never thought 
 to have had to look for another home. I Imped 
 to live and die in the family. Bnl lo be lold to 
 lay in a slock of Cape wine at the chief town ol 
 the very county for which my ma.sier sits in 
 Parliament, and where he has alw<iys spent his 
 money like a prince, as indeed he is in his heart, 
 it's more than I can do! To go and disgrace 
 both him and myself before a parcel of b.ickbit- 
 ing people, that have always looked up to us ! — 
 it can't be done with any consistency ; and so, 
 my dear young lady, as I said before, I'd rather 
 go than be guilty of it." 
 
 Here the worthy man brushed his handker- 
 chief across his eyes, and shook his head so por- 
 tentously that he made the powder fly in all di- 
 rections. 
 
 " My complaint is altogether the same, 
 ma'am," said the lachrymose iiousekecper, as 
 she thrust her hand into her capacious pocket 
 in search of a similar piece of drapery. 
 
 " Indeed I my trusty Locksley,"' I said, with a 
 smile, "and were j/ou also commanded to drive 
 to the county town for a slock of Cap*; !" 
 
 "No ma'am — no. Miss Eveleen," was the 
 plaintive reply, as the tears rolled down her 
 smooth and comely cheeks; "mine was even 
 worse, far worse — sheep's heads, wilii the wool 
 on, twice a week. It would ruin us all in the 
 village ; and, like Mr. Bottlemore, I'd rather 
 go." 
 
 " My good people," I said, as I rose from the 
 sofa, divided between amusement and annoy- 
 ance, "you nmst all be well aware that 1 am 
 still too young for the exercise of such an act 
 of authority as that of changing the whole es- 
 talilishment of my father's house. Yon know, 
 also, that I am now daily exuocting his arrival; 
 and I am quite sure thai your wrongs will only 
 reijuire lo be known to him, to be at once re- 
 dressed. Is not this reasonable 1" 
 
 An affirmative salutation was the reply. 
 
 "So far well," I continued; "but to thus 
 much I |)ledge myself, that should his visit be 
 by any chance delayed, I will myself write 
 and inform him of all the circumstances of the 
 cas(;." 
 
 A murmur of approbation greeted this pro- 
 mise. 
 
 " This is not the first time, you are aware, 
 Mrs. Locksley," I pursued, " that I have beec 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 SI 
 
 informed of similar intentions, although never 
 before of a general intention of leaving Rooks- 
 ley, on the p;iri of st>me of your subordinates ; 
 and the plea was, on those occasions, if I re- 
 member rightly, the dull monotony and perpet- 
 ual quiet of tiie place, under a mistress of fif- 
 teen, who had not the power to give it greater 
 animation. Do not believe that I am insensi- 
 ble to your present annoyance, when I remind 
 you of a fable with which you must be familiar; 
 and in which, tired of the ease and liberty of a 
 commonwealth, the frogs petitioned Jupiter for 
 a king, who in pity of their ignorance cast a 
 log of wood into the lake, and bade them re- 
 ceive their sovereigi). For a time, the sight 
 of the huge mass floating upon the surface of 
 the water sufficed to amuse them — they had 
 the semblance of a monarch, and were content ; 
 but, ere long, as they experienced no interfer- 
 ence from hife placid majesty, and that his pos- 
 session had left them in precisely the same 
 condition of ease and freedom as formerly, they 
 complained that Jove had jested with them, and 
 renewed their supplications. This time they 
 nad their wish — King Stork appeared upon the 
 borders of the lake, and so assiduously de- 
 voured such of his living subjects as chanced 
 o fall into his way, that the diminished re- 
 mainder were afraid to put their noses above 
 water, and such as did contrive to escape 
 during the brief intervals when his majesty 
 had overgorged himself, hastened to emigrate 
 lo another sheet of water, where they might 
 regain the quiet they had lost." 
 
 At th's moment some one knocked at the 
 door, and a groom extended to the footman, by 
 whom it was opened, a letter, which had just ar- 
 rived, for me, and which was superscribed, " Im- 
 mediate." 
 
 I lost not a moment in breaking the seal, and 
 the servants had not yet quilted the room, 
 when, with a piercing scream, I- fell senseless 
 to the floor. 
 
 When I recov'ered consciousness I found my- 
 self lying upon a sofa, and tended by the house- 
 keeper and Josephine. My first movement 
 was to motion them to close the blinds — I 
 could not bear the light ; and then I again sank 
 bacl< in an agony of grief, and buried mjTface 
 among the cushions. 
 
 "Pour i'amour de la Saints Vierge! made- 
 moiselle, tell us what is the matter!" ex- 
 claimed tl:e kneeling Josephine. 
 
 "For pity's sake, let us know the worst !" 
 entreated .\irs. Locksley. 
 
 "Read!" I exclaimed, suddenly raising my 
 head, and pointing to the fatal letter, which 
 still remained where it had fallen from my 
 hand, "read, and aloud, thai my heart may 
 break at once ! " I was obeyed. It was written 
 by my father's body-servant, and its contents 
 were these : — 
 
 "Grosvenot Square, Thursday. 
 "Madam, — 
 
 " By desire of her ladyship, I write to inform 
 you of the dreadfi/l calamity which has taken 
 place in the family ; and 1 have instructions to 
 request that you will immediately communi- 
 cate the niouriifiil tidings to .Miss Adela Tilden 
 and the l-ady Flora GlunfiHan. We are all in a 
 Btate of the greati-st gnef, and seem to feel more 
 every hour lua value of him that we have lost. 
 
 ^My honored master is no more." After speak- 
 ing for upwards of an hour in the Hous-, which 
 was very close and crowded, Mr. Tilden, in 
 order to refresh himself afier his exertion, dis- 
 missed the carriage, and determined to walk 
 home. He took cold ; but, as the question in 
 which he felt so much interest was still before 
 the House, he could not be prevailed n\>o\\ to 
 absent himself; and so, from bad he rapidly 
 became worse, and died on the fifth day (yes- 
 terday) of pleurisy. The deceased is to be in- 
 terred in ten days after that of his demise ; 
 and I am sure it will be a great consolation to 
 you, madam, to know that the premier, and 
 nearly all his majesty's ministers, will attend 
 the funeral ; and as regards the nobility, we 
 have already sixty carriages upon our list. 
 This, madam, as you may believe, is very com- 
 forting to her ladyship, who is as well as can 
 be expected, but has neither time nor spirits to 
 write herself as yet. My lady instructs me to 
 say, that directly the last honors are paid to 
 my poor master she shall set off post for Rooks- 
 ley, where she desires that Mrs. Locksley will 
 have Mr. Tilden's private sitting-room hung 
 with black before Sunday next ; it is to be 
 done precisely after the plan of which I have 
 the honor to inclose a sketch, and which was 
 approved by her ladyship for the principal 
 drawing-room in Grosvenor Square. I have 
 no further instructions, and therefore subscribe 
 myself. Madam, 
 
 "Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 "John Dale." 
 
 And this was all ! My father, my fond but 
 ill-requited father, was dead — was in a few brief 
 days to be carried to his grave — and I knew nc 
 more ! I cannot describe the agony of my 
 grief, the anguish of my remorse. Every de- 
 tail of the past rose up before me ; and the 
 hopes which I had almost unconsciously formed 
 for the future, and in which the figure of my 
 father had been ever prominent, mingled with 
 the bitterness of my soul. I ceased to weep. 
 A deeper and sterner feeling took possession 
 of me. I should be henceforth alone. My moth- 
 er had ceased to love me — my sister had 
 never done so ; even my last-acquired friend — 
 even Lady O'Halloran herself — although dele- 
 gated, by that very father whom I had now lost, 
 to cherish and protect me, and who had taught 
 me to love and to cling to him as I had never 
 before done — she had already given symptoms 
 of preferring a stranger to myself I was be- 
 wildered by the extent of my misfortune. I 
 thought with contemptuous pity of the poor and 
 futile distinctions to the dead, which had already 
 helped to afford consolation to Lady Madelaine 
 — to his widow — whom he had surrounded with 
 opulence and honor; and then I remembered, 
 as if in contrast to these, the fresh flowers with 
 which I had each morning, since his expected 
 arrival, fondly decorated his room, in order that 
 he might breathe their welcome upon his veiy 
 entrance — a welcome which he was nevermore 
 to experience beneath his own roof 
 
 Profound and heartfelt grief lingers willingly 
 over details like these ; they are the stones 
 which the spirit piles upon the cairns of the 
 departed. For all other sorrows there is con- 
 solation — in all other trials there is hope; but 
 on this earth there is none for death. It comes 
 
fi2 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 aoldly. siid'lenly before us, and defies all reme- 
 dy. I liad licar-' iiore, I had spoken more, and, 
 aliiive all, I had thouijhl more o(" my lather 
 duruii^ ilie last few rnonlhs than I iiad ever be- 
 fore done. I had striven to bring his image be- 
 fore me incessantly. I had treasured up every 
 evidence of his taste, every shade of his char- 
 acter, in order to form my own after that 
 model. I had made his favorite apartment 
 my refuge, whun vexation and annoyance had 
 wounded my spirit; I had accustomed myself 
 in its genial solitude to review the lolly, the 
 coldness of my ungrateful girlhood to the only 
 being -who really loved me for myself; and 
 there had I shed those regretful but soothing 
 tears which, summoned by sorrow for the past, 
 inspire hfiler resolutions lor the future. And 
 all liad been too late! I had sougtit strength 
 only of myself; I had never learned that with- 
 OLt higtier and holier assistance I was pov^^r- 
 less. Nor did I feel it even now. >ly sole 
 sensation was one of grief and wrong. Otheis, 
 many others were beloved by scores of tender 
 relatives and friends; I had l)ut one, and even 
 he was taken from me — taken, too, just at the 
 moment wlicn I was prepared to pour out be- 
 fore liiiii the hmg-hoarded treasure of my filial 
 affection ; I had no consolation — none ! 
 
 Let no one imagine this description of my 
 first grief to be exaggerated. Let ihem rather 
 sean:li into human nature, and admit its truth. 
 As I now look back, I cannot contemplate it 
 with the same complacency as I did even in the 
 earlier period of my sorrowing. I had learned 
 to love my father with a fervor which bordered 
 on romance — to feel proud alike of his talents 
 and of ins virtues — to experience gratitude for 
 the neglected tenderness which he had lavished 
 on me in my childhood, and to form hearty 
 resolutions of returning it tenfold in the time to 
 come, but, alas! I now see what I did not 
 then even suspect All the tears which I so 
 passionately shed did not embalm the memory 
 of my father. Many, too many of them were 
 an offering to selp. My projects were over- 
 tlirown — my future was blighted — my scheme 
 of lite was rendered, by this one blow, vain and 
 impossible. The earth had cru!iil)led away be- 
 neath my feel; and as, for weeks after that 
 blow was'siruck, I wandered, sad and solitary, 
 through the sdeni apartments which were once 
 his, I louiid a proud satisfaction in murmuring 
 to myself — "None mourn him as Idol" No 
 warning voice whispered into my ear the hu- 
 miliating truth. 
 
 Lady Flora made a decent endeavor to ap- 
 pear afflicted ; but it was too shallow to de- 
 ceive even for a moment. She had never 
 divested herself of the delusion that she had 
 been the first oliject of Mr. Tilden's preference ; 
 and ilial Ins ultimate selection of her beautiful 
 young sister was the mere elfect of some un- 
 accounlalile caprice. She was utterly unable 
 to sympathize with the feelings of su(h a man, 
 and therefore she feared him ; while it is need- 
 less to do more than to remark, that in weak 
 and i;:norant natures, fear is always coupled 
 with dislike. There can be no doubt, under all 
 these circumstances, that Lady Flora had dread- 
 ed the hour in which she should he compelled 
 to present herself before him as his guest; and 
 fro II this lerr-tr she was now f.itally reliceJ. 
 
 This was her view of an event so tenible anu 
 so sudden ; and it is not to he supposed thai 
 she suffered greatly from the shock. 
 
 The feelijigs of Adela were nvre extraordi- 
 nary and inexplicable. There were momenta 
 when her depression was so great, that she 
 could not endure any companionship; ani 
 would rush abruptly from the presence o( 
 every one, and shut herself into her room for 
 hours. On her reappearance, there was no 
 mistaking the agony in which the interval ha! 
 been passed . her eyes were swollen with vvci j/- 
 ing, and her cheeks pale and sunken ; and yet, 
 at times, she rallied so wonderfully as to dis- 
 play more bodily and mental energy than I had 
 ever before believed her to possess. She pro- 
 duced upon me the effect of a person who had 
 suddenly flung off a heavy weight, and who ex- 
 perienced some great and hidden relief. 
 
 The first occasion upon whii-h we had ever 
 spoken together with the conlidence and affec- 
 tion of relatives — I dare not say of sisters — 
 was on the evening of the day when the faral 
 news reached us. I had desired that no one 
 should disturb me; and hour alter hour had 
 passed, as I lay silent and almost motionless 
 upon my sofa, sunk in those sad and Imier 
 thoughts which I have endeavored to describe. 
 The sun had set unheeded ; the twil ght had 
 faded into darkness; ami, to me. there had 
 seemed no change. I was aliso.rhed in my own 
 anguish, when I distincily heard a light stroke 
 upon the door, but I was too listless in mj 
 misery to heed it. A moment subsequently it 
 opened, and Adela slowly a()proaclied me. She 
 was as pale as death ; her hair was in disorder, 
 and liiiiig in ricli disheveled masses upun her 
 shoulders ; and her eyes were encircled by a 
 dark ring, as though the tears that vv-oulil not 
 fall had congealed the blood ar<iun;l their orbs. 
 In one hand she held the letter which had been 
 the messenger of grief, and in the otiier a small 
 lamp, wiiich she deposited in silence iip')n a 
 table. As she approached me I insiiiictiv.'.y 
 raised myself upon myelhow, and I saw a li: ii, 
 sad smile quiver over her lij)s. Many si-; .s 
 would have sprung into each other's arm^, a,i 1 
 wepLout their anguish upon each olher's-necks: 
 Adela and I mutually extended our hands, and 
 held them clasped lor a few seconds, after 
 which she drew a chair close to the cushion o! 
 the sola upon which I was lying, and sal down. 
 Sull I did not speak. I felt as though the lir.-.l 
 word which I sought to utter must sulloca.a 
 me ; but Adela did not seem to interpret my 
 silence unkindly. 
 
 " Poor Eveleen !" she murmured, in her low, 
 musical voice, which s<mnded sweet and sad 
 in tlhit vast and half-dismantled apartment — 
 " this is your first soriow, and It is, indeed, a , 
 bitter one." 
 
 I glanced at her in surprise. 
 
 '• I would not, even now, have intruded 
 upon your griel," she conlinued ; •• hut iheni 
 are certain duties delegated to us which we 
 must perform. Our father's room — " 
 
 " He will never, never occupy it more !" 1 
 exclaimed, in a fresh paroxysm of grief— 
 '• Ailela, Adela, we have lost our best friend 7" 
 
 " I know it — I feel it," replied my sister, il 
 the same low and firm tone as she had lutherlfl ' 
 spoken ; " peril. :ns our only one. But it is ikH 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 in order to aggravate your regrets that I am 
 here. Ydu have the key that is needeil, 
 Eveleeii ; there was tvo means of ingress with- 
 out an applicatiiiii to yourself. There are 
 strangers in liie house, who — who" — slie 
 struggled wiih her emolion, as a convulsive 
 shtidiiei made me iremhle in every limb ; and 
 then added, hastily, as though she feared that 
 she could not much longer restrain her tears — 
 ] " and Lady Flora is already with them, and 
 I will superintend everything, if you will send 
 her the key." 
 
 "I thank you, Adela," I said, with a sudden 
 calmness for which I could not account even to 
 myself; " ihere are, indeed, duties delegated 
 to us. You know how carefully, how reve- 
 rently, I have hitherto guarded that, to me, 
 sacred spot from the pollution of a stranger's 
 curiosiiy. I will do so still. You have, in- 
 dwdd, performed a sister's part toward me 
 to-night — complete it now. Withdraw Lady 
 Flora from the gallery ; her services are not 
 needed, nor can they be either accepted or per- 
 mitted. I would rather not meet her yet — nor 
 there" 
 
 Adela looked steadily at me for a moment, 
 and then, taking up iier lamp, left the loom. 
 I requued a few moments to compose myself, 
 and to prepare for the dismal and trying duty 
 which I had refused to transfer to another; 
 and. ere 1 had well succeeded, Josephine ap- 
 peared with a light, which sl/e placed upon a 
 conside near the door, and instantly withdrew. 
 I walked slowly toward it, lifted it, and stood 
 quietly until I found that I could carry it with 
 a steady clasp ; and then, having steeped my 
 hands and face in Hungary water, I passed out 
 into the gallery. 
 
 A contused murmur of hoarse whisperings 
 fell on my ear as I advanced, and 1 soon stood 
 opposite the iinpaiienl group who were to drape 
 Ihe aparimenl of my father in its lugubrious 
 trappings. As I stopped before them, all the 
 servants, whom curiosity or interest had at- 
 tracted to the spot, silently retired, save the 
 butler; who. drowned in tears, had not yet 
 perceived my arrival. 
 
 ••Botilemore," I said, firmly, " where is the 
 tndosure of Lady Madelaine's letter ?" 
 
 He tendeied it silently, and without raising 
 nis eyes. 
 
 " Here, gentlemen, is the task which you 
 have to perform. Can it be accomplished to- 
 night !" 
 
 '• I fear it's impossible, miss," said he, who 
 appeared to he the leader, and who was ex- 
 hausting himself in reverences, each lower 
 than the last, amid bales and packages all rolled 
 in black wrappers, and looking like a group of 
 coffins wailMig for interment, as they lay huddled 
 together m the dusky light; "unless, indeed, 
 we worked till morning; but then, nightwork 
 ! is double pay." 
 I "Let It be done," said I, as I drew out the 
 
 I key and opened the door ; " such a scene would 
 I te d;thculi to bear twice." 
 
 My loot was already on the threshold, when 
 [ sL!<ltlenly started l)ack with a slight scream, 
 dnd clung to Bottlemore, who was following 
 tlosely behind me. 
 
 •• Madam, dear .\Iiss Eveleen, what have you 
 seenV inquired the faithful old man. as he 
 
 strove to look over my shoulder, while the 
 sable-clad functionaries in his rear endeavored, 
 in vain, to discover the cause of my panic ; for 
 the second battant of the door was still un- 
 opened, and the butler and myself had filli.'d the 
 vacant sj)ace. 
 
 In an instant I recovered myself. I was 
 ashamed of my folly, although I still trembled 
 Irom its effects. At I be/ore slated, 1 had 
 taken no heed of time, and was not aware that 
 it had progressed so rapidly. The moon, then 
 at its full, was pouring a Hood of light over the 
 room ; and, as the door gave way under my 
 hand, a stream of cold air swept like an icy 
 breath across my face, while the draperies of 
 the curtains flapped heavily, with a dull and 
 smothered sound. In my excited stale of 
 mind, it was not wonderful that I was startled; 
 but my surprise was still further increased, 
 when, on entering the room, and advancing 
 towards the marble table which occupied the 
 centre of the floor, I saw the magniticent exotic 
 (lowers, which I had collected from the conser- 
 vatories only that morning, lying scattered and 
 withering beside the overturned vase which had 
 contained them. As I was about to utter an 
 exclamation, something suddenly rose from the 
 floor beside me, and, with a rushing noise, made 
 for the moonlighted window, and beat itself 
 heavily against the glass. All was instantly 
 explained. It was a wood-pigeon, which, prob- 
 ably pursued by a hawk, had found an entrance, 
 by some means, into the apartment. But how '{ 
 That enigma, also, was soon solved, by one ot 
 the workmen discovering a broken pane of glass 
 in the centre window. 
 
 All these trifling facts, simple as they seemed 
 nevertheless per()lexed me greatly. That no 
 accident of the sort had taken place until long 
 past noon, I was well aware ; for, after having 
 completed my floral ofl^ering to my father, I had 
 remained, for several hours, reading and musing 
 in his apartment. I felt that, weak as it seemed, 
 my nerves were now too much .shaken to admit 
 of my following up the trying duty which I had 
 been about to perforin ; and when 1 saw the 
 cold and business-like proceecLngs of the callous 
 men about me, and beheld the floor and furni- 
 ture heaped with sable masses, which ai)peared, 
 to my excited senses, to have a death-scent 
 hanging about them, I could conlentf no longer ; 
 but hurriedly desiring Bottlemore to take the 
 whole direction upon himself; not to siifler a 
 soul, save my sister Adela, no matter whom, to 
 enter, except the workmen ; and to bring me 
 the key, which I would await in my dressing- 
 room, the instant they had departed, I Inrriedl) 
 retired. I felt the necessity of once more be- 
 ing alone ; and, as I closed the door of my 
 chamber behind me, I again flung myself into 
 a seat, to mourn in bitterness, and, it possible, 
 to weep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 The workmen employed in mv father's apart- 
 ment were so little fastidious in their move- 
 ments, that I distinctly heard the dull blows ol 
 the hammer, and the sound of many I'ootsteps ; 
 but I scarcely regretted that it was so ; I had 
 attained to that degree of wretchedness which 
 almost finds relief in every accession of Uia- 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 comfort. It eeenied cnly filling and consistent 
 that, in a house deprived ot its head, all should 
 be changed ; and that the drep quiet, to which 
 its inniaU's had been so long accustomed, should 
 be dispelled, like the dreams of hope and afTcc- 
 tion in which ihey might hitherto have enfolded 
 the future. I even listened, that I might judge 
 of the progress which was malcing in the lugu- 
 brious work; and more than once I lelt templed 
 to exert my en-^rgies and to renew my intention 
 of superintending their labors. I abstained, 
 
 owever ; for, in the holiness of my first grief, I 
 I shrank from all unnecessary commuiiicalion 
 with strangers ; and thus I sat, hour after hour, 
 nursing my sad and bitter thoughts ; now weep- 
 ing over my sudden and irreparable loss, now 
 asking myself wliat would be my future fale 
 under the guidance and authority of such a 
 mother as Lady Madelaine. 
 
 Daylight came creeping, dull and cheerless, 
 througli the windows of my room; in the con- 
 fusion consequent upon the fatal event which 
 had occurred, tiie curtains had been left un- 
 drawn ; and, as I had refused all attendance, 
 the omission had escaped notice. I saw, there- 
 fore, for tlie first time, the dreary contest 
 between light and darkness which ever pre- 
 cedes a new day. I involuntarily rose and 
 looked out, for the scene was consonant to my 
 then slate of feeling. Poets have sung brightly 
 of the birth of day, and they are well borne out 
 by the glories of a rising sun ; but, before the 
 rosea!*! and golden splendor of this fair vision 
 can be enjoyed, the watcher must first undergo 
 the saddening and dreary spectacle of the morn- 
 ing twilight ; and it was upon thia that I stood 
 and gazed at that melancholy moment. As the 
 night broke, a cold shiver crept over my frame, 
 and I drew my shawl more closely about me ; 
 everything upon which I looked partook of the 
 same chilling character ; a mass of wreathing 
 misls overhung the surface of the lake, and dis- 
 persed slowly and sullenly, as if reluclant to 
 "disclose its limpid beauties. The dew hung 
 heavily upon the trees, and at intervals fell in 
 lalge drops to the varlh, like tears wrung from 
 a sulfering spirit. The flowers were still closed ; 
 the sky was louring and leaden ; and even the 
 wind, as it swept by, moaned, as though it be- 
 waileu the. comfortless aspect of the objects by 
 wluch it was surrounded. The light, in cold 
 and quivering streaks, looking in their dull 
 setting like lances of polished sleel, by slow 
 degrees pierced through the dark vapors ; and, 
 lengthening and broadening into warmer beauty, 
 eventually look a glow and a glory which lore- 
 told the coming of the mighty orb that was 
 about to flood the earth with warmth and ra- 
 diance. 
 
 I instinctively closed my eyes. My sympa- 
 thies were no lonsjer with the scene before me. 
 The sun was again rising to gladden the earth 
 — my hope was still buried. There was no 
 longer anything in common between us ; and I 
 was in the acl of letting fall the heavy curtains, 
 in order once more to shroud myself in dark- 
 nes.s. when I heard the sound of footsteps ap- 
 proaching my room, and immediately afterward 
 a cautious stroke upon the door. As I replied 
 to the signal for admission, Boillemore opened 
 it quietly, and moved toward me. 
 " Is all completed !" I asked. 
 
 " Not yet, madam," he replied, in a suppressed 
 voice : " though everything is in active pro- 
 gress, and exactly according to the instructions ; 
 but this, my dear young lady, is not my errand. 
 I have thought it my duty — " Here he pauseU — 
 looked embarrassed, and then glanced Irom me 
 to a small parcel which he held in his hand. 
 
 " Whatever it may be, if you feel that your 
 duty requires it of you, do it I'eailessly," 1 said, 
 loially indifferent to every subject save thai by 
 which I was absorbed. 
 
 " I have discovered the cause of the broken 
 window," resumed the butler, still evidently 
 ill at ease ; " I have brought it to you, madam ; 
 it is indeed addressed to you." 
 
 " To me !" I exclaimed, as I extended my 
 hand tremblingly to receive it. "What can 
 this mean, Boillemore V 
 
 The man shook his head. He had probably 
 asked himself the same question more than 
 once since the mysterious missile came into 
 his possession. 
 
 The parcel, although small, was heavy ; and 
 as I eagerly carried it to the window, where the 
 light had become sufficiently strong to enable 
 me easily to trace the superscription, I found 
 that it was. as he had said, directed to myself. 
 I became much agitated ; and as I lore it open, 
 the curtain which I had hitherto held back with 
 my hand fell behind me, and thus screened 
 me from the observation of the attendant. The 
 contents of the parcel were a large pebble, and 
 a letter, addressed, as the envelope had been, 
 to me. A letter ! From whom could it come ! 
 I had never in my life received any written 
 communication, save from my parents. I be- 
 came fevered from anxiety, and my legs shook 
 under me as I stood. I was glad, I knew not 
 wherefore, that no one was by to observe me. I 
 broke the seal, and glanced at the signature. It 
 bore the name of Devereux. It was with diffi- 
 culty that I sujjpressed an exclamation. Read 
 the letter 1 could not, while I was conscious of 
 the near neighborhood of the zealous servant 
 who was awaiting my orders. I felt that 1 
 could not ; and I instinctively struggled for 
 composure, and emerged from my friendly con- 
 cealment. 
 
 " 'Tis a poor jest, good Bottlemore," I said, 
 striving to force a smile, and, at the same time, 
 giving into his hand the pebble and the paper m 
 which it w'as inclosed. " From w'heiever it 
 may have come, let it no longer intrude upon 
 your time and thoughts, which are both re- 
 quired for more solemn duties at present. Ilere- 
 afler, perhaps — " and I paused, for I knew not 
 how to complete the sentence. 
 
 " A disresjicclful and an unworthy jest," 
 said the builer, turning over the pebble in hia 
 palm ; " and at such a moment, too ! But you 
 say rightly, my dear young lady ; we have now 
 iw lime for fooleries like these. Before long, 
 perhaps — " and he paused as I had done, mada 
 a low bow, and retired. If he felt any sus- 
 picion that he had been mystified, he, at least, 
 looked none. 
 
 And nt)vv I was again alone. The blood was 
 burning over brow and bosom. I remained 
 motionless — undetermined — with my gaze fast- 
 ened upon the curtain, behind which lay the 
 letter that I had (lung down when 1 emerged to 
 dismiss Boillemore. For the moment I had 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 85 
 
 forgotten all — my dead father, the approaching 
 arrival of my mollier — ihe clouds which had 
 gathered around my future destiny. I remem- 
 bered nothing save myself and Devereu.x — tlie 
 Devereux whom I had loved, and hy whom I 
 had heen heloved in my turn. He was here, 
 then — hreathing the same air — looiiing upon the 
 same light, here! hut at what a moment! 
 Deep shame came upon me. The remembrance 
 of my loss — a loss yet known to me only a few 
 hours — made me recoil with disgust trom my 
 own selrishness ; but the feeling did not last 
 long — It could not. Tlie very memory that I 
 had no longer a father — that I sliouid hereafter 
 be the tool, and, perhaps, the victim, of the 
 unloving rule of an estranged and careless 
 mother — that I was, morally at least, an orphan 
 — and that, without other support, I was help- 
 less, soon reconciled mo with myself More- 
 over, there was a tinge of romance in the whcde 
 aftaiTj which, doubtlessly, although I was at the 
 moment unconscious of its influence, served not 
 a little to silence my self-accusations. 
 
 The time went by so rapidly during this men- 
 tal conflict, that, before I had decided on read- 
 ing the letter, and ascertaining its purpose, 
 Bottlemore was once more at my door to inti- 
 mate that Ihe funeral furniture of my father's 
 apartment was completed ; and to urge me re- 
 spectfidly to visit it in his presence, in order that 
 he might, after gaining my sanction, dismiss the 
 workmen. I extended my hand for the key, 
 but declined the invitation. " Dismiss them on 
 your own responsibility," I said ; "I know that 
 I can trust you. I dare not trust myself yc^ I 
 have undergone much, too much within the last 
 few hours. I need rest before I can venture 
 upon such a visit." 
 
 " But will you really take the rest that you 
 require, my dear young ladyl" asked the wor- 
 'Ihy old man. " You are indeed beaten down 
 by your grief; and no wonder. Miss Eveleen, 
 no wonder ! Ah, we shall all soon better un- 
 derstand what we have lost. We never made 
 enough of him when he was here, but we shall 
 have time enough to mourn him — time enough 
 and cause enough, from the highest to the 
 lowest." 
 
 Subdued as I previously was by conflicting 
 emotions, this generous and impulsive burst of 
 sorrow coin[)leiely overcame me. It unlocked 
 my tears, and once again I found relief 
 
 " Leave me, my worthy friend," I sobbed with 
 ditficulty ; and, all my haughtiness leveled for 
 the mimienl by this common demonstration of a 
 common grief, I extended my hand to the laiih- 
 ful favorite of my father, who pressed his lips 
 reverentially upon it, and then silently disap- 
 peared. 
 
 No ! I had said rightly ; I could not accom- 
 pany him to the death-chamber — I dared not. 
 It would have seemed to me like sacrilege to 
 have intruded there, when I had so recently 
 loosened my grasp of Devereux's letter, with 
 feelings all absorbed in its receipt. No — this I 
 could not do. There was a short interval of 
 tumult in the gallery. The strangers were 
 departing. I then heard the-crushing sound of 
 wheels U[)on the gravel ; this soon died away 
 also, and ihen all was silence both without and 
 within the house. I flung open a window — it 
 was not that beneath which the letter lay — and 
 
 the sweet, soft air of the early morning came 
 u|)on me like incense. All upon which I looked 
 was glowing with freshness and beauty. The 
 lake-npple dancted with its silver feet joyously 
 in the sunshine, to the music of the fresh 
 breeze that bore it company ; the flowers bad 
 all opened their cups, and the bees and butter- 
 flies were sipping their morning-draughts from 
 the jeweled chalices; while the birds, heaven's 
 own chosen choir, were singing their matins in 
 notes which seemed to invite all nature to join 
 in their hallelujahs. A change had come over 
 the whole earth, yet I shrank from it no longer. 
 I was still in tears — still sorrowing — but a sun 
 had risen in my heart, which had wrought its 
 own change also. 
 
 And still the letter lay where I had cast i\ 
 down. 
 
 I do not remember the course of my thoughts 
 during the hours that I sat, silent and motion 
 less, beside that open window. I believe that 
 at intervals I could not strictly be said to 
 think at all. My brain whirled Iroin over-exer- 
 tion, and induced that physical apathy which 
 makes us shrink from further efl'orts ; and in this 
 way, also, do I account for the length of time 
 which I suffered to elapse before I determined 
 on the perusal of Devereux's letter. I knew 
 that it lay near me ; that I could possess my 
 self of it in an instant ; and I was satisfied witl 
 this conviStion. He had not forgotten me; 
 that was enough for the present moment. Like 
 the crater of a volcano, which trembles for a 
 time after the violence of the explosion is past, 
 so did I suffer from llie shock of the blow I had 
 experienced, and helplessly yield myself up to 
 its latent effects. Yet, despite the intensity ol 
 my first anguish, a feeling of calm had stolen 
 over m«, which had soothed me into quietude; 
 and, lor awhile, this alone was almost hapjii- 
 ness. There was no jarring mfluence either 
 within or about me. I was dreaming a waking 
 dream, in which, occasionally, I was so men- 
 tally annihilated that I was unconscious even oi 
 my own existence. 
 
 But this state of things could not last for- 
 ever. The new day brings its claims and its 
 duties to all classes of society. I was recalled 
 to myself by passing footsteps and answering 
 voices. Wiih some difhculty I overcame my 
 reluctance to terminate my solitude, and to re- 
 turn, as it appeared at the moment, uilo likv; 
 bnt I knew that I had no alternative ; so, gath- 
 ering up the long-neglegted letter, I locked it 
 away carefully in my desk, without hazarding 
 one glance at its contents,, and rang lor Jo- 
 sephine. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 It was not until I began to exert injself, and 
 had gone tbrougli the weariness of another toi- 
 let, that 1 discovered the extent of my fatigue. 
 As I glanced into the dressing-glass, 1 scarcely 
 knew myself; my eyes were (lull ami heavy, 
 my cheeks and lips oolorle.-^s, and iny whole 
 countenance swollen and olisfigurcd "And 
 tills is then the work of grief," 1 murmured in 
 myself; " this is all the opposition which youin 
 and beauty can ofl'er to the sorrows and triitla 
 of the world." My vanity was humbled by tba 
 conviction. I had never understood, uuiii 
 
CONFKSSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 became myself the proof, thai a few tmurs could 
 have wrought such havoc in early life. 
 
 I swallowed, wiih consideral)lf! efTort, a few 
 spoonfuU of chocolaie ; dismissed Josephine as 
 hastily as jjossible ; and resolved at once to 
 examine ihe letter of Devereiix, which would, 
 in all prohahiliiy — ihiis did I argue as an apolo- 
 gy to myself (or giving to it the precedence of 
 nearer and higher dunes — enable me to endure 
 with more composure the trials of the day. 
 
 Hurriedly 1 drew it from its concealment. I 
 lelt like a guilty thing, and moved away from 
 the window, as though to prevent the very sun- 
 shine fr(.::'. penetrating my secret. .My breath 
 came ihici;, my hands trembled, and the nxmi 
 and all the objects which it contained appeared 
 to revolve about me. Neverlhekss, I persisted ; 
 and as I read I became less agitated. These 
 were the contents of the letter : — 
 
 My OWN EvELEE.N I 
 
 '• Yea, so I w ill call you until your own lips 
 forbid It — I address you in an awful and melan- 
 choly moment. I have just learnt your fatal 
 loss. In another hour I shall have left town 
 for Rooksiey. Do not misjudge me for urging 
 my own interests in the very midst of your 
 first great sorrow : it is because I trust to miti- 
 gate your grief by my assurances of sympathy 
 and teuik rness thai I feel urged to do so. I 
 am aware that in losing your admirable father 
 you have also lost your b(-st and surest hope for 
 the future. I know that the rule of your mother 
 will be one ol cold-beariedness and caprice. It 
 is, therefure, at this hour that you need a friend. 
 I shall trust to tiie Ibrtune which generally 
 favors those who love, for the opportunity of 
 seeing, or, at least, of hearing from you. I 
 dread everything from the vml-nco of your 
 grief: but lemember, you once assured me that 
 you loved me ; you received my .vows in re- 
 turn ; you are consequently mine — my own — 
 and you must leain to be comforted for my 
 sake. Hitiierio I have been passive, because I 
 felt that lime must do much for us, and I was 
 anxious not to mar its beneticial etfects by any 
 premature imprudence ; now, however, I hold 
 myself bound by mir comuKm allection to be 
 near you, even aliiiough I may not be enabled 
 to see you benfaih your paternal roof; for, 
 cruel as this de|<iivation will necessarily prove 
 to both of us, it IS one to which I feel, my Eve- 
 Icen, that we musi be resigned. VV^e are not 
 yet at an age when- we can emancipate our- 
 selves fiom autboniy ; but I have been too long 
 an utter stranger to all your movemenls. Your 
 name has been studiously avoided both by your 
 nioiher and my own. There can he no doubt 
 that, at the termination of her nu)urnmg, Lady 
 Madelaine will introduce you inio the world : 
 you are young, beautiful, and aitrai^tive ; and 
 I tremble when I remember how hide we yet 
 know of each other; when I rellect upon the 
 homage and adulation by which you will be im- 
 niediaiely surrounded. It is true, that I have 
 already mixed with that same world, and (hat 
 1 have I'ouiid nottiing there which could for a 
 momeni divert my heart from you ; but bow 
 can I be mad enough to hope that such would 
 be yowr case ? Sutler me, ihen, 1 implore yon, 
 by any means which we can mutually adopt, to 
 Secure a deeper and a more tender interest in 
 
 your afTeciions. Let me be at once a Lrothet 
 and a lover. , 
 
 •• I am interrupted. Adieu — till I reau) 
 
 Rooksiey. When 1 have ascertained liow J 
 can best communicate with you, I will add a 
 postscript. Till then — good angels guard you! 
 " Herbert Deveeelx. 
 
 " P. S. I am here, my own Eveleen ; here, 
 at the liUle inn near the park gate — how happy, I 
 need not add, when 1 tell ynu that I have seen 
 you. I could not have sought a fairei vision 
 for my dreams ! I have seen you, Eveleen, 
 standing near a window, arranging flowers in a 
 porcelain vase, and ihiis have I discovt red your 
 apartment. So far, destiny has been propitious 
 to me ! I have prowled like a poacher through, 
 the Rooksiey woods since daylight. I am now 
 ahoiii to make a cold, senseless stone my en- 
 vied messenger. My only terror is lest I should 
 alarm you by the rude method which lam com- 
 pelled to adopt to insure the safe and secret 
 receipt of my letter — lest I should scare you 
 from your soft rest, and awaken you from some 
 sleeping vision in which, perchance, my image 
 may have found a place. But, no; your dreams, 
 my poor Eveleen, your rest is too precious to 
 me ; and both will be so soon and sadly cloud- 
 ed, that I will forbear until I feel convinced that 
 you have left your chamber. I find that they 
 are still ignorant in the village of the fatal 
 event which has occurred, and ccmsequenlly 
 the tidings cannot yet have reached Rooksiey. 
 Sleep on, then, my stricken love, sleep on in 
 peace, while such slumber may still be yours. 
 In a few hours you may welcome me as a com 
 forler. H. D." 
 
 "I do— I do!" I exclaimed, mentally, as I 
 pressed ttie paper to my lips and bosom ; "gen- 
 erous, confiding Devereux ! you have, indeed, 
 spokt n peace, where all was wretchedness and 
 dread." I was for a moment steeped in hap- 
 piness ; my tears were stayed, or, if they con- 
 tinued to fall, it was from a feeling which ren- 
 dered me unconscious of the fact. A rainbow 
 had burst through the storm-clouds by which I 
 had been so lately enveiopt'd. I might not see 
 him ; but all my doubis, all my misgivings, were 
 now over — Devereux still loved me ! Nor need 
 the reader wonder at my temporary exaltation. 
 I have already shown how fondly, yet how fear- 
 i fully, 1 had long accustomed myself lo dwell upcn 
 j his image ; nor will any one, who knows aught 
 ] of human nature, doubt how much my boy- 
 I lover had gained by these retrospective rev- 
 i eries. 
 
 j My first burst of gratified vanity and satisfied 
 affection over, however, darkness once more 
 I gathered about luy spirit. My sorrows were 
 j not removed, although they were mitigated, by 
 I this selfish joy. Alas I they admitted of no 
 present remedy. I closed the letter slowly and 
 sadly, for I felt that I could have dwelt upon it 
 for hours ; I replaced it in my desk, and was in 
 the act of turning the key which was to con- 
 ceal my treasure from all eyes save my own, 
 when Ihe door of my apartment softly openud, 
 and .Adela stood belore me. I felt the blood 
 leap lo my brow. One instant sooner, and my 
 secret might have been discovered ! It was 
 evident that she mistook the cause of my eiiio- 
 liun : fur, stopping abruptly in the centre of lh« 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 87 
 
 floor, she said hastily, as a sli^jht tlush rose to 
 her own olieeU : 
 
 "Forgive me, Eveleen, not only that I have 
 intruded upon you unsought, but also lor the 
 uni-ereniouious manner in which I entert^d. I 
 forbore to make any noise, in the hope that you 
 were endeavormg to obtain a little rest; and 1 
 ventured liere to ascertain if it indeed were so, 
 having learnt from Josephine that you had 
 watched all night." 
 
 " I thank you, Adela," I said in surprise, as I 
 extended my hand ; " I have sought sleep in 
 v.iin. Th.e evil has come tpo suddenly — I had 
 so much In regret — so much to repent." 
 
 "We hive, indeed, learnt oui dark lesson 
 early," replied my sister, with a &igh ; "should 
 life continue to seem to me what both the pres- 
 ent and the past have liitherto made it, regret 
 and rep> ntance must, I should think, be the 
 inseparable companions to which we are all 
 fated." 
 
 " Yet the world looks upon us both as objects 
 of envy, Adela," I said bitterly. 
 
 "Upon us? — say, rather, upon yourself, Eve- 
 leen. Young, beautiful, rich, idolized — well 
 might you inspire tlie feeling. But of me the 
 world knows nothing, and recks less; tlie ban- 
 ished daughter, the outcast alien, the discarded 
 exile, the helpless girl, who for years— and 
 tliose the years when all the purest affections 
 are ready to gush forth on all around, and the 
 awakening intellect takes -note of every depri- 
 vation, both of heart and spirit — was banished 
 and forgotten, or else, I say, that world of 
 which you speak, would perchance have turned 
 an eye less misjudging upon tne." 
 
 I was startled, almost affrighted, by -the deep 
 and concentrated passion with which this young 
 girl, not yet fifteen years of age, gave utterance, 
 in these burning words, to the indignation of 
 her soul. In themselves they were. calculated 
 only to excite sjn^pathy, and to awaken ten- 
 derness and pity ; but the expression of her 
 flashing eye, the withering bjilerness of her 
 quivering li^, the haughty defiance which ap- 
 peared to dilate Iter whole form, were beyond 
 all written description. Tullia must have worn 
 such a look when she drove her chariot-wheels 
 over the dead body of her father. My sistercould 
 never again be to me the silent and su|)ine be- 
 ing to whom I had become accustomed, a'ld 
 whom I had despised in the haughty indepen- 
 dence of my own nature. I felt awed by the 
 excess of an einotion of which I had never be- 
 lieved her capable, and before which I involun- 
 tarily recoiled. I was at once conscious that, 
 in my hasty judgment of her character, I had 
 made a dangerous mi.stake. I now saw that 
 she did not, like myself, fritter away her [lowers 
 of mind and body, or betray the inward work- 
 ings of her spirit, upon every petty provocation ; 
 but tJiat she had already learned the secret of 
 burying her thoughts too deeply to expose them 
 lo the scrutiny of every idle observer. 
 
 We were more estranged in heart from th:it 
 •moment than ever. 1 fell that my sister was 
 an enemy to be feared ; and a strange, shape- 
 less, phantom-like conviction came suddenly 
 upon me that she was destined to be my enemy. 
 Nevertheless, I apfiroached her; I even (>x- 
 tended my hand, but she affected not to per- 
 ceive it. 
 
 " 1 pray you, Adela, do not yield Id fcrhngs 
 so pnmlul at such a moment as Una," I said 
 Willi ilitiiculty. 
 
 "I thank you for the counsel," she leplifil 
 coldly and placidly, already restored to per'ect 
 calm ; " the error was involuntary — I blusL lo 
 have discovered so much weakness. The strick- 
 en deer should hide itself to weep, not call the 
 hunters round it." 
 
 " Nay, speak less bitterly, Adela," I rejoined ; 
 " you know not how grateful I should be for 
 your conhdence at another moment." 
 
 " I have no secrets to confide. I have just 
 laid bare my whole history before you ; not that 
 this communication was necessary, but sim- 
 ply that you might not again confuse my past 
 career and your own in your memory. Enough, 
 however, of myself; as you have just reminded 
 me — this is not the moment." 
 
 " Do not believe that I intended to imply a 
 rebuke by the remark." 
 
 " I had no such suspicion. It vvas right that 
 you, who had just spent so many hours in one 
 deep, unbroken chain of agonizing grief-— in one 
 long Hood of ceaseless and inconsolable tears, 
 without indulging in a single thought of self, 
 should shrink with almost loathing from any 
 less demonstrative exhibition of filial regret." 
 
 Adela had stabbed me to the quick. My head 
 sank upon my breast ; I was crushed. And 
 she stood there before me, calm, and cold, and 
 placid, as though no storm of passion had ever 
 swept across her brow, and that she was an 
 alien from all the frailties and weaknesses of 
 humanity. After a moment's pause, my awa- 
 kening pride lent me words. 
 
 " You are mistaken, Adela," I said steadily ; 
 " mine was no such devoted vigil. That 1 
 wept and sorrowed for my dead father is in- 
 deed true ; wept, as the repentant and the 
 bereaved alone can weep — wept, as perchance I 
 never may again in this world. But there were 
 many, many intervals when I sorrowed alone 
 for myself — for you." 
 
 " The last was needless," interposed my 
 listener with a bitter smile ; " tears are not so 
 strange to my eyelids that another should shed 
 them for me; nor am I, even young as I am, 
 so unacquainted with sorrow as to be unable to 
 bear my own burden." 
 
 "Do you refuse my sympathy 1" 
 
 " I do. It comes too late. I have mastered 
 the lesson of self-dependence. I ask symnathy 
 Iroin no one." 
 
 " Yet, from an only sister — " 
 
 " Rather say, only a sister — from a friend I 
 might perchance be brought to endure it." 
 
 " Why should we not be friends !" 
 
 " Have you ever believed it possible 1 I could 
 give you a hundred reasons to the contrary ; but 
 it were idle to do so when you can read them 
 in your own heart — in your own struggles to 
 atlecl the mere semblance of friendship lor ihc 
 forsaken daughter and the despised sister. Let 
 us abjure such mockery, Eveleen. I am con- 
 tent to await your affection, until, like toy pro- 
 totype Cinderella, I have fitted on the slijiper oi 
 high fortune. There is a moral in that litile 
 tale." 
 
 I was sick at heart. Overwhelmed by this 
 new and budden development of my sister's 
 character, ray thoughts once more turned back 
 
88 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETl'Y WOMAN. 
 
 to Devereux. He was the one star in my 
 horizon of darkness. I felt that without his 
 love and the consciousness of his proximity, I 
 should have fallen into a stale of apathy and 
 despair. In my own home I had now nothing 
 to hope. And was this to be the termination, 
 Ihi.s the cliuwx of rny brilliant girlhood 1 Again 
 the image of Devercux rose upon my mental 
 vision, and rebuked me for the thought. My 
 Bister had left the room as she ceased speaking, 
 nor did I make one effort to detain her. I was 
 glad to be for a time alone with my secret. At 
 that moment I felt no inclination to confide to 
 her the anxiety by which I was overwhelmed. 
 Perhap.s, had sjie evinced some evidence of sis- 
 terly sympathy and feeling, it might liave been 
 othervvise ; for noihmg so thoroughly opens the 
 heirt as sorrow ; but this was not to be, and we 
 parted even more coldly than we had met. 
 
 Solitude, nevertheless, brought me little com- 
 fort, for reflection had become painful, and she 
 had added to its bitterness. J wrung my hands 
 in despair. Consciuus as I was that I had 
 alrsady lived through a long life of emotion and 
 mental experience, I was painfully aware that 
 those about me still aflected to consider me as 
 a child, and I revolted at the injustice, I felt 
 degraded by the position in which I was placed. 
 The memory of Lady Madelaine could not have 
 been so utterly blunted but that she must have 
 thoroughly comprehended the nature and extent 
 of the mortification to which the companionship 
 of a Lady Flora GlenfiUan must naturally subject 
 me, as w'ell as that of an estranged and unloving 
 sister. In my father I might indeed have found 
 encouragement and support ; and, in a few short 
 days, he would be in his grave. Even in the 
 persevering atleciion of Devereux there was 
 bitterness ; for he did not dare to seek me 
 openly, as an avowed and permitted suitor, but 
 was condeumed to prowl surreptitiously about 
 the house which I inhabited, subject to constant 
 surprise and perpetual insult from my mother's 
 menials. 
 
 This last reflection brought with it another 
 which touched me nearly. He was still mis- 
 taken as to the identity of my apamnent ; and 
 might, by this error,-beled into a second impru- 
 dence sunilar to that by w-hich I had become 
 possessed of his letter. And how was this 
 danger to he avoided ? I could not condescend 
 to make a confidant of one of my own attend- 
 ants. I could not invite their suspicions or 
 their sarcasms by avowing my acquaintance 
 with his presence in the village; nor did the 
 whole course of my desultory reading furnish 
 me with any other alternative. I knew not 
 liow to proceed. 
 
 I had so long accustomed mysetf to indulge 
 my melancholy musings in tiie study of my 
 father, that rather from instinct than reason, at 
 this period ol my reverie, I rose Imm my seat, 
 and, drawing the key from my pocket, bent my 
 way slowly thither, utterly thoughtless or re- 
 gardless of the change which had been wrought 
 in its appeal ancfc since I last left it. Great was 
 indeed that change. The walls, the floors, the 
 windows, all wore one solemn livery. There 
 was a mockery of magnificence throughout the 
 elaborate arrangement of the whole apartment. 
 'I'lie g.irl) and truppuifis of death had been dis 
 
 entered, and closed tlie door behind me. The 
 draperies of dull and heavy velvet, with theij 
 lasseled cords, shut out tlie beams of the mid 
 day sun, and left within a diin, ghastly twilight 
 The care of a kindly hand had indeed replaced 
 the vase of flowers which 1 had left ovenhrown 
 and scattered, and it formed the only point ol- 
 life in the solemn picture, for the hooks and 
 mirrors were alike veiled from sight. 
 
 I felt as though I were an intruder; and I 
 threw myself down in agony upon a sofa draped 
 with a deeply-fringed pall, to weep afresh over 
 my t)ereavement. After a while I became op- 
 pressed by the weight of the atmosphere, and 
 flung open one of the windows, even suffering 
 the light and warmth from without to pass for a 
 inoment into the apartment. Tlie effect of the 
 change was cheering ; and I was about once 
 more with regret to let fall the drapery, when 
 my eye rested on the figure of a man stealthily 
 emerging from the nearest shrubbery. My heart 
 bounded as I watched hirn. He was tail and 
 slight, and dressed in deep mourning. Sudden 
 ly he raised his head, and glanced hurriedly over 
 the house. I could not' be mistaken. It was 
 Devereux ! 
 
 In extreme agitation I withdrew from the 
 window ; and, in another instant, I heard his 
 step beneath it. The black curtains had evi- 
 dently startled him into doubt, for during seve- 
 ral seconds no restilt fidlowed. He was appa- 
 rently communing with himself. At the etid oi 
 that period, however, a similar missive to that 
 which he had first employed struck against the 
 curtain, and then fell heavily to the floor. Then, 
 and then only, I ventured for one moment to 
 'the window, and looked down up<in him. As 
 he saw me, he stood for an instant motionless, 
 and was about to speak, when, motioning him 
 to silence, I pointed to the funereal draperies, 
 and shaking my head, indicated by my out- 
 stretched linger, as I leant for a brief minute 
 from the casement, the window of my own 
 apartment. That done, I drew back hurriedly ; 
 and, letting fall the curtain, listened from behind 
 it to his light and hasty steps as he departed ; 
 and then, snatching up the new letter of which 
 he had been the bearer, I hurried tremblingly to 
 my own room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 The deed was done. I had now sanctioned 
 his intrusion ; had permitted his clandestine 
 correspondence; and had virtually acknowl- 
 edged his claim ; yet I felt noreii.oise. What» 
 I mentally asked himself, could ilieie be biam- 
 able in my case, in such a concession] He 
 alone remained on earth to love me. Was it 
 not natural that I should cling to his aflljciion 1 
 I did not allow myself the hesitation of a mo- 
 ment. With eager hands I tore away the 
 covering of the letter; and, having pressed it 
 to my lips, read it throughout with all the eager- 
 ness of strong emotion. It w'as replete with 
 tenderness ; and my heart beat joyfully as I 
 ascertained that, fearful of discovery for my 
 sake, he had resolved never again to repeat the 
 dangerous experiment of approaching the house, 
 and had accordingly sought and discovered a 
 place of concealment for his letters in the hol-> 
 
 iiy , and my 
 
 ickcned as I I low trunk of a willow overhanging; 
 
 lake. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 which he indicated with a care that rendered 
 mistake on my part iiDpossible, and where he 
 besought me to deposit my repUes. 
 
 At a happier moment the romance of such 
 an arrangement would have enchanted me ; 
 and even in that hour of sorrow ahd perplexity, 
 I derived consohition from the promise whicii 
 it held out of a lengthened communion. I 
 wiped away my tears, pressed back the hair 
 that had fallen over my face, and resolved, as- 
 sisted by this new and momentdiy energy, to 
 I brave the meeting with Lady Flora from which 
 IJiad hitherto shrunk. I was evidently unex- 
 pected in the drawing-room. Adela was drown- 
 ed in tears, and appeared to have resigned her- 
 self to a paroxysm of silent grief; while Lady 
 Flora sat behind her tapestry frame, on which 
 a white handkerchief was ceremoniously dis- 
 played, "deep in the mysteries of her laborious 
 idleness. 
 
 ; My stay in the apartment was cold and 
 
 I brief. I listened, with all the patience I could 
 command, to the maudling and lip-deep con- 
 dolements which were poured forth before me ; 
 but for the speculations which had grown out 
 of the recent bereavement, I had no ear ; and 
 I accordingly broke in upon them by a stately 
 courtesy, and escaped from the room. 1 had 
 not yet cast off my shawl, so, folding it closely 
 round me, I passed through the conservatory, 
 and soon found myself beside the willow of the 
 lake. I sat down beneath its pendent branches. 
 I felt as though I had there found a new home 
 and a new luipe. All was bright and beautiful 
 about me; I was young. I believed myself to 
 be beloved. I tried to remember that every 
 sorrow, however deep and heartfelt, must have 
 its term ; and to feel that I alone should not 
 be excluded from this, the great and blessed 
 privilege of time. No philosophy can be more 
 welcome or more easy to a sanguine spirit than 
 Ihis^how then could I fail to be comforted by 
 such a train of thought^ I did not. I was still 
 sad, still remorseful, but I no longer despaired. 
 I ceased to feel terror as the image of my 
 mother rose up before me — the tears which I 
 continued to give to the memory of my father 
 lost their bitterness ; I no longer suffered my- 
 self to be troubled by visions of the hatred of 
 Lady Flora and my sister ; in one word, I was 
 reconciled to myself; I was no longer an out- 
 cast and an alien from every heart. — Deveieux 
 had burst through the dark spell ; and — I was 
 beloved ! 
 
 When I rose to return to the house, I was a 
 new being — my hope and energy were alike 
 enewed. I hastened to replace the faded 
 flowers in my father's apartment, and then 
 closed the window which 1 had opened some 
 hours previously. But I did not linger in the 
 room ; its solemn gloom appalled me ; I 
 wan»3d light and air. I wjinted action and 
 physical exertion ; and the latter I could not 
 find in the solitude of my own apartment. I 
 had, consequently, only one miserable resource, 
 and, faiile de imeux, 1 sought it at the dinner- 
 table, over which, with her white handkerchief 
 still ostentatiously displayed, Lady Flora pre- 
 ■ided. Tiie meal was gloomy enough ; ihe 
 very servants moved mechanically about like 
 automata, while an almost unbroken silence 
 prevailed among ourselves. 
 M 
 
 The same cold and decent countenance was 
 maintained throughout the wnole period which 
 elapsed until the day of the funeral. Had an 
 unsuspected spectator seen us, as we sal hour 
 after hour with our work or our books, we 
 should have inevitably been cited as models ol 
 duty and propriety; but what was the fact 1 
 Lady Flora was rejoicing in her heart of hearts, 
 as her needle passed slowly and monotonously 
 through the eternal canvas upon which she 
 was employed, at her unlooked-for emancipation 
 from a dreaded thrall ; Adela preserved her 
 usual mask of sullen self-command ; or, if she 
 ever wept, she did so only when my eye was 
 not upon her ; while I myself, who but a few 
 days before had believed that my father's 
 death was to me the seal of wretchedness 
 which I must forever bear upon my brow, even 
 I found lime, at stated intervals, to visit the 
 border of the lake, and to receive or reply to 
 letters breathing only aflection and hope. 
 There existed, moreover, a feeling of repulsion 
 among our parly, as well understood by each 
 of us as though we had pift it frankly and 
 boldly into words ; and tluis neither felt an 
 inclination to dispel the silence, nor to lessen 
 the estrangement. 
 
 On the funeral morning, this social monotony 
 was painfully broken by the sight of the deep 
 mourning garments in which we were mutually 
 attired. The effect produced upon myself I 
 shall never forget. The dream-like feeling 
 which had hitherto possessed me was dispelled 
 at once ; and the full conviction of all that I 
 had lost forced itself glaringly upon me. ,It is 
 so difficult at first to comprehend the reality ot 
 death by your own side, at your own hearth, 
 invading your very circle, and gliding closely 
 by you as you wander beneatlv your paternal 
 roof. Seeing about you, on every hand, a 
 thousand trifling and apparently frail objects, 
 the property of the departed, it seems impos- 
 sible that SUCH toys, such very nothings, can 
 have survived their owner ; but the crape, the 
 bombazeen, the banded hair, and all the con- 
 ventionalities of the garb of grief, put to flight 
 at once the flattering delusion. You bear the 
 symbols of death upon you, and you can de- 
 ceive yourself no longer. 
 
 Three days afterward. Lady Madelaine ar 
 rived at Rooksley. She looked surpassingly 
 beautiful in her widow's dress, which was not 
 at that period the slight and elegantly-varied 
 costume which it has become in these days. 
 Her splendid hair was entirely hidden ; not a 
 glimpse of her swan-like throat was visible ; 
 and thus the triumph of her loveliness was com- 
 plete. She appeared conscious of the fact, and 
 was evidently pleased by the look of astonished 
 admiration with which 1 met her. I have al- 
 ready stated that she had never loved my 
 father, even in the first days of their marriage ; 
 nor did she now assume a demeanor of deep 
 grief, or affect any excess of sorrow. She was 
 calm, composed, and courteous ; although it,, 
 was easy to perceive that she shrank painfully 
 from the denuded aspect of eveiyihing about 
 her, and received the greeting of her half-sisteJ 
 with a thrill of disgust. She examined Adela 
 with more curiosity than interest; and there 
 was indifferenc^e as well as C(-I(iness in ih<» 
 solitary kiss which she imprinted on her fore 
 
90- 
 
 COXFESSIOXS OF .. PR1::TT\ WOMaN. 
 
 iii-a'J. Ch lling as it was. however, it evidently 
 suificc'd 1. 1 sairsf'y her daughter, who, after tills 
 brief welcome lo her maternal iiome, silently 
 and placidly resumed her seat. 
 
 To me her manner, although hetraying no 
 vestige of aireeiion, wus nevertheless more 
 cordial. Siic even smiled, as she scrutinized 
 my appearance; and then, throwing herself 
 back listlessly in her chair, she abandoned 
 herself to thought. No one presumed to in- 
 trude upon her reverie. With all her self- 
 command and mechanism of feelinsr, it was 
 impossible that she could remain unmoved at 
 the siglit of the once splendid and still noble 
 home which a fund and hopeful husband had 
 provided for her in the first blaze of her youth 
 and beauty. 
 
 At sucJ! a momoni, human nature will assert 
 itself even i.i the coldest hearts. It is true that 
 this home was still hers ; hut he who had so 
 proudly made her its mistress could welcome 
 her there no nioro. There might long have 
 ceased to be even the semblance of atiection 
 between tiicm,*but mutual admiration and 
 esteem must, have continued to the last. 
 Moreover, the force of habit is pov/erful with 
 us all ; more powerful than we are willing to 
 believe until we are compelled to test its truth. 
 I felt glad to see that my mother was not aUo- 
 gelher lieyond its influence ; and to me that 
 deep, and silent, and motionless reverie ap- 
 peared almost holy. 
 
 On the morrow, I was suddenly summoned 
 to her dre.ssing-room, just as I had returned 
 from a hurried visit lo the lake, and was en- 
 gaged in reading a letter from Deverciix, in 
 which he informed me that, having learnt the 
 arrival of Lidy .Madelame, he could no longer 
 risk remaining in the village, conscious as he 
 was that the discovery of his presence there 
 would ineviiably ruin our hopes. He said 
 much also to console me for his temporary 
 absence, for which he had before prepared me'; 
 and, filially, entreated me to believe that no 
 change either of time or place could for one 
 moment operate upon his affection. I had 
 shed many and bitter tears over this letter, 
 which terminated witii an entreaty that 1 
 would depo.>it my reply in the course of the 
 day at the accustomed spot ; and give him an 
 assurance of my acquiescence in his plans, and 
 my own ri'solution to bear with hope and pa- 
 tience the trials which might possibly await me 
 until we again met. 
 
 I was ill prepared to meet my mother at such 
 a moment; for, aware of the indignation with 
 which she would visit my clandestine corre- 
 spondence with a man whom she had driven 
 from her house, and treated with a conlempl 
 and contumely which he was never likely to 
 forgive; conscious, too, that some accident 
 might have lietrayed my secret, in which case 
 the wliole weight of her displeasure must 
 necessarily fall upon rnyself, at a moment when 
 I had no one near to mitigate its bitterness, or 
 to support me iintler its infliction, I had scarcely 
 pow-er lo obey her bidding, 'i'here was, how- 
 ever, no alternative ; so, hastily bathing my 
 eyes in cold water, and throwing ofl'my bonnet, 
 I prov^ei'ded with a slow and uncertain step to 
 her a|iaiimei!t. 
 
 '• Why do you approach me like a criminal, 
 
 ' Eveleen ?" she asked, hastily, as she extinded 
 her hand on my entrance ; " have you forgotten 
 that I am now your only parent, and that I 
 have a right to expect a frien.l in my daughter! 
 You are no longer a child : in another month 
 yon will be sixteen years of age;" and she 
 siijhed as she said it. " Draw a chair to my 
 side. It is now lime that we should under- 
 stand each other. I shall, in all probability, 
 pass some months here, and I can only look to 
 you for companionship. But first, tell me, have 
 you caused the orders which 1 sent down 
 through Dale to be obeyed ! I allude to the 
 rocm of — " 
 
 "All has been done precisely as you direct- 
 ed," I replied, considerably relieved to find that 
 the summons of Lady Madelaine bore no rela- 
 tion lo my treasured secret ; "and as you will, 
 perhaps, wish to visit it," I continued, drawing 
 the key from my pocket, "you will require 
 this." 
 
 My mother waved it back with her hand. 
 ■'As you assure me that all proper respect has 
 been pa:d to Mr. Tilden in the eyes of the es- 
 tablishment, I am satisfied with that assurance, 
 i ca;inot volunteer an additional and useless 
 trial of my nerves. But why is this key in your 
 possession 1 Have you closed the rooai-" 
 
 " I have," was my confused reply. 
 
 "And wherefore I" 
 
 " I entreat you to pardon me ii I have done 
 amiss," I said, tremblingly ; "but there is now 
 one inmate at Rooksley, whose cold and dicta- 
 torial comments 1 could not brook in this case, 
 aliliougli in all others I have submitted to them 
 with what patience I could assume, out of re- 
 spect for yourself" 
 
 " You allude to Lady Floral" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " She is, then, obnoxious to you"' 
 
 "Detestable !" 
 
 " A strong term for a lady's lips, .iliss Til- 
 den ; but I fear, from the brief experience of 
 last evening, too easily lo be excused. It is 
 strange how time sofien.s down the different 
 objects which make up the picture of the past! 
 I fancied that Lady Flora was, at least, endur- 
 able, and that, although not a person whom I 
 should be anxious to present in public, I might 
 with safety contemplate her companionsliip 
 during a perii>d of retirement. It would ap- 
 pear, however, that I have d-cceived myself, 
 and (hat, when 1 shuddcretl at th(.' memory ol 
 Miss Margery Macsplcuchan, 1 might have in- 
 cluded her niece in the emotion." 
 
 "Whatever cause of offence toward your- 
 self you had discovered in me previously to our 
 last parting," I said, somewhat haughtily, "your 
 ladyship was amjily revenged from the ir.oinent 
 that Lilly Flora GlenfiUaii became an inmate 
 of Rooksley." ' 
 
 " Poor Eveleen I" said my mother, with a 
 low mocking laugh, "ytni have, then, been pun- 
 ished b.iterly ! It is by no means to bt; de- 
 plored, hovvi;ver : you required a chetrk-rein, 
 and 1 hiid neither lime nor talent to apply \\ 
 But vvtiHt of your sister T' 
 
 " I know nothing of her." 
 
 "Your answer is singular! Have yon not 
 lived under the same roof for moiillis ! IIi/w, 
 then, can you make so ab.surd a reply !" 
 
 "Simply, because I speak the trufb ; ar.<J, 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 yi 
 
 joieovcr, I would decline to express even tlie 
 nCeie.iees wliicU I may liave formed of her 
 character." 
 
 " I can fuliy understand that she is both shy 
 and ignorant. I must get her oil" my hands as 
 I best can, wliieh, ihanivs to her fortune, I am 
 sure to do at last." 
 
 I felt tliat I smiled, for I had a tirm convic- 
 tion that Miss Adela Tiiden was not a person 
 to be '-^ut olf the hands" even of a Lady Ma- 
 delainc, should she not Jierseh'so wiU it. 
 
 " She is very plain and awkward," pursued 
 my mother, as she glanced at her own lovely 
 reflecimn in the cheval glass winch was placed 
 l/»'fore lier sofa ; " 1 know not who siie resem- 
 bles." 
 ♦' She has fine eyes." 
 
 "Indeed! Well, that is soniet.hing in her 
 favor : but she is gauche, and ill at ease." 
 " As regards the latter feeling I can say no- 
 
 1 thing ; but I must venture to differ from your 
 ladyship respectmg llie ^awcAcric. At your first 
 
 I meeting Adela may have been agitated, and, 
 
 I consequently, liave appeared to disadvantage ; 
 but, generally speaking, her great charm lies 
 in her uraceliilness." 
 
 " I wish that you may, in a year or two, be 
 able to persuade the men of all this, for you 
 seem to be quite engouee of Lady Flora's pupil ; 
 but I confess that I despair of effecting any 
 
 I such resuU. I see nothing in your sister bui 
 a plain, gawky, overgrown girl, shy in lier man- 
 ner and sullen in her deportment. I detest such 
 still life." 
 
 For the second time I could have laughed 
 outright, but I restrained the impulse ; fi)r, not 
 only was 1 too proud to prejudice Lady Made- 
 laine still more ayainst my hisler (had it been 
 possible), but also, however gr.icious she might 
 be at the nioment, my memory fell back upon 
 other scenes, which 1 had not yet either Ibr- 
 
 I gotten or forgiven ; and I resolved to let her 
 purchase her experience of xVdeJii's real nature 
 as I bad done. 1 therefore weighed every word 
 before I uliered it ; nor did 1 add to ih.e evident 
 disgust of my inoiher toward the wayward but 
 unforlunale girl by one syll.ible of comment 
 upon t!ic hatred which slie nourished to all who 
 now bore the name of Tilden. 
 
 As yet Lady Madelaine had been unable to 
 observe, the great cliange which had been 
 wrought in the domestic arrangements of the 
 estal)iishmenl, for slie had taken both her sup- 
 per of the previous evening and her morning 
 chocolate in her dressing-room. Great as was 
 tlie resistance made by ilie houseludd, they had 
 not ventured to dely the authority (d Lady Flora 
 Glenfillan altogether ; she had, moreover, pro- 
 filed by the period of conslernati()n and depres- 
 sion winch had elapsed since my father's death, 
 to enforce her auiliority more stringenily ih.in 
 before ; and ihe appointments, as well as the 
 supplies of the first repast at winch my mother 
 assisted en/ainilU, consequently filled her with 
 indignation and disgust. 
 
 " Is this a meditated insult, sirl" she asked, 
 as, after glancing over the table, she rose from 
 her seat and turned haughtily toward poor Boi- 
 tlemore, who was about to commence his du- 
 ties ; "did you imagine thai, in becoming a 
 widow, I a so became a pauper! Was it noi 
 enough that you have denuded, or enveloped 
 
 with paltry coverings and contrivances, every 
 room at llooksley ; but must 1, moreover, be 
 expected to preside at a repast to which 1 would 
 not condemn my own servants !" 
 
 " The orders of my Lady Flora have been 
 strictly olieyed, my lady," replied tlie butler, io 
 a tone which savored strongly of triumph ; 
 " her ladyship has been perenipiory on the sub- 
 ject of the bill of fare, and I could do no inof-e, 
 consistently with my respect for your ladyship's 
 sister, than remonstrate, which I have done in 
 vain." 
 
 " Enough, Mr. Bottlemore," said my mother, 
 as she turned with a stalely gesture to leave 
 the room. " I will retire to my own apartments 
 until M^s. Locksley has caused the saloon to be 
 made habitable, which you will instruct her to 
 do forthwith ; and let another dinner be served 
 two hours hence for which I shall not need to 
 blush before my own daughters." 
 
 Bottlemore bowed low, and held the door 
 open during a few seconds, in order tliat his 
 lady might pass ; but, as she suddenly paused 
 in the centre of the floor whm she ceased 
 speaking, after satisfying himself of the fact, 
 he silently wiilidrew, followed by his subordin- 
 ates. 
 
 "One word more bearing upon the same 
 disgraceful subject," pursued Lady Madelaine, 
 when the door was again closed : " 1 expect, 
 also, that those with whom I am to sit down 
 to table will appear as gentlewomen, and never 
 presume, in my house, to affect a cosUime suit- 
 ed only to the servants' offices, and that my 
 entrance-hall may not be degraded into a de- 
 pository lor filthy woolen garments, as it was 
 this morning when I passed through from the 
 grounds." 
 
 " Filthy woolen garments, my Lady Made- 
 laine!" almost shrieked the crestfailen Lady 
 Flora, while the red spot burnt upon her brow ; 
 "sure it's uncanny in your lather's child to ca' 
 it by sic' a name. Why, woman, yen's the 
 Glenfillan tartan !" 
 
 " I would advise you, in that case, to send it 
 home," said my mother, with coid and wither- 
 ing contempt ; " or, should you prefer to do so, 
 wear It home, unless you have also prv vided 
 yourself with a .Macspleuchan plaid, as a .wore 
 consistent covering." 
 
 The dragon was fairly silenced, for she felt 
 no inclination to sacrifice the luxuries of Rooks- 
 ley to a sarcasm, and five minutes afterward 
 we had all quitted the dining-room. Lady Flo- 
 ra's reign was over. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Onk only interruption broke in upon our her 
 mit-hke retirement, and that one was the appa- 
 rition of Lady O'Halloran, who was so coldly 
 received that she never repealed her visit. 
 The fastidiousness of my mother was so deep- 
 ly wounded by the ignorance and vulgarity of 
 her relative, that she could not brook an ap- 
 pearance in her society. This was not, how- 
 ever, the only cause of her di>courle.'>y to her 
 husband's friend. 1 had mentioned to her the 
 interest and kindness whiiti both Adela and 
 myself had experienced from Lady O Halloran, 
 and she had listened with coniplaceiu-y, if not 
 with utter. indiHerence ; but I had no s>ooner 
 
92 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 added that a letter from my father had induced 
 ii, than I saw a cloud gather upon her brow. 
 Mr. Tildeii had thwarted her wishes — nay, he 
 had even incited one who to her was compara- 
 tively a stranfjer to infringe her express com- 
 mands, and thenceforth she looked upon the 
 well-meaning and warm-hearted woman with a 
 feeling of distrust and avoidance. Au teste, 
 half the county families left their cards at the 
 lodges, but contented themselves with that 
 ceremonious demonstration ; Lady Madelaine 
 had never been more to them than the wife of 
 Mr. Tilden, and with his death terminated all 
 their interest in Rooksley. 
 
 Five lines will suifice to assure the reader 
 that my mother could not long endur^ such a 
 stale o? things as this ; and, accordingly, a very 
 few weeks had elapsed since her arrival iieforc 
 she began to exhibit weariness of her daugh- 
 ters, and of everything about her. She had 
 paraded the dull luxury of her mourning equi- 
 page and liveries through the county-town, al- 
 ready astir with the preparations for a new 
 election. She had exchanged visiting-tickets 
 with all her acquaintance ; she had, in short, 
 exhausted her own resources and those of the 
 neighborhood ; and she no longer knew how to 
 dispose of her existence. Her temper suffered 
 greatly under these circumstances ; and I began 
 to marvel how long I should be enabled to en- 
 dure its exactions, when one morning, unex- 
 pectedly lo all, s'AXg Lady Madelaine hersell", 
 Sir James Dornton was announced. No event 
 could have been more welcome, for we were 
 all literally wasting our lives in lethargy and 
 discomfort. Our party was not only ill-assorted, 
 but actually antipathetical ; and we lived on, in 
 the perfect consciousness that time only widen- 
 ed the moral breach between us. 
 
 My motlier's welcome to this new guest was 
 cordial, frank, and unaffected ; while she al- 
 luded to her expectation of seeing him with an 
 easy, unembarrassed manner which was an 
 earnest of the continued friendship that existed 
 between them ; it nevertheless struck me as 
 extraordinary, that Sir James did not meet her 
 calm and dignified courtesy in the same spirit. 
 He appeared restless, absent, and nervous ; nor 
 was his manner toward myself less peculiar. 
 When, after having exchanged a few sentences 
 with Lady Madelaine, he turned to greet me in 
 my turn, he glanced rapidly in my face, and 
 then dropped his eyes, still retaining the hand 
 which I had extended to him, lor a moment ; 
 after which he released it suddenly and ab- 
 ruptly, and having received, to my intense sur- 
 prise, the '• How are ye. Sir James 1" of Lady 
 Flora, and a quiet courtesy of recognition from 
 Adeld, he once more turned toward my moth- 
 er; and, seating himself by her side, they were 
 soon deeply engaged in conversation. Once or 
 twice Lady Madelaine, apparently compelled 
 thereto by the subject discussed, made some 
 distant allusion to her recent loss; but it met 
 with no res|K)nse from her companion, who 
 seemed studiously to avoid its mention. 
 
 At first I felt indignant with boUi parties for 
 their evident avoidance of so natural a topic ; 
 but after a time, wearied by a thousand useless 
 conjectures of the how and where Lady Flora 
 and my sister had previously met him, I became 
 interested in spite of myself by the dialogue 
 
 which they maintained. T heard a?n.n tne 
 names of persons who had once been known to 
 me ; and of a world with which I bad long pant- 
 ed to make my acquaintance. Sir James was 
 caustic and brilliant; and his quiet sarcasm, 
 biting though it was, lent a zest and a raciness 
 to all I'.e said. My mother was once more in 
 her proper element. She felt that she was to 
 her own eet as a lost pleiad of brilliancy and 
 fashion ; and that her return to the great world 
 would be hailed with gladness. Dornton was 
 most assiduous in strengthening this belief; 
 and, with a tact which spoke voUnm^s for his 
 savoir vivre, he contrived to speak far more of 
 herself than of any of those whom he i)assed 
 under review. Lady Flo^a, meanwhile, worked 
 on in silence, or occasionally addressed a few 
 words in an undertone to Adela ; who, since 
 the entrance of our new guest, had scarcely 
 raised her eyes from the floor. 
 
 Despite my own interest in the conversation, 
 I confess that I felt somewhat piqued at the 
 marked neglect which I experienced from this 
 prcux chevalier of fashion, who, two years be- 
 fore, had condescended to exert his powers for 
 my sole amusement ; and who now had neithei 
 wortl nor look for any one save my mother. 
 
 All the dignity of my sixteen years revolted 
 against this inconsistency : and the conscious- 
 ness of possessing both grace and beauty added 
 bitterness to the mortification. I never thought 
 him less attractive.-. I had, moreover, ample 
 time for all my reflections, for no change took 
 place throughout the evening, nor did eitiier 
 himself or Lady Madelaine move from their 
 seats, until he rose, announcing that he had 
 secured an apartment at the Tilden Arms in 
 the village ; and would, with her ladyship's per- 
 mission, join our breakfast-table in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 I was employed until I fell asleep that night, 
 in marveling at the acquaintanceship wliich ex- 
 isted between Sir James Dornton and my rela- 
 tives. Where they could have met batlicd all 
 my conjectures. That his name had never 
 been inenlioned by either of them was less sur- 
 prising, for we exchanged little conversation 
 and less confidence. Still, 1 felt that the cir- 
 cumstance vv-as in itself singular: and the habits 
 and haunts of Dornton considered, altogether 
 inexplicable. Then flashed across me new 
 matter of marvel. Since Lady Madelaine sav? 
 fit to receive male guests at Rooksley so early 
 in her widowhood, how chanced it that Lord 
 Olterford was not her first visitor ! 
 
 I knew nothing of the scene at the Putney 
 villa ; and I could not reconcile the present 
 with the past, otherwise than by presuming 
 that the extreme intimacy which had existed 
 between my tiiother and the latter rendered her 
 scrupulous in receiving him during her first pe- 
 riod of mourning. 
 
 Sir James remained at Rooksley four days, 
 on the last of which he was closeted with Lady 
 Madelaine for a considerable time. When they 
 rejoined the family, there was a faint (lush on 
 the cheek of my mother, and a bright light in 
 her eye, which gave her a look of umisual ani 
 mation ; while Sir James was comparativelj 
 silent and depressed. The evening passed 
 heavily enough, although Lady Madelaine ex- 
 erted herself most unvvonledly to enliven it 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 03 
 
 To me she was iiniisually gracious ; indeed, at 
 times almost afTectionate ; yet I fancied that 
 all her gaiety was assumed. It was, at all 
 events, very evident that sometiiing extraor- 
 dinary liad "taken place between the friends, 
 but what that something might be I was not 
 destined to discover; as, after tlie departure 
 of Sir James, she made no alhision whatever 
 to the circumstance, contenting herself with 
 quiet comments on his fashion and high-breed- 
 ing, and his great conversational powers. 
 
 Two months subsequently. Lady Madelaine 
 declared that her health and spirits were both 
 giving way under the dull monotony of Rooks- 
 ley, where no object of interest presented itself 
 to'div rt her mind from the painful memory of 
 the past, but where, on the contrary, every- 
 thing tended to remind her of her husband. 
 Neither, she asserted, could she longer brook 
 the society of Lady Flora ; and therefore, in 
 self-defence, she must make some other ar- 
 raMgement. 
 
 The day after this decision, she dispatched 
 a long letter to Lady Devereux. My heart beat 
 quick as I read the superscription. What had 
 I not both to hope and to fear, should she have 
 volunteered a visit to the motlier of Herbert ! 
 And then I asked -myself, would she go alone ! 
 would she forget, during how many long months 
 I had been subjected to the very companionship 
 from which she was herself about to escape ! 
 Was I still, at tbe age of sixteen, to be immured 
 in the solitude of Rooksley, far from tbe de- 
 lightful world which I was prepared to worship 1 
 Surely not — Lady iMadclaine could have r>o 
 such design ; and there could be no doubt that 
 I should bear her company. The image of my 
 young lover presided over all these speculations. 
 Under his moiiier's roof we could not fail to 
 meet ; and I felt satisfied that Lady Devereux, 
 when she saw me improved in beauty, and ad- 
 niired, as I never doubtecl that I must be, 
 would gladly welcome such a wife for her son. 
 Of my fortune I never thought, nor did I even 
 suspect that others would do so : I was like 
 the heroines of romance, to be loved for myself 
 alone. 
 
 I cradled myself so readily and so softly in 
 these pleasant fancies, that my disappointment 
 was indescribable when iny mother at last an- 
 noimced, after a lively correspondence with her 
 favorite friend, that on the morrow she should 
 leave Rooksley for a time, desiring that all the 
 necessary arrangements might be immediately 
 commenced. 
 
 "Does your ladyship go alone?" I inquired, 
 I imprudently. 
 
 I "Certainly not. Miss Tilden. I am not in 
 the habit oftraveiing without proper attendance 
 Dale, who ascompanied me from town, will 
 also attend me to Lady Devereux's. My ap- 
 pearance in Grosvenor Square, or at Putney, is, 
 of course, at this moment out of the question ; 
 and I shall consequently remain at her place in 
 retirement, until the first year of my mourning 
 has expired, unless I feel sufficient courage to 
 venture once to return here. At all events, 
 i you will be informed of my movements when 
 lit becomes necessary; and meanwhile, Eve- 
 ileen, Lhave to beg that you will be assiduous 
 ,in improving yourself in every way. You do 
 1 not do yourselljuslice ; and remember that you 
 
 cannot live all your life at Rooksley, nor is ii 
 possible that I should present any child of miin; 
 in the world, unless she is prepared to do me 
 credit. You expose yourself too much to the 
 sun and wind, and I have remarked that you 
 frequently take off your gloves, when there is 
 no perceptible necessity for your doing so. 
 These are plebeian haiiits, and must be con-, 
 quered. Do not let me have to repeat my cau- 
 tion." 
 
 This was the moral lesson with which my 
 mother took leave of me, at an age when the 
 imagination is stronger than the reason, and 
 the unoccupied fancy roves wildly through a 
 future which is only dimly guessed at. I was 
 to cultivate my beauty ; to sacrifice everything, 
 even my most innocent pleasure, that of enjoy- 
 ing nature in all her various moods and phases, 
 to tbe one great end of making a figure in that 
 world from which I was so coldly shut out, at 
 an age when, as I thoroughly believed, I was 
 the best able to appreciate its delights. My old 
 suspicion came back upon me with renewed 
 strength. Lady Madelaine was jealous of my 
 attractions! There was triumpb in the con- 
 viction, whatever annoyance there might be in 
 the result. Not one word of admonition had 
 she uttered to Adela. It was plain that she 
 considered que le jeu ne valatt pas la chandclle. 
 Only, indeed, upon one solitary occasion had 
 she appeared to take the sliglitest interest in her 
 younger daughter, and it was even {.hen exhib- 
 ited in a cold and business-like manner, which, 
 courageou-sly as she struggled to conceal the 
 feeling, evidently aroused all the harsher emo- 
 tions of iny sister. 
 
 "I suppose you are delighted with Rooks- 
 ley, Adela ; it must have appeared a charming 
 contrast from GlenfiUan. How do you amuse 
 yourself!" 
 
 " I read and work, madam." 
 
 " You are a good musician, of course V 
 
 "By no ineans." 
 
 "A cool answer truly, child ! How do you 
 expect to pass through the world without so 
 necessary an accomplishment V 
 
 Adela only replied by raising her head, with 
 one of her peculiar siniles — a smile which might 
 mean much or nothing. 
 
 " You draw, at least ]" 
 
 " Scarcely ; but sufficiently to occupy me 
 when I am driven to do so, as a resource 
 against idleness." 
 
 " Better and better," exclaimed Lady Made- , 
 laine in a tone of irritation ; " and do you sup- 
 pose that it was to produce such a result as 
 this that I permitted you to have a governess] 
 May I venture to inquire what the lady in ques- 
 tion did succeed in teaching you !" 
 
 "To read, and to think, madam," answered 
 Adela with a cold emphasis. 
 
 " The training of a Sunday-school girl !" ex- 
 claimed Lady Madelaine contempiUdUsly ; " I 
 am glad that at least we now perfectly under- 
 stand eacli other." 
 
 And thus ended this catechetical dialogue 
 My mother had unhesitatingly received the evi- 
 dence of Adela as conclusive, and gave herself 
 no trouble to test its truth. 
 
 My disappointment and mortification on find- 
 ing mysell Once more abdiuloned to ilie iimriot 
 ony of Rooksley, when I had argued mysel* 
 
94 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 into the liplipftliat Lady Madelaine would profit 
 by lier peculiar position lo accustom ine by de- 
 grees t<i the vvdrld, by that vie du chateau which 
 is in itsfir a miniaiiire of lashionahle life •■^ml 
 manners, weie so great thai I could not en- 
 dure them in silence. My \voman-di;a-niiy was 
 wounded; and, still worbe, my iieart wasw ting. 
 All my happy dreams had melted away. I was 
 like Apolld cast out of Olympus. Lady O'Hal- 
 loran, iinib.ihjy uninformed of my mother's de- 
 parture, had not made her appearance at Rooks- 
 ley ; I shrank from putting myself into the 
 power of Adeia; for, since our last interview 
 in my cliairdier, I had learnt to fear her. Such, 
 nevertheic.'is, was tinally my fate ; for I con- 
 liniji d .>ilciii so long, that my health gave way 
 under iIm; vi(dence '.>f my emotions. On the 
 second day of my non-api)earance in the draw- 
 ing room, I- received a cidd and ceremonious 
 request (Von my sister, through Josephine, that 
 I Would ailt V her to visit me. I had already 
 beeome so \% ^ary of myself and of my own 
 Ihoughts, that %ladly welcomed the proposal ; 
 and m five min u^s, my sister made her ap- 
 pearance ! She as.'umed no semblance of affec- 
 lion — she aflected no tone of sympathy. There 
 was, (m the contrary, an irritation and bitter- 
 ness alxiut her which it was difficult to brook. 
 
 "Something has disturbed you, Adela," I 
 said, in order to terminate the long and uncom- 
 fortable silence which succeedcv.' our tirst civil 
 greetings; " is it in my power to remove the 
 annoyance 1" 
 
 " Vou are wrong, Eveleen," was the reply ; 
 "and have not taken. time to reflect, that the 
 sameness of our existence here scarcely ad- 
 mits of any annoyance, to which it would not 
 be a weakness lo yield; while I cannot, like 
 yoirself, have any external anxiety to trouble 
 me." 
 
 "External anxiety!" I repeated in alarm. 
 
 "Even so. You have already lived in the 
 world. You were fourteen years of age when 
 you were deprived of l!ie pleasures of your 
 childhood. You were a genius and a beauty, 
 an enfant monslrc; atlractmg all eyes, and 
 trained to profit by your advantages. You can 
 scarcely have escaped bringing some regret 
 with you into retirement." 
 
 I looked at her in astonishment. Did she 
 fiUSj)i'ct my secret 1 or, could it be that this lit- 
 tle mountain recluse, this shy, unformed girl, 
 already knew more of human nature than my- 
 self! 
 
 " I was, at least, young enough to have es- 
 caped all serious homage, I should suppose,"' 
 I answt red. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Adela, doubtingl' ; "yet 
 at such an age all homage is consid sred seri- 
 ous. •' 
 
 I became more and more hcwil ered. 
 
 " Uo you speak from experie ce 1" I asked 
 sarcastically. 
 
 '• Draw your own concliisio s, after you have 
 reasonr.l the probabilities," was her quiet re- 
 ply ; "but I did not come here to talk of rny- 
 ftslf. 1 lodge merely by analogy." 
 
 " By auaio^-y !" 
 
 •' (k'rlainly. If books be no tutors, why 
 sSoiiM we waste our lives in studying their 
 p.igi's !" 
 
 •• \\m are right, Adela," I exclaimed abrupt- 
 
 ly ; " why should I rel'use to acknowledge thai 
 you are risrht ! I have — I did bring lo my re- 
 tirement a deep — a gnawing regret. It is true, 
 that the little I yet know of life 1 learnt uiidei 
 this same roof; but Uookslry is no longer what 
 it was. To me the transition was like lliai of 
 the disemimdicd soul passing from earth ta 
 Hades. Had it been a mere idle, girlish ca- 
 price, undiscovered and unreturned, my pride 
 would h:ive enabled me to concpier it at once, 
 for I should have scorned myself; but with me 
 it was — it is— far otherwise." 
 
 As I spoke I looked toward my sister for 
 sympathy, and I was astonished to perceive 
 that a burning blush had risen to her foreiiead. 
 She was silent, and, as it seemed to ine, un- 
 able to reply. I began to reconsider inv words, 
 but I could discover noihing in them to induce 
 this extraordinary demonstration. Adela was 
 a mere child when she tiist came to llooksley ; 
 Glenlillan was, I well knew, a hermitage as re- 
 garded the worlil ; for herself, therefore, it was 
 impossible tiiat she should blush. I knew not 
 what inference to draw. I became restless 
 and uneasy : and still she sat silently beside 
 my bed, buried in thought, with the blood crim- 
 soning her brow. 
 
 " You are ungrateful to repine, Eveleen," 
 she said at lpn<;ih abruptly, as though no jiause 
 had taken place in our conversation ; " for, if 
 you feel, not only that you have loved, hut tiiat 
 you have been iieloved in your turn, with you 
 happiness is a mere question of time; and Sir 
 James Dornton may well afford to wait for 
 a whde, wiien conscious of success at last." 
 
 My share in the dialogue seemed fated to bo 
 merely ejaciilaiory. 
 
 "Sir James Uornton !" I echoed vehement- 
 ly, as by a sudden movement I raised mysell 
 from my. recumbent position. 
 
 " Are you not to be his wifeV 
 
 " I would rather die ten thousand deaths !" 
 
 "And yet you joined in all the laiulatory 
 comments uttered by Lady Madelaine alter he 
 leil Rooksley." 
 
 "I did so with sincerity. He has truly tho 
 good qualities for which she gave him credit; 
 but I could never love him." 
 
 '• Do not assume too much. Habit and per- 
 severance may induce you to feel difrerenlly " 
 
 " Never !" 
 
 " And yet, he is handsome, fashionable, ami 
 attractive." 
 
 " It may he so — it is," I conceded, ovi i- 
 come by the subtile tactics of a mere giil, ami 
 resolved to pour out my whole heart belort 
 her ; " yet still I persist in my declaration, that 
 I could never love Sir James Dornton." 
 
 '■ But should the indomitable will of our 
 mother so order it V\ 
 
 " It would only lead to a vain struggle on her ' 
 part. I would concede nothing." 
 
 " Eveleen, you deceive yourself," said mv 
 sister eagerly ; " you do not possess the strength 
 of character for which you would fain give 
 yourself credit ; you have not the moral cour- 
 age to stand alone in such an unequal contest." 
 
 " I shall not stand alone," I answered proud- 
 ly- 
 
 " Then, indeed, ha^e I hopes of yon," saui 
 .Adela, with increased energy ; " for all is ea3.v 
 where jol' are convinced of being beloved 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 93 
 
 fcvery trinl that docs not touch the one you 
 love, is liglit, and may be borne bravely ; ex- 
 ternal griefs cease to terrify and sulidui', and 
 graze luit little the surface of a heart which is 
 filled by one image, while they have no power 
 to pierce it." 
 
 " How know you this 1" I inquired in my 
 surprise. 
 
 " I feel that it must he so. Such a fact re- 
 quires no leaching. Trust me, Eveleen, I am 
 conscious from my privation that it must be so." 
 
 " Adela, I shall never understand you." 
 
 " I believe it." 
 
 "Never did I expect such sentiments from 
 your lips. Y(tu, a mere girl, secluded from 
 your earliest years — without knowledge of the 
 world — without experience — " 
 
 "What do you understand by experience! 
 by knowledj^e of the world ] They may be 
 good safeguards, as I construe the words, 
 against deci'ption, dissimulation, and wrong ; 
 but the heart alone is needed in the subject 
 which we are now discussing ; and, cimse- 
 quenily, the heart which has been self-formed 
 in solitude will be more ca[)able of a deep and 
 lasting alleciion than that which has been fash- 
 ioned by the qualities to which you attach so 
 high a value. We shall, perhaps, in after-life, 
 ourselves alFord an illustration of what I ad- 
 vance." ' 
 
 "And how!" 
 
 "Simi)ly by the disparity of our tastes and 
 habits. You will love your husband, I di)ui)l 
 not ; but you will also love many other thiiig.s ; 
 pleasure, and dissipation, and the admiralion 
 of the world ; from all of which 1 should shrink 
 with loatliing, because they would lend to di- 
 vert my ihouglits Irom the one great object of 
 my devDiiiin." 
 
 " it is easy to see, my poor Adela," I said 
 with a smile of pity, "that your love is, so tar, 
 all theory. You would soon descend from your 
 pedestal, had you once tasted the delights of 
 all that yiMi now affect to desjjise ; or you 
 would become the most miserable woman upon 
 earth. With your whole soul wrapt up in one 
 object (i)ietiily as the phrase sounds), his ab- 
 sence would infallibly destroy you. Had you 
 suffered whdt I have already done, you would 
 ere now have ceased to exist." 
 
 " Nut if I were assured that I was really 
 loved — and this has brought us back to the 
 cominenceinent of our argument — I should then 
 i have strength to meet any trial." 
 I "Even the opposition of our mother!" 
 
 "Yes; fur I could wait until it was over- 
 come." 
 
 " All your life perhaps !" 
 
 " Scarcely, for I should know that there must 
 I come a period when the law would liberate me 
 from the llirall of Lady Madelaine ; for the 
 preoonl, I would say, until the proper time ar- 
 rives, my best text is — patience." 
 
 "Very prudent and proper," said I dis- 
 dainfully; "hut who shall protect you in the 
 meauv/hile from some other marriage of Lady 
 Mailelaiiie's own devising! While you are 
 exercising your minority in this new kind of 
 philo.s<)|)liy, ahe may compel you to become the 
 i Vi/ife ol a man whose very name you may con- 
 I Bider odious.' 
 I "Couijk;! me. did you say! You do indeed 
 
 not understand me. 1 am younger tuan yourself, 
 Eveleen, in years ; but my mind and heart were 
 educated amid the grand and wild scenes of 
 nature, amid an almost unbroken sulitiide, and 
 underunkindnessand neglect ; not in a drawing- 
 room, where every toy distracislhe ihougbts and 
 disturbs the fancy. Mine was a stem tutorage, 
 but it did its work. You have been the pupil 
 of the world, which has done its work also. 
 You have been warned to hide yourself from 
 both sun and wind — I have stood beneath a 
 shelf of rock, and braved the thunder-storm. 
 x\nddoyou think that when the whole happi- 
 ness of my life may be poised upon one point, 
 that I shall hesitate to secure it !. Believe me, 
 that there can be little moral energy, little 
 delicacy, and still less good sense, in throwing 
 yourself away, at the will of another— nor 
 is it honest to utter vows whicii are sure to be 
 broken by so weak and unstai)le a nature ; and 
 to pli'dge yourself to form the happiness of a 
 husband, when you are not even able to assure 
 your own." 
 
 I was at onCe bewildered and silent. Could 
 this indeed be Adela! I felt as if under the 
 
 lluence of magic. I remembered her usual 
 c(dd, abstracted indifference — I recalled her 
 bitter energy during our last tt!c-d-lcle — and I 
 could not reconcile the discrepancies of her 
 character. I was, however, painlully conscious 
 of her mental superiority. I felt the iiisullicicncy 
 of my eldership ; I was iriaslered i>y a stronger 
 spirit than my own. I could have wept with 
 mortification. I had talked bravely : but iliwas 
 because the sound of my own words lent me 
 .courage lor the moment : for I well knew that 
 cowardice was still at the bottom of my heart ; 
 I had never reduced my feelings to reason ; I 
 could not, as she did, make a priiici|)!e of my 
 conduct, and experience a sense of self-resinct 
 to sustain my actions ; when once my pride 
 failed, my strength was exhausted. 
 
 I was of a weak and yielding disposition, and 
 constantly required suj)port, and my si.bier had 
 now assumed an attitude which led me to svek 
 t at her hands. That she felt no atl'eclion for 
 me, she had been loo frank to conceal ; but I 
 treiiiblingly confessed to myself that if I coukl 
 
 cure her friendship, I should aave myself, in 
 all probability, from a dangerous enemy. Adela 
 already possessed aghmpse of my secret, and I 
 easily convinced myself that its safety (;ould i)e 
 hereafter secured only by an unlimited confi- 
 dence. Full of this feeling. I therefore gave free 
 course to my communication. J told her of 
 Devereux's first ap[)earance at Rooksley ; of t!i.(; 
 'rritalion of Lady Madelaine, wlio, after having 
 for a time made 'a jest of our growing inclina- 
 tion, ultimately saw fit to resent it with a ve- 
 hemence which led her to fori)id the entrance 
 ol tlu; house to the son of her own frii-nd ; and 
 then, but v/ith considerably less Ihuiicy, I ad- 
 milted the fact of our late correspondence ; and 
 avowed my firm faith in Devereux's altachmeii 
 and perseverance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVr. 
 
 r DERIVED no assistance from my auditf)r 
 throughout the nariafive, either in woid oi look. 
 She listened attentively, absorbedly. but she 
 uttered no comment, she made no gesture ol 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 surprise or interest : it was only when, with a 
 flushed brow and quickened breath, I had reach- 
 ed the termination ofiny story, that she spoke; 
 and n<it even then until, after the pause of a 
 moment, she had convinced herself that I had 
 indeed no more to tell. 
 
 " P ■ L'veleen !"' she exclaimed at last ; 
 
 "you have truly profited by an education based 
 on flattery, and perfected by novel-writers, to 
 have thus succeeded in weaving out a romance 
 for yourself amid the seclusion of Rooksley. I 
 cannot sufficiently admire your skill ! It was a 
 w^onderful achievement to contemplate at four- 
 teen. I3ut are you sure that Herbert Devereux 
 was, a:id is, the hero of this history T' 
 
 " What can you mean to imply, Adela ?" 
 " " Nofhiiig ; my words convey no implication. 
 I asked a plain and simple question ; and I 
 moreover request of you to answer it frankly 
 and truthfully." 
 
 " I have told you nollung but the truth." 
 " I am hound to believe your assertion ; and 
 the rather that such a confidence as you have 
 just made unasked would be a useless and idle 
 weakness on your part, if you still sought to 
 deceive me. Do you now ask my advice or 
 aiy assistance 1" 
 
 " I am ready to listen to your advice ; and 
 may, perhaps, ere long be under the necessity 
 of requesting your assistance ; but what I now 
 desire is simply your opinion." 
 " Upon what point 1" 
 
 " Up(m every one connected with the entan- 
 glement." 
 
 " Entanglement ! You do not then, yourself, 
 consider the afl'air as serious 1" 
 
 " You are mistaken. I am, on my side, per- 
 fectly serious ; nor have I any reason to believe 
 that Mr. Devereux is less so." 
 
 "We had better then, under those circum- 
 stances, call it an engagement." 
 " Call it what you please." 
 " Then my opinion is that, so far as it has 
 gone, it is remarkably romantic." 
 
 " But what think you," I asked with some 
 irritation, "of the inconsistency of our mother, 
 who, after having jestingly encouraged our mu- 
 tual likirg, should suddenly find in it a cause of 
 wrath and resentment 1" 
 
 - " I confess that an accusation of inconsisten- 
 cy, when brought against Lady Madelaine, 
 .somewhat startles me. I had not hitherto be- 
 . lieved that feminine failing to be one of her pe- 
 culiarities. I never made the experience my- 
 self, for, in my own case, her conduct has ever 
 been uniform in all resj)ects ; nor do I think 
 that, in this occurrence, she can rightly be ac- 
 cused of it. The miniature flirtation of two 
 comparative children amused her and diverted 
 her friends. Dancing dogs and quack doctors 
 are never, as you are well aware, admitted be- 
 yond the lodges of Rooksley ; and people of 
 taste and fashion must be provided with enter- 
 tainment of some description. But when it 
 became rpparent that the boy and girl consid- 
 ered themselves and each other as man and 
 woman — then, indeed, the affair assumed a 
 very dilTercnt aspect. Did you expect that 
 Laly Madei.iine Tilden had any ambition to be 
 a g.-3indmother before she* was five and thirty !" 
 I was stung to the very quick. This was 
 not the tone in which I had exjjected my sister 
 
 to reply to the confidence I had reposed Ui ^er. 
 I shrank before the ridicule which lurked in her 
 tone and words. 
 
 " I care not to speculate upon our mother's 
 feelings," I said pettishly : '» I wished to know 
 your opinion of my own position." 
 
 " I do not think that you need to distuib 
 yourself on that head," was the rejoinder ; 
 " after Mr. Devereux saw and admired you, he 
 probably transferred his gaze and his admira- 
 tion to the scarlet coat which succeeded you. 
 Notiiing could be more natural at his age." 
 
 " How then," I asked with offended dignity, 
 "do you account for his appearance here, and 
 the correspondence which ensued 1" 
 
 " A love of the new and the mysterious, per- 
 haps; or restlessness, and weariness of town, 
 for the season was just aliout to close." 
 
 " You think then that I am to be made a 
 dupe!" 
 
 " You must yourselfdecide that point. Your 
 fate is in your own hands in this case, at 
 least." 
 
 " But you believe that he never really loved 
 mel" 
 
 " I am merely inclined to imagine that, at 
 such an age, and under such circumstances, a 
 mutual inclination like yours would scarcely 
 admit a name." 
 
 " I am nevertheless convinced of his affec- 
 tion." 
 
 " In that conviction you cannot do better 
 than encourage a renewal of his intentions. 
 You must be sure of success now, wiien time 
 can only have increased your talent in winning 
 hearts." 
 
 The bitterness of this epigram made me fu- 
 rious ; but I was too proud to discover to my 
 sister the extent of her triumph ; and I remain- 
 ed perfectly silent, until she rose from her chair, 
 when, as she prepared to leave the room, she 
 said calmly : " End as it may, your secret is 
 safe with me, Eveleen ; and as 1 before said, 
 do not let it distress you. It is a marriage 
 that Lady Madelaine will never allow. She 
 has other and more ambitious 'views for you. 
 If I can be of service in the mean time, while 
 this love still struggles and exists, make use of 
 me ; you may depend upon my sincerity." And 
 before I could utter a word in reply, she was 
 gone. 
 
 How heartily did I then regret that I had 
 placed myself so thoroughly in her power ! Not 
 one expression of sympathy, not one sentence 
 of affection, had escaped her. I had forfeited 
 my independence. I had wilfully woven the 
 thrall about me : nor was Adela a likely person 
 to allow me to overlook the fact. From the day 
 on which this conversation took place, our rela- 
 tive position was altogether changed. I ceased 
 to contend. I adopted her ideas, coincided in her 
 opinions, and deferred to her tastes. She, on 
 her skle, tacitly accepted my concessions, and 
 no longer avoided my society ; talking to mo 
 continually, whenever we were tele-a lelc, of 
 Devereux ; and cleverly increasing, by appa- 
 rently unconscious comments, the extent of^the 
 regard which she cowstanlly affected to discour- 
 age. As I have, I belie.ve, said more ihan once 
 already, she was incomprehensible. Neverthe- 
 less, there was, from this very line of conduct, 
 a fascination in her companionship which I 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRE IT Y WOMAN. 
 
 tvas unable to resist. She novel spolio of 
 btrself. She had displayed no answering 
 trust in me. She seemed anxious to forget 
 her ()\vn identity. And thus, we tali<ed inces- 
 Banily upon the one engrossing suhject of Dev- 
 ereux's attachuieni. 
 
 •' Where is he now !" she asked one morning, 
 as we were strolling in the grounds. " In or- 
 'ccr to secure a prize for whjch all the world 
 are destined to contend, he should be no lag- 
 gard. He must be well aware that Lady Mad- 
 elaine is not at Rooksley ; he must have seen 
 her at his mother's. How is it then that he 
 does not profit by so favorable an opportunity 
 of renewing his suit '" 
 
 As she spoke we were approaching one of 
 Ihe lodges, which was just then under repair ; 
 but, as the early dinner-bell had rung, the work- 
 men were all absent ; and we consequently 
 continued our walk without hesitation. The 
 building was known as the wood-lodge, from 
 the circumstance of its standing on the edge of 
 an extensive plantation of ornamental timber, 
 and was, in itself, an extremely pretty object. 
 Adela iiad been silent more than a minute, but 
 I attempted no reply, for just at the instant my 
 eye cau-iht the figure of a tall man crouching 
 among the underwood. — He wore a blue gabar- 
 dine, a glazed hat with a wide border pulled 
 low upon liis forehead, and carried in his 
 hand a formidable bludgeon ; but what render- 
 ed his appearance more singular, and less 
 alarming tlian it would otherwise have been, 
 was the fact that at the precise moment in 
 whicli he caught my attention, he raised a tel- 
 escope ti) his eye, and appeared to be taking an 
 earnest view of the windows of the house. 
 As he dropt it, his gaze was riveted upon me, 
 and I saw him start with surprise and make a 
 step towards me ; when suddenly becoming 
 aware of the presence of a second person, he 
 stopped as abruptly as he had been about to ap- 
 proach. 
 
 A sudden tremor took possession of me. I 
 dared not believe that my suspicion was cor- 
 rect. I could only murmur out : " How like, 
 and yet it cannot be !" 
 
 '• What cannot be V asked my sister. 
 
 "That man — that peasant — do you see him, 
 Adela 1 Do my eyes cheat me, or is it really 
 Devereux I" 
 
 Taught by these words that my companion 
 knew all our secret, the intruder hesitated no 
 longer. 
 
 " Yes ; it is indeed Devereux," he answered, 
 springing towards me, while I stood transfixed 
 with terror and astonishment. " It is indeed 
 mjself. Have I not earned tlie right to make 
 this attempt by the weeks and months of 
 wretchedness that I have lately passed ! Does 
 it seem so strange to your heart, Eveleen, that 
 it refuses to welcome mel" 
 
 " You wrong me, Herbert." 
 
 "I must believe so; for I cannot afford to 
 fritter away one brief interval of happiness in 
 doubt. But why these tears? why this violent 
 emotion ! Compose yourself, I beseech of you, 
 and listen to me calmly, fur a few moments 
 must decide both my fate and your own. In 
 an hour I must be once more on my way to 
 town, where 1 shall only arrive in time to join 
 oiy regiment before it marches to Dublin. I 
 N 
 
 do not aak you to wri,.-* io n>e ; I (l.\re not. 
 The hazard of discovery would be tci. great, 
 and I am not selfish enough to invol .r you ia 
 unnecessary risk for my own gratifica:>i. Nor 
 will I write myself. A letter intercepted by 
 Lady Madelaine must inevitably expoiic you to 
 her resentment ; but I swear, by all that I most 
 revere on earth, never to become the husband 
 of any other woman than yourself. i'"ou have 
 already given me the same pledge, but it was 
 only in writing, Eveleen — I saw it, but I did 
 not hear it ; and it is to do this, to hear the 
 same vow uttered by your lips, that I am now 
 here. The sounds will dwell in my ear forever, 
 and be the solace of my absence. Surely you 
 will not refuse me this? Surely you will not 
 shrink at such a moment from the ratification 
 of your own generous and voluntary pledger' 
 .•\nd he looked earnestly and tenuerly intfl my 
 face, as he raised my hand with ardor toJiis 
 lips. 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " Have you not the courage to repeat your 
 promi.se!" he asked somewhat impatiently. 
 " Was the vow traced by your pen not intended 
 to be irrevocable! Have you hitherto been 
 merely spurting with a passion which you pro- 
 fessed to share 1 Eveleen, I will not beheve 
 you so unworthy !" 
 
 " I am helpless," I at length murmured ouf 
 as I evaded his fixed and searching gaze. 
 
 " Helpless !" echoed Devereux, indignantly 
 " show me the being, either of your sex or c 
 mine, who is not helpless, if unwilling to exc 
 that moral courage which makes its owi 
 strength and creates its own freedom ! Do no 
 be self-deceived, Eveleen ; do not. willully o 
 weakly close your eyes before you give me a 
 final answer, to the trials to which, as my 
 ailianced wife, you will undoubtedly be exposed 
 ere long. Do not conceal iVom yourself the 
 dilficuhies with which you will have to contend 
 in order to secure the inviolability of your 
 plighted word. I am too unselfish to inflict 
 upon you the necessity of either falsehood on 
 the one hand, or repentance on the other. If 
 there must be a victim, I am prepared lo be- 
 come the sacrifice — my own misery will be 
 enough, without the addition of yours." 
 
 I only wept. 
 
 " When my departure from tov/n has taken 
 place," pursued Herbert, " and your mother's 
 year of mourning has expired, she will, beyond 
 doubt, desire your society, and you will be 
 launched into the ocean of a London life, where 
 nothing will be left undone to seduce youi fan- 
 cy, and to intimidate your will. Lady Made- 
 lame will, probably, employ both menace and 
 authority ; she may even condemn you once 
 more, for a time, to the seclusion of Ilook-sley — 
 she may endeavor to pervert your truth by 
 flattering your vanity or your ambition. You 
 see how fully, how earnestly I have calculated 
 all these contingencies — nut coldly, Eveleen ; 
 of that you cannot suspect me, but with a burn- 
 ing brow and a throbbing pulse. — All ihig may — 
 must, I fear, be the consequence of your truth 
 to me — but surely, my own hwe, I can a' least 
 ofl"er you the recompense of your notjle sacri- 
 fice ! No care, no tenderness, no dcvdon shall 
 be spared when you are indeed my wife; mV 
 love shall make you forget even the price a 
 
ftfi 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 which it was purchased. My gratitude shall 
 1h! undying, like my affection. Your happiness 
 sliail be the one great effort and ambition of 
 my whole life. Speak — I have been frank and 
 honest, though it has cost me a bitter pang. T 
 liave done my duty ; and now my fate is in 
 your iiands. Vou know that you have been 
 the first and only vision of my soul. Speak — 
 and make me at once the happiest or the most 
 wretched of my sex !" 
 
 Again his eyes were fastened eagerly upon 
 me. I felt his arm about my waist : I was 
 faint and giddy. My cowardice was upon me. 
 I hail no longer a will nor a wish. I riveted 
 my gaze upon the earth. I gasped out I knew 
 not what of the pain which his want of confi- 
 dence had given me. He eagerly pressed me 
 to be frank ; to be just alike to him and to my- 
 self; and J felt inclined to promise all he asked, 
 but my fear was greater than my passion. 
 
 " Speak for nie, MissTildcu !" he exclaimed, 
 turning vehemently towards my sister; "if I 
 have, indeed, so soon and so utterly lost all my 
 influence over Eveleen, perhaps you, her friend, 
 her confidante, may still possess it. This 
 strange, cold indecision maddens me. I can- 
 not endure it much longer. Let me, at least, 
 Ivear through your medium what is to be the 
 reconipfnse of my deep and uncompromising 
 affection." 
 
 Adela, who had hitherto been standing a few 
 pac(!S apart, on hearing this appeal, moved to 
 my side, and was about to speak, when the 
 shrill voice of Lady Flora, evidently approach- 
 ing tiie lodge, was distinctly audible. I rushed 
 from the clasp of Devereux. " Fly !" I cried im- 
 petuously ;," I am lost if she discovers you — " 
 
 '•What have you to fear, Eveleen 1" ho 
 asked sadly, and almost reproachfully ; " none 
 here know me save yourself" 
 
 " Npvertheless I beseech you to be gone. 
 My agitation will betray me. — Farewell. Do 
 rwt doubt my afl'ection. The grave would be 
 more welcome to me than another engagement. 
 Calculate fi'aricssly upon my constancy — upon 
 my truth. I will be only yours — but fly — leave 
 liie — leave me, or I shall die upon the spot." 
 
 " Alas, Eveleen ; this weakness gives but 
 poor earnest of the future !" 
 
 " Devereux, I implore you to be gone, or you 
 will be my ruin." ' 
 
 "Farewell, then, since such is indeed your 
 will. All uncertainty is now over for me. I 
 am to be the sacrifice of a childish terror. 
 Heaven bless you, Eveleen ! You a're yet 
 young. You will soon love again. May he 
 who wins you cherish you as fondly as he 
 whom you discard !" 
 
 He was about to turn away, when Adela held 
 him back. 
 
 "It is too late," she said calmly; "you 
 have been seen, and your retreat at this mo- 
 ment would be even more suspicious than your 
 presence." 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" I gasped out, as I wrung my 
 hands in agony. "What is to be donel We 
 are both lost." 
 
 My sister smiled. "You need not feign in- 
 disposiiirtii, Eveleen ; you are safe, for you have 
 nf) part to play You, sir. will perhaps have 
 ihf kindness to assist me in su|>p(>rluig jtr. 
 Thb draiua will suffice for the audicnc" '' 
 
 Devereux had scarcely extended his arms le 
 sustain my trembling frame, and began to mur- 
 mur his reproachful tenderness into my ear. 
 when Adela called loudly upon Lady Flora to 
 hasten her approach with Bottlemore, who wa> 
 following close behind her. They had no soonei 
 joined the group than my sister turned with a 
 civil courtesy to Devereux, and, thanking bin. 
 for his timely aid, dismissed him. I gave one 
 last look in the direction which he had taken, 
 and saw him disappear behind the scaflfoiding 
 of the lodge. 
 
 Once assured that he was indeed gone, 
 ceased to struggle with the weakness which 
 had overcome me. I closed my eyes and 
 fainted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 When I recovered from my swoon, 1 found 
 myself stretched upon my bed, and Josephine 
 busily employed in laving my temples with 
 Hungary water. I looked anxiously for my 
 sister, but she was not beside me. 
 
 " Mademoiselle A.le.le s'est retiree ilepuis nn mrt- 
 menf," said my attendant, without suiyecting 
 me to the exertion of an inquiry. I was relieved 
 by her consideration, arid once more closing my 
 eyes, I fell into one of those dreamy reveries 
 which partake both of v»aking thought and .sleep- 
 ing uncertainty; where the soul and the fancy 
 appear to have disenthralled themselves in somo 
 degree from the weight of reality and life ; and 
 yet not to have altogether freed their wings 
 from the clogging soil of mortality. The scene 
 of the wood lodge passed circumstantially before 
 me. I verily believe that I heard in my heart 
 theechoof every sentence that had been sfioken, 
 as accurately as it was originally uttered ; yet, 
 nevertheless, I doubted \Vhether I dreamt, oi 
 merely obeyed the prompting of a tcnacinus 
 memory. I had, moreover, no sensation of re- 
 gret or of satisfaction : no emotion whatevei 
 was excited within me. A soothing and pl.icid 
 calm cradled me, as the mothers arm cradles 
 her slumbering babe. It Avas a strange — a!ino.-l 
 a supernatural species of enjoyment, an atiiio- 
 spiiere of etheiealism, on which I appeareil la 
 float without any volition of my own. It was a 
 state sweeter than sleep, because I was con 
 scious of existence ; more delicious than wak- 
 ing, because no painful feeling troubled my 
 visions. It was a twilight of the spirit, wliicli, 
 like that of nature, softened and toned down 
 every salient and rugged object, and invested 
 all about me in the sweet and vapory shadows 
 which lend a mysterious charm to all upon which 
 they rest. 
 
 But this intermedial state of being (if such 
 an expression may be permitted to me) could 
 not endure forever, arising as it undoubtedly, 
 did from the shock which had been given t( 
 my nerves, and the long and heavy faint from 
 which I was only slowly awakening. I became 
 gradually conscious of violent suffering in my 
 head. The pulses in my temples beat strong 
 and hard, and the pulsations of my ireart were 
 quick and painful. The vapors were pissinji 
 from my brain, and, as they rolled awiiy, tlib 
 sensation of mental as well as bodily uneasi-' 
 ness came back upon me. Again the ineetinj 
 of /he morning rose full upon my meiinjry, bu' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 09 
 
 now It brough bitterness, regret, and self-re- 
 proach along w -h it. I felt humbled in my own 
 eyes. 
 
 I was aware that I had acted weak!.- and 
 unworthily. How had I met Devereut? — 
 how had I parted from himi Like a peevish 
 child, incapable of acting from eitiier motive 
 or principle. What must he think of me • I, 
 who had unhesitatingly poured out on paper all 
 the romantic feelings of devotion and constancy 
 which his anxious attachment had exacted — 
 who had pledged myself to n)ake all tilings 
 vield to my love for him — who, in the security 
 of my chamber, had defied fate and authority 
 for ■ s sake with passionate veiiemence ; and 
 frr I whom he had thus acquired the right to 
 'C- -ect at least e.xertion and consistency^ I 
 ff udilered as my reason taught me that it could 
 '^■i only with contempt ! Once before had we 
 ^►»en separated under circumstances which 
 .iad crushed my pride into the dust, but that 
 had been through the agency oi another ; and 
 even had I shown weakness then, my age 
 would have excused it. It was too plain ; I had 
 no strength of character. Adela had read me 
 rightly. With ail my haughty and despotic 
 self-will in small things — with all my self-value 
 and presumption, I was utterly powerless at 
 every important crisis. Rushing recklessly upon 
 difficulties, I wanted energy to combat the 
 phantoms which, through my own imprudence, 
 I had evoked. 
 
 I fell crushed and miserable under the burthen 
 of my own reflections. I wanted help even to 
 think ; and I passed a wretched night, through- 
 out which I never closed my eyes, even for an 
 instant. I no longer understood my own posi- 
 tion. Had Devereux considered our separation 
 as a final one, or did he still look upon me as his 
 affianced wife 1 This was a question which I 
 was utterly unable to answer; nor could I com- 
 prehend how it might be solved,- for I remem- 
 bered that he had told me not to expect to hear 
 from him, and warned me to desist from attempt- 
 ing a correspondence by which we should prob- 
 ably both becoiiiproitiised. Thus every avenue 
 ol communication between us was closed, and 
 tliat at a moment when my peace of mind de- 
 pended upon an exact understanding of our 
 relative position toward each other. And upon 
 what could I cast the blame of this undignified 
 dilemma 1 Solely and utterly upon my own 
 weakness and want of self-government. In 
 short, view the matter as I might, the whole 
 evil had originated in myself. 
 
 I soon convinced my fears that Devereux"s 
 affection was irrecoverably lost to me, while 
 his claim ujion my honor remained in full force ; 
 and I need scarcely confe.'^s, that I believed my 
 love for him at that moment to be more power- 
 ful than ever. I pined for daylight. I iiad now 
 no hope, save in Adela. Yes — my spirit was 
 humbled even to this ! Once my thoughts 
 turned towards Lady O'Halloran ;' but I felt 
 relieved when I remembered that she had been 
 absent in town for several weeks; for how could 
 I have rallied my courage sufficiently to tell 
 her such a tale I No— .\dela was my only re- 
 source ; and to her I should be spared the mor- 
 tification of detailing the cause of my embar- 
 wssmont. 
 
 I anticipated from my sister an early visit in 
 
 my chamber on the morrow ; but when thai 
 morrow came, it broiighr only a civil inquiry 
 through her maid, to which I rejilied as briefly 
 as it had been made. Nevertheless, I contin- 
 ued anxiously awaiting her appearance for sev- 
 eral hours in vain : when, satisfied that she 
 purposely avoided me, I became more rest- 
 less and apprehensive than before, and could 
 endure this addition."! suspense no longer. 
 
 Summoning Josephine. I made a hasty toilet; 
 and, near its close, had the satisfaction of see- 
 ing Adela in the grounds, making her way 
 towards the wood which belted one side o', 
 the home-park. I threw on my bonnet and 
 shawl in an instant, and started in pursuit. 
 She had evidently not remarked my approach-; 
 and when I reached her, she was sitting upon 
 the mossy turf at the foot of a beech-tree, i ot 
 occupied with a book, as was her usual habit, 
 but with her face buried in her hands, and 
 lost in a train of deep thought. She started as 
 I paused, panting and breathless beside her; 
 and as she raised her head, I remarked that 
 two large tears were resting on her cheeks. 
 
 " I have been anxiously expecting you all 
 the morning in my room, Adela," I said, as I 
 cast myself down beside her; "but at last I 
 began to fear that you were purposely avoiding 
 meV 
 
 " Your fears were correct," she replied 
 coldly. 
 
 " And wherefore 1" I asked earnestly; "sure- 
 ly you have a thousand things to say to me!" 
 
 " You are wrong — I have nothing to say." 
 
 " Have you, then, already forgotten the scene 
 of yesterday V 
 
 " By no means. You unexpectedly had an 
 interview with your noble-hearted lover, whose 
 attachment is worthy of any sacrifice, however 
 great. You declined to make any — even the 
 most trifling. He left you with a bruised 
 spirit and a wounded heart. Surely there 
 could be no occasion for me to repeat to you 
 circumstancei of which you are so well aware 
 as these." 
 
 "At least," r said sadly, "you might pity 
 me for having givwi him this pain." 
 
 " What obliged you to do so V 
 
 " Reason and prudence." 
 
 "Ratlier confess that your love for him is 
 not sufficiently great to induce you to run a 
 paltry risk in order to secure it. Your li|)3 
 would never have hesitated to utter the vow 
 which he claimed from you, had it been written 
 in your heart." 
 
 " Do you. I hen, blame me for having refused 
 to ratify our engagement V 
 
 " Ulame you !" echoed my sister, turning 
 her eyes, wiiich were flashing with disdain, 
 full upon rnc; "quite the contrary. I applaud 
 you for having been just to yourself A feeble 
 nature should at once, as yours did, yield to 
 events without a struggle, and not venture to 
 encounter trials to which it is unequal." 
 
 "Adela," I said bitterly, piqued by her un- 
 compromising frankness, " we should all wait 
 until we are tried, and prove our own strength 
 before we scoff at the weakness of others. Op- 
 portunities to do so, I sliould imagine, are never 
 wanting long to any one, and even the firmest 
 will may be damped. Wait until our nioihor 
 interfcics with your own views, and presses 
 
ICO 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 •pon you a marriage lor which you have no in- 
 clination." 
 
 " If 1 love elswehere — above all. if I am so 
 happy as uv Ik; beloved," she answered calmly, 
 "all her interference and all her efforts will be 
 ▼ain. I have already told you this." 
 
 '•I fancied so myself; but I have discovered 
 my error. As regards your own declaration, I 
 put no faith in it at the tune ; nor do I now." 
 
 " You are wrong. You should not judge of 
 my character by your own. The difference ol 
 our education has necessarily influenced our 
 modes <d ilnnking and feeling. Brought up in 
 the arms of those to whom you owe your be- 
 ing, the first sentiinenls of your heart must 
 have been those of tenderness and submission ; 
 you instinctively learned to love and to respect 
 an authority to which you were indebted both 
 for security and comfort. Things have changed. 
 The yoke has become more heavy and more 
 irksome ; but the fetters of habit are upon you, 
 and you do not retain even the will to shake 
 Ihem off. My case is wholly dissimilar. The 
 outcast child of an unlovmg mother, 1 no sooner 
 became capable of appreciating my position, 
 than 1 wept over myself. Tears were the lux- 
 ury of my early girlhood ; of those hours when 
 I was dismissed to my sports. I grew up on 
 tears ; until I ventured to ask myself by what 
 right a'ld upon what pretext I was thus flung 
 off! Yiui may believe that I could discover no 
 plea which sufficed to satisfy my reason ; and I 
 then made it the one great moral business of 
 my lile to weigh every detail connected with 
 my misfortune. Under this mental discipline, 
 both my heart and my character have been ed- 
 ucated. I trust to be able some day to prove 
 that I have been just alike to my mother and to 
 myself I have now clearly defined the bounds 
 within which to admit her authority as legiti- 
 mate ; and beyond those I will not yield even 
 a hair's breadth. Judge, then, what prospect 
 there is of her being able to influence me in the 
 most important decision of my life." 
 
 "And canyou really have come to such a reso- 
 lution before you are quite sixteenyears of age !" 
 
 AdeJa shrugged her shoifldcrs with a con- 
 temptuous smile, but made ao reply. 
 
 "I cannot boa^t of the same moral indepen- 
 dence," I pursued, after a moment's silence; 
 "and I seriously require your advice." 
 
 " jMv advice ? A quoi Ion V 
 
 "That it may guide and strengthen me." 
 
 My sister laughed. There was a mockery in 
 her laughter at limes that made my blood leap 
 in my veins ; it did so now. " You are merry," 
 I remarked with asperity ; " I asked counsel, 
 not Contempt." 
 
 " I have no advice to ofTer. Counsel to you 
 would be merely a verbal improvidence." 
 
 "Why sol" 
 
 " Because you would be, in all probability, 
 afraid to follow it." 
 
 "Then, were it your case, you would risk 
 everything 'o keep your faith '." 
 
 "Never mind me. I am in no way connect- 
 er •viih the business. But are you so sure that 
 the climax of the adventure is still dependent 
 upon yourself?" 
 
 " Surely you do not imagine that Dcvereux 
 %il' -^op-^iv-er our leaning jf yesterday as a final 
 
 " I imagine nothing. It is certain that he had 
 previously exhibited a rare degree of patience.' 
 
 " J should be wretched !" I exclaimed, as my 
 tear.' fell hot and fast — " I should be miserable, 
 weri he now to abandon me. I have never 
 loved him so perfectly as within the last few 
 hours." 
 
 "That is unfortunate," said Adela, perfectly 
 unmoved by this sudden burst of feeling ; "very 
 unfortunate ; but quite in rule. You were cer- 
 tainly destined from your cradle, Eveleen, to be 
 a heroine ; and no heroine can expect to pass 
 through life without many sharp trials." 
 
 " And is this all the consolation which you 
 are able to give me 1" 
 
 "I consider that there can be none greater. 
 You are already on the stage, and will ere long 
 have the world as your spectator ; for you may 
 remembor that Mr. Devereux asserted the prob- 
 ability of your soon being withdrawn from 
 Rooksley." 
 
 " What will the world be to mel" I asked, as 
 I wiped away another burst of tears. •' He will 
 be absent whom alone I shall care to please." 
 
 Adela sprang to her feet, and drew her shawl 
 closer about her : " I will continue my walk," 
 she said with a suppressed gesture of weari 
 ness ; " for you will, I doubt not, find your own 
 thoughts more agreeable society than myself" 
 
 I did not seek to detain or to accompany her. 
 I was more irresolute, more depressed than 
 ever; the last straw at which 1 grasped had 
 floated beyond my reach, and I had no longer 
 any hope of lielp save in my own firmness. 
 My own firmness I The conviction was an 
 epigram, and a bitter one, upon myself; and the 
 tears that I shed for the next half hour, and 
 which I believed were given to Devereux, were 
 in a great degree wrung from me by mortifica- 
 tion and disappointment. 
 
 I was aroused from my fit of weeping by the 
 sound of the warning bell from the ujiper lodge, 
 which betokened the arrival of visitors ; but I 
 remained passively boueath my beech-tree. I 
 knew of none that were likely to interest me ; 
 and I therefore left, as I generally did, their 
 identity to chance. The year of weeds had 
 expired. My seventeenth birthday was over. 
 My mother had not written to congratulate 
 me ; nor. perhaps, all circumstances consider- 
 ed, could s!ie be fairly expected to do so. Of 
 her arrival at Rooksley, I, however, could not 
 dream for a moment, as her last letter from 
 I.ady Devereux's, not yet of quite six weeks' 
 date, had mentioned no such intention ; and I 
 was in no mood at that moment to be troubled 
 by the appearance of any other person upon 
 earth. Gradually 1 fell back into the same un- 
 easy train of thouiiht which had before absorb- 
 ed mc, and forgot :he .r.;crruplion altogether. 
 At times a glow of resolution gave me momen- 
 tary strength, and I resolved to neglect the 
 warning of Devereux, and to write to Dublin, 
 to entreat him to forgive the weakness which 
 must so deeply have wounded his affection; 
 and as 1 sal there, full of this courageous pro- 
 ject, I framed a letter full of pathos and devo- 
 tion, of which the effect could not have failed 
 to prove all I wished ; but then rose be/ore 
 me the memory of my mother, and I shrank 
 afTrighied from the audacity of my dream ; and 
 if, during my paroxysm of valor, the blood had 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 10. 
 
 burned upon my brow, so, on tlic reaction ofi 
 thought, I shivered wiili ihe chill of one wiio 
 had suddenly been immersed in water. 
 
 The rccdil-bell, which summoned stragglers 
 m the grounds to the house, at length rang ; 
 and very reluctantly I rose to receive the im- 
 portunate guest, whomsoever it might prove. 
 I saw nothing of Adela in my way, and at once 
 proceeded to tiie drawing-room. A footman, 
 who was stationed at the door, threw it back 
 ere I could utter an inquiry, and announced me ; 
 when, to my astonishment, I found myself in 
 the presence of my mother and Sir James Dorn- 
 ton. For an instant, I doubled the evidence of 
 my senses. It seemed but a few weeks since 
 I had parted from Lady Madelaine, veiled in 
 crape, and enveloped in close and heavy dra- 
 pery ; and now she stood before me, still indeed 
 in black, but attired with an elegance and a re- 
 search which told no tale of mourning. She 
 Was in high beaoly, and bathed in smiles. 
 After having touched my forehead with her 
 lips, she turned to her companion, and said 
 gaily — " Will you stroll about the park for half 
 an liour. Sir James, afteryou have sliaken hands 
 with Eveleen 1 I have a thousand things to say 
 to her ; but I will promise that they shall all be 
 said b-o briefly, that your patience and gallantry 
 will not be overtaxed." 
 
 The gentleman bowed obediently ; took my 
 hand, which he raised gallantly to his lips, and 
 then, seizing his hat, passed out through the 
 conservatory. 
 
 " How earnestly you examine me, Eveleen !" 
 laughed Lady Madelaine. "Am I looking un- 
 usually handsome, or unusually plain, that I 
 thus rivet your attention 1" 
 
 " Beautiful ! resplendent !" I replied instinct- 
 ively. " I never before saw you so beautiful." 
 
 "Then you would not feel much surprise, 
 were you to hear tliat I had already been im- 
 portuned to take another name !" 
 
 "By no means," I said gravely, recovering 
 from my first emotion of surprise and admira- 
 tion, and falling back upon my own hitter feel- 
 ings. " There are doubtlessly many who would 
 gladly induce you to do so ; my astonishment 
 would be only at their success." 
 
 "And may I venture to ask wherefore 1" 
 demanded Lady Madelaine coldly, as a cloud 
 gathered on her brow ; " does tlie name of Til- 
 den appear to you to be so distinguished that it 
 could not be worthily replaced 1 In that case, 
 thr. Lady Madelaine Glenhllan, who never ought 
 to have borne it, would indeed, in your eyes, 
 commit a heinous offence by assuming another 
 which she might herself consider to be belter 
 •iiiiied to her birih and rank." 
 
 I thought of my father ; my heart swelled 
 with indignation ; I could not utter a syllable. 
 
 "Explain yourself, I entreat, Miss Tilden," 
 ■wntinued my mother, more and more irritated. 
 •I understand perfectly from your manner that 
 nere is an arnerc pensee, and I request that 
 you will express it." 
 
 "I Would rather avoid a subject which ap- 
 pears to anger your ladyship." 
 
 "Anger me! You mistake. This is a matter 
 of feeling, not of temper. Let us understand 
 •ach other." 
 
 " Then, madam, since you press me to speak, 
 ' conf'^es I had believed that free to act as you 
 
 please, affluent, and with two daughters of an 
 age to be compar ons to yon — ." 
 
 " I comprehend you perfectly," interposed 
 Lady Madelaine with impatience. " You have 
 some idea of reading me a lecture. Do not 
 deny yourself the gratification. Proceed, and 
 tell me that at the age of thirty-five I ought 
 to devote myself entirely to my children ; and 
 renounce, for their sakes, my tastes, my influ- 
 ence, and all the pleasures in which they can- 
 not share." 
 
 "Believe me," I said composedly, "that I 
 never imagined such an event possible; nor 
 did 1 ever feel sellish enough to wish it. It 
 was contrary to my inclination that I was urged 
 to make any comment upon your actions. I 
 am quite aware that you are at liberty to please 
 yourself in all things, and that my sister and 
 myself have only to respect your will." 
 
 " i am of the same opinion," was the dry re- 
 joinder of Lady Madelaine, "and consequently 
 expect that such will be the spirit in which you 
 will receive the tidings of my approaching mar 
 nage with Lord Oiterford." 
 
 " With Lord Otterford !" I echoed in violent 
 emotion, as I sprang from my chair. 
 
 " Even so, Miss Tilden." replied my mother 
 while a flush passed over her face, " iiave yoa 
 anything to object to such an arrangement]" 
 
 I was silent. My heart was wrung. I re- 
 membered past scenes — I remembered Emily 
 Vernon, and my father, and the meeting in the 
 octagon room — 1 was spirit-sick. I am afraid 
 that, at that moment, even ignorant as I was 
 of the extent of lier weakness, I despised my 
 mother. 
 
 " As I appear to have nothing to expect, 
 either from your duty or your atlection at sc 
 critical a moment. Miss Tilden," said Lady 
 Madelaine, harshly, as she also rose. " I will 
 detain you no longer than to request that you 
 will inform your sister of my intended marriage. 
 I shall dispense with her presence, as I have 
 no wish to expose myself to a second insult." 
 
 1 required no further bidding ; but, with a 
 silent courtesy, hastened to profit by my dismis- 
 sal. I had scarcely reached my own room, 
 when I heard the recall-bell summon the ba- 
 ronet from his walk, and a quarter of an hour 
 afterwards the carnagi; drove off. The whole 
 affair had been, to say ihe least, singularly con- 
 ducted. It was evident that my mother had 
 not even seen Lady Flora; she had specifically 
 declined to see Adela; she had traveled a long 
 distance — scarcely remained an lunir in the 
 house — and lelt without taking the slightest 
 refreshment. And again — why should she 
 come accompanied by Sir James Dornton ' It 
 is true, that he was an old friend of the family ; 
 but had she not her still older and female friend, 
 Lady Devereux, who would have seemed to be 
 a more filling companion for so Imig a drivel 
 Or even Lord Olierford himself, so .-boon lo be 
 her husband, and who might necessarily be 
 supposed eager to conciliate her daughters by 
 so' simple an act of courtesy 1 The more I re 
 fleeted, the more my astonishment increased 
 Tiie cool and unhesitating manner in wliicli 
 Lady Madelaine had given her companion to 
 understand that his absence was desired on iny 
 entrance, and the passive acquiescence which 
 had followed on his side, showed also a famil 
 
102 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 arity which I codd by no means explain to 
 myself, particularly under my nioilier s |)resenl 
 rMcunibtances. My own pale and depressed 
 appearance, which, on anoUier occasion, would 
 not have escaped comment, and pr(il)al)ly re- 
 proof, had not elicited a remnrk, although it 
 was loo visible to remain unperceived. The 
 whole thing was an enigma. 
 
 Nevertheless, I so(m turned from this subject 
 of marvel to the still greater one of Lady Ma- 
 delaine's marriage. The arts of the "Girce" 
 *"id then prevailed ! I had not yet learned to 
 'emeinher the spell of wealth. I was now 
 eager to communicate the astounding news to 
 Adela, and I sought her lirst in her own cham- 
 ber ; l)ut, not rinding her there, I descended to 
 the drawing-room, where she was sitting, still 
 folded in lier sliawl, and so buried in tliought 
 thai she was not conscious of my presence un- 
 til 1 spoke. The tears were yet trickling slowly 
 down my cheeks, wiiile those of my sister were 
 sufiused with so bright a bloom that she looked 
 positively handsome. 
 
 " Not yet consoled, Eveleen ?" she asked, 
 with a smile ; " what said our lady-mother to 
 your grief!" 
 
 " It is she who is the cause that I weep," I 
 answered, as I flung myself down on the sofa 
 beside her. "Prepare yuurself for strange 
 news, .\(iela. Her term of mourning is over. 
 Our poor father is already forgotten. She is 
 about to hucome once more a bride." . 
 
 "Do you consiiler that so strange 1" she 
 asked coliJly ; " I have been prepared for such 
 an event Ux months. You might have guessed 
 ilial this would be the case when our mother 
 leli Ronksley, and that we were not her com- 
 panions." 
 
 "To marry again !" I repeated, not having 
 yet con(iueied my consler.nalior. ; " ".vith two 
 daughters of an age to he established, who re 
 •piire to be produced in the world, to be suita- 
 lilv jnlroducud. and to be no longer treated as 
 children. 1 Haltered myself that in thi.s in- 
 stance, at least, she would not have failed." 
 
 " Vou are to be pitied for having encouraged 
 such a delusion," interposed my sister; "as 
 for me, I am no day-dreamer — 1 find tlio reali- 
 ties of life suliice. Little care 1 how Lady Ma- 
 delaine may dispose of herself — whether she 
 marry again, or remain a widow." 
 
 " But do you not dread the idea of a father- 
 in-law]" 
 
 " I never took fright at a name. If he be 
 amiable, courteous, and kind-hearted, he may 
 be of service to me ; if the contrary, 1 have lit- 
 tle to Hear from him." 
 
 Slie sank again into silence, aud soon be- 
 came once more absorbed in thought. I ob- 
 served her narrowly, but her indirierence was 
 evidently genuine. I almost envied her impas- 
 sibility. 
 
 " Have you then no curiosity to learn the ac- 
 tual name of this new bridegroom 1" I asked. 
 
 •• .So little, that I should suller nothing by 
 waiting until it is officially announced." 
 
 "Nevertheless," 1 persisted, "you cannot 
 fail to be surpiised when 1 tell you that it is 
 Lord Otlcrlord." 
 
 " Lord Otterford ! Indeed. I congratulate 
 von His marniige with the mother will prol 
 
 The drama will prove a coineuy 
 You know too well 
 
 the daughter, 
 after all." 
 
 " Adela, this is cruel, 
 how we parted." 
 
 " You will meet again." 
 
 " How ] Where !" 
 
 "In anyway — everywhere — nothing is im- 
 possible to a determined spirit and a devoted 
 heart." 
 
 " Alas ! I have no hope. I dare not antici- 
 pate happiness to myself from this incompre- 
 iiensible marriage." 
 
 "Anything but incomprehensible in my opin- 
 ion," said my sister W'lth her usual phlegm; 
 "that Lady Madelaine should so soon have 
 consented to resign her liberty may astonish 
 those who do not comprehend her ; but there 
 the marvel ceases. Jl is the rank of her new 
 suitor which has determined her. Nothing can 
 be more natural, or moje consistent with her 
 general character ; nor do I impute it to her as 
 a crime ; an elevated station was her birth- 
 right ; and it is a prejudice which claims re- 
 spect, and is by no means without foundation." 
 
 " But tell me seriously, I beseech of you," I 
 said after a pause ; " do you believe that Dev 
 ereu.x will resent my indecision of yesterday 1" 
 
 "The last time we spoke together upon thia 
 subject you appeared conrident of your power; 
 why do you now suppose it to be weakened !" 
 
 "I cannot tell, but the more desirable our 
 union appears, the less reliance do I feel on ray 
 inliuence over his heart." 
 
 "And does it now appear more desirable 
 than when, with all the ardor of an earnest and 
 honest affection, he was, only a few short houra 
 ago, urging you to unite your fate with his !" 
 
 " It does, because I have since reflected 
 deeply. I have revolved all the circumstancea 
 in niy mind, and I cannot perceive one which 
 should be adverse to us. Devereux is well- 
 bcrri — he is the nephew of my mother's intend- 
 ed husband — independent in his means, hand- 
 some in his person, liigh-bred in his manners. 
 Surely that mother can have no ambiiion be- 
 yond such a son-in-law." 
 
 "It is nevertheless possible that she may 
 have other views for you. But were you really 
 to marryiMr. Devereux, are you quite assured 
 that you should love him !'' . 
 
 " VViiat a question ! He is charming ! I 
 should adore him — ' 
 
 " And if your love were not returned V" 
 
 " My love not returned ! 1 have no fea that 
 such could be the ca^e. 1 am now a thousand 
 times more beautiful than when he saw me 
 first." • 
 
 " I admit the fiict ; but if, meanwhile, he 
 should have formed another attachment '" 
 
 "1 will win him back." 
 
 " You may not succeed." 
 " I have no fear of failure. This, moreover, 
 is a risk which I must run in common with a 
 thousand other women who are envied by bait 
 the world. The essentials of happiness would 
 still remam ; affluence, a handsome establish- 
 ment, agreeable society, freedom of action, and 
 a good position ; with all these there can b? 
 little to apprehend." 
 
 "I disagree with you enti-cly." said Adela, 
 earnestly ; " all ihese things are desiriil)k', it ia 
 
 aiJiy be succeeded by that of his nephew with i liuc ; but it would requii'j liir more to make me 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRKTrY WOMAN. 
 
 103 
 
 napi'V. I must love, and be loved, fondlv aii>l 
 exclusively; and did the greatest and most 
 powerful noble of the land offer me a coronet 
 vpon any other terms, I would reject it, for it 
 Wiiul'.! only hurn into my brow." 
 
 " And you talk of my romance, Adela ! Who 
 is rational and reasonable now!" 
 
 •• Time will show," said my sister ; " and, in 
 ihe meantime, I hear the dressing-bell." 
 
 CHAPTER xxvirr. 
 
 Mv moihrr was married in the eighteenth 
 montli ol I, .■ widowiiood. The event was duly 
 announced iiy letter at llooksley, and was ac- 
 companied by two costly ornaments, as bridal 
 gifts to Adela and myself; but of any regret 
 that we were not present at the ceremony, or 
 of any wish to see us in town, we received not 
 a word. 1 had so thoroughly persuaded myself 
 that my mother's union with Lord Otterford 
 must necessarily involve my own introduction, 
 and siibseijuent marriage with his nephew, that 
 my health and spirits both failed beneath the 
 disappointment, and the rather that I had heard 
 nothing of Devereux from the morning on which 
 we parted ai the lodge. 
 
 From my sister 1 received no consolation. 
 She affectLMl rather to pity than to blame my 
 weakness, and did not hesitate to affirm that I 
 was destined to be a puppet worked by the 
 wires of (itliers, and certain to destroy my own 
 happiness without either credit or comfort to 
 myself. When I asked her to answer frankly 
 and definitively the question, whether in my 
 jiosition she would take some decisive step, and 
 make Devereux acquainted with my exact sen- 
 timents, s!ie always answered me by the assu- 
 rance tliat her conduct could be no rule for 
 mine, as we were differently constituted. " I 
 am in the world, but not for it," she was wont 
 to say, with one of those peculiar laughs which 
 always excoriated my nerves ; " I care little 
 for the frowns and threats which can only 
 wound my vanity without disturbing my reason. 
 You have been otherwise brought up. Do not 
 try to force nature : you have not strength for 
 such unequal contention. Had you loved Mr. 
 Devereux, as you fancied you did, and as you 
 are still endeavoring to believe that you do, 
 you would have parted in faith and certainty. 
 The question now is, whether he will not hence- 
 forth meet you as a stranger." 
 
 This was, from the time in which she first 
 uttered the doubt, the text of all my future 
 reveries. I combated the idea, week after 
 week, and month after month, for it wounded 
 my vanity. Idleness has been justly called the 
 mother of passion, and so it proved in my case. 
 Having no other pursuit, I became the heroine 
 of a romance of my own. My reading supplied 
 me with an infinity of models, and I pleased 
 myself with the belief that no innocent beauty 
 of seventeen had ever been injured like myself 
 by an inconstant lover. Could Devereux have 
 seen me daily haunting the borders of the lake, 
 and looking, in vain, into the hollow trunk of 
 tije old willow which had formerly served as 
 our bureau de jiosis, he must at once have been 
 at my feet. But, alas ! I wandered, and wept, 
 ami nursed myself into a conviction that my 
 only hope of happiness was centered in his af- 
 
 I fcciioii, totally in vain. Not a sign of remem- 
 braiK-c could I meet in any direction. It was 
 too true — .\dela was a prophet — he had forgot- 
 ten ine I 
 
 From thi.s morbid state of feeling I was 
 aroused by a leiier from my mother. Lord Ot- 
 terford and herself had just returned from 
 Home, where they had spent six weeks. It 
 sounded classical and correct, and they both ■ 
 piqued tlicinselves upon their savoir vivrc ; 
 therefore they went to Rome to" look at each 
 other, and to have their proceedings duly set 
 forth in the public journals. In this letter I 
 was desired to prepare myself for an early re 
 moval to town ; but, save a cold remembrance, 
 there v.us no mention made of Adela. It was 
 evident that we were to be separated. Lady 
 Madelaine was too thoroughly a woman ol 
 fashion to risk a third petticoat in her opera- 
 box, or a second daughter in her morning-rocmi. 
 li ne faut jamais afficher ses malhcurs — at least, 
 all together; and, instead of experiencing sur- 
 prise, I ought to have felt this at once. 
 
 I hastened to announce to my sister my ap- 
 proaching departure, but there was no triumph 
 in my tone. I had exhausted myself in regret 
 and uncertainty. I began to dread a meeting 
 with Devereux, whom, at last, I really loved, 
 and to shrink from the idea of his coldness and 
 avoidance. 
 
 " So calm, when you have so long looked 
 forward with impatience to this emancipation, 
 Eveleen !" said my sister, whose very lips had 
 become pale as she read the letter ; " it is now 
 my turn to say, ' I cannot understand you.' " 
 
 " Listen to me, .A.dela," I replied, gravely : 
 "if such were your design I know not, but it i.^ 
 certain that the comments you have made upon 
 the confidence wiih which I have entrusted you 
 have clianged my very nature. You have ap- 
 plauded my wavering, vacillating, contempti- 
 ble tampering with the happiness of Devereux, 
 telling me that I was incaimble of more stable 
 conduct — but how \ In a manner to make me 
 feel, even to my heart's core, that you despised 
 me for the weakness to which my fear of Laa^ 
 Madelaine caused me to yield. You have as- 
 sured ine that Devereux had received my last 
 adieu as final, and reminded me that, with my 
 beauty, I could soon command another and a 
 safer suitor. Did you, indeed, purpose so to 
 induce me to resign his affection ! Oh I no, 
 no I Where you have learned the bitter lesson 
 is your own secret; but you assuredly know 
 the human heart too well to have imagined that 
 such were the opiates by which it might be laid 
 .at rest. I do not even ask you why you have 
 so strangely responded to my frankness when 
 I bared my whole spirit before you, and asked 
 for sisterly counsel ; suffice it, that you have 
 driven the arrow home. I can never again love 
 a human i)eing as I now love Devereu.x." 
 
 1 spoke energetically and rapidly ; and. as I 
 paused, I looked towards my sister. Never 
 did I witness a change so sudden and so com- 
 plete — cheek, brow, and bosom were one blush; 
 her eyes flashed, her bosom heaved — she gasp- 
 ed for breath. 
 
 •'What means this, Adela 1" I asked, com- 
 pletely awe-struck. 
 
 " It is r.itiier I who should put i he ipiestion," 
 *]\p. replied, commanding her emotion by i 
 
104 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 powerful cfTort ; " how can it affect me, that 
 you should kjve. or not love, Mr. Devereiixr' 
 
 " We are a mutual enigma," I remarked, 
 greatly offended. 
 
 " By no moans," was the ready retort ; " you 
 have long ceased to '.)e one to me ; but I pray 
 you, act as you may, not to transfer the respon- 
 sibility of your proceedings to my influence. 
 Leave me, at least, at peace in my solitude." 
 
 "I have no wisii to do so, Adela — you mis- 
 take my mea'niiig ali<igether. Did you know 
 my present feeling, you would pity rather than 
 blame me. The removal from Rooksley to the 
 home of Lord Otterford is but exchangmg one 
 prison for another. Here, at least, I am physi- 
 cally free ; there I shall be the slave of both 
 caprice and circumstance. Here I might still 
 live on in a fool's paradise, watching from day 
 to day for his reappearance ; there I can never 
 hope to see him, for I know the nature of my 
 mother too well to believe that she will ever 
 forget the past. Moreover, how can I be sure 
 that Lady Madelaine has not other views, and 
 that I may not he persecuted to marry some 
 husband of her own selection 1" 
 
 " In which case you will yield," said Adela, 
 freezingly. 
 
 " Never ! I give you leave to smile at my 
 precocious fears, for I am conviaced that they 
 are too well founded. I shall not long be an 
 inmate of my mother's house. She wants no 
 full-grown daughter constantly beside her, to 
 make an epigram of her bridehood ; and I am 
 to he the victim of her vanity. Were you only 
 to be my companion, I should not shrink so 
 much from the trial." 
 
 " Dismiss such a feeling at once," said my 
 sister. " I shall be left quietly at Rooksley 
 until Lady Madelaine flatters herself that she 
 has provided for me elsewhere. Nor can she 
 do me a greater pleasure than to forget my ex- 
 istence until I myself remind her of it. You 
 and 1 require different handling, Eveleen ; she 
 may find amusement in startling the leaves of 
 the sensitive plant, but can derive small eoier- 
 tainmeui in seeking to crush those of the net- 
 tle." 
 
 A fortnight after this conversation I was in 
 London. The improvement which had taken 
 place in my appearance made my debut a tri- 
 umph, and even elicited the congratulations of 
 Lady Madelaine. I was no longer the preco- 
 cious child of whom the Rooksley. guests had 
 made a plaything. My person and mind had 
 both become matured, and I took my place at 
 once in my mother's circle, with a composure 
 and an h ploinb which removed all awkward- 
 ness, and taught those around me to forget that 
 I was a novice in the world and the world's 
 ways. Lord Otterford was evidently delighted 
 at my success, and I fondly flattered mysell that 
 he was exultuig in the beauty and fashion of 
 his nephew's bride. He was the .most gallant 
 of husbands and fathers-in-law. Raised to af- 
 fluence from comparatively straightened means, 
 by the noble income of his wife, he saw all en 
 beau, and still played the lover so admirably 
 that it was easf to divine the gratification of 
 both heart and vanity enjoyed by Lady Made- 
 aine. Secure of the only man whom she had 
 ever, in all prdbahility, really loved, nv mother 
 WdS rudi-'.iu w.ih happiness, and, had she still 
 
 been a widow, must have proved a formidahle 
 rival, even to her own daughter. Si ill in the 
 lull glow of her fjiorious womanhood ; attired, 
 not only by the hands of the Graces, but with 
 all the art of fashion ; popular, influential, and 
 wealthy, without a cloud upon her brow or an 
 anxiety at her heart, her peculiar st>le of love- 
 liness was perfected rather than diinir.ished by 
 time. She no longer appeared desirous to turn 
 aside the incense which was offered up at my 
 own shrine, but, on the contrary, seemed to 
 live over again the days of her own triumphs, 
 when under the guardianship of Lady Sinclair; 
 while her train oi admirers, instead of becoming 
 diminished through my means, appeared rather 
 to increase. Our opera-box was ever the cen- 
 ter of a brilliant throng; our" morning-rooms 
 were crowded by all that was most distinguish- 
 ed both in fashionable and diplomatic life; we 
 had not a moment unoccupied. But the great 
 event of the season was my presentation at 
 court. The queen was pleased to welcome me 
 in a most gracious and flattering manner, and 
 to coinpliinent my mother upon my grace and 
 beauty. The most gallant of princes at once 
 christened us Spring and Summer, and declared 
 that were he possessed of the apple of Paris, 
 he should scarcely know where to bestow it. 
 Invitations poured in upon us from the most 
 distinguished persons in the realm ; and, in 
 short, to so glorious a pinnacle had royal favor 
 exalted us, that it was ere long dccidei] that 
 Lady Madelaine, in marrying Lord Otterford, 
 had rather consulted the interests of her beauti- 
 ful daughter than her-own inclination, it was 
 so necessary that Miss Tilden should have a 
 privileged protector. It was so considerate and 
 delicate in Lady Madelaine ! 
 
 Kind and ever charitable world. It is always 
 ready to stretch forth a helping hand to those 
 who desire to receive it empty ! 
 
 But where, amid the crowd who thronged my 
 path, was Herbert Devereuxl Of my mother 
 I dared not make the inquiry; but, although I 
 had not heard a word from him since we parted, 
 I was aware that he was no longer in Ireland, 
 many of his brother-officers being at that mo- 
 ment on our visiting-list. Three months elaps- 
 ed, and still I looked in vain for his appearance. 
 I wrote incessantly to Adela, to whom I poured 
 out the full tide of my disappointment and per- 
 plexity. Need I say that I also imparled to her 
 my inflexible resolution to remain faithful to 
 him to the last 1 I reminded her that I was at 
 length emancipated, that I had taken a definite 
 position, that my claim to do so was tacitly 
 admitted ; and tnat, consequently, I must and 
 would sustain in this, the most interesting cir- 
 cumstance of my life, at once my own princi- 
 ples, and the plighted word which I had freelj 
 given. 
 
 The replies which I received to these lengthy 
 epistles were universally brief, ambiguous, and 
 unsatisfactory. They contained neither con- 
 gratulation nor warning. Adela still affected 
 to believe that I was incapable of ^ deep and 
 lasting affection ; and, passing slightly over the 
 passages which related to Devreux, appeared 
 more interested in ascertaining tne names and 
 pretensions of my new suitors. The most 
 assiduous of these was Sir James Dornton i 
 but, as I never looked upon him iu any oihef 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 105 
 
 light than as an old admirer of i_y mother's, I 
 dui not include him in the catalogue ; and the 
 jatlier, as, presuming upon old acquaintance- 
 ofiip, I allached no consequence whatever to 
 the complaisance with whicli he resigned him- 
 self to ail my caprices. 
 
 Oi'casionailj, wlien tlie memory of Devereux 
 rose up vividly hefore me, I felt indignant at the 
 persevering aiteiUions of the patient baronet ; 
 and treated him with a cold iasd haughty for- 
 mality which would have acted as a linal dismis- 
 sal to most men, although it produced no effect 
 whatever upon Sir James. He wasjiisl as gay, 
 just as witty, and just as maliciously at ease 
 when I atleL-tcd a repugnance toward him, as 
 when I showed amusement at his sallies. To 
 oiy mother he had suddenly become absolutely 
 essential. No project of any description was 
 finally decided hefore it had been disbussed with 
 Dornton. JNothing could exceed his intimacy 
 with Lord Oiierford, or his favor with Lady 
 Madelaine. One complaint of my discourtesy 
 toward him would have involved me with both; 
 h that word was never uttered. He appear- 
 ed tacitly to admit my right of acting as I saw 
 fit, and never evidenced the least consciousness 
 of my change of tnood or manner. That he 
 was perfectly heartless I soon convinced my- 
 self, and the natural result followed. My vanity 
 was flattered by the (]<»^'"tion of a man of taste 
 and fashion, whose admiration added to my 
 consequence ; and whose feelings were, as I 
 firmly believed, quite beyond the reach of in- 
 jury ; cheerful and buoyant in disposition, the 
 varied, ingenious, and . witty sallies of the 
 baronet fust amused me, then attracted me, 
 and filially I began to miss them during his 
 absence, and to recall them for my own gratifi- 
 cation. This fact had, neverlheless, no effect 
 upon my heart. Devereu.Y was still its hidden 
 idol. 1 even wept at times in solitude over the 
 mystery in which he had enshrouded himself 
 Not once had his name been uttered in my 
 presence, although Lady Devereu.\ was a fre- 
 quent guest in Grosvenor Square ; and never 
 failed to overwhelm me with attentions and 
 professions of regard. At length I could endure 
 this state of suspense no longer ; and chancing 
 one morning to find Lord Otterford alone in the 
 library, I resolved to compel him to make some 
 communication on the subject. He was en- 
 gaged with a pamphlet, and merely nodded a 
 salutation as I entered the room. The oppor- 
 tunity was, however, too favorable to be lost ; 
 and, disregarding his look of surprise, I drew 
 forward a reading-chair beside his own, and 
 entered abruptly upon the subject. 
 
 "Perhaps, my loid," I said, as composedly 
 as I could, though I felt that the warm blood 
 was riKing to my forehead, "you will be good 
 enough to give me some intelligence of your 
 nephew, .Mr. Devereux. I apply to you, because 
 his name appears to be under a ban in this 
 house ; and that I do not understand the social 
 excommunication of an old friend." 
 
 " Mr. Devereux is at Paris. He has been in- 
 disposed, but is now almost convalescent." 
 
 "•So far well," I said steadily ; "but is this 
 ai. 1" 
 
 '•What more da you require to hear. Miss 
 Tilden'" 
 
 " Need I explain it to you 1" 
 O 
 
 " I guess your meaning. You would ascer- 
 tain the present state of his heart. I am not his 
 confidant, and even if I were I should decline in- 
 cluding you in the secret. Should he iimigine 
 that he still loves you, he is to be |)ilied ; and tho 
 sooner you put an end to the delusion, tiie more 
 generous and prudent you will be." 
 
 " Endeavor myself to make him forget me !" 
 I exclaimed indignantly ; " that will 1 never do. 
 Our attachment is reciprocal. We have vowed 
 ourselves to each other. We have no other 
 hope of happiness." 
 
 " Charming conclusion !" smiled my auditor ; 
 " and upon wnat premises do you base such an 
 opinion 1 Is it upon the strength of Devercux's 
 character 1 upon his estimable qualities ! upon 
 his constancy, and the fervor of his affection 1 
 Do not deceive yourself, my dear girl ; you 
 know nothing about these. I do not intend to 
 deny him the possession of every virtue with 
 which you have generously invested him. I 
 am not Jesuit enough to probe a young man's 
 spirit ; but let me ask you if you have discov- 
 ered in him what is much more perceptible — an 
 uncompromising delicacy, an exacting upright 
 ness, and a susceptibility of temperament very 
 ill calculated to insure the happiness of a hand- 
 some and fashionable woman ! Are you aware 
 that he never forgets an action or a word by 
 which his feelings have been wounded! — that 
 he never condescends to reproach, or to com- 
 plain 1 — and that he perhaps suffers mortally at 
 the very moment when a superficial observer 
 would believe him to be perfectly calm 1 Have 
 you made this discovery, and then asked your- 
 self how these tenacious qualities would act 
 upon so volatile a nature as your own 1" 
 
 " No, my lord," I answered angrily ; ' I 
 have entered into no such speculations ; and I 
 cannot but express my astonishment that you 
 should appear so predisposed against an alli- 
 ance which I should have thought might be 
 considered as both honorable and eligible foi 
 your nephew." 
 
 "There can be no doubt that it would be 
 both," was the calm reply ; " hut I was dis- 
 cussing yowr prospect of happiness, MissTilden, 
 not the interests of Mr. Devereux. I avow 
 frankly that a iinion between yourself and 
 Herbert would have been a great gratification 
 tome personally ; and the rather that, although 
 not blind to his faults, I believe him to be pos- 
 sessed of many high and noble qualities ; but, 
 having been made aware that it can never take 
 place, I now consider it my duty to discourage 
 it to the extent'of my power." 
 
 I rose proudly from my seat, saying as I did 
 so : "I thank you, my lord, for your candor ; 
 and I now comprehend my position. Lady 
 Madelaine Otterford has a personal interest in 
 separating us, and you are influenced by her 
 objection. Mr. Devereux and myself have 
 therefore no help to hojie from euher. Be it 
 so. We are now, at least, both old enough to 
 be aware that we are not to be victimized by 
 the tyranny of our relations, aud disposed ol 
 like merchandize, without the assent of our 
 own free will. Surely we art not to be deniec' 
 the control of our future fate !" 
 
 " You must excuse my terminating the cod- 
 versation," said Lord Otterford, as he also rose ; 
 '• 1 am .a a peculiar and difficult position aa 
 
106 
 
 CONrESSIONS OF A PRKTTY WOMAN. 
 
 regards this afTair. I have aheady lioard too 
 iiiiu-li. 1 |>ray you spare me all furihur discus- 
 sions. If I can be ol' service on any other suh- 
 jcel — and surely your thousand and one adorers 
 must occa!^ion.l^ly cost you some perplexity — 
 cummiirid me wiihout scruple :'' and he ex- 
 tended Ins hand halflaughinj^ly. 
 
 The taunt awoke me to a desire of vengeance. 
 "One moment more, my lord," I said, as I 
 laid my hand in Jiis ; "there is yet another 
 exile, both from sight and remembrancf;, for 
 whom I would inquire — Miss Vernon — poor 
 Emily — what of her T' 
 
 I fell the fingers tremble which were clasped 
 about my own ; and as I looked steadily at my 
 cumpanion, 1 saw his cheek blanch, and his lip 
 quiver ; he rallied, however, by a strong eflbrl, 
 and answered with afTeeted iiidifTerence ; — 
 
 " Poor Miss Vernon ! You have not forgotten 
 her then ! She was a sweet rose, with a can- 
 ker at the core. She has been long sufTering. 
 but her sorrows will soon be ov(!r ; her brother 
 writes word that she will not live to leave Na- 
 ples." 
 
 " The faculty call it consumption, doubtless," 
 I whispered tlimugh my tears. 
 
 "They do. Hopeless consumption." 
 " And what name would you yourself give to 
 her disease, were your opinion sought!" I in- 
 quired emphatically. 
 
 " From svhat I observed," was the troubled 
 reply, " I should have no hesitation in adopting 
 the same conelusion." 
 
 " How fair she was !" I murmured, as though 
 communing with my own recollections ; " how 
 pure, and gentle, and trusting, as she stood in 
 the octagon-room at Rooksley on that calm 
 summer evening, drinking in, wiihout one mis- 
 giving, without one suspicious shrinking of dis- 
 trust, the honeyed words of love and passion I 
 Do you remember that interview, my lord, when 
 you taught her how greatly her own pure, and 
 placid, and modest charms outweighed those of 
 the brilliant and worldly Circe 1 Alas! poor 
 Emily— may we not believe that the seeds of 
 death, which have since germed so fatally, were 
 oown beneath that summer evening sky V 
 
 " Eveleen, what mean you l" gasfied out my 
 auditor, as he grasped my hand forcibly in his 
 own. 
 
 " Consult your memory, my lord," was my 
 reply; "and satisfy your vanity, if it be not 
 unappeasable, with one victim; without seek- 
 ing to reduce me to the same extremity as her 
 of whom I spoke." 
 
 "Do >ou mean to infer that 'I — 1" 
 "I infer iioihiiig, I s|)eak frankly and fear- 
 lessly. What should 1 fear ! Do we not read 
 each other's hearts ! What a cheat is human 
 life ! A pale brow droops, a bright eye grows 
 dim, a young heart breaks slowly and silently, 
 and then physicians are called in to give the 
 disease a name ; the learned men know no- 
 ing of the antecedents ; the patient does not 
 n(i(!e to them all the detail of the past; not 
 syllable i= breathed of the simulated passion 
 which awoke happiness and hope — not a word 
 is n,urmuied of the fal.sehood which left its 
 venom to fester in the heart, — and so they 
 throng around the bed ; and while the mother 
 listens through her tears for one cheering 
 proph.'cy, and the biotlier turns away loo 
 
 proud to betray his agony, they mock the vie- 
 tini, whose only cure must be the grave, with 
 scientific subtleties and iille logic. .And then 
 come the hearse, and the bed of earth— and the 
 drama is playiMl out, and the curtain falls. Is 
 it not so, my lord \" 
 
 Long before I ceased speaking Otterford had 
 sunk again into a chair, and buried his face in 
 his hands. I stood for a moment looking upon 
 him in silence; but he attempted no reply; 
 and after a while, I turned slowly away, and left 
 the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A FEW weeks after this interview Lonaon 
 began to thin rapidly. The season was nearly 
 at an end, and the court had removed to Wind- 
 sor. To Lady Madelaine, Rooksley was, ol 
 course, out of the question ; and we accord- 
 ingly removed to Woodville, a hunting-seat on 
 I he border of the New Forest, belonging to 
 Lord Otterford ; and which he had, since his 
 marriage, caused to be enlarged and beautified. 
 To me the place was positive enchantment ; 
 and I should, had I been happy, have required 
 no oilier source of amusement than that which 
 was afl'orded by the features of a country so 
 novel and picturesque ; my mother, however, 
 professed no taste for country pleasures ; and, 
 accordingly, we were speedily followed by a 
 score of her kabitucs, among the earliest of 
 whom was Sir James Dornton. Assuredly, his 
 social talents were universal. He was as gay, 
 as thoroujihly at home, and as constantly occu- 
 pied at Woodville, as amid the busy crowds ot 
 the metropolis. No ennui could successfully 
 contend against his unvarying spirits. J:.very 
 day he contrived to discover some new object 
 of interest or amusement. He was a perfect 
 wizard. His influence gbddened our whole 
 circle ; but in all his exertions 1 could not fail 
 to remark that it was my peculiar ffiaiification 
 which he the most zealously sought to insure. 
 In my cause he was indefatigable ; and, what 
 was still more welcome, never intrusive. Not 
 a word of love — not a gesture of preference 
 escaped him. His tact was admirable. My 
 mother was loud in his praise when lie chanced 
 to be absent ; and never lost an opportunity ot 
 encouraging his attention to myself ; apjiearing 
 even to forget that he had once worshiped al 
 her own shrine. 
 
 The idle, pleasure-seeking life which we led 
 in the country favored this species of chivalrio 
 devotion, which aflects to expect no return 
 save the enjoyment of the passing hour. Lord 
 Otterford had jilaced himself at the feet of Mrs. 
 Trevyllian, a faded beauty, who was too indo- 
 lent to be exacting, and too uninteresting to 
 disturb the peace of Lady Madelaine ; and she, 
 in her turn, had passively suflered herself tt 
 become the momentary idol of the Manpiis ol 
 Chaflinglon, a noble fopling, with light curling 
 hair and delicately small hands, good-tempered, 
 po|)ular, and inoflensive. All the young ladies 
 pronounced him charming ; but this was a 
 mistake. He was like a handsome piece ol 
 wax-work, pleasant enough to look at, though 
 it required the best will in the world, al'ter the 
 first five minute? to enable you to find patience 
 to listen tD him He talked, moreover, inces 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 107 
 
 Bantly, and was tolerably happy in the choice 
 of liis subjects ; but he overwhelmed you with 
 a perfect cataclysm of words, weak, watery, and 
 wearisome. 
 
 I sougiit in vain to effect an intim<icy with 
 Lady Devereux; she had replaced her lord, who 
 spent the whole of his time in the forest among 
 game-keepers and rangers, by a worthy old 
 general, whose undisguised admiration of her 
 A'aiiing aitraclions made her feel once more 
 ffoung. In short, with the exception of half-a- 
 iozen insipid pretenders to my own hand, who 
 lad contrived to get themselves invited for 
 short periods to Woodville, I found only Sir 
 Fames Dornlon sufficiently unoccupied to com- 
 nand leisure to entertain me. When we rode 
 Jut, he was always beside me ; and, as he was 
 familiar with all the by-roads through the forest, 
 le was our guide, and left no object of interest 
 mseen or unexplained. The small difficulties 
 vhich occasionally presented themselves in 
 hese expeditions were always converted into 
 natter of mirth by his untiring pleasantry ; in 
 ihort, he appeared to have totally laid aside the 
 lyperfastidiousness by which he was generally 
 listmguished, in order to make us fully con- 
 jcious that we could scarcely dispense with his 
 society. 
 
 Finding that he evinced no intention of pro- 
 iting by the numerous opportunities thus af- 
 orded to him of persecuting me with his ad- 
 Iresscs, I became less reserved in my turn, 
 md no longer feigned insensibility to his wit 
 md good humor. The change evidently grati- 
 ied him ; but I was far from imagining to what 
 ixtent. Unconscious that he was cognizant of 
 ny secret, it had never once occurred to me 
 hat he was thus exerting all his powers of 
 •leasing in order to supersede Devereux in my 
 iffections ; and that, what was the mere relent- 
 ng of my dislike, could be misconstrued by him 
 nto a symbol of success. Such was the case, 
 lowever; and so thoroughly had he contrived 
 
 convince himself of the fact, that he at length 
 'entured to approach the subject which I so 
 nuch dreaded ; yet even then, not as I should 
 lave anticipated from a man who could expend 
 :nthusiasm even upon trifles, and at times dis- 
 ilay a depth of feeling which was evidently in- 
 uitive and spontaneous. Whenever he taUed 
 eriously, or what some would call passionate- 
 y, to me, it was evident that he labored to do 
 ;o gracefully ; that he rounded his periods 
 miooihly ; and seemed almost to seek for 
 )hrases which might compensate for the chill- 
 iig, monotonous, and forced manner in which 
 hey were uttered. I well remember that, in 
 me of my letters to Adela, I told her the pleas- 
 int baronet would never win a woman's heart ; 
 or that, although a gay-spirited friend, he made 
 
 1 most drowsy lover, and only helped the cause 
 ij the man whom he affected to seek to super- 
 ede. 
 
 On a glorious evening, near the close of July, 
 was alone in the stone balcony which extend- 
 d across the windows of the room in which 
 .11 our party were assembled. The curtains 
 I'ere drawn, and the sounds of my mother's 
 larp came faintly through their heavy folds. 
 L small stream which had its source in the 
 leighborhood had been diverted from its origi- 
 lal channel, and forced through the pleasure- 
 
 grounds, and, immediately under the windows, 
 it poured its sparkling waters into a miniature 
 lake bordered with flowering shrubs. The 
 moon was rising, and the stars were walking 
 forth to meet her from every quarter of the 
 firmament ; and as I leant there in silence, 
 dreaming of Devereux, and indulging in a thou- 
 sand vague and fantastic wishes, I almost un- 
 consciously watched the dazzling reflection of 
 each separate star, as it seemed to spring i p- 
 ward from the depths of the sleeping water, in 
 order to gem its surface into a mimic semblance 
 of the blue sky above it. The softened music 
 from the room, the distant gush and fall of the 
 myriad notes of the nightingale, ihe luxurious 
 breathings of the flowers under the languid im- 
 pulse of the summer wind, the whisperings, 
 mystic and wordless, of the leaves, and the 
 bright hopes which I was building up, all com- 
 bined to fill my heart with a calm and placid 
 joy to which I had been long a stranger; nor 
 was I conscious that I wept until a large tear 
 fell upon my hand. 
 
 "What are you thinking of so deeply T' mur- 
 mured a voice close to my ear. 
 
 I started, and saw Sir James Dornton at my 
 side. 
 
 "The question is scarcely discreet," I an- 
 swered, with affected gaiety. " I have not yet 
 adopted a confessor." 
 
 " You need no such functionaiy. Should 
 you suppose yourself to be imparting anything 
 secret, if you vvere to tell me frankly that you 
 were thinking of Herbert Devereux T' 
 
 "Decidedly. Had such been the case, and 
 were 1 to admit it, I should consider that I had 
 transformed you from a friend into a confldant." 
 
 "Disabuse yourself at once, fair dreamer," 
 was the retort ; " the image of Devereux never 
 rises up before you ; you never heave a sigh at 
 his remembrance ; nay, you never vaguely re- 
 call his memory, that I am not conscious of the 
 fact." 
 
 "In that case," I said impatiently, •'! am 
 very likely to consider your presence insup- 
 portable." 
 
 " I apprehend no such injustice on your part. 
 You are too generous to punish me for taking a 
 lively interest in all that affects your happiness." 
 
 "I am sorry. Sir James," I replied coldly, 
 " that you should employ your feelings so un- 
 profitably. If you are really as conversant 
 with my secret sentiments as you appear to 
 imply, you must be well aware that I desire no 
 such demonstrations." 
 
 " Yet how can it be otherwise. Miss Tildent 
 Are all the world to be at liberty to admire, to 
 adore you, and to tell you so, save myself 
 Say 'Yes,' if you will, and I must submit to the 
 decree ; but, at least, suffer me to retain the 
 control of my feelings. Do not reduce me to 
 a perfect cipher, simply because I have done 
 you more worthy justice. Yoc are at this mo- 
 ment the victim of a hopeless attachment ; it 
 overshadows the brightness of your spirit, it 
 subdues the buoyancy of your nature : deny it 
 if you can. And do you suppose that I can look 
 upon your sufferings coldly 1 — that I can ab- 
 stain from the desire to tear away tiie vei' 
 from that bright spirit, to restore the l)Uoyaa 
 elasticity of that pure young heart? No, no 
 you cannot so strangely have ruistaken me." 
 
108 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 " Piesuniing your inference to be coirect, I 
 beg you 10 believe that when I seek to disen- 
 thrall myself, I shall be quite equal to the task." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it ; for, were it not for the 
 firm hope of that deliverance, I should become 
 desperate." 
 
 " Sir James Dornton ! Have yoii considered 
 your words ! Do you remember to whom they 
 are addressed 1" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Then, sir, you must concede that they are 
 both ill-judijed and iH-timed." 
 
 "I wdl do nothing of the sort; ere long you 
 will be less severe. 
 
 "The future must depend upon yourself." I 
 said haughtily ; and lifting one of the curtains, 
 I passed into the room without awaiting his 
 reply. 
 
 From that evening I avoided every occasion 
 of meeting him cclc-d-tete. I could not brook 
 that he should force upon me his advice and his 
 reproaches. I was no longer at ease in his 
 presence. E>ery word that he uttered, and 
 every look that he turned upon me, seemed to 
 contain an epigram. I would fain have com- 
 plained of the confidential tone wliich he had 
 thus suddenly assumed ; but to whom could I 
 pour forth u)y indignation ! Lady Madelaine, 
 I well know, would not listen to any blame of 
 her favorite, nor could I have confided to her 
 my mortification and annoyance, without be- 
 traying my continued interest in Devereux. 
 Neitiier could I appeal to Lord Otterford ; for, 
 since the conversation which I have recorded, 
 we had never exchanged a syllable, save in 
 public. There was, consequently, no method of 
 ridding myself of this system of persecution, 
 save by my own firmness ; and I resolved to 
 lose no opportunity of convincing Sir James 
 not ;inly of my indifference, for of that I flatter- 
 ed myself he was already well aware, but of the 
 positive dislike which he was rapidly entailing 
 upon himself by his inquisitorial bearing. 
 
 Isolated as I was amid a crowd — disappoint- 
 ed day after day in the hope which I had cher- 
 ished, that Devereux must, sooner or later, join 
 the circle of his uncle's guests — angry with my- 
 self for having been so unwarily made the dupe 
 of a man to whom my secret was known, I 
 shunned him with a feeling which soon grew 
 into positive hate ; nor was it lessened by the 
 perfect sang froid and composure with which 
 ne bore every exhibition of my petulance. His 
 quiet and self-satisfied smile never failed to 
 drive the blood to my brow, but I dared not 
 venture upon any decided demonstration of my 
 annoyance. The eye of Lady Madelaine was 
 frequently upon me, and there was a warning 
 in it at those moments, before whicii I quailed 
 even in the first burst of my indignation. What 
 was I to do? What measures cotild I adopt, 
 to rid myself of the impassible and pertinacious 
 baronet, who evidently considered me as his 
 own property, and to whom my struggles were 
 mere matter of curiosity and pastime ! I plead- 
 ed sickness, and kept closely to my own apart- 
 ments; but iliis proceeding thwarted the projects 
 of my mother, and I was not permitted to per- 
 sist in my seclusion. 
 
 When.'afier an absence of three days from 
 the party, I was compelled to reappear, I was 
 besieged with compliments and cundolements, 
 
 which were even more bearable than the light 
 and mocking laughter with which I was greet- 
 ed by Sir James. He declared that I had been 
 engaged in the composition of some new cos- 
 metic, and that I had made trial if it upon my- 
 self with most undeniable success, for that he 
 had never seen me look more charming. His 
 callous mockery cut me to the heart ; and I 
 replied with bitterness, as I turned away, and 
 addressed, lor the first time in my life willingly, 
 the member for the county in which Woodville 
 was situated, and who was a constant guest at 
 Lord Otterford's. 
 
 Mr. Curties was tall, straight, and meagre — 
 one long perpendicular line of humanity ; who, 
 had it nut been for the peculiar carriage of his 
 arms, might, at a distance, have been mistaken 
 for his own walking-stick. He was very dull 
 — very sententious, and very shallow — well- 
 born, and priding himself highly upon the fact. 
 He also assumed to be well-bred, and it was 
 difficult to define why he was not so; be the 
 reason what it might, however, theie was a 
 something wanting, trifling, perhaps, in itself, 
 but still felt to he an omission — a social cata- 
 lectic, evident at once to the initialed. 
 
 Now 'of all the habitues of Woodville, this 
 man had always struck me as being the most 
 uninteresting and itnpracticable. In convers 
 ing, he invariably looked over his companion ; 
 for his giralfe-like throat, enveloped in a high, 
 rigidly-starched cravat, was never bent ; and 
 there can be no great interest in a dialogue, 
 during which one of the speakers lool^s only at 
 the crystal drops of the chandelier. A wrinkle, 
 even in one of bis gloves, would have been a 
 relief; but Mr. Curties never wore ill-fitting 
 gloves ; and every other article of his dress ap- 
 peared as if he had been inducted into it in his 
 youth, and that they had since grown up togeth- 
 er. His very hair was like that of no other 
 man. It was long, and lank, and smooth, and 
 in surface and tint exactly resembled a piece of 
 fawn-colored satin. His eyes were light blue 
 —very light blue, and almost round ; and his 
 eyebrows, eyelashes, and whiskers, had just 
 escaped the danger of being described as red. 
 
 A sudden inspiration restored my good humor 
 at once. I resolved to make an escape-valve of 
 the iionorable member I Nothing could be bet- 
 ter. No one would accuse me of coquetry with 
 so unsympathizing and unsentimental a being. 
 It never occurred to me to remember that some 
 people might consider his princely fortune as 
 an equivalent for the absence of all other 
 attractions ; nor was I aware that he himself 
 avowedly lived in terror of fortune-hunting 
 mammas and establishment-seeking daughters. 
 In short, I had never cared to ascertain that he 
 was the "great match" of the county. 
 
 •All this was very unfortunate; but I was 
 happily unconscious of my temerity ; and when 
 I turned upon Mr. Curties the light of the most 
 sunny smile which I could summon a I'trnpro- 
 viste from amid the dark clouds of my displeas- 
 ure, I was quietly congratulating myself on the 
 acquisition of a dangler, of whom Devereux, 
 appear when he might, must have too much 
 self respect to affect jealou.sy. 
 
 How little do women generally suspect the 
 price at which the plainest men estimate theif 
 attractions! 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 it I had, indeed, committed an error, like that 
 of Sir Peter Teazle, it brought its ()unishnient 
 along with it; tor never did fair lady in a fit of 
 petulance entail upon herself such a task as 
 that which I had voluntarily undertaken. A 
 flirtatio!) was my object — a decided flirtation; 
 whicli might reduce Sir James Dornton to his 
 proper level, and teach him a salutary lesson. 
 I was youn^, beautilul, and accomplished ; I 
 was fasliional'le, and an heiress ; of course I 
 could Inve Mr. Curlies at my feet when I chose 
 to beckon him to that enviable .station; and 
 equally of course, I could rid myself of him 
 with a word, whenever I became wearied of his 
 homage. I did not know the honorable member 
 
 for . He was no chieri barbel, to fetch and 
 
 carry at the caprice of a young lady. He iiad 
 no objection to llie attentions of a married 
 woman, for they could only commit herself; but 
 the preference of a single one might commit 
 him, and that was a far more serious matter. 
 He was a " great catch," and as such, he esti- 
 mated himself; and we all know that "great 
 catches'' are not to be approached like common 
 men. 
 
 Thus I could not have possibly made a worse 
 selection tlisn I had done, of an instrument of 
 vengeanc-e ; and that Mr. Curties should lend 
 himself to my views, so composedly and col- 
 lectedly as he did, must be altogether attributed 
 to his regard for his host and my relative, Lord 
 Otterford. 
 
 I was amused by the look of blank astonish- 
 ment which spread over the features of Lady 
 Madelaine, as she heard me invite Mr. Curties 
 to occupy the vacant seat on the sofa beside 
 I me, and then saw me begin to play off upon 
 I him all the artillery of the most finished co- 
 I quetry. She was not yet aware of the extent 
 .of my accomplishments, nor of the zeal with 
 [ which I had studied to imitate her exa.nn.pie. 
 [■ My uniortunate victim was evidently bewilder- 
 I ed ; I had, until that evening, so pertinaciously 
 I avoided him. I had taken so little trov.ble to 
 1 conceal how much he bored me whenev.?r he 
 I ventured an approach, that his pride was piqued 
 I as greatly as his vanity was wounded ; and in 
 I order to avoid all suspicion of annoyance, he 
 I had constantly affected to speak of me with 
 I marrked admiration. He believed that he had 
 ( nothing to fear, and was consequently at his 
 ] ease, which was seldom the case with him 
 when in the society of an unmarried and mar- 
 riageable woman. 
 
 It will be readily understood, under these 
 
 circumstances, how completely unprepared he 
 
 I was for the sudden demonstrations which it 
 
 ■ was my peculiar and uncalculating pleasure to 
 
 • make on that particular evening. The poor 
 I man fairly '.!st his aplomb, and remained help- 
 I lessly at my mercy. Conflicting feelings 
 I heiglitened my complexion, and deepened the 
 
 • fire in my eyes. I was exquisitely dressed ; for, 
 be my state of mind what it might, I was wo- 
 man enough never to neglect that all-important 
 fact. I was resolved to exhibit myself to the 
 
 '. best advantage, and I well knew the effect of 
 every jwse and of every gesture of which I 
 availed myself I was brilliant, even witty: 
 
 I and to be w itty beside Mr. Curties betrayed no 
 common power. There was scarcely a subject 
 
 i upon which I did not touch, under cover of his 
 
 109 
 
 monosyllabic replies ; even that vampire ali- 
 ment scandal hung upon my lips, and was sea- 
 soned with smiles. 
 
 Sir James stood near, with a frown npun hia 
 brow which more than repaid my efforts. My 
 mother made a false move upon the board, and 
 was checkmated by Lord Chaffington, to hia 
 great and somewhat too audible delight. I had 
 evidently distracted her ideas. Mr. Curties, 
 meanwhile, was sorely perplexed. Flattered 
 by my unconcealed preference, and not quite 
 decided in how far he might desire to encour- 
 age its demonstration, he did nothing but smile, 
 and bow, and utter "yes" and "no," sparinglv 
 relieved at intervals by an ejaculation of "in- 
 deed !" He trembled lest he should be prema- 
 turely compromised. Still he was dazzled — 
 and as that was precisely what I intended, I 
 perceived it at once. Like all dull men, he 
 loved to be amused when he could do it safely ; 
 so he did not make an effort to escape, and 
 satisfied himself by giving no tangible encour- 
 agement to my sudden engouement. 
 
 The young marquis had rearranged the 
 chessmen to the music of his own sell-gratula- 
 lions, but Lady Madelaine declined to tempt 
 fortune a second time — she was bent upon 
 separating me from my new companion. 
 
 "Eveleen," she said, carelessly, "as you 
 are sufficiently recovered to exert yourself, 
 pray, let ns have some music. Sir James 
 Dorntcn will, I dare say, accompany you with 
 his flute." 
 
 I rose at once, and, extending my hand to 
 Mr. Curties with a bland smile, requested him 
 to lead me to the harp. "You must not for- 
 sake me now," I added, as he drew forward 
 the music-chair : " I want some one to turn 
 over the leaves, and I am convinced that you 
 will do it admirably." 
 
 " I fear not," said the honorable member, 
 hesitatingly : " I am no musician, and may em- 
 barrass you." 
 
 " By no means. I will prompt you with a 
 nod, thus — so you have only to watch, and 
 there can be no mistake. What shall I play V 
 
 " You are too obliging. I v.-ould rather leave 
 the selection to your better taste." 
 
 Sir James approached with his flute, upon 
 which he was a proficient, and my resolution 
 was taken at once. I selected a ca[)riccio; 
 upon which it was impossible for that instru- 
 ment to foliow, and dashed at once into its rapid 
 and intricate movements. My manffiuvre was 
 thoroughly understood, but it did not produce 
 the effect which I had anticipated. The baro- 
 net relinquished his instrument, but he took his 
 stand immediately behind my chair, where he 
 could command every word and look that passed 
 between Mr. Curties and myself Conscious 
 that such was the case, I had no sooner accom- 
 plished my task than I rose and retired to a. 
 settee in the extreme corner of the room, and 
 to my infinite satisfaction, I was immediately 
 followed by Mr. Curties, who, as if instinctively, 
 once more dropped into the vacant place at my 
 bide. In the next instant Sir James Dornton 
 had turned the iniisic-chair, and was seated 
 opposite to us, with his back to the rest of the 
 party. 
 
 " You are a happy man, Curties," he com 
 menccd as he turned a mocking smile upop 
 
110 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 me. •' Sooner or later all you milUmiaircs are 
 sure to carry off the favor of the young and fair 
 from we jioor devils of younger brothers. Even 
 Miss Tilden, you see, ' the observed of all ob- 
 servers,' cannot withstand you ; but beware, 
 lest vou should have a score of duels upon your 
 hands." 
 
 "Now, on my honor. Sir James," stammered 
 out the affrighted CrcEsus, looking down his 
 very long nose, and contracting the muscle.": of 
 his nioulh ; "you mistake me altogetlicr — I 
 have no pretensions of the kind. This is the 
 first occasion upon which Miss Tilden has done 
 me the honor to converse with me." 
 
 The baronet laughed tauntingly. 
 
 " Nay, nay, do not let me alarm you," he 
 said ; *' we all know that you are county prop- 
 erty, and consequently not to be trifled with. 
 I3ut again, I say, beware !" 
 
 " I can apprehend no danger in Miss Tilden's 
 society," retorted Mr. Curlics with a rigid bow ; 
 " I only regret that I can profit by it for so 
 short a time, being compelled to leave Wood- 
 ville lo-niorrow morning, with but a very slight 
 hope of being enabled u, return during the stay 
 •f your delightful party." 
 
 I fell the blood rush to my brow. Sir James 
 had triumphed. All the narrow-hearted suspi- 
 cion and mean conceit of the wealthy bore had 
 been aroused by his inane jest, and I had les- 
 sened myself in my own eyes most unavailingly. 
 Do as 1 would, this man apfieared destined to 
 become my evil genius. I hated myself for 
 having even evinced the slightest pleasure in 
 his society. Master of my secret, he well 
 knew his power ; nor did any feeling of delica- 
 cy prevent his betraying a consciousness that 
 he held me in his thrall. To increase my an- 
 noyance Mr. Curties shortly afterwards rose, 
 anil slowly made his way to the other side of 
 the saloon ; and he had no sooner vacated his 
 seat than the baronet look possession of it, 
 with a nonchalance and ease which seemed to 
 imply that the proceeding was a mere matter of 
 course. 
 
 " Vou must have spent a delightful hour. 
 Miss Tilden !" he commenced, as he fell back 
 among the cushions ; " the honorable member 
 for the county which we have just now the 
 honor to inhai)it is a delicious companion — so 
 intellectual and charming, especially in the so- 
 ciety of pretty women. What a formidable 
 rfval for poor Devereux ! On my soul, I believe 
 I must write and warn him of the perils which 
 environ his Helen. Do you not think that il 
 Would be a generous act on my parti" 
 
 "J have no opinion to offer on the subject." 
 
 " Taut micux. You are therefore indifferent 
 whether the rumor of your flirtation reach him 
 or nol This, at least, is encouraging for nous 
 autres. I felt convinced that your late seclusion 
 would prove morally beneficial ; but what, in 
 the name of all that is perpeiulicular, ever im- 
 pelled you to turn tiie light of your smiles upon 
 thai luifoitunate man yonder, who looks upon 
 every unmarried woman as a drawing-room 
 pickpocket, — a species of matrimonial c.hcvaUcre 
 d'tndiislric ?" 
 
 "YMir witticisms, Sir James Dornton, are 
 too pers(mal to be pleasant." 
 
 " Nay, nay — you are too hard upon me. 
 Were you nut an hour ago anaiomizing your 
 
 mamma's pretty page, my little Ix)rd Chaffing- 
 ton, rather freely !" 
 
 "Am I required, sir, to justify to you either 
 my words or actions?' 
 
 My companion fixed upon me a look that was : 
 untranslatable. It seemed at once to dare me 
 to defy him, and to express an assent which he 
 could not venture to put into words. But this 
 solution I at once felt must be erroneous ; and i 
 I turned away my eyes scornfully as he replied I 
 with perfect com|)osure — 
 
 " Friend.'jliip has privileges even more strin- 
 gent than that from which you shrink." 
 
 " Friendship !" 
 
 "Even so." 
 
 "But that friendship must first exist, and be 
 admitted." 
 
 '• Do you deny me the gratification of feeling , 
 it for yourself 1" 
 
 " It is out of my power to do so ; its recipro- 
 city is all that I can control." 
 
 "And that reciprocity 1" 
 
 " Is at least doubtful." 
 
 " Indeed !" ejaculated Sir James, elevatmg 
 his eyebrows somewhat disdainfully ; " 1 was 
 not aware that the coquetry of Miss Tilden was 
 quite so expansive. Is it permissible, accord-, 
 ing to your peculiar code, to admit a mere ac-i 
 quaintance to the bridal rein of your horse, to. 
 your solitary lounge in the grounds, and to 
 I your music-stand in the drawing-room 1 Come, 
 j come ; you are angry, you are indignant, that 
 just as you were angling for a new victim — a 
 soiijfrc dvulcur, who might enable you to escape 
 mo and my importunities — I should show the 
 hook to the poor devil, and scare him from the' 
 bait. And why do you endeavor to avoid mel; 
 Because I speak to you of Devereux ! Only 
 say the word, and I will never so offend again." 
 
 " If I could trust youi' promise — " 
 
 " On my soul you may ! and the rather that 
 I should much prefer that he had never ex- 
 isted." 
 
 " Again !" 
 
 He affected to laugh as I uttered the warn- 
 ing ; hut he was evidently ill at ease. He was 
 to leave Woodville the following morning for ,ii 
 few (lays. I'hese occasional absences had bci'iij 
 of such freinient recurrence J.ittcrly, that thi-v 
 had excited both remark and speculation ; li^i 
 Sir James had carefully concealed their objt < i 
 and turned off every inquiry with a jest. O; 
 his return, he was invariably moody ;■... 
 thoughtful for a few hours. I knew tiiat li< 
 had been questioned upon the subject by L;i(,'. 
 Madclaine, who, since his visit to R()o!;^l■ > 
 during her widowhood, appeared to have ;,.- 
 sumeu a singular authority over him ; and ^U 
 was apparently satisfied with his explanation 
 foi- £jhe never afterward made any couiuk m 
 upon tiie circumstance. As he now sat bc.'-hli , 
 me, he alluded to his departure : and in onlei 
 to change the conversation, I reijuested hmi t( 
 bring, on his return, a particular piece of musit 
 which I was anxious to possess. He lookii 
 embarrassed for an instant, and then cxpressei 
 his regret that he could not execute my com 
 mission, as he was not going near town. A 
 the moment, it did not strike me that there w,i. 
 anything extraordinary in this fact; and 1 ac- 
 cordingly paid little attention to it. I remein. 
 bcrcd it afterward. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Two days subseqiienily to this conversation, 
 as I was preparing for a drive, I was summoned 
 to my inoilier's apartment. She was still dress- 
 ing ; hut when I entered she at once dismissed 
 her women, and motioned me to a seat. 
 
 " You are in high beauty this morning, Eve- 
 leen," she said, with a gracious smile; "and 
 one season in town has sufficed to show you 
 the full value of your attractions, if I may 
 judge hy the coquetry which you lavished so 
 unsparingly upon poor Mr. Curties, on evening 
 or two ago. What was the meaning of that 
 sudden cngouemcnt, I pray youl Had you really 
 a design upon his heart ]" 
 
 " I never even contemplated the possibility 
 of his boasting such a possession," I answered, 
 with a shrug. 
 
 " But you laid yourself out to engrc33 his 
 society," persisted Lady Madelaine. " Can it 
 be that his great wealth has excited your am- 
 bition \ Have you, already, learnt the value 
 of money, and resolved to sacrifice passion to 
 prudence •" 
 
 " I deserve to be made a jest for having 
 sacrificed even an hour to such an automaton," 
 ] answered, impatiently. "One cannot always 
 account fur a visitation of caprice." 
 
 " Caprice I" echoed Lady Madelaine, in- 
 credulously. " However, I am glad that you 
 wore merely indulging a whim (although I 
 wjuld counsel you, in future, not to make ytwr 
 eccentricities quite so conspicuous), for I con- 
 fess, that Mr. Curties is not precisely the style 
 ot person whom I should covet as a son-in-law ; 
 unless, indeed, I could secure him for Adela, of 
 which there is little probability ; for your dull 
 men are seldom an easy prey, especially when 
 they sleep with their heads on a rent-roll. He 
 is hy no means the Thule of my wishes, as 
 regards yourself I have too much affection 
 for you, to contemplate such a sacrifice with 
 satisfaction." 
 
 As she ceased speaking, ."she looked toward 
 me, with a faint smile, as if to demand my ac- 
 knowledgments. I made a slight bov/, and she 
 continued. 
 
 "I am aware" — and she said it with some 
 little hesitation — "that circunnstances may have 
 led you to doubt the extent and warmth of my 
 feelings toward you. My position has been a 
 trying one ; and the world had demands upon 
 roe which I could not slight. I became a 
 mother too early; and children spring into 
 women before the plans of their parents are 
 matured. You are now of an ?igc, however, l« 
 understand me better, and to do me justice. 
 *Nor is this all. You are also old enough to 
 take a position in the world ; and to this fact I 
 have, for some liine, given my most serious at- 
 tention. With your beauty and your fortune, 
 you will find no difficulty in securing an estab- 
 lishment. The important phase of the question 
 is the perfect eligibility of that establishment ; 
 and, on this point, you are both too young and 
 too inexperienced to be abandoned to your own 
 judgment." 
 
 I was about to speak, hut an imperious ges- 
 ture of the hand silenced me. 
 
 "Nevertheless," pursued Lady Madelaine, 
 hurriedly, " you will be glad to learn, tb.it I am 
 altogether satisfied with your deportmerA duriiig 
 
 the few months that we have spent together in 
 the world (always excepting, of course, your 
 folly with Mr. Curties, which has driven him 
 from VVoodville, to the great annoyance of 
 Lord Oiterford) ; and the rather, as you have 
 taken no pains to conceal your real sentiments, 
 which coincide with my own views. I am quite 
 ivwaie that I might, had I so willed it, have 
 told you at once, and abruptly, when I sum- 
 moned you to town, what those views were ; 
 but there would have been a want of delicacy 
 in such a proce'eding, from which I revolted. 
 Satisfied that your guardians would never ven 
 ture to interfere on a subject exclusively with 
 in the province of a mother, I might have com- 
 pelled you, not only to an indifferent, but even 
 to a repugnant marriage. I disdained to do 
 this ; and, far from enacting the tyrant, or the 
 duenna, 1 left you at perfect liberty to cultivate, 
 or to decline the friendship of those by whom 
 you were habitually surrounded. You must 
 have perceived, if you have, indeed, done ma 
 the favor to reflect upon the whole tenor of my 
 conduct, as regards yourself, that I have left 
 you the complete mistress of your predilec- 
 tions ; that I have interfered in none of your 
 avocations; and that — ungraceful and un- 
 pleasant, as it could not fail to be, to Lord 
 Oiterford, to have a womanly daughter-in-law 
 constantly before his eyes, and under his rool 
 — I have given you time and opportunity enough 
 to decide on your own fate." 
 
 " It is decided, madam — it has been long de- 
 cided." 
 
 "I am rejoiced to hear it from your own 
 lips, even although circumstances have for some 
 time assured me that it must be so. Had yet 
 been about to commit an iinprudence, I shouk- 
 long sitice have interfered ; as it is, 1 have hut 
 to congratulate both you and myself The only 
 possible difjiculty has been removed sviihin the 
 last few weeks ; and, to my own approbation, 1 
 am authorized to unite that of Lord Oiterford 
 who takes the most kindly interest in your 
 welfare." 
 
 I was bewildered — overjoyed. Still indulg- 
 ing the fond hope of a union with Devereux, 
 it never occurred to me, that my mother might 
 allude to another person. I whs so overcome 
 with delight, thai, although I would fain have 
 asked a thousand questions, I could not utter a 
 word. I could only press the hand of Lady 
 Madelaine to my lips in speechless gratitude. 
 
 " Enough, enough, young lady," she said, 
 jestingly; "or I shall begin to fear that you 
 are most unfashionably in love, and will be- 
 come a proverb, after marriage, which is by no 
 means desirable. We must have no more 
 scenes, until I am able to congratulate you as 
 Lady Dornton." 
 
 I sprang from my chair as though a thunder- 
 boll had exploded at my feet. " Congratulate 
 me as Lady Dornton !" I exclaimed, passion- 
 ately. " Was it, then, of Sir .'ames Dornton 
 that you spoke, madam 1 Of a man who is 
 not only indifferent, but even distasteful to ine ! 
 Sir James Dornton, whom I have been accus- 
 tomed, from my childhood, to see only as — " 
 
 I paused. I dared not, even excited as i 
 was, terminate the sentence; nor was it neces 
 sary; A blush rose to the cheek of Lady Made 
 iaino, and aclo'jcl gathered upon her brow. 
 
113 
 
 CONKESSIUNS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 " Proceed, Miss Tilden," she said, in a cold i 
 tune, rendered slightly tremulous by the emo- 
 tion which she could not altogether control; 
 " let i>o. feeling of delicacy toward your motlier 
 iheck the expression of your disgraceful and 
 unmaidenly conjectures. I am prepared to bear 
 even insult w.Ui patience." 
 
 " Oh, forgive me ! forgive me !" I faltered 
 out; "forgive and pity me, for you know not 
 from what a dream of hope and happiness your 
 last words have awakened me ! You spoke of 
 my predilections, of my preference ; and I was 
 misled by the yearnings of my own heart." 
 
 " Can you deny, that you have, for some 
 time past, given marked encouragement to Sir 
 James Dorntonl" 
 
 " If I have done so, it has been iinwittingly. 
 How could I encourage him, when my aflcc- 
 lions were devoted to.another 1" 
 
 "Better and better I" exclaimed LadyMadc- 
 laine ; " I now begin to comprehend the hollovv- 
 ness of your character. I weakly believed that 
 your late exhibition with Mr. Curties was a 
 mere girlish piece of inconsistency, hut I now 
 find that you act- upon a system of deceit, and 
 sacrifice every belter feeling to your vanity. 
 How do you pretend. Miss Tilden, to justify 
 your rides, and walks, and tctc-a-tetes by moon- 
 light, upon balconies, with Sir James Dornton 1 
 Do you imagine that ynu will make the world 
 believe you were unconscious that these things 
 were marked and undeniatde encouragement to 
 a suit which has long ceased to be problematical 
 to every one aroiinll you? Or can you for an 
 instant supposi;, that I shall submit to see a 
 daughter of mine made a mark for the world's 
 scorn ! Your own conduct has decided your 
 fate. On Sir James's return to Woodville, you 
 will receive limi as your accepted husband, 
 without the slightest symptom of repugnance 
 or hesitation — or, you must abide the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 I wrung my hands in agony. Too late did I 
 perceive tlie fearful advantage which my own 
 thoughtlessness had given to the projects of 
 my mother. 
 
 " In truth, ynu are a sad victim !" once more 
 resumed Lady .Madelaine. as she looked down 
 upon mo Willi withering contempt; "you are 
 steeped in tears — and, for what ? Because 
 you are about to become the wife of an accom- 
 plished, highborn, and fashionable man, and 
 that you will be an object of envy to half the 
 women m town " 
 
 "I would jii'ier die!" I exclaimed, vehe- 
 mently. " r uo not, I shall never love him. 
 We should both lie wretched." 
 
 " He conseets to run the risk." 
 
 " He cannot be so selfish, or so base — he 
 knows that I h^ve another — he knows that I 
 am beloved. lie will have pity on my tears — 
 on my de<pnir." 
 
 My molher h-vghed scornfully. 
 
 " Rise, Miss '1 lUlen ; rise, and recollect your- 
 self," she said sternly ; " we are not now re- 
 hearsing a tragi^dy, nor am I disposed to hear 
 you rhapsodize on the subject of your hoy-lover, 
 Mr. Devereiix, whom I suppose to be the object 
 of this tirade. Leave the remedy for his baby- 
 passiun in the hands of Sir James Dornton ; he 
 is a man of sense as well as a man of the 
 world, and will soon make you aahauied of 
 
 your extravagance. As to Devereux, he tiTki 
 long ceased even to remember your existence. 
 
 This taunt aroused my pride at once, 
 sprang to my feet, and even ventured to me*}^ 
 the threatening eye of Lady .Madelaine withor'' 
 quailing. " The proof that he has not done so, 
 I said firmly, " exists in the fact that you havt 
 exiled him from your house — his uncle's house 
 — from the hour in which I became its inmate 
 No, madam ; I may be your victim — you ma^ 
 profit by the ihoughilessness which has placec 
 my fate in your power, but you cannot deprive 
 me of the certainty that I am beloved by Her 
 bert Uevereux." 
 
 "A noble triumph!" exclaimed my mother; 
 '* but a sorry one for both of you, if such be in- 
 deed the case; for I cannot suppose that even 
 you, Miss Tilden, are so utterly a- coijuet at-] 
 heart as to derive any gratification from the 
 prospect of his sufferings ; while on your own 
 side, the inconveniences might be greater than 
 you can possibly anticipate. Be advised, while 
 there is yet time. Do not attempt to oppose 
 my will, beneath which you must bend at last 
 The wife of Herbert Devereux you shiiU nevei 
 be. Receive with becoming submission the 
 husband whom I have selected for you, and 
 conquer your repugnance by remembering that 
 you have long treated him as a favored suitor, 
 and that you are consequently in his power. 
 And now, retire to your room, and endeavor to 
 make yourself presentable before you are seen 
 by any of the guests. Not a word !" For I 
 was again about to speak. "I shall hold no 
 further conversation with you upon this subject, 
 until you can discUss it in a becoming spirit of 
 obedience." 
 
 Before she ceased speaking, she rang the bell 
 violently, and I hurried from the roo.m to es- 
 cape the observation of her women. 
 
 I have no words in which to paint my wretch- 
 edness when I again found myself alone. All 
 my love for Devereux had been previously weak 
 and languid to what I felt for him at that mo- 
 ment ; Willie my dislike of ihe baronet became 
 comparatively stronger and more bitter. I 
 hated myself also for the weakness which had 
 induced me to gratify my vanity and idleness 
 by permitting his attentions. In short, I was 
 miserable ; and so far from attempting to ef- 
 face the traces of my agitation, I gave free vent 
 to my tears and sobs, and encouraged the feel- 
 ing of desolation and bitterness which had taken 
 possession of me. 
 
 Suddenly I thought of my sister. She was 
 in possession of my secret ; I remembered 
 the strength and resolution of her ciiaracter. 
 There was yet hope for me. I dete'-mined to 
 confide to her my present sufferings, and to be 
 guided by her advice. I had neglected her too 
 much of late. Absorbed in pleasure, there was 
 nothing around me to recall her image, but' 
 now that sorrow had fallen upon me, it rose, 
 vividly to my remembrance. I sat d(*wn ea- 
 gerly to my desk, wiped away my tears, and 
 commenced forthwith the outpouring of my 
 grief 
 
 I accused iny mother of cold-hearted selfish-, 
 ness, and Lord Otterford of unwarrantable inter- 
 ference. I apostrophized Sir James Dornton ;■ 
 I declared my deteotation of him in no meas- 
 ured terms ; ar»d 1 iipbrai self for having, 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 113 
 
 •olej j?cl him as I had done. My letter was 
 full of pa^^ionate ejaculations, of incoherent 
 vows and exclnmations. Finally, having ex- 
 iiausied tlie vocabulary of expletives, I asked 
 for counsel — humbly, earnestly, as I would have 
 implored the assistance of an oracle; and then 
 I closed my lung and lamentable epistle, and be- 
 gan to count the hours which must elapse ere I 
 could hope for a reply. 
 
 Sir James Dornlon was still absent, and this, 
 at least, was a relief. I excused myself on the 
 plea of a viflvnt headache to my mother and 
 her guests, and remained during the rest of the 
 day in my own* room ; but on the morrow I did 
 not dare to repeat the experiment. I descended 
 therefore to the drawing-room, and underwent 
 the condoloments of the party on my relapse 
 with the best grace«I could assume ; while, as 
 regarded my mother, I was quitle pour lapcur, 
 for I discoveri-r not the least change from her 
 ordinary manm r. She turned her cheek to- 
 ward me will) tiie usual indifference, criticised 
 some detail of my dress, and then employed me 
 in replying tu half a dozen uninteresting notes 
 which she had received by the last post. No 
 one would have suspected the scene of severity 
 and anguish which had so lately passed between 
 
 Two days subsequently, on awaking in the 
 morning, I perceived a letter lying on the chair 
 beside my bed. I seized it eagerly. It was, 
 indeed, the reply of my sister. My fate would 
 now be determined. My heart beat violently. 
 Would she advise resistance 1 and, if so, should 
 I have courage to resist 1 Would she counsel 
 nie to yield 1 Would she bid me fling away all 
 hope of happiness] For a moment I dreaded 
 to open the letter ; but at length, unable longer 
 to control my impatience, I tore it hastily irom 
 its envelope, and read as follows : — 
 
 " Do not anticipate, I entreat, any advice 
 from me. There are circumstances in which 
 the heart alone should be the counselor, and 
 yours appears to me to be a case in point. If 
 you are n(.l beloved, your fate is frightful. If 
 you are — believe me w hen I tell you that there 
 exist others far more worthy of pity than your- 
 self" 
 
 I was thunderstruck. The letter had neither 
 commenceiuuni nor signature. The writing was 
 disjointed, rambling, and altogether unlike the 
 usual neat and caretully-formed characters of 
 my sister's hand. IJrief, abrupt, and obscure, 
 the matter of the communication was as unex- 
 pected as th<^ manner. I read and reread it 
 half a dozen Mii.es, hoping to detect some hid- 
 den meaning, or to convince myself that it was 
 a counterfeit, but I could not succeed in doing 
 either ; and at last, worn out v%ith disappoint- 
 ment and moruficaiion, I tore it into a thousand 
 fragments 
 
 " It is easy for her to make a mock of my 
 misery," I murmured bitterly to myself " Hyw 
 can she a|)|>rrciate the wretchedness of mar- 
 ri<ige Willi a man whom I cannot love, and of 
 separation (vun\ one to whom I am devoted? 
 How dcluilfd have f been to imagine, because 
 Bhe talked bvavtly whf n no trial was near, that 
 she would bo as c<iurageous or as clear-sighted 
 when that trial came! I have indeed leant 
 cpon a reed ! ' There are othors more worthy 
 of pity than my.-:elfl' Perhaps so. There is 
 
 the leper on liis desolate pallet, watching for 
 death in solitude and suffering — there is the 
 galley-slave, chained to the oar, and laboring 
 away his heart beneath the lash of his captors 
 — there is the beggar in his rags, gaunt with 
 famine, with his death-sobs frozen in his throat. 
 I wanted no oracle to tell me this — I asked for 
 comfort, for solace ; and her w ords, scanty as 
 they are, have but increased the evil. ' If I am 
 not beloved,' sHe says. Even here, where I am 
 to be victimized, she raises a frightlul doubt — 
 ' If I am not beloved, my fate is frightful' — but of 
 this love, little as I prize it, I am at least as- 
 sured. Why should Sir James pursue itie, de- 
 spite my repugnance, unless he loved me? 
 And yet — his words, his looks, his very atten- 
 tions, are scarcely those of a lover. When be- 
 side me. he is frequently absorbed in sudden 
 thought ; he has the appearance of a man whose 
 heart is elsewhere — or whose affections are 
 exhausted. What if his afl"ected passion should 
 be a mere fancy — a mere caprice ! What must 
 inevitably be the result of such a marriage 1 
 Or, worse still" — and here a new terror grew 
 upon me — " what if he should be the tool of 
 Lddy Jladelaine's cold-hearted policy — if it 
 should be to please her that he has ofl^ered him- 
 self, to prevent my union with Herbert Dev- 
 ereuxl To make me miserable, that he is 
 about to sacrifice himself? I have youth, beau- 
 ty, fashion, station — all that can flatter his am- 
 bition ; he is no longer young — he has long 
 been the slave of my mother's will. Alas ! 
 alas ! I have fallen upon the bitter, the mortify- 
 ing truth !" 
 
 Again I wept; but, after a time, I began to 
 feel ashamed of my own cowardice. "After 
 all," I said mentally, " I cannot be compelled to 
 marry this man. My mother is tyrannical and 
 sell-willed, it is true, but she is not omnipotent. 
 I have my weapons, even as she has hers. I 
 have been too easy, too familiar, too conde- 
 scending to Sir James. I will show him, and 
 all the world, that I am aware of this. He 
 shall now see that I am not, like himself, a 
 mere tool in the hands of others."* 
 
 I was faithful to the pledge thus tacitly made. 
 Sir James, on his return, no sooner approached 
 me, than I armed myself in all the panoply ol 
 my self-appreciation, and became porcupinish in 
 my mood. Not a smile rewarded his hveliest 
 sallies ; not an acknowledgment repaid his most 
 labored attention. I was worse than icy— I 
 was hostile. The baronet was evidently un- 
 prepared for this sudden change ; and I fear 
 that he was clever enough to detect at onca 
 how great a share temper held in tlie afl^air. Be 
 that as it may, however, it is certain that he 
 was by far too good a tactician to be discoun- 
 tenanced for so small a matter : he only altered 
 his system. 
 
 He became reserved and circumspect. To 
 his habitual style of gallant, and occasionally 
 caustic conversation, succeeded respect, senti- 
 ment, and deference. He seldom directly ad- 
 dressed me, but he spoke to others in my hear- 
 ing in those tones and tenns which interest and 
 flatter our sex, even despite our prejudices, 
 This able metamorphosis annoyed me. My 
 temper failed more and more as I became cou- 
 ncil is that I was losing ground. Frequerlly 
 when 1 had prepared myiself to utlc t'^Tjecat 
 
114 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 {iiig remark, a sudden cloud which gathered 
 UiH)n his brow — a melancholy which darkened 
 ill his eyes — made its utterance impossible, i 
 Astonished, perhaps conciliated, by these evi- J 
 dences of feeling, I began to hesitate : I might , 
 probably have wronged him ; what was I to | 
 conclude] Could it be that what was in the i 
 first instance the mere wish to please my mother, 
 had grown into a feeling toward myself, over 
 whioii he could no longer exercise a control 
 that would have spared his pride 1 The idea 
 was at least a flattering one : and I found my- 
 self well inclined to indulge in it. Not once 
 did it occur to me that my fortune might play 
 a prominent part in the farce. At eighteen, girls 
 never think so meanly of themselves as to be- 
 lieve thai the possession of their afiections can 
 be put into competition with that of their purse, 
 or that a few thousands, more or less, may have 
 power to control their destiny ; at eight-and- 
 twenty, when the world has educated them, 
 they modify their creed. 
 
 I was not sorry when I had argued myself 
 into the belief that I had done Uornton injustice. 
 I relaxed a little, in consequence, in manner as 
 well as in feeling ; but my concession extended 
 no further. As a husband I could not look 
 upon him with anything save aversion. Amid 
 all my folly and frivolity I never forgot Dev- 
 ereux, and never ceased to look forward with 
 hope to his reappearance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Mv mother looked on in silence. I attributed 
 her neutrality' to weariness of the conflict. I 
 wronged her; I should have placed it to the 
 credit of her diplomacy. She was sufTering the 
 enemy to exhaust his strength in idle skirmish- 
 ing. Dictatorial as she was, she did not wish 
 my marriage with her protege to appear one of 
 compulsion. She was too well-bred to volun- 
 teer herself as a spectacle to all her circle ; and 
 she had wit enough to see that in my then 
 frame of mind, opposition would only serve to 
 strengthen my determination. The contest be- 
 tween us was unequal. Like her countrymen, 
 the Campbells, Lady Madelaine was content to 
 " bide her time ;" while she well knew that the 
 factitious spirit of courage which I had so sud- 
 denly summoned would moulder away of itself, 
 if left disregarded, like a column of sandstone. 
 The material of which it was built up was not 
 6f a nature to endure. She had communicated 
 her will, and now preserved a dignified silence, 
 leaving the rest to the attentions of Sir James, 
 who might well be supposed to possess more 
 than sufficient experience of the sex, to over- 
 come the stubborn will and childish attachment 
 of a mere girl. 
 
 Di)riiton was, however, by no means so cer- 
 tain of his ultiiTiate success as my mother 
 issiimed to be. My conduct was too consist- 
 snt to have grown out of a momentary whim ; 
 and he was, probably, less satisfied with my 
 p.irtial return toward courtesy, than he would 
 have been under a persistence in the ultra 
 measures which I originally adopted. He felt 
 LSat he made no progress, and, without doubt, 
 ho communicated his conviction to Lady Mad- 
 iJaino ; fcr the avalanche suddenly fell when I 
 
 &d y'.citei i,i» dread its ilcsccnt. 
 
 A new summons to her dressing-room struck 
 a chill to my heart. Tlie hour was indeed 
 come ! I sank trembling into a chair, and for 
 a few minutes was unable 'iven to ask mysell 
 if I had strength left to cjntend. Gradually, 
 however, I recovered some degree of self-pos- 
 session, and began to make formidable prom- 
 ises to my own heart. The happiness of Dev- 
 ereux depended upon my firmness — of this fact 
 I had never permitted myself to entertain a 
 doubt — therefore I was in honor bound not to 
 yield. I argued upon false premises. I littlo 
 anticipated the trial which awaited me. 
 
 "Take a seat, Miss Tilden," said Lady Mad- 
 elaine coldly, as I entered her apartnieiit. " \ 
 shall not detain you long; nor can I bestow 
 much time upon the subject which I am about 
 to discuss with you for tlie last time. Tn thr 
 first place, I must express my sincere regret 
 that I ever made any portion of my p<>r^onal 
 happiness dependent upon your prosperity in 
 after-life. My solicitude has been thrown awny; 
 — but let that pass. No person of dignitied; 
 mind could have been prepared for the system; 
 of heartless coquetry which you have so perti-| 
 naciously pursued with Sir James Unriiion — a' 
 man, who in every phase of his chaiacttr mer- 
 ited far different treatment. I was aWout tt) 
 make you feel your error, and to exact from! 
 you not only a prompt but also a cheerlul obe-| 
 dience to that expediency, and I will also sa), 
 propriety, which you "fiave so grossly outragec 
 — I offered to pledge myself to Sir James Dorn-i 
 ton that you should be his wife within twcj 
 months from this time ; but he would not re, 
 ceive my pledge. Too delicate to owe you;' 
 possession to an act of maternal authority, ancj 
 satisfied, as he asserts, that he has failed tx, 
 gain your affections, he renounces all prelen! 
 sioiis to your hand. Do you understand thiaj 
 Miss Tilden 1 Sir James Dornton declines thij 
 alliance ! This is your first step in lite. Is ii 
 not a flattering debut 1 You are silent ; aiic 
 perhaps you are right, for it is a ciicuiiisi:iiu- 
 by no means agreeable of discussion either t 
 yourself or your family. We have now don 
 with it forever." 
 
 I began to breathe more freely; I even ros 
 to leave the room. 
 
 " One word more before we part," pursue 
 my mother in the same cold and caustic ton 
 as before. " Although the cause is removei 
 the effects remain. My daughter. Miss Tilden, i 
 already a marked woman — marked as a hearties 
 coquet. You are at the mercy of Sir James 
 and men who have been jilted as he has bee 
 by you, possess little of that foriieaiing vi 
 lue. Had I contemplated your appearance i 
 town for a second season unmarried, your fai 
 would ere now have been fixed forever. .s 
 James Dornton is not an obscure individu' 
 whose sarcasm would fall harmless ; he is 
 man of fashion and figure, popular, witty, ar; 
 distinguished ; whose first sneer would ha^ 
 blighted your prospects. Fort' inately, howeve 
 you are rescued from this poril. Your inco 
 sisient and incautious conduct has deierminc, 
 me no longer to burden myself with the lespoi 
 sibility of your guardianship, or to suffer yi, 
 to have any voice in any measure in which yt 
 are concerned. It is, therefore, sufficient , 
 inform you that I have this day had tiie grali' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 115 
 
 eution to reoQlve from Mr. Curties a letter, in 
 which he formally makes you an offer of his 
 nand and fortune." 
 
 •• From Mr. Curties!" I exclaimed, in amaze. 
 
 "Nay, Miss Tilden, why do you affect such 
 violent surprise 1" asked my mother, disdainful- 
 ly. " Had you indeed so very humble an idea of 
 your personal attractions, as to believe that you 
 could with impunity make so marked an attack 
 up.jn any unmarried man, as that which you in- 
 defatigably carried on against Mr. Curties dur- 
 ing the last evening of his stay at Woodville? 
 Jf so, pray undeceive yourself. The result — the 
 iriumphant result — of your skill is before you. 
 The gentleman acknowledges himself conquer- 
 ed, and will present himself in form three days 
 taence, to receive my answer. I shall not, how- 
 ever, keep him so long in suspense. That an- 
 ewer will be decisive. I acknowledge both your 
 obligation and my own to Mr. Curties ; he has 
 saved our honor ; and I have now only to re- 
 mind you that you are to prepare yourself to 
 meet him as a man so soon to be your husband 
 should be met." 
 
 "I cannot be awake," I murmured to my- 
 self as I swept my hand across my forehead, 
 and endeavored to still the beating of my tem- 
 ples, which was almost audible ; " it must be a 
 frightful dream ! — a hideous nightmare ! No, 
 madam," I exclaimed suddenly, shaking off the 
 panic terror which had seized upon me ; — " no, 
 madam ; you seek in vain to terrify me. You 
 cannot have such a project. Have you never, 
 then, read the German tale of the living man 
 who was attached to a corpse and so thrust 
 forth to exist as he might 1 the quick and the 
 dead brought together in unnatural contact — 
 the breathing and the breathless linked each to 
 the other by a hateful and revcdting bond ! Do 
 you talk of me and Mr. Curties as man and 
 wifel do you think that I could exist a month 
 beneath his roof in such a character 1 If I 
 have acted weakly, idly, I will not shrink from 
 any just rebuke; but such a threat as this is 
 refined cruelty, which I cannot, faulty as I am, 
 have deserved." 
 
 " I know not what you may consider to be 
 your deserts, Miss Tilden," replied Lady Mad- 
 elaine, perfectly unmoved by my agony ; " I 
 am only cognizant of the consequences which 
 your peculiar system of conduct has entailed 
 upon you. Your baby-love business with Her- 
 bert Devereux made you at once the amuse- 
 ment and the prophetic theme of my drawing- 
 room. I doubt much whether, at the period of 
 my leaving Rooksley for town immediately 
 after my discovery of your extreme levity, you 
 believed that I was at all occupied by specula- 
 lions for your welfare ; but in that, as well as 
 in many other things, you were both wrong and 
 unjust. I looked round upon all the eligible 
 men in my circle; but I did not see there one 
 whom I could dare to hope, would, despite your 
 fortune, assist you to repair the past. It was 
 not until after the death of your father that, 
 profiling by an accidental influence over Sir 
 : James Dornton, I induced him lo consent to 
 ! offer himself as your suitor." 
 
 As my mother senlentiously uttered this offen- 
 eive declaration, I felt as though my wounded 
 I Tanily, and. still worse, my womanly pride. 
 Prostrated in its holiness and purity, would 
 
 have sufTocatt'd me. Lady Madelaine looked 
 toward me, as if she were prepared for some 
 comment upon her words ; but my emotion 
 was so great that I could not articulate a sylla- 
 .ble. 
 
 " Yes," she pursued, following up what she 
 evidently believed to be her triumph ; " for- 
 tunately for you, misguided girl, who had already 
 called down remark by your inconsequent be- 
 havior. Sir James Dornton had sufficient regard 
 for my feelings to — " 
 
 I recovered my self government in an instant; 
 the excess of my indignation and the extremity 
 of my situation rendered me calm to an extent 
 which surprised myself 
 
 "It is, indeed, matter of self-gratulation to 
 me," I said firmly, as I raised my eyes steadily 
 to hers, *' that, when it becomes necessary to re- 
 pair the effects of my misguided conduct, your 
 ladyship, who are, of course, altogether irre- 
 proachable in your relations with the other sex, 
 should have chanced to possess so great an 
 ' accidental influence' over a man generous 
 enough, when he became convinced that he 
 could not make himself master of the fortune 
 and fashion of the mother, to condescend to 
 exchange for them the fortune and youth of the 
 daughter. But, madam, even as the mother 
 would not, so also the daughter will not." 
 
 I shall never forget the rage of Lady Made- 
 laine — her quivering lips were as white as her 
 forehead ; her hands were tightly clenched ; 
 and for an instant I believed that she would 
 strike me ; but after a brief struggle, she un- 
 clasped her fingers, and fell back in her chair, 
 as she demanded the meaning of my words. 
 
 "It is simple, madam," I answered; "and 
 it will suffice to tell you that I remember the 
 visit of Sir James to Rooksley during your first 
 period of widowhood ; your long interview, 
 and, above all, your mutual reappearance in 
 the drawing-room ; he, gloomy, embarrassed, 
 and taciturn ; you, radiant with ill-concealed 
 triumph." 
 
 " And what more, Miss -Tilden 1" 
 
 " Nothing ; save that I will never marry the 
 rejected suitor of my mother." 
 
 "Truly, you do well," said Lady Madelaine 
 with a smile of defiance, "to remind me that 
 we have digressed from our original subject. 
 You perceive that, fortunately for you, there 
 will be no necessity for you so to degrade your- 
 self ; for — to pursue my sketch of your past 
 prowess — you had no sooner made yourself 
 the theme of half the county by your encour- 
 agement of the man whom you now affect to 
 despise, and cast him aside in his turn, thail 
 Mr. Curties presents himself, and saves, as I 
 have already remarked, both your own honoi 
 and mine." 
 
 I was suddenly flung back to earth again by 
 the mention of that hated name. 
 
 " I would rather die than marry Mr. Curties '" 
 I exclaimed vehemently ; for once more I was 
 overcome by my agitation. 
 
 " But Sir James Dornton has resigned his 
 pretensions — " 
 
 " I will not be the wife of either,'' I said, re»- 
 olutely. 
 
 " The declaration is impotent," was her reply; 
 " I will not even offer you the alternative ol 
 returning to Rooksley, for such a concessioD 
 
IIG 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 would only expose me to a probable renewal of 
 the same mollifications. Indeed, your path is 
 al once plain and imperative. Sir James lias, 
 as I have already inlorined you, withdrawn any 
 claims which he had founded upon your good 
 faiih. More generous tlian yourself, he uttered 
 no accus'ilion which he could nut prove — gave 
 utterance to no suspicions which he could not 
 justify ; and at my fust mention of my intention 
 of compelling you to fultil the hopes which you 
 had not scrupled to create, he did what lew 
 men wo;!ld have had sullicient pride or honor 
 to have done — he declared his resolution to 
 abandon his suit at once. I have already hinted 
 to you whai may be the after-consequences of 
 his estrangement ; and it is now, moreover, too 
 late to calculate their probable effect in the world. 
 Vou are fortunate in having secured a new sui- 
 tor who is ignorant of your antecedents at so 
 eventful a moment." 
 
 I was so terrified by the coloring which Lady 
 Madelaine had so ingeniously given to the past, 
 that all my courage abandoned me. I forgot how 
 impossible it was for her to compel me to a 
 halelul marriage — I forgot the pledge whicii I had 
 given to my own heart to be worthy of the love 
 of Devereux — I forgot Devereux himself I 
 thought only of the rigid, cold, impracticable 
 Mr. Curlies, with his endless monosyllables and 
 untiring self-appreciation. Was he to be the 
 climax of my dreams ! — the partner of my after- 
 life \ The vision was too bitter to support. 
 Every other feeling gave way before it ; and, 
 fairly con(iuered. I cast mysell' at the knees of 
 my obdurate mother, and gasped out between my 
 sobs — " Have pity on me ! — iiave pity on me 1" 
 
 I was too wretched, loo Iboroiigbly prostrat- 
 ed in s|)irit at that moment to remember what 
 a triumph this scene would have been to .Adela, 
 could she have witnessed it; how complete a 
 justification it would have proved of all her 
 doubts and of all her prophec.es. I was wiioUy 
 absoibed in self; my pride and my passion were 
 alike dormant. 
 
 " No tragedy, I enueat. Miss Tilden," said 
 Lady .Mad-laine, waving me away; "lean brook 
 no lufiher contradiction. I am indignant al this 
 perpetual disobedience, and will no longer en- 
 courage it by the weakness which 1 have hith- 
 erto displayed." 
 
 Overwhelmed by ihe cold decision of her tone, 
 I attempted no reply. I buried my face in the 
 cusliion ui \iii\- faulcuil, and wept. 
 
 " Yon faligue my patience and outrage my 
 pride, Kveleeii," she pursued, after a i)ause ; 
 " yray, endeavor to be rational. Retire to your 
 room ; or, if you persist in remaining liere in 
 defiiiiicc of my vvishef, ceas6 to make yourself 
 ridiculous, and tell me upon what line of conduct 
 you have decided V 
 
 There was a slight softening in her tone as 
 she concluded her address, which once more 
 awoke in me something like hope. I raised 
 my head, and with clasped hands I faltered 
 out, " Save me — oh ! save me from this hate- 
 ful marriage !" 
 
 " I cannot, consistently viih your future wel- 
 fare." 
 
 " Send me back to RooKsley — to Scotlanil — 
 Enywnere — let me noi be heard of again by the 
 world which has judged me so harshly — I will 
 ■ubniit to any exile ; but do not compel me to 
 
 become the wife of a man whom I shruld 
 infallibly detest." 
 
 "If you have no better arguments than these 
 to advance, they will produce no eflett upon 
 me," replied my moiher. " You can neither 
 return to Rooksley nor to Scotland ; we are 
 not enaiHing a romance. You must many 
 .Mr. Curties, since you did not consider Sii 
 James Dornlon worthy of your hand ; and if you 
 do not submit with a good grace to a marriage 
 which you have brought upon yourself by youi 
 own levity, I shall, without further hesiiaiion, 
 exert my authoriiy, and compel you to pay a 
 proper regard to the dignity bolh of yourself and 
 your family." 
 
 " All is then over !" I exclaimed, as I rose, 
 " and I have nothing left but to die." 
 
 Lady Madelaine laughed contemptuously. \ 
 " From what novel did you learn that phrase, i 
 child I It is utterly absurd. A woman does i 
 iiat die because she sacrirtces her inclination to , 
 her duty. I gave a proof of that very true truth j 
 when I married your father." ' 
 
 I disdained, wretched as I was, to reply to so ) 
 coarse a taunt. i 
 
 " Are you not ashamed," she pursued, "to' 
 play so poor and mean a part? I have no taste 
 for mtludrame, especially when it is got up 
 under my own roof You will multiply these | 
 exiravagairces with(3ut the slightest success ;i 
 and I consei|uently advise you to act at once; 
 like a rational being, and to accept, as becomes 
 you, a destiny which you cannot either control 
 or avert." 
 
 I still stood half-suffocated with sobs, and, 
 silent. . I 
 
 For a few minutes my mother also forbore to, 
 speak. She had cast herself back in her chair, 
 and appeared to be revolving some project in 
 her iriind. I watched her narrowly. Al length 
 she once more turned towards me, and said 
 slowly — 
 
 " If I only consulted your deserts, Evelecn, I 
 should not swerve from one single rrsolutioD 
 which I have declared to you ; but I cannot, 
 even exasperated and wounded as 1 am, forget 
 that I am slill your mother. I cannot i-oldlj 
 abandon you to what you declare would be 
 certain wretchedness; and I will iheiefore 
 venture to take upon myself to hold out to yoi 
 once more the chance — I may indeed say, ihi 
 certainly — of happiness. I leave you I rue tt 
 choose between Mr. Curties and Sir Jaiiie; 
 Uornlon ; for I am so well assured of the friend 
 ship t)f the latter, that I feel satisfied of his com 
 pliance with my wishes, when I represent ti 
 him thai you have repented of your lolly ; bu 
 you must decide at once. I am now going V 
 reply to the letter of Mr. Curties ; he shall not 
 he cannot, under the circumstances, be left i 
 suspense or doubt'for a moment longer than i' 
 absolutely necessary. Lord Otterford has intei 
 est in the county, which may be ruined by , 
 rupture with a person so locally influential, 
 foibid you to utter another word, unless it bet 
 express your decision." 
 
 The alternative was a bitter one : but the di 
 ference between my two suitors was so grea 
 that, had selection been the only difficulty, . 
 could not have hesitated for a moment; eve 
 as it was, the idea of becoming the wife of S 
 James was less distasteful to me than it ha 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 117 
 
 Hitherto been, because the personal and social 
 defects of his rival brought out his own quali- 
 ties in brjijlil relief Oriiirn I could not, at least, 
 be ashamed. He might make me wretched, 
 but he woukl never make me blush ; neverlhe- 
 Jcss I could not utter the word which was re- 
 quired of me. I stdl expostulated, still pleaded 
 — the image of Devereux once more rose up 
 before me, and I regained a little courage ; hut 
 I was no match for the strong will of l.ady Mad- 
 elaine. She drew her writing-table toward 
 her ; selected a crow-quill from the desk, with 
 as mucii care as though she had been about to 
 transcribe her first billet-doux ; and then ad- 
 dressing me once more, she asked with perfect 
 composure — 
 
 " Have you decided the fate of Mr. Curties, 
 Mi.ss Tilden 1 I am about to announce it to him 
 before the letter-bag is closed. Shall I sum- 
 mon hiin to Woodvdie, or give him his conge 
 until our departure 1" 
 
 " Oh, for pity's sake, let me never see him 
 again !" I implored through my tears. 
 
 " Then you are prepared to become the wife 
 of Sir James Dornton !" 
 
 " He has withdrawn his suit." 
 
 "Do not trifle with me, Eveleen ; I have 
 already told you that I do not despair of my in- 
 fluence with Sir James." 
 
 " But would you subject your own daughter, 
 madau), to the humiliation of seeing her hand 
 accepted as a favor to herself]" 
 
 " .Assuredly not. I am not so ignorant of the 
 world, or of the nature of men. I shall per- 
 suade Sir James that you only acted as you 
 have done, because your coquetry would not 
 be satisfied without he submitted to the slights 
 and trials wherewith you were pleased to visit 
 liiin, and that you now see your error." 
 
 " But even this — " 
 
 " Enough, enough !" interposed Lady Mad- 
 elair.e impatiently ; " have you left yourself an- 
 other choice ^ Once more — what am I to reply 
 |o Mr. Curties 1" and she dipped her pen into 
 the ink. 
 
 " That I am about to become Lady Dorn- 
 ton," I murmured almost inaudihly. 
 
 " What an effort of courage !" exclaimed my 
 mother, shrugging her shoulders: "and now 
 go to your room, and bathe your eyes. I can 
 converse with you no longer at present, and 
 must he careful in the wording of my letter. — 
 It is by no means easy to tell a gentleman, with 
 proper courtesy, that he is rejected." 
 
 I waited no further bidding, but rushpd from 
 the room, just as Lady Madelaine was preparing 
 to throw herself upon the sofa, in order to ob- 
 tain a little repose after her unwonted exertion. 
 It never occurred to me, poor innocent ! that I 
 had heen duped. It never struck me that the 
 letter of Mr. Curties, of which I had heard so 
 much, remained invisible. I little suspected, in 
 short, when I cast myself upon my knees, to 
 weep out the bitterness of my sorrow, and to 
 endeavor to collect my thoughts, that Lady 
 Madelaine and Lord Otterford were laughing 
 together over the mystification of which I had 
 been made the victim. 
 
 lK)rd Otterford was revenged. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 I Din not see my mother again in private fi> 
 the next lour days. When I had succeeded, i* 
 net in mastering my emotion, at least in looking 
 more distinctly upon my actual position, I ac- 
 cused myself bitterly for I he weakness which 
 I had betrayed ; and resolved, without further 
 delay, to declare the impossibility of my ad- 
 hering to the promise which had heen extorted 
 trom me. Notwithstanding this determination, 
 however, it was a considerable time before I 
 could summon sufficient resolution to encountet 
 once more the anger and indignation of Lady 
 Madelaine, strengthened, as I was consciou* 
 that they must be, by what she would not fenl 
 to denounce as a fresh exhibitit)n of my levity 
 I did, nevertheless, so far conquer my terroi, 
 as to send Josephine to her dressing-room, with 
 a request that she should receive me fi)r a fev* 
 instants ; and never shall I forget the state ol 
 agitation in which I awaited the permission I 
 had sought. I might, however, have spared my 
 self the suffering. My mother had doubtlessly 
 little trouble in convincing herself of the purpose 
 for which I sought the interview, and her reply 
 simply announced that she should see me at 
 table. 
 
 I felt, even while I despised myself for the 
 weakness, like a reprieved criminal. I was 
 compelled to confess in my own heart how much 
 I feared her, as a sensation of intense relief 
 grew upon me with the conviction, that before 
 witnesses I had nothing to apprehend from her 
 violence. Woodville was still full of guesta; 
 the absence of Sir James and Mr. Curties had 
 left but a small blank ; and the house was a 
 constant scene of gaiety and amusement. 
 Still, although I hugged myself under a sense 
 of present security, and tried to believe that, 
 even as it had chanced to many of my favorite 
 heroines, something would and must occur to 
 prevent the fulfilment of Lady Madelaine'a 
 project, I could not altogether forget that by 
 my inertness I was stre^ngthening her power 
 
 How often did I sigh for a portion of Adela'8 
 firmness — how often did the tears spring into 
 my eyes as I remembered our separation, which 
 deprived me of her advice and support at .so 
 critical a moment. During itiy hours of triumph 
 and dissipation I seldom thought of her; am' 
 her memory, even when I did so, was always 
 productive to me of mortification and annoy- 
 ance. Her cold and constrained letter haf* 
 closed my heart against her ; hut now, in my 
 sorrow and in my uncertainty, f fi)rgot all, save 
 the decision of character which had at times ap 
 peared to lend me a portitm of its own strength, 
 and as I wept over myself I regretted her. 
 
 My motlier, before our guests, was all suavity 
 and kindness ; she created opportunities fiir tho 
 display of my accomplishments; and even, al- 
 though rarely, forgot Lord ChaHingiiuwfor a ft v 
 moments, to occupy herselfvvilh me. In tlrO 
 hearing of Lord Otterford there was something 
 which displeased me. That he was cognizan 
 of the siruL'gle which had taken placo betweer 
 Lady Madelaine and myself, I could not for ai. 
 instant doubt; and yet there was a lurking 
 smile playing about his mouth as he looke>' to 
 ward me, and an afl^ectation of exaggerale;i 
 respect in his manner, which was anythiti/^ 
 rather than concil-ating to my temper, or agree- 
 
/18 
 
 CONFESSION'S OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 tblc to my taste. All the rest of the tirole were 
 aa idle, as pleasure-seeking, and as seltish as 
 ever Not one of ihem searched beneath the 
 fcuiface — why .■•lioiikl tliey 1 There is nothing 
 which worldlings find so much trouble in for- 
 giving as the sorrow of (me of their associates : 
 it brt-aks in upon their personal comtort — it dis- 
 locates ilie cliain of their ideas — it brings them 
 back to the realities of lile. In short, if by 
 some unguarded demonstration of sympathy 
 they chance to draw down upon themselves a 
 contideuce of suflering, it sounds in their ears 
 like the shriek of the mandrake, which brought 
 ruin upon him who called it forth. 
 
 Thus I was cast wholly upon myself; and 
 once I almost formed tlie resolution of writing, 
 to claim the counsel and assistance of Lady 
 O'Halli.ran ; but this my pride forbade : I coiild 
 not brook that she should learn how utterly Iter 
 kind and motherly advice had failed in its ob- 
 ject ; I could not calmly sit down to tell her 
 that I had lost all authority over my fate by 
 Hiy own idle imprudence ; and thus this ra- 
 tional and honest purpose was blighted in the 
 #ud. 
 
 At noon, on the fifth day succeeding our in- 
 terview, I was (mce more informed that Lady 
 Madelaine desired to see me in her mornmg- 
 Toom. In spite of my better reason I still 
 hoped ; and the rather, as I had heard Lord 
 Olterford inform one of the guests on the pre- 
 vious evening, that Sir Herbert and Lady 
 Devereux were hourly expected at Woodville. 
 I almost forgot my feais as I remembered this. 
 Without doubt Captain Devereux woQld be their 
 
 Kimpanion ; and, perhaps ! I, however, 
 
 liad not time to follow up the inspirations of my 
 brightening fancy ; and it was with a flushed 
 cheek and a flashing eye that I found myself in 
 the presence of Lady Madelaine. 
 
 " Upon my word. Miss Tilden," she said, as 
 Bhe looked attentively upon me, "you owe me 
 a greater obligaiion than you can ever repay. I 
 have made you reasmiable ; and, as my reward, 
 I now see you by far handsomer than you had 
 ever yet appeared to me. Nothing could be 
 more fortunate. Sir James will pride himself 
 the less u|)()n his generosity." 
 
 These words sulliced to degtroy the charm. 
 I seated myself in silence, while 1 felt the blood 
 chill and curdle at my heart. The effect was 
 visible ; for my iiioiher hastily added, as she 
 rose partially from her chait, What is the 
 matter, Eveleen ! Are you faini 5 Shall I ring 
 for my woman !" 
 
 I shook my head in silence. 
 
 "This is immensely provokinjj !" murmured 
 Lady Madelaine pettishly. "I never saw a 
 girl who took so much pains to disfigure her 
 beauty, and to grow old before her time. Pray, 
 exert a little more sell-command. Miss Tilden, 
 and remember that you are no longer a child. 
 Rely upon it, that no husband will accommo- 
 date himself to the incessant vapors in which 
 you indi'lge." 
 
 The tears fell silently upon my cheeks. 
 
 "This is intolerable !" again murmured my 
 mother ; " and had better at once be brought 
 to an end " As she spoke, she rang the table- 
 Veil, which stood beside her ; and desired the 
 6ervant, who almost immediately appeared, to 
 ♦fcquest that Sir James i)ornlon would favor 
 
 her with his company for a few minutes in bet 
 own siiting-room. 
 
 I bounded from my chair. 
 
 " Yes, Eveleen," she said, as she marked my 
 action, " Sir James is here. I have already 
 seen him ; but, as I wished to spare you both, 
 I thought it belter that you should meet, for tiie 
 first tune as affianced lovers, in private. All 
 opposition is now too late. Let me not have 
 to complain of you in this instance, or I vow t(» j 
 you that I will recall Mr. Curties by to-mor- | 
 row's post, and you shall become his wife with- 
 in six months." 
 
 I knew my mother's iron will too well to 
 doubt her for an instant ; nor, even had I ^jds- 
 sessed resolution at that moment to contend, 
 should I have had time to do so ; for. as she 
 ceased. speaking, I heard steps in the library, 
 whence Lady Madelaine's room opened ; and, 
 •"e'lore I could have uttered a word, the door 
 fell back, and Sir James entered, and closed it 
 carefully behind him. 
 
 I had meanwhile rushed to the window to 
 conceal my tears, and stood there, half-buried 
 among the curtains. 
 
 " Eveleen at last renders you justice, my deai 
 Sir James," said my mother, as he moved to- 
 ward her; "and we both hope that you wil 
 pardon all her past coquetry. It was, as I tolii 
 you, the inspiration of her head, and not of her 
 heart, and she is heartily ashamed of it ; nay, 
 I am not quite sure that it has not cost her a 
 few tears ; for, when she first entered the room 
 she was radiant, while now she is as pale and 
 wan as Desdemona. Wdl you promise to for- 
 get the past 1" 
 
 The baronet bowed profoundly ; and then 
 approaching me, he took my hand and raised it 
 to his lips, despite the inclination to prevent if 
 which I dared not betray. "Miss Tilden is too 
 handsome," he said with grave courtesy, "not 
 to be pardoned for the wish to make so great a 
 happiness as that which I am now permuted to 
 anticipate, the reward of some sudering. She 
 was anxious, perhaps, to make n)e purchase 
 the triumph of her hand from herself, rather 
 than to owe it to the intercession of her family; 
 and her resolution is very flattering to me. I 
 have neither right nor inclination to complain 
 At whatever price so great a boon may be ob- 
 tained, it can never equal its value." 
 
 I bowed coldly and in silence ; my pride had 
 been wounded by the apologetic words of my 
 mother, and I revolted at both the tone and 
 manner of my unwished-for suitor. 
 
 " I have warned Eveleen that we must have 
 no more flirtations with Mr. Curties," said my 
 mother with a forced laugh. 
 
 "I am less exacting," was the instant reply 
 of Sir James. "I think it, on the contrary, 
 vastly amusing; and if, at the same time, il 
 amuses Miss Tilden, I see no reason why she 
 should refuse herself so innocent a gratification. 
 No, no ; it is by no means of Mr. Curties that 
 I should feel inclined to be jealous." 
 
 The malicious emphasis of his last phras€ 
 was not lost upon me. I bit my lips with sup- 
 l)ressed raye, hut I compelled myself to silenca 
 
 "Is Lady Devereux arrived 1" asked mj 
 mother, as if anxious to change the conversa- 
 tion ; " I thought 1 nearu the sound of wheels 
 upon the gravel before your entrance ; but, ai 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 119 
 
 had git ^r, orders not to be disturbed, no visitor 
 •<is beer, announced." 
 
 •' Yes, she is here — all animation and bril- 
 ianey ; J..d will liiinii every minute an hour 
 jntil she has seen you." 
 
 " I vvi;i M)t defer the meeting any longer ; my 
 •veloomi; :s as ready as it is sincere." said my 
 luoiher, Ksing from her chair, and advancing to 
 Ihe door of the library. 
 
 I understood her intention at once ; I was to 
 fee left litc-d-tele with Sir James, but for this I 
 'lad neither strength nor temper ; and, accord- 
 'ii^iy, I vvithiirew with a stately courtesy from 
 6eside liii;i ; and, as she disappeared through 
 one door, I escaped by the otlier. 
 
 I hoped that, once alone again, I should be- 
 some more calm, but I was wrong. I only felt 
 the wretchedness of my position more acutely ; 
 ^nd the aiomentary hope in which I had so idly 
 indulged served to render my increased disap- 
 poinliner.t the more bitter. It was with a feel- 
 ing of puwerlessness and despair that I sat down 
 to review every phase of my situation in detail. 
 I called up the past — dwelt upon words and 
 looks that I had hitherto almost forgotten ; and 
 lingered over them long, very long — but I did 
 not shed a tear ; I examined, rigorously and 
 resolutely, my conduct toward both Sir James 
 and Mr. Curties ; and, although I was com- 
 pelled to admit that it had been childish and 
 inconsistent, stiH I could not bring myself to 
 believe that it authorized the tyranny with 
 which 1 had since been treated. But when I 
 at last began to reflect that I was now, and by 
 my own tacit consent, the affianced wife of Sir 
 James Dornton, the discarded suitor of my 
 mother — for of that fact I never for a moment 
 entertained a doubt — then again my tears burst 
 out afresh, and for a few seconds I thought that 
 I should have suffocated. Nor was this all. 
 The scene of the morning was still visibly be- 
 fore me ; and how had my proffered hand — for 
 it had indeed been proffered, and not asked — 
 how had it been received ? With a cold bow 
 and a few studied sentences. I felt that now 
 indeed I was dishonored : that now, indeed, my 
 dignity was humbled. Had not the man to 
 whom I was to be tied for life been solicited to 
 accept a^.e ! Had he not been asked to forgive 
 all thj:l he disapproved ? — and had he not dis- 
 dainfully made known to me at once that I was 
 free to smile upon a rival, without one appre- 
 hension of wounding either his pride or his 
 6elf-l(.vc ! 
 
 Let i:>y woman, accustomed to the voice of 
 adulation, and more, to the accents of passion, 
 place i.-iiself for an instant in my position ; and 
 then .e; her confess how much more readily she 
 would encounter some real sorrow, which, 
 while .•; crushed her heart, still spared her self- 
 respect. 
 
 Hew differently would Devereux have acted 
 at sue a moment ! We are all so apt to ap- 
 preciate ourselves at the value set upon us by 
 those who love us best, that I was thoroughly 
 denorUi.tce by the events of the few last weeks ; 
 and ,-i,y thoughts once more fastened upon 
 Heibe/t. "Ah !'' I mentally exclaimed, " whai 
 frouli, have been his indignation if he had 
 iear_ Lay mother soliciting, in my bclialf, the 
 ln.lii.g'->.-.:e of Sir James Dornton ? And I have 
 
 ital.lytubmitted to this degradation—I have, 
 
 coward as I am, consented to leceive as a suit- 
 or ilii' man who, atsucli a moment, approaches 
 me with covert insult I" 
 
 These reflections almost maddened me. I 
 fell as though I should become delirious. I was 
 frightened at myself. Once I rose, in a stale 
 ofdesperation, resolved to seek Lady Madelairie, 
 and to declare to her, even though she should 
 be surrounded by her guests, that I would not 
 become the passive tool of her exacting pleas- 
 ure; but a fresh terror soon grew upon me. and 
 her threat of recalling Mr. Curties once more 
 chained my steps. 
 
 I sent to beg that I might be excused from 
 appearing at dinner; but my request was per- 
 emptorily refused. I consequently revenged 
 myself in the only way possible to me ; and en- 
 raged Josephine by a careless and ill-assorted 
 costume, which rendered me odious in my own 
 eyes. I was, moreover, as pale as marble ; 
 and there was a dark circle about my swollen 
 eyes that betrayed the tears I had so lately shed. 
 I had nerved myself for a reprimand, for I was 
 callous to all minor annoyances ; but I ought to 
 have understood my mother better. She had 
 reserved for me a trial infinitely greater. 
 
 As I had delayed my appearance until after 
 the second dinner-bell had rung, the party were 
 all assembled when I reached the drawing- 
 room ; and I had scarcely crossed the threshold, 
 when Lady Madelaine exclaimed in affected 
 gaiety — " Oh ! here is the bride elect at last. 
 Eveleen is presuming upon her privileges al- 
 ready. You must not encourage such preten- 
 sions. Sir James, or she will be spoiled before 
 the termination of the honey-moon." 
 
 I stopped abruptly where I stood ; I could 
 not move forward another step ; and I looked 
 helplessly around upon the groups before me, 
 as if awaiting some further trial of my feelings ; 
 but for once I wronged them. The sarcastic 
 nature of the baronet, his welJ-known admira- 
 tion of my mother, his limited fortune, and the 
 disparity of our ages, joined to the visible suf- 
 fering imprinted upon my countenance, offered 
 no inducement to their congratulations. A 
 dead silence followed the sally of Lady Made- 
 laine, and I felt grateful to those who had so 
 spared me. 
 
 Sir James, as a matter of course, led me to 
 table. Every one, indeed, gave back as he ap- 
 proached, evidently acknowledging his claim. 
 
 " Poor Eveleen !" he whispered, as he drew 
 my arm through his; "your mother is, indeed, 
 merciless." 
 
 I looked at him in astonishment, almost ex- 
 pecting to detect a mockery in his eye which 
 would belie his words ; but I was mistaken. 
 His better feelings had evidently been revolt- 
 ed by an indelicacy in which Lady Madelaine 
 had sacrificed her good breeding to her ruffled 
 temper. 
 
 Throughout the whole of the time occupied by 
 dinner, the baronet continued to devote his en 
 tire attention to myself; but, despite all his at 
 tempts to appear gay and unembarrassed, I 
 could perceive that at intervals he was over- 
 taken by some painful thought, from which he 
 had to exert considerable effort to rouse him- 
 self. Once or twice I detected a smothered 
 sigh, which he immediately endeavored te 
 drown under a forced laugh, frequently got u^ 
 
1 20 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 strangely n/il-a-propos ; and altogether, I rose 
 from table enibiitered against itiy mother, mys- 
 tified by my intended bridegroom, and dissatis- 
 fied and wretched in myself. 
 
 We had no sooner reached the drawing-room, 
 tlian Lady Dt-vereux, who, during the presence 
 of the gentlemen, had only recognized me by a 
 nod, beckoned me to her side upon a sofa ; and, 
 after touching my check with her lips, began to 
 whisper out her surprise at the news which she 
 had jusl learnt of my engagement. 
 
 " Who would have expected, Eveleen, that 
 you. who weje tlietoy of your mother's circle 
 at Rookslcy at the period when Sir James was, 
 if not dangler c« chef, at least dangler en second, 
 would ever have consented that matters should 
 be reconciled in this way I — Poor Sir Jaines ! 
 Nothing can alter the fact that he was the first 
 favorite, although Olterford proved the most suc- 
 cessful. However, Lady Madelaine has shown 
 herself to be an able general." 
 
 " I do not understand you," I said, coldly. 
 
 " Really • I gave you credit for a quic^cer 
 apprehension ; but, perhaps, it is better as it is. 
 At all events, I cannot resist complimenting 
 you upon a concession which must have been 
 very agreeable lo your mother for many rea- 
 sons." 
 
 " That reflection is at least consoling," I re- 
 marked, with some haughtiness. 
 
 " Consoling, Eveleen !" echoed the particular 
 friend of my mother, with an eagerness which 
 proved that she had, at length, found lier text- 
 word. " What can you mean by consoling ] 
 You were no faded and forsaken beauty, driven 
 to a matrimonial pis allcr. You had other 
 alternatives ; at all events, another alterna- 
 tive," she added, correcting herself; " why, 
 then, do you talk of needing consolation V 
 
 -Xliis ouii)urst, on the part of Lady Devereux, 
 at once astonished and bewildered me. Hither- 
 to, she had rarely condescended to remark my 
 existence ; and now, she suddenly assumed a 
 confidential tone and position, which left me at 
 a loss how to proceed. That she was piqued, 
 was sufficiently evident. Could it be because 
 the interests of her son would suffer by my 
 marriage with Dornton^ Nothing would be mofe 
 natural; but, miserable and despairing as I was, 
 I nevertheless remembered' that, in the event 
 of my being unable to disengage myself from 
 my lacit promise to Sir James, I should never 
 forgive myself, when once his wife, if I had 
 ever shown sufficient weakness to bewail my 
 fate to an indifferent person, and, far more, to 
 the mother of the man 1 loved. How dare I 
 tell her, that my heart was still full of her son, 
 when she saw me quietly permit myself to be 
 announced as the destined bride of another 
 person? All these reflections passed hurriedly 
 before me, and I answered, still more coldly 
 than at first ; " Surely, every woman needs 
 consolation, who is about to stake her liberty 
 against a chance." 
 
 Lady Devereux bit her lips, arvd looked 
 keenly at me. She had not anticipated so 
 much sell- possession on my part, and she was 
 evidf ntly disappointed. "In any case," she 
 resu'iied, as she threw herself back upon the- 
 Bofa and closed her eyes, as if to intimate that 
 onr -onference was ended, "you will be (luite 
 Kc.jv I'.giiiM.sL tlic censure of the world, for it 
 
 cannot accuse you of having married e'thei foi 
 wealth or fi)r youth ; or, in all probability, frcr? 
 that unfashionable impulse, love. You v/ilJ 
 have contracted, in every point of view, ^ 
 marriage of reason — and I sincerely wish th.T. 
 it may prove a happy one." 
 
 I accepted my tacit dismissal, with the sanif 
 apparent indifference which I had sustained 
 dining the dialogue, but my heart was bursting. 
 It was then palpable to every one, tliat I was a 
 mere passive tool in the hands of Lady Made^ 
 laine. What did the words of her angry friend 
 imply 1 — Simply, that I had been sacrificed to 
 Dornton, as compensation for her own prefer- 
 ence of Lord Olterford ! Every pulse of my 
 heart heat with agony and Wounded pride, but I 
 was like a lion in the toils. I had no outward, 
 strength : I had only power to suffer, not to 
 strive. 
 
 I had seated myself upon a settee, occupying 
 a recess, which was half concealed from view 
 by an Indian screen, and I was thus able to in- 
 dulge my tears without restraint. Was every 
 day, almost every hour, to produce a new in- 
 sult ! And was I to bear them tamely, and, as 
 though I had earned them by my own miscon- 
 duct ? And then I thought of the mysterious' 
 and contradictory manner of Sir James, and I 
 asked myself, if it were possible that I should 
 ever love him. The image of Devereux rose 
 up as I put the question, and the answer was a 
 fresh burst of tears. 
 
 The sound of voices in the hall warned me 
 that I must no longer indulge in such feelings, 
 and I hastily removed the traces of my weep- 
 ing, and shrunk still closer behind my protect- 
 ing screen. 
 
 Lady Devereux opened her eyes, and as- 
 sumed a more graceful attitude ; my mother 
 desired Lord Chaffington to seek fiir a bottle of 
 Hungary water, among the essences on a side 
 table ; two or three men, who had cominenced 
 a political discussion in the dining-room, col- 
 lected upon the hearth-rug to pursue it ; Lord 
 Otterford established himself beside Lady 
 Devereux, and immediately commenced a very 
 animated conversation in an undertone ; and 
 Sir James Dornton, after one hurried glance 
 round the room, hastily approached my retreat. 
 
 " I fear. Miss Tilden, that you are exaspe- 
 rated against me," he commenced, as hw 
 placed himself at my side ; "and yet, I assuro 
 you, on my honor, that I do not merit this ex- 
 treme displeasure. It is true, that I ventured, 
 like others, to aspire to your favor; but yr:j 
 should do me the justice to remember, a!.«Oi 
 that I withdrew when I had ascertained, ho- 
 yond all doubt, that my pretensions were d.-."* 
 pleasing to you. It was your own voice whicVi 
 recalled me ; and although, for a few inslar.f.8. 
 my pride was at war with my tenderness, and 
 I could not avoid reverting to the unnecegsa~» 
 mortification to which I had been subjected, 
 still, I did not love you the less, because I be- 
 trayed how much I had sufTered from yc»rr 
 coldness." 
 
 " All this would be well, Sir James," I r»v 
 plied, proudly, " if you had not previous'v 
 assumed so perfect a knowledge of all m" 
 former life. As it is, I beg you to spare me 
 every mockery of the kind. We understand 
 each other too well. L'" you couli (-.'fimi-'al 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 J21 
 
 we generous impulse, you would refuse a hand 
 which, as you well know, has been promised to 
 you, not fieely nor willingly, hut by the lorce ol 
 ariolhi'.r's will. Do this, and my dislike and 
 avoidance will at once be changed into grati- 
 aide and regard." 
 
 Sir James looked at me, for a moment, as if 
 in pity of my simplicity ; and then, endeavor- 
 ing to take my hand, which, however, I coldly 
 withdrew, as soon as he had touched it, he 
 said, in a low and impassioned accent : " It is 
 easy for yot: to talk thus, Eveleen ; you, to 
 whom I am only, as you have yourself declared, 
 an object of dislike and of avoidance ; but, as it 
 is far otherwise with me, I cannot do what you 
 ask. Your possession is necessary to my 
 happiness. For a long time it appeared unat- 
 tainable, yet still I persisted to hope ; and do 
 you imagine, that I now possess courage, wil- 
 lingly to resign the boon for which I have so 
 long sighed'in vainl" 
 
 "And will the hand satisfy you, when the 
 heart is withheld, I ask, in my turn 1" I re- 
 joined. " Truly, your pride is far from equal- 
 ing your pertinacity !" 
 
 »' I forgive your scorn, Eveleen," said Dorn- 
 tnii, quietly ; " ere long you will do me greater 
 justice." 
 
 " My fiat will depend upon yourself." 
 
 "As my wife — " 
 
 " That will I never be, while one chance of 
 escape remains." 
 
 " Miss Tilden !" exclaimed my listener, in 
 astonishment ; " what am I to understand \ 
 Do you intend that I should once more be 
 made a mark for your caprice and coquetry 1" 
 
 '■ Sir 1" I ejaculated, in my turn, and would 
 have risen, but he held me to my seat. 
 
 " Listen, Eveleen," he said, as his eye 
 flashed haughtily down upon me; "all these 
 recriminations are at once idle and ill-bred. 
 Occupied by one vain and impracticable vision, 
 you neither do justice to yourself nor me. Be 
 warned in time. I am not a man whom you 
 can exasperate with safety. You may make of 
 me a tyrant or a slave ; I am now in your 
 power ; do not, I beseech you, let me see you 
 place yourself, recklessly, in mine." 
 
 " Am I not already there 1" 
 
 " Nut as I mean you to understand my words. 
 You are too handsome to be obdurate — too 
 well-bred to be unjust. Of what do you accuse 
 mel Of loving you I Surely, I am not alone 
 in the transgression; although, according to 
 your favorite system, 
 
 'That in the le.^der's but a choleric word 
 Whicli in the soldier is ranli blasphemy ;' 
 and, moreover, as you will only have to snow 
 yourself in the world, for another season, in 
 order to increase a hundred-fold the number of 
 delinquents, I do not think it reasonable, that I 
 should be the only one called upon to suffer for 
 the sins of the mass." 
 
 I still pouted, but I was woman enough to he 
 somewhat touched by the turn of his argument. 
 I was, however, far from well-disposed toward 
 him. He exhibited too perfect a feeling of se- 
 curity ; and, in my self-tormenting thoughts, I 
 began to decide that I was destined to suffer 
 everydisiinct mortification of which my situation 
 was susceptible. Indignant with my mother; 
 irritated against Sir James, whom I mentally 
 
 accused of tyranny and meanness ; ter-L'' A ai 
 the bare name of Mr. Curties, whio!; a'-»-ay 
 suthced to check every deiiumstration o' ■ndo 
 pendence on my part, and utterly ahar-iimed 
 to those whose interests were at war «•;♦»; my 
 own, I became perfectly bewildered, "^ime- 
 tirnes I began to ask myself whetlier Dev-^reux 
 had not indeed forgotten me, as Lady Maf*o,'aine 
 had asserted ; and whether I could ),!* live 
 Jiappy as the wife of Dornton. There was no 
 efficient rival at Woodville to throw a .shade 
 over either his moral or physical advantages ; 
 the men envied and the women feared him, and 
 I knew this. 
 
 After thebrief conversation which I have just 
 recorded. Sir James affected never again to re- 
 mark my coldness. He had evidently pris son 
 parti. He assumed, with an ease for which 1 
 loathed him, all the privileges of a declajed 
 lover ; he became tender, anxious, and devoted. 
 Once more he put forth all the causticity and 
 point of his never-failing wit ; all the research 
 and charm of his well-cultivated intellect. Every 
 one was lo^ud in his praise ; and eager to ?,scribe 
 to my influence his increased powers of pleas- 
 ing. In my favor, however, he made little ac- 
 tual progress. Moments there were in which I 
 was, like those about me, dazzled and fascinated. 
 His personal beauty, his perfect self-possession, 
 and the unhesitating ease with which he dis- 
 cussed every subject, and decided upon the 
 merits of every person ; the scintillations of 
 satire, half-wiity and half-malicious, which oc- 
 casionally placed his listeners in the position ol 
 children, who, attracted by the beauty of the 
 wasp, entail its string upon themselves, when 
 they merely seek the amusement of grasping it 
 for a moment ; all these definite attributes sus- 
 tained my attention and mastered my indif- 
 ference. I had resolved to hate him; I even 
 believed that I should soon succeed in doing so; 
 but my belief was in vain. In order to hate Sir 
 James Dornton, you must have been slighted by 
 limi ; and this was not my case. 
 
 Day alter day he increased in wit, in amia- 
 bility, and in devotion. He created, as it seem- 
 ed, a new atmosphere about me. Even Lady 
 Madelaine no longer venluied to disturb ray 
 gradually increasing equanimity. I soon saw 
 the futility of endeavoring to nourish my vehe- 
 ment dislike, so I abandoned the project, and 
 sheltered myself under a listless inditlerence. 
 No idea of ever loving him entered into my 
 imagination. Had I not another image shrined 
 in my heart of hearts '. I felt convinced that I 
 could never look upon him more favorably; 
 and I rather congratulated myself that I had 
 overcome my extreme aversion. After all, 
 had read more than once that indifference was 
 the state most antipathetical to passion, anc* 
 most hopeless for a suitor ; and I satisfied my 
 pride that precisely to that point I had arrived 
 and that, come what might, nothing could now 
 alter my feeling. Dornton, however, thoiiifht oth 
 erwise. With but little moral esteem for women, 
 and a very high opinion of himself, his confi 
 dence in his own powers was unbounded. H 
 had vowed that he would overcome my coldness' 
 and his ingenuity, prompted by a vanity wtit 
 never slumbered, was constantly exerted forth 
 purpose. 
 
 Time passed on, unheeded by me. I forgo 
 
^i3 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 .Rat, sooner or later, the day must uhimatcly 
 cf..:ve on wliich I should be required to lulhl 
 iii) promise, and to become the wife of Sir 
 -a:.:es. Not a syllable had for weeks been ut- 
 crcJ to remind aie of this fact ; and I had lived 
 -iy after day in a sort of moral apathy, avoid- 
 .'i;g alike all retrospection and all speculation 
 o.; the future ; I had existed only like the 
 cphemeris, in the moment, and for the moment. 
 » was tirst aroused to something like a suspi- 
 cion of the truth, by the frequent visits to town 
 uliich my mother suddenly found it necessary 
 to make; and in which, while she was only 
 occasionally accompanied by her husband, she 
 was always attended by the baronet. No re- 
 mark was, however, made before me upon the 
 purport of their journeys ; and, for the moment, 
 Uieir only effect as regarded myself was an in- 
 crease of demonstration on the part of Sir 
 James, to whom these temporary absences ap- 
 peared to impart fresh passion ; and the pres- 
 ence of a hundred pretty and expensive toys 
 which gradually accumulated about me, and of 
 which he was the unwearied donor. I was 
 never consulted upon any point ; And I was 
 glad of it. I had taken up my position ; and I 
 considered myself already a sufficient victim, 
 without being required to assist in heaping the 
 fuel for the funeral-pyre of my own happi- 
 ness. 
 
 The season was about to commence, and we 
 were preparing to leave Woodville, when my 
 mother abruptly informed me that she had made 
 every preparation for my marriage, which was 
 to take place immediately after our arrival in 
 town. 
 
 " Sir James loves you too ardently, Eve- 
 leen," she said in conclusion, " to brook the 
 idea of seeing you made a mark for the idle at- 
 tentions of a host of empty-hearted and empty- 
 headed coxcombs ; nor need I remind you that 
 you have yourself personal reasons for avoiding 
 as much as possible any notoriety while you 
 remain unmarried. As Lady Durnton you may 
 defy all malicious comment." 
 
 Even at such a moment my mother could not 
 sliow me mercy. 
 
 I retired to my room. For the last few weeks 
 I had forgotten everything, save that I was about 
 once more to enter the world ; and that, in ail 
 probability, I should again encounter Devereux. 
 I felt that his presence might still give me 
 strength to contend against the fate which had 
 been forced upon me ; and, cowed as I was, 
 while I despaired in myself, 1 had still a hope in 
 him. My last prop was now torn away ! My 
 destiny was accomplished. This new anguish 
 did not, as all my previous trials had hitherto 
 done, find a relief in tears. My eyes were hot 
 and dry, my temples throbbed, and a suffocating 
 sickness came over me. I had just strength to 
 totter to the bell, to pull it violently, and to 
 attempt to reach the sofi^. I failed, however, in 
 my p;:rp(ise ; bcl'ore I could cross the tloor, I fell 
 a heavy weight pressing upon my brain ; and, 
 with one long piercing shriek of terror and of 
 pain, I fainted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 1 HAVE said that the season was about to 
 com.i.»;nce, and that our guests were already 
 
 preparing to depart; no wonder, then, Ihal 
 when it was announced by the physicians, who 
 had been hastily summoned from the nearest 
 town, that 1 was suffering from a violent aiiacJt 
 of (ever of a malignant description, the house 
 soon became deserted. Carriage after carriage 
 rolled from the door, laden with its imperial and 
 traveling trunks ; guest after guest shook my 
 mother's hand in silence and well-acted sympa- 
 thy ; and then hastened to escape from a scene 
 of danger, und probably of death. At the end 
 of the second day, of all the gay party which 
 had been at Woodville, buoyant wiih light and 
 laughter, none remained beneath its roof, save 
 Lord Otterford, who had, as I afterwards dis- 
 covered, a sorrow of his own to nurse ; Lady 
 Madelaine, who dared not abandon me in my 
 extremity, and Sir James Dornton, whose atv 
 sence must have ruined all his hopes. 
 
 For six weary weeks I remained stretched 
 upon a bed of sickness. Hope and indignation 
 had both failed at last, and I had sunk without 
 their support. For days I was delirious, and 
 called upon Devereux to deliver me from the 
 torments to which 1 believed that my mother 
 was wilfully subjecting me. At these periods 
 my violence was frightful ; and the extreme 
 after-weakness consequent upon the physical 
 efforts which I then made, reduced me to a 
 state of helplessness impossible to describe, 
 I could not even think ; I only sought to re- 
 main undisturbed and unquestioned, and thus 
 to be allowed to pass out of the world uncoo- 
 sciously. 
 
 When for a brief space my intellect return- 
 ed, and that 1 ventured to open my eyes to the 
 dim light which was admitted into the room, 
 they invariably fell upon Dornton, who appeared 
 never to move from his station near my pillow 
 For a considerable time the impropriety of this 
 arrangement did not strike me ; indeed, my 
 ideas still continued so confused, that even when 
 I fixed my eyes upon him, I could not determine 
 his identity. His extreme paleness, his melan- 
 choly expression, and the negligence of his 
 dress, were all so unlike his former self, that I 
 experienced no painful emotion on seeing him. 
 His silence and his sadness w'ere soothing to my 
 depressed spirits and prostrated strength. The 
 sight of him did not disturb me from my moral 
 lethargy ; and I received from his hands, with- 
 out opposition, the cordials which were g.iven to 
 me from time to time to sustain the principle of 
 life. Ttie fever had leli me belorc I was con- 
 scious of his presence; and when I at length 
 became convinced that it was really Dornton 
 who had watched over me with such unweary- 
 ing zeal, I no longer possessed either the power 
 or the inclination to contend. The slightest ex- 
 ertion subjected me to long and painful faintings, 
 which were always succeeded by un increased 
 degree of languor and suffering ; and I conse- 
 quently shrank instinctively from every possi- 
 bility of their recurrence. 
 
 .At length I was declared to be out of danger; 
 but I was still too weak to stand without as- 
 sistance, and my chest was distressed by a hol- 
 low and racking cough. It was, however, a 
 relief to be able to leave my room, and to watch 
 from the window the first timid approach of 
 spring. I had always derived my best and 
 purest gratification frona the contemplation of 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 123 
 
 ■>=nure • tint after my long confinement to a sick- 
 ed, I was more than usually susceptible to its at- 
 4-a<-tions. For the first time I saw a smile upon 
 ..e lip of Sir James, as he watched the tears 
 -vhich I shed over a twig of the flowering Judas 
 tree which Josephine had plucked for me in one 
 jf the shrubberies. From that day. I every 
 Tiorning found upon the little table which stood 
 beside my sofa, a bunch of violets, or a cluster 
 of wood-anemones, and I saw by the sparkle 
 which lit up the eye of Dornton as I eagerly 
 stretched out my hand toward them, to whom 
 I was indebted for this simple but welcome act 
 of kindness. 
 
 The exactions of a long convalescence are 
 more stringent than those of sickness itself 
 In the hour of physical sufTering, resignation 
 and obedience are all that are required of us, 
 and even to these we are not always equal ; 
 but as the moral and mental powers regain 
 their tone, and become conscious of the bodily 
 thrall by which they are held back, they create 
 a thousand wants and wishes, which tyrannize, 
 by their multiplicity, over the invalid ; and an 
 irritability which sets reason at defiance. Ill- 
 ness awakens the ftars, and calls into action 
 the sympathies of those about us — convales- 
 cence only wearies their good-will, and ex- 
 hausts their patience. It is the real touchstone 
 of affection. 
 
 Judged by this standard. Sir James was ad- 
 mirable. I could not form a rational wish, 
 which was not gratified on the instant ; I could 
 not express an annoyance, for which he did not 
 discover a remedy ; he seemed to multiply 
 himself, in order to suffice to all my caprices ; 
 was constantly on the watch to save me from 
 casual fatigue or agitation, and silenced my 
 mother by a look, when, by her weariness of 
 the task imposed upon her, she was disposed to 
 impress upon me the extent of the sacrifice. 
 
 All this was very attractive — very hostile to 
 the undying afTection which I had vowed in my 
 heart to Devereux. I no longer understood my 
 own feelmgs. Dornton had become necessary 
 to me. I began to reflect, not certainly with 
 pleasure, but assuredly without terror, on my 
 engagement to him. I even asked myself, 
 whether his continual assiduity and cheerful- 
 ness might not, perhaps, produce more home- 
 happiness than the languid tenderness of Deve- 
 reux ; and the scale of feeling wavered with 
 every new mark of affectionate attention which 
 I received from him. 
 
 Such was the state of my mind when Sir 
 James received a letter, which rendered it im- 
 perative that he should immediately proceed to 
 Ireland. In the present day, such a journey 
 Would be too unimportant, and too speedily 
 accomplished, to appear worthy of mention ; 
 but such was far from being the case at the 
 time of which I am writing; and it was with a 
 i»k of consternation that he placed the letter 
 in my hand. 
 
 "Read it, Evelcen," he. said, in an un- 
 steady voice •, " and, at least, tell me that you 
 pity me." 
 
 I ran my eye rapidly over the paper, and 
 thFP., glancing towards my mother, I strove to 
 rr\'£ as I replied, " I feel almost inclined to 
 reserve my pity for myself." 
 
 had uever anticipat«>d that these few words 
 
 would have produced so powerful an effect. I 
 forgot, at the moment, how rarely I had sutTered 
 Dornton to perceive thai he was essential even 
 to my comfort ; I had received, not welcomed 
 his attentions, and this admission of his impor- 
 tance to my happiness overwhelmed him with 
 trium^jh. 
 
 "Can you be sincere, Eveleeni" he asked 
 delightedly, as he seized my hand, and pressed 
 it to his lips. 
 
 " Do you believe that I am ungrateful for all 
 your carel" I asked in my turn. 
 
 " And should you really miss me in my ab- 
 sence 1" 
 
 "Really — and the rather that I know no one 
 either able or willing to supply your place." 
 
 " Dare I then crave a boon in return for ray 
 poor services 1" 
 
 " Assuredly, and if it be in my power to 
 grant it, I will do so cheerfully." 
 
 " Will you pledge yourself to this ?" 
 
 "Nay, now you are striving to alarm me," I 
 said hurriedly, as a weight pressed upon my 
 heart, and 1 felt my lip tremble ; " name your 
 desired reward, and I will tell you if it is in my 
 power to bestow it." 
 
 " It is in your power, and your power only," 
 answered Sir James, as he bent his knee before 
 me, and again possessed himself of my reluct- 
 ant hand. " Eveleen, you can no longer doubt 
 either the depth or the sincerity of my affection. 
 After living so long constantly in your presence, 
 this threatened separation seems to me worse 
 than death. I can imagine but one consolation 
 — but that one — oh, Eveleen, if you have ever 
 felt the torture of doubt, the misery of absence, 
 you will at once understand the fulness of the 
 consolation which I would entreat." 
 
 " I do not comprehend you," I faltered out 
 almost inaudibly. 
 
 " Is your heart indeed so mute, Eveleen 1 
 Can it not prompt you to the truth 1 Were you 
 only mine before I depart on this hated journey 
 — would you only consent to become indeed 
 mine — my own — my wedded wife. Speak, Ev 
 eleen, do I indeed deserve so great a boon 1" 
 
 " It is a sorry jest. Sir James," I said, as 
 soon as I could find breath for utterance ; " would 
 you lead me from the death-bed to the altar with- 
 out a pause 1 Do I look like a bride, with this 
 paleface, and this wasted form? No more ol 
 this. Sir James, if you really wish to see me one 
 day yours." 
 
 "I dissent from you entirely, Eveleen," said 
 my mother, suddenly looking up from a book 
 upon which she had aflfected to be engaged? 
 " and I at once declare myself in Sir James' fa- 
 vor. His proposal has, I frankly admit, relieV' 
 ed me from much embarrassment ; for I have 
 not forgotten, although it appears to have escap- 
 ed your own memory, the terms upon which 
 you have now been living together for the last 
 three months. Do you imagine that the world 
 has made no comment upon the circumstance] 
 Do not deceive yourself. Your own absence 
 during the season might not perhaps have been 
 remarked ; but with Sir James Dornton it is 
 otherwise. His project is not only rational, but 
 in every way expedient." 
 
 I could only bow my head, and weep. 
 
 " Let this wretched affair of Emily Vermn'i 
 teach you more wisdom," pursued Lady .Mad 
 
194 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRF/FTY WOxMAN. 
 
 el«int», ••'"•er a moment's silence, which Sir 
 JaE^s d'.'! not nttempt to hreak ; "after wear- 
 ing poor Mi?. Vernon to a shadow by making 
 h:r drag lier anxiety and her trouble from place 
 t:} place, in order to ward off, if possible, an 
 attack of what she quietly allowed her doctors 
 ID denominate consumption, she leaves as a he- 
 qvesl to her victimized mother the confession 
 that she has died of a broken heart." 
 
 " Died ! ' I exclaimed convulsively. " Is Em- 
 fly Vernon indeed dead 1" 
 
 "She died at Nice, just as you were taken ill," 
 coldly replied Lady Madeiaine; " nor should I 
 have mentioned the circumstance to you now, 
 had it not hoen to draw the deduction, that, had 
 she acted rationally, and not romantically, she 
 would, in all probability, be still alive ; and to re- 
 mind you that there is a warning in herhistory." 
 
 "Dead I" I repeated once more, for my arous- 
 ed memory had brought vividly before me the 
 fair, fresh imase of the gentle girl who had loved 
 me in my childhood. " Can she be dead ] She 
 was so young, so fond, so loving !" Jind, regard- 
 less of the frown of my mother, I buried my face 
 in my hamls, and gave free passage to my tears. 
 
 " This is terrible .'" said Dornton, glancing 
 indignantly at Lady Madeiaine; "at once terri- 
 ble and ill-limed." 
 
 " Has Lord Otterford heard this cruel news 1" 
 I asked involuntarily, as I once more looked up. 
 
 " Of course. It is, long ere this, known 
 throughout London. The Vernons are all ex- 
 aggerated in their notions." 
 
 The secret of my stepfather's melancholy 
 was now revealed to me. It was the working 
 of remorse. 
 
 Nothing more was said on that occasion rel- 
 atively to my marriage, and as I lay down to 
 rest, I trusted that the subject would not be re- 
 sumed until the return of the baronet ; in this 
 hope I began to reflect that perhaps our separa- 
 tion might prove a blessing to me in my prpsent 
 frame of mind, as it would enable me to judge, 
 from the effect produced upon my feelings by 
 his absence, of the actual state of my affections : 
 and self-consoled by this argument, I gave anoth- 
 er sincere sigh to the fate of poor Emily, and 
 then resigned myself to sleep. 
 
 I was, however, a great deal too sanguine ; 
 for no later than the ensuing morning, it was 
 again question of this hurried and ill-timed 
 marriage. The subject was mooted by Sir 
 James, followed up by my mother, and finally 
 pressed upon me by Lord Otterford. 
 
 I liave said little of the latter since his mar- 
 riage, for, in truth, tlieie hail been little to say. 
 The hand of Lady Madeiaine had satisfied at 
 once his passion and his ambition ; and he had 
 become a mere man of fashion, wasting his 
 time on trifles ; the best dresser, the best rider, 
 and the least officious personage of his circle. 
 The fa.'^hion and beauty of my mother flattered 
 his vanity ; and as he was too thoroughly con- 
 versant with her inborn egotism to have any 
 fear that slie would ever sacrifice her principles 
 to a caprice, he left her perfectly free to avail 
 herself as she pleased of both. Moreover, he 
 was somewhat of a hon vivant, and an excellent 
 judge of wine, and consequently exhibited a 
 few symptoms of incipient gout, all which low 
 ered l,im to the mere level of a worthy, well- 
 bred, but by no means interesting personage. 
 
 Lord Otterford's salient quality had been lii.s 
 fascination, and his immense tact with " tl o 
 sex;" and as he forswore all gallantry after 
 he became a husband, although he continued to 
 be an agreeable companion, he no longer pos- 
 sessed any dislincti/e social feature. It is a 
 melancholy fact thai the ball-room butterflies 
 who commence life as "ladies' men/' common- 
 ly close It as mere human nonentities. And it 
 was only now — now when he had ceased all 
 effort to render himself attractive — that the 
 punishment of his former falsehood had come 
 upon him — now, when the charms of the wo- 
 man whom he ha'' so long coveted had paled 
 beneath long custom and companionship, that 
 the vision of the fond girl who had loved him — 
 who had truste'' him — and who had died when 
 that love became a crime, was brought against 
 him in all its purit* ; and that conscience, when 
 it rose before him, pointed with a rigid finger 
 to her bier, and whispered that the ruin was 
 his work. 
 
 In spite of the affection which I had felt for 
 the unfortunate Emily, of the distaste which I 
 had nourished of himself, and of my own better 
 reason, I pitied him. He was evidently stricken 
 to the soul, and wounded even in the midst of 
 his self-indulgence. I alone suspected the cause 
 of his depression ; and he was" so well aware 
 that to me it could not long be a mystery, that 
 his eye sunk before mine whenever I addressed 
 him ; and he scrupulously avoided on his part 
 all further intercourse, than that trivial ex- 
 change of courtesies exacted by good breeding. 
 
 It was, consequently, with some surprise 
 that I now heard him support the arguments of 
 Dornton. He represented to me the useless 
 cruelty of exposing the man to whom I was af- 
 fianced, to tl'.e unceasing anxieties, and doubts, 
 and apprehensions, by which he must necessa 
 rily be tormented, during an absence so little 
 anticipated at such a moment ; but there was 
 no violence, no bitterness in his reasoning. He 
 admitted the rationality of my objections, -al- 
 Ihough he would not allow them to be of suffi- 
 cient weight to counterbalance the arguments 
 by which they were opposed. He brought be- 
 fore me the debt of gratitude which I had con- 
 tracted — the untiring devotion of which I had 
 been the object — the fact that I had received 
 Sir James as a suitor — and, above all, that the 
 period originally named by my mother for our 
 union had long passed ; and all these tangible 
 circumstances were rendered more prominent, 
 and more embarrassing, by the tender entrea- 
 ties of Sir James, who, on his knee before me, 
 protested that he would never rise from his 
 position until I had consented to his happiness. 
 
 This painful and fatiguing scene endured so 
 long that my strength gave way under the ex- 
 citement. I pressed my hand to my forehead, 
 which was throbbing almost to agony. " Be 
 generous, Sir James," I said at last; "you 
 know that I am unequal to this trial. How can 
 you ask me to become your wife under such 
 circumstances ] The very movement which 
 such an event must create about me, would, ia 
 all probability, plunge me once more into the 
 fearful state of suffering and alienation fioin 
 vNhich I have oi*ly just escaped." 
 
 "All this, and more, has been alike antrci- 
 paled and prevented, dearest Eveleen," iniar ■ 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 fiosefl Sir James, as he pressed my hand to his 
 lips and lo his heart; "three days hence I 
 must commence my journey ; and, until the 
 moment of" my departure, I will not ask you to 
 aiify my happiness. Lady Madelaine consents 
 ftat the ceremony shall be performed here, in 
 he saloon ; she has already secured a promise 
 Ihat a special license shall be prepared against 
 he moment in which I go to claim it ; let me 
 jut call you my wife, but have the right once 
 .0 clasp you to my heart before I am separated 
 from you, and I will depart by the mail which 
 passes Woodville in the evening, full of security 
 in the present, and of trust and confidence in 
 the future.'' 
 
 I listened breathles.sly ; and I instantly un- 
 derstood ihat all further opposition would be 
 worse than useless. Everything had been pre- 
 arranged and predecided. I had only lo fulfil 
 my destiny. What chance of successful com- 
 petiiion remained to me! How could I, poor, 
 timid, irresolute being as I was, oppose the in- 
 domitable will of a La\ly Madelaine"! or the 
 passionate entreaties of a man who had for 
 months devoted himself to my caprices 1 
 
 I feel that, even now, I am endeavoring to 
 excuse my weakness ; as though the reader 
 could not detect, in every detail of my life, the 
 want of moral courage wMch made me alike 
 the to(d and the victim of every will with which 
 my own came into contact ! Enough that, as 
 may have been foreseen, I yielded. Weary of 
 resistance, bewildered by the arguments ad- 
 vanced, anxious to escape by any means from 
 the persecution to v\ hich I was sul)jected ; wil- 
 fully shutting my eyes to the fact, that, in order 
 to spare myself present sufTerin-g, I was sacri- 
 ficing by one word all possibility of future free- 
 dom, I at length murmured out my consent, in 
 a voice trembling with terror and agitation. 
 
 "But remember," I said, breaking in uporv 
 the rapturous acknowledgment of my trans- 
 ported suiior, whose exhibition of ungoverna- 
 ble rapture was to me as fatiguing as his 
 previous pertinacity ; " remember, Sir James, 
 that if I fulfil in good faith the promise which 
 you have extorted from me, I expect no less 
 from yourself" 
 
 " I have no alternative, and am compelled to 
 verify it, kindest and most adored EveJeen," 
 was his lover-hke reply ; "and thus, and only 
 thus, I repeat my pledge unhesitatingly." 
 
 " And now leave me, I entreat you," I im- 
 plored earnestly ; " I must have time to think. 
 My brain whirls with the excitement which our 
 interview has caused. I feel as though my 
 delirium would return. Have pity upon me, 
 and leave me to myself." 
 
 My request was granted. My mother and 
 Lord Otterford left the room at once, the latter 
 only pausing as he passed me to raise my fin- 
 gers to his lips. Sir James lingered for a mo- 
 ment ; but, when he would have approached 
 my sofa, I warned him away, and rang the bell 
 for my woman. As she appeared, he looked 
 foward me reproachfully, and disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 NF.yEB was t." '6 so melancholy a festival as 
 ETV rrarriag e ! The icctor of the parish per- 
 forajed the ceremon/, and nio daughter officiat- 
 
 ed as my bj-idemaid. My simple morning ilicbS 
 of white muslin was half hidden beneaih the 
 folds of a superb shawl of Indian "ashinero 
 the gift of Sir James, and the only article ol 
 any value which I wore. Josephine almost 
 scolded herself into a fever for weeks after- 
 ward, whenever an allusion was made to the 
 circumstance, while to myself it was a subject 
 of the most utter indifference. Pale, depressed, 
 and reckless, I must have looked to the worthy 
 rector and his daughter, and an ollicial-looking 
 personage, who was presented to me as Mr. 
 Thornton, when I entered the saloon leaning 
 upon the arm of Lord Otterford, who had sta- 
 tioned himself at the door of my dressing-room, 
 for the purpose of offering himself as my escort, 
 more like a spectre than a bride. Sir James 
 and my mother were already doing the honors 
 to our reverend guest, and his pretty, happy- 
 looking daughter ; who, all blushes, smiles, and 
 tremor, did not appear to the last thoroughly 
 to understand how her present important office 
 had devolved upon her. 
 
 I had been so painfully absorbed by my own 
 fears and reflections, regrets and bewilderment, 
 that I had taken no part whatever in the scanty 
 preparations which were made for the mar- 
 riage ; and, consequently, when Dornton ap- 
 proached me, and placed a small casket in my 
 liand, requesting me, in a suppressed voice, to 
 present it to Miss Grenval, I did so mechanically 
 with as cheerful a smile as I could summon to 
 my lips; nor did I take the slightest interest 
 in the action to which I had been prompted, 
 until I was aroused from my state of moral 
 lethargy by the delighted comments of the hap. 
 py gill, who Vvas soon occupied in adorning 
 herself with the pearls which it had contained. 
 
 I looked at her in wonder and in envy. I 
 had never known the joy which such a gift 
 could produce, upon one unaccuslomcd to the 
 costly toys which form a necessary portion ot 
 the existence of the wealthy and the idle ; and, 
 as she stood before a glass, arranging her newly- 
 acquired treasures upon her person, I lingered 
 over her glowing cheeks, her sparkling eyes, 
 and her low, self-gratulatory expressions of 
 wondering admiration ; while I felt the tears 
 rise painfully to my own hot and weary eye- 
 balls, and glanced at my pale cheeks, my bend- 
 ing form, and my look of hopeless melancholy. 
 Strange to say, I was calm, ptriectly calm. 
 My pulse beat steadily, and there was not a 
 quiver on my lips. I had exhausted all violent 
 emotion within the last two days. I had wept, 
 and knelt, and wrestled with my misery; and 
 I had sunk under the fatigue of so unequal a 
 contest. I scarcely knew myself. I had no 
 longer either a hope or a fear ; I wasj simply 
 passive. 
 
 Lady Madelaine was magnificently attired, 
 and both Lord Otterford and Sir James were in 
 full dress ; hut no attempt had i)een made on 
 the part of my mother to induce me to ex- 
 change my simple wrapping-gown and close 
 cap, for a costume more befitting the occasion 
 Content to carry out her great |)rojoct. she af- 
 fected to overlook all minor poinis; she had 
 cleverly avoid-ed subjecting nn; to any |irelimi- 
 nary fatigue; and thus liusi)an(lcd my strength 
 and energies for the eventful moment which 
 was lo make me the wife of lier prolc^e, He^ 
 
126 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 languor by which he was oppressed ; while Sir 
 James neiiher looked at nor spoke to any person 
 but myself, save in monosyllables ; and my 
 solitary bridemaid was evidently dying to escape, 
 in order to pour forth her delight to her family. 
 As everything must terminate, however, 
 sooner or later, so our weary breakfast at length 
 came to a close ; and I believe that every indi- 
 vidual of the party, not even excepting the 
 worthy and amiable rector, felt glad of the re- 
 lease. Although the good clfrgyman had put a 
 cheerful face upon the business, it was never- 
 tlieless evident thai he suspected some mystery, 
 of whieh he easily understood that I was the 
 passive victim ; and there was a fatherly inter- 
 est in his look, and a kindness in his accents, 
 when he'took leave of me, by which I was much 
 more touched than by the renewed congratu- 
 lations which he doubtlessly considered it ex- 
 pedient and correct to offer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 We were no sooner alone than I.ady Madft- 
 iaine, instead of retiring to her dressing-room, 
 as I had anticipated, and thus affording me a 
 pretext to ntire also, caused her fauteuil to be 
 drawn nearer to the fire, and seated herself in 
 all the glory of her brocade and iewels. I was 
 about to make an effort to escape, nevertheless ; 
 but her first words arrested me, and I was com- 
 pelled to resume my seat. 
 
 " Do not attempt to retire. Eveleen," she 
 said firmly, although the smile which she had 
 called up was intended to make the address 
 somewhat less dictatorial; "we have an in> 
 mensity of business to arrange, and our time is 
 sadly limited. Although it is very easy for Miss 
 1 Tild'en and Sir James Dornton to get quietly 
 my mother, and Lord Olierford followed my 1 married over a drawing-room fire, they cannot 
 example. _ Itrentcr the world with the same absence of 
 
 This done, a brief and desultory conversation I ceremony, and, consequently, certain arrange- 
 ensued ; and at its close, the whole party | mcnts must be made, and certain plans judi- 
 nioved toward the spot where the rector had I ciously carried out, in order that the exigencies 
 already laktn up his station. There was a oer- | of society may be properly complied with, 
 tain sulenmity in the arrangement. I walked | Now these, Eveleen, you cannot, either in 
 first, supported on the arm of my father-in-law ; j your character of bride — or. for the moment, if 
 Lady IMadelaine followed with Sir James ; and I you will, widow — arrange, combine, or over- 
 Miss Grenvai closed the procession under the I look in your own proper person ; and I have 
 escort of Mr. Thornton. My heart beat quickly therefore proposed to Sir James, to take these 
 for an instant, as I found myself kneeling beside I matters into my own hands, and to spare hoik 
 my future husband ; and a giddiness came upon ; you and himself all anxiety and fatigue." 
 me, which rendered me almost unconscious of! I bowed my thanks. I felt no interest what- 
 what was passing before me, and of the scene I ever in the arrangements to which my mother 
 in wliich I was an actor. 
 
 The ceremony was soon over. The servants, 
 who had been admitted to the entrance of the 
 saloon, disappeared; the folding-doors, which 
 opened upon Lord Otterford's private room, 
 were flung i)ack ; and Mr. Grcnval had the hap- 
 piness of handing Lady Madelaine to a table 
 covered with a profusion of gastronomical lu.K- 
 uries. Sir James, happy and triumphant, sup- 
 ported me to tlie seat which had been assigned 
 to me ; and the pretty daughter of the rector 
 followed on tlie arm of Lord Otterford. It was 
 fortunate that the amiable divine possessed un- 
 wearied animal spirits, and a benevolence equal- 
 ly untiring, or our breakfast would have passed 
 et'iirely m pantomime. Lady Madelaine was 
 toj full of self'cxuliation to be loquacious ; and 
 I/ord Otterford tuade no effort to throw off the 
 
 emile was radiant. Her triumph made her 
 carriage almost regal. I watched her also ; and 
 elt a sort of vague astonishment that those 
 around me should be so cheerful and so brilliant, 
 when I was sad and faded. 
 
 Sir James was all animation, all suavity, all 
 delight. I do not attempt to repeat his extra- 
 vagant acknowlrdgmentp, his ardent profes- 
 sions, or his tender gallantries to myself. I 
 scarcely remarked them at the time, and only 
 felt that they distressed and overpowered me. 
 The calm, gentle, and low-voiced congratula- 
 tions of the rector were far more welcome, 
 however ill-placed. His suppressed tones were 
 soothing to itiy over- wrought nerves; and when 
 I saw a tear ;ilistening in his eye, I could have 
 flung my arms about his neck, and wept out my 
 grief upon his bosom. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour, my mother 
 took my hand, and led me toward a table, he- 
 hind which the grave-looking stranger, whom 
 I then discovered to be a lawyer, was seated, 
 intently poring over sundry papers and parch- 
 ments. I believe that I have elsewhere men- 
 tioned the fact of Lady Madelaine being the 
 sole guardian of Adela and myself; and it ap- 
 peared that on this occasion slie appeared in 
 her official capacity. Certain it is, that she in- 
 formed me, as'Sir James drew forward a chair for 
 n.y accommodation, that there were some docu- 
 ments for me to sign before my marriage, which 
 were in the keeping of Mr. Thornton. To hear 
 was to obey. I was utterly ignorant of busi- 
 ness in every shape, and equally careless of the 
 consequences on the present occasion. So 
 soon, therefore, as the parchment was spread 
 before me, and the proper spot cautiously indi- 
 cated by the lawyer, I wrote my name without 
 comment or hesitation ; after which Sir James, 
 
 alluded, nor did I ask a question. I was pining 
 to be alone. She paused for a moment, as if 
 awaiting iny reply ; but, finding that I contin- 
 ued silent, she resumed : " In order to do this, 
 I must, of course, leave Woodville, and this 
 fact has occasioned great uneasiness to Sir 
 James. Obliged as he is to absent himself 
 this evening, he has ventured to take measures 
 to prevent your temporary isolation, which, he 
 trusts, will not prove disagreeable to you." 
 
 For the first time I listened attentively. J 
 felt that the eyes of Dornton were riveted upo:i 
 me, and that it was necessary I should say 
 something. 
 
 " Whatever your ladyship and Sir James nave 
 decided, I am prepared to appr'-'-e," I said coldly. 
 
 " Spoken like the very luouei of a wi.e '.' e.\- 
 claimed my mcthei, with a laugh, wh.c. .a_s 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 127 
 
 Wrt altogether one of gaiety. " Our minds are 
 hen relieved at once. You are too young and 
 loo pretty, Eveleen, to dispense with proper 
 protection. I would not propose Lady Flora, 
 for I knew that you had already enjoyed her 
 society to satiety ; and, as my tasle does not 
 lead me to cultivate the affections of elderly 
 ladies in general, I was fairly at fault, and could 
 not remove the difficulty. Sir James was, how- 
 ever, more fortunate ; and, as you have given 
 us carte blanche to act as we deem best, I am 
 delighted to think that, during our compulsory 
 absence, we shall have the satisfaction of feel- 
 ing that we have left you under the guardian- 
 ship of so unexceptionable a person as your 
 husband's aunt !" 
 
 My husband ! How the words jarred upon 
 my nerves ! 
 
 " Do you consent, my sweet Eveleen !" mur- 
 mured Sir James. 
 
 "If it be your wish," I replied languidly, 
 "and that your relative will consent to become 
 the inmate of so dull a house and the compan- 
 ion of so sad and — " I was about to add — " des- 
 olate a being ;" but I checked myself, and only 
 terminated the sentence by my tears. 
 
 Dornton rose hurriedly from his chair, and 
 *)egan to curse the fate which compelled him 
 to his odious journey. I witnessed his emotion 
 with indifference, for I knew that go he must, 
 and I only sighed for the moment of his depart- 
 ure. I was extenuated with fatigue, exertion, 
 and misery. All that I wanted was solitude — 
 absolute, unbroken solitude. I wanted to think, 
 U) breathe, and to suffer in freedom. 
 
 The events of the last few days had succeed- 
 ed each other with a nidity that had left me 
 no time to reflect upon their overwhelming ef- 
 fect upon myself, or to look deliberately and 
 calmly upon my present position and my future 
 prospects. Alas 1 that future — what could 1 
 hope from' it] I had never, upon one point, 
 deceived myself for a moment ; I did not love 
 the man to whom I had given my hand ; I did 
 not believe it possible that I should ever do so. 
 My vanity was flattered by his adoration, and 
 my gratitude had been excited by his watchful 
 tenderness during my convalescence. I well 
 knew, however, that this was all — that he had 
 no other hold upon my heart. How, then, could 
 I look into the future with hope, or even with 
 tranquillity 1 I had seen enough of Sir James 
 Dornton to be convinced that in marrying him 
 I was not about to become the wife of a man 
 who, like Lord Otterford, would subside into a 
 mere domestic husband. The world — the great 
 world — the world of fashion, and dissipation, 
 and luxury, was the only atmosphere in which 
 he could long breathe freely. This was, indeed, 
 the same world of which I had dreamt so fondly 
 from my girlhood— but not the guide who was 
 to pilot me through its mazes. The charm 
 with which I had then invested it was gone, 
 ano, as I at that moment believed, gone for- 
 ever. 
 
 I will dwell no longer on the memory of my 
 marriage-day. The dinner was a counterpart 
 o^ the breakfast, save that while it lasted Sir 
 James did not attempt to sustain anything like 
 s conversation even with me. His eyes scarce- 
 It ever wandered from my face ; he did not 
 •»»^n affect to eat, but he drank wine in a man- 
 
 ner quite unusual with him. My mother talked 
 of town ; of the fetes which she propostu) to 
 give, and the artistes whom she meant to pa- 
 tronize ; affected occasionally to address me as 
 Lady Dornton, and ultimately succeeded in de- 
 priving me of the slight degree of energy which 
 I had hitherto preserved. 
 
 The consequence of this utter prostration 
 was, however, a fortunate one ; for when a 
 servant at length announced the arrival of the 
 mail which was awaiting Sir James at the park 
 gate, and that I saw him hastily spring from his 
 seat and approach me, I gave one suffocating 
 sob, and fainted. 
 
 I afterward learnt that it required all the 
 authority of Lady Madelaine to compel him to 
 quit my side ; but the necessity for his absence 
 was so stringent, that he had no alternative 
 save obedience. As for myself, when I again 
 became conscious at once of existence and ol 
 suffering, I opened my aching eyes in my own 
 quiet apartment, where, by the faint light of a 
 night-lamp, I saw Josephine and my old nurse 
 watching beside my pillow. Such was the 
 realization of the glittering and romantic pic- 
 ture which I had been used to draw of my wed- 
 ding-day. 
 
 Restored to myself by the departure of Dorn- 
 ton, I was still unable to overcome the fearfu. 
 lethargy which had taken possession of me. 
 Feelings and events alike were so confused and 
 untangible, that I could neither separate nor 
 retain them. I was just in the position of the 
 man whom Plato, in one of his undying dia- 
 logues, supposes to have been imprisoned in a 
 cavern, with his back toward the light, where 
 he could distinguish nothing save the shadows 
 of men passing and repassing on the wall nelore 
 him My head was perplexed — my marriage 
 seemed to be a dream ; but, nevertheless, & 
 sense of restraint was strong upon me. I n*. 
 longer felt free even to look into my own heart 
 It was a waking nightmare. 
 
 Had I ever experienced the wisli to feel grate 
 ful to Lady Madelaine for the gratuitous olfei 
 which she had made of sparing me the exertion, 
 of undertaking any arrangements for the future 
 it would have been impossible to do so, when, 
 during the three days which intervened be- 
 tween the departure of Dornton and the arrival 
 of his aunt, she permitted me, without scruple, 
 to see at what an expense, both of temper and 
 of patience, she compelled herself to remain at 
 Woodville in order to receive her, and to pre- 
 serve at least the semblance of an interest in 
 my comfort. The season had long cominenced 
 she 'was now untrammeled ; my sacrifice had 
 purchased her freedom, at least until she should 
 summon Adela to her side — an event which I 
 scarcely anticipated, although I could not ex- 
 plain upon what plea she could much longer 
 keep her in banishment. No wonder that Lady 
 Madelaine pined to escape from a sick-room 
 and a deserted saloon. 
 
 I scarcely gave a thought to the new com- 
 panion who had been provided for me. So long 
 as Sir James continued absent, I cared not who 
 filled his place — I was contefit. It was not, 
 however, with utter indifference that I heard 
 my mother, on one of the rare occasions wlien 
 we were sea. ed quietly together — she languidly 
 employed at her embrodery frame, and I lying 
 
128 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 back, halWreamin^, upon my sofa — commence 
 a cdnversatjon of which the expected stranger 
 was the subject. 
 
 " I trust that this Miss Dornton will prove 
 endurable. I have such a horror of old maids, 
 that I qiiile tlrcad the tune which I must spend 
 under the same roof witii her." 
 
 "Poor lady!" I replied, without unclosing 
 my eyes; "she has more reason to shrink 
 from the prospect of becoming my inmate. 
 Your ladyship's torture will be brief; what 
 you number by hours she may, probably, count 
 by weeks." 
 
 " The thing will bear no comparison, Eveleen, 
 and is too absurd. Miss Dornton is in narrow 
 circumstances, and has for many years been 
 residing in a country town, where, too proud of 
 lier ancient descent to associate with the petty 
 gentry about her, and too poor to keep up her 
 >onnection with the neighborhood, she has lived 
 the life of a recluse." 
 
 I sighed, and the sigh was one of envy. The 
 woman of whom my mother was speaking so 
 disdainfully was free. 
 
 '•Moreover," continued Lady Madelaine in 
 the same tone of easy superiority, " will it not 
 be an event in lier existence to become domes- 
 ticated with Lady Dornton 1 You really know 
 so little of the world, Eveleen, that you do not 
 make a proper distinction, even in a case in 
 which you are yourself interested ; and it is, 
 perhaps, necessary that I should hint to you, in 
 consequence, the propriety of asserting your 
 own dignity with Miss Dornton. There is no 
 set of persons on earth so encroaching, where 
 their advances are tolerated, as poor rela- 
 tions." 
 
 I thought of Lady Flora, but I made no com- 
 ment on my mother's words. 
 
 " I wish, at all events, that she would arrive," 
 again she resumed, pettishly ; " she might cer- 
 tainly have been here before this. It is ill-bred 
 and presuming on her part to make so much 
 unnecessary delay." 
 
 " She does not, in all probability, suspect 
 that your ladyship is in such haste to leave 
 Woodville." 
 
 "Is that an epigram, Lady Dornton 1" 
 
 " I am in no mood for epigrams : I simply 
 gave utterance to my thought." 
 ."In that case I shall merely remark, that if 
 ■'■>. n question has forgotten herself so far 
 as to speculate upon my movements, she is too 
 ready to identify herself with the family into 
 which her nephew has married." 
 
 "The fault is mine, madam," I said, some- 
 what im[)aliently, 'or tlic insolent egotism of 
 my mother jarred upon my feelings, bowed 
 down as I was alike by the past and i)y the 
 present ; " pray do not sufTer me involuntarily 
 to prcjuciice you against her. It was an idle 
 suggestion, and one which I had, perhaps, no 
 right to express. You must forgive me, for I 
 am ill and sick at heart, and scarcely am aware 
 of the exact purport of the words I utter." 
 
 "Ill and sick at heart !" echoed Lady Made- 
 laine, as thougti she had not every reason in 
 the world to believe that such must be the case ; 
 " really, Eveleen, y()u talk strangely for a bride. 
 You involve yourself in the most fantastic an- 
 noyances, and then you assume the attitude of 
 « martyr. If you had listened to reason, and 
 
 become the wife of Sir James when he ^rsl 
 proposed for you, as any rational young wonrm.';, 
 under the circumstances, would have dofiix, 
 there would have been no necessity lor this illr 
 timed separation, and he could have left you in 
 town, under my protection, when he had been 
 seen once or twice with you in public." 
 " You mistake me, madam." 
 " How so 1" 
 
 " I am regretting neither the absence of Sir 
 James, nor the impossibility which exists of my 
 appearing in public." 
 
 " We will pursue the subject no farther ia 
 that case." 
 
 " As you please." 
 
 " One word more, however. If you are, in 
 a fit of unbecoming romance, pining yoursel 
 away in memory of Mr. Devereux, it becomes i 
 my duly to remind you that you are now Lady i 
 Dornton." 
 
 "I know it, madam," I gasped out, as the I 
 blood rushed over my brow — " I feci it !" j 
 
 • " I hope so ; and now we will select some | 
 other topic." • j 
 
 What that topic might have been, I was des- i 
 tined never to know ; for at that very moment ' 
 a carriage passed under the window, which we 
 each felt must contain the expected guest. For 
 one moment my heart beat quick. \\"as I about j 
 to meet a friend or a jailer] 
 
 The door was thrown open by a servant, ; 
 Miss Dornton was announced, and she imme- 
 diately entered, leaning upon the arm of Lord 
 Olterford, who had assisted her to flight. My 
 mother courtesied coldly and in silence, and 
 then resumed her seat ; while the look of sur- 
 prise which I detected upon the countenance 
 of tlie visitor hastened the movement which I 
 was making to rise and receive her. Her first 
 embarrassment over, Miss Dornton glanced 
 from Lady Madelaine to myself; and iiimiedi- 
 I alely that she met the smile and the outstretch- 
 ed hand with which I was slowly approaching, 
 she turned rapidly to welcome both ; and then 
 gently seated me once more among iny cusli* 
 ions, and placed herself beside me. 
 
 "How shall I thank you, madam" — I com- 
 menced ; but Lady Madelaine interposed. 
 
 " Miss Dornton will be kind enougli to excuse 
 your exerting yourself, Eveleen ; she is already 
 aware that you are an invalid, and that you re- 
 main in the country only because quiet has 
 been prescribed for you. You must not ima- 
 gine, madam, that Lady Dornton is naturally 
 either valetudinarian or melancholy — quite the 
 reverse ; but she has liad a very severe illness, 
 and is still suffering considerably from weak- 
 ness." 
 
 ." Poor young creature !" was the kind-heart- 
 ed rejoinder ; " her marriage at such a monicni 
 must have been a great trial to her, and the ab" 
 sence of Sir Jaiues have made it doubly pain 
 ful." 
 
 My mother coughed a little high-bred cough, 
 which superseded the necessity of a reply. 
 
 " 1 trust that you have not suffered from you 
 journey," I said hastily, not well knowing hov 
 to frame an answer to her remark. 
 
 " You rcinind me, Eveleen, that we havi. 
 been inhospitably forgetful," again broke ii 
 Lady Madelaine ; " Miss Dornton will uecessa 
 rily require both refreshment and repose. Loii' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 ISO 
 
 Jtterfcn!, the bell, if you please. Miss Dorn- 
 toii wnl tind ev^rvthing provided in her dress- 
 m^'-rnom." 
 
 Tlie wrli-hrxt. old lady at once understood 
 he motive of ny mother, and rose. Josephine 
 vas summoned to conduct her to her apart- 
 nciit, and our first interview was over 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 On tlie folldwing morning Lord Otterford and 
 my motiier depaited. I saw them abandon me 
 without a sigh ; nor do I believe that their 
 hasty disappearance caused one regret to my 
 new guest. 
 
 Miss Dornton was very diminutive in stat- 
 ure, hut had evidently been a pretty woman in 
 her time. Her figure was still smart and well 
 preserved ; and tliere was a shrewdness in the 
 expression of her countenance which gave as- 
 surance of the vivacity of her intellect, even 
 tempered as it was by the benevolence which 
 evidently formed the prominent feature of her 
 character. Site was the very perfection of fas- 
 tidious and somewhat pedantic neatness. Her 
 dress was rich, but somewhat scrupulously 
 plain ; and it formed no bad type of her moral 
 nature. She was Cull of good, strong sense and 
 womanly sympathy, but she possessed neither 
 seriliment nor imagination. For the tangible 
 sufferings which she could see and compre- 
 hend, she had always a tear or a word of pity ; 
 but for those which grew out of either moral 
 Dr mental struggles she was impracticable and 
 callous. She could understand a headache or 
 a fainting-fit, but she could never attribute 
 them to anything deeper than a mere physical 
 cause. 
 
 Like all persons long accustomed to live 
 alone, siie was very taciturn and self-centred, 
 pious, and occupied. She could better have 
 dispensed with her shadow than her work-bas- 
 ket ; and did not appear to have settled herself 
 comfortably until she had ascertained the dis- 
 tance of Woodville from the parish church, the 
 name of the rector, and the hours of the servi- 
 ces. She was: evidently a worthy, kind-hearted 
 old lady ; but, as regarded companionship. Sir 
 .'imes might with equal propriety have provi- 
 ded mii with a portrait of one of his female an- 
 ".ostors. 
 
 I did not, however, regret this fact ; Miss 
 rVjj-nton answered the purpose for which she 
 •vas intendKd admirably. Her protection was 
 nnexcepiionable for myself, and liberated my 
 mulher from an ungrateful duty, ungraciously 
 neiforined. Well-bred, unassuming, and self- 
 centred, she was the very antipodes of Lady 
 ^"ora ; and I was rejoiced that her taciturn 
 habits enabled me to indulge in my own refiec- 
 .ions without any solecisms in civility. 
 
 It was not until I had been for several days 
 domesticated with th i meek old ladv, and be- 
 come satisfied that I should meet w'ith no in- 
 terferencc from her in any way, that I began 
 seriously to understand my real position. The 
 undefiued feeling with which Sir James hao in- 
 spired me. the blended gratitude and admiration 
 which, in his best mocnents, he had awakened 
 in my heart, required his perpetual preseo^e to 
 •asurc its duration. While he sooth^a my 
 xoura of pain, and beguiled those of lae?i .ude, 
 
 I leaned upon him for support and companion- 
 ship; but, as during his absence, tiiese failed, 
 so his charm failed with them. How difTerent 
 was this pale and borrowed light from the en- 
 during flame which Devereux had kindled in 
 my spirit ! Circumstances had, indeed, some- 
 what quenched it, but it still existed ; and 
 might, as I was compelled to acknowledge to 
 myself, be but too easily reiilumed. I dwelt 
 upon all that had passed between us ; I recall- 
 ed his every look, his every word, and his every 
 gesture, during our short but eventful interview 
 near the Wood Lodge ; I made a few faint 
 struggles to resist these dangerous memories, 
 but 1 was too weak in purpose to wage success- 
 ful war against my own heart. 
 
 This wrestling of affection against duty re- 
 curred so constantly, and created so painful a 
 degree of depression, that it was a continual 
 obstacle to the reestablishment of my health. 
 I was conscious at last that a less patient and 
 considerate companion than Miss Dornton 
 would have been desirable for nie at such a 
 crisis. Slie, poor lady, satisfied of the enviable 
 fate of the woman who had secured so unex- 
 ceptionable a husband is her nephew, never 
 looked beneath the surl«Joe for a hidden evil ; 
 she never dreamed of that sickness of the mind 
 by which the body withers ,• and so long as I 
 punctually and obediently swallowed the drugs 
 prescribed for me by my physician, she felt no 
 further responsibility. 
 
 In my healthier moments I made a resolution 
 to emancipate myself from the trammels of my 
 own emotion, but I was soon compelled to own 
 that I was powerless without assistance. In 
 this dilemina my thoughts once again recurred 
 to Adela. The hurry of my marriage had ren- 
 dered it impossible that she should be present ; 
 nor, inoeed, trusting to the last that I should 
 be able to escape a union with Sir James, had 
 I urged Lady Madelaine to summon her. Con- 
 sequently, I felt myself to he blameless as re- 
 garded this apparent neglect ; and as I ima- 
 gined that now I had irrevocably sacrificed 
 myself to my mother's will, she could have no 
 pretext for refusing to me the society of my 
 sister, at least while I remained in the country, 
 I pondered over the idea until I became sin- 
 cerely and earnestly anxious to see it realized. 
 Miss Dornton, to whom I communicated my 
 wish, appeared to be annoyed at the sugges- 
 tion ; but as she gave no reason for her objec 
 tion, I resolved upon following out my project 
 without any further appeal to her authority 
 She was probably jealous that I should prefei 
 the society of my own sister to that of my hus- 
 band's kinswoman, and the comjianionshif) of 
 a younger person than herself It was a little 
 weakness for which I readily forgave her, but 
 which it was needless to indulge. 
 
 The result of my deliberations was the fol- 
 lowing letter to Adela. It cost me some reso 
 lution, for I remembered the ill-success of my 
 last missive ; but I rescdved to persevere. 
 
 " I have changed my name, my dear Adela, 
 and I hope that the one which I now bear will in- 
 sure the happiness of my life ; but all is, as yet 
 mere speculation. The absence of Sir James, 
 on business connected with soiiie Irish proper- 
 ly, makes me dull enough, and renders my re- 
 covery very slow. Come, and hcin me to regain 
 
130 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 alike my henlth and spirits, my dear sister. It 
 will be a charitaliie act, for which I shall be 
 most grateful. The pleasure of seeing you be- 
 side ine Will make me forget that I ought to 
 wish for the presence of another." 
 
 This letter, short as it was. had cost me 
 »ome study, and I looked upon it as a sublime 
 •'ffort of courage. My heart had assuredly lit- 
 ,e to do with the expressions which it contain- 
 ed on the subject of Sir James ; but my pride 
 •"as roused, and I piqued myself upon the man- 
 .festaiion of a little heroism, which might serve 
 M secure me against the comments of my 
 •ister ; while I did not doubt that Adela, glad 
 at any price to escape from the tedium of 
 Rooksley, would not hesitate to procure Lady 
 Madelamc's consent to so simple and natural 
 an arrangement. 
 
 Several days passed by before I received any 
 reply, hut, as I had calculated that such must 
 inevitably be the case, I wailed as patiently as 
 could. At length two letters were delivered 
 M me, of which one was from my mother, and 
 .he other from Adela. I tore open the latter 
 with a beating heart. These were its con- 
 tents. 
 
 " Ue.\r Eveleen, 
 
 " I had been informed of your marriage, but 
 was ignorant alike of your own feelings, ar.d of 
 those of Sir James. He doubtlessly luves you, 
 as you talk of anticipated happiness. Enjoy so 
 agreeable a prospect : I shall take more inter- 
 est in its realization than you may, perhaps, 
 feel inclined to believe. I can do no more. I 
 should be the worst person in the w'orld as 
 your physician, either in mind or body. We so 
 seldom think alike, and we, in all cases, act so 
 diflerenlly, that I should be more likely to trou- 
 ble your new-made felicity than to increase it." 
 
 My mother simi)ly ratified in her note the re- 
 fusal of Adela. She had, as she declared, left 
 her free to act as she saw fit when my invita- 
 tion was communicated to her by my sister ; 
 believing, after the reluctance which Adela had 
 expressed to becoming my guest, that she 
 should do me no kindness by attempting to 
 uvercome what was evidently a rooted repug- 
 nance. 
 
 And this was all ; and I sat for a time lost 
 in conjectures before these two cold, concise, 
 and matter-of-fact epistles. To what cause 
 was I to attribute so heartless an abandonment 
 on the part of my only sister 1 That we had 
 never ciilier felt or professed an overweening 
 affection the one for the other was undoubtedly 
 true, but this was, under the circumstances, a 
 proceeding on the part of Adela which almost 
 betrayed aversion. 1 feverishly searched ir.to 
 the very recesses of my heart to discover, if 
 possible, its cause. I well knew that iriy 
 sister's feelings were extreme in all things ; 
 and, eventually, with a burning brow and a 
 throi'b'.ng pulse, I decided that she had sought 
 to manifest, in this cutting letter, her contemp- 
 tuous r.ensure of my infidelity to Devercux, and 
 in her refusal to visit me — an unequivocal 
 demonstration of her disdain. 
 
 The witness of their own conscience never 
 
 ^nfficis to the weak-minded ; they require, in 
 
 iwder to justain themselves in their own eyes, 
 
 vd to retain their eelf-esteem, the approbation 
 
 ,* 
 
 domiiable spirits who compel their respect. 
 This was precisely the position in which I then 
 found myself I acknowledged the supremacy 
 of her moral strength, and I required its sup. 
 port to pillow my own w^eakness — its fiat t» 
 justify my own acts. 
 
 Humbled and ashamed, I never sought for a i 
 moment to disco%'er a counter-argument with 
 which to combat the opinion that I believed hei 
 to have adopted. On the contrary, I once more ( 
 wept over my cowardice — my everlasting cus- ' 
 torn when, by my own weakness, I had plunged 
 myself into difficulty. The little eriitice of 
 virtue and duty, frail as it was, which I had 
 occasionally striven to build up, wasoverthrown 
 at once. I no longer sought to excuse myself, 
 upon the plea of either gratitude to Sir James, ,■ 
 or filial obedience to Lady Madelaine. I fiung i 
 all such arguments to the winds as idle sopliis- 1 
 tries; and for a time dared to think that the ( 
 heart could not, and should not, be controlleil. I 
 I shuddered, but I clung to my dangerous the- I 
 ory. I saw the, precipice at my leet ; but [ '. 
 scorned to retreat a step I 
 
 So unwholesome a state of mind could not, \ 
 however, endure long in a nature as yet unde- 
 praved. The storm of passion swept over me. 
 and I saw my future path of life overstrcwn by ■ 
 the fragments of past peace which it had rent j 
 away in its progress ; but I felt grateful that I I 
 could l(iok'u[)on ihem without positive remorse, ' 
 and I glorified myself on the conviction. Alas ! 
 had L in that hour of returning reason, only 
 known wnKRE to turn forreal comfort, how much 
 after-sutlbriiig would have been spared to me! j 
 But I have already confessed that of pure, hunft* i 
 b!e-minded, heaven-trusting religion I knew no- J 
 thing. I sought for strength in myself, where I j 
 never found it ; and virtue in my own heart, i 
 which was as unstable as water. i 
 
 The terror of my sister's sarcasms aroused 
 my temper. I began to ask myself why I 
 should defer to the judgment of a mere j;irl, 
 who only reasoned upon theory, and who knew 
 nothing of the world which she professed in 
 scorn, or of the feelings whicli she afii-tjJrJ ii 
 analyze and to control 1 I could not, howevci, 
 cheat myself in this way ; as my anyersulisided. 
 my fears returned. My mind was mastered by 
 that of Adela. 
 
 It seemed to me that if I could only induct 
 her to listei. to me ; if I could only exi)lain !'• 
 her my reluctance, my opposition ; if I could 
 only tell her of all my tears, all my hcsccchings, 
 my physical weakness and my mental fatigue, 
 she would sympathize with my sacrifice, rather 
 liian blame me ; but while I enumerated all my 
 past struggles, and invoked their memories, 1 
 fi)rgot tliul I was undermining my own peace, 
 and assuming the attitude of a victim, when I, 
 should be endeavoring to gather strength for 
 the performance of thi new and imperativel 
 duties which had grown up about me. In at 
 mental effort to justify myself in the eyes Oi 
 another, I was rendering myself more faulty in 
 my own. 
 
 And while all this tumult was warring within 
 me. Miss Dornton sat by my side as calm ami 
 passionless as an automaton. There was some- 
 thing fearfully irritating in the ceaseless inotior 
 I of the knitting-needles which she scaic^Jy c^ci 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A FRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 131 
 
 ,aiJ aside. I have watched them at times until 
 I have with diifiiuihy suppressed a groan. We 
 weie together (or weeks; and had slie only 
 once changed liie aspect of the lal)or upon 
 whicli they were employed, I could have siip- 
 poricd even them with something like philoso- 
 phy ; hut this poor relief, trifling as it was, 
 never came ; she was engaged upon a measure- 
 less length of what I think she called fringe; 
 and with which she had a horrid vision of gar- 
 nishing some old-world piece of furniture which 
 had belonged to her grandmother. I never in- 
 quired what it was ; but it appeared to me that 
 its dimensions must be somewhat on a par with 
 A\e limits of Salisbury Plain. 
 
 „ei those laugh who will at this digression ; 
 3Ut let them at the same time be assured that 
 ;ietiy and perpetual annoyances, such as these, 
 jre to the suffering spirit what the rose-leaf 
 A'as to the vase of water — the trifle which 
 cause them to overflow ! 
 
 Thus time crept on. The dreary, cheerless, 
 leafless winter had robbed even Woodville of 
 its charms. The lake was frozen beneath the 
 windows ; the birds were silent among the 
 boughs ; the rare shrubs and plants which, 
 during the months of sunshine, made the 
 grounds almost -ival in their gorgeousness and 
 variety the rich profus'on of the tropics, were 
 removed to the cimservatories, or huddled be- 
 neath matting. To find beauties amid such a 
 scene, the inmate should possess a light heart. 
 To the unhai)py, a winter of solitude is a mere 
 season of suffering. To me this withering of 
 nature was morally unwholesome. It appeared 
 to sympathize in my hypochondriacism, and to 
 encourage my mental lethargy. I would have 
 given all tiie splendid and useless toys by 
 which I was surrounded, and which seemed to 
 mock the abandonment of friends and relatives, 
 for one cluster of wild roses, or one bunch .of 
 violets. 
 
 Even a winter with Miss Dornton, however, 
 could not last forever. The spring came at 
 leniilh ; I could again waniler unattended 
 through the shrubberies, and indulge in dreams 
 of the future which were never likely to be 
 redlized. Sir James had not explained to me 
 the nulure of the business which had detained 
 him so long in Ireland. His long and eloquent 
 letters were filled by passionate regrets and 
 enthusiastic anticipations. I have hitherto 
 made no allusion to our correspondence, simply 
 because it jarred upon the train of feelmg to 
 which I had habituated myself. Each letter 
 that I received broke upon my spirit like a dis- 
 cordant note upon the ear ; and it was well 
 that I at once decided upon answering these 
 matrimonial epistles at the very moment of 
 ilheir receipt, while the influence of Dornton's 
 .harmonious and tender periods was still strong 
 upon rne, or I know not how I should ever have 
 accomplished so difficult a task. 
 
 Thus, as 1 before remarked, I was in perfect 
 ignorance of tiie causes which compelled Sir 
 James to so prolonged an absence ; while 1 
 Whs so well satisfied with their efl"ects, that I 
 did not care to ascertain their nature. I was 
 still weak, and thin, and pale ; and both my 
 vanity and my indolence found their profit in 
 ':he soltary existence which I was leading. 
 ilhe Loiid(m season was, however, tio sooner 
 
 at an end, than Lady Madelaine hastened on 
 the wings of maternal tenderness to the retreat 
 of her invalid daugiher; hut it was to me a 
 consolation to reflect, in my moments of bittei- 
 ness, that the sacrifice was considerably lessen- 
 ed by the fact that she brought in her train a 
 score of dear friends, all anxious, like hersel/, 
 to replace the noise and smoke of town by the 
 luxurious vilU-giutura of a well-appointed coun- 
 try-house. 
 
 Had I been weighed down by no latent grief, 
 it is possible that nothing would have been 
 more agreeable for me than the movement of 
 the gay and reckless crowd by which 1 was 
 suddenly surrounded ; but their hollow and 
 heartless trifling oflt-red no remedy to my dis- 
 eased and unsettled mind. At first I found it 
 difficult to sustain so extreme a change. I 
 was compelled to restrain my tears, to stifle my 
 sighs, and to appear as free from care and from 
 anxiety as themselves. I had not forgotten th« 
 indifl^erence with which Lady Madelaine had 
 made my love for Devereux the common theme 
 of herself and her associates ; and, thanks to 
 the comments of these same individuals upoa 
 others of their acquaintance, I required no 
 prompting to understand at once how much my 
 peculiar position placed me in their power. I 
 knew that, married while yet a mere girl, and 
 contrary to my own inclinations, I should be 
 an object of curiosity and speculation to all 
 the high-born idlers among whom I was thus 
 thrown into constant companionship ; that I 
 should be scrutinized, and criticised, and not 
 always in the kindest spirit ; and that I must 
 keep an incessant watch, not only over my 
 words and actions, but over my very thoughts. 
 
 Fortunately the constraint which I deprecat- 
 ed proved salutary to me ; by dint of endeavor- 
 ing to delude others, I ended by deceiving my- 
 self; by doubting if I had not exaggerated my 
 trials ; and whether dissipation and self-indul- 
 gence might not overcome the vapors by which 
 I had so long suffered myself to be oppressed. 
 
 I resolved to solve the problem, and I sue 
 ceeded. My melancholy would have expe 
 rienced no sympathy ; my satisfied vanity and 
 ready partnership in pleasure made me wel 
 come to every one. I became gradually less 
 inclined, even when alone, to indulge in those 
 long fits of weeping which dimmed my eyes 
 and clouded my complexion ; I found myself 
 speculating upon my probable success in such 
 or such a dress; endeavoring to recall certain 
 words and looks of admiration which had l)een 
 directed toward me during the preceding day; 
 in short, although I occasionally sighed, partly 
 from real regret, and partly from long-acciuired 
 habit, my woman-nature was once more thor- 
 oughly aroused ; and although I am quite sure 
 that I never should have been induced to make 
 the acknowldgement, I •was cumparativtly 
 happy. The image of Devereux was not oblit- 
 erated, but it had become much le.ss distinct. 
 The letters of Sir James were no longer a mere 
 matter of course, but a necessary ingredient of 
 my existence. They vere filled with com- 
 ments upon my own '^eauty and attractions; 
 and they kept my var,ity, and consequently nij 
 amiability, at the criminating point. On their 
 receipt I regularly communicated tn.'Ti tr. Lady 
 Madelaine ; not Irom any pi inciplc a'" tlelcieiie« 
 
133 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 >r duty — I do not wish to affect a virtue which I 
 iid not possess — but in order that siie uiiglil ^ee 
 and understand the price at which my personal 
 merits were held by the husband upon whom 
 she had compelled me to bestow them. 
 
 My good-humor returned ; rny accomplish- 
 ments were once more exerted for the amuse- 
 ment of my mother's guests ; I was declared 
 to be more charming than ever, and Sir James 
 the happiest of men, who could never be suf- 
 ficiently grateful for the concession I had made. 
 All this was charming. Lady Madelaine, 
 adopting the tone of her company, was kind, 
 and even confidential ; Lord Oiterford gallant 
 and attentive. I was the lion of the house. 
 No wonder that I rapidly regained my health. 
 and, as a natural consequence, the freshness 
 and beauty of which my previous languor had 
 deprived me. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVir. 
 
 I W.43 awakened one morning by the unu- 
 sually abrupt entrance of Jos6plime. 
 
 "You have disturbed me," I said somewhat 
 impatiently ; " are there any letters ?" 
 
 "No, miladi," answered the soubrette, un- 
 moved by rny pettishness ; " but Sir James has 
 just arrived, and 1 thought it my duty to inform 
 miladi at once." 
 
 I ought not to have felt surprised ; he had al- 
 ready mformed me of the period of his return, 
 but the effect of her words was painful. My 
 feelings were so contradictory, so various, that 
 I could not disentangle them. 1 tried to believe 
 that I rejoiced at iiis advent; it terminated 
 my singular state of bridal widowhood, and 
 emancipated me altogether from my mother's 
 authority ; but still I could not ci)nceal from 
 myself that I had wilfully closed my eyes to 
 its occurrence, and would gladly have deferred 
 it. Fortunately for me, Lady Madelaine, con- 
 scious of the part which she had acted, sus- 
 pected something of the truth, and contrived 
 that I should have ample time to recover my 
 sell-possession. 
 
 My first meeting with Dornton took place in 
 my dressing-room. He was all rapture and 
 affection. He had succeeded perfectly in the 
 business which took him to Ireland ; and only 
 returned, as he declared, to find me a thousand 
 times more lovely than when we parted. My 
 mother soon broke in upon our interview; slie 
 had never been more welcome. She congrat- 
 ulated Sir James upon the recovery of a prop- 
 erty supposed to be lost to him ; insisted upon 
 his thanks for the care which she had taken of 
 his melancholy little wife ; and finally regretted 
 that 'he influx of visitors at Woodville had 
 driven away Miss Dornton ; who departed to 
 her country lodging, laden with a costly dia- 
 jiond ring, upon which she evidently set not 
 the slightest value, and an embrace as cold as 
 the jewel. I parted from her, as I had met 
 her, without a sigh. 
 
 I was somewhat startled to hear that a large 
 "arty were to meet at Woodvdie that very day, 
 n honor of Dorntou's return, when oui» mar- 
 riage was to be publicly aunouuced. The in- 
 telligence was evidently wcicomc to him ; but 
 it was f' less so to me. After the agitation 
 occa...oned by his return, I should have prefer- 
 
 red the comparative quiet of our home-circ.e. 
 There was, however, no alternative, and I ac- 
 cordingly submitted with the best grace I could 
 assume ; only stipulatmg that, uiitd the dinner- 
 bell had rung, I should he permitted to remain 
 undisturbed in my own apartments. As this 
 arrangement aI.<o excluded Sir James, I had to 
 combat for a while his lover-like expostula- 
 tions ; but as Lady Madelaine, anxious that I 
 should appear to advantage, which she well 
 knew could not be the case if my tem|H'r were 
 too sorely tried, condescended to second my 
 wishes, I soon dismissed him to the guests, 
 and sat down to ponder in solitude over the 
 trying position in which I was about to be 
 placed, before the unsympathizing circle which 
 had been gathered together at W'oodville. 
 
 The first person upon whom my eyes fell, aa 
 I entered the dining-room on the arm of Sir 
 James, was Mr. Curties ; and I felt confused 
 and disconcerted as he advanced to greet me. 
 .My delicacy was, however, palpably mistimed,. 
 
 for the wortliy member for was as calm, 
 
 as ai.ff, as rectangular as ever. He even smiled 
 as he glanced from me to Dornton, and uttered 
 a few words of congratulation. I was lost in 
 amazement! I did not possess the solution ol 
 the riddle, and I was deeply mortified. This 
 man, according to Lady Madelaine, had loved • 
 me, or at least, had been dazzled by my aitrac- I 
 tions, and under the influence of such feelinga ( 
 had sought my hand and been rejected ; yet ' 
 now, only a few months later, as if to con vine* i 
 me of the transitory effect of my personal merits, j 
 he met me as another's bride, with a smilt 
 about his lips, and a compliment ui)on hit 
 tongue. What a lesson did this appear to b* 
 to my vanity and self-love ! 
 
 The annoyance was, however, soon foreottoni 
 in the flattering comments and congratulations' 
 of the other guests, among whom I was glad t«. 
 remark the good rector and his pretty daiiglucr, 
 who was duly adorned with her bridal jH-arls. 
 I could not forbear, even thus publicly, pressing 
 my lips to her bright cheek, which crimsoned 
 with delight ; while Sir James, who appeared 
 determined to discover a compliment to liiinsell 
 in every one of my actions, paid me back my 
 courtesy by raising my ^- •_•■ to his lips. 1 
 could not forbear, from l"r e to time, during tht 
 dinner, which to me seemed painfully protract- 
 ed, glancing at Mr. Curties, in order to discovei 
 if he preserved his equanimity I saw not the 
 slightest change. Ho ate and drank in perfect 
 composure, and occasionally condesceided tc 
 address a remark to Miss Grenval, who sat be 
 side him evidently in awe. There was not one 
 symptom of uneasiness to console my rufflec 
 vanity. It was altogether inexplicable. 
 
 The devotion of Dornton knew no bounds 
 ! He seemed to challenge the envy and congratu, 
 lations of all around him. He thanked me ii 
 the most gallant manner for the magnificen 
 toilet which 1 had made upon what he wa' 
 pleased to call our wedding-day, alfccting t 
 forget that a woman finds such a duty at a 
 times both easy and pleasant ; and as both m 
 mother and Lord Oiterford were equally coa 
 plimentary on the subject of my appearance, 
 was glad to be convinced that my dre.-sing-glas' 
 had not deceived me. 
 
 For the first time I felt that I had ettaiae; 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 133 
 
 the object of my earliest ambition ; I divided 
 the suffrages of the circle with Lady Made- 
 laine ; and I had, moreover, the triumph of 
 knowing that I had even over her the, advan- 
 tages of greater youtl) and greater novelty. I 
 was no longer flattered and pampered as a 
 beautiful child ; I had taken my position in so- 
 ciety, and my success must be henceforth based 
 upon my womanly (jualities. I thought not once 
 of Devereux throughout the evening. The in- 
 cense that was so profusely offered at my shrine 
 oppressed my brain, and centred all my feelings 
 in self The past and future were alike shroud- 
 ed in vapor, and I lived only in the present. 
 
 The whole of the evening, until the departure 
 of such of our guests as resided in the neigh- 
 borhood, was occupied in music, and in the ex- 
 ainination of the numerous and costly marriage 
 presents which were awaiting me in the saloon. 
 In vain did I volunteer my services at the harp 
 and my voice in a trio : neither Sir James nor 
 Lady .Madelaine would permit me to use so 
 much exertion in my invalid state. I had sud- 
 denly awakened in a new world — in a sort of 
 gilded Utopia ! So I remained throned upon 
 my sofa, playing with the jewels and toys scat- 
 tered around me, content to look and listen to 
 the performances of those whose health was, 
 for the moment, tacitly understood to be less 
 valuable than my own. 
 
 We remained the whole summer at Wood- 
 ville ; but I had not been a bride more than a 
 few months when I expressed to Lady Made- 
 iaine the desire which I felt to pay a visit to 
 my sister. 
 
 " What will Sir James think of so strange a 
 whim !" she asked drily. 
 
 " Do you, then, consider it extraordinary," I 
 demanded in my turn, " that I should wisii to 
 see Adela after the change which has taken 
 place in my situation 1 You are aware, inadam, 
 that I endeavored to induce her to become my 
 guest, which, for some reason of which I am 
 ignorant, she declined. I confess that I felt 
 deeply hurt, but still I cannot forget that she is 
 my sister, and that, in her present exile, she 
 may well expect so simple a courtesy from 
 me." 
 
 " Your delicacy is somewhat wire-drawn, 
 Eveleen," retorted Lady Madelaine ; " how- 
 ever, you are yet a bride, and must, conse- 
 quently, I suppose, be indulged in your caprices. 
 Fortunately, the long and fatiguing journey to 
 llooksley will be spared, for Adela has been for 
 the last few weeks the inhabitant of my villa at 
 Putney." 
 
 "And why was so simple a circumstance 
 kept secret from mel" 
 
 " Because it grew out of a speculation of a 
 graver nature. Because Adela had just con- 
 ceived one of those extraordinary whims which 
 cannot be explained by any rational argument, 
 but to which, young as she is, she adheres with 
 a tenncily that my will has entirely failed to 
 weaken : and as, I confess to you, the fatigue 
 of so wretched a contention is greater than I 
 Bin willing to encounter, I have at last consent- 
 ed to yield — under certain restrictions." 
 
 How well I recognized the iron nature of my 
 fc'.sicr in this immutability of purpose. 
 
 "And what, then, is this strange fancy V I 
 t^keU eagerly. 
 
 i Lady Madelaine shrugged her shoulders. 
 " In the first place, I believe you are not yet 
 aware that the relative who inherited ihc title 
 and estates of my poor father has formed the 
 somewhat Quixotic project of disencuniberiiig 
 the properly of certain rather extensive mori^ 
 gages ; and, in aid of this endeavor, finding 
 that his obljijations both as a peer and a laud- 
 lord were greater than he wished to encounter, 
 he purposes to live abroad with all his family 
 for the next few years, and to let the castle 
 during that time, retaining the land under the 
 superintendence of a bailiff. Now, Miss Adela 
 Tilden. having, as it has since appeared, through 
 the medium of Lady Flora, been in correspon- 
 dence with the earl, and ascertained that to 
 one of his own connections, who will, of course, 
 appear only as his guest, he will cede Glenfillan 
 Castle at a very small rent, has. child as she 
 is, been continually, from the period of your 
 betrothal, when she found that all chance of 
 your returning to reside at llooksley was at an 
 end, importuning me to hire the place, and to 
 allow her to make it her home, under the guar- 
 dianship of Lady Flora." 
 
 "Her home!" I exclaimed, aghast; "can 
 she seriously ask you to allow her to bury her- 
 self alive at her age in so remote a spot ! Does 
 she forget that there will be a long future, and 
 that her proper home, while she remains un- 
 married, is under the roof of her mother T' 
 
 " I have both said and written all that and 
 much more," coldly replied Lady Madelaine , 
 " but I made no impression upon her stubborn 
 nature. She answered I know not what — that 
 I had never been a mother to her — that she 
 should never have a home while it was called 
 inine — that she had lived for years without the 
 affection of her family, and that she had now 
 ceased to wish for it. In short, you can under- 
 stand her style of reasoning." 
 I could, indeed. 
 
 "Nevertheless," pursued my mother, pei- 
 ceiving that I continued silent, " I still refused 
 to listen to her — " 
 
 " Of course ; you could not do otherwise. 
 The project was absurd and impracticable — I 
 am almost tempted to say insane !" 
 
 "And yet. Lady Dornton, there are circum 
 stances — " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; it is impossible that any cii 
 cumstances, however slrin^fent, could justify 
 so monstrous an arrangement. Had she been 
 five years younger, although such an exile must 
 have condemned her to comparative ignorance^ 
 still her bodily health might have been pleaded 
 as a reason lor so extreme a step ; l)iit iu)W — 
 at the precise period when she should be intr' 
 duced into the world, in which she will soon be 
 called to [ilay her part — " 
 
 "Allow me tc interrupt you in my turn at 
 this point of your argument," said i^ady Made- 
 laine. " You are just touching upon the cir- 
 cumstance which I was about to explain. Hnw 
 will you laugh, Eveleen — you, young, rich, 
 courted, and beloved, when 1 tell you that th.-* 
 mere girl who calls you sister, and who share.*, 
 or might share, all your advantages, save, •r. 
 deed, as regards beauty, firmly believes Ihnt 
 she has taken the world in abhorrence — '•/ 
 rather, to follow her own text mo/e close") - 
 that she holds, it in contempt ; and when I even 
 
134 
 
 CC/AFIJSSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 went so far as to hint that I might possibly, in 
 a few niuiilhs, when I iidcJ seen you fairly set- 
 tled at the head of your own estahlishment, 
 eall her to town, and give her every advantage 
 of wiiich she is susceptible, she peruiopturily 
 declared that she wouii never be taken to Lon- 
 , don alive, to be inlroduced to the /rivolous an.l 
 heartless society of wliat was called the fashion- 
 able world — that it was not made for lier, nor 
 8h« for It, and that, consequently, she put it to 
 uiyself wliether she slioukl not be less obnox- 
 ious lo me and less burdensome to herself at 
 Gltnfillan than at Rooksley." 
 
 "yiie must be mad I" 1 murmured, uncon- 
 Bciously. 
 
 " Perhaps so. At all events, she is incom- 
 prehensible. Nothing wdl bend her wdl. Sick 
 of the struggle, as 1 have already told you, I 
 have at last yielded, and she is at present at 
 Putney with Lady Flora, making purchases of 
 spelling-books and grammars for a school which 
 she is to found, and comnuliing sundry other 
 "Aios of the same description. As I have de- 
 ciioed all farther interference with so imprac- 
 »'"H'ri.c a young lady, I have offered neither 
 sommcnt nor hindrance to her last request that 
 she may be allowed to proceed to Scotland early 
 in the ensuing niojiiii." 
 
 " I must lose no tune, then, in reaching Put- 
 ney," I said, involuntarily rising from my chair, 
 as thougii preparing to depart on the instant. 
 
 "Resume your seat," said Lady Madelaine, 
 calmly motioning me again to her side. "Are 
 you quite sure that Adela partakes your eager- 
 ness for this meeting! Do you feel satisfied 
 that you wdl be a welcome visitor !" 
 
 " Why should I doubt it] I have never in- 
 jured my sister." 
 
 Lady Aladelaine bit her lip, and for a moment 
 
 appeared disconcerted ; but she soon conquered 
 
 the feeling, from wliatever impulse it arose, and 
 
 continued, svith an arch srade : " You know the 
 
 IP^ Italian proverb — 
 
 'Chi cerca quel die non dovrebbe 
 Trova (jiiel die non vorrelibe :' 
 
 however, I will make no attempt to dissuade 
 you from your |nir|)ose. One thing, neverthe- 
 less, you must remeiiiber, Eveleen — " 
 
 " What can prevent my performance of what 
 I now cor.sider actually as a duty ]'' I exclaim- 
 ed ; " who can t-ay, even young us we both are, 
 teat we may ever meet again V 
 
 •' I reptat, Lady Dornton, that in so far as I 
 am concerned, I advance no objection to your 
 wish ; Ixil you are quite forgetting that you 
 have a hu.sband, and that he may not approve 
 of ygur repeatng your advances to a younger 
 sister, by whom they hiive already been re- 
 pulsed." 
 
 "Sir James object !" I retorted, with all the 
 scum of a spoiled beauty; "oh, no; that is, 
 indeed, improbable : I am by no means prepared 
 for any such opposition." 
 
 "Possibly ; and yet such things are." 
 
 "Not in a case like mine. 1 assuredly did 
 not become the wife of Sir James Dtirnton to 
 be consigned once more to tiie nursery. 1 shall 
 request him to be ready lo accompany me to 
 town the day after to-moriow." 
 
 " To town !" echoed the voice of my hus- 
 band, who at the instant entered the room ; 
 " ilo I hear the fair and iaohionable Lady Dorn- 
 
 ton threatening to go up to town, when n« 
 one is lo be seen there but drapers and dust- 
 men !" 
 
 " Why, not precisely, not completely, not 
 avowedly," I answered in the same gay loae ; 
 " my fair and fashionable ladyship coniemplatea 
 only the negative enormity of Putney, to visit 
 her soiiiewliat moonstruck sister, and to en- 
 deavor, by a less adventurous journey than that ; 
 of Orlando, to win back her wits again." | 
 
 I expected at least a smile in reward of my ' 
 banter, but< to my extreme surprise, as I raised 
 my eyes to meet it, I saw Sir James exchange 
 an alarmed and rapid glance with my iiioiIrt, 
 while for a moment the blood forsook his ciieek 
 and lips. Lady Madelaine, however, was as 
 calm as ever. She had not been taken by sur ■ 
 prise. j 
 
 " Is it not a wild whim V she asked, with a ' 
 smile. 
 
 " But Eveleen wiU nut persist ;" and he be- 
 gan playfully to smooth down my ringlets. 
 
 " Do not mistake mc. Sir James," I said, per- ; 
 fectly restored to seriousness ; " I feel that I ' 
 ought to see my sister before she leaves Eng- { 
 land. She is not happy — " I 
 
 " Not happy?" ( 
 
 " Assuredly not, or she never would have, 
 formed so extreme a resolution. Slie does not I 
 understand what she so lightly rejects. lam' 
 resolved to use the inllueiice I [)ossess — " ' 
 
 "The influence you possess !'' I 
 
 " Even so ; not only in dissuading her fronii 
 a project so extravagant, but also by induciogi 
 her to confide to me — " j 
 
 " Confide to you !" | 
 
 " Really, Sir James," I exclaimed, rather' 
 pettishly, "one would imagine that we were; 
 rehearsing a scene from Othello : you echo alll 
 my words." ' 
 
 "And no wonder," said my mother, cgming' 
 skilfully to the rescue; "Dornton, knowing 
 what he does of Adela, may well be asionisliec 
 on hearing you talk of possessing an inlluencj 
 over her, and of inducing her to make you hei 
 confidant." 
 
 " I am, indeed, thoroughly amazed," acqui 
 esced Sir James ; "for 1 believed her lo b( 
 utterly invulnerable to either advice or sym 
 paihy." 
 
 I was not satisfied with this well-acted ex 
 planation. It was evident that there was soint 
 mystery connected with ihe removal of my sis 
 ler, which was to remain a secret (roin me. 
 even suspected that it was not viduniary, bu 
 had grown out of the scarcely-disguised am 
 invincible dislike which I had long known Lad. 
 iMadclaine to entertain toward her. All iha 
 had passed, therefore, only the more firmly de 
 teroiined me not to yield. I could derive n_ 
 advantage from this concessi(m to my sister'' 
 pride, and of this she must be aware. 1 wafij 
 cimsequently, not without hope that this con! 
 sideration on my part might, indeed, induce he 
 to unbend, and to explain to me her real inc 
 lives for so strange a resolution as that whic 
 1 had just heard attributed to her own 'rte wil 
 Judging from my own experience, I ki ew lli<) 
 there were moments in which the lu-ait wa' 
 relieved by imparting its grief ; might this m 
 be her case ikuv, when she was on the eve i', 
 separat'.in irom her family ! The mystiticalto 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PIIE'ITY WO.MAN. 
 
 which I had detected irritated and dibhcaitened 
 uie ; I fell as though it involved a return of the 
 mental vassalage thai I loathed, and I pledged, 
 myself to my own heart to be on this i/ccasiton 
 as linn as Adela herself. 
 
 "You will accompany me, Sir James 1" I 
 said, suddenly, in a tone completely devoid of 
 doubt. 
 
 " I regret that it will be utterly impossible 
 for me lo do so." answered my husband, in an 
 accent as decided as my own, " and in that 
 fact, my sweet Eveleen, lies the whole secret 
 ol aiy anni'>ance at your project." 
 
 " f thouj^t.i Miat you were an idle man, with 
 no more &( rioLis busiaess on hand than that of 
 obliguig y.jur wife." 
 
 " Would that it were so ; but that vile Irish 
 afTair ' drags its slow length along,' and will 
 admit of no neglect on my part just at pres- 
 ent." 
 
 " Fortun.itelv," I said, considerably provoked, 
 " I am no coward. With my o.vn maid, and a 
 couple of inen-.iervants, I shall be perfectly and 
 correclly attended." 
 
 " Eveleen," exclaimed Sir James, " not for 
 ten thousand worlds would I consent to such a 
 scheme." 
 
 " You shall not be asked to do so," said my 
 mother ; '• I will accompany Lady Dornton." 
 
 He thanked her somewhat gravely, for he 
 evidently desired that the journey should be 
 abandiini.'d altogetlier. He complained of my 
 coldness in leaving him to visit a sister who 
 had never shown me the slightest affection ; 
 talked of the ungenial season, and my recent 
 illness ; in short, tried all means of altering my 
 resolution, iiut without effect. Had not my 
 suspicions been aroused, he would probably 
 have succeeded ; but, as it was, his multiplied 
 objections only strengthened my purpose. My 
 pride revolted when it whispered that, in some 
 way or other, I had been made a dupe. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 I DID not thoroughly recover my temper until 
 i found myself in the carriage which was to con- 
 vey my ifiotiier and myself to Putney. During 
 the brief interval which had elapsed between 
 making tlie arrangement and seeing it realized. 
 Sir James had exhausted himself in affection- 
 ate attentions, which I received coldly and with 
 suspicion ; for I at once discovered that he still 
 entertained the hope of changing my resolution. 
 I felt' like a mariner about to explore an un- 
 known shoal ; and I looked to my sister to sup- 
 ply the sounding-line. 
 
 Once in the carriage, even before we had left 
 the grounds, and whils the touch of Dornton's 
 lips was still warm upon my cheek, I recovered 
 my equanimity, and commenced a conversation 
 With Lady Madelaine, by sincerely thanking her 
 for the consideration which had induced her to 
 become my companion ; a concession to which 
 I was ilie more sensible, as my husband had 
 failed to emulate it. 
 
 " You are unreasonable to expect so much, 
 Eveleen, ' she said in reply. " Men detest 
 the lachrymosities of soi-disanl broken-hearted 
 yijung ladies; and Sir James, charming as he 
 is, is nevertheless only mortal." 
 
 "But if Adela be, as you imply, broken- 
 
 hearted, you must surely also he awaie of ih« 
 cause of her sorrow." 
 
 " A purely false deduction. I only know thai 
 she has succeeded in making her very iiani.! 
 odii us to me ; and that I shall rejoice when i 
 know that she is safely housed at Glenfilian." 
 
 " How long ago was it, did you say, since she 
 first made the request!" 
 
 " Several months ; I really forget the precise 
 period ; it was about the commencement of your 
 illness." 
 
 " At the time of my betrothal!" 
 
 " Somewhat later ; and it was to endeavor to 
 make her hear reayon, that I urged on your 
 marriage, and left you so abruptly at Wood- 
 ville. Instead of proceeding at once to town, 
 Lord Otlerford and myself traveled to Rooks- 
 ley, ill-affected as I was toward such a jour 
 ney ; and as I found that nothing but coercion 
 would enable me to overcome her wishes, and 
 that, I did not possess the slightest authority 
 over her, unless I condescended to have re- 
 course to forc", we decided that she must be 
 treated like an embryo-lunatic as she is, and 
 indulged in her whim until she herself wearies 
 of it. Having come to this determination. Lord 
 Ottenford consented to remain a week at Rooks- 
 ley, while Lady Flora and her amiable charge 
 made their parting arrangements, in order that 
 they might have his protection upon the road ; 
 and, as their domestication in Grosvenor Square 
 during the season was of course not to be 
 thought of, we decided upon settling them at 
 Putney until their departure for Scotland." 
 
 " Yoii think, then, that it is a mere tempora- 
 ry caprice!" 
 
 "I judge like a rational being, and cannot 
 imagine otherwise." 
 
 "It is, at least, very singular," I remarked, 
 " that such an extraordinary circumstance 
 should never have been mentioned to ine. 
 Has no one, save youurself and Lord Oiterford, 
 been made acquainted with it !" 
 
 " You must have seen that it was known to 
 Sir James." 
 
 " Ah, true ! it was evidently no secret to 
 him ; and may I ask if he favored your compli- 
 ance with the wishes of my sister!" 
 
 " He very properly declined to offer any 
 opinion v/hatever upon the subject." 
 
 "And Lord Otterfoid!" 
 
 " Very naturally felt with, and for me ; as did 
 all the friends wl.om I considered it expedient 
 to consult. It wouldj as a matter of course, 
 have been namecj to you, had I not been anx- 
 ious, during your illness, to save you from an- 
 noyance of every description ; and subsequently 
 also, but that I thought it likely to throw a 
 gloom over your meeting with your husband." 
 
 "How was it calculated lo do this, and why 
 should it produce such an effect !" I asked, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " On my honor. Lady Dornton, vous cxcedcz .'" 
 exclaimed my mother pettishly ; " you catechise 
 like the teacher of a Sunday-school, and seem 
 to forget that my nerves are not made of iron. 
 Pray let me sleep off the irritating effects of our 
 abrupt and uninteresting dialogue. Believe me, 
 your sister will soon convince you that she is 
 not worthy of such a waste of words" 
 
 Of course I was silenced, for 1 still stood in 
 too much awe of Lady Madelaine to brave he 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN, 
 
 136 
 
 displeasure ; and although I felt convinced that 
 she only sought to avoid an explanation, I 
 was, consequently, compelled to content myself 
 throughout the remainder of the journey with 
 the companionship of my own thoughts ; for 
 while we w«re upon the road, she perseveringly 
 'ept, or affected to sleep ; and when we alight- 
 ed, she flung herself into an altitude of languor 
 which rendered her altogether unapproachable. 
 
 Contrary to my expectations, Lady Madelaine 
 
 d n(tt drive at once to Putney, but ordered the 
 arriage on to town ; and as the dismantled 
 Tiansion in Grosvenor Square was naturally 
 out of the question, we alighted at a fashionable, 
 out now nearly deserted liotel, whence a mes- 
 senger was dispatched to infoim my sister of 
 our arrival, and our intention of visiting her on 
 the morrow. 
 
 When I awoke on the following morning, a 
 feeling of positive sickness crept over me ! 
 How would Adela, indeed, receive my visit 1 
 and what was I about to learn 1 With my 
 usual cowardice, 1 even began to regret that I 
 had subjected myself to the trial ; but, never- 
 theless, I, after some time, found strength in 
 my curiosity, and resolved to conceal my emo- 
 tion from Lady Madelaine, lest she should take 
 advantage of my folly, and compel me to return 
 to Woodville unsatisfied. 
 
 Having come to this doughty resolution, I 
 took unusual interest in the adjustment of my 
 plain but costly morning-dress, aware that there 
 is a prestige about a labored toilet, which is 
 never without its effect upon the young. When 
 this frivolous care was at length over, 1 amused 
 inyself by arranging in a small casket a few 
 fashionable trinkets which I had selected as 
 my marriage gift to my sister ; and I was still 
 engaged in so doing, when Lady Madelaine en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 " For whom are you preparing those pres- 
 ents!" she asked, as her eye fell upon the 
 ornaments. 
 
 "For my sister." 
 
 " It is useless," she said gravely ; " Miss Til- 
 den is too high-minded to find pleasure in such 
 toys : do not draw down an affront upon your- 
 self" 
 
 " Surely I need apprehend no insult where I 
 mean only kindness^" 
 
 " Do as you will — take them in your hand ; 
 vou will be the most proper judge of the expe- 
 ncy of suggesting their acceptance." 
 
 I was already half convinced that it would be 
 useless. I knew how easily my sister's pride 
 was roused ; and, with a sigh of regret, I silently 
 consigned tliem once more to my dressing-case, 
 and followed Lady Madelaine down stairs. 
 
 Not a word passed between us, until we 
 reached Putney. 1 was all dread, curiosity, and 
 agitation, and in no uwod for cimversation ; 
 while my mother had doubtlessly her own 
 memories to occupy her thoughts. 
 
 Despite all the coldness with which she had 
 treated me since we parted, my sister, when 
 she entered the room on our arrival, was so 
 pale, so wasted, and so changed, that I could 
 not control my emotion, and the tears streamed 
 from my eyes. 
 
 "Are you weeping over me. Lady DorntonV 
 Bhe a!>ked calmly. " You are luriunate if you 
 can urloril ii» \.erp for others." 
 
 " Oh, Adela, why have you urged Lady Mad- 
 elaine to allow your banishment !" 1 exclaimed, 
 as I seized lier hand ; " I have but just learned 
 tlie unwelcome news of this inieniltd departure; 
 arid even now can scarcely credit that it is in 
 compliance with your own wish." 
 
 " Why should yoa not believe it V and as 
 she spoke, she seated herself quietly beside me ; 
 "you are not ignorant that the human heart is 
 subject to extraordinary changes." 
 
 I felt the point of the remark, and my cheek 
 flushed. Lady Madelaine. who saw that I was 
 hurt, addressed some comiinonplace observar- 
 tion to my sister, who made a brief reply, ant 
 a pause to me more painful than even the most 
 bitter sarcasm ensued. I could not s|)eak. 
 Adela sat in silence, as if awaiting the purport 
 of a visit which she bad evidently not desired ; 
 and my mother threw herself back upon her 
 sofa, and closed her eyes. The spell was at 
 length, however, broken by Lady Madelaine her- 
 self, who, wearied by the constraint to which 
 she had for a moment submitted, suddenly rose, 
 declaring that she had some directions to give 
 to Lady Flora. 
 
 This was, as I thought, the crisis of my fate. 
 I was dying to interrogate Adela, and trembling 
 at the idea of being questioned in my turn. 
 
 We were no sooner alone than my sister 
 turned upon me a long and searching look 
 which seemed to penetrate my very heart. 
 
 " Are you happy ?" she asked abruptly. 
 
 " I have submitted to circumstances, and mj 
 reason tells me to deduce what profit I may 
 from my submission.' 
 
 " Answer me more iVanklv — are you happy 1" 
 
 " Yes — almost — at least I am not otherwise." 
 
 " Sir James loves you then ! " 
 
 " Devotedly ; of that, at least, I am con 
 vinced." 
 
 " And youl" 
 
 " Me !— I— " 
 
 " Why do you hesitate 1 Does not the hus- 
 band whom you have chosen appear to justifj 
 your affection V 
 
 I was perfectly unprepared for such an attack 
 as this, and knew not with what arms to repel 
 it. The difficulty roused my temper, and angei 
 lent me courage. Not only did 1 acknowledge 
 the love which I believed that I felt for Dorn- 
 ton, but I exaggerated his good qualities, and 
 the devotion and self-abnegation which he had 
 displayed in the indulgence of all my tastes and 
 wishes. I was almost eloquent. 
 
 "Spare me the details of his perfections," 
 said my sister impatiently, when I at length 
 paused lor breath ; " you are excusable. More- 
 over, my opinion is already formed." 
 
 Again we were silent. My eyes were rivet- 
 ed upon the floor, while my sister's wandered 
 over the apartment, evidently unconscious of 
 every object on which they looked. I was in 
 agony. The opportunity which I had offered 
 to her sarcasms was so tempting that 1 every^ 
 instant anticipated she would overwhelm me* 
 by some bitter allusion to Devereux , it was, 
 therefore, necessary that I should take advan- 
 tage of her silence, in order to prevent it ; and 
 I compelled inyself to make the effort. 
 
 " My dear Adela," I said, " we are for a mo- 
 ment alone ; we may soon be disturbed ; do not, 
 then, Hunk me ab:upt ii, wiihouL luiiiici pre' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY ^^OMAN. 
 
 137 
 
 face, 1 beg of you to relieve me from a painful indeed must be its effect upon the whole o. 
 suspicion. Explain to me, I entreat, the true your future life. You know nothing of iho 
 reason of this exile to which you are about to i world, or of its pleasures ; you are ignorant oi' 
 be condemned. Can it be that our mother has the happiness of loving and being beloved, 
 compelled you to it !" I save in theory — and remember wlial bright 
 
 "Our mother !" she exclaimed scornfully. ! visions you used to evoke — " 
 
 "Do you indeed so utterly misunderstand me 
 as to believe that I shall ever act upon com- 
 pulsion !" 
 
 "I do not misunderstand you, Adela; but I 
 know that even the strongest resolutions are 
 sometimes rendered nugatory by a will still 
 more absolute." 
 
 " Ha ! you imagined that such was my 
 case." 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " You reasoned upon your own experience ; 
 nothing could be more natural. Nevertheless, 
 you were wrong, as you will ever be when you 
 try my actions by the same test. Lady Mad- 
 elaine has employed no authority to induce 
 what you have somewhat romantically termed 
 my ' exile ;' on the contrary, I decided on the 
 step which I am about to take at the moment 
 when your life was considered to be in immi- 
 nent danger, and when, consequently, my de- 
 termined estrangement from my mother would 
 have rendered her morally, if not actually, 
 childless ; and her remonstrances were compare 
 atively vehement." 
 
 " I am lost in wonder !" I said dejectedly ; 
 " how unjust have I been in accusing Lady 
 Madelaine of the sacrifice to which you have 
 wilfully consigned yourself" 
 
 " There are sacrifices of all kinds," was the 
 reply ; " that which I have made is assuredly 
 not the conteinplated sojourn in Scotland." 
 
 " Can f, in any way, or by any exertion, in- 
 duce you to abandon your design V 
 
 ' No. 
 
 Oh, 
 
 " I seem to be surrounded by mystery 
 Adela. I beseech you — " 
 
 " To do what 1 To explain to you my mo- 
 tives ! Never. My secret is my own, and 
 shall remain so, until — in short, in my turn, I 
 entreat you to respect it — Learn it when you 
 will, you must repent the knowledge." 
 
 " Be it what it may," I retorted vehemently, 
 "I condemn it. You have overrated your 
 strength. The existence which, as a girl, 
 was tolerable and even pleasant, will, at your 
 present age, wither you by its hopeless mo- 
 notony." 
 
 " 1 should have judged so once ; but I then 
 mistook my true means of happiness." 
 
 " Happitvess ! Do you hope to find it at Glen- 
 fillanr' 
 
 " I shall find what I seek ; the only benefit 
 which can henceforward avail me." 
 
 The words of my sister were so obscure, 
 that they only increased my curiosity. I re- 
 doubled my efforts to induce her to confide in 
 me, but she was impenetrable, and at length 
 last her temper. 
 
 "You are indelicate, Eveleen," she said, 
 haughtily ; " why do you harass me with en- 
 treaties, when I have declared that they will be 
 anavailingl" 
 
 " I will do .so no longer, since you do not con- 
 sider me worthy of your confidence ; but let me 
 
 Enough!" she said sternly; "I want no 
 advice ; and even were it otherwise, you are 
 the last person to whom I should apply for 
 1 counsel." 
 
 As all my expressions had been affectionate 
 as well as earnest, I felt offended by the tone 
 which my sister had assumed ; and had not 
 Lady Madelaine at that precise moment re- 
 turned, accompanied by the happy Lady Flora, 
 who walked into the room as tliough she were 
 already treading upon heather, I fear this so 
 much desired interview with my sister would 
 have terminated in anger on both sides. Our 
 mutual agitation did not escape my mother, and 
 she appeared uneasy and irresolute, when I rose, 
 and proposed that we should return to town. 
 She offered no opposition, however, and with a 
 cold embrace, and hearts more estranged than 
 ever, Adela and I parted. 
 
 We had no sooner left the villa than Lady 
 Madelaine, with an anxiety which she vainly 
 strove to conceal, hastened to inquire what 
 could be the nature of the conversation which 
 I had held with my sister, and by which we had 
 both evidently been so much moved ; I told her 
 frankly. 
 
 " Why did you persist in so thankless an :ji- 
 terference 1" she asked, impatiently; "pray, 
 permit Miss Tilden to make herself ridiculous 
 in her own way, since she has determined to 
 do so. Setting aside the consideration that 
 your fortune may, hereafter, be greatly bene- 
 fited by her obstinacy, there are a thousand 
 other reasons which must make her wro.ng- 
 headedness advantageous to you. Do you not 
 yet understand that your sister's disposition 
 tastes, and prejudices are ah calculated to an- 
 noy and injure you, were you to mix in the 
 same society! I will even warn you, more- 
 over, that private conversations, such as this 
 for which lately you were so eager, and which 
 has only tended to wound and exasperate your 
 feelings, can conduce to no favorable result ; 
 and are only calculated to produce very dis- 
 agreeable effects. You will be wise to avoid 
 them for the future, whenever you are flung 
 together, and to make the most of the brilliant 
 position you have secured, without troubling 
 yourself with the sickly fancies of an ungracious 
 girl." 
 
 I was quite in the mood to believe that she 
 was right ; and I accordingly pledged myself to 
 follow her advice, and to leave Adela to her dis- 
 content. The alternative was, at least, an easy 
 oac ; and the rapture of Sir James on my re- 
 turn to Woodville assisted me wonderfully in 
 the effort. 
 
 It was really, therefore, from curiosity at the 
 moment, and not from any lingering remnant 
 of affection, that I one day inquired what had 
 become of Devereux ; and as a proof of the 
 perfect composure with which I was able to 
 put the question, I addressed it to my husband, 
 who, with the tact and taste which did him 
 
 at least entreat you not to take so serious a step ' honor, answered as cahnly as myself He- l.ad 
 without earnestly considerir.g what may, and! just obtained promotion in his regiment, ano 
 
138 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 was oxtremcly zealous in his niiliiary duties, 
 l<i Uie great edilication of Sir Herliurt, and the 
 ainuseiiifnt oC his inoiher. I received liie iii- 
 Ullijjenix' coldly enough, for I sull felt siilfi- 
 cicnl interest in iiiin to he piiiued hy his marked 
 and studious neglect ; and to experience a little 
 billerness at tiie thought that Ins love for i>.e 
 had been superseded hy the poor vanity of 
 rising in his profession. Nevertheless, 1 re- 
 joiced to perceive that it did not affect iny 
 feelings ; and my heart hounded as it whispered 
 that I conquered a weakness, for which his 
 fickleness now made me blush. 
 
 His fickleness ! Haw amusing are the one- 
 sided judgments of those who will only see one 
 phase of a question 1 I accused Dever.m.x of 
 fickleness — I who had become the wife of an- 
 other man, and, moreover, o( the very man whom 
 1 had long professed alike to dislike and to de- 
 spise. 1 knew that Lady Madclaine had closed 
 her doors against him, and 1 was still her guest ; 
 and yet 1 accused Devereux of fickleness, even 
 after I had parted from him with an injunction to 
 forget me, which my marriage had .since ren- 
 dered imperative. 
 
 A few weeks after our return to Woodville, 
 Lady MadeJaine and Lord Otterford proceeded 
 to town, in order to expedite the departure of 
 Lady l-'lora and my sister ; but on this oc-ca- 
 sion, I made no proposal to bear them compa- 
 ny. On the contrary, when my mother in- 
 quired my intention on the subject, I declared 
 my distaste to another interview with Aiiela. 
 And as Sir James had thoroughly reasoned and 
 rallied me out of all my suspicions of mysiiti- 
 calion, and declared his willingness to remain 
 at Woodville until I should desire to follow my 
 mother, I saw her depart with thankfulness 
 that so ungracious a task was spared to me. 
 
 A fortnight flew rapidly by. Sir James was 
 all animation and amiability, and exerted him- 
 self as strenuously for my amusement as though 
 he lived to no other purpose. I began to ex- 
 onerate my mother, and to believe that she had 
 guided me aright ; hi<t., nevertheless, I occa- 
 sionally sighed for a wider field of action ; nor, 
 as I had reason to suspect, was Dorntun alio- 
 gethi;r indifferent to the same advantage. He 
 never addressed a compliment to me, and he 
 was not sparing of them, but it terminated hy 
 an assurance of the eflect which I should pro- 
 duce in town, or an expression of curiosity as 
 to how the rivalry of my beauty — and such 
 beauty — jwould be borne hy the Uasces belles of 
 the last two seasons. At length on one occa- 
 sion, I ventured to say timidly — 
 
 " Why should we not essay the experi- 
 ment]" 
 
 " Are you serious, Eveleen V 
 
 " I'oitrquoi jiasl I imagine that we cannot 
 remain at Woodville forever." 
 
 " i am glad that you have made the observa- 
 tion, dearest," replied Dornlon, eagerly ; " I 
 will confess to you that it is irksome to me. In 
 short, it is not kome. We have not yet tasted 
 the delights of home, Eveleen." 
 
 "You are right. We will only remain in 
 Grosveiior Sijuare while we decide upon a 
 house ; and then, Sir James, we will assert our 
 independence and emancipaie ourselves." 
 
 •' Admirably decided! And when shall we 
 nut our project into execution 1" 
 
 •« Now— this moment, if you wish it." 
 
 " Nay, nay, not so fast," lauuhed Domton 
 " wf must first acquaint Lady Madclaine with 
 our inientio.i, and name to her the precise Maj 
 on which she may exjjeet us." 
 
 " So be it. Let me see — this is Saturday. 
 Tell her that we will be with her on Thurs- 
 day." 
 
 "Suffer me to suggest an amendment, and 
 fo propose that we should say Friday ; nqt 
 that we will leave Woodville the later, but 
 we may make two days of the journey. I can- 
 not bear that you should arrive in town, pale 
 and worn with fatigue. Will you oblige lue in 
 this!" 
 
 I could not reasonably object, and it '.v.^.s con- 
 sequently so arranged. We made our few 
 parting visits in the neighborhood ; and on the 
 Thursday, at noon, bade farewell to the scene 
 of our honeymoon. I was not, however, in- 
 clined to be sentimental on that subject. Lon 
 don was before me, with the admiration of the 
 men and the envy of the women. Visions of 
 splendor and triumph rose brightly in the dis- 
 lance ; I was about to commence a new life. I 
 iindoiihiedly talked an infinity of luaisense on 
 the subject of the future ; but Sir James was 
 too well-bred to allow me to suspect that he 
 perceived it. How difTerenily liiil I now per- 
 form the journey, which, when 1 had been ac- 
 companied by my mother, was full of tediousness 
 and cnitui. I only wonder, when I look back, 
 how my spirits sustained themselves through- 
 out so many hours without flagging for an in-, 
 stant. Dornton looked at me in astonishment. 
 He had never before seen me in such a mood; 
 and he was evidently pleased by my animation, 
 and the effect which it produced upon my ap- 
 pearance. Nevertheless, at the conclusion ol 
 the day's journey, I congratulated myscll upon 
 the prudence and forethought of my husband, 
 for 1 was fairly exhausted by my exertions; 
 and while Sir James was still deprecating the in- 
 sutticieiR-y of the arrangements which had been 
 made for my accomniodalion, I fell asleep, only 
 to renew in my dreams the bright fancies that 
 had sustained me throughout the day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 The period of marriage is the one great epoch 
 of a woman's lil'e. It is a condensation ol 
 courteous deceit and liatlering promise, which 
 re(|iiii(' mom lis, and sometimes even years, to 
 anniliil.iie their elfecls. Cuslom has ordained 
 th.it every man should commence his wedded 
 career by'a tissue of self abnegation and devo- 
 tedness, 'of which the sex is uilerly incapable 
 lor any length of time; while the world, never 
 slow 1(1 claim its share in any glozing cheat, 
 helps on the illusion of the bride tiy a species 
 of general and gracious worship, which, just as 
 it wanes to a close, has become necessary to 
 the hap|)iuess of lis idol, who seldom fails to 
 discover, amid the intoxication of the incense, 
 that its fumes are directed elsewhere. Cuslom 
 has limed the duration of the sacrifice; and 
 wh(!n, at the close of the given period, the bride 
 has degenerated inlo the wife, the -prestige 
 ceases— Ihe married dame is no longer more 
 than a mere unit in the great sum total of the 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 13(* 
 
 wor'd, and sho is quielly handed down from her 
 poclesiiil i(» make way lor a new viciini. 
 
 Tliest! are trite truths ; but they, neverthe- 
 less, deserve more and deeper reflection tlian 
 are coniinonly accorded to them. How many 
 women, during their period of courtship, stop 
 eii'Mi in all their anticipations of the future, at 
 the indulgences, and trmmphs, and congratula- 
 ..ons of the lioneymoon '. How many wilfully 
 close iheir eyes to the long years which are to 
 succeed it \ It is the fashion to smile, and nod, 
 and feliciiate the poor, inexperienced, self-de- 
 luded girl who is about to commit matrimony, 
 however ill-advised her selection may appear to 
 her acquaintance. Beyond the pale of her own 
 family, it is rare indeed that she possesses one 
 friend gifted with sutlicient moral courage to 
 bid her pause. She might find a warning against 
 any other imprudence ; but who would counsel 
 an acquaintance not to marry ^ A marriage is 
 a f<rast for th-e idle gossipry of the circle in 
 which it takes place, and what trifler would 
 destroy its own aliment for so puerile a reason 
 as tliat of urging prudence upon the party from 
 whom il is to be derived ] We have no right 
 to expect so Utopian a sacrifice from the but- 
 terflies who, as they cannot live without sun- 
 shine, so they care little whence it conies ; and 
 the effect of all this folly and false feeling is 
 fatal to its object, who has neither opportunity 
 nor inclination to recollect that the smjiing flat- 
 terers, who seek only their own amusement in 
 an event which .must affect the after-happiness 
 of her whole life, would, although they gladly 
 participate in the festivities of the marriage 
 feast, not waste one hour of their own exist- 
 ence in sharing her sorrows or her tears. 
 
 1 have often ihought that marriage resembled 
 a sky-rocket. How brilliantly and aspiringly it 
 coniiuences, grasping atwtther element in its 
 ascent, as though this flat, dull earth could not 
 content its aspirations, nor aflord space fi)r its 
 display ; then how dazzlingly it blazes for a 
 moment ; and. that moment past, how, one by 
 one, its starlike fires go out, until at length, 
 down-tumbling, dark, and dangerous, falls back 
 all that is left of the false meteor, a few float- 
 ing ashes and a smoking stick. 
 
 Perhaps it is well that young people should 
 not look so gravely upon realities as their el- 
 ders, for they naturally hunger and thirst for 
 the pleasant things of the world, and might turn 
 away with disgust at its very threshold, were 
 they at once to lift the covers of the tempting 
 banquet sjiread out before them, and discover 
 that, as at the table of the Barmecide, they 
 were bidden to a feast of empty dishes. I am 
 only quarreling with those who unnecessarily 
 deepen their delusion, and thus render their 
 after-experience more bitter. 
 
 In my case I had certainly been spared all 
 idle and anticipatory comments. I had com- 
 pleted a sacrifice, not volunteered a folly ; but 
 I was not doomed to escape the after-delusion 
 to which I have alluded. Every bride, situated 
 as I was in the world, must necessarily com- 
 mence her married career brilliantly; and, 
 moreover, the novelty of my position, the com- 
 parative freedom of action, the feeling, or the 
 belief that I was beloved, the natural clinging- 
 ness of my disposition, the chimera of indepen- 
 dence, and the consciousness of increased im- 
 
 portance, all naturally tende\. to impress me 
 favorably toward the individual to whom I was 
 indebted for these advantages. Dornton, more- 
 over, was beside me, anticipating every thought 
 and wish, and blcniling his own image with 
 every picture of my newly-awakened fancy. 
 
 1 have said how patiently he encouraged my 
 wild, and, no doubt, unreasonable anticipations, 
 and I was grateful to him for his show of sym- 
 pathy in my feelings ; to me such sympathy 
 was as now as it was welcome. Herein, at 
 least, he had an advantage over Devereux, who 
 had possessed no opportunity of displaying a 
 similar deference ^o my tastes and wishes; 
 and this fact, coupled with the consciousness 
 that all farther struggle was useless, now that 
 I was irrevocably his wife, helped the cause ol 
 Sir James better than a score of arguments. 
 I had been cowed and crossed so long, that I 
 panted to be free and to be happy ; and, as I 
 had not yet heard the clanking of the fetters 
 which I had so lately assisted to rivet, so I 
 willingly nursed myself in the belief that the 
 burden would be light, and might even prove 
 ultimately rather a pleasure than a trammel. 
 In short, who cannot guess the Iwipes and the 
 feelings of a weak and vain young heart, pant- 
 ing for admiration and for liberty] 
 
 It was dusk in the evening of the second day 
 ■after our departure from Woodville, when we 
 reached town ; the lamps were already lighted, 
 and the tall dark avenues of houses appeared 
 gigantic in the closing light. I leaned eagerly 
 from the window of the carriage, and inhaled 
 the murky atmosphere with delight. This was 
 to be the arena of my conquests, the theatre of 
 my triumphs. My heart bounded with delight. 
 Suddenly the carriage stopped, and Sir James 
 sprang out and lifted me with great care into 
 the house, whose open door seemed to invite 
 our entrance ; but in the hall I paused, for I 
 did not recognize the objects before me. Strange 
 servants, in a livery which was not familiar to 
 me, were busied in receiving us, and the stair- 
 case toward which Dornton led me was equal- 
 ly unknown. 
 
 " Where are we 1" I asked, anxiously ; " and 
 why do we not go at once to my mother's 1" 
 
 " We are at home, sweet love, and Lady Ma- 
 delaine is here, waiting to welcome you." 
 
 Never was surprise more pleasant. I press- 
 ed the hand of my husband tenderly in my own ; 
 and although my lips were silent, he could read 
 my thanks in the look which I turned upon him. 
 One cause, at least, of his long absence from 
 Woodville was explained, and a portion of the 
 time iiad been spent in my service. 
 
 When the doors of the drawing-room wero 
 flung back to give us entrance, a flood ol 
 light inundated the staircase, while, instantly 
 that we were announced. Lady Mailelaine ap- 
 peared upon the threshold, superbly dressed 
 and radiant with smiles ; and in her suite ap- 
 peared all such of her friends as she was anx- 
 ious should extend their countenance to myself. 
 TImj whole party were in full dress, and, as I 
 glanced rapidly around me, a blush of annoy- 
 ance rose to my cheek when I remembered my 
 own traveling costume. I was not long suffer 
 ed, however, to experience this mortification, 
 for before Sir James had made Vhe tour of the 
 room, and replied to the greeting o/ the guests. 
 
140 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 my mother approached me, and, with a mean- 
 iriil smile, offered to do the iiorT>>rs of my hotise 
 while I went to my nxim to remove my bonnet 
 and shawl. I obcyi d without comment, happy 
 to escape from a scene in which I must have 
 appeared like a dark spot in a sea of light, 
 when, guided hy a comely-looking housekeeper 
 and attended by Josephine, I soon found myself 
 in a charming dressing-room, which seemed to 
 have been furnished by the hands of fairies, it 
 was so fresh, so gay, and so luxurious in its 
 arrangements. Nor did I find less pleasure in 
 contemplating half a dozen exquisite dresses, 
 temptingly spread forth to await my selection, 
 and a case of magnificent diamonds, which the 
 housekeeper reverently informed me were the 
 family jewels of the Dorntons, reset under the 
 superintendence of Lady Madelaine, and which 
 her ladyship particularly requested me to wear 
 on that evening. 
 
 I was enchanted! I think that Cinderella 
 must have had very similar feelings after the 
 arrival of her beneficent godmother, on the oc- 
 casion of the ball given by the prince. 
 
 I could have amused myself very pleasantly 
 for an hour in examining my new possessions, 
 but Josephine reminded me of the expectant 
 guests, and I forthwith commenced my some- 
 what elaborate toilet. In a short time my 
 glass reflected a face and figure which I 
 contemplated with considerable complacency. 
 Never had I been so magnificently attired. 
 Blazing with jewels, clad in white silk brocade, 
 richly flowered, and wearing rouge for the first 
 time, I was enraptured at the effect which I was 
 about to produce, and this feeling alone gave 
 me courage to tear myself away from the 
 friendly mirror. All memory, all regret, were 
 absorbed by vanity ; at that moment, the pres- 
 ent suJficed to satisfy my heart. 
 
 When I entered the drawing-room, I was 
 greeted by that low and flattering murmur which 
 outweighs a score of compliments, and never 
 fails to convince a woman of the exact extent 
 of her personal advantages. Sir James ad- 
 vanced to meet me with eyes beaming with 
 proud delight; and I was too well [)leased with 
 myself not to be equally so with him. It was 
 through his agency that I had achieved this 
 triumph ; and, as a natural consequence, he be- 
 came to me an object of increasing interest and 
 consideration. The dinner was recherche in the 
 extreme ; and as, for the first time, I presided 
 at my own tabic, I felt that I was at length 
 independent of the shackles under which I had 
 60 long writhed. All the conversation around 
 me turned on the various engagements of the 
 different individuals — on the necessity of my 
 immediate presentation at court on my mar- 
 riage — on the situation of my opera-box and 
 the importance of securing a ticket for the ball 
 
 of the beautiful Duchess of D , wliich was 
 
 to take place in a fortnight. I was surrouniled 
 by assurances of the admiration and envy which 
 I was certain to excite in the court circle — to 
 all of which Sir James listened with evident 
 gratification 
 
 Our party separated at an early hour, hr 
 several of the guests had sacrificea other en- 
 gagements in Older to assist Lady Madelaine in 
 welcoming me to my new home ; and aU'wcre 
 expected elsewhere in the course of the night. 
 
 Gratified as I had been, I was, nevertheless, not 
 sorry to see them depart ; for I was fatigued 
 from excitemen-t and exertion ; and although 
 iny mother lingered to the last, in order to 
 receive my acknowledgments fiir the very 
 effective assistance which she had rendered to 
 Dornton, and the expression of my satisfaction 
 at the arrangements which had been made for 
 my reception, both of which I tendered freely 
 and earnestly, she also departed in her turn, and 
 1 again found myseM tcte-a-lete with my husband. 
 
 My heart was overflowing with happiness, 
 and I poured forth my thanks to Sir James with 
 an energy for which he was evidently not pre- 
 pared, and which appeared to produce a great 
 effect upon him. 
 
 " You do not then regret, Eveleen," he said, 
 "that you have been induced to intrust your 
 hap|)iness to my keeping !" 
 
 "I were indeed ungrateful to do so!" I re- 
 plied. " And so you were really thinking of me, 
 and of my gratification, during your abeence 
 from Woodville ?" • 
 
 " Was it not a duty, as well as a delight 1" 
 
 •' Oh, not a word of duty," I exclaimed laugh- ; 
 ing. " It is too chilling a consideration for such 
 a moment as this — a blight upon the flowers- 
 a shadow over the sun." 
 
 " .\nd yet your duties will he light, my sweet ! 
 wife ; all I ask is to see you happy, fashionable, I 
 and idolized ; and all this is in your own ' 
 power." 
 
 Nothing could be more charming. And at 
 the close of this little dialogue, we proceeded • 
 matrimonially, arm in arm, to explore our new 
 habitation. Even accustomed as I had been, 
 from my childhood, to taste and luxury, I 
 was compelled to admit that I had seen nothing 
 to compare with the residence of which I had 
 become tiie mistress. The golden wand of 
 wealth had been guided by the hand of elegance ; 
 and there was repose as well as splendor in all 
 around me. 
 
 Those were the palmy days of boudoirs, and 
 mine was perfect. Lady Madelaine had excel- 
 led herself. Her egotism had placed me in a 
 perilous position ; and it was necessary to daz- 
 zle and amuse me, in order to blind me to the 
 fact. She could not have succeeded better. 
 Admirable tactician as she was, she was well 
 aware that I could be led through my vanity 
 alone to forget, or at least to forgive, the past ; 
 and she acted upon that conviction. All as- 
 sumption of authority was laid aside ; she coun- 
 seled and assisted, but never controlled me. 
 I was plunged suddenly into a vortex of dissi- 
 pation. My presentation took place under the 
 most flattering circumstances; the queen con- 
 descended to congratulate me on my marriage, 
 and the princesses on my recovery. At the 
 
 ball of the Duchess of D , I walked a minuet 
 
 with the Prince of Wales ; and on the following 
 day the journals teemed with descriptions of 
 my dress, my grace, and my fashion. All Lon- 
 don left their names at my door ; and no enter- 
 tainment was considered perfect at which I 
 was not present. My box at the opera was the 
 resort of all that was great and gifted in the 
 capital ; even royally itself was my frequent 
 guest. Poets were elofjuent in my praise ; and 
 politicians forbore to argue when I smiled. I 
 had not a moment unoccupied ; not a moment 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 for a calm and rational survey of those serious 
 duties, and that awful responsibility, which I 
 had taken upon me. I was a mere feather on 
 the sumtner hrealh of tlie world, wafled hitlier 
 and thitiier o, tiie current of every idle fancy, 
 and every puerile ambition. More tlian once 1 
 had listened, not only to the accents of flattery, 
 but even to the withering words of passion; 
 but they had passed by me unheeded, and with- 
 out quickening a single pulse. Herein, at least, 
 I played ar> equal game with the world, for I 
 was simply living in myself, and for myself, and 
 had no sentiment to bestow on others. 
 
 Dorntou, meanwhile, was the very model of 
 a high-bred husband. Ever ready to second 
 me in any scheme of pleasure or expense ; ever 
 willing to share in my amusements, and equally 
 satisfied to seek his own when I did not require 
 his attendance, he was never either negligent 
 or intrusive; while his undoubted fashion and 
 unequivocal popularity, flattered my vanity, and 
 satisfied my self-love. 
 
 So passed the season ; and, on the invitation 
 of Lady Madelaine, we proceeded to spend a 
 couple of months at Rooksley, which, since the 
 departure of my sister and her guardian, had 
 resumed all its wonted elegance. I have since 
 thought tliat my mother urged this arrange- 
 ment in order to convince herself that I had 
 thorougiily conquered my passion for Devereux. 
 Be that as it may, however, it is certain that it 
 was not without emotion I once more found 
 myself amid scenes so familiar to me, and so 
 redolent alike of happy and painful recollections. 
 Nevertheless, I can truly assert that my lirst 
 memory was of my sister. How utterly had the 
 giddy round of pleasure obliterated her image 
 from my mind ! I had, indeed, been informed 
 casually by Lady Madelaine, that she had arrived 
 safely at Glenfillan, and expressed her perfect 
 satisfaction at the realization of her project : 
 but this was all that I knew, or had cared to 
 know ; and it was only on my arrival at Rooks- 
 ley, when I was endeavoring, by the repose of 
 , an hour, to overcome the fatigue of my journey 
 from town, that I remembered, and dwelt upon 
 I her faaed look, and the hollow cough which, 
 I despite her efforts to suppress it, had escaped 
 j her several times during our last brief in- 
 I terview. My reflections were, however, very 
 i slightly tinged with self-reproach. Adela's 
 I estrangement had been her own work ; she was 
 ; self-exiled from her family ; she had not ad- 
 j dressed one letter to me since her arrival in 
 I Scotland ; and if I had been equally silent, I 
 j felt that I had only to revert to my last attempt 
 1 at correspondence with her, in order at once to 
 find my justification. 
 
 Of Devereux I scarcely thought at all ; and 
 in the dignity of my new character I even tried 
 ' to smile at the folly of my girlish fancy. I was 
 I not prepared to comprehend that the lingering 
 ; and most happy etfects of that fancy, had been 
 to render me insensible to the dangerous 
 i homage of less scrupulous admirers. Such a 
 ! suspicion never crossed my mind. I never 
 , dreamed of looking beyond my own will for my 
 ; strength. 
 
 A fatal error, fatally expiated I 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Doubtlessly Lady Madelaine was satisfied 
 with the success of the test to whicii she had 
 subjected me, when, at the close of a foitnight, 
 she found me as exacting, as self-centered, and 
 as indifferent as usual; for, on descending to 
 dinner on the termination of that period, she 
 congratulated Lord Otterford, in my presence, 
 on the promotion of his nephew, who had jus* 
 obtained a company in his regiment ; and as 
 she did so, I felt that her eyes were fixed stead- 
 ily upon my face. Sooth to say, this informa- 
 tion interested me but little : I believed that the 
 world had done its work upon me. and that I 
 was no longer the fond and feeble girl I had 
 once been ; while so loug a time had elapsed 
 since we parted, that I was careless on the sub- 
 ject of meeting him again. I imagined the 
 wound in my heart to be healed ; I knew not 
 that it was yet too freshly scarred to be safely 
 handled. 
 
 Resolved therefore to parade my indifference 
 — and was not this affectation enough of itself 
 to teach me the necessity of caution ! — I raised 
 my head from the beads which I was string- 
 ing, and said with a polite smile, " Suffer me, 
 my lord, to add my congratulations to those 
 of my mother, on the subject of Colonel Dever- 
 eux. Sir Herbert must be enchanted." Lady 
 Madelaine glanced triumphantly at her husband ; 
 but I suspect thai he was less easily convinced 
 than herself upon the subject of my present feel- 
 ings. From the period of Emily Vernon's mel- 
 ancholy death, he had occasionally given way 
 to fits of depression, which I never failed to at- 
 tribute to his memory of the past ; and it is pro- 
 bable that experience of the power of a real pas- 
 sion had taught him more rightly to appreciate 
 my self delusion. He had sacrificed hisbetter 
 feelings to the wealth he wanted ; I had buried 
 mine under the rose-leaves of vanity, and 
 the glittering pail of dissipation and frivolity. 
 Wretched alternatives both ; the one as ineffect- 
 ive as the other, when divested of the prestige 
 of novelty. 
 
 The first dinner-bell had rung, and I was still 
 lingering in the drawing-room in order to finish 
 the bracelet which had been the occupation of 
 my morning (and in which Lady Madelaine had, 
 to my great surprise, evinced so extraordinary 
 an interest that she remained beside me to wit- 
 ness its completion), when the door suddenly 
 opened, and Colonel Devereux was announced. 
 The abruptness of his entrance threw me off 
 iny guard, and I uttered a faint scream, and 
 suffered the coral beads to scatter themselves 
 over the carpet. My mother, by whom he was 
 evidently expected, skilfully covered the acci- 
 dent by receiving him with flattering felicita- 
 tions, to which, howeveF, he replied in a brief 
 and agitated manner. Compelled, at length, to 
 approach me, he faltered out a few words of 
 which I could not seize the sense, and which he 
 did not, in all probability, himself comprehend; 
 bowed low without raising his eyes, and then 
 turned abruptly to shake hands with Lord Otter- 
 ford, who had not risen from his chair; and who 
 did not appear altogether satisfied of the expe- 
 diency of my mother's present experiments. 
 
 Gradually, however, he recovered his gaiety, 
 and overwhelmed his nephew with questions, 
 t3 which the latter replied " yes" and " no" wiU 
 
142 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 apparent unconsciousness of his own utterance, 
 and occasionally in the wrong places ; as for 
 nie, i afTticted to be diligently collecting the 
 beads which had lailen, glad to escape, on so 
 innocent a pietexi, tlje searching glances of 
 Lady Madelaine. Noihing was wanting to ren- 
 der the whdle scene insupportable, but the 
 presence of Sir James ; and five minutes after- 
 ward he entered ibe room with his gun in his 
 hand, to apologize for his delay, and to give us 
 an acctiuni ol his prowess. 
 
 *I saw at once that he was prepared for the 
 presence ol Devereux, for he did not even at- 
 tempt to affect surprise, but met him with an 
 extended hand, and a bland smile, as though he 
 were the individual of all others who was most 
 welcome at this nioment. The feeling was, 
 . oowever, not reciprocal. Devereux, indeed, 
 took the proffered hand, out his repugnance was 
 almost visible, and his coldness beyond mis- 
 take. 
 
 Affecting not to perceive the chilliness of our 
 new guest, Sir James persisted in lavishing 
 upon him ihe most flattering attentions; after 
 which he turned to me, expressed his over- 
 powering uneasiness at my paleness, and im- 
 plored me to be more careful of myself, lest I 
 should bring on a relapse of my illness. All 
 this unnecessary parade of anxiety was torture 
 to ine, for at that particular moment I would 
 have given a year of life to have become invisi- 
 ble upon his entrance. I felt at once that my 
 imagined inditference to Devereux had van- 
 ished like an icicle in the sunshine, when he 
 was again actually in my presence. 
 
 He was surrounded by an atmosphere of fond 
 and pleasant memories. I saw him the same, in- 
 deed, whom I had loved, but increased in inanly 
 beauty, grace, and self-possession. The world 
 had done its work lovingly upon him, and llie 
 period of our separation had been to him one of 
 both moral and physical gain. I bad reason to 
 believe that such had also been the case with 
 myself; and, even then, when I ought to have 
 hoped that, like me, he had found an alternative 
 for his early passion, and would now meet me 
 with indifl'erence, I fell my heart beating proudly 
 with the conviction that, once more thrown into 
 contact with me, it was at least improbable that 
 he should do so. 
 
 I had never before seriously remembered that 
 Sir Jaiiits Dornlon, handsome and high-bred as 
 he undoubtedly was. had nevertheless number- 
 ed forty summers I It was an untoward moment 
 to register tlie fact. Fortunately for all parties. 
 Lord Olterford, to whom tiie ceremony of dinner 
 had become by no means unimportant, reminded 
 08 that the second bell would ring in a few mo- 
 ments, and that we were still unprepared for the 
 summons. 
 
 I had risen from my scat before the words left 
 his lips, anxious to escape, and to find myself 
 alonoforan instant. I did not comprehend the 
 revtihition which the mere presence of Devereux 
 had wrought in my feelings toward both myself 
 and my husband ; nor did I understand the mean- 
 ing of his own manner. That he was embar- 
 rassed was sufficiently evident ; for not only had 
 he not addressed to me one intelligible word — 
 •.hat I could readily have forgiven him — bjt I 
 had not even delected one look turned towaril 
 ■ine. What did this fact imi'iv ! Did ho fea; 
 
 my power over him 1 Or, Oid he seek to sno 
 me that my influence was at an end ! 
 
 I tried to hope that ihe latter might be the 
 case. I tried to hope so, but I did not : my 
 vanity would tolerate no such wish — no such 
 credence. My principle and my woman-pride 
 were at war. The one was built up on expedi- 
 ency,and the other wrought and throbbed ilirough 
 every pulse of my being ; I could not even de- 
 ceive myself as to the result of my menial strug- 
 gle. I did not : but as Josephine arranged my 
 hair, and expatiated upon the " supcrbc bcaute" of 
 Colonel Devereu.x, I vowed to myself to main- 
 tain, not only my dignity as a married woman, 
 but also ihe supremacy ol my attractions, bytmce 
 more bringing my old suitor to my feet — of course 
 in all honesty and honor. As a lover, J could 
 consider him no more : but I could not brook 
 that he should vow to another woman the alle- 
 giance which had been mine. I remembered 
 Lord Otierford before his marriage, and during 
 Ihe life of my father. Neither Lady Madelaine 
 nor Sir James had seen cause for blame in the 
 bond of admiring and dev<itt'd friendship which 
 liad united them. Neither Lady Mailelaine 
 nor Sir James, cl pour cause, could demur to the ' 
 existence of a similar lie between myself and j 
 Devereux. .| 
 
 The argument was specious — hut, could any j 
 one have read my heart, and asked me what j 
 indeed it was which I proposed to myself in , 
 this compromise with my conscience, I am 
 (juite sure that I could have given no rational 
 reply. In short, I did not teniure to look, into 
 Ihe future. I forgot how weakly and unwor- 
 thily I had behaved to the man uhoin I waa 
 still plotting to enslave and to secure as the 
 victim of my vanity ; and I placed my mother's 
 example before me, as ihe screen which was to 
 be my protection from the animadversions ol 
 the world, and the reproaches of my own con- 
 science. 
 
 1 profited by the previous delay to remain in 
 my dressing-room for several minutes afler the 
 second bell had iiing ; and nearly exhausted ihfc 
 patience of Josephine by the caprice which I 
 exhibited with regard to my toilet. W'e hii i 
 lived so utterly en famillc since our arrival at. 
 Uouksley, that I had become snmewhat iirL'i- 
 genl upon this point ; and the soubrciic was imi 
 prepared for so sudden a demonstration as ih.ii 
 Willi which I now lavored her. At lengih, Ih'M- 
 cver, all was arranged to my satisfaction. 'I m; 
 affectation of simplicity which I had judgi'd il 
 expedient to exhibit, was skilfully caiculan^l 
 and displayed the quiet cimsciousness oi a 
 beauty which required no assistance. I wnrt. 
 neither rouije nor ornaments. I knew tha' 
 Lady Madelaine dared not risk so extreme a 
 step ; and thus the diplomacy of the dressiim 
 room was periect, and all rivalry rendered iin 
 possible between the beauty in her first dcvel 
 opment, and the beauty on the wane. 
 
 How often had I promised myself this practi ' 
 cal triumph ; and how much would it be en 
 hanced on this occasion, by the fact that Dev 
 ereux would be present to institute thecoinp.ii- 
 ison. For a moment I almost forgot lbs em 
 harassment of iriy position. 
 
 \\'lien I entered the drawing-room, Lady 
 Madelaine alone was seated. The genihMm'O 
 were collected in a group, discussing s.pu.e 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 H3 
 
 question of politics, or sporting. No one moved 
 as I appeaioil. Sir James was gradually slack- 
 ening Ml llie extreme gallantry of his alienlions, 
 a.'tluiugh still a,lliecliiig marked courtesy and af- 
 fection. 
 
 " I am glad that you are at last arrived, Lady 
 Dornion," said my mother, as her eye trav- 
 eled rapidly over my person ; " Colonel Deve- 
 reux must be famishing after his long journey, 
 and Sir James alter his shooting. Colonel 
 Devereux, will you give me your arm to the 
 dining-room !'' and, as he obeyed, without once 
 glancing toward me, she swept by in the proud 
 dignity of her mi ^ ronly beauty, crushing, as she 
 did so, the light (iiapery of my muslin robe be- 
 neath the liea\ •' folds of her black \ el vet dress. 
 
 At table, I fojnd myself seated nearly oppo- 
 site to Devereux ; bdl so far as concerned him- 
 self, he might as well have been established 
 at the antipodes. He did not even appear con- 
 scious of my presence : or so, at least, I inter- 
 preted the resolute avoidance which he exhibi- 
 ted. Attentive and gallant to Lady Madelaine, 
 he had neither eyes nor ears for me ; and, in 
 fact, the dinner was half over before anyihiug 
 beyond a casual remark had been addressed to 
 me by any of the party. My heart was swell- 
 ing with inortiticaiion and wounded vanity. 
 
 Was Devereux then always to see me only 
 as the chidden child ! Was I never to be per- 
 mitted to assert myself in his presence I And, 
 was he, too, to adopt the tone of my mother — 
 that mother whom he once professed to dislike 
 and to avoid, — in order to wound my self- 
 respect 1 
 
 I felt the tears rising to my eyes, and scald- 
 ing the lids upon which they hung ; and I trem- 
 bled lest they should fall ; when, during a 
 sudden pause, Lady Madelaine remarked ironi- 
 cally : 
 
 " Lady Dornton is fond of surprises, even in 
 small matters, it would seem. By the time 
 which she consumed at her toilet, I anticipa- 
 ted something brilliant in the way of costume ; 
 and, lo ! she has made her appearance in her 
 dressing-gown." 
 
 " You are a strange little girl, Eveleen," fol- 
 lowed up Sir James. "How are we to inter- 
 pret your pastoral attire 1 Are we to attribute 
 it to a modesty which disclaims admiration, or 
 to a vanity which demands it, despite all draw- 
 backs !" 
 
 " I will not venture to estimate the extent of 
 .your generosity," I said, forcing a smile ; "but 
 I believe that I have seldom deviated from this 
 same simplicity of which you accuse me to-day 
 for the first time, since we have been a family 
 party." As I ceased speaking, I glanced at 
 Devereux. His eyes were fixed upon me, nor 
 did he withdraw them until I had met the long, 
 , sad look with which they were filled. Their 
 , expression was beyond mistake. He loved me 
 still — he regretted my loss — he was unhappy : 
 ; and unhappy through my means ! 
 ; What a singular problem is a female heart !— 
 I Although at that moment I felt as if I could 
 ' have been happy in his happiness, I was never- 
 theless rejoiced to feel that he had suffered for 
 ' niy sake, that he was still m the toils — that wc 
 ; Were not utterly separated. 
 1 From that instant I became gay even to 
 i folly ; I jMsted with Lord -Otierford, and paid 
 
 back every epigram, which Lady Madelaine 
 llaunched against me, with a point which, 1)0» 
 fore the close of the evening, taught her greater 
 caution. I became dazzling from the conscious- 
 ness of my success, and exhausted all my pow- 
 ers of pleasing with a lavishiiess worthy of a 
 crowd of listeners. As the brow of mv mother 
 darkened, my own became more radiant. She 
 felt my triumph bitterly, and I knew it. Little 
 did she guess the source of the wild spirits by 
 which I was inspired, or her envy would have 
 ceased at once. 
 
 My secret saved me while I could retain it. 
 I was in the position of one mortally wounded 
 by a dagger ; while the weapon still remains in 
 the Wound he can live and pour forth his 
 thoughts, and gaze around him upon the beau- 
 tiful world which he is about to leave ; but the 
 instant that the dagger is withdrawn, death fills 
 the vacuum it has made, and the destruction is 
 complete. 
 
 As I laid my head upon the pillow that night. 
 I began to marvel what would be the result of 
 our second meeting on the morrow. There 
 must necessarily be some moirient during the 
 day in which we should find ourselves alone ;« 
 when the restraint under which we had passed 
 the previous evening would be removed ; and 
 when he would be at liberty to pour out to me 
 all his regrets, his sufferings, and his rejiroaches. 
 How should I justify myself ! How should I ex- 
 cuse my weakness, my vacillation, my infideli- 
 ty] Then came the question of ought I to do 
 so, even to him 1 Ought I to admit thai I be- 
 came the wife of Sir James by coercion ] That 
 I went to the altar a loveless bride ! That I 
 carried his image in my heart, while my hand 
 was clasped m that of Dornton 1 How would 
 he receive such an avovvall in what posiiion 
 should I myself stand after so humiliating a 
 revelation ! 
 
 Ere lat length slept I came to the decision, 
 vvluc-h those who have studied my chaiacter 
 with attention will at once have foreseen. I le- 
 solved to leave all to chance, and to be decided 
 by circumstances. 
 
 It was culling through the Gordian knot. 
 When Josephine appeared w;ih my chorolaie 
 the following' morning, I chid her for having 
 suff"ered me lo sleep so late ; and she excused 
 herself by asserting that, confident that the 
 noise of moyisicur's departure must have dis- 
 turbed miladi, she supposed that miladi had af- 
 terward -desired to rest, as she had not rung 
 her hell. 
 
 " Monsieur's departure !" I exclaimed in sur- 
 prise ; "who has left Rooksley this morningr' 
 
 '* Monsieur Devereux is gone, miladi ; and 
 Sir James has accompanied him to the post- 
 town on horseback." 
 
 " Did Colonel Devereux receive letters by the 
 early post!" I asked anxiously. 
 
 Josephine could not inform me. The letter- 
 bag had, as usual, been carried to Lord Otter- 
 ford ; and having ascertained that it contained 
 nothing for me, she had not waited to see its 
 contents distributed, I felt as though I had 
 been hurled from a height : I was stunned wiih 
 mortification and surprise. No, no ; 1 had (U-.. 
 ceived myself. Devereux had ceased to it.ve 
 me ; and my levity of the previous evening ha* 
 excited his contempt. I was miserable 
 
14^ 
 
 CONFESSIONS or A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 All these may appear puerile details to those 
 who care only ior the broad outline of actions 
 and events ; but such as love to study the in- 
 tricate details of the human heart, and to un- 
 wind the tangled threads by which its impulses 
 am! passii'BS are directed, will not so deem of 
 them. Now, as I sit at my desk, with my hair 
 
 like the darkness of a polar night, is gradually 
 gathering around her. Then it is, 1 assert, that 
 her peril comes ; then it is that, grateful for the 
 interest which she may inspire, and of which 
 she almost despaired, she wilfully mistakes her 
 own feelings. Her want of self-appreciation 
 and that yearning for support and companion- 
 
 gray, and my brow wrinkled, I feel convinced ship inherent in woman, delude her into the 
 that had Devereux lent himself to the romantic | belief that she loves at last. Dilferenily, indeed, 
 folly by which my own feelings were governed, I does the passion develop itself from the expe- 
 his weakness would have worked my cure. I rience or the imagination of past years ; but 
 
 should have discovered among the adulating 
 crowd by which I was generally surrounded, a 
 score of individuals as handsome and as attract- 
 ive as himself. 
 
 It is astonishing with what false tints solitude 
 can invest a man. Had I a score of daughters, 
 I would sooner trust their happiness to the 
 whirl of a Londim life, under proper cliaperonage, 
 than to the quiet of the country with one inel- 
 igible suitor; just as, upon the same principle, 
 I utterly dissent from the old and accepted 
 axiom of the danger of a girl of fifteen or sixteen 
 committing some foolish act, and requiring con- 
 stant surveillance to keep her in the path of 
 prudence. Everyday experience proves the 
 fallacy of this time-worn assertion, which has 
 been repeated so often that it is taken for 
 granted without examination. As a general 
 rule, a woman is never less likely to mar her 
 own happiness than just as she makes acqviaml- 
 ance w-ith the world. Idleness is the germ of 
 all mischief in a woman's heart ; and show me 
 (he being more busy than a young girl just 
 bursting into womanhood. 
 
 The great kaleidoscope of society is newly 
 revealed to her, and she is never weary of 
 watching its combinations. Her whole heart, 
 her whole being, are in full activity : her nuiral 
 vision, although not obscured, is confused. She 
 is full of aspirations, full of hopes ; but,, far 
 from centering upon one solitary object, they 
 aie distributed and intertwined, and, as a natu- 
 ral consequence, negatived by their own dis- 
 cursiveness. 
 
 It is without a single dread of contradiction 
 from those of my own sex who have passed 
 through the two phases of existence under no- 
 tice, that I declare my tirm belief, that at no 
 period does a woman do herself less justice, or 
 dispose ol her happiness more recklessly, that 
 during the few years while she is what oar 
 Gallic neighbors courteously term " on the re- 
 turn;" wlien the bloom of early youth tarnished, 
 the light figure become less buoyant, the hopes 
 which once filled her heart crushed or evapo- 
 rated — still iceling within herself all the facul- 
 ties of happiness as ireshly as slie did ten years 
 belore — she sees the children whom she petted 
 in their nursery elbow her in the world's crowd 
 as her successors; and feels that the change, 
 which to herself has been almost imperceptible, 
 must be traced in indelible characters to those 
 by whom she is surrounded. Then it is, that, 
 as she thinks of the future — a future which can 
 only deepen the decay, and increase the moral 
 solitude of her own heart — she is unjust to 
 herself. A iiioibid dread of utter abandonment 
 by that world to wiiose smile she had been ac- 
 'ustomcd, creeps upon her. She looks round 
 upon the younger and the happier of its present 
 bvurii 
 
 she mistakes the calmness for depth of feeling ; 
 and the same system of delusion blinds her to 
 the imperfections of the individual who is 
 rather the alternative of her moral isolation, 
 than the object of her choice. 
 
 Here is, indeed, the real triumph of weakness 
 over reason. Hope and ambition are alike ex- 
 tinct, and her strength of purpose sinks with 
 them. In the girl of sixteen, all is hope and 
 ambition, and they are the life-buoys by which 
 she is maintained safely on the surface of the 
 world's waves. Exceptions may be quoted 
 against me. I admit them without dispute-; but, 
 as a general rule, I maintain my position. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 The apparition of Devereux had made strange 
 havoc in my peace of mind, as well as in my 
 self-appreciation. It taught me at once to re- 
 flect and to doubt. Because I had listened 
 with indifference to the flatteries of a score of 
 fashionable coxcombs, I had quietly fallen into 
 the belief that marriage had rendered me im- 
 penetrable to all attractions from without. I 
 iiad never taken the trouble to reflect, that if 
 the cowl could not make the monk, so neither 
 could the ring make the matron. 
 
 I was awakened with a start to the fact 
 Whence had I derived my safety 1 Not from 
 the presence of Sir James, but by the invisible 
 potency of a deep, although smothered passion; 
 and at what a mortifying moment did the truth 
 burst upon me I Just as the novelty of our 
 union wore away, Dornton was beginning to find 
 it possible to derive amusement from pursuits 
 in which I had no share : to enjoy a bachelor's 
 dinner at his club, and a bachelor's stall at the 
 opera ; a sporting party, or a boat-race. Not, 
 be it understood, that I repined at this gradual 
 and almost imperceptible change. Had I been 
 less self-centered I might possibly have been 
 wounded, because every handsome young wo- 
 man imagines, when she marries, that she 
 must inevitably work a revolution in matrimo- 
 nial habits, and exhibit to the world a model 
 husband, created by the magic of her individual 
 charms. She forgets, poor fool ! that custom 
 and possession never fail to rend the diadem 
 from the brow of the divinity ; and that, not 
 unfiequenily, the most romantic lover degener- 
 ates into the most commonplace partner. 
 
 In my case, I was spared this mortification, 
 for 1 had so lively an opinion of my own merits, 
 that it was almost matter of indillerence to me; 
 although suddenly aroused to a perception of 
 the fact, the conviction became fatal in another 
 way. I began to remember the circumstances 
 under which I had become a wife : to ask my- 
 
 i.ui.gv.. o.v. w.^ ....,., - ^.^^^.... self wherein I had profited by the alliance which 
 
 iiid sbiiddcrs at the solitude whicli, I bad been thrust upon me ; to contrast mv se» 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PliETTY WOMAN. 
 
 145 
 
 entcen summers with the forty well-told years 
 ofDornton; to dwell upon the eclat which my 
 beauty and fashion had thrown around the blase 
 uian of the world, and the consequence which 
 my large fortune— for even tins haneftd reliec- 
 lion of money came at last — had obtained for 
 him among his associates. 
 
 I looked at Lord Ollerford, and thought how 
 widely the past diilered from the present; and 
 Willi what chaniung indifference Lady Made- 
 jaine had supported the change. The world 
 was with her, and tlie world's plaudits were 
 the one great ambition of her life. She was 
 not dependent on home. So long as all wore a 
 surface of intact and irreproachable polish, she 
 cared little how cold and ungenial might be the 
 under-current. 
 
 This was at least a convenient, if not an en- 
 couraging temper of mind, and could I have at- 
 tained to it, I should at once have dismissed 
 tlie subject from my thoughts ; but such was 
 far from being the case. As the image of Sir 
 James paled and diminished in my mental 
 vision, that of Devereux brightened and ex- 
 panded to till up the vacant space ; and 1 flung 
 aside the hard penetrating chisel of reality, to 
 assume the soli and facile pencil of fancy. 
 
 Full of youth, and h)ve, and noble aspirations, 
 still upon the threshold of that life into whose 
 inner temples Sir James had already penetrat- 
 ed ; vvlial violent contrasts could I not create 
 in my own mind, between the lover of my 
 choice and the husband of my fate ! These are 
 the weak speculations, the idle comparisons, 
 by which women lose their dignity of charac- 
 ter; and I Sjient hours in creating and insti- 
 tuting them ; nor did the circumstances of 
 Devereux's sudden departure make ine less in- 
 genious in this self-torture. I had come back 
 upon the conviction that he still loved me, and 
 I consequently attributed his abrupt retreat to 
 fear. Here I might have paused, and asked 
 myself how I should receive so equivocal a 
 compliment; but I avoided the reference, and 
 only clung to the fact. 
 
 The result of all this moral weakness was 
 an increased indifference to Sir James, an 
 ddded' appreciation of iriy own merits, and a 
 /estiess anxiety respecting the movements of 
 Devereux. 
 
 Company crowded to Rooksley. Lady Made- 
 laine had weaned of the pastoral picture of the 
 family group, upmi which she had expatiated 
 so graceiull\ "amid the throngs of London ; 
 while L fully occupied by my own visions, liad 
 never breathed a wish for change. The men, 
 when th'-y returned to the saloon after dinner, 
 played high, and discussed political questions ; 
 the women llirted and pa.ssed in review the 
 personal and moral merits of their absent 
 friends ; and I believe that few of these could 
 have complained with justice of being forgot- 
 ten. 
 
 In these evenings at Rooksley I learnt one 
 fact, which I have ever since retained, and of 
 winch the experience of each succeeding year 
 has sufficed more fully to convince me: that 
 when a woman emancipates herself deliberately 
 alike from chanty and from decency, it costs 
 her no effort to be a wit; nor need she open 
 her moiit'i without giving utterance to some- 
 Ujing brilliant. 1 leave it to casuists to decide I 
 
 which of the two sisters of the Tairy tale she 
 most resembles— the one who spoke gold and 
 diamonds, or the other, who cast forth toads 
 and vipers : 1 only know that many a woman's 
 —I was about to say, reputation, but I retract 
 the word, and substitute — celebrity, has de- 
 pended, and does to my knowledgf? depend, in 
 the present day, upon what the French have 
 wittily called ajlux de mots — the one more un- 
 feminine than the other. 
 
 But, vogue la galerej I am talking of others, 
 and forgetting that my legitimate subject is 
 myself It may be remembered that Sir James 
 had tranquilized my mind, even before our mar- 
 riage, on the subject of his utter want of jeal- 
 ousy ; and I am bound to admit that he acted 
 in accordance with his professions. Whether 
 he had so truly read the secret of my heart, or 
 so utterly despised the weakness of my nature, 
 that he calmly committed me to the safeguard 
 of my vanity, it is needless now to inquire, 
 while it is certain that he saw all the idle guests 
 of Lady Madelaine at my feet without comment 
 or expostulation. I laughed more than once in 
 my secret thoughts, as I found myself playing 
 the same role in the Roqksley saloon which my 
 mother had played during I'ny early girlhood, 
 and which I had looked upon with envy. I had, 
 as a natural consequence, brought with me to 
 the country all the prestige of iny success in 
 town ; and I played the bcaute par excellence 
 without mercy or misgiving. My mother's for- 
 bearance was wonderlul. She had necessarily 
 fallen back into a demi jour which it must have 
 been difficult to tolerate, yet she did not seem 
 to see it ; and, satisfied with the adoration of 
 her own immediate circle, she left to me alike 
 the triumph and the trouble of forming a bright 
 centre to the general group. 
 
 Such was the state of things when I suddenly 
 remembered Lady O'Halloran ; and I had no 
 sooner done so than I directed Josephine to 
 dispatch a messenger to the Hall without delay, 
 to ascertain if the family were in the couniiy. 
 I was seated in my dressing-room when the 
 memory of the kind-hearted old lady rose up 
 before me like a reproach, and with it were 
 linked a thousand associations and a thousand 
 regrets. What would the single-hearted, hon- 
 estly-minded friend of my father now think of 
 the dissipated, reckless Lady Durntoni Wo^ld 
 she look on me with pity, or with blame 1 Had 
 I been wicked as well as weak, the question 
 would have given me no uneasiness; for good 
 old Lady O'Halloran existing, with the tithe ol 
 an establishment, in the empty and echoing 
 hall of her husband's ancestors, in order to pre 
 serve his memory from dishonor, and the for- 
 tunes of her son Irom ruin, was an object very 
 unlikely to intersst that world of which I had 
 now become a votary. But the spell of the 
 past was over her; and, as was habitual with 
 me, her good opinion was essential to my com- 
 fort and self-appreciation. Here was anothet 
 hope of help, though I could not have exniained 
 the manner in which it was to be lendered 
 available. 
 
 That Lady O'Halloran had not appeared at 
 Rooksley, by no means implied her absence fro.n 
 the country. Lady Madclaine's greeting on a 
 former occasion had been proliibitoiy of A 
 i: ; ipr intercourse; and the old lady was to* 
 
116 
 
 C()M-i:SSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 I.igii-iicarted to incur the risk of a new affront. 
 I UiereCore awaitt'cl with consiilerable interest 
 lliH return oi my aiessens^er ; and had no sooner 
 ascei tamed tliat Lady O'HalJoran was indeed in 
 tiie neiglihorhood, tiian I ordered my carriage, 
 and hastened to assure lierof my continued re- 
 gard and gratitude. During the drive, I lost 
 niysellin a seaotdoubl and irresolution. Should 
 1 pour out all my feelings before her? Dare II 
 ("ould tiiey all be justified 1 And wherefore 
 shouiil I subject myself to the ordeal of her 
 shrewd and searchnig judgment ] Cui bunol 
 And yet I wanted her pity. I thirsted for her ad- 
 vice, for her support. I did not ask myself if her 
 advice would separate my thoughts from Dev- 
 ereux, or support me in my duties as a wife. I 
 ordy relleeted that I had no resting-place for the 
 sole of my foot, and trusted that the good plain 
 sense of my old monitor wo'ild enable me to es- 
 tablish a rock atnid the sands. 
 
 The tirst thing which roused me from my 
 reverie was the sudden stoppingof the carriage 
 at the gales of the Hall Park ; and I was imme- 
 diately struck by the amended aspect of every 
 object around me. The golhic lodge, which had 
 formerly been in a state of partial ruin, was 
 restored with care and skill ; the great avenue, 
 which was the lion of the estate, had been cleared 
 and leveled ; deer were grazing over the glades ; 
 chimps of young timber, pi-cturesquely grouped, 
 and protected by fences, were to be seen on all 
 sides ; and, finally, as I reached the house, the 
 finger of renovation had been so busy that I 
 scarcely recognized the details which met my 
 eye. 
 
 Within, as without, the same change had 
 taken [ilace ; while the bevy of powdered me- 
 nials who received me, and who replaced the 
 one grayheaded domestic who had served Lady 
 O'Halloran with all the stately affection of long 
 habit, were clothed in neat but rich liveries. I 
 forgot the lapse of time which had intervened 
 since my last visit to the Hall, and looked around 
 me in astonishment. 
 
 1 was shown into the library, which, like the 
 rest of the establishment, had assimied an air 
 oi opulence and comfort ; and where I was 
 courteously received by a stranger, the veriest 
 vision of girlish beauty upon which I had ever 
 !'.-oked. Small and slight as a sylph, her eyes 
 weie of the deepest blue, and the magnificent 
 masses of hair that fell around her face, and to 
 her shoulders, were of that golden brown which 
 flashes in the sunshine, and darkens in the 
 shade ; the smile that played upon her lips ap- 
 peared habitual to them ; and as she rose upon 
 my entrance, and courteously motioned me to 
 the seat which a servant had advanced, I 
 thought that I had never beheld so perfect an 
 eiid)odiment of innocence, sweetness, and pol- 
 ished grace. She was evidently as young as 
 myself, and although easy and graceful in her 
 manner, it still retained a simplicity which mine 
 had long lost. Her dress was as girlish as her 
 person, and was remarkable at a period when 
 the rich massiveness of the maleiials employ- 
 ed upon the costume of all women of a certain 
 rank «as almost oppressive. A plain gown 
 of slight white silk, falling in voluminous folds 
 Iriim her waist, where it was confined by a 
 llii>-k silken cord ; hanging sleeves, which were 
 oiien to the el'-ow, and revealed an arm of con- 
 
 summate beauty ; and a rich collar of Spanish 
 point which covered her throat, and reached lo 
 her shoulders, composed her whole costume 
 She wore neither paint nor [)owder ; and during 
 the few minutes which elapsed before the en- 
 trance of Lady O'Halloran, I endeavored in vain 
 to convince myself of the position which she 
 occupied in the family. Her self-possession was 
 so perfect that it was impossible to assign to 
 her the station of a de])endent ; while the 
 gentle unobirusiveness of her bearing was, to 
 my judgment, equally incompatible with the 
 assumption of her being other than, at most, a 
 needy relative, adopted by the kind-hearted 
 mistress of the mansion. 
 • I was still undecided on the point when Lady 
 O'Halloran entered the room. 
 
 " Is it Eveleen, or Lady Dornton, whom I am 
 to welcome to the Hull I" she a.sked, as she 
 extended her hand with a gravity which was not 
 habitual to her. 
 
 " One and both, my good friend !" I exclaimed, 
 rising to carry the offered ha'nd to my lips. 
 " Eveleen who comes to thank you for your 
 past friendship, and Lady Dornton who ventures 
 to ask for its continuance." 
 
 " So far, so well," was the reply ; " and in 
 this proceeding, and the feeling by which it is 
 dictated, I recognize the prompting of the well- 
 meaning but unstable heart of my poor (riem! 
 Tilden's daughter. You are welcome, Eveleen, 
 very welcome in both characters. I have often 
 thought of you with affection and anxiety, my 
 dear child. And now let me make known to 
 you the wife of my son ; the beloved Margaret, 
 who has become as dear to me as her huslmnd ; 
 and who has by her tenderness given an added 
 value to the close of my .struggling and stormy 
 life." 
 
 I almost uttered an exclamation of surprise as 
 the beautiful young creature before me bowed 
 and smiled her greeting. All was now exj)lain- 
 ed. It was evident that her wealth bad restored 
 the faded honors of the ancient family of wliicli 
 she had become a member ; that her extrenn' 
 loveliness had not been her only dowry ; an^ 
 that beneath the sweet simplicity by wlmh 1 
 had been impressed, must nestle tiie proud con- 
 sciousness of having shed happiness and peace 
 upon the path of him she loved. 
 
 What a contrast did she not offer to rnyseK' 
 We were both young, both wealthy, both hand- 
 some ; but hers was not the commanding and 
 almost arrogant beauty which distinguished me , 
 it was a loveliness, so pure, so ethereal, so spir- 
 itualized, that all idea of rivalry was annihilated 
 as by the stroke of a magician's wand ; and I 
 felt no reluctance in admitting the charm under 
 which I bowed. 
 
 "And thus, Eveleen," pursued Lady O'Hal- 
 loran, when our mute but cordial recognition 
 was accomplished ; " I have subsided into a 
 happy, indolent, vvorld-shiinning dowager ; ami 
 have little to tell you of myself ; but such is f.ir 
 from being the case with you. Are you still 
 sufficiently unspoiled by fashion to open your 
 heart to me 1 Nay, do not leave us, my child," 
 she said, as the younger Lady O'Halloran rose lo 
 leave the room : '• you are aware that there is no; 
 now between us even the affectation of a secret. 
 And you, my dear Lady Dornton, f«ar nothing: 
 Margaret is discreet; and I will even adinii i" 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 you that stie is au courant of your early history, 
 and has more than once shed tears over my 
 simple story of your unloved youth." 
 
 I instinctively stretched out my hand to the 
 fair girl, who pressed it gently in silence. 
 
 How easy was it for me to pour forth to the 
 sympathizing listeners near me all the history 
 of my strange, hurried, and compulsatory mar- 
 riage. The threats of my mother, my terror of 
 Mr. Curlies, my gratitude for the attentions of 
 Sir James. Nay, how comparatively facile 
 was it to admit the vacillation of my own feel- 
 ings ; the uncertainty hy which I was beset ; 
 the chimerical fears under whfch I labored ; 
 and even the deplorable weakness which ac- 
 companied me to the altar I I narrated with a 
 glowing cheek, my triumphs in the world, and 
 the splendor with which Sir James had sur- 
 rounded me in my new home. Fevered and 
 breathless, I passed on frotn one phase of my 
 married life to another ; until my eloquen(?e 
 was suddenly checked by the memory of the 
 late apparition of Devereux at Rooksley. 
 
 When the time is come in which we fear to 
 give utterance to all the secrets of our hearts, 
 the very efTort that we make to shroud them 
 reveals the mystery ; and thus it was with me. 
 [ had been talking hurriedly, impetuously, as 
 though the hours vvou]d be too short to hold all 
 that I had to tell, when suddenly I stopped 
 short, with a forced laugh ; and folding my 
 mantle about me as a prete.xt for withdrawing 
 my eyes from those of the dowai^er, I said flip" 
 ; pantly : 
 
 " And thus, my dear Lady O'Halloran, I, in 
 my turn, have subsided into a mere wife, with 
 la staid, middle aged husband, with nothing 
 more to hope or to fear; 'content to dwell in 
 decencies forever ;' and patiently to watch the 
 refrigeration of the matrimonial fever which is 
 gradually progressing in the feelings and affec- 
 tion of Sir James; as I suppose that all reasona- 
 ble wives must sooner or later submit to do." 
 { "My dear Lady Dornton !" exclaimed the 
 young creature beside me, in an accent of sad 
 e.\postulation ; "you terrify me — " 
 ! "And wherefore, Margaret?" asked her 
 imother-in-law with sudden seriousness. " Can 
 lyou not perceive that the assumed in.difference 
 of Lady Dornton is only intended to conceal 
 ■some feeling of which she deems it expedient 
 to make a mystery ] Remember that she is not 
 here m a confessional, and that we cannot com- 
 pel her confidence. We must be content with 
 a partial trust. He is a bold patient who ap- 
 plies the probe to his own wound." 
 
 I pressed my hands upon my eyes, and the 
 warm tears trickled through my fingers. 
 , " Am I not right, Eveleen 1 Is mH the wan- 
 ting of Sir Jarnes Dornton's love, a subject of in- 
 difference—even a relief to you? Have you 
 mot allowed yourself to look upon your mar- 
 •riage as a martyrdom inflicted upon you by 
 oti.ers, when you should have remembered that 
 oy proper and prudent firmness, and calm wo- 
 Tianly dignity, you migtit have rendered it im- 
 onssible! have you not sacrificed the peace 
 ;nid self-respect of the future to the indolent en- 
 oyment of the present! I understand that ge*- 
 :ure. You admit (he fact. But is this all, Ev- 
 pieenj Is this all, poor misguided child of my 
 tead friend ! Throughout the whole of your 
 
 147 
 
 story, you have told me only of yourself and o. 
 those wlw were antagonistical to you— I have 
 
 not heard one word of Herbert Devereu.x of 
 
 the object of your first, and as you declared, of 
 your unalterable love. Why is this! Have 
 you in truth conquered your girlish, and now 
 sinful passion ! Have you never met Mr. Dev- 
 ereux since your marriage !" 
 
 " But once, mada.n ; but once, and then 
 only for a few hours, scarcely a week sin(,e, at 
 Rooksley." 
 
 " And what has bein the moral effect of that 
 meeting, Eveleen !" 
 
 "Lady O'Halloran !" I exclaimed in agony; 
 " have mercy upon me ! I cannot answer that 
 question to my own heart. I can only promise 
 to wrestle with my weakness, and, if possible, 
 to overcome it. You can dread no dishonor for 
 the daughter of my father. To more than this 
 I cannot pledge myself. I must bear my bur 
 then as best I may. My girlhood and my wo 
 manhood are alike lonely and loveless. For a 
 time I was deceived into a belief that it was 
 otherwise, but iny eyes are now opened. I have 
 built up the ruined fortunes of my husband; I 
 have worked out the mysterious will of my 
 mother ; and the same chill, unsympathetic at- 
 mosphere is still about me." 
 
 " Dismiss such moi bid fancies. Have you not 
 expatiated to me on the patient care and splen- 
 did attentions of Sir James!" 
 
 " I do not deny it ; but the heart is never long 
 the dupe of such counterfeits. I can understand, 
 comparatively inexperienced as I am, that a 
 woman may tolerate even ill-conduct in a man 
 who really loves her, and may submit to a thou- 
 sand neglects and mortifications almost with- 
 out a murmur ; while she who is conscious of 
 the growing indifference of her husband, will at 
 last glory in proving to him that she can recip- 
 rocate his want of affection, even when he seeks 
 to purchase a love of which he is unworthy, by 
 words and actions as false as his marriage-vow. 
 I do not envy the feelings of the individual who 
 experiences this retorted falsehood, neither can 
 1 pity him when he is repaid in kind." 
 " Eveleen, you make me shudder !" 
 " And wherefore ! Of what value can be the 
 devotion of a wife when it is not deeme'^. 
 worthy of return ! Rather desire for me, my 
 dear Lady O'Halloran, a state of mind which 
 will substitute calm, for an impossible and unat- 
 tainable happiness. The world need know no- 
 thing of the fact. How, indeed, in my case, 
 could it arrive at such a conclusion ! I feel that 
 Sir James will never fail in his duty as a well- 
 bred and perfectly courteous husband ; that he 
 will replace the passion which he is tired of af- 
 fecting, by the most conspicuous attentions, the 
 most unlimited indulgence, and the most demon- 
 strative respect. The world will not therefore, 
 I repeat, suspect the shallowness of the vase 
 which contains my draught of home-happiness ; 
 and to that world 1 confidently look to revenge 
 me." 
 
 I was abruptly silenced by the fixed and 
 frightened gaze which the younger Lady O'Hal- 
 loran had turned upon me, and which I acciden- 
 tally encountered. It was as the look of a good 
 genius rebuking an evil spirit. I bowed my 
 head, huiiitded and heart-struck, before the 
 wondering purity which, wounded ant .swi- 
 
148 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 dered, seemed to ask itself if it had heard 
 aright. 
 
 "Evcle«n," said the old lady, in a choked 
 and sinoilifTcd voice : " come to us often. Your 
 state of mind is fearful. Come to us, and learn 
 to encourage a calmer and a better feeling. You 
 are now deluding yoursell bitterly. Beware, lest 
 you accuse others of imaginary wrongs, toward 
 you, in the unwilling consciousness of your own 
 ofT-lallmg. Remember, my poor child, that the 
 faults of others are no justification of yourself 
 Your errors will stand out in as strong relief 
 among those of your fellow mortals as though 
 they stood alone. Remember this, and be warn- 
 ed in time ! I do not, I cannot for a moment 
 suspect, that one thought of evil has entered 
 into your heart ; but you have talked of repri- 
 sals, and of making the world the instrument of 
 your revenge. Believe me that tiie woman 
 who imagines she can err to a given point, 
 and there pause, deludes herself to her ruin. 
 The first step she takes, is taken at her own 
 discretion, but ail after-progress is beyond her 
 personal control; the descent is easy, but the 
 backward path is nard to climb ; and few indeed 
 succeed in regaining the way that they have lost. 
 She will find many to lead her down the preci- 
 pice, hut none to lend a helping hand to draw 
 her hack. Dear Eveleen, reflect !" 
 
 " I do ! I will ! And now let me leave you, 
 Lady O'Halloran, for I am unequal to further 
 excitement. Do not judge harshly of me; my 
 fate has been a cruel one. If I can conquer it in 
 conquering myself, I shall in a great degree owe 
 my success to your admonitions. Farewell." 
 
 " Farewell, my child. Be just to yourself, 
 and all will yet end hrippily." 
 
 My heart was full, as I threw myself into the 
 3arriage. It is full now, as I recall that never- 
 forgotten visit. The aspect of the pure and 
 gentle girl, who, like a beam of sunshine, had 
 crossed my feverish and fitful path ; the moral 
 wortli of the friend in whom my fattier had 
 confided ; the calm and peaceful look of every 
 thing by which they were surrounded, as though 
 their own qualities were reflected by all about 
 them ; these objects which, in a difTerent frame 
 of mind, would have imparted to my own feel- 
 ings a portion of their blessedness, now only 
 served, on the contrary, to ruffle and embitter 
 my pride and my repinlngs. Such also might 
 have been my fate. What was it now 1 And 
 what might it become 1 
 
 I reached Ilooksley in time to dress for din- 
 ner, and to learn from Josephine that Colonel 
 Devereux had returned 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 Now commenced the eventful period of my 
 life. Hitherto my errors had been rather men- 
 tal than actual ; I had plotted, planned, and 
 promis>'d myself a sliadowy vengeance which I 
 had possessed neither power nor courage to ex- 
 ecute , and even now, I felt that there was a 
 point beyond which, foi my own sake, I must 
 not progress. My sell-respect and the api)ro- 
 bation of the world were necessary to me, and 
 these I resolved never to forego ; but still, 
 wiihmit doing this, I had much in my power. 
 I could repay slight by slight, tyranny by tyr- 
 anny I could assert myself. How many a 
 
 I woman has mentally made the same resolve 
 while utterly unable to define her ov\ n meaning 
 for the words ! 
 
 Had Devereux seconded me in the advances 
 which I made to attract his notice, and to invite 
 his gallantries, it is more than possible that, in 
 the then temper of my mind,! might have com- 
 mitted some reckless act of folly which would 
 have drawn down upon' me the reproaches of 
 Lady Madelaine, and the remonstrances, or 
 even displeasure of Sir James ; but f.ir from 
 affecting to do so, his ccddness and iiidiffeience 
 were unconquerable ; he scarcely appejirea 
 conscious of my presence when I was putting 
 fortli all the artillery of my fascinations. He 
 neither smiled at my sallies, nor was moved by 
 my complaints ; indeed, I might have believed 
 tliat he had altogether forgotten the former tie 
 between us, had not the pertinacity with which 
 he avoided every occasion of finding himself 
 alone with me, been a convicting, proof to the 
 contrary. This was, of all positions in the 
 world, the most trying to a vain and fullered 
 woaian, consci(^us that lime had only heiyliien- 
 ed her attractions. Tlie obsequious devotions 
 of the frivolous and fashionable men about me 
 became vapid and distasteful. I sought only 
 for the admiration and homage of the one who 
 seemed resolved to deny me both; and I be-j 
 came but the more determined to lay the rebel-, 
 lious spirit. ; 
 
 To the society of Dornton, Colonel Devereux 
 was obviously averse ; and it appeared to me 
 somewhat singular that Sir James should force 
 it upon him with so much pertinacity, knowing! 
 as he did all the antecedents of his lii.story;' 
 such was, however, the case ; and from time uj 
 time I saw ilie young guardsman leave th«; 
 room in order to escape the protestations ol 
 regard which he felt unable to return in kind,' 
 Living under the same roof, and participating) 
 in the same occupations and amusements, ij 
 was, however, impossible for Colonel Devereu: 
 to avoid me altogether without a decided bread 
 of good breeding, and of that hewas incapable 
 but these casual approximations produced n' 
 doQided result. He treated me with an exce.> 
 of respect which was oppressive ; with a cer, 
 emony that almost exceeded my patience, 
 had prepared myself for complaints, for re 
 proaches ; for all the violence of a passio 
 which had been unjustly sacrificed ; and I ha 
 resolved to oppose them with arguments o( e> 
 pedieiicy ; but all my plans were disconcerted 
 the cold, and consistent bearing of Devereu 
 mortified and slung me to my heart's core . 
 
 Reduced to doubting the existence of an a 
 fcction which had hitherto appeared to me t 
 be beyond dispute, I began to ask myself he 
 I could ever have believed in its sincerity, 
 looked back upon the past, and strove to find a' 
 his former professions of attachment equivoca. 
 Anything was easier, anything was more endr' 
 rahle, than to admit that where I had bet; 
 loved I was loved no longer. 
 
 To lose our conquests is a fate to vvhi«h wi 
 must all, sooner or later, submit with as got, 
 a grace as we can assume. It is the penali 
 of the one sex, enforced by the selfishness aij 
 fickleness of the other; but to confers to ot; 
 selves that we have done so, is a harder ta, 
 than many women can achieve, even in t' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 149 
 
 ;ace ot the clparest evidence. Hence so many 
 siiper.innuatcd coquets ! 
 
 Sonielhing more bitler than anger made me 
 resolve to ascertain the fact. I determined to 
 leave no paiiis untried to ascertain tiie real 
 stale of Devereux's feelings toward me. Had 
 I possessed as much principle as pride, I sh<nild 
 have shrunk from such an inquisition ; hut I 
 nave already frankly acknowledged that mine 
 were only the principles which are commonly 
 acquired in the great world, and which seldom 
 interfere with the wdl of their possessor. Tiiey 
 are like a rootless oak, making a noble show 
 imtil resistance is required of them ; but once 
 lean upon them for support, and they give way, 
 and roll ttieir leafy honors in the dust. 
 
 I pursued my resolution. I affected the 
 tastes which I knew to be agreeable to my lost 
 lover. I wore the colors he preferred, I avoid- 
 ed the habits which I chanced to hear him con- 
 demn ; but all was useless. He neither looked 
 nor comnienied. My ill-success made me nerv- 
 ous and irritable. It was a struggle which I 
 was compelled to bear alone, for 1 dared not 
 confess to any one the extent of my vain and 
 guilty folly. This fact doubled my suffering ; 
 for, naturally expansive, I should have found a 
 certain solace in pouring out all my hopes, and 
 fears, and weakness, to another. The ener- 
 vating atmosphere of an unbroken solitude of 
 spirit is to that spirit like constant tension to a 
 bow ; the spring of each becomes injured by 
 the useless and unprofitable strain upon its 
 strength. Thus it was with me; constantly 
 striving to effect one object, and constantly 
 foiled in my attempts, my temper at last gave 
 way, and 1 became sullen and imperious. 
 '■ Dornton expostulated with me. My answer 
 'was haughty and impatient. I expected that I 
 ishoiild compel a retort, but it was not so. He 
 Duly smiled compassionately, as he would have 
 Jone at an exhibition of impotent anger in a 
 spoiled child, and this civil contempt exasper- 
 ited me. I reproached him with his inditler- 
 ence to my hai)piness, and even shed tears. I 
 Ditied myself that 1 had become the wife of a 
 ■nan too old to enter into my tastes, or to com- 
 prehend my feelings; I profited, in short, by 
 his unpremeditated outburst, to pour forth the 
 "ull tide of my pent-up emotions ; but Dornton 
 remained placidly by my side, unmoved by all 
 ■he extravagance of my accusations. 
 \ " Listen to me, Eveleen," he said at last, 
 ■ ' and endeavor to recover your good-humor, 
 [Without which even your pretty face loses its 
 iharni. Look at me ! Despite an your re- 
 iiroaches — and you have not spared them — I 
 lave remained calm. I am, as you have truly 
 said, too old to enter into your feelings, though 
 1 perhaps understand them even better than 
 yourself; and it is precisely because I am so 
 'nuch your senior that I cannot afford to hurry 
 :)n the destructive progress of time, by the 
 withering blight of temper. I am, as you know, 
 ;i man of the world, and I owe it to that world 
 lo he carelul of its worshiper. Look at me !" 
 rte repeated, assuming an air of playfulness ; 
 1' why do you turn away your eyes so impa- 
 •lently ! What! a blush, which is not timidity 
 lut anger— what means all this?"' 
 . I disdained to answer. Sir James drev/ a 
 ihair forward, and seated himself beside me. 
 
 " We are in a ridiculous position, Eveleen," 
 he continued, after a short pause ; " and one 
 which I would fain have treated more lightly 
 fian you now compel me to do. As it is, I will 
 he as serious, if not as energetic as yourseK 
 for we have, in truth, a grave subject to dis 
 cuss." 
 
 1 shrugged my shoulders, and threw mysell 
 back upon my cushions. I was resolved not to 
 yield ail inch. 
 
 " To be candid with you, my dear girl," pur- 
 sued my husband, as calmly as though he had 
 been giving an account of his day's shooting; 
 "you have acted very absurdly of late; and if 
 you are not more careful you will compromise 
 yourself terribly. You should consider the im- 
 prudence of your system. If you are com- 
 promised at your age, you will be superan- 
 nuated at five-and-twenty ; and for whati 
 Nothing, or less than nothing." 
 
 I looked up aghast. 
 
 " I am quite aware," he resumed, in the same 
 monotonous and unexcited voice, "that the 
 unexpected appearance of a man whom you 
 have loved, and not yet quite forgotten, must 
 necessarily be a trial to you ; but you should 
 struggle against so unprofitable a weakness, 
 for your own sake; you should avoid drawing 
 upon yourself the attention of those about you 
 by exhibitions of sullenness and absence of 
 mind ; you should have more command ove*' 
 yourself, and more consideration for your hus- 
 band." 
 
 " You insult me !" I exclaimed passionately 
 
 " Impossible !" was the reply ; " for I do not 
 wrong you. Eveleen, in all that relates to 
 knowledge of the world you are still a child 
 Devereux has piqued your pride ; he has over 
 acted his part, and you have emulated him in 
 his folly. There must be an end to this." 
 
 " Have you forgotten having once gratuitous 
 ly informed me that you were not jealous !" 
 
 "Jealous!" repealed Dornton, in a tone that 
 would have been contemptuous, had it not been 
 dashed with pain. "And I told you the truih, 
 I Lady Dornton. Had it been otherwise — but 
 1 that is not what I wished to say. You require 
 j the counsels of a friend interested in your res- 
 j pectabiliiy and happiness; and I am ready to 
 offer them." 
 
 " The office of a mentor is doubtlessly more 
 agreeable to you than that of a husband," I said 
 bitterly; " but I will not impose upon you so 
 onerous a task, as that of teaching your wife lo 
 dissuise her sentiments and play the hyptjcr'te, 
 in order lo preserve her honor from the malice 
 of envenomed tongues." 
 
 "My anxiety to save you simply proves that 
 I am a rational being; that I foresee the dan- 
 gers to which your imprudence exposes you ; 
 and that I wish 'o do you a service by preserv 
 ing your reputation, which, once blighted, can 
 never be restored. Were you more reasonable 
 than you are, I should speak more plainly ; 
 but, as it is, we should never understand each 
 other." 
 
 " I have already understood too mi.ch," I ex- 
 claimed indignantly. "You have said with 
 truth, sir, that you are a man of the world ; 
 but, knowing this, why did you marry 1 Why 
 did you [dace a helpless woman in a position to 
 blush alike for you and for herself" 
 
150 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 "I will not recriminate," said Dornton, with 
 u taunting smile ; " and I will add no more than 
 this : — You are entering upon a dangerous ca- 
 reer, of which the perils are unkn*)wn lo you, 
 and of which I possess the clue. I have odered 
 to guide you safely through the lahyrinih, and 
 you reproach ine fur the offer. Would you pre- 
 fer that 1 should watch your actions, and listen 
 to your words, in order to discover in Iheiii sub- 
 ject of suspicion and discord! — that I should 
 embitter both your life and my own by a cease- 
 less and senseless jealousy ]" 
 
 " Yes," I replied angrily, "yes, sir, I should 
 prefer it a thousand times. Your very injus- 
 tice would be a proof of afTection ; and anything 
 is preferable to indifference." 
 
 " You are a little goose !" laughed Sir James; 
 "you neither know what you say, nor what 
 you wish. The day will yet come, in which 
 you will congratulate yourself upon what you 
 now consider a subject of complaint. Appear- 
 ances, Eveleen, appearances are the current 
 coin of the world. Watch over them, as the 
 miser watches his hoarded gold. You have 
 wit enough to comprehend that, so long as 
 you can tiaunt them in the face of society, 
 your dear five hundred friends will care little 
 for what lies beneath. You are warned — be 
 wary !" 
 
 And at the close of this extraordinary and re- 
 volting harangue. Sir James rose from his seat, 
 and with an " addio bdlis.iima V left the room, 
 before I could sufljcienlly recover myself to utter 
 a word in reply. 
 
 I felt stunned. My conviction of the lax mo- 
 rality of njy husband had come upon me so sud- 
 denly that 1 was cruslied ; but, after a lime, 
 there rose upon the ruins of respect and grati- 
 tude which I had hitherto entertained for him, 
 an emotion of the most withering contempt. 
 This is ths most hopeless of all feelings toward 
 a husband. Every other adverse sentiment 
 may be obliterated, or at least ameliorated by 
 time ; but coiiieuipt is like rust in such a case ; 
 the longer it grows, the deeper it eats into the 
 metal, and the more impossible it becomes to 
 remove its trace. 
 
 I was no longer a wife in heart, and Dornton 
 was not long in discovering my coldness, but he 
 made no comment upon my conduct. Mean- 
 while, in the eyes of the world, we were a sin- 
 gularly vvell-a.ssorted couple, and worthy of 
 envy. We never interfered with each other's 
 avocations or amusements ; we were wealthy, 
 and regardless o( expense ; I was young, fashion- 
 able, and admired ; Sir James popular and witty. 
 What more could be desired \ Who cared what 
 might lurk behind the veil, which, like that upon 
 the altar of Vesta, hid the secrets of the oracle! 
 As my contempt for Sir James deepened, so did 
 my passion for Devereux increase. I became 
 alarmed at last, and tried to believe that I was 
 deluding myself with a spectre, and that when 
 he left Rooksley I should once more cease to 
 be occupied so entirely by one object ; but I 
 could not maintain the cheat. The return of 
 his regard was necessary to my happiness ; and 
 I eventually came lo a compromise with 'my 
 conscience, and decided that it would suHice to 
 me to secure him hereafter as a friend— only a 
 friend — we could never again be more to each 
 ••iilier ihan friends — but tUis, at least, we might, 
 
 and must be. The more I reflected upon this 
 subject, the more distinctly I saw not only the 
 propriety, but even the expediency of the ar- 
 rangement. We were at present in a falso 
 positioti. Our former attachment was no secret 
 and what did our present marked estramremeu 
 imply ! The world is censorious. Might it 
 not misinterpret so extraordinary a demonstra- 
 tion of avoidance! I eagerly answered myself 
 in the affirmative. We accept so readily all 
 so[)histries which flatter our own wishes. 
 
 My resolution was formed. Devereux must 
 be made to comprehend tiiis truth. So far all 
 was easy ; but how to effect my purpose was 
 still the question. Lady Madelaine had affected 
 not to perceive the c(ddness which existed be- 
 tween us; it was consequently evident that 
 she was satisfied with the present slate of 
 things, and that no assistance could be expect- 
 ed from her. The mediation of Sir James was 
 equally hopeless, for he would have made the 
 first hint at such an arrangement the subject 
 of a distasteful jest. I could come to no de- 
 cision. 
 
 An expedition to some rums m the neigh- 
 borhood had been suggested by Lord Otterford, 
 and eagerly seconded by the guests, when it 
 chanced that, on the morning chosen lor the 
 excursion, I awoke fevered and unwell, and 
 found myself compelled to decline so fa 
 tiguing an attempt at amusement. The party 
 coiisequenily departed without me, leaving; 
 a few civil regrets to replace their sjiciely. 
 As I heard the carriages roll from the door, I 
 rejoiced in my temporary solitude ; and fell so 
 much relieved by the reflection that I should be ; 
 alone with my own thoughts for a few hours, • 
 that, alter luxuriatmg for a lime in this convic-j 
 lion, I resolved to rise and wander through the( 
 park. I accordingly made a hasty and careless 
 toilet, and folding my shawl about me, left my 
 room. 
 
 As I descended the stairs it struck me that I 
 should do well to provide myself with a book, 
 that, when weary of my own society, I might' 
 be sure of a resource ; and 1 accordingly turned 
 toward the library for that purpose. The door 
 stood open, and I had advanced some steps 
 into the room before I became conscious that 
 it was already tenanted. The blood rushed tc 
 my heart. Devereux was seated at a sma.i 
 reading-table, placed in the bay of the window 
 His left hand supported his head, and in his 
 right he held a pen ; but he was not writing; 
 he was buried in thought. 
 
 " Pray pardon me. Colonel Devereux," 1 
 said hurriedly, "I was not aware that yoi 
 were here." 
 
 My voice roused him from his reverie; h< 
 rose precipitately, and advanced tu meet mc 
 like a person suddenly awakened from a dee| 
 sleep, who had not yet recovered the contro 
 ol his actions. 
 
 " You have not then been tempted to join thi 
 exploring party!" I said, endeavoring to con 
 ceal my agitation. 
 
 " No, madam." 
 
 " And why !" 
 
 " What interest could I have taken in an ex. 
 
 cursion whose but you doubtlessly cam 
 
 here in search of something. Can 1 be us* 
 ful !" 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRiriTY WOMAN. 
 
 151 
 
 "Yes, Colonel Devereux; you can join me 
 in a stroll through the park. I was about tn 
 take a hook as a companion. I will accept 
 your society as a substitute." 
 
 He bowed, without making any reply ; caught 
 up liis hat, offered his arm, and in the next in- 
 stant we iiad left the house. For the first few 
 moments we walked forward in silence. Then 
 we talked of the wind, the heat, the picturesque 
 grouping of the forest limber, the tame state 
 of the waterfowl upon the lake, — and while we 
 held this puerile conversation, I felt his arm 
 liemble as ii supported mine, and my own heart 
 beat as tti.uigh it would fain have made its 
 pulsations audible. 
 
 Once or twice I almost met his eye as it was 
 hastily averted from my face, and I felt glad of 
 this, for I was conscious that in my simple 
 cambric wrapper, and my close straw bonnet, I 
 must remind him more thoroughly of the Eve- 
 leen of former times — the Eveleen whom he 
 had loved — than in the elaborate toilet which I 
 had affected since my marriage. Still, how- 
 ever, he continued silent, or only replied to my 
 observations by a monosyllable. At length I 
 could endure this chilling constraint no longer. 
 My resolution rose up before me, and I deter- 
 mined to take the initiative, since it was evi- 
 dent that he had decided on an opposite course 
 oJ" action. 
 
 "Colonel Devereux," I said, with all the 
 calinness which I found it possible to assume ; 
 " WQ have sufficiently discussed both the 
 weather and the beauties of Rooksley ; and 
 now we can surely find some more interesting 
 ^ubject of conversation. We are not strangers. 
 Let us be frank toward each other. Why are 
 we so thoroughly estranged 1 You, without 
 doubt, consider the past more harshly than — 
 perhaps — " 
 
 " I have never reproached you, Lady Dorn- 
 ton !" 
 
 " You have not. But it is possible that I 
 should have preferred even your reproaches to 
 the cold and cutting displeasure and avoidance 
 that you have exhibited." 
 
 " Have I, indeed, made a parade of such 
 feelings \ If so, I owe your ladyship an apology 
 for my presumption, and venture tp offer it at 
 once." 
 
 Tears of mortification started to my eyes. 
 
 "Colonel Devereux," I said, somewhat bit- 
 terly, "as this is a subject to which we most 
 never again recur, let us, at least, understand 
 each other now. You are strangely altered, 
 and I fear that I have been in some degree the 
 caase of a change which all who regard you 
 must deplore. Believe me that, however cir- 
 cumstances may appear to condemn me — " 
 
 " Pray spare alike yourself and me, Lady 
 Dornton. You did not deceive me, I deceived 
 myself I knew enough of the pliability of 
 your nature to be prepared for all that has oc- 
 curred. Had it been otherwise, nothing should 
 have induced me to play so supine a part as I 
 have enacted since our separation. Had I been 
 able to trust to your firmness, and to calculate 
 on your cooperation, I would have sacrificed my 
 whole life in the struggle to obtain your hand ; 
 but this necessary faith was denied to me ; and 
 I was too proud to pursue the heiress, when I 
 «di? B ,N' secure of the affections of the woman." 
 
 '" 1^ this generous, Coloiiel Devereux '" 
 
 "1 iliuik so; I should be sony were ii 
 otherwise. Am I not borne out in my argu 
 ment '." 
 
 "Can we not forget the past, and be friends!" 
 
 "In the eyes of the world! Undoubtedly: 
 although the aiiennpt will appear but a mockery 
 to ourselves." 
 
 " In that case let us leave it untried," I ex- 
 claimed, as the blood mounted to my brow ; 
 " I know not why I am weak enough to hopo 
 that my forlorn and cruel destiny can be 
 changed. I should be grateful to you. Colonel 
 Devereux, for completing the bitter lesson 
 which I have studied since my childhood." 
 
 " Lady Dornton ! Eveleen !" cried Deve- 
 reux, suddenly grasping my hand, "are you 
 the only victim of the destiny which you dep- 
 recate 1" 
 
 There was an expression in his voice that 
 startled me. I had weakly and wilfully placed 
 myself in a dangerous position. I had ad- 
 vanced to the brink of the precipice knowingly 
 and recklessly ; and now, when I felt the ground 
 giving way under my feet, I trembled. 
 
 "Listen to me," I said hurriedly, "before 
 you reject my proffered friendship. You are 
 unhappy ; you have fits of melancholy, which 
 are not natural either to your age or to your tem- 
 perament. Need I tell you that I also have my 
 hours of bitterness] The idle trifiers by whom 
 we are surrounded have no sympathy with sor- 
 row ; they do not guess how grief is sometimes 
 lightened by participation. Like the ephemera 
 that sport in the sunbeams, they disappear on 
 the setting of the brightness to which they owe 
 their being. But we are not like these ; let us 
 be friends : the trials of the one will be lessened 
 by sympathy in those of the other. You look 
 surprised — indignant. What can there be in 
 such a proposition to induce either wonder or 
 annoyance V 
 
 "All, Lady Dornton; everything! I con- 
 gratulate you upon the composure with which 
 you can contemplate the arrangement : I, un- 
 fortunately, do not possess an equal share of 
 self-government. I have, indeed, compelled 
 myself to meet you daily, almost hourly, and 
 even to reside under the same roof with you-r 
 but my stoicism will scarcely extend further." 
 
 " I am to undersiand, then, Colonel Deve 
 reux, that henceforth, save in the interchange 
 of the formalities of society, we are to be stran- 
 gers!" 
 
 " We have no alternative." 
 
 I was confounded. There was a shade of 
 sorrow in his accent which checked the words 
 that were rising to my lips, and I instinctively 
 stood still. ■ Devereux paused also, but re- 
 mained silent. I had wiilulrawn my hand from 
 his arm ; and in order to disguise my agitation 
 I began to tear away the leaves of a shrub tie- 
 side me. I might have spared mysell the sub- 
 terfuge ; for when I at length turned once more 
 toward my companion, he was tracing figures 
 upon the gravel with his cane, as if uncon- 
 sciously. I felt the necessity of extrication 
 from this self-sought dilemma. 
 
 " After your last assertion," I said, " I can 
 no longer affect Ignorance of your estimate of 
 my character. All lurther discussion is n»^ed- 
 less. When I requested your society 1 did not 
 
152 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 amicipate insult; and, least of all, that insult 
 ehould reach nie through you." 
 
 " Insult, Lady Dornlon ! Insult ! — Are you 
 making a jest of rny struggle to act worthily T' 
 
 " Enougii, Colonel Devereux, enough !" I in- 
 terposed with vehemency, " there was no pos- 
 sibility of mistaking your words. And you are 
 right, sir, perfectly right. I have within the 
 last hour heedlessly given you, through a ro- 
 mantic fancy that friendship still existed in the 
 woi d, an opportunity of misconstruction from 
 which it is your pleasure not to suffer me to 
 escape unscathed. My idle dream is now, how- 
 ever, over ; and henceforth I will compel you 
 to respect me." 
 
 As I ceased speaking, I bent my head haugh- 
 tily, and turned toward the house. 
 
 " Lady Dornlon — Eveleen ! You will drive 
 me mad !" exclaimed Devereux, seizing my 
 shawl to detain me ; " do you not — can you not 
 understand, that I dare not accept the offer of 
 your friendship — of your confidence — dear and 
 precious as it would be to me 1 Will you not 
 believe me incapable of indulging a thought 
 which W'ould give you pain 1 No — you cannot ; 
 you do not seek to do this, because you can 
 reason calmly upon the past, and look steadily 
 upon the present. I can do neither ; and of 
 this you make a crime." 
 
 My heart heat quick ; my brow burned ; my 
 shawl was still in his grasp. 
 
 " You are enigmatical, Colonel Devereux," 
 I remarked coldly, making a second attempt to 
 escape. 
 
 " Eveleen — merciless Eveleen ! do not abuse 
 your power. You have already made me sutfi- 
 ciently wretched. Spare me now." 
 
 " We are both acting childishly," I said, af- 
 fecting not to remark his emotion ; " and have 
 each somtthing to forgive in this interview." 
 
 " Much, much," murmured Devereux in a 
 smothered voice. Then, suddenly turning to- 
 ward nie, he added, " Let me at least make ex- 
 piation for my errors. Let me assure you, 
 Lady Dornton, solemnly assure you, that in all 
 the words uhich I have uttered tliis day, there 
 iias not been one of which the true meaning 
 was calculated to offend you ; and then let me 
 add that I now crave, humbly and earnestly, the 
 proll'ered friendship, which I was just now mad 
 enougli to reject. I will learn of yourself to 
 exercise it with honor and usefulness. Will 
 you not give me your hand !" 
 
 I fell that I should have refused to make so 
 sudden a concession, but I could not. All my 
 anger, all iny alarm, gave way before the low 
 and earnest tones in which he had addressed 
 me. I laid my hand in his: he carried it res- 
 pectfully to his lips ; and then once more drew 
 it through his arm, and turned to pursue the 
 jiath which led toward the lake. It was a mo- 
 ment fraught with agnation to both of us. To 
 me it was one of mingled bitterness and tri- 
 umph ; I felt that I was still beloved ! The con- 
 viction should have made me treilible, but I was 
 too confident in myself to fear. I only whis- 
 pered mentally, that all the authority of my 
 mother, and ail the machinations of my hus- 
 band, had merely sufficed to sever our hands — 
 over our hearts they had possessed no power! 
 Mcai.u hie. ;is wi' slowly walked forward in 
 Bilt iicf, I kit ilie arm of Devereux press my 
 
 hand more closely to his side. He, I thought, 
 is, perhaps, at this moment exulting over the 
 same conviction ; and I longed to ask him if it 
 were not so ; but a feeling of constraint and 
 irresolution had come upon me, and I dared not 
 trust myself with words, although the silence 
 had coniiriued so long, that it had become pain- 
 ful and embarrassing. At length, perceiving 
 that my companion was resolved to render me 
 no assistance, I was about to attempt a re- 
 newal of the conversation, when the sound ol 
 approaching wheels announced the return of 
 the party, and we at once hastened toward th»> 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIl. , 
 
 Lord Otterforp, shortly after his return 
 home, opened the letter-bag, and among others, 
 handed a somewhat voluminous packet to my- 
 self My surprise was great to find the super- I 
 scription in the handwriting of Lady O'Halloran, | 
 while the post-mark which it bore wa.s that of ' 
 Edinburgh. A fortnight had scarcely elapsed ; 
 since my visit to the Hall, upon which occasion 
 she had made no mention of such a journey. 
 Still painfully agitated by my interview with 
 Devereux, I was glad to retreat to a distant sofa { 
 with my letter, marveling, as I crossed the room, ' 
 wiiat it might portend. It was dated from ' 
 GlenfiUan. My sister was a confirmed and 
 hopeless invalid ; and by one of those caprices 
 so usual with the sick, she had written to en- 
 treat the presence of Lady O'Halloran in Scot- 
 land. The warm-hearted dowager had at once 
 complied with her request ; and had obeyed hei 
 wishes to the letter, by leaving the neighborhood 
 without informing any of the family of her 
 movements ; but, on her arrival at Glenfillan, 
 had found Adela so greatly changed, that she 
 considered it her duty to apprise me of the fact ; 
 and also to insist that Lady Flora should write 
 to my mother to the Same effect. 
 
 " My poor sister is dangerously ill I"' I ex- 
 claimed, when I had reached the close of the 
 letter, and approached Lady Madelaine. " Have 
 you also heard from Glenfillan, madam]" 
 
 " Yes, I have a letter from Lady Flora ; she 
 appears to be uneasy about Adela ; but old 
 maids always exaggerate evils, and consequent- 
 ly-" 
 
 "I assure you," I interposed eagerlj. 'that 
 there is scarcely room for exaggeration La'*'' 
 O'Halloran, who is at present with her, a*s> ;e9 
 me that she has wasted to a shadow ; that her 
 physician is almost fearful of adminisiering 
 remedies lest they should consume her slight 
 remains of strength, and that she pertina- 
 ciously rejects all his advice." 
 
 " Ha ! indeed — that intelligence is more seri- 
 ous," replied my mother, looking more annoyed 
 than anxious. "Lady O'Halloran's judgment 
 is not, however, infallible. What on earth could 
 have taken that extraordinary person to Gleiv 
 fillan ! Some people are inexplicable. Adela 
 is always complaining, and creating a sensa- 
 tion in the family. Girls of her age are forever 
 fancying themselves dying, when they are only 
 fostering their own absurd whims. However, 
 Lady Flora will, of course, wriie agriin imme- 
 diatelv, and if she does not aniiuuiicc anv j 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 153 
 
 amendment in your sister's health, I must con- 
 sider wliat to do." 
 
 Tiie idea of sickness and death was so re- 
 pugnant to me, that I am afraid, uniler other 
 circumstances, I should have endeavored to 
 share my mother's comfortable self-consolation ; 
 but the intelligence had come upon ine in a 
 moment of agitation and anxiety, and I felt 
 relieved by the tears which it enabled me to 
 shed. Bad news are almost welcome in such 
 a case, for they form a pretext for the emotion 
 which must otherwise provoke both curiosity 
 and comment ; and we consequently feel no in- 
 clination to rob them of their just tribute. I 
 wept bitterly, and for a time I cheated myself 
 into the belief that all my tears were shed for 
 my sister. I was no sooner alone, however, 
 than I discovered the fallacy of such a credence, 
 for my thoughts at once reverted to Deverenx. 
 
 Our recent interview had again plunged me 
 into a state of uncertainty. He had said too 
 much, or not enough. In reviewing my own 
 conduct I was not altogether satisfied, while his 
 appeared to be capricious and enigmatical. I 
 dared not examine too closely the meaning of 
 ail his words, and I resolutely dwelt only upon 
 such as might imply either atTection, anger, or 
 jealousy, as they were differently interpreted by 
 his listener. I forgot to ask myself what war- 
 rant he had for either toward Sir James Dorn- 
 ton"s wife. 
 
 A few days brought us, as Lady Madelaine 
 had anticipated, fresh letters from GlenfiUan. 
 
 " You will soon be sisterless," wrote my own 
 correspondent ; " each day the disease, be it 
 what it may, becomes more hopeless. Adela 
 no longer looks like a creature of this world. 
 Every tinge of blood has forsaken her cheeks 
 and lips. She moves with difficulty, and can- 
 not walk across the room without support. It 
 is a sore trial to look upon her now, and to 
 think what she might have been ; but. for your 
 worthy father's sake, to whom she will so soon 
 be united, I will not leave-her till all is over. As 
 for herself, she is perfectly calm, and declares 
 that she desires nothing so much as the mo- 
 ment which is to free her Irom a world of which 
 she is weary, only on report." 
 
 Here, then, was frightful confirmation of our 
 fears ; and, despite the considerate declaration 
 of Lady O'Halloran, that Adela looked forward 
 to her death almost with impatience, I could 
 not overcome the horror of the anticipation. I 
 glanced around me upon the luxury to which I 
 was so habituated that I should have heeded it 
 only by its absence, and then on the gushing 
 sunshine which folded all nature in a robe of 
 glory, and lastly on the reflection of my own 
 face, radiant in youth, and health, and beauty, 
 and upon which the tears that were now trick- 
 ling down left no more trace than does a sum- 
 mer shower upon the bh)ssoms and the leaves. 
 
 "No, no," I murmured to myself; "she may 
 hear her yoke bravely, but she cannot wish 
 i: leave all these. Poor Adela! so young — 
 scarcely nineteen— how terrible to be struck 
 down, just as she might have learned to cherish 
 life. Surely, surely, there must yet be hope !" 
 
 In her letter to my mother. Lady Flora men- 
 tioned that their guest had suggested to the in- 
 vahd tlie expediency of requesting her presence 
 aad my own at GleQfillan> ^lut the .i-esolute man- 
 U 
 
 ner in which she had replied "Not yet," had 
 convinced them that we should do well toi'iefer 
 our journey for a time. As this arrangement 
 accorded with Lady iVIadelaine's wishes, she 
 did not hesitate to express her acquiescence in 
 their request, and all my own expostulations 
 were useless. 
 
 The season had commenced"; and witiin a 
 week after the receipt of this melancholy intel- 
 ligence, our party had dispersed only to meet 
 again in town. One of my earliest guests was 
 Deverenx ; but I was surrounded by morning 
 visitors wiien he entered the room, and he did 
 not await their departure. As he moved in 
 precisely my own set, I, as a matter of course, 
 met him everywhere; and although no oppor- 
 tunity of recurrence to our last conversation at 
 Kooksiey off'ered itself, and that he was still 
 guarded in his manner, and seldom ventured to 
 show me even those slight attentions which, 
 when there exists no secret consciousness be- 
 tween the parties to lend them a language, sig- 
 nify little or nothing, still I felt that there was 
 no longer so wide a gulf between us. My own 
 house was the one in which he was the least 
 frequently to be found ; and he was always 
 careful to come at those hours when, if I 
 chanced to be at home, he was aware that I 
 must be surrounded by guests. Into my opera- 
 box he never ventured, unless he saw that I 
 was attended by Sir James ; and this soon be- 
 came so unusual a circumstance that I doubt if 
 it were remarked when he dropped the habit 
 altogether. 
 
 Ttie prestige of the honeymoon was over. 
 The Bride had become a Wife. Sir James was 
 a member of three clubs, where he could lounge 
 all the morning and play all the evening ; and 
 it was pleasant to be assured that he had gain- 
 ed the plaudits of all his club-fellows by return- 
 ing to them unspoiled by his marriage. It is 
 always fleering to a wife to learn that she has 
 worked no reform whatever in the habits of a 
 dissipated husband ! 
 
 Ere long, I saw little or nothing of Dornton. 
 In the country he had merely fallen off' in gal- 
 lantry ; in town he emancipated himself bodily 
 from the thraldom of a married home. He 
 liked to know that his house was frequented by 
 all that was most desirable in London society, 
 and that it was esteemed a favor to be receiTcd 
 there as an habitue; but he preferred to ascer- 
 tain even this fact as news to convincing him- 
 self of it personally. 
 
 There can be no doubt that my smothered 
 affection for Deverenx proved a safeguard to 
 me at that period, and prevented the commis- 
 sion of more than one imprudence, into which 
 my idle vanity would otherwise have hurried 
 me. The language of adulation which met me 
 on all sides, and at all limes — the impotent 
 malice of half a dozen fashionable beauties, 
 whom I had, without one effort, bereft of their 
 admirers' — the giddy race of pleasurT^ and fri- 
 volity which I was running — all conspired to 
 intoxicate my fancy and to delude my heart. 
 Constant letters from the north had satisfied us 
 that, aithouglf Adela was slowly and surely 
 sinking, there was no immediate tlans^er of her 
 dissolution ; and, as she otiU resolutely refused 
 to see either Lady Madelaine or myself, I was 
 only loo happy to be enabled to turn away from 
 
154 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 80 melanclioly a iheine of thought, and to sun 
 myself in brigliter scenes. 
 
 My mother triumphed ; five weeks had gone 
 by since we left Rooksley, and Lady O'Halioran 
 admitted, that although the decay of my sis- 
 ter's strength was certain, she had ceased to 
 anticipate so early a result as she had at first 
 looked for, while Lady Flora even talked at 
 random of her youth being enabled ultimately 
 to triumph over the languor under which she 
 was suffering ; in short, my mother began to 
 CT)mplain, as new letters arrived, of the annoy- 
 ance of these constant communications on a 
 subject so unimportant as a fitof giilish vapors ; 
 they destroyed her comfort and distracted her 
 ideas. Her cause for complaint did not, how- 
 ever, endure much longer — she was not fated 
 to have her nerves worn bare by the unneces- 
 f ary croaking of two querulous old women, for 
 thus did she always describe the evil under 
 vhich she declared herself to be martyred. 
 The suspense was not destined to be inleimin- 
 able, nor the martyrdom a lingering one. 
 
 While the season was at its height, their ma- 
 jesties signified their intention to visit Drury 
 Lane Tiieatre in slate, and I, in consequence, 
 assembled a party on the day fixed, the whole 
 of whom were to proceed with me to witness I 
 Uie performance. As Sir James declined to | 
 participate in the project, my mother and Lord 
 Otterford were among the guests, and our dm- 
 iier was unusually gay. Lady Madelaine, in 
 high beauty, and conscious of the fact, even ex- 
 erted herself to fascinate and amuse ; and, amid 
 laughter, flattery, and coquetry, we were just 
 about to throw on our cloaks and descend to 
 the carriages, wiien a servant advanced toward 
 me with a letter. I was about to wave him 
 back, when I perceived upon the superscription 
 the word " Immediate," and I saw at a glance 
 that Lady O'Halioran was my correspondent. 
 I seized the l(4te'r, and hurriedly toft it open : 
 " Eveleen," thus it ran, "if you. indeed, wish 
 once more to see your sister in this world, lose 
 not a moment. She now entreats your pres- 
 «ince and that of her mother. Do not delay an 
 liour, or you may arrive too late." 
 
 In my agitation and horror I read these few 
 fatal lines aloud, and then I turned to ascertain 
 their effect upon Lady .Madelaine. For a mo- 
 ment she stood speechless and aghast, the jew- 
 els sparkling upon her pallid brow and the velvet 
 shivering above her trembling limbs ; then, sud- 
 denly throwing herself upon a sola, she buried 
 ber face in her spread hands, and continued 
 silent. 
 
 This silence alarmed me. Even overcome 
 as I was by the sudden shock, I had been for 
 so many years prepared for the most extraor- 
 dinary proceedings on the part of my mother, 
 where her own convenience and comfort were 
 involved, that I augured ill of the pause which 
 had followed so immediately upon the reading 
 of this letter; and, fearful that she would dis- 
 obey the summons (strong in her horror of 
 death, and her aversion to my dying sister), I 
 hastened to forestall her purpose, shoulil she 
 have contemplated such a refuel. I scarcely 
 knew myself; I did not shed a tear; but calm- 
 ly and earnestly I issued al! the necessary or- 
 ders for our immediate departure ; and I was 
 about to dispat'jU messengers to the different 
 
 clubs in search of Sir James, in ordet that he 
 might accompany us on our journey, when Lord 
 Guerford interposed : — 
 
 "It is useless, my dear Lady Dornton," he 
 said, in an accenlof perfect conviction; "send to 
 inform Sir James, if you will, of your proposed de- 
 parture ; but make no arrangement for his own. 
 He will not leave town upon such an errand." 
 
 I was too much agitated at the moment to 
 remaik ihe'singulariiy of this assertion. I only 
 felt the awkwardness of ihe fact. 
 
 " Are we, then, to travel to the north alone ?" 
 I asked, in some alarm. 
 
 " I will be your escort ; but we must rouse 
 your mother, in order that she may hasten 
 home, and put on her traveling dress. We 
 will be ready for you when you drive to the 
 door." 
 
 During this short scene, which passed even 
 more rapidly than it can be described, my guests 
 had begun silently to depart, while Lady Made- 
 lame siill sat supine upon the sofa. Her face 
 was so completely concealed that it was ino- 
 possible to decide under what nature or degree 
 of emotion she was laboring. While Lord Ot- 
 terford advanced toward her, I met the eyes 
 of Devereux, who had been one of the last to 
 I retire. They were full of acute grief Involun- 
 tarily I extended my hand toward him, and he 
 held it for a moment as he murmured, "Poor 
 Eveleen, could not this, at least, have been 
 spared to you ?" 
 
 These few words unlocked the channel ol 
 my tears. As he left the room I looked after 
 him in anguish. Would he have a!)andoned me 
 at such a moment ' Surely, surely, if I had 
 wronged him, he was now revenged. 
 
 When my mother rose, and, leaning heavily 
 upon the arm of Lord Otterford, prepared tc 
 leave the room, she was as pale as marble, ant. 
 trembled painfully ; but there was a strange ex- 
 pression in her eye which made me shrink. It 
 was evident that she had not shed a tear. She 
 was about to pass me in silence, when I ven- 
 tured to request that she would endeavor to 
 rally her energies for our long and rapid jour- 
 ney, and to assure her that I v.ould be in Uros- 
 veiior Square within the hour. 
 
 " I do not doubt it,'' she replied, in a harsh 
 voice, totally unlike her usually musical accents 
 " You are evidently too eager f(jr this ill-iiined 
 undertaking to throw any impediment in the 
 way of its commencement ; but you have been 
 somewhat hasty in compromising me in so 
 marked a manner, without waiting to ascer- 
 tain, in the first place, my own pleasure upon 
 the subject." 
 
 " 1 thought, madam, that you would not re 
 fuse the dying summons of my sister." 
 
 " Perhajjs so ; but you should first have sat» 
 isfied yourself of this fact, or have permitted 
 me to issue my own orders. I do not believe 
 that Adela has expressed a wish to see me. I 
 am satisfied of the contrary. Old women are 
 !ond of scenes ; it is their revenge upon the 
 habitual monotony of tlieir dreary existence. 
 It is those about her who have committed this 
 aut of folly. However, thanks to your want ol 
 caution, i am now the slave of circumstances 
 and must submit. Be at my door when yoo 
 will. Lady Dornton ; you shall experience no [ 
 delay through me." 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 15S 
 
 Ailti tliis unsatisfactory dialogue, she swept 
 from Uie room, autl I heard her drive off as I 
 reaclieii my own apartment. Tlie more I pon- 
 dered on her extraordinary cotuhjct at such a 
 crisis, the more inexpUcable it appeared. I 
 ev^n doubled at times if she couhl, indeed, be 
 the mother of Adela. I had, however, little 
 .eisure tor mental speculation ; the grumbling 
 Josephine augmented most carefully all the lit- 
 tle ditiiculties of a prompt departure, and cre- 
 ated a thousand unnecessary delays ; but, de- 
 spite all these, and the fact that the horses had 
 been at ihe door above an hour before I could 
 effect my departure, I saw nothing of Sir James. 
 He had, probably, been engaged in a rubber of 
 whist, or involved in a heavy stake at rouge ct 
 noir. 
 
 As I at last stepped into the carriage, I 
 thought of Devereux, and sighed. 
 
 CHAPTER XLTV 
 
 In the midst of a vast and lofty chamber, 
 hung with faded tapestry, and heavy wiih its 
 ponderous cornices, its carved doors, and its 
 gigantic mantel of dark oak, stood an antique 
 bedstead of the same material, curtained with 
 the voluminous folds of a crimson satin damask 
 which had once been regal in its richness, but 
 upon which the hand of time had long impress- 
 ed its touch. These gloomy curtains were 
 drawn aside to admit a flood of sunshine, which, 
 after bathing a range of heathery hills in the 
 distance, and making the surface of a far-off 
 loch shimmer like a myriad of golden stars, 
 came, glorious in the fulness of its power, to 
 peer into that ancient room, and to invest it for 
 one brief hour with all the bnglitness of which 
 it had been bereft by the withering waste of a 
 century. 
 
 That sun-flood fell upon antique porcelain 
 and grotesque ornaments of another age, and 
 without even a name in ours ; while, strangely 
 blent with these, it threw out into broad relief 
 a few plain, modern articles of usefulness, evi- 
 dently selected without any regard either to 
 their beauty or their luxury. A reading-chair, 
 a desk, a book-case, whose pigmy proportions 
 were aliaost ludicrous in that spacious room, 
 a few fine engravings in frames of ebony, but 
 all expressive of some subject of suffering or 
 terror, were among these. But not a flower, 
 not an instrument of music, not a vestige of 
 female occupancy could be discovered there ; 
 and yet, upon the damask-curtained bed, and 
 fully exposed to all the fervor of the bright May 
 sun. lay a pale girl, just at that lovely age when 
 hope and joy should be the sister-twins of life. 
 Her eyes were closed, but it was easy to see 
 that they were not closed in sleep ; her long 
 hair was swept back from her brow, and was 
 scattered like threads of gold over the pillow ; 
 her hands were lightly clenched above her 
 head, and the long livid fingers looked as though 
 they no longer retained strength to free them- 
 selves from their self-sought grasp. Her breath- 
 ing was convulsive, and her hot breath had 
 parched the thin blue lips through which it 
 foiced its passage ; at times her features were 
 distorted by a spasm of pain, and her eyes open- 
 ed instinctively, but the transparent lids fell 
 
 once more over them as the convulsion weak 
 ened. 
 
 Beside the bed knelt two aged women, one 
 of whom was frantic in her grief; and who, 
 had she not been restrained by her companion 
 would have disturbed, by her clamorous wail- 
 ings, the silence of the death-room ; the other, 
 tearless, but bowed by soriow, [)assed from time 
 to time, with a gentle hand, a handkerchiet 
 across the brow of the dying girl, upon which 
 dank drops of moisture gathered after every 
 struggle. 
 
 "Adela, my love," whispered this tender- 
 nurse, as she leant softly toward her, just as 
 she had performed this careful office ; " have 
 you strength to bear the exertion 1 Your wish 
 is granted ; Lady Madelaine and your sister are 
 here." 
 
 The effect of this announcement was elec- 
 trical. My sister — for it was indeed she — sud- 
 denly opened her eyes, which were dilated, and 
 full of a strange brightness that was almost 
 scorching. She unclasped her fleshless fingers, 
 pressed her hands convulsively upon her bosom, 
 and for a moment appeared to be struggling 
 with an emotion which almost overcame her 
 waning strength. But as Lady Madelaine ap- 
 proached the bed, and would have taken her 
 hand, she waved her off imperiously ; and, in a 
 deep, harsh, laboring voice, she said bitterly: 
 
 "Not now, madam, not here; this is my 
 death-bed that you have come to look upon; 
 and all acting is over — approach, nevertheless : 
 come and contemplate your work — come and 
 gaze upon your victim. It was for this I bade 
 you here — it was for this that, for the first time 
 in my life, I have wished and watched for you." 
 
 "Adela, my dear Adela — " expostulated the 
 shuddering Lady O'Halloran. 
 
 " Let me speak," persisted the dying girl. 
 " Even you, my more than mother — if, indeed, 
 the name of mother can imply tenderness, and 
 patience, and affection, and self-abnegation — as 
 I have read in books that it should do — even 
 you I can no longer obey. Bear with me only 
 for a few hours more, and I shall have done 
 with this world." 
 
 From the moment of my entrance into the 
 death-room I had remained concealed from my 
 sister by the curtains of her bed. I felt riveted 
 to the earth, and had not courage to advance a 
 step. I might, perhaps, after a time, have 
 overcome this emotion ; but the words to which 
 I listened, and the unearthly tones in which 
 they were uttered, rendered me powerless. 
 
 " You have been at least consistent, madam,' 
 resumed Adela, so soon as she had recovered 
 from a violent spasm which appeared to rend 
 her chest ; " you have been no fickle spirit, no 
 weak hater ! I will say nothing of my childhood 
 — but when that was past, did you not wring 
 my heart as never heart was wrung 1 — did you 
 not thrust happiness upon me, and, when I 
 almost clutched it wrench it away with a 
 withering smile, and bid me bear the trial as I 
 might 1 you left me no alternative sav(! an early 
 death, or a life of bitterness and humiliation. I 
 have made my choice — it is that which will the 
 best suit yr)ur views and wishes — I am about to 
 die : but, madam, I die fearlessly, because I 
 know that there is another world for you aa 
 well as for myself." 
 
156 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 As the panting girl paused to take breath, 
 Lady Madelaiiie sank into a chair beside her 
 with a deep groan 
 
 "A world of justice," pursued the failing 
 voice, " where the Lazarus of the earth w ill 
 have «he sores of his spirit healed — where the 
 great ones of this life will find their purple and 
 fine linen rent away, and their hearts, with all 
 tlieir miserable, petty passions, laid bare— that 
 world awaits even you. madam, — you, the un- 
 loving wife, and the unnatural mother ; you, 
 and the tool of your selfishness ; the weak and 
 unstable being who has helped you on in your 
 unholy work. May his falsehood be visited 
 upon himself; and may she to whom — " 
 
 Thoroughly exhausted by the efforts which 
 she had made, the power of the dying girl 
 abandoned licr at once, before she could render 
 the remainder of her sentence audible ; the few 
 additional words which fell from her lips were 
 disjointed and meaningless ; and, as she sank 
 back heavily upon the pillow, a frightful spasm 
 convulsed her features and distorted her limbs 
 for a few seconds, during which I firmly imagin- 
 ed that she had ceased to exist ; hut it was not 
 so. When the terrible paroxysm had passed 
 over, she once more opened her eyes ; and as 
 they rested on the form of Lady Madelaine, who 
 still retained her altitude of horror-stricken im- 
 mobility, an expression of intense hatred pass- 
 ed over her features. 
 
 " Let her leave me," she gasped out, ad- 
 dressing Lady O'Halloran ; " let her leave me 
 — I would, at least, die in peace." 
 
 The kind-hearted dowager approached my 
 mother with an extended hand : •' Let us retire, 
 madam," she whispered ; "your child has need 
 of rest." 
 
 Passively and mutely Lady Madelaine obey- 
 ed. She took the profferea hand as if to secure 
 its sup|)ort ; and, without once looking toward 
 Ihe death-bed, sJic left the room, in which 
 nothing was audible save the low and labored 
 breathing of her last-born child. I followed 
 with a tottering and uncertain step. 
 
 The near neighborhood of a dying bed would 
 at any time have shaken my nerves — while this 
 was not only that of my sister, but what a 
 death-bed ! The peace of spirit, the tears of 
 tenderness, the words of consolation — all had 
 been absent. The spirit hovering between 
 earth and heaven, and which must, ere long, 
 appear before the tribunal whose dread fiat in- 
 volves an eternity, had elevated itself into a 
 judgi; ; and I had seen the haughty nature of 
 my mother quail and shrink before it. The 
 words of Adela, which were vividly impressed 
 upon my memory, filled me with a vague and 
 undefined terror. My blood, frozen by the spec- 
 tacle of decay and ruin which my first gaze into 
 the death-room had revealed to me, and chilled 
 more and more by the fearful tones of the inva- 
 lid, suddenly, as I escaped from her presence, 
 rushed to my heart, and circulated so rapidly 
 that it appeared to suffocate me. That voice 
 of bitter despair — of unyielding vengeance — 
 was still in my ears ; that pale and unearthly 
 fhce was still before my eyes. When I threw 
 myself upon a seat in the room which had been 
 hastily prepared for me. I felt as Ihongh the 
 awful memories of the last hour would embitter 
 all my future life. My horror was not lessen- 
 
 ed by the fact that I could not comprehend upon 
 what the reproaches which my sister had ad- 
 dressed to Lady Madelaine were based ; while 
 my astonishment at the patience with which 
 they were su|)ported by her imperious nature, 
 was beyond my power to explain. I could only 
 attribute it to the agitated powerlessness ol sur- 
 prise, or to that solemn respect which is always 
 conceded to the dying. 
 
 So soon as I was able in some degree to con- 
 trol my feelings, I desired to be conducted to 
 the apartment of Lady Madelaine. I found her 
 seated, pale and tearless, in the attitude of a 
 person more indignant than depressed At the 
 sound of my approach she turned toward me, 
 and a deep flush spread over her brow, whilo 
 her eyes flashed with animation. She looked 
 at me steadily for a moment, and then averted 
 her head, and appeared to hesitate, as though 
 she had not altogether decided upon the line of 
 conduct which she should pursue. 
 
 " This has been a bitter trial to you," I said, 
 as I placed myself beside her, and would have 
 taken her hand, which was haughtily with- 
 drawn ; " I fear there is no longer any hope." 
 
 "Hope! of what T' she asked bitterly; "do 
 you mean a hope of the recovery of Miss Til- 
 den 1 You are well advised to wish it. But I 
 have no inclination to waste time upon your 
 weak romance. Are you satisfied now that you 
 have exposed me to the frightful scene through 
 which I have just passed 1 — that you have sub- 
 jected me to insult before a groveling relative, 
 a distasteful acquaintance, and my own child 1 
 A secret instinct forewarned me — I would have 
 obeyed it. It was not your pleasure that I 
 should be spared. You placed me under the 
 necessity of condescending to this annoyance, 
 or of becoming the mark for a thousand en- 
 venomed surmises. It i-s you whom I have to 
 thank for all — you, and your odious precipita- 
 tion. So long as I have life I will never forgive 
 you this !" 
 
 I was so accustomed to the violence of my 
 mother, that this strangely-timed outburst 
 would scarcely have surprised me, had it taken 
 another tone ; but I was altogether unprepared 
 to be made its object. Already weakened, both 
 in mind and body, by the different emotions 
 which had agitated me so painfully, ^1 my re- 
 maining strength gave way before this tide ol 
 accusation ; and I sank to my knees, crushed 
 and quailing, as though I had indeed been guilty 
 of some crime for which I needed the pardon ol 
 a parent. I sobbed out I know not what. I 
 talked of the tie between us, of my dying sister, 
 of my own bruised and blighted heart ; 1 sought 
 to appease my mother by promises, by caress- 
 es, and by submission ; but I humbled myself 
 in vain : for some time she maintained a reso- 
 lute silence, while her heaving bosom, her > 
 burning cheek, and her flashing eye gave evi- , 
 dence of the tempest that was raging within' 
 her. At length she rose, and flinging from her' 
 the hand in which I had clasped her own, she 
 said, haughtily, "Be silent and leave me — I 
 wish to be alone." 
 
 There vvas no disputing a command uttered 
 in such a tone ; and, wondering as I did so at, 
 the violence of the impulse which could have 
 compelled me to such an act of self-abasement, 
 I rose from my knees, and quitted the room ill' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOxMAN. 
 
 li>7 
 
 silence. I heard Lady Madelaine ring her bell 
 before I had crossed the antechamber ; and as 
 her woman obeyed tlie summons, she desired 
 that Lord Otleriord shouhi be requested to join 
 ber in lier apartment. It was not, tlierelore, 
 silence which slie coveted. 
 
 It was some time belore I could recover my- 
 Belf suificienlly for thought; but, when the 
 power of reflection did at last return, I felt as 
 though I were under some strange and unholy 
 spoil. All that had taken place within the 
 las-t few hours was so extraordinary that I 
 los-t myself in the wildest and most irrational 
 conjectures. Why did Adela accuse Lady 
 Madelaine of her death, wiien the exile to 
 which she had submitted herself was volunta- 
 ry ? What meant this death, which she assert- 
 ed to lie her own choice I This happiness of 
 which she declared herself to have been treach- 
 erously deprived! This perfidious and weak 
 being l)y whom she liad been abandoned 1 
 Who, finally, was that third person whom want 
 of strength alone had prevented her from in- 
 cluding in her anathema! Why had Lady 
 Madelaine, even while she was loaded with re- 
 proaches, borne all in silence! Had terror 
 and compunction stifled the voice of resent- 
 ment ! Was it natural that a child could have 
 acquired so much power over her impetuous 
 nature if her conscience did not whisper to her 
 the justification of those rei)roaches 1 
 
 These were the questions which rose rapidly 
 to my mind; but which remained successively 
 unanswered. I was in the inidst of doubt ; 
 fearing alike to misunderstand what I saw, or 
 to understand too much, when a slight sound 
 caused me to start and look up. Lady O'Hal- 
 loran stood before me ; and I was about to fling 
 myself upon her bosom, when 1 was struck by 
 the extraordinary expression of her face. 
 
 The truth flashed upon me instantly. "All 
 is tl>en over !" I murmured, while a cold shud- 
 der ran through my veins. 
 
 " Yes ! all is over. Her sufferings are at an 
 end." 
 
 "Alas !" I exclaimed, as I sank back power- 
 less upon my seat ; " dare we indeed hope so'! 
 I am still quailing under the impression of her 
 last mysterious words. Did you, dearest Lady 
 O'Halloran, did you— see her die!" 
 
 "I did not. A heavy faintness came over 
 mc after I had led your mother from the room, 
 and I was consequently absent, for she did not 
 long survive the awful spirit-struggle in which 
 she had engaged ; but I already knew all her 
 wishes, and had promised to perform them." 
 
 "Can I assist in the solemn duty !" 
 
 " You are, at least, particularly concerned in 
 it." 
 
 " What does she desire me to do ! I pledge 
 myself, be it what it may, and at whatever 
 sacrifice, to obey her bidding." 
 
 " 1 expected no less from you, Eveleen ; and 
 feel convinced that you will nut falsify your 
 words. I know not the subject of her anxiety, 
 but this packet will inform you." And as she 
 spoke, she plc>ced in my hand a voluminous 
 letter, which was evidently composed of several 
 sheets. I was about to tear it open upon 
 the instant, when by a hurried gesture she 
 prevented my breaking the seal, and pointed j 
 emphatically to the superscription, upon which I 
 
 I read : " To be opened only under her own 
 roof, as she values my memory." 
 
 " She shall be obeyed," I said, as I placed 
 the letter in my dressing-case, and then care- 
 fully withdrew the key. "But have you no 
 suspicion of its contents!" 
 
 " None. Adela told me no more than that it 
 contained inl'ormation on points of interest with 
 which it was necessary you should be acquaint- 
 ed immediately that she had ceased to exist. 
 I respected both her secnet and yours, ami 
 asked no questions." 
 
 I could thank her only with my tears. 
 
 " Do not weep for her, Eveleen, weep for 
 yourself," said Lady O'Halloran, compassion- 
 ately. "It is now too late to grieve over her 
 trials, for they are ended. Yours, my child, I 
 fear, are but beginning. May she so resolutely 
 have expended her little remaining strength, ia 
 order to comfort you with a sister's love, and 
 a sister's counsel. That last token of her re- 
 membrance occupied many, many of her latest 
 hours of comparative ease and health. She 
 appeared to forget alike her languor and her 
 suti'erings while sh-e was engaged upon it. It 
 was in vain that her physician. Lady Flora, and 
 myself warned her of the probable effect of 
 such continual exertion ; her constant reply to 
 all our expostulations was an assurance that 
 she should live to complete her task, and that 
 she desired no more." 
 
 " Poor Adela 1" I murmured, wringing my 
 hands in remor.se of spirit. 
 
 "Poor Adela!" echoed my companion; 
 "she is now united to the only parent wh« 
 loved her." 
 
 " She is happier than myself," I sobbed pain- 
 luily. . 
 
 " But she purchased her happiness dearly, * 
 Eveleen. A long lile of bitterness was crushed 
 into her nineteen years of blighted existence." 
 
 " 1 know it — I know it ; and 1 did so liitle to 
 alleviate her sorrows — 1 so soon forgot her ab- 
 sence." 
 
 "The world's lessons are readily learned," 
 said the dowager ; " but I must leave you now. 
 My usefulness is at an end, and 1 am sinking 
 with fatigue. Lady Madelaine has been al- 
 ready inlormed of the melancholy event, and 
 her horses are ordered for to-morrow at day- 
 break, as she has declined attempting to obtain 
 some rest. You will accompany her." 
 
 "And yourself!" 
 
 " Adela exacted that 1 should see her laid in 
 the tomb of her ancestors. I proiiiis(;d, and I 
 will perform. Lord Otterford remains to sharo 
 in the pious task, after which I shall accompany 
 him to town." 
 
 "Ard why should I not also follow her to 
 the grave 1 Let Lady Madelaine depart alone, 
 if she is anxious to escape." 
 
 "And the packet!" 
 
 "True — true — 1 know not what it may >''on 
 tain, nor the duties which it may enforce 
 Perhaps tin; delay of a day may be lata! to her 
 wishes. I will be ready at daybreak." 
 
 " l-'areweli then, my dear Ev.l in ; I have 
 already taken leave of your mother, and ana 
 unequal to another interview, even vvith your- 
 self. Earewell ; and should you ever want a 
 friend, lemeiiiber me." 
 
 She extended her arms, and I threw mysell 
 
166 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 into them. I could not utter a syllable; but 
 she understood my emotion ; and after having 
 pressed her lips ati'eclionalejy to my forehead, 
 she replaced me gently in my chair, rung for 
 Josepiiiae, and lelt the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 My journey back, to town was a wretched 
 one. Prostrated by the emotions I had so re- 
 cently experienced, and haunted by the memory 
 of the fearful death-bed from which I had only 
 just escaped, I could not have been condemned 
 to a mme trying companionship than that ol 
 Lady Madel.iine. liy turns conciliating and 
 threatening, at intervals slie fulminated against 
 me the mo.-,l bitter reproaches for the trial to 
 which she had bten subjected by my hasty pre- 
 sumption ; and at others she reminded me that 
 Adela had never been either a daughter or a sis- 
 ter to herself and me, and hinted at the immense 
 increase of fortune which necessarily accrued to 
 tne through her death. I'he last argument was 
 powerless. Had I no-t already experienced the 
 msulficiency of wealth to secure happiness 1 
 
 I thought incessantly of my hidden packet. 
 It was evident that my mother knew nothing 
 of this becjuest ; for I learned from Josephine, 
 that immediately after the death of Adela, she 
 had demanded her keys and her writing-desk, 
 ami had read and deslioyed all the papers that 
 it contained. 1 was doubly anxious, therefore, 
 to ascertain the contents of that which I pos- 
 sessed ; and exhausted alike by the inconsist- 
 ent humor of Lady Madelaine, my own feelings, 
 and the thirst for opportunity to learn the last 
 wishes and sentiments of my sister, I fancied 
 every minute an hour until we at length arrived 
 in London. 
 
 To my great relief my mother suggested that 
 I should leave her in Grosvenor Sijuare, and at 
 once proceed to my own house, alleging, as her 
 reason, the necessuy of forthwith making ar- 
 rangemenls lor our mourning, and adopting some 
 resolut ion regarding our future movements, until 
 the period when we could again appear with 
 propriety in public. She said something, also, 
 of the inconvenience of a death in the family just 
 in the height of the season; but as 1 did not 
 perfectly hear the remark, and was, moreover, 
 anxious not to enlighten myself further upon the 
 subject, I made no comment upon her words, 
 querulously as they wx>re uttered. 
 
 On entering my home 1 was by no means 
 surprised to learn that ISir James was absent ; 
 but 1 was not the less satislied with the assu- 
 rance. 1 hastened at once to my diessing-room, 
 threw oil' my tiaveling attire, ordered choco- 
 late and lights, and then, having dismissed 
 Josephine with strict injunctions not to sulfer 
 any one to intrude .upon me, even should Sir 
 James himself return, as J was overcome by 
 fatigue, and felt the necessity of being alone for 
 a time, I threw myself back in my chair, and was 
 for several minnies unable to summon suliicient 
 courage to open the packet which for so many 
 hours, I had been pining to read. My dressing- 
 case stool near me, and in it was contained 
 this mournlul communication — this voice from 
 the grave — this last solemn declaration which 
 my sister had not deigned to make from her 
 own lips. 
 
 What was I to learn 1 Would she reproach 
 me with my coldness, my carelessness 1 Or 
 had she, chastened by her approach to that 
 mysterious world toward which she had, during 
 the moments in which it was written, been so 
 surely tending, bequeathed to me the one out- 
 pouring gush of tenderness in which she had 
 concentrated the sisterly sympathies of her 
 whole life! I felt as though 1 were alone with 
 the dead — with the cold, wasteil, livid corse of 
 her upon whose dying lips there had quivered 
 neither blessing nor prayer; and I shuddered 
 as I glanced tremblingly about me. But my 
 eyes rested upon no object in unison with the 
 gloominess of such a mood of mind ; all around 
 me was luxurious, costly, fresh, and cheerful ; 
 and. at length, I shook olfthe feeling of mental 
 and physical weakness to which I had yielded, 
 and withdrew the papers from their envelope. 
 I must transcribe them as they lay before me. 
 Any attempt at a description of their contents 
 would be still more painful even now, though 
 long and weary years have elapsed since they 
 were put into my hands, than to follow them 
 word by word, and line by line, with a faithful 
 pen. 
 
 I •broke the seal with quivering fingers. I 
 had argued myself into a state of doubllul cour- 
 age : I had tried to believe that they would en- 
 able me to dwell with greater tenderness upon 
 the memory of my sister, more than ever dark- 
 ened by that last fatal scene to winch I had becR 
 a trembling wiiness ; but, as I felt the wax 
 give way beneath my touch, this trust aban- 
 doned me. 
 
 It is through the most trifling agencies that 
 deep sorrow generally enters into the heart of a 
 woman ; from the most inconsequent springs 
 that the fu-U consciousness of her unhappiness 
 is lilirated into her entire being. An indistinct 
 whisper — a word overheard by chance — a gloom 
 upon the countenance of a friend whose usual 
 greeting is a smile — all these become prophe- 
 cies by an intuitive faculty, incoiifprehensible 
 even to herself, and which is called into ex- 
 istence on the eve of a misfortune destined to 
 give Its color to her future fate ; and she mur- 
 murs to herself, "I am about to be wretched," 
 with the same innate conviction as that of 
 the wild bird, to. which the trembling of the 
 foliage, and the wail of the wind as it sweeps 
 over the high grass and along the surface of 
 the water, reveal the approach of the yet un- 
 seen storm. 
 
 No wonder, then, if trifles such as these can 
 obtrude their warning, that as I unfolded the 
 papers which were to reveal to me alike the 
 present and the past, and to make the future a 
 blank, no wonder that I trembled. 
 
 •' I am standing upon the brink of that grave 
 in which my youth and my sorrows will soon 
 be alike buried ; but not, as I have reason to 
 believe, alike forgotten. You intruded your 
 confidence on me, Lveleen, to the ruin of all 
 the happiness which this earth might yet have 
 yielded as a requital for the trials of my youtlu 
 I am now about to pay the debt. I also will 
 reveal the secret of my life to you; and the 
 result will in your case be without doubt the 
 same ; if, jndeed, tire world to which yon 
 have vowed yourself has not quite done iu 
 work." — 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 159 
 
 My agitation increased with every sentence. 
 I could scarcely breathe from terror ! What 
 was I about to learn 1 What meant this omin- 
 ous threat to reveal a secret which was to plunge 
 me mlo misery ! I swept baqk the hair from 
 my forehead. The moisture which had risen 
 to my eyes had disappeared. I was fevered by 
 a terrible anticipation. Again I fastened my 
 eyes upon the writing. It was firm and flow- 
 ing—not a pulse of the writer had quivered. I 
 proceeded. 
 
 "Fear and hatred were the first feelings 
 which were taught to expand in my young 
 heart. When I became old enough to compre- 
 hend my position, I found myself an alien from 
 my family — branded like Cain — but, unlike him, 
 guiltless of the crime, while suffering its pen- 
 ally. I learnt to pronounce the name of my 
 mother only to shrink before the idea that it 
 called up — of my sister, only to quail before a 
 humiliatmg and bitter comparison. The vic- 
 tim of injustice and disregard, I soon began to 
 look into my own heart, and to pay back in dis- 
 trust and indignation, the wrongfe of which I 
 was keenly susceptible. 
 
 "The frivolous, but dazzling advantages which 
 you had received from the education bestowed 
 upon you^; your luxury, your indulgence, and 
 the insolent vanity which was their fruit, con- 
 trasted with my own privations, continued to 
 do their slow but certain work ; and when we 
 met at Rooksley for the first lime, I know not 
 which was the most distasteful to me, yourself, 
 or she whom, in its wrath, heaven gaxe me as 
 a mother. 
 
 " After a time your advances toward friend- 
 ship, and the consciousness that my own ac- 
 quirements and character were very superior 
 to those which I had so long held in jealous 
 dread, almost reconciled me to a trial of your 
 real feelings ; but I was not long in discovering 
 that you were a mere puppet, whose wires 
 were in the hands of Lady O'Halloran ; that 
 your lip-deep courtesiesloyouronly sister were 
 simply a concession to the friend of your father ; 
 and that your heart was, as it ever had been, 
 centered in self, and totally independent of your 
 words. 
 
 " You know that I never on my side cheated 
 you with false seeming ; you know how frankly 
 and truthfully I told you that you were incapa- 
 ble of real affection. Oh, that I had retained 
 that belief strongly to the last ; and that your 
 idle word's, and still more idle tears, when you 
 cornpelled-ine to become the confidant of your 
 fancied passion for Devereux, had not led me 
 to believe that even you could love another than 
 yourself. .Why are certain expressions made 
 only to be profaned 1 Why are you, and such 
 as you, who are not formed for the higher and 
 iholier impulses of our nature, permitted to 
 jbandy words and tones, of which you can neith- 
 I3r estimate the force, nor comprehend the 
 value 1 But these are questions beyond my 
 pwn reach, and I will not look to you for a re- 
 ply. In my delusion, I began to love becaase I 
 bitied you ; but the arrogant triumph of your 
 jarewell, when vou were summoned from our 
 i^ommon exile to appear once more beside Lady 
 jvladelaine in the gay world for which you pant- 
 pd, soon destroyed tlie charm. 
 ! " Do you remember tliat in expatiating upon 
 
 your love for Devereux, you scouted with con- 
 tempt the suggestion which I made, that your 
 mother wished to make you the wife of another 
 — of one who — in short, of Sir James Dornton 1 
 Why should I shrink from naming a man whom, 
 from my inmost soul, I despise beyond all else 
 on eartii ] Do you remember with what fierce 
 and feverish indignation you repelled the idea? 
 Should .you, indeed, have ceased to do so, call 
 back your thoughts — the time is still too recer.it 
 to require a great effort of memory. 
 
 "On my part, your astonished look was not 
 unobserved, when Lady Flora and myself re- 
 turned the greeting of Sir James on his visit to 
 Rooksley during Lady Madelaine's widowhood, 
 as that of one to whom we were not altogether 
 strangers. The cause was simple : he was 
 grouse-shooting in Scotland, when Lady Made- 
 laine saw fit to summon me at last to what 
 should have been the home of my infancy ; and, 
 at her request, he took charge of us to London ; 
 but I w'as at that period so mere a girl, and, 
 moreover: so preoccupied by the apptoaclnng 
 change in my position, that I should have for- 
 gotten his existence, had not your passionate 
 invectives taught me to believe tliat you did 
 him less than justice. Yes, Lady Dornton, you 
 it was who first awoke in my heart that feeling 
 of interest in his fate, which those who have 
 themselves suffered from injustice, naturally 
 extend to their fellow-victims. 
 
 " I had lived a life of utter isolation. My 
 studies, unlike your own, had been grave and 
 serious. Your experience, real and acquired, 
 startled and' enlightened me. I began to under- 
 stand that I also might, at some future time, 
 find beyond the circle of my own family, that 
 tenderness which had been denied to me within 
 it. I began to listen with more eagerness, and 
 to reflect with more precision ; and after a while 
 I combined with my own visions the image of a 
 man who like myself was despised, and proba- 
 bly misjudged. Do not imagine, however, that 
 I even tried to fancy that I loved him : my fecl- 
 ing.s, unlike your own, were ncU the sport ol 
 impulse and romance: to me he was only a re- 
 posing point for my unloved and solitary spirit: 
 an object from which I did not shrink because 
 it had never causelessly and wantonly repelled 
 me. I am not asking for your sympathy : to 
 me even at that moment it would have been 
 valueless : judge, therefore, what it must be 
 now. 
 
 " You left Rooksley, and I wept when I log* 
 sight of you — but it was not your departure 
 that I mourned : it was this new wrong done to 
 myself. You had, however, left your influence 
 behind. You had opened up a new world to my 
 solitary musings, and made me feel that solitude 
 tenfiild more bitter. I longed to annihilate time, 
 and to attain the age when Lalso should be in- 
 troduced into the world : not to pamper myseK 
 with its vanities, not to pollute myself with its 
 deceit, not to degrade myself by its falsehood, 
 but simply and solely to commence my search 
 after that one only being who was to be to me 
 — to the poor unloved and deserted Adela — at 
 once a fond protector and a tender friend. 
 Surely I did not ask loo much of fate ! I w^as 
 willing to receive this boon as a compensation 
 for all else on earth. Others have so many to 
 love them — I only asked for one, and that one 
 
160 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 - — -but all this is worse than idle : there is an- ( 
 other feeling in the human breast fiercer and 
 quite as firm as love. I shall not have died 
 before f learn it. 
 
 " You are, perhaps, not aware that ere you 
 had been long in town our mother made a hur- 
 ried journey to Rooksley: the pretext was some 
 forgotten papers, too precious to be intrusted 
 to inditfcrent liands. Certain it is that she was 
 accompanied by Sir James Dornton. I was in 
 the park when ihey arrived, and to my surprise 
 was summoned to receive them. Tiiis was an 
 unexpected, and would have been an equally 
 onwelcome attention on the part of Lady Mad- 
 elaiae, wlio was not apt so promptly to remem- 
 ber my existence, had I not been also informed 
 who was her companion. Curiosity at once 
 overcame every other feeling. I should, at 
 least, have an opportunity of judging liy my 
 own observations in how far he merited the dis- 
 dain a. id dislike with which you had overwhelm- 
 ed him, and I hastened to return to the house. 
 
 ''It is probable that my hurried walk had 
 given a glow to my complexion, for — I remem- 
 ber it well, as it was the first and only time that 
 it occurred — Lady Madelaine herself glanced at 
 me with complacency, and even deigned to utter 
 a few words of approbation at my altered ap- 
 pearance, as Sir James approached to greet me. 
 How ditrererit did be appear from the picture 
 that you had sketched ! He looked steadily, 
 almost searchingly upon ine, with a smile before 
 wliich my eyes fell, while I felt the rusinng 
 blood crimson my cheeks and fi)rehead. His 
 voice was low and soft as he addressed me ; 
 and whenever I subsequently glanced toward 
 him, I still met the almost ardent gaze which 
 thrilled to my very heart. I listened eagerly 
 to his conversation with my mother, in which 
 he betrayed a constant anxiety to include me, 
 but I was at that moment less than ever capa- 
 ble, of exertion. Nevertheless I felt that, for 
 the first time in my life, I was not altogether 
 overlooked. On one occasion, when Lady Mad- 
 elaine was engrossed for a few instants by her 
 sister. Sir James addressed himself to me, and 
 exerted all his powers, and they are great — 
 what is there on earth more brilliant than the 
 scaled coat of the serpent whose bite is poison 1 
 — all his graceful eloquence, to convince me 
 that, in his eyes at least, I was worthy of re- 
 gard and courtesy : and I welcomed the sooth- 
 ing effort as the parched wilderness welcomes 
 the refreshing dew of heaven. 
 
 " The papers, as Lady Madelaine asserted, 
 were found ; and once more Rooksley was re- 
 stored to its monotony ; but its gloom was 
 gone. As I saw them drive from the door, all 
 had become more bright about me : I was a new 
 being. Something whispered me that Sir James 
 was not gone forever : that the papers had been 
 an imaginary want ; and that I was the actual 
 object of this visit. But howl the blood leapt 
 to my heart : I remembered with an indescrib- 
 able thrill of delight that my mother had re- 
 minded me that in another week I sliould be 
 sixteen years of age, and that it was time for 
 me to be more careful of my appearance. I 
 was full of a mysterious joy. I should not, 
 probably, so readily have combined circum- 
 stances apparently so trifling : and decidedly I 
 •hould never have been so powerfully affected 
 
 by what were, after all the mere courtesies Oi 
 a man of fashion and my mother's friend, had 
 not your superior knowledge taught me where 
 and how to form the combinations. As it was, , 
 however, the new sentiment by whicli I was 
 inspired exalted me in my own eyes. I was 
 more than ever convinced oftlie possibility that 
 I should one day be loved as oliiers were ; and 
 to the curiosity which I had felt regarding Sir 
 James, there succeeded the gratitude due to 
 the man who had first afforded me a brighter 
 glimpse of the cheering and sustaining pros- 
 pect. 
 
 A week passed away— a week of bright and 
 happy dreams ; when once more Sir James 
 Dornton arrived at Rooksley. I was agitated 
 Willi joy, but that joy was unmixed wiili sur- 
 prise. I had had, from the hour of bis depart 
 ure, an intuitive conviction of his prompt return. 
 He also had bis pretext. He came at the re- 
 quest of my mother, hut he did not explain the 
 cause other sudden solicitude, nor did I waste 
 one word on the in(iuiry. In her absence I was 
 less constraitied : for a few hours I was his 
 hostess, and I exerted myself to do the honors 
 worthily. After dinner he proposed a saunter 
 th»High the grounds. 
 
 " Lady Flora, according to her daily habit, 
 was already half asleep in her chair, and de- 
 clined to accompany us ; the eyes of Sir James 
 flashed with delight ; and in live minutes we 
 were buried in the shrubberies. 
 
 "I do not spare you one detail, Eveleen. ti 
 You are proud of your destiny. Poor tool of j 
 another's will! Married to a man who never ! 
 loved you, at the bidding of a mother who con-ij 
 suited only her own interest in the disposal of i 
 your hand. ' 
 
 " What had I to fear 1 Lady Flora slept : and i 
 for her, during the next few hours, time wasi' 
 conse(]uenlly annihilated, while I leant upon the! 
 arm of the first being who had given me a value ; 
 in my own eyes. Is it then maivelous that an' 
 hour had not elapsed since we left the house, 
 ere I ascertained that Lady Madelaine knew 
 nothing of this visit 1 or wonderful that when I 
 expressed my fear of her displeasure, he shouldi 
 find it an easy task to allay that fear ! Let thoafl' 
 who seek to blame me appreciate my jiosition.' 
 
 "Before we parted I felt that I was loved 
 What woman can be deceived when the feelint 
 is not feigned] I did not wish to receive ar 
 assurance that it was so, liut rather thanked ii 
 my heart the delicacy which left the decisivt 
 words as yet unuttered. Occasionally, as wi 
 conversed, my companion looked earnestly a 
 me, and listened with an eagerness to vvhicl 
 all flattery would have been iiiadoqaiite. By ■■ 
 single word, a single look, he encouraged m 
 to continue speaking; and I was proudly con 
 scions that every hour I had risen in his csteen, 
 The brilliant man of the world hung iiponth 
 fresii and unfettered fancies, upon the gravi 
 feelings of a mere girl, the pupil of the moun 
 tains, and of their sublime and soul-strengthet 
 ing silence. Yes ! he may have sold his sou 
 bartered his honor, and sullied his self-esteei 
 by becoming the husband of another ; but I g 
 to my grave with the consolatory convicti( 
 that from that eventful evening he has lovt' 
 me only ! 
 
 "Again, and again he came, and ere long' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 161 
 
 was his betrothed wife. T knew nothing of the 1 
 artcr-maciiiiiationsof Lady Madelaine. He con- 
 fided to nie simply tiiat she had consented to our 
 marriage, hut at her own good time ; and that, 
 in the interval, we were only to meet in her 
 presence. This declaration alarmed me, for I 
 had everything to dread from the involuntary 
 indiscretion of Lady Flora, who believed his 
 visits to he not only sanctioned, but even sug- 
 (jesled by her sister, and who had never enter- 
 tained the slightest suspicion of our mutual 
 attachment. 
 
 " Sir James reluctantly acceded to the justice 
 of my fears ; and his declared visits to Rooks- 
 ley gradually dechned, and at length were en- 
 tirely suspended. I saw him still, however, at 
 frequent intervals ; and when he failed to pre- 
 sent himself at our appointed rendezvous, he 
 was replaced by his letters. He was to be my 
 husband ! I was content with this assurance ; 
 tlie when, never occupied my thoughts. My 
 happiness was so im.mense that it afforded 
 space neither for fear nor hope. I lived in the 
 present. Satisfied of the truth of his affection, 
 I had acknowledged mine with the usual frank- 
 ness of my nature. Ignorant of the usages of 
 ihe world on such occasions, and still p-ore so 
 of the perfidy by which that happy ignorance 
 might be repaid, I laid my whole heart before 
 bun, and did not hesitate to let him know that 
 henceforward my existence depended utterly 
 upon himself. Had I acted otherwise, I should 
 have been self-despised for my own vain and 
 empty heartlessness. 
 
 " Here, on n^.y death-bed, when my extended 
 hand scarcely sHitKces to veil the night-lamp 
 from my eyes, but like a transparent film only 
 softens what in the days of health it would have 
 darkened — yes, even here, and now, I can look 
 back upon those hours, and feel that once in- 
 iJeed I lived !" 
 
 ; CHAPTER XLVL 
 
 j I LAID the manuscript upon the table : my 
 'tears had blinded me. Poor Adela ! I forgave 
 iall her invectives against myself, bitter as they 
 ;were — I evea forgot for a time the fearful nature 
 lof my own position — I only felt that I pitied 
 her, and would have called her for an instant 
 .from her grave to tell her that she was reveng- 
 ed — for that in my turn I did not love tl.is man. 
 Alter a time I resumed my painful task. 
 I " Evelecn ! had you really been capable of 
 Ithe attachment for which you proudly claimed 
 belief — before you forfeited it forever — you 
 would understand my feelings when the visits 
 of Sir James suddenly ceased, and his letters be- 
 icame changed. You, however, would not, per- 
 haps, havf perceived that change ; «r had you 
 i-.;hanced to do so, might probably have deemed 
 jt matter of self-gratulation, for they were, if 
 not as lengthy as ever, tenfold more full of pro- 
 testations and endearing epithets. But I had 
 studied him closely, and was not to be so de- 
 Stived. 
 
 I " The ore of true passion was no longer there, 
 ind the base counterfeit of eloquent adulation 
 iAfas substituted in its place. All was con- 
 straint and effort. He wrote like a man above 
 Lvhose head was suspended the sword of a mod- 
 i^rn Damocles — who quailed before some anti- 
 
 cipated danger. My pride revolted at the con- 
 viction : but alas ! that wholesoine pride was 
 subdued beneath a more powerful feeling. I 
 have told you — not now, nor here — but long, 
 long ago, when you first taught me to reason op 
 such subjects ; I told you then that I could not 
 love as you did, with one hand clasped in that 
 of my husband, and the other extended to beck- 
 on to the world to come between us — but 
 wholly and exclusively. Unlike yours, my 
 practice does not gainsay my precepts ; and this 
 man was to be my husband — could I then see 
 without agony even one vapor of doubt arise to 
 separate us 1 No — no — the stake for which I 
 played was not merely my happiness, it was 
 my life, and I could not afford to lose it lightly. 
 
 " I answered his letters by one line ; ' Come,* 
 I said, ' if you would ever again see me in this 
 world,' and then I drew close the curtains to 
 shut out the sunshine, that, after smiling on my 
 happiness, now, with the same hot glare, seem- 
 ed to mock my anguish ; and in the sudden twi- 
 light of my darkened chamber, 1 sat down to 
 redect upon the misery which I felt was about 
 to come upon me. 
 
 " I once read of a man subjected by an awful 
 tribunal to torture. He was alone, in utter 
 darkness, bound hand and foot upon a couch fur- 
 nished with warm and soft coverings, and on his 
 unprotected head fell at measured intervals a 
 drop of ice-cold water. It did not vary in'its 
 descent a single instant ; the failure of one drop, 
 even by a second, would have been a relief 
 which he might have repaid by a sob of prayer 
 but there was no intermission, none ! He kner 
 it, for he counted each by the pulsations of 1? 
 
 heart I might have pitied even him dnr- 
 
 ing that fearful night. In my position you woold 
 have wept yourself to sleep like a tired child ; 
 but I had no tears for the fate that I foresaw. 
 There was a morrow to that night, and then 
 came three mor'^ weary days ; and my stubborn 
 heart kept its watch steadily, for I had calcu- 
 Jated the time which must elapse ere he could 
 obey my summons; but the last few hours 
 were almost too much for my reason. I read 
 and reread the fatal letter, until the lines danced 
 before my eyes, and I looked through a ch)ud 
 of flickering atoms, as black and dense as my 
 own fears. There was nothing to console me 
 in this renewed perusal ; I could find no new 
 interpretation for the honeyed words which had 
 failed to blind me to the truth ; and I had no 
 inclination to encourage a deceit of which I must 
 ultimately become the victim. 
 
 "At length he came; we met at the same 
 spot, at the same hour, and he strove to greet 
 me with the same smile, but, although it wreath 
 ed his lip, it left his eye cold and silent. He 
 took my hand, and would have pressed his lips 
 upon my cheek, but I turned it from him. The 
 letter had sufficed ; and 1 had respect enough 
 for the man to wliom I had vowed rny life, to 
 spare hiai an acted as well as a written hypocrisy. 
 
 " I saw that he was wounded to the heart by 
 my coldness, and 1 rejoiced. He was not then 
 all evil. He inquired the cause of my altered 
 manners, and 1 placed his letter in his hand. 
 A sudden flush mounted to his brow: — 
 
 " ' Listen, Sir James,' I said, gravely ; ' I can- 
 not be deceived ; something has occurred since 
 we last met : something which has opened a 
 
163 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRP:TTY WOMAN. 
 
 gulf between us I am not to be cheated by 
 words. The heart speaks, or is silent ; the lips 
 cannot replace ii where it is absent. Be frank 
 — what has hapf)ened T 
 
 " 'Happened I' echoed Dornton, with a look 
 of anguisli, which I have never since forgotten. 
 I calmly repe.ited my question. 
 
 "• Adela, you torture me !' he exclaimed ve- 
 hemently ; ' do you, can you doubt my affection V 
 
 " * I will not, I dare not,' was my reply ; 
 ' but it must be assured beyond all possibility of 
 suspicion. Another week like the last would 
 destroy me, body and mind. I must hear from 
 the lips, or read in the writing of Lady Made- 
 laine herself that I am to be your wife. I must 
 know that my fate is fi.xed beyond the power of 
 caprice or tyranny. With less than this I can 
 no longer rest satisfied. Let her name her own 
 time ; 1 shall have the certainly of future hap- 
 piness to abridge the interval. Let me even be 
 denied all personal communication with you 
 until that time arrives, and I will submit ; but I 
 cannot remain a prey to uncertainly and sus- 
 pense. I cannot any longer subject myself to 
 be the mere tool of another's pleasure.' 
 
 "Then it was, that Sir James, overcome by 
 the steady resolution of my words and manner, 
 avowed to me that he had reason to apprehend 
 a change in the projects of Lady Madelaine. 
 The admission only made me the more steadily 
 adliere to my purpose. 
 
 " ' Until her will is known, should such, in- 
 deed, be the case, we must not meet again,' I 
 replied, with an appearance of calm which belied 
 the real agitation that I felt : ' of your own truth 
 I can entertain no doubt. I felt at once from 
 whence the blow must come. See Lady Mad- 
 elaine, remind her of her voluntary pledge; tell 
 her that you exact its performance, and all will 
 yet be well !' 
 
 " ' You shall be sat'sfied,' he said at length, 
 in an accent which betrayed more fear than 
 hope. ' I will do as you require : but should I 
 meet with a refusal, all may be lost through 
 this precipitation.' 
 
 " ' A refusal !' was my rejoinder, ' does she 
 •not call you her friend 1 Is not your own hap- 
 ;.piness involved in the question V 
 
 "'Adela!' he exclaimed reproachfully, 'do 
 •you doubt it V 
 
 "'Again I say no — but why this fear, for 
 which you have hitherto chidden me 1 Has my 
 mother displayeij any new proofs of her aver- 
 sion 1 Does she indeed hate me to an excess 
 which will induce her to sacrifice your happiness 
 <in order to destroy mine V 
 
 " ' No — I am bound to declare the contrary ; 
 and yet — ' 
 
 '•''Enough,' I said hurriedly; 'we can be 
 ultimately separated only by your own agency ; 
 for myself I am pledged to you forever — death 
 alone can dissolve the vows that I have uttered. 
 I am aware that Lady Madelaine can not only 
 oppose, but also retard our union : be it so: in 
 five years I shall be my own mistress, ami may 
 defy her authority. The lime is long, I admit,' 
 I added, us Dornton made an impatient gesture ; 
 but as you love me — ' 
 
 " ' Better tiian my life,' he interrupted eager- 
 ly ; 'hut if you loved as I do, you could not talk 
 thus coolly of a delay which appears to me eter- 
 nal.' 
 
 " 'You misjudge me : heat me thfn : make 
 rne your wife, and carry me aiiroad — anyivhere; 
 the world is wide enough, and all countiies will 
 be to me alike if you are beside me. When I 
 am of age we will return to England ; and, in 
 the possession of our proper rank, revenge our- 
 selves upon the past.' 
 
 "A gloom like that of midnight spread over 
 the face of Dornton. Fool that I was not to 
 comprehend how terrible a secret lay below 
 that darkness! Secure in his affection, I had 
 yet to learn that the ruined gamester and the 
 debt-covered man of fashion must sell himself 
 for gold when it was tendered to his grasp. 
 What had he to do with affection or with fidel- 
 ity ? He had tasted of the world's stream ; and 
 he was eager to bid the waters of Marah flow 
 over the golden sands of Pactolus. I, loo, ten- 
 dered him wealth — but when 1 I knew nothing 
 of all Uiis when I urged him to a stej) he had 
 not the means to take ; and we parted, alter he 
 had pledged liimselflo an explanation with Lady 
 Madelaine, of which he was himself to bring me 
 the result. 
 
 " Four more weary days and nights of impa- 
 tient anguish intervened, before the hour at 
 which he could again arrive at Rooksley. I 
 was unable to take even physical rejio.se : the 
 fate of my whole existence was aboul to be de- 
 cided, and I was powerless to turn the balance. 
 On the morning of the fifth day I was at our 
 trysting-place at an early hour; nor did I long 
 await the information which I went to seek. 
 A stranger met me, and with a respectful salu- 
 tation, tendered a letter upon whose sui)erscrip- 
 tion I instantly recognized the Well-known char-' 
 acters of Dornton. I had no sooner taken it; 
 from his hand, than with a second silent bow,' 
 he turned and walked hastily away. i 
 
 " I stood motionless for a moment with the.' 
 letter in my hand. — Did something whisper to' 
 you. Lady Dornton, as you looked on this packet, ' 
 that it would decide your destiny in this life! 
 Did your blood curdle, your hand quiver, ami 
 your eye grow dimi It may be so : I had al- 
 ready undergone the same agony which I have' 
 bequeathed to you. Suddenly a new ii!i|uilt.e 
 urged me to fly the spot, and to learn all — and' 
 I plunged into the thickest of the wood, and' 
 throwing myself down upon the earth, I reso- 
 lutely tore asunder the folds of the letter which 
 had been so mysteriously transmiiied to nw 
 I read it from one end to the. other vviiliout £ 
 pause. Read it in your turn. It is a produc- 
 tion of the man to whom you have given youi 
 hand, and can scarcely fail to excite your into 
 rest — 
 
 " ' I am about, my beloved Adela, to plunge; 
 dagger into your heart — fearful necessity to i 
 man by whom you are adored ! I dare mil 
 however, incur the culpability of leaving yot, 
 for one moment in ignorance of the (alal truth 
 beneath which my own prospects of domestit 
 happiness are forever crushed. All is over 
 We must renounce every hope of being unitei 
 in this world. Neither prayers nor tears wil 
 soften the unbending will of your mother ; no 
 is there even a chance that time might operati 
 a change. I have thought much of your sell 
 abnegating and generous proposal ; but alas ' 
 you do not guess, novice as yo'u are in th, 
 world's ways, beneath how frightful a load c'< 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A. PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 163 
 
 suspicion and contempt I should bury myself, 
 were I selfish enough to profit by it. I should 
 be accused of taking an unmanly advantage of 
 your youth and inexperience ; and the pure 
 effect of a passionate attachment would be attrib- 
 uted to a sordid interest of which you alone 
 would know me to be incapable. I could not 
 live under this stigma, even with you to com- 
 fort and console me ; and 1 could never again 
 raise my head proudly among my fellow-men. 
 These are fearful anticipations, Adela : alike 
 for you and for myself : too fearful to be real- 
 ized. Nor would you, pure and perfect as you 
 are, escape the reverberation of the thunder. 
 Your reputation would be sullied ; your position 
 ruined ; and this shall never be for my sake. Be- 
 loved of my heart ! your very virtues would thus 
 become a scourge. Weep then for yourself, and 
 weep for me ; but bend in pity to us both 
 before the inexorable destiny which parts us.' 
 
 " Eveleen— had a traveler passed near the 
 woods of Rooksley at the moment of sunshine 
 and silence in which my burning eyeballs fast- 
 ened upon the signature of this heartless letter, 
 be would have dreamed that happy and light 
 hearts were wandering beneath their shadows ; 
 for I was myself startled by the peal of ringing 
 laughter which escaped from between my parch- 
 ed and quivering lips. Yes, Lady Dornton, yes 
 — the fiends laugh — they have a mad mirtb of 
 their own — a frantic merriment that must have 
 voice, or it would choke the reveler. I knew 
 it then ! Despair made me resolute ; I answer- 
 ed this withering letter ; briefly but urgently ; I 
 insisted that he should himself come to Rooks- 
 ley, and give me all the details of his interview 
 with Lady Madelaine. He resisted resolutely ; 
 again he wrote : he urged that it would destroy 
 his reason were he to see me again only to lose 
 me a second time. Passion and anguish breath- 
 ed in every line ; I laid the letters side by side 
 before me, and I could not reconcile their tone. 
 It was evident that another revolution had taken 
 place in the feelings, if not in the intentions of 
 1 Dornton, and I was resolved to solve the mys- 
 ! tery. 
 
 I " Once more I summoned him, upon his honor 
 !as a true man, to obey my bidding; and after 
 Ithe delay of another week he reappeared. He 
 told me that he came from Woodville, that you 
 had barely escaped from death, and that Lady 
 Madelaine and her husband had urged him to 
 continue their gOest during your convalescence 
 ; — and still, poor cheated fool ! I suspected no- 
 'thing. I meant to tell you all that passed after 
 his arrival, hut I cannot — my strength is weak- 
 er than rny purpose. Enough that day after day 
 he lingered near me, evidently bowed down by 
 the weight of sorne mighty sorrow which he 
 'would not reveal. As for myself, despair had 
 made me frantic, and this fatal mystery over- 
 threw my poor remains of composure. The ex- 
 citement of the false position in which I stood, 
 the evident wretchedness of the man I loved, 
 and the tenacity with which he refused all 
 explanation of a secret whose existence he did 
 not attempt to gainsay, fevered my brain, and 
 |*s -ve were about to part, I fell lifeless into 
 lis arms 
 
 : "My hour ot bitter triumph was come. Re- 
 jardiess of couseqiienees, he bore me to the 
 iouse, to the con.sicnation ef ''e be-viMered 
 
 Lady Flora, and the marvel of our slender house- 
 hold ; and once there, refused to quit me for an 
 instant. When I recovered power to artieiilatp, 
 his name rose instinctively to my lips, and it waa 
 his own voice which answered the appijal. A 
 second syncope, succeeded by delirium, soon 
 informed Lady Flora of our secret, and thence- 
 forward she allowed no one to approach me save 
 herself and the physician. At times she sum- 
 moned Sir James, that he might strive to recall 
 my scattered faculties ; ami there were moments 
 in which he partially succeeded. My first care 
 on a return of reason was to obtain from him 
 a solemn pledge that he would not abandon me 
 until I was convalescent. He started in alarm 
 as I demanded this, and would have urged a 
 thousand pleas against it ; but I denounced him 
 as my murderer, if he left me thus to die of the 
 despair which was his own work, and at length 
 he promised everything. 
 
 " Reckless of the future, careless of the past, 
 weak in body, but calm in spirit, I was happy. 
 Happy, amid my physical suffering, for he was 
 constantly beside me; happy in the belief that 
 even yet all was not lost ; while Lady Flora 
 looked on, satisfied by my assurance that I must 
 become the wife of Dornton, or perish. 
 
 " Little did I guess, Eveleen, that the tender 
 nurse who had so lately left your sick bed to lake 
 up his post at mine, had become my brother. 
 But I cannot even now dwell upon that time, for 
 once more I feel my brain burn, and my sinking 
 frame quiver beneath the fierce pulsations of a 
 heart too big for its weak and narrow prison- 
 house. Your letter awoke me from my trance. 
 Your letter, in which you announced your mar- 
 riage and your isolation ; and asked me — me ! to 
 become your companion. I was alone with Lady 
 Flora when I received it ; and I read it to the 
 end. I can tell you nothing more than that I 
 was suddenly startled by the vehement grief of 
 my poor aunt ; and that when I strove to open 
 my eyes, and to inquire into its cause, I fell as 
 though I were crushed down upon my bed by a 
 hand "of iron. Slowly, and by imperceptible de- 
 grees, reason came back upon me, and, with it, 
 memory ; and then I struggled fiercely with my 
 agony ; and for a time I conquered. I demand- 
 ed the letter, and it was put into my hands. 
 Once more I read it resolutely to the end ; and 
 then I bade them summon Sir James. He was 
 gone. I had lain twelve hours in my frightfui 
 swoon, and the coward had escaped the curse 
 I prepared for him. They would have disobeyed 
 me when 1 asked for writing materials ; but I 
 was too well aware that my factitious strength 
 was nearly spent, to listen to their expostula- 
 tions, and I was at length obeyed. I answered 
 your letter ; I uttered no reproach ; 1 gave vent 
 to no invective ; I felt that I should not long 
 survive the struggle, and I resolved to leave yoc. 
 for a while in ignorance, and to bequealk the 
 truth as my best vengeance, when remorse 
 would be too late. 
 
 " I have no more to tell — no comment to make 
 —no word of bitterness to utter. I leave you 
 to your own thoughts — weak, unstable, and ir- 
 resolute, you had already forfeited all claim to 
 happiness. Should you still cling to one hope, 
 be wise enough to fasten it upon the grave. 
 
 " Farewell." 
 
164 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 I SUFFERED the papers to fall from my hand. 
 I had read even to the last line, hurriedly, 
 eagerly, gaspingly ; and now I knew all. I 
 could not think — I could not weep — I had no 
 pity either for my dead sister, or for myself — no 
 hate for Dornton — no feeling of either the pres- 
 ent or the past. All was dead within me. My 
 eyes were open, but I did not distinguish an 
 object ; rny apartment looked upon a great 
 thoroughfare, but I did not hear a sound. I 
 was, fur the moment, annihilated. 
 
 Gradually, however, and painfully I awoke 
 from this stupor. My biain whirled ; my heart 
 labored with thick sobs ; those dry and wither- 
 ing sobs which rend their way, with each its 
 separate pang. I clenched my hands until the 
 blood started beneath my nails ; I writhed like 
 one convulsed ; and still the frightful truth 
 glared full upon me — I had been the uncon- 
 scious murderer of my sister! 
 
 And for what ? And whom 1 And then up- 
 rose within me t^le boiling hatred which my 
 long lethargy had for a time suppressed. I had 
 to revenge not only Adela, but myself also. 
 How I envied the grave into which she had 
 gone down ! How J loathed myself that I was 
 still condemned to live and suffer ! All was 
 dark and hopeless about me. What had I now 
 to ask of fate ! 
 
 Such was my state of mind when the door of 
 my dressing-room suddenly opened, and my 
 husband stood before me. As my eye fell on 
 his advancing figure, I uttered a wild scream, 
 and covered my face with my spread hands. 
 
 " What means this, Eveleen !" he asked in a 
 troubled voice, as he stopped before me ; " how 
 am I to interpret this reception V 
 
 I strove to speak, but I could not. My emo- 
 tion rendered me unable to articulate. 
 
 "This is worse than childish. Lady Dorn- 
 ton." he continued more firmly ; " I have al- 
 ready seen your mother, and I know all. Yet 
 surely, the death of your sister — " 
 
 ••Name her not !" I exclaimed, as I started 
 vehemently to my feet, animated by a new 
 feeling ; " name her not, lest the words wither 
 the lips whicti utter them. Name her not to 
 me — to me ! at once her victim and her execu- 
 tioner." 
 
 Dornton was evidently agitated, but he strove 
 to suppress his emotion. 
 
 " Has your grief indeed deranged your facul- 
 ties T' he asked, struggling to smile. 
 
 For all answer I pointed to the papers, which 
 still lay where they had fallen. He stooped, 
 and gathered them together; but as he did so, 
 his hand trembled. 
 
 " Do you recognize the writing 1" I asked bit- 
 terly, as I again sank into my seat ; " it is the 
 legacy. Sir James Dornton, which the dead- 
 Adehi has bequeatlied to me — and you." 
 
 While I was speaking he had run his 'eye 
 rapidly over the opening lines. " I see it all." 
 he said; "I might have expected this. She 
 knew the weakness of your nature, and she has 
 revenged her wrongs upon you.'' 
 
 "Dare yon talk thus to'meV I cried, irri- 
 tated even amid my anguish ; "you, who have 
 destroyed us both 1" 
 
 " You use strong language. Lady Dornton," 
 he said, striving to assume an accent of indig- 
 
 nation, " and such as you are unable to justify 
 You now know what it had been better fo: 
 your peace to have concealed from you forever. 
 The evil is, however, beyond remedy: and I 
 owe it to myself to place the matter in ita 
 proper light." 
 
 His self-possession startled me ; but the 
 damning evidence of his dishonor was beforo 
 my eyes, and I retorted angrily, "The 'mat- 
 ter' will admit no light but one. I donot now 
 speak of myself — I have time for my own 
 wrongs — I address you as the deceiver of my 
 sister." 
 
 "And upon what grounds do you accuse me 
 of deception !" 
 
 " Did you not use every method to induce her 
 to believe that you loved her]" 
 
 " I do not deny it ; the fact was so.' 
 
 " You did love her ! You admit it, and yet 
 you abandoned her !" 
 
 "I was the slave of circumstances." 
 
 " Did you not persuade her that she was to 
 become your wife !" 
 
 " 1 did, in the firm belief that such would be 
 the case." 
 
 I pressed my hand upon my burning fore- 
 head. I was bewildered. 
 
 " I used, as you have stated, every effort to 
 gain the affections of your sister," he contin- 
 ued, hurriedly : " I had reason to believe that 
 she was to share my fortunes ; her peculiarity 
 of character attracted me, and the romance ol 
 a young, fresh heart lent itself willingly to the 
 endeavors which I made to owe her hand to 
 her own affections, no less than to the will ol 
 those who had power over her actions. Rest 
 assured that the tragical termination of oui 
 attachment has proved as bitter to me as to 
 herself, although, where I have only striven, 
 she has sunk." 
 
 "And why," I interposed, "why, if you re- 
 ally loved her, did you not withstand all oppo- 
 sition 1 Why destroy us both only to thwart 
 your inclination !" 
 
 " I had no alternative," was his reply. 
 
 I shook my head contemptuously. 
 
 " You doubt my assertion ; and yet I could 
 readily prove its truth ; but the explanation 
 would involve details which might not (latter 
 your self-love ; and I would rather you should 
 credit my declaration without-further proof." 
 
 "Fear nothing, sir," I said haughtily ; "my 
 self-love is beyond your reach. ^Vhat can you 
 admit which will touch it more nearly than the 
 words that you have already uttered. Even 
 the vanity, to which you make allusion, has not 
 deprived me of the power to understand that I 
 am indebted for your hand to the fortune with 
 which destiny had cursed me." 
 
 " Be it as you will," was his unmoved reply. 
 "It then only remains for me to jusuty my-' 
 self." I bowed in silence. 
 
 " Reckless as you are," he resumed, after, 
 the pause of a moment, "you have neverthe- 
 less been long enough my wife, to understand 
 that at the period of our marriage my pecu- 
 niary resources were exhausted. 1 was, tUere- 
 fore, under the necessity of forming an alliance 
 which would enable me to retain my accus. 
 tomed position in society. I looked round me 
 and from the moment in which I became inti 
 mately acquainted with your family, I cast m. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRKTTY WOMAN. 
 
 \C,b 
 
 dyes upon > yarself. You were very young, 
 but I had gained the confidence and friendship 
 of your mother, and I knew that she was all- 
 powerful. I therefore resolved to retrench 
 suffic jnily to enable me to wait for a few 
 years, and I, meanwhile, continued to pay my 
 court assiduously to Lady Madelaine. I see 
 your lip curl; but your contempt is misplaced. 
 Do not. men frequently toil during a lifetime, 
 suffer p'livation and contumely, and even barter 
 their good name for gold, of which they sub- 
 sequently made a weak and unworthy use, 
 when their necessities are not more imper- 
 ative than my own l And with what have you 
 to reproach me since our marriage !" 
 
 "Proceed, sir,'' I said, coldly ; "for the tale 
 promises to be a long one." 
 
 " The deatii of your father altered all my 
 projects. It is true that if Lady Madelaine had 
 distinguished me by her regard, she had been 
 no less condescending to Lord Otterford ; while 
 neither the one nor the other could boast of 
 one unguarded word or action by which to as- 
 sume a claim upon her preference — you have 
 yet much. Lady Dornton, to study in your 
 mother ; and much from which, as a woman of 
 the world, you might derive no small advan- 
 tage." 
 
 " You are completing my education, Sir 
 James," I said bitterly. 
 
 He bowed with a sarcastic smile ; turned his 
 chair more fully upon me, and proceeded. 
 ; "The death of your father left your mother 
 ' free : she was still in the full lustre of her 
 beauty and of her fashion, and desirable in 
 every point of view. Her fortune, although, 
 indeed, less considerable than your own, was 
 tangible, and within my reach tVom the moment 
 in which she became my wife ; and this cir- 
 cumstance was far from indifferent to me, as 
 every year rendered my position more diffi- 
 i cult. 
 
 ' " You have doubtlessly not forgotten my ap- 
 pearance at Rooksley during your mother's 
 widowhood. I went there to offer her my 
 hand, and she was flattered by my declaration. 
 •■ She admitted this fact frankly ; but I soon per- 
 I ceived the reason of my failure, for of that 
 she convinced me at once. She strove to keep 
 ; her secret, but I was playing a desperate game, 
 and I at once dealared my conviction of her at- 
 ' lachment to Lord Otterford. At that period 
 Otterford had not declared himself, and the 
 pride of Lady Madelaine took alarm. 
 
 " ' I am neither young enough, nor wealthv 
 I enough for you. Sir James,' she said ; ' Eveleen 
 : is the wife best suited alike to your habits and 
 • your tastes. Like you she promises to be a 
 world-worshiper; and her beauty and fortune 
 , will enable you to realize all the dreams of your 
 ' ambition. You know that my authority over 
 her is unlimited — you are no stranger to her 
 absurd and childish fancy for youn^ L)evt reux : 
 ' you ar<!. in short, an old and tried friend of the 
 1 family, and under your protection her fate would 
 t be assured. I have long desired an opportu- 
 ) niiy (if suggesting' this marriage to you, and I 
 ; gladly enibi ace that which your declared jire- 
 ' ference for myself has afforded to me. Does 
 ! "ly proposal meet ycjur views !' 
 j "I was at a loss how to reply. Quite aware 
 I that I was as mucb indebted to the prudent 
 
 I egotism of Lady Madelaine on this occasion, aa 
 to her regard, I made difficulties, all ol which 
 I flattered her vanity, and increased iier friend- 
 jship; but at length I yielded. After a long and 
 animated conversation my destiny was decided : 
 but I was not altogether satisfied. It i.s true 
 that, as though she could have penetrated tito 
 the design which I had formed several years 
 previously, she voluntarily offered me your own 
 hand ; still 1 should have preferred a more cer- 
 tain and "a more immediate boon, and 1 was 
 mortified that she should sacrifice me to a mere 
 animal like Otterford, whose only charm lay in 
 a handsome face, and a certain tact in flatter- 
 ing the weaknesses and follies of her character. 
 I knew that, once her husband, he must neces- 
 sarily degenerate into a domestic automaton : 
 he was formed for no other purpose, and my 
 prophecy has been realized." 
 
 I was lost in astonishment at the audacity 
 with which Dornton thus crowned himself with 
 his vices, and exacted worship for them ; but 
 I struggled resolutely against my indignation, 
 and commanded myself sufficiently to listen 
 with at least an appearance of composure. 
 
 *' Slie had no sooner herself become a wife," 
 pursued Dornton, undauntedly, " than I re- 
 minded her of her promise, and she at once 
 pledged herself to fulfill it, although she would 
 appoint no given period. The motives which 
 she alleged for this delay were specious : I 
 was not, however, at a loss to define her real 
 ones : she was too recently a bride to tolerate 
 so unequal a rivalry ; and, as I felt how useless 
 all argument must prove against such a convic- 
 tion, I sui)mitted in silence. Otterford was 
 less punctilious ; from the period of their mar- 
 riage he never ceased to represent to your 
 mother the incongruity and danger of thus 
 shutting you out from a world so well aware oJ 
 your existence, and so ready to draw false de 
 ductions from your extraordinary seclusion ; 
 and she at length yielded reluctantly to his en- 
 treaties. 
 
 " You were summoned to town, and I now 
 believed that my difficulties were over — it was 
 not so; like Jacob, 1 had served seven years 
 for Rachel ; and was then coolly told to take 
 Leah as my reward. Vou look amazed ; hut I 
 am about to explain, and by that explanation to 
 justify mystif. You had scarcely appeared in 
 London, when the Duke of Barminster was at- 
 tracted by your lieauiy. It is pnssitile that you 
 may scarcely remember a tall, gaunt, large- 
 limhed youth, with pink eyes and yellow hair, 
 who had just escaped from his tutors, after 
 having made atour in France and Italy; whence 
 he returned wnb pinker eyes and yellower hair 
 than he set out. Be that as it may, he admired 
 you, and was what in siage-fiailaiKre is designa- 
 ted • enamored" of your (air i.ice and high-bred 
 self-possessKJii ; nor did Lady Mail'daine, whose 
 aiiibilion was fl.iviered by bis i)rer(r(nce, hesi- 
 tate covertly to encourage it. Her po.siiion was, 
 however, somewhat embarrassing ; 1 was eon 
 stantly besides her like an accusing spirit whicli 
 all her sjiells were unable to lay ; and 1 believe 
 that I shoidii have Iriiimphe.l even over the y.d- 
 low-baired duke, had not a hint of my pecuniaiV 
 (lithculties been dropped into tiie eager (;ar ol 
 your mother. Had this liiiit never been giverl, 
 Eveleen, it might have beer, 'ajipy fur us both; 
 
lfi« 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 but this one ircumstar.ce became the key-stone 
 ol all the e\.l which has since been slowly built 
 up. 
 
 •* Lady jMadelaine at once availed herself of 
 the information thus received. She had her 
 own reasons for not exciting a feud between 
 , us ; while, at the same tune, she was equally 
 resolved upon your alliance with the duke. As 
 yet he had said nothmg decisive upon the sub- 
 ject, but that was evidently the elf'ecl of shy- 
 ness, and (rom the dread of a refusal ; for it 
 was a hoys love, fearing everything and risking 
 nothing. 
 
 " Secure of my enforced acquiescence in her 
 wishes, from my total inability to gainsay them, 
 your mother, with an aplomb which would have 
 done honor to a statesman, took me into her 
 Confidence. She admitted that 1 R:;ght have 
 6ome right to consider myself aggrieved until 
 Khe explained her purpose — she abhorred the 
 young duke ; who, had he been no duke, would 
 not have been presentable in society : but she 
 felt it her duty on such an occasion .to sacrifice 
 her own wishes to the interests of her daughter. 
 She reminded me that you were altogether un- 
 aware of the promise which she had uiade to 
 nie — that you still resolutely clung to your girl- 
 ish fancy for Deveieux — that, in short, your 
 sentiments toward myself were rather those of 
 avoidance and dislike, than such as promised 
 liappiness in married life. In fine — as a mat- 
 ter of duiy to you, and of prudence to me, she 
 had evidently resolved that you should become 
 Duchess of Barminsler. ' And may I ask,' I 
 inquired, with a cool sarcasm which forewarned 
 her of my probable vengeance, should she en- 
 deavor to make me the victim of her sudden 
 ambition ; ' may I ask what character I am ex- 
 pected to enact in this strange comedy !' She 
 looked at me steadily for a moment, and then 
 replied — ' Sir James, this little incident must 
 iiut affect our t)ld and honest friendship. Had I 
 not been assured from what occurred at Rooks- 
 I<'y that you felt no overweening attachment to 
 Eveleen, I should at once have negatived the 
 duke's pursuit; hut under thd circumstances, 
 and knowing also the sincerity of your regard 
 fur me, I have acted accordingly. You are 
 aware that I have another daughter ; less beau- 
 tiful than Eveleen, I admit, but also without a 
 silly passion in her bead.' 
 
 "I had already seen your sister, when I tra- 
 veled with her iVom Scotland. 1 remembered 
 only a silent girl, who appeared rather proud 
 than shy ; and with whom I did not throughout 
 the journey exchange a dozen seniences. You 
 may imagine my suijirise, my indignation; but 
 my embarrassments had enslaved my will, and, 
 as Lady .Madelaine was well aware, I could not 
 Contend. 
 
 " I accompanied her to Kooksley, and I con- 
 fess that i was startled by the chun-gc which a 
 few months had effected m the appear.ince of 
 your sister; still, the coiistr-iint induced by 
 yi)ur nK.ther's presvuce did ii-ot enable me to 
 judge correctly of Adda, whose intellectual e.\- 
 pie&sion prnmised boili mind and feeling. Stung 
 l)y ymir own liaiiglaiiicss. and revulied by a 
 coijui-try winch was aliuosi marvelous lor your 
 a^e. Lady M.iiJclaine had by no means advanced 
 fen error wb n she asserted thai my heart had 
 rcmaiiit'd untouched. I was dazzled by your 
 
 beauty, and infatuated by your success ; hut K 
 required more than this to resuscitate the long 
 dormant feelings of a man of the world ; and 
 thus you will not be astonished if I submitted 
 with a tolerable grace to a decision against 
 which, under my peculiar circumstances, I 
 d— red net — e— - , — r.^ rc^clrc^ vC usccrtain z.* 
 once what I was likely to gain or lose at the 
 game of matrimonial shuttlecock which Lady 
 Madelaine had instituted in her family." 
 
 " And you discovered \ "' 
 
 " I discovered. Lady Dornton, ere long, that 
 in Adela I had found the very being who had it 
 in her power to renew the youth of my heart. 
 I lost no time in returning to Rooksley, and, 
 pleading the permission of your mother, I suc- 
 ceeded in gaining the affections of your sister, 
 before I avowed to her that my visits were 
 unauthorized. You know the independence of 
 Adda's character ; and you will therefore be 
 prepared to understand that this circuajstance, 
 although it increased her caution, by no means 
 affected her resolution. We met again and 
 again. The extraordinary resources of her mind, 
 and the noble qualities of her nature, wore laid 
 bare before me. She cared nothing for my 
 fashion, nothing for my popularity ; she loved 
 me for myself — she lovtJ me as I never hope to 
 be loved again." 
 
 He paused. His lips quivered, and his face 
 assumed an ashy paleness ; but he soon rallied, 
 and in a less steady voice, resumed : " Yow 
 will not be surprised that, under these circuni 
 stances, 1 soon blessed the fortunate chancf 
 winch had thrown the boy-duke in your path 
 I was not, however, long desiiited to enjoy mj 
 dream of coming happiness ; for on returning 
 to Woodville, after one of my hurried visits to 
 your sister, feeling myself unable any longer to 
 control my impatience, I urged Lady Madelaine 
 to withdraw Adela from her retreat, and to pre- 
 pare the minds of her circle for our approaching 
 marriage. 
 
 " I had remarked that she was less at her 
 ease than usual, and that something had oc- 
 curred to ruffle her; but never suspecting that 
 my own happiness could be involved' in so 
 trivial a circumstance, 1 had paid little atten- 
 tion to it. 1 was soon bettei informed. 'Trust 
 to me,' she said ; ' I feel that I have dealt un- 
 generously toward you. but, it is not yet too 
 late to repair my error. You shall soon be 
 my son-in-law ; circumstances have occurred 
 which have changed my views for Eveleen, and 
 I will redeem my word. She shall be youF 
 wife !' I will spare you a description of my 
 feelings. What I instantly suspected, proved 
 to be the fact ; the change had not originated 
 with your mother, but with the relatives of IbP 
 duke, to who-m the comparatively obscure 
 origin of your father was an objection eyeo 
 uwe insuperable than the youth and inexperi- 
 er.-,e of the noble blockhead himself 
 
 "Do me the justice to believe that I did nbt 
 passively submit to this insulting tyranny. I re- 
 sented it warmly and loudly, but all my violence 
 remained unavailing. I wSs in the toils, for 
 Lady .Vladdaine, secured in her position by the 
 pressing nature of my pecuniary necessities, had 
 already turned aside the triumphant consola- 
 tions of lur dear five hundred friends on the 
 secession of the duke, by smiling at the ab- 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRFTTY WOMAN. 
 
 1G7 
 
 Biirdity :tC the report, and asserting your long 
 eiigiigerncnl to myself. Thus we had both too 
 much at stake to continue long at feud. We 
 were necessary to each other — and, you know 
 the rest." 
 
 I was cruslied. I had struggled to be firm ; to 
 pay back with cool contempt the perlidy of the 
 man to whom I had been sacriticed ; but I had 
 uot sufficiently prepared myself for such an 
 avowal as this. The consciousness of his utter 
 inditierence ; the conviction that all his affecta- 
 tion of affection had been false from the first 
 moment of our marriage; the reflection that I 
 had been a mere tool to conceal the weakness of 
 mymotlier. and to build up the ruined fortunes 
 ol" a profligate, cut me to the heart ; and every 
 angry feeling faded before the deep humiliation 
 which bowed me to the earth. 
 
 "And am I then, indeed, wholly and utterly, 
 the victim of my fortune !" I exclaimed, wring- 
 ing my. bands in despair ; " was it not enough 
 to find myself deceived in my every hope, with- 
 out being' forced to feel that I have been a dupe 
 from my very cradle." 
 
 " Be rational. Lady Dornton," said Sir J "mes, 
 rousing himself with effort from a painful re- 
 verie into which he had fallen as he ceased 
 speaking. " Since you became my wife, of 
 what have you to co:nplaiu 1 Have you not 
 profited as fully by the illusion as you could have 
 done by the reality] Have you had one indul- 
 gence the less ! Has your vanity been the 
 • more rutiled, or your self-love the less respect- 
 i ed ! Look back upon your brief period of 
 , married life — what has been wanting which 
 I \\ouid have grown out of even the idolatry of a 
 ', husband \ Can you complain of the manner in 
 which I have played my parti It is rather I 
 
 ■ who should complain of the life of struggle and 
 seeming to which the caprice of your mother 
 
 ■ has condemned me. Let us be honest with 
 each other. You had assuredly no right to 
 calculate upon an undivided affection on my 
 
 ' part, when you gave yourself to me with an old 
 ' love clinging about your heart, which you 
 '■ scarcely cared either to conceal or to combat. 
 I I, feeling myself exonerated by the fact, did not 
 : persec^jte you upon the subject, but left time to 
 I do its work, assisted by that great ally, the 
 1 world — and we are, consequently, beyond re- 
 I crimination upon that point. Why then do you 
 I arrogate to yourself the right to accuse me V 
 ] I could not command myself sufficiently to 
 I reply : the cohl-blooded matter-of-fact reason- 
 [ ing of Sir James at such a moment maddened 
 I me. 
 
 I " I see your agitation," he resumed ; " and 
 : knowing as I do your utter want of self-com- 
 
 ■ mand, I am by no means surprised at its vio- 
 ! lence. Calm yourself, however, if possible, 
 J a d listen to me for a few moments longer. 
 i Vy nat I have to say deserves all your attention. 
 ' T'nis day will probably effect our actual separa- 
 ' Lion ; but let us, at least, preserve appearances : 
 !'*i. is needless for us to offer ourselves as a spec- 
 !ia le to all London. You have an attachment 
 'uf which the object is more than disagreeable 
 ilo me ; nevertheless, amuse yourself as you 
 I ave hitherto done ; I understand you loo well 
 I to dread your injuring your own position for 
 I any created being. Nevertheless, be careful ; 
 I for, if you are Gssar's wife, remember that I 
 
 I am Caesar; and I have no inclination tu be- 
 come the laughing-stock of my set." 
 
 " How, sir !" I exclaimed, starling to my li et, 
 " do you, guilty as you are of my sister's deaib 
 — fallen as you are beneath ihe conlempl of all 
 honest men — do i/ou dare to threaten !" And 
 e.\asperatcd by his calmness, yet still unable to 
 give utterance to my feelings, I rushed out of my 
 dressing-iooni, anxious only to rid myself of his 
 presence, wluch had each moment become more 
 insuppurtabl(! to me. 
 
 Fortunately, he retained all his self-posses- 
 sion ; and, alainied at the idea of the scene to 
 which I was al)out to expose both myself and 
 him, he sprang after me, and caught me as I 
 was about to escape into lliu gallery. 
 
 "Where are you going !" he asked sternly. 
 
 "Anyuhere, so that I be not subjected to 
 your presence," I said, as I struggled to loose 
 myself from his grasp ; but he held me fast. 
 
 '" Well, then, madam, return to your dress- 
 ing-room ; I am about to leave it. But I beg 
 that you will not expose yourself to the gossip 
 of your servants in your present undigiiitieii 
 state of passion, for your own sake. Have you 
 yet to learn ihat, in such cases, your own hired 
 domestics are more to be dreaded than all other 
 persons 1 As for myself, I am careless of their 
 comments ; nay, they would afford me an ad- 
 mirable opportunity of visiting this scene upon 
 Ccdonel Devereux — an emergency which. I 
 imagine, you would on your side rather avoid 
 than provoke. Give yourself the trouble to re- 
 flect, and remember that it is not always upon 
 the husband that the world is apt to visit re- 
 sults like these." 
 
 Again I was compelled to submit. I felt that 
 I was indeed, through my idle folly, at the mercy 
 of a man whom I alike loathed and despised. I 
 had no refuge in my mother, who would neces- 
 sarily abandon my cause in order to excuse her 
 own conduct ; and, thus left to myself, I was 
 altogether powerless. Profiting by my evident 
 indecision, Dornton led me back to the door 
 of my dressing-room, which I had no sooner 
 reached than I closed it violently behind me, 
 as though I sought to evade the pursuit of an 
 assassin. 
 
 As I sank panting upon a sofa, I felt as though 
 my reason would have given way beneath the 
 struggle. The horror of my position rose bare 
 and hopeless before me. The ties which at- 
 tached me to my husband, and the authority 
 which they gave him over my very thoughts, 
 distracted me as I reflected on them. 1 had 
 determined on a rupture ; but I had been pre- 
 pared to dictate its terms, and not to find my- 
 self thus bound hand and foot at his mercy. 
 The species of menace which he had uttered, 
 and which was merely conditional, still rang 
 through my brain; for I remembered that he 
 might, at any moment, and under any prcie.M, 
 avail himself of it to complete my wretched- 
 ness. 
 
 Nevertheless, by some strange inconsistency, 
 it was not fear that I felt ; blinded by my indig- 
 nation, I should have considered it a meanness 
 to tremble or to yield, or even to control my ac- 
 ti(rns in any. way, at the bidding ofa man whom 
 I had saved from ruin, and whom I felt mysell 
 authorized lo d<-si)i.se. Never h:ul J i/een in so 
 1 dangerous a stale of tnind. Every 'ieeling was 
 
ItiU 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 in revolt. I ceased to envy even the quiet 
 grave of my sisier. I had vague visions of a 
 vengeance as mighty as the wrongs of which I 
 had been made llie victim — wild, unlangible, 
 and aimless lor tlie most part ; but welcome, 
 inasmuch as lliey tended to restore me to some 
 degree of composure, and to people the void 
 into which my first emotions had plunged me. 
 
 May those whose hair whitens, and whose 
 necks bow heueath tlie hand of time, without 
 having undergone such mental struggles as 
 these, he merciful as they pronounce a judg- 
 ment upon me ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 A DEEP sleep succeeded to this terrible agita-. 
 tion. 1 was wearied, body and spirit ; and my 
 waking was only productive of new projects of 
 sell-avenging. I found from Josephine, whose 
 expression of countenance betrayed that she 
 was aware, at least in some degree, of the al- 
 tercation which had taken place between my 
 husband and myself, that immediately alter 
 leaving my chamber, Sir James had departed 
 as usual for his club, although evidently ruffled ; 
 and that he had given ordeis to his valet not 
 to await his return, as he should be absent all 
 night. Thi« decision was a great relief to me, 
 and I immeduiely retired to bed, in order to 
 have a pretext for dismissing my attendant. 
 
 What anight I passed! Visions of Adela, 
 and of her wrongs, came blended with the 
 miserable conviction of my own isolated and 
 unhappy position. In the excited state of my 
 feelings, I never dreamt of tracing the events 
 of my life to any fault or error of my own. I 
 regarded myself simply as a victim to the 
 machinations of others ; and as bound to visit 
 upon my persecutors all the sufferings to which 
 I had myself been subjected. I had the means 
 of vengeance in my hands. It was true, that 
 they might recoil upon my own head ; but that 
 reflection did not deter me. I was already 
 ruined both in fact and in hope. A life of joy- 
 less wretchedness was before me. I could 
 scarcely render my fate more bitter ; while, on 
 the other hand, I might enable myself to sup- 
 port it with less suffering. All that the world 
 could offer of adulation, luxury, and indulgence 
 was before me, and within my grasp. The 
 void within my heart might be hlled up. I 
 must think no more of Lome enjoyments, and 
 home ties; they were forever denied to me; 
 but the alternative remained of creating new 
 interests and new bonds without the jjale of 
 home. 
 
 My decis 'n was irrevocably taken. 
 
 "When I ro3 • in the morning, my first care 
 was to obliteiate the withering effects of the 
 last night's agitation, and to bestow unwonted 
 care upon my appearance. 1 could not be seen 
 in public so immediately after the death of my 
 sister, but I could at least admit those of my 
 friends who came to ofl'er me their sympathy 
 in my bereavement ; and it is probable that 
 Lady Marielaine had decided upon the same 
 prudent and praiseworthy line of conduct, for I 
 heard nothing of her throughout the day. One 
 or two unimportant visits occupied the greater 
 p.")rlioii "I ilii' iiioi iim^', v\ hen at Icnyili Colonel 
 U<v iciix v\as aimounccd in Ins turn; and, 
 
 pleading fatigue, I desired that t might bn ie- 
 nied to every one for the remainder of the day. 
 
 " 1 may then, indeed, hope thai 1 still num- 
 ber you among my friends,'" 1 said, as I extend* 
 ■^ m> hand, " since you come to me in the lioui 
 01 grief." 
 
 " Did you do me the injustice to admit a 
 doubt upon the subject .'" 
 
 " I am afraid so. Many circumstances have 
 occurred to shake my faith in your regard — but 
 I will not dwell upon them now. A friend is 
 too precious to me at this moment, for me to 
 encourage such misgivings." 
 
 " Is it Lady Dornton who talks of needing 
 friends !" 
 
 " It is, indeed, and heaven knows that few 
 need them or would prize thera more. You 
 are, of course, aware that 1 have lost my sif- 
 ter r' 
 
 " I ?.m ; and I feel for you most deeply." 
 
 " You may do so. It has been a bitter blow 
 to me in many ways. Do you also know tisB 
 cause of her early and most unhappy death !" 
 
 " I fear, consumption," he replied anxiously, 
 as he looked attentively at me; "Miss Tilden 
 was naturally of a weak and nervous constitu- 
 tion ; and probably sank under her self-constK 
 tuted isolation from society." 
 
 "No, no; do not be disingenuous with me, 
 Colonel Devereux," I interposed; "you have 
 been too intimately connected with our family 
 not to have learnt the truth ; or, if you have 
 indeed been blinded to the fact, be so no longer: 
 my sister died of a broken heart." 
 
 " A broken heart !" 
 
 " Even so ; and now do more justice both to 
 me and to yourself. Your look and accent both 
 betray you. You have nothing to hear from 
 me save what you already know ; unless, in- 
 deed, that I also am no longer ignorant of tlie 
 great secret which has changed the whole cur^ 
 rent of my after-life." 
 
 " Lady Dornton, you alarm me." 
 
 " And yet you see that I am calm. I have a 
 great work before me. Colonel Devereux. I 
 am like a rudderless vessel, which, after having 
 for a long period been borne among sunken 
 rocks and hidden sands without becomiug quite 
 a wreck, is suddenly driven far into the open 
 sea, witfcou* chart or compass — into a fearful, 
 limitless, and unknown waste of waters, — to 
 plough its way as it best can to some eagerly 
 dreamt of but uncertain port. I can look back 
 upon the perils which I have survived, but 1 
 know not how to direct my course through tli9 
 vague. Nevertheless it must be done ; I may 
 perish in the attempt, but it shall be made." 
 
 " Your position is indeed a painful one." 
 
 " I know it, but I do not shrink. I am only 
 about to exchange one species of suffering for 
 another." 
 
 " You may be deceiving yourself as to the 
 extent of the evil." 
 
 I smiled bitterly, as I put into his hands the 
 papers which I had brought from Glenfillan. 
 " Read these," I said, with the same unnatural 
 calm; "read, and be convinced in how far I 
 still retain the power to cheat myself." 
 
 Devereux shuddered as he ran his eye ovef 
 the opening sentences. 
 
 ♦ Is Ibis, indeed, the writing of Miss TildenV 
 he asked. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 1G9 
 
 ' It is. — That is tl e legacy of a sister vvtiom 
 I would fain have loveti— that is the dying 
 bequest of Adela. Do you ask me now to 
 doubt!" 
 
 " This is terrible !" 
 
 " Is it not 1 Is it not frightful to have In- 
 curred a hatred which lived even beyond the 
 grave! And that too by an action to which I 
 was compelled ! Had it pleased fate to grant 
 her wishes, I should have been spared the 
 misery that has been visited upon me, and we 
 might both have been happy. The tyranny of 
 my motlier, and the mean cowardice of Sir 
 James Dornton had, however, decided other- 
 wise ; and it is still I who incur the penalty ; it 
 has been my .destiny through life to be made at 
 once the dupe and the victim of those about. 
 me, and I must be content to drain the bitter 
 draught to the very dregs. Do as I will, I can 
 secure neither affection nor friendship. I am 
 alone in my own misery." 
 
 My firmness began to forsake me, and, des- 
 pite all my efforts, I felt the scalding tears fall 
 upon my cheeks. Devereux was leaning upon 
 his arm, with his face concealed in his spread 
 hand ; and for a few minutes we both re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 " It was most cruel," he said at length ; 
 " thus to destroy the illusions on which you 
 had built up your happiness." 
 
 "My happiness !" I exclaimed reproachfully. 
 "The only happiness that I have ever known 
 has been based on hope — and that hope has 
 never once been realized." 
 
 " But who could have been so imprudent as 
 to give you this letter?' he asked, without ap- 
 pearing to have heard my last remark. 
 
 "A person who was unaware of its contents, 
 and who believed that they were calculated 
 rather to comfort than to agonize me. Listen 
 to me, Devereux," I continued, observing that 
 he had again sunk into silence ; "you shall have 
 all the details of this painful tragedy ; and then 
 tell me what hope remains for me in this life. I 
 am very young — I have never wilfully caused 
 pain or suffering to any being within the sphere 
 of my influence. Where I have erred it has 
 been through the prompting of others. Listen 
 to me, for I have much to tell." 
 
 I then briefly recapitulated all the circum- 
 stances which had taken place from the mo- 
 ment of our summons to Glenfillan, to the out 
 break of my husband on the preceding evening 
 only concealing the fact that his own name had 
 oeen introduced into the reproaches of Sir 
 James. As I told my tale, the words had fre- 
 quently been smothered by my sobs, and I saw 
 tlie tears of Devereux stream through his fin- 
 gers. Amid all my misery I felt a tlirill of joy 
 as I delected this proof of sympathy. It was 
 •o long since any one had felt for me ! He stdl' 
 remained in the same altiUide with his head 
 bowed down over the writing, but he had ceased 
 to turn the leaves. 
 
 " P(jor Adela!" I murmured, after awhile; 
 " even .she was not so wretched as I am, for she 
 had, at least, some one to pity and to advise 
 her." 
 
 "Your positions in life were different," he 
 
 replied sadly ; " many felt that they were free 
 
 , to pity tlie desolate and heart-stricken Miss 
 
 Tilden, who could not presume to affect com- 
 
 Y 
 
 passion for the gay, admired, and envied Lady 
 Dornton." 
 
 " Does the world indeed envy sur.h as I ami" 
 I exclaimed impalieiuly. " Do you also con- 
 sider me beyond the pale of sympathy and 
 help V 
 
 " I did so very lately ; but now all is changed ,• 
 and from my very heart I pity you." 
 
 As he ceased speaking he rose, and paced the 
 room with hurried and agitated steps. 
 
 " You may, indeed," I said, wringing my 
 hands; "I am beset on every side. There is 
 no escape for me — none. Every illusion is dis- 
 sipated ; the truth is before me in all its hideous 
 reality — I am unloved — abandoned by all who 
 should have clung to me — by all that could 
 have attached me to life — nor have I even the 
 consolation of feeling that Dornton was the 
 first to blight my happiness." 
 
 As these imprudent words escaped my lips, 
 Devereux suddenly paused, and riveted his 
 eyes upon me with an expression which went 
 to my very heart. There was reproach in them, 
 but it was a reproach so blent with happiness, 
 that my own fell before them. I felt my indis- 
 cretion when it was too late. 
 
 " Lady Dornton — Eveleen," he murmured, 
 as he approached me, and laid his hand upon 
 my arm; "I beseech y(ni to consider all the 
 import of your words. Can it be me whom you 
 would reproach 1 How, in what manner have I 
 deserved thisl" 
 
 "Leave me — leave me!" I gasped out; "I 
 am distracted by my grief, and can no longer 
 distinguish friends from foes." 
 
 " Not when I am beside you V he asked 
 deprecatingly ; " and yet I too have struggled, I 
 too have suffered ; and do you believe, Eveleen, 
 that you had no part in those struggles and in 
 that suffering 1" 
 
 I had .sunk upon the sofa, and buried my 
 face in my handkerchief, which he sought . 
 gently to remove. 
 
 "Only look at me," he continued tenderly; 
 "only whisper to me that you do not think so 
 harshly as you have led me to believe." 
 
 I was bewildered by agitation. The tones 
 of his voice brought back upon me the early 
 and happy period of our attachment. It was 
 long since I had heard th«se tones ; and now I 
 trembled beneath them as though they had been 
 fraught with bitterness. 
 
 " Leave me — leave me — " I again exclaimed ; 
 " I said I know not what — leave me, and for- 
 get it." 
 
 " Do not drive me away," he persisted in the 
 same low gentle accents ; " we have too long 
 misunderstood each other, and I have also my 
 tale of care to tell. Nay, do not withdraw your 
 hand ; are you not conversing with a friend — a 
 brother — to whom you have just poured out the 
 sorrows of your heart 1 Listen to me in your 
 turn. What has passed within the last few 
 moments has determmed me to speak. It will 
 be a trial to me to be frank, for I fear that I 
 may chance to wound you by my sincerity, but 
 you will at least learn to know me as I ana ; 
 and you can then decide in how far I am worthy 
 of your confidence. 
 
 " I imagine," he resumed with evident effort, 
 after a pause which I had made no effort to 
 break ; " that you cannot have forgotten our 
 
170 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRF.TTY WOMAN. 
 
 last interview at Rnoi<sley, when I failed to in- 
 di>ce you to pledge youiseif to me definitely. 
 Your terror and indecision betrayed only too 
 plainly how little I could rely upon your firm- 
 ness ; and I left you with despair in my heart, 
 for 1 felt that all hope was lost." 
 
 " Yet you might have made one more effort," 
 I murmured involuntarily. Devereux shook his 
 head sadly. 
 
 "Wherefore should I have done sol It 
 would have served only to torture both yourself 
 and me. Nor would letters have availed me, 
 even had I ventured to risk them ; for where 
 my presence and my entreaties had alike failed, 
 a colder medium of intercourse could have ef- 
 fected no favorable result. I learnt your depar- 
 ture from Rooksley and the sensation %vhich 
 you produced in town. Erelong rumors reach- 
 ed me of the assiduities of Sir James Dornton, 
 of whose pecuniary involvements I was aware, 
 as well as of his tact in Influencing the mind of 
 Lady iMatlelaine by his flatteries. Next came 
 the news of your marriage, which had taken 
 place before either your mother or your hus- 
 band deemed it expedient to make it public ; 
 and I shall not attempt to tell you the feeling 
 with which I learnt it. I believed at that mo- 
 ment that I might defy the future to inflict an- 
 other pang as poignant ; but I did not know the 
 future. The human heart has a frightful elas- 
 ticity in suffering — it expands to receive it, 
 whatever may be the shape in which it present 
 itself: and new faculties appear to be created 
 for endurance. I learned this truth when 1 
 heard that you were on a bed of sickness, and 
 probably of death. 
 
 " I believed, and I had a ri-ght to believe, that 
 the compulsion under which you had acted, was 
 the sole cause of the danger to which your life 
 was exposed ; nor can you picture to yourself 
 how dear you were to me while that belief ex- 
 isted. How often did I not pray that you 
 might submit more calmly to a fatal necessity, 
 and so preserve an existence which was to me 
 more precious than it had ever been, although I 
 could no longer hope to ensure its happiness. 
 And here, at least, Eveleen, my prayers were 
 both heard and answered. I have never re- 
 gretted that I uttered them ; but I have since 
 learnt to feel that the falsehood of those whom 
 we have loved, is worse, far worse than 
 death." 
 
 " Devereux !" 
 
 " You were forewarned of my intended frank- 
 uess," he pursued ; " nor do I fear but you will 
 pardon it. I was, then, in this wretched frame 
 of mind wiien I received a letter from Otter- 
 ford, who, with the consent of your mother, in- 
 vited me to Rooksley. Fearing, and yet anx- 
 ious to see you, and thus judge by my own ob- 
 servation of the actual state of your feelings, I 
 decided uj)on obeying the summons, altlioui;h I 
 was more than once on the point of declining 
 the trial, for which I felt each hour less compe- 
 tent. I went, however, — I found yon more 
 beautiful than ever ; and for awhile I pleased 
 myself with the belief that you had not met me 
 without emotion ; but before the close of the 
 evening I despised myself for my fatuity. 
 Never had I seen you in such brilliant, such 
 overpowering spirits. Never had I seen you so 
 boldly cliuileuge the admiration which no one 
 
 appeared anxious to withhold. Your coUines* 
 to Dornton was so extreme that it wore the ap- 
 pearance of a mere heartless coquetry, iinwoi^- 
 thy of the woman whom I had so long woi^ 
 shipcd in my inmost heart ; and I resolved not 
 to spend a second night under the roof that 
 sheltered you. The morning still found me 
 firm in that tietermination ; for I had not slepl 
 throughout the night, Eveleen, I had not even 
 striven to sleep. The altar upon which I had 
 enshrined my idol was overthrown, and I 
 mourned over the scattered remnants of my 
 last illusion If I returned on the morrow it 
 was only because your husband, who had deci- 
 ded upon not leaving me for an instant, alarmed 
 me by his jests, and piqued my self-love by 
 some of those trivial but comprehensive witti- 
 cisms before which the firmest quail at times. 
 
 " I was not long in making the discovery that 
 the passion of Dornton was merely acted ; that 
 you felt its hollowness ; and that wounded pride 
 would soon restore your heart to me ; but the 
 same self-esteem which had prevented my utter- 
 i:.g one reproach upon your infidelity, also tauglU 
 me to reject so questionable a benefit. A wo- 
 man for whom I had felt a mere passing passion 
 would not, perhaps, have found me proof against 
 such a teiTiptation, but with you I scorned so 
 poor a triumph. The renewal of your passion 
 for me must be the mere result of the neglect 
 of Dornton, or of your love for change : and 
 these were not motives which could satisfy an ! 
 affection like that which I had vowed to you. I 
 
 " I have now confessed to you the true rea- I 
 sons of my estrangement ; I will neither seek j 
 to excuse, nor to justify them ; for however est- | 
 traordinary or unnatural they may appear, they I 
 have sprung entirely from the one ruling princi j 
 pleof my life." 
 
 Never had I felt so utterly humbled as I was ! 
 during the time that Devereux had been speak- ! 
 ing. How contemptible a picture had he, as il ! 
 involuntarily, drawn of myself! How had he 
 turned back my thoughts upon all the inconsis- 
 tencies and errors of the past ! And, above all, 
 how had he abstained from the bitterness and 
 reproach which I had only too well merited. 
 Nevertheless, I endeavored to justify myself; 
 and forgetting my agitation in my anxiety to re- 
 deem myself in his good opinion, 1 undertook 
 my exculpation with all the warmth which 
 usually accompanies a bad cause ; and attempt- 
 ed to found it upon all that I had suffered to re- 
 deem my promise to liimself 
 
 " Lady Dornton," he said gravely, as if pained 
 by the weakness of my arguments ; " I never 
 believed that you had consented to make me 
 miserable, witliout an effort to prevent it ; but 
 tlie more energy you had displayed to remain 
 true to your first affection, the more inexplica- 
 ble was the prompt adhesion of your heart tt) 
 your new engagements. The little study which 
 i had made of your sex, the reproaches which I 
 had heard lavished upon it, and my own experi- 
 ence, would, at that moment, have led me to be- 
 lieve that Women were incapable of firmness or 
 fidelity, had not the unhappy (ate of Miss Tilden 
 convinced me that they can exert both wheie 
 they really love." 
 
 Despite my freshly-awakened affection far 
 Devereux, I resented the contras which he had 
 drawn ; and somewhat haughtily expatiated ; , 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 171 
 
 upon tho enforced duties which rendered all in- 
 dulgeni-e of luy past altaehiuent a crime, while I 
 claimed (or myself a virtue of which I knew 
 little more than the name. 
 
 " You are not frank, Lady Dornton," said 
 Devercux ; " fine phrases may pass with the 
 world, which contents itself with seeming, and 
 rarely looks beneath the surface ; but remem- 
 ber that I have loved you — have read your very 
 heart — and understand all the intricacies of 
 your character. Let us be sincere, at least to 
 each other. Had duly prompted your actions, 
 painful as might have been the experience, I 
 should have respected the severity of your prin- 
 ciptes, and submitted without a murmur to the 
 coldness which they induced : but I felt too 
 much interest in their analysis to deceive my- 
 self \ ou loved Dornton for a time without 
 caring to inquire too curiously the cause of your 
 sudden passion. You ceased to love him, when 
 he liad piqued your pride by his neglect and eg- 
 otisW, witli the same uncalculating facdity ; and 
 once more your feelings welled back again to- 
 ward your first afTection by the mere strength of 
 habit—"' 
 
 "I will hear no more!" I exclaimed indig- 
 nantly ; '' again I say, leave me. Colonel Dev- 
 ereux ; I wasal ready suffioiently miserable ; 
 do not continue to add insult to my other 
 wrongs.' 
 
 " I^ady Dornton, you do me injustice — " 
 
 " Be it so ; suffer me then to remain in my 
 error. It was left for you to convince me that 
 I had no longer a friend on earth. Be satis- 
 fied ; you have performed your mission fully 
 and unsparingly. And now, jet us meet no 
 more." 
 
 " Let us meet no more !" echoed Devereux 
 in an accent of anguish ; " Eveleen — in what a 
 tone, with what a look do you pronounce the 
 sentence." 
 
 " With a look and tone which best express 
 my feeling. Colonel Devereux ; with the decis- 
 1 ion that is induced by the indignities with 
 I which you have just overwhelmed me." 
 
 " And it is those very indignities which 
 : should have proved to you the extent, the ex- 
 acting claims, the jealous scrutiny of my pas- 
 sion," he replied scornfully ; " I have uttered 
 harsh words, I know it ; but there are still 
 harsher thoughts within my breast — for my 
 heart was full. It was impossible for me to 
 give vent to my pent-up feelings without per- 
 mitting their bitterness to overflow my lips ; 
 outraged affection is never gentle in its lan- 
 guage — smooth phrases were made for hypo- 
 crites — truth cares not to round its periods — 
 Eveleen ! I have wounded you — you whom I 
 would die to shield from even temporary suffer- 
 ing." 
 
 " Colonel Devereux, this inconsistency — " 
 I "Is weak and contemptible — I know it ; but 
 1 mn I to blame if my passion is stronger than 
 my reason 1 Is it nothing, Eveleen, to inspire 
 a love in which all other feelings and interests 
 are eithor absorbed or stifled ] Is it nothing to 
 see a man who had vowed to forget — to detest 
 — and to despise you — at your feet and at your 
 mercy 1 Oh, Eveleen, if indeed you ever loved 
 me, let me once more hear you make me the 
 acknowledgment, and I shall almost cease to 
 remember my past wretchedness." 
 
 " You forget that such words from my lipa 
 would now be sinful." 
 
 " And have I not sinned for you 1 Have I 
 not cursed during the night-watches the authors 
 of our disunion 1 Have 1 not encouraged a tliou- 
 sandimpioushopes, aihousandevilwishes > And 
 am I, even in this, to be the only victim!" 
 
 Devereux had flung himself at my feet, he 
 grasped my hands : his very existence seemed 
 to hang upon my reply. And he was the only 
 man whom I had ever really loved. Upon his 
 brow, and in his eyes, I read all the memory of the 
 happy past, when hope was bright befoie me. I 
 had believed him to be estranged ; and there I 
 .saw him, more tender, more devoted, more en- 
 slaved than ever. I thought only of him. My 
 mother, my husband, tiie whole world were for- 
 gotten. 
 
 " Herbert !" I murmnred, as my tears fell 
 upon the hands which grasped my own. 
 
 "Eveleen!" he whispered, as he bent his 
 head yet lower, until his forehead rested upon 
 them. " My own Eveleen, once lost, hut found 
 again!" 
 
 And then there was a deep unbroken silence; 
 yet strange to say, as I sat there with my hands 
 clasped in his, and his head bowed down upon 
 my knees, I felt no sense of error ; all was 
 peace and calm ; I was like a child which has 
 wept the absence of a mother, and then sinks to 
 rest upon her protecting bosom. I was, however, 
 awakened to reflection by the first movement of 
 my lover ; as he at length raised his head, our 
 eyes met, and I felt the scorching blush ot 
 shame spread over my brow and bosom. 
 
 " Rise !" I exclaimed hurriedly, in an accent 
 of dismay ; " rise, Devereux, if you really still 
 respect me. This is no posture to assume b^ 
 fore the wife of Sir James Dornton." 
 
 " It is precisely because I do respect you, 
 Eveleen, that I do not obey," he replied reso- 
 lutely ; " not as the wife of Sir James Dornton, 
 that invocation is idle — you are but his victim — 
 but for your own sake. You have borne much 
 from me to-day ; be forbearing still. What 
 can you fear from me I Have I not loved you 
 from your very girlhood ] Was I not the first 
 to read in your young heart, and to awaken it to 
 life I Were you not morally mine, before you 
 were sacrificed to expediency and convenience^ 
 All that has since occurred has been the effect 
 of chance; and we are no longer children to 
 believe that the heart can be trammeled like the 
 hand, and be bestowed at the bidding of another. 
 Eveleen ! only whisper once that I am still dear 
 to you." 
 
 I could not; but I was equally unable to 
 withstand the appealing eyes which were earn- 
 estly riveted upon me ; and gently withdraw- 
 ing my hands from the clasp in which they were 
 still held, I parted tlie hair upon his brow, and 
 bending down, I pressed my lips upon it for an 
 instant. The elfect of that unguarded action 
 convinced me of the gravity of the fault which 
 I had committed. Devereux sprang from the 
 floor as if electrified. " I have not then lived 
 in vain I" he exclaimed ardently; "Eveleen, 
 you are still mine ; and no power on earth shall 
 again part us." 
 
 Terror and remorse restored mc at once to 
 composure aiul to prudence. " Devercux," I 
 said beseechingly, "have pity upon me — upon 
 
172 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 J lurself— you have tried me beyond my strength, 
 and you liad not to learn to-day the weakness 
 d{ my nature. I have no friend, no adviser 
 on earth, if you forsal<e me — if you put me be- 
 yond the pale of your own sympathy. Consider 
 my posii ion — remen)ber my youth — do not teach 
 ie to hale myself, and to fear even you." My 
 nead sank upon my bosom ; and when he seated 
 himself beside me, a-nd clasped me to his breast 
 in silence, I only wept, for I had lost the power 
 to resist. 
 
 " Is this generous V I at length sobbed out. 
 
 " Forgive me, Eveleen ;" he said sadly : 
 " forgive me. I should, indeed, have remem- 
 bered all this. Forget the madness of a mo- 
 ment, aad restore me to your confidence— to 
 your friendship — to your heart. I am alone to 
 blame — and yet — Eveleen — Eveleen — why have 
 we thus been fated to one common misery 1" 
 
 The hand upon which his head had firooped 
 trembled beneath its burthen ; his quivering lips 
 were whiie, and his whole frame shook with 
 emotion. 
 
 " I i«o am culpable," I murmured gaspingly : 
 •' I should not have forgotten what was due to 
 .nyself, and to the name I bear." 
 
 As I spoke a fresh cause for anxiety awoke 
 within me. Upon the arrival of Devereux I 
 had pleaded fatigue as a pretext for shutting out 
 all other visitors, and I saw with dismay, on 
 Chancing to cast my eyes upon the lime-piece, 
 Uiat several hours had elapsed since his en- 
 trance. A dread of the effects of this impru- 
 dence turned me sick at heart: I directed his 
 attention to the fact, but he treated my fears as 
 chimerical, and strove to persuade me that it 
 would pass unremarked. I was, however, so 
 conscious that this hope was vain, and my agi- 
 tation became in consequence so violent, that 
 he was soon convinced of the inutility of his ef- 
 forts : and at length he reluctantly consented to 
 depart, in pity to my terror. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 Devereux had scarcely left the house when 
 Josephine entered my room unbidden. It was 
 the first time that she had ventured upon such 
 an intrusion, and even agitated as I was, I 
 should have rebuked her for the liberty which 
 she was then taking, had she not at once ad- 
 dressed me in a tone of half-confidence, to 
 communicate the fact that Sir James had re- 
 turned home two hours previously, and had 
 been about to proceed to my dressing-room, 
 when, on seeing her in the antechamber, he 
 had inquired if I were alone, to which she had 
 replied by informing him that I was in my 
 morning-room with Colonel Devereux. 
 
 " And what prevented Sir James from seek- 
 ing me there 1" I asked, as calmly as I was 
 able. 
 
 " I cannot inform miladi ; Sir James looked 
 Burpri-sed, perhaps a little angry ; then he 
 walked lowards miladi's room ; and then he 
 turned back to his own, telling me to let him 
 know when Colonel Devereux left." 
 
 "And have you done sol" 
 
 Josephine shook her head significantly : " I 
 take no orders but from miladi, who might be 
 fatigued and wish to rest a little after her long 
 Tisit." 
 
 Alarmed alike by what I heard, and by what 
 I saw, I desired that Sir James might he im- 
 mediately informed that I was at my toilet, and 
 would join him at the second dinner-bell ; and 
 then abandoning myself to the hands of Jos^ 
 phine, I fell into a painful train of thought. Ak 
 my courage had departed with Devereux, and 
 I trembled as I sat ; the very looks and motions 
 of my attendant inspired me with terror ; she 
 evidently suspected a mystery ; and what could 
 she suspect that was not calculated to degrade 
 me in my own eyes ! 
 
 Had I been actually, as well as morally guit 
 ty, it is probable that the very extremity of my 
 situation would have inspired me with factitious 
 courage, or have rendered me sufficiently caU 
 lous to brave its results ; but as it was, I 
 shrank before every breath. I dreaded to meet 
 the looks of the footmen during dinner, for li«w 
 knew I of what comments I had been made 
 the subject! I shuddered as I thought of my 
 mother — of my coming tete-a-tele with mjWius- 
 band — but beyond all other suffering was the 
 dread that I had forfeited all claim to the re*, 
 pect of Devereux. 
 
 There, indeed, the iron had entered into my 
 heart I In the enthusiasm and emotion of the 
 moment, alive only to his passion, he had been 
 all tenderness — all adoration — but when the 
 effervescence of feeling had once subsided, how 
 would he look back upon that morning's inter- 
 view 1 When my beauty was no longer present 
 to delude him — my tears to unman him — would 
 he not forget all, save my weak and culpable 
 neglect of my duties as a woman and a wife! 
 Had I not been sufficiently forewarned by the 
 scorn with which I had heard him speak of 
 those who had forfeited their position in soci- 
 ety 1 and, although in the eyes of the world I 
 had lost nothing of my purity, I was but too 
 well aware how conscious he himself must be 
 that I had sinned in heart. It is true that he 
 had been alike to blame ; but I had not now to 
 learn the impunity of his sex in all that relates 
 to passion. While he could crush me to the 
 earth with his disdain, he could stand proudly 
 erect, and defy my utmost efforts to bow his head 
 even for an instant. How bitterly I felt at this 
 moment, when the reflection came too late, the 
 utter madness of the woman who thus voluiv 
 teers her own tortures. How my spirit yearn- 
 ed to recall the past — and alas I how vainly. I 
 fancied that when I had once more met him, I 
 should be more calm ; yet the thought of that 
 meeting came over me like a death-pang. 
 What had to him, perhaps, been the mere pass- 
 ing adventure of an hour, might be to me a life- 
 long memory of bitterness. He knew my weak- 
 ness, and henceforward I was at his mercy. 
 
 After a time I began to search at least a par- 
 tial remedy for the fatal imprudence of which I 
 had been guilty. My heart still yearnf^d toward 
 him with irrepressible affection, but I resolved 
 to stifle its every throb, in order to reinstate 
 myself in his opinion. I determined to be pru- 
 dent, jealous of every word and action, to avoid 
 every occasion of being alone with him, to girdi 
 myself about with caution and reserve; in 
 short, to prove to him that the error of an in- 
 stant would exert no baneful influence over the 
 future. 
 
 Full of this resolve, I descended to dinner 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTiT WOMAN. 
 
 173 
 
 with more composure than I had hoped to ex- 
 hibit. Tlie second bell had rung, and there 
 was barely time lor me to receive and return 
 the gieeting of my husband before we seated 
 tnirsflves at table. 
 
 Although the presence of the servants pre- 
 vented all conversation, save those common- 
 place remarks and courtesies incident to the 
 meal, I was at no loss to discover the preoccu- 
 pation of Sir James. There was a mocking 
 emile upon his lips which made me quiver ; and 
 his comnienls upon my loss of appetite added 
 to the agitation which I struggled painfully to 
 suppress. I had lost my vantage ground even 
 with him. 
 
 At length the dinner ended ; and contrary to 
 his usual custom, Dornton left the table at the 
 same time as myself. I was not prepared for 
 this. The quiet hour upon which 1 l»d calcu- 
 lated to restore me to at least a semblance 
 of composure, was thus denied to me, and I 
 felt that I must at once bow my head beneath 
 the coming avalanche. 
 
 "Are you aware. Lady Dornton," he abrupt- 
 ly asked, as the servants withdrew and closed 
 the door beliind them ; " that I have been at 
 home for several hours 1" 
 
 " Joseiihine informed me that such was the 
 case," I replied in tones which I strove to 
 render indifferent. 
 
 " And did she also tell you, may I inquire, 
 hat 1 was about to visit you on my return to 
 the house 1" 
 
 " 1 think that she did mention something of 
 the kind, but^ said that you subsequently 
 clianged your luind." 
 
 " She doubtlessly added to her other informa- 
 tion that 1 incuired whether you were alone .'" 
 I " She did, and I presumed that this novel 
 I observance was consequent upon our last con- 
 , versation.'' 
 
 j " By no means. I have sufficient knowledge 
 I of the world to be aware that the sudden appa- 
 j rition of a husband may be at times importu- 
 1 nate." 
 
 i " 1 am obliged to you for your considera- 
 i tion." 
 
 1 "I accept your thanks willingly, for upon 
 this occasion I can have no doubt of their sin- 
 cerity." 
 I made no reply. 
 
 "To-day, for instance," he pursued in the 
 I same accent of assumed deference ; " I should 
 i have been extremely ill-advised to intrude upon 
 la tcLc-a-ietc. which, judging from its duration, 
 jmust have been eminently interesting." 
 
 " You were perfectly free to act as you saw 
 1 fit. The subject discussed by Colonel Dever- 
 eux and myself was one to which you are no 
 I stranger." 
 
 I "i understand. Lady Dornton; you were 
 I confiding to your early friend all the events 
 ; which have occurred in the family. The ar- 
 irangemnit does inlinile credit to the respect 
 ! which you evince toward those to whom you 
 lare bound by the ties of relationship and — 
 iduty." 
 
 j " Your susceptibility is misplaced," I an- 
 IBwered calmly; "Colonel Devereux was ac- 
 jquainted with the melancholy affair in all its 
 details." 
 I " Ha. indeed ! his connection with the fam- 
 
 ily is more intimate than I had hitherto ho- 
 lieved. The subject must, in that case, huvii 
 been skillully anatomized during u discussion 
 of upwards of three hours, but 1 readily enter 
 into Its several ramifications. The supposed 
 wrongs of your sister naturally led, by an easy 
 transition, to your own ; and 1 had to be tried, 
 condemned, and executed before you parted. 
 Fortunately, Lady Dornton, I hold such a tribu- 
 nal lightly; while Iain rather inclined to fear that 
 it may be attended with more serious results to 
 yourself. Do you consider the proceeding of 
 this morning calculated to insure you an in- 
 creased degree of respect 1 Be assured that not 
 even a French waiting- woman, mounting guard 
 in your antechamber, can shut out curious 
 eyes, or quiet slanderous tongues. There is 
 not a lackey in the servants' hall who could not 
 tell you to a second at what time Colonel Dev- 
 ereux was admitted, and at what time he left 
 the house ; and who will not consider himself 
 at perfect liberty to draw his own inferences 
 from such a visit." 
 
 "Inferences!" I exclaimed angrily; "and 
 pray. Sir James, of what Inferences will it ad- 
 mit !" 
 
 " The question is ingenuous ! Do you imag- 
 ine that I am myself the dupe of your having 
 passed nearly four hours alone with Colonel 
 Devereux in sighing over the moral suicide of 
 a wrong-headed girll And I believe that you 
 have advanced no other pretext for this extra- 
 ordinary privy council." 
 
 After my indignant exasperation of the pre- 
 vious evening, nothing could be more ill-judged 
 than a tame concession at the present moment. 
 The terms on which I had parted from my 
 husband gave him, moreover, no right to ex- 
 pect consideration at my hands ; but I was no 
 longer conscience-clear ; I was accused by my 
 own heart, and my own reason ; and, as a 
 natural consequence, I gave way to a coward- 
 ice which prompted me to temporize. I there- 
 fore affected to be convinced by the reasoning 
 of Dornton, and declared myself awakened to a 
 conviction of my imprudence. I admitted my 
 error without bitterness ; but excused it upon 
 the plea that Devereux was acquainted with 
 the whole of my sister's unhappy story, and 
 that I consequently felt I might, uilhout indis- 
 cretion, talk of her to him without reserve. 
 
 " Perhaps," I said in conclusion, '• I sliould 
 have acted more prudently had I deferred this 
 conversation for a time ; but in the freshness 
 of my grief, and confident in the innocence of 
 my own motives, I have blindly subjected my- 
 self to miscon.-.truction." 
 
 " Blindly !" repeated Dornton, as he elevated 
 his eyebrows ironically ; " that is the version 
 of the affair which you are pleased to offer to 
 my acceptance ; but you wrong yourself, no- 
 thing could be more clear-sighted. There are 
 so lew tears, be the sorrow what it may, which 
 a lover's hand cannot wipe away." , 
 
 " A lover. Sir James V 
 
 " Yes, Lady Dornton ; why should you startle 
 at the truth \ Do you. by tins show of virtuous* 
 indignation, wish me to understand that Dev- 
 ereux listened lo J.', your lamentations, with- 
 out exacting any recompense loi ;.:- naliencel 
 That would indeed be a new role for a young 
 guardsman in tne first harvest of his triumphs . 
 
174 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 In short, I do not attempt to demand an ex- 
 planation of your proceedings, but I beg you to 
 be assured that 1 am, m no respect, your dupe." 
 
 Tlie words of Dornton were like barbed ar- 
 rows, which, without being mortal, neverthe- 
 less wounded me on every side ; I could bear 
 no more ; 1 hu-st into an agony of tears. ' 
 
 •' Are you not yet weary of overwhelming 
 me wiih insult I" I asked bitterly, "have you 
 nothing more to add which may prove equally 
 offensive lo my pride, and painful to my feel- 
 ings !" 
 
 '• I have this to add, Lady Dornton, that I 
 request you to call to remembrance the whole- 
 some advice which gave I you only yesterday ; 
 advice which you received in no very tranquil 
 spirit, but which you have already shown to be 
 by no means unnecessary. You have made so 
 rapid a commencement in your career, that 
 you W'ould evidently go further than even I 
 suspected, were you to remain unchecked; but, 
 as I have no inclination to hear you quoted as 
 one of those witless women who seem created 
 only to afford a subject lor tiie idle and the 
 vicious, I forewarn yon that I still retain the 
 authority of a husband, and that I shall be by 
 no means slow to use it." 
 
 As he ceased speaking he rang, and ordered 
 his carriage ; and then once more turning to- 
 ward mc, he said coldly : — 
 
 " I will now rid you of my presence, Lady 
 Dornton. Two interviews of unmeasured du- 
 ration in one day might prove too trying lor 
 your nerves. I was merely anxious that you 
 should comprehend your true position ; and we 
 will waste no more words upon so ungracious a 
 subject." 
 
 Then bowing sarcastically, he rose and left 
 the room. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 I WAS no sooner alone, than my thoughts re- 
 verted to Dcvcreux, and as I recalled my own 
 words and actions of ttie morning, all my terror 
 returned upon me. I was already suffering the 
 bitter and humiliating penalty of my impru- 
 dence. The impertinence of Josephine, which 
 I dared not resent, and the taunts of my hus- 
 band, which I could not refute, were the first 
 fruits of my fault. As regarded Devereux him 
 self, I fell the absolute necessity of immediate 
 ly ascertaining my exact position. The few 
 hours which had already elapsed since our 
 meeting must have aflordcd time for re.lection 
 even lo him ; and I i)anled to be infurined of 
 its effect. The dilBculiy was how to accom- 
 plish this. 
 
 Even had I possessed a friend upon whose 
 caution 1 could'rely, it would have been impos- 
 sible lo admit a third person into such a con- 
 fidence. Nothing, iherelore, remained save 
 another interview, or a written correspondence. 
 The formiJr aUcrnalive was too hazardous un- 
 der prc^sent circumstances ; and I conseciuenlly 
 decided u|)on a letter. Having come to a de- 
 termii ation on this point, I lost no lime in 
 pulling il into execution ; but, seating myself at 
 once at my writing-table, prepared to pen the 
 knter which was lo decide my future conduct. 
 The task was by no means eilher an easy or a 
 vleasant one ; for here again luy conscience 
 
 rose up in judgment against me, and held my 
 ideas in check. The natural result ensued ; my 
 style and manner were alike constrained, and 
 the very effort which I made to disguise the 
 fact, gave an artificial and studied appearance 
 to the communication. I had alike to excuse 
 myself, and lo conciliate Devereux — u admit 
 my imprudence, and to make it appear a vinue 
 in his eyes; — ai)ove all, it was necessary to 
 convince him that my first error was lo be my 
 last ; and lo appeal to his honor and generosity 
 to assi.-it me in my resolve. I implored him 
 henceforward to consider himself only as a 
 friend — an esteemed and dear friend — who 
 could never be more lo me in this life ; and I 
 concluded by reminding him that I should esti- 
 mate his respect and regard for me, in propor- 
 tion lo his obedience upon this point. 
 
 I was Bol altogether satisfied with myself as I 
 closed the letter, but still it was sufficiently dig- 
 nified to carry with it the aspect of sincerity 
 wliich I was anxious it should bear, Devereux, I 
 moreover reflected, must be aware of the agi- 
 tated feelings under which it was wrillen ; and 
 would iherelVire be more inclined to approve than 
 lo criticise my lardy endeavor to act prudently. 
 
 This done, I became more calm. His reply 
 would necessary reveal to me the estimation in 
 wliich he held alike my request and my reputa- 
 tion ; and 1 endeavored to banish Ihe subject 
 from my mind until il arrived. 
 
 Another day had gone by without, a word 
 from my mother; but a hurried note from Lord 
 Oiterford had informed me that, bis mournfu 
 duly performed, he had left Lady O'Halloran iri 
 safely under the roof of herson, and had himsel; 
 returned lo town. Adela, he said, had request; 
 ed that an ample provision might be secured U 
 Lady Flora for her life, an arrangement to whicl 
 ho lelt convinced I should at once cheerfull; 
 accede ; and the rather as from the fact of m; 
 sister having died in ht-r minority. I had hecomi 
 sole heiress lo my father's wealth, as well a 
 the remainder of Lady Madelaine's jointurf 
 He alluded also lo the lease of Glenfillan, whic 
 was at my disposal ; and where, he added. Lad 
 Flora wished to reside, until I should see fil t 
 give it another tenant. 
 
 All these details interested me but little, 
 replied brieliy ibatl left everything in his hand; 
 and should be ready to subscribe to any arrange 
 nienis wliich he might deem advisable. I li;i 
 already suffered so bitterly from the posscssio 
 of wealth, thai its increase rather alarmed iha 
 gratified me. There was, moreover, somelhii 
 saddening in the conviction that all was, indet' 
 now over with the unlia|)py Adela ; she was i 
 longer upon earth ; they had laid her at the fc 
 of her maternal grandfather, who little dreamt 
 when he bartered his favorite child for gol 
 how soon one of his victims would mould' 
 within a loot of his own bier ! 
 
 On the Ibllowing da'y my mollrcr made h 
 appearance, clad in deep sables, but with lilt 
 of the mourner in her look and mannei H 
 husband, on the contrary, was visibly depres 
 ed; the broken heart which he had just follo> 
 ed to the grave had probably reminded him 
 another, in which he had more share. , 
 
 Her first inqikiy was for Sir James, ot who 
 movements I could give her no informatii 
 Her next related lo the contents of the packi' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 17i» 
 
 of which Lady O'Halloran had informed Lord 
 Ottcrford. " If it contained a will," she said 
 coldly; "you are of course aware thatit is a 
 mere mockery, as your sister died a minor, and 
 had consequently no control over her property ; 
 while any request which she may have made 
 is m no way binding, as her whole career has 
 proved her perfect inability to judge rightly 
 upon any subject." 
 
 " Her letter made no mention whatever of 
 money matters," I answered ; " had it done so, 
 I should at least haTe had the gratification of 
 fulfilling her last wishes." 
 
 Lady Madelaine shrugged her shoulders, but 
 could not entirely conceal her uneasiness. " It 
 is at least satisfactory," she resumed, " that she 
 did not leave tlte earth as thoroughly estranged 
 from all her family as she had lived, siace she 
 favored you with so voluminous a confidence in 
 dying." 
 
 " In one respect," I answered, as I struggled 
 10 su[)press the agitation which was gaining 
 upon me ; " it is, indeed, satisfactory, for I at 
 .ength know my actual position, to which I was 
 before worse than blind. I am forewarned for 
 the future." 
 
 " That Adela had bequeathed to you some 
 sentimental folly which had not tended to render 
 you more docile or more rational, has already 
 been hinted to me by your husband," said Lady 
 Madelaine unguardedly. 
 
 "If you allude to a communication made by 
 Sir James Dornton, madam," I interposed reso- 
 lutely ; " it is needless for me to enter into 
 any further explanation, except that I no lo-nger 
 recognize that individual as my husband." 
 I Lady Madelaine bounded upon her seat. 
 
 "My dear Eveleen," said Lord Otterford, af- 
 i fectionately taking my hand, " do nothing rash- 
 i ly. You know not — you cannot guess the trials 
 and dangers to which so young a person as 
 i yourself must be exposed, should you be so 
 , unguarded as to make the misjudged confidence 
 I of your sister the subject of a rupture wiih 
 . Dornton. Should your after-life be as pure as 
 j heaven, it would, nevertheless, be embittered 
 j by a thousand pangs." 
 
 " I am so conscious of it, my lord, that I have 
 
 already tacitly consented to the proposition of 
 
 Sir James that we should mutually avoid all 
 
 . public scandal ; more than that he did not see 
 
 ; fit to exact ; and he was wise, or I should prob- 
 
 , ably have conceded nothing." 
 
 " You have acted prudently. Lady Dornton," 
 , observed my mother, with an expression which 
 1 I could not mistake. 
 
 ■ " Yet still it would be advisable," persisted 
 1 Lord Otterford, " if this unfortunate affair could 
 i be forgiven and forgotten. You are very young, 
 Eveleen, and should you maintain your present 
 i resolution, a long life of disquiet and disgust is 
 befv)re you. You can never feel the happiness 
 ;of liume, the delight of a full and free com- 
 , panionship with the man to whom you have 
 I given yourself" 
 
 , " Say, rather, my lord, to whom I have been 
 j given." 
 
 j " Remember, too," he pursued, affecting not 
 ' to have heard my interpolation, " that Sir James 
 |is a man of fashion, courted and caressed wher- 
 ever he appears. Are you wise thus to risk 
 sliU yrcd'er trials 1" 
 
 " Your meaning is a kind one, I am con* 
 vinced," I said, composedly ; " but Sir Jame» 
 Dornton is in every respect his own master, 
 and need apprehend no interference from me. 
 Whatever may tend to promote his absence 
 from a home for whi(;h he is indebted to my 
 fortune, and for which he has made so manly 
 and honorable a return, I shall always hail with 
 delight. Your fears are, however, I suspect, 
 groundless; my most dangerous rival'will be 
 the d'ce-box ; and, moreover, I love to believe 
 that no man can at once forget the victim whom 
 his own perfidy has destroyed." 
 
 The words liad scarcely passed my lips ere 
 I upbraided myself for their utterance. Their 
 effect was painful ; and the stab must have been 
 the keener from the consciousness of the suf- 
 ferer that the hand which dealt it knew where 
 the wound would be vital. Lord Otterford was 
 silenced. I had rewarded him cruelly for his 
 well-meant interference ; bat, embittered as I 
 was by my recent trials, I regarded him only as 
 the tool of his wife, and was anxious to rid 
 myself at once of a new opponent. I was con- 
 firmed in this belief by the silence in which 
 Lady Madelaine had listened to our dialogue. 
 She was evidently aware that her own power 
 over me was shaken, and wished to try the 
 effect of her husband's more conciliating argu- 
 ments. 
 
 " You are, then, resolved to assume the he- 
 roine, Lady Dornton," she said, as she remark- 
 ed that Lord Otterford had, incomprehensibly 
 to her, withdrawn from the combat ; " in an- 
 other week you will be the laughing-stock of all 
 London." 
 
 I smiled sarcastically. 
 
 "And if this prospect do not deter yoii," she 
 pursued, with rising anger, " understand at once 
 that I will never consent to a course of such 
 egregious folly." 
 
 "The same bequest which exonerated me 
 from all supposed duty to my husband freed me 
 equally from all enforced obedience to your 
 ladyship. The hand of Mis-s Tilden was bar- 
 tered at your pleasure — bandied from duke to 
 commoner — resumed, and again bestowed as it 
 suited your convenience; but the dignity (K 
 Lady Dornton is beyond your reach — exempt 
 from your control. 1 acknowledge no right ol 
 mterference between myself and the man to 
 whom you married me." 
 
 Lady Madelaine rose. A red spot had mount- 
 ed to her cheek, and seemed to burn there. 
 Her eyes flashed with anger. " Beware, Lady 
 Dornton I" she exclaimed, as she turned to 
 leave the room: "you are not sufficiently im- 
 maculate to take so high a stand without risk- 
 ing a fall." 
 
 As Lord Otterford prepared to follow her, I 
 extended my hand, but he shrank back. " For- 
 give me !" I murmured pleadingly. 
 
 He glanced toward the door through which 
 my mother had just disappeared, an-d tjien seiz- 
 ing my hand, he wrung it earnestly as he whis- 
 pered, " I do — I do forgive you, though it wa3 
 cruel, Eveleen, very cruel. Heaven help you, 
 my poor girl ; your lot is a bitter one." And 
 in another moment he, too, was gone. 
 
 I was buried in a maze of gloomy thought 
 when Josephine once more suddenly stood be- 
 fore me, and extended towards me a salvet 
 
176 
 
 CONCESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 lipon which lay a letter. My heart beat vio- 
 lently, and for an instant I felt unable to 
 take'it. 
 
 " I thought miladi would never be alone," 
 said the soubrette, as I at lengtii put forth my 
 trembling hand. " .More than an hour I have 
 waited with thio maudite lettrc ; and my lady is 
 so abattue and Iristc in her mourning dress !" 
 
 "Josephine," I asked, "from whom did you 
 receive 'this letter T' 
 
 " Mdadi must not be angry," said the French- 
 woman, with affected humility ; " but I watch- 
 ed for the valet of Monsieur le Colonel, to bring 
 it myself to miladi." 
 
 •' And how knew you," T again inquired with 
 difficulty, for my heart throbbed with such vio- 
 lence that it almost choked my words — " how 
 could you know that Colonel Devereux was 
 about to write I" 
 
 •'Miladi forgets that she did not leave her 
 letter upon the table d son ordmaire, but com- 
 manded me to see that it was delivered safe. 
 I did as miladi bid me. I took it where it was 
 sent, and then I waited for the answer, that it 
 might come safely too." 
 
 I could find no fitting reply to so circumstan- 
 tial a rejoinder, and therefore made a gesture 
 Uiat my too intelligent attendant should leave 
 the room, which she did with the same affected 
 caution as she had entered. 
 
 The letter was, indeed, from Devereux, and 
 I trembled with impatience as I tore it open, 
 [t afforded the most perfect contrast to my 
 own : brief, simple, sincere, and manly. He 
 acquiesced alike in the prudence and the pro- 
 priety of my decision, without excusing his own 
 imprudence ; he reminded me of our long friend- 
 ship and mutual regard, which he declared, on 
 his side, to be immutable ; pitied us both for 
 the sacrifices to which we were condemned, 
 but of .which he nevertheless admitted tli.e ne- 
 cessity ; and, finally, applauded and approved 
 my courageous resolutions, pledging himself 
 religiously to respect them. 
 
 This was truly what I had asked of him ; but 
 I am bound to confess that at that moment I 
 fcii that I had not expected so much. I was 
 dissatisfied with his reply throughout. My 
 pride was hurt that he should pity me as much 
 as himself; my vanity was wounded that the 
 extreme of prudence could tread so closely upon 
 Uie extreiTie of passion ; I was mortified, above 
 all, that my heroism had not excited alike his 
 wonder t«id his despair, and that I had w> longer 
 the triumph of combating his passion. 
 
 I was iwt worthy of the love of such a heart. 
 He believed that he had wronged me, and he 
 was now anxious to repair his fault, and to do 
 ustice to my virtues, while I was only lament- 
 ing over an obedience which should have made 
 one appear more estimable in my own eyes, and 
 asking myself Viliether, abandoned as I was by 
 those wtio should have cherished me, so vast 
 a sacrifice as I liad thus volunteered could in- 
 deed bo requisite. 
 
 Suddenly a new inspiration dawned upon me. 
 The ready compliance of Devereux removed, 
 at least for the present, all danger of interfe- 
 rence from either my mother or Sir James. I 
 would await only the close of my mourning to 
 plunge freely into the world. I must inevitably 
 iiieei him everywhere, but it would be in a 
 
 crowd ; he would understand ana appreciate a 
 thousand trifles vrhich would pass unheeded by 
 those around us ; I should no longer feel deso 
 late and unloved, for he would be near me- 
 and that too without peril and without blame. 
 
 Meanwhile I rarely saw Sir James ; and vvhe& 
 we met it was with a cold and ceremonious 
 politeness, which scarcely amounted to cour- 
 tesy. I knew that he played high, and that his 
 losses were occasionally serious ; but for this t 
 cared nothing ; nor should I have bestowed the 
 slightest attention on his altered habits, had he 
 not, on the first occasion of my receiving cona- 
 pany after my sister's death, absented himself 
 from home, and thus given reason for those 
 suspicions against which he had so strenuously 
 urged me to guard myself This circumstance 
 induced me to watch him more narrowly ; and 
 I was not long in discovering that his character 
 had totally changed. His gaiety was gone; 
 his sparkling conversation had become abrupt, 
 pointless, and constrained ; he no longer even 
 affected any deference for my tastes or wishes, 
 and his whole manner was absent and preoc- 
 cupied. 
 
 That some mystery was concealed beneath 
 this change was evident ; and, for the first time 
 since I had been his wife, he succeeded ia 
 j piquing my curiosity. I was not fated to en- 
 dure it long. 
 
 I The reappearance of a popular singer, after 
 j a long and dangerous indisposition, had attract- 
 ed all the fashion of London to Drury Lane on a 
 particular night ; and, in accordance with the 
 resolution that I had formed, I exerted mysell 
 to obtain a box, in which with considerable dif- 
 ficulty I succeeded. To my great delight, Lady 
 j Devereux visited me early in the day, in order 
 that I might condole with her upon the in 
 creased gout of Sir Herbert, and her inability 
 I to witness the welcome prepared for .Mrs Bit- 
 lington, every box in the house having been 
 taken for the last eight-and-forty hours. I in- 
 I stantly volunteered ray own ; and. affecting to 
 have forgotten the indisposition of the baronet, 
 
 ■ I promised to reserve two seats for her use. 
 
 I The delighted pleasure-hunter left me, per- 
 fectly relieved in mind ; and I remarked witl' 
 \ considerable satisfaction that she also, in the 
 
 ■ triumph of the moment, had overlooked the ail 
 ments of her lord, and must, consequently 
 confide herself to the protection of her son 
 
 ; Secure in his mother's presence, I was safi 
 from all remark or animadversion, and I lookei 
 j forward to the pageant of the evening with ai 
 I anxiety which might have forewarned me tha 
 I was preparing for no common .spectacle. 
 
 CHAPTER LL 
 L.\DY Devereux was punctual, and 1 was re, 
 I ceived by herself and her son upon arriving a 
 the theatre. Of course I was surprised an 
 \ grieved to find that Sir Herbert was unable t 
 j venture upon this slight dissipation ; but I nev 
 I erthcless submitted to the substitution whic 
 ; had been made with very amiable philosophy 
 ; I was in brilliant spirits ; my temporary retir< 
 j ment from the world had given pleasure a ne'^ 
 ' zest, while it rendered me an object of intere;' 
 I to those wIk) now for the first lime hailed n 
 ; reappearance. I felt that my box was an a 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 i77 
 
 uactlnn to the whole house ; nor was Lady 
 Devereiix blind to the ("act, but put forth all 
 her waning fascinations to effect her own share 
 in the triumph; while her son, half-hidden in 
 shadow behind my chair, was almost invisible 
 to the audience. 
 
 I had returned the greeting gestures of my 
 dear live hundred friends, and was quietly ma- 
 king a circuit of the house with my lorgnette, 
 wlicn the door of the private box which imme- 
 diately faced my own was flung back, and a 
 handsome woman, about fen years my senior, 
 showily and not altogelher correctly dressed, 
 entered, and leaneti for a moment into the broad 
 light of tlie chandelier, while a pair of bold but 
 magnificent black eyes wandered over the au- 
 dience. She wore no powder ; neither had she 
 polluted her cheeks by the coat of rouge which 
 was at that period considered alfnost indispen- 
 sable to female beauty ; but masses of raven 
 curls fell upon the ample shoulders which would 
 otherwise have been bare, and the glow of 
 conscious triumph lent a bloom to her cheek 
 and a fire to her glance. A mantle of black 
 velvet edged wiib ermine had fallen from her 
 neck as slie entered, and was only upheld by 
 the whitest and most finely-modeled arms that 
 I ever remembered to have seen. There was, 
 in short, an originality in her beauty which 
 enforced admiral ion, even while its audacity 
 ; blended the homage with a feeling for which it 
 , was difficult to account. 
 
 i 1 was gazing, with this vague sensation, upon 
 I the proud wdiiiMu before me, and was in.]uiring 
 ! her identity of Col(uiel Devereiix, when <i move- 
 ment took place in her box ; and, as she stepped 
 ja pace back, a second female appeared for an 
 jinsiant, and then dropped quietly into a chair, 
 I with her back to tiie stage ; and while she was 
 jin the act of douig this, a hand withdrew the 
 tmanllc Irom the grasp of her companion, and, 
 jraising my glass once more to my eye, I dis- 
 ;covercd in the atleiitive cavalier Sir James 
 iDornton. 
 
 I " That." said Dcvereux, replying to the ques- 
 tion whicii 1 had already put, " isM;e celebrated 
 '.Mrs. Delaiuaine, ulm, after her divorce, went 
 over to Italy, whence she imly returneil a month 
 or two ago, havmg become as noted at Florence 
 (and Milan as siie iiad previously been in Lon- 
 don." 
 
 i "And where is her husband 1" I asked, still 
 .gazing ali( niively upon her box. 
 i "Not wiu're yuurs is, my dear Eveleen," 
 ■aughed L.idy Deverenx ; "for as I live, il fait 
 l;ts yeux iliiiix to this lalien goddess." 
 
 "So ! perceive, and com|)liment him alike 
 :pon his lasiu and Ins propriety ; but where is 
 aerownr' 
 
 1 "In his grave," whispered Devereux ; "he 
 |K)uld not brook the disgrace which she inces- 
 jianlly brought upon lum. and found his refuge 
 \Q a pistol." 
 
 I "The ..oman is, tiien; a fiend V I exclaimed 
 ^■dignanlly. 
 
 j Devereux sighod audibly, 
 j Thenceforth the oiage and the audience lost 
 [11 their inlrresi lor me, I ftdt that the enigma 
 I'hich had lately bew 1 l.-red me was tolved : 
 i)ornton was m ihe .snare of the syren. For 
 fie abstract fact 1 eare.l noihiug ; but no mar- 
 lied woman can coolly look upon so public a 
 
 demonstration of neglect without mnrtifirntinn. 
 That he had not anticipated my prf-senoe in the 
 house was probable ; but it was still more cer- 
 tain that he had taken no pains to avoid so dis- 
 agreeable and disgraceful an encounter. 
 
 " Am I not justified 1" I asked, in a low voice, 
 as I turned towards Devereux. 
 
 He frowned, turned pale, and made no reply. 
 
 Suddenly the eyes of Mrs. Delamaine rested 
 upon me ; and, with a smile, she addressed 
 some remark to the pale and spirit-broken-look- 
 ing woman who sat beside her. There was a 
 condescending expression of admiration in her 
 gaze which brought the proud blood to my 
 cheek ; never had I felt so indignant. As my 
 heart throbbed beneath her glance, she turned 
 her head and addressed Uornton, who had 
 hitherto remained in the back of the box, but 
 who bent forward evidently at her bidding, and 
 started as he encountered my glance. For a 
 moment he appeared irresolute, but only for a 
 moment ; and then I saw the obedient eonfidant 
 rise from her seat and resign it to Sir James, 
 who had, apparently, resolved to brave the dif- 
 ficulty in which he found himself. Not (me of 
 his movements escaped me. I could explain 
 them all. From the expression of Mrs. Dela- 
 maine, I felt assured that he had announced me 
 as his wife — his wife ! And then there were 
 more questions and more rejoinders. There 
 was a mocking smile upon the lip of Dornton, 
 and a glow of gratified vanity upon the cheek 
 of his companion, who occasionally glanced 
 curiously toward me, as if to reconcile what 
 she heard with what she saw. My position 
 was a trying one : totally indifferent as I was 
 to Sir James, and careless of the depreciating 
 comparisons which he might see fit to make 
 between an outraged wife and a new mistress, 
 still I had heard enough to feel that he had 
 placed himself in the power of a very danger- 
 ous woman. They were evidently upon terms 
 of the closest intimacy, and I began to ask 
 myself how long that intimacy had existed. 
 Devereux was, or afTected to be, as ignorant 
 upon the subject as myself; and I was still 
 endeavoring to calculate its duration by circum- 
 stances, when my attention was attracted by 
 voices in the next box to my own, which had 
 remained empty until a few minutes previously, 
 and from which a fashionably-dressed man was 
 now sweeping the boxes with his lorgnette. 
 
 "I see the handsome Delamaine is in full 
 force," he observed, as he seated himself upon 
 a chair which was only divided from my own 
 by the thin partition, and the folds of the cur- 
 tain, which he had carelessly pressed back with 
 his elbow. 
 
 " Yes, and I see also that she has brought 
 down her bird," answered a second voice, ecpial- 
 ly careless of being overheard ; " I thouiriu that 
 Dornlon was likely to be the next on the list, 
 when I met them at Ranelagh ; hut although 
 be has almost lived in her house for the last 
 three weeks, I did not quite expect to rind the 
 aflair advertised so soon in public." 
 
 Devereux was about to speak, but I motioned 
 him to silence; and, like myself, he became all 
 ear. 
 
 " It was a mystery known to half London 
 which was not worth any farther affectation," 
 retorted the first speaker ; '■ moreover, no one 
 
178 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 now asks of the Dolamaine, how is iti hut sim- 
 ply, who is it !" 
 
 A faint sickness crept over me. It was, then, 
 for such a fallen woman as tliis that insuli had 
 been heaped upon me. I know not lo wiiat 
 lengths my indignation would have carried me, 
 had I not at that very moment felt tiie hand of 
 Devereux stealinjr gently to my waist. My 
 head drooped, and a painful feeling of humilia- 
 tion rendered me once more passive. 
 
 " Dornion is a blockhead," resumed the sec- 
 ond siranjier : '• he no sooner cajoles an old 
 flirt into giving him her daughter and some 
 ninety tiiousaud pounds, than he begins to play 
 the Lothario. They say that the girl never 
 loved him, and that, handsome as she was, he 
 returned the compliment ; still, there was some 
 consideration due to the woman who paid his 
 debts and patched up his lost credit ; but it is 
 always the case with fellows on the wane : 
 they can never amuse themselves quietly, but 
 must always have a crowd to look on."' 
 
 The attention of the strangers was now at- 
 tracted to some other group, and I heard no 
 more of the subject in whicii I was interested ; 
 but I had heard enough ; and, coldly withdraw- 
 ing myself from the clasp of Devereux, I re- 
 quested him to ascertain if my carriage were 
 in waiting, as I was anxious to return home. 
 Lady Devereux, wlio had also seen, and been 
 seen, as much as she considered necessary, 
 declared her intention of following my example, 
 to the evident discomfiture of her son, who ac- 
 cordingly quilted the box in quest of o-ur ser- 
 vants. 
 
 " Do you know, Eveleen," said my compan- 
 ion, as he left us together, "that the conduct 
 of Sir James to-night is quite too bad. If Sir 
 Herbert had ever affi.che himself in such a way 
 when we were young people, I sliould have been 
 furious ; and there you sit as calmly as though 
 he had never entered the house." 
 
 "You probably loved Sir Herbert, my good 
 friend, and I am totally indifferent to Sir 
 James," I said, forcing a smile, " and there you 
 at once discover the secret of my composure." 
 
 " But consider the imprudence into which 
 6uch a liaison may betray him. Women of that 
 stamp are expensive toys." 
 
 " Not more so than the gaming table." 
 
 "Oh, you are, then, aware of Dornton's fail- 
 ure in that respect. I am sure I warned your 
 mother a hundred times of the risk she ran in 
 making you the wife of such a man." 
 
 " He Was her alternative for Mr. Curties." 
 
 "Mr. Curties!" echoed Lady Devereux; 
 "she had no opportunity of choosing between 
 them. Had you been the Medicean Venus in 
 petticoats, you would have m-ide no impression 
 upon that block of living marble." 
 
 "Yet I was led to believe — " 
 
 " My dear Lady Dornton," said my compan- 
 ion, in the same tone in which she would have 
 lamented the naughtiness of a spoiled child, 
 "all your life you have been so easily led to 
 believe anything." 
 
 Any reply was rendered impossible by the 
 reappearance of our cavalier, who announced 
 that the carriages were drawn up. With a 
 prudence, partly suggested by the presence of 
 Sir James, and no doubt increased by my own 
 coldness, Devereux carefully enveloped his 
 
 mother in her wraps, leaving me to adjust mr 
 own shawl ; after which he tendered an arm to 
 each, and we left the house. As I resolutely 
 declined his escort, he put me into my carriajje, 
 and then handing his mother into hers, he made 
 a low and somewhat constrained bow, and re- 
 turned to the theatre. 
 
 I arrived at home perfectly satisfied with 
 myself, but still marveling what would bo the 
 eflect of my repelling manner upon Devereux. 
 The sight of the bold beauty of Mrs. Delamaine, 
 and the light tone in which she had been spoken 
 of, had struck to my heart like a solenm waru- 
 ing; and had the impression lasted, it is prob- 
 able that I should have been a wiser and a 
 better woman ; as it was, this impression waa 
 weakened by the feeling of self-justification in- 
 duced by the public off-falling of my husband. 
 
 I was still in my dressing-room on the follow- 
 ing morning, when, to my astonishment, Dorr*- 
 ton made his appearance. He had assumed an 
 expression of unusual amiability, through which 
 I could, nevertheless, detect a tinge ol embar- 
 rassment that he struggled vainly to conceal. 
 
 " You took me by surprise last evening. Lady 
 Dornton," he said, as he threw himself into a 
 chair; "I did not know that you had deter 
 mined altogether to emerge from your seclu- 
 sion ; and, when I discovered you — acting upon 
 the principle which I announced some time ago 
 — I forelM)re all intrusion. What did you thmk 
 of the beautiful woman whom I had the honoi 
 to escort !" 
 
 " That you were quite worthy of the honoi 
 which had devolved upon you." ' 
 
 Sir James bit his lip, and was visibly discomj 
 certed. l 
 
 " She is, indeed, a charming person," he sait' 
 after a moment, " and would make a delightfui 
 addition to your circle." 
 
 " To mij "circle. Sir James ! If you are in 
 facetious mood, I entreat that you will select 
 more seemly subject for your wit." 
 
 " I am perfectly serious ; I see no jest in tb 
 suggestion I have made." 
 
 " It is, then, intended as an insult V 
 
 " Really, Lady Dornton, you are inexplicable 
 Can it be, that, in your character of a prett' 
 woman, you are jealous of her attractiona." 
 Such a suspicion would be degrading to yot( 
 and utterly contemptible." ( 
 
 " Your affected ignorance does not impoj' 
 upon me for an instant, sir," I said, haughldj 
 "you must be i)erfectly aware of tiie caui 
 whicli prevents any recognition of the perse 
 to whom you allude from me ; or, should yo 
 indeed, be unconscious of the cliaiactcr ofyo 
 new friend, permit me to ♦ nligliten you." 
 
 " I have no taste for women's gossipry, and 
 defy you to prove anything against Airs. Del 
 maine." 
 
 "The defiance is amusing," I retorted co 
 temptuously: "a divorced wife, the widow 
 a suicide, and the mistress of — " • ■ 
 
 " Proceed, Lady Dornion." 
 
 "Of a gambler." , 
 
 The blood fiasbed in a crimson tile overt 
 forehead of Sir James. I was evidently bet|: 
 informed than he anticipated. 
 
 "You are, as usual, the dupe of some o' 
 who profits by your weakness," he said, str 
 ing to rally; "Mrs. Delamaine is amiable,*' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 179 
 
 titnable, and accomplished. Shs would grace 
 any circle which could secure her." 
 
 "You ailude, doubtless, to the circles of the 
 lobbies and the gaming-houses." 
 
 This was the sparii which ignited the fire 
 that was raging in the bosom of Dornton. He, 
 hitherto the most i.nmovable. the most sc1f- 
 possessed of men, became tlie most violent 
 under the influence of the new and overwhelm- 
 ing passion of which he was tlie victim. His 
 storuwas passionate and bitter. Noi a trait 
 of my past life escaped him whic^ couli be tor- 
 tured into invective. I was not tiow it paying 
 back the injury. I reproached him with his 
 meanness, his lalsehood, his ignoble submission 
 to the will of an imperious woman ; the ruinous 
 efl'ecls of his vices ; tlie waste which he bad 
 made in a fortune which he could not call his 
 own. He staggered under my vehemence, and 
 uttered, in a tone of bitterness, tlie name of 
 Devcreux. I defied him to prove his accusa- 
 tion. He forbade me to see him again ; I defied 
 him in the same lone ; and, overcome at length 
 by the storm which he bad himself provoked, 
 he sprang from his seat and left the room. 
 
 I felt that once more I had conquered ; but 
 it was a painful triumph, for I had achieved it 
 at the expense of that dignity which I had 
 hitherto maintained. My whole spirit was up 
 in arms : 1 felt degraded, but not disheartened. 
 A resolute defiance blinded me to my own de- 
 fects, and kept those of Sir James constantly 
 beiore me ; and in this frame of mind I descend- 
 ed to the drawing-room. 
 
 My first visitor was Devereux. He came, as 
 he alleged, at the desire of his mother, who was 
 anxious to ascertain that I had reached home 
 in safety ; and then he apologized for an intru- 
 sion which, he asserted, from my manner on 
 the preceding evening, he felt to be almost in- 
 excusable. 
 
 "Had you not forgotten our co.mpact 1" I 
 I asked reproachfully, as a deep blush mounted to 
 j my brow. 
 
 1 "I throw myself on your mercy. I was not 
 I aware that your exaction was so extreme." 
 i " We will talk no more of it," 1 said, hur- 
 I riedly. "I hastened home as an escape from 
 a new and serious annoyance ; but it was not 
 I so easily to be evaded. Sir James has declared 
 ■ himself the friend and champion, if not some- 
 'i thing more than this, of Mrs. Delamaine— of the 
 I Cleopatra of last night. J have already expe- 
 I rienced the bitter fruits of this new indignity. 
 I He has been with me this morning to suggest 
 f that I should receive her as a friend. What is 
 t ?our opinion of this proposal !" 
 i "Thai, it was disgraceful on the part of Lady 
 I Dornton'3 husband. And what did you re- 
 
 I ply?" 
 
 "All that was befitting, without attempting 
 to disguise the contempt which I felt ahke for 
 I him and for his protegee." 
 
 '• Your refusal was correct and necessary ; 
 your contempt would have been better sup- 
 pressed. It is dangerous to provoke the hatred 
 j cf the vicious. I do not believe that Dornton 
 ( kimself is radically wicke<l ; but he is very 
 ' Weak, A'hich frequently produces the same re- 
 '■ suits." 
 
 I I iiad expected that Devereux would have 
 ♦iiaicu my exasociation, and exhausted him- 
 
 self in invective against my tormentors ; and I 
 was, consequently, quite unprepared for this 
 rebuke. So much composure, contrasted with 
 my own violence, appeared to me to be mis- 
 placed, and in every point of view a proof o 
 his indifference. I was not without a con- 
 sciousness that no married woman can, with 
 safety to her own peace and honor, make a 
 confident of any youhg male friend, let the ex- 
 tent of their intimacy be what it may ; and I 
 was, accordingly, the more moved by this ap- 
 parent want of interest in my anxieties, that I 
 liad wilfully rushed into a peril which had pro- 
 duced such inadequate results. 
 
 I reproached Devereux for his want of syio- 
 pathy. 
 
 " You do not act fairly with me. Lady Dorn- 
 ton," he said, in a subdued tone ; " last night 
 you crushed me with your displeasure for a 
 simple change of position, and to-day you ac- 
 cuse me of coldness because I restrain my feel- 
 ings, and compel myself to assume a composure 
 which would but too readily give way before 
 very different emotions." 
 
 " Perhaps I am wrong," I replied, as I turned 
 toward him with a smile which expressed the' 
 conviction of my own error more fully than my 
 words ; " I will even try to believe so ; but you 
 must at least admit, on your side, that you are 
 strangely inconsistent in your friendship. You 
 bring the stoical philosophy of Cato to the 
 hearth-rug of the drawing-room, and exhibit it 
 at all times and seasons. Nothing destroys 
 your equanimity — at least, nothing that one 
 would voluntarily provoke — and you give ad- 
 vice where you are only asked for sympa- 
 thy." 
 
 " You know how deeply, how earnestly I feel 
 for you." 
 
 " I would not willingly doubt it ; but still, in 
 your present mood, I have a suspicion that you 
 would subscribe, without opposition, to the 
 command which I have received to close my 
 doors against you." 
 
 " Decidedly, if by so doing I could secure 
 your happiness. But who has suggested such 
 a proceeding 1" 
 
 " That, I should imagine, is a riddle by no 
 means difficult to read ; but I indignantly re- 
 pulsed a mandate which I should have felt de- 
 graded by admitting." 
 
 " The arrangement would have been as al>- 
 surd as it was ill-judged," replied Devereux, 
 still in the same quiet accent ; " as, in order to 
 prevent our meeting, you must have discoiitin 
 ued to visit ycuir own mother and to appear in 
 the world. Nevertheless, as I would not wil- 
 lingly compromise you even for an instant, I 
 shall, thus warned, confine my aiipearanco in 
 your own house to those distant and necessary 
 courtesies which are incumbent on me as a 
 family connection." 
 
 " I was prepared for this decision," I ex- 
 claimed bitterly; "nothing costs you any ef- 
 fort, and you do not give yourself the troulde 
 to reflect upon the probable consequences of a 
 sudden neglect, which cannot fail to be remark- 
 ed by those about me. But it will, perhaps, be 
 belter so: totally abandoned to the violence 
 and ill-will of Dornton, be will have less trouble 
 in ultimately ridding himself of In.'* viciim ; for 
 I feel that, aiui.e and unsupported, 1 shall u<»» 
 
.180 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 ong nave strength to contend against the trials 
 to which I am exposed." 
 
 "Lady Dorntdn. do yovi accuse me of want 
 of reflection ! Were my feeling toward yon 
 other than it is, I should not venluro to remind 
 you of the danger of wilfully exciting the ani- 
 mosity of tho.'jc hy whom you may he seriously 
 injured. Let the thunder-cloud which you have 
 invoked pass hy." 
 
 '• You use strong expressions on a very in- 
 consequent occasion," I retorted, peevishly, 
 "and appear to look upon everything through 
 a gloomy medium. I was, perhaps, myself 
 startled hy the tiulhreak of Dornton at the ino- 
 mcnt ; hut the reflection of an instant, for which 
 I am indebted to your want of sympathy in my 
 trials, has sufficed to reassure me. Sir James 
 is weak — you have yourself admitted this fact ; 
 he dreads a puhlic rupture, and he is ruled by 
 my mother. His lofty words can produce no 
 fruit. He is too exiiuisite an egotist to drive 
 to extremity the woman to whom he owes his 
 ease." 
 
 " But suppose, fair casuist, that Lady Made- 
 laine should not support you in your opposi- 
 tion, how could you assist yourself without her 
 aid!" 
 
 " Oh, pray do not let us amuse ourselves hy 
 supposing iniprohahilities. Act ns you see fit- 
 ting. I can make no claim upon either your 
 sympathy or your assistance ; and you shall yet 
 learn that I am possessed of sufficient firmness 
 to resent the insult which 1 have received from 
 the man whose name I bear." 
 
 I was disposed to quarrel even with Deve- 
 reux, because he had exhibited more respect 
 for me than I was prepared to exact. It had 
 Ijeen my misfortune through life to prearrange 
 ail the actions of others in connection with 
 myself, and the consequent result was perpetu- 
 al disappointment. I was even yet too ignorant 
 of human nature — tiianks to my self-conlidence, 
 which admitted no lessons save those which 
 struck right to the heart, and left their scars 
 behind tiiem — too unsuspicious of its sul)llcty, 
 to suspect that the coldness of which I had 
 condescended to comj)lain was the result of a 
 delicate tad on the part of my companion, who, 
 believing iiiinself sure of his victory, preferred 
 the smooth diplomacy of a Talleyrand to the 
 less tem|)onzmg prowess of an Alexander. 
 Devereux was a man of feeling and refinement, 
 who sought rather to win me from myself than 
 to surprise me into a weakness ; and ho, un- 
 forlunaKdy, knew enough of iny natural temper 
 and disposition to consider time and caution as 
 his best allies. 
 
 It need .scarcely be stated that, when he left 
 the house, 1 felt thoroughly dissatisfied both 
 with hiin and myself I had conceded too 
 much, and he too lilile. I had wounded my 
 own pii(l<>, and ho had trampled upon it as it 
 ay prostrate befiuc hini. I h.id now only one 
 .esource. My home had become a desert, my 
 mother a stranger, my hushauil an enemy, 
 Devereux a censor, and I stood alone. There 
 was, however, siretchiug along between the 
 dark and yawning gulfs which had swallowed 
 up mv past and my future hopes, one narrow 
 pathway strewn with (lowers and radiant with 
 sunshine. The world was still before me! I 
 could revenge myself on destiny. 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 Mv toilet on Ine evening of that day was more 
 rerhcrchce than ever ; my rouge more glowing, 
 and my eyes more bright. I went alone to the 
 Opera-house ; and my box was filled in succe*. 
 sion by uU the gay and idle men of fashion who 
 had the entree. Never had I been so graoiow;, 
 to the one sex, or so sarcastic on the subject ol 
 the other ; and tiefi)re the conclusion of the bal- 
 let, I found that to the reputation of a beauty, 1 
 had added that of a wit. My success wascom- 
 plete. I had divided the attention of the house 
 with Grassini and Tramezzani. I was intoxi- 
 cated alike hy the praises of the men. and the 
 affected disdain of tlie women ; and in this mood 
 of mind, I drove from the Haymarket to the 
 oiTibre and basso party of a young and lively for« 
 eign ambassadress; where, without having suf- 
 fered myself to waste one moment on reflection, 
 I discovered as I reached home that I had emu- 
 lated Sir James himself at the gaming-table; | 
 made myself a subject of general remark ; and 
 created more than one enemy. But as this did . 
 not, in my present mood of mind, affect me for I 
 a inoment, I entered the house huimning an aria i 
 of Grassini, to which I ought to have given my 
 attention while she was singing it ; and on reach- 
 ing my dressing-room perceived for the first time 
 the absence of Josephine, for whom I rang some- \ 
 what impatiently. My summons was answered j 
 by an attendant who had been accustomed to i 
 assist her in her duties, and who presented her- } 
 self upon the threshold somewhat timidly. j 
 
 "What means thisV I asked imperiously; j 
 " where is Josephine 1" i 
 
 Mademoiselle Josephine was dismissed by 
 Sir James, my lady, soon after your ladyslrip 
 left the house ; and I was ordered to await your 
 ladyship's return, and to perform her duties." 
 
 " In that case," I said coldly ; " you may at 
 once retire to rest, as I am not accustomed to ac- 
 cept the services of strangers about my person." 
 
 The woman wiihdrew; and, taking one of 
 the lights from my toilet-table, I walked at once 
 to'the dressing-room of Sir James ; resolved to 
 demand an explanation of the extraordinary step 
 which he had taken. So gratuitous an inierle- 
 renee with my personal establishment was an 
 impertinence on his part which to me appeared 
 the heaping of " Pelion on Ossa"— the culmi- 
 nating point of injury. I could not disguise 
 from myself that it was intended as a trial ot 
 strength ; and this conviction determined me to 
 resent the insult. 
 
 The suriirise ofDornton, on entering his apart- 
 ment at daybreak, may be imagined, to see me, 
 still covered with jewels and draped in satin, 
 occupying a fauteuii beside the hearth ; espe- 
 cially when he remembered our present es- 
 trangement. I however left him no time to 
 conunent upon the singularity of the circum- 
 stance. 
 
 " I am here, Sir James," I said haughtily, 
 " to inquire hy what right you have dismissed 
 my waiiing-w'oman ?" 
 
 " You are easily answered. Lady Dornton ; 
 by the right of a husband who will not sufler 
 under ids roof the agent of his wife's intrigues 
 — the confidant of his wife's disgrace." 
 
 " Explain yourself, sir." 
 
 " Josephine was your letter-carrier. Do yo» 
 require any further detaill" 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 iBi 
 
 " Sir James Dornton, I will no longer submit- 
 to tins tyranny, — to ilii* dictation. I am at 
 lenglli df.teriniiied to assert nijself" 
 
 «• We have, in liiat case, t'ormcd a mutual 
 resoiulion ; for, consi-ious tiiat my supineness 
 anJ indulgence have already produced an ill 
 etlecl I). all upon your feelmg and your conduct, 
 I will hencelorward compel you to respect botli 
 yourself and me ; and to yield implicit obedi- 
 ence to my will, be it what ii may." 
 
 Ti;e !i..jshness and assumpiior. of this reply 
 produced a very different eHeci upon me from 
 what he had evidently anticipated. I answered 
 in as high a key, and our dissension became 
 even more violent than that of the previous eve- 
 ning We had no longer any terms to keep 
 with each other. To the name of Devereu.x I 
 responded by that of Mrs. Delamaine ; to his 
 taunts of my general levity, I opposed his own 
 extraordinary influence with my mother; and 
 was even so far misled hy my passion as to hint 
 that, ill all probability, it was a mystery which 
 would not safely 3dmit of solution. 
 
 " Vou are a disg. ice to your sex," thundered 
 out Sir James, as he retreated a few paces ; 
 " leave the room, madam ; and deliver me from 
 the presence of a woman for whom nothing is 
 sacred." 
 
 " I go, because I am anxious to retire to rest," I 
 said witlia contemptuous smile; "and I leave you 
 to your dreams of the past ; for in your projects 
 fur ilie luluie you have sadly deceived yourself" 
 
 "'I'line will show," was ins reply, as he abrupt- 
 ly turneil his back on me, and rang for his valet. 
 
 I was now in open rebellion ; and, strange to 
 say, I leli happier than I had done for months. 
 I no longer hesitated to display my preference 
 %r Devereux wherever we met in society ; 
 while at the same time I indulged in a general 
 «ystem of coquetry, which at Itnglh compelled 
 ny niuiher lo interfere. It will easily be under- 
 wood, however, in what s|)irit I received her 
 •pninand. I talked of the past ; and inquired 
 / I had ever committed my.-,elf with Colonel 
 Oevfcreux. as she had, dur.ng my father's life- 
 anic, compromised her own dignity with the 
 «an to whom she had subsequently married 
 lier di-iijiiter, and afterward with her present 
 bushaiii}. 
 
 " Believe me, madam," I concluded sarcasti- 
 cally : •' the veproof falls pointless from your 
 lips ; for our fais has been more similar in life, 
 as well as our uciions, than you appear willing 
 to comprehend. Your noble father married you 
 to a commoner in order to secure his wealth : 
 my noble mother married me to a roue, in order 
 to secure his — friendship: my husband rendered 
 himself conspicuous by breaking the heart oX 
 my own sister — while yonro — " 
 
 '•Speak, Lady Dornton," almost shrieked my 
 mother, wounded in her tenderest point — her 
 vanity ; " speak I what is it that you dare lo 
 insiirjate!" 
 
 " 1 insinuate nothing," I replied, triumphant 
 at the efleci which I had produced, and forget- 
 ful of all, save tne gratification of the moment ; 
 and, most and woKt, of the kindly feeling which 
 Lord Ol.rrford hai2 i.ivariahly exhibited toward 
 me; "I insinuate notiimg ; but merely advise 
 joii 10 inquire of your h JshanJ, the exact nature 
 of the conoumpiion which laid poor Emily 
 V<f«»yn in a foreign grave." 
 
 "Eveleen, you are a fiend I gasped out 
 Lady Madelaine, with clasped hands, and quiv- 
 ering lips. 
 
 " 1 am what you have made me. One of 
 your victims has already paid the penally of I er 
 parentage; but the other is before you, prepared 
 to contend rather than to suffer." 
 
 'Only tell me that you have spoken at ra" 
 dom, and that there was no covert meaning 
 your w^ords !" 
 
 " 1 have no more to say upon the subject." 
 
 " But, Lady Dornton, I insist — " 
 
 " Uselessly, madam ; and as it is now tmie 
 that I should dress for court, you must pardon 
 me for leaving you, should you desire lo prolong 
 your visit," and courtesying ceremoniously I left 
 the room. 
 
 Strangely, pitiably, had my feelings become 
 perverted. The knowledge that I had reveng- 
 ed tny wrongs upon my mother gave me an 
 energy, which made me dazzling. I felt no 
 weariness during the period of my toilet, te- 
 dious as it was, for my thoughts were fully 
 occupied ; and when I fell into the rank to pro- 
 ceed to St. James's, I had never been more 
 satisfied with myself, for I had found in my 
 dressing-room a magnificent bouquet of exotics, 
 about which my new aitendanl affected to know 
 nothing, while she was aware that her silence 
 told me all. 
 
 As the carriages moved slowly onward, I 
 pressed the gorgeous flowers to my lips more 
 than once ; and when I at length arrived at the 
 Palace, 1 found myself surrounded by adulation 
 and flattery ; my spirits rose still higher, and I 
 scarcely heeded the shrugs and sneers which 1 
 occasionally detected in the courtly crowd. I 
 had accepted the arm of Colonel Devereux upon 
 the staircase, and my first care was lo thank 
 him for his elegant and well-timed present. He 
 merely smiled his reply, and pressed my arm 
 more closely against his side. I3ut in the ihrone- 
 room my triumphs ceased. The queen looked 
 coldly upon me ; and the princesses affected to 
 be discoursing, and not lo be conscious of my 
 approach. From the princes I received my 
 usual greeting, hut I felt that my popularity at 
 the palace was at an end. 
 
 " Tu cs cihouee, ma chcrcV said my friend 
 the ambassadress, when we again met in the 
 crowd. She might have spared me the assur 
 ance, for I knew it. 
 
 I murmured my indignation to Devereux, bu 
 he only chid me lor my weakness, in regarding' 
 as an affront the caprice of a slraight-laced old 
 lady, while he reminded me of the admiration 
 which I had elicited from the Prince of Wales ; 
 and I was obliged to accept this as compensa- 
 tion, and affect to laugh at my own sensitive 
 folly. The blow had been struck, however; 
 but instead of inducing me lo redeem the past, 
 it only fortified me in the belief that 1 must make 
 myself independent of the world, as I had 
 already done of all home lies ; that 1 must, in 
 short, rely upon my own strength, and demon- 
 strate to the utmost how entirely I had been 
 misjudged. Colonel Devereux did not put mc 
 into my carriage until he had arranged to join 
 me at the Opera : and I arrived at home at an 
 unusually late hour, the draw:ng-room having 
 been a full one. 
 
 When I drove to the door, I was surprised to 
 
183 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 see the carriage of Dornion, with four post- 
 horsf'S, move a few paces forward to allow of 
 my approacli ; but as I cared little for his per- 
 sonal arrangements, I made no inquiry as to the 
 cause of its appearance there, and at once pro- 
 ceeded to my room. No doubt, he was, like 
 inysel;', wearied of the constant conflicts which 
 now characterized our domestic icUs-a-ictcs, and 
 was about to vary the scene by a visit to some 
 distant Iriend, perhaps to escort Mrs. Delamaine 
 lo the coast. Be it as it miijht, I only congrat- 
 ulated myself on his approaching absence ; and 
 heartdy wished hiiii a long and prosperous 
 journey. 
 
 Nothing could be either more specious or 
 more probable than these conjectures ; and as- 
 suredly, nothing was ever more opposite to the 
 truth. 
 
 At the door of my anteroom I found the valet 
 of Sir James, who requested me to pass in the 
 first place into the library, where his master 
 was awaiting my return. I was annoyed at 
 this, for I was in no humor lo encounter him 
 at that moment ; and as I slowly advanced in 
 the direction indicated, I sought for an instant 
 some sufficient pretext for refusing the inter- 
 view. 
 
 " Tell Sir James," I said, just as I reached 
 the door, " that I am overcome with fatigue, 
 aiMl will receive him to-morrow morning in my 
 dressing-room." 
 
 As I ceased speaking, I turned upon my lieel, 
 and was just congratulating myself upon my es- 
 cape, when the door opened, and Sir James ap- 
 peared u()on the threshold. 
 
 '• You have returned laie," he said, as he held 
 it open for me to pass : " the horses have been 
 put-to more than an hour." 
 
 "And what can there be in common," I 
 asked, as I advanced rapidly into tlie room, in 
 order that his servant might not be a parly in 
 the di^^cussion ; " between your post-horses and 
 uiy return V 
 
 " Do you not guess, madam 1 You are now 
 sufficiently compromised to leave town, I should 
 imagine, withoiii regret ; but, be it as it may, 
 you must leave it, and that instantly. Common 
 propriety exacts il. your mother insists upon it, 
 and I will have it done." 
 
 "Do you mean to assert that my mother is 
 cognisant of this tyranny, and that she ventures 
 to authorize it ? I will not be so imposed upo-n. 
 My sister is as yet scarcely cold in her grave, 
 and she cannot so soon have forgotten that 
 deathbed." 
 
 " You liu botii your mother and myself less 
 than justice. Lad) Dornton ; while your e.vagge- 
 rations are absurd and lU-placed. Your life is 
 in perfect safety — would that your reputation 
 were equally secure. But, madam, you are in- 
 Capable of self-government ; and must not be 
 abandoned to your own imprudent, not to say 
 vicious, tendencies. Far from seeking to re- 
 venge upon you the insults to which we have 
 fcolh been subjected by your intemperate in- 
 ferences, we are anxious to secure to you an 
 eppor; unity of redeeming the past. I shall ac- 
 company you to the country, where you will 
 have leisure to reflect, to become rational, and 
 lo acquire certain qualities and virtues m which 
 you are at present most unhap|)ily deficient." 
 
 " I will appeal to Lord Ot'.erford," I exclaim- 
 
 ed with vehemence ; " he will never sanction 
 such unheard-of violence." 
 
 '• Lord Otterford !" echoed Dornton in a lone 
 of pained reproach ; " have you indeed the pre- 
 tension to seek a champon in the man whom 
 you have so deeply injured 1 In your viclim of 
 this morning T' 
 
 The blood curdled at my heart. Bitterly did 
 I at that moment repent my treachery, but it 
 was too late. I felt that I had indeed no longer 
 a riglit to claim his suppoit or kindness. 
 
 " Make no resistance," pursued Sir James 
 coldly ; " for it will be useless. Even the world 
 will no longer uphidd you, for that world has 
 seen )ou slighted where all seek lo please ; and 
 I will have no more public jests at my ex- 
 pense." • 
 
 My mental reaction was frightful. I could 
 scarcely comprehend my own identity. Ten 
 hours before I had been occupied only by dreams 
 of triumph and of pleasure ; idolized by ihe 
 world, by the man I loved, by the gay flutter- 
 ers about me ; rich in the world's gifts of wealth, 
 and youth, and fashion, I could have defied fate 
 to overthrow the trophies of my vanity ; but in 
 an instant all these gorgeous visions had dis- 
 appeared, and I saw before me only a compel- 
 led and comfortless exile : cheerless isolation, 
 and endless humiliations. I shrank from the 
 hateful prospect : but all my firmness was gone. 
 I uttered one long piercing scream, and fainted. 
 
 Dornton rang for my attendants, even assist- 
 ed in removing my jewel.'* and head-dress, and 
 then, when I had partially recovered from the 
 swoon, ofl'ered me his arm to reach my own 
 room. My first impulse was to refuse his sup- 
 port, but as I Ibund myself too weak lo dispense 
 with assistance, I was compelled to accept iho 
 courtesy. No word was exchanged between 
 us until we reached the door, when be said as 
 calmly as though we had been about lo spend 
 the evening in the adjoining street : 
 
 " In an hour precisely. Lady Dornton. I will 
 again be here to conduct you to the carriage. 
 YtHir woman has, I believe, made all the ne- 
 cessary arrangements; and you have only to 
 rest yourself, and endeavor to regain your 
 strength." 
 
 I made no reply, for I was stricken to the 
 very earth. I found, as he had stated, my draw- 
 ers and wardrobes empty ; and was informed by 
 my attendant that their contents were already 
 on the way to Rooksley. A close traveling 
 dress with a bonnet and mantle were spread 
 upon the bed ; in short, " niy home was made 
 unto me desolate." 
 
 My first care was to tear off the finery in 
 which I was tricked out, and which seemed to 
 mock my wretchedness. The composure o! 
 despair look possession of me, and I [)Ut on, 
 one after the other, all the elaborate wraps that 
 had been provided for me by the zealous care 
 of my woman ; I remember that J even drew 
 on my gloves, although I was parched with 
 fever, and gasped for air ; and then I cast my- 
 self into a chair, and remained silent ami pas- 
 sive. I neither wept nor thought. My brain 
 burned and throbbed ; and I was sick and faint 
 for want of sustenance ; but no wish for food 
 grew upon me. I bad a mere vague pe''ceplioa 
 of my existence, and nothing more. 
 
 At the appointed lime Dornton reappeared, I 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 183 
 
 aiid I instinctively rose as he appmac-lied nn'. 
 Oiii;e more my hand rested upon his arm, but this 
 partial support no longer sufficed, and I stagger- 
 ed, and should have (alien, had he not tlirovvn 
 his other arm ahout my waist, and borne me up. 
 
 My deji^ction became complete when I saw 
 Dornton and the new attendant whom he had 
 placed about me, follow me into the carriage, 
 and that no friendly face had appeared to shed 
 one ray of comfort over my departure. I had 
 from the first disliked this woman, whom I con- 
 sidered as tlie agent of his tyranny, and at such 
 a moment the loathing naturally increased. 
 Why had he forced her upon me, in the very 
 carriage? Bpyond all doubt in order to avoid 
 finding himself again alone in my society. We 
 soon left the metropolis behind us, and as we 
 not long afterward stopped to change horses, I 
 imagine that the light of the lanterns which 
 flashed into the carriage, had afforded a melan- 
 clioly view of my pale and wretched face, for I 
 eaw Dornton suddenly start, and he inquired 
 anxiously of the attendant if I had taken any 
 refreshment since my return from court. She 
 had no sooner replied in the negative than he 
 drew from a traveling case a bottle of Malaga 
 and some biscuits, of which coldly but reso- 
 lutely he compelled me to partake ; and this done 
 1m> drew himself closely into his corner, and either 
 slept, or affected to do so, until the morning. 
 
 What a strange combination of inconsisten- 
 cies does human nature present ! I remained 
 widely awake throughout the whole of that 
 long night ; but I neither mourned over the past, 
 nor speculated upon the future ; I was buried in 
 marvel as to the real feelings of the weary wo- 
 man who sat before me. 
 
 In prosperity we little heed those who min- 
 ister to our comforts in a subordinate capacity. 
 All that we care to know of individuals who are 
 so widely separated from ourselves in interest, 
 in habit, in feeling, and in sympathy, is their 
 adroitness in performing their allotted duties ; 
 and we feed our own vanity with the belief that 
 all their faculties are limited to the proper per- 
 formance of those duties. In misfortune we 
 begin to understand our error, and to compre- 
 hend our mutual dependence ; where we find a 
 sympathizing auditor, we please. ourselves by 
 believing that we have found a friend ; and 
 although I had not yet brought myself to confide 
 in Josephine, still I was conscious that she was 
 in my secret ; and this very consciousness had 
 already rendered her necessary to me. Never- 
 theless, while absorbed in pleasure, and meeting 
 Devereux daily, I had been less susceptible of 
 her loss ; but now I felt as if I were at the mercy 
 of a hired spy ; and, inconsistent as it may ap- 
 pcir at such a crisis, this fact weighed more 
 heavily upon me than all the rest. 
 
 We arrived at last, to :ny surprise, at Rooks- 
 ley ; and I became more calm. I even per- 
 suaded myself that Sir James had only endeav- 
 ored to alarm me, by showing the extent of his 
 power as a husband ; and, rocked by this pleas- 
 ant delusion, I retired to bed, and fell into a 
 deep and refreshing sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 E»EMNo nad flung its drapery over my 
 chamber ere I awoke and oven then it was 6y the 
 
 cautious opening of a door which led to 1113F 
 servants' apartments. I raised myself u|K>n iii> 
 elbow, and to my extreme astonishmeni, 1 saw 
 Susan, my new attendant, stealthily approach- 
 ing the bed. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this intrusion!" I 
 asked angrily, jealous lest the system which I 
 had apprehended should already have com- 
 menced. 
 
 "I have awoke your ladyship," she said, 
 humbly ; ''but I beg you to believe, my lady, 
 that I would not have taken such a liberty, if I 
 had not felt that time might be everyihing in 
 such a case ; and I was aliaid thai I should not 
 find another opportunity so safe. Sir James is 
 writing m the library, and every one is busy 
 making the house fit for your ladyship ; so I 
 thought, my lady, that if I could speak to you 
 at once, you would have more leisure to con- 
 sider what you wished to do, when you knew 
 all." 
 
 There was an accent of sincerity in the wo- 
 man, but this, nevertheless, did not suffice to 
 convince me, although it served to excite my 
 curiosity. I felt at once astonished and anx- 
 ious ; but I could not make up my mind to ask 
 a single question, for I had no confidence in my 
 mysterious visitor. She saw my mistrust, and 
 was evidently wounded. 
 
 " What I am about to tell you, madarn," she 
 said steadily, but with constraint; "I heard in 
 London, from the very person to whom Sir 
 James himself told it alter seeing your lady- 
 ship's mother, about two hours before you re- 
 turned from court. Perhaps I ought not to re- 
 peat it ; perhaps even you, my lady, may blame 
 me; but I cannot see you so unhappy, whatever 
 you may hava done, without feeling that it is 
 my duty to do what I can to help you." 
 
 She paused for a reply, but I continued reso- 
 lutely silent. 
 
 " You are not to remain long here, my lady,** 
 she resumed, after having vainly awaited an 
 answer ; "only till the furniture of some of the 
 family rooms in Portland Place has had time to 
 reach Glenfillan Castle, where Sir James is to 
 take you, and where he is afterward to leave 
 you in the care of a sister of Lady Madelaine 
 Olterford. I have also, my lady — " and here 
 she burst into tears ; " I have also been in- 
 structed to watch you, and to give an account 
 of all your doings to Sir James ; none of us are 
 to be allowed to leave the grounds ; we are all 
 to be prisoners together ; and I know beforehand 
 that your ladyship dislikes me, and has no con- 
 fidence in the duty which I wish to show you." 
 
 As I could discover no competent reason why 
 this woman, who had but recently entered my 
 service, and to whom my bciring had been the 
 very reverse of conciliatory throughout, should 
 bury herself alive in order to assist my husband 
 in his extraordinary proceedings, or beiray her 
 trust in order to gain my favor, I resolved to 
 be prudent, and not to fall into a snare, which I 
 considered clumsy enough when I remembered 
 that so able an artist in dissimulation as Sir 
 James had been its originator. The instinct of 
 self preservation for once taught me prudence, 
 and my suspicions continued in full force. 
 
 "Your ladyship still doubts me," said Susan, 
 after a second pause which reiriamed equally un- 
 broken by any response on my part ; " and may, 
 
184 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 perhaps, neglect a useful warning because it I 
 reaches you through my means. There is only | 
 one way of removing your suspicions of my i 
 honest meaning, my lady ; and with your lady- ! 
 ship's permission, 1 will own to you my reasons ' 
 for serving you in this difflculiy with more zeal \ 
 than I might, perhaps, otherwise have done." | 
 
 "Speak, Susan," I said, "tell rne the truth \ 
 frankly ; I shall be at no loss to discover in how 
 far I may trust to the sincerity of your words." 
 
 "I have a lover, madam; a worthy young 
 man ; hut we are too poor to marry ; and I 
 have no hope save in the generosity of your 
 ladyship, that I shall ever be able to save 
 enough honestly to bring us together. I ac- 
 cepted the offer' of Sir James without reflecting 
 tha'. his gold had been paid for deceit and treach- 
 ery ; but when I came to think of this, I knew 
 that money so dishonestly gained would never 
 prosper, and might be the ruin of us both. That 
 is the real truth, my lady; and your ladyship 
 sees that I do not pretend to feel an attachment 
 to your person which cannot be expected to 
 have grown tip in the few weeks that I have 
 been about you." 
 
 " I believe )X)U, Susan, 1 believe you ; for 
 you have, indeed, inade a great moral efTort to 
 be honest," I exclaimed, as I extended ray hand 
 to the now weeping woman. Yes, I, the 
 haughty daughter of Lady Madekine Otterford, 
 actually, for the first lime in my life, extended 
 my hand to a menial. 
 
 Oh! adversity is a shrewd task-mistress: a 
 mighty moral leveler — how it teaches us to ap- 
 preciate kindness and to discover friends where 
 we had previously only discerned inferiors ! It 
 is, indeed, as the great poet of the world has 
 said, the jewel struck out of the ugliness and 
 venom of the heart. Fine friends fall away — 
 the dust of the butterfly's wings is swept oflJ'by 
 the cold touch of this same adversity — and it is 
 then, and only then, liiat we turn to simple, 
 pure, and honest human hearts for cornfort. 
 Happy they, who even thus tardily find what 
 they seek. 
 
 " What is to be done, Susan V*' 
 
 " Alas ! madam, I can but obey your wishes. 
 Whatever you order shall be done. Only, I 
 entreat your ladyship not to mention that I 
 have betrayed tiie secret ; or to let any one 
 know iliat I am in your interests." 
 
 I could no longer entertain a doubt of the 
 honesty of my new confidant ; and the com- 
 parative composure with which I had contem- 
 plated a temporary retirement at Rooksley, gave 
 way at once before the frightful anticipation of 
 Glentillan Castle, and the companionship of 
 Lady Flora. 1 knew that the spot was bleak, 
 barren, and desolate ; and that the house itself 
 was no better than an ornamented prison ; while 
 I remembered with no less repugnance that 
 ;ny mother's sister was tyrannical and overbear- 
 ing by nature, and that she had a score of real 
 and imaginary grievances to revenge upon my- 
 self. The situation was an incongruous one 
 for both parties ; for I should be at once her " 
 host and her prisoner, while she would be at ' 
 the same time my guest, my jailer, and the 
 head spy of Sir James. The contemplation of I 
 my coming fate maddened me : I passed Irom 
 Eolis and tears to recrimination and invective — 
 I .r...,j.e(i iiiy imur and the means which had 
 
 made me the wife of Dornton, and thus blighted 
 my wMu)le life ; and liien I fell back upon my 
 pillow in a paroxysm of mute despair. 
 
 I was aroused from this dark lethargy by the 
 low voice of Susan, beseeching me to exert my- 
 self, and to consider what steps it would be 
 necessary to take in order to avert the evil 
 which was impending over me. Once more 
 awakened to a full sense of my situation, I era- 
 braced the anxious girl, hesough.t her to be trtie 
 to me, and made the most magniilcent promises 
 in the event of her good faith. Si'.e listened in 
 respectful silence, and then again besought me 
 to remember how rapidly the time was passing, 
 and how soon I might be compelled to resume 
 my hateful journey. 
 
 Still I v.-as powerless. I could not come to 
 any rational decision. 
 
 " Consider too, my lady," she pursued, point- 
 ing out in the strength of her plain g(><)d sense 
 the duty which I owed to my own reputation, 
 " how necessary it is that your ladyship should 
 not lose a post in writing to some of your friends, 
 to explain your sudden departure Irom town. 
 So many wicked reports may go abroad, and no 
 one can contradict them without your authority." 
 
 " But to whom can I write V I asked gloom- 
 ily : " who now cares to interfere in my fate 1" 
 
 " Will not your ladyship at least undeceive my 
 Lord Otterford 1 He has always appeared so 
 partial to my lady." 
 
 " That is over for ever," I answered, with a 
 pang so bitter that he was almost revenged ; 
 " I have nothing to hope from that quarter. " 
 
 "Some of your ladyship's relations " 
 
 " I have none. I am now alone in the 
 world." 
 
 " But my lady has so many friends." 
 
 I laughed in the irony of my heart. I 
 
 "Poor Susan!" I said; "you little under- I 
 stand the friendship of th'e world — the give and 
 take system, which always insists upon receiv- 
 ing its equivalent — or you would not talk to me 
 of my friends. No, my good girl, those who 
 prosper in life : who raise themselves by wealthy 
 marriages, or fortunate chances, have alone 
 the right to boast of their friends ; and they are 
 the very first, even while doing so, to forget all 
 the fond and holy memories of the past ; and to 
 spurn from their homes and heaits the loved 
 ones of less prosperous times who have been 
 less lucky than themselves, although they may 
 previously have vowed to them an undying af- 
 fection. Last week I was hemmed in with de- 
 voted friends ; to-day you stand alone to pa.y 
 me back duty for avoidance." 
 
 " Yet surely, my lady, among so many — " 
 
 " You are right, Susan," I e.xclaimed sud- 
 denly ; " I am not utterly desolate. Bring me 
 my desk and a taper." 
 
 I was promptly obeyed, and, seizing a pen, I 
 wrote a long and hurried letter to Devereux. i 
 Imprudent as the step actually was, I was nev-. 
 ertheless less blamable in this instance than in ! 
 many others, for I literally knew not in what di- j 
 rection to turn for help. I detailed to liim my I 
 forcible removal from town, the threats held out 
 by Dornton, and the intelligence u hu-ii 1 had ob- 
 tained of his subsequent designs ; and I im- 
 plored him to take steps to rescue me from both 
 the public and private injustice with which 1 
 was threatened. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 ISj 
 
 When I Iiad sealed and directed my letter, I 
 placed it in liie hand of Susan, who had aheady 
 undertaken to secure its safe transmission to 
 the post ; but when her eye fell upon the super- 
 scription, I saw her redden and appear irreso- 
 iute. 
 
 " Has your courage failed you so soon 1" I 
 demanikHJ abruptly. 
 
 " Your ladyship mistakes me. It is onl)What 
 lam fearful lest, in forwarding this letter, 1 may 
 do mischief instead of good. Oh, my lady, I 
 would humbly beg of you to write to any one 
 rather than to Colonel Devereux." 
 
 '• You forget yourself," I said haughtily ; "I 
 am the best judge of the eligibility of my corres- 
 pondents." 
 
 " But should Sir Jame? ever discover " 
 
 "I do noi acknowledge the authority of Sir 
 James Dornloii. The advantage which he has 
 now obtained over me has been the mere tri- 
 umph of brute force." 
 
 " But I was so particularly warned, my lady, 
 against " 
 
 " I do not doubt it. Your employer was un- 
 able to appreciate the noble qnaiilies of Colonel 
 Devereux, and therefore feared him ; but I, who 
 know him belter, do him more justice." 
 
 "I will yet be bold enough to venture one 
 word, my lady," persisted the anxious woman ; 
 "let me entreat your ladyship not to encourage 
 the colonel ty come to Rooksley ; for, 1 am 
 sure, that in my master's present humor, there 
 would be bloodshed." 
 
 A cold thrill passed through my veins, and 
 made the blood quiver in its passage to my 
 heart ; but I forced a smile, as I declared that 1 
 had expressed no such wish to Colonel Dever- 
 eux ; when Susan, reassured, concealed the let- 
 ter in her bo.som, again declaring that I need 
 apprehend no inconvenience in its transmission. 
 
 Somewhat comforted by the certainty that 
 Devereux, at least, would soon be informed of 
 my misfortunes; and full of conjectures as to 
 the course which he would pursue, I refused to 
 , leave my room that evening. Sir James sub- 
 mitted heroically to my resolution, nor did he 
 strive to alter it ; and thus I was left free lo 
 profit by my own reflections. , 
 
 It was evident that if I were inclined to be 
 chary of my society, he, on his side, desired it 
 quite as little ; for each morning, long before I 
 awoke, lie was away with his gun and his dogs, 
 and only returned at a late hour lo dinner. 
 
 Few words were exchanged between us dur- 
 ing the repast, and we parted when I rose from 
 table. Not a question had I asked ; not a re- 
 proach had I uttered ; and at times I fancied 
 that I discovered a restlessness in the manner 
 ■of Dornion, as though, touched by my submis- 
 sion, he upbraided himself for the treachery 
 'which he was still meditating against me ; but I 
 ;never ascertained the correctness of my con- 
 Ijectures, for his self-possession soon returned, 
 land with it all his accustomed coldness. 
 i In as short a period as it was possible for me 
 f.o receive an acknowledgment of my letter to 
 iDevereux, and before my anxiety had yet at- 
 ained to its height, Susan one day put into my 
 lands a small piece of fcdded paper, evidently 
 ;.orn from some pocket tablets, and upon which 
 vere written liiree words " I am here," without 
 late or signamie , but the characters were too 
 Aa 
 \ 
 
 familiar to me to need interpretation. It was tbo 
 reply of Devereux. 
 
 " From whom got you this V I asked eagerly. 
 
 " From the colonel himself, my lady." 
 
 " Where is he 1" 
 
 " At the Wood Lodge, my lady." 
 
 " When did he arrive !" 
 
 " Last night, my lady." 
 
 My bonnet and shawl were on in a moment. 
 It was the hrst time that I had left the house 
 since my arrival at Rooksley; and nnemorieso. 
 the past came thronging before me as I advan- 
 ced along the well-remembered path, under a 
 clear spring sun, and with a sharp air playing 
 upon my face. What had 1 not seen and suffer- 
 ed since I last met Devereux beside the same 
 spot. Had I been true to myself and to him 
 that day, what trials might have been spared tc 
 us both ! 
 
 When I reached the lodge, t hesitated for a 
 moment to raise the latch, lor I had encounter- 
 ed no one on my way ; and while I yet paused 
 the door solily opened, and Devereux stood bi- 
 fore me. 
 
 '• Fear nothing. Lady Dorntoii," he sair aa 
 he took my hand, and led me across the thresh- 
 old, carefully closing the door behind us. 
 "The lodge is still uninhabited during the day, 
 and the gamekeeper, who occupies it at night, 
 has ceded his right to me for a season. And 
 now tell me wiiat your melancholy position ex- 
 acts of the most devoted ol your triends." 
 
 "Alas, Devereux," I sighed, as I sank upon 
 a low bench beside the rude oaken table, "I 
 know not. Will you not think for me, and 
 counsel me V 
 
 '• I am so interested a party — " he murmured, 
 as he folded my hand between his own. 
 
 " I have been (nitraged and insulted," I said 
 with bitterness; "the very sight of Sir James 
 is odious to me ; had he conveyed me here, 
 and liien returned to town without any further 
 intrusion on my privacy,,! should perhaps have 
 remained passive, at all events lor a time ; but 
 such is not his pleasure ; he is still an inmate 
 of Rooksley, and will remain here, until he de- 
 parts lor 'jlenhllan, once more in the character 
 of my ydii<i. Then, indeed, I find that .' •? is to 
 leave me to the enjoyment of my prisor. c nd the 
 guardianship of my mother's sister. My only 
 iiope now IS, that my despair may soon lay me 
 beside Adela.' 
 
 "This journey must not take place,'' said 
 Devereux, as he carried my fingers to his lips. 
 " We can hope noihing from Lady Madtlame; 
 noihing from my uncle. They are both exas- 
 perat(^d against you ; and equally violent against 
 each other. Your mother lias left town, and 
 retired to her Putney villa, whence she emerges, 
 however, almost nighlly, to join the gay socie- 
 ties of tli« season : while Oltcrlord riiiiaiiis 
 perdu 111 the square, refusing to receive evfii his 
 most intimate friends. Somelliiiig leruhle has 
 occurred between them " 
 
 "1 can understand the cause of ihe.r cold- 
 ness," I said sadly; "and now, uhcii ii i.s mo 
 late, I regret thai it has bcfii in ?• gieai ilcgioh, 
 if not entirely, my own uork. Devereux, when 
 we first loved each other, your uncle bitterly 
 ofl'ended me, and I then, girl as I was, vowed 
 that 1 would one day be revenj;ed. Subs< qiientiy 
 however, I forgave, even if I did not quite lor 
 
186 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETT\ WOMAN. 
 
 pt't the injury ; nor sliduld 1 have again sought 
 lis i>'(|Uiial, had i oi the insolent as:9unipti<)ii of 
 i/iy iiiothtT instigated me to destroy her happi- 
 ness, as she iiiid previously dtstmyed mine. In 
 my passion I did not pause to rememher that I 
 nidde a second victim, and one who deserved 
 morec<)nsideiation at my hands. I am, there- 
 fore, the culprit." 
 
 '• It hits chanced at an unlucky moment," an- 
 swered Devereux, in an accent considerahiy 
 ess desponding than his words; "for ndthing 
 can now be expected from either party save an 
 increase of hostility. Ytiur situation is indeed 
 de^erate, Eveleen ; and we must be satisfied 
 not to look beyond ourselves for your deliver- 
 ance. How much longer do you calculate on 
 remaining at Ivooksley !" 
 
 " I ain as ignorant upon the subject as your- 
 self I believe," I added, with a scornful smile. 
 " that my movements are now dependent upon 
 those of some furniture, which even Sir James 
 Dornlon has considered it necessary to dis- 
 patch to Scotland, in order to make my prison 
 habitable." 
 
 " But you will not, of course, submit to this 
 abuse of authority 1" 
 
 "What can I dol He is my husband ; and 
 I am loo weak to resist." 
 
 " And yet, Eveleen, you affect to love me, 
 and to hate this man ; while his word is still 
 your law, and my afiection is met only by cold- 
 ness and repnuil. Is this consistent ! Is this 
 reasonable ] Above all, is this generous? Nay, 
 listen to me," he added, as I strove faintly to 
 disengage my hand ; " the moment is at length 
 come in which it behoves me to be frank. Your 
 name is blighted and your fair fame sullied ; you 
 are abandoned by your mother ; insulted by your 
 husband ; and denied by your acciiiainlance. 
 Voii alone know your own heart, unless indeed 
 you will admit nie into a participation of that 
 knowledge. \'ou alone know that you are 
 guiltless of those errors of which you are ac- 
 cused, and of which many of your accusers are 
 themselves far Irom free — and what avails that 
 knowledge, when you cannot obtain credence (H" 
 the fact 1 The w oman who is merely suspected 
 is always lost ; and it is only she who has moral 
 courage to brave the world, and to do justice to 
 herself, who escapes scathless." 
 
 " Spare me — spare me," I faltered arnid my 
 eobs. 
 
 " Eveleen, dear Eveleen, hear me out," 
 whispered my companion, as he seated himself 
 beside me, and encircled my sinking (igure 
 with his arm ; " I must show you precisely the 
 nature of your iiosiiion, in order that you may 
 summon resolution to resist your fate. You 
 Lave now seen what you have to expect from 
 that world of which you were so lately the 
 brightest oinament, and the tnost worshiped 
 idnl. Now turn your eyes upon your home. 
 V\'hat aspect, what prospect does it present! 
 An unloving and unreleinmg husband con.-igns 
 you tu i' living grave, and to the guardiansliip 
 of a woman to whom you are repugnant ; there 
 to moulder away your youth, your beauty, and 
 your iKipcs. while he rmts in your wealth — and 
 all this, not, believe me, to resent a momentary 
 (it ol Itiviiy, or an instant of imprudent caprice, 
 b.ii bi(;ause you were uiiguirded enough to be- 
 iiav to iiiiu (hat you knew too much of himself 
 
 — of his past career — of his mercenary motive* 
 — and of liis laie deliniiuoncy. Is this not sOt 
 sweet Eveleen V 
 
 The solution thus offered of my present 8or» 
 rows was too soothing to be rejected. My 
 ' tears flowed less bi'.terly ; I was less dissatisfied 
 with myself It was clear that Sir James acted 
 from a principle of self-preservation totally dis- 
 tinct from my personal coiiducl. I was already 
 justified in my own eyes. 
 
 " It is certain that you cannot remainr here, 
 alone and unprotected," puisued Devereux, ev- 
 idenily encouraged by the t ffcct of iiis last ar- 
 gument ; " for even slmuld Doi nton afl'ecl to 
 yield his consent to such a measure, you would 
 be at every moment subject to the ciinsequencea 
 of his breach of faith ; while it is still more im- 
 pcssiblo that you should be carried to Scotland, 
 almost beyond the reach of elHcient help." 
 
 "Alas! alas! what then is left to ineV I 
 exclaimed, wringing my hands in agony and in- 
 decisi(m. 
 
 " The whole world," murmured Devereux, 
 in my ear; "the whole world, fairest and 
 most beloved of women ! The sunny skies, and 
 smiling groves of Italy — the glorious mouniain- 
 l)aihs of Switzerlaiul — the classic shores of 
 Greece — and everywhere, one loyal and loving 
 heart, on which to pillow all your past trials 
 and present happiness." 
 
 I was stunned. I might have expected thi8» 
 I fear that I had expected it ; but vaguely, and 
 as a far-off vision seen dimly in perspective. I 
 was too feeble to contend with the emotion of 
 such a moment; ami siitrering my head to fall 
 upon the shoulder of Devereux, I closed ray eyes 
 and fainted. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 When I recovered consciousness Tfoimd my- 
 self still in the arms of Devereux, and I felt his 
 warm lips upon my brow. I dare not look back 
 to the intoxication of that moment. All my 
 sufferings and all my fears were forgotten as I 
 lay passively upon his bosom, and listened to 
 his low-breathed words of tenderness ; but ere 
 long I felt the necessity itf arousing myself from 
 this dangerous lethargy, and sweeping my dis- 
 heveled hair from my forehead, I endeavored to 
 withdraw myself from his clasp. 
 
 "Not yet, Eveleen," he murmured tenderly; 
 " not yet. You are still indisposed and weak, 
 my own love ; may I not say ivy own, as I onco 
 did some few sliort years ago, when you prom- 
 ised to love me only ! And you will redeem 
 that pledge even yet — you will not be fore- 
 sworn — you iiave so far sinned against me only 
 by compulsiim, and your heart has been no party 
 to the treachery <il ynur acts. We shall be 
 happy, Eveleen ; nmst hajipy. We will blot 
 England from the map of our worhl uf love; 
 and we shall still have space enough in which 
 to breathe out our vows of neverriianging ten- 
 derness and fidelity. I will t)e to you a friend, 
 a brother, a lover, everything — " 
 
 '• Save a husl)and — " I interposed, with an 
 involuntary shudder. 
 
 Devereux staried,but he almost instantly re- ^ 
 covered his composine. ".And even that will 
 come, fair trembler," ho .'^aid, as for the first 
 lime he dared to pi ess his lips to mine and to : 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 187 
 
 It so unchid.lcn ; for his words had awakened 
 ill the wariiiih and confulence of my nature. 
 ' Do you imagine thai Dornton will suffer so 
 3laubil)le an opportuniiy to escape of enriching 
 :iimself atyourexi)cnse, and of freeing you from 
 ,he odious lies wliich now subject you to his 
 ^)iitroi !" 
 
 " Oil, speali not of it," I exclaimed piteously : 
 "Ihink only of the humiliation — of the dis- 
 jrace." 
 
 "Eveleen, remember the commencement of 
 jur conversation ; and do not distress yourself 
 unnecessarily." 
 
 " True." 1 muttered through my. clenched 
 :ecili ; "I am already humbled — already dis- 
 graced." 
 
 •' If you see fit to accept such a destiny," 
 said Devereu.x soothingly ; " but if you deter- 
 mine ollierwise, your fate is in your own hands. 
 few will now be induced to believe you inno- 
 cent, even should you consent to pay the pen- 
 alty of error , and believe me, sweet one, it is 
 at worst an error to which nine-tenths of the 
 B'orld are in iheir hearts, for reasons of their 
 i)wn, disposed to be more lenient than they 
 Jeem it e.\pedient to acknowledge. You have 
 consequently only your own heart to consult; 
 for the malice of others has spared you the sole 
 really tangible objections which you might have 
 opposed to my entreaties. And will you en- 
 tirely overlook the happiness which you would 
 thus confer upon one who has loved you 
 Lliroiigli treachery and neglect, through good re- 
 port and evil report, as I have done ; I of whom 
 you are alike the first love and the last V 
 
 There was a bitter warring at my heart, but 
 I dared not yield. I have already frankly 
 stated more than once, that I had no fixed prin- 
 ciple of religion, and consequently no solid 
 foundation ol conduct ; but, nevertheless, I 
 shrank from the world's sneer ; and despite all 
 he well-iurned sophistries of Devereux, I 
 could nut bring myself to believe that I was in- 
 leed so utterly fallen in its opinion, as though 
 ;[ had in truth merited its scorn. 
 
 Be the result of my imprudence what it 
 "night, I lelt tnat it was incumbent upon me at 
 once to terminate the present interview ; and 
 I was surprised and I lear somewhat piqued, at 
 .he ready acquiescence of Devereux. 
 
 " It behoves us to be prudent, dearest," he 
 iaid, as he also rose ; " and the rather as I shall 
 ■-onslantly be near you, to guard you from the 
 !iarshness of Sir James. From sunrise to sun- 
 iet you will find me here, until it is your pleas- 
 ire that I should depart— tlie happiest of men, 
 tr the most miserable. Glance into the next 
 ipartmciit, and you will see that my establish- 
 iieni is complete." 
 
 I followed him to a small door which opened 
 n the opposite wall, and, to my astonishment, 
 iscovered m the room to which he alluded, a 
 tout horse ready saddled and bridled, and whose 
 ein was made fast to a ring beside a second 
 oor which opened into the high road. 
 
 "You s^cb I have been wary," he remarked 
 vith a smile ; "and have secured a means of 
 risiant esca|)e should I run any risk of detetion 
 y Dornton or his spies. I need not expatiate, 
 trust, upon the siiU more happy use to which 
 his fortunate outlet may be put. I leave it to 
 our own old memories and present attach- 
 
 ments. And now, farewell, dear Eveleen. I 
 shall only weary in my solitude lor your return, 
 tor the interval will be shortened by the visions 
 of the last hour, and the hopes of still brighter 
 and more blessed ones to come." 
 
 And so we parted, after Devereux had looked 
 cautiously from the narrow casement to ascer- 
 tain that we were unobserved, but as I slowly 
 traversed the shrubbery on my return, I in- 
 voluntarily asked myself whether I had not 
 already more than half-justified that world by 
 which I had been so recklessly cond(.'mned ; and 
 I dared not trust my own heart with the reply. 
 
 On arriving at home I ascertained from Su- 
 san that Sir James had not yet returned frona 
 shooting, and that none of the servants had left 
 the house during my absence, save the lad who 
 carried the letters to the post town. So far, 
 therefore, all had gone well, at least as regarded 
 the publicity of my imprudent proceeding: but 
 my timid attendant was still pale with terror, 
 and eagerly besought me not to repeal so dan- 
 gerous an exploit. I was, however, in no mood 
 to listen to hei'remonslrances ; the crisis of my 
 fate was at hand, and I felt the necessity of 
 utter solitude. I dismissed her, therefore, 
 with an apparent composure, which evidently 
 had only the effect of increasing her uneasi- 
 ness : and she left the room, alter a promise to 
 apprise me instantly of any intelligence which 
 she might obtain of the movements of Sir 
 James. 
 
 It would be idle to attempt an analysis of my 
 feelings when I once more found myself alone. 
 My head and heart were alike in a whirl. I could 
 come to no resolution either for good or evil. 
 At one moment I remembered my blighted re- 
 putation, so lightly whispered away in the very 
 circles where I had lately reigned supreme; and 
 I consequently considered myself exonerated 
 from all social obligations, and free to secure 
 my own happiness as I saw fit ; in the next 1 
 felt almost proud of the martyrdom to which I 
 had been subjected, and resolved not to forego 
 my innate sense of the injustice of which I had 
 been made the victim. But my recent inter- 
 view with Devereux rose up before me and lore 
 away the laurels which I had placed so proudly 
 on my brow. I was no longer innocent in heart, 
 and I could not conceal the fact from myself, 
 disguise it as I might. Nor did that evil end 
 here ; the tones of tenderness which had fallen 
 upon my spirit like a dew after a long day of 
 drought — the flattering sophistries which had 
 invested vice with a romance at once novel and 
 attractive — the self-appreciation — I dared not 
 call it self-respect — which the devotion oi 
 Devereux had reawakened within me — had all. 
 done their dangerous work ; and left me pow 
 erless to contend against their influence. 
 
 I saw nothing but wretehtilness on every 
 side. That of duty, while it promised a com- 
 paratively approving conscience, demanded as 
 the price of that boon a period of living death, 
 of mortification, and abandonment; v\ bile that 
 of error threatened me with a life-long remorse, 
 but veiled its sufl^erings with the roses of pas- 
 sion, and the delusion of egotistical gratifica- 
 tion. Thealternative was a desperate one ; and 
 I felt more inclined to mourn over my buried 
 youth and blighted prospects, than over the 
 self-blame which I might incur by an unworthy 
 
188 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 act. The world had ever been my idol ; and it 
 seemed to me more desirable to accept its suf- 
 frages upon Its own terms, now that I could no 
 longer command them upon mine, than to forego 
 Ibem aliogeilier. The first phase of my diffi- 
 culty left me utterly without suppnrt ; in the 
 second I should be upheld and guarded by the 
 proved affection of the man 1 loved : and I ac- 
 cordingly found a ttiousand sophistries in its 
 favor, which inlluenced even if they did not con- 
 vince me. 
 
 Had I consulted my own real interest, I 
 should at that moment have hurried to the 
 presence of Lady O'Halloran ; havo confided to 
 her all the details of my position, have con- 
 fessed to her, even upon my knees, my moral 
 guilt, and have besought her to protect me 
 against myself; but at the instant when my 
 thoughts turned to her firm and healthful friend- 
 ship, at that same moment my memory also 
 placed Kelbre me the pure and holy image of her 
 son's Wife ; and, although alone and unseen, I 
 bowed my head upon my bosom with a burning 
 biusli ! No, no — I could not bend cay haughty 
 spirit to such a degradation — I could not my- 
 self offer to her the weapon which was to drain 
 my life-blood. Better the long disgrace, far 
 away from all who had watched over my youth 
 and foretold for me a brighter and a more fitting 
 fate, than such an hoiir of wringing penance as 
 that interview must bring with it. 
 
 I was too much enervated by vanity and 
 frivolity, to be capable of such a triumph over 
 my own pride ; and thus I voluntarily thrust 
 from me the last fragment of the floating raft 
 which might have saved my honor from ship- 
 wreck. In my agony of heart, as I did this, I 
 Hung myself wildly upon my knees, and tried to 
 pray. Vain and idle mockery ! What right 
 had I to hope for help and strength when I, at 
 the same moment, voluntarily rejected the one 
 chance siill offered to my own exertions ? And 
 what knew I of praying as hearts must pray 
 which, amid the fervorof their silence, would be 
 heard ? What knew I of the spontaneous and 
 relying faith of the bruised spirit, which turns 
 to heaven, as the night-mariner to the beacon 
 ligtit which is his only hope of safety 1 No- 
 thing — less than nothing — and thus, in this 
 bitter hour, when my vices wrestled with a\i 
 of pure and precious that yet remained in my 
 fallen nature, I could not frame one petition 
 in which I was not conscious of my own hy- 
 pocrisy. 
 
 I started up self-condemned ; the words which 
 had sprung to my lips appeared to echo in my 
 ears like sounds of mockery ; my supplications 
 were not pure enough to ascend to Heaven, but 
 ' were beaten back in rebuke upon me ; and I felt 
 that they were rejected. The tire upon the 
 altar of my heart was an uniioly fire, and could 
 not ascend ; the sacrifice of my burnt-offering 
 had 00 sweet savor, and the tears which fell 
 upon It turned its juices to bitterness. 
 
 I passed a fearful nigiit ; it appeared inter- 
 minable ; and yet I dreaded the dawn, for I 
 knew that with the sunrise Devorcux would 
 6nce more be near me, and my moral struggle 
 be renewed. As I at length saw the cold, 
 blank light, stealing ahmg the sky, a new vis- 
 ion, one which had never before risen clearly 
 on my inind, pfesenled itself with terrible dis- 
 
 tinctness : it was that of a cessation of the lov« 
 for which I might have bartered my best hopes 
 on earth. 
 
 It was a frightful fancy ! and coming as it 
 did at that peciiliarly depressing moment wben 
 the earth has not yet succeeded in freeing her 
 bosom from the winding-sheet of night, J was 
 keenly susceptible of its influence. All around 
 me looked dreary, desolate, and cheerless, as 
 my own fate must be at such a crisis — and I 
 remembered that although the fust sun-burst 
 would renovate and revivify the objects upoo 
 which I looked, there could be no after spirit- 
 dawn for me. In the impulse ol the moment I 
 drew my night-lamp from the va^e which veiled 
 its light ; and seizing a pen, I poured forth the 
 anguish of my heart to Devereux. 
 
 " We must meet no more. You should not 
 wish it — and I dare not. We are t^oth wretched: 
 let us accept our fate. We need not therefore 
 be guilty also. I have tried to think, but my 
 brain burns and my eyeballs throb, and I have 
 no power over my intellect — I have tried to 
 pray, but I am ignorant how those pray who 
 are heard. I could bear the world's rebuke for 
 your sake — I have borne it — I could sin to secure 
 your love — 1 have even meditated to do so. Bui 
 howl Would my sin indeed secure your last- 
 ing and unchanging love 1 A few brief month; 
 of passion you would, no doubt, offer me in re- 
 quital — probably you would also suppose tha 
 nothing could ever weaken or alienate it. Yes 
 you would believe this, for your nature is loya 
 and honorable, and you are incapable of injurin, 
 me for the poor triumph of exhibiting my erro 
 to the world. But, Devereux, would this sara 
 loyalty and honor enable you to retain you 
 passion for me after I had sinned 1 Oh I m 
 no; the day would come, tar^lily perhaps,-^ 
 bu-t come at last it would, when you would &■ 
 timate the extent of my fall, and abandon mi 
 to its fearful consequences. You must or 
 day see, if not more beautiful, at least moi 
 worthy objects than myself, who may p? 
 back your affections with an unblushing bro 
 —and when that day came, what must be n 
 fate 1 
 
 " I know all that you would urge in reply ■ 
 this; and therefore — Devereux, f'<r the fir 
 time in my life, perhaps, I declare my purpo 
 without one reservation of vanity — om: otain , 
 false faith — therefore, I must not meet y 
 again, until I have schooled myself into a betl 
 and a more fitting frame of mind. I will si 
 mit myself as meekly as my imperious nati 
 will allow, to the destiny which awaits me. M 
 the bitter punishment of my past follies ma 
 me a wiser and a better wortian. 
 
 " I would pray for you if I could — I will f , 
 get you if I can — go, and be hapjiy " 
 
 Thus far had I written without one pau ' 
 without one instant of hesitation; but her<^ 
 laid down my pen, and burying my face upon i, 
 folde<l arms, I again abandoned myself to a tr . 
 of struggling and miserable thoughts. Grai 
 ally, as I remained in this position, my id" 
 became more vague, my reflections more c • 
 jointed; weariness alike of body and of spJ 
 did its tardy work, and I slept. 
 
 My dreams were such as might have visi I 
 the pillow of an opium-eater : I saw skulls v} 
 bridal wreaths upon their beads ; and skelei 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 bands stretching toward me a bony finger en- 
 circled by a iiiarriagc-ring. I wandered in a 
 vast foiest of leatiess trees, where tlie distorted 
 branches seemed to writhe in mockery as I pass- 
 ed along. I stood near a bier ; my sister lay 
 there in her shroud, and when I slojjped beside 
 her, she stretched out her bony arm, and as it 
 moved along, it traced upon the wall of the 
 charnel-house the name of Dornton, in charac- 
 ters of blood. I saw the grave of Emily ; her 
 long fair hair had burst through the humid soil, 
 and was scattered over the turf, and playing in 
 the night-wind ; and suddenly Mrs. Delamaine 
 was there also, trampling in the i)ride of her 
 haughty beauty upon those long fair tresses, 
 while her tyes darted flashes which withered 
 the grass and leaves upon which they fell. 
 More, nuich more, and all horrible, filled up the 
 measure of that fearful sleep ; but at last, all 
 passed away, and I fell into a state of deep and 
 unbroken forgetfulness. I was aroused by a light 
 touch upon my shoulder, and raising my heavy 
 eyes, 1 saw Susan standing beside me, and 
 wiping away her tears. 
 
 ♦' Why did you awaken mel" 1 asked sadly ; 
 " I was happj ; I was unconscious that I lived." 
 
 "My pooi' dear lady! And you have never 
 been to bed. Now, too, when you require all 
 your strength." 
 
 " I have still strength enough to suffer, my 
 good girl." 
 
 "But I bring your ladyship unwelcome ti- 
 dings." 
 
 " Wiien do we leave Rooksley 1" I asked 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "The day afier to-morrow, my lady: Ander- 
 son has received iiis orders to go tins mcrning 
 to the post-town lo bespeak the horses ; and I 
 have been warned lo pack your ladyship's ward- 
 robe." 
 
 I passed my fingers through my tangled hair, 
 and looked helplessly about me. Thick sobs rose 
 in my tliroat, and threatened me wiiii suffoca- 
 tion ; at Icngih, with some difficulty, I swal- 
 lowed a drauglit of water at the entreaty of my 
 alarmed alttnJant, and gradually became more 
 calm. Suddenly my eye fell upon the letter 
 which still lay before me, and.once more catch- 
 ing up tlie pen 1 wrote. 
 
 The bolt has fallen. The day after to-mor- 
 row I depart for my exile ; and now, Devereux, 
 povv tliat our hours are numbered, I feel that I 
 must sec you once more. Not to-day — for to- 
 day I should betray both you and myself— but to- 
 morrow — ;o-morrow — Devereux, and for the 
 last lime." 
 
 Having added these hurried lines, I sealed the 
 letter, and entrusted it lo Susan, with express 
 injunctions to convey it secretly to the Wood 
 Lodge before sunset; I had for a moment tlie 
 intention of writing lo my mother, lo expostu- 
 late with her on the violence to which 1 was 
 Bubjected, and her own utter abandonment, but 1 
 boon rejected the idea. 1 had brouglit grief and 
 raissensiun lo her hearth, and I knew her too 
 pvell to anticipate that she would ever forgive so 
 weep an injury. Thus then, save as regaided 
 pevereux, 1 was already totally separated from 
 me world ; I was about to follow my sister to 
 the retreat which she bad only exchanged tor a 
 krave. How knew I but such might be my own 
 pase 1. At that moment I hoped thai we might 
 
 ere long lie side by side ; and mingle our dust la 
 death, as in life we had never blent our hearlo. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 At an early hour in the morning, trembling 
 with agitation, I Ibrew on a shawl and bonnet, 
 and turned my steps toward the Wood Lodge. 
 I had been careful lo ascertain that Sir James 
 had left the house some time previously, as he 
 was in the constant habit of doing, vvith his gun 
 and his dogs ; and as I proceeded along my 
 solitary path, I read myself a serious lesson ol 
 prudence and self-government, whicli I believed 
 that I should not fail to require. A bright spring 
 sun shimmered on the leaves of the trees, and 
 formed checkered mosaics of light and shadow 
 upon the earth. The sky-lark was making the 
 blue heavens ring with its matin song, as it 
 quivered above my head ; all about me was calm 
 and beautiful ; all within me was dark and 
 troubled. 1 felt as though I were rushing upon 
 my fate, even while I murmured that I wsuld 
 be true lo myself, and conquer the weakness to 
 which it would be sin to yield. As I left the 
 house further behind me, I quickened my pace ; 
 and, at length, with a beating bean and a pale 
 cheek, I stood before the little building, but no 
 ready hand raised the lat.cli to give me entrance ; 
 no anxious eye had watched for ioy approach, 
 that my greeting might be hastened. All was 
 still. 
 
 After a painful pause, unbroken by any sign 
 or sound of riumaii neighborhooil. I suirimoned 
 courage to throw back the door, but tlie cottage- 
 rooms were empty. 
 
 " He has been detained," I murmured to my- 
 self, as I todk my place upon the narrow bench. 
 and prepared lo await him: "he has been de- 
 tained, but he will be here ere long." And I 
 felt a strange pleasure as I sat in the narrow 
 and unfurnished chamber where Devereux had, 
 for my sake, passed so many sulilary hours ; 
 and sighed that the whitewashed walls could 
 not betray to me the secret of his thoughts du- 
 ring his weary watch. Memories of what had 
 already passed in that hovel rose up before me ; 
 memories which, at su(;h a moment, I should 
 have stifled, and which only served to increase 
 my passion, and to deepen my regrets ; grad- 
 ually 1 felt my heller residuimns giving way, 
 and my anxiety for the arrival of Devereux be- 
 eoming greater and more dillicult lo su[)pres3. 
 If he came not on this occasion, 1 should .see 
 him no more ; and I had so miu-h lo say, so 
 much to ask. Bnl 1 heard the clock of the little 
 village school-house, which my mother had built 
 in the first year of her marriage wiih my poor 
 father, strike nine ; and still 1 s'at there alone. 
 The sound had conjured up, however, more 
 healthy recollections; and I recalled ibe image 
 of that father loo litile loved, ami too early lost, 
 until 1 asked myself, what— should his shade be 
 hovering near me at that moment, (!isturt)ed in 
 its repose by the imprudence id'his child — what 
 nmst be its agony and its despair ! I could not 
 bear the ban owing reflection, and starting from 
 Miy seat, 1 rushed fiom the lod-je and hurriedly 
 returned home, iJiuoued by the piteous howling 
 of a dog, which smote at my he;'.rt with its 
 dismal ..od ill-timed discord. 
 
 An was then over ; i »houW sec him no more. 
 
190 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 probably for long years, possibly for life. My 
 fate was scaled ; and he — even he — had also 
 deasrted nie. I paced my chamber in despair; 
 I wrung my hands in agony; I vowed myself to 
 an early dcah, and loathed the very light that 
 glared upon my wretchedness. Another hour 
 pealed fro-n the low belfry : I counted every 
 stroke tenacioiisly, as though my destiny hung 
 upon it.s clrar and ringing voice ; and tiien I 
 listened anxiuiisly for other sounds, for I was 
 oppressed hy the deep stillness which succeed- 
 ed. It was soon broken once more. From 
 afar-otr, yet, as it seemed, slowly approaciiing 
 nearer In the house, I heard again the long 
 howlmg wails of the dog which had disturbed 
 me as f left the cottage. The melancholy 
 cadence of those houis made me shudder. I 
 was then to he surrounded to the last with 
 fioom and misery ! A cold damp started to my 
 brow, and I .sank into a seat, for my limbs 
 tremhlid. Suddenly the wail ceased, and I 
 heard a strange movement in the house ; cries 
 ol' alarm and horror, confused voices, and steps 
 hastily approaching my chamber. I grasped the 
 arms of the chair in which I sat, and half raised 
 myself, as if to meet with le.-*s delay the new 
 trial which was awaiting me, be it what it 
 might. 
 
 A heavy hand beat rudely upon my door. T 
 answered hoarsely to Ihe summons ; and imme- 
 diately the valet of my luishand stood before me, 
 with a lilanciied brow, and trembling lips. For 
 an instant he was speechless, but at length he 
 gasped out : " All is over, my lady ; there is no 
 longer a hope — they have brought him home 
 but he is dead. My poor, poor, murdered 
 master !" 
 
 "Dead!" I repeated, like one who dreams. 
 •♦ Who IS (lead ! Who has been murdered 1" 
 
 "My inasicr — my poor master!" again ex- 
 claimed the man. 
 
 I heard no more. A heavy blow appeared to 
 have descended on my head, and I fell senseless 
 to llie earth. 
 
 busan was standing beside my bed when I 
 again opened niy eyes ; for a time I could not 
 surticiently recover my scattered senses to com- 
 prehend what had occurred ; but gradually a 
 confused memory grew u|)on me, although still 
 so vaguely, that I clung to the hope that I had 
 been visiied hy a slee{)ing vision which liad 
 bewildered my imaginatiim. 
 
 "1 Iwue had a frightful dream," I whispered 
 ehuddermgly. 
 
 " M V lady has not slept," sobbed out the weep- 
 ing vvoui.in. 
 
 "Not sle|)t !" I exclaimed, lifting my heavy 
 head Imin iIk^ pillow; "can it indeed be really 
 Bol Sir J.iiiies " 
 
 " Is no more, madam." 
 
 " Dffad !" 1 almost shrieked ; "and where is 
 'v'-olonei Devereux !" 
 
 " 1 (!an understand my lady's suspicion, 
 but—" 
 
 " 'J'I.e word murder seems to ring in my ears, 
 as thoMjih ^nllle (lemon had uttered it. Tell me 
 how my hiislniiui met his death ; and tell me 
 the tiiiih," 1 added; "frightful as it may be, I 
 must kiii),v the (ruth : this is no moment lor 
 false iclii }iiieiils, or mysteries which have in 
 them more of an;,niish than of mercy — tell me 
 U'Uo niurdeiei; liim." 
 
 " Indeed, my lady — " 
 " Peace, girl !" I said wildly : " I know it a 
 He was not there when I went to seek him. 
 waited there alone — alone, till tiie spirit of my 
 father drove me forth ; and I was pursued eveo 
 to my chamber hy the voice of the w ailing brute 
 who was howling out his requiem over the dead. 
 Susan," and I clutched her arm with my con- 
 vulsed fingers ; " J am innocent — you know that 
 I am innocent !" 
 
 " My poor dear lady, you will break my 
 heart." 
 
 " You warned me that there would be blood 
 shed, Susan ; but I did not heed you. Mad with 
 (error and despair, I thought only of myself, — 
 and yet 1 had been warned — I had been warn- 
 ed—" I 
 " I do beseech you to listen to me, my lady ; j 
 indeed, and indeed — " j 
 " Where did they meet 1 Did the murderer i 
 escape] Did your master curse me before he j 
 died !" ] 
 
 " Unless your ladyship will calm yourself, and 
 let me speak," said Susan firmly ; " it is in vam 
 for iTie to hope to coml(Ut you. There is a great 
 deal to be done, and it must be done hy you, my 
 lady—" 
 
 "Alas! alas! what will become of us!" lex- 
 claimed, writhing like one in the agonies ol 
 death. 
 
 " Reiy upon it that your ladyship does Colo- 
 nel Devereux injustice," persisifd Susan ; ••from 
 all that 1 can learn, the death of Sir James was 
 caused by an accident for which no one is res- 
 ponsible." 
 
 " An accident 1 can it really be 1 Who told 
 you that it was an accident 1 Who saw itl 
 How did it occur !" . j 
 
 " I do not yet know the exact particulars, my >! | 
 lady. Hearing a great noise in the park, and 
 the howling of a dog that I knew at once by Ilia 
 voice rhust be one of my master's pointers, I 
 ran to a short distance from the house, fearing 
 I did not well know what, when I saw, my lady 
 
 1 saw the bleeding Ix^dy of Sir James, which 
 
 two peasants were carrying in their arms. I 
 had my own (ears, I will not deny it ; and in ttjy 
 terror I began to (lueslion these men ; but, full 
 of anxiety al)out Sir James, they answered me 
 shortly: ' He did it himself— he did it himsell 
 — he was killed by his own gun.' I came liack 
 with them to the house, and walked close beside 
 my master's head, in the hope that I might see 
 some sign of life, but I watched in vain ; the 
 blood had stopped — and — and — in short, my 
 lady, I was assisting to remove Sir James to his 
 own room, when his valet came running to tell 
 me that your ladyship had fainted ; and I know 
 no more." 
 
 I listened with panting eagerness ; but the 
 hope which had for an instant pierced through ' 
 my agony, once more abandoned me as Susan 
 proceeded with her narrative. I know too well 
 the positiim in which I stood b'.-ii to my hus- 
 band and Colonel Devereu.x, and the feelings 
 vhich they mutually entertained toward each 
 tlier, to venture to lean upon so sligiit a reed 
 as the one now tendered to me ; and this know- 
 ledge, combined with the imperfect information 
 of my attendant, rather served to deepen than 
 to decrease the awful suspicion which was 
 gnawing at my heart. Moreover, I>cvcieux had 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 191 
 
 not appeared at the lodge, although I had ap- 
 prised liim that I would be tliere to see liim for 
 the last t;aie. Could I now doubt what it was 
 that led him to neglect that meeting 1 At what 
 a moment, too, had tlie catastrophe occurred 1 
 Just as I was about to be sulyected to the last 
 indignity with which the autliority of a hus- 
 band enabled Sir James to visit me. Was r>ot 
 all then fearfully and fatally clear 1 
 
 In this emergency I fell all the ardor of my 
 love for Devereux ; fur I forgot the dead man 
 who lay stark in his stiffening blood within a 
 few chambers of my own ; I forgot the horror, 
 and perhaps it might be also, the peril, of my 
 own situation, to shudder at the danger which 
 impended over him. He, llie guilty one ! against 
 whom a cry had gone up to heaven. Would he 
 escape out of the country ! And, if so, whither 
 would he turn his wandering steps 1 Friend- 
 less, homeless, and an exile, with the stain of 
 blood upon his heart, and the brand of Cain 
 upon his brow — he, who had been a spoiled 
 child of the same world, which had also aban- 
 doned me. And he had become its outcast for 
 my sake— he had paid this bitter price for my 
 love — and thai love must r.ow be denied to him 
 for ever. The serpents of the Laocoon were 
 not more crushing or more deadly, than the in- 
 sidious and snake-like sophistries which rose 
 tumultuonsly within me, and writhed and grap- 
 pled at my heart ; but I shuddered as I spurned 
 them back, and resolutely bent my thoughts upon 
 my own probable destiny. 
 
 Susan had left nie at my desire to obtain 
 more full and feasible information of the trage- 
 dy wliich had been enacted almost under iny 
 very eyes ; and I was still lost in a sea of wild 
 conjeciure, when she returned, with an expres- 
 jsion of countenance that almost reassured me. 
 j "I have not misled your ladyship," she said, 
 160 soon as she had closed the door behind her ; 
 "every one Iclls the same story. The peas- 
 ants who brought my master home were work- 
 ing in a field about half a mile from here, and 
 saw him leave the open park, and beat the 
 Bipall wood near the road-side ; after which he 
 jumped out upon the pathway, and walked 
 slowly along, with his gun upon his shoulder, 
 and his head bent down, as if he was full of 
 thought. A groom had been sent some days 
 ago to London by Sir James, and just as he 
 nearly reached the lodge (which your ladyship 
 knows stands at a turn of the littie wood), he 
 rode up, and gave Sir James a letter. The un- 
 derwood and weeds are thick there ; and my 
 master, having rested the but-end of his gun 
 on the ground, leant upon the barrel while he 
 read his letter; and he was still doing this 
 when another horseman approached him, riding 
 very rapidly. At the sound of his horse's feet, 
 Sir James looked up, and as though he knew 
 him, made him a sig:n to stop ; folded his letter 
 and hastily lilted his gun, without remarking 
 that it was entangled among the long weeds 
 and brambles ; the jerk which he gave to draw 
 it out, brought the trigger in contact with some 
 weed or twig; it went off; and you know the 
 rest, my lady — my poor master was killed on 
 the spot." 
 
 "Is this true, Susan!" 
 
 "They all .'^wear to it, groom, and peasants, 
 ani all, my lady." 
 
 I " And the horseman V 
 
 "Fortunately, your ladyship, ;'. was Jacofi. 
 the new stableman, that Sir James sent to Lon- 
 don, and he had never seen the colonel. All 
 that he could say, therefore, w.is that the 
 'strange gentleman was muffled up about the 
 chin, wore a large cloak, and rodo a gray 
 horse." 
 
 "Are you sure that he said a gray horse 1" 
 
 " Positive, my lady ; and besides, the fartning 
 men remembered seeing both the hcn-se and the 
 man pass by toward Rooksley for the last two 
 mornings; only they said that to-day he was 
 later than usual." 
 
 " And what did he when he saw Sir James 
 fain" 
 
 " He jumped off his horse, my lady, and lift- 
 ed up my poor master, and felt his heart ; and 
 then he shook his Ihii'I, and ('esired the men to 
 carry Sir James carefully up to the bouse, tell- 
 ing them who he was ; and then, when he saw 
 them about to obey him, he mounted again, and 
 galloped off toward London." 
 
 This intelligence calmed me at once. He 
 was not then a murderer — he was gudlless of 
 my husband's blood — the very consciousness of 
 this fact removed its heaviest weight from my 
 heart. But why had he not ridden on to Rooks- 
 ley, now that there was no impediment to hi.s 
 appearance, and prepared me for the horrible tra- 
 gedy of the morning ! 
 
 I subsequently learnt the cause. The letter 
 which Susan had delivered, and which informed 
 him of my immediate departure for Scotland, 
 coupled with the assurance of my inlention to 
 see him on the morrow for the last time, had 
 convinced him that he had not a moment to 
 lose if be would secure a different result. He 
 had, therefore, ridden to the posi-town to pro- 
 vide a carriage, which was to lake its station a 
 hundred paces from the Wood Lodge at mld~ 
 night ; never doubting that the woman who 
 could risk such an interview at such a moment, 
 would offer but a faint resistance to his pas- 
 sionate entreaties. Yes, that very night, on 
 which the pale and disfigured corpse of my hus- 
 band lay buried in its everlasting sleep, he had 
 calculated that I should become at once a fugi- 
 tive and an outcast from my home and from my 
 country ! Even now, I shudder as I remember 
 the precipice upon whose brink I stood; and 
 the avvfulness of the means which saved me. 
 
 Other arrangemc-nts, connected with our an- 
 ticipated flight, had detained him until so late 
 an hour that he was compelled to remain at ihe 
 post-town all night ; and he was on the way to 
 our appointed interview, when he came 'upon 
 Sir James; whom, from the fact that his lace 
 .vas concealed by the letter upon which he was 
 nlent, he had not recognized until he passed 
 close beside him. 
 
 Struck by the fatal inferences which might 
 be drawn, should it be discovered that he was 
 an eye-witness to the horrible death of the man 
 he hated, he liad no sooner ascertained thai all 
 
 was indeed over, than he galloped hack to , 
 
 declared that he found it necessary lo hast(!n 
 his journey, and throwing himself into the car- 
 riage which he had already secured, he hurried 
 to town with all the speed which lour stoul 
 horses could insure. 
 
 Earnest to prevent the possibility ot my being 
 
193 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 .Tnplicated in the melancholy affair, as he was 
 conscious that I mi^sl he if he remained absent 
 from Lnnd(m, he lost not a moment on his arri- 
 val in throwing off liis traveling dress, and call- 
 ing upon rny mother ; after wiiich he made a 
 circuit of the clul)S. and tiien returned to his fa- 
 ther's house ; where, pleading fatigue, he shut 
 himself into !iis own apartments, in order that 
 he might be alone, when the fatal news, which 
 he was aware must follow him in a few hours, 
 should be promulgated. 
 
 This proceeding was too well-judged and too 
 generous to be either guessed at or appreciated 
 by me at such a moment; and my indignation 
 and wretchedness at his neglect and a|)parcnt 
 indifference to my misery, helped me to over- 
 come the horror of my position, where sympa- 
 thy and kindness, however active and insidious, 
 would probably have failed. 
 
 Amid all this conflict of distempered feeling, 
 I suddenly remembered the necessity of dis- 
 patching a messenger in all haste to Lady Mad- 
 elaine, to inform her of the tragic event which 
 had just occurred ; and I had actually sealed 
 myself at my writing-table before I became con- 
 scious of the extreme difficulty of the task. In 
 what spirit could I address herl If I assumed 
 a tone of grief, she would be well aware of the 
 hypocrisy to which I had condescended ; and if I 
 wrote coldly, she would at once accuse me of 
 even more unlioly vices. Moreover, I knew not 
 what had become of Devereu.x. Should he be 
 still in the neiglil)orliood, and that the fact became 
 known, every sentence that I wrote might, per- 
 haps, be tortured into an accusation which I did 
 not possess the means of rebutting. What was 
 to be donel 
 
 Once more Susan came zealously to my aid. 
 "Indeed, my lady," she said, beseechingly; 
 "you are not yet able to undertake such a 
 melancholy letter. Only give me your orders, 
 and I will do my best to inturm my Lady Made- 
 laine of the sad event." 
 
 I gladly acquiesced in this proposal ; and de- 
 siring her to say what she considered necessary, 
 and to excuse me on the plea of my agitated 
 condition, I abandoned the project of being my- 
 self the herald of my widowhood, to my prudent 
 and sympathizing attendant. Nothing could 
 have been belter judged than the plain, true, and 
 simple manner m which she told her tale ; one 
 only portion of her letter displeased me, but to 
 that, I could not, without extreme imprudence, 
 make an exception. It concluded with an en- 
 treaty on my part that my mother would come 
 to me, and support me in my trial by her pre- 
 sence and adviee. 
 
 Conscious as I was that I required both coun- 
 sel and assistance, I loathed the idea of owing 
 either to my moiher ; that mother who iiad 
 never been io>me other than an object of jeal- 
 ousy and fear ; and 1 shuddered as I thouglit of 
 a meeting which was, however, inevitable, for 
 I knew that, sooner or later, I must claim her 
 protection. My youth, and the death of my 
 husband ; a death sulhciently equivocal in ap- 
 pearance to excite the comments of those who 
 had watched the recklessness of my conduct 
 during the last few months of my residence in 
 town, would alike oblige me to submit in a 
 certain degree to her authority. I could there- 
 fore only sigh over the necessity, and submit. 
 
 This letter was at once confided to the groom 
 who had witnessed the catastrophe of the morn- 
 ing, with strict injunctions to travel with all speed 
 to town : and to answer the questions which 
 might be put to him without eiiher reserve or 
 exaggeration ; and I made this selection, be- 
 cause I believed that the account given by a 
 person who was on the spot, would suffer less 
 from the cross-questionings of suspicion or ill- 
 will, than that of one who merely repeated what 
 he had heard from others. 
 
 This arrangement was scarcely completed 
 when to my surprise I heard the wiiecis of a 
 carriage pass over the gravel under my win- 
 dow at a rapid pace ; and in' five minutes after 
 ward I was clasped in the arms of Lady 0'*Hal 
 loran. 
 
 No, never, never, shall I forget the almost 
 painful happiness of that moment. I had still 
 a friend ! There was no room lor doubt, for 1 
 felt the warm tears falling upon my neck. 
 
 "Eveleen," she at length .said in an accent 
 of real feeling ; " how, in such an awful trial aa 
 this, could you forget that I was near you 1 
 Were you not sure of my sympathy and assist- 
 ance under any circumstances?" 
 
 I could only strain her closer to my heart. 
 
 " I would not idly inflict another i)ang upon 
 you, my poor child," she jiursued while she re- j 
 turned the pressure ; " but 1 have a siern duty 
 to perform," and as she spoke, she drew me , 
 toward a sofa, and seated herself beside me. 
 "One question you mu-^^t answer, and with truth, 
 as you hope for consolation in this world. Eve- 
 leen ; strange, terrible rumors have reached 
 me ; but I will trust to your word — are you in- 
 nocent ]" 
 
 " I am — I am" — I exclaimed eagerly, as I 
 cast myself on my knees bcioro her, with 
 clasped hands and streaming eyes : " innocent 
 most innocent in act ; but guilty, I fear, if 
 heart." 
 
 "After this admission I cannot doubt you; 
 guilty or not, my age lel't me fi( e to offer con- 
 solation to your father's child ; but hoping that 
 you had been misjudged, I have brought you 
 also another comforter, for you have need of all 
 our tenderness." And replacing me gently upon 
 the sofa, she rang and desired ih;,', her daugh- 
 ter-in-law, who still remained in the carriage, 
 might be requested to join her in my dressing- 
 room. 
 
 "And now, calm yourself, Evcleon," she 
 said, "and find consolation in learning the 
 happiness which your assurance has given me. 
 You know not how my heart has bled for you, 
 since those horrid doubts were awakened in my 
 mind. Imprudent though you may have been, ^ 
 let your past errors be subject indeed of deep i. 
 regret, but not of despair. You are still very 
 young ; but you have already had opportunity ' 
 to appreciate the hollow ness and falsehood of, 
 that world which you loved too wdl fur your own ,' 
 peace ; let your past experience bo to you as ; 
 the fire to the gold in the crucible, and you may 
 yet have occasion to be grateful for the trials 
 which awakened you to higher and better 
 hopes." 
 
 She had hardly ceased speaking when the. 
 door again opened, and the pine and heavenly 
 eyes of the younger Lady O'Halloran met mj 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 193 
 
 "The world has done her injustice, Mar- 
 garet," said my kind comforter ; " take her to 
 your heart, for the bruised reed must be bound 
 up." 
 
 Long and earnest was the embrace which we 
 oxcl^anged ; but even amid all my emotion I 
 felt humbled by the striking contrast wliich we 
 presented. Calm and serene in her almost 
 BaiEt-like beauty, no cloud had gathered upon 
 i the radiant brow of that young girl ; no trace 
 I of passion had marred ilie purity of her beauty; 
 ; while I was crushed and withered by the spirit- 
 i war which had so long been scorching up ray 
 I /outh. 
 
 I I was not, however, suffered to dwell long 
 lapon so bitter a contemplation, for the watch- 
 ifiil old lady, as if conscious that a new source 
 of suffering had been opened within me, sud- 
 |Jenly exclaimed: "You must allow me, my 
 I dear Lady Dornton, to assume at once the au- 
 ilhority of an old and sincere friend. You can- 
 oot remain under this roof at present ; nor are 
 jrou competent to control the mournful arrange- 
 ments which must necessarily be made, before 
 either your mother or Lord Otterlbrd can arrive 
 from town ; go then at once to the Hall with 
 Margaret ; my son is from home, and no one can 
 Intrude upon your privacy ; I will remain here 
 for a short time, during which your woman can 
 abey any orders which you may wish to give, and 
 then follow you. Meanwhile, Margaret will her- 
 self bear you company, and, I trust, afford you 
 jnmfort." 
 
 I could only bless her for the suggestion ; and 
 ;re long I left the house of death calmer, and 
 jnore full of hope than I had expected again to 
 tte in this world. 
 
 I A faint sickness crept over me as I passed 
 Qie chamber of my husband ; but I nevertheless 
 Approached the door, and would have entered 
 p look upon him lor the last time, as though 
 mis tariy duty could compensate for my past 
 |iTors. My intention was, however, instantly 
 kegatived by Lady O'Halloran, who was al- 
 eady aware of the frightful spectacle which 
 Vould have awaited me ; nor did I attempt to 
 ispute her will. 
 
 And thus I once more quitted the home of my 
 ihildhood, amid silence, and gloom, and terror ; 
 paving behind no one to regret me, or to sym- 
 athize in my early sorrows. All was darkness 
 lere ; but still before me rose one distant ray 
 « light. The torch had been ignited by the fair 
 joung creature who bore me company, and who 
 'ad already whispered, amid her tears, words 
 divine consolation which I now heard for the 
 rat time, and which seemed to bring peace upon 
 leir breath. 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 I WAS transported to a new world. I was like 
 
 e tempe.si-tossed and shipwrecked mariner, 
 
 !-' ,ho is suddenly cast ashore upon one of those 
 
 ii - ieasure-teeming islands, where a((l is.fresh, and 
 
 II* leen, and young, as Ihougli it had just sprung 
 
 [^ • 'to existence; one of those dreamy anddelicious 
 
 llitudes of which distant voyagers bring back 
 
 3' iles which are so glowing as to seem almost 
 
 3ulous. No ill-judged and officious sympathy 
 
 13 forced upon me at moments when I was 
 
 lable to bear the words of consolatioa ; no ret- 
 
 rospect was intruded upon me which could jar 
 one chord of my weary spirits ; but in those 
 hours the beautiful young wife, her eyes teem- 
 ing with a quiet joy which to me was as novel 
 as it was soothing, would come and seat herself 
 beside me, with her infant in her arms, and grad- 
 ually win me back to composure. 
 
 It was a holy picture ; and it awoke my heart 
 to thoughts and feelings hitherto unknown to 
 me. Even such as she was might I have been, 
 had I known how to regulate my passions, and 
 to control my vanity. How fatal had been my 
 mistake ! 
 
 Day succeeded day in the same unbroken and 
 spirit-healing calm. I knew that Lord Otterford 
 had arrived at Rooksley, and that an official in- 
 vestigation had taken place which had ratified 
 the fact of Sir James's involuntary self-destruc- 
 tion. In announcing to me the refusal of my 
 mother to comply with my request that she 
 should come to me in my grief, the kind-hearted 
 Lady O'Halloran was careful to mitigate the 
 pang which she imagined that her information 
 must necessarily inflict, by also acquainting me 
 with the satisfaction expressed by Lord Otter- 
 ford at my removal from the house to her gene- 
 rous guardianship, and the request he had ven- 
 tured that she would continue to afford me her 
 protection until some definite arrangement could 
 be made. 
 
 " When all is over," she concluded, " he will 
 visit you here, before he again departs for town, 
 and I would counsel you, my dear Eveleen, to 
 entreat his influence with your mother to receive 
 you under her own roof, at least until the ex- 
 piration of your mourning. I am aware that 
 you will have much to suffer, much to endure 
 without resentment, should she accede to this 
 arrangement ; but remember, my dear child, 
 that if you are called on greatly to forbear, so 
 you have also greatly erred, and must pay the 
 penalty of .those errors, in patience and expia 
 tion." 
 
 " I feel — I know it all, my dear Lady O'Hal- 
 loran ; and I will strive, indeed I will, to become 
 less ufWorthy of the affection which you have 
 lavished upon me ; but, oh ! you cannot guess 
 what it will cost me to lose your fostering care, 
 and to be cast once more, solitary and unloved, 
 upon the world. I have told you all my wretch- 
 ed story ; you are aware that there is still a far- 
 off hope to which I cling ; and how earnestly I 
 desire, before that hope is realized, to have ren- 
 dered myself more deserving of the happiness 
 which it will insure. You know, too, that I 
 cannot look back upon my married life, short as 
 it has been, with one feeling of comfort or con- 
 solation ; and that its fearful termination is a 
 source of terror rather than regret. Judge, then, 
 of what Ihave still to undergo, when I shall no 
 longer have either precept or example to guide 
 me — nothing but bitterness, and taunt, and 
 scorn !" 
 
 " Have I not taught you where to look foi 
 support 1" 
 
 " You have, indeed ; and in that support alone 
 can I trust during the many weary months 
 which await me." 
 
 And she had done so ; gently, but in surprise 
 
 at my insensibility, she had led me on to ea 
 
 tertain a less exalted idea of mere human 
 
 d human perfectibility ; she had 
 
194 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN 
 
 taught me to look into my own heart, and to 
 discover its hollowness; she had, in short 
 waiiened a new nature within me, unstable and 
 weak as yet, it is true, but which might per- 
 chance prove to be the germ of better things ; 
 and this, too, in the space of one short week 
 without dogmatism, without dictation, without 
 rebuke ; but simply, earnestly, and fondly ; as a 
 mo'.her might have recalled lier wandering child 
 to tlio yearning heart which panted to receive 
 her back. 
 
 No wonder, then, that I deprecated any 
 change in my position ; that I shrank at the 
 idea of the visit which awaited me ; the meet- 
 ing which, in every point of view, presented a 
 bitter trial. My own mother had spurned my 
 prayer for help ; and it was he whom I had 
 8til' more deeply injured, who was about to 
 stand before me ; perhaps to rebuke me with 
 my treachery ; perhaps to reproach me with my 
 past errors ; perhaps, too — and this was the most 
 horrible thought of all — perhaps, too, to hurl at 
 me suspicions too frightful to be reduced to 
 words ! 
 
 Nor will any who have followed nve through 
 this confession of a wasted life, be surprised 
 to learn that even with the images of this antici- 
 pated trial, now at the very threshold, mingled 
 the dread of leaving the roof of Lady Ollallo- 
 ran, from a nearer and dearer consideration than 
 even those which I had educed to herself I 
 felt thai this sojourn in a home where ali 
 breathed of purity and peace, must tend to exalt 
 me in the eyes of Devereux. He would see that 
 I was not in truth the outcast he tiad believed ; 
 that tlie good and the virtuous had not abandon- 
 ed me utterly — and this consideration was my 
 nest consoler. 
 
 I dared not repine that I had heard nothing 
 of hi'ii since that fateful morning. Ten days 
 'had barely elapsed, and the body of Sir James 
 was not yet committed to the grave. How 
 then could he have ventured to intrude upon 
 my solitude, without a breach of that respect 
 which I was now more tlian ever anxious to 
 exact from him ] It was true, that, 3fe well 
 aware as myself of tli« actual state of my feel- 
 ing toward my husband, he knew that my grief 
 demanded no such concession on his part ; but 
 still the exigences of society must be observed ; 
 and in my case, more stringently than ever, com- 
 promised as I was by the past. 
 
 For the first time I began — ay, even now, 
 when I had not as yet disguised mystdf in the 
 mourning garments which were prepared for 
 me — to dwell upon that future from which I had 
 hitherto shrunk. What did I not promise niy- 
 Bclf ] For the first time I had begun also to at- 
 tach a value to the wealth which would enable 
 Devereux to abandon his profession, and to give 
 'himself up entirely to the life of happiness and 
 peace whicii he had so often painted to me in 
 glowing colors, too brilliant, alas ! for the pen- 
 cil 01 reality. 
 
 From these sweet dreams I was startled on 
 the following morning by the aspect of the fune- 
 real dress which was spread out in my dress- 
 ing-room. I had been prepared to expect it on 
 the day upon which the obsequies of Sir James 
 were to be performed : but when I was actually 
 in presence of this dismal mockery of woe, and 
 tooked into my owe heart, it seemed to aflbrd 
 
 the most bitter epigram, alike upon the presenl 
 and the past ; and my blood curdled as I sub- 
 mitted to its adjustment. My long and luxuri- 
 ant hair was strained back, and concealed be- 
 neath the close borders of a muslin cap, whicli 
 formed a dense and jealous frame-work to mj 
 pale features ; the long, hanging sleeves, the 
 clinging crape, and the inconvenient texture oi 
 my mourning dress, were all novtl, and all re- 
 pelling ; but I made no comment upon either; 
 and shortly afterward, plunged once more intc 
 a train of thought which diverted me from tht 
 present. 
 
 I was recalled, however, to the fact of the 
 change which had been effected in my whole 
 appearance, by the involuntary start of both 
 my hostesses when I descended to the breakfast- 
 room. 
 
 "How beautiful!" murmured the young 
 mother, while she strained her baby to her 
 heart, as though she sought to avert from its in- 
 nocent head so bitter a fate as that on which 
 she looked. 
 
 " How melancholy !" sighed the more chast- 
 ened old lady, as she pressed her lips to my 
 forehead. " Eveleen, my dear Eveleen, let me 
 hope, let me trust that you are now clad in the 
 weeds of your past follies ; and that when you 
 throw off these mourning garments, you wiL' 
 also cast away with them all the evil influencej 
 of your former life. You wdl then, indeed 
 have reason to bless the day when you wer( 
 stricken; and to rejoice in llie chastisement b' 
 which you are now visited." 
 
 Little more passed during the meal. I wa-i 
 asking myself, if I should, indeed, fulfifl the hopn 
 which had just been uttered for me ; and m' 
 companions were too considerate- to intrad; 
 upon a silence and a preoccupation, whic; 
 they felt to be only too consistent with my p(! 
 sition. InditTerent, and worse than indiffereni' 
 as I had been to Sir James as a wife, I con) 
 not, nevertheless, contcmplaie his untimely fai 
 without a pang, the more biUer because I w; 
 conscious that I had probably been its involu 
 tary cause. Had not Devereux appeared befo 
 him at that eventful moment, he would, witho 
 doubt, have been more guarded in his mov 
 ments ; and wa.9 not Devereux even then • 
 his way to the meeting which I had myself a 
 pointed] 
 
 These were bitter convictions ; arid as t| 
 unconscious tears streamed over my w 
 cheeks, I ceased to believe myself so guiltle' 
 as I had hitherto striven to appear ; but th«: 
 once more uprose the memory of the cruel ch< 
 which was practiced upon nie — the falsehc 
 and tyranny of which I had been made the y 
 tim — and I passed from the contemplation'- 
 my wrongs, to the prospect of brighter days/ 
 come. These were again banished in tb- 
 turn, by gloomy visions of the house of deal. 
 the shrouded corse, and the funereal train, wb^» 
 had replaced the dazzling crowds colled 
 there during *y earlier years. Adela had q • 
 ted that roof only to die ; Sir James had sou t 
 ts shelter only to follow her to the grave. A 
 hideous phantasmagoria flitted before me! - 
 tred, and falsehoou, and treachery, and bio i 
 and I stood alone amid all these, povverles; o 
 avert their consequences, even as I had L o 
 incaoable of anticipating their advent. 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 195 
 
 Never had I felt less sure of myself Under 
 the gUH'dianship of Lady O'Halloran, and 
 strengthened by her afToctiimate and judicious 
 counsels, I found it easy to form the most praise- 
 worthy resolutions ; but I had learnt enough of 
 human nature to be painfully conscious that 
 resolutions, however exemplary, are by no 
 means infallible ; and that neither my tenden- 
 cies, nor my education, had given me a right to 
 expect that I should ever acquire that perfect 
 self-government, or be enabled to exert that 
 utter self-abnegation, which were necessary to 
 render me morally the equal of those whom I 
 aspired to emulate. 
 
 Meanwhile, the spirit-struggle had, at least, 
 taught me to look upon my own advantages 
 with a less partial eye, and to feel how truly 
 dependent I in truth was upon the generosity 
 of others. What now availed my wealth, my 
 pride, or my beauty ! That world which I had 
 resolved to subdue to my will, or to despise, 
 had, like a trodden serpent, turned upon me, aad 
 stung me in the heel. I had not even a home, 
 no shelter to which calumny could not pursue 
 me : and my one vision of future happiness was 
 still, certain as it seemed, faint, and afar off; 
 and to be realized only after an interval on 
 which I dared not dwell. 
 
 Such were the meditations of my first morn- 
 ing of visible widowhood ; and when, on the 
 conclusion of the repast of which I had been 
 merely a spectator, I again retired to the soli- 
 tude of my own apartment, the same reflections 
 followed me. 
 
 The windows were flung open, and I leant 
 ♦agerly out to catch the cool wind upon my 
 throbbing brow, as it swept over the leafy 
 stretch of forest-timber before me Its influ- 
 ence was wholesome. As I gazed out, I 
 clasped my hands in prayer ; when, as if in an- 
 swer to the appeal, I heard booming upon the 
 wind, slow, measured, and rendered even more 
 solemn by distance, the deep pealingof a death- 
 bell. It needed no interpreter ; it was the toll 
 of ihe village church bell of Rooksley, inviting 
 to the shelter of its vaults the dead for whom I 
 wore those clinging weeds. 
 
 Instinctively I fell upon my knees, and still I 
 heard the solemn cadence rolling over hill and 
 valley, and proclaiming to never-dying nature 
 the departure of another of her children. 
 
 At length it ceased, and I knew that the 
 mourning train had entered the sacred house. 
 All would soon be over ; and I shuddered as I 
 remembered with how little waste of time and 
 ceremony that body was in death committed to 
 the eartb, which m lil'e had been tended with 
 so much care and gentleness. This must be 
 one day my fate also. The ghastly shroud, the 
 choking^coffin, the writhing worm— oh, it was, 
 indeed, most horrible, for I had not yet learnt 
 lO look beyond these antecedents of another and 
 a more glorious life. 
 
 It will easily be foreseen that emotions of 
 this description had humbled my pride, and 
 cLastened my spirit, sufllcicntly to enable me 
 to regard even the tardy and brief visit ol Lord 
 Olterford with gratitude, if not with hope. 
 
 He was to visit me shortly alter his return 
 from the funeral, and to set off the same night 
 for town. There was, indeed, little to detain 
 him within the gloomy and abandoned walls of 
 
 Rooksley ; and in the near neighboihuod o. 
 what had once been the happy home ol Kmily 
 Vernon. 
 
 CHAPTER LVn. 
 
 I WAS yet upon my knees, with my face lean- 
 ing on my folded arms, when the door of my 
 dressing-room was so softly opened that I was 
 not aware of being seen ; until 1 heard the low 
 voice of my hostess whisper gently : 
 
 " Here is the mourner. Judge if she has 
 need of your pity and protection." 
 
 I raised my weary head, and with an emotion 
 more acute than I had ever before experienced, 
 I saw Lord Otterford with a pale cheek, hut a 
 stern eye, standing before me. Lady O'Hallo- 
 ran had already retired, and was closing tiie 
 door behind her. As I slowly rose from my 
 knees, I detected that the expression of Lord 
 Otterford's countenance softened, as if involun- 
 tarily. The deep and evidently sincere dfjec- 
 tion in which he found me had touched him, 
 despite his sense of wrong ; and as he threw 
 himself into a seat, he covered his face with 
 his spread hand. 
 
 I could neither speak, nor approach him. 
 
 «» Lady Dornton — " he at length commenced. 
 
 "Oh, call me Eveleen !" — I exclaimed im- 
 ploringly ; " if you would not crush me to the 
 very earth. Tell me that you forgive me, or I 
 shall sink under my shame and my remorse." 
 
 " Of what avail would now be my forgive- 
 ness 1" he asked with sad seriousness ; "you 
 have yourself forever destroyed my power to 
 serve you. You best know how I had earned 
 so deep and cruel a hatred ; but the evil is now 
 as total as it is irrevocable. Your mother and 
 myself have met but once since the fital 
 day on which you betrayed my bitter secret — 
 a secret which I had expiated in remorse and 
 tears — and then it was only that we might con- 
 sult upon the duties necessary to be performed 
 alike toward the living and the dead. The 
 latter I have accomplished, with the privacy 
 and absence of ostentation suited to the melan- 
 choly circumstances ; the former, which I am 
 now to fulfill, is, however, the most painful. 
 Had I found you reckless, and unimpressed by the 
 late catastrophe, as I own that I feared 1 should 
 do, one portion of my task might have been re- 
 mitted, while the other would have affected me 
 far less, for I could then have told my tidings 
 without emotion. As it is, Eveleen, — as it is, I 
 feel compelled both to pardon and to pity you." 
 
 I rushed forward, and cast myself at his feet. 
 
 "Yes — you do well," he pursued; "that is 
 the most fitting posture you can assume while 
 listening to what I have to tell. The pride ot 
 self-dependence and self-appreciation have no- 
 thing in common with such an hour as this, when 
 the scent of the death-soil is still clinging to my 
 own garments, and the solemn words of the 
 burial-service sounding in m.y ears ; and when 
 the weeds in which you are yourself clad are 
 new and strange to you. I will spare you any 
 unnecessary details for both oursak(!S ; but with 
 certain circumstances it is alike expedient and 
 proper that you should be made acquainted. I 
 need scarcely inform you that Sir Jame.s lias lift 
 no testamentary d' :;ument of any desciipiioii, 
 either here or in ^vn. No foreshadowing of 
 
I9r, 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 his approaching and fearful end had warned him 
 to accomphsh this duty ; and I was, consequent- 
 ly, from your own silence upon the subject, left 
 free to comply with the mjunclions of your 
 mother as to the mode of his interment. And 
 "here, Eveleen, I should have bounded my rela- 
 tion with regard to your unfortunate' husband, 
 had I found you in a less becoming frame of 
 mind ; but, under existing circumstances, I feel 
 compelled to cuntide to you one fact, which, after 
 you have recovered the first shock of the in- 
 telligence, may tend to lessen the compunction 
 which you must naturally experience when you 
 look back upon your conduct as a wife." 
 
 I pressed my lips upon his hand, and listened 
 eagerly. 
 
 " You may have heard that Sir James had 
 Tested the fatal fowling-piece upon the ground in 
 order to read a letter, which he had just receiv- 
 ed from town by his own messenger ; and that 
 he was still engaged in its perusal when the 
 :^udde^ appearance of an individual — Eveleen, 
 I detect your shudder, but I will not, I dare not 
 ask you if you can determine the identity of 
 that individual ; for despite all the facts which 
 would seem to negative my suspicion, I am but 
 too painfully convinced of a /Yightful truth — that 
 letter is now in my possession." He paused. 
 He evidently dreaded the effect of his next 
 words ; while I gazed at him with dry and dila- 
 ted eyes, and parched and parted lips. 
 
 "That letter," he resumed, after an instant, 
 "was in reply to one which he had himself writ- 
 ten ; and it came irom — Mrs. Delamaine." 
 
 I made no gesture of indignation ; I felt none. 
 I only bowed my head once more upon his knees 
 overwhelmed by a feeling which was half horror 
 and I alf relief. Lord Otterford bent over me in 
 wonder, as he whispered, "Do you understand 
 me, Eveleen V 
 
 I made a gesture of assent. 
 
 " Do you desire to see that letter 1" 
 
 "Kever !" 
 
 " And you are right, poor child ! Suffice it 
 then that, although its contents by no means 
 justify your past errors, they nevertheless afford 
 painful evidence that the indignities to which you 
 have been lately subjected, arose less from a 
 desire on the part of your husband to punish 
 your levity and to reform your conduct, than to 
 disembarrass himself of your presence ; and this 
 fact, mortifying as it must appear to you, I have 
 considered it my duty not to withhold injustice 
 to both parties. I must also state, although I 
 am aware that upon this point you are careless, 
 that the affairs of Sir James are not considerably 
 involved, despite his apparently profuse expendi- 
 ture ; but as nearly all his engagements appear 
 to have been debts contracted at the gaming- 
 tahle.which may be legally evaded, it is neces- 
 sary that I should understand if you intend to 
 recognize them." 
 
 "To the last penny, my lord." 
 
 "I anticipated no less from your sense of 
 right. And iiovv, Eveleen," he added sadly ; 
 " we have at length only to speak of yourself 
 What are your own views and wishes !" 
 
 " You are aware, iny lord, " I said with a 
 shrinking heart, but struggling to obey the advice 
 ■)( I>ady O'Halloran, "that I have already en- 
 treated the countenance and protection of my 
 mother." 
 
 " I was, indeed, so informed. But surely, 
 Eveleen, you must have understood too well the 
 nature of your mother to anticipate her concur 
 rence in such an arrangement, and I consequent- 
 ly regarded the proposal as merely the efl'ect of 
 sudden isolation ; or, perhaps, of a desire to ex- 
 culpate yourself from any future reproach of reck- 
 less emancipation from her authority and guid- 
 ance. You could not have forgotten that you 
 had so recently inflicted upon her an injury which 
 her haughty nature never can forgive. I have 
 myself found it difficult, most diflicult to do so, 
 for it will embitter all my future life — ^judge, 
 therefore, of the effect which it was calculated 
 to produce on her." 
 
 " Oh, had you known, could you guess the 
 insulting taunts, the bitter insults which wrung 
 from me that unrighteous retaliation," I ex- 
 claimed with clasped hands, " you would be mer 
 ciful." 
 
 " Yet you should have remembered," he saii 
 hoarsely, and evidently struggling against some 
 powerful emotion, " that your mother was not 
 the only victim of your treachery — that your 
 words carried with them a venom which distil 
 led a double poison." 
 
 Self-convicted and repentant, I dared not seek 
 to justify myself. - • 
 
 " The effect of this fatal error has extended 
 still further," pursued Lord Otterford, who was 
 at no loss to interpret the humiliation of my 
 silence ; " for it has tended to close your 
 mother's heart against you, I fear forever. My 
 entreaties — for, wounded as I was, Eveleen, I 
 could still feel for you — produced no change in 
 her determination ; she has refused not only to. 
 receive, but even to see you. Her utmost con- 
 descension was the expression of her desire that 
 you should, at least during the year of your 
 widowhood, fultill the intention of Sir James, 
 and reside at GlenfiUan, under the protection ol 
 her sister." 
 
 I gasped for breath. The vision of Adela'a 
 death-bed rose before me, with all its appalling 
 accessories; and it was with difficulty that I 
 could support myself 
 
 " Everything has been already prepared at 
 the castle for your reception," he continued ; 
 " you will be, in every respect, your own mis- 
 tress, and secure from all the comments of a 
 censorious world, which must have time to for 
 get the |)ast." 
 
 "And do you also advise this, my lordl" 1 
 asked faintly. 
 
 •' I can suggest no other measure of equal 
 prudence. I am aware that the trial will b« 
 heavy ; but you will have it in your power, 
 Eveleen, to render it profitable." *" 
 
 "iVly mother shall be obeyed," I said in a 
 whisper. 
 
 Lord Otterford laid his hand upon my head' 
 Willi parental tenderness ; and then, clasping one, 
 of mine within it, he said firmly ; 
 
 " One thing more, my poor child, and ther 
 our conference is ended. You have woundet 
 me deeply ; and I claim, in extenuation of tha 
 injury, your solemn promise that, during you 
 retirement at GlenfiUan, you will hold no corre: 
 spoiidence, either personally or by letter, wit), 
 Colonel Deveieux, without my express pej 
 mission. Give me this pledge for your OW; 
 sake, and I will not only endeavor to forget th' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 197 
 
 past, but I will watch over you as a fond father 
 watches over a cherished child." 
 
 For such a condition as this I had been 
 wholly unprepared. I was then to be utterly 
 alone ; unsolaced by the aspect of one friendly 
 face ; unsupported by the sound of one fanciiliar 
 voice ; left in ignorance of the feelings and the 
 sympathy of him whose affection had now be- 
 come the only hope of my existence ! Yet the 
 accent of Lord Otterford was su full of convic- 
 tion, so earnest, and so persuasive, that I could 
 not resist its influence. I promised what he ex- 
 acted. 
 
 " Be true to your pledge, Eveleen," he said 
 as he bent down, ?nd kissed my forehead ; " and, 
 should you wisb it, I will frequently be your 
 guest. I must at once return to town : your 
 own affairs exact it ; and it frill be with a heart 
 relieved from a weight of anxiety on your ac- 
 count, that I shall report your obedience to your 
 mother. I would entreat you, meanwhile, to 
 regulate with Lady O'Halloran (to whom you 
 owe a heavy debt of gratitude), the period of 
 your own departure ; that done, acquaint me 
 with your determination, and I will hasten to 
 protect you to your new home. And now, fare- 
 well ; give me your hand once more ; let not 
 the promise of this hour, in which I feel a faith 
 which it would indeed pain me to find misplaced, 
 prove fallacious ; and I trust that brighter pros- 
 pects may open upon us all." 
 
 Need I say with what emotion I responded to 
 this unhoped-for kindness 1 I forgot for the 
 moment all save rny happiness in being thus res- 
 tored to the good opinion of my mother's hus- 
 band. I scarcely cared to remember that that 
 mother herself had not vouchsafed to me one 
 word of sympathy or pity ; I forgot the exile to 
 which I had pledged myself; my enforced 
 separation from Devereux: the yet unclosed 
 tomb of my husband ; I felt only that I might 
 yet regain the esteem of the world, and become 
 an object of afTection to those from whom my 
 former faults had, as I once believed, separated 
 me forever. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 Mt leave-taking with Lady O'Halloran and 
 her daughter was a most trying one ; when, at 
 the close of a month, I summoned Lord Otter- 
 ford to perform his promise. I had lately lived 
 in such an atmosphere of affection and peace 
 that I had almost ceased to regret the world 
 and its gaieties ; but my old yearning grew upon 
 me when I contemplated the change to which 1 
 was about to be subjected. I repressed the 
 feeling, however ; and strengthened by the ap- 
 probation of my estimable hostess, I uttered no 
 repining ; aad the rather as she pledged herself 
 that she would spend some months with me at 
 GlenfiUan, accompanied by the gentle Margaret 
 and her infant daughter. 
 
 The gratification of Lord Otterford was lively 
 and sincere when lie was apprised of this ar- 
 rangement. He at once felt, as a man of the 
 world, the importance of such a concession to 
 my present reputation, and future respectability. 
 He wrung the hand of the old lady with a 
 fervor, and offered his thanks with an energy, 
 which convinced me of his own interest in my 
 fate, and helped to sustain my sinking courage ; 
 
 and thus, amid tears, and blessings, at d regrets, 
 I left the house which to me had been indeed 
 " a refuge in the time of trouble." 
 
 We traveled slowly, for my considerate com- 
 panion appeared as little anxious as myself tO 
 hasten my arrival at my desolate home ; nor did 
 he spare a care or an exertion to lessen the 
 fatigue and tedium of the journey. With a 
 delicacy which I deeply felt, he cautiously avoid- 
 ed all reference, to such portions of the past as 
 must tend to humble me in my own eyes ; while 
 he explained the new duties which had devolv 
 ed upon me, and the necessity of my applying 
 my mind and my energies to the proper applica- 
 tion of the wealth which was now at my exclu- 
 sive disposition. 
 
 "Hitherto, Eveleen," he said, "that wealth 
 has merely been the source of misery and folly ; 
 redeem it from this reproach, and you will then 
 learn its real value." 
 
 I readily pledged myself to the task, though I 
 had only a vague idea of the means by which 
 so desirable arf end was to be accomplished : 
 and having given Lord Otterford full powers to 
 act for me upon every point according to his 
 own discretion, I at length reached th-e gloomy 
 termination of my journey. As we drove into 
 the vast and desolate court, I flung myself upon 
 the breast of my companion ; and for the first 
 time since our departure from England, gave 
 free loose to my long pent-up emotions; but I 
 soon rallied when he represented to me the 
 inevitable effects of so ill-timed a weakness ; and 
 before my meeting with Lady Flora, I had suc- 
 ceeded in suppressing all external demonstra- 
 tions of the misery that lay heavy at my heart. 
 
 I shall not weary the reader by a detail of 
 the loneliness and monotony of my existence at 
 Glenfillan, after the departure of my affection- 
 ate and anxious traveling companion. Suffice 
 it that at the close of a month or two of uiiei 
 despondency, I began to accuse myself of cow- 
 ardice and egotism in thus wasting life in weak 
 and useless indolence. The thought of Deve- 
 reux returned upon me, too, brighter and dearer 
 than ever I must not fail now, for his sake ! 
 I looked aiound me, and each succeeding day 
 discovered now much I was indebted to tlie 
 consideration oi Lord Otterford.' My personal 
 servants had been bribed by an increase of sal- 
 ary to bury themselves, at least for a few 
 months, in the country, in order to afford me 
 their services ; the appliances of convenience 
 and even luxury which had been dedicated to 
 my especial use in town, had preceded me to 
 Scotland : and Lady Flora, the tyrannical jailer 
 who had lent herself unhesitatingly to the pro- 
 jects of Sir James, forewarned in time, was all 
 humility and obsequiousness. The one great 
 ambition of her life was realized ; she was 
 again an iiidweller of her father's castle ; and as 
 she had been made aware that her contifluance 
 under that coveted roof depended solely on my 
 pleasure, she bent herself, with admirable duc- 
 tility, to the new exigences of her position. 
 
 My faithful Susan was a treasure to me amid 
 this natural and moral wilderness. I had re- 
 quested Lord Otterford, while arranging my pe- 
 cuniary affairs, to insure such a provi,sion for 
 life to the faithful girl as might enable her to 
 realize the fond visions of her heart ; hut she 
 refused to abandon me during my sojourn a- 
 
l'J8 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 Glentillan : and to her I turned for comfort and 
 encouragement in every moment of desponden- 
 cy. .She it M'as who drew my attention to the 
 school founded by my sister, and to the poor 
 whom she had fed ; and I eagerly embraced the 
 prospect of occupation and interest afforded by 
 an emulation of her exertions. 
 
 I soon became popular in the neighborhood, 
 for I was rich in means, and subdued in spirit ; 
 and where the evd was beyo.id the reach of 
 gold, I was blessed for my words of sympathy 
 and comfort. My home-hours were the most 
 ditiicult to support with resignation ; for when 
 I found myself alone in the keen mountain air, or 
 seated in the humble dwelhngs of my pensioners, 
 my thougtits were not wholly absorbed by self, 
 and for a time I forgot to dwell upon my trials, 
 and learned to trust in a future which was to 
 
 consideration, had deferred her visit until near 
 the close of my year of mourning. She wished 
 to judge of the effect which this long seclusion 
 had produced upon my character , and she had 
 also another reason, which she did not state, bui 
 which I was subsequently enabled to appreciate. 
 
 Our meelifig wao even more sad Irian we an- 
 ticipated. Shocked and alarmed at the change 
 which was visible in my whole appearance ; at 
 my attenuated form, the red spot in my cheek, 
 and the bright light in my eye, the warm-heart- 
 ed old lady could not conceal her uneasiness; 
 and our first greetings were scarcely over when 
 she drew me apart, and pillowing my pale brow 
 on her shoulder, began to question me as to the 
 cause of my evidently altered health. 
 
 " Be frank with me, Eveleen," she said ; 
 you have some new and pungent sorrow 
 
 compensate for all. It was during my periods j gnawing at your heart, which is independent of 
 o.' enforced companionship with Lady Flora j the past. What is it, my poor child !" 
 
 that I felt the whole weigtit and tedium of my 
 position. No longer able, from weakened sight, 
 to weave the knights and shepherdesses in 
 which she formerly delighted, she had taken ref- 
 
 The flood-gates of my grief opened at once. 
 I had hitherto borne my burden in silence; 
 not even to Susan had I confided the apprehen- 
 sion which was sapping my existence ; but now 
 
 uge in the knitting-needles bequeathed to her i I poured forth on the bosom of this inestimable 
 by her maternal aunt ; and wholly ab,sorbed in friend all the anguish and humiliation of my 
 her monotonous and interminable occupation, 
 passed hours beside me without the utterance 
 of a syllable. 
 
 Such was the broad outline of roy existence, 
 
 spirit. 
 
 Lady O'Halloran listened dejectedl«, and in 
 silence. " I might have foreseen," she said 
 bitterly, " that you still loved this man ; but, 
 
 until the arrival of my promised guests; only | Eveleen, you must no longer yield to a weak- 
 relieved at long intervals by the brief visits of; ness which has be<'ome unworthy. I have de- 
 Lord Otterford, who encouraged me in my faint ! ferred my arrival here until this late period, iQ 
 efforts in well-doing, and chid me gently for the order to await with you the close of your period 
 neglect which I had evidently shown toward of exile, and to reclaim you as a guest. You 
 my own health. I was in truth sadly changed, have yet much to endure, but you will not dia- 
 The interest which I took in all that passed appoint my hopes; you will struggle to be just 
 around me was forced and wearisome; and to yourself ; and to avenge your blighted name. 
 even while I conscientiously adhered to the I will not abandon you to yourself until yoa 
 proinise which I had myself given, I bitterly felt i have convinced me that you are worthy of the 
 the utter silence and estrangement of Devereux. : trust." 
 
 For a time I consoled myself with the belief | I looked up at her in silence; but with be» 
 that the same pledge had been extorted from seeching in my eyes. 
 
 hire; but gradually this idea ceased to satisfy I "Yes — perhaps it will be better so — "she 
 me. It was easy to wring such a promise from murmured as if unconsciously ; " sooner or later 
 me, for I had no power to withhold it under my the blow must fall, and why not now, when her 
 peculiar circumstances ; but who could compel own fears have partially prepared her for the 
 him to so extreme a measure! Was he not the i truth 1 You must forget this man, poor su& 
 master of his own actions, and accountable to no I ferer," she continued, as she folded me ia 
 one for his movements 1 And yet he came not ; her arms ; " there is a gulf between you which 
 although long months had elapsed since our 
 
 separation, anil that my year of widowhood was 
 drawing lo a close. 
 
 A strange, vdgue fear grew upon me. I 
 
 can never be overpassed. This is your last 
 trial, and you must receive it in patience and 
 humility." 
 
 He will not obey their bidding," I gasped 
 
 strove resolutely to shake it off, but I could only j out ; " be the difficulties what they may, his af- 
 
 partially succeed ; and throughout the long, I fection will overcome them." 
 
 long, weary winter, during the dreary hours of | " Eveleen, remember how long he has aban- 
 
 iny inhahiiaiion with Lady Flora, this undefined \ doned you to sorrow and to doubt." 
 
 teiror, to which I did not dare to give a name, j "He was forbidden, like myself, to seek a 
 
 grew and strengthened upon me. Not once j meeting — he hoped for brighter days — he trust-' 
 
 had Lord Otterford alluded to the existence of ed in patience, as I have done, to the future." 
 
 his nephew, during his short and hurried visits ; "Deceive yourself no longer, my poor child.' 
 
 nor had I ventured to utter one inquiry. Of In the cruel pride of his heart he has forsaken 
 
 my mother he said little, and that little was you — to preserve what he sees fit to call his 
 
 discouraging. Satisfied that 1 had obeyed her 
 will, she had ceased even to mention me ; and 
 when the subject was forced upon her. the cold- 
 ness and inditierence of her replies forbade all 
 hopp of any concession on her part. 
 
 At length came the spring; and with the spring, 
 the beloved guests whom I had so long awaited. 
 Lady CH-illoran, with her usual far-sighted 
 
 honor, he has left you to the desolation of youi 
 own spirit. The passion of which he boastet 
 could not resist the influence of envenomec 
 tongues ; he had not the moral courage requi. 
 site to enforce either your justification, or hii 
 own — and, in short, Eveleen, you must think o 
 him no n)ore." 
 
 I made no eflbn to interrupt these crushin; 
 
CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 199 
 
 wonlS. r listened eagerly, breathlessly, as 
 though my life hung upon their import ; and yet 
 I did not clearly comprehend their force ; and 
 Lady O'Halloran had long ceased to speak, while 
 I still listened as though I had more to learn, 
 and that all I had already heard were subject of 
 comparative insignificance. 
 
 "Speak, Eveleen," at length exclaimed my 
 companion, terrified at the silence by which 
 her communication had been succeeded; "tell 
 me that you will forget this weak and worthless 
 man." 
 
 " We forget all in the grave," I said, as I 
 rose calmly from beside her. "All! even the 
 one hope of a whole existence. And now let 
 me leave you for a time ; I must be alone— to 
 jink." 
 
 "I will accompany you to your room, Eve- 
 leen ; do not restrain your tears, they will relieve 
 you." 
 
 "I have no tears to shed," I whispered 
 hoarsely, as I tottered from the apartment upon 
 her supporting arm ; " I have no time for tears ; 
 I must be alone — to think." 
 
 I was conveyed to my chamber, and laid in 
 my bed. A brain-fever supervened. The same 
 physician who witnessed the agonies of Adela 
 now watched over mine ; the same dreary still- 
 ness reigned throughout the house. Lord O'Hal- 
 loran hastened to remove his wife and child to 
 their more happy home ; but his mother lin- 
 gered beside what she believed to be my death- 
 couch, in order to fulfill her last pledge to her 
 old friend. 
 
 I was not, however, destined to sink under 
 my trial. Life was yet too strong within me ; 
 and after many weeks of danger and delirium, 
 mv faculties recovered their balance. To what 
 a dreary waking was I condemned ! Even the 
 wild and fitful visions of my fever had been less 
 bitter and exhausting than the crushing memo- 
 ries which hovered, like foul spectres of the past, 
 about my restless pillow during my convales- 
 cence. How often did I close my languid and 
 stiffened eyelids, and pray to die — to die as 
 Adela had done, and to be at rest. But even 
 as that impious wish rose within me, the low- 
 voiced breath of prayer murmured beside my 
 bed ; and the ministering angel who knew the 
 struggle that was .going on within me, recalled 
 me to calmer and more holy thoughts. 
 
 Slowly and painfully I was restored to health, 
 but I was no longer what I had been. The 
 chastening hand which had been laid heavily 
 upon me in mercy, had sobered down the effer- 
 vescence of my nature, and made me a new 
 being. Humble, obedient, and submissive, I 
 offered no opposition to the will of those about 
 me ; and when my strength was sufliciently re- 
 stored to admit of the arrangement, I passively 
 suffered myself to be removed from Glenfillan, 
 and conducted by easy stages to the home of 
 my unwearying friend, under her protection and 
 that of Lord Oiterford. 
 
 I remained for months beneath her hospitable 
 roof; and, could I have blotted out the memory 
 of the past', nothing would have been wanting to 
 my happiness ; but the arrow had been driven 
 home ; and I had not strength to wrench it out. 
 I I knew that my fair fame was blighted— that 
 I my mother had abandoned me— and that the 
 ; dream of my life was over. Devereux had be- 
 
 come a husband. His bride was young, and 
 beautiful, and wealthy as I had been ; t)ul upon 
 her the breath of calumny had never rested — 
 his honor was secure from taint ! This was in- 
 deed a bitter pang, but it was the last. Thence- 
 forward I acquired courage to look steadfastly at 
 my position, and my resolve was taken. 
 
 " I will purchase Rooksley from Lady Made- 
 laine," I said, in reply to an inquiry from my 
 hostess. " She will cede it to me without diffi- 
 culty, for she has no associations with the place 
 which she can desire to retain. There I shall 
 not be quite desolate ; for your society and that 
 of the good rector will reconcile me to myself, 
 and teach me to forget the height from which I 
 have fallen. I have no longer anything in com- 
 mon with the happy and the prosperous ; but I 
 may still solace the suffering and the needy. You 
 alone will not misjudge me ; and I shall require 
 all your support to enable me to endure the long 
 years of life which are spread out before me." 
 
 " Speak not so despondingly, my dear Eve- 
 leen," replied my listener ; " time will do much ; 
 you are still in the first bloom of womanhood ; 
 and may yet have long years of happiness before 
 you, both as a wife and a mother." 
 
 "Never!" I said emphatically. " No man 
 shall take scorn and reproach to his bosom 
 through my means ; nor, after my past experi- 
 ence, do I anticipate that, even had I formed a 
 different resolution, an individual could be found 
 so generous to me, and so unjust to himself 
 No, my kind friend. I have forever done with 
 vague and dreamy visions. Society has reject- 
 ed me, and I bow beneath its fiat, however I 
 may question its equity. There is much to do 
 at Rooksley ; much misery to alleviate ; much 
 ignorance to instruct. May I, in my character 
 of a monitress, learn to practice the lessons 
 which I shall endeavor to enforce." 
 
 Convinced of my sincerity. Lady O'Halloran 
 encouraged me by her approbation ; and soon 
 my return to Rooksley was arranged and accom 
 plished ; nor was it long ere the voice of glad- 
 ness and revel was once more heard within its 
 walls ; for shortly after my establishment, Susan 
 was united to the husband of her choice ; and 
 the event was productive of no regret to myself, 
 as I retained her bridegroom in my service. 
 
 I had judged correctly in believing that my 
 mother would offer no obstacle to my purchase 
 of the property. Aware that it must revert to 
 me at her death, and satisfied that so long as I 
 remained in that retirement, I should not cross 
 her own path, she exerted her energies to ex- 
 pedite the transfer ; and in a shorter time than 
 I had dared to hope, I found myself mistress of 
 the coveted domain. 
 
 And now, what more have I to addl Who 
 cannot appreciate the tedium, the regrets, and 
 the despair of such a waste of life 1 Ten, twen- 
 ty weary years passed over me ; and those w he 
 looked upon me would have declared me happy 
 — but I was not so. Feverishly impatient to 
 create new interests and new ties, I entered upon 
 the duties and privileges of my new position 
 with an uncalculating and reckless profusion 
 both of energy and outlay, which called forth 
 the expostulations of Lady O'Halloran, and ex- 
 cited the astonishment of Dr. James. The pau- 
 pers in the almshouses built by my mollier had 
 increased pensions; and the children in hei 
 
200 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 school were newly clothed the old church 
 was cleaned anu beautified ; cottages were level- 
 ed and rebuiL' • '.he idle W3re employed ; the 
 sick tended, and tlie aged placed beyond the 
 reach of want. Many, in the gratitude of their 
 hearts, spt/Ke of me as a saint, but they could 
 not look beneath the surface. There were times 
 when I was impatient and irritable under my 
 misfortunes ; and asked myself why 1 was th^s 
 called upon to suffer, when the errors of so 
 many others were tolerated, without either ex- 
 piation or reproach. In those hours the tears 
 which I shed beside the bed of pain, or with 
 which I listened to the tale of sorrow, did not 
 flow unreservedly for the sufferer whom I was 
 there to sootlie ; they were wept also for my- 
 self; nor did the words of heavenly consolation 
 which I had learned to utter always reach my 
 heart. That rebellious heart was yet an alien 
 to its own peace. 
 
 I struggled, however, in 'my better moments, 
 to attain to a more wholesome and a more fitting 
 frame of mind ; but I had much, indeed, to 
 learn, and siill more to unlearn. No one could 
 with impunity pass through the ordeal to which 
 I had been subjected by my ill-regulated pas- 
 sions ; and thus, even when I endeavored to 
 press forward, I frt,'quently fainted by the way. 
 
 In the midst of these conflicting feelings, I 
 was summoned to the sick-bed of my more than 
 mother ; and with my heart torn by fear and 
 misgiving I hastened to her side. How unlike 
 was her period of suffering to that through 
 wliich I had so lately passed ! There was no 
 remorse here to strew the pillow with thorns — 
 no disgrace to cast a gloom over the atmosphere 
 — no abandonment to make the sinking spirit 
 shriek out in its desolation. All was calm, peace- 
 ful and full of hope ; and the blessing which 
 she Dieathed, with her dying hand pressed hea- 
 vily upon my head, rose as a sweet incense to 
 heaven, and hallowed what it offered. 
 
 Still I lived on ; and 1 did good ; for it is a 
 merciful as well as a marvelous dispensation 
 that the laults of the erring are sometimes made 
 to minister to the happiness of those who suf- 
 fer ; and so it was with me. I imparted the joy 
 
 which I could no longer feel ; I carried whh ma 
 the consolation of which I myself despaired; 
 and it was not until time had touched me with 
 a gentle but a certain hand, that I began to con- 
 sider the rast in its true colors. 
 
 More man once my faded beauty or my knowo 
 wealth wculd have enabled me to risk a new 
 ventu.e on the stormy waves of that world bj 
 which my veiy existence had been forgotten; 
 but I no longer aspired to its suffrages ; nor did 
 I care to peril my present peace for the uncer- 
 tain tenure of any ea'/hly affection. 
 
 The commencement of mv narrative will suf 
 fice to prove, that I have long been reconciled 
 to my lot. Childless, widowed, and an orphan 
 I am not, nevertheless, left desolate in my olC 
 age. On the death of my mother, which was 
 occasioned by a cold taken on quitting a heated 
 room in a costume ill-suited to any violent tran- 
 sition of atmosphere, and which was too sud» 
 den to enable me to offer her my last duty as a 
 child. Lord Otterford hastened at my request to 
 pass his period of mourning at Ilooksley. He 
 was rapidly becoming an old man ; he had 
 ceased to value society ; and had few wants 
 save those which are rftecessary to a well-fur- 
 nished table ; and thus, as we had no vow of 
 abstinence at my hermitage, it will be readily 
 understood that I prevailed upon him, without 
 much difliculty, to become my permanent com- 
 panion. His games at chess with Dr. James 
 are interminable ; and I might, perhaps, some- 
 times find them tedious, were my solitude not 
 enlivened by tiie frequent presence of Mary 
 O'Halloran, who was in infancy the solace ol 
 my sorrow, and who is in her beautiful and 
 blooming girlhood the charm ofYny old age. My 
 worthy neighbors at the Hall insist that she' 
 bears a striking resemblance to what I must 
 once have been ; and my father-in-law, whose 
 eyes are dimmed by time, and whose percep- 
 tions are somewhat blunted by his habits ol 
 self-indulgence, eagerly ratifies their verdict. 
 
 May she have a better fate ! She is mj 
 adopted heiress, and the hope of mj wanini 
 life. 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 j "Op course, Miss Trevanion — of course it 
 llnust be as you see fit to decide ;" said a stately 
 iold .gentleman, with snow-white hair, heavy 
 •black eyebrows, and a countenance which, al- 
 Ithough' decidedly handsome, betokened alike 
 
 Eiuglitiness and obstinacy ; " I am naturally as 
 ell aware as yourself, that you have long passed 
 e age when I possessed a legal right to con- 
 jtrol yoa; and I can easily comprehend that 
 [you presume upon your position, as an only 
 fchild, to brave my wishea Beware, however, 
 before it is too late ; for none — mark me well 
 I — noiie have ever done so with impiinity since 
 [the commencement of my career. If you doubt 
 jthis fact, you have only to inquire of your 
 pothor." 
 
 " Oh 1 pray, Mr. Trevanion ;" expostulated a 
 pervous voice, issuing from amid a mass of 
 bostly shawls, and from the depths of a loung- 
 ing chair ; " let no appeal be made to me. It is 
 pad enough to have my quiet disturbed by this 
 altercation between you and Ida, without being 
 required to interfere in it." 
 I " Altercation, madam ! "WTiat do you under- 
 stand by the word altercation? You surely 
 pan not comprehend its significance. There can 
 e no altercation between a father and his child, 
 he bare idea of such a thing Is preposterous I" 
 " Well, perhaps it is. Substitute any other 
 term you pleasa It is quite indifferent to me." 
 A.nd the compUcated mass of drapery quivered 
 lor an instant, and then became once more mo- 
 ionless. 
 
 I "Idiot! woman r' muttered the head of the 
 ramily, aa he paced slowly across the floor; then 
 pnce more pausing before his daughter, who 
 btood partially supported by a table on whicli 
 her hand rested, he continued more audibly : — 
 r You see, Miss Trevanion, that you must not 
 fealculate upon the powerful protection of your 
 pother, she disclaims all interference, and .she 
 3 right; it co'xld have done no good, and it 
 jnu/W have done much eviL" There was an 
 igly sneer about the corners of his mouth as he 
 poke, • it it was unperccived by the young 
 ady, WHO liad. from the commencement of tlic 
 iscussion, kept her eyes riveted upon a bools; 
 f engravings which lay open near her. 
 
 " I trust that I require no protection, when I 
 enture to urge the happiness of my future life 
 n my own father ;" wa.s the calm rejoinder of 
 be lofly beauty, who seemed as resolute of 
 rill as her parent; and, as she six>ke, her 
 teady gaze, for tlie first lime, rested upon lus 
 uahed and angry countenance. 
 
 Very beautiful, in truth, was the face thus 
 lifted to his, although the freshness of girlhood 
 had evidently passed away to give place to the 
 rich loveliness of that next phase of female at- 
 traction, when every charm is ripened into full 
 perfection ; and the mind impresses a new pow- 
 er, unknown to mere thoughtless, unreflecting 
 j-outh. Miss Trevanion had attained her twen- 
 ty-sixth year; her intellect was fully developed ; 
 and a shade of her father's firmness gave ad- 
 ditional expression to the large dark eyes and 
 lofty brow, from which the raven hair was 
 : swept back in rich and massy folds. "While 
 j Mrs. Trevanion crouched and cowered before 
 the displeasure of her lord, his daughter stood 
 j erect. As she had said, the happiness of her 
 \ whole life (according to her own view of the 
 I case) was at stake ; and she was evidently pre- 
 pared to maintain her legitimate position to the 
 utmost 
 
 " You know, Ida, that I can not brook oppo- 
 sition" — was the next evasive remark of the 
 old gentleman. 
 
 " Xor do I ever seek to offer any, as you are 
 well aware, sir, when the point to be contest- 
 ed is of slight importance ; but on this occa- 
 sion — " 
 
 "Well, Miss Trevanion, on this occasion? 
 "Where are your rational reasons for such ill- 
 timed rebellion ? You are ambitious, indeed, 
 if a peer of the realm will not satisfy your 
 vanity. " 
 
 The beauty shnigged her shoulders. 
 
 " I should not ask so much." 
 
 "Ilal I understand;" thundered Mr. Tre- 
 vanion, hurriedly resuming his walk ; " 3^ou are 
 iu love — Touf A rare jest, fjuly, but a dan- 
 gerous one. Have I not warned you from your 
 girlhood to avoid all follies of that nature until 
 the}' had received my sanction ?" 
 
 " You have." 
 
 "And bow havo you obeyed my com- 
 mands ?" 
 
 "As a woman ever does, until her heart 
 teaches her that she is a free agent. I scorn 
 all subterfuge. Had you addressed me in an- 
 other tone, I might havo regretted that it was 
 not in my power to fulfill your wishes. As it 
 is — " 
 
 " Pray, proceed. Miss Trevanion — pray, pro- 
 ceed." 
 
 " You havo spared me that regret, sir." 
 
 "Hal Indeed! Well, tlien, listen to me. 
 You are our only child — my only child — but 
 tliat fact shall avail you little, if you thus reso- 
 lutely thwart my views. My uncle has a son. 
 I hate them both, as you well know, and I havo 
 cause to do so ; but, sooner than that my wealth 
 should go to enrich the pauper whom you have 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 . chosen to accept aa a suitor, that boy, detested 
 as he is, shall bo ray heir." 
 
 A deep flush mantled on tlie check of his 
 listener for a moment, but it faded as suddenh- 
 ns i t had risen, and she stood calm and unmoved 
 aa before. 
 
 "Yes;" pursued Mr. Trevanion passionately: 
 '■you do not require to bo told to-day how bit- 
 terly I have, through life, resented the arrogance 
 of my more fortunate relatives. How, the son 
 of a j-ounger son, I was insulted by the grudg- 
 ing oflcrs of assistance which wore to be doled 
 out to mo, in order to secure, at least, the means 
 of existence to a poor relation — a birth on board 
 an Indiaman, or the honor of carrying the colors 
 in a regiment of foot — v.'itli full powers to make 
 my own way when I was thus generously start- 
 ed in life. Law, Physic, or Divinity, were too 
 costly to be thought of; they required previous 
 training ; and education involved expense. You 
 know, also, how I disdained such pitiful assist- 
 ance, and threw mj'self into commerce, in 
 1 order to attain independence by my own unas- 
 sisted efforts." 
 
 "And you acted nobly I" was the murmured 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "Thank you; it is at least consolatory that 
 I have earned the approval of my own child ; of 
 the daughter, who, as I once hoped and believed, 
 would have been enriched by my degradation 
 — for that, as I have never forgotten, was the 
 term applied by my aristocratic kinsman to my 
 resolve to suffice to myself— but as you, Miss 
 Trevanion, have willed it otherwise, I here 
 solemnly declare, that should you obstinately 
 arlhere to your present insane project, I will 
 ' leave all that I possess to Sir Jasper's son, and 
 heir." 
 
 "In that case, sir;" said the lady steadily ; 
 " I must follow your example, and endeavor to 
 suffice to myself" 
 
 '■ Be it so. Then you resolutely . efuse to ac- 
 cept the hand of Lord Downmere ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " You had better take time to reflect." 
 
 " The question requires no reflection. I can 
 not sacrifice myself to the mere empty vanity 
 of rank." 
 
 "You prefer beggary?"' 
 
 " Decidedly — with a husband, wliora I could 
 respect." 
 
 "You have more taste for the cotton gown 
 of a pauper than the coronet of a countess ?'' 
 
 " Beyond all doubt — if I can wear it with 
 more honor to myself" 
 
 "llal" groaned the irritated father; "this 
 comes of an ill-assorted union — The mother's 
 blood I The mother's blood 1" 
 
 "Xow really, Mr. Trevanion;" exclaimed 
 the nervous voice of the dosely-onveloped 
 figure in the lounging chair; "}-ou have no 
 right to blamo mo for Ida's obstinacy; lam 
 sure that I am as angiy with her as you can 
 bo, for her folly in refusing the poor dear Earl ; 
 , and, therefore, it is not generous in you to re- 
 mind mo that my Either w:i.s only a merchant; 
 for 3'ou well know that without his gold — " 
 
 "Silence, madam I" shouted tho exasperated 
 man ; "are you, too, about to lecture mo? Is 
 it not enough that Miss Trevanion presumes to 
 oj)i)o.so her will to mine, without your forcing 
 upon mo tho unpalatable fact that I found it ' 
 
 expedient to further my fortunes by marrying 
 your father's daughter?" 
 
 " I am sure, Mr. Trevanion — " 
 
 " You are sure of nothing, m.adam ; how can 
 you be so, when even /am thwarted and baffled 
 at every turn ? Be satisfied. I have bestowed 
 on you one of the oldest, if not i)recisely one> 
 of the noblest, names in England : but still I 
 can not expect that you should feel as I do, the 
 disgrace which this disobedient girl desires to 
 bring upon a proud and ancient family." 
 
 "You might allow mo to speak," whimpered 
 the weak and trembling woman. 
 
 " You might speak till doomsday, were yon 
 likely to do so to any purpose;" was the con- 
 ciliating reply ; " but I am now talking seriously 
 to }-our daughter, and your idle interference is 
 mistimed." 
 
 " Permit me to replace your cushion, mam- 
 ma ;" said Miss Trevanion, as she observed that, 
 in her agitation, her mother had sunk helplessly 
 back in an uncomfortable position ; but her at- 
 tention was declined. The querulous woman 
 waved her away with a repulsive gesture, as 
 she impatiently murmured : " It is all your own 
 fault. Why do you not marry Lord 'Down- 
 mere, and put an end to this disagreeable dis- 
 pute f I am suro I only wish that I had been 
 so luL..y as to — . Well, well, it is no use to 
 talk of that now; but pray let there be an end 
 of all this." 
 
 Miss Trevanion turned away; there was a 
 strange expression of blended contempt and 
 pit}' on her proud lip ; but she made no reply. 
 
 The persons whom we have thus unceremo- 
 niously introduced to the reader, were, although 
 so closely connected, as ill-suited to each other • 
 as it was well possible for three human beingsto , 
 be. Mr. Trevanion, the only son of a younger 
 brother — who had in early life and before ho 
 had adopted any settled profession, been so 
 imprudent as to elope with the penniless 
 daughter of an Irish peer, and to dr.ng on a 
 dependent and aimless existence under tho 
 roof of his more fortunate brother, the four- 
 teenth baronet — was early left an orphan, his 
 mother having died in giving him birtli; whiles 
 her husband only lived to see liim reach his' 
 twelfth year. Accustomed, from his earliest 
 iufmcy, to know himself rather tolerated than 
 loved, by his austere uncle, tho unfortunate boy- 
 young as ho Wi^s, felt all tho importance of hit, 
 io.ss. In his cares and sorrows, that weak bu 
 affectionate father had been his refuge — in his 
 pastimes, his tutor and his playmate — and as hi 
 followed him to tho family vault, where he wa. 
 laid to rest with the pomp and pageantr' 
 deemed necessary by Sir Jasper to the dignit; 
 of tho name he bore, the desolate orphan was a' 
 once aware that all tho love of which ho hai, 
 hitherto been the object throughout tho whol 
 of his brief existence, was buried in the gt&\', 
 of his last parent. 
 
 It was a frightful moment, and a painfi 
 conviction for the boy; it robbed his mind o 
 its freshness, and his heart of his youth. One 
 he glanced up into tho face of his dreade 
 uncle, but his ej'O suddenly fell, as in the ster 
 countenance which was half averted from hin' 
 he read neither sympathy nor grief Sir Jaspi 
 looked, indeed, like a man carved in stone 
 and tho impcrturbablo composure of his fi' 
 
TEE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 tares appeared to mock tho mournino; cloak in 
 which ho was enveloped. There was no on- 
 oouragreinent in that marble lace; and the 
 glance of the orphan returned to fasten, with 
 even more avidity than before, upon the cofiQn 
 beside him. 
 
 On his way to the church, even tho presence of 
 his stern relative had tailed to moderate his grief, 
 and he had wept as the 3-oung ever weep, with 
 all the violence of despair ; but, as tho remains 
 of his fond lather were lowered out of his sight, 
 a change came over his spirit which was des- 
 tined to inHuenco his character through life. 
 When he turned to leave tho spot where all his 
 aCfections lay buried, and resumed his place 
 beside Sir Jasper in the mourning coach — his 
 eyes were as dry as though they had never 
 known a tear, and a deep color was burning on 
 his cheeks. A word of kindness, tho merest 
 approach to a caress, might have melted the 
 rising bitterness, and crushed the demon that 
 •was tugging at his heart; but these were not 
 Touchsabd. The baronet sat coldly and mag- 
 nificently silent ; and the homeward drive was 
 performed without tho interchange of a single 
 sentence. 
 
 When they reached tho Hall, its master 
 alighted, and' immediately shut himself into his 
 study; while the bereaved boy, totally over- 
 looked even by the menials about him, in his 
 turn retreated to his solitary room, there to 
 brood alike over the past, the present, and, 
 it may even be, the future. He had heard his 
 uncle, by the death-bed of his last parent, 
 pledge himself not to desert the orphan about to 
 be confided to his compassion ; but he remem- 
 bered with a burning and indignant heart, how 
 tardily and grudgingly that promise had been 
 extorted by the supplications of the dying man. 
 He strove to recall one demonstration of interest 
 or regard toward himself, displayed by his en- 
 forced guardian from his childhood to that very 
 hour ; but he strove in vain. The motherless 
 infant, the child of tears, who drew his first 
 sustenance from the breast of a stranger, had 
 failed to awaken one feeling of comraisseration 
 or sympathy in tho heart of Sir Jasper Tre- 
 vanion. The baronet had tolerated his brother, 
 not only because his own credit in the eyes of 
 his fellow-men forbade that he should suffer 
 that brother to starve; but also because his 
 ■•ery imprudence had never tempted him to 
 tarnish tho dignity of his family, llis marriage 
 had been an act of reckless folly, almost 
 amounting to siadnesa, in tho eyes of tho for- 
 tunate possessor of twelve thousand a year, 
 but still it had entailed no disgrace upon his 
 name; and it was at least satisfactory to be 
 able to present a Lady Catherine Trevanion, to 
 the neighboring squirearchy ; a circumstance to 
 which may probably be attributed tho fact 
 that, instead of settling a sufficient income upon 
 his less woll-portioned brother, which might 
 have enabled him to chooso his own place of 
 residence, and to enjoy tho modest comforts of 
 his own home. Sir Jasper insisted that the 
 helpless couple should reside under his roof; 
 and accompanied tho expression of his will by 
 a declaration that, should they decline to do so, 
 no further asaistanco need bo anticipated from 
 himsein 
 
 Such were the circumstances under which I 
 
 Mr. Trevanion and his pretty, silly bride, hcP 
 came the inmates of tho paternal mansion; f 
 where, as already stated, Sir Jusiier had, even 
 after the death of the Lady Kathe'rinc, tolerated 
 his brother, partly from duty, a..il still more, 
 perhaps, from habit; but the boy had been 
 from the first moment of his existence, odious 
 to the selfish and cold-hearted baronet. In tho ( 
 first place his birth had caused the death of his 
 mother, whose lively absurdities, aud buoyant 
 spirits, had served to enliven tho previous 
 stately dulncss of tho old Hall ; while, super- 
 added to this privation (for tho presence and 
 companionship of the lively lady had become 
 necessary to tho com.^ort of tho saturnine man), 
 a lurking jealousy nestled at his heart. He — 
 the representative of his family — was childless ; , 
 while his brother — his penniless and dependent 
 brother, to whom his will was law, and his 
 protection existence — had given an heir to the 
 house of which he was himself tho head ; while 
 ho had not even yet encountered a woman 
 worthy, in his opinion, to share his fortunes. 
 
 And thus the boy had grown up beside him, 
 unloved ; an object of aversion and avoidance. 
 And the lad knew and fplt this, although he 
 was unable to fathom its cause. Ho remem- 
 bered that he had never been addressed by his 
 uncle, save in reproof; that his childish ca- 
 resses had been repulsed, and his boyisli errors 
 visited with merciless chastisement; and bit- 
 terly did he writhe beneath tho consciousness 
 that ho was now hopelessly dependent upon 
 one whom he both disliked and feared. 
 
 "What will become of mo!" groaned the un- 
 happy orphan, as he paced, alone and unheed- 
 ed, the floor of his little chamber; "Why coul I 
 I not have died with my father? Who, in this 
 wide desolate world, cares for me now ?" 
 
 Well might he ask himself the dreary ques- 
 tion. 
 
 It was late in the evening boforo any one ap- 
 peared to have remembered his existence ; and 
 then he was summoned by a servant to the 
 housekeeper's room, in which he was accus- 
 tomed to take his repasts ; but his heart was 
 too full; he required no food ; and he said so 
 quietly and briefly. 
 
 "Nonsense, Master Hubert;" was the retort ( 
 of tho messenger : "be a man and make up 
 your mind to what can't bo mended. Fasting 
 won't bring back tho dead." 
 
 " I know it;" said the boy; "nor tears; and 
 therefore I have ceased to shod tliem." 
 
 "That is reasonable at all events," rcphed 
 the man ; "so come down at once, if you don't 
 wish to catch a scolding from Mrs. Pearson, for 
 making her wait." 
 
 "She need not wait;" said Hubert; "I re- 
 quire nothing moro to-night." 
 
 And ho no sooner found himself once moro 
 alone, than ho flung himself upon his bed, and 
 resumed his musings. 
 
 For an entire month tho orphan never once 
 met his uncle ; nor, in so far as ho could ascer- 
 tain from tho attendants, had Sir Jasper even 
 pronounced his name, or alluded to liis exist- 
 ence. ^ Ho was no longer directed to moot tho 
 curate, who had hitherto officiated aa his tutor, 
 in tho broakfiist-rooin, when it w;is vacated by 
 his uncle; no longer occupied by daily task- 
 work ; but was loft at perfect liberty to spend 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 day after clay according to his own caprice. 
 And that caprice was a straupe one in so j'oung 
 a boy; for, shunning the briglit sunshine, and 
 the wholesome avocations of his age, his hours 
 were jiassed either in the dark recesses of the 
 dense wood which formed the western bound- 
 ary of the Trovanion property, or in the gothic 
 picture-gallery, among the grim portraits of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 One b\' one ho paused before them, and gazed 
 upon eai!i, as intently as though the happiness 
 of his future life depended upon his accurate 
 knowledge of every separate feature ; but, more 
 than all, ho studied the female portraits — from 
 the stifl' and stately dame of f ir-off centuries 
 to tiie courtly and sylpliic figure of his own 
 mother. While thus engaged, the brow of the 
 sOent boy would occasionally flush, and his eye 
 kindle, as ho remembered that he, too, was a 
 Trevanion; but tlio paroxysm of excitement 
 never lasted long, and ho soon sank back into 
 his habitual gloom. 
 
 Thus had tho month gonSby; and, in that 
 brief interval, tlio orphan, abandoned thus abso- 
 lutely to himself, had ceased to pine either for 
 sj^mpathy or companionship. He came and 
 went liko one obeying tho impulse of a dream ; 
 joyless, tearless, and alone. But ho was to -be 
 no longer permitted to indulge in this negative 
 happiness ; for at tho termination of the period 
 named, ho was suddenly summoned to tho pres- 
 ence of his uncle, and he obeyed the command 
 without tlie quickening of a single 2)ulse. What 
 had he to fear, or to lose ? 
 
 " Come in, sir, and close the door behind 
 you ;" was the greeting ho received ; and he had 
 no sooner obeyed the order, than the baronet 
 pursued in a stern tone: "You are now of an 
 age to understand that you can not spend your 
 lifo in idleness, wandering like a poacher about 
 the woods; or dawdling, liko a gaping girl, 
 through tlio g.'illeries of tho Hall. Moreover, 
 your presence hero must ere long be importu- 
 nate, as you will one day comprehend. 1 sup- 
 ported your flilher in his usolessness, because 
 he was my brother; but you have no such claim 
 on my forbearance. Nevertheless, as I made 
 to liim-a promise that I would not abandon you, 
 I have no intention to ftdsify my word ; and I 
 have accordingly sent for you to state that you 
 will, three days hence, bo accompanied by one 
 of my servants to tlio North, whore you will 
 ren)aiu four years in a scliool which I have se- 
 lected, in order to complete your education. 
 At tho termination of that period, you will be 
 — or ouglit to be — competent to uphold with 
 credit to yourself the honor of tho name you 
 bear — an honor, young sir, wliich saved your 
 father from beggary — either in the army or 
 navy ; and I give you your choice of either 
 profession." 
 
 " I object to both," was the sturdy reply. 
 
 " You object I" echoed tlie baronet, startled 
 into .'something liko emotion by so unlooked-for 
 a rejoinder ; "you — a boy of barely twelve yoarg 
 of age — tell nio tliat you sliall oppu.<e my pleas- 
 ure. I say, Hubert Trevanion, tluit 1 will bo 
 obeyed." 
 
 The lad remained silent. 
 
 " You do well, sir ;" pursued the angry 
 voice; "not to repeat your reVjcllion. But 
 -enough of this. You Lave heard my decision, 
 
 I and it is immutable. Go and make your pre- 
 parations, whatever they may bo ; our inter- 
 view is at an end." 
 
 The orphan needed no second bidding ; with 
 a silent bow he left the room ; but as he .slowly 
 traversed the gallery which led from liis uncle's 
 apartments, his clinched hands and heaving 
 chest proclaimed the vmpest within; His boy- 
 hood was now wholly swept away ; the elas- 
 ticity of his spirit was crashed ; he had begun 
 his wrestle with the realities of the world ; and 
 a dark, hard feeling, to which his tender age 
 should have been a stranger, was working with- 
 in him. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 UNCLK AXD NEPHEW. 
 
 The sehoo' to which Hubert Trevanion was 
 conducted by his uncle's serving^man, was by 
 no means calculated to inspire any regret on 
 the boy's part, at his abrupt exodus from his/ 
 inhospitable homo ; nor had Sir Jasper neg-' i 
 lected to provide him with a wardrobe suitable ' 
 to his station in life. There had been no leave- 
 taking, it is trae, between him and his nephew, 
 but this omission was grateful to the orphan, ' 
 who had few thanks, and less affection to offer 
 to his repelling kinsman ; and yet, nevertheless, ■ 
 as he saw his conductor on his return to tho : 
 Hall, disappear at the end of the poplar ave- 
 nue which formed the approach to the house, ; 
 his heart sank within him, at the conviction ■ 
 that he stood alone among strangers, with whom . 
 ho had neither feeling nor sympathy in com- i 
 mon. He was, howeyer, soon aroused from the ; 
 somber reverie into which ho had fallen by the , 
 voico of Dr. Birchmore, tho principal of tho es- : 
 tabli.^hment, by whom he was led into the re- ' 
 fectory where his future companions were as- 
 sembled at supper, and where his own place 
 was assigned to him. 
 
 The personal beauty of the boy had inter- ' 
 ested the feelings of tho worthy Doctor who 
 was, moreover, not insensible "to the credit . 
 which his academy would derive from thecir-' 
 cumstanco of his numbering among his pupils 
 tho nephew and ward of one of the oldest baron- 
 ets in England; and it was accordingly with.' 
 the greatest gentleness and indulgence, that he, 
 commenced his investigation of the progress of 
 his previous studies. That the. result was fill' 
 from satisfactory, will readily be surmised, 8C 
 long a time having elapsed since the lad had 
 opened a book, or even bestowed a thoughi- 
 upon tho lessons of the reverend divine who hac 
 formerly been his preceptor at the Hall ; but ' 
 despite the disappointment which this circum^ 
 stance induced in the breast of the astonishec 
 pedagogue, ho was encouraged by tho eviden; 
 intelhgence of his young pupil, and his volun!' 
 tary assurance that no application should b 
 wanting on his own part, to retrieve tho log 
 time. 
 
 Nor was it ; for Hubert Trevanion had a 
 least arrived at the valuable knowledge thai 
 without education, he could never achieve th' 
 independence for which he yearned ; and er 
 long his assiduity and talent became tho pro-* 
 erb of tho schooL Still ho was not popula' 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 fi3 his silent and somewhat sullen habits dia- 
 e\isted his playmates ; nor was it until ho hud 
 excited a host of enemies, and fouf,'ht his way 
 manfully through the school, reckless alike of 
 the age or strength of his opponents, that he 
 p-icceeded in enforcing the respect of tlioso to 
 whom he had refused ahke companionship and 
 rciiard. This accomplished, ho was allowed to 
 indulge his own tastes and pursuits in peace; 
 '•the baronet,'' as he was snceringly designated 
 hv the httlo community, ceasing by degrees to 
 excite either curiosity or anger; and while 
 peals of laughter and shouts of merriment re- 
 sounded froni the playground, he strolled alone 
 and unheeded under the trees by which it was 
 bounded, or flung himself down in some shady 
 nook to study and reflect at ease. 
 
 Thus ho made no friends, nor did ho need 
 them; and for all companionship he souglit only 
 the society of the ushers, three of whom being 
 foreigners, he rapidly acquired the modern lan- 
 guages, and a certain acquaintance with the 
 habits and feelings of other countries. And 
 so the four years wore on. As, during the va- 
 cations, he was the only pupil left at the estab- 
 lishment, the portly doctor and his precise but 
 kind-hearted wife, in their turn abandoned the 
 classic shade of their academic home, in order 
 to visit their respective families; and Hubert 
 Trevanion was, to his infinite gratification, con- 
 signed to tlie sole guardianship of the German 
 master, who, being as friendless as himself, had 
 known no other home than that of Dr. Birch- 
 more for many long and laborious years. 
 
 Simple and sincere, Ilerr HaufTman was as 
 very a child in heart as the youngest of his 
 class; but he was, nevertheless, a man of deep 
 and varied information, and possessed of con- 
 siderable skill in imparting the knowledge he 
 had acquired. No companion could, there- 
 fore, have been more acceptable to the self- 
 contered and eager Hubert, who, while his 
 more fortunate comrades were reveling in 
 the delights of family ties and paternal indulg- 
 ence, was storing his mind hour by hour, and 
 feeling his intellect expand without almost an 
 efTort. 
 
 How brief appeared to him those weeks of 
 tranquil and undisturbed existence 1 and how 
 heartily did he sympathize in the regrets ex- 
 pressed by his fellow pupils on their return to 
 their old toils, and their old duties ; for then, 
 once more, he too was compelled to resume the 
 monotonous routine of the classes, and to spend 
 hours poring over the more abstruse branches 
 of education for which he had no taste, and in 
 wliich he felt no interest. The dead languages, 
 the Latin verses, and the dull lore of buried 
 •ges, so dear to the scholar, and so soon to be 
 forgotten by the busy, active, arribitious citizen 
 of the day, were alike wearisome to him ; the 
 mind of the boy had already foreshadowed the 
 future career of tho man ; and, while he grasp- 
 ed at every .species of knowledge .vhich might 
 tend to his advancement in society, he gave 
 but reluctant attention to that which could only 
 be profitable in tho closet. 
 
 Thus, when ho at length terminated his 
 scliolastic career, Hubert Trevanion was de- 
 clared to be the mo5;t accomplished linguist and 
 the best mathematician who had ever qiiitted 
 tlia establishment ; while it was with regret 
 
 that tho principal found himself compelled to 
 temper his approbation by tho admission th.it 
 ho wa.s, on tho other hand, very delieicnt in 
 that classic lore, so essential, as tiie Doctor sen- . 
 tontiously observed, to tlio elevated station in 
 liib which he would soon bo called upon to fill. 
 On tho whole, however, tho indulgent peda- 
 gogue confessed himself proud of his pupil ; 
 while the gcntlo a'nd kind-hearted Herr Uaufl- 
 man parted from him with tears of unfeigned 
 regret. 
 
 On his arrival at tho Hall, the orphan at once 
 discovered tlie motive wliich had impelled his 
 uncle to declare that his residence there had 
 ceased to bo desirable ; when, as ho crossed 
 the threshold of tho drawing-room, he saw a 
 lady seated in the deep bay of the western 
 window, busily engaged at a tapestry frame, 
 while three spaniels were lying ujjon their 
 several cushions near her chair ; who no soon- 
 er, however, became aware of his presence than 
 they rushed upon him open-mouthed, as if to 
 resent his intrusion. 
 
 " For shame. Flora ; be quiet. Dash ; come 
 here instantly, Fido ;" expostulated their mis- 
 tress, as the tall, handsome lad calmlj^ made 
 his way toward her, regardless of the uproar; 
 " I am really ashamed of you I Do not bo 
 afraid, Mr. Hubert ; the dear pets never bite, 
 it is merely noise." 
 
 " I am by no means alarmed, madam," was 
 tho quiet reply; "and am sorry that I have 
 been the innocent cause of creating such a dis- 
 turbance, by intruding myself upon you so 
 abruptly; but I am informed that I should 
 find Sir Jasper Trevanion in this apartment." 
 
 "Sir Jasper," rejoined the lady, without ris- 
 ing from her seat, "is, I believe, in the library 
 — Flora, leave those wools alone ; you wiU 
 choke yourself, darling. Do you particu- 
 larly wish to see Sir Jasper, Mr, Hubert ? — 
 or can I communicate to him what you desire 
 to say ?" 
 
 "As you please, madam," said the orphan, 
 bitterly; "I merely intended to "inform him 
 that, according to his orders, I have returned 
 to Trevanion Hall." 
 
 "In that case, he need not bo disturbed, as 
 that is a matter of course. You will, I believe, 
 find your old room prepared for you ; at least, 
 I gave orders to that efiect to my house- 
 keeper." 
 
 " I am obliged to you, madam, and shall at 
 once avail myself of your attention." 
 
 " But, before you leave mo, Mr. Hubert, it 
 will be as well to mention that henceforth, 
 whatever you may require, you must apply to I 
 mysclfl I have undertaken to relieve Sir Jas- 
 per from all unnecessary trouble and exertion ; 
 and it will therefore be quite useless to maka 
 any appeal to him." 
 
 " I have no inclination to do so, madam." 
 
 " You are right, for it would be of no avail ; 
 and now that wo understand each other, I will 
 not detain you longer." A cold bend of tho 
 head, and a glance toward tho door of the 
 apartment, followed her words ; and amid 
 another storm of yelping and barking, Hu- 
 bert withdrew from tho presence of his now 
 aunt. 
 
 A marvelous change had indeed come over 
 tho old HalL The man of marble had bocoma 
 
8 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 plastic as "wax beneath the firm and determined 
 ■will of a stronger mind than his own. The 
 arrogant head was bowed ; the haughty spirit 
 lowered. 
 
 "Within six months of his brother's death, 
 Sir Jasper Trevanion had married the wealthy 
 widow of an Indian Nabob, who had returned 
 to England, witli a colossal fortune, and an ex- 
 hausted constitution, only to die and make 
 way for his successor. Lady Trevanion had 
 been a beauty, and was still a fine woman ; 
 but the long habit of command had rendered 
 her imperious, self-willed, and despotic ; .while 
 the consciousness of her enormous wealth had 
 indued her with an arrogance which would 
 have Bat ungracefully even upon a duchess, 
 and which the remembrance of her obscure 
 origin (for the well-dowered bride of the high- 
 born Sir Japper could not trace back her lineage 
 beyond the last generation), had altogether 
 fiiiled to diminish. The cold and haughty rep- 
 resentative of the Trcvanions had been dazzled 
 by her magnificence, juid captivated by her 
 person; while the lady herself, with that yearn- 
 i»g fir a title which is one of the most potent 
 weaknesses of a vulgar mind, after some hesi- 
 tation, had consented to bestow herself and 
 rupees upon the man whose greatest pride 
 had hitherto centered upon the antiquity of his 
 race. 
 
 Pompous was the display made at the mar- 
 riage. The coimtry journals had appropriated 
 whole columns to the display of the magnifi- 
 cent rejoicings consequent upon the event. All 
 the county had left cards at the Hall ; and all 
 the gossips had been busy with the diamonds 
 and cashmeres of the bride ; but it was not long 
 ere the baronet himself discovered that the rod 
 by which he was henceforth to be ruled, how- 
 ever thickly gilded, was not the less a rod of 
 iron. The man t)f maible had found a mate of 
 steel ; the contest was an miequal one ; for 
 while the nature of the husband was too haugh- 
 ty for contention, that of the wife was too over- 
 bearing for concession ; and thus, by the time 
 that the happy couple were thoroughly estab- 
 lished imdcr their own roof, tlie question of 
 Bupremacy was decided ; and Lady Trevanion, 
 •whose accumulated thousands remained under 
 her exclusive control, reigned undisputed mis- 
 tress of the establishment ' 
 
 All these circumstances were soon made 
 Imown to Hubert by the indignant Mrs. Pear- 
 eon ; who, accustomed for ludf a life-time to 
 tlie lofty carelessness of her aristocratic mas- 
 ter, and the negative rule of the trifling Lady 
 Kathcrine (whom, in imitation of Sir Jasper, 
 she reverenced for her high birth), could ill 
 brook the uncompromising sway of the new 
 mistress of the mansion ; " A nolx)dy ;" as she 
 emphatically declared ; " whoso name would 
 never have been seen in print had she not cast 
 her spell over the proudest race in the land. 
 However, Miister Hubert," she contiiuied ex- 
 nltiugly, "it is oi&y for a time, and you must 
 Lave patience; you will be Sir Hubert Treva- 
 nion yet, as all the old servants hope and de- 
 sire. You Iiavc good l>lood in you on both 
 •mides ; and what should be, will be. Your un- 
 cle, poor dear man! nmrried for an heir — he 
 bad better have contented himself with the one 
 that Providence had already provided for him 
 
 — and vou see what has come of it. Here is 
 my lady, three years a wife, and not yet a 
 mother; nor ever likely to be, it's my notioa 
 There 's no end to her money, they say ;' but it's 
 little good it is to us while Sir Jasper has not 
 the handling of it. However, as I have heard 
 that she has no relations that she cares to own, 
 because she does n't dare to introduce them to 
 her new connections, it may one day be yours, 
 and you may be a great man yet." 
 
 "Without her help, I trust, my good Pear- 
 son," replied the boy, as the blood mantled 
 over his brow. 
 
 " With all my heart : without her help, till 
 she sees and feels that you do not need it, and 
 then it will be given less grudgingly ; but xmtil 
 that day comes, it is weary work here, Master 
 Hubert. The only comfort we have now, Tom- 
 kins the butler, and I, and Sir Jasper's man, is 
 to talk over old times ; and often and often do 
 ■we remember the days when we let you wan- 
 der about, sad and lonely, and wished you 
 away, that the sight of \o\i might n't anger and ' 
 worry our poor master, little thinking what 
 was to come next! But that's all over now; , 
 and it 's you we look to when we hope for bet- 
 ter times. You have n't been to the picture- 
 gallery yet ? Well, don't go ; for there you'll 
 find my lady, full length, covered with precious ] 
 stones, and with all her horrid dogs about her, 
 hanging side by side with your own deaf; 
 mother, who was a lady, and had always a kind' 
 word and a merry snule for every one abouti 
 her. Don't go. Master Hi^bert ; it will makft' 
 your very heart ache." 
 
 " I will not," said the lad, bitterly. 
 
 "You're not here for long, I take it," pur! 
 sued the garrulous old woman; "for my lady, 
 can't abide your name, and wanted Sir Jasper' 
 to send you straight off to sea from school." 
 
 " I am not going to eea," said the }Outh, reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " Not going to sea 1 Why there 's a vesse 
 boimd for the Indies all ready to take you oi 
 board ; my lady has made up her mind." 
 
 "And so have I," was the calm rejoinder. 
 
 " Tlien mercy deliver us!" exclaimed hi, 
 companion; "for we shall have such a storm ii. 
 the old Hall as it has not seen for many a daj 
 But I'm glad to hear you say so, for all that 
 I hate such kidnapping work. Sending you t; 
 sea, in the hope that you'll be drowned, or 6hi{ 
 wrecked, or cast ashore, or something of tlin 
 sort, and never heard of again ; and all bt 
 cause she 's jealous of you." 
 
 " She has little cause to be so," said the o 
 phan, sadly. 
 
 " I don't know that, Mr. Hubert," replied tl 
 housekeeper significantly. " It ain't so plea? 
 ant, after all, for a woman of that stamp, wl 
 has nothing to be proud of but her gold, to 8<' 
 a fine yoimg fellow like you ready to tear tb 
 lining out of her money-bags ; and she withoi, 
 cliick or child of her own to stop you. N 
 no ; it can 't be pleasant, and that 'S the tru 
 of it; for, as sure as my name's Margan 
 miuiy and many 's the prayer that her proi 
 ladyship has put up to have a young baron 
 of her own; but no one prayed with her, I'' 1 
 a notion ; not even Sir Jasper himself, wl ' 
 poor, dear man, has had enough of her race i 
 ready, if I di)n't mistake. Once on a time, fi 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE 
 
 two years back, she had a notion of some sucli 
 thin<^, niul a pretty fuss there was at the Hall, 
 I can tell you ; but it came to uothiuij, as niii^ht 
 Lave bceu'expeetcd. A youno: baronet, indeed ! 
 Just as if baronets were made of such stuff as 
 that !" 
 
 And Mrs. Pearson curled her lip, as though 
 the very idea of such a catastrophe was too 
 ridiculous to be entertained for a moment. 
 
 '•And my uncle — Sir Jasper?" — said the 
 boy ; "how comes it that his proud spirit sub- 
 mits so tamely to her despotism ?" 
 
 "Ay, there it is," responded the old lady; 
 " that's what puzzles us all — man, woman, and 
 child. You know, Master Hubert, that there 
 was n't a prouder nor a sterner man than Sir 
 Jasper for miles around. At home or abroad, 
 he was always the same; earing neither for 
 lords nor squires, but bearing himself, as he had 
 «very right to do, as the head of one of the 
 ancientest families in England — and now look 
 at liim! Never does he venture to say 'ay,' 
 when my lady sees fit to say ' nay ;' and there 
 he sits for hours shut up alone in his library, 
 doing of nothing — she takes good care of that 
 — but porbg over a parcel of moldy old 
 books that had been quiet enough upon the 
 shelves for years, while she overlooks the 
 steward's accounts, and arranges the house ex- 
 penses, and receives the rents — ay, anl raises 
 them too whenever she is so minded, as though 
 she had been a born Trevanion, a lady in her 
 own right, and had married a beggar who 
 had n't a word to say in any thing." 
 
 " My undo must bo strangely changed" — 
 observed Hubert moodily. 
 
 " Right enough, my dear boy ; he is strangely 
 changed — body and mind too. And oh, Master 
 Hubert;" continued the faithful old servant, as 
 large tears swelled in her eyes ; " we sometimes 
 fear — Mr. Tomkins and I — that the poor dear 
 gentleman may not be able to hold out against 
 it ; and should he go, what would become of 
 the old Hall, and of all of us?" 
 
 "You would have mo for a master," said the 
 lad, with a kindling eye. 
 
 " Ay, but the widow — the widow would be 
 left, you know ; and she would keep you out 
 of 3'our own while she could." 
 
 The boy smiled scornfully. 
 
 " At all events she would take care of her 
 money ;" persisted tho housekeeper ; " you 
 would see none of that. There are other hus- 
 bands to be bought besides Sir Jasper — and 
 then he will have suffered all this for nothing." 
 
 " He has, in any case, no one to blame but 
 himself," was tho sententious reply. 
 
 "That's true enough, too, Master Hubert;" 
 Baid his companion; "but our mistakes arc none 
 the more ca-sy to bear because we find them out 
 too late. What 'a done, can't be undone ; and 
 hero we are, tho laughing-Ftock of all the coun- 
 try, for what I know to the contrarj- — my hon- 
 ored master and all." 
 
 " la it intended, do you know, Mrs. Pearson, 
 that I ahould see Sir Jasper during my stay ?" 
 
 "Perhapa yea, perhaps no;" rephcd the old 
 dame, oracularly ; '■ all will depend upon how 
 my lady takes to you ; and you will have hard 
 cards to play, I can tell you." 
 
 "I shall play none." 
 
 "Well, Master Hubert, we shall see. Them 
 
 that live longest, see most ; but you must not 
 forget that all will depend upon her ladyship." 
 
 " / never shall." 
 
 "Why bless tho lad, what can you do of 
 yourself? You aro but a yormg thing j-ct, and 
 have no ono to look to but her." 
 
 " I am at least old enough," said Hubert with 
 a touch of his uncle's haughtiness, " to revolt 
 against tyranny. I would not submit to it from 
 my father's brother ; I shall assuredly defy it in 
 tho person of my uncle's wife." 
 
 "It will bo of no use," sighed Mrs. Pearson; 
 " Sir Jasper tried it, you may bo sure, and you 
 SCO how the struggle ended. Take an old 
 woman's advice. Master Hubert ; keep well 
 with my lady ; don't contradict her, but let her 
 have every thing her owu way ; it will only bo 
 for a time." 
 
 " I thank you for your good-will, my old 
 friend," said the orphan, "but I will make no 
 such promise, dia ! there goes the dressing-bell ; 
 and now I shall soon bo made aware whether I 
 am to bo honored with a seat at my uncle's 
 table, or consigned onco more to your kind- 
 ness." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A DEPARTURE. 
 
 Straxoe, and even affecting, was the meeting 
 between the undo and nephew in tho s})aciou3 , 
 and lordly dining-room of tho old Hall, as, hav- \ 
 ing received no warning to the contrary, Hubert 
 Trevanion calmly passed tho threshold, and 
 advanced to greet its master. Cold indeed was 
 Sir Ja.sper still, but ho was no longer stern; 
 and the stripling detected in his eye a yearning 
 which ho had never before seen there, as, for 
 tho first time, their hands met; but neverthe- 
 less no word of tenderness accompanied tho 
 look which lingered on his countenance for a 
 moment, and then melted away ; ho asked no 
 question — he betrayed no interest in his )'oung 
 relative; but languidly resumed his seat, as 
 though he had done all that could be required 
 of him. and eschewed further responsibility. 
 
 Lady Trevanion, in all the splendor of a par- 
 venue, had already taken the head of her table, 
 whenco she glanced at her unwelcome guest 
 with a haughty eye and a lowering brow, aa 
 though she already recognized in tho calm, self- 
 dejKiiideut youth, a formidable antagonist ; and 
 thus the meal conmienced in comfortless and 
 threatening silence. The servants moved noise- 
 lessly over the costly carpet, and performed 
 their duties with the quiet vigilance of well- 
 tutored automatons; the successive courses 
 wore served and disappeared — and Hubert re- 
 marked that, while his uncle ate sparingly and 
 in silence, tho lady of the mansion partook 
 largely of the luxuries before her, although 
 constantly evincing displeasure, and affecting 
 to cavil at their quality. At length the cheer- 
 less repast came to a close ; the dessert waa 
 placed upon tho table, and tho servants with- 
 drew, evidently to tho discomfort of Sir Jasper, 
 who, although still silent, betrayed a fidgetiueft 
 wholly at variance with tho calm self-centered 
 manner for which he had formerly been so con- 
 spicuous ; whilo Hubert, who had nerved liun- 
 
10 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 self for every contingency, remained impassive, 
 coldly aw^ting the pleasure of bis companions. 
 
 Aa ho had anticipated, it was the lady who 
 took the initiative. " I prcsvmie, Mr. Hubert 
 Trcvanion," she said, superciliously, as she care- 
 fully arranged an emerald bracelet by which 
 her left arm was encircled, " that you do not 
 anticipate a long sojourn under the roof of your 
 uncle ?" 
 
 " I leave its term in my uncle's hands, 
 madam." 
 
 Lady Trcvanion smUed, but it waa not a 
 pleasant smile; it said, as plainly as any words 
 could have done, that Sir Jasper was no longer 
 omnipotent in his own liouso ; " Down, Fido ; 
 Have I not yet taught you that I will bo obey- 
 ed? For shame, to set so bad aa example. 
 Tou do riglit, young sir" — she was now speak- 
 iug to her husband's nephew — " to disclaim any 
 will of your own in such a case, as it saves 
 trouble to all ])arties, Sir Jasper having made 
 up his mind upon the subject. You have al- 
 ready been a great expense to him; a very 
 great expense ; and although, so long as he 
 remained a bachelor, ho was, of course, at lib- 
 erty to dispose of his property as he saw fit, he 
 has now other duties to perform, and he is pre- 
 pared to act accordingly. Kot," pursued her 
 ladyship, with ill-bred eagerness, "that his 
 marriage with me has impoverished him — far 
 from it — very far from it — but he, liko myself, 
 is weary of dependents. Ho bore with your 
 father as a duty, and with your mother as your 
 father's wife; and with you, while you were 
 stiU a child ; all very right and commendable, 
 no doubt — I do not mean to'rcproach him. I 
 would have done as much for my own relations, 
 had tliey required it." 
 
 "It was fortunate alike for them and for 
 yourself, that you had none, madam," was the 
 composed reply of the lad, as he remembered 
 the tale so lately told to him by his humble 
 friend in the housekecjxr's room. 
 
 The lady flu.shed crimson. The first stone 
 had been flung, and had hit its mark ; but, like 
 an able general, she scorned to acknowledge, 
 or even to recognize the check, and, with a 
 still more bitter smile, she continued : 
 
 " Your fother, Mr. Hubert Trcvanion, was, as 
 I have heard, a mere inane and indolent man 
 of fashion, and your mother the penniless 
 daughter of a peer — poverty wedded to help- 
 lessness ; but that was not your fault, my poor 
 boy ; and bo assured that neither Sir Jasper nor 
 I mean to upbraid you with it." 
 
 "I can believe so, madam," said the orphan, 
 calmly meeting the hard eye which was fasten- 
 ed upon him, "and even had it been otherwise, 
 I should have felt no shame in hearing mj'self 
 rebuked on such a subject. Dependent as I 
 may be, for tho moment, I can proudly trace 
 my descent for centuries on both sides; and 
 feel richer in my apparent poverty with such a 
 consciousness, than had I been born to inherit 
 thousands, bequeathed to mo by accident, and 
 of which I should feel ashamed to trace tho 
 source." 
 
 " Sir Jasper Trevanion, am I to be insulted 
 it my own houso by a stripling?" demanded 
 the lady, vehemently. 
 
 "Hubert, you forget yourself," gasped out 
 the baronet, 
 
 "In what way, sir?" asked the lad, coldly; 
 "I have but given utterance to feelings which 
 you can not do otherwise than respect. You, 
 the descendent of a long line of ancestors, will 
 surely understand my reverence for high birth, 
 and sympathize in my contempt for wealth 
 which has no illustration less plebeian than its 
 own vileness." 
 
 "Sir Jasper," exclaimed his wife, passionate- 
 ly, "this boy shall not remain another hour 
 under my roof Hark ye, young sir, I nurse 
 no vipers in my bosom. You know best by 
 whom you have been tutored ; and were it not 
 that you bear your uncle's name, I would cast 
 you off, to learn the worship which the world 
 will pay to your high birth and proud descent 
 without a penny to enforce your claim. As it 
 is — " 
 
 " I ask nothing of you, madam," said Hi>- 
 bert, as be rose from his seat ; " I do not re- 
 cognize either your poAver or your authority. 
 I am the sou of your husband's brother — the 
 last of the race of Trcvanion ; and should its 
 present representative see fit to deny me his 
 protection and support, I must abide by his 
 decision — but I acknowledge no will save his — 
 I will abide by no desertion save bis own." 
 
 " Do you dare to brave me, Hubert Tre- 
 vanion ?" 
 
 " I have no such desire, madam. I simply 
 question your right to decide my destiny." 
 
 " You are wrong, Hubert—very wrong," 
 interposed the baronet, evidently quailing be- 
 neath the anger of bis wife ; " you owe alike 
 obedience and respect to Lady Trevanion." 
 
 " I am ever ready to render both, sir, where 
 they are due ;" said the orphan, with deep 
 emotion ; " but I appeal to yourself whether 
 I have been met by her ladyshi]! in a manner 
 to induce either? She, probably, thinks merely 
 of my age, and regards nie as a child bound 
 only to do her bidding ; but she can know lit- 
 tle of my boyhood when she so argues ; and 
 you. Sir Jasper — you who received me from 
 the hands of an indulgent aud dying father — 
 you, at least, may convince her of her mistake. 
 From the hour in which I lost my last parent 
 I ceased to be a child, and grew, n( ^t so much 
 by time as by trial. I had no youth, but 
 sprang at once fron^ the boy into the man. 
 There were no home affections, no heart yearn- 
 ings, to fling back my feelings tipon others; 
 I was alone — coldly, cheerlessly, frightfully 
 alone — left to combat with my own passions, 
 and failings, and necessities — given over to 
 tho purchased care of* strangers — abandoned 
 to the narrow sympathies of hired teachers, 
 aud uncongenial associates. You, at least, can 
 utter no reproach, for I am but what you your- 
 self have made me." 
 
 "And this, then ," exclaimed the lady, with a 
 reproachful glance at her husband; "this is 
 the boy of sixteen who was to bow to my will, 
 and to know no pleasure but my own. Upon 
 my word. Sir Jasjier, I must compliment you 
 upon your discrimination, aud upon the admir- 
 able method in which you have reared youi 
 brother's son." 
 
 " We have been separated for four years," 
 said the baronet, dcprccatingly. 
 
 "And will do well to separate once more for 
 a longer period;" observed Lady Trevanioflr 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 as she rose in her turn; "at all events, Sir 
 Jasper, you have only to choose between your 
 nephew and your wife ; for this young gentle- 
 man shall assuredly not remain under the same 
 roof as m; self." 
 
 "You know, my dear, that the vessel will 
 Fail within a fortnight," ui-ged the master of 
 the house. 
 
 "Until which period Mr. Hubert must be 
 accommodated with a home elsewhere," was 
 the haughty rejoinder. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir ;" interposed the youth 
 firmly ; " but, if I just now understood your 
 meaning you have it in contemplation to send 
 me out of the country ?" 
 
 " You are provided for," said the baronet 
 nervously ; " Lady Trevanion has procured for 
 you a midshipman's berth on board an India- 
 man which is shortly to sail ; and has also had 
 the kindness to interest in your favor some 
 of her very influential connections in that coun- 
 try." 
 
 " Her ladyship does me honor," replied Hu- 
 bert, bowing profoundly ; " but I have no in- 
 tention to embrace such a career, and no incli- 
 nation to enter life under such auspices." 
 
 "Better and better!" sneered the irate lady; 
 " and you will, perhaps, be so obliging as to 
 inform Sir Jasper and myself of the precise 
 nature of your future projects." 
 
 " Willingly, madam ; I had already expressed 
 my utter aversion to both services, and stated 
 this distinctly to Sir Jasper, years ago — nor 
 have I seen any cause to alter my decision. 
 That I should not have the alternative of the 
 ■ learned professions, the nature of my education 
 sufficiently evinced ; and I have consequently 
 left no effort uutried to fit myself for the only 
 honorable career, which was loft open to me." 
 
 " And pray what may that be T 
 
 "Commerce, madam. I aspire to the re- 
 spected name of an upright English merchant." 
 
 "Trade, sir!" exclaimed the baronet, thor- 
 oughly aroused from his apathy ; " am I to un- 
 derstand that you would degrade the presump- 
 tive heir of the Trevanions into a trader?" 
 
 " Such is, in fact, my purpose." 
 
 " You are a disgrace to your name, young 
 man," said the lady, loftily. 
 
 " I regret, madam, that you should be in- 
 volved in that disgrace," was the reply. 
 
 " I will not give you a shilling if you per- 
 sist in such degradation," gasped the baronet. 
 
 " I ask nothing," said the lad, although his 
 heart quailed for a moment ; " I am informed 
 by a letter which was placed in my hands by 
 my father on his death-bed, that I inherit cer- 
 tain jewels once belonging to, my mother ; and 
 I will owe my existence to her bequest. I 
 know not that I could apply it to a more pious 
 purpose." 
 
 "They shall be delivered to you," said Sir 
 Jasper, coldly. 
 
 " A diamond mine, no doubt 1" sneered Lady 
 Trevanion, as she glanced at herself in a mir- 
 ror ; " one, iiowever, which will be little ndssed, 
 and may well he spared. I presume. Sir Jas- 
 per, that the young gentleman may at once 
 take possession of his inheritance, and leave 
 the Hall?" 
 
 " One moment" — faltered the baronet ; " only 
 one moment. Y'ou are mad, Hubert, thus to 
 
 brave your family. Remember that you have 
 no other homt\" 
 
 " Home, sir !" echoed the stripling. " I have 
 never known a home — I can never hope for 
 one, until I have earned it ; and until I have 
 done so, I must be content to find a resting- 
 place among strangers." 
 
 " You talk like a child. Without means 
 you can not make your way — and though re- 
 volted by your disobedience, I will not turn 
 you adrift upon the world to starve. You do 
 not even know in what direction to bend 
 your steps." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir ; I shall proceed imme- 
 diately to London, where 1 shall dispose of 
 my poor mother's jewels ; and thence I shall 
 at once make my way to Germany." 
 
 "And why to Germany ?" 
 
 " Because I am assured of a welcome in the 
 family of a firm, though humble fricjad, to 
 whom I owe much more than I can ev^r re- \ 
 pay; and, even should I fail to realize the ' 
 hope which has been held out to me of a suc- 
 cessful career in that country, the blessing of 
 a welcome imder any roof will amply repay 
 me for subsequent disappointment." 
 
 " May I venture to inquire the name of 
 this valuable friend ?" again demanded the 
 baronet. 
 
 " Certainly. It is Herr Hauffman, the ] 
 German professor at Dr. Birchmore's." 
 
 "An usher!" interposed Lady Trevanion, 
 with a bitter laugh. 
 
 " Even so, madam, if you prefer the term. 
 An humble ushei*, who has long been to me a 
 brother and a friend. A man who has coined 
 his mind into wages, and nerved his heart to 
 receive thankfully the salary won by his . 
 talents. I am proud of the regard which he 
 has bestowed on me." 
 
 " You are lost, Hubert Trevanion !" groaned 
 Sir Jasper. " It should have sufficed, J'oung 
 man, that you were born under this roof, to 
 have preserved you from such groveling com- 
 panionships as those." 
 
 " Groveling indeed !" echoed the lady, sar- 
 castically ; "and now. Sir Jasper, have you 
 heard enough ? or are we to pass the evening 
 in listening to the revelations of your hopeful 
 nephew ? Surely there need be no more waste 
 of words upon the subject. The young man 
 has formed connections for himself more de- 
 sirable in his eyes than those which he rejects; 
 and I see no reason why you should not leave 
 him at liberty to cultivate them." 
 
 " You forget, Lady Trevanion, that ho is \ 
 the last of his race." 
 
 " I forget nothing, sir ;" was the sharp re- 
 ply ; "except that 1 have been insulted in 
 your presence by one of your own blood, and 
 that you have not deigned to chastise the 
 offender." 
 
 "His only fitting punishment will be im- 
 mediate exile from the home of his ancestors;" 
 said Sir Jasjjer ; but his lip quivered as the 
 childless man suddenly remembered that lie 
 was, in order to conciliate his offended wife, 
 about to banish, probably forever, not on^ly 
 his brother's son, but what to his selfisli nature 
 was infinitely more sacred, his own i)resump- j- 
 five heir and successor. What might be the 
 fate of the lad, thus cast forth into a cold and 
 
12 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE 
 
 heartless -world by his natural protectors? 
 Ptniirgle and hardship, contumely, and — it 
 might even be — shame and death ! 
 
 A clammy dew started to the brow of the 
 baronet, and his head sank upon Ids breast, 
 as his glance passed rapidly from the placid 
 and proud countenance of the silent stripling, 
 "wliose sense of wrong was too powerful to 
 relieve itself by any outward emotion, to the 
 exulting face of his'inexorable w!f(^, who with 
 her tall fisure rigidly erect, and her dark 
 cheek flushed with passion, seemed to await 
 the termination of the scene without one 
 misgiving of its result. 
 
 No further opposition, as she at once felt, 
 need be dreaded from Sir Jasper upon any 
 point, when she had secured this victory over 
 his young kinsman ; and thenceforward the 
 desolate man would be totallj^ dependent up- 
 on herself for sympathy and companionship. 
 Th^same idea had, "however, flashed dark 
 and threatening on the mind of the baronet. 
 Should Hubert, indignant at his desertion, 
 refuse all further communication with his 
 family, the ancient race would become ex- 
 tinct, and the name of Trcvanion fiill into 
 oblivion. Sir Jasper felt that he must tem- 
 porise with the J'outh, even at the risk of 
 exciting the wrath of his wife ; and, acting 
 upon this conviction, he turned resolutelj 
 toward him, and crushing down alike his 
 haughtiness and the vague terror which had 
 grown upon him, he said sternly: "You have 
 heard my decision, sir ?" 
 " I have." 
 
 " Henceforth, then, you will possess the 
 control over your own career which you ap- 
 pear to covet. The world is before you, and 
 you must struggle with it as you can. Do 
 not, however, imagine that I have so utterly 
 lost sight of my own dignity as to permit 
 you to go hence without the means of support 
 necessary to uphold, in some degree, the 
 honor of the name you bear — or, better still, 
 if you will favor me by relinquishing that 
 name until you have ceased to disgrace it — 
 to enable you to give some show of respect- 
 ability to the one which you may see fit to 
 assume." 
 
 " I have no intention to resign the name of 
 my father. Sir Jasper Trevanion." 
 
 " Perhaps if I propose to you, in the event 
 of this concession, to increase the provision I 
 have offered, j-ou may bo induced to change 
 your mind." 
 
 " By no means ; for while conscious that I 
 am not in a. position to reject your offer, I beg 
 3'ou distinctly to understand that I accept it 
 as the son of Aubrey Trevanion, and not as 
 3'our nephew." 
 
 "Then, sir, you shall be authorized to draw 
 upon my banker for two hundred j)ound3 an- 
 nually, on condition that you inform hiiu of 
 your [AarQ of residence." 
 "I admit no conditions." 
 "Do not insist, Sir Jasper;" interposed 
 Lady Trevanion ; " if you are indeed pre- 
 pared to commit so great a weakness as to 
 reward this estimable j'oung man for his dis- 
 obedience, be it so ; but pray. do not descend 
 to ask as a favor what you have every autho- 
 rity to enforce as a right." 
 
 " Then our conference is endel," murmured 
 the baronet. "My steward shall eommu- 
 nicate to you the address of my banker ia 
 town, Mr. Trevanion ; and you are at liberty 
 to leave my house at any moment when you 
 may find it convenient." 
 
 " I would beg to suggest an early one," 
 said the lady, as with a lofty bow she swept 
 from the apartment. 
 
 The uncle and the nephew were alone ; only 
 a few paces separated them ; and for an in- 
 stant they stood gazing earnestly at each 
 other. The heavy breathing of the agitated 
 baronet was audible amid the silence, and 
 Hubert alnmst pitied him, as he witnessed the 
 violence of thestrugixle which shook his frame. 
 For the first time his heart yearned toward 
 the weak and spirit-bowed man, whom hero- 
 membered so stern of plirpose, and so haughty 
 of demeanor, but it was only for an instant, 
 for, ere long, resentment swallowed up com- 
 passion, and contempt usurped the place of 
 pity. 
 
 " Have you any further commands for me. 
 Sir Jasper?" he asked, as ho prepared to leave 
 the room. 
 
 " None, sir, none. All is over between 
 us." 
 
 And with a cold and distant salutation, tlie 
 uncle and nephew parted forever as both be- 
 lieved in this world. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HUSBAND AND FATHER. 
 
 All was indeed over I And Hubert Tre- 
 vanion, in his sixteenth year, stood alone in 
 a world where the battle is too often to the 
 strong, and the race to the swift. It is 
 scarcely wonderful that after his uncle had 
 left him, he should gaze around upon the 
 once familiar features of his childhood's home 
 with a strange sinking of the heart. The 
 last hour had decided his destiny ; he had re- 
 turned to the halls of his ancestors only for 
 orto brief day, and he was once more about 
 to abandon them for ever. But he soon sub- 
 dued the emotion which this consciousness 
 had callc'I up ; for, from what was he, in fact, 
 about to separate himself? From mere inan- 
 imate objects which could be dear only from 
 association, and which would remain un- 
 changed, whatever might be the vicissitudes 
 of his own fortune. No tear would fall for 
 him^no heart regret him — no wholesome hu- 
 man sympathy bo awakened eitlier by his 
 struggles or his success; he was an alien fro© 
 the lu)mc of his fathers, and he must go forth 
 to seek another, and forget what might have 
 been, in what was. 
 
 And thus he did go fortK, after a warm k 
 leave-taking with tho old servants, who wept 
 when they wrung his hand, and could not 
 control their sorrow as they saw that his own 
 e^-es were tearless. 
 
 " It is not because yon do not feel, I know 
 that ;" sobbed the soft-hearted Mrs. Pearson ; 
 " I don't like the wild strange light in your 
 eyes, and I would sooner a thousand times. 
 
\ 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 IS 
 
 see von cry like a chiltl, than seem so cold and 
 pliu'id. It is n't natural, Master Hubert." 
 
 "Notliinij is natural under this roof, my 
 cood old fi-iend," replied the youth with a 
 pliastly smile; "neitlier my uncle's supine- 
 ness, nor his wife's tyranny, nor my own exile 
 — nothini:^ is natural, save, indeed, the kind 
 hearts wliich are now throbbing about me. 
 But I see tliat the chaise is ready, and I shall 
 scarcely reach the post-town in time for the 
 mail, so now, and perhaps forever, farewell ! 
 I need not ask you to remember me, for I feel 
 sure that you will do so." And once more 
 grasping the hands of the excited domestics, 
 Hubert turned aw.ny; after liaA-intr, with a 
 mockery of courteousness born of the bitter- 
 ness of his spirit, deposited his leave-taking 
 cards upon tlie hall-table ; and springing into 
 the hired vehicle which awaited him, he 
 drove rapidly from the splendid mansion 
 which was no longer to bo his home. 
 
 In accordance with the resolution that he 
 had expressed to his uncle, the J'oung adven- 
 turer at once proceeded to Germany, where 
 he ultimately succeeded in obtaining a situa- 
 tion in a substantial house of business, through 
 the good oiSces of the family of Herr ITaufF- 
 man. Years passed on ; and the knowledge 
 which he had acquired of the different Euro- 
 pean languages served him well with his 
 employers, by whom he was gradually in- 
 trusted with the whole of their foreign corre- 
 spondence, and to whom his services ultimately 
 became so indispensable, that he was received 
 into the firm, and became the head of their 
 London establishment. Here, as may have 
 been already gathered from the conversation 
 with which our tale commences, he had con- 
 tracted a marriage with the daughter and 
 heiress of a wealtiiy merchant ; not without 
 a certain repugnance consequent upon that 
 pride of birth which he had never ceased 
 to feel, but without hesitation, as the most 
 rapid means of securing the independence 
 which he had sworh to achieve. 
 
 Mrs. Trevanion was a weak, half-educated, 
 ^Mast-fine lady, who had passed her life be- 
 tween the fashionable establishment where 
 Bhe had received her education, and her fa- 
 ther's villa at Richmond. She had early lost 
 her mother, and was petted and indulged ac- 
 cordingly. Before she had attained her eight- 
 eenth year, she had exhausted every circulat- 
 ing library within her reach, could paiat 
 flowers, work crochet, and " perform" on the 
 piano. Small in stature, and slight in figure, 
 there was nevertlieless a grace and pretti- 
 ness about her, wliich easily induced a casual 
 observer to forgive tiio exj)res3ionle33 charac- 
 ter of her face, with its abundant screen of 
 Eale, yellow hair, and its light and prominent 
 lue eyes, in favor of an exquisite complexion, 
 and a peculiarly pleasing smile. Hers was, 
 in short, a style of beauty which resembled 
 a clever, but Incomplete sketch, without suf- 
 ficient coloring to give it character, and 
 which, place it in whatever light you would, 
 never satisfied the eve, or thorouffhlv defined 
 itself. ■' ^ ^ 
 
 The morale of Miss Rotheringbury was in 
 perfect accordance with \\qt physique. She had 
 paasionate impulses; what spoiled child has 
 
 not ? but she did not possess sufficient strength 
 of purpose to carry out her will. Timid by 
 nature, she was easily overawed ; and whilo 
 she indulged herself freely in tyrannizing over 
 those who readily yielded to her pleasure, slio 
 was cowed by a look from any individual who 
 was bold enough to oppose her. 
 
 Such was the bride whom Hubert Trevanion, 
 without much difficulty, wooed and won. His 
 worldly position and commercial ability were 
 satisfactory to the lady's ftither ; while the lady 
 herself, fascinated by his handsome person 
 (which recalled at once her ideal of half-a-dozen 
 of her favorite novel-heros), and dazzled by the 
 liopo of a some-day reconciliation with tho 
 stately baronet and his jewel-laden wife, and 
 a possible sojourn in the ancestral home of her 
 high-born lover, with the self-mystiflcation 
 common to young and unreflecting girls, who 
 mistake the captivation of their fancy for a no- 
 bler and better feeling, saw only a proper sense 
 of dignity in the unbending coldness of her be- 
 trothed husband ; and had learned, long ere he 
 led her radiant in Brussels-lace and orange- 
 blossom to the altar, to defer to all his wishes, 
 and to bend before his will, as entirely as if 
 thenceforward she was to be a mere puppet in 
 his hands. , 
 
 And such in truth she proved, after one or 
 two abortive struggles at supremacy, which 
 only tended to rivet her chains still closer, by 
 affording to her impassive husband an addi- 
 tional opportunity of enforcing upon her con- 
 viction her utter incapacity of self-government. 
 To every appeal he replied by reminding her 
 of her past violence, expatiating upon its ex- 
 treme ill-breeding, and pointing out to her the 
 necessity, now that she had become the wife 
 of a man of family and station, of some effort 
 on her part to prove herself equal to the posi- 
 tion she had attained. For a time the poor 
 girl pouted and grew sullen as she listened to 
 these inferences of her inferiority, and received 
 perpetual warnings to abstain from certain 
 habits and expressions, whicli, as Mr. Treva- 
 nion coolly informed her, were totally incompat- 
 ible with high breeding, and could not be tol- 
 erated in his wife ; and at others she wept over 
 herself as she remembered that, until the hour 
 in which she became such, no words of blame 
 had ever reached her ear. She was so miser- 
 ably alone too : for with the exception of her 
 father and the maiden sister who presided over 
 his establishment, her fastidious lord would 
 admit none of her former associates beneath 
 his roof. 
 
 "You are now in a responsible position, 
 Mrs. Trevanion," was his reply, as she endeav- 
 ored to expostulate against the exclusion of 
 her two favorite cousins ; " and must learn to 
 suffice to yourself." 
 
 Tho struggle was soon over. Tho total 
 want of moral courage evinced by his wife, 
 whilo it exjited the contempt of Mr. Trevor- 
 nion, admirably seconded his views; and when 
 the violent grief of his victim at the sudden 
 death of her father occasioned the premature 
 birth of her expected infant, and stretched her 
 for months upon a bed of sickness, ho at once 
 felt that ho had no further opposition to appre- 
 hend. Enchanted with the lovely little girl, 
 which throve upon tho bosom of a stranger 
 
14 
 
 TEE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 while its childish mother was still a helpless 
 invalid, Mrs. Trevanion neither sought nor 
 wished for other companionship. She watched 
 with pleased and puerile curiosity all the details 
 of the nursery ; and was never weary of won- 
 dering at the astounding fact that she was her- 
 self the mother of the rosy smiling little crea- 
 ture before her — that it was her own — that it 
 already knew her, almost as much as her nurse ; 
 and would stretch forth its httle hands toward 
 her, and crow with delight as it looked into 
 her face. 
 
 It is true that there had been one drawback 
 even to this innocent and natural felicity ; and 
 that one, a.s wo need scarcely say, came from 
 her husband, wlio, while occupied with tlie 
 men of law in the settlement of Mr. Rother- 
 ingbury's affairs, had been summoned to the 
 bedside of his suffering wife, whence, with 
 childish eagerness, she directed his attention to 
 her new treasure. 
 
 "Ila!" was the cold remark of the gentle- 
 man ; " so you have given me a daughter, 
 Clara. I anticipated as much. And now, take 
 care of yourself, and j'ou may yet one day 
 make mo the father of a boy." 
 
 He did, it is true, stoop down and kiss her 
 pale cheek, but ho turned no second glance 
 upon the infant ; and, in compliance with a 
 hint from the nurse, he immediately affcrward 
 left the sick room. 
 
 Ere the recovery of Mrs. Trevanion was com- 
 plete, her noble fortune had almost wholly 
 passed into the hands of her husband; the 
 villa at Richmond had become her ovm prop-" 
 erty ; and the weak but well-meaning old aunt 
 by wlioin she had been brought up had return- 
 ed to Cun^berland, anxious to end her days 
 under the same roof which had witnessed her 
 birth. Her other relations had, as we have al- 
 ready stated, long ceased to find a welcome in 
 the- house of Mr. Trevanion, and, in conse- 
 quence, gradually forbore their visits; and 
 thus the young wife was thrown entirely upon 
 her husband for society. 
 
 Under these circumstances, nothing could be 
 more natural than that as her grief for the loss 
 of her father insensibly wore away, her whole 
 Lapjiincss centered in her child, whose extreme 
 loveliness soon won for it a deep affection, even 
 in the heart of its greatly disappointed father ; 
 while, as years went by without any addition 
 to his family, Mr. Trevanion at length brought 
 himself to believe that the one-despised little 
 girl might one day even better servo his am- 
 bition tlmn the son for which he had so fondly 
 Loped. 
 
 At the period of the infant's birth he Imd 
 been sanguine in his belief that it would some 
 day bear the title, and sustain the honors of 
 his house, and his mortification at its sex was 
 consequently deep and bitter ; Viut when, a year 
 or two subsequently, he ascertained that Lady 
 Trevanion had, contrary to all expectation, be- 
 come the mother of a son, his dream vanished ; 
 and he forthwith resolved to rear his daughter 
 in such refinement as should, combined with 
 her extraordinary beauty and noble fortune, 
 render her a fitting bride for the proudest no- 
 ble in the land. 
 
 Thus, as the child emerged from infancy into 
 girlhood, ehe was placed under the immediate 
 
 charge of a decayed lady of rank, to whom 
 the luxurious home of the wealthy and high- i 
 bred merchant offered a welcome refuge from ' 
 the cares and privations to which she must 
 otherwise have been exposed ; and surrounded 
 by the most eminent masters, whose services 
 were requited with unbounded liberalitv, and 
 rendered with equal zeal. No interference was 
 permitted on the part of Mrs. Trevanion, wl.o 
 had long before this period become so passive 
 under the authority of her husband, that she 
 uttered no remonstrance ; and, finally, satisfied 
 by the affection of the loving girl, whose ten- 
 derness suffered no abatement even under these 
 unpromising cireumgtanees, she ceased tonsseit 
 the slightest wish to control or guide her ac- 
 tions. 
 
 Lady Mary Brooldand was the ruling spirit i 
 of the house; and while Mrs. Trevanion | 
 lounged on her sofa engaged upon a novel, or 
 took her solitary drive, the young hen-ess, ac- 
 companied by her high-born monitress, was in- 
 troduced to the gayeties of Lf)ndon life ; fre- 
 quented the opera, the parks, and the public ] 
 gardens ; and, thanks to the able chaperoqage 
 of the accomplished woman of fashion, soon 
 became a marked object of attraction in that 
 sphere in which her father was anxious that 
 she should move. 
 
 In due course of time the lovely Miss Treva- 
 nion was presented at court by her obliging , 
 friend Lady Mary, and welcomed to the inti- \ 
 macy of her aristocratic connections. Her 
 great beauty and splendid expectations were 
 sedulously whispered abroad; her extraordi- 
 nary accomplishments and refinement of man- 
 ner were the theme of general admiration ; 
 and, before she had attained her twentieth 
 year, more than one highly-descended suitor ) ' 
 had become a candidate for her hand. 
 
 The exultation of Mr. Trevanion was great, 
 although perfectly undemonstrative ; he felt as 
 if, through his daughter, he was resuming his 
 legitimate place in society ; and already looked 
 forward to the coronet which was to adorn her 
 brow as the reward of his own humiliation and 
 struggle. As his thoughts occasionally glanced 
 to Sir Jasper and his heir, his lip curled rather ', 
 with pride than resentment. He should yet 
 teach them that he could win an illustration 
 for which he was indebted solely to himself, ■ 
 and which was independent of their influence. 
 
 Under such circumstances as these, it docs ' 
 not require to be explained that Lady Mary , 
 Brookland gradually became all-powerful in 1 
 the merchant's house. He had, as we have 
 already shown, from the very period of hia 
 marriage, discountenanced the associates, as 
 well as the family of his wife ; and as his 
 daughter grew to womanhood they were slow- 
 ly and almost imperceptibly replaced by those ' 
 of his aristocratic inmate, who was by no means 
 averse to indulge her high-born but far from 
 affluent nieces and cousins by a participation in ! 
 the luxuries of her new home. First, it was / j 
 the Honorable Miss Stapleton, who, at the en- I j 
 treaty of her aunt, consented to pass a month 
 with her interesting charge, and to accompany 
 her to exhibitions, and picture galleries ; to ap- 
 pear in her opera-bo.x, and to share in her rid- 
 mg excursions; then it was the charming | : 
 widow of Sir Jolin Saowdon, whose son and ' 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 15 
 
 heir being at Eton, rendered it peculiarly de- 
 sirable that liis fond and anxious mother should 
 dceasionally reside in town for a few weeks, in 
 (i-.'der to assure herself more satisfactorily of 
 his health and progress than she could possibly 
 do in her Highland castle ; and on the occasion 
 of these gratifying visits, flocks of noble la- 
 dies availed themselves of the opportunity to 
 welcome them to the metropolis, and to make 
 t'le acquaintance of the charming Miss Treva- 
 niou. who formed so attractive a feature in the 
 fasluouablc /'/<■' of the season. 
 
 The beautiful Richmond villa soon became 
 immeusely popular with the beau monde, who 
 were euchauted with the dejeuners danaants 
 and matincs mudcales provided for their 
 amusement ; and who, as they strolled over 
 the velvet lawns and flower-studded conserva- 
 tories, many of them proud of their own con- 
 descension, and others careless of all beyond 
 the passing amusement of the hour — little sus- 
 
 Seeted that they were mere pawns upon the 
 iplomatic chess-board of their host, and were 
 unconsciously working out the one great pur- 
 pose of his existence. 
 
 Th^ unexceptionable breeding of Mr. Treva- 
 nion, his ancient descent, and the uncalculated 
 munificence of liis establishment, insured the 
 respect and deference of all by whom he was 
 approached ; while his sterlmg good sense and 
 general information were alike appreciated by 
 the more reflecting portion of his guests. 
 Dowager dames and middle-aged nobles soon 
 learned to prefer his society to that of the 
 pleasure-hunters who fluttered through his 
 saloons ; and his dinner-table in Westbourne 
 Terrace was in due course of time as much and 
 as satisfactorily filled as his Richmond shrub- 
 beries. 
 
 Early accustomed to submission and supine- 
 ness, Mrs. Trevanion evinced no mortification 
 at the fact that Lady Mary did the honors of 
 I her house, seemingly satisfied that by such an 
 j arrangement she was relieved alike from exer- 
 tion and responsibility ; and, as she was always 
 I courteous to her guests, amiable, and well- 
 j dressed, she was generally considered as a lady- 
 I like, quiet little person, somewhat uninterost- 
 i ing, but perfectly presentable, whose destiny 
 I was a most enviable one, and for whom the 
 I world must evidently be couleur de rose. 
 i Nor was the existence of Mrs. Trevanion, in 
 I point of fact, by any means an unhappy one ; 
 I Bhe was proud of her husband even while she 
 I feared him ; and stOl more proud of her daugh- 
 ! ter, whose unfailing affection had been proof 
 against all the temptations to arrogance and 
 j heartlessness by which she was surrounded ; 
 ! while she was at the same time dazzled and' 
 delighted by the perpetual stream of gayety and 
 splendor upon which she was borne unresisting- 
 ly along. She was amused by the eager pursuit 
 of pleasure in which she was too indolent to 
 j share, even had she been permitted to do so ; 
 Sand flattered when her comfortable sofa was 
 I shared by a titled dowager or a withered man 
 j of fashion. 
 
 [ For years the courtly Lady Mary, wlio had 
 j become strongly attached to her young charge, 
 jhad earnestly encouraged the ambitious dreams 
 j of her host, and watched the patrician admirers 
 by whom the fair girl was approached with a 
 
 jealousy equal to his own ; but, a few montlis 
 previous to tho opening of our tale, slio had re- 
 laxed wonderfully in her vigilance. Whether 
 it were that she considered Mi.ss Trevanion at 
 six-and-twenty, and, in other respects, her own 
 mistress, equally competent to judge and act 
 for herself in tho most important circumstance 
 of her life, or that some other undivulged rea- 
 son existed for her sudden quiescence, it is at 
 least certain that her lectures upon tho subject 
 of eligible marriages, and the expediency of 
 forming desirable connections, altogether ceased; 
 while it was equally apparent that the beauti- 
 ful heiress, although courteous and affable to all 
 her suitors, evinced no preference toward either. 
 And as the popularity of his daughter increased, 
 so did tho worldly dreams of Mr. Trevanion 
 grow more and more brilliant. It was a matter 
 perfectly settled in his mind that she was des- 
 tined to accomplish a splendid alliance — a con- 
 viction which was strengthened by tho peculiar 
 disposition and habits of tho young lady her- 
 self, who, reared in indulgence and luxury, 
 was at once self-relying and refined, and en- 
 tirely unsuited for an existence of obscurity or 
 struggle. 
 
 How many visionary coronets danced before 
 the mental sight of the proud father, poised 
 only by a silken thread above the polished brow 
 of his child, which it required but her touch to 
 snap. With what silent delight did he antici- 
 pate the moment when as a peeress she might 
 look down in disdain upon the haughty rela- 
 tives by whom she had hitherto been over- 
 looked and neglected. The otherwise high- 
 minded and right-judging man, whose sense of 
 honor was acute upon all other subjects, was 
 alike blind and weak on this. He did not give 
 a thought to the happiness of tho bright being 
 who made the sunshine of his home ; but, his 
 better feelings warped by ambition and resent- 
 ment, he looked only to her worldly greatness, 
 and to his own revenge. Every luxury of at- 
 tire which could enhance her beauty was lavish- 
 ly bestowed upon her ; and even ho himself, 
 unbending as he was to all around him, treated 
 her with a deference which to his jaundiced 
 mind was already a triumph. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A FKTE CHAMPKTRE. 
 
 There was a brilliant fete at the far-famed 
 villa of ilrs. St. Maur Fulke at Putney ; and 
 as Mrs. St. Maur Fulko was the fashion, "all 
 the world" had been intriguing for tho last 
 month to procure tickets. Various were the 
 rumors which had been circulated on the sub- 
 ject of the approaching festivity ; and tho in- 
 vited were meanwhile busied in preparing their 
 fancy dresses for the occasion, and congratulat- 
 ing themselves upon tho charming idea of their 
 hostess, who had positively refused to sanction 
 the admittance of such guefets as should present 
 themselves otherwise than en costume. The ex- 
 tensive grounds of tho villa swept down to tho 
 river^ where gayly-caparisoncd boats with silk- 
 en awnings lay moored beneath the over-hang- 
 ing willows ; gipsy-tents, dancing-booths, and 
 
16 
 
 THE JEALOUS ^^IFE. 
 
 marquees fitted with counters, and crowded 
 with glittering trifles, which were to be dis- 
 tributed by lottery, dotted the lawns and shrub- 
 beries ; hidden orchestras made the summer air 
 vocal ; and on every side groups of fair women 
 and gallant cavaliers in many-colored raiment, 
 rendered the whole scono one parterre of mov- 
 ing flowers. 
 
 We are not about to describe these more mi- 
 nutely ; a fancy-f>l'te of this description may be 
 readily imagined ; peeresses were content to 
 play peasant girls for the hour, while private 
 gentlemen strutted as kings among the brilhaut 
 crowd 
 
 And a crowd in truth it was ; for, although 
 Mrs. St. Maur Fulke had resolutely turned a 
 deaf ear to many an earnest entreaty, declaring 
 that she merely sought to assemble her more 
 immediate friends, she was so popular an indi- 
 vidual, and so singularly favored in that respect 
 that upward of seven hundred intimates graced 
 her entertainment. The lively and wealthy 
 little widow herself made a charming gri.^ette. 
 Nothing could be more perfect than the arrange- 
 ment of her magnificent hair, nothing more be- 
 coming than the tightly-fitting boddice, and noth- 
 ing more captivating than the fairy-like foot and 
 ankle which were revealed by the short jupon. 
 No wqnder that many of the women and all 
 the men were enraptured with Mrs. St. Maur 
 Fulke I 
 
 Nevertheless, however, there was one more 
 brilliant and stately beauty who fairly divided 
 with her hostess tlie admiration of the courtly 
 revelers, and that one was Miss Trevaniou, 
 whose dark loveliness was rendered striking 
 by her gypsy garb. Many was the palm ex- 
 tended to invite her predictions and many the 
 low-breathed and anxious question to which 
 she replied with a dignified composure well 
 calculated to extinguish the hope that her 
 bright eyes had inspired. For a time her at- 
 tentive chaperone, Lady Mary, moved majes- 
 tically beside her, habited as a sybil; but 
 gradually, as the human kaleidoscope varied 
 its figures, the two ladies became separated by 
 the crowd ; other gypsies with dark eyes and 
 hair bewildered the titled duenna in the dis- 
 tance ; and finally she relinquished all idea of 
 pursuing her lost charge. 
 
 It was a glorious summer day ; one of those 
 rare days all balm and sunshine, which make 
 the very sense of existence doubly enjoyable ; 
 the flexile branches of the trees danced iu the 
 light and perfumed air; the flowers lifted their 
 glowing blossoms to the sky ; the ripples of 
 Qie river were brilliant as diamond dust ; and 
 every sun-touehed leaf glittered like a living 
 emerald ; while the long dark avenues of flow- 
 ering shrubs, over-arehed by forest timber, 
 offered their welcome shade to those who 
 sought escape for a season from the heat and 
 hurry of the open lawns. 
 
 Through one of these bowery arcades, a few 
 hours after the commencement of the fete, 
 slowly wandered two figures engaged in a low 
 and evidently engrdfesing conversatiou ; who, 
 ever as they approached the termination of the 
 allce, retraced their steps, as if anxious to se- 
 cure themselves against intrusion. One of 
 these was Miss Trcvauion ; but all the digni- 
 fied playfulness which had won for her the ad- 
 
 miration of the groups by which she had been 
 previously surrounded, had totally disappeared. 
 Although her movements were steady and 
 measured, her head was bowed, and the hand 
 which grasped her cloak was so tightly clinched 
 that her small fingers were rigid and'^bloodlcss, \ 
 Her companion, who was dressed as a minstrel, 
 and carried a guitar slung across his shoulder, 
 was evidently several years hei' junior in age; 
 his fair hair clustered niassivoly about his cheeks 
 and brow, and his large eyes, of a deep and 
 intense blue, were fringed by long dark lashes 
 upon both the upper and the under lids; in 
 person he was tall and slight, symmetrically 
 and vigorously formed ; and there was a di»- 
 tinetiou in his finely eliiselcd featm'cs and 
 lofty carriage peculiarly attractive. 
 
 " It is worse than vain to indulge in such a 
 hope, Sydney ;" said the lady despondingly, as \ 
 they turned once more into the deepest shade 
 of the shrubbery ; " even Lady Mary herself 
 would not dare to broach the subject to my 
 father, great as her influence undoubtedly is ; 
 and now, as if to render our difficulty still 
 more insurmountable, I am persecuted by the 
 insane pursuit of that superannuated old peer." 
 
 " But surely, Ida — " 
 
 " Nay, nay — " mterposed Miss Trevanion, 
 striving to smile ; " you need waste no words 
 on him. I have no inclination to purcliase a 
 coronet, and as little desire to wear one." 
 
 " And can not you convince your father of 
 that fact ? You are all-powerful with him." 
 
 "Perhaps I might, but our position would 
 still remain unaltered. For that purpose, as 
 I have already explained to you, 1 have been 
 reared and educated. My own inclinations 
 have never been consulted ; nor will I hesitate 
 to confess, tliat until I knew you, 1 never cared 
 to speculate upon the future ; and my father 
 has consequently lived on in the firm convic- 
 tion that his Avishes would not be thwarted. 
 From this fatal mistake I can anticipate noth- 
 ing but unhappiness ; for, whatever may be my 
 final decision as regards yourself, I can fore- 
 see only displeasure and (hsappoiutment on his 
 part." 
 
 " And can there be any doubt as to that deci- 
 sion?" asked the young man, earnestly. 
 
 " I fear not ;" was the subdued reply ; " but 
 still I shrink from the contest like a coward. 
 It is not your want of fortune which will oper- 
 ate against you, for as an only child I have 
 more than enough ; but it is — " 
 
 " My obscurity ;" said her companion, bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " Sydney !" exclaimed Miss Trevanion with 
 haughty indignation ; " You are a gentleman, , 
 both by birth and breeding, or I never could I 
 have loved j'ou ; but you have no title to offer ij 
 to me — and, then — ," she paused, and blushed ( 
 deeply. t 
 
 "Say on, Ida. What more? I will endeavor j 
 to bear all which it may be your pleasure to j 
 inflict." I 
 
 " Your youth" — murmured the lady. 
 
 " Now you are iu truth figiiting against shad- 
 ows!" was the impatient retort ; "a marvelous 
 disparity of six years if I mistake not. Can 
 Mr. Trevanion possibly infer from that circun> 
 stance that I am unable to protect you?" 
 
 " I Avas not thinking of my father when I 
 
r 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 ir 
 
 urged the objection ;" said his companion ; " No, 
 Sydney ; it ■was born of my own foni's. You 
 Lave assured me, and I believe you, that I am 
 the first woman wliom you have ever loved ; 
 but where can I find the assuranee that I shall 
 bo the last?" 
 
 'tin yourself. "Who that has won the affee- 
 t'on of Ida Trevanion can ever turn a thought 
 pf love upon another of her sex? Yon do 
 yourself injustice by such an aj^prehension." 
 
 "At this moment you feel all that you de- 
 clare: of that, I have no doubt ;" was the low 
 reply; "nor will I be guilty of the pitiful 
 nffeetation of seeming to think otherwise; 
 l>ut time, Sj'dney, time is a sad magician ; 
 ind the day may come when even you may 
 Feel the imprudence of having bound your- 
 self to a wife even those six years your 
 lenior." 
 
 Never !" exclaimed the young man ener- 
 getically. 
 
 "And mark me, Sydney;" pursued Miss 
 rrevanion, laying her hand heavily on his 
 irm, and raising her eyes steadily to his ; 
 
 mark me — for this moment may be the 
 urninc-point of both our lives — I could bear 
 11 but that. "Were such a contingency pos- 
 ible, I could share poverty, hardship, and 
 ven exile with you ; but one symptom of 
 hange, one suspicion of coldness, one dream 
 
 mark me, I say once more — one dream that 
 ou had bestowed upon another the love 
 rhich you had vowed to me, would kill me. 
 Reflect, therefore, before it is too late. I fear 
 lat you have not yet learned to understand 
 ly character ; to see that under an habitual 
 uietude of manner I conceal a strength of 
 iirpose and a depth of feeling which must 
 lake me either supremely happy or su- 
 remely miserable. I must be all or nothing 
 > the man into whose hands I resign my 
 jstiny." 
 
 " Ida," said her companion, " I have not 
 iserved this doubt. Did I not feel that from 
 le moment in which you become my wife 
 7 whole being will be centered in yourself 
 rever, I would not expose you to the trial 
 hich awaits you." 
 
 "Again I say, reflect;" continued Miss Tre- 
 
 .nion solemnly ; " it !8 my perfect conscious- 
 ^83 of my own nature which causes me to 
 
 sitate. Little did I dream wlien we first 
 
 5t, that in you I saw the arbiter of my des- 
 
 'iy;_nor can I yet understand that tlie or- 
 
 ' narily keen-siglited Lady Mary should, up 
 
 1 this hour, have failed to remark the progress 
 
 < our intimacy." 
 
 I "My aunt is by no means so blind as you 
 
 tppose," said the young man with a quiet 
 
 lile; "nor would it appear that she consi- 
 
 # <jr3 Sydney Elphinstone so ineligible a 
 
 ' iiteh, even for Miss Trevanion, as that young 
 
 lly herself Tier own sister married a com- 
 
 iiner, and was a far happier woman than 
 
 %Mary." 
 
 'Do you really mean to infer that she is 
 
 are of our attachment?" 
 Has she not lost 
 
 she despises, and with whoso modes of think- 
 ing she has no sympathy ?" 
 
 Miss Trevanion became suddenly thought- 
 ful, but only for an instant. " No, no ; it is 
 not possible;" she said firmly; "my father 
 trusts her so implicitly; and it would bo too 
 cruel were he to be deceived in us botli." 
 
 "My assurance that she is our friend gives 
 you no pleasure then, Ida f" said her lover 
 reproaclifully. 
 
 " Donot mistake me. I only fear that Lady 
 Mary, in her affection for her nephew and her 
 friend, is_ unconsciously incurring a frightful 
 responsibility, and may hereafter have cause to 
 regret Jier indulgence." 
 
 "Listen to me," broke in the young man 
 impetuously. "My position is a pamful one. 
 Loving you — and you can not doubt how well ! 
 and how entirely for yourself — I may, and 
 must, to the world appear sordid and inter- 
 ested. This consideration was bitter enou.'^h, 
 but it has hitherto been my pride to feel that 
 you at least acquitted me of so base a motive. 
 Would that you were a beggar, Ida ; for then, 
 
 at least " 
 
 "Shame on you!" exclaimed Miss Trevan- 
 ion ; " Do not suffer your mind to be sullied for 
 an instant by such a thought. M^ney!" — and 
 her proud lip curled with all the scorn of one 
 who had never been taught to feel the value 
 of the riches for which she evinced so unequiv- 
 ocal a contempt; "surely you have already 
 betrayed annoyance enough upon that odious 
 subject, and it is quite superfluous to renew it." 
 " Forgive me ; and you will do so, when I 
 explain that, conscious of my own suffering 
 upon that point, I was anxious to exonerate my 
 aunt from a similar suspicion. She loves me ; 
 I have acknowledged to her that my every 
 hope of happiness depends upon an union with 
 yourself; and thus, if indeed she has betrayed 
 her trust, I can but bless her for the weak- 
 ness." 
 
 " But did she not endeavor to impress upon 
 you the imprudence of such an attachment?" 
 
 _ " I suppose I must acknowledge that she 
 did. She told me, I remember, that Mr. Tre- 
 vanion was ambitious, and that she could hold 
 out no hope ; that my suit would be considered 
 by him, and probably by yourself also, as pre- 
 sumptuous and absurd." 
 " Absurd r 
 " Even so." 
 "And wherefore?" 
 
 " Because it was so evidently hopeless." 
 "Did not the word imply another mean- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " None that I could discover." 
 "And yet it might be that she meant to 
 show you tlie absurdity of asking the hand of 
 a woman older than yourself." 
 "Again, Ida!" 
 
 " I can not help it. The conviction haunts 
 me pertinaciously, that, in overlooking so se- 
 rious a fact, I am wilfully risking our mutual 
 happiness. Women are so frail, Sydney ; they 
 fade so soon ; they are at the mercy of a thou- ' 
 sand casualties, from which men are free. 
 
 , you in the crowd, Ida ? , _ „_ 
 
 Ijesshe not occasionally doze at the opera? ! They are, moreover, so susoeptVbie of wr'on 
 
 I have faded to remark the long, prosy j that, although they mav appear to f.rget {.„ 
 
 versations in which she indulges from well as to forgive, it is stran-e but true that 
 
 tiie to time, with persons whose 
 
 intellect 
 2 
 
 every new sorrow recalls tliu memory of past 
 
18 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 suffcrian^. .Griefs and trials wliich bad seemed 
 for a. tim?, even to themselves, to have been 
 outlived and obliterated, add their mental pang 
 to the new wound ; and sears, ■whieh had ap- 
 parently elosed, bleed a<};ain; for the heart is 
 more difficult to heal than the body, and more 
 tenacious of the hurts by 'which it has been in- 
 jured. If then, such be the fate of the most 
 forbearing of the sex, judge Avhat must be the 
 destiny of those whose nature forbids thein 
 either to forget or to forgive — for whom the 
 first insult is final — who can hate as fiercely as 
 they can love. Should they not be wary? 
 Should they not shrink from rushing upon their 
 own destruction ?" 
 
 " Ida. you torture both yourself and me." 
 
 "And it is because I love you, Sydney, that 
 I do so. Because my love is so selfish and so 
 engrossing, that I seek to forge arms against 
 myself. Because I would not that hereafter 
 you should look back with pity or with scorn 
 upon my weakness." 
 
 " And do you in reality believe that I could 
 ever prove so vile an ingrate?" 
 
 " I think less of you individually, Sydney, 
 while thus listening to the voice of reason and 
 common sense, tlian of human nature in the 
 mass. TTho can answer for tho effect which 
 may bo produced upon his nature by time and 
 circumstances '?" 
 
 "It is in the power of every man of honor 
 to do so." 
 
 " But I would owe nothing to the honor of 
 my husband upon a point like tliis. Such a 
 safeguard to my pride would but revolt my 
 affection." 
 
 "You distort my meaning, Ida. Is this 
 generous?" 
 
 "I know not!" said Miss Trevanion sadly; 
 "I only feci that in becoming your wife, I 
 should so utterly resign my every chanco of 
 hnnpiness into your hands, that, were I to de- 
 ceive myself^ tlie wreck would be a fatal one." 
 
 " Tou do not, then, consider me worthy of 
 the trust ?" 
 
 " As you are, Sydney ? Oh, yes ! "Wortliy — 
 most worthy. I only tremble when I reflect 
 upon what j-ou may one day become." 
 
 "This discussion is idle and most painful, 
 "Ida," said Elphinstono in an unsteady voice, " I 
 have but assurances to ofler, to which you ap- 
 parently assign no credit. I was not prepared 
 for such mistrust on your part." 
 
 " Do not wrong mc," was the eager rejoin- 
 der. " I do not mistrust you — this interview is a 
 sufficient evidence to tlio contrary; but — " 
 
 " But you daro not confide your happiness to 
 my keeping ?" 
 
 Tlicre was silence for a moment, and nothing 
 could bo heard in that quiet and secluded ave- 
 nue, .save tho sounds of far-off music, tlio ring- 
 ing of distant laughter, and tho wiiisporings of 
 the wind tlirough the dense foliage of the over- 
 arching trees ; and then camo a low murmur 
 of '■ I do — I will;" and tho extended hand of 
 Miss Trevanion was passionately clasped in that 
 of her companion. 
 
 " Ida — my own." 
 
 " Now, and forever." 
 
 " Witliout doubt or misgiving ?" 
 
 " In all faith and trust." 
 
 "I will merit both." 
 
 " I believe it, Sydney ; and on my Ado I wBl 
 endeavor to prove to you that I deserve your 
 full and entire affection; and I will strive to 
 forget — " 
 
 " Forget nothing, save that you have been 
 unjust to yourself; and if a life-long devotion 
 can repay you for the blessedness Avhich»you 
 have conferred on me, it is, and must be yours. 
 Do not imagine for an instant tliat I am uncon- 
 scious of tho sacrifice which you are willing to 
 make in order to secure my hapjiiticss ; do not 
 suppose tliat I am blind to the worldly advan- 
 tages which you so generously resign for my 
 sake ; I am but too keenly alive to their ex- 
 tent. I know that you will be blamed, and 
 even pitied, for bestowing yourself upon a poor 
 and nameless suitor, in the fullness of your 
 beauty, and the zenith of your foshion, when 
 tho noblest and the proudest are contending 
 for your fovor ; but you shall have no cause to 
 regret such a concession." 
 
 "I accept the assurance," said Miss Trevanion 
 tenderly ; " I will henceforward throw all mis- 
 giving to the winds, and trust inplicitly in your 
 affection. "We have, however, still to struggle 
 against very formidable difficulties, Sydney; 
 and I confess, that when I tliink of my father's 
 anger I feel terrified." 
 
 " Surely, with such an auxiliary as my aunt,' 
 you will be able to overcome the objections of 
 Mr. Trevanion." 
 
 "I repeat that I believe them to bo insupfr. 
 rablo; but, as it has now become my duty to 
 make the attempt, I will not shrink from tL(; 
 task, onerous as it is." 
 
 " Would that I could spare you the trial !" 
 
 "Impossible! I must meet the displeasun 
 which I shall have incurred, alone; and this' 
 Sydney, will be asuCQcicnt proof of the sincerity 
 of my affection; for, peculiar as lie may be oi 
 this one poiut, my father has hitherto been ti, 
 mo all kindness and indulgence; and I can no 
 involve him in mortification and disappointmen 
 witliout suffering severely on my side. M; 
 only consolation will exist in the coiivictio;. 
 that he desires my happiness, and tliat I sha) 
 have secured it by uniting myself to the onl; 
 man who has ever won iny love. And now' 
 let us part, or our absence will bo remarked." 
 
 "So soon, Ida?" 
 
 " Believe me, it is bettor so." 
 
 But still they lingered awhile, her liand i ' 
 his, and conversing in those low tones whici 
 aro audible rather to tho heart than to the ea . 
 but which are nevertheless truinpct-tongued t; 
 those who love. And then their hands wci 
 more firmly clasped together; their eyes m 
 in a long and eloquent look ; the lady emerge 
 into the sunshine, and the gentleman plunge, 
 yet deeper into the shadows of tlic shrubber 
 The cheek of Miss Trevanion was pale, but si- 
 betrayed no other sj-mptom of eniotion; ai 
 if slio" played her adopted part less gnyly tin' 
 before slio indulged in that sylvan VU-il-U 
 there was a graceful languor iu her whole c 
 portment which rendered her oidy the mc, 
 fascinating and attractive to her assiduo 
 admirers. • ,' 
 
 Nothing could go off better than the ft 
 of Mrs. St. Maur Fulke ; and numerous wc 
 the compliments which she received from 1 
 reluctantly-departing guests, warned bj 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 19 
 
 risint!; moon, nnd a, rising mist from the river, 
 I that even the most refined j^h'asnres must at 
 I last ter hi in ate, Nymi>hs and t^xldesses folded 
 i their shawls and mantles about tiiem ; knights 
 1 and courtiers resolved themselves into mere 
 I mortals; carriages thundered to the gates; 
 1 thS voices of servants and policemen were 
 loud in every direction, and Miss Trevanion 
 ' handed to her chariot by a minstrel, whose 
 plumed hat completely overshadowed his 
 I countenance, wa^oon rolling along the road 
 [ to London, seateffbeside the silent and some- 
 what conscienee-striekea Sybil, to whose care 
 I she had beea confided 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 A REVELATION. 
 
 " And so," said Mr. Trevanion on the follow- 
 ing morning, as he rose from the breakfast 
 able, and transferred the " Jlorning Post" to 
 lis wife ; " the ft'te of Mrs. St. ■Maur Fulke 
 as the most brilliant affair of the season. 
 o you concur in this opinion. Lady Mary ?" 
 "There can be no doubt that it was ad- 
 irahlv arranged, and veiy successful;" was 
 he quiet replit " In fact I never saw a col- 
 
 iection of more effective ■costumes, or listened 
 o more agreeable music What say you, 
 da?" 
 "That if the gxiests were not amused, it 
 ■(vas assuredly not the fault of the hostess," 
 ai 1 the 3'oung lady. 
 
 " Vou, <it least., have «very reason to Lc 
 a'isfied," observed her father; "as I find it 
 ecorded in 'The Post,' that ' the lovely and 
 iccomplished Miss Trevanion was one of its 
 )rightest ornaments;' although I still main- 
 .ain t!iat the cost-fime which you selected, 
 ya? by no means that in which *I should, had 
 been consulted on the subject, have eoun- 
 eled mif daughter to appear." 
 "' I think tliat you would have altered your 
 pmion, had you seen how admirably Ida 
 nacteJ her assumed character," said the in- 
 ulgent and politic Lady Mary; "I can as- 
 ure you that it excited general remark." 
 Mr. Trevanion acknowledged the courtesy 
 y a gracious bo\7. 
 
 And it was, moreover, excessively bo- 
 oming," pursued the fiiinily friend ; " I never 
 .w the dear girl appear to more advantage. 
 was quite proud of my charge." 
 "I hope, madam, that you will never have 
 luse to be otherwise," observed Mr. Trevan- 
 , haughtily ; " but that ere long — " 
 ' No doul)t, no doubt, my dear sir," inter- 
 ssed the lady somewhat nervously ; " there 
 - not bo a question that the social success 
 : 3'our daughter will augment, while that 
 : so many less higldy-gifted girls is terribly 
 pt to diininisli. Ida's fashion is now so per- 
 jctly establislied, and the set into which I 
 hve had the privilege of introducing her is 
 ' thoroughly unexceptionable, that her fu- 
 ire station depends entirely upon herself." 
 ,"I am convinced," said Mr. Trevanion, 
 (ith a second lofty bow of acknowledgment, 
 [that she will not lose sight, either of her 
 
 I obligation to you, or of the immense respon- 
 sibility which now rests upon herself." 
 
 " I am sure," w iiinod the thin voice of Mrs. 
 Trevanion, from behind the broad pages of 
 the newspaper, bj- wliich she was entirely 
 jconceaiel; "that if Ida is not hap|iy and 
 j satisfied, I can not tell what could make her 
 so." 
 
 "My 3-oung friend has certainly drawn a 
 prize in the great lottery of life ;" said the 
 bland Lady Mary in her smootliest accent. 
 
 "A fact of which I trust that she is fully 
 aware ;" was the sententious rejoinder of the 
 gentleman, as he strode loftily across the 
 floor; "for, truth to say, lean scarcely im- 
 agine a want or a wish on her part which 
 she is unable to gratify — young, handsome, 
 and fashionable, with the prospect of a fine 
 fortune, and the offer of a peerage — " 
 
 " Can I speak a few words with you in 
 private, papa?" asked Miss Trevanion in a 
 firm voice, but with a heightened color, 
 
 "In private, Ida' Are we not now suffi- 
 ciently private for any communication which 
 you maj- find it necess.ary to make? Is not 
 Lady Mary one of the family? While your 
 mother — " 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Trevanion ;" said the no- 
 ble widow with alacrity, at the same time 
 rising from her seat; "I have letters of some 
 importance to write,- and shall be glad to 
 commence them as early in the day as pos- 
 sible ; you must therefore allow mc to retire 
 to my own room," 
 
 "As you will, madam, as you will;" re- 
 plied the host, holding back the door with 
 the ceremonious courtesy which he always 
 observed to the other sex; " if such be the 
 case I can of course offer no objection, but 
 were it otherwise — " 
 
 "Not a word more, my dear sir; believe 
 me that no apology is necessary ; I was about 
 to withdraw as Ida spoke ;" and gathering 
 the rich folds of her gray damask dress about 
 her, the portly lady disappeared, 
 
 "And you, Mrs. Trevanion?" said her hus- 
 band interrogatively. 
 
 " I would rather that mamma should re- 
 main ;" was the calm remark of his daughter. 
 " Ilcr opinion on the subject to be discussed, 
 of whatever nature it may be, can not but 
 prove valuable ;" observed Mr, Trevanion, 
 contemptuously, 
 
 "That is precisely my own sentiment;" 
 said the young lady, " for I have firm faith 
 in her affection for her only child, and as I 
 am about to speak frankly and seriously 
 upon a matter involving my future happiness 
 in life, it will be a sincere gratification to 
 me sliould she see and feel as I do." 
 
 " You have then some doubt as to my sym- 
 pathy — " said her father tartly. 
 
 " I confess it ; but I do not despair of con- 
 vincing alike your heart and your reason, for I 
 have also an unshaken trust in your paternal 
 tenderness." 
 
 "Enough of this verbal skirmishing, Id.a. 
 What have you to say? I have busines.r iu 
 town to-day, and expect tho carriage round 
 every instant." 
 
 " I shall not detain you long, sir. You Iiavo 
 for tho last four years expressed a great desiro 
 
20 
 
 THE JEALOUS TVIFE. 
 
 to SCO me settled in life, and I consider it my 
 duty to tell you without procrastination or 
 concealment that my election is made." 
 
 " You accept Lord Downmere ?'' 
 
 Miss Trevauion smiled disdainfully. " Deci- 
 dedly not. I have no ambition to become the 
 T\-ife of a man old enough to be my grand- 
 father." 
 
 " A peer of the realm — '* 
 
 " A selfish sensualist." 
 
 " Pshaw t The only chance of married hap- 
 piness to a woman is to unite herself to a man 
 of twice her own age, wlio knows how to ap- 
 preciate her youth and beauty at their proper 
 value. A sensualist! And why not? How 
 can that affect your comfort? An egotist? 
 Trash 1 Let him indulge liimself as he may, 
 you are not likely to suffer from liia selfislmess. 
 Upon this subject I shall admit of no argument, 
 as I havo already promised your hand to Lord 
 Downmere." 
 
 "Sir!'* exclaimed the young lady indignant- 
 ly ; "I can not surely have understood you 
 rightly ; did you say that you had promised my 
 hand ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And without my sanction ?" 
 
 " Even so." 
 
 " Then you must excuse me, if I at once de- 
 clare that I am as little disposed to defer to 
 the tyranny of a fatlier as to that of a husband. 
 We are not, happil}', in Circassia, where pa- 
 rents make a trade of their children, and 
 dispose of ihem to the best bidder; and thus 
 I do not acknowledge the right even of my 
 own parent to transfer me like a bale of mer- 
 chandize." 
 
 " You might at least have spared mo that 
 taunt. Miss Trevanionl" exclaimed the mer- 
 chant with vehemence ; " it comes badly from 
 you, who are indebted to my self-sacrifice for 
 all tlio advantages upon which you pride your- 
 self." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir ; I intended no sarcasm," 
 said his daugliter dcprocatingly ; "nor can I 
 comprehend how you should for an instant 
 attach such a meaning to my words. My very 
 rejection of the suitor whom you have proposed 
 to mo is a sufficient guarantee of my utter in- 
 difference to tlie empty distinctions of rank and 
 name. Xo one can havo a more profound re- 
 spect for high blood and ancient lineage than 
 myself) but I have no incUjiation to immo- 
 late my happuaesa at the shrine of mere 
 rank." 
 
 " I shall not bandy phrases with you, Miss 
 Trcvanion," was the tart reply ; " my straight- 
 forward mode of speech is no match for your 
 sentimental eloquence; and it would appear 
 that my paternal autliority is no curb to your 
 will. Be good enough, tlierefore, to inform mo 
 of your pleasure, in order that I may not 
 waste time which can be more profitably cm- 
 ployed." 
 
 Tears rose to the eyes of the young lady, 
 but they did not falL She remained silent for 
 an instant ; and tlien, grasping the hand of her 
 father, as it rested \i\nm the back of the chair 
 from which he had risen, she said beseeching- 
 ly, "Do not be harsh with mo I If you only 
 knew how much it costs me to thwart your 
 wishes upon so important a point aa this, 1 am 
 
 sure that you would rather pity than condemn 
 me ; but believe me when I assure you that it 
 is its very importance which gives me strength 
 to do sa You have been so invariably kind 
 and indulgent ; you have so long made my 
 happiness your chief care, that I dare not 
 bring myself to suspect your affection when I 
 am about to put it to the test." 
 
 " What more ?" was the cold inquiry, as 
 Mr. Trevaniou withdrew his hand from her 
 clasp. 
 
 " I have already declared," said his daughter, 
 retreating a step or two, as if stung by his 
 tone and gesture , " that my election is made — 
 my promise is given — my hand is pledged. 
 That promise and that hand were mine to be- 
 stow or to withhold ; and I have acted upon the 
 firm conviction that I possessed an undoubted 
 right to decide my own destiny." 
 
 "And this conviction has induced you to 
 counteract my wishes, and to disappoint my 
 views. What compensation have you to offer? 
 What brilliant establishment have you secured 
 for yourself which may tend to reconcile me to 
 your disobedience ?"' 
 
 "Will not my future happiness — " 
 
 "No romance, if you please, Miss Trevanion. 
 Mine has been a life made up altogether of re- 
 alities, and I havo little taste for supplying in- 
 cidents for a novel in my own j^mily. Happi- 
 ness in this world, yoimg lady, as you ought 
 by this time to be aware, implies wealth, sta- 
 tion, and influence ; and once more I ask you 
 if you have secured these ?" 
 
 " And on my part, sir, I frankly answer — 
 Xo." 
 
 " Better and better !" was the sarcastic 
 , reply of the merchant, as his cheek becamo 
 [ livid with suppressed passion ; " but pray pro- ; 
 coed." ' 
 
 " I will ; my hand is pledged, and pledged ' 
 irrevocably, to Mr. Sydne_^ Elphinstonc." 
 
 "To Mr. Sydney Elphin.stone — Indeed!" 
 sneered Mr. Trevanion; while a "Good gra- 
 cious me" came from the lounging chair in 
 which his wife had hitherto sat silent and dis- 
 regarded. I 
 
 "A beardless boy, and a penny less pauper!"' 
 pursued the gentleman after drawing a lon^ 
 breath " yon do honor to your birth and 
 breeding even by such an inclination, Miss^ 
 Trevanion. Rest assured, however, that no, 
 folly of the kind shall ever be perpetrated 
 in my family; I positively forbid all further' 
 mention of the young man's name beneath my 
 roof." 
 
 " I much regret, sir — " 
 
 "And so do I, madam; so do I; deeply, 
 bitterly regret the degeneracy of a child from' 
 I whose sense of personal dignity and filial affcc-, 
 tion I had looked for obedience, and a read)' 
 co-operation in my own views. Do you ima-: 
 gine, Miss Trcvanion, that I have bestowed £■ 
 fortune upon your education, and petted ant 
 pampered you like a peeress, in order that yo< 
 may make me the laughing-stock of my haugbt) 
 relatives ?" 
 
 " I had flattered myself; sir, that I was in 
 debted for all the advantages and indulpencci' 
 which I have enjoyed, to your fatherly affectioi 
 alone." 
 
 " Listen to me ;" said Mr. Trevanion, sternly 
 
TEE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 21 
 
 " Let my motives be what they might, you owe 
 me tenfold the c:ratitiuie which a parent could 
 claim from an ordinary cliild. Your very birth, 
 madam, was a bitter disappointment. I had 
 married j'our mother iu the hope that she 
 would make mo the father of a son ; that I 
 might meet Sir Jasper upon equal terms ; and 
 that the heir to my wealth miglit illustrate tlio 
 familv name as proudly as ho who was its re- 
 \ presentative. You know me, and the one 
 ambition of my life, well onouLrli to feel that I 
 ; became a husband from no sellish seeking after 
 j personal gratification ; I could and should have 
 i sufiELced to myself had I not had an ulterior 
 I aim — but enough on that subject. You were 
 Iborn; a girl — a woman — and my first hope 
 \ was frustrated. Your mother bore mo no other 
 I child, and new prospects opened before me. 
 I You were handsome, and I was careful that 
 [your beauty should be enhanced by every ex- 
 traneous aicL I have reared you rather like 
 I the daughter of a duke than the heiress of a 
 [commoner. I have spared neither gold nor 
 I care; and, I believe I maybe permitted to hope 
 [that neitlier has been expended injudiciously. 
 j I have done more. I have secured to you the 
 services of a woman of rank — do j'ou mark me, 
 iMiss Trevanion ? I say — and I say it advised- 
 ily, — the services of a woman of rank; for, 
 whatever you may feel inclined to think upon 
 (the subject, you may trust mo when I assure 
 jou that there is no leveller like wealth ; and 
 ihowever respectfully we may see fit to treat 
 Lady Mary Brookiand, it is not the less certain 
 ;that her poverty has compelled her to bow her 
 [pride; and that she is as completely my hired 
 [dependent as the butler who ofiBciates at my 
 sideboard. And now, allow me to inquire what 
 return you are anxious to make for all my 
 solicitude ? I believed, and I had every right 
 to believe, that the false position in which I 
 Ihad so long lived, must necessarily end when 
 jyou attained to womanhood, and were compe- 
 jtent to secure such a marriage as 7ny birth, and 
 your own personal and acquired advantages, 
 Tendered expedient. I secured for you the 
 jhomage of a nobleman, and I was satisfied. I 
 jfelt that my task was ended, and my object 
 Accomplished. I had toiled and waited for 
 jyears, but I had ultimately effected my pur- 
 jpose ; and I turned back no regret upon the 
 past." 
 
 i "Yet surely, sir, my future happiness may 
 he considered as worthy of some considera- 
 pon." 
 
 " I have already requested that you would 
 |have the courtesy to spare mo all phrase- 
 making;" was the impatient retort: "we are 
 wasting words. "Will you, or will you not, 
 Miss Trevanion — I must now insist on your 
 lefinitive reply — accept the hand of Lord 
 '^ownmere ?" 
 
 _ I can not ;" said the young lady with a 
 luivering lip, but with unabated firnmess; "I 
 lo not even respect him ; and I will never give 
 nysclf to a man whom I despise." 
 
 " Thi.? is, if I rightly understand, your final 
 letermiaation. Good Listen, in 5-our turn, 
 mine. Become the wife of your pauper- 
 over, and share his poverty ; marry your boy- 
 uitor, and expose yourself to the ridicule of 
 he world ; but do not expect me to take any 
 
 1€ 
 
 part either in the privation.'^ or the sarcnsms to 
 which you are willing to expose yourself. Do 
 not, moreover, expect that I shall render my- 
 self responsible for your obstinacy, or yoiir 
 error, — for I am willing to give it whicli*ver 
 name j-ou please. Whatever may be my di.s- 
 appointment or my mortification, I have still 
 moral courage enough left to assert myself; 
 and no hardly-earned gains of mine shall go 
 to enrich a son-in-law whom I will never re- 
 cognize." 
 
 " My dear fiithcr — " 
 
 " You have hoard my decision. Miss Tre- 
 vanion. It now remains for you to make 
 yours." 
 
 " It is made, sir. My word is pledged ; and 
 I should not be your daughter if I failed to re- 
 deem it." 
 
 " The flattery is delicate, but useless and ill- 
 timed. "We then thoroughly understand each 
 other?" 
 
 " I fear so." 
 
 It is a fatal error to compel, by unreasoning 
 severity, a feeling which was perhaps not yet 
 sufficiently strong to withstand tenderness and 
 entreaty, into direct and deliberate opposition, 
 i and to assail it too roughly by giving to it tho 
 stimulus of anger ; while it is a common mis- 
 take, and a fatal one, to suppose that by 
 harshness and intemperance we can succeed 
 in crushing it, as though it were a mere brute 
 j antagonist to be overcome by physical force. 
 There is a recoil against oppression in every 
 heart ; and many may bo persuaded and con- 
 vinced by gentleness, who become only the 
 more resolute when opposed by violence. 
 
 Whether such would have been tho case in 
 the present instance it is impossible to decide, 
 as the trial was not made; while the look of 
 calm defiance which passed between the mor- 
 tified father and his indignant child at this 
 period of the conversation gave ample evidence 
 that neither was disposed to yield. 
 
 "Xow, don't bo obstinate, Ida;" whined 
 out the thin voice from the arm-chair ; " your 
 father does not like you to marry Mr. Elphin- 
 j stone — I do not like it — and I am quite sure 
 I that Lady Mary will be furious." 
 I " Your opinion is, no doubt, a valuable One, 
 Mrs. Trevanion;" said her husband sarcasti- 
 cally; "but, nevertheless, I take the liberty 
 of dissenting from it; as I am quite prepared 
 I to believe that we are indebted to that very 
 lady for tlie pleasant position in which we now 
 find ourselves." 
 
 " I can assure you — " commenced his daugh- 
 ter, as a flush of generous indignation burnt 
 upon her check and brow; "that you wrong 
 Lady Mary Brookiand, sir, by such a supposi- 
 tioiL It is true that she originally presented 
 Mr. Elphinstono to me; and surely nothing 
 could bo more simple than that she should in- 
 troduce so near a relative to tho members of a 
 family in which she resided; but, beyond tho 
 fact of this introduction, Lady Mary has never 
 made tho slightest effort to force Mr. Eli)hin- 
 stone upon my acquaintance." 
 
 " Probably not ;" was the cold reply ; " Lady 
 Mary is a woman of taste and tact, and not 
 likely to commit herself by any overt exertions 
 to that effect; but there are such tilings, Miss 
 1 Trevanion, as negative helps — assistance rca- 
 
22 
 
 THE JEALOUS T7IFE. 
 
 dered rather bj omissions than by actual ser- 1 
 vicefi." 
 
 " Is not this wnj^enorous, sir?'' | 
 
 " It may be so; but I apprehend that it is not I 
 unjust. I can not be deceived in beheving that 
 the admirable 'understanding' — Is not that the | 
 ; conventional term applied to such diirnified and [ 
 ' womanly arrauErements as that to which it would 
 appear that you have lent yourself? — must have 
 taken place at the fie of Mrs. St. Maur Fulke. | 
 Now, will you permit me to inquire how your 
 chaporone had disposed of herself when this 
 very romantic scene was taking place? Was 
 slic present ?" 
 
 " She was not. TTe had been accidentally 
 separated by the crowd." 
 
 '•Xo doubt. 1 suspected as much ; and the 
 great extent of the pleasure grounds naturally 
 rendered it quite impossible that you should 
 meet again until the gentleman had carried his 
 point. It is precisely as I thought ; and con- 
 firms me more steadfastly than ever in the con- 
 viction, that in every aflair of life there is noth- 
 ing so desirable as to secure the co-operation 
 of persons of sense, who appreciate so admir- 
 ably the extent of what is required of them ; 
 while simpletons on the contrary, are like grey 
 hairs — they are always obtrusive, and never 
 can bo kept in their right places. I was quite 
 sure that poor Lady Mary had, in some wa}', 
 lost sight of you altoL'ether." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir. if in my turn, I remark that 
 we are losing sight of our subject;" said Miss 
 Trevanion with dignity; "I have already ex- 
 onerated Lady Mary from all blame, and am 
 quite willing to take upon myself the responsi- 
 bility of my own actions. I am no child to 
 obey the leading-strings of a nurse — no puppet 
 to (iance obedience to the wires of an exhibitor 
 — but a reflecting and anxious woman, con- 
 scious that I hold in my own hands the control 
 of my future destiny." 
 
 "So be it;" contemptuously retorted her 
 fatN-'r ; " and I congratulate you that they are 
 so full, as you are likely to have little else to 
 grasp in them." 
 
 '•The jest is a bitter one, but 1 will not re- 
 sent it;" said the young lady. "'I see and 
 feel, painfully feel, that on the one most im- 
 portant action of my life there exists no hope 
 of our sympathizing. But still, oh, my dear 
 father, still have mercy on me; and do not re- 
 fuse to me at least your blessing and your for- 
 givenc.os. Reflect that, in taking so decided a | 
 step in opposition to 3-our wishes I am already 
 sufiiciently to pity ; and do not let mo have in 
 addition to apprehend the misery of your per- 
 manent displeasure." 
 
 For an in.stant the lip of Mr. Trevanion quiv- 
 ered, but only for an instant. The proud spirit 
 of the disa{)poiiited man was stronger even than 
 his paternal love, and he rallied ere his daugh- 
 ter had time to remark the passing emotion. 
 "My blessing I" he exclaimed vehemently: 
 "my b!e.ssingl on what? On 3-our deliberate 
 disobedience? My forgiveness? Of what ? 
 Of your premeditated overthrow of all my 
 hopes ? Look for neither, madam ; look for 
 neither. Avail yourself of your boasted privi- 
 lege of free-will — give 3-ourself to a beggar — 
 the law will bo your sanction, and I your vic- 
 tim. Let that consciouanesa suffice you. All 
 
 further words are needless. I withdraw all o-,- 
 position — I will offer no impediments to vour 
 folly ; go, and like other lunatics, rush upon 
 your fate." 
 
 "Father!" — 
 
 "Enough, Miss Trevanion;" was the stc— 
 rejoinder; "I still feel sufficient pity for yo ■ 
 madness to accord you four-and-twentv houit 
 to reflect; but. if at the termination "of th;:{ 
 time, you adhere to your present insane pur. 
 pose, you will no longer have a father, and will 
 be at perfect liberty to replace his protection 
 by that of any husband you may see fit to se- 
 lect." 
 
 As these words were uttered, Mr. Trevanion 
 hastily lefl the room, while his daughter sank 
 back upon the sofa, and buried her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 For a moment only there was silence, ns the 
 weak and timid wife had no sooner ascertained 
 the disappearance of her husband than sho 
 roused herself from her habitual apathy, and 
 querulously upbraided her agitated daughter, 
 with what she characteristically designated as 
 her silly and nonsensical obstinacy'. The re- 
 proaches of Mrs. Trevanion, however, fell upon 
 the car of Ida with no greater force tliantho 
 whistling of the subsiding wind amid the.eor- 
 dage of a tempest-tossed vessel, when the deep 
 booming of the death-dealing waves has pas.scd 
 away ; and as they concluded by an instruction 
 to her daughter to ring for her maid, and to 
 reach her eau-de-cologne, the poor girl having 
 obeyed, hastened to escape from the room, in 
 order to reflect in solitude upon the exigeneea 
 of her painful position. 
 
 CHAPTER YIL 
 
 A NOBLK SUITOR. 
 
 It is marvelous that although daily expe- \ 
 rionce should suffice to prove that we are at [ 
 best the poor creatures of circumstance, the \ 
 mere puppets of accident, we are all prone to , 
 believe that nothing can go on satisfactorily ■ 
 unless, even while professing to trust in 
 Providence, we undertake to guide the wholo 
 action of the machinery ourselves; and thus, ; 
 too often, instead of being, as we fondly and ^ 
 blindly imagine, the spiders that weave tha 
 web, we find ourselves in the end, merely the ' 
 flics that have been caught in it. 
 
 Snch was, in a great de:rree, the case \rith 
 ilr. Trevanion, who having for years fondly 
 hugged the belief that lie had taught al' 
 arOuud him to bend to his indomitable will, 
 suddenly found himself opposed b\- the very 
 being upon whose obedience and submission 
 he had calculated the most securely ; and as 
 lie rolled toward London, in his web-hungand 
 luxurious chariot, he felt like a person stunned 
 by some sudden blow. Calm and concentered 
 was his rage; and none who looked on hira 
 would have suspected the bitterness of the 
 feelings which were masked by the stern and 
 cold demeanor that he successfully main- 
 tained. 
 
 For the first time in his life the proud and 
 seK-reliant man was compelled to acknowl- 
 
i ii i: J i; A L u u s w 1 i< ii: , 
 
 2S 
 
 C(3ge to liimsclf that the obstacle flung \ipon 
 tlie path of his ambition mic/ht prove beyond 
 oven his strentjtli to remove. There was that 
 in tlie eye of liis daughter during tlieir late 
 conversation, wliicli convinced him that she 
 had inherited no small portion of his own 
 resolute spirit; and while lie dwelt in moody 
 and wordless anger upon her ingratitude, and 
 recapitulated .to himself all tlie advantages 
 and indulgences by which he had surrounded 
 her from her very cradle, he never once suf- 
 fered himself to remeuiber that these had been 
 conferred for his own sake rather than I'ur 
 lier's ; and that he had built up a dazzling edi- 
 fice of ffieatness upon her loveliness, grace, 
 and talent, of which he would not have laid 
 a single stone, had she been less eminently 
 gifted by nature to work out the cherished 
 jnirpose of his existence. 
 
 He thought of his ancestral home, and his 
 haughty relatives with a pang at his heart — 
 his eloud-dream of crushing the arrogance, 
 nnd revenging the neglect of Sir Jasper and 
 his wife by presenting to them his daughter 
 as Countessof Downmere, had vanished; and 
 how was it replaced ? 
 
 As the question shaped itself in his mind, 
 Mr. Trevanion crushed' the arms which were 
 folded across his breast almost into the flesh, 
 and set his teeth closely, while his lips grew 
 ashy white. He could better have borne any 
 thing tlian this. Then his thoughts reverted 
 to Lady Mary Brookland, whom, despite his 
 daughter's disclaimer, he was far from exon- 
 erating from at least a tacit connivance with 
 her nephew ; but on her, he bitterly felt that 
 it would be impossible to wreak his displeas- 
 ure. A rupture witli the person whom in 
 his heart he silently designated as a titled 
 viper, would effectually disorganize his whole 
 household, and overthrow the work of years. 
 Thanks to the persevering system of contempt 
 which he had pursued toward his wife, she 
 had ended by becoming a mere cypher under 
 her own rootj whose authority was not recog- 
 nized beyond the circle of her dress'ug-room ; 
 while tlie free-masonry of rank would, as a 
 matter of course, induce half his aristocratic 
 acquaintance to adopt the cause of the peer's 
 daughter, and to find food for satire rather 
 than sympathy in his own mortification. No ; 
 happen what might, he felt that he must at 
 least keep up appearances with Mr. Eiphin- 
 fitoue's aunt, althougli it by no means fullov/od 
 that he should for the future place the same 
 implicit reliance on lier prudeuce and loyalty 
 as he liad hitlierto done. 
 _ lu any, and every point of view, his posi- 
 tion was accordingly a perplexing one; and 
 had he not been made of sterner stulf tiian the 
 generality of iiis se.x, who, however, scU-suf- 
 iiciug so long as the wheels of life's chariot 
 run smootlily along tlie broad highway of 
 
 Erosperity and comfort, are prone to turn for 
 eip and solace to others when those same 
 Wheels become clogged by the mire, and ar- 
 rested by tlie uiasses, of doubt and difiiculty, 
 he would liave been sorely conscious on that 
 unlucky morning of tlie height and breadth 
 of the barrier which he had himself built up 
 between his own Avill and the free agency of 
 those about him. A3 it was, however, he 
 
 merely sought to discover the most effectual 
 means of meeting and combating tlie exigences 
 of the emergency in which ho was placed, 
 single-handedly, and resolutely. 
 
 As we have already shown by the history 
 of his past life, the nature of Mr. Trevanion 
 Avas eminently energetic ; with him to will 
 had hitherto been to accomplish ; and even 
 now he would not suffer himself to believe 
 t'.iat he sliould finally be defeated; Ida's ex- 
 hibition of spirit had rather startled than 
 convinced him. Women were impulsive, ho 
 knew ; but he clung to the belief that they 
 were by no means equally consistent. It was 
 the fiist occasion upon which the wishes of 
 his daughter had been seriously opposed, and 
 she had, almost as a natural consequence, in- 
 dignantly and determinedly resented that op- 
 position; but when she had taken time to 
 reflect, she must and would see her folly in 
 its true light." It was absurd to supposethat, 
 reared in luxury as she had been, and habitu- 
 ated to have her every desire gratified as soon 
 as expressed, she could be mad enough to 
 cast from her all these advantages to share 
 the comparative penury of a younger brother. 
 iNo — no — he had only to give her time. Her 
 woman-vanity would do the rest. 
 
 The mental argument was a comfortable one ; 
 and before Mr. Trevanion reached town the 
 pressure of his folded arms relaxed, his eye 
 lost some portion .of its dark fire, and he 
 breathed more freely. 
 
 Suddenly a thought struck him •; he pulled 
 the check-string, and the carriage, turning down 
 a lateral street, rolled rapidly toward Picca- 
 dilly. 
 
 The Earl of Downmere Avas at home ; and / 
 as Mr. Trevanion had long been a privileged 
 visitor, he was instantly admitted to the break- 
 fast-room, Avjicre his mature lordship sat dis- 
 cussing in solitary state a most recherche re- 
 past. 
 
 Henry Ferdinand, Earl of Downmere, and I 
 Baron Woodlyn, was a portly personage of tall 
 stature and stern couuteuance. who bore his / 
 sixty years of life with cousidcrablci dignity ; 
 smoothly and composedly too, without any at- 
 tempt to disguise their amount by hair-dye or 
 cosmetic, like cue who scorned such puerilities 
 as at once utterly beneath his owu notice, and 
 beyond that of others. An equal independence 
 of feeling was also visible in lus costume, 
 which, although unexceptionable in material, 
 was Avorn Avith a careless disregard to every 
 couoi deration save that of ease, which betrayed 
 the innate selfishness of thcv individual; one 
 slijjperless foot rested upon the scat of a chai^ 
 iu.f-out of him, and looked suspicious of incip- 
 ient gout ; Avhilc the knee of the other leg was 
 Covered with a napkin Avhich had become con- 
 siderably sullied during the process of the meal 
 to which his attention Avas directed. The 
 Times lay on the table, luxuriously bathing one 
 extremity of its colossal sheet in the savory 
 jelly of a dindon aux iruffes; Avhile his valet, 
 Lifiiiitely better dressed than himself, stood be- 
 hind his chair, readuig aloud fiom the MorniiKj 
 Post the fashionable ucavs of the day. The 
 room in Avhich the peer was seated Avas gor- 
 geous Avith gilding, and paneled Avith family 
 portraits, the most recent iu date bcin^ a like- 
 
34- 
 
 TUE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 ncss of himself taken in the year of his major- 1 men were to the full as conscious of the value 
 itv, au<l f n-miog a woeful and saddenirif^ con- of their advautjvges as Lord Downniere of his 
 trast with liis present appearauee. A heavy I own, and uoliesitatiugly declined to tsirter them 
 Bofli, and a Avell cushioned fautru'd stood near I for an empty title ; and thus he had been half 
 the fire-place, and a lai'ge folding screen par- a dozen times civilly rejected by 
 
 tially vailed the door; it was indeed evident in 
 all the details of the apartment tliat the "crea- 
 ture comforts" of tliis life were by no means 
 disregarded by its owner; and a feeUng of sur- 
 prise was elicited involuntarily that so thor- 
 ough a self-seeker as my Lord Downmere, 
 should for a moment contemplate the possibil- 
 ity of so great a risk as marriage, tending, as 
 
 many 
 reigning beauties, when he aecideiitally niado 
 the acquaintance of Ida Trevauiou. The re- 
 pulses to Avhich his lordship had by this time 
 been subjected had, however, taught liim cau- 
 tion ; he began to understand that people as 
 frequently overdo things in tliis world by a 
 want of judgment, as they neglect what is neces- 
 sary to be done by a Avant of energy ; and he con- 
 
 it could not fail to do, to tlie distui-bance of Lis j sequently resolved on the present occasion to 
 long elierishcd habits of ]iersaual indulgence. certain how far the preKfige of his rauk would 
 The secret lay, however, in the fact that influence the father of the lady in his favor, 
 Henry Ferdinand, Earl of Downmere, was the 1 and to what extent he might trust to Mr. Tre- 
 last direct scion of his noble house; his nearest vauion's authority over his daughter, before he 
 relative and presumptive heir being a second committed himself by a direct offer of Lia 
 cousin, whom he had never seen, but whom he hand, 
 
 had nevertheless honored with his unqualified 
 dislike. Earlier in life lie liad resisted all the 
 entreaties of his widowed mother to give anew 
 mistress to Woodlyn Castle — "Time enough 
 yet !" — was his constant reply to her represen- 
 tations ; " I will marry when to do so becomes 
 a duty to my family, but I will not sacrifice 
 myself imtil I am convinced that it will be ne- 
 cessary to nip the hopes of Mr. Augustus Mor- 
 dauut in the bud. Time enough for that, my 
 dear lady -mother." 
 
 And so time went on,- until the venerable 
 Countess was laid in the family vault ; and the 
 dashing young noble grew into a staid, middle- 
 aged gentleman, who began to weary of 
 hunting, and to sit longer at the dinner table ; 
 to forswear waltzing, and to patronize whist. 
 Nor did time even Ihen stand still, but most 
 pertinaciously did it persevere in its progress 
 until tlio dark hair, Avhich had once been 
 abundant, grew scanty on the summit of his 
 head, and became thickly streaked with threads 
 of a dull grey; while crows' feet began to 
 gather beneath his eyes, and to pucker the cor- 
 ners of his mouth. In short, as Ave have al- 
 ready slioAvn, his lordship had attained to the 
 ripe age of sixty ; Avhen even ho was reluc- 
 tantly compelled to admit that if Mr. Augustus 
 Morclaunt Avere indeed to be baulked of the 
 coveted peerage, it might be as avcU no longer 
 to delay tlie bestowal of his name and rank" 
 upon a Avife. 
 
 Tlien came the difficulty of selection; for, 
 aware of the greatness of the honor to be con- 
 ferred, the broken-down roue was by no means 
 iaeliaed to bestow such advantages upon any 
 woman Avho could not securo to him a very 
 ample e(iuivalent. Young she must l)e, — that 
 Avas a sine qitri nan — handsome, that was 
 equally indisjKjnsablc — and weaUliy, for he 
 was resolved to exact the price of his coronet 
 — beyond these requisites, however, he asked 
 nothing more: he couhl dispense with higli 
 birth, provided that the respcctaljility of her 
 family was unquestionable; and to her disjio- 
 sition and temiier ho Avaa ])ortVctly indiirereiit, 
 being most agreeably satisfied that no Avife, bo 
 she who she might, Avould loug venture to op- 
 pose his AvilL 
 
 Even Avhen he had conceded thus much, 
 howcvci", the difiiculty Avas no slight one, as 
 many young, beautiful, and Avell-dowried wo- 1 
 
 No proceeding could have T)een more judi- 
 cious under the ciucumstances ; and according- 
 ly but a few weeks elai>scd ere the peer, Avho 
 had most graciously extended the right hand 
 of friendship to the princely merchant, became 
 satisfied that Mr. TrcA'anion aa-ouUI consider no 
 sacrifice too great by which he could place a 
 coronet on the broAv of his beautiful liencss. 
 Lord Downmere easily detected his weakness, 
 but he was far from euspectiug the motive; 
 and while he haughtily, and somewhat con- 
 temptuously, assui'cd himself that the man of 
 commerce estimated his rank and birtli nt their 
 full value, he was little aware that in tliis in- 
 stance the commoner Avas by far tlie prouder 
 individual of the tAvo — the true nobleman ia 
 heart and feeling — and that the ancient blood 
 which throbbed and leaped in his jiulses when 
 the earl at length confided to him tlie passioa 
 which he professed to feel for the fair Ida, wa» 
 quickened, not by the prospect of a titled sou- 
 in-law, but by that held out to him of social 
 self-assertion. 
 
 The character and temperament of Mr. Tre- 
 vanion had, moreover, satisfied Lord Down- 
 mere that he was not a man likely to yield hia 
 own judgment or wislies to those of his child 
 upon so serious a poiut as marriage, Avhen ho 
 saw him steadily enforce them on all around 
 him, upon occasions of comparatively minor 
 importance ; and thus, having secured the con- 
 sent of her father, he took little pains to ingra- 
 tiate himself with the young lady in any other 
 way than by making the most liberal settle- 
 ments; a generosity greatly iiiercased by his 
 consciousness that the magnificent fortune of 
 his intended bride rendered it altogether su- 
 pererogatory ; and while Mr. Sydney Eljihin- 
 stono Avas breathing his talo of love into the 
 ears of the listening beauty, his self-eompla- 
 cent rival was trottmg his hack in the ring, and 
 dozing over croAvu points at the whist-table of 
 liis club. 
 
 "When the pretensions of Lord Downmere 
 were made knoAvu to Miss Trevauion by her 
 father she smiled incredulously, and merely 
 asked if the poor old gentleman Avere insane; 
 ijiit when she found his suit urged upon her 
 firmly and imperatively, she coldly declaimed 
 tliat she Avould never consent to listen to its 
 repetition. The rage of Mr. Trevauion atjis 
 unbounded at this open opposition to hia will. 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 25 
 
 Init be succoprled hj a strono^ ofTort in con- 
 ti-olliug it; and abruptly iuforniing her that 
 lie slunilrl ore long insist on bcr obedience, he 
 stonily loft the room ; -vrhile his -woak-iniiidcd 
 M-ifo wlio " loved a lord," not, like her haughty 
 liolpniate, as a glittering tool -wherewith to 
 work out lii3 own purpusos, but purely and 
 wholly for the pleasure of feeling that she was 
 of suffioiout importance to be the associate of 
 noble*, poured forth a rapid flood of wonder- 
 ing r.proaches upon the devoted head of her 
 (lauu'htor; could not conceive what she could 
 expect if she could afford to refuse an earl — 
 to wear a countess's coronet — and perhaps, for 
 any thing she knew to the contrary, to become 
 a member of Her Majesty's household. It was 
 really too bad — it was cruel to her, for she 
 should have liked so much to have been the 
 mother-iu-law of a peer. However, she had 
 one consolation, and that was, that she knew 
 ;Mr. Trevauiou well enough to be quite sure 
 that Ida must yield in the end, for it was of 
 no use to attempt to oppose bis will. 
 
 "And is it possible, mamma;" asked the 
 proud girl with an indignant blush ; " that you 
 can wish to see the happiness of your only child 
 eacrifieed to such puerilities as those you have 
 mentioned?" 
 
 " Xousense, Ida ;" was the peevish retort ; 
 " surely, with my experience, I must know best 
 ■what constitutes happiness ; I tell you that if I 
 had mariied a peer, I should have been the 
 happiest woman alive." 
 
 Miss Trevanion sighed. She had too much 
 respect for her spirit-crushed mother to express 
 the contempt with which she listened to her 
 childish waitings ; and from that day neither of 
 her parents bad reverted to the subject of 
 Lord Downmere's proposal until the morning 
 upon which we first mtroduced them to our 
 readers. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SOCIAL TACTICS. 
 
 Eve:j at the close of the unpromising con- 
 Tersation recorded in the last cliapter, Mr. Tre- 
 vanion had not, as we have already stated, 
 abandoned all hope of ultimate success; but, 
 misiudging the lofty nature of bis daughter, 
 had so far deluded liimself before be reached 
 town, as to believe that the vanity of the 
 young beauty was piqued by the carelessness 
 of Lord Downmere's courtship. 
 
 "Natural enough! natural enough!" be 
 murmured to liimself with a grim smile. " He 
 has played bis cards badly, and deserves to 
 lose her ; nor would I move a finger to assist 
 him, were it not for my own sake. But he is 
 necessary to my scheme of vengeance, and I 
 must give him a bint to be more cautious for 
 the future." 
 
 And, full of his newly bom-hope, the stately 
 meroliant entered the breakfast room of bis 
 noble friend. 
 
 " Hah ! Trevanion, my good fellow ;" was 
 the greeting of the peer, as, with a portion of 
 pdie de foie gras provided upon his fork, he 
 extended two fingers of bis left band to his 
 
 visitor ; " You are early to-day. Have you 
 breakfasted ? or will you join me ? — Xo — well, 
 then, take a seat, and excuse me if I finish my 
 breakfast. How are the ladies ?" 
 
 " Perfectly well, my lord, I am obliged to 
 you; and my somewhat untimely visit — " 
 
 '•lN''ever ill-timed, Trevanion, never ill-timed ;" 
 interposed the host ; " always delighted to see 
 you, as a matter of course. I was about to 
 drive to Richmond to-day to pay my respects 
 to my fair enslaver, and to inquire after her 
 health." 
 
 "I am glad to hoar it," said the merchant, 
 "and trust that you will still persist in your 
 intention, for I will frankly toll you that it was 
 to suggest a little more devotion on your part 
 to Ida that I drove to Piocadilly this morning. 
 Young ladies, as j-our lordship must bo aware, 
 like to be wooed as well as won, and I begin 
 to fear that the paucity of your visits has [ 
 already produced a bad eflecL upon the mind of ' 
 my daughter." 
 
 "Pooh I pooh !" chuckled the old earl, "you 
 deceive yourself. Girls are fond enough, no 
 doubt, of being dangled after by a bevy of smart 
 young fellows, who, like French poodles, are 
 skilled in tho art to fetch and carry ; but when 
 a man reaches my age, ho is only in the way in 
 a lady's drawing-room ; and I am much mista- 
 ken if Miss Trevanion docs not see tho matter 
 with the same eyes as myself She is a fine 
 creature, a very fine creature, and will adorn 
 her coronet, but I have no intention to make 
 her purchase it too dearly. I am a man of the 
 world, Trevanion, and have a most particular 
 aversion to degenerating into a bore." 
 
 " My dear lord — " 
 
 "Nay, nay, jio disclaimers. We are both 
 rational beings ; I have a sincere regard for 
 your daughter — I admire her exceedingly — she 
 is a superb woman — and as Countess of Down- 
 mere, will, I am convmced, do honor both to 
 her fotlier and her husband ; but I do not ex- 
 pect impossibilities ; and I am as little inclined 
 to intcrt'ere with her comfort, as I am to sacri- 
 fice my own. I have, moreover, already seen 
 enough of Miss Trevanion to feel certain that I 
 am pursuing tho best method of securilig her 
 favor." 
 
 " You must pardon mo if I persist in doubt- 
 ing it," replied tho visitor; "Ida has been so 
 long accustomed to adulation and homage, that 
 her vanity can not fill to bo piqued by your 
 apparent indifference, contrasting as it does so 
 forcibly with the devoted attentions of the other 
 candidates for her preference. I can quite un- 
 derstand that your lordship conceives (and very 
 properly), that tho honor which 3-ou have con- 
 ferred on her by the offer of your hand must 
 necessarily more than counterbalance all such 
 puerile considerations; but women, especially 
 handsome ones, are capricious and exacting; 
 nor can we, while our mighty world itself works 
 on such pigmy binges, aflbrd to bo too severe 
 upon them." 
 
 "Well, well," eaid Lord Downmere Borneo 
 what impatiently, " I shall decidedly drive to | 
 Iliclunond to-day, and come to a more explicit 
 understanding with tho young lady herself I 
 should, no doubt, have done so befbre, liad you 
 not assured mo that I might safely leave the 
 affair in your bands; an arrangement which 
 
2G 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 struck me as being, under all circumstances, 
 an excellent one. I never, even in my young 
 days, w;t3 a lady's man ; nor should I have so 
 far disorL'anized all my habits at my present 
 time of life as to take a wife, were it not that 
 the duty which I owe to my name demands it. 
 I ask of the Countess of Downmere to give mo 
 an heir in return for the coronet which I place 
 upon her brow, and I exact no more. As for 
 love, my good sir, it is a mere myth in the 
 fashionable world at the present day ; an ignis 
 fatuus, a will-o'-the-wisp, just as unattainable 
 as the rainl)0w ; and I am too reasonable a man 
 to clutch at the vapor." 
 
 " But surely, my lord, you will not bo rash 
 enough to explain yourself thus to my daugh- 
 ter?" 
 
 "No, no, Trevanion; I have not walked 
 through the by-ways of society for so many 
 years not to understand the sex at least better 
 than that. I have, as you may perceive, no 
 remnant of romance left in me, alway.s suppos- 
 ing that I ever possessed any ; and I have no 
 faith in 'mutual affection,' and 'disinterested 
 sacrifice,' and ' scll'-immolation,' and all this 
 fiddle-faddle which supplies the raw-material 
 of the novel-writers. When I officially offer 
 myself to Miss Trevanion, I shall do so by urg- 
 ing upon her acceptance my rank and the fam- 
 ily diamonds ; I shall talk to her, not of my 
 own feelinprs, but of Woodlvn Castle and Down- 
 mere Abbey ; not of the color of her eyes, but 
 'of the .stylo of her equipage; I shall appeal to 
 her ambition, not to her heart ; excite her self- 
 value, not her sensibilities ; and, rely on it that 
 my method is the only rational one with any 
 woman who has passed her teens, and learned 
 to look at life in its true aspect. Taxes upon 
 vanity do not require to bo voted by parlia- 
 ment ; they can always be levied without diffi- 
 culty ; and I am greatly deceived in you, my 
 good friend, if you have reared your daughter 
 for the purpose of seeing her settle herself in a 
 cottage over-grown with honeysuckles, and 
 over-run with earw'igs " 
 
 " Far from it, my lord ; far from it," replied 
 Mr. Trevanion; "nor ia Ida Trevanion at all 
 calculated for a life of privation and struggle ; 
 a conviction which tends to increase my satis- 
 faction when your lordship did me the favor to 
 demand her hand. Indeed, so thoroughly re- 
 solved have I ever been that she should only 
 marry into that sphere in which she is so well 
 calculated to shine, and thus to re-integrate not 
 only herself, but mo also, in the po.sition which 
 I lost through the injustice of my relatives, 
 that I a.ssured her — and with truth — that in 
 the event of her disappointing my wishes, not 
 one shilling of my property should ever devolve 
 to her." 
 
 "A forcible argument," smiled the carl com- 
 placently, stroking down th.o leg which rested 
 on tlie chair before him, "and one which will, 
 jio doubt, prove more efficacious than a whole 
 volume o** sentiment. You are a sensible man, 
 Mr. Trevanion, a very sensible man ; and the 
 conviction that you were sujicrior even to your 
 present position — liighly honorable as that is in 
 itself, I admit — was, to mo one great indiicc- 
 ment to overlook what some of my friends were 
 inclined to consider as an inequality of rank, 
 whea I offered my hand to your daughter." 
 
 The blood rose to the cheek of the merchant 
 " Your lordship does me honor," he said coldly, 
 ' but I trust that even elevated as your posi- 
 ion undoubtedly is, the contemplated marriage 
 can scarcely be regarded a mesaUiance, My 
 own family — " 
 
 " I know it, my good sir, I know it;" hastily 
 interposed the peer ; " on hev father'' s side Miss 
 Trevanion had every right to pretend to the 
 rank which I am happy enough to ofler to her 
 — while, as regards her mateinal descent, why, 
 we must accept her youth, beauty, and accom- 
 plishments as a substitute for blood. I have 
 already carefully considered all the bearings of 
 the question, and am satisfied with the result. 
 It is, however,, unfortunate that you are not oa 
 terms with your uncle, as his pre.-jcnce' at the 
 ceremony would have given a jwestlge to the 
 affair which would have told well in the world. 
 Not that the thing is material, certainly not; 
 my position is one which, as a natural conse- 
 quence, renders me independent of such con- 
 siderations ; and I confess that I shall regard 
 myself as a very happy man when T hecomo 
 the possessor of so nmch youth and beauty ; 
 and feel, as I shall have every right to do, tlint 
 I have fulfilled to the letter the duty which I 
 owed to my family." 
 
 'I am obliged by so flattering an assur- 
 ance;" said Mr. Trevanion, though he looked 
 infuiitely less gratified than he sought to ap- 
 pear; "nor do J apprehend that your lordship 
 need fear any very severe animadversion on 
 the part of your friends when the dowry of my 
 daughter is taken into consideration in addition 
 to her personal merits." 
 
 " True, true ;" replied the earl, somewhat 
 impatiently ; " but, after all, are we not rather 
 premature in our self-gratulation, if, as you 
 hinted a while back, I have failed to find favor 
 in the eyes of the young lady herself?" 
 
 "Nay, nay; I can admit no such con.struc- 
 tion of my remark;" objected the merchant; 
 " I merely sought to impress upon your lord- 
 ship the policy of a little more attention on 
 your part." 
 
 " "While I on the contrary give myself no 
 small credit for my diplomacy, my good friend ;" 
 said Lord Downmere; "charming as she is, 
 my fair bride-elect is still a woman, and she 
 may have no especial taste for a husband wliose 
 years outnumber those of her father; thus, 
 rely on it, tiie less I absorb her time and at- 
 tention the more likely she will be to overlook 
 the disparity, which is, I flatter myself, the 
 only valid objection which she can offer tb our 
 union." 
 
 "I think, my lord;" said Mr. Trevanion, 
 " that you do Ida injustice as well as yourself; 
 Time — when we bring ourseWes to look the 
 truth steadily in the f ice — is to the full as much 
 our friend as our enemy. lie plants wrinkles 
 in our foreheads, I admit, but even while doing 
 so, lie engrafts wisdom in our hearts ; lie strews 
 threads of silver among our hair, but he con- 
 denses experience and warning in our niind.s, 
 and thus more than compensates for his petty 
 larcenies by a full-handed liberality v/hich wo 
 are too slow to acknowledge until its actual 
 value is forced upon us." 
 
 " A very happy view of the ca.se, my pood 
 sir, and one which deserves to become popu- 
 
THE JEALOUS VTIFE. 
 
 27 
 
 lar;" replied the peer, pettina: his gouty log 
 with incroaaed tenderness; "thougli, unfortu- 
 nately, it is never likely to do so. It is a trite 
 saying that gray hairs are honorable, and tlicre 
 can bo no doubt of the foct ; but it is equally 
 certain that it is an honor with which every 
 one is satistied to dispense as long as possible. 
 However, as you advise me to venture upon a 
 more assiduous course of homage, I shall follow 
 your counsel, only hoping that you may have 
 been able to inspire your briHiunt daughter 
 with a purtiou of your own wisdom." 
 
 '' I am glad that you have arrived at such a 
 resolution, my lord, for trust mo when I assure 
 you that no woman's heart is to be won by 
 proxy." t 
 
 " Heart ? pshaw I do not let us travel back 
 into Utopia, Trevanion ; I have already been 
 sufficiently explicit as to my aticipations on 
 that score. Hearts are merely heavy luggage 
 ■with which to be hampered on the journey of 
 life, and it is far bettor to travel untrammeled. 
 It is Miss Trevanion's /i«ttc? which I have asked 
 of you. and which I shall ask of herself; she is a 
 gentlewoman and a woman of the world; she 
 ■will, therefore, understand what is due to both 
 of us, and I require no more. I wish I could 
 induce you to try one of these cotelettes auj'ns — 
 my cook is famous for them." 
 
 " I am obliged to you, my lord, but I have 
 already breakfasted." 
 
 " I am sorry for it, for I can ^conscientiously 
 recommend them. However, you know best. 
 "Well then, I will decidedly drive to llichmond 
 this morning, and settle the business. I am no 
 friend to delay, when once a thing is settled in 
 my own mind; and, under all circumstances, 
 I think that the sooner matters are concludeil 
 on this occasion the better. The season is 
 nearly over, town is beginning to thin, and 
 Miss Trevanion will not, in all probability, be 
 averse to spending her summer at Woodlyn 
 Castle." 
 
 We have said that Mr. Trevanion was a 
 proud man, and so in truth he was ; and yet, 
 80 resolutely did he cling to his one darling 
 project, that he ben this haughty spirit to tole- 
 rate the insolent egotism of the cold-hearted 
 noble, who was, should ho succeed in over- 
 coming the repugnance of his daughter, to ren- 
 der tliat daugiiter the instrument of his revenge 
 upon his relations. Had he witnessed a similar 
 exliibition of self-abasement in another, his 
 contempt would have known no bounds, but 
 he was blinded to his own degradation by the 
 ■wretched idiosyncrasy which ho had nourished 
 for years, and which had been the hidden 
 spring of his every thought and action. 
 
 _ That Ida, the proud, tho beautiful, and the 
 gifted, should bo wooed after such a fashion 
 might well have revolted him, but he would 
 not look beyond tho fact that the wooer was 
 one whoso rank and station must compel the 
 haughty ,spirit of Sir Jasper to bend before 
 him ; while they would, in all probability, in- 
 duce him to sue for a renewal of that inter- 
 course whicli ho had been so eager to termi- 
 nate for over. The only doubt by which he 
 ■was tormented was caused by Ida herself; ho 
 did not forget throughout tho interview which 
 ho had courted, and during which he had suf- 
 fered aa amount of mortification greater than 
 
 any to which ho had ever been subjected sinco 
 tho day on which ho became an alien and an 
 outcast from the home of his ancestors — ho did 
 not for one moment forget that when ho had 
 parted from his daughter, ho had left her in no 
 mood to tolerate the addresses of her titled 
 suitor; she might persist in tlio in.sano rcsolvo 
 which she had announced to him — she might 
 peremptorily decline the hand of tho Earl, and 
 thus thwart the hope of his whole life — sho 
 might — but no I Lord Downmero had truly 
 said that, after all, beautiful as slic was, gifted 
 as sho was, she was a woman, and 
 
 'Therefore to be won,' 
 
 as slio no doubt would be, by thb glitter of a 
 coronet, with its concomitant attractions. And 
 so Mr. Trevanion sagely resolved to think no 
 more of tho matter until he returned home to 
 ascertain tho result of tho peer's visit; and he 
 accordingly proceeded to the city, transacted 
 business as usual, authorized the transfer of 
 thousands, dictated letters, and occupied him- 
 self as he was wont to do, haunted thrniin-bout 
 every detail by the flashing eye and firm de- 
 meanor of his rebel child, and wincing from 
 time to time as the suspicion would force itself 
 upon him, that her will might after all prove 
 as unbending as his own. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. ' 
 
 A LOVEK AND HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 The life of Miss Trevanion had hitherto 
 flowed on with all the smoothness of a rivulet, 
 shadowed perhaps at times by some slight sor- 
 row, as tho stream is darkened by an overhang- 
 ing bough, but soon recovering its brilliancy, 
 and once more gliding gladly onward under 
 the broad light of a sunny heaven. Happy in 
 the present and confident in tho future, tho 
 petted heiress had known no real care ; nor 
 liad she even guessed how fatally her own na- 
 ture was constituted to rudlo tho current of its 
 existence when its tide should bo impeded by 
 adverse circumstances, until she became con- 
 scious of a growing partiality for Sydney El- a 
 phinstono. "When tho suspicion of this prefer- ( 
 once first arose in her mind, she .struggled reso- 
 lutely against it, for not only did she at once 
 perceive that such an attachment must inevita- 
 bly prove distastefiil to her father, to whose 
 ambition sho was no stranger, but it also re- 
 volted her own good sense when sJio remem- 
 bered that she was several years his senior; 
 while it must at the same time bo confessed 
 that her vanity took the alarm, as such was by 
 no means tho reafization of her prcvioua 
 dreams. 
 
 Accustomed from her earliest youth to regard 
 high rank as tho foundation of all eartlily lion-jh 
 or and oven happiness, sho had ever associated 
 the idea of marriage with luxury and station. 
 Sho had, in fact, dreamed as girls ever dream 
 before that inner life, which is the most j)o\ver- 
 ful position of existence, is aroused; and whilo 
 fancy supplies tho place of feeling, such base- 
 less visions suffice to employ tho imagination ; 
 and whcrojdho nature is finely organized they 
 
T u Jt: J ±: A L u u s \v 1 ± ±: . 
 
 eeldom endnre lonp ; the heart makes its low 
 ■whispers heard, faintly indeed, it may be, for a 
 time, but so perseveringly that they can not 
 long remain unheeded ; and then commences 
 the stern conflict between the real and the 
 ideal, the sharp warfare between the outer 
 world of action, and the inner world of pas- 
 sion, which may indeed be hidden from the 
 crowd, but never wholly deadened, save in de- 
 spair or in the grave. 
 
 Miss Trevanion was startled by the vehe- 
 mence of her own feelings. Accustomed as 
 she iiad been to see herself the first object with 
 all around her, the idol and the pride of her 
 fiimily, to whom her every wish was a law, she 
 had never suspected the "depth and strength of 
 her own nature ; but when, ere Mr. Elphinstone 
 had ventured to hint at his admiration for her- 
 self, she on one occasion saw him apparently 
 engrossed by a fair girl for whom she had pre- 
 viously felt a warm regard, she became pain- 
 fully aware that she could hate as intensely as 
 she could love ; and that her life was destined 
 to be one of perfect happiness or misery. The 
 discovery startled her, and she strove earnestly 
 to liberate herself from the growing thraldom 
 of a passion which both her reason and her 
 pride condemned; but she found both pride 
 and reason powerless before it ; high-sounding 
 titles became mere empty words ; wealth and 
 station worthless units in the heart's reckon- 
 ing ; and when, after a brief and ineffectual 
 struggle against a weakness for which none 
 could blame her more bitterly than she accused 
 herself, she consented to pledge her faith to the 
 nephew of Lady Mary Brooklands, fehe yielded 
 up her whole soul to the new and delicious 
 feeling wliich the assurance of his affection 
 rendered legitimate and sacred. 
 
 Still, however, there were moments when 
 she shrank appalled from the strange knowledge 
 which she had so suddenly acquired of herself 
 — when she became aware of the smothered 
 fire within, which, should it ever burst forth, 
 must involve not only her own wretchedness, 
 but that of those who were most dear to her ; 
 her pride, her vanity, and her ambition were 
 but as straws borne before the lava-stream of 
 her passion, and buried beneath its burning 
 tide. She learned — and it was a fearful les- 
 son — that while she could give away her whole 
 heart without one reservation, so could sl>e, in 
 like manner, revenge the perfidy by which the 
 full and perfect gift might be cast back upon 
 her. 
 
 As this conviction grew upon her mind, she 
 thrust the massy braids from her burning brow, 
 and literally gasped for breath. "It is un- 
 womanlv — it is fiendish" — slio murmured to 
 herself; " and yet I feel that even so it is. I 
 love him with all the impetuous fen-or of my 
 nature ; but should he fail — should I be de- 
 ceived in him — that love will burn into a flame 
 jsof hate that must destroy us both. Why did 
 ho ever cross my path ? Why was he thrust 
 upon me ? Tutored as I have been for a far 
 different fate, why should he have been gifted 
 witli the power of teaching me that I had a 
 heart ? I might have gone through life as I 
 had commenced it, toying with trifles, and 
 emulous only of admiration ; but now I have 
 cast all my chance of happiness upon one stake, 
 
 and should I lose it, I sHall bo worse than beg- 
 gared]" 
 
 It was from such a train of thought as this 
 that Miss Trevanion was aroused by the an- 
 nouncement of the earl's visit. A more timid ^ 
 spirit than her own might have been occupied ' 
 by her late misunderstanding with her father — 
 the first, be it remembered, which had ever oc- 
 curred between them — and by his threat of 
 making her want of obedience to his wishes 
 the signal of their total estrangement ; but not 
 even for an instant had her thoughts been en- 
 grossed by that circumstance, important as it 
 was to her future fate. The intensity of her 
 passion, and the wild jealousy of an exacting 
 nature, rendered all other considerations insigni- 
 ficant in her eyes. She remembered, she felt, 
 only the possihUity of change in her heart's idol ; 
 she cared not for the stniggle, the sacrifices, by 
 which she must win him to herself; she dwelt 
 only on the dread that when won, he might be 
 
 found wanting And then? — what would 
 
 remain to her then? The suffocating throbs 
 of her tortured heart, the fire which shot from 
 her flashing eyes, and the fierce chncliing of 
 her slender fingers, afi'orded a mute but eloquent 
 reply. 
 
 As Lord Downmere entered the apartment, 
 Miss Trevanion rose calmly from her seat. It 
 is often in moments of the most intense emo- 
 tion that strong natures exhibit the greatest 
 power of self-control. She did not dislike the 
 titled egotist who sought her hand, she simply 
 despised him ; and although she intuitively sus- 
 pected the purport of his visit, she received him 
 with as much indifference as though it had 
 merely been dictated by common courtesy. 
 
 The storm of passion which had just swept 
 over herspirits had meanwhile tended to height- ■ 
 en her peculiar style of beauty ; a warm flush 
 burnt upon her cheek ; a brilliant light danced . 
 in her eye, and tliere was a proud statehness in 
 her whole appearance which for a moment 
 startled even the unimpressionable peer. 
 
 "I will ring and inform my mother of your 
 lordship's visit, with your permission,"' she said 
 coldly, as she advanced to the bell ; but ere she 
 had reached it, she was arrested by the voice 
 of the earl, who exclaimed eagerly: 
 
 "By no moans, Miss Trevanion. I beg that 
 Mrs. Trevanion may not be disturbed on my ac- 
 count. My visit was to yourself" 
 
 The lady withdrew her hand, and resumed 
 her seat. 
 
 " You wiU no doubt divine its purport;" con- 
 tinued Lord Downmere with more embarass- 
 ment than he had ever before felt in the pres- 
 ence of any individual upon whom he believed 
 himself about to confer a favor ; " your father 
 was with mo this morning, and he lias led me 
 to anticipate — to hope — that my presence here ■ 
 to-day will not be unwelcome to you." 
 
 "By no means, my lord;" was the reply; 
 " this is the hour at which we are accustomed 
 to receive our friends." 
 
 " But it is not simply as a friend that I am 
 here ;" resumed the earl ; " you must be quite 
 aware. Miss Trevanion, of tlie admiration — the 
 regard — which I have long felt for you ; and you , 
 will not therefore be surprised to learn that my 
 errand is to lay myself and my coronet at your 
 feet, and to declare to you that I shall be th« 
 
THE JEALOUS 
 
 liappicst of men shoulu I prevail on you to ac- 
 cept tlio offering;." 
 
 "I am not surprised, my lord;" said Miss 
 Trevanion, retaining all her previous compos- 
 ure ; " I will not bo guilty of tlio pitiful affce- 
 tatiou of assuming an astonishment which I do 
 not feel ; but while I beg of you to receive my 
 acknowledgments for the honor which you desire 
 to confer on me, I am compelled to decline it." 
 
 " Very prettily expressed ;" smiled the peer 
 emphatically; "I am aware thai, such is al- 
 ways the first reply of every lady under similar 
 circumstances ; but after what has passed be- 
 tween your excellent father and myself; I feel 
 confident that before we part wo shall come to 
 a better understanding. In short, my dear Miss 
 Trevanion, after mature reflection, I have ar- 
 rived at the conviction that you aro tho only 
 woman upon whom I could confer, without 
 one misgiving, tho title of Countess of Down- 
 mere. I am not a young man, but I can still 
 appreciate all the perfections of your sex ; and 
 in yourself — " 
 
 ■•I entreat of you, my l^d, not to deceive 
 yourself;" interposed his listener; "my words 
 ■were so far from being words of course, that I 
 must request you to receive them in all the 
 strength and fullness of their meaning. I am 
 preatly flattered by your good opinion, and shall 
 be proud to retain j-ou as a friend, but that can 
 be the only bond between us." 
 
 "You can not be serious. Miss Trevanion — " 
 
 " Perfectly so. In seeking ray hand your 
 lordship has been guilty of a grave mistake. 
 T7o are by no means suited to each other." 
 
 "Is it the incompatibility of ago?" demand- 
 ed the carl. 
 
 " By no means ;" was the reply, as a slight 
 flush rose to the cheek of the lady ; " I do not 
 deem tho question of ago of the slightest con- 
 sideration in aflairs like tho present." 
 
 " \\;hat then can be your objection ? I can 
 ofFer you rank, wealth, and station." 
 
 " I am quite aware of the fact, and must 
 be exeujed if I confess that I attach little 
 value to mere worldly advantages." 
 
 "Tiie finest diamonds in England, not ex- 
 cepting Her Majesty's;" followed up the per- 
 Eeveriiig peer. 
 
 Ida smiled a smile of scorn; as she said, 
 disdainfully: "Affection and regard arc not 
 marketable commodities even in this commer- 
 cial country; and, as to the diamonds, your 
 lordship will, no doubt find little diflicurty in 
 inducing some far more worthy person than 
 myself to wear them." 
 
 " I confess," said the discomfited suitor ; 
 "that I do not understand your meaning, 
 Miss Trevanion, when you so unhesitatingly 
 declare that we are not suited to each other ; 
 I am by no means of an exacting nature ; you 
 "will have no interference to appreiiend from 
 me, an 1 I can not help thinking that when 
 once united we sliould find many points of 
 resemblance; or, at all events, constant com- 
 munion would soon induce it." 
 
 "Your lordsliip must pardon me if I de- 
 clare that I should consider the experiment to 
 be highly dangerous," was the reply; "souls 
 of mere ordinary caliber may lose their dis- 
 tinctive qualities, and, blending into one com- 
 mon mass, neutralize each other; but when 
 
 WIFE. 
 
 29 
 
 individuals are possessed of refined and elastic 
 minds, they do well to remember that there is 
 a point at which attraction may chanire into 
 repulsion, and not rashly incur so great and 
 fatal a rist." 
 
 "In the present case there can at least be 
 no danger of such a result," said Lord Down- 
 mere; "and t confess that after my late in- 
 terview with her father, I was altogether un- 
 prepared for such determined coldness on tho 
 part of Miss Trevanion ; nor is it quite fair to 
 augment my regret at her obduracy by forc- 
 ing upon mc tlie conviction that she is a wit 
 as well as a beaut}'." 
 
 "Do not say so, my lord ; do not say so;" 
 exclaimed his companion, earnestly; "I am 
 the last of my sex, to strive after the reputa- 
 tion of a wit. It is like laying down the cestus 
 of Venus to brandish the club of Hercules, 
 and a woman's strength is, or ought to be, un- 
 equal to the task. But your lordship has 
 twice alluded to a recent interview with my 
 father. You surely can not seek to infer that 
 he led you to believe — to anticipate — " 
 
 "Pardon me, Miss Trevanion; I received 
 every encouragement from your father to 
 prosecute my suit — every promise of his own 
 influence — and, such being the case, you will 
 readily understand that I am not to be lightly 
 discouraged. Despite your disclaimer, I suss- 
 pcct that I have in reality taken you by sur- 
 prise, and that j'ou require time for consider- 
 ation. You shall have it. I can afford to 
 wait for a few days in order to secure so rich 
 a prize. I will not intrude upon you further 
 upon this occasion. I have faith in the future ; 
 and shall leave Mr. Trevanion to explain to 
 you certain points — worldly points — which 
 in the enthusiasm of j'our age, you have in 
 all probability overlooked." 
 
 " I am obliged by your intention, my lord, 
 but I miist request that you will not leave me 
 with so mistaken a view of my character and 
 sentiments," said tlie young lady. " I grieve, 
 deeply grieve, that my father should have 
 misled you, and trust that you will at least 
 exonerate me from the imputation of a similar 
 error." 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Trevanion ;" said the 
 Earl, blandly stretching forth his hand; "I 
 leave my case to the advocacy of your father, 
 for, as 1 before remarked, he can, with more 
 Itropriety than myself, place before you in 
 their fitting light the advantages which you- 
 ajipear so willing to forego. Bo good enough 
 to offer my respects to Mrs. Trevanion. I shall 
 wait your final decision with impatience." 
 
 And as he ceased speaking. Lord Dowumere 
 bowed himself out of the room. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A TRIAL OF STEENGTU. 
 
 The dressing-bell had rung before Mi: Tre- 
 vanion had reached home, and he was conse- 
 quently compelled to wait with such patience 
 as he could command for tiie information 
 which he was anxious to obtain of tho result 
 of Lord Downmere'a appeal to Lis daughter, 
 
so 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 a circnmstnnce ■wliifli liy no means tendcf] to 
 tr.'inqiiilize his nerves, ns tlie more he sufFered 
 his tlioncrlits to dwell upon the previous con- 
 versation Let\rcen Iiimse'.f and Ida, the less 
 confidence ho felt in his power to shake her 
 resolntion. Like a cliild who has sticceedcd 
 in hnildincf up a card-house story by story 
 until it Ims reached a lieiirht almost unho|ied- 
 for, he dreaded lest his next movement misrht 
 bring tlie whole unstable edifice in ruin about 
 him; and yet the move must be made; tlio 
 •work mtist be terminated; and every moment 
 of s'is;->er!Sf became int<dcrablo to him. lie 
 hastened his toilet, and descended to the 
 drawinir-room, althouirh aware that even 
 phould his daughter be already there, a sub- 
 ject of such intense importance to both of 
 them could not be liroached with any pros- 
 pect of a final nrrnncrement in the brief inter- 
 val lictwecn that time and the announcement 
 of dinner; but as the moment approached 
 ■wliich wai 1o decide the fruition or the over- 
 throw of his cherished hope, he became rest- 
 less and irritable, and the self-control which 
 he had exercised throughout the previous por- 
 tion of the day altotretlier abandoned him. 
 lie threw himself heavily into his well-cush- 
 ioned eliair, caught up the daily paper which 
 lay upon his reading-table, "pished" and 
 "pshawed" over its columns as if each had 
 contained some intelligence peculiarly dis- 
 tasteful to him, and finally suffered it "to fall 
 from his hand, and sank into a deep fit of 
 musing. That his reflections were any thing 
 but pleasant ones might be detected at once, 
 for his brow darkened, and he beat nervously 
 upon Ihe floor with his foot, as he sat with 
 his head bent upon his breast, and his gaze 
 riveted upon the carpet. Throughout the 
 •whole of his career, with Mr. Trevanion to 
 •will had been to accomplish. Even as a boj'- 
 he had never, as wc have shown, sufrcrcd 
 himself to be discouraged even under . the 
 most trying circumstances, but having fixed 
 his eye steadily upon one point, he had ex- 
 erted all the energies of his mind to reach it. 
 Forthis purpose he had compelled his liaughty 
 spirit to commerce — for this purpose he had 
 united himself to a woman for wliose intellect 
 he entertained the most sovereign contempt, 
 and to whose person he "was utterly indiffer- 
 ent; forthis purpose he had tolerated and even 
 courted a man whose only recommendation 
 ■v\'as his exalted position in society; and now, 
 v,'\)en the goal was almost reached, he suddenly 
 found himself thwarted by liis own child; 
 found an apparently impassable barrier raised 
 upon his own liearth ; and after having com- 
 pelled 6UCCCSS on the broad higliAvay of the 
 ■world, discovered that utter defeat might 
 await liim in his homo, where he liad hitherto 
 believed himself (o be all-powerful. 
 
 To his stern and unbending luiture this 
 first check, end as it might, was gali and 
 ■wormwood ; he felt humbled, when he found 
 liimself compelled to measure his strength 
 •with tluit of a mere girl, for as such he still 
 regarded his daughter ; it was monstrous to 
 feel tJiat she could venture to oppose his 
 ■wishes, be they wliat they might, and still 
 more monstrous to know that she hold his 
 destiny in her bauds. Uo was impatient for 
 
 her appearance ; he befieved that he could 
 instantly divine from her manner the deter- 
 mination at which she had arrived; but first 
 Mrs. Trevanion entered the room with her 
 faint greeting, to which he replied only bv a 
 slight movement of the head, as she slid into 
 her accustomed seat, and drew her shawl 
 about her without hazarding a second re- 
 mark ; and next, Ladj' Mary Brooklanda 
 sailed maiestically in, heralded by the shnrp 
 rustlinc: of her rich dress, and smiling blandly 
 upon her host, who, had lie dared to betray 
 the real feeling with which he once more met 
 her, ■would not assuredly have ■welcomed her 
 appearance by the words of studied couitesy 
 which he compelled himself to utter; and 
 then, just ■when the last bell rang, the butler 
 as he threw open the door, at once admitted 
 Miss Trevanion, and announced dinner. 
 
 The merchant turned one glance — and but 
 one — upon his daughter, ore, according to his 
 usual custom, he offered his arm to Lady 
 Mary, and the result of that glance was un- 
 satisfactory, afforlfing as it did no solutioa 
 of the mystery which he sought to penetrate. 
 f>he was as oalm^ as graceful, and as self-pos- 
 sessed, as though her fair brow had never 
 been ruffled by an anxiety or a care ; and as 
 he proceeded to the dining-room, the stern 
 expression of Mr. Trevanion's features became 
 sterner still. Had she betrayed emotion of 
 any kind, had he detected the faintest flush 
 of anger upon her cheek, the slightest flash 
 of defiance in her eye, the least tremor in 
 her voice, as she moved across the floor to 
 assist her mother from the room, ho would 
 have been satisfied, for he might have read 
 irresolution, fear, or temper, in such indica- 
 tions of feeling, but he had not studied human 
 nature so closely for years, without learning 
 that a settled purpose never betrays itself 
 by petty weaknesses. ^ 
 
 At table. Miss Trevanion ■was neither more 
 silent nor more voluble than usual ; her 
 well-modulated voice retained its accustomed 
 tone as she addressed himself; she listened 
 to her mother's captious coiii()laints, and to 
 Lady Mary's brilliant small-talk, as patiently 
 and as courteously as was her Iiabit, and 
 vainly did her father watch for one symptom 
 of discomposure or uneasiness. 
 
 "The struggle will be a sharp one," mur- 
 mured the merchant to himself, as on the 
 termination of the meal the ladies retired, 
 and he rose and i)aced tlio floor like a caged 
 lion; "well, be it so, it will not be the first 
 from ■which I have come out the victor. Slio 
 conceives my threat to have been an idle 
 one, and does not believe that I shall meet 
 her determination with one as firm. She 
 presumes upon my affection while she makes 
 no effort to retain it. She does not know 
 that, like a child playing with the fire, she 
 will be the victim of her own folly. But it 
 it shall be so ; I will not be the only sacri- 
 fice. Tlie labor of a ■whole existence shall 
 not be lost through the headstrong obstinacy 
 of a woman, ■without her bearing her own 
 share of the suffering. Let her refuse Lord 
 Downmere at her peril. She shall become ^ 
 his wife — she shall work out the one great 
 purpose of my existence, or I ■will disown 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 81 
 
 ]ier fiirpver — cast her off to the poverty 
 which she iifFeets to treat 80 lightly — leave 
 lier free to beggar herself with her iienniless 
 husb.iiul, and to feel how widely the fact of 
 such a sicrifiee differs from its theory. But 
 I must learii what passed between her and 
 the earl. I was a fool to urge his coming 
 here to-day, while the spirit of resistance 
 was still strong ii]>on her ; no doubt tlie self- 
 ish dotard piqued her pride by his assump- 
 tion of superioj-ity. I should have been 
 )>resent at the interview; but all is not yet 
 lost ; the hour of weakness is over ; she owes 
 me the obedience of a child.aud I will exact it." 
 
 Full of this resolution, Mr. Trevanion 
 passed into the library, and ringing the bell 
 with violciioe, directed that his daughter 
 miglit bo informed that he desired her pres- 
 ence. His summons was promptly obeyed, 
 and he had scarcely seated himself, when 
 with a calm step and a steady eye, Ida en- 
 terel the apartment. 
 
 "I have sent for yon, Miss Trevanion," 
 he commenced, as she advanced toward him, 
 "in order to learn the result of Lord Down- 
 mere's visit ; with his motive I am already 
 acquainted ; and I now wish to hear what 
 reply was made to his propos d 
 
 "it Wiis declined, su-, definitively, but I trust 
 courteously." 
 
 " And did his lordship bow to such a decision, 
 may I ask ? Was ho satisfied to receive as a 
 final answer the rejection with which you saw 
 fit to requite the honor that ho had done you ?" 
 
 " I hope, sir, that I left no doubt upon his 
 mind of the sincerity of my meaning. I should 
 scorn to trifle with the feelings of an individual 
 who had evinced toward me tho preference 
 expressed by Lord Downmere." 
 
 "Tliat is no answer to my question, Mi.ss 
 Trevanion," said her father harshly ; " I desire 
 to know whether his lordship parted from you, 
 convinced that his suit was unsuccessful ?" 
 
 "As far as regarded my own feelings and 
 determination, most certainly." 
 
 "But he did not, nevertheless, consent to 
 resign his pretensions — is that what I am to 
 aaderstand?" 
 
 " Precisely. "Ho professed to leave his cause 
 in your hands, sir, believing, or affecting to be- 
 lieve, that his rank, his wealth, and his family 
 diamonds, would plead in his favor more forci- 
 bly with yourself than with mc." 
 
 " Be careful, young lady, you assume a tone 
 strangely unbecoming in our relative positions. 
 Do not add disrespect to your disobedience." 
 
 ."You mistako me painfully if you su' _,oso 
 mo capable of sarcasm," said Miss Trevanion, 
 and for a moment her lip quivered ; " no, sir ; 
 the contempt which my tone perhaps involun- 
 tarily betrayed, was called forth by tho scorn I 
 f 'It for tho man who could suspect 7ny father to 
 ba guilty of so much meanness." 
 
 '•S-?at yourself, Ida, and listen to me," said 
 Mr. Trevanion more mildly than he had yet 
 spoken ; " it is essential that wo should per- 
 fectly understand each other, for this is an im- 
 portant crisis in both out lives. Henceforth we 
 must bo every thing or notliing to each other. 
 Reflect seriously on what I am about to say. 
 My life has been, as you know, one long period 
 of mortification, brightened only by tho vision 
 
 of one day paying back into tho bosom."? of thoso 
 wlio injured me, the bitterness with which they 
 filled my own. This I could not do simply by 
 am.assing wealth — had it been otherwise I 
 should have required no co-adjutor in tho 
 struggle — but by placing myself on an equality 
 with the noblest and tho proudest in the land. 
 My hope rested on you, Ida — on you, so riehly 
 gifted by nature, to overcome tho last obstaclo 
 with which I had to contend. It may now bo 
 realized — j'ou have a peer of tho n^alm at your 
 feet — tho coronet of a countess awaiting your 
 acceptance — will you disappoint my hopes? 
 will you compel mc to curso the hour in which 
 I trusted to the strength and devotion of a 
 daughter's love ?" 
 
 The beautiful head of Ida drooped as sho 
 li.stcnod. She had nerved herself to contend 
 against violence and opposition ; sho had felt 
 strong in the conviction of her right of free 
 action, and of her privilege to bestow her hand 
 where she had already bestowed her affections ; 
 but although her resolution did not waver for 
 an instant, the altered manner of her father 
 sent a pang to her heart, and for a moiiient 
 rendered her unable to reply. Mr. Trevanion 
 instantly perceived his advantage, -and hasten- 
 ed to profit by the impression which ho had 
 made. 
 
 " You will not do this," he pursued earnest- 
 ly ; "I feel that you will not by one mad act 
 negative the anticipations of years. Remem- 
 ber, Ida, all that I have b^-^n t) you. Look 
 around you, and ask yourseir' if you have hith- 
 erto found cause to envy, not merely the fato 
 of those of 3-our own rank in societ}', but that 
 of ntliors fir more highly born. You have been 
 the child of luxury and indulgence; you havo 
 never formed a wish which 1 have not sought 
 to gratify ; I have spared nothing — neither gold 
 nor exertion — to fit j-ou for tlie station which I 
 was resolved that you should attain ; and, up 
 to this day, you have seconded me nobly ; nor 
 can I believe that you will fail mo now." 
 
 " I am grateful — most grateful" — faltered out 
 his listener. 
 
 " And you have cause to bo so," continued 
 Mr. Trevanion, overlooking in his eagerness to 
 compel his daughter's submission to his will, 
 that an open avowal of his motives for tho in- 
 dulgence upon which ho dilated must necessa- 
 rily weaken his hold upon her feelings, "for, I 
 need scarcely explain to you, who so well un- 
 derstand my nature, that I should never have 
 made such sacrifices had I not had an ulterior 
 object in view. I acted in regard to yourself 
 upon the same principle wdiloh has regulated 
 every action of my life. Once more I tell you, 
 frankly, that you havo been reared ai)d edu- 
 cated to assist in tho prosecution of my one 
 darling scheme; I havo watched and waited 
 patiently for the moment in which it should be 
 realized — that moment has conic at hiFt, and I 
 look to you to Rocuro mc against a failure which 
 would blight my whole aficr-lile." 
 
 And you a,sk mo to f irtlier the gratification 
 of a vindictive feeling by the sacrifice of fty 
 own hopes of hap[)iiies.s, if indeed I unJcrstaud 
 3'ou riglitlv," said the daughter, with a heigh- 
 tened color; "and you seek to impress j^pon 
 mo th.at I owe tho tenderness and c:iro which 
 have been lavished upon me to no aflcctioa oa 
 
32 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 your part — to compel mo to feci that I have 
 been regarded less as a child than as a tool 
 "vvhifli has been gradually tempered to its des- 
 tined use I Surely, sir, 3-ou employ strange 
 arguments to enforce your purpose. Have the 
 talents which you pride yourself on having 
 nurtured ; tho beauty which you confess has 
 reconciled you to my sex ; no Iiigher value in 
 your eyes — in tho eyes of a parent, and he tho 
 parent of an only child — than any mere base 
 and sordid agent by which you may hope to 
 accomplish your wishes ? You have said that 
 it is essential wo should understand each other; 
 do wo do so now? In i)ity tell me, no! I 
 have so long paid you back every kindness in 
 love and reverence, that I daro not trust my- 
 self to think that my affection has been ixnre- 
 quited." 
 
 '• I pliall believe in that affection when I see 
 its fi'uits ;" said Mr. Trevanion coldly ; " it is 
 easy to profess a feeling which involves neither 
 sacrifice nor trial ; it is only to be trusted 
 when it stands the ordeal of both." 
 
 "Thus then suffer nie to test the depth of 
 yours, my father !" exclaimed his daughter im- 
 ploringly ; "am I not your cliild — your only 
 one ? — and will you seek, for the vain gratifica- 
 tion of a vengeance which may after all fjiil in 
 the attainment of its object, to condemn me 
 to a blighted and loveless existence ? Can an 
 allianoe with a Lord Downmere, a man whom, 
 were it not for the mere accident of rank, you 
 would despise, ennoLle you in iho. eyes of your 
 estranged and haughty relatives ? Will they 
 not rather scorn you for a weakness which 
 must shame your noble nature ?" 
 
 " Permit me to be the best judge of the re- 
 sult of my own actions, Miss Trevanion ;" was 
 the curt rejoinder; " you, in your ignorance of 
 the world, are quite unable to form a rational 
 opinion on such a subject. Perhaps, when you 
 find the door of your father closed against you, 
 and are put forth to strive and struggle with 
 the world, as it was once my fate to be, you 
 will be better able to appreciate my feelings. 
 p At present your ideas of such a destiny are 
 ' doubtless vague enough — your romantic notions 
 . ■would probably drape beggary in a tinsel pet-' 
 ticoat and nourish it uf>on chickens' wings ; but 
 I beg to assure you that it is fed and clad far 
 otherwise; and that I owe the privilege of 
 having exchanged its rags and black bread for 
 the comforts of existence, to a resolute will 
 and an indomitable energy. Do not imagine, 
 however, that I have forgotten to whom I was 
 indebted for the chance of failure ; or that I 
 will not repay the wrong. If I liave been con- 
 tent to wait, it has been because mine was no 
 weak and timid spirit likely, to be seared by 
 diflScultiea ; I know with whom I have to deal ; 
 I know that there is one method, and but one, 
 of revenging the cruel injuries wliich have been 
 heaped upon me. Could I have bowed the 
 pride of my puling uncle or his arrogiuit wife 
 by gold, I slhudd have needed no o-adjutor, 
 and your marriage with a pauper would liavc 
 b^n a matter of indifference ; but it is not so ; 
 and your alliance with this peer, scorn him as 
 you may, is consequently an imperative neces- 
 sitvj^ 
 
 'Tlear me in my turn, sir ;" said his daugKter 
 with cahn dignity; "bad you been poor, or 
 
 even dishonored, and tliat my self-abnegation, 
 the sacrifice of my whole life, could have re- 
 stored you to afiluence or to honor, I would 
 have placed my fate in your hands without a 
 murmur, too happy to have been thus enabled 
 to repay the debt I owe you ; but I will not 
 consent to be made the victim of a chimera — 
 the tool of a capi ice. From the moment when 
 you first acquainted me with the intentions of 
 Lord Dowiunere, I frankly told you that ho 
 was not merely indifferent, but positively dis- 
 agreeable to me — " 
 
 " But you did not in your boasted frankness, 
 add that such was the case because you liad 
 seen fit to form another attachment," inter- 
 posed Mr. Trevanion. 
 
 " I did not, because at that time I had come 
 to no resolution on the subject ; but even had 
 I decided against Mr. Elphinstone, I should 
 not assuredly have accepted the earl as a sub- 
 stitute; I declare, however, that I was then 
 free, in so far as regarded any pledge or prom- 
 ise to another ; for I was well aware, that tho 
 suit of Sydney could not be otherwise than 
 unwe]c':'me t^ yourself while I was at the same 
 time keenly alive to the apparent risk wliieh I 
 should incur by an imion with a man my junior 
 in age ; nor was it until I had become conscious 
 that my happiness depended upon this mar- 
 riage that I could bring myself to incur your 
 dis[)leasure ; and I entreat of you to believe 
 that I did so ultimately with a reluctance and 
 regret which have cost me many bitter tears." 
 
 " You will have many still more bitter yet 
 to shed, should you persist in your present in- 
 sane purpose. Miss Trevanion;" said her father; 
 ' for although you have been pleased to desig- 
 nate my legitimate desire to re-integiate my- 
 self in society as a ' chimera' and a ' caprice,' 
 I beg to assure you, that I will not be thwarted 
 by a whim. Lord Downmere has, you say, 
 left his cause in my hands and he has done 
 well, for as your parent I have a right to eo- 
 force your obedience. I am aware that you 
 calculate u])on your legal power to set my ) 
 wishes at defiance: I do not dispute it; but- 
 you have forgotten to calculate upon tlie opin- 
 ion of the world. Are you prepared to en- ' 
 counter its ridicule and its blame? Are you 
 strong enough to spurn its avoidance and ita 
 contempt ? you are no longer an ignorant and ; 
 willful gill, Avhoso folly might be poetized into 
 romance ; you have seen enough of society to • 
 know that its sympathies will not be enlisted 
 on the side of a woman who lias reached hor 
 six-and-twentieth year, and who deliberately 
 thi'ows herself away upon a penniless boy." 
 
 '• I care little for the opinion of the world, 
 sir;" said Ida, firmly ; " I have, as you say, seen , 
 and judged it; and I know, and can fully ap- 
 preciate, its hollowness. Were that the only ' 
 difficulty with which I sliould be called upon 
 to contend, I should not waste one thought ' 
 ujion the subject." 
 
 " But, as I need scarcely again inform yon, 
 it is by no means the only one ;" coldly ob- 
 served the merchant ; " although I may be per- 
 mitted to remark that even were it so, it is not 
 to be dismissed so lightly. Hitherto you have. . 
 surrounded by afiluence and adulation, found 
 the world a warm and willing friend ; you will, 
 in a reverse of fortune, find it a keen and bit- 
 
THE JEALOUS Y.'IFE. 
 
 S3 
 
 ter enemy ; and one wliich no woman can defy 
 ■with impunity ; and mark me -when I tell you 
 
 for I do so advisedly — that you -will Lave to 
 
 make the trial." 
 
 " So be it then ;" said Ida, sadly ; " I can no 
 linger hesitate. Had you sought to detach 
 me from Mr. Elphinstoiic by entreaty and 
 alTectiou, I misjfht perohauce have yielded — I 
 know not — but it mi^cht have been so; now, 
 lh.>wevcr. the die is cast, for I -were unworthy 
 tlie love of any honorable man if I eould aban- 
 don him from mercenary motives. I under- 
 stjind the threat which you have held out — 
 ' — I am to be \lisinhei ited. If such be indeed 
 .your will, I must submit ; I may feel the in- 
 justice of the sentence, but I can not question 
 •.your right of action," 
 
 i "That is at least fortunate," observed her 
 ;father, ironieallj-. 
 
 i " Nor shall I suffer myself to be dismayed 
 ;by the prospect," pursued Ida. " It is hard, no 
 ,d">ubt, to wrestle single-handed with the world, 
 but in such a strife even defeat is not altogether 
 [without honor ; our hands, heads, and hearts 
 iwere bestowed upon us in order that we might 
 he enabled to help ourselves ; and the honest 
 pruggle for independence has ever an enno- 
 bling effect, wliile the poor tame spirit that is 
 p ateut to remain a burden upon olliers at the 
 pense of its best and wortliiest feelings, 
 ather than boldly to launch out into the ocean 
 f life, and resolutely to buffet its billows, 
 lust necessarily, with its own loss of dignity, 
 eur the contempt of all around it." 
 " Very eloquently put," said Mr. Trevanion, 
 till in the same accent of sarcasm ; " but you 
 lust excuse me if I say that your well-round- 
 J periods on this occasion i-emind me of a 
 oarse daub set in a costly frame ; it may be 
 urrouuded by glitter, but it i-emaius as worth- 
 ;ss as ever.' However, you have explained 
 our determination, and fully understand mine; 
 "e shall shortly see wliich is of the most avail, 
 either marry Lord Do^\'nmere, or you 
 L-ase to be my daughter." 
 " Father — dear father 1" exclaimed Ida im- 
 oringly. 
 
 " Do not exhaust your talents at the com- 
 lencement of the tragedy, Miss Trevanion ;" 
 lid the merchant ; " I ask for deeds, not 
 ords ; and if you decline to prove your affee- 
 on, I beg of you not to express it. As Couut- 
 ss of Downxnere, you are my heiress — as Mrs. 
 Iphiostooe, you. are without a home in my 
 
 )US€." 
 
 Ida rose; her cheek was very pale, and 
 lere was a convulsive movement about her 
 outh, which betrayed the depth of her agony. 
 le leant for an instant upon the taljle before 
 r, as if unable to support herself, as she 
 med a long and appealing look upon her 
 ther ; but the eyes that met liers were cold 
 id stony ; and after the lapse of a second, Mr. 
 [•evanion with ceremonious politeness threw 
 en the door of the liljrary, and so soon as 
 J dan^'hter liad crossed the threshold quietly 
 >sed it behind her. 
 
 CIIArXER XI. 
 
 MISS TREVANION TO MR. ELI'niXSTONI!:. 
 
 " I PLEDGKD myself to wTitc to you, Sydney, 
 and I redeem my promise. I assured you that 
 I could be firm when our mutual hap]iiiios,i 
 was at stake, and I almost begin to fear tliat 1 
 have been firm even to sin. Nor is this all — 
 for while incurring the displeasure of my fatlicr, 
 I have, I fear, rendered our union impossible. 
 Be honest with me, Sydney, and above all bo 
 just to yourself; when I tell you that in be- 
 coming your wife I cease to bo the daughter 
 of Mr. Trevanion. I shall no longer be the 
 petted and pampered heiress, but a disoAvncd 
 and disinherited child, whose poverty can only 
 tend to aggravate your own. I know my 
 father well — such has been his declared decis- 
 ion; and I am well aware that even altliough 
 in secret he may weep tears of blood, he will 
 never rescind it. For myself I care not ; for 
 beggary as your wife would be a happier fate 
 for me than the most fabulous affluence with 
 another. Let not that consideration, however, 
 have any weight with you ; a woman's world 
 is her home — her ambition does not travel be- 
 yond her own hearth; but with your sex it is 
 far otherwise ; and you Sydney, are still very 
 young, too young to sacrifice all your hopes and 
 prospects in life to an affection which — bear 
 with me when I remind you of such a possi- 
 bility — may one day fail. And even were it 
 to endure through every trial and hardship, 
 yet remember that home-cares and home-anxie- 
 ties must cripple your exertions and weaken 
 your energies. You were born for a brilliant 
 destiny, and you deserve it. Renounce your 
 claim to my hand; assert yourself, and do 
 justice to the noble talents that you possess. 
 Do not suppose that I say this lightly. In 
 liberating you, I desire no freedom for myself. 
 If I never bear your name, neither will I ac- 
 cept that of any man on eartli. Jly future 
 happiness and pride shall consist in watching 
 your career, in exulting over your success, in 
 praying for your prosperity. Reflect seriously 
 — for the crisis is an awful one to both of us — 
 whether indeed the affection which you have 
 vowed to me has not been unconsciously to 
 yourself, deepened by the circumstances under 
 which we have hitherto met. You saw mo 
 the spoiled child of fortune, whatever beauty 
 I possess, heightened by dress, and perfected 
 by art ; whatever aecomplisliments I may have 
 acquired, exerted amid scenes which lent them 
 a prcatic/e not their own. You may have de- 
 ceived yourself, and how fatal must such an 
 eri'or prove alike to yourself and me. Look 
 beyond the present, Sydney ; endeavor to 
 realize that yeai's have passed over us both — 
 years of Btrugglo. -You will still l)e in the 
 full pride of manhood and of hope, comjjetcnt to 
 struggle with the world, still an object of 
 admiration — a mark for that world's liomage. 
 But I, Sydney, wliat will those years liave 
 done for me ? Already far before you in the 
 race of life, I sliall have reached the turning- 
 point; and withered, changed — I can not j>ro- 
 ceed, Sydney — but I can feel the rest I No, • 
 no; it must not be — look on the past as a 
 
34 
 
 TEE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 dream; have the courage to a-n-aken; and in 
 after yearB I shall hear you thank me for your 
 release. Ida." 
 
 Calmly, .ind "with a steady hand, Miss Tre- 
 Tanion scaled and closed her letter, but her fin- 
 gers were as cold and bloodless as marblo ; and 
 although her eyes were tearless they were di- 
 lated, and the transparent lids hot and discol- 
 ored, as thonph the drops which should havo 
 fallen had burnt and blistered there. For a time 
 she sat thrown back upon her chair, with her 
 gaze fastened upon the fateful missive. It con- 
 tained indeed the destiny of her future life, and 
 she dared not a.sk herself how it would be an- 
 swered. 
 
 After a while she raised her head, and looked 
 languidly about her; luxury surrounded her 
 on every side ; her glance traveled from silk- 
 en hanging's to gorgeous mirrors — from costly 
 toys to jeweled cabinets and flowers, and birds, 
 and books, and all the otlier appliances of 
 wealth and taste with which her hitherto in- 
 dulgent father had deliglited to environ her ; 
 and as she noted each in its turn, an expression 
 of loatliing passed over her countenance. It 
 was for vanities such as these that she had been 
 urged to barter away her self-respect — to sell 
 her liberty — to perj'iro her faith — to crush her 
 heart ; and it was from the fear of losing these 
 that she had voluntarily offered to resign Syd- 
 ney Elphinstone. But no, no; not from this 
 fear for herself, but for him — and could it bo 
 that he would prize them so dearly^s to accept 
 her self-abnegation in order to secure them ? 
 Did she not wrong him by suspicion ? And yet 
 who should say ? And then once more arose 
 the fatal thought — " He is so young — the world 
 and all its gauds are still so bright for him. 
 Let him but look into the future, as I havo 
 urged, and then — " she did not pursue the an- 
 ticipation further, but with a convulsive shud- 
 der that shook her whole frame, she cla.sped 
 her spread hands on the table, near which she 
 Bat, and juried her throbbing brow in their open 
 palms. 
 
 How long she had continued thus motionless 
 in her misery she knew not, when she was 
 aroused by a gentle knocking at the door of her 
 room, which slowly opened, and Lady Mary 
 Brooklands entered, and closed it behind her. 
 
 " My dear Ida;" said her visitor as she ten- 
 derly approached her, and took a scat by her 
 side ; " what is tho meaning of this terrible 
 emotion? AYhat has happened?" 
 
 "Oh, my kind friend, I am very, very, wretch- 
 ed;^' was the faint reply, as one largo scalding 
 tear rolled down the fever-crimsoned cheek of 
 the unhappy girl ; " I havo just gone through 
 a scene with my father which has nearly de- 
 Btroyed me." 
 
 " JiLst gone through Aich a scene, my sweet 
 child ;" exclaimed tho noble widow ; "you have 
 surely h.ad time to compose yourself since the 
 interview took place, for I have myself been 
 closeted with Mr. Trevauion in tho library for 
 tho last two hours." 
 
 " But he has surely not expressed any dis- 
 pleasure toward you ?" said Ida anxiously ; 
 " whatever cause of complaint ho may have 
 against myself, you, at least, arc guiltless in this 
 
 "No, no; apprehend nothing on my ac 
 count ;" rephed her friend with proud co'mpoj 
 ure ; " Mr. Trevanion is a man of the world 
 and has sufiQcient regard for my rank, wliatcve 
 may bo his feelings toward myself personally 
 to avoid any undue exhibition of temper in oil^ 
 intercourse. On the contrary, throughout the 
 whole of the interview to which I have alluded 
 nothing could exceed his suavity : and altiiough 
 I detected a certain coldness in his inannci 
 : which betraved a suspicion that I felt to be to 
 tally undeserved on my part, I refrained fromIT 
 j jny observation which might tend to show liii: 
 ; tliat I was conscious of the change, feeling tli^ 
 j situated as I am in this family, my n'k shotiL 
 I universally be that of a mediator ; and as sucl 
 you are aware that I have universally strivei 
 I to act." 
 
 I "I am indeed well aware of it, dear Lad; 
 
 j Mary ;" eaid Miss Trevanion aflcctinnateiy ' 
 i "but as my father appeared to think that yi> 
 J had favored the addresses of Sydney, andn 
 i fused to receive my assurances to tlie contrary 
 
 I I feared that he might have expressed the saui 
 suspicion to yourself." 
 
 "That he does so believe, I am convinced ;' 
 was tho quiet rejoinder; "but as I felt tiiS' 
 such was not tho case, I would not afford hi; 
 the triumph of perceiving that I considered ll • 
 suspicion to bo possible ; for had I done so ' 
 j could not of course have remained under h' 
 j roof; and the rather, as you know how utter' 
 I unjust it would have bcen,*since I had nevi 
 been admitted to your confidence — that my a 
 vice had never been sought, and that I was c 
 course completely ignorant of the engageme ' 
 between yourself and my nephew." ' 
 
 " It is true that I did not solicit your advice' 
 said Jliss Trevanion ; " because I felt that h.J 
 I done so I should have rendered your pbsiti'i 
 one of difficulty and delicacy from your re ■ i 
 tionship to Mr. Elphinstone, although I ^^^A 
 not doubt that you must have perceived c /I 
 mutual attachment." ;' 
 
 " By no means, my dear girl, by no meanf, 
 was the ready disi; laimer of the lady ; " I li8| 
 now for many 3-ears been so accustomed to i 
 you an object of admiration to all by whom j' 
 iiave been approached, that I considered S; 
 ney only as an additional mote sporting in "i 
 sunsliine of your smiles, or you may rest , 
 sured that I should have warned you of the J- 
 policy of such an attaehmcnt. It is true 1 1. 
 tho poor boy is handsome nnd intcUcctunl ^l 
 well as high-born; and, I really believe, fr/ 
 amiable and honorable; but still lie t« p< , 
 and I therefore imagined it impos.sible that v i 
 all your advantages you would ever dreaui 
 making such a sacrifice." , 
 
 "Surely, dear Lady Mary, you at least sh(i 
 have known mo better than to suppose Ih '1 
 could marry for mere wealth or rank." 
 
 "Forgive me, Ida, if I havo so far done |Q 
 injustice," was the fond reply of her visitoi s 
 she passed her arm round tho waist of l'^ 
 Trevanion, and drew her gently to her bo.'ii, 
 "but you must rerrjember that I was 17 
 aware of j-our father's views and wishes; :'• 
 I knew him to be absolute in his family; j'j 
 that from the nature of your education. " 
 your great success in the world, I 1 
 reason to anticipate that you would become 
 
 ation, a i 
 liad c y 
 
 "■■1 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 wife of a man of decided rank. How, then, do 
 vou conceive it probable that I should even lor 
 a moment dream of your bestowing yourself 
 upon poor Sydney. "Why, my sweet child, 
 much as I am compelled to admire your beau- 
 tiful disinterestedness, I can even now scarcely 
 bring myself to credit the tact." 
 
 Buttell me, my dear friend," said her list- 
 3ner, involuntarily soothed by the placid kiiid- 
 3ess of her manner, " had I ventured to confide 
 he truth to you, should you have blamed me 
 or my love of Sydney?" 
 
 Blamed you, darling? No, I should not 
 
 lertaialy have , had the heart to blame your 
 
 mselfish generosity; but still I should have 
 
 elt it my duty to discourage the attachment as 
 
 which could not foil to excite the displeas- 
 
 ire of your father, who had, as you must your- 
 
 elf admit, every right to bo ambitious for such 
 
 I daughter; and even now my errand is to dis- 
 
 iuade you from persisting in this unpropitious 
 
 ngE^ement.'- 
 
 " At my father's request ?" asked Ida. 
 
 "Yes, love, at Mr. Trevanion's request, who 
 
 ppears to place gi:eat foith in my influence, far 
 
 reater than I L^ar it deserves. He has stren- 
 
 ously urged me to exert all my eloquence in 
 
 omting out what he considers as the madness 
 
 ad folly of such a marriage, and you see that 
 
 am conscientiously doing so. He moreover 
 
 (quested me to represent the policy and pro- 
 
 •iety of your union with Lord Downmere ; and 
 
 must be confessed, Ida, that, in a worldly 
 
 )int of view, there can Tdo no comparison be- 
 
 reen the two." 
 
 " Is Lord Downmere the husband you would 
 ive selected for me, Lady Mary?" 
 ' " Perhaps not, dearest, perhaps not precisely ; 
 :ie is, you know, as a peer of the realm and 
 ! in of enormous wealth, a very desirable 
 •!i. There can be no doubt that you can 
 I'lch worse." 
 
 r scarcely think it possible," said Miss Tre- 
 inion, with a shade of haughtiness, "that is, 
 wever, a point which we need not discuss, 
 it is one upon which my mind is unalterably 
 cided. Happen what may, I will never he- 
 me Countess of Downmere ; I should despise 
 1 rself, could I be mercenary enough to barter 
 1 r happiness for such considerations to such a 
 1 in." 
 
 " "Well, my love, you know best, of course ; 
 " lile it is quite certain, that if you have really 
 1 olved to give your hand to my nephew — if 
 ] a really feel that he possesses your aflections 
 - wo can only hope that Mr. Trevanion will, 
 1 3r a time, become reconciled to the marriage. 
 J U I must, as I have promised, caution you, 
 I t ,t all your friends will regard it as an impru-; 
 I cice. But if j-ou feel that your happiness 
 dienda on him, I actually have not the cour- 
 aj to distress j-ou by any further arguments. 
 Heed, under the peculiar circumstances, I 
 a^ost feel it a treason against Sydney to say 
 a»ther word upon the subject; fjr I can not 
 figet that ho is my sister's son, and that he is, 
 n reover, a man of whose alliance any father 
 n:htbo proud. However, I must not suffer 
 tl affections of a relative to seduce me into a 
 fj are against friendship, and I am anxious to 
 b able to assure Mr. Trevanion that I have 
 pjformed my ondtoua missioa faithfolly." 
 
 "Of any aftor-roconciliation with my father, 
 when I have once become the v.-Ifo of Sydney, 
 I am utterly hopeless," said Ida p:idly : " I know 
 that once to have incurred his anger and 
 thwarted his will, is to have f >rfoitcd his affec- 
 tion for ever. No, he will never forgive me." 
 
 "Nonsense, silly child," exclaimed Lady 
 Mary Brooklands, iaughin-jrly ; "do you forget 
 that your father is a wealthy man, and that j-ou 
 arc his only child, and must, consequently, one 
 day inherit that wealth ? Do you suppose that 
 after having throughout life exerted all his 
 energies to make his daughter a mark for the 
 admiration and envy of tho world, he will long 
 permit his affections to be alienated from tho 
 idol Avhich he has himself set up ? No, no ; 
 trust me, he will desire to see his ample fortune 
 produce its legitimate effect, and for that pur- 
 pose, if for no other, you are certain of forgive- 
 ness." 
 
 " I can not entertain any such hope, my good 
 friend," sighed Miss Trevanion; "I do not 
 seek to do so for a moment, as I feel convinced 
 that ultimate disappointment must ensue. My 
 father, with all his noble qualities, never for- 
 gives — ho is t-uth itself — and he has assured 
 mo that in the event of my disobedience, he will 
 bequeath every shilling of which he is possessed 
 to the son of Sir Jasper." 
 
 Her companion visibly started. " You know 
 him well, my dear Lady Mary," she pursued, 
 "and therefore you will readily understand 
 that he will fullill his word ; while I do not 
 hesitate to confess that bitterly as I feel, and 
 ever shall feel, his displeasure and his estrange- 
 ment, the thought that instead, as I had fondly 
 hoped, of enriching Sydney, and of affording 
 him the opportunity of displaying his brilliant 
 talents with the effect that they deserve, I shall 
 go to him helpless and almost penniless, and 
 thus increase his struggle with the world, is 
 yet more painful." 
 
 Lady Mary remained silent for a moment, and 
 then said in a constrained tone, very different 
 fiom that in which she had hitherto carried on 
 tho conversation : "I can well believe it, my 
 dear, for in tlie present factitious state of soci- 
 ety, it is impossible for any individual to do 
 justice to himself, however highly gifted ho 
 may be by nature, unless he has the means of 
 improving his advantages. I do not for a 
 moment suspect Sydney of any mercenary 
 views; indeed I believe him to bo incapable of 
 such considerations, particularly when you aro 
 the object of his affections, but still tho impru- 
 dence of undertaking the responsibility of a 
 family under such circumstances, will, undoubt- 
 edly be very great ; nor, my love, must you bo 
 hurt if I venture to remind you that this im- 
 prudence will bo considerably increased by the 
 disparity of age which exists between j'ou. 
 You will, as I before urged upon you, really do 
 well to reflect before you decide; as these 
 particulars may not havo struck you before, I 
 considered it my imperative duty to point them 
 out." 
 
 " Pardon mo, madam," said Miss Trevanion, 
 haughtily, as she roso with a flushed clieek and 
 a flashing eye; "I am nf.t the heartless egotist 
 you think me. I have considered all and moro 
 of the difficulties which a marriage with mo 
 might entail upon Mr, Elphiustonc, than cvea 
 
86 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 you have enumerated. Xor have I simply 
 grieved over them in selfish sorrow ; there — " 
 and as she spoke she pointed toward the letter 
 which still lay upon her desk ; " there, I have 
 forced them upon the attention of your nephew 
 himself— tliere. I have urged him to consider 
 them as insurmountable, and to resign his 
 claim upon my hand. If I am fated to a life of 
 suncring, I am at least willing to suffer alone." 
 
 "Yon are warm, Ida!" 
 
 "Perhaps so." said Miss Trevanion, and she 
 sank back into her seat, " but you must pardon 
 me — it is hard, very hard, to be abandoned by 
 all in whom you have trusted; but I thank 
 you, Lady Mary, for havin? kept mo no longer 
 in suspense as to the support I might expect 
 from your affection. You have indeed com- 
 plied even to the very letter with the request 
 of my father — your mission has been fulfilled 
 as conscientiously as you could desire; and 
 now I have but one request to make of you, 
 and I make it unhesitatingly, as it can not by 
 any possibility involve your interests. Should 
 Mr. Elphinstone, your nephew, after having re- 
 ceived that letter, persevere in seeking the 
 disinherited daughter of Mr. Trevanion as his 
 wife, it is more than possible that Lady Mary 
 Brooklands, may bo solicited still to remain his 
 guest, and to do the honors of his house — and 
 oh ! if indeed it should be so," she added, as 
 her voice sank and her lip quivered, " be kind 
 to my poor mother, I shall not be there to sup- 
 port her weakness, and to conceal from her the 
 isolation of her neglected and wasted existence 
 — and believe me, that, careless as ho may ap- 
 pear of her happines.s, my father will in his 
 heart, thank you for the care of her." 
 
 " Miss Trevanion, I do not understand you," 
 faltered Lady Mary. 
 
 " No — you are right, you do not understand 
 me;" was the reply; "but you may one day 
 do so: meanwhile, this interview has ceased 
 to be pleasant to either party, and I will not 
 detain you longer." 
 
 " Ida, yovir impetuous feelings will be your 
 ruin." said her companion harshly. 
 
 " It may be so," murmured the unhappy 
 girl, despondently ; " it may bo so : at pre- 
 sent I am only the victim of the passions of 
 others." 
 
 "What am I to say to your father, Miss 
 Trevanion ?" asked Lady Mary, as she rose to 
 depart. 
 
 "Tell him all thai has passed between us;" 
 was the indignant rejoinder; " I have no cause 
 to shrink from one word that I have uttered, I 
 have no intention to retract it." 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 DOUBTS AXD FEARS. 
 
 Miss Trevanion was now, indeed, as she had 
 said, alone. To her mother she knew that it 
 was in vain to cling for council or support, for 
 the poor lady had been so long self-centered, 
 and crushed beneath the iron hand of her hus- 
 band, that her heart was dead to sympathy, 
 and ©ngroBeed by its own petty feelings of dis- 
 
 content The marriage from which she hn 
 anticipated alike honor and happiness had bee 
 a mere gilded slavery, and ."^he had worn h( 
 chains with a passivenes.s which had gradual! 
 but surely benumbed all the most gcnerov 
 qualities of her nature, and so broken h( 
 spirits that the only enjoyment of which si 
 was still susceptible was that of perfect quiet 
 every event that tended to intcrrujit it bein 
 regarded as a personal and willful injur 
 Weak, as wo have already shown, both intc 
 lectuaUy and morally, a neglected if not vicioi 
 education had caused her greatly to overra' 
 I mere worldly advantages; a meanness of mir 
 which had been fostered in after-life by tl 
 1 puerile course of novel-reading in which si 
 ' delighted ; and although it is probable that h) 
 j she been permitted to perform the part of 
 I mother to her child, and to exercise the pri^ 
 I leges of tho maternal character, that sacred t 
 I might have awakened her to holier and high 
 feelings, the fact of her having seen her legi 
 mate duties delegated to another, had caus 
 I her to regard her daughter rather as t 
 i heiress of Mr. Trevanion, than as one up 
 I whose love she had a claim, and whose hap- 
 ness she was bound to promote. Awed by t 
 ; rank of Lady Mary Brooklands, it never (. 
 j curred to her on the first domestication of t 
 I titled stranger beneath her roof, to cont 
 I her own right, or to assert her own dignit 
 j while as Ida passed from infancy to girlhc 
 she had looked with bewildered surpri.«e Uf 
 the bright and beautiful being whose tale 
 were the theme of every tongue. 
 
 Even the affection which was lavished i 
 on her by the brilliant girl, who never '■ 
 an instant suffered the indulgence of wh 
 she was the object, to induce her to fail . 
 respect or assiduitj' to her neglected mot! . 
 could not lessen the estrangement. Mrs. 1 • 
 vanion was vaguely conscious of their ul ' 
 incompatibility of mind and feeling; il 
 thus by slow but inevitable degrees, a bar' • 
 had grown up between them which neit r 
 could ultimately overpass. In her 8e< t 
 heart the childish and vai)id woman felt I'- 
 self wronged by the superior qualities of r 
 own child, and consequently met all ber - 
 vances with querulous discontent, if not vi 
 actual distaste ; yet still her daughter, with e 
 persistence of a generous nature, even w e 
 she was compelled to admit to herself ^ 
 she had little respect for her mother's j« ^ 
 ment or understanding, continued to ac .8 
 though she possessed the firmest faith in b '• 
 In such a crisis as tho present, hoW( T, 
 Miss Trevanion at once felt that it wouh >« 
 idle to make any appeal to her, for eve u 
 she had herself become the wife of Mr. ,e- 
 vanion, in the weak hope of attaining • 
 rank in society superior to tiiat in wbici le 
 was born, so was she comparatively anu 'd 
 and annoyed by the refusal of her dauj. <-'^ 
 to accomplish a marriage which would *'* 
 made her the mother-indaw of an ri. 
 Like her husband himself, but from a fa ''• 
 ferent motive, she cared little what mig! '»« 
 the qualifications of the individual thr en 
 whose agency this desirable object was he 
 effected; she merely fastened upon th- »ct 
 of its possibility, nor could she oontro m 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 37 
 
 irritation i\t -what she donounced ns the oh- 
 tinacy of Ida, when, to her extremo amazo- 
 fnent, she learned that not even the commands 
 her fatlier could induce her to accept the 
 and of a peer of the realm. 
 '"It is really too bad, Lady Mary," she 
 inid, peevishly ; " a great deal too bad, and 
 isiiig me extremely ill, when she knows how 
 iiuch I wish it, What can she possibly want, 
 
 f''. wonder ! I 'm sure if Mr. Trevanion is sat- 
 sfied, she has no richt to look higher." 
 "I quite agree with you in that opinion, 
 tnadani," replied the titled dowager with a 
 [uiet sneer; "there can bo no doubt that 
 ;ven Miss Trevanion should be satisfied with 
 .he rank of the Earl of Downmere ; that is 
 lot, of course, her objection." 
 
 " Then what can it possibly be ?" asked the 
 ady, vacantly. 
 
 " I should presume that it is to Lord Down- 
 aere himself." 
 
 " Nonsense 1" exclaimed Mrs. Trevanion, 
 irith more energy than she had exhibited for 
 ■ears; "I see nothing objectionable in him, 
 ^nd even if there were, what can it signify?" 
 
 Her companion shrugged her shoulders, 
 nd remained silent. 
 
 -"" I am sure," pursued the mortified mother 
 rith unusual garrulity, " that I was not at 
 11 in love with ifr. Trevanion when I mar- 
 led him, for, to tell you the truth, healw.ays 
 •ightened me, he was so cold and proud, but 
 rhen he told me of his uncle, Sir Jasper, and 
 "revanion Hall, and his poor dear motlier, 
 '^ho was, like yourself, an earl's daughter, I 
 ilt at once that I was never likely to do better, 
 ad so, j'ou see, I consented to be his wife." 
 
 "A resolution, madam, which I trust that 
 ou have never had reason to repent," was the 
 ircastic rejoinder. 
 
 "Well, I don't know exactly, I am not 
 uite certain," said the poor lady, musingly; 
 I sometimes fancy, and particularly since I 
 ave become convinced tliat ^.'r. Trevanion's 
 reat relations are never likely to be recon- 
 led to him, that we were not altogether 
 lited to each other, and that I might per- 
 ips have been happier, had I married John | 
 eorge Harris, my father's head-clerk, who 
 early went out of his mind when he found 
 lat I had cngatred myself to 'the Don,' as 
 ley called my present husband in the oflice." 
 
 "It is possible," said Lady Mary, "that 
 >me similar idea may have struck your 
 mghter, and that sho may have acted upon it." 
 
 "If I thouglit so—" commenced Mrs. Trc- 
 inion; then suddenly checking herself, jnd 
 iming toward her companion, sho added, with 
 hat. she evidently intended to be an accent 
 'severity; "at all events, Lady Mary, I 
 eUeve she has more good sense than to think 
 . earnest of throwing herself away upon your 
 ephew." 
 
 No; Miss Trevanion was right; she could 
 3ticipato neither counsel nor comfort in her 
 ial from such a mother. 
 
 Thu.s then there was but one individual to 
 
 horn she had looked for sympathy and sup- 
 ort, and that one was Lady Marj' BrfX)klands; 
 le near relative of the man on whom sho had 
 Jnsented to bestow her hand; tlie attached 
 lend who had ■been the guardian of her girl- 
 
 hood and tho companion of hor ripor years; 
 by whom her attachment had been, "if not 
 openly applauded, at least covertly encou- 
 raged, and even this last stay had failed her 
 at tho very moment when she had placed tlio 
 firmest faith in its stability — failed her because 
 what her haughty and calculating ladyship had 
 coveted for her ncpliew was, not tho heart of 
 tho loving girl, who had for years clung to her 
 as to a second mother, but the hand of Mr. 
 Trevanion's heiress. 
 
 This was a bitter conviction, and as it grew 
 upon her, a stronger feeling of desolation crept 
 over tho affrighted Ida ; " He too," sho mur- 
 mered to herself, "ho too, will now perhaps 
 become suddenly aware of tho imprudence 
 which ho was lately so anxious to commit — 
 ho may discover in our disparity of age, which 
 ho has hitherto treated so lightly, an obstacle 
 and a ridicule. I am prepared for every 
 thing ; deserted on all sides, I must learn to 
 suffice to myself, and I will do so. They may 
 destroy my happiness, but they shall not bow 
 my pride. My heart may break — it must — but 
 I will ask no pity ; I w.ill submit to none. I 
 am no weak girl to be a mark for the whispers 
 of tho idle ; my father's spirit of endurance is 
 strong within me ; and like the Spartan boy I 
 shall know how to hug my agony without a 
 groan. And yet how I had garnered up my 
 heart in him — how madly I had loved him, and 
 love him still ; the better, perhaps, that I 
 thought he would owe all to me. It can not 
 be that Sydney will prove hollow and heartless 
 like his worldly aunt ; but should it indeed be 
 so, better now than after I had become his 
 wife, for now I would struggle to forgive; 
 while then — " and she paused and grasped her 
 burning brow so tightly that it grew pale be- 
 neath the pressure ; " then I should have 
 scorned to make the effort; never would I 
 have forgiven him had he pleaded to mo upon 
 his knees. And it might have been so — yes, 
 yes, it might have been so ; in some ton short 
 years, and how quietly would those ten years 
 pass, my boasted bc-auty will be on the wane, 
 and the world will be full of young and bloom- 
 ing faces, fair and fresh, with the first light of 
 life bright upon them — and how then? Would 
 he — ho, still in the unfaded glory of his man- 
 hood, remain true to me ? true to herself? I 
 dare not doubt it — for his sake — I dare not for 
 my own. Now I am wretched, but not guilty 
 — but then — then what would not his folsehood 
 make me ! Lady Mary is right. I have for- 
 gotten my own sense of dignity — I have been 
 the victim of my own vanity — he will do well 
 to rebuke my folly by submitting to her judg- 
 ment, by following her counsels. I shall at 
 least be spared the pang of his neglect, and 
 tho bitterness of his contcmi)tl" 
 
 Worn with excitement, and crushed by mor- 
 tification and anxiety, tlio painful picture which 
 the jealous imagination of tho excited girl had 
 conjured up, overcame her little remaining 
 strength ; and when her French maid entered 
 her room an hour subsequently, sho found lirr 
 stretclted upon a sofa, cold and insensible ; nor 
 was it until after a considerable time, and 
 the application of all tho restoratives within 
 reach, that sho slowly recovered her conscious- 
 ness. 
 
THE JEALOrS WIFE. 
 
 As she di'l so, the first oLject upon -which 
 her eyes fastened -was a letter, and the femmf- 
 de-chambrf no sooner perceived that it had 
 attracted her attention than she placed it in 
 her hand. JIadcmoiselle Seraphine Tvas en- 
 chanted. In one instant she had composed a 
 most touching romance. Her haughty mis- 
 tress must now confide in her ; and her little 
 black eyes would twinkle in spite of herself 
 as she decided that her assistance must at last 
 be needed, and her talents recognized. Ea- 
 gerly did she watch the effect of her ready 
 zeal ; but her hopes were destined to be dis- 
 appointed: the letter w:is no sooner in the 
 possession of Miss Trevanion than one glance 
 sufficed — it was the handwriting of Sydney ; 
 and faintly murmuring "Leave me,'*^tlie agi- 
 tated girl closed her eyes and fell back upon 
 the cushions, with the fateful packet tightly 
 grasped within her rigid fingers. For awhile 
 she remained motionless, not a sob, not a sigh 
 escaped her, but her heart labored painfully, 
 and her pulses throbbed with an excitement 
 strangely comjiounded of hope and dread. 
 Her destiny lay hidden within the narrow 
 folds of the paper that she held, and she had 
 not courage to learn its secret. But suddenly 
 she started from her recumbent position, 
 shook back the masses of her dark hair, and 
 with febrile energy, tore open the seal. 
 
 Thus ran the letter : — 
 
 "I know not, Ida, whether to be pained or 
 rejoiced at the tone of the note which I have 
 just received from you ; for while much of its 
 contents is calculat'ed to cut me to the heart, 
 it also contains much wliich has made me su- 
 premely happy. That you should have been 
 subjected to so severe a trial of your feelings j 
 is to me a source of wretchedness greater than I 
 even you can comprehend ; but you must not j 
 blame me if I confess that the conviction, 
 that you willingly endured it for my sake, ! 
 has almost made me selfish enough to for- 1 
 get at times how dearly my own triumph 
 has been purchased. Mine is no common | 
 love, Ida; it has become part and parcel of 
 my existence. I feel tliat I can not live with- 
 out you, and that with you I could brave 
 every trial which the tyranny of the world 
 coulS heap upon me. You say that should 
 you persist in fulfilling your promise to be- 
 come my wife you lose all claim to the af- i 
 fection and inheritance of your fatlier — j 
 proudly, then, shall I feel that j-ou w^ill owe i 
 all to me — that we shall be every thing to | 
 each other. This, dearest, is my idea of hap- 
 piness ; I am young alike in years and hope: 
 my energies are strong, and with you beside 
 me to cheer me in my labor, and to rejoice in 
 my success, I can not fail. I will vot resign 
 my claim to possess you; you have promised, 
 and you must perform. And yet, may I not, 
 in my miserable egotism, be condemning you 
 to sacrifices so great that even mj' tenderness 
 can not re<[uite tlieni ? Oh, if it indeed be so, 
 let me not dran you down from tlie, proud 
 eminence oti which j'ou stand, oidy to ensure 
 my own happiness. Like }-ou, 1 will strive 
 to be generous — to exult in your prosperity, 
 in your success — I know not if I shall have 
 strength to do so, but I will try, even though 
 
 my heart burst in the effort. Care not for 
 me, however, if, on mature reflection, you 
 find that you shrink from the contrast'be- 
 tween what is and what must be, when tou 
 can no longer command the luxuries by whick 
 you are now surrounded. If you donbt that 
 my love and devotion — a love and a devotion 
 which can end only in the grave — will not 
 sufUce to replace them. I can not now offer 
 you afiluence — I may not be enabled to do so 
 for years to come. Can you forego it for my 
 sake? If so, trust me that it will come at 
 last. Laboring witlfyou, and for you, I shall 
 compel success — you will be my life, my 
 my light, and my reward. I make no coni- 
 ment upon the fears which you express, that 
 time can weaken my affections ; it is true that 
 when we first met, it was your wondrous 
 beauty by which I was thralled, and that 
 beauty will live unchanged in my lieart foiv 
 ever ; while all your nobler and better quali- 
 ties will only tend, as years pass on, to rendei 
 you still dearer. 
 
 "Should we part, therefore, Ida, the rnir 
 of our hopes will be your work; for never 
 never will I willingly resign the claim whicl 
 you have given me upon your hand. I maj 
 be unworthy of such a boon in the eves of' 
 those around you, but am I so in yours? I 
 is for you, and you alone, to decide my des 
 tiny. I urge you now as I should nothavi, 
 dared to do, had you still been enabled to be 
 come mine, rich in the world's gifts; for tlici 
 indeed my earnestness might have been mis 
 interpreted ; but noAv, when you assure nn 
 tliat it is not so, I may freely own that lif 
 itself will be a burden when you are lost t' 
 me. I have never loved another; and no\" 
 my heart is so filled with your image that i 
 can never admit a new one. Let yonr be8nt_> 
 wane; to me you will be ever beautiful be 
 yond all on this earth; let sickness withe 
 you, I will render that suffering light by ni; 
 tenderness and devotion; and if sorrow shouli 
 reach you even in my arms, I will only clas) 
 you the closer that its bitter pressure ma; 
 not be felt. Ida, noblest, best of women, tot' 
 turc me no longer, tell me only that _vou ar 
 still mine — mine for time — mine for eterni'j 
 "Std.net." . 
 
 " Yes, my brave-hearted Sydney, yes,''cj' 
 claimed Miss Trevanion, vehemently throwiii:, 
 herself upon her knees; yonrs, and onl 
 yours — yours for time — yours for eternity 
 i can not, and I will not'doul)t you. Tear 
 will not change you, poverty- will not chi. 
 j'ou. You will love me to the end. Wh.i, 
 are the gaud and glitter of the world besid, 
 the possession of such a heart as yours? An . 
 I have dared to wrong your noble nature — t 
 believe that the cold reasonings of the selfis' 
 and false could shake your steadfast faitl' 
 Shame on my sordid spirit ? But I can nevt 
 doubt you more. I will be worthy of you 
 affeotiou by the trustfulness with which 
 will repose upon its truth and strength. 01 
 I am happy— happy — even as the marine 
 who in his storm-tossed vessel sees a safe ha 
 bor near, and knows that after one more fien 
 strutrule, he shall gain the wished-for havr 
 of peace and rest." 
 
llliU JJlIALUUO WlJtJli. 
 
 'd'J 
 
 \7hc-ri Miss Trevanion rose from her knees, 
 ,ie was no longer pale from exhaustion, and 
 ubdneil by the lonir-sustaineti anxiety wliieh 
 ad so lately crushed hor, there was"a proud 
 i^ht in her eye, and a firmness in her tread, 
 hich hetrayed her inward exultation. Tlie 
 nserof lier "father, the treachery of hor friend, 
 U "was forijotteu in that moment of trium- 
 hant happiness. Sydney was true — Sydney 
 as all, and more than she had dared to hope 
 and she had no room for any other mem- 
 ry A^j^ain and acrain she read the letter 
 ?luch she still held tightly clasped, and again 
 nd ntrain the smile of the heart's gladness 
 laved upon her lip. She drew aside the 
 indow-drapery, and threw back the eash, 
 if to breathe more freely, to have more 
 cope for her joy, more space for her intense 
 md thrilling rapture, and never had she 
 hought the sky so glorious in its blue and 
 ranquil beauty, the trees so graceful in their 
 yaving greenery, the flowers so rich in color 
 tnd ill perfume. " Of these, at least, even 
 wverty can not deprive us," slie murmured 
 ,0 herself, "we shall need no gold to purchase 
 hese. Nature is no niggard of her gifts, and 
 ihe will not withhold her treasures from the 
 learts by which she is worshiped. The future 
 ;aa not extort a sigh from me now, nor will 
 [ even shrink from the present." 
 
 True to this resolution. Miss Trevanion 
 lummoned her maid, and calmly devoted 
 lerself to the duties of her toilet: every ves- 
 ,ige of emotion had faded from her features, 
 ind a soft serenity had succeeded the storm 
 )f passion to which she had so lately j'ielded ; 
 jxtreme in all her feelings, slie now dwelt 
 jnly upon the happiness which was, as slie 
 "ondly believed, so soon to repay her for all 
 ;be suffering of the past; and as she rejected 
 )ne after the other the ornaments with which 
 ler zea\o\i3 fenune-de-chainbre was anxious to 
 idorn her according to her usual custom, and 
 placed in her luxuriant hair, and in the girdle 
 3f her simple dress of snowy muslin, a few 
 natural flowers from a vase which stood upon 
 lier dressing-table, she smiled exultiiigly as 
 she became aware that Sydney could scarcely 
 consider her less lovely thus, than when cov- 
 jred with tlie costly gems with which she 
 must henceforth dispense. 
 
 The astoniihed I'reuch woman looked on in 
 silence. That her beautiful yoimg mistress, 
 who, she had every reason to believe, was 
 betrothed to an Earl, should suddenly so far 
 forget her dignity as to throw aside her jewels 
 [for a handful of paltry flowers, was to her 
 ^mysterious and annoying ia the extreme. 
 fWhat could it mean? And the pale face, 
 which had so terrilied her only a few hours 
 previously, and which was now beaming with 
 B quiet joy — that was another problem. Ma- 
 jdemoisclle Seraphbe was cmviuced that there 
 was a secret somewhere ; and never before had 
 she felt so indignant at the proud reserve 
 which led Miss Trevanion habitually to avoid 
 all unnecessary intercourse with her attendants. 
 The smart soubrette would have willingly given 
 a year's wages, which would have been no 
 Blight saci-ifice, could she have dived into the 
 deptlis of the heart which was beating so tran- 
 quilly beside her, but eho dared not ask a 
 
 question ; and, consequently, she flitted and 
 fluttered about the aj)artmCTit with the in- 
 dignant air of a grievously-offended person, 
 occasionally murmuring beneath her breath 
 eertam doubts as to how far " Mihrd" might 
 apjirove of the sudden " caprice" of his incom- 
 prehensible "Jiancce" — wondering how long this 
 fit of " coquetlcrie malndwlte ct vial cnf endue" 
 was to last ; and inquiring of herself whether 
 she ought to condescend to live with a mistress 
 who appeared to be steeped in grief one hour, 
 and as happy as a child the next — who pre- 
 ferred rose-buds to rubies, and, worse than all, 
 kept her own secrets. 
 
 Upon the object of her speculations, how- 
 ever, all this display of irritation was wholly 
 wasted ; Ida was living that inner life which 
 deadens the perceptions to outward things, and 
 she finally dismissed Mademoiselle without the 
 least regard for her injured feelings, in order 
 that she might enjoy in solitude the thick- 
 coniing thoughts wliich crowded upon her 
 heart and brain, and without one suspicion 
 that had not the ill-used woman anticipated a 
 nuce, and tlie glory of arranging the bridal 
 coronal of Madame la Comtcsse, she would, in 
 the exasperation of the moment, have given 
 her warning on the spot. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A FAMILY FRIEND. 
 
 "WuiLE IMiss Trevanion was occupied with 
 her new and pleasant visions, her father was 
 moodily pacing tlie library Avherc he was 
 closeted with the family friend ; who, although 
 she had told the tale of Ida's resolute rejection 
 of the earl, and her equally determined adher- 
 ence to Mr. Elphinstone, in her smoothest 
 and blandest manner, had nevertheless raised 
 a storm in the breast of her host which it re- 
 quired a'.l his self-control to combat. The 
 jilaeid sniilc and studied phrases of Lady Mary 
 jarred upon his nerves, contrasting as they did 
 with the irritation of his o-wii feelings ; and as 
 she sat playing with a paper-cutter as calmly 
 as though no subject of importance occupied 
 her thoughts, he inwardly cursed the high- 
 breeding which had hitherto been the theme of 
 his admiration. 
 
 " I believe that nothing would ruffle her," 
 he murmured to himself; " notliing, so long as 
 she was secure of a home under my roof; and 
 I believe, too, that this affair has been her 
 own work ; and that, in sjiite of Ida's denial, 
 she forced her beggarly nephew upon the girl 
 for the very purpose that she has accomplished. 
 Xo, no, my Lady Mary, I am not your dupe, 
 as you imagine ; I see through the whole plot ; 
 but I will circumvent you yet. I will not be 
 fooled Avith impunity. I will compel you to 
 act for me, and with me, although as yet you 
 have declined to express your own tenlimcnts 
 upon the subject, liut I must be cabn ; and I 
 will." 
 
 And in pursuance of this ^solution Mr. 
 Trevanion re-seated hinasclf, and smoothed hia 
 ruffled brow. 
 
 "Ida assures me, Lady Mary," ho com- 
 
40 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 mencc'd abruptly, " that you wore altogether 
 i;rnoraut of the iinpi-uileiit engaj^emont into 
 ■whieli she has entered with Mr. Elphmstoue. 
 Is this really the case '." 
 
 " It is." 
 
 "But may I ask if it vras quite unexpected 
 on your part ?" 
 
 " Perfectly so . tlie age of my nephew, and 
 the narrowness of his means, alike rendered it 
 impossibla that I could indulge in any idea of 
 the sort." 
 
 " And no wonder, madam, coupled as these 
 circumstances were, moreover, by your knowl- 
 edge of my views and intentions for Miss Tre- 
 vauion — whom — I now tell you, as I have done 
 frequently before — I would rather follow to her 
 grave than permit to throw herself away upon 
 a nobody " 
 
 " I must be permitted to remark," observed 
 the lady with a stateliness of manner intended 
 to reprove the arrogance of her companion, 
 " that Mr. Elphiustone is at once highly-born 
 and well-connected. The equal at least in that 
 respect, even of Miss Trevanion." 
 
 A dark cloud gathered on the countenance 
 of the merchant. 
 
 " I do not deny it, madam," he said coldly ; 
 " as your relative the gentleman has assuredly 
 that qualification, but still I must be pardoned 
 if I persist in considering him as a nobody. 
 He has no stake in the country. He has even 
 a reputation to make ; he is known only by a 
 certain set as ' a man about town,' well-looking 
 and well-dressed ; and so obscure an individual 
 can never be the husband of my daughter." 
 
 Lady Mary replied only by a listless bow, 
 and having been engaged for the last few min- 
 utes in cutting some colored paper into narrow 
 strips, she now began to amuse herself by 
 twisting them into spills. 
 
 Nothing could be more aggravating to a 
 proud and impetuous nature like that of Mr. 
 Trevanion, than this assumption of perfect com- 
 posure. His blood rose to fever-heat, and his 
 temples throbbed almost to pain. 
 
 " I trust, madam," he said, after a moment's 
 silence, " that you did me the favor to explain 
 to my rebellious child that I peremptorily in- 
 sisted upon her aeccptmg the hand of Lord 
 Downmere ?" 
 
 " I did, with the same frankness that I com- 
 municated to yourself, her equally peremptory 
 refusal." 
 
 " And do you not yourself — now, Lady Mary, 
 I put the question to you in the full conviction 
 tliat you will answer it frankly and undis- 
 guisedly, even although you chance to be the 
 kinswoman of Mr. Elphinstone — do you not, 
 as a woman of the Avorld, consider that her 
 marriage with that gentleman would be to the 
 last degree imprudent V 
 
 " Since you compel me to declare my opin- 
 ion, Mr. Trevanion," said the noble matron ; 
 "I most assuredly do." 
 
 " I p.m happy to hear it, very happy," ex- 
 cLaimed the merchant ; " and may I hope that 
 you expressed as much to my daughter?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " My dear *madam ;" said Mr. Trevanion, 
 earnestly ; " I regret to say that I have wronged 
 you by supposing that you had at least encour- 
 aged Ida's infatuation by your silence ; I should 
 
 have known you better than to suspect, eveo 
 for a moment, that you could be guilty of such 
 monstrous disingenuousness ; but if you now, 
 with your usual admirable judgment, disap- 
 prove of my daughter's folly, what will bo 
 your opinion when I confide to you that I have 
 positively assured her, that, in the event of her 
 persistence, not one shilling of my property 
 shall ever be hers." 
 
 " What can 1 think, my dear sir," smiled the 
 lady ; " but that you held forth a threat, which 
 you would never have the courage to realize." 
 
 " You mistake me," was the stern rejoinder; 
 " I sliall fulfill it without an effort." 
 
 The strip of pink paper upon which Lady 
 Mary Brooklands was at that instant engaged, 
 visibly quivered in her fingers ; " Remember;" 
 she said, in a somewhat imsteady tone ; *• that 
 Ida is your only child." 
 
 " I do," replied the merchant ; " but I remem- 
 ber also that I have a nephew ; one moreover 
 who bears my name, and will be no obscure 
 recipient of my bounty. If I can not humble 
 Sir Jasper in the way which I had every right 
 to hope that I should have done, I can still, at 
 least, effect my purpose by crushing him be- 
 neath the weight of an obhgation which he can 
 never cancel." 
 
 "Still, my good friend;" urged the lady, dis- 
 continuing her employment, and evincing infi- 
 nitely more interest in the conversation than 
 she had hitherto d(jne ; "still I would plead for 
 Ida. Recollect the nature of her education, 
 and how little it has fitted her for a life of pri- 
 vation and struggle. Do not overlook the fact 
 that she has done more than justice to your ex- 
 pectations ; that her beauty, her grace, and her 
 attainments have made her universally popu- 
 lar, and caused her society to be courted by 
 persons of exalted rank and acknowledged 
 judgment. In short, do not suffer your own 
 — I confess, very legitimate — disappoiutmcLt, 
 to render you ungenerous or unjust." 
 
 "Miss Trevanion has seen fit to emancipate 
 herself from my authority, madam;" was tlic 
 dogged reply; "and I most sincerely congrr ' 
 ulate her on the fact that her godmother be- 
 queathed to her the magnificent sum of three , 
 hundred pounds a year, as she will, should she 
 become Mrs. Elphinstone, have an admirable 
 opportunity of testing the capabilities of such 
 an income ; while I eijually congratulate my- 
 self ui)on the circumstance, as I could not con- 
 sci'-ntiously have left her to starve." 
 
 "Mr. Trevanion," persisted the lady; "do 
 nothing rashly, lest you incur the misery of 
 your own reproaches." 
 
 " I will run the risk of any remorse likely 
 to be awakened by my assertion of self-respect, 
 madam." 
 
 " But the world, sir — ^you would surely not ' 
 desire to brave the comments of the world ; ^ 
 and believe me when I assure you, that public f 
 opinion will condemn so unprecedented an act 
 of severity." 
 
 " I will venture even that," said the mer- 
 chant ; " when once the dream of my hfe is 
 past, the world and myself will have little in 
 common. I ask nothing of it , I owe nothing . 
 to it ; I have been the architect of my own 
 fortimes, and the edifice that I have raised is sub* 
 stantial enough for me to trust to its stability.' 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 41 
 
 " Consider, nevorthclcss," resumed his com- 
 pauiou, as she laid hor jeweled hand lightly 
 upon his arm, and loi.ked pleadingly into his 
 face; "do not, I entreat, suffer it to escape 
 you, that by renouncing the interests, and — 
 if I understand you rightly — the society of 
 your daughter, you also tear asunder the holy 
 bonds which knit together a mother and her 
 child. No, no ; you cau not have the heart to 
 do this." 
 
 " You are aa able advocate. Lady Mary," 
 •was the rejoinder, as a questionable smile 
 I played about the mouth of Mr. Trevanion ; 
 'but unfortunately fur the success of your ar- 
 I gument, we are both sufficiently conversant 
 with the dessous dcs cartes to be quite aware 
 Uiat the bonds to which you allude hang some- 
 what loosely iu this instance. The mother will 
 j easily console herself with a new shawl and a 
 I new novel ; while the daughter, whose temper- 
 \ ament and training must years ago have taught 
 I her that the lady in question is merely a harm- 
 I less simpleton, to whom she is indebted for 
 I nothing beyond the single fact of her existence, 
 i will find little difficulty in reconciling herself 
 I to the privation of a very negative advantage. 
 These are, however, idle speculations, as I still 
 hope — and moreover, expect — to see Miss Tre- 
 vanion Countess of Downmere." 
 
 " I sincerely trust, should the resolution 
 I which you have declared be really unalterable, 
 that your expectations may be realized," said 
 Lady Mary, as she once more busied herself 
 with the shreds of pink paper ; " for I shall be 
 truly gratified on vacating my place at your 
 hospitable hearth, to feel that you have not 
 been disappointed in your hopes." 
 
 '• I do not understand you, my dear madam," 
 eaid the merchant. 
 
 " And yet nothing can be more simple than 
 my meaning," replied his companion, with a 
 sigh that was only just audible enough to im- 
 ply that she had failed in her effort to suppress 
 It. "Let my sweet friend bestow her hand 
 upon whom she may, my mission in your fam- 
 ily is necessarily at an end; and although I 
 shall, as you must be well aware, deeply and 
 keenly feel my separation from a circle endeared 
 to me alike by sympathy and haVjit, still — " 
 
 " And do you really mean me to infer, my 
 dear Lady Mary," asked the merchant earn- 
 estly; "that you contemplate such a separa- 
 tion? and that because my daughter, in the 
 natural course of events, leaves her home, you 
 will also abandon the roof which you have so 
 kindly regarded as your own ?" 
 ' " In my turn I ask, can you bo serious, Mr. 
 Trevanion ?" 
 
 " Perfectly so," was the calm reply; "you 
 know precisely, my dear madam, how I am 
 situated ; and that after the departure of Ida, 
 bo it to Woodlyn Castle or to a suburban 
 lodging, there will bo no longer a mistress of 
 my house, should you indeed fail mo ? Nay, 
 don't talk to me of Mrs. Trevanion : sho exists, 
 and notiiing more. To you alono can I look 
 for companion.ship and help; and I trust that 
 our long friendship gives mo some claim upon 
 your consideration." 
 
 " My position, under such circum-stances, 
 
 would be an onerous one ;" remarked the lad,v. 
 
 " Pardon me if I can not see it in that light. 
 
 You have now been my guest, my honored 
 guest, for years ; tho tie between us has bo- 
 como stronger than that of kindred ; I must 
 induce you to rescind your resolution." 
 
 Lady Mary was an excellent actress, and on 
 this occasion sho put forth all her talent. Al- 
 though tho idea of leaving tho luxurious homo 
 of which sho had for so long a period been the 
 actual if not tho nominal mistress, had caused 
 her many an unquiet moment, sho was by no 
 means inclined to avow tho truth, when by 
 gratifying tho secret wish of hor own heart sho 
 might seem to concede a favor ; and she con- 
 sequently adduced a multitude of arguments 
 against tho proposed arrangement, although 
 none of them were powerful enough to defy refu- 
 tation ; and even while she was eager to yield, 
 and thus to secure to herself tho advantages 
 she had so long enjoyed, she refused to pledge 
 herself to any thing ; there was so much to 
 consider ; circumstances might arise to render 
 her determination imperative; S?io was, of 
 course, both gratified and flattered by so un- 
 equivocal a proof of regard on the part of Mr. 
 Trevanion, but tho point was a delicate one, a 
 very delicate one. Sho would not, however, 
 positively refuse, because there was nothing on 
 earth which sho should regret so much as to 
 wound the feelings of so old and esteemed a 
 friend ; but at tho same time she must request 
 to be allowed tho opportunity of turning the 
 matter over in her mind. Nothing could be 
 more reasonable ; and as her companion enter- 
 tained a shrewd doubt of her ultimately prov- 
 ing inexorable, ho instantly complied with the 
 very natural suggestion. Ho did not seek to 
 be importunate, although he should await her 
 decision with anxiety ; and thus tho question 
 was left in abeyance for the time. Mr. Tre- 
 vanion readily perceived, however, that it had 
 been mooted at an auspicious moment, for a 
 quarter of an hour had not elapsed before he 
 discovered that tho certainty of lier own impu- 
 nity in any and every case had singularly 
 tended to modifj' tlio noble matron's sentiments 
 on the subject of his contemplated severity to 
 his daughter. Sho reluctantly agreed, but sho 
 did agree, that ho had a right to bo disap- 
 pointed by the pertinacity of Ida — that ho was 
 entitled to comjiel her obedience — that the 
 Earl of Downmere was in every respect the 
 most eligible husband that he could have 
 selected for her — and that the ' love-affair' was 
 a mere folly, which ought to be discontenanced 
 on every account. 
 
 " And now that you have compelled me to 
 spenk plainly, my good sir," sho resumed ; 
 " although I assure you that I had resolved to 
 do nothing of the kind, you may appreciate the 
 difficulty of the position in which I was placed. 
 Sydney Elphinstono is my nephew, and at first 
 I feared (as you are aware, witli some ju.<!tice) 
 that 3-ou might possibly so far mistake mo as 
 to believe that I should countenance his suit 
 from interested motives, wliile, after you had 
 informed me of your intention of adopting and 
 enriching your nephew, should j-our wi.siies bo 
 disregarded, I became equally apprehensive 
 that I might appear to abandon the cause of 
 of my own, because Ida could no longer enrich 
 him with tho noble fortune to which ehe had 
 expected to succeed. Now, however, that we 
 
42 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 thorouplily undorstand each otlicr, tlicro is no 
 loncrer any reason why I should shrink from 
 acknowicilg-ine that I have, from the moment 
 in which it was confided to me. considered the 
 wliole affair as cl:ildi.«h and absurd in the ex- 
 treme. Sydney is a fine young fellow, but he 
 is still a mere boy, who can scarcely be sup- 
 posed to know his own mind ; while Miss Tre- 
 vanion — " 
 
 '• Is n woman of six-and-twenty, who is as 
 ready to make a fool of herself as anj- boarding- 
 school Miss of fifteen," broke in the merchant, 
 with a portentous frown; "and who must 
 consequently bo treated as sucli. I will see 
 Lord Downmere to-morrow. Fortunately lie has 
 no false delicacy on the subject, and, moreover, 
 inows nothing about the Elphinstone affair; 
 so that in so far as he is concerned, there is no 
 harm done; and a/ter I shall have seen his 
 lordship I will lose no more time in making 
 my final arrangements, in which, my dear 
 La iy Mary, I shall rely on your assistance and 
 advice." 
 
 " You know how sincerely both will bo 
 afforded, my good sir ;" said his companion 
 with dignified suavity; " while I, on my part, 
 am convinced that you will ask nothing from 
 me inconsistent with the tender affection which 
 I feel for my sweet young friend." 
 
 " Of that you need have no apprehension ;" 
 was the rejoinder of the merchant; "for that 
 very affection must, as a natural consequence, 
 lead you to desire her prosperity and happiness. 
 The path is therefore plain before us, and we 
 have only to follow it steadily and resolutely. 
 And nov>-, sans adieu, my dear Lady Mary ; I 
 fear that, in my inconsiderate egotism, I may 
 already have detained you too long." 
 
 The lady rose with a polite disclaimer on her 
 lips; and then, having carefully collected her 
 scattered treasures, and playfully enriched the 
 silver standish of the master of the house with 
 a portion of her rose-colored labors, she smil- 
 ingly took her departure. Come what might, 
 she had carried her own point 
 
 CmVPTER XIY. 
 
 Ay INTERVIEW. 
 
 ITExnT Feudix.vntd, Earl of Downmere, and 
 Baron "U'oodlyn, had, as we have already shown, 
 no vcr}- overpowering passion for the beautiful 
 Miss Trevanion ; although he was by no means 
 insensible to the fact that with her many graces 
 and attractions, sho could not but do honor to 
 his name and rank. His pertinacity in the 
 pursuit of the lady was prompted by other, and 
 to him more serious consideratiors. His lord- 
 ship had throughout life restricted his worship 
 to one idol, and that idol had been self; while 
 so zealous had been his devotion, that his largo 
 income liad gradually failed to meet the de- 
 mands made upon it by one, who wa.s at once 
 a profligate and a sybarite. More than one of 
 his estates was dfcply mortgaged, and this fact 
 not only crippled his resources, but jarred with 
 his prido ; and he ac-cordmgly looked to the 
 money-bags of the wealthy iir. Trevanion for 
 release ; nor did the unpleasant and mortifying 
 
 ! circumstance of his rejection by .cr.ndry welV 
 dowered beauties to whom he had previously 
 offered the jirivilcge of relieving him from his 
 embarrassments, tend to weaken his anxiety 
 for success in the present instance. He was 
 deterred by no ftlse delicacy in his pursuit of a 
 woman tc whom his addresses were unwelcome, 
 for liis past associations with the sex had not 
 initiated him into the shrinking .sensitiveness of 
 its purer and better portion. Recognizing no 
 dignity save that of title, he looked upon the 
 marriage which he now contemplated, as a fair 
 and equitable barter. lie needed the princely 
 fortune of the heiress to enable him to termi- 
 nate his life as he had comjnenced it, in self-in- 
 dulgence and display ; while he was content to 
 give in exchange a name which he had don© 
 nothing to illustrate, and a rank which ho had 
 done nothing to adorn. 
 
 Nevertheless there were moments in which 
 the haughty and Fclf-centcred man brought 
 himself to believe that in bestowing his hand 
 upon the high-bred and fascinating daughter of 
 Mr. Trevanion, he was about to make a heavy 
 sacrifice ; nor were his private reflections more 
 flattering to Mr. Trevanion personally. That 
 the courtly and dignified merchant desired the 
 aUiance for his own sake, the peer could not, 
 and did not believe, for he had wit enough to 
 perceive at once that their several natures were 
 not merely incompatible, but even antagonistic 
 both in principle and feeling. " Xo, no ;" would 
 the earl murmur to himself with a s.itumine 
 smile, as he shook his gouty leg, and swallowed 
 an olive to relish tho more keenly his penulti- 
 mate gla!5s of claret ; " no, no ; the old fellow 
 can not deceive me, bland and smooth as he is; 
 he wants a lift upon the social ladder, and is 
 wiUing to pay handsomely, provided the stride 
 be a long one, but perhaps it is better so ; I am 
 not anxious to marry tlie whole famih-." 
 
 And Lord Downmere was right; Mr. Tre- 
 vanion had never for a moment cheated him- 
 self into a belief that ho was working for tho 
 happiness of his daueliter in forcing forward 
 her union with the selfish egotist who was to 
 raise her to the peerage ; his motive stood 
 bare and unconcealed before him ; nor had ho 
 ever striven to vail it from tho chikl whom ho 
 desired to sacrifice to his own personal views 
 and ambition ; and although under such cir- i 
 cumstances, policy induced him to affect to- , 
 ward tho peer tho respect and deference which 
 appeared to be a legitimate homage yielded to ' 
 his rank, the haughty merchant despised him 
 in his secret heart, and looked upon him 
 merely as a necessary tool to further his own 
 views. ; 
 
 Thus, each thoroughly understood the other; 
 each had a point to carry, and each was equally , 
 resolved to carry that point, if success could bo 
 ensured by his own exertions 
 
 As he had intimated to Lady Mary, Mr. • 
 Trevanion on the morrow had another iiitei^ 
 view with the earl, whom he encouraged to 
 persevere, laughingly reminding him that 
 no woman of spirit would willingly he won 
 iinsousht, and dropping at tlie same time, ns 
 if aeeidentallv, certain hints regarding the' 
 brilliant expectations of his daughter, which 
 wonderfully tended to increase the enthusi- 
 asm of the noble suitor 
 
T IT t: J !•: A L o r s wife. 
 
 43 
 
 This fact, ]io\rovcr, Lord rtownmcro diJ 
 not desire to render too ft]ipareiit, and lie 
 consequently considered it expedient to evince 
 sometliinii like sentiment, althouiih an at- 
 tempt to play the lover sat but loosely upon 
 him. 
 
 " She is certainly a monstrous fine woman, 
 mv dear sir," he said complacently, "a very 
 fine woman indeed, and has no doubt every 
 risrht to play the coquette a li^tle before she 
 yields, provided always that she yields at 
 last, and as you assure me that she will do 
 so—" 
 
 "Your lordship may rest assured of it." 
 " AVell then, I see no objection to the course 
 which you propose, and 1 will afford her an- 
 other opportunity of recanting her declared 
 determination. I will call at your house 
 again, but you must promise me the support 
 of your intluenee and authority. I am so 
 una'eeustomed to this sort of thing, that I am 
 quite unable to do justice to myself." 
 
 "Had not your lordship better see her 
 alone ?'' asked the merchant. 
 
 "Xo, sir, no;" was the eager rejoinder, "I 
 consider your presence to be most desirable." 
 "As you will, my lord," said Mr. Trevan- 
 ion, somewhat impatiently ; " but, perhaps, 
 after all, we had better be guided by circum- 
 stances. All that I will venture to urge is, 
 that no time should be lost, as the present 
 state of things must necessarily be unsatis- 
 factory to all parties. My carnage is at the 
 door ; will your lordship accompany me at 
 once to Richmond ?" 
 
 " If you really consider it expedient for 
 me to do so, certainly;" was the reluctant 
 reply ; " although I have an important en- 
 gagement at my club, but ' when a lady 's in 
 the case,' you know, there is no alternative ; 
 and as you justly remark, there will be many 
 arrangements to make on both sides after the 
 affair is decided, which will occupy a very 
 considerable time, so let it be as you propose ; 
 in ten minutes I will be ready." 
 
 L(jrd Dowumere was almost as good as his 
 word, and in less than half-an-hour, the two 
 gentlemen were on {heir way to the splendid 
 villa of the merchant. 
 
 AVhen their arrival was announced to Miss 
 Trevanion, she excused herself on the plea 
 of indisposition, but a second and peremptory 
 summons from her father, compelled her ajj- 
 pearance in the drawing-room, which she ca- 
 tered, to his intense mortification and dis- 
 pleasure, in a loose white muslin wrapper, 
 with her fine hair hidden beneath a close and 
 simple Ifice cap. 
 
 "Miss Trevanion!" ho exclaimed, angrily, 
 *' Is that a fitting costume at such ;in hour, 
 and for the reception of such a guest?" 
 
 " Not a word, my dear sir, nut a word," 
 said the earl, as with a courteous inclination 
 lie rose from liis seat, and extended his hand 
 to the pale and shrinking girl; " have you 
 yet to learn that ladies understand all these 
 little matters to perfection, and do j-ou imagine 
 that your fair daughter is not well aware j 
 tliat she is ten times more bewitching in her 
 present costume as when avowed;/ adorned ■ 
 for conquest r' 
 
 " I truslcd that my indisposition would I 
 
 have suflieod to excuse my non-.ipponranco," 
 said Ida, addres-iing her fa'ther, as witli a cold 
 and haughty inclination of the head, sho 
 withdrew her hand from that of her unwel- 
 come visitor. 
 
 "■\Vell, well, since his lordship is kind 
 enough to overlook so great a broach of de- 
 corum and good-breeding, we will say no 
 worse upon the subject," said Mr. Trevanion, 
 who could not conceal from himself, that had 
 his daughter been influenced by the most 
 refined coquetry, she could not have succeed- 
 ed in apjtearing more lovely than in her 
 present plain and simple attire ; " and wo 
 have moreover, a more serious subject to dis- 
 cuss. Lord Downmerc, is here, Ida, to re- 
 ceive your final answer to the proposal with 
 with which he has honored you. Mark me, 
 your final answer." 
 
 "I regret," was the firm rejoinder, "that 
 his lordship should have considered such a 
 visit necessary after our late interview. I 
 had hoped — " 
 
 "Pshaw!" interposed the merchant, im- 
 petuously ; " all recurrence to the past is idle ; 
 and you know my determination, and you 
 have now only to express your compliance 
 with my will." 
 
 " And is it thus, that the Earl of Down- 
 mere would woo his bride ?" asked Ida, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " I am content to woo her after any fashion," 
 said the peer, with a courteous bow; "so 
 that I am happy enough to win her." 
 
 " Be generous, my lord ;" said Miss Tre- 
 vanion, " and abandon a suit which can bring 
 you neither honor nor happiness. I should 
 be false, alike to you and myself, did I not at 
 once avow that I have no longer a heart to 
 bestow. I feel, as I have already declared, 
 flattered by 3-our preference, but I can never 
 become your wife." 
 
 " h?o you assured me at our last interview, 
 my dear young lady," replied the earl, per- 
 fectly unmoved ; " Init I am quite aware that 
 it is one of the many privileges of your sex' 
 to torture the hearts of your admirers, and 
 I accordingly trusted to time and reflection 
 to operate a change in your decision." 
 
 " And your lordship did wisely," broke in 
 the merchant, who with difficulty coutrolcd 
 his anger, as he listened to the decided worda 
 of his daughter; " for women seldom know 
 their Ojjvn minds from one hour to another, 
 and Miss Trevanion is at this moment an il- 
 lustration of the fact. But wo have already 
 had somewhat too much of this folh', and sho 
 will do well to act more rationally, and to 
 avow at onco that she is both honored and 
 happy in the brilliant prospect which your 
 flattering preference holds out to her. 
 
 "A devoted heart, and a splendid posi- 
 tion;" said tho peer, pompously; "what, 
 my dear madam, can you require more than 
 this?" 
 
 " Loss, much loss, would sufli<!0 to my ambi- 
 tion, my lord;" replied Ida; "all I ask \s the 
 first, and you must pardon mo if I frankly do- 
 claro that it is a gift which you havo not to be- 
 stow. Let us deal honestly with each other, 
 Lord Downmere : I am not deceived as to my 
 own poaitioa in life • and am quite aware that^ 
 
44 
 
 THE* JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 despite all the indulgences which have been 
 lavislied upon me, I am still only the daughter 
 of a merchant, who, however wealthy and 
 however honored he may bo, is still merely a 
 merchant; and that thus I am no fitting wife 
 for the Earl of Downmere. Pardon me, fa- 
 ther," slie added, as she marked the displeasure 
 of Mr. Trevaniou; "but this is no moment for 
 idle pretense or frivolous vanity ; wo must all 
 look the truth steadily in the face, and not seek 
 to deceive ourselves or each other by flimsy 
 fallacies. I would not that Lord Downmere 
 Should suspect that the merchant, whose repu- 
 tation is as untarnished, and whose blood is as 
 ancient as his own, is now courting his alliance 
 Erom any mean pandering to his rank and to 
 the ennobling of his cliild, from a mere paltry 
 love of title and aggrandizement, for I well 
 know that it is not bo — nor would I that my 
 !ather, when urging me to plight my flxith to a 
 nan whom I do not love, should so far delude 
 .limself as to imagine that the proud peer who 
 iondescends to sue for an affection which he 
 ian never gain, is influenced by any affection 
 or myself. I see and bitterly feel tlio truth of 
 ny position. On one hand, I am to be made a 
 nedium of vengeance, and on the other — " 
 
 "Enough, Miss Trevanion, enough I" ex- 
 claimed the merchant, vehemently; "this inso- 
 onco is intolerable and imprecedented. So 
 ar I have listened patiently, but my forbear- 
 mce, great as it has been, has nevertheless a 
 imit." 
 
 " I can not, of course, presume to decide the 
 notive which you were about to attribute to 
 ny addresses, my dear madam," said the earl, 
 vaving his hand deprecatingly toward his ex- 
 ited host; "but of this lean conscientiously 
 .ssure you, that if you believe them to have 
 )cen prompted by any other than my profound 
 ,nd ardent admiration of your many perfections, 
 'ou not only do me a grievous wrong, but are 
 mjust to yourself As to the disparity of rank 
 which you have alluded, it is a mere chi- 
 tiera, when you do not re(iuire to bo reminded 
 liat j'our grace and loveliness would do*honor 
 a throne. And remember, madam, remem- 
 icr;" he pursued emphatically; "that as my 
 iride — as my wife — as Countess of Downmere 
 —you will stand near the steps of one among 
 lie noblest and proudest of the realm. A ru- 
 lor has reached me tliat I have a rival, young- 
 r no doubt, and more likely to captivate the 
 ye of one so lovely as yourself, than I can 
 ope to do; and although I had been assured 
 lie report was false, your own declaration tliat 
 ou have no longer a heart to bestow leads mo 
 D believe that such may nevertheless bo the 
 aso ; but let mo entreat you to reflect, my dear 
 oung lady, before you consign attractions so 
 rilliant as your own to comparative obscurity, 
 "ou can bo little aware of the extent of the 
 icrifico which you contemplate. You were 
 lado for the world, and you owe it to the 
 '■orld to fullill your destiny. As my wife — as 
 ountess of Downmere — it would bo brilliant, 
 or your own sake — for mine — " 
 " A thousand thanks, my good lord, a thou- 
 md thanks," said the merchant; "for a con- 
 Dscension of wliieh my willful child is appa- 
 intly so unworthy ; but I entreat of you to 
 rgo her no further. She can not be insensible 
 
 to the generosity of your arguments, and she 
 ivill not — to this I pledge myself She has 
 now exhausted her romance, and must bo pre- 
 pared to listen to reason. Once more I must 
 request of you to leave the affair in my 
 hands." 
 
 " Another word and I have done," said the 
 earl, who gathered courage from the fear that 
 the coveted wealth of the merchant might yet 
 escape him, and who was anxious to compel 
 the lady to something at least bordering upon 
 concession ; " I have endeavored, my dear 
 Miss Trevanion, to place before you the mere 
 worldly advantages of an union which would 
 make me supremely blessed ; but 1 would also 
 press upon you the sincerity and ardor of my 
 attachment, of which I am deeply grieved to 
 be compelled to admit that j-ou have expressed 
 a doubt , do me more justice ; and forgive mo 
 if I add that I was wholly unprepared for such 
 mistrust and repugnance on your part, after the 
 encouragement which I received from your 
 estimable father, upon whose good faith I 
 placed the firmest and most complete reli- 
 ance." 
 
 "i know not, my lord," said the wearied 
 and persecuted girl, sadly, " what assurance 
 my father may have given )'0U — it is not for 
 me to comment on his actions, or to criticize 
 his motives. Ho has doubtlessly acted accord- 
 ing to his own idea of propriety and right ; 
 but I at least am guiltless of having misled 
 you for a moment ; and harassing and painful 
 as this subject can not fliil to have been to all 
 parties, I trust that you will do me the justice 
 to exonerate me from having willfully prolong- 
 ed it." 
 
 " I can indeed most conscientiously acquit 
 you of any attempt to do so, Miss Trevanion ;" 
 was the ironical rejoinder of the earl ; " but I 
 have nevertheless an undoubted right to com- 
 plain of the careless and uncompromising man- 
 ner in which you have rejected my addresses, 
 conceiving, as I do, that they might have met 
 with more consideration." 
 
 " Tliis persistence, my lord," said Ida, 
 haughtily, " is rapidly degenerating into per- < 
 secution; and is wholly deficient in both dig- 
 nity and generosity. I can not for a moment ' 
 bring myself to believe that our very slight ac- 
 quaintance can have inspired with an attach- 
 ment to myself personally which could alone 
 afford an excuse for your extraordinary- perti- 
 nacity; and I have consequently endeavored to 
 discover its true and adequate motive. On 
 mature reflection, I have only been able to im- 
 agine one, and that one so utterly incompatible 
 with the exalted rank to which you evidently 
 attach no mean value, that for the sake of your 
 own dignity, I can only trust that I do you an 
 injustice. I have already so far overstepped 
 the reserve of my sex as to admit to your lord- 
 ship that my affections arc bestowed elsewhere; 
 and bestowed, I am proud to say, where my 
 heart was the treasure sought, and not my 
 wealth. What, then, my lord, do you seek in, 
 thus urging mo to become your wife ? I feel 
 humbled by the reply forced upon mo by my 
 reason." 
 
 " lleally, my dear madam, you arc inoom- 
 prchonsible," said the peer, uneasily. 
 
 " Kather say, my lord, that she is unworthy 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 45 
 
 of the honor wliich you propose to do her," 
 exclaimed Mr. Treva'nion, as ho rose angrily 
 from his seat; "but I am myself to blame for 
 her wrong-headednoss ; she has beeu so long 
 lier own niistress tliat she appears to have 
 forgotten her duty as a daughter, and her 
 courtesy as a woinan. Trust mo, this sliall 
 be remedied. And now, Miss Trevanion, 
 hear me. You do not leave this room, or 
 liis lordship's presence, save as bis affianced 
 wife." 
 
 " Should Lord Downraere have no other 
 engagement, sir," said Ida, firmly, as the deep 
 blush of outraged pride spread over her cheek 
 and brow, " my morning is also disengaged ; 
 and since such is your will, I can pass it here 
 as patiently, althougli perhaps not so pleas- 
 antly, as in my own apartment." 
 
 "My lord," said the merchant, struggling 
 t« subdue his irritation ; "I am mortified be- 
 yond all expression that a child of mine 
 should expose herself as Miss Trevanion lias 
 done ; mortified and pained to find that my 
 authority is thus set at naught ; but I entreat 
 you to believe that my plighted word shall 
 not be forfeited. Prouder spirits than that 
 of the young lady before you have been bent, 
 and she shall learn ere long that a father's 
 will is not to be braved with impunity. She 
 may, as she insanely afi"ects to believe, have, 
 given her heart to a beggar, but her hand 
 must be my gift, and shall not follow it." 
 
 " Compose yourself, my good sir, compose 
 yourself," said the peer, with an indulgent 
 smile ; " I am aware that young ladies are apt 
 to be romantic, and to form magnificent 
 ideas of 'love in a cottage ;' but it is equally 
 certain that on mature consideration they 
 bring themselves to prefer a diamond tiara to 
 a wreath of daisies, and to estimate the re- 
 spectful attachment of a rational suitor be- 
 yond the wild and ephemeral passion of a 
 mere boj-ish love." 
 
 Miss Trevanion started, and the blood burnt 
 still more painfully upon her already crim- 
 soned cheek. 
 
 "I can not," pursued the earl; "I really 
 have not moral courage enough to say to 
 your lovely and fascinating daughter, tlut I 
 consent to resign her to a rival, for by so 
 doing I should resign my own liopes of hap- 
 piness ; and the pertinacity of which she 
 complains nuist sufficiently prove to her the 
 value which I attach to her possession. You, 
 at least, will not blame me for clinging to the 
 last to the briglitest dream of happiness in 
 "which I have ever indulged. The ' slight ac- 
 quaintance,' upon which Miss Trevanion lays 
 such stress as regards her own feelings, has 
 been a period so full of hope and anxiety to 
 myself, that it appears to have absorbed the 
 best portion of my existence ; and rather 
 than forego an anticipation which has made 
 that existence doubly dear to me, I am con- 
 tent still to wait, if such be her pleasure, un- 
 til she does me more justice." 
 
 "1 thank you, my lord, deeply and earn- 
 estly thank you for your forbearance," said 
 Mr. Trevanion ; and in reply to so much gen- 
 erosity, can only assure you that your pa- 
 tience shall not be too severely taxed." 
 
 " I rely upon your promiae," said the earl, 
 
 as ho rose from tho sofa upon which ho had 
 been seated, and bowed low to the lady, who 
 acknowledged his parting courtesy in silence, 
 " and the devotion of a life shall prove to 
 your charming daughter that I am worthy 
 of the prize for which I have so resolutely 
 striven.'' 
 
 In r.nothcr moment Ida was alone. 
 
 CnAPTLR XY. 
 
 A DINNER TAKTY. 
 
 Ida was alone with her own tlioughts, and 
 for awhile they were full of angry bitterness. 
 Toward the earl they were compounded of 
 contempt and disgust. "No, no, it is not to 
 me that he has bowed his paltry pride," she 
 murmured to herself; " it is not for me that 
 he has condescended to submit to insult, and 
 to smile upon inferences which he could not 
 have mistaken. He seeks me for my wealth ; 
 he would enrich himself, and make me the , 
 victim of his selfish cupidity. And I am I 
 without a friend — flattered and fooled by the 
 world, there does not beat one heart upon 
 which I can lay down my weary head, and 
 ask for rest. 
 
 " And yet I have dreamed such dreams of 
 happiness — indulged such hopes of peace and 
 of affection — peace! — affection 1 — what has a 
 persecuted woman to do with blessings such as 
 those. My estimate of life has been a false one^ 
 and now I begin to appreciate tho frightful 
 truth ; perhaps I am wrong to struggle against 
 my destiny — perhaps I should do well to give 
 myself to "this titled coward, who is just brave 
 enough to make war upon the sacred feeling? 
 of a woman's heart — I should find my reward 
 in the world, my recompense in its smooth 
 wisdom. I should make a brOliant marriage 
 — be fooled and flattered stUl — wear the shame 
 of a perjured spirit proudly, and find in the 
 crowded saloons of fashion, tho home which I 
 should have forfeited forever elsewhere. It 
 may be that such a fate might preserve me 
 from deeper and more ilital suflering — it may 
 be ; for in tliis case, I could live on without a 
 fear or a hope ; the one would be annihilated 
 by the other ; giving no love, I could never bo 
 subject to tho pang of feehng it thrown back 
 upon me, and tho lire-flood of my passion indu- 
 rated into lava, and crushing out my existence. 
 And what if I become the wife of Sydney ? Who 
 shall tell me what may bo my fate? What 
 maybe his? Poverty and Time — those are 
 tlie gaunt and fearful adversaries with which I 
 shall have to contend ; and what will bo tlifiir 
 effect on him ? It is easy to talk of tempests 
 under a summer sky, and of wrecks besitlo a 
 summer sea, but beneath tho lightning flash, 
 and on the roaring billows, we can alono esti!^ 
 mate tho extent of tho oviL Should! marry 
 Sydney, and become the bano of his existence, 
 where, then, could I turn for help or comfort? 
 and that I should do this wore ho to arouse tho 
 slumbering demon within me, I have a firm and 
 fatal conviction. I can not deceive myself; to 
 Iiim in whom I trust, to whom I give myself; I 
 must either bo a blessing or a curao — every 
 
46 
 
 THE JEALOUS VIFE. 
 
 tiling, or -^oxse, far worse than nothing. A 
 firm and faitliful friend, or a bitter and unre- 
 lenting enemy. And knowing thi.*!, sliould I 
 not do well and bravely to sacrifice my own 
 happiness at once — to resist the pleadings of 
 my own heart — and to refuse to become his 
 wife ? Could I not drown my own wretched- 
 ness and isolation in what the world calls 
 pleasure — silence the importunities of my own 
 rebellious spirit in the turmoil of dissipation, 
 and console myself with the reflection that I 
 was the only sufferer? Surely there would be 
 heroism in this! But have I strength for such 
 a sacrifice? Can I consent to mako it, while 
 one ho]«o is left that Sydney's love might prove 
 as lasting as my own? Xo;-it is vain to strive 
 against myself: and if I can not read the future 
 I must be content to risk its fruits. This 
 womanish weakness is unworthy of mo ; I must 
 trust, and abide by the issue of my faith. I 
 can not live loveless and alone, devouring my 
 ovrn heart, and feeling that I have been the 
 passive tool of avarice and ambition. My path 
 is plain before me, and rugged as it now is, it 
 may lead to happiness at last." 
 
 It is a trite but true remark, that when sor- 
 row or even death is in a house, still the routine 
 of domestic duties must be pursued, and in the 
 former case, society still maintains its claim. 
 Thus it was on the present occasion ; with one 
 absorbing subject of interest pressing heavily 
 upon her heart and mind, MissTrevanion found 
 herself compelled to obey the suggestion of her 
 maid, by whom she was reminded that it was 
 time to prepare herself to receive the guests 
 who were, as she had in her excitement totally 
 forgotten, expected that day at dinner. Every 
 one has experienced at some moment of his or 
 her life, the weariness of such an appeal to the 
 patience ; and this simple circumstauce tended 
 still further to reconcile our heroine to the 
 prospect of tho ' mere competence' which must, 
 at least, have a tendency to relieve her from 
 sacrifices so irksome during her married life. 
 
 "Now," she mused, "I do not even belong 
 to myself; tho chains of the world are round 
 me ; and though they may have hitherto ap- 
 peared to bo wreathed with flowers, the illu- 
 sion is past, and I feel tho galling of their iron 
 links." 
 
 Alas I wreathe them as we may, none of us 
 escape the pressure to our dying hour ; the 
 careless may wear them loosely, but even they 
 can never throw them off. We have visions 
 of moral freedom in the future — we delude our- 
 selves day by day with tho hope that some 
 change of scene or circumstance may emanci- 
 pate us — but is it ever realized? 
 
 Several of tho guests had already arrived 
 when Miss Trevanion descended to the draw- 
 ing-room. There were three or four steady men 
 of demure age — the personal friends, or ratiier 
 associates of her father, for the self-sufficient 
 merchant made no friends in the strict accept- 
 ance of tho term ; a titled dowager or two 
 belonging to tlie clique of Lady Mary Brook- 
 lands; middle-aged women, who fully appreci- 
 ate tho merits of whist and East India Madeira, 
 and who were not yet totally insensible to tho 
 hope of repairing their widowhood by a second 
 marriage, where their rank might prove an equiv- 
 alent to tho wealth of some ambitious commoner. 
 
 And perhaps it was a relief to Ida Ihnt tho 
 party was tlius constituted — although in ti.o 
 lightness of her heart she had been accustomed 
 to regard such assemblages as a wearisome in- 
 fliction — for thus there was "little demand upon 
 her own exertions ; she had but to listen and 
 to endure ; and as she looked very lovely whilo 
 doing so, her silence was unnoticed amid the 
 animated chatter of the dowagers, the senten- 
 tious declamation of the politicians, and tho 
 languid ejaculations of her mother. 
 
 One circumstance only tended to annoy and 
 discompose her, and that one was the extraor- 
 dinarily-significant glances which were turaed 
 on her from time to time, the little smiling nods, 
 and patronizing smiles of the ladies, and the 
 less demonstrative but still equally peculiar 
 looks of the gentlemen. She appeared to her- 
 self to have suddenly become the object of some 
 occult interest to every one about her ; nor did 
 she fail to remark that tho usually expression- ^ 
 less face of her mother exhibited a self-gratu- I 
 lating complacency which it had never before 
 worn. Lad}- Mary alone was calm and stately 
 as usual, and appeared totally unconscious of 
 any extraneous cause of excitement. 
 
 Suddenly, however, the thoughts of Ida were 
 diverted into a fi-esh channel by the luention of 
 a namo which she was aware could never be 
 uttered in the presence of her father without 
 exciting an unpleasant emotion. 
 
 "By the by, Trevanion," said Mr. Plumb- 
 tree, a county member who was engaged with 
 his host in some important commercial specula- 
 tions ; " are you aware that your uncle is in 
 town? I met him yesterday; and I need 
 scarcely tell you that his first subject was that 
 unlucky farm that forms so ugly an angle into 
 his estate, and which ho is so constantly urg- 
 ing mo to sell, although I have decidedly re- 
 fused to part with it for tho last ten years. It 
 seems that Lady Trevanion has set her heart 
 upon converting it into a dress-dairy, where 
 she may skim her cream out of glass and por- 
 celain, and play Marie Antoinette at Trianon 
 on a small scale." 
 
 "I was not awaro that Sir Jasper Trevanion 
 was in town ;" was the cold reply ; " for, as wo 
 hold no communication whatever, I am neces- 
 sarily ignorant of his movements." 
 
 " i wish that your difference, be it what it 
 maj% could be adju,sted;" said the guest; 
 "and I have reason to suspect that the baronet 
 would gladly meet you half-way. "What say \ 
 you ? Will you allow me to negotiate between / 
 you ?" 
 
 " I beHeve that both parties are well satisfied 
 with things as they are;" was tho discouraging 
 rejoinder. 
 
 '• I must be allowed to differ from you ;" pci^ 
 sisted Mr, Plumbtree ; " for, to my surprise, 
 j-our stateh' kinsman made many inquiries con- 
 cerning yourself and your family, which con-/ 
 vuiccd me that ho considered the feuds to havo[ 
 endured long enough ; while, to be candid with 
 you, the present moment seems a very jinpit- 
 ious one for you to tender or receive the olive 
 branch — the 'coming event' being calculated to 
 ensure you high ground." 
 
 As Miss Trevanion raised her eyes to her 
 father in some anxiety to learn the spirit in 
 which ho would receive the suggestion, slie saw 
 
I li ill J i:. ^v ij u u o » i i' 
 
 4V 
 
 his ovm fixed upon herself Avitli an uneasy ex- 
 |iresston wliieh startled her ; nor wcro his next 
 words more iiitelli,i,'iblo than liis look. 
 
 "It is extremely probable;" ho said, dryly; 
 "that tlio baronet* and his son may be more 
 deeply interested in t'.io event to which you 
 ftlludo than they antioipato. I must decline, 
 however, until it has actually taketi place, all 
 overtures to a reconciliation, which, had Sir 
 Jasper been enabled _vear3 apro to foresee the 
 fituro, would never have been necessary. I 
 fully appreciate the kindness of your motive, 
 my dear sir, hut wo wi.l, if 3'ou please, dismiss 
 a subject whic'a can not prove othorwiso than 
 uninterestin;^ to the friends by whom we are 
 surrounded." 
 
 " Is Lady Trcvanion also in town ?" eagerly 
 inquired his wife, heedless of the desire which 
 ho had expressed that so ungracious a theme 
 should not bo thus publicly pursued. 
 
 '• Yes, madam, both Lady Trcvanion and her 
 son ; and a very fine and promising young man 
 ho is. "Wo are quite proud of him in the coun- 
 I ty, I assure you, where he is, as you may be- 
 lieve, the object of more than one long-sighted 
 speculation." 
 
 " How delightful for his mother ;" whined 
 oat the weak hostess with a very audible sigh ; 
 " I have often regretted that I never had a 
 eon." 
 
 " Tour regrets are uncalled for, my dear 
 madam ;" said Sir Giles Euston who sat near 
 her; "when we look across the table — you 
 could not have anticipated perfection in both 
 instances." 
 
 "Besides which," followed up a jeweled 
 matron with an encouraging smile to Ida, who 
 became more and more perplexed as tho con- 
 versation proceeded ; " even ^[rs. Trcvanion, 
 with her usual good sense and judgment, must 
 perceive at once that this is no moment to en- 
 courage such a feeling. Few mothers, I sliould 
 Imagine,- have greater reason to be both proud 
 and gratified than herself." 
 
 ^ A fact of which my friend Mrs. Trcvanion 
 is fully aware, I can assure you, my dear Lady 
 Bomers;" said tho stately Lady Mary with a 
 deprecatory smile ; " but I must really entreat 
 your forbearance for Ida, who is, I can see, un- 
 easy under this avalanche of flattery." 
 
 " It is its tone rather than its tenor, by which 
 I am disco.mposed ;" said tho young lady smil- 
 ing in her turn, but with a very different ex- 
 pression ; " I am at a loss to understand the 
 mysterious import of the covert congratulations 
 of which I am evidently the object to-day ; al- 
 though I can not but feel deeply touched that 
 Buch should be lavished on me at the very mo- 
 ment when they were least anticipated." 
 
 " How prettily she keeps her secret;" whis- 
 ■pered Sir Giles to bis supine neighbor, who was 
 about to utter one of her inane and inopportune 
 replies, when her voice was drowned beneath 
 that of Lady Mary, who hastened to inquire 
 ■with well simulated curiosity of Mr. Plumbtreo, 
 " if Lady Trcvanion had come to town for the 
 birthday." 
 
 " I do not protend to say that such was the 
 preci.se errand ;" wa.s his reply ; " but I under- 
 stand that it is at all events her intention. 
 Ladies, as you must be aware, madam, who 
 possess a Golconda in their jewel-cases are not 
 
 sorry to hrvvo so brilliant an opportunity of dis- 
 ])Iaying their trea™res ; and Sir Jasper certainly 
 mentioned that both ho and his wife had deter- 
 mined to attend tho drawing-room." 
 
 "That will bo charmnig!" exclaimed tho 
 hostess, thorougldy roused out of her apathy; 
 " Do you hear, Ida ? You will at last see your 
 grand-aunt — for Ida is also to be at the Draw- 
 iug-room. Sir Giles; and — " 
 
 " Vlts. Trcvanion, will you bo poo 1 enoup-h 
 to send Lady Somers some pine ?" — broke in 
 tho merchant iu a tono by which she was at 
 onco silenced, and which rendered her hand so 
 unsteady that she gratefully accepted the prof- 
 fered aid of tlie officious Sir Giles, who hastened 
 to relieve her from tho duty which thus sudden- 
 ly devolved upon her; while, as if warned that 
 she had in some way or other, for which she 
 could not account, excited tho displeasure of 
 her husband, tho cowed and cowering woman, 
 after casting one timid glance of inquiry toward 
 the flimily ■ friend, who replied by a gracious 
 gesture of assent, bowed silently to Lady Som- 
 ers, and rose to leave the table. 
 
 Her example was immediately followed ; 
 and in a few moments the ladies of the party 
 were assembled in the drawing-room, cosily 
 established upon sofas and lounges, to spend 
 over coffee and gossip the hour which must in- 
 tervene before the re-appearanee of their lords. 
 This was an interval which Mrs. Trcvanion 
 habitually passed, if not quite in sleep, at least 
 in silence ; so little was expected from her that 
 she had no motive for exertion ; and aocord- 
 ingly, she had no sooner plunged into the 
 depths of her cushions, leaving her daughter 
 and Lady Mary to do the honors of the house, 
 than she sank into total eclipse, to the great 
 relief of the latter, who tolerated with diifi- 
 culty the harmless but wearisome vanities of 
 the woman, whom she had supplanted in all 
 her privileges alike of hostess, wife, and mother. 
 
 "You will, no doubt, chaperon Miss Tre-. 
 vanion to court as usual, Lady Mary;" ob- 
 served Mrs. Darlington with a sarcastic smile, 
 as she poised the gold spoon upon the surface 
 of her coffee-cup ; " it must really be a great 
 fatigue to you to be so persevering in your 
 attendance ! Once a year the thing is bearable 
 enough at our age ; essential in fact to our po- 
 sition in society; but, like all other duties, it 
 degenerates into a bore from frequent recui*- 
 rcnec; and cn(re wom.s, unless one has a place 
 in the household, I am inclined to think that — " 
 
 " It is a heavy expense ; and so it is, no 
 doubt ;" interposed iady Somers, as she scat- 
 teicd the chips of a wafer which she had been 
 steeping in her Mocha over the rich carpet; 
 " but, fortunately for Miss Trcvanion, expense 
 is no consideration with her; and it is only 
 women situated as I was, and as you are, tho 
 wives of younger sons, whoso bills are incon- 
 veniently mcreased by these court-ceremonies ; 
 but even were it otherwise, our fair fiicnd 
 could scarcely remain absent from the birthr 
 day, situated as she is at this moment." 
 
 " May I venture to inquire why my attend- 
 ance is so essential on this particular occasion. 
 Lady Somers?" inquired the young lady ; "and 
 what peculiarity there is in my jireseut j)osi- 
 tion which appears to onfore it ?" 
 
 " Upon my honor, my dear Miss Trevauioii, 
 
4S 
 
 ilLlL, J ii ALU Lb WITE. 
 
 you do indeed bear your faculties meekly," 
 said her Interlocutor gayly ; " it is not every 
 young lady on the eve of niarriai^e -with a 
 peer of the realm who would ask such a ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " I do not Tinderstand you, madam," was the 
 cold rejoinder. 
 
 " Come, come, you may trust us, my dear," 
 persisted the lady, significantly; "we are in 
 the secret ; and I can assure you that both Mrs. 
 Darlington and myself sincerely rejoice in your 
 good fortune, and congratulate both Lady Mary 
 and your father upon the successful issue of all 
 their cai-e ; you will do them honor, my dear 
 Miss Trevanion, and make a charming addition 
 to the peerage. It is, indeed, quite a triumph, 
 both for yourself and your family, and will be 
 a sad blow to poor dear Lady Wallscourt, who, 
 after all her scheming, has just been compelled, 
 to her extreme mortification, to marry her 
 three daughters to commoners, and yet they 
 were really nice girls, very nice girls, and even 
 tolerably good-looking ; but then they had no 
 money, and really society is now in such a 
 factitious state that men of all stations look for 
 fortune with thei^ wives, especially men of 
 rank, who are quite aware of tlie value of what 
 they have to bestow." 
 
 ♦* You labor under some strange mistake as 
 regards myself, madam," said Ida, quietly; "as 
 I do not anticipate becoming the recipient of 
 the honor to wliich you allude." 
 
 "Now don't be obstinate, Ida;" drawled her 
 mother, suddenly leaning forward in her chair; 
 " Lady Somers knows that you are to marry 
 Lord Downmere. Your father mentioned that 
 it was all settled, before you came into the 
 drawing-room, to-night." 
 
 " Impossible 1" exclaimed Miss Trevanion, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " Quite the contrary, my love," laughed Mrs. 
 Darlington; "we have been assured that it is 
 an affaire fini.e, and very well finished too, 
 take my word for it. You see papas will be- 
 tray secrets ; it is their privilege ; so do not 
 look so terribly aggrieved, but receive our eon- 
 gratulations with a good grace." 
 
 " Did my fiither — did Mr. Trevanion, really 
 state this to be the case?" asked the agitated 
 girl, as her proud eye flashed, and her cheek 
 crimsoned. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you are fairly committed ;" said 
 Lady Sotncrs; " and will make your courtesy 
 to her majesty as a bride-elect." 
 
 ^ I think that she ought to wear white and 
 pearls ; that is my opinion," droned Mrs. Tre- 
 vanion; " if they wish to know it." 
 
 No answer was vouchsafed by any of the 
 party, but every eye was riveted u])on Ida, 
 who stood with parted lips and heaving bosom, 
 alternately looking from one to the other. ,She 
 was stung to the very heart, smitten to the 
 dej)ths of her spirit; she could not misunder- 
 stand the ungenerous advantage which had 
 been tak"n of her; she felt that ehe was in the 
 toils ; bnt her tvhole nature ri>je in rebellion 
 against the moral wrong of which her father 
 had been guilty; tlie sjicredness of her affec- 
 tions had been violated, and a feeling of pesent- 
 ment arose witliin her which at ouce restored 
 her to composure. 
 
 From that moment sb« lifitcncd like one who 
 
 I had no interest in the subject imder discussion. 
 
 I She scorned to utter a disclaimer — what to 
 her, with her bruised and wounded pride, was 
 the trifling gossipry of a couple of idle women 
 — straws floating upon the current ; while the 
 wound inflicted by her father sank down into 
 the deep waters of her soul, and rested there. 
 
 " The last tie is dissolved which bound us ;" 
 she murmured to herself as she retired for the 
 night ; " every human being, breathing the air 
 of heaven, is gifted with the privilege of free 
 ^vill where the happiness of a whole existence 
 is at stake. Mine has been denied to me , I 
 have been degraded into a subject of idle 
 twaddle and sarcastic gossip. Be it so. Hence- 
 forward it must be ruse for ruse." j 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 "an event in high life, etc." 
 
 "When the father and daughter met on the 
 morrow, their meeting was cold and constrain- 
 ed, and neither alluded to the subject by wliich 
 they were severally engrossed ; Mrs. Trevanion, 
 as was her habit after receiving company, 
 breakfasted in her dressing-room, considering 
 it incumbent upon her to l)e overcome by fa- 
 tigue; the merchant buried himself in tho 
 columns of the I'imcs, imd Lady Mary Ekin>- 
 med the pages of the Morning Pod. The 
 meal was a dreary one ; and at its close Mr. 
 Trevanion ceremoniously ])resented to his 
 daughter a folded paper which was lying be- 
 side him, with the intimation that he desired 
 to give a ball on the evening of the birthday, 
 and that she would find in that list the names 
 of the guests whom he personally desired to i 
 invite, leaving the necessary additions to the ' 
 discretion of Lady Mary Brooklauds and her- 
 self. 
 
 " You will see, Miss Trevanion," he eaiJ, 
 coldly; "that the one who heads the list is 
 that of the Earl of Downmere; you will knoTT 
 who should, and who should not be invited to 
 meet his lordsliip; and I need scarcely tell you 
 for your guidance that you are committed." 
 
 " To what, sir ?" inquired Ida, with a kind- 
 ling cheek. 
 
 " To the world, and to your own dignity and 
 propriety of feeling. By sunset this evening, 
 thanks to a knot of marvel-loving and marvel- 
 disseminating women, all London will be aware 
 that you are pledged to the carl, and that this 
 bull IS given in honor of your betrothal You 
 will therefore act accordingly. Not a word, if 
 you please ; tlie subject has been already suft> 
 eiently discussed between us, and I beg to bo 
 spared all further verbiage upon a topic wliich 
 has become distasteful to me. Will you dp 
 me the favor to send out the cards by to-morrow 
 night ?" 
 
 " Certainly," was tho calm reply. 
 
 " Do not. Lady Mary, if you please, e»ced 
 three hundred," pursued the merchant; "I 
 need not say that,' with one solitary excep- 
 tion, all your friends will be as ever, both wcV 
 come and acceptable. I will make the neces- 
 sary arrangements with Guuter ; and perhaps 
 you will oblige mo by issuing your own order* 
 
 1 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 49 
 
 TaploTT. I am sorry to tax your Idmliicss 
 .() heavilv. l>ut I nin solfisli onoiiirh to 1)C uu- 
 villiiiLr to f iroiro the advautago uf your taste 
 jiucl expoiieiico." 
 
 ' "I should like at least to understand the 
 'xtcnt of your intentions, my dear sir," said 
 Ihe lady. 
 
 " Your judgment will be their best limit, 
 ladnm;" was the courteous reply, I would 
 jequest of you to bear in mind the intention 
 if the festival, and to render it worthy of its 
 iiotive." 
 
 j I will endeavor to fulfill your wishes to the 
 jitter;" smiled the family friend, careless that 
 
 3r nearest relative was officially excluded 
 |om the contemplated fete ; as with a stately 
 
 i)W, Mr. Trevauiou bade her 'good morning,' 
 
 id stepped into his carriage. 
 
 " Surely, my dear Ida, you are not about to 
 
 landon me with this herculean task upon my 
 
 inds!" exclaimed Lady Mary, as her young 
 
 mpamon 
 
 was about to leave the room. 
 
 I must beg to be excused all participation 
 { your labor;" said Miss Trevauion, with a 
 itter smile; "Simmonds shall furnish you 
 •; tb the visiting-book, from which I will direct 
 In to erase the name of Mr. Sydney Elphin- 
 iline, and you will then have no difficulty save 
 1;it of selection." 
 
 i" Do you wish to visit upon me the annoy- 
 ipe caused by your father V asked the lady, 
 tprecatingly. 
 
 I ' By no means ; but I disclaim all further 
 liht of interference under tliis roof." 
 ''Nay, nay; is not such a disclaimer either 
 fi!mature or childish ?" 
 I' I think not." 
 
 i' Upon what then do you base it?" 
 f Upon the very simple fact that the exclu- 
 b|i of the individual who would have been 
 11 most welcome to myself, renders the whole 
 a;.ir indifferent to me." 
 
 '■ Remember, Ida, that I might equally have 
 djlined the task on the pretext that my own 
 n|hewwas put hors-de-cmnbat." 
 I You might, madam ; but you did not." 
 j As a matter of course ! I can have no right 
 tcilietate to jlr. Trevaniou what guests he 
 b1 1 receive under his own roof." 
 
 1 Certainly not; nor have I on my part at- 
 tepted to do so ; but I may at least exert my 
 ui:iubted privilege of resenting the insult 
 ofj-ed to one who is excluded." 
 
 I do really wish, my dear girl, that I could 
 in ice you to listen to reason. Much as you 
 rent your father's opposition to your wishes," 
 Ba Lady Mary; "I can assure you that he 
 is 2tuated only by a desire to insure your 
 ha'iiness." 
 
 jlJid you always think so, madam ?" asked 
 helcompanion, coldly. 
 
 JYes, certainly — that is, after I found — " 
 That your nephew in becoming the lius- 
 I bn|l of Ida Trevanion would not secure the 
 hail of Mr. Trevanion's heiress. Oh, trust 
 mtlmadam, we do not deceive each other. 
 Biwe need not waste words upon this sub- 
 jec— my father is right; it has indeed been 
 BuViently discussed; let us dismiss it, and 
 ea(j perform our promise. Invite your own 
 gu ts — I will take care that the cards shall 
 beuly delivered ; and, if it should chance by 
 
 accident that my poor mother shouLl possess 
 some unsuspected friend Avhom it might jileas- 
 ure lier to see at her side among the crowd 
 by which she will bo overlooked, perhaps you 
 will do me tlie favor to insi'rt that name 
 where, in my selfisliness, I might have sought 
 to inscribe another." 
 
 Before Latlj' Mary could reply, Miss Tre- 
 vanion had disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 THE LETTEK. 
 
 Ida did not, as on former occasions, retreat 
 to her room to give way to feelings of doubt 
 and wretchedness. The first, after the dect- 
 laration made by her father, was at an end; 
 and from the last she steadily resolved to es- 
 cape through her own agency. An emotion 
 of indignant resentment swelled at her heart ; 
 she saw her affections and free-will set at 
 naught, and her name compromised without 
 hesitation or apology; and a proud conscious- 
 ness of her power over her future destiny in- 
 vited her with a strength to whicli, despite 
 her bold seeming, she had not previously at- 
 tained. She walked composed!}^ to the hall- 
 table, effaced the name of Mr. Elphinstone 
 from the visiting-book, and desired a servant 
 to carry it without delay to the breakfast- 
 room, after which she proceeded to her own 
 apartment to meditate upon her future line 
 of conduct. Convinced as she was of the sin- 
 cerity of Elphinstone's afTeetioii, it irked her 
 proud nature to condescend, after her resolute 
 refusal to quit her father's roof with him as a 
 fugitive, to volunteer even under the present 
 circumstances a retractation of her denial. 
 She painfully felt that so extreme a step could 
 be rendered endurable to her own sense of 
 delicacy and self-respect only by the earnest 
 pleadings of the man for whom she was about 
 to sacrifice all her long-cherished dreams of 
 prosperity and filial duty; and although while 
 smarting under the first sting of wounded 
 pride, she had resolved to emancipate herself 
 at once by uniting her fate with tliat of Mr. 
 Elpliinstone, she had no sooner seated herself 
 at her desk tlian the difficulty of declaring 
 her determination rushed upon Iier in its full ^ 
 force, and dj'cd her cheek and brow with ^ 
 crimson. A thousand possibilities swept across 
 lier imagination, and almost maddened her. 
 What if his jirudence, and the representations 
 of his calculating relatives, should have pro- 
 duced a change in his sentiments — what would 
 then be her position ? Would she not be an 
 object of scorn to the world, and degraded 
 forever in her own eyes ? The thought was a 
 bitter one; she flung down her pen: she felt 
 as though she had not courage to brave sucli 
 a contingency ; and she was still wavering 
 between love and pri<le, when Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine entered the room, and with a sig- 
 nificant smile laid a note beside her, saying, 
 as she did so: 
 
 " I trust that niadame will not be displeased, 
 but I have promised to convey an answer to 
 monsieur." 
 
50 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 "From whom did you receive this?" in- 
 qiiired !Miss Trevanion, who had instantly 
 recoirnized the handwriting of her lover. 
 
 "From a gentleman who is now waiting in 
 his boat upon the river;" was the reply of 
 the soubrette; "I had gone down to the her- 
 mitage for some clematis for the jardiniere of 
 madame; of course I asked no questions— _/e 
 suis irop diKcrlf'', althougli I comprehended at 
 once that he was a messenger from milord." 
 
 " I will return an answer an hour hence, 
 mademoiselle," said lier mistress; "I presume 
 that the gentleman, be he who he may, is not 
 in haste." 
 
 "He said that he would wait madame's 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Such being the case, yoti had better com- 
 plete the task upon which you are engaged ; 
 1 will summon you when my letter is written, 
 should it be necessary to send a reply," said 
 Ida, controliiig her agitation; "although it 
 appears to me a very extraordinary method 
 of communication, for which I can only ac- 
 count by su[>posing, that the circumstance of 
 seeing you upon the spot must have induced 
 the bearer of the note before me to spare 
 himself the trouble of landing, and coming 
 up to the house." ^ 
 
 " Peid-ltrc ;" said the soubrette with a pecu- 
 liar accent. 
 
 " What can you possibly mean by that very 
 significant ' perhaps,' mademoiselle?" demanded 
 Miss Trevanion, haughtily. " Do you mean to 
 iufer that you suspect mo of being engaged in 
 a claudc'stiue correspondence ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to have displeased madame," 
 replied the wily French woman with well-acted 
 humility; "but as I learned from 'Cd^ maitrc- 
 d' hotel that monsieur had desired that all let- 
 ters addressed to madame should be delivered 
 only to himself, and that two had already been 
 received which had not been given to me to cany 
 to madame, I thought that pei-haps milord — " 
 
 " Enough, enough, mademoiselle," said her 
 mistress, with difficulty repressing her indigna- 
 tion at this new outrage. " Be good enough 
 to f )rm no conjectures which may, and in all 
 probability must, turn out to be erroneous. 
 Do as I have directed, and when I again re- 
 quire your presence I will summon you." 
 
 As the soubrette disappeared, Ida tore open 
 the letter. 
 
 "Wlmt am I to understand?" wrote Mr. 
 Eipliinstone ; " why have you so suddenly and 
 BO cruelly discarded me ? Oh, Ida, beloved of 
 my soul, you little know tlic heart wl)ich you 
 are torturing. Not one word in reply to my 
 letters — no token of your continued affection 
 to sustain me during the bitter interval of 
 Buspcnse and trial to which you have yourself 
 •ondenmed me. How have I deserved this? 
 Is not your love the very priueijile of my 
 existence ? and v>'ill you not, by assuring me 
 of its continuance, enable me to bear our jiain- 
 ful separation? Oh, did you only know — 
 •could you only suspect — all that I endure, 
 Burely you would not sacrifice me to the vain 
 prejudices of the world which you have been 
 taught to worship, but which can never render 
 eveu to you the homagi; of a true and loyal 
 heart like that which you are so coldly casting 
 
 from you. Once more I ask — can yon, and 
 will you resign it for my sake ? Have you 
 sufficient faith in my honor and in my aftection 
 to trust your destiny in my hands? Forgive 
 me for thus urging you, but I am maddened by 
 doubts and fears, which not even the conscious- 
 ness of your pure and truthful nature sufBces 
 
 to dispel. Banished from your presence 
 
 deprived of the eolaco of feasting my eves 
 upon the characters traced by your hand, life 
 itself has become odious to me. It will cost 
 me a severe effort to approach your fathers 
 house like a criminal dreading detection; to 
 skulk about his premises, and to bribe one of 
 liis menials — but I have resolved to do even 
 this, much as it revolts my sense of right, in ' 
 order to assure myself that this appeal at least 
 will reach you. Do not refuse me a reply — 
 let me know my fate, whatever you have 
 decreed. It is for you to decide whether we 
 are to be separated forever, with that bitter 
 gulf, the world, between us; or if, despising 
 the vain gauds of that same hollow world, you ■ 
 will make a home of jteace and love in 'my 
 affection. Sydney." 
 
 There was no hesitation now in the de- 
 meanor of Miss Trevanion; with a firm and 
 rapid hand she traced line after line, until she 
 had revealed to her expectant lover every 
 circumstance which had occurred since their 
 last meeting, and assured him of the full and. 
 perfect coufidcuco with which she should unite 
 her destiny to his. Slic told him, too, lier pro 
 jeets for the future, and hade him trust to hei 
 firmness for their accomplishment. " Fear no' 
 that I shall hesitate or quail before the diffi- 
 culties which may present themselves," sh-' 
 said, in conclusion ; " the bad faith and treacb' 
 ery of those by whom I am surrounded exon 
 erate me in my own eyes. I shall go to yoij 
 poor alike in wealth and friends, but the ricbe, 
 of your loA-e will more than compensate for al; 
 other privations. But remember, Sydney, lio\' 
 solenmly you have sworn that the love, whicl, 
 when once I shall have become your wife, w'i 
 absorb my whole being, sliidl never fail mo-,- 
 remember how solemnly I have on my paij 
 assured ymi that misery and ruin beyond yoi 
 wildest feai's would, aiul must be, the result > 
 your falsehood ; and if you feel the faith in ti. 
 stal)ility of your aftection which I am willii 
 to jilaoe in it, wait undou})tingly until the ni 
 meut I shall have appointed for our final met 
 ing, and I will become yours forever." 
 
 •• Deliver this letter to the person w' 
 awaits it, mademoiselle," she said, as t 
 Frenchwoman appeared in obedience to li 
 sununons. " I have taken care that you slii, 
 not be subjected to the same trouble for t 
 future ; and am sorry to hare detained t. 
 messenger so long on this occasion." 
 
 CITAPTER XYIII. 
 
 THE JEWEL CASKET. 
 
 ALTHOtTGii Mr. Trevanicm had, as we bi ^ 
 shown, eoldlv discouraged all allusion 
 estranged relatives when the 
 
 I all allusion to ,• I 
 
 ""•"■■■■J 
 
THE JEALOUS TVIFE. 
 
 61 
 
 oneilintion vas tnootod by tho warm-hearted 
 ilr. Plumbtree, yet the knuwledirc that his 
 i uncle vras iii>t only in ti^wii, but that he had 
 j acknowledf^ed himself interested iu tho "welfare 
 i of those of whom he had <hiriii^ so many years 
 I a-Tected to have forgotten the existence, flat- 
 t lered his selfdove, and occupied his thoughts. 
 ' He -was well aware that had he been -(^-orsted 
 'in his struggle with tlie world, neither Sir 
 'jasper, nor his liaughty wife, would have 
 ■deigned to have made a single inquiry into his 
 If.ite; and it was consequently with a feeling 
 of uatu-al and pardonable exultation that he 
 dwelt upon the social ndvantages by which he 
 was surrovinded, and remembered that he owed 
 them all to his own indomitable energy and 
 
 iperscverancc. 
 
 [ "Ay," he murmnred to himself, with a 
 
 Iprond' smile; "he has learned, at last, that 
 
 Ithe boy whom he thrust forth, and to whom 
 
 Ihe would fain have denied even the name 
 
 which was his birthright, no longer needs the 
 
 upport that he so ruthlessly withheld: he 
 
 las heard too, as it would seem, that I have 
 
 a daughter, whose hand is sought by some of 
 
 ;he proudest of the land; and, who knows? 
 
 le may perhaps covet it for his son — for the 
 
 ioy who stands between me and the fond 
 
 '.opes which I •once indulged ; but he has still 
 
 f learrt that I have a new triumph in store, 
 
 :rid it is now his turn to feel the pang of 
 
 lisappointraent ; <or it may be that long ere 
 
 I his, the gossip of the town has tauglit him 
 hat the child of the neglected Hubert Tre- 
 anion is about to become a peeress! Well 
 nay he Beck f^-r his pm-vmiie vtIlq the honor 
 f such an alliance; but let him not imagine 
 lat I have either forgotten or forgiven the 
 rrong which I experienced at lier iiands. It 
 ankles yet, and it shall be avenged. It is 
 ell that they are here; just so woidd I that 
 should be. As the betrothed bride of an 
 iri, Ida will excitaeven more than her usual 
 leed of admiration at eourt^ and it is there 
 lat they will meet for the first time. Acei- 
 ent has favored me in this, at least; and the 
 pscnre country dame will be taught to feel 
 ter insignificance beside thefashion and favor 
 ■ my high-bred <laugliter," 
 Carried away by his soaring fancies, Mr. 
 revanion lost "sight for a time of the diffi- 
 ilties which yet presented themselves to his 
 irling project in the resolute attitude as- 
 imed by the young lady herself; satisfied 
 at by giving a premature publicity to Lord 
 ownmere's addresses, he should compel his 
 lughter to obedience, and cause her to sac- 
 Bee her affections to her regard for the 
 inion of the world, he almost succeeded in 
 vesting Jiimselfof all anxiety upon the sub- 
 ct. H<; had carefully intercepted the letters 
 j Elpliinstone, and he trusted that the mere 
 ■fspicion of his neglect would excite her in- 
 ^nation, and mold her to his own will. Of 
 y further interference on the part of Lady 
 irv Brooklands he had no fear, as'he had 
 t been for so many years domesticated with 
 ^at very self-.seeking individual without ap- 
 |eciatiug at their just value the qualities of 
 Y heart and mind. That she would have 
 •jcouraged by every means in her power a 
 ilxrriage between her needy nephew and his 
 
 heiress, he well knew; but he was also quite 
 aware that the threat which he had hol.l out 
 of discarding Ida forever in the event of 
 disobedience, had worked a decided change 
 in her ladyshiiVs sentiments and views. 
 Thus, then, he believed himself secure; and, 
 disregarding the undisguise<l repugnance of 
 Ida, he insisted that her preparations for the 
 birthday presentation should bo of the most 
 costly and expensive kind. 
 
 Hitherto, guided by her own judicious and 
 unerring taste. Miss Trevanion had on such 
 occasions studiously avoided all affectation of 
 display ; nor had her father sought to change 
 her resolution, although his pride would not 
 permit him to acquiesce in her reasons for a 
 simplicity of attire, which he considered mis- 
 placed ; on this occasion, however, he forbade 
 all opposition; and, heedless of her entreaties, 
 he sternly commanded that his will should be 
 obeyed. 
 
 Sick at heart, and burdened by a painful 
 consciousness of the bitter disappointment 
 which she was about to inflict upon his pride, 
 Ida was dragged by her officious chaperonc 
 from one emporium of vanity to another, and 
 dp.ily compelled to listen for hours to discus- 
 sions in wliich, although she was herself their 
 object, she could not even affect an interest; 
 and thus the time wore wearily on until the 
 day drew near which was to be the turning- 
 point of her whole after-existence. 
 
 The house was full of upholsterers and flor- 
 ists preparing for the fete, and scarcely an , 
 apartment remained uninvaded; even in her 
 own room the wretched girl could with dila- 
 cuUy succeed in securing herself froifl intru- 
 sion ; and yet what fearful need she had of 
 solitude ? As she gazed wildly about her, her 
 breath came quick and short, and the hot 
 blood throbbed like a lava-tide in her aching 
 temples. Scattered over the chairs and sofas 
 lay the rich satins and tissues which seemed 
 to mock at her misery, and to deepen the sin- 
 fulness of the act to which she had pledged 
 herself. At times she clinched her hands 
 fiercely together, as though she would have 
 clutched and rent them ; and at others the 
 large tears coursed slow and cold down her 
 pallid cheeks, and a faintncss as of death ap- 
 peared to paralyze her spirit, as she sat with 
 her gaze riveted upon the ground, buried in 
 her own miserable thoughts. Yet still she 
 did not waver; her lieart was firm even while 
 s!ie acknowledged to herself that the pang 
 was a more bitter one than she had feared; 
 "My mother — my poor mother!" was the 
 voiceless cry of that smitten heart; "who 
 will she have to love her when I am gone?" 
 Could she have detected one look of affection, 
 one symptom of sympathy on the stern coun- 
 tenance of her father, as pale and sad she met 
 him day by day when the family assembled 
 at their hurried meals, she felt that she could 
 have flung herself on her knees before him, 
 and once more urge him not to drive lier to 
 an act of desperation unworthy of herself; 
 but Mr. Trevanion continued calm and cold, 
 and vouciisafed no comment on her altered 
 appearance. 
 
 The conversation at table turned wliolly on 
 the arrangements for the ball, and was iiiter- 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 Bpersed ■with the querulous complaints of her 
 mother, whose comfort had been iiivade<l, and 
 whose sugsjestions had been treated witli dis- 
 regard. Like all weak people, 31 rs. Trevanion 
 visited her annoyance upon those whom she 
 could blame without fear of reprisal ; and 
 thus, not daring to reproach either her hus- 
 band or Lady ^lary, she poured forth the 
 diluted vials of her wrath upon her daughter, 
 to whom she found it expedient to attribute 
 her privations and mortification. Ida, who 
 had every thing her own way, might have 
 contrived to leave her morning-room undis- 
 turbed, but Ida had been spoiled by over- 
 indulgence, and thought only of her own 
 convenience. Ida had no consideration for 
 her, and was so engrossed by her anticipated 
 pleasures tiiat she (juitc overlooked the fact 
 that her motlicr had some right to considera- 
 tion and respect ; but perhaps she was wrong 
 to expect it under the circumstances, when 
 the liead of Ida was half-turned by the pros- 
 pect before her. 
 
 Those only who have been subjected to such 
 an ordeal as this, when their hearts were burst- 
 ing with a hidden griefj can appreciate the feel- 
 ings with wliich her victim listened to her sense- 
 less upbraidings, and sought to appease her 
 anger; how truly could she have ai3sured her 
 that her petty sorrows, irksome nsjlhey might 
 bo to bear, were but as atoms beside the one 
 great misery by which she was herself borne 
 down ; but "her lips were scaled, and when she 
 could have cried aloud for mercy, even from the 
 very depths of her spirit, she bowed her head, 
 and suftered in silence. 
 
 At length the eventful day arrived, and great 
 was the exultation of Mademoiselle Seraphine 
 ) when, on presenting herself to dress her j'oung 
 lady for court, she placed upon the toilet a 
 casket which had just arrived as an offering 
 from the Earlo of Downmero, and which con- 
 tained a magnificent parure of opals and pearls. 
 
 " ifaJ^ c'est vraiment superhe .'" sho exclaim- 
 ed, holding the costly gems against the light, 
 ^^Jfadayne sera ravi.ssante ! En voilil potir au 
 onoins mille livres — d d'un gout! — d'un goai!" 
 
 Ida sliuddered, and turned away. " Arrange 
 my hair as simply as circumstances will permit," 
 she said, languidly ; " I shall bo weighed down 
 by finery, which 3-our good taste must subdue 
 as far as may be possible. That tinsel trum- 
 perj- upon my dress annoys me ; remove it, 
 mademoiselle, and replace it by something less 
 obtrusive." 
 
 " Mail, madame — " 
 
 "You will oblige mo by obeying my direc- 
 tion!?," interposed Miss Trevanion, in a tone of 
 decision which her attendant well knew that it 
 was vain to dispute. 
 
 " Madame must then choose between white 
 roses and pomegranate blossoms," was tiie 
 sullen reply ; '• it will bo impossible to loop this 
 silver blonde with any other color." 
 
 "You are rlglit," said Ida with a faint smile, 
 "the white rosea are precisely suited to the 
 occasion." 
 
 " But madame will of course permit me to 
 arrange iWisguidande in Iier liair." persisted the 
 femme-de-chamhre, as she pointed to a diadem 
 contained in the jewel-case of tiio earl, " to 
 match the ornameuta upon her robe ?" 
 
 "I shall not wear them," was the indifferent 
 reply, as Miss Trevanion closed the casket and 
 thrust it from her ; " my mother has been kind 
 enough to offer me the loan of her diamonds, 
 and I could not pay her so poor a compliment 
 as to appear in any. others." 
 
 "A lahonne henre T ejaculated the French- 
 woman* whoso peisonal vanity was involved 'in 
 the appearance of her mistress ; and without 
 further opposition, the toilet of tho young lady 
 was completed. 
 
 vVnd very lovely were tho face and figure re- 
 flected in the chcval glass, when the task of 
 the accomplished Mademoiselle Seraphine was 
 brought to a close. It is true that the cheek 
 of Ida was very pale, and her whole appearance 
 languid and subdued, but this circumstance 
 rather tended to enhance than to diminish tho 
 peculiar stylo of her beauty. AVith her dark 
 hair parted smoothly across her brow, cinctur- 
 ed by a bandeau of brilliants, from which the 
 white phmics fell back like a shower of mist; 
 the girdle of her costly robe fastened by a single 
 diamond of great size and price, and her snowy 
 train looped by hedge-roses, she was indeed the 
 I very perfection of queen-like loveliness ; and 
 for a moment even her voluble attendant gazed 
 upon her in silent admiration. 
 
 '■ Sont-elles Idles, ccs Anglaises ?" was her 
 mental ejaculation, as she handed to her mis- 
 tress her gloves and bouquet on the announce- 
 ment of the carriage ; when Miss Trevanion 
 proceeded to the apartment of her mother, as 
 was her usual custom, to give and receive a : 
 parting kiss. ', 
 
 "Well, Ida," exclaimed Mrs. Trevanion with 
 unusual animation, as sho saw her approach ; ' 
 " You are come at last to show me Lord Down- 
 mere's present. How do the opals suit your ' 
 dress ? I3ut, bless me, child, j-ou have not put j 
 them on \ And j'ou have ruined both your ; 
 skirt and train hj removing the silver ribbonp. , 
 What can yow mean b}' wasting so much money? ' 
 And why did you not wear your opals ?" ' 
 
 " Because, mother," replied tho young lady, 
 with a snd smile, " I felt happier in these jewels , 
 which belong to you." j 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mrs. Trevanion, querulous- ; 
 ly, " I wanted to see what his lordship had sent 
 to you, and you seem to take a pleasure in dis- ' 
 appointing me." j 
 
 " So fnr from it," was the rejoinder of Ida, as. 
 sha pressed her lips upon the brow of iior moth-' 
 er, "that you have oidy to desire Seraphine to, 
 bring them to you, when you can inspect them : 
 at your leisure. Indeed, you will do me a' 
 favor if you will aUow me to leave them in yojir; 
 custody." 
 
 ■ " Well, then, ring the bell, and give youi. 
 orders, only let me see them at once," was tin 
 impatient reply, " and now go, for you must bi' 
 keeping Lady Mary waiting." .. 
 
 With a weary sigh. Miss Trevanion obeyed. 
 No kind wish, no exulting assurance from i' 
 mother's lips went with her; no comment ha< 
 been elicited by her heavy eye and pallid chock, 
 no return of lier endearment had been oflercd 
 and ;is sho descended tho staircase wliich w:i 
 already garlanded with flowers, and storrc, 
 with minute lampions in preparation for tli 
 festival of tho night, her heart swelled ulmw 
 to bursting, and it was only by a violent effoi 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 tint slio drove back the tears which fahi would 
 have forced a passage. 
 
 " Not one memory of affection to bear away 
 with me;" she murmured to lierself; "not 
 onel But perhaps it is better so; I shall not 
 break one loving heart ; I shall uot betray one 
 trusting spirit A few glittering baubles will 
 sufi&ceto supply my place — I shall bo soon 
 discarded and forgotten!" 
 
 And the radiant being who felt and reflected 
 thus, w;is decked in diamonds and wreathed 
 with roses ! 
 
 la the hall, Miss Trevanion encountered her 
 chaperone, stately in purple velvet and antique 
 point. As her beautiful charge approached 
 her, Ladv Mary gave one rapid glance over her 
 (person, by which she instantly detected the 
 I failure of all her laborious arrangements, but 
 jehe voueluafed no remark upon the subject; 
 land ero long the well-appointed equipage with 
 [its occupants whirled through the gates upon 
 its courtly errand. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Mr. Trevaniox had calculated correctly. 
 The intelligence of his daughter's betrothal to 
 Lord Dowumere had circulated throughout all 
 the circles likely to take an interest in the 
 event; and great, consequently, was the curi- 
 osity excited by her appearance. As is usual 
 La cases of the kind there were many who 
 pitied her, or affected to do so, for her folly in 
 obviously sacrificing her happiness to rank: 
 while there were not wanting others who 
 laughed at the short-sightedness of the old 
 eari, and propliesied for him a future little 
 Battering to either party, 
 
 " A wretched mesalliance, to say the least of 
 t ;" sneered a dowager duchess with three un- 
 married daughters ; " the girl was well enough 
 
 an acquaintance, although it can not be de- 
 lied that Lady Mary Brooklands has overacted 
 aer part by thrusting her into the society 
 tvhere one has met her; but for a man of Lord 
 Downmere's station to marry her is really too 
 3ad. This leveling system is hateful, and I 
 luite expect that if it is not soon put a stop'to, 
 Te shall have our sons looking for wives among 
 )ur dairy-maids." 
 
 My "dear duchess ;" said a gaunt and titled 
 ipinster, with the blood of the Bruce in her 
 iwoUea veins- "I am glad to hear you so 
 lotlj denounce these frightful innovations. I 
 lave always discountenanced them, and I 
 iways shall.'" 
 
 "But you will at least admit, Lady Mar- 
 :aret," interposed a young guardsman, upon 
 vhose arm she leant; " that the bride elect is 
 ery beautiful" 
 
 " I will admit nothing of the kind, Captain 
 Jlavering; said his companion, tartly ; " she is 
 s pale as a corpse." 
 
 " And her diamonds !" exclaimed the duches.'s 
 1 an accent of affected disgust; "can you in> 
 gine such presumption ! She plays the peeress 
 
 little prematurely but I suppose they are in- 
 jnded, like the sign before a way-side inn, to 
 ive notice of her quality." 
 
 " Do not quarrel with her diamonds ;" lauehcd 
 Sir Marmaduke Pennefather, who was supposed 
 to be paying his court to one of the threo 
 rather mature Ladies Oglandor, and who was, 
 consequently, a privileged ()creon; "let her air 
 them while she can, for before long, if I aui not 
 greatly mistaken, tliey will help to cancel ono 
 of the long standing and inconvenient ' obliga- 
 tions' of her noblo spouse." 
 
 " Oh, is it so ?" said her grace, evidently re- , 
 lieved by the inference, "I was not aware '■ 
 that tho poor old earl was so deeply involved, 
 I see — I see; well, perhaps ho might Iiavo 
 done worse under the circumstances. Time 
 will show." 
 
 "I wonder," said Lady Margaret Bruce, "if 
 her Majesty has heard of tho intended mar- : 
 riage, and if so, whetlier she will condescend 
 to congratulate her. I sincerely hope not, for 
 such a demonstration on the part of royalty 
 would bo a dangerous sanction to these un- 
 equal, and I must say, unnatural marriages." 
 
 " Her father is well connected, you must re- 
 member ;" again broke in Sir Marmaduke ; 
 " the Trevanions are cf a good old familj-, and 
 Mr. Trevanion's mother was the daughter of an. 
 Irish earl" 
 
 "The man himself is in trade," said the 
 duchess, disdainfully, as she drew her train 
 closer over her arm; " and I shall always be 
 cf opinion that such people have no business 
 here." 
 
 " Tour grace must remember that a very high 
 authority declared us to be '■ a nation of shop- 
 keepers,' " gayly remarked the baronet. 
 
 "You don't say sol" exclaimed tho Scotch 
 spinster, shrugging her thin shoulders; "does 
 her father really keep a shop ?" 
 
 Sir Marmaduke laughed, and brushed away a 
 grain of snutf from his embroidered waistcoat, 
 as he replied: "// y a boutique et loutiijue, 
 my dear madam, and I really must -beg that 
 I may not be quoted as your authority for so 
 uncomfortable a blunder. I know nothing 
 of Mr. Trevanion save by report, and I confesa 
 that no rumor has yet reached me of the 
 shop." 
 
 '• All this is very ridiculous," said the duch- 
 ess, impatiently ; " and I do not know why we 
 should waste so many words upon so insignifi- 
 cant a subject ; all that I regret in tiie business 
 is tho fact that as Lord Downmere is an old ac- 
 quaintance of the duke's, and that their estates 
 lie in tho same county, I shall be in some sort 
 conij)clled to bo civil to this parvenue peeress, 
 which will, I fear, bo a very up-hill and ungra- 
 cious task." 
 
 AV'hilo this conversation, of which she was 
 the unconscious subject, was progressing in tho 
 great saloon. Miss Trevanion had passed into 
 the royal presence, and made her courtesy to 
 tho sovereign, by whom her reverence was ac- 1 / 
 knowledged by a silent but gracious smile, ;rid / ' 
 where her extraordinary beauty and graccCul 
 self-possession had compelled the admiriition 
 even of those to whom slio was an object of 
 covert envy or of assumed contempt. 
 
 As she re-appeared in tho other drawing- 
 room, leaning on the arm of Lady Mary Brook- 
 lands, tho first person by whom eiio w.is ap- 
 proached was Mr. Plumbtreo, at who-c Hide 
 Stood a tall, and stern, but nohlc-lookiw^ man, 
 
54: 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 somewhat advanced in years, who bore, as she ! 
 instantly remarked, a strong likeness to her 
 father. There was the same cold and keen ex- 1 
 pression in tiie eye, the same rigidity about the 
 lips, and above all, the same lowering expres- j 
 sion of the brow; and her heart beat quicker as 
 a suspicion crossed her mind that she now 
 looked lor the lirst time upon the long- 
 ootranged relative of whom she had heard so 
 much. 
 
 "My dear young friend," said Mr. Plumb- 
 tree, still holding her hand after the first greet- 
 ings were over, " this is a pleasant moment for 
 Die, a very pleasant moment, as I have now tho 
 opportunity of making you known to your 
 uncle — or great-uncle, I should rather say — Sir j 
 Jasper Trevanion, who is anxious, like the rest 
 of us, to offer to you our greetings and congrat- 
 ulations. I may transfer this little hand to j 
 him, may I not?" 
 
 " As freely as I gladly yield it ;" smiled Ida, | 
 with a bright blush of genuine pleasure, as 
 she placed her slender fingers upon the palm 
 whicli was open to receive them ; " I feel hon- 
 ored and happy that Sir Jasper should desire 
 my acquaintance." 
 
 " "Who could do otherwise ;" was the cordial 
 rejoinder of the baronet ; "who could be oth- 
 erwise tlian proud of so fair and beautiful a 
 kinswoman? and I trust, moreover, Miss Tre- 
 vanion, that you may prove in deed as well as 
 look, tlie dove which is to bear the olive- 
 branch between mo and your worthy father. 
 You can not be ignorant that circumstances, 
 whieli it would avail little to recapitulate, have 
 rendered us for years strangers to each other ; 
 there may have been, and doubtlessly there 
 was, blame on both sides ; he was young, im- 
 petuous, and reckless, while I was uncompro- 
 mising and exacting ; but long years have 
 passed over us since we last met ; I am an old 
 man now, and anxious to be at peace with all 
 tho world , doubly desirous, therefore, to live 
 in amity and friendship with those of my own 
 name and blood. Surely, then, Hubert Treva- 
 nion will not be more obdurate than myself — 
 but I can not apprehend that such can be the 
 case with so cliarming a mediator as the one 
 before me to speak peace between us." 
 
 " Believe me, Sir Jasper" — commenced his 
 niece, but she was interrupted in her intended j 
 rejoinder by tlie voice of Mr. Plumbtree, who 
 had been engaged in a conversation with her | 
 companion, and who at that moment exclaimed 
 impc-tuously ; "You will excuse me, madam, 
 but I am reluctant to believe such a thing pos- 
 sible — so nearly related — the last members of a 
 fine old funily, who should hang together like 
 ivy-tendrils, and nnitually support tho proud 
 edifice which it ha.s taken centuries to rear — 
 no, no ; I have a better opinion of the good 
 feeling and judgment of my friend Trevanion ; 
 and, by tho by, madam, allow ine the honor 
 of jiresenting you to Sir Jasper Trevanion, the 
 uncio of your iipst," 
 
 The baronet bowed coldly, and his salutation 
 ■was as coldly returned ; when a group of ladies 
 near tliem having vacated their scats, the little 
 party took possession of them. Sir Jasper still 
 retaining his place beside his niece, and pursu- 
 ing a conversation which was only interrupted 
 at intervals by the greetings exchanged be- 
 
 tween Miss Trevanion and her numerous ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " I have but one regret at the present mo- 
 ment;" said tho gentleman, courteously; "and 
 that is that I am deprived of the gratification 
 of making you known to Lady Trevanion, who 
 was prevented by indisposition from payin*^ 
 her respects to her Majesty to-day ; mysoiv 
 however, is here, and I trust 1 sliall be fortu- 
 nate enough to present him to his Ciir cousin, 
 whose favor he is most anxious to propitiate,; 
 and whose friendship he would be proud to ac- ' 
 quire ; not, believe me, my dear Miss Treva- 
 nion, because the busy tongue of rumor has.in- 
 formed him that she will be cro long enrolled 
 among the' noblest ladies of the land, bnt be-' 
 cau.'e he has, like myseli^ for years deplored 
 the feud in our family which has deprived him 
 of the society and regard of so charming a 
 relative." 
 
 "I am delighted beyond measure, Sir Jas- 
 per," replied Ida, with a glowing cheek, ''that, 
 the rumor to which you allude had no influencoi 
 over his wish for a reconciliation, which 1 
 should most warmly welcome, as I assure you,^ 
 and I rejoice that you have afforded to me thei 
 opportunity of so doing, that the report in' 
 question — for you refer, no doubt, to my sup 
 posed engagement to Lord Downmcre — has nc 
 foundation whatever in truth. The carl la j! 
 mere acquaintance, of whom I have hithertc' 
 seen but little, and who it is extremely prob, 
 able that, after to-day, I shall never sc(' 
 again." " ; 
 
 " You astonish me. Miss Trevanion, as I ha(| 
 been positively as.sured in several quarters tha i 
 your father gave an entertainment this eveninj' 
 in honor of your betrothal." 
 
 " There will, indeed, be a ball at our hous'' 
 to-night ;" replied Ida with a quivering lip, a; 
 her eyes sank and her breast heaved; "bu; 
 excuse me, Sir Jasper — ^the subject is a painfu: 
 one." 
 
 " Not another word, my fair reice, not anoth 
 er word ;" hastily interposed the baronet ; " 
 sincerely grieve that I should have distreqse 
 you by any allusion to the subject, nor shoul ■ 
 I have ventured to do so, had I not heard thj 
 marriage publicly mentioned as a thing abs( 
 lutely and avowedly arranged. But nowyo 
 will perhaps permit me to seek my son, whi 
 would scarcely pardon mo were I to depriv 
 him of so favorable an opportunity of be comin' 
 known to you. May I ask you to do me tl , 
 favor to retain your sent while I thread th' 
 lalnTirith of plumes and trains? I will eudeav' 
 not to detain you long." 
 
 Miss Trevanion bowed her assent in sileno 
 for happy as she felt in the hope (hat tl . 
 meeting with her relatives might lead to a r 
 newal of friendly intercourse between the loii' 
 estranged members of the family, she exj, 
 rienced a sensation of relief at tIiedi.scontinuan! 
 of a conversation which agitated and oppres.s 
 her. 
 
 As the stately baronet rose and moved aw; 
 Lady Mary Brooklands, whoso attention li 
 been so systematically engaged by the pertii 
 cious Mr. Plumbtree, that she had failed 
 catch the purport of the dialogue which \^ 
 going on beside her, and who was consequr 
 ly unaware of the important disclaimer wh 
 
Tiiis jji:al,uu» ^vli'^K. 
 
 55 
 
 her fair clmrgo had just uttered, turned toward 
 her with a supercilious smile, and said ironieal- 
 ly : " You see, Ida, the magic of a eoronet. 
 Who may rou not hope to have at your feet, 
 wheu the unbending master of Trevanion Hall, 
 can not resist its spelL" 
 
 " You are mistaken, madam," said Mr. 
 Plumbtree, emphatically ; " and you do Sir 
 Jasper wrong. Ho is influenced by no con- 
 sideration of the kind, I can most positively 
 assure you. My friend, the bare net is a greater 
 personage in liis own county, than any mere 
 titled individual can ever bo in this huge me- 
 tropolis ; and whatever may have been tlie faults 
 or errors of his earlier life, there does not at the 
 present moment exist on earth a kinder or a 
 warmer-hearted man."' 
 
 " Are you acquainted with Lady Trevanion ?" 
 demanded Ida. 
 
 " As intimately as plain Mr. Plumbtree can 
 he," said the country gentleman good-humored- 
 ]y ; " and more so, in all probability, than I 
 should have been, had I not fortunately written 
 M.P. after my name. In short, for I may as 
 well confess to you at once what with your dis- 
 crimination you will be at no loss to discover 
 ■when you see husband and wife together, my 
 fdend Sir Jasper is not a happy man at his own 
 Preside. Luckily his son is a fine fellow who 
 does justice to his worth ; but a cold hearth, 
 & I trust you will never know by experience, 
 my dear young lady, docs not make a cheerful 
 Lome." 
 
 ^' And this said home-chill has caused an out- 
 ward expansion of the gentleman's sympathies. 
 Is not that what you would infer?"' asked Lady 
 Mary in the same accent as she had previously 
 spoken. 
 
 " I infer nothing, madam ;" said Mr. Plumb- 
 tree, perfectly unmoved by the oft'ensive manner 
 of her supercilious ladyship; "I simply state 
 ■what is the truth, that my friend, probably feel- 
 ing that as he had committed a mistake him- 
 self, it was quite possible that others might ha\-o 
 been equally misled, and that although his own 
 ■was irremediable, a remedy might be found for 
 that which was not so, is sincerely desirous to 
 repair the evil in so far as it depends on him to 
 do it ; and that it is with perfect good faith ho 
 now seeks a reconciliation with his nephew. It 
 u probable enough that had he been a happier 
 man, his affections might have ceutercd in his 
 home, and made him less depencjent upon the 
 regard and good will of those Ueyond it ; but 
 remember, madam, that disappointment too 
 often tends to sour and embitter its victim ; and 
 that he who seeks to exercise his better feel- 
 ings beyond the pale within which they have 
 been chilled and blighted, deserves some credit 
 for not degenerating into an egotist or a ty- 
 rant" 
 
 " Here comes my uncle," said Ida, glad of a 
 pretext to terminate the dialogue. 
 
 " Ay, and his son with him, I am happy to 
 say," replied hu kind-hearted advocate. 
 
 " It is time that we prepared to depart " 
 exclaimed La^ly Mary, rising; "our carriage 
 must be up, and if we are not on the spot when 
 it is cried, we shall be detained for another 
 hoar." 
 
 "One moment, madam;" said Ida, firmly; 
 * Sir Jasper has been kind enough to seek my 
 
 cousin in order to present him, and I can not 
 bo guilty of such an impropriety as to render 
 his trouble unavailing." 
 
 "As you plea.se. Miss Trevanion;" was tho 
 ungracious reply; "but you must have tho 
 goodness to remember that iC, by volunteering 
 to form a score of new acquaintance without j 
 my sanction, you incur the displeasure of your / 
 father, you do it deliberately." 
 
 . "I have 110 apprehension of the kind, madam;" 
 said tho young lady, indignantly: '-and shall 
 certainly not leave the room until I have been 
 introduced to my cousin." 
 
 The noble matron tossed her plumed and 
 turbancJ head with the air of one deeply ag- 
 grieved, and resumed her seat in silence, as 
 the baronet, follovvod by his son, succeeded in 
 approaehing the party. Ida half rose as they 
 drew near, and extended her h.and witli grace- 
 ful cordiality to her young kinsman, who bent J 
 low as he received it ; while even Lady Mary, 
 angry as she was, could not restrain a feeling 
 of admiration at his superb beauty. Seldom, 
 indeed had a more faultless form or figure 
 met her aristocratic and fastidious eye. Of 
 more than average height, nobly proportioned, 
 and gifted with an ease and grace of manner 
 rarely equaled. Sir Jasper's heir had scarcely 
 a rival even in that courtly circle. In face 
 he resembled his father, but his brow was 
 more lofty, and his eye more open and cloud- 
 less ; while the smile which played about his 
 lip was at once frank and winning. There 
 was a charm, too, in his low and manly voice 
 which accorded well with the jieculiar char- 
 acter of his whole appearance ; and as Ida 
 met liis bright and earnest gaze, her heart 
 swelled with exultation in the iirni conviction 
 that her father must gladly and proudly ac- 
 knowledge lus relationship to one so richly 
 gifted by nature as her peerless cousin. 
 
 That he had long been the object of Mr. 
 Trevanion's espea/il aversion, she well knew, 
 but as yet they bad never met^ nor did she 
 for a moment permit hei-self to doubt that 
 when their meeting should take place, all 
 feeling of animosity would end at once. 
 
 fche did not pauee to consider that the noble 
 young man before her stood between her 
 fatlicr and the baronetcy to which he had for 
 years aspired. 
 
 "I presume, Miss Trevanion," said Lady 
 Mar}', at the expiration of a few moments, 
 "that we may now endeavor to leave the 
 palace. Tlie company are rapidly dispersing, 
 and we liave already remained too long. We 
 are becoming conspicuous, which is what 
 every high-bred young lady should be care- 
 ful to avoid." 
 
 "I am at your orders, madam," replied 
 Ida, as she passed her arm under the offered 
 arm of her cousin, while her ohaperone, still 
 only half-appeased, affected not to remark 
 the courteous gesture of the baronet, and 
 possessed lierself of that of Mr. Plumbtree; 
 " I am really grieved that 1 should have de- 
 tained you so long." 
 
 The patience of the noble matron, was, 
 however, destined to be still further tested, 
 as on arriving in the stone hail, they dis- 
 covered that their carriage was not 3'et up, 
 and she was consequently couii'ullcd to while 
 
55 
 
 THE JEALOUS -WIFE, 
 
 away the time in conversation -witli a score [ purpose to expel me from his house 
 
 of other titled and fashionable de/enucs, who I the home of my ancestors — ^when I was v ... 
 
 were in the same dilemma as herself; while I and f. ieiidless/anJ requiredhis aid ; now that 
 
 Ida, to whom this meeting with her relations I need it no lonLter, but am in a position to 
 
 from 
 oung 
 
 offered a resource from licr own painful 
 thoughts, devote<l her whole attention to lier 
 pratified companions, on whom her grace and 
 beauty had produced a strong and lasting 
 im]>ression. 
 
 That his son was the idol of Pir Jasper's 
 lieart, she soon discovered, and a sigh escaped 
 her as she remarked the perfect confiilence 
 and affection which existed between them. 
 Had she been so loved, so trusted, how differ- 
 ent ft fate might hers have been ! Scarcely 
 could she realize the description which hati 
 been given to her of the stern, unbending, 
 domestic tyrant of Trevanion Hall, in the 
 urbane and courtly old gentleman, whose 
 eyes rested upon the face of his child with a 
 dejith of love that could not be mistaken, 
 an<l as they stood together, amid that brilliant 
 and bu^y crowd, she forgot the past in bright 
 and hopeful visions of the future — that future 
 which Avas even then yawning dark and 
 threatening before her. It Avas a radiant 
 dream, from which she was only awakened 
 by the hoarse and strained voice of the call- 
 man, who announced the carriage, but she 
 had no sooner parted from her newly-found 
 relatives, and passed the palace gates, than 
 the vision faded, and she was once more 
 f-ung back upon the sad reality of her po- 
 sition. 
 
 By the desire of Lady Mary they were 
 driven home with great rapidity, and on 
 their arrival, her ladyship merely removing 
 her train, proceeded to inspect the apart- 
 ments which had been decorated for the fete> 
 In the principal saloon, which had been con- 
 verted into a ball-room, she encountered Mr. 
 Trevanion, with whom she at once retired to 
 the deep bay of the centerj^vindow. 
 
 " Were they there?" was the first question 
 of the host. 
 
 "Yes and no," replied his companion; 
 "the gentleman, father and son were present, 
 but the lady was absent from indisposition — 
 at least, such was the pretext for her non-ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 " And Avcre they presented to Ida, madam." 
 "They were, and the meeting appeared to 
 afford ecpial gratification to all jjarties." 
 "What is tlie boy like, may I ask <" 
 "Magnitie-ently handsome. I have seldom 
 seen a finer young man, and had you not, 
 my good sir^ conducted matters so ably, I 
 should have advised you to discourage all 
 overtun^s to a reconciliation, unless you desire 
 to render the family relationship closer than 
 it is at present." 
 
 "I r»'<|uiic no such inducement to decline it, 
 madam," Avas the cold rejoinder of the mer- 
 chant ; " but did Sir Jasper hint at any thing 
 of the kind." 
 
 "lie did more than liint, Mr. Trevanion, he 
 plainly and unhesitatingly expressed his desire 
 to bury the i)ast in oblivion, and to extend 
 the olivc-brancli, as he practieally expressed 
 it, whenever you were prepared to accept it." 
 "Doubtless; but it is likely to wither by 
 the way. In former years it answered his 
 
 pay back a hundred-fold the mdignities to 
 which I was theu subjected, it equally meets 
 his views to court my friendship, lie will 
 find, however, that I am a trueTrevaniou, and 
 made of sterner stuff' than he yot seems to 
 comprehend. We have lived more than half 
 a life, strangers to each other, and I, at least, 
 can well afford to make the estrangement 
 permanent." 
 
 "That declaration on yourpart," said Lady 
 Mary; "reminds me of Mr. Plumbtree — who, 
 par parcnfhise, fastened himself upon us like 
 a burr — admitted that Sir Jasper was Jiaying 
 the penalty of an ill-judged marriage, and 
 that the discomfort of a cheerless home had* 
 rendered him anxious to terminate the feud 
 between yon." 
 
 Mr. Trevanion smiled an ambiguous, joyless 
 smile, and remained for a moment silent; after 
 which he asked : " Were you satisfied with 
 Ida's ajipearance V 
 " Pel fectly." 
 
 "And her engagement !" 
 " Was the theme of every tongue." 
 " Did she wear the jewels sent to her by 
 Lord Downnierc I" 
 
 " She did not." ^ 
 
 " Upon Avhat pretext I" 
 " I asked no questions, as I was not sup- 
 posed to be aware of their arrival, and she 
 made no remark upon the subject." 
 
 " Rebellious still," said the merohant, harshly ; 
 "but it will avail her nothing. I have Ler'iu 
 the toils." 
 
 Lady Mary smiled significantly in her turn, , 
 but she made no reply. 
 
 " I thank you, madam,"* said her companion^ ' 
 after a pause ; " you have, by your frankness^ 
 and friendly sympathy in my iutci'ests, ren- 
 dered me a service for Avlxieh I shall never 
 cease to be grateful. All things are, I trust 
 and believe, progressing successfully as regards 
 my vicAvs for my daughter ; Avhile I am at ease 
 on the subject of Sir Jasper. lily triumph ' 
 there is complete, for I eini grasp the Avhole ' 
 tendency and 8i)irit of liis sucldcu change of 
 feeling. Hen-peeked by his wife, and check- , 
 mated by his nephew, he will do Avell to return ' 
 to his county before he makes his discomfiture i 
 a theme of ^ssipry for the clubs, and has hia 
 insignificance foi-ced upon him by the former 
 victim of his brutality. Once more, my deeup 
 Lady Mary, I offer you my best thauks." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN ELOrEMENI. 
 
 Seldom had uiilmlstcrers and deooratora donei 
 their si)iriting more t'liVctuaUy than in the villa 
 of Mr. Tievauion ; and it Avas Avith a feeling 
 of irrepressible exultation that Ludy Wary, at 
 the close of her conference with the master of ^ 
 the house, traversed the noble apartmeuts 
 which Avere already prepared for the reception 
 of the e-xpected guests. The vast hail of ea- ' 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 trance was liiicd vritb orann;c and lemou-trecs, 
 interspersed with niiuutc lamps whieli, when 
 lighted, gleamed like tire-flies among their rich 
 foliage ; while behind and above them rose a 
 thiek tangle of vines and other parasitical 
 plants, whose pendant branches were drawn 
 aside at intervals, and formed mto a fi-ame- 
 work for the large mirrors wiiich reflected on 
 evcr\' side the fairy scene around them. In 
 the center of the tesselated floor, a fountain of 
 perfumed water threw a sjmrkling column of 
 liquid light high in the air, Avhich fell back 
 like a shower of silver stars into its porphyry 
 basin, with a soft and sootliing sound ; and half- 
 a-dozen fine marble statues, partially vailed by 
 flowering shrubs, gleamed out in their pure 
 and classic beauty beneath the overhanging 
 chandeliers, like the guardian spirits of the 
 place. In the ball-room every niche and recess 
 was filled -with the most rare and fragrant ex- 
 otics, whose parti-eolored blossoms looked like 
 living gem^ as they glowed beneath the efful- 
 gence of the myriad wax-lights which were 
 scattered among them; and the walls were 
 paneled with plate-glass draperied by pale 
 green silk. The conservatory, which opened 
 from this apartment was richly carpeted, and 
 Bupplied with divans and couches of crimson 
 velvet ; while on pedestals of scagliola and 
 Egyptian marble stood vases of gold fish, and 
 fhe' gilt cages of innumerable foreign birds 
 of bright plumage and graceful form, over 
 which the shaded lamps threw a soft moon- 
 lighted gleam. 
 
 The whole scene was an enchantment. The 
 magic power of wealth, and the wonder-weav- 
 ing finger of taste were visible on every side ; 
 the eye ached with brightness ; and it was 
 almost a relief to pass into the dim and spa- 
 cious library, with its carved bookcases of dark 
 oak, its precious specimens of the old masters, 
 its cabinets of gems, and its magnificent 
 bronzes. The moruiag-room of Mrs. Trevan- 
 ion, from which she had been so reluctantly 
 expelled, and in which she received her guests, 
 was, however, the triumph of the artiste ; 
 draperied throughout with amber satin, the 
 angles were occupied by pyramids of white 
 lilies, with which the chandelier was also 
 wreathed ; but no other ornament was suffered 
 to mtrude itself, and the effect was at once 
 aunple and striking. 
 
 It was with an aching heart that, before she 
 commenced her evening toilet, Miss Trevan- 
 ion, in compliance with her father's expressed 
 desire, traversed these treasure-laden rooms. 
 She would fain have delayed her entrance 
 there, until the brilliant crowd by which they 
 •would in a few hours be filled could distract 
 her attention from the strangeness of their as- 
 pect ; she would fain have remembered them 
 in after years in their accustomed and familiar 
 Beemiug ; but this happmess was denied to her, 
 and she passed on, amid strange workmen, and 
 hurrj'ing servants, with a languid step and a 
 joyless spirit. Coarse voices sounded in her 
 ears, ungainly forms crossed her path, coat- 
 less men were busy on every side, removing 
 ladders, steps, and stools, while others were 
 engaged in lighting lamps, and re-arranging 
 groups of flowers. She gave one long, sad look 
 around her as she stood in her mother's favor- 
 
 ite room — that room in wliich she had first 
 wept, and then dozcfl away so many hours of 
 her cheerless life. Should she ever again sco 
 it as it was ? Should she ever again h)ok upon 
 it as it had been wlien she sat upon her low 
 stool beside her mother's laiee, and learned to 
 lisp out her first prnvcr? As she asked her- 
 self the question, a flood of fond and childish 
 memories burst upon her; in her eyes, tho 
 8])ot which had so long been sacred appeared 
 desecrated, and the gulf, which was soon to 
 scimrate her from all that she had once loved 
 with the whole fervor of her girlish affection, 
 seemed to have been widened and deepened by 
 this last mockery of her anguish. 
 
 After awhile she turned and left tho apart- 
 ment; nor was it until she had heard the 
 wheels of more than one carriage grate over 
 the gravel beneath her window that she was 
 prepared to quit her dressing-room. As she 
 paused for an instant before the glass, she was 
 startled at her own appearance ; she had been 
 weeping iinconsciously, and her eyes were 
 swollen and heavy, and her face ghastly pale. 
 "And is it indeed thus that I am to leave 
 my home, perhaps forever?" she murmured 
 sadly; "I would, have gone forth rich in a 
 father's blessing, in a mother's love — I would 
 have received their parting kiss in the silence 
 and sacredness of home ; but even that luxury 
 is denied to me. The very roof that was 
 familiar to my infancy, and dear to my youth, 
 even that seems to mock at my misery, and 
 to welcome in my stead the idle votaries of 
 pleasure, many of whom pass beneath it only 
 to fill its echoes with the false words of flat- 
 tery, and others perchance to scoff. Oh, I am 
 very, very wretched!" 
 
 And once more the large unbidden tears fell 
 cold and slow, and she cast herself into a seat, 
 with her face buried in her hands. How long 
 she remained thus motionless, and weighed 
 down by the bitter grief to which she had in- 
 voluntarily yielded, she knew not, when a 
 burst of music caused her to start suddenly 
 from her chair. 
 
 "One more effort," she exclaimed wildly; 
 " and I shall have done with this false, hollow 
 world forever." 
 
 As she spoke her eye fell upon the caskets 
 which were strewn over her toilet, and which, 
 in accordance with her instructions, Made- 
 moiselle Seraphine had placed there before 
 she dismissed her. With a stern and un- 
 natural composure she opened each in turn, 
 to assure herself that every gem was in its 
 place, and then she added to the he.ap every 
 ring which she had hitherto worn save one 
 which contained her father's haii', and every 
 ornament of daily use save a small locket con- 
 taining a miniature of her mother, attached to 
 a slight chain of gold, which she clasped 
 about her neck and concealed beneath the 
 trimming of her dress. 
 
 "1 can not part with these," she whispered 
 ho.irsely; "not with these, for none could 
 value them as I have done." 
 
 She swallowed a draught of water, and 
 leaned for a moment from the window to t^ulia 
 her throbbing brow; and then slowly but 
 firmly, she descended the flower-wrcathod 
 stair-case, and prepared to join the fjuesta. 
 
C8 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 In tliehall she enconnterod Lady Mary Brook- ' were -vratcbing her closely, never forgot that 
 lands, wlio was about to send a servant to j smile. 
 
 summon her, and who exclaimed in anjrrv i Her recognition of the earl was cold and 
 
 was evidently disooiv 
 
 amnzement: "Are you luad, Ida? Can you 
 really intend to present yourself in such a 
 state as that? Have you no respect for j-our 
 father's taste and wishes that you make your 
 appearance like a school-girl, in a dress un- 
 ornamented even hy a few paltry flowers ? 
 You can not be serious!" 
 
 "Do I look like one who is inclined to jest, 
 madam?" was the bitter rejoinder; "or do 
 you consider that I have cause for mirth, 
 when I see my happiness disregarded, and 
 myself valued only as a puppet to afford sport 
 for others ? If you can indeed do so, I envy 
 you alike your philosophy and your strength 
 of mind." 
 
 "This is no moment, Miss Trevanion, for so 
 nncalled-for a burst of temper, nor have I time 
 either to analyze or to resent it; while you 
 have already absented yourself too long from 
 
 Jour father's guests. Your extraordinary con- 
 uct has excited remarks and comments which 
 you would have done well to avoid, but which 
 your new and strange caprice of simplicity 
 can not fail to increase. However, I have 
 done, since I perceive that my influence over 
 your actions has ceased." 
 
 _ "Lady Mary," said Ida, with sudden agita- 
 tion, as she extended her hand to her com- 
 panion ; "let no angry feeling come between 
 us to-night. I believe that we should both 
 regret it." 
 
 " Be it so," replied the lady, coldly, as she 
 led the way to the reception-room. 
 
 Ida nerved herself for the trial which 
 awaited her, but her courage had nearly failed 
 wlien she observed Lord Downmere in close 
 and confidential discourse with her mother, 
 whose smiles and diamonds appeared to have 1 
 as completely metamorphosed her as tlie hands 
 of hirelings had done her house. Sirs. Tre- 
 vanion was indeed radiant with triumphant 
 vanity. The congratulations which had been 
 poured in upon her on the brilliant prospects 
 of her daughter, the compliments which had 
 been lavished upon the splendor of her fete, 
 the movement about her, tiie lights, the music, 
 tlie glitter of jewels, the rustling of silks and 
 velvets, and the high-sounding titles which 
 echoed in her ears, had thrown her into a state 
 of excitement which gave a glow to her usu- 
 ally pale cheek, and lent an unnatural sparkle 
 to her eye. 
 
 Striking was the contrast presented by the 
 daughter to wiiom she owed that brief and 
 passing enjoyment ; and even the earl, who 
 stood in a stately attitude beside his hostess, 
 his jeweled star'flnshing in the light, started 
 as she approached. The appeara'iu-o of Miss 
 Trevanion was ratiier indeed that of a victim 
 prepared for sacrifice than the lieroine of a 
 festival. The rich masses of her dark and 
 lustrous hair rendered the brow beneath them 
 of a death-like pallor, and were unrelieved 
 by a single ornament, while her dress of 
 snowy muslin was equally unadorned; her 
 firmly-set lips were white and rigid, and she 
 moved rather like an automaton than a being 
 gifted with sense and life, As she reached 
 
 even haughty, and he 
 
 eerted by so jiublic a denionstiation of her in- 
 difference ; but Avith considerable self-posses- 
 
 sion he endeavored to render it less 
 
 consjucu- 
 
 ous by addressing to her a murmured compli- 
 ment, coupled with a reproach that she had 
 not honored him by wearing the jewels which 
 he had been permitted by her father to offer 
 to her acceptance. Then the statue woke into 
 life, and the modern Pygmalion shrank before 
 the effect of his own presumption. The eves 
 of Ida flamed, and the hot blood rushed over 
 her brow and bosom, 
 
 " Have you yet to learn, my lord ," she 
 asked ; " that no slave willingly assumes his 
 fetters? What has been forced upon me I 
 have borne ; do not compel me to any other 
 declaration. Is not this enouffh?" and she 
 glanced around her hurriedly as she spoke ; " do 
 not try me beyond my strength, or it must fail." 
 " Madam" — stammered the earl. Ida waved 
 her hand with an impatient gesture, and moved 
 away, leaving her bewildered auditors breath- 
 less with consternation. 
 
 Gayly sped the moments with the reckless 
 votaries of pleasure who were assembled ia 
 honor of Miss Trevaniou's betrothal, while the I 
 wretched girl herself flitted from one apart- 1 
 meut to another like a wandering spirit ; a cold 
 and constrained smile upon her lips, and anguish 
 in her heart ; she heard not the witching strains 
 of Strauss, she scarcely saw the whirlbg, 
 figures, that enveloped her in light clouds of 
 gauze or gleaming volumes of satin as she 
 made her way among them; to those who 
 sought her hand she pleaded fatigue and in- 
 disposition ; and while by some the plea, sup- 
 ported by her pale cheeks and drooping eye- 
 lids, was readily admitted, there were not 
 wanting many who attributed the singularity 
 of her manner and the simplicity of her attire, 
 to an affectation of importance at which they 
 sneered, as premature and imbccomiug in a 
 more niereliant's daughter. 
 
 Very different, however, was the effect which 
 they produced ujion Mr. Trevanion when his 
 eye first fell upon her. For a moment he douhtcd 
 the evidence of his senses ; but ui>, there could 
 be no mistake ; the noble head, adorned only by 
 its redundant masses of rieli dark hair ; the ex- 
 quisite form plainly draped iu simple muslin, 
 were indeed those of his daughter, upon whoso 
 attire liis vanity had lavished uiit,nudginu'ly -^iinis 
 that would have sutlicod to ehithe her like an em- 
 press; and, worse than all, ividently shi inking 
 from the observation and homage which on such 
 an txicasiou she should liavc courted. The brow 
 of the merchant lowered with mortification and ' 
 disappointment as he made his way toward her, 
 and there was a concentrated bitterness iu th« ij 
 tone with which he said in a subdued voice ' 
 when he reached her side : " This is the crown- 
 ing insult. Miss Trevanion, and one which I am 
 never likely to forget. Do you owe n«itliin;< 
 to the father who has made you tlic first and 
 highest object of liis ambition? Do you h<'I'« 
 that I am to be disgraced with imijunity by 
 my own child in the eyes of lialf London ? Ar« 
 
 her mother's side, she smiled, and many who I you imsaue ! or can you really be \uiawarc that 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 50 
 
 ^' OU require but a few blades of straw and 
 alf a di)zen Avitbered posies added to your 
 costume, to be a fitting represeutative of 
 Ophelia?' 
 
 " Father," faltered Ida ; " I have done you 
 no •wrong : I could not add deceit to my other 
 errors. Have you dealt foirly with me ? All 
 about me is brilliant falsehood, but I at least 
 ■will take no part in it. You c:xn not ask me to 
 trample upou my own lieait." 
 
 " Beware, Miss Trevauiou ;" was the threat- 
 ening rejoinder, as the merchant turned angrily 
 away; " it may now be too late to change your 
 dress, but I advise you to change your counte- 
 nance, if you would wish me to remember 
 when we next meet that I am still your father." 
 
 " When we next meet ;" murmured Ida, to 
 herself, as he left her side. " How and where 
 6h;dl wo indeed meet again!" 
 
 Escaping from the heat and hurry of the 
 ball-room, she passed mto the dim and deserted 
 library, and threw herself into a seat. The 
 glad sounds of revelry, and silvery voices of 
 music came mingled upon her ear ; the odors 
 of a thousand flowers floated upon the air ; 
 and still she sat there, motionless as if hewn 
 in stone. 
 
 After a time, moreover, the distant tumult 
 contrasted with the deep silence immediately 
 about her produced a bewildering effect upon 
 her over-straiued nerves, and suddenly the 
 vast and somber apartment rang with a peal 
 of wild unnatural laughter ; she pressed her 
 hands upon her brow until it ached beneath 
 their tension; and then hurriedly starting to 
 her feet, she exclaimed in a voice which sound- 
 ed strange and unfamiliar even to her own ear. 
 
 " My father is right ; this is my bridal fute, 
 and I should do it honor. I wrong Sydney — 
 and wrong myself — by this ill-timed and ill- 
 omened sadness. I will be gay. There will 
 be many a heart besides my own in the crowd 
 ■whose mirth will be rendered only the more 
 audible from the hoUowness within." 
 
 Touched by deep passion as by the wand of 
 a magician. Miss Trevanion stood for one mo- 
 ment trembling with fierce and overwhelming 
 excitement; her cheek burned, and her eye 
 flashed with fever; never had she looked so 
 imperial in her proud beauty. Frenzied alike 
 by what she had already undergone, and by 
 ■what she still contemplated, her pulses throb- 
 bed, ani her bosom heaved tumultuously. At 
 that moment she could have braved the tor- 
 tures of the inquisition, for she was reckless. 
 
 As if fearing to trust herself with further 
 thought, she left the library; and when ere 
 long she again entered the great saloon, lean- 
 mg upon the arm of a casual acquaintance 
 whom she had encountered on her way ; the 
 change in her appearance was very striking. 
 Every shade of despondency, every sym])tom of 
 languor had disappeared ; and so brilliant was 
 her whole expression that a murmur of aston- 
 ished admiration met her on every side. Her 
 low graceful laughter, her perfect self-posses- 
 sion, and her eager, animated look excited the 
 astonishment of all arotmd her; and there 
 ■were not wanting many in that brilliant throng 
 who envied her for the matchless beauty wViieh 
 made her independent of the adventitious aids , 
 of omameut, and who were compelled to 1 
 
 acknowledge their own attractions eclipsed 
 and overborne by the unassisted loveliness of 
 the woman whoso pale cheek and subdued 
 deportment had been the theme of malicious 
 conmieut and imgenerous criticism only an 
 hour previously. 
 
 " The quasi-countess has wearied of her sen- 
 timental fancy," said a paxsce beauty to her 
 partner, as Ida, radiant with false excitement, 
 took her place in the dance. 
 
 " She is right," was the reply ; " for she is 
 gloriously lovely now. She scarcely looks like 
 the same person who appeared so languid and 
 listless only an hour since." 
 
 " Terribly like temper," retorted the lady, 
 arranging a bouquet upon her dress ; " his 
 lordship vAW find matrimony no sinecure, I fear." 
 
 And meanwhile the dance went on, and the 
 grace and elegance of the heroine of the feto 
 were the universal theme of admiration. Lord 
 Downmere, by no means satisfied in his own 
 mind that matters were progressing so satisfac 
 torilyas his host had represented, received the 
 compliments which were addressed to him with 
 a eonstramt that he vainly endeavored to 
 overcome ; and Mr. Trevanion on his side, felt 
 perplexed by an inconsistency of conduct on 
 the part of his daughter of which he had never 
 previously thought her capable. Could his 
 warning have indeed operated thus powerfully 
 upon her ? He scarcely ventured to indulge 
 the hope ; but it was at all events gratifying 
 to his pride to find how fiir, even in her pres- 
 ent simple attire, she eclipsed the brightest 
 and noblest beauties about her. His brow 
 grew smooth, and his manner bland, as he 
 moved among his guests, drinking in with 
 satisfied vanity the murmurs of pleasure and 
 delight which met his ear on all sides. Nor 
 was Lady Mary less enchanted than himself 
 as she witnessed the effect produced ujwn her 
 own five hundred friends, with whom she had, 
 as a matter of course, peopled the brilliant 
 saloons of her host, by the splendor of the en- 
 tertainment. 
 
 "No, no; believe nje, when I assure you, 
 my dear marchioness," she exclaimed, with 
 ready tact, to a rouged and ringleted dowager 
 who had indulged in a bitter sarcasm on the 
 appearance of the young hostess ; " that even 
 your perspicuity is at fault in this instance as 
 regards my little friend. It is from no feeline 
 of covert presumjttion that she has eschewed 
 the advantages of dress on this occasion, but 
 from a widely different impulse. As Countess 
 of Downmere, she will ere long avail herself, 
 as you will see, of all the si)leudor of her 
 rank, but to-night she is aware that she is still 
 only Ida Trevanion, and she has acted accord- 
 ingly." 
 
 Did the family friend believe, as she smil- 
 ingly gave this ex])lanation, that she had dis- 
 covered the real solution of the enigma ? Far 
 from it ; but she felt that her own credit was 
 at stake, and she had too much worldly wisdom 
 to confess herself mystified. 
 
 It was far otherwise, however, with Mrs. 
 Trevanion, who was, and did not scruple to 
 confess herself, both angry and astonished at 
 the apparent caprice of her daughter. Liko 
 all weak people she attached an undue weiglit 
 to the opiuiou and customs of fashionable so- 
 
CO 
 
 TUE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 cicty, nn',1 her mortification "was consequently I 
 intense when she discovered how absolutely 
 both had been set at defiance by Ida. ! 
 
 " Who would believe, my lord," she said i 
 pettishly to the earl, who, on this occasion, con- 
 sidered it expedient to attach himself to his 
 future m<ither-in-law ; " that she was tlie same 
 pcrsfin who looked so queen-like at the draw- 
 inf^-rooai this morning ? It is really too 
 bad." 
 
 " Miss Trevanion knows the power of her 
 charms, madam," said the antiquated lover, 
 with an uneasy smile; "and you see that her 
 triumph is complete." 
 
 "I wish," pursued" the lady, who had an un- 
 fortunate talent for saying awkward things at 
 the wrong moment ; " I do so wish, my lord, 
 she had danced with you instead of Captain 
 Tillicrs ; I am sure that it ought to have been 
 
 60." 
 
 Her noble companion winced, and glanced 
 involuntarily at liis gouty foot, which, impris- 
 oned in a shoe that had already more than once 
 reminrled him of liis infirmity, gave to the ab- 
 surd lamentation of his hostess all the point of 
 an e]ii;^ram ; and, as he did so, he murmured a 
 reply which was unintelligible. 
 
 On sped the hours garlanded with flowers, 
 loud with revelry, and wmged by pleasure. 
 The day dawned ; the birds twittered among 
 the branches, the lark burst into song as it 
 darted toward heaven with its morning thanks- 
 giving ; the gray light streaked the liver- 
 ripple ; and honest labor once more girded 
 itself to battle with the toils of the coming 
 day ; and as the world of the artizan and the 
 mechanic woke into life, the ro«ms of ilr. 
 Trevanion began to thin ; and the last languid 
 efforts of the weary musicians were overpow- 
 ered by the rolling of carriages, the loud voiees 
 of servants, and the turmoil of the departing 
 guests ; but even these ceased at last, and Mr. 
 Trevanion stood for a moment alone, in the 
 midst of expiring tapers, drooping garlands, 
 and disordered draperies. 
 
 " Tell Miss Trevanion," he said, suddenly, to 
 a servant who was hurrying past him, "that 
 
 ! I wish to see her in the library before she re- 
 tires." 
 
 The man hastened to obey his commands, 
 but they were not destined to be fulfilled ; in 
 vain did he appeal to her mother, to Lady 
 
 I Mary, and to Mademoiselle Sera]>hine ; not 
 
 ' one of tliem had seen Miss Trevanion for the 
 last hour ; in vain did lie traverse the conserv- 
 atory, and the saloo' .s ; wander out into the 
 grounds, and urge others of the domestics to 
 assist him in the search ; the result was disap- 
 pointment ; and he was at length compelled to 
 return to his imjiatient master with the un- 
 
 ' looked-for tidinrjs that Miss Trevaiiiou was no- 
 where to be found. 
 
 CnAPTER XXL 
 
 M.VKniED LOVERS. 
 
 C)N' tlic southern banks of the Thames, not 
 many miles from London, m.ny be seen from the 
 river, a pretty and retu'ed village, backed by a 
 
 well wooded hill, at whoso summit, as the boat 
 glides on, glimpses may be caught among tho 
 dense foliage, of a noble mansion, at one ex- 
 tremity of the park — for such is the purj^ose to 
 which the height has been applied — and at the 
 other that of an observatory which overtops the 
 [ forest timber. Thence tlic land descends gently 
 to the river, the low-lying grass fields being 
 , dotted over their whole surface with browsing 
 I cattle ; while only a short distance from the 
 ! shore, stands a picturesque little church, half 
 embowered in ivv', and surrounded by its quiet 
 burial-ground. This modest edifice, upon which 
 j an artist-eyo can not foil to linger with delight, 
 j is also an object of interest to the antiquary 
 from the historical tradition which is attached 
 to it; and which, from its regal associations, 
 contrasts strangely and startingly with the 
 simple and unpretending appearance of the 
 i building. At the distance of a hundred yards 
 from the church, commences the village street, 
 I which stretches along the bank of the stream, 
 in a long line of fishermen's cottages, where 
 their home-keeping wives drive a small trade in 
 the cheaper produce of their husband's nets, 
 I and where many a window arrests the steps of 
 the school-going urchin, by its rich stores of 
 sugar-stick, gingerbread and marbles. Further 
 i inland, however, partially, and in some in- 
 stances, totally hidden from the passer-by upon 
 the river, are to be found in the neighborliood of 
 1 which we vrr'ite, some of these small put pretty 
 i residences which are peculiar to ' merrie Eng- 
 land;' those sunn}' pleasant homes where cle- 
 : gance and comfort compensate for space and 
 splendor, and where the refined and gently- 
 , nurtured, who are debarred the luxuries of 
 wealth, may, nevertheless, nurse their graceful 
 fancies, undisturbed by these squalid and de- 
 pressing associations which genteel poverty haa 
 ; to endure in other lands. 
 
 It was a lovely evening in autunm : and the 
 glass doors of a small but exquisitely furnished 
 drawing-room, facing the river, were fhmg bade 
 to admit tlio various odors of the blossoms with 
 I which tlie flower-pots dotted over the lawn 
 were plentifully filled. The sun was westering, 
 I and the sky was rich with fleecy clouds that 
 had caught a roseate hue from the glow of 
 crimson by which he was environed, and which 
 was also reflected upon the calm ripple of the 
 noble stream. From the wooded height, the 
 song of the nightingale had already commenced, 
 while yet more distant, might be heard the 
 lowing of cattle from their pastures, mingled 
 with the far-off hum which rose from the peo- 
 pled river. The scene from that open window 
 was one of constantly recurring interest; at one 
 moment the tall spars of a stately shij), her sails 
 furled, and her crew idly clustering together st 
 the prow, might bo seen, gliding along like ft 
 spirit, the tiny steamer by wliich ihe huge fabric 
 was impello'd lookinu: like a mere dark speck 
 upon the water, totally unconnected with the 
 mighty m.ass by which it was apparently pur- 
 sued;' at another, the dark volume of smoke 
 emitted by the funnel of some arrowy steam- 
 ship, rose into the air like a pilLnr of metnl, then 
 wreathed itself into a thousand fantastic shapes, 
 and finally became scattered into a thin pray 
 mist, and lost in the surrounding atmosphere. 
 Flag and pennant, the national insignia of every 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 CI 
 
 nation upon earth, and those less conspicuous 
 but equally honorable banners borne at the 
 mast-head of the lordly merchant ships, whoso 
 owners are the sovereigns of European com- 
 merce, each passed by in its turn, freisrhtcd 
 I with the wealth of every land, and destined to 
 I plow the waves of every sea. 
 
 Within the apartment, and half shaded by 
 the muslin drapery which had been drawn back 
 to permit her e}-o to wander unimpeded over 
 I the scene which we have endeavored to de- 
 \ Bcribe,"lialf-silting and ]iall--reclining upon a Sf>fa, 
 i a chanco passer-by might have discovered a 
 1 lady of surpassing beauty, and at her lect a 
 I faii"-haired and handsome man, who was gazing 
 1 up to her witli a look of passionate and almost 
 
 reverential fondness. 
 I The little group consisted of Mrs. Elphinstone 
 < and her husband. One happy month had al- 
 I ready flitted by since she had given her hand 
 1 to the man for whom she had abandoned home, 
 j and wealth, and parents ; and if she sometimes 
 heaved a sigh at tlie remembrance of the past, 
 it arose from no feeling of regret at the step 
 which she had taken, but was induced only by 
 the resolute estrangement of her father. Safe 
 in their own happiness, Sydney Elphinstone 
 and his bride had made merry over the marvel- 
 ous comments of the public prints, which, with 
 I that total want of respect for the sacredncss of 
 private life that occasionally characterizes them, 
 had detailed, more or less faithfully, according 
 to their means of information, the particulars 
 of her elopement. It was, as they well knew, 
 a mere nine days' wonder, whicli would soon be 
 superseded in the pubUc mind by some other 
 marvel ; but the relentless silence of those to 
 whom she had been for long years an object of 
 affection, weighed heavily upon her spirit. 
 
 "My poor mother," she murmured to her- 
 self; "dare not, even if she would, assure me 
 that I am not forgotten and lamented ; but my 
 father — can it be that he does indeed find it 
 80 easy to abandon me ? And Lady Mary — 
 she is, at least, a free agent, and might well 
 [have remembefed how assiduously she once 
 strove to nurse the passion which she subse- 
 quently affected to disavow — and yet all — all 
 ibavo failed me." 
 
 "You are sad, dearest;" said the young 
 husband after a silence of several minutes; 
 " speak to me, my love, and assure me that 
 ou do not already regret the sacrifice that you 
 ve made for my sake." 
 " Regret, Sydney ;" whispered Ida as she 
 nt forward with a smile, and buried ono of 
 er small white hands in the clustering masses 
 f his fldr hair : " Do I look like one who re- 
 ts the past ? Have I cause to do so ? Fie 
 ion you for tlie question! But even were it 
 ptherwise — even were I less entirely happy 
 than I am, — know me better. I never act 
 without reflection, dearest ; and having acted, 
 y[ never repent." 
 
 Elphinstone laughed gayly. " That is a bold 
 
 rtion, my sweet wife ;" ho said, as ho made 
 
 ptive the slender Angers that were toying 
 
 'th his curls ; " and one that will render me 
 
 ess anxious when I detect a shadow upon your 
 
 "row ; for I confess that there have been mo- 
 
 onts when I could not conceal from myself that 
 
 had asked, and you had granted, too much." 
 
 " So soon I" murmured Ida, bcneatli hor breatli, 
 
 "But what could 1 do?" ])ursucd her liglit- 
 heartcd companion, unconscious of her inter- 
 ruption ; " 1 loved j-ou to adoration — I could 
 not live without you — and so, like all men 
 under similar circumstances I supjiose, I con- 
 sulted only my own selfishness, and draggi^l 
 you down from your ' high estate ' to share my 
 poverty." 
 
 " Do you ever repent, Sydney ?" asked his 
 wife with a forced smile. 
 
 "I may have done so once or twice in fho 
 course of mj-lifo;" was the cheerful joinder; 
 " but henceforth I shall have nothing to repent, 
 for you will be my guiding star ; and led by 
 such a light I can scarcely fail to walk in tlio 
 right path." 
 
 '■ Dear Sydney" — murmured his wife, as 
 the cloud passed from her spirit ; " you need 
 no other monitor than your own noble nar 
 ture." 
 
 "After all, dear one;" pursued the young 
 husband; "you must confess that this 'love 
 in a cottage' is very charming; and that a 
 garland of jasmin is lighter to wear than a 
 gilded coronet." 
 
 "And the song of that unseen nightingale, 
 Sydney — is it not flir sweeter than the warbling 
 of the most gifted prima donna who ever threw 
 an audience into raptures? Hark ! ^There 
 was a glorious gush of melody ; how the air 
 seems to throb beneath its weight." 
 
 " I would rather hear your voice tlian that 
 of the finest nightingale that ever fiew." 
 
 " Vandal !" 
 
 And once more there was silence. 
 
 The sun had set, and the moon which had 
 nearly reached its full, was slowly sailing up 
 the heavons ; the breeze had fallen, and a long 
 line of light lay upon the water, while countr 
 less stars flickered and quivered in the deep 
 blue of the cloudless sky. 
 
 It was a glorious evening, redolent of har- 
 mony and peace; and very full of intense and 
 absorbing happiness were tho two married 
 lovers, who sat with their hands locked in each 
 otiier gazing aliliost unconsciously on tho sceno 
 before them. They had entered their earthly 
 Eden, into which as yet no serpent had glided 
 to blight the flowers upon their path with its 
 venom. Deep and earnest was tho affection 
 which filled the breast of each, but far opposed 
 was the nature of that affection ; witli Sydney, 
 it was full and perfect, without a doubt or a / 
 misgiving; ho had won the idol of his heart, ! 
 and he was proud at once of her, and of his 
 own triumph. Content to dwell among tho 
 blessedness of tho present, he cared not to look 
 beyond ; and when occasionally his thoughts 
 would stray into the future, they were tilled 
 with bold and manly determination to wrestle 
 with the world, and to win fame and aflluenco 
 for the wife who was lienccforth to share hi.s 
 fortunes. Ho never doubted her, he never 
 doubted himself; he possessed, as ho had said, 
 youth, talent, and energy, and secure of tlieso 
 he felt strong enough to struggle and to conr 
 quer. Tho radiant being whom he liad made 
 his own, must not bo deceived in him ; ere long 
 he would commence the battle of life with a 
 stout heart and an imflinching resolution : and 
 
f.2 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 thus his dreams -Were all bright and glowing, 
 without one cloud to ovcrsliadow them. It 
 was, however, fur different with Ida; the very 
 excess of her happiness awoke a feeling of 
 terror in her bosom ; she thought not of Sydney 
 toiling to secure for her an nllluence of which 
 be would have been careless for himself; she 
 thought only of Sj'dney estranged by time, 
 and by closer contact v.-ith that world in which 
 he would soon be called to play a more active 
 part; of S^-dney, young, gay, and flattered, 
 who might learn to feel that ho had sacrificed 
 the brightest portion of his life to a fancy of 
 which he might one day weary ; and as tliese 
 painful misgivings forced themselves upon her, 
 the tears which she would not suffer to fall. 
 flooded her heart, and swelled it almost to 
 bursting. The very quality of her love difl'crcd 
 essentially from his; there was not tlie same 
 calm even flow of tenderness, of almost woman- 
 ly trust and clinging, which was engendered by 
 his frank and open nature ; she could not, as 
 ho did, live in the present, and yield herself up 
 unresistingly to its charm; deeper and more 
 passionate were the feelings which were hidden 
 within her breast, and by which her whole 
 being was imbued. There were indeed mo- 
 ments when, terrified by the impetuosity of her 
 emotions, siie resolutely combated their vio- 
 lence, ^ut the languor which supervened was 
 not repose ; and she shrank appalled by the 
 visions of her own imagination as she pictured 
 to herself the possibility that a change might 
 come over her destiny, and the eflbet which 
 that chanL,3 might produce upon herself. 
 
 On the evening we have described, however, 
 the calm and soothing aspect of all around and 
 about her, the cloudless sky, the rippling river, 
 the silent stars, the mysterious whispering of 
 the le.'ivcs, the clear soft moonlight, and, more 
 than all, the fair and placid brow of her young 
 husband, had hushed her spirit into profound 
 and gentle ]icaee ; and as he sat at her feet 
 with the silvery light gleaming upon his noble 
 countenance, she gazed upou him with a still 
 ra])ture that laid every other feeling to rest. 
 Like him she was for a time lost in the present ; 
 and the very silence around her was eloquent 
 of happiness. 
 
 And other days as bright and as beautiful 
 succeeded that soft autumnal night : days 
 throughout which Sydney Elphinstonc lived 
 on his unbroken existence of devotion and de- 
 light, and in which Ida was also supr-cmcly 
 blessed, altiiough a thousand vapors drifted 
 across the haven of her enjoyment which it 
 required all the sunlight of his lovo to scatter 
 and disperse ; but the young husband never 
 di-eanu'd that any cloud had darkened the 
 calm and glorious brow of her he Avorshiped ; 
 neither tone nor look betrayed the inner work- 
 ings of the troubled spirit which marred its 
 own brightness, and l)lighted its own peace. 
 
 The favorite walk of Ida was a bowery lane, 
 which, gently ascending the hill, formed one of 
 the private roads to the extensive park that 
 occupied its height; wiierc. the owner being 
 absent, Eljihinstone had without difficulty ob- 
 tained permission for his wife and himself to 
 wander at will, a privilege of which they 
 largely availed themselves. The road tei'iui- 
 nated in a gothic lodge of unusual size, and 
 
 considerable architectural beauty, whicli had at 
 one period been inhabited by a relative of the 
 noble family to whom the estate belonged, and 
 which was, during the residence of the Elphiu- 
 stones in the neighborhood tenanted by a ven- 
 erable couple, ancient retainers of the lords of 
 the soil, whose old age was made happy bv a 
 residence upon the spot endeared to tliemby 
 long Imbit and cheerful memories. The worthy 
 dame whose quaint attire and old-world eomt- 
 csy were a constant source of interest and 
 anuiscment to Ida, was on her side delighted 
 with the graceful and elegant young couj)le for 
 whom she was so frequently summoned to 
 open the jealously-guarded gate ; while the 
 reckless generosity of Sydney had made an 
 equally fiivorable impression upon her iufirni 
 and somewhat morose husband. 
 
 It was on a fair fresh morning, a week oj 
 ten days subsequent to the period at which wa 
 have introduced the newly-married pair to out 
 readers, that they strolled forth, and after a 
 moment of iiTcsolutiou, finally took once more 
 the way to the gothic lodge. The woods were 
 beginning to betray symptoms of the changing 
 season. A golden gleam had settled upon the 
 beech-trees, which glittered in the sunshine lite 
 flakes cf gold ; the weeping willows, those 
 spendthrifts of the shrubbery, were already 
 scattering their leaves to every idle breeze 
 that wandered near them ; while the elms, ag 
 though they knew that the time for smnnier 
 tints had gone by, had assumed a russet hue, 
 as they swayed their branches sobeily in the 
 wind. Many of the trees were, however, still 
 gay in their vivid greenery, the short crisp 
 turf was as fresh and bright as ever; and the 
 birds as full of song. Gayly the married lovers 
 pursued their Avay, Sydney at times laughing 
 delightedly as the breeze caught the long ring- 
 lets which fell low upou the cheeks of Ida. and 
 spread them forth beyond the edge of her 
 small bonnet like silken banners ; startled oc- 
 casionally as a rabbit or a hare, which their 
 light footsteps had disturbed, darted i>ast theiu, 
 or a plieasant rose Avith a loud whirring Sdund, 
 and escaped into the depth of the wootls ; they 
 at length reached the lodge, where they were 
 smilingly welcomed by the venerable gate- 
 keeper. 
 
 " I said that you would come to-day, my 
 lady;" exclaimed the old Avoman, exult uigly ; 
 " I told my Jonathan that you Avouhl be here 
 this blessed morning; and sure enough here 
 you are; but keep to the ojien lurf, for the 
 Avood-paths are damp after last night's rain; 
 and such shoes as yours, ma'am, wont keep out 
 the Avet, I take it." 
 
 , " You arc right, good Mrs. Dorcas," said 
 Elphinstonc; "my wife — " hoAV he loved the 
 sound of those words, and how proud ho 
 looked as he uttered them — " my wife's shoes 
 are not indeed quite adapted for miry paths ; 
 but as she is only just learning to walk, avc ciin 
 scarcely expect her to be very profound oa 
 such subjects." 
 
 " Ay, ay," replied the old woman with a 
 significant nod: "I understand all about it, I 
 believe, sir. Well, well ; avc can't put old 
 heads upon young .shoulders, as the saying goes; 
 and if she is only half as good as she is handc 
 some — and I for one don't doubt it — " 
 
l\. ^\. Ij \J u o 
 
 "Y'lU are ritjht, Mrs. Dorea?, y<ni nro quite 
 ri2;ht." sai I Sydney, seizing her hand, and siiak- 
 iiit^ it he:irtily; "quite as fjood as she is haud- 
 sotne. and that ought to satisfy any man." 
 
 " To he sure it ought, sir ; and at all events 
 it satisfies you ; there can be no mistake about 
 tJiat; and your bidy may own the same on her 
 side ; for as my old man and I often say, that 
 you are the handsomest couple we ever set our 
 eves on, and we 've seen a many of the quality 
 t)0, in our time." 
 
 " Better and better!" laughed Elphinstone; 
 " whv, Mistress Dorcas, you are a perfect 
 courtier, and ought not to be buried alive here." 
 
 " Well, it has been dull enough all this 
 summer, I do confess, sir ;" said the garrulous 
 old gate-beeper ; " but just now I am in luck, 
 and may hope for a better time." 
 
 " Ha,' indeed ; then I suppose your lord is 
 coming back to England ?" 
 
 " Oil, dear no, sir ; my lord and my lady 
 
 intend to winter in Rome, and even if they 
 
 were to change their minds, they 'd stay in 
 
 l.ondon I take it; or go down to their other 
 
 place westward, for they never fancy this in 
 
 ; tiie cold weather, being so near the river. 
 
 i I iso, but I have let all tlie best rooms in the 
 
 I lodge for the next six months, so that we 
 
 ehan't be so lonesome-like as we were last year." 
 
 " A strange season, I should say," observed 
 Sydnej', "for a family to select so secluded a 
 residence." 
 
 " Why, it ain't altogether a family," said 
 the old woman, gravely. "It's only a widow- 
 lady and her daughter : a grand lady, too, I 
 r.ather think, sir, to tell you the truth, but I 
 fancy they are not over rich, for all that." 
 
 "Few people are, my good friend;" re- 
 marked Ida with a smile, as she prepared to 
 walk on, fearful of intruding upon the secrets 
 of a stranger. 
 
 "True, ma'am, true," acquiesced the perti- 
 nacious old woman ; "but some's richer th.in 
 others ; and I 've a notion that this lady that 's 
 coming to lodge with me is poorer than she 
 has been." 
 
 " In that case. Mistress Dorcns, you had bet- 
 ter take care of yourself," said Sydney, archly. 
 
 " Oh, I 've no fear for myself, sir,'" replied 
 the gate-keeper, eagerh^, "no fear for myself; 
 for the lady behaved like a lady as she is, and. 
 offered to pay me three months in advance." 
 
 "But surely," objected Ida, interested in 
 spite of herself by the animation of her hum- 
 ble acquaintance, "you can scarcely have 
 such accommodations as would be required 
 by so superior a person as you describe, in 
 your present residence." 
 
 " I don't wonder that you should think so, 
 ma'am," said Mrs. Dorcas ; " because, of 
 course, j-ou can't be aware that a maiden 
 aunt of my lord's lodged and died here, and 
 tlie rooms have never been touched since, 
 except to be dusted. Jty lord would have it 
 so; and handsome enough they are, I can as- 
 sure you, ma'am, for any lady in the land." 
 
 " Well, at all events I congratulate you, 
 my gooil Mrs. Dorcas," said Elphinstone, as ho 
 drew the arm of his wife within his own ; 
 " and now we will continue our rambles. 
 Bat, by the by, when do you expect these new 
 inmates of yours ?" 
 
 " Oh, thoj' have already been hero these 
 three daj^s, sir," was the re{)ly, " or I would 
 have asked your \a.dy to look at Lady Marga- 
 ret's rooms. They are out somewhere in the 
 park ; they are very little in the house this 
 tine weather." 
 
 "Tiiey are right," was the gay rejoinder; 
 "and now we will go into the park in our 
 turn. Wo are not likely to interfere with 
 each other, as in all probability we shall not 
 even meet." 
 
 "Likely enough, sir; but if you should, 
 there will be no harm done." 
 
 " I trust not, my wortiiy dame ; so wo will 
 wish you good morning for the present." 
 
 " Good morning, sir, and a pleasant walk to 
 you," was the reply of the old woman as she 
 turned the key in the gate, and re-entered the 
 lodge, while Mr. and Mrs. Elphinstone resumed 
 their walk. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 A RENCONTER. 
 
 For awhile the two pedestrians followed 
 the advice of Mrs. Dorcas, and kept in the 
 open ground ; but after a time they began to 
 wish for the calm seclusion of the woods, and 
 plunged into their welcome |hade. Fond and 
 happy hearts make society .-iiid fellowship 
 with all around them; 11. o sunshine M'ithin 
 gives warmth and gladness to every external 
 object ; and thus the moments flew by with 
 lightning speed, until Ida, who was not yet 
 sufficiently inured to this species of exercise 
 to set fatigue at defiance, began to betray 
 evident symj^toms of over-exertion. 
 
 " We have walked too far and too fast for 
 you, my love," said Sydney, as he felt her 
 weight grow heavy on his arm ; " and we 
 must make our way back in the open park 
 where you may rest for a timb without dan- 
 ger of damp, which you can not unfortunately 
 do under this dense foliage; and see, most 
 opportunely, here is a path cleared through 
 the trees which evidently loads to the Observ- 
 atory. What say you ? Can you make the 
 effort '(" 
 
 Ida willingly assented, and in a few momenta 
 they discovere^d by the bright gleam of light 
 which appeared at some distance before them 
 that they should ore long be in the open 
 grounds once more. Cheered by the prospect 
 of repose, Ida moved moi'c rajjidly forward, 
 and they soon etood at the edge of the belt 
 through whic'i they had ascended the height. 
 The prospect before them was enchanting, and 
 weary as she was, Mrs. Elphinstone remained 
 for a few instants looking far out over the 
 busy river and the opposite shore ere she had 
 taken possession of the grassy knoll upon 
 which her anxious husband hadhastily thrown 
 the shawl which she had cast off during their 
 ramble. She had Bcarcely seated herself, 
 however, ere she became awaro that the scene 
 had fascinated other eyes beside her own, for 
 beneath the shadow of the tower where she 
 was protected from the glare of the sun, sat 
 a young girl, so assiduously engaged upon ft 
 
64 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 sketch wliich she -was making, that she was 
 evidently unconscious of the vicinity of the 
 Btransrers. 
 
 "Look, Sydney," whispered his wife; "you 
 were a false ])roi)het, for most assuredly we 
 have stumbled upon the young lady of the 
 lodge." 
 
 Elphinstone's eyes followed the direction 
 of her finger, for' hitherto he had heen so 
 absorbed in his care for her, that he had not 
 once glanced around him, and he immed 
 ately acquiesced in the probability of her 
 inference. 
 
 " Judging from her figure at this distance," 
 he whispered in reply; "she must indeed be 
 very youn?, scarcely, I should say, escaped 
 from childhood, with all its glorious associa- 
 tions of back-boards and milk and water. 
 Who can they he ?" 
 
 " Xay, love :" said Ida, with the uneasy 
 feeling whicli the subject of age never failed 
 to produce upon her, and who was morbidly 
 anxious to conceal it; "you must, at least, 
 acknowlcdire, whoever they may be, that the 
 figure before us is extremely graceful — re- 
 mark tlie pliant bend of her neck, and the 
 firm but easy attitude of her small head. 
 She is really a very picturesque object as she 
 sits there enveloped in those profuse folds of 
 wliite drapery, with her long golden ringlets 
 heaving in the wind." 
 
 "I v.ill acknowledge any thing you please, 
 dearest," said '^vdney, as he wound his arm 
 affectionately about her waist; "if 3"ouwill 
 only lean on me, and endeavor to overcome 
 the fatigue to which I have subjected you 
 through my selfish want of thought, and 
 reallj' now you mention it, the fair damsel 
 before us here, does make a very pretty ob- 
 ject in the landscape. It is a pity that she 
 can not put herself into her sketch'." 
 
 " IIoM' strange that she should be alone at 
 such a distance from the lodge," pursued Mrs. 
 Elphiustone. 
 
 "You fo'.-get," said her husband " that this 
 is charmed ground, upon which only the 
 
 !)rivilegod can enter; and that she doubtless- 
 y imagined herself as free from our intru- 
 sion, as we believed ourselves secure from 
 meeting her." 
 
 And still the subject of their conversation 
 pursued her task without once suffering her- 
 self to be diverted from her occupation, while 
 at intervals, a few snatches of song burst 
 from her lips, in a clear, wild, thrilling voice 
 of exquisite volume and sweetness. 
 
 " Another nit;htingalc, Ida," smiled Sydney; 
 " upon my word, the neighborhood improves ; 
 who would have thought of encountering 
 such a little prodigy as this, in a country 
 villat^'e?" 
 
 "Hush," murmured lus wife; "she is not 
 alone, for I see another figure advancing 
 toward iicr from behind the Observatory." 
 
 As Mrs. ^'^Iphinstone spoke, a lady habited 
 inniourning, moved forward into the sun- 
 shine for u moment, and then closing a book 
 which siie held in her hand, slowly approached 
 the young artist. 
 
 "Let us go," said Ida, springing to her feet, 
 " let us go at once, Sydney, for we can not 
 fail to be observed ere long, and I would not 
 
 for the world that we should be suspected of 
 the indelicacy of listening to their conver- 
 sation." 
 
 "But can you indeed venture on further 
 exertion so soon, my beloved I" asked her 
 husband, anxiously ; " you have scarcely hail 
 time to overcome 3'our previous fatigue?" 
 
 "Fear nothing for me," smiled Ida; "I 
 really feel quite strong again, and I know 
 not why, but I shall be glad to escape unseen 
 by these strangers." 
 
 "Unfortunately, that is impossible," said 
 Sydney; "unless we return through the 
 wood, whicli would lengthen our walk very 
 considerably, and you are unequal to any 
 gratuitous exertion' of that kind. Pass them 
 we must, and therefore, if you are really de- 
 sirous to reach home without delay, let us 
 lose no more time." 
 
 With a reluctance for which she could not 
 account to herself, and which she was conse- 
 quently unwilling to confess, Mrs. Eljihin- 
 stone took the arm of her husband, and pre- 
 2>ared to retrace her steps to the village. 
 
 Had she entertained a hope of being enabled 
 to sustain the fiitigue of the more circuitous 
 woodland path, she would assuredly have 
 found courage to make tiie attempt, but she 
 felt her utter inability to accomplisli such an 
 undertaking, and she shrank from the possi- 
 bility of failure, should she persist in a ca- 
 price which could not but appear childish and 
 undignified to Sydney. 
 
 Slowly, therefore, they advanced toward 
 the two strangers, who were so thoroughly 
 engrossed in discussing the merits of the 
 drawing upon which the younger had been 
 engaged, that the muftled sound of the intru- 
 sive footsteps upon tlie grass were unlieard, 
 nor was it until Elphiustone, in order to an- 
 nounce their approach, addressed a few words 
 to his companion, that they became aware 
 of this invasion of their solitude, when the 
 effect which it produced was electrical. 
 
 The j'oung lady started like a frightened 
 fawn, and suffered her sketch-book to fall to 
 tlie ground, while the elder lady hastily drew 
 down her vail. 
 
 The first impulse of Sydney was to drop 
 the arm of his wife, to raise his hat witli a 
 murmured apology, and to restore the sketel)- 
 book to its fair owner, after which he turned 
 away, and, holding the hand of Ida, was 
 about to pursue his homeward path, when 
 he was arrested by the exclamation : 
 
 " I can not be 'deceived — that must be Mt. ) 
 Elphiustone." 
 
 " It is indeed Mr. Elphiustone," was his 
 astonished reph% as he once more advanced 
 toward tiie tower accompanied by Ida; "and 
 the voice of tlie person by whom 1 am recog- 
 nized is perfectly familiar to me, although I 
 am unable so identify it." 
 
 " My dear boy," said the lady, throwing back 
 her vail, and revealing a careworn but still 
 handsome face ; "this is indeed an unexpected 
 meeting;" and she extended her hand cordially 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " My dear Lady Malcolm," exclaimed Sydney 1 
 in his turn, "what an unlooked-for pleasure t I 
 What happy chance has brought you to tbi» 
 uUima Thukr 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 C5 
 
 Lady Malcolm pointed in silcnco to her 
 
 in mriung dress, and then, for tlio first time, 
 
 tiie eye of Elphinstonc fell on her widow's cap. 
 
 ■• Forgive me," ho said in a tone of deep fecl- 
 
 ii,', "I did not know — I was not aware — " 
 
 ■' Yes, Sydney," replied the lady after a 
 ]'inse, "ho is gone, and the world wonld have 
 li III to mo a desert, had I not still possessed 
 i.iV cliild. Come hither, Edith," sho pursued, 
 1 beckoning t!ie timid girl to her side, " give 
 lyour hand to Mr. P^lphinstone, whoso mother 
 |waa, as you have often heard me say, my best 
 land dearest friend." 
 
 " Can it be possible ?" asked Sydney, as he 
 took the offered hand, and retained it within 
 ihi3 own, " can this really bo my little Edith ? 
 'my little golden-haired pet and plaything? 
 iTimo does indeed work wonders — and very 
 iCharming ones at times," ho added, glancing 
 toward her mother. 
 
 '■ But — this lady — " said Lady Malcolm with 
 ^ courteous bow to Ida, who had hitherto 
 
 niained a mute spectator of the scene before 
 
 '■ That lady," said Sydney with a proud and 
 •aming smile, "is my wife, my dear Lady 
 I ilcolm, for whom I would ask a portion of 
 1 ^ regard with which you honored my poor 
 ...jther." 
 I " Your wife 1" exclaimed the widow, in 
 
 tlTepressible amazement, "are you serious, 
 ydney ?" 
 
 " Perfectly so," replied the young husband 
 :th sudden gravity, "you may well wonder 
 c my happiness. Lady Malcolm, for it is indeed 
 i.r beyond my deserts; but, nevertheless, this 
 ,.dy is indeed my wife." 
 ! t "Yours is in truth an enviable destiny, 
 , jrdney," s.aid his friend, subiluing with ready 
 ' let the feeling of surprise wliieh had for a mo- 
 lent betrayed her into a want of caution pecu- 
 irly ill-timed, "but you were ever a creature 
 
 the sunshine. Remember, that not a word 
 
 this had reached me; and you are still so 
 lung that you needed the all-sufficient excuse 
 ' such a face as that before me to reconcile me 
 ■i the fact of 3'our marriage. Pardon me, Mrs. 
 .'phinstone," she continued with a winning 
 ijiile, " I have for so many years been accus- 
 llned to look upon your husband in the light 
 <ja son, that I was weak enough for an instant 
 -tjfeel aggrieved that ho had taken such a step 
 Allhout honoring me with his confidence." 
 
 |[da replied only by a cold and haughty in- 
 cjiation of the head. She was stung to the 
 ■^ry heart. 
 
 I' Had I only been aware that you were in 
 'Ijgland, my kind friend," exclaimed Sydney, 
 ■*jDW many painful moments would have h)een 
 •Wired to Ida ; but the tale which I have to tell 
 l.=So long to be commenced here, and now ; and 
 n wife is already exhausted by her walk." 
 
 Let us then return to tho lodge together," 
 rl Lady Malcolm, " for you will be surprised, 
 
 S'^'ney, to hear tliat the two stray birds you 
 ,6 discovered on the wing, have made tlieir 
 h'bble nest for a time ou tho confines of a 
 glut man's park. Such is, however, tho case ; 
 bi I must not forgot that my sorrows and 
 ■tgglcs can affortl but sorry entertainment to 
 U. Elphinstonc, and I will, therefore, defer 
 alj'urther allusion to them until we are alone 
 
 together; and in tho interval, endeavor to make 
 her husband's friend her own. May I not hoiio 
 to do so, my dear madam ? Such a face a? 
 yours gives promise of a heart in which I sliould 
 be proud indeed to occupy a place. I am no 
 longer young, but I can still feel with thoso 
 who are so." 
 
 The voice and manner of Lady Malcolm, were 
 so resistless, that Ida turned toward her with a 
 smile, and ere long sho found herself convershig 
 unrestrainedly, and with a sensation of positive 
 pleasure, with the stranger from whom she had 
 only an hour before so unaccountably shrunk. 
 She even ceased to remember her first ill- 
 omened expression of surprise on discovering 
 that sho was tho wife of Sydney ; or rather slio 
 brought herself to interpret it according to tho 
 explanation which Lady Jlalcolra volunteered. 
 
 Elphinstone was, meanwhile, radiant with 
 delight, and was astonished to discover that, 
 although in tho sociely of his idolized wife, ho 
 had never for a moment experienced tho want 
 of other companionship, his happiness was sen- 
 sibly enhanced by this unexpected meeting 
 with an old and valued friend. 
 
 Tho shy and beautiful Edith, also interested 
 him greatly. It seemed to him so marvelous, 
 that t'lo laughing cliild in whose sports he had 
 shared, sliould, in tho four brief years which 
 had elapsed since they last met, have grown 
 into a graceful and lovely girl, full of the blush- 
 ing beauty of her sixteen summers; but, above 
 all, he felt exalted in his own esteem as ho 
 remembered, that it was his proud privilege to 
 introduce to one whom his mother had loved as 
 a sister, so radiant a being as Ida in the char- 
 acter of his wife. 
 
 " And when she knows all," ho resumed, 
 "when she learns all that sho has sacrificed 
 for my sake, how will she honor her for her 
 noblo self-abnegation : how perfect a faith will 
 she feel in her deep and pure affection for tho 
 man, to secure whoso happiness she has aban- 
 doned all besides." 
 
 On the arrival of the party at the lodge, the 
 astonishment of Mrs. Dorcas exceeded all 
 bounds, and it was with an unsteady hand that 
 she applied tho key, which was to give egress 
 to Elphinstone and his bride ; she became more 
 tranquU, however, as the parting salutations 
 fell upon her ear. 
 
 "Farewell, then, Lady Malcolm, until to- 
 morrow ; good-by, Edith ; remember that you 
 have promised that I shall see the sketch, and 
 that we shall between us introduce Ida into 
 the foreground." 
 
 " Good morning, my dear boy ; — good morn- 
 ing, Mrs, Elphinstone. We shall meet again 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The gate closed upon Sydney and his bride ; 
 but Lady Malcolm paused for a moment ere 
 she entered the lodge, and watched them as 
 they slowly made their way along the bowery 
 road. 
 
 "Married!" she mentally ejaculated ; "mar- 
 ried at twenty years of age; poor boy! — and 
 to a woman evidently older than himself. 
 Who was she, I wonder. She is beautiful — 
 very be-autiful — high-bred, and highly educa- 
 ted — but what brings them here* This may 
 indeed be a refuge for the struggling and the 
 sorrowful, but it is no fit resting-place for th« 
 
CG 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 prosperous and the' happy. There is a mys- 
 tery wliich I must strive to fathom for both 
 their sakes. And so the hope of loncj years 
 has failed ! I loved his mother so tenderly 
 that I could not but believe tliat ho, in his 
 turn, must love wy child when he again met 
 her — beautiful and ^'ifted as she now is. 
 However, I ■will think no more of this, but 
 endeavor to convince mj-self that the more 
 brilliant destiny which is offered to her may 
 equally insure her happiness; and, mean- 
 while, for the sake of the friend who was eo 
 dear to me, I will strive to feel the affection 
 of a mother for the woman who now bears 
 her name." 
 
 At this point of her reverie, Lady Malcolm 
 was interrupted by the sweetest sound to her 
 car of any which could be heard on earth — 
 the voice of her child caroling forth a simple 
 Bontr with all the gushing careless freedom of 
 a wild-bird; and with a sigh and a smile 
 strongly blended together she retired into 
 the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 rXPLANATlOXS. 
 
 "And now, pray tell me, Sydney," said his 
 wife, as they slowly proceeded homeward, 
 •' who is this'Lady Malcolm '<" 
 
 "In the first place, dearest, as you must 
 have gathered from our conversation, she 
 was the most intimate and best loved friend 
 of my mother, by whom she was at once es- 
 teemed for her many noble qualities, and 
 ndmired for her extraordinary attainments. 
 Slie is in truth an excellent and large-hearted 
 woman, of strong purposes and feelings, and 
 singularly accomplished; one of tlie last per- 
 sons in the world, I should have thought, to 
 bury herself alive as she is about to do here, 
 under any circumstances, even the melan- 
 choly one which must have induced the sac- 
 rifice " 
 
 "But she must have been a widow for 
 some time," remarked Ida; "for you saw 
 that, with the exception of a black ribbon 
 about her waist. Miss Malcolm wore no 
 mourning," 
 
 "True," said Sydney ; "and that fact ren- 
 ders her present absolute seclusion still more 
 unaccountable. However, in reply to your 
 inquiry, I must further tell you, that Lady 
 Malcolm was the only daughter and heiress 
 of Mr. Mark Conyngham, a man of veiry con- 
 siderable fortune and large landed prop- 
 erty." 
 
 " It can not then be that straitened means 
 have decided her to take so singular a step," 
 interposed Mrs. Eljdiinstonc. 
 
 "C>!rtuinly not, I siiould imagine ; or if eo, 
 something very peculiar must have occurred. 
 Bo this as it may, however, Miss Conyngham, 
 the beauty and the heiress, bestowed her 
 hand upon the colonel of a dragoon regiment 
 which chanced to be quartered in the county- 
 town adjacent to her father's estate; who, m 
 process of time, became Sir Archibald Mal- 
 colm ; a maa of high family connections and 
 
 considcrale military reputation. It was whr.t 
 is called a 'love match' on both sides; but I 
 have heard my poor mother say that the 
 gallant colonel won new laurels by this fresh 
 conquest in the county, where there had been 
 many pretenders to the hand of his fair and 
 well-dowried bride, who could not conceal 
 tlieir discomfiture at her being carried off 
 by a stranger, even although that stranger 
 was the brilliant and gallant Colonel Mal- 
 colm " 
 
 "And were they happy?" demanded Ida, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "So I have heard; in fact, they had every 
 reason to anticij)ate happiness, they were bo 
 well-matched in every respect — both wealthy, 
 both highly endowed by nature, and both 
 young and full of hope." 
 
 " You arc right," said Ida, with an ill-sup- 
 pressed sigh; "in that case, indeed, they 
 might well anticipate happiness, for in that 
 instance, there could be notiiing to reproach 
 on the one hand, nor to regret on the other, 
 in after j'ears." 
 
 "And I would pledge myself that neither 
 regret nor reproach ever came between them," 
 replied Sydney, emphatically ; "why should 
 it? Had they not chosen each other from the 
 whole world, even as we have done, my best 
 beloved? Ko, no; from all that 1 have heard. 
 Sir Archibald and Lady Malcolm were just 
 such a model coujile as we shall be; realizing 
 the sweetest words ever written by one of the 
 sweetest poets who ever wrote; and I will 
 be bound that more than once he has said 
 and sung to her what I will say and sing to 
 you ;" and as he bent down and looked into 
 the eyes of his wife, Elphinstone breathed out 
 in a subdued but exquisitely melodious Yoice; 
 
 "Thou wilt still be adored as this inoincnt thou art, 
 Let thy loveliness fade as il will ; 
 "While around the dear ruin eaeh wi«h of my heart 
 fchall entwine itself verdantly still " 
 
 " Are you already looking forward to that 
 period, Sydney, and prcjjaiiu^j yourself to meel 
 it with philosophy ?" asked Ida, with a shade , 
 of impatient bitterness 
 
 " What a question !" exclaimed Elphinstoofl^ 
 gayly ; "am I looking for a gouty shoe, and 
 a bowl of water-gruel ? No. no ; my philoso- 
 phy is of quite another dcsc; ij)tion. and coiv 
 sists of enjoying the present to the fullest er- 
 tent of which it is suscei>tiblc, and of looking 
 into the future only to foretaste ail the happi- 
 ness that I have reason to expect from it So 
 now that we have settled that important point, 
 wliich you must luive mooted in the mere in» , 
 solence of a beauty that will remain for a cep-. 
 tury to come unchanged and unchangeable in, 
 my eyes, let us return to our te.xt. ' 
 
 " Lady Malcolm accompanied her husband, 
 abroad, and did not return to England until 
 she had become a mother. Edith was at thf 
 period of their arrival a mere infant, and I, s 
 l>oy of four years of age, became her first ploy- 
 fellow ; after a time we both grew a fe«. 
 inches, she found the use of her feet, and wi 
 drew carts and made coVslip necklaces to, 
 gether, until I was banished to school, an< 
 thence to college, and entirely lost sight of m.' 
 little companion, who was, in the mean whil« 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 C7 
 
 nndergoing the same process with some sli;j;ht 
 variations. You may, therefore, imdersUiiid 
 II IV astoaishmeat to-day oa discovering in the 
 lovely girl who had exeitod eo much interest 
 ill us both, the fairy thing that I only re- 
 membered as a -wee toddling, laughter-loviug 
 child." 
 
 " Yes, time works strange changes," said 
 Ida, gravely ; " and she is certainly very beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 "And what a voice!" pursued Sydney; 
 " those recreant rooks ouglit to have been 
 ashamed to caw in Iier hearing ; and did you 
 remark the sketch, dearest ? As an artist, j-ou 
 must have considered it masterly for so young 
 a girl." 
 
 " It was very creditable, indeed," said Mrs. 
 Elphinstone, who began to weary of the praise 
 bestowed by her husband upon another, but 
 who was too right-minded to utter one word of 
 depreciation. " Miss Malcolm will make a 
 charming wife for the man who is fortunate 
 t enough to win her." 
 
 I " A wife !" echoed Sydney, with a laugh ; 
 I '* what ! that shy child ! Jly dear Ida, what 
 an absurd idea !" 
 
 ! " I do not see its absurdity, I confess," per- 
 I sisted his companion ; '• if I do not err in my 
 ' calculation, iliss Malcolm must be sixteen years 
 of age." 
 
 " Well, I suppose she is," was the calm re- 
 joinder ; " but it really soimds so strangely to 
 ;hear you call her Miss Malcolm, though I sup- 
 pose it will be proper to do so myself iu fu- 
 :ture. In order to show all fitting honor to the 
 ;* little Deethy' of old times, who, as you say, 
 :has now reached the ripe and respect-eompell- 
 jing age of sixteen." 
 
 i " After all," murmured Ida ; " I must con- 
 Ifess that, charming and accomplished as these 
 strangers are, I would much rather that our 
 solitude had continued uninvaded." 
 
 "/, at least, have never felt it to be soli- 
 tude," said Sydney, fondly; "nvj world is 
 always amply peopled when you are by my 
 side ; but, nevertheless, a thousand pleasant 
 •memories have rendered their presence wel- 
 come to me ; green, fresh memories, which 
 (bring back the happy years of my boyhood, 
 [and make me feel as though I had still a mother 
 ^d a home." 
 
 ' Mrs. Elphinstonc was silent ; and for a time 
 ^er husband remained buried in thought ; 
 iwhile at intervals a smile played about his 
 [ips, and at others a deep shade of sadness 
 [settled upon his brow. Suddenly, however, he 
 ktarted from his reverie. 
 
 ! " But why should I look into the past," he 
 ■^'id ; " when I have only cause to exult over 
 present." 
 
 Yet, a mother — a home — " faltered the 
 lelf-tormenting Ida, who was jealous even of 
 ' back-glancing thoughts. 
 " True, they are both very dear to me," was 
 reply ; " but have I not a loved and lovely 
 'e to replace the first, and the wide worhl 
 fore me in which to renew the last ? Where 
 (he heart Imgers, there is our true home; it is 
 Wy separation from the beloved one which 
 nakes man an exile and a wanderer." 
 
 " And would it not be prudent to make that 
 lome ere long, dear Sydney i" asked his wife, 
 
 once more appeased. " Wo must not forget 
 that we are j)oor ; the Midsumimr-day's dream 
 iu which we have hitherto iudul'^-d can not last 
 forever ; and we should do well to prepare for 
 the iuevitable awakening." 
 
 " My t/crtr girl !" exclaimed Elphinstonc, de- 
 precatingly ; " Avho is looking gloomily into the 
 future now ? I am actually iuclined to scold 
 you. Are you already weary of our miniature 
 paradise in this quiet little nook? I shall, in- 
 deed, begin to fear that you have truly discov- 
 ereil it to be a solitude." 
 
 " Then you will do me an injustice, Sydney ; 
 my only dread is, that you may yourself soon 
 learn to feel it one. It is necessary, even 
 amid such happiness as our own that, like the 
 mother of Aladdin in the Eastern story, we 
 should rub up the old lamps of our fancies, at 
 times, in order to exchange them for new ones. 
 Toujottrs pcrdrix, however savory the diet may 
 at first prove, runs a sad risk of becoming 
 wearisome at last, particularly to one so young 
 as you are." 
 
 " That is scarcely fair, Ida, either to yourself 
 or me." 
 
 " And wherefore ? The fact may be unpal- 
 atable, but can you deny its truth ? ' 
 
 " Gastrouomieally, no ; but morally, ycf — 
 certainly, in so far as I am personally involved 
 in the question." 
 
 " Well, then," persisted Mrs. Elphinstonc ; 
 "we will, for the sake of argument, suppose 
 that you really could be content to dream away 
 your life with no companion but your wife, and 
 no pursuit but that of making the days suc- 
 ceed each other in a species of listless enjoy- 
 ment — " 
 
 " Ida,*I can not understand you." 
 
 "And yet, love, I speak plainly; even could 
 you, I repeat, bo satisfied with such an exist- 
 ence as that which I have attempted to describe, 
 I must not suffer you to forget that I came to 
 you almost penniless, and — " 
 
 "Ida," interposed her husband vehemently; 
 " that you became mine under any circum- 
 stances was an amount of happiness of which 
 I feel myself to have been unworthy ; too well 
 do I comprehend the extent of the sacrifice to 
 which your aflection prompted you ; but only 
 give me time, and you shall see how jealously 
 and perseveringly 1 will struggle to repay tho 
 debt. Surely, however, you are premature in 
 seeking thus early to commence our combat 
 with tho world. Wo are so happy here, shut 
 out from all the cark and care by which wo 
 shall bo surrounded when we have once made 
 the plunge." 
 
 Elphinstone was another proof, had any such 
 been needed, that men have infinitely less prac- 
 tical philosopliy than women. The sudden 
 necessity for exertion, after years of ease and 
 self-indulgence, shakes a man to the verji center 
 of his soul ; he has to break through all his 
 old and cherished habits, to immolate his fas- 
 tidious refinement at the shrine of mammon, 
 and to jostle his way to tho feet of the idol 
 among the coarser worshipers in whom tho 
 crowd excites emulation rather than disgust; 
 his sensitive nature revolts at tho trird heforo 
 him, and he becomes helpless under tlio failure 
 of his moral courage; while a woman, however 
 dehcately nurtured and constitutionally tLmid, 
 
68 
 
 TUE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 no sooner becomes aware that the stnip-glo 
 must be made than she Ls aroused intostrcii^nli 
 and action; she may -n-ccp and rcf>ine under 
 slight sorrows, but she contends resolutely with 
 a great trial. 
 
 Man looks gloomily npon the storm-cloud, 
 but woman gazes out into sjiace to discover 
 the rainbow beyond it. Man is cowed by the 
 ]>ositive, woman sustained by tlio possible, lie 
 cowers beneath the actual infliction, while she, 
 even though it bo amid tears and travail, per- 
 sists in struggling for its remedy. 
 
 The sudden energy displayed by Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone had, however, as wo are compelled to 
 confess, bucn elicited by a mixed motive of 
 which slio herself was scarcely conscious. It 
 is true that the rcllcctions to which sho had 
 given utterance during that homeward walk 
 had frequently arisen in her mind in her hap- 
 piest hours, but it is equally certain that not 
 even on the previous day had s'.io entertained 
 the most remote intention of forcing thom so 
 abrujitly on her husband ; one short hour had, 
 however, sufficed to create a revolution in her 
 whole being ; the apparition of Lady Malcolm 
 and her daughter ; the expressed admiration of 
 Mr. Elphinstone for the graceful girl who had 
 been the playmate of his childhood, the un- 
 guarded expression used by the elder lady, and 
 her evident influence over the feelings of Syd- 
 ney, all conspired to render his wife anxious to 
 avoid any further intercourse with the intrud- 
 ers. 
 
 A new interest had been awakened in the 
 lieart over which she sought to reign supreme ; 
 mutual confidences must be exchanged upon 
 Eubjccts with which sho was wholly uncon- 
 nected ; her privacy was invaded; tllte sensa- 
 tion of blissful security in which she had in- 
 dulged was gone ; the besetting sin of her 
 nature was once more aroused; and the fatal 
 jealous}- to which sho yielded herself up a pass- 
 ive victim, was busy with its prey Ida was 
 very wretched, but she did not ask for rest, she 
 only pined for change. 
 
 And who among us can ever foresee what 
 the next change may bring ? 
 
 CHAPTER XX lY. 
 
 Ox the following morning while Mv. Elphin 
 stone was occupied, according to his usual cus- 
 tom, in euleoting a bouquet for his bride on her 
 appearance in the breakfast-room, Ida lingered 
 over her einiplc hut elegant toilet. The ex- 
 pression of lier features was calm but sad, and 
 it was evident tliat her thought were far from 
 the seine and objects by which she was sui*- 
 rounded. 
 
 iSbe had dismissed her maid, and sat oppo- 
 site the large mirror, wrai)ped in a loose dress 
 of pale blue cachemere, over which her mag- 
 nificf-nt hair fell in luxuriant profusion almost 
 to the floor. Her head rested upon her hand, 
 and her eyes were fixed upon the grountL 
 
 " Yes — I see, I feel, that my trial is now 
 about to commence," she murmured to hcr- 
 6clf ; " and yet, of what have I a rijht to com- 
 
 plain ? I was not forced to the biink of tie 
 precipice uix)n which I stanil ; I chose my owu 
 path, and nuist endure tlie consequences of my 
 own rashness. There will be no pity for me, 
 none, should I become the victim of my vain 
 and selfish imprudence ; and it is better so, for 
 I do not seek for pity, and could not brook it. 
 And yet I love him so deeply — I do love him 
 so entirely and so intensely, that surely I de- 
 serve to be loved in my turn with more than 
 mere evanescent passion. For the moment I 
 am his world, for mouths I have been the one 
 dream of his existence ; but is not hfe one per- 
 petual series of change and chance 3" 
 
 How many women have been worshiped 
 witii equal devotion for a brief period ; then 
 slighted, and ultimately forgotten! There are 
 a hiuulred deaths comprised in those two fear- 
 fid words. And he is so young, so very young 1 
 Who shall say that the fancy of his youth will 
 continue to be the passion of liis manhood? 
 Who shall saj' that the poverty and the stern ; 
 contact of the wofld may not do their hideous 
 work, and wrench from me the heart wliose 
 every struggle for freedom will cost me tears 
 of blood ? And he is so beautiful in liis boyish 
 strength and grace ; must not others look upon 
 him with vhe same tenderness and admiration 
 that I have done? Others younger, and before 
 many years shall have gone by, fairer and 
 brighter than myself. Oh, Sydney, should tbij 
 ever come to pass — " 
 
 Her bosom heaved convulsively, and her 
 lips trembled, as for an instant she dwelt upon 
 the image evoked by her jealous fears ; butshe^ 
 was suddenly awakened to the realities of hei, 
 present existence by the full rich voice of hci, 
 husband which came to her through the opoi 
 easement, as he accompanied his graceful tasl 
 by singing beneath her window — 
 
 " Oh ' there 's nothing half so sweet in life 
 As Love's young dream." 
 
 She raised her head, a smile stole over her fea 
 tures, and concealing herself behind the win 
 (low-draperies, she watched him as he war 
 dered from flower-bed to flower-bed, selectin,, 
 with a fastidiousness which sent a glow eve. 
 to her heart, the fairest and richest blosson; 
 that they could boast. > 
 
 After mdulging for a time in this contempli; 
 tion, she hastily rang for her woman, betraye^ 
 an unusual interest in the arrangement of h» 
 dress, gazed long and anxiously into the mirro 
 and finally joined her husband radiant wit 
 beauty and happiness. 
 
 "At last!" exclaimed Sydney, springing in 
 petuously to meet her ; " but, laggard as yc 
 have been, my best beloved, I have not tl 
 heart to chide you; the time has been well b 
 stowed, for never did I see you look mo' 
 lovely. What will Edith say to-day, when si 
 whispered to me yesterday that vou were tl, 
 most beautiful creature she Irnci ever seei 
 What will Lady Malcolm think of my pi 
 sumption if she could scarcely credit it ■*') 
 she saw you warm and weary with a fatigiJt 
 walk, and could scarcely, even then, bebe 
 that j-ou were really mine !" 
 
 And as he spoke Elpliinstone woimd his ai 
 tenderly about the waist of his wife. T 
 question waa, however, au unhappy onei ^ 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 as we have scon, Ida hnd at once attributed 
 the incredulity of Lady Malcohn to a far dif- 
 ferent cause ; and a shadow passed across her 
 face which even the constrained smile upon 
 her lips could nut conceal, and she asked with 
 an attempt at playfulness — 
 
 "And why should you attach any import- 
 ance to the effect which I may, or may not pro- 
 duce upon your friend and her daughter?" 
 
 ••Why!" echoed Sydney. "Oin you ask me 
 whv, when y<iu know the exultiition that I feel 
 when I know you to be admired and appreci- 
 ated by all who approach you, and remember 
 that you are mine, that I have won you to my 
 beart, and may hold you there forever ?" 
 
 "Foolish boy!" murmured his wife, tenderly; 
 •but I suppose that I must not quarrel with 
 such a feclinj;:, although it is one in which I 
 ti\n not sympathize." 
 
 " Ida. niy love, what mean you ?" 
 
 " Simply, dear Sydney, that my love for you 
 is so utterly independent of all e.\:traneous ex- 
 citement, nay, I will even suy, so self-engrossed, 
 that I would rather that no one should look 
 upon you with the same eyes that I do." 
 
 Elphinstono answered with a peal of his 
 own joyous laughter. 
 
 "Believe me when I assure you that I do 
 not jest," s:ud Ida, gravely. 
 
 " And believe me, Mrs. Elphinstone, when 
 I assure you that you need be under no appre- 
 i hension of the kind," replied her husband, as 
 ' j he wreafthed a white camellia in the braids of 
 1 her hair; "depend upon it that your sun is 
 I scarcely a star to any other eye than your own. 
 I There, now you are perfection; and you will 
 I leave that flower where I have placed it ; will 
 
 iyou not, dearest ?" 
 "Certainly, if you wish it, Sydney; but re- 
 member that your friends proposed to pay us 
 i an early visit, and that we have not yet break- 
 I fested." 
 I " Ah, true ; so -we will only indulge in one 
 
 I more stroll through the flowers, and then aban- 
 don them for a time. I do so hope that you 
 will like Lady Malcolm, Ida." 
 
 "You know that I am slow in attaching 
 myseli; Sydney." 
 
 "You are right;" said her husband, bend- 
 ing down to look into her face; "I know it 
 well; hours and hours of torture did I suffer, 
 before you allowed mo to believe that you cared 
 more for me than for the most indifferent of 
 jour acquaintance." 
 
 ■* .\.nd do you blame me, Sydney?" 
 
 "Blume youl I cannot accomplish impossi- 
 bilities. I should not know how to blame you 
 if I desired to do so." 
 
 " In that case at least you would have done 
 wrong;" said Ida, with a faint smile; "I saw 
 and felt — " she paused. 
 
 " Wliat?" asked Sydney, eagerly. 
 
 "Nay, do not urge mo;" was her reply; 
 "suffice it that you learned the truth at last. 
 And now let us return to the house." 
 
 Charming !" exclaimed Mrs. Elphinstone, 
 as she po3ses.sed herself of the bouquet which lay 
 beside her plate, and presented her check to 
 receive the kiss of her husband ; " I really*be- 
 pin to imagine, Sydney, that the flowers repro- 
 duce themselves every night, in order to be 
 |<«thered and blended so gracefully every morn- 
 
 ing. Why, this is a fit offering for an eastern 
 queen." 
 
 " It is far better bestowed ;" said her grati- 
 fied husband, as he seated himself near her ; 
 " for now it adorns my wife ; and I repeat, Ida, 
 that I never saw you look so radiantly beauti- 
 ful." 
 
 "Flatterer I" said Mrs. Elphinstono; "you 
 will almost make mo vain ; but in truth, dear 
 Sydney, I would not exchange these glorious 
 blossoms, which you have so skillfully arranged, 
 for the most costly gems that you could offer 
 me." ^ 
 
 The sun was shining brilliantly, and all na- 
 ture was redolent of beauty and brightness. 
 Ida was perfectly, supremely happy; she had 
 even forgotten for the time the gnawing doubts 
 and bitter anticipations in which she was so 
 prone to indulge. 
 
 With her eyes fondly and tenderly fixed on 
 the glowing and manly face of her young bride- 
 groom, whose luxuriant curls were raised at 
 intervals from his brow by the breeze thac 
 came through the open gl^ss doors by which 
 they had entered from the garden — while his 
 largo luminous eyes danced in the light of the 
 heart's happiness, her whole being was flooded 
 with a quiet and absorbing joy — when suddenly 
 steps were heard on the graveled sweep that 
 led up to the house, and Lady Malcolm and 
 her daughter emerged from behind the belt of 
 flowering shrubs, which had hitherto concealed 
 their approach. 
 
 " So soon I" murmured Ida, roused from her 
 happy reverie. 
 
 '' Welcome ! a thousand times welcome !" 
 exclaimed Sydney, as he bounded acro.ss the 
 veranda to receive the coming guests ; and as 
 his wife rose slowly from her scat, she saw him 
 grasp in his extended hands those of the mother 
 and daughter with a, warmth which to her ap- 
 peared exaggerated and uncalled for. 
 
 No trace of this feeling was however percep- 
 tible as she greeted with calm and high-bred 
 grace the friends of lier husband ; and the heart 
 of Elphinstone beat high as he detected the gaze 
 of unequivocal admiration which Lady Malcolm 
 fastened upon the lovely woman who stood 
 before her. 
 
 " We are sad intruders, I fear, my dear Mrs. 
 Elphinstone:" she said, courteously; "and visit 
 you at a most untimely hour, but my affection 
 for your husliand would not permit me to use 
 any thing like ceremony toward his wife, whose 
 regard and friendsliip I am sincerely eager to 
 secure. You will therefore pardon, will you 
 not ? and accept this breach of conventionality 
 as a proof of the feeling which I am anxious to 
 establish between us." 
 
 "I can but feel flattered, madam — " 
 
 " Nay, nay ; do me the credit to believe that 
 T am a mere egotist, unwilling to forego, even 
 for an hour, the enjoyment of your society; 
 and yet not finite so, as I coveted it even more 
 for little Edith than for myself; and I feel 
 quite sure that the selfishness of a mother will 
 readily find its excuse in your eyes." 
 
 " You do Ida no more than justice, my denr 
 Lady Malcolm, when you believe that you will 
 be welcome to her at all hours;" said Sydney; 
 " indeed she was reproaching me for my idle- 
 ness this morning, fearful lost wo ehould not 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 have terminated our breakfast before your ar- 
 rival." 
 
 " In that case I will not further apologize, 
 and I fully appreciate her kindness ; and now, 
 my dear Mrs. Kl{)hin.stone, you must allow me 
 to congratulate you on the little paradise that 
 you have discovered hero — I have rarely seen 
 BO lovely a spot." 
 
 " Is it not a pretty nest ?" asked Elphin- 
 stone ; " and yet, would you believe it ? 
 although we have only resided here for a few 
 weeks, that naughty girl is urging mo to ex- 
 change it for tho^dirt and din of London." 
 
 " Doubtlessly, Mrs. Elpliinstonc has some 
 good and sufficient reason for so doing ;" was 
 the reply. 
 
 "You are right, madam, quite right;" said 
 Ida, calmly ; " we are poor, and consequently 
 not privileged to pass our lives in a dream, 
 however pleasant it niiglit bo to do so." 
 
 The brow of Sydney flushed, and he looked 
 mortified and ill at ease. There was a mo- 
 mentary silence, which Ida was too proud to 
 break, but which was soon terminated by the 
 good taste and feeling of Lady ilalcolm, who, 
 taking the hand of the young hostess, said in 
 a tone of deep affection — 
 
 " I admired you at the moment we first met, 
 Mrs. Elphinstono, as every one must do who 
 looks upon you, but I have now forgotten my 
 admiration in my respect. You possess one of 
 woman's noblest attributes — moral courage, 
 and you are indeed worthy to bo the wife of 
 my friend's son. And do you know ;" she con- 
 tinued in a lighter strain ; " you have relieved 
 my mind of a certain sort of dread. I havo a 
 horror of fine ladies who can not aflbrd to divest 
 themselves of 'the purple and fine linen' of the 
 world — I value the picture ; I care httlo for the 
 gilding of the frame. Thus you see that, after 
 after the avowal which you havo so frankly and 
 gracefully made, I shall be relieved of a thou- 
 sand apprehensions, and be enabled to meet 
 you upon equal terms ; for despite tho wonder 
 which I read in the eyes of that dear boy, I can 
 truly plead poverty, as well as yourself^ and 
 after a 3-outh and womanhood of luxury am 
 compelled to look the stern realities of my des- 
 tiny steadily in the face." 
 
 " My dear Lady Malcolm, you astonish me I" 
 exclaimed Elpliinstone. • 
 
 "I can believe it;" was tho calm reply; 
 "and yet such indeed is tho case. However, 
 as I before remarked, I do not feel privileged 
 to inflict the details of mj' trials and disappoint- 
 ments upon Mrs. Elpliinstone." 
 
 " You have at least excited alike my surprise 
 and my curiosity ;" persisted Sydney. 
 
 "They shall bo gratified;" said Lady Mal- 
 colm ; " when they will not entail weariness 
 on your wife." 
 
 " I bog, madam"— commenced Ida — 
 
 "Look yonder, beneath tliat weeping ash ;" 
 interposed Sydney; "tliere is a rustic seat 
 wlvere wo may be sheltered from both sun and 
 wind. ShiUl wo adjourn thither, and leave 
 Ida to improve lier acquaintance with Miss 
 Malcolm '(" 
 
 " With ^fiss Malcolm .'" echoed tlie mother, 
 with a smile. " Can you really have forgotten, 
 Sydney, that your little play-fellow was 
 christened Edith I" 
 
 '' Ko, indeed, my dear friend, but — " 
 
 "Nay, nay, tliis is folly;" persisted Lady 
 Malcolm ; " Edith is still a child, and as such 
 I should wish her to bo considered. Youth 
 passes only with too much rapidity ; we need 
 not seek to hasten its departure. Am 1 not 
 right, Mrs. Elphinstone?" 
 
 Ida shrank involuntarily; but fortunately, 
 her visitor unconscious of the new pang which 
 she had inflicted, turned, without pausing, 
 toward Elphinstone, and said sadly: 
 
 " "Well, as I shall rejoice to have terminated 
 my self-imposed task, and once more to forget 
 my sorrows in tho society of your amiable 
 wife, I will, with her permission, avail myself 
 of your suggestion ; and the rather as Edith 
 will be so great a gainer by my absence." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TRESH MISGIVINGS. 
 
 Sydnet rose and offered his arm to his 
 mother's friend; and when they had quitted 
 the apartment, Ida found herself alone with 
 tho fair girl who had already become to her 
 an object of distrust. 
 
 Edith, after raising one timid glance to the 
 face of Mrs. Elphinstone, whose eyes wero 
 riveted on tho retreating figure of her hn.'^- 
 band, fixed her own upon the floor, as if 
 wholly engrossed by tho arabesques of tho 
 carpet, and thus Ida, as she wakened to her 
 duties as a hostess, was enabled to gaze her 
 fill for an instant upon the pure and fresh 
 young creature before her. 
 
 It was true, as Lady Malcolm had said, that 
 with her eyes thus vailed by their long lashe.^ 
 Edith did indeed look like a mere girl ; but Mrs. 
 Elphinstono soon became aware that when 
 those glorious eyes were raised, and beamed 
 with intellect and emotion, tho girl was sud. 
 denly transformed into tho woman, and tlvat hci 
 beauty was of no common order. 
 
 " How shall I preser\'o you from ennui, Miss 
 Malcolm, during the absence of your mother, 
 and — " 
 
 She paused, for Edith who had hitherto re- 
 mained motionless, suddcidy lifted her liead 
 with a smile of grateful i)leasure so bright and , 
 ingenuous, that she felt unable to complete tho 
 sentence she had framed, or to utter the name 
 of her husband. 
 
 " And" — she pursued ; " maj- 1 hope that I 
 shall succeed ?" 
 
 "How kind you are, madam; how very 
 kind;" faltered the blushing Edith; "in your' 
 society I should think it impossible to feel ermuL, 
 It is I, on tho contrary — " 
 
 "I must echo the words of Lady Malcolm, i 
 and forbid all verbal ceremonies:" said Ida' 
 forcing a smile ; " you are so admirable an artiM 
 I that perhaps my portfolio may aflbrd you som( 
 I amusement, or — " she continued, anxious ti 
 } assure herself of the extent of her companion': 
 I acquirements, and consequently of her owi 
 imaginary peril; "you are probably also : 
 musician, in which case I will request of yoi 
 to favor me by trying my piano, which is, I bf 
 liove, u tolerably good one." 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 71 
 
 EiUih roso unaffectedly, and approached the 
 iustrumont. 
 
 "If it be really your vish, madam;" slio 
 eaid, modestly ; " I am ready to obey you ; but 
 If you it'ould do mo tho kindness to permit mQ 
 in tho first instance to be a listener, I should 
 indeed feel grateful to you." 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstono complied with ready prace, 
 and executed one of the most complicated of 
 Thalberg's compositions with a brilliancy and 
 taste which caused the cheeks of Jvlith to plow 
 and her eyes to sparklo with delight and ani- 
 mation. 
 
 "What a glorious finger!" she exclaimed in- 
 voluntarily, as Ida resigned her seat. " Ah, 
 madam, you can never foci alone with sach a 
 talent as yours, and such an instrument to give 
 It voice." 
 
 "You are an enthusiast. I see;" said her 
 companion; ''but now I claim your promise to 
 afford mo the gratification of becoming a lis- 
 tener in my turn." 
 
 "I do love music, I confess;" was tho earnest 
 rejoinder of Miss Malcolm, as in obedience to 
 the bidding of her hostess sho swept tho keys 
 with a mastery and purity of expression won- 
 derful in one so young; and then glided into 
 those exquisite ' Songs without Words' of Men- 
 delssohn, which are the very triumph of instru- 
 mental melody. 
 
 Ida listened entranced, less by tho talent 
 displayed by this j'oung girl than by the pas- 
 sionate feehng which marked her performance. 
 Her very soul appeared to be poured forth as 
 she played : self was forgotten for the moment ; 
 and she evidently existed only in tho wondrous 
 harmony which she awakened. 
 
 As the sounds ceased, there was silence, for 
 Mrs. Elphinstone, herself deeply susceptible to 
 the charm of music, was too much excited to 
 indulge in the common venality of praise, while 
 Edith restored to self-consciousness, was too 
 timid to move or speak. 
 
 "Pardon me;" said Ida at length, struggling 
 against the conflicting feelings by whicli she 
 had been momentarily overcome: " but I have 
 really been taken by surprise. You must have 
 been a musician. Miss Malcolm, to compre- 
 hend all tho powers and resources of the sci- 
 ence so thoroughly at your age." 
 
 " I am wholly indebted to my mother for 
 whatever efficiency I may have acquired;" re- 
 plied Edith, simply; "she has spared no pains 
 to perfect me in her favorite accomplishment ; 
 but I can never liope to rival her, although she 
 had tho marvelous self-denial to endure my dis- ! 
 cordant attempts when I wa.s a mere urchin of 
 four years old, and Jias persevered in her weari- j 
 Bome task ever since." 
 
 " It must long have ceased to weary her ;" 
 said Mrs. Elpliinstone ; " but it is not so much 
 your execution which surprises me, as the ex- | 
 preasion with which you render passages that 
 I should liave conceived could only have been 
 comprehended in their actual depth and signi- 
 ficance by a wnmg heart and a l)rui8ed spirit." 
 
 The eyes of Miss Malfolm fell, and a cloud 
 of sorrow passed across her fair young brow. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Elphinstone ;" 
 she faltered; "'perhaps I never should indeed 
 have understood the true language of muaic if 
 I never had known suffering." 
 
 "You! Miss Malcolm, you!" exclaimed Ida; 
 •' at your age — in your shelterod position, con- 
 stantly under tlie watchful eye of a mother — 
 what suffering can you have known V 
 
 "You forget, dear madam," replied the fair 
 girl as large tears fell upon her cheeks ; " that 
 even the fond and untiring eye of a mother 
 can not always ward off grief, and that I am 
 already fatherless." 
 
 " Forgive me — forgive me — " said Ida, dis- 
 tressed at the effect of her remark ; " but that 
 was not the sorrow, that was not the struggle, 
 to which I alluded." 
 
 " I have known no other," said Edith in- 
 genuously. 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone sighed. She had never 
 known a youth like this. Her struggles and 
 sorrows had commenced even from her girl- 
 hood. Luxury and indulgences had been 
 powerless against the influence of passions 
 early awakened and prematurely developed; 
 and it was consequently with a sad curiosity 
 that she contemplated the calm and holy expres- 
 sion of Edith. 
 
 Not a storm had passed over tliat tranquil 
 spirit whose pages angels might have perused 
 — not a germ of evil could be detected in that 
 calm and placid heart which filial love suflBced 
 to fill and satisfy. 
 
 Unlike Ida herself who had been reared in 
 the hot-bed of fashion and ambition, forced 
 into unhealthy mental growth, and weakened 
 by those fatal influences by which the votaries 
 of the world arc predestined to become its 
 victims, Edith Malcolm had been permitted to 
 live out her childhood and her youth amid the 
 joys and sorrows proper to her years: no idle 
 and ill-timed flatteries, no vain prophecies of 
 future triumphs, had polluted her young cars, 
 and profaned her guileless heart ; she had never 
 been taught to regard love as a speculation, and 
 marriage as an investment; her leisure had 
 never been amused by the perusal of puerile 
 romances, or her energies exercised in the 
 attempt to become a heroine. 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone had, as we have shown, 
 been isolated from all companions of her own 
 age, educated for display, and taught that the 
 one great duty of her existence was self- 
 aggraudizcment. 
 
 Chiklhood is much more morally impressible 
 than the generality of persons are willing to 
 believe. Because a child rebels against the 
 authority of a parent or a preceptor in the 
 mere wantonness of an undisciplined will, it is 
 often supposed that neither example nor pre- 
 cept has produced its intended effect; this, 
 however, is a vital error ; the bending of the 
 twig is not more certain to decide the inclina- 
 tion of the tree than arc early impressions to 
 influence and pre-determiue the after char- 
 actor. 
 
 In infancy and youth tho human clay is 
 plastic, and may consequently be molded at 
 will; but when once it has become indurated 
 by time, it is vain to attempt the removal of 
 the false Hues of the image ; its beauties and 
 defects will endure through life, modified in- 
 deed by circumstances, but still visible and 
 distinct. 
 
 Strange, and almost incredible diil it there- 
 fore appear to Ida that the daughter of Lady 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 JIalcolm f hoiild have attained the acre at which 
 she had herself already" listened more than 
 onee to the voice of passion, discarded suitors, 
 ail 1 rcijrirded herself as fully competent to 
 decide her own destiny, without one dream of 
 the heart-struirirles which must inevitably 
 await her; but there was something so earnest 
 yet so calm in the tone in which Edith had 
 said, in reply to licr own observation " I have 
 known no other." that she could not refuse to 
 place faith in the assurance. 
 
 " So mucli the worse — so much the worse" 
 — murmured the demon within her; when the 
 stream gushes forth, it will burst its bounds ; 
 when her heart tide swells forth, it will swell 
 and boQ into a lava-flood ; the passionate out- 
 gushing of her spirit to which I have just 
 Ustened was never due to the inspiration of a 
 mother's teaching. A touch, a tone, will 
 sutlice to awaken her from her dream of calm 
 — and then — " 
 
 " And you, dear madam, you, beautiful, 
 gifted, and beloved as you are, surely you can 
 not have known the sorrows which you depre- 
 cate for me ;" murmured a low sweet voice 
 beside her, and Ida started as she felt the 
 hand of Miss Malcolm laid softly on her arm ; 
 " and yet the sad train of thought into which 
 you have fallen would almost lead me to 
 fear — " 
 
 " You are right — quite right ;" said Mrs. 
 Elphinstone in an accent which she in vain 
 attempted to render firm: "I have known 
 many and bitter sorrows, but that is nothing — 
 nothing — the past has been endured and may 
 be forgotten — it is the future which makes the 
 heart swell, and the brain giddy." 
 
 Edith drew back alarmed. 
 
 " Poor child !" said Ida, who remarked the 
 gesture ; " do yoti then never look into the 
 future ? never shrink from its probable conse- 
 quences ?" 
 
 "Xever, madam, I am so happy in the 
 present." 
 
 " But that very happiness tends to heighten 
 the ttfrrors of the future. It is soothing to 
 look back upon the sufferings from which we 
 have escaped — but to look back on happiness 
 which wc have lost would be too horrible! 
 The burden of Atlas would be but a feather 
 weight beside such a crushing, such an over- 
 whelming agony." 
 
 Edith sank almost breathless into a chair ; 
 she could not utter a syllabic. 
 
 "Forgive me," said Mrs. Elphinstone sud- 
 denly, with one of her most winning smiles, 
 "I have done wrong to give way to such 
 gloomy ideas, above all, when I may say 
 with you that I am go happy in the present. 
 I suppose that it is the jealousy of that very 
 happiness which makes me fear to lose it. 
 And yet it is very weak, is it not ? We must 
 not let my husb.i'nd suspect that I indulge in 
 Buch nervous folly. — And now for the "port- 
 folio, Miss Malcolm," she continued with 
 forced gayety ; " you will recognize some of 
 the scenes of my sketches, for Mr. Elphinstone 
 was anxious that on our departure from the 
 neighborhood we should carry away with us 
 6ome memorials of our sojourn ; and, terrible 
 to avow! a wife's first duty is obedience, 
 ijee! here is the cottage, with Sydney, still 
 
 more terrible to admit, smoking his cigar 
 under the veranda. And here — here is the 
 park lodge, your present home, with the glo- 
 rious old beeches in the background ; does it 
 not make a pretty picture ?" 
 
 With all the light-heartedness of her age, 
 Edith had already conquered her agitation, 
 and, as she recognized the subjects of the 
 several sketches, she uttered repeated exclam- 
 ations of delight. 
 
 "Is not Mr. Elphinstone enchanted with 
 these lovely drawings ?" she asked, artlessly; 
 and then, without awaiting a reply, she con- 
 tinued : " How very, very happy you must 
 make him ; and how thankful mamma will 
 be to know how kind, and amiable, and gifted 
 a wife he has, for she loves him, Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone, as if he were her own son ; and you 
 can not conceive how anxious she has been 
 to discover if you were as good as you are 
 beautiful." 
 
 As Edith uttered these words, and ere Mrs. 
 Elphinstone had time to reply, Lady Malcolm 
 and her husband entered from the garden. 
 There was a slight shade of sadness on the 
 I fine features of the widow, and even Sydney 
 himself had for the moment lost his joyous 
 smile. The animation of her daughter, how- 
 ever, soon sufficed to restore Lady Malcolm 
 to cheerfulness ; while the anxious look of his 
 wife cleared away at once the mists which 
 obscured the spirit of the bridegroom. 
 
 " I have a thousand thanks to offer you for 
 your indulgence, Mrs. Elphinstone," said her 
 Tisitor ;" and, if I can judge by the counten- 
 ance of Edith, she owes me quite as many for 
 the delightful hour which my absence has 
 enabled her to pass with you." 
 
 " Indeed I do, dear mamma," exclaimed the 
 young girl, enthusiastically ; " for while I 
 have had Mrs. Elphinstone all to myself, the 
 time has flown with such rapidity, that yoa 
 seem scarcely to have been away 'ten 
 minutes." 
 
 " Miss Malcolm has been delighting me, 
 madam, bv her exquisite performance on th« 
 piano," said Ida, courteously ; '• she is, indeed, 
 ' an accomplished musician." 
 
 " I am truly gratified by your opinion," 
 £aid Lady Malcolm ; " and the rather as I 
 understand from Sydney that your own pro- 
 ficiency in music is something marvelous. 
 Indeed," she added with a smile which was 
 full of warmth and affection, " if I am to be- 
 lieve even the half of what he has told rae, I 
 can not have one wish ungratified for the son 
 of my dearest friend." 
 
 Ida blushed deeply. 
 
 "S^-dney," she replied, "is naturally anx- 
 ious to justify Ids choice in your eyes, but 
 you must accept his testimony with consider- 
 able reservation." 
 
 Elphinstone retorted by passing his hand 
 caressingly over the dark and glossy braids 
 that lay upon her forehead. 
 
 " Ha"! you have been looking at Ida's 
 drawings," he said, as his eye fell upon the 
 contents of the portfolio which were scattered 
 over the table ; " are they not well executed? 
 And this sketch of the cottage is perfect 
 Did you recognize it, Edith ? That is my 
 property, and so jealous am I of my rights. 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 that I ventured to have it framed for my 
 dressing-room." 
 
 " It is indeed beautiful, and most faithful," 
 paid Miss Malcolm ; " and the spot from which 
 
 ; It \ras taken must have been most judiciously 
 
 i chosen." 
 
 ! "Qh, Ida's eye never deceives her," said 
 
 [ Sydney, proudly ; " but in order that you ma}^ 
 
 j do it full justice, will you come as far as the 
 spot where she was seated ?" 
 
 ' " Willingly," was the reply of Edith, as she 
 rose with the drawing in her hand; "the 
 pleasure will be twofold, as I shall by so doing 
 be enabled not only to appreciate at its full 
 value the sketch of Mrs. Elpliinstone, but also 
 to have a nearer view of your lovely garden, 
 
 , which is indeed a wilderness of sweets. Will 
 you permit me this indulgence, my dear 
 
 ] madam {" she asked with an appealing look 
 toward her hostess. 
 
 The assent of Ida was instantly but some- 
 what coldly given, and in the next moment 
 Sydney and his beautiful companion disap- 
 peared. 
 
 " How happy you have made that amiable 
 young man, my dear Mrs. Elpliinstone," said 
 the elder lad3% as soon as they were alone ; 
 "it is impossible to express the delight with 
 
 I which I listened to his animated description 
 of your many excellences. Upon me, who 
 have latterly been familiar only with the 
 ehady side of existence, his glowing and 
 beautiful joy produced the effect of sudden 
 sunshine. Indeed, our meeting, his marriage, 
 and all by which I am so suddenly surround- 
 ed, appears like a bright dream. Grateful 
 am I, nevertheless, to feel that it is real and 
 tangible; I loved his mother so deeply." 
 
 "Sydney also adores her memory," said 
 Ida ; " by his description she must haVe been 
 beautiful." 
 
 " She was, and I need not tell you that her 
 beauty is reflected in her son ; but she was 
 more than beautiful, and those who knew her 
 best forgot the charms of her person in the 
 perfection of her heart and mind. Poor 
 Elinor! she deserved a better fate." 
 
 I "Was she not happy, then?" asked her 
 companion. 
 
 " Far from it, my young friend ; hers was 
 the mere fleeting happiness of a few brief I 
 months. Dazzled by her beauty and fascinated 
 by her many admirable qualities, which made 
 her the idol of her circle, Mr. Elpliinstone, at 
 that period a man of considerable wealth, as 
 well as eminently handsome, won her affec- 
 tions, and for a time appeared worthy of his 
 good fortune, but unhappily his tastes and I 
 habits were ill-calculated for domestic lifa i 
 He soon wearied of the monotony of home, 
 and sought for excitement in a world which I 
 waa but too ready to welcome him back into j 
 its vortex. But Elinor never complained;! 
 she idolized her husband, and she bore her i 
 trials with tlie fortitude and resignation of an ] 
 angel To her he was ever the first and only 
 love of her young heart, and the father of 
 her child." 
 
 "And did she long endure such an exist- 
 ence?" inquired Ida, whose cheeks had as- 
 sumed the hue of Parian marble. 
 
 "For years," replied Lady Malcolm, who, 
 
 in her own emotion overlooked that of her 
 listener ; " ay, even when to neglect was 
 added ruin, she was true to herself, and to the 
 faith which she had plighted to one of the 
 most ungrateful and ungenerous of men." 
 
 "And yet," murmured Ida, in an unsteady 
 voice ; "you think that he did love her once." 
 
 " Of that fact there can be no doubt," pur- 
 sued the speaker; " he loved her madly, but 
 tliere was no principle, no stability in his 
 love. Essentially selfish, lie gradually learned 
 to look upon her as an obstacle in his path 
 of pleasure and dissipation, and he thrust her 
 from it as he would have done any other 
 impediment which might have presented it- 
 self." 
 
 " Strange !" said Ida, moodily ; " that Syd- 
 ney should never have told me one word of 
 this." 
 
 " By no means," observed Lady Malcolm ; 
 " for even Sydney himself has but a vague 
 idea of the extent of his mother's sufferings. 
 No, Elinor would rather have endured a thou- 
 sand deaths than have breathed into the ear 
 of her boy one word of blame connected with 
 her erring husband. Almost a stranger in 
 his own house, it was only at rare intervals 
 that Mr. Elpliinstone saw his son, and, fortu- 
 nately, just as the boy had attained an age 
 when the true position of his mother must 
 have necessarily become evident to him, his 
 wretched father died, and thus, the tears which 
 he mingled with those of his surviving parent, 
 were free from the bitterness which must other- 
 wise have rendered his grief tenfold more 
 poignant. To this moment, therefore, Sydney 
 IS able to name his father without a blush, 
 and to regret him without a misgiving, and 
 this is the pious work of his angel mother, 
 whose heart was eootlied to the last by the 
 respect which her son bore to the memory of 
 his dead father." 
 
 " And j-et he slighted her — " 
 
 "And ruined her — " added Lady Malcolm. 
 
 " Oh, that was nothing, nothing," exclaimed 
 Ida, her eyes flashing with passionate emo- 
 tion ; " when once he had torn down the 
 idol from the shrine at which he had once 
 worshiped, it mattered little that he should 
 send away the jewels in which it had been 
 decked ; the trampled fragments of a broken 
 heart could ill have brooked the tinseled 
 mockeries which are suited only to a happy 
 one." 
 
 " But you forget that she was a mother." 
 
 " I should have forgotten all save my own 
 wrongs," replied Mrs. Elphinstone, in the 
 same excited tone in which she had jjist 
 spoken ; " all — even my child." 
 
 "My dear young friend," said Lady Mal- 
 colm, with a sad smile, as she pressed the 
 hand of her companion in her own ; " you 
 know not the deptii and fervor of a mother's 
 love, and see how she has been rewarded for 
 her self-abnegation. See how all her hopes 
 for her idolized boy have been fulfilled. 
 Could she look up from the grave, fondly and 
 proudly as she loved him, she could not wish 
 Sydney other than he is." 
 
 At this moment, a peal of clear, ringing, 
 graceful laughter sounded from the garden, 
 and Ida, who had hitherto been so absorbed 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 in the recital of Lady Malcolm, that she had 
 ceased to dwell upon the prolont^ed absence 
 of her husband, siidddenly raised her head, 
 and t'azed earnestly tlirough the open window. 
 Sydney was in hot pursuit of a late butter- 
 fly, and hare-lieaded, witli his chestnut curls 
 dancinij in the wind, and his choeks flushed 
 Avith eagerness, was bounding over the flower 
 beds with all tlie elasticity of an antelope, 
 in his attempt to capture the parti-colored 
 fugitive. 
 
 As her glance rested on him, the lips of 
 hi.s wife ]>arted witli a proud and happy 
 smile, but in the next moment, an expression 
 of pain passed over her head, and she hastily 
 averted her eye?. 
 
 " Those young hearts are lighter than ours 
 at this moment, my dear Mrs. Elphinstone," 
 observed Lady Malcolm, as she wiped away 
 a lingering tear; "I am grieved to see that! 
 have infected j-ou witli my own melancholy; 
 we will talk no more ui)on this unhappy sub- 
 ject. It might indeed have been more ju- 
 dicious had I not touched on it at all, but my 
 enduring affection for my poor Elinor renders 
 me selfish; it is such a relief to me to be en- 
 abled to dwell upon her memory, and to re- 
 member that the death of the pure in heart 
 is less an agony than an ovation ; that the 
 chime of each succeeding hour is a call of 
 harmony, a summons of peace and love; 
 that life ebbs awaj' like the sunset billows 
 of a summer evening — like the gradual clos- 
 ing of the perfumed chalice of a flower — or 
 tlie severe and solemn folding together of the 
 spirit wings, which are so soon to expand 
 into their full and perfect proportions on 
 another and a brighter sliore, where they 
 will never agaim bo furled." 
 
 " I thank you for the confidence which you 
 have reposed in me. Lady Malcolm," said Ida, 
 as she threw herself back in her seat, and 
 strewed the carpet around it with the scat- 
 tered leaves of the blossoms which Sydney 
 liad so carefully arranged for her, only a few 
 hours previously. " It is, at times, desirable 
 to dwell upon the experiences of otliers; 
 the past reads a wholesome lesson to the 
 present, and I confess that I, for one, despise 
 the cowardice which shrinks from the effort 
 of looking steadily forward, even upon a for- 
 bidding prospect, or backward, upon the 
 struggle of human endurance." 
 
 "lia]>pily," said her ei>rnpaiiion; "trials like 
 those of my dear lost friend are rare indeed. 
 Hers was u life wliich always appeared to me 
 to convey a great and touchiug moral, but it 
 wq^ nut the less, on that account, an existence 
 of wretcliedness." 
 
 " Wretchedness, indeed!" echoed Ida, as she 
 swept her hands across her brows ; " to be 
 decked by the fingers of love, only for the 
 sacrifice ;" and as the hand was withdrawn, the 
 camcl'.ia which had hitherto been nestled amid 
 the folds of her hair was crushed within it. 
 
 " I have been wrong, very wrong," said 
 Lady Malcolm ; " I have quite unstrung your 
 uerve.s. Only look, you have actually destroyed 
 the magnificent bou<juet which I admired so 
 much on my arrival." 
 
 "Oh, pray do not grieve over it," said Ida, 
 with a bitter smile ; " it was beautiful, yes, 
 
 very beautiful; I am obliged to admit thai 
 fact, but it has pleased and amused me for 5 
 time, and consequently has done all that I had 
 a right to demand from it— and it is beautiful 
 even in its ruins, is it not ? though it can never 
 again be restored to its first glorious splendor. 
 That, however, matters little, as its charnj. must 
 sooner or later have decayed with its freshness; 
 so that you see, my dear madam, its destruc- 
 tion was a mere question of time." 
 
 " Oh, Ida, such a butterfly wc have cap- 
 tured !" exclaimed Sydney, as he sprang into 
 the room ; " only look at the brilliancy of its 
 coloring." 
 
 But Ida's eyes were not upon the insect, 
 they were riveted upon a bouquet in the hiuid 
 of Miss Malcolm, the counterpart of that which 
 lay scattered at her feet. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 THE BOUQUET. 
 
 How little can men appreciate the trifles out 
 of which a woman's love is ingenious in creatr 
 ing auguries of good or evil. It was a mere 
 common-place courtesy on the part of Mr. 
 Elphinstone to offer to Miss Malcolm some of 
 the flowers of which she expressed her admira- 
 tion ; and it is probable that had he done so 
 with less attention to their arrangement, even 
 Ida herself might have been careless of the 
 fact ; but, unfortunately, Sydney had not yet 
 forgotten the delight evinced by his wife at 
 the graceful grouping of the bouquet which 
 he had combined for her that morning; and, 
 accordingly, as he prepared a second for Edith, 
 he said gayly : 
 
 " You have an artist's eye as well as Mri 
 Elphinstone, and I dare not. "therefore, do other- 
 wise than exert my best skill in order to render 
 my offering aecej)table." 
 
 " A thousand thanks I" was the artless re- 
 ply ; " nothing could be more perfect than that 
 which you arranged for Mrs. Elj)hinstone, so ' 
 do not attempt any variation, but let me have 
 it, flower by flower, and even leaf by leaf, a 
 fac-simile of hers." 
 
 " Now for an effiu-t of memory," laughed the ■ 
 light-hearted young man; "your imperious 
 mandate shall be obeyed, and we will tlicu 
 compare the two, in order to judge of my sue- 
 
 The flowers were, therefore, gathered, and 
 grouped with the same fastidious care as ho 
 
 had evinced on the 
 
 previous occasion. 
 
 when 
 
 they were a heart-offering to his idolized wife; 
 and they had scarcely been transferred to, 
 Edith, and received their due meed of admir- 
 ing approval, than the quick eye of Sydney I 
 detected the butterfly which subsequently be-' 
 came the object of Ins pursuit. 
 
 Little, indeed, did he imagine the pang that 
 he had inflicted on her whoin he would gladlj 
 have shielded from every shade of suffering 
 To him Ida was the type alike of physical and 
 moral perfection ; and he could as soon havi 
 doubted the beauty of her person as tbi 
 
 strength and purity of her mind. Whol 
 engrossed by In ' 
 
 image, he was utterly ic 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 rs 
 
 tho clnssifioil skeletons of moths and beetles 
 when I could see in them all their beauty and 
 variety, uninutilated ami unharmed." 
 
 "Why, Edith," said Lady Malcolm, with a 
 fond glance at her daughter, whoso cliecks were 
 flushed with animation, "you have suddenly 
 become quite eloquent." 
 
 '" And I have not done yet, mamma," was tho 
 reply, "for when Mr. Elphinstone's butterfly 
 has been properly applauded, and that ho has 
 he never looked into the j once more restored it to liberty, as I trust he 
 will do, I am going to claim Mrs. Elphinstone's 
 admiration for my beautiful bouquet. It is not 
 gorgeous, my dear madam ?" 
 
 " Extremely so." 
 
 " But do you not remark any thing peculiar 
 in its arrangement ?" 
 
 " I think it very gracefully arranged." 
 
 " Does it resemble any other you have over 
 seen ?" 
 
 " There is a family likeness in all bouquets, 
 Miss Malcolm." 
 
 " Oh, but, my dear Mrs. Elphinstone, this wafl 
 intended by Mr. Elphinstone to be precisely 
 
 different to the attractions of all the rest of the 
 6ex. beyond the natural gratification of look- 
 ing on a lovely face, as he would have looked 
 ou a tiuo landscape, or a gorgeous sunset ; 
 and tli:it she should entertain one doubt of his 
 atfectiou, one mistrust of his devotion, was an 
 ilea which bad never for an instant crossed 
 Jiis mind. 
 
 Unlike Ida hei-self, their disparity of age 
 was a fact to which his thouijhts never 
 verted; unlike her 
 
 future ; with the natural buoyancy and con- 
 liJence of a young fresh spirit, he lived iu the 
 engrossing happiness of the present ; and if, 
 by chance, he glanced forward beyond the 
 passing hour, it was with a sanguine conviction 
 that his after-life must be as bright as it had 
 hitherto proved. 
 
 There was always a golden thread woven 
 into every web of tho heart-loom of Sydney 
 Elphinstone, for his was not a nature to dwell 
 upon tho dark side of existence; with all his 
 good and endearing qualities he possessed much 
 of his father's reckless temperament ; and, as 
 
 yet, no sorrow had come to chill, no cloud to | like your own ; and do you not think that 
 
 overcast it. Even the immediate question of 
 his coming struggle with the world in which 
 he must so soon force his way by his own en- 
 ergy and talent, he put from him, as we have 
 shown, as a vague future far and dim in tho 
 distance, instead of a stern reality with which 
 Le would ere long bo called upon to grapple. 
 
 He was resolved to accomplish great things : 
 he admitted to himself that he must do so for 
 Ida's sake, and he believed that he was ready 
 for the combat, while in fact he had neglected 
 to gird on his weapon. Any relenting on the 
 part of Mr. Trevanion, he neither anticipated 
 nor de.^.ired ; he felt proud to think that ho 
 should need no extraneous aid in surrounding 
 the idol of his love with tho luxuries to which 
 she had been accustomed from her girlhood ; 
 but, meanwhile, he satisfied himself with reso- 
 lutions, and remained inactive. 
 
 How many Sydney Elphinstones there are in 
 the world 1 
 
 After one long searching look, first at the 
 unlucky flowers, and next at tho fair owner, 
 Ida turned toward Lady Malcolm, and said with 
 a sarcastic smile: 
 
 " Your daughter is, I presume, an entomolo- 
 gist, my dear madam, and consequently will be 
 gratified by this addition to her cabinet." 
 
 "I^-oh, no," exclaimed Edith, shuddering, 
 "I could never endure to impale insects on 
 pina, and poison them with camphor. What 
 would this poor butterfly be, sacrificed to 
 science — for I believe that is the admitted, or 
 rather I should say, presumed apology for des- 
 troying so much tiiat is bright and beautiful — 
 ■what would it be beside what it was, as it 
 nestled in tho heart of the flower, or floated on 
 the sunshiny air, instinct with Ufo and enjoy- 
 ment? 
 
 "No, no; give me birds upon tho wing, bees 
 among the blo-ssoms, fish sporting in tho clear 
 waters — any thing and every thing that is ful- 
 filling tho purposes and profiting by the privi- 
 leges for which it was created ; but I should as 
 soon dream of hving among mummies when I 
 could secure the society of my sentient fellow- 
 creatures, as I should of contenting myself with 
 
 has succeeded perfectly ^ 
 
 "It is more essential that you should think 
 so, Miss Malcolm." 
 
 "Well, then, in that case, the success is 
 complete, for I do not beheve that we could, 
 were they once out of our sight, recognize our 
 own property." 
 
 "I scarcely agree with you," said Ida, with 
 an ambiguous smile, as she pointed to the flow- 
 ery ruin at her feet; " yours has as yet all the 
 charm of novelty, and is, consequently, fault- 
 less; mine, on tho contrary, had ceased to 
 please my eye, so I amused myself, as you per- 
 ceive, by destroying what little value it had 
 left." 
 
 Edith made no reply; there was something 
 in the tone of Mrs. Elphinstone's voice which 
 reminded her of a portion of their interview of 
 tho morning, and it was consequently a relief 
 to her when she was summoned to tho veranda 
 by Sydnej' to seo him give hberty to his painted 
 captive. She was still watching the languid 
 flight of the benumbed insect, when Lady Mal- 
 colm rose to take her leave. 
 
 " Farewell, Mrs. Elphinstone," sho said affec- 
 tionately, as sho extended her hand: "I see, 
 with great compunction, that I have thoroughly 
 saddened you; but only promise soon to visit 
 tho Lodge and I will strive to be a more cheer- 
 ful companion. You aro too susceptible, my 
 dear 3'oung friend, and must struggle against % 
 depth of feeling which can not fail, should you 
 encourage it, to cast many a shadow over your 
 path. Dwell rather on tho happiness of' the 
 present than on tho sorrows of the past. You 
 are now commencing life in earnest, and must 
 not exhaust your sensibilities on ideal or 
 irremediable evils. Doubtlessly wo have nil 
 suffered more or less, but let us now at least 
 bo happy. 
 
 "Look upon me as a mother, and on Edith . 
 as a sister, if you will indeed permit mo to 
 make such a request ; I already feel that I sliall 
 love you, and I am anxious, in my turn, to gain 
 your affection." 
 
 "I thamk you, Lady Malcolm, for your good 
 opinion, and I am grateful for your kiudnoaa," 
 
f6 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 eaid Ida, with constraint, " nor shall it be m v 
 fault if I do not profit by your advice; unfor- 
 tunately, however, we can not always control 
 our feelings, nor can we compel happiness at 
 will." 
 
 '■ You are right, no doubt, but wo can at 
 least accept it when it is placed within our 
 reach ; so clear that fair brow, and forget the 
 Borrows of others in yourown brighter fortune." 
 
 Ida forced a smile as she echoed the parting 
 compliments of her guest, and together they 
 passed into the garden, where Sydney and his 
 young companion were still engaged in watch- 
 ing the crij)pled insect which had evidently suf- 
 fered from its temporary imprisonment. 
 
 •' I will escort you to the entrance of the lane, 
 my dear Lady Malcolm, while Ida puts on her 
 bonnet for our morning ramble," said Sydney, 
 as he offered an arm to each of the departing 
 guests, " I give you five minutes, love," he ad- 
 ded, as he turned and nodded gayly to his wife, 
 and then the party was lost to sight behind the 
 leafy screen of the flower-shrubs. 
 
 Ida stood for an instant motionless, and then 
 she turned back into the house and cast herself 
 into a seat ; she was exhausted by her efforts 
 at self-control. She felt dispirited and almost 
 reckless. 
 
 "lie could not even suffer her to depart 
 without him — " slio murmured ; " fool that I was 
 to exult over those worthless flowers because 
 he gathered them ! Did he not do the same 
 for her ? I might have foreseen this — I might 
 have known that it must have come to this I 
 But so soon — so very soon — shall I be able to 
 endure tlie existence which I foresee must 
 henceforth be mine ? But may I not deceive 
 myself? lie is so frank, so guileless — surely 
 love can not die out like an exhausted taper, 
 while it is yet so young — and she, too, she is 
 still a mere child — no, no, the time is not, can 
 not yet be come — Sydney is the slave of beau- 
 ty, and my beauty is unfaded. I have sacri- 
 ficed all for him, and the sacrifice is as yet unre- 
 quited — Lady Malcolm is right, I must strive 
 to be happ}- while I may, and wlv?n the struggle 
 proves fruitless, then indeed — ay, then ! but 
 the future shall bo left to work out its own pur- 
 poses. I am no puling girl to tremble at the 
 task which is allotted to me, it shall be done, 
 done even to the death." 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Elphinstonc remained 
 motionless, her head buried in her hand, and 
 her eyes closed ; but suddenly she rose, walked 
 steadily to the mirror, examined herself earn- 
 estly, smoothed the disordered bands of her 
 hair, took a book from the table, and then re- 
 turned calmly to her chair. It is probable that 
 she neither knew the nature of the volume of 
 which she thus quietly possessed herself, nor 
 the page at which she had opened it, although 
 for a time she appeared absorbed in its con- 
 tents; for, after the lapse of a few moments, 
 she relinquished her occupation, and ciircfull_v ! 
 collecting the scattered leaves and blossoms i 
 wnth which the floor was strewn, walked with 
 tliem into tiio veranda, and flung them, hand- 
 ful by handful, to the wind, until they had 
 totally disappeared, afler which she resumed 
 her book and her seat, and awaited with a calm 
 brow and a steady pulse, the return of her 
 husband. 
 
 The five minutes had grown into ten; she 
 glanced once toward the French timepiece on 
 the console : Sydney had been gone more than 
 half an hour, and still the proud brow remained 
 unruffled, and the clear eye unclouded. Sud- 
 denly his quick step was heard upon the gravel- 
 walk, his elastic bound from the yielding turlj ; 
 and her husband stood before her. 
 
 "What, not ready yet, my love?" he ex-: 
 claimed in surprise. \ 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my dear Sydney," said J 
 Ida, with one of her sweetest smiles; "this 
 terrible book has so engrossed me, and — " she 
 added, glancing at the clock, but still retaining 
 the sunnincss of her exprts.sion, "you have re- , 
 turned so soon." 
 
 " Soon!" echoed Elphinstonc. looking in the , 
 same direction. "Why, I have a thousand i 
 apologies to make to you ; I had no idea that I . 
 had been away so long." ' 
 
 " Oh, not a word of excuse, dear Sydney, not 
 a word, I entreat you," was the ready rejoinder, . 
 "in the society of those we love, time passes 
 like a dream." 
 
 " Few are so well aware of that fact as my- i 
 self," said Elphinstonc, " and, above all, when ! 
 We are talking of those we love; and we have 
 not spared you, Ida. on our way to the lodge." , 
 
 " ilal you walked to the lodge?" 
 
 " I did indeed, though I had no such inten- 
 tion when I left home, but it was so delightful 
 to me to hear Lady Malcolm and Edith describe . 
 the impression which you had made upon them, , 
 that I quite forgot how the minutes were going: 
 by." 
 
 " I am much indebted to them." 
 
 " Not a whit. They are sensible women, and' 
 estimate you at your proper value. So, what, 
 with the memories of the past, and the impres- 
 sions of the present, I thoroughly enjoyed my 
 walk." 
 
 "I am dehghted to hear it." 
 
 " Do you know," exclaimed Sydney, throw- 
 ing himself down upon the ottoman on which 
 the foot of his wife rested, '' I esteem myself 
 the happiest man on the whole earth. I can 
 scarcely understand, even to this moment, how 
 I ever won the love of such a woman as your-' 
 self; and now there comes to me an accession 
 of happiness in the society of my mother'f 
 dearest friend, and her gentle unsophisticated' 
 daughter." , 
 
 "Poor Sydney!" said his wife, -as she passet 
 her slender fingers carelessly over his clustering' 
 curls. 
 
 " Poor Sydney ! The adjective is misplaced.' 
 was the fond retort, as he drew the small hant 
 to his lips; "I am rich, rich beyond my wildest 
 dreams. Are you not my own ? Do you nol 
 love me ?" , 
 
 " Tenderly." 
 
 "I know it — I have had proof of it — and 1 
 can feel that you can sympathize in roy new • 
 found gratification. My poor mother alwayi. 
 coveted for me the regard of Lady Malcolmi 
 for whom she herself felt the aflectioii of j' 
 sister." 
 
 "I am delighted that you should have so 
 cured it." 
 
 " And you, Id.i, you also ; she admires yoi 
 beyond measure." 
 
 " I am honored by her good opinion." 
 
THE JEALOUS TVIFE. 
 
 T7 
 
 "And that sweet, artless girl — is sho not 
 dianning?" 
 
 '• Very charminc: — and very lionntiful." 
 
 " Yes, said Sydney, somewhat less impetu- 
 ously tlian he had yet spoken ; " she certainly 
 is beautiful in a eertain style." 
 
 '•Oh, my love," exelaimed Mrs. Elphinstone, 
 depreeatuii^ly ; " let us have no reservations, no 
 oritieisms, as ren:ards Miss Malodm's beauty. 
 There ean be but one oj)iniou; Oreuze could 
 not have desired a more perfect subject for one 
 of his exquisite pictures." 
 
 "Well — perhajis — but, after all, that fair 
 l>eauty is somewhat fade ; it is but the mere 
 twilisjht of actual loveliness." 
 
 " We sometimes weary of glare," said Mrs. 
 Elpinstone, still in the same low, endearing tone. 
 
 "Of glare, yes — but that implies something 
 meretricious and heartless ; I was not desecrat- 
 ing beauty by such associations." 
 
 "And then, Jliss Malcolm is so accomplished 
 — so fascinating." 
 
 "So she is; she is full of natural talent, and 
 lias thoroughly profited by her opportunities. 
 You say that she is an admirable musician, 
 and she is certainly a wonderful artist for her 
 age." 
 
 " And we have only seen her twice ! — she 
 may yet astonish us by her proficiency in other 
 accomplishments." 
 
 " I hope not, for I confess that I should have 
 no sympathy -with a female Crichton ; and 
 ■would rather look upon her as a good, amiable 
 little girl, remarkable only for her extraordi- 
 miry talents for drawing and music." 
 
 "So be it, my dear Sydney; and therefore, 
 until our aetjuaintance becomes more intimate. 
 Miss Edith Malcolm shall be to us only one of 
 the most beautiful and the most talented girls 
 wo have ever met, or are likely to meet." 
 
 "An arrangement with which she has every 
 reason to be well satisfied, I think," said El- 
 
 1)hJnstone, gayly ; "but one ■which is ncverthe- 
 ess no more than is her due. And now, what 
 of our walk, Ida ?" 
 
 " It is too late, dear." 
 
 " Too late ? Why I have but exceeded my 
 i time by twenty minutes." 
 
 "But those twenty minutes have rendered 
 it impossible for me to accompany you. I 
 have letters to write, and the ])ost leaves 
 ! early." 
 
 "Can you not postpone them until to-mor- 
 row f" 
 
 " I regret to say that they must be dis- 
 patched to-<lay." 
 
 "How confoundedly provoking!" exclaimed 
 Sydney, rising to his feet ; " and wjjat am I 
 to do with myself wliile you are engaged in 
 writing?" 
 
 " Can you not walk to the Lodge, and assist 
 Mias Malcolm with the foreground of her sketch, 
 08 you proposed to do ?" 
 
 " By Jove ! not a bad idea ; but then, we 
 can not dispense with you, Ida, for you were to 
 be the prominent figure." 
 
 "Oh, said Mrs. ?21phinstone, forcing a laugh ; 
 "you have an excellent memory, and do not 
 need my presence. You will not find it more 
 diflScult to sketch a figure with whiih you are 
 familiar than to combine a bouipet after a given 
 model" 
 
 " But I can not bear to be parted from you 
 so long." 
 
 " A mere sentimental sopliism, my dear Syd- 
 ney ; half an hour soon ])asses away when "we 
 are in the society of those we love." 
 
 "Then why strive to make my morning wca- 
 risotne to me V 
 
 "Svilney!" 
 
 "Is'ay, Ida dear, do not look d:si>loasod; but 
 after having hurried back as I did in the hope 
 of a long ramliU^ with you before dinner, I con- 
 fess that I am terribly disaiijxiiuted." 
 
 " And did you then hurry back so much, my 
 poor Sydney?" said his wife, with another 
 glance at the timepiece ; " I luul no idea of it." 
 
 " It is nevertheless the fact," replied her hu&- 
 band, somewhat impatiently ; " for, as we went, 
 Lady Malcolm lingered talking over old times, 
 and I was anxious not to make you wait." 
 
 " Nor did you, as you must have seen, my 
 love. A book is always so pleasant a compan- 
 ion when one is alone ; and then, when I dis- 
 continued reading for a moment, it was so do 
 lightfid to feel that you were haj)pily engaged 
 with friends who could thoroughly appreciate 
 you, that, beheve me, you have nothing to 
 regret. I am not a child, Sydney, I know that 
 I can not expect to engross either your time or 
 your alTectious ; and therefore I cau not begin 
 too early to accustom myself to a privation to 
 which I must submit, sooner or later." 
 
 " My dear Ida, you freeze me." 
 
 " I have neither the wish nor the intention to 
 do so. J^xn I not arguing rationally ?" 
 
 " The heart docs not reason, and consequently 
 I have no reply to make." 
 
 " Well, then, we will be unreasonable, and 
 you shall be rewarded for your kind intentions. 
 In five minutes I will return equipped for our 
 walk, and the unlucky letters shall be post- 
 poned till to-morrow." 
 
 " There 's a good girl ; I have tuch a view to 
 show you." 
 
 " But you must also promise me a dry path," 
 said Ida, as she coquettishly extended toward 
 him her small and symmetrical foot, delicately 
 confined in a boot of black silk. 
 
 "I will promise you any thing, and everj 
 thing." 
 
 And the bride and bridegroom started for 
 their stroll 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A NEW nOME. 
 
 A FORTNionT after the occurrences detailed 
 in our last chapter, Mr. and Mrs. Elphinstone 
 were installed in a small but sheltered and 
 detached cottage near Brompton, face to face 
 with the realities of their worldly position. 
 
 The velvet and satin draperies to which Ida 
 had been accustomed from her infancy, were 
 exchanged for modest chintz ; showy lu.vuriea 
 for unobtrusive comforts, and a train of po\»>. 
 dere<l and liveried domestics for three fcmnle 
 serviints. Even with one of these, her own 
 {)er8onal attendant, she had been anxious Xo 
 dispense, but the j)roposul had proved so un- 
 palatable to her husband, that sho had for- 
 
THE JEALOUS TVIFE 
 
 borne to urpe the point; although, ignorant 
 as she was of tlie actual value of money, she 
 could not help suspecting that the three hun- 
 dred a year, which while under her father's 
 roof had barely sufficed for the expenses of lier 
 toilet, must be very inadequate for the sup- 
 port of five individuals, two of whom were 
 unaccustomed to practice economy in any 
 shape. 
 
 Svilney, however, assured her so confidently, 
 that when lie had once establislied himself in 
 chambers, lie should not be long before he ob- 
 tained a l>rief, that she willingly lent herself 
 to the illusion ; and declared that she had 
 nothing to regret save the prospect of his ab- 
 sence. 
 
 "And even at that I will not repine," she 
 said; "I should indeed be selfish, did I per- 
 mit myself to do so, while you are toiling to 
 secure my comfort. Have I not my music, 
 my painting, and m}' books to occupy me? 
 and, more than all, shall I not be occupied for 
 hours in listening for your tread and antici- 
 pating your return ? How wise it was of 
 
 your excellent mother, my dear Sydney, to j of thing can't last. Is M 
 educate you for a profession, and thus render handsome as ever ? 
 you independent of the world ; and how little 
 did I suspect, who regarded you as a mere idle 
 young man of fashion, that you were indeed 
 'one learned in law.' " 
 
 "Ida," exclaimed her delighted husband; 
 "you are an admirable creature to content 
 yourself with such a home as this. Could vou 
 
 "Ila! what, yon have come b.Tck to rs 
 once more, truant," was his greeting from a 
 fashionable countess, in whose morning-iooin 
 he lounged away a spare half hour before his 
 return to Brompton, as she placed two of her 
 jeweled fingers in his hand; "but do yon 
 know that you have been a very nauglity 
 boy! And now I see you distinctly, do'you 
 know that j-ou have a verj- married look! 
 IIow is Mrs.Elphinstone? IJy the by, I shall 
 want you at my concert on Tuesday next. 
 No disclaimers! You can surcl}- be spared 
 for an hour or two bj- this time. We must 
 have no monopolies, and, besides, at your 
 age it would really be too absurd were you 
 to degenerate into a mere married man. Vou 
 must keep up your connections; you must, 
 indeed, for remember that if you n'eglect the 
 world, the world will soon return the compli- 
 ment." 
 
 " My world is home," said Sydney, courage- 
 ously. 
 
 " Ila, yes ; no doubt ; very proper ; yon 
 
 have not long been a husband, but that tind 
 
 Elphinstone as 
 
 only guess the misgiving with which Ibrought 
 you here ! I will not say that I apprehended 
 reproaches, or even remonstrances; I never 
 for a moment did you so much injustice ; but 
 had you looked sad or disappointed, it would 
 have made me wretched." 
 
 "Sad! disappohited!" echoed Mrs. Elphin- 
 Etone, as she looked round the simple apart- 
 ment with a glance of exultation; "I declare 
 to j-ou, Sydney, that for weeks past I have 
 not felt so happy or so light of heart." 
 
 And she told the truth, for she was alone 
 with her husband : Lady Malcolm and her 
 daughter being still resident at the Lodge. 
 Mr. Elphinstone expected shortly to be e.ilied 
 to the bar; his connections were powerful, 
 liis person attractive, and his address emi- 
 nently prepossessing; he was, therefore, in 
 every respect calculated to shine in the pro- 
 fession to which he was about to devote him- 
 8elf ; and not one dread of failure oppressed 
 
 " Even more so — in my eyes. ' 
 
 "That is ver}' nice. I am glad of it — sin- 
 cerely glad of it. 1 hope that she will wear 
 well, although j^our dark beauties seldom do; 
 but in her case I hope it will be otherwise; 
 it would be unpleasant for you, and mortify- 
 inj; for her, should she fall off while you are 
 
 in the very prime of life." 
 
 " I see no prospect of such a catastrophe ;" 
 said Sydney, with an uneasy smile. 
 
 "Nevertheless, it is certain," persisted the ! 
 lady, as she swept back a ringlet of a very 
 doubtful shade of auburn ; "that fair womea 
 retain their youth and freshness much longer 
 than brunettes." 
 
 Elphinstone bit his lips to control his in- 
 dignation. 
 
 "Poor Lord Downmerel" resumed the 
 countess, suddenly breaking into a laugh; 
 '■ what a ridiculous figure j^ou caused him to 
 make at that memorable fete at Richmond , 
 where you enacted the role of Lochinvar, and • 
 ran off with his bride. I shall never forget it 
 It was decidedly the best thing of the season ; 
 not to mention that the poor man was a mart3T | 
 to the gout for the whole period of your honey- 
 moon. He will never forgive j-ou, Mr. Elphin- 
 one, never, never. Do you know I am quite ■ 
 
 his spirit. He had been welcomed back with delighted that you happened to call when I v 
 enthusiasm at his club, and warmly congratu- 
 lated on his good fortune in securing the hand 
 of the beautiful Miss Trevanion. 
 
 "Nevermind, Syd., though the old fellow 
 should sulk for a time," had one of his inti- 
 mate friends said confidentially: "he must 
 come round at last, for he has no other child, 
 and he hates his family with a good honest 
 hatred that will prove substantial enough to 
 last liis life; so you need have no fears for 
 the future. I only wish that I had as fair a 
 chance of coming in for a princely fortune." 
 
 "Let him keep his money," was the proud 
 reply; "I ask nothing of him. My career is 
 plain before me, and I am ready to hew out 
 my own path to affluence. What has been 
 done, may bo done again." 
 
 alone, for you were always a favorite of mine, 
 and I quite enjoy our little confidential conver- 
 sation. Of course Mr. Trevanion has forgiven 
 you, and all has ended like a French Vaude-' 
 villc. By the by, will you como to my box^ 
 to-morrow night, and sec Dojazct? She is in- 
 imitable this season ; a perfect evergreen." 
 
 At this moment the groom of the chambers, 
 announced some other guests, and Elphinstone 
 bowed himself out. As he slowly made his 
 way through the square, however his face had 
 lost its usual sunny expression ; he had winced 
 more than once under the sting of the Count' 
 ess's ill-judged remarks, and the smart Btill re- 
 mained. 
 
 That his idolized Ida should bo made th( 
 theme of aflfected condolence— she whose graa 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 and beauty had tlirOTm a lio«t of titled triflers 
 iuto tlie shade — \vas a mortification wliieh ho 
 could ill brook. The world had always treated 
 him so gently that he was unprepared for cojn- 
 nient.sliko tlioso to which he had been compelled 
 to listen. "What right had others to speculate 
 upon contingencies on which he himself had 
 never bestowed a thought I » 
 
 Poor Sydney I He had yet to learn that no 
 individual who ventures to disregard the con- 
 ventionalities of society ever escapes its censure 
 or its ridicule, and that it is far easier to resent 
 than to despise them. 
 
 [ " Why, Elphltistono, can that be you ?" ex- 
 
 I claimed a familiar voice, as ho turned into 
 Grosvcnor Plae':". and an exquisitely gloved 
 hand was passed through his arm ; " tired of 
 'love's delights' and the 'turtle-nest' in the 
 
 j country, hey? I'm rejoiced to know it. We've 
 
 I missed" you sadly, you adventurous Benedict. 
 
 i What an escapade! On my honor it was too 
 bad stealing a march upon your friends in that 
 
 , way, and leaving jirctty Mary Maitland to wear 
 
 I tlie willow." 
 
 i " Nonsense, Lord Charles, Lady Mary wa? no 
 
 1 more to me than a very agreeable acquaint- 
 
 I ance." 
 
 j " Be that as it may, my dear fellow, I tell you 
 
 j that she has worn the Avillow, and worn it very 
 
 I gracefully too. That idiot Banfield of the Blues 
 
 I having, I suppose, heard that it is easy to catch 
 a heart on the rebourxl, was imbecile enough 
 to offer himself before j-ou h'ad evaporated a 
 fortnight, and was dismissed for his pains. Sus- 
 
 j picious, hey ?" 
 
 i " Of what ?" asked Sydney, pettishly. 
 
 j " Of what ? why of your influence over the 
 affections of your 'very agreeable acquaint- 
 ance.' Young ladies of seventeen do not usu- 
 ally dismiss the heir-presumptive to a peerage 
 
 I quite so cavalierly, unless they have either a 
 
 I hope or a regret to indulge." 
 
 ! " You are really not justified in making so free 
 
 i a use of a lady's name;" said Elphinstone with 
 indignation ; " I must beg — " 
 " Pho, pho ;" laughed his companion; " I may 
 I surely canvass the caprices of my own cousin, 
 •without your looking pistols and broad-swords 
 at me. Why, my dear fellow, you could do 
 no more if I had been whispering pretty things 
 to your wife. There! there ! keep your temper 
 — first you want to quarrel with me because I 
 talk of a possibility, and now j'ou are chafBng 
 like a caged panther because I hint at an im- 
 possibility." 
 
 " Understand, Lord Charles — " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know. No one admired Miss 
 Trevanion more than I did, and no one is more 
 flisposed to admire Mrs. Sydney Elphinstone — 
 'soberly,' as Lady Betty says ; but you arc well 
 aware that I am the most harmless fellow in the 
 world; besides I quite co-;iprehend that your 
 position is a peculiar one, a very peculiar one ; 
 a fact which I shall bo careful never to lose sight 
 of. Still the disparity is not bo very great, and 
 will appear even less for the next eight or ten 
 years, after which you may, without exercising 
 any very great amount of philosophy, say with 
 the French king, ' Aprh moi, le deluge.' " 
 
 "Loni Charles Glcnhurst, I wish you good 
 morning;" said Sydney, suddenly stopping, and 
 Paaolutely shaking off tho arm of his companion. 
 
 "There again 1" exclaimed his obtuse l.ird- 
 ship ; " what a tetchy fellow you are. But j 
 am determined not to quarrel with you. Come 
 I am on my way to the club." 
 
 " And I have business in tho opposite direc- 
 tion," was tho curt rejoinder. 
 
 '• Well, good-morning then, since you will 
 have it so. We shall soon meet again ; and 
 meanwhile, do me the favor to offer my best 
 respects to Jlrs. Elphinstone." 
 
 " Poor Syd I" was the mental apostrophe of 
 tho young tiobleman as ho pursued his walk; 
 "judging from tho change in his temper, I sus- 
 pect that ho has caught a tartar. lie would 
 have done better to marry little Mary." 
 
 " Driveling idiot !" was the muttered comment 
 of Elphinstone ; " he to talk of whispering pretty 
 nothings to Ida! — Ho who is not warthv to pro- 
 nounce her name!— and that is a man who calls 
 himself my friend — my friend ! — what a bitter 
 mockery of the term. And then I, fool that I 
 was! suffered him to see' that he had ruflled 
 mo. A pleasant morning I have passed, truly." 
 
 Sydney was enlarging his experience of man- 
 kind. Often, in the intoxication of his happi- 
 ness and triumph, had ho felt himself to be tho 
 object of universal envy ; he had yet to learn 
 that for one subtle perfume which is burnt upon 
 tho altar of the world by its votaries, for a fel- 
 low-man, a thousand fetid odors are cast into 
 the flame to poison the surrounding atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 The Elphinstones had not taken possession 
 of their suburban retreat above a month before 
 it became quite the fashion with a "certain 
 set," to make a pilgrimage to the cottage which / 
 was now their home. / 
 
 A few were prompted by good-will, or at 
 least by kindness of heart; but the principal 
 number were led there by idleness and curi- 
 osity, which they excused to themselves during 
 their drive by sundry pithy apothegms, such 
 as, '• Well, willful woman must have her wav," 
 " As tlie tree falls, it lies," etc., relieved by ex- 
 pressions of wonder as to how the pampcrcil 
 heiress would contrive to '^xist with her penni- 
 less husband ; on the ridiculous nature of her 
 position, tied for life to a mere boy; and on 
 rather lax speculations as to the probable re- 
 sult of so unnatural a match. 
 
 " But, my dear marchioness," said a rouged 
 and ringleted dowager to her equally faded 
 companion, as they rolled in a well-padded 
 chariot toward Brompton ; " if she should 
 really repent and leave him, it is easy to judge 
 tliat she will not inflict upon herself the tedium 
 of the Arches Court; and she is handsome 
 enough to avoid that infliction whenever si o 
 pleases; would it not be disagreeable to be in- 
 volved in an affair of the kind V 
 
 " Why should it ?" asked her companion, 
 without unclosing her eyes, as she lay back 
 behind the rose-colored blind of the carriage- 
 window ; " we are not the keepers <>f her con- 
 science ; and, nfieanwhile, until tho catafltropho 
 
TEE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 takes place, -we must not forget that she vrill 
 be quite an acquisition. The men ■will be all 
 curiosity — I need say nothing of the women ; 
 and what with her beauty and her musical 
 talents, she will amply reward the risk ; be- 
 sides, poor thing! she will feel grateful, no 
 doubt, that she is not overlooked in her pov- 
 erty." 
 
 " You are right, quite right," was the equally 
 careless rejoinder; "and Sydney Elphinstone, 
 although he 1ms made such a fool of himself, 
 may also prove a very accommodating re- 
 source ; and will be. glad enough, I dare say, to 
 accept an ivory for the opera, or a stray con- 
 cert ticket, which he can no longer afford to 
 purchase, when his escort may be desirable ; so 
 that, after all, we are perhaps acting judiciously 
 in lending our countenance to this very absurd 
 couple." 
 
 " For my part," said the Marchioness of 
 Crichdale ; " I confess that I shall be curious 
 to see the haughty beauty who dismissed my 
 cousin. Sir Mark Merivalc, with a smile and a 
 courtesy, doing the honors of a cottage in 
 the purlieus of London; it must be quite a 
 comedy." 
 
 " Comedie larmoyante, I should think," 
 sneered Lady Martha Swaincote, as the equi- 
 page drew up at the door of a leaf-embowered 
 and verandaed dwelling, overgrown by honey- 
 suckle and creeping roses. " Bless me ! why 
 surely we have made a mistake, and have 
 intruded on the back-scene of an opera 
 ballet." 
 
 But no ; their tagged and powdered footman 
 was duly informed by the neat waiting-woman 
 who answered the gate-bell that this was, in- 
 deed, the residence of Mrs. Elphinstone, and 
 moreover that her mistress was at home. 
 
 After a rapid glance over the exterior of 
 the cottage, and a hope, expressed considerably 
 above a whisper, that they shnuld not suffer 
 from damp feet, as they measured with their 
 eyes the length of the gravel-walk over whieh 
 tliey were compelled to advance in order to 
 reach the house, the two great ladies at length 
 made up their minds to alight ; and, preceded 
 by the female servant, and followed by their 
 own parti-colored attendant, they overcame 
 the difficulty, and found themselves in the 
 small entrance-hall, whence a door, carefully 
 sheltered by a hattant of crimson baize, gave 
 ingress to the drawing-room. 
 
 As they were announced, Mrs. Elphinstone 
 rose quietly from the dormcune in whicli she 
 had been reclining, cnsjaged upon a new work 
 wliich Sydney had l)rought from town on the 
 previous day, and advanced a step or two to 
 meet them. 
 
 Nothing could bo more simple, and, at the 
 same time, more elegant, than her morning 
 o<istumi! ; for, free for a time from all doubt 
 and ail mistrust, Ida took a secret pride in 
 adorning licrself, and thus eliciting the admira- 
 tion of her husband. 
 
 Nor had she neglected to extend the fascina- 
 tion of good taste and refinement to all about 
 her. Even Sydney liimself could scarcely 
 recognize his homo after she had become its 
 inmate. 
 
 A few pounds, judiciously expended, liad 
 dono woudcra. Snowy draperies twmporiug 
 
 the bright colors of the chintz hangmgs ; 
 graceful toys scattered over the tables, jar* 
 diniires filled with exotics, whose perfume 
 filled the apartment, gave a summer aspect to 
 the small but pretty room, which rendered the 
 absence of more costly ornaments overlooked, 
 or at least disregarded. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Eljihinstone," said the map- 
 chioness, as she extended her hand, and then 
 languidly threw herself upon a sofa; "you 
 have not forgotten me, I trust ; and see, I have 
 brought Lady Martha Swaincote, who was as 
 anxious as myself to renew her acquaintance 
 with you ; what an age it is since we have 
 met! Never, you know, since the eventful 
 evening when you concluded one of the most 
 cliarming fetes of the season by a coi'ip de the- 
 dtrc — But we will not revert to a subject 
 which may be painful to you." 
 
 "By no means," said Ida, with a calm smile; 
 " why should it be so, when 1 am one of the 
 happiest women u])on earth ?" 
 
 " In that case I have committed no indiscre- 
 tion," replied her noble friend ; " and am do> 
 lighted to be able to congratulate you; for 
 really marriage is such a lottery at the best, 
 that when persons really run a risk as j-ou did, 
 it is quite comforting to know that they have 
 no reason to repent." 
 
 "I am not aware that I ran any risk, 
 madam ;" retorted Ida, haughtily ; " I knew Mr, 
 Elphinstone to bo a man of honor." 
 
 " Of course, my dear, of course ;" interposed 
 Lady Martha with affected gravity ; " our 
 friend was not intending to infer any doubt of 
 your husband's honor, but of his stability. lie 
 was so very young, that she dreaded lest ho 
 should have mistaken a mere transitory fancy 
 for a solid attachment." 
 
 " Just so ;" acquiesced tho marchioness, rais- 
 ing her glass to her eye, and glancing leisurely 
 about her; "Lady Martha ha.s expressed my 
 true meaning; and I really was appprehensivo 
 that things might not turn out well ; for, setting 
 aside the extreme youth of Mr. Elphinstone, 
 you must bo aware that yoti could both of you 
 have dono much better. That, however, is of 
 course your own affair." 
 
 " I am rejoiced that your ladyship concedes 
 so much," said her hostess with the air of an 
 empress. 
 
 " I am, I assure you, quite delighted ;" pur- 
 sued tlio lady; "and really you have a very 
 pretty little house ; is it not. Lady Martha? I 
 am actually glad to have seen it, for tho mar- 
 quis has a widowed aunt who wius silly enough 
 to make an imprudent marriage, and who being 
 now compelled to live upon a very limited 
 jointure, is looking out for a residence suited to 
 lior means. I will mention this cottage to her, 
 as slio may perhaps find a similar one in tlw ' 
 neighborhood, and ;he would bo a charming , 
 comi)anion for Mrs. Llphinstonc." _ i 
 
 " Are we not to have the pleasure of seeing '. 
 your husband ?" inquired Lady Martha, who, 
 less self-engrossed tlian her friend, had le- 
 marked the indignation of tlieir hostess. 
 
 " Mr. Elphinstone is in town ;" replied Idiv; 
 " ho has just been called to tho bar, and is con- , 
 soquently compelled to pass tho greater portiim 
 of tho day at his chambers." 
 
 "Called to the bar!" exclaimed the ma> 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 81 
 
 phionesg; " are you rcnllj serious ? whv, what 
 ■\ dreary ILfe you must leadl It must be quite 
 h relief to you to receive your friends ; aud you 
 [uust also be iu a constaut state of anxiety ; 
 Condon is such a horrid place for young men, 
 iind those odious clubs render them so terribly 
 udepeudent of their homes." 
 ■ " Mr. Klphiustone has not, I am happy to say, 
 ■•vinced any disposition to avail himself of his 
 ludopeudence ;" was the quiet reply. 
 
 L"Ue would bo very unjirateful had ho done 
 ;" remarked Lady Martha, in a conciliating 
 bne; " with such a home, and such a wife, ho 
 oed scarcel}"" seek for enjoyment elsewhere." 
 
 " Still," said the marchioness, seutcutiously ; 
 I can not understand his volunteering the 
 rudgery of a profession. "W'e all know that 
 |o was poor, but you Mrs. Elphiustone, 
 ire aa only child, and your father is very 
 Nalthy." 
 
 I " Quite true, madam." 
 
 1 " So you see, my dear — ^you will excuse the 
 joerty which I am taking, and remember that 
 I am older than 3-ou. and have had more ex- 
 brience of the world — I consider that you- 
 live been ill-advised to indulge him in so silly 
 joaprice — for of course he must look to you 
 |r advice ; at his age and with his habits, he 
 
 n know nothing of business; and had you 
 dueed him to abandon this extraordinary 
 sa, you might have Lad him constantly un- 
 I r your own eye, which would have been very 
 ' sirable. 
 
 " I tell you this advisedly, and I have some 
 !;ht to do so, for although the marquis was ten 
 ;ars ray senior when I became his wife, I can 
 smre you that I had many a heartache. It is 
 < ite ridiculous to suppose that because a man 
 i married he undergoes a moral apotheosis; 
 K no ; the French proverb is a true one : 
 'pe cowl does not make the monk ;' and, until 
 if cau reform human nature, men will be 
 rin." 
 
 Witli this sublime climax her ladyship 
 Hwly rose, selected a magnificent magnolia 
 fm the bouquet on the center table, which 
 Bt transferred to her girdle, shook out the 
 fjls of her violet-colored satin, and prepared 
 tjdeparL 
 
 ■ I shall see you soon and often, I hope, Mrs. 
 lohinstono;"' she said ; " I retain a delightful 
 njmory of your musical talont.s. In short, 
 yk must always be an acquisition; and, as 
 yi know, the marquis is one of your most de- 
 Vted admirers." 
 
 rYour ladyship's kindness is very flatter- 
 li ;" Baid Ida, with dignity; "but I regret I 
 cJ not avail myself of it, as we have no car- 
 ripe. I am, however, much gratified that 
 yj. have honored me with a visit, since you 
 \^Q so good as to feel an interest in my hap- 
 pj:'3S, as you must have convinced yourself 
 tit I am perfectly satisfied with my destiny, 
 tit I have no ambition beyond that which my 
 ntriage has fulfilled, and that I can, without 
 ai misgiving, trust Mr. Elphinstone even at 
 li club." 
 
 Ha, my dear;" sighed her ladyship, as she 
 8^pt out of the room; "no dnubt you feel 
 al you say : we women are such confiding 
 cutures, and you are still certainly very beau- 
 
 Lady Martha followed her friend; and as 
 the door closed behind them, Ida buried her 
 fu'O in the sofa-pillows, and fell into a painful 
 train of thought. The iron hand had, indeed, 
 been gloved- in velvet, but the grasp was not 
 the less deadly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Elphinstone had, as stated by his wife, been 
 called to the Bar ; his chambers were, if not ■ 
 sumptuously, at least comfortably and suffi- | 
 ciently furnished ; he had provided himself / 
 with a confidential clerk; laid in a magnifi- 
 cent stock of stationery ; fitted up liis book- 
 case with the most valuable works of reference 
 to be obtained for money ; secured a gown 
 and wig of unexceptionable cut and quality, 
 in which, as Ida laughingly declared, lie 
 looked like a quasi lonl-chancellor ; made up 
 his mind to study for at least six hours in the 
 day ; and, in short, required nothing beyond 
 the opportunity of putting his legal talents to 
 the test. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, remained to be done ; 
 save, indeed, that he considered it necessary 
 to curtail the hours of study, in order to 
 secure clients ; but he had so" many friends, 
 that he entertained little doubt of his success 
 in that respect. Day by day, too, he had 
 reason to believe that all apprehension on the 
 subject would be superfluous ; but somehow 
 or other it constantly happened that the very 
 individuals who assured him of their support, , 
 as a matter of course, should they be acci- \ 
 dently involved in litigation, were sure to be 
 intimate with Sir Frederick Thesiger, or Sir 
 Fitzroy Kelly, and, consequently, felt them- 
 selves compelled to place the business in the 
 hands of an old professional friend, while they 
 could not, equally as a matter of course, take 
 the liberty of suggesting to men of sueh emi- 
 nence the choice of junior counsel. 
 
 For a time Elphinstone listened and be- 
 lieved ; and even amid liis disai>pointnient 
 and mortlfica'.ion, endeavored by hard study 
 to re:ider himself worthy of the confidence 
 which would, as he fondly hoj)ed, ere long be 
 placed in him. 
 
 But as month after month went by, and 
 winter succeeded to autumn ; as, after a 
 Christmas of isolation from all his former 
 friends, lie saw himself passing the threshold 
 of a new year, and still found himself without 
 a brief, the cx'-ilement of hope wore off; and, 
 abandoning his chambers to the care of his 
 cleik, who contrived by the aid of the morn- 
 ing paper and a new novel to get through 
 the tedious hours of his monotonous existence, 
 he sauntered down to hi;; club, and even as 
 time wore on, accidentally joined a water- 1 
 party to Hampton Court or Richmond. 
 
 A feeling of false shame preveule 1 him, 
 however, from communicating to his wife 
 these lapses from professional dut}- ; he could 
 not bear to damp hcrBanguine anticij'ations; 
 and since the tide of fashionable visitors had 
 ebbed, she lived so retired a life, that she was 
 
82 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 never likely to hear of his movements from 
 any other lips than his own. 
 
 The spring was a glorious one ; the London 
 season had just commenced ; and one engage- 
 ment grew out of another so naturally, that 
 Sydney soon ceased to reflect upon the whirl 
 of dissipation in which he had involved him- 
 self. Careful never to overstay the hour at 
 which he was aware that his wife would be 
 anticipating his return, he looked upon the 
 deception which ho was practicing as a pious 
 fraud. 
 
 Ida was happy in the belief that in the 
 absence of active and practical improvement, 
 he was spending his time in a course of study 
 which could not fail ultimately to secure his 
 professional success; while he, on his part, 
 ill-constituted, as we have shown him to be, 
 for either mental or moral exertion, easily 
 convinced himself that he had already done 
 all that was requisite, until the moment 
 should arrive when his powers would be called 
 into action. 
 
 And it was wonderful how well the world 
 seconded his opinion ; and how many sweet 
 smiles and hearty plaudits contributed to con- 
 vince him that he was walking in the broad 
 path of social duty. 
 
 Mr. Elphinstoue waltzed so well, and acted 
 charades so beautifully : — Sydney was such 
 an excellent oarsman, and got up a pic-nic so 
 admirably — he was married, to be sure, but 
 then, he had married a woman older tlian 
 himself, and was consequently more to be 
 pitied llian blamed, for it was so easy to under- 
 stand how matches of that description were 
 arranged ; so that, after all, it was perfectly 
 natural that he should resume his position in 
 society, and that his wife should reconcile 
 herself to what, under the circumstances, was 
 inevitable. 
 
 The world, however, in its short-sighted 
 egoti?m, argued too rapidly. With nil the 
 heedlessness of his age, Elphinstone was, 
 indeed, led into a career of folly and selfish 
 indulgence, but he nevertheless fondly loved 
 his wife ; and it was not without much re- 
 morseful feeling that he occasionally reflected 
 ■on his abuse of her confidence. 
 
 Wiiile he was engaged in archery or boat- 
 ing, billiards or dancing, the woman who had 
 intrusted to him alike her happiness and her 
 • existence, was s[>ending her liours in solitude 
 and cnmii, anxiously awaiting his return to a 
 lni!no far more humble than that of which 
 she should have been the mistress: but, alas! 
 Pleasure is a syren whose voice is seldom un- 
 liecdcd by the young — good intentions, as wo 
 all know, arc tlie ill-impressed mosaics which 
 .serve to floor a region that must be illimit- 
 able, if we consider the amount of paving 
 which it absorbs — and thus, day after daj', 
 Sydney yielded to the spell ; and evening after 
 evening he repented of his weakness only to 
 siu again. 
 
 He was not happy ; on that point he never 
 deceived himself; fur while he fluttered and 
 flirted through the throng of fashion, he saw 
 and felt that Ida, his own loved and loving 
 Avife, was fairer and dearer tlian any with 
 whom he came in contact ; and when he con- 
 trasted the lax and frivolous discourse to 
 
 which he listened at his club with her puri 
 and fascinating conversation, he despisf, 
 himself for a weakness to which on the nior 
 row he nevertheless again yielded without ai 
 eff"ort. 
 
 Not even the flushing cheek and averted ev 
 of Lady Mary Maitland when they oecasionall 
 met, disturbed his equanimity ; with all hi 
 faults, and they were rather the follies of vout 
 than actual defects of character, Sydney Elpliii 
 stone was no coxcomb : and he consequent! 
 attributed these evidences of emotion to au 
 cause rather than the true one. 
 
 In becoming the husband of Ida Trevanio 
 he had given himself to her wholly, and 1 , 
 was fully conscious of her claim upon his ui' 
 divided affection. 
 
 Still, he could not but know and feel th. 
 his position was a false one : and that, sliou , 
 Ida one day discover how she had been mis!(' 
 by his silence, all confidence must he forev 
 at an end between tliem. He was, liowcv(; 
 aware that their income could by no men' 
 suffice to their present style of living; forwli 
 he frittered away the very limited amou,/ 
 which wag exclusive!}' his own, his wife unrl 
 customed to economy in any shape, and tota 
 ignorant of the real value of money, was equa 
 expensive in her own habits, while, witli proj 
 satisfaction, she believed tliat by dispensij 
 with a carriage and even a male domestic, aj 
 living in a mere cottage, all further retrent' 
 tnent was unnecesarv. ■ 
 
 Never indeed, perhaps, were two individu j 
 more thoroughly self-deluded than were 2; 
 and Mrs. Elphinstone at tliis precise peri' 
 Slie, calmly, and patiently hapjjy in thefi| 
 confidence that she was more than ever nec^ 
 sary to her husband, who, after long and wc;' 
 hours of monotonous occupation, could l(i 
 only to her for companionship in her bij 
 periods of leisure; and he in the equally b;.'- 
 less conviction that his friends cnnld not 1( ': 
 fail him as they had hitlicrto done ; and t '; 
 his first brief would at once induct him i » 
 all the duties and habits of a man of businc; 
 
 And meanwliile all things went on .enioolli^" 
 and even, if Ida did occasionally feel that, ft-, 
 paint, and practice as slic might, tlie time wc'l 
 hang heavily upon her hands. s!ie slrugfil 
 against tlic weakness, resolved that Syd}' 
 sliould never suspect her of so j uerile I 
 solfisii a folly; and thus it was, that she (!* 
 stantly welcomed him to his home with a brill 
 smile and a cheerful voice. ' 
 
 As her husband's day, according to o 
 world's notion of diurnal existence, ended, J 
 own began ; for S^-dney's society was now ,o 
 only dissipation and excitement to which ]0 
 could look forward; while he, on tlio contr/, 
 anticipated the matrimonial t'te-ii-Ule \i\ a 
 sense of actual enjoyment and repose that a|a 
 like a precious balm upon his conscious jd 
 worn spirit. 
 
 Not even the necessity of concealing }J 
 unusul fatigue under which he might o 
 casionally bo laboring was entailed upon l:i; 
 ho was not compelled either to avow or tt *" 
 plain it, for Ida was so convinced, whcn'ia 
 saw him return to her witli a pale cheek 'O 
 an exliausted frame, that slio possesseii ,'^8 
 true word of the enigma, that while aa u* 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 83 
 
 inot to crush his moral energies by a word of 
 pitr, or a look of earo which would inevitubly 
 have brought him to lier feet, with a full 
 avowal upon his lips, she only redoubled her 
 [efforts to restore his cheerfulness and become 
 pay herself, as she remarked tlio unfailing 
 effect of hor endeavor. 
 
 i There was much that "was great in the 
 character of Mrs. Elphinstone, too much, in- 
 deed, for her own peace, wliea the powers of 
 her mind and will were called into action by 
 imagined wrong — but which was eminently 
 admirable when exerted for the happiness of 
 another. 
 
 In those she loved, self was forgotten ; there 
 was no trial too bitter to bo borne, no sacrifice 
 too painful to bo made, for him in whom she 
 had garnered up her heart, while she felt that 
 per affection was returned, freely and fully, as 
 k had been bestowed, and without stint or 
 limit Thus, even her intervals of mental 
 tveariness never degenerated into moral sutt'cr- 
 ng — she was happy because S^vduey loved 
 ler: because he was toiling for her; because 
 hey were all in all to each other; and when 
 she sometimes reflected how any invasion on 
 ler present soHtude might inyolvo her in doubts 
 md suspicions, which to her -jealous nature 
 iraounted to actual torture, she reproached 
 lerself for every regretful thought. 
 
 Thus wore away an entire year: and then 
 [gain came spring, sweet, blossom-scented 
 pring; and already the young leaves might 
 »e seen swelling and brightening amid the 
 elicate tracery of the trees ; once more a re- 
 urrcction of life and gladness had come upon 
 he earth ; and even the most worldly-hearted 
 xperienced a sensation of glad relief as they 
 scaped from the gross vapors of the over- 
 copied city, where man, and the works of 
 lan, seemed to be all in all, and emerged into 
 fie broad, pure and sun-lighted landscaiie, 
 rhere the songs of the birds, the lowing of the 
 attle upon the hills, and tho soft murmuring 
 f tho streams through the pleasant valleys, 
 :\l of a nobler origin, and a wider purpose. 
 This was a season of dehglit to Ida, for once 
 lore she could surround her.selfwith flowers, 
 ad scarcely a week elapsed that she did not 
 nd upon her work-table, .some brilliant exotic, 
 ^aced there to await her waking by tho hand 
 !" her idolized husband; while, day by day, 
 le found occupation for her pencil in tho less 
 )stly blossoms of her own well-tendered 
 jwer-beds. 
 
 For some months, however, she had enjoyed 
 loro of Sydney's society; there was, as he very 
 uthfully declared " nothing doing," although 
 was probable that they did not both attach 
 le same meaning to the phrase; then, liis 
 lambers were dark, gloomy, and deserted, 
 id he felt that ho could read and study alike 
 itli more profit and with more pleasure under 
 Le same roof; and in the presence of his wife; 
 h argument of wliieh he reqired no logic to 
 hvince his delighted listener, 
 S I the confidential clerk was, officially as 
 1 as actually, invested in his government at 
 • Temple, with the full privilege of luxu- 
 litiiig peacefully in })oth news and novel.*. 
 Id a portion of Mr. Elphinstone's professional 
 brary was transported to the cottage, where 
 
 he actually did spend an hour or two each day 
 in turning over their pages. That he was not 
 more assiduous in his learned labors did not, 
 however, excite one regret in his exulting wife, 
 who occupied every other instant of his time. 
 
 When the sunshine tempted her to walk — 
 and, be it known to those who know it not, 
 there are some charming walks in that pleas- 
 ant neighborhood — he was her constant com- 
 panion; and as she hung upon his arm, the fl;st 
 bright days of her married life, ere the neces- 
 sities of the world had torn him frotu her side, 
 seemed to have conic V)aek upon her. When 
 she was occupied at her embroidery-frame, ho 
 watched the movement of her slight and skill- 
 ful fingers, and enlivened her task with a mul- 
 titude of ludicrous masculine suggestions, over 
 which they laughed together as she convinced 
 him of their utter impracticability; when she 
 sang, his voice was blended with lier own ; and 
 when too happy or too mJolent to provide her 
 own amusement^ he read to her from the works 
 of some favorite author; or, seated on a cush- 
 ion at her feet, he accompanied on his guitar 
 some of the wild romances which he had 
 learned in Grenada or Seville. 
 
 Such was the life they led; and if indeed 
 there were an adder among the roses which 
 strewed the i)ath of Ida, it was, for a time at 
 least, coiled and hidden beneath the j>erfuiued 
 leaves. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 " I REALLY think, love," said Sydney, on one 
 occasion, as they returned home from a saunter 
 through some of the quiet lanes in which they 
 both delighted ; and he spoke so gravely, and 
 so much with the air and manner of one who 
 has arrived at a veiy serious decision, that Ida 
 involuntarily glanced up at him, marveling 
 what was to follow ; " I really think I shall not 
 renew my subscription at my club." 
 
 "My dear Sydney!" exclaimed his wife; 
 "what an extraordinary resolution. What can 
 be your reason ?" 
 
 " I am so much more happy in your society 
 than elsewhere." 
 
 " But consider, dearest-^' 
 
 " I have considered, and I tliink that I am 
 right." 
 
 " But the world will not think so, Sydney," 
 persisted Mrs. Elphinstone, almost aghast ; " a 
 man without a club would be such a solecism 
 in society — it would never do for you to lose 
 caste just as you are endeavoring to follow 
 your profession." 
 
 " I am quite aware of that, my dear girl ; 
 and there can be no doubt that a club has its 
 advantages, but it is so deuecilly cxjx'iisive." 
 
 •" Well then," said Ida, as though she were 
 suggesting something so e.asily accomplished 
 that it required no second thought; "we will 
 curtail our expenses in sonic hss objectionalile 
 way; for I could not endure that you should 
 be subject to Buch .-i privation. No, no; it is 
 not to be thought of. HemeiMber, too, tliat you 
 may occasionally have correspoudent3 to whom 
 
84 
 
 THE JEALOUS VIFE 
 
 you may not consider it desirable to give your 
 private aildress." 
 
 " That is probable enough," acquiesced her 
 husband ; " in which case I ehall refer them to 
 my chambers." 
 
 "De])end on it, the scheme is a bad one," 
 insisted Ida, -who, habituated to the prejudices 
 of the particular set to Tvhieh she belonged, 
 could not comprehend that a man could pass 
 respectably through the Avorld unless he con- 
 formed to all its conventionalities. " If you 
 love nie, Sythiey, say no more about it. I am 
 half angry with you for having conceived so 
 ■wild an idea. Our (Jiscussion, however, re- 
 minds nie that you have not been near this said 
 club, which has suddenly become so odious to 
 you, for the last four days; and, who knows? 
 there may at this moment be letters await- 
 ing you there — grave business letters — giving 
 ])romise of a brief! Suppose my prophecy 
 should prove to be n correct one, would you 
 quarrel with the poor club again!" 
 
 " Probal)ly not, fair tyrant." 
 
 " Then I will phiy the sy'jil, and predict that 
 if, in obedience to my behest, you hasten there 
 within this very hour to claim the prize, it 
 shall be yours; and until you return I will 
 closet myself awhile with Gliick and Beeth- 
 oven ; and then wliile away the remainder of 
 the time in devising some expedient which shall 
 render your late mighty project both unneces- 
 sary and impossible." 
 
 " If you are quite determined, dear Ida — " 
 
 "My will is immutable, Mr. Sydney Elphin- 
 stonc ; a thorough woman's will, so that you 
 have no altei-native save obedience." 
 
 "Au rcL'oir, then, love." 
 
 " Aa revoir ei sans adieu. I shall be quite 
 anxious to Imow if I am indeed the sybil that 
 I feel." 
 
 " — And look 1" smiled her husband, admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 Ida laughed, waved her hand, and disap- 
 peared into the house. 
 
 By what strange fitality is it that, not con- 
 tent with awaiting our destiny, we are always 
 80 prone to a:'sist its progress, even in our 
 brightest and holiest hours, when we know 
 that any change m:;y diminisli, or even de- 
 stroy, our present happiness ? 
 
 Mr. Elphin.stono went to liis club, and there, 
 as his wife had predicted, he found a leitcr 
 awaiting him. It contained, however, no legal 
 •matter — no claim on his forensic eloquence — 
 but that it was none the less welcome, was 
 evideut from the well-pleased smilo with which 
 ho perused it. 
 
 As usual, ho was cordially greeted by his 
 numerous friends ; for even at that unfashion- 
 able time of year, when London was still a 
 desert, and the season only i.i [lerspcctivo, there 
 are always men cither too iudolL-nt to abandon 
 the ordinary routine of their habits, or too sa- 
 gacious to rclinqui.sh their club enjoyments, 
 when they have not secured an equivalent in 
 the wcU-apiJointed country seat of some more 
 wealthy friend. 
 
 Few lieir.s-apparent to an extensive estate, or 
 a title, indeed ; for they are always secure of 
 change, bo they as fickle or fastidious as tliey 
 may; tlio very knights and castles of the social 
 chess-board, without which tho game of life 
 
 must lose its interest ; but shoals of younger 
 brothers, tho pawns of the play, wiio are at 
 times indispensable, it is true, but who can 
 be withdrawn from the board when their 
 services cease to be available ; travelers newly 
 arrived in England, who indulge themselves 
 with a week's run in town before they settle 
 dawn in a hum-drum family-party in the couii- 
 try ; and oCBcers of the household troops, whoso 
 tour of duty detains them in tho dull and. 
 dingy city. ! 
 
 Sydney's heart was very light that day; Ida 
 had appeared to him to be more lovely and 
 more fascinating tli:;n ever; he was very par- 
 tial to his club, and he had really, as he stated.' 
 began to feci that it Avas a luxury too great for 
 liis means; but tho arguments of his wife had 
 been forcible enough to silence all his com- 
 punctious feelings ; she had convinced him that 
 in justice to himself, he must maintain hii 
 proper position in society; and, long before h( 
 reached St. James's street, he had become quit*; 
 of the same opinion. 
 
 It was, therefore, with a feeling of the mos 
 complete and quiet gratification, that he loung| 
 ed away an hour among his gay and idle assoi 
 elates, skimmed ^over a couple of the dai!; 
 papers, played half a dozen games at billiard?, 
 read tho names of tho new novels that wen' 
 strewn over the library tables, and, finally^ 
 turned his face homeward. ' 
 
 But although it was stiil early when he Id' 
 tho club, his arrival at his own house was lesi 
 punctual than was his ordinary custom; ami 
 during the half hour which preceded it, Ida ha' 
 built up a very charming httlo romance upo; 
 tho corner-stone of her own prophecy, founde' 
 entirely on his prolonged absence. i 
 
 Yes — tho letter — singular as such a coinc ' 
 denco would unquestionably be — tho lettcj 
 vrhich she had foretold, was in truth awsutin 
 him, ami ho would at last have the opportunit;: 
 so long and so earnestly desired, of doing justic 
 to his own high intellectual powers, and c 
 juslifying her choice in tho eyes of all wl 
 might now sock to blame it. 
 
 Sydney, once fimous, would no longer di' 
 suado her, as ho now did, fiom seeking a reco 
 ciliation with her father, for fame in his profcj 
 sion was tho sure guarantee of wealth ; an, 
 consequ.':'ntly. he could then have no apprehcj 
 sion that ho should bo accused of mercenary m| 
 tives, when sanctioning the overtures of his wif 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Trcvanion, softened by a rene\ 
 ed intercourse with his child, might eT«j 
 consent to a general amnesty, and include Ij 
 uncle in his forgiveness ; and then, indeed, h' 
 felt as though no shadow could again cross hi 
 spirit. ' 
 
 Tho past was forgotten in this brilliant dm] 
 dream ; wliilo even the present — that prescr 
 which to her was fraught with love and pcaij 
 seemed a mero period of probation, tending t 
 a still brighter and a happier pluvso of existent-, 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstonc lay buried among the CUS; 
 ions of her dormeit.se, her eyes closed, and 
 smile upon her lips, wandering in fmey throu; 
 her old haunts, inhabiting her old home, a^ 
 surrounded by her old as.sociates, when 
 length the well-known and welcome stop I 
 upon her ear, and she started up to receive ! 
 hu^sband. 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 85 
 
 ^Forgive me, Ida — " ho commonced. 
 
 " Fergive you, lovo J For what ?" wag the 
 
 ugUing rejoinder — "for your brief delay? 
 low could it be otherwise, when my promised 
 [etter suddenly involved you in such a whirl of 
 bleasaiit occupation ?" 
 I " Were you thea really aware — " 
 j "Of course I was. rebellious unbeliever! or 
 iiow could I have put wines to your lieelsa few 
 jiours back by my potent spell ?" 
 ! "Still the" letjter does not mention your 
 Knowledge of the arrangement," said Sydney, 
 .horoughly mystifiecL 
 
 : Tho low sweet laugh of his wife was her only 
 ,t?ply. 
 
 1 "However,*^ he pursued, gayly, "you are 
 ight; tho said letter did give me considerable 
 iiccupation, although, with all deference to your 
 j>pinion, be it said, fair lady, that I found it more 
 tssential than agreeable." 
 I "My poor Sydney!" said his wife as she 
 lOUcUed his. up-turned brow with her lips, "it 
 k weary work, I have no doubt, but still — " 
 I " You are right, dear Ida, as 5'ou ever aro ; 
 itiU it was my duty to undertake the task 
 nthout a moment's delay, and right glad am I 
 hat I did sg, as I flatter myself that I have 
 uceoeded to admiration," 
 
 "Succeeded, Sydney!" exclaimed his wife, 
 lystified in her turn, "what, already?" 
 
 " Yes, dear love, so you see that I was wor- 
 hy of the ^ winged heels.' I have secured 
 he snuggest little box for them 5 and only 
 Link — " 
 
 I " We must be playing a game of cross-pur- 
 iiosea," interposed Ida, becoming suddenly 
 rrave; •" what were the contents of the letter ?" 
 ["What! Is the sybil at fault?" demanded 
 pphinstone; ■" I was actually deluded by your 
 paaner into the belief that you knew all about 
 ;. However, here it is; read it; and then I 
 s-ill tell you how I have fulfilled my appointed 
 diasion,^ 
 
 Ida took the paper from his hand, and 
 ler fii'st glance at the superscription sufficed 
 ,0 drive the blood from her cheek - the haud- 
 yritiag was that of a woman; she hastily 
 jlrew the note from its envelop, and as 
 lastily ran her «ye over its contents, which 
 rere these : — 
 
 "As I am sure that I may trust to your 
 inclness in all things, my dear Sydney, I do 
 lot hesitate for a moment to request that you 
 rill render me an essential service. I find 
 hat the utter seclusion of our otherwise com- 
 jirtable retreat has produced a very depress- 
 pg effect upon my dear .eliild's spirits, which 
 ,efleeted itself in some degree ou her health. 
 j had not calculated <>a the dreariness of a long 
 rinter during the previous season of leaves 
 nd suosliiae, and while the near neigliborhood 
 f your accomplLshed wife and yourself 
 endered us independent of all other society ; 
 ut I am c mipelled to confess that<:ven at my 
 ge, when rain, wind, and snow confined us 
 3 the Louse, I felt that I had relied too much 
 _poa our home-resources, and exposed my pr.or 
 ^dith to a trial which was both eevere and 
 nneeessary. 
 " What I would ask of you is, therefore, that, 
 practicable, you will secure for me a small 
 
 ^t 
 
 but ladylike rcsidonoc, consistent at once with 
 my present means and |)ositioii in life. 
 
 " I have unfortunately inislaid your address, 
 of wliich I only retain the word ' Brompton.' 
 I shall, consequently, direct my letters to your 
 club; and leave you to oft'er, In my name, my 
 very sincere apologies to Mrs. Elphinstonc for 
 this demand upon your time and energies, 
 which I feci sure Uiat she will pardon. 
 
 "My essentials are pure air for my dear 
 gii-1, and a small garden, in which slie may 
 amuse herself with her flowers, a sight of 
 green boughs from our windows, and a situa- 
 tion which will not involve us in the neces- 
 sity of making acquaintance with our neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 "Now it strikes me that upon all these 
 points Mrs. Elphinstone must have been as 
 imperative as myself; therefore, I may sum up 
 all my requirements by requesting you to do 
 for me precisely what you have done for her ; 
 and I need scarcely add that if, in your own 
 immediate neighborhood, these requisites can 
 be -secured, I shall be doubly gratified, as we 
 shall then have the opportunity which we both 
 covet, of forming, as I trust, a close and en- 
 dearing friendship with your amiable and gifted 
 wife. 
 
 "Lose no time, my dear boy, in complying 
 with my request, as I am becoming anxious 
 about Edith ; and, to own the truth, shall not 
 be sorry myself to be brought into more im- 
 mediate contact with the ' human face divine' 
 than I have been for the last few mouths. 
 Say for us all and every thing that you know 
 will be acceptably to Jilrs. Elphinstone, and re- 
 ceive assurance of the sincere affection of your 
 own and your mother's friend, 
 
 Clarissa Malcolm." 
 
 Poor Ida ! Her air-built castle was prostrate, 
 and in the void created by its destruction I 
 uprose a host of bitter anticijiations. She 
 had been so happy even in the house of her 
 enforced solitude : and now — 
 
 She still sat silent with the fateful letter ia 
 her hand, when she was recalled to a more 
 vivid sense of her self-inflicted suffering by tho 
 voice of her husband, who, surprised that she 
 made no comment on its contents, suddenly 
 discontinued his occupation of removing the 
 decayed leaves from the plants in her jardiniere, 
 and exclaimed joyously: 
 
 " Is it not charming, Ida? We only required 
 the society of Lady Malcolm and Edith to 
 make our home a li'.tle Paradise ; I may con- 
 fess to you, now, that I reproached myself with 
 every hour which, during my absence, con- 
 demLied you to solitude; while, afcer their 
 arrival I shall be able to leave you with a 
 lighter heart, well assured that they will 
 do all in their power to make the time pass 
 pleasantly." 
 
 "Have I ever complained, Sydney?" asked 
 his wife, tremulously. 
 
 " Never, dearest ; and there were even mo- 
 ments ;" he replied, with a shade of compunc- 
 tion in his voice, "when I almost wished ih.at 
 you had done so; that you had told mo you 
 could not support so wearisome an cxi.-tcru-c; 
 and tliat I must be less apparently regiirdlee 
 of your happiness." 
 
86 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 "I should have seomed myself for such 
 egotism;"' said Mrs. Elphiiistone ; "how could 
 I complain, when I knew and felt that you 
 •were compelliuir yourself to a life unsjenial to 
 your tastes, in order to secure an existence of 
 comfort and ti'anqiiillity to me ? 
 
 '•No. Sydney; you do not understand me 
 yet. There can be no solitude, no weariness 
 for me in a home, which I know will a few 
 liours hence be pladdened by your presence. 
 The proud conviction tliat you are laborinsj to 
 do justice to yourself, and to fulfill my fondest 
 dreams suffices, and ever must suflice, to my 
 happiness. Do not rejoice for me, therefore, 
 for I have nothing to desire — nothing to wish, 
 I liave made you my world, and am well con- 
 tent to abide in it." 
 
 There was much in the words of Ida cal- 
 culated to inflict a pang upon the heart of her 
 husband, but of that fact she was unconscious ; 
 for a moment only he replied by a silent caress, 
 Ijut soon ralljnng, he thanked her tenderly for 
 her patience and forbearance; and ever san- 
 guine, declared his conviction tliat the day was 
 not far distant when he would be enabled to 
 repay her all. 
 
 "Only love me, Sydney;" she said; "love 
 me, and me only, and I can ask no more." 
 
 "Are you not my existence?" was his re- 
 joinder ; " does the world contain a second Ida ?" 
 
 " ilay it never do so in your eyes •" mur- 
 mured his wife. 
 
 "And now let me talk to you of the ilal- 
 colms," said Sydney, as he repossessed him- 
 self of the letter, wliich his wife still held, 
 and replaced it in the envelop ; " for despite 
 all your generous self-abnegation, I can not 
 help feeling delighted that since you have 
 resolved to shut yourself out altogether from 
 tlie world, you will at least secure the society 
 of two individuals who can understand ami 
 appreciate you. I need scarcely s.iy that 
 after spending an liour at the club, I hastened 
 to commence my undertaking. 
 
 "ily first impulse was to hurry home, and 
 consult 3'ou on the subject, but og second 
 thoughts, I resolved not to do so, lest you 
 should volunteer to accompany nie in the 
 search, a fatigue to which I was unwilling 
 that you sliould be exposed, so like a sober 
 and experienced Benedict, I entered upon 
 my task unaided, feeling, that as I had, on a 
 former occasion, been successful, where my 
 heart was even more interested, I should 
 scarcely fail to daj-." 
 
 "And you again succeeded, if I understand 
 you rightly i" said Ida, forcing a smile. 
 
 "Beyond my hopes! Only imagine, dear- 
 est, tliat after having walked through a score 
 of 'villas,' 'cottages,' 'lodges,' 'elms,' and 
 •oaks,' and ' roserys,' I liad abandoned all 
 thoughts of accomplishing my i)urpose to- 
 d.iy, when I w^is directed to the adjoining 
 grounds, where j-ou may remember ni}- liav- 
 ing drawn your attention to an avenue of 
 acacia.'j just bursting into leaf, and where I 
 found, in fuet,'at tiie termination of the said 
 acacias one of the very prettiest of all prett}' 
 cottages. 
 
 "iSollung could be better, nothing more 
 convenient; I liked it both inside and out, 
 and iu less than teu minutes all was arranged. 
 
 The house will be ready in a fortnight^ an 
 we have only to break a door through tli 
 wall wliieh separates the two ganlens, to bi 
 come like one family, and to defy the prviii | 
 curiosity of all the gossips of the Bejgh'bo ' 
 hood." 
 
 Ida almost gasped for breath ; the realit 
 was even worse than she hail anticipate- | 
 She was to make a common home with tl I 
 being whom she dreaded most on earth, an, 
 that, too, without being able to advance or! 
 valid objection to the aiTangement. 
 
 The vision of Edith in her pure, fresh lov. 
 liness, swam before her eyes; she felt fait 
 and sick at heart ; her first impression hn. 
 not deceived her ; this young, and apparen 
 ly guileless girl, was the rock upon whic 
 her married happiness was to be ultimate) 
 wrecked; doubtless, there ^ere scores t; 
 women even more attractive in the worl' 
 than Edith Slalcolm, beautiful as she was, bi 
 Mrs. Elplunstone, with bitter incenuit ; 
 easily convinced herself that in the haudso 
 Edith Malcolm lay her fate. 
 
 Why, were it otherwise, when they bfi 
 parted with every prospect of a prolangt| 
 separation — for Lady ^lalcolm had expres8< 
 some vague intention of residing for a ye, 
 or two on the continent — why had she bed 
 pursued to her very threshold by the objci 
 of her distrust ? : 
 
 Again and again did she ask herself t\: 
 question, and carefully did she note eve [ 
 word uttered by her husband, on the ev«; 
 recurring subject of the speedy arrival <) 
 their. new neighbors; note his undisgnisj 
 exultation at the pleasure expressed by La<l 
 Malcolm at the prospect of so soon rejoinri; 
 her friends, for -whom she felt so warm a : 
 sincere a regard, and watch liis perpeti; 
 visits to the house, and his eagerness to co ! 
 plete the arrangements necessary to secuj 
 their comfort. . . . 
 
 Nothing could be more simple, nothi 
 more natural, than tliat Elphinstone shoi 
 both feel and act as he did, but Ida saw a 
 judged ever}- thing through a di.^torted ni 
 diuin ; encouraged the morbid feelings agair 
 which, for the sake of her own peace, s 
 should have struggled, and theiieeforwa 
 looked with a jaundiced eye upon all tb i 
 related to Lady Malcolm and her daugbtei^ / 
 
 CIIAPTER XXXL 
 
 NEW nOPES. 
 
 On the day fixed for her arrival, EIpI,- 
 stone was at the station, ready to escort » 
 mother's friend to her new home. Ida W 
 raised no objection to this arrangement, .1'^ 
 did she, as hegayly bade her adieu, after li- 
 ing assured iiims'elf that all was in due or t 
 at the cottage to receive the in-coniing t- 
 ants, sadden his pleasant anticipations bi 
 look or a word of discouragement, althoi J 
 she was conscious, as she watclied his dep|'- 
 uie, of a strange feeling of restlessness i 
 indisposition, for which she could only r 
 couut by supposing that th*) near appro h 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 97 
 
 of \]\o trii'.l to wliirli she liaJ l)oen lookinsi; 
 forward witli dnad for tlie last fortniglit, 
 had produced a itaiiiful ttrcctupoii her nerves. 
 Anxious therefore, to conquer what she 
 considered as u weakness unworthy of her, 
 and peouliarly ill-timed at a moment -when 
 she required tiie exertion of all her energies, 
 she resolutely abandoned licr sofa, shook off 
 the oppression which was stealing over her, 
 and endeavored to divert her tlioughts by 
 personally superintending the pioparations 
 which were making in lier little household 
 to welcome the expected guests, who were to 
 spend their first evening under her roof. 
 
 With her own hands she arranged fresh 
 flowers in the vases, gave a more graceful 
 fall to the soft drai)cries of the windows, 
 aad selected from a pile of music, such com- 
 positions as she knew to be peculiar favorites 
 with Miss Malcolm. 
 
 It was a species of voluntary martyrdom 
 which she thus inflicted upon herself; but 
 true to her dignity as a ■wife, and anxious 
 that the home of her husband should be 
 worthy, even in its simplicity, both of him 
 and of herself she resolutely pursued her 
 task, until her sense of physical suffering be- 
 came so great, that unable longer to struggle 
 against it, she was compelled to ring for as- 
 sistance. 
 
 A succession of fainting-fits, alarming from 
 their duration, at length so terrified her two 
 attendants that one of Iheni hastened to pro- 
 cure professional advice; and ere she was 
 sufficiently restored to consciousness to forbid 
 it, she found the solitude of lier cottage in- 
 vaded by the presence of a stranger. 
 
 "It will be nothing, positively nothing," 
 said a low, pleasant voice, as the application 
 of a powerful stimulant aroused her once 
 more from the torpor into which she had 
 fallen; "come, my dear madam, do me the 
 favor to swallow a few droj)3 of this essence; 
 aiid believe me when I assure j-ou that in an 
 Lour or two you will be perfectly restored." 
 
 Ida languidly opened her eyes, and raised 
 herself into a sitting j)0sture; she was still 
 too weak to give utterance to a syllable, but 
 she felt soothed, and as the large tears fell 
 slowly on her cheeks, she slyly averted her 
 head to escape the look of involuntary admi- 
 ration which was fixed upon her. 
 
 "Over-excitement, no doubt," pursued her 
 visitor; "but you miist control your feelings, 
 my dear young lady, you mu;t, indeed; it is 
 absolutely essential that you should do so. 
 Gentle exercise, cheerful society, and the new 
 interest which existence now olie.s to you, 
 will be your best physicians." 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone glanced at him inquir- 
 inply. 
 
 The physician smiled. "Leave me for a 
 moment ulone with your lady," he said to tiie 
 maid wiio still lingered bes'ide her mistress, 
 and who instantly withdrew. 
 
 "I can not b.i deceived, my dear madam," 
 pursued the old gentleman, as he seated him- 
 self near her, "in believing that I am the har- 
 binger of gooil tidings. You are about to 
 become a mother." 
 
 Ida sprang to her feet, and pressed her 
 Lands tightly together, while a smile of tri- 
 
 ■ umphant hapi)inesslilui>her eountenanoe into 
 j almost uneartldy beauty. In the excess of 
 j her joy she almost gnsj>cd for breath; tlien, 
 ' after one long gaze into the venerable face of 
 ' her companion, she sank upon her kneer*, and 
 ■■l)uried her burning brow among the cushions 
 [ of the sofa. 
 
 Br. Darnell neither spoked nor moved, un- 
 til the vehement sobs by which her whole 
 frame was convulsed had graduall}"^ subsided, 
 and then, after having strictly enjoined an 
 hour or two of perfect repose, he rose, and 
 took his leave. 
 
 As the door closed behind him, Ida sprang 
 from the floor and hurried to her own room, 
 where, having carefully locked the door, she 
 felt secure from all intrusion. 
 
 She needed to be alone Avith her new-born 
 ha])piness — to dream of it — to dwell on it — 
 Edith Malcolm was forgotten ; she could think 
 only of her child — of Sydney's child — of the 
 sacred tie Avhich was about to bind them a 
 thousandfold" more closely together. 
 
 There was #o faintness at her heart now ; 
 her pulses throbbed with an emotion which 
 defied alike sickness and sorrow; life was 
 .all brightness, the futui-e all sunshine; rest! 
 how could she rest? with a fevered cheek and 
 a kindling eye, she paced up and down her 
 chamber, until at length exhausted nature 
 gave way beneath the violence of her excite- 
 ment, and, casting herself upon the bed, she 
 fell into a deep and dreamless sleed. 
 
 She was still buried in tiiis death-like slum- 
 ber when Mr. Elphinstone and his guests ar- 
 rived, and great was the alarm excited in the 
 whole party by the tidings which awaited 
 them — an alarm which was increased almost 
 to an agon^' in the breast of Sydney, when, 
 on rushing up stairs, he found the door of his 
 wife's chamber shut against him. 
 
 His voice, however, soon aroused Ida, who 
 hastened to admit him, with a cheek so bright 
 and an eye so radiant that he started back in 
 suriJi-ise. 
 
 " They told me that you were ill, my own 
 love," he exclaimed, as he drew her f ow^ard 
 j him, "ill, very ill, my Ida. Why did they 
 torture me by such a fable? You are not, 
 you can not be ill. Only tell me that — " 
 
 "^o, no, Sydnej% I am not ill; I am quite 
 well, and, oh! so Ivappyj" 
 
 "But what mystery is this, dearest? You 
 can not imagine the torture which I endured 
 ' until I oijce more saw you beside me." 
 
 " Mystery !" echoed Ida, witii a bright blush, 
 as she pillowed her cheek upon his shoulder; 
 "oh, there is no mystery; I have been weak, 
 very weak, since you left me, and played the 
 Avoinan, I believe, sufficiently to faint and ter- 
 rify our ignorant Abigail; "but 1 have slept 
 since then, and, as j-ou see, am perfectly re- 
 covered. IJut we must not forget our guests; 
 return to them at once, dear Sydney, while I 
 gather up my disheveled hair, and make my- 
 self presentable." 
 
 "Ida, you can not deeeive»me,'' said Syd- 
 ney, uneasily; "you are feverish and ex- 
 cited." 
 
 "It is nothing," was the laughing rcjdy ; 
 " I have had a dream, which 1 may perhu|id 
 confide to you hereafter if you obey mc now." 
 
ss 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 *"A dream — " murmured her husband, still 
 only half-convinco<l ; "and you will not tell 
 me the true meaning of your evident emo- 
 tion?"' 
 
 "Not now, not now; remember that you 
 are about, for tiio first time since our mar- 
 riage, to play the host in your own house: 
 you owe yourself to your friends; po, and ac- 
 quaint yourself witli your new duties, and I 
 will join j-ou within an instant." 
 
 Elphinstone reluctantly obeyed, and his 
 agitated account of his brief interview with 
 his wife by no means prepared Lady Malcolm, 
 who during his absence had questioned the 
 attendant on the subject of her mistress's in- 
 disposition, for the bright and radiant ap- 
 pearance of Ida, who shortly afterward en- 
 tered the room with a glad smile and an 
 elastic step, to oflFer at once her apology and 
 her welcome. 
 
 If Lady Malcolm had occasionally thought 
 the manner of Mrs. Elphinstone uncertain and 
 capricious, she ccrtaiuly found no cause to do 
 so on the present occasion. TNothijig could 
 exceed the courteous urbauity of the young 
 hostess, who did the honors of her house with 
 a frauk and cordial kindness which at once dif- 
 fused its charm over the whole party ; and ere 
 long the conversation became as gay and ani- 
 mated as though no heart ia that little circle 
 had ever known care or doubt. 
 
 From that time the health of Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone became so delicate that she was seldom 
 able to leave the house ; but it is nevertheless 
 certain that, had she been less ingenious in self- 
 tormenting, this would have been one of the 
 happiest periods of her life. 
 
 The devotion of her exulting husband, who 
 watched every look and anticipated every 
 wi.Mi; the gentle and unwearied kindness of 
 Lady Malcolm, who was her constant com- 
 panion ; and the pretty playfulness of Edith, 
 who came and went in the sick-room like a 
 sunbeam, brightening and gladdening all around 
 her, were well calculated to divest even indis- 
 position of its dreariness. 
 
 But the very charm shed over the party by 
 the presence of the fair girl, who was never 
 w^eary of ministering to her comfort, was a per- 
 petual souice of wretchedness to Ida, as with 
 closed eyes she lay upon the sofa, contrasting 
 in her own mind the buoyant graces of Edith, 
 her unimpaired health, and elastic spirits, with 
 her own faded beauty, and depressed energies. 
 
 The two small households had, indeed, as 
 Sydney liad anticipated, become like one 
 f;unily ; and while his wife was too languid 
 for any exertion beyond skimming over a few 
 pages of some favorite book, or listening, while 
 Lady Malcolm relieved her of even that slight 
 fatigue, Edith assisted Elphinstone to tend her 
 flowers, feed her birds, ajid perform all those 
 graceful little duties in which she had herse'.f 
 hitherto taken delight 
 
 Every hour in the day they were together, 
 generally engaged ii» the same pursuit, and 
 evidently iutelested in the same objects. 
 They played, saug, and drew together ; and 
 although Ida was present, still it was with a 
 bitter jiang that she saw themtlms engaged, 
 and felt that tlieir mutual enjoyment was in- 
 dependent of hersclil 
 
 Occasionally, Elphinstone would stroll down 
 to his club; and at long intervals, he even 
 extended his walk to the Temple, in the vaniie 
 hope of hearing from his clerk that some 
 sti-ange foot had passed the threshold of his 
 chambers ; but no ; ever}' new visit was onlv a 
 new disappointment ; and even sanguine as'he 
 I was, there were moments Avheu he felt sick at 
 heart, and began to ask himself how all this 
 must end [ 
 
 Town was filling rapidly, and whenever he 
 made his appear.-ince iu his old haunts, he was 
 overwhelmed with invitations, but he no 
 longer suffered himself to be seduced into dis^ 
 sipati<in 
 
 Since the arrival of Lady JIalcolm and her 
 daughter, he had never passed a weary hour, 
 and he consequently resisted the importunities 
 of his friends with<mt an eifort, quite satisfied 
 in his own mind that it was the present situa- 
 tion of Ida which had invested his home with 
 a new eharm. 
 
 As time passed, a fresh trial awaited Mrs. 
 Elphinstone, to which she submitted iu silence, 
 anxious to conceal from the observant eyes of 
 Lady ilalcolm the weakness which, painful as , 
 it was to endure, would, as she was well aware, 
 appear not only ridiculous but even offensive . 
 in the eyes of others. i 
 
 During one of his daily visits, Dr. Darnell — 
 for Sydney had at once declared constant atr-- 
 tendance upon his wife to be essentijil — was 
 struck by an appearance of languor in the voico . 
 and movements of Edith which -w-as foreign U>. 
 her usual habit ; and after having watched her: 
 attentively for a few seconds, he said, in a tODOi 
 of gentle decision: ' 
 
 " I can not afford, young^ lady, to have two; 
 patients in one house, and, therefore, 1 have to 
 request that you will take more exercise. You' 
 are young and active, but iu order to benefit' 
 by your energies, you must develop them. 
 You are here in excellent air, I adiuit; but 
 you must not always breathe the same atmos- 
 phere. You must walk, change the sevue. ami 
 hiy in a stock of new ideas, for the mind re- 
 quires employment as well as the body. Havei 
 you been to the Exhibition yet ? No! well.' 
 then, go to-morrow ; it is avcU worth a visit ; 
 .•xnd as you are an artist yourself, you Ciin not 
 fail to pass an hour or two delighttnlly. ' 
 
 " Here is Mr. Elphinstone, an idle man, of, 
 whom liis wife will be glad to be rid now and 
 then; you could not have abetter escort. Fo!-' 
 low my prescription, and I shall find your 
 cheeks a little brighter when we next meet" 
 
 Sydney was enchanted by the proposition, 
 and eagerly offered his services, wludi were a? 
 frankly accepted by Ladv Malcolm, who looked' 
 u|)on the son of her frieud as her own; anc, 
 while Ida drove back the tears of jealous mor 
 tifioation and annoyauco whieh sprang to hcii 
 eyes, as she witnessed the pleasure evinced bji 
 the rest of the party, it was finally decide< 
 that should Mrs. E^ph^us^.ne be sufficientlj 
 well on the following day, for her husliand t* 
 leave her without uneasiness, and the wcatbej- 
 prove propitious, the plan of the worthy pby^ 
 sician should bo carried out j 
 
 As may be anticipated, this first absence c, 
 Sydney and Edith was succeeded hv man;' 
 others ; the benefit deiivcd by her child fror 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 89 
 
 moderate cxereise and montal occupation, led 
 I>ady Malcolm to overlook the jiossibility tluit 
 Mr8.' Eli>liiustono nii-rht bo loss ]Lri-atiiied by 
 tlie arraiii;^^''"*^"* *'""^ herself; and as Ida care- 
 fully abstained from all expostulation, no sus- 
 Eicion of the truth ever intruded itself upon 
 er mind. 
 
 At length the event so anxiously anticipated 
 by all took place, and Elphinstone, to his un- 
 measured delight, found himself the father of 
 a noble boy ; while even Ida herself, victim as 
 she was of a diseased imagination, felt for a 
 time alike proud and happy. 
 
 " Would," she nnu-inured to Lady Malcolm, 
 •who sat beside her bed; "would that my 
 Cither could see this precious babe. He would 
 take me to his heart again ; and I am sure he 
 would ; for I now feel what it is to be a pa- 
 rent" 
 
 " Do not despair," was the wliispered reply ; 
 "rely ou it that, estranged as Mr. Trevanion 
 may seem to be. he is not ignorant of any 
 thing which affects your welfare or hapjiiness : 
 and, therefore, like yourself, I look forward 
 with a hope that this dear boy will jjrove a 
 new and lasting bond between you." 
 
 As Mrs. Elphinstone shortly afterward sank 
 into a deep and refreshing sleep. Lady Mal- 
 colm sat for a time in earnest thought; and 
 then, reluiquishing her post to the sick-nurse, 
 hastened home, and rapidly wrote and scaled a 
 letter, wlrch she at once dispatched to the 
 post-oftice by a servant. 
 
 Admitted as she had now been for a Consid- 
 erable time into the intimacy of Mr. Elphin- 
 Btone's family, and fully acquainted as she was 
 with the extent of his resources. Lady Mal- 
 colm had felt many misgivings as she noted the 
 slight value which was attached to money by 
 either himself or his wife, and their total ignor- 
 ance of its real capabilities. 
 
 More than once she had been on the point 
 of hinting her apprehensions to Sydney, but 
 the subject was oue of so de'.ic.ito a nature, that 
 despite her better judgment, she had shrunk 
 from the task. Now, however, she believed 
 that she had discovered a metliod of assisting 
 the young couple without wounding their pride ; 
 for she felt that, let Mr. Trevanion resent his 
 daughter's marriage as relentlessly as he might, 
 still he could not be insensible to the gratifica- 
 tion of learning that he had a grandson, or 
 Buffieiently regardless of his own dignity to 
 suffer the child to be reared in obscurity and 
 indigence. 
 
 Nor did she deceive herself; for although he 
 in duo time acknowledged her communication 
 coldly and briefly, without comment of any 
 kind, many days did not elapse before a packet 
 was delivered to Mrs. Elphinstone, directed 
 in a business-like hand with which she was 
 totally unac(iuaiuted, and containing a bank- 
 post bill for a thousand ])ounds. Great was 
 the astonishment, Ixith of Sydney and his wife. 
 and numerous were their conjectures; while a 
 shade of mortification lessened the happiness 
 ■which such a gift at such a moment could not 
 fail to afford ; for a sense of obligation, he it 
 to whom it may, is always galling to a pro\ul 
 Bpirit ; but still they could not but acknowledge 
 to themselves that never had so generous an 
 oflfering been made more opportunely. 
 
 Nevertheless, however, the mystery was a 
 painful one; and when Lady Malcolni. anxious 
 to soothe their irritated feelings, ventured to 
 sni'gest tliat it was in all probability a present 
 fiom Mr, Trevanion to his future heir, Ida 
 eagerly embiaced the idea, and began onco 
 more to dream of pardon and recoticiliation. 
 
 Her recovery was rapid. Never weary of 
 watching over her infant, she sat with him for 
 hours upon her knees ; while Sydney, as much 
 engrossed as herself by his new hap])iness, 
 appeared to have lost all interest in existence, 
 save that which centered in his wife and child. 
 Sometimes, although reluctantly, the young 
 mother would resign her precious charge for 
 a time to Lady Malcolm ; but when Edith 
 would occasionally plead for the same jjrivi- 
 lege, Ida, gently, but firmly, declined to placo 
 him in her arms, alleging as her excuse that 
 she was too timid to trust him to any one who 
 was not accustomed to children. 
 
 It was her first revenge, and she had not 
 strength of mind to forego it. 
 
 Sydney was, as we liave said, wholly en- 
 grossed for a time by his little son, but it is 
 not in the nature of any man. however kind 
 and affectionate, to emulate the persevering 
 love and devotion of a mother. As time wore 
 on, therefore his old tastes and habits resumed 
 their sway, and he no longer spent hours be- 
 side the little cot, in which, nestled amid lace 
 and cambric, lay the tiny object of so many 
 cares and hopes. 
 
 While Ida was still fidly occupied in regis- 
 tering every look and movement of the babe, 
 Sydney had resumed his walks, his music, and 
 his gardening ; and in all tlieso purstiits Edith 
 was, as formerly, his companion; noy was it 
 long ere Mrs. Elphinstone, even amid her pre- 
 occupation, had fully succeeded in convincing 
 herself that her co-operation in their several 
 employments, was requested rather as a matter 
 of courtesy than of choice ; never suspecting, 
 how often her husband felt jealous of the ab- 
 sorbing affection for her child, which appeared 
 to have weaned her heart from him. 
 
 Poor Edith ! she was so childlike and so in- 
 nocent that no thought of evil ever paled the 
 roses on her cheek, or palsied her young heart. 
 She loved Mrs. Elphinstone sincerely, and ad- 
 mired her with the fervor which only youth 
 can feel. Little did she imagine that to the 
 object of her regard she was herself a source 
 of bitter and perpetual suspicion ; little did 
 she imagine that the mind which sho believed 
 to be so lofty had degraded itself by the ad- 
 nnssion of one impure idea, and that her imago 
 was interwoven with it. 
 
 So true it is that even those with whom wo 
 are most intimately connected never know us 
 as we really are : to them we are what we de- 
 sire to seem; into our iiuicp life they can not 
 penetrate, and thus society is, in point of fact, 
 a clever masquerade, in which the ablest actors 
 play the highest parts, and wear their motley 
 the most gracefully. 
 
 Now and then the pressure of eircumstanco 
 may renrl away a portion of the drajiery from 
 eacli and all. but still much remains concealed, 
 until the game of life is played out, and goes f, 
 down even to the grave at once imdctectcd and 
 unsuspected. 
 
I ilL. J L.A.L.KJ \u a » 1 1* JL . 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A KEW ACQCMXTAXCE. 
 
 The grrace and beauty of ifrs. Elphinstotie, 
 the manly bearing of her husband, and the re- 
 finement of every thing about them, had sineru- 
 larly excited the interest of Dr. Darnell, who 
 Tras ■well able to appreciate such qualities in 
 those with whom he came into contact. 
 
 That their pecuniary resources were by no 
 means equivalent to their pretension she at once 
 discovered, althouprh no inference to tliat efTcct 
 had ever escaped from cither; and that some 
 mystery was connected with the little house- 
 hold he felt satisfied, while, at the same time 
 the intimacy which existed between the Elpliln- 
 stones and the somewhat stately Lady Malcolm, 
 tojretlier with the presence of her younsr 
 daughter, sufficed to convince him that it could 
 not be one of a discreditable nature. 
 
 Thus, there was a certain romance flung over 
 his new friends which tended to heighten 
 rather than to diminish the feeling of affection- 
 ate regard that he soon experienced for them, 
 and which led him ultimately to express an 
 anxious hope that their accidental acquaintance 
 might be suflered to grow into friendship. 
 
 "I am no longer a young man, my dear 
 madam," he said, affectionately, taking the hand 
 of Ida ; '• but my heart has not run so rapid a 
 race as time ; it can still sympathize in the hap- 
 piness of others, and exult in sharing it. As I 
 can no longer keep you as a patient, I am 
 anxious to retain you as a friend; I will, indeed, 
 be frank enough to confess to you without dis- 
 guise that I can not coldly look forward to the 
 loss of your society just as I have learned to 
 value it." 
 
 " You have only anticipated my own inten- 
 tion, mv good friend," was the cordial reply of 
 Mrs. Elphinstone; "for, believe me, when I as- 
 sure you that I am far from insensible to the 
 charm of your conversation, or to the peculiar 
 benefit which constant intimacy with a person 
 of your character and principles can not fail to 
 confer on so young and inexperienced an indi- 
 vidual as my husband, who, with the warmest 
 heart, and the noblest nature upon earth, is 
 ill calculated to wrestle with the world single- 
 handed." 
 
 " So bo it, then, my dear lady ; from this hour 
 wo sink the ]ihysician in the friend," said the 
 doctor, heartily ; " and I trust tliat neither party 
 will ever have cause to repent the compact." 
 
 And Ida judged rightly, when she declared 
 that the friendship of Dr. Darnell must prove 
 valuable to Sydney, for Dr. Darnell was no 
 common character. Possessed of admirable 
 taste, and goo'l practical common sense, he had 
 seen enough of the folly and frippery of fa.shion- 
 able life to estimate it at its true value, and 
 had sufficient moral courage to avow that he 
 could and did relish the charm of unaffected 
 Bimplicity, alike in speech and principle. 
 
 Talking for effect, was his aversion, nor did 
 he even endeavor to conceal his contempt of 
 the talker ; while ho joined cordially, and 
 genially in the pleasant, unstudied, home- 
 breathing gossipry which is, after all, the great 
 charm of the social fireside. The puerile 
 
 vanity, which sought to cheat itself by a 
 soiihism, and to make words stand proxy" for 
 ideas, was to him as hateful as a vice ; and it 
 M-as precisely this absence of all stage-eflect in 
 the language and bearing of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Elphinstone, which had attracted him. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the proffered friend- 
 ship of the estimable and somewhat eccentric 
 physician, involved, as a natural consequence, 
 the acquaintanceship of his wife, who, although \ 
 a well-meaning woman, was extremely weak, 
 and like all weak people, fancied herself more 
 clear-sighted and judicious than every ono 
 about her. 
 
 Her pretty person, and still more, pcrhap?, 
 her modest fortime, had proved irresi.-^tible to 
 the young doctor, at a period when he was 
 striving to establish himself in his profession ; 
 and thus two persons, as widely sundered as 
 the poles, both in taste and intellect, had been 
 united in a life-long tie which it was idle to 
 lament when, in after-years, both discovered 
 their mistake. 
 
 Dr. Darnell, frequent as his visits had beeiv 
 to the cottage of the Elphinstonos, had dis- 
 covered nothing there but what, to a mind 
 constituted like his own, was genial and charm- 
 ing ; but it was far otherwise with his lady, 
 who was never happv save when she was peer- 
 ing below the surfece of things, and detecting 
 some hidden rock beneath the apparently placid 
 waves. 
 
 lle^usband had forwarned her that although 
 evidently persons of high-breeding and elegant 
 habits, Mr. and Mrs. Elphinstone, were appar- 
 ently far from affluent, and strictly cautioned 
 her "to avoid all reference to the fact; nor did 
 she fail to give a promise to that effect, even 
 while she exalted in the consciousness that, ou 
 this one point, at least, there could be no rivahy 
 between them. 
 
 A greater contrast to the calm and gentlo 
 Lady Malcolm could scarcely have ])resciited 
 itself in the drawing-room of Ida, than the 
 little, fussy, gayly-attired wife of the siaid mid- 
 dle-aged doctor. If there were one fact, whicli 
 more than every other, ilrs. Darnell had been 
 unable to comprehend, it was the ravages pro- 
 duced by time, upon her once blooming face 
 and graceful figure; and thus, in her fiftieth 
 year, she assumed the dress, and aped the 
 manner of fifteen. 
 
 Too thoroughly self possessed to be absolutely 
 vulgar, her little affectations were simply ridicu- 
 lous; and Ida scarcely knew whether to be 
 amu.sed or annoyed by the absurdities of her 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 ileanwhile, Mrs. Darnell was perfectly in her 
 clement, as she watched with a keen eye every 
 member of the little part 3- ; caressed the baby 
 with voluble comments on his extraordinary 
 loveliness, congratulated Lady Malcolm on the 
 acquisition of Acacia Lodge, and examined 
 with all the asswned gusto of an artist, tlio 
 sketch upon which Edith was engaged, and 
 which chanced to bo the one with Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone's figure in the foreground. 
 
 "Well! this is really very nice," she o* 
 claimed, patronizingly ; " very nice, indeecL 
 You have a charming talent. I absohitcly 
 do not think that I ever saw a more graceful 
 figure." 
 
TILE JEALUUb Wli'E. 
 
 "Tt is, imlcecl, admiraMy oxoeutetl," said 
 Editli ; " Lut I regret to be coiiij)elled to con- 
 fess," she added, ingenuously, "that my little 
 sketch is indebted to Mr. Elphinstone for its 
 greatest ornament. The scene is one dear to 
 113 all, and the portrait is, as you have prob- 
 ably discovered, that of his wife." 
 
 "Of course, it is; no one could mistake it 
 for a moment," acquiesced the visitor ; "and 
 how very delightful it iinist be for you, J\lis3 
 Malcolm, to have so skillful an assistant in 
 your studies." 
 
 The remark was common-place enough, but 
 the glance turned upon Ida as the words were 
 littered was infinitely more significant ; an 
 expression of blendid pity and surprise could 
 be read for an instant in the keen eyes which 
 -were riveted upon her, and beneath which 
 her own fell, while she felt the warm blood 
 rush to her cheek and brow. 
 
 By th:it one look, Mrs. Darnell had justified 
 Ida to her own conscience. She did not 
 pause to reflect upon the impertinence, should 
 she indeed have read the glance aright, of 
 Buch an inference on the part of a perfect 
 stranger; she did not dwell on the ill-breed- 
 ing, or, still worse, on the ill-feeling, which 
 could have prompted a suspicion of evil where 
 all was apparently frank and simple ; she 
 forgot, as by magic, the wonder and almost 
 disgust with which she had regarded the lady 
 half an hour previously ; she only felt that 
 her secret had been read, and that one in- 
 dividual, at least, could sympathize in her 
 suffering. 
 
 From that moment Mrs. Darnell became in 
 her eyes invested with an interest which pro- 
 duced an immediate effect upon her whole 
 manner; her flippant nothings were rewarded 
 by a smile ; her offers of friendship were gra- 
 ciously acknowledged ; and when she at 
 length rose to take her leave, she was warmly 
 pressed to repeat her visit. 
 
 As Sydney conducted the lady to her car- 
 riage. Lady Malcolm looked up quietly from 
 her knitting, and asked, demurely : 
 
 "Well, my dear, what do you think of 
 your new acquaintance?" 
 
 As her mother spoke, Edith also glanced 
 toward Mrs. Elphinstone, while a smile, re- 
 quiring only one word of encouragement, 
 twinkled in her eye and quivered about her 
 lips, but it faded beneath a look of astonish- 
 ment, as Ida calmly answered: 
 
 " I think her both pretty and pleasant." 
 
 The surprise of Lady Malcolm equaled that 
 of her daughter. That Mrs. Elphinstone, who 
 she well knew to be even hyper-fastidious in 
 her tastes, should not only tolerate, but ac- 
 tually profess to admire a woman so conspicu- 
 ously deficient in all the attributes of high 
 breeding, was an enigma which she felt her- 
 self unable to solve. 
 
 "Pretty, perhaps," she said; "yes, un- 
 doubtedly she must have been pretty — oncf ; 
 but pleasant, my dear ! Can you really think 
 herpleasimt?" 
 
 "Very pleasant," persisted Ida; "and I 
 am, moreover, convinced that she is sincere 
 and warm-hearted." 
 
 " Upon that point I must defer my judg- 
 ment," said Lady Malcolm; "and, as she has 
 
 promised me the honor of a visit in my turn, 
 I shall be delighted to have the opportunity 
 of doing her justice." 
 
 "I am so sick of the empty conventional- 
 ities of the world," was the rejoinder of }t\.i, 
 " that it is really refreshing to me to meet 
 with a person so thoroughly unsophisticated 
 as Mrs. Darnell. In the artificial state of 
 society in the present day it isdifilcult to dis- 
 tinguish friends from foes, or a seeming kind- 
 ness from a secret wrong." 
 
 " Come, come, you must not encourage such 
 gloomy ideas," said Lady Malcolm ; "take a 
 fancy to this fussy little dame if you will, for ^ 
 it will serve to amuse you, but do not on that 
 account misjudge the rest of the world." 
 
 Ida smiled somewhat bitterly, and rang for 
 her baby. 
 
 Meanwhile, the unsophisticated wife of the 
 worthy physician was rolling toward home in 
 her well-appointed chariot, a self-gratulatory 
 light gleaming in her restless eyes. 
 
 "So, so," she mentally exclaimed, "the 
 poor doctor has then, with all his boasted 
 penetration, frequented these people for 
 months, and never suspected the truth. Good, 
 easy man ! So this, then, is the earthly para- 
 dise that he taught me to expect. Paradise, 
 indeed — a new Eden with a new serpent; 
 but its fangs shall be drawn, if it depends on 
 me. Infa:nous! So beautiful as she is, that 
 her worthless husband should be flirting — 
 and, for what I know to the contrary, perhaps ] 
 even intriguing — with that demure-looking j 
 girl, before her face ; and the mother sitting 
 by, too, looking as calm and as stately as if . 
 she were not giving her countenance to such 
 an enormity ! 
 
 " And they flatter themselves that the poor 
 injured wife does not suspect the truth — does 
 not see the looks which pass between them, 
 nor how |)erfectly they understand each other. 
 But they are deceived ; she does more than 
 suspect; she knows it, or why should she 
 have shrunk when our eyes met, and then 
 suddenly become so friendly in her manner ? 
 
 " There is no mystery there, at least ; she 
 saw that I had^iiscovered the truth, and that 
 I felt for her, which no oriie else docs. 
 
 "Poor thing! Poor thing! well, my duty 
 is plain ; I will not leave a stone unturned to 
 serve her; and I know that it will ease her 
 poor breaking heart to pour out all her grief 
 to me. I will call on her again in a day or 
 two. I shall be so delighted to give her com- 
 fort." 
 
 And fully satisfied with herself and her own 
 good intentions, Mrs. Darcell proceeded to pay 
 another visit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS. 
 
 " I HATE brought you some visitors, Mrs. 
 Elphinstone;" said Lady Malcolm one morn- 
 ing, as she entered the drawing-room of Ida un- 
 announced ; "and most welcome ones, I feel 
 convinced." 
 
 The young mother, who had been bending 
 
ij-lj:i j £j^l,kj u o nijcjti. 
 
 Dver tlio couch upon which her boy lay asleep, 
 looked up in surprise ; but before she could re- 
 ply, her eye met tliat of Sir Jasper Trcvanion, 
 Vho at that instant passed the threshold of the 
 apartment 
 
 " Sir Jasper Trevanion I" she exclaimed, as 
 B'le Pjiran '4 forward to meet him; "this is in- 
 daed an unexpected pleasure — and my cousin 
 tool" she added, as she extended her disen- 
 gaged hand to his son, by whom he was closely 
 followed- 
 
 " You will forgive us this intrusion, I know ;" 
 said the baronet, as he led his niece back to 
 her seat-, " when I tell you that since our first 
 and only Tneetinp:, I have vainly endeavored to 
 ascertain your place of residence; which we at 
 last learned to-day from Lady Malcolm." 
 
 " I was not aware that you were known to 
 each otlier;" eaid Ida. 
 
 " Oil, we are old and tried friends ;" was the 
 reply ; " but wo will talk of that another time. 
 And now tell me, my dear niece, are you well ? 
 are you happy?" 
 
 Ida pointed with an exulting smile to her 
 sleeping child. 
 
 '■[ am answered ;" said Sir Jasper; "he is 
 indeed all tliat a mother's heart can wish. Look 
 at him, Hubert, is he not worthy of the Tre- 
 vanion blood?" 
 
 " Hubert !" exclaimed Ida, with a kindling 
 eye; " is it possible, my dear sir, that your son 
 bears the name of my father ?" 
 
 " It is an old family name ;" said the baronet, 
 more coldly than he had yet spoken; "we 
 have been Huberts and Jaspers from time 
 immemorial, and I was too thorough a Tre- 
 vanion not to respect the prejudices of my an- 
 cestors." 
 
 There was a painful pause, for Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone too readily understood the full meaning 
 of the words to which she had just listened ; 
 but eager to diminish their effect, Ifie turned 
 with forced gayety toward her cousin, saying ro- 
 proaclifully, " and you Mr. Trevanion, have you 
 not, also, a word of praise for my little nurs- 
 hng?" 
 
 As she asked the question, she for the first 
 time looked steadily into the face of the young 
 ■man, and was startled by the change which she 
 perceived in his appearance. 
 
 He was still superbly handsome, but a 
 Bettled (lusli, too deep and too brilliant for 
 health, gave a fevered expression to his coun- 
 tenance, which was heightened by the unna- 
 tural brightness of his eyes. 
 
 A pang smote upon the heart of Ida as she 
 met the radiant smile with which he replied to 
 her inquiry ; and she involuntarily glanced 
 from him to his father. No symptom of alarm 
 or imeasincss could, however, bo detected in 
 the look or manner of the baronet. It was evi- 
 dent thut if her terrible surmise were a correct 
 one, it had as yet never awakened one sus- 
 picion in his mind, 
 
 " You must forgive me, my dear niece ;" said 
 Sir Jasper, after having suffered liis eye to 
 wander over the well arranged but still modest 
 apartment; "if I appear more unreasonable 
 than my relationship may seem to warrant. 
 Y'ou have a pretty Iiome, and the hand of taste 
 is visible in all its arrangements; but still T 
 can not help thinking that it is not precisely 
 
 the home suited to my niece. Tell mo truly; 
 have you no wish which it may be in my power 
 to gratify?" 
 
 " None ;" replied Ida, in a tone which she 
 strove to render calm, but which still betrayed 
 a shade of bitterness ; " I am already, perhaps, 
 more fortunate than a discarded daughter had 
 any right to expect. I am quite satisfied with 
 iny destiny." 
 
 " Yet you had every reason to antici- 
 pate — " 
 
 " Pardon mo if I request of you not to 
 speculate on the past : I made my own future, 
 and I look forward to it without one misgiv- 
 ing." 
 
 "You are right, quite right; I am rebuked • 
 for my worldliness — the philosophy of the 
 heart is the only true one. And who are to bo 
 sponsors of this noble boy ?" pursued the 
 baronet, as the child awoke, and laughed in I 
 the face of his mother. "If not too late, I j 
 should be delighted to offer my own services." 
 
 Tears filled the eyes of ifrs. KIphinstone, but ; 
 they were tears of joy, as she replied ; " Then, , 
 indeed, will one of my most earnest desires be I • 
 fulfilled : of the other I have, unfortunately, no 1 { 
 hopes." I 
 
 "Well, well;" said Sir Jasper, cheerfully 
 " thus much at least is arranged, and I assure ■ 
 you that I shall be sincerely proud of my god- i 
 son." 
 
 " A thousand thanks I" exclaimed Ida ; " oh ! 
 you know not of what a heavy load you have 
 relieved my heart." 
 
 " And I ?" — asked Mr. Trevanion, one of 
 who.se fingers was clasped in the phmip little 
 palm of the infant; " may I venture to present 
 myself as the substitute of the favored indivi» 
 dual who has excited the implied regrets of 
 my fair cousin?" 
 
 Ida extended her hand to him in silence; 
 her heart was too full for words. 
 
 " An excellent arrangement ;" said Sir Jas- 
 per ; " and one wliich induces mo to waive 
 one of m}' rights in favor of ray son, my dear 
 niece. I was about to make it a point that you 
 should give my name to your boy ; but we will 
 call him Hubert — for many reasons it may, per- ' 
 heaps, be desirable." 
 
 "Nothing could bo better;" observed Lady 
 Malcolm ; " and as this little chervib is to be ; 
 my godson also, wo can at once decide that ' 
 henceforth he is to bo known as Sydney | • 
 Hubert KIphinstone." 
 
 " Hubert Sydney ;" said his mother, in a low 
 but decided voice. 
 
 " Right, right ;" smiled the baronet, evi. 
 dontly much gratified ; " and the next time, 
 wo will have Sydney Jasper, will wo not, 
 Master Hubert ? See the young rogue, how 
 heartily he enters into the conspiracy against ' 
 his younger brother. By Jove, madam, he is 
 already a Trevanion from head to heel." 
 
 It had been long, very long, since Ida had 
 felt so intensely happy. The consciousness of 
 isolation which had pressed so jiainfully upon , 
 her since she had become a voluntary exile 
 from her father's liouso seemed suddenly re- 
 moved, and she forgot that her uncle and his , 
 son were in reality strangers, while remember- 
 ing that they were the only relatives who still 
 acknowledged her claim. 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 93 
 
 In that lionr slie had only one regret, and ] 
 that was induced by the absence of her hus- 
 band, who had unfortunately yielded to the re- 
 quest of Dr. Darnell that ho would accompany 
 him several miles into the country, where he ' 
 had been called to a patient ; and who thus \ 
 missed a meeting which his wife ardently de- 
 sired should have taken place. 
 
 As Sir Jasper Trevanion was anxious to 
 leave town within a few hours, the visit was 
 necessarily a brief one, but it left a cheering 
 ' im])ression on the mind and spirits of Ida ; 
 who, after the departure of the gentlemen, in- 
 quired with natural curiosity of Lady Malcolm, 
 f why she had hitherto made a mystery of her 
 friendship with her uncle's family. 
 
 "I will tell you;" was the frank reply: 
 " the General and Sir Jasper were coUege-com- 
 I panions, and, in after-life, firm friends. Such 
 friends, indeed, that it was proposed between 
 them, in the event of the arrangement becom- 
 ing possible, that an union should take place 
 between their children. Sir Archibald had 
 more than once mentioned the subject to me, 
 but it was one which I did not encourage, as, 
 in my secret heart, I had at that period, dif- 
 ferent views for Edith ; and as it was a point 
 upon which he did not insist, I considered my- 
 self, after his death, exonerated from the ful- 
 fillment of a promise which I confess that I 
 regarded merely as the caprice of two young 
 men who lyid expressed an idle wish, rather 
 than entered into a serious compact. 
 
 " Some time ago, however, my own reasons 
 against the proposed marriage were removed 
 by circumstances, and consequently, when Sir 
 Jasper, disregarding the decline of our fortunes, 
 recently wrote with a generosity wliich I could 
 not fail to appreciate, to suggest that our chil- 
 dren should meet, and tliat we should thus 
 enable ourselves to judge whether the proposed 
 I union would tend to their mutual happiness, 
 I assented at once." 
 
 • " And what has been the result ?" asked Ida, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " It is, as yet, impossible to say. They have 
 met but three times ; still I can not but think 
 ( that a young and disengaged heart must do 
 justice to the attractive qualities of Hubert 
 Trevanion ; while, with the partial affection of 
 a mother, I am equally inclined to believe that 
 Edith, on her side, is well calculated to inspire 
 a sincere and lasting attachment." 
 
 "This is all very strange;" said Mrs. El- 
 phinstone, moodily ; " nor, I confess, can I yet 
 comprehend why, when aware of my connec- 
 tion with the Trevanions, you should have 
 maintained so extraordinary a silence regard- 
 ing this contemplated marriage." 
 
 " And yet I do not think that on reflection 
 you will consider my reserve as singular. A 
 thousand circumstances might have occurred to 
 render the union undesirable, or even impossi- 
 ble ; in which case, delicacy demanded silence 
 on both sides; a feeling in which Sir Jasper 
 and I alike concurred." 
 
 " I am obliged to admit the truth of your 
 reasoinng;" said Ida; "but may I, without 
 impertinence, inquire how Lady Trevanion, 
 who has been represented to me as a purse- 
 proud and overbearing person, has been induced 
 to consent to the marriage of her only sou 
 
 with a young lady, who, liowevcr beautiful and 
 fascinating, is, as you yourself have assured mo, 
 almost without fortune?" 
 
 " Lady Trevanion, my dear;" said her com- 
 panion; "has now been dead upward of a 
 year. She was indisposed at the period of 
 your marriage ; and from that illness she never 
 rallied. The retirement in which you have . 
 subsequently lived could alono have kept you 
 in ignorance of tho event." 
 
 "This is indeed a day of revelations I" ex- 
 claimed Ida; "and now that you are kind 
 enough to enlighten mo upon so many points 
 Qonnected with my own family, I may pophaps 
 be forgiven if I inquire the reason of your 
 original reluctance to bestow the hand of your 
 daughter upon my cousin." 
 
 "I had wished her to marry elsewhere:" 
 repeated Lady Malcolm, gravely, -but without 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Did you then alter your opinion of tho per- 
 son for whom you designed her ?" 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 " This is more enigmatical than all the rest." 
 
 " The resolution of the enigma is simple, my 
 dear Mrs. Elphinstone, the gentleman in ques- 
 tion selected another wife." 
 
 "Ila!" 
 
 There was silence for a moment, a gloom had 
 gathered upon the brow of Lady Malcolm, who 
 was evidently buried in deep and painful 
 thought ; while the life-blood of Ida had sprung 
 from her heart to her cheek, and burned there 
 live a lava-tiood. 
 
 Sydney, then, was tho husband that she had 
 coveted for her daughter I Sydney was tho 
 idol at whose shrine Edith was to have wor- 
 shiped ! 
 
 " It is to be hoped," she said at length, with 
 an ambiguous smile, " that the hapjjy individual 
 to whom you allude will have no reason to re- 
 pent his precipitation." 
 
 "I fervently trust that ho never may!" was 
 tho half-unconscious reply. 
 
 "Perhaps had he known your flattering in- 
 tentions in his favor — " 
 
 "He never even guessed — ho never will guess 
 — the visions of a mother's heart," interposed 
 Lady Malcolm ; " I have reason to believe that 
 he is happy — very happy — and in that convic- 
 tion I forgot my own disappointment." 
 
 "And Edith?" 
 
 " Edith knows nothing whatever of tho cir- 
 cumstance." 
 
 "Tliat, at least, is fortunate ; but tho gentle- 
 man himself?" 
 
 "Is in equal ignorance." 
 
 "And the unfortunate woman who has so 
 unconsciously traversed your projects ?" 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Elphinstone I" exclaimed her 
 companion; "how do you imagine that she, of 
 all persons upon earth, could ever have fathom- 
 ed the secrets of my heart ? A perfect stranger, 
 whose very name was unknown to me before 
 her marriage." 
 
 " There is more romance in tho world than 
 wo are willing to believe," said Ida, "and I 
 confess tliat I am woman enough to rejoico 
 that poor Sydney was not thus predestined to 
 another and a brighter fate when he made mo 
 his wife. It would scarcely be a comfurtablo 
 reflection." 
 
04 
 
 TEE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 " I respect von too much to reply bj one 
 word of flattery to sucli a remark,' observed 
 Lady ilalcolm, courteously, but with a sudden 
 suspicion that slic ha 1 been somewhat unguard- 
 ed in her communications, "yet I may never* 
 t!ieless admit that it is not the fate of every 
 man to become tho husband of such a woman 
 as yonrsel£ You can iiavo nothing to regret — 
 nothing to apprehend." 
 
 Tho eyes of Mrs. Klphinstone were riveted 
 upon her as she spoke, but she remained' calm 
 and self-possessed under the scrutiny. 
 
 "I am grateful for your good opinion," was 
 the cold rejoinder, " and although we were 
 talking of the romance of real life, believe me, 
 I have no ambition to become a heroine; regret 
 is a weakness which I should scorn, and appre- 
 hension a folly for which I should despise niy- 
 BclC And so Edith is to be my cousin 1 How 
 delighted Sydney will be when I tell him of 
 our meditated relationship." 
 
 Althn;ig-h t!io voice of Mrs. Elphinstone had 
 suddenly assumed a gayety little in unison with 
 its previous tone, Lady Malcolm felt uneasy 
 and embarrassed ; nor was the feeling dimin- 
 ished by a consciousness that she could not in 
 any way account for the impression which it 
 produced upon her. 
 
 Perfecth' true and right-minded, she never 
 for a moment suspected that her motives were 
 misjudged, and her meaning distorted by one 
 to whom she had shown nothing save affection 
 and consequently she could only explain the 
 manner of Mrs. Elphinstone by the painful 
 apprehension that there lay hidden beneath tho 
 grace and beauty for which Ida was so cmi- 
 ■ ncntly distinguished, a defect of temper which 
 must sooner or later prove the destruction of 
 Sydney's peace. 
 
 She admitted this fear with reluctance, but 
 Btill it grew upon her, as day by day she 
 watched the clouded brow of Mrs. Elphinstone. 
 and detected the shade of sarcasm which aave 
 point to words otherwise trivi.Tl in themselves. 
 
 "Poor boy!" she mentally exclaimed, "se- 
 cure as he now is in his unconscious happiness, 
 a bitter day of trial awaits him yet." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTV. 
 
 THE FIRST QCAEEEL. 
 
 " And I have still more news for you, 
 Sydney," said his wife on his return home;V.nd 
 she informed liim of the unexpected visit of 
 her relatives, and their proposals to become 
 sponsors to her l>oy ; and while speaking she 
 narrowly watched' tho elTect of her words; 
 "our little friend, Edith, is to be the wife of 
 Hubert Trcvauion." 
 
 "By Jovol lie is a lucky fellow I" was the 
 reply of Elphinstone, as his cheek became 
 flushed with genuine pleasure. 
 
 " Very ;" ]>ursucd Ida ; " that is, of course, 
 should tiie marriage ever take place, which I 
 confess appears improbable." 
 
 " Why so ?" was the easier inquiry. 
 
 " Because," she continued ; " if I am not 
 groat !y mistaken, my poor cousm's days arc 
 uumb»;rcd,"' 
 
 I " My dear Ida, what can have induced ;■ 
 fearful an apprehension f" 
 
 "The unnatural and settled flush upon his 
 cheek, and the extraordiuarv brightness of his 
 eyes. I am familar with the symptoms, ^ 
 Sydney. Hubert Trevanion is consumptive.' ' 
 
 " Poor dear Edith !" murmured Elphin- 
 stone. 
 
 " You should rather, I think, say, poor dear 
 Hubert!" exclaimed his wife, impatiently. 
 
 "And so I do, my love, I pity them both 
 from my soul; but my instant sympathy for 
 Edith grew out of tiie conviction of what my 
 own feelings, would have been had I lost you 
 under such circumstances, when my whole 
 heart was full of joy and hope." And as he 
 spoke, Elphinstone fondly drew his wife to 
 his bosom, and pressed his lips to her cheek. 
 
 "Xonsense, Sydney;" slie exclaimed, only 
 half appeased ; " you can not for one moment 
 suppose that child to be capable of so engross- 
 ing an affection as you desi-ribe." 
 
 " You are greatly m.istakea I have, a3 
 you know, seen Edith alike in her grave and 
 in her gny moments — I remember her as a 
 mere girl, before there existed any necessity 
 to conceal her real feelings, and then she was 
 warm-hearted to impetuosity ; I Lave studied 
 her since, and even amid the trammels of what 
 are considered, and perhaps justly so, the pro- 
 prieties of society, I am convinced that tbcve 
 is a depth and intensity in her eharaetc r. whi-li 
 no one who knew her less intimatfly than our- 
 selves would even suspect, vailed as it is, 
 beneath her mild and gentle manner." 
 
 " You are a profound student, Sydney." 
 
 Elphinstone laughed. 
 
 "In her case, perhaps I am," he sail: 
 "for it has been to me a very intercstin.' 
 study." 
 
 " And a profitable one, no doubt." 
 
 " I hope BO ; for the contemplation of excel- 
 lence can not fail to be piofitable ; and depend i 
 upon it, tliat the more insight ycu obtain 
 into that girl's heart, the more you will love 
 her." 
 
 " One love satisfies me." 
 
 "Traitor!"' said Sydney playfully; "wheu ■ 
 not a day passes that you do not compel me to 
 feel jealous of our boy." 
 
 "Jealous!" echoed Ida; "oh! Sydney, teU j 
 me the truth — are you, could you ever be jeal» ' 
 ous ?" I 
 
 " Xot of you, dearest ;" replied her husband, , 
 in a voice of the deejiest tenderness : " not of 
 you — I should hate myself were I capable of 
 such a lieresy ; but still I confess to the egotism < 
 of murmuring against all and every tiling 
 which distracts your attention from niyselt 
 Come now, confess — have I not some reason to 
 complain of that liotous urchin who baa i 
 usurped all my rights i Docs he not occupy 
 almost every hour of your time ?" 
 
 "But you have found other occupation, 
 Sydney." 
 
 " You compelled me to it. I love the boy 
 dearly — of that you need no assurance — but, 
 were it not that he has your eyes and your 
 smile, there are moments when I could almost 
 wish that wc were once more all in all to each 
 other." 
 
 " And are we not so ?" asked Ida, hastily. 
 
THE JLAi.ULb W IF E. 
 
 95 
 
 " Yo3 ami no : In lioart no doubt we arc : hut, 
 I repeat it, that boj has sadly encroached upon 
 my privileges." 
 
 "Perhaps I have been to blame, Sydney; 
 but still you will admit that while I have been 
 ciigai^ed with our ehild. ymi have found, or 
 created other pursuits in which you have, to 
 nil appearance, at least, taken very consider- 
 able interest." 
 
 " What could I do ? You abandoned me to 
 my own resources." 
 
 " Do not mistake me, love ;" said Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone ; " I am not speaking to blame you, I am 
 only anxious to exonerate myself; and most 
 cortuiuly I should have been less independent 
 in my own movements, had you not secured so 
 charming a companion as Edith Malcolm." 
 
 " She is a sweet girl, that I am quite willing 
 to admit ;" conceded Sytlney ; " but still she 
 is not my wife." 
 
 Ida bit her lip. 
 
 "Surely," she said; "that circumstance, at 
 least, can be no drawback to your pleasure in 
 hor society." 
 
 " Certainly not ; but you do not appear to 
 unlerstaud me." 
 
 "Be under no apprehension of the sort;" 
 replied Ida, with a forced laugh ; " I am not 
 60 obtuse as you imagine. I think that I un- 
 derstand you perfectly. But really, Sydney, 
 it has just occurred to me that, under existing 
 circumstances, it might perhaps be as well if 
 you were not for the future to engross 
 quite so much of Edith's time and atten- 
 tion." 
 
 " What can you mean, Ida V 
 
 " My meaning nmst be sufficiently obvious. 
 As an engaged woman — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! Is sho* not engaged to your 
 own cousin V 
 
 " So it would appear." 
 
 " Then it seems to me that ' existing eircum- 
 .=tanees' should rather tend to heighten than to 
 decrease our intimacy." 
 
 "That may not, however, be the light in 
 which Mr. Trevanion may regard it." 
 
 Elphinstone suddenly looked away from the 
 glass before which heAvas somewhat fast'dious- 
 ly arranging his hair, and gazed steadfastly 
 into the face of his wife : 
 
 " In that case," he said, with a gravity un- 
 usual to him, " it must have been unpleasant to 
 yourself, or so strange an idea could never have 
 entered your mind." 
 
 "J/y mind!" echoed Ida, with a constrained 
 attempt at playfulness. "Oh, that is quite a 
 ditfereut affair ; it is only before marriage that 
 people are supposed to resent the intrusion of 
 a third person between them ; and I am now 
 an old married woman, who must be swayed 
 by facts rather than feelings." 
 
 Sydney was silent ; there was something in 
 the tone of his wife's voice which, for the fi:st 
 |tline, jarred upon his ear. 
 
 " Surely," he said, at last ; " you can not 
 imagine — " 
 
 " Imagine nothing," interposed Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone ; " I have not a particle of romance in 
 my composition." 
 
 " If ( supposed that you could for a moment 
 think me capable — "' 
 
 " My dear Sydney, you are really figliting 
 
 against a shadow! You quite terrify me by 
 your dark looks. What have I said or done to 
 anger you ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Ida, nothing ; I am woimded, but 
 not angry — I could not be angry with you ; but 
 I confess — •" 
 
 " Confess nothing ; it would appear that wo 
 have been exchanging words and not ideas ; a 
 mental gladiatorship is by no mean's desirable. 
 What are your plans for the day?" 
 
 " I have formed none." 
 
 " Edith is anxious to go to the National 
 Gallery ; there is still time enough before din- 
 ner ; will you accompany her ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No ! are you serious ?" 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 "And what can be your reason?" 
 
 " I shall remain at home with you." 
 
 " 5i^ poor Sydney, you will be ennuye d, 
 mort. 
 
 " Ida," said her husband, as ho seated him- 
 self beside her, and took her hand in liis, 
 while large tears were swelling in his eyes. 
 " There is something alike in your voice and 
 manner which I endeavor in vain to compre- 
 hend. Since the hour in which you became 
 my Avife, the sole study of my life has been to 
 seeure your happiness. If I have failed, tell 
 me at once the cause of that failure, that I 
 may at least strive to repair it. Be frank ; be 
 sincere ; I can support blame when I am con- 
 scious that it is merited; but let mo at least 
 understand the ground on a\ Lich I stand." 
 
 " Have I uttared one Avord of blame ?" 
 
 " You have not ; but you have done worse ; 
 you have implied it. Have I deserved that 
 you slviuld treat me with this cold and bitter 
 sarcasm ? Hoav am I to interpret either your 
 manner or your Avords ? Tell me plainly and 
 at once in Avhat I have offended you." 
 
 " Why should you suppose that I am 
 offended ?" asked Mrs. Elphinstone ; " are 
 you conscious of having given me cause of 
 offense ?" 
 
 " On my soul, I am not." 
 
 " Then the question is a strange one." 
 
 " Ida ! Ida ! you Avill drive me mad," he 
 exclaimed, starting from the sofa ; " I have not 
 deserved this." 
 
 " Will you explain your meaning, Sydney ?" 
 asked his Avife, calmly. 
 
 " [ will — would that I were unable to do 
 so, but I can not deceive myself — oh, Ida, that 
 you, whom I have until this hour regarded as 
 the mostf.j3erfoct of your sex — that you should 
 indeed bfc guilty of such a weakness. But 
 no, no ; I wrong you — it can not be — ^you are 
 too high-minded, too pure in heart, to Avrong 
 either that innocent girl or myself by so foul a 
 suspicion; only tell mo that 'it is I who ought 
 to blush for even venturing to glance at such 
 a thought — reproach me, upbiaid me, Ida, for 
 so vile a distrust of your generous nature — 
 f >r so frightful a belief, transient as it was — ■ 
 only say that you foi-give me, though I can not 
 promise to forgive myself." 
 
 " Calm yourself, Sydney," said Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone, to whom the A-ery intensity of her feel- 
 ings gave an umiatural composure, Avhich add- 
 ed to the emotion of her husband; "I have 
 no reproach to utter — what I foresaw has come 
 
96 
 
 THE JEALOUfe WIFE. 
 
 to pass ; you placed too great a reliance on a ' 
 mere transitory passion, and you are bei^innin;^ 
 to discover your error. I have long seen i 
 this — long felt it — but I was strong enough to 
 Buffer in silence; I am so still ; I shall remain | 
 BO until I foci that my suffering can avail me j 
 nothing, and that it has become my duty to as- 
 sert myself. 
 
 " You have forced this avowal from me ; 
 or rather, perhaps. I have been led to make it 
 from a sense of delicacy toward my cousin, who i 
 will probably be susceptible on the subject of 
 Lis future wife." 
 
 " And who would dare to malign that pure 
 young srirl, who is as innocent as an angel?" 
 asked Elphinstone, passionately. 
 
 " Her purity and innocence may be eon- 
 Bidered questionable, when it is known that she 
 has alienated the aflfeetions of a husband from 
 his wife." was the cold reply. 
 
 "Listen to me, Ida," exclaimed Sydney, 
 with a vehemence that even startled his ap- 
 
 f>areiitly impassive companion ; " I could 
 lave borne ail but this; wi?/ honor is at your 
 mercy, trample on it if such is indeed your 
 pleasure, but I will brook no slur on Jicrs — 
 she is the child of my mother's chosen friend, 
 tiie playmate of my boyhood, the hope and 
 pride of a widowed parent's heart; earth 
 contains not a more blameless, a more guile- 
 less spirit. If you liave decided on the ruin 
 of our domestic peace, I must submit, but 
 your insane suspicions must extend no fur- 
 ther, touch not a li;ur of her liead by calum- 
 ny, but if Tou have indeed ceased to respect 
 j-our own <iignity, at least respect her inno- 
 cence." 
 
 "Mr. Elphinstone," said his wife, .indig- 
 nantly ; "you appear to forget that I am at 
 your mercy." 
 
 " Ko, Ida, no; I forget nothing, and you 
 may believe me when I declare that now you 
 have learned to look upon me as the base and 
 unmanly rufllan that your words imply, I 
 rejoice from my inmost lieai-t that you have 
 60 opportunely secured partial and powerful 
 friends, who are able to offer you a more fit- 
 ting home than that which you accuse me 
 of having dishonored." 
 
 "Sydney," exclaimed his wife, "you are 
 cruel even to cowardice ; you do not even 
 shrink fi'oni threatening me with a second 
 desertion. Forgetting that for j'ou I became 
 an alien from my home, you presume upon 
 my lielplesstiess to insult me. Did I not tell 
 you when you combated my reason with j-our 
 specious sophistries, that you would one day 
 remember that you had sacrificed yourself 
 to a woman oldeV than yourself? Did I not 
 warn yoti against the folly of believing that 
 you would not one day feel this, and visit the 
 penalty of your mistake upon my weakness i 
 Do me justice in this at least." 
 
 " Ida, do not urge me too far ; you have 
 no right, you have no reason to talk to me in 
 such a strain as this." 
 
 "Enoutrh! enough!" gasped out Ids wife ; 
 "you justify yourself by casting the blame I 
 on me, and I must submit. Be it so; there 
 must be a victim — sacrifice ?«'' — as I before 
 admitted, I am at your mercy. The world 
 will be ready enough to exonerate you ; there ' 
 
 will be little sympathy, and less pity for the 
 woman of six-and-twenty, who entrapped 
 the affections of a boy." 
 
 " This is too much !" exclaimed Elphinstone, 
 as he started from his seat, and rapidly paced 
 the room ; "all is indeed over between us — 
 we must part. How I have loved you. none 
 have known, none can ever know ;' I would 
 have clung to you through life and death. 
 You were every'thing to me ; the very air I 
 breathed was not less essential to my'happi- 
 ness; but now — well, it is idle to repine; I 
 am ready to pay the penalty of my mistake. 
 You have withdrawn from me alike your 
 confidence and your affection, ami for both 
 our sakes. it is better that we should jiart." 
 
 Ida suddenly clasped her forehead with her 
 spread hands, and fastened a gaze of agony 
 upon her husband. 
 
 " Is it so ?" she asked in a whisper which 
 fell upon the car with all the shrillness of a 
 suppressed scream ; " is it really so ? And 
 could you indeed part from me so willingly? 
 Sydney, Sydney, how have I deserved this <.'' 
 
 For'a moment the whole frame of Elphin- 
 stone quivered, and he resolutely averted hi^ 
 eyes, but gradually the flush faded from his 
 cheek, and the frown which had darkened his 
 forehead passed away. 
 
 " Ino,"' he murmured, tremulously; "no; 
 you are right; it would be tlie rending 
 asunder of body and soul ; and yet even 
 that were better than we should live on under 
 t!ie same roof, the one suspected and despised, 
 and the other — " 
 
 "What of the other, Sydney? What of 
 the other?" passionatel}'^ demanded his wife, 
 springing from the sofa, and throwing herself 
 iiponhis bosom; "Ot, Sydney, what of the 
 other ?" 
 
 " I can not, and must not dwell upon th« 
 subject," Avas tlie agitated reply; "I have 
 fallen from such a height into an abyss so 
 frightful that I want moral courage to probe 
 my wretchedness to its actual dej)lh." 
 
 "Yet you did love me, Sydney." 
 
 "Love you!" echoed her husl)and ; "do 
 you ask njo if I loved you? look into your 
 own heart, and read there if I have merited 
 that such a question should be put to me I 
 It is because I loved you so entirely, so 
 devotedly, that I am at this niomont inca-. 
 pable not only of deciding how 1 ougiit to 
 act, but even of so acting, if my reason 
 pointed out the proper and becoming course." 
 
 "And do you not love me still ?" 
 
 "Ma, you have made me very, very 
 wretched. ' 
 
 " And I ? am I not also most miserable ? 
 Did I not for your .sake abandon father, mollv 
 er, home — and brave the comments of an un- 
 sparing world 1 And now you threaten to | 
 desert me — me, and my v.orse than orphaned . 
 boy. Oh, Sydney, Sydney, can you indeed 
 do this?" 
 
 "Tell me, Ida, only tell me that this is ft 
 frightful dream," said Elphinstone, as he stood 
 encircled bj'- her clinging arms; "1 can not, 
 dare not think that I "have really lost mv 
 every hope of happiness. Tell me that all 
 about me is a delusion, a cheat of my disor- 
 dered fancy." 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 .97 
 
 •'Kothinfif IS real my o^jcn Sydney, nothing 
 but- niv repentance. Do you not see my 
 tears? "do yon not feel l!ie throbbinsrs of my 
 { iicart ? Shall I kneel to you for jiardoii ?" 
 " Hush, Ida, hush !'' said Elphiiistone, hoarse 
 ■with emotio'n ; " I can bear no more. Let 
 t:3 strive to forget all that lias just past; let 
 U3 remember only our days of happiness, 
 lliose days when there was trust and confi- 
 dence between us ; let us think only of our 
 cliiM, and for liis sake endeavor to bear with 
 each other's faults, and to repair our own. I 
 liave erred — unconsciously, indeed, but still 
 I liave erred, or the woman in whom I had 
 centered all my earthly hopes, would not 
 liave accused me — the faults shall bo repaired. 
 I will state frankly to Lady JIaleoim, that 
 Hie constant intercourse between her daugh- 
 ter and myself has been a source of uneasi- 
 ness to my wife, and that I conseqixently feel 
 it to be my duty—" 
 
 "Sydney," exclaimed Ida, "do you wish 
 
 I . to see me expire at your feet? would you 
 
 make me a mark for the scorn and ridicule 
 
 of an irritated mother? Oh, this is too — too 
 
 much." 
 
 "In what other way can I convince you of 
 
 nv willinirneso to fuliill my share of the com- 
 
 p ict I have suggested?" demanded Elpliin- 
 
 , Etone, with a dignity of manner whieli av/ed 
 
 i Lis excited and exhausted wife, who was 
 
 , sinking "beneath the violence of lonr-sup- 
 
 l>ressed and unconqiierable emotion; "only 
 
 name your wishes, and they shall be obeyed." 
 
 "Pity me — pardon me,'* broke in a low 
 
 murmur from the lips of the wretched and 
 
 Self-tortured wife. 
 
 "I do both ; and now listen, Ida." But he 
 spoke to car^ which were no longer conscious 
 , of his voice — her over-taxed energies would 
 I endure no more — and she had f.iinted. 
 1 To raise her nerveless form, fold lier fran'.i- 
 j cally to his bosom, and implore her to fo.give 
 1 liira was the work of a moment to the uu- 
 ' li'ippy Sydney; who, as he gazed u[on lier 
 , faultless face, now pale and cold as marble, 
 and contemplated that "life in death" w!iieh 
 is so fearful a counterfeit of actual dissolutio!', 
 felt as though he were in verj*^ fact the mur- 
 derer that he called himself. 
 
 Vainly did he press his fevered lips upon 
 her cheek and brow, his caress remained 
 without response ; equally vain were his wild 
 entreaties that she would look at him — speak 
 to him. ihe closed eye and rigid mouth re- 
 mained still — the very pulses of her heart 
 liad ceased to beat — and, at length, fairly 
 maddened by his fear and Ids reniorse, the 
 ; poop young man sank down beside her, and 
 : buried his face amid tlie folds of her dress, as 
 . Btill and motionless as the slight form against 
 '■'* leaned. 
 
 CEAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE REC0NCrLL\TIOX. 
 
 Ay hour passed away, yet Elphinstone 
 neither spoke nor mov^d ; but unlike that of 
 Uia wife, who lay iu a state of utter uncou- 
 7 
 
 soiousness, his period of inaction was far from 
 being one of rest. 
 
 An agony of spirit too intense for physical 
 demonstration, crushed him to the vei-y earth. 
 His bodily energies were dormant, but his 
 mental powers were painfully, bitterly act- 
 ive. 
 
 Like one in a hideous dream, lie looked 
 back upon the illusions of the past only to be 
 scourged once more into sufTering by the 
 realities of the present; and what did that 
 present now offer to liis contemjdation ? 
 
 In the severity of his great and absorbing 
 happiness, iu the joy of loving, and feeling 
 that lie was beloved, he had "willfully put 
 from him all the uncertainties of the future ; 
 like the unwary traveler v.dio, engrossed by 
 the glorious landscape around liim, forgets 
 the sure progress of time, and finds himself 
 suddenly benighted without refu're or shelter, 
 he had sauntered on in the plciisant path 
 which spread itself before him, Avithout taking 
 one precaution against the hour when it 
 might become tangled and hard to tread; 
 and thjis he found himself unable to cope 
 with the diiSeulties by which he was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 Ila'd he been less devoted to his wife, all 
 would have been comparatively easy, as, in 
 the event of a reconciliation, lie might have 
 consoled himself under the miserable convic- 
 tion of her weakness by once more courting 
 the smiles of a world ever ready to bestow 
 them upon the young and gifted who can 
 bring appropriate incense to its shrine; or 
 even — were this reconciliation impossible, it 
 would still have been in his power to com- 
 mence a new career, trammeled indeed by 
 bitter memories, but still open to a saaguiiie 
 and energetic nature. JS'ow, however, it was 
 far otlierv>-ise, for, young as he was, Sydney 
 Elfjhiustone had staked his all of happiness 
 on his love for Ida, and he loved her still, 
 even in tliis hour of agony when he could 
 not conceal from himself that she had for- 
 feited, a ptortion of his respect, lie probed 
 liis heart unshrinkingly, but no accusing 
 voice came from its dei)ths — not a thought, 
 not a wish. Lad wandered from her; and the 
 blow fell Avith corresponding Aveight. * 
 
 What was to be tlie end? what hope, what 
 trust, could he ever again rest upon her affec- 
 tion after she had thus so cruelly misjudged 
 him? He felt that henceforward he should 
 be perpetually standing on the brink of a 
 precipice down which he might be hurled at 
 any moment, without having himself made 
 one onward step. It was a harrowing reflec- 
 tion ; he was as yet only on the threshold 
 of manhood; he had barely entered bia 
 twenty -second year; and already he had ex- 
 perienced one of the most bitter trials of 
 life. 
 
 Hot tears flooded his heart, and stagnated 
 tlijere — his burning eyeballs were dry. He had 
 become au object of suspicion to tho woman 
 whom lie would himself have trusted even to 
 tho death. True, she had evidently repented 
 her ungenerous want of confidence, whilo it 
 was equally certain that she still loved him — 
 there was no mistaking the cry of anguinh with 
 which she had tlirown herself upon his bosom ; 
 
98 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 but -n-hat, to such a nature as his, was love 
 without faith ? Xotliincr; less than nothing: a 
 perpetual mockery which must wear away not 
 only licr existence, but his own also. 
 
 There could bo no return of the halcyon 
 days when heart met heart without misgiving; 
 henceforward, every word and action must be 
 weighed, and a never-ceasing restraint, like a 
 mortal coat of mail, never to be put off, must 
 exist between them. 
 
 Not once, during his long and painful vigil, 
 had it occurred to Elphinstone to summon as- 
 sistance. The dead silence which had succeed- 
 ed to the storm of passion appeared so natural 
 a conscfiuenco of the previous excitement, that 
 ho continued helplessly engrossed by his own 
 miserable thouglits, until a deep sigli from Ida 
 recalled him to a sense of her situation. Slowly, 
 then, and with a sigh whose intensity formed a 
 fitting eclio to her own, he rose from his knees, 
 and pillowing her head upon his shoulder, 
 deluged her ])alo face with an essence which he 
 found upon her table. 
 
 His ^aiid shook, and his lip quivered, as he 
 looked upon her, so lovely and so helj)less in 
 her unconsciousness ; and when, as he almost 
 franticaUy pressed a kiss upon her forehead, 
 she at length opened her eyes with a wild and 
 inquiring expression, a convulsive sob which he 
 could not repress, replied to tlie apjieal. 
 
 " Ila !"' murmured Ida, as slio swept her hand 
 across her brow, "now I remember all — all — but 
 3-ou will not abandon me, Sydney ? you will not 
 make our cliild fatherless ?" 
 
 " Be calm, Ida, be calm," he answered in a 
 voice so changed that it sounded strange even 
 to his own ears; " have wo not already decided 
 that we must endeavor to forget the past ? Let 
 us fulfill tlie pledge. I have lived too long for 
 in3'self ; for the i)ast I will substitute the future. 
 There are duties hitherto neglected, which 
 henceforth shall be performed : indulgences 
 which -henceforth shall be abandoned ; you 
 shall have no further cause of complaint against 
 me." 
 
 " Sydney, what mean you ?" 
 
 " I will no longer bo a mere man of pleasure, 
 forgetting all my homc-happines.s, tlio respon- 
 sibilities which have devolved upon me. I will 
 at last be strong and earnest ; I have work be- 
 fore me — it shall be accomplished ; hitherto, in 
 tho egotism of a false and unworthy pride, I 
 have shrank from suing for the help of otliers 
 to aid mo on my onward path ; now I will 
 shrink no longer ; but boldly put from mo tho 
 weak shame of soliciting what I can not com- 
 mand. My day of slotli is at an end, and tliat 
 of labor shall commence in earnest. When you 
 kzow that I am toiling for j-ou and for our boy, 
 you will learn to trust me." 
 
 " Oh, speak less coldl.y — I can not bear it." 
 
 " Poor girl !" said Klphinstone, " wo must 
 both strive to bear our burden. I am not cold, 
 but I have aged two years within tho last two 
 hours, and I must seek to profit by the experi- 
 ence so dearly bought. Rouse yourself, Ida ; 
 the realities of life have come upon us — sud- 
 I denly and harshly, it is true — but they have 
 come, and we must face fhera bravely. We 
 have dreamed a glorious dream, but let us not 
 embitter the awakening by usolesa repinings 
 for the pafit." 
 
 "And is this all? Have you, indeed, cast 
 me from j-our heart forever?" 
 
 " No, Ida, no ; while it beats, it must beat for 
 you. But we can no longer deceive ourselves ; 
 a gulf lias yawned between us in which tho 
 dearest of our mutual illusions have gone down 
 —your faith in me — my trust in your confiding 
 an'cction. It is a sad truth, but we can not 
 conceal it from ourselves; let us, therefore, 
 rather mourn over it together: it will be anoth- 
 er bond of sympathy between us." 
 
 " Sydney, my heart is breaking!" gasped his 
 wife. 
 
 " Rest it upon mine," was the reply, as he 
 drew her closer to him, and folded her in his 
 arms. " We can still love each other, Ida — let 
 that be our consolation." 
 
 "But if I solemnly vow never again to doubt 
 you — " 
 
 "Strive, for both our sakes, to. place what 
 trust in me 3'ou can, but make no vow — it 
 would be at once idle and impotent." 
 
 ilrs. IClphinstone sank back upon the sofa 
 convulsed with agony. She no longer recog- 
 nized her husband: tho idolizing lover had 
 been transformed, as if by some occult magic, 
 into the stern and moralizing mentor : his heart ' 
 was still hers, but his reason had condemned 
 her. 
 
 All around her was a blank waste — she felt 
 as if she could have shrieked out in her anguish, 
 while she had not even power to staj' the large . 
 cold tears which were chasing each other down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 Sydney, meanwhile, sat with his head buried , 
 in his hands — he was still dizzy from the effects i 
 of his sudden wretcliedness, and thus they both ! 
 remained for a time, silent and motionless. 
 
 Suddenly Ida arose from her recumbent posi- ' 
 tion, and sprang to the bell. 
 
 "Biiug me my child," she said to the scrv- j 
 ant who obeyed the summons ; and in an in- 
 stant lie was in her arms. 
 
 "Sydney," she murmured, as ghe sank on bor 
 knees before him, and held toward him the un- 
 conscious infant, laughing, and struggling to 
 reach its father ; " pardon me, and trust mc for 
 his sake." _ ,' 
 
 Elphinstone looked up; a wild burst of grief 
 shook him as with an ague fit; lie strove to 
 speak, Init his words were inaudible ; yet Idaj 
 was satisfied; the infant was clinging to hia 
 bosom ; her own head rested upon his knee ;' 
 and she felt his hot tears rain down upon her; 
 hair, lie did not attempt to raise her from; 
 the ground; lie was evidently unconscious of 
 the lowly posture in which she had sued foi| 
 forgiveness ; his moral strength was spent 
 that last agonizing cry came from the mothci, 
 of his child, and his heart had melted withii 
 him. ' 
 
 How could lie doubt her at that moment, 
 when the soft little hand of liis firstborn wa, 
 pressed against his cheek? He did not; h, 
 was incapaWo of following up the train ol 
 thought by which he had just been oppressed, 
 his sense of wrong had spent itself ; he coul., 
 only yearn for peace, and rest. 
 
 "My own best love!" he at length falterc, 
 out ; '• come to my heart, Ida ; let me hold yo 
 there together." 
 
 With a -wild gasp bis wif« flung herself upc 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 99 
 
 his ncek; and both believed ns thoy ching 
 together ia that close embrace that they ■wore 
 oace more happy beyond the reach of fate. 
 Alas! that those clinginn: arms sliould ever 
 relax — that the blessed oblivion of that mo- 
 ment should ever yield to the memories of the 
 past, and t!ic threatenings of the future ! The 
 eastern traveler, after thirsting and panting 
 in the desert, indulges in the same fallacy, as 
 he reaches the green oasis, easts himself doTva 
 under the sheltering trees, and laves his 
 parched throat with the sparkling -water: he 
 f jrgets the weary waste of sand behind him ; 
 he casts no anxious glance over the arid ■wil- 
 derness before hi:n ; the present is for the mo- 
 ment all in all ; but still the foct remains un- 
 changed, that on the tract which he had passed 
 he has left time, and strength, and energy ; and 
 on that which he has still to pursue, the same, 
 and perhaps greater perils, await him. 
 
 Yet both body and mind may well seek rest 
 in these halting-places of life and travel, for 
 -without them, few could survive the journey. 
 
 And there were peace and love once more 
 in that modest cottage ; fon I endearments, and 
 gentle words, and looks more eloquent than 
 ■words ; the leafy bo-jghs still afforded their 
 grateful shade ; the limpid water still touched 
 their lips refi'eshingly, the grass was green be- 
 neath their feet, the heavens blue above their 
 lieads — and the desert lay afar off iu the dis- 
 tx-wice. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE TEMPTER. 
 
 Ox the following morning, true to the resolve 
 which he had made to himself, Elphiustone pro- 
 ceeded early to the Temple ; where, ia default 
 of any more active professional occupation, he 
 passed several hours ia close and earnest study, 
 and resolutely flung fiom him the languor con- 
 sequent upon the excitement which he had im- 
 dergone on the previous day. 
 
 Occasionally, sad thoughts, and even forebod- 
 ings, f >rccd themselves upon him, but suffer- 
 ing had made him strong, and he would not 
 yield to that yearning for mental repose whicli 
 ■would have rendered him unable to pursue his 
 task. 
 
 With Ida, however, it was far otherwise. 
 Her husband had for months past been con- 
 stantly at home, and she had become so habit- 
 "uated to his presence, that, had she even been 
 "ree from every other cause of suffering, her 
 olitude would of itself have been irksome to 
 As it was, therefore, it became after a 
 me, almost unendurable. 
 
 She had wliiled away the early hours of the 
 loming with her infant, but at length he slept, 
 nd she had no resource save her own thoughts, 
 "hen, after having seated herself at the instru- 
 eat, and discovered that her irritated nerves 
 ^-ould not support the sound of music ; turned 
 her easel, and found that her unsteady lin- 
 ers fiiiled in their accustomed skill; and 
 rown aside a book over which her eves wan- 
 jlered mechanically, without taking in i'ts sense ; 
 'he at last threw herself hopelessly into a 
 
 chair, and abandoned all further attempt at 
 occupation. 
 
 For awhile she could not collect her ideas ; 
 all seemed vague and drcani-lik;! : her hus- 
 band's sudden assumption of authority; her 
 own submission ; all appeared unnatural and 
 impossible ; but gradually the mental mist was 
 swept away, and she recalled with a distinct- 
 ness that made her pulses throb, and her brow 
 burn with emotion, every look and word which 
 had passed between them. 
 
 Silently she sat, with clasped hands so 
 tightly clinched together, that the tips of her 
 fingers were bloodless from the pressure. The 
 fi:st question that she had put to her o-wn 
 heart had been — How could I doubt him? . 
 How had he deserved that I should so -wrong | 
 his frank and nolile nature ? And, under this 
 first impulse, bitterly did she condemn herself; 
 but as time wore on, the busy fiend for whom 
 she had so long made a home within her bosom, 
 began once more to straggle into life ; her jcal- 
 ou-y had been crushed by fear, not annihilated 
 by conviction. 
 
 She remembered that Sydney had upbraided 
 her for a suspicion which he had denounced as 
 impure and unv,-oinanh% and that ho had even 
 volunteered to foresro the society of Lady Mal- 
 colm and her daughter ; but slio also rccallod 
 the fact to mind that, while blaming her, ho 
 iiad been enthusiastic in his praise of Edith ; 
 and that he had not once striven to exculpate 
 himself: that he had boon indignant, but not 
 explanatory ; loud in deprecation of her ov.-u 
 conduct, but silent with regard to his own per- 
 sonal feelings. 
 
 Was this fair? was this manly? were her 
 next mental queries; and the inward demon 
 murmured — no — you were borne down by 
 words ; you were overwhelmed but not con- 
 vinced; and yet you were weak enough to 
 yield to mere idle declamation — the declama- 
 tion of a boy, proud in his sense of power, and 
 -ivielding his pigmy bow with as nutch import- 
 ance as though he were, like Sagittarius, about 
 to bring down a constellation at every shot, 
 when, in point of fact, he was only firing into 
 the void. Were you required to make your own 
 heart, which he had already wounded, a target 
 for his weapon ? It would have been time * 
 enough to liavo played the submissive wife 
 when he had justified himself in your eyes — but 
 what proof had you ? — what proof did he ofl'er 
 to you that you had wronged him ? Xone — ho 
 reproached and threatened, while you wept and 
 sued ; and what have you gained? Conviction? 
 Peace of mind ? — And with a shuddering sigh, 
 Ida answered — " neither — I am not convinced — 
 I am not at peace." 
 
 And still her child slept on! 
 
 "Delightful!" exclaimed a cheerful voice, as 
 the drawing-room door opened, and the full- 
 plumed bonnet and searching eyes of Mrs. Dar- 
 nell appeared, glancing and fluttering their way 
 toward Ida ; " ilrs. Elphinstone not only at 
 home, but also alone ! How pleased I am that 
 I made my first visit here. The Doctor told 
 me that I should weary you witli my company 
 if I called too often ; but men understand 
 these matters so badly that I was determined 
 to persist. Only say that you are glad to see 
 
100 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 " I am very plad to seo you ;" said licr host- 
 ess extendinn: lier hand, and, bra violent effort, 
 arousing herself from her abstraction ; " and 
 duly appreciate your kindness in Avastinp your 
 time ujion a recluse, when you must have 
 many more aprecable enpracements." 
 
 " Recluse, indeed, my dear younp: l.idy ; but 
 why sJ.ould it be so? \r\ih your beauty and 
 your talents, you could ahvaj-s command soci 
 ety." 
 
 '•I care little now for what is called the 
 world;" was the reply: "I have tried it, and 
 found it alike hollow and heartless." 
 
 ""Weliave all done that in our turn;" said 
 the visitor, vrith as much sententiousness as 
 she could contrive to throw into her tone and 
 manner; "but we can at least pay it back in 
 its own currency. The world amuses mo ; it 
 has anuised mo all my life ; and I am contented 
 to make use of it in its own way." 
 
 " Tou are a practical philosopher," said Ida, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Now, that is so like one of th.o Doctor's re- 
 marks!" exclaimed the voluble little lady, set- 
 tling herself upon the chair. '' He is always 
 telling me that I am this, that, or the other, 
 of which I have not the most remote idea my- 
 self" 
 
 " In your modesty ;" said Ida, with a gleam 
 of her old humor; "you are then, probably, 
 like Moliurc's gentleman, who had talked jjrose 
 all liis life witliout being aware of it." 
 
 " Very likely; at all events, I know that it is 
 Very plea.sant to talk with you — particularly 
 when you are alone — for I have taken an im- 
 mense fancy to you, and am glad to have you 
 for once all to myself." 
 
 " 1 can not but feel greatly flattered," re- 
 plied her hostess ; " and only regret tliat I 
 shall prove a sorry companion to-day, as I 
 am suffering severely from nervous head- 
 ache." 
 
 "A nasty complaint," said Mrs. Darnell ; 
 " a very nasty complaint. Do let me be pro- 
 fessional, and recommend camphor julep, or, 
 better still, fresh air and exercise. You arc 
 too much in the house, Mrs. Elphinstone." 
 
 " I'erhai^s I am ; but I am ashamed to con- 
 fess that I have not courage to walk alone." 
 
 " Of course not ; it Avould be highly incor- 
 rect for you to do so ; but there is your hus- 
 band, who must only be too delighted to 
 show himself with a beautiful woman upon 
 his arm. All men like it; it flatters their 
 vanity." 
 
 ".^i^. Eljdiinstone is engaged at the Tem- 
 ple." 
 
 " Not always : I liave frequently seen him 
 walking with iliss Jlalcolm." 
 
 Ida's cheek flu^<lled slightly, but she con- 
 troled herself "He was an idle man at that 
 time," she said, quietly, "but now he is about 
 to devote himself to liis profession." 
 
 "All very jjroper, no doubt; I have not a 
 word to say on the suliject; it is onlj' a pity 
 
 ?'ou did not profit by liis period of idleness to 
 ay in a stock of ho.iltli." 
 
 " I was a nurse all that time, and could not 
 leave my boy." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Elphinstone," said the little 
 woman, demurely, " let me hope tliatyou will 
 Hot fall into tho same error as many young 
 
 mothers, and by devoting yourself too much 
 to 3'our infant, allow your husband to per- 
 ceive that he can do witiiout you; jt is a 
 lesson that men soon learn, and jicver forget. 
 At this very moment I could really find it in 
 my lieart to be seriously angrj* with j-ou, for 
 not going at least a short di'stance 'to meet 
 Mr. Elphinstone, instead of allowing Miss 
 Maloolni to do so." 
 
 ""What can you mean, my dear Mrs. 
 Darnell ?" 
 
 "Mean!" echoed the lady; "what can I 
 mean, but that I passed them on the road as I 
 came licre ; and tliat I consider that I am only 
 doing my duty by proving to you that you 
 should be more cautious." 
 
 " I am sure you are very kind" — gasped Ida. 
 
 "I am sure that I wish to be so," was tho 
 ready repl}' ; and you young creatures all 
 require the assistance of older and wiser heads 
 than your own. 'Experience makes fools 
 wise,' says the proverb ; and you must have 
 time before you can gain experience." 
 
 " It appears to me, nevertheless, that some 
 experience is forced upon us very rapidly." 
 
 " No doubt of it, but is it worth much f 
 Does it make yoii happier or better *" 
 
 "Neither, I fear." 
 
 "Of course not; that is quite a difTer- 
 cnt sort of thing. The experience that I 
 mean — " 
 
 Mrs. Darnell paused ; if she really did not | 
 know what she meant, .=he was certainly un- ■ 
 able to express it; and after an instant's; 
 silence, she resumed abruptly: • 
 
 " Now, as an example of what I want rou . 
 to understand — sujipose, for instance, you had i 
 occasionally waived your duties as a mother : 
 to fulfill those of a wife, do you not see at ; 
 once that you would have been more neces- : 
 sary to your hu.«band, and not have thrown i 
 him so constantly into the society of that' 
 pretty girl, Miss Malcolm? Very dangerous,, 
 very dangerous, indeed, my dear lady; for' 
 men will be men ; and althougli j-ou are so' 
 much handsomer than your young friend,' 
 you ought to remember that she is not his,' 
 wife, and that there is always a charm in^ 
 novelty." 
 
 "She is not m;/ friend," said Ida, bitterly; 
 "Lady Malcolm and Mr. Elphinstone's mother; 
 were greatly attached ; and as a natural con- 
 sequence — " , 
 
 " Yes,.yes ; I perfectly comprehend — " saidj 
 the visitor, with a sagacious nod ; " the old' 
 family affection has created a sort of cousin- 
 ship, which is all very well when not carriec; 
 too far ; but really I have seen so much troubh 
 brought about by sentiiucntal attachments of' 
 that kind, that 1 feci it more than ever m^ 
 duty to warn you to be upon your guard' 
 Mr. Elphinstone is a charming j-oung man, 
 but still he is vrr)/ j-oung, and can not be ex, 
 pected to calculate the consequences of an; 
 little indiscretion into which he may be le 
 by a warm heart and high spirits. I hav< 
 as I said before, taken a great fancj' to yoi 
 and therefore I venture to be frank ; they saV 
 you know, that ' lool^crs on see most of th 
 game' " 
 
 'And what have you seen?" asked Id- 
 struggling to retain her composure. [ 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 101 
 
 " Little as yet, very little, I confess," was 
 the unsatisfaetory reply; " but then j-oii must 
 remember tliat I have only recently made 
 your acquaintance." 
 
 " But souietliing you must have seen," per- 
 severed Mrs, Elphinstone, " or j-ou would not 
 have considered it necessary to urge me to 
 greater prudence." 
 
 "These affairs require delicate handling," 
 said Mrs. Darnell, with a complacency which 
 betrayed her perfect confidence in her own 
 skill and tact; " a look or a word may mean 
 BO much or so little ; and as my only aim is 
 to trauquilize your mind, and to impress up- 
 on }-ou your responsibilities as a wife, I can 
 not, of course, wisli to make you see with my 
 eyes, or understand with my understanding. 
 All that I shall venture to sa}% therefore, is 
 this — do not encourage the intimacy between 
 your husband and Miss Malcolm too far." 
 
 How, had her visitor exhibited an equal 
 amount of low breeding and want of charity 
 upon any other subject, would the high- 
 minded Ida have loathed and despised her. 
 How soon would she have silenced the busy 
 tongue which sported so gUbly with the 
 holiest and most sacred feelings of others. 
 How indignantly would she have rejected the 
 companionship of a vulgar gossip, whose pry- 
 ing eyes saw deep into the darkest corners 
 of a quiet home, and peopled the void with 
 phantoms I 
 
 Now, however, it was far otherwise; and 
 Mrs. Darnell was not more convinced of the 
 kindness and sagacity of her own proceedings 
 than was her unhappy listener. 
 
 " You may be right," she said, after a mo- 
 ment's silence ; " it may have been imprudent 
 on my part to permit so close an intimacy be- 
 tween the two families, but it is only just to 
 Mr. Elphinstone to tell you, that he voluntarily 
 offered to put an end to it, should sucB bo my 
 wish." 
 
 ■ "Poor thing 1" almost whispered her com- 
 panion, as an expression of very sincere regret 
 settled upon her usually joyous face. " Has it 
 already come to that ? I am sorry to hear it — 
 very sorry — for that was precisely what I was 
 anxious to prevent I did hope to open your 
 eyes before your husband could suspect that he 
 had given you one uneasy thought. All might 
 have been so easily arranged in some way or 
 other ; it is a sad disappointment to me to find 
 that the subject has been broached between 
 you." 
 
 "Tou can not regret it more than I do," said 
 Ida, gloomily; "I am sorry to have been so 
 rash, but in an unguarded moment — " 
 
 "I can quite understand you, quite; but it is 
 to be deplored that you were so for excited as 
 to lose your self-command; for I know well by 
 oxperience how these things end: let the wife 
 be as perfect as she may, she must give way at 
 last, go that, by attempting to protect and 
 justifv herself, she only loses ground." 
 
 "Which she may, perhaps, never regain," 
 murmured Mrs. Elphinstone, rather speaking to 
 herself than addressing lier companion. 
 
 "A very rational remark, my dear young 
 lady," said Mrs. Darnell, approvingly; "and 
 one which gives me a great respect for your 
 ""aderstanding: my lute grandmother, who was 
 
 a very superior woman, never took leave of a 
 Uride without saying to her: ' You will be the 
 idol of a month, but only a wifo for the rest of 
 your days ; remember this ; and, above all else, 
 bcwaro of the first quarrel — quarrel as much 
 as you please afterward, but beware of the first 
 time, for rest assured, that although both may 
 forgive, neither will forget I' She gave the same 
 warning to scores of young women in her time; 
 and I am really very, very sorry that I was not 
 able to do the same kind office for you before it 
 was too late." . 
 
 Ida made no reply; a weight had fallen 
 upon her heart, and rested there like an in- 
 cubus. 
 
 " However," resumed the pertinacious visitor 
 who had not ponetration to discover that she 
 had stretched her listener upon a moral rack 
 which strained and tore every fiber of her spirit: 
 "we will hope better things for you. Mr. 
 Elphinstone is, as I before remarked, so very 
 young, and you are so very beautiful, that no 
 doubt all will come right in time. Only, I 
 entreat of you, take my advice ; profit by his 
 offer, and get rid of that very dangerous young 
 lady. 
 
 " I have had an unpleasant task to perform, 
 but the extraordinary interest which I feel for 
 you rendered it a duty, according to my ideas 
 of Christian charity and sisterly love. It would 
 have been better, certainly, if Lady Malcolm had 
 spared me so ungracious an office, as she most 
 decidedly would have done had she displayed 
 proper prudence ; but I care little for my own 
 feelings when I can relieve those of others. 
 
 " Look upou me, therefore, my dear Mrs. 
 Elphinstone, as a warm and sincere friend, con- 
 fide in me, and make use of me without cere- 
 mony or scruple, whenever I can be of service 
 to you; for, as the doctor truly says, I am never 
 
 happy as when I am mixed up with the 
 troubles and trials of otliers. And now, that I 
 flatter myself I have comforted and soothed 
 you, I will leave you to reflect upon our con- 
 versation. I need not say that I will soon see 
 you again." 
 
 There was a flutter of gauze and feathers, a 
 rustling of silk and velvet, a clasping of hands, 
 an exchange of courteous words, and Mrs. Dar- 
 nell disappeared. She paused for a moment 
 in the hall to desire the maid, who attended 
 her to the door, to be very, very careful of her 
 poor mistress; and then the sound of her car- 
 riage-wheels died away in the distance; and 
 still Ida stood erect and rigid on the spot 
 where they had parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 A STORM CLOUD. 
 
 Despite the fond embrace with which , he 
 had parted from his wife, Elphinstone could 
 not conceal from himselij as he at length closed 
 his books and left the Temple, that his homo 
 had ceased to be to him the haven of jieace 
 and love which it had once been. 
 
 All his most clierished associations had sud- 
 denly been shivered about him, and it was in 
 vain that ho strove to restore the fragments 
 
102 
 
 THE JEALOUS "WIFE. 
 
 into a perfect wholo : the shock was still top 
 recent : the blow had been at once too heavy 
 and too abrupt. 
 
 His sense of delicacy revolted at the recol- 
 lection that Ida, who had even until tho 
 previous day been to him an object of worship, 
 should suddenly have booomo a suppliant for 
 pity and for pardon ; and that the confidence 
 which he had placed in her affection should 
 have been so cruelly requited ; his love for her 
 continued unimpaired, but with it came a new 
 and unwelcome feeling, that robbed it of half 
 its charm 
 
 Unconsciously his step grew languid, and 
 ho hngered on his way as he had never hitherto 
 done after an absence of so many hours from 
 his beautiful and gifted wJTe. What security 
 had he that even in that comparatively short 
 space of time, she might not have encouraged 
 new doubts, as wild and baseless as those 
 which had already caused him so much misery ? 
 
 The Malcolms, too — how could he ever 
 again meet them as he had hitherto done, 
 conscious that every look and word must be 
 weighed and measured, and even then, per- 
 haps, adduced as evidence ag;iinst him ? 
 
 Poor Sydney, with his impulsive tempera- 
 ment ahd frank-heartedneps, he keenly felt how 
 difficult a task lay before him ; and, had ho not 
 been restrained by his promise to Ida, he would 
 at once have confided to Lady ilalcolm the 
 embarrassing nature of his position, and left it 
 to her more matured judguient to discover 
 some mode of escape for both parties ; but Ida 
 had shrunk from exposing her weakness to the 
 mother of Edith, and ho resolved to respect her 
 dignity with as much jcalou?y as herself. Thus 
 he had no resource save in his own moral cour- 
 age, and bitter was the reflection that it should 
 be first called into action to secure the tranquil- 
 lity of his own hearth. 
 
 Such were the musings of the young hus- 
 band as he slowly proceeded on his homev.'ard 
 path, a path which, for the first time, he felt to 
 be irksome ; nor could he conceal from himself 
 that it was actually a relief to him when he en- 
 countered Lady Malcolm and her daughter, who 
 were taking their accustomed walk, and to 
 whom ho felt compelled to offer his protection. 
 The meeting, even trammeled as it was by a 
 consciousness of the annoyance which Ida 
 would feel could she be aware of the accident, 
 was of service to him, as it served to direct his 
 thoughts from liis own trials, and to givo them 
 another direction. 
 
 Soothed by tho calm good sense of liis 
 mother's friend, and enlivened by the gentle 
 gayety of her daughter, the moments passed 
 swiftly and pleasantly; nor was it until lie 
 parted witli the ladies at tl'fcir own gate, that 
 he was startled by tho recollection that there no 
 longer remained tho time necessary for the 
 walk whicli he had proposed to his wife as ho 
 left her. and for wliich,slio had promised to jire- 
 pare herself against his return. Never before 
 liad lie failed in any appointment involving lier 
 gratification, and at what a moment and in 
 what a manner had he done so now ! He ac- | 
 tually trembled with eagerness as he reaehi>d i 
 his own door, and anticipated the merited re- 
 proach with which she would probably receive i 
 him on his return. ' 
 
 neroi'n, however, he instantly discovered that 
 he had deceived himself As he entered tbo 
 room, Mrs. Elphinstone was seated at the piano, 
 from which she instantly rose with a smile to 
 greet him. 
 
 ""U'ill you forgive me, my love," he asked; 
 " for not having fulfilled my promise to return 
 at an earlier hour than this? I am really quito 
 distressed to be so late, but I have been de- 
 tained " 
 
 "Are you late?" asked Ida in her turn, af- 
 fecting to consult the little French timepiece ; 
 " oh, no ; we shall not dine for an hour yet, so 
 that you have more tune than you wiU requiro 
 for your toilet. 
 
 " But the walk upon which we had de- 
 cided ?" 
 
 " Ah, true ;" she replied in the same accent 
 of calm indifference in whicli she had first 
 spoken ; "I remember now, that we did talk of 
 a country ramble; but, as you see, I had for- 
 gotten it, and had consequently made no prepa- 
 ration." 
 
 Sydneywas deeply hurt, and his countenance 
 betrayed" it ; but Mrs. Elphinstone was carefully , 
 collecting her music, and did not, or would uo^ ' 
 seem to remark his anno_vanee. 
 
 " Tour forgetfulness can c-ot, however, exone* 
 rate me — " he commenced, struggling to assume I 
 as much composure as hersclL 
 
 " Oh, not a word more, my dear Sydney,'^ j 
 she interposed, "upon so unimportant a sub" • 
 ject. I feel convinced that you were mor/ 
 usefully occupied ; and altliough I can not 
 boast of having passed my time as profitablj 
 as yourself I have at least spent it very pleas* 
 ant!y." j 
 
 "Are 3'ou, then, becoming so much enamored , 
 of solitude, Ida?" I 
 
 "By no means," was the quick rejoinder, ! 
 "nor have I been solitary; on the contrary, ' 
 Mrs. Darnell paid me a very long, and a very 
 kind visit, for which I feci greatly indebted to 
 her." , 
 
 "Mrs. DamelM" echoed Elphinstone, em- 1* 
 phatically. " It is impossible that you could '" 
 derive any pleasure from the society of that ,' 
 trifling, mindless woman." 
 
 " You are quite in error, I assure you, Syd- 
 ney, I have a decided engouement for Mrs. 
 Darnell ; and, more than that, I have also a | 
 great respect for licr. She is so frank and 
 warm-hearted, and, moreover, possessed of such 
 admirable judgment, that I consider her friend- < 
 ship to be a valuable acquisition to one so inex- ' 
 perienced in tho duties and privileges of a wife 
 as myself" ! 
 
 " Ida ! I had no idea tha| yon could be so ^ 
 sarcastic." ' 
 
 " 1 intended no sarcasm. I have simply ex- 
 pressed ray conviction of her character," said bis 
 wife, firmly, " and surely you must be happy to , 
 find that such a friend is willing to enliven tho . 
 hours rendered dreary by your absence." 
 
 "I should, indeed, be so,'' rejoined Elphin- 
 stone, "could I enter into your feelings toward 
 her; but the expression of .such an opinion . i 
 from yon, has, I confess, astonished me not a ■[ : 
 little." ' 
 
 " You perhaps think her too old to bo agree- 
 able." replied Ida, dryly. 
 
 "Too old?" echoed Sydney; "you do no 
 
 . 
 
iiii^ j±:ALUUb wij<±:. 
 
 103 
 
 injustice. It depends on -n-omen themselves to 
 be a'Tecablo at an}"- age. They have it in their 
 power to be charming at every season, hko the 
 roses of tlie PhiHppiue Islands, which are wliito 
 at sunrise, pink at noon, and crimson at twi- 
 lisrht; changeful it may be, but charming in 
 every charge." 
 
 "Who is sarcastic now?" asked Mrs. Elpliin- 
 atone. 
 
 "Certainly not I," laughed her husband, 
 " and I think you must at least bo compelled to 
 admit that I have treated your no\7 friend very 
 poetically." 
 
 " But you dislike her ?" 
 
 "I confess that I do not admire her general 
 deportment, and that I have rather a mean 
 opinion of her understanding." 
 
 " You do her injustice," said Ida, with a flash- 
 ing eye; "she is a shrewd and clear-sighted 
 woman, who only requires to be known in order 
 to be ajipreciated." 
 
 "Now, how on earth, my dear girl," asked 
 Sydney, " have you been able to m-xko so ex- 
 traordinary a discovery ? what can llrs. Darnell 
 have said or done to establish her fassy little 
 self so firmly in your affections?" 
 
 " She has taken a sincere interest in me, and 
 is anxious to contribute to my happiness." 
 
 "She is too kind," replied Elnhinstono, in a 
 grieved accent, "but I trust that your happi- 
 ness does not depend on her very supereroga- 
 tory aid and support. You already possessed 
 a friend equally anxious to render you every 
 service in her power, and one who v.'ould, I 
 should have thought, have been infinitely more 
 congenial to so refined a nature as your own, in 
 Lady Malcolm." 
 
 " Comparisons are invidious, my dear Sydney.'' 
 
 " Neither do I seek to institute a comparison 
 between two women who are the antipodes of 
 each other," was the impatient rejoinder, " and 
 you must forgive me if I frankly confess -at once 
 that to me the vulgar-minded wifo of Dr. Dar- 
 nell is positively insufferable." 
 
 "What can you have to fear from my friend- 
 ship with the poor lady, who has so uncon- 
 sciously inspired your dislike ?" 
 
 "Fearl nothing assuredly for myself ; but I 
 feel disappointed that j-ou should find pleasure 
 ia the society of a woman to whom I am satis- 
 fied that you would not have accorded a second 
 glance before you became my wife." 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Ida, with an ambiguous 
 smile, "for, at that period, although I lived in 
 what is emphatically called 'tiie world,' I had 
 never looked below its surface, and was conse- 
 quently only one of tlie bubbles that floated 
 down the tide, without comprehending wliat lay 
 beneath ; now, however, when I have to struggle 
 against the current, I must learn to turn my 
 gazo^ from the sunshine that gleams above to 
 the impediments which may possibly impede 
 my progress—the rocks and shoals that are hid- 
 den in the depths of the stream." 
 
 " And has such a struggle really commenced 
 for you Ida V 
 
 "Certainly, my dear Sydney; am I not a 
 wife and a mother? Are not our prospects 
 uncertain? Our resources rapidly diniinisliing?" 
 
 "True," said Elphinstone, gloomily, "true; 
 your trials have indeed commenced, and if you 
 conceive that they can be lessened by other 
 
 sympathy than my own, you havo every right 
 to try the experiment." 
 
 Ida made no reply, but after having, with 
 great apparent care, smoothed the dark bands 
 of hair which fell low upon her cheeks, before 
 the mirror, she turned toward the book-case, 
 and with tlie same affectation of fastidiousness, 
 selected a volume, with which sho established 
 herself upon the sofa, apparently forgetful of 
 her husband's presence. 
 
 Elphinstone was bewildered, and as ho paced 
 slowly to and fro, he asked himself in vain 
 what could bo the meaning of his wife's extra- 
 ordinary manner. Suddenly he stopped imme- 
 diately in front of her, and gazed inquiringly 
 into her face, but she read on calmly, with a 
 smile playing about her lips, as though pleas- 
 antly engrossed by the book in which she was 
 occupied. 
 
 At this moment the servant announced 
 dinner. 
 
 " Already 1" exclaimed Sydney; "and I 
 have not even changed my dress. Will you 
 excuse mo for five minutes, Ida?" 
 
 " For any time j'ou please ; there is no hurry 
 in the world ;" replied his wife, without raising 
 her eyes from the volume. 
 
 After another long look, which remained un- 
 noticed like the last, Elphinstone, hurriedly left 
 the room. As he did so, the book fell from 
 his wife's hand to the floor, her eyes were 
 strained in the direction where he had disap- 
 peared, and her trembling lips became livid. 
 It was evident that she struggled fiercely to 
 control the violence of the emotion which shook 
 her whole frame to agony ; but she did control 
 it ; not a tear moistened the quivering eyelids, 
 not a sigh escaped the overcharged breast ; all 
 was still, strong endurance; the shaft hurled 
 by the idle hand of Mrs. Darnell, h?A struck i 
 home, and the iron which rankled in tlie wound \ 
 was crushed back as resolutely as the Spartan 
 boy crushed back the living death that he 
 carried in his bosom. 
 
 Aleady? while the kiss of reconciliation was 
 yet warm upon her lips — while the words of 
 promise and of hope were still sounding in her, 
 cars. — Already had Sydney again sought tho 
 society of the woman wliom sho feared and | 
 hated ; and forgotten his pledge to her. A low 
 bitter laugh escaped her once, and once only ; 
 nor did sho stir a limb until aroused by the 
 hasty step of her husband as he crossed the 
 hall. Then sho stooped, picked up the volume 
 that lay at her feet, and, resuming the attitude 
 in which ho had left her, was once more, to all 
 appearance, absorbed as before. 
 
 "Are you ready, Ida?" asked Elphinstone, 
 as ho paused at. the door. 
 
 " Quite ;" she replied, rising with alacrity and 
 moving toward him. 
 
 The young man's heart throbbed painfully. 
 Could lie havo mistaken her? Had tlio book 
 which she had persisted so pertinaciously in 
 reading, really so much interested her that it 
 had caused her to overlook his want of punc- 
 tuality, and even rendered her for tho moment i 
 independent of his society? It must bo so; * 
 and he had been doing battle with a shadow. 
 
 Strong in this conviction, sho had no sooner 
 reached his side than he took her hand, but it 
 was instantly withdrawn. 
 
J.1IXJ f) IL, 1\. Ll \J \J (D 
 
 ^1 xi: £j. 
 
 " "^hat can this mean ';" ho asked ; " have I 
 again offended 3-ou, Ida 1" 
 
 "Oh, no;" was the reply, as by a violent 
 efTort slio recovered her sell-possession ; " why 
 should you suppose so ?" 
 
 " Because you would not suffer me to take 
 you hand." 
 
 " It is unnecessary ;" slio said, quietly ; " the 
 distance is not great." 
 
 "True;" acquiesced Elphinstone as he fol- 
 lowed her to the dining-room, thankful that 
 the presence of tlio servant must for a time at 
 least avert (ho storm which ho saw was once 
 more gathering around him. 
 
 The dinner passed almost in silence, and as 
 the wondering attendant quietly performed her 
 duties, Sydney felt the very air oppressive, vSO 
 heavily did the singular demoanor of his wife 
 weigh upon his spirit ; nor was it until they 
 were again alone that he could rally sufficiently 
 to make any attempt at conversation ; while even 
 then the calm pale face of Ida actually awed him. 
 
 " You appear to have been singularly in- 
 terested in your book to-day," he said at 
 length. " May I inquire what it was ?" 
 
 "I really do not recollect:" was the reply; 
 " it lies yonder ; perhaps you may like to read it. " 
 
 " Xot at present, I would rather converse 
 with you." 
 
 " I sliall be but a poor companion. My head 
 aches horribly." 
 
 " I feared as much ;" said Elphinstone, 
 eagerlv, endeavoring to delude himself into the 
 belicf'^that he had now found the true solution 
 of the enigma; "I felt sure that something 
 was wrong. You are very pale, love ; shall I 
 send for Dr. Darnell?" 
 
 •' Oh no, no ;" exclaimed Mrs. Elphinstone ; 
 " I will apply a better remedy," and laying her 
 hand on the bell, she desired the servant by 
 whom it was answered, to beg Lady Malcolm 
 and her daughter to do her the favor to take 
 their coffee with herself and Mr. Elphinstone. 
 
 "My dear Ida;" said her husband, as the 
 attendant withdrew; "would not a perfectly 
 quiet evening have been more beneficial in 
 jour present state than even the society of 
 your friends '?" 
 
 "Perhapg bo, as regards myself;" was the 
 cold reply ; " but I am not selfish enough to 
 sacrifice your gratification to my own — and it 
 will, I should imagine, be pleasant to both 
 Mi.ss Malcolm and yourself to talk over your 
 morning's walk. They will no doubt be liere 
 in a few minutes, and meanwhile, I wiU go 
 and ascertain if Hubert is asleep." 
 
 As she ceased speaking, she rose and left the 
 room, while her husband, who instantly com- 
 prehended the whole extent of the new diffi- 
 culty in which ho had so innoc^ently involved 
 himself, remained motionless with surprise and 
 mortification. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ESTKANGEMENT. 
 
 Feom the evening recorded in the last chaj)- 
 ter, no allusion was ever again made by Mrs. 
 Elphinstone to her husband's implied admira- 
 
 tion of Miss Malcolm, but he too well compre- 
 hended the nature of his wife to imagine for an 
 instant that she any longer placed the slightest 
 confidence in his affection ; and while he could 
 have taken her to his heart, and wept over her 
 pale cheek, and the rapid attenuation of her 
 still graceful, but now foaifully fragile form, 
 and poured forth all the agony of his soul at 
 her mistrust, he shrank from th-e slightest 
 demonstration, lest the appeal which he would 
 fain have made to her reason should only lead 
 to a renewal of the bitter scenes through 
 which they had already passed. 
 
 And thus they lived on ; Sydney smother- 
 ing his better feelings, and sacrificing his in- 
 nate sense of dignity, to that morbid love of 
 ease which formed so prominent a feature in 
 his generous but weak nature ; and Ida gnaw- 
 ing away her own heart in silence, conscious 
 that when the moment of conviction came, the 
 lava-flood of her indignation must carry ruin 
 with it. 
 
 Elphinstone chafed under an injustice as 
 baseless as it was unworthy ; while his wife, 
 misled by her own wretched suspicions, and 
 confirmed in her error by the inane consola- 
 tion and advice of a mindless and ill-judging 
 acquaintance, never for an instant suffered her- 
 self to doubt that she had become the victim 
 of his inconstancy. 
 
 Thus, in order to escape from a thralldom 
 which was hateful to him, the young husband, 
 who, at the commencement of his married life, 
 had look'ed upon his chambers in the Temple 
 as exile, because they involved an occasional 
 and brief separation from the object of his idol- 
 atry, soon learned to feel that liis most genial 
 home was there — there, where no cold but ever- 
 watchful eye noted his every movement ; where 
 no quick but apparently careless ear drank ia 
 his every word ; and where no diseased and 
 distorted imagination converted even his most 
 inconsequent actions into matters of moment, 
 pregnant with inquiry and meaning. 
 
 The ready smile and unquestionable docility 
 of his wife wounded him to the quick, for they 
 were no longer the assurauees of aft'ectiou and 
 devotedness ; the smile was hollow, and the 
 docility overacted and unnatural ; there was no 
 longer any communion of spirit between them; 
 Ida wa-s a mere human automaton, answeriug 
 to every spring at his pleasure, but originating 
 no movement of her owa 
 
 To his anxious inquiries regarding her health, 
 he always received the same stereotvjHnl re- 
 ply — she was quite well — quite — could not 
 desire to be better ; to his attentions she re- 
 signed herself passively, as though tliis resig- 
 nation were a part of her wifely duty. Nor 
 did she, on her side, neglect to exhibit toward 
 Sydney all those minor courtesies which are so 
 dear and grateful to the heart when they are 
 the spontaneous growth of mutual affection; 
 but this was rather from an impulse of hi^li 
 breeding tlian from a genuine desire to increase 
 his happiness ; and Elphinstone was not slow 
 to see and feel the painful truth. 
 
 There was no pleading now for another hour 
 when her husband, innnediately after break- 
 fast, day by day, lingered for a moment in the 
 hall to caress his boy ere he caught up his hat 
 and gloves, and with a hasty kiss upon her 
 
TEE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 105 
 
 T)row, liurric J off to tovm ; no inquiry as to the 
 probable hour of his return ; nothing but a 
 cahu and uuquestiouiug submission to his will, 
 au apparent indifference to his movements, 
 •which had gi-adually built np a wall of ice be- 
 tween the in, that sent its bitter chill to the 
 hearts of both. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had Sydney disappeared, 
 and her child been placed in her arms, than 
 Ida passionately pressed her lips upon the rosy 
 little cheek still flushed from the pressure of 
 ler husband's kiss ; while hot tears, long and 
 painfully suppressed, streamed down her face, 
 and fell into her bosom. She had ceased to 
 trust, but she still loved him with the whole 
 vehemence of her ungoverned nature. 
 
 Poor Ida! with all the elements of happi- 
 ness withiu her reach, she was hopelessly, 
 irremediably wretched. Her capricious incon- 
 sistencies, her wayward fits of temper, had 
 seriously alienated the affection of Lady Mal- 
 colm, who had, moreover, resolutely refused to 
 expose her daughter to a constant companion- 
 ship with Mrs. Darnell, to whose mind and 
 manners she alike objected ; nor had she failed 
 to impress upon Ida the inexpediency of en- 
 couraging her visits. The advice w^s, how- 
 ever, at once rejected, as the ill-fated woman 
 instantly attributed to her right-minded and 
 ■well-judging friend a motive totally foreign to 
 the real one, aud felt a bitter pleasure in disre- 
 garding her advice. 
 
 Still for Sydney's sake. Lady Malcolm reso- 
 lutely supported the occasional annoyances to 
 which she was exposed through the wayward- 
 ness of liis wife ; nor was it long ere she dis- 
 covered that Mrs. Elphinstone had some liidden 
 sorrow, and then the warm stream of her 
 woman-heart welled up, and- she forgot her 
 own feelings in her anxious endeavor to soothe 
 those of Ida. 
 
 Vain, however, was the attempt ; her infer- 
 ences were disdainfully denied ; how, she was 
 asked, could the wife of Sydney Elphinstone — 
 the wife who had abandoned every thing for 
 Lis sake, and to whom his affection was all in 
 all — be otherwise than happy, most happy? 
 
 " Were you indeed aware that he had ceased 
 to love me," she pursued with a kindling eye ; 
 "jou might suspect that I was the victim of a 
 hidden grief; but now — " 
 
 " You misconceive me, my dear Mrs. Elphm 
 stone," replied her companion, mildly ; " I have 
 had so sad an experience of the world, that I 
 too well know how possible it is to have a sor- 
 row totally unconnected with home and home- 
 affections. Did I dare to do so, I believe that 
 I could point to the cause of your evident 
 depression." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Ida, scornfully. 
 
 "Yes, bdeed," pursued Lady Malcolm; "can 
 you imagine tliat I have never reflected upon 
 the suffeiing with which you must dwell upon 
 the estraugemeut from your parents? Surely 
 not; and from the bottom of my heart I pity 
 you. Have courage, my dear young friend: 
 remember that tlicie is a silver lining to every 
 cloud; your father must have loved you deep- 
 ly; have regarded you with pride as well as 
 affection ; aud rest assured that when once the 
 wound which you have mflioted upon his am- 
 bition has had tune to heal, his heart will 
 
 yearn toward you with a tenderness which he 
 will not seek to control." 
 
 " I can only pi-ay that your prophecy may 
 be fulfilled before I have ceased to feel an in- 
 terest in any tiling," said Mrs. Elphinstone, 
 moodily, "for Hubert's sake I will hope, even 
 when I cease to do so for myself" 
 
 " In that ease judge of your father's heart 
 by your own," replied her persevering com- 
 forter; "and do I entreat of you, struggle 
 against a depression which is evidently under- 
 mining your health. I can see that Sydney is 
 wretched about you." 
 
 " Sychiey wretched about me !" echoed Ida, 
 with a forced laugh; "I do not think that 
 Sydney was ever more happy in his life. Dur- 
 ing the first few , months of our marriage he 
 was my devoted slave, poor fellow! obedient 
 to all my caprices: subject to all my whims; 
 and it was then, or never, that I might have 
 supposed him to be wretched about me, as I 
 must necessarily have involved him in every 
 dangerous or disagreeable fancy in which I saw 
 fit to indulge ; but he is now altogether released 
 from this peril ; I have grown weary of prac- 
 ticing upon his patience ; he is perfectly inde- 
 pencAnt in all his actions ; h-e comes and goes 
 unquestioned ; I make no demand upon either 
 his. time or his tenderness; but receive with 
 proper wifely gratitude the portion of each, 
 which he finds it expedient and proper to be- 
 stow upon me." 
 
 "My dear young friend, you terrify me!" 
 said Lady Malcolm, uneasily ; " you are in a 
 frightfully morbid state of mind ; and I sadly 
 fear that, from some misconception or another, 
 you are domg serious injustice to your hus- 
 band." 
 
 "Oh no, no; do not alarm yourself about 
 him ;" was the quick retort ; " I can assure you 
 that he makes no complaint ; and I have not a 
 doubt, from his regular aud unwearied attend- 
 ance at the Temple, that his affairs are pros- 
 pering there also. It is really admirable, is it 
 not. Lady Malcolm, to see how pertinaciously 
 he pursues his profession? for, as I never hear 
 of his spendmg the hours that he is absent 
 from me elsewhere, I naturally conclude that 
 he is at his chambers." 
 
 Her companion started ; had Ida laid bare 
 her heart before her, she could not more thor- 
 oughly have read its secret than she did at 
 that moment. Mrs. Elphinstone was the vic- 
 tim of jealousy, biit who could be the object 
 of her suspicion? Vainly did Lady Malcolm 
 ask herself the question ; Sydney had, at the 
 request of his wife, so utterly abandoned -the 
 world, that the only conclusion at which she 
 could arrive was that Ida might possibly have 
 been informed of some previous attachment ou 
 the part of her husband, which, now that the 
 first effervescence of married happiness has 
 subsidec^, was pressing upon her mind ; and 
 even while she condemned such a weakness, 
 the gentle-liearted matron could not witlihold 
 her sympathy for the seif-tormcnting sufferer. 
 
 " Will you forgive me, my dear Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone," she asked ; " I hazard another guess ? — 
 I can not mistake your meaning — you doubt 
 Sydney." 
 
 " Have I any cause to do so ?" 
 
 " Certainly none of which 1 am aware." 
 
lOG 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 "In thnt case," observed Ida, haughtily; 
 "you mi.rl:t have spared me the suspicion." 
 
 Lady ^ilalcolm rose. 
 
 " I a:n truly glad to find that I am in error," 
 ehc said, -whh dignity; "rejoiced alike for your 
 own sake, and Sydney's, for believe me, Mrs. 
 Elpbinstonc, wlien I a'ssure you that no ^-cak- 
 ne.*s on the part of a wife is so calculated to 
 estrange a hu.sband*s heart as jealousy ; where 
 the suspicion is just he becomes irritated under 
 his own sense of error, and where he is con- 
 scious of Lis own rectitude, he revolts from an 
 accuiirition wliich robs the woman he has chosen 
 of that charm of mental purity which had 
 hitherto compelled his admiration and respect. 
 
 " I am, therefore, I repeat, most happy that 
 I had wronged you, and you must pardon my 
 ofTense, arising as it did out of my maternal 
 enxiety fur your mutual welfare." 
 
 " All apology is unnecessary ;" was the cold 
 reply; "and I am really happy, in my turn, 
 to have set your heart at rest. Question 
 Sydney yourself, and I am convinced he will 
 tell you that, however exacting I may have 
 been for a time, I am now the very model of 
 a wife. Oh, depend upon it, my dear Lady 
 Malcolm, that should we again emerge from 
 our he.'mitage, we shall be quoted as a marvel 
 of connubial devotion; a species of show 
 couple to be gazed upon with awe and admira- 
 tion ; a fitting example in fact, for my cousin 
 Hubert and your fair daughter; and more 
 than this I am sure you can not be vmreason- 
 able enough to wish." 
 
 Ida had overacted her part, but her com- 
 panion was too judicious to suffer her to per- 
 ceive this, although her heart ached as she 
 slowly walked along the garden-path which 
 led to her o\vn house. 
 
 "Poor Sydney! Poor fated boy!" she mur- 
 mured to herself; " this is even worse than I 
 had feared. I have indeed lived to rejoice that 
 she is in her grave, whose heart his misery 
 would have broken. Yes — it is better so ; this 
 crowning sorrow she at least is spared." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE FIRST BRIEF. 
 
 As a natural consequence of the state of 
 things which we have described, Sydney Elphin- 
 stone gradually estranged himself more and 
 more from lus ungenial home ; and, with the 
 impetuosity which formed so strong an element 
 of his character, plunged into study with an 
 ardor and perseverance that enabled him for 
 many hou:s in the day to banish from his mind 
 all memory of the blight which had withered 
 the best fielings of his heart. 
 
 Shut iuto }iis chambers, half-buried with 
 books, and grappling with diflleulties from 
 which he had hitherto sliruiik with disgust, 
 the gay young man of fashion had subsided 
 into a plodding student; lines of thought 
 / began to trace themselves upon his lofty brow ; 
 his step became less buoyant, and his words 
 more measured. 
 
 The youth was rapidly ripening into the 
 sober maturity of manhood; and if he rarely 
 
 smiled, and the music of his rinLTiiig Iraighter 
 was no longer heard, at least neither had been 
 succeeded by the querulousness of discontent, 
 or the gloom of asceticism. 
 
 Toward his wife he still exhibited the same 
 watchful attention and courteous kindness as 
 ever, but it T>a3 no longer with the lover-like 
 devotion of old; care had aged him in more 
 than looks ; and while Ida wept in secret over 
 a change which wrung the chords of her heart 
 to agon}', and remembered that it had been 
 her own work, she bore it in silence rather 
 than by one concession make an effort to repair 
 the evil. 
 
 '• How know I," she would murmur to her- 
 self " that the hours of his absence are, indeed, 
 spent in study? How dare I even hope it, 
 when I am so well aware that all mental 
 exertion is antagonistic to his careless and 
 impulsive nature? Could I only be sure that 
 such were the case, how different would be 
 our relative position ! 
 
 " But no, no ; I must not yield ; it is clear 
 from his continual and consistent coldness that 
 his heart is no longer in his home, and that it 
 has found another resting-place. Be it so; I 
 will endure the suspicion until it has growa 
 into certainty, and then — then — " 
 
 A month or two passed on thus: and at 
 their close the earnest prayer of Elphinstone 
 was granted — he held a brief: nor was it the 
 least agreeable or welcome feature of this 
 long-wished-for event, that it had been offered 
 to him at the desire of Lady JIalcolm, who 
 had at length decided on endeavoring to rescue 
 at least a portion of her property from the 
 unworthy hands into which it had fallen. 
 
 Information recently acquired had convinced 
 her that her ease was far from a hojielcss one, 
 if skillfully conducted; and, much as she 
 shrank from the excitement and uncertainty of 
 a lawsuit, she still felt that she owed a tluty to 
 her child which must be performed even at the 
 expense of her ovm feelings ; while the con- 
 sciousness that she had it in her power at the 
 same time to serve the son of her still-lamented 
 friend greatly tended to reconcile her to the 
 anxiety of the trial. 
 
 Thus then, when he had almost despaired of 
 such a result to his labors, and had pursued 
 them rather as a resource from more painful 
 thought than as the necessary means to accom» 
 plish a career, Sydney found liim.-^elf suddenly 
 summoned to exert all his energies in a cause 
 in which the best powers of his heart and 
 intellect must be alike called forth. 
 
 His check glowed, and his breast heaved 
 with excitement; he was now to try his 
 strength — he was now to prove to Ida that her 
 faith in his intellect at least had not been 
 misplaced ; she had ceased to love him, but ' 
 ho might still compel her respect; and then a ■ 
 shadow fell over his joy: how differently ; 
 might ho have gone forth to meet his first 
 struggle, strengthened by her encouragement, 
 elated by her conviction of his coming tri- • 
 umph. The blood faded from his brow, and 
 fell back cold upon his heart ; he still grasped" 
 the important document, but half its spell was • 
 broken. 
 
 Then he roused himself; he remembered | 
 that ho was to be associated in his task with 
 
 i ■, 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 107 
 
 one of the most eminent counsel in England; 
 and that lie must endeavor by his industry 
 and care to render himself wortliy of such an 
 associntion ; that he must not suffer the suc- 
 cess of a cause which involved the future in- 
 dependence of Edith Malcolm to be secured 
 
 solely by the eloquence of Sir F T , 
 
 but that he must labor assiduously to con- 
 Tinee his eo-adjutor that, inexperienced as he 
 ■was, he was nevertheless "worthy of the trust 
 •which had been reposed in him. 
 
 His facilities for obtaining every informa- 
 tion relative to the case were necessarily 
 great; and many an hour was spent at the 
 villa of Lady Malcolm over papers -ind docu- 
 ments, or in confidenti.al conversntion con- 
 nected witli the one important subject ; hours 
 I -which Ida might have known to be so spent, 
 had she ever stooped to ask one question as 
 to the manner in which he passed his time; 
 but this she never did: and when Sydney, in 
 the exuberance of his exultation, informed 
 her of the fact of his having received his 
 first brief from Lady Malcolm, she congratu- 
 lated him so coldly on the event that, stung 
 to the very heart, he never again alluded to 
 the subject, save to apologize for the length- 
 ened absences to which he was compelled by 
 the exiirences of his occupation. 
 
 Tlius it was from her kind and sympathiz- 
 ing aequniutance Mrs. Darnell alone, that she 
 learned the fact of her husband's long and 
 frequent visits to the mother of Edith; visits 
 which were considered by both ladies as 
 Elphinstone's chosen relaxation in his inter- 
 vals of leisure. 
 
 "Was I not right to warn you?" was the 
 triumphant inquiry of the visitor on such 
 occasions; and what will you do now?" 
 
 "I will wait," was the unvarying reply. 
 
 And Ida did wait; and meanwhile, brood- 
 ing over her imagined wrongs, her gloom and 
 coldness increased ; and had not the mind of 
 her husband been absorbed by the one great 
 interest of the moment — tlie pivot upon which 
 he felt that all his future fortunes must neces- 
 sarily turn — it would have been impossible to 
 have longer delayed an explanation which 
 must have proved fatal to every hope of do- 
 mestic happiness forever. 
 
 As it was, however, Sydney porseveringly 
 pursued his system of conciliation and kind- 
 ness; spoke cheerfully and fondly to his wife ; 
 caressed his child with a tenderness and pride 
 ■which even trial and diiaj^pointmcnt had 
 failed to diminish; and endeavored by every 
 means in his power to recall, were it only for 
 a moment, the smiles of happier days. 
 
 Every comfort and every luxui-y permitted 
 by their slender means he lavished upon Ida 
 unsparingly ; but accustomed to other and far 
 inore costly indulgences, she had begun to 
 disregard those which she still enjoyed, and 
 to regret others which were beyond her 
 reach. 
 
 Suffering had made her selfish; had she 
 not, by her one fatal fault, thrown happiness 
 ■ fur from her i had she still trusted as deeply 
 as she loved, she would have jested at every 
 privation, and been careless of every sacri- 
 tiee ; but now it was far otherwise ; i*ne con- 
 stant companionship of a coarse mind had 
 
 produced its effect ; and she even felt a weak 
 pride in iipliolding without murmur or re- 
 proach the character of a victim. 
 
 "Poor dear Mrs. Elphinstonel you really 
 excite my wonder," was the frequent ex- 
 clamation of her confidential friend; "I can 
 not understand such fortitude and patience." 
 
 But Ida was not strong; she was not pa- 
 tient; she was simply ungenerous and unjust. 
 Was there no tacit murmur in the averted ej'o 
 and the rigid lip? no reproach in the moodi- 
 ness of manner, and ungenial coldness of de- 
 portment, which checked the warm and hon- 
 est impulses of her husband's heart, and left 
 him to fight his battle Awith the world, desti- 
 tute alike of home sympathy and support. 
 
 Had she been made to comprehend the bit- 
 terness of his feelings in this utter isolation, 
 she would have smiled, and gloried in the 
 miserable triumph ; and gloried the more, be- 
 cause, even while she was thus torturing his 
 noble and forbearing nature, she felt that he 
 was necessary to her existence; that she still 
 loved him beyond all else on earth — even be- 
 yond her child — none knew or guessed how, 
 in the solitary hours, she dwelt Avith intense 
 and agitating anxiety upon his coming trial — 
 how she prayed for his success — how she 
 yearned to throw herself upon his neck, and 
 send him forth strong in the armor of a wife's 
 and a woman's love. 
 
 But no: in these moments of spiritual 
 healthfulness, ever uprose the vision of Edith 
 Malcolm, while the insidious venom of Mrs. 
 Darnell's inferences fell like molten metal 
 upon her mind's ear, scorching and withering 
 all her better and purer impulses. 
 
 " He will be armed with her affection — he 
 will be strong in fur cause — " was ever tho 
 climax of her reverie. " It would bo idle in- 
 deed for me to stand forth as his champion : 
 one word of encouragement from her Avill suf- 
 fice to arouse his best energies to action: and 
 so let it be. For my boy's sake I will bear 
 tho burden, heavy as it is, until its weight 
 threatens to crush me to the earth: and then he 
 shall be made to feel that I will not fall alone." 
 
 CnAPTER XL. 
 
 THE EARLY LOST. 
 
 While tho cloud thus darkened over tho 
 modest cottage at Brompton, suffering in a 
 more tangible shape had made its abode 
 under the stately roof of Trevanion Hall, i 
 The heir of that ancient house, tlie idol of | 
 his father's heart, the object of many a hope, 
 and many a sigh, was rapidly sinking into a 
 premature grave. 
 
 Hubert Trevanion, whose manly beauty i 
 and moral worth had endeared hira to every 
 heart, had ceased to struggle against tlio 
 conviction that he was the destined victim 
 of the insidious di^ase which had long been 
 sapping the principle of existence, and wliilo 
 tho preternaturally bright eye and blooming 
 cheek deceived the fond father into a belief 
 that a life of happiness and honor awaited 
 his darling son, that son himself felt with a 
 
108 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 resignation rare and beantiful under such 
 circumstances, that for him there existed no 
 future upon earth. 
 
 Day by day, and almost hour by hour, he 
 tecame aware that the silver cord was loos- 
 ened, gently and gradually, but not the less 
 rarely. 
 
 Often did he yearn to thro-w one gleam of 
 light upon his father's mind; to awaken him 
 to at least a possibilily of their early separa- 
 tion, but his strength of purpose was insuf- 
 ficient for the effort. He felt that he dared 
 not turn the proud and exulting happiness 
 of his last parent into bitterness and mourn- 
 ing. « 
 
 " The blow will come soon enough, come 
 when it may," he would murmur to liimself, 
 as he lister. ed with a brow steeped in the 
 chilly moisture of exhaustion, and "witk 
 closed ej-es, to the projects of tlie unconscious 
 baronet, in all of which he was necessarily 
 involved, and while Sir Jasper talked with 
 enthusiasm of the fair young creature who 
 would, as he trusted, ere long become the 
 mistress of the Hall, Hubert, instead of a 
 ■wedding-garm-ent, saw only a shroud; in- 
 stead of wedded bliss, reveling in light and 
 life, only inanition and a grave. 
 
 With mistaken and persevering affection 
 he continued, however, to rally his failing 
 energies, and Utile did those who saw him 
 the companion of hiu father's rides and walks, 
 the indefatigable sharer in all his pursuits, 
 and the anxious promoter of all his enjoy- 
 ments, imagine at wliat a price the devoted 
 son at length purchased the privilege of 
 brightening and gladdening the declining 
 of his self-deeeived parent. 
 
 Often, after a long attendance in a heated 
 justice-room, or a rapid gallop over the down?, 
 when the baronet returned home excited and 
 refreshed by a sense of n duty performed, or 
 a healthful sensation of augmented vigor, 
 his son, after a painful effort of simulated 
 strength, no sooner found himself alone in his 
 chamber, than ho tottered to a couch, -where, 
 bathed in the cold and clammy dews of con- 
 sumption, and laboring for breath, he lay shiv- 
 ering and helpless, until by the aid of some 
 Eowerful stimulant, he once more recovered suf- 
 cient energy to resume t!ie wasting struggle. 
 
 At the close of a few montlis, however, 
 this fearful exertion became no longer pos- 
 sible. II is physical powers were exhausted, 
 the flush upon Ids cheek deepened and con- 
 centrated itself into a burning spot, tho fire 
 of the large dark ej'e gleamed keen and cold, 
 and this noble form became attenuated and 
 feeble. ^V' hispers circulated among the house- 
 hold, and many and earnest were the anxious 
 looks turned on him by the gray -haired re- 
 tainers of the family. 
 
 "It was thus," said the most aged among 
 them, "that his grandfather had died — it w.as 
 
 thus that he would die ; the child of 
 
 prayers 
 
 end hopes, in wliom liis father had garnered 
 up all his affections, for whom his mother had 
 hoarded all lier wealth." 
 
 It was strange, very strange, that Sir Jas- 
 
 Eer did not see that lie was perishing before 
 is eyes ; but at length came tho low and 
 hollow cough, that sound of doom which 
 
 can never be mistaken, the slight but painful 
 spasm by which it was succeeded; the quiv- 
 ering of the wasted hand ; the uncertain ae- 
 centp, which at intervals rendered the once 
 melodious voice hoarse and discordant, and 
 then indeed, even the doting father, whose 
 pride in his only son had hitherto cast out 
 fear, could no longer dehnle himself with the 
 belief that all was well with the object of hia 
 idolatrv. 
 
 The "bloTv- smote the stately old man to tlio 
 earth, and in the first agony of his grief ho 
 gave way to a vehemence of feeling which 
 had nearly proved fatal to the invalid. Med- 
 ical assistance was summoned from far and 
 near — there i/iiist yet be hope. 
 
 Alas! there v.'ns none. Tlie fi:it had gono 
 forth, and Hubert Trevanion, tlie last repre- 
 sentative of his noble family, gifted with all 
 that the world can offer to its favorites — 
 youth, wealtli, and intellect — a noble person, 
 and a heart rich in the best and holiest im- 
 pulses of human nature, was about to share 
 tiie common fate of all created beings. 
 
 No mortal skill, even altliough j)urchased 
 with the ransom of a kingdom, could avail 
 him now, and he learned his fate from the 
 friendly physician — who had been induced, 
 at his own entreaty, to name the probable 
 period of his release from suffering — without 
 the quivering of a pulse. ' 
 
 "My poor father !" was all he said as he ! 
 ascertained that his very hours were num- • 
 bered ; " how will he bear this blow ?' • 
 
 "Sir Jasper is a man and a Christian, ' 
 my dear sir," observed his companion, sooth- ' 
 iugly. 
 
 " But he is also a father," murmured Hu- 
 bert, as he swept back the masses of dark hair | 
 which clung dankl}- about his brow ; " and j 
 so strong a link can not be wrenched asunder ; 
 without a struggle too powerful for his age. 
 I must not, however, dwell upon tins painful 
 thought, or it may unnerve me when he most 
 requires my supj'ort." 
 
 " Right, right," said the physician; "you 
 must strive to keep up both his si)irit3 and 
 your own, difficult as it may be to do so ; [ 
 tut you are equal to the effort, as I well 
 know." 
 
 Hubert smiled sadly ; for himself he was 
 resigned ; he had long felt that his doom was 
 sealed, -and that he was predestined to an 
 earl}'- death ; but he could not so certainly 
 contemplate the sufferings of a father to whom 
 ho knew tliat he was all in all ; and while, 
 had he been alone in the world, he could have 
 yielded his last sigh almost Avitliont regret, 
 he felt a yearning to live for his father's sake^ . 
 which shook him to the very depths of his 
 spirit. ' 
 
 "Thank you for your frankness," ho said, 
 as, at tho close of a violent paroxysm of 
 coughing, he withdrew the iiaudkerchief from 
 his lip, and held it toward his medical frienii, 
 deeply stained with blood; "although, as you 
 see, all further attemj)t at self-delusion would 
 bo UHicless on my part, even were I weak ' 
 enou:h to encourage it; and now I have a ,* 
 last favor to ask of you — " 
 
 " Name it." 
 
 " Will 3^ou imdertake to break the truth to 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 109 
 
 my poor father ? tho -whole truth, I mean. 
 For the ahstraet fact of m^ early death he is 
 already jn-epared ; but I would fain sec him 
 reconciled to the ]irobal)ility, nay, tlie cer- 
 tainty, of its almost immediate occurrence. 
 Wllyou oblige me in this?" 
 
 "I can not." 
 
 " And ■wherefore ?'' 
 
 "Because I have been acquainted ■witli Sir 
 Jasper for the last forty years," said Dr. Fern- 
 lev ; " and am well aware that although, like 
 all ids fellow-men, he has had many annoy- 
 ances to combat, he has never yet been sub- 
 jected to the searching trial of a great sorrow. 
 !-'onie one Avho has kxjs regard for him than 
 myself must undertake the task." 
 "" Yet who could perform it so tenderly?" 
 
 " You mistake, my young friend, you mis- 
 take," said the worthy doctor with an emo- 
 tion which sufficiently attested his sincerity. 
 "It must be done by one who will not feel 
 with him as well as for him. It is the only 
 request of yours with which I can not com- 
 
 ply." . 
 
 " I regret it deeply," replied Hubert ; " for 
 in that case, painful as the effort will be, I 
 must communicate the fact myself. I eould 
 not bear that his first and bitter grief should 
 be exposed to the eye of a stranger, or a 
 hireling." 
 
 " It will destroy you !" 
 
 "Xo,"said the dying man, firmly; "my 
 last act will have been one of duty, even of 
 mere}-, and tliat consciousness will give me 
 strength; but it must be done at once, for I 
 dare not dwell on the trial that is before me; 
 I should only multiply my own moments of 
 suffering." 
 
 "Let me entreat of you, Mr. Trevanion — " 
 
 " -vay, nay, do not imman me unnecessarily 
 beforehand; my purpose is fixed, and I am 
 too physically weak to contend, although 
 morally strong enough to persist in my pur- 
 pose. Only do me the favor to be present at 
 oi:r interview ; he may need j'our assistance, 
 — perhaps I may even need it myself." 
 
 " Only wait until to-morrow." 
 
 " That were worse than useless. My poor 
 father ! He has now but little time for prep- 
 aration ; why should I, by my cowardice, 
 seek to abridge it ? Surely it is wiser and 
 better that his grief should have time to sub- 
 side into resignation before — " 
 
 '■ Vv''el!, well ; be it as you will," said his 
 companion, reluctantly; "but I own that I 
 could have wislied — " 
 
 " You will comply with my request," in- 
 terposed Hubert, with a sad smile; "and I 
 thank you. Saunders shall summon his mas- 
 ter at once, and my first and most bitter pang 
 win then be over." 
 
 The physician was silent; for, even while 
 he admired the courage and self-abnegation 
 of his patient, he shrank from its probable 
 result. 
 
 Ten minutes afterward the baronet, with 
 bowed head and unsteady step, entered the 
 iick-rooin. 
 
 An hour passed away. There are periods, 
 or, at least, there is ever one period in the 
 lives of even the most favored of human 
 beings, when an ago of suffering may be com- 
 
 pressed into one brief hour of existence ; but 
 although tho anxious watchers in Sir Jasper's 
 household, dreading they knew not what, and 
 fearing to question their own he.nrfs, lingered 
 near the door of the death-chaml)cr, no sound 
 eseajicd tlicnco from which they niit-ht infer 
 what was passing witJiin ; tlie arrow which 
 enters the heart does its work noiselessly; 
 nor was it until tlicy saw tlieir master como 
 forth, leaning on tlie arm of Dr. Fernley, bent 
 as though the weiglit of twenty additional 
 j-ears had suddenly fal](m uj->on him, turning 
 meekly and unqiiestioniiigly in the direction 
 wliere he was led, liis eyoa glossy .-iiid tearless, 
 and the muscles about his -mouth quivering as 
 though he no longer retained any power over 
 their action, that they understood how surely 
 all hope was at an end. 
 
 Morning broke, clear, and cold, and grey ; 
 the birds began to twitter among the boughs, 
 and the deer to shake the dew from their 
 dappled hides, and to emerge from their 
 nightly covert. The lowing of cattle came 
 upon the wind, and at distant intervals tho 
 cheerful whistle of the early hind was audible 
 from the low pasture-lands. The world was 
 once more awake ; but on a sumptuous bed, 
 in a darkened room, surrounded by all the 
 appliances of wealth and all the cares of affec- 
 tion, lay one for whom sight and sound could 
 no more be, and for whom there was no 
 awakening upon earth. 
 
 Hubert Trevanion had passed away for ever, 
 and so calmly, that his anxious watchers could 
 not even guess at what precise moment the 
 dreamless sleep which so mysteriously trans- 
 forms the living sentient being into the dull, 
 inert, and passionless atom retaining nothing of 
 humanity save its outwards ambiance, had fall- 
 en upon him * 
 
 The dead was at peace ; at peace in his manly 
 beauty; another brief week, and he would be 
 but a memory ; while by his side sat his gray- 
 haired father, who had stolen to the death-room, 
 as noiselessly as tliough his muffled step would 
 have disturbed the .sleeper. 
 
 His quick ear had caught and interpreted tho 
 hurried whispers of the attendants ; and with- 
 out tho utterance of a word, he had motioned 
 them all from the room, fastened tho door be- 
 hind him, and sat down tearlessly beside his 
 dead son. 
 
 Close to the pillow tliat supported his head ; 
 so close that his tiiick labored brcatli heaved 
 tho dark curls which rested on tho spotless 
 cambric; and sometimes he clutched at the 
 sheet by which the body was covered, and som»- 
 times he passed his hand slowly over the noblo 
 features, as if to impress their outlines more for- 
 cibly upon his memory. 
 
 Morning brightened, and the eastern sky be- 
 came one prism of glory ; the song of the wild 
 birds pealed out an universal chorus, from 
 which the clear and exulting notes of tlio early 
 lark detached themselves like the triumjiliant 
 outgushing of an emancipated soul ascending 
 in rapture fiir above the dregs and dross of" 
 earth. Nature was gladdened by tho birth of 
 a now day ; and the sons of toil wcro already 
 entering upon its duties ; but still tlie death- 
 chamber was closed. 
 
 " This must not be^ — this should not have 
 
110 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 been" — exclaimed Dr. Fernlej', the noiso of 
 •whose carriage-wheels had been the first sound 
 whic'Ii awoke upon the deep silence ol'tho man- 
 Bion ; '• why were j-ou so imprudent as to per- 
 mit your master to shut himself in with his 
 dead son? The door must be opened instant- 
 ly." 
 
 Vain, however, were all his efforts to obtain 
 admission ; there was no answer to his earnest 
 appeals, and at len^rth tlio lock was forced, 
 whon the unfortunate old man was found 
 Btretchod across the body of his son, as insen- 
 aible as the pale form upon which he rested. 
 
 Hours passed ere ho was restored to con- 
 sciousness; and even then his return to exist- 
 ence was pitiable. Obedient as a child, he 
 complied witli every request, and resigned him- 
 eelf to every arrangement with a vague, un- 
 meaning smile, which betrayed that he had lost 
 all power of volition; at intervals he wrung his 
 hands, and murmured out " My son ! my son 1" 
 But these intervals were rare, and for days he 
 continued a mere human machine, mindless and 
 will-less. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Dr. Fernley, 
 ■who had established hi:iiself at the Ilall, had 
 no alternative save to ascertain the name and 
 address of liis nearest relative, in order that he 
 might bo summoned to superintend the arrange- 
 ments which were imperative under the circum- 
 stances; and accordingly an express was dis- 
 Eatched to Mr. Trevanion, the nephew who had 
 oen for so many 3-ears an exile from his ances- 
 tral home, and who was thus suddenly called 
 upon to assume the duties of its master. 
 
 The last sad ofilces were performed for the 
 dead, while the bereaved father sat supinely 
 in his cushioned chair, clad in a suit of sables 
 over which his dull eye glanced without per- 
 ception on emotion, and tho long-estranged 
 relative, who had never exchanged one sen- 
 tence with his heir, officiated as chief-mourner 
 at his funeral. 
 
 And then ifr. Trevanion entered upon tho 
 more onerous responsibilities of his position. 
 At the express request of the family phj'sician, 
 a consultation was held upon tho unhappy bar- 
 onet, whose mental condition was declared to 
 bo beyond hope, although his bodily health still 
 promised, as they unanimously declared to with- 
 stand tho shock. 
 
 CnAPTER XLI. 
 
 SOLITARY nEFLECTIONa 
 
 "And now, gentlemen ;" said Mr Trevanion, 
 as tho party withdrew from the chamber of the 
 Bufforer; "I must, before we separate, request 
 that I may be favored with your advice regard- 
 ing my unfortunate uncle. I have personal 
 duties to perform whioh entirely preclude the 
 possibility of my residcnco at tho Hall, or my 
 own supcrintenilenco of his health and comfort, 
 ■which must bo my first consideration. All 
 other points aro of minor importance, and may 
 bide their time. 
 
 " That Sir Jasper Trevanion has executed a 
 will there can bo no doubt, wliilc it is equally 
 certain that it must have been made in favor 
 
 of bis eon •, there can not, tuorefu'e, f v^t my 
 necessity for torti^'iug liim by efl'oits (wLlch 
 would, moreover, " in all probability piove 
 abortive) to make Iiim comprehend the neces- 
 sity of such a precaution ; even did his present 
 state of mind hold out any prospect thiit such 
 a document, executed under such circumstances, 
 could be considered as a legal one. 
 
 "All I apprehend, therefore, tl.at can bo 
 done, is to insure his jjcrfeet comfort and con- 
 venience so long as he is spared ; and I am 
 anxious that those should be scrupulously and 
 cfiicicntly secured. As I know little of tho 
 personal tastes or idiosyncracies of my uncle, 
 I am by no means qualified to decide on tho 
 most desirable mode of effecting such an ob- 
 ject ; nor should I feel satisfied to follow the 
 suggestions of mere donu'stics, who, however 
 attached to their afilicted master, may err in 
 their estimate of his requirements. I therefore 
 appeal to you. — I shall feel gratified by your 
 assistance." 
 
 " Frank and manly, Mr. Trevanion," said 
 
 Sir D D — ^— ; " but no more than I should 
 
 liave anticipated ficm j;oh. Your position, rs 
 regards the invalid, is difficult and j^oculiar, 
 but he could not have fillen into better hands. 
 You are right ; lie is powerless now, and you 
 can afford to forget the past." 
 
 "7\ftcr the scene which I have just wil> 
 nessed," was the reply ; " the past is only to 
 be i-egretted. I have learned a stern lesson in 
 that silent room. I now feel only that Sir 
 Jasper Trevanion is my nearest kinsman, and 
 the head of my house." 
 
 " And in that house let him remain, my 
 
 good sir," broke in Dr. C ; " it Avould b« 
 
 like rending the ivy from the oak, to remove 
 him from his old and accustomed home." 
 
 " I am quite of that opinion," said Mr. Tre- 
 vanion ; "and, moreover, that the attendants to 
 whom he has become habituated should also 
 remain ■ about him. With two of them I am 
 myself familiar, as they were already installed 
 here in my boyhood, and have grown gray in 
 the service of their master. I have had inter- 
 views with both since my arrival, and they arc 
 anxious to end their days under the roof which 
 has for so many years been their only home. 
 I know them to be thoroughly trustworthy; 
 and I think that could Sir Jasper be consulted 
 on the subject, he would be as desirous as my- 
 self that they should retain their present sway 
 over his household." 
 
 " You allude, of course," remarked Dr. Fern 
 ley, " to Mrs. Pearson and Tomkins ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "Admirably decided.' In fact, I do not see 
 how the services of either one or the other 
 could now be dispensed with ; the worthy old 
 housekeej)er is worth lier weight in gold in a 
 sick-room, while her co-ndjutor is equally valu- 
 able in his own department." 
 
 " We will, if you please, gentlemen, put his 
 abilities to the test," said tlie merchant, as he 
 hiid his hand upon the bell ; " after your hurried 
 journey you must require some refresliment." 
 
 As no objection' was raised to the sugges- 
 tion, u speedy adjournment was made to the 
 dining-room ; where, enlivened by a well- 
 spread board, and some of the choicest wines 
 from the baronet's cellar, the eufferbgs of 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 111 
 
 the iauiiiJ himself vcre Boon forgotten by 
 the professional bretliren, ^ho entered into a 
 political discussion with as much earnestness 
 as they had previously done into the ailments 
 of their patient ; while Mr. Trevanion, seated 
 at the liead of that table to which he had been 
 6o <jruiljj;iugly admitted in his youth, was com- 
 pelled to take his part in the conversation, 
 and to alFeet an interest which he wns far from 
 feelin" in tlic subject of their discourse, occu- 
 pied as he then was with objects of more jier- 
 Bonal consideration and anxiety. 
 
 " It strikes me, Mr. Trevanion," observed 
 
 gii- D J) , as he dissected a partridge. 
 
 " that you would do well to ingratiate yourself 
 witli tiio landholders of the county, to whom, as 
 I am informed, you are almost, if not entirely, 
 a stranger. Take my word for it that we are 
 on the eve of a general election, and it would 
 be idle to stand on ceremony under present 
 circumstances. Sir Jasper, poor man ! is na- 
 turally Jiors de combat, aud you are his most 
 fitting successor. I have some interest hero 
 myself, aud shall be most happy to exert it in 
 your favor." 
 
 " In that case wo shall have a contest," said 
 Dr. Fernlcy ; " as Lord Dronemore has long 
 been anxious to start his elder son." 
 
 "What! The poet who has just returned 
 from the Pyi-amids V 
 
 "The same." 
 
 " But, my good sir, we want politicians, not 
 poets, in the Lower Ilouse," interposed Dr. 
 
 C ; " sound practical men, who care little 
 
 to hear themselves talk; Avorking bees, who 
 will know how to store their own hive — n(5t 
 honorable tourists, who scatter their honey 
 that others may hoard it." 
 
 ".Perhaps so ; but I still adhere to my opin- 
 ion. What say you, Mr. Trevanion V 
 
 " Simply, that I never intend to offer myself 
 
 to the electors of , until I have a stake in 
 
 the county." 
 
 " Unfortunately," observed Sir D D , 
 
 with a courtly inclination of the head ; . " the 
 prospect is by no means a remote one, and 
 the subject appears to me to be worthy of con- 
 sideration." 
 
 " Had I a son — " commenced the merchant. 
 
 " You have, I believe, a grandson," said Dr. 
 Fernley. 
 
 Mr. Trevanion started. Tlie existence of 
 Ida's child had been a forbidden topic in his 
 presence from the moment of its birth ; and he 
 ■was consequently unprepared for so abrupt a 
 reminder. The stern man had resolved to 
 forget the fact himself; and, as' a natural coa- 
 aequence with one of his peculiar character, he 
 had calculated that others Avould follow his 
 example. 
 
 "My grandson is not a Trevanion," he re- 
 marked, coldly. 
 
 " True ; but that circumstance does not mili- 
 tate against the fact that he is heir-presump- 
 -tive to the baronetcy." 
 
 Tlie merchant winced again. 
 
 " Anda fine little fellow he is," pursued the 
 pertinacious physician ; " I never saw a more 
 noble boy." 
 
 "You are a fortunate man, sir," said Dr. 
 C— r — , who was entirely ignorant of the family 
 history, "and we will, with your permission, 
 
 drink to the young man's health in a bumper 
 of this splendid hock." 
 
 Mr. Trevanion bowed stiffly, as l.!3 guests 
 prejvared to do honor to tlic proposed i)lcdgc ; 
 he even raised the glass to liis lips as the toast 
 was drunk, but the cool liquid seemed to scorch 
 him, and not one word of acknowledgment fol- 
 lowed the draught. 
 
 " And now, gentlemen," said Dr. Fcrnloy, to 
 whom the silence which succeeiled was perfectly 
 intelligible ; " I must request of you to excuse 
 me, as I liave tWo important visits to make be- 
 fore sunset." 
 
 " While I," followed up St D D ; 
 
 "must be back in town to-ni;';Lt, and conse- 
 quently have little tiir.e to spare. It is won- 
 derful how the hours fly by when one is pleas- 
 antly engaged." 
 
 " While your carriages are prejfhring," said 
 the family physician ; " will you allow me to 
 suggest that we should take a jiartiug look at 
 our unfortunate friend Sir Jasper?" 
 
 " By all means," was the ready reply, and 
 once more the party ascended to the baronet's 
 sick room, but every effort to rouse him into 
 mental consciousness again failed ; aud the men 
 of science finally departed, leaving the weaiy 
 and irritated merchant alone in the vast and 
 lonely mansion. 
 
 Then it was that, abandoned to himself, and 
 left to wrestle with his own thoughts for the 
 first time since this signal change had taken 
 place in hii social position, Mr. Trevanion 
 keenly felt the isolation which liis own vindic- ) 
 tive passions had created about him. 
 
 The garrulous old physician was right; ho 
 had a grandson, and that grandson must, one 
 day should he live to manliood, inherit the 
 lordly estates, and the proud title of his ances- 
 tors, while the daughter whom he had cast 
 forth, alike from his heart and from his hearth, 
 would rule over a splendid home for which 
 she would be indebted to her son and not to 
 him. 
 
 The thought was wormwood to him ! And 
 then, as his eye traveled over the vast dimon- 
 sious of the gorgeous rooms in which he sat, he 
 pictured to himself the crouching insignificant 
 form of his wife, who would probably at aa 
 eai'ly period become its temporary mistress, 
 and with a sensation of disgust and scorn, ho 
 rose and paced the floor like one suddenly 
 awakened to a sense of injury. 
 
 The fiivolous Miss Clara Rotheringbury, the 
 inert aud mindless Mrs. Hubert Trevanion, to 
 fill the place of his own beautiful and high- 
 born mother ! The proud man shuddered as he 
 contemplated such a contingency, while slowly 
 and unmvoked, there rose up before him the 
 radiant vision of his daughter ; that daughter, 
 whose beauty and whose grace had flattered 
 his vanity, and satisfied his pride ; and like one , 
 under the influence of mesmerism, unable tO I 
 contend against a will stronger than his own, 
 the picture broadened and deepened until she 
 seemed to stand before him with her infant iu 
 her arms, her proud brow glowing with mat- 
 j-only dignity, and her eyes bright with natui-al 
 love. 
 
 It was a splendid picture, and the merchant's 
 heart throbbed as he lingered on it ; but after 
 awhile he shook off the spelL 
 
112 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 "Perhaps it must be so," he murmured to 
 himself ; " but not yet — not yet — Hubert Tre- 
 vanion will not forgive, even if Sir Hubert be 
 ultimately eompelied to do so. I am still 
 master of my own actions; and ■when no longer 
 able to control them, I must e'en follow the 
 exain{)le of the French prince, and not suffer 
 the long-descended baronet to revenge the inju- 
 ries of the money-seeking merchant. Yet, 
 •when I remember that she might have entered 
 this house as a jiceress, it almost maddens me ! 
 
 "And to think too that he — that the vain 
 boy who, by a few idle flatteries, blighted 
 all my views — that he may one day play the 
 master here — I could almost wish that the 
 poor old man who crushed my youth, and who 
 now in his helplessness can not resist the slight- 
 est of my wishes, might live on until the world 
 and the world's honors had ceased to hold out 
 any charm to the penniless adventurer who 
 robbed me of my daughter." 
 
 It was fortunate that, at this period of his 
 Bclf-communing, Mr. Trcvanion chanced to re- 
 member that he had still many and important 
 duties to perform bef )re he left ihe Hall ; and 
 with his hahitual energy he immediately pre- 
 pared to execute them. There were solicitors 
 and land-stewards to consult and instruct ; ten- 
 ants to receive, servants to discharge, and a 
 host of minor arrangements to make, as essen- 
 tial as they were harassing. 
 
 At length, however, all was accomplished. 
 Tlie papers of Sir Jasper, including liis \n\l. 
 of which a duplicate was in the possession of 
 his attorney, were duly examined and sealed ; 
 the family diamonds and those of the late 
 Lady Trcvanion, all of which had been recently 
 reset f )r the destined b'ide of the unhappy 
 Hubert, together with the costly service of 
 plate, were transferred, under the care of 
 Tompkins, to the baronet's banker in town; 
 leases that were falling in were renewed, in 
 accordance with the instructions previously 
 given by Sir Jasper ; the wages of the several 
 servants retained at the Hall wore doubled; 
 the stud was reduced, and all the equipages, 
 save one, were disposed of. 
 
 Nothing, in short, remained to bo done, when 
 Mr. Trcvanion took his departure from the 
 Hall, which could conduce to the convenience 
 or security of its afflicted master; while so ably 
 had the still active Pearson seconded his efforts, 
 that, while in t!ie apartments tenanted by the 
 baronet, all was luxury and comfort, even the 
 Btrong-minded niercliant felt his heart sink with 
 a strange soii.vation of av.c and repulsion as ho 
 traversed the spacious suite of state-rooms, and 
 found their gorgeous drai)cries and stately mir- 
 rors shroud'd iu their Holland covering.?. Life 
 Beenicd indeed to have been put out in the 
 homo of his fathers. 
 
 " I shall chwo the gallery altogether, sir, as 
 Boon as you aro gone," said the ancient house- 
 keeper in a low voice, as .'iho f(j]Iowed him in 
 liis last circuit of the mansion, her voluminous 
 blick garments sweeping with melancholy mo- 1 
 notony along the uncarpetcd floors, " and only 
 open it to air tlio moms, and to dust the furni- ] 
 turo, all of whicli will of course bo done under 
 my own eye. You know that you can trust 
 me. Master Hubert — I beg pardon, sir; I meant I 
 to have said Mr. Trovanion ; but really, now, I 
 
 when all seems to have passed away except 
 yourself^ my old brain is clearer about early 
 days, than on what is going on about mo. 
 Poor Sir Jasper 1 To think that ho who was a 
 boy to me, should have come to this, while I 
 am still hale and able ; it is strange and sad 
 indeed, sir, is it not ? And that dear boj' — the 
 sweetest youth that ever trod the earth, gone 
 tool How often he made me talk of you, 
 Master Hubert, and tell him how, although you 
 went out from these doors without a friend, to ] 
 seek your fortune in the wide world, you came 
 to be a great and a rich man, the companion 
 of proud lords and a guest iu the king's pal- 
 ace." 4 
 
 " But how came you to know all this, my 
 good Pearson?" demanded the merchant, wiih 
 a curiosity which he could not repress. 
 
 " Oil, sir, we ahva3-s knew all about you," 
 was the eager reply, as jilauting the stick by 
 which she was compelled to support herself 
 while walking, the aged woman suddenly stop- , 
 ped in order to give greater emphasis to her 
 words: "for you Avcre no sooner gone than Sir 
 Jasper, poor dear gentleman ! began to have a 
 thousand fears about you ; and although he 
 never dared to name your name before her lady- ) 
 ship, he often talked to Tompkins and his own ' 
 man about his unhappy nephew ; and I do be- 
 lieve, Master Ilnbert, that if you had only bent 
 your pride to write a letter to my master, and , 
 to ask him — " 
 
 "I had nothing to ask of him, Pearson." 
 
 " More's tlie pity, sir, more's the pity that yoa ; 
 had not, for then xve should have had happier , 
 hearts at the old Hall." 
 
 " So then I am to understand that Sir Jasper . ', 
 — that my uncle — really did regret his harsh- 1 . 
 ness when it was too late." 
 
 "Indeed he did. Master Hubert, indeed he ' 
 did; and of late years, since my lady died, often 
 and often did he and his poor dear son tell me 
 how honored and how happy you were, and 
 what a credit you were to the family name; 
 and that you had a daughter so beautiful that 
 she might have married the greatest lord in the 
 land." , 
 
 "And so she might," said the merchant, bit- • 
 terly, "but she did not." 
 
 " So I heard, sir, so I heard ; but then Sir 
 Jasper learned from her own lips that she had ; 
 wedded the man of her heart ; and such a boy 
 as she had, my master said ; it was lenlly won- 
 derful to hear him talk of that child ; and of ' 
 course you know, sir, that the poor youth you 
 laid to rest only a few days back was to have 
 been his godfather, although he was too ill to 
 go up to town for the christening." 
 
 " Ila ! indeed 1" exclaimed her startled listen- ; 
 er, "was Mr. Hubert Trcvanion really to have 
 been tho sponsor of Master Sydney Elphin- 
 stone ?" 
 
 " Of your daughter's son, sir," said Pearson, 
 "but he was to be called Hubert; tho young 
 lady would have it so, they told me, because if 
 was her father's name." 
 
 '' It is cold here, my pood Pearson," said the 
 merchant, huskily ; " let us leave theso deso- 
 late-looking rooms. Poor Sir Jasper I How 
 much I wish that ho could recognize mo before 
 1 leave." 
 
 "No, sir, no; there is no hopo of that," 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 18 
 
 whispered the housekeeper, mysturiously, "my 
 mrustor's mind will not conue buck to this world 
 till lie is about to leave it altogether ; and then 
 it will be but a blink of light, faint and feeble, 
 so that soul and body may go together." 
 
 " A strange doctrine, that, my ^ood old 
 friend," smiled Mr. Trevanion, " but wo will 
 hope better things. Who knows ? The con- 
 stitution of my uuclo is a sound one, and he 
 may yet rally." 
 
 "Ay," murmured the aged dame, "he xuill 
 rally, but it will only be at the sound of that 
 trumpet which will call us all from our long 
 gleep. And now you had better go to the 
 dining-room at once. Master Hubert ; there is 
 a line lire there, and your fiiuuer will be served 
 in a few minutes." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 SUNSniXE AND SHADOW. 
 
 j Great was the astonishment of Lady Mary 
 Brooklands, for of the actual mistress of the 
 house there was no question, when she was 
 requested by Mr. Trevanion on his return to 
 town, to oblige him by putting the female serv- 
 ,ints of his establishment into the liandsomest 
 mourning compatible with their station; and 
 !hat, at the same time, a hundred-pound note 
 was placed in her hand, with a respectful en- 
 ireaty that she would be good enough herself 
 o appear in the same sable habiliments in 
 konor of his deceased relative. 
 
 " Do me the favor also, my dear Lady Mary ;" 
 le said; "to impress upon Mrs. Trevanion the 
 ecessity of wearing the deepest sables, for I 
 ave almost a twofold death to deplore ; as I 
 ave not only buried Hubert, but have, more- 
 rer, left my unfortunate undo in a state of 
 ring death, even worse than actual annihila- 
 on. Slje can not, as I well know, appreciate 
 » 16 delicacy of my position without your prompt- 
 g, and I consequently throw myself, as far as 
 le is concerned, upon your accustomed kind- 
 «s and consideration." 
 
 " Rely on it, that I will do all that is right, 
 W dear sir;" was the reply of the lady, as 
 le crushed the fragment of tissue paper be- 
 feen her glove and her hand; "and I am 
 1 re you will believe me when I say, that your 
 1 xiety to do every thing in a proper manner, 
 I i one suited to your position in the world, 
 ' so melancholy an occasion as this, is pre- 
 < ely what I should have expected from you. 
 "Dear mo!" she pursued, dropping into a 
 toir, and assuming an expression of senti- 
 mtal sympathy ; " what a trying visit yours 
 t|st have proved, Mr. Trevanion ; father and 
 •1. at one blow — or rather from what you tell 
 nl it would have been less deplorable, had 
 tl! bereaved old gentleman really followed his 
 C|d to the grave." 
 
 f There can be no doubt of it;" replied her 
 
 owpanion, in tiie same tone; "no doubt on 
 
 eRhof it; for his condition is, as you judi- 
 
 I Wjisly remark, indeed deplorable. • Mindless 
 
 I an powerless, he retains nothing of humanity 
 
 i Mthe form ; and so long as he survives, I see 
 
 D^3 hope of any amendment" 
 
 "The affair is altogether very untoward;" 
 observed Lady Mary, carefully examining tlia 
 pattern of the Valenciennes upon her handker- 
 chief 
 
 "Worse, worse;" said the merchant con- 
 tracting his heavy eyebrows; "my responsi- 
 bility has suddenly become most painful." 
 
 " But in a sensible point of view, you aro 
 actually the head of the family, and the repre- 
 sentative of the Trovanions." 
 
 " True ; in a sensible point of view, but not 
 in a legal one ; I am, in fact, nothing more than 
 the guardian of Sir Jasper, and have neither 
 power nor influence while he lives." 
 
 " It is monstrously provoking I" drawled the 
 family friend ; " and I know by experienco 
 how long, how very long, persons in his pecu- 
 liar state do often live. Where there is no 
 wear on the mind, the body is wonderfully 
 tenacious of existence." 
 
 "It is at least consolatory that ho sufibrs no 
 pain ;" said Mr. Trevanion, calmly. 
 
 " Very," — was the retort, as the titled matron 
 applied her handkerchief to her nose ; " but 
 still — you will excuse* mo, I know, if I repeat 
 that the whole thing is nevertheless mon- 
 strously provoking. The baronet, by your ac- 
 count, docs not live, he only vegetates ; and I 
 confess that, feeling as I do toward yourself, I 
 could have wished — " 
 
 " No, no ; I thank you for your interest in 
 my welfare. Lady Mary;" interposed the mer- 
 chant, " but I must not suffer myself to glance 
 at what might have been." 
 
 " Yot he had injured you so deeply." I 
 
 " Like many oilier men who pride them- 
 selves upon their moral strength, ho was at 
 last compelled to succumb to a stronger will 
 than his own, but I have had satisfactory proof 
 that he rejpented his harshness when it was, too 
 late." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it;" said Lady Mary; 
 " if the abstract fact affords you the slightest 
 gratification. And now, my dear sir, that Ida's 
 son has become an important little personago 
 in your flimilj-, I trust that you will be induced 
 to pardon her escajmde. As you are well 
 aware, with all my affection for the dear girl, ( 
 I have never hitherto presumed to plead her 
 cause." . 
 
 " I am aware of it, Lady Mary, and have 
 estimated your delicacy at its just value. No 
 — ^you have never striven, by word or look, to 
 moderate my just resentment." 
 
 " I could not venture to do so ; my posi- 
 tion as a relative of Mr. Elphinstone's was so 
 onerous, that I shrank from every species of 
 interference." 
 
 "I fully estimated the reasons of your silence. 
 Had you, like her mother, harassed me by weak 
 repinings and still more idle reproaches, the 
 breach between us could never have been 
 repaired." 
 
 " That was precisely what I felt, my dear 
 sir; but now — " 
 
 " Now, madam, I must have time to reflect 
 A father whose child deceives him, and elopes . 
 from beneath his roof leaving him to brave as / 
 he best may the comments of the world, merits 
 but little indulgence at the hands of her out- 
 raged parent; and I tell you frankly. Lady 
 Mary Brooklands, that had Mr«. Sydney El- 
 
114 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 pliiustono become the mother of a girl, instead 
 of presenting an heir to the Trevanions, I 
 \i-oul(l have abandoned her for ever to the 
 miserable obscurity of her present lot." 
 
 " But as it is (" 
 
 " As it is, 1 shall be ruled by circumstances : 
 I am not yet Sir Hubert Trevanion, and I can 
 alTord to wait." 
 
 Little did the stern and unrelenting father 
 imairine tliat his daucchter had, like himself, 
 declared her ■willintrness to "bide her time." 
 
 The disconcerted Lady Mary, wlio on tlie 
 restoration of her nejihew's vife to favor, 
 had rniiidly built up a cloud-castle of advan- 
 tage to herself, was too much accustomed to 
 the inflexions of ilr. Trevanion's voice, and 
 the portentous action of his eyebrows, to pro- 
 lomj the discussion; and accordincly, after 
 having pledged herself to superintend the 
 j)ersoiial arrangements of Mrs. Trevanion on 
 tliis important occasion, slie hastened to term- 
 inate tlie interview, and so well did she 
 redeem lier pledge, that within a week the 
 merchant's wife, despite her " dear mes," 
 " how very disagreeably," and sundry other 
 inane expletives, found herself attired in the 
 deepest sables, for a man whom she had 
 never seen, and who she had been taught to 
 regard with aversion, as an impediment in 
 her husband's path toward greatness. 
 
 Nevertheless, with her usual apathy, she 
 resigned herself to her fate. She had, as we 
 have shown, long ceased to contend, and nl- 
 llioiigli on Ida's evasion from the jiaternal 
 roof, slie did, with the true instinct of a 
 motlie/s heart, for a time revolt against the 
 inflexible harshness of her husband, the mere 
 force of habit soon crushed her back into her 
 habitual insignificance, and surrounding her- 
 self with novels, she endeavored to forget 
 her own sorrows in those of her favorite he- 
 roines, and suffered the titled matron who 
 had u.~urped her place in tlie household, not 
 only to act, but even to think for her. 
 
 The mental condition of Mrs. Trevanion in 
 her r.icdiniond Villa, was little superior to 
 tliat of Sir Jasper in his ancestral halls. 
 
 Far dift'erent was the effect produced by 
 the intelligence of the melancholy events 
 
 which liad taken place in , on the two 
 
 families so closely allied by blood and friend- 
 ship to the baronet and Iiis son. 
 
 Upon Lady Malcolm, who had anticipated 
 a life of honor and affection for her gentle 
 Edith, the blow fell heavily indeed, although 
 she derived consolation from the fact that 
 the fair girl lierself, however slie might, and 
 undoubtedly did, admire and respect Hubert 
 Trevanion, had yet seen too little of him to 
 render her sorrow at his loss of more than a 
 temporary nature. Edith was, in truth, only 
 learning to love him; her young heart liad 
 been awakened, but not won, and though she 
 wept, it was rather in pity for his fate than 
 in regret at her own oisappointnient, while 
 lier mother, with all a mother's anxiety, 
 looked into the future of lier chih^ and shud- 
 dered as she felt how suddenly it had become 
 a, void. 
 
 Their retired existence, which had hitherto 
 been brightened and ghnidened by a thousand 
 iimocaut and happy projects for the future. 
 
 had in one brief moment lost its charm ; the 
 one perpetual subject of discourse had becom© 
 only a theme of sorrow and regret ; the light 
 of their modest dwelling Avas extinguished; 
 and as Lady Malcolm, with a troubled eye, 
 followed the movements of lier daughter, her 
 heart swelled, and for the first time in her 
 life she felt disjiosed to rei>ine. 
 
 The grief of Mrs. Elphinstone was twofold; 
 for even in the brief interviews which had 
 taken place between them, she had learned to 
 love her long-estranged relatives; while the 
 only ray of sunshine which her miserable itn 
 fatuation permitted to fall upon her heart* 
 was the hope of soon being relieved from the 
 I^resence of Miss Malcolm by her marriage 
 with Hubert Trevanion. 
 
 That hope had now passed away forever-; 
 while the calm and uniinpassioned resigna- 
 tion of Edith, who, in the presence of her 
 mother even restrained her tears in order not 
 to augment the distress of her parent, awoke 
 a new suspicion in the Bclf-tormentiug mind 
 of Ida. 
 
 "She never loved him," she murmured to 
 herself; "she never loved him, or she would 
 have needed the consolation which she is so 
 eager to aft'ord. What can be the blighted 
 ambition of a mother when placed in com- 
 petition with a heart whose first affection is 
 cast back upon it i 
 
 "2so, no; she would have shed other tears 
 over the grave of Sj'dney Elphinstone; her 
 secret passion was hojieless, and she had self- 
 control enough to obc}' the bidding of her 
 maneuverinsx parent. 
 
 "Poor child! she is playing her part badly ; 
 now, when even /can detect the truth. Hu- ■ 
 bert is happy to have escaped a fate like , 
 mine ; better to die young — a}', to die a thou- 
 sand deaths — than to live on, unloved sad 
 neglected, when all the illusions of hope and : 
 passion are rent away, "and the bleak, bare , 
 realities of existence alone remain." 
 
 And with this gratuitous suft'ermg' came a 
 renewed feeling of isolation; the tic which 
 had existed between herself and Sir Jasper, , 
 and wliieh was to have been rendered still i 
 closer through her child, had greatly tended • 
 to reconcile her to the unrelenting silence of ; 
 her fiither, which she now felt with double i 
 force. I 
 
 In the early months of her marriage, the, 
 passionate devotion of her husband had suf- 
 ficed to render her independent of all other' 
 affection, and she had consequently endured 
 it with jialience and submission as the conse- 
 quence of her own act; but now, when sho' 
 believed the heart of Sydney to be estranged' 
 from her, she shrank appalled at her lonel*-' 
 ness. , 
 
 There did appear, indeed, no prospect of a 
 reconciliation now, when the unhappy events; 
 which had taken place in the family, and. 
 wliich would have afforded so favorable an 
 opportunity for ilr. Trevanion to summon his 
 only child once more to her home, had beer 
 coldly and officially announced to lier by Sir 
 Jasper's attorney, in precisely the same font 
 as they had been made known to Lady Mai' 
 colm. 
 
 Never, until this moment, had Mrs. Elplun' 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 115 
 
 BtOTift ponFopSerl, pvon to lioisdf, tliat Bhe had 
 involuntarily looked bej'oiul tlio nfToction to 
 j the generosity of her xinfie; and it was, con- 
 I sequently, with terror that slie remoniborcd 
 I ho-vr fe;irfiilly her slender fortrne had dwin- 
 dled away, and that she kad no longer a 
 friend on "earth to whom she could appeal for 
 assistance. 
 
 OnSydnev"'s professional grains she had Ions; 
 ceased to calculate ; it was Sir Jasper's intei'- 
 cession with her father which had formed 
 the mainstay of her hope, and now Sir Jasper 
 was dead 1o all human sympathies. 
 
 She stmined her infnnt to her heart nlmost 
 convulsively as these fearful thouijhts flashed 
 across her brain. What would become of her 
 "boy? For herself, she could die; death had 
 no terrors for her; it would be peace, and 
 Test, tind oblivion^ but her noble boy — he 
 was too youncr, too beautiful, t-oo beloTed, not 
 to live long and hapj)ily; and yet tOrwhat a 
 i fate was he reserved S 
 
 j Her own trials faded before her fears for 
 I him; nnd as his soft arms -encircled 'herneclc, 
 '} and his rosy cheek rested against hers, the 
 ! wife was forgotten in the mother, and she 
 I shed tears as holy as an angel might have 
 I sregistei^d. 
 
 1 It was in this wild liurst of grief, to which 
 1 she had yielded ^lerself up immediately after, 
 I the departureof Lady Malcolm and her daugh- 
 \ ter, that she was discovered by her husband 
 j on his return from tlie assize-town where the 
 I «ause, iipon which he had been ■engaged for 
 I Lady Malcolm, had been tried and gained in 
 ■a manner which had surpassed his most san- 
 
 '^gnine hopes. Sir F T -, upon whose 
 
 well-known -eloquence its suocesj was con- 
 sidered mainly to depend, when in the very 
 act of putting on his gown, had been seized 
 with sudden and violent indisposition: his 
 jappearance in court was accordingly impos- 
 jsible; and it was too late to secure the serv- 
 ices of any other leading counsel 
 . j Under these circumstances, there was no 
 jalternative save to leave the cause entirely 
 '.in the hands of Mr. Elphinstone, whose fa- 
 I Imiliarity with all its details rendered him the 
 imost eligible person to conduct it; and it was 
 consequently fortunate that the industry of 
 |:he young man, in the first place, and his in- 
 tense anxiety for his friend at the critical 
 Inoment when he was called \ipoa to incur so 
 jieavy a responsibility, produced a degree of 
 (ixcitement that for the time overcame the 
 iiervousness to which, on his first appearance 
 n 80 prominent a position, he would most 
 >rohably have yielded. 
 
 j Forgetting his own identity in the import- 
 ant duty before him, he watched the case as 
 |t proceeded with a care and tenacity which 
 ;nabled him to garner up every fact and ar- 
 jnment adduced by the opposing couns-el; 
 ind when, after closely and clev-erly eross- 
 juestioning the witnesses brought against 
 jim, he at length rose in his turn to reply, 
 jie ease and skill with which he analyzed and 
 )mmented upon the speech of his opponent, 
 •e lucid manner in which he brought for- 
 :ard and connected his own proofs, the ex- 
 '•aordinary grace of his action, the animation 
 i his handsome countenance, and above all, 
 
 his minute acquaintance with every detail of 
 the case, however triding nnd fn'lile in ap- 
 pearance, soon excited universal attention. 
 
 The Judge leaned. forward in his seat, evi- 
 dently interested both in the cause and the 
 orator; the gentlemen of the bar desisted 
 from their several occupations; squibs were 
 left half written, and caricatures half sketched; 
 the audience were silent and absorbed; while 
 even the opposing counsel, who, on finding 
 himself pitted against a mere youth, a legal 
 novice hitherto unknown on the circuity had 
 performed his duty somewhat less punctili- 
 ously than usual, was observed more than 
 once to suffer an approving gesture to escape 
 him, as the speech proceeded. 
 
 But the enthusiastic speaker noticed noth- 
 ing of all this ; his whole heart was in his 
 cause; nor did he imagine when he at last 
 resumed his seat that in the estimation of 
 most of his profession.al brethren his cause 
 was already gained Such, indeed, was the 
 result, and Sydney Elphinstone was both a 
 proud and a happy Tnau when, to Ids surprise 
 and gratification, he heard himself compli- 
 mented by the learned Judge who had pre- 
 sided, and congratulated by the counsel who 
 v.-cre 6e:ited about him; while, as the climax 
 of his triumph, he had scarcely been an hour 
 at his hotel, when a note from his intended 
 coadjutor was placed in his hand, containing 
 not oul^^ the thanks and felicitations of Sir 
 
 F— - — T , but also the handsome fee with 
 
 which his own ominent services had been re- 
 tained. 
 
 ■" The gold which jou have so ably won, 
 my dear sir, you must be content to wear," 
 said the high-minded lawyer, " and I trust 
 that you will accept with it my very sincere 
 hope that we shall ere long meet again with 
 the same happy result" 
 
 His fi:-st step towaid forensic -celebrity was 
 taken, and the ground was firm beneath him. 
 
 Such were the circumstances under which 
 the young husband returned to his home, only, 
 as already stated, to find his wife absorbed in 
 grief. 
 
 " Ida, my own, my darling Ida," he ex- 
 clahned, as he hurried to her side, and folded 
 her to his heart, forgetting every thing save 
 his love and her sorrow; "what has happened? 
 why do I find you in this miserable state? 
 Speak, darling — do not torture me with sus- 
 jiense.'' 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone replied, by plajcing in his 
 hand the letter which announced the death of 
 Hubert Trevanion, and the imbecility of his 
 father. 
 
 Sydney was greatly shocked, 
 " This is, indeed, appalling!" he said, in an 
 accent of deep feeling ; " how I pity your 
 poor father, who will, no doubt, be greatly 
 shocked that all possibility of a reconciliation 
 with his family is now over. Do not tliink me 
 heartless, Ida, if, however painful as these 
 facts are, it is a consolation to me to find that 
 no misfortune has happened to either yourself 
 or our boy." 
 
 "Myself!" echoed his wife, bitterly; "and 
 is it then no misfortune to be alone in tha 
 world ?" 
 
 " Alone, Ida ! Did you say alone, with your 
 
X nrj J ^L.Ii.L,yJ V o »jjr±j. 
 
 husband hj your side, and your child upon 
 your bosom ?" 
 
 '•But. for that child, I should indeed be 
 alone." 
 
 Elphinstone withdre\r his arm from her 
 "waist, and rose from the sofii. 
 
 " Hmvc I deserved this, Ida ?" he asked, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone vras silent. 
 '• Even you, althou^jh you hare ceased to 
 love me. -n-ill perhaps afford me your pity," 
 he pursued, f^reatly agitated ; " Avhen I tell 
 you that I hastened home, full of hope and 
 joy, -with words of kindness and encourage- 
 ment still sounding in my ears, to offer to you 
 the first fruits of my professional success. 
 The anticipation of your approval, the hope of 
 your sympathy, made every moment of my 
 tedious journey seem an hour until I reached 
 my own door: the transition is a bitter one; 
 but I do not blame you : our affections are be- 
 yond our oxvn control, and I must submit to my 
 late." 
 
 " Do not add cruelty to coldness, Mr. Elphin- 
 Btonc," said his Tvife. 
 
 " Neither the one nor the other can you ever 
 experience at my hands, Ida. I have loved you 
 as woman is seldom loved ; I would sacrifice 
 my life to insure your happiness ; but you 
 willfully misjudge me. How ean I regain the 
 affection which was once mine ? Only become 
 what you wore during the first months of our 
 marriage — tender, generous, and confiding ; 
 only let ma once more be convinced that I have 
 not forfeited your love ; that our sad and unac- 
 countable estrangement is at an end , and I 
 shall consider no effort too great which may 
 enable me to feel that you are again the Ida of 
 former days." 
 
 " Would that it indeed were in my power," 
 was the gloomy reply ; '• but we can not de- 
 ceive ourselves, Sydney ; we are both changed. 
 Like yourself, I utter no reproach ; I only 
 yearn for a renewal of the illusion which is un- 
 hajipily di.-sipatcd forever." 
 
 "And wherefore? If wo are only true to 
 oursilves and to each other, what more can we 
 rcijuire for happiness?" 
 
 " Do not urge me," said Ida, with a fresh 
 burst of tears ; '■ I am unliinged, and sick at 
 heart." 
 
 "•In that at least we sympathize," retorted 
 her husband, as he turacd away, unable to 
 endure the sight of a grief which he could 
 neither comprehend nor console ; that his wife 
 was suffering most acutely he could not doubt ; 
 and such was in fact the ease, for jealousy is 
 an intermittent fever which " has," says a cele- 
 brated French author, " its paroxysms and its 
 hours of la.'isitude ; no patient could long en- 
 dure the violence of the ague fits which shake, 
 oJiill, and agitate their victim with an universal 
 Bhiver; no heart is 8tr.):ig enough to sustain ! 
 the tension of the anger which absorbs the I 
 whole being." And thus it was with Ida; the ' 
 doubts and fears in which she had so recently I 
 indulged had prostrated her powers; and now, 
 as she looked upon the clear frank eve and 
 proud brow of her husbjuid. a new trouble 
 grew upon her. Could it indeed be that she ' 
 had wronged him? j 
 
 She began to doubt herself; and that doubt ' 
 
 was torture ; for. if she had done so. ho-w 
 mean, how despicable, must she not appear in 
 his eyes i He might profess to love her still, 
 but vould he do so when she had wounded him. 
 alike in his heart and in his honor? 
 
 She rose suddenly from her seat, and laying 
 her child upon the cushions of the sofa.' she 
 moved a few steps toward her husband with 
 the intention of once more throwing herself at 
 his feet, and entreating him to pardon her; 
 but just as she approached, unconscious of her 
 purpose, he took his hat from the table, and 
 merely saying : " I can no longer delay appris- 
 ing Lady Malcolm of the success of her cause, 
 which I was anxious to communicate person- 
 ally," — ^he turned, and left the room. 
 
 Once more the angel of peace folded its 
 wings, and bowed its radiant head. 
 
 "Ko, I have not wronged himl" was the 
 exclamation of Ida, as she swept l)ack her 
 disordered hair, and clasped her hands in pas- 
 sionate emotion: '•hcdarcnot remain to justify 
 himself; and worse, far worse, before he has 
 been an hour in his home — the home of his 
 wife and child — ^be finds a ready excuse for 
 hastening to reap the reward of his exertions 
 in her smile. 
 
 " Fool that I was to doubt f when he takes, 
 so little pains to conceal his falsehood, why 
 ^hould I torture myself by sclf-accusings as 
 idle as they are ill-timed ? Should I not blush 
 at the cowardly impulse which would have 
 carried me to his feet, to be again cajoled, anJ 
 again deceived? 
 
 "Father I you are revenged. Greivously 
 have I sinned, but greivously also do I suffer. 
 You would have made me great ; and could 
 you only know the abject thing I am, you 
 would forego all further vengeance — loveless, 
 friendless, and almost homeless, your proua 
 heiress still liangs upon the smile of a man 
 whom her love has wearied — ^still clings to 
 him, even amid her Avrongs." 
 
 The demon once more triumphed. Reason ; 
 was drowned beneath the waves of passion. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 A LAST HOPE. 
 
 His luifortunate reception by his wife, after 
 his professional triumph, had wouudetl Elphin- 
 stone to the heart ; and consequently, at the 
 very mon\ent when he should have been 
 hopeful and buoyant he became depressed and 
 spiritless. 
 
 Why, he asked himself, should he toil, when 
 she whose love would have made his labor 
 light had not only ceased to interest herself in 
 his efforts, but had even disdained to utter a 
 single comment on his success ? 
 
 To what a different result he had once 
 looked forward! How fondly and confidingly 
 had Ida. on former days, listened to the air- 
 built hopes wliich at that period he had so 
 little power to realize; while now. when each 
 and all were alx)ut to become real and tangible, 
 she had withdrawn from him alike her sym- 
 pathy and her encouJ'agemont. 
 
 Vain were all the congratuhitious poured on 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 nr 
 
 by Ills friends, and the laudatoiy comments ' restored Elpliinstor.e to her, as fond r.sl as in- 
 
 / ; of tlie" public press ; vain -trcre even the oO'ers 
 of professional employment pressed upon him, 
 to arouse him from the settled fjloom into 
 which he had fallen ; and althouij:h he pursued 
 his leijal duties with care andooiiSL-ientiousness, 
 his enthusiasm was at an cud ; and few could 
 now reeognize in the calm and uuimpassioned 
 Sydney Elphinstone, the brilliant ;ind spark- 
 ling orator by whose eloquence they had so 
 recently been startled and surprised. 
 
 His crushed heart was no longer in his task; 
 it was buried beneath the ashes of his loveless 
 home. Young find sanguine, he had never 
 foreseen the possibility of a spirit-void like 
 this ; and the moral desolation withered him. 
 
 Had he possessed more strength of char- 
 net er, he might have replaced affection by 
 ambition, but his nature was too yielding, and 
 too dependent upon external support, to lead 
 him to strive for the mere excitement of the 
 struggle, whea no helping hand was stretched 
 ' forth to sustain him. 
 
 It is true that the tearful gratitude of Lady 
 
 Malcolm and her daughter, and the reflection 
 
 that Edith was at length in secure pos.session 
 
 of the handsome inheritance of which she had 
 
 j been in danger of seeing herself defrauded, and j 
 
 henceforward protected from all danger of^ 
 
 pecuniary embarrassment, afforded him deep 
 
 and genuine gratification ; but even this eon- 
 
 ', sciousuess was n very inadequate compensa- 
 
 j lion for the home-happiness that he had lost ; 
 
 1 \rfeile amid his present wretehedness there 
 
 1 awoke within him a dread that Ida, the bright 
 
 ! and beloved being whose love had once made 
 
 , his world, might one day urge him beyond his 
 
 j patience, slfould she continue to indulge in the 
 
 1 baseless suspicions and unjust accusations by 
 
 I which she had already tortured him. 
 
 " But no, no ;" he murmured sadly to him- 
 self; " come what may, I must be guilty of 
 no such cowardice; for me she abandoned 
 
 ■ rank, and wealth, and station, incurred the 
 I anger of her implacable father, and resigned 
 
 herself to comparative poverty ; she is the 
 wife of my bosom, and the mother of my 
 child. 
 
 " So long as she has no home save mine to 
 
 ■ shelter her ; no heart save mine to bleed for 
 ; her, I must bear all the misery which she may 
 leee fit to inflict upon me. I were less than' 
 ! man, were I to resent even the most cruel of 
 
 I her caprices; but should it one day chance 
 I that her father should relent, then indeed, it 
 jwould become nly duty to assert myself; to 
 I prove to her that I am not the abject thmg 
 ishe thinks me. 
 
 i " Yes, even although in wringing her heart I 
 jshould crush my own forever, we should then 
 diave no alternative save to pare. She has 
 iceaaed to love me; obscurity and privation 
 Ihavedone their work; and slie would find con- 
 eolation m the gaud and glitter which render 
 the contrast of her present existence so bitter 
 !to her. 
 ' " Poor Ida ! why did I vamlv imagine that 
 
 gent as ever; but llie word was not uttered, 
 the look was not vouchsafed. 
 
 Ida !iad, after the interview which we have 
 described, subsided into a cold and listless 
 serenity, which admitted of no reproach, and 
 silenced all questioning. To the well-being of 
 her boy she was ever keenly alive, but she 
 manifested no interest on any other subject; 
 Sydney came and went as he listed without 
 either inquiry or comment ; she was calmly 
 courteous when he Avas near her, but seemed 
 totally careless of his absence ; it was, in short, 
 a domestic illustration of the German tale of 
 the dead and. the living bodies linked together, 
 and at length, unable longer to endure the joy- 
 less existence to which he was condemned, 
 Elphinstone, in a moment of ungovernable 
 wretchedness, poured out all his sorrow into 
 the sympathizing bosom of Lady ILaleolra, and 
 entreated her good offices with Ida. 
 
 Hitherto he had, in so far as he was enabled 
 to do so, locked the secret of his home-trials 
 within his own breast, but they had gradually 
 become too heavy to l^ Iwrne alone ; and as, 
 with blanched cheeks and quivering lips, he 
 described the daily torture to which he was 
 subjected to the amiable woman who loved 
 him as a son, her heart sunk within her. 
 
 True to his implied promise to his wife, 
 Elphinstone forbore, even ia his agitation, to 
 hint at her unworthy suspicions. He well Icnew 
 that Lady Malcolm would never have forgiven 
 the insult offered to her child ; and thus his 
 listener could only recur to her original idea 
 that Ida v.-as causing the unhappiness of both 
 by a weak jealousy of some former object of 
 her husband's affection, 
 
 " You grieve me more than I can express, 
 Sydney," she said, when his sad confession was 
 made; "but you must remember that, painful 
 as your present trial can not fail to be to you, 
 there is never jealousy without love. Mrs. 
 Elphinstone may probably have been told that 
 she was not the first possessor of your heart — 
 that you had loved before you became the 
 slave of her own beauty — and, however, we 
 may lament tliat she should yield to the weak- 
 ness of repining at so common a circumstance, 
 still, as her error is solely caused by her affec- 
 tion, it should meet with indulgence "fr-om you." 
 
 " But I swear to you, my dear Lady Mal- 
 colm, that I never loved any woman but hep- 
 self. Consider what my age was when I mar- 
 ried] Was it probable that at twenty I should 
 offer her an exhausted heart ?" 
 
 "Age, my dear boy, has little to do with 
 passion. Before you utter any further dis- 
 claimers, try to recall the past, and to remem- 
 ber if there be not some name which has, at 
 one period or other, been linked with your 
 own," 
 
 " Never. The thing is impossible." 
 
 ' " And yet, if I mistake not, I have myself 
 
 heard rumors of an attachment between Lady 
 
 Mary Maitland and Mr. Sydney Elphinstone?" 
 
 How dare people so trifle with the name of 
 
 my love would compensate for all ? The fault ' a woman!" exclaimed her companion, indig 
 w£3 mine; and I must expiate it as I Ijcst ! nantly. " Lady Mary- never gave me the most re- 
 ™^y-" _ I mote reason to suppose that she regarded mo 
 
 I One word of kindness, one look of tender- 1 with the slightest favor; while, for myself, I 
 'aess from his wife at this period, would have ' looked upon her simply aa a beautiful and ua- 
 
118 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 afTectcd girl, of whom I should have been 
 firouii as a sister, but never should have chosen 
 as a v.ifc/' 
 
 •■ Xcverthcless, as the report reached me, it 
 may also have rcaohefl Mrs. Elphinstone." 
 
 '• I am persuaded that Ida never even heard 
 the name of Lady Mary Maitland." 
 
 " Of that fact you can not be sare, my dear 
 boy ; and I still adhere to my opinion. That 
 you have given your wife the slightest cause 
 of uneasiness since your marriage, I am myself 
 in a position to deny. Did I not make Mrs. 
 Elphinstone's acquaintance while still a bride? 
 Do I not know that up to the present day you 
 have frequented no house but my own ? that 
 the hours which must have been devoted to a 
 flirtation of any kind, had you been unprin- 
 cipled enough to indulge in so reprehensible an 
 amusement, have been consecrated to the in- 
 terests of Edith and myself?" 
 
 Elphinstone involuntarily shrank under her 
 frank and unsuspicious gaze. 
 
 " Thus then ;" she pursued ; "it can. only be 
 as I have stated ; and you would do well to 
 allude to the subject ,• not as suspecting the 
 cause of her present disquiet, for that could, in 
 either case, only wound her feelings; but speak 
 of Lady Mary openly and unaffectedly as a 
 former acquaintance, even as a friend, if 'you 
 will ; and conclude by informing your wife that 
 the young lady is about to bestow her hand 
 upon t!ie Marquis of Brentwood, a fiict of 
 which I have been assured." 
 
 " Such a proceeding would avail me nothing ;" 
 said Elphinstone, gloomily; "Ida has never 
 even dreamed of Lady Mary." 
 
 " You astonish me, Sydney, by your persist- 
 ence in this opinion ; I had hoped and believed 
 that I had discovered, and could have struck 
 at, the root of the evil. But doubtlessly T have 
 wronged your wife, by attributing to her so 
 despicable a weakness as jealousy." 
 
 " I fear not." 
 
 " My dear boy, you are inexplicable, but I 
 have no right to ask of you a greater amount 
 of confidence than you are willing to repose 
 in me. All, therefore, that T can now do, is to 
 inquire how I may be of ser^nce to you?" 
 
 ^ I will tell you, my kind friend ;" was the 
 agitated reply; "on you rests my only hope. 
 See my poor self-deluded Ida ; reason with 
 her; convince her of my unchanged and un- 
 changeable affection ; describe to her the 
 miserj' which she is daily and hourly inflicting 
 on me ; ask her only to hear my justification 
 before she condemns me ; urge her to hear you 
 in the name of her boy — she still loves him ! 
 And, above all, bear with her waywardnes.s, 
 should she give utterance to any thing which 
 may wound you — look upon her rather as oue 
 suHering from vital disea.so than — " 
 
 "Enough, Sydney, enough — I will obey 
 your bidding, my dear boy, for your dead 
 mother's sake; although I am quite aware 
 tliat the part, which I am about to plaj', is, at 
 the best, an invidious one ; at, any sacrifice of 
 my own feelings, liowever, I will strive to re- 
 store peace between you, for your present ex- 
 istence is a sad wa.ste of life, and must sooner 
 or later become intollerable to both parties. 
 Periiaps Jfrs. EIj)hinstone will be more frank 
 than yourself; should it happily provo so, I am 
 
 sanguine as to the results of my interfer- 
 ence," 
 
 The excited yonng man seized the kind 
 hand which was extended to him, and raised it 
 to his lips. 
 
 "And yoa will bear with her, even should 
 she—" 
 
 "Yes," interposed Lady Malcolm, with an 
 encouraging- smile ; "even should she tell me, 
 as with justice she may. that I have exceeded 
 the privilege of a friend, by presuming to in- 
 trude my advice unasked; so be of good 
 cheer, Sydney; I will call upon Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone early to-morrow ; and I trust that before 
 I leave her I shall see her weeping out in 
 ^•our arms the happy tears of renewed confi- 
 dence and affection. And now, in return for 
 my concession, go home, and try my experi- 
 ment regarding Lady Mary Maitland. I am 
 not yet convinced, and shall be by no means 
 surprised if on arriving at your house, I find 
 my own interference altogether unnecessary." 
 
 The young man strove to return her parting- 
 smile, but it was with a sad foreboding of the 
 failure of Lady Malcolm's attempt that he 
 turned his step homeward. 
 
 CKAPTER XLIT. 
 
 TOE WIFE AJTD THE FRIEXD. 
 
 iRKSOifE as Mr. Trevanion had considered 
 his position while under the roof of his uncle, 
 it became tenfold more so when he was again 
 established in his own house. The peculiar 
 circumstances of the last month had unsettled 
 his mind for business ; while the daily increas- 
 ing inanity of his wife, and the selfish con- 
 descension of Lady Mary Brooklands, alike 
 irritated him. ifrs. Trevanion, like most weak 
 people, had a horror of mourning, and declared 
 that her health was injured by the gloom of 
 every thing about her, 
 
 "I should not have cared, you know, Lady- 
 Mary;" she whined; " if I had been called 
 upon to wear this odious silk and crape for Mr. 
 Trevanion, or Ida, or even for youriself ; because 
 then it would have been only right and proper; 
 but to do it for a person I never saw in my life 
 is a great deal too lad ; just as Mademoiselle 
 Laura had sent me three- loves of caps that are 
 now sheer wa.-^te. And the servants, too; I 
 declare tlioy all look liko people just returned 
 from a funeral; and as for ifr. Trevanion. it is 
 really shocking to see how little he cares how 
 things go on now at liome." 
 
 " Mr. Trevanion has a great responsibility 
 pressing upon him, mj' dear madam ; and can 
 not, consequently, be expected to interest him- 
 self so much as formerly in the details of his 
 e.sitablishment ; which, moreover, he docs mo ■ 
 the honor to think that I can regulate with 
 tolerable efficiency," was the sententious re-l 
 
 ply- „' 
 
 " I wish that poor Ida had never left us, 
 resumed the lady of the mansion, after a brief 
 silence; "there'was some thing like life in the 
 house while she was here — and I had some one 
 to love me then — but now, I might as well be : 
 in my grave." 
 
XJJ-Xi O Jlj X\ U\J \J t3 
 
 An equivocal smile played for an instant 
 about the mouth of her companion, but it did 
 not linj^er. 
 
 " Doubtlessly, we all miss Mrs. Elphinstone," 
 glio said, '■ but surely, you at least have no just 
 cause of complaint. Mr. Trevanion is a most 
 generous husband." 
 
 '•GenerousJ" echoed the poor lady, with a 
 burst of very unusual indignation; " I am sure 
 I can not think what meaning you attach to 
 such a word. Do you imply that I am clothed, 
 and fed, and lodged, like a gentlewoman? I 
 have a right to be so, for my fortune was the 
 foundation of my husband's. But what am I 
 to become in my own house ? Do you suppose 
 that because I bear with the indignity in si- 
 lence, 1 do not feel the insult of seeing a stranger 
 take ray place, and perform my duties ?" 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Trevanion, you amaze mo I" 
 exclaimed Lady Mary, alarmed by this sudden 
 and unexpected self-assertion, on the part of 
 lior hitherto supine and Ustless companion ; 
 '•in your delicate state of health, would it be 
 Ivind," would it be prudent, to subject you to so 
 jrreat a fatigue as the superintendence of an 
 extensive establishment necessarily involves ? 
 Tou surely can not be serious iu thus misinter- 
 preting the considerate kindness of Mr. Treva- 
 aiioa ?" 
 
 " It would be no fatigue to reply if I were 
 occasionally consulted on the arrangements of 
 my household," said the irritated woman, to 
 v.-hom anger had lent a temporary energy, "but 
 if he did not see me from day to day, I might 
 easily imagine that Mr. Trevanion had forgotten 
 my existence. Surely, when my daughter was 
 gone, I had a right to bo the mistress of my 
 cwn house." 
 
 " Mrs. Trevanion," said Lady Mary, looking 
 np from her worsted- work with an air of offend- 
 ed virtue, ■" I can not pretend to misunderstand 
 your inference. You are jealous of my position 
 in the family. Tou shall no longer have cause 
 to be so. I will immediately apprise Mr. Tre- 
 vanion of your sentiments, and request his con- 
 sent to resign a post which has for j'ears been 
 both delicate and difficult. He will be de- 
 lighted, I do not doubt, to find that you con- 
 sider yourself equal to the exertion of taking 
 my place." 
 
 " I am sure that I never asked you to leave 
 US," was her terrified reply; "of course you 
 will tell Mr. Trevanion what you please, and 
 3'ou know well what he will answer. I iiavc 
 no friend to take my part; no child to care 
 f jr me, and so I must submit ; but if you think 
 that I do not feel, you arc both mistaken." 
 
 Lady Mary instantly saw her advantage, and 
 pursued it 
 
 " I had flattered myself," she said haughtily, 
 " that you regarded me as a friend, but I And 
 that I am deceived ; and that after having de- 
 voted long and weary years to the interests of 
 yourself and your daughter, I am still consider- 
 ed as a stranger. Under such circumstances, 
 Mrs. Trevanion, I can, of course, no longer re- 
 main a guest in your house." 
 
 "You were very kind to Ida, I know," con- 
 ceded her companion, sullenly. 
 
 " And of what have you yourself to com- 
 plain?" was the harsh inquiry; "before we 
 fart, I should desire to ascertain upon what 
 
 grounds you assume the right to censure mo. 
 Mr. Trevanion, conscious that neither his con- 
 nections nor your own could introduce your 
 daughter into the society in which ho wished 
 her to move, solicited my assistance, which I 
 granted as frankly as it was asked. I filled 
 your house with the I'lite of the fashionable 
 world;. I did for Ida what neither her money 
 nor her beauty could have done; I enabled 
 her to take her place among them. That she 
 did not profit by my exertions in her behalf 
 was assuredly no fault of mine." 
 
 " You introduced your nephew to her," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Trevanion, with a last flash of ex- 
 piring spirit. 
 
 "I presented many to her besides my 
 nephew," was the reply of Lady Mary, as a 
 conscious flush rose to her cheek; "but I 
 never counseled her to marry him. On the 
 contrary, I represented to her the folly and 
 rashness of such a choice. Had she been my 
 own daughter, I could not have advised her 
 more disinterestedly. But it is of yourself that 
 I would speak rather than of your daughter. 
 Do you not also owe many hours of gratifica- 
 tion to my good offices ? Have you not seen 
 j-ourself surrounded by some of the greatest 
 and noblest in the land ? And have you for- 
 gotten to whom 3'ou were indebted for such a 
 privilege ? Your husband has a better memo- 
 ry, and to him I shall have no cause to 
 appeal" 
 
 "Ah, those were happy daysl" murmured 
 out the broken-spirited woman, once more 
 crushed beneath the well-acted indignation of 
 her haughty companion, and burying herself 
 still deeper amid her cushions ; " those were 
 happy daysl" 
 
 " I am rejoiced to find that you, at least, 
 admit that fact," pursued this relentless perse- 
 cutor, "as it proves that you have little cause 
 of complaint. Those days might have been 
 renewed, had the same good understanding 
 continued to exist between us; but that will 
 be impossible when I have left you. j\fi/ friends 
 will, as a natural consequence, resent tlie affront 
 which has been ofl'ored to me, nor will it be in 
 my power to prevent it." 
 
 "I am sure that it was not my intention to 
 offend you," sobbed out Mrs. Trevanion, whose 
 unaccustomed excitement had terminated in 
 tears; " you know, my dear Lady Mary, that I 
 dare not do so, even if I wished it. Do not 
 leave me alone with my husband ; it is too late, 
 too late — once, perhaps, I might have resented 
 his harshness, but that time has gone by. I 
 only wished — I only thought — that I might 
 have been treated with more kindness, more 
 consideration; that I might at least have had a 
 voice in what concerned myself; but I will 
 never indulge in such a hope again." 
 
 " And you will do well," said her companion, 
 as she glanced with contempt upon the weak 
 woman whose domestic wrongs should rather 
 have excited her sympathy ; " you have not to 
 learn to-day the peculiar disposition of Mr. 
 Trevanion ; he is proud, very proud, and should 
 he find himself coldly treated by those who 
 have hitherto professed to bo his friends, he 
 would bitterly resent the insult. Should I 
 withdraw myself from his house, this would 
 undoubtedly be the case, nor could I conceal 
 
from him tliat a puerile love of power on your 
 own part had led to the annoyance. 
 
 " Decide, therefore, in how far you feel your- 
 self able to resist his displeasure. If I go, it is 
 because you have desired it ; if I remain, it can 
 and shah only be at your express request. 
 That you have deeply wounded me, you must 
 both see and foel, but for your own sake I will 
 consent to pardon the affront, if by so doing you 
 believe tliat I may avert from you the resent- 
 ment of your husband." 
 
 "Oh, no, no; don't talk of leaving us," gasp- 
 ed out her victim ; " whatever I may feel, what- 
 ever I may suffer, I will never offend you again 
 even by a word, my dear Lady Mary." 
 
 " I will trust to that assurance ; and now, 
 listen to me a moment longer, Mrs. Trevanion. 
 You know that your nephew is dead, and that 
 his father will, in all probabihty, soon follow 
 him to the grave. Now I appeal to your own 
 good sense; if even here, in your Richmond 
 Villa, j'ou are unequal to the exigences of your 
 position, how could you hope to acquit j'our- 
 solf of the more complicated and onerous duties 
 which would await you at Trevanion Hall ? 
 And besides," she added with a smile full of 
 blandishment and meaning, "as Zarfy Treva- 
 nion, you will have ample occupation in sustain- 
 ing your rank, and receiving your guests. By 
 tlie by, I find that the family diamonds are 
 superb, and as Ida is unfortunately hois cle com- 
 hat, at least for the present, j'ou will enjoy un- 
 disputed po.sse.ssion of these far-famed jewels. 
 Is it then reasonable that you should indulge in 
 idle repinings at imaginary wrongs, when so 
 brilliant a destiny awaits you V 
 
 Weak and vain, however, as the poor mother 
 was, there was yet something in the words of 
 her companion which jarred upon her feelings. 
 She could not exult in any triumph which was 
 obtained at the cost of her only child ; and even 
 the vision evoked by the artful Lddy Mary lost 
 its charm, as sho remembered how beautiful 
 her banished Ida would have looked in the 
 diamonds which were, as she was assured, to 
 be her own. 
 
 Little, however, did Lady Mary Brooklands 
 care to .speculate upon the hidden feelings of a 
 mother's heart. Sho had accomplished lier 
 jiurpose ; she had silenced the justifiable mur- 
 murs of the ill used wife ; she had cruslicd the 
 gerni of indignation in tho spirit of the woman ; 
 slie had, as slio trusted, aroused her egotism, 
 and dazzled lier vanity, and, better still, sho 
 had secured herself against every cliance of ex- 
 jmlsion from a home, in which, without either 
 outlay or responsibilitj', sho lived a hfo of luxu- 
 ry and ca.so which fbrmed a delicious contrast 
 to the existence of privation and expedients to 
 which sho must have been reduced, if once more 
 compelled to subsist upon her very insufficient 
 jointure. 
 
 Tho conviction of her present and futuro 
 securit}' acted like magic on the mood and man- 
 ner of tho noblo matron; she listened to Iho 
 puerilities of her companion wilii unfailing 
 patience; ah'ected to sympathize in all her mur- 
 muns — for despite her promises, i>nor Mrs. Tro- 
 vanion's existence was one long murmur, which 
 appeared to possess for her a species of negative 
 enjoyment; and, finally, she rose from lier 
 worated-work to select from a box of books, 
 
 just received from Churton's, ' a charming new 
 novel,' which she recommended to her perusal 
 
 No wonder that when Lady Mary consider- 
 ately witluirew in order that slie might enjoy 
 it undisturbed, the guileless dupe felt self-con- 
 victed of injustice and want of courtesy toward 
 tlie able tactitian who had so skillfuUy termi- 
 nated an interview, which, from the instant 
 that her own point was gained, had alike wear 
 ried and disgusted her. 
 
 In ten minutes more the family friend was 
 closeted in the library with the master of thd 
 house 
 
 .CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 GREEK MEETS GREER. 
 
 As had been constantly tho case since his 
 return to town, Mr. Trevanion was surrounded 
 by papers and accounts, all relating to the 
 affairs of his family, which now appeared to 
 absorb the whole of his attention; for, although 
 his first impulse had been one which diil him 
 honor, it must not be denied that afler-reflcc- 
 tion had induced him to regard himself if not 
 actually as an ill-used, at least as a very \^nfor- 
 tunate, individual. 
 
 Uad Sir Jasper borne the shock of his son's 
 death, as ho had borne that of his, daughter's 
 desertion, and been still competent to fulliU tho 
 duties of his station, it is jirobablc that his 
 nephew would have awaited with patience and 
 equanimity tho period when ho should himself 
 become tho representative of the family honors; 
 but when he remembered that the baronet was, 
 to all intents and purposes, dead to the world, 
 though he might possibly continue for years to 
 live on in the same imbecile and powerless con- 
 dition, a feeling of irritation took possession of 
 him which he made little or no c-flbrt to re- 
 press. 
 
 Every detail connected with tho estate as- 
 sumed, in his eyes, a separate imjiortiuiee, far 
 greater than it in reality merited ; the value of 
 the ancient timber which rendered the exten- 
 sive park tho most picturesquo and stately ia 
 tho county, was calculated again and again ; tho 
 massive plate, which had been the accumuUi- 
 tion of centuries, and the Indian accessions by 
 wiiich it had been increased through the mar- 
 riage of Sir Ja.sper with tho nabob's widow, 
 underwent a similar process; while not tho 
 least interesting subject of his ruminations was 
 tho banker's book, witli its careful record of tho 
 heavy sums saved annually by the baronet, and 
 destined to the establishment of his son. 
 
 Hithetto, ilr. Trevanion had looked upon 
 money rather as a means than an end ; though 
 ho had labored assiduously for wealth, he had 
 regarded it rather as a slave than a master ; ho 
 had valued tho pomp, tho lu.xury, and the con- 
 sitleratiou which it secured to him, and not tho 
 gold for its own sake ; nay, throughout tho 
 whole of his career until the marriage of Ida, 
 he had coyetod its increa.so rather for her sako 
 than for his own; and all his yearnings had 
 been awakened by tlie sole ambition of achieviiyg 
 greatness without the aid of those who had de- 
 spised him in bis poverty. 
 
Xow-, however, when the " blood}- Imnd" ap- 
 p :.i\'d to be ahnost within his grasp, it was no 
 Imiuer the chief object of attraction, and had he 
 I •111 a needy man with whom tlie world had 
 il alt {^rudzinglr, he might well have been par- 
 r!.Mied for such a feehng ; while, as it was, it 
 - -iiied suddenly to have changed his whole na- 
 ture. 
 
 He had no sooner ascertained the enormous 
 Fum produced by his own already colossal wealth, 
 when united to that of which ho must necessa- 
 rily become the owner on the demise of the 
 baronet, than ho suddenly forgot his ambition 
 in his avarice. He even regretted the profuse 
 expenditure in which he had for so many years 
 indulged, as he reflected that, having failed in 
 his darling project of securing a noble son-in- 
 law, so much more would have been added to 
 the heap ; and there were moments when ho 
 almost resolved to curtail his establishment, in 
 order to reduce the further inroads which it 
 compelled him to make upon his treasured cap- 
 ital. 
 
 Never had the proud merchant been so rest- 
 less and so ill at ease. Trevanion Hall on the 
 one hand, and his counting-house in the city, 
 on the other — his two mines of wealth — ap- 
 peared to him so discordant and so incompati- 
 ble that they almost, each in its turn, fretted 
 Lim to fever. 
 
 He was now, actually if not legally, the head 
 of his house; but while the old man lived, he 
 must continue to be Mr. Trevanion, the mer- 
 I chant. His commercial affairs progressed as 
 I usual, but there was, nevertheless, a moral in- 
 iterregnum in his existence, during which he 
 1 could not mentally define his real position. 
 ' To a haughty spirit like his the feeling that 
 I such was the case amounted to actual sufTer- 
 j ing ; arid at times he would have been thank- 
 jful, had intelligence reached him that his uncle 
 ihad been restored to the possession of his fac- 
 1 iilties, for then ho could at least have recon- 
 ! oiled himself to pursue the career which had 
 (already raised him to opulence and honor; but 
 leituated as he now was, it had become distaste- 
 Iful to him, while he had no equivalent to replace 
 ! either its excitement or its advantages. 
 1 Haughty and stern as ever, he had less self- 
 command ; and where he would formerly have 
 spurned support, he now yearned to secure it. 
 He was no longer young ; no longer sanguine ; 
 he could not look beyond the present hour with- 
 JQut disturbing himself 
 
 j Nothing had come to pass as he hadforeshad- 
 |owed it. Tiio nephew, whose very name had 
 •been obnoxious to him because he stood in the 
 [wayof liLs own greatness, was in his grave; 
 the daughter upon whom he had leaned with 
 ;confidence as the sure agent of his ambition had 
 jfailed him; the relative whom he sought to 
 .humble was beyond the reach of worldly morti- 
 Ification ; .and more bitter than all else, he must 
 consent to forego his resentment, and to ac- 
 knowledge the child of a penniless son-in-law as 
 [his heir, or bo condemned to the exasperating 
 Iconsciousness that, resist as he might, he had no 
 Vpower to prevent that child from succeeding 
 ihim as tlie heir of the Trevanions. 
 ! He had arrived at this phase of his reverie 
 'when Lady Mary Brooklands entered the li- 
 brary. 
 
 1 " Are you engaged, Mr. Trevanion ?" she 
 asked in her blandest tone; "if so, I will take 
 some future 'opportunity of communicatiug 
 what I have to say." 
 
 "My engagements at present," was the 
 equally bland reply ; " are l)y no means press- 
 ing ;" and Mr. Trevanion, with his usual cere- 
 monious politeness, rose from his seat to ad- 
 vance a chair f<>r his visitor. 
 
 As ho resumed his own, liis ej'o foil on the 
 formidable array of figures iu which he had 
 that morning inscribed his possessions in ex.te 
 and posse ; and it was with increased statcli- 
 ness that he prepared to grant the audience 
 solicited by his noble inmate. 
 
 Lady Mary was a peer's daughter, true ; but 
 she was as poor as she was proud ; while he 
 had wherewithal to buy up a store of peerages, 
 should they come into the market. The time 
 had passed when she was absolutely essential 
 to him, but he well knew that he was as neces- 
 sary to her, as ever. He had purchased her 
 ■services, and could still pay their price ; there 
 was no feeling of obligation on either side; 
 while constant association had enabled them to 
 comprehend each other perfectly. 
 
 Lady Mary inwardly sneered at the man of 
 money who aspired at greatness ; while the 
 merchant, on his side, despised the great lady 
 who sacrificed her dignity to her interests. 
 Still, nothing could exceed the urbanity and 
 good breeding with which both played their 
 part in the domestic drama. If there was 
 neither confidence, friendship, nor regard be- 
 tween them, there was the strong tie of mutual 
 necessity. Each was essential to the other, 
 and each was conscious that such was the 
 case. 
 
 Thus, even when Mr. Trevanion, with a keen- 
 ness of perception rendered still more acute by 
 distrust — for, from the moment Ida became the 
 wife of Sydney Elpliinstone, he Jiad distrusted 
 Lady Mary — perceived, or fancied he per- 
 ceived, that the tortuous talent of the titled 
 widow was about to be exhibited in some new 
 and skillful maneuver, not a look or a gesture 
 was ever suffered to betray such a suspicion ; 
 nor did he, when he occasionally contrived, 
 with, apparent unconsciousness, to baffle her 
 endeavor, permit her to imagine that he was 
 aware of having done so. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was constantly upon his 
 guard against a surprise ; and it was, conse- 
 quently, with a misgiving of some fresh design 
 upon his purse or his pride that he, on the pres- 
 ent occasion, assumed an attitude of profound 
 and earnest attention. 
 
 Nor was he far wrong in his anticipations, 
 for after having so cleverly protested against 
 the indignant interference of the wife, the as- 
 tute matron resolved to render her position 
 equally secure with the husband. 
 
 Skillfully as she had striven to ascertain the 
 intentions of Mr. Trevanion, on his accession 
 to the baronetcy, she had been unable to effect 
 her purpose. Had she sucoeeded in inducing 
 him to confide to her his decision regarding his 
 daughter, her own future fate would have been ' 
 clearly mapped out before her ; for should he 
 resolve to recall his long-banished child, now a 
 wife and a mother, Mrs. Elpliinstone must 
 necessarily do the honors of Ti-evauiou IXjiU, 
 
12^ 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 an;l, -with her hi:^li spirit, would brook no inter- 
 ftTcnce from herself; in which case, she must 
 cither forego the well-appreciated advantages 
 of her preseut h )me, or ci>n^ent to subside iuto 
 insiguilieimce ; whereas, should the oflFended 
 father persevere in his resentment, her own 
 reign was secured. 
 
 It was to satisfy herself of tliis important 
 point that she now intruded on the solitude of 
 the merchant, but she was by far too able a 
 tactician to put the question directly. 
 
 '• My reason for wishing to see you at this 
 particular moment, Mr. Trevanion," she com- 
 menced; "was to inform you that I have just 
 had a somewhat important conversation witli 
 your wife. As it is extremely probable that 
 your uncle. Sir Jasper, can not long survive, 
 and as his death will occasion great and exten- 
 sive alterations in your domestic arrangements, 
 I tljought it desirable to ascertain the wishes 
 and intentions of ilrs. Trevanion, when the 
 event should occur — " , 
 
 " A work of supererogation, madam, which 
 could tend to no result." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but, aware as I am of the pe- 
 culiar constitution of Mrs. Trevanion's mincl, I 
 tliought it very possible that when ouce she 
 had become Lady Trevanion, she would con- 
 eider herself aggrieved should I continue to 
 exercise the same authority under your roof 
 as you have hitherto delegated to me ; and, 
 therefore, I resolved to have a clear and per- 
 fect understanding with herself upon the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "And did you succeed?" inquired her list- 
 ener, with a sneer. 
 
 « Perfectly." 
 
 "Then, my Lady Mary, you have worked 
 a miracle which throughout the whole of my 
 married life, I have been unable to accom- 
 pli.sh." 
 
 " I was prepared," pursued his companion ; 
 "should my poor friend evince the slightest 
 desire to assume her duties as mistress of the 
 house in her new home, to abdicate my throne 
 at once; and, with that view, I had already 
 written to my cousin, the Dowager-Ducliess of 
 Claumore, who is a widow like myself; to pro- 
 pose that we .should combine our forces, and 
 establish a Joint household." 
 
 " And Avhat did her grace reply ?" inquired 
 the merchant, with most alarming composure. 
 
 " I am still awaiting her answer," said the 
 discomfited Lady Mary, striving to conceal her 
 uneasiness; "but there can bo little doubt as 
 to its purport, since she made the same request 
 to me before I became your guest." 
 
 " That arrangement then is still in abeyance ; 
 but 5'ou will, perhaps, be kiud enough to 
 acquaint mo how Mrs. Trevanion received your 
 proposition." 
 
 "She refused to liear of my leaving her — 
 she oven shed tears — and I assure you, my 
 dear ilr. Trevanion, that I bitterly reproached 
 myso'f for liaviiig occasionally imagined that 
 she misinterpreted my feelings and intentions." 
 
 "Do not make yourself uneasy on the sub- 
 ject, Lady Mary: Mr.s. Trevanion's imaginary 
 annoyances may always be removed by a new 
 dress or a new novel. For once, however, she 
 acted with common sense; but you must par- 
 don mo if I vcnturo to remark that it would 
 
 have been more in accordance with your usual 
 good judgment, had you consulted me rather 
 than my wife. However, I have no doubt thai 
 j-ou were impelled by a sense of delicacy to act 
 as j'ou did ; and you are, at all events, a free 
 agent. Thus, then, I am to understand, that, 
 before you decide upon 3'our future plans, you 
 will await the reply of your cousin the duch- 
 ess." 
 
 "Why, not precisely — " commenced tlie 
 noble matron, with an eagerness which she im- 
 mediately endeavored to restrain ; "of course, 
 so far as my residence with her is concerned, I 
 shall bo compelled to do so ; but I am half in. 
 ciined to visit Scotland imder any circun> 
 stances." 
 
 " I had flattered myself that you would have 
 felt some curiosit_y to see my aucestral home,' 
 remarked Mr Trevanion, with even more than 
 liis usual stateliness; "and, indeed, I looked 
 forward to the advantage of your good taste 
 and judgment in the alterations and improve- 
 ments which I shall find it nccessar}- to make 
 there. My uncle has, since the death of hia 
 wife, lived a very retired life, and suflered the 
 ITall to remain in precisely the same state in 
 which I remember it in my boyhood ; I dis- 
 covered no symptom of decided neglect or 
 decay on my late visit, certainly ; but still 
 much is required to render it what 1 should I 
 desire. I j 
 
 " Both the Hall and the adjacent estate ha?e *l 
 great capabilities, very great capabilities, and 
 I have resolved, when they once come into my 
 possession, to develop them to their utniort 
 extent. Sir Jasper, as I soon ascertained, had 
 been anxious rather to save money than to 
 spend it ; and he was riglit. He had a son to 
 inherit the property ; I am differently situated ; 
 and, moreover, while he was known to all the 
 country, I shall enter it as a stranger, and 
 must consequently be cautious not to allow 
 the local dignity of the family to suffer in my 
 hands. 
 
 " This place is, as you are aware, Mrs. Tre- 
 vanion's jointure-house, and enough, more than 
 enough, has already been expended upon it; 
 indeed, to bo candid with you, I almost repent 
 that I have been tempted to do so m\ich>. 
 However, when I establish myself at the Hall, 
 it will probably let more advantageously in, 
 consequence, than it might otherwise have' 
 done. 
 
 " As to tho house in to'rni, for the present at 
 least, it will answer every purpose, as I eliall' 
 decidedly resitlo in the country until I have. 
 completed all my plans." , 
 
 Lady Mary bowed and' smiled, and tacitly 
 signified her acquiescence in the propriety of 
 these somewhat premature projects ; but still, 
 as she covdd not conceal from herself, she wiue, 
 no nearer her own j)oint than ever. 
 
 " Mrs. Trevanion appears to be most anxioiifi 
 that you should consent to a reconciliatior: 
 with your daughter at this particular crisis,' 
 she hazarded, in order to arrive at some con. 
 elusion. 
 
 " Mrs. Trevanion is very good ; and slie muK, 
 surely have become aware long ere this, that^ 
 as I can place no reliance on her judgment 01 
 any serious emergency, I can not be expecte< 
 to suiTor her wants or -wishes to control 
 
 i 
 
THE J E A J. U U b WIFE, 
 
 123 
 
 nuy •way. 'This particular crisis' offers no 
 reason that I can perceive, for a precipitate 
 measure of the sort. ilrs. Sydney Elpliiiistone 
 quitted my roof at her own good pleasure, but 
 Bhe must return to it only at mine ; and when, 
 if ever, I may decide on again receiving her, 
 is entirely a matter for my own consideration." 
 
 "Yet surely," remarked the lady, making 
 another desperate plunge to clutch the truth 
 which lay deep beneath the waves of the mer- 
 chant's resolute reserve ; " it will be a most un- 
 pleasant thing for you to feel that your heir is 
 a stranger to j'ou I Of course, Ida must be 
 naturally anxious that her boy should be reared 
 and educated in such a manner as you would 
 approve." 
 
 " I really do not see why Mrs. Elphinstone 
 Bhould be more punctilious with regard to her 
 eon's conduct than her own. On the contrary, 
 she is, no doubt, perfectly aware that he will 
 ultimately be more independent of nij- displeas- 
 ure than she could ever be; and I feel no 
 present inclination to' interfere with her pecu- 
 liar system of education." 
 
 "But you can not, nevertheless, shut your 
 eyes to the fact, my good sir, that your daugh- 
 ter does not possess the means necessary to 
 carry out any such system in an efficient man- 
 ner; and surely — " 
 
 "You are a zealous friend, Lady Mary, and 
 Mrs. Elphinstone will, beyond all doubt, be 
 grateful for your good offices ; but still, it ap- 
 pears to me, that j^ou over-rate the privations 
 to which she has thought proper to expose her- 
 self. You should remember that she possesses 
 an income of three hundred a year (about as 
 much as she expended upon her dress before 
 her marriage), and tliat Mr. Sydney Elphin- 
 stone is declared to be a very rising young 
 man ; fame brings profit, my dear madam, in 
 every profession ; and thus you see that you 
 alarm yourself unnecessarily, and tliat the 
 young gentleman, regarding whose future 
 career you express so very flattering an anx- 
 iety will need no patronage of mine." 
 
 "Still, as the heir to the Trevanion es- 
 tates — " 
 
 "I yet stand in his way," said the mer- 
 chant, dryly, "and may probably do so for 
 many years to come; added to which, al- 
 though Sir Jasper is hors de combat in all mat- 
 ters of business, he is nevertheless still alive ; 
 and for any reason which I can see to the con- 
 trary, now that his mind can no longer act 
 upon his physical health, he may survive for 
 twenty years to come." 
 
 " You can not be serious, Mr. Trevanion." 
 
 "I am perfectly so." 
 
 "I regret to hear it, as, according to my 
 own view of the case, you would be wise in 
 60 ordering your arrangements as to be pre- 
 pared at any moment to supply his place." 
 
 "I flatter myself. Lady Mary, that I should 
 have been quite competent to do so at an 
 hour's warning, at any period during the last 
 thirty years. But, my dear madam, I have 
 myself known invalids in his condition out- 
 live their natural heirs; and who shall say 
 that my uncle may not augment the uufnber." 
 
 His listener was fairly baffled, but, indig- 
 nant at the idea of defeat, she returned once 
 more to the charge. 
 
 "I am to understand, then, Mr. Trevanion, 
 that, in the remote contingency of Sir Jas- 
 per's death, you are anxious that I should ac- 
 company the family to Trevanion Hall \" 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Lady Mary. Can you 
 doubt that you will ever be a welcome guest 
 beneath my roof." 
 
 "I hope not," said the lady, beginning to 
 chafe under the consciousness that she was 
 check-mated at every move; "but my in- 
 quiry embraces a wider scope than you ap- 
 pear inclined to concede to it. As I have al- 
 ready stated, I have been entreated, even 
 with tears, by Mrs. Trevanion, not to abandon 
 her to the heavy and irksome responsibilities 
 which must devolve upon the mistress of 
 such an establishment as that which you con- 
 template in shire. 
 
 "Of course," she pursued with a signifi- 
 cant smile, " I have not learned to-day that 
 she can make no independent arrangement of 
 so serious a nature without your sanction ; 
 and it is consequently to you that I appeal 
 before I conclude my own plans." 
 
 "I trust, my dear madam, that you have 
 not wearied of my house ; I should indeed be 
 sorry to find that such were the case." 
 
 " No, no ; do not mistake me. The fact is, 
 that, as I take a totally different view of the 
 baronet's malady from yourself, I look daily 
 for news of his death ; and since you compel 
 me to speak frankly, I should like to be in- 
 formed whether, when it has taken place, you 
 have any intention of recalling your daughter 
 and establishing her at the head of your house- 
 hold; as, in the event of such an arrange- 
 ment, I must of course decline a further resi- 
 dence beneath your roof. Ida is no longer a 
 mere girl, and she would naturally — " 
 
 "When I have given Mrs. Sydney Elphin- 
 stone a right to dictate her own terms, I shall 
 be prepared to consider th«n," was the im- 
 perturbable reply. "At present I am content 
 to wait the demise of my uncle before I de- 
 cide on my after-plans. Meanwhile, I feel 
 much indebted to you, my dear Lady Mary, 
 for the consideration which you have shown 
 to the wishes of Mrs. Trevanion. No doubt 
 she is appalled by the prospect before her; 
 she would be equally so by a far less import- 
 ant event; and I shall feel still further ob- 
 liged, if you will tranquilize her mind upon 
 the subject, and assure her from me that, in 
 any and every case, I shall be careful that she 
 is not exposed to any extra care or exertion. 
 I trouble you with this mission, because, after 
 the interest which you have so kindly evinced 
 in her very unnecessary anxiety, I feel satis- 
 fied that you will derive gratification from 
 peforming so friendly an office." 
 
 Lady Mary Brooklands rose; she could en- 
 dure no more ; the calm self-possession of her 
 companion made the blood tingle in her 
 veins; but she was one of those wary indi~ 
 viduals who live not only in the world, but 
 on it ; she could not afford to be true to her- 
 self; and, accordingly, she repressed* the 
 haughty rejoinder which trembled upon her 
 lips; and, after a few inconsequent remarks, 
 left the library, as ignorant of the real inten- 
 tions of its master as when she had en- 
 tered it. 
 
124 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 Xoverthelcss, "when she once more found 
 herself alone in her own pretty morning- 
 room, with its costly store of rare china, buhl, 
 marqvieterie, and bronze, she soon succeeded 
 in convincing herself that the designs of Mr. 
 Ti'cvanion were more transparent than he 
 imaizincd ; and that it behooved her to be 
 <iaroful of her own interests. 
 
 " Had he resolved" — thus she mentally ar- 
 gued — " to exclude Ida from her home during 
 his life-time, he would have evinced more 
 anxiety to prevent me from cariying out my 
 assumed arrangement with the Duchess of 
 Clanmorc ; as the idea of his placing at the 
 
 head of his house in shire, a woman of 
 
 ■whom he is ashamed even here, is preposter- 
 ous. Crafty as he has been, he has not suc- 
 ceeded in deceiving me ; and now my only 
 chance of averting the mortifying change of 
 fortune by which I am threatened, exists in an 
 imilicdiate reconciliation with Ida. How do I 
 regret that, in obedience to her father's request, 
 I did not reply to the letters which she ad- 
 dressed to me after her marriage ! However, 
 le pause est passe, and I must endeavor to re- 
 trieve my fault I will write to her at once." 
 
 And, seating herself at the antique secre- 
 taire, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and malachite, 
 which occupied the bay of the window, twenty 
 minutes had not elapsed before she had crossed 
 the first page of her paper with expressions of 
 affection, regret, and remorse, as intense as 
 thouEch she had been the cause of Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone's disgrace, and had been plotting to rob 
 her son of his birthright. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVL 
 
 AX EXPLANATION. 
 
 Ix compliance with the advice of Lady 
 Malcolm, El]ihinstone, on his return home, 
 affecting to be blind to the coldness and in- 
 difference of his wife, resolutely commenced 
 a conversation, to which she contributed noth- 
 ing beyond an occasional monosyllable ; nor 
 could even his account of the trial, and the 
 formidable ordeal through which he had so 
 successfully passed, elicit from her any demon- 
 stration of excitement or gratified pride. 
 
 Nevertheless, he persisted in his migracious 
 task, until her suppressed emotion became too 
 powerful for concealment, and the heart of 
 !Sydn«-y began to swell with hope. 
 
 " You do feel for me, and with me, Ida," he 
 eaid tenderly, as she turned away to hide the 
 tears which had forced their way from her 
 downcast eyes ; " I am sure you do, although, 
 for some inexplicable cause, you are anxious 
 to suppress those feelings. Oh I do not at this 
 mopient, when I am harassed both in mind 
 and body, deny to me the blessing of your 
 ej'mpaihy." 
 
 " Why will you persist in urging me to 
 feii^n what I can not feel ?" asked his wife, 
 struggling to regain her self-possession ; " how 
 can I sympathize in a triumph with which I 
 am totally unconnected? It is for Lady Mal- 
 colm and her daughter, in whose cause you 
 exerted the talents which, when their exhibitiou 
 
 could only have profited your wife and child, 
 you suffered to lie dormant, to congratulate you 
 on their success." 
 
 " Ida !" exclaimed her husband, reproacb- 
 fully; " you are unjust. You well know how 
 long I had been yearning fur an opportunity 
 of usefulness, and that until the day when I 
 was intrusted with this cause, which 'will, as I 
 trust, prove the corner-stone of my profes- 
 sional reputation, I had been unable to secure 
 one. Surely you would not visit it upon me 
 as a crime that my first efforts were exerted 
 in the behalf of my mother's dearest friend?" 
 
 " By no means ; and in the acknowledgments 
 of that friend you will liave your best reward. 
 It is the consciousness of that fact which closes 
 my own lips." • 
 
 " But can you imagine for a moment that any 
 thing can compensate to me for your own cold 
 indifference ?" 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself, Sydney," was the 
 measured reply ; " for you can not deceive me. 
 Had this famous trial, «^hieh has so suddenly 
 lifted you from obscurity to fame, involved the 
 interests of any other individual than Edith 
 Malcolm, I consider it very problematical if 
 you would have exhibited the same amount of 
 energy." 
 
 " Again, Ada ?" 
 
 " Can you deny the fact V 
 
 " Yes, and no. In any and every case I 
 should have felt it my duty to put 'forth all 
 my strength ; but I do not seek to deny that I 
 should have felt much less anxiety as to the 
 result." 
 
 " For once you are frank ?" 
 
 " For once ! Have you ever found me other- 
 wise ? Listen to me, Ida : high-minded, pure- 
 hearted, and capable, as I well know, of any 
 sacrifice for those you love, you are, neverthe- 
 less, destroying our mutual happiness by » 
 phantom which you have yourself evitked. 
 Once more, despite your pledge to the contrary, 
 you are indulging in inferences as unjust to 
 myself as they are injurious to the innocent 
 girl, for whom I have never felt more than the 
 regard and affection of a brother. Can yoo 
 not rely upon my plighted word? And have 
 you forgotten that she was the promised bride 
 of your poor cousin ?" 
 
 " A fable," said Mrs. Elphinstone, scorn- 
 fully ; " a bridegroom with the hand of death 
 already pressiusj upon his heart ! — a bride who 
 scarcely vouchsafed to shed a tear over his , 
 untimely grave I The game was ill-played, 
 and could not deceive the lookers-on." 
 
 " Can it be possible, Ida, that you still per- 
 sist in so fatal a delusion? Have you no 
 respect for the father of your child? — do • 
 regard for the honor of your own sex? If 
 it indeed be so; if you blindly indulge in a ' 
 weakness which neither assurances nor proofe 
 can overcome, what a life of misery is before 
 us both!" 
 
 " The assurances have not been wanting," eaid 
 his wife, gloomily; " but where are the proofs?" 
 
 " Tliey exist in the fact that, aware of your 
 suspicions, I have not for months frequented 
 the ftouse of Lady Malcolm, save on profes- 
 sional busmess ; aiid that I voluntarily offered 
 to effect a total estrangement between the two 
 familiea." 
 
• By exposing me and my wretchedness to 
 the contempt of those who had caused it." 
 
 "Ida, do not drive me to extremity!"' ex- 
 claimed her husband; ''from you I can Lear, 
 I have borue, much — but all endurance lias 
 its limits. I can not long support an existence 
 BO cruel as this to which you have condemned 
 me. While I believed that your jealousy was 
 the result of au affection which would not 
 brook less than an adet^uate return, I strove 
 by every mc;uis in my power to prove how 
 much you wronged me ; but now, when I see 
 aud feel that 1 am no longer the object of 
 either love or confidence, I have not self-com- 
 mand enough to eudure the daily and hourly 
 trials to which I am subjected." 
 
 " And do I escape my share of suffering ?" 
 'Iiufortuuately you do not. Would that it 
 were otherwise!" 
 
 " "\^"e have committed a fatal error, Sydney," 
 
 said Mrs. Elphinstone, suddenly ; " or rather it 
 
 ii I wlio have been guilty of one. In my 
 
 I ■wretched egotism, believing that I could and 
 
 I should suffice to make your happiness, I urged 
 
 I you to abandon the world, that we might live 
 
 only for each other. I overtaxed your affec- 
 
 j tion ; I calculated too blindly on your stability ; 
 
 I putting firm faith in the assurances which you 
 
 I had given me that when once I became your 
 
 wife your existence would be bound up in 
 
 i mine, I thought myself secure. What the 
 
 ' result of my confidence has been, I need not 
 
 I say : suffice that we are both most wretched ! 
 
 You affirm that you can no longer support 
 
 I such an existence ; judge, then, how little I 
 
 j shall be able to endure it. I never deceived 
 
 j you, Sydney ; I warned you, when you sought 
 
 [my hand, that if ever I had proof of your 
 
 • falsehood, I should hate as deeply as I had 
 
 I ever loved. I say so still ; but, until , I have 
 
 I that proof, I will struggle on for my child's 
 
 I sake — ay, even for my own — for what have 
 
 I I now left on earth to cling to but yourself." 
 Exhausted by her own emotion, Ida sank 
 
 back upon her chair, and buried her face in 
 her hands, while hot tears forced their way 
 through her trembling fingers. In an instant, 
 Elphinstone was at her side. 
 
 " And I — I," he murmured convulsively ; " I 
 have none but you. Why will you close your 
 heart against me ?" 
 
 With a wild gesture, his wife flung her arms 
 about his Deck 
 
 " Precisely as I anticipated!" said a voice, 
 which proceeded from the unclosed door that 
 opened upoa the lawn, and Lady Malcolm, 
 "with a beaming smile and extended hand, ad- 
 Tanced eagerly toward them. 
 
 In an instant, Mrs. Elphinstone stood erect ; 
 no trace of tears could be detected in her 
 |flashing eyes, although they still lingered on 
 jher cheeks: proudly, and even dcfyingly, 
 [she returned the animated glance which was 
 'fastened on her ; and while Sydney grasped, 
 with warmth and fervor, the proffered hand, 
 his wife remamed cold and motionless. 
 ! " Did I not tell you that one word would 
 Isuffice to explain all?" asked their visitor, 
 (cheerfully ; "and now that word has been 
 jspoken, you see the happy effect which it has 
 ijiroduced." 
 
 " Will you do me the favor to interpret your 
 
 meaning. Lady Malcolm ?" asked Ida, haijghtily ; 
 " for you must pardon me if 1 confess myself 
 unable to comprehend either the purport of 
 your words, or the reason of this somewhat 
 extraordinary intrusion on the privacy of my 
 home." 
 
 " Will you not excuse my want of ceremony 
 in the earnestness of its motive, my dear Mrs. 
 Elphinstone? With considerable difficulty I 
 succeeded in convincing your husband that 
 your late unhappiness had arisen solely from 
 your imeasincss on the subject of a certain 
 Lady Mary Maitland, and that, consequently, 
 Avhen he informed you that she was about to 
 become Marchioness of Brentwood, you would 
 at once appreciate at its real value the idle 
 gossip of a few tattling women." 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone glanced toward her husband 
 for an instant, and a sarcastic expression passed 
 over her features as she replied, "You are 
 very kind, madam, to interest yourself so 
 warmly in our domestic happiness, but, for- 
 tunately, I am too clear-sighted to become your 
 dupe. LFntil tliis moment I never heard even 
 the name of the lady to whom it would appear 
 that Mr. Elphinstone was so much devoted, as 
 to render it a matter of congratulation to mo 
 that slio is about to become a wife. This was 
 a piece of intelligence which I had yet to learn, 
 and I thank you for the information, tardy as 
 it is." 
 
 " Mrs. Elphinstone, what would your man- 
 ner to me imply? You know how sincere an 
 affection I feel, and have ever felt, for your 
 husband, but even his wife may presume too 
 far upon it." 
 
 " Oh, I can incur the threatened risk without 
 shrinking;" said Ida, with a mocking laugh, 
 "it is really time that we should understand 
 each other ; and I can but admire the frank- 
 ness witli which Lady Malcolm acknowledged 
 an affection in which her daughter so cordially 
 unites." 
 
 " Ida 1" exclaimed her husband, imploringly. 
 
 "Suffer Mrs. Elphinstone to explain herself, 
 Sydney," said their visitor, with calm dignity; 
 "if I'mistake not, there was an allusion mado 
 to Edith — to Miss Malcolm, which requires ex- / 
 plauation, and I demand it here and now." ' 
 
 " You shall have it, madam ;" said the in^ 
 fatuated woman, as she drew herself proudly 
 up and confronted the pale and stately matron. 
 " If I was not aware, until you obliged me by 
 the information, that at the very time wlion 
 Mr. Elpliiuftone (no doubt supposing that I 
 must ultimately becomo the heiress of tiio 
 wealthy Mr. Trevanion), induced mo to believe 
 that I was the only woman he had ever loved, 
 he had so far committed himself in another 
 quarter, as to have become the theme of idle 
 tongues, and subjected a lady to the same mor- 
 tification, I feel littlo disposed at the present 
 day to resent the indignity which he then 
 offered to me. 
 
 " I do not even seek or care to know whether 
 on that ocC|asion he played the flattering part 
 of a rejected suitor; or, weighing the lady's 
 reputed wealth with my own, conceived that 
 the scale turned in my favor ; if the former was 
 tlie case, his own feelings must have been a 
 sufficient punishment ; if the latter, I am now 
 taught to exult in a firmnosa on the part of 
 
i'ib 
 
 lliJli J ll,£i.L.KJ V O WlJeJl.. 
 
 inr father, which I had hitheto regarded as 
 cruelty. 
 
 '• Thus, then, I trust you will perceive that, 
 althou>^h the knowledge of Mr. Elphinstone'.s 
 former atttachincnt l»y no means tends to exalt 
 my opinion of cither his stability or his good 
 faith, it can not otiierwise atiect my happiness. 
 I am no child to fight with shadows. And 
 now, as you request it, I will explain my ref- 
 erence to Mi.«3 Malcolm. I confess, that to 
 myself it appears wholh' unnecessary that I 
 should do so, but since ,vou request it — " 
 
 " I do not request, I demand it." 
 
 " Ida 1" once more exclaimed her husband, 
 in violent agitation. 
 
 Mrs. Elphinstone disregarded an appeal, of 
 which she even appeared to be unconscious ; 
 and coldly pursued : 
 
 " You found us happy, Lady ^falcolm. 
 When you first crossed our path wc were, or I 
 believed that we were, every thing to each 
 other; not a cloud had come between us; 
 and what has been the result of our acquaint- 
 ance ?" 
 
 With a groan wrung from his very heart, 
 Sydney flung himself on the sofa, and buried 
 his face among the cusliions. He could not 
 bear to meet the eyes of the admirable woman 
 and unfailing friend,»wlio was about for his 
 sake to be subjected to tlio most cruel insult, 
 that could be offered to a mother. 
 
 '■ The result 1" echoed Lady Malcolm, in a 
 tone of undisguised amazement. 
 
 " Tlie result, madam : You have a daughter 
 younger tlian myself, perhaps handsomer — 1 
 am too proud, or perhaps under existing cir- 
 cumstiince.s, too careless, to contest that point. 
 I welcomed her to my liome, where she has 
 gradually supplanted me. She has been my 
 husband's chosen companion ; she consoled hiin 
 by her society when, by giving birth to his 
 child, I was condemned to the irksomeuess of 
 a sick-room ; her accomplishments have admin- 
 istered to his amusements ; her attentions have 
 soothed his vanity ; and finally, when the wel- 
 fare of those who were dependent on him 
 failed to arouse him into energy and action, she 
 discovered the secret of awakening both, by 
 enUsting them in her service. And you de- 
 mand to know my meaning. Lady Malcolm I 
 You, who have looked calmly on, and suffered 
 the affections of my husband to be wrenched 
 from mo, day by day, by the wiles of an artful 
 girl." 
 
 "No more, Ida — no more!" exelaimed her 
 husband, suddenly springing up. " You can 
 not understand the bearing of your words; 
 you can not mean to imply to the mother of 
 Edith—" 
 
 "J imply nothing, Mr. Elphinstone, and I 
 am fully and painfully aware of my own mean- 
 ing. 1 have endured much, and long; but all 
 human endurance has its limits." 
 
 Iiady Malcolm had turned awa}', but the 
 violence of her emotion coidd bo detected in 
 the convulsive shiver by which her whole frame 
 was agitated. Twice she strove to speak, but 
 the words died away upon her lips; and her 
 heart throbbed visibly beneath the pressure of 
 the hand with which she strove in vain to con- 
 trol its beatings. 
 
 "Sydney," she said, at length, in a hoarse 
 
 whisper, "I forgive your wife for your moth- 
 er's sake — I can do no more. Mv pure, in- 
 nocent child I My poor Edith 1 Vho shall 
 escape the tongue of slander, the taint of sus- 
 picion, since she has become their victim. 
 Farewell, S^'dney, we must meet no more on 
 this earth. Would that our final parting had 
 been less bitter." 
 
 " Not so, Lady Malcolm, not so," said El- 
 phinstone, sternly, as he retained his grasp 
 of the hand which she liad extended to him ; 
 " my wife has truly said that ' all human en- 
 durance lias its limit.*,' and I have been ferced 
 bej'ond the boundary of mine. I will not 
 consent that this meeting shall be our final 
 one; I will 7iot consent to be abandoned by 
 my best and oldest friend, at the bidding of 
 a woman, who, in the indulgence of a weak 
 and vicious passion, has forfeited at once her 
 own dignity and the respect of her husband. 
 I thank you that you liave not attempted to 
 vindicate your pure and injured daughter, 
 and by so doing, cast a doubt on my own 
 honor. Mrs. Elphinstone is, happily for us 
 both, possessed of an income which will 
 enable her to quit a home in which she de- , 
 clafes herself to have been deceived, neglect-.' 
 cd, and dishonored, nor shall I ever cease to 
 remember that slic is the mother of my child, 
 should I have it in my power to add to her 
 worhll}' comfort and respectability. 
 
 " In becoming my wife, she made great 
 and undeniable saciifices, Avhich I have en- 
 deavored to repay by a forbearance that has 
 at last rendered me contemptible in my own 
 eyes. I have deserved the indignities which 
 have been lieaped upon rae, but I will now 
 assert myself. 
 
 "Violating, as Mrs. Elphinstone has done, 
 every principle of delicacy, she shall not 
 have cause to reproach me with a want 
 of generosity in my turn. I am a father, and 
 how I have loved our boy she well knows, 
 but I will s]>are her the pang which I inflict 
 upon myself; I will not rob her of her child.. 
 She will, at least, have one being left to love, 
 while 1—1—" 
 
 " Sydney I" gasped his wife, as she ap- 
 proached him. " Dort understand you right- 
 ly ? Do you sacrifice me and your child to 
 those who have brought this misery upoa 
 me?" 
 
 " I ask 3'ou to make no sacrifice," was the 
 cold reply ; " I leave ^-ou free, while securing 
 my own immunity from further insult." 
 
 "Sydney," said Lady Malconi, in her turn; 
 "beware of forming a rash and hasty resolu- 
 tion. That you liave been wronged is true, 
 but you love your wife, and must not, with- 
 out 'mature reflection, destroy the hajjpiness 
 of two lives." 
 
 " Doubtlessly, madam," remarked Ida, bit- 
 terly, " what Mr. l-Llphinstone refuses to an 
 injured wife, he would concede to your en- 
 treaties. I, however, decline to owe an^ 
 thing to the intercession of the individual — ' 
 
 " Ida," interposed lier husband; " let it suf- 
 fice that you have hitherto been enabled to 
 insult me with impunity; I will not suflFer 
 you to carry j'our madnesss further. If the 
 dignity and honor of your husband are of 
 so little importance in your eyes, that you 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 127 
 
 cim afford to sacrifice them to yotir insane 
 and uiifuuiuled suspicions, I warn j-oii tliat I 
 sliall not attempt to reciprocate the injur}*, 
 lint, will part from j-ou without noise or 
 scandal ; venture, however, to utter but one 
 v.ord affecting the reputation ®f those to 
 whom you are indebted for a friendship 
 which 3'ou have requited with the most gra- 
 tuitous ingratitude, and I shall prove less 
 forbearing. The law shall then separate us, 
 and the world shall judge between us." 
 
 "Yet once more let me entreat — " com- 
 menced Lady Malcolm, earnestly. 
 
 " It is useless, madam," said Ida, with a 
 calm more frightful than the wildest passion; 
 " the question has been decided. I prefer 
 tlie beggary to which Mr. Elphinstone has 
 condemned me to any association with those 
 whom I can neither regard nor respect, and 
 wliose very presence is irksome to me. Per- 
 mit me, however, before you leave us, to as- 
 sure you that I am not the victim you would 
 fain have made me. I warned my husband 
 before I gave him my hand, that mine was 
 not a heart which could be trampled on with 
 impunity. I warned him that mine was no 
 cold and common nature, which could be 
 etung, and requite the venom with a smile. 
 Believe me when I say — for I sav it advised- 
 ly — tliat I can hate as'deeply as I have loved ; 
 that where I have been injured, I can re- 
 quite. Do not picture me to yourself, or 
 paint me to your daughter, as crushed by the 
 fate to which you have mutually hurried me. 
 The blow will fall more heavily upon my 
 husband than upon myself. He abandons 
 me to the comments of the world — I leave 
 him to tiie reproaches of his own conscience." 
 1 Lady JIaleolm offered no reply, but after 
 j wringing the hand of Sydney, walked slowly 
 from the room, and the husband and wife 
 were alone together. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 A FIRST SEPARATION. 
 
 I On the departure of Lady Malcolm, Mrs. 
 Elphinstone had, in her turn, advanced to the 
 door of the a[)artmeut, firmly and haughtily, 
 but with a slow and measured step, which 
 ■would, had he been inclined to do so, have 
 afforded ample time to her husband to detain 
 her. 
 
 Mr. Elphinstone, however, evinced no de- 
 sire to control her movements. He was fol- 
 lowing Lady Malcolm with his eyes as she 
 traversed the garden ; nor did he move from 
 the window until she had disappeared through 
 the door of communication which opened uji- 
 on her own grounds; and when he at length 
 changed his position, his wife had left the 
 room. 
 
 For a moment the young husband looked 
 around him like one bewildered by a sudden 
 blow. Even the accustomed objects by 
 which ho was surrounded appeared strange 
 sand unfamiliar. There was an expression of 
 Ikeen suffering upon his features, and a trem- 
 lulousness in his manner, which betrayed how ' 
 
 deeply he had been moved ; but his eye waa 
 tearless as lie raised his hat from the table, 
 and, ringing for a servant, desired tliat ^Irs. 
 Elphinstone might be informed that he should 
 not return home that night, and that, conse- 
 quently, it would be unnecessary to detain 
 the dinner. 
 
 Poor Sydney ! The illusions of life were 
 over for him ; and he felt that heneeforward 
 he must pursue his path alone. For hours 
 he wandered through the lanes where he had 
 so often loitered with Ida; nor was it until 
 the declining sun warned him that he had 
 still to seek a home that he reluctantly 
 turned once more into the busy thoroughfare 
 which led toward town. 
 
 His reflections had been very bitter ones, 
 but his conscience acquitted him of wrong; 
 and while he remembered, with the sad 
 yearning of regret, all that his wife had once 
 been to him — his elegant, though modest 
 home — his beautiful and only child — his 
 very heart seemed bursting within him. 
 But his resolution was not shaken even for 
 an instant. His wounded affections might, 
 and did, rebel; but the pride of outraged 
 manhood gave him strength to resist their 
 pleadings. 
 
 Still it was with a njelancholy feeling of 
 isolation that he at length reached the Tem- 
 ple, which he had resolved should be his 
 future home, and gave the necessary instruc- 
 tions to his amazed but unquestioning clerk. 
 
 " My profession must henceforth be wife, 
 and child, and world to me," he murmured 
 to himself, as he sank into one of the un- 
 wieldy chairs by which his priv.ite otBce was 
 encumbered. "'I miwt forget the past, and 
 strive to suffice to myself. I will endeavor 
 to evoke ambition from the ashes of outraged 
 affection. I can not be happy, but I may yet 
 be true to myself." 
 
 It was a bold vaunt ; but, even as he 
 uttered it, he felt its emptiness, and, after a 
 sliarp struggle with feelings which he vainly 
 stigmatized as weak and womanly, he bent 
 his head upon the desk before him, and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 He was alone ; and no prying eye could 
 note his tears. For awliile "this conviction 
 gave him a sense of relief, which was almost 
 happiness; but soon tlie consciousness re- 
 turned to him that thus he niust ever be; 
 that, alike in grief or ioil, he must remain 
 companionless — unchcered by the sympathy 
 of home; that, husband and father though he 
 was, the tenderness of a wife, tlie Iftvc of a 
 child, would no longer make his labor light, 
 or his success a triumph. 
 
 And he was still so young! So full of the 
 best and holiest impulses of life I , To what 
 long and weary years of existence might he 
 not be condemned ? The reflection startled 
 him. No! the life of study and intellectual 
 struggle upon wiiich he had decided so pre- 
 maturely, would not sufTice to blot out the 
 hitter memories of the past. He could not 
 breathe tlie 5ame air, or exist in the same 
 hemisphere, with the woman ho had so dearly 
 loved — the child upon whom he had built up 
 so many hopes. 
 
 " I will labor on until I have insured their 
 
inXi oxjj^i-iKJuo 
 
 comfort and woll-Lcing," was liis next re- 
 solve. "I will restore to her, by my exer- 
 tions, the affliicnee ■\vliieh, for my sake, slie 
 abandoned ; my boy shall cease to be a beg- 
 gar ; and then, when I have secnred my name 
 from reproach, the world will bo before me, 
 and I will hew out my own path unfliuch- 
 ingly." 
 
 The darkness grew dense about him ; every 
 object in the vast and dreary room became 
 , dim an<i indistinct; and the deep silence of 
 the ancient pile was rendered still more op- 
 pressive by tlie hollow reverberations from 
 the busy, streets beyond. 
 
 The tide of feeling rushed back upon him. 
 The past, with all its hopes and all its affec- 
 tions, I'osc on his memory with mocking 
 brilliancy ; and with lingering tenderness he 
 lived over again the few brief months of 
 happiness and love that he had passed with 
 Ida. 
 
 " Is it firmness or cowardice which has im- 
 pelled me to the extreme step that I have now 
 taken ?" ho a.skcd himself. " Is it not my duty 
 to endure all, until I have sectred the compe- 
 tence which is now mine only in perspective, 
 and which may even fail me yet? Daro I 
 abandon the woman who, in the unselfish con- 
 fidence of a trusting heart, gave herself to me 
 in my poverty and obscurity, when she might 
 have become the ■vnfo of one who could have 
 surrounded her with all the luxuries of 
 life? 
 
 " In seeking to assert myself; I have been 
 alike ungenerous and unjust; but it is not j-ct 
 too late to repair my fault. She can not mis- 
 take my motive, if I tell her frankly the decision 
 at whicli I have arrived. To-morrow, then — 
 to-morrottr I will once more return to that home 
 which I believed that I had abandoned forever. 
 I will strive to remember all that she once was 
 to me, and forget that which she now is. I 
 ■will support my wrongs in silence, until I can 
 liberate both her and myself with honor. 
 
 "It is bitter, very bitter; but it must bo 
 borne. She docs not comprehend how I have 
 loved, how I still love her, and it is better so ; 
 she will have one regret the less when the hour 
 of separation at lengtli comes. Yes, I feel that 
 I have decided rightly. She is too young, too 
 beautiful, to be abandoned to a hollow and cold- 
 hearted world until she 2:)osscsses the means of 
 compelling its respect. I have — I ought to 
 have no alternative — and I will meet my fate 
 courageousl}', cruel as it is." 
 
 As the unhappy young man arrived at this 
 determination, ho rang for lights, which were 
 no sooner placed before him, than with nervous 
 rapidity he unsealed and rend the letters which 
 lay upon his table ; and for a brief moment a 
 Bmilo of exultation played about his lips. There 
 was work before him ; not assistance coldly 
 and grudgingly tendered, but opportunities of 
 usefulness pressed cordially and flattciingly 
 upon him. II is heart might bo silencdl forever, 
 but his mtellect was about to bo called into 
 full exercise ; and henceforth he must live for 
 fame, and forget his jjrivato sorrows in his 
 public duties. • 
 
 In the excitement of the moment ho seized 
 his pen, and far into the night, alone, fasting, 
 and heart-crushed, ho labored on. 
 
 nis sohtude was uninvadcd, his wants un- 
 heeded. He was alone with his vanished 
 visions, his blighted hopes, his withered trust; 
 nor was it until the cold gray dawn stole with 
 its dreary gleam into the room, that he at 
 length flung himself upon a sofa, and fell into 
 a deep and comfortless sleep. 
 
 And how had Ida — she who had wilfully 
 wrecked her own happiness and that of a hus- 
 band whom she loved with all tlie pas.'»ionato 
 ardor of her ill-governed nature — how had sho 
 passed the night in which she had become 
 worse than widowed ? At times on her knees 
 beside the cradle of her child, weeping such 
 tears as leave their trace forever upon tho 
 heart from which they flow — upbraiding herself, 
 her destiny — regretting the past — shrinking 
 from the future — and listening with a beating 
 heart for tho returning step of him whom she 
 had outraged. At times pacing the room with 
 rapid and unequal steps, braving the fate 
 which her own folly had brought upcm her, 
 and striving to believe that she no longer loved 
 him. 
 
 As the night wore on, and the clock of a 
 neighboring church pealed out the hour of 
 midnight, however, all the false energy by 
 which she had hitherto been sustained, forsook 
 her. Xever, until the moment in which slio 
 at length despaired of his return, had slio 
 been fully conscious how necessary Sydney 
 was to her existence. Even her child was 
 forgotten in the utter despair which took 
 possession of her. The very firmness with 
 which ho had brought this wretchedness upon 
 her compelled her respect; and for awhile 
 she cowered beneath the conviction of his 
 unsuspected strength of character This pros- 
 tration of spirit was, however, only tem- 
 porary. . • 
 
 "Beit so," she murmured to herself; "the 
 contest will no longer be an unequal one : in 
 bruising my heart, he will crush his own ; for 
 even while he betrayed me, I feel that he loved 
 me still. I have no longer a home — scarcely a 
 name — and yet I will defy the fate to which be 
 has condemned me. Time will prove who can 
 best bear up against the trial. 
 
 " But no. no ; that seeming strength couM 
 have been but mamentary. Sydney, you have 
 deceived yourself; it is not I who am destined 
 to be the victim : you can not, you dare not, 
 abandon both wife and child, and brave the 
 world without sympathy or support. No, T feel 
 and know that you will yet return to my feet a 
 suppliant ; but it .«liall be too late, even did you 
 sue to me this very hour. You abandon me to 
 poverty; I accept it, for you will have con- 
 demned yourself to an cxi.stenee far moic 
 wretched; and while the world may .synipa* 
 thize in my privations, you sliall never know 
 the keener pangs that you havo inflicted on my 
 heart. 
 
 "Ay," she pursued still more bitterly; "tbo 
 moment in which yon have thrust me forth to 
 struggle with that world has been well chosen. 
 Your path is smooth before you ; you have felt 
 the intoxicating consciousness of success — the 
 future is bright in its ])romise ; and it is now — 
 now — that you assume the semblance of a power 
 which I defy. 
 
 " Were I still the spoiled and pami)€ted , 
 
 d 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 12{ 
 
 heiross. I could forpive vou ; for then indeed I 
 ;>mld, -w-ithoiit humiliation, welcome you back 
 :o my heart, and struggle to forgot the past — I 
 Oiallbe very wretched, but I, too, can bo firm ; 
 ' -lo liave been martyrs who have smiled at 
 l.f st:ike ; and I, like them, will endure my 
 nartyrdom w'thout complaint, proudly con- 
 "cious that I shall not sutFer alone." 
 
 Day broke ; the busy hum of men rose on 
 I he liir; the sorrowing, who had for a few 
 Ijrief hours forfxotten their cares in sleep, 
 'iwoke to renewed grief; the happy sprang 
 I'rom their beds, exulting in a new season of 
 imjoymeut; and ere the siui had long been 
 ihove the horizon, Sydney Elpliiustone, true to 
 lis purpose of the previous night, was already 
 •n his way, self-accusing and self-rebuked, to 
 lis now cheerless home. 
 
 CHAPTER XLYIIL 
 
 "At last!" murmured Ida to herself, as from 
 jlie window of her dressing-room, which she 
 .ad flung open in order to ccol her aching brow 
 1 the fresh morning air, she saw her husband 
 ass the gate of the lawn, and approach the 
 louse : " I knew that it must bo so ; a few 
 jiort hours have sufficed to show him that he 
 iFcrrated his own strength ; this is as I would 
 ave it ; — I shall not be the forsaken wife, 
 iirust forth from the hearth and heart of the 
 
 ian on whose truth and loyalty she had re- 
 id; but the indignant and self-avenging 
 Oman, who has energy enough to revenge her 
 IJTi wrongs!" 
 
 i As she thus communed with her own 
 jioughts, she hastily bound up her hair, bathed 
 br swollen eyes with cold water, and arranged 
 r dress, which, in the irritation of a long and 
 eepless night, had become disordered. 
 As the Indian suttee decorates herself with 
 e most costly jewels ere she prepares to as- 
 nd the funeral-pyre of her husband, so did 
 rs. Elphinstone, strong in her resolution to 
 sist the pleadings of Sydney, and to inflict 
 I him a pang which must, nevertheless, as 
 e was painfully conscious, recoil upon herself, 
 ind calmly before her glass, and endeavor 
 jith fastidious care to obliterate every vestige 
 the sufferbg through which she had just 
 issed, ere she doomed hei'self to life-long 
 lisery by rejecting all overtures to a reconcil- 
 jtion which might yet have saved them both. 
 I Slowly, and with an unruffled brow, she ulti- 
 ;ately descended to the breakfast-room ; and 
 jCre, as she had anticipated, she found her 
 (■.sband— not calm and collected like herself— 
 it evidently laboring under an agitation by 
 lich he was thorouglily unnerved. 
 As she entered the apartment, he turned 
 ruptly toward her, and extended his hand ; 
 t the action was unheeded by his wife, who, 
 tering a cold and brief " good morning," pre- 
 red to lay her own hand upon the bell 
 j"Hear»me, Ida," he said eagerly, as he inter- 
 TOted the movement ; " before our solitude is 
 ij-aded by the entrance of a servant, let me 
 U you that I have recognized my fault; 
 9 
 
 wounded pride and the resentment of a heart 
 smitten in its best affections hurried me into a 
 harshness foreign to my nature, and unworthy 
 of one whom, however lightly you may now 
 regard his happiness, you once loved. 
 
 " Let us forget the past, at least until I can 
 provide you with a home more congenial to 
 your tastes and habits. We can never again 
 be to each other what we once were ; but we 
 may still live under the shelter of the same 
 roof, and, by mutual forbearance, replace our 
 lost illusions by a calm and peaceful reality. 
 
 " Our position must be a painful and an on- 
 erous one, as I well know; but if we both 
 strive to render it endurable, surely wo may 
 succeed." 
 
 " Mr. Elphinstone," was the cold reply, " the 
 picture which you have sketched is by no ■ 
 means an attractive one. That you have, since 
 you left your home, recognized the cowardice I 
 and selfishness of sacrificing your wife to the 
 woman who has supplanted her in your affec- 
 tions, I am rejoiced to hear, as it proves that 
 you are not as yet thoi-oughly forgetful of 
 your responsibilities as a husband and a father ; 
 and for your own sake, I am glad of this, al- 
 tliough the fact can not for a moment affect 
 either my happiness or my determination. 
 
 " You are right, I did love you once — truly, ^ 
 deeply, fervently — but that time is past. Ida 
 Trevanion confided in you — honored you — 
 would have laid down her life to brighten 
 yours — and clung to you through every change 
 of fortune. Ida Elphinstone honors you no 
 longer, confides in you no longer : her idol has 
 been cast from its pedestal, and she has found it 
 clay. 
 
 "Do not mistake yourself; it is no sublime 
 and self-abnegating repentance which now 
 leads you to confess and to deplore your injus- 
 tice ; it is simply a sense of the void which our 
 separation will cause in your future existence. 
 You still love me, in spite of yourself — in spite 
 of the wrong that you have done me — the in- 
 dignity to which you have exposed me — and 
 you can not contemplate without terror the 
 consequences of a final rupture between us. I 
 am still, as ever, necessary to your happiness ; 
 and it is for your owq sake, not for mine, that 
 you arc anxious to avert the evil." 
 
 " Ida, I swear to you, that were I at this 
 moment possessed of the afHuence to which I 
 trust one day to attain — were I enabled to 
 place you in the position from which I rashly 
 hurled you down — believing, vain fool that I 
 was ! that my love would compensate to you 
 for every sacrifice — I should not now be here, 
 pleading to you to relieve me from self-rebuke. 
 
 "Even now, I do not ask of you to pardon 
 any tiling beyond the impetuous and uncon- 
 sidered resolution which I yesterday ex- 
 pressed, for, save in that solitary instance, I 
 have nothing to regret — nothing with which 
 to reproach myself. All I entreat — and be- 
 lieve me when I say that I do it earnestly — 
 is, that you will remain beneath my roof, and 
 imder my protection, until I am enabled to 
 feel that my ill-omened love has not en- 
 tailed upon you the misery and suffering of 
 poverty. 
 
 " Like yourself, I was weak while I believed 
 that I possessed your afTcctiou, but, like your- 
 
1.10 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 so'f, I have ncquircd strcnjrth by trifil. I can 
 bear to live without you; I ca?i dare to look 
 fonvard to an existence unsolaeed by affectioD ; 
 but 1 can not brcxik that the -woman I liave 
 luved sliould be exposed to trials to which she 
 could never have been subjected had she not 
 become my wife." 
 
 " You talk bravely," said Ida, with a wither- 
 inc^ sneer; "the future will jirove in how far 
 you are justified in usiTi<^ sucii his^h-sounding 
 woi'd3. Once more, I tell you that I am re- 
 venged ; I will not remain another day beneath 
 your roof. 
 
 " I express no gratitude for your assumed 
 anxiety m my future welfare ; for, specious as 
 tlie argument might seem to one unacquainted 
 with your nature, it can never mislead me. In 
 your egotism, you dread the comments of the 
 world ; the contempt which must attach to a 
 man who, after winning the heart of a trusting 
 woman who had hitheito kno^ftTi nothing of life 
 save its enjoyments, thrust her forth to poverty 
 when she was bold enough to resent her 
 wrongs. 
 
 " Well, sir, to these unsparing comments, 
 to that withering contempt, you shall be sub- 
 jected. I am no hireling, to await in luimble 
 si;liinission the good j)leasure of a master. I 
 will owe you nothing — I will not even accept 
 as a boon from your Inind, the guardianship 
 of my child, for you dare not wrest him 
 f:oin me. Unlike yourself, I have a regret — 
 I Iiave a reproach. I regret that the fortune 
 (f tlio heiress did not enable you to secure 
 the affluiiiee which, in all probability, invested 
 me, in your eyes, with charms that faded 
 under the disapjjointmeut which superA'cned ; 
 and I reproach, not you, but myself, that I 
 was weak enough to be deluded into sup[)os- 
 i'lg tl-.nt such must not inevitably have been 
 the CISC." 
 
 " Ida," said Elphinstonc, sadly, " passion has 
 made you illogical. If it indeed be as you 
 a'iii'm, and that I am in truth guilty of the 
 un':;cnerous weakness of which I am now ac- 
 cused ; if your loss of fortune, forfeited as it 
 was for my sake, has rendered you less dear 
 to me; then why should I shrink from the 
 desliuy which you have hewn out for me ? 
 How can I love you still with a fervor which 
 you have declared me unable to control or 
 to pubduc ? 13y prophesying my life-long 
 m'sery in resigning you, you still confess your 
 faith in the stability of my aft'eetion, and 
 tacitly admit the falsehood of your own accu- 
 sa'iioiis; by fastening upon me the vice of 
 avarice, you divest me of those finer feelings 
 which could alone render my future isolatisd 
 existence a burden and a pang. The comments 
 of a world, to which, for your sake, I shall 
 offer no explanation, I shall know how to de- 
 spise ; its contempt I shall regard as little, 
 until I have compelled its respect. Do not, 
 therefore, delude yourst'lf; but i)ause ere you 
 enlFer passion to overwhelm your reason. 
 Once more, and for the last time, I entreat of 
 you to L'lve mercy upon us both." 
 
 "And ouco more, and for the last time, I 
 refuse to comply with your entreaty," vehe- 
 mently replied his wife; "my boy Avill suffii'O 
 to me; and I trust that, for your own sake, 
 you may bo enabled to derive equal consola- 
 
 tion in the smiles of your mother's fiiend nnd 
 her inestimable daughter, or in those of tho 
 Lady Mary Maitland, wlio had the honor of 
 preceding me in your affections, until, like a 
 Av ay ward child, you weary of the new toy as 
 you wearied of the old one. 
 
 "The. world is wide, Mr. Elphinstonc, and 
 you arc becoming its favorite ; I should bo 
 unwilling to cast one shadow upon the bright- 
 ness of your path. You Imvc assured me 
 that the fame which you have lately acquired 
 must bring fortune in its train ; enjoy that 
 fortune without scruple and without stint, for, 
 from the hour in which I quit your house, I 
 make no claim upon you ; I reject all favors, 
 all concessions ; 1 came to you almost penni- 
 less, and almost penniless I am content to 
 j continue. Console yourself as I shall — if yo» 
 can" I i 
 
 "And this is your final resolution?"' f ! 
 
 -It is." ' 
 
 "So be it, then," was the rejointlcr of the ■ 
 young husband; "I had hoped that the mem- 
 ory of the past — the fate of our only child — 
 might have Aveighed with you; but 1 have 
 deceived myself, and will urge you no further. ' 
 Only remember, Ida, that a few houi.s hcnce^ 
 should you repent your decision, it will at i 
 ready be too late. Since jon refuse to accord j 
 to nic even the right of contributing to your i 
 necessities, I shall feel little inclination to i 
 waste my life in profitless labor, nor shall the i 
 name of the man, towai-d whom j-ou have 
 evinced a hatred so unbounded arid niicom- ■ 
 promising, ever again be intruded n]>oii you. . 
 You have nothing more to fear cither from 
 my afl'ection or my enmity. As you liave , 
 justly remarked, the world is wide; I will , 
 make my home beyond the reach of inquiry 
 or pursuit. I am young and strong; strong , 
 in purpose as in frame. Wretched 1 may be^ i 
 but I shall at least be a stranger to rcnioi-Sfc i 
 I have endeavored to fulfill my duty to the '. 
 last; and, if I have failed, I am content to ' 
 abide the consequences of my erroi-." i 
 
 For an instant the firmness of Mrs. Elphin- >' 
 stone forsook her; there was a deptli of feel- j 
 ing in the accents of her husband that fell ■ 
 cold and heavy on her heart; but she would j 
 not yield ; and she was about to utter somo ■■ 
 chilling rejoinder, when a servant entered, j 
 and jilaccd a couple of letters on the (able._ 
 
 Witliout even glancing at the superscrip- ,' 
 
 tion, and anxious to inijiress upon 
 
 lier lius- 
 
 band that at the very moment in which he j 
 was threatening to expatriate liinisclf— thus ' 
 rendering all possibility of their future rccon- ■ 
 ciliation impossible — slio was indifferent to a 
 resolution beneath which she nevertheless' 
 quailed, she tore open that which lay ncareflt 
 to her; and she was unable to supjircss a' 
 start of surprise as she recognized, in tho. 
 lengthy and highly-perfumed epistle, tho, 
 handwriting of Lady Mary Brookliimls. A 
 blended feeling of astonishment and cott- 
 tempt impelloi her to read it to the end. 
 
 Experience had taught her the holiownosa. 
 of her former friend; and as this was the first 
 communication which she had received froiD( 
 her since her marriage, a vague sufpicion; 
 crossed her mind that her astute ladyship 
 must have been impelled by some powerfu. 
 
 i 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE, 
 
 131 
 
 Viotivc tolavlsliupon her the laudatory ciiflcai^ 
 aieuts wliioh formed the staple of the missive. 
 
 Suddenlv, however, affecting to remember 
 :he presence of her husband, she held toward 
 lira the still open letter, savitiir, as she did so: 
 
 "A letter from your amiable aunt, Mr. El- 
 ihinstone. It may, perhaps, interest you to 
 •jist your eye over it." 
 
 Sydney received it ^ivith a silent bow, but 
 t was m.erely to fold and replace it on the 
 able; and he was just nbout to quit the 
 ooni, when a wild cry from his wife arrested 
 ,:im. Ida sat motionless, with her eyes fixed 
 .n vacancy, and a bulky packet with a deep 
 ■lack border, of which she had just broken 
 he seal, crushei -couvulsivcl}^ in her hands, 
 t "Read it, Sydney, if you would save my 
 jnses," she at length gasped out, in a shrill 
 •hisper; " read it^ for I can not." 
 
 Elphinstone took the packet from her 
 ands, and instantly detected the familiar 
 .laracters of Mr. Trevanion. He, however, 
 i.'ineed no emotion ; be the contents of the 
 •tter what they might, he imagined that 
 iiey could in no way interest himself; but 
 \i erred in his judgment. 
 jThus while Ida, panting from agitation, 
 |;teued with parted lips and starting eyes, 
 |5 stood calm and unmoved; and his voice 
 ias clear and steady, as its wont, as he pre- 
 tired to obey her, 
 ;Thus ran the letter. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 j "Tp.EVAXioy Hall, August, IS^. 
 
 i" "When the daughter to whom I had in- 
 sisted alike my future hapiiiness, and the 
 liilization of my most cherished hopes, left 
 i|e shelter of my roof to throw herself into 
 Ti3 arms of an obscure and needy lover, I 
 iilieved that I had forever closed my heart 
 ijainst her, 
 
 f'She well knew that through her, and by 
 Ijr, I would alone attain the object to which 
 3iiad devoted the whole energies of a labori- 
 <-\i life; that I had neither support nor syra- 
 I'thy to anticipate from the woman whom I 
 Iji made my wife ; that my path toward the 
 {ill to which I aspired was beset by mortifi- 
 t'ion; that my position was a false one; 
 til that the present was only rendered en- 
 tirable to me by the probable results of the 
 f ure. 
 
 t That daughter was my only* child ; and the 
 tappobtment inflicted upon me at her birth, 
 *i;ht perha[)3 to have prepared me for the 
 ^1 keener mortification to which I was sub- 
 jited by her marriage. It did not, however, 
 t-a in the moment of painful excitement, 
 ■vien her sex was revealed to me. I at once 
 f, that the infant, at least, was blameless — 
 tjt it was an accident of fate ; and I was no 
 6iner satisfied that I had little prospect of 
 a' in becoming a father than I resolved to do 
 f] the girl, who was destined to be my heir- 
 «| all that I would have done for the son who 
 ■Viold have perpetuated my name- 
 
 I " You best know, Mrs Sydney Elphinstone, 
 how I redeemed the pledge made to myself 
 within a few years of your biith. You best 
 know how care and gold were alike lavished on 
 your infancy, your girlhood, and your maturity ; 
 but what tou did not perhaps understand was 
 this; that in admiuistcriiig with ready hand to 
 your vanity, your luxury, and your egotism, 
 m developing your talents, and in affording to 
 you every opportunity of enhancing those pci^ 
 sonal qualities with which you had been gifted 
 by nature — as if to convince nie that tjic dai"- 
 ling project of my life might yet be accom- 
 pl shed — I was actuated, less by a weak feeling 
 of pride in your personal and mental endow- 
 ments, than by a desire to accomplish my 
 purpose. 
 
 ■" Had I left you to the sole guardianship of 
 a fond and mindless mother, you would have 
 I grown to womanhood as obscure as herself, 
 1 and as -unworthy to co-operate in my own views ; 
 and thus, you would have had no right to as- 
 pire to a fate less mean than that to which you 
 I saw fit to condemn yourself. 
 { " And now, for the last time — as henceforth 
 I the subject must never again be mooted 
 I between us — let me impress upon you — that 
 you have deserved no forgiveness at my hands, 
 i trusted in you, and you betrayed my trust. 
 I had confided to you the irksomeness of my 
 position — the humiliation Avhich I had endured 
 from my nearest relatives ; I had poured out 
 ray heart before you, and made you feel how 
 essential your obedience to my wishes must 
 inevitably prove to my ultimate resumption of 
 the social rank to which I was entitled by my 
 birth ; and you failed me. 
 
 " You fled from my house like a detected 
 felon, and you have paid the penalty of your 
 fault. With ostentatious pride, you left be- 
 liind you every article of luxury to which the 
 world could afiix a price ; but j'ou strangely 
 overlooked the fact that you carried away with 
 you a father's hopes and a mother's peace of 
 mind. Were you less culpable than if you 
 had broken into my strong-box, or rifled your 
 mother's jewel-case of its last diamond? I 
 leave it to yourself to answer. 
 
 " You had wealth within your grasp ; a 
 coronet at your feet ; cupidity and ambition 
 might alike have been satisfied, and you re- 
 jected both — for what? To unite yourself to 
 one who deprived you of every worldly advan- 
 tage — to see your first-born son come into life 
 a beggar — and to welcome the alms of an of- 
 fended father as a boon from Heaven ; while 
 even for those, trifling as the gift would have 
 appeared in the days Avhen you had not a wish 
 ungratified, you were indebtc 1 — not to any vol- 
 untary relenting on my part (for my experience 
 has taught me that no human being exists upon 
 the earth who might not be independent of the 
 sordid wants of the world, did he not invite 
 them either by imprudence or dishonor) — but 
 to the intercession of your friend. Lady Mal- 
 colm. 
 
 " I am far from justifying the interference 
 of a stranger in such delicate matters as those 
 of family differences; and it is even probable 
 that I might have resented her ladj'ship'a 
 intrusion on the occasion to which I have 
 alluded, had I not been aware that she waa 
 
132 
 
 THE JEALOUS TTIFE, 
 
 one of the most valued friends of Sir Jasper 
 Trevanion, to -whom I felt convinced that she 
 wouKl represent your necessities, should I fail 
 to relieve tliem — a humiliation to which I would 
 not have exposed myself for half my fortune. 
 To her, therfore, and not to myself, you owe 
 tlie temporary assistance, "which I trust proved 
 serviceable to you in your need. 
 
 " And now, as I presume that I have enabled 
 you fully to comprehend the nature of our 
 relative positions, I will proceed to exj)lain my 
 reasons for terminating the silence which has 
 so long existed between us. 
 
 " You are a wife and a mother ; in the first 
 of these capacities I am not only willing, but 
 even anxious, to ignore your pre-existence as 
 much as possible ; nor, from all that has 
 reached me, am I inclined to suppose that you 
 are less desirous than myself, to render the 
 chain as light as may be practicable, witliout 
 exposing yourself to "the idle gossiping of a 
 censorious world. 
 
 " As a mother, however, the case should be, 
 and 7}iust be, widely different. Circumstances 
 have occurred, which tend to make the son of 
 ilr. Sydney Elphinstone of considerable im- 
 portance to the Trevanion family ; and these I 
 sliall now communicate to you in detail, in order 
 tliat you may decide upon your future line of 
 action. 
 
 "About the period of your child's birth, 
 and while my uncle, Sir Jasper, was engaged 
 in preparing the settlements, resetting the 
 family diamonds, and completing the equipages 
 Tvliich he had been to town to superintend, 
 previous to the marriage of his son with Miss 
 Edith Malcolm, your cousin, Herbert Treva- 
 nion, whose licalUi had long been visibly de- 
 clining, became rapidly worse; and, with a 
 want of moral courage which was, perhaps, 
 fortunate for his successors — as he might (under 
 the blind influence of a first passion, which you 
 will in all probability not feel tempted, from 
 your own experience, to doubt), have forced 
 some imprudent concessions frpm his doating 
 father — he never warned him of the fact of his 
 approacliing end, until it became too late for 
 the baronet to divert any portion of the famOy 
 possessions from their legitimate channel; and 
 thus he ultimately died, without having eflected 
 the slightest alteration in the will which Sir 
 Jasper had executed in favor of him and his 
 heirs. 
 
 " Nor was this all ; for tho baronet, utterly 
 prostrated by tho suddenness of tho bereave- 
 ment which had rendered his old ago desolate 
 — and mark, Ida, that like you ho had flung 
 from him tlio.'^o who miglit have sustained and 
 embellished his existence, had ho done them 
 justioe — lell powerless beneath tho blow ; phys- 
 ically ho resisted tho shock, but his mind was 
 less energetic than liis frame ; from that hour 
 in which his son ceased to exist, ho became a 
 puling idiot 
 
 " You will think this shocking, Ida, but this 
 is, nevertheless, what men call retribution. In 
 liis pride and strength lie drove mo from liis 
 roof; in his imbecility and weakness, I made it 
 safe and firm above him ; in my youth ho cast 
 me forth ; in his age 1 had secured to him tho 
 legitimate shelter of his liomo. 
 
 "I am told that, legally, he was dead, and 
 
 ! that I could in my turn have lorded it over hia 
 helplessness. I need not say that I did not do 
 so. My wrongs were sufficiently atoned, and 
 I scorned the baseness of a vulgar vengeance. 
 
 " Thus far, nothing had eccurred with which 
 I could not grapple single-lianded, without ono 
 fooling of misgiving as regarded my own 
 strength; but more was stiirto follow, which 
 forced upon mo the recollection that I was still 
 a flxtlicr; and that, although sinned against 
 almost beyond forgiveness, I was bound to 
 pardon the child who had offended, as well as 
 tho relative who had injured me. 
 
 " Four days since, I received a hasty sum- 
 mons to this place. The physical strength of ' 
 Sir Jasper Trevanion had iailed, but his intel- 
 lect had been restored to him. I found himon 
 his death-bed, but I already knew that he had 
 long repented his injustice toward me, and I i 
 abstained from all reproach. ' 
 
 "As I stood beside his pillow, old memorie.", , 
 indeed, revived, but I tlirust them back; and' 
 it was with a true heart and a calm brow that! 
 I pressed the hand which he extended to mo.. 
 But for me, the old man would have been child-i 
 loss and desolate; like me, he had been for a' 
 time proud and relentless; now he clung to mo 
 as tho only being left to him on earth, to whomj 
 he could turn for comfort and support — whoj 
 could save his death-bed from the intrusion of, 
 strangers and liirelings — who could close his' 
 eyes with the hand of affection, and fallow liiiu 
 to the grave with the reverence of relationshii ; 
 and, as I saw and felt all this, Ida, my luTiit. 
 long closed against all such emotion, yeanin! 
 toward j'ou. 
 
 "As I forgave in that solemn hour the mnn 
 who had marred my j-outh, so did I also forgive! 
 you, who had blighted my age. [ 
 
 '•■ He died that night ; and untd dawn li 
 watched beside him, alone; for he had read to 
 me tho one great lesson of my Iffe ; and while 1 
 gazed in silence upon his rigid brow and com- 
 pressed lips, never again to be unsealed in this 
 world, and which had closed in the utterance 
 of a blessing upon myself for the generositv 
 with which I had requited his injustice, I feH; 
 that I could afford to forget all the past. It 
 therefore, remains for you to assist mo in th' 
 effort 
 
 " I will not deceive you. The fact that y( 
 have a son, who must at my death succeed u 
 the Trevanion estates, and bear the name of, 
 my ancestors, lias not been without its efTcc'; 
 in strengtjicnirig my resolution. It were idl( 
 to deny that such is the case; but hero, in the; 
 house of death, wdiero the light of day is re 
 placed by the glare of waxen tapers, and tlu' 
 voices of my fcUow-men by the low whispers 
 which seem to be a foretaste of the hollow nn:r' 
 murs of tho burial-vaults, where — after oik. 
 gloomy pageant — all will relapse into silence' 
 until it again opens to receive my own corpse 
 I am startled by the consciousness that I ni 
 longer suffice to myself. 
 
 " I strive to conquer this weakness by dwell 
 ing upon the change that has come over niv 
 fortunes ; by the reflection that I am now almos, 
 fabulously wealthy ; by endeavoring to accn.-^ 
 tom my ear to tho new titles by which I ■'' 
 addressed by tho.=>o about me; and — shall 
 confess it ? — I feel scorn of myself that I shoul 
 
 
THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 IS^ 
 
 bo so unmaTinod "by events perfectly natural in 
 themselves, and which otliers will regard as 
 utterly common-place, or as mere matter of 
 congratulation. 
 
 "Thus it is, ho\5ever ; and you will, conse- 
 quently, understand that you have once more 
 become essential to my happiness. 
 
 "Do not fail me a second time. These mor- 
 bid feelin,i;-s AvMl pass away when 1 am once 
 more involved in the cares and interests of life 5 
 and you are well aware that to you alone I can 
 turn" with confidence to assist me in the new 
 duties which have devolved upon me. 
 
 '' Your mother. Lady Trevanion, has no inte- 
 rests in common with myself, save such as ailect 
 her own comfort and convenience ; no intellect 
 oa wliich I can repose, no judgment to which I 
 can appeal; while, as regards Lady Mary 
 I Brooklands, you need only look b.-^ck upon 
 : your own past career to feel that she is precise- 
 ly the last person to whom I would intrust the 
 care of either my dignity or my honor. 
 
 " Thus, Ida, a new career of triumph awaits 
 you. Your former home, and the arms of your 
 lather, are open to you^ the future existence 
 of your son is defined, and beyond the reach of 
 fete. So soon as the tomb lias closed over my 
 j aged relative, I shall return to town, where I 
 i shall anxiously await you, trusting that your 
 future aSectiou and obedience will obliterate 
 the past 
 
 " You need fear no reproach, entertain no 
 j apprehension of my prolonged displeasure. 
 1 Greatly as you have been to blame, your pun- 
 ■ ishment has exceeded your fault I am pre- 
 pared alike to forgive and to forget. 
 
 "I forward to you, by this post, a letter from 
 
 your husband's aunt, which, by some mistake^ 
 
 was sent here with others addressed to myself 
 
 If it be as I conjecture, that her sapient lady- 
 
 1 ship foresaw the probability of our reconciha- 
 
 j tion, and has written to reclaim her place in 
 
 j your affections — or, to speak more distinctly — 
 
 to secure her own future interests, by affecting 
 
 ) a sympatliy in your trials whicli she has never 
 
 1 felt, do not suffer yourself to be misled by her 
 
 ', speciousnesa 
 
 " She is heart and soul an egotist ; she sacri- 
 ficed 3'ou to the necessities of her nephew, and 
 '■ now she would be equally ready to sacrifice you 
 to her own. 
 
 " Once more, Ida, be just to yourself and has- 
 I ten to resume your proper station in society. 
 By this day week I shall be again established 
 in that home to which I am prepared to wel- 
 come you back, and where I trust to see the 
 I hopes which you once blighted in your own 
 1' person, either restored with increased brilliancy, 
 I or renewed and realized in that of your son. 
 1 '■ Hubert Trevanion." 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 " Sydney !" exclaimed Mrs. Elphinstone, 
 springing from her seat, and casting her.self on 
 lier knees, with clasped hands and streaming 
 eyes, " Sydney, we are saved!" 
 
 "We are!" 
 
 " The past has been a hideous dream ; the ? 
 future is bright before us." 
 
 Elphinstone was silent. 
 
 " Why do you not speak, Sydney," pursued 
 his wife ; " wliy do j-ou not exult with me in 
 the blessed prospect whicJi has opened upon 
 us ?" 
 
 " I do indeed rejoice that my most asdcnt 
 desire has been granted, Ida," said her husliand, 
 in the calm accents of deep and concentrated 
 feeling, " that both you and our boy are now 
 secured against all possibility of struggle and 
 privation. My heart is relieved of a weight by 
 which it was crushed to the very earth, and I 
 am thankful, most thankful." 
 
 "And yourself, Sydney? What of your- 
 self?" 
 
 " Myself," replied the young man, bitterly, 
 "what should I say of myself, save that I ex- 
 ult in the reflection that Mr. Trevanion's 
 daughter will no longer be sacrificed to my 
 necessities." 
 
 "Mr. Trevanion's daughter!" echoed Ida^ 
 hoarsely, as she rose to her feet, and looked 
 earnestly into his face ; " Mr. Trevanion's 
 daughter! Have I then ceased to bo your 
 wife i" 
 
 " Legally, no ; but even-that barrier to your 
 future happiness may be removed, should you 
 desire it." 
 
 "Sydney, do not torture me! Toll me what 
 you mean." 
 
 "Simply that I have interpreted the true 
 sense of your father's closing sentences. I am 
 still too young to suppose that he can have 
 speculated upon my death, when he expressed 
 so ardent a hope that his dreams of ambition, 
 as regarded yourself^ might still be realized. 
 Too young to die, as men commonly understand 
 the term, but still old enough for that death of / ' 
 the soul — divorce." ' 
 
 A sharp scream burst from the lips of Ida. 
 
 " Why should you shrink from such a climax 
 to our married life ?" pursued Sydney, in the 
 same unimpassioned tone. " Did you not will- 
 fully deny my claim upon your affections ? Did 
 you not, unauthorized and uninfluenced by the 
 sanction of a parent, spurn my protection as an 
 insult, and my roof as a disgrace? Did you 
 not avow that I no longer possessed either your 
 love or your respect ? Have 3'Ou so soon for- 
 gotten the contempt with which you rejected 
 my offers of aid — my earnest entreaties that 
 you would allow me to fulfill those duties to- 
 ward you which I had vowed at tlie altar ? Ilavo 
 we not, from that moment, been severed in 
 heart and fact- and do. you now quail before a 
 mere form which would liberate you iu the eyes 
 of the world, and leave you free to make a 
 nobler and a better choice ?" 
 
 " Sydney!" gasped out his Vife, vehemently 
 clasping his arm, while her whole frame 
 quivered with emotion ; " Sydney, forgive 
 me ! Poor and helpless, I could have lived 
 without you ; or, if the effort had proved too 
 mighty for my strength, I cguld liave died 
 without a murmur, for life would have been 
 valueless without your love; but now — now j 
 — on my knees, I implore of you to pity and 
 to pardon me." 
 
 "It is too late," said Elphinstone, as he 
 turned gloomily away ; " one of those tears, 
 
ISi 
 
 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 
 
 one of tliose STTpplications, only an hour bade, 
 vould have sufficed to restore pardon and 
 peace between us ; but tlie moment of recon- 
 ciliation has now gone by forever. Even as 
 you spurned my entreaties, Ida, do I now re- 
 ject yours. Let it suffice, tbat one of my 
 family has debased herself by acceptin<^r the 
 'ben^ts grudgingly doled out to her by tlie 
 insolence of wealth ,- do not hope to force a 
 similar concession from myself" 
 
 " Sydney, have you no mercy, no pity ? I 
 have deceived both you and myself. Never, 
 never, did I love you more deeply, more de- 
 votedly, than when, in my mad folly, I ac- 
 cused and wronged you — yes, wronged you ; 
 I will even believe that I did you wrong, if 
 you will only once more take me to your 
 heart, and call me by the blessed name of 
 wife." 
 
 " You deceive yourself still, Ida ; if in the 
 obscurity of our present home you placed no 
 faith in an affection which was subjected only 
 to one solitary trial ; if you could not see me 
 evince a brotherly interest in a young and 
 fatherless girl, who had been the playmate 
 of my boyhood, and who had been reared 
 under the eyes of an anxious and high-prin- 
 cipled mothei- — how can you hope to induce 
 lue to place any faith in a pledge wrung from 
 you in a moment of strong excitement? 
 
 " Learn to know yourself better. The man 
 who could not escape suspicion tinder such 
 circumstances would be weak indeed to be- 
 lieve that he could be more secure, when the 
 o])portunities of misjudging him were multi- 
 plied a hundredfold. I can not take you to 
 my heart, Ida, though I ean not pluck you 
 thence ; though I do not hesitate to admit, 
 should the admission still afford you one sen- 
 sati.m of happiness or triumph, that you alone 
 have ever, or can ever, possess it. I dare not 
 call you wife, for you yourself have repudi- 
 ated the title." 
 
 "For our child's sake — " 
 
 " Ida, in my turn 1 ask, have you nomercy ? 
 Am 1 not to be parted from my child I Have 
 
 I not completed my sacrifice, and, in rctnrn ! 
 for all that I have done and suftered, I ask 
 but this. 
 
 "Let the world condemn me if it will, let 
 your own heart accuse Me if it can, but do 
 not let my bo}' misjudge me : let nie, at least, 
 be blameless and honorable in his eyes. I 
 claim, I demand, this justice ; and it is the j 
 last appeal I shall make to your generosity. 
 We may never meet again ; in a few years I ; 
 shall have faded from his memory, and — Ida, ' 
 for the love which you once bore me, will 
 j'ou not promise me that he shall never leftrn 
 to loathe or despise his father I He will not , 
 even bear my name — I know it, but I do not 
 murmur ; it is my fate to resign every claim, • 
 every tic, which once bound me to an exist- ' 
 enee of delusive promise, and I submit in 
 silence; yet, still I can not forget that I have 
 a child ; that he is very dear to me, and that 
 he is torn away from me forevei-," , 
 
 " And j'our wife — ^j-our wife 1" shrieked Ida. • 
 Elphinstone turned toward her as she still ' 
 knelt upon the floor, her hands tightl}' clinched I 
 together, her long and abundant hair, which • 
 had escaped the comb which should have 
 confined it, half concealing her slight figure, 
 and her llvidfeatures convulsed with agony;' 
 for a moment he stood gazing upon her as 
 motionless as though he had been hewn in , 
 stone; then his breast heaved, a smothered; 
 sob escaped him, a few inarticulate words' 
 burst in a hollow murmur from his lips, andj 
 with frantic energy he bent down, raised herj 
 to his bosom, held her there for a few seconds, [ 
 and, as he felt her weight grow heavy iu his! 
 arms, he laid her softly upon a sofa, and. 
 rushed from his home. ; 
 
 A month afterward, Mrs. Eljihinstone wasi 
 the self-widowed inmate of her lather's house; | 
 Lady Marj' Brooklands was in modest lodg- 
 ings in a West-End street; and no trac© 
 could be discovered of the young, heart-broken ■ 
 exile, who had abandoned his native laud for- ! 
 
 ii 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 CHAPTER. I. 
 
 On the southern oiitskirt of a pleasant town 
 in the west of England, which I shall here call 
 Westnim, stood an antique-looking house, evi- 
 dently never originally intended to sutler such 
 close contact with the mercantile street from 
 which it was distant little more than a hundred 
 yards. A lofty wall, of duJl red brick, divided 
 Into equal lengths by a richly decorated gate 
 of Avrought iron, supported by pillars of coarse 
 granite, each surmounted by a rudely-sculptured 
 griffin with its dexter claw resting upon a dag- 
 ger, skirted the high road for a considerable 
 j distance on either hand ; overtopped here and 
 \ there by the stately crest of a pine, or the 
 spi'eadiug branches of an aged oak ; while from 
 the gate itself, a straight avenue of limes, whose 
 dense foliage almost shut out the sunlight, ex- 
 tended to the house-door, which was approached 
 bj- a stately flight of broad stone steps. The 
 , dwelling was vast, plain in its appearance, and 
 i evidently constructed rather for comfort than 
 for show. From the road it presented simply 
 a Solid square of brick-work, with its regularly- 
 j pierced windows encased in that peculiarly 
 I •wrought stone which looks as though it had 
 1 been subjected to the action of a strong rip- 
 ! pling tide ; but on the side which faced the ex- 
 , tensive grounds the uniformity was broken up 
 I by a boldly-projecting bay, where large glass 
 I doors, opening iipon a lawn, afforded an iinim- 
 I peded view into the vast saloon beyond them, 
 j -A spacious conservatory, rich in rare and ex- 
 i otic plants, abutted upon this summer apart- 
 jment, whence it was approached by a lateral 
 !door; and when this was flung back, flooded 
 tlie room with perfume ; while the eye Avas 
 equally entranced by the lovely home-view pre- 
 sented by the luxuriant shrubberies, the glitter- 
 ing little stream that terminated the descent of 
 tlie sloping laAvn, and the gambols of a couple 
 ,of tame deer, which browsed or sported confi- 
 dingly under the shadows of the tall trees, 
 among whose leafy branches roosted a stately 
 peacock. 
 
 The whole appearance of such an establish- 
 jment in such a position was an anachronism. 
 jThe venerable building was vast enough to 
 have shown to advantage, as regarded its capa- 
 jbilities, in the midst of a park of some hundred 
 jici-js, whereas it was seated on the verge of a 
 property scarcely exceeding six ; Avliile the un- 
 jieniable marks of antiquity which it bore 
 libout it, were sufficient to satisfy the mind of a 
 [itranger, that the little town, by Avhich it was 
 jiow elbowed, had grown up to it, after the 
 aahion of the continental villages, which spring 
 ike fungi about a vv-ealthy monastic house. 
 ■ In the centre saloon to which we have refer- 
 ed, were seated, on a glorious autumnal noon, 
 iwo ladieg in deep mourning dresses. The close , 
 
 cap, concealed hair, and long crape weepers of the 
 elder, at once betrayed her recent widowhood ; 
 even had not the hatchment which surmounted 
 the principal entrance already convinced those 
 who looked upon it, that sorrow and bereave- 
 ment had lately visited this placid dwelling. 
 She sat, or rather reclined, in a large chair, 
 with her eyes fixed on vacancy, and evidently 
 buried in thought ; but that her reflections were 
 not altogether painful was evident, from the 
 faint smile which at intervals played about her 
 faded lips. She was still handsome, although 
 no longer young; and her countenance beamed 
 with that graciousness which so attractivelv 
 succeeds the bloom of youth in certain well- 
 constituted natures. Time had touclied hev 
 lightly ; and it was easy to see that she had not 
 cared to rebel against his advances. Tall, and 
 finely formed, the elasticity of her movements 
 almost belied the matronly years which had 
 passed over her ; for Mrs. Mortimer had lately 
 suffered the first deep sorrow of a calm axiii 
 happy life, while she had still many blessings to 
 compensate for her one heavy loss ; and thus 
 her heart had not grown old with time, but 
 had remained pure, and warm, and generous, 
 and shed its genial influence over her whole 
 person. 
 
 There is something very beautiful in such an 
 autumn-tide of life as this. Something almost 
 holy, which affords a moral homily that all 
 would do well to read. Kot a line had yet fur- 
 rowed the high pale brow of Mrs. Mortimer ; 
 the finger of passion ; the seal of vanity vexed 
 into asperity by trampling upon its own ruin ; 
 the withering regret Avhich lingers bitterly over 
 the past that it lacks power to recall, had left 
 no token of their passage on that placid coun- 
 tenance. All there was love and peace ; and 
 few Avould have wished the clear soft eye more 
 dazzling, or the benignant smile more gay. 
 
 Her companion was a fair girl, who could 
 have numbered but sixteen or seventeen sum- 
 mers. She too, as wo have said, was attired in 
 close and deep moui'iiing; relieved, however, 
 by a broad falling collai- and wristbands of 
 white crape ; and still more by a profusion of 
 light auburn hair, which flowed in redundant 
 masses over lier shoulders. Nothing could be 
 more faultless than the pure Grecian outline of 
 that young face and form ; nor more angelic 
 than the expression of the speakir.g features, 
 even tempered as it was by a shade of sadness, 
 which appeared rather habitual to them than 
 the mere eftcct of circumstances. 
 
 She was seated before an embroidery-framo ; 
 and save when she occasionally glanced anx- 
 iously towards the elder lady, as if to convince 
 herself that the protracted reverie into which 
 she had fallen was not one calculated to increase 
 her melancholy, she plied her needle busily and 
 mechanically ; although from the varying ei- 
 
Tni' RH'AL BEAUTIEa 
 
 presaion of her face, it might be readily s«r- , fant gre-w into the laughing child beneath this 
 miscd that the elaborate iiiulertaking in wliieh roof, without a care or a regret. Yon have 
 she was engaged employed her fingers far more been a blessing to mo, mj- sweet girl; andeould 
 tiian her thoughts. I dare to do so without sin, I should tlmnk tlia 
 
 "Gertrude," mui-mured Mrs. Mortimer sud- dispensation which gave me so loving and so 
 denly, as v'thdrawiiig her eyes from the unseen 'loved a daughter. Nor was the ali'eetion of 
 object on which tliej' had so long been fixed, j your departed uncle less perfect ; but you hav« 
 she turned them upon her companion; "I amU'et to learn that, on his deatli-bed,' his last 
 beginning to weary for tiie return of Frederic. ] prayer was for you and Frederick. For his 
 And you. my dear girl, shall you not, like me, I children. Do you understand that ]irayer, my '• 
 be rejoiced to welcome him once more to his child? lie has made no pi-ovision for you in 
 home, even bereaved as it is?" 
 
 A deep and burning blush was the only reply 
 elicited by the question; but as if unconscious 
 of the fact, Mrs. Mortimer pursued in an accent 
 of tenderness. 
 
 '• Poor dear Frederic ! ITow devotedly he 
 loved his father ; and how little did he appre- 
 hend, when he hung upon his neck so fondly on 
 his departure for tliis long and adventurous 
 journey, that he looked on him for the last 
 time I" 
 
 " My dear aunt !" sobbed out a low soft voice. 
 
 "Forgive me, my beloved child!" said Mrs. 
 Mortimer, as she extended her arms, into which 
 the fair girl flung herself with a passionate burst 
 of "tears; " I distress you as well as myself, by 
 these incautious repinings; and I have still so 
 much for which to be grateful! But when I 
 
 his will ; for he has bequeathed to you some- 
 thing more worthy of the tenderness he felt 
 for the daughter of his adoption, the pride of 
 his latter years ; and this bequest is the hand ' 
 of his only son." 
 
 " Of Fredei-ic !" gasped out her breathlesB 
 listener. 
 
 " Even so : Frederic loves you. He must love i 
 you. Were you not the companions, the friends ' 
 of long and happy years ? IIow can it be , 
 otherwise^ You will soon meet again. Five yeara ' 
 of absence have changed you strangely, Ger-' 
 trade — changed you from a pretty child into a^ 
 graceful woman: and this change cannot but! 
 delight Frederic; while, on his side, the hand-' 
 some youth of twenty is about to retiirn to us 
 an. accomplished and travelled man of twenty-' 
 five ; and surely you will find no fault with 
 
 think of my noble-hearted boy, and of the fiesh such an alteration? And now kiss me, mv own 
 
 trial which awaits us on our meeting, I can 
 scarcely sustain the prospect, even while I pine 
 to have him once more beside me. You too, 
 Gertrude— you, upon whom I have built up 
 such bright dreams of happiness to come ; you 
 can understand the struggle, can you.not ? You 
 love your cousin; you know all his worth, his 
 manliness, his high and well-grounded princi 
 pie. You love the bold and gallant boy who 
 was the playmate of your infancy; the bright- 
 eyed and warm-hearted youth who was the" as- 
 sociate of your girlhood ; you share with me 
 !n all my hopes and fears. Tell me frankly.Ger- 
 triide, do you not love him ?" 
 
 A second blush, which almost dried the tears 
 that rested upon her cheeks, was a more defi- 
 uite answer than the few inarticulate words by 
 which it was accompanied. 
 
 "And now, Gertrude," pursued Mrs. Morti- 
 mer with a fond smile ; " draw forward that 
 stool, and seat yourself at my feet, for I have 
 much to say to you ; much on which not only 
 your own happiness depends, but mine, and, 1 
 trust and believe, that of Frederic also. Nay, 
 silly child, why do you tremble? Surely your 
 busy little heart must already have warned you 
 of what is to come ; for I have long given you 
 cause to feel convinced that yon are as dear to 
 me as my own child; and that it was in the 
 hope you would one day become such, that I 
 have cherished you, and'bestowed upon you a 
 place in my heart whence nothing can cast you 
 out. You know, Gertrude, that when, on the 
 death o' your poor father, (whose heart was 
 broken by the loss of his young and amiabl 
 
 love, and tell me that you shall be happy to be-. 
 come indeed my daughter!" ; 
 
 "Aunt!' exclaimed Gertrude, as she freed: 
 herself from the embrace of her smiling rela-' 
 tive, and cast herself upon her knees before! 
 her: "a grateful heart has few words. Y<»a' 
 know how I have ever loved you ; how I loved^ 
 him for whom we mourn ; forgive me, then, if' 
 I declare that I dare not be ha]ipy as you would' 
 have me — my dear, dear aunt, I dare not. Oh, Ij 
 beseech you,. do not withdraw your hand! Do; 
 not misunderstand me, or you will break my 
 heart ! Indeed, indeed, you little know all thai' 
 I feel ; all that I would" hope, did I dare to dc 
 so. Remember, my best, my only friend, thai 
 when Frederic — when Mr. Mortimer — left F.np-: 
 land, I was a mere girl of twelve years old, tc' 
 whose childish fancies he granted an indulgenw 
 attributable at once to his own generous naturf; 
 and to his desire to act in all things accordinj^, 
 to the pleasure of his parents. Remember, ton" 
 that five long years have since elapsed ; tholi 
 Frederic — that Mr. Mortimer — has grown tt^ 
 manhood; that he has visited many countries;, 
 seen many, many women more worthy of hit! 
 love than your poor Gertrude ; and that Icouki 
 not, even orphan and penniless as I am, that 1' 
 could not throw myself on the mercy of a reluo; 
 taut heart." 
 
 The brow of Mrs. Mortimer darkened for ar, 
 instant, but the shadow passed away as rapidl\ 
 as it had gathered; and it was with a playful 
 smile that she smoothed down the long silkci! 
 curls which streamed over her knees, as sIm 
 asked cheerfully: But is this all, my ]>ennileK 
 
 ifc,) who survived your birth only a few short and desolate young lady? Does the relnctaiid 
 weeks, his brother brought you home, and only exist in a want of faith in the continuct: 
 placed you in my arms as a tru.st from Heaven,! affection of Frederic; or has it also some hid 
 you were far too young to have any con.seious- den source into which my maternal eyes an 
 nctjs of your bereavement: and the' smiling in- not permitted to intrude? Answer me honfistj 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Iv, «9 becomes yonr nature, and as you hope for 
 
 my 
 
 love and coutidence."' 
 
 What, can I say, dear aunt? Remember the 
 djiys of uiy happy cliihiliood. Was not your son 
 my dear, dear cousin, my constant, and ahnost my 
 : sole companion? Did he not forego even the 
 ' sports he loved, to share in mine? Did he not 
 i qnell the wild and bold spirit of his age to sym- 
 , pathize witli my more timid and shrinking na- 
 ■ ture? Did we not part with tears, such as, thanks 
 I to your fond affection ! I have shed but once? And 
 j then — forgive me, my best friend — has he not, 
 i since he left us, been the one subject of all our 
 I thoughts, all our speculations, and all our hopes? 
 I Of myself, then, how dare" I speak? But Frede- 
 ric ! Oh, believe me, believe me ; although his 
 , thoughts and his affections piay, and must have, 
 I turned to home fondly and frequently, still even 
 tliat home has not, cannot have been all to him ; 
 a thousand other circumstances and persons 
 have crossed his path; a host of other interests 
 have risen iip about him. He is young, enthu- 
 siastic, and full of talent. What, and who, may 
 he not have seen since he left us? Can you not 
 tmderstand and appreciate all I mean?" 
 
 "I understand that you have evoked a spec- 
 tre which I must exorcise," replied Mrs. Morti- 
 mer with a placid smile. " You, at least, can 
 \ appreciate the merits of that home to which our 
 j dear truant is about to return ; while I can, on 
 i my side, decide upon the value of the fair face 
 I which you estimate so lightly. No, Gertrude, 
 I you do yourself less than justice. Frederic may 
 I nave seen, and been struck for a moment, by 
 I prouder beauty than your own ; but wlien he 
 I seeks a wife, believe me, my child, he will ask 
 1 nothing beyond the bride whom his father's dy- 
 i ing wishes have selected for him. Only be true to 
 [ yourself; let him comprehend your nature in all 
 j Its loving purity, and he will not resist its iniiu- 
 i once even before he learns that a will and a voice, 
 [ doubly sacred because they reach him from the 
 j grave, had already decided on your union." 
 
 Silenced, but not conviaeed, Miss Mortimer 
 jooiild o;dy raise the hand of her fond and indul- 
 gent relative to her lips with a thrill of silent 
 gratitude far more eloquent than words. Young 
 as she was, and reared as she had been in a re- 
 tirement which almost amounted to seclusion, 
 die at once felt all the delicacy and peculiarity 
 of her position. The child of a younger brotheV 
 w^ho died ere his speculations had produced 
 their anticipated results, and bequeathed her to 
 jthe affectionate charity of the head of his house, 
 [die now, for the jfirs't time, became painfully 
 (OOQscious of her dependent situation ; and of the 
 jthousand restraints which it imposed upon the 
 (dignity of her sex, when she should be thrown 
 ifnto constant contact with her wealthy and en- 
 jvied cousin ; and thus not all the caresses of her 
 i*unt, whose imagination was busy with a bright 
 |and beaming future, could remove the sudden 
 weight which had fallen upon her heart, and 
 rested there. ! 
 
 Cheerful as she was constitutionally, the soli- 
 iud» of her girlhood, relieved only "by the at- 
 ^ndance of her masters, the indulgence of her 
 •elatives, and the society of the few mature 
 Viends of Mrs. Mortimer, had afforded her am- 
 Me time for reflection and self-questioning; 
 
 and although until this day she had never sus- 
 pected tliat she loved the generous boy who 
 had for long years been to her more than a 
 brother, there had nevertheless occurred mo- 
 ments, in which her cheek had crimsoned, al- 
 tliough there were none near to mark it, as she 
 detected herself referring every little success in 
 her studies, and every slight improvement in 
 her person, to his a2>proval, and to his praise. 
 Now, however, her eyes were opened, and she 
 trembled as she reflected how entirely she had 
 suffered herself to be engrossed by his well-re- 
 mei'ibcred image ; and how eagerly she had 
 wept and waited for each anxiously expected 
 letter, when by some accident it was delayed ; 
 and with what impatience she had watched for 
 the paragraph which was dedicated to herself 
 
 As she grew from girlhood she had taught 
 herself to forget that she was a mere child when 
 they parted ; although not a feature, not an 
 outline had changed in her tenacious memory 
 in either the face or form of her absent coiisin. 
 The high, pale brow circled by its dark and 
 clustering curls ; the proud lip, with its half 
 tender and half scornful smile ; the tall, slight, 
 graceful figure, with its haughty carriage and 
 promise of future strength ; all were before her 
 as though they had been limned in never-chang- 
 ing colors iipon her heart and brain ; and de- 
 spite the calm confidence and security of her 
 aunt, the trembling girl shuddered as she re- 
 flected upon the possibility that five long years, 
 with their vicissitudes and chances, might have 
 taught the man to overcome and to despise all 
 tlie feelings and follies, and even the affections 
 and preferences, of the youth ; while she had 
 idly and wilfully brooded over the past until it 
 had tii'.ged with its own hues, not only the feel- 
 ings of the present houi', but even the happiness 
 of her whole future life. 
 
 'The young, the giddy, and the unthinking 
 may smile at such a conviction in the breast of 
 a girl of seventeen ; but let them remember 
 that circumstances form the character, and that 
 notliing matures so early in woman as her heart. 
 
 Gertrude did not deceive herself A grateful 
 and loving nature had first prompted her to re- 
 gard her cousin as the epitome of all human 
 perf^ection, while he was present ; and the con- 
 tinual and incautious panegyrics of her aunt, 
 since his departure, had not only fostered, but 
 even increased her mental enthusiasm. That 
 Frederic, her own Frederic, should select any 
 other wife than her gentle and beautiful Ger- 
 trude, never for an instant occurred to Mrs. 
 Mortimer. That he should prefer any woman, 
 however lovely and distinguished, to his fair 
 and orphan cousin, none could have made her 
 suspect, even for a moment ; and thus she did 
 not hesitate to pour forth all her heart, and all 
 her hopes, into the very ear which should, for 
 its own peace, have been deaf to such a theme. 
 
 The arrival of Fredei-ic was every day ex- 
 pected; iirgent letters having been dispatched 
 to Egypt, where he was then travelling with a 
 friond, to apprise him of his father's danger, 
 from the moment when the attendant physicians 
 had forbidden all further hope ; but the tale 
 which we are now telling is not of recent date, 
 and the maans of transport from so far distant a 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 land -were at that period widely opposed to , enough to forbear the exhibition of her powei-s, 
 tliose of the present day. Thus three inoiitlis , and to compel you to /«/ their extent ; a most 
 had already elapsed since the grave had claim- grievous error in woman, be her talent what it 
 ed its tenant; and the first rush of grief had may ; and one that unsexes her as ruueh as a 
 partially subsided, to give place in the heart of i dereliction from propriety. Could you fail to 
 Mrs. Mortimer to the auiious desire of once remark that the pale, sickly -looking'ili-s. Dela- 
 
 more embracing her long-absent son. With her, 
 sorrow had not exhausted itself in those wild, 
 and phrensied, and ungoverncd paroxysms which 
 necessarily induce their own remedy: it was 
 rather a deep, and settled, and unfading regret; 
 
 mere was but the echo of her radiant and self^ 
 appreciating daughter ? In one short half hour , 
 I fear that I have read her character. Would I 
 thatTlie Grange had still remained untenanted; 
 for, believe me, its present inmates will il" 
 
 which, even while it admitted other affections i place its fonner owner. The one is a cypher, 
 and other hopes to their place in her bosom, i and the other has no heart." 
 
 ■was destined to end only with her life, and to 
 become tlieneeforwai'd a poi-tion of her existence. 
 
 Her husband had left behind him an unsullied 
 and honorable name, and she could dwell upon 
 his memory with a well-grounded pride ; while 
 no portion of her wedded existence offered an 
 occasion of remorse or of regret: and thus, even 
 while iier heart wept in secret over her bereave- 
 ment, siie liad still a smile for other joys, and a 
 sympathy for other interests. 
 
 " My boy will find but one sad change await- 
 ing him,"' she resumed, after a long and medita- 
 tive pause; "little has ti'anspired in our quiet 
 neighborhood to jar upon his early memories. 
 The young iiave sprung up in strength, and the 
 
 " Can this, indeed, be you, dear aunt?" asked 
 Gertrude, looking up in wonder. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer smiled. " I appear bitter aad 
 ungenerous, my dear .child, and perhap* I am | 
 so ; but that visit has left an uneasy impressioa ' 
 on my mind. I foresee little gratification in 
 such an acquaintance." 
 
 " And yet the dear old vicar says tliat they 
 have already done so much good," said the fair 
 girl persuasively ; " that they have subscribed i 
 largely to the schools, made a donation to tire ! 
 almshouses, an'd desired him to furnish them 
 with a list of the most deserving of the poor. , 
 Surely in this, at least, they have acted rightly, i 
 And then, think what a boon it will be lo many ' 
 
 aged liave declined in like manner; but he will! industrious families who eaunot readily obtain 
 be prepared by the alteration which he sees in i work in the winter season, to be secure of em- 
 himself for these trifling differences. Alas! it is ployment for several months, while the exten-, 
 at home — iji the home he loved so well — that he I sive improvements contemplated by Miss Dela- 1 
 must look for the one great and painful change ; j mere are carried out !" 
 
 and that one we must endeavor to lighten as "I admit all tiiis, and cordially rejoice at it,"; 
 best we may, my child. After five long years replied the elderly.lady ; " and yet I cannot like' 
 of vicissitude and excitement, it Avill require all this brilliant stranger. That she'is a spoiled child; 
 our exei-tions to counteract tlie monotony of a 'of fortune is evident, and as regards that fact! 
 retreat like this ; but we will not again sufi:crj she is perhaps entitled to indulgence; but she' 
 him to escape us; and nothing save this eon- j presumes too much upon her individuality ; and' 
 eideration could have induced me, at this early i — to come back once more to my original declar- 
 
 „i _f :i 1 1 i- — • ij i.- i.1 I ..: ... T ; i ii..,i -i. . i ... i 
 
 etage of my widowhood, to yield even to the 
 representations of our good vicar, by making the 
 acquaintance of the strangers at The Grange." 
 
 " It must, indeed, have been an effort " — 
 murmured Gertrude, still thinking of her absent 
 cousin. 
 
 " And one which was ill repaid," acquiesced 
 Mrs. Mortimer ; " for 1 know not why, but I am 
 not prepossessed by either mother or daughter, 
 altlioiigh tlieir reception was most gracious." 
 
 " And yet Mr.s. Delamere lias the a])pearance 
 of a kind-iiearted, althougli indolent woman; 
 whik' her daughter is decidedly a beauty." 
 
 " A bofluty !" ociiocd Mrs. Mrtrtimer half in- 
 dignantly, as lier eyes rested upon the lovely 
 face of lier niece: "You have strange notions 
 of beauty, my poor child. What! would you 
 persuade me tiiat you admire those bold black 
 eyes, whidi seem to pierce to your very soul 
 one moment, only to be lost the next beneath 
 their long, tliiik ja.'^hes, as tliough they shrank 
 before your answering gaze. — That haughty lip, 
 wliicli seems to smiie reluctantly, and as if it 
 would ratlier writiie with a sarcasm ? Ko, no, 
 Gertrude; showy siie may be, and is; but Miss 
 Delamere lias no pretensions to be called a beau- 
 ty. And then her manner — so self-centred, so 
 decided, so essentially unwomanly, would coun- 
 teract any loveliness, however striking. That simply, although uneonsciously, that she might, 
 she is clever, I do not doubt; but still not wise | hear "herself accused of exaggeration by hei' 
 
 ation — I am convinced that she has no heart." 
 
 " Shall I not win you to think otherwise," 
 asked Gertrude playfully ; " when I tell yoii, 
 tliat while 1 accompanied her to the spot upon 
 which the new succession-houses are to be erect-i 
 ed, slie spoke most warmly of her sympathy in' 
 the delight that you would soon experience from 
 the return of your son ; and asked me a thou- 
 sand friendly questions relating to him, whichi 
 I answered with equal frankness? Tears start-| 
 ed to her eyes as 1 told her of all the grief that 
 you had suffered on his departure ; wliile it was' 
 beautiful to see the smile with which slie listened 
 to mj' assurance that ere long your heart would 
 be at peace, and all your anxiety upon his aty 
 count terminated by his return. Indeed, dear 
 aunt, at that moment she was very beautiful." 
 
 " You cannot, even ihus, make a convert of^ 
 me," was the reply of Mrs. Mortimer; "I feel 
 that I shall never like Miss Delamere." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 And who was Miss Delamere ? W\^o was this 
 dark-eyed stranger, whose attractions Gertrude 
 Jlortimer sti'ove to increase in hei- own eyes. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 : 1 
 
 aunt? "Wliile the aunt, on her side, did not 
 dare to admit them to her own reason, as though 
 gome evil were foreshadowed to lier mind, as 
 vivid as it was iintangible, connected witli an 
 individual of whom she as yet kijew nothing. 
 
 Upon this point, we have little to tell. The 
 Grange, rendered vacant by the pecuniary em- 
 barrassment of its former proprietor, had been 
 advertised for sale in the public prints; and 
 after having been visited by an agent, had 
 finally been purchased at a liberal pirice by its 
 
 firese'nt owners: but of the .antecedents of these 
 adies no one in the neighborhood knew any- 
 thing. They had arrived, taken possession, ap- 
 plied for a pew in the parish church, and, as a 
 natural consequence, been waited upon by the 
 vicar; who, delighted at the interest evinced 
 by Miss Delamere, in his schools, his almshouses, 
 and his poor, had entreated Mrs. Mortimer to 
 accompany his own wife in her introductory 
 visit 
 
 That the strangers were affluent was sufficient- 
 ly apparent ; for, even while commencing the 
 costly improvements upon which they had de- 
 cided, the well-organized establishment already 
 formed at The Grange prevented every appear- 
 ance of discomfort or disordv ; and the superb 
 furniture and articles of virtu scattered through 
 tlie apartments, betokened long habits of ele- 
 gance and even profusion. 
 
 The elder lady was, indeed, as Mrs. Mortimer 
 had declared, a mere cypher. A little, Avither- 
 ed, peevish, faded woman of fashion, for whom 
 it was always too hot, or too cold ; too early, or 
 too late. Who constantly ke]^t a bottle of ether 
 upon her reading-table ; enhanced, as fai- as was 
 yet in her power, the ruins of her former beaut}' 
 by the use of rouge, and the adoption of cap- 
 border of costly mechlin ; could only exist in 
 the twilight of a well-curtained room ; and wil- 
 lingly displayed her still faultless foot to the 
 adrfiiration of her visitors. She said little ; and 
 that little in a low, drawling, monotonous, and 
 unmusical voice, whidh did not invite conversa- 
 tion ; while on no single occasion did she ever 
 exert herself to emit an opinion upon any sub- 
 ject whatever ; contenting herself, in reply to 
 every question or appeal, by languidly closing 
 her eyes as she answered, — "I really do not 
 know ; you had better inquire of Syl)il." 
 
 And Sybil was never at fault. Let the theme 
 be what it might, it failed to produce the liesi- 
 tation of an instant. With a well-stored mind, 
 gi'eat self-possession, and a full estimnte of her 
 moral and mental powers, as well as of her per- 
 sonal fascinations, she lost no single advantage 
 with which she had been gifted by nature ; 
 but decided plans, purposes, and perplexities, 
 ■with a quiet and unostentatious composure 
 wliich no one ever appeared disposed to ques- 
 tion or to disturb. 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed that Miss 
 Delamere assumed the attitude of an oracle ; or 
 exhibited towards her indolent parent the slight- 
 est tinge of disrespect or neglect. On the con- 
 (trary, although siie never appealed to her tastes, 
 jbeing an enemy to all works of supereroga- 
 tion, she never failed to consult her wishes, 
 ind to receive in reply the languid, " Fray don't 
 joisturb me, Sybil; I care nothing about it. 
 
 Only please yourself." And in obedier.ce to this 
 injunction, Sybil never hesitated to plejise her- 
 self; and frequently succeeded by tlie 6am« 
 means in pleasing others. 
 
 The evident attiuence and high-breeding of 
 the strangers ; the unembarrassed deportment 
 of Miss 'Delamere ; her indifference to all those 
 inconvenient conventionalities by which unmar- 
 ried females are generally fettered ; her un- 
 limited command of money ; and her universal 
 acquaintance with all popular and even abstruse 
 subjects, rendered their past existence a problem 
 to all the gentry of the neighborhood, whose 
 inferences aiid surmises were alike industrious 
 and absurd. 
 
 Thus much, however, was evident. Mrs. Dela- 
 mere was a woman thoroughly habituated to 
 luxury, and that dolcc far nun/e which can only 
 be commanded by wealth ; while the younger 
 lady, whose dark, rich beauty was almost, daz- 
 zling, was highly accomplished, occasionally 
 even profound in her remarks, with great know- 
 ledge of the world, and specious and winnins; 
 manners; she was always 'cheerful, witty, ami 
 at times slightly sarcastic ; wiul\ '.loreover, that 
 affected indifference to her own attractions 
 which is the most ineradicable and refined van- 
 ity ; and which can never be successfully attained 
 until a matured experience has enabled its pos- 
 sessor to check all impulsive demonstrations, and 
 to let the head lead, where in youth it is the 
 heart that plaj-s the pioneer. 
 
 Such was Miss Delamere at eight-and-twenty ; 
 and such an apparition in a quiet country town 
 was well calculated to excite alike curiosity and 
 surprise. The splendor of her toilette, remark- 
 able, however, only for the material, and never 
 for the exaggeration of its fashion — the perfect 
 ease with which she drove her ponies through 
 the crowded streets on market days, or gallop-, 
 ed over the heights on her thorough-bred horse, 
 followed only by a groom — or argued architec- 
 tural details with the professional man employ- 
 ed to enlarge and embellish The Grange — or 
 discussed points of logic, and even theology 
 with the vicar, or medicine and metaphysics 
 with the elderly and respectable phy.sician of 
 Westrum, were all alike subject of marvel ; but 
 never, even in her most enthusiastic moments, 
 did Miss Delamere throw a single light upon the 
 past. 
 
 Her communications were all in generalities ; 
 and while the usually taciturn mother occasion- 
 ally alluded with evident iinconsciousness to a 
 Lady Anne So-and-so, and a Lord Such-an-onc, 
 never did the name of an individual, save as it 
 might be connected with a political question, or 
 a current rumor, pass the lips of the daughter; 
 who appeared, on arriving at Westrum, to have 
 virtually passed a sponge over her previous ex- 
 istence. 
 
 It is true, that with the past her new asso- 
 ciates might, stringently speaking, have nothing 
 whatever to do ; but it is no less a fact that 
 metropolitan circles will more readily admit 
 strangers who present themselves among them 
 rich in the positive advantages of wealth and 
 fashion, than the old and self-appreciating fami- 
 lies of the provinces, who, having grown ancient 
 with the timber upon their estates, look upon 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 the time-worn monnments of their race as a 
 patent of local nobility, and dread all intrusion 
 into their ohamied, if not always charming set, 
 with misgiving and jealousy. 
 
 Moreover, tlie Delamores established them- 
 selves at The Grange witlwut a single introduc- 
 tion ; and it was only the fact of their having, 
 courteously enough, but very decidedly, caused 
 it to be understood that they declined all ac- 
 quaintance with tlie notabilities of the town, 
 with the exception only of the incumbent and 
 the physician, that inspired the " neighbor- 
 hood" with anj' confidouce in their real grade 
 in socict}'. 
 
 In accordance with the request of the vicar, 
 whose parochial interests were, as we have seen, 
 involved in the concession, Mrs. Mortimer hadj 
 consented to accompany his amiable and timid 
 wife to The Grange ; but, nevertheless^ although 
 the general respect and regard which was feltj 
 for the gentle widow made her example power- 1 
 ful, it was still a moot question with the owners 
 of tliis "Hall" and that "House" if they should 
 venture to commit themselves by too ready] 
 an exhibition of goodwill towards persons of : 
 whose actual identity they were altogether un- 
 informed. 
 
 Tiiis irresolution, however, in no degree affect- ' 
 ed either the feelings or the energies of Miss 
 Delamcre. Her workmen toiled, her imder- 
 taking pi-ogressed. her conservatories were lined 
 with the most costly plants ; her fountains threw ! 
 up their silver threads in the sunshine ; her neat j 
 but exquisitely appointed chariot bore her peri- 
 odically to her comfortably-curtained pew inl 
 the parish church ; the London coach duly ar- 1 
 rived, laden with boxes and packing-cases for 
 her wardrobe ; and she rode and drove, walk- 
 ed, and executed the most elaborate compositions 
 upon her harp, as tranquilly, and with as miich 
 laijoyment, as though all the magnates of the 
 country had left their visiting tickets at the por- 
 ter's lodge. 
 
 It was evident that she could do without 
 tliem ; and this conviction ere long appeared 
 all-sufficient as regarded her right to their civi- 
 lities ; and accordingly, after a lapse of time, 
 Jiaviiig satisfied themselves that the current ex- 
 penses at Tile Grange were duly met, that the 
 religious tenets of its new owners were ortliodox, 
 ajid that, come what might, Mrs. Mortimer would 
 necessarily incur all the responsibility of the 
 Tesult, one by one the neighboring families left 
 Uieir names at the door ; not sorry to satisfy at 
 once their curiosity, and the tardily performed 
 duty of courtesy. 
 
 Nor could even the most fastidious indulge in 
 a sneer or a doubt as regarded the taste of their 
 new neighbors ; for -as they drove through the 
 grounds, every modification bore testimony to 
 tlie refinement and resources of the strangers. 
 In no direction was an attempt at show or osten- 
 tation visible: tlie old timber — and where is 
 the great landed pri>prietor who does not found 
 his judgment upon both the feeling and the 
 " ways and means" of a neighbor upon his re- 
 Bi)ect for this venerable and venerated adjunct 
 to a country place ? — liad been carefully pre- 
 •crved ; and the new points of view which had 
 boon secured from the hoiue, had simply cauficd 
 
 the sacrifice of a few half-grown trees, or clnmpi 
 of flowering shrubs. Not a bay or a garble of 
 the fine old structure had suffered mutilation ; 
 but on either hand were rapidly rising com- 
 modious and handsome additions, in perfect keep- 
 ing with the style and order of the orginial edi- 
 fiee, with which they were so skilfully con>- i 
 bined, tluit it was easy to detect at a glance, , 
 how very soon time would, by blending the ■ 
 tints of the several structures, render it impossi- 
 ble to discover the boundary of each. 
 
 This fact had considerable weight with the 
 squirearchy, who, whether priding themselves , 
 iipon their ancient descent or their present 
 wealth, had, ere they ventured upon their visit, , 
 already heard, and even seen so much of the 
 young lady of The Grange, that they had be- 1 
 come jealous, and anxious upon the subject of j 
 their own consequence ; and trembled in secret . 
 lest they should see their antique glories crush- 1 
 ed beneath the ostentatious profusion of " per-! 
 sons of whom they knew nothing." 
 
 One glance at the arrangements sufficed to 
 convince them, hoAvever, that everything had 
 been ordered' rather with a view to personal 
 gratification than idle or presumptuous display; 
 and, costly as all the accessories of the placai 
 undoubtedly were, they became reconciled to , 
 the innovation when their self-love was satisfied; 
 that no attack had been premeditatedly made- 
 upon it; while the quiet and undemonstrative, 
 manners of Mrs. Delamere reassured all tliej 
 local fashionables among the matrons that tliey, 
 need not fear for themselves. It is true that the, 
 rouge was admirably laid on, and the shawls, 
 and mechlins of tlie lady almost unapproach-. 
 able in value ; but she wore both the one and' 
 the other with such unmistakable indifferenc«,i 
 that it was at once evident they never occupied; 
 her thoughts. 
 
 The only stumbling block was Sybil. The 
 methodical and somewhat straight-laced dam<s 
 of the county coiild not decide what to make of 
 her. She was so perfectl|r at her ease ; so ap- 
 parently unconscious that she differed in any, 
 respect from themselves ; while she was, at tlie. 
 very instant, bewildering them with her no- 
 quirements, and astonishing them with her opift- 
 ions ; so cheerfully frank, while she evaded all; 
 their covert investigations; so full of the pro»- 
 ent, while she never adverted to the past; thai' 
 they could not come to any decision as regardet'i 
 her. It was true that nothing could exceed bej: 
 courtesy ; but still it was not the courtesy of 
 an obliged person, but rather the desire to jileasi 
 of one who was quite conscious that she coul 
 afford gratification whenever it was her will t< 
 do so, and who was happy to oblige. 
 
 Thi9= was vexatious ; for when people havi' 
 compelled themselves, as they believe, to con. 
 fer an obligation, tliey are not'easily induced b, . 
 submit to a reverse of the medal ; and to bov 
 their intentions altogether misunderstood, o 
 unappreciated. Still they could find no tangibl, 
 fault with Miss Delamere : her extreme beauty . 
 and her perfect good breeding were admitte*, 
 on all sides ; and as no particular individual hv, 
 the moral courage to allow that this very eX: 
 cess of good breeding had been a source of peij 
 Boual mortifieation, the result of the visit vrm 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIKS. 
 
 declared to be satisfactory, although there was 
 everywhere a mental reservation. 
 
 In the tlu-onged circles of London life it is an 
 ! every-day occurrence for beauty, talent, and 
 J fashion, to find themselves eclipsed by greater 
 ! beauty, higher talent, or more decided fashion : 
 , tlie wheer of society is forever revolving, and 
 1 its votaries soon become habituated and recon- 
 ! died to the rotary movement which elevates 
 and depresses each in turn ; but the aristocracy 
 of a country neighborhood stand still like their 
 crwn oaks and elms, and do not so jJatieutly en- 
 dure the inflictiou of any rivalry. 
 '' Tluis, although every one praised the beauty 
 and the deportment of Miss Delamere, she did 
 • not impress them favorably : fathers trembled 
 t for their sons, mothers for their daughters, young 
 : ladies for their lovers, and expectant heirs for 
 I their college recollections and forgotten studies. 
 ' In short, the ladies decided that the handsome 
 t etranger was a flirt, and empty-headed squire- 
 lings that she was a blue-stocking. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 ixwniLE Frederic Mortimer was hastily 
 Itraversing Italy, on his way to England. Italy, 
 Ithe laud of his predilection, where, on his ^out- 
 ward route, he had lingered over every natural 
 |ot artistic beauty with almost a lover's tender- 
 jness ; where he had each day discovered some 
 teew delight ; whose skies and groves had tilled 
 hiis mental visions even in strange countries ; 
 jond where he had resolved to rest awhile ere he 
 Ifinally returned to his home, in order that he 
 j-night store his memory with a rich gallery of 
 llife-enduring pictures. The alarming letter, 
 lliowever, which was put into his hands at Cairo, 
 pversed in a single instant all his plans ; and 
 't was with a throbbing and a trembling heai't, 
 chat he found, on arriving at Alexandria, only a 
 single vessel lying in? the liarbor bound for 
 i-'ipe; and which, moreover, was not to sail 
 ■ -^ veral days. 
 
 liiose days were torture to the affectionate 
 
 n.-art of Frederic ; for although the expressions 
 
 M his careful mother had been measured, and 
 
 (lie had abstained from informing him that all 
 
 ope was over, still he read the truth in the 
 
 nstrained anguish which breathed throughout 
 
 e whole letter ; for there are certain misfor- 
 
 nes wiiich we feel at once, without needing 
 
 at they should be formally set forth in order 
 
 convince us of their ex-istence. 
 
 At length the anchor of the small schooner 
 
 is weighed ; and with a fair breeze, she scud- 
 
 d_m the direction of Trieste, her solitar/pas- 
 
 i'T being Frederic; who,' after having taken 
 
 ■ '• of his travelling companion, then prepar- 
 
 ■ tur an expedition to the Pyramids, had be- 
 
 I" totally absorbed by the one mingled hope 
 
 1 fear which pointed towards his home. 
 
 ' 'Jice again on terra firma, he lost no time in 
 
 ■^•jcutuig his journey ; but not as he had for- 
 
 ^ly done, did he now traverse Itaiy. All 
 
 ill had before engrossed his attention and 
 
 iL'lited his fancy, seemed to have disappear- 
 
 , u gloomy veil hung over the whole landscape, 
 
 .and blotted out the sunshine: no longer eager to 
 visit and to investigate every object of interest, 
 he remained buried in a corner of the vehicle, 
 absorbed in his own painful forebodings, and 
 indifferent to all external objects. The most 
 renowned cities, and the most picturesque 
 points of view, were alike unable to ai'ouse him 
 from his abstraction: the affection of the son 
 had overcome the impulses of the artist and the 
 man of taste ; and a cold dew stood at times 
 upon his forehead, as he pictured to himself that 
 his father might at that precise instant bo 
 breathing his last sigh, and looking in vain 
 around the death room for the absent one who 
 should have been there to receive it. 
 
 Frederic Mortimer, accustomed from his ear- 
 liest youth to make his own tastes and plea- 
 sures subservient to (hose of others ; not by 
 compulsion, but from the imperative prompt- 
 ings of his own warm and unselfish heart, had 
 not beUed in manhood the promise of his youth. 
 Calm, selfcentred, and somewhat grave, he was 
 indeed ; and altogether not divested of a cer- 
 tain pride which rendered him jealous of any 
 Avant of affection or regard in those about him ; 
 but this frequent failing of silent and shy men 
 was compensated by the outgushing tenderness 
 of a nature ever prompt to bestow even more 
 than it exacted in return. 
 
 Still this was Mortimer's leading defect ; this 
 anxioxis yeai'ning to be loved, which rendered 
 him exacting even with those who were nearest 
 and dearest to him, while it exposed him to the 
 risk of imposition in his general commerce with 
 the world ; and amiable as the failing might be 
 in its origin, it nevertheless exerted an un- 
 healthy influence upon his general character. 
 Few, liowevei", stispected the extent of this 
 weakness ; while all with whom he came into 
 contact could appreciate his high and noble 
 qualities, and the graceful gentleness by which 
 he was distinguished. 
 
 Young, wealthy, strikingly handsome, and 
 gifted with no ordinary powers of the mind, the 
 son of Mrs. Mortimer fully justified her tender- 
 ness, of which he felt so perfectly secure, that 
 no cloud had ever passed over his spirit as his 
 thoughts dwelt upon his mother's love. To his 
 father he had been equally devoted; and he 
 had cherished his girl-cousin with a fond feeling 
 of mingled admiration and proud support. Be- 
 yond these boundaries his heart had not yet 
 progressed. Absorbed before his departure 
 frolI^ England, by his studies ; and during the 
 college vacations, by those home diities which 
 are so pleasurable in youth, he had never wast- 
 ed a thought upon other and more precarious 
 affections ; while, throughout his wanderings in 
 foreign countries, he had devoted himself rather 
 to places than to persons ; and seen, in the fai" 
 faces which flitted before him, merely suitably 
 accessories to the various scenes on which he 
 looked 
 
 Such was Frederic Mortimer when he once 
 more set foot upon English ground. Rich in 
 aft'ection ; ardent in temperament, although 
 grave in manner ; thirsting to bo loved as he 
 felt that he could himself love ; full of hope for 
 the future, even altliough the present waa 
 clouded by a hc:;"y sorrovr; generous; high- 
 
10 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 hearted ; ever ready to enhance the happiness 
 of others by the sacrifice of his own wishes, 
 ■where that sacrifice did not involve tlie one 
 leading weakness ; a devoted son, a frank and 
 fearless friend, and an upright man. 
 
 A fortuight had elapsed since the bright noon 
 ■npon whicii we introduced Mrs. Mortimer and 
 her orphan niece to our readers ; and the shades 
 of evening were rapidly invading the glorious 
 
 liich had marshalled the sun to its 
 
 gor- 
 
 vapors wli 
 
 geous setting, and which flooded the lawn with 
 a golden light, as if reluctant to fade from the 
 face of the fair carta so soon. 
 
 Gertrude stood in the bay of the summer sa- 
 loon already mentioned, looking herself like the 
 spirit of the hour, and fixing the gaze of her 
 fond and admiring aunt by the exquisite glow 
 of her beanty, as her rich hair was touched by 
 the radiant beams ; when she murmured as if 
 unconsciously : " It must be so ! That golden 
 arch, sheddmg its dazzling reflection on all 
 around it, and tinging the growing vapors with 
 a thousand prismatic hues, must be the open 
 portal of Eternity ; through which the wonder- 
 ful shadow of the Creator makes itself for a 
 brief space visible to man, as if to invite him to 
 win his entrance into the more solemn and per- 
 fect glories beyond ! And do you know, dear 
 Aunt?" she co'ntinued, turning with an enthusi- 
 astic smile to her wondering relative ; " I have 
 often imagined, despite the science of the learn- 
 ed, that the lovely stars, which we are taught 
 to look upon as worlds, may in reality be no- 
 thing save the dust of heaven flimg from the 
 feet of the Eternal, as he moves in His majesty 
 -above the clouds of night!" 
 
 "These are strange wild fancies, Gertrude!" 
 remarked Mrs. Mortimer somewhat gravelj*: 
 "Our retired life has made a day-dreamer of 
 you ; but you must struggle against such un- 
 Dridled imaginations as these. You are no 
 longer a child ; and the realities of the world 
 will more than suffice to occupy your mind." 
 
 " Yet, surely, dear aunt, there should be some 
 poetry in life? It is so disheartening to cast 
 away all the bright visions of a wayward fancy. 
 But hark ! I hear the gate bell — the hour is too 
 far advanced for casual visitors! — ^Aunt, dear 
 aunt, I liave a presentiment — nay, I feel con- 
 vinced, that Frederic has arrived!" 
 
 Mrs. ilortimer sank back, half fainting, in her 
 chair; and waving her hand ini]>(ititiitly. in a 
 hun-ied and failing voice desired the fair girl to 
 hasten and ascertain if her conjecture wei'c in- 
 deed correct ; an exertion which her sudden 
 emotion rendered impossible to herself 
 
 Tiie heart of Gertrude had not deceived her. 
 As she reached the hall, a tall slight figure 
 alighted from a travelling carriiige, and hastily 
 niurmurirg, " My dear cousin, I am rejoiced to 
 Bce you once again! — Where is my mother?" 
 passed her without a second glance ;' and in the 
 next instant had crossed her threshold of the 
 saloon. 
 
 Saddened and disappointed, although tremb- 
 ling with a sensation of indescribable happiness, 
 Gertrude retired to her own room, imwilling to 
 intrude iier presence until the first burst of ma- 
 ternal and filial affection had passed by; for she 
 instiiictivel}' felt that there is a holiness in sor- 
 
 row such as theirs, which should be looked on 
 by no other eye, how.ever dear. 
 
 The partial obscurity of the hall, combined 
 with her own agitation, had rendered it impoa- 
 sible for her to distinguish the features of her 
 long absent cousin ; while it was equally evi- 
 dent that he had at once comprehtinded the e»» 
 tent of his misfortune by the mourning dress 
 in which she met him ; and engi-ossed by that 
 solitary idea, had given no thought to herselt 
 In vain did she argue to her own reason that 
 nothing could be more natural than what had 
 occurred ; her heart was unsatisfied — that heart, 
 which had yearned towards him even from her 
 girlhood. Had he merely touched her hand a£ 
 he passed beside her, .she would have asked nc 
 more, for she would then have felt that she had 
 a place in his remembrance ; but their fii-sl 
 meeting had been a perfect blank, .and this coi> 
 viction chilled her to the soul. ; 
 
 Meanwhile Frederic had flung himself upor! 
 the neck of his widowed mother, and for a fe\i 
 seconds was totally incapable of utterance; 
 Throughout his whole journey he had hopec^ 
 even against hope ; and he felt this truth bitter 
 ly as the extent of his misfortune was instantly 
 revealed to him bj' the mourning dresses whicli 
 now saddened his once cheerful home. •■' j 
 
 Fortunately for both parties, ^Irs. Slortimei 
 had already had time to look upon her bereavcj 
 ment with more resignation ; and the presence o: 
 her son seemed for a while to restore to her al; 
 the happiness that she had irrecoverably lost; 
 At one moment she thrust him from her, that shj 
 might admire his noble features and his maul;j 
 form ; and in the next, she drew him once morj 
 to her bosom, and covered his pale brow an^j 
 cheeks with kisses, as fondly as she had formei; 
 ly done when it was the face of a laughing boj 
 which rested on her shoulder ; and ela.-<ped hiij 
 closer in her arms, as though she feared that h, 
 would again escape her ; for the loss of one bt 
 loved object always endears us the more t 
 those who are spared to us; and we instinctivij 
 ly lavish upon the living all the tenderneij 
 and afi'ection which we once bestowed upon tl" 
 dead. , 
 
 Two long hours had elapsed ere either Mr 
 Mortimer or her son remembered or remarkej 
 the absence of Gertrude ; and the warra-heartf 
 matron had no sooner done so, than with h<i 
 hand locked in that of Frederic, and her mi't 
 eyes earnestly fixed upon him, she began to cj 
 late, in terms of the most grateful atfectio 
 upon the care and tenderness she had expeii 
 eneed from her niece throughout, not only h 
 late heavy trial, but all the long years of 1" 
 absence. Mortimer welcomed the subject gla^ 
 ly, {9\- it at once afforded a relief to 1 
 thoughts, and enabled him to dwell, withb) 
 self-reproach, or disrespect to the memory | 
 his father, upon less gloomy images than thoi 
 by which he had latterly been engrossed ; ai! 
 Mrs. ilortimer, with her heart and mind full i ' 
 one absorbing idea, heard in every low-breath- 
 exclamation of approval or affection uttered ! 
 her son, a realization of her hopes. 
 
 She said little of the beauty of her niece. ) 
 she was conscious that no eye could rest up, 
 it with iudilference; but she expatiated up 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 11 
 
 her hi?h qualities of heart and mind, iipon her | 
 t-ntluisiiistie and self neglecting afl'ectiou, and 
 upon her artless frankness. 
 
 The eve of Frederic beamed with delight as 
 
 'he listened. It was even thus that his memory [ 
 
 had pictured her ; and he could not forbear the | 
 
 ^recollection as his mother spoke, that such an- j 
 
 fticipations are but too frequenth- disappointed. ] 
 
 I "This is, indeed, a sincere joy to me;" he 
 
 •said atiectionately : " I have always dearly 
 
 loved my pivtty cousin, and I dreaded at times 
 
 [that on iny return, I might find her changed by ! 
 
 Itime into "one of those cold automata so com- 1 
 
 'men in our correct, and somewhat frigid Eng- 1 
 
 ' ''and. Nay, do not look reprovingly, my dear 
 
 ' fnother ; for remember that I have been long 
 
 ' innccustomed to the cold conventionalities 
 
 ■ Ivhich chill so many warm young hearts in our 
 
 ' Swn country, where formality is often mistaken 
 
 or propriety, and the best years of life sadden- 
 
 ' Id by mere' forms. I rejoice that this morti- 
 
 '' ncation is spared to me ; and that I shall indeed 
 
 * licet once more the artless and frank playmate 
 
 * [f niy boyhood, changed only in person, but un- 
 ' buched in heart." 
 
 :' ! Mrs. Mortimer became radiant with happiness ; 
 
 •- |nd the very excess of her satisfaction determin- 
 
 [d the worthy lady for once in her life to enac-t 
 
 ^ he diplomatist, and to withhold from her son the 
 
 * Iving wishes of his father until the beauty and 
 ' Rrtues of Gertrude had produced their effect ; 
 '■• [r single hearted as she was, she nevertheless 
 
 ew enough of tlie waywardness of human na- 
 ire to feel that it invariably shrinks from all 
 at bears the appearance of compulsion ; 
 hile the circumstances under which they now 
 et were a sufficient excuse for the omission. 
 the first shock of Frederick's grief there would 
 .ve been an indelicacy in calling upon him to 
 •ew the grave of his father, with the roses of 
 3 o.wii happiness". 
 
 No more time was lost in summoning Ger- 
 
 ide; but, alas! that which had already elapsed 
 
 re than sufficed to convince the orphan-girl 
 
 all the difficulties and all the dangers by 
 
 lich she was surrounded, ilrs. Mortimer had 
 
 ')-'d taught herself mentally to overleap the 
 
 - of separation which had rendered the 
 
 i;s almost strangers — to forget the change 
 
 1 had necessarily taken place in both, and 
 
 i.'uliar delicacj- of her niece's position ; but 
 
 :i)re Gertrude reflected in the solitude of 
 
 ' iiwn chamber, the more appallingly they 
 
 i • np before her. 
 
 I:id her fond but ill-judging aunt withheld 
 
 her, as she liad now done fi-om Frederic, 
 
 '.i:ig injunction of Mr. Mortimer, she be- 
 
 1 tliat she could once more have met Jier 
 
 'ill with compai'ative composure and uncon- 
 
 c !-d delight ; but that fiital confidence had 
 
 f -d up a barrier between them which the 
 
 k1 nkii'g and womanly pride of her nature for- 
 
 h '• htr to overpass. _ Could she thus, she asked 
 
 h 5 If, suffer Frederic to read her heart ; and 
 
 t' l-icover how tenaciously she had clung to 
 
 li' j.ower over his affection's, conscious that the 
 
 o..:g breath of his father had given her a claim 
 
 t< h^mi? Who could tell what attachment, 
 
 ^■'t hopes, he might have left behind him in 
 
 3<J'- one of the distant countries he had so late- 
 
 ly traversed ; and whence he had had even 
 now returned compulsively long ere he had 
 purposed to do so ? 
 
 The more she reflected upon the personal and 
 moral merits of her cousin, the more she satis- 
 fied herself that it was impossible for him to 
 have passed unloved, and consequently unlov- 
 ing, throughout five long and adventurous 
 years ; and her repiignance to force herself upon 
 ins, perhaps reluctant, affections, became doubled 
 by the conviction. No — come what might, 
 though her heart might break, her youth be 
 withered, and her life, so happy hitlierto, be 
 changed into a mere dreary and weary waste ol 
 feeling and existence, she would at least retain 
 both her own respect and his ; she would love 
 him still and for ever — she could no longer 
 withhold from him all the tenderness of her na- 
 turally fond and confiding nature ; but she 
 would love him in secret ; she would not force 
 upon him any demonstrations of an attachment 
 which cither ties and circumstances miglit have 
 tended to render burdensome ; she would forget 
 the hateful secret so lately and so unfortunately 
 confided to her by her aunt ; and she Avould re- 
 solutely school herself into an external indiffer- 
 ence which should leave her cousin free — free 
 to misunderstand her motives — free to under- 
 value her feelings — free, in short, to love else- 
 where, and to forget her. 
 
 To enable her to do this, she had, however, 
 still to undertake another task, which, although 
 light in comparison with that of controlling — ■ 
 she knew not for how great a length of time — 
 her most hidden feelings, was nevertheless at 
 once painful and invidious. She did not for an 
 instant apprehend that in the first rush of sor- 
 rowful tenderness, her partial aunt, (anxious as 
 she was to secure her happiness by what she 
 considered as the most simple and facile means,) 
 would find a moment to confide to Frederic the 
 secret which had been made known to herself ; 
 and she instinctively felt that, in order to work 
 out her noble-minded and dignified purpose, not 
 a moment must be lost in securing the silence of 
 Mrs. Mortimer. 
 
 This was the last struggle ; for Gertrude at 
 once became conscious, as she formed the reso- 
 lution, that in thus flinging from her the only 
 positive link between herself and her worship- 
 ped cousin, she was indeed leaving every thing 
 to chance ; while, unaccustomed to form even a 
 fair estimate of her own attractions, she wept 
 bitterly as she contrasted her probable influ- 
 ence over his affections with that of fifty other 
 women whom he nnist have encountered abroad- 
 Bitter indeed were her tears as she contempla 
 ted her voluntary self-abnegation ; but never 
 theless they were not all bitterness, for sh<k 
 reflected also upon the extreme attachment of 
 Mrs. Mortimer for her son, and pleased herself 
 with the belief that in- immolating her own 
 happiness to that of Frederic, should her fore- 
 bodings prove correct, she should iusome small 
 degree compensate to her indulgent rehitive f^ir 
 the hoard of aftection poured out u])oii lierself, 
 even at the cost of much present dis]>lcasure, 
 and perhaps suspicion of her real motive*. 
 
 Long and very painful were tliose two hours 
 of vigil to Gertrude ; and it was full of the re- 
 
12 
 
 TTIE raVAL DEAUTIES. 
 
 solutions which she had formed with a strong 
 conviction of riglit, and ii tirrn dotcrminalioii to 
 adlicre to thcni, tliat slie at length obeyed the 
 eumnions of her aunt, after having bathed her 
 eyes to hide all evidenea of her tears, and 
 smoothed down the disordered ringlets Avhieh 
 fell ovr her pale cheeks. 
 
 When she entered the saloon she almost 
 shrank as the bright light of the lamp, which 
 had just been carried in, threw its broad glare 
 upon her countenance ; but in the next instant 
 her cousin sprang towards her, and eagerly 
 clasping her hands within his own, poured forth 
 his thanks and his greeting. 
 
 As he drew her towards him, evidently with 
 the intention of pressing his lips to hers, she 
 instinctively felt that the moment was already 
 come in which she must commence the exercise 
 of her self-control : and even as she replied to 
 his ardent words, she turned aside her face, and 
 the ottered lips fell coldly on her cheek. 
 
 In his turn, Frederic felt his kindly impulses 
 cheeked ; and Hung back upon him ; " Pardon 
 ,me," he said, as he released her hand ; " I had 
 forgotten for a moment, my dear cousin, that 
 you are no longer a child. The heart is so apt 
 to cling to the past; but you must forgive me." 
 And as he looked earnestly at the beautiful girl 
 who stood trembling and blushing before him, 
 his voice became more tremulous as he added, 
 " Indeed you must forgive me ; I would not 
 wilfully have offended you." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer only smiled, for she saw in the 
 assumed coldness of Gertrude simply the confu- 
 sion natural to a young and timid woman sud- 
 denly brought into contact with a recognized 
 lover ; while in the expressive eyes of her son 
 she read at once his surprise and his admira- 
 tion ; and this was precisely wh.at she had hoped 
 and expected. Her satisfaction visibly dimin- 
 ished, however, as the eveiiing wore on, and 
 she discovered that, courteously, and even kind- 
 ly, as her niece received all the attentions of 
 Frederic, she betrayed no single symptom of af- 
 fection. When he spoke she listened intently ; 
 wlien he addressed liiniself directly to iier, she 
 replied without trepidation or embarrassment : 
 but her words were measured, and the faint 
 Binile which played about her lips, was evi- 
 dently forced. 
 
 In this frame of mind her beauty, eren fault- 
 less as it was, lost half its charm ; 'there was no 
 liglit in her eye, no bloom upon her cheek, her 
 Very movements were constrained; and Mrs. 
 Mortimer, grieved and disappointed, sought in 
 Tain for the solution of what to her was a pain- 
 ful niysteiy. Fortunately for all parties — for 
 Fre<lerie himself, after the glowing panegyrics 
 lavished upon the fair automaton before him by 
 his mother, was vsil>ly mortified and discon- 
 certed in his turn — the fatigue of the traveller 
 formed a natural pretext for his retiring early 
 to rest ; and, impossible as she would only on 
 the previous day have believed such a thing to 
 be, the disappearance of her cousin was a relief 
 to the overcliarged heart of Gortrude, which 
 Hed in secret at tiie restraint self-imposed upon 
 t« bcfit and holiest impuhics. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MoRTTMER had no sooner left the room, ko- 
 companied by his mother, than Gertrude hai^tily 
 seized her night-light, hurried in her tuin to 
 her chamber, totally forgetful of the fact that, 
 for the first time in her life, she had omitted to 
 claim the fond kiss of her aunt ; nor did she 
 recall the circumstance even after she had closed 
 the door behind her, and flung herself into a 
 chair to weep in secret over her coming trial. 
 With the magnificent person of Frederic still 
 before her eyes, with his low melodious voict 
 still stealing upon her ear, with the touch o! 
 his lips still thrilling upon her cheek, she askec 
 herself if she indeed had strength to fling fron 
 her the hope of one day being his wife ; an( 
 the tears fell in torrents on her bosom, as shi 
 shrank from returning an answer even to he ■ 
 own heart. 
 
 She was still weeping and struggling agains 
 what, even amid4ier angiiish, she considered a; 
 an Tmworthy weakness and infirmity of jnu 
 pose, when her door softly opened, and Sh- 
 Mortimer entered. In an instant Gertrud. 
 dashed away her tears, and rose to meet he ' 
 but the affection of her fond relative was nc! 
 to be so readily deceived ; and taking the hwi' 
 of the agitated girl, she drew her to the sofi 
 and seating herself beside her, looked steadili 
 almost sternly, into her face for a moment i- 
 silence. The hearf of the conscious Gei"tnni 
 throbbed convulsively, but she neither shraii 
 from that searching gaze, nor made any attero' 
 to commence a conversation which she felt ooi 
 vinced would to her be fraught with vital iii 
 portance ; she only suffered the tears whiJ 
 she had striven to restrain, again to flow free!' 
 and compressed the slender fingers which vti 
 
 clasped about her own. 
 
 Vhat means this emotion, Gertrude f" 
 length demanded Mrs. Mortimer, more ^en'! 
 than her look had seemed to promise : " Tins st 
 den, and most unlooked-for change in all y<' 
 mood and manner? In what, or how, can ;' 
 son, my Frederic, have oft'ended you, that y; 
 should treat him as one whose return was • 
 most unwelcome in his mother's house — in i< 
 own homo? What am I to understand? ,- 
 ready have you frozen him into indilference .' 
 a reception very different from that which 'a 
 had anticipated for the companion of hisyodi 
 and the bride of his father's choice !" , 
 
 " It was that very choice, that very conscie*- 
 ness, my dear, dear aunt," hurriedly interni.d 
 her listener, as intelligibly as her deep and .!♦- 
 bing respiration would permit her to artieulj-'i 
 " which compelled me to the coldness I havi ^ 
 sumed. Oh! jiromise me at least one thiiij 
 implore you — promise that you will con li 
 from Mr. Mortimer the expressed desire ol" 
 father. Let me not constantly be conipelle>;« 
 appear before him as the spectre of some ea -t 
 and dearer hope — as the wife forced upon ;ra 
 by a sense of filial duty — as an evil which 1 '» 
 unable to escape. Promise me that you'i" 
 keep this unhappy secret; and leave the'«t 
 to fate. Tlien, indeed, I may venture not Hy 
 to look at, and to listen to him, but also to -n- 
 
 ^< 
 
I 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTII-B. 
 
 18 
 
 Isider him as a friend, and to strive to secure his 
 jesteem and affection : while, fettered as I am, I 
 |dare not — I ought not — to act otherwise than I 
 iam now doing." 
 
 1 " Gertrude," said Mrs. Mortimer with a re- 
 igretfnl gesture, " your request comes too late. 
 iStartled as I was by your extraordinary con- 
 duct, I still hoped that it had been less conspi- 
 cuous to your cousin than to myself; and anxious 
 to learn the impression produced by your ap- 
 pearance, we were no sooner alone together 
 than I hastened to dispel the regrets renewed 
 by his first entrance into the chamber in which 
 lie had been so often visited by his fathei", by 
 desiring to know what he thought of the little 
 :ousiu whom he had left a mere child, and now 
 met once more, almost a woman^" 
 
 "And what did he answer?" asked her listen- 
 3r eagerly. 
 
 " But a few woi-ds, Gertrude, and those few 
 jailed the tears into my eyes. He admitted 
 rour beauty — he avowed that it far surpassed 
 lis expectations; and he declared that he never 
 ihould cease to feel grateful for your affection 
 .0 his widowed mother ; nevertheless, my child, 
 le said that your cold formality had cut him to 
 :he soul, when he entered 'his father's home, 
 arearied in body, and stricken in heart, pining 
 "or the affection and tenderness of all by whom 
 le had formerly been loved. Oh ! Gertrude, my 
 jwn adopted child, how cruelly have you dis- 
 ippointed both mother and son !" 
 
 " Aunt," exclaimed Miss Mortimer in an ac- 
 ;ent of acute anguish, " do not reproach me, or 
 rou will drive me mad. I must follow the path 
 )f duty. I should be unworthy'of you, of my- 
 self, could I for an instant forget what is due to 
 ill of us. But surelj', surely," she added depre- 
 ;atingly ; " you did me the justice to declare 
 .hat 1 am not an ingrate ; that my every effort, 
 ny every eare, are for the happiness and peace 
 )f those to whom I am so deeply, so fearfully 
 ndebted ? You did not suffer him to believe 
 .liat I was an heartless egotist, incapable of 
 haring alike the joys and the sorrows of those 
 ibout me ?" 
 
 " You know my nature too well, my child, to 
 inspect me of such deception. On the contrary, 
 : assured him that he had altogether mistaken 
 rou; and that the coldness of which he cora- 
 )lained was nothing more than the natural re- 
 traint produced by your knowledge of the will 
 ind wishes of your uncle." 
 
 Gertrude buried her crimson forehead in her 
 lands as she gasped out ; " And onoe more, what 
 vas his reply ?" 
 
 "The only one which I could have antici- 
 lated from him. He instantly said that the 
 jvishes of his father should be obeyed." 
 
 Tiie agonized girl groaned aloud. 
 
 "You are, in truth, inexplicable," pursued 
 ilrs. Mortimer-, "I had looked forward to the 
 ■etiirn of Frederic for the renewal of that hap- 
 uness to which this roof ha? been so long a 
 tranger, and to yourself as one of its chief pro- 
 noters ; and at the very moment when I antici- 
 pated the reward of all my care and all my 
 u.\iety, you wilfully and capriciously renew 
 ^y sorrows, and teach me the utter unreason- 
 bleness of my hopes." 
 
 " He knows, then, that it was my uncle's mil 
 that I should be his wife V 
 
 " He does ; and he is ready to fulfil the wishes 
 of a father who was to him alike a parent and a 
 friend; for he is conscious that he could not 
 confide his happiness to better hands. Seek, 
 thei'efore, my dear girl, to overcome the puerile 
 and unworthy fancy by which you have suffer- 
 ed yourself to be misled, and let him see you as 
 you are, frank, joyous, and affectionate. And 
 now, good night. You had forgotten me, Ger- 
 trude, when you retired to your room, but my 
 heart cannot so easily be cheated of its dues. — 
 Heaven bless you, my dear girl; may you 
 awaken to-morrow with healthier feelings, And 
 do yourself better justice." 
 
 And after a mutual embrace Mrs. Mortimer 
 and her neice parted for the night ; the one to 
 reason herself into a belief that ere the morrow 
 the mere girlish caprice of the evening would 
 have yielded to a sense of coming happiness: 
 and the other to pass the weary hours of dark- 
 ness in a rigid examination of her own impulses 
 and motives, and in a firm resolution to abstain 
 from every action or word which might be mis- 
 construed by her cousin into a desire to remind 
 him of the claim which the mistaken affection 
 of her deceased relative had given her over his 
 fate. 
 
 Convinced, however, by the rebuke of her in- 
 dulgent aunt, that she had overacted her diffi- 
 cult and painful part, she determined hencefoi"- 
 ward to unbend just sufficiently, to prove to 
 Mortimer that she was desirous to extend to 
 him the same family affection which she had felt 
 for his parents, but without exceeding by the 
 merest detail her self-allotted task. Poor Ger- 
 trude ! How little did she comprehend that she 
 was, by these means, iindermining her own 
 peace. Her high-minded but mistaken policy 
 produced its result. From day to day Frederic 
 saw additional reason more highly to admii'e 
 and esteem his gentle cousin, but nothing to en- 
 gage his affections. Always placid, willing, and 
 even eager to conduce to his comfort and con- 
 venience, Gertrude was ice itself as regarded 
 his feelings ; her very smiles were chilling, and 
 effectually checked his enthusiasm; and when 
 her aunt compelled her to display her talents, 
 and thus to enforce the praises of her cousin, 
 she received them with an apparent apathy that 
 sealed his lips, at the very instant in which he 
 would fain have poured out his whole soul into 
 her ear. 
 
 And yet, how deeply, how devotedly did she 
 dwell upon those half-uttered plaudits ! How 
 did she lie for hours upon her sleepless pillow, 
 engaged in recalling every inflection of his voice, 
 every expression of his speaking countenance I 
 Plow often did she ask herself if it were indeed 
 possible that he should ever love her ! But as 
 her breast began to heave beneath the welcome 
 hope, the intrusive memory forced itself upon 
 her mind, that all this fair-seeming was in pro- 
 bability the mere result of duty, the mere 
 struggle to conceal a reluctance which he was 
 too generous to betray. 
 
 For a brief while Frederic did indeed strug- 
 gle, but it was simply to recover the beloved 
 companion of his youth; to awaken in tlie 
 
14 
 
 THE RrV^AL BEAUTIES. 
 
 beautiful creature whom he felt that, would ghe 
 permit it, he could worship with his whole 
 heart, one spark of the liallowed fire which had 
 been kindled in their early years ; but after a 
 time he began to accuse himself of vanity and 
 cowardice, in thus seeking to compel an aft'ec- 
 tion which shrank before his efforts. It is true 
 tliat, in her unselfish heroism, Gertrude was too 
 obtuse to distinguish the efforts of her cousin's 
 heart from tlie mere common-places of a man 
 resolved to immolate his own feelings to the 
 will of a cherished father; and consequently she 
 repelled the covert, and, as she imagined, lan- 
 guid advances of an honest passion, believing 
 that Frederic only sought, with his natural ge- 
 nerosil v, to conceal from her the real indiffer- 
 ence wliich he felt for the wife who had been 
 chosen for him, but whom his own preference 
 had not elected. 
 
 Wearied at length by a pertinacity' which at 
 once discouraged his hopes and wounded his 
 6elf-love, Mortimer resolved to leave the issue 
 of his fate to time, and applied himself diligent- 
 ly to the business considerations entailed upon 
 him by his succession to the family property. 
 But even here he found little to occupy liis 
 thoughts. His accession to the estates of his 
 father was a mere matter of legal form ; his 
 mother's jointure was amply secured ; there 
 were no debts, no difficulties ; his income great- 
 ly exceeded his anticipations, and his position 
 in the county was at once insured and unex- 
 ceptionable. His farms were flourishing, his 
 tenants satisfied, no single cause for anxiety 
 made a demand upon his mind ; his liome was 
 the abode of peace, his mother devoted and af- 
 fectiomate, and still he was not happy ; and 
 perhaj)s the less so that he could not dwell upon 
 one tangible annoj-anee. 
 
 The very calm of his existence was a trial, 
 Bucceeding as it did, in the very bloom and 
 buoyancy of his manhood, to the scenes of pri- 
 vation and excitement to which he had been 
 for j-ears habituated. The oil of peace had been 
 poured too suddenly and too lavishly upon the 
 ti-oubled waters of his life, and with a nature 
 eminently gi'cedy of excitement and emotion, 
 he withered under the peaceful monotony of an 
 existence which left nothing either to appre- 
 hend or to hope. 
 
 His hurried and engrossing foreign experience, 
 while it had engaged and satisfied his mind, had 
 left liis heart unoccupied ; and that heart, in 
 the calm interregnum afforded by his present 
 mode of existence, put forth its claim in turn ; 
 the temple was prepared, the altar raised, but 
 the divinity was still wanting. 
 
 How often did Mortimer feel inclined almost 
 to cui-se the affluence which had descended upon 
 him in a Daiiaen shower. How often did he 
 detest liiinsolf ; envying the fate of those who 
 were called upon to wrestle with the world, 
 and to exert all their nioial and physical ener- 
 gies to secure one footing upon the slip]>ery 
 ladder where he saw iiimself enthroned midway 
 without a single effort of his own. They, at 
 least, had something to hope, somctliiig for 
 wliich to strive ; an aim, an end to their being; 
 while he was a mere unit in the great sum total 
 of the world, to whom a fixed position had been 
 
 ' assigned, and who had no share in the common 
 I task that was going on about him. 
 ' Thus spoke his sense of fitness ; but his pride 
 ' hissed yet more loudly in his ear. What did 
 ' his worldly advantages" avail ? He was young, 
 I wealthy, and handsome ; his social position waa 
 I undeniable ; and, nevertheless, the fair girl 
 i whom he could have loved so well — the orphan 
 ! to whom he would fain have restored a hun- 
 ' dred-fold all the blessings of which she had beon 
 despoiled by fortune ; the bride whose beauty 
 would have been his pride, and whose love 
 would have been his boast — poor, ])arentle8S, 
 and dependent as she was, — scorned the passion 
 whicli he had been ready to lavish upon her: 
 and had shown him, gently and kindly, it is 
 true, but firmly and undisguisedly, that even 
 these worldly advantages could not command 
 affection. 
 
 On the part of Mortimer, this mistake was 
 however, rationel enough ; for the principle of 
 action adopted by Gertrude was well calculated 
 to mislead him. Like all young, ardent, and 
 inexperienced persons, she exaggerated at once; 
 her difficulties and her duties ; and while she 
 increased in tenderness and attention to hei 
 aunt, she steadfastly maintained her eoldnest- 
 towards her cousin ; who nevertheless becamt' 
 only more dear to her from day to day. A con 
 viction which, far from inducing her to relaj' 
 her studied demeanor, only determined her, b}' 
 exhibiting her increasing danger, to persist ill 
 her original purpose. Did he enter the fainibi 
 sitting-room while she was reading aloud, he] 
 voice instantly ceased ; were she at her pian>i 
 when his step resounded in the hall, she inunedi' 
 ately closed the instrument ; althougli at hii 
 express request she opened it mechaiiieaily, aui. 
 went through the task allotted to her with gecj 
 tleness and care ; but it always sufficed to he 
 to know that her cousin was present, to chec! 
 her enthusiasm, and to depress her energies. ; 
 It was impossible that Mortimer should Ion 
 continue blind to a fact like this; but instea! 
 of looking upon it in its true light as an over 
 strained feeling of maidenly delicacy, he read ij 
 every action of the unhappy girl only a tao' 
 demonstration of her imwillingness to fetter he: 
 self, and a desire to make him comprehen<^ 
 without the aid of words, which must have he(> 
 painful to both parties, her reluctance to fiilt, 
 the contract which had been made without hr 
 sanction. The natural consequence eiisuedj 
 I'rederic became ere long ill at ease with lij 
 beautiful cousin, in whom he could not reco, 
 nize the frank and free-hearted playmate of li,( 
 earlier age, and forgot to make allowance f'l 
 the change wliieh a few years never fail : 
 operate in a girl approaching to womanhood.; 
 Nothing is so easily wounded as self-lov 
 and, unconsciously to himself, Mortimer had dj 
 jH'iided upon the aflection of his cousin. He i 
 menibered how often they had sat .-^iile by si-; 
 under the same tree, engaged upon the sn*, 
 1)ook, warmed by the same sunheaiii ; and I 
 heart h;id yearned in absence to renew tlm 
 innocent and liai|iv hours. It was to (iertiii 
 that he had looked' to relate to him in <letail t ' 
 I last incidents of his father's life: he could i 
 I enter upon such a subject with his widow 
 
THE RIVAL BILiUTIES. 
 
 IS- 
 
 [mother, and even tlie old and faithful servants 
 'of the ftuuily could give him but imperfect ac- 
 counts of ail that lie pined to hear. It was 
 also from Gertrude that he had anticipated the 
 enthusiastic inquiries which travellers so love 
 to answer: but although she listened eagerly to 
 'the anecdotes elicited by the questions of her 
 auut, she had never once propounded one of 
 'her own. Beautiful as she was, he soon taught 
 iliimself to believe that, despite his mother's en- 
 comiums, slie had no soul ; and that the lovely 
 face before him was a mere mask, behind which 
 ill was void. Piqued far beyond what he sus- 
 lected, he became cool and reserved in his turn. 
 ■Jnable to comprehend or suspect the extreme 
 ielicacy which had dictated her reserve, he 
 ^mforted himself with the belief that where 
 ill was pure and estimable there could be uoth- 
 ng to conceal ; and that, consequently, the con- 
 jiuct of Gertrude was either the result of a co- 
 quettish affectation which it would be alike 
 i^eak and immanly to gratify, or, as we have 
 ilready stated, a decided indifference, if not re- 
 jugnanee, to himself, which, much as it wounded 
 [is self-love, he was too proud to make one 
 [ibrt to overcome. 
 
 I It is saddening to reflect how very seldom, 
 [hen personal vanity is engaged in the analysis 
 ■ the feelings of another, we are competent 
 tidges of what is beneath our eyes ; how prone 
 e are to misinterpret the most trifling actions 
 id the most simple words ; how the error 
 lepens from day to day ; and how we base 
 nvictions upon false premises, and cling to 
 em the more pertinaciously from their very 
 int of consistency and foundation. 
 Had Frederic been more just to himself, he 
 ight soon have probed the innocent heart of 
 |> cousin to its very centre ; for there were mo- 
 Knts when, with her whole soul hanging uj^ion 
 111 words and yearning for his sympathy, she 
 !>uld have wiliinglj- forgotten thebarrier which 
 fl; had herself raised between them, and flung 
 Irself iipon his bosom, ready to pour out before 
 - Ijn all the treasure of her long-hoarded affec- 
 ' tin ; but he did not look beyond the surface, he 
 cl. not appreciate her timid apprehensions, and 
 Imtiisjudged her nature. 
 
 Coupled with an ingenuousness as rare as it is 
 
 i' ILutiful, Gertrude possessed great firmness of 
 
 i' pj'pose ; and although she mi-ght err in judg- 
 
 n,nt, her principles were faultless, and her 
 
 Kerosity of heart unimpeachable. How many 
 
 ' WBen are fated to become the sacrifice of their 
 
 ' oil virtues ; and how seldom do they reap 
 
 I ' ejn a tardy reward for all the sufferings which 
 
 ;i t% endure for conscience sake! Gertrude was 
 
 itt OS of these self-constituted victims ; and it was 
 
 ;:i hjaunt alone who could appreciate the loveli- 
 
 D'H of her real character. And that Mrs. Mor- 
 
 t)"r did appreciate it in its fullest extent was 
 
 P^. ed by tlie fact tliat she could not bring her- 
 
 se. for a moment to doubt, that, despite the 
 
 ■"jt'fy'ng coolness and distance of her niece, 
 
 tl>e needed only time to convince Frederic of 
 
 ,.. n4excollence ; and that the constant contact 
 
 ,; i in which lie was unavoidably thrown with 
 
 ' ^'^"f f'.e most lovely and amiable of her sex, 
 
 rav ultimately compel him to love his cousin 
 ^\ 1 all the devotedness she so well deserved. 
 
 Of their union she never doubted ; for where 
 could he find a wife so thoroughly constituted, 
 not only to promote, but, to ensure his happi- 
 ness ? The mind and heart of Gertrude were 
 pure as in her girlhood, her intellect well cul- 
 tivated, and her disposition admirable. — Ergo 
 Fredrie must love her ; and beyond this faith 
 Mrs. Mortimer never looked : she forgot that her 
 son had no opportunity of seeing his cousin as 
 she saw her, and of appreciating her many ex- 
 cellencies. Hers was the experience of long 
 years — the test of trial and sorrow, where she 
 had found at once support and consolation ; and, 
 above all, a compansionship which Gertrude 
 resolutely refused to concede to her less favored 
 son, who, wearied by the void produced by ii> 
 aetion after a long period of excitement, soou 
 began to pine for change, and to believe that 
 the monotony of his home would ere long prove 
 unendurable. 
 
 That change, however, was not so distant as 
 he apprehended. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Grange was a fine old place, with its 
 sharp gables, and pointed windows, and shady 
 I'ccesses, and deep shadowy arches, telling of 
 centuries passed away, when architects cared 
 little to calculate the surface that they covered, 
 and indulged themselves freely in the fantasies 
 of wide and winding passages, strange, shape- 
 less nooks, and staircases sufliciently ample to 
 afford ingress to the baronial coach, as well as 
 its occupant. None of the apartments were 
 shaped like those of modern days ; in each and 
 all there was a niche or a bay ; the one to hold 
 a statue, and the other to admit a group of 
 flowering plants, or a musical instrument, or an 
 easel ; and the Delameres had not long been its 
 tenants ere these recesses found their appro- 
 priate ornaments. Costly bronzes, rare works 
 in alabaster or marble, a library of choice books, 
 valuable rather from their nature than their 
 number ; a harp, a guitar (at that period a 
 scarce instrument in England), tapestry-frames, 
 drawing tables, and all the elegant necessities 
 of refined female existence, were lavishly but 
 imobtrusively scattered over the reception 
 rooms. 
 
 The result was admirable, and yet there was 
 no appearance of vulgar stage-effect : the effect 
 of a master-hand was every where visible, and 
 each article seemed indispensable where all was 
 in harmony. The morning room was a triumph 
 of taste, with its rich draperies of sea-green 
 damask, and clouds of transparent white muslin, 
 its Venetian carpet and mirrors, and its solitary 
 statue of Parian marble, the production of a 
 classic chisel; its luxurious couches, and cush- 
 ioned lounges; all only half revealed in the 
 twilight which was permitted to invade the 
 apartment, protected from the glare without by 
 Italian jalousies and garlands of creeping shrubs. 
 
 The deity of this fair shrine was Sybil. It 
 was here that she had placed her harp, her 
 work-table, her writing-stand, and all the ob- 
 jects which conduced to her daily occupations; 
 
16 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 and it is here that we shall once more introduce 
 her to our reader. 
 
 The morning was sultry ; one of those languid 
 and lovely days which, at the close of autumn, 
 seem to condense within themselves all the glo- 
 ries of the past summer; when the gorgeous 
 flowers that have withheld their blossoming du- 
 ring the fluctuating temperament of the preced- 
 ing months, put forth all their brightness, as if to 
 force a more powerful contrast with the coming 
 winter; when the air, heavy with perfume, 
 breathes voluptuously upon the leaves which it 
 •carccly stirs; and the whole expanse of the 
 clear sky spreads like a veil of azure, unfleekcd 
 by a single vapor, above the green earth, which 
 takes a richer tint from the light about it. 
 
 Miss Delamere was seated at her harp, but 
 her fingers wandered listlessly among the chords. 
 Her brows were slightly drawn together, as if 
 by intense, and, it might be, anxious thought; 
 but this rapt expression did not tend to decrease 
 her extraordinary beauty. Her raven-black 
 hair; reflecting, as the light touched it, that 
 matchless purple tint so rarely seen, was banded 
 smoothly from her lofty forehead low upon her 
 cheeks, and drawn into a luxuriant knot on the 
 summit of her small and finely-shaped head. 
 Her magnificent arms were revealed in all their 
 beauty beneath the folds of soft muslin by which 
 they' were covered, and her small foot moved 
 like a fairy thing among the pedals. 
 
 Half buried in a lounging chair, Mrs. Delamere 
 had placed herself at the other extremity of the 
 apartment, in deep shadow, with her ether- 
 bottle, her fan, and a volume of the last new 
 novel beside her. She was not, however, either 
 reading or thinking : Mrs. Delamere seldom 
 read, aiid never thought. Both fatigued her; 
 and Sybil read and thought enough, as she 
 would have declared, had she possessed energy 
 to do so, to exempt her from any such necessity. 
 
 They had been silent for a considerable time, 
 when Miss Delamere suddenly raised her head; 
 and throwing ofi^, by an effort of will, every 
 traee of the care which her features had worn 
 only a moment back, asked, with a sunny smile, 
 " And what thought you. Mamma, of our new 
 acquaintance, Mrs. Slortimer, and her niece?" 
 
 " I have never thought about them." 
 
 " Then, do so now, I pray you. Is not the 
 yoimger lady very beautiful V 
 
 " Oh, yes; a blue-eyed girl — Was she pretty?" 
 
 " Very," said Sj'bil, with strong, and some- 
 what bitter emphasis. " She has one of those 
 faces which Guido would have loved to paint, 
 when he cinctured the brow of the Virgin with 
 an aureole of angels." 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 " There was soul in her eyes, too ; and they 
 were so intensely blue and limpid! They have 
 haunted me ever since." 
 
 " Haunted you ?" 
 
 " Yes; but in an evil spirit. I only love blue 
 eyes on canvass. There is no strengtii of pur- 
 pose in them. They wore made merely to look 
 upon summer sunshine, — storm and tempest 
 would pale them. And yet — well, well I J'er- 
 haps it is liotter so : men regard women simplj' 
 as toys ; and toys should break, or tlie grown j 
 children would weary of them; they were meant ] 
 
 to make this old earth look new, and we must 
 change our suits, or they would become thread- 
 bare." 
 
 " And is all this d propos of Miss — What is her 
 name, did you say ?" 
 
 " Mortimer." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Is all this d, propos of Miss Morti 
 mer's eyes?" 
 
 " Yes, and no ; but she is certainly very beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " I am glad you think so." 
 
 There was another tinge of bitterness in th« 
 light laugh with which Sybil greeted the congra 
 tulation ; and it was somewhat impatiently tha 
 she thrust her harp from her as she rose, am 
 approaching her mother, said softly, " You wil 
 be able soon to test my taste. Mamma, for w 
 must return the visit to-day. We have alread- 
 delayed the courtesy too long. Shall I orde 
 the barouche, or will you trust yourself to m 
 ponies?" 
 
 "Sybil!" exclaimed Mrs. Delamere with m( 
 mentary energy, as she half rose from amon 
 her cushions, and raised her ej-es to those of h( 
 daughter; "you know best, and I have no wis, 
 to interfere ; but it seems to me that — Do yc 
 not know what I m«an? — that we are spendir. 
 a great deal of money." 
 
 " We are so." 
 
 " But i-eally, my dear, can we do it?" 
 
 " We are doing it every day." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I see — I know— However, it 
 your aftair, not mine ; only, perhaps — " 
 
 " There must be no perhaps," interi>osed 51 
 Delamere, and again the finely-pencilled bro. 
 were slightly contracted. " The season of ' pi 
 haps ' is past. Will you decide, my dear Moth; 
 in favor of the barouche, or the ponies ?" 
 
 " Please yourself." ; 
 
 "The ponies, then, assuredly," said Sybil,' 
 she approached the bell ; " and their toilette v 
 be accomplished as expeditiously as your d 
 Shall I ring for your maid ?" 
 
 " Do so." 
 
 And the bell was rung; and while Sybil '- 
 seated herself at the harp, the Abigail assisjl 
 the reluctant Mrs. Delamere to rise from -f 
 chair, folded her shawl more conveniently ab^ 
 her, collected the fan, the novel, and tjie etl- 
 bottle, and finally followed her languid mist:i 
 from the room. 
 
 The door had no sooner closed behind tlHi 
 than the head of the brilliant beauty fell hea ly 
 upon the instrument, her fingers forsook • 
 chords, and she became plunged in a deep d 
 gloomy train of thought. Once or twice i* 
 turned her large eyes searehingly on every i,^ 
 and on every side^hey rested upon some ol;-| 
 of luxury or beauty ; but there was no refle u 
 happiness in their expression; the bi'ow ''» 
 smooth, but the crumpled rose-leaf had niaj!'* 
 the repose of the spirit. ; 
 
 With Sybil, however, such a mood of i''<> 
 could be but of short continuance. Aft • 
 time she rose and walked calmly and slow M> 
 a mirror, where she gazed earnestly at tli'"*- 
 flection of her own beauty, until a hau '5 
 smile played about her lip, and the liglit rej'f*" 
 od to her' eyes. There was resolute triuni)."' 
 the whole expression of her face and atti !«■ 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 IT 
 
 Kt that moment she felt no regret that she had 
 hrown down the gauntlet to fate, but was read}- 
 or the eombat. 
 
 Sooth to say, she was no mean antagonist! 
 
 When the beautiful little pony carnage stop- 
 >ed at the gate of Mrs. Mortimer, the ladies were 
 itiolliiig about the grounds, and their visitors 
 ad already taken possession of the saloon, ere 
 he bell recalled them to the house. Mrs. Dela- 
 lere was. as usual, almost swathed in shawls; 
 '')Y although she never ventured to declare so 
 uich, she detested an open carriage, and fancied 
 •lat she was perished with cold even in the hot- 
 '?st seasoQ of the year, whenever she risked her 
 'ealth in so hazardous a manner. Her wraps 
 i-ere, nevertheless, upon this occasion trifliqg be- 
 ide those of those of her daugliter; who, in 
 Idition to a mantle so disguising that it might 
 'ive served as a domino, had flung over her close 
 ,)nnet a voluminous black veil which complete- 
 r concealed her countenance. Nothing, in fact, 
 ive her height, and the peculiarly graceful 
 liture of her movements, could have distin- 
 'lislied her from the veriest dowdy of the neigh- 
 [irhood ; nor, when Mrs. Mortimer and her 
 jece, closely followed by Frederic, entered tiie 
 jiartment, did she raise the cloud of lace be- 
 .ath which slie was literally in eclipse. 
 
 Mrs. Delamere soon sank, in a state of semi- 
 
 ihaustion, into a chair ; and her hostess, as a 
 itter of course, established herself at her side, 
 it even after the presentation of Mortimer, 
 3' three younger members of the party re- 
 fined standing in the full glow of the mid- 
 <iv sun, before the open doors of the verandah ; 
 - iB only a few moments had elapsed, ere, at the 
 ergestion of Sybil, they wandered out into the 
 *en air. 
 ■' ' You have- a true English home here, Miss 
 ^rtimer," she said' caressingly, as she passed 
 ■ b" arm through that of Gertrude ; " such a 
 Ine as I sliould value beyond all the j>omp on 
 eth. Tiiere is no trace of yesterday in these 
 ft old trees, nor in the time-tint of the venera- 
 -■■ tj house they so nobly overshadow. I have a 
 hi-ror of the architectural mushrooms which 
 sfm to be scarcely of an hour's growth ; there 
 itjio repose in them ; nothing of the past'; and 
 •fljere there is so little in the present to com- 
 P.sate for such a want, we may, and ought to 
 •forgiven for loving to look back upon earlier 
 
 t 
 
 Yes," said Gertrude fondly ; " it is a dear old 
 pbe; and although our neighbors occasion- 
 *} endeavor to alarm niv aunt by adverting to 
 "! pres\nnption of the little post-town which 
 hJali but invaded her territory, I believe that 
 »t^ estimates it at ite full value'" 
 . j^^"<i slie is right," replied Sybil. " Proudly, 
 »rt'ed, may she ask, ' Wh.at's Hecuba to me, or 
 A J Hecuba?' What has this peaceful retreat in 
 Ctfmoh with the busy, hustling, vulgar turmoil 
 ontliird-rate provincial coiiffregation of traders 
 a", gossips? I appeal to Mr. Mortimer," she 
 ■«•'!, turning her graceful head abruptly to- 
 
 V ^y^ Frederic, who was walking at her side 
 . 5 has travelled, and must feel and app 
 ,•; w^he charm of such a home as this " 
 
 '^'•'■'aJ- *"'?^* *^'"* ^ °-^ ^^^ insensible to its value, 
 aoj^ that of its inmates," said the young man. 
 
 with a slight bow; "and still less should I feel 
 inclined to question it^ merits, did we often re- 
 ceive such guests as Miss Delamere ; but 1 never- 
 theless confess that there are moments wlien I 
 should scarcely regret to feel it placed somewhat 
 nearer to the centre of mind and movement. 
 The bee itself is at times cloyed with honey." 
 
 The expression of Sybil's countenance was in- 
 visible beneath her veil, but sUe felt the sigli of 
 the fair girl upon whose arm she leant ; and she 
 had already seized the text of a long and ear- 
 nest chapter, which no stranger had a riglit to 
 read. 
 
 " How well I recognize the spirit of your ex- 
 acting sex in that measured answer!" she said 
 playfully. " The poet lias assured us that ' man 
 never is, but always to be blessed;' how much 
 happier are we humble-minded women ! Is it 
 not so. Miss Mortimer? We who make our 
 moral garment to the very measure of our means, 
 and seldom look beyond the circle iu whicli we 
 are condemned to move." 
 
 " This from you!" exclaimed Gertrude with 
 unfeigned surprise : " You, who appear to rule 
 circumstances with a wand of ivory, and to 
 make all obey your bidding?". 
 
 " You do not speak in epigrams, I trust," was 
 the retort of Sybil : " Reassure me on the in- 
 stant, or you will frighten me. Mj- rule, believe 
 me, does not extend beyond builders apd 
 gardeners, and I find even these difficult to 
 govern. I will not have you look upon me as a 
 maitress feimne ; I detest everything wiiich un- 
 sexes a woman. Remember that my mother is 
 out of health, that lier energies are ruined, and 
 that she requires one wiio can tliink and act for 
 her ; and that ontj must and should be her own 
 child." 
 
 " My dear Miss Delamere — " . 
 
 " Do not mistake me once more," pursued 
 .Sybil, as she clasped the slender fingers of her 
 companion in her own: " You did not intend to 
 wound me, nor have j'ou done so ; but I feel tliat 
 I shall greatly prize'your friendship, and I am 
 anxious to put forth my claim frankly. Tlie 
 power which is Avielded at the Grange is not 
 mine ; it has, if you will permit me so to say, a 
 more vulgar origin ; it is the mere power of 
 gold, and I am simply the ' slave of the lamp;' 
 a little vain, perhaj^, occasionallj^, of the results 
 of mj^ agency, but scarcely to be considered as 
 their autlior. All this is sad egotism, however, 
 and will but increase the threatened tedium of 
 Mr. Mortimer, who has so lately been conver- 
 sant only with the grand and the beautiful ; 1« t us 
 rather delude him into some bright memuries 
 of the past, and throw liim back for a bri.f in- 
 terval into the world of wonders and a(l\ei.- 
 turre." 
 
 " I begin to believe that'it exists eveiTwhere,* 
 said Frederic, fascinated, he scarcely knew 
 wherefore, hy the perfect self-possession and 
 candor of the visitor. 
 
 " Ko doubt it does," acquiesced Miss Dela- 
 mere ; while Gertrude was fairly silenced, alike 
 by the stream of words which she liad encount- 
 ered on the one hand, and by the effect which 
 they evidently produced upon the other : " We 
 only require eyes to see, and a mind to com- 
 prehend ; but, as the Musselmaun nevei- vca- 
 
18 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 tures to cntor liis mosqne until he has perform 
 cd lijs piirifviiig ablutious, 6o neither can we 
 estimate wliat is ivally jtassint; about us before 
 we have prepan-d our intelligence to receive 
 the amount of marvel which has been prepared 
 for the gratification of our moral sense. I fear 
 that we are nil sad spendthrifts of liappincss ; 
 and, like the defrauded miser, never know the 
 intrinsic value of our accumulated treasures un- 
 til we are cheated of them. But let us talk of 
 Italy, Mr. Mortimer; beautiful Italy! where I 
 once s|ient two happy years. What a spell ex- 
 ists in the very name of Italy! It is a dream for 
 the dying." 
 
 And they spoke of Italy, long and earnestly ; 
 but Frederic soon unconsciously felt his self-love 
 somewhat piqued by the discovery that he had 
 much to learn, and nothing to teach to his com 
 panion upon his favorite subject. She had seen 
 all, had appreciated all, and had judged all 
 Perhajw had he suffered himself to reflect at 
 such a moment, he would readily have found a 
 key to the enigma, and have discovered that 
 where he had only felt, Miss Delamere had stu 
 died and reasoned ; that ho had been the mere 
 pilgrim of imiigination and enthusiasm, where 
 she had been the observant and calculating wo 
 man of the woi-ld ; but he was in no mood for 
 Buch an analysis ; he was anxious to shine, to 
 produce an etfcct, and he found himself worsted 
 upon every jioiiit. He saw this, and aftei* a time 
 he became mortified and discouraged. The soft 
 eyes of Gertrude were upon him, but their ad 
 miring gaze was wasted. It was not uj^on his 
 cold and reserved cousin that he had been 
 anxious to make a favorable impression ; he 
 had aimed at interesting, and perhaps attract 
 ing, Miss Delamere, and he began to believe that 
 he had failed. 
 
 Sybil, however, read the expression of his 
 epeaking features as readily as she would have 
 perused the pages of a printed volume ; and by 
 an easy transition she led the convei-sation to 
 the marvels and monuments of Egypt, a land 
 which she had never visited ; and having once 
 rtiore succeeded in arousing the enthusiasm of 
 Frederic, she immediately became all ear ; en- 
 couraged his nai'rative by eager and wcll-[)laced 
 inquiries; and made him, with consummate tact. 
 the liero of the liour. To Mortimer she had ap- 
 peared deligiitfiil when she talked; no wonder, 
 then, that when she hung upon his words like 
 one entranced, he should consider her tenfold 
 more charming; and that as they moved slowly 
 forwar<l, and he remarked the finished and yet 
 unstudied grace of all her movements, and the 
 liigh-bred dignity of her gestures, he should put 
 forth all his powers of mind and manner to se- 
 cure lier favor, and to enhance his merits in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Tlicre was a tormenting mystery, top, in the 
 thick and heavy veil which added to the charm 
 of the interview. He could only imagine the 
 play of the intelligent features that it conceal- 
 ed ; and he felt like one imder the influence of 
 S wild and delicious dream. 
 
 When they re-entered the Baloon, they found 
 Mrs. Delamere languidly admiring a maciiificent 
 
 £iecc of unfinislied tapcstry-work winch her 
 ostesa was court«eufiIy exhibiting with the ami-| 
 
 able hope of amusing her unamuseablc guest 
 and the animated and judicious admiration ( 
 Sybil, who instantly joined their party, so.. 
 made ample amends for the languid and ev 
 dently extorted encomiums of her half-sleep 
 mother. Her knowledge of the different effec 
 of startling contrasts, and delicate gradation 
 tints, was not less astonishing to Frederic tli: 
 the intinuite acquaintance which she had I 
 trayed in their previous conversation with ll 
 merits of different schools of art, and Avorks 
 science ; and a feeling of sincere gratificati. 
 took possession of his mind as he noticed t 
 sudden animation of delight which lighted i 
 the fair face of Gerti-ude, as she saw the labo 
 ous industry and taste of her aunt thus estinii 
 ed at its i-eal value. Nor was he less plej^S' 
 and surprised at the promptitude with whi' 
 Sybil, even interested as she was by the socif 
 of her new friends, obeyed the signal of l! 
 mother, and prepared to take her leave. ' 
 
 No gesture of nnnoj-ance escaped her, ■ 
 thougli it was evident that she by no moiji 
 partici]iated in the impatience to be gone niii- 
 tested by Jlrs. Delamere ; but as Frederic n'; 
 to order the carriage, she busily and judiciou.r 
 arranged the eternal shawls which had bli 
 partially flung oft', and made her parting c<'- 
 pliments with grace and self-possession. 
 
 Hands were shaken and courteous words - 
 changed ; and when the languid valefudinnm 
 had at length succeeded in reaching the li.- 
 door, leaning listlessly upon the arm of Mdi- 
 mer, Sybil sprang lightly into the fairy vehii', 
 possessed herself of the reins, and then, ]\a\'g 
 almost succeeded in convincing her compailu 
 that she was comfortably established an- g 
 her wraps, threw back her heavy veil for nt'i- 
 stant, and turned her dark and splendid '■> 
 full upon Frederic with an exi)ression of int( «t 
 and aeknowledgmoiit which for an Instant r- 
 ly dazzled him. The next moment, howi r, 
 tlie jealous cloud of lace Ml back; a grn' ill 
 bend intiuuitcd a final leave-taking, and ic 
 beautiful ponies were in motion towards <i« 
 Grange. 
 
 They were fairly out of sight ere MoHi»r 
 changed liis position ; and even when 1 rt 
 length did so, instead of returning to the li'»e. 
 he descended the steps and wandered once ;r« 
 into the grounds. He had ample food for r ;^ 
 tion. On liis arrival at home he had been I'rt- 
 whole, and prepared to extend all his affeci'M 
 upon its beloved inhabitants. The conveif on 
 of his mother on the very evening of his r"™ 
 had strengthened him in'this purpose, forii«*l 
 held out the promise of tlie precise dt'in.T 
 which he had for several years vaguely pii'.ri'd 
 to himself; but what was the result? Sh M 
 his period of .sojourn beneatli his ancestrojoof 
 •had been, he had become wearied of ita •'»'»• 
 tony, and discouraged by the inditrercnee ;tli« 
 very being whose meinory he had eh e Hod 
 the most fondly ; and yet, he rememberc'"« 
 this cold beauty was to be his wife. Su(;**» 
 the will of a father whom he had never o\>^^ 
 during his life; and whom he believed il^'W 
 still more im])ossible to disobey after his 'ttj^ 
 when his every wish was doubly hallovl Uy 
 tlie fact, that it" could no longer be enforc- 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 19 
 
 Only on the previous day — nay, even an hour 
 nek— lie felt tliat he eould have submitted to 
 is fate without a murmur ; for of eseapiiig it 
 e did not, and had never dreamed. He knew 
 .uough of the gratitude and veneration of Ger- 
 rude for her benefaetors to be convinced that, 
 it whatever cost of feeling to herself, should he 
 [ft'er her the alternative of declining his liand, 
 le would resolutelj- and conscientiously insist 
 pou fulfilling the will of her uncle ; and he 
 ;us consequently prepared to make her his 
 ride, and to trust to time and his own tender- 
 ess to win from her the love without which he 
 )uld not disguise from himself that he must be 
 retched. 
 
 The last hour had, however, worked a strange 
 ,!volution in his whole nature. He had, at last, 
 ,en the very being form whom his soul had 
 |ned, in moments of reflection ; the very being 
 ;hom he had hoped to find in his orphan-cousin ; 
 Icreature not only beautiful, but beaming with 
 tellect; eager and enthusiastic in feeling; full 
 ; that light of the soul which diffuses its own 
 idiance over all around it; charming without 
 iiy visible effort to attract, fascinating without 
 I'ectation, and graceful without mannerism ; 
 ,th a mind richly stored, and a gentleness es- 
 atially feminine. 
 
 What evil star, he asked himself, had brought 
 p radiant Sybil across his path ? What wretch- 
 < chance had induced her to immure her mental 
 jd pei"sonal loveliness in that retired spot, as 
 f to plunge him into a trial, perchance too 
 ijghty for his strength ? Why were they ever 
 led to meet, when he was fettered by an ob- 
 Ijation through which it was impossible to 
 Ipak? And then another thought, scarcely 
 h painful to his mind, and still more so to his 
 jide, beset him. He had not failed to gain the 
 ijictions of his less gifted cousin? And was it 
 tjrefore probable that the dazzling being who 
 iiv occupied his thoughts, wotdd prove more 
 ijulgent than one who had known and loved 
 Iji in former years » 
 
 pie doubt was rational enough ; and yet, 
 Bjiiige to say, Frederic, in his inmost soul, 
 Bjreely doubted; he felt that Sybil at least 
 c Id understand him — her many words, and 
 1« one look, had convinced him "that she did 
 «\ and he clung to the conviction despite his 
 hjter reason. He could only resolve to avoid 
 K, and thus to weaken her spell; but he 
 i<|5ot that this was by no means easy in a 
 ngliborhood limited in its society, and depend- 
 c[ upon its own resources. 
 
 li'evertheless, such was his determination ; and 
 MQ, as a commencement of his task, he cornpcl- 
 hjhimself to dwell upon the image of Gertrude 
 -jf his destined wife — and he recalled, with 
 MjC'thmg approaching to happiness, her beani- 
 lijlook when she saw the pleasure evinced by 
 'H aunt at the encomiums lavished by Miss 
 Maraere upon her tapestrj-. But alas! even 
 Ujslight gratification brought with it the image 
 ob'D'll.and he felt that hers was, indeed, no 
 ^n praise, and that his mother might well be 
 ■ eiiBcd for appreciating such testimony to her 
 
 i. marvel was it, therefore, that Mortimer 
 
 finallj' returned to the house even more dispir- 
 ited than he had left it. 
 
 CILVPTER VL 
 
 There are few more serious and real misfor- 
 tunes for a man of active and enthusiastic dis- 
 position, than to be entirely independent of 
 personal e.xertion. When the necessaries of life 
 compel the e.xereise of the mental and moral 
 energies, every struggle, exclusively of feeling, 
 becomes to a certain degree weakened and con- 
 trolled by more immediate and sordid duties. 
 Expediency wdiispers him to be up and doing ; 
 and he is compelled to give ear to the admoni- 
 tion, if he would maintain his position in socie- 
 ty. Thus his cares, divided, and subdivided by 
 conflicting impulses, create a re-action by which 
 each is in turn subjected to the domination of 
 the other, and all are finally brought under the 
 dominion of reason. But where no such neces- 
 sity for energy exists ; where the position is de- 
 fined, and the fate assured ; where the purple 
 and fine linen are independent of all personal 
 exertion, the mind, free to enforce its full claim, 
 seldom fails to revenge itself upon the pam- 
 pered body, and to magnify its own trials. Ev- 
 ery thing in creation requires extraneous ali- 
 ment ; and Ihe spirit cannot constantly feed 
 upon itself without becoming extenuated by 
 the perpetual demand upon its resources. 
 
 And thus it was with Mortimer. How many 
 envied him! What had he to wish for ? Was 
 he not an only son ? — his own master ? — rich 
 enough to indulge in every caprice, however 
 unreasonable ? What more could he desire ? 
 And, in turn, he might have answered — " What? 
 Not the indulgence of unreasonable extrava- 
 gance ; not the power of vain and foolish fol- 
 lies ; but peace — peace of heart ; the peace 
 which makes home a heaven, and life a boon ; 
 t!ie peace which gold cannot purchase ; and 
 ofteatimes, God be thanked, even poverty can- 
 not take away !" And from day to day, with 
 no other and more immediate care to distract 
 liis thoughts, he felt that this peace was wanting. 
 
 He sat beside his fond and gentle mother ; 
 and there, indeed, had Heaven gifted him with 
 the power of controlling all within his reach, 
 he would not have sought for change ; but as 
 he dwelt tipon the beautiful creattire near her, 
 who was fated to be his second self, another 
 and a brighter vision interposed : and even 
 while his brow was calm, his spirit writhed 
 within him. 
 
 No, never — so he argued — never could they 
 understand each other : the frigid temperament 
 of Gertrude, which led her almost to consider 
 as a crime every manifestation of feeling how- 
 ever natural and iimoeent, could never assimi- 
 late with his own ardent and exacting nature. 
 She was pure, amiable, and good ; it was im- 
 possible to live under the same roof with her, 
 and not to admit this ; but we have already ex- 
 plained the morbid craving of Mortimer for 
 deep and excessive affection towards himself ; 
 and this he had failed to detect in the only be- 
 
20 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ing -who -was, perhaps, fated to love him better 
 than all else on earth. 
 
 As time wore on, and the natural grief of 
 Mrs. Mortimer grew less acute, her desire to see 
 her son the husband of his cousin became more 
 importunate. He had attained the age at which 
 she believed that men are calculated to make at 
 once the most happy and the most prudent of 
 husbands. At tive-and-twenty her own lament- 
 ed partner had led her to the altar, and her 
 •whole life, until she became a widow, had been 
 one interval of happiness; a fact which had 
 alone been suttieient to convince her guileless 
 an(i unsuspicious mind of a truth which she 
 never sought to question. Perfectly unconscious, 
 therefore, that she was driving the iron still 
 deeper into his heart, she never found herself 
 alone with Frederic, but, by some exertion of 
 feminine tact, she led the conversation, whatever 
 might be its original purport, to the subject of 
 maniage ; and even became eloquent as she 
 enlarged upon it. 
 
 " In a life of celibacy," she said upon one oc- 
 casion, Avlicn her patient but dispirited listener 
 was seated placidly at her side ; " Avhen too long 
 prutrjiofcd. a man contracts habits and preju- 
 dices fearfully detrimental to all subsequent 
 home-happiness. He frittei-s away his best and 
 holiest feelings in idle and profitless dissipation, 
 or in paltry and puerile follies ; he accustoms 
 himself to selfish and sordid indulgences ; and 
 becomes either minutely and contemptibly ex- 
 acting with regard to certain trivial convention- 
 alities, to which he attaches a fictitious import- 
 ance that excites the pity, if not the ridicule of 
 his associates, or, ' unstable as the wind,' he 
 suffers himself to be made the sport of every 
 caprice of chance, or, worse still, of momentary 
 egotism, and sacrifices to the passing instant all 
 the interests of the future. The glow of youth, 
 and the bloom of manhood, have alike escaped 
 him unheeded ; and it is only when the fingers 
 of Time have begun to weave threads of silver 
 among the rapidly-thinning locks which former- 
 ly clustered in j)rofusion about his brow, and 
 when certain spasmodic twinges seize upon his 
 burning foot or his swelling hand, that he com- 
 pels himself at last to think of marriage, which 
 has probably been from an early age the subject 
 of his sarcasm. 
 
 " And then, how humiliating is it to reflect, 
 that when the unmistakable commencement of 
 decay at last works this mental revolution, the 
 prudent and fastidious conmientator upon other 
 men's follies almost universally leacis to the 
 altar, and ties to himself for life, either a young 
 and inexperienced girl, more fitted to stand in 
 the relationship of his grand-daughter — a toy to 
 fondle and to neglect at will — or a favorite fe-l 
 male servant, famous for her culinary ability, 
 or talent as a nur.se. The latter alternative, 
 degrading though it may be, is nevertheless the 
 best, as it scarcely entails martyi-dom upon 
 either party ; for the selfish sensualist, as he 
 gloats over his gastronomic luxuries, forgets, 
 at least for a time, amid his egotistical indul- 
 gences, the price at which they have been pur- ' 
 cliased; and probably cares little that the hand 
 which smoothes the cushions of the gouty chair i 
 ia as red as the leather with wliich it in covered. | 
 
 In the other case, however, the reflection u 
 fearful ! It is a realization of the German legent 
 of the living body attached to the senseles 
 corpse. Believe me, the superannuated bride 
 groom indulges in a fallacy when he imagine 
 that he can educate the young wife whose pei 
 sonal qualifications have induced him to encoui 
 age the delusion that he can still repay her a 
 fection, or imbue her with his peculiar hahi' 
 and feelings. The mind may indeed be tutor, 
 but the heart is beyond the schooUng of cl' 
 tism. 
 
 " And. meanwhile, what is the fate of the po. 
 victim of expediency ? Either she sets at naiig 
 the tastes and wishes of her ill-assorted husban 
 plunges into dissipation, and revenges herself 
 the world for the emptiness and joylessness 
 home ; or she withers beneath the chilling cc 
 viction that her moral existence must be a blat 
 I am far from justifying either result; for, 
 this blessed country no woman can be compel 
 to such an union ; but still we have the evei 
 day experience that much may be done by • 
 treaty, by expostulation, and by holding ( 
 brilliant, and, too often, fallacious prospct, 
 calculated to operate powerfully and viciou' 
 upon an inexperienced unagination. 
 
 " It is only after the step is irrevocably tali 
 that the truth, in all its terrors, beconie's mi 
 fest to the victim; and that the young he , 
 frozen by its contact with one on which all i 
 softer and more attaching sympathies have I ? 
 been extinguished, shrinks appalled at the ► 
 pect of its own isolation, and rushes into e 
 world in search of that coiupanionship wlli 
 cannot exist at its own hearth. 
 
 " It would be alike useless to trace, and pi- | 
 ful to contemplate, the probable close of sii^* 
 career ; nor is its wretchedness lessened bv i« 
 fact that the first, and deepest blame is attr i- 
 table to the cupidity of parents and guard 4, 
 and the egotism of self-love. To be alike \u >l 
 'and honorable, marriage should never be all- 
 ied to present any marked and startling con «t 
 either in age or station ; for the balance of 'li- 
 vidual advantages is no sooner lost, tharli* 
 charm, and even the holiness, of such a bo » 
 gone." , 
 
 " There are, moreover, other perils, niy"«r 
 mother, scarcely less dangerous," observed ,^^ 
 timer upon one occasion, " less visible, per J* 
 but equally to be avoided; such, for install •• 
 incompatibility of tastes, habits, and di «•• 
 tions," and he sighed as he ventured the re/t 
 
 " Undoubtedly," acquiesced his mother; u'* 
 in assuming these, both parties must be e lul 
 not to nourish a morbid and unreasonabi' fl- 
 ing. So much may be done where the he,- " 
 right, and the mind pure. The great p< \ ^ 
 to contract marriage before selfish tastes,! '•'*• 
 and dispositions are too deeply rooted. lv^>^^ 
 own ease you have nothing to ajtpreher 'o' 
 Gertrude has not a thought or a feeling "<» 
 angels might not share." 
 
 Fiedeiic sighed again ; he did not doiil »n« 
 truth of the assertion, but he would fail »V 
 seen more of the fond and devoted woi n '» 
 the wife who was to siiarc his fortune; W»<» 
 then his importunate fancy turned back i ^J' 
 bil, and he dwelt upon her remembrance <* 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 21 
 
 lat of a " bright and particular star," far better 
 lited to shine upon tlie liorizon of his own 
 :?Hrt, than the cold and insensible girl to whom 
 i bad been offered through the volition of 
 lother. 
 
 ; He marvelled if Miss Dclamere bad ever 
 Wed • but he soon succeeded in convincing 
 mself that had she indeed so done, she would 
 \}t still have been Miss Dclamere ; for who 
 luld have resisted her fascinations ? Of her 
 ['e he nevA- thought, for Sybil was one of 
 tiose bright creatures who seem to control time, 
 id to create about them a perpetual spring, 
 let what could they ever be to eacli other? 
 |;aa not his destiny fixed and irrevocable? 
 le might secure her friendship, but he dared 
 )t aspire to her love. 
 
 ' And, meanwhile, the intercourse of the two 
 'niilies insensibly increased, and grew to inti- 
 acy. Mrs. Mortimer was half won over to 
 j:e Sybil by the admiration and affection which 
 e evinced" for Gertrude ; while Frederic only 
 (predated the more highly a character so su- 
 Irior as to place her above common and wo- 
 anish rivalry, as she expatiated to himself 
 )on the perfections of his cousin. 
 
 Tou are, indeed, an enviable person, Mr. 
 ortimer," she said with a sweet smile, as they 
 ere one day professing to make a survey of 
 e improvements at The Grange ; " nothing 
 Q be more faultless than the beauty of that 
 vely girl ; no cameo ever presented a more 
 rfect outline than her exquisite features, and 
 e is so gentle, so essentially feminine, her dis- 
 sition is so placid, and her manners are so 
 Id, that it will in truth be a privilege to lead 
 ijch abeiug in safety and happiness tlirough life." 
 j" Her empire will be home," said Frederic, 
 mpelling himself to reply. 
 " And where should it be ?" asked Miss Dela- 
 pre earnestly. " What should a woman as- 
 je to beyoad that ? All else, believe me, is 
 We delusion for our sex. Where the heart is, 
 ere alone should the energies be exerted, and 
 the home a palace or a cottage, it will suf- 
 We are not, as you are, the slaves of ani- 
 on, of wealth, of power ; our dominion is of 
 me growth,, and like the ivy, clings ever 
 .•shlyand closely to the same prop. Men will 
 ver understand us ; tliey think us light, tri- 
 Jg and capricious ; tliey cannot sound the 
 pih of a true womnn's heart." 
 
 And yet," remarked Mortimer, as for an in- 
 mt he glanced into the beaming countenance 
 'ore him, " you have not ventured beyond 
 re theory in your own person." * 
 
 Oh, I!" said iliss Dclamere, with a forced 
 igh ; " I am altogether horse-de-cotubat. I am 
 itented with my fate, and satisfied to remain 
 pectator of tlic events which progress around 
 Persons attract me occasionally, and I am 
 'linkful for the variety which such pre-pos- 
 •pions afford, but I liave learned to estimate 
 f preferences at tlieir true value, and am quite 
 iare that wliat appears very desirable andde- 
 Ihtful to-day, incurs a great risk of proving 
 wous a year hence. How few among us re- 
 jy understand our true interests ! But this is, 
 rhaps. as it should be ; for a perpetual change 
 «| seutiment and feeling lends a constant 
 
 charm to life, and destroys its monotony. We 
 can afford to like, for a rational regard helps 
 us delightfully over the rough paths of our pil- 
 grimage ; but we must be careful how we per- 
 mit ourselves to love, for the error, once com- 
 mitted, is iiever to be repaired." 
 
 " You argue with the coolness of a philoso- 
 pher." 
 
 " And j-ou, like all your sex, have a con- 
 tempt for petticoat philosophy, is it not so ? 
 Kevertheless, you may be forgiven. Your hap- 
 piness is assured, and you are not called upoi 
 to resist" 
 
 " If you assume such a position I cannot dis- 
 cuss tne point." 
 
 " Why should you seek to do so ? Where no 
 struggle is required, no victory is needed. I 
 look upon you as the most enviable man I know : 
 your station in society is exalted enough to 
 satisfy any healthy ambition ; you have a mother 
 who IS a model for her sex, and by whom you 
 are adored. It is, perchance, scarcely delicate 
 in me to push my definition closer, and yet you 
 surely must forgive me if I again advert to your 
 lovely cousin — what more can you ask of fate ? 
 May I not say of you what was said of the 
 favored ones of old, that ' the gods have you in 
 their keeping ?' " 
 
 " And your own star ?" asked Frederic in a 
 tone of slight pique. 
 
 " Mine !" replied Sybil, with another of those 
 ambiguous laughs which from her lips were al- 
 ways musical, even while it was not easy to 
 detect their actual inspiration ; " I doubt if any 
 one of the luminous bodies has condescended to 
 adopt the care of my destiny, it has been so es- 
 sentially common-place. I am, however, for- 
 tunately satisfied, as I have already told you, to 
 be a looker-on." 
 
 " And you have never loved ; you, who could, 
 and should, love well and deeply ?" 
 
 Sybil turned aside for an instant in silence, 
 and wrenched away the branch of a floAvering 
 shrub near which they were passing, as if by 
 this action to throw oft" some painful and power- 
 ful feeling ; apparently she succeeded, for in the 
 next instant her voice was almost steady as she 
 replied, — 
 
 " I may have done so ; and now, like a wreck- 
 ed merchant, only cling tlie closer to the security 
 of land. None can warn more fittingly than 
 those who have suffered." 
 
 Mortimer breathed quickly. She had loved 
 then, and she was still Miss Dclamere ; al- 
 though, from the very self-possession wliich she 
 iiad so nobly assumed, it was evident that she 
 had not escaped unscathed. lie forgot Ger- 
 trude — he forgot his father's dying request — he 
 forgot, in short, all save tlie radiant creature be- 
 side him, as he asked impetuously, — 
 
 " And having loved once, although unhappily, 
 can you be now contented to live on like the 
 crowd about you ? Do you not — " 
 
 "'So," said Sybil, hiying her hand lightly 
 upon his arm, and glancing with an arch smile 
 into his face ; "No, for trust me, I know well 
 what you would ask. Even as the Spartans 
 were accustomed to intoxicate their slaves in 
 order that their children miglit see the vice of 
 drunkenness in all its abhorrent coarseness, and 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 80 learn to avoid it, are woinon of my stamp 
 permitted once to prostrate their best feelings 
 before those of another ; but, like the Spartan 
 boys, they generally profit by the experienee, 
 anti obtain a firmer power over their own sus- 
 ceptibilities ; and this done, even if they do 
 not secure happiness, they at least exhibit a 
 counterfeit, which passes current as readily in 
 tlie world." 
 
 " I do not comprehend such a compromise," 
 said Frederic, somewhat coldly ; " I have a dif- 
 ferent notion of ' the uses of adversity.' " 
 
 " Would you, then, trail your crape over the 
 kenn^4s of 'the world?" asked Miss Delamcre, 
 with a slight accent of scorn ; " believe me, the 
 dear friends about us have little real sympathy 
 with any sorrow which leaves themselves un- 
 scathed ; nor do I see the wisdom of nursing 
 regret, where we have only to reassert our dig- 
 nity, and to profit by our expei-ience. We may 
 occasionally feel the wound open afresh, but we 
 can always conceal it; nor are we called \ipon 
 to present our breast to a second stab. We] 
 learn a great lesson when we are first taught to 
 accept life upon its own terms ; and to gather 
 the wheat and the tares together without mur- 
 muring." 
 
 " And am I to imderstand that you have at- 
 tained to this privilege?" asked Mortimer, with 
 growing uneasiness. 
 
 " I hope so ; but, as this species of philosophy 
 is not, as 1 am well aware, to be acquired at 
 once, I do not expect to make you a convert. 
 Nevertheless, I cannot atFord to allow you to 
 (juarrel with my tenets, because you are the 
 pupil of a more romantic school. They are the 
 result of long and close observation, for I have ' 
 never been accustomed to move over the rough | 
 paths of the world with my eyes shut ; and since j 
 1 have, by some strange chance, elected you^ 
 into a temporary father-confessor, I will even I 
 ••oiifide to you thus much more — that I have I 
 si-eii so many fair promises turn out signal fai- 
 lures; so nmny cliarming buds of nope onlyj 
 produce a blight; that 1 have endeavored to, 
 profit by tlie examples which have been afibrd-; 
 ed me. ' 1 know one sweet girl especially, who: 
 resisted all warning, and who spurned at all! 
 ojiposition, in order to fulfil the dream of heri 
 yuiing lieart; but alasl she only sowed in faith! 
 "to reap in bitterness. So much is required on j 
 both Bides to render a married life really happy, 
 that it is almost presumptuous to seek an excep- 
 tion in one's own particular case there should 
 be such pei-fect conformity of tastes, feelings, 
 and principles, such power of self-abnegation, 
 fiueh entire and absolute devotion to another ; 
 and above all, such a faculty of loving through 
 weal and woe, that I have renounced all hope 
 of ever meeting one wiio would care to incur 
 80 great a risk for my sake." 
 
 " You despair of such a result?" 
 
 " Even so, and am I so much to blame?" she 
 asked with a winning smile; "and may I not 
 trust tliat you will acquit me of cold-liearted- 
 nes.s and egotism if 1 have taught myself to a]>- 
 preciate the world as it is, and to receive with 
 gratitude the calmer enjoyments which it ten- 
 ders to me, without exacting more? Because 1 
 will not be a voluntary martyr, must I submit 
 
 to be thought an egotistical coquette ? or to bare 
 it believed that I love pleasure and display, 
 simply from the fact that I am incapable of all 
 higher and holier affection? In short, will you 
 still apply to me in your heart all those injuri- 
 ous epithets with which your sex generally 
 overwhelm a woman, who, having attained 
 years of discretion and reflection, still remains 
 free, and declares her resolution to continue ; 
 so ?" 
 
 " No," murmured Frederic, nevertheless only 
 half convinced ; " but I hold that the man who 
 is able to induce you to recant that resolution 
 will be the happiest of mortals." 
 
 Sybil laughed, and placing her slender finger 
 upon her lip, archly shook her head. " And 
 now, reverend father," she said sportively, " we 
 must never again recur to this subject. You 
 are affianced to your cousin morally, therefore 
 a married man — and I to my principles. Let us: 
 rather talk of your sweet bride-elect, who needs: 
 but your guiding and supporting hand to he- 
 come all that you can desire to see her. Were 
 she nothing better than a beauty, it is a theme 
 which, conversant as I have now become with 
 your ardent nature, I should dread to toucli 
 upon; but such is far from being the case; slic 
 is fulliof pleasant womanly feelings and acquire 
 ments, and altogether qualified to make youi; 
 home happy." ; 
 
 " You have studied her merits deeply," saiti 
 Mortimer, somewhat sarcastically. ] 
 
 " Was it not natural that I should do so? Mre- 
 Mortimer was the first of our county nvighbor! 
 who ventured within our anchorage withou. 
 demanding a clean bill of health — You werj 
 yourself the first individual with whom 1 wn 
 brought into contact after my arrival, and vriti 
 whom I had a taste, a pursuit, or a study i ' 
 common — while Gertrude was pointed out f 
 me as your destined wife. Do jou wonder the 
 that I looked somewhat closely into her elini 
 acter, when I felt that it involved your happ 
 ness? But no — no — " she pursued hurrieiil' 
 as she averted her head, and quickened lu, 
 pace ; " I have expressed myself ill, unforti- 
 nately — I should have said — " 
 
 " ISothing save the very words you uttered 
 exclaimed Frederic breathlessly. " You hB\; 
 admitted that you honor me with some portic 
 of your interest, and believe me that I wi 
 study to deserve it." 
 
 From that moment, however. Miss Delame 
 resolutely turned the subject of di-scourse, !!■ 
 could all the artifices of Frederic induce her 
 resume it. P^nough had nevertheless passed I; 
 twecn them to convince Sybil that Mortim; 
 was utterly indifferent to his cousin, and by i^ 
 means equally so to herself; while Fredei' 
 quitted her presence with the proud convictiij 
 that although Miss Delamcre had resolved nev, 
 to give away her heart, she had at least I 
 stowed her regard upon himself. The conv 
 tion came at a fortunate period to heal t 
 wounds of his self-love ; and he ingenuously 1 
 lieved that his own feeling towards the beau 
 ful Sybil was of a similar nature ; but he did !■ 
 estimate the perils of the trial to which he tl: 
 rccklcsslv abandoned his peace of mind. 
 
 An individual of winning manners and acco 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 lisbed intellect, whose habits and sentiments ! 
 ssiuiihite with our own, makes great, although j 
 iiperceptible progress in our ati'ections before 
 i-e become eogiiiziiiit of the fact. We imagine 
 jiat we are only gratitied, interested, and un- 
 lerstood, while in truth we have in some degree 
 ijased to understand ourselves ; and where we 
 Plieved that we were merely encouraging an 
 Intercourse tending to make the hours pass less 
 leavily, and with more profit to our personal 
 jielings, we have unconsciously created a moral 
 ilimeut necessary to our after-existence; and 
 ame morning we awaken with our brain and 
 ur heart alike replete with new impulses, new 
 loughts, and new sensations, of which we had 
 ot even dreamed when we retired to rest upon 
 le previous night. We had lain down, like 
 uUiver, in all tlie pride of our strength, only 
 ) tind after our slumber that we are bound by 
 i thousand Lilliputian bonds, each a mere hair 
 (i itself, but collectively forming a net-work 
 |-om which we cannot free ourselves. 
 I The society of Sybil became daily more neces- 
 iiry to Mortimer, lie no longer looked upon 
 [er as a mere acquaintance, with whom it was 
 ccasionally pleasant to while away an idle 
 our; but even in her absence he constantly 
 jferred to her tastes and opinions, and coupled 
 er image with all his pursuits. When he acci- 
 entally recalled to recollection an unusually 
 iterestiiig incident of travel, he reserved it 
 util he could relate it to Miss Delamere ; and 
 ', in the course of his reading, he was struck 
 y an able passage, or a quaint conceit, it was 
 Irthwith marked, in order that it might be sub- 
 litted to her judgment, or made conducive to 
 er amusement ; while she no sooner appeared 
 iian he instantly roused himself from the languor 
 rhich was rapidly becoming habitual to him, 
 nd exerted himself to do justice to his natural 
 nd acquired powers of mind. 
 
 Aud day by day, meanwhile, one sat beside 
 im who was equally able to appreciate these 
 fforts, but who felt that they were made for 
 nother. Delighted to see her son gratified and 
 mused, Mrs. Mortimer increased in courtesy 
 nd attention to tiie inmates of The Grange, 
 ever dreaming that the matured and decided 
 eauty of Sybil could bear comparison with the 
 unobtrusive loveliness of her gentle niece, and 
 _ nsequently far from suspecting that she was 
 iding and abetting in the downfall of her own 
 isioiis ; but Gertrude was more clear sighted 
 
 Inexperienced as she was in the ways of the 
 
 orld and in the caprices of passion, she soon 
 iscovered that Frederic saw and spoke only 
 
 ith the eyes and lips of Sybil ; and with a bit- 
 er joy did she congratulate herself from hour 
 hour, tliat she had voluntarily withdrawn 
 
 Piin a contest by which her pride must have 
 en wounded, and her independence com- 
 jironiised. How often, entirely forgotten or 
 j>yerlooked by her cousin and liis brilliant guest, 
 lid she continue riveted to her work-table by 
 he spell which his presence never failed to ex- 
 rcise over her, listening to arguments in which 
 he could well have sustained her part ; and in- 
 erpreting a thousand words and inferences 
 vhich each partj' conceived to be sacred to 
 hemselves ; how often did she catch the beam 
 
 in the eye of Frederic as it rested on his beau- 
 tiful companion, and feel the icebolt upon her 
 heart ! 
 
 Vainly, however, did she watch for any an- 
 swering demonstrations from Miss Delamere. 
 Sybil remembered her conversation with Morti- 
 mer ; and although fully conscious of the em- 
 pire which she had attained over his mind and 
 heart, she never permitted its repetition. To 
 all appearance she had, indeed, forgotten the 
 circumstance, for she did not shun the intimacy 
 which Frederic was so anxious to establish, but 
 rather assumed towards him the bearing of au 
 elder sister, desirous to enlarge his tastes, and 
 to diminish his enthusiasm. Nevertheless, it 
 was certain that although she might succeed in 
 the former attempt, she produced no effect in the 
 latter; for Mortimer was not tlie pupil calcu- 
 lated to grow calmer under the teaching of such 
 a preceptress ; and thus Gertrude remained a 
 melancholy spectator of gaiety in which she 
 was not called upon to share ; and an attach- 
 ment which she was not supposed to compre- 
 hend. 
 
 And yet — what would she not have given for 
 one of those ardent looks, one of those heart-in- 
 spired tones! A year of life? Pshaw! what 
 was a year of life to her, who, young as she was, 
 had already begun to feel how dreary a boon 
 existence may become when coupled with disap- 
 pointment? At times, she asked herself what 
 she had done to merit such a fate ; but although 
 she felt tempted to reproach her cousin for hav- 
 ing so thoroughly misjudged her, never for an 
 instant did her generous nature include in its 
 transient bitterness the syren who had beguiled 
 his affections. All that had taken place appear- 
 ed, on the contrary, so natural, that as she gazed 
 in admiring sadness upon the radiant woman 
 with whom she had thus unfortunately been 
 brought into collision, she felt at once humbled 
 and disheartened; and, although she believed 
 that she could love — that she did love — as well 
 as Sybil, she shrank from every other comparisoa 
 between them. 
 
 " Hers is the affection of a day," would she 
 mui-mur in her solitude, " fed by his presence, 
 and strengthened by his praise; while mine has 
 been the silent worship of years, indulged in ab- 
 sence, alimented by hope, and encouraged by 
 reason. But he has no faith in such a feeling — 
 my secret is my own, and it is my sole heritage. 
 The delusion is at length over; and the orphan 
 girl is alone with her sorrow." 
 
 CIL\PTER VIL 
 
 And, meanwhile, the p.assion of Frederic for 
 Miss Delamere increased hourly; and searcely a 
 day passed in which he did not find or invent 
 some pretext for a visit to The Grange. He wiu 
 himself unconscious of the Extent to which he 
 had become enthralled. Never once had the 
 idea of declining the hand of his cousin crossed 
 his imagination ; in fact, ho rarely thought upoa 
 the subject ; and when he chanced to do so, it 
 was calmly and without repugnance, as an av- 
 rangement sufficiently remote to present no im- 
 
24 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 mediate impediment to his tastes and pursuits. 
 Fully impressed witli the conviction, that the 
 event was one of at least equal indifference to 
 (icrtrude, he regarded it simply as he did every 
 other question of duty and expediency ; deter- 
 mined to act correctly and uprightly when the 
 time should come, without troubling himself by 
 speculating upon its probable consequences, 
 either to his own happiness or that of his cousin. 
 Doing full justice to the virtues and amiability 
 of his future wife, he was satisfied that his mar- 
 ried existence would be at least calm and honor- 
 able ; and he believed that he should be able to 
 render hers equallj' so ; but beyond this faith he 
 did not venture to trust himself. He felt con- 
 vinced that the}' should never understand each 
 other; and he endeavored to forget a necessit}- 
 from which he made no effort to escape. 
 
 Nowhere could he so effectuallj- do this as in 
 tlie society of Sybil, the infinite variety of whose 
 character continually invested her with a new 
 aharm ; even the mystery by which she had sur- 
 rounded herself was not without its attraction, 
 for it altogether destroyed the common-place of 
 ordinary friendship. To imply any secret in- 
 volving her honor or truth, Mortimer felt to be 
 utterly impossible; and often as he bewildered 
 liiiiiself by conjectures on her previous existence, 
 it never occurred to him that it could comprise 
 any episode unfavorable to her dignity. 
 
 Moreover, Miss Delaniere had frankly de- 
 clared her resolution never to marry; and con- 
 seijUciitly their familiar intercourse was equally 
 uiiuiiportant on both sides, while it was a per- 
 j)etual source of gratification to each party. 
 
 Fascinated as he was, Frederic no longer pos- 
 Bessed a sufficicntlj' unbiased judgment to re- 
 flect upon the extreme singularity, if not indeli- 
 cacy, of the convert confidence made to him by 
 Sybil. He did not pause to remember that such 
 intimate disclosures are very rarely volunteered 
 b}' an unmarried woman to an acquaintance of 
 the opposite sex ; and never until long and 
 tried friendship has removed the indelicacy of 
 such a communication. 
 
 He saw in it only what Sybil had been anx- 
 ious that he should see ; an intention on her 
 
 duly appreciated by him. But at length they 
 awakened the anxiety of the very mind which 
 they were intended to tranquillize; and even when 
 Sybil relieved her at her tapestry-frame, and 
 with marvellous skill wrought' out the most 
 charming and complicated fancies, investing th» 
 very labors of the needle with the poetry which 
 she dispensed over all she touched, Mrs. Jlorti- 
 mer began to ask herself if these unwearied 
 endeavors to please and to oblige, were really 
 exerted solely for her own sake ; and ere long, shs 
 felt the answer to be doubtful and unsatisfactory. 
 
 She remarked too, that when, on rare occa- 
 sions, Gertrude made an attempt to conquer her 
 depression, and to put forth her innate powei-g 
 of conversation, although Sybil might ha>-© 
 been pensive and absorbed a moment previous- 
 ly, she immediately threw oft" her momeutary ; 
 reserve ; and with a wit which, like Aaron's 
 rod, absorbed that of all around her, speedily , 
 repossessed herself of the attention of the whok i 
 circle. 
 
 From day to day Mrs. Mortimer reflected, 
 more seriouslj' upon all these circumstances; 
 and the result of her cogitations was a deter- 
 mination to lose no more time in recalling to 
 the memory of Frederic his actual position as' 
 regarded his cousin. Satisfied that Gertrude,,' 
 whom she loved as a daughter, was strongly, 
 attached to her son, she felt that she could not. 
 suffer her happiness to be made the sport of: 
 one whom she began to suspect of an unworthy 
 but not the less dangerous coquetry ; and, be- 
 heving that the evil had as yet made too littlf 
 progress to render her ta«k one of much difE' 
 cult}', she consequently felt less repuguanct' 
 than she otherwise would have done in repre \ 
 senting to Frederic the painful results whicl 
 might ultimately accrue from his present uqj 
 guarded system of conduct. 
 
 Accordingly as he one morning entered th« 
 library where she was engaged in writing, witl 
 his hat and gloves in his hand, and evidentK 
 about to leave the house, she looked up froD 
 her desk, and inquired with a forced smile, i 
 he were again about to absent himself for tb' 
 day? 
 
 I think not, my dear mother," he repliec; 
 
 part to remove all feeling of restraint, and all 
 
 tinge of imprudence from their constant and somewhat confusedl}-, and with evident anxiet 
 increasing companionship ; and he was the more | to escape ; " I am only going to canter over t 
 strengthened in this coiiTiction by the fact, that, The Grange to inquire for Mrs. Delaniere, vrb 
 she rarely lost an opportunity of impressing' was somewhat indisposed when I returned las 
 upon him the attractions au(l virtues of his! night; and should she not feel better to-day, 
 cousin. lis improbable that she will wish for visitore." 
 
 Several months passed on thus ; and each " In which case shall we really see you agai 
 succeeding week Mortimer spent less and less in an hour or two, my dear bov ? Gertrude an,' 
 time at home; while he generally so contrived 1 1 promised ourselves* such derightful morniufj 
 liat when he was himself there Mrs. and Miss, when you should bo restored to us, that we ai 
 Delaniere should also be its inmates. No party! almost inclined to feel mortified by your coi, 
 of pleasure was complete without them : no tinual desertion." 
 
 evening circle brilliant in which they were not "Do you indeed miss me so much, then i 
 included; and while he found a particular } asked Frederic aftVct innately, as he laid do\M 
 fauteuil, in which the languid mother was ; his hat, and drew a chair to the side of his m-. 
 Drought to confess "that she was really as eom-'ther: "As to my cousin, I have long had proi 
 fortably established as in her own, the tables of | that neither my presence nor my absence ct 
 Mrs. Mortimer were constantly decorated with .affect her equanimity, and consequently deemei 
 clusters of beautiful exotics gracefully presented no apology necessary in her case ; but to you^ 
 by the attentive daughter. iself, my dear mother, if indeed my wanderini' 
 
 Frederic was ten<lerly nttadied to his mother, | tend to diminish your happiness, 1 cannot oti' 
 and these delicate courtesiof* were therefore . too many." 
 
THE RIVAL BELVUTIES. 
 
 26 
 
 "Of late, my dear boy," said Mrs. Mortimer, 
 *ith eometliiiig which souiuled like a sign ; " 1 1 
 have had so few opportunities of conversing i 
 X)nlidentiully with you, that if you can indeed! 
 (pare me half an hour, I would ask you to defer j 
 rour visit until I have spoken to you upon a 
 mhject in wliich all mj' best feelings are inte- 
 •ested. You consent? Then, Frederic, I will 
 i?cnture to remind you that you are now more 
 Jian five-aud-twenty, and that it is my dearest 
 !*-ish to see you married, and to tind myself sur- 
 -ounded by'new and and attaching ties before 
 ■ am callei upon to leave this world. I have, 
 !i8 you may remember, already spoken to you 
 iipou the same subject, but I now repeat my en- 
 Ireaty most earnestly ; nor do I fear that I shall 
 jib 80 in vain." 
 
 ^ She paused, but Mortimer continued silent. 
 'i " You have assured me," she pursued, after a 
 lime, '• that you formed no attachment while 
 ibroad, but that you brought back to us the 
 lame pure and atieetionate heart with which 
 ou departed; and I believed you, for you had 
 ever deceived me. You may, therefore, judge 
 tf my joy upon receiving this assurance, for . 
 jour happiness has ever been the chief aim of 
 ly existence. You returned all that my prayers 
 ad asked — all that could satisfy the exactions 
 ven of a mother's ati'ection ; and on my side I 
 ;joice to prove to you that throughout the 
 hole of your absence, I had been unweariedly 
 jcupied m securing to you a wife worthy of 
 our noble virtues. You loved your cousin, 
 oung as you were, even before your departure ; 
 hile to Gertrude you were already more dear 
 lan any one else on earth. I took care, my 
 jar boy, to foster and encourage that afi'ec- 
 on ; for I knew your nature too well to fear 
 
 !tber caprice or fickleness on your part. My 
 Foi'ts were, however, unnecessary. Her love 
 r you grew with her growth ; she has sat for 
 urs at my feet, listening to my speculations 
 d hopes, and mingling her old memories with 
 Let our conversations commence as they 
 ght, you were always their closing theme. 
 hen i hinted at the dangers to which you 
 exposed, she stopped me with her tears ; 
 d when I talked of the blessedness of your 
 urn, she was radiant with delight. Trust 
 a.wonian can always read a woman's heart ; 
 ile the task was doubly easy to one who, 
 e myself, felt a twofold interest in the iuves- 
 ;ation." 
 
 till Mortimer listened in silence. 
 1 was aware, however," continued his mo- 
 ', resolutely, " that even the love of such a 
 It as hers would not suttice alone to married 
 piness. For your sake, therefore, my dear 
 y, as well as for her own, I studied to make 
 uU that was estimable, both in mind and 
 rt, and richly have 1 succeeded; the beauty 
 ler person, faultless as it is, doep not exceed 
 t of her character. She is portionless, it is 
 but she is your uncle's cliild, and you do 
 ', happily, re(juire any increase of fortune ; 
 lie it IS certain tliat you can nowhere find a 
 more iiciil\- endowed with personal charms, 
 ntal qualities, or moral virtues." 
 ' I admit the fact willingly," said Frederic with 
 «*le lip, and an uncertain tremor in his voice • 
 
 for the words and manner of his mother had 
 enabled him, in a few seconds, to see fvirther 
 into the real depths of his heart than he had 
 ever before done, and convinced him that he 
 had been indulging a wilful and dangerous self- 
 delusion ; " far be it from me to depreciate in 
 the slightest degree the merits and virtues of 
 my cousin ; and yet I fear that I could never 
 secure her happiness ; our dispositions and ha- 
 bits are utterly incompatible. She is too meek, 
 too retiring ; and you must forgive me if I say 
 also, too uuimpassioiMied to satisfy my exacting 
 tastes. I can quite comprehend that her affeo- 
 tion for yourself led her to feel an unaffected 
 interest in all your anxieties upon my account; 
 but, believe me, it was far more for your sake 
 than for mine. My impetuosity would scare 
 her — my enthusiasm irritate her feelings — my 
 defects become insupportable to her. In fact, 
 my dear mother, Gertrude is too perfect; her 
 very placidity would chill me into stone ; and 
 thus we should become a perpetual torment to 
 each other." 
 
 " You do not judge your cousin fairly, Frede- 
 ric," said Mrs. Mortimer with increased serious- 
 ness, more and more convinced that her suspi- 
 cions had not misled her : " you make no allow- 
 ance for the peculiarity of her position ; and you 
 fail to recollect that you have made no effort to 
 diminish its difficulty. It is true that she has 
 not attempted to compel your affection, deeply 
 as she would have prized it, for Gertrude is in- 
 capable of every thing unwomanly ; but surely 
 you would not construe her delixjacy into a 
 crime? — Are her meekness and retiring modesty, 
 indeed, defects in your eyes? The objection is 
 a novelty under such circumstances. It is true 
 that others my be more brilliant in conversation, 
 more showy in manner, more coquettish in dis- 
 position, and, consequently, more attractive for 
 an hour ; but these are mere drawing-room ac- 
 complishments, which have little, indeed, to do 
 with lioine-happiness, and are a most fallacious 
 foundut ion for married peace. Gertrude has not, 
 1 admit, been educated for the world, but — as I 
 fondly hoped — for a better and a purer destiny." 
 
 " And I trust that she will yet fulfil her fate," 
 said Frederic with a sigh. " There are many 
 far worthier than myself, who will and must 
 appreciate her many estimable qualities, and 
 whom she may perhaps love: while I repeat 
 my conviction that she feels nothing more than 
 a sisterly aftection for myself; and I confess tliat 
 1 have an utter abhorrence of all marriages of 
 expediency." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Mortimer, exhausted by an effort at 
 opposition so contrary to her nature, and de- 
 pressed by a disappointment for which she luid 
 been totally unj)repared, could no longer re- 
 strain her tears, they fell fast in silence uncil 
 they were remarked by her son; who, in.staiiily 
 subdued by the sight of a sorrow of which lie 
 was himself the cause, hastened to entreat her, 
 for his sake, to compose herself, deehuiiig that 
 he was ready to obey her wishes in all tilings. 
 
 As he uttered tins assurance, however, the 
 heart of Frederic sank within him, and lie felt as 
 though a cloud had settled upon tlie future. 
 Now, indeed, he became aware of lln- iiiipiro 
 which Sybil had acquired ov»i' liis whole l)eii.g 
 
26 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 She never might have consented to rescind her 
 resolution, and to become his wife ; but he could 
 at least have lived on in hope — lived on, as he 
 in truth had done for tiie last few months, 
 scared}- caring to ask anything of to-morrow, 
 but ricii in ail tlic happiness of to.day. 
 
 " It never could be my wish to urge you to 
 any act repulsive to your own feelings, my dear 
 boy," said Mrs. Mortimer, as she wiped away 
 the largo drops wliioh were still coursing each 
 other down her clieeks; "but for many reasons 
 I felt it my duty to be frank with you, and even 
 to press you upon this ^subject. Your father's 
 dying entreaty, your cousin's devoted affection, 
 and tlie perseverance with which I myself 
 nourished that girlish love until I felt tiiat it 
 had become a principle of her existence, all de- 
 termined me to the course I have pursued; but 
 compulsion in such a case is, of course, iinna 
 tural and impossible. You are free to act as 
 you see fit; only I beseech you to divest your- 
 self of the erroneous belief that j-our own in- 
 difference to your cousin is returned by her. 
 Would that it indeed were so ! You have now 
 only to express your will, and, should you de 
 sire it, the subject shall never again be named 
 between us ; and you, at least, shall not be made 
 the victim of a fatal mistake." 
 
 " I will not disappoint your affection, my be 
 loved mother," said Frederic, as he rose. " In 
 obtaining the hand of a woman like my cousin 
 I ought to feel liappy ; and when you inform her 
 that I will make it my study to deserve her 
 affection, slie will perhaps not scruple to admit 
 it, since you assure me that such a feeling in- 
 deed exist.s." And pressing his lips to the fore- 
 head of his agitated companion, he hastily 
 left the room. 
 
 Mi's. Moi-timer no sooner found herself alone 
 than she gave free vent to the grief which she 
 had hitherto vainly endeavored to suppre: 
 She could not conceal from her own heart that 
 the concession of her son had been wrung from 
 him entirely bj' his affection for herself; and she 
 began to doubt in how far she would be justified 
 in accepting it. She trembled, not only for his 
 liappiiiess, but for that of Gertrude ; for what 
 could be anticipated from an union formed under 
 such circumstances? Then, however, the vision 
 of Sybil rose before her, and she almost shud- 
 dered as she thouglit of the power which this 
 showy and mysterious stranger had acquired 
 over tiio mind and feelings of Frederic. 
 
 The more she reflected, the less did she find 
 lierseif able to bring any definite or tangible 
 accusation against her; but nevertheless there 
 was a vague and undefined feeling of lier un- 
 worthiness and craft whirh would obtrude itself, 
 and a tiiousand petty circumstances flashed upon 
 her memory, all tending to strengthen the im- 
 pression ; wiiile, as she recurred to tlie original 
 distaste wliidi she had experienced towards 
 Miss Dclaint-rc from tlie very moment of their 
 introduction siie becairx' almost superstitious in 
 her beliif tliat it liad been a warning to avoid 
 her actjuaintance, and she felt tempted to visit 
 upon lierself all tlu- blame of her present trial. 
 
 That her idolized son siiould become the luis- 
 band of a heartless maneeuvrer was a dread 
 60 bitter that she could not reflect upon it 
 
 without the keenest sufTering; and that thie 
 would inevitably be the case should she reject 
 the promise which she had so lately and with so 
 much diflSculty extorted from him, "she felt fatal- 
 ly convinced. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer affected no overstrained and 
 narrow-minded bigotry of birth, or pride of 
 purse ; but she could not calmly brook the idea' 
 of seeing her only son married to a woman whol 
 found it expedient to conceal her previous his-' 
 tory, and to live as though the present were all 
 in all to her. Frederic owed much to himself 
 and still more to the memory of his father, for 
 although no aristocrat by descent, his famiU 
 was ennobled by its honor and fair fiixno, whih 
 he himself was, as she well knew, ill constructe( 
 to bear disgrace, come in what shape it might, 
 Yet here he was willing, and even eager, to int 
 cur a risk upon whose amount he could not cal 
 dilate, and to entrust alike his respeetabilit', 
 and his happiness to a woman whose fair fae' 
 and brilliant fascinations had undermined hi' 
 reason and hoodwinked liis prudence. , '. 
 
 The anxious motlier felt that his peril must b; 
 overcome at once; she reflected also that Fred«' 
 ric was incapable of forfeiting his word, an' 
 that consequently, the more time she suffered tj 
 elapse before his marriage with Gertrude, tl, 
 longer she should subject him to a strugg, 
 which was evidently too painful to be borr: 
 calmly ; while once united to his amiable ar' 
 adoring cousin, she could not entertain a dou': 
 that he would soon appreciate her endearii, 
 and attaching qualities, and repay her aflFectir 
 with all the energy of his nature. | 
 
 Thus reassured, Mrs. I^Iortimer became grad. 
 ally consoled ; and, convinced that she was i' 
 suring at once the happiness of her son and th, 
 of his cousin, she closed her desk, and procetj 
 ed to the morning-room, where Gertrude v] 
 busily engaged in arranging fresh flowers upoi 
 stand near the window, in order to communicf' 
 to her the message of her now declared lover.. 
 
 Perhaps the gentle girl intuitively felt tl; 
 such a tale would have been more fitly told ' 
 Frederic himself. Certain it is that, for all ,' 
 ply, she only murmured, as she flung herself i 
 passion of tears, into the arms of Jlrs. Mortim 
 " But, my dear, dear aunt, do you think that, 
 really loves me I" 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 Mkanwhile Frederic, dissatisfied with himf ;, 
 and conscious of the unmanly fickleness wlj» 
 he had betrayed, forgot for a brief time e a 
 the bitterness of his disappointment in the it- 
 miliation of his self-accusations. Aware tt» 
 when the subject of his marriage with his co jn 
 was first broached by his mother, he Imc'tt 
 ;t tacitly consented to the arrangement, d 
 thus misled her into a belief that it was con> 
 ent with his own wishes, he felt that from » 
 moment he should in honor have ceased to,i»' 
 sider himself free; and that not even^ie 
 coldness of Gertrude should have induced m 
 to treat her with the neglect and avoid ce 
 which he had exhibited, until he had ascertf «<1 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 27 
 
 :rom her own lips that his suit was distasteful 
 ';o lier. 
 
 ' The reflection came, however, too late ; for if 
 '(he had indeed loved him, her heart must have 
 jeen loo deeply wounded long to retain a pas- 
 lion which his whole conduct had tended to 
 !liscounige ; while, should his suspicion that he 
 [,vas indifferent to her prove correct, and that 
 :ihe nevertheless determmed to become his wife 
 (iierelv in obedience to the wishes of his parents, 
 [lis prospect of happiness was even less promis 
 
 and yet he was about to commit the twofold 
 treachery of offering his h^nd to a woman whom 
 he did not love, and of confessing his repug- 
 nance to tliis union to another whom he felt to 
 be, in point of fact, her rival. Even his once 
 devoted affection for his mother had been weak- 
 I cned by a more engrossing attachment. He no 
 i longer made her happiness his first and dearest 
 ' care ; there was but one bright point in the 
 horizon of his existence, and all around it had 
 ! become dimmed and faint. 
 
 Ing. Where the self-love of each party had| And thus he slowly rode away from that 
 
 home which liad ceased to be to him what it 
 
 )een mortified there could be little hope of a 
 Perfect intelligence at any period, however re- 
 note ; and Mortimer, altliough unconscious of 
 jhe extent of his moral infirmity, was prepared 
 [o believe that he could never experience a 
 incere attachment for any woman who had 
 liviuced towards him tiie coldness of his cousin. 
 I How different had been the whole bearing 
 md manner of Sybil 1 Bound to him by no ties 
 !>f either memory or kindred, she had neverthe- 
 ess met his advances towards a friendship, 
 vhich now appeared doubly precious, with a 
 varmth and frankness which to him were inap- 
 ireciable. As the one repelled, so had the other 
 ncournged him ; and on the part of Miss Dela- 
 
 tiere, resolved, as she had declared herself to 
 e, never to hazard her happiness. to the keep- 
 ing of another, there was, consequently, a beau- 
 jiful disinterestedness which proved that she 
 ralued him for himself, without one ulterior 
 firoject. The reflection crossed his mind at an 
 j'.nlucky moment ; for, as he mentally argued, 
 ilthougli he had been rash enough to love her, 
 jven forewarned by an assurance which should 
 .ave proved an efficient safeguard against so 
 Tofitless a passion, she was guiltless of all that 
 lad occurred , and it behoved him to act at 
 jnce with a sincerity wortliy of her own, by 
 cquainting her, witliout loss of time, with the 
 Urport of his recent interview with his mo- 
 |lier; and assuring her that any apparent 
 hange in his feelings of regard must be attri- 
 uted to his compelled position, rather tlian to 
 ny actual diminution in that friendship and 
 espect which would endure to the end of his 
 xistence. 
 
 The human heart is ever ingenious in its so- 
 Ihistry ; and thus Mortimer, whose dafly yearn- 
 jig for the society of Sybil was urging him to 
 ler presence, even while writhing under the 
 [fiFeet8_ of his past vaccillation, had little diffi- 
 julty in convincing himself that he was bound! 
 exonerate his conduct from the danger of 
 iiBconception, by immediately pouring forth 
 U the anguish of his spirit before the very 
 •Oman fiom whom it should have been sacredly 
 DRcealed. 
 
 Full of this one absorbing idea, he forgot that, 
 b the most eventful moment of her life, his 
 etter feelings should have led him to the side of 
 ertrude ; and that it was to lier alone tliat he 
 'as bound to confess his error, and frankly to 
 eclare his real sentiments. 
 But the whole nature of Frederic had become 
 langed since his acquaintance with Sybil. The 
 idiguant blood would iiave rushed to his brow, 
 ad the thirst of vengeance to his heart, had any 
 Ip breathed aa insinuation against his honor; 
 
 once was ; and from the two beings who loved 
 him better than aught else on earth, heedless of 
 the new wound wliich this untimely desertion 
 must inflict on both, and intent only upon justi- 
 fying himself in the eyes of one who had sud- 
 denly superseded them in his aff'ections. 
 
 Never had the road between the town and 
 The Grange appeared so.long or so gloomy; for, 
 as though haunted by a compunction which he 
 could not resist, he traversed it almost' at a 
 foot's pace, dreading, nearly as much as he de- 
 sired, the coming interview. 
 
 When he at length reached the lodge, the first 
 object which met his eyes was Sybil; Sybil, in 
 ' all her beauty, lingering upon a spot whence 
 she could command the road by which he must 
 arrive, and evidently awaiting his appearance. 
 Never had she looked more radiant; a light 
 danced in her deep eyes as she detected hia 
 presence, a slight flush rose to her cheek, and 
 there was an earnest welcome in the gesture 
 with which she invited him to alight and join 
 her. Jn an instant Frederic sprang to the ground, 
 flung the bridle-rein to his groom, and, drawing 
 ' the arm of his fair hostess through his own, 
 was hidden with her in the leafy depths of the 
 ; shrubbery. The indisposition of Mrs. Delamere 
 I was alike forgotten by both ; Sybil was full of 
 I reproaches on his unwonted tardiness, which 
 I had, as she declared, interfered most disagree- 
 jably with her day's arrangements, in which 
 'she had very inconsiderately, as it had now 
 j proved, done him the honor to include him; 
 while Mortimer was oppressed by a remem- 
 brance of the communication which he was about 
 to make. 
 
 It was strange that, with a perfect faith in 
 the sinceritj' of Miss Delamere's declaration, that 
 he could never be to her more tlian a valued 
 friend, he should nevertheless find a difficulty 
 in entering upon his task ; but the human mind 
 is a complicated machine, over which its owner 
 sometimes lacks control ; and thus Frederic 
 strove to smile at the sallies, and to appear in- 
 terested in the sportive rebukes, of his beauti- 
 ful companion. 
 
 " Nevertheless," continued Miss Delamere, 
 when she at length saw fit to conclude her 
 smiling reproaches, " the lost time may yet be 
 redeemed in this instance — a rare case, you must 
 admit, Mr. Mortimer ; and one which seldom 
 occurs in life, where a past folly can hope no 
 better result than a long repentance, — and there- 
 fore I will inform you, without further delay, 
 that mamma — who, par parenihti-se, is mucii bet- 
 ter this morning — has consented to accompany 
 me to the Hartwell ruins. Bow say you I 
 
28 
 
 THE RITAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Will you be our escort, or rather, I should have 
 said, our cicerone, for ,to you they must be old 
 acquaintance ? SVe are, as you know, mere 
 novices in the neigliborhood, and need a guiding 
 hand ; therefore it will be an act and office of 
 courteous charity for which we shall individual- 
 ly and collectively, be duly grateful." 
 
 " You are aware that I am only too happy to 
 obey your onlers, be they what they may," said 
 Fredei-ic with unaccustomed gravity. 
 
 " Yes, yes, chevalier «a?is peur et sans re- 
 proche" laughed Miss Delamere ; " I well know 
 tliat you are a very model of knightly virtue ; 
 but still I may be permitted to suggest that you 
 might have accepted this challenge with some- 
 what less of the ' woful countenance.' Believe 
 me, that its result will be even more innoxious 
 than that of the windmills." 
 
 " Would that I shared the conviction !" said 
 Frederic with increased melancholy ; " but, listen 
 to me for one moment, while I tell you that my 
 appearance here to-day is less a pleasure than a 
 duty ; and believe, in your turn that there is 
 no discourtesy in such an admission. You know 
 but too well, that for months past my only 
 hours of perfect happiness have been those for 
 which I have been indebted to your friendship, 
 tliose which I have spent in your society : you 
 may therefore easily conceive that I must have 
 a powerful and a fatal reason for approaching 
 you with any other feeling than one of unmiti- 
 gated delight ; and yet such is the fact." 
 
 An expression almost of alarm passed over 
 the speaking features of Sybil, as she compelled 
 herself to ask an explanation of his meaning. 
 
 " Miss Delamere," said Mortimer, struggling 
 with liis emotion, " you have often congratulated 
 me upon my probable union with my cousin, 
 and 1 liave been accustomed to receive your 
 congratulations as calmly as they were offered; 
 for 1 merely regarded the event after the fashion 
 tliat all men regard death, as that which must 
 one day happen, but of which the period is at 
 once distant and indefinite. To day, however, 
 I can do so no longer ; for I have been forcibly 
 reminded of my engagement, and urged to fulfil 
 it. In short, I am no longer my own master; 
 but am called upon to devote myself to my af- 
 fianced bride. Do you now understand the 
 reason of a gloom so foreign to my nature in 
 your society?" 
 
 " Scarcely," replied his companion, with a 
 forced composure which lent a strange coldness 
 to her manner : " Miss ilortimer is so very 
 beautiful — so very faultless — that you can have 
 no excuse for such a caprice. But it is the 
 privilege of your sex to disappoint all ordinary 
 calculations; and doubtlessly the siiadow will 
 pass as speedily as it has gathered." 
 
 " 'iliis from you, Sybil!" said Frederic re- 
 proaclifully. 
 
 "Is not the inference a friendly one? And 
 &XC we not — have we not been — fiiends?" 
 
 " Such was my belief," muttered Mortimer. 
 
 " So much, at least, you may concede with 
 safety," saiil Sybil somewhat haughtily ; " I 
 seek not, 1 have never sought, foj- more ; nor 
 do 1 coujprehend why your approacliii g union 
 witli Jliss Mortimer should degrade what was 
 once a pleasure, as you have just confessed, into 
 
 a duty, I have been frank with you, Mr. Mor 
 timer, very frank. You will do me the justic* 
 to admit that I have never willingly interfered 
 with the happiness or claims of your cousin. I 
 explained to you without reserve, my feelinge 
 and my determination ; nor have I seen auv 
 reason to alter or to recant either. That youi 
 absence will create a sensible blank in my every' 
 day existence, I avow without hesitation; bu(' 
 I have neither right nor desire to repine at « 
 inevitable a deprivation. We never could hav< 
 become more to each other than we have been 
 and I cannot consequently marvel that we musi 
 now become less. To a being isolated like my 
 self, the possession of congenial eompanionshij 
 is undoubtedly a great boon ; but I advance m 
 pretensions to retain it when it militates agains 
 the higher and dearer claims of another." 
 
 " Enough," said Frederic almost fiercely 
 " Enough ! You know your power, Sybil, aD- 
 you are merciless. I teil you, with a freedoii 
 equal to your own, that no such resolution a' 
 you have formed will ever resist the real ini 
 pulse of a true woman-heart ; and that, had , 
 possessed the qualities which should have wo. 
 you despite all your pride and all your pliiili 
 sophy, jou would have responded to my affe I 
 tion. And oh! had it indeed been so," he ai| 
 ded passionately, as he possessed himself of tli 
 small and trembling hand that still rested up(| 
 his arm, " I would have braved even mym; 
 ther's tears and my cousin's scoin, to make yd 
 mine. No consideration upon tiiis earth sliou; 
 have parted us. But I was not worthy of yo; 
 I am the victim of my own frantic seif-dehisio' 
 and must abide my fate. You, at least, a; 
 spared the pang of self-reproach ; from Die fii| 
 you spurned and discouraged a ])assion to wLi; 
 you found no answer in your own breast, a I 
 you have acted generously and nobly. T; 
 fault and folly have been all niv own ; am 
 must endeavor to expiate tiiem with what coi 
 age I can command. All that I venture to «• 
 is, that you will not witiidraw your esteem fr«; 
 one to whom it has become indeed precious, h 
 to whom you have resolutely refused the dear 
 ]>rivilege of living for your happiness. Ii 
 doom is now sealed ; in a few montlis, jtrobal 
 a few weeks, — for I care not liow nor wiien li 
 destinj- m'ay be accomplished, — 1 sliall heco/ 
 the husband of my cousin — of a woman w , 
 however, beautiful and gifted, has never \o\j 
 me, and whom 1 can never love. To frieiidslji 
 only must 1 look, therefore, for tliat rcniiiaiilt 
 haj>i)iness which will be requisite to render '' 
 future existence endurable; and where cail 
 seek it so efiectui.Uy as at your hands ?" 
 
 " I am no changeling in either heart or f^' 
 ing, Mr. Mortimer," said Sybil, slowly and - 
 afiectcdly disengaging her hand from his clil'. 
 " So long ns we continue at the Grange, so I j? 
 will you be a welcome guest beneath its i ;f. 
 I sliould have rejoiced to see you with mor 'f 
 the elected lnidegKiom in your mood and n<>- 
 ncr, but 1 suppose that 1 must accept you u;n 
 your own term.s. And now let us part; we s;ll 
 be wise not to discuss tiiis subject niorealler|iii 
 for it is one which is in some degree painfull 
 us botli. Your groom is probably awaitii.g A 
 long ere this, at the house." 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 30 
 
 "And <»nr expedition to the ruins!" asked 
 iFrederic witli sudden eagerness. 
 [ '• Must be deferred," said Sybil, pressing her 
 forehead Avith lier iinnd. " 1 do not feel quite 
 Veil, and faney that I have already over-walked 
 nivself. We will tlirow that project, along with 
 [many others, into the casket of the future." 
 [ " Suffer me at least to pay my respects to Mrs. 
 belainere," persisted Mortimer, who could not 
 [conceal his mortification at this unexpected dis- 
 missal, and who was anxious before his depar- 
 ture from The Grange to overcome the sudden, 
 land to him unaccountable reserve of Sybil. 
 [ " My mother has not, in all probability, left 
 lier room," was the discouraging rejoinder; "and 
 [is still languid from the indisposition of yester- 
 iiay. I will faithfully convey your remem- 
 [jrBnces and good wishes. And here, most op- 
 ■portunely, is your gallant bay ! He is, in truth, 
 li noble creature : and were I addicted to the 
 Isomewliat paltry vice of envy, I should be per- 
 haps inclined to covet the possession of so fine 
 [»n animal. As it is, I congratulate him upon 
 [laving fallen into the hand of one who can alike 
 |i])preciate and enhance his merits. Do not fail 
 .0 offer my sincere regards to Mrs. Mortimer 
 |»nd her niece, and give Surrey his head if you 
 [woiild reach home in time for luncheon." 
 i And with a graceful and calm bow. Miss 
 ^elamere turned away, and disappeared within 
 Jie portico. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ■ The reflections of Mortimer during las home- 
 ward ride were of strangely conflicting nature ; 
 [or, wliile the extraordinary and sudden coldness 
 !>f Sybil pained his heart, it nevertheless, by a 
 'ingtilar antithesis, flattered his vanity. There 
 VHS only one way ef accounting for conduct so 
 vny ward and unexpected ; and he felt satisfied, 
 hat even while she rejected his love, she could 
 lot endure the idea that he should become en- 
 grossed by another. And if this were indeed 
 rue, what did it prove ? Assuredly that Miss 
 )elamere had permitted herself unconsciously to 
 eel a deeper interest in him and his aff'ections 
 Jian she apprehended to be possible under the 
 areimistances. 
 
 The heart of Frederic throbbed proudly as the 
 conviction grew stronger every instant. He felt 
 hat he was loved, and that he had compelled 
 his love whicli had been so steadfastly refused 
 o him ; loved by a woman of genius and en- 
 iiiusiasm, who liad instinctively yielded to a 
 bassion which she had foresworn, against which 
 ^e iiad struggled, but which had proved too 
 pighty for her strength. 
 
 And he had only learnt this truth when it was 
 [oo late : when, for the second time, he had pro- 
 jnised to fulfil the wishes of his mother, and to 
 bimolate his happiness to what he had been 
 aiight to consider as his duty. Tlie eftort had 
 ken sufliciently bitter when it was made, but 
 khal must it be now ?— now that he was loved 
 Mr Sybil— that the wildest dream of his ambi- 
 (lon was realized, and that all he coveted on 
 !«rth was within his grasp ? 
 
 To his impetuous nature there was madness 
 in the thought; and, slirinking from a renewed 
 exhibition of his weakness to his mother, and 
 goaded by a host of feelings each more power- 
 ful than that by which it had been preceded, he 
 had resolved, "long ere he had reached home, 
 to throw himself upon the generosity of Ger- 
 trude. 
 
 He was conscioiis of the humiliation to which 
 he must inevitably expose himself by such a 
 proceeding ; nor was he by any means blinded 
 to the fact of its want of delicacy- and considera- 
 tion ; but still, in the selfishness of his passion, 
 he could not forbear a feeling of gratulation at 
 the conviction, that by these means he could not 
 fail to recover his freedom, for that the pride ot 
 his cousin would necessarily lead her to spura 
 all claim upon a reluctant hand, and to liberate 
 him from his engagement on the instant. 
 
 Perfectly satisfied in his own mind, despite 
 the assurances which he had received from his 
 mother, that the feelings of Gertrude would 
 suffer no pain from his secession, and that her 
 vanity alone would be wounded ; he gave him- 
 self no uneasiness as to its ultimate effect upon 
 her happiness ; but he could not feel so well as- 
 sured that Mrs. Mortimer would display equal 
 philosophy. He was aware that beneath her 
 apparent placidity she possessed quick and 
 strong sensibility, coupled with a stern and rigid 
 sense of honor; and that the first would be" 
 painfully excited by his desertion of the being 
 whom, next to himself, she loved the best on 
 earth ; while a failure in the last, in the person 
 of her own son, could not fail to wound her to 
 the very soul. 
 
 For an instant the spirit of Mortimer quailed, 
 and he almost shrank from exposing her to such 
 a trial ; but in the next, the form of Sybil rose 
 before him — Sybil, who by an effort might now- 
 become his own ; and once more he nerved him- 
 self to his ungracious task. 
 
 Gertrude might still be ignorant of his morn- 
 ing conference with his mother — he forgot that 
 he had been absent during two long hours — and 
 should this hope be realized, his difficulty as re- 
 garded the interview with herself would be 
 materially diminished, for he was, at least, guilt- 
 less of any attempt to win her affections ; and 
 she must consequently acquit him of a want of 
 consistency, of which he was innately more 
 disposed to feel ashamed, than of the more 
 vital fault which he was about wilfully to com- 
 mit. 
 
 Thus, careless alike of winning and of retain- 
 ing his love, and unconscious that he had him- 
 self recently given her a right to consider her- 
 self as the arbiter of his destiny, it was not 
 impossible that he might even so far work upon 
 her sisterly attachment as to constitute her his 
 advocate with his justly irritated and offended 
 mother — for Frederic had suddenly become di- 
 plomn'ic in his provisions. In short, as he 
 reined up his horse at the gate of the avenuo, 
 he had almost succeeded in bringing himself to 
 believe that he hail already overcome the ob- 
 stacles which had seemed so apjmlliiig at a first 
 glance; and that happiness and Sybil were to 
 be won by a simple wish. 
 
 He had scarcely alighted, however, ere the il« 
 
30 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 lusion vanished. ITow cnsy nre tlie conquests 
 which we iicliievc before we encounter the ene- 
 my! How ehiquent tlie addresses Avhicli we de- 
 liver before we are brouglit face to face with our 
 interlocutor! But, alas for the promises upon 
 which we pride ourselves! How often does the 
 valor which had previously borne us up, evapo- 
 rate before the presence of the adversary, and 
 the aspect of the auditor! 
 
 And so it was with Frederic. He had no 
 sooner entered the hall, recognized the door 
 which in all probability alone separated him 
 from his cousin, than he began to feel that the 
 path which he had traced for himself was by no 
 means strewn with roses; and it was conse- 
 quently, almost with a sensation of relief that, 
 upon entering the breakfast-room, he found it 
 occupied by both his mother and Gertrude. 
 
 The welcome of the former was affectionate 
 but somewhat sad; for she felt that his arrival 
 had, under the circumstances, been too long de- 
 ferred. She, however, uttered no reproach, 
 while the conscious girl beside her, trembling 
 w^itli mingled fear and happiness, having greeted 
 him with a forced smile and a burning blush, 
 once more bent her fair face in silence over her 
 work-frame. Suddenly remembering some im- 
 ]inrtant omission in her household arrangements, 
 Mrs. Mortimer hastened to leave the room ere 
 any other subject could be broached ; and Frede- 
 ric, who had not yet overcome his agitation, 
 found himself tete-d-iefe with his formidable 
 cousin. 
 
 His first impulse was to walk to the window, 
 where he stood for and instant, gazing fixedly 
 on the objects beyond, but utterly unconscious 
 in what "they consisted ; his next, to turn ab- 
 ruptly toward his silent companion, who still 
 leant over her work, as though intent only upon 
 its progress. He would have compensated the 
 chance of escape with half his fortune, but it 
 was too late ; and finally, by a desperate effort, 
 he flung himself into a chair which chanced to 
 stand near her, and grasped the delicate hand 
 that rested on the tapestry. 
 
 " Gertrude," he said, in an accent which she 
 could scarcely recognise as that of her calm and 
 indifferent cousin, and which, for an instant, she 
 almost believed to be agitated by anxious affec- 
 tion ; " yoii have much with which to reproach 
 me. I feel that I must have disappointed most 
 cruelly the anticipations of your fond and sister- 
 ly regard; but I trust to your generosity, to your 
 forgiveness. Perhaps wc have not understood 
 eacii other. "We parted as those ever part who 
 have been dear to each other, while we met 
 again almost as strangers. It is possible that I 
 may have forgotten the changes which time 
 never fails to produce on the feelings of a child 
 who has expanded into a fair and beautiful wo- 
 man ; while, on your part, you nuvy have omitted 
 to make a duo allowance for the influence wiiich 
 circumstances — which events — which, in short 
 ■ — But I will not dwell upon the past; only per- 
 mit me to hope tliat we may, at last. Although, 
 pcrha])S, still in an imperfect manner, understand 
 each other." 
 
 Gertrude raised her large blue eyes to his in 
 inquiring wonder, but she could not articulate a 
 syllable. Her heart tlirobbed painfully ; a pre- 
 
 sentiment of some coming trial oppressed her, 
 and once more her head sank upon her bokorn! 
 
 " You have been informed, my dear cousin,' 
 continued Frederic hurriedly, for he had passi,!- 
 the Rubicon, and now only "sought to teiniinnt. 
 the interview as speedily 'as possible, "that, ii 
 his last hours, my father expressed a wish tlm 
 we should one day be more closely united, wliil, 
 such was also my own most ardent hope when 
 returned to a home *o painfully bereaved. Tlia 
 was, however, as you well know, no moment ii 
 which to enter upon such a subject, and, perhaps 
 the circumstance -^as fortunate for both of u.- 
 We had been too long strangers. We were oiu 
 selves unconscious of the changes to which w- 
 had been subjected, nor had much time elapse, 
 ere I felt the fact; but believe me, my swci 
 cousin, that I no sooner found myself an alic 
 from your heart, than I tacitly withdrew m 
 claim." 'j 
 
 Gertrude gasped for breath ; but even ovei' 
 powered as she was by this singular addrcp;' 
 coming so immediately at the close of the coiij 
 munication made only that morning by her aim ' 
 her innate sense of dignity prompted her at one' 
 to reply — i 
 
 " You are free, Mr. Mortimer. On my side, I 
 advance no claim upon your affections. Yc' 
 are the son of my benefactors — your will is m' 
 duty. Spare both yourself and me a disciissit' 
 which must pain us both." ; 
 
 " You misconceive me, Gertrude," eagerly r' 
 sponded Mortimer, who, anxious to exonera' 
 his own conduct, was blind to the intuitive &< 
 licaoy of her motive, and, for the moment, cvi! 
 misunderstood himself. " If I could, for a m; 
 ment, have flattered myself that I had crent- 
 an interest in your bosom beyond that of nio' 
 relationship and habit, I should have acted ve ' 
 differently; but you have been consistc' 
 throughout. We have lived under the sni 
 roof, without one sympathy in common. I bn 
 done homage to your admirable qualities [ 
 mind and heart; I have felt, and ever shall foi 
 deeply grateful for your devoted and filial aif* 
 tion towards my admirable mother; I ackno! 
 ledge all the obligation which we owe you, 1 
 I base no presumptuous hope U])on feclii 
 which have borne no reference to myself." I 
 
 " Frederic," said Miss Mortimer, who iusti , 
 tively felt the real tendency of his expressio 
 and whose honest pride supplied her witli t(J 
 porary strength, " there needs no exonernt ; 
 where there has been no wilful fault. We ';■ 
 not constituted for each other; and forgive li 
 mv dear cousin, if I venture to entreat that yi 
 will, at least, spare yourself. You have rent '• 
 ed tlie concession of this morning, and I uv- 
 you — I have need to thank you (for that fi I 
 acquiescence, wrung from a reluctant he.), 
 might have involved us in one common miseij) 
 that you are frank enough — feeling that }yt 
 affection for a beloved mother had led you ii' 
 a fatal error — to confess your mistake at oi', 
 and to confide in my friendship to restore ;:J 
 to hapi)iness. Be hapi)y, Frederic, be happ 
 gasped the soul-stricken girl. " Do not let '« 
 tliought of me cloud tlie horizon of your c> 
 fence. I know all that you could tell m;l 
 have known, I have seen it long. My sist' ' 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 SI 
 
 reenrd lins boen too sincere to look blindly iipon 
 tJie attacliiuent by which you are absorbed. 
 You owe me no explanation, no excuse. Per- 
 haps I could have wished that you had spared 
 [ me the trial of to-day, but it is 'now over, and, 
 ■ henceforth. I entreat you to think of me only as 
 ; a devoted friend." 
 
 " Gertrude, what can you mean?" 
 "Would you urge nie to be more explicit? 
 Surely it is unnecessary. My path is plain. I 
 owe all to you and your parents. Suffer me to 
 pav back the debt. You did not imderstand the 
 heart that you have wrung; and the fault lias 
 perhaps been my own. Let me but see you 
 iiappy, and I care not for myself." 
 
 "Happy!" echoed Mortimer; "can I be hap- 
 py otherwise than by the happiness of those 
 about me ? You are incomprehensible. From 
 tlie first moment of our meeting, you have 
 sluinned and avoided me. I come to you in all 
 frankness to explain — it may be to atone — " 
 
 " I require no atonement," said the heroic 
 pirl, as she swept back the rich clusters of her 
 liair, and met his gaze unshrinkingly. " Do not 
 ; -waste an instant upon me. My aunt must be 
 j reconciled to your change of purpose. Confide 
 iin my regard. I have been weak, very weak ; I 
 ishould have known by experience, that a sincere 
 affection cannot lightly be rooted out, and I 
 'should have felt that itVill admit no substitute. 
 ■Frederic, you love Miss Delamere, and I covet no 
 reluctant heart. Forget that Gertrude ilortimer 
 lexists, or remember her only as the babj^-play- 
 mate who amused your boyhood ; but never 
 cease to remember that, in j-our orphan cousin, 
 you have a friend whose every energy will be 
 exerted to spare you one pang, to deliver you 
 from one suffering. Only be just alike to your- 
 pelf and to me. Only confess that you have 
 bestowed your affections elsewhere, and that I 
 am the sole obstacle to your happiness, and, 
 |then, believe that the obstacle is at once and 
 jforever at an end. Shall it not be so?" she ask- 
 ed, as she extended her hand with a smile so 
 ghastly that all the anguish of a bursting heart 
 ippeared to have settled upon her livid lip. 
 ' Will you not do me the justice to confide in 
 ny affection, and to rely iipon my truth ?" 
 
 " Gertrude, I do not "know you!" murmured 
 ffcderic, a]ipalled by the change which had 
 )asscd over her faultless features : " Can you 
 ndeed feel — and for me ?" 
 
 No words would suffice to convey the ex- 
 jression of mingled tenderness and reproach 
 yhich for a brief instant lighted up the tearful 
 lyes of the orphan ; but in the next moment 
 hey were again averted, and their long lashes 
 ell like a veil upon her pallid cheeks." 
 
 "Gertrude !" gasped Frederic, as he started 
 rem his chair, and turned away; "you have 
 )cen veri/ cruel." 
 
 For a short time no sound was aiidible save 
 he hurried tread of Mortimer, as he paced ra- 
 >idly to and fro the ajiartment; but at length 
 le paused once more beside the work-frame. 
 
 " I was prepared to love you," he whispered 
 ioarsely ; •• I did love you ; but you repelled me. 
 ily. mother had vaunted your tenderness, your 
 miability, your devotion, and I yearned to pos- 
 eas myself of your affections. But how did 
 
 you meet me, Gertrude? Jfow? I cannot live 
 without the love of those about me : not the 
 mere commonplace of habit, whose attachment 
 is shared alike by all that surrounds it; but deep 
 and exclusive love — that love ' even unto death,' 
 which fills the heart to overflowing, and can be 
 poured only upon one object; I yearned for it — 
 panted for it — I sought it at your hands ; silently 
 it is true, but earnestly ; and it was refused '. 
 me. I looked further ; — I may deceive myself 
 — but I at least believed that I had found it — I 
 believe so still. You now possess my secret, 
 Gertrude. My whole being is absorbed in the 
 passion to which I have delivered myself up. 
 My very existence depends upon its success. I 
 am no longer master of my own feelings. If I 
 have indeed wronged your timid nature — " 
 
 "Enough — enough," murmured Miss Morti- 
 mer almost inaudibly ; " We are friends, Frede- 
 ric — Do you now understand me? Friends — 
 We must never again speak upon this subject. 
 How can I now serve you ? I am ready." 
 
 The low sigh of her' listener was his first re- 
 sponse. He felt all the cruelty of the step that 
 he had taken when it was too late to remedy the 
 evil. His mother had judged correctly — Ger- 
 trude loved him ; but what was such a love to 
 him now? His whole heart and hope were 
 bound up in Sybil. He knew not, he could not 
 know, a second affection. It was too late to 
 shrink before tlie dread of giving pain to an- 
 other ; his existence was on the die ; and his 
 path, though it might be difficult, was plain. 
 
 I am aware that my hero will disappoint more 
 than one of my readers ; I early vaunted both 
 his mental and moral qualities; I drew a glow- 
 ing picture alike of his heart and head ; and 
 yet I have suffered him to fail under his first 
 trial. I have, however, no apology to make — I 
 am simply relating a tale of every-day life, in 
 which all the actors are human; and did I ven- 
 ture to paint a perfect mortal, I should but cari- 
 cature my fellow-beings. 
 
 It is possible that Frederic might have suc- 
 cessfully withstood every other weakness, every 
 other snare, laid for him by his own passions 
 and prejudices; but in Sybil he had unfortii- 
 nately encountered tlie arbitress of his destiny. 
 He believed that she loved him passionately, 
 because unwillingly; and that belief fostered 
 his peculiar failing. 
 
 Nevertheless he was still the wai-m-hearted, 
 affectionate, and generous being whom I form- 
 erly depicted — as upright as honorable, and as 
 right-minded as ever ; but he had learned to 
 view most things through a species of moral 
 prism, which distributed its tints according to 
 his own morbid feelings. His passion for Sj'bil 
 had colored all his thoughts ; and, in short, he 
 was as he himself expressed it, no longer master of 
 his own impulses. His affection for (iertrude still 
 continued, but its nature was changed ; she was 
 to him as a dear sister, but no more ; her unob- 
 trusive beauty and quiet virtues, when compar- 
 ed with the dazzling loveliness and captivating 
 qualities of Miss Delamere, sank into shade, and 
 were almost negatived; he respected her cha- 
 racter, he felt her worth, but liis heart refused 
 to ratify the decision of his i-enson. 
 
 Weak, but still worthy, he was conscious of 
 
82 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 r11 the fanltinoss of his indecision, and pained 
 by the suffenng which it had induced, although 
 incapable of sacrificing his own dream of liappi- 
 ness in order to mitigate its effects ; and it was 
 consenuently, with deep feeling that he again 
 took tne hand of his cousin, as he said, — 
 
 " I accept the friendship so frankly offered, 
 Gertrude ; and in return 1 tender you the fond- 
 tst affection of a brother. I know all your 
 worth ; perhaps I only appreciate its full value 
 too latii; but of this it is vain to speak. I throw 
 mj-self upon your kindly offices. No one has 
 more inffuence over my mother than yourself; 
 exert that influence in my behalf I fear that 
 what you have to tell, and to defend, will 
 wound her deeplj- ; but she loves me, and will 
 forgive all, if you become my advocate. May 
 the day arrive in which I am enabled to repay 
 your goodness ! Believe me, I shall knoAV how 
 to be eloquent, when your happiness is to re 
 ward my exertions." 
 
 The j)ale cheek of Gertrude flushed for an in 
 stant. She could offer no reply to such an as- 
 surance, feeling as she did that for her, hence- 
 forward the word happiness would be a mere 
 empty sound. She simply clasped the hand of 
 her cousin in her own, and ratified by a look 
 tlie promise she had already made. 
 
 She had scarcely done tliis when Mrs. Morti- 
 mer re-entered the apartment ; a happy smile 
 was upon her lips, and words of self-gi-atulation 
 were readj- to burst forth ; for she believed 
 that her absence had enabled Frederic to com- 
 pensate to his cousin for all her past sufferings ; 
 but the light faded from her eye, and the eon- 
 grattilations died upon her tongue as she ap- 
 proached them : it was at once evident that 
 both would bo ill-timed ; a conviction which 
 was strengthened by the fact, that as she had 
 appeared, her son hastily seized his hat, and 
 hurried from the room. 
 
 "Gertrude!" she exclaimed anxiously: "What 
 is the meaning of this? Can it be possible that 
 Frederic has again deceived me ?" 
 
 But Gertrude's strength was now exhausted ; 
 and she could only bury her face upon her 
 tapestry-frame, and give free vent to the bitter 
 tears of humiliation and blighted hope. 
 
 For an instant Mrs. Mortimer stood aghast; 
 Bhc couhl not mistake the nature of the emotion 
 upon wiiich she looked. It was evident that 
 this was no outpouring of an oppressive happi- 
 ness, which sought to relieve itself in a passion- 
 ate burst of feeling; there was no struggling 
 smile to revtal the latent joy; no effusion of 
 aifectionate tenderness towards herself to chal- 
 lenge her ready sympathy. She saw at once 
 tliat the cold drops which' trickled through the 
 Blender fingers were wrung from the heart's sor- 
 row ; and foigctting for an instant all the de- 
 voted love wliieh she bore towards her son, she 
 attempled at once to console her niece, and to 
 relieve her own feelings, by giving loose to the 
 indignant aiig'-r which his vacillating conduct 
 had awakere 1 in her generous spirit. 
 
 Only for a moment, however, did the noble 
 girl sulVerflie outbreak of her iriitation to have 
 way. Rousing herself by a powerful elTort, she 
 lifted her p'de face from its resting-jilace, and 
 dashing away the tears which still crowded into 
 
 her dim eyes, she hastened to declare that tl 
 blame of all that had occurred rested soleh- wit 
 herself; that her own vanity, her own wea^ 
 ness, had alone led to this distressing scen< 
 that her cousin had deceived himself in belie 
 ing for a time that he could love her, and hi 
 frankly and truthfully declared his error befo 
 it had become a source of misery to both pa 
 ties ; that she had seen the folly and iiiadne 
 of her pretensions ; and that, henceforward, 8) 
 should regard him only as a brother. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer listened in grief and admir 
 
 tion ; but she was not to be misled. Th 
 
 roug' 
 
 out her whole life Gertrude had been to her 
 an affectionate and confiding child, and s 
 knew every impulse, and every emotion of t 
 young pure heart which was now bleeding II 
 fore her. She felt that the victim had be 
 bound by her own hands to the horns of t 
 altar; and although the soft voice murmur; 
 "Peace! peace!" there was no peace in t 
 stjieken spirit of the anxious mother. 
 
 " I see it all !'" she exclaimed, in a hard, «' 
 tone, utterly unlike the usual softness of I,' 
 affectionate accents: "But Frederic decei\ 
 himself, as he has deceived me, if he hopes e^, 
 to obtain my consent to such a measure. I 
 you, my child, I can saj' nothing which woV 
 express my admiration of your generous a' 
 self-sacrificing conduct ; but it shall not avij 
 He has acted unworthily in an unworthy cau! 
 lie has wounded me to the heart ; smitten i 
 in my best affections; taught me to blush !• 
 the son who was at once mj* pride, and the Ik ji 
 of my old age. And for whom ? For an adv •■ 
 turer, surrounded by mystery, and probably ;■ 
 disgrace ; a woman hacknied in the worlj) 
 ways, from whom he should have shrunk wji 
 the intuitive loathing of an honest heart; foi 
 fiend who has brought dissension and sorr' 
 into the bosom of his family. You plead i 
 vain, Gertrude. He maj' be insensible to y-r 
 affection, blind to your merits, incapable of • 
 prcciating your virtue; but he shall ne,: 
 disgrace the memorj- of his father, b^y bc8t<j- 
 in his name upon one who is unworthy) 
 bear it." 
 
 " He loves her, my dear aunt" , 
 
 An expression of cold contempt settled u ji 
 the fine features of Mrs. ilortimer. , 
 
 "He has avowed to me," resolutely purs 1 
 Gertrude amid her sobs; "that his happiiji 
 depends upon Miss Delamerc. Reflect upon I 
 acknowledgment, I beseech of you. JJi» b" 
 piness — the happiness of your beloved and cf 
 son. And cau you wonder that it should;* 
 so ? Remember' her beauty, her wit, her nl*- 
 vellous actjuirements; and confess that few^i- 
 deed would be able to resist them. Forget i, 
 and all that you had devised when thiiil|g 
 only of my weak attachment : Frederic i.-|« 
 longer a mere youth to be thrallcil by the f* 
 of iiabit; he hiis looked into his own heart, jJ 
 felt the inerticiency of such a tie. Confess, <>, 
 my dear aunt, that I am nothing beside so ;l" 
 liant a being as Sybil; I have long felt'M 
 truth, and it is one to which you cannot re: Ul 
 insensible. Let us forget the past ; your ac- 
 tions and my gratitude will alike enable u,U» 
 do this — in time." 
 
THE RrV^AL BT5AUTIES. 
 
 St 
 
 Twill hoar no nioro,!' said Mrs. Mortimer, 'and at first he persimdcd himself that thei>« 
 »'ihe rose from her seat : ' " The dream of my eonld be no doubt of lier affection ; but gradi>. 
 liiis over; but I liavc still the authority Avliieli ally he became less convinced of tlie fact. Sha 
 niiire has given to the parent over tlie child, jwas so beautiful, so full of mind and intellect — 
 Fderic must choose between his mother and | at once so fascinating and so accomplished, that 
 
 b mistress. Of your hand he has ceased to be 
 •wthy; but should he bestow his own upon 
 tl; nmnceuvring woman by whom he is now 
 aSirallod, he ceases to be m}- sou." 
 
 Oil, in mercy revoke that cruel sentence, 
 mdenr, dear aunt!" gasped out the affrighted 
 gi', flinging herself upon her knees, aud im- 
 pi'ing the retreat of the excited mother. 
 " link of the hours of affection, of anxiety, 
 oi.ty which you have passed together — think 
 hi liis father loved him — have pity upon me 
 vh love him still !" 
 
 irs. Mortimer bent over the trembling sup- 
 pi U at her feet, and pressed her pale lips to 
 tli.-till paler forehead which was upraised to 
 in.: them, but she did not swerve from her 
 relution. She felt that she had been made 
 Ui[;ool and dupe of Mrs. Delamere ; that she 
 ha' been deceived by Frederic ; and that she 
 wi| the architect of her niece's misery. Her 
 licit was wrung, and her pride was wounded. 
 Sliliad been so long accustomed to regard her 
 »o:|is a being superior to his fellow men, that 
 8h.[eould not brook this sudden dispersion of 
 •U'ler cherished illusions ; and it was with a 
 fir step and a tearless eye that she at length, 
 euijorted by her indignation, and strengthened 
 byiie spectacle of Gertrude's wretchedness and 
 hoiism, passed into the library, and desired a 
 Beijint to request the immediate presence of 
 MiMortimer. 
 
 'e summons was, however, fruitless, for 
 Fl-c[eric had already left the house. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ( quitting his cousin, the first impulse of 
 oimer had simply been to absent himself 
 fori time from home, until the influence of 
 G'.'iude had enabled her to reconcile his mo- 
 Uiejto his change of purpose. Ill at ease, and 
 ■nij us, despite the evidence of his senses, to be- 
 jK-yhat the attachment of his cousin, of which 
 lie iiid no longer entertain a doubt, was the 
 me idle caprice of a young girl, who had for 
 Uieirst_ time been brought into contact with 
 *"■ ' idual of tiic opposite sex, he, however 
 
 line- ' J 1 ■ 1^ 
 
 hi4 
 
 it appeared presumptuous to believe that such 
 a being could pass through the world's paflis, aa 
 she had evidently done, calm and unfetlcred, 
 merely to suffer herself at last to be won by the 
 love of so obscure an individual as himself. She 
 had, perhaps acted strangely and inconsistently 
 at their last meeting, but who should say what 
 dormant memories the announcement of his ap- 
 proaching marriage might have awakened ? Sha 
 had confessed to a former altaehment ; and waa 
 it not ]M)ssible that tlie intelligence which he so 
 iibiiiptly iiiipiirted to her had struck some hid- 
 (Kn chcird w hich had for a time ceased to vibrate 
 in her heart; aud that thus her change of mood 
 and manner might in no way bear upon her 
 feeling for himself? 
 
 The suspicion was torture, and tlie cold dropa 
 stood upon the brow of Frederic as it became 
 stronger every instant. Should this indeed ba 
 so, idly had he wounded the affection and pride 
 of his mother, vainly had he tortured the sensi- 
 bility of his cousin, cruelly had he deceived him- 
 self. 
 
 Any conviction, however bitter, was prefer- 
 able to such an uncertainty, and in five minutes 
 more, Frederic was galloping recklessly towards 
 The Grange. 
 
 Great was his astonishment and dismay on 
 perceiving that the hall was encumbered with 
 trunks and packages, which a couple of servants 
 were engaged in cording and heaping one upon 
 the other; and still more utter was his despair, 
 when he learnt that almost immediately after 
 his departure. Miss Delamere had desired that 
 the travelling carriage might be iu readiness 
 early on the following morning, to convey her 
 mother and herself to the coast, where they 
 were to embark for the continent. 
 
 The brain of Mortimer whirled, and his pulses 
 throbbed with emotion. What could this mean f 
 It was evident that tiie project was a sudden 
 one, since no leave-taking had been contemplat- 
 ed. Could anj'thing have happened in which 
 the happiness or safety of Sybil was involved ? 
 Was he to lose her just as he had discovered, 
 that she had become necessary to his existence ! 
 Should she not, in such a case have at once ap- 
 pealed to him, for support and assistance? And 
 yet how could she throw lierself upon tlie pro 
 tectionof a man wlio had just declared to h 
 
 oner found himself once more alone, tlian tection ot a man wlio had just declared to her 
 Noughts reverted to Sybil. Sybil would I that he was to become the husband of anothei-? 
 
 »K>t ) readily have transferred her claim to ano- 
 w"-|hftd his hand been pledged to her; but 
 Bvtj knew how to love and to love deeply. 
 Heilvpry word and look betrayed her. Had 
 ■iCjot been all enthusiasm and frankness so 
 •onjis she believed him to be free ? And had 
 DfJtj sudden coldness and reserve succeeded to 
 Uiopowledge of his betrothment? True, she 
 naclliul, and repeated on many occasions, that 
 •nel.'ould nc-uat- mnrry ■ ' -'■' ' ■> > 
 
 '•'ould never 
 ofUismiled at a declara"tion in which he placed 
 no ^th ? And was he not now justified in this 
 
 HlnenUlly reviewed all their Inte interviews, 
 3 
 
 Mortimer was bewildered by rapidly conflicting 
 feelings, and at length, scarcely conscious of tlia 
 indisci-etion of his conduct, he inquired of one 
 of the busy servants the cause of Mrs. Delamere'* 
 sudden departure. 
 
 " I cannot say, Sir," was the unsatisfactory 
 
 reply; " but I don't tliink it's a pleasure party, 
 
 any way, for my young mistress looked diill 
 
 enough, when she gave me her ordersi and 
 
 but had he not as 'seemed as if she'd much ado to keep her teim 
 
 . : v:.i. 1 1 1 down." 
 
 Sybil ?ms unhappy, then! And once more 
 Frederic Ix-gan to connect this sudden grief with 
 his communication of the morning, and to feel 
 
S4 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 convinced that the intention of this abrupt jour- 
 ney Wiis to avoid himself, and if this, indeed, 
 were so, they raiglit never meet again. Such 
 an apprehension was too painful to be borne; 
 and, without further hesitation, he traversed the 
 hall and entered the morning room, resolved to 
 learn the truth from the lips of Sybil herself. 
 
 Great, consequently, was his disappointment, 
 when he found it occupied only by Mrs. Dela- 
 mere, who sat in the accustomed chair, in the 
 accustomed attitude, listlessly looking upon the 
 open ])age3 of a volume from which it was evi- 
 dent that she did not imbibe a single idea ; and 
 tliis languid and impassible object, jarring as it 
 did u])on the excited nerves of Mortimer, was ill 
 calculated to calm his agitation. 
 
 "Ila! is that you, JNIr. Mortimer?" yawned 
 tlie lady, depositing the book upon a table near 
 her ; " I am glad you are come. Sybil is busy 
 in her own room. We leave this to-morrow 
 morning early." 
 
 "Shall you be absent long?" asked Fiederic, 
 with a cold thrill at his heart. 
 
 "I don't know; Sybil settled it all I hate 
 travelling, but she said we must go;" and she 
 turned uneasily among her cushions. 
 
 " You have received no unpleasant news, I 
 trust?" 
 
 " No, I believe not; but Sybil knowf. best. It 
 is lier own arrangement; I suppose she is tired 
 of The Grange." 
 
 Tired of The Grange! Miss Dolai.iere tired 
 of The Grange ! How bitter was the inference! 
 But the very excess of his mortification gave 
 Frederic courage to pursue his inquiries. 
 
 " You are not about to take a very long jour- 
 ney, I hope ?" 
 
 "I really can't say; I fancy Sybil has not 
 quite made up her mind, for when I asked the 
 same question, she merely said, ' Anywhere ; she 
 did not care where we went, if we got away 
 from this neighborhood for a time.' " 
 
 And as Mrs. Delamere closed her eyes with an 
 expression of fatigue after so unusually lengthy 
 a speech, the blood rushed to the brow of her 
 auditor, and a proud smile rose instinctively to 
 Ills lip. 
 
 All was clear ; Sybil loved him, and feared to 
 remain wliere she must so soon encounter him 
 as the husband of Gertrude. The post arrived 
 ' at Wcstrum before noon, and consequently it 
 was certain that no intelligence of ini])ortance 
 could have reached The Grange through that 
 medium since he had left it in the morning. On 
 his arrival, lie had been received with smiles, 
 and greeted with the tidings of a projected party 
 of pleasure; it was only after lie had told his 
 tale that the brow of Syl)il had grown dark, and 
 her tone cold. And now she sought to avoid 
 liim. 
 
 Frederic was no coxcomb, but the inference 
 was too palpable to be mistaken. This fatal de- 
 parture might be prevented — must be prevent- 
 ed; for was he not now free to pour out all his 
 spirit before the idol of his heart? Gertrude 
 had relinquished lier claim to his hand, and was 
 even now reconciling his mother to the transfer 
 of his affeetions; that mother loved him, and I 
 would never perseveringly oppose his happi- 1 
 Qfiss — and Sybil I Sybil, by the very excess of J 
 
 her delicacy, by the very terror of betrayingik 
 secret, had convinced hnn that her affectl 
 were his own. The moment of inaction i, 
 consequently past. He had merely souglit i 
 love of Sybil tacitly ; it now remained for : 
 to ask it. 
 
 He turned once more to Mrs. Delamere : 
 
 " And Sybil — Miss Delamere — Where is si;!' 
 
 His companion had recourse to her other iit 
 tie, for this pertinacity overpowered her. m 
 was so little accustomed to do the lienors o.u 
 conversation, that she sank under the pn nl 
 tax upon her energies, and it was alniost';t 
 tishly that she replied; " I really don't kn(,- 
 I believe in her room. You can ring the 11 
 and inquire of her maid." 
 
 Frederic hastened to obey, and the set nl 
 who answered the summons returned acm- 
 panied by the Abigail, who, with a coinph oc 
 heightened by the hurry of her arraiigen 't«^ 
 informed the anxious visitor that her mi: jsi 
 had a short time previously walked inti Iw 
 grounds. ; 
 
 With a hasty bow, Mortimer left the ihiii, 
 and started in pursuit of the fair waiul r ; 
 but he traversed the conservatories, and cii-rcHl 
 every temple and grotto in vain, — Miss 'la- 
 mere was no where to be seen. At lengt al- 
 most in despair of finding her, and half tei t<.>d 
 to believe that he had been misled, he pi lA 
 into a small dense thicket, which skirto th« 
 property, and ere long lie discovered til 
 seated under the shadow of an ilex, witJiit-r 
 head pillowed on her hand, and her face eii'ciy 
 hidden by the dark and luxuriant masses 'htr 
 hair, which had escaped from the conililiiU 
 habitually confined it and now fell abo ilier 
 shoulders to the ground. j 
 
 For a moment he stood motionless — fi ;i in 
 admiration and astonishment. It was tli'jint 
 occasion upon which he had seen the biiiiiul 
 Sybil in tears; and now he detected thorg* 
 drops slowly trickling through her i'fin. 
 The careless abandon of her attitude, a ; iIk 
 secluded spot which she had chosen in oi'r U> 
 conceal her grief from other eyes, also 'U » 
 tale of deep and bitter suffering ; and hi eart 
 beat quicker as the conviction grew iipi; liim 
 that he should soon be privileged to dr^liow 
 tears, and to turn that grief to gladnes:| V«» 
 still he lingered. lie could imagine tli.aul*- 
 less face now so elTeetually concealed 'rliu* 
 the graceful figure, touched here and tl io VJ 
 the straggling sun-rays, which flickered \f>W 
 the leaves above her licad, was so bcaujul in 
 its unconscious harmony of attitude, tliii. '*• 
 only by an eft'ort he could resolve upoi ii'cak- 
 ing so bright a spell. 1 
 
 His step was noiseless upon the moss rown 
 turf, and thus he reached her side be !« »•)< 
 was aware of his approach ; nor even tji <»w 
 she stir eye or limb until Mortimer, ;enUv 
 bending over her, whispered her name. ; 
 
 " You here !" she exelniincd, as she I'md' 
 from the earth, and dashed away the il'st"'' 
 from her long lashes. " What can Mr. i:'*™*' , 
 come here to seek ?" . 
 
 " Your love, Sybil— your coveted nripn^j 
 less love!" was' the i'nipiis,<!ioned reij- _. 
 have struggled in vain to obey you— ;»'**•• 
 
THE RIViVL BEAUTIES, 
 
 36 
 
 ip-self with your friendsliip — to immolate the 
 ippiiiess of my whole life to a distasteful and 
 (ilbrced duty:! cannot do it, Sybil, — I had 
 tterrated my powers of endurance. You nuist 
 li;en to me, and love me, or my existence will 
 liceforth be a blank. You are about to leave 
 l^'land, but that step, extreme and oruel as it 
 ilshall avail you nothing ; I will follow you to 
 tl> end of the earth ; I will be proof alike 
 iiiinst your coldness and your disdain. Till I 
 ijt you I was at peace ; what I am now is 
 ■\\iT own work, and you must abide the result 
 cjvour fascinations. Sybil, my precious Sybil, 
 Si.ll I sue in vain ?" 
 
 \s the last words escaped his lips, the knee of 
 Jlrtimer bent before Miss Delamere, and her 
 hid was clasped in his. He saw not the proud 
 ail triumphant gleam which for an instant 
 pised over her features, for before he again 
 
 aied his ej'es to her face, all was once more 
 11 and cold, and passionless. 
 1 Why are you silent, Sybil ?" he pursued 
 y{h increasing emotion. "One word — I ask 
 for one — to be the most happy or the most 
 erable of men, — and you will deny it to 
 
 Wliat can I say ?" asked Miss Delamere in 
 aiw murmur, but still without withdrawing 
 hj hand. " I know you only as the betrothed 
 o!i)-our cousin. From the first hour of our 
 aliiaintance I was aware of your engagement. 
 I iive ever looked upon you as one no longer 
 fij to act, or even to feel, beyond a certain 
 w|l-defined boundary. How then, could I love 
 y|, or seek your love ? I am no idle girl who 
 8<|. a suitor in every civil stranger, and an 
 aiwal upon every courtly lip. My affections 
 li'iot so near the surface that they may be 
 wing or sported with by every touch of acci- 
 'Icjt or vanity ; — and I have told you more 
 Uh once my steadfast purpose to resist all 
 blidishments which might tend to peril my 
 lilrty of thought and affection." 
 
 jl liave no faith in such resolves," said Fred- 
 eiK doggedly, as he rose unbidden from her 
 fe 
 
 Were we two temper-chafed children," ob- 
 •«ed Miss Delamere, lifting her large lumin- 
 01 eyes to his with a smile so beautiful that it 
 injht have maddened an anchorite ; " I might 
 rejrt by telling you that I placed as little de- 
 pt)]ence upon the vacillating affection which 
 nt| hovered for months between two different 
 ol|ct«, and was at length only decided by im- 
 p_i|e. Nay, now you are angry," she con- 
 tiijed with another beaming look ; " I had no 
 injition to offend you, nor as a rational and 
 thjking woman, shall I reply to you in such 
 t*ji8. No, Mr. Mortimer, for it behooves us 
 at such a moment as this, to be just to 
 ^ Ives and to each other. It is my departure 
 irfl. Tlie Grange which has hurried you into 
 Ihjitrange, and forgive me if I add, unwarrant- 
 abl step which you are now taking. Your 
 ■% is not your own, for it has been promised ; 
 ev your heart is no longer in your gift, for it 
 ". Mged ; and I am not one likely to dispute 
 eitj r. It is true that I am about to leave Eng- 
 
 f far^ell to your famUy this evening ; tii« cour- 
 
 tesy which I have received from your motlicr 
 and yourself demanded this consideration, after 
 which, all would have been at an end between 
 us. A year ago the existence of the one was 
 iitterly \niknowu to the other, — a year hence it 
 would have been to each simply a passing and 
 a pleasant memory; why do yoli seek to r.ender 
 it otherwise ?" 
 
 " Sybil," said Frederic, as his whole frame 
 shook with emotion ; " you can no longer deceive 
 me Avith mere words. It is not j'our heart that 
 speaks. I will not, I dare not believe that you 
 are a vain and passionate coquette, who has 
 wiled away a few heavy hours in ensuring my 
 misery — and this I must believe, or be assured 
 that r have ceased to be indifferent to your 
 peace." 
 
 " You are bold, sir," s.iid Sybil haughtily, as 
 she raised her tall figure to its full height, and 
 prepared to turn away. 
 
 " I am bold," acquiesced her companion, clasp- 
 ing her arm in order to intercept her retreat ; 
 " I am bold, Sybil, for I am desperate. Only a 
 few hours back, conscious that I could not live 
 without your affection, I threw myself upon the 
 generosity of my cousin, and she liberated me 
 from my engagement." 
 
 " Impossible!" exclaimed Miss Delamere ener- 
 getically ; " Gertrude Mortimer may be cold and 
 self-centered, but she was seem-e of your hand, 
 and it is not possible that she could renounce 
 her right." 
 
 Once more the brow of Frederic cleared, and 
 his eye gleamed with delight ! " I thank you for 
 the doubt," he said tenderly ; " it tells me all I 
 sought to know. And you will love me, Sybil, 
 will you not ? For I swear to you that I am 
 free." 
 
 "And your mother?" murmured his listener. 
 
 " Gertrude has undertaken to convince her 
 that she had mistaken us both, and to prepare 
 her to receive another and a dearer daughter." 
 
 " And yet this must not be," said Miss Dela- 
 mere, as suddenly perceiving the disarray of her 
 magnificent hair, she stooped and raised the 
 comb which lay at her feet, and twisted the 
 scattered tresses into a luxuriant knot on the 
 summit of her small and graceful head; "Such 
 a proceeding would be neither delicate nor ge- 
 nerous. Even supposing that I had been weak 
 enough to suffer my feelings to overcome not 
 only my reason, but also a resolution formed 
 years ago, I could not consent to build up my 
 happiness upon the misery of another; or forget 
 that the preference which would enable me to 
 do so, could only have originated in a transitory 
 fancy, too soon to be dispelled. The contest 
 between Gertrude Mortimer and myself would 
 be alike idle and unnatural. She is yet upon 
 the very threshold of womanhood; her heart is 
 an uninseribed tablet, save where your name 
 has been written; she is beautiful; and, like the 
 sensitive plant, retires before a touch. She has 
 never trod the stony paths of the world, and 
 been galled by their roughness; she is very wo- 
 man in all that is womanly; needing care, and 
 affection, and support Remember, too, that it 
 is to you that she has looked for these from her 
 childhood; and that she has a right to claim 
 them as the inheritance of your father's afteo- 
 
36 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES! 
 
 tion ; aud then, having reflected upon all tliis, 
 reverse the picture, Frederic, and look on me" — 
 
 For a moment she paused, as if for some dis- 
 claimer from her companion, but he continued 
 resolutely silent. For the tirst time Sybil had 
 addressed liim by his Christian name ; and his 
 tJ-iumnh at discovering how rapidly and invol- 
 untarilj' she was betraying the state of her own 
 lieart, made liim fear to trust himself with a 
 word, lest he should afford her an opportunity 
 of resuming her self-possession. 
 
 " I am not about to provoke an idle and ill- 
 timed compliment," she pursued with a stifled 
 sigli ; " I seldom speak of myself; and when I 
 am compelled to do so, heartily despise the flat- 
 tery which mortifies me bj- the conviction of my 
 own egotism. I am aware that nature has not 
 been a niggard to me : I have been told the eon- 
 U-ary too often to affect a cliildish ignorance of 
 my personal advantages. But more than these 
 are required to ensure domestic happiness. Tlie 
 flower that blossoms in a day too frequently 
 fades on the morrow. Do you understand the 
 metaphor? You have known your cousin from 
 lier birth — I am the mere acquaintance of a few 
 brief months." 
 
 " Tliey have comprised all of my existence 
 wliich I care to remember," broke in Frederic 
 impetuously. 
 
 iliss Delamere thanked him by a look — and 
 such a look ! 
 
 "Every action, almost every thought, of your 
 cousin, has been revealed to' you. Of me you 
 know nothing, save that I exist, and stand be- 
 side you." 
 
 " I ask nothing from tJie past — all from the 
 future." 
 
 " With me the timidity of girlhood has given 
 place to a decision of character which the world 
 loves to criticise, although it is its own work. I 
 have my own principles, mj- own prejudices, ray 
 own peculiarities; and, worse than all, I need no 
 guidance, no support ; I can choooc my own path, 
 and follow it." 
 
 " Only let us tread it together," whispered 
 Frederic, as he pressed his lips to the hand that 
 rested on his arm. 
 
 " You are incorrigible," mui-mured Svbil, in a 
 tone which betrayed her innate gratification; 
 " but you must, nevertheless, listen to reason." 
 
 " I will listen to anything from your lips." 
 
 " But, having so done, you will not have done 
 all: you must act as well as liearken. Mrs. 
 Mortimer will never consent to receive me as her 
 daugiilcr. AVhere yo?t feel, sA« will reflect. You 
 know wliat have been her plans; and she is no 
 longer young. In our early years we content 
 ourselves witli flowers, when' we find that we 
 cannot, as we begin by hoping to do, grasp the 
 stars ; but maturity and age are more tenacious 
 of tlieir projects; their aspirations are more 
 rational and practicable ; and, accordingly, they 
 abandon them with less carelessness. I cannot 
 condescend to be merely received on sufferance 
 in any family." 
 
 "Sybil, dear Sybil, your delicacy is morbid; 
 IB misplaced. My mother already admires and 
 esteems you; and she will no sooner become 
 ttouvinced that you hay« my happiness in your 
 
 keeping, than she will learn to love you as het 
 own child.'* 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself, my friend," said 
 Sybil playf illy ; " that Mrs. Mortimer admiree 
 me — perhaps ! She listens to my harp, applauds 
 my singing, prizesmy sketches of your dear old 
 house — so much, indeed, unfortunately, that 
 have scarcely been able to reserve one for niv 
 self " 
 
 " When you are its mistress, and that I cai 
 spare you for so long a time, you shall sketch i 
 from all points." 
 
 " Xay, if you inten-upt me every instant, 
 shall despair of making you understand m 
 mcanirag," said Sybil gently. " That she do^ 
 all this I admit at once ; but esteem ! — oli, h. 
 lieve me ! that I shall never be esteemed 1> 
 Mrs. Mortimer, if I thwart her plans ; though 
 should present myself, with my genealogic. 
 tree in one hand, and the whole history of n; 
 past life in the other." 
 
 " You have but to present yourself as my afi 
 anced bride, and tliat shall suffice." ' 
 
 " Four yourself I doubt not ; and I thank y<i 
 that you at least are satisfied to take me up- 
 trust; but I have carefully studied the charact! 
 of your mother. Gentle and womanly as she ; 
 she is capable of firm and strong determiiiatit: 
 From your earliest boyhood she had resolv; 
 upon your union with your cousin ; and she v, 
 not, trust me, revoke her purpose." ; 
 
 " I am no longer a boy, and I have refused' 
 consent to this hateful marriage. Am I not (.' 
 to act as I deem best, and to secure my hajl- 
 ness according to my own ideas ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, but you are unstable, 'i 
 eitlier side there must be a struggle. Let ) 
 play the monitor for once. Support it in J 
 worthiest and most prudent phase. Fulfil 9 
 wishes of Mrs. Mortimer ; and let us part" 
 
 " And this is j-our advice ?" 
 
 " Is it not that which I should offer? Bet', 
 far better to be the victim of my own sens >/ 
 right, than of another's scorn!" ; 
 
 " And is the strife of feeling then confd 
 only to yourself and to my motlier V 
 
 " Js'ot so — Oh, no! not so," said Sybil' ••> 
 emotion : " I do not for an instant forget ji' 
 cousin. Poor girl I so young, so beautiful, iJ 
 yet so wretched !" 
 
 " I spoke not of Gertrude," said Mortim** 
 patiently. " I ventured to believe tiiat 1. Oi 
 might have been remembered when you U^i 
 of the victims to be immolated upon the sl;n« 
 of exaggerated sentiment and orerstraine I*- 
 licacy. But enough of this, dear Sybil ; •'* 
 to imagine that, by rejecting my affection, <>n 
 restore me to my cousin, for all is over bet'i-'n 
 us. I might have loved her had I never ki.*'D 
 Sybil Delamere, but she is aware that it i^" 
 impossible; and I little understjuid her nlire 
 if she would condescend to accept the "o 
 where she was conscious that the heart •»• 
 withheld. Spurn my affection, if, indeed, i«j 
 be your will ; but I swear to you that •'"' 
 never be the husband of another. Leav(, »« 
 Grange, if you still persist in your purpose bni 
 wander where you may, I will pursue you >"< 
 I have life." 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 8Y 
 
 Tliis is truly ' Midsummer madness,' Frede- 
 ri,' replied Miss Delamere ; " however, th 
 mill I coiioode — our journey shall be delayed." 
 
 For mv sake, Sybil ?" asked Frederic, as he 
 ej;nded his hand."' 
 
 For 1/oiir sa^e, if you will have it so," was 
 tli reply; and the small iingers of the lady 
 reiod foV an instant on the outstretched palm 
 ofi er suitor : " But build up no vain hojics upon 
 th concession," she continued laughingly; " for 
 I 1 not }'et convinced — nor won." 
 
 jHow then shall I win you ? Teach me, and 
 I ill be a docile pupil." 
 
 ;Nay, I know not," said the lady almost peu- 
 silv. "How gloriously the sun is setting!" 
 sh continued abruptly. " He is a grand pain- 
 te! I often think that could I transfer a few of 
 th.e mixed tints to the canvass upon my easel, 
 I i)ould feel as Pygmalion must have done 
 Win he saw the prodace of his chisel live and 
 bilithe." 
 
 i)or Gertrude ! She too loved to gaze upon 
 th'setting sun, but she never mixed up herself 
 ar her own vain triumphs with the glory upon 
 \r jh she looked. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 » long as the intoxication produced by the 
 prence of Sybil continued to exert its influence, 
 evjy feeling and every thought of Mortimer 
 yf$ absorbed b\^ the one loved object ; and it 
 wi{ only when he had reluctantly taken his de- 
 paure from The Grange that he once more be- 
 cai; keenly alive to the irksome and painful 
 na^re of the interview which awaited him with 
 hiinother. He well knew how devotedly she 
 lo|d him, and how trustingly she had looked 
 tolis affection as the prop and blessing of her 
 ol'|ige ; and the tears sprang to his eyes as he 
 odjitted to himself how great must now be her 
 di|r>pointment. 
 
 jiose tears were, however, not the bitter, and 
 tonften infructuous drops of repentance ; they 
 ro only before the impulse of genuine filial af- 
 feion. His manhood rebelled at the mental 
 an moral coercion to which he had been sub- 
 jei'd, it is true; but his affection for his mother 
 reiiined undiminished. She had only sought 
 tojcnre his happiness ; but she had failed by 
 nec-cting to remember that human nature, even 
 east faulty, revolts at a control which sel- 
 fails to defeat its own object ; and by be- 
 iig tliat her idolized son was exempt from 
 iie errors of his fellow-men. 
 here she had taught herself to expect per- 
 fe([on, she was shocked at the slightest indica- 
 of mortal frailty; and where the failure 
 one which involved not only his own con- 
 ncy, but also the happiness of another, and 
 vill of his dead father, the blow was heavier 
 she could bear. 
 
 sad conviction that such must be the case 
 ?lled with Frederic to his home ; and how 
 ry seemed the venerable house, which had 
 tJljiow been ever lighted up by the beams of 
 nUwn Bunnv heartl Once his'breast bounded 
 mU passed ita threshold, but now all ap- 
 
 peared wrapped in gloom — Sybil was not be- 
 neath its roof — Sybil, the enchantress, whom he 
 was to win through tears, reproaches, and re- 
 grets! 
 
 But Frederic deceived himself. The spirit of 
 his mother Avas crushed within her. Slie had 
 no longer energy for reproach. All her remain- 
 ing strength of purpose was concentrated upon 
 one point. The heart-dream of Gertrude was 
 dispelled for ever; and she must aid her in the 
 wretched task of smiling at her own misery. 
 The illusion which had taught her to look upon 
 her son as a being made up of all that was great 
 and good, witliout one failing to cast a shadow 
 over the brightness of his character, was gone ; 
 and she meekly bowed her spirit before the bit- 
 terness of a life-long disappointment; but still 
 there remained one pang to be inflicted, to which 
 she was keenly and sensitively alive, and with 
 which she was threatened, it is true, but against 
 which she firmly determined to contend. 
 
 Thus when Frederic entered her presence, she 
 received him sadly but tenderly. His fault had 
 been the ofi'spring of a few months, but her 
 love had been the growth of years; and the 
 heart weeps long ere its crimson tide is ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 " I have seen Gez-trude," were her first words, 
 after she had welcomed him ; " and she has re- 
 lated to me all the substance of the morning's 
 conversation. You are free, my son, to act as 
 you think best regarding your cousin. I could 
 have wished it otherwise, but happiness is not 
 our lot in this world. She has acted, as she 
 ever does, with a noble self-abnegation which 
 makes me proud of the adopted daughter I have 
 reared ; and cannot permit myself to muamur 
 when she is silent. Sufliee it, then, that I shall 
 never again intrude this subject upon you. 
 Better, far better, that you should reject the 
 hand of such a being at once, then receive it 
 only to involve both her and yourself in one 
 common misery. She is too good, to loving, to 
 be flung by like an outworn toy: and this feel- 
 ing is my best and only consolation under a 
 serious disappointment." 
 
 " Believe me, my dear mother," said Frederic, 
 at once touched and astonished at the calm and 
 self-possessed manner of his mother ; " that as I 
 once before assured you, Gertrude and I are to- 
 tally unsuited to each otlier." 
 
 " Say rather," was the reply, " that your 
 means of happiness were made too easy by ray 
 want of judgment. I did not understand you, 
 my dear boy; I should have created difficulties, 
 invented doubts, and discovered inconveniences, 
 in a marriage with your cousin ; but it is now 
 too late to repent the past ; and I have no in- 
 tention of pressing the matter further." 
 
 "Did you know, or could you guess, how 
 much I feel in thus thwarting j^our wishes, you 
 would understand that no such puerile cauMC has 
 dictated my conduct," urged Mortimer earnestly ; 
 " I do assure you that I act onlj^ upon conviction." 
 
 " May you never have cause to discover j'our 
 mistake, Isut I confess that I do not hope so 
 mucli," was the rejoinder of Mrs. Mortimer. 
 " Remember, Frederic, that mari-iage is the most 
 important step hazarded by either man or wo- 
 man ; that it is no transitory speculation which 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 may l>e annulled when its fallacy is proved by a 
 life-loug venture, from which tliere is no honor- 
 able mode of escape, and which must decide 
 the wliole tenor of your after-existence. Tlius 
 tlien, it behoves you to look well to its probable 
 result ; neither to contract an engagement hasti- 
 ly, nor to suffer yourself to be deluded by a few 
 social accomplishments, or personal fascinations. 
 You do not marry for the world, but for your 
 home ; and the woman who dazzles the most in 
 Bociety is frequently the least calculated to form 
 the blessing of the domestic circle." 
 
 " I admit the truth of your reasoning, my dear 
 mother,'' said Frederic eagerly ; " but surely it 
 ie quite possible to meet with one who unites all 
 Uie necessary qualities to do both. I confess 
 that I could not love a wife who was incapable 
 of sustaining her just position in society, as well 
 as of performing her home duties ; and I am ex 
 acting enough to require that mine should be 
 equal to either emergency." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer sighed deeplj-, but made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Nay more," pursued her son ; " I consider 
 it only due to you to declare, without reserve 
 or hesitation, that I have every reason to hope 
 and to believe that I have found that one." 
 
 " Do you allude to Miss Delamere i" asked his 
 mother coldly. 
 
 " I do. Sj'bil is the very being to realise 
 every wish and every dream of my heart ; and 
 I believe that she loves me. Will you not, then, 
 my dear mother, receive her with the affection 
 which alone can render my marriage perfectly 
 happy ?" 
 
 " Has she told you frankly who she is, and 
 what is her real position in the world ?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Mortimer, with the same resolute 
 composure whicli she had maintained through- 
 out the whole of this trying conversation. 
 
 " She has not ; but I am alone to blame, if 
 blame there be. I would not insult her by a 
 doubt, and I declined the confidence." 
 
 " And she permitted you to do so?" 
 
 " She simply yielded to my desire. Satisfied 
 tliat she is all that is good, and pure, and high- 
 minded, I had little curiosity to pry into the 
 paat" 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer sank back in her chair, and 
 buried her face in her hands. She was about to 
 make a mighty effort, and her composure was 
 rapidly giving way ; suddenly, however, she 
 roused herself, forced back the burning tears 
 which were endeavoring to escape, and looking 
 Bteadily at her son, said sadly but firmly, — 
 
 " And can it really be true, Frederic, that you 
 ■would introduce into the home of your ances- 
 tors, and the heart of your mother, a woman of 
 whom you know absolutely nothing? — a hand- 
 some adventurer, whoso wiles have overmatch- 
 ed your frankness ? — a syren, who has blinded 
 you to your own honor"? And you ask me to 
 look upon so doubtful a person as a daughter — 
 as your wife ? If this indeed be so — and I read 
 no denial in your countenance — it behoves me, 
 at least, to remember what is due alike to the 
 name I bear and to myself. You are your own 
 master. Should you decide upon placing your 
 happiness and your respectability in the keep- 
 ing of this ambiguous personage, I have no 
 
 power to prevent the commission so egregio 
 and dangerous a folly ; but if you anticipate n 
 consent and countenance to such a step, a 
 cherish one hope of inducing me to beconu 
 party to your disgrace — for that disgrace ^^ 
 inevitably result from such an alliance, I hav. 
 prophetic conviction — I now, and dofinitiv. 
 declare that you deceive yourself, for tba 
 never will recognize Miss Delamere as i 
 daughter, until I am convinced tliat there 
 ists no passage of her past life that she is ai: 
 ous to conceal." 
 
 " llevoke that sentence, I beseech of you, i 
 dear mother 1" exclaimed Frederic with stn 
 emotion, as lie approached her ; but the enei 
 of Mrs. Mortimer was almost exhausted: • 
 tears, no longer to be restrained, were faliinn , 
 showers upon her pallid cheeks ; and she c • 
 retained strength to waive him from her as : ■ 
 hurried from the room, exclaiming emphatica' , 
 "Never!" ■ 
 
 She had no sooner reached her own apr' 
 mcnt, and after a passionate fit of weeping 1 1 
 partially recovered her composure, tliau '; 
 hitherto proud and happy mother, pressing • 
 throbbing temples in her trembling hands, hn i 
 to reflect with earnest anxiety upon the posit i 
 of her son. Every report which had e r 
 reached her on the subject of Miss Delamer - 
 and the neighborhood had for months been > 
 with them — although when they first canio 
 her knowledge she had disregarded and aln t 
 forgotten them — now recurred vividly to r 
 memoiy, and increased her alarm. Th'e abi t 
 appearance of the mother and the daughte:!t 
 The Grange, unaccompanied by a single n'e 
 relative or friend, and unprovided with any- 
 troductions; the lavish expenditure which d 
 ensued; the mj'stery in which the past hislV 
 of the strangers was enveloped; tlie coml 
 exercised by the younger lady, her unquest li- 
 able authority over the establishment, and;e 
 self-sufficing independence of her characte:- 
 all conspired to terrify Mrs. Mortimer, nndo 
 fill her with the most painful apprehensions! 
 
 Wliere Frederic saw only single-hearted'* 
 and enthusiastic feeling, his motlier discov 'd 
 cold and worldly calculation; and while ho 
 lieved that he had won the love of Sybil agi Jt 
 the dictates of her own reason, she felt '> 
 vinced that he was the victim of a systeui'f 
 conduct as clever as it was premeditated. 
 
 Had Miss Delamere been a young and i x- 
 perienced girl, she might have" felt incline Ho 
 judge her less harshly; but Mrs. Mortimer |i*l 
 no difficulty in deciding that, despite all the'i» 
 of dress and manner, Sybil was at least the eial 
 of Frederic in years, and much his senicin 
 knowledge of tlie world ; and that she bacjre 
 this become aware how often the heart ■»;•» 
 miglit have resisted mere personal beauty ,Jky 
 be won by the wiles of coquetry, and the ';:^ 
 tion of worldly wisdom. i 
 
 The bloom and loveliness of youth cai)t» 
 under any circumstances, lose their charm ;ul 
 it is nevertheless certain, that a pure-mi;e<i 
 girl never appears to less advantage than "^f^ 
 she is conscious of a passion whicli her intii'^o 
 sense of propriety and modesty teaches Ii t* 
 conceal. There is an awkwardness in siinro 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 S9 
 
 J«ction -which even leads its possessor to over- 
 3t her part ; she shuns and repels where she 
 ->uld fuiii attract; she affects eoKlness where 
 Ir heart yearns to pour out its whole treasure 
 1, feeling;* and she looks and moves in opposi- 
 ( a to her own secret impulses. The woman 
 ( the world is, on the contrary, ignorant of all 
 1 ;se moral refinements. Her words and ac- 
 i ns are weighed and calculated ; she is ever 
 udy to enhance her own advantages, both of 
 ind aud person; her whole deportment is 
 ijulated upon a given principle ; she has a 
 rpose to accomplish, and she works steadilj- 
 I ward towards its realization ; her tears and 
 : r smiles are alike subservient to her will ; she 
 i a adapt herself to every mood and to every 
 cessity ; for her the romance of life is over, 
 I d its realities alone remain. 
 Thus reflected Mrs. Mortimer ; and with bit- 
 i-ness of spirit she felt how unequal was the 
 mtest between her own g';ntle and pure-niind- 
 Gertrude and the world-taught ttybil ; aud 
 w equally ill-calculated was the frank and 
 ofiding nature of her son to resist the bland- 
 iments of so accomplished an actress. 
 Not onee did she suffer herself to believe it 
 ssible that she might, by these conclusions, 
 •ong Miss Delamere; she remembered the 
 illiant fortune which Frederic had inherited 
 im his father, and she felt convinced that 
 ereia lay the whole secret of her affection. 
 ■^ true that the style of living Jidopted at 
 • Grange far outweighed that of her own 
 ijlishment ; but this profusion had only been 
 i work of a few months, and might terminate 
 abruptlj- as it had conuuenced. None knew 
 source, and none could oonsequently decide 
 its permanency : like every thing else con- 
 cted with Sybil it was a mystery, and con- 
 jueatly suspicious. 
 
 Turn whither she would Mrs. Mortimer found 
 reposing place for ner spirit ; all her associa- 
 ins with the past, and all her visions for the 
 ;nre, were alike destroyed. The home of 
 ace had once more become a house of mourn- 
 J, and she felt desolate even beside her own 
 
 ~SLttL 
 
 CHAPTER. XIL 
 
 From her solitary chamber Mrs. Mortimer at 
 igth proceeded to that of Gertrude; who, 
 ostrated by the intense emotion which she 
 d undergone, and the violence which she had 
 ne to her own feeling while laboring to re- 
 ncile the mind of her aunt to the views of 
 «deric, liad flung herself upon her bed in an 
 ony of wretchedness, where the anxious Mrs. 
 )rtimer now found her scorched with incipient 
 «-er, her eyes hard and glossy, and her cheek 
 uhed into a burning crimson. 
 "My poor, poor girl," she murmured fondly, 
 she drew a chair near her pillow ; " You are 
 e first victim ! But you must forget, or at 
 »st despise him, Gertrude. Yes ; though he 
 my own son, the child of my hope and of 
 y age. still do I bid you despise him. He is 
 ' longer worthy of love like yours. He can 
 
 no longer estimate a pure aflfection ; and your 
 pride must teach you to overcome an ill-placed 
 attachmeht." Gertrude answered only by a 
 burst of tears. 
 
 It is hard, very hard, for a young and pure 
 heart, which has confided its alt of happiness to 
 the supposed love of an ardent and devoted 
 suitor, to find itself suddenly cast back upon its 
 own feelings by^ some cold worldly calculation, 
 or some equally unworthy caprice ; but to such 
 a sufferer there is still some consolation left, in 
 the memory of many, many happy moments, 
 which even delusive as their promise has ulti- 
 mately proved, were at least a source of joy 
 while the illusion lasted, and so'othed the self- 
 respect of the victim ; who, conscious that she 
 was not won unsought, is thus enabled to pay 
 back scorn, for scorn, Avliere she has strength 
 of mind to conquer her ill-placed passion. 
 
 But even this poor solace- was denied to the 
 stricken and shrinking niece of Mrs. Mortimer. 
 She had^iven away her heart unasked, and the 
 tender had been rejected. The world had no 
 greater mortification to inflict; life no keener 
 suftering to endure. She loved, and her lovo, 
 was despised. She felt that her mission on' 
 earth was ended ; and, young as she was, and 
 possessed of every attribute to adorn and to en- 
 joy existence, as she felt her temples throb and 
 her pulses beat with fever, she began to hope 
 that her overtaxed strength had failed beneath 
 the mighty effort which she had been called up- 
 on to make ; and that her life was about to be 
 the forfeit of the struggle. 
 
 Alas, poor trembler! she little knew how- 
 much the heart of woman can endure, and still 
 beat on ; she had j'ct to learn that the bright 
 face of the sun may be clouded, and the fair 
 bosom of the earth be draped in pall, the eye of 
 the sufferer still find force to look upon the 
 changed aspect of all around it. Her experience 
 had come early, and was yet imperfect ; there 
 was long and weary years before her to eoin- 
 plete the lesson ; a lesson wliieh is often car- 
 ried even to the grave, and never thoroughly 
 learned. 
 
 " That he should hesitate even for an instant 
 between you !" pursued Mrs. Mortimer with in- 
 dignation, as she tenderly wiped away the 
 scorching drops which fell upon the flushed 
 cheeks of her niece ; " I no longer recognise my 
 son. But I have at once and definitely^ refused 
 my sanction to his marriage with that artful 
 woman at The Grange. No nameless adven- 
 turer shall lord it under the roof of the Morti- 
 mers while I live to guard the honor of our 
 house. Let him marry, if he Avill, some poor 
 and honest peasant-girl : bitter as such a trial 
 would be to me, I think I could support it, when 
 I knew that she was honest. But this woman — 
 what know we of her? AVhat may we ever 
 know ? And to reflect that such knowledge 
 might come when it was too late, and that wa 
 had received in our very home a woiiuvu whose 
 name made the virtuous blush and tlie idle 
 sneer. No, no — that I could never boar. Dear 
 as he is to me, I would ratlier look upon him in 
 a coffin, and follow him to the vault of his an- 
 cestors ; for he would then lie there undislionor- 
 ed, as the son of such a father jnusl do." 
 
40 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 And overcome by the vision wliicli she had | grave for 'vrhieh she pined, and, perhaps, rect 
 _:.._.j .._ XI ^:.x_-i — _xi.. ..!-.„. 1. ..ir_.. her when she was gone. And yet — she sl'iudi . 
 
 cd as she reflected upon the price which li 
 must pay for these bitter indulgences, upon 13 
 sin of cherishing sucli feelings, towards the hi 
 band of another ; and, worse than all, upon I'l 
 impossibility of conquering a passion wbji 
 could hope for pardon neither in her own et 
 nor in those of others. { 
 
 As she writhed upon her bed of pain, vai'7 
 endeavoring to conceal her anguish both of m'l 
 and body from her companion, Mrs. Mortiir 
 was aroused by the touch of a burning hi 
 from a reverie into which she had fallen, 'i 
 turned anxiously to utter some word of entre r 
 or consolation, when she saw the widely diln J 
 and rigid eyes of the poor sufferer hxed ,f 
 consciously upon her, while her cheeks and .3 
 had become as cold and pale as marble, am i 
 once discovered that she was no longer abLo 
 give ear to either. ' 
 
 In an agony of terror she rushed to the be] 
 summon assistance ; and ten minutes had sca|>- 
 ly elapsed ere the wild and ringing laugb-, 
 and incoherent words of the unhappy girl )V 
 claimed a violent attack of delirium. 
 
 The bow, too tightly bent, had sprung fa 
 the unnatural tension; the pure and beauliJ 
 mind was prostrate, and wild visions were sw > 
 ing like impish revellers, across her torti.d 
 brain. She was at the bridal of Frederic, she a 
 the handmaiden of the bride, and was atti g 
 her for the altar ; the bridal wi'enth was of n 5, 
 but she could not shake away the venoniou i- 
 sects that had nestled themselves among ;« 
 leaves, and then she writhed and struggle n 
 the arms of the wepping attendants in her cfl'is 
 to dislodge the hideous intruders, but all is 
 vain ; and she flung the garland down, deckig 
 that she could not bind poison about the l,«r 
 of her cousin's affianced wife. 
 
 Then her fingers Avorked rapidly as she !&• 
 pared the white and glistening robe; but a.B 
 a shade passed over her brow, and anguish cl;3- 
 ed her eyes, as she declared that it was wet ji 
 tears — salt and bitter tears — which fell like.^ 
 roding drops of iron upon the delicate via 
 lace, and marred its purity ; and again she et j/« 
 to wipe away the stains, and toiled, and Y"ri;.'d 
 her slender limbs into a thousand painful di''^ 
 tions, until exhaustion once more terniinatetii* 
 paroxysm, and she fell back upon her pijw 
 gasping out that she was summoned to her ,!a 
 funeral feast, where she would exchange lei 
 wedding-garments for a shroud, and her |l^ 
 riage-veil for a pall of crape. 
 
 Even to the beloved voice of her auntjlie 
 tortured car was deaf, and the wrung \tli 
 closed; and long ere the arrival of the pW" 
 cian the fever was at its height. _ j 
 
 And where was Frederic at this trying !»• 
 ment? i 
 
 Once more on his way to The Grange.jut 
 himself scarcely conscious of the nature ojii* 
 own intentions. Startled as he had been b M 
 determined and unwonted energy of his nio;2r| 
 he was too thoroughly subjugated by the cU 
 of Sybil to be shakni in his j-urpose, and Ui 
 the vacillation in which he had latterly indiri^d, 
 he dreamed of delay, of temporising, of th|> 
 
 eonjured up, the afflicted mother bent her face 
 over that of her suffering niece, and their tears 
 •were mingled upon the pillow. 
 
 " May you not wrong her by these suspicions, 
 my dear aunt ?" gasped out Gertrude after a 
 pause too painful for endurance : " Remember 
 that we know absolutely nothing of these stran- 
 gers, who may perhaps have been less reserved 
 to Frederic. Let me conjure you to decide no- 
 thing rashly. His happiues? the happiness of 
 your only son, the cluld of your deep and un- 
 tiring love, is at stake. Oh, let me implore you 
 to be cautious ; I know too well the rmsery of a 
 blighted hope ; spare alike him and yourself, 
 for you, oh ! how could you bear to see him fade 
 away before your eyes, a withered and a wretch- 
 ed thing, careless of all save the grave to which 
 he would be hastening ?" 
 
 Mi-s. Mortimer made no reply. In common 
 with most other persons of gentle disposition 
 and equal temper, it required some serious cause 
 to rouse her into indignation and firmness ; but 
 the cause once in existence, her whole nature 
 ■underwent a startling change. This was the 
 first great trial of her life, for sorrow had touch- 
 ed her lightly, and had come oidy in the soften- 
 ing and inevitable course of natural events; and 
 thus the whole force of her garnered-up powei's 
 of resolution and moral endurance Avere brought 
 simultaneously into action, imshorn of any of 
 their strength. 
 
 Proud of the name she bore, and of the son 
 whom she loved so tenderly, she saw her best 
 feelings attacked in their very citadel, and she 
 armed herself in their defence with a jealous 
 earnestness which rendered her deaf to all the 
 reasonings of her more indulgent and forgiving 
 niece ; nor Avas the spectacle of that niece's suf- 
 fering calculated to make her swerve from her 
 purpose. 
 
 The appeal of Gertrude had, indeed, dried her 
 tears, but it had effected no change in her reso- 
 lution. Frederic had disappointed and outraged 
 her affection ; and this she felt that she must 
 bear as best she might ; but that he should dis- 
 honor alike himself and her, she was resolved 
 never to permit, so long as her will maintained 
 its influence over his mind. Thick sobs rose to 
 her throat, and shook her Avhole frame, but she 
 disregarded this physical struggle, and thought 
 onlj' of the moral evil with which she Avas 
 threatened 
 
 ^ Thus, the entervicAV produced no comfort to 
 either; for Gertrude boAved beneath her oAvn 
 BorroAvs, and bcAvildered by the sudden change 
 in her hitherto gentle and placid protectress; 
 di<l not venture again to plead a cause Avhich 
 ensured her OAvn misery, but remained with 
 closfd eyes and trembling heart, a prey to rapid- 
 ly-increasing illness and sickening dread. Come 
 what miglit, to her the future Avas a chaos. 
 Should Frederic obey the injunctions of his mo- 
 ther, and relinquish his suit to Sybil, he Avould 
 assuredly abandon his home once more, and thus 
 be entirely lost to her; while, Avretched as Avas 
 the alternative, in becoming the husband of 
 Miss Delamere, he Avould, at least, remain Avhere 
 ihe could see him, and hear his A'oiee, and l)e to 
 him as a sister, and he Avoukl follow her to the 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 41 
 
 bof some medium of action -which might 
 ► reconcile all the conflicting interests by 
 fhich he was surrounded ; but the more he re- 
 bcted, the more he became convinced of the 
 fjpelessness of such a result, 
 f As this conviction grew upon him, he deter- 
 Sned to make a last appeal to the liitherto un- 
 Sling affection and indulgence of his mother, 
 [fore he communicated to Miss Delamere the 
 iexpected opposition to wliicli he had been 
 jbjected; for, strong in his faith in tlie purity 
 d honor of Sybil, he dreaded her indignation 
 the intelligence, while as an amende to Mrs. 
 brtimer for her concession, should she be 
 L-ought upon at last to comply -with his en- 
 4aties, he resolved to avail hmiself of what he 
 (nsidered as the implied offer of his mistress, 
 jd to accept her revelation of the past, in order 
 jat all mystery might be terminated at once. 
 ^Cheered' by this resolution, he had already 
 trned his horse's head once more towards home 
 ■hen he heard some one galloping rapidly be- 
 hd him, and in another moment a groom in 
 ■k Delamere livery placed in his hand a note 
 m Sybil. He tore it open. It contained only 
 lew lines, but they sufficed at once to change 
 intentions. 
 
 ■ Come to me," it said, " I am wretched, and 
 re much to say. Mamma expects you to din- 
 Mention no word of this morning's eon- 
 sation. She suspects nothing." Sybil. 
 
 bere could be no mistake. Miss Delamere 
 about to volunteer the very confidence 
 liich he had determined to solicit,' and thus he 
 puld go doubly armed into the presence of his 
 inded mother, and all difficulties would be 
 jrcome. It was only bj'^ a violent effort that 
 I could restrain himself from pressing the wel- 
 ae paper to his lips, and having made a brief 
 [)ly to the messenger, he at once struck spurs 
 io his horse and retraced his way towards The 
 ( &nge. 
 
 rhe dinner-bell rang in vain, and Mrs. Morti- 
 ir, to her extreme dismay, seated herself at 
 tile alone. Xever before had she felt so tbo- 
 iighly desolate, for hitherto, in the absence of 
 1 ■ son, Gertrude had been her companion, and 
 I ihe remembered that one of her children was 
 I rr stretched upon a bed of sickness, while she 
 H parted from the other in displeasure, her 
 lirt swelled, and she hurriedly quitted the 
 r m to conceal her emotion from the servants. 
 I ■ Frederic's sake alone she had made an effort 
 t ippear in her accustomed place ; and he had 
 Rented himself without one attempt at ex- 
 Cnation or excuse ; even although, for the first 
 we in their lives, they had exchanged other 
 wds than those of affection. 
 [" This, only this, was wanting to complete my 
 ^iJtchedness," she murmured to herself, as she 
 cfe more bent her steps to the chamber of the 
 •ering girl ; " Now, mdeed, my cup of bitter- 
 np is full, for my son's heart is estranged from 
 
 T _ 
 
 CHAPTER XTTT 
 
 iT was a glorious evening, and the vivid sun- 
 Hjma which were carefully excluded from the 
 
 sick chamber of Miss Mortimer, were streaming 
 broad and bright over hill and valley, and tin^ 
 ing all the foliage with a golden glow, when 
 Frederic once more full of hope and confidence, 
 sprang from his saddle at the door of The Grange. 
 
 Ardent in all his feelings, his previous depres- 
 sion had been succeeded by a wild and baseless 
 Ijoy, which sparkled in his eyes, and gave an un- 
 wonted animation to his whole person. Sybil 
 had told him in her note that she was wretched ; 
 and he comprehended at once that this wretched- 
 ness had been induced by an instinctive delicacy, 
 which upbraided her for the silence that, in their 
 relative position, was a wrong done to his affe«- 
 tion. 
 
 Now, therefore, he was about to receive the 
 whole outpouring of her trust, and he congratu- 
 lated himself upon the chivalrous generosity 
 which had led him to believe in her withoiit 
 proof, and to love her without any other guaraiv 
 tee than lier own sweet and guileless nature. 
 
 She was alone when he entered the saloon, 
 and in an instant he was at her side, with her 
 hand clasped in his. 
 
 " You have summoned me, Sybil, and I am 
 here." 
 
 " I thank yoii," was the calm reply. " After 
 you had left me this morning, I felt that I, &% 
 least, had said too much or too little, and that it 
 was expedient we should meet again at onoe. 
 My proceeding may appear strange to you, but 
 you know the frankness of my nature, and wiU. 
 understand tlijat I am never influenced by the 
 young-lady tactics of common societj'. This is 
 destroying the romance of our position strange- 
 ly, is it not, Frederic? But I am aware that I 
 have been to blame, and I am anxious to repair 
 my error." 
 
 " Who would not sin to excuse themselves so 
 sweetly? Although I am unconscious of th« 
 fault, I am ready to exact the penance." 
 
 " Thus, then, in our late conversation, you 
 spoke plainly and iindisguisedly, I could not, 
 and I clid not affect, to misunderstand you. You 
 offered yourself to me unreservedly, to me of 
 whom you know nothing, save that I have 
 pleased your fancy, and for so much, I will 
 admit, gained your affection. I urged feebly, I 
 fear, but truthfully, my conviction of your mo- 
 ther's disapproval, when I should have done 
 more, when it would have been at once more 
 dignified and more worthy of myself to have 
 concealed my own feelings altogether, and to 
 I have assured you at once, and definitively, that 
 with this conviction nothing should induce me 
 I to listen to your addresses. Suft'er me, therefore, 
 to do this now, and at the same time to assure 
 you of my sincere regret, that I should have 
 allowed you to be misled, even for a few hours, 
 as to my determination. Nay, you must hear 
 me out. I am quite conscious of my debt of 
 obligation to yourself; it is one which, through- 
 out my life, I am never likely to forget, but I 
 am too proud to avail myself of a trust so un- 
 bounded, and that same pride — " 
 
 " Sybil, you are ungenerous!" exclaimed Fre- 
 deric. " Was it for this you sunmioned me ? I 
 know not how I have deserved so bitter a disap- 
 pointment. All the world appear to have co»» 
 spired against me." 
 
42 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 " That is precisely what I apprehended," said 
 Miss Delam ere coldly. "You have confided to 
 Mrs. Mortimer our conversation of this morning; 
 and my warning has proved correct." 
 
 " And what, though it be so ?" was the impe- 
 tuous reply. " I am dependent upon no one. 
 My mother — even my mother, whom I had 
 hitherto been accustomed to consider as the 
 most unselfish and unprejudiced of human be- 
 ings, may fail me when I calculate upon her af- 
 fection, hut she cannot compel me to sacrifice 
 the happiness of my life to a caprice." 
 
 " And may I ask what is the nature of my un 
 worthiness ?" asked Sybil, in an accent which, 
 althougli it was intented to be playful, involved 
 a strong tinge of sarcasm. 
 
 Frederic bit his lip and remained silent. 
 
 " Nay, nay, be not afraid t-e meet me with a 
 candor equal to my own," said Miss Delamere 
 pressing his arm sportively. " You will, I am 
 6ure, do me the justice to a"dmit that even after 
 I had weakly suffered you to see that my affec- 
 tions were no longer in my own keeping, I 
 urged your mother's cause, and not my own 
 Surely, then, my feelings merit some considera 
 tion.""^ 
 
 " You are aware how earnestly she had set 
 ber heart upon my marriage with my cousin," 
 observed Frederic at length, conscious that he 
 must offer some reply. 
 
 " And was this all ?" 
 
 " You force me to be unmanly, Sj^bil ; but it 
 is your will, and I must submit. Forgive me. 
 then, if I concede that this was not all. My 
 mother does not, cannot know you as I do ; her 
 secluded life renders her apprehensive 
 
 " Rather say suspicious," broke in Sj'bil 
 haughtily. 
 
 " Be it so ; you are a stranger to her ; and I, 
 Sybil — forgive her when you remember that I 
 am her only child." 
 
 " I understand and appreciate all that you 
 would say," was the reply of his companion, as 
 she rose coldly and indignantly from her seat ; 
 " Mrs. Mortimer fears to unite her son with pro- 
 bable disgrace. I will relieve her from so pain- 
 ful an apprehension." 
 
 " Sybil, Sybil, you will drive me distracted !" 
 exclaimed Mortimer. " Am / then, to be the 
 eaerifice of this struggle of misplaced pride ? 
 Are no concessions to be made to save me from 
 wretchedness ?" 
 
 " To you, and for you, I should have con- 
 sidered none too great," murmured Miss Dela- 
 mere, falling back in the chair from which she 
 had just risen, and covering her eyes with her 
 hand, which however, failed to conceal the 
 large tears that streamed thick and fast upon 
 her checks ; " But I cannot, and I should not, 
 condescend to lend mj-self to a degradation 
 such as tills. Let us part at once: I am inured 
 to suffering, and you will soon learn to forget 
 tliat I have passed like a dark cloud over the 
 horizon of j'our life." 
 
 " Sybil," said Frederic, almost inarticulately ; 
 " If for me you will indeed consent to sacrifice 
 your own feelings, may I not entreat of you to 
 tumor my motlier in this caprice ! Believe me 
 that it does not arise from any doubt of your 
 integrity; it cannot: but from an overween- 
 
 ing affection for myself. You can understanc 
 and appreciate her anxiety, when you remem 
 ber that it is to me alone' that she must loo) 
 for support and comfort in her old age. Yoi 
 know, too, how tenderly she loves me. Surciv 
 then " 
 
 " It is precisely because I do appreciate an. 
 know all this," "said Miss Delamere ; " that 
 recal also what is due to my own dignit\ 
 Once more, let us part. Like Ctesar's wife." 
 should not even suffer myself to be suspected." 
 
 " You condemn me then remorselessly t 
 wretchedness, Sybil ?" 
 
 " Do not mistake yourself, Frederic ; yo 
 will soon overcome a passing disappointmeii 
 You were happy before you knew me ; yo 
 have now only to forget me, and that happ 
 ness will be renewed." 
 
 " And it is you, Sybil — You, who confess tlu 
 you have loved, — who tell me this ? But trii 
 true ; you have a right to do so — for you, i 
 least have loved, and have forgotten." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Mortimer," was the reply ; but tl; 
 eye of the lady flamed, and her bosom heave| 
 as she listened to the reproach ; " I have indec' 
 done this : but shall I tell you how ? By jH-o . 
 ing that I had raised an unworthy object up<| 
 the altar of my heart — by finding that the worli 
 the hideous world, with its sordid interests aii 
 its vulgar prejudices, had come between r; 
 and my idol — by discovering the hands of brf; 
 and the feet of clay where I had fondly belie v; 
 that all was sterling ore. And now blame n, 
 if you can, and dare." 
 
 " Sybil, you sport with my affection ; y, 
 wrong my nature ; you compel me to plaji 
 part unworthy alike of you and of myselt j 
 can no more live without your love lieucefori 
 than witliout the air I breathe, or the ea'i 
 upon which I tread. Be generous, Sybil, i 
 yourself; and do not sacrifice an affection 1,' 
 mine to a mere overstrained idea of digni 
 You have yourself read tlie character of 
 mother as though you had known her fr,i 
 your childhood, and thus you cannot feel fj- 
 prise at her determination. You can have .• 
 thing to conceal, notliing to repent ; and ^ 
 you coldly condemn me to pay the penaltj'f 
 another's error." _ |^ 
 
 " Place yourself for an instant in my positi( * 
 said Miss Delamere, as the large tears fell si '^ 
 ly upon her cheeks. "What has been my <•- 
 duct since my arrival in your neighborno;? 
 Have I not borne myself like one conscioii'f 
 her own character and station? And w(;(I 
 you ask me to submit to a degradation fit g 
 only for a person whose antecedents had l^i 
 suspicious, or at least, suspected? Am I 'J 
 living \mder the roof witli my own motl'i 
 Do we not possess all the habits and attrib."* 
 of gentlewomen ? And is it because a 1ov:M 
 retirement has induced us to select a sechid 
 corner of the kingdom as our temporary_h<e, 
 that I am to be insulted by doubts injurioi.» 
 my honor?" ^ ' 
 
 Sybil, dear Sybil ! believe me " : 
 
 Frederic, I do believe you! Would tl 1 
 had less easily been won to do so ; but rei » 
 are now alike 'idle and unavailing. I will 211 
 confess that our estrangement will cause » 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 4S 
 
 pang : but it shall be borne ; and, to return 
 [mce more to Ca;sar for a parallel, I will hide 
 ny head in my mantle, and none shall look up- 
 m the strugi^le." 
 
 Large drops of emotion stood upon the brow 
 )f Mortimer as he listened ; and when, as if to 
 •ender the image more complete, Miss Dclamere 
 juried her face amid the cushions of the sofa, 
 ind her quick sobs fell iipon his ear, he forgot 
 ill save the syren by whom his very spirit was 
 imtbralled ; and casting himself at her feet he 
 Irowed that no earthly power should part them. 
 jrVhat was to him home, parent, or the world's 
 mile ? She was his home, and his world ; and 
 [ill beside her image was blotted out and anni- 
 'lilated. He covered her hand with burning 
 kisses ; he besought her to have pity upon his 
 gony ; he addressed her by all the endeariug 
 ames which love lends to the lips of his vota- 
 ies ; he entreated only for one word, one smile ; 
 ut for a time Sybil was obdurate. Her pride 
 ad been stung ; and she misdoubted the moral 
 oarage of the passionate but unstable suitor 
 'horn her beauty had won ; nor was it until 
 le agitation of Mortimer had reached its climax 
 lat she again raised her head, and parting the 
 ucuriant hair which clustered about his brow, 
 azed upon him with a sorrowful tendei-ness 
 lore eloquent than even his own impassioned 
 rords. 
 
 There was hope, however, in that look, and 
 rederic sprung from her feet, and clasped her 
 I his arms, exclaiming : " You are mine, Sybil 
 Deny it not, you are mine ! I read it in your 
 res. 'Ton will forget all save my affection, 
 y life shall be one long devotion to your will, 
 le long struggle to secure your happiness. 
 ou know not, you cannot know, how earnestly 
 love you !" 
 
 He too, told me all this," murmured Miss 
 elamere, as slie suffered her beautiful head to 
 rop upon the shoulder of her impetuous suitor, 
 and yet he failed me in the hour of trial." 
 " Because he was a coward and a madman," 
 id Frederic tenderly; " Because he knew not 
 id could not estimate the treasure which he 
 mg from him. Why dwell upon the past, with 
 ich a present and such a future, to engage your 
 loughts ?" 
 
 "Aiad yet he knew me in my bright girlhood," 
 
 irsued Miss Delamere in the same subdued 
 
 ■'"; ; " every action of my life ; every thought 
 
 iiv heart. The wild and perhaps absurd am- 
 
 •iri, of being loved only for my own sake, 
 
 1 not yet entered my mind ; I was content to 
 
 or at least to seem, as others were, the mere 
 
 vorite of fortune and of the world; and he 
 
 et me in its sunniest paths, in the full glow 
 
 youth and triumph. How then can I trust 
 
 ;ainr 
 
 " The more readily, because it was only thus 
 kAew you, my sweet Sybil," replied her eom- 
 nion earne3tlJ^ ' " Had he seen you, as I have 
 ne, in your home, of which you are at once 
 e blessing and the charm, I should have lost 
 e richest prize that ever fell to the lot of man. 
 )u have now, indeed, explained to me all that 
 IS hitherto incomprehensible. Tell me only 
 if you no longer love him ; I care not to know 
 ■J he is; nay, I should shrink from such a I 
 
 knowledge, lest I should, even now, and hoi-o 
 sully the pure joy of my spirit by a curs.c. Only 
 assure me that you no longer love him, and \ 
 ask no more." 
 
 Lovely was the smile with which Miss Dela- 
 mere replied; for although her lips moved, no 
 sound escaped them. But Mortimer was satis- 
 fied; such a smile could beam only upon the 
 one beloved ; and as he gazed upon the beauti- 
 ful face that was upturned to his own, he would 
 not have exchanged his dream of happiness for 
 the most glowing certainty of " waking bliss." 
 
 For a few moments they remained gazing 
 steadfastly at each other ; but at length, en- 
 couraged by the expression of his mistress's 
 countenance, Frederic ventured to draw her 
 more closely to him, and to touch her cheek 
 with his lips. He was not rebuked, although 
 she instantly withdrew herself from his clasp ; 
 and the measure of his joy was full. 
 
 " And now, Sybil, my own Sybil," he whis- 
 pered, " let us talk only of ourselves — think only 
 of ourselves ; of the long years of bliss wliich 
 await us, and of our bright prospects for the 
 future." 
 
 " Without one reference to the past ?" 
 
 " What have we to do with the past ?" was 
 the eager rejoinder ; " For me it is for ever 
 annihilated." 
 
 " And have you no curiosity — none — to solve 
 the mighty mystery which was to be to us what 
 the wall was to Pyramus and Thisbe ?" 
 
 " None ; till you care to make it known." 
 
 " It shall be then, the first trial of your 
 truth," laughed Miss Delamere ; " only pledg- 
 ing myself that you shall one day learn all that 
 I have to tell, and warning you that it will 
 scarcely repay you for the hearing, so infinitely 
 small will be the amount of the revelation. 
 But I will not wrong your generosity by volun- 
 teering an autobiography at this precise mo- 
 ment, lest you should suspect that I doubt your 
 faith. Moreover, I shall love to play the co- 
 quette for once ; and by piquing your curiosity, 
 to keep up your interest in my unworthy self. 
 How know you but I may be after all, a mere 
 igiiis fatuus, a wandering light, an impalpable 
 form; and that, like Ixion, when you seek to 
 embrace your mistress, you may one day clasp 
 a cloud?" 
 
 The reply of Frederic convinced her that ho 
 was at least satisfied the illusion was not yet 
 dispelled ; and more fascinated than ever by 
 the aff"ectionate and endearing gentleness of 
 his beautiful betrothed, he forgot all the dif- 
 ficulties and annoyances by which he Avas sur- 
 roimded, to resign himself wholly to the spell 
 of her fascinations. Tlie dressing-bell rang 
 unheeded ; sufficiently adorned by the sub- 
 dued happiness which was betrayed in her 
 every look and gesture, Sybil felt that she 
 required no added charm in the eyes of her 
 lover ; and it was only when a second sum- 
 mons in the dining-room reached them through 
 a servant, that she hastily wreathed a few 
 flowers from a jardiniere in her luxuriant hair, 
 and offered her hand to Mortimer to lead her 
 from the saloon. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES, 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 The convalescence of Gertrude ■was slow, but 
 certain. Her youth, and the gentle and uncom- 
 plaining patience with which she supported her 
 Buffering, proved to be efficient physicians ; 
 while their eflfects were strengthened by the 
 deep and silent delight with which she re- 
 marked the affectionate anxiety and. sympathy 
 of her cousin. 
 
 She was no sooner able to leave her room 
 than Frederic, whose conscience was not alto- 
 getlier at ease as regarded the origin of her in- 
 disposition, passed hours each day at her side ; 
 reading aloud from her favorite authors, or con- 
 versing on topics of general interest, calculated 
 to amuse without exciting her. 
 
 Willingly, most willinglj-, would she thus 
 have worn out her life. It seemed as though 
 the one sweet di'cam of her childhood were 
 indeed realised ; nor would she trust herself 
 to look either backward into the past, or for- 
 ward into the future. The present was all in 
 all to her ; and as she saw her cousin move 
 noiselessly to her sofa, and felt her hand in his, 
 and watched all the little arrangements with 
 which he busied himself for her comfort, tears 
 of blissful gratitude rose to her eyes, and she 
 forgot all her previous trials. 
 
 Kor was Mrs. Mortimer less happy than her- 
 self. Unconscious of the decisive interview of 
 her son with Sybil, she too, began to hope that 
 older and better feelings were resuming their 
 influence over his heart; and that a mere pass- 
 ing fancy had yielded beneath a sense of her 
 disapprobation and of his own folly. Nor did 
 even his daily absences from home shake this 
 belief; for she was reasonable enough to feel 
 that, after his extreme intimacy at The Grange, 
 he could not, consistently with a proper obser- 
 vance of courtesy and honor, at once withdraw 
 himself from the society of Mrs. Delamere and 
 her daughter ; while that he could constantly 
 pass hours in intimate companionship with Ger- 
 ti'ude, whose pure and etherial beauty was but 
 the tangible and palpable reflection of her 
 equally pure and beautiful nature, and remain 
 insensible to the charm, appeared to her im- 
 possible ; and the rather that, in the languor 
 and helplessness of convalescence, the grateful 
 girl had in a great measure laid a3ide the studied 
 reserve which she had hitherto observed, and 
 Buffered her cousin to read the depths of her 
 young and guileless heart. 
 
 Little did either of them suspect that there 
 was a moral bandage before the eyes of Frede- 
 ric, whicli rendered him blind to the perfections 
 of every object save one ; and that the kindlj- 
 attentions which had been originally the mere 
 impulse of pity and brotherly regard, had in- 
 ci'eased and continued under the deeply felt, 
 although unconscious, happiness induced by the 
 restored affection of his mother. 
 
 It is probable that, had Sybil endeavored to 
 dissuade him from his constant attendance in 
 the sick room he might have been led to con- 
 ti-ast her egotism with the unselfish generosity 
 of lier rival; but far from indulging in so dan- 
 gerous a weakness. Miss Delamere encouraged 
 Lim in his la-bor of love ; while Bcoi-cely a day 1 
 
 passed in which some offering did not reach th« 
 mvalid from the ladies at The Grange, accon> 
 panied by the kindliest expressions of anxiety 
 and sympathy. 
 
 Of these offerings, however, Frederic was 
 never made the medium ; sometimes they wew 
 conveyed by a servant, while at othei-s the pon\'- 
 phaeton, driven by its fair mistress, deposited 
 at the door of Mrs. Mortimer the rarest floweis 
 from her conservatory, the newest work from 
 the press, or the choicest fruits of the season. 
 
 For a time Gertmde had felt querulous and 
 irritated when these presents were laid before 
 her ; she shrank from obligations conferred by 
 Miss Delamere, and would willingly have for- 
 gotten her existence; but her attentions wei« 
 so pertinacious, so gracefully tendered, and so 
 judicious, that she ultimately became reconciled, 
 and looked even with pleasure upon the gor- 
 geous blossoms which made a mimic summer in 
 her shady room ; or listened to the brilliant and 
 well selected pages to which the low and ear 
 nest tones of her cousin lent an added chaim 
 until she forgot that she owed their enjoymeoi 
 to the considerate kindness of Sybil. 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer was, however, far from doinf, 
 the same. Unable, -without compromising he:! 
 own dignity, to refuse these diurnal civilitia( 
 she suffered them in silence, but not the les- 
 deprecated the diligence and perseverance witll 
 which they were tendered. She would fai; 
 have terminated at once, and for ever, all cotti 
 munication with The Grange and its inhabitants; 
 but she felt that she had no means of so doin | 
 without exposing her apprehensions, and thi; 
 placing herself at the mercy of Sybil's ea-; 
 casms. I 
 
 Could she, for a moment, have suspected thi; 
 she was already pledged to her son, all her hes' 
 tation would have vanished under a sense of hi 
 ter displeasure ; but Miss Delamere had herse 
 suggested that there would be an indelicacy 
 making known their engagement during the co 
 valescence of Gerti-ude ; and Frederic, delight), 
 thus to escape, even for a brief interval, the ii 
 proaches of his mother and the grief of his couf; 
 — for he could no longer deceive himself as , 
 the nature of her feelings towards him — ma' 
 no effort to combat her opinion. ! 
 
 Gradually, however, as Gertrude regain, 
 strength, his attentions relaxed. His devoti 
 to her comfort became less marked, and his i' 
 sences from home alike more frequent and ni< 
 prolonged. It is true, that while beside her 
 was still kind, and gentle, and affectionate; b 
 it was soon apparent to the poor invalid that ; 
 was indebted to the regard of the cousin, (>'■ 
 not to the zeal of the lover. SuftVring had, b(; 
 ever, calmed her mind, and weakened, althoi' 
 by no means conquered her feelings ; and as ;• 
 slowly overcame her malady, a deep and i- 
 complaining melancholy replaced tne gir » 
 buoyancy which had once marked her charac . 
 
 The abstracted look, the frequent fit* of • 
 sence, and, above all, the smile of release wl i 
 Frederic had not tact enough to conceal a.- • 
 parted from her, siifficed to convince her that e 
 imaginary paradise in which she had lived f » 
 few weeks must soon^ive place to a less gl,'* 
 ing reality; and she bi-aced up Tier strengtl • 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 hppovt the change as resolutely as she could, 
 rhe idea that by her, and through her, discord 
 Hiould come bet-«'ecu t)\e mother and the son, 
 lent her a factitious energy, incomprehensible 
 Wen to herself; and often, very often, did she 
 lucceed in meeting her anxious aunt with a 
 Imile upon her lips, when her heart was deluged 
 In tears. 
 
 ' Thus were things situated when a contagious 
 kver was introduced into Westrum by a travel- 
 'jr, which spread rapidly among the poor, and 
 ^'ated universal consternation. The native 
 Jiaritv of Mrs. Mortimer was not, however, to 
 je ehiUed by any personal apprehension ; and 
 felus, despite' the entreaties of her family, she 
 jontinued with undiminished assiduity her pe- 
 lodical visits to her numerous pensioners ; and, 
 ir a time, their fears continued to appear su- 
 U-fluous : when, urged by a desire to render 
 le advantage obtained, as she supposed, by her 
 iece over a dangerous rival more assured, she 
 a sooner saw Gertrude sufliciently restored to 
 inder such a proceeding safe, than, affecting 
 \ believe that she required to be aroused from 
 le moral lethargy consequent upon a long and 
 lervating indisposition, she resolved to collect 
 jout her the friends by whom she was surround- 
 l: and, by making her house more attractive, 
 obtain at once the twofold advantage of 
 Qusing her son in his home, and of affording to 
 T niece an opportunity of displaying the per- 
 nal attractions and mental qualifications with 
 hich she was so richly gifted. 
 Those friends were "by no means numerous, 
 it they were well selected ; for Mrs. Mortimer 
 ■eferred solitude to that species of social pis 
 «er, which tends to fill the drawing-rooms of 
 B8 fastidious party-givers ; and thus, Dr. Jervis, 
 e vicar, and his estimable wife, the local phy- 
 :ian and his two well educated daiighters, and 
 e (amiUes of the neighborhood, few, but well- 
 ed, constituted the whole of her circle. 
 One only objection offered itself to this ar- 
 ' ngement, and that one existed in the impos- 
 (ility of excluding from her hospitality the la- 
 iJsatThe Grange. Well aware of the caque- 
 7e of a country town, and fettered, moreover, 
 1 the unceasing attentions of Sybil to her niece, 
 '.•%. Mortimer at once felt the utter impractica- 
 1 ity of passing them over ; but less far sighted 
 ' in Gertrude, she had taught herself to believe 
 ' It the danger which she apprehended was now 
 
 Sirpast ; and it was consequently with less re- 
 tance than she would formerly have felt, that 
 despatched a note of invitation, which was 
 itaediately and most graciously answered. 
 Nor was the delusion of the fond mother by 
 m means extraordinary ; for superadded to the 
 H that she was familiar with all the estimable 
 (jalities of her niece, and knew how to appre- 
 <itc at its just value the whole amount of her 
 ifrth, it was no less certain that, to the eye of 
 lii.sinterested critic, the beauty of Gertrude far , 
 Ascended that of Miss Delamere, radiant as it 
 ^ ; although it required more mind to appre- 
 •^e trie oie than the other in a more common 
 Cfcerver. 
 
 SMie pnre and Grecian profile of Gertrude, 
 Itlessly chiselled; her deep and expressive 
 9 eyes, with their long laahes at least threo 
 
 43 
 
 shades darker than her hair; her radiant conv 
 plexion ; and the redundant tresses of a golden 
 auburn, which fell in magnificent profusion to 
 her shoulders; all combined to invest her with 
 a soft and ethereal expression which almosi 
 amounted to the ideal ; and to give an essentially 
 womanlj'^ character to her loveliness, Avhicn 
 spoke rather to the heart than to the eye ; while 
 her slight and fragile figure, pliable as the 
 willow, and as graceful in its undulations, waa 
 so well assorted to her face, that it was impos- 
 sible to look upon her without interest and af 
 fection ; while the attraction of Miss Delamei^ 
 existed rather in the rich and voluptuous im- 
 pression produced by her whole nppearancfl 
 than by the perfection of any particular feature. 
 
 Very beaiitiful, indeed, she was ; but the artis- 
 tic critic would have declared that she charmed 
 rather by her general demeanor than by positive 
 and regular outline or coloring. Tliere was a 
 tinge of fearlessness, a shade of self-appreciation, 
 a degree of boldness, in the ordinary expression 
 of her fine black eyes, which, nevertheless, at 
 particular moments, veiled themselves so deli- 
 ciously, that tliose to whom their softened 
 glances were directed appreciated them the 
 more deeply from the contrast — upon the prin- 
 ciple that no woman dislikes a coxcomb, who 
 throws off his coxcombry for her alone. Her 
 rich complexion was alone, it might be, a shado 
 too glowing for a fastidious taste, but it diffused 
 so wonderful an animation over her whole coun- 
 tenance, that it was scarcely possible to wish it 
 less brilliant, while the extraordinary beauty of 
 her mouth, and the magnificent teeth revealed 
 at every smile, combined with the peculiar me- 
 lody of her low rich voice, completed a face of 
 no ordinary attraction. Her form was, more- 
 over, faultless; and, in gracefulness of motion 
 and manner, she did not yield even to her 
 gentler rival ; while in that self-possession and 
 ease which can only be acquired by a commerce 
 with refined society, she was greatly the supe- 
 rior of the more retiring Gertrude, who had 
 been reared in comparative seclusion. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mrs. Mortimer flattered herself 
 that after a time the quiet graces of her nieco 
 would entirely wean the heart of Frederic from 
 the more artificial fascination of Miss Delamere ; 
 and that to produce this desirable result, he re- 
 quired only to see her in the society of other fe- 
 males of her own age, and to contrast her with 
 her associates. Herself gentle and domestic, she 
 could not appreciate the attraction which Sybil 
 derived from her superior knowledge of the 
 world, and strong in the hopes of success, slie 
 resolutely disregarded her own love of quiet 
 and retirement, and to the surprise of those 
 about her, declared her intention of no longer 
 withdrawing herself from the hospitable atl- 
 vances of her neighbors. In order the mor« 
 gracefully to effect her purpose, she had conse- 
 quently, resolved to open her own house, and 
 Gertrude although sensitively shrinking under 
 a feeling of the invidiousness of her own posi- 
 tion, meekly prepared to play her part in this 
 new trial. 
 
 The dinner passed off somewhat heavily ; fot 
 the art of dinner-giving is one of sufficient difH- 
 eulty, especially in a limited neighborhood. 
 
46 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAtTIES. 
 
 •where all the parties are intimately kno\rn to 
 each other ; but even liere the perfect tact of 
 Miss Delamere enabled her to infuse a certain 
 portion of animation into those about her. The 
 elderly gentlemen were enchanted with her in- 
 formation, and their wives with her urbanity ; 
 ■while the younger ladies were enraptured by 
 her elegant costume, and their brothers and cou- 
 eins captivated by her beauty. 
 
 Gertrude, meanwhile, in her simple dress of 
 white muslin, subdued in spirit, and oppressed 
 at heart, contributed to the general conversa- 
 tion only b}' monosyllables; and was effectually 
 thrown into the shade by her more brilliant ad- 
 versarj'. Tlie languor of illness lent, indeed, a 
 deeper charm to her beauty, but it was one little 
 calculated to attract the mere pleasure-seekers 
 by whom she was surrounded ; while the only 
 eye which she sought to see turned upon her in 
 affection, was rivetted almost incessantly upon 
 the beaming countenance of another. 
 
 As the ladies rose from table Mrs. Mortimer 
 felt painfidh' conscious that her object had failed, 
 and that she had but afforded to Sybil a fresh 
 opportunity of evincing the extent of her social 
 talents ; nevertheless, she still hoped against 
 hope ; and when, on reaching the drawing-room, 
 she saw her dreaded guest, after having, with 
 almost child-like anxiety, provided for the per- 
 fect comfort of her mother, (whose constitu- 
 tional helplessness continually rendered her de- 
 pendant upon others even in her most trivial 
 aiTangements:) move to the side of her niece, 
 and take her hand with an expression of anxious 
 sympathy, her heart once more swelled, as she 
 decided that nothing could be comparable to 
 the pure beauty of the pale girl who formed so 
 strong a contrast with the matured and (as her 
 prejudice impelled her to add) meretricious wo- 
 man of the world, who was, even then smiling 
 over the ruin which had been her own work. 
 
 But while Mrs. ilortimer so judged, the reason 
 of Gertrude was differently impressed. She felt 
 and acknowledged all the superiority of her en- 
 forced companion ; nor did the fact that since 
 the first moment of her arrival she had been 
 enable to detect even a glance directed towards 
 Frederic, which implied a sense of conscious 
 triumph or security, jealously as she had watch- 
 ed for such, undeceived her as to the power 
 which she possessed over his mind and feelings. 
 
 Moreover, Miss Mortimer had not been blind 
 to the circumstance tluit her aunt owed to Sybil 
 all the cheerfulness of the son^ewhat tedious re- 
 past which liad just terminated ; while she was 
 equally willing to admit the amiability by which 
 it had been succeeded ; forming, as' it did, so 
 startling a reverse to the bearing of many a bril- 
 liant female conversationalist, who, on rising 
 from table, suddenly throws aside all her en- 
 ergy ; and retiring, while surrounded merely 
 by lier own sex, to a solitary faideuil, or a dis- 
 tant sofa, closes her eyes in languid weariness, 
 and awaits the return of the gentlemen t« re- 
 new her triumphs. 
 
 In Sybil nothing had been overstrained ; noth- 
 ing obtrusive. Her rich voice, and her low 
 melodious laughter, had alike made music in the 
 circle ; but she had never appeared to tliink of 
 herself, while exerting her powers to amuse 
 
 others ; nor did her smiles cease, or effort* to 
 afford pleasure terminate, with the presence of 
 the most interested of her auditors. 
 
 Surrounded only by the ladies of the party, 
 her looks were as bright, and her words as 
 bland as ever ; and seated beside Gertrude, with 
 the hand Avhieh she had secured clasped in her 
 own, no shadow of ennui could be detected, as 
 she murmured out a thousand expressions of 
 sympathy and regard. 
 
 " You have, indeed, been a sad sufferer, my 
 dear Mi.ss Mortimer," she said caressingl}*; "and 
 you make me truly happy by the assurance that 
 I was able, in a degree, however slight, to render 
 your convalescence less drearj-. Happilj-, liow- 
 ever, it is now at its close ; and you must really 
 take more care of your health in future." 
 
 In spite of her efforts to suppress it, the sigh 
 of Gertrude was audible to her listener. 
 
 " I fear also," said Sybil in a still lower tone; 
 " that you are unhappy. You have not j-et bad 
 time, like myself, to acquire the most useful of ' 
 all philosophy which almost defies fate. Kay, 
 why that blush ? Beautiful as it is, it seems to 
 rebuke my indiscretion ; but, believe me, I was 
 far from seeking to give you pain, conscious a* 
 I am that whatever may be the cause of your 
 present melancholy it is free from self-reproach." 
 
 " You do me no more than justice," said Ger- : 
 trude, raising her ej-es meekly to those of her ; 
 interlocutor. " Sad I may be — Perhaps long ; 
 illness necessarily induces depression; but my; 
 life has been an open volume of which the pages 
 were free to all about me; and as yet I have 
 met blame from no one." 
 
 Tlie reply had been simple and guileless, for' 
 no thought of repajing by sarcasm the courtesy 
 of her visitor had crossed the mind of Mis* 
 Mortimer as it was made ; but, nevertheless, il 
 was now Sybil's turn to blush ; and the elo- 
 quent blood" mantled over her brow and bosora, 
 and burnt there for an instant, as she fixed a 
 searching look upon the pale girl beside her. 
 A moment sufficed, however, to convince hei, 
 that no covert meaning had been implied, anr 
 she at once regained her self-possession. 
 
 " And do you equally attach blame to n< 
 one ?" asked Miss Delamere, at the close o; 
 this scrutiny ; " Rest assured, that if any vh* 
 know you have brought that shadow to you 
 brow, X)ne reproach from your gentle lips wil* 
 suffice to make them retract their fault." 
 
 " I have no reproach to utter," said Gertrud 
 somewhat coldly ; "Nothing to resent; nothin 
 to wish." 
 
 " Naj', then," laughed her companion; "yo; 
 resemble the hero of the Eastern tale, who? 
 curse was the power of fulfilling every desire 
 and who died the victim of his own morj; 
 satiety. But do not think to deceive me thu, 
 Look upon me as a fiiend — a sincere fnen< 
 Appearances are against me, I admit; but I c 
 not on that account despair that you will do ir 
 justice. Gertrude," she continued, lowerii: 
 her voice to a still deeper murnuir; " I kno 
 too well the cause of that pallor, and of tho. 
 tears which are even now glistening in yo' 
 eyes ; but you wrong me greatly if you rcga' 
 me as other than their innocent and involunta: 
 cause. Nay, more " 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 47 
 
 '•Oh, no! enough, enough!" gasped her Hs- 
 rner; " I will not affect to misuuderstnnd your 
 iferenee; and it refers to a subject which never 
 m, and never ought, to be discussed between 
 Is. I can well conceive that Frederic — that 
 ly cousin — had yielded to tlie wishes of lus 
 lother, and consented to sacrifice his iuclina- 
 ons to her will; but I cannot condescend to 
 e made the pis aller of a disappointed passion, 
 or to owe a reluctant heart to the suggestive 
 
 Irotection of " 
 
 " Why do you pause, Miss Mortimer ?" asked 
 bil calmly ; " Of a rival, you would say ; and 
 erliaps in the eye of the world I may appear 
 I such ; but to yourself such rivalry must 
 em impossible, or at best irrational ; for to 
 e it appears a folly too wild to be entei-tained 
 /ea for an instant. The ice is now broken, 
 lid you must suffer me to speak. It is true 
 jiat at the present moment your unstable 
 Lsin believes that he loves me. But why ? 
 'ecause you received his attentions coldly, 
 id repelled all his advances; while his vanity 
 'und the consolation that it sought in my 
 iiendship ; which I yielded the more readily 
 |iat I looked upon him as a man no longer free 
 j- offer more in return. Am I now excused ?" 
 " Will you pardon me if I remind you of the 
 ■ench proverb Avhich says that ' qui s'e.rcuse, 
 iceuse' Miss Delamere ?" asked the tortured 
 rl with sudden energy : " I have never yet 
 Imitted an attachment to my cousin — never 
 irmitted myself a remai-k upon his intimacy 
 The Grange — never uttered your name as 
 at of one by whom I had been injured ; 
 
 id thus " 
 
 " Tlius you would reproach me tacitly with 
 e impertinence of my inferences ; but, my 
 :ar Miss Mortimer, such sophistry is unworthy 
 you, and I will also say of myself," replied 
 i-bil with dignity. " For the first and last 
 ne I am now forcing upon you a subject most 
 teresting to us both ; and indeed you must 
 lav me out, if it be only for your own sake." 
 Gertrude dropped her eyelids heavily to sup- 
 ess the tea>'8 thai were struggling to escape; 
 id resigned herself to silent endurance. 
 _" Consider our relative positions," pursued 
 iss Delamere ; " and you will at once admit 
 e justice of my arguments, and cease to look 
 >on me as an enemy. I believe that I am not 
 ithout vanity — my woman-nature is powerful 
 ough to assert its rights ; but I am neverthe- 
 B sufficiently rational to understand that 
 J comparison between you and myself must 
 nd to my own disadvantage. You look in- 
 edulous ; but while so doing you have for- 
 tten our respective ages ; — the bloom and 
 jshness of eighteen — that beaute du (liable, as a 
 ■ench wit has termed it — which is the true 
 ory of our sex, its brightest as well as its most 
 anescent charm, is still your own ; while for 
 i it is now over. Each day adds something 
 your attractions, while it withdraws a shade 
 •>m mine. To you dress is a mere pastime ; to 
 5 it has become a study, — while, as regards 
 'f ntal and moral qualifica"tions, I know enough 
 '! life, and above all, of men, to be quite aware 
 lat they prefer a scholar to a tutor ; and there- 
 '"£, when looking upon my experience in this 
 
 light, I am aware that it is purely a defect. 
 Still — and herein at least even you, my dear 
 Miss Mortimer, will, I am sure, give me credit 
 for my frankness — I admit fully and freely that 
 your own coldness has induced your cousin to 
 prefer my society, and even to attach himself to 
 my person. But in this, believe me when I as- 
 sure you, that I have been in no way to blame. 
 I have told him, not once but many times, that 
 for personal and private reasons I had decided 
 never to marry ; and this not lightly and co- 
 quettishly, but in sober and honest sincerity 
 and truth. If I have failed to obtain credence *' 
 for such assertions, it has been througli no fault 
 of mine ; and I have now compelled mjself to 
 intrude this subject upon you simply to redeem 
 mj'self in your eyes ; and to assure you that, 
 even should the illusion last, it will suffice for 
 me to be convinced from your own lips that a 
 renewal of his addresses is necessary to your 
 happiness, for me at once and for ever to dis- 
 countenance his suit. No personal feeling shall 
 make me indulge my own interests to the 
 destruction of yours ; for far sooner would I 
 secure the approbation of my conscience in the 
 conviction that I had done my duty, than suc- 
 ceed in gratifying my wishes at the expense of 
 your peace." 
 
 " If I understand you rightlj^" replied Ger- 
 trude with forced composure ; " my cousin has 
 assured you of his affection ; and you have at 
 least conditionally consented to receive bis 
 homage. In such a case neither party is any 
 longer free. From my aunt you must be aware 
 tiiat you will experience great and resolute op- 
 position ; but that is a consideration for your- 
 self alone. As regards my own feelings, I beg 
 you to believe that, desiring only the happiness 
 of Frederic, it will be my greatest joy to see it 
 assured in any way. I advance no claim to an 
 affection which has never been mine ; nor have 
 I shared the delusion of my kind aunt, who saw 
 only what she desired. And now that we have 
 sufficiently discussed this topic, you must allow 
 me to make an effort to perform the duties of 
 hospitality to our other guests." 
 
 As Miss Mortimer ceased speaking, she rose 
 calmly and even proudly from her seat, and ap- 
 proached the music stand, where the daughtei-a 
 of Dr. Collins were examining the new ballads 
 which were profusely scattered on every side. 
 
 The remainder of the evening passed off tran- 
 q^uilly and pleasantly. Agreeable conversa- 
 tion, well executed music, and perfect harmony, 
 made the time run swiftly ; for none saw lower 
 than the surface ; nor could guess that aching 
 hearts were here, as elsewhere, disguised be- 
 neath smiling brows. And yet so it was ; Mrs. • 
 Mortimer had discovered, long ere her party 
 separated, that she had been buoyed up by falla- 
 cious hopes ; for that her son, in all that pleasant 
 circle, saw and heard only Sybil, whose brilliant 
 talents had constituted its main charm ; while 
 she had merely to glance occasionally towards 
 her niece to feel convinced that she was sustain- 
 ing a struggle but ill calculated to assist her con- 
 valescence. 
 
 It is true that she smiled as she conversed 
 with those about her, and even acceded with- 
 out difficulty to the proposal of Sybil, that she 
 
THE RIVAL BEAOTIES. 
 
 ould accompany her in a duet well suited to 
 splay the finished execution of both parties; 
 id all this apparently without an effort; but 
 e anxious eyes of her fond protectress were 
 it to be deceived. Well aware that the eoun- 
 nance of Gertrude was a faithful index of her 
 elings, she readily comprehended the sudden 
 pses into niclaiiclioly and depression, against 
 hich the unhappy girl waged so unsuccessful 
 wafare, and from which she started only to 
 Feet a gaiety that was foreign to her heart. 
 Ignorant of the conversation which had taken 
 ace between her niece and Miss Delamcre, and 
 jrstified by the calm and unpretending carriage 
 the latter, whom no attention of Frederic, 
 iwever marked, could betray into the slightest 
 hibition of unwomanly triumph, she felt vex- 
 . and disheartened; and it was with a feeling 
 intense relief that she heard the carriages 
 her several guests successively announced, 
 d received their parting compliments. 
 The last to quit the room was Mrs. Delamere 
 d her daughter; the elder lady having dis- 
 vered an absorbing source of interest in the 
 rangement of a set of Chinese puzzles, then 
 most unknown in England, and which had 
 en a travelling present from Mortimer to his 
 usin. Nor was it until Gertrude had begged 
 r to carry off her now treasure to The Grange, 
 at she at' length reluctantly passed her arm 
 rough that of Frederic, and prepared to take 
 r leave. 
 
 " We part friends, good friends, do we not, 
 y dear Miss Mortimer ?" murmured Sybil 
 ide, as her mother was engaged, with the as- 
 itance of her host and hostess, in folding shawl 
 ter shawl about her. " You retain no anger 
 :ainst me ? No suspicion of my loyaltj' ?" 
 " Why distress either me or yourself by such a 
 lestion ?" asked Gertrude evasively, in her turn. 
 " Because I do not think that you do me jus- 
 !e. My proceeding to-night, for example, has 
 irtled you. Any one save myself would have 
 rnnk from it; but I spurn all such coAvardly 
 ,d vulgar notions of expediency, and based as 
 ey are upon false principles. Besides, my con- 
 icnce would have reproached me had I not 
 mkly and openly afforded to you an opportu- 
 ty of disclosing your real feelings and senti- 
 ents. You have now done so, and I thank 
 )u ; for there is nothing which I so much 
 ■ead as the reproaches of my own reason, 
 ad now good-bye ; let me soon see a bloom 
 )on that fair face, for it is sadly pale to-night, 
 id makes my heart ache." 
 
 Tiieii elasplng the small hand which was in 
 lurtesy extended to her. Miss Delamere bowed 
 smiling farewell to her wearied hostess, and 
 woiiipanied her mother to the carriage. 
 " To-morrow !" she whispered softly, as Mor- 
 mer assisted her to her seat; and in another 
 omeiit the gates closed behind her. 
 
 ClIAPTEIi XV. 
 
 TiiK night was calm and still; the moonlight 
 y clear and bright upon the lawn, and tipped 
 le treefl with silver ; aud all was pcaco over 
 
 both earth and sky, as Gertrude, after dismiss 
 ing her attendant, extinguished the lights upon 
 her toilette, and threw back the easement to 
 steep her burning forohead in the fresh breeze 
 that came, laden with perfume, from the bk>»- 
 som-teeming garden. 
 
 That evening had been to her one of intenw 
 and agonizing struggle ; and never had she felt 
 so desolate as now. True, she had before both 
 understood and seen that Frederic was lost to 
 her, but she had at least never before willingly 
 and deliberately resigned him to another; never 
 before given to that other a right to consider 
 him as her own. The womanly pride which 
 had driven her to this alternative was now 
 prostrate ; and a thousand reflections, each 
 more bitter than the last, bowed her bruised 
 spirit to the very dust 
 
 That Sybil had been ungenerous, indelicate^ 
 and abrupt, she could not conceal from herself; 
 but had she not, in her turn, also betrayed a 
 weakness and want of self-possession wiiieh 
 almost authorized fhe impertinence to which 
 she had been subjected? Had she not wilfully 
 laid bare her heart to the merciless probing 
 beneath which it had writhed in torture, witl>- 
 out one effort to escape the infliction? And had 
 she not in order to spare her pride, armed her 
 adversary with weapons to be turned against 
 herself? 
 
 How she despised the hollow gaiety which 
 for hours she had assumed ? How she detested 
 the hypocrisy which had taught her to belie 
 her best and holiest feelings! And how sho 
 shuddered as she remembered that the die waa 
 indeed now cast ! In short, Gertrude was mis- 
 erable; her heart was wrung, and her spirit 
 crushed. Even hopeless as her attachment had 
 long been, she still loved Frederic with an in- 
 tensity so deep and absorbing, that he was tlie 
 centre of all her thoughts; and she had dwelt 
 so fondly upon that one image, that the impre»> 
 sion had become indelible. It was not pas- 
 sion with which she regarded him; but tha 
 pure and gentle aflection which, although warm 
 and intense, was yet veiled and subdued by_tb« 
 natural reserve of a modest aud well organicei 
 mind. 
 
 Thus, as she reflected upon her conversation 
 with Miss Delamere, she felt much as the drowi>- 
 ing mariner may be supposed to feel, who, aft«r 
 flinging from him the last floating spar which 
 might have assisted to buoy him up, in order to 
 trust to his own unaided strength, suddenly 
 hears the water singing in his ears, and feels it 
 mounting to his lips, as he discovers that be i« 
 unable longer to sustain himself. 
 
 Far dift'erent were the solitary reflections of 
 Sybil; as she, too. at that still hour, breathed 
 the soft air which entered at her open window, 
 and passed in mental review the oecurrcnees of 
 the evening. Ib'r large dark eyes were raised 
 to the calm sky which glittered with its myriad 
 worlds of mysterious light, and her head was 
 pillowed upon her hand; while her long and 
 luxuriant hair from which she had detached its 
 
 wreath of 
 
 pomegr 
 
 anate blossom, and the comba 
 
 by which it had been confined, fell in rich and 
 profuse masses almost to her feet, and undula^ 
 m the passing breeze. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 49 
 
 The scene vrould have been a fine subject for 
 the artist. In the very depth of the spacious 
 chamber stood a toilette-table of ebony, sur- 
 mounted by an immense mirror, mounted in the 
 ejime costly wood, and lighted by half-a-dozen 
 •wax candles in bi-anches of or-nudu. 
 
 Scattered over the table, and resting upon the 
 drapery of antique point by which it was cover- 
 ed, lay a profusion of gems, among which the 
 ci-imson garland had been flung, evidently in 
 careless haste ; and just within tbe "reflection of 
 tlie tapers gleamed out the white and delicate 
 draperies of the bed, whose muslin festoons fell 
 like a vapor over the hangings of pale pink silk, 
 or were looped back by heavy tassels of the 
 eame color and material. Just beyond, the light 
 touched, but only partially revealed, an exqui- 
 •ite statue of Silence, which occupied a small 
 recess ; and then a portion of the apartment 
 appeared in a species of twilight, which was 
 again invaded by the silvery beams of the moon ; 
 which, after falling upon the bending figure of 
 Sybil, cast her shadow far along the floor, re- 
 lieved by a framework of glittering radiance. 
 
 The heavy curtains had been drawn back from 
 the window ; and as she leaned there, absorbed 
 in thought, her features, with their varying ex- 
 pression, were distinctly visible in the clear cold 
 light. Her eye was dancing with triumph, and 
 a proud smile sat upon her lip. She had, that 
 evening, accomplished her master-stroke ; she 
 had, that evening, succeeded in her most diffi- 
 cult and delicate undertaking ; and she was now 
 enabled to declare to Mortimer thajb not only did 
 his cousin willingly resign his hand, but that she 
 I had never indulged a hope of his aft'ection, or a 
 desire to claim it. Thus, then, she should be 
 more than justified in the eyes of Frederic, and 
 might even become less distasteful in those of 
 Mrs. Mortimer herself. 
 
 But, suddenly, some unwelcome thought ob- 
 truded itself among these pleasant visions ; and 
 the brow of the lady darkened, and a shiver 
 passed over her frame, as though the night air 
 nad chilled her. The rich lips quivered for an 
 instant, and then became firmly compressed; 
 while the slender fingei's that were buried in 
 her hair, by a simultaneous impulse closed con- 
 Tulsively upon each other, as if to clutch some 
 object that was about to escape them. Her 
 breath labored in her throat, and a moisture 
 glittered in her eye ; but by a violent effort she 
 flung off the emotion, and a deep flush rose to 
 her cheek, that dried the incipient tear, and 
 seemed to endue her with fresh courage. She 
 raised her head and glanced around her, at first 
 haughtil}-, and with an expression of defiance ; 
 but her slow and lingei-ing survey was scarcely 
 ; completed, ere again brow and bosom became 
 blenched, and she clasped her hands together so 
 tightly that the blood appeared ready to spring 
 from beneath the nails, as she murmured almost 
 inaudibly — 
 
 •' It is too late to retrent ! — It is my last 
 diance I I have perilled my all upon the die ! — 
 I must succeed, or I am lost ^' 
 
 Then, closing the window impetuously, and 
 drawing before it the damask draperies to ex- 
 clude tbe moonlight, she hastened to extinguish 
 "&« tapers upon her table ; and ultimately flung 
 i 
 
 herself upon her bed in tbe darkness, still folded 
 in her dressing-gown, and enveloped in the 
 masses of her loose hair. It was clear that there 
 was no peace of heart in that sumjituous cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Gertrude, too, wearied at length of her reve- 
 ry; but it terminated far differently from that 
 of Sybil. At first, a feverish irritation had 
 rendered her unjust alike to herself and others; 
 then, a feeling of wretchedness and isolation had 
 wrung from her some of those bitter tears which 
 are known only in youth, and which are never 
 shed by the merely worldly and selfish, or eon^ 
 prehended by individuals of sturdy nerves, and 
 neutral emotions, who exact a tangible cause for . 
 every demonstration of feeling, and regard aa 
 folly every species of suffering which is merely 
 moral. 
 
 Alas! however unimportant in the eyes of 
 others may be the evils by which our miseries 
 are induced, they are by no means trifling iu 
 our own, when we are conscious of their result; 
 nor when the heart is wrung, can it suffer less 
 because the cause appears puerile to the world. 
 
 Those tears, nevertheless, calmed the agitation 
 of Gertrude ; and, aft«;r a time, she began to re- 
 flect upon the pledge which she had given to 
 Frederic, to assist his views with her aunt ; and 
 to reproach herself for her weakness in thua 
 yielding to her feelings, when every sigli of de- 
 jection on her part would increase the displea- 
 sure and determination of Mrs. Mortimer, and 
 I thus render his position more onerous. Meekly, 
 I therefore, she dried her eyes ; and, having made 
 ! her preparations for the night, knelt down be- 
 I side her bed to praj-, without one reiuiJant of 
 bitterness or resentment. 
 
 Thus was she still engaged when hasty steps 
 sounded upon the landing, und in another instant 
 some one tapped at the door. She hurriedly 
 rose from her knees, and drew back the bolt, 
 when she was met by the favorite maid of Mrs. 
 Mortimer, who implored her to hasten to the 
 room of her mistress, who had been taken alarm- 
 ingly ill. 
 
 Gertrude flew rather than ran to the chamber 
 of her aunt, whom she found partially supported 
 by pillows and gasping for breath. A deep red 
 spot was burning upon either cheek, and her 
 eyes were veiled by a thick mist, which, at in- 
 tervals, she endeavored to sweep away with her 
 fevered hand. In an instant, the unhappy girl 
 read the truth. Her affectionate protectivs's had 
 imbibed the fatal disease which was then ravag- 
 ing Westrum ; and the fever was already at its 
 height 
 
 " Where is Mr. Mortimer?" she gasped out, 
 almost inarticulate with terror; '-Where is Dr. 
 Collins?" 
 
 " My master is gone himself to fetch the doc- 
 tor, miss," was the reply ; " He left the house as 
 we awoke you." 
 
 With a throbbing heart the frightened Ger- 
 trude discovered at once that the disease by 
 which her aunt was attacked was one of the 
 most serious nature. Even during the few hours 
 which had intervened since they parted in the 
 drawing-room, the change in her appearance 
 was alarmingly visible. Her eyes were sunken 
 and glazed ; her respiration heavy and oppress- 
 
60 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ed; and the snrface of her skin dry and heated. 
 Nevertheless, the invalid endeavored, witli a 
 forced smile, to soothe and reassure the trem- 
 bling girl ; but it was with diffieulty that she 
 could articulate even the few words that she 
 addressed to hei-, or the confession that she had, 
 throughout the day, been conscious of a coming 
 indisposition. 
 
 On the arrival of Dr. Collins he pronounced 
 the presence of fever ; aggravated, as he believed, 
 by the recent exertions of his patient; but re- 
 commending simply some cooling remedies, and 
 perfect quiet, declined to give a decided opinion 
 upon the precise nature of the attack until his 
 next visit; aii<l then having seen an effervescing 
 draught administered, took his leave for the 
 night. 
 
 The cousins were, consequently, left to their 
 anxious watch ; and it was with dismay that 
 they traced the rapid progress of the evil. 
 Fearful fainting-fits were succeeded by perfect 
 helplessness and torpor; and to these again 
 supervened delirium. 
 
 Towanls dawn, however, the consciousness of 
 Mrs. Mortimer appeared to return ; her eyes 
 •were fixed alternately upon the affectionate 
 watchers beside her, and an expression of in- 
 tense love passed over her features. 
 
 Gertrude was the first to remark the happy 
 change ; and springing from her seat, she was 
 in an instant bending over the pillow of the 
 sufferer. 
 
 " Aunt ! my beloved aunt, speak to me!" she 
 exclaimed, clasping the scorching form of Mrs. 
 Mortimer in her arms ; " Can I do nothing to 
 relieve — nothing to ease you?" 
 
 A smile of gratified affection struggled upon 
 the lip of the invalid, but she had no longer the 
 power of utterance ; and it was with trembling 
 anxiety, and a painful foreboding of misfortune, 
 that Gertrude busied herself about the sick-bed 
 while awaiting the second advent of the physi- 
 cian. On his next appearance, although he 
 spoke cheerfully to the cousins, and bade them 
 rather seek to secure themselves from the pos- 
 sible chance of infection, than fear for his pn 
 sent patient, they were not deluded by his 
 words; for, familiar with the expression of his 
 countenance, they at once read there a greate 
 consciousness of danger than he was willing to 
 admit. 
 
 Any personal precaution was, however, far 
 from the thoughts of either ; their only care 
 was to forbid all entrance to visitors, and to 
 limit the attendance of the servants to the dress- 
 ing-room, reserving the actual cares of the sick- 
 chamber to themselves ; an arrangement which 
 was, nevertheh'ss, partially invaded by the at- 
 taelied attcndiint of tlie sTiffcrer, who, having 
 insisted upon her right to watch over her be- 
 loved lady, was reluctantly permitted to share 
 their vigils. This done, Mortimer retired for a 
 brief time to liis room; overcome with dread, 
 and it may be, with remoise, as he remembered 
 the unhappiness which he liad lately caused to 
 a fond mother, who might now ba snatched 
 from him for ever. Hurriedly he seized a pen, 
 and seating himself at his desk, he wrote a few 
 bcarcely legible lines t*) Sybil, to inform hei- of 
 the misfortune which had occurred, to forbid I 
 
 her approaching the house, and to implore her 
 not to venture mto Westrum before they again 
 met. 
 
 The letter was instantly dispatched ; and e» 
 changing his coat for a dressing-gown, he hasten- 
 ed back to the sick-chamber. As he entered, 
 Gertiude pressed her finger to her lip ; and on 
 bending over the bed, he saw that his mother 
 had fallen into an uneasy doze — the first inter- 
 val of comparative repose which she had ex- 
 perienced since the commencement of the attack. 
 
 As he was about to turn away he found hit 
 cousin at his side, and obeying the gesture of 
 her hand, he seated himself in a large chair, in 
 which she had alreadj' arranged the cushions, 
 evidently in the hope that he might also sleep; 
 jbut her affectionate solicitude did not avail ; his 
 iieart and mind were too full for slumber ; and 
 as he looked around upon the melancholy scene 
 before him, a thousand thoughts, and doubta, 
 and even regrets, crowded upon him ; whil« 
 every passing moment seemed to concentrate a 
 year of existence. 
 
 Nothing is more cheerless, nothing more de- 
 pressing, than the slow approach of daylight in 
 a sick room. The window of Mrs. Mortimer's 
 chamber had been thrown wide open, in obedi- 
 ence to the direction of Dr. Collins ; and as the 
 cold gray drawn began for the second time to 
 glimmer over the distant heights which shut ia 
 the coast, the night-lamp sickened into a pale 
 yellowish gleam ; and the wind as it swept 
 through the branches of a lofty acacia near the 
 house, moaned amid the leaves like a sjiirit of 
 desolation. 'Upon the bed, and covei-ed only by 
 a liglit coverlet, lay the extended form of the 
 sufferer ; her cheek burnt with fever, her eye« 
 dark and sunken, the pulses of her temples visi- 
 bly throbbing, and her fitful starts proclaiming 
 the unsatisfactory nature of her apparent slum- 
 ber. Near her stood a small table already laden 
 with phials, filled with divers colored liquid*, 
 and the thousand details which reveal the pre- 
 sence of illness; and beside her pillow sat Ger- 
 trude, pale it is true, but with a restlessness in 
 her ex|)ression and an eagerness in her eye, 
 which betrayed how tlioi'oiiglily her whole be- 
 ing was absorbed in the duties of her watch. 
 
 No tiiought of self, no sympathy even with 
 Frederic, occupied her at that hour. Her soul 
 hung upon the abstract question of life and 
 death which was so soon to be solved before her: 
 and as a few incoherent words were occasionally 
 uttered by the Tinconscious sufferer, she sank 
 from the chair to her knees, and listened breath- 
 lessly, lest she should lose one sound of that 
 cherished voice which might so soon be hushed 
 for ever. 
 
 Nor was Frederic less worthy than his cousin 
 to perform the filial duty to which he had bound ; 
 himself Pale and silent, he leaned back in hij 
 seat, gazing upon the convulsed featui-cs of liii 
 motlier, and starting painfully at every spasm 
 which shook lier tortured limbs, as though by 
 some electrical sympathy it passed over his own : 
 frame, or watching with helpless hope every 
 motion of Gertrude, as though he trusted in her • 
 power to solace and relieve the poor suffei'er, 
 while he felt his own uselessness. 
 
 No one thought, no one regret strayed to Sy 
 
 Bill] 
 
 lint it I 
 inlfr to 
 dM 
 kk 
 fJtk^ 
 ileoiicii 
 Kdpist 
 reoilj 
 ilitfrio 
 titparii 
 
 fctk 
 II tit 
 stsippi 
 ptitira; 
 tibi 
 i«5it!i 
 
 «a'«i 
 
 'i'm 
 
 Hi 4, 
 
THE RIVAL BKAUTIEa 
 
 61 
 
 hil, ftfi he sat there in that melancholy dawning 
 [le saw only, felt only for the mother who had 
 Ljoved him so tenderly, and whom he had re- 
 I'lently so ill requited. During his silent wateh 
 I had lie been offered her life in exchange of every 
 other earthly good, he would not have hesitated 
 for an instant to secure it. lie had deeply felt 
 :he loss of his fond father, but he had not seen 
 liiin, fading and failing before his eyes; this 
 was his tirst acquaintanceship with heavy sick- 
 ness, and he shuddered as he remembered how 
 few of those who had been tainted bj' the fever 
 which was now rioting in the veins of his mo- 
 ther, had escaped with life. 
 
 Strange that neither to the one nor the other 
 of these two devoted watchers came one reflec- 
 tion on the possibility of their own infection ! 
 Their sorrow was too sincere for selfishness, 
 there was no stage-effect in that sick-room ; no 
 striving at applause, no craving for the empty 
 praise of the idle and uninterested. Even at 
 this early period each felt a foreboding consci- 
 ousness that there was no hope, and tlieir sole 
 anxiety was to smoothe, in so far as human 
 means and human devotion could do so, her 
 passage to the grave who had so tenderly 
 plucked away the thorns from their own path 
 of life. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 Days passed over, days so long and so heavj- 
 that it seemed as though time had paused in 
 order to prolong the trial : and still Gertrude 
 and Fi'ederic watched unweariedly beside what 
 they knew to be the bed of death. jS'o tear es- 
 caped them during the brief and rare intervals 
 of consciousness which enabled the sufferer to 
 recognise and to acknowledge their devotion ; it 
 was only amid the fierce and fevered paroxysms 
 of delirium that they indulged themselves in an 
 outpouring of the anguish by which they were! 
 consumed, or suff-red themselves to be over-| 
 come and prostrated by the melancholy prospect' 
 before them. 
 
 At the terrible hour in which we trace the 
 sure approach of a cruel and irremediable se-i 
 paration : when a dear and holy bond is about 
 to be rent asunder, and we are called upon to 
 resign the affection and companionship which 
 have been made precious by years of pos- 
 Bession and sympathy, the world appears to 
 fade into nothingness, and all the hopes and 
 joys of our health and our prosperity seem to 
 crumble into ashes. Wfiat can life offer at such 
 I a moment which presents an apparent equiva- 
 llent for that which we are called upon to re- 
 Jeignf What has the empty future to tender, 
 save a vague and undefined hope, which vanish- 
 iesinto vapor before the choi-ished realities of 
 : the pastf How many memories assail us, which 
 I hod previously seemed to be blotted out, only 
 I to bring with them the torturing reflection, that 
 I at the expiration ofa few brief days, perhaps even 
 I ofa few brief hours, we shall be called upon to 
 resign forever the gaze of those loving cyoR, 
 and the clasp of that gentle hand, which hudi 
 
 been to us throughout life both happiness and 
 support? 
 
 And such were now the wretched reflections 
 of Gertrude and Frederic. Even the hopeful 
 words of their friendly physician had ceased to 
 greet them, during his frequent visits, nor did 
 the anxious cloud upon his brow tend to re- 
 assure their sinking spirits. Never absent for 
 an instant from the sick room, save when they 
 Bingly snatched a scant and hasty meal in the 
 adjoining chamber ; driven even into this mo- 
 mentary desertion of their charge by the ex- 
 press injunction of Dr. Collins, who strenuously 
 interdicted the useless and dangerous risk of 
 swallowing food in an infected atmosphere, 
 they became ere long careless and almost un- 
 conscious of all beyond the influence of their 
 own sorrow. 
 
 Ultimately, however, the increasing paleness " 
 and languor of his cousin struck Mortimer with 
 a new terror, and he anxiously implored her to 
 retire to her own apartment, were it merely 
 for an hour, in order to secure a less troubled 
 slumber than that which she had hitherto taken 
 upon her chair, but Gertrude only shook her 
 head with mournful resolution. 
 
 " No, no, dear Frederic," she murmxired ; " I 
 shall not long be called upon to watch, leave 
 me to my vigil. Am I not also her child ? And 
 would you deprive me of perhaps the last sor- 
 rowful, but still deep happiness that I may ever 
 know in this world ?" 
 
 And Mortimer, whose wretchedness would 
 have been almost intolerable had he been called 
 upon to endure it alone, could only press her 
 hand with aft'eetionate gratitude, and murmur 
 out his low-voiced but fervent thanks. 
 
 And so they sat side by side, for hours, listen- 
 ing to the meaningless words which at times fell 
 upon their ears, full of tenderness and anxiety, 
 and with which their names were constantly as- 
 sociated, or watching for a lucid interval in 
 which they might once more (fatch a glance of 
 recognition ; and whenever, for an instant, the 
 attention of Frederic strayed from his suffering 
 mother to his devoted cousin, he saw her with 
 her eyes eagerly and earnestly fixed upon the 
 convulsed features of her beloved protectress : 
 faint from weakness, but still strong in the 
 courage of her love. 
 
 How glorious is the apparent omniscience of 
 woman in a sick-room ! With the eye of the 
 heart she seems intuitively to discover every 
 want and with the ready hand of tenderness to 
 anticipate every wish. Her limbs never weary, 
 her eyes never droop, her step is light and noise- 
 less, and her voice low and soft. She has a 
 word of comfort for every murmur, a glance of 
 sympathy foi- every pang. And the secret of 
 her power lies in the fact, that in the presence 
 of suffering she flings off her own identity, and 
 totally forgetful of self, lives only in the pangs 
 of the helpless being whom she tends. 
 
 Thus it is that wome^ of real feeling mourn 
 longer and more deeply for those wliom tliey 
 have loved and lost than men ; who, being by 
 nature unfitted to the service of a eicki-ooni, 
 have fewer of those touching memories which 
 grow out of the last sad niomenf-s of coin]>animi- 
 ship; for even where they devote all their 
 
sa 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 energies to solace and to soothe the dying, they 
 are devoid of the nice perception which enables 
 a woman to see beyond the surface, and to hear 
 ■with the ear of the' spirit. 
 
 And so it was in the present instance. Fred- 
 eric was ever ready and active when his services 
 were claimed, but he could not, like Gertrude, 
 foresee the necessity of action. He guessed notj 
 when the pillow became uneasy to the aching j 
 head, nor when the parched lips needed the re-| 
 freshing moisture. At times, he overlooked, in 
 Lis own soriow, the precise moment at which 
 the sustaining draught should be administered, 
 or the position of the sufferer changed, but the 
 watchful perception of Gertrude never sluni- 
 bered, and he saw the wandering delight and 
 expression of relief which, even amid her pangs, 
 passed over the countenance of Mrs. Mortimer, 
 as the gentle tendance of the watchful girl freed 
 her from some unseen suffering. 
 
 All would have been comparatively easy to 
 Gertrude, had she not hour by hour, and day 
 by day, been compelled to feel that her beloved 
 aunt was unconscious of all which took place 
 about her : that she did not recognize her as she 
 hung over her pillow to murmur in her ear the 
 accents of tenderness, and that even the strong 
 clasp of the fevered hand betokened pain instead 
 of affection. 
 
 There is something strange and awful in the 
 aspect of intellect alienated by disease — in that 
 moral death which prostrates all the mental 
 powers, and places a gulf, impassable as chaos, 
 between the watcher and the watched. Where, 
 we ask ourselves, as we listen to the meaning- 
 less words and the joyless laughter, -vy-here is 
 the soul ? In what unknown and mysterious 
 world is it now wandering, liberated from all 
 the thrall of earthly affections and anxieties? 
 How can it be that we possess only the form, 
 while the spirit is far away ? With what and 
 whom does it hold commune, during its estrange- 
 ment? And Avith what viewless and fearful 
 order of beings are we brought into almost im- 
 mediate contact, through the medium of the es- 
 tranged intellect before us ? The reason totters 
 as we ask ourselves the question, and the heart 
 is pained by the very vagueness of the specula- 
 tion. 
 
 At the termination of a week, the friendly 
 physician, having requested a private interview 
 witli Mr. Moi-timer, feelingly but definitely as- 
 sured him, that all hope of saving his patient 
 was at an end, and that he conceived it to be 
 his duty to prepni-e her son for an event which 
 would in all probability take place in a very few 
 hours. 
 
 " I am aware, my dear sir," he concluded, as 
 he wrung the hand of the young man with a 
 cympatliy wliich was evidently sincere ; " that 
 your respected parent has no wordly matters 
 to arrange ; for with her well regulated mind, 
 she was incapable of deferring tlie performance 
 of 80 serious a duty, and it is this conviction 
 whieh consoles me under the apprehension that 
 she may depart without one lucid interval suffi-j 
 eiently long or complete to enable her to follow 
 up any definite idea. That sho^ may, however, ' 
 recover the necessary cousciouaness to recognise I 
 
 those about her, I believe to be highly proba- 
 ble, and to this prospect we must therefore en- 
 deavor to confine our hope. But I should re- 
 
 pro£ 
 
 zh myself hereafter were I not at this mo- 
 
 ment frankly to declare, that in all human pro- 
 bability, her sufferings will soon be at an end, 
 and so thoroughly am I convinced of the fact, 
 that I shall not again leave the house until all 
 is over, but will remain in the breakfast-rnom 
 with Mr. Nottingham, whom I have request ..l 
 to be prepared with such restoratives as may 
 be desirable, either for the poor sufferer herself 
 or for Miss Mortimer, who in her present worn 
 and weak state, will not fail to be seriously 
 affected by the shock which awaits her." 
 
 For a time Mortimer was silent, overcome by 
 the anguish of his feelings, but at length he ral- 
 lied sufficiently to inquire if it would not be 
 prudent to induce his cousin to leave the sick- 
 room before the awful moment arrived, and 
 thus spare her the pang of witnessing the last 
 struggle. 
 
 " You will undoubtedly do well to make the 
 trial," was the reply, " but I fear that you will 
 not succeed. In the hour of sorrow your admi- 
 rable cousin appears to have no recollection of 
 herself I remember her on a former melancho- 
 ly occasion, and even amid my own regret for 
 one of the most valued friends I ever had, I 
 could not repress my astonishment and respect 
 at her courageous and devoted conduct. Depend 
 upon it that throughout this new trial, therefore, 
 she will not be less true to herself, although I 
 fear that her sufferings will be even more acute, 
 for no child ever loved a parent more affection- 
 ately than she has loved her aunt. And now 
 go, my dear young friend, I will not detain you 
 another instant from your post. Should my 
 presence become necessary, you can summon 
 me on the instant, but until it is so I will not ;i 
 intrude upon the sacredness of your sorrow." j 
 
 Mortimer obeyed l»ut his limbs almost failed' 
 as he again ascended the stairs, and approached 
 what was so soon to be the chamber of death. 
 When he entered he saw Gertrude upon her- 
 knees by the bedside, with her face concealed in ^ 
 the coverlet, but as she detected his stealthy, 
 step, she raised her head, and looked eagerly 
 and inquiringly towards him. | 
 
 " What had Dr. Collins to communicate ?" ehej 
 asked in a low whisper, as her cousin reached: 
 her side. ' 
 
 " His apprehensions for your own health, my 
 dear Gertrude, and his desire that I should in- 
 duce you to retire for an hour or two to your' 
 own room." 
 
 "Ha! Is it 80? Must it be so soon?" ex-' 
 claimed the poor girl, wringing her hands in^ 
 agony. " And he would ask me to leave herf 
 But perhaps it was right that he should do so— 
 a duty which he was called ui)on to perform— 
 he meant well I know. But you, Frederic, yon 
 her son, will not echo such a wish. She will 
 yet recognise me, I feel that she will — and 1 
 would not lose that last look, that last amile 
 for all—" 
 
 She could add no more, and suffocated by her 
 suppressed sobs, she once more dropped hei 
 head upon the bed, while Mortimer as he huog 
 
 i 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Bi 
 
 |j»ver her, attempted no further argument, con 
 f dnced that all interference upon such a point 
 nust prove ineffectual. 
 
 Two more dreary hours went by, twilight was 
 apidly shedding additional gloom over the sick- 
 hamber, and still Mrs. Mortimer lay in a state 
 .f torpor, disturbed only by the violent and un- 
 latural laboring of her breath, and the spasmo- 
 Uc convulsions of her limbs, when suddenly she 
 ipened her heavy eyes, and, looking earnestly 
 iito the gloom, feebly articulated: "Frederic — 
 iortrude — where are my children?" 
 In an instant, they were at her side. 
 " My own dear onesl" she again gasped out; 
 • come nearer — nearer." 
 
 They instinctivelj- sank upon their knees, and 
 •ach took one of her wasted hands in silence. 
 
 "We part — part for ever!" continued the 
 rembling voice, " the world is passing from me 
 —in peace." And then, bringing together the 
 Kinds which clasped her own, she added with 
 iicreased difficulty : " Heaven bless you both — 
 )oth my own ones. My children, I have had a 
 earful dream — but it was no more than a dream, 
 ! see, and I feel its falsehood. Embrace me both 
 )f you — both at once — let me die in the blessed 
 ■onviction that — " 
 
 What she would have added, they knew not, 
 or she spoke no more ; another earnest gaze, 
 mother beaming and happy smile, and the kind- 
 y spirit passed into that rest which was never 
 igain to be broken upon earth. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 All was, indeed, over. There was no longer 
 my necessity for exertion, no longer anything 
 X) hope or fear. The darkened windows, the 
 :ioiseless tread, and the deep stillness of the 
 :iouse of death, had succeeded to the tumultuous 
 f'/elings, the weary vigils, and the agonizing 
 mspense of the previous week, and, for a time, 
 Mortimer experienced that frightful void of 
 heart which appears to the survivor, as though 
 it shut out all human sympathies, and is destin- 
 ed to be eternal. He had no longer a mother, 
 he stood alone, and as he thought of the past, he 
 rickened at the prospect of the future. 
 
 But although he sorrowed, and sorrowed 
 deeply, the despair of Gertrude was still more 
 intense. No tears came to her relief, her feel- 
 ings appeared to be annihilated, and she sat 
 Iwith clasped hands, and ej-es fixed on vacancy, 
 {unconscious of all that passed about her. In this 
 [moral prostration, there was no shade of self, 
 jshe did not remember that she was now, indeed, 
 [an orphan, penniless and homeless, who must, 
 |hereafter, battle for every foot of way which 
 ■she made upon the world's path, or that siie 
 •possessed no other affection upon earth to re- 
 fplaee that which .she had lost — her whole being 
 jwas absorbed in one great grief of her bereave- 
 Iment. 
 
 ! To her, the protectress of her youth, and the 
 [friend of her womanhood, had Ifeen all in all — 
 laad that all was gone for ever. 
 ! For hours, each day, she sat beside the pale 
 motionless corpse, herself as pale and almost as 
 
 motionless ; nor was it until the morning of the 
 burial tliat she was aroused into more demon- 
 strative suffering. Then, indeed, the floodgates 
 of her grief were opened, and, to the great re- 
 lief of Dr. Collins, she speedily wept and ex- 
 hausted herself into a succession of fainting fits, 
 which rendered her insensible to the departure 
 of the funeral train, and calmed the aj)prehen- 
 sions which he had begun to entertain of the re- 
 sults of her immeasurable and silent agony. 
 
 On iiis return, he found her calmer. Sli'e even 
 answered his inquiries, and consented to see her 
 cousin, although her lip trembled as she com- 
 plied with the suggestion, nor could she, when 
 he approached her bed and took her hand, arti- 
 culate one word of welcome or condolence. 
 Frederic was deeply affected, and, for a time, 
 even forgot his own sorrow in an attempt to 
 soothe that of the fair and fragile creature before 
 him. Theirs was a common grief, and each read 
 the heart of the other without the help of 
 words; while it was evident that the meeting 
 once over, they felt consolation in the presence 
 of each other, and the worthy doctor satisfied 
 with the judiciousness of his arrangement, forced 
 Mortimer gently into a chair, and, then, quietly- 
 retired from the room. 
 
 For a time, nothing was heard, save the low 
 sobs of the faithful Roberts ; whose services be- 
 ing ended about her beloved mistress, had been 
 silently and zealously transferred to her niece ; 
 but, ere long, the affectionate whispers of Mor- 
 timer broke upon the stillness, and were reward- 
 ed by the grateful tears of his dejected listener, 
 as they wept together over their mutual bereave- 
 ment. 
 
 Throughout the remainder of the day, Morti- 
 mer kept his post at the bedside, and each party 
 derived a melancholy consolation from this eom^ 
 pauionship. They were less desolate in heart, 
 as they remained with clasped hands, and 
 streaming eyes, indulging all the luxury of sor- 
 row, and grieving rather for each other than for 
 themselves. 
 
 It was not, however, until in the utter solitude 
 of night, she could brood over her anguish un- ' 
 controlled, that Gertrude felt the full force of 
 her loss; and even ventured to glance at a fu- 
 ture which to her was fraught with terror. 
 
 So long as even the inanimate remains of her 
 aunt had continued in tlie house, she had been 
 less isolated in spii-it ; but now all was gone ; she 
 could not even cling to tlie sensi'less clay: the 
 grave had claimed its tenant, and her woi-k of 
 love was ended. 
 
 Ff)r several succeeding days, Mortimer d<n ot 
 ed his whole time to his cousin; nor did lie once 
 quit the house, save when with (iertru<le loaning 
 feebly upon his arm, he spent a short lime in tlie 
 grounds; and thus, although the stricken girl 
 would not have admitted even to herself that it 
 could be BO, she was almost happy. Iv'cver had 
 Frederic been so gentle, so affectionate; and 
 when she occasionally endeavored to sj)eak of 
 her future plans, he silenced her by asking if 
 she were, indeed, weary of her home, that she 
 should seek another. 
 
 This state of things was not, however, fated 
 to last. During the illness of Mrs. Mortimer, 
 several letters had been delivered to her sou 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ^ 
 
 from Sybil ; but, with the morbid feeling peculiar 
 to heavy grief, he had shrunk from opening 
 them, and thus renewing his intercourse with a 
 person whom he knew to he distasteful to her, 
 while she was stretched upon a bed of sickness; 
 nor could he even reconcile himself to do so, 
 until the first bitterness of his regret had passed 
 over. 
 
 Time, however, soon produced its effect. The 
 elasticity of the human mind is proverbial ; and 
 neither joy nor sorrow will endure for ever. 
 Constant communion with, and increasing af- 
 fection for his cousin, for ir while sufficed to en- 
 gage his thoughts ; but ere long, he felt the ne- 
 cessity of a stronger stimulus; the very excess 
 of his grief had worked its own reaction ; and he 
 began to reflect both upon the present and the 
 future. 
 
 As we have elsewhere remarked; Mortimer 
 could not live without feeling himself beloved; 
 and this craving for an undivided and absorbing 
 devotion naturally turned his thoughts to Sybil ; 
 when he began to marvel how he could have 
 suffered her letters to remain unopened. He 
 shrank from admitting, even to himself, that the 
 last words of his mother had born a reference 
 to Miss Delamere by no means favorable to his 
 
 passion, 
 under a 
 
 and that she had eventually expired 
 delusion which his future conduct 
 
 would in all probability negative ; but it is 
 not the less certain that those very words had 
 tended in no inconsiderable degree to influence 
 him in leaving the letters so long unread. 
 
 That he was once more acting ungenerously 
 towards his cousin he never reflected : for in- 
 tent only on proving liis gratitude for her devo- 
 tion to his mother, he foigot that she was ig 
 norant of his engagement to Sybil, and might 
 possibly misconstrue the nature of attentions to 
 whicli she had hitherto been unaccustomed ; 
 and, unconsciously even to herself, repay them 
 with feelings which she had no desire to awaken. 
 
 Thus it was with no compunction as regarded 
 Oertrude, that, having at length succeeded in 
 silencijig, even if he could not entirely subdue, 
 till- upbraiilingof liis own thoughts, he proceed- 
 < i! to cxiiiiiinc the letters which had been so 
 lo'.iir a<'(ii:iiulating ; and, as he did so, Sybil rose 
 h'fore him in all her beauty and in all her love: 
 while, as she wrote admirably, the spell deep- 
 ened as he advanced in his "task, until lie felt 
 his breast bound, and his brow flush with hap- 
 piness. 
 
 The earlier notes were brief and guarded ; 
 j.nd contained merely expressions of earnest re- 
 ifret at tlie serious indisposition of his mother, 
 offers of every luxury at The Grange which 
 might be acceptable to the invalid, and en- 
 treaties that he would keep her constantly in- 
 formed of the progress of the disease. But as 
 the danger of ^Irs. Mortimer increased, the let- 
 ters became lo iger and more affectionate. She 
 bewailed the continued sufferings of her esteem- 
 ed friend, but she was even more expansive, in 
 her expressions of anxiety about himself She 
 besougiit him to adopt every measure for escap- 
 ing tile infection, and even pointed out the pre- 
 ventatives with wliich she was acquainted ; and i 
 finally, she reproached him so tenderly for his, 
 silence, that it was easy to perceive how im-l 
 
 possible it was for her to feel resentment where 
 her heart was interested. 
 
 The last, the longest, and the least guarded of 
 all these epistles liad been written on the day 
 succeeding Mrs. Mortimer's death. It was a 
 triumph of affectionate eloquence, a master- 
 piece of delicate and earnest devotion. She had 
 wept tear for tear with him. She had appreci- 
 ated all the virtues, and all the worth of his de- 
 parted mother. She was conscious that notliing 
 could compensate to him for such a loss, and 
 yet there were affections, and ties, and sympa- 
 thies, as pure and as holy, to call him back to 
 that world from which he had now shrank away, 
 with weakened spirits and a doubting heart. 
 And tliere was no mention of Gertrude. She 
 had forgotten all save him to whom she wrote. 
 It was his tears alone that she would wipe 
 away ; his grief that she would soothe ; his 
 isolation that she would brighten into com- 
 panionship and joy. 
 
 And joy indeed, once more stole over the 
 spirit of Mortimer. Not even his apparent 
 neglect had been able to chill the warm out- 
 pourings of a heart which he felt to be all hia 
 own. Like her, he forgot the sufferings of his 
 desolate orplian cousin. Like her, he peopled the 
 world with one all-sufficing object ; and like her, 
 he felt that althougli the cup of bitterness had 
 been lifted to his lips, life could still ofler' a 
 brighter and a better draught. 
 
 All the past, as regarded Sybil, came back 
 fresh and glowing to his memory ; and while he 
 refolded the letters, he breathed deeply, like 
 one who had east oft" a heavy weight of care ; 
 and hastily, but scrupulously, securing his 
 newly-found treasure, he left his room, and pro- 
 ceeded to the summer-parlor, in which he had 
 spent so many hours of happiness in her society. 
 There he felt that he could more fully appre- 
 ciate the transport of being beloved, for there 
 every spot and every object was replete 
 with memories of her grace, her wit, and her 
 accomplishments. Books in wliieh her name | 
 was inscribed lay upon the table. Music to i 
 which her touch and her tones had lent and 
 added harmony, was scattered over the instru- 
 ment. Sketches drawn by her skilful hand, 
 were in the portfolios ; and above all, there 
 was the Avindow at which slie had stood beside 
 him, the tapestry-frame at which she had 
 wrought ; and the mirror in which her fault- 
 less tigure had been reflected. As the miser 
 gazes, enrapt upon his treasio-es, so did Mor- 
 timer linger over each and all of these — for 
 each and ail told of her who had become to him 
 the universe; and he was so thoroughly ab- 
 sorbed m this employment, that he continued 
 unconscious of an arrival, until the door of the 
 apartment opened, and Sybil herself stood be- 
 fore him. 
 
 For an instant he remained motionless : for 
 the deep mourning dress of Miss Delamere 
 jarred upon the current of liis thouglits, and 
 almost brought with it a sensation of remoi-se ; 
 but the feeling lasted scarcely a moment 
 beneath the soft and nympatlnzing sniile of 
 his visitor, and the tearful accent in which she 
 murmured, as she advanced towards him witli 
 extended hand. 
 

 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. ^ 
 
 My poor Frederic I And do I indeed ece i the privilege of seeing you, thnt I cast from n 
 
 1 of in If 
 Mnotlii, 
 loss, a. 
 
 ''i SJIUpt 
 
 ID bad t) 
 
 ■«? leart 
 «Je. Si! 
 
 iiild »!» 
 4; £ 
 
 you thus — the mere shadow of your former 
 self? Had you then so utterly forgotten tiie 
 future in the present ? Did no thought of Sybil 
 and of her anxieties induce you to be more 
 careful of your health than I read in your pale 
 
 ivery other thought than that of the delight _ 
 blending my tears with yours. 1 folt the neee 
 sity of seeing you myself: of convincing yt 
 that in losing your estimable mother you "hu 
 not lostaW; and so long us you recognise and m 
 
 cheek and your heavy ej-es, that you have predate my motives, I am careless of all besid 
 
 been ? But I will not reproach you — no ! not 
 even for a silence which has wrung my heart, 
 although it has never weakened my Irust in 
 your affection. I, too, have sorrowed, Mor- 
 timer; but my tears fell because I felt that 
 
 yours were 
 
 " How shall 1 ever repay you for suuh aliV. 
 tion ?" murmured Mortimer tenderly, as he raii 
 ed her hand to his lips. 
 
 " By listening to my advice," replied Mis 
 Delamere ; " by looking calmly and dispassioi 
 
 mingled with them; and the ately upon your position ; and by admitting th 
 
 knowledge of your unhappiness sufficed to 
 make me Avretched in m}' turn ; but even iu my 
 moments of deepest grief, I remembered the 
 future, and was comforted." 
 
 " My own kind Sybil," murmured Mortimer, 
 OS he drew her to his heart, and she suffered her 
 head to rest for an instant upon his shoulder : 
 " Talk not to me of the past : you are here ; 
 
 reason of what I have already hinted. 1 
 not speak further of yourself, for I believe yo 
 to be sufficiently unselfish to feel little interes 
 upon that point ; but once more, remember th 
 invidious position of your cousin. Young, beau 
 tiful, and as one who was very dear to yoi 
 never concealed, tenderly attached to you, di 
 you imagine for a moment that she can thu 
 
 and to me you are all in all : but you know not, continue alone to share your home, and t< 
 you cannot guess, all that I have felt and j absorb your attention, without the greatest risl 
 
 suffered 
 
 You deceive yourself," was the reply ; " and 
 
 to her fair fame ?" 
 
 Who would dare — ?' 
 
 exclaimed Mortimei 
 
 his companion steadily 
 
 it is in order to induce you to break through the with a kindling eye. 
 melancholy associations by which you are now [ " Many," replied 
 
 surrounded that I am here. My visit is, as l!"and those even among your most intimate 
 need scarcely say, ostensibly to your cousin ;| associates: mothers who have daughters tc 
 but you will not require to be told, that this marry ; men whose age places them beyond the 
 early advent is caused by a deeper and a dearer I reach of slander; girls who are ambitious of 
 anxiety. Frederic, you must no longer remain I your notice; and young men who are jealoua 
 under this roof The constant sight of objects [of your advantages. I feel that I give you pain, 
 
 '— '■■" ' "-^'•■"^^-- my dear Frederic ; but the probe of the surgeon 
 
 is frequently the only cure. You are misled by 
 a false chivalry — " 
 
 " Sybil," interposed her listener ; " Gertrude 
 has no other friend, save myself, on earth." 
 
 " And would you render that one worse than 
 powerless ?" 
 
 " You may be right ; but I love her as a 
 brother. How, then, can I abandcfn her at such 
 
 familiar to you in other times, and under other 
 circumstances Avill tend to render your melan- 
 choly morbid and unnatural. That you should 
 grieve is just and right ; but remember that you 
 owe much to yourself — and — may I not add, 
 something also to me ?" 
 
 " I know and feel the truth of all that you 
 advance, Sybil," said Mortimer mournfully ; 
 "and gladly, most gladly, would I act upon 
 your suggestion ; but you forget that I am not a moment ?" 
 free — that my poor cousin is still too weak to | " Simply i 
 encounter the fatigue of a removal ; and that I 
 cannot abandon her in a sorrow which has been 
 induced by me and mine." 
 
 A slight color rose to the cheek of Miss Dela- 
 mere, and her fine biow contracted for a mo- 
 ment ; but it was with even greater gentleness 
 that in the next instant she raised her eyes to 
 those of her companion, and said, slowly and 
 emphatically : " It is you, Frederic, who forgot 
 
 " Simply by remembering the responsibility 
 of your situation. Miss Mortimer is no longer a 
 child; make her the judge between you." 
 
 " After what has passed, I feel that I dare not 
 She has already too much cause of complaint 
 against me." 
 
 " And do you believe that by augmenting 
 that cause, you can acquit yourself in her eyes ? 
 Need I say, Frederic," and again a shadow 
 passed over the features of Miss Delamere of 
 
 the ready comments of a censorious world ; and more than dubious expression ; " need I explain 
 although I know that for yourself you could to you how gladly I would have offered her a 
 despise them, yet have you no right to disregard j temporary home at The Grange, had I not been 
 
 their probable effect upon your cousin. You 
 may tell me, in your turn, that I have disre 
 
 conscious that I should only subject myself to th 
 mortification of a refusal? Siich, indeed, wjs 
 
 garded them in my own person; and of this I [my first intention, but I soon felt its fallacy 
 
 and nothing then remained to me save to 
 
 am aware ; for not even the j)resence of 
 Mortimer under your roof may to some appear 
 a sufficient excuse for my thus venturing to 
 visit a house which has no longer a mistress ; 
 but there are feelings which place us beyond 
 such considerations, nor do I hesitate to admit 
 that I have been swayed by these. I could not 
 know you to be unhappy, and sacrifice the joy 
 of telling you how deeply I sympathized in your 
 sorrow, by any paltry fear of misconstruction ; 
 and I had been for so long a time deprived of 
 
 exempt her, in so far as I might, from futur« 
 suffering. Be it as you will, however. It is 
 evident that I have deceived myself with regard 
 to the extent of your interest' in your cousin. 
 Since you cannot part from her, my path in 
 plain : I am once more taught to ft:<;l how 
 greatly I overrate the affection of another when 
 I test it by my own." 
 
 " Sybil! how have I^deserved this?" 
 
 " Forgive me, Frederic, forgive mc," mui-mur- 
 
w 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ed Miss Delamere, burying her face in her 
 b«iids ; " you have made me very wretched, 
 and I have not pride enough to conceal my 
 disappointment." 
 
 " My own love !" exclaimed Mortimer, as he 
 clasped lier tenderly to his herirt ; " how little 
 do you understand me ! When you entered the 
 room all around me spoke only of yourself It 
 was to commune with your iniage that I was 
 here. Yes, although I visited for the first time 
 aiiice the death of my mother the apartment in 
 •which she the most delighted, I had forgotten 
 all save you — all save the hours which we had 
 pa.ssed togi'tiicr on the same spot. I Avas to 
 retrace a thousand memories of yourself that I 
 was hei-e. Sybil, you are my world — the very 
 essence of my being: but I lay under a heavy 
 di'bt of gratitude to my cousin, and I dare not 
 even seem to forget it* amount." 
 
 " Yet you wilfully risk the destruction of her 
 peace — and mine." 
 
 And tlie tears of Miss Delamere forced a 
 passage througli her fingers. 
 
 " Be it as you will," said Mortimer, unman- 
 ned at the siijlit of her grief; " henceforward 
 I can have no will but yours. Yet how can I 
 explain an absence which will condemn her to 
 perfect solitude in a house so latel}' visited by 
 death ? Will she not feel my departure as a 
 wanton cruelty, which even her indulgence 
 cannot excuse ?" 
 
 " Not if you are frank ; not if you sincerely 
 place before her your real motive." 
 
 " Had she only secured another home," said 
 Mortimer, reluctantly yielding to an influence 
 against which he was unequal to contend ; 
 " 1 should feel less hesitation in informing her 
 of my purpose ; but, save mj'self poor Gertrude 
 possesses only one or two very distant relatives, 
 to whom she is utterly unknown ; and with 
 whom, even should they consent to receive her, 
 ehe would probably be unhappy." 
 
 " "What, then, are your future plans regarding 
 her ?" asked Sybil, suddenly raising her head 
 and looking steadfastly towards him. 
 
 " I confess that, as yet I have not formed 
 an}'," was tlie reply. 
 
 '• Tlien listen to me," said Miss Delamere, as 
 she aft'ectionately took his hand, and met his 
 eyes Avith a smile. " We live in no modern 
 I'topia, where men's tongues are dipped in 
 honey, and women dream only of the blossoms 
 amid which they walk ; nor 'is the present all 
 in all. Both Miss Mortimer and yourself have 
 n long future before you, into which each must 
 look steadily and carefully. You owe her 
 much, very much ; and it belioves you to act at 
 once with generosity and j)rudence. She has 
 J ( latives, you say ; arrangements may there- 
 fore easily be nuide for a time, until you have 
 ft riglit, consistently and irreproachably, to offer 
 lier a home under your own roof Acquit me, 
 1 beseeeh you, of a jjaltry jealousy which I 
 should scorn, and d 
 day comes I shall b 
 you fail in so high and lioly a duty 
 
 " Sybil, foi-give me," exclaimed Mortimer 
 passionately; "sorrow has made me wfak and 
 Btipine ; and I indeed rcijuire your guiding af- 
 fttctiou. Vou are right, quite right. 1 aui 
 
 me justice. When that 
 the first to blame, should 
 
 (wilfully subjecting poor Gertrude to miscon 
 st ruction. All shall be done as you suggest ; 
 j and I trust that I have long years before me in 
 I which I may be able to prove how deeply I 
 feel all that I owe her. But you have forgot- 
 ten, dearest, that by this arrangement you 
 are also banishing me from your own presence 
 — sending me forth a wanderer without a beacoQ- 
 light." 
 
 The eyes of Miss Delamers flashed, and her 
 bosom heaved ; but the smile was bland and 
 the voice steady, in which she replied : 
 
 " Talk not of me, Frederic ; my faith .in your 
 aff'ection will suffice until the departure of 'Mis* 
 Mortimer enables you to return to Westrum ; 
 moreover, we have a great resource in a perpe- 
 tual and daily correspondence. In such a cast 
 selfishness must be utterly laid aside. I speak 
 to you only as a sister ; be guided on this occa- 
 sion by my advice, and trust me, j'ou will hav« 
 no reason to regret it. Moreover, no time 
 should be lost. I repeat that the position of 
 j'our cousin is invidious, while your own ig 
 scarcely less so. And now my ungracious task 
 is ended. My visit was to Miss Mortimer, but I 
 doubt if I can longer await her coming ; and I 
 will, therefore, leave alike my greeting and mj 
 condolence in your hands." 
 
 " And what more leave you, Sybil ?" 
 
 " My heart, my soul, my being ; — trifle noi 
 with the trust." 
 
 " Dare I believe so much ?" 
 
 " Mortimer,'" said Miss Delamere, as she ros« 
 to depart ; " I have been once deceived, and my 
 life nearly paid the forfeit of my mistake ; and 
 yet I never loved him as I love you. Beware, 
 therefore, of yourself, if I am dear to you ; you 
 know not, you cannot guess, all that your false- 
 hood would involve." 
 
 " I shall never know it," whispered her com- 
 panion, as he detained her. 
 
 " It would be, at best, a fearful knowledge,* 
 said Sybil with a slight shudder; "May it be 
 spared to both of us." 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 Another day had dawned ; and the cold gray 
 light, as it slowly spread over the eastern hori- 
 zon, fell upon the kneeling figure of Gertrudo 
 Mortimer, who, with her face buried among th« 
 cushions of an arm-chair which occupied the 
 deep bay of the window of her sleeping cham- 
 ber, had remained throughout the whole long 
 silent night motionless, tearless, and almost xuv 
 conscious. 
 
 There are feelings so deep that they annihi- 
 late the power of thought, and for a time almost 
 seem to arrest vitality. Such were those of th« 
 orphan. The cousins had met as usual in the 
 twilight; and, arm-in-arm, as was their wont, 
 they had paced to and fro beneath the tall tree« 
 which overhung the water. They had done so 
 every evening since the convalescence of Ger- 
 trude had enabled her to encounter such a 
 fatigue ; and everj' evening hitherto she had re- 
 turned to the house when the heavy dew warnad 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 CT 
 
 >a her to retire, renovated both in health and 
 
 K'lirt But now all was changed. With the 
 
 mage of Sybil still bright before him, Frederic 
 
 1 ml summoned sufficient resolution to point out 
 
 .o his dismaj'cd and astonished listener the pro- 
 
 ] jable results of their present mode of life ; and 
 
 j lis representations, carefully and even tenderly 
 
 1 is they were made, opened before her an abyss 
 
 I )f difficulty, which, in her innocence, she had 
 
 I lever apprehended. 
 
 I j That any ungenerous comment could be elieit- 
 i }5d by her i-esidence in the dear old home which 
 
 (jiad cradled her childhood, and under the roof 
 ijf a cousin who to her was as a brother, had 
 , iiever entered into her imagination ; but now the 
 I Ireil was rent away, and she saw all the wretch 
 
 jdness of her fate. It was true, too true, that 
 ihe had no longer a right to feel herself the 
 latural and authorized inmate of that home — 
 he legitimate companion of that cousin ; and 
 ^t once the fearful question arose in her mind, 
 iV^here, then, am I to hide my sorrow? From 
 vhom am I to look for sympathy and affec- 
 ion? 
 
 Separated at an early age from all the rela- 
 ives of her mother, by whom her very exist- 
 ence had probably been long forgotten, and to 
 lone of whom she could now be an object of 
 nterest, slie knew not where she could apply 
 ■ven for shelter. The child of tenderness and 
 ndulgenee, she had yet to learn the bitterness 
 if that bread which is yielded rather than 
 itfered — of that protection which is an obliga- 
 jon leather than a blessing; and although, when 
 klortimer awakened her to the truth, he had 
 >een careful to remind her that, by the will of 
 ler deceased aunt, she was entitled to a legacy 
 )f two thousand pounds, she had scarcely heed- 
 id the assurance. As she had heard it when it 
 ffas first announced to her, so did she hear it 
 jiow, for she had yet to learn the importance 
 llf the fact; and the oidy impression which re- 
 nained upon her mind, was one of gratitude for 
 lis earnest declaration that, let her dwell where 
 she might, she would ever be to him an object 
 rf the dearest interest, whom it would be alike 
 lis pride and his delight to shield from every 
 j-iaL 
 
 Poor Gertrude ! To her the past and the fu- 
 -ure were alike a blank ; while the present was 
 fraught only with pain and difficulty. For the 
 jirst time she felt the real influence of that ter- 
 pific bugbear, the world — that thing of the hydra- 
 bead, and tlie million tongues. She shrank away 
 jippalled from its contact, and would fain have 
 iiidden herself from its eagle ken, and scorching 
 jX)uch. But wliere ? The grave had swallowed 
 up the bulwark which had been hitherto raised 
 jaetween them. She was alone; alone to wrestle, 
 [ind alone to weep. Slie had turned to Fred- 
 ;mc for counsel ; but, like herself, he knew not 
 apon what to determine. 
 
 I And thus they had pai'ted for the night, both 
 jiepressed, both irresolute ; but with what dif- 
 rerent feelings ! Pained as he was, alike for his 
 I'.ousin and for himself, Mortimer was still able 
 \M relieve his anxiety and to mitigate his regret, 
 iajr thoughts of Sybil, and visions of future hap- 
 ipmess; while the poor and desolate orphan 
 
 crept to her solitarj' chamber to brood in silence 
 over this new and unexpected trial. 
 
 Tears slow and bitter, coursed each other 
 down her pale cheeks, and hours passed by be- 
 fore she had even power to think ; she felt her 
 misery, but she could not analyze it. At length, 
 however, this mute despair exhausted itself, and 
 a clearer perception of her real position forced 
 itself upon her reason. Her wan cheek crim- 
 soned at the idea of slander — slander, connected 
 with herself, however undeserved ; and she 
 taeitlj' acknowledged the propriety of her im- 
 mediate separation from her cousin. 
 
 J'or awhile that one conviction overpowered 
 her ; nor had she ever known until that night how 
 tenderly and exclusively she loved him. She 
 knew it now, however ; now when that one 
 idea, the idea of living no longer under the same 
 roof — of enjoying no longer his cherished com- 
 panionship, annihilated all beside, and made all 
 else appear as dust in the balance. 
 
 He loved another but even that was nothing 
 so long as she could remain near him, and listen 
 to his voice, and meet his smile. And now this 
 poor lu.xury which she was daily purchasing 
 with the wreck of her own peace, was wrested 
 from her. They were to part. The world had 
 already pronounced its fiat, and there was no 
 appeal. 
 
 Then came another transition of feeling ; less 
 poignant perhaps, but still more frightful. She 
 was to go ! But where ? She grasped her cold 
 forehead with her burning hands, and tried to 
 think. What a waste spread wide and blank 
 before her! She could not remain at Westruml 
 all eyes would be upon her there ; all would re- 
 member the past, and siie should wither beneath 
 the lip-deep pity of the idle and the curious : not 
 there — where she must witness the progress of 
 her cousin's suit, and hear the thrilling peal 
 chime out the moment of his marriage. And 
 Westrum had hitherto been her world ; and all 
 beyond was strange and new to her. 
 
 Mortimer was her last surviving relative on 
 her father's side, and tluis she found no resting- 
 place for her weary heart, where she would 
 willingly have sought it. Of her mother's fam- 
 ily she knew no more tlian that two of her rela- 
 tions still existed : the nearest of whom was a 
 brother, who by careful perseverance had real- 
 ized a handsome fortune, which, by his unsocial 
 and penurious habits, had been yearly increas- 
 ing ; but whose heart had long been closed 
 against all his connexions. 
 
 Gertrude gasped for breath as she recalled to 
 her memory all that she had heard of him : his 
 harsh unkindness to her consumptive mother — 
 his insolent neglect of her widowed father — his 
 utter abandonment of herself. To Mr. Sinclair 
 she felt that she could make no appeal ; to him 
 she must be simply an object of grudging charity: 
 an intrusive and unwelcome dependent. She 
 could not accept his protection upon such terms 
 as these, even should he be induced to promise 
 it ; and tiiat he would do so was more than 
 doubtful. Of Miss Warrington, the maiden aunt 
 of her mother, she knew little, save that she 
 dwelt in a small village in Devonsiiire, where 
 she contrived witli some difficulty to make A 
 
S8 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 very confined income suffice for her limited 
 wants , but she was aware that every year a 
 brief and formal, although kind, letter had ar- 
 rived at West mm from' the old lady, desiring 
 tidings of her own welfare, until she had attained 
 the age of womanhood, when these periodical 
 enquiries had suddenly ceased: and all inter- 
 course was thus terminated between Mrs. Morti- 
 mer and the Inst relative of her mother who had 
 appeared to feel an interest in her fate. 
 
 All this was bleak enough ; and the timid and 
 loving heart of Gertrude shrank tremblingly 
 before the bitter trial of re-awakening a long 
 dormant, and in nil probability, extinct affection 
 in the bosom of an aged and unknown relation, 
 of whose disposition, habits, and prejudices, she 
 was, moreover, utterly ignorant. Needy as she 
 was, there was much reason to apprehend that 
 she would, from motives of prudence, decline to 
 burden herself with an inmate who could do 
 little towards a decrease of her penury, and 
 might prove an incumbrance rather than a com- 
 fort; but cheerless and unpromising as the plan 
 appeared, it was that upon which the unhappy 
 girl decided. She felt that she could better sup- 
 port the privations of poverty and the exactions 
 of old age, even although rendered doubly sel- 
 fish by a life of solitude, than the insolent in- 
 tolerance of purse-proud and heartless vanity, 
 meting out its benevolence with a scornful lip 
 and a niggard spirit. 
 
 Thus resolved, the orphan rose from her knees; 
 and drawing back the curtains which had hith- 
 erto shut out the daylight, seated herself calmly 
 and tearlessly at her desk. She had wept over 
 the past; she shrank from dwelling upon the 
 present ; but she nerved herself bravely against 
 tlie future. 
 
 She wrote respectfully and frankly ; she ex- 
 plained alike her position and her apprehen- 
 sions ; she boldly declared the limited nature 
 of her resources; and she threw herself upon 
 the generosity of her mother's kinswoman. She 
 made no professions, and volunteered no pro- 
 mises; she knew the purity of her own inten- 
 tions ; and she was too proud to sully them 
 by exhibiting a doubt that they could be sus- 
 pected. 
 
 The task was nevertheless, an arduous one ; 
 for she had no clue by which to guess how her 
 communication would be received. She Mt 
 that she had no claim upon the kindness of the 
 lonely old lady ; and she said so with the same 
 truthfulness which was constantly her habit. It 
 was easy to read that her heart liad bled as she 
 •wrote, but she did not intrude her sorrow 
 where she was uncertain of sympathy. 
 
 Her painful task ended, she closed the letter, 
 onee more shut put the light, and throwing 
 herself ujion her knees, prayed fervently for 
 strength to irx^et the result of her application, 
 be it what it might; and then, calmed and 
 comforted, she slept, and for a time forgot in 
 the deeji and dreatnless slumber of exhaustion, 
 the wiight of sorrow by wliich she was bowed 
 almost to the earth. 
 
 In the moiniiig, when tlje cousins again met, 
 Gertrude summoned sufficient nerve to acquaint 
 Frederic with lier decision of tlie past night; 
 but he, who had found it comparatively easy to | 
 
 paraphrase the reasonings of Sybil, felt his heart 
 sink as he contemplated the actual position of 
 the orphan. 
 
 " You are too hasty in your arrangements, 
 my dear Gertrude," he said anxiously ; " as 
 although, for your own sake, it is necessary that 
 we should part for a time, it is by no means ex- 
 
 Eedient or proper that you should quit the 
 ome of your childhood with a Imste which 
 would seem to imply that you were no longer a 
 welcome inmate. I will not dwell upon my 
 own feelings in this emergency — they are too 
 painful ; but I must insist that you are just to 
 yourself You do not know, my dear cousin — 
 and Heaven grant that you never may ! — the 
 myriad trials of poverty; the wringing misery 
 of those perpetual and soul-draining expedients 
 to which the well-born poor are subjected. You 
 cannot share the privations of Miss Warrington." 
 
 " I care not for poverty," observed Gertrude, 
 forcing a smile. 
 
 " Because you do not comprehend it," replied 
 Mortimer gravely ; " Nor must you ever do sa 
 I will not insult you by urging my right upon 
 this point; let it sufiice that it ought to be, and 
 shall be enforced; but at the same time, it is 
 incumbent upon you not even to appear as 
 though you were willing to add to difficulties, 
 already, no doubt sufllciently oppressive. Be 
 guided, I entreat of you, by me. In the first 
 place, do not as yet, even dream of leaving 
 Westrum. I will absent myself for a time, and 
 this must be all that is necessary to prevent 
 unpleasant remarks." 
 
 " Never!" exclaimed Gertrude energetically; 
 " You shall not be driven from your home for 
 my sake." 
 
 " Will you not yield to my wishes, Gertrude? 
 Remember, my dear girl, the probable import" 
 anee of this one step to all j-our after life. I 
 have already much, very much, with which to 
 reproach myself; do not deepen my self-blame 
 by showing me that you disregard my advice. 
 Are you not the sister of my adoption? A»8 
 you not " 
 
 "Enough — enough," gasped out his listener; 
 " Be your will what it may, it shall be obeyed." 
 
 " Do not speak so coldly," said Mortimer, with 
 emotion : " Only to know you happy, I would 
 make almost any sacrifice. Let us then, work 
 together to this end, for it 7niist be accomplished. 
 Why do you not claim a home — call it so if you 
 will, though I trust soon to offer you one more ' 
 genial — why do you not claim a home with Mt i 
 Sinclair? He was the brother of your mother ;l 
 — your own nearest relation ; and under his 
 roof you will at least be secure of every luxui-y 
 to winch you have been accustomed." 
 
 " I dread the price that must be paid for lu» 
 uries wliich I am contented to forego." 
 
 " Do not be misled by what may, after all, 
 prove to be a false apprehension. It is true 
 that Mr. Sinclair was a cold brother, and a luk^ 
 warm friend ; but he has been tliroughout life 
 intent only upon accumulating wealth. We 
 have not communicated with him for years; and 
 time, my dear Gertrude, works strange changes. 
 Your uncle is a solitary, childless man ; he must 
 have passed many a weary hour, even amid his 
 prosperity ; and remember, that if he has re- 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 6t 
 
 mained silent during so many years, we, on our 
 side, have made no attempt to dispel that si- 
 lence. It may be that he will thankfully re- 
 ceive to his heart the child of his only sister; 
 and should you once meet, the result cannot be 
 doubtful. In any case you owe it both to your- 
 self and him, to make the tirst appeal to his af- 
 fection." 
 
 " I will do so." 
 
 " I thank you for your compliance, but let it 
 be done cautiously ; do not suffer him to imply 
 that you have no other resource — do not permit 
 him to believe that you are dependent upon his 
 acquiescence for a home." 
 
 •' Upon what pretext can I then address him? 
 asked Gertrude, almost reproachfully. Morti- 
 mer buried his eyes in his hands, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 " My dear Frederic," resumed his cousin, with 
 a composure which grew out of the very bitter- 
 noss of her anguish : " whatever I do, and to 
 whomsoever I apply in my extremity, I must 
 act with openness and honor. I have been tiie 
 child of benevolence almost from my cradle ; 
 and although the hand of charity has hitherto 
 been extended to me so tenderly that I have 
 never felt its weight, I must now learn to re- 
 ceive the bitterness with the blessing, and to be 
 grateful for the boon, however offered. I can- 
 not approach my uncle with a vain sophistry 
 upon mj' lips ; I must present mj-self as I am : 
 1 need a home, and it is from him that you have 
 •willed for me to ask one. I feel and know that 
 you would spare me every mortification to 
 which it is possible that I may be subjected by 
 telling the whole truth ; but believe me, it 
 would only make the suffering greater, were it 
 deferred until it brought with it the rebuke of 
 my own conscience. I will write to Mr. Sin- 
 clair since you desire it ; but it must be as I 
 have written to Miss Warrington ; and I have a 
 firm conviction that our correspondence will 
 soon terminate." 
 
 " The whole affair makes me wretched," 
 murmured Mortimer ; " I feel that I am wrong, 
 and yet — " 
 
 " Wherefore accuse j'ourself ?" asked Gertrude 
 affectionately ; " you have acted towards me 
 ■with the frank and upright principle which I 
 had a right to expect from you. I am weak, 
 I know ; but I will not prove unworthy of you ; 
 of those " 
 
 Tears stopped her utterance ; and Mortimer, 
 no longer able to contend with his emotion, seiz- 
 ed his hat and hurried from the room. 
 
 How often is cowardice blent with the better 
 feelings! Mortimer could escape by flight the I 
 spectacle of a sorrow which he deeply felt ; 
 but he had not the heroism to sacrifice his own 
 selfish gratification in order to mitigate its 
 extent. 
 
 Much had passed during the interview that! 
 was soothing to the feelings of Gertrude ; but 
 notliing which had lessened the difficulties of 
 her position. She was still helpless and home- [ 
 less ; and the new task whicii had devolved 
 upon her of addressing Mr. Sinclair, was the j 
 most mortifying trial to which she had been i 
 yet exposed. 
 
 That he would receive her as an inmate she I 
 
 did not for an instant anticipate, and she conse- 
 quently felt that the suffering was gratuitous; 
 but it was Frederic's desire that she should at 
 least offer him the alternative, and she was con- 
 tent to abide by his directions. The letter was 
 therefore written in deep sorrow, but with per- 
 fect resignation ; and the days Avhich necessari- 
 ly intervened before an answer could arrive, 
 were among the most cruel of her life. 
 
 It came, however, at length ; and cold, brief, 
 and insulting as it was, she experienced a sensa- 
 tion of relief on finding that he definitely de- 
 clined her proposal. He was sorry, he said, 
 that those who had reared her as that most 
 useless of all created beings, a fine lady, had 
 ultimately left her a beggar ; although such a 
 climax might have been expected ; and it could 
 not be rationally anticipated that he, who from 
 motives of prudence had remained a bachelor, 
 vvould voluntarily encumber himself with a per- 
 son about whom he knew nothing, and who 
 could advance no claim upon his notice. He 
 wished her well, and warned her to be prepar- 
 ed for mortifications and trials of all sorts, which 
 j it would be impossible for her, situated as she 
 was, to avoid ; but he hoped that by humility 
 and industry, supposing that she possessed any 
 talent sufficiently useful to be turned to account, 
 she might ultimately be able to make her way 
 in the world. And this was all. There was no 
 word of sympathy ; no sentence of encourage- 
 ment. The gulf between them yawned wider 
 and blacker than ever ; and she had no refuge, 
 save in the compassion of the poor and solitary 
 Miss Warrington. 
 
 Mortimer had awaited the reply of Mr. Sin- 
 clair before he left Westrum ; and it was with 
 a feeling of bitter indignation that he perused 
 it. His first impulse was to hasten to town, in 
 order to seek an interview with the cold-hearfc- 
 ed worshipper of Mammon, and to impress upoa 
 him the unworthiness of his conduct, and the 
 responsible position in which he stood towards 
 his last surviving relative ; but from this mea- 
 sure he was dissuaded by Gertrude herself, who 
 meekly represented that her uncle was fully 
 borne out in"his assertion that she had no claim 
 upon him, save that Avhich his own heart might 
 have afforded her, and who declared her willing- 
 ness rather to suffer any privation than to in- 
 trude herself again upon his notice. 
 
 Mortimer argued in vain ; for once his cousin 
 was resolute. The very extremity of her posi- 
 tion had nerved her with a fictitious courage. 
 
 " 1 have still a hope," she said, forcing back 
 the tears which rose to her burning eyelids ; " I 
 have still one relative who may feel for my 
 orphan state, and with whom 1 shall be safe 
 from the comments of the idle and the malevo- 
 lent. My tastes are simple ; for I hav« never 
 forgotten that I was indebted for all the bless- 
 ings by which my youth has been surrounded 
 to the goodness of others ; and thus I have 
 taught myself to comprehend that I might one 
 day be called upon to resign them. Moreover, 
 my dear cousin, I am rich in the conviction of 
 your regard, a treasure of which the world can- 
 not deprive me, and thanks to the unfailing 
 kindness of her to whom I owe everything, and 
 whose affection endured even beyond the grare. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 lam not quite pennyless: while I possess ta- 1 heart. She almost doubted her identity, and 
 lents which may also be made available. Go yet, it was all too true ; the dimness of her vision 
 
 then, in peace, mj- dear cousin ; and rest satis 
 fied that, in one way or the other, I shall soon 
 be enabled to send yon an assurance that your 
 snxiety upon my account may cease. Do not 
 imagine that I speak lightly or presumptuously: 
 I have thought much and seriously during the 
 last few days ; and I am comforted by the con- 
 viction that otiiers have successfully combated 
 against circumatances even more unpromising 
 tlian those by which I am now surrounded." 
 
 " Could I but see any means by which your 
 departure from hence might be rendered unne- 
 cessary — " broke in Mortimer. 
 
 " There are none ; and I ought earlier to have 
 foreseen the necessity of my removal ; nor can 
 I find any excuse for my want of prudence, save 
 in my ignorance of society, and the extent of 
 my mental suffering. Now, however, all is clear 
 to me ; and for my sake and your own, it must 
 no longer be deferred. By to-morrow's post I 
 shall forward my letter to Miss Warrington ; 
 and should that fail, I must learn to suffice to 
 myself." 
 
 " You do not comprehend the trials of which 
 you talk with so much calmness." 
 
 " It may be so," said the poor girl sadly ; 
 "but it is a knowledge which will soon be ac- 
 quired, and must be accepted with philosophy. 
 And now let us rather speak of your departure. 
 Like my letter, you must leave Westrum to- 
 morrow ; and I shall be better able in solitude 
 to arrange my plans, and brace mj^self to what- 
 ever necessity may arise." 
 
 " You will write to me frequently, daily, 
 Gertrude ?" 
 
 " I can scarcely promise so much ; but direct- 
 ly that I luive anything to tell, you shall hear 
 from me. And now, Frederic, let us part at 
 once ; you have much to arrange, and your time 
 is short. I too, need rest. To-morrow we shall 
 meet again before your departure ; and mean- 
 while we do but unnerve each other." 
 
 " You are perhaps right," said Mortimer irre- 
 
 Bolutely, " and yet " 
 
 " Kot a word more, my own dear cousin, if 
 you would spare me," murmured Gertrude al 
 most inarticulately, and Frederic attempted no 
 further expostulation, but drawing the drooping 
 girl to his bosom, and pressing his lips to her 
 j)ale brow, lie gently replaced her upon her seat, 
 and left the room. 
 
 passed away ; and the truth, the frightful truth, 
 stood cold and bare before her. 
 
 Slowly, but steadily, she rose from the sofa, 
 and for a while her hand wandered over tli« 
 thousand cherished trifles that were strown upon 
 the table before her. Her eyes were tearless, 
 and her lip never quivered. Hers was the very 
 desolation of the spirit to which tears are re- 
 fused! 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 As he disappeared, she swept back her dishe- 
 velled hair, fixed a long look of anguish upon 
 her mourning dress, and then bowing her head 
 upon her hands, remained motionless. 
 
 lie was gone! They had'parted, perhaps for 
 ever; for already she had resolved not to ex- 
 pose hers<'lf to the trial of the morrow's meeting, 
 lie was gone! And where? To forget her and 
 her sorrow in the? smiles of Sybil. He, at least, 
 had a haven cf iiappiness in wiiicli he could find 
 ahelter from the pitiless storms of that world on 
 which she was about to be launched, unknow- 
 ing upon wiiat bleak shore she might be driven. 
 
 She felt like one in a frightful dream ; all 
 about her appeared unreal ; the floor rocked 
 beneath her feet ; and old familiar objects wore 
 a strango aspect that chilled her to the very 
 
 " My Dear Niece, — 
 " You have acted prudently, and properly. 
 You cannot, and must not, remain one day longer 
 than is absolutely indispensable under the sam« 
 roof with your unmarried cousin. A young 
 woman's reputation is like a sheet of white 
 paper, and people are ready enough to scrawl 
 upon it when they can. 
 
 " I am glad, for your own sake, that Mrs. 
 Mortimer has behaved so handsomely ; for there 
 is no blessing like independence. It has been 
 the comfort of my own life, that I am indcpeo- 
 dent of ever}' body. 
 
 I hope that you are not a beauty — I detest 
 beauties — and that you are not a gad-about ; I 
 never go out except to church ; and not often 
 even there, owing to my deafness. If you ai"« 
 notable, we shall get on famously together, for 
 I have a great respect for the usefuls ; and 
 where people are not aver rich they must be 
 managing. 
 
 I have given orders to have all prepared for 
 you, so you will have no trouble when you ar- 
 rive, and will have time to look round. 
 
 Drop me a line to say when I may expect 
 you ; and keep up your spirits, for I have long 
 learned the folly of fretting for what cannot be 
 mended. 
 
 Travel as cheaply as you can ; money spen* 
 upon the road leaves nothing to show for it, and 
 is waste at best. When I travelled 1 always 
 carried a provision-basket, and found it a greaJk 
 saving. 
 
 " As we shall so soon meet, I shall reserve 
 all further advice for future occasions ; and only 
 add, with my respects to your cousin, that I 
 am, 
 
 " Your affectionate aunt, 
 
 " Martha Wariunoton. 
 " P.S. I opened my letter to bid you wrap up 
 carefully. Sore throats are easily caught at 
 this time of the year." 
 
 Gertrude gasped for breath. She had once 
 more a home, and she was thankful. It is true, 
 that a few words of consolation and sympathy 
 would have cheered her shrinking spirit; but 
 there was at least kindness in the (juiet and 
 matter-of-course manner in which her unknown 
 relative had at once opened her house, if not 
 her heart. The style of the letter was dry and 
 junint; but still it gave little clue to the real 
 eiiaracter of the writer. 
 
 The caution of old age, and the prudence of 
 parsimony, were indeed apparent ; but beyond 
 
iJieac, the orphan could gather nothing upon [sorrow about the grounds; for the lust time, slie 
 jrhich to hinge a single idea of the real dis-. flung herself upon her knees beside the bed uj)oa 
 wsition of her aunt; and these were naturally whieh her loved protectress had so lately laia 
 he circuni- ' stretched in death ; and fo 
 
 THE RIVAL BRA.UTIES. 
 
 61 
 
 M have been anticipated under th( 
 itances. Taken altogether the prospect was 
 lot a cheering one ; but it nevertheless held 
 7ut a certainty of protection and security which 
 jxcited her gratitude, and aroused h-ir from the 
 ;orpor into which she had fallen since the de- 
 jarture of her cousin. 
 
 She felt that no time was to be lost, and she 
 •esolved to obey the directions of her new mo 
 litress to the letter. Earnestly, therefore, she 
 jommenced her simple preparations. Every 
 thing that she possessed she owed to the gene- 
 rositj' of her depai-ted aunt ; and now, when 
 fll, ihe was about to 4^iit for ever the home of 
 IB, aer lost happiness, she felt as though her 
 ownership in all had ceased. 
 In vain did the weeping Roberts entreat and 
 flM Expostulate ; Gertrude was firm. One by one 
 „,] she rejected the proffered elegances which she 
 liad been accustomed to call her own ; replac- 
 ing each in its proper position, and scrupu- 
 ously refusing to herself the gratification of 
 -etaining the most trifling object not absolutely 
 accessary to her personal comfort. 
 
 The pang was at once bitter and complicated, 
 for most of these had been the cherished trea- 
 nires of long years ; but not the less were they 
 ill abandoned. Tears swelled in her eyes as 
 ■she turned away from tlie instrument which 
 iiad been a birth-day gift ; from the work-frame 
 at which she had so sedulously wrought beside 
 [her gentle aunt ; the books that she had loved, 
 [the flowers that she had tended. She cared 
 little for the costly baubles with whieh she had 
 ,50 ofteu been adorned, for they reflected only 
 [hours of empty gaiety and vain display ; but 
 jail that spoke to her of a companionship and 
 fXa. affection for ever lost, wrung her heart al- 
 imost to bursting. 
 
 At length all was reddy : the modest pack- 
 es were made ; the chaise which was to con- 
 vey her to the country town, whence the coach 
 in whieh she was to travel to her destination 
 took its departure, was ordered for the mor- 
 row ; and then, and only then, she sat down to 
 acquaint Mortimer with her proceedings. To 
 have done so earlier would have been to sum- 
 mon him home only to renew a parting which 
 to her had already been a trial almost beyond 
 her strength ; to have, perhaps, subjected hei'self 
 to receive him as her companion during the 
 journey ; and thus to have prolonged her suf- 
 ferings, and incurred the risk of exciting the 
 displeasure of Aliss Warrington, who had evi- 
 dently been unprepared for such an arrange- 
 ttient. 
 
 Had she been less absorbed by grief, it is pro- 
 vable that she might- have displayed less firm- 
 ness; but there is a recklessness in actual an- 
 iguish which causes all minor considerations to 
 be unheeded ; and thus the timid and tenderly 
 nurtured orphan, who had never hitherto moved 
 from her home without the protecting escort of 
 I.er aunt, now calmly prepared to set forth on 
 a long and weary journey, alone and self-depen- 
 dent. 
 
 For the last time, she wandered in silence and 
 
 the last time, sha 
 lingered at the door of her cousin's room, and 
 remembered how proudly and how joyously sh« 
 had decked it out with flowers, when he return- 
 ed to his home, and to the hearts of those who 
 had so long awaited him. Alas! for what? 
 Then, came the parting with the old and attach- 
 ed servants, wh<f had known and loved her 
 from her childhood ; and she had to part from 
 one and all with a closed hand ; but she meekly 
 explained her inability to repay their affection 
 by aught save words and wishes, for which 
 they blessed her as she went ; and she at length 
 
 /I.,.' 1 ir .•.,1- iu . _i_; _^ 1 3 ?_ _ 
 
 flung herself into the chi 
 
 and, drawing 
 
 down the blinds, wept unrestrainedly, as she waa 
 borne away from her home — her "friends — her 
 memories — and her hopes. 
 
 Poor Gertrude! The measure of her misery 
 was full. She had drained the cup of bitterness 
 to its very lees ; and still she was like a seared 
 autumnal leaf, driven onward, she knew not 
 where ; the very spot of fate. 
 
 Nothing can be told of such a journey. What 
 were its pettj^ annoyances, its puerile difficulties, 
 its coarse inconveniences to her! She had a 
 more perfect antidote against all outlay either of 
 anxiety or money than even the basket of the 
 thrifty Miss "Warrington, in the heart-sicknesg 
 which made her careless of all personal in- 
 dulgences. 
 
 And so she travelled on day and night, uncon- 
 scious of fatigue, and only aroused to the neces- 
 sity of sustaining nature by the officious sugges- 
 tions of her fellow-passengers; nor did she shrink 
 away even from the ungenial contact with the 
 voluble and the busy, or from the unaccustomed 
 food which was placed before her ; she neither 
 heard the first, nor heeded the second. Her 
 thoughts and her memories were alike her only 
 companions. 
 
 At last, her dreary pilgrimage was over, as the 
 coach stopped at a wayside inn, to change 
 horses, where a peasant lad civilly inquired if 
 one Miss Mortimer were a passenger ; and, hav- 
 ing received an afiirmative reply from the coach- 
 man, approached the window, and, totiching his 
 hat, announced himself as her guide to Bletchley, 
 which lay off the main road. 
 
 A short note from her aunt, desiring her to 
 follow the messenger and to leave her luggage 
 at the inn until the evening, when she would 
 send a car to transport it to its destination, left 
 her no alternative ; and, alighting from the ve- 
 hicle, worn and weary as she was, she prepared 
 for this new exertion. 
 
 Ere she had walked many minutes, however, 
 she felt thankful that it was necessary, for her 
 way lay througli rich fields ripening for the 
 harvest; then, bounded a pleasant copse, where 
 the nuts hung in clusters above her head; and, 
 finally, led her along the margin of a little 
 stream, whose ripple ran cool and bright over a 
 bed of pebbles. The birds were singing merrily 
 in the boughs, the sun was shining cheerily in 
 the heavens, and the soft breeze bathed her 
 fevered forehead in freshness. 
 
 What a relief was this from the stifling atmo- 
 
«2 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 sphere, and the noisy discomfort of the moving 
 prison in which she had been so long immured ! 
 Wretched as she was, she felt the bland and 
 blessed influence of nature ; and, as her rustic 
 guide trudged on silently beside her, she strove 
 to shake off her depression, and to make an ef- 
 fort to meet her new friend with composure and 
 Belf-command. 
 
 On any other occasion, the fatigue of such a 
 •walk would have overcome the slender strength 
 of the orphan ; but now it give her time for re- 
 flection ; and, as they approached the village, 
 she remarked with delight the modest church, 
 half overgrown with ivy, which stood apart 
 upon the summit of a gentle rise, at whose base 
 the rivulet wound placidly along; while its 
 downward slope was studded with the humble 
 graves of the villagers, and grazed by innumer- 
 able sheep. All seemed calm and peaceful ; and, 
 eave where one straggling street formed an un- 
 graceful line in the centre of the picture, the 
 modest cottages peeped out, each from its nest 
 of leaves, and she already found herself wishing 
 that in one of these she was about to find her 
 home. 
 
 It was, consequently, with a feeling akin to 
 disappointment, that she saw her guide make 
 directly for the central street; and, after having 
 traversed it to a third of its length, open the 
 gate of a ding}-, grim, brick house, separated 
 from the pathway by a stripe of gravel enclosed 
 within an iron palisade. Her heart swelled, and 
 her spirit once more sank; but this revulsion of 
 feeling was happily interrupted by the appari- 
 tion of a female figure upon the threshold. It 
 was evident that some one had been watching 
 for her arrival ; and the very fact conveyed a 
 welcome. 
 
 This conviction lent her new energy ; and, 
 when the extended hand and the feeble voice 
 convinced her that she had interpreted its mean- 
 ing aright, she could only murmur out a few in- 
 articulate words as she suffered herself to be led 
 into the dwelling. 
 
 She had just left the balmy fields, the be- 
 nignant sunshine, and the fresh breeze of heaven, 
 beneath which her heart had expanded, and her 
 sorrows had for a while been hushed ; and aguin 
 she suddenly found herself surrounded by gloom, 
 and that bleak discomfort which strikes upon 
 the sense even before the e^e has become cog- 
 nisant of its cause. But she repressed the sigh 
 which was rising to her lips, as she endeavored 
 to reply to the friendly greeting with which she 
 was received, iliss Warrington had again sunk 
 into her ciiair, as she entered the apartment; and 
 it was not until she had slowly removed her bon- 
 net, that Gertrude ventured to glance towards 
 her new protectress. 
 
 When she did do so, her eye fell upon a tall 
 and meagre form, so rigidly upright that the 
 attitude was almost painful to contemplate, 
 from the Impression of restraint which it pro- 
 duced. It seemed impossible that any emotion, 
 however powerful, could relax the rigid sinews 
 of the frame, or the hard niustles of the coun- 
 tenance ; while every fold of the tightly-fitting 
 and dingy black dress, and every plait in the 
 Bnowy neckerchief and cap, appeared to partake 
 of the some precision. The gray heir was 
 
 banded smoothly over a forehead upon which 
 long years and worldly trials had alike failed 
 to impress a wrinkle ; while the dim eyes, the 
 long straight nose, and the tightly-compressed 
 and slender lips, completed a picture little cal- 
 cuhited to inspire other feelings than those of 
 timidity and apprehension. 
 
 And the frame was worthy of the picture. 
 
 The apartment was low and dark ; and it was 
 easy to perceive that every article of furniture 
 had occupied its present position from the mo- 
 ment in which it had become the property of 
 its owner ; the heavy and unwieldy chairs ap- 
 peared to have grown to the walls against 
 which they were ranged in straight lines and 
 even distances ; the antique table, with its claw 
 feet, had M-orn a dint into the floor, and its 
 polished surface was guiltless of a stain ; the 
 tall bureau loomed dark and rigid in a recess 
 beside the fire : and not one vestige of attnal 
 inhabitation, not one trac; of the every-day oc- 
 cupation which lend a gjace and a gladness to 
 every home, however humble, of which they 
 form a part, was perceptible throughout the 
 room. 
 
 Gertrude had nerved herself to encounter 
 poverty and privation ; but this utter absence 
 of all the minor elegances which help to throw 
 a veil over the sternest trials of life, struck her 
 to the very heart ; and its effect was the 
 greater, because it was an evil for which she 
 had been totally unprepared. An open book, 
 a single flower, would have removed the im- 
 pression ; but neither book nor flower was to 
 be seen in the little parlor of Miss Warrington. 
 All was cold, and bleak, and desolate. 
 
 An instant sufficed for this ungenial survey; 
 and then, shivering with a chill which seemed 
 to be coursing through her veins like a stream 
 of ice, the unhappy Gertiude withdrew her 
 eyes from the blank around her to fix them 
 once more upon her companion. 
 
 The old lady had, meanwhile, been as biisily 
 occupied in examining the person of her niece ; 
 and it would have been easy for any one, ac- 
 customed to interpret the expression of her 
 almost inflexible countenance, to discover that 
 she was not entirely satisfied with the result. 
 She became, if possible, a line more upiisht ; 
 her thin lips were drawn a degree more tightly 
 together; and her bony fingers were more 
 closely clasped. Even through the dimness of 
 her failing sight, she had already ascertained 
 that her new inmate was a beauty ! 
 
 The first solecism of poor Gertrude -(^-as an 
 attempt to place her bonnet, which she had held 
 for a considei-able time in her hand while 
 answering the inquiries of her aiint regarding 
 her journey, upon the uncovered table. 
 
 " You will excuse me, my dear Miss Morti- 
 mer," said the old lady, as she solemnly waved 
 her back with her hand, " but I do not allow 
 anything to be placed upon that table, until I 
 am assured .that it is free from dust, and can do 
 no mischief As we are to live together, we 
 had better understand each other at once. If 
 your bonnet fatigues you, be good enough to 
 place it upon a chair." 
 
 Gertrude obeyed in silence. Her heart was 
 wrung. 
 
niE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 08 
 
 
 isplay no disappointment or 
 the transition. 
 
 I have no doubt that we shall get on very I Old age is apt to attach an undue importance 
 Ivrell before long," pursued Miss Warrington, 'to the brilliant futilities of life, and to suspect 
 " that is, as I remarked in my letter, if you iti-e, others of prizing them at an equal price ; and 
 
 thus the sorrows of tlie heart, even while they 
 reject or overlook such considerations, are fre 
 quently mistaken for the mortifications of vani- 
 ty, and provoke rather animadversion than 
 pity. 
 
 Even inexperienced as she was, Gertrude in- 
 tuitively felt this truth ; and conscious that her 
 new protectress must be well aware of the 
 change which she could not fail to discover be- 
 tween the affluence to which she had been ac- 
 customed, and the comparative penury to which 
 she was now condemned, she saw at once that 
 it behoved her to disj 
 inconvenience from the transition. 
 
 To the meek and unselfish nature of the or- 
 phan this was easy ; for to personal privation 
 she was indifferent. It was the moral coercion 
 which she foresaw that alarmed her ; that bai'e 
 and whitewashed room would have been to her 
 a paradise, could she only have been assured 
 that there her life could have been spent ; but 
 this she knew to be impossible ; other duties 
 awaited her, and these must be performed at 
 any cost. 
 
 It was, however, with a sensation of pleasure 
 that she found herself introduced into a less 
 formal apartment than that in which she had 
 at first been received ; when, after having 
 smoothed her hair and bathed her eyes, she 
 again descended from her chamber. True, all 
 was chilly, formal, and methodical, in this new 
 parlor also, but still it was less appalling than 
 the state-room, wliich had evidently been open- 
 ed in honor of her arrival. The gaunt bureau 
 was replaced by a small writing-table ; the 
 chairs were capable of transport ; and upon the 
 table stood the cheerful tea-equipage, flanked 
 by a pair of candles ; while upon a set of 
 swinging shelves suspended from the wall, 
 rested half-a-dozen volumes, of divers degrees 
 of antiquity. 
 
 Miss Warrington, in a roomy and upright 
 chair of time-polished mahogany, was already 
 established before the tea-tray, as rigid, as pas- 
 sionless, and as correct as before ; but the ac- 
 cent in which she invited her guest to seat her- 
 self was kind, and even gracious. 
 
 " Your baggage has arrived, my dear niece," 
 she said, as Gertrude ventured to approach a 
 chair, " and by this time to-morrow you will be 
 quite at home. For a while, at least, you will 
 have no leisure to be dull ; for this is a busj 
 season at Bletchley. We have .preserves to 
 make, and wine ; and I liave no doubt that 
 you will willingly relieve me of so ^reat a re- 
 sponsibility." 
 
 " I almost fear " commenced Gertrude 
 
 timidly. 
 
 simple and quiet in your habits ; as, indeed, 
 under your present circumstances, you will re- 
 quire to be. Method is everything : it is by 
 method tliat I have lived respectably upon mj- 
 slender income, as becomes one who is a gentle- 
 woman by birth ; and it is by method only that 
 you will iearn to do the same. But now, 1 dare 
 say. you will be glad to go to your own room, 
 and rest yourself after your journey. You will 
 find all prepared. I have, indeed, gone to some 
 elight expense in order to make you comfort- 
 able ; but you are welcome to all that I can do, 
 and I hope that you will approve.of my arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 Gertrude faltered out her thanks ; and the 
 old lady having rung a hand-bell wliich stood 
 within reach, she hastily snatched up her 
 bonnet, and followed the staid middle-aged 
 servant by whom the summons was answered, 
 up a dark and narrow flight of stairs ; and, with 
 a feeling of relief impossible to describe, at 
 length found herself alone in the apartment 
 which had been allotted to her. 
 
 Her first impulse was to cast herself upon her 
 knees, to implore strength and support in her 
 coming trials ; and to otter up the mute thanks- 
 givings of her spirit for the home which had 
 received her, when she might have been a deso- 
 late wanderer in the wilderness of the world. 
 This duty performed, she rose and glanced with 
 some interest round the narrow room that was 
 now her own. All was scrupulously clean and 
 orderly ; the uncurtained bed was covered with 
 a counterpane of snowy whiteness ; the painted 
 table was similarly adorned, the solitary window 
 was draped with festoons of dimity, and over- 
 looked a garden shaded by tall old trees ; the 
 mantel was decorated with an oval piece of 
 satin embroidery, representing the parting of 
 Hector and Andromache, in a black frame ; and 
 tlie walls had been ncAvly whitewashed. 
 
 Poor and rude as all these arrangements were, 
 Gertrude, nevertheless felt grateful ; and en- 
 deavored to believe that she should soon cease 
 to regret the absence of the elegance to which 
 fihe had been accustomed, in the luxury of soli- 
 tude. It was the daily and hourly demand 
 upon her feelings in the society of her aunt 
 which appalled her ; for she had already seen 
 enough to be convinced that they had not a 
 habit or a sentiment in common. 
 
 Once shut into the little room which was to 
 be her own, she believed that she should find 
 strength iu the very extremity of her isolation ; 
 and as she contemplated the luxuriant foliage 
 which made a twilight in the apartment, she 
 remembered Westrum and its embowering trees, 
 and she felt that she yet possessed one source 
 of rational enjoyment. 
 
 Long, therefore, ere she was summoned to 
 the tea-table of Miss Warrington she had re- 
 
 " Fear what ?" asked the old lady, somewhat 
 ' sharply, as her pinched lips became thinner and 
 closer : " Surely you do not mean to say that 
 covered sufficient calm to meet her, with at you are ignorant of so simple an accomplish- 
 least apparent cheerfulness ; and she made the ment ?" 
 
 effort tlie more readily, that siie was conscious "I must, I believe, plead guilty to this igno- 
 liow little her sorrow was likely to be met with ranee, my dear madam," replied llie orphan 
 sympathy; and how much it might be miacoa- witli a sad smile ; " but I shall rejoice to learn 
 etrued, and perhaps resented. jail that you may be kind enough to teach me." 
 
64 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 The first feeling of Miss "Warrington was evi 
 dently one of intense surprise and displeasure ; 
 but this was soon rebuked by the submissive 
 manner of her young relative. 
 
 " Well, well," she said oneouragingly, " the 
 fault is perhaps not your own ; and if you are 
 indeed willing, as you say, to learn, it may still 
 be repaired. But, bless me. Miss Mortimer, 
 how did j-ou emploj- your time?" 
 
 " In reading, madam, in puiuting, or with my 
 instrument, or my needle." 
 
 " Then you can work ? That at least is some- 
 thing, and may be made useful in every family ; 
 but reading, painting, and playing, are mere 
 waste of time, and can be turned to no account. 
 I have no reproach of that kind to make to my- 
 self in my old age ; and you will do well to 
 aToid it for the future." 
 
 Gertrude sighed in silence. 
 
 " I am glad to see," pursued the old lady after 
 a pause and still in the same monotonous and 
 sententious accent, " that you are at all events 
 free from the silly love of dress ; the amount of 
 your packages has already convinced me of that 
 fact." 
 
 " I have brought with me, madam, merely 
 my mourning," replied Gertrude, devouring the 
 tears Avliieh forced themselves into her eyes, 
 " nor do I apprehend that I shall ever wish to 
 throw it off." 
 
 " And you are right, quite right," said Miss 
 "Warrington, totally misapprehending the senti- 
 ment of the assurance ; " With good manage- 
 ment nothing is more economical than black. I 
 have worn it for years, and therefore speak 
 from experience. Fortunately, we have no 
 shops at Bletchley — at least, none of those shops 
 that are the "Vanity-fair at which young women 
 barter their prudence for finery. We are quiet 
 people at Bletchley, aud have nothing to do 
 with the idle nonsense of fashion." 
 
 And so passed the evening ; wearisome and 
 flat, and almost interminable. Not a sentence 
 was spoken by the lady of the house which did 
 not bear some reference to that gnawing, grind- 
 ing, ever-present necessity, which is enforced by 
 slender means coupled with the pretension of 
 gentility. Every action, every thought, and 
 CTcry effort, was ruled by the one leading prin- 
 ciple ; all were to tend to the same object ; 
 nothing was to be said, or devised, or under- 
 taken, which did not acknowledge as its aim, 
 the furtherance of some petty economy, or 
 some puerile saving. 
 
 Gertrude was bewildered. She felt like one 
 in a new wprld ; and her spirit quailed under 
 the consciousness of her utter inability to com- 
 prehend or to assist the views of her enforced 
 associate. Frecl.Mic was right She had indeed 
 talked too lightly of trials which she had never 
 comprehended ; of a struggle which she had 
 been unable to foresee. Hers had hitherto been 
 the poetry of life; she woa now about to be 
 initiated into its prose. 
 
 CIIAITKR XX. 
 Thb receipt of hie cousin's letter at once has- 
 
 tened the return of Mortimer to Westrum, whteh 
 he reached in the hope that he might antieipats 
 her departure. We have already shown that he 
 failed in his object ; nor was his regret lessened 
 by the desolate sensation created by the aspect 
 of a companionless house. Amid all his self- 
 blame — for that he did feel much is certain, 
 however unwilling he might be to admit tbs 
 fact to himself — his annoyance was, moreover, 
 increased upon perceiving around him every 
 object on which his eyes had been accustomed 
 to rest: and of which he was well aware that 
 Gertrude was the actual owner. There stood 
 her piano — and he knew the value she had 
 attached to it ; here were her books — the chosen 
 friends of her retirement — nay, the key placed 
 in his hand by the weeping Roberts, and which 
 opened a small inlaid cabinet, the bequest of his 
 dead father to a niece whom he loved as a child, 
 soon convinced him that, even to the graceful 
 ornaments which all women prize so highly, 
 she had left everything behind. 
 
 For a time, Mortimer felt as though thers 
 were a tacit reproach in this self-denudation on 
 the part of his absent cousin ; but a moment's 
 reflection enabled him to do her better justice; 
 and he was deeply impressed by the iutuitivs 
 delicacy of her proceeding. 
 
 His first care was to give earnest iiistruetioDS 
 to Mrs. Roberts to cause everything, however 
 trifling which had been the jpruperty of her 
 young mistress, to be carefully collected; and, 
 this done, he accompanied the willing waiting- 
 woman through the principal apai-tinents, and 
 bade her point out every object for which Bh« 
 had heard his cousin profess any preference or 
 regard, and add them to the rest. The packages 
 were then made ; and the heart of Frederic felt 
 lighter as he saw them driven from the door. 
 
 During his ramble through the grounds that 
 evening, he was almost happy in the knowledgs 
 that Gertrude would find comfort and consola- 
 tion in the accustomed objects thus I'cstored to 
 her; and as the deer, wearied of waiting for 
 the kind notice of their gentle mistress, ap- 
 proached him to claim his caress, and appeared 
 to demand, with their mild eyes, tidings of their 
 missing playmate, he almost smiled as he re- 
 sponded to their mute but intelligent inquiry. 
 
 Poverty could not now subject his cousin to 
 every species of privation ; and the period of her 
 exile must soon terminate ; for had not Sybil, 
 his own high-hearted Sybil, reminded him that 
 her proper home would soon be beneath his 
 own roof? Frederic iuxd foi-gotten that women 
 seldom forgive even a shadow of rivalry. 
 
 The letter which he had despatched' to Ger- 
 trude to announce the departure of her pro- 
 perty, was almost buojant; for, delighted to 
 have thus, in some degree, made comjiensation 
 for his other short-comings, he forgot in the 
 prospect of her temporary gratulation, th« . 
 more enduring evils by which she was sur- 
 rounded ; and, after reproaching her for leaving 
 Westrum without affording him the o])portunit-y 
 of accompanying her to her new residence, 1m 
 reminded her that ere long, he should reclaim 
 her at the hands of her present hostess; and 
 painted the future in colors blight enough to 
 scare her spirit as she contrasted them with thft 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 «i 
 
 ines of the present ; and felt the utter impos- 
 ibility of their ultimate realization. 
 
 It was consequently, in an eviable frame of 
 nind that lie started, on the following morning 
 or The Grange. Sybil was not yet apprised of 
 lis arrival, of which he had abstained from ae- 
 juainting her, anxious to enjoy, to the fullest 
 ixtent-, tlje delight of her surprise ; but, before 
 ve accompany him to this new meeting with his 
 iffianced bride, we must conduct our readers to 
 lie luxurious abode of the proud beauty, and 
 atroduee them to a new acquaintance. 
 
 Among the other characteristics of the plea- 
 nre-gromuls of The Grange, was a long walk 
 ringed with superb laurels, which traversed an 
 ixotic slirubbery at some distance from the 
 lOUse, and formed a delightful retreat during 
 '.he more sultry portion of the day. 
 
 As Mortimer was leaving Westrum, two per- 
 ■ons entered tiie walk, one of whom was 5liss 
 ^elamere, and the other a stranger, upon whose 
 irm she leaned, as in earnest and engrossing 
 lonversrttion, they moved slowh* forward. 
 
 There was a singular expression of mingled 
 riumph and apprehension on the brow of Sybil, 
 ,vhile the features of her companion wore a 
 •estless and anxious look, totally at variance 
 A'ith his apparent character. He was a tall and 
 "mely-formed man of about thirty years of age, 
 ,vith large light-blue c^-es, fair hair, arranged 
 ifter a foreign fashion, a marked and somewhat 
 ;alient nose, and a beard closely cut, and en- 
 urcling his chin, a mode now designated en 
 ■oilier but which was, at that period, totally 
 uiknown in England. A decided air of fash- 
 on, and even of pretension, could be detected 
 hrough tlie extreme, but evidently studied 
 limplicitj- of his dress and bearing ; and there 
 .^•as an expression of haughty superciliousness 
 ibout his mouth, which he found it impossible 
 it intervals to suppress. 
 
 •' And you are really happy, Sybil I" were the 
 irst words he uttered after a pause, during 
 nhich his eyes had been rivetted upon the fairy- 
 ike form of his companion. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 ' " I dare not believe it possible," 
 ■ " And wherefore!" 
 
 " Because 3-ou once loved me. Deny it not : 
 y-m loved me." 
 
 •' Is this intended as an insult, Sir Horace ?" 
 
 isked Miss Delamere, as she suddenly paused, 
 
 and withdrawing her hand from his arm, looked 
 
 proudly into his face. 
 
 & I " Pshaw 1" muttered the stranger through his 
 
 [clenched teeth, at the same time re-possessing 
 
 f> ihimself of the liberated hand, and again leading 
 
 p per forward ; " Do you connect the idea of insult 
 
 ji iwith your love? Be more rational, charming 
 
 Sybil. You are conscious that there is no great 
 
 j pleasure to be derived from dwelling upon the 
 
 J ipast for ei filer of us; but this slight reference 
 
 was necessary. You are too clever a tactitian, 
 
 too aceoni[)lished a woman of the world, to 
 
 imagine for a moment that it is simply curiosity 
 
 ) which had led me to intrude upon you on this 
 
 jj loccasion. You cannot think it, and must be 
 
 jJ well able to solve the riddle. Tell me then, 
 
 why am I here ?" 
 
 " I am no CEdipus," was the oold reply ; but 
 
 the heart of the lady beat turaultuously, and hoc 
 eye fell as she compelled herself to" answar: 
 " You must e'en play the Sphinx yourself 
 
 " You will not help me to a solution ?" 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " Nay, then, since you are resolved, I know 
 you well enough to feel all the fruitlessnea 
 of persisting further — and yet your woniatt- 
 heart — " 
 
 " Has ceased to control my reason," interpos- 
 ed Miss Delamere. " I have learned the fallacy 
 of imagination, and am now content to abide by 
 realities." 
 
 " But are you quite sure that you are really 
 doing this? 1 confess that to me, your whole 
 existence here appears only a graceful fiction. 
 Sybil, you are no common being; but even you 
 may be too adventurous." 
 
 " Would you assume the right to control my 
 actions?" 
 
 •' By no means ; I am not so rash. If I found 
 it impossible to do so when I possessed that 
 right, I should scarcely venture to make the 
 attempt now. But I confess that when I re- 
 member the slender amount of the wreck of 
 your fatlier's fortune, and the exact addition 
 which was made to it, I cannot comprehend the' 
 splendor by which you are surrounded." 
 
 " Miracles may be wrought even in the nine- 
 teenth century," said Miss Delamere quietly. 
 
 ,"So I perceive; but will not the bubble burst?" 
 
 " Before I answer your question, you are 
 bound to answer mine. What brings you Jiere?" 
 
 The gentleman did not immediately reply; 
 but, after the pause of an instant, said resolutely: 
 " A passion which I cannot overcome." 
 
 " And yet," faltered Sybil, evidently panting 
 with emotion, "after what has passed — " 
 
 " True ; after what has passed, you have a * 
 right to be astonished at my presence ; and yet, 
 Sybil, you must feel at once that whei-e you 
 have been loved, you never can be forgotten." 
 
 " You are complimentary." 
 
 " I am, at least, sincere. You have seen fit to 
 make yourself the centre of a social pageant; 
 nor shall I attempt to fathom your motives. 
 Only this much I may venture to "remark — that 
 be j-our reasons what they may, the farce which 
 you have put upon the stage must soon ba 
 played out. Do not persist, therefore, in wiiat 
 may ultimately prove a ruinous error; but let 
 me drop the curtain, while the audience are still 
 dazzled by the effect of your machinery." 
 
 " You speak in enigmas. Is your haughty 
 mother cognizant of this new cajirice?" 
 
 " Call it what j-ou please," said her compa- 
 nion, as he cla.sped in his own the small hand 
 that rested on liis arm, "I will not cavil wilk 
 j-ou for words. No, bella h cava, my iimlhor 
 knows not that I am here; knows not, in lact, 
 that I am in England; nor will she cvimi ba 
 aware that I have left Florence, if you con.sent 
 to my wishes, so rapidly will w« wing our way 
 back." 
 
 A singular expression passed over the eloquent 
 features of his listener, as she asked somewhat 
 bitterly : " And your suspicions — how are they 
 to be laid at rest?" 
 
 " I must exert my philosophy," was tlin reply, 
 but the tone in wluch it was uttered impliod 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 more nnea9ine8s than pleasantry. "A year 
 hence, Sybil, and from what I see around me, I 
 am quite aware that you must be penniless. 
 You will tell me, perhaps, that the lovely face, 
 now 80 proudly turned towards me, will prevent 
 Buch a eliuiax ; but do not deceive yourself The 
 fates only know why you have chosen a wilder- 
 ness like this for so gorgeous a display, or what 
 benefit you expect to derive from it ; for here 
 there cannot exist a single being capable of ap- 
 preciating you ; I will not say capable of loving 
 you, for you have placed yourself upon too lofty 
 a pedestal to encourage such advances; and, 
 moreover, I know you to care little for exciting 
 such a feeling." 
 
 " And yet I once loved you." 
 
 Her companion shook his head. " Tliat you 
 deceived yourself for a time into the belief, I 
 will concede," he said gravely ; " but the result 
 proved your mistake. Remember why, and 
 how we parted." 
 
 " My necessities compelled me to the conces- 
 Bion," murmured Sybil, as the hot blood burnt 
 upon her cheek. 
 
 " Why will you wilfully misunderstand me?" 
 ^ he asked impatiently. " You know well that I 
 ' made no allusion which could wound your pride 
 — 7-mine was a mere question of feeling." 
 
 " Be it so," said Miss Delamere; "and now?" 
 
 " Now, I would remind you how devotedly, 
 how earnestly I loved you ; and with what re- 
 luctance I lent myself to the wishes of my family, 
 even after I discovered that it was in vain to 
 hope that I could ever inspire you with an 
 equally absorbing passion. Yes, Sybil, even 
 then, I loved you, although I could no longer 
 ehnt my eyes to the fact that vanity was with 
 you more powerful than affection ; and that — 
 but enough — I am not here to reproach, but to 
 convince you that, in mj^ breast, at least, affec- 
 tion was no feint ; and that I am still as much 
 your slave as ever." 
 
 " Do not believe it," said Miss Delamere scorn- 
 fully : " I have no faitli in the constancy of your 
 sex. I should as soon endeavor to write on the 
 wave, or ride upon the wind, as to rely upon the 
 
 Sermanence of any passion, however violent, 
 o, no. Sir Horace ; you, who were scared bj' a 
 phantom, when I was unscathed by a sin ' 
 breatii, cannot now, in sober earnestness, come 
 to claim the hand which you formerly rejected.'' 
 
 " I come to reclaim the heart." 
 
 Sybil started. A shiver ran through her 
 veins ; her pale lips parted, but she could not 
 articulate a syllable. 
 
 " You tremble, Sybil," continued her compan- 
 ion; " and yet, what can you fear? Look dis- 
 passionately at our mutual position. I am free 
 and wealthy. My presence here to-day must 
 convince you of the extent of my love. You 
 are madly braving a certain and a swift-coming 
 destruction, from wliich I would fain save you. 
 It were idle to expose the reasons whicli render 
 it impossible that I should offer you my name ; 
 but my lieart, Sybil — that heart which you first 
 taught to feel, is all your own. Will you reject 
 it« homage ?" 
 
 '* And this to a woman whom you cmce sought 
 to make your wife?" 
 
 " Even so. Do not let ns enact a melodramt^ 
 Sybil. To the world be what you pleasa 
 Make of yourself, if you will, the presiding 
 genius of the Aladdin's' garden which you have 
 created about you, and induce those who visit 
 it to believe that every leaf and every blosson 
 is a gem ; but to me be honest. Had I hearc 
 of you in a remote retirement, shunning th« 
 ej'cs of the world, and anxious to escape no' 
 only the influence, but also the temptations of 
 the past, I should have endeavored to forge' 
 you ; but as, even in my foreign home, I tracec 
 you step by step, fondly lingering in the shado\« 
 of my blighted affection, and learned alike witl 
 wonder and incredulity the inexplicable natun 
 of your proceedings, I began to hope that yoi 
 would not again meet me unmoved; biu,: 
 
 that " 
 
 " Why do you pause, Sir Horace ? You sm 
 that I listen calmly." 
 
 " In short, Sybil," faltered her companion, ") 
 taught myself to believe that, recklessly as yoi 
 miglit rush upon your own ruin, you would no 
 willingly involve your mother in the same suf 
 fering ; but that I should be able to induce yoi 
 to spurn the comments of a world by wliici 
 you had already been wounded ; and to reston' 
 both yourself and her to legitimate affluence." 
 The self-command exhibited by Miss Delamen 
 as she listened, was almost frightful. Her lip 
 were ashy pale, and the veins about the temple 
 swollen almost to bursting ; but lier step 
 steady, and her head erect. It would have beei 
 impossible from her manner to analyse the feel 
 ing by which she was possessed. 
 
 "Have I deceived myself, Sybil?" pursuei 
 the low passionate voice ; " Will not you b 
 mine as I have loved to dream? A life of de 
 votion shall repay the sacrifice ; you shall i 
 breathe a wish, you shall not indulge a visit 
 which I will not hasten to gratify. Sped 
 dearest ; do I plead in vain ?" ^ 
 
 A strange wild smile flickered upon the lip 
 of Miss Delamere ; and, encouraged by ho 
 silence, and an expression which he misintei_ 
 preted, her companion ventured to throw hi.' 
 arm about her waist. He encountered no n 
 sistance; but as he drew her towards him, 
 bitter and hollow laugh broke from her li 
 as, bending her head, she whispered in ! 
 ear — 
 
 "Xeither ruin nor disgrace await me, S* 
 Horace Trevor: I am an affianced wife!" 
 
 Tiien, turning upon him a look of haught 
 defiance, she withdrew herself fi-oin his clasf 
 onl}% however, to perceive, at a distance of 
 few paces, Mortimer, evidently overpowered b 
 emotion, standing directly in her path. 
 
 For an instant she quailed, but only for an i! 
 stant; in the next she advanceil towards Iiii 
 with a radiant smile and an extended hand, o: 
 claiming blandly : 
 
 "Ha! you are welcome, truant. I was jii: 
 beginning to weary of my ncwly-arriye 
 cousin, who is practising all his pretty fascins 
 lions upon me on his way to one wlioin he lov« 
 better. And when did" you return? Do n<. 
 venture to tell me that you liave been moi 
 than an hour at Westrum, lest I resent so gla 
 
 i 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 67 
 
 g a proof of indifference towards the friends 
 ho have been long and anxiously awaiting 
 OUT re-appearance. And now I must make 
 oil known to my relative, Sir Horace Trevor; 
 u' admiration of our sex, and the envy of his 
 wu. Horace, this is Mr. Mortimer, of whom 
 were just speaking." 
 
 Frederic had iustinetiveh'' clasped the hand 
 hich had been extended to him, but he did not 
 ■tain it ; and as they were successively named, 
 10 gentlemen exchanged a cold and haughty 
 o\v, which augured unfavorably for their fu- 
 ire good understanding. 
 
 At a single glance Miss Dslamere thoroughly 
 ppreciated tlie inimical feeling with which 
 hoy met ; and, uncertain of the extent of what 
 lortimcr might have seen or heard before she 
 ooame aware of his presence, she hastened 
 u introduce an irrelevant subject of conversa- 
 ion. 
 
 " And thus you are still wedded to Florence, 
 Torace," she said, as if pursuing a former topic ; 
 and fully purpose an immediate return there ? 
 a truth, I am by no means astonished at your 
 esolution. You know that with me, also, beau- 
 iful Italy has always been a favorite dream." 
 " Then why not return there V 
 Sybil stole a_glance at Frederic, who was walk- 
 ng silently by her side, ere she replied with a 
 mile — 
 
 ■' My movements are not always under the 
 control of my wishes ; many things may occur 
 prevent such an expati-iation — at least for the 
 arcsent." 
 
 " What woman wills, fate wills," said Sir Ho- 
 race with emphasis ; " and especially when that 
 svoman is Sybil Delamere." 
 
 " Alas ! how well you know to the con- 
 trary." 
 
 " Certainly not from my experience of the 
 juist. You may have thwarted the projects of 
 "tilers; but I believe that you have in general 
 boon tolerably successful in accomplishing your 
 own." 
 
 " Et tu. Brute P' exclaimed tlie lady with a 
 light laugh, which, however, failed to disguise 
 altogether a certain feeling of anxietj- and rest- 
 lessness ; " but I ought to have remembered 
 that it is dangerous to tilt against you in a war 
 of wits. Talk, therefore, if you please, of any 
 one rather tlian of myself, for you will mislead 
 ilr. Mortimer into a belief that I am a very 
 dangerous person ; an idea which I am very 
 sure has never yet occurred to him." 
 
 " I congratulate j'our friend upon the personal 
 qualifications which have enabled him to re- 
 main blind to the fact," replied Trevor sar- 
 castically : " he must be possessed of an ample 
 fund of talent and amiability, to work such a 
 miracle as that of encountering alone and un- 
 restrictedly the fascinations which turned the 
 heads of half London ; and even then de- 
 '- epised the limited extent of tlieir power. You 
 did not know Miss Delamere in town, Mr. 
 Mortimer; immersed in pleasure, surrounded 
 by adorers, and the very arbitress of fashion ; 
 •'■^ . or you would have feared to approach her 
 ■: here, where you were exposed to the whole 
 *'!' artillery of her blandishments. Do not be 
 deluded into the belief that she is to be en- 
 
 countered with impunity. I — her cousin — warn 
 you of her error." 
 
 Sybil bit her lip ; and Mortimer, still too 
 much irritated to trust himself with words, an- 
 swered only by a slight bend, and Miss Dela- 
 mere passed her hand through his arm, and 
 leaned upon it, as though she clung to him for 
 support 
 
 " Ti'uly this Grange affair is a strange whim," 
 pursued the incorrigible Trevor ; " 1 leave you 
 in a crowd ; yourself the busiest mote quiver- 
 ing in the sunbeam, and I find you liere bui t 
 in like a delinquent nun, betAveen four walls." ^ 
 
 " I was weary of the turmoil to which you 
 allude." 
 
 " Weary I" echoed her interlocutor ; " Not so, 
 fair lady ; if I know anything of hximan nature, 
 and above all, of woman nature. Your sex only 
 weary of the world when it has Avearied of 
 them : and all those who look you in the face 
 will feel the impossibility of such an effect in 
 j'our case." 
 
 " You have faith in nothing," replied Sybil 
 gaily. 
 
 " I have heard," was the retort ; " that a 
 stricken deer always flies to the covert to die." 
 
 " While I," — interposed Miss Delamere, mak- 
 ing a violent effort to control her emotion ; 
 " sought the solitude of the country in order re- 
 ally to live ; for my previous state of being was 
 mere empty existence. I was like one wlio had 
 never looked upon a sun-rise ; and who knew 
 not the marvellous blessings and the glorious 
 privileges to be obtained by those who really 
 seek them." 
 
 "Better and better! You philosophize. I 
 am delighted that I ventured thus to invade 
 your retreat, for I shall leave you a wiser and a 
 happier woman. Thus, then, you liave blotted 
 out the past, and now live only in the future?" 
 
 "You read me admirablj-." 
 
 "And am I to declare this to poor Captain 
 Fitz — what was liis name ? — whose head you 
 turned for a whole montli, and whose heart 
 was only saved from destruction by the fact of 
 its having already been regularly broken once 
 or twice every season for the last five years." 
 
 " You may declare it to a whole military pha- 
 lanx." 
 
 " But not to Prince Gustave, surely, Sybil?" 
 
 Despite all her self-command, the hand of the 
 lady trembled upon the arm that supported it, 
 and her eyes flashed with irritation ; but the 
 expression of triumph which she read upon tlic • 
 features of Trevor made her rally in a moment; 
 and it was with an affectation of interest which 
 betrayed her inward emotion that she exclaimod, 
 
 " lia! Apropos of the poor young Princt — 
 where is he now parading his listlessness? I 
 have not heard of him since I left town." 
 
 " We have been residing together in P'lorence." 
 
 "Together!" echoed Sybil with a start, and 
 evidently for once thrown off lier guard. 
 
 " il percfie non, la mia bellaV asked Sir Ho- 
 race ; "Did you not encourage our acquauit- 
 anee ? And could you believe me to be forni'^d 
 of so coarse a clay as to be unable to appreciate 
 the delicate porcelain of your exquisite friend T 
 
 Moilimer listened in silence, but Miss iXla- 
 mere could feel the yiolent throbbing of liis hearl 
 
88' 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUniS. 
 
 as she walked beside him. Fortunately he had 
 not been required to join in a conversation 
 which turned upon persons with whom he was 
 nrtaequninted ; but JtLis exemption had only 
 abled liim tlie more fully to note every word 
 Avhicli had been uttered by either party ; and 
 the longer he listened, the more painfully he 
 felt in how false a position he stood as regarded 
 the past life of the woman to whom he was 
 about to unite his fate. Moreover, the manner 
 of Sir Horace towards Sybil displeased him. It 
 is true, he was her cousin ; but even that rela- 
 tionship, close as it was, did not appear to Fre- 
 deric to justify the supercilious and almost ac- 
 cusing tone in whicli he sometimes addressed 
 her. There was a levity, also, in his allusions, 
 which imj>lied a Avant of respect for her dignity; 
 if not actually for her feelings. Either she had 
 loved these men who were now so lightly men- 
 tioned ; or she had trifled with them, and thus 
 given him a licence to couple her name with 
 theirs ; and in either case, how was his idol 
 fallen ? 
 
 He thought of his buried mother, and sighed. 
 
 His companions still talked on, but he listened 
 no longer. His whole soul was in the past — 
 that past which was to him a mystery and a 
 blank. Could it be that Sybil, whom he had be- 
 lieved to be above the weaknesses and the errors 
 of her sex, had frittered away her youth in those 
 heartless and puerile affectations of attachment, 
 which merely gratify the vanity without awak- 
 ening the feelings ; but which, nevertheless, 
 wear the bloom of purity from the spirit, and 
 harden it into worldliness, while rendering it 
 for ever afterwards incapable of a deep and 
 honest passion ? Or had she, indeed, loved so 
 absorbingly, that her heart had become a waste; 
 and that those who knew best were conscious 
 that they could not pain her by allusions from 
 whicli others of her sex would instinctively have 
 Bhrunk ? Vainly did he ask himself these ques- 
 tions. They could be answered only by a know- 
 ledge of the past. 
 
 One thing was evident. Sybil had. been one 
 of the gayest votaries of fashion — courted, ad 
 mired, and adulated ; and she had suddenly with 
 drawn lierself from the world, and buried her- 
 self in the country', where she was an utter 
 stranger. What could have induced such a re- 
 solution ? It could not have been any diminu- 
 tion of homage, for she was still young, beauti- 
 ful, and brilliant; while it was equally apparent 
 tliat the sacrifice had not been made from pru- 
 dential motives; as she had, on her arrival at 
 The Grange, at once entered upon a course of 
 almost reckless exi)euditure, which implied no 
 pecuniary anxieties. Hitherto, Mortimer had 
 never speculated upon the subject. It had been 
 Sybil's pleasure to act thus; and he was grate- 
 ful for any caprice which had brought them to- 
 gether ; but now a doubt of he knew not what 
 crept ov< r him ; and the words of liis mother 
 rose before him in characters of fire. A thou- 
 sand confused ideas and vague mi.sgiving3 floated 
 across his brain. He felt as though his ail'eclion 
 kad been wronged and trifled with ; that Sybil 
 •was not what he had believed her to be ; and as 
 he moved forward, instinctively obeying the 
 inapulse of th« beautiful hand which still rested 
 
 pi 
 
 »:!■ 
 
 at least, yon i 
 
 upon liis arm, he was conscious of an irritation 
 which he struggled to conceal. 
 
 Ere long, however. Miss Delamere was struck 
 by the altered expression of his countenance, jit 
 and apprehensive that the conversation of her mi iS':] 
 new guest had impressed him to her disadvanfc. i jtjf 
 age, she hastened with her usual tact, to turn it J ]y-:i 
 upon himself, well aware that the mention of .j ^ii 
 his own name could not fail to arouse him from | 'Ji 
 his untimely reverie, and judging by its effect 
 upon his physiognomy, that she must at ouod 
 adopt a bold measure in order to counteract its 
 influence, and retain her hold upon his honor. 
 
 Yes!" she said, in reply to some observa-j iin 
 tion of her more loquacious companion ; " There- 
 in, at least, you are quite right, and Mr. Mor- 
 timer himself is a breathing evidence of tlia 
 truth of your remark." 
 
 Frederic started as he heard himself named 
 and once more he listened with attention. 
 
 How so ?" asked Sir Horace, listlessly, 
 •e the gay deceivers of our sex to be found j 
 upon every soil? Surely her 
 should have escaped." 
 
 " And yet I have done the very reverse," said ) 
 Miss Delamere, in a tone of light gaiety which i 
 grated unpleasantly upon the car of her lover; 
 " I buried mjself as you see, in order to liv» 
 entirely for my own fancies and feelings, but 
 my star had willed it otherwise, and I onlj 
 rushed upon my fate." 
 
 " And am I to imply that Mr. Mortimer is 
 fate ?" 
 
 I must even permit you to do so ; but be 
 lieve me, that fault has not been my own. Yon 
 would not imagine, Horace, to look at him, calm 
 and placid as he appears, that he has far more 
 strength of character than yourself; and j'et so 
 it is. When I arrived at Westrum, I not only 
 made hi.« acquaintance, but that of his bethroth- 
 ed wife, a cousin, born and educated for the 
 express purpose of rendering him the happieil 
 man on earth. By the way, how is it that yon 
 men never will be content to be happy save 
 after your own fashion? You can imagine no- 
 thing prettier, or more gentle, or more guili 
 less, than the fair betrothed, and jet he has 
 seen fit to overthrow all the family arrange- 
 ments, and to lay his heart upon a less worthy 
 altar." 
 
 " You are modest, my sweet kinswoman. But 
 how did you accomplish this transition ?" 
 
 " Have I not already told jou that the fault 
 was not my own ? In vain did I represent to 
 him the inlprudence of thwarting his mother's 
 wishes. In vain did I counsel, argue, and even 
 frown, all was of no avail. He was still rasbjflj^, 
 enough to persist. Vv'ere you not, Frcdericri/' \ 
 and she turned towards him with a smile for! 
 which, only on the previous day, he would havsj 
 forfeited a year of existence. j 
 
 ]Sow, however, even that smile could not! 
 overcome the feeling produced by the indelicacy 
 of such a communication, made in such a tone. 
 Shocked by her levity, Mortimer could only 
 stammer out a few disjointed v/ords; but, afl'eet- 
 ing to understand from these that he assented to 
 her assertion, she continued without any change 
 of manner, — 
 
 " Thus then, you see that I must stand 
 
 I' 
 
TEffi RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 69 
 
 q ttcd, altliough in eudeavoring to restore him 
 tills reason, 1 contrived to lose my own: and 
 ii\- you will probably be better able to uuder- 
 Bl id why I nave ceased to regret town and 
 it j:aieties. For pleasure I mean to exchange 
 h'i<iiicss, and to substitute affection for ad- 
 nation." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer little suspects how many ene- 
 n s he will have succeeded in making. Like 
 tl brothers who peopled earth by flinging 
 e) les behind them, he will soon discover tliut 
 b has created a shoal of envious adversaries, 
 K\o will never forgive so heinous an act of pi- 
 r;v as tliat of carrying off the brilliant and co- 
 V 1(1 Miss Delamere." 
 
 You speak emphatically, Sir Horace," said 
 } timer with a clouded brow. 
 
 And I have cause to do so," replied Trevor, 
 c<iposedly; "You have disarranged all my 
 o'l plans also. My errand here was to induce 
 jr.' fair cousin to return with me to Florence, 
 fti you have most inauspiciously crossed my 
 pJh. For I should have succeeded, Sybil, 
 dwld I not ?" — he asked, with an expression 
 oi-ye and lip which flooded her brow with 
 ci ison — " if you had not given Mr. Mortimer 
 & 'i-ht to hold you back ?" 
 
 In any and every case, your failure would 
 h; r been signal," said Miss Delamere, with a 
 h;;.:htiness which she had not previously dis- 
 TM ed towards him ; then, as if fearful that she 
 ri cd too much, she added carelessly : " My 
 HI her, as you are aware, detests the water, 
 ai is not young enough to make a perpetual 
 p: rimage of her existence. We were about to 
 le AVestrum for the continent a short time 
 bik, but my wishes were overruled." 
 
 nd again she looked earnestly and affection- 
 at y in the face of Mortimer, as if to recall to 
 I memory by whom and how they had been 
 c<travened. 
 
 till, alike pained, displeased, and disappoint- 
 td'rederic could only reply by a constrained 
 «ilc. Willingly would he have found himself 
 a^ie, for the pulses of his forehead labored 
 a.]ii6\ to pain, and he felt quite unequal to the 
 elit of taking part in a conversation which 
 j.''''d upon the sensitiveness of his nature; 
 b he could not endure the idea of leaving 
 S il to the society of her cousin, who had al-l 
 [•t ly become odious to him. By his officious | 
 a) iirance he had torn away the veil which 
 H' 1- should have been raised, and had reveal- 
 C' '» liim the woman whom he loved divested: 
 ot lalf the spell by which she had hitherto | 
 hi 1 environed. He was conscious, too, that 
 li liad exhibited himself most disadvantage- 
 01 y to this supercilious stranger, who not 
 oi,- possessed the privilege of a relationship 
 ■^'^ ' !i authorized him to become a guest at 
 1 Grange, but who was also cognisant of the 
 P — that past which he now felt must in- 
 il nee all Ids future life — that past of which he 
 h: until to-day been careless ; but which now, 
 p litom-like, scared him as he glanced towards 
 
 f'luctant as he was, however, he felt that the 
 
 "' i must be made, lie must return to liis 
 
 ate home, now doubly desolate, for Ger 
 
 was no longer there to welcome him with 
 
 her meek smile, and her low soft voice, and he 
 must learn to endure the conviction, that while 
 he sat in solitude, brooding oyer liis doubts and 
 apprehensions, his brilliant mistress was bandy- 
 ing sallies and sarcasms witli one who had 
 known her from her childliood, and who was 
 evidently in her entire confidenc"e. 
 
 Feigning therefore, suddenly to remember an 
 enforced appointment, he drew out his watch, 
 and declaring that he had already exceeded the 
 given time, he hurriedly took his leave ; but 
 not before Sybil had tenderly nuirmured in his 
 car: " Farewell then, till to-morrow, my own 
 Frederic! Remember how earnestly 1 shall 
 wait and watch for you." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 And his home was indeed desolate when lie 
 once more entered it. His dinner was served in 
 silence, and removed untouched, and then he 
 was 9nce more alone. Nothing could exceed the 
 feeling of dreariness with which he listened to 
 the sound of his own footsteps, as he paced to 
 and fro in the echoing apartment which had 
 once been glad with fond and cheerful voices, or 
 the loud ticking of the time-piece, which only 
 served to show him how wearily the moments 
 passed along. * 
 
 Fatigued at length by the monotony of his 
 own moveiuents, he threw himself upon a chair, 
 and abandoned himself to a train of bitter and 
 upbraiding reflections. He could no longer doubt 
 that he had been deceived: that deluded by his 
 vanity, and misled by a headstrong passion, he 
 had become the easy prey of a heartless and 
 manoeuvering Avoman. The pang was a bitter 
 one, and as he remembered the pure and un- 
 selfish affection which he had recklessly flung 
 from him, he bowed his head upon his breast, 
 and a tear stole into his eye. For an instant ha 
 resolved never to see Sybil again ; she was not 
 yet his wife, and he would leave her free to ex- 
 ert her arts upon anotlier victim; but tliis reso- 
 lution failed as suddenly as it had been c.on- 
 ceived: he might indeed liberate Sybil, but lie 
 could not free himself from the spoil which slie 
 had cast about him. Even now, even at t!ie mo- 
 ment when he mentallj' acknowledged her pro- 
 bable unworthiness, he was rather inclined to 
 curse the intrusive cousin who had opened his 
 eyes to her demerits, than her in whom they ex- 
 isted. For weal or for woe he felt, indeed, as 
 she herself had expressed it, that Miss Delamere 
 was his fate. 
 
 It was too late to contend, his honor was en- 
 gaged, and she held his happiness in her hands. 
 And then came the soothing memory that slie 
 had owned to him a previous affection, so sin- 
 cere as to have threatened in its failure the very 
 principle of her existence ; but still, as she had 
 declared, less deep than that whicii he had him- 
 self inspired. And who would say but that her 
 love for him might obliterate every other |)a3s- 
 ing fancy, and restore her to him, as he had once 
 fondly believed, all his own. 
 
 Thus vacillating between his pride and his 
 passion, did Mortimer alternately vow to escape 
 
10 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 1 
 
 by flight the snare which had been laid for him, 
 and then resolve inimediatelj^ afterwards to 
 maintain his right over the affections which he 
 had won. 
 
 " "When once she is really mine," he murmured 
 to himself; "she shall at least renounce all 
 t«rcourse with this sarcastic cousin, who has 
 Buddenly come between us like a blight, and 
 meanwhile, I will watch her narrowly ; not a 
 word, not a gesture shall escape me which bears 
 reference to the past. In order to comprehend 
 my position fully, even although by so doing I 
 should but be meeting regret and disappoint- 
 ment on the very threshold of my married live, 
 I will garner up every inference and every il- 
 lusion : and thus, day by day, and hour by hour, 
 I shall learn something of her past existence — 
 Bomething which may tend to acquit her in my 
 eyes, or which must render me supremely 
 wretched." 
 
 In vain did a passing memory bring back his 
 thoughts to Gertrude : her image dwelt with 
 liim only as that of a loved sister and a regret- 
 ted friend, no pulse bounded as he recalled the 
 sweet companionship of past days ; Sybil was 
 to him all in all ; and even while his reason 
 doubted, and his pride rebelled, the vehemence 
 of his passion continued unabated. 
 
 Nevertheless, he resolved on the following 
 day to abstain from visiting The Grange. He 
 had a plausible excuse in the accession of busi- 
 ness, which had supervened on the death of his 
 mother ; and even amid his anxiety to watch 
 the proceedings of Sybil, he could not overcome 
 his dislike of her cousin. 
 
 Accordingly he ordered his horse, and rode 
 leisurely through the green lanes, and over the 
 hills of the neighborhood, suffering the animal 
 to travel at his own pace, and almost to follow 
 his own path ; nor was it until upon entering the 
 town on his return that he was aroused from 
 the painful and irritating train of thought, in 
 which he had indulged throughout the ride ; 
 but then, indeed, he awoke once more to the 
 realities of the present, as he encountered Miss 
 Delamere and her guest, seated side by side in 
 the little pony phaeton, which the lady was 
 driving with her accustomed ease and skill. 
 
 The meeting was constrained on all sides, for 
 the annoyancfe, even if not the jealousy of Morti- 
 mer was at once renewed ; while Miss Delamere 
 herself for an instant appeared embarrassed. 
 Nevertheless, with that tact which seldom de- 
 serts her sex in any extremity, she was the first 
 to rally, and ])layfLdly menacing him with her 
 wliip, siie exclaimed with a sunny smile, as soon 
 as the necessary greetings were exchanged; 
 ■' You dare not rcjuoach me, Frederic, for hav- 
 ing played the truant, for you must remember 
 that I told you I sliould expect you at an early 
 hour this morning, and accordingly I waited 
 your appearance until 1 felt that it was vain to 
 expect you any longer, and therefore I yielded 
 to the entreaties of Sir Horace, who was anxious 
 to see somewhat of the ultima thnle to which he 
 l)ad 80 courageously ventured, and resolved to 
 do the honors of our hills and lanes, not how- 
 over, without a liope, which is now realized, that 
 we miglit encounter you upon our way.-" 
 
 " Did I produce the impression of one who in- 
 
 tended to intrude a reproach ?" asted Mortimer 
 rather coldlj\ 
 
 Sybil looked uneasy. 
 
 " You see that my fair cousin is at least pr* 
 pared to wear her chains meekly, Mr. Mord. 
 mer," observed Trevor in his accustomed accentj 
 
 "Miss Delamere is too good," was the stififre] 
 ply ; " but as yet, I have no right to inflioj 
 them." [ 
 
 A sob, almost of suffocation, rose to the thro*! 
 of the lady, of which the bitterness was no'i 
 diminished as she detected the low but self-graj 
 tulatory laugli which escaped her companion. I 
 
 " And what think you of our Siberia, St' 
 Horace Trevor?" pursued Mortimer in the samij 
 cold tone ; " Can you breathe amid these primij 
 five wastes, where the perfumes of fashion hav<j 
 never come ? Can you contrive to exist in thi' 
 wilderness where men dare to vegetate withon, 
 a previous patent of exclusiveness and ton ? Or; 
 have you seen enough to induce you to retreal 
 in alarm to a more congenial hemisphere ?" 'i 
 
 " I like Westrum and its environs vastly.i 
 said the baronet with a yawn ; " I always hsiji 
 a passion for discoveries, and I begin to hop 
 that I have in reality more rural tastes than 
 hitherto gave mj-^elf credit for possessing. A 
 to living here, I say nothing, but every on 
 condemned to such a fate may at least congrati, 
 late himself upon the fact of emulating Trutl 
 which, as some one has somewhere told us, hi 
 taken up its residence at the bottom of 
 well." 
 
 " Are you aware that all my property 
 situated in this country. Sir Horace?" askc 
 Mortimer haughtily. 
 
 " Yes, oh yes : so I understand from 
 cousin. Sybil has no secrets from me, yo 
 know." 
 
 " I was not aware," retorted Frederic 
 increasing displeasure, " that Miss Delamei 
 herself was so well informed upon the 
 ject." 
 
 " My dear Frederic," said the young 
 coughing down a sensation of no ])leasant d 
 scription, as she saw her prudent inq\iiries th" 
 betrayed ; " surely you do pot intend to 'mal 
 me understand that you so readilj' forget yo' 
 own communications to me ? Sir Horace, wi 
 the natural anxiety of a relative, asked qu« 
 tions which I answered without reserve, n 
 supposing that you wished to make any myste> 
 of so common-place a circumstance." 
 
 Mortimer felt embarrassed in his turn; ' 
 had no recollection of having made his pec) 
 niary aflairs a subject of conversation duri 
 'lis interviews with Sybil, but he was unable i/ 
 deny that such had been the case, and he 
 sequentl}^ remained silent. 
 
 You will dine at The Grange — of course 
 said Miss Delamere earnestly. 
 
 " I fear — I believe — I think that it will I 
 mpossible," was tlie reply. " I have to ma: 
 arrangements for the payment of Gertrud 
 'cgacy, which have already been too long (i[ 
 layed. She is my cousin, as you are aware," ji 
 
 dded, with a peculiar emphasis, " and 
 merely personal consideration should induce \ 
 to neglect her interests. Her signature 
 certain papers is indispensable, and in order ' 
 
TUE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 71 
 
 '■i%i 
 
 tkeiti! 
 
 obtain this, it is necessary that I sliould see her. 
 I had intended to ride to The Grange this 
 errening to take leave for a few days, bnt as we 
 have 80 fortunately met, I will do so now." 
 
 " Are you serious, Frederic ?" asked Sybil 
 with a throbbing heart. 
 
 Perfectly so ; and no moment could be more 
 auspicious than the present (when 1 know you 
 to be assured of pleasant and congenial society) 
 for the performance of my duty. Make, there- 
 fore, I pray you, my excuses to Mrs. Delaraere 
 whom I hope 
 
 u, my ( 
 to fine 
 
 d in strong health on my 
 really will not dine at Tlie 
 
 return." 
 
 " And you 
 Grange ?" 
 
 I cannot. My conscience already reproaches 
 
 And when may we look for you again ?" 
 I can scarcely answer the question. I am 
 "about to travel from one ultima thule to another, 
 and I know not what may occur to detain me. 
 I need not, however, on that account detain 
 you." And pressing the hand which Sj'bil ex- 
 tended to him with a reproachful smile, he 
 slightly touched his hat to the baronet, by 
 whom the salutation was returned with equal 
 coldness and they separated. 
 
 •' Sybil ?" exclaimed Sir Horace with a light 
 laugh ; " I fear that the twig is not so well 
 limed as you believed. The young Squire is 
 less plastic than he should be in such able hands 
 as yours." 
 
 " You do not understand Mortimer," said his 
 companion, vainly endeavoring to conceal her 
 mortification ; " he is annoyed that I should 
 have left home when I promised to wait for 
 him, and he wishes me to perceive his annoy- 
 ance." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 " "What more can there be ?" 
 
 " Nay, you know best ; but it struck me — It is 
 too absurd, fair cousin, I admit, considering our 
 impromptu relationship, got up too, as it was, 
 for his especial delectation — but it struck me 
 that the gentle Corydon was jealous." 
 
 " Nonsense!" 
 
 " Do you dare me, Sybil ?" 
 
 " Trevor, you are absurd." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but remember that my ab- 
 surdity has brought me from Italy, and I owe 
 no forbearance to this tetchy swain of yours. 
 So long as I believed you to be sure of him, I 
 compelled myself to submit, aware as I am that 
 he had certain social conventionalities in his 
 favor, but having within the last half hour seen 
 reason to change my opinion, I warn you that I 
 enter the lists again." 
 
 "Do you persist in your insult. Sir Horace?" 
 
 "You give my humble suit a harsh name, fair 
 lady! Do youhokl it as nothing that I have 
 found it impossible to forget you ? — that in order 
 to secure your love I am ready to expatriate 
 myself for months, or even years? — that al- 
 though my whole family will be estranged from 
 me by such a measure, I am liere to implore of 
 you to assert your superiority to vulgar preju- 
 dice, and share my fortunes?" 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself while you fail to 
 deceive me, Sir Horace," said Miss Delamere 
 with an angry and impatient gesture. " I could 
 
 I in no manner so greatly gratify your suspicious 
 I and arrogant relatives as by disgracing myself 
 as you suggest ; for those wlio could not brook 
 Sybil Delamere as your wife would rejoice to 
 exult over her as your mistress. You see that, 
 unlike yourself, I have courage enough to call 
 things by their right names. And now liear mo 
 while I declare to you that had another indi- 
 vidual on earth dared to insult me by such a 
 proposition, I would have resented it to the latest 
 hour of my life; but with you. Sir Horace 
 Trevor, I am peculiarly situatecl, and I liave felt 
 myself compelled to endure the affront. Let 
 it, however, suffice to assure you, once for all, 
 that nothing less than your hand and name will 
 ever induce me to listen to you for a moment !" 
 
 "Again, Sybil?" 
 
 "As you please," was the scornful retort; 
 " Remember that it was not I who solicited a 
 renewal of our intercourse." 
 
 " But should this worthy country squire fail 
 you ?" 
 
 " You have heard all that I have to say upon 
 the subject. But of this be convinced, that 
 Mortimer will no more fail me than I shall fail 
 myself, it may please you in your exclusive- 
 ness to despise him ; but he is a man of honor, 
 and will scorn to falsify his words." 
 
 "Honor!" sneered Trevor; "it is a term 
 which admits of such various significations that 
 it becomes difficult to define it accurately. We 
 all pique ourselves upon our honor, even when 
 others conceive it to have been altogether for- 
 feited." 
 
 The eyes of Miss Delaraere flashed, but she 
 made no rejoinder. 
 
 " You will be a coquette to the last, Sybil," 
 pursued the baronet after a pause ; " but one can 
 scarcely look you in the face, and not forgivo 
 you ; although, knowing your power as you do, 
 j'ou might be more merciful in its exorcise. But 
 what of this cousin mentioned by your Pyramus? 
 Is it the pretty orphan to whom his "^mamma 
 had promised him as a husband ? If so, gare U 
 loup !" 
 
 Miss Delamere curled her lip in scorn. " Yea, 
 the legacy to which he alluded was one be- 
 queathed- by his mother to her protegre ; but I 
 am perfectly tranquil on the subject. When tlia 
 eagle has once gazed upon the sun, he is content 
 to close his eyes on the moonlight." 
 
 " A pretty metaphor enough ; but do not forget 
 that even the eagle cannot gaze for ever without 
 wearying of a splendor so blinding. Poetry haa 
 its cliarms for a while, but the veriest entluisiast 
 must at times descend to prose. Even I am oo- 
 casionally prosaic." 
 
 Sybil endeavored to assume an air of gsiiety 
 and uneoucern ;_ but she was, nevei-thcless, not 
 without some misgiving on the subject of Morti- 
 mer's visit to liis cousin. It was evidently a re- 
 solution as suddenly formed as it had been, 
 abruptly announced; and she felt that they had 
 parted coldly and unsatisfactorily. That tlj« 
 presence of Sir Horace Trevor, and his unguariJ- 
 ed allusions, had tended to render Frcderio uo- 
 easy and suspicious, she could not eonecal eveii 
 from herself; and, sincere was her secret grati*- 
 lation, that she had, by boldly avowing their 
 engagement to a third party, mado il iinpossibl* 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 I 
 
 for him honorably to recede without some de- 
 fined and tangible cause. 
 
 Still she dreaded the power of old associations 
 mnd habits over tlie nature of one so impression- 
 able as Mortimer, at a moment when he was 
 ■writhing under imagined slight; and she had 
 no sooner reached home tlmn she retired to her 
 own room, in order to reflect upon the measures 
 to be pursued to prevent, or at least to delay the 
 threatened departure. 
 
 Meanwhile, 8ir Horace Trevor strolled to the 
 Hbrary, half mortified, and half amused by the 
 dialogue in Avhich he had just been engaged; 
 and, to his surprise, found Mrs. Delamere in- 
 atalled in an easy chair, in an apartment which 
 nhe generally shunned. 
 
 " Do 1 disturb your studies, my dear madam?" 
 he asked as he entered. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I was only thinking, and I would 
 rather not think," was the tremulously uttered 
 peplj'. " But where is Sybil ?" 
 
 " In her own room, I believe. She complain- 
 «d of being somewhat fatigued." 
 
 " And where is Mr. Mortimer? I am alwaj-s 
 nneasy when I do not see Mr. Mortimer here." 
 
 " Mr Mortimer has just taken leave of Miss 
 Delamere. He leaves Westrum to-morrow on a 
 visit to his cousin." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere raised her head by a sudden 
 impulse, and fixed her eyes steadfastly upon the 
 ^eakcr. 
 
 "Gone to see his cousin!" she murmured as 
 if unconsciously. " Only returned j'esterday, 
 and leaves again to-morrow !" Then, as she 
 glanced rapidly around her with a slight shud- 
 der, she pursued, more directly addressing her 
 companion : " Is this your work, Sir Horace 
 Trevor?" 
 
 " On my soul, no ! Why should you suspect 
 I ?" -was the reply. 
 
 " I do not know — I cannot explain," she said 
 languidly, as she once moi-e fell back into a re- 
 cumbent position ; " but I am becoming morp be- 
 wildered every hour. However, Sybil knows 
 best Yet why, or for what you are here, Sir 
 Horace, I cannot comprehend. You have now 
 no claim ujxjn Sybil?" 
 
 " I do not seek to advance any," replied the 
 Baronet with quiet sarcasm: "I came to The 
 Grange simply to pay my respects both to your- 
 self and her." 
 
 "It is very erti-aordinary," faltered the old lady. 
 "Does Mr. Mortimer approve of your visit?" 
 
 '• I did not hazard the inquiry," said Trevor, 
 taking up a book at random, and throwing him- 
 ■elf into a chair; " but judging from the expros- 
 aion of his countenance, I should feel inclined to 
 doubt it." 
 
 " Tlien, why do you remain ? Why does Sybil 
 allow it?" 
 
 *' Siie lias adopted me as a cousin." 
 
 " Sir Horace Trevor," said the agitated mo- 
 flier, ■' do not jest upon such a subject. You 
 know that I am helpless in all that concerns 
 Sybil; but you caimot, you dare not, seek to re- 
 new your atldresses to her. You dare not, for 
 you are a man of the world, and you dread its 
 aneei'. Wiiy, then, would you ruin her pros- 
 pects? — Why would you destroy us both?" 
 
 " Believe me, my dear madam," exclaimed the 
 
 Baronet, touched in spite of his egotism by th 
 tears which were falling slowly over her pal 
 cheeks, " that I am far from having any sue"; 
 intention ; and surely, when you look upon th 
 luxury by which you are surrounded, you mus 
 admit that the idea of ruin comes strangely frot, 
 your lips." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere clasped her hands convulsivel;' 
 together, but after a moment she conquered he 
 emotion sufficiently to i"eply with a forced coa 
 posure, which was almost impressive : 
 
 " I could have understood the remark frot 
 any one but yourself, and have admitted it' 
 truth. Sir Horace ; but from you it bears . 
 strange and painful construction'; from you whi 
 knows so well — Let it pass, however. You hav« 
 perhaps, earned the right to wound me — " ; 
 
 " My dear madam, I swear to you — " 
 
 " Let it pass. Sir Horace, let it pass ; but, one-, 
 more, why are you here ? — why did Sybil cod' 
 sent to receive you? You are not, you canno 
 be anything to each other ; and remember tha; 
 should your visit excite the displeasure of Mii 
 Mortimer, your revenge will be a cruel one." 
 
 The idea which her own Avorks had conjure« 
 up, and the unaccustomed energy which she hac 
 exhibited, had, by this time, fairly overpowere< 
 the unhappy old lady; who, burying her face h 
 her handkerchief, as'if to shut even the sight o', 
 her companion, sobbed aloud. Ti-evor rose, am 
 paced uneasily up and down the room. He hat; 
 always been used to see Mrs. Delamere so placid^ 
 and so apparently reckless of all that passei' 
 about her, that he was totally unprepared foj 
 this sudden burst of feeling; nor was it until sh^ 
 had regained some degree of composure, that h'|^ 
 ventured to approach and take her hand. } 
 
 " Speak your wishes, my dear madam," h] 
 said, in an accent of deference which seemei, 
 strange in such a speaker; " and, be they wha' 
 they may, I will obey them." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere looked up with a smile of gra 
 titude too intense to be mistaken. "I than] 
 you," she murmured between her sobs: "wit) 
 my whole heart I thank you. Sybil is, I fear, 
 playing a despei'ate game ; and her fate is ii ; 
 your hands. Leave us now, at once, if yoi'v 
 would save her — leave us now, and forget us." ; 
 
 " I will order my horses within an hour." 
 
 "Horace, how I once loved J'ou," faltered th. 
 feeble voice; "Oh, why were you not m;,, 
 son ?" 
 
 "Farewell, my dear madame, for ever," sai(' 
 Trevor, as he wrimg her hand respectfully " 
 will but take leave of Miss Delamere, and da^ 
 part at once." 
 
 " Do not even that," implored the old lady a 
 she detained him for an instant. " I will ex 
 plain it all to Sybil. It is better that you shouU 
 not meet again." 
 
 '' Be it so — I came hither because I was i 
 coxcomb, and presumed upon the past You; 
 tears have rebuked me; and not through mi,| 
 means shall you shed another. Tell her that 
 sincerely desire her happiness, and bid her a» 
 the same time beware. To her, tiie past shoulc 
 act as a powerful monitor, as it has done to me 
 Farewell, but never cease to remember that 
 have expiated my present error by my obedi 
 ence." 
 
 :i 
 
Mrs. Delamere would have replied, but before 
 h» had wiped away her tears he was gone. 
 
 ill!,''ll 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 And Mortimer had also proceeded homewards 
 ifter parting from Sybil, but it was Avith a 
 leavy heart nud depressed energies. His in- 
 lignation at her levity and carelessness of 
 SFOunding his feelings, had endued him with a 
 factitious strength during their interview, and 
 jirged him to the sudden resolve he had an- 
 liounced ; but he was no sooner alone than he 
 ^•epented his precipitancy, for he at once became 
 i»nscious how entirely his happiness depended 
 open her, and how utterly he was in her 
 ^ower. 
 
 1' It was, however, too late to retract his words ; 
 Lnd now, in order to sustain an appearance of 
 consistency, he felt that he must carrj- out his 
 project, and thus leave her for days to the un- 
 [iisturbed society of her cousin — of the man 
 whom, of all others he hated, without being 
 mnbled to advance a plausible reason for his 
 ii.-like. The aversion was, nevertheless, as 
 4j'ange as it was intuitive ; nor did Mortimer 
 leek to counteract the feeling. It sufficed that 
 rrevor admired Sybil, and that he was in her 
 wnfidence, to make him obnoxious to his jeal- 
 ras and exciting nature. 
 
 Moreover, the sarcastic allusions and biting 
 'jests of the baronet had aroused at once the in- 
 ignation and the suspicions of Frederic ; they 
 ad cast a baneful cloud over the hitherto bright 
 emisphere of his passion. Its pure glow was 
 llied ; its fond romance was dispelled ; he had 
 en the cherished idol of his heart treated as 
 mere woman, and he felt himself aggrieved. 
 J By what right had this presumptuous stranger 
 , intruded himself and his memories of the past 
 1 {between him and his betrothed wife ? Upon 
 j what pretence did he presume to censure and 
 , )judge one who was plighted to another ? And 
 then came the recollection that Sybil had her- 
 self justified such interference, by openly and 
 auSeasonably communicating to him an engnge- 
 jment in which he could have no concern, and 
 , [probably felt little interest ; and this remiuis- 
 , jcence was even more painful than those by 
 ' [which it had been preceded. 
 : \ Fain would he have acquitted her of every 
 • fclame, in order that all his irritation might vent 
 j iitself upon her cousin ; but, even blinded as he 
 [was by a hitherto uncalculating passion, he 
 I Icould not reconcile the scene in the garden, and 
 , Bier subsequent disclosure, with that nice con- 
 I teeption of the delicacy of her sex which he had 
 ' UOTed to indulge. 
 
 I i TiTie, Sybil was no common character, and 
 ^ me had warned him of the fact long ere he had 
 ^ told her that she was dear to him ; he should 
 j Wierefore have been prepared for any exhibi- 
 ] jtion of moral daring ; but his feelings had been 
 I anvolved in the demonstration, and it had 
 startled him unpleasantly. It was not that he 
 shrank from acknowledging their engagement ; 
 [he would rather have gloried in declaring it 
 'before the face of the whole world ; but thus 
 
 lightly and unhesitatingly revealed by herself, 
 it seemed robbed of half its sanctitj*. 
 
 Suddenly a servant entered tlie apartment, 
 and placed a letter before him. lie glanced 
 listlessly at the address, and then, with an eager 
 gesture, tore it open. lie had at once recog- 
 nized the handwriting of Sybil. 
 
 " We cannot part thus," — these were its con- 
 tents — " I must see you before you go, were it 
 only to hear from your lips what I have already 
 read upon your countenance. I do not seek to 
 upbraid, or to reproach j-ou — you have, per- 
 haps, mistaken both yourself and me ; and I 
 desire only to learn the extent of that mistake. 
 I love you too well to murmur ; and I forgiv* 
 you if you can forgive yourself Sir Horace has 
 gone ; in my present state oT mind I could not 
 tolerate society. You only leave "Westrum to- 
 morrow ; there is yet time for you to devote 
 one half-hour to the unhappy " Sybil." 
 
 Mortimer sprang to the bell; ordered hia 
 horse ; and in ten minutes was on his way to 
 The Grange. 
 
 Sybil loved him — she was unhappy — and Tre- 
 vor was gone! All his suspicions were at an 
 end ; they had been dispelled like Alpine mista 
 before the morning sun. 
 
 And so time passed on ; and Frederic, who 
 had vowed to himself that, ere long, ho would 
 possess every secret of Sybil's heart, spent hours 
 and days at her side, careless and forgetful of 
 all save the present. Even the memory of Sir 
 Horace Trevor had almost ceased to be distaste- 
 ful to him, from the cold and indifferent manner 
 in which he was constantly mentioned by Miss 
 Delamere ; naj^, he began to accuse himself of 
 absolute folly and injustice, to the fascinating 
 creature whose every feeling and anxiety wei** 
 evidently bound up in himself; and to marvel 
 at the weakness he had betra3"ed. 
 
 Had Sybil loved her cousin, he would have 
 won hijr, doubtless, years before ; for that he or 
 any man, could fail to return her affection, ap- 
 peared to Mortimer impossible. Yet, neverthe- 
 less, and incongruous as the fact may seem, ha 
 clung to his present mode of existence withoirt 
 one effort to enhance his happiness by at once 
 making Sybil his wife. 
 
 Had the alternative been forced upon him, he 
 would rather have resigned his life than the 
 prospect of obtaining her hand, for without her 
 he would have felt that life to be a blank ; but 
 still, as the diver, who, however sure of hia 
 skill, hesitates for a while ere he takes his ven- 
 turous leap, so did Mortimer linger in the midst 
 of present security, as though unwilling to lose 
 t^e firm footing which ho still retained. 
 
 Thus weeks and months sped on ; and if & 
 shadow occasionally fell upon the bright brow 
 of tlie lad}-, it was soon chased by smiles. All 
 her tastes, all her avocations, were made sub- 
 servient to his Avishes. She was at once hit 
 friend, his counsellor and his idol. 
 
 Their solitude was almost uninvaded ; for al- 
 though the gentry of the neighborhood were 
 ready to admit the fascinations an<l accomplish- 
 ments of Miss Delamere, tliey were not tlie lesa 
 jealous of her attractions, and suspicious of the 
 mystery by which she was suiTounded ; while 
 
H 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 those among tliom vrho bad been the familiar 
 friends of Mrs. ilortiuier, could not see -n-ithout 
 regret, and even blame, the effect of her bland- 
 ishments upon the destined husband of their 
 banished favorite. 
 
 The constant visits of Frederic at the Grange, 
 ■were subject of continual comment ; and his 
 consequent estrangement from themselves kept 
 alive a feeling of distaste towards its inhabit- 
 ants, which sufficed to render their visits brief 
 and unfrequent. 
 
 Thus, then, nothing intervened to ruffle the 
 smooth current npon which the lovers glided 
 along the stream of time ; and this circumstance 
 was favorable to Sybil, inasmuch as it afforded 
 her ample opportunitj- to pour out all the stores 
 of her well-cultivated mind and brilliant fancy ; 
 and each night, as he rode slowly homewards, 
 dazzled, and more cntiiralled than ever, Frederic 
 marvelled how so bright and gifted a being could 
 be content to pass her days in an obscure retire- 
 ment ; and to lavish upon him alone all the trea- 
 sures of her intellect, and aU the fascinations of 
 her beauty. 
 
 What was the world to him with such a com- 
 panion ? Henceforth "Westrum would be his 
 "world ; he should care for no other, and he 
 should live and die beneath the roof of his 
 ancestors, without one hope or one ambition im- 
 eatisfied. 
 
 Thus had he quitted Sybil on one occasion, 
 after an evening of calm and rational enjoy- 
 ment ; enhanced by the exertions which she 
 had made to " hold his reason prisoner." They 
 had sang together over the same chess-board, 
 more engrossed by each other than by the game ; 
 and while Mrs. Delamere slumbered, or seemed 
 to slumber in her chair, they had built up a 
 thousand airy castles, each more soft and sunny 
 than the last. 
 
 They had talked of the future fondlj; and 
 eagerly ; and Frederic had bespoken her inter- 
 est and sj'mpathy for his poorer tenantry', and 
 her assistance in a store of projects, all tending 
 to render the home in which their lives were to 
 be spent more worthy of her presence ; and as 
 he did so the eye of Sybil sparkled, and her 
 chest heaved ; while at intervals her parted lips, 
 and earnest attitude, bespoke a momentary an- 
 ticipation of what must follow. 
 
 The chain woven by her lover was bright, 
 but the connecting link was, nevertheless, want- 
 ing ; he said nothing which could convert that 
 future into the more immediate present ; and 
 thus she waited and watched in vain ; and they 
 parted, even as they had done on every previous 
 occasion, without one word from Frederic which 
 implied a wish to realise his visions by their 
 early union. 
 
 Still, it was not until he was really gone, that 
 Miss Delamere could believe in such a result. 
 Never had he been more tender or more expan- 
 rive. Wiiat could it mean ? Bound to her, as 
 he now was, by every tie of honor, by every 
 bond of principle, could he be merely trifling 
 with her feelings? She still stood in the centre 
 of the apartment, where his hand had clasped 
 hers, and whence she had met and answered the 
 last long look that he turned upon her as he re- 
 tired. Her cheek was flushed and her eye glit- 
 
 tered ; she knew not what to think. The death 
 of Mrs. Mortimer had removed the onlj- avowed 
 obstacle to their marriage ; the departure of 
 Gertrude rendered all dread of future rivalry 
 impossible ; he was alone, quite alone, in a 
 silent and cheerless home ; he made no attempt 
 to disguise the extent of his attachment to hcN 
 self, while she was conscious that she had left 
 no means untried to rivet the chains which h« 
 had voluntarilj- adopted ; and still he appeared 
 to live on as though the present sufficed to satis- 
 fy all the exactions of his heart. I 
 
 And she had borne this strange and almost 
 humiliating uncei'tainty for months, believing 
 each day that the morrow would terminate her 
 suspense ; and that morrow had come and gon^ 
 and brought no explanation. What could it 
 mean ? 
 
 Suddenly the bloom faded from her cheel^ 
 and the light from her ej-e. Could he have 
 learned the history of the past? Iler limbs to^ 
 tered, and she sank upon a seat. With the rapi- 
 dity of lightning her thoughts glanced back toi| I 
 the visit of Trevor — Had he indeed betrayed 
 her? But no; that was impossible; for never 
 once had she left them alone together ; while 
 the feeling of avoidance which each had exhi 
 bited towards the other was also a guarantee 
 that such could not have been the case. 
 
 Then she remembered that Mortimer had,* 
 during the removal of Gertrude, been absent! 
 for many days in town — Wiio had he met therel 
 With whom had he held communication ? Could 
 he have encountered anj' of her former friends,! 
 and questioned them as to her past histoiyfi 
 And, if so, what was the meaning of his subs*- 
 quent conduct? Did he dare — did he consider 
 himself authorized to sport with her feelings,! 
 with her fate, with her very existence ? 
 
 The doubt was almost too terrible to bear 
 and as she sat in silence, with her hands tightlyi 
 clasped together, the large drops of emotion 
 started on her brow, and her breath labored! 
 until it escaped audibly from between 
 clenched teeth. 
 
 The brilliant beauty was crushed and bowed? 
 and in that moment Gertrude was revenged. 
 
 Gradually, however, she became more calln ._ 
 the improbability that Mortimer, who was si 
 most a stranger in London, should in so short f 
 space of time have gained admission to a circlt 
 which prided itself upon its exelusiveness ; anc 
 the still greater improbability that he shoulo 
 have attained to a sufficient degree of intimacj 
 with any of its members to enable him to proi 
 secute such an enquiry, forced themselves upoi 
 her reason ; but still she conld find no plausibli 
 solution to his mysterious silence ; and a thou 
 sand harrowing apprehensions haunted he) 
 mind. Every day, and every hour of suspense^ 
 heightened alike her alarm and her ditlicultyt 
 She reflected with terror that her youth wsji 
 gone ; and that, did she now fail in effectinj 
 the object for which she had striven so zealously 
 the failure might be fatal. She could not hop»i 
 long to retain the bloom which characterizeci 
 her beauty; and her position was desperate I" 
 Mortimer alone could save her; for ruin wa 
 approaching with giant strides, and she had n* 
 other resource. 
 
THE KIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 "Sometliing must be done," slie at length 
 gasped out, unconscious of lier own utterance ; 
 " I must know all — all that is before me. I 
 cannot endure this gnawing suspense and live. 
 He must speak, and speak clearlj'. But how 
 compel him to this? He is weak luid sus- 
 picious, and startles at a shadow — and yet, he 
 must speak out. Either he is in my power, 
 and I am safe ; or he has played me false, and 
 all is over. Trevor cannot have betrayed me — 
 he can know nothing — or, should it be other- 
 wise " her voice died away in a hoarse 
 
 whisper, and once more all was silence. 
 
 Suddenly a thought flashed across her, and a 
 withering smile rose to her lip as she approach- 
 a writing-table, and seated herself before it. 
 For a few moments she remained buried in 
 thought ; and then, slowly and earnestly, she 
 began to write. It was evident that tlie task 
 which she had undertaken was no light or easy 
 one, for she progressed in it slowly, and ap- 
 peared to form, not only every word, but even 
 every letter, with consummate care and study. 
 But at length it was completed ; and, after 
 having attentivelj' examined the contents of the 
 paper, she folded it with equal deliberation ; 
 and then, having selected a particular seal from 
 a number which lay upon her desk, she closed 
 the letter, and threw the seal that had secured 
 it into the fire, which was still mouldering in 
 the grate. 
 
 This done, she remained for a while silently 
 gazing upon the decaying embers, as if jealous 
 lest they should fail m their work of destruc- 
 tion ; but she no sooner saw the glittering ore 
 melt and disappear, than she returned to the 
 table, took iip the lettei-, and, having concealed 
 it in her bosom, calmly, and with renewed self- 
 f/Ossession, rang for her maid, and retii'ed to her 
 »wn apartment. 
 
 On the following day Sybil was invisible even 
 to Mortimer. Indisposition confined her to her 
 chamber ; and, after lingering for a couple of 
 hours about tlie grounds, and sauntering to and 
 fro beneath lier windows, in the vain hope of 
 obtaining at least a glance of her figure as she 
 traversed the apartment, he was compelled to 
 return home ungratified. Nor, even then, 
 could he compel himself to any occupation. 
 A whole day without Sybil overcame his 
 philosophj'. 
 
 Nothing suificed either to interest or amuse 
 him. He felt no apprehension as to the result 
 of her illness, for Mrs. Mortimer had treated 
 the matter lightlj^ declaring that it was only a 
 head-ache ; and that Sybil was subject to head- 
 aches when she over-exerted herself, which she 
 had done lately, and she had warned her of the 
 consequences. However, Sybil knew best ; and 
 in all pi-obability would be quite well again on 
 the morrow. Thus, there was no cause for anx- 
 iety; and Mortimer was at liberty to bewail his 
 own dreariness ; to feel the wretcliedness of his 
 large and echoing rooms, and to comprehend 
 his utter dependence upon another. The sensa- 
 tion was by no means a pleasant one. He had 
 become so habituated to the constant society 
 and companionship of Miss Delamere, that he 
 almost felt injured by its sudden withdrawal. 
 She might, so he argued, surely have received 
 
 him; b\it then the reflection crossed his mine 
 that she had declined the visit of her mothei 
 and that he could advance no claim to an indu 
 gence which had been denied to her paren 
 Still he was only half reconciled to his cxcli 
 sion ; time hung heavily upon his hands ; an 
 he began to feel a conviction that some defiiiit 
 step must be taken to prevent the recurrence c 
 such a mortification. And what step ? Ther 
 was but one which could invest him with 
 right to dispute the will, and to monopolize th 
 society of Sybil ; and to this he had long looke 
 forward as to a fixed and certain event. Whj 
 then, did he hesitate, and fall into a somewha 
 gloomy reverie, as the vision of an early mai 
 riage with his beautiful betrothed fastened itse^ 
 upon his mind? Was she not to him all thn 
 she had ever been; or changed only by an ir 
 crease of tenderness ? Did he doubt her ? Nc 
 no, that could not be ; and yet, it was nevei 
 theless certain that a cloud st"ill hung over hi 
 thoughts. Sybil had indeed given him he 
 heart, her time, and her interest, but he hai 
 failed to gain her confidence. 
 
 While he had frankly placed before her, no 
 only every action, but almost every feeling o 
 his life, even from his earliest boyhood; and, a 
 the Orientals express it, had " laid his heart ii 
 her hand," she had betrayed no answering trust 
 She had gladdened him by her gaiety, soothe( 
 him by her sympathy, and delighted him by he 
 devotion ; but beyond this, to him she Avas .stil 
 morally imknown ; and as he became, in Ids en 
 forced solitude, conscious of the whole exten 
 of her power over his fate, the words and warn 
 ings of his dying mother again sounded in hi 
 ears, and would not be silenced. 
 
 Angry and irritated at his own weakness 
 Mortimer again and again mentally argued, oi 
 at least strove to argue down these intrusive 
 recollections. Why should he suffer them no-o 
 to oppress him? Was he not pledged to Sybil! 
 Had he not Avillingly, and even eagerly, soughl 
 her hand? And could he now, at the eleventl 
 hour, yield to such visionary misgivings with- 
 out dishonor? Once her husband, he should 
 know all ; and that all, as she had herself as 
 sured him, would amount to so very a trifle, 
 that he could not fail to smile at his own curi- 
 osity. Yet still the shadow lingered. While 
 constantly in the presence of Sybil he eared foi 
 nothing, thought of nothing, save the passing 
 hour ; his heart and his fancy were alike satis^ 
 fied, and he regarded his marriage only as a 
 distant contingency: but once abandoned to his 
 own solitary reflections, and compelled to look 
 into the future as well as upon the present, the 
 jealousy of his nat\ire rose up in arms, and his 
 reason rebelled against his passion. 
 
 What, however, availed that reason now? 
 Sybil was his betrothed wife, and the ai-giimcnt 
 was strengthened by the selfishness from which 
 no human being is wholly free ; to be liappy, 
 he must be happy with her — slic had become 
 necessary to his existence. This one blank and 
 weary day had revealed how little he sufficed 
 to himself; and then — by the conviction liis re- 
 verie took a brighter hue, and he began to shape 
 out in his own fancy such a scheme of life aa 
 would have renewed the golden age. 
 
H 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES 
 
 Pitv that the materials with which fanc_v loves | tain him in his seat: " For pity's sake — for min« 
 build should be so frail! What mightyfabrics — if I have indeed been dear to you,— breath* 
 
 to build should 
 
 of mortal blessedness should we not create about 
 us if they were more substantial! But as the 
 child ere'cts its castle of cards only to see it 
 crumble and disappear upon the slightest touch 
 80 do men too often rear those goodly schernes 
 in prospect which, like the gold of the fairy-gift, 
 prove mere ashes when in possession. 
 
 At an early hour on the morrow Mortimer 
 was at The Grange; and this time he was ad- 
 mitted without difficulty. Miss Delamere had 
 left her chamber, and was already in the south 
 ern parlor. He needed no announcement, for 
 with this ceremony he had long dispensed ; and 
 opening the door softly, he entered. But his 
 arrival produced no change in the attitude of 
 Sybil ; and he was instantly struck by the change 
 in her appearance. She was lying upon a sofa 
 with her face buried among the cushions. Iler 
 hair was drawn away from her forehead, and 
 gathered into a large "loose knot at the back of 
 her head, evidently without care ; a morning 
 dress of white muslin was rather folded about 
 her than adjusted to her figure ; and there was 
 an air of negligence about her whole person so 
 foreign to her usual habits, that it at once be- 
 spoke the presence of some overwhelming 
 sorrow. 
 
 Mortimer detected this at a glance, and in an 
 instant he was by her side. 
 
 "Sybil, my own Sybil, what has happened ?" 
 
 Sybil started, and raised her head, and if 
 Mortimer had been struck by the change in her 
 general appearance, he was still more startled 
 by the alteration of her countenance. A deep 
 crimson flashed upon her cheeks, her swollen 
 eyelids betrayed a night of tears, her lips were 
 pale and quivering, and her hand trembled as 
 ne took it in his own. 
 
 " Speak my beloved 1 Tell me, what is the 
 meaning of all this wild grief?" 
 
 " Frederic!" she murmured almost Lnaudibly, 
 " I dare not 1" 
 
 More and more bewildered, Mortimer gazed 
 upon her like one in a dark dream ; but she 
 was unhappy, she was crushed beneath some 
 weight of sQrrow, too great even for her to bear, 
 and he forgot at once all save his love : " Kay, 
 you shall speak, Sybil ! — Sybil, are you not 
 mine? Have I not a right to share your grief, 
 arise from what cause it may? — Should you have 
 any secret from me ?" 
 
 But Sybil was still silent, although her sobs 
 became audible. 
 
 "Lean on me, dearest! — There, hide those 
 swollen and weary eyes upon my bosom, and 
 tell me all," pursued Mortimer more gently : 
 " You know not what you make me suffer by 
 this suspense. To see you thus, and to be re- 
 fused your confidence, is more than I can bear. 
 Have mercy on me, Sybil, and tell me what 
 mean those tears!" 
 
 Miss Delamere only shook her head despond- 
 
 "You wound me deeply, Sybil," said her 
 lover ; " but I will not urge you further. I shall 
 appeal to your mother." 
 
 "Frederic! Frederic!" gasped out his com- 
 panion, OS she flung her arms aboat him to re- 
 
 not a word of this misery to my poor mothe]^ 
 — it would kill her did she know its cause!" 
 
 "Torture me not then, my own love!" im- 
 plored Frederic, as he yielded to the pressure of 
 the beautiful arms which still rested upon his 
 neck, and sank upon his knee beside the couch; 
 " but let me learn from your own lips the cause 
 of this violent emotion. Have you lost a friend! 
 Your fortune ? Your gestures deny this. Has 
 anyone dared to injure or insult you?" And 
 the eyes of the speaker flashed as he put the 
 question. 
 
 A more violent burst of grief was its reply. 
 
 " Yes — I have guessed aright !" he exclaimed 
 vehementl}-, as he sprang to his feet with a flash- 
 ing eye and a bent brow : "And now, Sybil, I 
 entreat no longer; I insist upon an instant ex- 
 planation of this mystery. As my future wife, I 
 command, in this at least your obedience. Your 
 honor is in my hands, and none shall dare to 
 sully it bj- a breath." 
 
 In a moment, but only for a moment, Misa 
 Delamere, thus adjured, buried her face in her 
 hands. When she withdrew them, she was pale 
 even to ghastliness, as she took a letter from her 
 bosom, in which it had been concealed, and 
 with averted eyes held it towards her com- 
 panion, who, scarcely less agitated than herself 
 tore it hastily open. 
 
 As he hurriedly devoured its contents, ths 
 whole frame of Mortimer shook with suppressed 
 rage ; and he gnawed his lip as though he 
 would have wreaked that vengeance upon 
 himself which could not be poured out upon 
 his enemy. 
 
 "It is a goodly scrawl!" he at length ex- 
 claimed bitterly : " The work of a vile incen- 
 diaiy, who has not dared to affix his foul name 
 to the revolting slander. But it is false, false 
 as hell, Sybil ! — ^'o tongue has dared to prate 
 as this assassin states — no thought has ever pol- 
 luted your fair fame. Again, and again I swear 
 to you that it is false ! Have I for one moment 
 concealed my purpose in fi'cquenting your house? 
 Is it not notorious throughout the neighborhood 
 that I have been for months a suitor for your 
 hand? Is not your own mother beneath your 
 roof? Out upon such devilish but pun3'' ma- 
 lice — my very heart heaves against the coward 
 lie !" 
 
 "How am I sunk!" sobbed Sybil. 
 
 " Sunk ! Nay, dearest, rather saj- how are you 
 exalted in my eyes by this jealous sensibility to 
 all that touches your' honor. Never to me hava 
 you seemed half so noble, but I beseech j'ou, 
 calm your grief, it cuts me to the soul, for ifc 
 shows riie that it is I who have armed this wri- 
 ter with his unhallowed weapon. Yes, S5biU 
 it is I, who, spell-bound by the happiness of the 
 present hour, have too long forgotten that I 
 have as yet enforced no right to its continuance. 
 It was too much to hope that a meddling world 
 would leave us to our holy and hallowed affec- 
 tion until we had placed it beyond the reach of 
 comment and suspicion. There is a serpent in 
 every Eden, and the crawling reptile has now 
 invaded ours. But there is a remedy, a holy 
 and blessed remedy for the evil, my beautiful 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 W 
 
 beloved — we -will delay it no longer; and the 
 ■nake will be innoxious when we have robbed 
 it of its venom." 
 
 A smile shone through the teara of Miss Dela- 
 mere, and as again Mortimer resumed his scat 
 beside her, she gradually suffered herself to be 
 consoled by his ardent and affectionate reason- 
 ing. Once more the color returned to her cheek 
 and lip, and she hung upon his words with an 
 earnestness that made him doubly eloquent. 
 She said little, but that little sufficed to con- 
 Tiuee him that he was the happiest of mortals ; 
 and as they sat with their hands locked together, 
 and her head pillowed upon his shoulder, he al 
 most blessed the anonymous correspondent who 
 had revealed to him the moral excellence and 
 Bhrinking delicacy of his beautiful and injured 
 Sybil. 
 
 '" And now, my own one," he said tenderly as 
 he prepared to depart ; " we have each sufficient 
 occupation both for our thoughts, and for our 
 time. You need rest, however, and while you 
 itrive to obtain it, I will not lose a moment in 
 seeking out the vile author of this atrocious 
 calumny. Let him not hope to escape. It is 
 not so easy to disguise any handwriting as it 
 may appear to be ; there are always some pe- 
 I culiarities, trivial and slight, perhaps, but never- 
 ttheless, perfectly susceptible of identification, 
 I by which the writer may be traced with proper 
 I care and caution; and trust me, your present 
 correspondent shall not escape." 
 I " Frederic," whispered Miss Delamere with 
 an appealing look ; " will you consent to make 
 me quite happy ?" 
 
 " Can you doubt it, Sybil ?" 
 
 " Tlien love, restore to me that letter, and let 
 me destroj- it." 
 
 " Do not ask me what I cannot grant I will 
 ,not be cheated of my vengeance." 
 ! An expression of intense anxiety passed over 
 jtlie features of Miss Delamere ; but she instant- 
 fly recovered herself, and with her sweetest 
 jsmile she again extended her hand, as she said 
 lemphatically : " This is the first time that I 
 |have ventured to claim a favor at your hands, 
 land I will not be so denied. To me j-our pre- 
 sent intention brings a two-fold anxiety ; first, 
 Frederic, answer me ; how can I feel one mo- 
 ment's peace while I know j-ou to be engaged 
 |in a search which must at once irritate and pain 
 jyou, and by which, if you are successful, you 
 pnly invblve yourself in newer and more dan- 
 Iferous difficulties ? while, as regards myself, do 
 you imagine for an instant that I can be happy 
 iwhile such a document is in existence ? No, 
 antil that bitter and blighting scrawl is 'de- 
 jtroyed, I must be wretched ; for does it not 
 !>rand me with disgrace ?" 
 
 Enough, Sybil, enougli!" exclaimed Morti- 
 ner, as he folded her in his arms, and pressed 
 lis lips upon her forehead; "You have con- 
 jnered, and I forego my vengeance." 
 
 "My own dear Frederic 1" murmured one of 
 ^e sweetest voices in the world, as the torn 
 ragincnts of the obnoxious letter fell in a shower 
 ipon the carpet ; " Now indeed, I know that 
 "ou love me." 
 
 Five minutes afterwards Mortimer was gone ; 
 ind Sybil, having listened to the sounds of his 
 
 horse's feet until they were lost in the distance, 
 slowly rose from the sofa, and carefully gather- 
 ing up the shreds of paper, tlirew them one by 
 one into the fire which w.is blazing in the grate'; 
 and then having satisfied herself tliat they were 
 all destroyed, cast one long ti-iumpliant look 
 round tlie apartment, and tlirew herself again 
 upon her seat. 
 
 CHAFrER XXIII, 
 
 Several months had, as we have already 
 stated elapsed since the death of Mrs, Mortimer, 
 and Time the great physician of the mind, as- 
 sisted by one of (he most amiable and unselfish 
 dispositions in the world, had restored Gertrude 
 to comparative happiness. Grateful for the pro- 
 tection which had been so frankly afforded to 
 her at a period when it was sorely needed, she 
 had studied to accommodate herself to the ex- 
 igencies and peculiarities of her aged relative 
 with a good faith which insured her ultimate 
 success. And already the effects of lier gentle 
 influence were palpable ; not only in the gen- 
 eral appearance of the gloomy little house, but 
 also in the manner of its rigid mistress. 
 
 The arrival of all the orplian's domestic trea- 
 sures had at first grievouslj" annoyed and di»- 
 turbed Miss Warrington ; who, as she saw pack- 
 age after package unladen from the heavy road- 
 wagon which nearly blocked up the narrow 
 street, clasped her hands tightly together ; com- 
 pressed her lips until they beea*me almost invisi- 
 ble, and sat bolt upright and speechless ; until 
 she comprehended, from the exclamations of 
 her matronly attendant, and the expostulations 
 of the two sturdy porters who were engaged in 
 carrying the things into the house, that not only 
 was the entrance-passage entirely choked np, 
 but that the kitchen stairs, and even the kitchen 
 itself, had likewise been invaded. Tlien indeed, 
 she recovered in some degree from her con- 
 sternation ; although it was only to express her 
 dissatisfaction in a cold, dry, sarcastic tone, 
 which to poor Gertrude was more painful than 
 the most violent exhibition of temper. 
 
 " Really, Miss Mortimer," she said, and not 
 even the tension of her lij)s relaxed, as she look 
 ed her full in the face ; " I feel that I have been 
 very inconsiderate. You must have found your- 
 self terribly inconvenienced in my house before 
 your furniture arrived, and I greatly fear that 
 you will even now be at a loss to dispose of it 
 consistently. My passage is scarcely wide enough 
 for a piano ; nor do I think that an inlaid book- 
 case will accord particularly well with the gerr 
 eral style of my property. But perhaps you 
 have an idea of moving to a larger residence." 
 
 " My dear madam !" exclaimed the ori)lian, as 
 she sprang forward and seized the reluctant 
 hand of the querulous old lady; "I do not 
 know what to say to you — how to apologise. I 
 was not aware " 
 
 And poor Gertrude, who was already ovei»» 
 come by the munificence of her cousin, and the 
 affectionate letter which had aceonipaiii<d his 
 gifts, burst into an irrepressible flood of tcar.s. 
 
 " Nay, nay, niece, this is foolish," said Alias 
 "Warrington less harshly ; " I dare say tliat you 
 
78 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 did not expect such an unloading of the Tower 
 of Babel as this," (the good lady's verbal illustra- 
 tions were usually somewliat confused,) " so 
 don't cry, for that will not clear the passage, 
 and it will be necessary that we ahould get up 
 Btairs to bed. We liad better, therefore be 
 tliinking of Avliat had best be done. Two eases 
 of books !" she ejaculated after an instant, as if 
 unconsciously; " AVho on earth is to readthera ; 
 and wiiere are tliey to be put?" 
 
 " Please ma'am," said Hannah, intruding just 
 •within the door of the room a face heated by 
 exertion, and a stout arm bared above the 
 elbow ; " the men can't bring in any more of 
 the things, for there ain't room, unless we take 
 some of them up stairs into miss's sleeping 
 chamber; are we to carry them up?" 
 
 " Inquire Miss Mortimer's pleasure," was the 
 unsatisfactory reply, and the discomposed old 
 lady looked stiffer and harder than ever. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes," eagerly exclaimed Geiti-ude ; 
 " anywhere — anything — good Haimah ; I will 
 soon unpack the cases, and send them out of the 
 house. Indeed, my dear madam," she added 
 appealingly, as the maid disappeared ; " it is 
 tliose unwieldly wooden boxes which create all 
 this confusion, and when once we are rid of 
 them, you will be surprised to find how little 
 they contain." 
 
 "I have long ceased to be surprised at any- 
 thing, niece," said the still unappeased mistress 
 of the house ; " and it is at least fortunate that 
 your huge chests will supply us with firewood 
 for the winter." 
 
 At length, when the room of Gertrude had 
 been converted in appearance into a well-packed 
 •warehouse, through the civil exertions of the 
 porters, ingress and egress were once more ren- 
 dered possible, and Misa Warrington unclasped 
 her fingers. 
 
 The orphan hailed with delight this symptom 
 of returning composure, and found courage to 
 allude to the future arrangement of her recover- 
 ed treasures ; but vaiidy did she suggest how 
 admirablj' the piano would stand between the 
 •windows, and how chamiingly the book-case 
 would fit into the recess beside the fire-place- 
 Miss Warrington was resolved to consider the 
 introduction of these elegant superfluities as a 
 grievance, and declared, that as she detested 
 music, and never read anytliing save her Bible, 
 her rooms should not be lumbered by any such 
 useless incumbrances. 
 
 Gertrude was silenced. She had intuitively 
 felt from the first, tlie utter futility of reasoning 
 with her protectress, and the impropriety of 
 thwarting her wishes, and accordingly, she 
 began to consider how she might tlie most con- 
 venient ly rtcconunodate those two bulky luxuries 
 in her own small apartment, resolving, at the 
 sanie tin)e tlnit she would conscientiously re- 
 frain from reading in her aunt's presence, or dis- 
 turbing her by the sound of the instrument. 
 
 The sacrifice was a severe one, but the orphan 
 Tvas beginning to be schooled in self-abnegation 
 and restraint, and thus the determination, un- 
 tnsteful though it was, failed to bring a cloud to 
 her young brow. 
 
 Such had been the reception of Mortimer's 
 offering ; and for some "weeks, Gerti-udc care- 
 
 fully abstained from intruding any of her little 
 possessions upon the notice of her aunt. Througli 
 the agency of Hannah, who soon conceived an 
 affection for her young mistress, as she persisted 
 in calling her, the obnoxious packing-cases were 
 broken up, and dulj- stowed away for winter 
 fuel, and as, with the exception of the pinno and 
 the book -case, all the other articles were small, 
 she experienced less inconvenienee than she had 
 anticipated, in arranging them in a manner cal- 
 culated to satisfy her aunt. 
 
 The effect of their possession upon liersell 
 was most salutary. She no longer felt alone ; 
 no longer deserted. Every object by which she 
 was now surrounded spoke directly to her heart, 
 and drew her back again into the past. Her 
 whitewashed walls were gladdened to her eyes 
 by the sketches of the dear old house at West- 
 •um, which had so often fondlj- occupied her 
 leisure ; her toilette sparkled once more with 
 cut glass and porcelain, and as the sunbeams 
 penetrated the branches of the venerable trees 
 l)efore her window, and threw their chequered 
 light upon the table, there were moments in 
 which she almost deluded herself into the belief 
 that she was once more at home. And then her 
 books I — there, indeed, her store of happiness 
 was inexhaustible ; and they were the more en- 
 deared to her by the fact that the fly-leaf of 
 each, bore some affectionate record, and that 
 they thus spoke to her from beyond the grave. 
 
 The honest-hearted old woman, who formed 
 in herself the whole establishment of Miss War- 
 rington, was astounded by the magnificence 
 which rendered the apartment of Gertrude so 
 dissimilar to tlie remainder of the house, and 
 was never weary of examining the elegant futi- 
 lities with which it was crowded ; but, shrewd 
 enough to comprehend that half the annoyance 
 of her mistress on their arrival had arisen from 
 a jealous feeling of the contrast which they 
 would offer to her own faded and bygone trea- 
 sures, which she had for years been accustom- 
 ed to regard with reverence, she carefully ab- 
 stained from all mention of her admiring won- 
 der in her presence. 
 
 Thus for a time it would have appeared as 
 though the stately old lad\- had altogether for- 
 gotten the incursion which had been made upon 
 her premises, but it was not so. Her first ap- 
 prehension had been that Gertrude might priae 
 lerself on this acquisition of luxury, by which 
 she was rendered, in a great degree, indepen- 
 dent of those about her, and however much she 
 gloried in her own personal independence, she 
 could not brook that the orphan whom she had 
 befriended should thus be enabled to dispense 
 with her good offices. 
 
 It was, perhaps a pardonable weakness, and 
 it was, at all events, a very common one. She 
 did not relent, therefore, until she had becom* 
 perfectly satisfied that, far from presuming on 
 her unexpected good fortune, her mild and 
 gentle inmate had become more attentive, kind, 
 and thoughtful ; as though she felt that a tadl 
 apology were needful for the annoyance to 
 which she had innocently subjected her hostess. 
 Miss Warrington had, however, by indulging 
 the suspicion unwittingly, created a great diffi- 
 culty for herself; for when etrong in her con- 
 
THE RIVAL BKA.UTIES. 
 
 79 
 
 rlction of Gertrude's inmate amiability, she re- 
 solved to recaut her objections to the due en- 
 joyment of these uewly-acquired luxuries, she 
 was at a loss how to make the eoneessioii with- 
 out a compromise of her dignity. 
 
 She was revolving the subject in her mind, as 
 she had already done several times before, on a 
 bright summer evening, when, shut into the 
 dingy little parlor, while all was fair and sun- 
 shiny without, Gertrude was busily engaged 
 with her needle iu the service of her aunt, and 
 during a pause in their monotonous dialogue, a 
 ■wandering Italian boy took his stand before the 
 house with a barrel organ, and began to play 
 the Barcarole in Masaniello. 
 
 As the first bars of the melody met her ear, 
 
 I the hands of Gertrude fell powerless upon her 
 
 j lap, and she panted with emotion. In another 
 
 1 moment she sprang from her chair, and rushed 
 
 ] to the window, where she stood trembling, smil- 
 
 I ing, and weeping, in a breath. 
 
 I " Well, well," said the old lady with a grim 
 
 I smile, which was the most engaging expression 
 
 of which her countenance was susceptible ; 
 
 "There is no great harm done if he does see you, 
 
 I for one of those people does not come to Bletch- 
 
 ley for twelve months together, so that we may 
 
 afford to give him a few pence." 
 
 But Gertrude did not hear a word. She heard 
 nothing, felt nothing, was conscious of nothing 
 but the sound of music, and this was the first to 
 which she had listened since she had become 
 indeed an orphan. Every pulse in her heart was 
 stirred ; the " old familiar strain" had carried 
 her awaj' — away — tlirough time and space, and 
 she was quivering with a sense of happiness to 
 which she had been long a stranger, and which 
 she had often failed to feel even when an auditor 
 of the most finished performance. 
 
 The sound ceased ; the musician was remune- 
 rated and the spell was broken. The dingy 
 parlor appeared more dull than ever, and the 
 monotonous needlework more wearisome, but, 
 meanwhile, the grim smile still rested on the 
 features of the old lady. 
 
 " You seem uncommonly fond of music, Ger- 
 trude," she commenced, delighted at the open- 
 ing afforded by the appearance of the Savoj'ard ; 
 "and yet I have never once heard you touch 
 your piano since it came into the house." 
 
 Gertrude looked up cheerfully, although the 
 tears were still glistening in her eyes, as she 
 replied : " I feared to disturb you, my dear 
 madam." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, child," said her compa- 
 nion ; " you see even that hurdy-gurdy, or what- 
 ever it was, did not disturb me ; but, perhaps, 
 you have not room to play in j-our own cham- 
 ber. Send for Jones, and let your instrument 
 be brought down stairs. It strikes me that it 
 would stand very well between the windows." 
 " Oh, how kind you are !" exclaimed the de- 
 lighted girl earnestly. 
 
 " And while he is here," pursued the old lady, 
 inwardl}^ moved by this unstudied emotion, "he 
 may as well disencumber you of your book-case: 
 your room is too small to accommodate so large 
 a piece of furniture." 
 
 " Oh, how happy you make me !" again ejacu- 
 lated the excited listener; "and my work-frame, 
 
 mj' dear aunt, and my painting-table — will you 
 admit them all ?" 
 
 j "As you will — as you will," was the reply, 
 j" but charge Jones to be careful of the walls as 
 jhe comes down stairs. Nothing tears a house 
 jto pieces like moving furniture, and I cannot 
 afford to new paper the passage for the next 
 ;five years." 
 
 Two months after this conversation, it would 
 have been ditficult for any one to have recognis- 
 ed Miss Warrington's hitherto dingy little parlor. 
 By imperceptible degrees, a score of elegant 
 trifles were successively introduced; even a vase 
 of flowers was permitted to stand upon the po- 
 lished table without comment ; for the quick eye 
 of the old lady immediately detected that th«> 
 careful Gertrude had placed it upon a minute 
 mat of her own working. Ere long, the dull- 
 looking walls were relieved by some admirably- 
 executed water-colored drawings from a well- 
 stored portfolio ; and the village carpenter, after 
 a few hints from the fair artist, succeeded in 
 producing some creditably-made frames, which 
 I were neatly covered with morocco paper by the 
 ■same skilful fingers; the dark curtains which 
 fell in gloomy masses like the folds of a pall, 
 were next discarded, and gossamer draperies of 
 spotless muslin supplied their place. 
 
 An air of elegance and ease had succeeded to 
 the squalor and desolation which had formerly 
 been the characteristics of the house; and all 
 had been done so quietly, so simply, and so un- 
 ostentatiously, that even the rigid and indepen 
 dent Miss Warrington almost forgot that she 
 was indebted to another for the increase of 
 comfort about her. 
 
 Gradually also, Gertrude emancipated herself 
 from the excessive thraldom which had confined 
 her entirely to the premises of her aunt ; and, in 
 her plain mourning-dross, and closely veiled, 
 ventured to ramble about the immediate neigh- 
 borhood of the village. 
 
 Her demeanor was so undeniably correct, that 
 even Miss Warrington herself could advance no 
 valid objection to her enjoyment of this neces- 
 sary exercise ; and, thus, the orphan found her- 
 self once more enabled to commune occasionally 
 in solitude with her own thoughts. 
 
 That they were generally very sad ones, can 
 scarcely be a subject of surprise ; but there were, 
 nevertheless, moments in which the natural 
 beauties by which she Avas surrounded drew her 
 on from the past to the present ; and taught her 
 to feel that life still possessed much of which she 
 had reason to be grateful. 
 
 We have already described the approach to 
 Bletchley; but, cheerful and picturesque as it 
 was, Gertrude soon discovered that the villag«*ji 
 possessed still greater beauties than those with 
 which she had already made acquaintance; when, 
 turning her back in the direction of the high 
 road by which she had travelled, she wound 
 round the base of the grassy height crowned 
 by the modest church, and found herself sur- 
 rounded by the original hamlet, upon whose 
 skirt the dull and straggling street, of which 
 she was now an inhabitant, had grown up as 
 its population had increased. 
 
 The whole landscape wjis essentially English 
 in its character. It did not boa^it one grand oi 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Btriking feature; there was neither rock nor 
 torrent, dense forests nor foaming cataract, to 
 be seen on any side ; but all was calm, rich, 
 nod almost hoi}-, in its beautiful tranquillitj-. 
 In the distance a chain of undulating hills, 
 clothed with beeches, shut in the prospect; 
 and as she stood and gazed, with all the joy of 
 a liberated captive, and all the enthusiasm of an 
 artist, upon the scene before her, the declining 
 Bun poured a flood of glory upon the quivering 
 leaves which glittered like jewels in the light. 
 
 Tho evening wind, as it sighed along the 
 branches, brought with it the odor of the clover 
 and the cinquefoil, which had been mown 
 during the heat of the past day ; and the tink- 
 ling sound of the sheep-bell on the hill-side. 
 The luxurious lowing of the cattle from a warm, 
 snug-looking, and substantial farm, nestled under 
 the southern slope of the range, was heard at 
 intervals, as, after having resigned their milky 
 hoard, they wound their way to an accustomed 
 pasture, while the song of the nightingale oc- 
 casionally broke forth, as if in welcome of the 
 coming twilight. 
 
 In the bottom of the valley lay a hedge-bor- 
 dered road, over which the picturesque hay- 
 wagons moved lazilj' along, to the music of 
 the green and waving corn, which rose and fell 
 with a deep murmur, like the waves of some 
 summer sea, as the breeze passed over it — amid 
 the perfume of the wild-rose and the woodbine, 
 the white clematis and the elder ; and crushed 
 with their heavy wheels the transparent and 
 classical cup of the bindweed, which, not eon- 
 tent with girding the hawthorn boughs with its 
 fairy garlands, as if to replace the departed 
 glories of their own spring-loving blossoms, 
 trailed its graceful wreaths far across the path ; 
 while the spotted fox-glove started up beside 
 the little cress-covered stream that glided noise- 
 lessly along, and the bluebell rang its tiny chime 
 like an elfin choir. 
 
 Fi"om the road which we have just described 
 commenced a slight, smooth ascent, known as 
 Bletchley Green, the little common of the 
 hamlet, whereon the horse of the curate, 
 and the donkey of the cottager, met upon 
 equal grounds. On the verge of the road 
 stood the modest, and once the solitary inn of 
 the hamlet; a plain, unpretending cottage, the 
 extreme ruddiness of whose brick-built front 
 •was subdued by a casing of pale-colored cement ; 
 the ancient and approved sign of the Red Lion 
 was lettered, not illustrated, on the swinging 
 sign ; and a rude bench extended its length 
 along the house for the accommodation of the 
 weary traveller, while a deep trough constantlj- 
 Bupplicd with water, offered refreshment in its 
 turn, to the jaded steed. 
 
 From that point commenced the chief charm 
 of Bletchley Green. The modest cottages of 
 dark gray stone, peeping out from their leafy 
 Bcrecns like bird's nests occasionally overgrown 
 by the lioneysuckle and the creeping-rose ; tlieir 
 carefully-tended little gardens, spreading to the 
 right and left, gaj- with marigolds, and stocks, 
 and gilly-flowers, among which the bees made 
 constant music as they flew to and fro, sating 
 themselves with sweets, or clustered about the 
 
 neatly-thatched hives which were ranged in 
 goodly order along the grassy path. 
 
 There is something gladdening in the aspect 
 of a cottage-garden, rich in all the usual vege- 
 table produce which helps the poor man's meal ; 
 and cherishing all those familiar and old- 
 fasliioned blossoms which horticultural societiei 
 and scientific florists are rapidly sweeping from 
 the surface of the earth. Certain it is, too, 
 that flowers nowhere prosper so well as under 
 the eyes of the cottagers. Their geraniuma, 
 their fuchsias, their hydrangias, even to their 
 pansies and their anemones, are frequently finer 
 than can be found elsewhere. Horticulturists 
 may tell us that the cups of the tulips are 
 " muddy," and that their dahlias are botanicallv 
 imperfect ; I, for one, care not if it be so, for it 
 is not the less a fact that they grow lovingly 
 and sturdily in the cottage-garden, while they 
 often look, in a more richly-prepared soil, and 
 under more scientific tending, as though they 
 had been forced into unnatural uniformity ; just 
 as the glad gracefulness of childhood is palpably 
 coerced by the discipline of the dumb-bells and 
 the black-board. 
 
 To conclude the digression, however, and to 
 return to the village — Advancing and receding 
 irregularly, now flung back by the rustw 
 builder, in order not to interfeVe with the 
 growth of a fine old patriarchial ash or elm, 
 and now standing closer to the public path, 
 that the little willow shaded pond within its 
 enclosure might ^ot encroach too much on th« 
 convenience of the inmates of the dwelling, 
 the quiet and modest cottages extended along 
 one side of the Green, almost to the crest of 
 the nearest hill ; while, on the other, they gava 
 place to grass fields, and patches of wheat or 
 barley; or, still more grateful to the eye during 
 the sultry noons of summer, stretches of inangel- 
 wurtzel, with its large, heavy, dark-green 
 leaves. 
 
 But the charm of Bletchley Green was tiM 
 " Great House," a vast and imposing niansioa 
 which looked down upon the hamlet from a 
 slight acclivity. A splendid specimen of the, 
 solid architectural taste of the times of thai 
 eighth Henry, it spread its lordly ten-aces, ani 
 extended its hanging woods across the whol« 
 brow of the ascent, until thfy'wcre parted 
 only by a low and ancient wall from the grave- 
 yard attached to the little church alreadj 
 named. 
 
 The whole scene was calm and beautiful ; and 
 as Gertrude at length reluctantly tui-ned away 
 in order to return to her unpicturesquc home, 
 she heaved an unconscious sigh ; for the timo- 
 touehed and stately mansion, with its venerable 
 woods, had brought back to her a thousand 
 memories of Westrum, and the other dear old 
 house which had cradled her youth. It struck 
 her, too, as strange, that in th'at deai-th of sub- 
 jects on which to converse together, Miss Wai'- 
 rington should never have mentioned the near 
 neighborhood of such a residence as this; and 
 the rather, as the whole appearance of th« 
 place evidenced its inhabitation. Gentlewoman 
 as she was by birth, even although crippled in 
 fortune, she was decidedly eligible as an ac- 
 
 
 ll 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 81 
 
 
 1 1 qtiftintance at the Manor-house ; and Gertrude, 
 
 I jin her moral solitude, could not forbear a wish 
 
 n 'that this resource had been open to her. 
 
 ''*! I Again and again her thoughts reverted to that 
 
 1 '* 'noble mansion and its embowering woods; and 
 
 the modest tea equipage was no sooner removed 
 
 in the evening, than, as she resumed her work, 
 
 she resolved to question her aunt as to its inha- 
 
 j^ ,"i [bitants. 
 
 '}^\ " Oh, they are rich people, very rich people," 
 "'"""i replied the old lady quietly ; " and far too grand 
 to visit any one in Bletchley. The crimson-cur- 
 t.'iitied pew, which you must have noticed op- 
 posite the pulpit, belongs to them." 
 
 " Then, they are absent," remarked Gertrude ; 
 " for it has remained empty every Sunday since 
 I arrived here. Several times I have determin- 
 ed to inquire the name of its owners, but it has 
 always escaped my memory." 
 
 " Their name is Armstrong ; and Hannah tells 
 me that they returned home two days ago, after 
 in absence of three months. Here or there, 
 :iowever, it signifies little, for they are seen only 
 It chui'ch." 
 " Are they, then, so very haughty?" 
 " Yes — no — I I'eally cannot tell how to answer 
 iie question. Thej' are free enough with the 
 •>oor, and let no one want in the village if they 
 aiow it ; but their house is always full of com- 
 pany, and tliey are for ever driving or riding 
 bout the countrj'; but, as they prefer the up- 
 er road when they go to the post-town, they 
 ever pass this way." 
 Gertrude sighed. She could not but feel that 
 t was mortifying to know that there was refined 
 oeiety within her reach even here, and yet that 
 he was shut out from all hope of participating 
 n its enjoyment. A moment's reflection, how- 
 ver, suthced to restore her to a more healthy 
 rame of hiind; she remembered that her circum- 
 tances were changed, and that she could no 
 onger associate with the rich and the happy 
 ;pon equal terms ; and a flush rose to her cheek 
 s she felt how little fitted she was, either by 
 abit or association, to endure the mortification 
 f any other species of companionship. 
 The subject was, consequently, dropped; for it 
 as one in which the old lady evidently took 
 ot the slightest interest, and upon which Ger- 
 ade had as little inclination to dwell. 
 And so three days more passed on, in the same 
 earisome routine as usual; and it was with de- 
 bt that the orphan, on the morning of the 
 urth, hailed the return of the Sabbath. Sun- 
 ay was to her, indeed, a day of rest and hap- 
 iness; the holy services in the rustic church, 
 le calm and impressive manner and the simple 
 .oquence of the venerable pastor, the only 
 uest who ever passed the threshold of her aunt, 
 nd for whom she had already learnt to feel a 
 !verenee and regard, which he repaid in fa- 
 lerly and affectionate kindness ; the respectful 
 id quiet demeanor of the simple congratulation ; 
 id that holy calm which ever prevades the 
 'untry on a sabbath-day — all conspired to 
 ake it a festival to the heart of the orphan- 
 rl. Her plain and mourning toilette was soon 
 ade; the solitary bell of the low church rang 
 it over hill and valley ; and, with her aunt 
 laning upon her arm, she once more advanced 
 
 .•a: 
 l-ot 
 
 to the narrow pew of which she was a constant 
 occupant. 
 
 The infirmities of age rendered Miss War- 
 rington a slow walker, and the services had jusst 
 conunenced when tliey entered. For a con- 
 siderable time Gertrude did not raise lier head, 
 for she had at once sank upon her knees as she 
 took her place ; and when she at length did so 
 she threw back her veil, and remained looking 
 earnestly towards the clergy-man, totally ab- 
 sorbed by the pious oflices in wiiich she was 
 engaged. It was not until the sern>on was near- 
 ly concluded that she chanced to glance in the 
 direction of the curtained pew of the Ar/n- 
 strongs ; and she almost started as slie perceived 
 that she was an object of observation to more 
 than one of its occupants. She instantly with- 
 drew her eyes, but even in that momentary 
 glance she had remarked that it was tenanted 
 by four individuals ; an elderly gentleman, 
 elaborately powdered ; a portly dame of abou. 
 the same age, and two youuger'ladies, apparent- 
 ly their daughters. She perceived, moreover, 
 that with the exception of those of the matron, 
 who was evidently absorbed by the rector's dis- 
 course, the eyes of all its occupants were, in 
 their turn directed towards herself. 
 
 The fact was, however, a very simple one ; 
 as she was in all probability, the sole stranger 
 at that moment in the sacred edifice, and suffi- 
 ciently distinguished by the simple but striking 
 elegance of her appearance from the rest of the 
 congregation to excite observation ; and the 
 only effect produced upon her by the conviction 
 that she had been an object of remark, was her 
 care to avoid all further glances in the direction 
 of the Squire's pew. 
 
 Ere long the service drew to a close ; and, 
 once more supporting her aged relative, Ger- 
 trude left the church, just in time to see the 
 inhabitants of the Manor-House enter their 
 plain but well-appointed chariot, and disappear. 
 
 " There go the Armstrongs," said the old lady, 
 as she drew her large cloak more closely round 
 her, and leaned heavily upon the arm of her 
 j-oung companion, while they threaded their 
 way among the graves ; " All the petty gentry 
 of Bletchley will now be once more busy with 
 the doings at the Great House ; and all the poor 
 secure of help for the next three months. Our 
 good rector alwaj-s looks cheerful when they are 
 in their places, for they lighten his duties by 
 their kindness to the sick ; and so do the school- 
 children, for they are sure of not being over- 
 looked in some way or abother." 
 
 " Could they have a better or a holier wel- 
 come home ?" exclaimed Gertrude, as a tear 
 swelled in her gentle eye. 
 
 " I don't know," was the matter-of-fact reply ; 
 " they must do something, and I suppose their 
 pride suffers less from charity than sociability. 
 At all events, you now know, and have seen 
 all that you ever will know or see of the Arm- 
 strongs." 
 
 CHAPTER XXrV. 
 
 The Armstrongs were a good old family, and 
 the Manor-house was worthy of its owners ; 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ftlthough the estat* was somewhat ehorn of its 
 pristine splendor. Once the lordly domain of 
 bir Couitenaye Armstrong, to whom belonged 
 alike, mansion, village, wood and hill, it had in 
 process of time passed to the grandson of his 
 niece ; who, in order to render himself legally 
 eligihle to hold the property, had, by royal 
 patent, assumed the name and arms of the 
 Armstrongs; although the spnrs of the brave 
 old knigiit were not fated to be buckled on by 
 his descendants, who had successively shown 
 tliemselves rather addicted to the sports of the 
 field than to its perils ; while the extent of the 
 property had gradually contracted under the 
 pressure of debts and ditficulties. 
 
 Knough, however, still remained to render the 
 .-nanor of Bletchley one of the finest estates in 
 the county ; and if the present owners were a 
 shade less popular than thej- might have been 
 among their immediate neighbors, that circum- 
 stance might safely be attributed to the fact, 
 that neither by station, education, or habits, 
 were those neighbors eligible to the acquaint- 
 anceship to which some among them so eagerly 
 asj)ired. 
 
 But while the petty gentry and wealthy 
 farmers looked with some asperity and indig- 
 nation upon what they considered as the undue 
 haughtiness of the Armstrongs, the prayers of 
 tJie needy were secured to them by their unre- 
 mitting attention to their wants; the schools 
 and the poorhouse were rich with their gifts; 
 and the cottages of the laborer and the peasant 
 gladdened by their benevolence. 
 
 The head of tlie family was an honest, hearty, 
 single-minded, and somewhat eccentric man, 
 who was in perfect good-humor both with him- 
 felf and all his possessions ; and quite satisfied 
 to live and be merry as long as he could, in this 
 best of all possible worlds ; and who, as he 
 saw prouder and nobler neighbors gradually 
 rise up around him, and occupy with their more 
 modern mansions, and grace by their more 
 high-sounding titles, portions of the land which 
 had once acknowledged only an Armstrong as 
 its lord, remained perfectly careless as to the 
 e.xact position assigned to him by county eti- 
 quette, on those occasions when the said neigh- 
 bors, who had obliged him by assisting in the 
 consumption of his venison and claret, in thvir 
 turn invited him to their tables; satisfied that 
 Lord .lolin, or Sir Harry, were only parvenus in 
 the county after all ; and that"^ tTiey would 
 have given, and gladly given, no small portion 
 of their broad acres to have felt themselves, as 
 he did, even stronger in the past than in the 
 present, as he sat among the monuments of his 
 ancestors, and remembered that they had been 
 lords of the same soil for centuries. 
 
 A good landlord, an indulgent master, and a 
 liberal patron of all the local charities, Mr. 
 Armstrong was permitted to doze away the 
 five-and-fhirty minutes generally occupied by 
 the weekly sermon f>f tli,e rector, in his comfort- 
 able and well-cushioned pew, without much 
 ct)mment ; while the demeanor of his better 
 half was so perfectly irreproachable, as she sat 
 in the most scrupulouslj- perpendicular position, 
 immediately facing the minist^M-, from whose 
 countenance she never once permitted hei-self 
 
 to withdraw her eyes, that she made ampUl, 
 amends for the solecisms of her husband. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong was a portly and comely 
 personage, still possessing some remains of 
 beauty ; or rather some trace of the ])rettineRs 
 which had, ere she had scarcely attained her 
 si-xteenth year, won the heart of her husband. 
 Fine-t-empered and affectionate, it was impos- 
 sible not to love her ; although equally in> 
 possible, at the same time, to repress an oc- 
 casional smile at the little absurdities into 
 which she was continually betrayed by an 
 education barely ebauchie, and a remnant of 
 romance which offered a strange contrast with ( 
 her portly person and faded face. 
 
 The girls were well-bred, well-mannered, and 
 well-looking ; a century in advance of their 
 parents as regarded knowledge of the world 
 and social etiquette ; but gentle, dutiful, and 
 exemplary in all the relations of domestic life ; 
 while their only brother, the hope of hia 
 father and the idol of his mother, possessed 
 not only a fine person, but one of those up- 
 right and noble natures which tend to exalt 
 humanity. 
 
 Yielding and indulgent upon all minor points, 
 Ernest Armstrong was firmness itself in all mat- 
 ters of principle and right feeling : incapable 
 of bartering one worthy impulse against per- i 
 sonal interest or self-aggrandizement, or of com- i 
 mitting one disloyal action for the gratification j 
 of a selfish caprice. And yet even he was not j 
 without his faults. Who is so? lie was aware | 
 of both his personal and acquired advantages; j 
 and, perhaps, prided himself a shade too much i 
 on each. He was ambitious too ; and was 
 ever yearning after some vague, shapeless, and 
 untangible vision, to which he was unable to 
 give either a local habitation or a name ; but 
 which filled him with vain aspirations after he j 
 knew not what, and rendered him less satisfied 
 than he should have been with the actual ad- j 
 vantages of his position. 
 
 The sun was sinking, and jnst as its last and J 
 ruddiest beam flooded the beach-woods with | 
 which the hills were clothed, the wide and j 
 lofty iron gates that opened upon the entrance I 
 court of Bletchley House were flung back, and 
 Ernest Armstrong galloped up to the foot of the 
 broad fligiit of steps, flanked with eouchanl 
 lions, which led to the door of tlie mansion, and ' 
 sprang hurriedly from "his horse. The accus- j 
 tomed word of comment or direction was un- , 
 said to his smart groom as he strode into the ' 
 hall ; and there was a cloud upon his brow | 
 which told that whatever had been his errand ij 
 it had sped ill. | 
 
 The last diimer-bell was ringing as he crossed j 
 the green, and he at once proceeded to hi* | 
 dressing-room, and made a hasty toilette, e*« • 
 he joined the family party, which had aj 
 ready proceeded to tiie dining-room. On his 
 entrance every eye was turned j^ipon him ; but 
 the eager inquiry which had risen to the lips ij 
 of his fond sister remained unuttered, as they 
 caught a glimpse of his overshadowed counte- 1 
 nance, and felt that, imtil the disappearance of 
 the servants, they must abstain from all ques- 
 tioning, j 
 
 Mi's. Armstrong was in her place at the ht id 
 
 iS(« 
 
 ■fc 
 rli'i 
 
 liS-te 
 
 liiiriffi 
 
 ktliis' 
 
 rsiiii 
 Bfme 
 
 htJOtl 
 
 btskl; 
 
 knilii 
 
 tes^iie, 
 "Tot 
 iami:' 
 
 1 11'% 1 
 
 JBiigto 
 
 '''liiiiiti 
 
 :\i 
 
 "a bit 
 'itei 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 FS 
 
 of the table, where she sat smiling at the silver 
 tureen which glittered before her, as she was 
 accustomed to smile on every person or thing 
 which was familiar to her; while " the Squire," 
 as he loved to be called, was as jovial as his 
 wont; and the momentary disturbance oeea- 
 gioned by the tardy entrance of his son otiee 
 over, he resumed his soup and his subject, with- 
 otit seeming to remark that anything had oc- 
 curred to darken a orow which was generally 
 as clear and as bright as sunsliine. 
 
 " They are welcome to all their old castles. 
 Bay I ;" it was thus that he gathered up again 
 the thread of his foregone discourse ; " Give me 
 a good, honest, substantial dwelling-house, with 
 •well-fitted doors and windows, and only as many 
 galleries alid staircases as may be necessary to 
 lead to tlie rooms. As for your vaults and your 
 dungeons, they may do very well for the dead 
 and the dismal ; but again I say, give me a range 
 of cool cellarage, well stocked with generous 
 old wine. I have no taste for such gimeracks, 
 and I hope, girls, that you will never be bitten 
 by this absurd mania for old clothes and old 
 moveables, which seems to be making .such pro- 
 gress among us. Nothing but wine and pictures 
 improve by being — what do you call it? Aye, 
 rococo — that's the word, and a queer one it is, 
 but nothing that soimded like common-sense 
 would have served to express the tomfoolery of 
 the fancy. Pass the hock, Ernest, after you 
 have helped yourself Rococo chairs, forsooth ! 
 weighing half a ton, as bolt upright as a promis- 
 ing militia-man at drill, or carved all over, arms, 
 back, and legs, as if to give you a hint of the 
 tortures of the Inquisition by bruising every 
 bone in your skin. I trust never to see any 
 such worm-eaten enormities in my drawing- 
 room." 
 
 " But all those old-world things are so pic- 
 turesque, papa," said Eleanor. 
 
 " Very !" laughed the matter-of-fact old gen- 
 tleman : " and so is a rock, but it won't grow 
 cabbages ; and the moonliglit. but it won't force 
 grapes or pine-apples. Believe me, my dear, 
 that the most sensible and rational taste is that 
 which leads people to appreciate all the improve- 
 ments tliat are making fromyear to year, and to 
 encourage the talent and industry that are re- 
 quired to bring them to bear. If people are to 
 indulge in whims of rococo and their great- 
 great-grandfathers, everything may as well stag- 
 nate." 
 
 " And yet, sir," said Ernest, as though the re- 
 mark jarred upon the current of his own silent 
 tlioughts ; " there is surely some respect due to 
 tlie memory of the past — some consideration 
 owing to a long line of ancestry ?" 
 
 " To be sure there is I We should be the first 
 to admit tliat fact, my boy. I am only quarrel- 
 ing with the abuse of the virtue." 
 ' " Then the principle at least is worthy, even 
 in your eyes, papa," smiled Mary ; " and you 
 are candid enough, I know, to concede that this 
 itaste for antiquity is at all events a refined one 
 'even in its absurdity." 
 
 ' A refined fiddlestick !" exclaimed Mr. Arm- 
 iBtroug good-humoredly ; "I am not going to 
 allow you to distort the real meaning of my ad- 
 imiseion ; I venerate the abstract principle, but 
 
 I detest the finicking demonstrations. I lovo 
 'and reverence tastes tluit encourage progression, 
 and improve and advance coTnmercial interests, 
 feed the poor and support the artizan. Who 
 ever thouglit, fifty years ago, of raking refine- 
 ment out of a garret, and clothing elegance in 
 the faded rags of a dead generation ?" 
 
 " Still you must admit that there was some- 
 thing fine and chivalrous in the feudal dwellings 
 of the old barons," persisted Eleanor. 
 
 " I don't quite understand the meaning of the 
 word^ my dear. I am a plain man, and should 
 prefer comfortable to chivalrous, as I read the 
 term, when applied to the building in which I 
 was to live. Stone floors, easements sunk five 
 feet into the walls, and oubliettes, may be very 
 romantic appurtenances to a residence, but lam 
 quite unsophisticated enough to be as well 
 pleased with Brussels carpets, plate-glass win- 
 dows, and conservatories." 
 
 " Some castles are very pretty, nevertkeless, 
 Mr. Armstrong," softly purred his helpmate ; 
 " Only remember the Tower of London 1 I'm 
 sure when I was a child I used to long to live 
 there." 
 
 " Your mother has settled the question now I 
 think, girls," laughed her husband good-humor- 
 edly. " Why, my dear, there is scarcely a stone 
 in the whole building that has not the curse of 
 blood upon it ! But now that the fruit is upon 
 the table, and the servants out of earshot — Give 
 this fine ripe peach to your mother, Eleanor — 
 tell us, Ernest my boy, what has gone wrong 
 with you?" 
 
 " Everything, my dear sir," was the moody 
 reply. 
 
 " Why! you don't mean to say that the new- 
 comers who have invaded the neighborhood are 
 likely to interfere with the interests of a family 
 which have been seated in the county for cen- 
 turies ?" 
 
 " And yet such is the ease, sir. Of our own 
 tenants we are, of course, sure enough ; and 
 were the poor voters, my mother and sisters 
 would have secured them ; but it seems that, 
 with the yeomen and petty gentry, we are by 
 no means so popular. You do not give sport- 
 ing-dinners like Lord John, nor attend vestry- 
 meetings like Mr. Hellingham, nor do fifty other 
 things which would bring you into familiar con- 
 tact with these worthies ; and thus they have 
 decided that neither yourself nor your son are 
 ' fit and proper persons to represent them in 
 Parliament.' Half-a-dozen electors, to whom I 
 made known our intention of canvassing the 
 borough, thanked me somewhat superciliously 
 for the honor which we desired to confer upon 
 them, politely reminding me that, altliough the 
 name and estate of the owners of Bletchley 
 House were well known to all the eounfcy, its 
 inhabitants were strangers in their own land, 
 and gave me civilly to understand that they 
 would have nothing to do with us." 
 
 " W-h-e-w !" whistled the old gentleman ; 
 "they are inclined to dictjite to us our duties, 
 are they ? To draw comparisons between uu 
 and a bi-jiinless young prodigal like Lord John, 
 who so long as he fills his house with noisy 
 pai-asites. cares little for the kind of society 
 which he ought properly to frequent; and a 
 
14 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 mumbling old meddler like Hcllingham, -who 
 contrives to keep the parish in hot water, about 
 paltry matters which one dip into his own 
 purse would settle aiuicably at once ? Give it 
 up then, my boy; give it up at once, I say. 
 What can it signify to either of xis that we earn 
 the privilege of adding two capitals to our 
 name upon the back of a letter, and of being 
 abused in the newspapers for holding our 
 tongues when they think we ought to have 
 spoken, or for having given our opinion when 
 they consider that we should have remained 
 ■ilent." 
 
 " Yet to be so thoroughly shelved in one's 
 own county is anything rather than pleasant, 
 •ir." 
 
 " Why, hang their impudence ! so it is, 
 Ernest, and I don't see that we are called upon 
 to put up with it, if you feel any inclination for 
 us to try our strength. We have no reason to 
 ehrink before the free eloquence of the hustings; 
 ■we may not be popular, as you say, but we can 
 have no dirt flung into our faces which we can- 
 not readily wipe off. Do I owe any man a 
 penny? Am I ashamed to look any man in the 
 face throughout the county ? Can I not answer 
 boldly to my name in any place, and at any 
 time?"^ What do they mean by my being un- 
 popular? We'll try it, Ernest, we'll try it." 
 
 " I trust j'ou will, sir, for tliere can be no 
 douht, that you are the only legitimate repre- 
 sentative of this borough." 
 
 " Or you, my boy." 
 
 " Xo sir, not I. It will suffice my ambition 
 to follow in youi- footsteps." 
 
 The old gentleman smiled affectionately upon 
 his son, as he replied, 
 
 " But the idea was your own, Ernest ; as for 
 me, I should have lived my life out without 
 caring one straw who won the seat, always 
 provided he were a staunch Tovy, likely to do 
 honor to his party." 
 
 " You should, however, remember that you 
 owe a duty to the county, sir ; all your wealthy 
 neighbors are mere parvenus on the soil, while 
 Vou have only to point to the vaults of Bletch- 
 ley eliurch to establish your claim, and to justify 
 your position." 
 
 " It shall be done, Ernest; it shall be done." 
 
 " Then we have no time to lose, my dear sir, 
 for I understand that two candidates are already 
 in the field." 
 
 " So much the better," said Mr. Armstrong 
 heartily ; " there is no honor in walking over 
 the course, so, early to-morrow we'll commence 
 our canvass. You, girls, must drive into town, 
 mount your smartest bonnets, and lay in a stock 
 of flounces and furbelows, without inquiring too 
 narrowly as to the piice ; while your dear mo- 
 tlier has only to follow up her usual benevolent 
 avocations to serve the good cause more per- 
 haps than we now suspect. There's Jones too, 
 my attornej% as good and as honest a fellow as 
 ever breathed, will help us, heart and hand, I 
 well know, for half a do//rn years ago, he talked 
 to me just as you are doing to-day, Ernest; but 
 you were then at college, and I luid no induce- 
 uient to trouble myself upon the s\ibjeet. Now, 
 however, the case i* altered, and I fiH'l that I 
 Lave no light to shriiik from smoothing your 
 
 path for the future. But who are the declare4 1 
 candidates?" 
 
 " Lord John Somers starts in the Whig in- ■ 
 terest, of course." 
 
 " Naturally. You seldom know a duke's son, 
 emancipated from paternal rule, who does not i 
 show his independence by opposing his father's 
 political principles, and establishing himself aa 
 a man of the people." 
 
 " And then — And this is the opponent who is 
 likely to give us the most trouble : there is Sir 
 Harry Vane, Tory to the back-bone." 
 
 " Aye, Sir Harry is staunch ; it almost irks 
 me to oppose him." 
 
 " He has, however, already shown that he, 
 on his side, has no such scruples." • 
 
 " All the better, my boy, all the better; there 
 is the less occasion for delicacy. And if he only 
 doses his voters with new wine, as he did his i 
 friends the last time we dined at The Chase, he 
 will not fail to set their teeth on edge, and de- 
 liver them over, sad and squeamish, into our 
 hands." 
 
 " Yet there are persons, my dear sir, who 
 prefer thin port and muddy sherry to no wine 
 at all." 
 
 "Which means — ? Come, speak out, boy, you 
 know that I hate all reservations in a family. 
 Let me understand the drift of your remark." 
 
 " Englishmen seldom vote freely on an em]>ty 
 stomach, and prefer a shake of the hand to a 
 touch of the hat." 
 
 " The last I will freely give them, but I shall 
 hardly brook to feast the Smiths, Browns, 
 Joneses, and Robinsons, under the roof of my 
 ancestors. If I can compromise the matter by 
 feeding them at the Red Lion — " 
 
 " Such an arrangement must not even be con- 
 templated," e.xelaiined young Armstrong eager- 
 ly : " It would swamp us at once. Ko people 
 are more exacting than voters on the eve of an 
 election, and I, moreover, confess that I was 
 quite unprepared for such fastidiousness on your 
 part, my dear sir, when I remembered how little 
 you have appeared to insist upon your privileg- 
 es, and to stand by your order, ever since 1 havo 
 been old enough to remark, and to comment 
 upon your mode of life." 
 
 " What ! Because I am so thoroughly con- 
 scious of my true position in the county that I 
 am careless of enforcing its rights, you imagine 
 that I should readily play the host to a mob of ; 
 semi-genteel, presuming and underbred men, 
 about whom I neither know, nor ought to know, 
 anything?" 
 
 " You cannot do without them ; and more- 
 over, the election once past, you need no long* r 
 annoy yourself or your family by continuing 
 their acquaintance." 
 
 "Kay, — hang it!" expostulated the honcat- 
 hearted old Squire ; " that were indeed a ver- 
 sion of ' the orange sucked, we throw the peel 
 away.' Recollect, young gentleman, that the 
 appeal which I am about to make, since you de- 
 clare that it must and ought to be made, will 
 be addressed, not to strangers, but to my neigh- 
 bors; men whose forefatliers remember mine, 
 and who would justly consider themselves ag-| 
 grieved, should I carry the matter off" in so cool 
 a manner aa you advise. It strikes me, Ernest, 
 
 •II 
 
 I |b1« 
 
TItE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 that such blind and selfish policy would leave 
 the Armstrong interest at a discount, and some- 
 what interfere with your own views in the event 
 of my death." 
 
 " Well, sir, perhaps you are right, and even 
 in that case you will be no worse off than some 
 of the proudest and noblest of our neighbors." 
 
 " Aye, confound it!" conceded Mr. Armstrong, 
 ■ when a duke's son turns liberal he plays his 
 card with a vengeance. I verily believe that 
 there is not one owner of a brass-plated door in 
 the whole borough who has not, on some occa- 
 eion or other, found his legs under my Lord 
 John's mahogany. Still, I say, that I dislike the 
 system ; not from personal pride as you well 
 know, but because I do think, and always shall 
 think, that a line should be drawn, and never 
 overpassed upon any pretext, confining each 
 class of society to its proper limits." 
 
 " I hope that you do not intend to sport that 
 sentiment upon the hustings," said his son -with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Confound the hustings !" retorted the 
 Squire, as he filled his fourth glass of port, and 
 held it up admiringly to the light. " Have your 
 own way, however, my boy, and arrange every 
 thing as you think best. I suppose in these 
 reforming days all my old-world prejudices 
 must be laid aside ; only thus much I will not 
 concede. You and I may make shift to be hand 
 and glove with the male portion of the popu- 
 lation, and no great harm can ensue, but 1 will 
 have no intrusion on my wife and daughters ; 
 no Mrs. Tomkins or Miss Simkins introduced 
 into my drawing-rooms. Neither Mrs. Arm- 
 strong nor the girls are ambitious of a seat in 
 I'arliament." 
 
 " Had Ernest included us in his universal- 
 visiting scheme," said Eleanor laughingly, " I 
 should like to have commenced my social cru- 
 sade by making the acquaintance of a sweet- 
 ■ looking girl in deep-mourning, who sat in the 
 next pew to the rector's last Sunday ; I do not 
 think that I ever saw a more lovely face." 
 
 " Or a more ladylike deportment," followed 
 up Mary ; " Who can she be ? I never remarked 
 her at Bletchley church before." 
 
 " Saunders tells me," murmured the oily voice 
 of Mrs. Armstrong, as she looked up from her 
 plate, where she had been playing with a piece 
 of preserved ginger, and listening with secret 
 dismay to the discussion between her husband 
 and her son ; " Saunders tells me that she has 
 been here for some weeks, and that she is the 
 niece of an old maiden lady, a sort of decayed 
 gentlewoman, who receives no one but Dr. 
 Simmonds, and although in straightened circum- 
 stances, owns the house she lives in, and is as 
 proud as she is poor." 
 
 " What a pity !" exclaimed young Armstrong 
 suddenly looking up ; " had she only been an 
 uncle instead of an aunt, she would have had a 
 vote." 
 
 " Now, fie upon you for a recreant, Ernest!" 
 said Mary playfully ; " here we are talking of 
 one of the sweetest-looking creatures upon 
 earth, and you are coldly speculating upon her 
 maiden aunt." 
 
 " You forget that I have never seen this 
 Bletchley beauty, and that we are on the eve 
 
 of a general election. I promise, however, to 
 favor you with my opinion as to her personul 
 merits before you are eight and forty hours 
 older. Will that satisfy you ?" 
 
 " Not altogether ; as I shrewdly suspect that 
 your decision will be considerably affected by 
 the old lady's politics. If you secure her in- 
 terest, you will expatiate on the Venus ; but 
 should the ancient gentlewoman read you a 
 Whig lecture, you will see everything' through 
 a glass darkly,' and turn traitor to your own 
 taste." 
 
 " In which case I will bear witness against 
 him," said Mr. Armstrong : " for a prettier little 
 sylph never sported bombazine and crape. Poor 
 thing ! poor thing ! 'tis but a sad dress for one 
 so young, and apparently so helpless. An or- 
 phan, I have no doubt." 
 
 " If I thought so — " commenced Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, and paused. 
 
 " Well, my dear, if you thought so, what 
 would be the consequence f" inquired the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, nothing wrong, you may be sure, my 
 love," replied Mrs. Armstrong, nervously twitch- 
 ing the strings of her cap ; " only it struck me 
 that if she really is a gentlewoman, you might 
 not object, although she is poor, to my showing 
 her some civility. I have daughters of my 
 own, and they will be orphans some day, Mr. 
 Armstrong." 
 
 " Not yet, my dear; not yet, I hope," said the 
 squire; "but you are quite right. If she should 
 really prove to be a gentlewoman — " 
 
 " And if her aunt really has any political in- 
 terest," broke in his son. 
 
 The sisters laughed, and even their father 
 joined in the merriment, as he I'esumed waggish- 
 ly :— 
 
 " Why, I see no reason to object to your show- 
 ing her a little attention, if such a prospect does 
 not alarm the girls." 
 
 "Nonsense, papa!" 
 
 " Very well; the pei-il be on your own heads. 
 But we must, first, make some inquiries about 
 the young lady." 
 
 " Our good rector, mamma says, is acquainted 
 with her aunt. He will be excellent authority," 
 said Eleanor. 
 
 " Undeniable. So, you had better question 
 him upon the subject." 
 
 " Poor thing," murmured Mrs. Armstrong; " an 
 orphan ! I shall be sure to like her, for I am 
 an orphan myself." 
 
 " Of some years' standing, my dear," said her 
 husband with a smile ; " and probably better re- 
 conciled to your fate than this mourning beauty. 
 However, all I have to require is, that you will 
 take no steps in the business until you have con- 
 sulted Dr. Simmoiids. Her appearance is cer- 
 tainly much in her favor." 
 
 And the subject drojtped. The two girls were 
 anxious to possess a new friend, their mother to 
 do a kind action, and her son to further his elec- 
 tioneering interests. 
 
I'HE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Oy the following day, all Blctchley -was in 
 commotion. The two Armstrong carriages had 
 traversed the village de bout en bout, a circum- 
 stance which had not occurred within the 
 memory of "the oldest inh.ibitant;" but even 
 this marvel ceased to be matter of astonishment, 
 or rather, was absorbed in a wonder still moie 
 wonderful, when tlie barouche, which contained 
 the three ladies of the fiimily, was seen to stop 
 at the door of Miss Warrington, and, after a brief 
 parley between the portly footman of the Squire 
 and the mature attendant of the maiden lady, 
 Mrs. Armstrong and her daughters actually de- 
 scended from- their equipage, and entered the 
 house. 
 
 What could it mean? Never before had such 
 an occurrence taken place at Bletchley; and, al- 
 tliough the "professional men" of the adjoining 
 town^ who had " boxes" in and about the hamlet, 
 had long considered themselves aggrieved, yet 
 they had always declared themselves delighted, 
 that the Armstrong family had never made the 
 slightest advances towards an acquaintanceship, 
 wliich, alike as neighbors and as " professional 
 man," they considered to be justly their right. 
 
 And now — when at lengtli the inmates of the 
 Great House had apparently resolved to alter 
 their tactics — How had they commenced? Kot 
 bv rendering honor where honor might be said 
 to be due, but by making their first visit to an 
 old, impoverisheij, and iminfluential gentlewo- 
 man, who had herself lent a decided aggrava- 
 tion to tlie case by the fact that, although an 
 inhabitant, and even a householder in the vil- 
 lage for many years, she had never swerved 
 from her original determination — not to admit 
 a single neighbor under her roof, save the elder- 
 ly and widowed rector, to whom she was furn- 
 ished with a letter of introduction, and whom 
 slie consequently considered at once as her 
 friend and her pastor, and Mr. I'ilbeam, the 
 apothoijiry, on the occasion of an\- indisposition. 
 
 Not ev.^n the kind attention and sympathy 
 wliich Mrs. Armstrong had constantly and libe- 
 rally evinced towards tlie two invalid daughters 
 of a" former curate of Bletchley, elderly maiden 
 Indies, the one deaf, and the other paralytic, and 
 wliich linil been demonstrated in a manner at 
 jnce costly and delicate, although, in deference 
 to the wislies of her husband, she had never 
 made tln-ir afquiiint.ance ; had any effect in less- 
 < ning their indignation, when, as they sat be- 
 hind tiie rusty Venetian blind of their solitary 
 window, a;nu-*ing themselves, as was tlieir wont, 
 bv wnti-hing every thing that passed in the dull- 
 est of all^duU village streets, and informing 
 thems'lves, in so far as their obtuse faculties 
 |)er:nittf<l them so to do, of all the affairs of their 
 neiL'hliors ; they detected the arrival of the lady 
 (if the Manor with her two blooming daughters, 
 niiil their actual entrance beneath the roof of 
 tlie poor and proud Miss Warrington ; who, de- 
 s|)ite nil their own advances, still continued as 
 great a stranger to them as when she first took 
 possession of the dingy old house bequeathed to 
 her by her godmother, aad became a denizen of 
 the hamlet 
 
 " What's in the wind now ?" exclaimed Misa 
 Margery, as with a shaking head, she forced 
 aside one of the laths of the blind in order to 
 obtain a better view of the proceedings across 
 the way ; " What's in the wind now {" she re- 
 peated, raising her voice to the exact and well- 
 studied pitch which rendered it tolerably audible 
 to her sister ; " Is the sky about to rain larks f 
 And are the grandees of the Great House about 
 to favor the gentry of Bletchley with their no- 
 tice at last ?" 
 
 " Better late than never," replied Priscilla 
 shrewishly ; " though it strikes me that it would 
 have been more becoming had they paid their 
 first visit to the daughters of a former pastor. 
 However," she added, stroking into more ap- 
 proved order the neckerchief of snowy muslia 
 which was primitively crossed over hei- bosom, 
 and sweeping into a capacious basket a pile of 
 sundries rej)resenting needlework ; " we must 
 not resent the slight, or we shall got no more 
 game and old wine ; though our thouijhts are 
 our own, and our feelings upon the subject can- 
 not be altered." 
 
 " If you really think they are coming here — " 
 began Miss Margery in her shrill tone. 
 
 " 7/' I think!" interposed her more captious 
 sister ; " There can be no doubt upon the sub- 
 ject to any person of sense, and their having 
 gone first to Miss Warrington's is in all probabi- 
 lity a mistake. You really have no proper 
 pride, Margery, or you must at once see the 
 utter impossibility of theit visiting any one in 
 the village, and passing us over." 
 
 " Well, very likely you are right," conceded 
 the tottering woman so vehemently addressed ; 
 " I am sure 1 do not wish to contradict you, and 
 I was only about to suggest that we haVl better 
 defer our dinner until after their departure. 
 
 " There is some sense in that, at all events," 
 said the conciliated Priscilla, "and as the parlor 
 is tolerably tidy, we have nothing to do but to 
 watch for them." 
 
 " Ah ! Thompson, how are you ?" exclaimed 
 the fussy little apothecaiy, as he extended hig 
 hand to shake that of a portly ex-stockbroker, 
 who, having been nearly " cleared out " on 
 'Change, had retired to Bletchley with his wife 
 and daughter, to exist as they best might upon 
 the dregs of what was once a snug little fortune; 
 " Gay doings this morning in the village, eh f 
 The Armstrong carriage, I see, at the door of 
 my patient Miss Warrington — Something new, 
 eh ? What can be the meaning of it ?" 
 
 " Her house is her own," growled Mr. Thomp- 
 son. 
 
 " Why, so is yours, and so is mine, but thai 
 fact will not answer ni}' question." 
 
 " Your house is not your own, Pilbeam, you 
 only rent it, and I am in the same case, or the 
 barouche would have stopped at our doors in- 
 stead of hers." 
 
 " What can they care about that, eh ? They 
 are not likely to wish to hire the house." 
 
 " Pshaw !" muttered the ex-stockbroker, shrug 
 ging his broad shouldei-s, " The ladies are can. 
 vassing, that's all." 
 
 " Oh! they are, eh? To be sure they are I 
 How dull 1 was not to understand the manoeuvre. 
 But I must just slip back, and warn Mrs. Pit 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 81 
 
 beain that she will soon have company, for I 
 'ihave a vote for the borough." 
 
 • Oh ! you have, have you :" was the surly 
 ri-ply; " TJieii I won't detain j-ou, or Mrs. I'il 
 Ix-iira may not have time to change lier cap be 
 fore the enemj' are upon her, and you can't do 
 less than vote for old Armstrong, you know, 
 wlien the ladies become personal friends. You 
 
 I must pocket your principles, Piibcara, or you 
 may chance to damage your practice ;" and 
 with this parting courtesy Mr. Tliompson mov 
 ed on. 
 
 " Surly old brute!" muttered the dapper little 
 apothecary as he hastily retrod his steps towards 
 
 Iiliome ; " And a constitution like a horse ; the 
 j man's an eyesore to me." 
 I " What can have taken the Armstrongs to old 
 Misss "Warrington's ?" said the comely widow of 
 a dissenting minister, who had fixed her resi- 
 dence at Bletchloy, in order that her gawky son 
 might profit by the advantage of a Wesleyan 
 school established in the village ; " I never was 
 so surprised in my life !" 
 
 " I'm not," was the concise reply of the young 
 hopeful. 
 
 " And why are you not surprised!" asked his 
 mother in amazement. 
 
 " Because I ain't." 
 
 " Well, 80 you say ; but surely you can give a 
 reason!" 
 
 "The pretty girl's my reason," grinned Master 
 Abinadab ; " her son's made her do it. It's quite 
 natural." 
 
 " Abinadab !" ejaculated the pious relict of the 
 departed preacher, " What can you mean ?" 
 
 " Just what I say. And I only wish that I 
 could go to church every Sunday, to sit and look 
 at her at my ease ; for she's the prettiest girl 
 that ever I laid my eyes on." 
 
 " Go to church !" almost screamed the matron ; 
 " go to church, did j-ou say ? This must be 
 looked to. How will the discreet and holy Mr. 
 Longwind mourn over you when he hears that 
 your father's son is on the high road to per- 
 dition !" 
 
 " You needn't tell him," was the dogged re- 
 ply; " and if he even mourned in sack cloth and 
 ashes, he couldn't prevent my saying that Miss 
 Warrington's niece is the prettiest girl in Bletch- 
 ley." 
 
 The widow sank back upon her chair aghast. 
 She had never hitherto suspected that the edu- 
 cation of her hopeful son was so far advanced. 
 
 Little did goodnatured Mrs. Armstrong, or her 
 daughters, suspect the commotion which their 
 advent had created in Bletehley ; little did they 
 imagine that their visit to the orphan had de- 
 furred a dinner, prompted an impertinence, and 
 alarmed the sectarian jealousy of a Wesleyan 
 mother. And yet so it was; and had I, Asmo- 
 ili;us-like, introduced my readers into the secrets 
 of every family in the village, I could have con- 
 viticed them that the " sensation," as the French 
 designate an excitement of this description, was 
 universal. 
 
 Happily ignorant of the fact, however, the 
 tliree ladies entered the neat and cheerful little 
 parlor in which Gertrude and her aunt were 
 seated, with a single-hearted desire alike to 
 
 please and to be pleased; nor did they, in that 
 I humble habitation, encounter anything wliieh 
 i jarred upon their refinement, or prompted them 
 to regret the kindly feeling by wliich they had 
 been led to visit it. 
 
 Miss Warrington, unaccustomed as she hod 
 been for years to receive guests bciieatli her 
 roof, had, nevertheless, never forgotten she waa 
 entitled by her birth to find herself in the most 
 unexceptionable society, and to hold her plac« 
 even among tlie most fastidious on the question 
 of family and breeding ; nor was the quiet and 
 somewhat stern dignity of her deportment lessen- 
 ed by a slight siiade of displeasure at the fai't 
 that the ladies of the Manor-house had tiiua 
 forced themselves upon her acquaintance, despit-e 
 her declaration that she Avould hold communica- 
 tion with no one in the parish, save the rector; 
 lAd that the politeness now tendered had, more- 
 over, been tardy in its demonstration. Indeed, 
 had the visit been made (as we are, however, 
 aware that it never would have been) before 
 Gertrude became her inmate, and had clothed in 
 comfort and elegance the previous nakedness of 
 the land, she felt that her wounded pride would 
 have been too powerful for her courtesy; for no- 
 thing is more easily mortified than tlie self- 
 esteem of genteel poverty ; but now, as she 
 glanced round her modest room, she saw littU 
 to irritate or to excite an uncomfortable sensa- 
 tion. 
 
 Erect, stately, and unbending, there was no 
 shadow of obsequiousness in the welcome which 
 she uttered to her unexpected guests. Had they 
 been the acquaintance of years she could not 
 liave exhibited greater ease or self-possession ; 
 and while the whole frame of Gertrude quiver- 
 ed with pleasure her aunt remained as perfectly 
 unmoved as though she rather permitted than 
 exulted in the compliment which was now paid 
 to her. 
 
 The unassuming manner of Mrs. .Armstrong, 
 and the honesty of her nature, were well calcu- 
 lated to remove even the slight feeling of annoy- 
 ance which the maiden lady had originally been 
 disposed to indulge ; and thus, as she listened to 
 the kindly-intentioned but not very profound 
 discourse' of her visitor, the fingers of Miss War- 
 rington gradually relaxed their convulsive grasp, 
 her mouth resumed its natural proportions, and 
 even her figure began to lose somewhat of ita 
 rectangular rigidity ; and meanwhile the threa 
 younger ladies were already engaged in cheer- 
 ful and unembarrassed conversation upon th« 
 thousand and one subjects which young ladiea 
 love. 
 
 The piano, the drawing-stand, and the work- 
 frame, all afforded admirable texts; and befoiO 
 they parted, the happy orphan, who felt her 
 heart once more expand beneath th^infiuenee 
 of congenial society, had already initiated Mi.ss 
 Annstrong into the mysteries of a new tapestry- 
 stitch, and promised to assist Mary in a difiicu'lt 
 point of perspective. 
 
 " I assure you, my d«ar Miss Warrington," 
 prattled on the good-natured lady of the Manor; 
 " that I am delighed to iiave a neighbor at last. 
 It has not been my fault that I liave been so 
 long without one ; but Mr. Armstrong is not 
 
TIIE niVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 fond of country neighbors, and it is my duty, 
 Tou know, to consult bis pleasure in every- 
 thing." 
 
 '• In that case, however, madam — " began her 
 listener, with a sudden resumption of dignity, 
 and clasiiung of the fingers. 
 
 "Oh, I know what you are going to say," 
 laughed the light-hearted matron ; " that in such 
 a case 1 had better not have come here now ; 
 bat I a.ssure you, that as regarded yourself, Mr. 
 Armstrong had no objection; none in the world; 
 quite the contrary. I am so ghid to know yon, 
 and he will be so glad to know you ; and the 
 girls will be so glad to know each other ; that 
 it is only a pity we did not make our acquaint- 
 ance before." 
 
 " Let us understand each other, my dear ma- 
 dam," said Miss "Warrington, as soon as the volu- 
 bility of her companion enabled her to profit 
 by a pause ; " I am naturally much flattered by 
 tlie offer of a friendship totally unexpected and 
 unsought on my part: and I beg you to believe 
 that wheuever"^you feel it pleasant to exchange 
 the luxury of your own home for the modest 
 obscurity of mme, I shall always be honored by 
 your presence, but I never leave my own 
 house ; I have not done so for years ; never, 
 indeed, since I was left an orphan, and my own 
 mistress." 
 
 " How very singular !" said Mrs. Armstrong, 
 with a smile which revealed her still beautiful 
 teeth ; " we are only five in number at this 
 moment, and three of us are orphans ; for Miss 
 Mortimer, I apprehend," she added, sinking her 
 voice to a whisper, " is also motherless." 
 
 " And fatherless," followed up her interlocu- 
 tor, in an accent of deep feeling which could 
 scarcely have been expected from one so rigid, 
 and apparently so passionless ; " Nay, I may 
 almost add, friendless ; for my poor Gertrude has 
 no other protector than myself, and at my age, 
 I cannot long expect to be spared to her." 
 
 " You are quite wrong, my dear lady, quite 
 wrong," eagerly replied the kind-hearted Mrs. 
 Armstrong ; " she has a warm and a sincere 
 friend in Dr. Simmonds. He speaks of her in 
 raptures. And I am certain that when we know 
 moi-c of each other, we shall all be her friends. 
 Only see how Mary and Eleanor are getting on ! 
 Now, who would believe that they had never 
 spoken to each other an hour ago! But to be 
 sure, our good rector had ali-eady made them 
 acquainted with your charming niece; so I dare 
 Bay they felt the'mselves at home w 
 once." 
 
 Still a shadow darkened the faded brow of 
 Miss AVarrington. It would have been easy for 
 n spectator to decide that, in her opinion, the 
 young ladies were "getting on" too fast. They 
 had (virncd over all Gertrude's portfolios, had 
 raiisackfd all her loose music, had unfolded her 
 tnpistry. and at last appeared inclined to try 
 tlie tone of her instrunient. 
 
 Nor was this closing suspicion an erroneous 
 otie; for in ai> anotiier moment Miss Armstrong 
 was seated at the piano, and enabling even the 
 modest orphan to feel that, biilliant and sliowy 
 as was the execution lo wliieh she listened, she 
 could fear no rivaliv in tluit particular acconi- 
 plishuient ; in which, thanks to the finished 
 
 science of Sybil, she was so thorough a proficient, 
 that she had even occasionally glanced at the 
 possibility that, should she ever be reduced to 
 the necessity of eking out her slender income by 
 her own exertions, she might safelj' depend 
 upon her knowledge of music for a livelihood. 
 
 " I have already spoken of myself, ilrs. Arm- 
 strong," said the proud maiden-lady at length 
 after an evident struggle with her feelings, and 
 under cover of the noise produced by the nin^ 
 ble fingers of the young musician. " And I am 
 now anxious to speak to you of my niece. I am 
 quite sure that you mean nothing but kindnea 
 to both of us; but that kindness may work a 
 vast deal of evil to Gertrude. She is a good 
 girl, a very good girl ; she has made me happie? 
 than I ever expected again to be in this Ufe; 
 but I know that she is herself unhappy ; I know 
 that she must be so under my roof. She has 
 been reared in luxury, and she is poor. I had 
 hoped, and I still hope to reconcile her by de- 
 grees to the great change which has taken place. 
 She has good sense, and good feeling, and she 
 will gradually reconcile herself to her fate, if 
 she is left to struggle against it in obscurity ; 
 but I cannot answer for the eft'ect which may 
 be produced upon her mind by constant associa- 
 tion with companions so difterenfly circum- 
 stanced as your daughters. I fear that she will 
 begin to repine, to fret, to grieve once more 
 over all that she has lost ; in short, I tell yon 
 frankly, that I see nothing but danger and soi^ 
 row in the prospect of a friendship with youi 
 family." 
 
 " Then you do not like us ?" asked her visitor, 
 with another sunny smile, which showed how 
 easily and trustfully she anticipated the reply 
 of her companion. 
 
 " My only fear," said Miss Warrington, laying 
 her thin hand upon that of her visitor ; " is thai 
 we, and above all, that, she, may like you too 
 much." 
 
 " Thank you I Thank you !" laughed Mrs. 
 Armstrong ; " all is then as it should be. Have 
 no care for the future. As to your pretty niece, 
 she reminds me of the pretty lady in the song,— • 
 
 " Friends in all the aged she'll meet. 
 And lovers in the young I" 
 
 and, moreover, I do not despair of making yon 
 yourself less unsociable than you threaten to be." 
 " I can exercise no control over my niece in 
 such a cose," persisted Miss Warrington, as if 
 th her at unconscious of the closing phrase of her con> 
 panion ; yet, if I can induce her to listen to me, 
 I honestly confess that I shall endeavor to warn 
 her against the perils of an unequal friendshipi, 
 Gertrude has at once much to learn, and much 
 to unlearn ; and as her future life must be passed 
 in obscurity, the sooner she masters her lesson 
 the happier for herself" 
 
 " My drar lady !" exclaimed the eager matron, 
 how prosily voii talk ! Just as if it were possi. 
 ble to foretell the fate of a pretty girl. Who 
 knows but she may make a conquest under out 
 roof All the world are not seeking for money ; 
 and where could any man find a sweeter crea- 
 ture? Why, as I look round your snug little 
 parlor, I see a thousand proofs of care and el* 
 gance, such as are frequently wanting in a hirga* 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 establisbment ; and yon talk of her having a 
 great deal to learn. 
 
 " However, we are told you know, that ' no 
 ijian is a prophet in his own country,' so I sup- 
 
 tiose I must forgive you. But wc have really 
 )een unreasonable in our visit ; we have stayed 
 here an age, and you will be quite tired of us. 
 Mary! Eleanor! Come, my dears; it is time 
 for you to take leave of your new friend, or 
 Miss Warrington will have reason to suspect 
 that we have an idea of claiming possession of 
 lier for the day." 
 
 The two girls sprang from their seats, and 
 each possessed herself of the hand of Gertrude. 
 
 " Good bye, then, my dear Miss Mortimer, 
 for the present ; but we shall hope to see you 
 very soon and very often." 
 
 The orphan smiled amid her happy tears. 
 
 " And I want to show you to Mr. Armstrong, 
 my dear," followed up the mother ; " so you 
 must not disappoint us. What say j'ou to dining 
 with us to-morrow ? Now, don't tell me that 
 you are engaged, for I will not believe a word 
 of it." 
 
 " Indeed, Madam," replied my heroine — for 
 radient as Sybil may appear to many, Gertrude 
 is my heroine — " I had no intention of volun- 
 teering so wild a fable. An engagement, since 
 my arrival at Bletchley, has hitherto appeared 
 to me as unattainable as a meteor; but I am de- 
 pendent upon the will of my aunt, and must first 
 obtain her sanction, before I gratefully accept 
 80 delightful a proposition." 
 
 For a moment. Miss Warrington resumed her 
 most rigid perpendicular, and looked the very 
 condensation of a thousand refusals. She was 
 human ; and it was impossible quite to forget 
 that she had been an inhabitant of the village 
 for more than twenty years, and that this was 
 the first occasion upon which she had been 
 honored by the countenance of the owners of 
 the Great House — a favor for which she was, 
 moreover, shrewd enough to perceive that she 
 was even now indebted to their admiration of 
 her young relative. But in the next instant her 
 
 8 ride came to her aid, and resolved not to allow 
 iem to perceive and to despise her egotism, she 
 again unbent, and deferred the question to her 
 niece, declaring that she had not the slightest 
 desire to control her wishes. 
 
 " Then all is arranged, my dear Miss Mor- 
 timer," said the good-natured Mrs. Armstrong, 
 giving a hearty shake to tlie hand which she 
 had already taken in the full confidence of suc- 
 cess ; " And as you may find it pleasant to be- 
 come better acquainted with your new friends 
 before you are introduced to the rest of the 
 family, the carriage shall be here for jou at five 
 o'clock. Nay, not a word of objection, my dear 
 Miss Warrington, you know that our little vil- 
 lage, pretty and snug as it is, does not boast 
 even a fly, and therefore you must let me have 
 my way." 
 
 Resolved to victimize her own feelings even 
 to the end, and disarmed by the cordiality of I 
 her visitor, tlie maiden-lady forbore all further 
 utterance of her objections ; and after a few 
 more parting compliments, the Armstrong i 
 barouche drove from the door. I 
 
 " Why, it can't be possible ?" exclaimed the | 
 
 shrill voice of Miss Margery Bayliss, as the long- 
 tortured lath of the Venetian-blind sprang back 
 to its place, " They are not coming here, after 
 all 1" 
 
 " They may please themselves," was the angry 
 retort of Priscilia; " We want no patronage; 
 we are gentlewomen born, and need not con- 
 descend to any body. I dare say the mutton is 
 boiled to rag?." 
 
 " Really, Mr. Pilbeam, you are a great deal 
 too bad !" said his pretty but peevisli helpmate ; 
 " There go the Armstrongs ; actually past the 
 very door, and it is quite clear that they never 
 meant to come here at all ; and now I may go 
 and undress again ; and put away your best 
 coat, that you have been rubbing to pieces 
 against the back of your chair for the last twc 
 hours. You are always trying to give me aa 
 much trouble as you can ; thinking, I suppose, 
 that with five children, and helping you to 
 make up your medicines, I have not enough to 
 do." 
 
 " It is not my fault, my dear. You know as 
 well as I do that I have a vote." 
 
 But he argued in vain ; for the irate beauty 
 had already left the room in high displeasure. 
 
 "Aye, tliey may look about them as they 
 drive along," said the precocious Master Abina- 
 dab, as he watched the departure of the ladies 
 of the Manor ; but it's no use, for, with all 
 their flowers and furbelows, they'll never b« 
 able to hold a candle to Miss Warrington's pretty 
 niece." 
 
 And there was also another who followed 
 them with her eyes, as the carriage rajndly dis- 
 appeared ; and that other was Gertrude. Sta- 
 tioned behind the muslin drapery of the win- 
 dow, with a beating heart, and a glowing cheek, 
 when she could no longer hear " the wheels of 
 their chariot," she sighed, as though they bore 
 her new-found happiness away with them. 
 Again the past had come back upon her ; again 
 she felt that even for her there might yet be 
 some sympathy in store: and then she slowly 
 turned away from the casement, and her eye fell 
 upon the upright figure of her aunt. 
 
 " When you are quite at leisure, Gertrude," 
 were the first words which fell upon her ear; 
 " be good enough to gather together all those 
 ends of worsted. If Hannah attempts to sweep 
 them up, I shall have my carpet scraped thread- 
 bare." 
 
 She was obeyed. The heart-chilled orphan 
 quietly dropped iipon her knee, and picked up, 
 one by one, the bits of German wool which 
 Miss Armstrong, in her zeal to learn the " stitch," 
 liad scattered upon the floor. Tears rose un- 
 bidden to her eyes ; the illusion had vanished ; 
 and the cold, bare, shivering reality was once 
 more before her. The unexpected deportment 
 of her aunt during the visit of tlieir unlooked 
 for guests had surprised and delighted her by 
 its quiet dignity, and she had, for a time, for- 
 gotten that it was not the ordinary mood and 
 mamier of her aged relative ; but mei-ely a re- 
 flection of former years and of former habits, 
 which she would inevitably lay aside, (as tlia 
 barrister lays aside his wig, and the dramatio 
 queen her diadem,) so soon as its assumption be- 
 came needless. Still, it had unconsciously, even 
 
90 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 to herself, increased her respect and veneration 
 for the witliered and desolate woman to whom 
 she was indebted for a home, and wlien she liad 
 risen from her knee, and carefully deposited the 
 offending shreds in the litter-basket which stood 
 beside her work-table, she approached her af- 
 fectionately, and said in a subdued voice — 
 
 •• You are not displeased, I trust, my dear 
 madam, that I have accepted the invitation of 
 Mrs. Armstrong f" 
 
 The old lady coughed slightly, and clasped 
 her hands tightly together, ere she n'plied, 
 "Displeased! Oh, no; 1 have no right, no wish, 
 to feel displeased; but I would much rather 
 tliat it had not been given. Visiting is expens- 
 ive amusement, Gertrude ; very expensive 
 amusement ; and j'ou cannot afford to visit. 
 However, 50U know best. But I confess that I 
 should not, under such circumstances, like to 
 squander upon an evening's pleasure as much as 
 would support me for a week at home." 
 
 " Nor would I do so, my dear aunt," was t"he 
 meek reply, " for my conscience would upbraid 
 me, bitterly upbraid me, were I guilty of so 
 great a foil}'." 
 
 " And are you ready to suffer the mortifica 
 tion of exiiibiting your rusty mourning among 
 the gay dresses of your new friends ? Are you 
 brave enough to be pointed at as the poor 
 orphan that ilrs. Armstrong and her daughters 
 have taken under their protection ?" 
 
 "No, madam," said Gertrude, proudly; "I 
 can boast of no such courage ; nor am I, as I 
 trust, called upon to make so great a sacrifice 
 of right and honest feeling. Had I ever dared 
 to confide to you the amount of generosity ex- 
 hibited towards me by my too liberal cousin, 
 }'ou would be aware how little I have to shrink 
 from any contact, even with the elegant and 
 wealtiiy family with which I shall so soon be 
 brought in collision ; while the second, and far 
 more bitter mortification to which you allude, 
 can never overtake me while I am the inmate 
 of your house, and the daughter of your adop- 
 tion." 
 
 Even Miss "Warrington was moved, and her 
 thin lips quivered for an instant ; nor was it un- 
 til she had recovered from this unwonted emo- 
 tion that she resumed : — 
 
 " My house and my adoption are, however, 
 very small matters in the eyes of the wealthy, 
 Gertrude . but that signifies little ; I only fear 
 lest they should soon become so in your own." 
 
 As siie ceased speaking, the orphan was on her 
 knees before her, her mild eyes swimming in 
 tears, and her lips fastened upon the withered 
 hands which were clasped upon the old lady's 
 knee. 
 
 " My only jirotectress, and with one far-off 
 exceplioii, niy oidy friend," she murmured, " have 
 vou, indeed, so poor an opinion of the heart, so 
 little confidence in the gratitude of the forsaken 
 and abandoned being to whom, imknown as she 
 was, you so frankly and cordially offered alike 
 a home an<i a refuge from the world which had 
 cast her od?" 
 
 " No, no, (Jertrude, you mistake me," replied 
 Miss Wari'ington, as at length, fairly overconn-, 
 she bent down, and j>rc88ed her lips ui)on the 
 pale brow of the earnest girl. " It is not because 
 
 I doubt, but because I have learned to love yon, 
 and am jealous of your affection, that I spoke 
 thus. Dry your tears, and forget what ha.1 
 passed. I believe I now know you thoroughly." 
 
 " And for ever," said Gertrude solemnly ; " a"nd 
 in order to prove to you that you do me no mor^ 
 than justice, I will at once renounce this new 
 acquaintance, which has excited your apprehe»> 
 sions. Ilalf-a-dozen lines to Mrs. Arnistronff 
 will suffice, and I will write them now — thi4 
 moment." 
 
 " I no longer apprehend anything, my dear, 
 and I strictly forbid the sacrifice," replied the 
 old lady. " You say that you can visit these 
 people without expense, and without becoming 
 weary of my poverty, and, therefore, so let it 
 be, Gei-trude. You are young, and heaven 
 knows that the life which j'ou have hitherto led 
 at Bletchley has been dull enough ; this is your 
 only prospect of a little change, and you shall 
 not throw the chance from you. Bless me!" slw 
 continued, looking at her watch; "it is close 
 upon four o'clock, and we have not yet dined I 
 Wipe your eyes, my dear, and ring the bell for. 
 Hannah." ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. ' 
 
 It would be difficult to describe the fooling of 
 triumph and exultation experienced by ^liss De- 
 lamere when she became fully assured of the 
 success of her unworthy and unwomanly act of 
 duplicity. After so long a period of suspense; 
 after so unwearied an exertion of all her powera 
 of fascination and address, she was at length, at 
 the very moment in which she had began to des* 
 pair of ever accomplishing her object, about to 
 see all her hopes realized, anj all her as])iration8 
 fulfilled. She had no time, or even ilu•linatio^^ 
 to congratulate herself upon the fact that she 
 owed her triumph to the fine sense of honor, and 
 upright principle of the man who was to becomfi 
 her husband. She felt only tliat she had not 
 striven in vain ; that she had not suffered any 
 obstacle to deter, or to impede her in her pu^ 
 suit; that now, at least, she had sown tlie seed 
 of policy in good ground, and tliat her resolute 
 perseverance had overcome all impedimenta, 
 and would produce a rich harvest in tiie future. 
 
 But, amid her exultation, there was, neverthe- 
 less, one harrowing recollection, which, like tha 
 skeleton of the Kgyptian banquets, constantly 
 obtruded itself on her most sunny visions. Sybil 
 still remembered that she was not yet the wife 
 of ^lortimer ; that she was not yet Rnfe; that, 
 until their hands had met at tiie altai', a thoiv 
 sand unfoi-eseen and inexplicable chances mighty 
 d(^spite all her precaution, overthrow the bril- 
 liant edifice of her hopes, and that even the de- 
 licate and fastidious sense of honor to which he» 
 lover had sacrificed all -his doubts, all his mis- 
 givings, all the entreaties of his nioliier, and all 
 the quasi-clainis of his cousin, niiglit, should it 
 once more be called ])rematurely into action, 
 prove the most dangerous and insuperable baf 
 to their union. * 
 
 " ' If 'twere well done, 'twere well it were 
 done quickl}-,*" murmured Sybil to herself. To 
 be wrecked in sight of shore, were to render ruin 
 
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 Tlllollllt 
 
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 M 
 4iu 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ijl Ijin fold more bitter of endurance. There must 
 HJ , [e no more idle vacillation of manner on my 
 > art. I have awaited sutHciently long already 
 crisis which I was, after all, eventually com- 
 tllcd to create. His last words have given me 
 right to act freely and energetically, and I 
 nist exert that right. He loves nie, thus much, 
 t. least, is certain ; loves me, and wilfully blinds 
 inisclf to the fact that he is about to place in 
 ly hands, not only the happiness of his life, but 
 von his freedom of action, and liberty of will, 
 [e sees in me only a beautiful and gifted wo- 
 !i lan; and this is as it sliould be. He believes, 
 30, that he has probed my heart to the very 
 ottom, and has found there no other image 
 lian his own," and a scornful smile rose to her 
 p. "And what see I in him? Tliat, at least, 
 has not divined. A superb edifice of human- 
 cy, it is true, but built up upon a most fragile 
 lundation : a superstructure of pride, and ego- 
 iem, and vanity, decked out by the preatige of a 
 landsomc' person^ and hedged in by what the 
 rorld calls honor — sensitive, and nice, and jea- 
 ous honor. The world loves phrase-makmg, 
 :iid is satisfied by seizing generalities ; but did 
 t search the human spirit to the core, how 
 vould it marvel when it discovered out of what 
 )oor and pitiful materials some of its most vaunt- 
 ,, id qualities are compounded! How I loathe 
 hose soulless and nerveless beings who are con- 
 ent, in the struggle of their kind for precedence, 
 o sink down tamely to the very bottom of the 
 veil of mediocrity, and to abide there without a 
 nurmur, content to see from their dreary pit 
 ■h? half-dozen stars, or the one struggling sun- 
 leam, which, more in scorn than kindness, pe- 
 let rates at times the depths of their voluntary 
 larkness, until the rope of chance drags them 
 ' ;hence to exhibit their weakness to the daylight. 
 ' And what is Mortimer, but one of these — an un- 
 stable trembler, wliose nature has been smooth- 
 ?d into symmetry and polish b}' prosperity, as 
 the pebble is rounded and varnished by the tide 
 ' |that laves it, a man whose will can be governed 
 
 ■ by tlie first comer, as the vane is governed by 
 ' the wind? Even now I cannot trust him, but 
 
 !look back upon the ]->ast, and tremble. Has not 
 bis heart yielded before his self-love ? Have I 
 not won his affections by pandering to his va- 
 nity? And to-day, even to-da}', at the eleventh 
 lioiir, though I hold his pliglited faith, might not 
 
 ' one whisper suffice to overturn all my efforts? 
 Let but that whisper reach him, and not even 
 
 ; the spells by which I have made him captive 
 
 ' iwould be strong enough to bind him to me — my 
 reproach would be silenced by allusions to his 
 
 ' iwounded honor. It is not of me that he would 
 
 ■ jthink in such an emergency, but of himself I 
 
 ■ Bee and feel all this, and I have no longer time 
 to hesitate; either his fate is in my hands, or 
 mine in his. We are both gamblers, who have 
 placed our all upon a thfow, but he handles the 
 dice like a froward child, and it were degrading 
 to be foiled by so poor an adversary." 
 
 Who that looked upon that beautiful and 
 radiant woman, as she sat with her cheek pil- 
 lowed upon her Muall white hand, and her large 
 eyes bent down, and veiled by their long dark 
 lashes, to all appearance absorbed in a tranquil 
 and tender reverie — who could have suspected 
 
 I the deep and concentrated passion which even, 
 at that very instant, was laboring in her bosom? 
 But as the grove and the garden flourish in rich 
 luxuriance, and garland with their perfumed 
 greenery the base of Etna, while the lava-flood 
 boils and burns Avithin its crater, so did the 
 gorgeous loveliness of Sybil Delaraere veil the 
 deformity of her moral nature. 
 
 And yet it had not always been thus. Only 
 a few short years before, and she had been 
 beautiful iu mind as well as in form ; but now 
 the hot iron of the world and the world's vices 
 had seared her heart, and had made her what 
 she was. 
 
 Poets and romancers delight to paint the love 
 of a woman's spirit in rainbow tints. The 
 rhythms run more glibly, and dance along ia 
 softer cadences, when they embody joy, and 
 grace, and harmony : It is more pleasant to 
 describe Arcadia, than to borrow images even 
 from the Pandemonium of Dante himself But 
 no true woman's love ever j'et ran through all 
 its course in sunshine : many and many a dark 
 shadow falls upon the stream-clouds, sometimes 
 weeping themselves away in innoxious tears to 
 be forgotten when shed, but often — how often ! — 
 big with storm, and lurid with the bghtning- 
 flash. 
 
 Some escape the tempest, and learn to look 
 back with a smile upon its perils : others fail 
 beneath the trial, and are overwhelmed ; while 
 the bolder and the more desperate ride upon the 
 wreck, and, like the syrens of old, lure others 
 to the same ruin. 
 
 Some such reflection as this floated across the 
 mind of Sybil as she at length looked up, and 
 her proud lip wore an expression of bitter self- 
 reliance which betrayed the working of her 
 secret spirit. She had forgotten, she knew not 
 for how great a length of time, that she was not 
 alone ; and now, as she glanced towards the 
 fauteuil of her mother, she saw Mrs. Delamere 
 with the usual novel in her hand, but with ^er 
 eyes fixed upon the ceiling, and evidently as 
 completely absorbed in thought as she herself 
 had lately been. 
 
 " You must wear a gayer aspect than you 
 now display at my approaching marriage, my 
 dear madam," she said, startling her companion 
 by the suddenness of her address. 
 
 " I thought that all was at an end," was the 
 faint reply ; " I confess that I had lost all hope. 
 However, you know best, Sybil." 
 
 " All would, indeed, have been at an end, had 
 your conjecture been a correct one," said Misa 
 Delamere, forcing a laugh; "but surely you 
 should have had more faith in my — what shall 
 I call it? my fate, ray star, or — if the plain 
 term will not shock you — my management." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere sighed. 
 
 " ' One swallow,' say the proverb mongers," 
 pursued the younger lady, " ' does not make a 
 summer,' nor, believe me, does one failure make 
 a defeat. I was yet young enough to strive, 
 and I have striven ; I vowed to succeed, and I 
 have succeeded. I am loved, mother, loved oa 
 I have never before been." 
 
 "And you, Sybil ; wh'at of yourself?" 
 
 " Of me 1" echoed her daughter, with a second 
 ringing laugh, which sounded hollow and un- 
 
92 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 natural ; " I made no vow to feel, as well as act 
 I had much to revenge ; much to repair ; I shall 
 60on have done both ; but I have played only 
 with my head ; my heart was no party to the 
 game." 
 
 " Can you always silence it ? If not " 
 
 " If not, I can stifle its rebellion ; the task 
 will be no new one." 
 
 " And have you told him all?" 
 
 Miss Delamere started in her turn. 
 
 " Do you ask me if I am mad ? If I have 
 poisoned my own draught, and fired my own 
 roof-tree f Do you not know that we are almost 
 penniless, and that Mortimer is our last hope ?" 
 
 Tears, large and silent coursed each other 
 down the pale cheeks of her listener. 
 
 " No," pursued Miss Delamere, in an accent 
 BO resolute that it was almost harsh ; " I have 
 not told him all, or a few months hence we 
 should have been beggars, and, moreover, he 
 has no suspicion that our apparent wealth will, 
 when he seeks to grasp it, be converted, like 
 the fairy gift of the nursery fable, into leaves 
 and ashes. Nay, do not look so scared ; I have 
 overcome more serious difficulties than this, and 
 ' I have no inclination to shrink before my last 
 trial. He is too sensitive, too tenacious of the 
 world's opinion to be trusted with a secret like 
 ■line, which he shall never know or learn, until 
 the knowledge must be borne." 
 
 " And Sybil " 
 
 " I am aware of all that you would urge," 
 pursued Miss Delamere with undisguised im- 
 patience, " but, in my case, such scruples could 
 only be misplaced. I have read Mortimer to 
 hisheart's core, and I have not now to learn 
 where he would fail. Fear nothing for the 
 future ; once his wife, I shall be able to mould 
 him to my will — he is insufficient to himself — 
 but this is a fact which no man will concede, 
 even to his own reason, and in the solitude of 
 his own tlioughts, like the wind-harp, he does 
 but give out the sounds awakened by an ex- 
 ti-aneous influence." 
 
 " Surely," murmured Mrs. Delamere, with a 
 slight shudder ; " these are dangerous senti- 
 ments for one about to become a wife!" 
 
 Sybil smiled bitterly. 
 
 " Is it dangerous for the traveller to perceive 
 the gulf which he has to pass, or the precipice 
 he is about to skirt ? Should I be safer were 
 I to close mj- eyes to the probabilities of the 
 future ? I have not now to learn that when a 
 man really loves, he does not content himself 
 by casting before his mistress, as Raleigh did, 
 the mantle from his shoulders, but prostrates at 
 her feet, alike his tastes, his prejudices, and his 
 will. You will t«ll me, perhaps, that Mortimer 
 has done all this, and you will be right ; but 
 beyond ev<-!i this there is yet a step. Touch, 
 though never so lightly, the sense of honor 
 upon which he prides himself, and, at whatove 
 cost, he will immolate all other considerations 
 to tliat one jiliantom. And now, answer me 
 am I in a position to volunteer the revelation 
 jou seem to consider fitting ?" 
 
 Mrs. Delamere was silent . 
 
 " Let me but retain my secret," continued 
 Sybil, evidently rather communing with herself 
 than addressing her companion; " and Frederic 
 
 Mortimer shall not long remain the inert and 
 vacillating being he has hitherto shown him- 
 self There are some natures — and such is hia ; 
 — which cannot exist without extraneous sup- 
 port ; and although, like the vegetable para- 
 sites, they may blossom while entwined aboui 
 the sustaining props of a hardier plant, and 
 assume at least a semblance of vigor, j-et, when 
 left to their own poor resources, they either 
 grovel along the earth, and become sullied by 
 the dust with which they blend ; or, in endea- 
 voring to elevate themselves for a season, only 
 exhibit their intrinsic weakness, and become 
 the sport of every breeze that passes over 
 them. This has so far been his career ; \m 
 aspirations are noble, but they evaporate in 
 words ; his strength exists only in his egotism ; 
 he is like one of those incongruous picture* 
 which we sometimes look upon without well 
 knowing whether to sigh or to sneer ; a grand 
 outline marred by the minor touches. Had 1m 
 not been a weak man he might have been a 
 great one." 
 
 For a few moments she was silent ; and it 
 was with a smile of haughty bitterness that 
 she at length rose from her seat and resimied : 
 
 " I have now proved to you that my study 
 in his case has been a profound one ; that I 
 shall do nothing rashly ; but that I have even 
 formed projects for the future which are at leasl 
 partially unselfish. Xow, however, when th« 
 moment for action has arrived, I must think 
 only of myself I have already suffered enough, 
 more than enough ; I will be no willing vicfim 
 a second time. Yes," she added, with flashing 
 ej-es and clenched hands, as she paced thi 
 apartment passionately ; " I have lived to listen 
 to words which told'^me but too plainly the 
 height from which I had fallen — to find myself 
 considered merelj' as a coveted toy, where I 
 had once been an idol — to see myself com)K'lled 
 to repay insult only by a smile — and shall I 
 not be revenged for this"? sliall I tamely brook 
 the degradation from which I may free myself 
 by my own efi"orts ? Little do they understand 
 the nature of Sybil Delamere who believe it 
 possible. As the wife of Frederic Mortimer I 
 may defy even him; and I will defy him, aye, 
 to the very death !" 
 
 " Sybil — my dear Sybil — what mean you f" 
 
 " You would know my meaning ? ' Listen, 
 then. Recall the past ; live over again for an 
 instant the last few years ; remember how ha 
 loved me — how he pursued me — how he flung 
 everything at my feet, and asked me only to 
 stoop and gather up the offering. — You cannot 
 have forgotten all this, for not onlj" every 
 memory, but every fact of our present exist- 
 ence is linked with those days — and now learn 
 that it was to renew his suit that ho was lately 
 here " 
 
 Mrs. Delamere leaned forward in her sea* 
 with eager eyes and parted lips. 
 
 " Yes," continued Sybil in a hoarse whisper, 
 as she paused before "her mother; "Yes — ho 
 sought me once again ; but not as formerly — 
 not with sighs, and protestations, and en- 
 treaties; but boldly, lightly, and unblushingly; 
 with the eye of a conqueror, and the lip of a 
 libertine " 
 
 es'w 
 
 mm 
 
 KMJl 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 {Wliat more slic miglit have added is uncer- 
 , for as the hist -words escaped her quivering 
 Mrs. Delamere fell back insensible upon Iver 
 
 '^shions. 
 For a few moments Sybil remained looking 
 ion her unhappy mother, without making one 
 tort to restore her to consciousness : although 
 le flush faded from her cheek and her clenched 
 igers relaxed. The storm of passion which 
 id shook her spirits to the very centre, had, 
 r a time, crushed even her powerful energies, 
 id rendered her reckless of everytliiiig around 
 n: Ere long, however, she recovered her 
 )mposure, and without summoning other assist- 
 ice, at length succeeded in restoring the scat- 
 red senses of the wrej;ched Mrs Delamere ; 
 hieh she had no soooer effected than she 
 iked bitterly — 
 
 " And now. Madam, have I not silenced all 
 ^ur scruples, and satisfied all your objections ? 
 'ould you still ask me to trifle with my last 
 iospeet of social redemption ? Have I not suf- 
 ■iently expiated the past to have some claim 
 (M»n the future ? And shall I not more honor- 
 )ly fulfil my destiny as the wife of Mortimer, 
 lan as the mistress of Sir Horace Trevor?" 
 Mrs. Delamere swept her trembling hand 
 ■ross her eyes ; they were hot and tearless ; 
 le had previously suffered deeply for years, 
 ut the iron which had hitherto only seared 
 lt spirit, had now entered her soul. She 
 lade no reply to the harsh questionings of 
 ybil, nor did tliere need any ; for, regardless 
 i tlieir reception. Miss Delamere had no sooner 
 ivkin them utterance than she turned and left 
 
 !lie room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Ifow do listen for five minutes, Ernest, while 
 tell j-ou all about Miss Mortimer," said Mary 
 a-nistrong, as with one arm about the neck of 
 • r brother, she bent over him while he ran 
 is eye along a list of names, spread on a table 
 lefore him. 
 
 " I know all that you have to say," he re- 
 ilied with an impatient smile ; " she is very 
 iretty, and very bashful, and blushes beau- 
 ifully ; and is quite delighted by the con- 
 leseension of the ladies from the Great 
 louse." 
 
 Mary laughed. " You have made a wretched 
 ;uess. Pretty you knew she was, for you had 
 eeii lier at church ; but as for the rest—" 
 
 " Richards," murmured the young man, still 
 ntent upon his task; "We are sure of him, I 
 Jiink; he is a tenant of our own. Richards, 
 ,wenty-six." 
 
 '• She is not a whit less at her ease with stran- 
 jers than Eleanor or myself." 
 
 " Indeed! all the worse, perhaps, both for her 
 md her friends. Thompson — oh, aye, Thompson 
 >f River farm — doubtful, I fear; for I know that 
 It; i.s as obstinate as a mule, and as wrong- 
 loadud as — " 
 
 •• Ernest, you are too bad. I have a great 
 cnind not to say another word." 
 
 " You could not oblige me more, for you see 
 
 that I am fully occupied already. But, by tho 
 bye, what about the old woman's interest?" 
 
 " You must canvass her yourself, for we were 
 by far too well engaged even to think of this 
 horrid election." 
 
 "How very provoking!" exclaimed young 
 Armstrong ; " But you women ai-e always use- 
 less in matters of importance. Why did you 
 not take me with you ? While you were turn- 
 ing the head of the niece I should have managed 
 the aunt. Collins? — was it not Collins, Mary, 
 who had an execution in his house last winter?" 
 
 " To be sure it was. Do j-ou not remember 
 that papa became securitj' for tlie debt, and hoTV 
 grateful he has been ever since ?" 
 
 "I thought so; then I may fairly calculate 
 upon him. Collins, twenty-seven." 
 
 "Well," said Mary desperately; "as I see 
 that you are determined not to listen, I shall 
 tell you no more about Miss Mortimer, but 
 leave you to form your own opinions to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " And why to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Because she dines here." 
 
 "Dines here? Impossible." 
 
 " Impossible as you may think it, she does 
 dine here ; and, moreover, the carriage is to be 
 sent for her." 
 
 " Then we are sure of her interest." 
 
 " I was not awai'e that she had any." 
 
 " But her aunt must, as a householder, and 
 the dinner to-morrow secures it." 
 
 " Well, upon my honor, Ernest," said Miss 
 Armstrong ; " you are a perfect recreant. Why, 
 even papa himself would be more gallant. But 
 I warn you not to calculate without your host, 
 for Miss' Warrington appears to me to be a very- 
 impracticable old lady." 
 
 " Oh, never fear ; I'll exert myself, and flirt 
 with the niece." 
 
 " I am not quite sure that you will find that 
 task so easy as you appear to imagine." 
 
 " Very likely ; but in a good cause I am pre- 
 pared to go great lengths ; and as she is really 
 very pretty, I'll sacrifice myself without a 
 murmui'." 
 
 " Papa will be infinitely indebted to you." 
 
 " Of course he will," replied the young man, 
 extending his arms in a long yawn, which ha 
 terminated by drawing his sister close to him, 
 and pressing his lips upon her cheeks; " and to 
 tell you the truth, Moggy, I shall not be alto- 
 gether sorry to compensate myself by a little 
 fun for this weary work; for, after all, it is 
 weary work ; and were it not that I expect 
 Somerville down in a day or two to back me, 
 I should almost feel inclined to give it up in 
 disgust ; but Somerville is a famous fellow, and 
 an old hand at canvassing." 
 
 Mary made no reply, but a vivid blush stolo 
 over her cheek and brow. 
 
 " Well, and now, as it appears that I must 
 hear all you have to say about the little cottage- 
 maiden," he pursued after an instant's silence ; 
 "pray favor me with it at once. You foiindher 
 very pretty, very gentle, and very captivating, 
 it seems." 
 
 " We found her what we certainly did not 
 venture to anticipate," replied Mary, rallying 
 
u 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 from her momentary confusion, " a finished gen- 
 tlewoman." 
 
 "A Bletchley gentlewoman, of course?" 
 " You are too provoking, Ei-nest, and I shall 
 leave you to make j-our own discoveries." 
 
 "Thank you ; but just now I have not time 
 to venture upon any ; so shall content myself 
 should the fair Sylvia prove as lovely across a 
 dinner table as slie does at a distance, with cau- 
 tioning Somerville. who has a strong dash of 
 Bentinicnt in his composition, not to full in love 
 with her. He is fond of ' Love in a cottage,' 
 and ' Lo\ e among the roses,' and all that sort of 
 thing ; and should he become thralled by her 
 bright ej-es, he will reserve all the smiles and 
 flatteries which he has proniised to diffuse libe- 
 rally among the electors' wives and daughter! 
 
 ear, " To oblige you I will even promise to falV 
 in love with your protegte ;" she could no long 
 er retain her displeasure, but shaking her fingei 
 at him, said laughingh', " Always in extremes 
 as usual; I have an equal horror of Scylla niK 
 Charybdis, so if you seek to please me, you wil 
 steer a middle course. 
 
 And with these words she disappeared ; whil«; 
 young Armstrong, returning to his seat, soor' 
 lost all memory of the discussion over the im-j 
 portant list of voters which he had been pre! 
 viously studying. I 
 
 " Well, well, we must make the best of il 
 now," said Mr. Armstrong, when informed bj 
 his Avife of the invitation which she liad giver 
 to Miss Mortimer ; " but you have exceeded' 
 your commission, Charlotte. You know how 
 
 for her especial benefit, an arrangement, Miss j carefully I have eschewed the petty gentry of 
 Moggy, whicl) woald materially affect the sue- the neighborhood, and now you have saddled! 
 cess of our canvass." ime witli a woman from Bletchlej'." 
 
 "And you expect him in a day or two, did " She is so pretty," expostulated his good na- 
 
 you not say?" Mnrj' ventured to inquire, as she 
 turned aside, and affected to be busily engaged 
 in removing some withered leaves from a plant 
 which occupied a jardiniere near her. 
 
 " In a day or two," acquiesced her brother, 
 with another formidable yawn ; " and I heartily 
 wish that he were here now. Do you know, 
 Moggy, I had no idea that the Armstrongs were 
 60 unpopular about Bletchley." 
 
 " 1 am sure they ought not to be so," replied 
 Mary, somewhat indignantly ; " both papa and 
 mamma are a sort of Providence to tlie poor ; 
 there is no distress which they do not seek to 
 alleviate ; no sorrow which they not soothe. 
 If I were papa, I would not even- seek to stand 
 for their stupid borough." 
 
 " Come, come ; we must have no treason in 
 the camp," laughed Ernest ; " remember that 
 you ladies are our light troops, and that we ex- 
 pect good service from you all 
 
 tured helpmate. 
 
 " So much the worse ; these pretty underbred! 
 young women play the deuce in a family, espe-' 
 cially where there is a grown-up son. i3eside8, 
 a month hence we shall liave the house full ol' 
 company, and if you are to be consistent, you' 
 will be compelled to introduce this girl to peo-' 
 pie who will be as little pleased with her as she 
 will be at her ease with them ; by which meant 
 you will succeed in annoying all parties." 
 
 " But the girls like her so much — " 
 
 " (Jf course they do ; young folks are always 
 delighted with a fresh face, and have no objec- 
 tion to a foil," said the squire ; " but I detest 
 the principle. It is at once unfair and unhand- 
 some." 
 
 " I'm sure, if I had thought that you would 
 be angry — " 
 
 " I am not»angry, Charlotte, but I like eveir 
 thing in its proper place, and this poor girl will 
 
 aye, even 
 
 Miss what did you call your new wonder? — |be out of place here." 
 
 even she must be made useful." "Somehow or other," said Mrs. Armstrong, | 
 
 "What nonsense you talk, Ernest; one i who was not fastidious in her familiar phraseo-' 
 would imagine that we had picked up some' logy, "Somehow or other, my dear, I think 
 
 poor little peasant, toward wnom no ceremony 
 need be observed.'' 
 
 " Ceremony I why surely you do not mean to 
 imply tliat much of that frigid commodity will 
 be required in tlie future acquaintancesliip with 
 which your newfangled fancy has provided the 
 famil}'!" said young Armstrong with a some- 
 what contemptuous smile, which so irritated 
 Mary, that she turned on her heel and left him, 
 declaring, as she reached the door, that she 
 ■would no longer encourage such ill-timed and 
 misplaced impertinence. 
 
 " Wiiy, you cannot surely be angry in earnest, 
 my pretty Moggy f " he expostulated. 
 
 " Not angry, but sincerely pained," she said 
 steadily. " Is it because Miss Mortimer is poor, 
 Ernest, that you should thus persist in a tone 
 Tinsuited to the occasion ? However, I have al- 
 ready Avasted more time with you than I can 
 "Well spare, and I will now leave you to your 
 more congenial einploynicnt." 
 
 " Not with a frown at all events. Give me at 
 least a kiss before you go." 
 
 Mary was not inexorable ; she lingered for an 
 
 you'll change your mind wlien you see her 
 
 " I hope I maj'," was the abrupt retort 
 
 And he did so. 
 
 On the morrow, when Gertrude entered her 
 aunt's little parlor, simply attired in a plaiai 
 close dress of black crape, with a single white 
 camelia half hidden among her luxuriant hair, 
 even the obtuse Miss Warrington could not help 
 thinking that she had seldom seen anything 
 more beautiful than the gentle orphan ; who, 
 witli eyes sparkling with anticipated happiness; 
 and cheeks slightly flushed, appeared only anx- 
 ious to conceal from lier protectress the extent 
 of her new-found joy. 
 
 " Why, you look like an angel, Gertrude !" 
 she exclaimed involuntarily. 
 
 " May I always so look in your eyes," was 
 the meek reply ; but at that moment no thought 
 of vanity mingled with tlie heartfelt and inno-, 
 cent delight of the fair girl. It was not that 
 she had forgotten the past ; it was not that she 
 had ceased to mourn in secret over her buried 
 hopes ; for alas ! the memory of suffering is like 
 the poisoned bale, which wlien opened and ex- 
 
 
 instant, and as her brother whispered in her I amined, spi-eads pestilence over all with which it, 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIEa 
 
 95 
 
 comes into contact ; but she W!\8 young, and she 
 had boon living for months in an ungenial and 
 cliilliiig atmosphere 
 
 Grateful, deeply grateful, as she felt to the 
 aged relative who liad received and cherished 
 her, they had scarcely a thought or an impulse 
 in common ; differently educated and different- 
 ly constituted, they had neither a taste nor a 
 liabit which could assimilate ; and the unhappy 
 girl was hourlj' pained by the conviction that 
 neither time nor circumstances could enfoi'ce a 
 greater congeniality between them. 
 
 Naturally open-hearted and confiding, Ger- 
 trude was compelled to exercise a constant 
 restraint over herself: for she had once dis- 
 covered that her nature could never elicit any 
 sympathy from that of her aunt. Even her ad- 
 vantages of education and refinement, instead 
 of proving a source of consolation, were, in her 
 peculiar position an aggravation of suffering, 
 and a cause of trial. Like all persons who have 
 outlived their particular epoch, and who are 
 unable to comprehend the progress which has 
 taken place about them. Miss "Warrington looked 
 with suspicion and distrust upon all that she 
 was unable to bring down to the level of her 
 own understanding, and became irritated by 
 every appearance of superiority ; while desti- 
 tute, save in rare moments of excitement, of 
 both tact and sensibility, she frequently wound- 
 ed where she believed herself to be simply 
 uttering the- merest common-places; and with- 
 ered the young and sensitive nature of her niece 
 by an antiquated displajr of worldly wisdom, as 
 mistaken in its expression as it was repugnant 
 in its principle. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Gertrude looked for- 
 ward with her first feeling of recovered happi- 
 ness to any congenial companionship. Had she 
 been less nobly endowed by nature, or less pure 
 and lofty in mind, she might have recurred to 
 tlie chilling inference of her aunt, that she was 
 about to be looked upon as " the poor orphan 
 whom Mrs. Armstrong and her daughters had 
 taken under their protection," but no such sus- 
 ]Meion darkened the spirit of the orphan. She 
 had been accustomed from her girlhood to meet 
 the world upon equal terms ; and she was un- 
 conscious that it could ever be otherwise, or 
 that her altered fortunes might affect the feel- 
 ings of others towards her. Had she, indeed, 
 learned this bitter lesson, it might have dimmed 
 her eye and paled her cheek, to reflect that she 
 was about to brave such an ordeal ; but strong 
 in her honest single-heatediiess, no misgiving 
 came to mingle with her delight; and as she 
 alighti'd at the door of the Manor-house, she 
 th()iii,Mit only of the kindly words and smiles 
 with which she had been bidden there. 
 
 When she reached the stately drawing-room, 
 into which she was ushered by a venerable, 
 gray-headed servant, she found it tenanted only 
 by Mrs. Armstrong; whose greeting, smiling 
 and courteous as it was, was still somewhat con- 
 strained. She was trembling, poor woman ! 
 lest her lord should not like Miss Mortimer so 
 well as she herself did, and was consequently 
 afraid of making too ^much progress 'in their 
 acquaintance. 
 But, although the conversation languished, 
 
 Gertrude found ample amusement in admiring 
 the fine oak-pannclling of the spacious apart- 
 ment, with its delicate carvings and grim old 
 family portraits. To her such a room was fifty- 
 fold more attractive than any modern saloon, 
 tricked out with the myriad costly baubles 
 which tell no tale of the past; and her bright 
 eye wandered hither and thither, from tlie steel- 
 clad cavalier to the wigged and frowning judge ; 
 and from the prim and powdered dowager to 
 the bland and graceful maiden, undisguised 
 even by the mass of hair and plenitude of petti- 
 coat which half concealed her age ; unconscious 
 that her hostess was ill-at-ease, and anxious 
 only to find herself once more in the society of 
 the two amiable girls who had penetrated lik« 
 sunbeams into her dreary home. 
 
 She was standing, wrapped in admiration of 
 a fine full-length, by Reynolds, of the late pro- 
 prietor of the estate, upon which the last ruddy 
 tints of the setting sun were lingering in a blaze 
 of glory, when the door suddenly opened ; and, 
 as she turned with a throbbing heart to receive, 
 as she believed, the greeting of her young 
 friends, she found herself confronted by a slight 
 and handsome man, whose extreme likeness to 
 the portrait by which she had been attracted, 
 caused her inadvertently to start ; nor was she 
 singular in her emotion, for the surprise exhib- 
 ited by the intruder as his eye met hers, was 
 equally apparent. 
 
 In the next moment, however, he advanced ; 
 and his bow was at once respectful and cour- 
 teous, as Mrs. Armstrong exclaimed in a tone 
 of undisguised relief, " Oh, I am so very glad 
 that j'Ou are come, Ernest, for the girls are 
 sadly late to-day I Miss Mortimer, my dear, Mr. 
 Ernest Armstrong, my son." 
 
 Gertrude curtseyed, and resumed her seat 
 while the young man, who had promised to sa- 
 crifice himself by flirting with the cottage- 
 maiden in order to secure her aunt's interest for 
 his father, was evidently at some loss how to 
 commence his undertaking. He had, indeed, 
 previously seen her more than once, but never 
 as he saw her then ; her graceful and delicate 
 figure revealed in all its symmetry by the soft 
 drapery of her transparent dress ; her fair bi-ow 
 crowned with a diadem of sunny hair ; and her 
 whole appearance indicating the elegance and 
 refinement which are attainable only by the well- 
 born and the well-bred. 
 
 There is a description of beauty which speaks 
 only to the senses; and which, pleasant as it 
 may be to look upon, creates no diffidence in 
 the spectator ; and such was the beauty which 
 Ernest Armstrong had prepared himself to meet, 
 from the few and imperfect glimpses which he 
 had occasionally obtained of Miss Mortimer. 
 He had anticipated, also, the blush and flutter 
 of an inexperienced girl suddenly launched into 
 a sphere of society unsuited to her habits ; and 
 he was comparatively amazed to find himself in 
 the presence of a beautiful and high-bred wo- 
 man, at once modest and self-possessed. 
 
 One glance sufficed to show him all this ; 
 while every word she uttered only increased 
 his admiration. The sunniness of her smile, the 
 softened brilliancy of her speaking eyes, the 
 varied expression of her lovely and animated 
 
96 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 countenance, and the rare and beaming charm 
 of intellect which diffused a new beauty over 
 •what was alreadj' beautiful, together with those 
 transient shades of melancholy which her early 
 ti'ials had rendered a portion of her nature ; all 
 combined to bewilder his imagination and to 
 fascinate his feelings. His mollier had, indeed, 
 found a diamond in the desert. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Armstrong, encouraged by 
 the evident pleasure of her son, resumed her 
 usual composure. Whore Ernest, with all his 
 fastidiousness about women, took little pains 
 to conceal his admiration, she could no longer 
 doubt tliat his father would be equally satisfied 
 that her discrimination for once had not been 
 at fault. Terhaps she might have been less 
 eatisfied with her own generalship could she 
 have known, that already, although half-an-hour 
 had not elapsed since the introduction, her son 
 was secretly lamenting the unlucky chance 
 which brought Henry Somerville, the most 
 popular man in London, to the Manor-house, 
 before he had secured the claim of previous 
 acquaintanceship with the beautiful young stran- 
 ger. And never would Ernest Armstrong him- 
 self have so heartily rejoiced to learn that Henry 
 Somerville was already engrossed with a pas- 
 sion for his sister Mary, as he would have done 
 oould it have been whispered into his ear at 
 tliat moment. 
 
 Unconscious of the affect she had produced, 
 and wholly absorbed by the happiness of once 
 more tindmg herself in congenial society, the 
 heart of Gertrude beat calmly, and a bland 
 smile played about her lip. The sisters, on their 
 entrance, welcomed her with a warmth which 
 even satisfied Ernest; and although the old 
 gentleman at first met her with a cold bow, 
 and a grave courtesy which was almost chilling, 
 his brow soon relaxed ; and as he led her to the 
 dining-room, his eye rested upon her beaming 
 face a moment longer than it need have done. 
 
 " Have you yet commenced your flirtation 
 with the pretty villager?" asked Mary mali- 
 ciously, as she followed in the wake of her 
 mother, who had taken the arm of Mr. Somer- 
 ville, leaving her daughters to the escort of 
 their brother. 
 
 • She was answered only by an impatient 
 " Pshaw I" 
 
 " Remember that her aunt must have some 
 interest in the borough," followed up Eleanor 
 gaily ; but Ernest made no retort. 
 
 " Do you really not admire her?" asked Mary 
 tnxiously. 
 
 "Do we admire the angels!" demanded her 
 brother in reply; " I can scarcely believe her to 
 be human." 
 
 " My (Icar Ernest!" expostulated both the girls 
 somewhat alarmed, " wliat can you mean ?" 
 
 " To ' fool you to the top of your bent,' what 
 else?" said the young man, making a violent 
 effort to restrain himself. " Do you not know 
 tliat both my head and heart are now too fully 
 occupied by votes and voters, to have much at- 
 tention to spare, even to so pi'ctty a girl as your 
 village divinity ?" 
 
 Reassured by this reply, the sisters seated 
 themselves at table ; Mary, in quiet gladness, be- 
 side the brilliant Somerville, and Eleanor near 
 
 her new friend. Tlie meal passed in unusual 
 cheerfulness, for Mrs. Armstrong was silently 
 congratulating herself upon the evident satisfac- 
 tion of her husband ; while the Squire himself, 
 startled out of his ordinary exclusiveness by th« 
 beauty and elegance of his fair guest, and grati- 
 fied by the ariival of his son's friend to shar« 
 the fatigue Of the approaching canvass, was full 
 of jest and merriment. 
 
 The spirits of Gertrude rose under the influ- 
 ence of so genial an atmosphere ; and the winning 
 swo<;tnes3 of her manner, combined with the 
 cultivation of her mind, won upon all around 
 her, although by no means in an equal degree ; 
 for, long before the evening came to a close, 
 Ernest Armstrong was what is commonly called 
 " over head and ears in love " with the beautiful 
 orphan. 
 
 Although accustomed from his boyhood to 
 frequent the society of his sister's friends, among 
 whom were many richly endowed alike by n». 
 ture and by fortune, Ernest had never, hitherto, 
 evinced so decided a preference for any one of 
 the fair girls with whom he was brought into 
 contact, as to justify his father in the fondly-in- 
 dulged hope that he would contract an early 
 marriage ; nor had even the raillery of the old 
 gentleman upon a coldness which he declared to 
 imply a degeneracy unpardonable in an Area- 
 strong, produced the slightest eftect. 
 
 Happy in his family, and devotedly attached 
 to his sisters, Ernest enjoyed the -passing hour 
 without attaching any importance tg tJie smiles 
 which were lavished upon him on all sides ; re- 
 turning to the domestic circle, after every tempo- 
 rary absence, Avith all the cheerfulness and 
 buoyancy that he had quitted it. 
 
 Under these circumstances, however he might 
 regret the apparent insensibility of his son, Mr. 
 Armstrong, nevertheless, consoled himself by the 
 belief that the Aitural ambition of Ernest would 
 effectually protect him from all danger of form- 
 ing an vinequal, or what he would have designa^ 
 ed, an unworthy marriage ; and was fain to be 
 satisfied to see year after year go by without 
 any change in the young man's pursuits or wish- 
 es. Assuredly the idea was not likely to crosi 
 his mind that the village of Bletchley was destii> 
 ed to produce the fair one who was fated to 
 teach the hitherto insensible heart of his heir 
 that, like those of other men, it was formed of 
 " penetrable stuff'," and he consequently saw no 
 danger in the bright eyes and ruby lips which 
 had, nevertheless, so soon succeeded in tliawing 
 the aristocratic ice of his own nature ; for, with 
 all his home-joviality. Squire Armstrong was 
 deeply imbued with that ancestorial vanity so 
 common among our old English families; and 
 looked upon his genealogical tree as the noblest 
 possession of his race. 
 
 And yet, whether it were the novel manner 
 of Gertrude's introduction to his domestic circle, 
 or that she, in truth, possessed all the personal 
 and moral attributes which were calculated to 
 thrall his fancy, it is certain that she almost 
 instantly effected an extraordinary revolution in 
 the sentiments of Ernest Armstrong. For tli« 
 first time in his life, he became aware that even 
 his affection for his family, and that ^'earning 
 after some as yet unexplained good for which he 
 
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THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 97 
 
 .1 panted from liis boyhood up, did not suffice. fulness to Him wlio had raisod for lior so briicflit 
 
 satisfy all the cravings of his heart, in whicli an oasis in the desert of her blighted existence, 
 
 •per and softer feelings were nestled, which and looked with renewed cheerfulness upon 
 
 1 never, hitherto, been awakened from their future from wliich she had hitherto shrunk with 
 
 t. Unconsciously, even to himself, he had a feeling of desolation and anxiety. 
 
 ihably formed a bfatt ideal of female perfection 
 
 lioh all his previous experience had failed to 
 
 ilize, and which was now suddenly placed 
 
 ore him; for it is certain that every mind 
 
 ■;ites its own fabric of brightness; every imag- 
 
 ,tion combines its own vision of beautj' ; and 
 
 ■ry taste establislies its own rule of harmony. 
 
 .' "world is full of loveliness, but that loveliness 
 
 ■cts difterent persons in a dilferent degree ; a 
 
 (•umstance whence must be deduced the fact, 
 
 it scant justice is frequently rendered to the 
 
 iHctions of some very handsome women, while 
 
 ^e of others excite the greatest enthusiasm in 
 ■ same individuals. 
 
 rims it chanced that in Gertrude Mortimer 
 re combined all the peculiar excellences 
 lich were essential to the taste of Ernest Arm- 
 oiig; who, affectionate rather than impassion- 
 
 could see no cham in a beauty devoid of 
 itleness and repose, and who was a stranger 
 that exaggeration of sentiment, and impetuosi- 
 of feeling, which are as bi-ief as tliey are de- 
 nstrative. His temperament partook rather 
 tlie genial warmth of the sunshine wliich 
 2;ers were it glows, than of the fiery lava 
 ich consumes all over whicli it passes, only to 
 urate into stone as it flows onward. His 
 tes, save such as led him to covet advance- 
 nt and the world's plaudits, were simple and 
 iiied, and there was a depth in all his feelings 
 ich, although difficiilt to fathom, rendered 
 an equally beyond the power of common 
 Mits to ruffle or disturb. 
 
 Co love, with such a man, was to love earnest- 
 and well, and the fact that he had attained 
 
 four-and-twentieth year without even ad- 
 ;ting to himself a preference, far less a passion, 
 s a suttieient proof that he was not to be mis- 
 
 merely by an excited fancy. Accustomed to 
 ilyze and to reflect, he readily detected the 
 ^■^-seeming of the designing, and the artificial ; 
 ile lie was keenly alive to all that was sincere, 
 1 great, and beautiful. Mature in mind, be- 
 ise alilce self-governed and persevering, he 
 lid appreciate tiie mental and moral qualities 
 others, at the same time that he possessed in 
 ;iself every necessary attribute to grace and 
 'Iden domestic life. 
 
 Mich was tlie heart which Gertrude was des- 
 ';d, unconsciously, to win, — poor Gei-trude, 
 o had been slighted and abandoned for a 
 ■'■ions and worldly coquette by one whoj 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The time, meanwhile, was passing very differ- 
 ently with Sybil. Like Gertrude, siie had been 
 cradled in luxury, and, like her, she had expe- 
 rienced a reverse ; but there ended tiie parallel. 
 The trials of the orphan had been totally inde- 
 pendent of her own actions, while the brilliant 
 Miss Delamere had recklessly rushed upon her^ 
 fate. Born in the midst of affluence, she had' 
 been tiie child of care and affection, and happi- 
 Kcss appeared to be her birthright. The pas- 
 sionate caresses of a weak and indulgent 
 mother, and the ill-judged admiration of a short- 
 sighted father, proud of her beauty, and lavish 
 of his praises, had early taught hfr the secret 
 of her childish importance, while the unealcu- 
 lating expenditure by which she was surrounded, 
 imbued her with a selfishness that, even in her 
 girlhood, became the mainspring of all her 
 actions. 
 
 To desire was, in her case, to possess, and to 
 possess was ere long scarcely to enjoy. Uncon- 
 scious, or, still worse, careless of tlie wants of 
 others, poverty was to her an emptj' sound ; and 
 human suffering the invention of romance, or 
 the heirloom of a race distinct from that to 
 which she appertained, and consequently, be- 
 yond the pale of her sympathy. Her eyes were 
 never pained by the dismal spectacle of penury, 
 nor her ears importuned by the wailings of the 
 unfortunate. Her sky was all sunshine, and she 
 never paused to ask herself over whose devoted 
 head the clouds had lowered which were swept 
 from her own horizon. If she ever wept, the 
 tears were those of a susceptible vanity, so 
 easily wounded as to be seldom beyond the 
 reach of the most puny weapon ; for she had no 
 other sorrows, and as her Avhole existence was 
 concentrated in self, so she had no grief to give 
 to the woes of those less richly dowered. 
 
 In one respect, however, this self-adulation 
 proved her friend ; for anxious to shine in that 
 world wliich was the worshipped idol in her 
 luxurious liome, she devoted herself with the 
 pertinacious earnestness which formed a strong 
 featui-e in her character, to the various studies 
 
 which were rather suggested tlian urged upon 
 lier. In every showy accomplishment she soon 
 d have known and prized her better ; but j excelled ; and, overwhelmed by the delighted 
 ! human beings always pursue the fitt'rig path, I encomiums of lier exulting parents, she learned 
 ^; world would become a paradise, and we|to appreciate the increase of attraction which 
 
 1 be apt to forget that there is a brighter 
 d beyond. 
 
 .ittl<( dreaming that the happy evening which 
 ■ had sjient in the midst of smiles, and flowers, 
 1 music, was to form an era in the existence 
 one at loast of the party, she consequently 
 'k leave of her friends at the Hall with a 
 ddened and a grateful heart, over which no 
 irle shadow reflected to mar its joy, and on her 
 
 he thus secured, and turned eagerly to newer 
 and more difficult attainments. 
 
 These slie mastered in their turn, to a degree 
 which rendered her what she had always panted 
 to become — the envy of her own sex, and the 
 admiration of the other ; and the petted, over- 
 ; dressed, and jewel-laden plaything of the draw- 
 ing room ; the wilful, capricious, and haughty 
 idol of the nursery ; and the pains-taking aii»' 
 ucjv^ard drive poured out her spirit in thank- 1 persevering tenant of the schoolroom, found her- 
 7 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEiVUTIES. 
 
 Belf at eighteen " the observed of nil observers." 
 Something waa, however, still wanting, and 
 for the first time in her life siie found that some- 
 thing beyond her reach, and discovered that she 
 ■was not all-powerful. Surrounded by tlie cost- 
 ly appearances of wealth, the reputed heiress 
 o'f thousands, and the belle of every ball-room ; 
 gifted alike by nature and by fortune, Sybil 
 Delamere aspired to exalted rank, and deemed 
 no station too lofty for her merits. In vain did 
 Buitors present themselves, to whom even her 
 anxious and doting father could advance no 
 plausible objection ; their addresses were re- 
 pulsed witli scorn ; and the haughty beauty at 
 the age of five-and-twenty found herself still 
 Miss Delamere. 
 
 It is true that she had nobles in her train, but 
 among these some demurred to her pedigree ; 
 others to her undisguised coquetry ; and othei-s 
 again, (the weakest of the tribe,) to her. some- 
 •what ostentatiously displayed acquirements. 
 She was a delightful companion in a ball-room, 
 a eharming acquaintance in a crowd, but none 
 among them wooed her as a wife. They en- 
 ihrined their idol with the most delicate flattery, 
 but they left her upon her self-erected pedestal. 
 
 Nevertheless she untiringly pursued her ob- 
 ject. Wealth could not win her, for she was 
 unconscious of it« value, never having felt its 
 want ; of superior talent she was jealous ; for 
 in her inborn selfishness she loved it only as a 
 means, not as an end ; while to the gentler and 
 purer charm of genuine affection she was alto- 
 gether insensible — she sufficed to herself. Every 
 action, every word was measured, and adopted 
 to the one engrossing aim of her life — a mar- 
 riage of vanity, and nothing appeared impossi- 
 ble to her impei-ious and ambitious spirit. 
 
 Handsome, witty, and self-possessed ; as she 
 disgusted one set of admirers by her insolent as- 
 Bumption, she saw new lovers ever ready to 
 chain themselves to the wheels of her ehariot, 
 and at length, among the crowd of her admirers 
 she numbered Sir Horace Trevor, a baronet of 
 ancient family and large estate, who, captivated 
 by her beautv, and the admiration of which she 
 was everywhere tl>e object, laid himself and his 
 fortunes at her feet after the brief acquaintance 
 of a month. 
 
 Assuredly such a marriage was far from reali- 
 sing the lo,,g-indulged visions of the spoiled 
 beauty ; but as he wliispered his hopes into her 
 car during the pause of a quadrille, she sudden- 
 ly remembei-ed that her youth was ebbing from 
 her, and tiiat she had attained the sober age of 
 twenty-five. 
 
 What marvel, then, that she answered by a 
 • nile? 
 
 A few months subsequent to this engagement, 
 Sybil lost her father ; nor was it until upon his 
 death-bed he revealed the fact, that slie became 
 aware of the hollowness of her position. She 
 had, indeed, long been standing upon a sand- 
 heap, which waa rapidly crumbling away be- 
 neath her. 
 
 The ])rincipnl of a mcreantile house which 
 had for several generations ranked as one of 
 the most wealthy in the country, Mr. Delamere 
 had sacrificed to ostentation and self-indulgence 
 eo large & portion of his capital, that be found 
 
 it necessary to enter into extensive and hazan. 
 ous speculations in order to retrieve his fall 
 fortunes ; but, naturally sanguine, reckless, an,, 
 indolent, he had by such means only increase' 
 his difficulties, and now, in his last hou 
 when he should have put from him all thouglj 
 of the world, and the world's vanities, 1 
 found himself compelled to humble his prou 
 spirit before the wife whom he had mine, 
 and the daughter whom he had deceived ; an 
 to confess that he had for j'ears existed upo,l 
 the credit so long and so laboriously create! 
 by his predecessors, while he was, in fact, a'' 
 most a beggar. \ 
 
 He told his tale, and died. 
 
 With what feelings it was heard by his aj 
 palled and helpless wife, it were idle to attempi 
 even for an instant, to describe ; while upo. 
 Sybil it produced no more powei-ful effect thai 
 surprise. To her the idea of approachin'. 
 poverty could only convey a mass of vague an' 
 undefined images ; she attached no tangibl 
 meaning to the word. Her father had d< 
 dared, while the large tears fell slow and col 
 upon his wasted cheeks, that ti\enceforwar 
 there remained nothing to his family save th 
 strictest necessaries of existence ; and Syb; 
 with a smile, had bidden him cense to griev 
 for this at least, as they should be rich enoug 
 with these. 
 
 And if the dying man, even ainiil his Win 
 and doting adoration of his brilliant chile 
 marvelled despite himself, for a ruoment at th 
 cheerful self-abnegation of one who had neve 
 hitherto displayed so holy and beautiful forgei 
 fulness of her own interests, the mistake was 
 happy one, and served to smooth his downwarJ|C '"! 
 passage to the tomb; for even he, in such a 
 hour, ceased to remember that his prized an< 
 pampered Sybil numbered among the necei 
 saries of everj'-day life equipages, and jewelt 
 and piled carpets, and silken draperies, an> 
 all the gaud and glitter of fashionable exist' 
 erice. 
 
 But even had Miss Delamere been enabled t 
 form a more correct estimate of the essential 
 of life, she would still have regarded with pel 
 feet pliilo-^ophy the change which had s 
 suddenly come over her fortunes; for she « 
 membered her engagement, and eonsequentl 
 felt herself free from all apprehensions for th 
 future. Sir Horace Trevor was sufficientlj 
 wealthy to render such a circumstance uniix 
 portant, and she never reflected for an iustan 
 that the ruin of her father could affect her ow> 
 
 ^0 
 
 ■lik 
 im 
 
 J«l 
 
 1.1 
 
 rid 
 
 Hid 
 
 laiji 
 iinta 
 Mil 
 
 prospects. 
 
 , Nor was her trust in her lover ill-foundec 
 The baronet, of course, learned, with the res 
 of the world, that the apparently giganti| 
 wealth of Mr. Delamere had been a mer, 
 splendid fallacy ; but he was too thorough!; 
 subjugated by the fascinations of his afiiancoi 
 bride to see in such a circumstance any reasoi, 
 for liberating himself from his engagement \ 
 and thus, although when the aft'airs of thi 
 deceased merchant were wound up, amid whicl| 
 the personal debts of Sybil herself furnishe(; 
 no inconsiderable item, and that it was ascerj 
 tained how very limited a sum remained io\\ 
 the maintenance of the widow and her daughtei: 
 
 ll 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 99 
 
 lither the vain and weak mother, or her child, 
 ( isidered it necessary to make the retrench- 
 iiits which their altered means suggested ; 
 Moly satisfying themselves with such as were 
 < forced upon them by their mourning state, 
 id retiring to one of the country residences 
 ( Mr. Delamere, which, by the zoal and self- 
 (votion of some of his tried friends, had 
 l.^n saved from the wreck of his property, 
 k1 there surrounding themselves witli the 
 ] curies and comforts to which they had been 
 I ?ustomed. 
 
 Under these circumstances it is scarcely neces- 
 .^•y to explain that the capital, which, pru- 
 (■Qtly administered, might at least have insured 
 t the survivors a modest existence, became 
 i^idl}' diminished in amount; but still no at- 
 Inpt was made by either to defer the impend- 
 ij ruin. 
 
 Mrs. Delamere, who had throughout her 
 'lole life, been accustomed to depend on others, 
 iiiidoned the care of her future career en- 
 tely to Sybil ; who, strong in her prospect of 
 f)!! becoming Lady Trevor, scorned to admit 
 13 possibility of any change in their mode of 
 
 Had not their equipages been reduced from 
 ii.-ee to one ? — their establishment from half- 
 «lozen lounging and powdered footmen, to a 
 fitary male attendant ? Had they not witli- 
 ciwn from the gay world into an almost total 
 I itude ? 
 
 To the supine and sorrowing mother, such 
 ijuments were unanswerable, and with a total 
 iiorance of business she rapidly satisfied 
 Irself that it was impossible to accomplish 
 1 ire ; and as she glanced from her crape and 
 "uibaziue to the glowing countenance of Tre- 
 r, and the evident composure of Sybil, who 
 : d voluntarily assumed all the responsibility 
 ' their position, she ceased to trouble herself 
 on the subject. 
 
 Tluis the year of mourning passed by ; and 
 til it passed away also an important portion 
 the means upon which they had now to de- 
 nd for their subsistence ; but this eonsidera- 
 111 ap])eared in no degree to influence the 
 iiceediiigs or feelings of Miss Delamere. As 
 period arrived at which the widow could 
 ce more appear with propriety in the world, 
 e took active measures to dispose of the 
 otty villa, which was their last home of 
 rly days, and having succeeded in securing 
 eligible purchaser, completed the sale under 
 r mother's sanction ; and forthwith busied 
 rself in appropriating the proceeds to the 
 irangement of a hired house in an unexcep- 
 jjnable part of town, whence her marriage 
 light take place without derogation, either to 
 T own consequence, or to that of her bride- 
 oom. 
 
 IWearied of the monotony of the country, 
 iid glad of any change which promised amusc- 
 ent, Mrs. Delamere looked on in silence ; and 
 'hen she once more found herself in tiie midst 
 ; accustomed scenes and familiar faces, she 
 lit no inclination to question tlie prudence by 
 hich her individual comfort was thus en- 
 mced, while Sybil herself, delighted to be 
 ice more restored to congenial habita of dissi- 
 
 pation, ^md to become anew an object of adula- 
 tion and envy, closed her ears alike against the 
 warnings of friends and the sneers of enemies, 
 and plunged recklessly into the torrent of 
 fashion, which received her upon its surface, 
 as it is ever willing to do every brilliant bubble, 
 so long as it is able to support itself by its own 
 buoyancy, content to take its revenge upon its 
 hollow mockery when it bursts. 
 
 Sir Horace Trevor was assiduous in his hom- 
 age ; somewhat weak, and undisguisedly vain, 
 the lounger of fashion, who was about to sacri- 
 fice what the roues of society call their freedom 
 to the charms and fascinations of Miss Delamere, 
 was too proud of the admiration elicited by his 
 afiianced Avife to find any time, or to feel any 
 inclination to censure the wanton improvidence 
 which was necessiated by its indulgence. Per- 
 haps he might have desired to see the accom- 
 plishments and attractions of the beautiful co- 
 quette more immediately exerted for his own 
 gratifications ; but be this as it might, it is at 
 least certain that none could have discovered 
 such a feeling in his manner ; and that, although 
 the name of the brilliant Miss Delamere was oc- 
 casionally coupled at the clubs, or on the mall, 
 with those of more than one of his most familiar 
 friends, (and that not always with the degree 
 of respect and caution due to a betrothed wife,) 
 he was still to be seen at her side, alike in pub- 
 lic, and in the luxurious semi-solitude of her 
 home, as attentive, as devoted, and as absorbed 
 as ever. 
 
 The season was nearly at an end. London 
 began to yawn from its suburbs to its very cen- 
 tre. That miniite portion of its denizens who 
 insolently call themselves " the world," were 
 hurrj-ing either to their estates in the country, 
 or to display their wearied glories in foreign 
 courts ; the matches which had been arranged 
 during the turmoil of the last three months, were 
 publicly heralded in the " Post," for the edifica- 
 tion of the vulgar, and were already engrossing 
 the inventive faculties of milliners, and employ- 
 ing the technical talents of the law. It had 
 j been, as was generally allowed by the privileged, 
 1 an "unusually good spring;" tradesmen were 
 ' calculating their gains, and mothers smiling over 
 1 their triumphs. There had been no important 
 I deaths " to plunge half a dozen noble families 
 I into mourning," and people had nothing left to 
 do but to rush abroad and become voluntary 
 exiles for the remainder of the year, or to stay 
 at home and " dullify." 
 
 Sj'bil, like the rest, was somewhat worn and 
 somewhat withered by the ceaseless race of dis- 
 sipation ; but this was not all. Among the 
 " fashionable departures for the continent" figured 
 the name of Sir Horace Trevor — Trevor, the ob- 
 sequious suitor, and the affianced bridegroom — 
 Trevor, the bewailed of the clubs, and Uie 
 mourned of the dandies — Trevor, the quasi-ben- 
 edict ! What could this mean ? 
 I Suffice it that he was gone, and that there 
 I wa« joy and gratulation at the hearth of his 
 I venerable father. It was evident that, be the 
 j cause what it might, — and the fecret had been, 
 '■ for a wonder, marvellously kept — his marriage 
 I was at an end. 
 I In another month, Mrs. Delamere and her 
 
100 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIE& 
 
 daughter left town, and in three more they were 
 domesticated at The Grange. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The little French clock in the morning-room 
 of Miss Delaraere had chimed twelve, and was 
 Btill ringing out the simple and pretty air of 
 Charmante Gabrielle, in that clear and almost 
 unearthly harmony which seems as if created 
 by the movements of a fairy dancing over a 
 peal of silver bells ; but its music had evidently 
 no charm for the ear of its brillant mistress. 
 Attired with a care and coquetry which be- 
 trayed her detei-mination to enhance to the ut- 
 most the value of her personal attractions, there 
 was, nevertheless, a cloud upon the brow of 
 Sybil which accorded ill with the festal charac- 
 ter of her dress. And well might it linger there, 
 for she felt that the next few hours must decide : 
 her fate. 
 
 As yet Mortimer had not disappointed even [ 
 tlie slightest of her anticipations. She had play- ' 
 ed her game skilfully and boldly, and the stake 
 was almost won. But there was still a difficul- 
 ty to overcome ; and even she, self-sufficing as 
 she was, shrank before it. She had yet to tell 
 him that she was a beggar ! True, she had 
 smiled when her mother alluded to this necessi- 
 ty, and declared the matter unimportant ; but 
 when she compelled herself to look closely, and 
 to remember the circumstances under which 
 they had originally met, and the false seeming 
 by which she had maintained her brilliant posi- 
 tion, her heart almost failed. Had slie not al- 
 ready found it necessarj' to urge forward her 
 marriage by an expedient which even she her- 
 self blushed to recall, although she would not 
 have hesitated to repeat it had there existed 
 need for such a measure ? And had she not 
 ventured upon this expedient from a knowledge 
 of the susceptibilitj' of her suitor in all that re- 
 garded his honor ? Here at least she had pos- \ 
 Bessed a strong conviction to work upon ; but in 
 her present extremity she was less assured. Of the 
 fervent and almost blind affection of Mortimer 
 Bhe could not entertain a doubt ; but she was ' 
 nevertheless aware that he had wooed and won ' 
 her under the impression that she was as wealthy j 
 as himself ; and she could not foresee the effect' 
 likely to be produced upon his mind by the dis- ' 
 covery of so vital an error. 1 
 
 For the first time in her life she felt that she ; 
 had overacted her part, and voluntarily plunged ' 
 into a sea of difficulties. It was, however, too 
 late for re])entance, for she could no longer con- 
 ceal the real circumstances of her position. — 
 Mortimer liad already spoken of the necessity 
 of summoning a professional friend for the pur- 
 pose of preparing tlie marriage-settlements; and 
 she was well aware that a lawyer was not to be I 
 blinded like a lover. Jloreovcr, her pecuniary 
 resources were almost exhausted ; she had no 
 longer an instant to lose : all the splendor and 
 indulgence by which she had surrounded her- 
 self were about to vanish like a dream ; and she 
 bitterly felt that youth and li()|)e would alike | 
 paas away with them. All further attempt to j 
 
 disguise her actual situation was impracticable 
 and even fertile as she had proved herself hithei 
 to in expedients, she was compelled to admit th 
 fact. ISotlpug was left, therefore, save to avoi 
 her utter want of fortune to Mr. Mortimer, an 
 to trust to fate and her own fascinations to a< 
 complisii a new triumph. 
 
 Upon one point alone she was decided — sh 
 must not — she dared not — tell him the truth 
 she knew too well that his rigid sense of righ 
 would revolt against the persevering falsehoc 
 and dishonesty of her past conduct ; some fabl 
 must be invented to amuse him, and to interes 
 , his sj-mpathies in her behalf; he must not b 
 I suffered to suspect that he had been duped. 
 
 Such were the reflections of the female Ms 
 chiavel, who sat surrounded with luxury, 
 [herself the brightest object in that sunny sun: 
 imer-room, awaiting the advent of her suitor 
 land well had she calculated her influence ove 
 I his mind. " Every thing by turns, and nothin)' 
 j long," the very "Cynthia of the minute," sh' 
 was aware that her strong hold on Mortime' 
 [was her infinite variety, which amused hi 
 imagination while it bewildered his judgmenl 
 Tears had served her well upon a former occa' 
 sion, but then it was the fond and sensitivj 
 woman shrinking from the first faint breath 
 blame, and tears were the natural and fittini' 
 concomitant of such a grief Xow, it was he' 
 pride, not her delicacy, which was in armt^ 
 She must show him that she would rather resigi 'i' 
 even his love than her own self-respect YL ??"' 
 must find her with a dry eye and an apparently' '^^ 
 settled purpose, however that purpose wi -.^'^ ' 
 actually destined to be shaken by his expostn' 
 lations. But, confident as she was in he 
 powers of dissumulation, she was yet terrifiedl 
 lest, by so Ater a change in her worldly ciii 
 cumstances, those expostulations should be with 
 held ; and now, in her solitude, there was 
 acting in the terrible emotion which bathe< 
 her brow with chilling damps, and made he 
 pulses throb. 
 
 A rapid step in the hall, and the hurrie>i 
 opening of the door of her apartment, ere loni 
 startled her into the renewed energy of purpose ' 
 and as Mortimer approached her with joy beamj 
 ing in his eyes, she extended her hand, 
 struggled to smile a welcome. 
 
 The (juick glance of att'ection was not, how' 
 ever, to be cheated by the oomp)jlled wreathin 
 of that palp and trembling lip ; and it was wit 
 great alarm that Mortimer inquired into th 
 cause of so violent an emotion. 
 
 " Alas, Frederic," replied Miss Delamere, 
 she averted her face, and breathed a sigh whic 
 appeared to heave a weight of woe from he' 
 oppressed bosom; "No wonder that I ar 
 wretched, when I am called upon to commun: 
 cate to you that which will, in all probabilitj 
 separate us for ever." 
 
 " What can you mean, Sybil ?" was the anxion 
 retort of tlie bewildered Jlortimer ; " surel; 
 your anonymous persecutor has not dared agai 
 to invade your peace ? Speak, I entreat of you 
 and leave me now at least, free to unmask th 
 cowardly assassin, who is amusing his foul le 
 ure by undermining our happiness." 
 
 Sybil shook her head, ana remained silent 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 101 
 
 " If the law can reach him," — pursued Morti 
 ]>r indignantly. 
 
 " Fate, not malice, is our present enemy," 
 I a1 Miss Delamere with a second sigh. " There 
 ino foe to combat, no adversary to overcome. 
 ; K'lieved that all ray trials were at last over ; 
 •at all my visions were about to be realized; 
 1 1 1 deceived myself. Strong in your affection, 
 .lad forgotten that chance and change are the 
 j verniiig principles of this life, and 1 have been 
 iddenly awakened from my delusion. Wiiile 
 
 .vas dreaming in fancied security of a future 
 I peace and love, insured by your affection, 
 
 stiny was at work to falsify all my provisions. 
 ; ihaps I was not worthy of so much happi- 
 
 ss; in any case the illusion is dispelled, like 
 ;iny by which it was preceded. I appear, and 
 
 ■ ve long appeared, to live in a world of shadows. 
 .10 sooner seek to grasp them than they elude 
 W touch. You know not, — may you never 
 ; ow ! — the trials which I have passed, gaily as 
 !niay seem to defy fate ; but for this blow I 
 mfess that I was totally unprepared!" 
 
 " Sybil, you torture me !" 
 
 " For your sake and for my own, I will at 
 
 ■ ee speak plainly," said Miss Delamere, while 
 .'r fingers wandered, as if unconsciously, among 
 
 e luxuriant hair of her listener, and parted the i 
 ' uvy curls from his liot and throbbing forehead, j 
 Our contemplated union is at an end. We, 
 : ly, we must be, still dear to each other, Fred- 
 • k' ; but we can be no more than friends. The 
 ^operty of my father was placed in the hands 
 I trustees, one of whom has absconded, carry-' 
 ;t with him all the funds upon which my 
 iither and myself were dependent for our sup- 1 
 ; rt. The other was a mere cypher, from whom 
 : thing can be recovered, nothing lioped. Like | 
 rselves, he entrusted all to liis colleague ; and i 
 ;e ourselves, he is also a very heavy loser ; ! 
 ,t he has other resources — we have none. 
 tLM-ly in his power, through the confidence of 
 V misguided father, and the faith reposed in 
 m by his co-trustee, his evasion is «ur utter 
 in ; and all this — the blight of two lives, audi 
 <■ wreck of one fabric of liappiness such as the 
 iild has seldom ever dreamed of, has been 
 ijveyed to me on a single page — in a few 
 jrmal lines of condolence and information. Of, 
 (yself I dare not speak. It is only in my own' 
 •art that I am conscious of the amount of suf- j 
 ring which I am called upon singly to endure." 
 And as she ceased speaking, the head of Sybil 
 nk upon the shoulder of her lover, and he felt 
 c sliudder which passed over her whole frame. '■ 
 " And is this all f" asked Mortimer, as he 
 asped her to his heart. " Is this the mighty 
 I'l insurmountable obstacle which is to sever 
 ? Surely Sybil, you wrong me by such a 
 'utjt, and you have never understood the 
 iture of my love. Did you for a moment sus-l 
 ■<t that I valued you for your power of adding 
 I' my wealth, or for anything save your own 
 J2ar self? How little do you yet understand a 
 jwsion like mine ! Learn to know me better ; 
 id to feel tliat I rather rejoice at this sudden i 
 veise of fortune which makes you more entirely , 
 y own. Are j-ou mourning over your loss of i 
 Buenee? Havel not enough for both of us? 
 ^Uat have yfu lost! Will not our home be] 
 
 that of your mother, and am I not rich enougTi 
 to maintain you in comfort and opulence to 
 which you have been accustomed ? Fie upon 
 you, Sybil ; you have never yet understood me. 
 Now, indeed, we shall be everything to each 
 other, you will be all my own ; al) your happi- 
 ness will be in my keeping and believe me, I 
 will prove worthy of the trust. Our mutual 
 affection will never be endangered by a diver- 
 sity of interests ; but doublj^ united by affection 
 and by marriage, we shall have but one heart 
 and one soul. Oli, my beloved Sybil !" he added 
 passionately ; " this calamity alone was needed 
 to show yoxi all the extent of my attachment; 
 and far from deprecating its occurrence, I wel- 
 come it as the blessed means of proving to you 
 the sincerity of an affection which can end only 
 with my life. Henceforward I shall remember 
 that I won you when you were wealthy and in- 
 dependent, and when I could offer you no equiv- 
 alent for the position which you occupied save 
 a devoted heart. There will be no drawback 
 to my happiness in the suspicion that you loved 
 me for the paltry possessions which I inherited 
 from my ancestors; while I shall feel with 
 honest pride that I am the source of all your 
 future enjoyments ; and you cannot guess the 
 luxury of such a conviction, while you, on your 
 side, will now be equally assured that I loved 
 you only for yourself, undazzled by the fictitious 
 splendor in which you have hitherto moved, a» 
 in an atmosphere peculiarly your own. Say. 
 dearest, is it not well worth while to lose somt 
 thing of the world's wealth to secure so proud n 
 feeling V 
 
 " But I am literally a beggar, Frederic ; these 
 empty gauds by which I am now surrounded, 
 constitute my whole fortune, and my mother's." 
 
 " And we could have dispensed even with 
 these, dear Sybil," replied Mortimer, as he strain- 
 ed her to his heart ; " Such love as ours is inde- 
 pendent of the vanities of society. Now, indeed, 
 I feel that I have a worthy stake in the world ; 
 that I am no longer a mere unit in the countless 
 crowd of my fellow-men, but a responsible and 
 important member of society, with others de- 
 pendent upon me for support and happiness. — 
 You shall see how this conviction will operate 
 upon my hitherto listless character ; j-ou shall 
 learn how deeply I feel the holiness of my earth- 
 ly mission ; and you shall do me justice." 
 
 Was the renewed shudder which passed 
 through the veins of Jliss Delamere one of com- 
 punction, as she listened to this impassioned re- 
 ply ? Wiio shall say ! She had prepared her- 
 self to exert all lier powers of fascination, all 
 her arts of coquetry ; but the fervent honesty 
 of purpose by which she had been met nega- , 
 tived all her plans. The victim was self-bound 
 to the horns of the altar. 
 
 " Frederic," she at length murmured fondly ; 
 " I scarcely know how to thank you. You, in- 
 deed, then love me for myself. You are above 
 the vicissitudes of fortune"; and it is at last my 
 happy fate to be really valued for my own sake. 
 Oh, did you know, could you guess, how tho- 
 roughly you have, by this noble self-abnegation, 
 redeemed all human nature in my ey<'8, I think 
 that you would not regret the sacrifice which 
 you are making, great as it is. You know not 
 
102 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIEa 
 
 what I have suffered Bince the arrival of that 
 fatal letter. My reflections were horrible ! 
 Warned by the past, I did not dare to hope that 
 even your aft'eetion — and believe me, when I 
 declare that 1 nevertheless did justice to its sin- 
 cerit}' — I did not dare to hope that it would 
 ■withstand such an ordeal. You had sought nie 
 when I was suri-ounded by all the comforts, and 
 by manv of the luxuries of life ; and I have been 
 taught "bitterly to feel how much a mere com- 
 mon character is influenced by such accessories. 
 Existing in a paradise of hope, cradled in the 
 most delightful visions, living only in the pro- 
 spect of a future fraught with love and happi- 
 ness, the terrible intelligence of ruin seemed at 
 once to sever me from every thing which I had 
 learned to prize, and doom me to life-long 
 wretchedness. 0, I have indeed felt within the 
 last few hours how short a step it may be from 
 joy to despair; and how, while we possess the 
 one, we should prepare ourselves against the 
 tortures of the other." 
 
 " My poor Sybil!" 
 
 " Yes, pity me, Frederic, pity me ; for I have 
 lived a year of torture since yesterday. But I 
 will dwell upon this miserable subject no longer. 
 You love me ; and 1 have now nothing to re- 
 gret, nothing to apprehend. You are my world ; 
 and althougli I shall give myself to you far 
 otherwise than I hoped, I have no fear that 
 j'our affection will be diminished by my mis- 
 fortunes. Nay, I could almost forget the humi- 
 liation of my own pride to thank destiny for a 
 blow which has elevated me in my own eyes, 
 since it has failed to lessen me in yours." 
 
 " It is not in the power of fate to do so," replied 
 Mortimer earnestly; "I have enough for both 
 of us, and therefore let not the hateful considera- 
 tion of money occupy your thouglits for an in- 
 stant. It can be no obstacle to our happiness. 
 I can restore to j'ou the opulence which you 
 have lost, and maintain you in the station to 
 wliich you have beeen accustomed. You shall 
 have nothing to regret. In your mother I shall 
 fiud a new parent, and in yourself possess all 
 that I can covet in this life. Do not, therefore, 
 wrong my affection by grieving over an inevit- 
 able misfortune, but rather tell me when you 
 will give me a legal right to repair it." 
 
 A thick and stifling sob rose to the throat of 
 Miss Delamere. Even she, callous and selfish 
 as she was, was nevertheless overcome for an 
 instant, and felt abashed before the dupe whom 
 slie had made. But the pang of compunction 
 passed as rapidly as it had risen ; the game was 
 now indeed, in her hands, and the recompense 
 of all her efforts within her very grasp. Her 
 tears fell warm and fast upon the hands which 
 clasped her own ; but as their impulse remained 
 unsuspected, this womanly gushing out of sensi- 
 bility only endeared her the more to the infatu- 
 ated Mortimer. 
 
 "All shall be as you will," she whispered, as 
 the passed Iier hand across her eyes, and then 
 «wei)t back the clustering curls which had half 
 veiled her countenance ; " All — for henceforth 
 I can have no will, no hope but yours." 
 
 " And you will promise to weep no more, my 
 best beloved V 
 
 Sybil shook her head with a faint smile. 
 
 " Let this be your first act of wilful ohed\ 
 ence," said Mortimer fondly ; " for it is impo|' 
 sible to talk of the future while I see you stec 
 ed in tears. And now let us be more just to ou 
 selves than we have hitherto been, since the worj 
 seems inclined to treat us roughly, and leave i i 
 to be the architects of our own happiness. i 
 give you a fortnight, Sybil, a whole fortnight, 1; 
 prepare for the awful event which we ha^; 
 deferred too long already. Nay, no diselairaen 
 I feci inclined to be arbitrary, and 1 will n( 
 concede another day, not another hour. Yo, 
 see therefore, that you have no regrets." 
 
 "But I have much to arrange; much tor; 
 trench." 
 
 " We will do all in good time ; but for tli 
 present, we must have no retrenchment, f 
 alteration. Your mother will need to be su i 
 rounded by familiar objects, and to indulge h(i 
 usual habits, during your absence. In losini 
 you she will already have lost too much. Lea'?! 
 The Grange, therefore, without one changi 
 which may imply that you abandon it for evej 
 Would that we could also leave Mrs. Delameii 
 in happy ignorance of wliat has occurred, bi' 
 that is I fear, impossible!" i 
 
 "As yet," faltered Sj'bil, "she knows mi 
 thing ; for I confess that I did not dare to a<) 
 quaint her with the truth, while there existed 
 probability that I should yet have more an 
 darker news to tell; nor indeed, even had fliiil 
 
 wished to do so, could I have commanded i 
 cient self-possessiou to render such a tale inte 
 ligible." 
 
 And herein, at least, Sybil was partially sit 
 cere, for Mrs. Delamere was ignorant of the ne^ 
 expedient contemplated by her daughter, an 
 could not consequently have comprehended th 
 condolence of Mortimer had he deemed it fi 
 ting to offer them; but as such was far fromh 
 intention, Sybil gladly saw herself fi-eed froif ifi 
 this last peril, and acquiesced in the suggestion Kt, 
 that no suspicion of her heavy trial should b| 't^ 
 engendered in the mind of the unhappy ladyji 
 promising, with one of her most eloquent an 
 winning smiles, that all her discourse with ht 
 mother should turn upon her approaching ma 
 riage, and the bridal arrangements necessary t 
 its speedy completion ; while so gentle did sh 
 show herself, and so impassioned in her expre.- 
 sions of gratitude and affection, that the delude 
 Mortimer at length parted from The Grangt 
 convinced that hitherto his had been a barre 
 and a vain existence, and that now only he wr 
 about indeed to live. 
 
 How thoroughly do human beings allow then 
 selves to be cheated by false-seeming ! As th 
 floating corse, borne onward by the current, a 
 though it still wears the semblance of mortality 
 and possesses a fictitious motion due to the ai 
 tion of the waves upon which it rides, is nottli 
 less a corse, sustained upon the surface by it 
 own innate corruption, and incapable of volur 
 tary movement ; so is the vice which drape 
 itself in graceful sophistries equally foul, a 
 though it craftily retains the likeness of socif 
 convention. The figure is perhaps a strong on< 
 but not the less appropriate ; for the decay ho 
 
 Jl 
 

 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 lot 
 
 >eeii gradual and certain in both cases, and the 
 
 ockery, both physical and moral, alike hollow 
 
 d false. 
 
 Alas, for Sybil Delamere ! The child of love 
 jtnd prayer, how she had fallen from her high 
 jninence ! By how many slow and almost im- 
 KTceptible steps had she been advancing on 
 lor downward path 1 How little do women, 
 khile venturing upon their first aci. of levity, 
 mtieipate the remorse and wretchedness to 
 rhich they ai-e about to subject their after-life, 
 ;nJ in what a tissue of duplicity and untruth 
 hey are about to involve their future actions ; 
 triving in vain, moreover, to believe tiiat a 
 rifling dereliction from duty and high principle 
 lannot condemn them even while they are com- 
 piled to feel that it indeed does so, in the very 
 iivstery by which it is necessary to shroud it ; 
 :nd above all, in the consciousness that they 
 lave become less pure in their own eyes ! 
 
 And then — after that first step — what an un- 
 filing of the silver cord of purity and peace is 
 asential to guide them through the labyrinth of 
 licir faults and follies, until at length, the 
 )right and precious help exhausted, tiiey have 
 V toil alone and unaided even to the close of 
 heir dark, and false, and unloved career ! 
 
 Far, very far, had Sybil progressed in this 
 jad pilgrimage. Cuiming as the serpent, she 
 .vas also as beautiful ; but if, like the reptile, 
 ;he had been compelled to cast the glittering 
 kin which veiled her moral deformity, how 
 .vould those who loved her now have shrunk 
 Vom her fatal fascination ! 
 
 But the glory of loveliness still beamed about 
 ler, and Mortimer was destined to be its victim. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 In the society of the family at the Manor- 
 luse, Gertrude had found a resource and a 
 comparative happiness, for which she was deep- 
 ly grateful. Contrary to lier anticipations also. 
 Miss Warrington, while declining the somewhat 
 languid overtures of Mrs. Armstrong on her 
 own account, and remaining firm in her deter- 
 mination not to cross any threshold in the charac- 
 ter of a guest, offered no opposition to a friend- 
 ship which she could not conceal from herself 
 might ultimately become of essential service to 
 lier almost friendless niece ; and thus, as the 
 virtues and accomplishments of the orphan de- 
 veloped themselves to her new acquaintance, 
 tlie mtercom-se between the families became 
 more intimate ; the passion of the young heir i tl 
 continuing unguessed at alike by its object, and ~ 
 those around them. 
 
 To Gertrude herself, the future presented no 
 vision of affection. She believed her heart to 
 
 feelings; but .she attached to tlicm no import- 
 ance whatever, considering thom as the mere 
 kindly demonstrations of an amiable nature, in- 
 tended to beguile her into a temporary forgets 
 fulness of her desolate position. And in this 
 spirit alone did she receive and respond to his 
 an.\iou8 and earnest devotion ; grateful tliat she 
 was no longer able to say in her solitude, us slie 
 had once said, that she had ceased to be an ob- 
 ject of interest to any, and was destined to 
 tread the path of life without one kindly hand 
 to thrust aside the briars with which it was 
 overgrown. 
 
 But beyond this point the thoughts or feel- 
 ings of Gertrude never wandered ; tlie image of 
 her cousin was still enshrined in her heart of 
 hearts. To her he was faultless as in those early 
 years when, with her head pillowed upon the 
 knees of her loving aunt, she listened to a thoik- 
 sand ofttold, but never unwelcome, legends of 
 his infancy and boyhood; and there were yet 
 moments when a weight of bitter regret settled 
 upon her spirit, beneath which she felt shrunk 
 and prostrate. It is true that she strove against 
 a weakness which revolted her own reason ; but 
 these dark periods of memory affected alike her 
 health and her temperament,'and brought many 
 a cloud across the horizon of her existence. 
 Sometimes, in order to emancipate herself from 
 a moral thrall at once painful and unavailing, 
 she endeavored to recall all the sufferings to 
 which the vacillation of Mortimer had exposed 
 her; all the circumstances of Avhich she liad 
 been made the victim, all the incidents whereia 
 her pride had been wounded, or her hopes slight- 
 ed. But the heart has a logic of its own, and 
 the culprit was arraigned at the bar of her par- 
 tial judgment only to be acquitted. 
 
 Yet still she struggled against a weakness 
 which would ere long, should Mortimer indeed 
 become the husband of Miss Delamere, dengen- 
 erate into sin. But would he do so ? was the 
 ever-recurring interrogatory which, as this 
 thougiit arose, she addressed to her eager and 
 swelling heart. Had not her dying aunt linked 
 the hand of Frederic with her own ? — Had she 
 not expired in the belief that her last praj-er 
 was to be accomplished? Did she not know- 
 how devotedly he had once loved the gentle 
 mother whose every thought was for him? And 
 could it be that a stranger, the love of a stran- 
 ger 
 
 At that phase of the silent argument, how- 
 ever, Gertrude paused to weep. She remember- 
 ed the fascinations of that stranger, and the 
 enthusiastic character of lier cousin. Ko, no, 
 was no hope. Sybil was the star of 
 Frederic : the " bright, particular star," fated 
 to rule his destiny. She had come, none new 
 whence or why, to accomplish iier mystei'ious 
 mission ; she had come, and conquered, and her 
 
 have been exhausted in the past ; and even when j own duty was simply to submit. 
 
 her thoughts rested on Mary Armstrong, and he Such was the state of Gertrude's mind, when, 
 
 "■' '" " ^ ' — '" ' ^ ■-■'^~~ as she was one morning busily engaged in giv- 
 ing the last touchcsTto a masterly sketch which 
 she had made of Bletchley church for Eleanor 
 Armstrong, while Miss Warrington was occu- 
 pied with the daily paper, the solitary luxury 
 in which she indulged, she was startlc^d by 
 
 pers^.veraiice, solaced her pride and soothed her | an exclamation from the old lady, which waa 
 
 ■ho soon afterwards became her declared suitor, 
 she wove no web of fancy for herself, m which 
 she too was to be loved and won. 
 
 The ceaseless attentions of Ernest Armstrong, 
 the more welcome perhaps that they were un- 
 obtrusive, and only to be estimated by their 
 
104 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIEa 
 
 immediately followed by lier reading aloud the 
 paragraph by which it had been called forth. 
 
 " Listen, Gertrude," she said, in that accent 
 of quiet complacency in which elderly persons 
 are wont to indulge while promulgating any 
 species of news; ' On Tuesday morning, at the 
 parish church of Westrum, by the Rev. James 
 lugatesbv, Frederic Mortimer, Esq., of Westrum 
 House, to Sybil, only daughter of the late 
 William Delamere, Esq.' So your cousin is 
 married, you see, and married without having 
 the civilitv to apprise you of it beforehand." 
 
 But GeVtrude made no reply. The pencil' 
 dropped from her hand, and it was only by a 
 fearful effort that she preserved herself from 
 fainting. All was then indeed over. The 
 prayers of her dying aunt, the hopes of long 
 years, her silent' but deep affection — all .had 
 alike failed. As she saw herself definitively and 
 forever separated from her cousin, the lore 
 which she had done so much to overcome welled 
 up afresh, and she felt as though she had just 
 listened to lier death-warrant. 
 
 It was in vain that she sought to disguise her 
 emotion. Pale, panting, and bewildered, she 
 gazed hopelessly around her, but every object 
 appeared to swim before her eyes ; she tried to 
 tliink, but a mist was over her spirit, and she 
 could not combine the images which were float- 
 ing across her brain. 
 
 Her aunt again addressed her, in all proba- 
 bility upon the same subject, but although she 
 heard the voice she could not connect any mean- 
 ing with the sound, and, at length, conscious 
 that she coiild not much longer support the con- 
 straint under which she was then suffering, she 
 murmiwed a few disjointed and almost inaudible 
 words, and tottered from the apartment. 
 
 When the dinner was announced, Gertrude 
 was still in her room, where she was found by 
 the servant who went to summon her, stretched 
 lifeless upon the bed. 
 
 Painful, very painful, were the solitary hours 
 ■which she spent in that narrow and cheerless 
 chamber; onlj^ the less wretched, however, that 
 tliey were solitary. There she had leisure to 
 contemplate all the circumstances of her posi- 
 tion, to weep over the memories of the past, and 
 to shudder at the dreariness of the future. How 
 had she deceived herself, in believing that she 
 had almost succeeded in overcoming her affec- 
 tion. How bitterly was she taught to feel that 
 tliere is a depth in the human heart which, once 
 stirred, is long, very long, ere its waters again 
 subside ! 
 
 Encouraged for years by her fond but incau- 
 tious aunt to believe that she was the destined 
 -wife of her cousin, she had cherished the illusion 
 until even reason had failed to convince her 
 that it was dispersed, and it had required no 
 lf.ss than its present final conformation to enable 
 her to comprehend the truth. Vainly had she 
 imagined tiiat she was prepared to hear of his 
 marriage, and to reconcile herself to think of 
 l»im, henceforward, only as the husband of an- 
 other. 
 
 Gertrude was merely tasting the bitter experi- 
 ence of a fact which all of us have, at some time 
 in our lives, been fated to acknowledge]" that, 
 however we may deem ourselves prepared for 
 
 I an impending evil, and however we ma^y have' 
 I argued ourselves beforehand into befitting re- 
 I signation, its advent usually finds us as powe^ 
 j less and as prostrate as though it had been utter- 
 I ly unforeseen. 
 
 Poor girl ! the strongest link in her existence 
 I had been rudely and abruptly rent asunder. It 
 was Frederic who was the one bond betwecu 
 i her and the past, and now she must remembei 
 I him, aud love him only as the husband of Sybil; 
 of that Sybil who had come between her and 
 happiness, and rendered her an outcast from the 
 home of her youth. To her, Frederic could be 
 nothing now, nothing save a sad memory. All 
 his thoughts, all his cares, all his tenderness 
 must, henceforth, be devoted to the woman 
 whom he had taken to his heart. She only ha4 
 now the right to watch over him in sickness, to 
 weep with him in sorrow, and to soothe him in 
 disappointment. And how would she fulfil her 
 holy mission? I 
 
 "Oh, well, well !" murmured Gertrude to hei*- ! 
 self, as the question rose in her pure heart, "shs j 
 must do so, for Frederic loves her!" 
 
 And, then, her own hot tears rained down to 
 feel that another had usurped the blessed duties 
 which she would have performed so zealously. 
 She thought not of sharing the brilliant fortune 
 of her cousin, of indulging in the luxuries which 
 it would command, or of claiming her share in i 
 the sunny hour of his existence ; she dwelt only I 
 upon home, upon the chances and changes which 1 
 might come even to him, and on those moments i 
 when the tenderness of a wife transcends all | 
 other consolations. \ 
 
 Vainly, however, did she dwell upon these 1 
 thoughts : the conviction soon followed, thai i 
 for her no such hallowed duty was destined, ! 
 but that Frederic was lost to her forever ; nor ! 
 could she now, without guilt, even encourage a j 
 wish that it were otherwise. Had she been j 
 told a week, only a week beforehand, that his ' 
 marriage was irrevocably decided, she believed ' 
 that she could have schooled both her heart and ; 
 her reason into submission. Had he Avritten her ' 
 a few lines of kindness and affection, she believed ' 
 that she could have reconciled herself to what he' 
 would then have once more assured her was to 
 him an earnest of happiness : but to learn that '•■ 
 all was over through the cold medium of a pub- ( 
 lie print, to feel that she had been forgotten ' 
 while her whole heart was full of his image; ! 
 this it was, as she fancied, which made the blow ' 
 so heavj' to be borne ; and so she tried to cheat 1 
 j herself into the belief that she loved him less, ' 
 I even while she felt that she could not deceive ! 
 herself. I 
 
 No, struggle as she might with her own weak- ) 
 ncss, she could not be so deceived. She, indeed, 
 prayed for his happiness, but still not for hia I 
 happiness uith another. The desire of posses.s- • 
 ing the affections of the being whom we love is 
 one of the strongest feelings implanted in the • 
 bosom of humanity. ' 
 
 Even witli the most pure and perfect attach- ': 
 ment, there mingles more selfishness than we 
 are willing to acknowledge : we love its ob- ' 
 jects not only for their sakes but for our ovm ; ' 
 the most heroic devotion fails to divest us of ' 
 , this egotism ; in serving, soothing, aud saving 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 106 
 
 those vre love, we are also protecting oiir own 
 interests, which, by an exclusive affection, we 
 have bound up so intimately with theirs, that 
 we can no longer separate them: cleave the 
 trunk, and tlie branches wither. 
 
 To this it may be answered, that there have 
 been instances in which a total self-abnegation 
 has been exhibited, and where, in order to se- 
 cure the happiness of one party, ihe other has 
 i-esigned all claim to an affection which had 
 once been the day-spring of existence. But 
 wlio has read the heart which so foreswore it- 
 self? Who has witnessed the struggle of a 
 declining passion, paling under the conviction 
 tliat this sacrifice was, — mutely, perliaps, and 
 reluctantlj', but still that this sacrifice was, — 
 covertly desired of them ? Who has seen the 
 blood-drops start from the brow, and the damps 
 of death bed upon the clammy palms grasped to- 
 gether in despair ? Who has watched the slow 
 breaking of the wounded heart which resigned 
 its treasure, not in obedience to its own impul- 
 ses, but beneath the influence of a bitter pride, 
 which, when it had given all, would not suffer 
 tliat all to be tolerated where it should have 
 been prized ? And who, we ask finally, has 
 followed that blighted and withered victim to 
 it£ closing hour, without feeling convinced that 
 " the silver cord was loosened, and the golden 
 bowl was broken," which had knit and filled 
 Uie two natures thus unnaturally severed, be- 
 fore the act of self-abnegation was accomplish- 
 ed. The wounded heart flies to the thicket to 
 die : the outraged and disappointed spirit plucks 
 out its own spear. 
 
 Let the world read matters as it will — and 
 " he who runs may read" — there is yet a volume 
 which it cannot unclose in its reckless haste 
 and egotism, without pausing longer than it is 
 prone to do, ere it can hope to comprehend its 
 pages — the weai-y but glorious volume of the 
 human heart ; weary, because it holds so much 
 of woe — glorious, because it contains so much 
 of hope. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 Oh, the first withering of the young and de- 
 voted heart, how litter, how irremediable it ap- 
 pears 1 Every link of hope and memory alike 
 snapped at once ; tlie past a blight, the present 
 a pang, and the future a blank ! Life has in- 
 deed deeper and deadlier miseries' in store, but 
 none so keen — none so overwhelming, none so 
 bitter, — the waters of Marah sear the soul over 
 which they flow, and the trace of their passage 
 is never blotted out! Time and change are 
 alike powerless to renew the freshness whicli 
 tJiey have marred. 
 
 Tlie heart may, after a while, take anotlier 
 impression ; it does, it must ; for the wear of 
 tJie world hardens the spent fire to lava, and 
 new idols will be wrougiit out of the wreck of 
 tlie first destruction, but it is no iong»M" the same 
 worship. Tlie chrine has been desecrated, the 
 veil of tlie sanctuary rent, and where ail was 
 once uncalculating trust and tenderness, liave 
 grown up doubt and dread — tliose noisome 
 
 weeds which stagnate upon the pool of egotism, 
 and foul the waters beneath. Self struggles to 
 the surface ; self, which had hitiierto remain- 
 ed dormant, and folded in the angel coil of 
 peace and joy, and no sooner claims its place 
 than it mingles palpably in the after-devotiou 
 over which it originally poured forth all its en 
 ergies upon its object without one ungenerous 
 reservation. 
 
 Life ! what is the luxury of thy banquet 
 when this one cup has been drained and thrown 
 aside ? Ambition waves aloft its golden ves 
 sels, wealth tips its goblets with jewels, plea 
 sure rears its tankard with roses, and sensuali- 
 ty crushes into its capacious bowl the juice ol 
 the purple grape until it overflows; but tin; 
 vase which was garlanded with hope, lighted 
 by sunshine, and hallowed by the heart's best 
 and holiest affections, can be fitly replaced by none 
 of these ; only one such draught can be ever 
 drained ; and when that one has been dashed 
 with the bitterness of disappointment, the tide 
 of existence may indeed moisten the lip, but it 
 can never again warm the heart. The bland 
 outgushing of the spirit's spring has hopelessly 
 wasted its pure current on the desert-sands. 
 
 Too proud, nevertheless, to yield to the in- 
 fluence of a neglected passion, Gertrude strug- 
 gled resolutely against the wretchedness which 
 swelled her young and desolate heart almost to 
 bursting. She forgave Sybil. How could sh« 
 do otherwise when she remembered that she 
 was now the wife of Frederic? But she could 
 not bless the arrow by which she had been 
 stricken. Again and again she read the solita- 
 ry letter with which her forgetful cousin had 
 cheered her exile, and she could not mistake the 
 implied proposal that she should again seek 
 home beneath his roof But when ? Alas, she 
 understood it now ! When Sybil should be in- 
 stalled in the place of the beloved aunt wIk) 
 had made that home a paradise — when Sybil 
 should head the board, and fill the chair which 
 had once been hers — when anotlier voice should 
 command, and another will control, wiiere slie 
 had swayed so gentle a rule that obedience 
 seemed but a dearer privilege. No, no: it 
 could not be. Gertrude looked round her mod- 
 est chamber, and breathed out a low and fer- 
 vent thanksgiving that she had another and a 
 calmer place of refuge. 
 
 Perliaps it was well for her that she had to 
 strive also against the suspicions of her anxious 
 hostess, whose blunted sensibilities, although 
 they were unequal to sympathise Avitli what she 
 regarded as the mere nervous absurdities of 
 fanciful and pampered young people, were not, 
 however, sufficiently obtuse to deaden the cu- 
 riosity wliicii led her to seek an immediate 
 cause for their development; and thus Gertrude 
 soon discovered the necessity of controlling her 
 feelirgs in the presence of her aunt, and of 
 checking the tears which, at intervals, rose to 
 licr burning eye-balls. And the task was a hard 
 and a bitter one; for like many other well- 
 meaning, but ill-judging pei'sons, Jli.ss Warring- 
 ton no sooner heard the apotiiecary wjio liad 
 been called in, declare that his patient was 
 simply siifl'ering fi'om moral depression and de- 
 bility, and required only amusement unattended 
 
106 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 -with exeraon to restore her to health, than she 
 installed herself daily for hours in the sick- 
 room, where, in default of other subjects of con- 
 versation, she descanted perpetually on the very 
 themes which the poor girl would fain have 
 avoided, and that which a voluble pertinacity 
 which rendered their exhaustion hopeless. 
 
 " It is fortunate, however, Mr. Pilbeam, very 
 fortunate," she said upon one occasion, as the 
 apothecary seated himself by the bed-side, and 
 strove to rally the spirits of Gertrude by an as- 
 surance that,' in a short time, she would be en- 
 abled to leave her room ; " very fortunate, in- 
 deed, that there is really no danger, for I sliould 
 scarcely have known how to act, had you given 
 me cause to apprehend the contrary. A month, 
 or I may say onlj' a week ago, I could have 
 written to apprise her cousin, who is her neas- 
 est relation — for I am but her great-aunt, and 
 should, consequently, have declined all respon- 
 sibility in such a case ; but, at this moment, I 
 don't know where to find him, as he is just mar- 
 ried, and is probably on his wedding-tour. In 
 my time, people were satisfied to remain at 
 home on such occasions, to feast their tenantry, 
 and keep open house, but now they consider it 
 correct to run away from their friends, as 
 though they had done something that they were 
 ashamed of" 
 
 " Temper a niutantur, et noi mutamur in illis, 
 eh?" interposed the apothecary sententiously, 
 with a condescending smile. 
 
 Miss Warrington was silenced for a moment, 
 and at once bewildered and displeased, but she 
 soon recovered herself, and resumed : — 
 
 " Such being the case, we do not know where 
 to address him. However, as Gertrude is better, 
 we can afford to wait until he is again at West- 
 rum. As for myself,' I confess that I felt little 
 or no alarm at lier illness, for on the day of her 
 ai-rival here, I remarked to Hannah that I did 
 not believe she had an ounce of blood in her 
 veins, and even now she looks better than when 
 she first came to Bletchley." 
 
 " You may be quite easy upon the subject, 
 my dear madam ; m a few days we shall have 
 Miss Mortimer in the drawing-room. But we 
 must be careful to protect her from all unne- 
 cessary excitement, as her nerves are evidently 
 very susceptible." 
 
 " You would rather, perhaps, that she should 
 not yet see the Miss Armstrongs, who have 
 called every day, and are half offended that I 
 
 up i 
 idy. 
 
 " On the contrary, my dear lady, on the con- 
 trary," briskly exclaimed Mr. Pilbeam, who 
 would ratiier have risked a relapse in his pa- 
 tient than the chance of displeasing the family 
 at the Manor-house ; " their visits can only be 
 beneficial to Miss Mortimer, as I understand that 
 tliey have alread}' become very intimate. A 
 great privilege that for the young lady, my 
 dear madam; a very great privilege, and not 
 extended beyond herself as regards this imme- 
 diate ni'lglilMirliood. You gave your interest 
 to 'Armstrong and independence,' of course, 
 Miss Warrington?" 
 
 " I gave it to no one," was the tart reply, as 
 the clenched fingers of his interlocutor became 
 
 blenched by the violence with which they were 
 interlaced. 
 
 " No — eh? Well, you surprise me!" was the 
 composed rejoinder. " All Bletchley took it for 
 granted that you had supported him. However, 
 it seems that he has succeeded without you, 
 for he is i7i, I hear. Some rumor to be sure, of 
 bi'ibery and that kind of thing, but it is of course 
 all local gossip, and as I often say to Mrs. Pi^ 
 beam, when she occasionally i-eports these small 
 matters over our tea-table, tcmpus omnia revelaX 
 — at all events, I never give an opinion ; no 
 professional man should, eh?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " And now, my dear madam, I will take ray 
 leave," said the dapper little apothecary, resun> 
 ing his hat and cane ; " and I trust that, by tl» 
 termination of the honey-moon, my fair patieni 
 will be in a fit condition to pay her bridal visit, 
 Nothing like change of scene and cheerful so- 
 ciety in such a case ; eh, my dear Miss Mort^ 
 mer? What say you to my prescription?" 
 
 Gertrude said nothing. Her mightiest effort 
 at endurance and self-control would only enabla 
 her to torture her faded lips into a ghastly 
 smile, as she took the hand which he extended 
 on his departure, ere she turned her weary and 
 aching head upon her pillow, and strove to es- 
 cape at once from the light of day and the sound 
 of human voices. 
 
 But no such escape was to be hers. Miss 
 Warrington, excited by her own unusual acti^ 
 vity and deeply offended by what she consider- 
 ed as an undue presumption on the part of Mt 
 Pilbeam, whom she detested both for his bal^- 
 ble and his bill, no sooner heard the street door 
 close behind him than she continued to vent her 
 hoarded ill-humor upori Mortimer; and poor 
 Gertrude was compelled to endure all the ouK 
 pouring of her wrath. 
 
 " The accidental allusion to your cousin's mar- 
 riage, my dear," she resumed, as she installed 
 her perpendicular person, according to her own 
 idea of comfort, in the large arm-chair just va- 
 cated by the diligent apothecary ; " reminds ma 
 — I say nothing of myself; I am an old woman, 
 and the days are past when it was considered 
 necessary to show any regard to the feelings of 
 such useless individuals as old women, when 
 they chance to be poor — but it reminds me, aa 
 I was about to say, that Mr. Mortimer has treats 
 ed you with great disrespect, in not writing to 
 inform you of his intended marriage. He mighi 
 be very much engaged; I dare say he was; 
 people generally are, I believe, at such timea, 
 but still half-an-hour might always be spared 
 for such a purpose. I confess that I feel very 
 indignant at so singular and marked a slight; 
 for it is a slight, Gertrude, look at it as you will; 
 you may be poor, but you are as well-born and 
 as well-bred as himself, and he has no right t» 
 look down upon you." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear aunt, you mistake him," 
 faltered the poor girl, tortured to the very soul, 
 " ^Frederic is incapable of such a feeling." 
 
 '• I am glad to hear it," replied the old lady, 
 in that provoking tone which implies a resolute 
 opposition of sentiment ; " very glad, for it 
 would degrade him, not you. But be this as 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 107 
 
 it may, his conduct Las been very extraordinary. 
 He should liave remembered that his parents 
 had no right to educate and rear you like a 
 duchess only to leave you to starve at last." 
 
 " Spare me, I entreat of you," exclaimed 
 Gertrude piteously : " Did you understand the 
 nature of Frederic, you would feel how impos- 
 sible it was for him to act otherwise than he has 
 done !" 
 
 " Well, my dear child, do not agitate your- 
 self," replied the old lady, somewhat alarmed 
 b}- the violence of hei' emotion : " we will say 
 no more upon the subject. I understand it all 
 now — the lady was jealous of your pretty face, 
 and perhaps she was right. But keep up your 
 spirits, and that pretty face may stand your 
 fi'iend }'et" 
 
 Oh, are these not the trifles which make life 
 difficult to bear, — these puny, pigmy miseries, 
 which, like the knife of a surgeon, rend open 
 again and again the wound which might have 
 healed before its appointed time ? To the first 
 evil they are as nothing in proportion ; and 
 yet how many who struggle manfully against 
 tlie crushing fall of the mighty mass, and 
 strive, languidly perhaps and wearily, but 
 still resolutely, to save some fragment from 
 tlie wreck, are disheartened and bruised anew 
 by the perpetual droppings of the loosened 
 pebbles 1 How justly has it been said that — 
 
 " 'Tis trifles make the sum of huiiwin things !" 
 
 and yet, upon those trifles is liinged the whole 
 peace of our existence. 
 
 Day after day, almost hour after hour, did 
 these corroding conversations occur, until Ger- 
 trude, who would fain have herself forgotten all 
 beyond the narrow circle of her present home, 
 more than once found herself upon the very 
 
 Eoint of confiding to Miss Warrington the bitter 
 ut still cherished secret of the past, in order to 
 silence her for ever More than once did the 
 confession tremble on her tongue, but as she 
 raised her eyes to the rigid and passionless 
 countenance, and then dropped them upon the 
 compressed and bony fingers before her, the 
 blood rushed back upon her heart, and she con- 
 tinued to endure in silence. 
 
 Not even the pei-severing afi^ection of the 
 amiable inmates of the Manor-house could 
 oounteract the evil effect of this constant de- 
 mand upon her fortitude. She gradually 
 withered, until even Mr. Pilbeam himself be- 
 gan to apprehend that ^he disease which he 
 had at first treated so lightly, was in fact too 
 deep-seated to be overcome ; and thus impres- 
 sed, he ventured to suggest to Miss Warrington 
 tlie necessity of an immediate change of scene. 
 Better, as he shrewdly and philosophically de- 
 cided in his own mind, if she must die, — and die 
 he had by this time become convinced she 
 would — that it should be anywhere rather than 
 under his hands. 
 
 It was easy to suggest such an arrangement; 
 and in former years^it would have been equally 
 easy for the orphan to have acquiesced in it at 
 once; but now she instantly negatived the 
 
 G reposition ; for she had begun to comprehend 
 le nature of that poverty which so pertina- 
 «iou8ly intrudes its gaunt hand, close-clenched, 
 
 I before the moral vision of the needy, and com- 
 ■ pels them to feel their helplessness. 
 
 Happily, however, Providence had watched 
 over the gentle and uncomplaining victim of 
 misfortune, — that blessed Providence which is 
 by the thoughtless miscalled chance, or fate, or 
 accident, but which still beautifully and har- 
 moniously pursues its holy waj', thwarting the 
 provisions of the evil minded, and smoothing 
 the rugged path of the stricken and the feeble. 
 
 It was but on t|ie morrow after the medical 
 fiat had gone forth, that Mary and Eleanor 
 Armstrong once more arrived at the modest 
 dwelling of Miss Warrington, laden, as was 
 their custom, with fruit and flowers ; but also, 
 on this occasion, radiant with delight. Mc 
 Pilbeam had just left the Manor-house, where, 
 ip answer to the earnest inquiries of the Squire 
 for his fair favorite, ho had reiterated hia 
 opinion of the necessity of an immediate 
 change of air and scene, and they had come as 
 amVjassadresses from their mother to claim the 
 society of Gertrude for a few weeks. 
 
 The cheeks and brow of the sick girl flushed 
 with happiness for a moment, but in the next 
 instant the glow faded, and her heart sank. 
 She felt that she would rather be left free to 
 indulge her sorrow, than compelled to make a 
 renewed eff"ort for existence. She was perish- 
 ing then, she knew, slowly but surely ; and 
 could she only have escaped the unintentional 
 persecutions of her aunt, she would have re- 
 joiced to linger out her remaining days iu 
 peace and solitude, and gradually to emancipate 
 herself from every earthly affection. 
 
 It is certain that there is a strange fascination 
 in the idea of death to the young who ai-e 
 subdued by a lingering sorrow. The stronger 
 and sterner interests which link man to the 
 world in riper age are still unknown to them. 
 That second life, if so it may be termed, which, 
 like Minerva, springs in all its power from the 
 brain, and teaches its due, or at least enforced, 
 subordination to the heart, has not yet com- 
 menced. The chain of roses alone has withered, 
 and it is sweet and soothing to hope to perish 
 with them ; while, by a strange contradiction, 
 it is only when the links of iron have been 
 forged, and their weight is felt, that the shackled 
 captive revolts against release, and clings to his 
 rusted fetters. 
 
 Under this impression of hopelessness, Ger- 
 trude urged the utter impossibility of contend- 
 ing in her present state of weakness, against 
 the stir and bustle of an establishment like that 
 of the Manor-house at a period so exciting as 
 the close of a successful-contested election ; 
 but her objection was instantly met by the 
 assurance that all the local duties of hospitality 
 contingent upon that success had been already 
 fulfilled, and that early on the morrow both 
 Mr. Armstrong and his son would depart for 
 town. 
 
 " Thus, you see, my dear frightened Ger- 
 trude," said Eleanor persuasively; "that you 
 will be as quiet with us as in your own tran- 
 quil home, for our party will consist only of my 
 mother and ourselves, and Mr. Somerville, who, 
 for some reason which Mary can perhaps ex- 
 plain, appeal's at the present moment to have a 
 
108 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 decided disinclination to visit Ix)ndon. As for 
 Ernest, he too from some unaccountable cause, 
 seemed this morning to share the sentiment of 
 his friend : but he could not, of course, be ex- 
 cused, so go he must, and will ; but he bade me 
 not forget to say that it was he who gathered 
 the grapes, and selected the flowers which we 
 have brought, in order that you might be as- 
 sured how truly he sympathizes with the rest 
 of his family in their anxiety for your recoverj'. 
 Bo now we have only to obtain the consent of 
 Qur kind Miss Warrington to this little arrange- 
 ment, and to carry you off to-morrow so soon as 
 we have taken leave of papa." . 
 
 It was impossible to resist the earnest kind- 
 ness of such an invitation ; and accordingly, on 
 the following evening Gertrude found herself 
 established under the hospitable roof of the 
 Armstrongs, and surrounded by the most affec- 
 tionate attentions. The effect of so genial a 
 change alike upon her health and spirits was 
 gi-eat and rapid ; and if her heart was occasion- 
 ally wrung by the spectacle of Mary's radiant 
 happiness, as she contrasted it with her own 
 forlorn condition, she found support and com- 
 fort in the knowledge, that her struggles were 
 nnguessed at by those about her ; and exerted 
 herself to secure her secret so successfully that 
 tliere were even moments in which she ceased 
 to feel its weight. 
 
 Thus three weeks passed over, and Mr. Pil- 
 beam himself began to feel that his visits were 
 becoming supererogatory, as he saw an occa- 
 sional bloom once more suffuse the pale cheek 
 of his beautiful patient, and a light dance iu her 
 eye ; but like Mrs. Armstrong, he stringently 
 objected to her return liome until lier health 
 should be more unequivocally restored ; and 
 Gertrude, although she still endeavored to dis- 1 
 cover a thousand reasons for terminating her i 
 visit, was in reality happy to find that they 
 were all overruled in turn. To Eleanor she had 
 become almost essential ; for the whole time and 
 attention of Mary were engrossed by Soraer- 
 ville, who had proved so efficient an auxiliary 
 during the election, that he had won the heart 
 of tlie Squire as well as that of his daughter; 
 and thus the two younger girls were seldom se- 
 parated, and all the various attainments of the 
 orphan were in time discovered and estimated 
 bj' her amialde but less gifted friend. Arm in 
 ai-m tlicy wandered through the richly-wooded 
 grounds of the Manor-liouse, or loitered iipon 
 tJio border of tiie graceful little stream whicli 
 laved tlieir boundaries; and Eleanor learned to 
 love and appreciate a host of natural beauties 
 upon which she had previouslj' looked almost 
 with indifference. 
 
 There is always a world of poetry lying dor- 
 mant in the breast of a young pure girl, which 
 it requires some extraneous circumstances to de- 
 velop ; and so was it with the friend of Ger- 
 ti'ude, who soon began to marvel that she could 
 BO long liave roinaiiied careless, if not insensible 
 to the loveliness of all about her. 
 
 " Why is it, G(Mtrude," she asked, " that I 
 never felt tluis before ? — That I never, until I 
 knew you, could appreciate these mai'vellous 
 mysteries of nature ? I loved tlie country, but 
 only for my own sake ; only because I breathed 
 
 a purer air, and enjoyed more liberty than ia 
 town ; that I delighted to pluck the flowers, 
 and to bask in the sunshine, and to indulge in 
 the merelj' material pleasures, which are in>- 
 possible to a London life. It now seems inea- 
 plicable to me that I should have been so blind." 
 
 " And yet it is not so," replied the orphan 
 with a sad smile ; " it is only those who lia\'e 
 suffered, or who have looked upon sufferings 
 who can make companionship with nature ; 
 who can hear voices io the woods, and reap 
 hope in the glorious spectacle of a sun-lighted 
 sky. Look you, Eleanor," she added with emo- 
 tion, as they entered a small garden-pavilion 
 overhung with trailing plants, and seated then>- 
 selves upon its rustic bench : " Look only here. 
 Do you mark how these lovely but frail Banl^> 
 sian roses wreathe themselves fondly about ths 
 lattice-work which they almost conceal; so is the 
 world garlanded with hopes as byght and as 
 unenduring ; and yet we would not rend away* 
 those scented blossoms, because we know that 
 in a few hours they must fade ; neither would 
 we forego those hopes, although we know that 
 they may end in disappointment. Nay more, 
 we do not uproot the tree, when its bloom is 
 scattered, for we await the season which shall 
 renew its blossoming — while, with the human 
 heart, Eleanor, with the human heart, there is no 
 second harvest, although it still beats on, as if 
 in disdain of the blighted past." 
 
 " Gertrude, you are wrong to dwell upon 
 such thoughts. You see that I can weep with 
 you, but you are still to blame. You have, ii> 
 deed, lost the friends of your childhood, but you 
 will, you must, make many, many more." 
 
 " Forgive me," said the orphan with a slight 
 shudder: " at least it is not to you, to whom I 
 owe so much of happiness, that I should talk 
 thus. But you know not, Eleanor, — and may 
 you never know! — how hard it is to lose all — 
 all ; and to begin your life anew, without ona 
 tie of kindred or of kindness." 
 
 " Our conversation has taken a sad turn," in- 
 tei'posed Eleanor, hastily wiping her eyes : " and 
 you are not so wise a monitress as usual. Lea- 
 son me no more lessons to-day, fair Mistress Ger- 
 trude, but rather let me twine this lovely branch 
 of roses in your pale hair. There, is it not glo- 
 rious? Five kister-bloonis in one rich cluster J 
 And now, to read you anotlier and more cheer- 
 ful homily than j-our own, I will tell you th:it 
 they look like the blossoms of a newer and a 
 fresher hope, flowering about the cold memories 
 of other joys." 
 
 And as she concluded her graceful task, sha 
 once more drew the arm of her friend within 
 her own, and thej^ quitted the pavilion. 
 
 An unusual stir, as they approached the house, 
 prepared them for some arrival ; and they had 
 scarcely entered the hall, when Eleanor was in 
 her brother's arms ; but he held her there only 
 for an instant ere he turned to greet her com- 
 panion. Beautiful as she looked, however, as 
 she stood before him with extended hand and 
 smiling lip, her simple white dress displaying to 
 advantage all the sj-mmetry of her frail but 
 graceful figure, her bonnet in her hand, .uiid her 
 luxuriant hair still garlanded with the flowers 
 which Eleanor had twined about it, the young 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 1«9 
 
 man could not suppro 
 
 tart as his eye fell 
 
 npon 
 
 her. The expression of her face was so 
 
 eyes, was known to be an orphan, and a por- 
 tionless one ; while Ernest Armstrong was one 
 of the best matches in the country ; and conse- 
 quently not one of his friends could for a mo- 
 ment believe him to be mad enough to <lreani 
 of marrying her. The idols of the world must 
 have hands of gold, even if tliey have brows of 
 brass, and feet of clay ; and the divinity of 
 
 languid, th ! outline of her always delicate fe 
 tures so much sharpened, and her whole ap- 
 pearance so strongly indicative of suffering, that 
 j he felt a pang at Jus heart, and a vague terror, 
 which he dared not to trftst himself to define. 
 
 For the first time, a suspicion that Gertrude 
 was the prey of some secret sorrow, against j every other shrine is looked upon as an object 
 which she had struggled until her strength had ! of false worship. No, no; young Armstrong 
 failed beneath the conflict, pressed upon liis I might waste his time in dangling about a pretty 
 s^iirits ; and as the idea grew in strength, despite I girl who was going to her grave, and thus show 
 all his efforts to suppress it, he began to com- 1 the Lady Janes, and the Honorable Miss Lucys, 
 I rarehend the extent of his feeling towards her. | that he was not a marrying man — which, by 
 . What would he not have given at that moment , the way, was rather clever on his part — but be- 
 i to have possessed the power of reading her yond this, of course there was nothing to be 
 ! heart, and of soothing her sorrows, be they i said ; and so the " capital match" was left in 
 •what they might ; but this he knew to be im-] peace to follow the dictates of his own heart 
 I possible ; and thus he spoke to her only of her , and his own reason, 
 sickness, of her recovery, and of his gladness on | Mrs. Armstrong, meanwhile, was so perpetual- 
 finding her a guest in his father's house ; while | ly occupied in doing the honors of her house, 
 Gertrude, unsuspicious of the emotion which j and in taking her share in every conversation 
 rendered the expression of even these common- 'that was going on about her, however unintel- 
 place greetings difficult to him, simply thanked ligible it might actually be to her limited ca- 
 tdm with her sad sweet smile ; and hastened to pacity, that she had not a moment to waste in 
 her apartment, in order not to restrain, by her conjectural speculations; while Mary, happy in 
 
 Sesence, the mutual commuuications of the herself and in all around her, became egotistical 
 uily. in the very joy of her heart, and limited all her 
 
 j interest to her own narrow circle. Perhaps 
 
 there were moments in which Eleanor felt 
 
 ! startled ; but she, too, believed it to be impossi- 
 
 CIIAPTER XXXII. jble that her fastidious and ambitious brother 
 
 i could scarcely love the niece of old stingy Miss 
 
 After the return of Ernest Armstrong, the Warrington ; and she had, moreover, become so 
 
 house gradually became filled Avith company, sincerely attached to Gertrude, that she would 
 
 and it required all the resolution which Ger- jnot be convinced. 
 
 ti-ude could command to enable her to endure | And Gertrude herself, even while she was 
 this constant demand upon her energies, without ' grateful, deeply grateful, for the unwearied and 
 falling back into her original depression; and gentle kindness of which she was the object, 
 yt, strange to say, she no longer felt an inclina- never for an instant conjectured that it had an- 
 tion to return to her desolate home. Too sadly other source than the generous pity of one wlio 
 jware that Miss Warrington was more than re- 1 was alike blessing and blessed, to a suffering 
 pDnciled to her absence by the reflection that it fellow-creature. !She only felt that she was no 
 'Lereased the expenses of her narrow house- [longer alone in the world ; that there were now 
 hold ; and once more habituated to the voice of I two beings to whom her sufferings were not in- 
 syinpathy and kindness, she shuddered as she different, and who would mourn over her were 
 remembered that the day must soon come in [they to terminate as she had once hoped. She 
 which she should once more be deprived of all ieven looked upon the smiling face of Mary, and 
 tliis luxury of affection, and when her restored j the beaming countenance of her destined hus- 
 liealth would no longer afford her a pretext for band, without remembering her own blighted 
 extending her already lengthy visit. hopes; and although a dark cloud at times set- 
 
 The bustle and movement consequent upon tied upon her spirit, it seldom lingered. A re- 
 tJie influx of visitors wearied and saddened her ; 'signed and placid melancholy had succeeded to 
 but she found an equivalent in the perpetual | the irritation of feeling to which she had pr©- 
 and brotherly kindness of Ernest, who, pleading viously yielded ; and she had almost taught her- 
 the necessity of Eleanor's more general atten- self to believe that " it was well for her that 
 tion to their other guests, was constantly occu- [she had been afflicted." She knew not that a 
 
 great moral change was taking place within her, 
 by which the image of Mortimer was fading 
 more rapidly from her heart than time could 
 have effaced it. 
 
 It chanced that on a sweet autumnal morning 
 Gertrude found herself alone in the music-room, 
 where she had been engnged in tuning Eleanor's 
 harp; and having completed her task, she stood 
 for a time at one of her low windows opening 
 to the lawn, until at length, feeling invigorated 
 by the soft balmy wind which was wakening 
 the leaves to that low, luxurious, and mystia 
 whisper, which seems to speak to us iu the laik 
 
 pied in securing the comfort and amusement of 
 the orphan. Nor was he diverted from his 
 work of sympathy even by the smiles of the 
 liigh-born beauties which now graced his 
 mother's drawing-room, or the example of his 
 own sporting companions ; who, on their return 
 from shooting, fishing, or boating, divided their 
 remaining time between billiards and flirtation. 
 And all these attentions were so carefully as 
 veil as so zealously proffered, that they excited 
 no remark even among the idlest and the most 
 Barcastic of her associates. The beautiful in- 
 Talid, with her pale brow and her dovelike 
 
110 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 guage of another and a more liarmonious world, been imprudent. I have ascended the mound, 
 she stepped out upon the velvet sward, and forgetting that my strength is not equal to the 
 bared her brow to its influence. j exertion ; and I came here to rest awhile. Pray, 
 
 The sound of distant voices and ringing laugh- . forgive me." 
 ter reached her from the open windows of the " Surely, you jest," was the impetuous reply, 
 house, and jarred with the soft serenity of the |"0h, Gertrude, if yoii could only guess how I 
 scene on which she looked; and in order to se- have sighed for this moment — this moment of 
 
 cure a more perfect sense of solitude, she strolled 
 onward under the flickering shadows of the 
 shrubbery, and followed with a languid step, 
 the windings of a flower-bordered path, which 
 led to an eminence commanding a view of the 
 village of Bletchley, and the surrounding country. 
 Light, fleecj- clouds were flitting across a sky 
 of intense blue, tempered, however, by that 
 Blight purple mist peculiar to autumnal atmos- 
 pliere ; the little stream at the bottom of the 
 valley was sparkling and shimmering along its 
 narrow channels ; the fields were alive with 
 
 happiness — when I may assure you of all my re- 
 spect — all mj' regard." 
 
 ',' I have long felt, long acknowledged it," 
 murmured the fair girl, as she looked up grat©- 
 fully and confidingly. 
 
 " "Would that the conviction had served me 
 better!" said Ernest, still retaining her hand; 
 " would that it had induced you to confide more 
 fully in a friendship in which you admit that 
 you have faith. Gertrude, you are not ha 
 
 py. 
 
 ?en 
 convinced of this. Your painful illness has 
 reapers; the low, gray church, half buried in i been an efl"eet, not a cause. Seek not to de- 
 ivv, had just caught the full radiance of the mid- 1 ceive me. To common observers, you may, 
 daV sun, and looked as though it were wreathed [indeed, be only an invalid crushed' by mere 
 with emeralds; the leaves of the sallows, which i physical ailment ; but to me, you are the prey 
 at intervals skirted the water, danced merrily of a deeper suff'ering." 
 
 on theii' flexile stems to the music of the current j The orphan answered onlj' with her tears, 
 over which they hung ; children called to each " Gertrude," persisted the young man, as he 
 other as they sported among the husbandmen ; ! seated himself beside her ; " you have given me 
 tlie lowing of the cattle rose from the luxuriant a right to consider myself your friend ; give me 
 meadows; the birds were loud among the likewise cause to feel that 1, indeed, am so. Re- 
 branches, and the butter-flies fluttered from member that you have become the adopted child 
 flower to flower; in short, it was one of those ■ of our house; tiiat we have all learned to love 
 daj-s so beautiful and so rare in our capricious , you. Have I, then, no claim to ask for some 
 climate, when Xature seemed to have donned answering trust ? Perhaps I may be indiscreet; 
 her richest garb, and the wliole earth to revel but did you know how cold everj' tear that you 
 in a sense of its own beauty. jshed falls upon my own heart, you would for- 
 
 For a while Gertrude stood entranced, tears ^ give me." 
 filled her eyes, but they were tears of gratitude A sudden faintness came over the orphan, 
 and praise. Soon, however, she became con- She began to understand him — to understand 
 scions that she had overtaxed her strength, and herself, and she trembled at the revelation. She 
 slowly descending the height, she diverged to- strove to withdraw her hand; she strove to rise 
 wards the garden pavilion, in order to rest for | and escape, but her agitation was too powerful, 
 a time before she returned to the house. The I "Gertrude!" exclaimed her companion re- 
 creeping roses, honeysuckles, and clematis, by | proachfully ; "you do not do me justice." 
 which it was overgrown, had been suffered to | " Oh, reeal that accusation for pity's sake," 
 run wild, and nearly obscured the entrance ; faltered the stricken girl; "I know and feel that 
 biit putting them aside, Gertrude stepped light- 'you are, indeed, nn* friend." 
 ly across the threshold, and started with mingled | " And is that all, Gertrude ? Is that all which 
 suri)rise and annoyance, to find herself intrud-'you have felt and known? Have I, indeed, 
 iiiir upon the privacy of Ernest Armstrong. A made mj'self so little understood? Or is it thai 
 bright flush rose to the cheek of the young man j you are indifferent to an affection which has 
 as he bounded from the bench upon which he now become to me a principle of existence?" 
 
 upon 
 
 had been seated, and suffered his book to fall 
 from his hand in his eagerness to welcome her. 
 
 " Gertrude — Miss ilortimer— " he exclaimed, 
 as he sprang forward to lead her to the seat 
 which he had ^ust abandoned ; for, in her em- 
 barrassment, she had continued standing upon 
 tJie same spot, without making an effort to ad- 
 vance : "Miss Mortimer here, — and alone! Bj' 
 what happy cliancc — " 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Armstrong," faltered Ger- 
 trude, as she sank exhausted alike by fatigue 
 and distress upon the bench ; " I did not mean 
 to invade your privacy. I thouglit you were 
 with your friends." 
 
 " I dare not flatter mj-self that you sought my 
 society," he said, looking anxiously upon her ; 
 " but, surely, Gertrude, you are ill, or unhappy! 
 What has happened?" 
 
 "Nothing, believe me, nothing; but I have 
 
 principh 
 
 The orphan buried her face in her hands, and 
 the hot tears streamed through her fingers. 
 
 " It must be as you will, Gertrude/' said 
 Ernest, as he started from her side, and paced 
 hurriedly across the narrow floor ; " but you 
 know not how devoted a heart you would re- 
 ject — you know not the depth of the affection 
 which you would throw from j'ou — you cannot 
 guess the treasure of love which I have hoarded 
 up only to cast it at your feet ; you may be 
 loved again, but never, never again as now." 
 
 Gertrude looked up in alarm ; her heart beat 
 violently, and the tears were arrested in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " No, no," she exclaimed passionately ; " You 
 mistake yourself, Mr. Armstrong, and imagine 
 that the generous sympathy which you have 
 felt for me has grown into affection. But this 
 cannot, must not be. As yet we are almost 
 
 i 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 in 
 
 strangers ; you are the onlj^ son of wealthy and 
 powerful parents, while I am poor and friend- 
 less. You are full of life, and hope, and happi- 
 ness, while I am already faded and erushed by 
 trial and misfortune, tlow would your proud 
 father brook such a marriage ? Forget that, you 
 have ever conceived so wild a thought. Be just 
 to yourself, and leave me, at least, the consola- 
 tion of feeling that I have not lost a friend." 
 
 " You reason, Gertrude," said the young man 
 reproachfully, " you reason coldly, where you 
 should onl}' feel. You disdain the heart which 
 you have made your own." 
 
 " Do not mistake me." sobbed the orphan ; "I 
 ffm already sufRcientlj' unhappy. But remem- 
 ber only my position and your own. Remem- 
 ber the friendship and affection which have been 
 lavished upon me by your family, and then ask 
 yourself if I could m^eed listen to you without 
 ingratitude ? Deeply, very deeplj-, do I feel my 
 obligation for such a proof of your regard ; but 
 I beseech you, if you would not expose me to 
 the most bitter self-repi'oaeh, to bestow the 
 warmer feelings of your heart upon another." 
 
 " Enough, Miss Mortimer," said her companion 
 haughtiU^ ; " I will endeavor to obey you. I 
 have, in truth been worse than blind not to 
 comprehend that your affection has been already 
 bestowed elsewhere. I have now only to apo- 
 logise for my presumption, and to wish you a 
 happier fate than that which I would have se- 
 cured to you." 
 
 As he ceased speaking, he seized his hat, and 
 rushed from the pavilion. 
 
 As he disappeared Gertrude made a movement 
 as though she would have detained him, for at 
 that moment she felt as though she was once 
 more about to become an alien from her kind. 
 She was at last conscious that even while she 
 believed herself to be living upon the memory 
 of the past, she was in fact learning to love 
 Ernest Armstrong, a lesson in which she had 
 progressed but too well, and now she saw her- 
 self again thrust back iipon the desolation of 
 her own heart. The impulse was, however, 
 only momentary, her better principle retained 
 her in her seat : she might be wretched, bnt she 
 would still continue blameless ; she would not 
 repay the trusting friendship of a whole family 
 by bligthing their proudest hopes; and thus, 
 her extended hands were withdrawn, her labor- 
 ing sobs were suffered to have way, and finally, 
 her head sank upon the rustic table before her, 
 and she wept as those only can weep who see 
 all the hopes of their existence shivered about 
 them. 
 
 Forgetting alike where she was and the time 
 whicli had elapsed since she left the house, she 
 remained for more than an hour sunk in a torpor 
 of giief which scarcely allowed her to retain the 
 faculty of thought. She only knew that she 
 was wretched, very wretched ; she only felt 
 that her last luxury lay in the hot tears which 
 were coursing each other down her pallid cheeks, 
 when she was suddenly startled by the sound 
 <rf a deep sigh immediately behind her. 
 
 She turned in alarm, and saw Ernest Arm- 
 strong standing a few paces from the bench upon 
 •which she was seated. 
 
 " Gertrude," he said with deep emotion; " t«ll 
 
 me the truth. I left you angry and miserable 
 but my anger could not la^t, nor can I longei 
 endure my misery. As you hope for happinesf 
 in this life, be frank with me. Have I a shaw 
 in those tears ?" 
 
 '•Mr. Armstrong," faltered the orphan, as sh( 
 extended to him her trembling hand ; " shoulc 
 I be worthy of all the friendship which yoi: 
 have shown to me for so many months if I could 
 have witnessed unmoved the displeasure witli 
 which you lately quitted me ? Oh, surely surely, 
 you at least should know me better ?" 
 
 " And what more, Gertrude ?" asked Ernest, 
 again seating himself beside her: " Have I re- 
 turned only to receive so formal an assurance 
 as this ? Do you believe me to be so weak, so 
 frivolous, so unworthy, as to have sought your 
 love without long and eardest reflection? Only 
 tell me that it is not given to another, and even 
 although it should not yet be mine I will await 
 your will ; I will trust to time, and to my own 
 devoted affection, for ultimate success. 1 will 
 struggle to deserve your preference, and to se- 
 cure your happiness. I will be everything that 
 you shall seek to make me." 
 
 " I dare not listen to such words from your 
 lips, Mr. Armstrong," murmured Gertrude, aa 
 she endeavored to rise from her seat. 
 
 " You shall not leave the pavillion, Gertrude, 
 until my question is answered," said her com- 
 panion resolutely ; " This day, this very hour, I 
 must know my "fate — and then, Gertrude, then, 
 you will have made the happiest man on earth, 
 or — we meet no more." 
 
 " Meet no more !" gasped the orphan, uncon- 
 sciously echoing his words in an accent of such 
 heart-struck anguish as rendered all further ex- 
 planation superfluous. 
 
 " You are mine — deny it not, Gertrude, you 
 are mine," murmured the delighted young man, 
 as he suddenly clasped her to his bosom ; " Nay 
 chide me not^I will — I will release you — but 
 no disclaimers — reason as you will noV, and I 
 will listen ; I have not loved you in vain, and 
 all else I can support. Why do you turn away 
 in displeasure, Gertrude? Are you offended by 
 my joy? Nay, do not leave j'our seat; I will 
 abandon mine, if you condemn me to so great a 
 saerifiee, but do not drive me from you. See, I 
 have even released your hand. What would 
 you more ?" 
 
 " Listen to me," said the weeping girl, strug- 
 gling against the emotion which had dyed her 
 cheeks and brow with a crimson blush ; '" Weak 
 and unworthy as I feel such an avowal to be, I 
 
 will no longer deny that — that In short, Mr. 
 
 Armsti'ong — " 
 
 " Call me Ernest." 
 
 " In short," pursued the orphan, heedless of 
 the interruption ; " unconsciouslj', oh, believe 
 me, most imconsciously, I have treacherously re- 
 paid the kindness of your family, by suffering 
 myself to feel — to feel as I should not have done 
 towards one for whom they have higher and 
 prouder hopes." 
 
 " They all love you, Gertrude." 
 
 " But will they continue to do so when they 
 learn how ill I have requited their friendship?" 
 
 " Will they not be indebted to you for my 
 happinosB, which is their first care?" 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIEa 
 
 Gertrude shook her head despondingly. She 
 had already learned a bitter lesson in the world's 
 lore, and she remembered that she was poor and 
 powerless. 
 
 "Sceptic!" smiled her more sanguine com- 
 panion, " have you not faith in my influence over 
 the family which you appear so much to dread t 
 I am aware that my good father will look grave, 
 and talk of expediency, and prudence, and all 
 tliose matters of which elderly gentlemen are 
 accustomed to make bugbears to the young; but 
 I shall appeal from his liead to his heart, and I 
 have never yet made such an appeal in vain. 
 He already loves you as a child ; so, away with 
 these puerile fears. Is it your fault if you are 
 dearer to me than all else on earth? Are you 
 to blame if 3'ou are lovelier and more estimable 
 than others of your sex? Trust me, the day is 
 not far distant when all under our roof will 
 bless you for having rendered it both holier and 
 happier." 
 
 " I will endeavor to believe so," murmured 
 Gertrude with a faint smile; "but until I am 
 welcomed by Mr. Armstrong himself, this sub- 
 ject must never be renewed between us. To- 
 day, I must remain at the Hall, for I feel that I 
 haVe not strength to encounter the fatigue of a 
 removal, but to-morrow I shall return to the 
 humble home which I ought never to have 
 quitted ; and then — " she concluded with a burst 
 of tears, which she strove in vain to suppress; 
 " then it will depend upon your father if I ever 
 again become his guest." 
 
 Ernest was about to expostulate, but as he 
 looked into the eyes of his companion, he read 
 there a determination against Avhich he felt that 
 it were vain to contend ; and, accordingly, he 
 raised her hand respectfully to his lips in 
 silence. 
 
 " And now, leave me," said Gertrude implor- 
 ingly; " if, indeed, j'ou love me, leave me alone 
 to think. I have need of thought ; alas ! I fear, 
 too much, but, at least, spare me all further self- 
 reproach." 
 
 " Do you regret my happiness ?" 
 
 Once more she smiled through her tears, and 
 he felt that he was answered. 
 
 " And you will wear this rose for my sake, 
 Gertrude,' will you not ?" whispered the young 
 man tenderly, as he broke away a branch of the 
 flowering parasite which trailed across the en- 
 trance of the pavilion. 
 
 " I will, if you obey, and leave me now." 
 
 " I am gone," was the murmured reply, and 
 still he ling.'r<>d. 
 
 Five minutes more wore away, and th'en the 
 blooming branches were hurriedly thrust aside, 
 and he sprang liglitly into the sunshine, looked 
 back for a second into the depths of the rustic 
 apartment, and disappeared among the tall 
 •lirubs near its entrance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Ernest had no sooner departed than Gertrude 
 »ank upon her knees. Divided between happi- 
 ness and self-reproach, she had no longer power 
 to trust to her own strength. What had she 
 
 done? — and what was she about to do? She 
 felt bewildered and alarmed. How little had 
 she understood the nature of her own feelings; 
 how little had she been prepared for the ordeal 
 through which she had just passed 1 That she 
 should have permitted herself to love Ernesk 
 Armstrong, appeared to her at one moment as 
 monstrous ; slie who knew the ambitious views 
 of his family, and the lofty aspirings of his own 
 nature. And she had been doing tliis while she 
 believed herself to be still weeping over the 
 smouldering embers of a scorned and now sinful 
 attachment. The new phoenix had risen from 
 the ashes which she had deemed extmguished 
 forever. 
 
 She passed her hand over her throbbing eye- 
 balls, as though she sought to awaken from a 
 wild dream, but all was still vivid in its truth. 
 The branch of roses lay on the table beside her; 
 the book, upon which Ernest had been engaged 
 when she entered, remained where it had fallen 
 from his hand ; strive as she would, there was 
 no room for doubt. 
 
 Ere long her thoughts wandered to Mr. Arm- 
 strong, and she trembled as she reflected upon 
 his probable indignation: while, solitary as she 
 was, and although no eye was upon her, a blush 
 of mingled pride and shame rose to her brow as 
 she pictured to herself the reproaches which he 
 would fasten upon the pennil^s orphan, who 
 had accepted his hospitality only to blight the 
 prospects of his son ; and she bowed her head, 
 self-convicted, and would at that moment hava 
 gladly forgone all her newly-born hopes of hap- 
 piness to escape his just rebuke. 
 
 Gradually, however, her reflections became 
 less gloomy, and she raised her drooping head, 
 and pillowed it upon lier arm, as she wiped 
 away the intrusive tears which were still cours- 
 ing each other down her cheeks, and fastened 
 her thoughts upon Ernest, and the aftections 
 which he had vowed to her. 
 
 Was she, indeed, so very much to blame for 
 having failed to remain insensible to such a pas- 
 sion ? Had he not devoted himself to her in 
 misfortune and in suiTering ? Had he not ejf- 
 tended to her the hand of friendship, when that 
 of the world was closed against her? Was ha 
 not all that the heart of woman could covet in 
 him she loved ? And all these questions weca 
 answered with a throbbing pulse, until she be- 
 came almost acquitted in her own eyes. 
 
 But Gertrude had still another doubt, another 
 
 Eang to combat. The more perfect she taught 
 erself to believe Ernest, the more a sense of 
 her own unworthiness fastened upon her. White 
 he had bestowed on her all the fervor of a first 
 attachment, she had requited it only by the gift 
 of a worn and heavy heart. In every phase of 
 the transfer it was unequal. On his side weisa 
 worldly independence, social station, and an en- 
 tire and devoted passion; on hei's poverty, ob- 
 scurity, and blighted hopes. 
 
 As this conviction grew upon her she wept 
 over herself, for she felt that she was indeed a 
 bankrupt in all that makes life brilliant, and a 
 thousand times did she upbraid herself for the 
 selfishness which had led her to listen to the 
 addresses of such a suitor. 
 
 Repentance, however, came too late, and ap- 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 118 
 
 mi 
 
 robensivo that, should slie longer delay her 
 'turn to the house, her absence might create 
 'luc alarm as to her safety in the mind of Elea- 
 or, Gertrude, rousing herself from lier ahstrac- 
 ,111, smoothed the tangled hair upon her brow, 
 allied her swollen eyes, and carefully lifting 
 le cherished rose branch, which had been the 
 rst gift of love from the table, folded her 
 I awl about her, and turned slowly in the di- 
 vtion of the hall. 
 
 What a change had taken place in her whole 
 ostiny during the last few hours ! — what a 
 ;iange in all her feelings 1 She scarcely knew 
 •hether to rejoice or to mourn on finding that 
 le had voluntarily flung from her all the old 
 Bsociations of j'ears, and was almost read}' to 
 sk herself if, indeed a new scheme of happi- 
 ess could grow out of the ashes of the past. 
 [oreover Gertrude, meek as she was, possessed, 
 evertheless, a proud spirit ; and when she re- 
 ected upon the time in which her hand would 
 ave been eagerly sought, while now it could 
 larcely be that her alliance would be more 
 lan coldly welcomed by the family of Mr. 
 .rmstrong, while it might be even scornfully 
 yected, tears of wounded feeling rose to her 
 yes, and she felt tempted to recant her conces- 
 on, limited as it had been. 
 
 But where is the young heart which does not 
 ivlo j^awaken to the touch of hope ? Where is the 
 vnve so deep that no flower will spring upon 
 surface ? Gertrude remembered her last 
 lie, her blighted visions, her crushed affec- 
 oiis : she recalled to her mind's eye the dreary 
 loof, and the ungenial society of her aunt ; and 
 ince more she smiled as the attachment of Br- 
 est Armstrong rose before her ; an attachment 
 
 hieh had scorned to yield before difficulty and 
 
 If-sacrifice; and again she i-esolved to leave 
 iji- fate in his hands. 
 
 All these internal combats nevertheless weak- 
 ';■ d both her mental and physical strength, 
 
 1 she became convinced that, even had not a 
 
 -> of propriety dictated the measure, an im- 
 
 liate removal from the exhausting gaieties of 
 
 Hall was necessary to the preservation of 
 
 . convalescence, while her absence would 
 
 ;ul to test the consistency of her suitor; and 
 t was accordingly with a firm resolution to 
 larry out her project of departure, that she at 
 length reached the house, pale and languid, 
 jmly to be tenderly chidden for her imprudence 
 ,n wandering out alone in her then state of 
 :veakness. 
 
 The announcement of her intended return 
 iiome on the morrow, elicited still more remon- 
 irance, Eleanor could not spare her ; Mr. Arm- 
 trong, on his arrival, would be annoyed to find 
 hat she had left them before her health was 
 ioroughly re-established ; Mary revealed the 
 lecret of a projected fishing-party, where she 
 rfFectionately assured her that she would be in- 
 iliapensable, a declaration in which she was 
 j.Tarmly seconded by Somerville ; and the old 
 iady insist^! upon several points, so strangely 
 Hvolved, niat it was difficult to comprehend 
 iheir bearing upon the case. One individual 
 iinly remained totally silent throughout the 
 Iwhole discussion, and that one was Ernest : he 
 f lieard eveu the guests of his mother join in the 
 i! 8 
 
 general entreaty, and saw tears of gratification 
 stand in the soft eyes of the fair girl as she re- 
 plied to each appeal ; and still he sat by, appa- 
 rently engaged with a newspaper, and without 
 uttering a sentence. 
 
 At length Eleanor, distressed, and almost an- 
 noyed, to find all her endeavors fail in chang- 
 ing the resolution of her friend, suddenly turned 
 towards her brother for assistance, exclaiming 
 eagerly— 
 
 "Am I not right, Ernest? Do you not con- 
 sider Gertrude very imprudent to leave us yet?" 
 
 " If you really desire my opinion," was the 
 reply, and to every eye, save one, it was calm- 
 ly and almost indifferently uttered ; " I con- 
 sider that if Miss Mortimer conceives it to be 
 necessary and right to return to Bletchley, she 
 should be left free to follow the dictates of her 
 own judgment ; butshould she happily see causa 
 in an hour or two to alter her opinion, slie 
 knows how much she has it in her power to 
 oblige us all." 
 
 " And yet you persist, Gertrude," said Elea- 
 nor repi-oachfuUy. 
 
 And Gertrude did persist ; and the following 
 day saw her once more an inmate of the hum- 
 ble dwelling of Miss Wai-rington ; enduring, as 
 best she might, iSie condolences of her com- 
 panion upon her pale cheeks and nerveless 
 step ; her inferences as to their cause, and her 
 regret that she did not possess more self-com- 
 mand. 
 
 Gertrude blushed as she listened ; for, natu- 
 rally ingenuous, she felt that she was guilty of 
 tacit deceit in thus indulging her aunt in her er- 
 roneous lamentations. Yet what had she to 
 tell? That Ernest Armstrong loved her? Of 
 what avail were such a confidence, when out of 
 that passion there might grow nothing save 
 mortification and disaj)poiiitmenfc' to herself? 
 Better, far better, that the worthy old gentlewo- 
 man should cling to her first illusion, than that 
 she should be enabled to break up new ground, 
 and imagine fresh subjects of grievance. Even 
 in the solitude of her chamber, moreover, the 
 orphan no longer found peace. In weeping 
 over her sorrows she had experienced that 
 strange sad luxury which, by some occult dis- 
 pensation, those who mourn deeply ever feel 
 when alone with their affliction ; but now that 
 most bitter of all sufferings, suspense, was her 
 daily and hourly companion; a suspense ren- 
 dered doubly diiiicult to bear, as it involved at 
 once her happiness and her self-esteem. 
 
 During the last eventful evening at the Ilall, 
 she had found an opportunity to forl)iil llio visits 
 of Ernest ; and with a right-min<led delicacy, 
 had also interdicted all correspondence until 
 the decision of his father should have beea 
 made. In vain did the young man expostulate 
 upon what he termed the overstrained and un 
 necessary cruelty of tliis arrangement : Gev 
 trude was firm, 
 
 " Should Mr. Armstrong consent," she said 
 meekly ; " the privation will ultimately have 
 been unimportant; should it prove otlierwiso, 
 we have already met too often, and I owe it 
 both to you and myself to terminate our int«F 
 course at once." 
 
 Strong in her sense of right, to this resolution 
 
114 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 she adhered ; and, finding that it was n vain to 
 oppose hoi- will, Ernest eonld only deelare a de- 
 termination in his turn to proceed at once to 
 town in order to have an immediate interview 
 •with his father, and by these means shorten the 
 period of their separation. 
 
 Thus the orphan found herself once more al- 
 most alone ; for although she had become more 
 dear than ever to the friends whom she had left, 
 they were less able than before to devote a por- 
 tion of their time to her. The duties which the 
 presence of their numerous guests imposed upon 
 them, and which was rendered still more impe- 
 rative by the sudden and incomprehensible de- 
 sertion of Ernest, confined them strictly to their 
 immediate circle ; and, had it not been for the 
 kindly messages, and affectionate notes which 
 constantly reached her, Gertrude might have 
 found some trouble in reconciling herself to the 
 conviction that the old llall and its w^arm-hearted 
 inhabitants still remained in the neighborhood. 
 
 Moreover, long and weary days went by, and 
 there were no news of Ernest. He had failed, 
 then, and he left her to divine that failure in his 
 silence. Once more she was scorned — once more 
 her heart was widowed; and she, who had be- 
 lieved for many many months of heaviness that 
 she eoxild never love again, had suftered herself 
 once more to hope only to be once more de- 
 ceived. Such was at last her firm conviction ; 
 and although she wept over the loss of such a 
 heart as that which she had won, she did not 
 yield, as on a former occasion, to this new weight 
 of woe. Her woman-pride nerved her to sup- 
 port the trial with dignity, and there were mo- 
 ments in which she found herself mentally con- 
 soling Ernest under a disappointment which she 
 considered as inevitable. And then she glanced 
 at her own future existence, when all should be 
 indeed over between them ; but the anticipation 
 chilled her, and she closed her eyes as if to siiut 
 out the vision. Enough that it was hers to live 
 and suft'er; he, at least, might soon again be 
 joyous and happy as she had first known him. 
 A thousand cares, and avocations, and hopes, 
 ■would wean her from his memory ; and he 
 •would be restored to his family and to himself, 
 ■when she was — foi-gotten ! 
 
 Such a consolation fell cold upon her heart, as 
 the night-dew upon grave-flowers ; the blossoms 
 might revive beneath its influence, but the dark 
 tomb felt it not ; and so time wore on, until 
 three weary weeks had expired, and tl 
 hectic which had almost disappeared from thejti 
 cheek of the orphan began once more to tinge | a 
 the di.'lieate skin ; a low cough was occasionally 
 heard to escape from her pallid lips; and the 
 cold moisture which bathed her brow at inter- 
 vals rendered the long and flexile tresses by 
 •which it was shaded languid and dull. 
 
 To Miss Warrington these changes were im- 
 perceptible; but Mr. I'ilbeam was more clear- 
 sighted, and he ere long began to insist with ex- 
 treme pertinacity uj)on licr instant return to the 
 Hall. (Jertruile wai, however, inflexible; attri- 
 
 ing become sufficiently attached to her societS 
 to find her renewed solitude irksome, stronglp 
 opposed her removal. | 
 
 Baffled at the cottage, the little apothecary; 
 seriously alarmed for his patient, and not altogi 
 ther iiulifferent to the eclat of a visit to tb 
 Hall, when it was known throughout the neigl; 
 borliood that Miss Mortimer was no longer il' 
 inhabitant, hastened to tell his tale of fear, an 
 hint his wishes to ^Mrs. Armstrong; but ono 
 more he was destined to disappointment. Th 
 good old lady shed a shower of tears as sb 
 learned the relapse of her favorite ; Eleano 
 turned pale, and clung to a chair for support 
 while Mary loudly and earnestly expressed he 
 grief; but beyond these demonstrations of ir 
 terest and aff"ection, none of them progresseoJ j.!,"],. 
 In vain did he deelare the necessity for an in' 
 mediate change of air and habits ; in vain did h 
 remark how wonderfully beneficial her residenc' 
 at the Ilall had proved upon a previous occt{ 
 sion ; in vain did he imply the expediency C 
 her instant return ; he was listened to with coi 
 sideration and anxiety, but all his strateg 
 proved fruitless; and at length, feeling that h 
 had no right, and should, moreover, be very in 
 politic to endeavor to force upon the mistretl 
 of the house a guest who had, from some causi 
 or other, evidently ceased to be welcome beneat' 
 her roof, he reluctantly rose, ami took his leave 
 although not until he had promised to give Mn 
 Armstrong constant intelligence of his patient 
 
 Mr. Pilbeam ruminated as he descended th 
 hill on his return homeward, upon the probabl 
 cause of so marked and unfavorable a change 
 It WHS true that all the ladies of the family ha 
 deeply felt his communication, but they ha- 
 studiously confined their comments upon Mis 
 Mortimer to the subject of her illness ; and the 
 had evidently avoided with the greatest care aJ 
 reply to his inferred proposition. "What coul' 
 it mean ? Mrs. Pilbeam, called to the council i. ,„ 
 his surgery, while he prepared sundry myste ||[j| 
 rious medicaments of divers colors, dropped 
 poured from tall, capacious looking glass bottle 
 with ground stoppers and gilded etiquettes, inb f" 
 little slim phials of two or three inches in lengtb , ' 
 with long labels, neatly inscribed and foldec 
 suspended from their necks ; and, then, havini 
 corked them earefully, passed tham across th 
 counter to his anxiously listening helpmate, vrh 
 concluded the operation by crowning them 'witl 
 faint] head-pieces of bright scarlet paper, which sh 
 [•immed rapidly and neatly round the edge witl 
 
 huge pair of scissors — Mr.s. Pilbeam,' howevei 
 elucidated the mystery at once. 
 
 It was, she declared, precisely what niigh 
 have been expected. What could the Hal 
 people want with poor Miss Warrington's niece 
 but to make use of her? And what use coid 
 she be of now, when they had a housefull o 
 friends to amuse them? She couldn't help say 
 ing, however, that she was vei-y glad of it ; fo 
 when people set themselves up to be better thfli 
 other people, it did them good to have thei 
 
 bating her weakness to the extreme sultriness p>ridc pulled down ; tlsoug 
 of the season, and tlie difficulty which it induced ' ■ ' 
 in her breathing ; while, to her infinite relief, she 
 found herself supported by her aimt, •who, hav- 
 
 slie must eonfea 
 that she was very sorry the poor girl fretted B« 
 much, although, if there was no sickness amonf^ 
 the gentry, Mr. Pilboam would be reduced U 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTTES. 
 
 116 
 
 pi'actise upon his parish poor, which -was neither 
 pleasant nor profitable ; so, that everything was 
 for the best after all. 
 
 The busy apothecary listened, nodded, mixed 
 and labelled assiduously, until his daily duties 
 ■were completed ; occasionally venturing upon 
 an inference, or uttering a regret that his own 
 popularity might be, perchance, diminished at 
 the Great House by this untoward event ; and, 
 finally, satisfied that his quick-witted wife had 
 solved the enigma, protested with an anxious 
 sigh, that he trusted he should be able to sup- 
 port the system of his patient until the departure 
 of the Hall-guests made her return there desir- 
 able to the family. 
 
 " You know, my dear," he concluded ; " that 
 before the visit of Miss Mortimer, I had never 
 been called in by the Armstrongs, except to 
 attend the domestics; and I made a great ad- 
 vance when I exchanged the servant's hall for 
 the drawing room, eh? and that it is which 
 makes this business doubly vexatious, andre.illy 
 very detrimental to me. Who can tell what 
 good fortune might have occurred, if the poor 
 thing had been allowed to remain where she 
 was, eh ? An accident, or an attack of fever, 
 might have induced them, when I was on the 
 spot, to employ me, instead of sending off an 
 express to the town, as they have always done. 
 But I do believe that I was born to be unlucky." 
 
 Be this as it might, and certainly the worthy 
 apothecary's position was sufficiently obscure 
 to prove that he was at least no inordinate 
 favorite of the blind goddess, it is certain that 
 before noon the next day, all the magnates of 
 Bletchley were aware that the proud Miss Mor- 
 timer had been made to understand that there 
 was not room at the Hall for her, while the 
 grandees from London were there ; and great 
 was the gratulation of the maiden sisters, and 
 the minister's widow, when the secret was con- 
 fided to them. 
 
 As to the Misses Bayliss, they declared their 
 conviction, that poor Miss Warrington's still 
 poorer relation might make up her mind that 
 she had seen the last of the Hall ; as, indeed, it 
 would seem that she had done, by her fretting 
 herself ill again ; for, of course, the Armstrongs 
 could hardly be so barefaced as to have her up 
 there again directly their house was empty ; and 
 then in the spring they would be off to town ; 
 aod by the time they returned, they wouldhave 
 fo,-gotten all about her. 
 
 Nothing could be more feasible or more ra- 
 tional; nor did Getrude herself venture for a 
 moment to entertain a different opinion. They 
 would soon forget her. They would leave 
 Bletchley early in the spring ; for she had been 
 
 E resent when the arrangement was made, and 
 ad even been urged to join their party. They 
 would abstain from seeking her society before 
 their departure. And thus, from very different 
 premises, and with very different feelings, the 
 same conclusion was attained. 
 
 Gertrude was wretched, for she was hopeless ; 
 but even this hopelessness served to sustain her. 
 As she had nothing now to anticipate, so also 
 she had nothing to fear. Her fate was accom- 
 plished. And yet, she felt that one parting ex- 
 planation might have been vouchsafed to her ; 
 
 and her pride was wrung, that although the 
 letters of Eleanor, after having reached her at 
 long intervals, and then ceased altogether, had 
 seemed to announce a cessation of all friendship, 
 the daily present of game, or fruit, or flowers 
 had never failed. It was as though they had 
 .withdrawn their regard, and now conceded only 
 their compassion. 
 
 The sensitive delicacy of the orphan was 
 deeply wounded; and while her aunt constant- 
 ly expatiated upon the persevering attentions 
 of her new friends, the unhappy orphan turned . 
 sickening from the dainties for which she was 
 indebted to them, and suffered the most rare 
 and beautiful flowers to wither for want of at- 
 tendance, or banished them from her room upon 
 the plea that they affected her breathing. There 
 was, however, one faded rose-branch which she 
 cherished, although color and scent had long 
 since departed from it ; her heart was not yet 
 so full as to shut out that cherished memory. 
 
 Become too feeble to walk unattended, Ger- 
 trude was soon compelled to content herself 
 with the air which she could procure through 
 an open window ; and there she remained 
 seated for hours, with a book or a needle in her 
 hand listening abstractedly to the economical 
 dissertations of her rigid aunt, and lost in a 
 maze of painful thought. 
 
 She was so sitting upon one occasion, on a 
 sweet evening, when the glow of the setting 
 sun shed a golden glory over her pale features, 
 and glistened amid her long languid curls, 
 looking rather like a seraph than a mortal, and 
 thinking, as was her habit, of the quiet grave 
 which would so soon bury alike her and her 
 griefs, in all the luxury of solitude ; Miss War- 
 rington having left the room upon some house- 
 hold duty; when she suddenly became con- 
 scious of a thick and hurried breathing, which 
 betrayed that some stranger had paused beside 
 her. Easily alarmed, she was about to retire, 
 when a light form bounded through the gate of 
 the little fence and in the next instant, before 
 her tottering limbs had power to second her 
 will, Ernest Armstrong stood before her, his 
 eager hands grasping the window-.sill, and his 
 fine countenance glowing with joy and animation. 
 
 " Gertrude, my own Gertrude," he exclaimed 
 passionately ; " We have conquered 1 At last 
 you are mine. My father has sent me before 
 him to prepare you for his visit. He comes to 
 embrace his new daughter." 
 
 The orphan gazed fixedly at him for nn 
 instant, and then fell back upon her seat speecli- 
 less and powerless. She had struggled against 
 her despair, but she had not strength to support 
 this sudden revulsion of feeling. With the 
 quick glance of affection. Earnest at once dis- 
 covered the error of which he had been guilty 
 in the happiness of his own heart, and, in another 
 moment, he had sprung into the apartment, and 
 was at her feet. 
 
 " What have I done, Gertrude ?" he whisper- 
 ed tenderly ; " Speak to me, dearest, and assure 
 me that the past is forgiven ; that the silence 
 which you enforced upon me, has not led to a 
 doubt of my afi'eetion ; that I am welcome, even 
 although I may have been long in coming. One 
 word, Gertrude, only one, if you still love me." 
 
116 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Gertrude strove to utter the assurance that 
 he asked, but her pale lips trembled without re- 
 gaining the force of utterance ; and then it was 
 that, surprised at her prolonged silence, the 
 agitated young man looked more earnestly upon 
 her, and recognised the ravages which the last 
 few weeks had made in her whole person. 
 
 •The shudder which passed over his frame 
 alone betrayed his wretchedness, but it was 
 eloquent — for a moment, he feared that he had 
 returned too late — and he eagerly fastened his 
 eyes upon her wasted features and sunken form, 
 as if to ask himself Avhether, indeed, there were 
 yet hope. 
 
 After a time, however, his anxious and affec- 
 tionate devotion appeared to call back the fleet- 
 ing senses of the orphan, and a convulsive sob 
 announced her return to consciousness. A deep 
 blush rose to her faded cheek as she found her- 
 self in the arms of Ernest, and her lirst impulse 
 
 to liberate herself; but the clasp of affection a skilful physician. You are here, 
 
 was not to be so readily flung off, and it was 
 with increased tenderness that Ernest appealed 
 to her feelings, to her fidelity, and to her justice. 
 
 " You have doubted me, Gertrude," he mur- 
 mured reproachfully ; " you have doubted me, 
 or I should not find you thus. I can read hours 
 of misgiving and of reproach upon the pale brow 
 that rests so languidly upon my shoulder. When 
 I approached tlie window, I saw you as radiant 
 as ever, and little did I suspect that it was the 
 mere cheat of a mocking light. "Why have you 
 been thus ungenerous towards me ? Did you 
 not know that when, for the first time in my 
 life, I pleaded with my father, I was pleading 
 for the happiness of my whole life — naj-, for that 
 very life itself? — And did you, indeed, judge so 
 poorly of me as to believe that I would be 
 ■worsted in such a cause ?" 
 
 A faint and timid smile rose to the lip, of the 
 orphan. 
 
 " Time has passed, I know it but too well," 
 pursued Ernest, " since the cruel moment in 
 Avhich you banished me from your presence un- 
 til I could return with my father's sanction to 
 our marriage ; and you are also quite aware that 
 my father loves you, but, nevertheless, his am 
 
 happiness must have a more solid and tangiblf 
 foundation. In short, we discussed the mattei- 
 until he became convinced that I had reason or 
 my side, and now, I transgress no duty in telUng 
 you that I am all your own." 
 
 " And shall j-ou, indeed, never regret so greai 
 a sacrifice, Ernest? Shall you never Aveary of 
 your poor penniless bride ?" asked his listenei 
 tenderly. 
 
 Do we weary of the air we breathe, Gei' 
 trude ? Are you not the one thought, the one 
 interest of my existence? In losing you, ] 
 should have lost all that rendered life endurable 
 But this fear is past, and now I have only tc 
 entreat of you to take more care of my happi- 
 ness than it is evident you have done of late; 
 for, trul}', dearest, j-ou are sadly changed." 
 
 ' I know it," said the pale girl, as she sweplJ 
 her languid hand across her brow; " I am, in- 
 deed, as you remark, sadly changed, but joy vti iF' 
 and all wiU ^ 
 iklo 
 
 ih 
 
 'dii 
 
 ■•;iill 
 
 soon once more be well Avith me, 
 
 For the first time the enraptured lover ven 
 tured to touch with his lips the forehead which 
 reposed upon his shoulder ; and he did so un- 
 chidden, for the strength of the orphan was eb-! 
 bing rapidly beneath the conflicting emotion oil 
 the last half hour, and the heart of the youDgl ff » 
 man heaved as he watched the color rise andSB*!^ 
 fade, in rapid alternation upon her cheek. 
 
 It was consequently, almost with a feeling of 
 relief, that he heard the sound of approaching! 
 footsteps, and Avliile Gertrude instinctively with- 
 drew herself from liis hold, he hastily rose from 
 his seat, and stood beside her. In the next in- 
 stant, Miss Warrington entered the room, andl 
 an exclamation of surprise escaped her lips aei 
 she remarked the presence of the intruder. ( 
 
 " I owe you a thousand apologies, my deal! 
 madam," said Ernest in reply, as he advanced' 
 towards her with extended hand ; " I feel that 
 I have been guilty of a most unceremonious en- 
 trance beneath your roof, but I trust that you 
 will pardon the mdiscretion when I tell you '' ~^ 
 I came here to claim my bride." 
 
 "Your bride, Mr. Armstrong!" echoed the! 
 bewildered old lady, as she sank almost 
 
 Km 
 
 BBt 
 
 Ijition — his vanity — call it what you will — had i breathless as the orphan herself, into her 
 
 led him to form other projects for his son, and 
 
 ?rou must, therefore, forgive him, even though 
 le should have exhibited such pertinacious re- 
 luctance in yielding to my prayer. Believe rfie 
 also, dearest, when I assure you that your digni- 
 ty has never been compromised, even for an 
 instant; it could not be, for that dignity wasj 
 also mine. As regarded your birth, there were, ' 
 of course, no scruples, for therein we were j warning. 
 
 customed arm-chair : " Beware, young gentle-! 
 man, how you jest with a Mortimer. / am old, 
 and powerless, it is true, but Gertrude is not al-i 
 together friendless, and she must not be made 
 the sport of idle vanity." 
 
 And as she spoke, her tall figure grew yet 
 taller; while the fingers generally so tightly ^ 
 clasped, were extended and outstretched as if in 
 
 equals. You see that I am frank with you, | " You wrong me. Miss Warrington," was the, 
 Gertrude; for we love each other, and I 'feel j proud reply ; " I come as a suppliant, not as a 
 that I have no right, as certainly I have no jester, and I am even now momentarily awaiting 
 •wish, to mislead you. Tlie difficulty was at " 
 
 once less in importance, and mofe powerful in 
 effect You are as well aware as myself that the 
 Armstrongs were, some generations ago, the 
 
 inost wealthy family in the country, and my fa- det 
 ther had eneournged strange visions that 1 was 'per 
 
 the arrival of my father to second my suit. 
 love, and have long loved your niece, and she 
 has condescended to return my affection ; family 
 aft'airs, with which I will not weary you, have' 
 ained me some time in town, and I regret tc 
 
 perceive, tliat during my absence the health of 
 destined to restore their ancient affluence by Gertrude has not progressed as I had hoped.' 
 what the world calls a fortunate marriage; butjShe has, however, promised me that slic will 
 I knew too well that this was a popular misno- exert all her energies to recover strength, and. 
 taer, as it is commonly understood, and that my I we must trust that care and zeal will aid hef 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 117 
 
 successfully in the effort. And now, my dear 
 raaJ^m, do you still vefuati your hand to your 
 new nephew?" 
 
 The astonishment of the stately old lady, far 
 
 from diminisliiiig, only increased with every 
 
 word to which she listened ; but as she saw the 
 
 meek and appealing eyes of Gertrude fixed upon 
 
 her, she almost unconsciously placed her hand 
 
 'u lin that of the young man who stood respectfully 
 
 llbefore her, and drew a long breath as though 
 
 "'. Wlshe would have heaved a heavy weight from 
 
 ■ her breast, 
 
 " You have told me nothing of this, Miss 
 Mortimer," she at length said in • her most sen- 
 tentious tones ; " and you have been wrong. 
 I am your natural guardian, and could not 
 have objected to this marriage, provided it be, 
 as I trust it is, welcome to Mr. Armstrong's 
 family ; for otherwise I at once refuse my 
 sanction, and cannot countenance the visits of 
 this gentleman." 
 
 There was no opportunity for either Gertrude 
 orr her lover to reply to this solemn announce- 
 ment, for the words were still upon the lips of 
 Miss Warrington, when a carriage stopped at 
 the door, and the Squire was announced. 
 Vainly did the poor girl endeavor to rise from 
 her chair to receive him ; the throbbing of her 
 heart was so violent, that she could only clasp 
 her hands together and gasp for breath ; but 
 she soon overcame this imdue emotion, and 
 pride lent her strength, as Mr. Armstrong turn- 
 ed from the ceremonious greeting of the maiden 
 aunt, to welcome him, if not with complete 
 composure, at least with perfect self-possession. 
 
 There was a slight, a very slight shade of 
 constraint upon the brow of the Squire, which 
 did not escape the anxious ej^es of Gertrude ; 
 and perhaps it was fortunate that-she remarked 
 it, for it gave her nerve, conscious, as she was, 
 that she had used no imworthy means to secure 
 the affection of his son. He, however, seate-d 
 himself beside her, after having given a nod 
 of intelligence to Ernest, who was eagerly 
 watching his movements, and kindly taking her 
 hand, expressed the regret which he felt at her 
 altered appearance. 
 
 " We have all been in error, my dear Miss 
 Mortimer," he pursued, although with visible 
 effort ; " and that mad boy yonder not the 
 least. What business had he to agitate and 
 harass you with his foolish fancies when you 
 had no strength to spare ? And what business 
 had you to listen, when you should have been 
 tliinking of your health, and endeavoring to 
 take care of yourself? Oh I my pretty Ger- 
 trude," he whispered more affectionatelj' , as he 
 saw the large tears swelling in her eyes ; 
 " what business had I, old fool as I was, to 
 suppose that I knew better what was good for 
 him than he did himself? However, as we 
 have all been wrong, we must all endeavor to 
 be wiser in future. You will not find Ernest 
 half so troublesome, now that he is sure of hav- 
 ing his own way, wliile your little heart will be 
 at ease, and that will prove the best medicine 
 in your own case. As for me, Gertrude, you 
 j must forget that I did not do justice to your 
 mei'its at once, as perhaps I should have done ; 
 for I have had to contend against a host of old 
 
 hopes, and of old memories, by which I have 
 been haunted since his boyhood. How say 
 you, madam?" he added, addressing the old 
 lady ; " As we have each made some sacrifice 
 should we not each also make some conces- 
 sion ?" 
 
 " My dear Sir," broke in the happy Ger- 
 trude ; " how can I reply to' such imhojied for 
 indulgence ? But, indeed, indeed, I am not un- 
 worthy of it, I have long despaired in silence, 
 without one feeling save that of gratitude 
 towards j-ourself. I did not dare to hope, but 
 I at least avoided all self-reproach." 
 
 " I know it, my dear young lady, I know it," 
 was the cordial rejoinder ; " Had it been other- 
 wise you would not have been the little Ger- 
 trude who robbed us of all our hearts. And 
 the more I look at you, the more I feel dis- 
 posed to admit that Ernest is right, and that 
 you will, after all, bring him the best dowry." 
 
 " I am acquitted, then, in your eyes at least, 
 Sir," said the young man with a triumphant 
 smile. 
 
 " Fully — honorably acquitted, and I receive 
 with joy to my heart and home the daughter 
 j-ou have selected for me." 
 
 And as he spoke, the kind old Squire folded 
 the agitated orphan in his arms, and kissed her 
 with paternal tenderness. 
 
 " To-morrow," he pursued, after the pause of 
 a moment, during which no one made an effort 
 to break the silence; '"to-morrow Mrs. Ai-m- 
 strong and the girls will be with you early; 
 nay, they wanted to invade the carriage to- 
 night, when they learned my errand ; but they 
 had grumbled so much for the last few weeks at 
 what the}' were pleased to call my unkindness, 
 in debarring them from the society of their fa- 
 vorite, that I resolved to punish them for their 
 want of obedience, and so, in spite of all their 
 reproaches and entreaties, I set forth alone, as 
 the y'oung gentleman opposite had done before 
 me, although I suggested that we should travel 
 in companj'. So you see, my pretty Gertrude, 
 that you must put on all your best looks to re- 
 ceive them, or incur the risk of \indergoing a 
 course of Mrs. Armstrong's dieting, and nursing, 
 and warning, when you may pass your time 
 more pleasantly." 
 
 "And Eleanor, and Mary? Do thej- really 
 still love me ?" asked the orphan with emotion. 
 
 " For Eleanor I can answer at once," smiled 
 Mr. Armstrong ; " as for Mary, her love appears 
 to be monopolised by Somerville, but I dare say 
 that you will nevertheless be able to come to an 
 understanding. And now I must take my leave, 
 and so, moreover, must this young gentleman, 
 who has agitated you more than enough already, 
 and against whom I shall request Miss Warring- 
 ton to close her doors if he does not conduct 
 himself with becoming prudence ; for as he has 
 insisted upon giving me a daughter, so in my 
 turn, I shall insist that she be taken proper care 
 of!" 
 
 Ernest would fain have expostulated, and 
 turned an imploring look from his father to his 
 hostebS, but he met with no encouragement from 
 either. Mr. Armstrong, vanquished alike by his 
 affection for his son and his regard for Gertrude, 
 had succeeded in overcoming all distaste to their 
 
118 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 marriage, and had consequently not seen with- 
 out alarm the fearful state of weakness to which 
 Bhe was reduced, while he instantly felt the ne- 
 cessity of protecting her from all undue excite- 
 ment ; and thns it was evident that he antici- 
 pated no opposition to liis will, as he avoided 
 the eye of the young man like one who would 
 admit no furtlier discussion upon the subject; 
 while Miss Warrington, half bewildered, and 
 half alarmed at what was passing about her, felt 
 like a person under the influence of an agitating 
 dream, and was looking anxiously for the depar- 
 ture of her self-constituted guests. 
 
 There was accordingly no appeal, and with a 
 Darting word which lasted throughout a some- 
 what lengthy and explanatory leave-taking be- 
 tween the sententious old lady and the simple- 
 mannered Squire, Ernest was compelled at last to 
 relinquish the hand which had been confidingly 
 abandoned to him, and to follow his father to 
 the carriage with as much philosophy as he could 
 command ; nor was it until the sound of their 
 retreating wheels convinced her that tliey were 
 indeed gone, that Miss "Warrington turned to- 
 wards her niece with wonder and reproach alike 
 upon her lips ; but her words fell powerless on 
 the closed ear of her companion. The reaction 
 of feeling had consumed her small remaining 
 amount of strength, and the orphan lay back 
 insensible in her chaii-. 
 
 With eager but mistaken zeal, Miss Warring- 
 ton and her handmaiden hastened to arouse the 
 exhausted girl from the pei-fect repose of mind 
 and body induced by the syncope into which 
 she had fallen, and to convey her to her cham- 
 ber, where, at her earnest request, they left her 
 to reflect iipon all the unhoped-for events of the 
 last few hours. And very strange, almost too 
 strange for sober self-gratulation, appeared the 
 total change which had supervened in all her 
 'eelings. Again and again she asked herself if 
 '■t indeed were true ; if it were not merely a 
 ?heat of her wandering reason ? But again and 
 »gain she was enabled to recall everj^ word and 
 almost every look; she seemed still to feel the 
 pressure of the old man's lips upon her cheek, 
 and the warm clasp of the hand which had so 
 long been closed over her own, and she smiled 
 the heart's smile as every succeeding moment 
 strengthened her consciousness of the truth. 
 She who had been so long an outcast, was then, 
 indeed, at last to know the blessings of domestic 
 affection ; to be called by the endearing names 
 of daughter — sister — wife ! to see herself the 
 object of care and tenderness, and love, when 
 she had taught herself to believe that from all 
 these holy privileges she was inexorably shut 
 out. Her sense of happiness became almost 
 
 Eainful. She had learned to support suffering, 
 ut she was feeble as an infant under this new 
 sensation. The very silence appeared vocal to 
 Ijcr, and the air laden with gentle voices, and 
 the evening twilight bright with kindly smiles. 
 Her narro\/ room was peopled with joyous vi- 
 sions, and her solitude made cheerful by their 
 presence. 
 
 One dark shadow, and one only, gloomed 
 amid the brightness of her thoughts : she had 
 forgotten that she was poor, and that her po- 
 verty had for a time closed the heart of him to 
 
 whom she was soon to pay the duty of a child 
 she forgot that this same poverty would compel i 
 her to go a portionless bride to the arms of her 
 destined husband ; she had ceased to remember 
 all her past struggles, and to weep over her 
 faded beauty ; but there was still one painful 
 memory which would not be silenced. She had 
 become an alien from the affection of her near- 
 est relative, the playmate of her childhood, and 
 the friend of her youth. Yes, from the period 
 of his marriage it was evident that he had ceas- 
 ed to interest himself in her fate, perhaps even 
 to recal her existence ; and the affectionate heart 
 of Gertrude swelled even amid her new sense 
 of happiness, and the tears of disappointed feel- 
 ing fell from her eyes, as this intrusive recol- 
 lection forced itself upon her. 
 
 Although all her early dreams of hope had 
 long melted away, like those ice-palaces which 
 are constructed upon the Xeva, only to melt be- 
 neath the next change of temperature ; she yet 
 clung to the son of that more than mother who 
 had watched over her girlish years with a tend- 
 erness of which she had never hoped to be again 
 the object ; still she thought of him as of a lov^ 
 ed and cherished brother ; and the heart cannot 
 easily forego so blessed a bond. 
 
 Thus there was yet one drop of gall in the 
 overflowing cup of her meek delight, and for a 
 while that drop appeared to taint the whole 
 draught ; but gradually she became awakened 
 to the weakness of yielding to such depressing 
 memories, and although the painful impression 
 still remained, she compelled herself to turn to 
 other and brighter thoughts ; she finally sank 
 to sleep, to dream of Ernest Armstrong, and to 
 be happj'. 
 
 CILVPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Sybil and Mortimer were man and wife ; and 
 they were travelling over that glorious Italy 
 which they both loved so well, and were so 
 well able to appreciate. More beautiful than 
 ever in the eyes of her enraptured bridegroom, 
 Mrs. Mortimer was radiant with smiles, bright 
 with genius, and affectionate even beyond his 
 hope. Surrounded by all the appliances of lux- 
 ury, she had scarcely time to form a wish ere it 
 was eagerly fulfilled ; her days were all suik- 
 shine, and her heart all triumph. Now, indeed, 
 she could defy fate ; now, indeed, she was ro- 
 venged upon that world which had dared to 
 scorn her ; and if she did not love her husband 
 as he deserved to be loved, she could at least so 
 thoroughly feign the tenderness for which he 
 sought as to blind him to the fact. 
 
 At length they reached Kome ; and here they 
 had decided to spend a long and delicious month 
 among the old and glorious memories of the past. 
 No prospect could be more enchanting to Fre- 
 deric, possessed of his long-coveted bride, and 
 existing in the land of his predilection, he had 
 not a desire unfulfilled ; but Sybil soon became 
 less enthusiastic than himself, and there was an 
 evident restlessness in her manner each morning 
 as they set forth to visit the memorable moQU- 
 ments'of the Imj erial City. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 One of her constant oaves since leaving Eng 
 land bad been to examine the visitors' hook of 
 every hotel at which they took up their temp- 
 oi-ary abode ; and although Frederic found an 
 equal amusement in the heterogeneous assem- 
 blage of authographs thus placed under his 
 eyes ; yet, as he sat with his arm folded about 
 the slight figure of his wife, — his glance follow- 
 ing the direction of her finger — and laughed 
 with her at the pompoiis announcement attach- 
 ed to the plebeian names of Tompkins, Jenkins, 
 Smith, e tutti qiianti, it was nevertheless evident 
 tliat Sj'bil attached a serious interest to the sur- 
 vey, in which he was far from participating. A 
 sigh of relief escaped her as she closed the din- 
 gy volume upon each occasion until that upon 
 which we shall rejoin her. 
 
 Rome was crowded with foreigners ; and it 
 
 Sybil attempted a contemptuous laugh. " 
 have had few favorites," she said, as she passe 
 her small and jewelled hand through the elu 
 tering curls of her companion : a liberty whic 
 he resented by drawing her to liis bosom, an 
 thus afforded her the opportunity she sought i 
 recovering her self-possession ; " and poor Si 
 viatti is sufficiently well satisfied witii himse 
 to be able to dispense with all extraneous ad( 
 ration ; but I confess that for a time he amuse 
 me. You know, P'rederie, that all depends upo 
 the mood of the moment, and that the antics < 
 the monkey sometimes interest as much as tli 
 stateliness of the lion ; and thus Saviatti, a 
 prince though he be, or at least calls himself, w£ 
 my monkey during three months, after which 
 totally lost sight of him." 
 
 Mortimer was silent. It was not that on 
 
 was not without considerable difficulty that; suspicion of Sybil's truth rushed across his mind 
 
 but as yet that past, into which he so ardently d( 
 sired to penetrate, remained a mystery to hin 
 On the eve of her marriage, he had not venture 
 to hazard a (Question, lest she might be paine 
 by such an implied want of confidence ; an( 
 since she had been his wife he had thouglit < 
 her, only of her, and flung from him every an? 
 iety save that of contributing to her hapjjinesi 
 Now, however, he for the first time remen 
 bered that he had made no progress in her cor 
 fidence, and that he was indebted to chanc 
 for every revelation connected with her eai'l 
 life. Nor had he felt altogether convinced b 
 
 - -^ , - the explanation which he had extorted; for h 
 
 greed of gain and carelessness of the faded I could not conceal fi-om himself that it was ovei 
 glories of the past, denominate a magnificent strained, and that its flippancy but ill disguise 
 
 Mortimer succeeded in securing for Sybil such 
 accommodation as he considered worthy of hei-. 
 The streets were loud with those trivial sounds 
 of mere common-place e very-day life, which form 
 so paltry and puerile a contrast with the grand 
 amd stately relics of buried centuries; bright 
 bonnets and idle laughter desecrated the myste- 
 ries of the Coliseum ; dingy droschys and dusty 
 berlins crowded the hotel yards ; vociferoiis 
 oaths in English, German, and Italian, were 
 growled, screamed, or muttered on every side ; 
 the churches and the coftee-houses were alike 
 full ; and everything promised what the de- 
 2nerate Romans of the present day, in their 
 
 Beason. 
 
 The hotel-book was fuU of names, on which 
 the ink had as yet had scarcely time to dry. 
 
 Highnesses, duchesses, peers, and chevalliers of he replied somewhat sarcastically: 
 every order under the sun, were intermingled in [ case the meeting is a fortunate one ; 
 sublime confusion with the city-knights, touring- 1 monkey-prince will afford a diverting 
 
 its hollowness. 
 
 It was, therefore, under the influence of 
 sensation as painful as it was novel to him, tha 
 
 In tha 
 for th 
 relic 
 ti'aders, and chevaliers d'industrie.' It was evi- j after our solemn musings among nioulderin] 
 dent that not a hope of even partial seclusion [ruins and crumbling monuments. We shall 
 remained for the married lovers. The fingers of doubtlessly, soon meet, as we are domesticate 
 Sybil had alrea,dy indicated her acquaintance I under the same roof; and thus an acquaintanc 
 with at least a d'ozen of the new arrivals, while ' so gaily commenced may be as cheerfully cod 
 Fi'cderic himself had discovered more than one tinned." 
 
 name that was full of old associations. As yet, " I care little ever to meet him again," sai( 
 however, neither had been sufficiently discour- j Sybil, dropping her beautiful head upon th 
 aged to utter more than an impatient " Pshaw!" j shoulder of her husband, and looking up at hie 
 at each encounter, until the somewhat cramped j with one of those beaming smiles wliieli alway 
 and hyper-flourished signature of the Prince de i captivated his reason : " Every folly has its day 
 
 Saviatti caused an involuntary start on the part 
 of the lady, which brought a bright flush into 
 her cheek. 
 
 " You know il illustricimo Principe, Sybil ?" 
 said Mortimer, who had observed her emotion. 
 
 " Yes," was the somewhat embarrassed reply ; 
 "in so far as such an individual really can lae 
 known. I met him frequently during a season 
 in town, when, as he expressed it, he was ' do- 
 ing his England,' and I confess that I am sur- 
 prised to find him here, when I believed that he 
 ■was in Egypt, or China, or at the antipodes, 
 pour pro me?ier sa paresse ; for he is full of Si- 
 cilian prejudices, and always laughed at my en- 
 thusiasm for Rome and its treasures." 
 
 " He is evidently no favorite of yours," re- 
 marked her husband, who had detected an un- 
 usual tinge of bitterness in her tone. 
 
 and becomes st.ale by repetition. Saviatti is to( 
 frivolous to leave one regret behind him." 
 
 " Did he visit England alone ?" asked Erede 
 ric, already half appeased, as he bent down anc 
 kissed the fair forehead which was pillowed upoi 
 his bosom : " Was the monkey unaccompaniec 
 by his attendant bear ?" 
 
 "Oh no! there was a tall, lean, sour-visagec 
 abbate, who was in his train when he arrived ii 
 town ; but I believe that the Prince wearied o 
 the espionage to which he was condemned by tlu 
 companionship of this saturnine individual, whc 
 had been attached to his person by his father, ant 
 so gave him his dismissal; for it is certain tbal 
 he returned to Palermo only a few weeks aftei 
 the advent of his principal." 
 
 " Saviatti is, then, a Palermitan ?" 
 
 "So I understand. But you appear singi'larlj 
 
120 
 
 THE RIVAi: BEAUTIES. 
 
 interested about this frivolous foreigner, Fred- 
 eric! "- 
 
 " Do you wonder that it should be so, Sj- 
 bil? Did he not know you, and apparently 
 know you Ultimately, long before we had even 
 met?" 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer changed her position ; her 
 cheek burnt, and she did not care to expose it 
 to the observation of her husband. 
 
 " And do you believe that he, and such as he, 
 could ever know me ?" she asked with a pretty 
 affectation of scorn. " Do both yourself and me i 
 better justice, my dear Frederic. Saviattij 
 knows me as he knows Rome; he appreciates 
 me as he appreciates the glories of the Parthe 
 non and tlie sublimity of St. Peter's. And, 
 apropos of this, what shall we do this evening? 
 Surely we came to the Imperial City for a 
 better purpose than that of ' chronicling small 
 beer ?' " 
 
 " Shall we visit the Coliseum ?" 
 
 " H Colisco ? Oh no ! Have you forgotten 
 that the moon is at its full, and that it will* 
 swarm with fools? Let us go there when it 
 can be, if not entirely, at least comparatively 
 our own. I loathe to witness the tricks of the 
 travelled mountebank, upon the very spot 
 where once gushed forth the proud blood from 
 the panting arteries of the stricken gladiator, 
 or the holy life-tide of the Christian captive. 
 Do not even let us attempt the Villa Medici ; 
 we shall be elbowed by foreign Excellencies and 
 crimson-siockined Eminences ; nor will that, in 
 all probability, be the worst. Remember the 
 list of names over which we have been ponder- 
 ing ; and dread the encounter of this flight of 
 northern locusts as you would the malaria of 
 the Campagna." 
 
 " Whither ca7i we go, then, to avoid them ?" 
 asked Frederic, once more appeased by the be- 
 lief that all society had become importunate to 
 Sybil which deprived her of his own. " Like 
 the ravenous insects to which you have com- 
 pared them, they will swarm in every direc- 
 tion." 
 
 " Have you ever visited the gardens of the 
 Negroni ?" 
 
 " ^^ever." 
 
 " Will you devote your evening to me alone, 
 without regret and without ennui T 
 
 " ^■ot my evening only, but my whole exist- 
 ence !" replied Frederic tenderlj-. 
 
 Sybil laughingly placed her hand upon his 
 lips. 
 
 "Wait until we are wandering in the deli- 
 cious solitudes to which I am about to introduce 
 yon," she said ; " before you forget the liusband 
 in the lover. There, indee'd, you will, or I great- 
 ly mistake ycu, be compelled to yield to the 
 Boft influence of the spot ; about which we 
 Bhall, in all i)robabilit}-, be permitted to ramble 
 fllone, as it has few attractions for the mere 
 tourist, who .seeks to see rather than to feel." 
 
 " Wliat a delicious prospect! And when shall 
 ve set foi-th }" 
 
 " Now, if you will The sun is near its de- 
 cline, and till- hour is most propitious." 
 
 And as Sybil spoke she passed to an inner 
 apartment, whence she emerged a few moments 
 ftiterwards, shawled and bonneted ; aud more- ] 
 
 over, for the first time since her marriage, close 
 ly veiled. There was little fear that a man of 
 pleasure like Saviatti would be found in the 
 solitary recesses of the Negroni gardens ; but 
 even the risk, slight as it was, must be provided 
 against; and congratulating herself upon her 
 expedient for rendering " assurance doubly 
 sure," Mrs. Mortimer, as she luing gracefully 
 upon the arm of her husband, and heard him 
 thank her again and again for so deliglitful a 
 suggestion, smiled half in triumph and half in 
 scorn. The evening would now pass awaj- with- 
 out any encounter with the prince ; and she 
 must trust to her tact to \irge their early de- 
 parture by every means in her power. She 
 had ere this read her weak but devoted hus- 
 band even to the heart's core ; aud she well 
 knew that his vanity was the lever by whit;h 
 she could at all times move him at her will. 
 
 Long before they reached the silent and 
 shadowy gardens, and even while she listened, 
 apparently rapt in interested attention, to somfi 
 old travelling memory with which Mortimer 
 was endeavoring to beguile the way, her 
 whole plan was arranged, and she felt secure of 
 its success. 
 
 To her it would be no sacrifice to abandon 
 Rome if she also escaped Saviatti. She had been 
 warned in time of his presence ; and she resolved 
 to profit by the knowledge. 
 
 " We must leave Rome, and that speedily," 
 she murmured to herself, as, with an exclama^ 
 tion of delight from Mortimer, they plunged into 
 the thickest shades of the perfumed solitude, 
 which to him promised an evening of intense 
 and quiet happiness, and to her a few hours of 
 insipidity and safety ! 
 
 CILVPTER XXXV. 
 
 Fair and gracious reader, have you ever visit 
 ed the Negroni Gardens at Rome ? If not, be 
 careful to bend your steps thitherward wh' : 
 you again find yourself a denizen of the lordly 
 city, if you be one who loves that fantastic bleu - 
 ing of the natural and the artistic, the prese:;; 
 and the past, which speaks to the heart as we! 
 as to the senses; and aft'ords a calm and sootlv 
 ing relief from the perpetual stir and excitt»- 
 ment of the busy world by which you are sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 The stamp of centuries was never more visi- 
 bly impressed upon the mouldering remains of 
 tower or battlement than it is upon the hoary 
 trees and antique monuments of those far-reach- 
 ing solitudes ; above one of whose walls tluj 
 Baths of Dioclesian may be seen, apparently 
 coeval with the longlinesof untrimmed cypresses, 
 wliose trailing branches scarcely admit the pna- 
 sage of an intruder among their mysterious 
 depths; and the wild patches of bay, scentiiiL' 
 the air with their luxurious perfume, as if in 
 emulation of the tangled masses of jasminfi, 
 starred with ten thousand blossoms ; while, scat- 
 tered on every side, at times lialf-buried amid 
 the dense and vagrant vegetation, and at others 
 rising in cold calm majesty upon some partially 
 uninvaded spot, the wanderer encounters fr^g- 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 121 
 
 Hi lilt 
 
 icefiillj 
 fil tin 
 iillali 
 liallii 
 '% 
 
 . h 
 
 ■i k 
 
 uriini, ' 
 Ll 
 
 ments of ancient architecture, of -wbicli the 
 date, the purpose, and even the name of him 
 ■who wrought them, are alike unknown ; vases 
 of quaint device and graceful chisscliug : altars 
 ea-ected to the Manes, in those deep and silent 
 nooks so appropriate to their worship ; and 
 sarcophagi, which teach, as we look upon them, 
 the sublime majesty with whicli past ages invest- 
 ed the idea of man's apotheosis. 
 
 It is rare that even the cry of a passing bird 
 disturbs the silence of these dreary retreats ; 
 but there is a constant and mysterious voice 
 among the leaves, as they heave or quiver to the 
 passing wind ; and a perpetual murmur of fall- 
 ing waters, trickling from the porphry basins 
 •ffhich the}- overflow, and stealing away beneath 
 8 network of rank grass and aquatic weeds by 
 •wliich their onward course is totally concealed. 
 When the eye wanders upwards, and penetrates 
 between the sturdy boiighs of the ancient wood, 
 it sees, shadowed upon the dense purple sky of 
 evening, the massive domes, and tall singularly 
 diaped tower of Santa Maria Maggiore ; the 
 ■worship of art is without those hoary walls ; 
 the worship of nature is within ; for how much 
 is there of holiness in such a scene — how much 
 to exalt the soul, and to rebuke the pride ! 
 
 For a while Sybil and Mortimer walked for- 
 •wavA in silence. Both were too full of their 
 own sensations to break the stillness by a word. 
 To Frederic the whole wildei-ness was one of 
 enchantment ; his heart throbbed, and he press- 
 ed more closely to his side the hand which rest- 
 ed on his arm, without even remarking that the 
 mute caress Avas not returned. The spirit of the 
 spot was within him, and about him. Keenly 
 adive to the grand and solemn in nature, he was 
 absorbed by that rare and beautiful feeling of 
 universal love which comes like a holy dream 
 upon the heart only at those infrequent moments 
 •wiien every hope appears to be realized, and 
 ■when it makes of its happiness one common 
 crucible in which to blend and to purify every 
 thing around it. 
 
 It is true that many individuals pass through 
 life without either the opportunity or the neces- 
 sai'y faculty for experiencing this enviable, and, 
 alas! too transitory state of feeling. Hume has 
 said that " some people are subject to a certain 
 delicacy of passion;" and Mortimer was precise- 
 ly such a person. Jealous of the affection of 
 others, he was equally lavish of his own ; pure 
 in taste, upright in principle, and tenacious of 
 all which affected his honor, he was, neverthe- 
 less, supine in the ordinary- interests of life ; he 
 had ncitlier ambition, nor a desire of wealth ; he 
 lived rather in a self-created world of sensation 
 tiian in that outward and material circle by 
 ■which he was environed ; and he was, conse- 
 quently, more readily influenced by purely per- 
 sonal circumstances than one who had diifused 
 his hopes and his anxieties over a broader 
 sphere of impulse and action. 
 
 Thus, tlien, at the moment described, his 
 heart and his aspirations were alike satisfied, 
 lie had won the woman whom he loved ; and, 
 despite tliose passing shadows of misgiving 
 which are the ordinary concomitants of strong 
 and exacting passion, he nevertheless, did not 
 entertain a doubt that, on his part, he was 
 
 equally beloved. Sybil was at his side, they 
 trod together a path of silence and encliautment, 
 and Mortimer avsis supremely happy. 
 
 And where had the thoughts of Sybil wander- 
 ed? Were they with the husband upon whose 
 arm she leaned? Were they with the mother 
 from whom she was for the first time separated! 
 — or did they linger upon tiiat home of which 
 she was so soon to become the presiding genius, 
 and on those duties which Avould, hereafter, 
 devolve upon her f In sooth, they were occu- 
 pied by none of these. As they turned from 
 one avenue into another, a hasty glance first 
 assured her that their solitude still continued 
 uninvaded, and then, her reflections fell back 
 to the point at which they had momentarily 
 paxised. 
 
 For months, Rome had been the object of all 
 her wishes, as well as those of Mortimer ; buj 
 from Rome she now felt that it was expedieni 
 they should depart at once, and the pretext fop 
 this apparent caprice was readily found. Yet, 
 to return to Westrum — to bury herself in an 
 obscure English county, of Avhose monotony sho 
 had already had dreary experience, now thai 
 her point was carried, and that the world was 
 once more before her — revolted alike her vanity 
 and her patience. And for whom was she re- 
 quired to do this ? For a man whose supineness 
 she despised, whose intellect she scorned, and of 
 whose feelings she was careless. Sybil at ono« 
 convinced herself that sTich a sacrifice was im- 
 possible. She was not formed for home, either 
 by nature or by education ; nor was she respon- 
 sible for the mistake which her husband had 
 wilfully committed, in supposing that the mera 
 fact of becoming his wife would change alike 
 her principles and her tastes. 
 
 That this mistake is of daily occurrence in the 
 world, and perpetrated even by men of shrewd 
 sense and habitual prudence upon other points, 
 is certain ; and that it will continue to be so is 
 equally sure, so long as vanity and sensual gra^- 
 tification are suftered to silence the dictates of 
 reason ; but so trite a truth could ofi^er no miti- 
 gation to the disappointment of a particular in- 
 dividual, and was assuredly not calculated tt) 
 assuage that of a man of Mortimer's peculiar 
 temperament. 
 
 From the very period of her enforced retire- 
 ment from a world by wffleh she had onee been 
 worshipped, Sybil had felt the most invineipla 
 desire to return to it, so soon as she should have 
 sectired a position which would enable her to 
 revenge what she had riever ceased to consider 
 as its injustice. Accustomed to regard herself 
 as one c jnstituted to shine in whatever circle 
 she might embellish by her presence, and caring 
 little for the happiness of domestic life, and 
 still less for the charm of domestic duties, she 
 felt at home only in the midst of a crowd, and 
 as tlie centre of admiration. The excitemeni 
 Avhich fatigues and exhausts a less ambitious na- 
 ture, was to hers the very aliment on which it 
 existed; and she looked forward to the prospect 
 of re-appearing in the world, in tlie character 
 of a wealthy married woman, with deliglit, as ii 
 would afford the opportunity of a social veiv 
 geance, well calculated to soothe her pride and 
 to satisfy her ambition. , 
 
122 
 
 THE RIV^VL BEAUTIB3. 
 
 It was, consequently, upon speculations such 
 as these that the thouglits of Sybil were en- 
 gaged, amid the solemn shades threaded by 
 Mortimer Avith tender veneration ; nor was her 
 reverie disturbed by a single word until they 
 reached a spot so striking and pi|turesque, as to 
 rouse even her companion fropi his trance of 
 delight They had traversed one of the cypress 
 avenues from end to end.; and then, striking 
 into a lateral walk, fragrant with untended 
 lemon-trees and vagrant honeysuckle, sheltered 
 on its northern side by a thick belt of bay, and 
 rendered fresh and verdaat upon its other lip 
 by one of those hidden rivulets of water already 
 described, they suddenly came upon a small 
 open space, in the centre of which stood an 
 altar, moss-grown and hoary, where an eternal 
 requiem was supplied by the overflowing of a 
 capacious basin which was half veiled by the 
 surrounding underwood, and the flexible leaves 
 which trembled, as if in adoration to the touch 
 of the passing breeze. 
 
 " Beautiful !" exclaimed Frederic, as he sud- 
 denly paused, and claimed the attention of his 
 musing bride. " Where can we find a better 
 halting place ? Here, Sybil, the world, and the 
 •world's follies are, indeed, as nothing ; and we 
 may, for a few instants, be all in all to each 
 other. With what exquisite judgment did our 
 forefathers select the spots which they dedicated 
 to the past affections and the past ties by which 
 they had been linked to the loved and lost! 
 How must the Manes, could they be conscious 
 of the present, cherish a scene like this I Let us 
 rest here a while. See how luxurious a, coucli 
 is spread for you beneath this tliicket of bay, 
 overarched by tall and stately cypress-trees I — 
 the mossy turf yields to the foot more softly 
 than the velvet carpets of a palace ; the gurgling 
 ■water and the awakened leaves are redolent of 
 harmony ; and we may here indulge in the full 
 consciousness of a happiness which has nothing 
 more to ask of destiny, save its continuance." 
 > " It is, indeed, a lovely retreat," said Sybil, 
 as she suffered herself to be established beside 
 the bi'imming basin, whence the crystal waters 
 escaped with a low mui-mur which lent a mystic 
 voice to the solitude ; " To be happy here, the 
 spirit need only be at peace." 
 
 " Let us, then, be happy," retorted the still 
 enamored husband, as he flung himself beside 
 her, and supporting her slight figure with his 
 eaicircling arm; "For are we, at least, not at 
 peace ? Are we not wdl able to appreciate all 
 its charm ? I love you in the world, Sybil ; in 
 the crowd wliere my protection and my support 
 are necessary to your more delicate nature ; 
 but in such a scene as this how doubly dear do 
 you appear to me, where you are all my own, 
 and we are alone with the sublime works of 
 nature !" 
 
 " Would tliat we could ever be thus, my best 
 friend!" replied Sybil, with one of her most 
 radiant smiles; "but, alas! that is impossible. 
 We owe ourselves to the world, whicli is a stgrn 
 task-mistress, and will enforce their duties upon 
 all her children. Even now, since wo entered 
 these gardens, I feel overwhelmed by a sense of 
 my own individual responsibility; I have be- 
 come convinced that the path before me must 
 
 not be perpetually strewn with roses. Ann 
 when I think of you, Frederic ; of you, tvitli 
 all your glorious faculties, and manifold ojipoi-- 
 tunities of good, I become almost sad with 
 anxiety. You know how I love you ; for have 
 I not given myself to you, despite the resolution 
 of years, and the dictates which I had so long 
 accustomed myself to regard as those of a ctilin 
 and matured reason ? And yet, I confess that 1 
 would also feel myself compelled to regard yon 
 with pride as well as affection ; I would see 
 you jtist to yourself; not shunning the world 
 as an object either of scorn or alarm, but boldly 
 taking your place among the foremost of those 
 by whom its destinies are controlled." 
 
 " Sybil, you astonish me I What can I need' 
 more than I possess ? — what can the world of , 
 which you speak add to my present happiness?; 
 Have I not wealth sufficient to ensure to youi— 
 and that alone can now be my consideration — , 
 all the luxuries of life? Is not my social station' 
 unexceptionable? Are not you my own? AYhat 
 have I now to do with ambition ? My race of . 
 hope is run." 
 
 " Are you then content to die and be forgot- 
 ten »" 
 
 " Not by those who love me. Not by such as 
 you, Sybil ; but I care little for the memory of . 
 the world. Look around you. We are here 
 almost on holy ground. This silent, and yft 
 most eloquent monument, perpetuates the reculr 
 lection of some departed one, biit it identitirs 
 that recollection only for those who reared it. 
 Thus would I have it myself. Rear for me an 
 imperishable altar in your own heart, and I shall 
 ask no worship which would entail a more coiv- 
 spicuous shrine." 
 
 " Let us, then, talk of life rather than death," 
 said Sybil, with a sigh for which Mortimer felt, 
 grateful to her. " You are still too young to in> 
 mure yourself in a country house, limiting y<>nr 
 duties to receiving rents and entertaining jno- 
 vineial persons. Neither your tastes nor ymir 
 acquirements fit you for occupations like thts. , 
 and I confess that I cannot see you recoiuiii' 
 yourself thus to fritter away your years and 
 your faculties, without remorse and regret ; w>- 
 morse that my society may induce you to bear 
 with such a fate, and regret that you should not 
 have chosen a nobler destiny." 
 
 " And liow can I dispel siieh bitter feelings?" 
 asked her bridegroom playfully ; " Shall I volun- 
 teer myself as prime minister, or try my fortune 
 as commander-in-chief? Nevertheless," he addoJ 
 more gravely, " you surprise me greatly, Sybil : 
 for we have so frequently and so fondly talk. ,1 
 together of the delights of a tranquil home, mul 
 the happiness of making that homo the ccnti\< 
 of benevolence and love, that I was unprepar. ■.! 
 for this change of sentiment in one by whom 1 
 believed that my thoughtful and somewhat in- 
 dolent nature was thoroughly understood." 
 
 " Nor must you now misconceive me, Frcil- 
 enc," replied Sybil somewhat anxiously; " 1"'^ 
 fore I became your wife I thought only, I dream 1 
 only of securing your affection, of having yn 
 constantly beside me, aud of engrossing all tlio 
 faculties of your soul ; but now that I know yon 
 better and prize your more ; now that egotism 
 has become less prominent, and that I live In 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 123 
 
 you rather than in myself, I have learned to be 
 jealous of your future destiny. I desire that 
 others should understand and appreciate you as 
 I do — that they should be eompelled to acknow- 
 ledge that what you will to do, you can accom- 
 plish ; in short, that you were never born to 
 live and die a mere country gentleman, vegetating 
 •with your crops, and confining alike your am- 
 bition and your patriotism to the due payment 
 of your taxes, and an annual speech at the county 
 dinner." 
 
 " What a malicious picture, Sybil !" 
 
 " Is it not correct in eA'ery feature ? And, 
 meanwhile, who are you permitting to outstrip 
 you in the race of life ? I will not speak of the 
 great master-spirits of the age ; let them wear 
 with honor the laurels that they have so nobly 
 won ; but look at the herd of mere empty imi- 
 tators, who make a reputation by the simple 
 mimicry of their great models, as certain blocks 
 of stone owe a voice to the sounds they do but 
 echo ; and who, while only the shadows of a 
 substance which they follow, conscious that they 
 have no other means of moral existence, are 
 nevertheless, included in the public eye as part 
 and parcel of the being of the very leaders 
 whom they imitate, even while they are unable 
 to appreciate their powers. Are these, and such 
 as these, crippled alike in means, in station, and 
 in acquirements, to bear away the palm of the 
 world's praise, while you look on supinely ? Be- 
 lieve me, Frederic, you are destined to higher 
 fortunes than those bequeathed to you by your 
 ancestors." 
 
 " You are an enthusiast, Sybil, and because 
 you love me, you imagine that I am equal to 
 any emergency ; but you forget that the very 
 nature of my education has altogether unfitted 
 me for the strife and struggle of the world. 
 Home-usefulness has been the only aim and end 
 of my ambition. I have tenantry and depend- 
 ants to whom I owe all the exertion of which I 
 am capable." 
 
 " Say rather, which you are disposed to 
 make," replied his fair wife somewhat impa- 
 tiently ; " But you should rouse yourself, Fred- 
 eric, from so unseemly a state of moral lethargy. 
 Your local duties are sacred only to a certain 
 point, nor can they entail the necessity of self- 
 sacrifice. You have a handsome property, it is 
 ti'ue, but in this respect you only resemble hun- 
 dreds of others, and consequently that simple 
 fact will afford you none of that personal dis- 
 tinction which is necessary to make a figure in 
 the world. Moreover, you owe your present 
 position to the energy and prudence of your an- 
 cestors ; the contingency is purely adventitious, 
 and, as yet, you have done nothing for your- 
 self." 
 
 " What would you have me to do ? My habits 
 we formed; I am no longer young enough to 
 jrook control, nor am I so necessitous as to ren- 
 der it endurable." 
 
 Sybil laughed. " One would imagine," she 
 > Ud playfully, for by the inflexion of her hus- , 
 iind's .voice she was at once aware that he was 
 iispleased by her pertinacity ; " One would 
 keally imagine, my dear Fi'ederic, that I pro- 
 posed to induce you to enter into a merchant's 
 ofl5ce, or to purchase an ensign's commission. Is | 
 
 there not such a career «s diplomacy, for in- 
 stance, where at once you might avail your- 
 self of your natural talents, and of your know- 
 ledge of continental habits and policy? — a career 
 of which, possessed of such advantages as yours, 
 it is impossible to prophecy the termination." 
 
 " And our home, Sybil ?" 
 
 " Our home Avill "be rendered prouder and 
 happier by the distinction of its owner." 
 
 " But I have no influence with the Govern- 
 ment, even wei-e I to permit myself to indulge 
 in such a vision." 
 
 " You have money, and a golden key unlocks 
 every door in our dear treasxire- worshipping 
 England." 
 
 Frederic sighed as he glanced around him. 
 IIow little had he anticipated such a discussion 
 in that delicious solitude ! For months had he 
 talked with Sybil of the tranquil happiness of 
 that ancestral home which she now so strenu- 
 ously urged him to abandon. He was well 
 aware that, once involved in public life, he 
 should have little leisure for those calm and 
 heart-satisfying pleasures which are never to be 
 secured elsewhere ; and he remembered, almost 
 with a pang, that none of her previous argu- 
 ments had prepared him for such an effort at 
 self-abnegation. And yet, he was rather pained 
 than angrj'. If she did indeed wish him to 
 make so vast a sacrifice, was it not her love for 
 him, her pride in him, which led her to forget 
 that she was also, should she succeed in inspir- 
 ing him with her views, sacrificing herself? 
 
 It was consequently with a sad smile that h'e 
 pursued the subject, by reminding her that such 
 an undertaking was beset with difficulties ; that 
 their comfort, their affection, and their peace of 
 mind, would be perilled for an uncertain result, 
 while, even should all end favorably, they could 
 never again be all in all to each other. 
 
 Sybil, however, had counter-arguments to ad- 
 vance, which, even if they were not conclusive, 
 were at least flattering and plausible ; but still 
 Mortimer hesitated to pledge himself to a line 
 of conduct so repugnant to his tastes. 
 
 " Enough of this for to-day, dearest," he said, 
 as he pressed to his lips the small hand which 
 had remained clasped in his own throughout 
 their dialogue ; " Let us not further darken the 
 present by anxiety for the future. Are we not 
 in Rome, Sybil ? And is it not profanation thus 
 to wander away in thought from the glories by 
 which we are surrounded ?" 
 
 " You will think me very capricious, my own 
 Frederic," said his wife tenderly, " when I tell 
 you that I already weary to return to I'ngland. 
 I know by j'our start that you are surprised, but 
 you must forgive me when I confess that not 
 even your affection can make me forget a thoii- 
 sand anxieties — my mother, alone for the first 
 time — the unsettled state of my unfortunately 
 involved affairs. Do you know that I absolutely 
 shudder when I reflect upon all the trouble and 
 annoyance which await you on my aeeoniit, and 
 shall have no real peace until all is arranged?" 
 
 " Leave Rome !" exclaimed Frederic, painfully 
 impressed he knew not wherefore, by this sud- 
 den whim. 
 
 " I knew that you would be astonished, dear 
 love," said Sybil with well-acted humility • ' i^"* 
 
 but 
 
lU 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUrnS. 
 
 you must recollect, th^t however you may have 
 exalted me in ypur own affectionate imagination, 
 I am only a woman, after all ; and then, remem- 
 ber that ve can return whenever we wish t6 do 
 60 ; and that, with a heart at ease, I shall be so 
 much better able to give myself up to all the 
 delights of such a sojourn. In short, j"ou know 
 not, Frederic," she added in a low whisper, as 
 she buried her face upon his shoulder, " how 
 many, and what earnest reasons I have for wish- 
 ing to return at once to England." 
 
 " Is it in order to congratulate me upon my 
 forthcoming embassy ?" asked Mortimer, forcing 
 a smile ; but before she could reply they were 
 suddenly and unexpectedly interrupted. 
 
 " I am sure that I cannot be mistaken," ex- 
 claimed a voice which appeared to rise from the 
 ground immediately beside them, as a figure 
 emerged from behind a tangled mass of bay -trees, 
 and advanced rapidly towards the spot where 
 they were seated : " I am quite sure that I see, 
 or that at least I hear Miss Delamere." 
 
 The words were English, but the accent in 
 which they were uttered was decidedly foreign, 
 and the change of position necessitated by so 
 abrupt an apparition, enabled Sybil to conceal 
 fi'om her husband the emotion which they had 
 elicited, as, extending her hand, she answered 
 with wonderful self-command, " Your ear has 
 not deceived you. Prince, and we are, indeed, 
 fated to meet again at Rome." » 
 
 " iS'o matter where," was the reply, as the 
 speaker clasped the offered hand, and then threw 
 himself upon the grass beside her; "Ko matter 
 where, so that, as you say, we meet again. Are 
 you long from England ?" 
 
 " About two months : and you ?" 
 
 "Oh, I? I really scarcely know — I hardly 
 recollect — I remember nothing since we parted ; 
 since you — " 
 
 " Prince," interposed Mrs. Mortimer hastily : 
 " allow me to present to you — my husband." 
 
 " Corpo dl Baccol" ejaculated the intruder as 
 if unconsciously ; but m the next instant he re- 
 covered himself, and with considerable dignity, 
 replied with a low bow ; " I am honored. Sir, 
 I congratulate you ; I understand all now ; and, 
 perhaps I should apologize — but two months — 
 two whole months — that will be my excuse, and 
 you will forgive my indiscretion." 
 
 Mortimer bowed in his turn. 
 
 " The Prince Saviatti, my dear Frederic, of 
 whom 1 have spoken to you," said Sybil with 
 one of her sweetest smiles. 
 
 " Ila 1 iladam has spoken of me," pursued 
 the foreigner ; " I am, it is impossible to be 
 more, flattered. We are then, old acquaintance. 
 Do you stay long in Rome, Sir ?" 
 
 " We are as yet undecided," replied the young 
 husband, in-itated he knew not wherefore by 
 the cool and self-satisfied manner of the in- 
 truder. 
 
 " Oil, then, I shall have the honor to decide 
 you," was the reioinder. " Madame and I are 
 such old and good fricnd.i, and we have so much 
 to talk over, and we shall be so glad to come to- 
 gether again in this charming manner. I know 
 this old Rome of ours now, dc bout en blanc, and 
 I shall have the happiness to be your cicerone, 
 and to be always beside you." 
 
 Mortimer involuntarily shrank back ; the easy 
 hyper-courtesy of his new acquaintance revolt- 
 ed his English reserve. 
 
 " We have here many of your old acquaintance. 
 Mademoiselle — iest-d-dier, Madame" — resumed 
 the Prince ; "And ha! — it is a sad pity, but you 
 have just come one little day too late to see 
 Trevor. lie went yesterday— he would go yes- 
 terday ; I could not stop him. He is like you ; 
 he forgets old times, and he goes home to your 
 foggy England to fetch his wife." 
 
 " His wife!" 
 
 " Yes, yes, he is detennined at last to play 
 the pastor fido. Poor Trevor ! he makes a gi'an'd 
 mistake — don't you see it as I do? But hr liad 
 so little choice. He was pretty near wIku vou 
 call in London 'cleared out,' couldn't git mi, 
 you know, and so — married. Perhaps he was 
 right, and I consoled him with this ; ' Bad 
 enough,' I said, 'but better than worse; a rich 
 wife is always better than an empty purse.' " 
 
 " Will you never reform!" asked Sybil with 
 affected playfulness. 
 
 " I must," was the prompt reply ; " since you 
 and Trevor have presented me with so charming 
 an example — so encouraging a model. Perhaps 
 I may even marry a rich wife myself — when 
 there "is no other hope left for me." " 
 
 " You are ungallant. Prince," said Mrs. Mor- 
 timer, resolutely concealing her annoyance. 
 
 Not at all ; for I cannot hope to find a second 
 Miss Delamere. See now — I find you here alone 
 
 with Monsieur " he paused'for an instant, 
 
 but as Sybil did not pronounce the name of her 
 husband, which he had evidentally awaited, he 
 pursued in the same tone ; " absolutely alone in 
 this solitude, while other married pairs are con- 
 gregated in the Coliseo, or the Parthenon, or 
 St. Peter's — Is it not enough to make me des- 
 pair? I always suspect the couples who are so 
 anxious to afficher leur bonheur ; while you dis- 
 arm me by your evident desire to escape tli6 
 crowd. Monsieur is too happy — Who will not 
 envy him his triumph ?" 
 
 Mortimer writhed beneath a familiarity 
 which he felt to be almost insolent. It was not 
 thus that he had approached Sybil : that he 
 had won her. He could not brook that slio 
 should be subjected to what he considered as 
 an affront to her dignity, and he was about to 
 make some caustic remark, when he was inter- 
 rupted by the Prince, who, as he reclined upon 
 the ground almost at the feet of his fair friend, 
 languidly striking a costly cane mounted with 
 gems against his polished boot, asked care- 
 lessly — 
 
 " And how long do you remain in Rome, 
 Madame ? I am hei'e for the next three months, 
 and — always with the permission of ilonsieur — 
 I shall ask you to do the same. You will be 
 well amused. We shall have plenty to occupy 
 us in the present, and we have so much to talk 
 over, and — who knows? — to remedy in tha 
 past." 
 
 " We leave the day after to-morrow," said 
 Sybil resolutely. 
 
 "Tjn-antl" laughed the Prince: "You wanjfc 
 to be persuaded — entreated." 
 
 " I do not always yield either to persuasioa 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 125 
 
 or entreaty," and the tone of Mrs. Mortimer 
 ^ew still more cold and repelling. 
 
 " True — not always," conceded M. Saviatti 
 ■w'lth undiminished composure ; " but sometimes 
 — j-ou will not deny that sometimes you are not 
 inexorable. See — I am at j'our feet— and I pray 
 you to retract your threat." 
 
 " Our plans are decided." 
 
 "Bah!" ejaculated the Prince sarcastically; 
 • Monsieur, married since two or three months, 
 must be accustomed to see you change j-our 
 mind. I have not, iinhappily, the right to ask 
 that you should once more do so at my request, 
 but the tastes of your sex are so variable that 
 I may at least hope. Why should you, Ma- 
 dame," and there was a shade of mockery in 
 his tone as he proceeded ; " why should you de- 
 sire to stand alone, and to declare your will im- 
 mutable ? Do you hope that, knowing all j-our 
 other perfections, any one will consent to be- 
 lieve so enormous a solecism ? No, no ; when 
 I have the honor to meet you to-morrow, you 
 will say to me frankly : ' Prince, I have repent- 
 ed my idle resolution, and am for three months 
 .in Rome.'" 
 
 " We shall see." 
 
 Mortimer had with difficiilty restrained his 
 indignation, but the evident displeasure of Sy- 
 bil had so far moderated his momentarily-in- 
 creasing annoyance as to enable him to control 
 his feelings. 
 
 The last impertinent rejoinder of Saviatti 
 was, however, more than he could support, and, 
 suddenly springing up, he extended his hand 
 to his wife, as he said with affected calm- 
 ness, — 
 
 "Sybil, the air is becoming damp. I cannot 
 allow you to remain longer exposed to its influ- 
 ence. Prince, I have the honor to wish you a 
 good evening." 
 
 " K"ot at all, Monsieur ; not at all," said the 
 pertinacious foreigner; "Madame and I are old 
 friends ; I will accompany you" — and, rising in 
 his turn,' he prepared to put his purpose into 
 execution. 
 
 " You will excuse me," said Mortimer, sud- 
 denly stopping short, and forcing his words 
 flirough his clenched teeth ; " I am this lady's 
 husband: for my sake she has been good enough 
 to forget, or at least to resign, all past friend- 
 Aips, and, as you and I are total strangers, you 
 will do me a favor by permitting us to return 
 alcme." 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, by all means — ^by all means in 
 the world," replied the Prince, with an affecta- 
 tion of ceremonious courtesy which became a 
 Barcasnj from its excess. " I owe you ten thou- 
 sand apologies, and I know so well the value of 
 Madame's society, that I am conscious, very con- 
 Bcious of my error. I have the honor to salute 
 you both, and to make you my sincere compli- 
 ment on your marriage." And so saying, Sa- 
 viatti raised his hat, bowed profoundly, and 
 moved forward with a brisk step ; humming as 
 he went one of the popular airs of the day. 
 
 "Sybil," demanded Mortimer sternly, when 
 they were once more alone ; " what is the mean- 
 ing of what has just passed ?" 
 
 "The meaning," replied his wife with an im- 
 patiejit shrug of the shoulders ; " the meaning 
 
 simply is that you have. been 'spirited by a 
 fool ; spirited and angered worse,' and, that by 
 your want of self-command, you have made ua 
 the proverb of Rome." 
 
 " Be it so," said Mortimer ; " a few hours win 
 suffice for us to leave the ridicule behind. Wa 
 will abide by your decision, and return at once 
 to England." 
 
 " You are strangely discomposed, Frederic." 
 
 " I do not wish to conceal it. Oh, Sybil 1" he 
 continued vehemently; "did you know, could 
 you imagine, the proud confidence with which 
 I have always looked upon you — Were you ablfl 
 to estimate the resolute scorn with which I have 
 flung from me every suspicion of that past which 
 you so pertinaciously conceal — the absorbing 
 affection which I have poured out at your feet 
 — you would comprehend what I have suffered 
 during the last hour." 
 
 "Am I to understand that you are weak 
 enough to be jealous, Frederic?" 
 
 " Perhaps so — but this is not all. I tremble 
 to perceive that my faith in yon is shaken ; that 
 I am under the influence of some inexplicabl-e 
 misgiving — that, in short, I shall never again 
 feel safe in your affection, until you lay the 
 whole past before me, frankly and confidently." 
 
 " Frederic — Mr. Mortimer," exclaimed Sybil 
 indignantly, as she turned her flashing eyes full 
 upon him : " Am I to be made the sacrifice, be- 
 cause an idle babbler sees fit to vent his inani- 
 ties upon me ? Had I not already told you that 
 I knew this man? That he was an empty cox- 
 comb, living only for himself, and making his 
 rank an excuse for his absurdities ? Would it 
 have been more delicate, more honorable in me 
 to have betrayed his secret, as you now compel 
 me to do — and to have met your questioning 
 with the reply that he had loved me ? Let it 
 suffice that you are now in possession of this 
 mighty secret, and that the rejected suitor will 
 not fail to amuse all Rome before noon to-mov- 
 row, at the expense of the jealous husband." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 The reader must now follow us to a vast and 
 magnificent apartment, of such extent that the 
 dark walls — whereon a series of ancient family 
 portraits pannelled into the wood-work, and 
 encircled by a faded gold moulding, too mueli 
 time-worn to reflect the light — were left in tlw 
 deep shadow; although, in the centre of tlie 
 marble floor, a somewhat capacious tablf bore 
 a cluster of wax tapers, which shed their bril- 
 liancy over a number of crystal goblets, tall- 
 necked bottles, and a small tray containing 
 di.shes of olives, prepared caviare, salted sar- 
 dines, and other provocatives of thirst. On 
 eiter side of the table were ranged rows of 
 chairs ; against one of which rested a long slen- 
 der Turkish chibouq^ie of jasmin-wood, with a 
 superb mouth-piece of amber, encircled by lurge 
 turquoise ; and the bottdaka, or bowl of gilded 
 clay, carefully placed in a small round dish of 
 highly-polished brass. Near another stood a 
 magnificent oriental narghile; its ample vaso 
 of elaborately cut glass already filled witli the 
 
126 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES, 
 
 scented waters through which the coarser aroma 
 of the Virginian weod was destined to pass be- 
 fore it rt-aehed the lips of the smoker; and its 
 long pliable tube of leather, bound with crim- 
 son and silver threads, coiled like a glittering 
 snake upon the table above. A couple of boxes 
 of cedar- wood, inscribed with certain letters and 
 figures, which doubtlessly certified as to the 
 genuineness of their contents, were still herme- 
 tically closed ; but, from their form and fashion, 
 it was easy to discover that they also were filled 
 •with tobacco in that more symmetrical and mi 
 nute shape which has lately obtained so much 
 in European taste ; while scattered here and 
 there, among the spai-kling wines and goblets 
 of Venice glass, were cards, and dice, and other 
 necessary appliances of the gambler's craft. 
 
 In short, all around annoimced the necessary 
 preparation for one of those midnight orgies in 
 which the idle and the desauvre are accustomed 
 to cheat their ainui, to waste their health, and 
 to consume their substance. And it was strange 
 and even sad to glance round that stately room, 
 with its angles gradually disappearing in the 
 darkness, its gi'ira warriors and frowning se- 
 nators looking down as if in cold and silent 
 scorn from their gloomy eminence, and the huge 
 mirror resting upon the high wide mantel of 
 particolored marble, and dimly reflecting in 
 the distance the deep glow of the clustered 
 lights ; and to see it profaned by such occupa- 
 tion. It seemed like a bitter satire silently pro- 
 nounced by past splendor upon modern folly. 
 
 The silence was, however, of short duration; 
 for, as though they had only awaited the com- 
 pletion of these preliminary arrangements, 
 groups of young and fashionably-dressed men 
 ere long began to arrive, until every seat save 
 one was filled ; that which was marked by the 
 position of the narghile ; and servants in rich 
 but varied liveries began to busy themselves in 
 opening the cedar boxes, and pouring out the 
 rich wines, which were dispersed over the 
 table. 
 
 Every European nation seemed to have sup- 
 plied its representative to that nocturnal revel. 
 On one side the deep flashing eyes, and raven 
 hair, and bistre . complexion of the Spaniard, 
 were contrasted with the pale cheek and sandj' 
 locks of the Norwegian ; on another, the once 
 fresh, but now somewhat faded complexion and 
 calm hazel eyes of the Englishman, formed a 
 marked and characteristic contrast to the dull 
 skin and restless physiognomy of the French- 
 man ; the Greek, with his finelj^-artieulated fea- 
 tures and mobile expression, was thrown into 
 violent contact with tiie impassible and moody 
 gravity of the Turk ; and the volatile and ges- 
 ticulating Italian had taken his place beside the 
 polished but wary llussian. It was, in sooth, a 
 gathering together of the nations, thus individu- 
 ally assembled for one common worshij) — for 
 one simultaneous bowing down before the Baal 
 of dissipation and excess. For a time nothing 
 •was heard save the questions and rejoinders ne- 
 cessitated by the nature of the meeting ; but ere 
 long, everj-thing being arranged to the satisfac- 
 tion of the revelers, the domestics gradually 
 withdrew, and the business of the evening com- 
 menced. 
 
 f In one direction a couple of gwrnesters, too 
 I indolent, or too impatient, to trust their fortunes 
 ! to the slower process of the cards, were hazard- 
 ing large sums upon a single throw of the dice ; 
 in another, a party were collected round a rou- 
 lette-table, established in an angle of the apartr 
 ment, which had just been liglited up ; at the 
 principal table, sundry of the guests had paired 
 off at ecarte, while others stood by, and mado 
 heavy bets upon the game. In short, all were 
 occupied save two — one, a splemlid-looking 
 man of some four or five and thirty, evidently 
 a native Italian — and the other a youth whose 
 fresh and ruddy complexion, well-opened gray 
 eye, and auburn hair, at once demonstrated hia 
 English origin. 
 
 " It is strange, however, Duke," said the lat- 
 ter, as he knocked the ashes from his cigar upon 
 the table ; " that he should be the only loiterer, 
 when, only a few hours ago, he announced his 
 intention to join us early. Did I not know that 
 he loves the dice-box better than any dama in 
 Rome, I should say that the poor prince had 
 met with an adventure." 
 
 His companion only shrugged his shoulders, 
 and smoked on in silence. 
 
 " And he promised to give me my revenge 
 too," pursued the hopeful youth ; " and thai 
 cannot be done in half an hour. However, ] 
 will-not believe that Saviatti would take ad 
 vantage of my ill-luck." 
 
 " You are censorious, il mio arco" said th* 
 Duca, as he suffered a huge volume of smoke to 
 escape from his closed lips, and smiled sarcn^ 
 tically : " You take your revenge out of fortune 
 when you should look nearer home. The fact 
 is, that you cannot play." 
 
 " Xot play ecarte !" exclaimed the young man, 
 wounded in his most sensitive point : " A pretty 
 joke, indeed! Why, I have done little else for 
 the last few years." 
 
 " Perhaps so," was the unmoved reply. 
 
 " Every fool can play ecarte ;" persisted the 
 stripling, still more incensed bj- the' sang-froia 
 of his companion. 
 
 " Not every fool. Milord," said the Italian : " 1 
 will explain to j'ou " 
 
 •' I want no explanation," retorted the youth 
 haughtily; "I have played at Baden, Berlin, 
 and Vienna ; I know every chance of the game, 
 and I rej»eat that Saviatti owed all his success 
 \o my ill-luck. Did I not win 12,000 francs at 
 Paris in one week ?" 
 
 " Perhaps so," again repeated the Italian ; 
 " and you are very likely to lose the same sum 
 in one night at Rome." 
 
 " You are an ill prophet, Duke." 
 
 " Perchc? Because I tell you the truth? 
 Look you. Milord Squanderhigh, I could myself, 
 in a fortnight, send you home to the good Earl, 
 your father, with nothing in your pocket but 
 
 your genealogy, and your bonbonnierc but I 
 
 am a man of honor, and I have a conscience. I 
 shall not play." 
 
 " You fancy that you are more than a match 
 for me f " 
 
 " Devvero." 
 
 " Let us try." 
 
 " No, no ; let ua smoke. These Haranas $x* 
 good and cheap." 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTHS. 
 
 127 
 
 "Pshaw! Nonsense! You treat me like a 
 child." 
 
 The Duke smiled. 
 
 " Upon my soul," said the lordling, while a 
 sudden Husli crimsoned his handsome coniite- 
 nnnce, " if you believe that I feel indebted to 
 you for what you are pleased to consider as a 
 proof of your forbearance, yon are strangely 
 mistaken ; andj therefore, if yon do not wish me 
 to look upon what you have said as an aft'ront, 
 let us play." 
 
 " Bene ! since I can retain your valuable 
 friendship upon no other terms, let us play." 
 And, so saying, the Italian calmly swept out of 
 his way the glasses, cigar-tray, and bottle of 
 Cyprus wine which were ranged before him ; 
 and, taking up a couple of packs of the cards 
 which were profusely scattered over the table, 
 began to throw aside the low numbers with a 
 languid gesture, as though he deprecated the 
 «xertion thus pertinaciously thrust upon him. 
 
 "While he Tvas thus engaged, three or four of 
 the spectators, who had been overlooking an- 
 other game, gathered round the two new actors, 
 and " I bet upon il Signor Ditco," was the si- 
 multaneous exclamation. 
 
 " We want no bets," said the excited j'oung 
 noblemen ; " I hate to play like a puppet, at the 
 bidding of my backer. Duke, we play soberly 
 for a stake— What shall it be ?" 
 
 " What you please." 
 
 " You see, you cannot frighten me, for, if 
 there be anything which I thoroughly under- 
 stand, it is ecarte." 
 
 " Now, you are endeavoring to alarm me in 
 your turn," said the Italian noble with perfect 
 gravity ; " but I also have good nerves. I love 
 your country — ' Old England,' as yoii are proud 
 to call her — so, name your own stakes, but let 
 them be in English money." 
 
 " Ten, twenty, thirty guineas the game ; take 
 your choice." 
 
 " I am a moderate man, corpo di Bacco !" said 
 the Duke, as he coolly lighted a fresh cigar; " I 
 will make my choice au juste milieu : tvfenty is 
 enougli — quite enough." 
 
 " Ha 1 you begin to wince." 
 
 " Not yet, not yet. By-and-by I shall tell you 
 how I feel." 
 
 " We have never yet played together." 
 
 " Never. I seldom play : now and then, but 
 only to oblige, as I do now." 
 
 " I will give you a lesson," laughed the reck- 
 less young lordling. 
 
 " Servitore; I am always happy to learn." 
 
 Meanwhile, high play was progressing through- 
 ont the apartment, and among the most eager 
 of tire gamblers were the Russian prince, the 
 German baron, and the Hungarian count, who 
 had established themselves at the roulette-table. 
 Piles of gold were heaped up and swept away 
 as if by enchantment ; and long before day-dawn 
 the German had flung his watch and signet-ring 
 npon the fatal baize, tlie Russian his diamond 
 star in pledge for a hundred roubles, and the 
 • Hungarian the jewelled clasps of hia sable-lined 
 pelisse. Less excitable at games of chance than 
 their foreign visitors, the Romans wei'e masters 
 .ȣ the field, 
 t And at intervals, even amid the high-born and 
 
 high-bred assemblage, bitter oaths were vented, 
 and jteals of hideous laughter — the laughter of 
 mingled mortification and rage — awakened tho 
 dull echoes of the spacious room; deep draughts 
 were drained, and snatches of licentious song 
 added ribaldry to vice. 
 
 Yet still the play went on. Why should it 
 pause? When its votaries had exhausted their 
 gold, they had still their honor to trade upon ; 
 and so small strips of paper, ready prepared 
 iipon a eonsol of black marble, supported by 
 gilded Cupids linked together by garlands of 
 roses, were passed from hand to hand ; and the 
 cards were cut, and the dice were thrown, as 
 eagerly, if not quite as gaily, as when the solid 
 metal had been showered down in streams. 
 
 FiK)m time to time, the vapor of brandy rose 
 upon the heated atmosphei-e, and the unsteady 
 hand by which it was poured betrayed the evil 
 fortunes of the reveller, for whom the more 
 generous and less enervating wine had lost its 
 spell, and throughout all this turmoil, all this 
 toil, and all this excitement, the placid duke and 
 the reckless lordling still j^layed on, almost in 
 silence. 
 
 Meanwhile, however, Saviatti had arrived : 
 but the engrossing occupation of those around 
 him had only enabled them to greet his entrance 
 by a gesture or a glance ; while, apparently sa- 
 tisfied with this somewhat equivocal welcome, 
 the Palermitan quietly took possession of his 
 chair, ignited his narghile, carefully placed a 
 minute and gilded pill of opium xipon the surface 
 of the tobacco, and smoked on in silence, absorb- 
 ed in his own thoughts. 
 
 Another hour went by, and a bright streak of 
 light introduced itself between the damask 
 draperies which veiled one of the high ease 
 ments, announcing that another day had dawn- 
 ed. Symptoms of weariness began to betray 
 themselves in some of the losing gamesters, and 
 gradually a group collected round the principal 
 table, and began to revenge themselves by 
 excess of another description upon the evil 
 freaks of fortune. 
 
 " Testa di Venus!" exclaimed a bright-eyed 
 Roman; ^' Ecco Saviatti. Prince, I pledge you 
 in a goblet of Salernian. I did not see you enter. 
 You must have arrived just as — " 
 
 " You were about to make your fortune on 
 the red, when the black was turned," said the 
 Palermitan quietly ; " you are a perfect victim 
 this year, amico mio." 
 
 " At cards, perhaps," was the self-satisfied re- 
 tort ; " in other respects, I have no right to com- 
 plain." 
 
 " No, no ; we all know that the fates favor 
 you elsewhere. But how prospers your pursuit 
 of the Altcssa?" 
 
 The Roman smiled conceitedly ; swept away 
 his clustering black curls from a forehead which 
 might have become a hero, and threw himself 
 back negligently in his chair. 
 
 " Bah, bah ! Colonna is affecting discretion," 
 said a French count, who was at his elbow, with 
 a sneer. "Nothing is more mauvais toTi, mon 
 cher ; r\oi\\iuq, is, vaoYC gentil bergcr. i^ither you 
 have failed — in which case you are right to keep 
 your own secret — or you must travel a year or 
 
118 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 two longer, and learn to estimate the reputation 
 of &femine galante at its proper price." 
 
 " Talking of women," broke in Saviatti -with a 
 half yawn, as he witlidrew the ivory mouth- 
 ,piece of his narghile from his lips, and slowly 
 swaj-ed the flexile tube to and fro betAveen his 
 fingers ; " women and discretion, be it rightly 
 understood — I had a most amusing encounter 
 this evening, and but for two untoward circum- 
 Btances, I might have been as happy as Colonna 
 implies to be." 
 
 " And what were they ?" asked half-a-dozen 
 voices. 
 
 " In the first place," said the Palermitan, in 
 the same semi-tragic accent in which he had 
 made his announcement ; " in the first place, my 
 dear friends, a jealous husband — " 
 
 " Eh, que disgracia P' 
 
 " In the next, a sudden determination to leave 
 Kome ; or rather, to leave me." 
 
 " To leave 3/OM .' Impossible!" 
 
 " Impossible, perhaps, but nevertheless a fact. 
 And in order to show you that I am too generous 
 to follow a bad example — Colonna, pass me the 
 champaigne — I will drink the lady's health, and 
 tell you her history." 
 
 "Brava! brava!" was the general chorus. 
 
 Saviatti filled his glass with the sparkling 
 fluid, and drank it off; then, glancing round the 
 table upon his listeners, he said quietly : " You 
 all remember the English Trevor?" 
 
 "All, all!" 
 
 " "Well, then, you are also aware that I first 
 arrived in Rome in Trevor's company ; but you 
 are one and all ignorant of the fact that before 
 quitting England, he was an engaged man. The 
 lady was beautiful ; is beautiful — your Altessa, 
 il mio caro Colonna, is a Swiss beside her ; and 
 your Duchessa, nion cJuer De Tremblay, a gri- 
 eette. Trevor, in the pride of his heart, present- 
 ed me to \n& fiancee, and I, as I need scarcely 
 tell you, was civil to her for his sake. IS'ever 
 did 1 see a man of his indolent and languid tem- 
 perament more inconveniently in love with his 
 future wife. 
 
 " After a career of recklessness, the father of 
 la bella died insolvent, but that fact did not 
 afi"ect the passion of Trevor : he was really 
 fatiguing in his assiduities, and I almost began 
 to forgive the lady when I imagined that she 
 thought so as well as myself; for I must do her 
 the justice to acknowledge that she occasionally 
 emancipated herself very skilfully from the 
 thrall, and took a liberal revenge by coquetting 
 right and left whenever she could secure a safe 
 opipurtunity, until, at length, I heard her name 
 bandied rather freely at the clubs, and coupled 
 in no very mysterious manner with those of two 
 or three of Trevor's constant associates. 
 
 " As for myself, I knew from the first that she 
 was the betrollied wife of my friend ; and, more- 
 over, beautiful as slie was, I liad seen another 
 whom I thought fairer ; consequently, I felt 
 
 auite at lioerty to enact the Damoa to my Py- 
 lias, and took upon me to hint to il fanatico per 
 Famore that he was duped. Perhaps you fancy 
 tliat he Wivs grateful to me for this modern act 
 of chivalry ? You deceive yourselves. What 
 •was the friendship of lialf-a-dozen Palermitan 
 princes, compared to the love of Sybil? lie 
 
 was furious, met amici, furious. He believed 
 what I told him, as a matter of course, for I had 
 pledged my honor to every statement that I 
 made, but he spurned at the idea that tliey had 
 any foundation save in the censorious imagina- 
 tions of those who had propagated the scandal ; 
 and so, despite all that I could urge, he still 
 loved on, while these Same slanders gained 
 ground, and I could no longer doubt that, by 
 persisting in his suit, he was making his o\v'n 
 misery. I felt that something desperate un.;*, 
 be done, for his malady was beyond a common 
 cure ; and, accordingly — with no slight desire, 
 also, I confess, of preventing a step which would 
 deprive me of a favorite companion — I resolved, 
 despite his indignation, to recur to the forbidden 
 subject, and even to offer him an opportunity 
 of testing the lady's truth in so unequivocal a 
 manner that he should no longer retain a doubt 
 as to his true position. 
 
 " After a thousand scruples, he, at length, 
 consented to undei'go the ordeal, and as I had 
 more than once suspected that the beautiful 
 Miss Delamere was far from appreciating at its 
 just value the very ceremonious courtesy with 
 which I had studiously treated her, and had 
 ambition enough to feel flattered by the pros- 
 pect of becoming la signora princlpessa — for you 
 all know the foible of ladies of her nation f<'r 
 the prestige of a high-sounding name — I resolv 
 to see whether I could not, in my own per^ 
 prove to the misguided lover that he wu= 
 fooled." 
 
 " Bravissimo, Saviatti !" shouted his now more 
 than half intoxicated listeners. 
 
 " I began, then, to pay my court to the flat- 
 tered beauty assiduously, but cautiously. I 
 became silent and depressed, and she soon di;^ 
 covered that she alone had power to arouse iiii. 
 from my moral lethargj^ ; but she was as wr.; y 
 as myself; nor was it until I had, as if i, 
 consciously, suff'ered mj^self to be betra^-ed i;. 
 more than one demonstration of an inter.-, 
 more potent than I was authorised to feel fur 
 the promised wife of my friend, that she, at 
 length, ventured to inquire into the cause of m v 
 evident unhappiness. You may imagine ho\\ ' 
 replied. How reluctantly, but resolutely, ; 
 secret was wrung from me; how I besought In 
 to pardon my temerity; and, gradually, beca: 
 still less reserved, until I brought her to com 
 that she had already suspected the truth, :i 
 even to admit that she forgave the involunta 
 error. The remainder of my task was easy, l- 
 it required time ; nor was she loth to attbrd i;-. 
 In vain did Trevor complain of the postponement 
 of their marriage from one period to another; for 
 convinced of the immaculaej' of his idol, he 
 never, for an instant, doubted the ultimate failure 
 of my intrigue ; she always found some plausible 
 pretext to delay it, and, meanwhile, I had every 
 encouragement to prosecute my suit which I 
 could desire. Still her caution was admirable, 
 and I sincerelj' believe that, as the mere indivi- 
 dual, she greatly preferred my friend; and that, 
 had I been simple Signor Saviatti, the son of a 
 Palermitan banker, or of a Catanian apothecary, 
 she would never have hesitated between us. As 
 it was, however, I held the winning card, and 
 the ' dear prince,' had but to utter one conclusive 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 129 
 
 to leave the ' poor baronet ' leagues behind 
 
 the race. How I ever betrayed her into 
 
 rvriting such dangerous truths as this, I cannot 
 
 vcn now comprehend; altiiougli I have more 
 
 han once had occasion to remark tliat there are 
 
 . certain ehiss of women, who, wlien they once 
 
 ake a pen into their hands, suffer it to run away 
 
 f ith their reason. 
 
 '• Certain it is that it was so in this instance. 
 
 wish that Trevor had not, in his rage, burnt, 
 
 K'fore his faithless mistress, the last letter with 
 
 s'hich she honored me, and then you would 
 
 lave acknowledged the truth of my late remark. 
 
 lowever, suffice it that the letter in question 
 
 lid most effectually open his eyes, and prove to 
 
 liiu that his fair inamorata was ready to fly 
 
 vith me from an union to which siie looked for- 
 
 vard with dismay, and to trust to my honor 
 
 lever to give her cause to repent the hazardous 
 
 ' tep that she had taken. 
 
 " So far, so well ; but alas ! chi la fatto il 
 nala, faccia la penitenza, says the proverb, and 
 o it was with Trevor. The English laws are 
 requently both unreasonable and inconvenient, 
 le had formerly promised marriage to Miss 
 ^elamere, and he was bound by one of those 
 aws to perform liis promise, or to incur the risk, 
 lot only of a heavy fine — for that he was too 
 vealtliy to care — but also of a public exposure, 
 .vitli which she did not hesitate to threaten liim. 
 " Perhaps \-ou expect, idlers as you are, tliat 
 '. am about to entertain you witli the scene 
 .vhicli ensued, when the lady discovered that 
 ihe liad been duped in her turn, and that she 
 laci lost, by one unlucky throw, both the foreign 
 loble and the English baronet ; and, corpo di 
 Bacco! it deserves narration, but I have just 
 low neither time nor taste for such a tale, 
 though in truth, her very rage was magnificent, 
 ind her indignation as genuine as though she 
 lad been no party to this war of wits. Well, 
 X) sliorten a long story, she retorted eveiy re- 
 proach of Trevor, by upbraiding him with his 
 Dwn treachery, and that of his Fidus Achates ; 
 md, when lie swore that he would leave her 
 for ever, she threatened him with a court of 
 lustice, and silenced him, as that threat seldom 
 fails to silence an Englishman. 
 
 " Wliat was to be done? Trevor had no 
 Derve for such an exposure. To be exhibited to 
 the world not only as a dupe, but moreover, as 
 the dupe of a woman who had forfeited all 
 claim to consideration from the levity of lier 
 own conduct, was more tlian his pride could 
 brook. He remembered too, that her pecuniary 
 losourccs must he nearly exhausted, and that 
 tlie prospect of becoming his wife had induced 
 her to persist in a style of living to which they 
 had long been inadequate ; and thus, what from 
 fear from himself on the one hand, and a linger- 
 ing weakness for the false fair one on the other, 
 they at length came to a compromise. IS'ot, 
 however, that this desirable arrangement was 
 nmde without considerable difficulty ; for the 
 lady, at once baffled and bitter, was exorbitant 
 in her demands, and poor Trevor was obliged, 
 not only to have recourse to the Jews, but also 
 to ex])atriate himself for a time, in order to 
 satisfy licr claim. 
 
 " Jibbejie ! The victim accompanied me to | 
 9 
 
 Berlin, and la bella abandonnata left London, at 
 he supposed, to bury her regrets in the country, 
 and for a time he heard no more of her ; while, 
 per me, I almost forgot her existence. Judge, 
 therefore, of my amazement this evening, when, 
 in a solitary stroll through the Negroni garden! 
 — a strange caprice you will say, and one for 
 which, in point of fact, I can scarcely account 
 — my ear was suddenly attracted by the in- 
 flections of an harmonious and familiar voice. 
 I listened for several instants in oi'der to be 
 satisfied that I did not deceive myself, and 
 then, convinced of the accuracy of my memo- 
 ry, I suddenly turned the angle of the path, 
 and saw before me Miss Delamere in person, 
 negligently reclining upon the grass beside 
 one of the fountains, witli her head resting 
 upon the shoulder of a very handsome cava- 
 lier, who also held one of her hands clasped 
 in his. 
 
 " Kothing daunted, however, by the style of 
 this grouping — for, as you are aware, I felt my 
 strength, and was not altogether sorry to have 
 an opportunity of making my peace, or free 
 from the desire to see it ratified somewhat 
 after the same fashion — I accosted her at once, 
 and that in a tone of old acquaintanceship 
 which forbade any denial on her part ; but 
 a change had come over her whole manner. 
 It was neither aftectedly cold, nor inferentially 
 resentful ; it was more discouraging than 
 either; calm, self-possessed, and — could I have 
 forgotten the past — I shoidd say dignified. 
 Tlie problem, moreover, was soon solved ; I 
 began to allude to former times, and I was 
 silenced at once by a presentation to — her 
 husband." 
 
 " n povero Saviatti !" 
 
 " You mistake, gentlemen, you mistake," 
 pursued the Prince contemptuously ; " you 
 should say il povero marito ; for trust me he 
 will ere long the most deserve your pity, 
 though at present he appears to be ' in love 
 with ruin.' She informed me, and you will be 
 able to estimate the feeling with which she 
 made the communication, that she had been 
 travelling for the last two months in Italy ; 
 ergo, her bridehood is rapidly waning into com- 
 monplace wedded life." 
 
 " And who is the sacrifice f Is he one who 
 has been kidnapped from our own set, or a 
 mere nuitrimonial facility f" 
 
 Therein lies the point of the epigram," 
 said the Palermitan with a light laugh ; " I 
 was presented to the hero of the domestic 
 drama, as I have already told you. But how ? 
 Why simply thus : ' Prince, allow me to pre- 
 sent to you my husband — My dear Frederic, 
 the Prince Saviatti, of whom I have spoken 
 to you;" and thus, you see, although it ap- 
 peared that the ' great unknown' was enabled 
 at once to identify me as one of his lady's 
 quondam friends, I was left totally in the dark 
 as regarded his own individuality. However 
 certain it is, in whatever spirit I had been 
 made known to him, he had no suspicion of 
 the truth, and I almost began to imagine, 
 from the manner in which he tolerated for a 
 time a series of impertinences on my part, that 
 he waa simply what Rowscoffsky has just po- 
 
/so 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 litely designated as a ' matrimonial facility ;' 
 but I was mistaken. He appeared suddenly 
 to perceive that I wa* transgressing the bounds 
 of even Italian good-breeding, for he started 
 from his seat like a roused lion, and carried 
 6ff la doruta, without even permitting me to 
 walk back to the city in her company." 
 
 " Cett hnpatjahlc !" siiouted the Frenchman ; 
 ** ee pauvre Saviatti est dtchu." 
 
 " Then are there two fallen angels in the 
 •ane drama," replied the Prince quietly ; " and 
 I am ready to wager the hundred ducats which 
 I won last evening of Squanderleigh, that the 
 piece is not yet played out." 
 
 " Pshaw! }ou have already had }'our conge." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; moreover, the happy couple 
 leave Rome to-morrow ; another point against 
 me. and nevertheless I am read\- to renew my 
 bet, with this reservation, that if I am not my- 
 self the hero of the second act, it will be 
 Trevor. Who accepts the challenge V 
 
 " Not I," said Colonna ; " I knovi: too well 
 the nature of the sex. The investment is a 
 bad one." 
 
 A general laugh followed his remark, but 
 the attention of the party was suddenly called 
 to Lord Squaiiderlcigh, who with a vehement 
 oath hurled his cards across the saloon, and 
 filling a goblet with brandy, drank it off to the 
 confusion of all modest personages, who only 
 played to oblige their friends. 
 
 " Milord, j-ou are uneiTil." calmly observed 
 his opponent, as he swept into his open palm 
 the pile of bright English gold which he had 
 gradually heaped up, and deposited it in the 
 breast-pocket of his coat. " I appeal to Co- 
 lonna, to De Tremblay, to Saviatti, if I ever 
 play save when I am urged to it, and cannot 
 decline without discourtesy." 
 
 " I care for no such appeals," was the furious 
 retort. " Did not Saviatti only yesterday win 
 my money in all probability in the same way, 
 and on the same principle ? And do not both 
 Colonna and De Tremblay hold bills of mine 
 similarly gained ? Do you take me for a boy 
 to believe that, knowing my own skill at the 
 game as I do, I should be idiot enough to sup- 
 pose that 1 am indebted to ill-luck for my 
 perpetual losses ?" 
 
 All the group started indignantly to their 
 feet, but a gesture from the Duke silenced 
 them for a moment, as he asked with compo- 
 sure ; " And to what then. Milord, am I to 
 understand that you attribute them?" 
 
 " To what !" echoed the stripling, as he turn- 
 ed an undismayed look \ipon the threatening 
 countenances around him. "Have I not spoken 
 sufficiently jilain already for you, one and all, 
 to undei-stand that I attribut* them to your 
 superior science t" 
 
 " You must answer to me for this," said the 
 Duca, with an unshaken calmness which formed 
 a ghastly contrast with the trembling passion 
 of his adversary. 
 
 " And to me," said Colonna. 
 
 " And me," followed up Saviatti. 
 
 The stripling listened with a bitter and hollow 
 laugh, and simply replying, "I am ready," 
 swallowed another goblet of the liquid fire. 
 
 turned a fierce gaze of defiance upon his oppo-| 
 nents, and strode from the room. 
 
 By mid-day on the morrow, all Rome rang 
 with the news that a fatal duel had taken place 
 two hours after dawn, beyond the Porto del 
 Popolo; in which the gallant Lord Squander- 
 leigh, the only son and heir of the Earl of "Was- 
 tinville, the hope of an ancient house, and the 
 idol of an adoring mother, had fallen mortally 
 wounded beneath the bullet of an unknown aa- 
 versary. The authorities were all astir ; the 
 sbirri in commotion, and the whole system ol 
 exclusive society shaken for four-and-twenty 
 hours. And then came the relatives from 
 England to claim the corpse, and to convey it 
 to the family-vault, in order that it might repose 
 beside those of its ancestors — and then, Lord 
 Squanderleigh was forgotten. 
 
 Such was the circle in which the name of the 
 woman who had become the wife of the proud 
 and sensitive Mortimer was branded withindig-, 
 nity — amid the curses of unsuccessful gamesters, 
 the fumes of wine, and the ribaldries of licen- 
 tiousness. Such were the revellers, who, not con-' 
 tent with branding her witii past disgrace and 
 present duplicity, even presaged for her a future, 
 still more dishonorable than either. Sybil was 
 indeed fallen ! — fallen from the brightness and 
 the purity which compel respect from the ■ 
 solute. She had striven and had triumji: 
 She was the wife of a man of iionor ; but 
 very triumph was contanunated by the tact. : 
 he must henceforward be a mark for the wim 
 scorn througli her means ; and that world 
 one of upright and soberly judging individ :;, 
 who would temper their justice with m. i 
 and be silent where otherwise they must c 
 demn ; but a world of reckless rouis and bit!' : 
 satirists, to whom her shame would be matter . 
 loose mirth and ribald speculation; and wlic 
 would, from their own intimate knowledge o: 
 the vices of humanity, be enabled to analyst 
 and to lay bare every working of her heart— 
 her woman-heart, — that pure and hoh' mystery , 
 which, like the statue of Vesta, should evei 
 wear a veil for all save he to whom it is yiiM 
 
 Sybil was indeed fallen ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 Meanwhile all was deep and quiet happiiu\=.' 
 at Bletchley. The ladies of the manor-hous*. 
 had paid their promised visit; the girls ha', 
 welcomed Gertrude with a warmth of delightet' 
 affection which was balm to her meek an(^ 
 gentle heart ; and even Mrs. Armstrong, for 
 getting all the brilliant projects which she hac; 
 formed for her son, and satisfied that, as he;, 
 husband no longer witliheld his consent to thi 
 marriage, it was her duty to think ;is lie did 
 and perhaps feeling, moreover, that she shouli 
 in all probability be a person of much more con: 
 sequence in the eyes of her unportioned diugh; 
 ter-in-law than she could have hoped to be in 
 those of the high born or richly-dowered damselt 
 upon whom she had formerly speculated, wa 
 
4, 
 
 ...Tie 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 181 
 
 lO less inclined than themselves to believe that [murmuring, to her a few snatches from Alfieri, 
 Ernest had, after all, been less to blame than had alike been laid aside, that a sudden silence 
 she at first supposed; while the worthy old occurred, as eloquent to their feelings as the 
 squire, having once determined to withdraw his ^ most pi-ofuse and impassioned words. It was at 
 objections, did so with an opcn-heartedness and length broken by a sigh from the orphan, which 
 
 goneroaity of feeling which removed the last 
 shadow from the spirit of the orphan. 
 
 Only a few days elapsed ere (sertrude again 
 found herself an inhabitant of the hall, and once 
 more all the little world of Bletchley was in 
 
 fell painfully upon the 
 
 ■ar of Ernest, 
 he said anxiously ; 
 
 'and 
 
 " You sigh, dearest, 
 wherefore ?" 
 
 " Simply," replied Gertrude ; " because I have 
 left a duty unperformed for which I am self-re- 
 commotion. It was really too bad and too ' buked ; and that, even now, I hava scarcely 
 barefaced, as Miss Bayliss remarked with eon- * courage to repair my error." 
 
 siderable asperity; too bad on the side of Miss 
 Jlortimer. and too barefaced on that of the 
 Armstrongs, that their company had no sooner 
 
 " Incorrigible culprit! 
 "Kay, do not jest, Ernest; for, indeed, my 
 heart is too full for smiles. I feel that I liave 
 
 dispersed than they thought proper to remem-|not acted generously or frankly towards }ou ; 
 ber their poor neighbor. However, if the girl j and that I am, consequently, unworthy of the 
 had no more spirit, it served her right, and she | unhesitating confidence which you have placed 
 would see what would come of it before long ; ] in me. You may remember that, during our 
 
 but it was disgraceful that, because thej- hap- 
 pened to be the great people of the neighbor- 
 hood, any one should be mean enough to en- 
 courage them in their impertinence; and Miss 
 Mortimer, as Mr. Pilbeam declared, was so blind 
 to the degrading part that she was acting, as 
 actually to be recovering fi-om day to day, even 
 although he had long considered her case to be 
 ntterl}' hopeless : but there she was, as likely to 
 live as his own wife, and as calm and contented 
 as though she had been treated with the great- 
 est respect. 
 
 However, she begged that she might not be 
 quoted as having repeated the remarks of Mr. 
 Pilbeam, which he had made to her quite in 
 confidence, as it might injure him in his busi- 
 ness ; but it really made her blood boil to think 
 that Miss Warrington and her niece had not 
 shown more regard for the respectability of the 
 village. Had she, or her sister, or Mrs. Pilbeam, 
 or even the dissenting minister's widow, ever 
 demeaned themselves in such a way ? Not they. 
 As to accepting little presents from the manor 
 
 memorable interview in the pavilion, jou hinted 
 your belief that I was the prey of some secret 
 sorrow ; and you were right. That, however, 
 was not a fitting moment for such a revelation 
 as I had to make ; and since that day I hava 
 suffered my happiness to absorb me so entirely, 
 as to forget that the confession of the past was 
 due to you. It will require an eft'ort on my 
 part to reoall that past ; but the ett'ort must be 
 made ; for I cannot consent to become your wife 
 until you are placed in possession of every cir- 
 cumstance of my early life ; and are prepared 
 to assure me that what I have to tell has not 
 lowered me in your esteem." 
 
 " Gertrude, why do you torture both yourself 
 and me? I foretell all that you have to say 
 — Y'ou have loved another." 
 
 " I have, Ernest," was the low, but resolute 
 reply ; '• and that, too, with all the ardor of ft 
 young and trusting heart. Nor was this affec- 
 tion the mere transitory feeling of a few months, 
 but the one great and absorbing sentiment of 
 my life. If 1 know myself, 1 am compelled to 
 
 house, there was nothing in that; for if they confess, even to you, that had my love been re- 
 
 uere sent, they could not decently be refused ;j turned, I believe that neither time nor misfor- 
 
 but she must say tliat, for people who pretend tune would have sufficed to overcome it; but it 
 
 ' to hold their healls higher than their neigliboi-s, i was not so. 1 loved where my love was slighted 
 
 I the Warringtoiis were about as mean-spirited aland undervalued; and my whole waste of atfec- 
 
 .' set as she ever heard of. i tion Avas repaid only by the attachment of a 
 
 Ihese murmurs from the village, however, brother. But hear me out before you condemn 
 
 never reached the hall. There all was peace me. My error was that of inexperience, not of 
 
 and joy. The happiness of Ernest was com- levity. I was misled alike by my own hopes, 
 
 plete. To sit beside Gertrude, and to watch and by the tenderness of one who was indeed to 
 
 I from day to day the progress of her convales- , me more than a mother. And now, Ernest, 
 
 ' cence; to see the faint flush again steal to her 'dear Ernest, will you listen to my story of the 
 
 cheek, and the smile of recovered confidence past?" 
 
 rest upon her lip, was to him a never-ceasing 
 labor of love. While Somerville and Mary, 
 ; -• i more gladsome in their jo}% were continually on 
 , '* ; horseback, or engaged in schemes of pleasure, 
 M ; the tranquil delight of Ernest and Gertrude was 
 ite [ BO less engrossing. To them the whispered con- 
 )» [ fidences, the assured prospects of the future, and 
 ft j the present calm, were full of enjoyment. They 
 loiili ) had 80 much to say, so much to ask, so much to 
 ! hope, 
 
 It was during one of these constantly-recur- simple confession, 
 
 •• Say on, Gertrude," answered the young 
 man, who had involuntarily relinquished her 
 hand, and buried his face in his spread palms; 
 " say on — I will endeavor to bear it manfully; 
 but you know not how deeply you have wrung 
 me." 
 
 The tears of the orphan fell slow and cold, as 
 she withdrew her eyes from the averted figure 
 of her lover, but she heeded them not. Stiong 
 in her conviction of right, she commenced her 
 
 nng conversations, when the twilight had sto 
 upon them almost unheeded, and that the pencil 
 of Gertrude, and the volume from which her 
 
 She told him of the premature death of hear 
 mother ; of tlie heart-broken father, who eo soon 
 followed her to the grave. She painted to him 
 
 lover had been oocasionally reading, or rather in rapid, but graphic words, the etateij old 
 
US 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 house at "Wcstrnm whioh bad been the cradle 
 of her childhood, and the home ot her youth; 
 and she dwelt with all the eloquence of deep 
 and strong feeling, upon the virtues of the gentle 
 aad high-hearted Mi-s. Mortimer. 
 
 Nor did her low voice falter when she came 
 to speak of Frederic. There was no suspicious 
 haste, no coquettish reservation, in the manner 
 in which she related all their early and childish 
 affection; she did justice to his amiable quali- 
 ties, and to the high principle of his nature. 
 She told how, from girlhood up. she had been 
 taugiit to consider him as her future husband ; 
 and how, in order to render herself worthy of 
 his love, she had striven to acquire the habits, 
 feelings, and accomplishments which he ap- 
 
 S roved. And after she had described the long 
 ours of retirement, in which she had listened 
 to all the confident projects of h-^r aunt, while 
 the subject of their discourse was yet absent, she 
 did not even disguise from her agitated listener 
 the eager an.\iety with which she had awaiSed 
 ^is return; and'the bitter disappointment she 
 had experienced on finding that her attiichment 
 ■was not returned, when Fredenc, happy and 
 heart-free, ere many months elapsed, bestowed 
 the affection which she had always been taught 
 to consider as her own, upon a stranger. 
 
 " And what said your aunt, who had so 
 cruelly misled you?" asked Ernest, suddenly 
 looking up. 
 
 " All that the purest and most perfect affec- 
 tion could dictate, bhe wept over the blight of 
 my visions, and her own hopes ; and vowed 
 never to receive another daugliter." 
 
 " And then Gertrude, all these visions were 
 renewed?" 
 
 The orphan smiled a sad smile. 
 "No, Ernest," she said meekly; "from the 
 hour in which I learned that the heart of Fre- 
 deric was estranged from me, and that his hap- 
 piness depended upon another, the path of duty 
 and of self-esteem lay plain before me, and I 
 had only to follow it to the end. Frederic, 
 moreover, was generous enough to trust to me, 
 and to place his cause in my hands; and believe 
 me when 1 assure you that he had no cold ad- 
 vocate with his mo her. I loved him, and to 
 me his happiness was all in all. It sufficed that 
 my affection was not essential to him, for me to 
 understand at once the indelicacy of sustaining 
 -what was, at best, only an imaginary claim. 
 My poor aunt died ; and with her, as you are 
 aware, the one great tie which bound me to my 
 fatiier's family. In my desolation I sought a 
 bo-;ne with a "distaiit relative, to whom 1 was a 
 stranger; .Miss Warrington received me, and 
 Hicerfully consented to impose another burden 
 upon her already limited resources. I came to 
 Bietchiey, unknown, unloved, and hopeless. 
 You know tiie rest" 
 
 There was a momentary silence, and the heart 
 of (icrtrude sank witiiin her. 
 
 " And your cousin ?" a^ked Armstrong at 
 laigth, wilii apparent effort. 
 
 •' My cousin a few montlis ago was united to 
 Miss Dclamerc." 
 
 " And you still loved him, Gertrude, when we 
 first met! When I, at once, and unreservedly, 
 ^lade you the arbitress of my future fate ; when 
 
 I placed my whole being in your hands, without 
 a doubt, without a misgiving, you still loved 
 this man!" 
 
 " I believed that I did so," was the low and 
 timid reply : " and, in all probability, Ernest, 
 had you not, by your generous affection, taught 
 me the fallacy of my own feelings, I should 
 have sunk int« an early grave with that convic- 
 tion. Remember that my affection for Frederic 
 was one alike of habit and of hope ; that I had 
 been taught from my earliest girlhood to look 
 upon him as the partner of my future life; that, 
 although reared in a comfort bordering upon 
 luxury, my seclusion had been almost unbroken; 
 and that, in short, my whole world w^as com- 
 prised within the walls of Westrum House. It 
 IS not, however, for me to excuse the past, I 
 have simply obeyed the dictates of my nature, 
 and fulfilled my sense of right, by removing 
 every mystery between us, and by showing my- 
 self to you as I am. It is for you to decide if a 
 heart which has hoped and mourned like mine, 
 is -worthy of the love that it has won." 
 
 " Only answer me one question, Gertrude, 
 and that with the same truthfulness which I 
 have always seen in you. Did you love this 
 man as you love me ?" and he again seized her 
 hand. 
 
 " I could not. I am now conscious that, in 
 the ignorance of my spirit, I mistook myself. I 
 loved rather the creation of ray own fancy, tip/ 
 cherished son of my more than mother, the one 
 fixed idea of my existence. I loved Frederic 
 not only for himself, but because with him I lost 
 all. In short," concluded the poor girl, with a 
 passionate burst of tears, " I despise myself for an 
 illusion which was dissipated from the moment 
 in which I discovered that I had long uncon- 
 sciously suffered a deeper and a more vital at- 
 tachment to obliterate the past. And oh ! 
 Ernest, were you aware for how long a period 
 your image was in my heart, while I believed 
 that it was absorbed by another, you would un- 
 derstand all that I would say, all that 1 feel." 
 
 "Idol I do! Gertrude, and I thank you, "ex- 
 claimed her lover with renewed tenderness ; 
 " We will never again look back upon the past. 
 What was the love of the girl beside the affec- 
 tion of the woman? I have been irritable and 
 ; unjust, dearest ; when I should rather have been 
 ' proud of the trust which you reposed in me, an 1 
 j of your faith in my right feeling. You have 
 I acted nobly, Gertrude, and once more 1 thank 
 1 you. And now, did you not assure me, that no 
 other secret exists between us, and that this tale 
 of girlisli romance was the sole mystery of your 
 past life ?" 
 
 " I did, and truly, Ernest You have now 
 read my iieait, which has not a thought that it 
 would hesitate to confide to you — not a feeling 
 or a hope of which you are not the object." 
 
 And still the tWiiight deepened about them, 
 and the glowing fire-light alone flickered through 
 the silent apartment, and revealed each to ti • 
 other in that luxurious partial obscurity so d- 
 to tiiose whose thoughts are full of quiet ha]'i 
 ness. For a moment the pride of Ernest Aim- 
 strong had been wounded. He could not brook 
 that Gertrude, his own Gertrude, tiie only wo- 
 man he had ever loved, should have felt for 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 188 
 
 I another what he had felt only for her ; but he 
 ' was too right-minded to persist in so weak an 
 [ egotism ; and he soon forgot his own disappoint- 
 ment in admiration of the delicacy which had 
 taught the timid girl beside him to consider as a 
 crime the reservation of a fact which so nea,ily 
 concerned his happiness ; and to compel herself 
 to an avowal so painful to her feelings, in order 
 to convince him that she was worthy of a love 
 ia which she thus ventured to confide. 
 
 Henceforward, he could have no misgivings. 
 The past stood revealed before him. Tlie pure 
 and guileless heart had poured forth all its trea- 
 sures of memory, and was indeed his own. One 
 short half-hour of suffering had secured to him a 
 life of trust and peace ; and the more he reflect- 
 ed upon the voluntary and unembarrassed con- 
 fidence of Gertrude, the more he became con- 
 scious of the whole beautj' and holiness of a na- 
 ture which shrank from even the semblance of 
 deceit and dishonor. 
 
 And Gertrude, too, was happy, for her sensi- 
 tive conscience was relieved of a heavy weight. 
 Ernest now knew, and had pardoned all. She 
 might henceforward yield herself up, Avithout 
 one misgiving, to the bliss of loving and being 
 beloved. All the memory of the past appeared 
 to fade into so far a distance, that it rather wore 
 the mistj' indistinctness of a painful dream, than 
 the sterner features of a reality. All seemed 
 unreal, save the actual present, with its dear 
 delights of peace, and love, and joy. Her very 
 tears were luxury ; and the throbbing of her 
 heart made delicious music as she listened to 
 its quick pulsations. 
 
 Who has not experienced at such an hour as 
 this? Who has not, at some time, felt the utter 
 inefficiency of words to embody the million sen- 
 sations which well up, pure and warm, from the 
 overflowing heart, and create an atmosphere of 
 happiness about them ? They who have not 
 done this, have been deprived of one of those 
 blessed privileges which leave a holy impress, 
 like the footsteps of angels, upon the spirit, and 
 appear to purify the whole being. 
 
 The world may have more tumultuous plea- 
 sures to offer, more voluptuous joys to dispense ; 
 but tlie searing-iron of passion and of vice leaves 
 a darker trace behind, and one which no after- 
 tears can obliterate. 
 
 Pity, that such moments of peaceful joy are 
 brief ; and that, weakened by their own in- 
 tensity, they are soon compelled to give place 
 to the commoner sensations and associations of 
 every day life. Like a Sabbath of the soul, they 
 do but repose, and cannot replace, the less ex- 
 alted feelings incident to human existence ; and 
 are but too frequently slighted or desecrated, 
 until their purifying influence is negatived and 
 disavowed. 
 
 And even Gertrude and Ernest, deeply as 
 they had felt the spell of that quiet joy, awoke 
 after a time to a more intimate consciousness of 
 their actual position ; and once more the mur- 
 mured words of affection, and the lightly-born 
 sigh of happiness, broke upon the stillness of 
 the apartment. Gradually, however, the tones 
 grew' less indistinct; and the clear laughter of 
 the lover rang out at intervals, as some joyous 
 yision floated before his excited fancy. 
 
 Meanwhile Gertrude affected to be busily en- 
 gaged in collecting and sorting the wools wliieh 
 were scattered over her tapestry frame, a task 
 rendered almost impossible by the partial dark- 
 ness ; and, as she was thus employed, a small 
 morocco souvenir, clasped with gold, fell from 
 the basket in which she was arranging them, at 
 the feet of her companion ; who, hastilj' lifting 
 it from the floor, laid his finger upon the lock, 
 and was about to open it, when Gertrude eager- 
 ly stretched out her hand, exclaiming, — 
 
 " iso, no; you must not unclasp those tablets, 
 Ernest; indeed you must not !" 
 
 " What 1 another secret, Gertrude ?" 
 
 There was no reply, as the head of the orphan 
 was averted for an instant ; but ere long she re- 
 peated beseechingly, — 
 
 " If you love me, dear Ernest, do not open 
 them. You will laugh at me, and I cannot en- 
 dure your ridicule." 
 
 " Laugh at you, Gertrude ! why, what have 
 you been doing? Inditing a sonnet to the 
 moon, or composing an elegy to a dead robin }" 
 
 " Now you are too absurd." 
 
 " Justify yourself by authorizing me to open 
 the tablets," 
 
 " Be generous, Ernest, and give them up." 
 
 " Excuse me — I covet them. You have never 
 yet made me a present. I accept these." 
 
 " Well, then, since it must be so," said Ger- 
 trude, half laughing and half annoyed ; " you 
 may keep them ; but only on condition that you 
 do not retain the contents." 
 
 " Agreed !" shouted the young man, as he 
 bounded towards the fire-place to examine hrs 
 prize ; " Why, what dry twig is this ?" he asked 
 after the silence of a moment, as he drew from 
 between two folds of satin a bunch of withered 
 leaves ; " And is this the treasure that I am 
 bound to restore ?" 
 
 " It is, dear Ernest," whispered the soft low 
 voice of Gertrude, as her small hand was pressed 
 lightly upon his shoulder ; " and to me it is in- 
 deed a treasure," 
 
 " And what is it, dearest?" 
 
 " Another and a happier record of the past,' 
 blushed the orphan, as her lover folded his arm 
 about her waist, and drew her to his heart ; 
 " The faded cluster-rose of the garden pavilion." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 The Mortimers were domesticated at Westrura, 
 and Mrs. Delamere established in her favorite 
 arm-chair, as she was wont to be at The Grange; 
 but the old house was soon subjected to a meta- 
 morphosis which would have rendei-ed it irre- 
 cognisable to its former owners. The first care 
 of Mortimer, on his return to England, had been 
 to desire Sybil to select from among the hixuries 
 in her former home all those which she waa 
 desirous to retain ; and this done, a puijiic au«- 
 tion desecrated that long exclusive abode. The 
 house itself was placed in the hands of an agent 
 for sale ; but, with intuitive delicacy, Frederic 
 so made his arrangements, that not a single 
 suspicion of the insolvency of its late proprie 
 
1S4 
 
 THE RIVAL. BEAUTIES. 
 
 tors supplied food for the gossipry of the noigli- 
 borhootL 
 
 Kotliiiig could be more natural than that Mr. 
 Mortimer should jjrefor tlie ancestorial associa- 
 tions of his own birtli-plaee to the mere splen- 
 dors of a strange property, unendeured to him 
 by any familiar memories; and consequently no 
 comments were made upon so simple a fact 
 and while these changes were in progress, litll 
 or no alteration was perceptible in the mood or 
 manner of the newly-married man. The quiet 
 unobtrusive gratitude of Mrs. Delamere, wlio 
 once more saw herself surrounded by her accus 
 tomed lu.vuries, and left to their enjoyment 
 ■without one misgiving as to their continuance 
 revealed itself in occasional snatches of deep 
 feeling and earnest affection, and was balm to 
 bis wounded spirit ; but the excitement conse- 
 quent upon those domestic arrangements at an 
 end, ft gloom gathered upon the brow of Morti- 
 mer, which not even the fascinations of his beau- 
 tiful Sybil had power to banish, eveu infatuated 
 as he still was by her attractions. 
 
 Their homeward journey, commenced under 
 such unpleasant circumstances, had not been 
 productive of enjoyment to either party. A 
 vtigue, but not the less a painful suspicion, had 
 grown upon Frederic, that the resolute silence 
 of his wife upon the past involved some secret 
 which she was unwilling to confide to him. 
 And if this were indeed the fact, of what nature 
 was the mystery, which, as it now seemed, was 
 to remain for ever untold ? 
 
 There were moments of bitterness, in which 
 he cursed the sensitiveness of his nature, which 
 Imd not permitted him to temporize with tiie 
 impertinence of the Sicilian prince, and to bear 
 aiiytliing, everj'thing, until, through his ni'^ans, 
 he had made himself master of ail he had to 
 reve.ll ; for that much of it bore closely upon 
 the former career of Sybil, had been evident 
 frotn the little which had escaped him during 
 tlieir one brief interview. He might liave in- 
 si.sted upon remaining in Rome, and have culti- 
 vated an acquaintance with this man ; he might 
 — but, in the next instant, as his glance fell upon 
 the graceful woman beside him, he almost hated 
 him.self for his treacherous regrets. It appear- 
 ed impossible that so fair and radiant a creature, 
 whose brow and eyes were full of that proud 
 
 f>lacidity which bespoke a nature as faultless as 
 H-r person, couhi be other than she seemed. 
 Why sliould he tluis torture himself? There 
 might be nothing to learn — nothing beyond 
 those idle follies so common in tlie world in 
 whieli she liad been reared, as to be almost the 
 general habit of her sex ; and her haughty 
 spirit, s[)urning at his suspicions, miglit merely 
 be revenging itself by the silence wliich he de- 
 precated. 
 
 And Frederic struggled to believe that it was 
 BO ; and once more he lavished upon Sybil all 
 the treasures of an affection as deep as it had 
 been reckless; but the illusion would not last — 
 Again and again his doubts and Ids mi.<givings 
 recurred. The manner of Saviatti had made a 
 de<'per impression upon his reason than even tlie 
 words whicli he hid uttered ; and the more he 
 dwelt upon it, the more keenly tho reflection 
 woundeu his dignity. 
 
 That his wife should be thus lightly addres*- 
 !ed, thus superciliously approaclied, stung him 
 to the very soul. He who had alwa^-s associated 
 the idea of her sex with a respect and deferenc« 
 almost eliivalrous, and who had invested Sybil, 
 above all, with the sanctity of his brightest and 
 holiest aspirations, could not brook that not 
 only the woman whom lie had worshipped, but 
 even the wife whom he had won, should, with- 
 out resenting the insult on the instant, have sub- 
 mitted to the degradation of so unseemly a 
 display of sarcastic insolence. And if she had 
 indeed done this — and that it was so he was 
 only too bitterly conscious — could it be that slie 
 would visit upon himself a minor injury, and 
 one, too, which grew out of the sensitive 
 jealousy of his aflection ? Alas! he once more 
 felt that there was no room for doubt ; and that 
 harrowing past over which she kept such strin- 
 gent guard, rose up before him like a spectre 
 of evil, or pressed upon his spirit like an incu- 
 bus. 
 
 Sybil, too, was changed. She no longer re- 
 turned his affection with the warmth which she 
 had once shown in those moments of returning 
 confidence, in which, for a brief interval, he re- 
 solutely silenced his misgivings, and strove to 
 fasten his thouglits upon the present. He fell 
 that she was clianged, and that she rather per- 
 mitted the demonstrations of his tenderness as 
 a natural consequence of their relative position, 
 than welcomed them as its privilege. Tlie 
 most futile objects sufticed to divert her atten- 
 tion from her husband. She was gradually 
 creating a world of interest and sensation about 
 her, from which he was morally excluded. Eveu 
 the pi'ospeet of becoming a mother did not arouse 
 her from the rapidly increasing egotism which 
 betrayed itself in every action of her life. The 
 necessity for exertion had ceased, and her fas- 
 cinations and acquirements were no longer put 
 forth to win his praise. A gulf had opened be- 
 tween them, and the venerated roof of his an- 
 cestors had ceased to be a home to the imbit- 
 tercd and disappointed Mortimer. 
 
 It was consequently with less mortification 
 than he would once have felt that, after the 
 residence of only a few short months at Westruiii , 
 Frederic heard his once adored Sybil again and 
 again recur to the unpalatable subject of his 
 social insignificance ; and reproach him with a 
 supmeness which left him unknown and obscure, 
 when, by a slight exertion of energy, he might 
 be battling his way to fortune, and, better still, 
 to the consideration and respect of his fellow 
 nen. He liad no longer an absorbing passion 
 tvith which to counteract the dormant spii-it of 
 ambition she strove so resolutel}' to awaken ; 
 
 d he listened until he began to feel that she 
 might be right; and that he had, indeed, hither- 
 to mistaken his own nature when he believed 
 that he was unfitted to wrestle with the world, 
 and to grapple his way to greatness. He did 
 not comjirehend that it was the mere yearning 
 of an unsatisfied heart for something to which 
 it might attach itself; for some new and power- 
 ful interest by which it might be filled, which 
 so misled his reason ; while it is moreover cer- 
 tain that it recjuires unusual vigor of mind, and 
 decision of character, to enable a man to with- 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIE9. 
 
 135 
 
 I stand the influence of the -woman whom he has 
 once passionately loved, and who has heeoine 
 the partner of his life. Be that influence exerted 
 as it may, either openly and boldly, or quietly 
 and infereutially, its general result is the same. 
 The atfection may have become chilled, the trust 
 may have grown weaker, but the moral power 
 remains unshaken, and he instinctively imbibes 
 some portion of her tastes, her habits, and her 
 opinions. 
 
 This power, regarded in its responsibilitj', is 
 at once a proud and a fearful one for women. 
 
 Where it is healthily exerted, it may be pro- 
 ductive of an immense amount of good; and 
 that it has been so, meekly and becomingly, we 
 have many bright examples. How often has 
 tl>e loving energy of a wife sustained the droop- 
 ing heart, and reanimated the chilled hopes, 
 which no other voice could call back into be- 
 ing ! How many noble actions have owed their 
 existence to the pure and lofty aspirations of a 
 woman's soul? 
 
 How many evil hands have been stayed, how 
 many base intentions have been smothered, in 
 compliance with her warning whisper? But 
 where she desecrates this mighty influence, and, 
 forgetting the purity and holiness of her mission, 
 puts forth her strength only for evil, then is her 
 
 [)ower indeed fearful and her responsibility 
 ieavj\ Involuntarily Mortimer had become 
 subjected to this common law, and had gradual- 
 ly imbibed the prevailing passion of his wife. 
 He required a great and absorbing interest to 
 replace that which he was only too well aware 
 bad already ceased to exist. He felt the ne- 
 cessity of silencing the murmurs of a disap- 
 pointed heart by the louder and sterner tumult, 
 of worldly struggle. 
 
 One violent passion can rarely be conquered 
 save by a second still more vehement ; and no 
 sooner did Mortimer find some moments of soli- 
 tude — and they were many, for already had 
 Sybil, as has been said, surrounded herself by 
 interests, most of which were distinct from his 
 own — than he began to believe that he had hith- 
 ei'to mistaken the path to happiness ; that it 
 was mere idle absurditj' to seek it under his 
 own roof, and in the society of a woman who 
 refused to repay the fervent and overwhelming 
 affection he had lavished upon her by the confi- 
 dence to which, as her husband, and the com- 
 panion of her future life, he was so well en- 
 titled ; and that the home-liappiness, of which 
 he had once so fondly dreamt, was a brilliant 
 fallacy, with which he had been cheated, like 
 many others, and from whose influence it be- 
 hoved him to liberate himself. 
 
 This was precisely the state of feeling to 
 which Sybil had been anxious to lead him ; and 
 as she detected the workings of his mind, she 
 redoubled all her eff'orts to coniplete the task 
 which she had so skillfully commenced. She 
 gradually became subdued, and almost sad. 
 The air of Westrum, and the monotony of their 
 daily existence, depressed her. She had no 
 faith in the local practitioners ; and her situa- 
 tion made her anxious to reside for a time in 
 town, where she could procure competent ad- 
 vice. 
 
 Such an argument was, of course, unanswer- 
 
 able, even if Mortimer had felt inclined to op- 
 pose her project, but such was far from bfiiig 
 the case. Like herself, he had begun to dis- 
 I cover that everything was dull and vapid about 
 I him, and that, as regarded his estate, his stew- 
 ard was even more etheient than himself; while 
 jthe prospect of becoming a father held out to 
 him new and delicious hopes, to which he was 
 ready to make far greater sacrifices' than a 
 simple change of residence. It is true that he 
 had hoped to see the inheritor of his fortune 
 born beneath the roof of his forefathers, as he 
 himself had been; but this was a sctondury 
 consideration, which could not for a moment be 
 placed in comparison with the safety of the 
 mother, and the preservation of the infant; and 
 Mrs. Mortimer had consequently no sooner ex- 
 pressed her wish to remove to London than im- 
 mediate preparations were made to gratify her 
 inclinations. 
 
 Satisfied by her success, Sybil became onc« 
 more almost the Sybil who had beguiled him of 
 his better reason. She spoke of his worldly 
 distinction as certain ; flattered his self-esteem 
 [by enumerating the many advantages under 
 which he would commence his diplomatic career; 
 j and declared herself ready to make any person- 
 jal sacrifice which might tend to his advance- 
 I ment ; and once more Mortimer was beguiled. 
 
 Within a fortnight they were established in a 
 first-rate hotel, having left the supine Mrs. 
 Delamere sole mi.stress at Westrum ; and as the 
 Loudon season had not yet commenced they had 
 ample opportunity' to select such a residence as 
 they deemed suitable. Upon this point, how- 
 ever, considerable difiiculty was experienced; 
 the views of the husband by no means coincid- 
 ing with those of the wife. In their house hunt 
 — one of the most disagreeable occupations, par 
 parenthese, to which poor human beings can be 
 subjected! — Mortimer steadily bore in mind the 
 amount of his income, while Sybil as resolutely 
 discarded all such considerations. 
 
 " Were we about to reside altogether in town," 
 was her constant argument, " or, were we here 
 merely for purposes of pleasure, a very moder- 
 ate establishment might suffice, provided alwayi 
 that the situation were unexceptionable ; but 
 you must not forget that you have an import- 
 ant purpose in view, and that an ostentatious 
 display of economy will by no means advance 
 your interests. The world worships wealth : 
 there is an occult magic in riches which oper- 
 ates even upon the proudest and best principled 
 natures. I never hear a would-be philosopher 
 affect to deprecate the man of money, Avitliout 
 feeling a sneer at his Mant of candor pass over 
 my heart, although I may banish it from my 
 lips. No, no ; trust me, Frederic, all such &(r- 
 servation is false and hollow ; for do we not, 
 every day of our lives see the affluent courted 
 and flattered, even by those who neither re- 
 quire nor hope to be profited hy the wealth 
 they worship ? Gold is the religion of the 
 world. There is no shrine so thronged with 
 devotees. In every other creed tliere are 
 schisms; but Mammon knows no divisions 
 among his votaries. Keep a close hand, and 
 the good qualities which you may possess wiU 
 be hidden with vour wealth ; but spread it 
 
13S 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 abroad before the eyes of the crowd, and they 
 will at once give you credit for every other 
 virtue. When j-ou have accomplished your 
 purpose, you will have time enough to retrench; 
 and, meanwhile, believe me, the more j'ou can 
 persuade others that the very object of your 
 ambition is the mere caprice of a man weary of 
 the total idleness of affluence, the more readily 
 you will find friends to push your fortunes. 
 One mistake at such a moment as this may be 
 fatal to j-our prospects; and you are about 
 wilfully to commit the most serious error into 
 which "you could possibly be betrayed." 
 
 What marvel tliat Mortimer ultimately suf- 
 fered himself to be subjugated by these specious 
 sophistries ? — That an elegant residence was se- 
 cured in one of the most fajjhionable squares ; 
 that a splendid establishment was formed ; and 
 that the equipages, jewels, and opera-box of 
 Mrs. Mortimer, were upon a consistent scale — 
 That the Morning Post duly informed its readers 
 of all the movements of the family ; thatTatter- 
 6all rejoiced in the patronage of Mr. Mortimer; 
 and that he was, through the good offices of 
 half-a-dozen of his former friends, who hastened 
 to welcome him to town, in a very short space 
 of time ballotted into two of the leading clubs? 
 
 Heart-sick and homeless — for all was glare 
 and representation in tlie mansion of which he 
 had become the temporary master — Mortimer 
 soon discovered innumerable attractions in the 
 almost bachelor life to which he was thus resto- 
 red ; while Sybil, on her side, saw with grati- 
 tied vanity and ill-concealed triumph, that she 
 was instant!}- recognised by half a score of her 
 former acquaintance, who were only too happy 
 to renew what they were pleased to consider as 
 an old friendship, as they caracolled beside her 
 carriage in the ring, or partook of the elegant 
 hospitality of her husband. Thus, for a time, 
 all went smoothly ; and as the period drew near 
 at which Mrs. Mortimer anticipated the birth of 
 her child, and that she was comparatively un- 
 able to plunge into the vortex of dissipation by 
 which slie was surrounded, Mortimer found his 
 expenditure, although serious, j-et still defined 
 and regular; and amid the pressure of amuse- 
 ment without, he ere long forgot his anxiety 
 upon the subject. 
 
 Not even the habits of dissipation which he 
 was rapidly acquiring sufficed, however, to 
 deaden him to the delight of being a father;] 
 and when at length his lieautiful Sybil placed in 
 his arms her lovely little girl, he felt all the 
 better feelings of his nature swelling forth 
 again, and made a thousand prudent resolutions 
 for the future. But alas for Frederic ! constitu- 
 tionably unstable, he was now, moreover, under 
 tlie influence of a firmer spirit than his own, and 
 his wife had formed far different projects. ! 
 Debarred for a few weeks from those dissipated I 
 and exciting pleasures which had been the busi- 
 ness of her youth, and had become to her vain 
 and ambitious nature almost a neeessitj-, she had, I 
 in her temporary retirement, only grown more 
 than ever anxious to compensate to herself for I 
 the time that she had lost; and accordingly she 
 listened with a quiet smile to the sententious j 
 orat ions of her husband ; yawned as seldom as ' 
 possible; and satisfied herself by pursuing her i 
 
 own course as resolutely as though they had 
 never been uttered. 
 
 Yet, skilful tactitian as she was, Sybil had 
 nevertheless the mortification to perceive that i 
 her train was composed only of such of lier foiv i 
 mer friends as still remained unmarried ; and 
 that it was rarely a female guest graced her 
 splendid home. In vain did she hint to the 
 danglers who pressed about her that she should 
 gladly welcome their sisters, their mothers, or 
 their aunts. The answer was always readjfc 
 One would immediately have presented Maria, 
 but she moved in a set of her own, and would 
 feel herself perfectly dfsorientee if she were to 
 venture beyond it ; another would at once havo 
 brought his mother to pay her respects to Mrs. 
 Mortimer, but really Lady Elizabeth was such a 
 " quiz," so prim, so pious, and so straightlaced, 
 that he had not courage to subject her to such 
 an ordeal ; for, after all, she was his mother, and 
 he did not wish to peril his own popularity with 
 his charming friend by inflicting such a penance 
 upon her — It would be like intruding a gnome 
 into the paradise of a peri — An actual kill-joy, 
 to which he would not be accessory for the 
 world ; while a third hinted the coquettish pro- 
 pensities of his widowed aunt, from whom he 
 had certain expectations, and who would never 
 forgive him were he to place her in a position 
 so inimical to her vanity. And thus, each ex- 
 cused himself with the best grace in the world 
 «s regarded his female relatives, although all 
 were alike devoted to the charms of their host- 
 ess, and the good cheer of their host ; whom 
 they amused in his turn bj- assurances of their 
 best efforts to second his diplomatic views, and 
 professions of intimacy with ministers, secreta- 
 ries of state, and influential individuals of all 
 parties. 
 
 And Frederic, despite his new found happi- 
 ness and recent resolves, listened and persuaded 
 himself to have faith in all this table-talk, for ho 
 had already acquired habits of selfish indulg- 
 ence which warred against his better principles, 
 and which he was too supine to resist ; while, 
 as day after day, and opportunity after oppor- 
 tunity, passed over unimproved, he adopted the 
 idea that the fortunate moment had not yd ar- 
 rived, but that come it must; and therefore, 
 laj)ped in luxuiy, and gradually suffering im- 
 providence to sap the very foundations of that 
 independence which was his birth-right, and 
 upon which he had hitherto prided himself — he 
 waited. 
 
 Nor did one reproach, or even one expostula- 
 tion from Sybil, cause him to pause for an instant 
 in his career of pleasure. She had no sooner 
 innoculated him with a desire of 8elf-aggrandiz&- 
 ment than she appeared suddenly to have lost 
 all such ambition in her own person. The 
 measure of her secret aspirations was now full 
 even to overflowing; and she had no longer 
 leisure to speculate upon the probabilities of 
 her husband's destiny ; her own was amply 
 fulfilled ; and they had ceased to have an inter- 
 est in common. 
 
 Gradually she saw a few of the most fashion- 
 able women in town gather about her ; Avomen 
 of wealth and rank, who possessed all the ad- 
 vantages of life, save indeed perhaps, an unsul. 
 
 
THE RIVAL BEiiUTIES. 
 
 137 
 
 lied reputation, and she found it easy, even 
 amid lier pride, to discredit the rumors which, 
 from time to time, were intruded upon her ou 
 this subject. 
 
 " The world was so censorious," she declared 
 with a frown of virtuous indignation ; " There 
 was so much party-spirit in English society ; so 
 many petty jealousies, and idle slanders, ever 
 readV to destroy the best and the brightest, that 
 she would never believe that Lady Clara Flush- 
 ing had been divorced from her "lord from any 
 cause more grave than an incompatibility of 
 temper, in which he was doubtlessly as much to 
 blame as herself; nor that Mrs. Babington had 
 been forbidden to appear at court for any other 
 reason than that the politics of her husband 
 were unpalatable to the Roj-alties. 
 
 In the case of Mrs. Mortimer it might indeed 
 truly be said, that charity had, in this instance, 
 covered a multitude of sins; but meanwhile. 
 Lady Clara, Mrs. Babington, e tutti ^uanti, were 
 all handsome, highbred and accomplished women 
 ■who gave a new grace to her drawing-room, and 
 attracted about her all that was most distin- 
 guished of the other sex. 
 
 Constantly in a crowd, absorbed in perpetual 
 dissipation, and more beautiful than ever, Sybil 
 was as independent of her husband's affection as 
 he was rapidly becoming of her own, and as she 
 always met him with a smile whenever the acci- 
 dents of a London life threw them together, that 
 she was always well-dressed, did honor to his 
 taste, and sedulously supported his consequence 
 in society, he began to believe that, after all, he 
 had perhaps no right to expect more, and that 
 his former dreams of home-happiness and do- 
 mestic bliss were a mere idle chmiera. 
 
 Did he ever remember Gertrude ? Who can 
 doubt that, even amid the mad career which he 
 Tiras now pursuing, there were still moments 
 when a terror of the future curdled at his heart, 
 and when all would have been dark and murky, 
 had not one faint and far-off memory, like the 
 •olitary star which occasionally pierces through 
 the vapor of the blackest night, gleamed upon 
 the horizon of his heart, and rested there ? Yes, 
 guilty as he was towards Gertrude — not because 
 he had not loved her, for in that respect, at 
 least, he had been powerless; but by his cold 
 neglect and selfish forgetfulness ; by the indolent 
 self-indulgence which had induced him froni day 
 to day to defer those gentle courtesies of affec- 
 tion and kindliness which were due alike to her 
 meek attachment and her orphan state, until he 
 kad, at length, felt that he no longer possessed 
 a right to recall himself to her remembrance, nor 
 to tender a helping-hand to her necessities — 
 guilty as he felt towards her, still her image 
 never crossed his mind that it did not for a mo- 
 ment appear to purify and chasten his whole 
 nature. And if there were times when, as he 
 contemplated his loveless home and blighted 
 hopes, something like a regret glanced across his 
 perturbed spirit, who shall wonder? But he 
 soon hastened to banish feelings and thoughts 
 lik« these. His lot was cast — his destiny was 
 accomplished — and it was idle to look back. 
 On — on — his course must now be onward. His 
 whole future, his whole fortune, his wliole exis- 
 terce, hinged upon one wild hope. True, it had 
 
 hitherto eluded him, but Sybil had declared 
 that he need only ' bide his time ' to see it re- 
 alized, and this assurance had been echoed by 
 the boon companions who sat beside his board, 
 and were the partners of his pleasures. 
 
 And thus time wore on, until the season drew 
 near its close, and the languor of exhaustion 
 began to replace the mad excitement which had 
 for the last few months characterised the 
 leviathan city. Royalty had withdrawn to the 
 stately towers and terraces of Windsor; the 
 strawberry leaves were transferred from town 
 mansions to lordly halls and hereditary castles ; 
 men of fashion forsook their clubs, and women 
 of ton ceased their cabals. The seething cauld- 
 ron of high-life, which had so long bubbled even 
 to the brim, emptied itself to the very dregs, 
 and Loudon was no longer habitable, save for 
 those obscure and unimportant individuals who 
 are compelled by their necessities to remain 
 chained to the wheels of the vast machine, and 
 to labor at its preservation, lest the pulsations 
 of its mighty heart should cease to beat, and 
 thus the pleasures and luxuries of the great 
 should suffer at a future day. 
 
 In one word, London was empty. Sullen 
 employes compelled by the absence of their 
 prmcipals to mend pens and read the daily 
 journals in dingy offices ; men of letters, unable 
 to travel further from the head-quarters of 
 reference and research than to Brixton or 
 Wandsworth ; Guards men, sulkily sauntering 
 up St. James's street to the hollow echoes of 
 their own footsteps, and counting the panes of 
 glass in the well-known windows, where in 
 gayer hours they only numbered familiar faces; 
 novelists, closely immured in their modest 
 lodgings, -weaving, with wearied brain and 
 aching head, now fictions to amuse the idleness 
 of those who are to pay back gold for health, 
 and strength, and time ; the would-be fashiouist 
 of slender means and questionable pretensions, 
 who, after aping — as the sign painter apes thff 
 artist — for a brief season the follies of the great," 
 closes his doors, not to escape the heat and 
 dust of the summer streets, but to i-etrench, 
 and to prepare for a fresh season of awkward 
 imitation and uneasy display ; the modest 
 household to whom the advent and exodus 
 of the great caravan of idleness are alike xin- 
 important; the careful trader, jealous of every 
 instant which may turn to future profit, and 
 the vigorous artisan, to whom all seasons are 
 alike, so that they bring him daily toil and 
 daily bread ; — by such as these alone were now 
 peopled square, and street, and place, in the 
 vast city, which was thus, for a while blotted 
 out from the highly-colored map of the civilized 
 earth. 
 
 In short, as we have already said London was 
 empty ; and had a second great fire, like that 
 of 166(5, supervened, not a^ingle public journal 
 I would have found cause to enclose its closely- 
 ] printed columns with a sable margin ; for th» 
 1 disaster would have occurred when there waa 
 1 " nobody in town." 
 
 The Mortimers, as a matter of course, fol- 
 I lowed the example of their associates, and 
 I retreated from London to the country ; but, 
 1 unlike most of them, Frederic would not con. 
 
188 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Bent to increase tte revenues of the Post Office 
 by subjecting himself to the importunate " re- 
 minders" of a host of creditors, and accordingly 
 satisfied every claim which could be made 
 upon him, before he would consent to return 
 to Westrum. The amount of his responsibili- 
 ties, as a natural consequence of the life which 
 he had been leading, more than doubled its an- 
 ticipated extent 
 
 We are so apt to forget the by-gone super- 
 fluities which we regarded as necessities when 
 we indulged in them, but which, like the 
 magical blue fishes in Vathek, find a tongue 
 when conjured by the potent wand of the 
 better-memoried creditor, that the very wisest 
 of us are apt to be bewildered at times in our 
 arithmetic; no marvel, therefore, that Jlortimer 
 was fearfully startled hy his own defective 
 calculation. But he had little time either to 
 regret or to resolve, for although Sj'bil could 
 no longer remain in London, she had at least 
 arranged to transfer her own immediate frac- 
 tion of London to the obscure retirement of 
 Westrum, and as the infant and its nurse had 
 been sent forward, as well as half-a-dozen ser- 
 vants, to prepare the house for the reception 
 of the expected guests ; and that, moreover. 
 Lady Clara was too timid to travel so far alone, 
 and consequently accompanied her dear friend, 
 Mrs. Mortimer, in her own chariot, while the 
 master of Westrum made his way back to his 
 ancestral home by the mail, attended by his 
 confidential servant ; he had neither leisure 
 nor opportunity to impress upon Sybil the vital 
 importance of retrenchment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTX. 
 
 SrBiL did the honors of her house to perfec- 
 tion, and although such a crowd of fashionables 
 had never since its erection been collected be- 
 neath that roof, every one was soon perfectly 
 at home except its master. The summer was 
 brilliant, and the grounds, thanks to the pro- 
 visions of their mistress, were in full beauty, 
 ^ot one natural facility had remained unim- 
 proved, and as the gardener had been trans- 
 ferred from The Grange, and the less skilful 
 functionary who had grown grev in the family, 
 had been compelled to cede his place to tliis 
 more scientific florist, marvels had been wrought ! 
 which astonished, even if they did not alto- 1 
 gether gratify her husband. 
 
 Is'or was the change within the mansion less 
 striking than that without; but although 
 even the beloved library in which Mortimer 
 had been accustomed to spend so great a por- 
 tion of his time in studious and delightful ! 
 eolitude, was invaded at all hours, he felt the j 
 futility of remonstraace, and was compelled to : 
 console himself by the reflection that at least ' 
 its most c'lerishecl treasures were sufi^ered to { 
 remained unilistTirbe<l, and that it was in 
 
 auest only of the ephemeral productions of 
 je day, that the idlers, who now thronged 
 h>s saloons, so continually broke in upon him 
 with those vapid demi-apologies, which are 
 rather an impertinence than a courtesy. ) 
 
 And, moreover, one source of happiness wfji 
 still open to him, in whose pure enjoyment 
 none sought to interfere ; and that one was th« 
 presence and the affection of his child, who 
 already received him with eager cries of joy 
 and outstretched arms, whenever he approach- 
 ed the remote nursery to which she had been 
 consigned, lest her baby-griefs should oc- 
 casionally prove too audible for high-bred 
 nerves. 
 
 And what a treasure was that infant girl 
 to Mortimer 1 Her smiles were the Lethe in 
 which he plunged all his bitter memories, 
 and for a while forgot them. As her dimpled 
 arms wound themselves about his neck, and 
 her soft and peachy cheek rested upon his 
 own, he for an instant believed himself to be 
 happy. For hours would he wander about 
 the grounds, with the delighted child and her 
 attendant nurse, watching with anxious joy all 
 those mysterious dawnings of intellect which 
 are perceptible only to the eye of a parent, 
 and endeavoring to strengthen the still un- 
 conscious affection which she betrayed towards 
 him. 
 
 And he was enabled to do this freely, and 
 almost without comment, for the brilliant circle 
 of his wife were for the most part alike care- 
 less and regardless of his movements ; while 
 Sybil herself, who was provided with an ad- 
 mirable souffre-doulcur in the person of her 
 mother, was quite as willing as her guests to 
 dispense with the presence of her husband. 
 
 All Westrum was in amazement. The main 
 street of the little town was alive with equip 
 ages and horsemen. Provident milliners secur- 
 ed the " last London " fashions from the transient 
 glimpses which they obtained of the fashionable 
 dames as they were whirled along; the breath- 
 less post master was no longer the emporium of 
 news and gossip, for the duties of his office oc- 
 cupied everj- hour of his time ; the stalwart car- 
 rier, who had long, from prudential motives, re- 
 mained a bachelor, hastened to claim his pro- 
 mised bride on the strength of his influx of 
 business ; and emulous shopkeepers ventured on 
 luxurious innovations hitherto unattempted. 
 
 Nor, while such was the sensation produo. 
 among the traders, did the gentry of WestruM 
 remain uninterested spectators of the progress 
 of events at the great house. All such as from 
 local position and old custom were privileged to 
 pay their respects there, hastened to enforca 
 that privilege, and even Mortimer himself was 
 satisfied with the courtesy of their reception. 
 The smile of Sybil was as winning, her words as 
 bland, to the prosy rector, and the sententious 
 physician, as to those of her own set. He, in 
 the honesty of his nature, did not understand 
 the necessity, of which his wife was fully con- 
 scious, of conciliating all the visitable population 
 of the neighborhood, in order to render them 
 available whenever it might be expedient. He 
 forgot that the court-cards are at times useless 
 without the remainder of the pack, and that it 
 is by shuffling them together that the just value 
 of each is elicited in the great game of life ; but 
 the more far-sighted Sybil did not suflFer so ob- 
 vious a fact to escape her. 
 
 While Lady Clara could criticize alike the 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 7»$ 
 
 cap and the courtesy of worthy Mrs. Collins, she 
 could afford to spare her own friends; nor was 
 it less desirable to veil, by a drapery of niusliu 
 petticoats, the occasional tete-d-tete in which 
 
 Sretty little Mrs. Babington delighted, to in- 
 ulge on a particular settee behind the grand 
 piano. 
 
 \ Let it not be supposed, however, that the 
 i honor of visiting at the great liouse was gra- 
 tuitously purchased, for such was far from being 
 the case. During the lifetime of its former 
 gentle and unpretending mistress, no moral dais 
 had been raised ; no one was compelled to feel 
 that he or she must take their places below the 
 salt ; but under the reign of Sybil all was chang- 
 ed. It was doubtlessly pleasant enough for the 
 physician's comely wife, and the rector's good- 
 natured daughters, to comment on the morrow 
 to their admiring and jealous friends upon the 
 courtly society with which they had so lately 
 mingled, but it is, nevertheless, certain that all 
 of tliem were aware how little they had, in point 
 of fact, formed an integral portion of the brilliant 
 circle to which they had been admitted, and 
 where they had rather been grouped in order to 
 enhance the graces of the principal personages 
 upon the stage, as the coryphees of the opera 
 form a living back-ground to the Taglionis and 
 the Ceritos ; and to fill up the occasional pauses 
 of weariness which necessarily ensue in all 
 struggles of display, than received upon equal 
 terras. Who could venture a second tim« to 
 address a peer's daughter, who vouchsafed no 
 reply bej'ond a look of wonder at the presump- 
 tion ; or to tender any courtesy to a coquette 
 wliose soul was in her flounces ? 
 
 And yet the worthy people bore all this, and 
 returned again and again, and affected not to 
 
 Eerceive that they were merely the pawns upon 
 [rs. Mortimer's chess-board, in order that they 
 might revenge their own mortification upon the 
 dear friends against whom the portal of this 
 earthly paradise was closed. 
 
 Those among my readers who have never 
 done the like, can afford to laugh at their infatu- 
 ation ; but some there will be who cannot claim 
 the privilege of mirth upon such a subject, for 
 this species of moral meanness is not confined to 
 "Westrum ; and which among us does not find 
 some familiar name trembling upon his tongue, 
 which would prove the degrading fact? 
 
 Among the guests of Sybil was a certain Mrs. 
 Lamerly, who was, for some unexplained, and it 
 might be inexplicable, reason, more obnoxious 
 to Mortimer than any other of his lady-visitors. 
 Assuredly it was not from wounded vanity that 
 he disliked her ; for, if any of the guests occa- 
 eionally condescended to remember that Wes- 
 trum House had a master, it was pretty, lan- 
 giushing Mrs. Lamerly, who by some accident 
 had more than once encountered him in his' 
 •walks, and even caressed his child. Mrs. Lamer- 
 ly — as she assured him with a sigh, and a down- 
 dropping of the lids which veiled a pair of large 
 and lustrous blue eyes as dark as amethysts — 
 doated upon children, and had it pleased provi- 
 dence to make her a mother, she was afraid that 
 Bhe should have suffered that one affection to 
 absorb her whole existence. What could be so ! 
 pure, so beautiful, so holy, as tlie tie which 
 
 linked a mother to her child ? Did not Mr. Mor- 
 timer agree with her tliat all other tenderness 
 was poor and puerile in comparison? Truly 
 did he in his very heart of hearts ; although he 
 only smiled vacantly in reply, as he drew his 
 laughing girl closer to his bosom. 
 
 Mrs. Lamerly had, indeed, touched the right 
 chord, but she had done it unskilfully, and it 
 only jarred where it should have soothed. Mor- 
 timer disliked this woman. She had been one 
 of the early friends of Sybil, and one of the 
 most eager to renew their acquaintance. She 
 had eloped when very young with the dissipated 
 scion of a noble house, whom his friends, weary 
 of perpetually repairing the effects of his im-, 
 providence, at length sent into honorable exile 
 as attache at one of the petty German courts, 
 where he was ultimately interred with all honor, 
 leaving his young and pretty Avidow penniless. 
 He had, indeed, made an appeal to his family ia 
 her behalf a short time before his death, but it 
 had been made in vain, none knew wherefore ; 
 while it was not the less certain that the lady 
 continued for a couple of years to inhabit the 
 same city, frequent the same court, and main- 
 tain the same appearance, by some occult faculty 
 known only to herself 
 
 At length, however, the maladie du pays de- 
 clared itself, and she returned to England fol- 
 lowed by the regrets of the Margrave, and the 
 compliments of the whole court circle ; as lan- 
 guid and as languishing as ever, with a comfort- 
 able although somewhat mysterious income, and 
 a magnificent diamond bracelet. 
 
 We have said that Mortimer greatly disliked 
 the diplomatist's widow — Could it be prescience^? 
 He never asked himself the question : he only 
 felt that even her blandishments were distaste- 
 ful to him. And yet Mrs. Lamerly was a general 
 favorite in her set ; she simpered out her inani- 
 ties with such a low sweet drawl ; she told 
 such piquant stories of Herr Graff Such an one, 
 and the Grafine So and so, without appearing 
 to be at all aware of the somewhat startling 
 point of her own anecdotes ; sRe sang such deli- 
 ciously wild and guttural Sclavonic ballads 
 almost with a lisp ; she was so original, so odd, 
 and so entertaining, and she had such fine 
 eyes, that it would have been matter of wonder 
 that she still remained Mrs. Lamerly, had she 
 not lingered so long at that petty German 
 court. 
 
 But if, even for Sybil, there was still a mys- 
 tery attached to her friend, it was by no means 
 reciprocal as regarded herself; for the simple, 
 smiling, and apparently unsuspicious little 
 idow was well aware of every incident in the 
 career of her brilliant hostess, and as she looked 
 around her, and contrasted the opulence by 
 which Mrs. Mortimer was surrounded with her 
 own comparatively confined resources, and then, 
 with her usual well-concealed shrewdness, dis- 
 covered the vaccination of her husband's charac- 
 ter, she began to ask herself how long such a 
 discrepancy need exist, were he to be exposed 
 to fascinations of a different desci-iption, and 
 that she were to exert her own peculiar powers 
 of pleasing. 
 
 There was something very agreeable to her 
 vanity in such a speculation, and although, in ^ 
 
140 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 the first instance, it had been a mere idle fancy, 
 the offspring of indolence and an inordinate 
 love of luxury, the thought recurred again and 
 again, until it piqued her self-esteem into a 
 desire to prove whether, indeed, her foreign 
 graces could not accomplish such a revolution. 
 She had no fear of robbing Mortimer of the 
 heart of Sybil, for she had read that heart to its 
 very core,' and she knew the " perilous stuff" of 
 ■which it was composed; while, as regarded 
 Frederic himself, slie had not been a week be- 
 neath his roof before she discovered that all his 
 affection was now centered in his child, and 
 that Ills pivssion for his wife was rapidly degen- 
 erating into tlie most encouraging indifference. 
 
 Mrs. Lainerly was a coquette by nature, and 
 consequently she did not pause to ask herself 
 what might be the actual result of her machina- 
 tions to either party ; neither were her princi- 
 ples of that rigid order which would have 
 taught her to pause upon the threshold of so 
 base a treachery as that which she Avas thus coolly 
 meditating ; she only remembered that she was 
 weary of inaction ; that after having for a time 
 seen herself an object of exclusive adoration, 
 she had since degenerated into a mere unit in 
 the great sum total of society. She only re- 
 marked that Mortimer was by many degrees 
 tlie handsomest man in their set, and never 
 doubting that she could also render him the 
 most agreeable, she determined at any rate to 
 try her strength, if it were only pour passer le 
 temps ; and therefore it was that she contrived 
 to waylay him in his walks, and that she con- 
 ceived so flattering an affection for his child. 
 
 All this is very hideous, but it was neverthe- 
 less a natural consequence of the culpable care- 
 lessness with which he had suffered his wife to 
 surround herself by associates of equivocal re- 
 putation, and to make his home the rendezvous 
 of idle rones and fashionable demireps. 
 
 Mortimer believed himself to be as suscepti- 
 ble and sensitive as ever to all which touched 
 his honor, but liis principles had in reality be- 
 come unconsciously enervated by constant con- 
 tact with pi'ofligacy and folly, and if he still 
 discouraged the loose jests of tlie dissolute, and 
 the social vices of the lax, it was rather because 
 tliey were repugnant to his taste, than that they 
 alarmed his virtue. 
 
 Still, Mrs. Lamerly vainly lavished upon him 
 all her fascinations, all her pensive sighs, her 
 languid smiles, her bewitching nonsense. lie 
 never bestowed more than a passing glance 
 upon tliat fairy foot that scarcely seemed to 
 press the velvet cushion by which it was sup- 
 ported ; kept his eye riveted upon the daily 
 jourrmi, while her magnificent arm, circled by 
 its biilliant bracelet, rested like a snow-wreath 
 upon the chords of the harp ; talked politics 
 with old Sir .loiin Stickfast, the greatest proser 
 in the Lower House, while she was lisping 
 forth some (Jermanic scandal, and transferred 
 tlie sliiijiers wiiich slie professed to have em- 
 broidereil expressly for him, to his valet. 
 
 Mrs. Lamerly was nevertlieless not discour- 
 aged. She had yet a great card to play, and 
 although her vanity would liave been gratified 
 could she have been indebted for her triumpii 
 solely to the spell of her own attractions, still j 
 
 her spirit of emulation was aroused, and she re- 
 solved not to be baffled. 
 
 There was a strong bond between herself and 
 Sybil. Ostensibly it was that of old affection 
 and happy memories, of renewed friendship and 
 perfect confidence, but in reality it was one of 
 mutual apprehension. Sybil was well awar« 
 that many of the secrets of her past life were in 
 the keeping of her former friend, who was as 
 conscious as herself of the necessity of their con- 
 cealment from her husband ; while the widow, 
 on her side, long habituated to all the luxuries 
 of existence, to many of which her present 
 income was inadequate, too well appreciated 
 the advantages to be derived from even a tenv 
 porary home like that of Mrs. Mortimer to cast 
 them from her lightly. 
 
 It was in consequence of this conviction that 
 she still compelled herself to temporize ; but 
 although she succeeded in teaching the beauti- 
 ful infant to clap its little hands and crow at 
 her approach, permitted it to tear her costly 
 veil of Brussels point without betraying thi 
 slightest irritation, and even induced it to leave 
 its father's arms to nestle in her own, still that 
 father remained cold, and she was at length 
 driven to confess to herself that her childish 
 graces were expended upon him in vain. 
 
 Languid and listless as it pleased her to 
 appear, Mrs. Lamerly possessed strong passions, 
 and a perseverance in all she undertook to ac- 
 complish which amounted to obstinacy. Nb 
 wonder, then, that mortified vanity in this 
 instance aroused all the darker impulses of her 
 nature. Had he even loved Sybil, she could 
 have understood this resolute indifference on 
 the part of Mortimer, but her self-esteem had 
 not even this poor consolation. 
 
 For the first time she felt the impotence of 
 her efforts, and a spirit of revenge took posse** 
 sion of her. It was in vain that Lord James 
 Blenheim and the Honorable Theodore Bruc« 
 whispered their honied words in her ear, smoothr 
 ed the satin cushions of her fatdeuil, and hung 
 entranced upon her lisping accents. She smiled 
 upon each in turn, it is true, but she estimated 
 their adoration at its just value. She knew that 
 in a crowded country-house all must find amuse-, 
 ment for themselves, and that idleness cared lit- 
 tle whence that amusement was derived, whe- 
 ther from a pet monkey or a fantastic beauty ; 
 that Lord James was an engaged man, and tn« 
 Honorable Theodore a ruined gamester. Still, 
 the incense of flattery was essential to her, and 
 so she discouroged neither, although each was 
 but a floating straw upon the current of a stream 
 wherein she had resolved to dive deep for s 
 more coveted treasure. 
 
 At length her patience was exhausted, and sh« 
 resolved to incur any risk rather than fail in her 
 purpose. Like all sentimental women, she in- 
 dulged in an elaborate correspondence. No" 
 letter-bag ever arrived at Wcstrum which did 
 not contain half-a-dozen closely-written epistles' 
 to the address of Mrs. Lamerly ; and it was cu- 
 rious to see the indolent and impassive beauty- 
 seated at her desk, in her turn rapidly covering 
 sheet after sheet of delicately tinted vellum — 
 for the odious and vulgar fashion of colored 
 paper, mystic devices, and emblematic wafers. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 141 
 
 .vas at that period just beginning to obtain in 
 jigland — witli the most minute characters, and 
 ,0 watch the facility with wliich the crow-quill 
 poured forth its stream of soundless words. 
 
 Mrs. Lamerly protested that she hated writing, 
 aiid perhaps she did, but there was sound diplo- 
 macy in her perseverance. Her position was 
 uncertain and insecure ; she could not afford to 
 lose a friend, and it was, moreover, necessary 
 that she should be constantly informed of the 
 movements of those who might, directly or in- 
 directly, exeraise an influence over her fortunes. 
 Thus no occurrence took place in her set, and it 
 was an extensive one, of which she was not im- 
 mediately made cognisant ; and this fact not only 
 enabled her to enhance her popularity by a con- 
 stant supply of that light and oft«n malicious 
 gossipry so welcome at all times to the idle and 
 frivolous, but also to facilitate such plans as she 
 occasionally found it convenient to devise. 
 
 It is wonderful how often a placid and simple 
 exterior deceives the crowd. The old and trite 
 proverb, tliat " still water runs deep," is full of 
 sound philosophy. Those laughing, rattling, 
 reckless persons, who utter without reflection 
 all that rises to their lips, may work mischief 
 alike for themselves and for others, but the 
 wound is at least laid open, and there is no hid- 
 den canker to apprehend ; while the blow which 
 bruises rather than breaks, lingers longer in the 
 flesh, and at times corrodes even to the bone, 
 poisoning tbe stream of life, and inducing the 
 fatal gangrene which can never be eradicated. 
 
 Mrs. Lamerly, even while lisping out her 
 German ballads, discussing the merits of a morn- 
 ing cap ; reading half-a-dozen pages of a French 
 novel ; flirting with Lord James and the Honor- 
 able Theodore, quizzing Sir John Stickfast with 
 a pretty smile which almost turned the brain of 
 the bachelor politician, old as he was ; waj'lay- 
 ' ing Mortimer in his walks, and dressing a doll 
 i for the baby, had mentally completed her pro- 
 ject ; and it was worthy of her. In one way or 
 ! the other, as she triumphantly reflected, it 7nust 
 ' tell, and who could say but it might succeed in 
 both ? 
 
 Mortimer was too proud to place himself in 
 competition -with the foplings by whom his wife 
 was surrounded, and thus he left them a free 
 field in wliieh to display their arts of fascina- 
 tion ; but would he do so were he pitted against 
 a more formidable opponent? Would he not 
 awaken to a full sense of his danger if he once' 
 saw her the object of adoration to a man with 
 whom he could only doubtingly compare him- [ 
 self? And, in this case, would he not need a 
 friend, a counsellor? A slight and gratulatoryj 
 flush rose to her cheek as she glanced around 
 her. Where could he so fitly seek that friend | 
 OS in herself ? Had she not already knit b(;tween 
 them the bond of his child's affection, which, 
 appear to disregard it as he might, she felt well 
 assured must nevertheless have, in some degree, 
 produced its effect. 
 
 It was clear that he despised Lady Clara, and 
 that he barely tolerated Mrs. Babington ; and 
 she was well aware that let proud man com- 
 mune as he may with his own sex in his hours 
 of pleasure, it is the sympathy of woman that 
 he turns to in his season of doubt and triaL 
 
 What fervent passions have sprung from a far 
 weaker cause ! The haughty spirit, once hum- 
 bled to seek for help and consolation in the eyes 
 and on the lips of a pretty and designing woman, 
 seldom recovers heart-whole from the moral 
 prostration. Like the silly lamb, he leaves 
 some portion of the fleece upon the brambles ; 
 and it was upon this contingency that Mrs. 
 Lamerly cleverly calculated. And meanwhile, 
 what might be the effect of her design on Sybil f 
 A curve of scorn rose to her lip, and trem- 
 bled there for an instant. Let Sybil look to 
 herself; her honor was in her own keeping. 
 Her honor! How subtle are the distinctions 
 made by the world on the subject of femala 
 honor. 
 
 The widow laughed in her sleeve ; bitterly 
 perhaps, but still she laughed. Jlrs. Mortimer 
 was blansee, it is true ; had been the jest of 
 half London for a season; had jilted the man 
 to whom she was affianced; had volunteered 
 elopement with another under very precarious 
 circumstances ; and had finally enriched herself 
 with the spoils of her first dupe ; but still she 
 was an honorable woman, married to an honor- 
 able man, who would consider it incumbent 
 upon him to send a bullet through the heart of 
 any one bold enough to assail her reputation ; 
 while she herself — there needed no demon- 
 whisper in her ear to ui-ge her on, but it came ; 
 close, mocking, ind baneful as the blast of the 
 simoom, and the little heart which a career of 
 vice and folly had spared to her, parched and 
 withered beneath the scorching breath of 
 jealousy and mortification. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 "Sybil," said Mrs. Lamerly, in her most in- 
 sinuating tone, as they stood together arranging 
 some exotic plants in a jardiyiilre, as female 
 taste only can arrange them ; " I have such a 
 favor to ask of you." 
 
 " What is it?" demanded her companion in 
 reply, moving a few paces backward as she 
 spoke, in order to ascertain the effect of her last 
 grouping; " I trust not to sanction your sending 
 for your blue macaw ; you know that my mo- 
 ther's nerves cannot sustain its screams; so, do, 
 pray, be rational, and not urge it again." 
 
 " I was not even thinking of Jacko, poor dear," 
 pouted the simple beauty, " though j-ou know 
 how I miss him ; but tell me if I did ask you to 
 admit another pet, who never screams, and who 
 could not disturb Mrs. Delamere, or anybody 
 else, would you refuse?" 
 
 " That depends entirely upon the nature of 
 your plaything." 
 
 The little widow indulged in a peal of rich 
 and ringing laugliter, which sounded like the 
 very echo of a jo^-ous heart, as, smoothing her 
 glossy ringlets before a mirror, and drawing 
 closer the cordillure of her pink satin douillette, 
 she said, with an arch look : " You must, in such 
 an establishment as yours, atill have one bache- 
 lor's room available." 
 
 " And if so, Amabel f" 
 
142 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 " Why, then, I would ask you to allow me to 
 Bupply It with an occupant" 
 
 " I must, first, know whom you would intro- 
 duce." 
 
 " No one to whom you, at least, will object, 
 Madame la Chatelaine^" said the widow with a 
 peculiar expression ; " unless, indeed, like many 
 of our monopolizing sex, you will neither take 
 nor give." 
 
 " Speak plainly, Amabel, if you would be an- 
 swered." 
 
 " I will speak plainly," said Mrs. Lamerly 
 ■with a sudden change of voice and manner: 
 " Trevor is just returned to England. All Mor- 
 timer as you are, j-ou cannot have forgotten 
 Ti-evor, Sybil ? We met abroad ; and time, as 
 you are aware, works wonders. You were 
 married ; and, in short," lisped out the lady, 
 bashfull}' inclining her head towards her left 
 Bhoulder, until her long light curls rested upon 
 the glowing satin, " I have reason to suppose 
 that I almost succeeded in consoling him." 
 
 " You!" involuntarilj' exclaimed her listener, 
 as, with burning cheek and flashing eyes, she 
 glanced towards the little doll-like figure beside 
 her. " You succeeded in consoling him! Am I 
 to understand that he loves you?" 
 
 " You are to draw your own conclusions 
 when we meet," tranquilly replied the widow, 
 as she re-arranged a cape-jessamine. " Thus 
 much, however, I will tell you, that I was the 
 depository of his regrets and his despair — that I 
 it was who played the Desdemona to your 
 jealous Othello ; and that while I was very near 
 loving him 
 
 ' For the (gauntlet) he had run,' 
 
 I have sufficient grounds for believing that 
 
 'He did love me, that I did pity him.' 
 
 " Am I to understand, Amabel," asked Mrs. 
 Mortimer, suddenly becoming pale as the blossom 
 of the arHm near which she stood, " that Sir 
 Horace Trevor made you Ms confid.inte ?" 
 
 " That is a searching question, Sybil." was the 
 smiling retort; " but I will be frant, and answer 
 at once ' j-es' and ' no.' To tell you the truth, I 
 heard as little as I could ; for I hate men to en- 
 tert^iin me by talking of other women when they 
 should be thinking only of myself. You loved 
 him, he said ; or, at ieast, he loved you, and you 
 ■were to be married, and all that sort of thing ; 
 not as I was to poor Augustus, but surrounded 
 by all the properties — parsons, and proctors, and 
 postilions m scarlet jackets — when suddenly you 
 jilted him. Yes, I am afraid, Sybil, that, in 
 order to be quite fair and open with you, I must 
 confess that he said you — had — jilted him. 
 Naughty girl! who could not be satisfied with 
 any thing short of a prince; and silly woman! 
 who, having made up her mind to cat<>h her 
 bird, was .tot careful to lime the twig thickly 
 enough." 
 
 " And was this all he told youf " again asked 
 Sybil, with difficulty controlling her emotion, 
 whose very excess enabled her to despise the 
 taunt of her companion. " Did he tell you no 
 more than this!" 
 
 " It may be that he did," said the widow, list- 
 
 lessly throwing herself upon a sofa ; -" but yon 
 know of old, Sybil, that I am a bad listener; and 
 my memory has become so defective since 1 lost 
 poor dear Augustus, that I really remember very 
 little that has happened to me siuce."' 
 
 " Listen to me, nevertheless, Amabel," said 
 her companion with compressed and bloodless 
 lips. " You may succeed in deceiving others, 
 but I know you. We were girls together, and 
 your baby caprices cannot beguile nic. What it 
 your intention, what your view, in bringing 
 Trevor here ? Do not lose sight of the fact that 
 I may have less interest than yourself in for- 
 getting the past" 
 
 " I have already told you," was the sullen re- 
 ply : " I believe that Trevor admires me — and — 
 I am poor." 
 
 " 1 understand," said Mrs. Mortimer, with a 
 contempt which she did not even seek to con- 
 ceal ; " but I doubt that my husband will consent 
 to receive such a guest. Even before our mar- 
 riage, Trevor was distasteful to him." 
 
 " Perhaps so," was the careless repij- : " he 
 feared a rival, but of course that danger is now 
 past; and if you represent the matter to him in 
 its true light, I cannot see what valid objecti -. 
 he could raise." 
 
 " And yet you have been a wife, Amabel." 
 
 " I have ; and, therefore, I have not now to 
 learn that these things are easily arranged. 
 Besides, Sybil, Mortimer can only rejoice in the 
 opportunity of displaying his triumph to your 
 discarded lover." 
 
 The words .were common-place enough, hut 
 there was something in the tone in which they 
 were tittered which jarred alike upon the priJe 
 and upon the fears of Mrs. Mortimer. The war 
 of -wits was equal ; and there needed no magi- 
 cian to prove to Sj'bil that her dear friend held 
 her in the toils. It cost her much to temporize, 
 and gladly would she have spurned her as she 
 sat, but she dared not; and, accordingly, she 
 forced a smile, and throwing herself down 
 beside her, said, in a tone which she struggled 
 to render playful — 
 
 " Come, now, Amabel, be true for once, and 
 tell me if you, indeed, anticipate that you shall, 
 one day, be Lady Trevor." 
 
 " If Horace can really forget you, I am suri- I 
 shall." 
 
 " Then are you not throwing away your b. *. 
 chance by asking him here — here, where ^^ 
 shall be brought into close and constant ci': 
 tact I Mark me, Amabel, I do not believe for ;.;. 
 instant that you have anything to fear from my 
 influence, but you know that men are wayward, 
 and surely it would be more judicious — " 
 
 " To give him time to forget me altogether. 
 Is that what you would say, Sybil ? I give you 
 all due credit for your humility ; and I will so 
 far put faith in it as to tell you'that I feel quite 
 satisfied you will not exert your influence to 
 my detriiiient ; while, as a natural consequenc, 
 Trevor will henceforward consider you only .i 
 the wife of his friend, and therefore beyond li ■ 
 reach. Thus, you see that I have nothing i ■ > 
 apprehend." 
 
 " Amabel, would you only be honest an.i 
 straightforward for five minutes — " 
 
 Mrs. Lamerly laughed ; not ecornfully or sa* 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 Till I 
 tOB! 
 
 tiricall}', but as though she really thouglit the 
 dialogue in which she was engaged very amusing. 
 
 " Will you at least hear me V 
 
 " Of course. Do you not perceive that I am 
 listening with all my ears, and that I am vastly 
 entertained to discover that Sybil married has 
 lis great a contidence in the eft'ect of her charms 
 as she had in her first girlhood? Why, my 
 dear, mj- vanity has aged tenfold more than you 
 own ; and it is as much as 1 dared venture to 
 expose my preux chevalire to the captivations of 
 BO accomplished a coquette, even now, when she 
 is hedged round with the proprieties of married 
 life. But, Sybil," she added with aftected 
 solemnity, as she shook her head, while her 
 chesnut tresses shimmered in the sunlight ; " I 
 know all the onerous obligations of matrimony, 
 and all the rigid duties which it involves. You 
 may believe me ; for although I was barely 
 seventeen when I married Augustus, I discover- 
 ed a gray hair above mj' right temple before I 
 had been a wife more than a week, and almost 
 Buspected a wrinkle one short month after- 
 •wards. Judge, therefore, if I can enter into 
 your feelings." 
 
 " I have done," said Sybil indignantly; " and 
 although I cannot be discourteous enough to 
 •weary of an invited guest, I must decline receiv- 
 ing one who is forced upon me." And she rose 
 from the sofa. 
 
 " As you please," retorted her companion. 
 " I am then at liberty to tell Trevor that you do 
 not feel authorized to run the risk of seeing him 
 here ?" 
 
 " Amabel," said Sybil, as she paused before 
 her; " I do not understand you. I can incur no 
 risk from contact with your lover." 
 
 " Then why are you so unaccommodating?" 
 
 " I have already told you that he is distaste- 
 ful to Frederic." 
 
 "Why, so are fifty other things. He hates 
 Lady Clara, and snubs Lord John ; and yet here 
 they are. He detests a home full of flirts 
 and fools, and you will admit that if you are 
 good-natured enough to make room for Trevor, 
 he will be the most rational man, and I the most 
 rational woman, under your roof. You may as 
 "Well concede that il caro 7narito has very little to 
 do with the matter." 
 
 " If I were only convinced that Sir Horace 
 really mtended to make vou his wife," said Sy- 
 bil doubtingly, " all my objections would at once 
 be overcome, but, Amabel, Trevor is a man of 
 the world, and he knew you abroad." 
 
 " He did so," replied Mrs. Lamerly, with the 
 most provoking d plomb ; " and in like manner 
 Mr. Mortimer is a man of fortune and family, 
 and yet, Sybil, he is your husband. Do not let 
 us taunt each other, love. There are some ugly 
 proverbs which might be brought to bear upon 
 Bs both. In one word, will you receive Trevor 
 at my friend, or not ?" 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer stood for a moment irresolute ; 
 all her habitual self-possession had forsaken her, 
 and it was in an ill-assured voice that she at 
 length said : " You are ungenerous, Amabel ; but 
 I can deny you nothing. Only, if I consent to 
 admit Ti-evor here, you must promise to keep a 
 secret for me ; a poor and puerile one, it is true, 
 but still it must be kept" 
 
 "And you will confide it to me ?" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Lamerly with a genuine joy, which she 
 strove to conceal under an affectation of childish 
 eagerness. 
 
 " I have no alternative, or perhaps I should 
 hesitate to do so," replied Sybil with haughty 
 bitterness ; " but this it is : before my marriage 
 with Mr. Mortimer, Sir Horace visited The 
 Grange in order to — to renew his suit " 
 
 A low and almost inaudible laugh broke from 
 the parted lips of her listener ; but she was too 
 much excited to remark it. 
 
 " Conscions of the jealous temperament of 
 Frederic," pursued Sybil ; " and aware that our 
 previous engagement had authorized, in Tre- 
 vor's eyes at least, a familiarity of manner which 
 my captious suitor would never tolerate, and 
 in fact, driven to some such expedient by the 
 circumstance of his having come upon lis when 
 Horace had raised my hand to his lips " 
 
 "Fie, naughty Horace !" broke in the exult- 
 ing widow, affecting to hide her eyes in her 
 jewelled hands: " But was that all ?" 
 
 " All, Mrs. Lamerly 1" said Sybil sternly ; 
 " and that all, simple as it was, would have suf- 
 ficed to estrange from me forever the hand, if 
 not the heart, of Mr. Mortimer, had I not, upon 
 the impulse of the moment, presented the 
 stranger to him as my cousin." 
 
 " Enviable presence of mind !" said the widow, 
 with a smile which partook rather of contempt 
 than admiration. " How the dear old Margrave 
 would have enjoyed such & tour de force ! Re- 
 ally, my dear Sybil, you are inimitable ! And 
 what said your simple Corydon of his new con- 
 nexion ?" 
 
 " He bore with him for my sake ; and that is 
 all that I can expect, should he again be com- 
 pelled to receive him as a guest." 
 
 " Poor Horace ! However, I will endeavor to 
 compensate to him for the slights of the happy 
 mortal who won you from him. And so I may 
 tell hira to come — may I not? And you will 
 welcome him for my sake, for he is at present 
 quite desoriente ; only a week from Italy, where 
 he saw your old friend Saviatti, who told him 
 that he had seen you, and all about poorSignor 
 Mortimer being as jealous as an ogre; and that 
 wretched little Lord Squanderleigh being shot in 
 a duel bj' that dear handii^ome Florentine Duca, 
 who was kicked out of a saloon in Paris for 
 cheating at ecarte ; and a host of other things 
 that you would be delighted to hear. And I will 
 promise to be generous, and to lend him to you 
 until he has emptied his budget : after which 
 gare de loup, for 1 am a little demon when I am 
 thwarted in what the French prettily call ' affaira 
 of the heart' " 
 
 And 80 the two friends parted 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 False pride, my pretty Gertrude, nothing but 
 false pride," said Mr. Armstrong gaily, as the 
 orphan stood, steeped in blushes, and with large 
 tears swelling in her eyes, in the deep bay of a 
 library window, where she looked in the midst 
 of the h«avy dark frame-work of carved oak 
 
144 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 like one of Guide's angels ; " surely wlien I 
 give you my son, I may also be allowed to offer 
 you a few flounces and fnrbelows!" 
 
 " But, indeed, my dear sii- — " 
 
 " But, indeed, my dear young lady, I must 
 have my way! Mary has set her heart upon it; 
 and I will not consent that there shall be the 
 difference of a knot of ribbon between you. Do 
 you not hear her every now and then whisper- 
 ing, ' Papa, I should like so and so ?' or ' Papa, 
 I 7nust iiave such a thing?' — And are you not 
 botli my daughters ? — 1 can have no more folly 
 of this kind, Gertrude. Had you been wealthy, 
 I must, 1 know, have allowed you to be as head- 
 btrong as t lie rest of your sex ; but as it is, I 
 will not hear another word." 
 
 " And yet, for that very reason, dear Mr. 
 Armstrong, I must entreat of you to let me 
 speak. L)o you know that even now — now, at 
 this very instant — when you *re not only en- 
 deavoring to hasten my marriage with your son 
 — I, a poor, penniless orphan, who can only 
 repay your generosity by the gratitude of a true 
 heart, and the tribute of a sincere affection — 
 but are even urging me to share the luxury 
 which, although they may be the birthright of 
 Mary, are all too costly for a portionless bride 
 like mj-self — do you know, that even now — " 
 and, as she continued speaking, she had gradu- 
 ally approached the old gentleman, until at last 
 she was leaning over his high-backed chair, her 
 arm upon his shoulder, and her golden hair 
 mingling with the grey and glistening locks 
 which clustered over his benevolent-looking 
 head ; " even now, I feel as though all this liap- 
 piness must be a dream ; and I start at every 
 sudden noise least I should awake only to find 
 myself once more alone and unloved." 
 
 " Silly cliild!" said the old man, in a voice 
 that trembled somewhat more than usual, as he 
 drew her towards him, and pressed his lips to 
 her glowing cheek. 
 
 " Suffer me, therefore, I implore you, to re- 
 turn to my humble home until the period of — 
 of this double niarriage. I have already, in my 
 selfish happiness, too much neglected the bene- 
 volent relative to wliotn I am indebted for all 
 that I possess, and all that I am taught to hope. 
 Let mc for three short weeks endeavor to prove 
 Uiat the joy of my heart does not extinguish its 
 affection." 
 
 " What you ask is only fair, Gertrude, if you 
 really wish it," said Mr. Armstrong reluctantly ; 
 " but 1 very much doubt if either Ernest or liis 
 motlier will consent to such a sacrifice. As for 
 me, I confess that, between man and man, (if I 
 may use such an expression where an old woman 
 is concerned,) 1 think you are right." 
 
 " I know you would, sir, for you are always 
 alike just and generous; and therefore I may 
 now calculate upon your support upon this point, 
 for which I am really anxious, liut I have not 
 j'ct done ; and even in spite of your own dis- 
 claimers I rio not, I will not despair, that you 
 will still make unothcrand a greater concession, 
 wlicn I entreat it ahnost upon m)- knees. Oh, 
 bear with me for an instanti And indeed, in- 
 deed, you will admit that I onl}' ask wliat is 
 reasonable and consistent! Reflect for a mo- 
 ment! Your daughter is about to marry a man 
 
 of large fortune, and carries with her to the 
 altar a dowry worthy of him, while I " 
 
 " Gertrude, again I say that this is a falsa 
 pride ; and, moreover, surely something is due 
 alike to Ernest and to his family ?" 
 
 "Much — very much. Nevertheless, I feap- 
 lessly persist in mj' petition — leave me free 
 until I am indeed his wife and your daughter. 
 Do not compel me to feel utterly powerless." 
 
 " Poor Mary ! Why will you persist in thwart- 
 ing her?" 
 
 " Mary will hear reason, I know she will, 
 and I shall be so much happier. Moreover, my 
 dear sir, poor as I am, I stil'i possess resourceg 
 which I can explain to dear Mrs. Armstrong and 
 the girls, although I should shrink from detail- 
 ing them to one of your lordly sex." . 
 
 " Well, well, I have not the heart to contra- 
 dict you any longer," said tlie squire, " so, if 
 you can convince the women, I will not interfere 
 further in the matter ; but I warn you that they 
 are likely to prove less ductile in your hands 
 than I have done." 
 
 Enchanted ty her success, Gertrude warmly 
 thanked the affectionate old man, and hastened 
 to tlie breakfast-room, where fhe ladies of the 
 family were busily discussing the merits of Lyons 
 satins, Lisle laces, and orange-blossoms, A ge- 
 neral exclamation greeted her entrance. Mary'g 
 taste was at issue with that of the London dress- 
 maker, to whom Mrs. Armstrong bowed with 
 implicit confidence, and it lias just been decided 
 that the question should be referred to Miss 
 Mortimer. 
 
 " Now, am I not right, dear Gertrude?" eager- 
 ly asked the other bride-elect; "will not our 
 dresses be infinitely more graceful if entirely 
 composed of lace, tlian if we merely trim them, 
 and leave the glossy glarish satin unsubdued ? 
 And shall you not prefer a long veil of this do- 
 licious point to an odious bonnet?" 
 
 " The lace robe and the veil by all means, 
 love," replied Gertrude, with a quiet smile ; 
 " like you, I shrink from the glare of satin by 
 .=un-light ; but, unlike you, I shall neither ven- 
 ture upon the one nor the other." 
 
 " What can you mean ?" exclaimed both sisters 
 with surprise ; " Has it not been already ar- 
 ranged that the two dresses are to be precisely 
 similar?" 
 
 " It was so arranged, I know," said Gertrude, 
 as she raised the hand of Mrs. Armstrong to her 
 lips, "and grateful, very grateful do I feel for 
 the affection which could prompt such a propo- 
 sal, but, within the last half-hour, I liave in- 
 duced Mr. Armstrong to rescind his r(>so]ution." 
 
 " How very unkind of papa," sjiid Mary, with 
 a pretty pout. " Our party will not look half so 
 picturesque, and that is not the worst of it, fflr 
 I know you so well, Gertrude, fiiat 1 am quite 
 sure of }-our motives for this silly whim. But, 
 mark me, I will not stand at the altar with yon 
 if you are dressed one whit worse than myself" 
 
 The orphan laughed as she silenced the threat 
 with a sisterly kiss. " Do not fear, dear girl," 
 she said quietly: "You have as yet lui idea of 
 my lieaped-up riches, and moreover I warn you 
 that I shall pride myself more unon my drcBS 
 that day, tlian were it composea of lace lik« 
 cobwebs, or thrice-piled velvet" 
 
THE RH^AL BEAUTIES. 
 
 146 
 
 " What is it then, Gertrude f" inquired Mrs. 
 Armstrong, anxiouslj*. 
 
 " It is the work of my own hands, my dear 
 imdam. Simple, very simple in its materials, 
 lut rendered somewhat costly by the labor which 
 Kis been bestowed upon it. Let us, however, 
 •;itlier talk of dear Mary's toilette." 
 
 " Ernest will be bitterly disappointed when 
 le finds that you have overthrown our plans, 
 
 i Ijcrtrude," said Eleanor reproachfuUj-. 
 
 ' ■ " And so am I," observed the old lady, as she 
 •aised her ej-es for a moment from one of those 
 rtroeities which, in the shape of illustrations to 
 Magazines of Fashion, Belle Assemblees, and 
 pi'oductions of that class, libel at once the good 
 aiste of Englishwomen, and the fair proportions 
 !>f nature. " Only look here, Gertrude, at this 
 sweet costume ! I had made up my mind to per- 
 made you both to fix upon this ; and now, you 
 lee, you have upset everything." 
 
 " I am afraid that you will, indeed, be inclined 
 to think so, my dear madam," replied the or- 
 phan, after glancing for a moment at the great 
 Imman hour-glass, overwhelmed with conflict- 
 ing finery, which Mrs. Armstrong submitted to 
 her inspection, " when I tell you that this is not 
 the only concession that 1 have induced your 
 jkind husband to make. A certain feeling of 
 remorse has reminded me that I owe a debt of 
 gratitude and courtesy to*my aunt, and that I 
 cannot better paj- it than by devoting to her 
 Qomfort and amusement the three brief weeks 
 
 wliich still remain before " 
 
 " Oh ! no ! no ! Gertrude. Impossible !" was 
 Qie general exclamation. " Ernest will never 
 consent, and, moreover, only consider that, 
 sliould you persist, there is an end at once to all 
 our consultations, all our plans. Miss Warring- 
 ton cannot want you, and will only be annoyed 
 by the perpetual intrusion to which such an ar- 
 rangement would subject her. Ko ! no! We 
 will yield the first point, if you will give up the 
 second." 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot," said the orplian, smiling 
 through her tears, ; " I cannot, because I feel that 
 I am doing right, and j-ou will see that I shall 
 soon induce Ernest to think as I do. Remem- 
 ber, also, how soon we shall have a right to be 
 constantly together, without sacrificing any 
 
 (Sense of duty ; and let us not wilfully rush upon 
 
 Iso needless a source of regret." 
 
 ' " As Mr. Armstrong has consented," said the 
 (dd lady, laying down the beflouneed beauty 
 vhich had so long been her study ; " as your 
 father has consented to this arrangement, my 
 dears, I think tluat Gertrude is quite right : for, 
 after all, her poor old aunt must miss her even 
 more than we do ; and so, if she can persuade 
 
 I Ernest to allow it, I must desire that you will 
 
 ;not say anotlier word upon the subject." 
 
 And Gertrude did succeed, although with con- 
 dderable difficulty, in convincing her lover after 
 having been compelled to hear him utter certain 
 comments upon old women which were anything 
 but complimentary ; and their last evening at 
 the Manor House was considerably saddened 
 by the consciousness that they should not, for 
 some time to come, again enjoy that solitary 
 •oramunion in which they had latterly indulged. 
 
 1 " Nevertheless, rebel as 3'our are," eaid Ernest 
 10 
 
 with a smile, " I will indulge you with one mora 
 evening saunter through the grounds : so, throw 
 on your bonnet and shawl, and we will stroll 
 until the dews force us in again." 
 
 And then it was, as they wandered through 
 the rich shrubberies, and seated themselves for 
 a time in the pavilion so dear to both, that the 
 orphan, for the last time, poured forth all the 
 feelings of her pure heart to the man who was 
 so soon to become her husband, and listened, 
 with a happy smile, to the rebuke with which 
 he met her earnestly expressed regrets that slia 
 should bring him no better dowry than her love. 
 
 " I ask, I care for nothing more, Gertrude," 
 he replied, in an accent which carried conviction 
 to her mind. " In possessing j'ou, I shall pos- 
 sess all that I have ever coveted on earth ; but 
 when once j-ou are mine, I shall become more 
 ambitious for your sake. Nor do I doubt that 
 by exerting proper means, I shall succeed in 
 leaving you no such cause of regret. I have al- 
 ready a project, and had you been less unselfish 
 than you are, or could I have made up my mind 
 as demurely as you have done, to a temporary 
 separation, I might already have taken soma 
 steps towards its accomplishment. However, as 
 you have decided upon returning home where 
 I shall have no chance of seeing jon except in 
 the presence of your female jailer — confound all 
 old maiden aunts — I am half-inclined to start for 
 town in a day or two. You can write to me by 
 every post, and I will endeavor to satisfy myself 
 in that way until I ascertain what may be my 
 chance of success. But after all, Gertrude, this 
 new caprice of yours is too V>ad. Look at Mary, 
 she has never tried Somerville as you are trying 
 me, and I warn you, lady mine, that this is the 
 last occasion, the very last, in which I shall sub- 
 mit to your odious despotism." 
 
 Gertrude answered by an affectionate smile. 
 
 " How you women love to tyrannize," pursued 
 Ernest. " Meek and mild as you seem, you are 
 all alike." 
 
 " Except Mary," laughed his listener. 
 
 " Not even excepting Mary," retorted her 
 lover. " She is only deferi'ing her impertinence 
 till she can cover it by the dignified authority 
 of a wife, but you have not had the grace to do 
 this." 
 
 " And your project, dear Ernest ?" 
 
 " Is a secret, fair lady, at present, but I will 
 nevertheless be generous enough to confide to 
 you one of its earliest results, should it prove 
 successful. You remember that lovely little 
 retreat which we drove past a few days ago, 
 Gertrude, half cottage and half villa, with its 
 dainty pleasure-grounds and miniature lake? I 
 covet that smiling abode as our home. But I 
 have said nothing on the subject to my father, — 
 who would, as I well know, strain every nerve 
 to gratify me while it remains in the market, — 
 for Mary's portion must be paid, and I am aware, 
 that he could not, without inconvenience, meei 
 so large a demand upon his means at this par- 
 ticular moment, so that all I can do is to trust 
 that it will not find a purchaser until I am pre- 
 pared to make it mine." 
 
 " And had I not been penniless you might at 
 once have accomplished your wish," said Ger- 
 trude sadly. 
 
146 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BFAUTIES 
 
 "Now, fie upon you!" exclaimed Ernest, rather lost ground than gained it, and were com- 
 " thus to steal ray secret from me, and then to pdled onee more to submit. 
 repay rae by outraging the delicacy ofmyatfec-l Thus a week passed by, during which Miss 
 tion. One more 8\ieh regret, Gertrude, and I Warrington was more erect and sententious 
 •ball begin to fear that you have not a proper! than ever. Not a rumor had transpired in the 
 confidence in my love." { neighborhood, of the great event which was 
 
 "Rather, then, will I be grateful for the ; about to occur. Not even the grey-haired curate 
 poverty which has left you without one doubt," i had a suspicion of the double wodding; although 
 replied' Ihe hannv girl, as she wiped away the] he had already been apprised that his church 
 tears which had started to her eyes; " and hence-! was to be honored by the presence of the Arch- 
 forward I will speak and act as though I were a deacon, who being an intimate friend of the 
 rich lieiress, and privileged to indulge in every Squire, had been invited to perform the cere- 
 epecies of extravagance. Will that promise mony for his daughter ; and thus, although tlie 
 eatisfy your exacting nature ?" | gossips were busy chronicling every movemeni 
 
 But often, very often, when she found herself [between the Great House and the humble abode 
 once more domesticated beneath the narrow of Miss Warrington, and found ample food fbr 
 roof of her aunt, did the conversation of that their conjectures, not only in the perpetuijl tratt- 
 evening recur to her, and never without a pang. ' sits of the ladies themselves, but even the cont- 
 Of Ernest's affection she was assured, nordidiings and goings of grooms and waiting-raaida, 
 she fear that even poverty could weaken it, but! they naturally attributed all this deliglitful con> 
 ftill she wept over the sacrifices to which he | motion to the approaching marriage of Mia 
 had compelled himself for her sake, and bitterly 
 felt her utter helplessness to lessen them. She 
 
 was indeed about to give herself to him, a por- 
 tionless bride, for even the bequest of her aunt 
 she no longer felt to be her own, and it had al- 
 ready been arranged by Ernest that it should 
 
 Armstrong ; and marvelled that as the proud 
 niece of tiiei'' neighbor appeared so essential to 
 the " Squire's people," she should have choseii 
 such a moment to return home. 
 
 On the tenth morning after her return to 
 Bletehley, two letters instead of one were, to tlie 
 
 be transferred to Miss Warrington, as a tribute surprise of Gertrude, put into her hand. For a 
 of gratitude for the kindness which she had I moment, her heart beat quickly — It must be 
 
 •hown the orphan in her hour of need 
 
 Thus, however cheerfully Gertrude might 
 eeera to bear the humiliating fact of her poverty, 
 still it revolted her delicacy, and pained her 
 heart. She could not quite forget the resolute 
 refusal with wliich Mr. Armstrong had in the 
 first instance met the entreaties of his son ; and 
 although he had subsequently treated her with 
 paternal kindness, still the mortification of that 
 refusal had left its sting. It was in vain she re- 
 peated to herself that all this waste of feeling, 
 fiituated as she then was, had become worse than 
 idle ; still a tiiousand memories rose up before 
 her, each coupled with its own regret. She was, 
 indeed, an outcast Even her cousin, the com- 
 panion of her childhood, had forsaken her — and 
 
 from Frederic, and after all, she was not quit?i 
 forgotten. But no, a single glance sufficed ; tliD 
 writing was not his, and the mysterious missive 
 bore tlie London post-mark. She had a faint 
 idea that she recognized the somewhat quaint 
 and crabbed characters of the superscription, but 
 she could not identify them ; and in another in 
 stantshe laid the letter down, merely marvelling 
 who could have written to her, and soon alt*^- 
 gether forgetting the circumstance as she greedily 
 devoured the contents of Ernest's far more in- 
 teresting epistle. 
 
 Even the letter of a lover, however, comes to 
 an end at last, and Gertrude had no sooner for 
 the second time arrived at the conclusion of the 
 three closely-written pages which composed that 
 
 slie was about to enter the home of Mr. Arm-! of Ernest, than she once more remembered the 
 strong, as a wife which his generous son had | still unopened packet upon the table, 
 rescued from the cold, wide ocean of the world ;l These were its content-s. 
 •without a home, without a friend, and almost 
 
 without a name. | " Dear Niece, — " My physician informed me 
 
 It was fortunate for Gertrude, that the daily yesterday that 1 am dying, and I felt so perfectly 
 
 letters of her happy and sanguine lover, over 
 flowing as they were with affection and gladness, 
 end the occupation with which they necessarily 
 provided her, tended to rouse her mind from 
 
 satisfied that lie was right that I at once dismis- 
 sed him, as it is useless to throw money away 
 which is certain to be lost, both principal and 
 interest. I am aware that the fact of an old 
 
 the morbid state into which it might otherwise man's death can be of little consequence to you. 
 have fallen, while the half-playful and half-} and therefore it is only as the brother of your 
 serious reproaches of his sisters, who found it mother that I now write to tell you, that after 
 difficult to forgive her desertion at such a mo-i having lived for so many years alone, I am weak 
 meut, assisted in no slight degree to reconcile! enough to desire not to die alone. I have no 
 her to herself. They declared that everything relation upon earth but j'ou, or I would not have 
 had gone wrong since she left the Manor-house; troubled you upon such an occasion. I enclose 
 that they could come to no decision upon any a 5/. note. If you consent to come to me, it will 
 point without her assistance ; and they even en- pay the expenses of your journey, and if you do 
 deavored to cidist Miss Warrington in their not, you may keep it to buy a black gown, if you 
 cautie. The rigid old lady, however, proved think proper to wear one when I am gone, out 
 impracticable, and laid so nmch stress upon the of respect to your mother's memory. If you d« 
 propriety of her niece remaining under her roof come, you must come at once, or you may b* 
 until tlie very eve of her marriage, that tliey|too late. I give you the address of mj late 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 U1 
 
 ©ffice. When you reach tovm, drive there, and 
 they will send a clerk with you to my house 
 you might not be able to find it. 
 
 " Your uncle and ■well--n-isher, 
 " William Spencjer.' 
 
 The agitation of Gertrude was excessive, as 
 she rapidly perused the letter of her obdurate 
 relative ; but not for a single tnstant did slie 
 hesitate as to the line of conduct she should 
 
 f)ur6ue. She had not, moreover, a moment to 
 ose; the coach by which she had formerly 
 reached Bletchley only made its London-ward 
 journey twice within the week, and was to leave 
 that very day at noon. Hurriedly, therefore, 
 she detailed to Miss Warrington the emergency 
 in wliich she found herself, and after writing a 
 brief note of regret and explanation to the ladies 
 of the Manor-house, hastily threw together a few 
 indispensable articles of apparel, and aided by 
 the energy of Hannah, found herself at eleven 
 o'clock traversing the well-known meadows, ac- 
 companied by a stout lad bearing her portman- 
 teau and carpet-bag, precisely as she had done 
 on the previous occasion. 
 
 Yes; thus alone and unattended, save by a 
 fustian-clad village boy, did the future mistress 
 of the Manor-house set forth upon her second 
 melancholy journey, leaving behind her smiling 
 lips and loving hearts, to encounter at best a very 
 uncertain welcome, and to assist once more at 
 the melancholy spectacle of a death-bed. She 
 reached the road-side inn, paid the modest fee 
 of her impromptu page, and then in a large, bleak, 
 chill}' room, whose sanded floor, rude chairs, 
 empty grate, and beer-stained table, combined 
 to form the very acme of discomfort, sat down 
 to await the departure of the coach, and for the 
 first time to reflect. 
 
 Her thoughts naturally turned on the probable 
 displeasure of Ernest, when he should learn not 
 only the fact, but also the manner of her depar- 
 ture ; she felt that his pride would be wounded, 
 and Ills fcai's excited by her solitary pil'griniage, 
 but still she did not i-epent the step which she 
 had taken. The biother of her mother, however 
 harshly lie might have acted towards her, had a 
 chum u]>c)u her respect and obedience, which she 
 dared not neglect ; and even amid her terror of 
 the present, and her dread of the future, she ex- 
 perienced something akin to joy as she remem- 
 bered that she had still one relative to whom 
 ehe was not utterly cast off^, and to whom she 
 might even yet prove a source of consolation 
 and comfort. 
 
 At length, after much preparatory bustle, 
 tiie dragging of trunks and packages along the 
 Btone passages, the loud laughter and louder 
 oaths of a score of idlers and hangers-on, and 
 the shrill voices of women calling to each 
 other, as it appeared to the trembling Gertrude, 
 fi-om every quarter of the building, the horses 
 were at length put to, and to her great delight 
 she found herself, on entering the coach, in the 
 presence of a single fellow traveller, a comely 
 ■woman of sixty, who, after having uttered a 
 eourteous and respectful " good-day" to her 
 new companion, attempted no further conver- 
 sation, and thus once more left the anxious girl 
 to her own thoughts. j 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 . NKV?:HTnKLEss the journey was a dreary one, 
 and well calculated to ojipress the already sad- 
 dened heart of Gerti'ude. Nothing could bo 
 more dispiriting than the constant intrusion of 
 strangers, who, after a coarse stare, and a surly 
 greeting, were anxious only for their own a«- 
 commodation, and careless of the discomfort of 
 those with whom they were brought into tem- 
 porary contact ; the sudden stoppages, accom- 
 panied by hurried departures, and tlie discor- 
 dant rumbling of heavy trunks overhead, or tlie 
 still more annoying searches for small parcels, 
 mislaid in some of the numerous pockets dis- 
 persed in the interior of the vehicle ; tlie succes- 
 sion of repugnant fumes of food and strong 
 potations, rendered still more inodorous by the 
 closeness of the carriage, and the selfishness of 
 its occupants, who, having fortified themselves 
 against the external air, saw fit, moreover, to 
 insist upon its entire exclusion ; the dreary 
 waiting at the doors of road-side houses, where 
 the other passengers descended to make their 
 hurried repasts, for the sole purpose, as it ap- 
 peared, of subsequently grumbling over their 
 inferiority ; and, ultimately, the arrival ia 
 town, and in the heart of the city, in the midst 
 of a twilight deepened by fog, and rendered 
 still more terrifying to a novice like Gertrude 
 by the noise of many voices and the tread of 
 many feet. 
 
 A hackney-coach was, however, soon pro- 
 cured, and ere long the orphan, with her 
 slender luggage, was on her way to the office 
 to which she had been directed by the letter 
 of her uncle. Hitherto she had borne up 
 bravely, but this last slow and melancholy, 
 and to her mysterious progress, through narrow 
 streets, where the dim lamps failed to throw 
 more than a sickly beam upon the dirt-obscured, 
 and often iron-barred windows of the lofty and 
 frowning houses, totally exhausted her couragf;; 
 a thousand fantastic doubts and terrors took 
 possession of her ; she was utterly alone, iw 
 the power of a stranger, of whose probity she 
 had necessarily no assurance, and as she looked 
 eagerly from the window of the foul and 
 rumbling machine in which she was borne 
 along, she could not obtain the most remote 
 idea of the streets she traverse<l ; all were alike, 
 long and dingy, and dark, without one distin- 
 guishing feature which could be discerned 
 through the thick and uncertain gloom. 
 
 Nor was her situation apparently much im- 
 proved when, at length, the cumbersome coach 
 drew up beside the narrow pavement of what 
 appeared to be a squalid lane, and the immense 
 mass of capes and handkerchiefs which en- 
 veloped the driver appeared beside her, and 
 his hoarse voice inquired if tliat were tlnj 
 right house. Gertrude trembled in every limb 
 as she declared her utter ignorance upon the 
 subject, and requested that he would inquir*i 
 of the inmates. The man turned away with » 
 surly and inaudible rejoinder, but he neverthe- 
 less obeyed, and, at his summoiiii, the door w»is 
 opened by a slip-shod woman, whose uncombed 
 hair fell in revolting confusion about her faee 
 and who held in her hand an unsnufl'ed c&iidl« 
 
14« 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ■which flared and guttered under the action of 
 the chill wind. 
 
 The heart of the orplian sank within her as 
 ehe felt convinced tliat this could not be the 
 haven she had sought, and for an instant, she 
 felt crushed by the conviction of her forlorn 
 and helpless situation, thus utterly alone in the 
 streets of a great city, amid damp and dark- 
 ness ; but she was soon relieved from this 
 new terror by the approach of the slatternly 
 portress, who, advancing to the side of the car- 
 riage, dr()])pod a curtesy, and inquired if Miss 
 would be pleased to alight, adding, that she had 
 just come in time, as Mr. Jackson had already 
 locked all up, and was preparing to go home. 
 
 " No, no, I thank you," was the quick re- 
 joinder of Gertrude ; " I have not a moment to 
 lose. If it be, as I suppose, Mr. Jackson who 
 is to be good enough to accompany me to my 
 uncle's, have the kindness to tell him that I am 
 ready to proceed at once." 
 
 The woman withdrew into the house, and at 
 the termination of a few miniites she reappeared 
 accompanied by a diminutive man of careworn 
 and haggard countenance, who, as he emerged 
 from the dingy passage, was hastily buttoning 
 a shabby and insufficient great coat over a huge 
 bunch of keys. By the light of the flaring 
 candle he accosted Gertrude with a courtesy 
 which was almost obsequious ; and, on her re- j 
 iterating her wish to avoid all further delay, 
 made a quiet bow, and mounted the box beside 
 tlie coachman. 
 
 The poor girl was entirely ignorant whither 
 she was now proceeding, and she had ample 
 opportunity to reflect upon the discomforts of 
 her position ere they arrived in a narrow street 
 at Walworth, wliich was their place of destina- 
 tion. Here they once more stopped, and the 
 active clerk having hastily descended from his 
 unenviable eminence, and cautiously knocked 
 at the door, announced to Gertrude that she had 
 now reached her uncle's house. 
 
 It had by this time become so dai'k, that, 
 owing to the absence of street lamps, which, as 
 it appeared, were a luxury entirely dispensed 
 witli in that immediate neigliborhood, the ex- 
 cited and wearied traveller could form no judg- 
 ment as to the description of residence selected 
 by her uncle ; but she did not long remain in 
 doubt ; for once more a door was opened to 
 her, and again a fenuile stood upon the 
 tlireshold, candle in hand, to inquire her busi- 
 ness. To this question Mr. Jackson imme- 
 diatelj' replied in a low, and somewhat defer- 
 ential tone, after which, he himself opened the 
 coach-door, took possession of the portmanteau 
 and car|)ct-bag, which he was compelled to 
 deposit in the front room, in order that the 
 young lady might be enabled to ])ass into the 
 house, an<l then, while the neat and matronly 
 person who had given them entrance was 
 respectfully ushering her into the same apart- 
 ment, he advanced, hat in hand, to inquire if he 
 should discharge the coach. Totally unaccus- 
 tomed to all Bui'h arrangements, Gertrude 
 eagerly and thankfully |Mit her purse into his 
 hiind, and, while she was making hurried and 
 whispered inquiries as to the state of her 
 
 uncle, she was once more startled by the sound 
 of a fierce contention without. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, Ma'am," said the good 
 woman with a smile, as, even by the faint light 
 which she carried she saw the cheek of the 
 orphan turn pale ; " It is only Mr. Jacksoa 
 settling with the Jarvey. They are such 
 rogues, that he has been trying to cheat you, as 
 a matter of course, but for once he has met 
 with his match ; he must look sharper than 
 ever he did in his life before, if he imposes oa 
 Mr. Jackson." 
 
 " Oh, I entreat you, give him an3'thing — all 
 that he asks. That outcry will disturb Mr. 
 Spencer." 
 
 " Oh, no. Ma'am," was the quiet rejoinder ; 
 " I don't think my master will hear ifr, but 
 if he does, it will do him good. He will be so 
 glad to know that you have not thrown away 
 your money." 
 
 The heart of the orphan sank within her ; 
 she knew not how to reply to such an assur- 
 ance, and involuntarily she glanced round the 
 squalid room in which she st6od, as if to read 
 in its arrangements some token of its owner's 
 habits. The survey was soon completed. Fire 
 there was none, and the discolored shavings 
 which filled the grate aff'orded read}^ evidence 
 that they had long remained undisturbed ; a 
 small and well-worn carpet partiallj' covered 
 the floor, and half-a-dozen rush-seated chaira 
 assisted in concealing the remaining portion of 
 the boards ; a small round table, furnished with 
 an office inkstand, a few pens, and a torn blot- 
 ting-book, stood in the centre ; and the walls 
 boasted, for all ornament, a folio sheet-almanao 
 fastened to the faded paper by four pins, imme- 
 diately above thfe chimney-piece. 
 
 Gertrude had already been initiated into the 
 discomforts of genteel penury ; but on her 
 arrival at Bletchley she had believed that the 
 home of Miss Warrington was an extreme ex- 
 ample of its class, while now she had only to 
 look round her to be convinced, that even by 
 her last change of residence, she had left, not 
 merely positive comfort, but almost luxury 
 behind her. 
 
 In an instant the conviction flashed upon her 
 mind, that the helpless old man who had so 
 unexpectedly summoned her to his bed of 
 death had been ruined by one of those hazard- 
 ous speculations in which he had formerly 
 anuissed considerable wealth ; and the question 
 trembled upon her tongue, when it was arrested 
 by the rc-entrance of Mr. Jackson, upon whosB 
 hollow cheek the excitement of his late conten- 
 tion had almost brought a flush, and who 
 smiled a smile of genuine complacency as he 
 restored the purse of Jliss Mortimer, assuring 
 her that he had succeeded so thoroughly, thai 
 the rascally coachman had not carried off" a 
 farthing more than his fare. It was evident, by 
 his crest-fallen look, as Gertrude answered only 
 by a silent bend of the head, that lie had an 
 ti'eipated both thanks and congratulations upon 
 liis victory ; but he once more became radiant 
 as she placed the last remaining guinea of Mr. 
 Spencer's gift in his hand, and assured him, in 
 her gentlest accents, that she would not fail to 
 
THE RIVAL BIL^UTIES. 
 
 149 
 
 inform her uncle how greatly she was indebted 
 to his care. 
 
 How difficult it is for those who have once 
 enjoj-ed affluence, even though it may liave 
 been succeeded by comparative penury, and 
 those gnawing doubts and apprehensions which 
 occasionally accompany the disbursement of a 
 crown-piece, to forget their early liabits, where 
 they feel they have incurred obligation ! and 
 thus it was as Miss Mortimer of Westrum 
 House, rather than as the niece of Miss War- 
 rington, that Gertrude recompensed the ser- 
 vices of the astonished old man, who had been 
 her guide through the mysterious wilderness 
 of London. Never, however, was largesse 
 better bestowed ; and could the gentle girl 
 have guessed with what a feeling of astoni.shed 
 happiness that poor office drudge trudged 
 homeward to his obscure lodging, to gladden 
 the eyes of his sickly wife and ill-clad children 
 by the sight of that golden coin, she would 
 have shed tears of delight. When he took his 
 leave, the female attendant, after apologizing 
 to her new inmate for leaving her in the dark 
 for a few instants, as she had no other candle, 
 bolted and barred the door of the house as 
 carefully as though it had closed over the 
 entrance of the jewel-cave of Aladdin, and 
 then, hastily returning, deposited the light 
 upon the table, and, at the request of Gertrude, 
 went to inform the sick man of her arrival. 
 
 Again the orphan looked around her in utter 
 sadness. It must be as she had guessed, and 
 tlie rich relative who had abandoned his family 
 because he could not endure to share his wealth 
 with them, had lived to see it melt away into 
 absolute penury, and perhaps to die amid pri- 
 vation and regret. And then another thought 
 flashed upon her. Miss Warrington as j-et 
 knew nothing of the generous intentions of Er- 
 nest in her behalf, and, consequently, she 
 should commit no injustice if she proposed to 
 him to divide Mrs. Mortimer's bequest between 
 her aunt and the equally needy brother of her 
 mother. It was little, as she sorrowfully felt, 
 to offer to either, and thus divided, became 
 even less worthy of their acceptance ; but it 
 was her all, and it would suffice to convince 
 them that she was not selfishly indifferent to 
 tlieir welfare. 
 
 Feeling more happy than she had done since 
 she left Bletchley, Gertrude rose from her 
 Beat, and was disencumbering herself of her 
 heavy travelling cloak, when the servant re- 
 appeared, and offered to conduct her to the 
 cliamber of her uncle, who was prepared to 
 Bee her. 
 
 Overcome by fatigue and anxiety, the orphan 
 fflt her knees tremble as she preceded the 
 woman up a narrow and unearpeted flight of 
 Btairs, and then paused beside a door which 
 stood partially open. 
 
 " Walk in, Ma'am, if you please," was whis- 
 pered in her ear; "that's master's room." 
 
 And Gertrude obeyed. 
 
 The same solitary candle by which she had 
 been received on her arrival still lent its friend- 
 ly light, which, faint though it was, enabled 
 her to discover every detail of the closet-like 
 apartment of the dying man. One of those 
 
 odious inventions called fire-baskets stood in 
 the grate, where a feeble flame was flicki-riiig 
 beneath a suttocatiiig clump of coke ; a table of 
 unpainted deal was drawn near the hearth with 
 a chair beside it, and upon it stood a spoutless 
 jug and a glass tumbler. A large hair trunk, 
 which had evidently long aflforded a banquet 
 to the moths, supplied the place of drawers, 
 and a comfortless tent-bedstead, with curtains 
 so scanty that they "ofused to meet on either 
 side, oecM|>ied the upper end of the room, and 
 partially obscured the window. 
 
 Upon this squalid bed lay the worsliipper of 
 Mammon, beneatli a tliin and sullied coverlet; 
 one hand tmder his head, which was only pro- 
 tected from the chill night air by a profusion of 
 snow-white hair which fell over the pillow, and 
 the other resting upon a walking-cane, that had 
 evidently been left purposely within his reach. 
 
 So you are come, are you ?" growled a voice 
 which would have been harsh had not weakness 
 rendered it feeble, as Gertrude moved noiseless- 
 ly across the floor: "Thank you for that at 
 least." And the bony fingers quitted for an 
 instant the head of the cane, and were extended 
 to her as she reached the bed-side : " Come to 
 see me die — not in a palace — not in a palace, as 
 perhaps you expected, but like an honest man, 
 under a quiet roof, never disturbed by debts or 
 duns." 
 
 " Do not despair, sir," said Gertrude softly, 
 
 you require care, and I am very grateful to 
 
 you for having given me the opportunity of be- 
 
 oming your imrse. Young as I am, I am no 
 
 stranger to a sick room." 
 
 All the better — all the better," was the un- 
 gracious rejoinder; "no woman has a right to 
 be so. But sit down, sit down ; why do you 
 stand !" 
 
 Gertrude possessed herself of the solitary 
 chair, and placed it near the sick man's pillow. 
 
 And you, Mrs. Sharp," continued the invalid 
 in the same low growl, " go and arrange Miss 
 Mortimer's room. Have you borrowed a bolster 
 as I told you?" 
 
 Yes, "sir," replied the woman with a slight 
 blusk 
 
 Very well, go then ; take the candle with 
 you. We can talk as well in the dark." 
 
 Mrs. Sharp curtseyed in silence, took up the 
 brass candlestick, and disappeared. Gertrude 
 remained in darkness with her scarce seen, and 
 dreaded relative. 
 
 " And now tell me — tell me," whispered the 
 sick man, when they were thus alone together, 
 tell me, niece, what has your journey cost 
 you." 
 
 " Your generosity, sir, more than supplied my 
 want«." 
 
 "Yes, yes; you could not spend five pounds 
 in coming here, unless you sowed silver by the 
 road-side, that it might bring forth gold. Loi>- 
 don was the trial, child; London, I know it. 1 
 have lived in London, boy and num. for si:.ty 
 years, and now and then they liave tried to 
 cheat me. Tried — <lo you mark me — tried, but 
 never succeeded!" And through the darkness 
 sounded a low chuckle, as the sick man turned 
 abruptly upon the i)illow. "I protected you 
 against the tricks of London, vben I put you 
 
150 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 under the care of Jaokson — Jackson is na keen 
 as a tile, but \ui» never had wit enough to make 
 his fortune. He wiw too weak to grapple with 
 the world, and to hold what he had clutehed. 
 It requires wit — ay, and wisdom too—when a 
 man has onee become rich to enable him to re- 
 main 80, and not suffer his honest gains to escape 
 him;" and full of the image which he had con- 
 jured up, tiie wretched mammon-lover raised 
 nis bony (^m in the air, and unclosing his clenched 
 hand, spread wide his attenuated lingers, as 
 thougli a shower of gold-dust were evaporating 
 from between them. 
 
 The 
 
 J poor gir 
 
 1 shrank before this sudden burst 
 
 of factitious energy, although its most hideous 
 feature was spared to her by the obscurity 
 around them, and anxious to evade all reply to 
 such an observation, she said timidly, — 
 
 '• You were speaking of Mr. Jackson, sir." 
 
 " True," was the prompt i-eply, as her uncle 
 once more relapsed into sudden calm : " It is 
 idle to talk to you of what you cannot under- 
 stand. I was talking of Jackson, telling you 
 Vhat he had been a fool, who never knew how 
 to avail himself of his natural capabilities. 
 But, by the bye — what's your name, child ? I 
 have forgotten." 
 
 " Gertrude, sir," said the poor girl almost 
 choked by her tears. 
 
 " Ah, j-cs, Gertrude, I remember now ; your 
 mother was fond of novel reading, and found 
 the name there, no doubt; but no matter. I 
 say, Gertrude, you did not give Jackson any- 
 thing, I hope ? He's in constant employment ; 
 sixty pounds %year, and only four children. 
 V.'itli proper management, sixty pounds a-year 
 will go a great way, and where there are no 
 a])penrances to keep up — and what appearances 
 can be expected from the junior clerk of a 
 incrcantile house? — it is a very comfortable 
 income." 
 
 (icrtrude made no reply. 
 
 " Atid so Mrs. Mortimer left you 2,000/., 
 child?" pursued the sinking gold-worshipper; 
 " li.OOOJ. ! ! Do you know that millions have 
 been made out of the fiftieth part of 2,000/. 
 And what have you done witli such a sum of 
 money ?" 
 
 " Will you forgive me, my dear sir, if I ven- 
 tui-e to tell you what I should rejoice in doing 
 with a part of it?" 
 
 " (Jh, then, it is not all gone I" said the eager 
 voice, as tiic bony fingers again expanded them- 
 selves, and sought in darkness for the hand of 
 (iertrude, which they clasped in their skeleton 
 pressure ; " Then it is not all gone ! And I may 
 live long enough to get you good interest for it; 
 uiKjnestionable security; you may trust me. 
 IJut be saving, Gertrude, be saving. ' Take care 
 >{ the pence, and the pounds will take care of 
 liiemselves,' as Poor Richard says. But what do 
 you want to do with a part of it, child? What 
 can you know about money-matters? What 
 jioMsense havo you got into your silly woman's 
 liea.I r 
 
 " I scarcely kaow how to tell you, sir, but I 
 had better confess that when I received your 
 letter I believed you to be living in alttucuee, if 
 uf)t in splendor." 
 
 " 1 dare be sworn you did!" growled out the 
 
 harsli voice, and the clasp of the withered hand 
 
 IS suddenly withdrawn. 
 
 "That idea alone," pursued the orphan undis- 
 mayed by the elFect of her frank confession, 
 " made me hesitate for a moment in obeying 
 your sunmions ; for I felt that where you could 
 command every comfort and every care, my 
 presence would avail but little; while theie 
 were circumstances which rendered me anxious 
 not to abandon my home at this particular crisis. 
 Now, however, I am indeed grateful that 1 stifled 
 the voice of my selfishness, for since 1 entered 
 your house, I feel that I may not be utterly use- 
 less ; that I may be enabled to act towards you 
 the part of a child, and that, with your permis- 
 sion, 1 may in a slight, although unfortunately 
 a very slight degree, repair the injustice of that 
 fortune which I am painfully aware has desert- 
 ed you, at the very moment when its favors 
 were the most needed." 
 
 " And what can you give me, should I live f" 
 murmured the dying man, even more huskily 
 than he had yet spoken. 
 
 " Little, too little, I fear to secure to you all 
 the comforts of existence," replied Gertrude 
 sadly, " but still enough to protect you from 
 want." 
 
 " And what do you propose to live upon your- 
 self?" 
 
 The orphan blushed, although all was dark 
 about her. " I should, perhaps, already have 
 explained to you, my dear sir," sjie almost 
 whispered, " that I am about to become a 
 wife." 
 
 "The wife of whom, Gertrude Mortimer?" 
 loudly demanded the sick man, aroused into 
 violent although transitory energy: " Bewaie 
 how you suffer yourself to forget, that although 
 an aljiiost penniless orphan, you are the daughter 
 of my sister." 
 
 " 1 do not shrink before the warning," was the 
 proud reply : " I am betrothed to the only son 
 of Mr. Armstrong of Bletchley House." 
 
 Although Gertrude could not see the action, 
 she could hear the dry and fevered palms of the 
 invalid clasp together, and something like a 
 laugh mingle with the hard and laboring cough 
 which ploughed his chest. 
 
 " And so," he said at length, " You can help 
 me to live ? and I have toiled for years only to 
 be indebted at last to a puny and love-sick girl, 
 who is ignorant of the value of what she gives 
 up so readily I But I am glad that you are to 
 marry an Armstrong, child, very glad. 1 know 
 their history — part of it is written in bonds and 
 post-obits, — but better days are coming for the 
 Armstrongs, better days; and again I say that 
 I am glad of it. Go"ld is like the loadstone, 
 girl ; only it acts and reacts upon itself Did 
 you ever see a jewelled dowager seat herself 
 at a card table, that all the gold did not fly to 
 her ringed fingers, from those of the poor and 
 proud adversary who had dared to breast her 
 in the cunning strife? Did you ever see the 
 great speculator pitted against the trembling 
 novice in some fourth-rate venture, that the 
 Leviathan did not swallow the gudgeon ? No, 
 no ; gold loves gold, child. The sight of it is 
 pleasant; the ring of it is sonorous; tlie weight 
 of it is satisfactory : the man who baa oucc po8- 
 
TIIE RIVAL BT:AUTII!S. 
 
 151 
 
 lessed gold, good, sterling gold, knows its real told ywi that I havo any gloomy forohodiugs f 
 
 ,'!ilue, and cannot be cheated by a counterfeit 
 To him it is food and fuel, home and wife, and 
 children, costly raiment, and proud station. If 
 vou could raise again the walls and palaces of 
 
 Do yon suppose that I am afi'aid to die '(" 
 
 " I sincerely tr»ist not, Sir." 
 
 " Well, then, you may be at ease upon that 
 point Afraid to die ! Pshaw ! the very idea 
 
 Tyre and Sidon, and Carthage and Palmyra, do ; is sickening. Wluit have I left to live for? Are 
 vou know what all their stones would cry aloud you not aware that I have been compelled to 
 m honor of their resurrection? Kothing but | give up business ; and that I am indebted, even 
 gold." And the dying man sank back, pant- for the services of Jackson, to the courtesy of 
 ing and exhausted upon his pillow. my successor?" 
 
 Gertrude felt very wretcliedL Here laj' beside i " I had indeed suspected, on my arrival here, 
 lier a worsliipper of Mammon, evidently excluded 'that such was probably the case." 
 from the sordid temple of his cherished deity at I " You are a shrewd observer it seems, girl ; 
 the eleventh hour, and yet so fearfully imbued ' and yet you fancy that I am afraid to die. 
 with the one and oidy idolatry of a long life, Wliat is the world to me now, when I have 
 
 tliat he could not divest himself of his old, and 
 aow worse than idle associations. 
 
 CHAPTER XLHL 
 
 And now tell me, child," muttered the 
 
 nothing left to do in it? However, if I should 
 live, it appears that you have provided for my 
 wants," and again the exulting chuckle was 
 faintly audible ; " but never fear, never fear, 
 all is nearly over with me, and I shall not 
 burden you long." 
 
 " You do me injustice. Sir, if you suppose ' 
 
 "I suppose nothing, child; I am a man of 
 facts — honest, straightforward, plain facts. My 
 wretched man after a pause, "have you brought whole life lias been one fact — one dry, hard fact 
 money enough with you to take you home after, — one palpable and tangible principle." 
 
 all is over here? You liad better go back atl "I was only about to assure you. Sir " 
 
 once when I am gone, for London is a sad place, " You had already done better, girl, you liad 
 a very sad place, fit onlj^ for those who do not i offered me money, which will go farther than 
 know the value of what they squandei-. Are ' all the assurances in the world ; and I hate sen- 
 you provided with money to take you back ?" timent." , 
 
 "1 am, sir," said Gertrude, more and more P'ortunately for Gertrude the staid attendant 
 saddened by the conviction that her uncle could ' of her uncle entered as he ceased speaking, and 
 converse upon no other than his one darling! tluis obviated the necessity of any reply. After 
 
 theme : " and indeed I blush to have already 
 intruded so greatlj- upon your generosity." 
 
 " That is right," replied the gold-worshipper, 
 evidently much relieved by the assurance ; " And 
 now, while we are alone, let me tell you at once 
 tliat here, in a pocket-book under my pillow, 
 you will tind a 20/. note. That is to bury me, 
 child. A sad waste of money, when, after all, 
 we need only a few planks nailed together, and 
 a deep liole dug to hide us away in ; but we all 
 
 ive our weaknesses, and I wish to be put into 
 
 having carefully deposited her candle upon the 
 table, she knelt down, and with a piece of stout 
 iron-wire attempted to stir into something like 
 a blaze the dull and cheerless handful of fuel iu 
 the wretched fireplace ; but, even cautious as 
 she was, the noise grated upon the ear of the 
 sick man, who, drawing aside the miserable 
 apology for a curtain wliieh veiled the head of 
 his bed, exclaimed eagerly, — 
 
 " Gently, Mrs. Siiarp, gently. How often 
 have I told you that coals are the precious 
 
 the ground like a gentleman. So it must all be! jewels of the people? It is by no means cold. 
 
 spent; do you hear me, Gertrude ? All — that 
 I may have the satisfaction of knowing that the 
 thing was done handsomely. Jackson will follow 
 me, and it will be a fine day's work for him ; the 
 scarf, and hatband, and gloves, will be a little 
 fortune, for I know well from experience, that 
 they can be turned to good account. He will 
 have earned them, however, for I have given 
 directions tiiat he shall come here and arrange 
 e\'erythiiig. I cannot depend on you ; they 
 would rob and cheat you on all hands ; while 
 iackson knows the world, and trusts it as little 
 as I do. iS'evertheless, make him show you the 
 account Twenty pounds is a large sum to 
 cx-pend at once, and a great deal ought to be 
 done with it." 
 
 _ " I will endeavor to follow all your directions. 
 Sir ; but would it not also be prudent to make 
 tome arrangements in contemplation of a hap- 
 pier result to your illness than you appear to 
 anticipate ? These gloomy forebodings can only 
 tend to aggravate your sufferings." 
 
 " Gloomy forebodings!" echoed the old man 
 in a tone of sarcastic indignation, " Who has 
 
 by no means cold," he repeated, as he with- 
 drew his arm under the scanty coverlid when 
 the chill air of the little chamber fell upon it; 
 " and coals are dear, vei-y dear, this winter." 
 
 " It is the nasty coke. Sir, that will not catch," 
 said the housekeeper in a tone of respectful vo- 
 monstrance. 
 
 " All the better, Mrs. Sharp, all the better," 
 was the tart rejoinder. " Half the tires that 
 take place in London are occasioned by that in- 
 judicious use of tlie poker which appears to be 
 an epidemic with j-our sex. Let the coke alone, 
 it crackles and burns away gently, and nothing 
 more is necessary. And now, what have you 
 got to give Miss Mortimer? She may, perhaps, 
 be hungry after her journey." 
 
 " We liave a cold mutton-chop in the house. 
 Sir." 
 
 "Good, good, nothing is so wliolesomo as 
 mutton ; and cold meat after fatigue is always 
 preferable to hot Go and sup, child, and theu 
 let me see you again." 
 
 " I tliank you, my dear Sir," said the unhappy 
 Gertrude ; " but I have no appetite." 
 
162 
 
 ■niE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 * All the better," said the sick man with a 
 snile; " all the better. Meat is heavy at night, 
 and niiglit spoil your rest Do as you please, 
 my dear, do as you please. Mrs. Sharp will 
 obey your orders. And now give me some 
 ■water, Mrs. Sharp, I am thirsty." 
 
 " Water, Sir!" exclaimed Gertrude earnestly; 
 - Surely you will not run the risk of drinking 
 water in your present weak state !" 
 
 The miserable invalid made no reply until the 
 
 auiet matron had poured a glass of water from 
 \e dilapidate-d jug, and placed it in his hand, 
 then, after having swallowed a portion of its 
 contents, he said ironically; " And why should 
 I not drink water ? Is it not the natural bever- 
 age bestowed upon us by nature ? Beer is priv- 
 ileged poison ; tea is costly, and I have a pump 
 in my yard, child, for which I have already 
 paid a tax. Why should I not drink water?" 
 
 " I would entreat for mv'self, however, a cup 
 of tea," said Gertrude, who could no longer re- 
 press her tears ; " for I begin to feel that I am 
 utterly exhausted." 
 
 "Do you hear, Mrs. Sharp?" asked the sick 
 man peevishly. " Miss Mortimer wishes for 
 tea; and, as that is tlie case, you may bring me 
 tome also ; but coffee is cheaper, coffee is 
 cheaper." 
 
 " Coffee will be equally acceptable to me, my 
 dear Sir," gasped Gertrude. 
 
 "Mrs. Sharp! Mrs. Sharp !" almost screamed 
 the wretched sufferer from his squalid bed ; for 
 the delighted attendant had hurried from the 
 room, carrying off with her once more the soli- 
 tary candle, and had already reached the head 
 of the stairs; "Miss Mortimer will take coffee. 
 Measure it carefully, for should I get well again 
 (and there is no knowing what may occur), I 
 shall not overlook any waste. Miss Mortimer 
 will take coffee, and, perhaps, some bread and 
 butter." 
 
 Tlie female functionary replied by the conven- 
 tional " Very well, Sir," and rapidly descended 
 the stairs; while the orphan, once more alone in 
 the darkness witli her unhappy relative, instead 
 of pursuing the conversation, sat and retraced 
 in her mind's ej-e every feature of the sharp thin 
 face wliich lay upon tlie pillow beside her. 
 
 One glance had sufficed to show that, in his 
 yojftth, Mr. Spencer must have been strikingly 
 handsome. Tlie outline of his features was re- 
 gular and fine, although now pinched and 
 meagre fi-om disease, and she was almost tempt- 
 ed to add — from famine. A hectic circle burnt 
 and glowed upon his cheek ; but his forehead 
 was as white as marble, his eyes encircled by a 
 dark ring, and his narrow lips j^arched and livid. 
 The expression of his eyes was half cunning and 
 half su8])ieious, and betrayed a nature which his 
 silence might otherwise have concealed ; while 
 the conlinued clutching of his fingers, fastening 
 as it seemed upon some visionary treasure, and 
 the continued restlessness visible in his whole 
 person, told that the spirit within was ill at 
 ease. 
 
 Not a vestige of that beautiful placidity and 
 inward peace which make age so venerable and 
 so attracting, drew the heart of the spectator to 
 Mr. Spencer, even in his suffering. The sv-m- 
 pathy which he had recklessly cast from him 
 
 during the course of a long life could not b« 
 awakened by the still stern and eager selfish- 
 ness predominant in every word and look ; and 
 even while Gertrude anxiously endeavored to 
 cheat herself into the belief that she should, in 
 time, feel for him the affection due to so near a 
 relative, she was, nevertheless, conscious of a 
 sentiment of repulsion which she could not 
 overcome. 
 
 The silence was soon broken by the sick man, 
 to whom a moment's quiet appeared burden- 
 some ; but it was evident that he was greatly 
 weakened by the exertion of the past hour. 
 
 " You will soon have some amusement, child," 
 he said, as he turned his head heavily towards 
 her : " The paper will be here in a short time. I 
 cannot live without a paper, and I get it cheap 
 from a neighbor by waiting till the evening. All 
 I shall ask you to read to me is the city article, 
 I care nothing about politics, or Old Bailey re- 
 ports. The money market is the only market 
 worth watching, and when you have read that, 
 you can follow your own fancy as to the rest 
 But you must be quick, for they call for it again 
 in half-an-hour. I made that arrangement with 
 them," he added, dropping his voice still lower, 
 until it sunk into a confidential whisper, " to pre- 
 vent Mrs. Sharp from sitting up to read, and 
 burning the candle to waste, for Mrs. Sharp has 
 had an education, and used to bring books and 
 read while she sat by my bedside. Books, in- 
 deed! when she might have been repairing my 
 linen, or washing my clothes. I soon sent th» 
 books out of the house," and the wretched man 
 laughed once more his low, bitter, and heartlesa 
 j laugh. 
 
 I The coffee was soon afterwards announced, 
 and at the bidding of her uncle, Gertrude roso 
 I and followed the servant down stairs, once 
 , more leaving him in the darkness, and alone. 
 She was miserable, but she feared to betray all 
 the bitterness of her feelings before a stranger 
 and a menial, and, consequently, she repressed 
 her tears, and seated herself at the tea-table 
 with one of those forced smiles which are infi- 
 nitely more painful to witness than any burst 
 of grief 
 
 ! Comfortless, indeed, was the meal prepared 
 ; for the wearied and exhausted girl, but she 
 ' eagerly accepted the steaming coffee which was 
 offered to her, and even endeavored to compel 
 herself to partake of the uninviting bread which 
 was its accompaniment. This last etlort proved, 
 however, beyond her strength, and a thick sob 
 arrested the unpalatable morsel ere she could 
 : swallow it. 
 
 j " Let it come. Ma'am, let it come," said th» 
 sympathising woman who stood beside lier, " it 
 will do you good to cry, and well you may, poor 
 lady. i)o not try to stop your tears, you will be 
 better able to bear up afterwards, and I shall bo 
 ' no restraint upon you, for I am going to take 
 m\;fnaster his cup of coffee. I must water it a 
 little first, however," continued the worthy Mrs. 
 Sharp, as if speaking to herself, " or the poor 
 gL'titlcman will fancj-^ that he is going to the 
 workhouse." And, taking the kettle from the 
 hob on which she had placed it, although there 
 t was no fire in the grate, she half filled it with 
 , water, and, then, adding the coffee, disappeared 
 
t 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 16S 
 
 iteadily in the darkness, as if long habit had 
 rondered her independent of such a considera- 
 tiou. 
 
 And when she was once more alone, Gertrude 
 ! -wept, indeed. For a time, the smiling future 
 which was beckoning lier on, was utterly for- 
 girtten, and she lived only in the cheerless pre- 
 sent She cared not for the poverty of her 
 uncle, she would not have shrunk from any 
 kwivations, biit his narrow and sordid spirit 
 crushed her to the very earth. Not a vestige 
 of that becoming pride and moral independence 
 which would so well have graced his adversity, 
 and recalled the habits and feeling of former 
 days, appeared to have survived his pecuniary 
 ruin ; he had evidently sunk with his fortunes, 
 and still clung with a childish pertinacity, to 
 the wealth that he had lost. 
 
 The orphan felt her fearful responsibility, she 
 ftilt how much and solenmly it behoved her to 
 awaken him to a better and a more befitting 
 state of mind ; but she could not conceal from 
 herself all the difiiculty*of her task. How was 
 eheto enforce the necessity of a higher and a 
 holier worship — the worship of humility, and 
 self-abnegation — upon one who, like the epilep- 
 tic maniac, saw everything tinged with the 
 yellow hue of gold ? And yet the eftbrt must 
 be made. She must not suffer him, because he 
 had lost his all in this world, blindly to put 
 from him the promises of the world to come ; 
 and therefore humbly, and with a deep sense of 
 her own incapacity, she resolved to make an 
 attempt to inspire him with higher and holier 
 hopes. 
 
 Poor Gertrude ! She had yet to learn that 
 avarice is in itself a religion, and that when 
 once it has fixed its fiery clutch upon the human 
 heart, that heart is evermore preyed upon by 
 the one demon-flame, and the fearful tragedy 
 of the fabled Hall of Eblis is perpetually enact- 
 ed upon earth. The idol may indeed be con- 
 sumed upon its shrine, but the infatuated wor- 
 shipper will still kneel before the empty altar, 
 and pour out his orisons to the memory of the 
 vanished deity. 
 
 It was not long ere the attendant returned, 
 and the orphan having wiped away her tears, 
 felt the presence of a fellow-being almost a 
 relief She, moreover, had some misgivings as 
 to the remaining pecuniary resources of her 
 uncle, which it was expedient either to confirm 
 or to remove, in order that she might know how 
 to act, and accordingly, she determined to (j\ies- 
 tion the staid-looking woman who so quietly 
 and resignedly served him, and thus to ascer- 
 tain, if possible, the exact position of his affairs. 
 
 Having once arrived at this determination, 
 glie desired Mrs. Sharp, on her re-appearance, 
 to reply frankly to her inquiries; a request 
 with which the matron readily and respectfully 
 complied. 
 
 " I believe my master to be a ruined man. 
 Ma'am," she said, " although not actually desti- 
 tute. I am the widow of one of his late clerks, 
 and to me he has always been just, even if not 
 generous, but lie is less so to himself, and it has 
 been with the greatest diflSeulty that I have in- 
 duced him to take suffieient sustenance to pre- 
 serve life. He cannot last long, and yet you 
 
 see the wretchedness in which he is content to 
 pass the last few weeks of his existence. Before 
 he thought of inviting you here. Ma'am, I ven- 
 tured once or twice to propose to him that I 
 should engage some young girl at -low wages, to 
 do the drudgery of the house, in order that I 
 might devote my time exclusively to him, but 
 he resolutely refused, and I have been com- 
 pelled in consequence to leave him hour after 
 hour alone on his sick bed. I should not have 
 cared so much for this, could he have rung me 
 up when he required my services, but we have 
 not a bell in the place, and although I siibstitu- 
 ted the cane which you must have seen near 
 him, it has frequently happened that he has 
 knocked upon the floor for several minutes 
 before I heard him, and I have found him faint 
 and exhausted from the exertion, and almost 
 believed him for a moment to be dying." 
 
 " But tell me, Mrs. Sharp, tell me honestly," 
 urged the unhappy Gertrude, " this state of 
 almost starvation in which I find you, can it 
 indeed be necessary?" 
 
 " I really cannot say. Ma'am, but I'm afraid 
 so. As regards myself, Mr. Spencer has always 
 paid my salary with the greatest punctuality, 
 but I will not conceal from you, that a portion 
 of it has almost always been spent in purchasing 
 trifles for his comfort which I have been obliged 
 to tell him were presents from my friends, or I 
 do believe that he would have died long ago of 
 actual starvation." 
 
 The tears of Gertrude flowed afresh. " My 
 poor uncle !" she sobbed out, " and yet he was 
 once wealthy." 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am, and I have been even told, very 
 rich, although he never lived like a rich man, 
 but after the death of my husband, I saw little 
 of him for some time, until he proposed to m« 
 that I should become his housekeeper, an, offer, 
 which, as I was totally dependant on my friends, 
 I readily accepted." 
 
 " I thank you, Mrs. Sharp, for your candor," 
 said the orphan, " and now, we must act in con- 
 cert and endeavor to render his remnant of lifia 
 more tolerable. My own resources are scanty, 
 it is true, but they are sufficient for the pur- 
 pose. Moreover, under the circumstances, I feel 
 it a duty to expend upon his comfort the sum 
 which he forwarded for my journey, and which 
 must have made a cruel inroad upon his scanty 
 means." 
 
 " I fear it did. Ma'am, for the forwarding of 
 that money delayed his letter for several days. 
 He even shed tears as he folded it, declaring 
 that should he die before your arrival, he 
 should have ended his life by an act of folly. 
 But now you are come, Ma'am, all will be right, 
 and lie already seems more happy in his mind." 
 
 Thus instruct<?-^. Gertrude hastened to make 
 sundry petty but well-judged arrangements, all 
 tending to the comfort of the sick man, which 
 the housekeeper gladly undertook to i-calise,and 
 she was still involved in such considerations 
 when a knock at the door summoned ilrs. Sharp' 
 to receive the paper, for which, as she re- 
 marked, her master must have long ])cen anxi- 
 ously looking out, from its unusual delay. Nor 
 was she wrong in her conjecture, for she had 
 scarcely returned to the parlor, when tb« 
 
154 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 sound of the cane upon the uncarpeted floor 
 of Mr. Spencer's room,»announced that he was 
 aware of its arrival, and impatient for his daily 
 luxury. 
 
 Gertrude accordingly took possession of the 
 unsavory journal, which, reeking with the smell 
 of tobacco, and fouled by the touch of unwash- 
 ed fingers, be! rayed its tavern origin, and fol- 
 lowed by tiie housekeeper with the ubiquitous 
 candle, hastened to the sick room. 
 
 "Good girl, good girl," said the invalid eager- 
 ly, " now come close to me, and read very 
 elowly, slowl}', that I may be able to understand 
 you." 
 
 Gertrude was already repaid for her alacri- 
 ty. The deal table was drawn nearer to the 
 bed, and the candle placed upon it. The dying 
 man raised himself upon the pillow, an eager 
 expression lighted his dim eyes for an instant. 
 The hand which clutched the pocket-book still 
 remained buried beneath his head, but the 
 other, relaxing its hold upon the cane, wandered 
 over the bed-clothes, and the fingers occasion- 
 ally traced with wonderful rapidity the figures 
 announced by Gertrude as she read. 
 
 "Foreign securities commanded no great at- 
 tention to-day," she commenced, carefully ac- 
 centing every syllable. 
 
 " Just as it should be," giwwled the listener, 
 " look at home, is the wisest motto." 
 
 " Consols began at 99, and left off at 101 3-8. 
 
 " What's that? — What's that?" asked her uncle 
 with a sudden enery. 
 
 Gertrude repeated the quotation. 
 
 " Good, good," he murmured almost inarticu- 
 lately, " things are mending. I wish I had 100, 
 OOOl. to sell out." 
 
 Despite this species of running commentary, 
 however, the orphan at length reached the ter- 
 mination of her dreary task ; and declining the 
 proposal of her host that she should continue 
 the perusal of the inodious sheet for her own 
 private gratification, she ventured to urge her 
 etate of fatigue, and to request permission to re- 
 tire to rest. 
 
 Nothing could be more consonant with the 
 wishes of her uncle. Gertrude once withdrawn, 
 Mrs. Sharp might also immediately follow, and 
 tlie candle be extinguished. It was therefore 
 with something like warmth that he bade her 
 good night, and saw her retreat to the wretched 
 and pillowless bed, upon which she no sooner 
 threw herself, than, exhausted both in mind and 
 body, she had her head upon the borrowed bolster, 
 and sank into a deep, and happily, a dreamless 
 sleep, with the breath of prayer upon her lips. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the annoyance of Mor- 
 timer, when OS he was one morning crossing the 
 lawn, gun in hand, preparatory to a day's shoot- 
 ing, he was passed by a travelling chaise and 
 four, in which he recognised Sir Horace Trevor. 
 Already dissatisfied with the circle winch had 
 assembled at his iiouse, and wearied by the co- 
 quetry and frivolity of which he was a perpe- 
 tual witness, he fairly lost his temper, and felt 
 
 half inclined to warn the intruder from hJg 
 premises. A moment's reflection sufficed, how- 
 ever, to show him his folly. Had he not already, 
 by his supineness, authorized the presence of 
 several individuals almost equally obnoxious to 
 him? And how could he consequently decline 
 to receive his wife's relation? Nevertheless he 
 was irritated and annoyed, he had always hated 
 this man, and here he was once more bearding 
 him under his own roof. Full of angry and im- 
 patient emotions, he forgot for a moment the en- 
 rand upon which he had set forth, and plunged 
 into the shrubbery, as if to shut out at once all 
 sight of a home which had latterly become 
 odious to him. 
 
 Suddenly the happy laughter of his child, fell 
 upon his ear, and, like the harp of David before 
 Saul, it sufficed to restore him to composure. It 
 was therefore almost with a smile that he hur- 
 ried on, in order to embrace his darling, and still 
 the loud and ringing sound of her artless mirth 
 came buoj-antly upon the breeze. It was yei 
 earl}-, and he assuredly was ill-prepared to co- 
 counter any one save the infant and its nurse, 
 when at an abrupt turn in the path, he saw be- 
 fore him Mrs. Lamerly, seated upon the grass 
 under a sycamore, with her rich chestnut hair 
 falling in showers about her, and his little girl 
 busy in tangling the gleaming tresses with her 
 fairy fingers. 
 
 Mortimer would have retreated, but the child 
 had alread}' heard his step, and, pausing for a 
 moment in her sport, recognised him with a 
 scream of delight. There was consequently no 
 means of avoiding the encounter, and after tire 
 utterance of a brief greeting, and the expre?«inn^ 
 of his surprise at finding his fair guest so e } 
 risen, he rested his gun against a tree at a li | 
 distance from the group, and threw himsCi J 
 down upon the turf beside them. '^ 
 
 1 Despite his dislike of the eoquetish widow, 
 j Mortimer could not remain altogether insensible 
 to the kindness which she lavished upon his 
 heart's idol, and on the present occasion she 
 I looked so extremely pretty amid the disorder 
 ' produced by her indulgence to the child ; thB 
 golden waves of her hair glimmered so brightly 
 in the sunshine; her wrapping-gown of white 
 j muslin, designed so modestly, and yet so perfecC- 
 i ly, the outline of her small' but faultless figure; 
 the little foot which, outstretched a few inches 
 ! beyond the border of her dress, lay imbedded 
 , in a rich frame-work of mossy turf, was so 
 ' exquisitely minute and well-proportioned ; her 
 fair cheek was so softly flushed by her exei> 
 tions, and her large ej-es were so " darkly, 
 deeply, beautifully blue," as she looked up 
 at him, half in confusion, and half in merri- 
 ment, that he began to marvel how he could 
 so long have remained insensible to her attrac 
 tions. 
 
 " But where is Harris?" he asked as the child, 
 after having received and returned his cares^ 
 once more extended its little arms to its play- 
 fellow, and pursued its former amusement. 
 
 " Oh, we dispense with Jlrs. Harris's attend- 
 ance when we are bent upon a frolic, do we not, 
 I'>va ?" lisped the ingenuous beauty, as she clasp- 
 ed the little girl to her breast, so suddenly as to 
 cover the face of Mortimer for an instant with 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIEa 
 
 166 
 
 iv long and perfumed tresses ; " and we are 
 
 it bound to tolerate tlie intrusion of papa. We 
 
 • ■al an hour in tlie morning before mamma 
 
 L her friends have left their dressing-rooms, 
 
 B order to be entirely alone, and it is too bad 
 
 pat our solitude should be invaded by gentle- 
 
 H\ in leather gaiters and velveteen jacket. 
 
 e must select another play-ground, my pretty 
 
 ni." 
 
 •• You are quite right Mrs. Lamerly,'" said 
 ortimer, apologetically; " mine is certainly no 
 tire in which to present myself before one of 
 y wife's guests, but you will at once find my 
 A-jse in the fact that I could not possibly auti- 
 pate this meeting." 
 
 " Oh, you are quite forgiven," laughed the 
 dy as she affected to be anxious to gather 
 gether her scattered tresses ; an attempt 
 hieh was, however, frustrated by an impa- 
 ent cry from the child, " for it must be con- 
 jsod that I am somewhat in the same pre- 
 canient, and not altogether in a presentable 
 )Stume. We must therefore sign a mutual 
 
 could not be too grateful to me for all the care 
 1 took of his interests, and the sacrifices which 
 I was always ready to make for his benefit, and 
 although this praise was perhaps a little partial 
 and exaggerated, still it gives me some right to 
 suppose that I am not altogether ignorant oa 
 such a subject." 
 
 "And so my fair Sybil was somewhat of a 
 coquette in her youth, eh, Mrs. Lamerly ? To be 
 candid with you, I had already suspected as 
 much. A handsome woman, you know, has so 
 many temptations to a little levity." 
 
 " To be sure she has," readily conceded the 
 intimate friend of the married beauty ; " and 
 then Sybil was so veri/ handsome, and so much 
 admired, that it is not to be wondered at if she 
 did get herself a little talked of. For my part, I 
 believe it is impossible for any one who is even 
 commonly attractive to escape." 
 
 " iSo doubt of it," replied Mortimer with a 
 saturnine smile ; " pretty women are the natural 
 prey of malevolence and slander. There are de- 
 grees, however, even of scandal, and so long 
 
 uce, and promise to behave more prettily in nothing can be adduced against them beyond a 
 ublie." 
 
 " One of us, at least, will not succeed in look- 
 ig more prettily," replied Mortimer, scarcely 
 >iiscious of what he said, but inadvertently 
 ttering his conviction at the moment; "and 
 hen I consider from how kind, how very kind 
 motive \o\i have suffered yourself thus to be 
 
 little harmless coquetry, why, there is not : 
 mischief done." 
 
 " True," replied his companion, as if lost for 
 a moment in her own reflections ; " but the line 
 to be drawn between coquetry and — and — in> 
 propriety, is so extremely fine — such a mere 
 hair's breadth — that, like the bridge of El Sirat, 
 u-prised in jour present picturesque state of by which the Mahommedans are to pass into 
 isarray, I should'be ungrateful indeed were I heaven, it is somewhat difficult to avoid tread- 
 ot to appreciate all its attractions." ing over on one side or the other." 
 
 "iSow, fie upon you for a flatterer. Mi'. Mor- "Aptly illustrated!" said Mortimer, as he 
 iimer," was the retort of the fair widow ; " I swept back one of the long golden tresses of the 
 [ball really tell Sybil!" i lady, in order to possess himself of the chubby 
 
 II "Tell Sybil!" repeated Frederic between his , little hand of the sleeping child, a movement 
 
 ienehed teeth, and a sarcastic smile hovered for 
 
 fin instant about his mouth, which, transient as 
 
 ilt was, did not, nevertheless, escape the quick 
 
 ye of his companion, " you were one of Sy- 
 
 )irs earliest friends, and must be quite aware 
 
 hat I. shall be easily forgiven." 
 
 " I can scarcely agree with you," said, or 
 •ather murmured Mrs. Lamerly, as she bent 
 lown and pressed her lips to the rosy cheek of 
 .he child, which, wearied at length with its 
 iport, was falling asleep upon her encircling 
 irm ; " Even knowing what I know, I cannot 
 jelieve it." 
 
 " And what do you know ?" asked Frederic 
 ibruptly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, nothing, at least, which should 
 bring such a scowl upon your brow. Sybil, as 
 an unmarried woman, may have been fickle, 
 capricious, perhaps even what the naughty, ill- 
 nature 1 world calls a coquette, but now, of 
 course, all that is over. The feelings of a wife 
 are so ditrerent. Compelled to act so as to place 
 her above all reproach, she is naturally jealous 
 of her prerogatives." 
 
 ] " You are an able advocate for the unsullied 
 Ipurity of wives," said Frederic, with a sarcasm 
 which even at that moment he could not con- 
 itrcd. 
 
 " Certainly I am," replied the lady, wholly un- 
 moved by the tone in which the observation 
 had been uttered ; " my good friend the Mar- 
 grave often used to tell poor Augustus that he 
 
 which brought him still closer to the side of the 
 apparently unconscious widow. " Very ably 
 illustrated ! We should indeed be merciful to 
 those who lose their footing, even if we cannot 
 save them. But to return to Sybil. You have 
 known her many years?" 
 
 " We were girls together." 
 
 " And you are acquainted Avith her cousin, Sir 
 Horace Trevor, perhaps?" 
 
 "Oh yes;" and Mrs. Lamerly laughed an 
 equivocal laugh which rang even to the depths 
 of ilortimer's spiriti 
 
 "He loved her, I believe?" 
 
 " To be sure he did, or he would not have 
 sought to marry her." 
 
 " 1 almost wonder that so handsome and 
 fashionable a man should not have prevailed." 
 
 " For shame, Mr. Mortimer," said the widow 
 with a pretty display of childish indignation, as 
 she struck his hand lightly with" her slight and 
 ungloved fingers : "For shame ; you are trying 
 to make me tell tales out of school." 
 
 " Why should I ?" asked Frederic, looking 
 into her face with one of those smiles by which 
 men generally retort the condescending fami- 
 liarities of the other sex; " I have the whole 
 romance by heart. Fierce love on the part of 
 the gentleman ; negative encouragement on 
 that of the lady ; a proposal on one hand, and 
 a refusal on the other. You see 1 have nothing 
 to learn." 
 
 " Indeed 1" was the ambiguous rejoinder; 
 
166 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 " and 80 you consider that to be a romance wor- 1 A slight suffusion rose to the brow of tb 
 
 thj' of an acknowledged beauty ? Why, my dear lady. 
 
 liir, I could weave a better for the gawky daugh- " There, that will do, Mr. Mortimer," she 
 
 ter of a village curate." 
 
 " Never mind the curate's daughter, but in- 
 dulge me with one according to j'our own view 
 of things. Something pretty, picjuant, and pe- 
 culiar. 1 adore love-stories." 
 
 It was a strange, almost a frightful look 
 ■which Mrs. 
 
 There was a mocking triumph in her eye, which [half appeased 
 
 darkened its pupil until it became almost pur- j " Be generous, then, and act as though yoi 
 pie, and an expression of eagerness in the .had done so. Look round; can any spot b 
 
 peevishly; "now give me my bonnet, and le 
 me return to the house." 
 
 " There is the bonnet," replied Frederic, ono 
 more throwing himself down beside her; " bu 
 I cannot suffer you to leave me without th 
 promised love-tale." 
 
 , Lamcrly turned upon her companion. " I made no promise," said the lady, still onh 
 a mocking triumph in her ej-e, which Ihal" 
 
 dilated nostril and quivering lip that added to 
 its fierceness, but it passed away as rapidly 
 as it had risen, and, bending over the child, she 
 said simply, — 
 
 " I have no imagination." 
 
 " I do not ask you to imagine anything ; you 
 know the world so well, and must have such a 
 store of memories." 
 
 " Do you suspect that I could be guilty of 
 treachery ?" 
 
 " I suspect nothing, but, as my meeting with 
 you this morning has marred my sport for the 
 day, I feel that you owe me some compensa- 
 tion." 
 
 " You seem to forget that you have given me 
 gi-eat cause to complain of you." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Yes, undoubtedly. As Sybil's most familiar 
 friend, I had a right to expect at your hands far 
 greater courtesy than you have shown me." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Lamerly," said Frederic, as he 
 took her hand and retained it, despite a slight, 
 a verj' slight struggle for its release ; " I am not 
 a fashionable man, and always approach my 
 wife's friends with caution." 
 
 " How incorrigible you are!" was the smil- 
 ing reply ; " You always will misunderstand 
 everything. To hear you, any one would real- 
 ly imagine that I wanted you to make love to 
 me." 
 
 " That would be very easy, and very pleas- 
 ant," remarked Mortimer. 
 
 " Upon my word you are too bad, and I will 
 not allow it," said the widow, releasing her hand 
 from that of her companion ; " so in order to 
 punish you, I shall leave you to yourself," and, 
 gently placing the little girl upon her lap, she 
 began to collect her scattered hair, as if to enable 
 her to put her thi'eat into execution. 
 
 " Be careful, Mrs. Lamerly," exclaimed Morti- 
 mer, springing from the ground ; " You will 
 awaken Eva. Allow me to act as your soubrette. 
 I have a strong arm and a light hand ; you shall 
 eee how well I can acquit m\self" 
 
 "How VI ry incorrect, Mr. Mortimer?" 
 
 " What can you mean ? Can anything be 
 si^nple? Docs not the child prevent j'ou 
 
 more appropriate for such a purpose? Conn 
 now, I will prompt you — ' Once upon a time' "— 
 
 " Be it so," murmured Mrs. Lamerly, as , 
 transient shadow passed across her brow 
 " ' Once upon a time,' then — since that is tb 
 fashion in which I am to commence — when 
 was quite a girl — But no, I am in no mood fo 
 story-telling this morning, and moreover, wha' 
 do you wish to know ?" 
 
 " All that you will confide to me." 
 
 " You deserve nothing at mj' hands." 
 
 " I will hereafter endeavor to do so." 
 
 "Well, then, I will be equally generous 
 Trust not Sybil too far — " 
 
 "Ha!—" 
 
 " You are, however, perfectly safe at present 
 She despises the fops and roues by whom she i 
 now surrounded." 
 
 " And if her cousin were to arrive?" 
 
 " What cousin ?" 
 
 " Trevor." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I had forgotten that Trevor wa 
 her cousin," said the simple beauty, playing wit! 
 a tuft of wild anemones which grew beside her' 
 "I have such a bad memory. Why, if Si 
 Horace were indeed to pay you a visit — Then, 
 would be nothing surprising, you know, in sucl 
 an arrangement between relations — it might b 
 as well to remember that the iron which ha 
 already been ignited heats the mo.<t easilj 
 But no, no, he will not come here. . And besides 
 even if he should, why should he come only b. 
 renew his attachment to Sybil? Lady Clar| 
 knows him, though, to be sure, he detests her- 
 that, I will do him the justice to say, and I kno^ 
 him — -just as I know Lord John, and a score o 
 other men about town — but I have not th 
 vanity to believe that I can be attractive eiimi:: 
 to tear him from the dear delights of gay*' 
 scenes." 
 
 " But, should he come, you advise me to b 
 cautious. You consequently think that, despit 
 his rejection, Sybil loved him ?" 
 
 " IS"o doubt she did, or things could not liav, 
 gone so far. And, perhaps if that odious Falei 
 mitan Prince had not come in the way, sh. 
 would have married him wlien once they wen 
 
 from rendering yourself this service? and is not engaged, but she was ambitious, and the titl 
 that child mine ? What glorious hair !" he con- dazzled her vanity." 
 
 tinned, as he gathered it up, and endeavored to 
 bind it rjuml her small and well shaped head; 
 " It is really tlie shower of Danae realised." 
 " What nonsense!" pouted the widow. 
 It is a si/i to torture it in such a way," pur 
 
 You allude to Prince Saviatti ?" 
 " Of course I do, and aft(y he bowed himsd 
 
 off, it was natural enough tliat Trevoi- Bui 
 
 upon my word, we are talking scandal !" 
 " As "you say, it was natural enough, th 
 
 Bued Frederic ; " Were you my wife, 1 should Trevor, ' after having ' loved,' should ' ridi 
 compel you to defy conventionalities, and to away' in his turn," said Mortimer with the ap 
 wear it a la Magdelaine." > parent calm of concentrated feeling, affectinj 
 
THE RIVAL BE^VUTIES. 
 
 161 
 
 it to have remarked the tardy caution of her 
 ] t exclamation ; " these are every -day events, 
 • 1 yonr romance is no more interesting than 
 r own." 
 
 • Ah ! but However, I will say no more 
 
 I'll the subject," remarked the lady, affecting 
 I ^ heck herself; " It is, I think, impossible that 
 
 vor will intrude under your roof, and conse- 
 ,' ntly the past is of little importano'." 
 
 TrI?vor is here," said Mortimer in a hoarse 
 •lisper. 
 
 • Here ! Oh no, he knows better." 
 
 ■ I tell you he is here, I saw his carriage ap- 
 .laohing as I left the house." 
 
 • Your eyes deceived you. It is impossible." 
 
 ■ Nevertheless he is here." 
 
 • But upon Avhat pretext can he have come ? 
 ■y<.'i\A upon it, you are wrong." 
 
 ■ And if not?" 
 
 ■ If not — why then — Oh, I see it all now," 
 il the beauty with a forced laugh; "his visit 
 11 be attributed to me, for we saw a great 
 ;il of each other abroad. And perhaps," she 
 ].:\ fixing her large eyes steadily upon her 
 
 :or ; " perhaps I have been too modest, and 
 -ay be so, in which case Sybil has indeed 
 I. '.VII her friendship." 
 
 ■ She should be gi-ateful to you for such an 
 mission. And do you also love this man?" 
 "Really, Mr. Mortimer — " 
 
 " We are speaking confidentially, j'ou know, 
 d we may answer such a question without re- 
 !2;iiance, particularly when I assure you that, 
 oiild it be otherwise, he shall not remain four 
 id twenty hours in my house." 
 " WhjT, you are a perfect tyrant !" 
 " That is no replj-, and I must have one." 
 " Surely I am not bound to betray myself?" 
 " Under the present circumstances I think dif- 
 rently. You have now told me either too little 
 • • too much, for me not to desire a perfect un- 
 ^rstanding upon the subject. Should you 
 deed be the object of Sir Horace Trevor's pur- 
 lit, are you prepared to receive him as a 
 litor?" 
 
 " Upon my honor, Mr. Mortimer, I do not 
 Tmprehend your right to ask me such a ques- 
 on." 
 
 " Perhaps not, and yet it must be answered." 
 ' I " Well then, it is possible that I might be in- 
 tj« jaced to listen to him." 
 
 ^ "So be it," said Mortimer, rising; " as your 
 cknowledged suitor alone can he remain an 
 " Hmate of Westrum. The romance shall at 
 '.:<> >iast never reach its climax." 
 
 " Your readiness to dispose of me is, at any 
 :!» bte, not very flattering," pouted the unsophis- 
 !> Seated beauty. 
 
 [S I " My dear Mrs. Lamerly, I owe you so much 
 ts ^altitude for your kindness to my little Eva, 
 iiii* |hat I am unftignedly interested in furthering j 
 j'our happiness." 
 
 ' " But suppose I do not love this man V 
 3S- I "You will be fortunate. It is those who mar- 
 Ei ly whei-e they love only to find their affections 
 ast back upon them, who run the risk of being , 
 U nade miserable." | 
 
 rii» i " Naughty man ! W^hat would Sybil say to 
 nj' Inch a speech from you ?" I 
 
 ti| I " If she could make up her mind to be sin- 1 
 
 cere upon the subject, she would tell you that I 
 am quite right. Believe me, Mrs. Lamerly, it 
 is always safer to marry where you arc loveti, 
 than where you love. The one is an illusion, and 
 the other a reality." 
 
 " What triste philosophy !" 
 
 " I am no philosopher. I advance only a plain 
 fact." 
 
 " I am sure that my poor Augustus loved me 
 dearly." 
 
 " And can you honestly quote that circum- 
 stance as a proof against my argument V 
 
 " Of course I can." 
 
 " I am glad, very glad to hear it." 
 
 " I cannot think why you should doubt any 
 thing so simple. Of course I never could forget 
 that he ran away with me in defiance of all hia 
 disagreeable relations. Every woman is proud of 
 such a proof of her power." 
 
 " Xo doubt of it, but gratified vanity is not 
 affection." 
 
 " I detest such subtle reasoning." 
 
 "Because it is unanswerable; is it not sol 
 However, to oblige you, I am willing to concede 
 that yourself an-d Mr. Lamerly were examples, 
 despite your love-match, of a contrary result, 
 but you know that exceptions only prove the 
 rule." 
 
 " I do believe that you are laughing at me." 
 
 " I dare not. Y'ou are too handsome." 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr Mortimer — " 
 
 " And upon my word, Mrs. Lamerly, I am 
 perfectly serious. Again, I repeat that you aro 
 too handsome to be trifled with without risk. 
 Suppose now, for instance, that Sybil should sub- 
 prise us at this present moment " 
 
 " I care not though she should." 
 
 " Y"et she might think, and perhaps say — " 
 
 " She dare not!" exclaimed the usually supine 
 widow, with flashing eyes; "she dare not!" 
 
 " Am I to understand that she would dread a 
 retort?" 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 " Mrs. Lamerly, I beseech of you to tell ma 
 seriously — " 
 
 " No, I will not say another word. And now, 
 since you have taken fright, leave me, and, if you 
 will do me the favor, be good enough to desire 
 Mrs. Harris to come and take charge of Eva, for 
 I doubt whether I have strength to carry her all 
 the waj' to the house." 
 
 Mortimer paused for a moment, and glanced 
 down upon the beautiful young creature before 
 him, upon whose brow a shade of offended dig- 
 nity was discernible. Half fascinated, and half 
 terrified by the strange mixtui-e of coquettish 
 simplicity and undaunted worldliness which was 
 betrayed in her every word and action, he could 
 not, at that instant, forbear assimilating her to 
 the glittering, but envenomed serpent, whicli, 
 while it enthrals the eye, poisons the life-blood. 
 Nevertheless, he could not altogether liberate 
 himself from the spell. It was the first time 
 tliat he had looked upon her without jiositive 
 dislike, and yet, instead of resenting a coldnees 
 which would have irritated many women less 
 atti'active, she had scarcely disguised a far more 
 flattering feeling toward^ himself 
 
 And at what a moment had she done sof 
 When, dreading he knew not what, conscious of 
 
168 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 his wife's utter and selfish indifference, and sus- 
 picious of every one by whom she was ap- 
 proached, his mortified vanity and disappointed 
 affection alike led him to resent so false and 
 comfortless a position. 
 
 He could not doubt that Trevor had triumph- 
 ed over the heart of Sybil long before he had 
 believed it to be his own — and should he suffer 
 him to enjoy a second triumph over that of the 
 fair creature before him? True, Trevor could 
 make her his wife, but would he do so ? Did she 
 even anticipate such a result ? Mortimer scarce- 
 ly believed that she did, nor had he sufficient 
 confidence in her principles to imagine that she 
 would long be swayed by such a consideration. 
 He could not conceal from himself that he des- 
 pised and almost feared her, but he was becom- 
 ing reckless, and — he was human. 
 
 The result of his momentary silence was a 
 proposal himself to take charge of the sleeping 
 child, and to accompany Airs. Lamerly to the 
 house. 
 
 " But suppose Sybil should see you," said the 
 widow, with an arch and mocking laugh. 
 
 " In my turn, I reply tliat I care not."' 
 
 " Well^ then, suppose that Trevor should see 
 
 " You can alone decide if that circumstance 
 is likely to affect you," retorted Mortimer, with 
 offended vanity. 
 
 " Such a family group I" again smiled the 
 lady. 
 
 " I wish it were !" retorted the gentleman, 
 and in another moment Eva reposed quietly 
 upon the arm which he extended to receive her, 
 and the bright-eyed widow hung confidingly 
 upon tiie other. 
 
 " And now, will you promise not to be jealous 
 of Trevor ?" she asked in a low whisper, as she 
 approached her coral lips to his ear. 
 
 " We shall see," replied her companion, in the 
 same subdued tone, pressing the little hand 
 which rested against his side still more closely. 
 
 " And not to suspect Sybil ?" 
 
 Mortimer laughed, but it was not the buoyant 
 laughter of earlier days, and of earlier hopes. 
 
 CIL^PTER XLV. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the excitement pro- 
 duced by the arrival of Sir Horace Trevor upon 
 the circle assembled at Westrum. To most of 
 the part)- he was unknown, save by report, but 
 that report had sufficed to ensure his welcome ; 
 for he was precisely one of tliose individuals 
 whom the women are ambitious to see in their 
 train, and tlie men to quote as an acquaintance. 
 Self-centred, worldly, and satirical, he pos- 
 sessed every quality calculated to shine in so- 
 ciety, and as the said society cares only to be 
 datzled, tinsel passes current as readilj- as ster- 
 ling ore. 
 
 Trevor had few vices, and it is probable that, 
 had he been educated in a different school, he 
 would have adopted some more worthy ambition 
 than that of merely figuring as " a "man about 
 town," but the evil, which in his case owed its 
 
 I origin to his pecuniary independence, and con-: 
 
 I sequent freedom from the enforced thraldom o{ 
 professional study, was gradually increased bj 
 
 j his own experience of men and manners — aye 
 and of women too. for even that fact mustb* 
 
 j admitted in his justification. 
 
 I Once, as we have seen, he had loved earnest. 
 
 1 ly and well, and moreover, with a perfection ol 
 
 ! moral courage which had enabled him to disre' 
 gard the gibes of his more dissolute associates 
 
 ' and to look forward without shame to the tirai 
 
 ! when he should have degenerated into a com 
 mon-place married man, but even here hi, 
 honesty of purpose met with no answerinj 
 truth ; he became the prey of a coquette, an( 
 was made the sacrifice of a heartless cupidity 
 and from that hour Trevor vowed an eterna' 
 enmity to marriage. A mere votary of pleasure 
 the whim of the moment was the sole rule o 
 
 j his life, the most minute care of his pei-son h'\] 
 only serious occupation, and as a natural con 
 sequence, he became the model of a certain set' 
 and was dressed at and aped accordingly. 
 
 Capricious as a spoiled beauty, he was om: 
 hour the assiduous cavalier of some fair an( 
 fashionable trifler, and the next a bitter satiris; 
 upon the whole sex. Disappointed in his earliest 
 aspirations, and blighted in his holiest affeetiont, 
 he affected to disbt-lieve in the existence of an_\ 
 pure and disinterested attachment whatever- 
 maintaining tliat human nature, and more par| 
 ticularly female human nature, was ineapabl' 
 of profound feeling of any kind, and could onl;! 
 skim along the surface of sentiment and sensa; 
 tion, as the dragon-fly ruifles the wavelets aj 
 the<meadow brook upon whose current it is tO' 
 weak to settle. 
 
 As he had begun life by investing everythinj 
 about him with a fictitious brightness wliic 
 weuld not bear the test of trial, so he revenge, 
 himself upon his own delusion in after-years, b 
 deepening and darkening every shadow tha 
 fell across his path. Systematically skeptica 
 he doubted even where his reason should hav 
 been convinced. A Sybarite on principle, b 
 was iri-itable under everything which interfere 
 with his individual gratification, and when b 
 occasionally encountered persons of more liben 
 ideas, he either sneered at them as dupes, c; 
 denounced them as hj-pocrites. 
 
 But again we repeat that Trevor was onl' 
 such as the world had made him ; that world o 
 fashion, frivolity, and falsehood, which was h' 
 peculiar atmosphere. He was a moral wrecl 
 which nevertheless retained some poi-tion of i' 
 original brightness. 
 
 Strictly honorable, according to the convei 
 tional acceptation of the word, recklessly gen 
 rous, and imperturably good-tempered, the hi' 
 terness which occasionally passed his lips nev< 
 penetrated to his heart ; he was weak, but n' 
 wicked. When he gamed, it was merely ' 
 divert his idleness; he cared little for theresul 
 and consequentlj- never lost his courtesy wit 
 his money. When he betrayed the woman wl 
 confided in him, he did so with a perfect convi 
 tion that he had simply distanced her it ' 
 race of deceit, and when he sacrificed the ii 
 ests of a friend to his own, he felt no compu 
 tion, convinced that the said friend would ha' 
 
TIIE RIVAL BKAUTIES. 
 
 159 
 
 ftdone precisely the saii'.e, had he possessed a 
 lilar opportunity. 
 Such was the man whose advent beneath the 
 Kroof of Mortimer occasioned such universal 
 rratulation. He had, as we have seen, arrived 
 ^rly in the day, and Sybil learned, witli 
 sensation of relief, that he had taken possession 
 of his apartment before lier other guests were 
 assembled at the breakfast-table. Confident as 
 she felt in her power over her husband, she was 
 for the first tiine conscious of an anxietj' which 
 she had never hitherto experienced. She was 
 quite aware that Mortimer both despised and 
 disliked the circle which she had already drawn 
 about her, and she knew full well that Trevor 
 would be even less acceptable to him. It might 
 be also that a vague presentiment of danger 
 warned her of the probable consequences of 
 her weak compliance with the suggestion of her 
 soi-(^isant friend Mrs. Lamerly, and that some- 
 thing like a doubt crossed her mind as to the 
 Eerfect good faith in which it had been made, 
 [er woman vanity whispered that, havjng once 
 loved her, it was impossible Trevor could be 
 thralled by the baby-graces of the fantastic 
 little Amabel, and if it were not so, why, after 
 tlie insult which he had offered to her at The 
 Grange, should he be once more forced into her 
 path ? Gladly would she have forgotten his 
 existence, for his name it was which was in- 
 scribed in the darkest page of her life's volume, 
 but she felt, whatever might have been the 
 evasion of the crafty widow, that she was in 
 possession of the fatal secret which she was 
 anxious to conceal from Mortimer, and that she 
 was consequently so thoroughly in her power 
 that she could not protect herself from the im- 
 pending evil. 
 
 S^'bil was, however, no weak and trembling 
 woman to be scared by shadows; and thus driven 
 to rely upon her own strength, instead of jield- 
 ing to impotent alarm, she endeavored to forti- 
 fy herself by arguments tending to reassure her 
 mind. Trevor had already tested the power of 
 her former affection by endeavoring to renew it, 
 and he must be convinced of the futility of fur- 
 ther pursuit. He had, moreover, offered to her 
 an insult which he must be well aware that no 
 woman of pride or principle couhl ever pardon. 
 But at this phase of her reasoning Sybil paused, 
 and although no one was near to detect her un- 
 bidden emotion, she covered her face with her 
 spread hands, to conceal the crimson blush which 
 mounted to her brow. Alas ! what faith could 
 Trevor place in either her pride or her principle ? 
 Had she not deceived him cruelly ? And was it 
 not from his weakness that she had wrung the 
 resources which had enabled her to make a 
 second dupe ? 
 
 This reflection, for a time, prostrated her 
 courage, but happily she had been prepared for 
 the struggle which awaited her, and during the 
 time that had elapsed between the departure of 
 Mrs. Lamerly's invitation, and the arrival of its 
 o^jject, she had possessed ample time to decide 
 her measures. She must not receive him coldly, j 
 aa such a want of courtesy to a bidden guest i 
 eould not but excife the suspicion of those about 
 her, while it might, moreover, tend to impress! 
 Sir Horace himself with the idea that she feared | 
 
 him. Neither must slie permit liim to re8um« 
 the easy and familiar tone, which would almost 
 warrant the trial of a second impertinence, front 
 which her dignity as the wife of Mortimer might 
 be insufficient to secure her. ISt), she must meet 
 him with a smile and an extended hand, it is 
 true, but the smile must be cold, and the hand 
 passive. She must regard him oidy us the pre- 
 sumed suitor of an early friend, and leave Mre. 
 Lamerly to do the honors of Westrum to lier 
 own visitor. 
 
 How she regretted that they still had a mtituai 
 secret, and that she could not, Avithout compro- 
 mising herself in the eyes of her husband, at 
 once, and definitely, divest him of the privileges 
 of their presumed relationship ! but this, she wao 
 painfull}' aware, was now impossible. How she 
 loathed the folly which had induced her to avoid 
 confiding in the mad passion of Mortimer before 
 their marriage, when a few teai-s and smiles 
 would have induced him to overlook even the 
 presumption of an admitted rival, and which 
 liad thus bound her hand and foot before th« 
 altar of deceit and falsehood. 
 
 It was, however, vain to deprecate the past. 
 Were she to confess to Frederic that she had be- 
 trayed his confidence in her truth in this one 
 instance, what might he not suspect? And his 
 suspicions once aroused, where would they endf 
 She dared not risk such an attempt. The re- 
 verberation of the past storm was beginning to 
 make itself heard, and, for the first time, Sybil 
 felt herself powerless to avoid its contact. 
 
 How she lingered at her dressing-table, as if 
 delaj' could profit her in such an emergency, but 
 at length the last string was tied, and the last 
 frill adjusted. Her maid, astonished, and at 
 length irritated by her unusual tardiness, had 
 begun to busy herself in repairing the disarray 
 of the chamber ; the warning bell had rung, and 
 she felt the necessity of controlling her emotion. 
 iS'ot even then, however, could she compel her- 
 self to proceed at once to the breakfast-room, 
 but snatching up her gloves and handkerchief 
 by .a sudden impulse, she left the chamber, and 
 proceeded hastily to the nursery. 
 
 There she found only Mrs. Harris and her as- 
 sistant, by whom she was informed tliat Misa 
 Eva had been for the last two hours in the 
 grounds, under the guardianship of Mrs. Lam- 
 erly. 
 
 " And who authorised you to trust your young 
 lady out of your sight for such a length of 
 time?" inquired her mistress, angrily : the cir 
 cumstance affording a safe escape-valve for the 
 hitherto hidden bitterness of her feelings. 
 
 "Indeed, ma'am," hastened to reply the aston- 
 ished nurse, " I thought you must have known 
 that the kind good natured lady takes Misa 
 Eva out every morning when the weather is fine 
 enough for her. If I had thought that yot 
 Avould object " 
 
 " Of course I object," retorted Sybil impeii 
 ously ; " I will permit no interference of thi 
 sort. You should immediately have acquainte< 
 me with this caprice of Mrs. Lamerly's." 
 
 " As my master was aware of it, ma'am, I sup 
 pose<l — " commenced the female functionary, 
 anxious to justify hci-self. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, your master was aware of this. 
 
160 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 arrangement, was he ?" interposed Mrs. Morti- 
 mer sarcastically, " and does he also undertake^ 
 to amuse Miss Eva during her daily absence of 
 two hours?" 
 
 " I am sure, fna'am, I cannot say," answered 
 the nurse, becoming more and more alarmed at 
 this exhibition of displeasure, succeeding as it 
 did to so habitual an iiidift'erence to the move- 
 ments of her charge. 
 
 " You appear to be strangely ignorant of your 
 duties, Mrs. Harris," said Sybil sternly, " and I 
 must request that in future no one may be suf- 
 fered to interfere with the arrangements which 
 I see fit to make for my own child.'" 
 
 " You may depend upon it, ma'am." 
 
 " I do," replied Mrs. Mortimer. " And now 
 go at once in search of the little girl, and bring 
 her here. 1 will await your return." 
 
 At this moment a clear ringing laugh became 
 audible, and footsteps were heard ascending th 
 
 his arms for tliose of the anxious Mrs. Harris, an 
 attempt in which he had only just succeeded, 
 and as he turned he met the meaning eyes that 
 sought his own. 
 
 " Oh ! your cousin 1" exclaimed the lady with 
 affected jojousness. " How very nice ! He will 
 initiate us, in his own dear satirical way, into 
 the latest scandal of half the European capitals, 
 and tell us all about Lady Clara's old flame. 
 General O'Keefe, and Mrs. Babington's French 
 marquis, and poor Saviatti, and half a million of 
 our old friends." 
 
 " And is that all you expect from his visit f " 
 asked Sybil, more and more provoked by the 
 perfect nonchalance of her friend. 
 
 "Oh! no, believe me, by no means," replied 
 the widow, with marked emphasis; "but you 
 do not say a word, Mr. Mortimer," she continued 
 addressing Frederic, who had remained silently 
 and steadfastly scrutinizing the M'ords and maik- 
 
 «ide stairs which led to the nursery, while in the ner of his wife; "are you not charmed to hear 
 
 next instant the lisping voice of Mrs. Lamerly ' ' " 
 
 exclaimed in accents of childish amusement — 
 
 " Ah ! you may open your large grey eyes, 
 Eva, and stare about you with astonishment! 
 Yes, you fell asleep under a tall sycamore, and 
 here you are, you can't tell how, at home again, 
 and on the very confines of your own domain ! 
 Oh, fairy, you have guessed all about it now ! 
 And have you no kiss for papa, who made so 
 pretty a ci-adle for you ?" 
 
 The words had scarcely escaped her lips when 
 the speaker crossed the threshold of the apart- 
 ment, followed closely by Mortimer, about whose 
 neck the child had clasped its little arms. In- 
 stantly, as if by a species of instinctive fascina- 
 tion, the eyes of the two friends were riveted 
 upon each other, but ere long those of Mrs. 
 Lamerly fell before the fixed and almost con- 
 temptuous gaze of Sybil, who, after a moment- 
 ary silence, broke into a forced and bitter laugh, 
 as she said sarcastically — 
 
 " Truly, Amabel, you are becoming matutinal ? 
 Harris informs me that you have elected your- 
 self head-nurse to Eva, and that you are abroad 
 with lier for hours before I have finished my 
 morning sleep. You are really too good. But 
 I fear that to-day, at least, you have been the 
 victim of your own kindness, for I perceive, 
 what I had not before remarked, that the wind 
 must be very high, as it appears to have incon 
 
 Teniencedyou during your walk, and a portion of 
 your hair is streaming from under your bonnet." 
 
 " Tiiat is very probable," replied Mrs. Lamerly 
 with imperturbable composure, " for Eva has 
 been amusing herself by inventing for me a 
 toiffure a la sauvage. I am sorry that you do 
 not admire the eftect." 
 
 " She had seized an unfortunate opportunity 
 for the exiiibition of her talent," resumed Mrs. 
 Mortimer in the same biting accent, " but per- 
 haps you have been too pleasantly engaged to 
 be aware that not only has the second breakfast- 
 bell rung, but also that your friend has arrived." 
 
 " My friend ? What friend ?" inquired the 
 widow, with a j)retty assumption of innocence. 
 
 " Sir Horace Trevor." 
 
 Mrs. Lamerly shot one quick glance towards 
 Mortimer, who had during this short dialogue 
 been endeavoring to induce the child to leave 
 
 that our party has received such a delightful 
 addition ?" 
 
 "Sybil's relatives must always be welcoma 
 under my roof," was the somewhat cold reply; 
 * although I confess, that on the present occasion 
 I am somewhat perplexed to imagine what can 
 have procured for us the honor of a gentleman'^ 
 society, who, on the last occasion of his presence 
 at Westrum, declared it to be the ultima thule, 
 and regarded its inhabitants as oidy one dcgre« 
 removed from Hottentots." 
 
 "Oh! that is so like Trevor!" said the widow, 
 clapping her little hands, in order to silence the 
 i-ejoinder which already quivered upon the lipg 
 of Sybil. " Did you ever hear him praise any- 
 thing ? He is such a spoilt child. Do you know 
 he is a perfect skeptic, does not believe in tha 
 love, nor indeed, I am afraid I may add, in tlia 
 virtue of our sex. Is it not shameful ? Wiien 
 evei-ybody knows that women " 
 
 " Pray, Amabel, do not inflict upon us what 
 everybody knows," said Sybil with aff"ected im- 
 patience, " but ring for your maid to dress your 
 hair, or you will not be fit to present yourself 
 at the breakfast-table." 
 
 Mortimer was not, however, to be so deceived. 
 He understood the expression of Sybil's speaking 
 features, and he saw at once that no mere dread 
 of Mrs. Lamerly's disregard for appearances 
 could so thoroughly have ruffled her. He wa« 
 conscious that although the two persons befbw 
 him had ventured upon a war of wit.which they 
 were unable to control, there was a mystery iu 
 the advent of Trevor which neither was anxiou* 
 to reveal in his presence. Resolved, tlierefore, 
 to terminate the scene at once, he pointed with 
 a smile to the door, exclaiming — 
 
 " You are dismissed, you see, Mrs. Lamerly, 
 and in obedience to J'our liege lady, have onlyj 
 to withdraw, although, fortunately for all Avho 
 know and admire you, to reappear ere long 
 with increased attractions." 
 
 "So be it," was the laughing rejoinder; "good 
 bye, Eva," and she tenderly embraced the littla 
 girl, who was now contentedly playing u]ion the 
 lap of her nurse ; " your frolics have entailed a 
 terrible lecture upon me, but I forgive you" — 
 and playfully kissing her fingers to the child, 
 she bounded from the room. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. | and her unceasing demands xipon his attention. 
 
 • " After all," observed Lady Clara, M-ith one 
 of the dull Btares of her lack-liD^tre blue ej-cs 
 for -whieh she was peculiar. "After all, wliat?" 
 the reader may be inclined to ask, nor can Ve 
 Batisfaetorily reply ; suffice it that this mode of 
 expression — this Incus a non liicendo — was a fa- 
 A'orite with the lady. " After all, Sir Horace, I 
 can scarcely imagine how you could make up 
 your mind to leave Italy, where all is so nice, 
 and so easy going, and so pleasant, for this 
 nasty, dull, foggy, cateh-cold country." 
 
 " Fie upon you, Lady Clara!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lamerlj'. " Do you suppose that our dear Trevor 
 has no natural afiections, and that even one 
 III flush which rose to her cheek, and the al- j glimpse of his cousin will not repay him for the 
 t imperceptible quivering of the lip Avith sacritiee ?" 
 
 "■ ' ' " His cousin I" said Lady Clara, doubtfully, 
 
 " why, I never knew that you were his eousinl" 
 
 " 2s or am I. I allude to Mrs. Mortimer." 
 
 "Dear me!" ejaculated the peer's dai;ghter, 
 more and more mystified ; " I cannot understand 
 it^ Let nie see. Old Sir Reginald, his grand- 
 father had three sons, one was killed in the ]3od y 
 Guiirds before he was twenty, another mari-ied 
 Lady IJarbara Dobson, the IS'abob's widow, and 
 havir.g no family, left all her fortune to /vis father. 
 And you. Sir Horace, are an oidy son." 
 
 " You are quite correct, arnica bella," replied 
 Trevoi', biting his lips to suppress a laugh, while 
 his ally, Mrs. Lamerly, was exhausting all her 
 ingenuity in endeavoring to balance a tea-spoon 
 upon the edge of her chocolate-cup, "right as a 
 clerk in the herald's college — only— you have 
 foigotten my aunts." 
 
 Sir ITorv.veE Tkevor did not make his appear- 
 iiee mitil the morning meal was nearly- at an 
 ;ul, and he had no reason to repent the arrange- 
 i.iit, for the party had just arrived at that sa- 
 iled and complacent point when all which fol- 
 ws is rather matter of idleness than appetite, 
 iiil each member composing it is not only wil- 
 iig, but eager to repay, h\ the most assiduous 
 li.ntions, the ample return of news and^ossip. 
 Fortunately, their first meeting was one"of less 
 iliarrassment than Sybil had anticipated, for 
 re was such a general greeting on his entrance 
 lat no one, save her husband, i-emarked the 
 
 .vliich she received him as he made his way to- 
 iv.ii'ds her, or the constrained "You are welcome, 
 -ii' Horace," Avhicli was hef brief response to his 
 ■ager address. This partial display of emotion 
 ivas nevertheless by no means calculated to alarm 
 lini, for it v%'as no more than every delicateh'- 
 >^ Tiinded woman might be disposed to feel upon 
 Tier an absence, the man who had 
 
 neetu 
 
 ance ohered lier his hand, while in the manner 
 of Trevor Iiiuiseir he could detect nothing more 
 objecSionable, as it gave him the imj-iression of 
 ft gi-aeelul piece of acting, rather than the im- 
 jiilse of deep or excited feeling. 
 
 Not one of the guests, however, came to the 
 I'licf of her hostess so efFectualI\- as Mrs. La- 
 merly, who. with one of her childish exelama- 
 tii)i!s of delight, extended her jewelled hand, 
 and said, half-laughing and half-pouting. "So 
 
 } ou have remembered your old friends at last, 
 iiiy dear Trevor, and only just in time, I can as- 
 rure you, for both Sj-bil and I had made up our 
 ds to give you up if you did not repent your 
 
 " I never before heard that you had any." 
 " Comment .'" cried Trevor in affected astonish- 
 ment; "Did you never hear tiie unfortunate 
 liistory of the beautiful Mrs. Hildebrand, who 
 
 ingratitude. HoAvever, you need not look up eloped with her coachman?" 
 .'') dismayed, we Avill forgive you, but in I'eturn I "La! how very horrid!" shuddered Mrs. 
 y.iu must tell us everything' about everybody Babington, settling a curl. "So low!" she 
 everywhere, and make yourself as agreeable as ' whispered to the Honorable Theodore, who 
 vuu can. And now, when you have done shak- loimged beside her. 
 
 iiir hands with Ladj- Clara, come here, and 1 1 /' And was this sporting lady the ancestress of 
 ^viil make room for you betAveen me and Lord our fair Sybil?" lisped out the widow innocent- 
 J"Iin." And Avith pretty imperiousness she mo- ! ly. 
 
 Li'iied to the mortified lordling to advance higher ! " Now, all the fates forfend !" said Sir Horace. 
 
 lip the table, Avhile she removed her own seat ;" No, no, I had another aunt, and were Mrs. 
 
 iiieiently to enable the new comer to occup\- Delamere in the room she could answer all your 
 
 ' place assigned to him. j questions, but it is fortunate, as Ave have fallen 
 
 >lie was not however, so exclusively occupied upon this topic, that she is not present, for since 
 
 vi'.li Trevor as to overlook the pi-obable anxiety i Ilonoria'slaj)se she is always extremely distressed 
 
 <'f her host, and more than once she raised her ' by any illusion to the past." 
 
 luavy eyelids, aiid turned upon him one of | Mortimer started. Hei-e then was, at last, 
 
 tlidrfe rapid ghmces of inquiry, which betray so ' one tangle of .the ravelled skein draAVU out, and 
 
 li'ilo and iniplj- so much. She wished him to , once moi-e Sybil stood acquitted. A smile, 
 
 iii;derstand that she Avas endeavoring to sci'een Avhieh Avas almost one of relief and gratitude, 
 
 ii'T friend from his suspicions, and sacrificing flitted across his lip, but meanwhile the sensa^ 
 
 Lor.xdf for his peace of nund. tions of Sybil herself Avere infinitely less satisfae- 
 
 Nothing could be more amiable ! And it was I tory. The audacious and unblushing effrontery 
 
 beautiful to Avitness the perfect good-will Avith ; with which Trevor had thus invented for him- 
 
 which the generous and artless JSlrs. Lamerly , self a supposed family connection which had 
 
 executed h.er self-appointed task. Scarcely would never in reality existed ; the easy complacency 
 
 she permit Trevor to address his hostess, who.90 \ Avith Avhich he had calumniated the character- 
 
 tardy ansAver was in almost every instance? antici- 
 pated by that of her friend, and then she had so 
 many questions to ask, and so many half-Avhisper- 
 ed communications to make, that Trevor found 
 ample employment betAveen his jniU de Fcrigord, 
 11 
 
 of her sex in order to make his tale run more 
 glibly, and the self-satisfied look with Avhich he 
 turned toAvards her at its comjdefion, in oj-dcr, 
 as it seemed, to claim her gratitude for his ex- 
 ploit, rendered her more and more conscious of 
 
162 
 
 THE rJVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 the depth of the abyss into \rbich she had been; to her foi* a host of those trifling services so 
 plunged into bj- lier own levity. | valuable to the travelling Sybarite, and had, : 
 
 Who can calculate upon the bearing and re- return, vowed to her one of those everlastiin: 
 Bult of a first deviation from the high and holy I friendships which are so convenient to the 
 principle of truth f To extricate herself from a j worldly and unscrupulous, and wherein the 
 momentary difficulty, Mrs. Mortimer had volun- give-and-take system forms so efficient a bond 
 teered what she believed to be a mere inconse- of union. 
 
 <)uent falsehood, and she now felt that, at the j jt has already been explained that Mortimer 
 instant of its utterance, she had herself attached j^d remorselessly wounded the vanity of Mr« 
 to the sword of Damocles the one frail hair by Lameriy, and embittered her feelings, and that 
 which it was hereafter to be forever suspended ,.. i,at at first had oritrinated in mere levity and 
 over her head. Henceforward it was indeed idleness, had become^in her eves an imperative 
 vain to hope that the lie could ever be retract- 1 ^uty to herself, and as she m"entally argued, a. 
 ed, and she must abide its consequences, be they |j„st ^^^ consistent vengeance apon^he msolent 
 what they might, while, as if to augment her security of Sybil. How dare Sybil affect at 
 mental torture, Lady Clara continued to pour times to question, and almost to'sneer. when- 
 forth her suiprise in the " Dear me I" and gy^.,. g^jg allude 
 
 ded to the i>eriod of her widow- 
 hood ? Was Sybil then, so faultless, that her 
 past life had woven a circle of light around her 
 which was impassible 1 
 
 As .she asked herself the question, the thought 
 of Trevor recurred to her — but Trevor was at 
 Venice. What tlien ? Could she not summon [ 
 him to her side ? And she did so, we have seen 
 with what result. 
 
 Well, I never!" of mindless astonishment. 
 
 " You must tell us all about your Aunt Hil- 
 debrand," interposed Mrs. Lameriy, daring a 
 momentary pause. " It must be such a funny 
 ■affair ! I can understand a woman falling in 
 love with a prince, or a " 
 
 " Or a margrave," whispered Trevor in her 
 ear. 
 
 " For shame ! you are really unbearable," 
 pouted the lady, " but do tell us the .story. Or, 
 perhaps," she continued, interrupting herself ab- 
 ruptly, " now that we know all about it, Sybil a""! f''"i' «lly a^'«"t « week after his arrival at 
 will give us the details." iWestrum, as he found hims<.'lf alone with her in 
 
 " You are too obliging, Mrs. Lameriy." was the morning-room. She was bu=ily engaged in 
 •the indignant response ^of her hostess', " and, knitting a silk purse, or some other of those 
 juoreover, I pledge you my honor that I am as useless follies by which the idle and opulent st) 
 -ignorant of them as you are." i seriou.sly injure the efforts of the poor and t\ 
 
 " I am convinced of it," said Sir Horace, with 
 
 " Do you know that you are a species of ' 
 miniature divinity?" said Sir Horace to his fair 
 
 ingenious ; while he, seated on a low stool a1 
 
 well assumed gravity. "From whom were 3011 
 
 her feet, was amusing himself by tujiing and 
 likely to hear such a relation ? Certainly, not untuning her guitar. '• You are, in.leed ! Bui 
 from your mother." ' ,come now, be frank and honest. You do ii 
 
 "liow very improper Mrs. Lameriy is at 'expect me to believe that you had no ultei : 
 times," remarked Mrs. Babingbon, sotto voce, toiyi'^^ in thus bringing me into contact with 1,1, 
 iher neighbor. improvised cousin, and that it was solely aiiJ 
 
 " Wlmt ! because Sybil's aunt ran away with entirely pour ramour de mes beaux i/eux that you 
 her coachman ?" exclaimed the widow, who had called me from Venice V 
 detected the incautious whisper. " Why, what " ^^ '"^t ^tli<-'i' motive could I have ?" 
 on earth had I to do with it V | " ^'ay ! that is precisely what I seek to learn. 
 
 The pretty inanity of this lisped expostula- That you have one is beyond a doubt, and tiiat 
 tion elicited a general laugh, and to the great lit is personal, is equally certain to one wlio 
 relief of both Mrs. Mortimer and her husband, j knows you so well sis I do. Surely, cara, \><n 
 the subject was abandoned. do not love this Mortimer? Why, child, you 
 
 No man could be more what the French ex- had better bestow your atfeclions upon a willi'w- 
 pressly call facile a vivre, than Sir Ibn'ace bough ; satisfied while the wind blows it hit In r 
 Trevor, and despite all his resolutions to the 1 and thither, that it must return to its natiiral 
 contraiy, Jlortimer soon found himself with ' position when the breeze falls, than upon such 
 him on terms of intimacy, which, previous to a human girouette as S3-birs husband." 
 his arrival, he would have declared impossible. " What an absurd idea 1" 
 
 Trevor was in fact, in a few days, emphatically " What is it, then ? For that I am no desire.!, 
 and actually at home at Westrum. An hour or even desirable guest, to either the lady nr 
 had sufficed to render perfectly evident to him the gentleman is perceptible enough, and there- 
 tlie tolerating indifference of Sybil towards her fore j'ou ha«.i some reason for urging my pres- ' 
 husband, whom he had long learned to despi.se lence, and that reason I must know, or I bid 
 for the weakness which had betrayed him into adieu forthwith to this cave of Trophonious, 
 the power of a woman without' principle or with its two solitary gleams of sunshine. I 
 honor, while, had he needed an interpreter, his 'love to commence, as Horace — wasn't it Horace * 
 Bworn friend Mrs. Lameriy was ever at hand to I — says, ab ovo, therefore, I must be initiated ini- 
 render every look and word intelligible. {all the mystery of the springs before I cons-e;, 
 
 Between the Baronet and the widow there to set the machinery in motion." 
 existed no secrets, lie was aware of the whole i " Whv will you not be guided by me ?" 
 of her past career; had worsliipped at her un-| "Because I do not love, to walk through the 
 righteous shrine when she pwayed the fortnnes world with a bandage before wy eyes, and, 
 of the pigmy court of ; had bcin indebted moreover, because I want to comprehend lh« 
 
TUB RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 16S 
 
 probable extent of the obligation -which you 
 vill owe ine." 
 
 " ^Vell then, I am displeased M'ith Sybil, et 
 liour cdtise." 
 
 "ILi! I begin to understand. You have 
 Bomothiiig to revenge?" 
 
 "A great deal." 
 
 " But when you have so mueh in your own 
 power, vrhy should you have resource to my 
 {issistance ? Make the nsan love you, and j'ou 
 will have ample moans of vengeance." 
 
 " And what would that avail me !" asked the 
 lady with some asperity, " save to aflFord her a 
 new triumph over what she is pleased to con- 
 sider as my levity? Xo, uo, I will adopt no 
 such imperfect policy. So long as she continues 
 under his roof, and is i-ecognised as his wife, the 
 contest is unequal." 
 
 Trevor smiled and struck a few discordant 
 chords on the instrument which he was toi'tur- 
 iiig. 
 
 " Now, pray do not make that horrid noise," 
 said Mi's, ikmerly, " but tell me at once if you 
 uo longer care for Sybil." 
 
 " 2so longer care for her!" echoed Sir Horace 
 with sudden animation; "Impossible! Why 
 she is handsomer than ever." * 
 
 " And sick to death of her humdrum husband, 
 Hud her old-fashioned country-house," pursued 
 the ladj- in the £am« tone. " And you a spark 
 of spirit, you would need no prompting from 
 uie." 
 
 A second, and moi>e intelligible smile gleamed 
 over the features of the Baronet. 
 
 " I see it all now," he said with a light laugh, 
 *' Sybil once gone — And you really think such a 
 thing might occur?" — He was answered by a 
 sigiiitieant gesture; "The willow waiid would 
 require a proj), and who could he so pleasantl}- 
 lean upon on as the sympathising friend who 
 would be upon the spot, and who is so well cal- 
 culated to act as a second mother to his child?" 
 
 " And suppose it were so ?" 
 
 •" Oh, I have not a word to say against it 
 Kothiiig could be better imagined, and, as a 
 matter of coui-se, it would be an immense relief 
 to my conscience. But — but — I must venture 
 one more question," and Ti-evor really looked 
 embarrassed for a moment; "As I should be 
 deeply grieved to compromise jour pretty self, 
 without some prospect of fulfilling your i>ro- 
 jects, I tell you frankly that 1 believe vou have 
 little chance of becoming the nife of this worthy 
 squire." 
 
 " And why not?" asked the lady indignantly, 
 *'Did he not marry Sybil?" 
 
 " He did, and it is precisely for that reason 
 that I conjecture he will just have wit enough 
 to be very cautious how he commits himself a 
 second time. Xow, don't look so defyingly. 
 You know all that I mean, and you are quite 
 aware how high an opinion I have of your 
 Abilities, as well as how sincerely 1 admire your 
 person, but nevertheless, " 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me?" 
 
 " Not a whit, but if we are to be honest con- 
 federates, we must thoroughly understand each 
 other. 1 thought you had more strength of 
 mind." 
 
 " Pray leave me to conduct rav own affairs," 
 
 said the widow sullenly ; " I flatter myself that 
 1 am quite competent to such a task." ' 
 
 " I never doubted it for an instant, but still I 
 felt it my duty to warn you." 
 
 " Wait till 1 am in danger." 
 
 " With all my heart.. It is understood, then, 
 that we are to be faithful allies f" 
 
 " Have we not a common interest ?" 
 
 " True, My question was an idle one, and I 
 deserve the i-ebuke. Our mutual undertaking 
 is, however, by no means easy. Sybil evidently 
 shuns me," 
 
 " She fears hei-self more than you." 
 
 " That, at least, is encouraging, and I will 
 trust to j'our penetration ; car vous avez passe 
 parla. Now do not be angry again, fi-owns 
 never become you, and you know, by experi- 
 ence, that they are wasted upon me, 'But tell 
 me, for whom are you laboring so diligently ?" 
 
 " For Sybil," said Mrs, Lamerlj^, with a sneer. 
 
 " What a graceful attention 1" 
 
 " Is it not ? Let it serve you as an example." 
 
 And then, having accomplished this mutual 
 understanding, they talked of other matters per- 
 fectly irrelevant to the subject whicli still, how- 
 ever, remained uppermost in their thonghts, and 
 worthy colleagues in evil, did so with smiling 
 brows and friendly tones, undisturbed even by 
 the intrusion of Mrs. Babington and her honor- 
 able hanger-on, despite the curious and some- 
 what supercilious looks which were occasion-^ 
 ally riveted u{X)n them. They ha«l so much to 
 ask and to tell, so many dear friends *to be can- 
 vassed and condenuied, and so many schemes of 
 pleasure to arrange, that they both continue<l 
 apparentlj' unconscious of the espionape to whicii 
 they were thus unceremoniously subjected. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 WiiF.N Gertrude awoke on the following 
 morning, she was several minutes before she 
 could collect her thougiits, and, as she cast her 
 eyes round the desolat^t; apartment which had 
 been allotted to her, her first impulse was Im 
 close them again, in order to shut out all 
 surrounding objects, but, in the next instant, 
 she felt the utter folly and weakness of thus 
 shrinking back upon "the very threshold of 
 her task, and springing lightly from her com- 
 fortless bed, she ha.stened to dress herself, and 
 to be prepared for the first.suiamons she might 
 receive. 
 
 The dark and soot-laden fog still hung heavily 
 over the street, clung to the dingy window- 
 panes, and made its way througli the ill-fitted 
 frames even into the chamber. No one requires 
 to be told all the wretchedness of such a wak- 
 ing, while to Gertrude, totally unajjcustomed 
 as she was to a London atmosphere in anj' 
 season, it seemed as though her very breathing 
 were impeded. Steadily, however, she perse- 
 vered in her purpose, and at length, closely 
 folded in a thick shawl, but still trembling with 
 cold, she made her way down stairs, with her 
 writing-desk in her hand, to the little parlor in 
 which she had first been received. The shuU 
 ters had been thrown back, and as no prepux*- 
 
164 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 tions had vet been made for tha morning meal, , heart, and I hare confideucR in your consisten- 
 
 she found herself at liberty to sit down at 
 
 once, and commence the somewhat difficult fask 
 
 of exfilaining to Ernest her sudden evasion from 
 
 Bletchley. 
 
 Until the very moment in which she prepared 
 to do tliis, she' liad never become tliorougldy 
 conscious of the delicacy of the undertaking, 
 for one look lound the squalid apartment iu 
 which si 
 
 that slie must still conceal from him the exact 
 nature and situation of her temporary home. 
 Undou>)todly some human feeling of hurt pride 
 and Avounded personal dignity mingled with 
 other and less selfish convictions, but it is 
 nevertheless certain that the guiding-spring of 
 her conduct was a consciousness that she had 
 no right to intrude a stranger beneath the roof 
 of a ruined relative, of wliom she had already 
 seen enough to be well aware that he valued, 
 at even more than their just price, the privi- 
 leges of which poverty had denuded hun, and 
 would consequently ill brook that an indifFcr 
 ent, and perchance, scrutinizing ej'e, shouki 
 be permitted to rest upon the nakedness of the 
 land. 
 
 Such a position was very irksome to Ger- 
 trude, whose nature was truthfulness itself, but 
 she was compelled to admit that in this case the 
 withholding of the whole truth was part of the 
 painful duty which she had imposed upon 
 herself when she obeyed the summons of her 
 dying uncle, and Avith a sigh such as she had 
 thought to heave on sitting down to 
 
 ey. Do not, however, believe, that iu requiring 
 j-ou not to seek me out — you, who are in my 
 thoughts at every moment, and perhaps even 
 (for 1 know little of the great wilderness of 
 which I am now an inhabitant.^) within a few- 
 streets of the very house of which I have be- 
 come an inmate— tJiat I do so without an 
 immense personal sacrifice. You will at once 
 was seated, sufficed to convince her j feel this to be impossible. Never had I greater 
 need of sympathy, but I cannot on that aecouut 
 add another pang to those by which the woimd- 
 ed spiiit of my dying uncle is evidently crushed 
 to the very earth. Bear with me, then, as I 
 would cheerfully bear with yourself in such an 
 extremity. It is already much that I may be 
 with you in thought, and that I am enabled to 
 shelter myself from the present in the future." 
 
 Her letter to Miss Warrington was more easily 
 written. To her she had only to announce her 
 safe arrival under Mr. Spencer's roof, and to ex- 
 press her wish that none of the family at the 
 Manor-house should be made acquainted with 
 her ])lace of residence. 
 
 "ile may linger," she added, "and should 
 such be the case, I feel convinced that Mr. Arm- 
 strong would not permit me to remain in his 
 house ; a thousand kind, but needless apprehen- 
 sions on my account, miglit induce him to pre- 
 vent the accomplishment of a duty which I 
 consider most sacred, and of which I sliould 
 lament the omission throughout all my life. I 
 leave my fate, therefore, in your hands, and I 
 am assured that you will not'betray me." 
 
 Her task was scarcely accomplished ere Ger- 
 trade heard a stealthy step approachiiig the 
 apartment, and • saw the staid attendant of her 
 uncle enter laden with the meager preparations 
 for breakfast. The astonishment of the worthy 
 woman was extreme, on perceiving that the 
 young lady whom she had been fearful of awak- 
 ening after her fatigue, was already up and 
 occupied, and she busied herself with quiet 
 alacrity in rendering her as comfortable as cir- 
 cumstances would permit 
 
 Nothing could, however, remove the aspect 
 of cheerlessuess by which the orphan was sur- 
 rounded ; the clinging fog looming heavily and 
 luridly through the window and obscuring every 
 ! object without, the dusty grate, the eurtainless 
 cornice, the lime-stained walls within, all coih- 
 spired to depress her, and it was almost with a 
 sense of relief that she heard the dull sound of 
 her uncle's cane upon his uncarpet. d floor, as 
 he knocked to announce that he required the 
 presence of his house-keeper. 
 
 Mi's. -Sharp hastily poured out a cup of coffee, 
 diluted it as she had done on tlie previous eve- 
 ning, and then placing a small slice of thin diy 
 toast in the saucer, hurriedly cfbeyed the sum-^ 
 mons; nor did she return till tlie frugal meal of 
 Gertrude was accomplished, when she announced 
 that her master would sec ^ii'ss Mortimer in a 
 few minutes. 
 
 " lie is much changed since hi.st night. Ma'am." 
 many long years of hapjiiiiess before us, while added the woman,"" and althougli he never 
 his days are already numbered, his ho]>es anni- allu.lcd to it. I could see that he wis very anx- 
 liilated. and his gray hairs bowed down by ious from the time he wrote to vou, lest yon 
 misery, both actual and mental. I do not fear sliouhl refiLse to come to him; for I more th.nn 
 your rej>jy to such an appeal, for 1 know your j once heard him mutter to hiim»elf: ' If she does 
 
 address Ernest, she commenced her task 
 
 Slie told him of the hasty and imperative 
 call which had been made upon both her duty 
 and her afioction for her mother's memory ; 
 of the slate in which she had found her unfor- 
 tunate relative; nor did she shrink from avow- 
 ing tlir.t he had sunk from affluence to poverty. 
 And tliou she besought him to bear with her if 
 she entreated that he would not attempt to see 
 her until lier return to Bletchley, and not only 
 forgive such a request in his own person, but 
 even justify her in the eyes of his ftimily should 
 they appear to resent the step that "she had 
 taken. 
 
 " He was my mother's only brother," sh« con- 
 tinued ; " astern and prosperous man, who was 
 regardless alike of family , ties and family affec- 
 tions during the greater portion of his life. He 
 existed, consequently, unloving and unloved; 
 absorbed in large financial sfioculations, and en- 
 grosso,! hy gol.i Think, Ernest, what mu.stnow 
 be the bitterness <)f his regret, and the desolate- 
 ness of his position. His hard-earned gains 
 have melted away within his grasp; the penury 
 at which he used to scoff is abiding under liis 
 own roof, and he has f )und no other source of 
 comfort than a desire to j)()rscss for the (I fear) 
 very brief remains of a wasted life, the society 
 of his hitherto unknown niece. Can you not, 
 therefore, easily pardon both him and'my.self? 
 And will you not readily do so? lUe have so 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 165 
 
 not, there is time yet! There is time yet !' I whisper, ns with faltering steps, wliich she ia 
 Ami then he laughed. You have hoard him I vain endeavored to render steady, she ap- 
 laugh. As for me, I would much rather hear jproaehed to his bed-side; " Come— for I cau 
 him cry at anytime tlian laugh that friglitful set your mind at ease. I shall not need your 
 
 laugh — it ahv.iys chills my blood. But I am 
 wrong to talk of this to j-ou. ^la'am, I was only 
 jroing to say, that I think wheii he .<aw you at 
 last he felt a great deal, though he was too 
 proud to let you see it, and the agitation has 
 been too much for him. He had some trouble 
 to swallow his coffee, and the bread he could 
 not touch. Poor gentleman ! I believe that his 
 _J troubles are ueai-ly over." 
 
 " Then for pity's sake," exclaimed Gertrude, 
 clasping her hands entreatingly, •' send at once 
 for his pliysieian. Surely you can procure a 
 messenger somewhere in the ueighborhood, and 
 I will pay him whatever he requires, provided 
 he lose no time. See to this at once, Mr.s. Sharp, 
 and I will attend to my poor uncle during your 
 absence." 
 
 The housekeeper shook her head. 
 
 "I dare not, Ma'am," she said timidly, "j-ou 
 
 annuity, child ; what remains in the house 'will 
 now last my time. Sit down, sit down, and let 
 us talk." 
 
 " Shall I not rather read to you. Sir ?" 
 
 " How can you f" he asked peevishly ; " I 
 have already told you that the paper never 
 conies until t^ie evening." 
 
 " But in your present state," again asked the 
 orphan timidly ; " could I not find something 
 more appropriate, more comforting, than tha 
 mere news of the day ?" 
 
 " Ah ! I understand," said the sick man, as a 
 sardonic ."^niile quivered for an instant over his 
 faded lips ; " You care nothing about the 
 money-market — You do not condescend to 
 addle your brains with the dull concern of con- 
 sols, and foreign securities, and all the great 
 interests of a commercial eovmlrj. I am sorry 
 for it, child, I am sorry for it, for such indiffer- 
 
 do not know my master, but if you authorize ^nce to the most important considerations of a 
 me to venture upon It, I will send a boy for Mr. .... ..... 
 
 Jackson, who cau come as if by accident on his 
 way somewhere else, and then he cau advise 
 you as 'to what is best to be done." 
 
 " By all means," said Gertrude eagerly, " by 
 all means — now — this instant. I could not incur 
 so terrible a responsibility alone." 
 
 Mrs. Sharp curtsied and left the room, and 
 when the orphan hoard her open the house-door, 
 and close it gently behind her, it was with a 
 feeling of terror which she could not overcome, 
 that she remembered she was alone with the 
 
 djnn« 
 
 i-ational and enlightened kingdom will bring 
 bitter repentance in time. ISo, no, I want no 
 reading. I want to think, and to speak, and I 
 have little enough time left for either. No fear 
 of being taken at your word, child, the annuity 
 is safe enough!" And that strange, unnatural 
 laughter, deprecated even by the accustomed 
 Mrs. Sharp, again burst from the parched 
 throat of the fevered invalid, but on this occa- 
 sion, not with impunity, for in the very pa- 
 roxysm of this forced and bitter mirth, a gush 
 of blood followed the sound, and streamed 
 
 Dead, she woiild perhaps have | .jo^^ q^^,. the sheet which covered the breast 
 
 feared him less, for there is a mystery and a ho- 
 liness in death which rebuke the weaknesses of 
 the living ; but d^nng, and dying thus — without 
 a thought or a care for the Great Beyond, to- 
 wards which he was ha.'Jtening, — without 
 an anxiety on the subject of that life which 
 must endure forever, and wiioUy occupied by 
 the cares and futilities of that which Wiis so 
 rapidly to close upon him! — It was very fright- 
 and the poor girl bent down her head, and 
 
 rap: 
 fnl. 
 
 her hands, as she listened tumbler to his lips 
 
 of the sufferer. 
 
 Gertrude uttered a faint shriek, as she flung 
 her arm about his neck, and raised his head 
 from the pillow. It was a fearful moment for 
 the solitary and inexperienced girl, but the 
 sick man soon partially rallied. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," he murmured 
 huskily ; " and now give me a drop of water." 
 
 Gertrude laid him down softly, and held a 
 
 buried her fae 
 
 breathlessly for the return of her messenger. 
 
 It was not, however, the welcome footstep 
 of the zealous housekeeper which fell upon her 
 ear as she sat there in her terror, but tlie 
 renewed pounding of the heavy cane upon the 
 boards in the room above, and starting from 
 her chair, she swept back the long curls from 
 her forehead, and hastened to obey the sum- 
 mons. 
 
 Even prepared as she was to see a change in 
 the countenance of the unhappy invalid, .she, 
 nevertheless, started with surpri.se and fear as 
 her eye first fell upon him. The hectic spot 
 npon his cheek had deepened into purple, his 
 lips were 
 it was evident, by the rapi 
 
 " Began at 99," he whispered with closed 
 eyes, after the silence of a moment ; " and 
 closed at 101 3-8. Better times are coming 
 better times. I must keep my ej-es about me 
 Gertrude, where are you ?" 
 
 " I am here. Sir." 
 
 " That was a great rise, Gertrude. A great 
 deal may be made by such a rise as that. I used 
 to be very fortunate — very, at least folks said so, 
 though I never believed that luck had much to 
 do with it Gertrude, if you should ever be 
 rich — you know you will have the annuity 
 which you offered me to begin upon, and many 
 there are in the world who have reared a good- 
 livid, and his brow bloodless, while |ly brood without such a nest-egg — if you should 
 ent, by the rapid convulsions which [ever be rich, watch the funds, child— ^watch the 
 
 passed over his features, and the wild fierce 1 funds, and remember your poor uncle.' 
 light which glistened in his eyes, that nature " Pray, do not excite yourself. Sir," said the 
 was making a last and powei-ful effort, which ; anxious girL " You are, just now, quite unequal 
 would in all probability utterly exhaust his to such an exertion. You need rest." 
 slight remains of strength. " I shall have enough and to spare before 
 
 "Ah I come — come," he said almost in a i many suns set," was the reply of the faint and 
 
166 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIia. 
 
 exhatiBted voice. "Leave me in peace, now. 
 And Gertrude — " 
 " I listen, Sir." 
 
 " Gertrude, I say, do not forget the pocket- 
 book, and if Jackson should ask for it when he 
 e,omes— for he must come after I am gone, you 
 tiio-Nv — don't give it to him, but make him show 
 you his accounts. It is a large sum— a very 
 large sum for a poor man to handle, and — and I 
 want to be quite sure that it will be well laid 
 out." 
 
 " You shall be obeyed, Sir." 
 " Good girl 1 Good girl ! Worth a score of 
 your mother. Sfie married for love, poor fool, 
 and then wanted mo to pay the debts of her 
 spendthrift husband. You have been wiser. 
 An Armstrong will do, child, an Armstrong will 
 do. You must be prudent and saving for a few 
 years, and things will come round. Take care 
 of your gold, and — your — gold — will — take — 
 care — of — you. 1 — " 
 
 There was a long pause, for the sick man was 
 utterly exhausted, and Gertrude, drowned in 
 tears of mingled fear and horror, could not even 
 attempt a reply, when, suddenly rallying once 
 more, the invalid panted, rather that uttered : 
 " Why do you close the shutters? Kothing can 
 be done in the darkness. Give me light. I 
 must have light — broad, unblinking sunlight. I 
 shall be robbed in this foul darkness. Robbed ? 
 Who shall dare ?" and he clenched his dry and 
 withered hand, and attempted to extend it in 
 menace, but he strove in vain; his muscular 
 power was spent, and the shrunken arm fell 
 powerless at his side. 
 
 What wild and conflicting, and bewildered 
 visions must have passed over the brain of the 
 dying man during the hour which succeeded, 
 for trulv, throughout one long, and, as she be- 
 lieved, interminable hour, did the miserable girl 
 watch beside that unholy death-bed, unsupport- 
 ed, alone, aj^d quivering with anxiety for the 
 return of her messenger, who, meanwhile, hav- 
 ing duly fulfilled her mission, had not ventured 
 to enter the sick-chamber unbidden, and was, in 
 her turn, awaiting, in her cheerless solitude, the 
 advent of the poor humble clerk, who was to be 
 their sole support and comforter throughout the 
 coming trial. 
 
 Strange unconnected snatches of thought 
 were incoherently revealed by the sick man in 
 •lisyoined and faintly articulated sentences. jS'ow 
 it was a fresh and far-otf glance at his green and 
 joyous boyhood, and a wild smile played about 
 his lip, and the vision of some pilfered orchard 
 passed before him, and while the congenial scene 
 occupied his mental vision, he clutched the bed- 
 clothes with a convulsive grasp, as if fearful of 
 being cheated of the spoil tliat he had won. But 
 this cornparativelj' tranquil waking-dream soon 
 vanished, and the toil and tui-moil of more manly 
 struggles were enacted over again. Like one 
 who saw before him tlie open pages of a ledger, 
 he calculat-'d immense sums with an accuracy 
 which tilled liis terrified listener with silent 
 astonishment, ))ausiiig at intervals, to utter stern 
 denials, as it bceme<i, to some imp<jrtunate pe- 
 titioner, or to ciiuekle over some successful ven- 
 ture, and throughout all this fearful time, what- 
 ever might be the broad outline of the mental 
 
 picture conjured up by memory, the same daik ; 
 sliadow hovered over it ; the greed of gain hung i 
 darkly about; the pencil of avarice polluted all I 
 its features. He was the breathing embodiment : 
 of a solitary idea. No reminiscence of affection, 
 iw soothing consciousness of one generous deed 
 done, and registered for hereafter, flitted like a 
 good angel, tlirough the memories of the past 
 His horizon was without light, the lurid gleam 
 of gold was the only ray which had power to 
 penetrate the gloom. 
 
 Gertrude thought of the placid and prayerful 
 death-bed of the protectress of her youth, and 
 averted her look from the rapidly-working fea- 
 tures, and endeavored to close her eyes against 
 the mammon-worshipping words of the dying 
 man who lay before her. Her heart sickened as 
 the conviction forced itself upon her reason, that 
 beyond fulfilling the mere trifling and unim- 
 portant duties required by the sinking body, 
 licr care could here be of no avail, for the voicea 
 of the soul had become clogged by the base 
 yellow fluid to which it had been abandoned, 
 and it no longer found utterance for higher or 
 noliler aspirations. 
 
 Suddenly, the hoarse murmur ceased, and 
 then came one of those deep and awful periods 
 of utter stillness so solemn in a death-room. All 
 was silent and chill, and the wordless prayer 
 which was poured out by the stricken spirit of 
 the watcher, arose pure and untinged with one 
 taint of earth ; an offering for him who cared 
 not to supplicate for himself. And it would 
 seem that it brought a blessing, for once more 
 the wandering mind was cleared of the mist by 
 which it had been over-shadowed, and when 
 next the sick man spoke, he had regained the eiv- 
 tire possession of his temporarily suspended fj»- 
 culties. 
 
 " Gertrude," he whispered faintly, " I have no 
 time to lose. Listen to me. Take the ke' 
 which you will find in my pocket-book — bi. 
 give me back the book. 1 like to feel it und. 
 my pillow, for then I know that it is safe. G<'n 
 girl! Good girl! IS'ow, open that chest, an 1 
 I at the top — at the very top, mind, you need ii' 
 search lower — you will find a packet of papn- 
 Bring it here." 
 
 Gertrude silently obeyed, and placed in tb 
 eager trembling hand the sealed envelope which 
 lay ready on the surface of the chest. 
 
 " All right, all right," murmured the failing 
 voice of tlie sick man ; " and now lock the box 
 carefully again, and give me back the key- 
 There, that will do." And, for a time, he turned 
 the well-secured packet over and over, gazing 
 at it with a fondness incomprehensible to his 
 companion. Kow he clutched it closely between 
 his open palms, as though he sougiit to make it 
 grow into his flesh, that thus it might become 
 inseparable from himself; then he patted it 
 lightly with his fingers, as a playful mother 
 would have patted the rosy and peach-like 
 cheek of her nursling, and finally, he pressed il 
 to his- heart with a sigh so deep that it madt 
 Gertrude start. 
 
 Soon, however, he became aware that he wa» 
 no longer equal to the excitement which it pro 
 dueed. and drawing the orphan closer to him 
 until her head was bent over the pillow, ht 
 
'ijbiili KlVAi. iSJtVAU ilJiSS. 
 
 1«7 
 
 •'meed bis wasted finger upon his lip in sign of 
 nation, and whispered shrilly — 
 
 ■' You must have it — you must have it — So 
 :ike it now. It Aill never be to you what it 
 IS been to me, but there is no help for that, 
 ;.re is no help for that. Little as I have to 
 ave, it shall be yours. Sell the furniture, it 
 .vill pa J- your journey home. Jackson has the 
 iuplieat€," send for him. But do not trust too 
 uueh even to him, Gertrude ; I know what 
 joemptation there is in gold, and we liave no 
 [right to tempt others. Look to yourself, girl, 
 look to yourself. Love is all very well, and 
 virtue is a nughty fine thing for those who can 
 tvtford to dress it out in purple and fine linen, 
 hut it will not go far in a money-loving world, 
 it' it stands naked and shivering by the way- 
 side, holding out its hand for help. jS'o, no, 
 proverbs are not prooft, except when they are 
 built up upon the wisdom which is only taught 
 by the close contact of conflicting interests. 
 Send a man upon 'Change with his head cram- 
 med witli stale morality, and a shabby coat 
 upon his back before he has purchased the right 
 to wear one, and you will see what his virtue 
 jand his necessities will do for him. Trash! 
 Trash ! — I have lived long enough to — " 
 
 The voice suddenly ceased — the unhappy man 
 had fainted. 
 
 The scream which Gertrude was unable to 
 suppress caught the anxious ear of the house- 
 keeper, who, to the great relief of the agitated 
 girl, entered the room, followed by the poor old 
 clerk, whose stealthy step gave back no echo, 
 as he rapitUy approached the bed, and laid his 
 hand upon the breast of the unconscious invalid. 
 , His first impression evideullj' was that his for- 
 I mer patron had suddenly expired, but he at 
 i once discovered his error, and a few drops of 
 I etherized water, forced through the clenched 
 j teeth of the wretched man, ere long restored 
 ; him to consciousness. The hard, keen light had, 
 I however, departed for ever from his eyes, which, 
 I during that death-like swoon, had become dull 
 [ and glassy ; the breath, which came hot and 
 ' halting from between his Uvid lips, heaved his 
 ' chest almost to suffocation, and beads of damp 
 ' stood upon his forehead, and dimmed the lustre 
 of his grej- hair. 
 
 Jackson shook his head, and a moisture stole 
 to his eye. He, perhaps, was the only being 
 upon earth who loved the dying-man then lying 
 punting and struggling before him, but the 
 human heart is strangel}' constituted, and there 
 iB as much of the affection of habit in the world, 
 as that of actual sentiment. Thus tlie poor, 
 hardworked, and ill-requited drudge, who re- 
 membered when he had been promoted from 
 the inviduous position of errand-boy to the 
 honors of tj^e raised desk, and the dignified ap- 
 pellation of junior clerk, that he should, in all 
 probability, never have attained even to that 
 dreary pre-eminence without the favor of the 
 stern and exacting principal, (who, having re- 
 iJiarked his economical management alike of 
 coal, cinders, and writing materials, resolved to 
 profit by so unusual a demonstration on the part 
 of a subordinate) had vowed an afi'ection and a 
 fidelity to his unendearing master, which no 
 teverity or after-meanness had power to weak- 
 
 ] en, while time, as it passed by, served only to 
 rivet the iron links f'oiged by the one, and woi-n 
 almost as a trophy by the otlfer. 
 
 They had grown old together ; their hair had 
 silvered, and their step hceanie less elastic from 
 year to year, and each had noted the change in 
 the other, although unconscious of it in his own 
 "person. 
 
 Even now, as Jackson looked upon the dying 
 man, worn out alike by worldly anxieties, and 
 the narrow penury to which he was liimself con- 
 demned by his slender and insufficient means, . 
 the tear which started to his eye Avas impelled 
 thither by no reflection upon his own advanced 
 pilgrimage, but felt solely for the sutterer. Per- 
 haps no thought of the dread debt which all 
 nuist pay, had even yet connected itself with 
 his visions of the future ; he had no time for 
 sickness, and less for death. 
 
 Mr. Spencer had withdrawn himself from tha 
 firm, and closed his ledgers and day-books for 
 ever; his hours were no longer purchased and 
 absorbed by business, but he was still at his 
 post; his income must be earned, the bread of 
 ins family must be won before it could be brok- 
 en ; he came upon earth to work, and so he la- 
 bored on, like the patient ox ti'eadiiig out the 
 corn of others, and never caring to look beyond 
 the narrow circle of his daily duties. The sab- 
 [ bath brought him rest, it is true, but even that 
 I was the merely negative repose of physical and 
 ; moral idleness. As he lay back in his slippery 
 and ill-cushioned horse-hair chair, with his eyes 
 closed, and his lips quivefing, he was generally 
 reviewing in thought all the commercial tran- 
 sactions in which he had been engaged through- 
 out the previous week, or, when by chance, tha 
 siuishine wiled him out, and he sauntered forth, 
 with his meek and spirit-broken wife upon his 
 arm, to bask in the warmer and purer air of 
 Tower-Hill, or the Artillery-ground near Fins- 
 bury Square, he could command no other subject 
 witii which to beguile the way, and thus the 
 bewildered woman, whose faded shawl had seen 
 its seventh summer, and whose solitary silk 
 gown had beenchamelion-hued by time, was en- 
 tertained, hour after hoiu", by the detail of ope- 
 rations involving thousands and tens of thou- 
 sands of pounds, and, perliaps taught to repine 
 that, of all the mighty mass of weatth which 
 was yearly poured out under the eyes of her 
 labor-bowed helpmate, so very, very minute a 
 portion ever passed into his own possession. 
 
 It may be thought that this moral portrait of 
 the obscure and liardworking drudge of com- 
 merce is overcharged, but we know that siich is 
 not the case. Even in the present day, many, 
 too many of these human automata, these 
 breathing machines, set in motion only by the 
 peculiar spring adapted to their avocation, and- 
 rusted into uselessness for all beyond their own 
 l>eeuliar and narrow sjihere of compulsatorj- ac- 
 tion ; men in whom even sense of plij-sical en- 
 joyment and moral dignity have alike become 
 deadened, or at best distorted by the mindlesB. 
 numotony of their daily tasks, may still be- .. 
 found in all great cities, but more esjiecially in- ij 
 our own mammoth-like and all-absorbing Lon- 
 don. The world-grasping trader, whose argosies- 
 encimaber distant seas, and to whom the winde^ 
 
168 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 fome from CT-ery quarter of the globe freighted j 
 -with gold ; tiie merchant-princes, whose ingots 
 Bway the fate of empires, and -^-hose occasional 
 ruin shakes the whole fabric of commercial 
 Europe; these ask hands ready and willing, and 
 obedient hands, to work out the design of the 
 one master-spirit of the Pandemonium of gain, 
 but with the head or tiie heart of the salaried j 
 slave, they have nothing whatever to do, so | 
 long us they interfere not with the just execution , 
 of his allotted task. I 
 
 Bri<:hter days, as it is hoped, are now dawn- 1 
 Ing, nTi}', have' already dawned, for the obscure | 
 but important class of laborers, who, like the 
 miner, prepare the ore of commerce for the 
 crucible, but it will require time to awaken i 
 within them sufficient moral energy to send ; 
 them forth on the heart-gladdening sabbath free ! 
 from the heavy cares and sordid speculations 
 of their daily and hourly existence. 
 
 What refinement of intellect, what generosity 
 of sentiment, can rationally be anticipated frona 
 tlie raw and almost uneducated youth, who i 
 grows on to manhood in the close and stifling . 
 atmosphere of gain? — Who, year by year, hears 
 every quality of the head and heart exposed to j 
 the test of wealth ? — Who learns, and who never 
 forgets, that the " best man on 'Change" is he 
 who buttons his snug great-coat over the largest 
 amount of bank bills ? Iluraan nature will be ; 
 human nature still, under every phase, and al- i 
 though the generous spirit may for a while con- 
 tend, it is ultimately sdenced by the potent spell 
 of self-interest and self-advancement. 
 
 Yet it is beautiful to reflect how comparative- 
 ly few of these slaves of the lamp wholly de- ' 
 generate — how steadilj' they toil on, surrounded 
 by what they hold to be the greatest good oi. j 
 earth, and yet preserve their honesty. Health 
 and hope maj^ alike fail, but their task is before 
 tliem. and they perform it nobly to the last, re- 1 
 joicing or sorrowing as tlie coffers of tlieir em- ! 
 ployers are filled or emptied, and making a com- 
 mon interest of what they have almost taught 
 themselves to feel as a common cause. 
 
 And Jackson, poor, humble-hearted, long-en- 
 during Jackson, was one of these. The opulence 
 of the house to which he belonged was his 
 glory and his pride, and almost seemed to reflect 
 Its prospei-ity upon his own squalid home. He 
 would not have resented a personal att'ront ; his 
 courage would have failed him for such a pur- j 
 pose, but a syllable which reflected upon the | 
 credit of his employers would at once have j 
 aroused him to indignation and defiance. 
 
 And now, as we have said, his heart was full. 
 His world was a narrow one, and he could ill 
 ntford to lose one of tiie objects about Avhich it 
 hud closed in. He spoke to the dying man — 
 once — twice — in a meek, low voice, which fait- i 
 ered with feeling, but no answer was returned, j 
 It was evident that the little strength which yet ' 
 remained to him was expended in tiie firm clasp 
 which he still retained of the important packet. | 
 
 At Icngtii Ids lack-lustre eye wandered languid- ' 
 ly round the apartment until it rested upon 
 (Jertrude, who sat weeping silently apart. For 
 an instant an ex])ression, almost of fierceness, 
 oonvuls .'d the muscles of his face, but it passed 
 away, and be motioned her to approach, tjhe , 
 
 obeyed, and then, with considerable difficulty, 
 he placed the papers in her hand, and once 
 more closed his eyes with a groan which no 
 mere bodily anguish could have extorted from 
 h^m. 
 
 Despite his affliction, a gleam of satisfaction 
 irradiated the hard features of the observant 
 clerk. He even nodded his head significantly 
 towards the agitated and bewildered girl, as 
 he murmured almost inaudibly, " It is done at 
 last. It is done at last, and now he will bo 
 easier." 
 
 Then he drew still nearer to the sick-bed, and 
 bent over the sufferer as if to compel one last 
 look of recognition, but he watclied in vain. 
 Mr. Spencer had resigned his most cherished 
 hold on life, and was still battling with the 
 necessity to which he was eomjjelled to yield. 
 He lay for a while still, quite still and motion- 
 less, while the laboring spasms from which ho 
 had been previously suffering were subdued, 
 and he breathed lightly and almost impercepti- 
 bly : nature was, however, only pausing for a 
 brief space, in order to rallj^ all her remaining 
 energies for one last effort, and as the anxious 
 watchers stood around him, he suddenly sat up- 
 right in his bed, with extended arms and clutch- 
 ing fingers, as he shrieked out : 
 
 " Give me back my gold ! — My gold ! I have 
 toiled for it, fasted for it, and it is mine! — .\ll 
 mine ! Give it back, I say ! Has it not cost me 
 alike body and soul ! Thieves ! — Thieves ! — 
 Will no one help me ? Miserable old man that 
 I am, give me back my gold ! I cannot die till 
 I have counted it once more — onlj' once more^ 
 and then " 
 
 But again the crimson tide gushed from hi» 
 lips, and he fell heavily back upon the pillow; 
 there was a sharp struggle, a low sigh, and Mrs. 
 Sharp drew Gertrude from the bedside. 
 
 " You had better leave the room, ma'am," 
 she said, as she supported the toitering .steps 
 of the orphan to the door ; " You can be of no 
 further service here, for the poor gentleman is. 
 gone." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 The poison worked at Westrum. It was in 
 vain that ilortimer sought some cause of quar- 
 rel with his unwelcome guest, for Trevor was 
 too listless and too well-bred to take ofl'enca 
 where he persisted in declaring that such an 
 intention was impossible, while, once more 
 thralled by the beauty, and fascinate<l by the 
 accoiuplisliments of his brilliant hostess, he be- 
 came cautious in his demeanor, and measured 
 in his attentions. The master-spirit of Mrs. 
 Lamerly was, moreover, at work, and the pres- 
 ence of Mortimer always sufficcil to call forth 
 all her playful and pretty coquetry, addresse<l, 
 as those around her sup]iosed, to the fashionablo 
 baronet, but Avhich siie tempered by such a])- 
 ]>ealing glances towards Frederic, as encourage<l 
 him to believe that he had at least an equal 
 share in their display. 
 
 A heart cast back upon itself is easily awak- 
 ed to renewed hajipiness, and we alread}' kn ^ 
 the morbid yearning of Mortimer for the all- o 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 169 
 
 tion of those ahout Lim. Much, therefore, as 
 lie despised the friend of his wife, he could not 
 continue insensible to her evident preference of 
 himself True, she appeared to put forth all 
 her powers in order to dazzle Trevor, but wlicn 
 tliey chanced to meet without witnesses, the 
 l)rilliancy of her eyes was softened by an ex- 
 pression of meek and womaidy devotion, which, 
 ta a nature so sensitive us his own, was infinite- 
 ly more attractive than the most radiant smiles. 
 All her coquetrj- disappeared, all her factitious 
 ti;races were laid aside, and her very voice fal- 
 ured as though it trembled to meet his ear. 
 Yit >~till he ili.j not love her. Even slighted as 
 ho \va- I'V >'\ 1 il, she had been too thoroughly the 
 ideal of his fancy to fade at once from his 
 luart, and a gnawing iinhappiness, which to 
 liiiu appeared a presentiment of evil, clouded 
 his spirit. 
 
 jNor was the position of Sybil herself one of 
 less constraint and ditficnlty. The unfortunate 
 relationship which she had invented between 
 lierself and Sir Horace, naturally invested hini 
 with privileges which he conld not otherwise 
 have claimed, and although he never addressed 
 her in the language of gallantry, th«re was, 
 nevertheless, a peculiarity in his manner of 
 which it was imjiossible for her to remain un- 
 conscious, while they had so many tastes and 
 prejudices in common, that his society possessed 
 a eiiarm in her eyes of which she could not 
 divest it. 
 
 Too indolent to indulge in the sports of the 
 field, utterly unoccupied by business of any 
 kind, and consequently at the disposal of the 
 circle in which he chanced to move, Trevor 
 found many opportunities of renewing his old 
 •fi-iendship with Sybil, and of profiting by the 
 advantages due to her indiscreet deception, 
 while Mortimer was engaged in the superin- 
 tendence of his estate, and attending agricultural 
 and county dinners, and it was singular upon 
 tJiose occasions, how capriciously Mrs. Lamerly 
 turned all the battery of her babj'-graces upon 
 Lord John, or the Honorable Theodore. Lady 
 Clara sneered, and Mrs. Babington raised hef 
 fine eyes in horror, but the widow heeded neither 
 SJieers nor glances ; she was accountable to no 
 one for the variations of lier mood, and so she 
 wdmly lisped out her piquant slanders, and 
 revenged herself by an inditfei-enee to all com- 
 ment which, in a better cause, would have been 
 fclinost sublime. 
 
 Meanwhile, the intimacy between Sybil and 
 Inr old lover strengthened with every succeed- 
 ing day, and unconsciously she recovered the 
 elasticity of spirit which appeared to have aban- 
 doned her since her marriage. Every sentence 
 became once more an epigram, and every im- 
 ptdse a fascination. The calmer temperament 
 of Frederic had, in some degree, checked the 
 exuberance of her nature, but with Trevor she 
 was once more her former self. Her vanity was 
 flattered, and she soon ceased to remember all 
 the imprralenee and the mortification of the 
 past. Eiicouraged by his evident admiration, 
 and the delight w^ithwhich he participated in 
 •tliose sarcastic, witty, and pungent conversations 
 in which she felt that she was unrivalled, she 
 too soon forgot that he cared for nothing save 
 
 the gratification of the moment, and gave her 
 self up Viniesistingly to the spell of his sym- 
 pal hy. 
 
 With the most intense selfishness did Trevoi* 
 watch every gi-adation of feeling which she ex- 
 hibited towards him, and had he trusted him- 
 self to speak upon such a subject, he would 
 calmly have declared that he was neither her 
 mentor nor her guide ; that he was in no way 
 responsible for her actions, and that past experi- 
 ence had not tended to discourage him in his 
 present pursuit. But Sir Horace liad few friends, 
 and no confidant, save indeed the diplomatist's 
 widow, and even she had volunteered the oftiee, 
 and was endured rather than encouraged. His 
 secret was therefore safe, and the self-deluding 
 Sybil left free to shape out her own destiny. 
 
 Surrounded by persons who, from peculiar 
 causes, were at once authorized and inclined to 
 be indulgent, Mrs. Mortimer had no one near her 
 save her mother, who would have put forth a 
 hand to lead her back into the path of prudence, 
 and even that mother appeared wilfully to closo 
 her eyes against the growing evil. 
 
 But it was not so. No change of place or 
 society had any longer the slightest effect iipon 
 Mrs. Delamere. Alwaj^s languid, listless, and 
 hypochondriacal, her days succeeded each other 
 in the most insipid monotony. Scarcely did 
 she appear conscious of the change of season, 
 or the progress of time. 
 
 The boldest flirtation might hare been carried 
 on in her very presence, and she would never 
 have remarked it. Her early years had been 
 those of indolence and inertness, hy which her 
 mental faculties had been enervated ; a period 
 of pain and anxiety supervened, in which, true 
 to her acquired nature, she weakly resigned her 
 own will and wishes — her own better will, and 
 worthier wishes, into the keeping of her daugh- 
 ter, and if at times a sickening dread of the 
 liltimate result of that daughter's actions bowed 
 down her feeble spirit, she no sooner saw her 
 doubts removed, and her terrors terminated, by 
 a marriage which surpassed her hopes, than she 
 sank into a moral lethargy, from which she made 
 no effort to escape. 
 
 Satisfied that Sj'bil ivas married, she never 
 cared to remember that she might yet have 
 many trials before her, dangerous to so vain and 
 ambitious a nature as hers, and as her counsel 
 or o2)inion was never asked upon any subject, 
 so neillier did she seek to proffer it. 
 
 2vothing, in short, save actual bodily absence, 
 could have created a more eft'ectual sej^aration 
 between motlrer and daughter, than the system 
 which they had severally adopted, and if an ap- 
 peal was, !)}• some strange chance, made to Mrs. 
 Delamere by a third party, the never-failing re- 
 ply of, "Sybil knows best," was the inevitable 
 result of so bootless an attempt to idenlify her 
 with the events which were taking place about 
 her. 
 
 Nevertheless, everj' incidental attention or 
 mark of aftection which she received from lier 
 cliild, would light up the dull eyes of the old 
 lady for a moment, but these gradually made a 
 less demand upon her maternal feelings. ThB 
 spirit of the world, with all its exact ii.g follies 
 and engrossing vanities, had fastened upon tha 
 
170 
 
 TIIE raVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 heart of Sybil, and left her little leisure for sym- 
 pathy iu the whims and wishes of a voluutury 
 invalid; while so perfect was her power ovei- 
 tlie weakened nerves and failing faculties of her 
 mother, that after she had once or twice warned 
 her of the danger of betraying the falsehood of 
 lier implied relationship to Trevor, poor Mrs. 
 Delamere almost succeeded in persuading her- 
 self that it really e.visted, and when Sir Horace, 
 half in jest, and half in scorn, occasionally ad- 
 dressed her as liis aunt, she replied to his re- 
 mark witliout the slightest symptom of dis- 
 composure. 
 
 Thus all conspired to aid the projects of the 
 vain and world!}' baronet; too cautious to com- 
 mit himself in the presence of Mortimer, by word 
 or look, he had made good his footing at West- 1 
 rum, while Mortimer himself, too weak to declare i 
 and enforce his will, even where he felt it to be 
 right and fitting, lest he should once again be 
 made the scoff of the idle and the impertinent, 
 and cited as a jealous husband, and moreover 
 somewfiat engrossed by the clever coquetries of 
 Mrs. Lamerly, suflered the growing intimacy 
 of the soi distant cousins to progress as it 
 might, satisfied that, upon the first legitimate 
 occasion, he should be able to terminate it by a 
 word. 
 
 Such an experience is at all times hazardous, 
 but especially so with persons of the temuera- 
 ment of Mortimer — men who are contented to 
 live on aujour lajouniie; procrastinating for the 
 sake of momentary peace, hedged in by morbid 
 prejudices, and never glancing beyond a certain I 
 and narrow range of vision. Men, moreover, ' 
 who have been reared and fostered in the wor- 1 
 ship of self, and who must be injured in that 
 precious self before they can force themselves 
 into energy. 
 
 An impnulence, or rather be it said, an indis- 
 cretion on the part of Sybil, would have aroused 
 him on the instant, because it would hav;e 
 touched his honor, but he had nothing tangible 
 to work upon. The whole tone of his wife's so- 
 ciety was objectionable, but it was nevertheless 
 considered a privilege, even by the most prudent 
 and correct of their country neighbors, to be 
 admitted within its charmed circle, and he dared 
 not, therefore, complain. They had talked of 
 retrenchment on their return to Westrum, yet 
 far from taking steps to retrieve their former 
 excesses, they were, even under their own roof, 
 and in that comparatively obscure part of the 
 country, still living considerably beyond their 
 means. Yet here also he feared to remonstrate. 
 Had he not assured Sybil, when she formerly 
 rejected liis liand on the plea of her own ruined 
 fortune, tliat he could so amply supply her every 
 wish, that slie would never have cause to re- 
 inemJ)cr so unimportant a circumstance? It is 
 true that lie liad not speculated upon the 'outlay 
 requisite to gratify all the elegant caprices and 
 liigh-bred exactions of a vain and worldly 
 woman ; that, accustomed to the quiet and un- 
 ostentatious comfort of his mother's household, 
 he had never calculated upon the amount of ex- 
 pi'nditure necessaiy to maintain, in proper keep- 
 ing and consistency, a lai'ge establishment, with 
 its concomitant equipages, attendants, and table. 
 lie saw himself surrounded by guests about 
 
 ; who m he cared nothing, and who returned hia 
 indilference. 
 
 I He was no longer at home in his own house; 
 he had no interest in common even with his 
 wife, and yet he hesitated to break the spell 
 which was darkening about him. His only , 
 hope lay in the attainment of the office for ' 
 l' which he was still soliciting, but hitlierto he ' 
 had merely received professions which had | 
 brought forth no fruit. Still, the ii/nii fatma ' 
 lured him on. He was afraid to believe that he 
 could ultimateh' fail, and when he ventured to 
 expostulate with Sybil upon the subject, slie 
 coolly dismissed it with the remark, that so loi.ir 
 as they continued in tlie country nothing could 
 be anticipated in the shape of definite success. 
 People must be upon tlie spot to carry a point 
 of so much importance, and meanwhile he was, 
 if not enlarging his circle of friends, at least 
 binding them to his interests by hospitality and 
 kindness. 
 
 Mortimer listened, and [even if he did not 
 quite believe, he at least yielded, and Sybil's 
 point was gained. Her days passed on amid 
 admiration jiud amusement ; she forgot the past, 
 and she would not look into the future, and thus 
 week after week went by, and the winter was 
 drawing to a close, and her party rapidly dis- 
 persing; Lord John took flight* for the last 
 month of the dead season, to dullify dutifully 
 with the duke, his brother, at his old castle in 
 the Highlands ; the Honorable Theodore to Ba- 
 den-Baden, at once to increase his debts and to 
 distance his duns; Sirs. Babington to her aunt's 
 in Dorsetshire, to try the efi"ect of her matured 
 charms on a -rich cousin recently arrived from 
 India, and Lady Clara to Paris, to make her an- 
 nual curtsey at the Tuileries. Mrs. Lamerly, 
 however, still lingered ; she had no rich cousins 
 or ducal brothers — no footing at the .French 
 court, or stake at the rouge-ct-noir XahXa, and she 
 found it so difficult to tear herself away from 
 her little pet Eva, and her comfortable home at 
 Westrum, that day succeeded day, and she still ^ 
 maintained her post. 
 
 At length, however, when even Trevor, des- ' 
 pite the well-worn privilege of his cousinship, 
 found himself compelled to depart in his turn ; 
 as Sybil made no sign wlieu her dear friend 
 more than hinted tliat she was ready to sacrifice 
 herself till the commencement of the LondoQ 
 season, Mrs. Lamerly was reluctantly forced to 
 follow his example, and tlicn, for the first time 
 since their marriage, Frederic and Sybil found 
 themselves alone beneatli their own roof. 
 
 Much as Jlortimer had desired such an oppoi»- 
 tiinity of retrenclimeiit, it was not, however, 
 without something like regret tliat he saw the 
 carriage of the widow drive off. She had amused 
 his idleness, and better still, she loved his child. 
 He had now, moreover, no opportunity of escap- 
 ing from his reflections, and the}' were far from 
 consolatory. He had been married little moiB 
 than twelve months, and he liad already ex- 
 hausted three years' iiuonie, lost the affections 
 of his M-ife, trifled with his self-respect, and 
 compromised the future pros{)ects of Eva. 
 
 For a few hours he felt melancholy, and even 
 the carfsses of liis little girl had jiartly lost 
 their charm, but as the evening drew iu he 'be- 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 171 
 
 niie less sad, .and more irritable. A feeling of she asked petulantly: "And I — think you that 
 iJiguatioa mingled with his self-reproaeh. lie I have not also had to contend against mortifi- 
 gan to eonsider himself as more sinned against cation and disappointment? Did yoii imagi 
 
 than sinning, and as the victim of ciix'umstance 
 which he had neither possessed the power to 
 I'lresee nor to prevent ; while at intervals some- 
 thing like auger against the supine indifference 
 ( f Sybil to interests wliieh were so vital to 
 i.imsclf, mingled with liis musings. 
 
 Tliej- had retired from the diniug-ioom, where 
 they had partaken of a tete-A-tete dinner almost 
 in silence, a nervous attack having confined 
 ]^,lrs. Delamere to her chamber for the day. A 
 .-single lamp burnt upon a console at the extrem- 
 ity of the apartment, while a small reading-ta- 
 ble stood beside the chair of Sybil, who lay 
 
 tiiat I have no cause for regret? Did I not 
 frankly confess to you before our marriage that 
 I could never bear to be confounded with the 
 common herd who are satisfied to vegetate, and 
 have not moral energy to live? Have I not 
 subsequently urged you to escape from this so- 
 cial nullity? And how have you responded to 
 my appeal ? Discouraged on the very threshold 
 of success, apathetic where you should be reso- 
 lute, and looking to the means when you should 
 care only for the end, you have negatived all 
 my previsions, and I am condemned to see you 
 fall back contentedly into the insignificance 
 
 ijtlessly back among her cushions, with closed | from which I have been laboring to withdraw 
 'Ves, mechanically passing a paper-knife alon^ 
 he already opened pages of a review. Fron 
 iiiie to time, however, she looked up with ill 
 ;aled impatience at the gorgeous time piece 
 
 you. 
 
 "Sybil!" exclaimed her husband, starting to 
 his feet — 
 
 "We are both, it would appear, unhappy in 
 
 upon the mantel, as if to chide the tardiness of ! the selection of our subject to-night," was the 
 |the jevv'elled hands, while Mortimer occupied [cold response of Mrs. Mortimer to this involun- 
 I the other side of the tire-place, and sat gazing j tary demonstration of indignant anger, " but we 
 
 upon the mimic pageantry of towers, and rock 
 j and monsters, presented by the burning mass 
 I before him. 
 
 j A cloud was upon his brow, and his lips were 
 rigidly compressed. The enclianti-ess who had 
 wiled him from himself was placed so near to 
 him that their extended hands could have met, 
 but the enchantment was nearly over, and those 
 bands were not outstretched. 
 
 As he arrived at the last phase of his reilec- 
 tions Mortimer suddenly raised his head, and 
 looked earnestly at his wife. Her eyes were 
 once more closey, and this fact only increased 
 Lis irritation. 
 
 " Perhaps, Sybil," he commenced abruptly ; 
 "I shall iind no better opportunity than the 
 present for endeavoring to impress upon you the 
 necessity for an immediate change in our mode 
 of living. So far, I have only been weak, but, 
 
 hall do well to understand each other. My good 
 ofiftces are still at your service, should you care 
 to accept them, although I cannot submit to be 
 lectured like a froward child." 
 
 jMortimer pressed his hand upon his burning 
 forehead. He feared to trust himself with 
 words. 
 
 After the pause of a moment Sybil again 
 spoke, and it was with less asperity. "Listen 
 to me, Frederic," she said : " Let us not forget 
 the respect which we owe to ourselves by ban- 
 d3'ing reproaches. You know the ambition of 
 my nature, nor have I to learn the supineness 
 of yours. I cannot forego the hope that I shall 
 see you assume that station in the world to 
 which you are entitled, but I know enough of 
 public men, and of public life, to feel convinced 
 that, without some effort and some sacrifice on 
 your own part, it is vain for you to anticipate 
 
 upon its present scale, I shall become dishonest. I quoted your child as a reason for withdrawing 
 ^riie subject is an unpleasant one for both of us; jfrom a contest in which the attempt itself does 
 it must be so, but it is my duty not to shrink] you honor, and now I quote her as an in- 
 tromit. The unfortunate delusion into which jcentive to exertion. A brilliant position in 
 
 1 was betrayed by my ambition, has, I think, 
 by this time disclosed its utter fallacy, and con- 
 sequentlj', the immense, outlay which was in- 
 tended to further its success must finish with it. 
 Mj' fortune, ample as it is, or rather was, will 
 no longer suffice to maintain so large an estab- 
 lishment, and we must also remember that we 
 have a daughter." 
 
 ' You have chosen a strange moment in which 
 
 life will advantage her more than all the hoard- 
 ed gold which you could ever accumulate in ob- 
 scurity." 
 
 " But what if I am ruined in the process ?"" 
 Sybil shrugged her shoulders. •' You talk as 
 though yon had no resources." 
 
 " They are, at least, not inexhaustible." 
 " At all events," said the lady, as with one of 
 her most sunny smiles she extended her hand to 
 
 to sermonize," was the calm reply, "nor is the [her husband ; " They will suffice to renew the 
 tone of your communication calculated to recon- 1 trial. The coming season will, bej'ond all doubt, 
 cile me to its import. One would imagine that I 'decide the question of your success. The first 
 
 ■was the person to blame for the outlay of whicl 
 you complain." 
 
 " I had no intention to reproach you, Sybil, 
 but, even as you have shared my pleasures, so 
 did I believe that you would be willing to bear 
 j-our portion of my an.xieties," said Frederic: 
 " It is but another disappointment to find that I 
 have been deceived." 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer raised herself proudly to a 
 
 d most difiicult step is already taken. Your, 
 pretensions are known, and your eligibility 
 for the post you solicit has been admitteti 
 The rest is a mere question of time, and the 
 judicious employment of private and jiowerful 
 interest." 
 
 "Sybil," said Mortimer, as he clasped the 
 proffered hand, and, thoroughly appeased, look- 
 ed fondly in her face: "that smile has thrown 
 
 more erect position, as, with a scornful gesture, I me back upon the oast. I shall not seek to 
 
172 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIE3. 
 
 resist it. Only encourage my endeavors by a. 
 renewal of the afi'ec-tiun which I feared that 1 
 had lust, and I will agaia have faith in your 
 prophcev. 
 
 ]Sor did the conversation end here ; for Sybil, 
 far from wisliing, as she declared, to owe tlie 
 concession of her husband simply to his consi- 
 deration for her opinion, was desirous to con- 
 vince his reason ; and she accordingly proceeded 
 to do this by tlie very effective metliod of aliirui- 
 iiig him with the fear of ridicule. What would 
 tlie world say sliould he return into obscurity, 
 after so brilliant a d<'but ? What could be said, 
 save that his ambition had not extended beyond 
 a momentary ai)pearance, destined like that of a 
 wandering ground-meteor, only to gleam for an 
 instant with a cheating light, and then to be 
 once more absorbed in the obscurity from which 
 it had so uselessly and idly emanated? Siiould 
 he now retire from the contest moreover, all the 
 expenditure of whieli he complained would 
 have been made in vain, and surely, this fael 
 required some consideration. And she urged 
 all this so gently, so placidly, with so persua- 
 sive a smile, and so convincing an accent, that 
 Mortimer, already dreaming a renewsxl of the 
 halycon days of their early marriage, was only 
 too ready to admit the feasibility of her argu- 
 ments and too eager to prove his assent to her 
 proposiiions. 
 
 And so the town-house was once more engaged ; 
 the equijiages retained; the club subscri[);ious 
 paid up ; and the land-steward silenced fur 
 another season. 
 
 CHArTER XLIX. 
 
 Gertrude had scarcely reached her room, 
 when the solenm promise which she had made 
 to her departed relative, that she would im- 
 mediately after his decease take possession of 
 tlie important pocket-book, recurred to her 
 mind ; and terrible as she felt a return to the 
 death-chamber to be at such a moment, she did 
 not hesitate to redeem it. For an instant she 
 paused, however, to collect herself, but only for 
 an instant ; and then with a calm step, she re- 
 crossed the threshold of the silent apartment, 
 and approached the bed. Beside it knelt the 
 meek and faithful clerk, holding within his own 
 the hand of the dead man ; and as, upon hear- 
 ing the Ifght step of Gertrude, he raised his 
 head, and looked up inquiringly-, she saw that 
 tliore were traces of tears upon his pale and 
 witiiered cheeks. 
 
 Instinctively she laid her hand upon his 
 shoulder and smiled a sad smile, which he ap- 
 peared instantly to comprehend; for, rising 
 from his knees, he hastily wiped away the tell- 
 tale moisture, and faltered out in a trembling 
 whisper; "1 know it, my dear young lady,! 
 know it. I have no right to be squandering 
 time upon my own grief, when 1 shoidd be 
 thinking of you. Rut Madam," he continued, 
 •with a fresh and irrepressible burst of emotion; 
 " he who lies there was my first friend ; almost, 
 I may say, my f)nly friend ; to him I owe the 
 bread by which I live. It is hard to part from 
 one's only friend — very hard The happy and, 
 
 I tlie prosperous cannot understand this, for they 
 ! have so many that they scarcely miss them as 
 they fall away each in their turn. They do not 
 1 know what it is to have but one, and to loso 
 him." 
 
 j " Sincerely do I trust, good old man, that he 
 I appreciated your attachment," murmured Gei^ 
 Itrude, considerably atiected. 
 
 " I cannot saj', I cannot say. Madam," was 
 the melancholy reply, as he stood with clasped 
 hands contemplating the rigid features of his 
 I former patron ; " None on earth can ever know 
 I what were his real feelings ; lie kept his own 
 secrets, just as he worked out his own fortune^ 
 He always stood alone in tlie world, and ha 
 was able to do it, lor liis will was strong, and 
 he needed no help from others. 1 shall never 
 know what he felt for me, neither shall I ever 
 forget what he did for me. Rut for him I might 
 have been a beggar." 
 
 " Your gratitude must have brought a blessing 
 to his death-bed." 
 
 " I trust it may, young lady, I trust it may. 
 Bless you, at all events, for uttering such a liope] 
 And now, madam, Avhat orders have you to givB 
 me ?" 
 
 " First, Mr. Jackson, be good enough," whis- 
 pered the orphan, while a slight tremor passed 
 over her, and she clung to the chair near which 
 she chiuiced to be standing for support, " to giv« 
 me from beneath the pillow of my poor uncle a 
 pocket-book which you will find "there." 
 
 She was silently obeyed. 
 
 " And now, if you please," she pursued, " \vie 
 will go down stairs to the sitting-room, and I 
 will explain to you tlie nature of the services 
 for which I shall intrude upon your kindness." 
 
 The cli'i-k bowed respectfully, cast anothci 
 long look towards the bed of death, and then 
 opened tlie door of the chamber for (iertrude to 
 pass out, but she also paused to contemplate for 
 a moment the countenance of the dead man. 
 The eyes had already been reverently closed, 
 and the luxuriant masses of silver hair drawr; 
 more closely about the pallid brow; the outline 
 of the face was strikingly fine and intellectual, 
 the forehead high and broad, the lips well set, 
 and full of firm and almost harsh expression, the 
 nose perfectly chiselled, and the whole character 
 of the head calni^ and noble ; but as the glance 
 of Gertrude travelled on along the sheet by 
 which the body was covered, she shuddered to 
 perceive that even the pang of death itself had 
 failed to relax the firm clenching of the bony 
 hands. There was something frightful in this 
 resolute grasp which had fastened upon nothing, 
 when life, and all life's possessions, were passing 
 from liim, and with a deep sigh, she bent for a 
 moment over the corpse while she breathed out, 
 a silent prayer, and then slowly left the room 
 followed by her deputed counsellor. 
 
 Oil entering the little parlor she found thatthu 
 shutters were already closed, but that, by the 
 active and judicious zeal of Mrs. Sharp, a com- 
 fortable fire had been kindled in the grate, wliila 
 a couple of candles, placed upon the table, gava 
 the room an appearance of comparative con* 
 fort. Thankfully did (iertrude throw herself 
 upon a seat, as she motioned to her meek ami 
 silent companion to follow her example, aud 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 178 
 
 .pn gate an uii constrained course to hor tonv! 
 hi wept for awhile in silence, until tlie awe and 
 .luuisl ion produced by the scene tlirough wl 
 1 ■ had jiitft jiassed became gradually relie\ 
 or did tlic old man attempt, either by word or 
 -iure, to check this overllowing of her sur 
 i.uged heart. His respect fortlie idece of his 
 lirou was too profound to enable him to offer 
 n- slightest interference Avith her feelings, and 
 IDS he sat mutely before her, with his dun, but 
 <\v tearless eyes riveted upon the dingy alma- 
 L -k above the fire-place, and losing himself in 
 •.uijitioiis and probabilities, which, although 
 :iR' of them might point, however faintly and 
 ubtingly, towards his own interests, were 
 vertheless mainlj' directed to those of the soli- 
 I y and evidently helpless girl who now looked 
 > iiim for support. 
 
 Perhaps he was not unthankful for this tem- 
 irary pause. It is, at all events, certain, that 
 ' no sooner saw the orplian wipe away her 
 ars, than he drew towards him the tattered 
 riting-caso, and requested her permission at 
 ice to inform his employers of the melancholj- 
 ,'eiit which had just occurred, and to request 
 leir promised permission to absent himself 
 cm his desk until !iis i)resence should no longer 
 J required beneath the roof of his late master. 
 Gerlrude was gi'ateful for the suggestion, and 
 lis nccessai'V missive written, it was irarae- 
 ately despaiched to its destination b}' a trusty 
 esseiiger, while a second, more brief, and re- 
 iiiriiig less i>recision, was at the same time eon- 
 .Mod to the post, to warn the wife of the writer 
 Kit she must not anticipate his return until the 
 jiorrow. 
 
 ! "And now, madam," he said, as the door 
 
 |06ed upon Mrs. Sharp, and they were again 
 
 jloue, " you have only to inform me of your 
 
 'islies, and I am ready to obey them. The poor 
 
 L'ntleman has, without doubt, already made 
 
 ich communications to you, as will enable us 
 
 ) carry out his instructions." 
 
 •• lie has indeed done so, Mr. Jackson," re- 
 
 lit-d Gertrude, as with a trenddiug hand she 
 
 :"liieed the pocket-book, and proceeded to un- 
 
 ' it ; " this case, as he told me, contains the 
 
 which he wishes to expend upon — " slie 
 
 ■ d, unable to proceed. 
 •• 1 understand, madam," said the old man, 
 
 liile, with an innate refinement which did him 
 oiior, he withdrew his ej-es from her face, " and 
 have onlj- to ask if I can be of any service on 
 ic melancholy occasion." 
 
 ■ I depend tipon you wholly, my good sir," 
 
 d Gertrude, drawing the note from its hid- 
 ! iace; "I ana so utterly inexperienced in all 
 IS of business, that I shall be unable to stir 
 i> in this melanchol}'- affair without your 
 Will you, then, take pity upon my help- 
 
 ■ ' ss, and dispose of the money as you may 
 - • best, being careful, however, to expend it 
 I'r this one ]nirpose, such having been the 
 
 1 r.-ss command of my uncle?" 
 
 ■ You shall be obeyed, madam." 
 " IJut — that is not all," pursued Gertrude after 
 liainful jiause, during which her check and 
 
 row had become crimson, "will you forgive 
 !e, Mr. Jackson, if I ask you to let me see the — i 
 
 the precise manner in which it was disbursed f 
 Believe me, I earnestly entreat of you, when I 
 declare that no doubt of your honor induces such 
 a request, but I must do my duty to the end, 
 painful though it may be." 
 
 "Once more be assured that I understand you, 
 madam," said the htmible-minded and broken- 
 spirited clerk, without one symptom of surprise 
 or indignation. " It is no less my duty thaa 
 your own to obey his will. You sludl dulj' re- 
 ceive my accounts, with which, I trust, you' will 
 be satisfied." 
 
 Gertrude instinctively extended her hand to 
 her aged protector, for such at that moment slia 
 truly fell him to be, but if her inferential dis- 
 trust of his probity had failed to move him to 
 emotion, such was far from being the case with 
 this exhibition of condescending courtesy. 
 
 ]-Jverything is comparative in this world, and 
 thus the niece of the opulent head of the house 
 of Spencer, Owen and Co., was, in the eyes of 
 the junior cleric of the firm, so august a person- 
 age that, for ,a moment, he doubted the evi- 
 dence of his senses, but when, he not only saw 
 that small wliite hand remain outstretched 
 towards him, but also a sweet smile of confi- 
 dence and encouragement pass over the fair 
 face of the orphan, he rose respectfully from 
 his chair, and having ventured to clasp it in his 
 own, bowed over it reverently, and then burst 
 into tears. 
 
 How much of contumely, and harshness, and 
 injustice — how much of hope deferred, and sick- 
 ening anxiety, and withering privation, had 
 that old man taught himself to endure unmoved 
 during along life of drudgery and toil ! Hewoidd 
 have snnled in wonder had' any one taken sufll- 
 eient interest in his fate to marvel at his stoicism, 
 for he had long ceased to feel the consciousness 
 of his endurance ; it had become matter of habit 
 that he should be buffeted and browbeat by the 
 world; it was the sure inheritance of poverty, 
 and he had accepted it as such. But to the 
 words, and looks, and tones of kindness, he was 
 all unused, and thei'cin, at least, lie was no 
 stoic. It seemed to him almost as though he 
 were robbin.g another of those signs of sympa- 
 thy, — as if it could be but a glimpse into some 
 unknown world in which he had no share. And 
 yet that world of love and peace, even transient 
 as was the glance, appeared so beautiful ; his 
 self-respect, although in his toil-worn breast 
 such a feeling could endure only for an instant, 
 was so awakened, that he could not support tlie 
 shock, and thus he stood before the distressed 
 and frightened Gertrude, weeping like a child. 
 
 " It is nothing, Madam, it is nothing," he at 
 length sobbed out, as he remarked her look of 
 dismay ; " I am better now, but the thought 
 that i was holding the hand of my master's 
 niece in mine, and that she was sgiiling so 
 kindly upon me, was more than I could bear. 
 It is an lionor. Madam, that will go down with 
 me to my grave, and I will prove that I am 
 grateful for it. There will not be many such 
 memories to cheer the death-bed of Thomas 
 Jackson." 
 
 ' I entreat you not to talk in so sad or erro- 
 neous a manner," said the orphan gently. " It 
 
 in sliort, to acquaint me afterwards with | is I, Mr. Jackson, who am the obliged person, 
 
IH 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 and who shall have much to remember and to 
 thank you for. And now, what is our first 
 duty ?" 
 
 "Ti-de, my dear young lady, in the joy of 
 my own heart, I had' forgotten "all else. But it 
 has been so very, very seldom my fate to meet 
 ■with kindness, that 1 was for a moment beside 
 myself. ^o\v, however, I will lose no more 
 time, for there is much to be done." 
 
 "Are j-ou going to let^ve ine, my dear Sir?" 
 a«k<Hi Gertrude, as with irrepressible alarm she 
 saw him take possession of his hat. 
 
 " I must do so. Madam, for awhile." 
 
 "But you will return, and share my melan- 
 choly dinner, will you not?" 
 
 Again the old man raised his eyes to hers in 
 bewildering increilulity, but there was no mis- 
 taking the expression of tlie sweet face that was 
 turned towards him, and staniiueriug out an 
 answer whicii was unintelligble to Gertrude, 
 and in which she could only distinguish the 
 words honor, and happiness, and (jratitade, he 
 bowed more profoundly than ever, and then 
 hurriedly left the room. 
 
 It Avas a relief to the painful feelings of the 
 orplian to find herself compelled to withdraw 
 her thoughts for a time from the melancholy .is- 
 sociations of the morning, in order to give the 
 necessary instructions to JSIrs. Sharp for the pre- 
 paration of the meal to which she had invited 
 her late uncle's humble dependent, nor was it 
 ■without an expression of delight, which she 
 vainly attempted to suppress, that the worthy 
 housekeeper received her orders. Kever before 
 had there been such a prospect of plenty beneath 
 that roof since she ha,d been its inmate, and as 
 Gertrude put tiie small sum necessary for the 
 purpose of providing the unaccustomed luxuries 
 into her hand, slie looked almost as incredulous 
 as the poor clerk. 
 
 " I am sorry to give you this additional 
 trouble, ilrs. Sharp," said the gentle girl, " but 
 Mr. Jackson is so very kind, and my imcle 
 respected him so much, that I could not bear 
 that he shouhl feel himself neglected. Above 
 all, do not forget the wine, he will have much 
 fatigue to encounter to-day, I fear, nor will you 
 stand in less need of some additional support." 
 
 How Mrs. Sharp longed to throw her arms 
 about the neck of the considerate young creature 
 who had even remembered her at such a mo- 
 ment! but respect restrained her, and she could 
 only falter out her thanks. 
 
 " All shall be done as you desire, Ma'am," she 
 added, after an instant's silence, " and sliould 
 you require anything in my absence, the nurse 
 IS already in my master's chamber, and her 
 daughter waiting any orders that you may 
 please to give, in the next room. T ventured 
 to engage her without your permission, as I 
 feared tlwt you would feel lonely when I was 
 obliged to leave the house." 
 
 Gertr'.de very sincerely expressed her thanks 
 for this eonsiileration, and felt considerably re- 
 lieved by the consciousness that, on the depart- 
 ure of the housekeeper, she should not be con- 
 demned to the sole eomj)aiuonshii) of the deatli- 
 room. Moreover, her conversation with the 
 worthy woman, inconsequent as it necessarily 
 •was, had tended to restore her to composure 
 
 and accordingly she had no .sooner withdraxrr 
 than Gertrude seated herself at her desk, to iu 
 form both Ernest and Miss. Warrington of tlu 
 near cessation of her duties in town, and ho 
 approaching return to Bletchley. 
 
 She eould have chosen no more judicious em 
 ployment, for the death of her uncle once com 
 municated, her imagination bounded into th» 
 future, and she forgot her present trials in th( 
 contemplation of her coming happiness, am 
 thus she poured out her whole heart to hej 
 lover, and confessed to him that now, wiiei 
 they were so soon to meet again, she felt all th< 
 wretchedness of their brief separation, but sin 
 should return to him, as she trusted, a wiser an( 
 a better woman, for she should be more thai 
 ever able to appreciate all the blessings of hei 
 destiny. And then she had a thousand ati'ec 
 tionate messages to send to Mar}' and Eleanor 
 a thousand things to ask of them when the}' 
 were once more together, and so she wrote oil 
 and the time passed a-\vay unheeded, until i 
 gentle knock at the door announced the returi 
 of her guest. 
 
 This was succeeded by the appearance of thi 
 housekeeper with the preparations for dinnci. 
 i and although, as she came and went, Gertrud 
 jand her new friend were several times lef 
 I together, Mr. Jackson carefully abstained froii 
 any allusion to the b-asiness upon which he hm 
 been engaged, nor did the orphan venture t' 
 question him. The common sense of the ol 
 I man taught him that the subject was not on 
 [likely to increase either the appetite or tli 
 ! spirits 'of the delicate girl, who was now i 
 some degree under his charge, and so he talkc 
 I respectfully of the weather, and the state o 
 the streets, and endeavored to turn her thought 
 ko otlier and less depressing topics. 
 I He was repaid for his care by seeing a fain 
 ' smile at intervals rise to her lips, and as th 
 pleasurable impression produced by tlie lettei 
 which she had just been writing had not wor 
 [off, she seated herself at the table with les 
 repugnance than she had anticipated, and if sh' 
 did not profit by the comfortable meal befor' 
 , her to an extent which satisfied the anxioii 
 jMrs. Sharp, she nevertheless com])elled hersel 
 to partake of it. 
 
 I Meanwhile, the modest old man who shar^ . 
 I her hospitality -^vag still less at ease than hei 
 [self, for even his feeling of regret for his I05' 
 master could not overcome his sense of eonfi 
 sion at the strange situation in which he foun 
 himself so unexjiectedly placed, but gradually 
 ! as he saw with what anxious and even affd 
 : tionate attention his young hostess suppliei 
 and almost anticipated, his wants, and foiui, 
 I himself cheered by a glass of tavern win' 
 i which, questionable as might be its qualit'l 
 I was to him, nevertheless, a most unaccustome' 
 luxury, he resumed a certain degree of sel 
 possession, and was able to partake with comfoi 
 of the good things before him. 
 
 But even tiiis dinner, strange as was such 
 I meal in tl-.at abode of famine, eould not endur 
 for ever, and when the cloth w.is drawn, th' 
 candles snuffed, and the fire renewed, Ge 
 trude and her companion were once mor 
 alone. 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 
 For a time both vrcve silent. Thoy had so 
 fow subjects ill common upon which thej' could 
 converse, and even these, with one exception, 
 wore already exhausted, yet still the old man 
 gliiank from renewing that one. He felt that 
 nil he had to tell was so sad and so harrowing, 
 tliat every moment gained was a pang spared 
 to the inexperienced and sensitive girl, but ere 
 h)ng he began to feel the futility and even 
 danger of any further dela3\ From one mo- 
 ment to another he anticipated the arrival of 
 diose whom he had summoned, and he conse- 
 quently rallied his courage to jirepare Gertrude 
 for their appearance. 
 
 There is alwaj's something sad, if not revolt- 
 ing, in the visit ot thosg unsympathising 
 .SiTvitors of dissolution, who first break iipon 
 iJie stillness of the house of death ; the very 
 nature of their errand is fearful — they come to 
 chiim all that is left of what was once life, 
 and will, and action — to tread heavily over the 
 floor where others have previously moved with 
 ,a noiseless step — to talk in hoarse although 
 suppressed voices where the dull echoes have 
 latterly been hushed — and coldly to pursue 
 their avocation in the very presence of eternity. 
 
 Perhaps it is well that there is no possibility 
 of delaying this first trial, for where the ties 
 of love have been rent asunder, who would 
 have courage to sanction so unhallowed an in- 
 trusion ? — Who could summon to the bedside, 
 so lately the scene of agony and prayer, the 
 unsympathising eyes and hands of mei-cenary 
 stra^ngers ? Human nature is ever prone to 
 ii-sist where resistance is possible, and suffering 
 (•••ftain ; happy is it, therefore, that it is taught 
 ill so solemn a moment to feel its own impo- 
 tence, and to submit. 
 
 In Gertrude's case the greater anguish of 
 suih a trial was spared, but still it was not 
 without a shudder and- a sickness at the heart, 
 that she learned the near approach of her 
 Ivigubrious visitors. Vainly did she endeavor 
 to combat her emotion, for alas ! her tliouglits. 
 Inverted to another and a dearer death-bed, 
 and she I'cmembered what she had formcrl}' 
 experienced. IS'or was this all ; for memor}' is 
 ;is ingenious to wound as to console, and as she 
 'iwelt upon the loss of her earliest friend, all 
 the sorrows which had succeeded that bcreave- 
 ni.-nt came freshly before her. 
 
 The sullen tread of feet in the narrow passage, 
 and the murmured sound of strange voices, at 
 I'-iigth announced the advent of the expected 
 functionaries, but it was not until tlie stairs 
 had ceased to creak under their steps, that the 
 kind-hearted old man, who had averted his 
 eyes from Gertrude as he saw her suddenly 
 conceal her face in her handkerchief, and 
 struggle for composure, rose silently from his 
 seat, and followed them. 
 
 Poor girl ! she felt very wretched, and more 
 thoroughly alone than she had ever yet done. 
 Fain would she have shut out every sound, and 
 still, with that morbid yearning to the terrible 
 so inherent in a sensitive nature, she strained 
 her ear to detect their movements, and fol- 
 lowed them in fancy through all their gloomy 
 ta.ak. It was a great relief to her when they 
 at last departed. The first sad act of the drama 
 
 of death 
 freely. 
 
 176 
 
 over, and she breathed more 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 "When the old man, Avho was now her sole 
 support, again entered the room, which he did 
 a few minutes subsequently, he was even paler 
 than before, and there was an expression of 
 anxiety upon his care-worn face, which he 
 could not conceal ; he however seated himself 
 in silence, and made no attempt to break the 
 stillness. Some time consequently elapsed in 
 dark and dreary thought on both sides, until 
 Gertrude, more and more convinced by the un- 
 easy working of his features, that he desired, 
 but had not courage, to make some necessary 
 communicatioa to her, resolutely addressed 
 him. 
 
 " Yon have something to say to me, Mr. 
 Jackson, by which you fear that I shall be dis- 
 tressed ?" 
 
 " Not distressed, I trust, my dear young lady, 
 but you have already suffered so much, that I 
 cannot bear to add to your trial by telling you 
 that you have still a painful duty to perform. 
 Mr. Spencer perhaps informed you" that he had 
 left a will ?" 
 
 " It is in my possession," replied Gertrude 
 quietly. 
 
 " Are you also aware th.at I hold the dupli- 
 cate ?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " And this will, Madam, do you desire at once 
 to ascertain its contents? If so, I must sum- 
 mon Mr. Collins, by whom it was drawn up, a>' 
 I believe that it would not be legal, and cer- 
 tainly, in any ease, it would not be advisabU 
 to open it in his absence." 
 
 " We will, if you please, defer all such con 
 siderations until after my poor uncle's funeral. 
 Under any circumstances, I could not permit 
 myself to exhibit what I should regard as a dis- 
 respectful anxiety, by suffering its contents to 
 j be investigated at an earlier pei-iod, while now, 
 j as you are well aware, it is a matter of no con- 
 sequence whatever." 
 
 The worthy clerk looked up in the most pro- 
 found astonishment, but he made no comment 
 upon her words. 
 
 " We have, fortunately," pursued the orphan, 
 in the same calm and unexcited tone, " received 
 from his own lips all the instructions necessary 
 to enable us to fulfill his latest wishes as regards 
 himself, and to those only I am anxious to con- 
 fine my thoughts until they are scrujmlously ac- 
 complished. The rest of our task will thea be 
 reduced to a mere painful ceremony." 
 
 " But, my dear young lady," urged the old 
 man deferentially, " would it not be well so to 
 arrange as to enable you to conclude all your 
 painful duties on the same day'?" 
 
 " I shall be most grateful to you, if you can 
 accomplish so desirable an object." 
 
 " Leave it to me, leave it to me," said her 
 companion, flattered by the confidence which 
 she reposed in him. " My present pi'incipal, 
 Mr. Owen, will wish to be invited to the cere- 
 mony, for he has already mentioned the matter 
 
174 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 to me, vrhile, as I before ventured to observe, 
 vre cannot dispense with the attendance of Mr. 
 Collins. Are there any other persons whom 
 ' you desire to summon ?" 
 
 " I am a stranger in London," replied Gert- 
 rude, gratified to find that her uncle would be 
 followed to the grave at least by two of his 
 former associates, " but you may probably be 
 aware of other individuals to whom the atten- 
 tion is due." 
 
 Jackson shook his head. " He lived much 
 alone, Madam, as I have alreadj"^ told you, and 
 made few friendships. He was an able man in 
 his office, and found there all the amusement 
 tliat lie required. I believe that we can do no 
 more." 
 
 " So be it, then," said the orphan, " I leave 
 everything in your hands, satisfied that you 
 will act with kindness and judgment. And, my 
 dear !Sir, should some small increase of funds 
 be necessary, do not scruple to say so. I have 
 not much in my power, but " 
 
 " Not a pound, not a shilling, yoimg lady," 
 was the rejoinder, " it is not from a residence 
 like tlys that people look for an expensive pro- 
 cession. I have already made my calculation ; 
 we are amply supplied, and, in accordance with 
 »my poor master's directions, have only to assure 
 ourselves that the money is well laid out." 
 
 Gertrude sighed ; to her it was so difficult to 
 reconcile the idea of wordlj^ pruilence with the 
 exigencies of the death-room. She had jet seen 
 too little of life to be aware how often the sub- 
 lime is merged in the vulgar ; how small in- 
 teres'ij jar upon lofty duties, and how tenacious- 
 ly the demands of every day existence retain 
 their hold under the most solemn circumstances. 
 
 The week which succeeded was a trying one 
 to the lonely girl. The shrouded and coffined 
 corpse, the closed windows, the measured tread, 
 the suppressed voices, were all full of dark and 
 gloomy association, but slowly as it seemed to 
 wear away, it at length terminated, and from 
 her narrow window she saw the modest proces- 
 sion leave the house. Her tears fell abundantly, 
 as she remembered that the cold corpse which 
 they were then bearing to the grave had once 
 been warm with life, and had, if not loved her, 
 at least felt for her, during a few short daj-s, 
 tlie interest of a relative, and slie was thus bound 
 only to two other beings on earth, while even 
 one of tiiose two had ceased to admit the claim. 
 
 Moreover, the house of death is always deso- 
 late when the one object of all tlie thoughts and 
 cares of the survivors is borne from it for ever, 
 and not even the "unaccustomed stir and liglit- 
 someness which so soon succeed, can for a time 
 disperse the sadness by Avhicli it has been so 
 long invaded. 
 
 Wearily and heavily, therefore, did the time 
 pass l)y until the return of tlie funeral party, at 
 which period the orplian was aware that re- 
 pugnant as it might be at such a moment to her 
 feelings, she must prepare to meet and thank 
 the friends of her uncle, who liad thus testified 
 their respect for his memory. 
 
 Beyond this consideration Gertrude never 
 looked. She was aware that the will of her de- 
 ceased relative was to be read, and she had 
 been warned b}- the careful old man, who had 
 
 superintended all the Arrangements, that she 
 could not reasonably absent herself It was 
 therefore a duty to be accomplished, and she 
 prepared to fulfill it, only marvelling at the ne- 
 cessity of a will where there was nothing save 
 the squalid remnants of poverty to bequeath. It 
 seemed like a mockery under the circumstances, 
 and a mockery so solemn that it could produce 
 nothing but pain. 
 
 " Would that my poor uncle had trusted to 
 my good feeling !" she murmured to herself, as 
 she smoothed back the glossy braids of lierhair, 
 bathed her swollen eyes, and cast a last languid 
 look at her mourning dress, which, since the 
 I death of Mrs. Mortimer, she had never laid 
 aside ; " He had s^ little to leave, and the two 
 'faithful, although humble friends, who liave 
 tended him to the last, have so richly earned 
 jthat little, that he had only to express a wish, 
 or to confide in my sense of justice, to have dis- 
 pensed with this last needless ceremony. But 
 such has been his pleasure, and I have only to 
 obey." 
 
 Calmly, therefore, although affected by a 
 nervous tremor which she could not co'ntrol, as 
 she remembered that she was about, after a 
 period of utter seclusion, to meet persons to 
 Avhom she was totally unknown, she awaited 
 the message which was to summon her to tlie 
 parlor, and when the gentle tap of Mrs. Sharp 
 sounded at the door, she rose withoxit a word, 
 and followed her with the important document 
 in her hand. 
 
 As she entered the little sitting-room, both 
 the gentlemen gave a perceptible start, but in 
 ;the next instant they bowed profoundly as tliey 
 [were presented to the pale and beautiful girl, 
 who, in her close mourning dress, and with 
 downcast eyes, stood timidly before tliem. A 
 chair was ali'cady placed for her beside the tahh-. 
 and in a few moments she recovered her soU- 
 possession. 
 
 The common-place condolences exacted by tho 
 occasion were courteously uttered, and as cour- 
 teously received, and then, as if aware that then' 
 presence must be rather irksome than desiralile 
 to the desolate young creature by whose graco 
 and beauty tliey had been so forcibly impressed, 
 tlie two gentlemen exchanged a glance of intel- 
 ligence, and Mr. Collins respectfully inquired 
 whether Miss Mortimer was prepared for the 
 reading of the will. Gertrude replied, by plao- 
 ing in his hand the sealed packet whieh liad 
 been delivered to lier by her uncle, while tho 
 old clerk at the same time deposited upoii the 
 table the duplicate which had been committed 
 to his guardianship. 
 
 [ The seals were broken, and the man of law, 
 already aware of the contents of the parchment, 
 commenced reading, in a calm and clear voice, 
 all those techjiical preliminaries whieh betray 
 'no trace of what is to succeed, but as he ad- 
 jvaneed in his task his accent became slightly 
 ' animated. 
 
 ' Mr. Owen leaned forward in his chair, with 
 an expression of genuine satisfaction upon his 
 mild and benignant countenance, and the kind- 
 hearted old Jackson, who, during the last few 
 days had learned to love the orphan as he had 
 never before lovud anything on earth, bout his 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIE& 
 
 177 
 
 ''9fifed head upon bis breast, and rubbed bis thin 
 btmds togotber, as though bis delight were 
 almost irrepressible. 
 
 Suddenly, however, he started, and a vivid 
 flush rose to his eheek. He could scarcely credit 
 Uie evidence of his senses ! And yet it was so — 
 bis name had been really mentioned in the will 
 tif his first pati'on. There could be no mistake, 
 ;uid tlie kind and congratulatory smile of his 
 jn-esent employer assured the happy old man 
 tJiiit he bad heard aright. 
 
 Then a deep stillness fell upon that narrow 
 room, and for a short space, no one cared to dis- 
 turb the silence. But ere long the genial feel- 
 ings of the warm-hearted merchant could no 
 longer be controlled, and extending bis hand to 
 (.Jertrude, he said affectionately : " My dear 
 ycnnig lad}-, suffer me to be 'the first to congra- 
 lulate you. My poor friend could not have dis- 
 posed more judiciously of a noble fortune. Long 
 may you live both to enjoy and to adorn it." 
 
 said Gertrude, for the first time breaking si- 
 lence, as her warm heart sympathized in tbe 
 evident bapjiiness of tbe modest dependant, and 
 once more her hand sought that of the old man 
 who had modestly risen to reply to the flattering 
 expressions of Mr. Owen. '• I also owe you 
 much, very much, nor will my claims upon your 
 kindness terminate even here, if 1 can prevail 
 upon this gentleman to consent to your beeom 
 ing my escort to my home. May 1 trust, sir," 
 she asked timidly, as she turned towards tlie 
 smiling merchant, " that you will indeed sparo 
 our old friend to me for a few days? 1 am 
 quite alone, and so shaken by the trials of the 
 last fortnight, that I fear I could scarcely have 
 courage to encounter the journey under any 
 other escort." 
 
 " I am sure, my dear young lady, I may safely 
 pledge myself that Mr. Jackson is at your dis- 
 posal for whatever period you may require his 
 services," was the ready reply. " He certainly 
 
 " Very- little short of .£80,000, Miss Mortimer," does not look an objection, and I, as certainly 
 
 Siiid the lawyer with a courteous bow, " exclusive 
 of a case of jewels, which your deceased uncle 
 has declared to be contained in a chest in his 
 sleeping-room, and of whose remarkable value 
 I am awai-e. Give me leave to wish you all 
 happiness in their possession." 
 
 Tlie orphan could only look her thanks, for, 
 bewildered by an event which hud been bj- her 
 utterly unforseen, she was greutlj' and even 
 painfully agitated. To what privations bad not 
 
 cannot advance one. But may not I also be 
 made useful ? — or Mrs. Owen, who would be 
 proud and happy to receive you until you leave 
 town ?" 
 
 Gertrude burst into tears. Her spirits were 
 exhausted, and she could scarcely express her 
 acknowledgments. There was no possibility ot 
 mistaking tbe cause of her en)otion, and accord- 
 ingly both the gentlemen rose, talked together 
 for a moment of their several engagements, and 
 
 er generous relative — for it was thus that she; then, warmly shaking hands with the new-made 
 cjiiisidered his conduct — to what privations had heiress, left the room, attended by the happy 
 lie not submitted, in order to enrich her beyond old clerk, who appeared to himself to have sud 
 lior wildst hopes! And he was now in bis denly entered upon a new existence, and to 
 grave, beyond the reach of her gratitude ; she have thrown ofl: the weight of at least twenty 
 oould not pour out before him all tbe warm feel- winters. ^ 
 
 ings of her overcharged heart — she could never j 
 rqiay tbe mighty debt by which she was 
 weighed down, 
 
 He had not closed the door after him as he 
 etreated, and it was fortunate, for when, as tlie 
 last carriage drove away, he returned to the 
 
 jNo thought of lier increased importance, not | room, he saw Gertrude upon her knees, and 
 even a recollection of the opportunity which forthwith, retiring with a noiseless step, he 
 she should now possess to repay, in so far as made liis Avay to the kitchen, where, in an em- 
 wealth could do so, the disinterested affection phatic whisper, be related to the wondering and 
 of Ernest Armstrong, crossed her mind at that delighted Mrs. Sharp, and her temporary as- 
 nioment. She saw onl}', she remembered only, sistants, the marvellous events of the last Ijour. 
 
 tlie squalid bed, the fireless grate, and tbe com 
 fortless desolation of her uncle's sick room. And 
 be bad submitted to all this for her sake, and 
 tilie could not even tell him what she felt I 
 
 And you also, Mr. Jackson," said his con- 
 
 Poor old Jackson ! He even looked at his 
 thread-bare coat with a smile, for if he wore it 
 longer, it would be that such was bis good will 
 j and pleasure. He need not again shrink before 
 
 shower, as he remembered the dilapidation 
 
 siderate principal, who at once detected tlie ina-' which must ensue to the hat of many wintora, 
 bility of tbe orphan to sustain a conversation,' that be had so long fostered, and then be thought 
 ■I very sincerely congratulate you also, sir. | of his wife, and of her faded Sunday gown, of 
 
 Tbe bequest of Mr. .Spencer is honorable to you 
 both. 1 was well aware that be valued you 
 highly, and be has now proved it to yourself. 
 A good servant, sir, will, under all circum- 
 cunistances, as you see, make a good master." 
 
 " A very pretty little legacy indeed," followed 
 np tbe more matter-of-fact man of law. " I 
 have seldom been better pdeased, Mr. Jackson, 
 than I was Avbeu I put that £1(J0 opposite your 
 name, for I had k-nown you well for years. This 
 young lady will partlon mo, 1 am sure, for such 
 a confession, as I bad not at that period the 
 honor of her acquaintance." 
 
 " You could not have rejoiced more than I do, 
 sir, at such an instance of my uncle's justice," 
 12 
 
 bis home, with its many wants, and finally 
 come by a tide of feeling which had never be- 
 fore been unsealed within his breast, he leaned 
 his venerable head upon a table, and wept for 
 very joy. 
 
 Life lends us few such tears, and wiili^ 
 the hand which would check their flow ! 
 
 be 
 
 CHAITER LL 
 
 Nothing could exceed the exultation of Mr». 
 Mortimer upon finding her.self once more in Lon- 
 don, and in the midst of the dissipation which 
 
178 
 
 TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 ehe loved. All, save her own gratification and 
 amusement, was again forgotten. Scarcely did 
 siie spare a thougiit to tlie lonely and now really 
 suffering mother, u\m\ whom the lethargic habits 
 of years were beginning to produce the baneful 
 effect of premature old age. Satisfied that during 
 her absence, Mrs. Dclamere could still enjoy her 
 ■well-cushioned chair, her novel, and her ether 
 draughts, Sybil did not care to remember that 
 ehe was yet susceptible of other gratifications, 
 and the "kiss which she had pressed upon her 
 brow when they parted, had been too cold to 
 elicit any demonstration of deeper feeling on 
 the part of the forsaken invalid. 
 
 It was only when Frederic affectionately took 
 her hand, and entreated, with an earnestness 
 not to be mistaken, that should she feel herself 
 more dull than she anticipated in her solitude, 
 or that her health required greater care than 
 usual, she would immediately inform him of 
 her wishes, when he would hasten to escort her 
 to town, while Sybil made the necessary pre- 
 parations for her reception ; it was only then 
 that the tears gushed into her eyes, and that 
 she was aroused for an instant from her habitual 
 apathy. 
 
 She protested, however, and with sincerity, 
 that she could not encounter the fatigue and 
 discomfort of such a journey ; that all she re- 
 quired to recruit her strength was perfect 
 quietude, which the departure of the family 
 would ensure to her ; and that as her existence, 
 under all circumstances, had now for some time 
 • been one of estrangctueiit from society, she 
 should not suffer from their temporary absence. 
 With this assurance Mortimer was compelled to 
 sati-sfy himself, and he did so the more readily 
 that Sybil did not appear to share in his appre- 
 hensions. She had been so thoroughly accus- 
 tomed, and indeed encouraged, by her mother 
 herself, to consider that mother during many 
 years as a mere cypher, that it never occurred 
 to her as just possible that there were duties in- 
 cumbent upon her which she could not consci- 
 entiously neglect. 
 
 Thus it was without one feeling of self-re- 
 proach or compunction, that she drove away 
 from Westrum, to recommence the existence of 
 expensive folly which alone enabled her to 
 realise her ideas of happiness. Moreover, al- 
 though she was probably not aware that this 
 consideration greatly added to her eagerness to 
 escape the wearisome monotony of home, Trevor 
 ■was already established in town ; nor could she 
 doubt that his time and his services would once 
 more be at her disposal. 
 
 Trevor was the fashion ; and fashion was 
 Sybil's idol. It might be, as she shudderingly 
 murmured to herself, the last occasion upon 
 which her influence would be sufliciently power- 
 ful over her husband to induce him to renew 
 the eareei- of extravagance in which she had in- 
 volved him ; and consequently she resolved to 
 fill her cup of enjoyment even to overflowing. 
 
 She had already had painful experience that 
 Mortimer wius not likely to remain for ever the 
 passive tool which he had hitherto shown him- 
 Belf in her hands. A single interview had suffi- 
 ced to pro-'e to her th.it her power was already 
 <Wi the want ; and therefore like a skilful general. 
 
 she determined to use it to the very dregs, while 
 she yet possessed the opportunity. 
 
 A single week sufficed to settle the Mortinrers 
 once more in London, and to collect about them 
 all their former circle. Sybil's opera-box was 
 such a convenience to her female friends, and 
 Frederic's well-ordered dinners so potent an 
 attraction to his male associates, that day suc- 
 ceeded daj- in one endless round of pleasure. 
 
 There was no leisure for thought ; and e\'^n 
 Mortimer himself was no sooner launched for the 
 
 ' second time upon the sparkling tide of London 
 life, than he entered upon it with a zest almost 
 
 j equal to that «f his brilliant and selfish wife. 
 
 I The renewed solicitations which he was induced 
 by her persuasions to make in every direction 
 which offered a prospect of success to his diplo- 
 matic speculation, rapidly enlarged his circle of 
 acquaintance, and either filled his house with 
 new and equally expensive guests, or withdrew 
 him from it to share in other gaieties equally; 
 imprudent. 
 
 ilortimer had fallen into the dangerous error 
 of believing in the possibility of an after-re- 
 trenchnient, which would enable a nnvn who, 
 
 j instead of contenting himself with the ineon\e 
 arising from a fine property, lives for a time up 
 on the principal, to redeem his past imprudence. 
 He suffered himself to forget, or at least to dis- 
 regard the fact, that he was not mei'cly decreas- 
 
 !ing the actual amount of his ancestral fortune, 
 
 I but also crippling its future proceeds; or if oc- 
 
 •casionallj' some such startling conviction would 
 
 'pertinaciously intrude itself, he made a eompro 
 mise with his conscience by resolving that thi.' 
 should be the last occasion upon which he would, 
 
 I be guilty of the folly. 
 
 It is so easy to delay until to morrow what il' 
 is unpalatable to undertake to-da}'. | 
 
 I Nothing could have been more unfortunatti 
 
 I than the rapidly increasing estrangement ofi 
 Mortimer from his home ; and it is probable that 
 one expostulation from Sybil would hav« 
 awakened him to the fact ; but this expostulu 
 tion was never uttered, and it is doubtfu 
 whether she would even have remarked hiij 
 constantly-recurring absences, had it not beet, 
 from the sense of relief which they afforded. , 
 
 j Desjjite all her pride, she was aware of a ceM 
 tain restraint in the presence of her husband ; 
 for with all his constitutional weakness, Mortiniei 
 
 I was upright in thought and word, and discoirr 
 aged by the gravity of his demeanour, and evei; 
 
 jat times by objections still more decided, tlw 
 witty and evenomed persiflage in which she 8< 
 much delighted; and by which she reveng-f.; 
 herself, as she believed, upon a world that hat 
 undervalued her. It was only with Trevor, ant' 
 individuals of his stamp, that her brilliant sal 
 lies and piquant sarcasms were appreciated a' 
 she desired ; and thus it was pleasant to sd 
 herself surrounded hour after hour in he, 
 splendid drawing-room by kindred and applaud 
 iiig spirits. 
 
 The relationship of Trevor — a farce whicl 
 still continued to be enacted, to the secre 
 amusement of many of his friends, who wer 
 quite conscious of ita fallacj- — while it author, 
 ized a degree of intimacy which encourage< 
 him iu his dishonorable views, tended in U' 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 179 
 
 slight degree to lessen the feeling of respect I which they consider it their dutj- to prove the 
 which some among them might still have hctMi j fallacy upon the lir.st opportunit}- which otFcrb; 
 in.luced to concede to herself; and as he rode! that 1 am not at all likely to blame you. Only, 
 
 ith her in the park, sauntered with her amid the 
 
 iRible shades of Kensington-gardens, or quietly 
 
 established himself for the evening in her opera- 
 ; box ; sundry significant smiles were exchanged 
 [ by the initiated, which were as full of malice as 
 1 of meaning. 
 
 ' Still no word or look had ever escaped Trevor 
 ' tending to put his victim upon her guard, lie 
 
 had but limed the twig, and he calmly waited 
 ! to see her entangled through her own free agen- 
 j cy. it sutHced him to believe that the moment 
 
 would come, and that perhaps at no distant 
 
 period, and meanwhile, he was aware that he 
 
 was an object of envy to half his acquaintance. 
 
 The beauty of Sybil was so radiant and queenly 
 
 in its character, her wit so sparkling, and her 
 
 fashion so undeniable, that her intimacy was a 
 
 privilege to be coveted. It mattered little that 
 I she had forfeited the esteem of the wise and 
 I the virtuous ; in the pursuit of mere seliish gra- 
 i tification, men do not require to respect the 
 
 i -women whom they admire, and thus, turn in 
 •whatever direction she might, the beautiful and 
 courted Mrs. Mortimer met only smiles and 
 plaudits, and that tacit encouragement which 
 vanity can always invest with words, and second 
 i by its own impulsive force. 
 
 As time wore on, however, and Trevor felt 
 more secure of his influence, he ventured to 
 try the force of sarcasni. Sybil had already 
 essayed its cft'ect over the mind of her husband, 
 
 but she believed that she was herself beyond its I yond your strength. 1 no more believed you 
 
 than — " 
 
 I would have you understand that 1 was not 
 duped, although too courteous to contend th<» 
 point." 
 
 " So be it," said Mrs. Mortimer evidently an- 
 noyed ; " You have no mission from Govern- 
 ment, and need not volunteer yourself as the 
 Captain Cook of your acquaintance." 
 
 " Why should you be angry ?" asked her com- 
 panion with perfect composure ; " Surely one 
 may look back for a year or two without giving 
 ott'euee, especially when, as in your case, the 
 retrospect can afford nothing but pleasure. Do 
 you inuigine tiiat i could see you — you, Sybil 
 Delamere, — whom 1 had known, courted, fol- 
 lowed, and extolled, by all that was brilliant in 
 London society, coldly and wilfully settle down 
 into the LadyBountiful of a country town, and 
 become the victim of a social suttee for the sake 
 of—" 
 
 " Spare my husband, if you please," interpo* 
 ed Sybil, but it was almost with a smile. 
 
 " I will — ' Hector requires a demi-god to com- 
 bat,'" said Sir Horace with quiet insolence; 
 " But to return to yourself. Did you really be- 
 lieve that with all your art you could impose, 
 upon me ? — that you could induce me to sup- 
 pose that you preferred a shady lane to aa 
 opera-box, a back-parlor to a ball-room, or — be 
 it said with all respect — a sighing Strephoa 
 to a man of the world? Fie upon you, my 
 fair cousin ! For once you undertook a task be- 
 
 power. 
 
 Nothing renders a woman more blind than her 
 vanity. 
 
 " How sure I was," said Sir Horace, on one 
 occasion when they were tete-a-tete, an occur- 
 
 " You believe in our relationship." 
 "Oh, excuse me, I have the most perfect faith 
 in all that brings me nearer to you." 
 
 " i'l-ay do not exert yourself to be absurd. A 
 
 rence which had, moreover, long ceased to be recollection of what it was which necessitated 
 
 Bingular — " that all the pretty pastorals with the deception should suffice to keep you silent 
 
 which you favored me when 1 visited The upon the subject." 
 
 Grange, were mere woi'ds, very sentimental and "Oh, Mr. Mortimer's somewhat precocious 
 
 picturesque if you will, but still mere words, jealousy ? But surely you are not unjust 
 
 If I mistake not, you then told me that you enough to make me responsible for his weak- 
 
 ■were about to marry a countrj' gentleman, and nesscs ?" 
 
 prattled charmingly of his tenants, his local " Enough, enough," said Sybil hastih'. "Why 
 
 duties, and the delights of a life of rural res- do you not marry ? That is the best step which 
 
 ponsibility and rural leisure. You wanted to yoii could take. You are now at the vciy apo- 
 
 gersuftde me that you were about to become a gee of your fashion, and are free to choose where 
 
 true Baucis to your rustic Philemon, and you you will." 
 
 looked daggers because I ventured to hazard a " Thank you, I never felt inclined so to forget 
 
 doubt. ]Now, perhaps, you will admit that my myself but once, and then *" 
 
 skepticism was not altogether unfounded. You| "Well, sir," said Sybil with a frown, as he 
 have been a wife two years, or thereabouts, and paused. 
 
 I find you once more in town, as devoted to its " Why, then, the folly was cured, thanks to 
 pleasures as of old, and as able to increase them you. 1 felt that my love would not suffice to , 
 
 win the only woman to whom I would willing 
 
 ly have surrendered my liberty, and the abortive 
 I trial rendered me %t-iser." 
 
 in your own person. 
 
 " The interests of my husband — " commenced 
 
 Sybil, biting her lip. 
 
 " Vetnme mod'de !" interposed Trevor witli a "A poor excuse," said Mrs. Mortimer, reso- 
 I emile, " but hear me out. I know well that Uttely overcoming her confusion; "You must 
 I your passion for the world was far from being j find a better." 
 
 r extinguished; that you were playing a part — | " Be it so. I remembered that conjugal lovo 
 ' Nay, don't frown — unconsciously, perhaps, but i has no wings — that it is ' of the earth, earthy,' 
 ' Btill playing a part And what then? 1 am ac- — a lingering, grovelling deity of habit, rather 
 ', quainted with so many charming persons who than of taste, only fit to surmount the nioss- 
 ' are doing the same. Pretty women, who have aj grown pedestal of a cabbage-garden." 
 ' Btore of admirable maxims upon their lips, of ) " Civil, at least" 
 
180 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 " True, if not civil. Come, confess, what can 
 be more monotonous, or, if not monotonous, 
 still worse — what can be more oj)pres:iive than 
 such a yoke, padlocked by a priest, riveted by 
 custom,' logged by the law, wherein, however 
 you may be separated in spirit, you are chained 
 m fact. " I would rather bind day and night to- 
 gether, the roses of June with the snows of 
 January, the fiery falcon with the timid dove — 
 any contrast, however monstrous, for none could 
 be so revolting." 
 
 " When you amuse yourself by imagining so 
 extreme a case, all argument is useless." 
 
 " Can you confute mine ?" 
 
 " Perhaps, but I am not in the humor." 
 
 " And you are right ; it is scarcely worth 
 ■while to make the experiment when you are 
 forewarned of the result" 
 
 " Do j-ou know that you are becoming imper- 
 tinent »" 
 
 " Tant mimx — that will put the finishing 
 stroke to my reputation." 
 
 Sybil was silent. "What would she not have 
 given to have been free to resent the insolence 
 under which she writhed ? But she dared not. 
 
 And the rubieon once passed, these conversa- 
 tions were perpetually renewed ; until Mrs. 
 Mortimer, already more than half inclined to 
 consider herself a victim, became superlatively 
 convinced of the fact. What had she, as she 
 asked herself, in common with the man to whom 
 she had given her hand? and her v.-uiity readilj' 
 and promptlj' answered, " Nothing." Did she 
 sigh for his society when he was absent, or 
 await with impatience for his return? Ko! 
 Did she require his counsels? Did she value 
 his affections? Again and again. No! She 
 stood married, as she had stood single, alone ! 
 And yet not quite alone ; there was another 
 thrall" upon her, of which she did not as yet 
 recognise the strength. She believed that she 
 had never been more able to sutHce to herself 
 than at the very moment when her weakness 
 was ajiparent to all around her. 
 
 How idly, how carelessly, how unreflectingly, 
 do we all talk of the London season ! Of those 
 few months of mummery and madness which 
 absorb the means, and frequently destroy the 
 morals of after life, — Of that periodical vortex 
 which too often swallows up prudence, pro- 
 priety, and good fame ; points the finger of 
 scorn at some, and prompts the withering smile 
 of idle and inactive pity at others. And yet 
 those two little weirds contain a mighty signifi- 
 cance, they involve a mighty total, in small 
 things as well as large ; they e.vert a strange, and 
 it would almost ap]>ear, an insurmountable in- 
 fluence. The opportunities of evil, too eagerly 
 rendered available; the small beginningsof error, 
 which, like the grain of mustard-seedsown in a 
 genial soil, are fated to bring forth a many- 
 branclied and far-spreading tree, destined to over- 
 shadow the soul, and beneath whose boughs the 
 winged vices of society may nestle, and amid 
 whose leaves the thorns of remorse may spring I 
 and germinate. — Do they not produce all these? 
 
 Let those answer who have reaped remorse, 
 disappointment, and ruin, in the bitter harvest 
 of imprudence and folly. 
 The embarrassed squire, whose stately dame 
 
 has dreamed for years that the first season of 
 her pretty daughters in town, if properly man- 
 aged, must see them at its close, if not marchio- 
 nesses, at least millionaires, and who has conse- 
 quently managed to sink in four short monthg 
 the savings of as many years — the innocent girl, 
 whose pure heart is sullied by the touch of false- 
 hood, and whose young affections have beea 
 made the spoil of heartlessness — the young wife, 
 who panted to see more of the world before she 
 gave up all the best feelings of her heart to 
 home-happiness, and who returns to that home 
 onl}- to find it cold and dreary, after the un- 
 natural excitement of an admiration and homage 
 which she never should have known: — let these 
 answer! 
 
 But what, it may be asked, has this to do 
 with Mrs. ilortimer? She, at least, was no 
 novice in these paths of danger, she biought no 
 unsophistication to lay as a sacrifice upon the 
 altar of the world. And it may be that she did 
 not But still, even to her, the London seasoa 
 was not without its perils. It absorbed her 
 husband in his own vain and futile pursuits; it 
 left her comparatively free ; it gave her oppor- 
 tunities of evil which slie might have avoided 
 beneatli that husband's ancestral roof She 
 learned to trust herself, because the very errors 
 of her nature lent her a factitious strengtli ; she 
 learned to over-value her attractions, because 
 the world stamped them with its showy coun- 
 terfeit ; in a word, she learned to look on life 
 as a mere showy pageant, in which she was 
 called upon to enact a part, and to put forth all 
 her enei-gies in order to render that part strik- 
 ing and brilliant. 
 
 Having arrived at this conclusion, she felt 
 how little she was supported in the struggle by 
 the husband whom she had chosen. h\ the re- 
 tirement of the country, Mortimer had, to 
 certain degree, maintained some sort of influ 
 ence over her mind ; she despised, but never- 
 theless she feared him, weak as he might be ; 
 she was compelled to respect his principles, and 
 to admit his moral worth ; but in town he had 
 rapidly degenerated into a mere frivolous man 
 of fashion, and even that character he supported 
 with an awkwardness which was by no means 
 lost upon her. Conscious that he was laboring 
 to effect a purpose, and that all his friendships 
 and courtesies tended to the same end, there 
 was no freedom or spontaneit}' even in his fol- 
 lies, and he was aware that it was so. Day 
 after day he saw his exertions fail, and his hopes 
 wane, and consequently the worm of disappoint- j 
 ment was at the core of all his pleasures. When 
 alone with his wife he was morose, and some- 
 times bitter ; in society he was merely reckless 
 and insignificant 
 
 Here, therefore, the ambition of Sybil found 
 no answering impulse, and thus she retired into 
 herself to gather strength. And for what? She 
 did not know — she never asked herself the 
 question. She only felt that she was like the 
 drowning mariner, who clutches at every pass- 
 ing wave, in the hope that it may bear towards 
 him the life-sustaining plank by whose help he 
 is to accomi)lish his jireservation. 
 
 Mepliistophiles never murmured a more slirew J 
 whisper into the ear of the devoted Faust than 
 
 
TIIE RIYAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 181 
 
 tflien lie suggested the wortlilessness of all that 
 ho possessed, aud the value of that he had not 
 al tallied. 
 
 CHAPTER LIL 
 
 Thus were things situated in town, -when 
 wearied by the perpetually-recurring dinners 
 at -whieli Mortimer eolleeted all the idle and 
 dissipated men of his set, who had amused 
 themselves by vaunting their interests in the 
 very quarters where he had been so long solicit- 
 ing the constantly delayed appointment ; Sybil, 
 resolved not to be torn for ever from the world 
 in which she delighted, without one brilliant 
 memory, issued without consulting her husband 
 upon the subject, cards for a ball, in which she 
 determined, moreover, to excel herself. 
 
 It is true that her list of female associates was 
 sufficiently limited, but as a stone flung into 
 stagnant water not only creates its own "circle, 
 but also produces other radiations beyond, so 
 she at once perceived that she might simulta- 
 Jieously amuse her own friends, and at the same 
 time afford them the opportunity of obliging 
 others. Many a brilliant ball-roo"m is filled by 
 the same device, aye, and crowded. Some 
 attend, as they declare, merely to oblige the 
 person by whom they are "bidden ; others 
 because they cannot resist pleasure, offer itself 
 in what shape it may, and others, again, because 
 they are curious to examine an i?itcrieur of 
 which they have heard so much, and which 
 they never intend again to invade. Moreover 
 the male jjortion of the guests were unexcep- 
 tionable. Men whom every body knew, or 
 wished to know, men of rank, and wit, and 
 fashion, well-looking, well-mannered, and well- 
 bred. 
 
 An unlimited order to the most eminent up- 
 holsterer of the daj-, had sufficed to render the 
 really beautiful mansion of Mrs. Mortimer a 
 scene of light and splendor. Turkish tents 
 opening upon miniature gardens, with marble 
 basins flinging up their slender threads of water, 
 which, on rising into the perfumed air, parted 
 ill a shower of silver dust, that fell like dew 
 upon costly exotics, and drew out all their per- 
 fume; Moorish chambers, with their quaintly 
 
 gilded ornaments and velvet ottomans; a vast 'nished silver lield in her clasped hands tl 
 conservatory filled with tall tropical plants, and' tremities of all the floating draperies, wliieli, 
 only lighted at intervals by painted Chinese forming one continued iris over the whole dome 
 lanterns, which left all in a voluptuous twi- of the roof, were ultimately fastened down 
 light; a ball-room blazing with tapers of pale along its edge by a slender thread of the same 
 pink wax; a staircase garlanded with flowers, glistening metal,) was covered with the traiis- 
 and bright with festoons of parti-colored lamps ; 'parent folds of the silken cobwebs, wliicli tren>- 
 enormous mirrows, cabinets of buhl, japan, and ibled and heaved with every breath as they fell, 
 ormolu ; vases of alabaster, burning within their j tier over tier, to the floor, ])erfectly unconfined, 
 pi-ecious cavities the most subtle scents ; all, in while on the carpet of white velvet, richly 
 short, which luxury could invent, or wealth 'painted with groups of scattered roses, stood a 
 could purchase, was lavished for one brief I table of white marble, whose pedestal was a 
 evening with unsparing hand. Cupid crowned with myrtle, trampling ujioii an 
 
 Probably no one of his guests was half so I hour-glass and a scythe, the whole artistically 
 much impressed by the magnificence of the 1 wi'ougiit in silver, as was also the lamp, wrcat lied 
 ■whole scene as was Mortimer himself. Sybil [with passion-flowers, which, with a few newly- 
 had skilfully availed herself of his temporary j gathered roses, and a coujde of fcatlu'r fans, 
 absence from town to accomplish all her plans shaped like wings, were arranged upon ita 
 without the opposition Avhich she foresaw that snowy surface. Two chairs, covered wit,li 
 they would otherwise have experienced, and, silver tissue, in the form of couch-shells, wer« 
 
 thus it was not until he entered his own house, 
 after a quiet dinner at his club — which his wife 
 had forewarned him would be impracticable at 
 home — that the extent of her vain imprudence 
 became known to him. 
 
 It was, however, too late to expostulate, and, 
 moreover, no where could he find Sybil. He 
 hurried to her favorite boudoir with a cloud 
 upon his brow, but after having with some dif- 
 ficulty found his way there, so "thoroughly was 
 the interior of the whole mansion metamoi»- 
 phosed, he only saw himself at the entrance of 
 an Ottoman tent surrounded by a low divan 
 covered with orange-colored satin, the floor 
 overlaid by a gorgeous carpet, and the walls 
 hung with white Persian. More and more dis- 
 concerted, he retraced his steps, resolved to 
 shut himself into his own dressing-room until 
 the arrival of the guests should compel him to 
 emerge, but in such a hope he once moi-e 
 deceived himself. On arriving at the threshold 
 he discovered that the door had been removed, 
 and that the opening was now veiled only by 
 curtains of silk gauze, falling one over the other, 
 and all differing in tint. 
 
 Greatly annoyed on finding that even his own 
 peculiar apartment had been invaded — although 
 it need scarcely have been a matter of surprise 
 to him had he reflected for an instant, that 
 Sybil, who had suffered such an intrusion into 
 her own, should have been equally unscrupu- 
 lous as regarded her husband — he thrust the 
 gossamer curtains somewhat roughly aside and 
 entered, in order to satisfy himself to what 
 extent his personal arrangements had suffered 
 from the idle folly of the hour, and he was 
 almost angry to find that, for a moment, his 
 
 itation yielded before his astonishmennt and 
 admiration. 
 
 Never, assuredly, was there a prettier conceit 
 The idea had been Sybil's, and the fashionable 
 artist to whom it had been imparted had worked 
 it out to perfection. It looked like the airy 
 realization of a poet's dream, when he has sunk 
 into slumber with passion in his heart, and a 
 song upon his lips. As the vapory hangings 
 fell behind the intruder into this nook of fairy- 
 land, no vestige of the entrance could be de- 
 tected. The whole room, from the cenli-e of 
 the ceiling, (where a winged goddess of I)u»- 
 
TIIE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 placed > iside the table, and this was all. It 
 was eviaent that no ainuseinent was to be pur- 
 sued in this uneai-thly-lookiug temple save that 
 of conversation. 
 
 Mortimer stood for a few moments entranced. 
 He had sufficient poetry in his heart to appre- 
 ciate the calm, luxurious, dream-like scene be- 
 fore him, and as the etherial hangings trembled 
 beneath his breath, he forgot for a few brief 
 instants the cost at which they had been so skil- 
 fully arranged. 
 
 Soon, however, a darker reflection crossed his 
 mind, and the recklessness of Sybil, as it forced 
 itself upon his memory, recalled him to other 
 and less agreeable sensations. All his warnings, 
 it was now evident, had been unavailing ; she 
 was coolly preparing his ultimate ruin, in order 
 
 to gratify her own weak vanity, and she had, 'gratification to be derived by the mistress of a 
 moreover, condescended to take advantage of stately mansion, on seeing her spacious saloons 
 his absence from his home, to plunge into a j filled by a glittering crowd to whom she is ut- 
 vortex of extravagance which she was welLterly unknown, and on hearing, in her very 
 aware that he must disapprove, and would have presence, the insolent criticisms of those who 
 forbidden. have thronged her rooms to feast and to revel 
 
 It was consequently with anything rather ( at her expense. The actual pleasure which she 
 than a smile that the master of this palace of | experiences on being presented to one of these 
 pleasure, which was still loud with busy voices high-born, and hitherto unknown guests, from 
 and hurrying steps, once more emerged from the impertinent stare and scarcely perceptible 
 what, despite its beauty, he considered as his bend with which her identity is recognised, or 
 d-secrated dressing-room, and having with some by the total indifference with which, when they 
 dittieultv succeeded in finding one of his own are wearied of the pleasure that she has gra- 
 footmen, was conducted to a small apartment, tuitously afl^orded them, they depart one after 
 ipiMiing from the servants' hall, which had been the other, reminding their personal friends of 
 
 Lamerly engaged herself for sundry German 
 Grafiimen iJiid Italian duchesses; Mrs.Ba*bington 
 was strong in Spanish donnas, and Iberian fidal- 
 gos, and, better than all, the diplomatist's widow 
 had giddily pledged herself for a foreign ambas- 
 sadress. 
 
 As regarded the male portion of her guest i^, 
 Sybil had no anxiety. She knew her powir. 
 She had but to make a sign, and she was aware 
 that she should be obeyed. Were her friends i 
 only faithful and zealous, therefore, her proud- > 
 est ambition would be realised, but, neverthe- 
 less, there were moments in which. a feeling of 
 anxiety, for which she scorned herself, made ' 
 her tremble in spite of all her self-possession. 
 
 How laughable would it be, were it not so 
 degrading a jest, to analyse the real amount of 
 
 liiistily prepared for him, 
 
 His valet was soon in attendance ; every tem 
 
 their common engagements, making social ar- 
 •angements among themselves, and final'" 
 
 pnrary arrangement had been judiciously made sweeping down the illuminated staircase to their 
 for his comfort; a cheerful fire blazed upon the carriages, without even the courtesj- of a part- 
 hearth, and could he have divested himself of ing salutation to their exhausted hostess, 
 all thoughts of the future, he would soon have And it was to secure so questionable a tri- 
 reeovered his equanimity. But, alas! the most umph, and so equivocal a gratification as this, 
 painful reflections are always the most intrusive that the proud Sybil had subjected herself to 
 also, and as he seated himself in his accustomed possible mortification, and her husband to in- 
 chair, and took up a book in order to conceal his evitable embarrassment ; — to parade her vanity 
 chagrin while his man gave the last finishing for a few hours in all its panoply of luxury' and 
 stroke to his preparations, the words danced recklessness, and to be the theme of gossip for 
 b.'fore his eyes, and he saw only visions of un- a week. Yes, even so it was ; this had been her 
 paid bills and enforced mortgages. | empty and paltry day-dream from the very 
 
 Sybil, meanwhile, was radiant with happiness period of her marriage, and, despite her occa- 
 and triumph. She had resolved not to meet sional misgivings, her heart beat high, andhor 
 hi-r husband until she was protected from his cheek flushed with excitement 
 reproaches by the presence of her guests, and Even little Eva was forgotten, and not once, 
 Thus she had the whole long, glorious night be- during that busy day, did she even see her 
 fore her. "After which," she whispered to mother. But what then ? Had not that mother 
 lierself with a smile, as she turned from her been fully engaged in her domestic duties ? Had 
 l<n)king-glass to examine more minutely than she she "not unweariedly superintended every ar- 
 h.'ul yet done the snowy dress which "her maid rangement, and regulated every movement of 
 had spread out in all its graceful amplitude the anxious and noisy crowd bj- which her house 
 upon the bed ; " Advienne yue pourra ; the deed was invaded? Certain it is, that as the last 
 will be done, and I shall have shown the envi-jlamp was lighted, the last workman dismissed, 
 ous women who affect to scorn me that they and she stood before her Psyche in a snowy 
 have not indulged their prudery without a i dress of white crape, looped with clusters of the 
 sacrifice !" wild apple-bloom, and her high smooth brow 
 
 And for whom and what had the selfish and cinctured by a garland of the same graceful 
 heartless woman, who thus exulted in her own (blossoms, no feeling of compunction for any 
 improvidence, committed so disgraceful a folly ? dutj' unfulfilled dimmed the lustre of her ejes, 
 Slie scarcely knew herself It is true that her j or blenched the glow upon her cheek, 
 intimates had glibly run over a long list of well- It was fortunate for the poor child, whose 
 sounding names, and announc<'d to her guests loving heart was already susceptible of neglect, 
 of no common station. But would this promise that Mortimer even amid his annoyance and 
 be fulfilled f Lady Clara was rich in French anxiety, had been more considerate, and he 
 
 :K)untesse3, baronesses, and marchionesses: Mrs. J could have chosen no better antidote to his ex- 
 
THE RIVAL BE.\UTIES. 
 
 nspCTated feelings than the visit which he payed 
 to the nursery before he commenced his toih-tte 
 for the evening. Eva was asleep whee he en- 
 tered, and tears were hanging upon her long 
 eyelashes. As he bent over her, she looked 
 like a eherub which had wept itself to rest 
 over the follies of the world. 
 
 '^ ;Miss Eva has been crying for you and her 
 mamma, Sir," said Mrs. Harris officiously, as 
 fihe heard her master sigh on detecting the 
 tell-tale tears; " 1 thought I should never have 
 got her to sleep. However, she is fast enough 
 now, and it will be all right when she wakes 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " And did not Mrs. Mortimer see her this 
 evening ?" asked Frederic in an unsteady accent ; 
 " not see her for a moment before she was put 
 to bed ?" 
 
 " Laws, no, Sir, my mistress hasn't had a mo- 
 ment of time all day. Poor, dear lady, such a 
 deal as she has had to look after! Jso wonder, 
 Sir, that she couldn't come up stairs to Miss 
 Eva, for she hasn't even had her drive." 
 • "That is conclusive," said Mortimer with a 
 bitter smile. 
 
 " In course. Sir," was the ready reply, " and 
 I tried to explain this to the dear child.but she 
 is too young yet to understand such things." 
 " Probably." 
 
 " And so poor dear, she would fret, but as I 
 .Bnid before. Sir, she'll be all right to-morrow." 
 
 " I wonder," murmured Mortimer to himself, 
 " whether the dreams of children of this tender 
 age are troubled by the sorrows of the daj-." 
 
 '• That they are, Sir, for sure," exclaimed the 
 quiek-eared nurse ; " only to hear how Miss 
 Eva has sighed in her sleep to-night, you would 
 Jjnow it directly." 
 
 "Ha!" said the fond father with a start, 
 "•then she sliall have no more such dreams. ' 
 Eva! My darling! Will you awake, and bid | 
 good-night to papa ?" 
 
 The little girl opened her large blue eyes, ' 
 gazed for a moment around her, bewildered by 
 tlie glare of the candles, then smiled, and ex- 
 tended her dimpled arms to her father. Morti- 
 mer caught her to his breast, but as he clasped 
 her, a sudden revulsion of feeling came over the 
 only half-awakened child, and she burst into a 
 passionate fit of grief. 
 
 " Papa, dear papa," were the only articulate 
 sounds which slie uttered amid her sobs, but 
 they were all that the heart of Sybil's husband 
 coveted at that moment. His child loved him ^ 
 — clung to him — wept over his absence — joyed 
 at his appi'oach. Life was not yet a blank. He 
 forgot his gilded saloons, his vanished hopes. 
 Lis gnawing anxieties, and in five minutes he 
 ■was deep in play with the now happy Eva upon , 
 his knee, smoothing down her glossy curls, and ] 
 Bunning himself in her large eager eyes. j 
 
 An hour passed by, and as the child had be- 
 trayed no symptoms of weariness, Mortimer i 
 still lent himself to all her pretty caprices, and ^ 
 listened with delight to her clear joyous laugh- 
 ter. It might be a weakness thus" to lose all 
 memory of the pomp and pageantry which 
 awaited liim below stairs, but certain il is, that i 
 he had never bestowed a thought upon the i 
 matter, until a discreet signal at the door warn- [ 
 
 ed him of tlio presence of his valet, who r.'^ 
 jK'ctfully suggi-stcd the necessity of his nol. 
 furtlier delaying the duties of his toilette. Eva 
 pouted, but slie no longer wept. When her 
 fatlier iej)laeea her in her little bed, she obedi- 
 ently witiulrew her clinging arms from his 
 neck, and with a last low murmured " Dear 
 papa!" and a long, long kiss, suffered him to 
 leave her. ^ 
 
 Ere long, carriage after carriage OTove to the 
 door, and deposited a bevy of pretty women 
 and fashionable idlers in tiie illuminated hall. 
 The rooms filled rapidly, and as Sybil stood 
 near the entrance of the principal saloon, and 
 received her guests with the higli-bred self-pos- 
 session for which she was remarkable, many a 
 haughty eye rested upon her for an instant in 
 wondering curiosity. For the moment she had 
 disarmed criticism. The elegant simplicity of 
 her dress, rendered the more conspicuous by the 
 magnificence with which she was surrounded, 
 astonished those who came to smile or to sneer 
 at the parvcnue who filled her rooms by the 
 agency of her acquaintance, for it was evident 
 at once that Mrs. Mortimer was no novice. 
 There was even an affectation of indifference to 
 the eonuuents of all around her in the studied 
 plainness of her attire, to wiiieli no single orna- 
 ment of any description had been appended, 
 and a consciousness in her whole deportment of 
 the uselessness of such adjuncts to heighten her 
 superlative beauty, which betrayed the perfect 
 woman of the world, careless oV disdainful of 
 the empty sarcasms of the impertinent. 
 
 Surprise followed upon surprise. No incon- 
 gruity was perceptible in the splendor of her 
 princely saloons ; no paltry expedients, no 
 Ignorant deficiencies could be detected ; all was 
 perfect, and a low murmur of admiration, re- 
 luctantly extorted, and therefore the better ap- 
 preciated, ere long met h<5r ear on all sides. 
 Noble and sonorous names were declaimed in 
 her ear ; jewels flashed, and feathers waved be- 
 fore her eyes ; that sweet and subtle perfume 
 with which a crowd of fair and fashionable 
 women always freight the atmosj)here about 
 them, mingled deliciouslj- with the breathings 
 of flowers and the stream of costly essences, — 
 and still Sybil remained calm and unmoved ; no 
 heightened color flushed over her cheek, no tii- 
 umphant light danced in her largo dark eyes. 
 She was only realising the vision of 3-ears, iind 
 not a pulse quickened as her smile greeted eaeli 
 new arrival. 
 
 At length her first duty was fulfilled; the 
 strains of music were audible from the ball- 
 room; the confusion bad in some degree disen- 
 tangled itself; there were groups of talker.-, 
 solitary gazers, smiling couples e.stablislie. I ujiou 
 sofas in confidential tcte-a-trte ; gray-liea<l(d no- 
 bles and overdressed matrons establislied al the 
 card-tables; in short, the skein was unravelled, 
 and Sybil had time and opportunity to think 
 only of herself. 
 
 Some scores of her guests had no sooner made 
 their bow to their hostess upon the tlii-esliohl, 
 than they had utterly forgotten " what manner 
 of woman" she was, and umong tlies<' were mo- 
 thers, who had brought their young and beuuli- 
 ful daughters under a strange roof, simply b«>- 
 
184 
 
 THE RIVAL BILiUTIES. 
 
 cause they knew that there they would meet 
 once more with a timiJ or undecided admirer, 
 and that as the season was drawing to its close, 
 every opportunity of collision had consequent- 
 ly become tenfold more desirable : young wives, 
 weary of home, and greedy of admiration, and 
 fair girls whose hearts beat high and whose 
 eyes souglit the floor, at everj- name which was 
 announce<|^ while caring only to distinguish ^ 
 one. I 
 
 To tiiese, and such as these, the donor of the 
 fete was a personage too unimportant to occupy 
 their thoughts beyond a moment They had 
 doeper, or at least more personal interests, and 
 thus, as Sybil glided through her costly rOoms, 
 slie did not escape the penalty of her weakness. 
 
 " Wliat improvidence !" said a portly old 
 ladv, beside whose chair she was compelled toi 
 pause for a moment, the pressure of the throng 
 rendering it impossible for her to advance;! 
 "And I understand these people are nobodies ! 
 It is really a practical impertinence. What 
 would they saj- to this in your belle France, 
 Madame la Baronne ?" 
 
 " Ma foi, ma chere," replied a small, meagre, 
 copper-colored figure beside her, as she inhaled 
 a huge pinch of snuflf from an enamelled and 
 diamond studded-box ; " It is only your own 
 England of liberty which can show such anom- 
 alies as tliis. Le chcr Etnpereur was roturier 
 enough in one sense, but even then, in order to 
 elbow nous autres so familiarly, it was needful 
 to be a celebrife of some sort. Noblesae dc robe, 
 or d' ipee or artiste, or something more than a 
 mere rentier; Ah bah! the good old daj's are 
 over." 
 
 "With some difficulty Sybil at last passed on. 
 
 " But should I be presented to Mrs. Morti- 
 mer, mamma," said a lovely girl deprecatingly, 
 as tlis hostess was once more stopped by the 
 broad shoulders and jewelled turban of a volum- 
 inous dowager ; " What am I to do !" 
 
 " Be civil, Honoria, of course, but no more. 
 You did not come here to form an acquaintance 
 with this person, but to meet Lord Alfred. 
 Once for all I tell you, child, that there is some 
 strange storj' about her, and that is enough. 
 All tiiat you have to do is to remember why I \ 
 brouglit you here, and to make a better use of 
 the opportunity than you have done of others 
 which I have given you. Recollect that this is 
 your second season." j 
 
 Once more Sybil moved on. I 
 
 " And Saviatti really told you this story, and 
 vouched for it ?" were the next articulate sounds '„ 
 wliich met her ear, as, partially concealed by 
 the di-apories of a window, she stood behind a 
 group of young men. " Upon my conscience, 
 tliejest was a good one! And so Trevor was 
 done ?" 
 
 " Aye, thoroughly, but he only lost his money. 
 Wliat say j'ou to tiie simple D.imon who lilce a 
 silly sheep as he was, stepped into the breaeli?" 
 
 There was a light, mocking chorus of laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " Nevertheless, she is a monstrous fine wo- 
 man," remarked one of the party. 
 
 "Glorious!" was the ready response, "In- 
 comparable for a wife a la Regence, but " 
 
 "Suffer me to pass, gentlemen," said Sybil j 
 
 haughtily, as she emerged from her conceal- 
 ment, and stood before them. " My duties as a 
 hostess compel me to disturb your conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 A general but silent bow succeeded, and, as 
 the group made way, Mrs. Mortimer passed 
 through it with the air of an empress. 
 
 Iler comparative solitude was, however, now 
 over, and even although her spirjt burnt within 
 her at the insults to wliieh she had been subject 
 ed, she was too thoroughly mistress of iier emo 
 tion to suffer one trace of displeasure to become 
 apparent. 
 
 And still the revel progressed, the lights shone 
 brightly, the music swept like speaking odors 
 tlirough the vast apartments; fond vows, and 
 manj- false as fond, were whispered in tiie dim 
 conservatory; hundreds exelianged owners at 
 the card tables ; the luxurious supper-rootli was 
 perpetually filled and emptied of its votaries, 
 and daylight, at length, struggled to penetrate 
 through the satin folds of the jealous curtains. 
 
 CHAPTER LIIL 
 
 Mortimer had staked and lost heavily. He 
 dreamt for several hours t liat he had found a 
 couuter-inflyence to that of his wife, but he de- 
 ceived himself; her eyes liad never beguiled 
 him more surely to his ruin than did the cards* 
 that night. Eager to forget, and equally eager 
 to enjoy, he had readily fallen into a snare, and 
 surrounded by a bev\' of his friends — those 
 friends wlio are ever ready to fool to the top uf 
 his bent Vamphytrion oii Von dine — he iiad, alt or 
 a score of desperate plunges, become their prey 
 
 In vain did his brow burn, and his eye flash. 
 Upon whom could he revenge his defeat ? Those 
 about him were honorable men, a sliade or two 
 more skilful, perhaps, than himself with the 
 cards and the dice-box, but still lionorable men, 
 and above suspicion. 
 
 Eva was asleep in her little bed above stairs 
 — asleep, with a happy smile upon her lips. 
 Occasionally, as a louder strain than usual burst 
 from the orchestra, and came sighing along the 
 staii'-cases and passages, even to tlie remote 
 nursery whose door had been flung back by the 
 undernurse during the absence of Mrs. Harris, 
 (who had abandoned her cliarge in order to se- 
 cure her share in the dissipation of the house- 
 keeper's room,) and stole, like a wandering spi^ 
 rit, to the snow-cuitained couch of the slumber- 
 ing oherub, she stretched fortli iier dimpled 
 arms, in a pleasant dream, and niurniunng : 
 "Papa, dear papa," again sank to rest. 
 
 Sybil had left the ball-room on the arm of Sit 
 Horace Trevor, and was listening witli delight 
 to the enthusiastic encomiums which lie lavisheti 
 upon her taste, and the jierfeet harmony of all 
 her arrangements. It soothed iier to liear tiiat, 
 by one at least of her guests slie was ajipreciat/ 
 ed, but the one spot of flame still burned ami 
 festered upon her spirit. No, she had not i-t> 
 venged herself upon a world that she despised 
 Even bencatii her own stately roof, among the 
 flowers that she had wreatheil, the luxiiiy that 
 she had created, the haruiony that she liad in- 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 vnkod, she knew that the world which she had 
 r.solveil to subjugate paid hor back scorn for 
 sooru, but this conviction had not humbled her, 
 it bad only made her desperate. 
 
 " Wealtii is a wizard," she answered, with a 
 ccfntemptuous smile, to one of his remarks. 
 "Tlie wife of a soap-boiler could have done all 
 this, aj-e, and more, had her resources served 
 her; biit come this way, and I belio\e that I can 
 show you something which no mere gold could 
 liave created," and, as she spoke, she led him 
 towards the gauze-screened cabinet which has 
 be^ already described. 
 
 "Just as I could have wished," she said, 
 rather speaking to herself than addressing her 
 I companion. " The giddy fools have not hitlierto 
 i discovered this retreat, and yet it is the pearl 
 i of the huge oyster which I have opened for their 
 I mnusenient. What say you to this fairy -nook, 
 i Sir Horace ?" 
 
 I " What can I say ?" murmured Trevor afler a 
 ] momentary pause, during which his quick eye 
 liad glanced from floor to ceiling. " What can I 
 say?" he repeated as they advanced towards the 
 table, followed in tlieir progress by a moving 
 vapor of gauze, which floated above and about 
 them, as the tinted clouds undulate beneath the 
 i beams of the setting sun, " save that the shrine 
 ! 16 worthy of the goddess ?" 
 i Sybil smiled as she took possession pf one of 
 \the vacant chairs, while Trevor established him- 
 self in the other, after having drawn it to her 
 lelde. 
 
 " Nothing can be more poetical, more dream- 
 like," he pursued, lifting one of the light fans 
 '. from the table. " AVljy should it be but the 
 mere vision of a night, to be subjected to-morrow 
 to the rude hands of hirelings, and desecrated 
 by vulgar intrusion?" 
 
 " Learn like me," said his companion, " to live 
 4n the present, to leave the future to its own 
 developments. Do you know, Trevor, that the 
 consciousness that you would appreciate this 
 graceful phantasy siifliced to me, and I cared 
 little though it should be overlooked, as you see 
 It has been, by the soulless beings who have 
 passed it by to bask in light, and to bewilder 
 themselves by noise." 
 
 Ab she ceased speaking, Sybil turned with one 
 df her most radiant looks towards her listener. 
 She anticipated some acknowledgment, but for 
 a moment he made no reply; his e}-es were 
 riveted upon the pretty plaything, composed of 
 marabouts, and dusted with silver, which lie 
 was twirling in his hand. 
 
 Tlie silence was only temporary, however, and 
 it Tvas abruptly broken. 
 
 " Sybil," murmured the baronet, without 
 changing his position, or abstaining from his 
 Inconsequent occupation, " I had no idea that 
 Mortimer had either taste or nerve for high 
 play." 
 
 " And has he ?" asked the worldly wife in au 
 accent of the most supreme indifference. 
 
 " His prowess of to-night would seem to imply 
 as much. Wlieu 1 left the card-room he was a 
 heavy loser." 
 
 " He should not have ventured beyond his 
 depth," was the quiet retort, and the words 
 once u1 tered, Sybil began, in her turn, to amuse 
 
 herself by collecting and clustering the scatter- 
 ed roses wliicli Avere strewn over tlie table. 
 
 Trevor glanced at her as she leaned forward, 
 and never liad he thought her so beautiful. The 
 opaque white of her dross contrasted in a strik- 
 ing manner with the glistering silver of the chair 
 on which slie sat. A slight languor, the result 
 alike of physical fatigue and concealed mortifi- 
 cation, hung upon iier eyelids, and softened the 
 whole expression of her face. Her very move- 
 ments were subdued. The moment, as' he felt, 
 was propitious. 
 
 " Mortimer was rash, at such a time, and in 
 such company, to tempt fortune," he continued, 
 as he drew one of the roses from her hand, and 
 after pressing it to his lips, placed it in his 
 bosom ; " but some men arc fated to commence 
 every undertaking with the left iiand. If you 
 do not exert your influence, he will soon under- 
 mine his fortune." 
 
 " What if no such influence existed!" 
 
 " Coiite des Fees — Impossible !" 
 
 Sybil playfully shook her head.*" 
 
 " Is not tlie man human?" 
 
 " Very — I must not sufl'er you to wrong him, 
 even by a doubt. Does he not live? breathe! 
 move? frequent his clubs? and pay his trades- 
 men's bills?" 
 
 " But should the ruin come, Sybil ?" 
 
 " Once more, I say, leave the future to its 
 own resources. Where do you spend the sum- 
 mer?" 
 
 " In Italy, or at Wcstrum." 
 
 " Oh, not at Westrum," exclaimed Mrs. Mor- 
 timer, startled out of her habitual composure; 
 " we are to have maison close during the next 
 nine months." 
 
 " Then, decidedly, it must be Italy." 
 
 " And who are your party ?" 
 
 " I am weary of joint-stock tours, where the 
 sum-total is composed of insignificant units. I 
 covet a single companion, and will admit no 
 more." 
 
 " Be wary, then," said Sybil, almost with a 
 sigh; "you do not know the misery of an ill 
 chosen and enforced companionship with one 
 solitary individual." 
 
 " I can imagine it." 
 
 " Ko doubt," was the rejomder, as the eyes of 
 Trevor flashed witli a sudden light ; " but imagi- 
 nation is not experience." 
 
 " I shall not tempt that experience. I shall 
 act upon sure grounds." 
 
 " We are all wise in our own conceit' 
 
 " I know it, but the wisdom rarely extends 
 itself beyond that conceit. I will be wiser." 
 
 " But why leave England, wiicre you have so 
 many resources?" 
 
 " Because I am sick of the folly and selfish- 
 ness of all about me. I jiave lived for pleasure 
 lone enougli, and will henceforward live only 
 for nappiness." 
 
 " Then, after all your disclaimers, you are 
 really going to marry ?" 
 
 " You are epigrammatic, Mrs. Mortimer." 
 
 " But is it not so?" 
 
 " And what if it were?" 
 
 " You will make a bad husband, Trevor." 
 
 " Do jou think so?" 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
186 
 
 TUE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 " And why ?" 
 
 '• Because you detest coercion, and were you 
 mated with an angel, jou would quarrel with 
 her wings because she bad allowed you to clip 
 them." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right," conceded Sir 
 Iloi-ace, fixing his eyes steadily upon her face ; 
 " perhaps 1 inight despise her, when 1 remem- 
 bered that she had weakly resigned the beauti- 
 ful and glorious prerogative of freedom, and 
 meanly chained herself to the steps of the altar 
 Oil winch she should have towered as the idol ; 
 that she had, for a mere puerile clinging to the 
 convictions of a society which possessed no right 
 — and perhaps as little inclination— to dictate 
 Iier actions, tamely scattered upon the earth the 
 leaves of tlie roses with which she should have 
 cj'owned herself." 
 
 " You justify yourself like a libertine." 
 " The word is sufficiently comprehensive, at 
 all events." v 
 
 " Is it not applicable? What can I under- 
 stand, but that you contemplate the companion- 
 ship of a mistress?" 
 
 " You take strange liberties with our barba- 
 rous vernacular to-night, fair Sybil. However, 
 in one sense, I admit the term, unpoetical as it 
 is. Yes, the partner of my wanderings beneath 
 the blue skies and flowery bowers of Italy, and 
 wheresoever else her good pleasure may direct 
 iny footsteps, even though it should be beyond 
 tlie cataracts of the Nile, or to the sandy deserts 
 of mysterious Africa, shall, indeed, be the very 
 mistress of my soul — the supreme sovereign of 
 my destin}'. I will have no will, no wish, no 
 existence, save in her." 
 
 '• Beware of such utter self-abnegation ; she 
 may deceive you." 
 
 " I have no such fear : I am fore-armed." 
 " Bj' what occult power?" 
 " By my love — my claim — my — I will echo 
 your own words — my perfect self-abnegation. I 
 could have no better safeguard." 
 
 " You are a happy man, even in your vplun- 
 tary delusion." 
 
 " Pardon me, I am not deluded — or — should 
 it, indeed, be so, Sybil — " 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer started, and her cheek burned, 
 fthe turned away; she would have spoken, but 
 ^e could not control her voice. 
 
 " Listen to me, Sybil," said Sir Horace gain- 
 ing courage from her visible confusion, and, as 
 ho spoke, he grasped her hand, and retained it 
 despite her struggle to free herself from the 
 clasp; "you are not happy. Remember you 
 are not the acquaintance of yesterday, and that 
 our hearts sjioke audibly years ago. I love you 
 — I know all the paltry and pitiful restraints of 
 your present position. To-night, you are the 
 queen of a biilliant circle — tlie admired and the 
 envied mistress of a fairy palace, but tlie night, 
 ■wiredraw it as jou may, can only last some 
 three liours longer, and then comes to-morrow — 
 to-morrow with an irritated and reproachful 
 liusband, who, forgetting his own imprudence 
 at the gaming-table, will visit upon you the re- 
 sults of an improvidence to which his fortune is 
 by no means adequate. Look at the floating of 
 th<' liglit draperies which are heaving about 
 jmi as your struggle to escape my hold ; to- 
 
 morrow the hammer of the workman, a fcT 
 nails withdrawn, and a few sturdy blows, wil 
 reduce all their gracefulness into a heap of ragt 
 You will be once more alone with an angry am « 
 resentful husband, in a noisy and ungenial home 
 and after that — for more remains behind, Sybi 
 — after that you have a long and dreary per 
 spective before you, to which you cannot, yoi 
 shall not tamely yiold. Westnim, with, as yoi 
 have already confessei. closed doors, a dream 
 ing mother, and a sulking husband ! And i 
 this to be the end of all, Sybil? Was it to fulfi 
 such a destiny as this that nature made you ) 
 mark for admiration and worship? That yoi 
 were gifted with talents that dazzle, with a wi 
 that fascinates, and with a mind which can ap 
 predate and s}'mpathise with all that is gram 
 and beautiful?" 
 
 " Enough, Sir Horace, enough." 
 
 " Yet must you hear more," relentlessly puf ; 
 sued her tempter, " for I have resolved b 
 convince your reason. For what, and why, d( 
 you willingly and wilfully bow your prouc 
 neck to such a yoke ? To gratify the prejudice; 
 of an exacting and misjudging world which yoi 
 would elevate into a censor ? Nature, natun 
 has been your benefactress ; it is her, and he 
 alone, to whom you owe allegiance ; the worh 
 has to you been only a stepdame, or you wouU, 
 not be to-^ay the wife of Mortimer — of a mat 
 who cannot comprehend you, but who wear 
 you as the ignorant par venue wears, her diamon( 
 necklace — not with an appreciation of its rea 
 brilliancy, but with a vulgar consciousness tha 
 it is an object of envy. What have tiie refine(; 
 and town-bred SybilDelamere and the countr; i 
 squire, whose soul is in his acres — what haV' I 
 they, I ask, what can they have, in common I I 
 As yet you have blinded yourself to this trutbi i 
 for as yet you have, not been utterly flunij 
 upon his insignificance for companionship anr i 
 sympathy ; he has left the reins loose, and th r 
 bit has not galled you, but you are ahead;' 
 warned that the scene and the system are hot) 
 about to change." 
 
 " Sir Horace, I will hear no more." 
 
 " Only one last appeal — Sybil, divine Sybil , 
 Be at last just to yourself You once love<: 
 me, and there are yet moments in which I fanc;J 
 that I can detect some evidence that you lov 
 me still. I offer to you the devotion of a life ' 
 the resources of an ample fortune ; an e.xistenci 
 of splendor and indulgence ; the undying ferv»', 
 of a passion which you alone have been able t 
 awaken — S}bil, do I indeed plead in vain ?" 
 
 Mrs. Mortimer strove to rise, but her con: 
 panion was already kneeling beside her, aiv 
 his grasp was strong upon her dress. 
 
 " Are you not aware. Sir ?" she asked, wit' 
 flashing eyes, " that you are urging me to dii 
 honor ?" , 
 
 " Sybil," murmured Sir Horace ; " your ea 
 is quick, and your eye keen ; has not the rev£ 
 of to-night, held in your own saloons, pi-ovida- 
 by your own gold, created by your own tastt 
 tauglit you to despise so poor a cliimera ' 
 There are noble dames yonder, rustling theii 
 satins, waving their plumes, and parading tliei 
 magnificent nothingness — but is one of ther 
 at your side f Has one of them claimed com 
 
JTHE RIVAL BEAUTIE& 
 
 187 
 
 artionsliip witli you ? Have you met respect, 
 r oven consideration from one of the haughty 
 ves wliieii Imve fastened admiringly upon the 
 
 ."'■'t.raudv toys 
 '^'^f littering mc 
 
 that you have scattered in their 
 you not aware that among the 
 illittering mob which you have collected about 
 ou there are friends of Saviatti, and that 
 iiviatti is " 
 
 • A liend I a demon I" fiercely exclaimed 
 ■yl.il. 
 
 • You help my argument," was the rapid 
 ejoinder ; " and as such the less scrupulous. 
 
 "''';;. ji'ou have the effects of his idle indiscretion 
 iliJlji |i>efore you. And, mark me, Sybil — Mortimer, 
 "■itlui Iweak as he may be on other points, is sensitive 
 'liwrllnd jealous of his honor! A husband — the 
 >'«§:« [act IS proverbial — may be. and generally is, 
 l!]ie last to hear that by which he is the most 
 Itlosel}" affected, but, trust me, he is evectually 
 m» anlightened. Do you comprehend your position 
 :^m\ ^w, my adored. Sybil? And do you believe 
 iwkv,( tliat, loving you as 1 do, I can coldly abandon 
 w ptii (rou to such a fate ?" 
 
 srejiifc " Trevor," whispered Mrs. Mortimer hoarsely, 
 'luth {bs her head sank upon her bosom, " you are un- 
 'tui Imerciful !" 
 
 aiiJk Sir Horace still knelt before her, and was 
 iiews; jllbout to soothe the wounded dignity which he 
 mw Hjad so relentlessly excited, when the vapoury 
 :.; curtain was thrust aside, and the baby face of 
 Mis. Lamerl}- protruded like some frightful 
 nsion through the opening. A slight shriek 
 rj;-. jeseaped her lips, as she suffered the light folds 
 Kiii tof the gauze to float back into their places, 
 r:;. jand then succeeded a ringing laugh, as h^r 
 lisping voice was heard exclaiming imperiouslj- 
 — ■■ >."o, no, you shall not move a step further! 
 It is the prettiest place you ever saw in your 
 life ; all white and silver, like a moon among 
 tlie clouds, but j-ou shall not see it. We should 
 ill be de trap ; for Mrs. Mortimer is there with 
 Sir Horace Trevor, and I think they are re- 
 hearsing a traged}-, or a comedy, or something 
 ;, Olf that sort, for he is on his knees, and she 
 .looks — but, upon my honor, I scarcely know 
 1 how slie looks ! — it would have been so in- 
 discreet to intrude longer." 
 
 Then followed a deep silence, broken only by 
 file sound of retreating footsteps, and the ago- 
 nised ear of Sybil detected that they were 
 ;i2 i those of several individuals. The thickly-piled 
 \As carpets soon muffled that light sound, and then 
 [gf j all was still as the grave. 
 
 jilji "Sir Horace Trevor," said Mrs. Mortimer, as 
 
 ■f i She arose from her seat, ghastlj- pale, and with' 
 
 • ! a quivering lip; "You have bought me at ai 
 
 ■ i 1 fearful price ! Leave me now. We shall meet 
 
 again." 
 ,; 1 " To-morrow, Sybil ? " 
 iij} I She coldly bent her head in token of acquies- 
 
 f cence. 
 (V j "Farewell, then, till to-morrow." He hastily 
 J,,; \ wised her cold fingers to his lips, drew back 
 jjj I flie curtains of the door, and disappeared. 
 ;,{ ) 'A wild and acrid smile convulsed the fea- 
 „ 1 tures of Sybil for an instant, and she clasped 
 g i her forehead in her spread hands, as if to deaden 
 !(• I the throbbing of her burning temples. Onej 
 f. ; Vord, and one onl^-, escaped her as she stood 
 ^ ; thei-e — the word "Eva!" and she pronounced! 
 
 it with a shudder which shook her whole frame, 
 and a gasp that seemed to threaten her for an 
 instant with suffocation. 
 
 It was the last whisper of her guardian 
 angel ere it took flight for ever, and she had 
 echoed it involuntarily. 
 
 But even amid her anguish the proud spirit of 
 Mrs. Mortimer scorned to bend, and after a 
 severe struggle she succeeded in subduing every 
 vestige of emotion, and with a steady step and 
 a proud eye returned to her guests. She saw 
 Mrs. Lamerly surrounded by a group of curious 
 listeners, who were all too earnest in their at 
 tention to detect her approach, and .towards 
 them she firmly made her way. 
 
 " Why are you not dancing, Amabel ?" she 
 inquired with perfect composure, as she reached 
 her side. 
 
 The diplomatist's widow started, flushed, and 
 stammered out with some difficulty ; " I am 
 fatigued, Mrs. Mortimer." 
 
 " Mrs. Mortimer!" echoed Sybil, raising her 
 eyebrows in affected and playful surprise ; 
 " Why Amabel, you are ceremonious to- night. 
 Remember that you are in a simple English 
 drawing-room, and not in the court circle of 
 your dear, friend, the Margrave." 
 
 " I do not understand — " faltered the widow. 
 
 " What I understand, ma chire," broke in a 
 little German Grafine, who had been one of her 
 listeners ; "is, that you have betraj-ed me, and 
 you know the proverb, ' Wie gesdet, to geschnit- 
 ten.' I shall not expect you to-morrow evening 
 Good night." And, with a haughty and indig- 
 nant bow, the ruflied beauty swept from the 
 room. 
 
 " As she pleases," said Mrs. Lamerly, with a 
 pout, " but I could quote, if I pleased, the 
 old saj-ing about glass windows and throwing 
 stones. However, my turn will come." 
 
 Sybil turned away with a haughty mien, but ■ 
 her very soul was sick wnthin her. She had 
 heard and understood all. Tliere were other 
 demons in the world besides Saviatti, and how 
 she began to hate and scorn that world ! 
 Trevor was right, and she would trample it 
 even to the dust. 
 
 Her rooms emptied rapidly. The lights were 
 beginning to fail, the musicians were putting up 
 their instruments ; group after group passed 
 her by, on their way out without one token of 
 observance or recognition. At length the very 
 link-boys dispersed — tlie revel was over, and 
 Sybil was left amid the relics of her brief 
 splendor utterly alone — alone with her hopes, 
 her fears, her stifled passion, and her corrod- 
 ing thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER LIY. 
 
 The morrow came, and with it all the dis- 
 comforts usual under such circumstances. Sybil 
 had paced her room until wearied nature in its 
 turn overcame mental disquietude, and through- 
 out her vigil the perpetual coming and going of 
 the servants, who liad abandoned all idea of 
 seeking their beds at so undue an hour, and 
 under such an accumulation of duties, had fallen 
 
183 
 
 THE B.IVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 npon her ear utterly unheeded. "Vniat -were to 
 her the Eounds of the external world, when 
 there echoed amid the depths of her spirit the 
 hoarse and sullen reverberation of a more 
 personal and absorbing agitation? She had not 
 eeeu Mortimer since the departure of her guests; 
 the avoidance had been mutual, for both had 
 within themselves a consciousness of error to 
 be concealed, and of weakness to be expiated. 
 
 Frederic had retired to his room, angered, re- 
 pentant, and reflective ; Sj-bil had sought hers 
 fevered, undecided, but nevertheless desperate. 
 The husband, boldly looking into the future, 
 although with a sick" heart and a stricken spirit, 
 had passed his time in hasty and imperfect cal- 
 culations, and those vague, but passionate reso- 
 lutions of future prudence, which, like snow- 
 flakes in the moonlight, show so substantial and 
 so brilliant, but which require only one touch 
 of heat to annihilate them altogether ; the wife 
 had sought solitude to brood over the past, to 
 deprecate the present, and to defy the future, j 
 She was aware that previous improvidence,] 
 first counselled, and ultimately encouraged and I 
 augmented by herself, had stricken deeply at I 
 the root of her husband's prosperity. It was 
 true that the extravagance of a couple of sea- 
 eons could not ruin Mortimer, but she was aware 
 that it had sufficed to embarrass his movements 
 and to cripple his resources. Sybil had always 
 loathed and despised all monetary considera- 
 tions, and she felt that she could never brook! 
 his justifiable, but nevertheless wearisome, re- 1 
 proaches upon such a subject. If she had sought 
 to become his wife, it had been from no blind 
 attachment to himself, but in order to regain, 
 through his means, the social station which she 
 had forfeited by her own levity, and to share 
 with him the affiuenee without which she con- 
 sidered life to be but a mere mean and paltry 
 game, to be played out to the end only by mean 
 and paltry spirits. 
 
 And all this purpose had failed; she was still 
 S mark for the insolent comments of the proud 
 and the scornful. The memories of the past, 
 like the stones cast behind them by the twin 
 heroes of the mythology, sprang to life, armed, 
 and ready to do battle, but it was against her- 
 Belf. The gold which she had lavished to pur- 
 chase at least a temporarj- triumph, had melted 
 as she scattered it around her, and scorched the 
 hand that poured it forth. 
 
 And what remained? 
 
 Sybil had dismissed her attendant. It seemed 
 to her as though everj' eye could read her se- 
 cret, and as lier thoughts'fastened upon her last 
 interview with Trevor, she thrust back the 
 dark braids from lier foiehead, for even their 
 •light and accustomed pressure appeared to 
 weigh lier <lowii, and then, rising from her chair, 
 flung open one of the windows in order to 
 breathe more freely. 
 
 There is always something awful in the return 
 of a new (lay ; in the doubtful light which 
 creeps almost reluctantly across the sky, as 
 though it feared to hasten on a mission which 
 condemned it to look for so many houi-s upon 
 scenes of error and of crime. To the virtuous 
 and the pure there is a sublimity in its stealthy 
 progress, but to the erring and the guilty its 
 
 I charm is lost; to them there is a sad reproo. 
 in its silent advent, and it is the hour of 
 others the most difficult to fill with purely s 
 fish thought. Even Sybil, as she bared I • 
 brow to the chill wind that heaved the curta: 
 behind which she stood, and looked out up 
 the desolate garden of the square, where t 
 night-dews still hung upon the branches of t. 
 stunted shrubs, and the dense vapors wt! 
 rolling off in folds of dull yellow and niur'; 
 brown, was not altogether unaffected by its : 
 fluence. 
 
 Where were now the light and the revelry 
 which her soul delighted? Where were nc 
 I the glance of admiration and the words of pi 
 sion which to her was as the day-spring of h 
 I existence ? She stood upon the dull and niysl 
 rious tomb of the past ; upon the vague' ai 
 shapeless threshold of the future, and both we 
 alike, " without form and void." She heard on. 
 the low moaning of the cheerless wind; s 
 I saw only the gloomy awakening of a new da 
 ] disturbed bj' the occasional footstep of one 
 I those rude sons or daughters of toil who nev 
 I calculate time save as a mean of gain, or of tho 
 ' still more enslaved victims of vice, wiio fe, 
 that their task is ended when that of virtuo' 
 povertj' begins. 
 
 Sybil closed the window abruptly, and tlire 
 herself upon the bed. Body and mind we 
 both exhausted, and at length she sank 
 sleep. 
 
 Did she dream of the husband who, mueli 
 he was injured, still confided in her truth? < 
 the child to whom her own good name w.ni 
 be the best and the meetest heritage ? ( if t! 
 man who, wronged, deceived, and almnst f 
 gotten, once more pursued her with wcr 
 passion and of promise? No, she dre;.:. 
 none of these things. Her heavy head ]:• 
 the pillow like a thing of stone. Her ,-le< 
 was as the sleep of death ; the condemned felo 
 whose rest is to be broken on the morrow 1 
 the gibbet and the rope, sleeps this deep m 
 mysterious slumber; the waveworu mai'inn- • 
 the raft, the only link between him and et. ;•; 
 t\-; the soldier in his bivouac on tlic<\' 
 battle, — all, in short, whose nerves have 1 • ■ 
 braced to the uttermost for hours, and who >u 
 denly find themselves alone and unsupported 1 
 the pride which has sustained them beneath tJ 
 gaze of their fellow men, have experienced tl 
 same deep, and dreamless, and death-like sire 
 save, perhaps, the coward, whose fears for tl 
 morrow keep him waking, but Sybil was i 
 coward. She had suffered, and she. slept 
 
 It was long past mid- day when her ma 
 ventured to enter her apartment, and her re ^ 
 was so deep, despite her undrawn cuitains, 
 the disorder in which she had flung herself npc| 
 her bed, that for a few seconds the wonini 
 looked upon her almost in terror. Her lou; 
 hair fell like a shower of jet over her lace an, 
 shoulders, her hands were tightly clasped t 
 gether, and there was an expression of suj! 
 pressed but terrible agony upon her countenanc 
 that mere physical fatigue could not have iu 
 pressed there. 
 
 Ko wonder, therefore, that forgetful of th 
 reprimand which her unbidden officiousne* 
 
THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 189 
 
 right draw down upon lior, the toi'i'ilied Abi- 
 iiil vt'iiturcd to awake hor. 
 "Ha! is it iiiorning so soon?" murmured out 
 jj1)il, who had started from lior sleep at the 
 ii-st whisper. 
 
 I beg your pardon, Mii'ani," wastlie respect- 
 id reply, " but it is now nearly two o'clock. 
 ily master has been out for the last three hours, 
 ind desired me to say that ho sho'ald not return 
 lome until the evening. Miss Eva has had her 
 valk, and Mrs?. Harris wishes to know if you 
 viUsce her before dinner-time." 
 " Ko, uo," said Sybil hoarsely and hurriedly ; 
 I am too much fatigued. There — look! — upon 
 he dressing-table you will find a locket, hung 
 o a small gold chain. You know the one 1 
 nean — with my hair in it, at the buck of her 
 ather's ]iortrait. Tell Mrs. Harris to give it 
 her with my love, and to let her wear it 
 ill I see her again. Is there anything new ? 
 
 ctters, or " 
 
 Ko, ma'am, only Sir Horace Ti'evor has been 
 lere, but when he found that my master was 
 lut, and that you were not up, he left word 
 iliat he would call again at two o'clock, as he 
 wished to see you. Ma'am, on some particular 
 jusiness, and so I made free to come into your 
 •oom." 
 
 You did right, Symonds, perfectly right," 
 
 >aid Sybil with a slight shudder, as she partial- 
 
 y raised herself, and, sweeping back her disiiov- 
 
 fillcd hair, leaned her head upon her hand. 
 
 And now come here, Symonds, here, close to 
 
 ''"i™ [hfiy pillow. Can I trust you ?" 
 
 " Try me. Ma'am," said the woman stolidly. 
 " You must have seen that I am not happy," 
 Bommenced Sybil, fixing her eyes steadily upon 
 her attendant. 
 
 Tlie Abigail shrugged her shoulders. 
 "You were with uie when I married?" 
 There was a sign of assent. 
 " I did wrong," pursued the once haughty 
 mistress after a short pause ; " I mistook Mr. 
 Mortimer, and it is probable that he misunder- 
 stood me. Things cannot go on thus, Symonds." 
 " Of course not. Ma'am." 
 " It is possible that I may travel before long. 
 Are j'ou willing to accompany me ?" 
 
 " Do 30U take Miss Eva, Ma'am ? I can't 
 nudertake to travel with children ; it's out of 
 my line." 
 
 Tlie mother for a moment conquered the wo- 
 man of the world, and Mrs. Mortimer turned 
 a>;ide to avoid tlie fixed gaze of her liii'ed menial, 
 but in spirit she had passed the rubicon, and she 
 rallied on the instant. 
 
 " Ko," said she, with sojne effort ; " I go 
 alone." 
 
 " Alone, Ma'am?" 
 
 " Tliat is, neitlier your master nor Miss Eva 
 vill accompany me." 
 
 "I see, Ma'am," was the reply, uttered with 
 one of those intelligently-confidential .smiles 
 ■which are the first-fruits of error, to a j)roud 
 spirit 
 
 " I am quite at your service, and ready to ^jo 
 wherever you please. But you are forgetting 
 the time, Ma'am. If Sir Horace Trevor should 
 be here befoi-e you are dressed, is he to wait, or 
 to come again ?" 
 
 " Let him Avait," said Sybil, with the superb 
 expression of disdain by which the haughty lip 
 so frequently conceals the secret of tlie (piailii.g 
 heart. " He is probably not in luistc" 
 
 Tiie Abigail pursed up her mouth. Had lior 
 mistress given her a printed book to read, know- 
 ing that mistress as she did, siie could not havo 
 guessed the truth more thoroughly. 
 
 "Sir Horace was quite put out," Ma'am, when 
 he found that j'ou were not up," she ventured to 
 remark, as she placed the velvet slippers beside 
 the bed. 
 
 " Indeed !" said Sybil, with affected indifier- 
 ence. 
 
 " And then. Ma'am, he inquired for my mas- 
 ter, and I told him that he was gone out for the 
 day." 
 
 " You told him so?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, did I do wrong?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no 1 it is a nuUter of no consequence. 
 By the bye, Symonds, you will not mention to 
 any one that 1 think of leaving England." 
 
 " Of course not. Ma'am, if you wisli it." 
 
 "I do, Symonds, and I believe that I can trust 
 you. Is my bath ready ?" 
 
 The first scene in the drama of guilt was play- 
 ed out, and Sybil felt that she was in the power 
 of her own salaried dependent. 
 
 Sir Horace Trevor was once more beneath her 
 roof long before Sybil left her room. He knew 
 the spirit with which he had to deal, and lie felt 
 that the ball of the preceding evening had served 
 him well. Her pride had been galled, and suffi- 
 cient time had not yet elapsed for her to re- 
 cover from the mortification slie iiad experienced. 
 To profit by a vulgar but expressive plira.se, the 
 iron was still hot, and he was too good a tao- 
 titian to suffer it to cool. Rejected by the 
 woild, and estranged fromherhutiband, he offer- 
 ed her a refuge from daily increasing annoy- 
 ance, and although he had long ceased to be 
 jealous of her affection, and learnt its fallacy 
 wliei'e it interfered with her own interests, he 
 was still thralled by her beauty, and subjugated 
 by her wit. 
 
 Too indolent to make amusement for himself^ 
 Sybil M'as precisely the woman calculated to 
 supjily the occasional void produced by satiety 
 His taste would do him honor in tiie eyes of his 
 associates, and moreover, perhaps, he also had 
 something to revenge. Her treacliery had been 
 the one crushed roseleaf on the couch of the 
 fashionable Sybarite, and it was with a sensa 
 tioii of triumpliant complacency that lie reflect- 
 ed liow soon her own hand would be employed 
 to smooth it. 
 
 For her improvidence he cared nothing. Ilia 
 means were ample, and he could, moreover, dis- 
 engage himself at any moment from a tie which 
 must sit loosely from the first. A man does not 
 take his mistress as he takes his wife ; there are 
 no life-long responsibilities to make liim pause; 
 a fancy prompts the im|icrfcct union, and a 
 caprice may equally annul it. 
 
 True, this is a feature in tlio arrangement to 
 which he allows no promim-iice in tlu; first sea- 
 son of vanity and adulation, but still the fact 
 exists, and it is foi- the ci-iiiig woman who is 
 atxiut to barter her honor and h<r fair fame 
 against the temporary indulgence of her head 
 
190 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 etrong passions, and flic mortifications of proba- and gratified vanity, and that freedom from con 
 ble abandonment, to remember it in the hour struint to wiiich she liad so long been aeeus 
 of temptation. tomed, that it appeared to her to be as indispen 
 
 The tiger gives no warning before he springs; sable to her existence as the very air she 
 it is for the traveller to be wary. The serpent breathed. Trevor, full of that impassioned 
 litters no threatening before it springs ; the in- egotism which lends eloquence even to a bad 
 tended victim must defend himself against the cause, believing himself, moreover, enamored 
 venomed tongue, and thus, in like manner, the of the first love of his manhood, and mistaking 
 woman who sees only the gorgeous skin or the the sullen murmurs of former mortification for ; 
 gleaming scales of vice, and wilfully closes her the whispers of re-awakened affection, 
 eyes against the poison to which they lend a " 
 niocking and a worthless charm, finds little pity, 
 and excites no sympathy. The man of pleasure 
 uses his natural weapons as the beasts of the 
 forests use theirs, with as much carelessness of 
 consequences, and generally with as little com- 
 punction. Selfishnessis the foundation of eveiy 
 vice, and where the seducer has all to gain, and 
 his victim all to lose, it is scarcely to be antici 
 pated that he will forego his own purpose in 
 order to shield her from 'evil. 
 
 The antecedents of Sybil were perhaps also 
 calculated to render Sir Horace Trevor even 
 less disposed to shrink from the treachery which 
 he meditated towards a man whom he had call- 
 ed his friend, and a woman whom he had, once 
 at least, sincerely and honorably loved. He 
 knew her reputation to be sullied, and her 
 nature to be essentially egotistical, but she yet 
 remained beneath the roof of her husband, and, 
 weak and faulty as she had undoubtedly shown 
 herself to be, the one great crime against sO' 
 ciety, the one reckless contempt of its opinion 
 which finds no indulgence even with the most 
 charitable, until it has been bitterly repented, 
 was still uncommitted. She had yet a place 
 among the matrons of her country — yet a chance 
 of redeeming herself in the eyes of the world, 
 and in her own. And he was about to over 
 throw this last bulwark, and to render her 
 henceforward dependent upon him alone. 
 
 Thus, even under all circumstances, he might 
 well have paused. But wherefore ? These were 
 considerations for Sybil, not for himself. These 
 were the self-evident consequences of the step 
 which she meditated, and she could requir 
 prompter to point with officious warning to 
 the fact. Moreover, this was the price which 
 she must be content to pay for luxury, liberty 
 and love — for her escai)e from a cheerless home, 
 an estranged husband, and the trammels of en- 
 cumbered mediocrity. 
 
 What wonder, then, that the worldly baronet 
 stood fully acquitted in his own eyes ? 
 
 It were idle to dwell upon the scene which 
 ensued when they met. Sybil, with all her 
 meaner passions in arms, smarting under a 
 sense of what she considered as her wrongs, 
 seared by the consciousness of her husband's 
 well-grounded displeasure, devoted to self-in- 
 dulgence, and shrinking from a future of mo- 
 notony and privation, did not, and would not, 
 pause to remember that she had not even the 
 excuse of passion to offer for the baseness of 
 which siie was about to become guilty ; that 
 her attachment to Trevor was merely the im- 
 pulse of gratified vanity, in which the softer 
 and more womanly delusions of the heart had 
 no share, and that she saw in his proffered love 
 only the prospect which it held out of atiluenee, 
 
 How could such an interview end save la 
 error? And so indeed it ended. Sybil forgol 
 even her child in the intoxicating dreams of a 
 future, over which she was to be tlie sole and ui+- 
 questioned mistress; she forgot the husband who 
 hadgiveu himself to her without a doubt or a mis- 
 giving, des])ite the warning voice which would 
 have held liim back; she forgot the mother,' 
 now hovering between life and deatli, whose 
 whole existence had been one unmurmurii.g 
 vassalage tc her single will. She thought only 
 of herself; she saw a new votary at lier feet,' 
 a new jewel east upon her path which the world 
 had so lately strewn with thorns and bram- ! 
 bles, and thus she listened, believed and yielded. 
 
 In such a case the preliminaries of the medi 
 tated flight were rapidly and readily arranged, ■ 
 and Trevor had no sooner left the house, tlian 
 the twiee-perjuied wife ascended to her own 
 room, and summoning her maid, busied herself, 
 with a calmness whicli in a holier cause would 
 have amounted to heroism, in making such ar 
 rangements as she deemed necessary. Ere sun ■ 
 set all was accomplished ; her cari-iage at tlw ' 
 door ; the imperial freighted with her jewels, i 
 and a few indispensable articles of apparel, and ' 
 then, and then only, while she drew on her i 
 gloves to depart, it might be that a thought ot ' 
 her suflering mother obtruded itself, as she sad- ■ 
 denly desii-ed Symonds to ascertain if any let- 
 ter had arrived for her by the late post. The 
 active and watchful Abigail was already pre- 
 pared to answer. There were half a dozen 
 awaiting the return of her master, but none ad- 
 dressed to her lady, and Sybil asked no more. • 
 
 Perhaps, even in that last, that supreme mo- 
 ment of her destiny, had she paused as she ]i:i- 
 sed througii the hall to ghmcc at the supers.-i; 
 tion of tlie letters so heedlessly flung down, ^' 
 migiit yet have paused — yet have been sav 
 But, no! She had ceased to remembi 
 she was a mother ; how, then, could she hii\ « 
 lingered to remember that she was a daughter ! 
 
 Mistress Symonds, with a ready wit which 
 equalled her cupidity, had found an easy pic- 
 text for the unaccustomed appendage winch 
 was to be afTixed to the carriage, and notliing 
 occurred to delay the departure of Sybil from 
 that home whicli she was never again to enter. 
 Assuredly, the path of vice is ever a smooth 
 one, and if something like a pang shot to her 
 heart as she passed the threshold, and if she 
 cast one backward glance to the windows of 
 the nursery in which her only child was at that 
 moment either slumbering or sporting, un- 
 conscious that it would soon be worse than 
 motherless, her step never faltered, her will 
 never failed. 
 
 The place of rendezvous had been arranged, 
 and on her airival Mrs. Mortimer alighted ; the 
 
 thai 
 
THE RIVAL BE^YUTIES. 
 
 191 
 
 mperifti was detached, and conveyed into the 
 .ouse; a trivial message delivered to the ser- 
 luits, and the carriage dismissed. All this was 
 cry commonplace in seeming, but not so in fact. 
 \. gulf, never again to be over-passed, had open- 
 id between Sybil and her home — between the 
 vife, the mother, and the woman, and those 
 acred duties which, once violated, caunot be 
 ighteously resumed. 
 
 With a mortal cowardice, in perfect keeping 
 vith his character, Mortimer had delayed to the 
 ast moment his return to a disorganized house, 
 ind the exertion of an authority which he was 
 •(inscious must be at once assumed, if he would 
 till preserve himself from ruin, and it was cou- 
 •cquentl,}-, late in the night when he once more 
 \iund himself under his own roof The hateful 
 ask of recrimination and reproach was thus de- 
 iiyed until the morrow, and as he ascended to 
 lis dressing-room, already restored by the acti- 
 .ity of his valet to a tenantable state, he con- 
 gratulated himself upon an arrangement by 
 Iwhieh he had secured some additional hours of 
 itranquillity. 
 
 I His onl}-' inquiry was for his child, and satis- 
 fied that she was well, and sleeping the sweet 
 l^eep of innocence and peace, he drew on his 
 ■dressing gown, and seated himself at his writ- 
 img-table, resolved to bestow a few hours to the 
 ieareful inspection of his steward's accounts be- 
 fore he retired for the night. Upon the desk, 
 jbowever, lay the letters which had been men- 
 i'tioned to Sybil, and he opened them mechanic- 
 ially. The tirst which came to hand was brief, 
 jbut a shadow darkened over his brow as he 
 .'read it; scarcely did it comprise half-a-dozen 
 jlines, yet he pondered over them for seconds, 
 and then, by a sudden impulse, he crushed the 
 ipaper in his hand, and flung it impetuously into 
 [tihe fire which was burning in the grate. His 
 icorrespondent had simply and courteouslj- ac- 
 jknowledged a check for 900/., lost by himself at 
 {the gaming-table on the previous evening. The 
 'next was longer; the writing more round, stu- 
 died, and methodical, and treated of a debt not 
 yet discharged, in less courtly terms. The third 
 was a civil refusal to exert the interest which 
 he had stooped to solicit in furtherance of his 
 favorite project, by one of his most intimate as- 
 sociates and most frequent guests, and a bitter 
 smile convulsed his lip as he laid it down. 
 j There was, still, however, a fourth, and without 
 ( even glancing at the superscription, he tore it 
 I open. In an instant he had mastered its con- 
 i tents, and starting from his seat, he rang the bell 
 ' violently. 
 
 In another moment the summons was obeyed. 
 " Howton," he said, in considerable agitation ; 
 "I have received a letter from Westrum ; Mrs. 
 Delamere is dying, and not a moment must be 
 lost if we can again see her alive. Send one of 
 the men to order post-horses, throw together 
 some linen, and whatever you may consider 
 necessary, and let the carriage be at the door i 
 by the time your mistress is ready to start. 
 Meanwhile I will go and prepare her. We must 
 be on the road within an hour." 
 
 " 1 fear. Sir, that it will be impossible." 
 " And why so f Nothing should be impossi- 
 We at such a moment." 
 
 " My lady is from home. Sir." 
 
 " From home ? — where ? — when did she go f" 
 
 " She left at about six o'clock. Sir, accom- 
 panied by Mrs. Symonds, and dismissed the car- 
 riage after alighting at her milliner's." 
 
 " And what orders did she give ?" 
 
 " Merely that the carriage might return, and 
 that she would let them know when she required 
 it again." 
 
 " Ha ! I see it all now — I understand it all," 
 said Mortimer in an accent of vexation ; " your 
 mistress has found herself inconvenienced by 
 the noise and bustle of the workmen, and has 
 consequently left the house for the night ; but 
 surel}' there must have been some note or mes- 
 sage to explain this arrangement to me ?" 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, Sir, or I should of course 
 have been informed of it." 
 
 " Still I am convinced that I am right," per- 
 sisted Mortimer, " and she probably determined 
 too suddenly to pursue this plan "to remember 
 that I might be uneasy." 
 
 " I scarcely think so,'sir," said the man steadily, 
 " for Mrs. Symonds had the imperial of my mis- 
 tress's carriage taken to her room early in the 
 day, and it was packed when she left home." 
 
 " A convincing proof of the correctness of my 
 suggestion," retorted Mortimer, without one 
 misgiving ; " That fact alone would suffice to 
 satisfy me that I have discovered the truth, as 
 it was impossible that she could pass the night 
 out of her own house without some preparation, 
 but as it is equally impossible that she will re- 
 main at her milliner's, and as we do not know to 
 what friend she is gone, I do not feel that I 
 should be justilied, under the present circum- 
 stances, in delaying my own departure until 
 to-morrow. Prepare everything, therefore, with 
 as much dispatch as possible, while I write a 
 few lines to break this melancholy news to Mrs. 
 Mortimer, and be careful that another set of 
 horses are in readiness for her to follow me im- 
 mediately on her return home." 
 
 The man bowed, and left the room, and if he 
 marvelled at the blindness of his master, he had 
 at least the discretion to remain silent. 
 
 Mortimer assured!}' felt no extraordinary af- 
 fection for Mrs. Delamere — hers was not one oS 
 those endearing natures which command attach- 
 ment, but he respected her as the mother of his 
 wife, and he was aware that the absence of Sybil 
 only rendered his duty to that mother the more 
 imperative. Hastily, therefore, but considerate- 
 ly, he communicated in the note which he pro- 
 ceeded to write, the absolute necessity of her 
 immediate appearance at Westrum, urged her 
 to fortitude, and even to hope, and informed her 
 of the arrangements which he had made to fa- 
 cilitate her jdurnej'. Not a word of reproach, 
 not a sentence of harshness or displeasure es. 
 caped him ; he respected her sorrow, and forgo, 
 his own suffering, in order to soothe hers. And 
 when this was done, he stole to the bedside of 
 his slumbering child, not to awaken her, for his 
 moments were counted, but to look fondly and 
 silently upon her clierub face before he left her, 
 and to impress again and again upon the obse- 
 quious nurse the necessity of constant vigilance 
 and teudernees. 
 
 This was scarcely accomplished, when bis 
 
/92 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. 
 
 travelling chaise -was announced, and five minutes 
 afterwards the portmanteau and carpet-bags 
 "were packed away, master and man were seated 
 in the vehicle, uiid it drove off iu the direction 
 of Westruni at the best speed of four swift horses. 
 
 Gertrude was forgiven ; thanks to the eager 
 zeal of the honest clerk, who, well versed iu the 
 jealous captiousness of poverty, at once and 
 effectually proceeded to exorcise the threatening 
 spirit. 
 
 A messenger was despatched to the Manor- 
 house to announce the return of Gertrude, and 
 ere long, Ernest Armstrong bounded into the 
 liouse. Welcomes and reproaches were poured 
 forth volubly from his lips. Gertrude had no 
 right to sacrifice herself the to selfish caprices 
 of a stranger. 
 
 " My dear mother's only brother!" urged the 
 gentle girl. 
 
 " And still a stranger," persisted the young 
 man as he sat beside her, clasping her liand, and 
 looking anxioui^ly into her face ; " And have j-ou 
 reflected on all the results of your ill-advised 
 journey? — Upon your pallid cheeks, which we 
 had tauglit to bloom again at Bletchloy ? — Had 
 we not. Miss Warrington? — Upon a 'responsi- 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 Bt a singular coincidence Sybil and Gertrude 
 quitted London on the same day. The one to 
 immolate upon the altar of vanity all her dig' 
 nity as a wife, and all her purity as a woman, 
 ttiid tlie other, to seek in the bosom of an at- 
 tached familj' the reward of her past trials. 
 The one impoverished by her own follies, and 
 burthened with the ruin of her husband who 
 had confided in her ; the other, rich in hope, 
 and about to seciire the happiness and prosperity 
 of all wiiom she best loved. 
 
 We cannot follow Sybil and her seducer on 
 their journey. In so far as they are concei-ned 
 our task is ended. Vice ever writes its own 
 hi.story in blood and tears : no honest pen can 
 fitly chro!iiele a career of error and of sin. Angels 
 bow their radiant heads as the dark shadows 
 pass, and they bow them in silence. 
 
 Gertrude left London as she had entered it, 
 pure, humble-minded, and gentle. Not even 
 the officious congratulations of her legal adviser, 
 nor the anxious courtesies of her late uncle's 
 partner, had sufficed to impress her with a con- 
 viction of her increased self-importance. She 
 oul}' felt that she could now repay in some 'de- 
 gree the disinterested affection of Ernest, and 
 the friendsliip of his family. Her spirit was 
 still saddened by the remembrance of the squalid 
 death-bed beside which she had stood so lately, 
 and she almost felt as though it were a sin to 
 exult in tlie possession of wealth which had 
 been purchased by such privations. Yet still 
 she smiled as she remembered that she had left 
 
 one happy heart behind her, and that the hum- ] pretty shrubberies, and fish-ponds, and bal 
 ble iNIrs. Sli;n-p, made rich be\'ond her hopes by jnies, and aviary, and flower-gardens. I havu 
 tJie ]i<iss(s-ion of the scanty stock of furniture I set my heart upon becoming its mistress. Aio 
 at Walworth, and permission to follow her in a|you prepared to gratify me?"' 
 few months, in order to be established under i The orphan quailed for an instant as slie saw 
 her roof for life, had blessed her as they parted, ithe light fade from the face of her lover, and tho 
 end that the meek old man who now sat beside ' smile die away upon his face. Could it be that, 
 her in the chaise, proudly attired in a new suit : even for one brief moment, he had mistaken 
 of glossy black, was rescued from a drudgery [her ? But no; Ernest rallied ere the sound of 
 unsuited to his years by a slight alteration in her voice had well ceased, and raising iier hand 
 
 bility to which you were unequal, and a fati_ 
 against which you had not physical strength to 
 contend ? You smile ! Well, tiien, I will ask 
 only one more question ; has it never occurred 
 to you that the same quixotic delicacy of feel- 
 ing which took you, like a lady-errant, to London 
 in search of extraordinary adventures, and 
 which may perhaps prompt you to delay a 
 marriage already definitely fixed at some six 
 weeks hence, may at least weary out my fo»- 
 beai-ance ?" 
 
 The happy girl shook her head def^-ingly. 
 
 " Do not be too confident in j'our own strength, 
 Gertrude," said Ernest impatiently ; " Syden- 
 ham vows that Mary shall keep her word, and I 
 vow " 
 
 Gertrude playfully laid her hand ujjon his lijis. 
 
 "And the villa?" she asked. 
 
 The young man looked up anxiously and ii>- 
 quirir.gly. 
 
 " You know, Mr. Armstrong, that you hav« 
 promised me that villa behind tlie hill", with its 
 
 to his lips, he said sad!}', but firmly, 
 
 " Alas, my sweet Gertrude, that dream at 
 least cannot be realised! 1 have failed in my 
 efforts to secure personal independence — misej> 
 ably failed, and j'ou must even be content to 
 accept the home which my father offers to ui 
 
 her uncle's will, which had exchanged the be- 
 quest to an income of the same amount. 
 
 How cheaply iuid she thus purchased two grate- 
 ful hearts, aiul liow the consciousness that she 
 had done so, Jiglitened the tedium of the way, 
 and beguiled her of the memories which still 
 
 cast a cloud over iier young brow, and how her I under his own roof Will you not do tliis, 
 pulses bounded as tlie woods, and streams, and dearest ?" 
 
 meadows of Bletchley came in sight; the village Gertrude was, even amid her gentleness, still 
 street, tlie dingy cottage, and finally the rigid woman enough to exult in her power, and wliile 
 figure of lier aunt! she returned the fond pressure of his fingers, she 
 
 Miss Wi'.rrington looked doubly erect and whispered softl\% — 
 doubly stern, as she saw her niece not only ^ " JSIo, I must have the villa. It will require — 
 alight from an ex])ensive travelling conveyance, i will it not? — at least six months to effect all the 
 but even introduce beneatli her roof, and with- alterations which you proposed. Wlien tiiesa 
 out lior ]>eimission, a person to whom slie was are comjileted, and not before, I will, on my 
 a stranger, but an hour had scarcely elapsed ere j side, fulfil my proiuise." 
 
V x\j-i i>i'^i.u iir.r». 
 
 ivn 
 
 Widi a ^asp of ngony, Ernest Armstrong 
 turtod to liis li-et, but she held him bfuk. 
 
 "Listen to me," she said with a pale cheek, 
 lid a tioinbling voice, "listen to me, and for- 
 ivemc! — I have returned to yon rieli — fiibu- 
 ^Misly rich — tliis gentleman — my aunt — will tell 
 oil all ! Do 1 not owe respect to the menioiy 
 !' liini who lias enabled me to give myself to 
 
 ■ u witiiout a blush at my own penury? 1 
 
 ive played with your feelings, and I am self- 
 ondeinncd ; pardon me, therefore, and grant 
 nv last recpiest: defer onr marriage, and liere- 
 ifter I will iiave no will but vourf^!" 
 
 miserably eonscions of all my weakness, nil my 
 inconsistency. IJur, my niotiier — niy nuil.lier— 
 Gertrude, loved us botii. Listen to me, for her 
 sake. I am sitting here alone — alone 1 Do you 
 comprehend all the meaning which may be con- 
 densed into that solitary word ? — Alone, in the 
 stately saloon of one of the stateliest mansions 
 of London. My child ia above stairs. I dare 
 not trust niyseff at this moment to see her near 
 me. 1 liave just returned from Westrum; from 
 the vault of my family, wiiere I stood, as an 
 
 empty niche received the body of — yes, Ger- 
 Itriule, of the mother of my wife, which I had 
 
 The tale was soon told, and even the lover bid them place beside my own, — and would you 
 •s:is convinced, although he still murmured, know where that wife was, at the vei-y moment 
 'lertrude was restored U> him, and, although in 1 when I was thus engaged? I will tell you. In 
 the first joy of meeting he was eomjiaratively ithe arms of a paramour; a pretended cousin; 
 i.isensible to the fact that she had returned home j of a perfidious friend, of a tiend, whose name 
 a wealthy heiress, an instant's reflection sutliced will hang like a curse upon my lips in my 
 to convince him of the effect which such a cir- death-agony. Go, sleep amid your riches, will 
 cumstance must naturally produce upon his .you say to me, proud in your virtuous poverty, 
 family. The flushed cheek of Miss Warrington, i You do not know Sybil. 8he has ruined her 
 the proud eye of Mr. Jackson, and the meek' child. For myself I care n(»t. What have I to 
 affection of the orphan, which almost Ecemed to regret? Yet Eva is young, too young to have 
 ;.sk forgiveness for a prosperity that rendered been contaminated by bad example, or humbled 
 
 r his equal in the eyes of the world, all tended by coin])nssion. Ah, Gertrude I cannot tell 
 :> awaken him to a perfect consciousness of the you what she is 1 Her glorious beauty may 
 L'.-eat and unexpected change which had taken peri-hance be the reflection of lior mother's, but 
 ]^!ace iii her fortunes, and yet it was with a her clinging love, hei- gentle nature, her endear- 
 hiiiigled feeling that he murmured, as he released ing sweetness — these are all your own. Will you 
 , her hand, — I reject her? England is no longer a home for 
 
 ■ •■ Gertrude, I rejoice for you — for myself — for me. The principles which I ind>ibed from my 
 all I — and still, I would ask you never to forget mother's lips, ill as 1 have employed them, forbid 
 tliat I loved you before this strange event had seH'-destruction, and I will live on as some ex- 
 c^nie to pass. piation for four j'cars of weakness and of folly. 
 
 •• When I forget it, may I forget myself" But I cannot endure shame. The first finger 
 !"!rmured the orphan, overawed by his emotion, which was pointed against me would .sear into 
 'Cut why should you look so coldly, Ernest? my spirit like a brand, and therefore, from 
 Is this gold to bring distrust between us?" |henceforth, so long as I may be condemned to 
 
 Who cannot guess the answer? And who drag on an existence which has become weary 
 reipdres to be told that the villa was ready long and loathsome to me, I shall remain an exile. 
 eri the six months of mourning had expired? Yes, Gertrude, an exile from all that I have 
 Was (iertrude happy ? Yes; she had with her loved ; my country, my home, and, aiiove all, 
 (ill the elements ot" happiness! Her empire niy child, my blessed child! ]3ut let me not 
 w.is home — her throne the heart of her husband , weary you. I have looked my partial ruin 
 — her ambition a career of virtue, purity and steadily in the face, and I have ascertained that 
 atFection. She was no heroine, as roii'ianee- it may be repaired by time. Eva is yet an in- 
 '•■aders understand the term, but a gracious and fant, and thus I have ventured to retain a sufli- 
 
 :i-eful woman, strong in trial, gentle in pros- cient income to secure me against want, which 
 
 rity, and firm'in right. And yet she had one will be remitted to me by a confidential friend, 
 . •>re pang to suffer, the last, but the keenest, [who will know, and will "faithfully preserve the 
 
 It was a fortnight after her return to Bletch- secret of all my movements. When these re- 
 I v, .ind it came to her, as sorrow often conies, niittances cease to be claimed, 1 shall be at 
 
 I i. rough the most common-place medium — the peace, and, meanwhile, Eva's prosperity v,-ill be 
 j -t. When she rose in the morning, siie found securetl. Gertrude 1 this is a last a]>peal. . Ile- 
 
 II 1-tter which Hannah had laid upon her dress- ceive it as a request from the grave. I shall 
 ii'cr-table. The handwriting had been long un- remain in England until I ascertain that my 
 b'-iTi, but never forgotten. i child is happy undtu- your protection— ha[)py in 
 
 i'hus ran the letter : — | your love — safe in your example. 1 advance no 
 
 Gertrude, — I used to shun, but I now wel-! claim upon your pity, your cliarity, your for- 
 e the idea that you once loved me. I dare Ibearance. Again 1 say that 1 dure not. Yet 
 
 lat you once 
 !•'<■ disbelieve the hope. If it were indeed ajstilllhope — 
 fact, I am saved ; if it were oidy a fiction, strive, 
 1 implore you, for the sake of one as pure, as 
 lovely, and as loving as yourself, to remember 
 that we were bound together in early years by 
 the ties both of "clationship and affection. I 
 have n r-g'i*- *o f\py?al to you, nor do I arro- 
 t'l'.te «r» ' "ii) no'-even seek to justify myself 
 ui tl»e ''.i-r'.-'-A':; ',( a'.othei-. I am coascious, too I 
 13 
 
 FllEDKl 
 
 M. 
 
 irriMEiu 
 
 " Who wns (he beautiful woman with whonri 
 you were conversing just now?" asked Lord 
 Francis Lorimer of his friend (ireville, between 
 the pauses of a quadrille. 
 
 "Beautiful!" echoed Gfeville wllli cnLhu- 
 
104 
 
 THE RIVAL BEAUTIESu 
 
 sinsm. " Slie is .in angel ! You remember llor- 
 limer, wiiose wife eloped with Trevor about 
 twenty years ago, when we were soinewliat 
 younger'than we are to-night, and were daaeers 
 instead of lookers-on. "Well, that radiant wo- 
 man was her daughter — a mere infant in the 
 nursery — and see her now I One of the most 
 lovely and esiimable women in England. How 
 
 proud is of her. By tlio bye, that was a 
 
 glorious speech he made in the House last 
 night! He's a rising man, depend upon it! 
 There's good stutf foi A minister there. And 
 •uch a wiful" 
 
 " By Jove ! she treads like an empress," ex- 
 claimed his listener. 
 
 " And feels like a woman,"' retoi-ted Lord 
 Francis ; " I know but one wife or mother in the 
 kingdom whom I value more than herself, and 
 that is " 
 
 ■" Mrs. Armstrong," said Greville with an ani- 
 mated smile ! " And ghid am I to find that even 
 amid your admii-ation for younger and brighter 
 b'-auty, you can still do her justice. Had I 
 fift}' sons, I would strive to marry thenj all to 
 the daugliters of Mrs. Armstrong." 
 
 TEE E^'D 
 
THE WIFE'S TTtlALS. 
 
 ly have been defaced ; while a fair stream, which 
 soon swelled almost to a river, flowing through 
 land that richly repaid the tiller's toil, seemed to 
 defy alike distribution or disfigurement. All 
 around was beauty and fertility, proving tliat if 
 the world-denying monk knew how to select hia 
 residence so as best to draw tribute from wood, 
 earth, and water, he looked at scenery with the 
 eye of the painter, and often with the feeling of a 
 poet. 
 
 The Priory, though still so called, was no more 
 the Priory of past generations than if it had ac- 
 tually been razed to its foundations and rebuilt 
 — for, except the foundations, few traces of its 
 original arrangement were left — passages along 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Should I nnnther love, then must I have 
 Annlhtr heart, ll.r this is full .,f her, 
 And evermore >h;UI he ; here she is drawn 
 
 Al Uiiglh, aud whole '" 
 
 Jlymen'a Triumph. 
 
 Seabrooke Priory, the principal theater of 
 our tale, had, as the name indicates, originally 
 formed part of an extensive property belonging 
 to the Komish Church. In the reign of Henry 
 the Eighth it was cut, and carved, and distributed 
 as best suited the views of that libel on kings; 
 and while its hundreds of acres were shared 
 among those who best abetted him in his tyrannic 
 
 sway, the Priory itself, and the rich lands in its.} which many a holy man had glided with thoughts 
 immediate vicinity, were bestowed on the especial fixed on sacred subjects, had since resounded ^vith 
 favorite of the day, or rather hour, caprice being [ the warlike tread of him whose trade was slaugh- 
 as much the characteristic of this monstrous blot ter. and whose thoughts were of deeds of violence 
 on history's page as cruelty. and blood — the spot wliere the simple cells had 
 
 Through the hands of various masters did this ' stood, whose walls had echoed many a sigh of re- 
 fair specimen of u i ure and art successively pass j gret, many a groan of remorse, many an agoniz 
 — now belonging >;o a Papist, when matins and i ing cry fur pardon, when the overburdened spirit 
 vespers rang out, and other ceremonip« of popery [ must speak or die; adoined now with the rude 
 prevailed— now owning the rule of i- *-~*otestaiit j luxury of more modern times, received its reeling 
 courtier, till the civil wars threw all ir:o confu- t occupant through the various stages of de'bauch- 
 sion, and the stern, uncompromising Independent, ery, from tip.sy excitement to the most degraded 
 denouncing aH who differed in opinion from him, i state of drunken insensibility, and resounded 
 as tares fit only for the burning, seized upon Sea- J with ribald jests or fierce imprecations. The rery 
 brooke as one of the strongholds of the scarlet I gardens, with their fragrance and loveliness, were 
 abomination, or the scarcely less hateful pre- \ less fragrant, less lovely, when thronged with the 
 
 latic schism, and confiscated it to the uses of the 
 Stat*. 
 
 Afterward came the Eestoration ; when, sadly 
 shorn of its fields and pastures, its sweep of rising 
 ground to the east, and its river to the west, it 
 fell into the hands of a parasite of that court, 
 whose profligacy and infamy were the disgrace of 
 the nation which permittetl them. Again and 
 again, and each time more speedily, did it change 
 owners, and at every cliange, like the bottle con- 
 taining the imp, fetch less ; till, when the South- 
 Sea Bubble was nearly at its height, one who had 
 speculated fortunately, was equally fortunate in 
 realizing before the explosion occun-ed, and thrice 
 fortunate in escaping the disgorging process, which 
 fell with ruinous effect on so many, purchased all 
 that remained of the Seabrooke estate for a sum 
 which furnished its late possessor with funds for 
 discharging a so-called debt of honor. 
 
 " Cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd," as were the 
 limits of this once almost regal property, so em- 
 inently beautiful was the situation, that had it 
 been converted into some huge and tall chimneyed 
 factory town, its natiu-al attractions could scarce- 
 
 fallen angels who were occasionally invited to the 
 Priory revels, lor " the trail of the serjjent was 
 over them all." 
 
 Thus it had gone on with a downward tendency, 
 when, much to the astonishment of his compeers 
 of the Stock Exchange, Mr. Ashley became the 
 purchaser ; nor was this astonisliment le.ssened 
 when they found that he not only intendeJ to 
 keep his bargain, but to lay out a considerable 
 sum of money on its improvement. Tliis was car- 
 ried on with a good sense, which showed that he 
 had well understood his wishes, and calculated 
 his means. Gradually, by advantageous .'^ales or 
 exchanges of out-lying patches, anl equally ad- 
 vantageous purcliases of alienated land near the 
 center of the property, he possessed, in tiie course 
 of a quarter of a century, one of the most com- 
 pact as well as beautiful estates in Enghind. 
 Thrifty but not penurious, never generous but 
 always just, for years and years af\er his deatli, 
 he was cited as the greatest bemfa:;tor tlie Priory 
 had ever called master ; and this title was in- 
 herited by both son and grandson, who (.•arried 
 on his plana without attempting to extend them. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Tha building itself was completed by his grand- 
 son, and had received but trilling alterations since 
 his time, whun deccuding still through the 
 Ashleys, a race whose enterprise and love of ac- 
 cumulation seem to have ended with the origional 
 purchaser, the Priory, with its valuable tene- 
 ments, hereditaments, etc., etc., became the prop- 
 erty of Horace Ashley, the very last male heir of 
 a lamily which had lately boasted of six sons, 
 'ihe father of Horace, a younger son, fell in bat- 
 tle, leaving a widow, and their only child. She 
 Wiis of noble birth, but poor, and on the death of 
 her husband gratefully accepted the offer of a rel- 
 ative, that at his expense Horace should be educat- 
 ed for his father's profession; but death after 
 death among the Ashleys, at length left this boy 
 the possessor of a property which, at his birth, had 
 seemed as far removed from him as a kingdom. 
 
 After completing his education, no longer as a 
 soldier, but as a wealthy landed proprietor, he set 
 ofiF, as was tlie fashion, on his travels ; and in 
 France was introduced to the family of Lord 
 Westrough, to whose daughter, Lady Frances, a 
 beautiful girl, he became passionately attached. 
 Horace, from early delicacy of health, had been 
 much with his loving and true-hearted mother — 
 to him she was a type of womanly virtues and 
 excellences— a model of all that was lovely and 
 good ; and the virtues he had ever found in her 
 were, by a poetic and chivalrous temperament, 
 believed to exist equally in the lovely Frances. 
 
 His proposals were received with scarcely con- 
 cealed delight by the noble but needy parents; 
 and by the lady herself with, at least, no opposi- 
 tion. He returned to England the happj^ lover, 
 and w.as making extensive and costly preparations 
 for the reception of the fair fianrte, wheu he 
 receivjil the dreadful intelligence that she had 
 privately married the handsome but profligate 
 Captain Templeton. 
 
 Horace never recovered from this shock to his 
 best and tenderest feelings ; but too benevolent to 
 visit on his fellows generally the treachery of one, 
 he became neither a misanthrope nor a recluse; 
 if love had been rudely crushed in his heart, 
 other feelings still beat warmly and Idndly to 
 those arounl him— if one had been false, he had 
 troops of friends true and constant — and though 
 sad h.mself, he had the blessed privilege of bring- 
 ing joy to others. Ah ! why had not this noble 
 nature been early taught,- that where respect is 
 lost, love should not be allowed to linger ; a lesson 
 which is still unknown to some of the best and 
 gentlest, who have mistaken the glitter of tinsel 
 for the luster of pure metal. 
 
 Doubly endeared by this trial to his mother, 
 who sought witli all the ingenuity of real affection 
 to mitigate the etYects of this bitter disappoint- 
 ment, he resided henceforth with her, chiefly at 
 the Priory ; and when, at an advanced age, she 
 died, he spent tiic remainder of his days in carry- 
 ing out their joint schemes for improving and 
 benefiting all around him. At length his own 
 career of unobtrusive goodness ended, and great 
 was the curiosity to know to whom the large and 
 productive property at Seabrooke would descend. 
 
 It then appeared that lie had never forgotten 
 her, through who.sc heartless conduct his whole 
 life liad been clouded. Captain Templeton had 
 died about eight years after his marriage, leaving 
 
 t-a son and daughter, with their mother, entirely 
 dependent ou relatives. The daughter, by a little 
 management, had been received by her great-aunt, 
 and resided with her in Scotland ; but as Lady 
 j Annes income was small, poor Laura might easily 
 have learned how hard it is to eat the bread of 
 ' another, had not a kind friend, whose incognito it 
 was easy to guess, from time to time forwarded 
 sums of money for her especial benefit. 
 
 Lionel lived with his mother and an unmarried 
 uncle, and was destined for his father's profession; 
 the silly mother's predilection for a scaidet coat 
 and gold epaulettes not having been cured by her 
 dearly-bought experience, that they may cover a 
 heart quite poor in all noble sentiments and up- 
 right principles. Petted and spoiled when a child, 
 ! insolence and selfishness marked his boyhood, nor 
 1 was there any one circumstance in which he was 
 placed that tended to root out, or even weaken, 
 these hateful qualities ; for though often obliged 
 to conceal them, and to seem humble, because he 
 did not dare to be overbearing ; or to affect cour- 
 j tesy when he longed to insult, because self-interest 
 ) counseled restraint — these fostered vices of his 
 : character broke out "with double violence when 
 I they could do so with impunity. 
 I At the death of his uncle, which happened when 
 \ he was about six-and-twenty, he and his lady 
 mother found themselves almost destitute. His 
 I uncle's income died with him, but the little he 
 I had saved purcha.sed a trifling annuity for Lady 
 \ Frances ; while other relatives, having been alien- 
 ated or estranged by the exclusive appropriation 
 of their deceived kinsman and his means, studi- 
 j ously kept aloof. 
 
 Nothiug so mean as selfish pride. Lady Frances, 
 quite unconscious that the heart she had wounded 
 t could still smart at her touch ; quite thoughtless 
 I or regardless that in referring to past times, and 
 I in pleading the cause of her son, the man, child- 
 i less and solitary, would feel doubly desolate ; she 
 I skillfully alluded to some service he had recently 
 ' rendered government, and entreated his aid to 
 procure for Lionel some subordinate appointment 
 then vacant. 
 
 I The reply was distant, cold, almost haughty. 
 \ In serving government, Mr. Ashley claimed neither 
 1 reward nor recompense ; but understanding that 
 [ Mr. Lionel Templeton had been educated for the 
 army, he placed at his command a commission in 
 \ a regiment leaving for active service in the Penin- 
 I sula, and had the honor to remain her Ladyship's 
 obedient servant. 
 
 Brief was her remark — " Unless he had alto- 
 gether refused, he could not have done less nor 
 worse." She knew not that this formal, business- 
 like letter had cost the writer many hours of 
 sharp anguish. " He is a regular old bore," was 
 the grateful criticism of the son ; and he also lit- 
 tle knew that this very commission had been 
 procured with difhculty and great cost, at a period 
 when men were eager to distinguish themselves on 
 the battle-field, for the express purpose of remov- 
 ing him from the pernicious influence of his weak 
 mother, and by placing him among men of honor, 
 and the stern realities of an active and responsible 
 duly, to afford him a chance of becoming wiser 
 and better. 
 
 Though taking but little part in the busy hum 
 of men, Horace Ashley was not entii-ely ignorant 
 
THE \v[ff;s trials. 
 
 what passed in the modern Babylon, and lis- 
 nedwitli a painful interest to the proceoilings of 
 idy Frances ; for though all he learned proved 
 ir to be utterly destitute of any quality that 
 Ins respjct or esteem, by him she was remem- 
 sed as the beautiful girl, who had realized his 
 sions of the fair spirit that was to minister to 
 m through life. Her folly, with regard to her 
 n, he greatly deplored, and when applied to on 
 s behalf, responded to the appeal, as we have 
 en, ^vith the kindest intentions, and in the most 
 fectual manner. 
 
 At iirst, Lionel vapored and gasconaded about 
 fusing the commission ; he upbraided his mother 
 ir having subjected him to this impe'rtinent med- 
 ling, and insinuated that Mr. Ashley had taken 
 lis opportunity of showing her how a beggar 
 iiould be answered, though at the time she pro- 
 Dsed making the application, he, with the hope 
 :" obtaining something more agreable to his notions 
 ;■ ease and enjoyment, had warmly seconded the 
 fort. With the next post, however, a change 
 ime over him ; it brought a convincing argument, 
 the form of a bill for one thousand pounds, to 
 rocure the outfit and pay necessary expenses ; 
 18 donor, as it appeared, not anticipating a refu- 
 il of his otier. Lionel then took another tone ; 
 isolence was exchanged for meanness, bravado 
 )r fawning, ungrateful sneers for expressions of 
 Imost servile obligation. 
 
 Happily for his comfortable estimate of himself 
 lid his importance, this new-born abasement did 
 ot survive the touch of the money ; this singular 
 mnility vanished at the sight of the commission, 
 nd his letter of thanks was manly and gentle- 
 lanly — accompanied by one from his mother, an 
 dd mixture of platonism and sentimentality, in 
 hich she talked a good deal of namby-pamby 
 bout former friendship and days long past, and 
 inted that Lionel was most anxious to express 
 is thanks in person, to one who had been so kind 
 friend ; but as no notice was taken of this sug- 
 gestion, it is presumed no answering anxiety was 
 felt to see him ; and so he went with his regiment 
 win battles and gather laurels ; to try for 
 i.ame and fams on those fields where liberty and 
 iie are both so often lost. 
 
 Lionel was not deMcicnt in either ambition or j 
 jourage ; and though the discipline to which he 
 yas subjected was galling to his pride and opposed j 
 his habits of self-indulgence, he had sense ' 
 inough to know that during the stirring times of 
 Tar, he who aspires to high rank as an officer ! 
 aust prove his claim to promotion by being a good i 
 soldier ; and promotion did follow his endeavors, 
 or his name was honorably mentioned in the 
 aeneral's dispatches, and friends in England sud- 
 ienly recovering their memory, began to call on 
 md congratulate Lady Frances ; when an engage- 
 ment took place in which his regiment sutfered 
 38vei-ely, and he, as it was supposed, fell mortally 
 ■wounded — supposed only — for his body was not 
 found, while a soldier who fought near him, but 
 who escaped, declared he saw him fall — struck 
 from his horse by a violent blow on the head. 
 These dreadful tidings and the harassing sus- 
 nse were fatal to his mother ; and when, more 
 than a year afierward, he appeared, great was 
 the astonishment at his escape; greater still at 
 silence. It was quite true that he had been 
 
 violently struck on his head, and he supposed, 
 while in a state of insensibility, he must iiavo 
 been ridden over, as wiien consciousness returned 
 he suffered acutely from various contusions and 
 a fractured arm. He ascribed his escape en- 
 tirely to the intervention of a priest, whose 
 religious duty led him into the ranks of friend 
 or foe to help and console — by him he was taken 
 to his convent, and there nursed till perfectly 
 recovered— but he always seemed careful to 
 avoid entering into any particulars connected 
 with his long absence, and was equally uncom- 
 municative regarding the reasons for his strange 
 silence. 
 
 To his wealthy friend he wrote announcing hia 
 return, and again received substantial proofs of 
 his favor and generosity ; and the gay and hand- 
 some Lionel, now Colonel Templeton, became tlie 
 hero of various fashionable coteries, while the 
 fair, the young, and the wealthy made him the 
 hero of tlieir romance. 
 
 Among those who combined all tliree of these 
 gifts was the Honorable EUinor Grantham, to 
 wliom Lionel contrived to make himself so agree- 
 able that she consented to give him herself, and, 
 what he by no means undervalued, all her rich 
 belongings also. EUinor's brother. Lord Gran- 
 tham, who was not the least in love with the all- 
 conquering Colonel, reminded her that Lionel, 
 before he left England, had established for him- 
 self a character which was composed of several 
 unattractive, not to say ugly, features — that it, 
 was hinted he was dissipated, whispered that he 
 gambled, and openly asserted that he was selfish 
 and false. But EUinor did not believe either tlie 
 hint, the whisper, or the assertion ; and they 
 were married, her romantic confidence leadiiig 
 her to place the whole of her large fortune at 
 his disposal. 
 
 A few months after their marriage they went 
 abroad, and traveled about from one place to 
 another, during which time two girls were born, 
 with whom Colonel Templeton and his wife sud- 
 denly returned to England, summoned by the 
 death of Mr. Ashley — who, to the breathless 
 astonishment of almost every one, had left the 
 whole of his beautiful estate, Seabrooke Priory, 
 to Colonel Templeton, in trust for his son ; five 
 tliousand pounds to the Honorable Mrs. Temple- 
 ton for her especial and independent use — ten 
 thousand to Laura Templeton, and legacies of 
 greater or less amount to his particular friend, 
 the Rev. Charles Vernon, and his family, who 
 also held in trust a handsome sum for charities. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " 'Tvvas no fantastic ohjet-t, but a truth— 
 Thou dumb niagician, ihat willioul a charm 
 Dulst miik« my entrance easy, to possess 
 What wise men wish and loll lor." 
 
 r7ie City Madam. 
 
 By some it is thought that adversity is the true 
 touch-stone of character ; some, on the contrary, 
 maintain that prosperity is more trying ; but tho 
 truth seems to be, tliat each only develops those 
 qualities which, but for its aid, would have ro- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 mained dormant or unobtrusive. The man who 
 with cheerful resolution sets his shoulder to the 
 wheel which adversity- has driven lieej) into the 
 mire, and, having extricated it, will iielpor teach 
 another to do the same, is very likely to bear 
 prosperity with equanimity, and a generous 
 sympathy for those less fortOnate; while another, 
 who has shrunk from exertion when most needed, 
 and submitted to a paralyzing dependence, or 
 degrading pauperism, would be very likely, were 
 wealth to becnme his, to overvalue it as a miser, 
 or squander it as a selfish spendthrift 
 
 «' Do you know any thing of Colonel Temple- 
 ton ':" inquired Mrs Vernon of her hu.-band, as 
 they took their hitherto privileged walk in the 
 beautiful grounds more immediately near the 
 Priory, a lew days before his arrival. 
 
 "Nut much," was the cautious and rather 
 equivocal reply, even to his beloved wife— for had 
 he finished the sentence, it would have been 
 thus, " to his advantage." 
 
 " He has been living chiefly abroad since his 
 marriage, has he not .' I wonder whetiier he re- 
 sembles Mrs. Sinclair ? if no, he must be very 
 handsome !"' 
 
 " He is said to be a very handsome and fas- 
 cinating man," said Mr. Vernon ; " but owing to 
 their early separation I should expect but little 
 similarity in character between brother' and sis- 
 ter, whatever there may be in looks. This oppor- 
 tune legacy will, I hope, relieve the Sinclairs 
 from tiieir dependence on Sir Alan, and, by' 
 reconciling him to the match, induce him to ex- 
 ert his influence in a more fatherly way tluui in 
 trying to banish them to tlie fever-giving coast, 
 of Africa." 
 
 "But I thought he gave his consent to the 
 marriage," observed Mrs. Vernon. 
 
 '• So he did — but he then believed iliss Tem- 
 pleton was heiress to something better than Lady 
 Anne Ferguson's old chairs and tables — even 
 now, I believe, he resents what he considers a 
 trick much more than the loss of fortune." 
 
 The speakers were the rector of Seabrooke ami 
 his wife, whose characters may be briefly ex- 
 pressed in the wish, that all in situations of sim- 
 ilar responsibility possessed similar excellence. 
 He was an intelligent and benevolent looking 
 man of about thirty-five; she, a gentle reflec- 
 tion, a fev/ years younger. Mr. Vernon was the 
 nephew of the late Mr. Ashley's dear friend and 
 traveling companion — the only one, except his 
 revered mother, who knew all the particulars of 
 liis disappointment and its trying effects — and 
 after her death the only one with whom he could 
 ever revert to the past. When the event which 
 doomed him to solitude had calmed down from 
 the sharp agony whicli wrung alike mind and 
 body, into the patient endurance, if not quiet 
 resignation, which time produces, Mr. Ashley 
 turned to take a survey of what, amid this gnat 
 wreck, ha<l been left — and he found liis mother 
 and his friend— these he at first believ.d to be 
 all— but gradually mother and friend convinced 
 liim that there were still nolde and inexhausiible 
 resources, from which nuich happiiu'ss — yes. li;ip- 
 piness, so they snid^ — might be <lcrived. He was 
 at first skeptical, but he tried them — tried them 
 well — and they were not found wanting; and 
 Leuce the large, but judicious, expenditure of his 
 
 handsome income in plans which slowly, bu" 
 I surely, did lasting and extensive good. 
 I Mr. Vernon it was who gained information foi' 
 , him of Lady Frances and her children, though 
 ] neither he nor liis nephew Charles tliought ii 
 I needful to enter into the details of that cliit-chal 
 which dubbed her ladyship a fool and her soc 
 a vaurieii. But when Mr. A.^hley, pleased with 
 what was publicly told of Lionel, and e.-pecially 
 with his marriage into a family so much respect- 
 ed as that of the Granthams, talked of makin" 
 him his heir, then Mr. Vernon suggested that the 
 property should be entailed on a ton. arguing 
 that the income arising from it was so ample as 
 to admit of a style of Jiving not only generous 
 but lavish ; and, in short, that, unUer any cir- 
 cumstances, it was always betier to restrain 
 those who had been educated in such thoughtless 
 indulgence, as it was notorious Colonel Temple- 
 ton had been. Thus then it was settled, and lit- 
 tle did the Colonel know to whom lie was indebted 
 fur the clog to this magnificent bequest, which he 
 so often found iriitating and gaUing. 
 
 On Mr. Vernon's death, which occurred shortly 
 before the death of his friend, the living was 
 given to Charles Vernon, who, with his wife and 
 family, took possession of the rectory, and en-. 
 tered zealously on the performance of his import- ■ 
 ant duties. 
 
 Both church and rectory had been repaired by 
 the fiist Mrs. Asliley, who was grieveU to think 
 how lung the work of ruin musi ha.e been al- 
 lowed to go on unchecked. She found buih in a 
 stale of decay and neglect, only too sadly typical 
 of the minds anvl morals of the people generally. 
 But now few things could ofter a more strikii'.- 
 cuntiast between tlie past and the-present. 1 1 
 church, one of those rare .^-pecimeiis of Goin; 
 architecture occasionally found in England, had 
 been restored, uut desuoyed ; wiiile tlie rectory, ' 
 built to harmonize with it as much as due regard 
 to internal cumlort would permit, was a model of 
 taste .-iiid beauty — it was within an easy walk of 
 the church, :iud nearly two miles from the Priory, 
 of wliicli tliere was a lovely view from the study ' 
 windows; from the drawing-room, over the gen- \ 
 tly-sloping lawn, the sea was vjsihle; toward the ■ 
 north u was sheltered by the eminence on which 
 stood the church, and by a well-contrived plan- 
 tation tf hardy trees. But oh! the rectory gar- ; 
 den — let, us peep at it over its shining laurel 
 hedge, though it may be very early spring— for " 
 it is always pretty from the suggestions of taste ■ 
 which the mere arrangement called up. Look at 
 those well-contrasted evergreens, keeping watch 
 over the bidden treasuies, till suns and genial 
 weather shall disclose them — see those beds of 
 varied and fantastic shape, and imagine what . 
 they iare when the inhabitants come forth in all 
 the glory of their gay attire — hundreds of rosea ' 
 of v.irioiis hue anU form, when summer comes, 
 will fill the air with tlieir clear, delicious perfume ' 
 — and then rtiat furnuil piece of arabesque, how 
 dazzling must be the efl'ectwhen the ariissic con- 
 trasts of color shall burst upon the delighted eye. 
 But all iliis time the Colonel i.s waiting, and 
 not very patiently either, for it may be whispered 
 as a secret, not to be elsewhere divulged, that at 
 the very time this rich inheritance came lo him, 
 he was meditating uu appeal to the hoards of his 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 n?eon benefactor ; sickness, increased family, 
 iifuresecn expenses, or any other fabulous plea 
 might have invented, would have been used — 
 ;ul lie done so, certain peccadilloes, which seemed 
 Iways to dog his steps, might have become 
 iiown, which would have stood between him and 
 IS bequest ; but all was safe — here he was, again 
 , t up in the world, and once more going to start 
 nr. 
 
 ' " I think I must quarter you and the children 
 in your brother, while I run down and see what 
 bis place is like," said the Colonel, the day after 
 heir arrival at Dover. 
 
 "Could we not accompany your" suggested 
 lis wife; "Cecil's house is not over-large, and I 
 ear we may incommode them" — for she remem- 
 lered that a correspondence had passed between 
 ler husband and brother, which had not been of 
 he most oily character ; and that when the last 
 housand pounds of her fortune had been de- 
 iianded, her brother, roused from his usual in- 
 ;.; (lolence, had warmly and sharply remonstrated. 
 iBiit it suited Colonel Templeton to forget this — 
 ":: |n short, he never remembered any thing that 
 r interfered with his arrangements ; besides, it 
 a [ilao suited him to be friendly with his wife's 
 ; [brother, whose station and character reflected 
 :: i^redit which wealth alone could not; and he ra- 
 ther piqued himself on thus maneuvering to 
 Jisend EUinor with one olive branch in her hand, 
 i land the other in tlie nurse's arms, to Lord Gran- 
 . jtham, Avho wouM, he hoped, receive them as 
 ; ipledges that the deluge was over, and that sun- 
 ! ^hine might be looked for. 
 
 ; I Lord Grantham was a good-tempered, easily- 
 ; jraanaged, indolent man; who, happily for him- 
 . .self and his children, had married an amiable, 
 (cheerful wife, possessed in abundance of the en- 
 . iergy and activity he wanted. Not easily repulsed 
 ; lOr abashed, it was through her reiterated solicit- 
 lations that one of her relations, who was in ofSce, 
 .bestowed a snug little post on her husband, the 
 ilate lord having sadly encumbered the family 
 iestate; it was through her laughing but perse- 
 Ivering entreaties that the godfather of her eldest 
 ;son gave him a cadetship; and she was so deter- 
 mined on it, that an Indian director, whom she 
 , besieged, capitulated, and promised to give the 
 :8econd boy an appointment in the East ; while 
 ^she never scrupled smilingly to avow, that she 
 ikept her hands ready to catch any windfall that 
 .might suit the youngest, a mere babe; and all 
 'this was done so heartily, so fearlessly, so frank- 
 ly, with so complete an unconsciousness of de- 
 parting in the least from the strictest propriety, 
 that tliose who looked on became unconscious 
 also ; perhaps the more readily and easily, be- 
 cause she was always so ready to help others — 
 when she had helped herself — that it was impos- 
 sible for friends to censure very severely that by 
 . which they occasionally profited. Then, she was 
 so true and honest in all she did; so courageous 
 in suiting her expenses to her husband's income; 
 so judicious in training her boys, by early self- 
 denial, bravely to meet the privations they must 
 encounter in making their way through the 
 world ; that every one, especially men ol sen.se 
 or experience, felt a pleasure in forwarding her 
 views and lessening her cares. 
 
 In person she was exactly the woman we should 
 
 expect to see— eminently " la femme dc la siht- 
 ation/' Tall, well-formed, promising to be what 
 is politely called a fine woman — .iiiir/irc, stout — 
 her clear complexion, bright, well-opened blue 
 eye, and mouth of unrivaled beauty, all gave 
 tokens of a genial, happy temperament. 
 
 "How I ever was induced to marry that daw- 
 dle Cecil, 1 can not imagine," she remarked one 
 day to old Admiral Western, who had been laugh- 
 in-; at her naval speculations for the third boy, 
 and had pronounced her the head of the family. 
 
 " I suppore, my love," replied Lord Grantham, 
 quietly looking over his newspaper, " it was be- 
 cause you did not know what to do with your 
 superabundant energy, and so, in pity to your 
 overloaded self, bestowed it on one who so great- 
 ly needed it." 
 
 " Most likely some such charitable motive in- 
 fluenced me ; though, now I come to think of it, 
 how he had the courage to ask is still more won- 
 derful. " 
 
 " Perhaps it was leap year," slily suggested 
 the Admiral. 
 
 " And you would insinuate that I asked him," 
 she replied, laughing; " well, even that is not 
 utterly impossible." 
 
 " llight," retorted the old sailor ; " there is no 
 harm in asking, you know— eh. Lady Gran- 
 tham .'" 
 
 " None that I can find out ; but I perceive you 
 are thinking of that phm 1 mentioned respecting 
 Alfred." 
 
 "What, Alfred the little, dear Etta?" asked 
 his lordship ; " why, the child can not speak 
 plainly yet." 
 
 " An excellent reason why his mother should 
 speak for him ; and Admiral Western has kindly 
 promised to use his influence for him, when he 
 needs it." 
 
 " You take time, indeed, by the forelock ; and 
 that reminds me, I have ordered the man to 
 bring up the pony, which, I think, will match 
 the one you have. He should be here by this 
 time." 
 
 " Indeed, Cecil, I am sorry you have taken this 
 trouble, as, with many thanks for your kindness, 
 I must beg leave to decline the gift." 
 
 " But 1 thought you said you would like n. 
 pair; and the truth is, I do not like you to drive 
 only one." 
 
 " You are quite right as to my liking, but not 
 quite wise, dear husband, about your own. 1 
 must have a governess shortly for Cecilia ; she 
 can no longer be left to nurses; and it is clear 
 how it will be decided when it is education versiis 
 two ponies." 
 
 " She is a capital wife and mother, too," said 
 the Admiral to himself, as he left the house; 
 "and I certainly shall not forget that boy when 
 he is old enough to need my aid." 
 
 " And now, Cecil, 1 must talk to you about the 
 Templetons ; they will, of course, be coming 
 home to take possession of this handsome prop- 
 erty, and I hope that any little asperity which 
 may have occurred during your correspondence 
 with the Colonel, will not, for Ellinor's sake, lead 
 to an estrangement." 
 
 " If it should suit him to be friendly, it cer- 
 tainly will not," replied Lord Grantham; who, 
 though indolent and apathetic generally, bad it 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 nice find correct apprecisition of character, and 
 hail rightl}' read thut of liis handsome brother- 
 iii-li-.w, and being besiiles a most affectionate 
 man. loved his sister tenderly. " You know my 
 opinion ol" Temple.ton. and tliat I always consider 
 It an evil day wliioii bound Ellinor's fate with 
 hiH — her large furlune is eniirely gone, and had 
 it not been ior tliis unexpected bequest, I know 
 no"' what they would have done. We have noth- 
 ing to jpare. and tliere is not another rich aunt 
 1(1 endow my sister again with twenty thousand 
 pounds " 
 
 " Ir, is useless to regret Ellinor's infatuation in 
 refusing to have any portiou settled on herself; 
 Buch ri.iuance. or. as I read it, fully, is wholly in- 
 c..niiTehcnsibie to me," said his wife; '• but 1 un- 
 der.-<(and tliere is a small legacy left under this 
 will, entirelj' at her own disposal : let us hoj>e 
 that experience has made her wise, and that she 
 will take care of this— tliough, of course, she 
 will nnw iiiive some provision made for herself 
 and children." 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself, Etta; there will be 
 none, unless the will enjoin it ; but here are the 
 letters — Dover post-mark, doubtless from them — 
 fi om EUinor. Kead it, my dear." 
 
 " Di;ar C>cil: 
 
 " W'c feel so sure of your kind welcome, that I 
 purpose Cuming in person to receive it ; therefore, 
 if ilei'.rietta can take us all in, babies and nuise, 
 directly I receive your answer I shall «tart for 
 town The interval will be very profitably spent 
 in recruiting niy strength by needful rest, as the 
 letter Avhich summoned us"found us at Baden- 
 Btden. whicli place we left immediately, and 
 traveled witiiout stopping, to cross by the first 
 bniit. Lionel has just started for Seabrooke, but 
 thouglit the journey too much for me and the 
 children, and, relying on j'our ever-ready hospi- 
 tality to receive and shelter us I only await your 
 reply. This all seems to me a dream, almost too 
 dflightful to be true, though, to make it com- 
 plete, i must find you and your dear ones all 
 well. Bl'si love to Henrietta from your tired and 
 sleepy, but .lifectionate sister, 
 
 " Elli.vor Templeto.v." 
 
 '• t.'an we receive them .'" asked Lord Gran- 
 tham, turning to his wife with an anxious louk. 
 
 " C;ui we .• dear Cecil, what a question ! EUi- 
 nor will take one spare room, the nurse and 
 children the other; and Watkins must admit 
 them during the day to her domains. Shall I 
 write, or will you r" 
 
 " Oh. you, by all means, and say we long to 
 see her." 
 
 " My DKAn Et-LiNon : 
 
 " As usual, Cecil m.ikes me amanuensis — I sup- 
 pose because he fears lie shall not make you un- 
 deiBtind how rejoiced we shall be to receive yo;i; 
 jieihaps iiere 1 shall also fail, so let it pass till 
 our meeting tells it for tis — a ple;'.sure which we 
 are glad Colonel Templeton's thoughtful care so 
 carl}' procures us. We lioth congratulate you 
 sincerely on your accession to the iSeabrooke 
 property, which we also venture to hope will be 
 a frufticient inducement to your remaining in En- 
 gland. Jiu rtvuir. 
 
 "Henrietta Grantham." 
 
 "Thoughtful care!" repeated ^frs. Templeton, 
 again reading the brief but kind note. '-Oretch- 
 en," she continued, in German, addressing a 
 healthy-looking woman, who was amusing one 
 pretty little girl, and singing lullaby to another, 
 " we shall leave immediately ; collect the few 
 things we have unpacked — I will dress Miss Hel- 
 en and take care of the baby." 
 
 CHAPTER, in. 
 
 " Si riiomme s.ivoit rougir <le soi, quils crimes nnn seule- 
 mm t-aoiifes. niais publics et conuus ne s'epurgnt-roit-U 
 
 pus ?■■— La liRUYEEK. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, once more 
 was Mrs. Templeton seated in the very comfort- 
 able drawing-room of her brother's small but 
 well-appointed house, hearing of much th.it had 
 occurred since they had parted, thougli evidently 
 determined that they should hear little from her" 
 in return. 
 
 " And Cecilia," she asked, " where is nhe .' 
 Has she kept her promise of being her mother's 
 image ?" 
 
 " Oh, she is with my sister Lucy, who so sadly 
 spoils her thai I am going to have her home now 
 for a permanency. 1 mean to engage a really 
 clever governess, if accomplished all the better, 
 but not. essential, and to resign Cecilia to her 
 guid.auce for the next few years ; your other 
 question is not so soon answered." 
 
 "Merely," interrupted Lord Grantham, "be- 
 cause every body calls Cepilia a very handsome 
 girl, and Etta is afraid, if she acknowledges the 
 likeness, she may be called vain ; but her fear 
 does not change the fact of resemblance. 
 
 "For shame, Cecil," she said, justifying his 
 compliment by a most becoming blush, and a 
 smile which displaj'ed the beauty and wealth of 
 her mouth; and turning to her sister-in-hiw, she 
 added, •' but I wish your fairies did not look so 
 delicaie." 
 
 " Helen is by no means really so. nor my little 
 Cous.auce either, but our journey was both hur- 
 ried au'i fitiguing." 
 
 " Which also may account for your pale cheeks," 
 said her broiher ; " so 1 vote that you seek a gi.od 
 nigiit's rest, and to-morrow shall bring its full 
 shiire of news and gossip." 
 
 " 1 really shall not decline the prescription ; 
 the fact of being once more under this roof insures 
 success, and so good-night." 
 
 " Cecil!" said Lady Grantham, fixing her clear 
 eyes on her husband, with rather more than their 
 usual sparkle in them. 
 
 " I know, my dear Etta, all that your indignant 
 looks mean, but it is evident she has taken her 
 resolution, and it is not for us to interfere, especi- 
 ally unasked." 
 
 " Quite my idea," she replied ; " but good 
 heavens ! what can it all mean .' Left with only 
 a foreign nurse, mth scarcely the luggage of a 
 lady's nurse, and apologizing for a shabby toil- 
 ette ! (Jh, Cecil ! Cecil ! what docs it all mean .'" 
 
 " Simply this," he answered quietly, but in a 
 tone of deep feeling ; •' EUinor has made a mis- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 ike ; whether she is yet aware to what an extent, 
 know not : but I repeat it, onr course is plain." 
 The following morning Mrs. Teuiplcton an<l her 
 ress looked better, though still both looked worn ; 
 le, however, expressed great pleasure at again 
 pending a short time with her brother and his 
 dfe. 
 
 I have a few words of business, which must 
 ot be delayed, to say to you and Henrietta," she 
 ather abruptly observed, as they sat at break- 
 ist ; " are you too busy to grant me an audi- 
 nce :" turning to him. 
 
 " Ellinor, you are satirical," said Lady Gran- 
 ham, " or you are ingenious in imagining impos- 
 ibilities. Now, my dear sister, when did you 
 ver know Cecil to be either very busy or very 
 lurried .'" 
 
 " He was very busy when he was trying to se- 
 ure you," replied Ellinor. 
 
 " And I am sure I was dreadfully hurried to 
 each your mother's house the day we were mar- 
 •ied," he remarked, interrupting her. 
 
 Oh, because you had forgotten all about it, 
 md were behind time," his wife maliciously re- 
 joined, with her merry laugh ; " but what is this 
 business that must not be put off.'" 
 
 It must not," said Mrs. Templeton ; " and on 
 hat account 1 wish to name it to you and Cecil, 
 "ou know the late Mr. Ashley left me five thou- 
 md pounds entirely at my own disposal ; it was 
 I blessed thought, and deeply gratelul do I feel — 
 I mean," she said, corr jciiug the energy of her 
 ;one and manner, " that it is pleasant to have a 
 Tew pounds at one's own command;" and again 
 'eeliug that she was on self-forbidden ground, she 
 boldly plunged in'^inedias rts.' "This money 
 mean to place so that I can not, under any cir- 
 sumstances, touch the principal, which I shall 
 settle on my daughters, the interest to bo used as 
 [ like. Can this be done, and can it be done im- 
 mediately ':" 
 
 " Yes ; and I will send for my lawyer before you 
 
 And I propose an amendment," said Lady 
 iGrantham ; " drive Ellinor to him before lunch- 
 Icon : let him receive her insti'uction, so that if 
 Summoned away, it may still be dons and sent to 
 r for s gnature, or any other legal form.ality " 
 Bravely and stoically bidding back her tears, 
 |and denying herself the pleasure of falling on hsr 
 sisters neck, Mrs. Templeton said, " Thank you 
 for the suggestion ; I should very much like to 
 have it done at once, but as that, perhaps, can not 
 be, we will avoid all needless delay." 
 
 And I-ionel ?" asked Lord Grantham ; ■' what 
 will he say .'" 
 
 He must be so astonished at his unexpected 
 wealth," she replied, " as not to think or care 
 about im'ne; in short," she continued emphati- 
 cally, '■ I have decided in this case for myself ^ and 
 do not mean to have any interference." 
 
 A few days alter this, came a letter from the 
 Colonel to his " dear Ellinor," thanking her broth- 
 er for his hospitable reception of " his treasures," 
 desiring the said Ellinor to draw upon his banker 
 to any amount for replenishing her wardi-obe. 
 ("Not before it is wanted," mentally remaikcd 
 Lady Grantham.) To be ready to join him in 
 the course of a week, if he should be prevented 
 fetching her, and to arrange with Lord and Lady 
 
 Gr.antham for a long visit to the Priory, whenever 
 it suited them to give him that pleasure. 
 
 'J'he next day was spent in making the neces- 
 sary purchases, amonj^j which Mrs. Templeton con- 
 trived to include a few handsome presents for her 
 niece and nephews ; and at the end of a fortnight 
 came the summons for her to meet the Colonel at 
 the Priory, which her brother and sister promised 
 to visit, when she should write and say she was 
 ready to receive them. 
 
 No one who had not been well acquainted with 
 the change which a few years had wrought in the 
 chaVacter, feelings, and, above all, in the hopes of 
 the trusting, lo\ing, inexperienced Ellinor Gran- 
 tham, could have imagined the soothing and rest- 
 giving effects of her short visit to her brother's 
 house, where, for the first time, she was received 
 as the Honorable Mrs. Templeton. Three years 
 only had intervened ; but in that short time what 
 lessons had she not learned! thrice blessed are 
 they who forever remain ignorant of them ! She 
 had, during that period, learned that her love was- 
 a mistake; that her confidence was a mistake; 
 she had dreamed a dream in which she had ever 
 by her side one with a noble and true heart, 
 one who gave her love for love, who was generous 
 and honorable; who shielded and protected her 
 from trial and sorrow, by bravely interposing 
 himself, and she had been rudely awoke, never so 
 to sleep and dream again ! 
 
 The journey to Seabrooke, with her helpless 
 companions — for Gretchen, though a most valu- 
 able aid in her own country, was certainly a 
 charge in England — was e.Ktremely tiring ; and 
 Mrs. Templeton was anxiously looking for the last 
 change of horses, when, on arriving at the inn, 
 she was much gratified and surprised to find 
 Colonel Templeton awaiting her arrival. 
 
 " I calculated you would be here about this 
 time, ' he observed, " and therefore drove out to 
 meet you ; Gretchen and the childi-en can follow 
 with fresh horses, but I shall like to drive you 
 myself to the Priory." 
 
 " I shall greatly enjoy the drive in an open 
 carriaga, for, truth to tell, I began to find the 
 journey long." 
 
 Is it really true that she will never so sleep and 
 so dream again : — Quite true. 
 
 I " I see you have not brought your own maid 
 
 ' down with you; does she follow with the rest of 
 the luggage .'"' asked her husband. 
 
 I " I have not engaged any one to attend on me ; 
 
 j you did not mention it, and our luggage is in the 
 
 [ post carriage. With re.-pect to the children, I 
 prefer looking out among the country people for 
 
 > some one to assist Gretchen, and Lady Grantham 
 will kindly supply and forward any thing I may 
 have neglected. ' 
 
 ' " Very well, then give her carte hlanchc ; it 
 
 I will not do for you to want any thing which my 
 
 I position demands : for I can tell you, Ellinor, that 
 it is ditferent now from what it was a year or two 
 
 ; ago." 
 
 " It is indeed," she thought — not said. Three, 
 
 I four years ! What a long time that was — it was 
 the whole life of her love — within that period it 
 
 \ had been born, neglected, ill-used, had pined 
 
 I away, and died ! 
 
 They drove along several miles in silence, till at 
 
 I length the scene became one of such exceeding 
 
10 
 
 THE WIFE S TRIALS. 
 
 beauty, that she was roused from her listlessness 
 and revery, and exclaimed with something of old 
 animation, " Oh ! Lionel, what a lovely place this 
 is ! I hope the Priory is within a drive of it." 
 
 " We are now driving on my property," he re- 
 plied ; and checking the horses, he pointed to an 
 opening : "yonder you have a peep at the build- 
 ing." 
 
 " Charming! charming!" she murmured, tears 
 tilling her eyes as t^he looked on the peaceful 
 beauty of all aruund. They then drove slowly 
 through an avenue of trees — and such trees! — 
 through which she caught glimpses of meadows 
 and plantations, stream and park, all in a state 
 of such order an J beauty, as showed that the eye 
 of taste liad directed the hand of skill. And now 
 they suddenly came on an extensive opening, and 
 the whole front range of the Priory burst on the 
 view. 
 
 '• There," exclaimed the Colonel, his handsome 
 face beaming with pride and pleasure, " there is 
 Seabrookc Priory ; and look behind, Ellinor, there 
 is tiie sea in the distance, and the little bright 
 stream winding through my property, to reach 
 it." 
 
 She rose and looked, while a throb of gratifica- 
 tion stirred her heart. Oh, how glorious! how 
 lovely ! it was not sublime, it was not even grand 
 — but it was nature in one of her most fascinat- 
 ing forms — it was beauty in repose and at peace. 
 The emerald sea with its life-like movement, the 
 azure sky. the silver streain, the varied and i-ich 
 tints of held and wood, all were " Lieder ohne 
 Worte ;" and then, when she turned to the gray 
 and majestic old building, her future home, whose 
 folding doors were flung wide open to welcome the 
 new owners, she thought that, if place could give 
 peace, here it must be found. 
 
 " Why, this is quite a territory," she said with 
 entliusiasm ; " it is a little principality." 
 
 " By Jove ! you are right there, Nelly. I won- 
 der what some of those foreign fellows we met in 
 Germany would think of this place ; it would 
 lower their paltry pride a little, if they could see 
 me here." 
 
 " Heaven in its mercy forbid that desecration!" 
 was her silent ejaculation. 
 
 " 15ui liere we are ;" and as he handed her out, 
 he s iluted her cheek, bidding her welcome to Sea- 
 brookc I'riory — a welcome which was echoed by 
 several servants in waiting, and improved upon by 
 a respectable-looking woman, wlio introduced her- 
 self as Mrs. Ddw.son, with the additional wish her 
 station permitted her to make, of — 
 
 '• Wei -ome, madam, to the Priory, and health 
 and liai>pini.ss to your Hidyship." 
 
 "Itlmnk you," said Mrs. Templeton, smiling 
 her usual swoct sm.le on them all; then address- 
 ing Mrs. Dawson, she remarked, " Ouv daughters, 
 with tlieir nurse, can not be far distant, and as 
 the latter is a lorcigner, let them be brought to 
 me directly they arr ve. ' 
 
 " Would your la l3'.ship like to see your apart- , 
 mcnts, those the Colonel has ordered to be pre- 
 pared .'" I 
 " Yes. fori am weiry, though the drive through ' 
 this beautiful neighborhood has taken away half I 
 the fatigue." 
 
 Attracted by the beauty, gentleness, and grace 
 of her new laly, and quite won by this complc- | 
 
 ment to her native place, Mrs. Dawson, in high 
 feather, led the way across a spacious hall, up a 
 flight of marble stairs, and along a corridor, 
 adorned, seemingly, with rare and costly works 
 of art, to a suite of rooms splendidly furnished, 
 which she said the Colonel had selected : " And, 
 indeed, madam," she continued, with a smile, " he 
 has chosen what are considered the best, both for 
 convenience and pro.spect. If you will please to 
 step here, you may see part of the village — that 
 house, near the church, is the rectory, and yonder 
 you can just see Hurstwood Hall — it used once to 
 be a very gay place, but since the death of Lady 
 Blanche, the old Lord sees no company, and young 
 Lord Stanley is abroad. Can I have the honor of 
 doing any thing for you till your maid arrives ?" 
 
 " Nothing, thank you, but I should like you to 
 accoii|pany the children when they come. 1 must 
 introduce them to you, and bespeak your indul- 
 gence for any spoiled ways," said Mrs. Templeton, 
 greatly pleased with the manner and countenance 
 of the housekeeper. 
 
 "No need of that, madam," was the reply; 
 " bless their innocent little hearts! more need lor 
 you to forbid my spoiling them. My late dear 
 master used always to say, when the beautiful 
 darlings from the rectory came here, it was well 
 there were no children for me to spoil ;" but hero 
 her comely and sunny face was overcast, as she 
 turned and left the room. 
 
 And Ellinor stood alone — mistress of that noble 
 mansion — almost all she looked at from the win- 
 dows of that room was hers — hers, as well as her 
 husband's, and yet, not once had he associated 
 her with himself in the exulting thought of own- 
 ership. Was it only a careless omission — or was 
 it part of a selfish system ? ^ 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " And eyes forget the arentle rny 
 Tht-y wore in courtship's sin|iin!r flay, 
 An I voi.-fs lose the tone that .-heJ 
 A tenderness rounil kU they saiJ ; 
 Till, fast declining, ow by om- 
 The Bwuetneeses of love lire gone." 
 
 I.aUii Rookh 
 
 Brought up in her father's house, if not amid 
 all the luxuries of vast wealth, at least with all 
 the comforts and refinements suited to her ranJi, 
 the Honorable Ellinor Grantham, though ever 
 ready to sympathize with sorrows and, as far as 
 her at one time limited allowance permitted, to 
 help and relieve poverty, had, hitwover, no very 
 clear idea of all that this word povvirty implied. 
 She knew that at many aristocratic houses where 
 her father was ever an honored guest, there was a 
 style of expenditure which his encumbered prop- 
 er. y forbade his imitating ; and also, that among 
 many families she highly esteemed, an economy 
 was practiced which he disregarded; aiil these 
 formed the only degrees of comparison with which 
 she was actually conversant ; and though she 
 must have been both stupid and selfish, had she 
 ignored the extremes of destitution and misery 
 which sigh and die in the holes and corners of 
 great cities ; beyond relief through some deputy. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 11 
 
 she knew not of them — never came into personal 
 contact with them. 
 
 This knowledge was reserved for lier wedded 
 life— it was to be acquired by the lion. Mrs. 
 Templeton— the instructor, her husband — the les- 
 sons, his vices. From Paris, its luxuries, its re- 
 finements, its Bal Masqiii, its coulisses, and its 
 gaming-houses, she took her first lesson — she read 
 from the lives of faithless wives, of betrayed lovers, 
 of broken hearts and ruined fortunes, whole pages 
 which sickened and disgusted as she read— from 
 Germany, with its sentimentalities and its gross- 
 ness— its mouthing patriotism and its wearisome 
 egotism — its Cur^saal with a rouge et nvir table 
 licensed by some princely pettiness, and its im- 
 morality reeking of beer and tobacco, but con- 
 cealed by song and poetry — she learned a still 
 sadder and more peace-destroying lesson ; and it 
 was there she buried her dead love, and with 
 weeping eyes and trembling hands inscribed on 
 its tomb— Ichabod — the glory is departed ! 
 
 Shortly before the birth of Constance, she found 
 herself, with the little Helen and the good 
 Gretchen, in one of those lonely villages so com- 
 mon toward the north of Switzerland. Lionel 
 had been absent more than a week, and her anx- 
 iety for his return was much increased by her 
 wish to seek a place otfering better accommoda- 
 tion, and by her absolute want of funds to meet 
 daily expenses. She knew he had gone to receive 
 a remittance from England, by means of which he 
 had promised to remove her to Basle ; but day 
 after day passed, and no longer daring to delay, 
 she sent for the landlady, and frankly stating her 
 embarrassment, inquired how she could most 
 advantageously dispose of a few ornaments, so as 
 to defraj' the debt already incun-ed, and secure 
 the services of a doctor. 
 
 After some consultation, during which she met 
 with great kindness, Mrs. Templeton learned 
 that the pustor would be the one most likely to 
 inform her ; and to him she sent He was a 
 Protestant, and to the active benevolence, so 
 needful in the discharge of his duties, united 
 tlie simplicity and straitforwardness so common 
 aiuong the Swiss clergy. 
 
 Afier satisfying her inquiries regarding the 
 sale of her trinkets, he advised her to secure, 
 at once, medical attendance; and he not only 
 recommended an attentive and skillful man, but 
 offered to send his wife to see lier — an offer most 
 gratefully accepted ; and expressing himself real- 
 ly grieved that he could not do all he wished, 
 by at once advancing a loan, he left her much 
 quieted. 
 
 Neither doctor nor wife arrived much too 
 Boon ; and in a sin;ill Swiss inn, with none but 
 foreign eyes to look kindly at her, none but foreign 
 tongues to cheer her, did the Hon. Mrs. Temple- 
 ton give birth to her little Constance Frauciska, 
 60 called after the lake near which she was born, 
 and the friendly ^lad^nne Kottlial, the .pastor's 
 wife, who found it hoth easy and pleasant to love 
 and assist this desol.ite. beautiful young mother. 
 
 At length, remittances arrived from Lionel, 
 who desired EUinor to join him at Baden-Baden ; 
 but, abis ! for her generous, grateful spirit ! when 
 just debts were p:iid, there was barely enough 
 money U-ft for the expenses of tiie journey ; how- 
 ever, a few articles of silver, the relics of a ouce 
 
 splendid toilette present, were tendered as keep- 
 sakes, and EUinor vowed the first opportunity 
 she had of showing these good Samaritans her 
 grateful remembrance of tlieir kindness should 
 be eagerly seized ; the few very trifling orna- 
 ments which Lionel had left of her costly ca- 
 dcaiix de manage were sold to procure some 
 needful clothing for the children ; and after an 
 aflectionate parting from those who, when she 
 was sick and a stranger, had visited her, she set 
 out for Baden-Baden. Nor was it till she ar- 
 rived in London that she had ever had any thing 
 like the sum she required to purchase the most 
 trifling tokens of her gratitude ; and then she 
 took from the money sent for dress, a portion, 
 which she spent in useful presents to her Swiss 
 friends, and which were forwarded with a report 
 of herself and children. 
 
 Now, as she looked on the fair prospect which 
 lay before her, she thought of that foreign lake 
 and its mountains — of those foreign friends — of 
 her lovely baby, of the wayside inn, and its 
 scanty appointments ; and then her attention 
 was for the first time directed to the luxurious 
 details of all around her. She stood in the sleep- 
 ing-room of a suite of apartments, which seemed 
 to occupy the whole length of one wing— on one 
 hand was the dressing-room, beyond the bath- 
 room — and on the other side was an elegant 
 boudoir, magnificently furnished, leading to a 
 conservatory, from which a flight of steps led to 
 the most perfect gem of a flower-garden that 
 could be imagined. She had just glanced at all 
 this unwonted luxury, and was trying to banish 
 painful retrospections, and thinking, that if 
 wealth can not give happiness, it may still give 
 comfort, and that she would henceforth try and 
 be contented with her lot, when Mrs. Dawson 
 brouglit Gretchen and her little charges; and 
 then the mother's face wore a smile, and looked 
 almost sunny, as she listened to JNlis. Dawson's 
 honest praises of the children's beauty. 
 
 " We will now visit the nurseries," said she. 
 •' Gretchen will be glad to feel at home, and I 
 must apply to you to recommend some respecta- 
 ble young person, who will be able to help her — ■ 
 though that must be by instinct," she added, 
 with a smile, "as Gretchen, my much-valued 
 nurse, can not speak many words of English." 
 
 " I know a young woman whom I can safely 
 recommend, and who, 1 think, will suit; she hag 
 been very often at the rectory with the young 
 folks, and can be sent for at once." 
 
 " To-morrow, perhaps, you will settle her 
 here, and to-morrow also, Mrs. Dawson, you and 
 I shall become better acquainted, as I shall pre- 
 fer being quiet after dinner." 
 
 We have, most likely, all read the tale in 
 Eastern romance, where the beneficent fairy 
 transforms a rude hut into a sumptuous palace ; 
 in which, from attic to cellar, all is furnished 
 with ii profusion and splendor quite marvelous. 
 Some such fairy seemed to have furnished Sea- 
 brooke Priory, though certainly she either did 
 not know Lionel Temiiletoii, or never intended 
 such as he to profit oy her gifts. It is true, it 
 was not a palace — true, that diamonds and pre- 
 cious stones were not used instead of nails— but 
 if the cliairs and t.-ibles were not of silver, there 
 was an immense fire proof closet full of silver 
 
THE WIPES TRIALS. 
 
 articles of unusual value : and if the walls were 
 not hung with cloth of gold, in the state drawing- 
 room were pictures selocted with the eye of a 
 connoisseur, worth lucre than a hundred times 
 tueir weight in that precious metal — so valuable 
 indeed were they, that with the greater part of 
 the plate, some antiijues and articles of virtu, 
 they were catalogued as heir-looms ; this re- 
 .striction was, liowever, for the present forgotten, 
 or not lelt by the fortunate man, who had so lately 
 and unexpectedly had greatness thrust upon him. 
 
 So well sati.>fied was he, that he even invited 
 EUinor, ilie next day, to walk through the house 
 with )iim. and accompany him to the extensive 
 and well-arranged gardens ; nay, what was more 
 extraordinary, on her declining a further walk, 
 on the plea of fatigue, he promised her a car- 
 riage and pony for her own use — and still more 
 wonderful, he kept his word, and the next week 
 she had it. 
 
 Their neighbors gave indications of friendly 
 intentions ; among the first were the rector and 
 liis wife ; and to her great delight, EUinor found 
 Mrs. Vernon one of those women it is so easy to 
 like, and this feeling was soon extended to her 
 excellent husband. Two fine boys, and one little 
 girl, rather younger than Constance, formed their 
 laiJiily ; and when their other neighbors had vis- 
 ited and been visited, Mrs. Templeton began to 
 feel at home — to look more cheerfully to the fu- 
 ture—to be tranquil and thankful. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " II faut jiiger des femmes depuis la chaussure ju.squ'ii 
 la coiffeur (-xclusivement, i-peu-prus eoiniue on uiesurele 
 pois:on cntre quiue et tete." — La Bruyere. 
 
 " Here is a letter from Seabrooke," said Mrs. 
 Sinclair, as she and her husband were seated at 
 breakfiist in the handsome drawing-room of an 
 hotel, looking toward Ediiiboro' Castle. " I see 
 it has been forwardetl from Craigalan ; Lionel 
 wishes us to visit them before we leave England 
 — read it, and decide on the answer — of course, 
 if convenient, I should like to see them, lor his 
 wife is still a stranger to me." 
 
 " Certainly, then we will go, my dear, and as 
 I have not yet been introduced to either of them, 
 1 join in your wish. We can very well spare 
 them a fortnight if we start at once, so write and 
 say all that is ])roper." 
 
 And she must have thought "all that is 
 proper" was a very comprehensive term, judging 
 from the length of her letter ; but then Mrs. Sin- 
 clair was reputed a very clever woman, and, 
 perhajis, one proof of cleverness is the ability to 
 write long letters. 
 
 When Lidy Frances Templeton and her hus- 
 band found their finances in that state of debility 
 that the gras-sliopper becomes a burden, it is no 
 wonder tluit the weight of two fine healtliy chil- 
 dren was almost unbcaralile. So her ladyship 
 wrote to a childless aunt, the widow of a Scotch 
 pentlpiiian, to inform her that Lionel had acce))t- 
 ed an invitation from Sir Al.in Sinclair, to p.iss 
 a few weeks iu the ilighlan<ls, dui'ing the sporting 
 
 ' season ; and that, as they passed through Edin- 
 boro", they would, if agreeable, like to pay their 
 respects to her. 
 
 Lady Anne Ferguson was old enough, and 
 worldly wise enougli, to have known better ; but 
 
 I she wrote to bid tliem welcome, without restrict- 
 
 I ing them as to number. Lionel the second was 
 
 I safely hooked to his uncle's- purse, therefore it 
 was Laura who must travel and be introduced 
 to her great aunt. Though she was really ii very 
 beafitiful little creature, the truth must be told, 
 th.at, had she been Medusa and all her snakes, 
 
 ; Lady Anne could not have felt more petrified 
 than when this fashionably dressed doll was 
 presented. " What on earth could she do with 
 this child .'—who was to take care of her .-" in- 
 quiries rather intimated than expressed. 
 
 " Laura is so independent, she gives no 
 trouble," said her mother, in answer to the old 
 lady's thoughts, " and she was so desirous to 
 come and see you, we really could not refuse 
 
 j her ; one of your nice fresh-looking Scotch lassies 
 will easily do all she wants. Doubtless, Mrs. 
 
 1 Margaret knows of one." Mrs. Margaret sug- 
 gested her own niece. '■ Nothing can be better, 
 such recommendation is sure to be safe, and 
 Laura will be really well otF." 
 
 But the difficulty seemed how her fond parents 
 could be really well off, and leave her in this 
 northern elysium. And after they had stayed 
 so long, that Lady Anne was as impatient for 
 their departure as Sir Alan was said, to be for 
 their arrival. Lady F' ranees protested that they 
 could no longer postpone their visit. " But as 
 we shall be absent only a few weeks, and Laura 
 is so happy, so improved in every" respect, it is 
 quite cruel to take her away ; and really, aunt, 
 1 think you have bewitched the child, she is so 
 fond of you." And thus flattering Lady Anne, 
 who had long ceased to bewitch, and adroitly 
 propitiating her waiting- woman, Mrs. Margaret, 
 or scaring her by hints of what might happen 
 to her pretty niece in a house full of sports- 
 men, a reluctant consent was given, and Laura 
 was left. 
 
 After the visit to Sir Alan had extended to more 
 than two months, the Templetons reairn.^d with a 
 large party to London, but did not take E linboro' 
 in their way — it was not convenient, therefore 
 Laura was to await an escort. In short, for 
 some " most exquisite reason" or another, the lit- 
 tle girl remained with Lady Anne till her father's 
 death, when there was a committee of ways and 
 means held, respecting her mother's affairs ; and 
 the old lady having become strongly attached to 
 Laura, consented to keep her, " at least for the 
 present," as she guardedly expressed it. 
 
 Years rolled on, and Laura, a handsome, clever 
 girl, won the love of Arcliibald Sinclair, the 
 younger son of her father's friend. Sir Alan, who 
 readily consented to the match, for Laura was 
 universally considered her aunt's heiress ; and as 
 Lady Anne lived in good stylo, this term, to him, 
 signified something like thousands. The many 
 hundreds which had been received from the in- 
 visible friend. Lady Anne never alluded to; he 
 evidently shrunk from having his good deeds 
 known, and why should she not respect both his 
 .secret and his modesty .' and when on the cn- 
 
 I gagement being made public, a munificent gift of 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 a thousand pounds reached Laura, it was still 
 thought needless to talk about such fairy gifts, 
 aud tfir Alau was the more deceived by the osten- 
 tatious display made at the marriage. But when, 
 three years after, the old lady died, and it was 
 d.scovered she was but an annuitant, having sunk 
 thvi small property left by her husband, great was 
 the wrath of tsir Alan ; he felt he had not only 
 been nustaken but tricked, and a suspicion that 
 his handsome daughter-in-law was cognizant of 
 the truth rendered that fair creature's presence 
 so Utile desirable that he plainly intimated, as 
 Captain Sinclair, his eldest son, was expected 
 from Canada, Archie could take this opportunity 
 to visit his wife's relations in the South. 
 
 Before doing this, there were a few gleanings 
 from Lady Annes property, which furnished 
 them with the means of living, till Archibald as- 
 certained the result of an application he had 
 induced his father to make in his behalf; the 
 reply to which was, the offer of an African ap- 
 pointment of most unpromising aspect, which, 
 however, would be kept open for his acceptance 
 still several months ; and he was in correspond- 
 ence with some really sincere friends, respecting 
 another plan which looked less desperate, when 
 the legacy already named came to his wife. 
 
 Mr. Sinclair, an honorable and energetic man, 
 immediately decided that the whole of this money 
 should be settled on Laura ; but though in most 
 cases she was a cool, scheming woman, she did 
 love her husband, and was so earnest in trying to 
 convince him that at least a few thousands left 
 free for immediate and judicious use, by at once 
 relieving them from all embarrassment, would 
 bring the best return, that he consented. Exer- 
 tions were also made to obtain something less dis- 
 mal than the coast of Africa, and, after some 
 difficulty and delay, a post at Calcutta was 
 promised. 
 
 But a change had also come over the prospects 
 at Craigalan — Captain Sinclair was drowned on 
 his return from America, and now Sir Alan 
 wished his only son to remain with him. This 
 Laura vehemently opposed, not because she was 
 resentful — she was too calculating to give Avay to 
 temper— but she saw visions of wealth and splen- 
 dor in the glowing East, such as the wild High- 
 lands, with their bleak extent of hill and valley, 
 could never give ; and she courageously resolved 
 to try whether, by a temporary expatriation, she 
 could not bring the treasures of the former to 
 soften and gild the rugged features of the latter. 
 
 This plan, so consonant to her husband's active, 
 independent character, met with his ready ac- 
 quiescence, and even Sir Alan was reconciled to 
 tlie idea of his son's being in circumstances, not 
 only to keep up the old feudal style of living, but 
 to restore the property to former splendor— a 
 splendor which had been rather dimmed by cer- 
 ta.n mortgages, which threw a vail over it, an 
 • obscuration never pleasant in the eyes of landed 
 proprietors. 
 
 " What will you do with Laurette ?" asked Mr. 
 Sinclair, " we can not take her with us to India, 
 and it is time she was in training." 
 
 " I have not yet decided," was the reply, when 
 luckily arrived the invitation to hfeabrooke, and 
 Mrs. Sinclair, who well remembered how cleverly 
 she had been quartered, came to the conclusion, 
 
 that she could scarcely do better than imitate so 
 laudable and successful a scheme, and hence, in 
 some measure, the lengthy epistle to which we 
 have alluded. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 '• Instead of beginning with a scene that discovers some- 
 thing of the plot, I begin this play with a whisper.— ?%« 
 Reluamal. 
 
 " I SUPPOSE that is Laura's reply to my invita- 
 tion," said Colonel Templeton, opening the letter 
 bag, which he always did when at home, and 
 handing a letter to his wife ; " what does she say ?" 
 
 EUiuor opened the letter and read, " My dear 
 sister — " 
 
 " Stop," said he, " I do not want to hear* all 
 that long rigmarole — ^just tell me if they are com- 
 ing ; I rather want to see her and her husband — 
 the latter I have never met." 
 
 " Mr. Vernon, who is acquainted with him," 
 was her reply, " speaks very highly of him ; but 
 in order to satisfy your cui-iosity as to their com- 
 ing, I must first read the letter," which continued 
 thus : " We had unfortunately left Craigalan 
 when your kind invitation arrived ; this will 
 account for a delay in replying, which we both 
 regret. From the tenor of your remarks about 
 Africa, I conclude Lionel has not heard that Mr. 
 Sinclair has obtained an Indian appointment, 
 which presents so hopeful a prospect of rendering 
 him independent of many pecuniary claims on the 
 property, that, though it will exile us for some 
 years, and though Sir Alan wishes us to relin- 
 quish it, we both, on due reflection, prefer going. 
 The chief obstacle, or rather difficulty, is my little 
 Laurette, who is precisely at an age to require a 
 mother's care and a mother's guidance. There is 
 no one here who could in any way supply my 
 place — Sir Alan wishes us to leave her with him, 
 but Mrs. Effie Sinclair, who resides with him is, 
 on many accounts, unfit to undertake the charge. 
 I had thought, through your introduction, to have 
 consulted Lady (Jrantham, of whose excellent 
 management I have heard from many quarters ; 
 for my own experience of northern education 
 assui-es me it does not afford all, I think, a girl in 
 Laurette's station requires. But here I am chat- 
 ting to you as if we have been friends from child- 
 hood, instead of strangers — and yet, I must recall 
 that word — the wife of Lionel is not strange either 
 to my thoughts or my affection, and though he 
 and I have been much separated, I trust he has 
 so interested you in favor of his sister" (he had 
 scarcely ever named her till very lately), " as to 
 have secured her a place in your heart. They do 
 say we are so much alike" (God forbid that the 
 resemblance should extend to character, was the 
 silent prayer of the reader), " that no one can 
 doubt the pelationship, and therefore hoping he 
 has not monopolized all your love" (a sigh so deep 
 that even the Colonel looked up from his papers), 
 " I put in my sisterly claim for a portion. Of 
 my dear husband I do not trust myself to .'jpcak— 
 those who love goodness, honor, and truth, must 
 love and respect him. Laurette — it is well the 
 
14 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 paper reminds me there are limits to it, and that 
 there ought to be the same even to a mother's gar- 
 rulity — in brief, like herself, for she is petite, I 
 earnestly hope she may win a place in your es- 
 teem and that of her uncle, as readily as 1 shall 
 bestow mine on your dear little girls. I was very 
 nearly verifying the old censorious remark, that 
 the real substance of a lady's letter is in the 
 postscript, but 1 remember in time to escape the 
 charge, that we shall all, Laurette of course in- 
 cluded, be delighted to find ourselves your guests 
 on Friday week. Laurette has just come in. 
 'Well, darling, what mes.sage to Seabrooke;' 
 ' Oh ! mamma, a thousand, thousand kisses to my 
 cousins and my beautiful aunt and uncle.' After 
 that Orientalism, tame English can furnish nothing 
 more expressive. With love to Lionel, adieu, your 
 alfectiQnate sister. Laura Sinclair." 
 
 " What an interminable letter ! but Laura 
 could always say an infinite deal of nothing," was 
 the fraternal remark, as Mrs. Templeton closed 
 the letter. " Do they come, and when ?" 
 
 " Yes, and on Friday week." 
 
 " For how long .'" 
 
 " Mrs. Sinclair does not say, but she mentions 
 an appointment to India instead of Africa, which 
 will keep them there for years." 
 
 " To India ! with Laura's handsome legacy (it 
 was not equal to half the amount of his wife's for- 
 tune), I should think they might have managed to 
 remain." 
 
 " She alludes to some incumbrances on the 
 property, which j\Ir. Sinclair wishes to clear oflF." 
 
 " The more fool he, to go toiling and broiling 
 for such a purpose. Why can not he help hi. 
 father to sell .'" 
 
 " Perhaps they may have strong feelings about 
 family name and old inheritance. I like the idea 
 of working to retain the property, it shows an in- 
 dependent and unselfish spirit." 
 
 •' What nonsense you are always talking, Ellin- 
 or," — she very rarely volunteered an opinion, but 
 something in this letter had more than usually 
 stirred her—" really it is quite wearying to be 
 perpetually listening to such sentiment and ab- 
 surdity ; however, it is not my affair ; I only 
 know that all my ancestrial acres, if I had over 
 possessed any, and all my ancestors too, might be 
 sold to the highest bidder, before I would be 
 chained to the oar in this manner." And after 
 this dignified exposition of his sentiments he 
 whistled himself out of the room. 
 
 The Slnchiirs came, but Mrs. Sinclair was baf- 
 fled in her scheme of leaving Laurette as a pledge 
 of her confi lence in her brother's affection. And 
 though no one could be kinder than EUinor, it was 
 not po.'^sililc to persuade her tliat Helen, little more 
 than thrci', and Constance, scarcely two years old, 
 would be belti-r attended to with a nursery govern- 
 ess than with tlieir homely but sensible tjermah 
 nurse; and as Lionel never once responded to her 
 hints, tliat in h<) large a house as Seabruoke Priory 
 a few rooms c pi.'cially devoted to LauTa and a gov- 
 erness woul 1 never bo mis-xcd, and onlj' aild to the 
 cheerfulnc.«s of what she secretly tliought rather a 
 dull parly, she, quite unruflled by disajipointment, 
 decided that Laurette must be placed with some 
 lady near London, as the only means of securing 
 tlic advantage of those accomplishments she deem- 
 
 ed indispensable; and as Ellinor had requested 
 leave to have her at the Priory during her holi- 
 days, a request which was readily accorded. Mrs. 
 Sinclair left the matter there, thinking it very 
 likely one of the holidays might extend to a per- 
 manent residence. 
 
 Happily Mrs. Sinclair, though like her brother 
 in personal advantages, and with something of his 
 calculating selfishness, had, in most other re- 
 spects, an advantageous dissimilarity. She was 
 affectionate and grateful, capable of understand- 
 ing and appreciating honor and truth in others, 
 and of practicing them herself, when no sophistry 
 led her to fancy they would injure her cause — 
 faint praise this. In short, she was one in whom 
 dependence and narrow means had developed all 
 that was paltry and mean ; perhaps wealth might 
 have equally bi-ought about the same result, but 
 it would not have been so glaring and contempt- 
 ible. Be this as it may, the impression she made 
 on her sister-in-law was decidedly in her favor, 
 whUe to Mrs. Sinclair, Ellinor freely accorded the 
 respect and trust his character eminently deserv- 
 ed ; and they parted with feelings of mutual re- 
 gard on the side of the ladies, though Laura was 
 bitterly disappointed in the discovery slie made 
 of Lionel's real worthlessness, and his conduct to 
 one whose goodness and gentleness merited a far 
 better return. 
 
 A few weeks after the Sinclairs had left. Lady 
 Grantham, with her characteristic frankness, vol- 
 unteered a visit, which to Ellinor Avas particular- 
 ly agreeable. She was strongly attached to both 
 her brother and his wife ; the cheerful acquies- 
 ence of the former in many privations, his firm 
 opposition to expenses which his rank seemed to 
 demand, but which his means forbade, Avere 
 strong bonds of union between them, for Ellinor 
 shared all her brother's horror and hatred of debt 
 and dependence ; and never, perhaps, had she so 
 thoroughly valued the transparency of Lady 
 Grantham's unaffected manners and candid na- 
 ture than during this visit, following so closely 
 as it did that of the Sinclairs, wlien Ellinor, 
 with all her wish to feel kindly, had sometimes 
 been oppressed by the studied manners and well- 
 turned phrases of Laura. 
 
 The Granthams .spoke in raptures of the Priory ; 
 the beauty of the situation and the nMgnificence 
 of the house furnished an unfailing topic for 
 praise and admiration, while his lordship thought 
 sometimes, with a sigh, of his own deeply-mort- 
 gaged estates when he beheld Seabrooke, not only 
 so lovely and well-managed, but so unencum- 
 bered. 
 
 It happened that while they were at the Priory 
 some races took place, which were to be succeeded 
 by a ball, at which, of course, the Templetons, 
 Avho had been generally adopted by the neighbor- 
 ing families, must appear ; and it Avas during a 
 discussion about the mode of going, that Lady 
 Grantham inquired if they should be expected to 
 go rii fr ramie tcnuc? 
 
 " Of course," replied Lionel, very decidedly, 
 " it will be our first appearance in public, except 
 at the races, and I mean it to be said, that I take 
 two of the best dressed, as well as two of the 
 most beautiful women in the room." 
 
 " As Colonel Templeton commands," slie gayly 
 replied, " to hear is to obey — easy, perhaps, as to 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 16 
 
 the best dressed — but to be so, I must ask you, 
 Cecil, to desire Coutts to forward my jewel-case. 
 Ellinor described all hei-e as so Arcadian, that 
 I had no idea of full dress. I suppose," she con- 
 tinued, turning to Ellinor, " you will wear your 
 pearls, unless," with her charming smile, address- 
 ing the Colonel, " you have presented her with 
 something more splendid." 
 
 " I do not know^I believe not" — stammered 
 Mrs. Templeton, blushing to the very temples. 
 
 The Colonel struck in to spare her — no, not her 
 — to spare himself. " By the way, Ellinor, has 
 Storr returned your set .' they were rather an- 
 tique, according to present taste in the setting," 
 he added, with ready wit ; " remind him by this 
 post, that he must hurry and forward them." 
 
 " He has sold them," said Lady Grantham, to 
 herself only — she had not made many remarks 
 about his sister even to her husband ; nor was 
 this mental assertion withdrawn or weakened 
 •when Mrs. Templeton, .on the appointed evening, 
 appeared looking very lovely and wearing a pa- 
 rure of pearls of great price, which scarcely en- 
 hanced her beauty. On Lady Grantham's admir- 
 ing the resetting, Colonel Teinpleton carelessly 
 remarked, " Diamonds would have been almost too 
 ostentatious ; have you seen Ellinor's ?" and re- 
 ceiving a negative, they were brought, pronounced 
 regal, and sent back to the— jeweler. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 "Quelles intrigues ce prSsentent & nous dana les his- 
 toires! quel rpnversement des lois et des moeurs, quelks 
 . gui-rres sanglantes, quelles nouveautfes centre la religion 
 quelles r6v<ilutif)ns cl'6iat causees par le dfireglcnient des 
 femmes ! Voila ce qui prouve rimportance de bien 61ever 
 les lilies."— Fenelon. 
 
 Helen was now eight years old, and though 
 her mother had hitherto found her chief pleasure 
 in teaching her children herself, she began to find 
 that, as Constance put forth her claims to atten- 
 tion, she could not give so much time to this duty 
 as it required, and decided, therefore, on having 
 some assistance, without relinquishing the superin- 
 tendence — in short, to engage a lady who would 
 be always with the children, and relieve Gretchen 
 -from that constant attendance wliich her faithful 
 love so willingly gave, but which was no longer 
 needful or advantageous to the little girls. 
 
 On all subjects connected with her children, 
 Mrs. Templeton decided and acted Avithout refer- 
 ence to her hu.sband ; she never yet had consulted 
 him in any of her arrangements; there seemed 
 to be some secret compact, that here she was 
 quite independent, though, on almost every other 
 occasion, she was passive, waiting merely to do 
 what he proposed. She therefore wrote to Lady 
 Grantham, and the result was, the arrival of a 
 lady-like young person, who had been well edu- 
 cated, but who from the death of relatives and 
 loss of fortune was forced to exert herself for a 
 maintenance. 
 
 Thus recommended and heralded, she was re- 
 ceived by iSIrs, Templeton with all that thought- 
 ful kindness whicli adversity teaches the benevo- 
 
 I lent and gentle-minded how to practice. A set of 
 j comfortable rooms was prepared, and with the 
 ready aid of Mrs. Dawson, who loved her quiet 
 lady and pretty children, every thing was ar- 
 ranged so as to make the stranger feel at home' 
 
 Whea tlie Colonel was absent in town, or else- 
 where, as he often was, Mi-s. Templeton would 
 I invite Miss Grant to walk, or drive, or sit with 
 her, when free from her duties witli the children ; 
 or she would ask leave to be herself a guest in the 
 study ; and thus all went on pleasantly and suc- 
 cessfully for more than a year, when Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton was grieved to perceive a groat change 
 come over her young friend, for so she kindly 
 termed her. She at first thought that the monot- 
 ony of her duties was becoming wearisome ; but 
 Miss Grant applied herself more assiduou.sly than 
 ever to their performance, frequently declining 
 invitations to a drive or a walk, under the plea 
 of preparing for the lessons of the following day. 
 I " You do not look well," remarked Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton, one morning; "give the children a few 
 ! days' holiday, and let me drive you a little about 
 this charming country. I am so indifferent about 
 change or variety myself, that I forget you are 
 younger and less sober mimjed." Then, seeing 
 tears in Miss Grant's eyes, she added, cheerfully, 
 "Come, we will be very g;iy, and drive over t,o 
 Seaport ; the children want a few playthings, so 
 we will all go en famille.'" 
 
 These, and many acts of similar kindness, ap- 
 pearing only to increase tlie depression of her 
 companion, Mrs. Templeton thought she had made 
 a grand discovery, and resolved to try another 
 remedy. 
 
 " Miss Grant," she said, one evening, when 
 they were alone, and kindly laying her hand in a 
 motherly way on her shoulder, " I am not so old 
 as quite to have forgotten my youth," and she 
 bravely kept back a sigh. " I think I have found 
 out your secret." 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" exclaimed ]\Iiss Grant, shrink- 
 ing from her touch, and looking up wildly. 
 
 " Nay, nay, this excitement is wholly uncalled 
 for ; if you expect to find a severe censor in me, 
 you are mistaken, I have no doubt, from all I 
 have seen of you, that any one you love is quite 
 I worthy of the distinction. Am I not correct in 
 { my guess .'" 
 
 j " Oh ! no, no," almost groaned the poor girl. 
 I " In that case, there is the greater need of some 
 friend to whom you can unburden your mind; 
 can not I be that friend .'" 
 
 Miss Grant looked earnestly at her for a mo- 
 ment, and then, in a paroxysm of tears, mur- 
 mured, " Oh, never, never ! this kindness will 
 kill me !" 
 
 Mrs. Templeton, perceiving her efforts at pre- 
 sent were fruitless, rose, and saying, " Well, no 
 more to-night, but to-morrow we must again talk 
 of this, when I think I shall have a little plan to 
 propose, which I hope will please you," left the 
 room. 
 
 Then did Miss Grant indeed give way to the 
 very frenzy of grief, when she found herself alone 
 — then, amidst sobs and sighs which seemetl 
 wrung from a broken heart, did she utter words 
 of strange and fearful import ; till, worn out witli 
 sorrow and weeping, she laid her head on her 
 pillow, and fell into a feverish sleep, from which 
 
16 
 
 THE \V1FES TRIALS. 
 
 ebe, however, awoke calmer, and better able to 
 think what she must do. 
 
 Tlie next niorning, a kind inquiry, which Miss 
 Grant's heavy looks called forth, gave au ojipor- 
 tunity lor renewing* the subject, which was met 
 So calmly, that Mrs. Templeton proceeded at 
 once to tiay, she thought a short visit to her 
 friends might be of essential benefit, and enable 
 her to resume her duties with renewed energy. 
 Rather to Mrs. Temploton's astonishment, tliis 
 olTer was eagerly accepted, and it was settled 
 that in the course of a few days, she should have 
 a holiday for at least several weeks. 
 
 She went, and at the expiration of the ap- 
 pointed time, Mrs. Templeton received a letter 
 from her. in which she said, that not finding her 
 healih equal to the resumption of her charge, she, 
 witii deep regret, resigned it. 
 
 The post-mark of the letter was from an obscure 
 place ill Wales, but, greatly to Mrs. Templeton's 
 vexation, no address was inclosed; and she, who 
 truly regretted the termiuation of their acquaint- 
 ance, anil especially that illness was the cause, 
 and whose kind and generous heart would have 
 pronqited her to say so, was obliged to keep si- 
 lence, ;ind trust to some future letter for infor- 
 mation wiiich should enable her to express this. 
 
 An interval of a few months then occurred, and 
 again siie busied herself with her children's edu- 
 cation, when Lady Grantham paid a visit to the 
 Prioi-3' ; this time she was accompanied by Cecilia, 
 a sj'lendid hoyden of fourteen, but whose perfect 
 tenipci- ami unselfish habits rendered her a favor- 
 ite with every one. 
 
 Before they left. Colonel Templeton returned 
 fi'oni one of those absences for which he never ac- 
 counted by tlie most distant hint, and Cecilia 
 quickly won him to humor all her whims, and 
 laugh at all her tricks, by her undisguised admi- 
 ration of him, and her fearless attacks upcn what 
 she called his bad habits. She influenced him as 
 no one else ever had done — she made him put 
 away his cigar, because she hated its horribly 
 vulgar smell— -she lectured him for reading his 
 paper, in.siead of making himself agreeable — 
 lauglud when he frowned, because it made him 
 look odd, and insisted that he should go riding 
 with her and Ellen, though he declared she dis- 
 graced him by her bad horsemanship; and when 
 Blie alleged that, as a reason for riding all the 
 more frequently, because he could teach lier so 
 Well, lie would yield, and order the horses to be 
 re.idy, tor, what she called, a good scamper be- 
 fore luncheon. 
 
 Siill, with all this harum-scarum manner, 
 Cecil! I was never betrayed into any thing like 
 vulgarity, a soiijK^on of pride and command in 
 all she did giving it a piquancy which was very 
 attractive to her uncle : while her high principle 
 and daring truthfulness rendered her equally 
 a.'reeablo to lier aunt. 
 
 Alter this short inroad on their quiet, the usual 
 c.ilin settled on the majestic old Priory, and once 
 more were the children's studies resumed, this 
 time under the direction of an older and more ac- 
 complishei governess than Miss Grant— a lady 
 whose family were friends of Mrs. Vernon's. 
 At first, Mrs. Templeton thought slie had made a 
 I'listake in this engagement. Miss Lee was much 
 less accessible than her former favorite ; she kept 
 
 the study more to herself, and madp it evident 
 that her hours of leisure were strictly to be such. 
 Occasionally this reserve was laid aside, and Mrs. 
 Templeton then became sensible that, if she had 
 lost in youth and simplicity of character, she had 
 gained in all that valuable but hard-earned know- 
 ledge which experience and high intellect alone 
 achieve : and again all seemed to go well. 
 
 Col. Templeton also was more at home, and fre- 
 quently proposed excursions and drives about the 
 neighborhood, in which- he accompanied them. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon and her daughter Caroline, the 
 latter a very desirable companion for the Tem- 
 pleton girls, were now frequent guests at the 
 Priory ; and when Laurette joined them during 
 some of her holidays, and above all, when Cecilia 
 Grantham was there, the mirthful sound of young 
 voices, and the ringing laugh arising from cheer- 
 ful young hearts made pleasant music, and broke 
 the customary quiet of Seabrooke Priory very 
 agreeably. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had Mrs. Templeton so fully 
 realized this sunny change, as to have indulged 
 in the hope of its being durable, than again 
 clouds darkened her domestic horizon; and again 
 they collected, lowering and threatening, from 
 the same quarter. 
 
 Miss Lee, hitherto so unobtrusive and retiring, 
 seemed restless and uncomfortable if left alone ; 
 she was often at the Rectory, or with the children, 
 of whom, she never liked to lose sight, hovering 
 about Mrs. Templeton, in a manner strangely at 
 variance with her former love of solitude and her 
 I remarkably studious habits. One evening— well 
 [ did Mrs. Templeton remember it — after a day 
 spent in a social picnic with the Vernons, to whom 
 the Colonel had been unusually gracious, and 
 during which every one had appeared particularly 
 j happy, she had retired rather earlier than was 
 I her custom to her rooms, and was writing to 
 Lady Grantham, when a knock was heard at the 
 I boudoir-door. Believing it to be her maid, she 
 uttered the usual " come in," and Miss Lee pre- 
 sented herself. 
 
 " I fear I intrude," she remarked, glancing at 
 the v.riting materials, still, however, advancing. 
 " Not at all, my letter can well be postponed, 
 and give place to a little chat with you ;"' but 
 I raising her eyes to her visitor's countenance, a 
 foreboding of something, she knew not what, but 
 which she was certain would be unpleasant, made 
 Mrs. Templeton feel faint. 
 
 Miss Lee could hardly be called handsome; 
 and yet there was so much character in the 
 face and well-shaped head, so muoh intellect in 
 j her flexible antl eloquent features, that no one 
 I could dispute the existence of mental superiority 
 j — there was also the irritability of a 'sensitive, 
 : perhaps a hasty temper, in her quick movements 
 and decided action, though this was never suf- 
 fered to appear in the well- disciplined tone or 
 , word. 
 
 j By an evident effort, she replied to the friendly 
 I speech of Mrs. Templeton, saying rather abrupt.- 
 '\ ly, " I have come to a decision which is very 
 I p.iinful to me, ;ind which compels me to say that 
 I I can no longer discharge my duties to your 
 I dear children -that I must leave them and you — 
 ; and at once " 
 I '• Is it so— and is it ever to be so .'" murmured 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Mrs. Templetcn, more as if to herself than in 
 reply to 5liss Lee"s communication; "but will 
 you not tell me why j-ou decide on a measure I 
 must so deeply regret ? is the place haunted, that 
 some unknown evil spirit thus drives away first 
 one, and then another ?" aud she tried to smile 
 at her own absurd supposition. 
 
 But there was no answering smile on that 
 resolute-looking mouth, no mirthful spirit was 
 it that sparkled in those expressive gray eyes. 
 
 " Afadam," she said quietly but sternly, "you 
 have unconsciously spoken the truth — the place 
 is haunted, and by an evil spirit that knows 
 neither remorse nur pity — on whom the sacred 
 considerations of wife and children have no 
 effect — wliose touch is contamination — and who.'^e 
 words and looks are dishonor — need I proceed ?" I 
 
 " No — yes — Heaven help me ! what have I to 
 hear — what have I still to suffer .'" She hid her 
 face in her hands for a brief space, then by an 
 effort crossed the room and fastened the door. 
 
 "Now, Jliss Lee," she said, seating herself by 
 her, " spe..k, aud tell me all — let no false pity 
 stop you." I 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Templeton," she replied, with a | 
 voice and manner whose gentleness contrasted I 
 forcibly with the inflexibility of her opening ' 
 words, " when I entered this room such was my ', 
 intention ; and though I had anticipated a diffi- i 
 cult duty, I confess the tasl^ is more painful i 
 than I expected ; I therefore ask you neither to 
 pardon nor excuse what I may say, for if you 
 blamed me I should still say on. Do you know 
 any thing, since she left, of the lady whose place 
 I supply f" 
 
 " Only," replied Mrs. Templeton in a husky 
 voice, " tJirough one short letter. I much re- 
 gretted her departure, especially as she left in ill 
 health, and, I t'e-\r, in sorrow — but this you have 
 often heard me allude to." 
 
 " Yes I have, but j'ou do not, then, know that 
 she is dead .'" A faint shriek burst from the 
 horrified and unhappy listener. " Slie died giv- 
 ing birth to a child, who died also — the father is 
 Colonel Templeton !" 
 
 " Oh, this is too much, too much — my burden 
 is greater than I can bear!" groaned the mis- 
 erable wife. 
 
 Miss Lee, scarcely less nioved, drew near^ she 
 took the passive hand, she pressed it kindly, and 
 with a tremulous voice asked, " You do not hate 
 me for telling you this.' — believe me, nothing 
 but a strong sense of what was due to you, to 
 your innocent girls, to mj'self, to mj' whole sex, 
 could have carried me through this distressing 
 disclosure. And now you are quite overcome, 
 shall I ring for your maid, or will you permit 
 Die to wait on you — or shall I go .'—only say 
 what will be the least painful to you." 
 
 " Stay," said Mrs. Templeton, endeavoring to 
 rally lier thoughts, " stay ; my maid never sits 
 up beyond a given hour, which is past — but you 
 wdl be overtasked," she added, with her usual 
 kindness. 
 
 "Not so; if T might choose, I would prefer 
 remaining," and slie did so ; and after calming 
 herself by a powerful effort, Mrs Templeton 
 begged her to relate at once all she had come 
 prepared to say. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Tnrn all ymir eyes on me ; here st-nnils a man, 
 The falsest :iii.l the basest of Ihia worl.l. 
 Set swords agiimst this breast, some honest man." 
 thila'ster. 
 
 " After the novelty of my situation had worn 
 away, I hope I need not tell you that my duties 
 were performed with punctuality and cheerful- 
 ness ; naturally shy, I at first kept myself se- 
 cluded, from both habit and choice. 1 felt that 
 if your kindness allowed more familiarity, I 
 could easily throw off my reserve; but I shrank 
 from encountering a repulse for too much freC' 
 dom. Pardon me, if I say that it was irapossil^le 
 to be many months domesticated under your roof 
 without giving up all my energies to serve one 
 so amiable as yourself, and, as 1 soon perceived, 
 so unhappy. You remember, soon after my ar- 
 rival, Colonel Templeton left for Paris — how 
 pleasant was that period to me — you had en- 
 couraged me to emerge from my shell, and I 
 ventured to look forward to the time when, hav- 
 ing oompleted your children's education, 1 sliould 
 be remembered as your friend — dear Mrs. Ver- 
 non was delighted at having been the means of 
 introducing me to such a home, where for some 
 years, at least, the future to me seemed sunny 
 and cheerful. 
 
 " It was then that the Colonel returned ; and 
 again I would have withdrawn to my privacy ; 
 but this your kindness, which included me in all 
 your parties of pleasure, prevented. At first 
 Colonel Teinplcton's equivocal manner perplexed, 
 witliout alarming me; and though 1 could not 
 understand the meaning of various circumstances 
 which occurred, they yet uunle me uncomfortable 
 and uneasy. I really did feel so secure in my 
 own integrity and freedom from all doubtful 
 behavior ; so sure that the very situation I filled 
 wns a safeguard, that it was long before a suspi- 
 cion of the truth dawned on my mind, and very 
 slowly did I admit it; it seemed too horrible — 
 the father of my beloved pupils, the master of 
 the house ! Again he left lor a short time ; but 
 .since his return, a system of quiet persecution 
 has been commenced, which has alarmed me. A 
 Ibrtnight ago I named much of this to Mrs. Ver- 
 non ; she fancied, or hoped, I had been over- 
 sensitive, but * ill was far from blaming me, and 
 enjoined the utmost caution, both in my own 
 behavioi-, and in speaking of what might lead to 
 so much domestic misery. To-day, this evening, 
 the study has been intruded on, and" — she paused, 
 more from indignation than embarrassment, being 
 far too much roused for the latter feeling — " and 
 Mrs. Dawson heard me order Colonel Templeton 
 instantly to leave the room. This, after fir.st 
 rudely refusing, he did : I confess that I was 
 niuch overcome by his insulting conduct, and 
 gladly accepted Mrs. Dawson's offer to remain 
 an hour with me; from her I learned the dread- 
 ful tragedy of my predecessor's fate, which has 
 become known through the gossip of the Colonel'S' 
 servant." 
 
 Such,»in brief, was her statement of the case ; 
 but Miss Lee, as much out of pity to her pale 
 listener, as respect to herself, had suppressed 
 many things which marked the deep depravity 
 
18 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 rf hcT persecutor, and invested him with all the 
 eisirric '.eristics of a hardened proflijate. ' 
 
 Siie finally expressed a hope that Mrs. Tern- l 
 pleton would approve of her prompt disclosure, ! 
 iind equally prompt rcsulvu; both were impera- 
 tively CHlled for to prevent any recurrence in 
 fu.-'ire of such proceedimrs : slie now placed her- 
 self entirely in Mrs. Teinpleton's hands, being 
 ni>)'i«t desirous of acting so as not to increase her 
 difiltulties. 
 
 " Your course is plain, dear Miss Lee —you 
 rnugf '.cave me. Pained and humiliated as 1 am 
 ot heving this disgraceful history, believe me, I 
 feel Ju^.nitcly your debtor for vi.ur having with 
 Buch lonor and cour-age shown me ex:ictly how I 
 am phiced. ^/y path is, in many rfspects, and 
 for man 7 causes, neither so clear nor so easy to 
 pursue. But after what you have learned, and 
 the prudent use you have made of that knowl- 
 edge. c( ncealmcnt of the sad mysteries of my 
 lite is impossible, as well as needless; though 
 you will be the first, j'es, the first, not excepting 
 ■even my dear brother, to whom I have ever hint- 1 
 •ed at my situation or sorrows. My marriage 
 was a love-match — on my .side — I mean — Colonel ! 
 'Templeton married my fortune ; when that was i 
 gone, he liad no longer a wife I could not, if it 
 were useful, tell you all I have sufftM-ed. or re- ' 
 Lite to you all the infamy I have passed through ; ! 
 it was no arm of earthly love which led me, un- I 
 contaminated, through these horrors; it was no | 
 liuibund's honor.-ibie solicitude which kept me I 
 ■from falling as low ;is any of the degraded beings 1 
 anmnjwhom I, a young wife, ayoung mother, WaS 
 tliruwn God was very merciful tome, and remem- 
 bered me in my agony and trial ; agony and ir al 
 to b .tly and mind. He led me safely through, and 
 once more has He brouglit me to the shelter of 
 my home and my relatives, and for this, praised t 
 be His name." She paused, and for a few min- ■ 
 utcs seemed lost in thought; then looking up, 
 and seeing Miss Lee's ej'es fi.vcd with inquiring ' 
 sympathy on lier, she remarked, " You look as 
 if you thought 1 had redress in my own power; 
 you forget my children, my beiiutiful, innocent 
 gills; had 1 separated from Colonel Templeton, 
 tiiink you that they wDuld have been left with ' 
 n<.e .' if so, you know nothing of the cruelty and | 
 revenge of which a base and depraved nature is i 
 cipiib'.e; besides, he does not wish me formally ] 
 to leave his house; he knows that one step taken 
 in th it direction must lead to another, and iy 
 eywof the world he has still something to lo-^e, 
 which he would gladly retain. Thus, then, the 
 iiiiiUer stands between us. 1 consent to remain, 
 having entire liberty to do as I please with my 
 chil Irt-n. for which an ample allowance is made; 
 bill beyond this I am feticred ; if 1 move, so will 
 they, iind be taken from my loving care for years, 
 pel Imps forever ; and. great (lod ! to what might 
 tlicy not be exfiosed • lor if once an open rupture 
 were miide 1 have every thing to dread from liini. 
 1 am convinced he would pause at nothing by 
 wliich 1 could be wounded. No, no, mine was the 
 mistake, on me be its consequences, but oh ! spare 
 my sweet girjs !" 
 
 Slie burst into a pa.'^.sion of tears, which were as 
 freely shed by her aii<litor, btit more silently; 
 then raising her hea<l, she added, " \Vc are both 
 too much agitated and excited to prolong this in- 
 
 terview. To-morrow we will he guided by event 
 in the mean time, if you can think for me, do so 
 
 Inexpressibly touched by her gentle but j^: 
 looks and tones. Miss Lee respectfully rai,sed 1. 
 hand to her lips; but Mrs. Templeton kissed h 
 fondly on the cheek, saying, " Out of evil w 
 come good, if from this bitter trial I gain 
 friend." 
 
 And with strange and sorrowful feelings fiUii 
 the hearts and thoughts of each, they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER, IX. 
 
 " Give sorrow, words" ; the grief that does not gpealt, ,. 
 Whisptrs the oVrlrauglit heari, and bids it brMuk." 
 
 The following morning every thing seemed 
 proceed as usual ; for the children always takii 
 their breakfast in the study. Miss Lee"s mann ' 
 could cast no shadow of coming events, by wh', 
 their shape might be recognized when they d 
 arrive. Had Colonel Templeton taken much n 
 tice of his wife, he would have pi-rccived that sl|' 
 lookcl paler and more thoughtiul than comnioi 
 but this he did not, and, in fact, rather rL-Ii' 
 her, by planning- a little excursion for the ■ 
 day, which she understood as a proc^f tli.at ln' 
 ignorant of the disclosure that had boon mud 
 in which she was correct. 
 
 Quite unable to enter quickly into diifercnco 
 character, and unobservant of the quiet diiri 
 and reserve w^hich marked .^l:ssLee"s behavii 
 had ranked lier among the sentimental roin: 
 class to which poor Miss Grant belonged ; a 1 1 < 
 who have honor, affection, and sense enouini 
 carry them through life, respected and lovcl, 
 kept from temptation; but who with no princij 
 to sustain, no strong feeling of right to suj'j.i 
 them in the hour of trial, when that time c^nu 
 fall an easy prey to the destroyer. ,j 
 
 Directly she was at liberty, and her husbail 
 busy with his agent. .Mrs. Templeton hastened > 
 the study, aud sending the children with (ire te 
 en to the Rectory, where they were ever wcl i.ii 
 she informed .Miss Lee of the result of her anxio. 
 vigils, !. 
 
 " It is evident to methat I can not, that I mi;J 
 not even attempt t^ carry on my children's cduc I 
 tion under this roof," ] 
 
 "I agree with yon," said Miss Lee; " J'! 
 woul<l not be justified in making the attempt," I 
 
 "But what then can I do? From the spci 
 mens which I have too often met with of seli. 
 education, I have contracted a very strong repu 
 nance to exposing either Helen or C'onstam,; 
 especially the former, to the intluence of girls 
 whom 1 myself know nothing. 1 am not objet 
 ing wholly on the ground of diffjrence of stati* 
 though the effects of that arc also to be consider . 
 — not because of less -nobility or less wealth, I 
 because, among unsclectod associates, vulgar opi 
 ions, low sentiments, and paltry feelings are to 
 dreaded; added to tliis, I own to a very decid 
 prepossession in favor of home inllu-nce, wh( 
 the mother, as I trust I should be, is ready to i 
 in concert with an iutelllgent instructress," 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 19 
 
 •* My opinion entirely coincides with yours," 
 tBSwered Miss Lee, " and I know not why any 
 dread of being misapprehended should deter me 
 from trying to aid you ; though this will involve a 
 display of egotism to which I am not much ad- 
 dicted." 
 
 " Oh, help me, if you can," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Templeton, with energy ; " and give all false 
 scruples to the winds." 
 
 ".My sister, Mrs. Loftus," said she, thus ad- 
 jured, " is the widow of an officer, who died about 
 eighteen months ago in India. Her right to some 
 property is disputed, but we are assured vexa- 
 tiously and unjustly — still, while it is withheld, 
 my sister is reduced to a vei-y scanty income. 
 She has two little girls, rather older than yours ; 
 and it is, I know, her earnest wish so to educate 
 them as to render them independent of any .id- 
 verse circumstance except ill health. To assist 
 her, by pecuniary aid, I am here ; but in oi'der 
 fully to carry out her views, she is very desirous 
 of obtaining two, at the most three, pupds, to ed- 
 ucate with thero. This would justify the expense 
 ftf engaging superior talent in various accomplish- 
 ments, and it would make all the children feel, 
 from an early age, that they are not to measure 
 excellence by their own attainments, nor limit it 
 by their own powers; superiority will thus en- 
 courage industry, not foster conceit — and inferi- 
 ority will not depress, but keep them modest." 
 
 '■ Snid 1 not well that out of evil comes good .'" 
 eagerly interrupted Mrs. Templeton ; " my own 
 vision realized — except," she added with a sigh, 
 *■ the sepai-ation." 
 
 '•But that only for a short time," suggested 
 Miss Lee. 
 
 " True ; and now the best way to arrange all 
 this ? Put me immediately in correspondence 
 with ^Irs. Loftus — tkat appears the first step I 
 have never yet left the Priory for a night since 
 my arrival, but to gain this great advantage I 
 shall not hesitate to do any thing that is needful; 
 and by cheerfully consenting to part from my 
 darlings, I give them the best proof that my love 
 is unselfish and wise." 
 
 •' 1 think, nay, I am sure, you will like my sis- 
 ter," said Miss Lee; "she has seen much of the 
 cloudy side of hie, and I have often felt, when you 
 have been discussing various subjects, that you 
 and she entertained the same opinions." 
 
 " Khali you reside with her ': ' 
 
 "■ I rather think not ; I have an unmarried 
 brother, whose housekeeper 1 was till her bereave- 
 ment and return to England, and when I came 
 here she took my place. But if, through any ar- 
 rangements you make, she can succeed in her 
 |»lan regarding her children, I shall again resume 
 the reius at my brother's till he marries." 
 
 " Then consider that quite settled," said Mr-. 
 Templeton ; " and now about yourself — what are 
 your immediate wi.shes and intentions ?" 
 
 '•I was up very early this morning, and have 
 collected and packed all my belongings, purposing 
 to leave, so as not again to meet — in sliort, to go 
 at once." 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Templeton, " Mrs. Ver- 
 non can not know of this last occurrence." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Miss Lee; "she knows 
 nothing since we parted yesterday — though, as 1 
 informed you, I had previously consulted her — 
 
 and no one here, but Mrs. Dawson, on whose dis- 
 cretion I can fully rely, is aware that any thing 
 unpleasant has happened." 
 
 " Will you object to remaining a few days at 
 the Rectory," asked Mrs. Templeton; " I have so 
 often heard Mrs. Vernon urge it, that I am sure 
 she will be delii;hted. In making tliis request I 
 am rather seltish, I shall be so glad to have you 
 near while in correspondence with Mrs. Loftus; it 
 will also remove any suspicion Colonel Templeton 
 may entertain as to my being in your confidence, 
 a fact he will never learn from me ; it will also 
 show him that you are well protected, and render 
 liim more cautious how he ventures to persevere 
 in his insulting conduct." 
 
 " 1 shall willingly remain, as you see no objec- 
 tion, and most happy shall I be to further your 
 negotiation with my sister." 
 
 " Then we will go at once," said Mrs. Temple- 
 ton, " for I have decided on another measure, the 
 result of our conversation last night. I have felt 
 so gi-cat a relief from having in this slight degree 
 opened my heart to you, that I shall no longer go 
 about with this terrible secret, as if it were my 
 crim.e instead of my misfortune, and deny myself 
 the comfort of sympathy and advice. You look 
 as if this resolve surprised you." 
 
 " I own it does," said Miss Lee, courageously ; 
 " the good sense and propriety, no less than the 
 fortitude of your conduct, are exactly the quali- 
 ties in which society at large are so deficient — I 
 render a deep and voluntary homage to the char- 
 acter of those who can say — 
 
 'Thero is a sil' nt sorrow Ixtp, 
 It hujivt s no sliifi, it sUeda no tear ;' 
 
 but perhaps I am rather 'stoical ; I know I am not 
 very fond of pity on my own account." 
 
 " I must try and make myself understood," said 
 Mrs. Templeton; "otherwise, though I think we 
 agree, you will fancy we differ. Colonel Temple- 
 ton is my husband — no matter what else he is — 
 his conduct will not affect my argument. While 
 I consent to remain .with hiih, 1 th.iik nolhii;g 
 would be more reprehensible than for me to weary 
 alike friends and acquaintances with, his faults 
 and my sorrows — my silence does not, at any rate, 
 make the matter worse, my complaints certainly 
 would ; and it is this strong conviclion which hiis 
 hitherto guided my proceedings. But events may 
 arise, when the aid and counsel of sinother may 
 be useful, indeed necessary — when trials, whicli 
 are never purposeless, may, by our unwise recep- 
 tion, become irritants, leading to murmuring and 
 discontent, instead of blcss.-d instruments for cor- 
 recting and hallowing all our /eelings. I am, 
 therefore, determined no longer to close my car to 
 the voice of wisj and friendly sympathy ; nor to 
 infold myself in an iron shroud, which buries alike 
 my hopes with my disappointment. Am 1 now 
 very wrong.' To the many 1 am still dumb— but 
 do not forbid the over-racked victim to groan— do 
 not say the sharp pang shall force out no cry." 
 
 " Far from it, very far from it," said Miss Leo, 
 with animation; "you are fully justified in the 
 resolution you have tJlken ; you would, imlcod, Ijo 
 wroug if you refused this mearis of relief. What 
 I meant to censure was, that the egoti.'^m which 
 I perpetually talks of itself in the most weari.some 
 I of characters, that of complainer— which parades 
 
20 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 its sorrows before erery one, and collects sympa- 
 thy as a tax. Not that I ever thought it possible 
 you, with your refinement and dignity of charac- 
 ter, your studied avoidance of domestic and petty 
 details, could ever descend to this level ; but 1 was 
 jealdU'?, dear Mrs. Tcmpleton, lest you should not, 
 in every respect, fully otfer an excuse for my deep 
 admiration of your cliuracter." 
 
 '• But you do not suppose me proof against a 
 little delicate fiat;ery," slie observed with a smile. 
 " Now we will no lunger delay our drive to the 
 Kectory, where I shall leave you, depending on 
 your kindness to do all you can for me." 
 
 The children and Gretchen were sent back in 
 the curring->, which was to return and fetch Mrs. 
 Tcmpleton, who was happily spared the feverish- 
 ness of hesitation and doubt, by finding Mr. \^r- 
 non at home. With him she had a long and pri- 
 vate interview; and though her beautiful face 
 looked very sad, and tears stood in her loving, 
 dark eyes :is she kissed and bade farewell to Miss 
 Lee, she whispered, " 1 was quite right, for though 
 you must go away, I have wise and warm friends 
 left here." 
 
 L'ulonel Tcmpleton expressed no astonishment 
 when informed of Miss Lee"s sudden departure, 
 though he felt surprised when, through his pri- 
 vate inquiries, he found she intended to remain a 
 week at the iiectory ; and where, in spite of all 
 liis maneuvers, he never could see her ; but unde- 
 terred by this, he took effectual measures to trace 
 her thence to London, fully determining not to be 
 baffled in his pursuit, by what he thought either 
 prudery or deliberate artilice. 
 
 Helen and Constance were loud in their com- 
 plaints at her absence, and most persevering in 
 their inquiries as to her return ; but in less than 
 two months the negotiation had been so success- 
 fully carried on with Mrs. Loftus, much facilitated 
 by her .'^p niding a few days at the Iiectory, and 
 saving .Mrs. Tcmpleton a journey to London, that, 
 avowjng herself weary and disheartened by these 
 perpetual changes. Miss Lee having decided on re- 
 maining v;ith her family,- she now intended to 
 place Helen and Constance at school, where, for 
 the present, (Jretchen would accompany them as 
 the.r personal attendant. 
 
 \'arious were tlic comments passed by various 
 in lividuals when the plan'became known; but as 
 tjiese parties have been rather disrespectfully 
 kept in the background, leave we the children to 
 acquire as much knowledge as their brains will 
 comfortably bear, and to gain as many accom- 
 plishments as they have talents for, while we be- 
 come enlightened as to the neighborhood, or 
 rather the neighbors of the Priory. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Si on n- godlp point ce» onranlircg, je m'en fetonne; si 
 on leu gnaif, Je m'en fe;oiine lie moiue."— La. Bbuykuk. 
 
 TiiK Forresters of Forest Ilill, as one of the old- 
 est county families, claim pieccdeuce, thougii, as 
 they never Blood out in very bohl relief on any 
 occasion, not even during an election, they will 
 *oon be dismissed ; they must, however, be put iu 
 ihe catalogue. 
 
 Mr. Forrester had married late in life a lady 
 of suitable age; for if she had gained but little 
 knowledge of life, it had not been for lack of time. 
 By the death of her brother, the handsome estate 
 of Hargraves became hers, and though this ac- 
 quisition was by no means the reason why Mr. 
 Forrester thought the lady suitable as a wife, it 
 certainly had something to do with suggesting 
 that idea. 
 
 Had Hargraves been a hundred miles off. it ia 
 probable he would never have cared for it or its 
 owner; but Hargraves joined Forest Hill, and 
 those who have ever noticed the effect of such pro- 
 pinquity on country gentlemen, will understand 
 how it influenced the thoughts and feelings of 
 Mr. Forrester. Therefore, if, as Miss Hargrave, 
 she was good, as Mrs. Forrester she was better ; 
 but when she became the mother of the future 
 heir of i'orest Hill and Hargraves to boot, she was 
 decidedly best. Mr. Forrester was proud, pom- 
 pous, and cold, very kind to his dependents, among 
 whom he was extremely popular ; honorable and 
 just, almost to sternness, in all his transactions ; 
 stately and repulsive, well-bred and exclusive. 
 His wife was his reflection in almost every respect, 
 except that, while the father Avas prouder of Hu- 
 bert as his heir than as his son, the mother re- 
 versed this, being fonder of her handsome boy, her 
 atiectionate, her beautiful Hubert, than pi'oud of 
 him as the future representative of two familie:^, 
 which had been known and respected for many 
 centuries. 
 
 Sir William and Lady Dallas, with their numer- 
 ous but youthful family, come next in order. 
 j They were people of good property, who inhabited 
 I the Grange, a building which originally merited 
 j that name, but it h.ad been gradually so change!, 
 enlarged, and improved, as to resemble, in puinr 
 of identity, that celebrated stumbling-block i 
 metaphysicians. Sir Francis Drake's ship, whj' i 
 I had been so often patched and repaired, that im 
 one piece of the original remained. So with ili 
 I Grange; now 'a handsome mansion sheltered fii:. 
 all ungenial influences, anji surrounded wi 
 beautitul gardens, rich fields, and fertile mea I 
 j ows. 
 
 Nearly as it now was. Sir William received it 
 from his father, the first Baronet; and haviiiL; 
 j married a lady of large fortune, good connectiuu, 
 ' and fashionable tastes, the Grange became, par 
 i ixcelteaci, the focus of gayety and amusement. 
 I Their arrival as residents had been previous to 
 i that of the Templetons, between whom and them- 
 \ selves, in spite of many impediments to stroug 
 friendship, there sprang np much kind feeling. 
 
 Sir WilliitDi was a frank, amiable man. and an 
 indulgent husband, passionately fond of country 
 sports and agricultural experiments; exactly the 
 man whose active habits, intelligent mind, an! 
 ample fortune enabled him, without injury, to in- 
 troduce those scientific measures, the failure of 
 which would be ruinous to the small farmer, l)ut 
 which. Avhen hazarded by the rich and enterpris- 
 ing landed proprietor, eventually lead to i-eal im- 
 provement and final success. 
 
 And Lady Dallas, what was she ? Miss Lee has 
 already alluded to one of her habits, as being, in 
 her opinion, particularly objectionable. Her 
 ladyship was a complainer ; it was not exactly from 
 discontent, lor she was too grateful to feel that ; 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 21 
 
 still less was it low spirits, for when she had empti- 
 od her tiny vial of small troubles on the hvtul of 
 Kome luckless listener, who so gay as she ? It 
 cit'ten reminded a spectator of the little man and 
 woman in the weather-lwuse ; a-s the one listened 
 und grew weary or sad from sympathy, so she be- 
 came gay and cheerful, and fluttered away, ready 
 to chirp and sing with the fii-st merry bird she en- 
 countered. 
 
 Kind but egotistical, teasing and complaining, 
 but ever ready, nay, eager to serve othei*s, it 
 eeemed as if she realized in her pretty little per- 
 son the John Bull character of her countrymen 
 — that she is never happj but wlien grumbling. 
 Quite free from pride and envy, she was, upon the 
 whole, popular ; still she was occasionally oppres- 
 sive and wearying, for, in a word, tant soit pert, 
 she was a bore. She bored about her servants, 
 her childi'en, her relations, and what, in Mrs. 
 Templeton's opinion, was most inexcusable, about 
 ber husband ; and yet all this was the result of 
 thoughtlessness and want of employment ; it gave 
 her an opportunity of talking about herself, and 
 indirectly pa3'ing herself a compliment ; she would 
 tell of her trials — her trials, forsooth ! and then 
 allude t/9 the magnanimity with which they were 
 endured. This she would evince, by being the 
 very butterfly of the place, driving about from 
 house to house, and depositing everywhere her 
 little amount of boredom. Added to this, she was 
 essentially without tact, utterly insensible to the 
 eloquence of the tone, the look, the manner, 
 which, to the sensitive, speaks with the clearness 
 of a trumpet, and tells that sympathy and polite- 
 ness are exhausted, and that weariness is begin- 
 Bing; but on she went, humming, drumming, 
 complaining, lamenting, " and inflicting her tedi- 
 ousness" on all who would permit it. As to com- 
 prehonding the character of Mrs. Templeton, she 
 was no more capable of doing that, than of read- 
 ing the Arundelian Marbles ; and not having the 
 least suspicion, till many years after their intro- 
 duction, of her real situation, she constantly made 
 her the subject of her iadirect animadyersions, by 
 canvassing her proceedings, and being astonished 
 at her doings ; and all this without the least mal- 
 ice or ill nature. 
 
 Lord Hurstwood, in point of rank, should have 
 been first introduced, but as age, infirmity, and a 
 severe loss in' the death of an only daughter, ren- 
 dered him quite a recluse, we pass him oyer ; his 
 eon being a bachelor, and an absentee, in neither 
 character has a claim on our notice, and will 
 therefore remain unannounced till he becomes one 
 of the recognized inliabitants of the county. 
 
 Toward the seaward side of the village was a 
 pretty little place, claiming and meriting no 
 more dignified appellation than that of Seaview 
 Cottage, occupied by a lady, whom, almast sim- 
 ultaneou.sly with tlie arrisal of Miss Lee, Lady 
 Grantham had introduced to the notice of tlie 
 Colonel and his wife as an early friend of here, 
 recently a widow, in fact, a distant connection of 
 Lionel's. Her husband, .Mr. West, had held an 
 Excellent appointment, tlfe income of whicli he 
 not only gpent, bat exceeded; so tliat at his 
 death, which happened unexpectedly, his widow 
 had nothing but a small annuity, and very deli- 
 cate' health. Her only ciiihl, a boy, was most 
 generously adopted by an unmarried relative, 
 
 the next heir to the Westrongh title and estates, 
 the present Lord having only daughters. 
 
 Lord Ernest West had lost, by death, the lady 
 to whom lie was passionately attached, and since 
 tiiat event had led a very secluded life, having 
 withdrawn to the solitude of Old Court, wliich, 
 with a splendid fortune, he inherited from his 
 mother, the late Lord's second wife. 
 
 Xady Grantham shrewdly suggested that in 
 this adoption of the young Reginald, the possible 
 heir to the title, there was some arrihre prnsie of 
 contracting him to one of his lady cousins ; .and 
 perhaps she was correct. But tlie undoubted 
 consequence of this measure was, that Reginald 
 remained at Eton at Lord Ernest's expense, and 
 that his mother's income received a small addi- 
 tion, sufficient to insure her comftjrt. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Mrs. West received 
 kindness and attention, not only from the Tem- 
 pletons, who readily admitted her claim, but 
 from the whole neighborhood, whom her gentle 
 and ladylike manners could not fail to please ; 
 while Reginald, a handsome, spirited boy, about 
 fifteen, mounted on liis pony, or driving liis mother 
 in her tiny ciiaise, was quite as much at the 
 Priory as at the Cottage, or, as Cecilia observed, 
 as he was on the road, and by whom in allusion 
 to his equestrian tastes he was laughingly called 
 the Honest Highwayman. 
 
 " How beautiful your flowers are," remarked 
 Mrs. Forrester to Lady Dallas, as they walked 
 through an elegant conservatory recently added 
 to the Grange. 
 
 "Yes, they are »ery pretty, but I advise you, 
 Mrs. Forrester, never to have your conservatory 
 opening on to the drawing-room — sometimes I am 
 quite overcome with the perfume from the cape 
 jasmine, orange, and other scented flowers." 
 
 " You have only to close the double door ; be- 
 sides, your caution is too late to me." 
 
 "As to shutting the door, that is useless; Sir 
 William is perpetually going through, and is so 
 thoughtless, he always forgets — really hie new 
 plans and inventions keep us in constant confusion 
 — only imagine, the new-fashioned' flues were 
 over-heated last week, and we were terrified by 
 the cry of fire." 
 
 " But I was told you were quitte pour la peur^^ 
 replied .Mrs. Forrester ; and as gardeners will 
 over-heat even old-fashioned warming apparatus, 
 it is better to have one which is so easily man- 
 aged," 
 
 " Oh, you have no idea of the trouble all these 
 things are; tliere was our coachman the other 
 day" — but seeing or feeling from which quarter 
 the wind was blowing, Mrs. Forrester, as she had 
 ofien done before, shortened her visit. 
 
 " Is it quite true," inquired Lady Dallas of 
 Mrs. Vernon, on whom she was calling, " that the 
 little Templetons have been Ijanished to a London 
 school .'" 
 
 " Perfectly true, that they are being educated 
 near London, with two other children, but not 
 that therefore they are bnnishtxl." 
 
 " Happily," remarked her Ladyship, " I am not 
 addicted to envy, or I certainly should envy Mrs. 
 Templeton the perfect control she has over every 
 thing. You, who c^n so easily educate your only 
 gii 1, ha-ve no idea of the trouble I have with mine 
 — I am perpetually obliged to ohange governess or 
 
22 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 nurse, and the children always lose with every 
 ciinnge — now here is Mrs. Templetoa freed from 
 ull iliis trouble, and quite at liberty to go about 
 and receive lier friends as she pleases." 
 
 '• 1 think," replied .Mrs. Vernou, smiling, •' tliat 
 you do not seem to find either duties or imprison- 
 ment very severe in your case, fur I hear of you 
 at all the parties near and lar." 
 
 " Oh, tliat is because Sir William can not bear 
 to go anywiiere witiiout me — so different from 
 Colonel Templeton, who goes about as if he had 
 no wife." 
 
 Almost provoked at her folly, and yet afraid of 
 opening the eyes of one with so clapper-like a 
 tongue. .Mrs. Vernon suggested that perhaps Lady 
 Dallas was quite as fond of being with Sir William 
 OS lie with her ; a truth which was at once frankly 
 and laughingly admitted. 
 
 But, unfortunately, "her Ladyship had not yet 
 exhausted her stock of astonishment and comment 
 — a portion of both was reserved for tlie Priory. 
 Thiilier she drove, and on the broad terrace was 
 the Colonel, and he being an admirer of her pretty 
 face and fashionable dress, though he sometimes 
 thought, when wincing under her random lashes, 
 that if he were her husband he should infallibly 
 strangle her, hastened to hand her from the car- 
 riage. 
 
 •• Really, Colonel Templeton," she said, as he 
 accompanied her through the noble liall to the 
 drawing-room, " I hardly ever come here without 
 xiiitiking what an enviable life Mrs. Templeton's 
 must be." 
 
 " The same idea occurs to me respecting Sir 
 "NVilliam's," was his insidious reply, '-whenever I 
 have the pleasure of seeing your Ladyship ; but 
 she. scarcely hearing him, and certainly not at- 
 taching any import to the words, went chattering 
 on, as if lie had not spoken. 
 
 *• I tiiink this place a perfect Paradise. Ah, 
 my dear .Mrs. Templeton, how do you do .' I 
 was, as usual, raving about this lovely place — it 
 is a real garden of Eden." 
 
 *' But there was something ugly even there, 
 »-;us there not .' or my memory deceives me," 
 boldly cliimcd in the Colonel, with a laughing 
 bueer on his line face. 
 
 •• Now, Mrs. Templeton, did you ever hear such 
 unblushing asking for a compliment; but my 
 real object in coming was to hear how your 
 daughters are— I was so surprised to learn that 
 tiivy were at school — 1 assure you I have been 
 tiying to persua<le Sir William to send our two 
 eidait, but he will not listen to it." 
 
 " If 1 suggest that every husband is not like 
 me, 1 fear your Ladyship will again, though with- 
 out cause, reprove my vanity ;" for he saw that 
 Ellinor could scarcely command her tears from 
 falling. 
 
 " Fear nothing of the kind, for it is exactly 
 vliat I said to Sir William," she gayly replied, 
 '• i told him to come and take a few lessops from 
 you ; but now I am here, I hope, Mrs. Templeton, 
 you will give -Jie your recipe for governing hus- 
 baiid.s." 
 
 " 1 believe," said she, trying to echo the b.adi- 
 n:ige, " it is by letting them have their own 
 w.iy." 
 
 '• Now I nppeil to you, Colonel;" hut he was 
 g me. Ellinor had answered to the spur, and she 
 
 might be ridden or baited to death, just as her 
 tactless visitor chose. 
 
 And suns rose and set on Seabrooke, and the 
 bright-gieen tints of spring were exchanged fur 
 the rich, brown hues of autumn, but they brought 
 little variety in the life of its ruistress, e.xceps 
 that afforded by visits from her children, every 
 one of which rendered it more difficult again to 
 part with them ; still, the evident advantage of 
 her plan retidered her the more firm in pursuing 
 it ; and as she beheld what, even to her fond eyes, 
 had been faults in her children's characteis, gra- 
 dually disappearing under the intiuence of judi- 
 cious instruction, sWe decided that no selfish in- 
 dulgence to herselt should interfere to deprive 
 them of its benefit. 
 
 She perceived, with delight and gratitude, that 
 Helens timidity was exchanged lor a gentleness 
 strengthened by firmuL'SS ; her original indolence 
 for an active industry in pursuit of all intellectual 
 acquirements ; her dependence on others for au 
 unobtrusive self-reliance, which gave an irresisti- 
 ble charm to her touching style of beauty. Nor 
 had Constance failed to profit by these favorable 
 circumstances ; her vehement temperament was 
 subdued to a generous warmth and energy, which 
 had nothing of self-will ; her prejudices and pre- 
 possessions were more under control, and though 
 she was still impulsive, the impulse was better 
 directed ; the rare amiability of both Kate and 
 Fdrmy Loftus had very much modified and cor- 
 rected her almost painful love of the beautiful, 
 for they were, as regarded regularity of feature, 
 plain children — and this had, at first, affected Con- 
 stance disadvantageously ; but as she learned to 
 value their beauty of temper, and subsequently 
 their beauty of intellect and talent, she felt that 
 she could, she must love them, though they had 
 neither the loveliness nor grace of her standard, 
 Helen. 
 
 The ever-welcome visits of Lord Grantham and 
 his wife occasionally interrupted the monotony of 
 Mrs. Templeton's existence, still further broken 
 by the joint presence of Cecilia and Laurette, 
 who had now become lady-lilie and intelligent 
 companions to their aunt. Laurette was very 
 ofceu at Forest Hill, the Forresters having for- 
 merly been old friends and guests of her grand- 
 father, for Sir Alan was dead ; and her parents 
 were expected by the next ship, bringing with 
 them wealth, honor, and what they seemed, by 
 their letters, to value still more, a son and heir 
 five years old, and a little baby girl. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ^'(E'lter SfiarkiK?!, /u<itllfi(l.)—\{ I can but meet with 
 her. or any body thai bi-lmiiis I'l her, tliey will fiml me a 
 nialch for "t-iii. ' If the chain pastm iloes not liurt my eye- 
 tight, the eiieoiy is marching this way." — Wvcukult. 
 
 As time has been rather anticipated, we will 
 return to the period at which Helen and Constance 
 
 I left their home, and relate a triiling event whicli 
 aflonled a little diversion, if that term be not 
 
 ' thouglit inappropriate to the peaceful revolution 
 
 i of the sciisons. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 23 
 
 About six months after the children's tleparture, 
 ,the Colonel announced his intention ol' leaving 
 home ; this was nothing uncommon, only, contrary 
 to his usual custom, he informed those whom it 
 might concern, that his journey was toward the 
 Highlands. But though he was an excellent 
 horseman, he must on this occasion have been 
 riding very carelessly, for he was thrown, had two 
 of his front teeth knocked out, and his handsome 
 lip so cut that not even his mustache could hide 
 the scar — nor, till time the healer stepped in to 
 cure the bruised gums, could the skill of the den- 
 tist hide the gap — in short, it seemed a mercy 
 that it was no worse. 
 
 As disfigurement and pain are 72ot counter-irri- 
 tants, it is but reasonable to expect that neither 
 i temper nor manner would be improved by this 
 accident, and, to tell the truth, they were not ; 
 and though all within his influence bore testimony 
 to this effect, none perhaps more so than the ser- 
 vant who went with him on his Scotch expedition, 
 and who being his personal and favoi-ite attendant 
 had more than a due share of his master's ill tem- 
 per ; indeed, so much was the man tried, that he 
 in his turn, as was but natural, revenged himself 
 wherever he durst ; and on one occasion, when 
 reproved by Mx'S. Dawson, and reminded by her 
 that it was a Providence he had not met witli the 
 accident, he very profanely denied there having 
 been any ProTidence in the matter, and that as to 
 mercy, be added with a sneer, there had been 
 very little of that ; and threw out hints and in- 
 uendoes which, had they reached the ears of his 
 worthy master, would have led to his dismissal — 
 that is, if the Colonel could have ventured on that 
 measure, for the profligate master is the slave of 
 the servant who knows his secrets. But not to 
 linger on the rack of curiosity, or trust to fable 
 and fiction, let us listen to the voice of history ; 
 and thus she saith — 
 
 Undeterred, by Miss Lee's departure, from per- 
 sisting in his base pursuit, and unconvinced by 
 her proceecUngs that it would be in vain, her gal- 
 lant admirer, after she had left the Kectory, 
 learned her brother's address ; and when she took 
 up her residence with him, which she did directly 
 her sister's plans were arranged, the Colonel be- 
 gan to arrange his. 
 
 Mr. Lee held a very good post under govern- 
 ment, and as his private residence was a short 
 distance from town, his sister would have been 
 much alone, had they not had for neighbors the 
 family of an old friend, to one of whose daugh- 
 ters Mr. Lee was engaged. As Miss Lee was one 
 day waiting for the garden-gate to bo opened, a 
 gentleman slowly passed on horseback, who was 
 evidently making a note of the house ; she felt 
 annoyed, alarmed, for though not quite sure, as 
 she did not see his face, she was almost certain it 
 was Colonel Templeton. 
 
 For several days after this she moet obstinately 
 kept at home, in spite of the remonstrances of 
 Clara Forbes, who delighted in going to meet Ed- 
 ward Lee on his return from business, but hes- 
 itated to do so unaccompanied by Annie. 
 
 As, however, nothing further liappened to war- 
 rant alarm or caution. Miss Lee hoped she had 
 been mistaken, and again made her peace with 
 Clara, by resuming their afternoon walks. They 
 had both set off on one occaaion to meet Mr. Lee, 
 
 but fancying they had time to spare, stopped to 
 make some purcliases ; and while doing so, he 
 passed on toward his home, and the ladies, when 
 they had concluded their business, walked on. 
 
 "I begin to think Edward will not return to 
 dinner to-day," said Miss Lee ; " and I am really 
 quite tired, for we have long passed the usual 
 trysting-place." 
 
 " Sit here, while I walk to the turnpike, and 
 inquire if they have seen him :" 
 
 As Miss Forbes went on for that purpose, a gen- 
 tleman on liTseback passed her, but having no 
 motive i'or looking after him, she proceeded to 
 make her inquiry, and heard that Mr. Lee had 
 gone through some time ago. Retracing her steps, 
 she was surprised to observe Annie in earnest con- 
 versation with a gentleman, but something in the 
 manner of both induced her to hasten forward and 
 address her friend — on doing so, the strangei', 
 tlnowing the bridle to his servant, walked away, 
 and to Clara's surprise she found her agitated 
 almost to tears. '• I will explain all when we 
 reach home," said Miss Lee in answer to her looks ; 
 " but where then is Edward .'' 
 
 " At home, before us, I hope — " 
 
 " 1 hope so too," and in silence they hurried on ; 
 but what was Miss Lee's dismay, when she saw 
 Colonel Templeton, for it was he, boldly ring, and 
 when tlie servant opened the gate, enter, just 
 pausing to announce that the ladies were in sight. 
 
 The brief interval which had elapsed beiween 
 her seeing him and their own arrival at the house, 
 had given Miss Lee time to recover her self-pos- 
 session and presence of mind ; and thougli the 
 measure she adopted will forever incapacitate her 
 for shining as a heroine of romance, a character, 
 it is true, which she laughed at without mercy, 
 let us hope vulgar, common-sense mortals will 
 think she did right when she whispered to the 
 amazed servant, " Quick, quick, fetch a police- 
 man," andylosed the gate herself. 
 
 Colonel Templeton politely raised his hat to 
 Clara Forbes, thougli his look was rather imper- 
 tinent, and observed, " Miss Lee has not favored 
 me with an introduction." 
 
 " Nor has she given you a welcome," replied 
 she, with spirit ; " Colonel Templeton, I warn you 
 that my brother is at home, and but little likely 
 to sutter this intrusion quietly." 
 
 " With two such fair tipologies, I am sure he will 
 ' not be so ungallant as to pass a severe judgment." 
 ' " He will not only pass a severe judgment, but 
 inflict a severe punishment, on any one who is 
 insolent enough to molest these ladies, or intrude 
 I on these premises," exclaimed a well-known voice, 
 ' though the tone was raised, and Miss Lee saw her 
 brother hastening toward them from the side 
 garden. 
 
 " Clara, go in, and you, Annie, also," he said, 
 as he strode forward with looks ominous of a com- 
 ing storm. 
 
 "Then I shall give myself the pleasure of 
 accompanying you," said the Colonel, who cer- 
 tainly must have been excited by wine, or even 
 j he would have never so far forgotten himself as. 
 thus grossly to outrage every gentlemanly feeling. 
 
 Miss Lee looked along tlie road ; in the huiguago 
 of the fair Fatima, she was ready to cry out, " Do 
 you see any one coming ?" and happily it was 
 I something more uselul than dust or a flock of 
 
24 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Bheep which she described — it was that phenome- 
 non, a policeman tchtn tra/ifed — who was hurry- 
 ing on as fast as his pinched waist and strangling 
 stock would permit, listening to the account of the 
 Bersant, who gave him to understand, that an 
 oflfender of no common kind was going to carry oflf 
 the plate from before their eyes. 
 
 In the mean time, the intruder made good his 
 threat. He entered ; but just as he was follow- 
 ing Miss Lee into the drawing-room, her brother 
 rushed forward and seized him by the collar, not, 
 however, bcfure the riding-whip carried by this 
 Lrave son of Mars hnd fallen heavily on the shoul- 
 der of Edward. The latter, a tall, powerful 
 young man, roused to furj' at the touch, wrenched 
 the whip from the again uplifted hand, and with 
 the thick end gave his adversary so severe a blow 
 as to cause the loss which has been so pathetically 
 lamented ; and following up the attack, hurled 
 him with such force and rage toward the door, 
 that had not the policeman broken the fall, it 
 might have had serious results. 
 
 " Hilloa !"' exclaimed this guardian of peace and 
 property ; " a pretty go this is, isn't it .' — to enter 
 a gen'man's house in this way, and I at hand — 
 and a regular swell too, I declare," surveying the 
 dress of his prisoner, and discerning his aristo- 
 cratic look and air. 
 
 " Let mc go, fellow !" shouted the Colonel as 
 well as he could articulate, and struggling to free 
 himself from the ignominious grasp. 
 
 " No, no, my fine chap— not so soft as that ;" 
 and then, as ^Ir. Lee advanced, he looked at him 
 for information. 
 
 "The scoundrel! the unmanly ruffian!" was 
 his ejaculation; "drag or kick him out, police- 
 man, and if you ever see him prowling about this 
 place, remember he is a base blackguard, and 
 treat him accordingly." 
 
 " You shall hear of this," menaced the Colonel. 
 
 " You paltry villain, if I ever meetj,"you, you 
 shall feel something like this," breaking and 
 throwing the whip in his face. " And now, po- 
 liceman, clear my premises of the fellow; and, I 
 warn you, keep a sharp lookout after him." 
 
 Miss Lee stood in the hall, quite silent during 
 this scene, but Clara was almost in hysterics, and 
 under the medical treatment of the cook, who had 
 left her warm regions below to behold the hotter 
 work going on above ; but perceiving that the 
 heat of the fracas, or as she termed it, " the row," 
 ■was over, she disappearetl, muttering, as certain 
 odors saluted her olfactory nerves — '• Ah, there's 
 them stupid chickens a letting themselves be 
 B-'orcho<l to a cinder, and them peas a biling as 
 yaller as guineas." 
 
 Mr. Lee closinl the hall door as quickly as he 
 could, leaving the policeman to manage the Colo- 
 nel, who bcin;,' reminded by him that any resist- 
 ance would oltlige liim to summon aid, \vent off 
 with that public .servant, muttering imprecations 
 both loud and deep. 
 
 '■ He is gone, dear Clara," said her lover ; 
 " and, James, tell cook to put back, if she can, so 
 0,8 to give us time to wn.sh this out of our heads — 
 and then we will sit down to, I hope, our unin- 
 terrupted meal. Annie, I half guess the meaning 
 of this, but now I must know all. Why, Clara, 
 yen little coward, a pretty aid-de-camp you make 
 girls, you must give me a kiss to set me 
 
 to rights, and then go np stairs." And they did 
 give him a kiss — each of them did — the first he 
 I ever had from Clara, according to his own state- 
 ment, and this he said should plead for" that fel- 
 low," as he called him, if they ever met again ; 
 but they never did, though Mr. Lee for some time 
 after their rencontre at his own house, kept a little 
 elastic coil in his pocket, ready to do good service. 
 But sober reflection, his dilapidated mouth, and 
 scarred visage, however they might exasporato 
 and tempt the Colonel to revenge, all counseled 
 silence ; and in this case he Ustened to their 
 counsel. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "Give me a spirit that on life's rouah sea 
 Liivts t' have his sails wilb a lusty wind. 
 E'en till his sail-yards tremble, his masu crack. 
 There is no danger to a man that knows 
 "What Life and Death is." Chapkas. 
 
 EETURTf we now to the Priory, which wo left 
 bewailing the efforts of its master's bad jockey- 
 ship ; but whether that comely suflFerer felt most 
 irritated at the image of himself reflected from 
 its costly mirrors, or at the friendly condolences 
 of Lady Dallas, who never met him without try- 
 ing to thrust some eminent dentist down his 
 throat, spite of his diminished masticatory powers, 
 is not known ; but this time he certainly did go 
 to Paris, where he remained some weeks. 
 
 During his absence the Sinclairs arrived, and 
 were received by Mrs. Templeton with all her 
 usual kindness. Their, long exile had, in ita re- 
 sults, surpassed their most sanguine expectations; 
 the Craigalan estates were freed from all incum- 
 brances. Lady Sinclair was liberally dowered, and 
 a handsome fortune was ready for Laurette. 
 
 Under these circumstances, her mother de- 
 cided that they should both be presented ; Lady 
 Sinclair herself having never gone through that 
 ceremony. But she was desirous of doing so un- 
 der the chaperonage of a relatjve, and Lady 
 Westroiigh was fixed on for having that honor. 
 Who, indeed, more suitable .' she was the wife of 
 her mother's first cousin, and though at one time 
 Lady Frances had been shunned by the elder 
 branch of the family, and her children never no- 
 ticed at all, Lady Sinclair was too reasonable to 
 take ofi'ense at this ; she felt that, in their cir- 
 cumstances, had Lionel's claims once been admit- 
 ted before he became lord of Seabrooke. they 
 would most efi'ectually have frustrated every phm 
 for reinstating the Wesiroughs in their just poifi- 
 tion. " Therefore," mentally said she, whfto 
 weighing the question. " let bygones be bygones, 
 and now fpr Lady Westrough." 
 
 But she had never had the most distant ac- 
 quaintance with this valued or valuable relatives 
 never mind — Lady Westrough she had selected, 
 and Lady Westrough it would be. , 
 
 The first step was to secure a house in to\jn — it 
 w:is now quite early spring — time enough between 
 this and the London season — so calls, acquaiut- 
 uyce, friendsliip, were soon established witii Mrs 
 West, one of the most guileless of mortals, who 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 25 
 
 was won to finy one and any thing, through 
 praises of licr son, her idolized Reginald — he, in 
 Jiis turn, became the decoy to catch Lord Ernest, 
 ■who was to catch his sister-in-law, who was to 
 introduce Lady Sinclaii*. 
 
 A profound observer of cause and eifcct says, 
 first catch your hare, then skin it. Her ladyship 
 was also a profound observer, and she did tirst 
 catch her hare — namely, Mrs. West : fortunately 
 it was not necessary to skin her, so she escaped 
 that process; for Lady Westrough, on learning 
 what was the service required, was glad on such 
 easy terms to establish a friendly feeling be- 
 tween her own family and her husb;iud's rela- 
 tions. 
 
 Reginald West, though received everywhere as 
 the adopted son of his uncle, as Lord Ernest chose 
 to be styled, was much more witli his mother than 
 with his lordship ; for though the latter was not 
 only kind but generous to his young kinsman, 
 there was little congeniality between the tastes 
 and pursuits of the secluded man, whose pros- 
 pects had been overcast almost before their dawn, 
 and the energetic youth, who looked at life 
 through a glass couleur de rose, and whose ex- 
 perience had never led him to think there was 
 any other hue or shade. 
 
 From a very early age, Reginald's mind had 
 given promise of unusual power and activity; 
 how could this assimilate with that of the man 
 who lived only in the past, and who thought life 
 and all its gifts was only to be endured, not used 
 — to whom the future offered alike little to hope 
 or to fear .' 
 
 " Oh ! who can bear to look upon 
 \ A sky wiihoat a cloud ur suu ?" 
 
 He was, however, too unselfish to wish that Regi- 
 nald should purchase his favor by the sacrifice 
 of those associations and pursuits so suited to 
 kis age and character, and therefore readily per- 
 mitted him to follow where his aifections most 
 ruiturally led liim. And these led him to seek 
 the society of his pale, failing mother, to whom 
 he was most tenderly attached, and whose style 
 of life, necessitated by a narrow income, pleased 
 his simple and independent tastes ; above all, the 
 society by which she was more immediately sur- 
 rounded, or, as he called it, the choice treasure 
 of the Priory, his favorite Mrs. Templeton, and 
 the rich and rare gems of the Rectory, presented 
 attractions of unusual interest to his intelligent 
 and enthusiastic mind. 
 
 Ashley Vernon was especially his beau ideal 
 of worth and talent — they had been together at 
 Eton, whence Ashley, who was intended for the 
 bar, had gone to Cambridge, and there again 
 Reginald was to join him. 
 
 •• Mother," asked he one evening, after a day 
 spent between the Rectory and the Priory, " what 
 does my uncle intend me to be ?" 
 
 " What an odd question, my dear boy," she re- 
 plied ; " your uncle has adopted ytiu, and though 
 there is an impropriety, which I am sure we boih 
 shrink from, in alluding to the future, at his 
 ■death you will be las heir, which, as he inherits 
 ,the whole ot his mothers fortune, means tha* you 
 •will be rich — and then, as Lord Westrough has 
 no son — " 
 jj " True, mother," he remarked quickly, inter- 
 
 rupting her ; " I have often thought of this— and 
 I hope, as you say, without meaning any thin,!» 
 wrong or paltry — but only in connection with 
 you and me, I mean with our plans. Now sup- 
 pose my uncle Ernest should marry — and, after 
 all, he is only my father's cousin— I should then 
 be something I very much dislike, and no way of 
 escaping fmui it. As to Lord Westrough, I as- 
 sure you, mother, our fellows at Eton led me a 
 r.'ire life for some time, because I unluckily once 
 alluded to my lieirship, tlunigh only in joke — 
 they effectually drubbed that vision out of my 
 imagination." 
 
 " 1 am sure, my dear Reginald, you make me 
 feel very uneasy by these strange remarks ; on 
 the strength of Lord Ernest's promise, you know, 
 or, indeed, perhaps you do not, that after p.aying 
 every debt, 1 purchased an annuity with the 
 small sum remaining — so from me you have 
 nothing to expect ; and I fear," continued she, 
 tears starting to her eyes, " it is too late for me 
 to retrench and save up for you." 
 
 "Nonsense! how you talk, you deaf, miserly 
 mamma ; and I can not think how I could be so 
 selfish as to torment you in this way — only Ash- 
 ley returns next week to Cambridge, and Ave have 
 been talking of the comfort of having something 
 to turn to and rely on, in case of need — what a 
 croaking, calculating fellow you must think me. 
 But now let us have tea. with some of that deli- 
 cious cream Mrs. Templeton sent. Mother," he 
 suddenly exclaimed, after a pause, " what a wom- 
 an she is— do you know I sometimes dream of her, 
 after I have spent an hour or so in her company 
 — I can not express to you the extraordinary 
 feeling that comes over me occasionally — some- 
 times I fancy little stories about iter, in the style 
 of a distressed princess and knight." And his 
 animated and handsome face looked almost fierce 
 with excitement, and any kindred spirit that had 
 noted the broad, noble brow, and the strange 
 expression of the dark-violet eye, that seemed 
 as if, for the moment it looked on another scene 
 than that presented by the comfortable cottage 
 drawing-room, would have said, "On that is en- 
 throned genius — there looks out the spirit of 
 poetry." 
 
 Tills conversation, however, left on his .moth- 
 er's mind a vague suspicion of realities which she 
 had never before contemplated, and though but a 
 suspicion, it was strong enough to induce her to 
 write to Lord Ernest; and without giving her 
 reasons either consistently or in plain language 
 — she was too cautious, or perhaps too much per- 
 plexed herself, to do so— she suggested that, as 
 Reginald was fond of literature, and deliglitcd in 
 the exercise of intellect, whether it might not bo 
 be as well to turn his attention to some ol ject in 
 life, so as to employ and stimulate A kind reply 
 was returned, but a negative was given to all her 
 wishes. " Reginald," she was told, " would, at 
 a proper age, have some nf)poiiitiiient given him; 
 but both army and navy"— his lordship appeared 
 to ignore any other channel for superabundant 
 miml — " both army and navy were nni)leagant 
 ide:is to him. Resides, he lioped Reginald did 
 not want any thing— if so, he had only to iisk; 
 of course, when he went to college, a suitable 
 allowance would be made him; and begging Mrs. 
 West would oblige him by purchasing any oruu- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 inent she might like, as a token from him, of his 
 good wifhes on the lately begun year, he inclosed 
 a small draft;" it was lor a hundred pounds, and 
 "remained, hers truly."- 
 
 Poor Mrs. West read the conclusion with ting- 
 ling cheeks, right glad that her son was not 
 present. She felt convicted of having, indirectly, 
 asked for the inciosure, though nothing hud been 
 further from her thouglits, and yet there was no 
 way of explaining away the fancied imputation ; 
 80 she aajuiesced in his decision ; reiterated her 
 thanks on lleginald's account, and in a few words 
 disclaimed tlie extravagance he must suppose her 
 capable of, when he inclosed so handsome a sum 
 for an ornament. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 «« All is in motion ; ring", .ind plumes, and pearls 
 Are bhiiiiug eveo wh.re.'' Doge of Venice. 
 
 "Cecilia," said Lady Grantham, one morn- 
 ing, to her daughter, now nearly twenty, "put 
 aside your purse, I want to have a consultation 
 with you." 
 
 " Dear mamma, how delightful," said she, 
 " but 1 can always listen better when my fingers 
 are busy on work that requires no attention ; so 
 begin, for there is nothing I like more than these 
 little confidential chats. I always think they 
 have done me good, and made me feel wiser and 
 older." 
 
 " Few young ladies would thank the mother 
 who, at your age, added to their years," she re- 
 plied, " but I understand what you mean. And 
 now, my treasure, listen. You know that your 
 dear fuher has always had to struggle against 
 the difficulties of an encumbered estate, be- 
 queathed in that condition to him. It has never 
 been a secret that we are not rich ; to my chil- 
 dren especially this was made known, in order 
 that they might early learn to submit cheerful'y 
 to privations, and to prevent the encouragement 
 of chimerical hopes and wishes. Some people 
 have thought me too ready to look out for the 
 loaves and fishes ;.-i)Ut years ago, I lost an only 
 and beloved lM(«rther, fighting for his country, 
 while, on th«f same dreadful occasion, my sister 
 lost her noble ynung lover, whose memory she 
 hoa ever since cherished more like his widow than 
 his affianced bride; two years ago, my brave, my 
 beautiful Cecil was offered up on the same al- 
 tar." Her Voice filtered, while the tears fell 
 thick and fast on Cecilia's trembling hands; for 
 she remembered the sorrow which had stricken 
 them all to the earth when this calamity befell ; 
 she recalled also the figure of her quiet, secluded 
 aunt Lucy, whom s!ie had never seen out of deep 
 mourning, and could easily imagine all the sor- 
 rowful recollections which now tilled her mothers 
 heart. 
 
 She drew near to that loved mother, and silently 
 kissed her ; the caress was fondly returned, and 
 wiping away her tears. Lady (Irantham resumed, 
 " Henry is now shortly expected home, and well 
 has he won all he has gained during his long so- 
 journ at Constantinople ; and as he is of ago, he 
 
 will, at once, assist your father to free himself 
 from the pressure which has weighed upon him 
 for so many years. It is then our intention to go 
 abroad for six or eight months, and though this 
 will be our first outbreak, we are not going to for- 
 get economy. Therefore, assuming that it will be 
 agreeable to you, 1 have accepted an invitation 
 from your aunt EUiuor, for you to spend that time 
 chiefly with her; not, however, excluding the 
 claims of other friends who may wish to see you; 
 and now, dear, what say you to this :" 
 
 " Oh, mamma, 1 shall be delighted. I always 
 think the Priory one of the most beautiful places 
 I ever saw — and aunt EUiuor is so graceful and 
 kind, I feel as if I could do any thing for her. But, 
 moiher," she continued, " let us always speak 
 truly and openly to each other. 1 can not under- 
 stand my uncle Lionel. At one time I though^ 
 him perfection, and though he is still always very 
 kind, nay, indulgent to me, I confess I have quite 
 changed my opinion of him — dear mauiuia, we 
 with our small lortune are richer by far than ho 
 with his large one, for love and union are with us 
 — while there— but mind," she continued, impres- 
 sively, " only to you has this ever been breathed. 
 I can not take salt and betray; well, then, for I 
 must say it, I am sure that; there is sorrow in that 
 splendid house, such as we have never known, no, 
 not even when dear Cecil fell. And then Helen 
 and Constance separated from their parents, and 
 educated from home, a thing so unusual in their 
 station ; why is all this .'" 
 
 " I can not very well tell you, even if I would, 
 my dearest," said her mother, very gravely. " I 
 do but guess, and if I am right I most warmly 
 approve of your aunt's decision, involving, as it 
 does, so great a sacrifice on her part. But it is of 
 your cousins I wished more particularly to speak. 
 Constance is but a child, though they both look 
 older than they arc, for Helen is little more than 
 fourteen." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, how beautiful they are !" ex- 
 claimed Cecilia, impetuously interrupting Lady 
 Grantham; which do you admire most.'" 
 
 " Indeed, it would be difficult to say," was the 
 smiling reply. " Helen is more like her mother, 
 I think, in character, as well as appearance; but 
 they are sweet angels; both of them ; it is in refer- 
 ence to this beauty I am about to caution you. la 
 the first place, your papa and I have a very de- 
 cided objection to a marriage between cousins — 
 do not open your really fine eyes so wide — second- 
 ly, and were it not so, the rich heiress of Colonel 
 Tcmpleton is no match for the fu.ure Lord Gran- 
 tham ; but as I have frequently remarked, that 
 serious and sad mischief is done by a careless re- 
 mark, an unmeaning joke, or even by ostentatious 
 care ; do. not, by any of these means, put an idea 
 into Henry's head which would otherwise never 
 have entered it— but what is the matter .'"its 
 Cecilia turned her glowing, and evidently indig- 
 nant countenance, full on her. 
 
 " I know," she said, " that I am often called 
 abrupt, or, if you will, rude, because I can not, or 
 will not be false ; but what should ever have loil 
 you, mamma, to suspect me capable of such vul- 
 gar conduct or conversation, 1 do not know ;" ami 
 she was really angry. 
 
 " \Vhy, you passionate lamb," said Lady Gran- 
 tham, laughing most merrily, " what a Avaste of 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 27 
 
 heroics is tliis — surely I did not, even by implica- 
 tion, accuse you of vulgarity." 
 
 " By wnrning mo against such acts, and forbid- 
 ding them, you did," she replied, slightly appeas- 
 eii. " There is scarcely any thing I more hate 
 and despise than the very fault you spoke of. 
 Jokes about love and lovers are quite unsuitod to 
 a lady ; they are left, with their old-fashioned 
 clothes, to their servants. ' 
 
 " Well, my dear, I humbly sue for peace — only 
 in my own vimlication I miay be allowed to re- 
 mark, that there are some — and ladies they still 
 are, in spite of it — who do not adopt, or at least 
 do not act on your correct notion — so smooth your 
 ruffled plumes, or I shall think you sliglitly a 
 Bhruw — there, take and give the kiss of peace." 
 
 " Mamma, you are very good to pardon my 
 pettishness," she replied, sunshine again settling 
 on her polished brow, " and perhaps I am over- 
 sensitive on this subject ; but wliat about my 
 uncle's property — does it descend to my aunt and 
 •cousins ?" 
 
 " Only by their father's will, who, I believe, 
 could dispose of it otherwise, as he has no son; 
 but on this point I am not quite clear ; and now, to 
 terminate this long conl'erence by something royal 
 and gay, you must speedily decide on your court- 
 dress." 
 
 " Oh, here you must help me, " replied Cecilia ; 
 *' you have your o'wn to think about also. It is 
 long since you were there, mamma, is it not ?" 
 
 " I have never been since I was presented on my 
 mari-iage, and then I well remember it ; 1 am old 
 enough now to allude to the circumstance, without 
 the risk of being called vain. Lady Blanche Stan- 
 ly was the same day presented by her aunt, the 
 Dowager Duchess of Isleford, to whose son she was 
 engage-l, and it was said that she and I disputed 
 the prize for beauty." 
 
 " Ah ! I am sure you merited it," eagerly de- 
 cided her daughter, looking at her mothers still 
 attractive face ; "■ but I thought the Duke was 
 never married." 
 
 " He never was — a few months after the town 
 had rung with accoimts of the preparations for 
 her marriage, she was buried. Lord Iluistwood 
 never recovered from this blow ; and though a 
 man neither liked nor respected, every one felt 
 much for him, she was such a sweet, lovely girl." 
 " And this was your last visit to Court ; I do 
 not wonder you remember it." 
 
 " It was, for our finances never permitted of 
 Buch costly affairs ; but your papa now ■n'ishes me 
 to present you, and aunt Lucy has generously fur- 
 nished the sinews of war, so do not let your taste 
 disgrace her." 
 
 " It will be white — certainly white," was the 
 prompt reply. '• Laurette is to pass tlie ordeal on 
 the same occasion, and I had a note from her yes- 
 terday, touching this all-engrossing affair." 
 
 " And 1 one trom Lady Sinclair ; if she can not 
 secure the services of her relative, Lady Wes- 
 trough, she claims my promise. I am also to see 
 her diamonds any day next week at Storr"s." 
 
 *' I hear they are splendid," said Cecilia. " and 
 will set off Lady Sinclaii-'s peculiar style of beauty 
 admirably. 1 wonder whether Laurette will be 
 entirely in white ; she is very fond of colors, to 
 the great annoyance of Constance, who will not 
 ■wear any thing but white or blue." 
 
 " You may be sure Laurette will be dressed in 
 the most becoming style— she knows her complex- 
 ion will bear a skillful use of colors ; but ilo not 
 let any whim of hers iutiuence yuu, or induce yoa 
 to dress like her, unless her choice suits you. You 
 are both likely to be looked at, still you are very 
 different." 
 
 " Yes, Laurette, though rather short, is one of 
 the most elegant girls I know." 
 
 " Stand up, Cecilia," said her mother ; and when 
 she obeyed, and Lady Grantham looked at the 
 elastic, well-proportioned young figure before her, 
 and glanced at the stately carriage of the head 
 and shoulders, the mothers pride as well as admi- 
 ration was excited, ^as she imagined the effect such 
 a figure and face were sure to produce. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "Now here comes in a scene of sheer wif, wiihoat nny 
 raixiure in the whole world. First, one speaks ; llicii pr- s- 
 i-nily t'oiher's upon him, slap, with a repartee." — The Re^ 
 hearnal. 
 
 And the effect which Lady Grantham had pre- 
 dicted, was produced, and the drawing-room was 
 over, and the ladies had gone home, to talk of 
 their friends and their conquests, and to repose on 
 their laurels or their sofas, as best pleased them. 
 At the club, meanwhile, a group of fashionable 
 critics had clustered, to discuss beauties and dis- 
 sect characters ; to speculate on the Ibrthccmiiig 
 on-dits, and fabricate genteel scandals for the gul- 
 ling and gulled journals ; to try the strength of 
 their own callow wit, and to kill the time which 
 hung so heavily on hand. 
 
 " Well, boys ! what think you of the drawing- 
 room ?" inquired an Adonis, a veritable antique, 
 cleverly repaired and restored, who was lounging 
 on a divan. 
 
 " By the Lord, Harry !" said a fair-haired but 
 gallant guardsman, point device in all the pride, 
 pomp, and circumstances of war, " it was splen- 
 did—what a lot of girls, and some of them decid- 
 edly fine ones, I can tell you," caressing his mus- 
 tache (gtntly, for it was false). 
 
 " Where do these ancient hens hide their pretty 
 chicks .'" inquired another ; " one sees nothing of 
 them till the sovereign calls, and then, down they 
 come, fluttering their feathers with a vengeance." 
 " No matter where they are hid, it is really a 
 refreshing sight when they are s'hown," remarked 
 Adonis; "such an assemblage of beauty is seen 
 at no other court." 
 
 " Why, you did not see them, did you?" inno- 
 cently asked a black-eyed and espitgle-\ookii\g 
 man. 
 
 " To be sure I did," was the reply ; " why, my 
 dear fellow, I was close to you when Lady Gran- 
 tham passed— you remember she bowed to me." 
 
 " Yes, but I thought you had not your specta- 
 cles on." 
 
 A roar followed this honeyed remark, in which 
 the object of the sneer faintly joined. 
 
 '• But, apropos of Lady Grantham, who was the 
 queenly-looking girl slie presented.'" 
 
 " Her daughter, the Honorable Cecilia Gran- 
 tham." 
 
28 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " And 'pon honor," said the Guardsman, " I 
 never saw such lilies and roses in my life as that 
 girl's complexion was composed of. I was close 
 behind her; and, marble and snow! such should 
 ders !"' 
 
 " Mortimer wanted to touch them, to be sure 
 they were not wax," interrupted the owner of the 
 dark eyes. 
 
 " By Jove ! Sidney, you are too bad," exclaimed 
 the brave blond. 
 
 " Oh, I was told you threw yourself into a reg- 
 ular attitude, and were heard to whisper, rather 
 loud by the way— 
 
 " ' Excellently done, if nature did«t all, 
 
 'Tis beauty truly blent, wliose red and white 
 Nature's owu sweet aud cunning hand laid on.' " 
 
 " Yes," said another, " and some fellow who 
 had never read the original went about telling 
 every body what a poetic genius Morti has." 
 
 " Laugh as you like, you can not make me un- 
 say my assertion ; if she is a Grantham, she 
 comes of a good stock; my lady has her wits 
 about her, and has, I dare say, taught the lesson 
 to her daughter." 
 
 " Hear ! lioar !" was the rejoinder ; " he is mak- 
 ing a bargain ; he brings money, she sense; each 
 takes what the other wants;" and again there 
 ■was a laugh, in which Adonis joined, but more 
 heartily than before. And, rising to leave the 
 room, he sententiously remarked — 
 
 " Lady Grantham is both a good wife and an 
 excellent mother ; and, what is of much more im- 
 portance, she is but little changed since I met her 
 nearly ten years ago, and I can tell you it is a 
 capital thing to belong to a family that wears so 
 •well;" and having uttered this sentiment, with as 
 mucli gravity as if it had been worth remember- 
 ingi he carefully adjusted his hat on his " best 
 substitute for your own hair," and affecting a 
 slow pace, to conceal his want of agility, de- 
 parted. 
 
 " What an artificial old fellow Chilvers is," said 
 one. 
 
 " How do you mean — bodily or mentally .'" 
 asked Mr. Sidney. 
 
 " Oh, both. Do you know that nothing will in- 
 duce him to go to the Zoological Gardens— guess 
 why— you can not .' Give it up .' Why, for fear 
 the elephant should roar out, ' Give me my ivo- 
 ries !' " A laugh, and cries of " Too bad !" 
 
 " And that reminds me of Templeton,"' said Sid- 
 ney ; " what is that story about his accident .' I 
 have been so long abroad I am quite V)ehind-hand 
 ■with the choice bits of news. I met him some 
 time ago at Versailles, and -was at once struck 
 ■with his changed appearance ; he looked also real- 
 ly ill ; but when 1 asked about it, he gave me a 
 fabulous version. 1 know, he did, by the look of 
 tlie servant, who w:*b neua; enough to hear all. 
 Mind you look at a cunfideritial servant, if he is 
 by, when you suspect his master is cramming you; 
 some one afterward told me he was horsewhipped 
 by a young fellow, ■whose wife he was trying to 
 carry oft." 
 
 " No," sai9 the fair Mortimer, " it was a sister; 
 but this happene<l ages ago, just after you left 
 England, i had it all from the policeman who 
 caw the whole transaction; my fi^low triieed it up 
 from the waiter of the hotel where the Colonel was 
 
 first nursed, as I wanted to learn the particulars 
 for a reason I had ; and the next time this ma- 
 rauding soldier troubles his head about my steeple- 
 chases, and tells my old aunt of them, I will cast 
 this in his teeth, 1 was going to say ; but I will 
 expose him, as sure as my name is Mortimer." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Mortimer, you arc excited ; he 
 will faint — fetch the salts !" cried Sidney. 
 
 " Cease your confounded banter," said Morti- 
 mer, still looking hot aud angry; •' but seriously, 
 1 never hear of that hei^rtless profligate. Temple- 
 ton, without envying the man who disligured him. 
 W'e are none of us too good, though Heaven forgive 
 our odious folly, some not quite so bad as we boast 
 of being ; but do you know, some years ago, this 
 base fellow misled a poor girl, his children's gov- 
 erness; and had it not been for my sister. Lady 
 Wingrove, she would have been destitute in her 
 utmost need. As it was, she and her child died." 
 
 " Poor thing !" was repeated, and " Brave Lady 
 Wingrove !" while evci y hat was raised in honor 
 of her ladyship; but the mood was too good to 
 last. 
 
 " But I say, Morti, you who were in the very 
 garden of beauty, tell us ■who ■was that magniti- 
 cent Sultana, quite a blaze of diamonds .'" 
 
 " Why, the sister of this very Templeton — Lady 
 Sinclair, the wife of Sir Archibald of that ilk : 
 when I asked her name, I expected to hear she 
 was the Queen of Golconda — they are enormously 
 rich, and that dark-eyed girl in white with her, 
 was her daughter." 
 
 " Well, geutletuen," said the Honorable Sidney 
 Stajdes, who wtis reported to have spent already 
 two splendid fortunes, and who was often abroad 
 when looked for in England — " ■well, gentlemen, 
 you seem to have collected and catalogued your 
 spoil, do not fall out while sharing it ;" and hum- 
 ming " If she be not so to me, what care I how 
 kind she be !'' he sauntered away. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " II y a dans qtietqnes femmes. tine grandeur artifl -ifflle, 
 attach6e au inouvement des yeux, d un air de tete. . . 
 II y a dans qiielques aulres une grandeur simple, nalu- 
 relle." — Buuvekk. 
 
 Cecilia and Laurette ■were now both at the 
 Priory ; the latter having expressed her wish to 
 defer her return to Scotlan<l till she had taken 
 leave of her numerous and kind English friends, 
 and the Granthams having at length started on 
 their long-talked-of continental visit. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton, who was always fond of tl-.e 
 society of young people, on this occasion laid asiile 
 her habits of seclusion, accepted the invitations of 
 her neighbors, and threw open her oivn house in 
 return. She was also busy, and inierested in the 
 study of two characters so dissimilar as those of 
 her young relatives ; nor was the analysis tho 
 less attractive because it so often puzzled her. 
 
 Laurette, though not beautiful, was extremely 
 elegant and fascinating; sometimes Mrs. Teuiple- 
 tdu fancied she remimled her of her husbiind; but 
 site hastily banished tJie idea, as cruelly unjust to 
 the young girl ; and on those occasions she would 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 29 
 
 fitucTiously endeavor to explain mvay the conduct 
 that did not appear straightforward and true. 
 Laur<;tte was clever and accomplished, but she 
 •was not original ; she talked well on most sub- 
 jects, or, rather, she made the hearer fancy she 
 did ; for, when remembered and examined, what 
 she said was more the echo of your own senti- 
 ments than any thing new. or even additional. 
 
 ' In order to understand her better, Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton compared her with Cecilia ; she fouud that 
 if she asked the opinion of the latter, it was given 
 at once. Laurette tried to extract that of the in- 
 quirer, while with the utmost tact she avoided all 
 subjects that might involve her in discussion. 
 Cecilia attacked them all, evidently desirous of 
 arriving at the truth. Laurette was a most skill- 
 ful flatterer, so nicely apportioning the dose that 
 it was iidialed rather than swallowed ; rarely did 
 slie avow a dislike, though she would most inge- 
 niously hint a defect or insinuate a deformity. 
 
 Cecilia never flattered ; she often praised, and 
 openly expressed both love and admiration. Too 
 kmd to censure individuals, she made it a rule to 
 avoid personalities; but abstract qualities, wli-ich 
 excited her disapprobatiou, she treated without 
 either mercy or quarter. 
 
 But Laurette was the popular candidate. 
 
 Lady Dallas quotetl her as an oracle ; Mrs. For- 
 rester cited her as a high-bred and well-bred girl; 
 while Mrs. West, whose son had received great at- 
 tention from the Sinclairs during their residence 
 in London, only wished Heaven had made her such 
 a daughter. 
 
 Still, after much wavering, Mrs. Templeton, 
 though owning that Laurette was charming, found 
 Ljrself involuntarily seeking Cecilia, when she 
 wanted the help of truth and openness. 
 
 Caroline Vernon, though considerably younger 
 than either of Mrs. Templeton's nieces, was always 
 received as a welcome addition, and often came 
 accompanied by Fanny Loftus, who had lately re- 
 covered from a severe illness, and whose rare worth 
 renderetl her a great favorite with the Picctor and 
 Lis wife. Lady Dallas would have added, and 
 with diaries Vernon also. 
 
 This spinster party, as Laurette called it, was 
 occasionally diversified by the arrival of Henry 
 Grantham, between whom and Hubert Forrester 
 a mutual good liking arose. Henry, though young 
 in years, being hardly three-and-twenty, had seen 
 a great deal of life; nearly four years had been 
 passed at Constantinople, where his first lesson in 
 diplomacy had been learned; and he had learned 
 it so well that he expected before long to be sent 
 on a duty of some trust and responsibility 
 
 Hubert was a handsome, gay j-outh, who had 
 just entered at Oxford ; he was the idol of his 
 parents, the favontc of fortune, and rather the 
 pet of Mrs. Templeton, who, without any exagge- 
 rated opinion of his talents or attainments, liked 
 his cheerful light-heartedness, whicli to her had 
 a peculiar charm ; and as she looked at the youth- 
 ful group, occasionally increased by reinforce- 
 ments from other families, she thought of. the 
 time when her own girls would stand in their 
 young beauty by her side, and wondered how it 
 would be then. 
 
 It was during this visit that Cecilia first be- 
 came aware of some points in Laurette's charac- 
 ter which, to her upright and rather haughty 
 
 mind, were especially unpleasant. Till the ap- 
 pearance of Hubert Forrester, so gracious had 
 Laurette's manner been to Henry, who was evi- 
 dently fascinated by her elegance and accomplish- 
 ments, that Cecilia, though little addicted to 
 castle-building in the air, had, perhaps, ventured 
 to erect one small cottage, in which her brother 
 aud her friend might pass their honeymoon ; when 
 the arrival of another convinced her the cottage 
 was en espagne, and built only of cards. At 
 first, she thought her anxiety about Henry had 
 njade her discover what was not — it seemed so 
 unlikply that Laurette should condescend even to 
 coquette with lluliert, so unequal to her in ac- 
 quirement or intellect, not to mention his being, 
 at least, two years younger. But further obser- 
 vation convinced her that Laurette really did ad- 
 mire Hubert, or that she was playing him off 
 against Henry ; in either case Cecilia lelt indig- 
 dant. She was, however, relieved from all fear 
 on her brother's account— perhaps his eyes were 
 open, as well as hers — perhaps he had never cared 
 more for Laurette than as an agreeable compan- 
 ion, and her friend ; at any rate, though his man- 
 ner toward her was altered, he was as gay aa 
 ever. 
 
 '• jNIy dear Mrs. Templeton, I am so glad to find 
 you at home and alone," said La(iy Dallas ; " I do 
 so wish to speak to you." 
 
 " I hope nothing unpleasant has happened," 
 politely inquired Mrs. Templeton, expecting noth- 
 ing worse than one of her domestic grievances ; 
 either the lady's maid had elqped with the butler, 
 or the butler had eloped with the plate. For 
 though Lady Dallas no longer envied Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton, or thought of sending Sir AVilliam to take 
 lessons of the Colonel, and was in many respects 
 much improved, she ■ still cherished a talent for 
 making discoveries, and for letting all the world 
 benefit by her acuteness. 
 
 " Oh, no; only as a friend and looker-on, per- 
 j haps I see more than you do, who are one of the 
 players. It is about your young ladies and their 
 squires." 
 
 " Indeed," said Mrs. Templeton, in a freezing 
 tone ; and then reflecting that this was an oppor- 
 tunity she ought not to lose, for impressing her 
 visitor with her own feelings on what she promptly 
 divined was her object, she proceeded more gra- 
 ciously ; " I hope the squires have not beenbirds'- 
 nesting, and the young ladies purloining fruits 
 and flowers." 
 
 " Not exactly that," said Lady Dallas, trying 
 to look intelligent and arch; '-but the young la- 
 dies may be purloining hearts, and the squires 
 trying to do the same." 
 
 " Do you mean that either of my nieces are car- 
 rying on a flirtation ."' asked Mrs. Templeton ; 
 " for though the word is one I dislike, 1 must use 
 it to express conduct I despise." 
 
 " Oh ! nothing so naughty as that," was the 
 reply. " You have put the case in too strong a 
 light." 
 
 " Then place it exactly as you mean me to see 
 it," said Mrs. Templeton, perceiving, by her lady- 
 ship's manner, that her grave reception of the 
 badinage had its effect ; " but let me first inform 
 you, that so much do I disapprove of any conduct 
 by which young ladies lay tliemselves oficn to cen- 
 sure, however innocently or thoughtlessly, that 
 
30 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 if- they are conricted they leave me directly, and 
 Hubert and Henry will be forbidden my house till 
 they know better. If, therefore, there is talk of 
 this, I must act at once " 
 
 •' Kow, my dear Mrs. Templeton," cried her 
 ladyship, rather afruid of the spirit she had 
 evoked, " what a rigid censor you are; there is 
 only a little harmless love-making." 
 
 " Marriage is the only proper termination, or 
 rather result, of any love-making; and I appre- 
 hend the parents of tliose under discussion would 
 at once forbid the banns — but even this supposi- 
 tion is impertinent and affronting. May 1 ask 
 who is your informant. '" 
 
 " Tlie truth is — no one— and my remark to you 
 was half in jest ; I had no idea you would take it 
 up so warmly, and merely meant to put you on 
 your guard." 
 
 '■ 1 I hank you truly for any friendly intentions; 
 and you will much increase the obligation by 
 avoiding all mention of this topic, even in jest — 
 especially to the high contracting parties them- 
 selves," said she v.ith a smile ; and rather 
 alarmed lest she had already done mischief. Lady 
 Dallas readily made the promise — and kept it. 
 
 Nearly a year before this time. Lord Hurst- 
 wood, who had, for a very long period, scarcely 
 ever left his own spacious grounds, died. His son 
 was abroad when this event happened ; and du- 
 ties, which he could neither delegate nor resign, 
 had prevented his return. It was now rumored 
 that Hurstwood was preparing to receive its new 
 lord, the Lara of the neighborhood, as Cecilia 
 said ; and while she openly expressed a wish that 
 he would arrive during her visit, Laurette said 
 nothing, but became a little, a very little, more 
 distant in her behavior toward the " Squire." 
 
 But fate, or hjr aunt, hud decreed that Cecilia 
 ehould not be there when my lord came ; she was 
 invited by Aunt Lucy to accompany her to 
 lirighton. and Laurette accepted an invitation to 
 Lady W'estrough's. 
 
 It was not, however, on Lord Hurstwood's ac- 
 count that Jlrs. Templeton had dismissed her 
 nieces and broken up her youthful coterie ; for 
 though he was a courtier, a man of the world, and 
 one of wiiom report had whispered various scan- 
 dals — there would have been no such imperative 
 reason for clearing the place of all that was young 
 and attractive — the cause was closer at hand — 
 the danger nearer. 
 
 Colonel Templeton had written to his steward, 
 announcing hi.'i approaeliing return; and his wife 
 had heard from Lady Grantham that he would be 
 accompanied by some friends — and as these were 
 not of th.' kind or character she would willingly 
 have introduced to her daughter, she had ar- 
 ranged so iis to prevent it— hence Cecilia's depar- 
 ture. To Henry, her ladyship had written with 
 lier accustomed frankness ; exprc^^sing his fatlier's 
 dislike to his having any acquaintance with the 
 persons his uncle would bring with him. Won- 
 uering to what kind of association she was now to 
 be exposed — since the mere mention of it had ban- 
 ished all the in.iocent and liappy spirits which liad 
 lately silrrouridcd lier, Mrs. Templetcn once more 
 found herself alone— alone at that beautiful Pri- 
 ory, which repo>c<l in all the quiet and touching 
 loveliness of mid-autun;n, wh'-n its master and his 
 associates broke upon its stillness. 
 
 They arrived; and to Mrs. Templeton's eyes, 
 this absence of a few months had produced in her 
 husband's appearance the wear of .years; there 
 was an expression over the whole countenance dif- 
 ficult to define, but plainly and painfully felt. 
 His habits, also, were less like those of a gentle- 
 man — liis language was not only rude, but coarse 
 j ■ — his foreign guests and their cigars were met 
 1 almost everywhere ; and though there were still 
 I some rooms free from its vulgar and, we were 
 going to say, its profaning effects, it was enough 
 ' that this disgusting innovation was permitted. 
 Late and noisy revels were not uncommon ; while 
 j billiards, and still more ruinous amusements, were 
 stimulants alternating with tipsy carousals. All 
 order and sobriety were set at naught by a crew, 
 half- swindler, half gamliler. 
 I " Thank God, my children are safe from this 
 I den, at least for the present ; and may the same 
 I mercy prevent its recurrence Avhen they do re- 
 turn." thought Mrs. Templeton, one night, when 
 the sounds of revelry rose more discordantly than 
 usual — and she almost shuddered when she re- 
 membered, that in tlie course of two years, per- 
 haps less, her gentle Helen would be called upon 
 to realize life. 
 
 However, before Christmas, the house was 
 cleared ; and, as Mrs. Dawson declared, under- 
 went a thorough purification. 
 ' During almost the whole time that these orgies 
 .'were going on, all intercourse with their neigh- 
 bors had been suspended. A very stately and 
 sumptuous entertainment had, soon after the Col- 
 onel s return, been given, but not one guest had 
 offered any invitation in return — on the contrary, 
 this Comus crew had, as by magic, made the place 
 I desolate. The Forresters left at a season quite 
 unusual for them ; Sir William Dallas openly de- 
 clared he would not introduce his pretty wife to 
 such a set — and as Lord Hurstwood, whom Colo- 
 nel Templeton had met abroad, and whom he 
 seemed desirous to propitiate, held aloof, though 
 by no means of the straight-laced school, it is 
 probable the Colonel did not care to brave such a 
 hornet's nest. Whatever the cause, belbre Christ- 
 mas they all left in his company — but he soon 
 returned. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Will fortune never come with both hands full ?" 
 
 Henry IV. 
 " No rose without thorns." 
 
 Frfquent and long, as well as stormy, were 
 the conferences now held with Mr. Johnson, the 
 agent, on whom, hitherto, the chief management 
 of the estate had devolved. 
 
 Johnsiiii had held this ofRce under the late 
 
 Mr. Ashley, by whom his judgment and integrity 
 
 liad been so highly esteemed, that he was named 
 
 Avith respect m his will, and strongly rccom- 
 
 : mended to his successor ; nor had his conduct, 
 
 \ in any instance, siiown that this opinion was ill- 
 
 j foumlcd. 
 
 ' IJui he was now old, and lately much of an in- 
 ] valid ; his son, a clever young man, who had for 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 31 
 
 some time assisted him in all the more fatiguing 
 details of his office, and who seemed to inherit 
 his honesty as well as knowledge of business, was 
 now his dt'putyon most occasions, and was gen- 
 erally considered secure of his father's situation, 
 •whenever the lattev died or resigned. 
 
 When Colonel Templeton took possession of this 
 property, he found it in the most flourishing con- 
 dition; most of the tenants- held long leases; 
 some had within a few years expired, and been 
 renewed ; and though, on several occasions, the 
 Colonel had evinced a desire to drive a hard, or, 
 as he would have said, a good bargain, Johnson 
 had convinced him that a long lease, and a lower 
 rent regularly paid, were better than a high 
 rent and uncertain occupation. 
 
 It happened, at this juncture, that several 
 leases had fallen in, and Johnson, as usual, w;is 
 desirous of acting as umpire between the land- 
 lord, who demanded a much higher rent on ac- 
 count of increased value of land, and the farmer, 
 who asked to have his lease renewed on former 
 terms. 
 
 But now, for the first time, the Colonel was 
 obstinate and unguidable ; the consequence was, 
 that two excellent tenants left. 
 
 Johnson was vexed and mortified — indeed, 
 through the whole affair, the Colonel had treat- 
 ed him so cavalierly, not to say rudely, that he 
 took it greatly to heart ; so deep an impression 1 
 did this, and several other instances of dimin- 
 ished confidence and unanimity, make on the 
 worthy man, that he never quite recovered his 
 usual spirits; this, added^to increasing age arid 
 illness, soon unfitted him for exertion, and be- 
 foie the end of the year he died. 
 
 Young Robert, his son, applied to be contin- 
 ued in the cffice, but was coolly told that a per- 
 son from Loudon was already engaged. On the 
 young man this blow fell heavily and unexpect- 
 edly — what was to be dune ? he was married to 
 a niece of Mrs. Uawsons, an active, industrious 
 woman, and had three children. 
 
 " Can I do any thing for them, Dawson ."' 
 asked Mrs. Templeton, when that won by crea- 
 ture, with teais in her eyes, told her of the cir- 
 cumstance. " I do not offer to speak to the 
 Colonel in his behalf, for if he has engaged an- 
 other person it will be useless, beside-," — she 
 paused, for she knew that, " besides," her en- 
 treaty (or any one would be unheeded. 
 
 " You are always very good, madam," replied 
 Mrs. Dawson ; " the only thing I can a^k of you 
 is to write to the Honorable Mr. Grantham, who, 
 when he was here last autumn, saw a goud deal 
 of Robert, and asked him about firming, and 
 such like ; perhaps, among his friends, if he 
 would condescend to remember the poor fellow, 
 something miglit be found to turn up." 
 
 "I will do it immediately, as well us to Sir 
 Archibald Sinclair and Lord Grantham ;" and 
 80 she did, and to her great satisfaction received 
 a letter from her brother, or rather his amanu- 
 ensis, saying, that if Johnson did not require 
 too liigh a s.ilary for their means, Cecil would be 
 really thankful to have an hnnest man on his 
 property, as he knew nothing about its manage- 
 ment himself, and did not think fivorably of the 
 agent at present engaged. And this being set- 
 tled to the wish of all parties, by the time his 
 
 late father's accounts were prepared and passed, 
 which even the C(donel could no* do without ex- 
 pressing his .satisfaction, Robert's new employer 
 was ready for him. 
 
 In speaking of the Priory and its lands, it was 
 said that the first Mr. Ashley had endeavored as 
 much as possible to bring the property into a 
 compact form, so that the building itself should 
 form a kind of center ; and this he had done, not 
 by extensive purchases, but by judicious ex- 
 changes of the distant for tlie near. One piece 
 of the property, however, formed an exception, 
 and was never exch.anged; it was on the side to- 
 ward the sea, and is perhaps best described as a 
 kind of "chine." as similar places are termed 
 in the Isle of Wight, only that here the height 
 was of solid rock, it being the commencement 
 of a small range, if that word be not too am- 
 bitious. 
 
 Tradition called this the Hermitage, a name 
 which many things justified, for till the reign 
 of the late Mr. Ashley's grandmother, it con- 
 sisted of little more than two rather large, but 
 sheltered, excavations ; the view from the roof 
 of these was perhaps as fine as from any part 
 of the estate, and offers had frequently been 
 made for its purchase. But Mrs. Ashley was 
 so attached to the spot, that though a strip of 
 ground now belonging to Sir William Dallas sep- 
 arated it from the Priory demesne, it was, hy her 
 wish, kept in the family, and built on. 
 
 The ancient excavaiions served as excellent 
 celhnage to a stone house built in strict external 
 accordance with the old architecture of the I'rio- 
 vy. bui within, containing -rooms the snuggest, 
 and most comfortable. Here there were no 
 " rich windows to exclude the light, and pas- 
 sages that lead to nothing," fur every passage 
 led to some small, but cosy nook ; and the stone- 
 set casements let in a ghirious view of the deep 
 and dark-blue (.cean, and its sparkle , of ever- 
 restless waves ; while, on the only side which 
 admitted of it. was a window, giving rather a 
 tantalizing view of the Priory and church steeple, 
 which, however, by ascending about a dozen 
 roughly cut, but safe steps, burst ou the sight, 
 with a most advantageous effect. 
 
 Tliis place, though apparently far superior to 
 what his station demanded, had always been in- 
 habited by Johnson; but then the agent was a 
 favorite, had become almost a friend, and had 
 also married a young person, who had been 
 biought up as a companion by the mother of 
 Horace. 
 
 Determining to secure a permanent residence 
 on the property for his faithful and respected 
 superintendent, and yet not wishing to alienate 
 this favorite spot of ground, or rather rock, Mr. 
 Ashley granted Johnson a lease of tlie liermitagc 
 for ninety-nine years, at a nomimil rent. 
 
 By this family, celebrated for their flower- 
 loving tastes, it may be almost supeiflous to add, 
 that a garden, with a patch of meadow, was at- 
 t.ached to the hermitage; and here Johnson had 
 lived from early manhood to old age, and here 
 Robert was born. 
 
 Colonel Templeton, though in most things a 
 clever man, and certainly, in all matters where 
 self was concerned, both shrewd ami calculating, 
 was by no means conversant with the dry details 
 
32 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 of business as they related to landed property ; 
 but with Johuson continually at his elbow to 
 prompt him, this had been of little consequence, 
 except that it had prevented him from discover- 
 ing his need and his deficiency. Frequently, 
 when transacting affairs with his em])loyer, John- 
 son was astonibheil to perceive that he never 
 fully understood the real position he occupied 
 with respect to the Seabrooke properly, both as 
 regarded hi;/ responsibilities and his privileges; 
 80 that he had often found it difficult to show 
 him what he might, and what he might not do. 
 Kich ]»rey this, to fall into the hands of the 
 spoiler ! 
 
 And now that the village had wondered and 
 concerned itself about young Jolinson's dismissal, 
 till it was tired, all stood on the tiptoe of ex- 
 pectation and curiosity to see the new agent ; 
 and after various false alarms, and cries of " he 
 comes" — he did come, but so quietly, that those 
 on the lookout felt themselves aggrieved, swin- 
 dled, defrauded. "Scandalous, after all the ex- 
 citement and flutter of expectations, to sneak in 
 80 silently" — and then, when he was seen, it was 
 no great sight — and this is true— for there cer- 
 tainly was nothing in his Appearance either to 
 attract or repel; he looked like a man who had 
 once been a gentleman, or nearly so — a sort of 
 narrow escape. His manner was self-possessed, 
 neither vulgar nor rude, sometimes, though rare- 
 ly, there was a tinge of arrogance and presump- 
 tion ; his langu.ige indicated a man of educatiou, 
 while his voice gave tokens of refinement. But 
 much of tliis seeming incongruity was explained, 
 when he, as if by accident, alluded to a military 
 career and college education. 
 
 Mrs. Templetou Was present when both these 
 antecedents were glanced at — she made no re- 
 mark, it was not her custom ; but she remem- 
 bered this, and subsequently named it to the 
 Hector, now Dr. Veruon — ^who ascertained tiiat, 
 as regarded tlie university, the statement was 
 correct ; though a few circumstances connected 
 witli his college life, wliich the Doctor at the 
 same time learned, was by the agent either for- 
 gotten, or not thought wortliy of being mention- 
 ed. But a burprise awaited the Colonel and his 
 family, and, indeed, many others, though the 
 last were not concerned in the event. Mrs Tem- 
 pleton was the hrst who was informed, and this 
 by Mrs. Dawson,, that Johnson had let the Her- 
 mitage furnished, to a gentleman who had al- 
 ready been (-pending a few weeks there before 
 his father's death. Dawson added, that the late 
 agent had consulted her about the propriety of 
 Consenting to the residence of a lodger, and fully 
 intended to have named it to the Culonel, but the 
 vexatious ditl\;rences between them, and his ill- 
 ness, h.-id almost Ijunislicd tiie matter from his 
 mind ; that immediately afier his death the ne- 
 gotiation was renewed, for hiring the Hermitage 
 08 it stood, for a term, and that llobcrt was too 
 glad of tills ofiportunity to increase his income, 
 to think of licsitating. 
 
 Knowing her husband's feelings as regarded 
 any intrusion on his property, tlumgh the Her- 
 mitage was at the extri-mity, and on one side 
 separated from it, .Mrs 'lomplolnn was certain 
 that fierce and loud would be the explosion of 
 bis anger. Nor was she mistaken. Directly he 
 
 ' heard of the Hermitage being thus tenanted, he 
 sent Mr. Cooper, the new agent, to ascertain the 
 facts, which being simply what his principal al- 
 ready knew, namely, that the Hermitage was let, 
 he returned with little to impart, except that tbe 
 
 : lodger was a Mr. Morton, and that he had paid a 
 quarter's rent in advance. 
 
 I Then went the Colonel himself, in a towering 
 rage, breathing threats of expulsion, razing to 
 the ground, aud sundry warlike denunciations 
 of learned length ; but he found there oidy a 
 
 i middle-aged negro, and a respectable female 
 servant, by whom he was told that their master 
 would be down next week, and from \^hom he 
 received his address at a London hotel. 
 . Next week, again went Mr. Cooper ; perhaps, 
 in his zeal for the Colonel, he slightly forgot 
 himself, an obliviousness to which, in one sense, 
 he was never prone — for one of the village gos- 
 sips happening, by chance — busy-bodies always 
 happen by chance to be where tliey are not waut- 
 eiJ — hiippening to be going by the Hermitage 
 during the interview, which took place in the 
 garden, heard words of threatening import in a 
 strange voice, and remarks which were any 
 thing but complimentary to Mr. Cooper, which 
 when the Colonel heard of, he waxed wroth, and 
 swore, as the simile says, like any trooper. 
 
 The matter, however, for the present waS left 
 in peace ; first, by the departure of the intruder, 
 who left only his sable hostage — next, by a strict 
 investigation of liobert's rights — and lastly by a 
 curt, but determimed note, from a respectable 
 lawyer in town, addressed to the Colonel ; which, 
 while it by no means stopped the ColoneFs oaths, 
 stopped his agent's visit. 
 
 But lo ! compensation is in store for the vexed 
 and excited Seabrookians — and this celestial and 
 even-handed visitant arrives in the shape of a 
 comely dame, aged about five-and-thirty, and 
 her charming daughter of sweet sixteen — and 
 oh! crowning joy ! her juvenile son, some years 
 younger. Sister, niece, and nephew to the 
 tlirice-blessed and sweet-voiced Mr. Cooper; and 
 rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Mordaunt — par- 
 don the omission, one the lady was never guilty 
 of — Mrs. Captain Mordaunt — it was so on her 
 elegantly embossed cards — Miss Juliet, and Mas- 
 ter Augustus. 
 
 This delightful trio had come purposely to su- 
 perintend the domestic economy of Mr. Cooper's 
 Didce Domum, to see after his creature comforts, 
 and to help him to gather up tlie crumbs whicli fell 
 from the Colonel's table. And well worth tlic gath- 
 ering were these said crumbs. Hampers of wine 
 from the cobwebby cripts ; geese from the larder, 
 and ducks from the pcmd ; fruit, wliich Saunders 
 sent accompanied with many a Gaelic sigh, and 
 strange sounding words, which fell on the ear 
 like a Celtic imprecation ; flowers over which he 
 muttered incantations in Glasgow classics, which, 
 had he known how, would have turned them to 
 thorns and thistles — but, ahis ! curses, like chick- 
 ens come home to roost, and the sorely vexed 
 gardener — in the main, a pious Presbyterian — 
 was often heard, after these outpourings in un- 
 known tongues, to groan from the fullness of an- 
 overloaded conscience, in good broad Scotch, 
 •' the gude forgie' us," or " the gude save us, 
 sirs !" 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 33 
 
 But Saunders was not the only one who some- 
 times forgot good manners ; for whispers began 
 to arise in the course of a few months, and they 
 rose and rose till they might be heai-d in almost 
 every house in the village — that, if the Priory 
 sent its good things to the agent's, i-t also sent the 
 master to look after them. He was almost as fre- 
 quently seen consulting Cooper down at his house, 
 as the latter was attending him at the Priory. 
 Some of the matrons of the place said, the Colonel 
 came to look at his image in the youthful Angus- j 
 tus ; others, that it was to partake of the delica- 
 cies his mother, that " neat-handed Phyllis." pre- 
 pared ; while a third set, who dealt in prophecies 
 and second-sight, shook their heads ; not the me- 
 morable Burlei^.;5h shake, for they spoke out— 
 and, in a friendly way, vei-y friendly indeed, ad- 
 vised Miss Juliet's mamma to look sharp after 
 that innocent maiden. 
 
 However, Mrs. Captain Mordaunt proved her 
 right to that warlike epithet bj^ her clever mili- 
 taiy tactics; she despised them all, and their in- 
 sinuations to boot — she braved them all — and her 
 gn,,(l-lookingface outfaced them all — she snapped 
 the fingers of her mind at every one of them ; 
 and had they been deeply read in the legitimate 
 drama, and politely inquired, " Do j^ou bite your 
 tliumb at us .'" trust lier for the reply— it would 
 have been ready, — " I do bite my thumb !" 
 
 It was rather a singular coincidence, but one 
 tliat was fatal to tlie efficacy and popularity of 
 Dr. Vernon's sermon, albeit he preached as faith- 
 fully and as eh^quently as was his custom, that 
 the very first Sunday Mrs Captain appeared at 
 church, leaning on her fond brother's arm, and 
 followed by the two pledges of her departed and 
 martial lord, the occupant of the Hermitage 
 m ide his first appearance in public also. Some, 
 I am sorry to say, every man jack of them wo- 
 men, actually half rose, to look at him. But he 
 enrered the Rectory pew, and was lost to their 
 luii;j;ing gaze by the envious curtains. 
 
 Never mind, fair daughters of Eve, if know- 
 ledge at one entrance is shut out, let it pour in 
 at iiigh-service pressure at another ; and true to 
 their inquiring nature, they did ; for while Mrs. 
 Tfiiipleton, Lady Dallas, or even any stranger 
 visiting these families, miglit have escaped no- 
 tirc. sharp and minute was their criticism on the 
 fair ;\Irs. Captain. 
 
 "Good heavens! she has two, four, actually 
 five flounces!" "And how many breadths.'" 
 '■ 1 could not well make out ; but, never mind, it 
 sots nut beautifully beliind." " Is it whalebone 
 or buckram ?" " That is of no consequence, it is 
 exactly like the last fashion picture." Such was 
 the oracular fiat pi-cmounced by that learned 
 judge, tlie village liressmaker. And her niante- 
 lit, trimmed witfi real lace ! And the tasty hon- 
 mt and its becoming ornaments so redolent of 
 Paris— and the youthful Juliet, and her pink 
 rilibfins— and the elegant simplicity of the little 
 dandy sailor son. Well, well : though some of the 
 village dames lonked as if they thought it the 
 rever.-e of " wtdl, well." 
 
 But what can keep the people so long in the 
 church .' usually the organist may shuffle over, 
 or omit, the last half of his jilaying out; but to- 
 day, what are tlify waiting for.' However, he 
 sloses the organ and dismisses the exhausted 
 
 bellows-blower — and by that time the congregar 
 tion become aware of the aggravating fact, that 
 the Rectory pew is empty ! Yes, there is the 
 beadle undrawing the curtains — "stupid old 
 dawdle, not to have done it before!" and the 
 stranger has gone into the vestry. 
 
 And how provoked were all these loiterers the 
 neoit day, when Mr. IMorton was seen quietly 
 Avalking through the village with the liector, 
 who appeared to be pointing out to him various 
 views and sites of picturesque beauty or in- 
 terest. 
 
 And the black servant who had been a sort of 
 bete nuir to the ignorant rustics ; and even 
 among the tradespeople had excited a nine-days' 
 wonder, proved to be a very common-place, mat- 
 ter-of-fact person, who spoke quite enough 
 English to be pumped for information, but who 
 said little tliat repaid the trouble ; for all he told 
 was, that his master was a widower, was rich, 
 had traveled a great deal, and that his son, Mas- 
 ter Victor, w.is at school in Germany. 
 
 Received, as he was, in a most friendly manner 
 by the Rector, several of the neighboring gentry 
 left their cards at the Hermitage — but though 
 this attention was returned, and Mr. Morton 
 frankly expressed his wish to be on social terms 
 with those who had thus honored him, he smil- 
 ingly alluded to his limited gar^on-like quarters, 
 as a reason for not accepting hdspit.'ilities which 
 he could not return — but he owned, that when 
 his son came to England, he should covet for him 
 all the advantages their society offered. 
 
 It was well known that Colonel Templeton had 
 rudely opposed his occupancy of the Hermitage ; 
 but as he remained, as Cooper never ventured to 
 couple his name with any remark of an injurious 
 nature, and, especially as tlic Colonel himself was 
 far from being popular, Mr. Morton was allowed 
 to visit or not as he pleased. And this liberty 
 was the more readily accorded, as subsequent 
 acquaintance proved him to be, in every respect, 
 b(jth the gentleman and the scholar. lie was 
 one who had seen life in many strange lands, and 
 whose conversation was enriched by that know- 
 ledge which they, who have traveled and thought, 
 alone can possess. 
 
 About a year after his domestication at the 
 Hermitage, his son returned from one of the 
 then little known continental colleges; he was 
 another, and not less interesting study to the 
 Englisli country gentlemen ; and apparently not 
 to them alone — for as the handsome youth saun- 
 tered along the village high street, singing 
 snatches of strange airs to woi ds equally strange, 
 many a pretty las.*? peeped over the little curtain, 
 or I'an to the door to look at him and Ins foreign 
 dres.s — the blouse and leather belt, the lay-down 
 collar, and the jet-black locks, displayed a little 
 ostentatiously from beneath the small gray cap, 
 that seemed scarcely to touch the well-shaped 
 head — while the boys .and men gaped and griiuied 
 as, by the skillful use of his Alpenstock, lie flew 
 over hedge and ditch, and cleared at one bound 
 the rapid and silvery Brooke. 
 
 " He's a rare one," said the butcher's jolly 
 wife, who had just taken his orders to supply his 
 dogs regularly. 
 
 " He's an impudent young dog himself," re- 
 plied her neighbor, the village haberdasher, 
 
34 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 shaking her head and laughing ; "he came to ] a room where Mr. Morton sat composedly reading, 
 
 choose a 'kerchief for his neck, and when Betsy I " I have seen such a woman !" 
 
 turned to find a choice, what does my young gen- | " I hope, not the horrible ' White Lady,' who 
 
 tleniiin do, but clear the counter at one spring — finds her way into so many of your German le- 
 
 and who but he, rummaging among the ribbons i gends.'' 
 
 and tapes." " Oh ! no, quite the reverse." he replied. 
 
 " He looked very handsome though, mother, in "A black one, then.' perhaps Juba's departed 
 that crimson one he took, and made me tie prop- wife.'.' 
 ly for him." ! " Nothing like her, I fancy," said Victor, 
 
 " Ves, yea. and took a kiss in return," remarked greatly amused at the diflference between .Mrs. 
 the old lady ; " you shall keep to your sewing j Templeton and what he supposed the defunct .Mis. 
 while the young hermit, as he calls himself, re- Juba might have been ; " no, but I have seen .Mi j. 
 
 main.s iiere. 
 
 Ilowc-ver, as all he did was done so openly and 
 frankly, and seemc<l so entirelv the result of cxu- 
 
 Templeton. 
 
 " So you did. at church." 
 
 " Hardly ; and besides, that was very different 
 bcrant .spirits and happy youth— for many a good I from looking at her, and talking, and shakn- 
 looking matron had to complain of young sauce- | hands with her. as I have done to-day; but V' u 
 bos, as well as the daughters— Victor was a uni- j do seem surprised at last : the truth is, I w: n- 
 vcrsal favorite ; all welcomed him with a smile, I d3red into the private grounds without knov,!!!^ 
 
 and we have made assignatii as 
 
 and no one thought there could be much to blame 
 in one who was so often the companion of the Doc- 
 tor, and the guest of .Mrs. West. 
 
 It happened, one day, shortly after the arrival 
 
 it. I met her, 
 
 without end, at Mrs. Wests; now, fathiTr, w'n-.o 
 
 do you think of that ?" 
 
 " I think, my dear boy, that you mil find your- 
 
 of young Morton, that Mrs. Templeton, having ' S3lf in some scrape with your wandering habii.'-;; 
 
 been to Sea-View Cottage, was returning through i well for you not to have met the Colonel." 
 
 tlie grounds. She had walked on, for about a I "'Mrs. Templeton hinted as much; is he then 
 
 quarter of a mile, lost in deep thought — for the I so formidable ?" 
 
 inroads that illness was slowly but surely making ! " I do not find him so, though I fally expected 
 
 on Mrs. West had, during this visit, been painfully 
 
 evident — when shew as roused from her revery, 
 
 by hearing tlie words of a German song, which 
 
 recalled to mind days long past; a remarkabl,y 
 
 wveet voice sang this in snatches, leaving otf 
 
 abruptly, to whistle to the birds; the sound of 
 
 approaching steps, also, caused her to look back : 
 
 when, within about twenty paces, she saw one of | return for some time 
 
 the handsomest youths she had ever beheld ; but 
 
 as he is already known to us, in two words we 
 
 introduce Victor Morton to Mrs. Templeton. 
 
 Respectfully doffing his cap, and revealing by 
 the act the fine head, and its glossy ornaments, 
 he approached her, saying, " I tear I am uncon- 
 sciously trespassing ; but I am almost a stranger, 
 which I hope will .secure my pardon." 
 
 " You are within tlie precincts of the Priory 
 private grounds," replied .Mrs. Templeton, " but 
 never mini that, we shall soon see some on3 who 
 will guide you out, and meanwhile you are very 
 safe with me." 
 
 " That I am quite sure of," he returned, bowing, 
 and glancing at her gentle dark eyes. ■' My 
 name is Victor Morton." 
 
 Pleased with his manner, though startled to 
 think that the son of one who had already in- 
 ctirred her husband's displeasure, should be found 
 intruding on his strictly kept property, she said, 
 very decide<lly, though she smiled kindly, 
 
 " You do not seem one I should consider a dan- 
 gerous trespasser, yet, as Colonel Templeton is 
 
 it, after his useless opposition to my resideiu 
 here; still, you had better keep off his grounds 
 till invited." 
 
 What might have been the temptation to disre- 
 gard this warning, had Victor remained at S i- 
 brooke, it is impossible to tell. But shortly a-.'ter 
 this rencounter he and his father left, and did nn 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "Lonk iipr.n this face; 
 Examine every feature and proportion. 
 Anil yiiu With me mii-t ^rrant llii.'* rsr.- piece flaished. 
 N:ilu e. fl.-S(i;iiriii^ rVr lo make tin- h\if. 
 Brake sii.l.ienly the mold in wlucli 'iwas fashim'-d " 
 .Massi.ngks. 
 
 Ever since Johnson's death, affairs at the 
 Priory hi i gone a little crooked, and spite of the 
 more frequent attendance of Cooper at the hou.se, 
 and the many conferences in the village, where, 
 doubtless, the -wisdom and experience of Mrs. Cap- 
 tain were of great use to the Colonel, scarcely a 
 day passed without something happening which 
 ruffljd the serenity of that patient martyr. 
 
 Money, which had hitherto been always ready 
 to meet every expenss, suddenly became scarce; 
 and it was remarkable how this invariably hap- 
 rather particular. I shall at once warn you out. i pened after any London or continental visit, so 
 D.) you know Sea- View Cottage .•" j that qven during Johnsons management he had 
 
 " I spen 1 half my leisure time there." hinted to Mrs. Dawson his fears that his master 
 
 " Lo,)k then, between these oaks, there is the lost large sums at play; apprehensions wliieh 
 roof of the house; keep it in \iew, and you will I were confirmed by the conduct of the foreignoN 
 find the gate ; and as you visit Mrs. West, we shall 1 who had accompanied him to Seabrooke. Still, .s.) 
 
 ample was the real income, that these diificultics 
 had been but temporary. 
 
 But it was different under the new n.r nts 
 reign; the halcyon days of plenty seemeil r miiiir 
 to a close, so frequent were the lowerin-- aaJ 
 
 be sure to meet again." 
 
 " I am glad of that," was the frank remark. 
 She smiled, and shaking hands with him, they 
 parted. 
 
 "Oh, father !" exclaimed Victor, rushing into 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 35 
 
 stormy clouds ■when payments were required ; 
 and as Mrs. Templeton was once driving about the 
 property, she was surprised to see a number of 
 trees marked, and a man busy doing the same 
 thing to others. " What is this for :" she asl^ed, 
 and was told that Mr. Cooper had advised the 
 Colonel to thin the woods. The last felling of 
 importiince had taken place under the direction 
 of Johnson, only tlu-ee years previously, and she 
 remembered he had then said, a long time must 
 elapse before cutting to any extent would be 
 again proper ; and on noticing more carefully 
 those marked, she thought the greater part looked 
 much too young. 
 
 Another lease also fell in, of one of the best 
 farms on the estate, and again there was a dis- 
 pute about increased rent — that demanded was 
 plainly declared extortionate and unf\xir; words 
 arose — Cooper interfered, was insulted and threat- 
 ened, and the Colonel was compelled to listen to 
 some very unpleasant truths before several of the 
 s n-vants, who had been summoned by their furious 
 master to eject the daring ofiFender. 
 
 The woods were, however, thinned, under the 
 artistic superintendence of Cooper ; money was 
 ready, and again there was a lull. 
 
 The letter-bag, one morning, unfortunately, was 
 the means of destroying this calm ; it seemed to 
 be a very Pandora's bos of annoyances - so much 
 so, that Mrs. Templeton, astonished and half ter- 
 rified at her husband's manner, and at an ejacu- 
 lation of surprise, almost of horror, which burst 
 from his lips, inquired if he had received any ill 
 news ; a large packet containing various papers 
 lay before him, while his trembling hands seeilied 
 scarcely able to hold any of them ; his face wis 
 as pale as ashes, and perceiving his wife was ap- 
 proaching, he hoai-sely desired her to remain 
 quiet; by a powerful effort shook off his emotion, 
 and collecting the contents of this packet, without 
 another word withdrew to the library, whence he 
 '':d not emerfje till nearly dinner-time. His man- j 
 M 'r then was so extraordinary as co make her fur- j 
 lively glance at him ; and thougli he scarcely ' 
 taste 1 any thing, he di-auk glass after glass of w'nj. ' 
 and she did no' again see h ni till toward noon 
 the next day, w'lon lie announjelhs intention of 
 going at once to London, and gave Cooper various 
 iiis'i-uctions, inlica:;vo of n prolonged absence. 
 
 Henry Grantham at this time married, and chose 
 for his bride a lady who, in every respect, was 
 agreeable to his parents. Cecilia accompanied 
 the newly-married pair on a short visit to Sea- 
 brooke, after which they all went to Italy, 
 whither he was sent on public business. Lau- 
 rette was at Craigalan, but had promised to travel 
 south when Helen and Constance came home. 
 Charles Vernon was engaged to Fanny Loftus, 
 and Ashley had just begun his legal education in 
 London ; while Keginald hovered about, ready, i 
 so he said, for any mischief, because he had i 
 nothing to do ; therefore his kind friend Ashley i 
 invented a sort of literary penance in expiation 
 of this speech ; and to prevent the prophecy from 
 becoming true, put him, in jest, through a ' 
 course of reading, to which the other applied in | 
 sober earnest. I 
 
 Lady Dallas, thanks to a sweet temper, which ' 
 never took offense at the truths that were uttered 
 in Idndness, had hstcued not only to the hints of 
 
 Mrs. Vernon, but to her plainly-spoken advice, and 
 had looked at her own character so courageously 
 as to have recognized its many faults and weak- 
 nesses. Some she corrected — some she tried to 
 correct — some she feared were incurable ; but the 
 result was, that to a very great extent, she enter- 
 ed cordially into the pursuits of her kind husband 
 —found by comparing him with ot hens— or nne 
 other— how excellent he was; and instead of gos- 
 siping about im.aginary or trilling grievances, 
 looked at the bright side of every thing and talked 
 of it accordingly. 
 
 And so the sun went down, with a promise of 
 rising in full splendor by the time that Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton's idols came home, to he placed on the pe- 
 destals her love had pi-cparcd for them. 
 
 And it was-coming ; it drew near— that happy, 
 happy period, when she was to reap the reward 
 of her patiently-endured sacrifice, and welcome 
 Helen and (Constance home — for they were to re- 
 turn together— such had been the reiterated re- 
 quest of Constance, that her mother had yielded. 
 How happy their lives had hitherto been ! how 
 careful had their worshiping mother shown her- 
 self, to surround them with all that was wise, 
 healthy, and holy! how she had, without pity, 
 analyzed her oivn character, tried to trace each 
 fault, each weakness, to its cause, so as to banish 
 it and its baneful influences from her children ; 
 and, to a great extent, how successful had her 
 plans been — understood and improved upon aa 
 they were by Mrs Loftus. 
 
 Helen, who in appearance strongly resembled 
 her mother— like her, also, though vei-y gentle, 
 possessed strong affections; she loved her doll, 
 Gretchen, her bird, or Constance, and above all, 
 her beautiful mother, with an intensity which 
 was positively distressing, when loss or separation 
 came ; she had now, by her frequent and long 
 absence from the latter, learned to bear these bet- 
 ter, to anticipate them cheerfully, and, when they 
 came, to meet them bravely. 
 
 Constance, beautiful as one of Raphael's angels, 
 was like her father ; she had the Templeton eye, 
 with its haughty glance when offended ; and the 
 brow, so noble-looking in repose, could, like his, 
 almost startle by its stern and determined ccm- 
 traction, when opposed ; but her wilfullness was 
 softened by her loving nature— her quickness to 
 resent was tempered by her ready candor to ex- 
 cuse, and her generosity to forgive. 
 
 Both the sisters possessed minds of no vulgar 
 stamp. Colonel Templeton, having an idea that 
 his d:uightefs, his heiresses, must marry into noble 
 families, was carried by vaulting ambition a little 
 farther, and beheld them the wives of ambassa- 
 dors or diplomatists high placed in foreign courts 
 — therefore his only injunotion had been, " make 
 them modern polyglots, elegantly bound ;" and ;vs 
 linguists, they both, especially Helen, excelled. 
 
 liut neither was a female Crichton — they yfcra 
 both well informed and w*ll educated— natural 
 enough to think with pleasure of balls, parties, or 
 dress — and ready to accept an}' share of admira- 
 tion, the world, in its goodness, might bestow. 
 
 Neither were they such novices to that world aa 
 girls in their station too commonly are In lepen- 
 dently of their occasional long visits home, when, 
 if they did not see much society, wh.at they did 
 mix in was good, they were often at Lady Grant- 
 
36 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 ham's, where Reginald West and the two Vernons 
 were frequent guests ; and, as Constance reported, 
 they liad spent one whole and very gay month 
 with Lady Sinclair during her stay in town ; so 
 that we liope it is proved that our pets are not 
 exactly of the bread-and-butter school. 
 
 Mrs. Loftus had, for some years, by the suc- 
 ceesful termination of the lawsuit in her favor, 
 been in circumstances which rendered her inde- 
 pendent of pupils ; but she did so love these sweet 
 sisters that .she never would part with them till 
 they were claimed by their mother. 
 
 Caroline Vernon, who, wishing to share some 
 of the advantages of being near town, had spent 
 nearly a year with them, returned also, accom- 
 panied by Fanny Loftus, who was to be married 
 80 soon as Charles had every thing prepared to 
 receive her as his bride. 
 
 Tlie Priory was so extensive in its internal i 
 arrangements as always to have room for any 
 number of guests likely, in reason, to accept its 
 hospitalities; and a charming set of rooms, termi- ; 
 nating at the angle of the conservatory which 
 completed Mrs. Templeton"s own apartments, was I 
 fitted up for her daughters. | 
 
 Though the happiest visits the girls paid to the 
 Priory were those when their father was absent, 
 Mrs. Templeton knew too well what was right, to 
 think or even to wish to estrange them from him ; [ 
 but so little interest did the Colonel sliow, that 
 more than once, when his daughters had been ' 
 summoned home for the express purpose of being ; 
 with him, he would go aw;iy at an hour's notice, i 
 and perliaps not return till they had departed. 
 
 But wlien they did meet, he was invariably | 
 kind to them— generally indulgent and generous 
 — he would praise their beauty, and predict that j 
 they would be duchesses ; but here all stopped. 
 
 'I'o Helen this conduct was painful— she would 
 look sad and weep — to Constance it seemed con- 
 temptuous, and her eyes would spai-kle and her fair 
 brow contract, till, catching sight of the gentle, 
 beautiful mother, slie would rush to her, press her 
 in her arms, and stamp her small foot or clench 
 her little hand as if in defiance of some assailant, 
 invisible to all eyes but her own. 
 
 And where is Gretchen, that brave, true- 
 hearted German nurse .' It had originally been 
 arranged, Avhen the children left home, that she 
 should remain with her " Lieblinge," her darlings, 
 for a short time only ; but that short time had 
 extended to witliin the two last years of their re- 
 sidence with Mrs. Loftus; and then she married 
 one of lierown countrymen, a watchmaker, who, 
 witli her savings, and the help of her attached 
 mistress, was soon placed in easy and prosperous 
 circumstances. 
 
 But curiosity is still unsatisfied ; " What now, 
 thou peeper and pryer into what doos not concern 
 tliee ?" " Wlicre is Lord lIur.stwood, do pray tell 
 us .'" He is at St. Petersburgh, where matters of 
 state claim his attention and presence. His father, 
 a seltish man. wlio disliketl to have a son at hand 
 to chrimicle all his luxurious indnlg'uiccs, or mur- 
 mnr at his se.iselcss extravagance, at a very early 
 age liad, with Brutus- like fortitude, laid that son 
 on the altar of his country— a species of patriot- 
 ism not so uncommon as the careless observer 
 tliinks; he had bani<lie<l him to foreign parts; 
 bad made him secretary, atlachi, churg6-d-af- 
 
 faircs, or any thing — that paid ! He had exiled 
 him, and made him an alien to suit his own pur- 
 pose, and he died at a great age, without being 
 soothed in his last moments by the voice of any 
 one he loved ; and he was btiried ■without any one 
 who loved him weeping over his coffin ; for, as 
 already related, his son did not return till some 
 time after his death. 
 
 Strong and conflicting were the opinions pro- 
 nounced upon him by his fair neighbors. Mrs. 
 Vernon, with her accustomed freedom, called him 
 too Chesterfieldian to please her; but that was 
 equivocal, and miglit signify too elegant in man- 
 ner, or too lax in principle. Mrs. Forrester was 
 delighted with his aristocratic air and noble as- 
 surance, another ambiguous term. Mrs. Temple- 
 ton thought his manner very pleasing and his 
 conversation interesting, but she rather disliked 
 the expression of his face, though that face Wiis 
 really fine and dignified ; while Lady Dallar, to 
 whom he had paid great attention, wondered how 
 it was that such a man had remained so long 
 unmarried. 
 
 But their liege lords said nothing, beyond 
 hoping that, Avhen he came again, if he meant to 
 remain, he would bring a Lady Hurstwood with 
 him. 
 
 And now the day dawns which is to bring to 
 the mother's loving embrace her wished-for treas- 
 ures, Mrs. Vernon having undertaken to escoit 
 them with Caroline. She and Mrs. Dawson, who 
 almost idolized her lady, walked through their 
 rooms, to give the finishing touches to what, tlie 
 previous day, had been pronounced perfect. 
 
 A light tap — " come in," and Kuth, a youn:; 
 person who had been in Mrs. Dawson's training as 
 their maid, entered with a basket of flowers. 
 
 " Saunders, my lady, sent these for the young 
 ladies." 
 
 " Thank you, Ruth, and tell Saunders I am 
 obliged to him for remembering their love of 
 bouquets. Can you think of any thing else, Daw- 
 son .'"' she inquired. 
 
 " Really, madam, that seems impossible," w:! = 
 the reply; "nothing can be mor^ elegant an' 
 comfortable; their dressing-rooms are exac;l 
 alike, and the favorite color everywhere; an 
 then this beautiful bed-room an(l the Frein : 
 beds so pretty ; and how pleased tliey will be i 
 see your sweet face — pardon my boldness— lookin 
 at them directly they open their innocent eyes- 
 This was said in allusion to a copy of Mrs. Tcm 
 pleton's portrait, belonging to Lord Grantham, 
 and winch had been taken at his request before 
 she married. This copy occupied the pier be- 
 tween the windows of her daugliters' bed-room. 
 
 And now, Dawson ha\'ing left her, again she 
 looked round, and preparing to arrange the flow- 
 ers in the luxuriously furnished sitting-room, 
 she pau.sed before a half-lengtli portrait of Colonel 
 Templeton. The original, a splendid full-length, 
 size of life, was painted for the uncle who brought 
 him up, a short time before his death, and when 
 his nephew, about five-and-twenty, was in all tlie 
 pride of his remarkable beauty. It now hung in 
 the dining-room of the Priory. 
 
 Slie looked intently at the gay, smiling face — 
 long and intently, till her gaze became linrd and 
 stern — slie looked at it, as if, in imagination, slie 
 had summoned that handsome delinquent before, 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 37 
 
 the bar of justice, to answer for the desolation he 
 had wrought, and to-listen to the recapitulation 
 of her wrongs. She told of the love she had 
 given, freely, unreservedly — said how it had been 
 insulted, ilung back, and destroyed ; she num- 
 bered up the weary, lonely, sorrowful years she 
 had passed; recalled the indignity and cruelty 
 with which she had been treateii ; then she sank 
 on her knees, and fervently prayed that her chil- 
 dren, her innocent girls, might be saved from the 
 consequences of her great mistake ! 
 
 Mrs. Templeton rarely wept ; but now tears 
 fell fast, and when she rose, she was calmer. 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 "Well (lid Antiquitie a god thee deeme, 
 That over mortal minds has so great might, 
 To order them as best to thee doth seeme, 
 And all their actions to direct aright." 
 
 Spksser. 
 
 "Oh, mamma! and are these indeed our 
 rooms?" exclaimed Helen; look, Constance, at 
 these lovely hangings — blue and white muslin — 
 our colors — what a dear mamma you are !" 
 
 " And here, Helen, is a portrait of papa — how 
 handsome he is ! — and oh ! Nelly, Nelly, look at 
 the blessed angel that is ever watching us, even 
 while we sleep — it is the very type of her love and 
 care for us," continued Constance ; and she rushed 
 toward her mother, the old look of defiance in her 
 countenance, and the attitude so suggestive of 
 protection— though both seemed at this moment 
 quite uncalled for. 
 
 "Dear mamma!" said Helen, kissing her 
 cheek. " that is worth all the rest." 
 
 " ^^ by, girls, you are as beautiful as Houris," 
 said their father, when he met them, for the first 
 time since their return, at dinner; "though, 
 hang me ! if I am quite sure which is Helen and 
 which Constance." 
 
 " I am Constance," said she, advancing before 
 the more timid Helen ; " you will know me, papa, 
 because I am like you, and Helen is so very beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " Not much difference as regards the witchery," 
 he said, playfully tapping her cheek ; " but I 
 see, Helen has dark eyes, like her mother." 
 
 " And that is what makes her so beautiful," she 
 replied, unconsciously increasing the resemblance 
 to himself, by the flash and the frown — it was but 
 for a second — still it was enough — he never after- 
 ward mistook them. 
 
 The first time the .sisters left their home after 
 this return, was to officiate as bridesmaids at 
 Fanny's wedding ; and a very splendid affair that 
 was. 
 
 " Mamma," said Caroline, a few days after 
 their return. " I sadly want your advice." 
 
 " Not another wedding," sighed the weary ma- 
 tron—to herself, of course. " What is it, my 
 dear.'" she asked aloud; " if I can not advise 
 you, your dear father can." 
 
 " But it is a secret, and not for papa's ear." 
 
 " Mine is wide open, so begin," said Mrs. Ver- 
 non. 
 
 " I can not go so direct to my mark as I gener- 
 
 speaking 
 I believe 
 
 you may 
 
 ally do— for it is not my secret— nor am I sure it 
 is any one's," was the enigmatical rejoinder. 
 
 •" Now, Carry, you are quite trying, and have 
 no idea how my nerves are suffering — but se- 
 riously, my dear, have you any thing to reveal .'" 
 " Yes," said Caroline, desperately ; " mamma, 
 I am afraid Mr. West is in love, and, 
 very fast, and looking very flushed, ' 
 Helen is also !" 
 " Caroline!" 
 
 " Yes, mamma," nodding her head ; ' 
 well be surprised ; I was at first, and felt as if' 
 something had stopped my breath — of course you 
 are the only one to whom I have mentioned it." 
 
 " You are a dear, good girl, and a great com- 
 fort to me," said her mother fondly; "I some- 
 times think, when I look around me, that I have 
 more than my share of earthly blessings." 
 
 " But though I felt bewildered at first," re- 
 sumed Caroline, too much interested in her dis- 
 covery to attend to any thing el.se, " when I came 
 more quietly to reflect on the matter, I laughed 
 at my folly, for thinking there was any thing 
 either alarming or uncommon in it. Fanny is not 
 yet twentjs and she was engaged two years ago 
 to Charles — Helen is nearly eighteen, and Mr. 
 West— I shall no longer venture even to think of 
 him as Reginald — is, I believe, twenty-two ; so 
 there is nothing so extraordinary in it, is there r" 
 " Not exactly extraordinary, my love." an- 
 swered her mother ; " still, like you, the idea 
 makes me feel breathless ; and yet — if it should 
 be true — I think we need not dread any opposi- 
 tion. Reginald, for such he must still be to me, 
 is heir not only to the title, but he is the adopted 
 son of Lord Ernest West, who succeeded to the 
 j whole of his mothers large property — besides 
 ; being distantly connected with the Templeton 
 j family." 
 
 " I am so glad I took courage and mentioned 
 , this," said Caroline ; " I hesitated, because I 
 fancied it might seem treacherous to read the 
 looks of my friends, and then invent a history of 
 j their meaning." 
 
 " But I did not know they had very often met — 
 t how is this ?" remarked Mrs. Vernon. 
 I " They have been a great deal together at Lord 
 j Grantham's, where you know Helen and Constance 
 I often went, and where Ashley and Mr. West are 
 great favorites." 
 
 •' True, I quite forgot that," was the reply ; 
 while Mrs. Vernon was secretly thankful that her 
 young barrister had not been studying the beau- 
 ties of nature in Helen's face instead of the beau- 
 ties of Blackstone in I'.ussia leather. 
 I After a pause, as her mother was too busy with 
 this idea to speik, Caroline asked suddenly — 
 j " Mamma, do you like Mr. West .'" 
 I "Much, my d-ar- his respectful love for his 
 : mother, his honorable sentiments .and conduct 
 I whenever I have had an opportunity of observing 
 him, have quite won my esteem." 
 
 " Ashley thinks he is very clever, and has often 
 said it was a pity tliat he liad no better or higher 
 object in life than to wait for government patron 
 age and his uncle's wealth. But then Ashley has 
 such lofty and noble opinions— oh ! there is not 
 his equal," she continued, enthusiastically; •• I 
 have often looked around when a large party of 
 us boys and girls have met, and I always came to 
 
3« 
 
 THE WIFKS TRIALS. 
 
 the same conclusion, that Ashley was the hand- 
 somest and grandest of the whole set." 
 
 "You think him better-looking than Mr. ^Ye?t.'" 
 asked the proud mother, glancing at the animated 
 and glowing brunette, the gentle image of this be- ^ 
 loved brother, and anticipating with certainty and 
 pleasure the reply. 
 
 '■ Decidedly— though, if Ashley were not my 
 brother, perhaps I should hesitate." | 
 
 Her mother laughed at this " most exquisite 
 reason," and said, •' Some would prefer Hubert 
 Forrester or young Mr. Morton." 
 
 "Oh !"' was tiie reply, with a slight gesture of 
 contempt ; " they are mere lads" — they were both, 
 however, nearly twenty. '• What Mr Victor may , 
 be when he abandons his apologies for mustaches, 
 cuts his hair like a Christian, and dresses like an 
 English gentleman, I pretend not to know." 
 
 " You are unmerciful. Carry, and forget that it I 
 is our national prejudice which remarks these pe- i 
 culiarities ; and, to be candid, I think them very 
 becoming to him." ^ 
 
 " Perhaps they are ; and as he ranks so high in j 
 dear papa"s estimation, there must be some sense ' 
 under those waving masses, dark as the raven's- 
 wing. What a contrast to Hubert he is, both in 
 appearance and character ; for though my former 
 pbiyuiate is as amiable as ever, he never will have 
 the energy and decision of his new friend. But, I 
 mamma, what use do you mean to make of my ^ 
 state secret .-" inquired Caroline. 
 
 '• I shall feel bound to tell you directly I hnve i 
 determined ; but before doing any thing wliich i 
 can not be undone, I must see the parties to- 
 gether." 
 
 " You have, dear mamma, for it was at the [ 
 wedding that I made my remarks." 
 
 " True, child, but I was thinking only of 
 Charles." was the motliers characteristic reply. 
 
 " I had a vague fear that if my conjecture 
 proved tnie it would in some way interfere with | 
 dear .Mrs. Templeton"s pleasure at the return of 
 Helen and Constance ; and that is too sad to be 
 quietly anticipated." | 
 
 "Indeed it is, my love." said Mrs. Vernon;! 
 " therefore we will not dwell on the suppo.sition." 
 
 " I never think of Mrs. Templeton without a | 
 kind of hu.slied feeling ; such as we have in the 
 prei^ence of great suifering or sorrow." 
 
 " And no wonder," said lier motlier, very grave- 
 ly: "it is the shadow of the skeleton, which so 
 few houses are without, that produces this effect ; , 
 happy, hnppy those, where, as with ourselves, it 
 reniiiins buried or almost unknown ; and praised | 
 be His name who has thus blessed us !" 
 
 " I'hcn, mamma, do you mean to say that, at 
 the Priory, it is not so .'" | 
 
 " Alas ! my child, I do; there it is visible to the 
 eye of experience in all its hideous, undrnped de- 
 formity—and startling with its perpetual pres- 
 ence— it is this which casts .so sad a cloud over the 
 face of our dear frii nd ; it is this which is heard t 
 80 often in the touching tones of her voice, which 
 arrests the .smile on her lips, and banishes the 
 light of joy from her eyes. Caroline, when she 
 married, she omitted to assure herself that truth i 
 and honor were among her husband's possessions. 
 You are old enough, dear child, and discreet 
 enough to licar of these things. And, oh \ God 
 grant that when you do love, it may be one you 
 
 must also respect ; or you had better be wedded 
 to your grave !" 
 
 An opportunity was, shortly after this conver- 
 sation, offered to Mrs. Vernon for making her in- 
 tended observations, as the f'olonel gave a large 
 party in honor of his daughters' return. Con- 
 stance, who was not quite sure that she was to 
 share all Helen's privileges, looked upon thispnrty 
 as a kind of test, and therefore, more earnestly 
 than usual, expressed her hope that she might le 
 present. This happened one morning during,' 
 breakfast, and while her father was with them, 
 when he, much more promptly than was his cus- 
 tom, replied, "Certainly;" and on her referrini:; 
 to her mother for her sanction, tlie reply again 
 was, " Certainly, if j'our papa wishes it." 
 
 " And I know he does; ao you not, dear papa .-" 
 said she, caressingly. 
 
 " Do not try and make a fool of me, Constance," 
 was the reply ; but though the words were rough, 
 not so the tone; and Constance, who was not eiisi- 
 ly daunted, replying. " No easy matter to do that," 
 jumped up and kissed his forehead. To her sur- 
 prise, he fondly returned it, and stroked her h;iir, 
 saying, "A true Templeton — but mind. I govern." 
 
 "Oh! not in all things," was her gay retort. 
 " Does he, mamma .'" 
 
 " Of course he does, my love," was the gentle 
 reply. 
 
 " And do you not try, Con., my beauty, to dis- 
 pute my wishes ; for, by Jove ! if you do, you will 
 be beaten." 
 
 " Oh ! fie ! a gentleman and a soldier, and t;i 1 
 of beating a lady !" she merrily observed : wlni 
 looking at her mother, and then at her father, s! 
 was suddenly reminded of something which ag.i i 
 brought back the look and attitude already un i • 
 than once mentioned. 
 
 " Why, you beautiful imp," said the Colonel, 
 infinitely amused at her boldness; " what do y \i 
 mean by assuming that striking attitude ^ S> v. 
 only want a sword and shield to look the very in 
 age of a young amazon." 
 
 " Really, papa," she replied, laughing nii-1 
 blushing, "I can not explain it. I think," mil 
 she immediately becnme very grave, " 1 think it 
 is something mysterious and supernatural. \ 
 long, very long time ngo, wlien I was quite a wee 
 thing, I liad a very remarkable dream. ' 
 
 ." Dear Constance," interrupted Helen, " what 
 nonsen.se you are telling papa." 
 
 V Not such nonsense as you think, Nelly ; but 
 of that both papa and mamma shall judge, if they 
 will lend me their ears." 
 
 " Oh, go on, pray!" said her father, eating his 
 breakfast and glancing at the paper; "it can 
 liardly be more strange or wonderful than to hear 
 a cheerful voice here." 
 
 Scoffer ! who had banished the cheerful voice, 
 and trampled on the happy heart .' 
 
 " Proceed, my l(,vo,' said her mother, making 
 an effort to appear insensible to the sneer. 
 
 " It is this," continued Constance, closing her 
 beautiful eyes, as if better to see with those of the 
 mind. " 1 drenmed that I was playing in some 
 grand place- verj- grand indeed — and there was 
 some one exceedingly beautiful, singing — and so 
 sweetly— that I put away my doll, and stood at 
 the side of this angel, who seems to have remind- 
 ed mo of mamma ; but all at once, I can not ex- 
 
THE WIFF.'S TIIIALS. 
 
 3V 
 
 plain how — you know how inconsistent dreams are 
 — instead of mnsic there were horrible sounds, 1 
 and a fierce animal, in red, lilce flames, flcAV at 
 the angel, and brandished some weapon to kill ' 
 her. when, in a moment, I seemed to i'eel that I ! 
 had wings, and I darted at this monster, and it 
 disappeared." 
 
 There was a dead silence, as if they waited to 
 hear more ; and when Constance opened her eyes, 
 she saw Helen with downcast looks and burning 
 cheek.s. the very picture of disuiay; while Mrs. 
 Templeton, with a calm expression, was collect: iig 
 a few scattered notes. 
 
 Constance gazed with wonder at her sister, and 
 was on the point of making some remark, for her [ 
 father's face was completely screened by his paper, 
 but a hoarse voice broke the uncomfortable silence 
 by saying, " There, that will do — enough of this ' 
 stuff;" and again the meal proceeded in quiet, for j 
 Constance felt there had been something mal-a- 
 projios in her relation. ' 
 
 The version — or vision — which Constance had 
 just given, thougli quite correct as to In r impres- 
 sion, was only a kind of allegory of a fact— one 
 that was neither mysterious nor supernatural. 
 When a very little child, she was in the grand 
 drawing-room vrith her mother, who was playing 
 and singing to amuse her, when the Colonel, } 
 dressed in hunting costume, entered, and after , 
 some violent words— no matter for what — proba- 
 bly his own vile nature inciting him, had, in his 
 unmanly fury, raised his whip, v hen Constance 
 shrieked and rushed between them. \^ hether the 
 unexpected appearance of the child, or the cour- \ 
 age of the act, made him ashamed of his own 
 cowardly movement, it matters not; but, as she 
 now spoke, the whole scene was belore him ; that 
 gentle, unresisting wife, and the brave little figure 
 which flew to her protection. Well did he remem- 
 ber it all. 
 
 But would he, could he have struck her .' he — 
 the man who had sworn solemnly to protect and 
 cherish her.' Poor thing! poor thing ! God only 
 knows what she had suftered ! 
 
 " I fear you are not well, dear friend," said 
 Mrs. Templeton, addressing Mrs. Vernon, when 
 the ladies assembled after dinner in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " My head is not quite comfortable," she re- 
 plied, with more truth than can iisually be said 
 of these convenient head attacks — so often the ex- 
 cuse and alias for ill-temper— but in this case , 
 Mrs. Vernon had seen quite ennugli, when added : 
 to Caroline's information, to make licrfeel anxious l 
 — for, reason as she would alout tlie suitableness ! 
 of the match, she was not easy, and felt that it 
 would be a great relief if she might impart her 
 thoughts to Mrs. Templeton — but all was at pres- 
 ent too vague, resting, as her impression did, 
 upon those uncertain things — looks, smiles, and 
 blushes ; so that, when she examined her evi- 
 dence, it amounted absolutely to nothing. 
 
 " How handsome they all look," said she to Lady 
 Dallas, whose good temper was ever ready to echo 
 praise. 
 
 " Yes, all of them," she replied, wi'h pointed and 
 kind emphasis; "that rich, half Span. sh face." 
 indicating Caroline, "contrasts charmingly with 
 the brown curia and Hue eyes of its neighbor." 
 
 " We require a Paris to assign the apple,' faid 
 Mrs. Forrester, who was looking in the sa>->; di- 
 rection. 
 
 " And, behold! Mr. West very aptly represents 
 him," was the smiling reply of Lady Dallas, for 
 several of the younger gentlemen had soon fol- 
 lowed the ladies ; " he seems to have no doubt aa 
 to which goddess deserves it ;" and she pointed to 
 Reginald and Helen, who were conversing at an 
 open window. 
 
 " It is a divided allegiance then," pursued Mrs. 
 Forrester, "for his looks are oiten cast toward 
 the drive leadin;; from Sea-View Cottage. I 
 know he is anxious to see his mother's little car- 
 riage. Ah ! there it is, I can tell by his smile, 
 and they are going to meet her ;" for Mrs. West, 
 whose health had lately visibly declined, now ap- 
 peared in society oidy for a short time, and was 
 drawn up in her hand-chaise to the terrace. 
 
 " How stately he looks, now he is helping her 
 out — and how gentle — if my sons resemble liim," 
 exclaimed Lady Dallas, " I shall not care how 
 soon 1 grow old ; need I .'" appealing to Mrs. For- 
 rester. 
 
 " Certainly not," she replied ; " old age should 
 be the repose and reward of the aflectiouate 
 parent." 
 
 "I have a fancy," remarked Mrs. Vernon, 
 " while acknowledging that every age has its 
 blessings, though every one is not permitted to 
 taste of them all — 1 fancy that age especially has 
 them in rich abundance — cf course, supposing a 
 well-spent, thotigli. perhaps, sorely tried, youth; 
 to age, the past is a book, the contents of which 
 have been thoroughly learned — whose lessons, ut- 
 tered to the ear of experience, teach nothing so 
 forcibly as the goodness of that providence wliich 
 doth all things wcU^while the present, insteac 
 of being busied in schemes for the future, whicl 
 may all end in disappointment, is used in humbly 
 but calmly resting on those promises which fail 
 not." 
 
 "Thanks, dear friend," said Mrs. Templeton, 
 the only one whose disciplined feelings enabled 
 her to reply ; and then followed a brief silence, 
 which was broken by her saying in a cheerful 
 tone, " But do look at Mrs. West and her escort ; 
 Ashley and Hubert will certainly dispute her with 
 lieginald — we shall have lances shivered before 
 long." 
 
 " I fear there is sorrow for Reginald written on 
 that fading face," remarked Mrs. Forrester, who 
 had a singular regard for Mrs. West, quite irre- 
 spective of her connections. 
 
 " And so do L"' r. plied Lady Dallas— she was 
 not quite cured cf all marplot habits, or she would 
 have resisted the temptation to add, " but I hope 
 he will find consolation in the fair one now by his 
 side." 
 
 " iVh ! indeed!" said Airs. Forrester, now first 
 roused to observe; " 1 confess you are more clear- 
 sighted tlian I — but it is what Mrs. Templeton 
 must expect." 
 
 " What must she expect .'" inquired she, ap- 
 proaching, having left the group for a few min- 
 utes to welcome Mrs. West. 
 
 " Oil !" said Lady Dallas, " only what mothers, 
 who h'ave beautiful daughters, are generally pre- 
 pared for — to lose them." 
 
 Mrs. Templeton turned pale, and following the 
 
40 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 direction of her ladyship's eye, saw at once what 
 she meant ; but she made no remark. 
 
 ^Vhen her company had gone, and she was 
 alone, she took courage to examine the founda- 
 tions on wliicli this new and unexpected terror 
 rested— yes, terror— for in lier idea, happiness 
 and marriage were by no means either synony- 
 mous terms or inseparably connected. Hitherto 
 she had blindly, or at least but partially, looked 
 at the future in reference to her daughters ; she 
 must now open her eyes and see it as it really was 
 — with all its possible accidents and perils — with 
 all its certain trials, its insecure and tieeting joys 
 — she ai^kcd herself if she had selfishly speculated 
 on retaining her blooming girls by her side; of 
 making them sharers in her dismal and hopeless 
 lot; of ilesiring them to be dwellers with her, 
 under that shroud- like canopy which excluded 
 both peace and rest ? She shuddered as sh^ 
 looked at tlds gloomy picture ; and " oh no !" she 
 exclaimed, " not for this have I watched and 
 prayed so long ; the same love that enabled me to 
 send them forth from me before, must give me 
 strength again to bid them depart ; and though 
 this separation will not have the hope of reunion, 
 which then consoled me, it will have the hope of 
 securing their happiness." 
 
 She then calmly passed in review all she re- 
 membered of Reginald's conduct from his youth — 
 his devotion to his mother — his respect and grati- 
 tude to his uncle — the successful struggle he had 
 made in yielding his own wishes to those of this 
 relative— his gentle, yet fearless and energetic 
 character — and she felt, that to such a man she 
 could give one of her treasures, as sure as we may 
 be of any thing on earth, that he would value 
 and cherish the gift ; and that the respect which 
 such qualities as his were certain to excite in a 
 kindred spirit, was the best guarantee for the con- 
 tinuance of the love which for the first time she 
 suspected Helen felt ; and she smiled to observe 
 that, already, she had become so familiar with the 
 idea, that slie was hoping it might be true, for of 
 her husband's consent she did not doubt ; and 
 thus satisfied on a matter of such deep import- 
 ance, she retired to rest, after having commended 
 all her dear ones to the care of that Being who 
 never slumbereth nor sleepeth. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "There is no life on earih. biu being in love ! 
 Tli.ro lire no studies no (J. lights, no business, 
 No inliTcoursf, or trade of sense, or soiii, 
 Bui wbiil Is love ! B. Jonson. 
 
 " Why, what a sleepless fellow you must be." 
 was .\shley Vernon's moruing salutation to l!e- 
 ginald, as the latter hailed his friend from his 
 bed-room window. 
 
 " On the contrary, it is liecause I have slept so 
 well, that I can afford to snutf the oarly air, and 
 brusli off this morning dew. I have come on a 
 twolold errand ; first to h.ive a talk with you, and 
 no.\t to change tiiese books,"' pointing to two of 
 goo<lly size which he carried. 
 
 " What ! have you devoured them already .' 
 You are more voracious than old Chronos— but 
 
 you have been at your usual tricks, skimming 
 them." 
 
 'If I have," replied Reginald, laughing, "I 
 have all the cream safe at home, in my old com- 
 monplace book, and some of these days, perhaps, 
 1 may churn it, and try to make it into something 
 solid. But I must not stand here alarming your 
 peaceful family — Ah! good-morning, Caroline; 
 if I were a stranger I should infallibly perpetrate 
 a compliment — quote Milton, and talk of Eve— but 
 being the friend of many years, 1 sliall merely say 
 you look quite beautiful." 
 
 " And 1 thank you for remarking so common an 
 occurrence," she replied, gayly, " as I fear it ia 
 often left quite unnoticed, till I go to the looking- 
 glass. But what is Ashley loitering at the win- 
 dow for .' of course you hsive come for some break- 
 fast — and how is your dear mother .' I thought 
 she seemed quite in spirits last evening." 
 
 " My mother I have not seen this morning, — my 
 hours are too early for an invalid ; but, like you, 
 I noticed how gay she was. I remember the time 
 when a visit to the Priory used to depress instead 
 of cheer the spirits ; but somehow the case is al- 
 tered now," 
 
 " Ah !" said Ashley, thrusting his handsome 
 head out of the window, " now play the hypocrite, 
 and pretend to be ignorant of the reason — but do 
 not expect me to imitate your duplicity — it is be- 
 cause there are angels there now, whose visitings 
 heretofore were short and far between."' 
 
 PLCginald colored crimson, which Ashley, who 
 was still looking at him, observed, and quietly 
 smiled — " I guess what he has come here to talk 
 to me about, with those legal quartos under his 
 arm— I suppose they will open of their own accord 
 at the chapters on matrimony, wives, and mar- 
 riage settlements" — then, after a thoughtful 
 pause, he added, still to himself, " well, he is a 
 true-hearted, noble fellow, and may be safely 
 trusted with that gentle girl's happiness." 
 
 " A penalty, Ashley," said his father, after the 
 usual greetings, as he entered when breakfast was 
 began. 
 
 " Here it is, papa," said Caroline; " ready for 
 him in the form of a cold cup of coffee ; he has 
 been pursuing his studies so assiduously before 
 his glass, that Time fled by all unheeded." 
 
 " Oh ! 1 leave serious literature to Keginald, 
 while I pursue only the beautiful and ornamen- 
 tal," retorted Ashley ; " look, sir," addressing 
 his father, and calling his attention to the thick 
 quartos, " at what he has been demolishing." 
 
 "Ah, indeed." replied Dr. Vernon; "points 
 your taste that way .' Avhy, Reginald, you had 
 better enter with Ashley, and read for the bar." 
 
 " There is nothing I should more gladly do, my 
 dear Doctor ; but you see 1 am not my own mas- 
 ter. My indulgent uncle leaves me scarcely any 
 thing to desire — certainly nothing that money 
 can procure. I have, at times, hinted my wish 
 to do something for myself; but he silences mo 
 by inquiring what he has omitted to do lor me. 
 Still, 1 am not sure, were there not another rea- 
 son which now prevents me, if I should not ven 
 ture to urge my wishes more strongly; though, 
 when 1 have this appointment he talks of, it will 
 perh;ips make me bu.sy enough." 
 
 •' A.sk him to give it you at once, my dear 
 young friend,"' replied the Doctor ; " emolument 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 is, to you, of no consequence, but employment 
 is." 
 
 "I feel all that very deeply, but I could not 
 now accept any post that carried me from Eng- 
 land ; my dear mother's health is so delicate" — 
 and a look of intense sorrow came over his bril- 
 liant and animated countenance— no one could 
 contradict him, all felt that thore was but too 
 much cause for apprehension, when every week 
 made the ravages of illness more and more appa- 
 rent. 
 
 " Now, what have you to say to me ?" inquired 
 Ashley, when they were alone ; " but to spare you 
 embarrassment, let me guess — it is about Helen — 
 am I right ?", 
 
 " You are, but how did you make this discov- 
 ery .'" asked Reginald, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " Only by the same tokens which rendered it 
 tolerably evident to all who had eyes." 
 
 " Good heavens ! you do not mean to say any 
 indiscretion on my part — " 
 
 " As to indiscretions," interrupted Ashley, " we 
 will not allude to tliem. Why, my dear fellow, I 
 heard Lady Dallas remark on it, with her usual 
 tact, to Mrs. Forrester ; and to crown all, in the 
 hearing of Mrs. Templeton !" 
 
 " Lady Dallas, of all people ! how unlucky !" 
 replied Reginald, looking very thoughtful ; I must 
 go at once to the Priory and see Mrs. Templeton ; 
 but do you really think she remarked any thing ? 
 I thought I was so guarded—" 
 
 " What she remarked or heard, I know no more, 
 for certain, than what she thought ; but disregard- 
 ing Lady Dallas and her troublesome sharp-sight, 
 what was your intention when you came here this 
 morning .'" inquired Ashley. 
 
 " To tell you the whole of what has been my 
 thought and wish for a long, long time — and to 
 consul^t you upon what was best to be done." 
 
 " And Jlrs. West .'" 
 
 " Oh ! my dear mother heard all last night— we 
 then settled that I ought, at once, to see Lord Er- 
 nest, of whose consent I have no doubt, and my 
 mother wished to know your opinion before I set 
 <rff." 
 
 " It coincides with yours ; on no account must 
 you go near the Priory till you go armed with 
 your uncle's approbation. And, Reginald, let me 
 make one reuiTirk : bring that consent in writing, 
 it is more respectful, and on every account desi- 
 rable. In short, you must make it rather a mat- 
 ter of importance." 
 
 •'I then start without delay — yet there is a 
 great temptation to stay. I heard them all 
 arrange to meet here this morning, and — " 
 
 "You will do no such thing," said Ashley; 
 " away with you immediately ; you a lover ! and 
 delay procuring what must enable you to win the 
 prize! — you forget the sooner you go, the sooner 
 you return." 
 
 "You are right; but, Ashley, my tried, kind 
 friend — " and Reginald laid his Iiand aflFection- 
 ately on young Vernon's shoulder, and looked full 
 in his fine face — 
 
 " What now ?" asked Ashley, with one of his 
 smiles, so frank, so gentle. 
 
 " Am I a thoughtless, selfish old fellow, in com- 
 ing thus to you r" he hesitated, and again fixed a 
 searching g:izo on Ashley. 
 
 " Be at rest, Reginald," replied the friend, so 
 
 rightly named tried and kind ; «• you have no 
 cause for fear or suspicion," and he met his 
 glance steadily. " If I Avere a clergyman, I 
 would now, at once if it might be, perform the 
 marriage ceremony for you ; but not being such, 
 I shall be delighted to give your lovely choice to 
 you whenever you need my services ; does this 
 declaration satisfy thee, thou doubter, or art thou 
 going to quarrel, because I do not acknowledge 
 thy lady-love to be peerless .'" 
 
 " I am satisfied," was the reply, as he warmly 
 shook Ashley's hand; "quite satisfied, quite 
 happy," and he felt as if relieved from the weiglit 
 of a dozen milestones; " but when I rciuember 
 that I have loved Helen for years — yes, years — 
 for it began with my deep reverence for her 
 mother, when I was a boy at Eton ; I wonder that 
 you do not the same — but now adieu. I shall not 
 write, but bring my tidings with me." 
 
 " And, pray, where is that loitering Mr, West, 
 as Cai'oline has set the fashion of calling him, 
 who for so many years has been Reginald to ua 
 all .'" asked Constance, as they sat round the 
 Rectory luncheon table. 
 
 " I expect he is many miles on his way to Old 
 Court," answered Ashley. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Caroline, glancing at 
 Helen's face, and trying to divert attention from 
 her glowing cheeks and downcast eyes ; " he said 
 nothing of this during breakfast." 
 
 " I hope Lord Ernest is not ill," said Constance, 
 who seemed influenced by the very spirit of in- 
 quiry ; " Mrs. West says he is a sad valetudina- 
 rian." 
 
 " Lord Ernest's life has been one that claims 
 our sincerest sympathy," said Mrs. Vernon ; " it 
 has the remembrance of one dreadful loss thrown 
 over it — a loss which to some natures is at once 
 decisive in casting a gloom on all subsequent 
 events." 
 
 " And yet," said Helen, " there are many who 
 have trials greater even than his — though that is 
 very terrible — but they do not, on that account, 
 seclude themselves from the world ; on the con- 
 trary, they mingle in it, and resolutely perform 
 the duties it claims from us all — from tlie sorrow- 
 ful as well as from the happy." 
 
 '■ Perhaps," said Caroline," their circumstances 
 will not allow of inactivity ; sometimes the duties 
 are so clamorous, they will not be neglected." 
 
 " All duties are clamorous," replied her mo- 
 ther, " if we did not persist in closing our ears to 
 their importunity ; and though all can not say, 
 ' at your peril neglect us,' depend upon it, if they 
 art neglected, they will be revenged." 
 
 " Still,'' said Constance. " we must make allow- 
 ance for difference of character, for bodily health, 
 for early discipline— do you not think so .-" 
 
 " We may, but the neglected duty will not— 
 at least, so I believe," said Ashley. 
 
 " How do you mean ?" asked Helen, raising her 
 gentle eyes to his earnest ones. 
 
 " I mean, that, in speaking of the vengeance, 
 as my mother rightly calls it, of the.se ill-used 
 duties, we do not consider, that punishment is as 
 often administered bj' witholding lilessings as by 
 inflictiiig penalties. Without the impropriety of 
 being pcrsDU.'il, let us imngine a man who has neg- 
 lected some duty — what shall it be .'" 
 
42 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS, 
 
 '•His duty to a dear, self-denying mother," ex- 
 claimed Helen, with unusual vehemence. 
 
 " Or been treacherous to his friend," suggested 
 Caroline. 
 
 " Or to his sister," said Constance with a smile 
 at Helen. 
 
 " Very well ; in either case he would lose the 
 delight which invariably attends the perfor- 
 mance of these duties ; while, I may add, he 
 would gain the troubled conscience which most 
 vexatioubly refuses to be comforted." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see," said Constance, shaking her 
 beautiful head, and looking very serious; " but, 
 as Ellen says, it must be very dreadful to lose 
 one we especially love, must it not r" 
 
 The remark was not addressed to any one in 
 particular, but Ashley spoke. 
 
 •' It must indeed !" was his grave reply. 
 
 Mr. Morton and his son were so uncertain in 
 their movements, and the business of the former 
 80 often carried him from the Hermitage, that 
 the Paul Prys of the village had long ceased to 
 trouble themselves about their proceedings ; es- 
 pecially as these were often kind, always harm- 
 less, and wholly devoid of that soupqon of secrecy 
 or mystery which is necessary to keep curiosity 
 alive. 
 
 Colonel Templeton frequently met Victor, dur- 
 ing some of the rambles in wliich tlie latter in- 
 dulged ; but, as he had hitherto always been 
 alone, tiiere was no excuse for accosting one 
 whose air and manner gave no encouragement to 
 freedom. One day, however, the Colonel was 
 riding in company with Sir William Dallas, when 
 they met Victor, and as the Baronet stopped to 
 speak to him, he and tlie Colonel exchanged 
 glances; and to the surprise of Sir William, who 
 fancied there was a standing feud between the 
 tenant of tlie Hermitage and ilie master of it, lie 
 said, " Who is that.' is it Mr. Morton's son .'" and 
 before the rather slow Sir William could reply, 
 Victor bowed and said very gravely, " 1 am 
 Victor Morton." 
 
 " Tiie son of the gentleman at the Hermit- 
 age .'" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " Then, by George !" said the Colonel. " he has 
 as handsome an heir as any man need desire ;" 
 and quite regardless of the young man's cold 
 looks or evident anger, at being treated with so 
 little deference, he said—" Harkye, young sir, 
 give my coiiipliiiients. Colonel Templeton's com- 
 pliments ti) ymir father, and say I shall be glad 
 to see you whenever he will let you come." | 
 
 A silent, but rather haughty bow was tlie only j 
 notice Victor took of this patronizing invitation, 
 while, as he turned away, he muttered, " The 
 consent of two must be obtained before I come." 
 But on naming ihia renc unter to his father, the 
 unexpected reply was, " Well, if he should meet 
 you again, and repeat the invitation, accept it, 
 by all means, if you like." 
 
 And they iKd meet, and the invitation was re- 
 newed, for Colonel Templeton was much too care- 
 less, an<i too great a lover of ca^e, to trouble 
 himself about what never interfered with him or 
 his plans. The original cause of the quarrel had 
 lost its prominence. , 
 
 It was, therefore, much to Mrs. Templeton's 
 
 amazement, that they one morning entered the 
 luncheon-room together. 
 
 " I have brought a stranger," said the Colonel; 
 " give him a welcome." 
 
 ■' Not quite a stranger," she replied, shaking 
 hands with Victor; " we have met at Sea- View 
 Cottage, where Mr. Victor so often supplies Re- 
 ginald's place. And as to the welcome, that, I 
 hope, he is sure of." 
 
 There was a charm about Victor's manners 
 which all felt, without being quite able to explain 
 in what it consisted. It arose from the freshness 
 and originality of his feelings and opinions, from 
 his frank and prompt, but nut intrusive confidence 
 — from the absence of all affectation or studied 
 arts. Quite unconscious that he differed from 
 most other youths of his age, in having a range 
 of ideas peculiar to his foreign residence and edu- 
 cation, he was as much more interesting than the 
 made-to-order lads of a mere classical academy, 
 as he was superior to the duelling, smoking, beer- 
 quafiing abominations who now infest every Ger- 
 man university town. 
 
 Colonel Templeton seemed strangely fascinated 
 with his new acquaintance, and as he himself 
 could still be a most agreeable companion, Victor 
 Morton thought himself in elysium, as he sat 
 chatting with his charming hostess. 
 
 " What a glorious place this is !" he exclaimed 
 looking on the noble expanse of lawn and park 
 which gently sloped on one side toward the spark- 
 ling brook, and on the other was belted by some 
 majestic trees which threw their deep and re- 
 freshing shade over the graceful deer that were 
 seen here and there through the tall stems. 
 '• Look at the sun on tliose gigantic oaks, it has 
 turned them into gold for catching its rays, 
 Why, it is a ' Herzogthum' in itself!" and his 
 looks. still lingered on the varied beauties of the 
 scene. 
 
 " Yes ! here I reign supreme !" laughed the 
 gratified owner. 
 
 "That of course you do," was the quiet reply ; 
 and he looked at the noble features and command- 
 ing figure before him ; and then he added, as if 
 u jiro/ios to the remark, " And there you are, 
 reminding your vassals of you, when not present," 
 pointing to his portrait. 
 
 As they left tlie table, Victor approached it 
 nearer, for the purpose of examining it more ac- 
 curately. "It is still very like you," said he; 
 and then, in a simple, ?iuive manner continued, 
 " you must have been very handsome." 
 
 " You are quite a courtier," returned the 
 Colonel: " the next time you come, I will showyoii 
 a ievf choice specimens of painting, as you appear 
 a lover of art : and do not let it be long before 
 I have the pleasure of seeing you." 
 
 " And do you, Madam, echo the Colonel's kind 
 invitation to come again .'" asked Victor, respect- 
 fully appealing to Mrs. Templeton ; " for, with- 
 out it, I must resist the temptation " .And as she 
 quickly set him at rest about her sanction, with 
 a volubility which seemed part of a sensitive and 
 impulsive nature, he turned to Colonel Templeton 
 and said, " Will you be so kind as to give me at 
 once the card which will admit me to Hurstwood 
 Hall .' I have heard so much of some foreign 
 paintings which are there, that I am anxious of 
 seeing them." 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 43 
 
 And the Colonel, -who was in excellent temper, 
 really pleased with his young guest, gave him a 
 note to the housekeeper, Avhich would procure 
 him admittance at any time. 
 
 These visits were frequently repeated ; but 
 Victor found that one of his golden idols had a 
 more than usual ajloy of base metal in its compo- 
 sition — which was always evident, wlien it was 
 brought into contact with the other— in plain 
 language, Victor discovered that the Colonel did 
 not treat his wife well— and, as he remarked to 
 himself, " and such a wife !" This notable dis- 
 covery he imparted to his father, at which, though 
 he showed no surprise. Mr. Morton expressed 
 great, disquiet, while Victor declared he was 
 more indignant than he could well express, mut- 
 tering something about " ceasing his visits to the 
 Priory." 
 
 " 1 must sincerely commend your warmth of 
 feeling, my dear boy," said Mr. Morton ; " but 
 the only use you can make of this discovery is to 
 avoid in youiself the indulgence of tempers and 
 passions which you condemn, for you must not be 
 Quixotic enough to make a feud of another's 
 ■wrongs. I believe that to be always unwise — • 
 generally injurious to the one with whom we sym- 
 pathize ; and I should on many accounts be sorry 
 that you ceased to visit the Priory. I think it 
 does you good to be with so charming a person as 
 Mrs. Templeton, irrespective of the advantage you 
 derive from the society you often meet there ; and 
 I am truly sorry that we shall be leaving England 
 before the Miss Templetons return from this wed- 
 ding, which has prevented you from becoming 
 much acquainted with them." 
 
 " And so ami, for 1 suspect that before our re- 
 turn, one, at least, will have been carried off." 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Yes, Miss Templeton, and a noble fellow he is 
 "who wins, if I do no mistake." 
 
 " Mr. West or Mr. Hubert ?" asked his father. 
 Oh ! not Hubert, he is a handsome, generous, 
 spoilt only son," said Victor, laughing at this de- 
 scription of himself ; " but no — no — he is not for 
 Miss Templeton." 
 
 A very few days after this conversation, Victor 
 Went to the Priory, to pay his farewell respects 
 previous to his leaving England ; and addressing 
 Mrs. Templeton, he alluded to the pleasure his 
 visits there had afifordedhim, and expressed a hope, 
 that on his return he should not find himself for- 
 gotten. 
 
 " No fear of that, my fine fellow," said the Col- 
 onel, who was always kind and friendly to Vic- 
 tor, even while offending him by his conduct to 
 Mrs. Templeton ; " and pray where are you going 
 now .'" 
 
 " For a few weeks to Germany ; I expect after- 
 ward to meet my father in Spain." 
 
 •' In Spain '." repeated the Colonel, with an ev- 
 ident change of countenance. 
 
 " Yes, have you any friends there .' pray tell 
 me. I should like to know them, and give them 
 news of you and your family." 
 
 "Oh! no, I know no one there; but to what 
 part of Spain shall you go .'" 
 
 " I can not exactly say. We shall go most 
 likely to various parts ; perhaps you do not know 
 that my father was a merchant, and has corre- 
 ^ondents almost everywhere. One of my sisters, 
 
 my half-sister, is named Inez, after some Spanish 
 I lady." 
 
 "Inez! my God!" exclaimed the Colonel, with 
 I a start that made his wife look at him with sur- 
 I prise. 
 
 ! " Yes," replied Victor, as if in apology, " the 
 I name does sound romantic and odd here, but there 
 I it is common enough." 
 
 I "True, true," muttered the Colonel; but for all 
 I that the name seemed still odd to him. 
 
 " I am gazing my farewell to this sweet place," 
 ' said Victor, as he turned from the window ; and 
 I then looking intently at the Colonel, who stood by 
 I his portrait, he asked abruptly, " Were you ever 
 in Spain, sir .'" 
 
 " No !" boldly replied he ; but catching the as- 
 tonished look of Mrs. Templeton, he quickly 
 added, " Oh ! yes, with my regiment, years ago. 
 
 " Oh !" remarked Victor, " as long ago as that. 
 And you have not been at Seville since i" 
 ■ " No— yes — no, certainly," were the stammered 
 and contradictory answers. 
 
 " It is very odd," said the youth, as if musing 
 on something not quite clear ; " but about two, 
 say three years ago, I saw a gentleman so very 
 like you at Constantina, which is only a few 
 leagues from Seville ; the resemblance was re- 
 markable." 
 
 " That is extremely probable," said the Colonel, 
 speaking quietly, but as if with diflSculty ; " I am 
 not the only one like myself. And were you liv- 
 ing there at that time .'" 
 
 " Oh, no, we were merely on a visit to an old 
 friend ; my father has a talent for finding and 
 leaving friends everywhere ; but I remember that 
 Englishman well— lor he was English — though hid 
 name I never rightly heard ; but old Dolores, one 
 of the servants, drew my attention to him, by 
 sending a very doubtful blessing after him." 
 
 Seville ! Constantina, Inez, Dolores ! why did 
 these names wake a host of recollections in the 
 Colonel's mind .' Why was it as if a nest of ad- 
 ders had been suddenly roused to fury in his 
 heart ? 
 
 Reginald lost no time, after having taken leave 
 of his mother, in reaching Old Court, the name 
 of the estate which Lord Ernest inherited from his 
 mother; it was a charming but secluded place, 
 situated on the borders of Wales, but its quiet 
 and seclusion rendered it all the more valuable to 
 her son, an amiable and kind man, but strong 
 neither in mind or body 
 
 Reginald tliought his uncle looking unusually 
 ill ; and remarked that a nervous restlessness had 
 taken the place of his accustomed apathy and in- 
 ertness. He, however, listened to Reginald's 
 statement of his case with great kindnis.-s ; prumpt- 
 ly gave his consent, and talked of the arrange- 
 ments he should make; but expressed a wish that 
 there should be no haste, remarldng that both par- 
 ties were very young. 
 
 Reginald thought that the man who was old 
 enough to woo should be considered old enough to 
 wed ; but on the other point he satisfied his undo 
 that there could not be any hurry, for he said lii.s 
 mother's health required both care and change of 
 residence, and that directly this matter, regai-d- 
 ing his settlement for life, which was so important 
 to his happiness, should be concluded, he meant 
 
44 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 to accompany her to Harrowgate, a place strongly 
 recommended by her medical attendant. 
 
 He hinted at the propriety of Lord Ernest writ- 
 ing to Colonel Templeton; but this his uncle so 
 decide<lly declined doing, and appeared so startled 
 at the mere idea of such an effort, that Reginald 
 could not make up his mind again to allude to it, 
 though he well remembered that Ashley had 
 thought it both important and desirable. 
 
 When he retired for the night, accompanied by 
 the old butler, to whom he announced his inten- 
 tion of returning to Seabrooke the next day, that 
 worthy man. who had known Reginald from a boy, 
 smilingly hoped he was not taking a liberty in 
 wishing; him joy, for, he added, his Lordship had 
 condescended to inform him of the cause of Mr. 
 Reginalds short visit. 
 
 "Thank you, Roberts, thank you, old friend," 
 replie<l Reginald, " but the battle is not gained, 
 the prize not won yet ; to have secured my uncle's 
 consent is but the fii'st, and, perhaps, the easiest 
 step, and you will oblige me by not repeating any 
 information you may receive ; for a rejected suit- 
 or cuts but a sorry figure." 
 
 " Under favor, Mr. Reginald, you can never be 
 either a sorry figure or a rejected suitor,*' said 
 Robert, looking at the handsome young man be- 
 fore him ; and adding, with a smile, " young ladies 
 have eyes. But, sir, did you know that Mrs. 
 Melville is here .'" 
 
 " No ; where is she ? But I really have not 
 time to call on her at present ; and, indeed I do 
 not see the necessity for her knowing that I have 
 been here, as my affairs can not concern her." 
 
 " She will not learn that or any thing else 
 from me," replied Robert, significantly ; " but she 
 has been here, on and off, for the last year, and 
 I wonder, sir, you did not know of it. She has 
 taken a cottage near Oswestry, and she and 
 Miss are very much here." 
 
 " Well, Roberts, I understand what you mean; 
 but she must see that that is a hopeless scheme, 
 and I suppose she is now legacy hunting. I fear 
 she will always be poor, but a few hundreds 
 given her can not harm any one, and may settle 
 her for life." 
 
 " Very true, sir, but I hope you will soon be 
 here again. I think my Lord wants you, and 
 to my mind he is far from being well or comfort- 
 able." 
 
 " I am truly sorry to have made the same re- 
 marks on his health," said Reginald ; " you may 
 depend ujion my return as soon as possible; and 
 now gO(jd-uight, Roberts ; my uncle has my per- 
 mission to tell you any good news relating to 
 me." He recalled these last words, the next 
 morning, as he slowly rode from Old Court to 
 meet the mail. "And will there be good news 
 to tell.=" asked Reginald. " What if Helen should 
 not love me .'" and he felt that the bare thought 
 made him shiver and turn faint : " what if I 
 have been an egregious coxcomb, and have taken 
 it for granted that I have nothing to do but to 
 a£k and recei\e — yet Heaven knows that is not 
 my presumptuous notion, and Helen must know 
 it also. She must have seen how I liave waited 
 and watclied for every trifling indication that I 
 was not disliked ; and she must surely pardon 
 me if I have hoped and prayed that I might be 
 loved, though even she does not yet know for 
 
 how many years she has shared my love with my 
 1 dear mother. If I have mistaken what is kind- 
 ness and gentleness to all for a feeling that is 
 more exclusive, God forgive me ; but if so, life 
 has but little brightness left for me." And sm 
 he felt more and more the necessity of ascertain- 
 ing his fate, he urged on his -horse, as if by so 
 doing he could hasten the arrival of the mail ; it, 
 however, gave hitu time more calmly to antici- 
 pate the luture, and he resolved, instead of en- 
 couraging gloomy apprehensions, to brace up his 
 courage, and meet in a manly spirit what might 
 be in reserve for him. 
 
 And are we to imagine that Reginald's man- 
 ner, which drew upon him the sharp eyes of 
 Lady Dallas, and caused Mrs. Templeton such 
 I deep thought, was unnoticed by Helen : by no 
 means ; though to her it was nothing so uncom- 
 ' mon as to excite any thing but feelings of pleasure. 
 If Helen had been asked by any one but the one, 
 do you love Reginald West .' it is probable she 
 would readily and frankly have answered in the 
 affirmative ; and it was not till she heard at the 
 Rectory of his second visit to Old Court, so im- 
 mediately after their last meeting, that she be- 
 I came conscious there had been more than.usual 
 ' tenderness in his tone and manner, and that from 
 I his eloquent eyess he had received lair, speakless 
 j messages, which .'•he now. for the first time, 
 1 though without either astonishment or appre- 
 i hension, read to mean love ! But when a thou- 
 sand circumstances, light as air, came thronging 
 into her memory, combined with this unexpected 
 absence, Helen began to think more seriously of 
 the influences the last few months had left. 
 During that time, almost every day had brought 
 her and Reginald together ; till, following up the 
 examination, she found the days that had not, 
 had never, to her, been so happy. She now saw 
 this state of affairs could not last, and she un- 
 derstood immediately why he had gone to Old 
 i Court. And then she asked herself the solemn 
 I question, did she love Reginald enough to be- 
 come his wife — to trust him with her happiness 
 — to share his fate .' and her heart emphatically 
 replied that she did. 
 
 Happy Helen ! to her all seemed now settled, 
 and she could peacefully await his return: for 
 not a doubt of his love darkened the brightness 
 of her trusting affection. And as io distrusting 
 his worth, there was treachery to him in the 
 mere surmise. Oh, no! he would- speedily re- 
 turn, and then their happiness would be shared 
 by those they both so truly loved. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother, congratulate me," 
 cried Reginald, kissing with extreme tenderness 
 the pale face that was raised on his appearance, 
 after his journey, for he had preferred being his 
 own mes.'^enger ; " so far all is well ; my uncle 
 is most kind, and though I must not say lie was 
 enraptured at my request, he promises all I can 
 desire." 
 
 " Heaven be praised for that," replied Mrs. 
 West; "and now, dear Reginald, what is the 
 next step.' for though it has been very difficult 
 to do so, having seen so much of them all, and 
 received hourly kindness from them, I li.ive faith- 
 fully kept your secret." 
 
 " 1 shall go at once to the Priory and learn my 
 fate from the Colonel and Mrs. Templeton, and 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 43 
 
 then, oh ! they must, they will consent ; then, 
 see Helen, the most important, thougli the last." 
 
 '• Then go, my son, and may your affection to 
 your mother be reAvarded by your winning the 
 love of that dear girl." 
 
 llegiuald set off at once, far too much excited 
 to rest till he knew his fate ; and he had very 
 nearly reached the last terrace walk, when 
 til rough the shrubbery he saw a lady's dress 
 fluttering. Though he had decided on first 
 si'L'akiug to the Colonel, various impressions 
 wiiich He had received, and many well-known 
 t.icts he had heard of his character, now made 
 liiiii hesitate about the wisdom of paying him 
 this mark of respect; and resolving to see who 
 tills was, and, if Helen, ascertain her sentiments 
 at once, he followed the fluttering drapery, and 
 saw that it did belong to her. 
 
 His lieart beat and his face flushed as, quick- 
 ening his pace, he approached, and, as calmly as 
 he could, greeted her ; but something in his 
 manner was contagious. She visibly changed 
 countenance, while her agitation deprived her of 
 all self-command, or assuredly her first words 
 wmld not have been, "I thought you were at 
 Old Coui-t ':" 
 
 •1 have been there, and have but now re- 
 turned ; and oh ! Helen," he continued, in a tone 
 of touching entreaty, " if my errand here, at this 
 moment, be but as successful as my mission there 
 was, what will there be left for me to desire ? 
 Helen.'"' he said, gently taking her hand, "I 
 went there to tell my uncle that I love you ; he 
 •was pleased to hear it, and gave me his lolessing. 
 I now come to tell you that I love you — though 
 how deeply, you may, perhaps, never know. 
 Helen ! dearest Helen ! what will you do ?" 
 
 " Do the same," she whispered, lifting her lov- 
 ing eyes ftarles.-ily to his beaming face. 
 
 And what was his reply ? Why, a rapturous 
 kiss on the now drooping lids, and another on 
 the sweet mouth, while he softly said, " Helen ! 
 my wife .'" 
 
 " Yes !" she answered ; then, after a pause, 
 which neither cared to break, she said, "But, 
 Reginald, my father !" 
 
 " I shall see and speak to him forthwith, and 
 Mrs. Templeton also. I leave you for a short 
 time for that purpose." 
 
 And proudly did the young lover traverse the 
 terrace and seek the Colonel, whom he fortunately 
 found at home. 
 
 -Colonel Templeton expressed much surprise at 
 the object which had led to the interview, for he 
 owned he had never once thought of sucii a re- 
 sult ; he, however, very readily gave his con- 
 sent, provided Lord Ernest performed his prom- 
 ise with respect to settlements, of which his 
 nephew had not the least doubt; and, in his 
 present flow of good temper, he wished Reginald 
 joy, but he never once asked whether Helen was 
 likely to ratify the contract, nor did he allude to 
 his wife, and under these circumstances, Keg- 
 inald did not think it necessary to inform him 
 that his daughter's consent had been already ob- 
 tained. Allthe Colonel said, was, "There, now 
 go and see where they all are, and then return 
 to me, and let us talk over the matter quietly." 
 
 Helen, after Reginald left her, crossed the 
 flower-garden more like a somnambulist than any 
 
 waking, thinking being. She mechanically as- 
 cended the stairs, till, on reaching the corridor, 
 the voice of Constance was heard accompanying 
 the piano, by which Helen knew she was not with 
 her mother. 
 
 Quietly passing their own rooms, she stopped 
 at the door of Mrs. Templeton's boudoir, and, 
 tapping, entered. She glided rather than walked 
 toward her mother, who looked at her very anx- 
 iously, attracted by her strange manner; then, 
 I falling on her knees, she took her hand, saying, 
 " Mamma, give me your blessing." 
 
 " Helen ! what means this, my love .'" 
 
 "Reginald loves me, dear mother, and I lovo 
 him, oh! so much, so much, and so long!" and a 
 flood of tears relieved both herself and Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton. who had begun to feel alarmed, as she 
 had no idea of Reginald's return and visit to the 
 Priory. 
 
 " My dear child! my precious Helen! what is 
 it all .' tell me, tell your mother !" 
 
 " Oh ! send for Reginald," she replied ; " he is 
 with papa — he will tell you." 
 
 " Remain here quietly till I return," said her 
 mother, leading her to the sofa, and then pro- 
 ceeding to Constance, she, in few words, told her 
 suspicions; and before the latter could well re- 
 cover from her astonishment, they heard the door 
 of >the library open and close, when Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton begged her to seek Reginald, and bring 
 him to her boudoir. 
 
 " Now, Helen," she said, as she returned and 
 seated herself by her daughter, "Reginald will 
 soon be here. Shall I see him alone, or will you 
 be present ?" 
 
 "1 will be present, and Constance, too — all I 
 love best, come togetlier. Ah ! dear Constance," 
 as her sister entered, leaning on Reginald's arm, 
 which she quitted to embrace and caress Helen, 
 while he, approaching her, said. " Helen, your 
 father consents. Dear Mrs. Templeton, will you 
 take me for your sou ? Constance, may 1 be your 
 brother r" 
 
 " Oh ! Reginald, how happy I am !" she replied, 
 though her tears seemed to contradict her words ; 
 and perceiving that her mother looked pale, and, 
 as if struggling for words, she said to her, " Dear- 
 est mamma ! you hear he does not ask you to give 
 him Helen, but to accept him. Will you not, 
 dearest, and let me henceforth have a brother to 
 pet and love .'" 
 
 " Very readily, indeed, do I accept you, my 
 dear Reginald, as my son, and may we all, as 
 long as we live, remember this hour with grati- 
 tude. But, Constance, we must now seek your 
 father and thank him ;" and both having affec- 
 tionately shaken hands with Reginald and con- 
 ' gratulated him, they left the two most deeply in- 
 i terested in this case, and turned toward the stair 
 head. But Constance, gently putting her arm 
 round her mother, led her into her own pretty 
 dressing-room, and placing her in an easy chair, 
 she drew a footstool close to it, and sat at her 
 mother's feet in perfect silence. 
 I After a few minutes thus spent, Mrs. Temple- 
 ton asked, " Constance, what is it ?" 
 
 " Mamma, I do not think I shall advise you to 
 ' seek papa ; he ought, on this occasion at least, to 
 have sought you ; so let me rule this once."' 
 1 " Be it so," was the assenting reply ; for, in 
 
46 
 
 THE AYIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 truth, when Mrs. Tcmplcton proposed seeking her 1 
 husband, it was a mere excuse for leaving the 
 room, as she correctly anticipated, that though I 
 they might both consent to tliis marriage, their 
 reasons lor so doing would, if examined, be found 
 widely dissimilar. She knew that even on this 
 interesting occasion, as in all other matters, there j 
 would not, there could not, be the least sympathy i 
 between them ; and, therefore, yielding, very rea- 
 dily, to the wish of Constance, they sat and dis- j 
 cu.ssed. what to Constance was a most unexpected 
 event, for more than an hour; when Helen en- 
 tered to say that Reginald wished her to go with 
 hiin to see his mother. 
 
 " Dear Helen I" said Constance, smiling and 
 embracing her, " this will make no difference 
 with our love ; it will be as great and as strong 
 as evor ;" but there was a tone, a very faint tone, 
 of sadness in her voice. 
 
 " Quite, sweet sister ! my heart is very large, 
 and has plenty of room when love knocks and in- 
 tnxluces a guest. Reginald usui-ps no one's place, 
 dearest mamma !" and she threw her arms fondly 
 round her mother, who silently pressed her to her 
 heart in a long, loving caress. 
 
 Ah ! how happ3' was this first walk taken to- 
 gether by Reginald and his Helen ! How delight- 
 lul the idea that the cherished one by his side 
 loved him — was his — about to be his wife — that 
 he was now taking her to his mother, and with 
 her would receive that mother's blessing. 
 
 And how solemn ! how fervent ! how loving was 
 that blessing, as pronounced by the mother, on 
 him who to her had ever been the first of earthly 
 gifts ; on him who had so richly repaid her love ; 
 and tlien. when she turned to that fair girl he had 
 now brought with him, scarcely less tender was 
 the praj-er for her — for her who was heucetorth 
 to be the light and joy of her son"s existence. She 
 inew full well that, as regarded herself, the place 
 that now knew her would soon know her no more ; 
 End earnestly did she entreat that they might be 
 both blessed, when they went out and when they 
 came in, and that love from on high might sanc- 
 tify their union, and be theirs till the end ! 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 -IIow ihe innocent 
 
 " Wht-n all the bustle and excitement previous 
 to this welding', and the wedding itsAt'. are over," 
 said I>r. Vernon, a few months after the engage- 
 ment had been made public, " 1 think 1 shall take 
 tli(( ojipt)rtunity of having some needful repairs 
 done to the church and the Rectory ; my diocesan 
 has given me six months" leave of aljsence. I shall 
 procure a substitute ; and as the school-roon)s 
 have lately been put to rights, service can be per- 
 forme<l in them." 
 
 " But the time for the marriage is not yet fixed," 
 observe<l .\shley, who hail been one of the earliest 
 and warmest in his congratulations to his friend ; 
 " arid I can not lielp wishing that Lord Ernest 
 were a little brisker in his movement?." 
 
 "Hear the gentleman of the long robe con- 
 demning delay," cried Caroline, with a laugh ; 
 " why, I thought delay was the motto of your pro- 
 fession ;" 
 
 '• Prejudice, my dear sister, or, properly speak- 
 ing, ^'ulgar ignorance, alone says that," replie<l 
 Ashley ; ■' the injustice of some, the falsehood of 
 others, the unreasonable expectations of a third, 
 in short, all the follies and vices acting on a liti- 
 gious spirit, array themselves against speed and 
 progress, and then accuse the law and the law- 
 yers. Who and what make lawsuits .' the fraud 
 or avarice of clients, not lawyers; and I will no 
 more suffer them to be abused, because some are 
 knaves, than I would permit the clergy to be 
 branded as h^-pDcritical and grasping, because 
 there may be found Tartuffes and Hai'pagons 
 among thtm." 
 
 " Well said, Ashley," exclaimed the Doctor : 
 " and I thank you ; for there is no profession oi 
 trade either which has not its dishonorable mem- 
 bers; and if these formed the majority, they 
 would soon destroy it altogether. But while the 
 good and bad are mixed, though the former ever 
 preponderate, let us be mercitul, and, above all, 
 by our conduct try to honor that profession to 
 which we respectively belong." 
 
 " I see I am expected to cry culpa min" said 
 Caroline, taking her brother's arm; " an 1 1 !a 
 most humbly; but this docs not hasten L' : 1 i.i- 
 nest, nor accelerate the preparations for tU. ^v.■ 1- 
 ding. I really believe, if dear Mrs. West had hor 
 way, it would take place at once ; but that, of 
 course, can not be." 
 
 " I fear, my dear father," said Ashley. " that 
 Reginald will have to mourn before he rejoices. 
 Lady Dallas, who has recently spent a few days 
 near Harrowgate, speaks of Mrs. West's case ;!s 
 quite hopeless, though she says that Reginal I 
 seems strangelj* blind to the rapid and alarming 
 change." 
 
 " Our affections are most deceitful guides," re- 
 marked Mrs. Vernon ; " sometimes we see, or 
 fancy we see, virtues and excellences which have 
 no existence : at other times, we appear to be be- 
 reft of all sense, and can neither see nor hear 
 what the heart shrinks from acknowledging, 
 though it is most glaringly the truth." 
 
 " Have you heard the report that Lord Hurst- 
 wood has returned from St. I'etersburgh, loaded 
 with honors ?" asked Hubert Forrester of Lady 
 Dallas. 
 
 " No ! when and where did you hear of it :" 
 
 " I called at the Priory this morning to ask 
 after Mrs. West, about whom my mother is much 
 distressed. I there saw Mis§ Sinclair, who had 
 received the news from one of her corrcsiX)nd- 
 ents.'' 
 
 " Did she say whether he is expected at tlie 
 Hall.'" inquired her ladyship. 
 
 "She said it seemed' doubtful; the report is. 
 that he intends to visit hie Irish estates first, an 1 
 the same report goes on to say, he means to re- 
 pose on his honors, and marry." 
 
 " How very otld of liim never to have married 
 before ;" and thinking of her daughters, La'ly 
 I'allas .said, " pray how old is he r" 
 
 ■' About seven or eight years younger than tli 
 Colonel ; perhaps forty-three or five, perhaps ntt 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 4T 
 
 so much," answered Hubert, to whom he seemed 
 
 quite an ancient. 
 
 " Oh ! not so very old, after all," said the spec- 
 ulating mamma ; and she quickly did a little bit 
 oi' mental arithmetic to this effect : take fourteen 
 — the age of the eldest daughter — from forty- 
 tliree, we will say three, for the sake of the argu- 
 ment — how many remains ? answer, twenty-nine. 
 Tliere is no disputing figures, they are so obsti- 
 nate, so always the same ; and do the sum as she 
 would, the answer was, twenty-nine ! so she de- 
 ciiled that there ivas a difference in age — his 
 Iiiidship was too old; and, turning to Hubert, she 
 a.xkcd, wliat had been the reply to his inquiries 
 alier Mrs. West ? 
 
 " She is very bad— no hope — I only saw Miss 
 Sinclair," he said. 
 
 A few days after this conversation, the rumor 
 respecting Lord Hurstwood was confirmed by his 
 appearance, but only for a very brief period. 
 
 •• Mrs. West's health, I understand, will prevent 
 any party being given at the Priory in honor of 
 his Lordship's return," said Lady Dallas to Mrs. 
 Forrester ; " but Sir William has an invitation to 
 a large dinner party, of gentlemen only, at the 
 Hall." 
 
 " So has Mr. Forrester and Hubert. Miss Sin- 
 clair told me yesterday that the last accounts of j 
 Mrs. West, though rather better, are still very j 
 disti'essing ; this is a sad interruption to prospects 
 wliich seemed so bright and happy." 
 
 " Of course all talk of the wedding is now 
 stopped ; but, in the event of her death, will it he 
 postponed for the whole term of mourning ?" in- 
 quired Lady Dallas. 
 
 '• I apprehend not ; but my informant is always 
 either .Miss Sinclair or Constance, for poor Helen 
 is sadly depressed ; and Constance told me that 
 Mrs. West had exacted a promise from her son that 
 tlie ceremony should take place quietly, as soon 
 after her death as was at all consistent ; for he 
 is now quite aware that recovery is hopeless." 
 
 Poor Reginald; at length the blow fell— the 
 silver cord was broken — and, one sad and true 
 mourner sat in the darkened rooms of that silent 
 l.uuse, feeling all the bitterness of desolation; 
 and for a time he refused to be comforted. 
 
 Ashley Vernon — that true friend— left all, and 
 v.-.'ut to him. Helen wrote to him, and her let- 
 liTs at this time were his chief consolation. Mrs. 
 ToinpLton. Constance, all the kind hearts at the 
 llectory gave him the full tribute of their sympa- 
 thy ; but while weeping with him for his great 
 loss, his old friend. Dr. Vernon, reminded him 
 tlia.t he was not to sorrow as one without liope. 
 and recalled to his memory the many blessings 
 still left to him ; one loan, it is true, had been re- 
 claimed, but how rifany were still left! 
 
 CHAPTER, XXI. 
 
 " When sorrows cnme, they come not single spie". 
 But in biittalions." lluvdet. 
 
 Ska-View Cottage, which, before Mrs. West's 
 death had been occupied by the gentleman who 
 was to supply Dr. Vernon's place during his ab- 
 
 sence, was now engaged by him for several 
 months ; for as it was clear that, at present, there 
 could not be any wedding, tlie Rector had decided 
 on taking his departure ; and preparations were 
 made, about a month after the death of Mrs. West, 
 for the whole family to leave. 
 
 They meant first to visit Charles, and then to 
 see other friends, who put forth claims of many 
 years' standing; and as their absence would be 
 for six months, they hoped, on their return, to 
 find that peace had again settled on the hearts that 
 had been so recently and severely pained. 
 
 Reginald had paid a hurried and unsatisfactory 
 visit to Old Court, and on leaving it, his uncle in- 
 sisted so strenuously on his taking a check lor a 
 thousand pounds, in order, as lie said, to pay any 
 debts — though Mrs. West had never exceeded her 
 income, and Reginald's allowance was really mu- 
 nificent—that he felt quite embarrassed at this 
 new proof of his uncle's generosity. 
 
 A fortnight at the Priory did much to restore 
 his over-tried spirit, and then Ashley and he 
 went to make a Highland tour, including Craiga- 
 lan, to which place they had been most cordially 
 invited. All these arrangements were sad con- 
 trasts to the gayety wliich had been anticipated ; 
 but amid the sorrow and desolation which he so 
 keenly felt, Reginald had the inexpressible com- 
 fort to find, that Helen, she whom he had chosen 
 as his partner through life — his partner in woe 
 as in weal — was fitted for that duty ; it was her 
 sweet voice that spoke of submission, of resigna- 
 tion ; it was her assurance, that his she was and 
 ever would be, that made his heart open to happi- 
 ness, and sustained him in his deep distress. 
 
 Constance was at first vehement in her expres- 
 sions of grief ; but when she looked at the calm 
 face of her mother, and fancied tliat it looked 
 sadder and paler than usual, she sliuddered, and 
 the thought flashed across her mind, that the de- 
 stroying angel might lay its icy coU iiand on that 
 loved head, and thus rebuke her rebellious spirit ; 
 therefore she no more let it be seen that she 
 needed consolation, but administered it to those 
 who had been more sorely tried than hei'self. 
 
 Colonel Templeton had been so indifferent about 
 his daughter's marriage, though when it was 
 alluded to he always expressed his satislaction, 
 that his insensibility now was nothing remarka- 
 ble ; but the silence and sorrow impressed on all 
 around seemed sometimes to, annoy him ; and then 
 he went to consult Cooper — almost his shadow — or 
 shut himself up with letters which seemed greatly 
 to interest him — or went to town, where he had 
 business with Mr. Sloper, his lawyer. • 
 
 Cecilia Grantham, who was still in Italy, wrote 
 to say, that gay or sad, in black or white, Helens 
 bridesmaid she must and would be, and desired to 
 have timely information of her services being re- 
 quired, so as to settle for her departure. 
 
 Laurette, who had been visiting the Westroughs, 
 remained in England for the same purpose, as it 
 was understood Mrs. West's wisiies would be re- 
 spected as to hastening the marriage ; but as she 
 had no taste for any thing dismal, she availed her- 
 self of Mrs. Forrester's invitation, and made For- 
 est Hill her head-quarters, in preference to the 
 Priory. This arrangement answered a double pur- 
 pose — first, there was no reason why she should 
 eschew society, because Mrs. West had died ; and 
 
48 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 secondly, she should be in the same house with i sent on to Craigalan, with Helen's daily dispatch ; 
 Hubert Forrester ; whom, though younger than but here it awaited the travelers two days, their 
 herself, and who had hitherto been strangely in- ] progress not having been so easy as they had ex- 
 sensible to the fair Lauretta's many attractions, pected. 
 
 she had resolved to win. That his parents would On their arrival, after receiving a most cordial 
 approve of the match she did not the least doubt ; welcome from the Sinclairs, Reginald seized his 
 for, in every respect, she came up to the standard letters, the precious ones from Helen claiming' 
 they had established as necessary to their daugh- I precedence — yet, with a lover's jealousy, receiv- 
 ter-in-l.ifr — rich, well-born; connected in Scot- ing this homage in private; to him it seemed 
 land with names of historical note ; in England, profanation to open them while any eye might de- 
 all her relatives, if not among the nobility, were 1 tect the feelings her sentiments of love and truth 
 not far removed from that desirable pale — Avhat i excited. Having read and carefully laid these 
 more could they look for ? She also knew that her aside, the traveled letter had its turn; but no 
 manners were such as pleased the proud, fastidi- ; sooner had Reginald made himself acquainted 
 ous.Mrs Forrester — digni tied, quiet, elegant — with ; with the contents than, rushing toward Ashley's 
 just as much of accomplishment as prevented her i room, he burst in, with a face as pale as ashes, 
 from ever being overlooked — and quite as much \ and, in a voice trembling with anguish, ex- 
 information as enabled her always to command claimed — 
 attention. I " All is lost — read that fatal letter, which has 
 
 Air. Forrester had more than once alluded to | been so deplorably delayed." 
 hereditary friendships ; and was pointed in that j Ashley did so, and as he read, and compre- 
 niecly-balanced manner which, while it avoided hended the importance of the tidings it conveyed, 
 marked neglect of any one, showed, toward her, j he rang the bell repeatedly, 
 particular attention. " Post-horses directly—detain our carriage — 
 
 But what said Hubert ? who, all unknown to [ four horses as quickly as possible," he said. — 
 his parents, was the autocrat to whose will — and J " Reginald, remain here, while I apprise our host 
 to whose whims also— they bowed .' At present of this news, and of the necessity lor our imme- 
 he evinced the most amazing indifference to her diate departure." 
 
 society and her talents. Certainly, while she was I But Reginald seemed stunned, and Sir Archi- 
 at the I'riory he rode over there every day, but bald, whose dismay was little less than that ex- 
 this he continued to do when she left. pressed by his two young friends, hastily entering, 
 
 But Laurette had not read one of our most said — 
 clever female writers* in vain; "Propinquity, "Commandmy whole establishment; a carriage- 
 propinquity, my dear Laurette," said she. I and-four shall be immediately at your service;" 
 
 Hubert Forrester was, in truth, a very danger- I and, taking Ashley aside, he whispered, pointing 
 ous young man as companion to any young lady | to Reginald, " He must be roused, Mr. Vernon, or 
 who had a heart to bestow ; and this Laurette [ he will destroy the faint hope that still remains.'' 
 was not peculiar in discovering. That well- i " I see the necessity for exertion," replied Ash- 
 dressed damsel, about whom we have been un- ley, with a face full of commiseration; and, tak- 
 silent, the lovely, modest, retiring, I ing Reginald's hand, he said; 
 
 blushing .Juliet Mordaunt, on this point entirely j "For Helen's sake, if not your own, rouse 
 coincided in opinion with the haughty, aristocratic yourself, dear Reginald." 
 
 Laurette Sinclair ; only she had in her artless 1 " Yes, any thing for Helen's sake — but no longer 
 way improved on her rival's plan. She had not [ my Helen — lost, lost to me forever," exclaimed 
 pined in thought— no green and yellow melancholy j the wretched lover, in tones of agony. " Vet why 
 disputed the place of the lilies and roses on her | should I struggle against my fate .' Leave me — 
 fair cheeks, and she did tell her love, as plainly as let me die- since all 1 love are taken from me ;" 
 " nods and looks, and wreathed smiles" could — j and he buried his face in his hands, 
 and, will it be believed .' but believed or not it is " You must struggle, because it is 7iot your fate 
 Btill a truth, that the handsome young heir of all 1 yet," cried Ashley, roused to double energy in 
 the Forresters, and all tlie Hargraves to boot, | this trying emergency. " I tell you, Reginald, it 
 carried on a desperate flirtation with this gentle is not too late. Heaven grant that this may be 
 Juliet. He was at the pretty little residence of ! true," he added, in a lower tone, to himself. 
 Mr. Cooper at early morn, and again at dewy " Look up, my dear friend, and listen to me ; we 
 ^ve ; he called there to leave flowers— ah ! beware can reach Old Court in four days, and this warn- 
 of the thorns ! and he called again to fetch flowers ' ing, in spite of these vexatious delays, may yet 
 beware lest he carry away all the heartsease, have arrived in time. One eftbrt, my dear fellow. 
 
 and leave only rue! But as her matronly and 
 prudent mother was cognizant of all this, why 
 make it our business— we will not. 
 
 A few days after Ashley and his sorrowful 
 
 and then on without stopping.' 
 
 "You will allow me to accompany you one 
 stage," said Sir Archibald, kindly. And he did 
 so, and was glad to perceive that the excitement 
 and hurry had slightly influenced Reginald, who 
 friend had started for Scotland, and about six began to catch hope from his companions, and was 
 weeks after Mrs. West's funeral, a letter arrived now as eager to push on as Ashley was. 
 at the cottage for lleginald, which the young But Sir Archibald showed that his hope was, in 
 clergyman sent up immediately to the Priory. It reality, very faint indeed, for, as he pressed Ash- 
 was directed to be forwarded; but having already ley's hand at parting, he said : 
 been more than twice re-addressed, the original I " Look after all the English papers, and keep 
 post-mark was not very legible. Again it was ! them from Mr. West until you have scanned their 
 • Misii Eugc-worth. I contents." 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 49 
 
 But, alas ! at Carlisle, Ashley had just left the 
 ronui to hasten fresh horses, when the landlord, 
 >\ho was not every day honored with guests who 
 traveled in a carriage-and-four, officiously liauded 
 lieginald the paper, which he received with uiucli 
 iijiathy, and, merely glancing at it, laid it down, 
 vhen a paragraph, headed "Marriage in High 
 Lite," arrested his attention. He read one line, j 
 ;;ud fainted. , 
 
 "Poor young gentleman!" said the landlady; ' 
 " he is over-tired ; he requires rest instead of four , 
 horses." And if he really did need rest, he had 
 it, in one sense, abundantly; for when he next j 
 'K'came conscious of any thing but eliaos within 
 liios, of a sort of maddening whirl from which 
 !: re was no escape, he saw the kind face of Mrs. 
 \ \ ruon by his bedside, but every thing else was 
 quite strange. Happily, she perceived the faint 
 expression of recognition in his heavy eyes, and 
 said : 
 
 " Do not speak, dear Reginald ; you are among 
 friends, and are much better." She need hardly 
 have prohibited speech, for he was mucli too feeble 
 to make an effort; and, sighing heavily, he again • 
 closed his eyes, and thinking it was very pleasant 
 to die, fell into the first gentle sleep since his ill- 
 u.'ss. • ' 
 
 " God be praised!" said Mrs. Vernon, an hour ' 
 
 :;l'ter this, as she still sat watching him; "he is 
 
 ir.dy much better, at least out of danger, doc- 
 
 i" — as a neat little man glided in — " ha has rec- 
 
 ilzed me, I am sure, and we may now hope — 
 :ii ;y we not .'" 
 
 •• Yes, I think .we may," as he removed his eyes 
 
 '■rora the wan and worn face lying so death-like 
 
 I 're ; "I trust we may ; but the nervous system 
 
 -i received a dreadful shock— I should say that 
 .1^ has been hovering over him for some time." 
 
 •■ I believe you are quite right," replied Mrs. 
 "cinon, thinking that with doctors, as with cou- 
 •surs, there should be no secrets; " this gentle- 
 
 lu was fngaged to be married, when his mother, 
 
 i^ui he loudly loved, died; and some news, 
 
 .ich may change the whole of his prospects in a 
 i.in<t disastrous way, was suddenly communicated 
 to him, when quite exhausted with fatigue and 
 Mixiety." 
 
 ■■ Ah ! I perceive; a series of adverse circura- 
 ^tmces, with love, of course, helping to aggravate 
 ilicin. Well, my dear madam, patience and ease 
 will do wonders. I expect these will now be 
 "■'ilefly in demand ; and With such a nurse as you, 
 ;j ud such a friend as Mr. Ashley Vernon, they will 
 not fail ; and 1 think I may venture to say, in a 
 !i'w weeks he can be safely moved to the Parson- 
 age." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "L'nsase nrdinaire de )a finesse, est la mnrque d'un petit 
 •prit; el il airivi-, presqun touj purs que celiii qui sVn sert, 
 'Ur se coiivnr en lui endmit, ^e d6c(juvre ea uii autre." — 
 
 A. EOCUEJ-OUOAUI-D. 
 
 Mrs. Mklvii-lk, of whom incidental mention 
 as been made, many years ago was a young lady 
 ho lived by her wits, giving that word, not the 
 
 intellectual definition of Sydney Smith, but using 
 it to imply the exercise of a quality which is com- 
 posed of intense selfishness, great meanness, and 
 profound cunning. It is useless for any one to re- 
 mind us that she was poor— for poverty no more 
 justifies conduct such as hers, than it does lying, 
 swindling, or stealing. Tlie trouble she took to 
 cajole, wheedle, and dupe some foolish but un- 
 tractable victim was much greater than if she 
 had worked hard for a living ; while the real in- 
 tellect which was wasted and degraded in bring- 
 ing her schemes to perfection would, if honestly 
 exerted, have securetl for her a respectable posi- 
 tion in society, and gained her the esteem of her 
 associates. Talk of the humiliations of poverty, 
 its toils and its privations ! Talk of the watch- 
 ing and disappointment to which talent is ol ten 
 doomed! Why, they are as nothing compared 
 with the self-imposed labor , the self-imposed abase- 
 ment of a cringing parasite! At length, in an 
 evil hour for the family of her patroness, Rachel 
 Tod was introduced to .Miss Dormer, the lady to 
 whom Lord Ernest West was engaged. 
 
 Here her talent for intrigue found its proper 
 sphere. She speedily embroiled the lovers, and 
 though a reconciliation took place, the feeble 
 health of Miss Dormer, which, during the estrange- 
 ment, iiad suffered greatly, evinced symptoms of 
 decline, which, after many alternations and much 
 patient endurance, terminated in her death. 
 
 What had been iNIiss Tod's object in thus risk- 
 ing the loss of one who was a mere puppet in her 
 hands.' Surely it would have been more to her 
 advantage had she, by kindness and sincerity, es- 
 tablished a claim to the friendship of one who was 
 so easily influenced through her affections, and of 
 whose g ;nerosity she had received so many sub- 
 st.uuiai i^roofs .' As if Miss Dormer's friendship,. 
 or the patronage of Lady Eiuicst West could have 
 satisfied the newly-roused ambition of Rachel 
 Tod! No; she played for a higher stake; she 
 l)layed fur Lord Ernest himself, whose vacillating 
 and feeble character was as clearly written on all 
 his acts, to her keen eye. as if he had been one of 
 those preposterous figures who go about incased 
 in advertisements; fur even so did he advertise 
 his weakness, his timidity, his irresolution to her. 
 
 But before this notable plan was, or could be, 
 perfected — for hesitat;on and obstinacy are often 
 companions, and Lord Ernest was not easily to 
 be persuaded or even advised — Captain Dormer 
 returned fi'om his cruise, and being good-luuk- 
 ing, wealtliy, and heir to a baronetcy, !ip]ieared 
 to Rachel a much more proini.>iing si>eculation 
 than the dreamy, sentimental, and by no means 
 handsome. Lord; in short, she made a misiake, 
 which peuple engaged in schemes should never 
 think of committing — she iell in love with the 
 Captain, really and bona Jidc in love ! How could, 
 eiie be so siiii|il«! while he only amused himself 
 with her, and read her as plainly as she read 
 Lord Ernest. She therefore entered, con amon, 
 into a sentimental flirtation with the gay sailor,. 
 and well for her that she escaped undamaged ; 
 but Capt;un Dormer was expecting liis biide- 
 elcct from Malta, and was, on this account, more 
 than usually careful of his character ; Iters was, 
 of course, no concern of his; let iter look after 
 it; and so she heard of his engagetneitt and re- 
 ceived her own dismissal at the aauie time. 
 
50 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 But death and legacy-hunting are as insep- 
 arable in the minds and expectations of this order 
 of dependents as extreme unction ;iud a bequest 
 are in the mind of a Jesuit ; and what wiih pres- 
 ents of jewelry, advances in money, keepsakes, 
 and other little windfalls, she left tlie Dormers in 
 deep mourning, but with colors flying. 
 
 Lord Ernest went abroad, or perhaps, after all, 
 he would not have escaped; for obstinate though 
 he be, a weak-minded man has no chance with a 
 resolute woman; but he was still kept in view, 
 probablj' on the same principle that induces a 
 thrifty housewife to put aside odds and ends, 
 with the prudent remark, " they may come in 
 handy at some time." 
 
 People may relate anecdotes of the dexterity 
 with which pickpockets exercise their trade; 
 they may tell of schools or universities in which 
 pupils graduate till they become first-class men, 
 and senior wranglers in the science or mj'stery 
 of abstracting and adding; but this is vulgar, 
 bungling work alter all ; for the police are some- 
 times sad marplots to these nimble- fingered gen- 
 try, and magistrates do sometimes pass a just 
 sentence ; but there is a skill which shows itself 
 by never coming into collision with these hum- 
 drum castigators of petty larceny — the skill of 
 Btealing a ring from your finger, a br^icelet from 
 your arm, a chain from your neck, and leaving 
 a strong impression on your m'nd that somehow 
 you have been persuaded into giving it ; and this 
 is tlie legerdemain which these lady professors 
 practice. 
 
 M. Robin, come and take a lesson ! M. Hou 
 din, learn how to make a dress, a shawl, or any 
 other elegant trifle, find its way from your neigh- 
 bor's wardrobe into tiiat of Madame; and so wo 
 may go on, ti-sque ad ?iaust:am, and still find ex- 
 posure and contempt useless, for "the creature's 
 at her dirty work again;" and to it she kept, 
 and persuaded young Mr. Melville, the grandson 
 of her then patroness, to elope with her. But 
 the old lady was revenged ; unknown to Mrs. 
 Melville, slie possessed the power of thwarting 
 her project, and she exercised it to the full 
 extent. She settled a moderate income on her 
 grandson, which was to cease at his death, and 
 the rest of her large property was distributed 
 among distant relations, Avilh some of whom she 
 had quarreled, and others she had never seen 
 
 Thus baffleil in her matrimonial speculation, 
 she paid the full penalty — namely, limited means 
 — wliich, with a husband and child, her utmost 
 ingenuity could not increase by a successful 
 cour,«c of visits; and tied to a disappointed man, 
 who upbraided her as the cause of his changed 
 prospects, slie may almost be pardoned, if his 
 death, which liappened when her daughter was 
 about twelve years old, did not leave her quite 
 disconsolate. It is true, their oidy ostensible 
 means of living died with him ; but even this 
 loss could be endured. Hhe was once more free 
 — once more at liberty to exercise those talents 
 which for so many years had been hidden under 
 a bushel. 
 
 She now appeared in the interesting character 
 of a widow, left with a daughter, both wholly 
 iinprovided for, and in tliis cliaractcr she went 
 from house to house, collecting all sorts of things 
 from all Borta of persons, till she had fairly wca- 
 
 I ried them ; when she fixed upon Lord Ernest as 
 I the one who was now to have the chief honor and 
 i merit of being her tool— henceforth he would be 
 Tto her the great nugget — her California— her 
 ' Australian gold-field. 
 
 She first tried the power of her still remainin;:: 
 gQod looks on him, but in vain ; Lord Ernest s 
 I life and manner plainly said, "Man delights not 
 me, nor woman either." Slie then insinuated 
 that he must want some sympathizing friend, 
 one into wiiose patient ear he could freely pour 
 all liis sorrows ; and having succee<led in making 
 him unspeakably miserable by her perpetual ref- 
 erence to his past trials, she hoped she had be- 
 come necc-saiy to his present and future com- 
 fort ; but she was disappointed and mortifieil, 
 though not daunted, by finding that he thought 
 his old servant, Koberts, understood what was 
 needful in that respect better than any other 
 person. 
 
 Baffled in one plan, her indefatigable industry 
 looked out for something else on whicli to exer- 
 cise itself, and propitious fortune sent Keginala 
 — yes, he was the very one she would havechost-n 
 for a son-in-law from thousands— the very hus- 
 band she would have selected from a crowd ibr 
 her dear Ernesta. 
 
 But her dear Ernesta not being very talented 
 — in truth, being very stupid— sadly annoyed 
 and irritated her strong-minded mother — lor 
 I what can be more aggravating to one who lian 
 I applied all the energies of a cofnj)relien^ive 
 I and powerful intellect to some grand mcasuie, 
 - ! than to be perpetually hindered by another who 
 is silly enough to have aff'ections and feelings — 
 Avho is influenced by little touches of nature nii 1 
 truth, always so dreadfully in the way wh. ii 
 ; some extrordinary maneuver is to be executed : 
 Such was the vexatious opposition she now lia 1 
 i to overcome; for it happened before the Be-- 
 ' inald scheme liad been started, that Mrs. Mel- 
 ville, in one of her rasli and uuusu il #ts of de- 
 I spair— when the funds were very low indeed — 
 li:id permitted her daugliter to encourage the 
 '• admiration and attention of a very young man of 
 [respectable family and moderate fortune; in 
 1 short, Mrs. Melville not only let them fall in 
 j love, but actually sanctioned it, so far as to 
 I have herself beeu propitious to the young man's 
 j suit. 
 
 And will it be credited that now, wlien Er- 
 I nesta was to change her manner to this hithevt.i 
 i favored admirer, she was both perverse and r ■- 
 ] bellious .' AVell might poor Mrs. Melville qim' 
 [ the old song: "Oh, what a plague is an obsti 
 nate daughter!" for Ernesta declared that i 
 was useless to direct her attention to Keginal 1'. 
 superiority; she never could, never would a( - 
 knowledge it; she was insensible to the distinc- 
 tion, " lie's but a (it-neral, damsel, I'm a King ;"' 
 and the quarrel threatened to become serious; 
 when Reginald at once. l)y the indifi'erence of liis 
 manner, cooled the anger of Mrs. Melville to- 
 ward iier daughter, but drew it on himself 
 
 Ever kind and courteous, and believing that 
 the society of so old a friend as Mrs. iMelvillo 
 re;)resented herself, would bo good for his hypo- 
 chondriacal uncle, pitying also the destitiit> 
 state of one who told a harrowing tale of fran i 
 and ill-usage, ho prompted Lord Ernest to fre- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 51 
 
 quent liberalities, and encouraged her -visits to 
 OM Court ; but as to being smitten by the charms 
 ot the silly Ernesta, alias Charlotte, that would 
 h-.wa been impossible. 
 
 Now with regard to this. alias also thereby 
 lunigs a tale, lor this led to another cause of 
 just anger which Mrs. Melville I'elt toward her 
 ilaughter. During Mr. Melvillr's lifetime the 
 girl liad been called Charlotte— by him frequent- 
 ly Lotte — but lately, to her surprise, she found 
 slie had another name, (jne wliicli she had re- 
 ceived to mark the long-!itanding friend.ship be- 
 tween her mother and Lord Ernest ; she was 
 now, therefore, to be called Ernesta ; but, like 
 Glendower's spirits, she. often did not co^ie when 
 she was called — oh ! she was so stupid, that girl ! 
 poor thing! she was only foolish, fit, and fair — 
 Very good-natured — rather addicted to sweeties 
 and cakes, and had a sentimental habit of crying 
 when bullied by her mother ; and then she pre- 
 vented the unsentimental aspect of a heavy- 
 lurking blonde, with red eyes and fiery nose. 
 
 Lucky was it for her indolent character that 
 lu'r mother had such a superabundance of energy 
 and determination ! " Once more unto the breach, 
 one more,'' was her cry, and the attack was 
 against the gentle, resistless Lord Ernest. Is 
 there no pity .' none. No quarter .' none ; and 
 lleginald's announced engagement sharpened 
 bdtli her resentment and her weapons. It was 
 now or never ; and so skillfully did she com- 
 mence the war, that wounded, feeble, and wea- 
 )ifd as was Lord Ernest, she gained the daj'. 
 She called his attention to Ernesta's changed 
 Lmks, evident enough, for she was weeping for 
 her dismissed swain — the girl's stupid inatten- 
 tion to her recent baptismal change her mother 
 a.'^cribed to deep feeling at the sound of ti name 
 nhich reminded her of another; she reproached 
 him for having destroyed the peace of her art- 
 K•^s child — appealed to his honor — poured in 
 ttars — blew up sighs — threw down the imped- 
 iiueiits which his Lordship's indifference and 
 indulfnce cast in her way, and seated her guile- 
 l.-s Ernesta on the throne of Old Court! But, 
 nil ! the sleepless nights and the weary days it 
 all cost! for, suspecting tluit Roberts was espe- 
 ci.dly inimical to her measures, she had to be 
 :-iueli on her guiird, besides having to coax and 
 Hitter — to snub and threaten that perverse Er- 
 ne:^! a. ]\Iany a slap and box on the ear did the 
 1 idy elect receive from her mother's vigorous 
 hand ; but even the effects of these were made 
 serviceable to her plans — and tears, which dis- 
 figured the pretty but unmeaning face — the re- 
 sult of recent cuffs — were ascribed to the distress 
 of mind her sensitive Ernesta endured while 
 smarting under the taunts of old friends and ac- 
 quaintance; for, Mrs. Melville having success- 
 lolly maneuvered for an invitation to Old Court, 
 liad then asserted that the acceptance of his hos- 
 pitalities had caused the finger of scorn to be 
 pointed at her beloved ciiild. 
 
 Wearied and worn out — perplexed yet hesitat- 
 ing—still only half convinced that he was bound 
 in honor to repair, hj marriage, the mischief 
 caused by Ernesta's affectionate and susceptible 
 nature — he consented to make her his wife. 
 
 lie never was quite so wetik as to believe him- 
 self ia love, or so vain as to think Ernesta dan- 
 
 gerously in love with him ; but he pitied the 
 fancy to which she had yielded. He still intend- 
 ed to do every thing as generously as ever for 
 Reginald: and he forgot that in acknowledging 
 the preposterous claims now made upon him, he 
 was rendering that difficult perhtips impossible. 
 lie never thought liow cruelly and flagrantly he 
 was violating she sanctity of a promise — imper- 
 iling the h.appiness of others. He was, at pre- 
 sent, alive only to tlie necessity of freeing him- 
 self from importunities which had become almost 
 intolerable, and which he was too indolent and 
 timid to break from by energetic metisures; and 
 so, witii a vague idea of full compensation in 
 some way or another to Reginald, he permitted 
 this arch schemer to triumph, and became, at 
 sixty years of age, the husband of a foolish girl 
 not quite twenty. 
 
 Throughout the whole of this transaction Mrs, 
 Melville was conscious that she ran a risk — but, 
 in excuse, it mu,-t be alleged that it seemed inev- 
 itable. Delay she knew was, to her, not only 
 danger, but ruin; and not doubting her ability to 
 recti ly the omission, she left it for the present. 
 But there had been no settlement for Einesta 
 
 ' of any kind, scarcely a promise of any — and 
 time would not stand still while Mrs. Melville 
 flattered and argued this out of Lord Ernest ; 
 this, then, was tiie risk, and here she felt was 
 
 ' the danger. 
 
 So well, so secretly, and so briskly had slie 
 followed up her advantages, that Roberts knew 
 
 I nothing of the precise direction her maneuvers 
 
 ■ had tiiken. It was only a few days before the 
 one fixed for the marriage, that he heard of it. 
 
 I His habitual respect for his lordship could not 
 prevent his expression of astonishment, faintly 
 tinged with distippiobation— he even ventured to 
 inquire if Mr. Reginald knew .' and hearing, as he 
 expected, that he did not, suggested the propriety 
 
 i of informing him — to which, and much to his sur- 
 prise. Lord Ernest made no objection. Perhaps, 
 
 [ poor man ! he thought Reginald might yet save 
 him. 
 
 Therefore it was that the letter had been dis- 
 patched by old Roberts, which would have 
 brought Reginald immediately, had it reached 
 
 ' him ; and this letter it was which caused the 
 
 ■ hurried departure from Craigalan — still, as we 
 know, Reginald came not. And when the small 
 bridal train returned from the village church, 
 where the ceremony had been unostenttitiously 
 
 ' performed — Mrs. West's recent death furnishing 
 ii retisun — Roberts felt, as he told the housekeeper, 
 as if he had received his deictli-tdow. 
 ' Not once afterward did Lord Ernest allude to 
 ! the event, destined to have sucii ett'ects ; ami 
 when Roberts mentioned Mr. Reginald, and 
 expressed his wonder at his absence or silence, or 
 ventured a conjecture as to his future prospects, 
 he received no reply. The old housekeeper, in 
 speaking of her master, said he seemed dazed ; 
 and certainly, if ever an elderly gentleman had 
 reason, she said, to be dazed at his own state, it 
 was Lord Ernest ! 
 
 And now was to begin another reign; for, 
 when silly daughters marry, strong-minded 
 mothers-in-law rule, and this she did, in one 
 sense, with less interuption or aid than she quite 
 liked— for, except that Lord Ernest, on her giv- 
 
52 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 ing indications of intending a complete change in I 
 the ministry, very peremptorily, and in the pre- 
 sence of Roberts and the housekeeper, forbade 
 the least interference with their long-established | 
 duties and services — no one lielped her ; and the t 
 prohibition was something like tying a man by 
 the feet firmly to a rock, and then bidding him I 
 run ; fur as the authority of Roberts extended ' 
 over one lialf the household, and the housekeeper 
 over the other, meddle where she would, Mrs. 
 Melville found she infringed on their preroga- . 
 tive. 
 
 Lord Ernest, who seemed to think that he was | 
 now exonerated from all further trouble, sunk 
 into a kind of apathetic indolence. Though 
 •irged by Mrs. Melville, he refused to write to 
 Keginald— so she did— for him. And a pretty 
 Bpecimen of English blarney that letter was ! It 
 arrived while Reginald was in all the horrors of j 
 fever and delirium, and was opened by Ashley, 
 who took no furtner notice of it than to write to 
 Roberts for more correct information, and briefly 
 alluding to the then state of Reginald, and prom- 
 ising to let the attached old mun have good tid- 
 ings, if such were mercifully permitted. 
 
 His lordship was equally refractory regarding , 
 his brother, with whom he had declined to com- i 
 municate ; again was her eloquent pen in requi- j 
 sition. this time not withoi\t a result— for Lord ' 
 \Vestrougli kept no measures with her — there Avas 
 no blarney, either English or Irish, in her reply; 
 80 she burnt the letter, and put his Lordship's 
 name among a few others, to be remembered — 
 when convenient. 
 
 But, oh! climax of perverseness ! Lord Er- 
 nest refu>ed to summon his solicitor ! well, never 
 mind, it is only one eifort more, and she made it 
 — only one letter more, and she wrote it ; but 
 this time she had better have left it alone; fov 
 after a short interview with his client, witnessed 
 only by Hoberts and the doctor, who had for 
 years been almost a daily visitor, the lawyer left 
 without replying to her anxious inquiries as to 
 what instructions he had received, or noticing 
 lier indirect attempts to learn whether will or 
 seiilement was in contemplation. Raiher a balk 
 this ! and a nice life it was for her young lady- 
 ship also — who was snubbed by her mother, neg- 
 lected by her husband, and waited on by the 
 servants with secret contempt. Of wh it use was 
 her tiile? there was no one to be dazzled 
 by it. scirce'y any one to call her by it — of 
 what use the large and magnificent house .' 
 — she occupied no more room now than in her 
 mother's cheerful little cottage; as to the car- 
 riages and horses always at her command, young, 
 strong, active — what did she care for them .' and 
 what comparison was there between the solemn 
 grauleur of a solitary drive, or accompanied only 
 "by her mother, iind the delightful rambles, she 
 still remembered, when at early morn the earth 
 was fre-h and pay — when the binls got up a 
 concert in every leafy copse, and where the voice 
 of one she roally loved whispered soft nonsense 
 in her charmed car .' 
 
 CHAPTER XXIH. 
 
 " He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 
 Wiih Bpaltered ijools, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks. 
 News from all naioos luml>ering at his back ; 
 . . Perhaps to thousands messengers of grief." 
 
 COWPES. 
 
 CoN'STANCE, who was always fond of being 
 busy, or, as Helen said, of being invested vrith a 
 little brief authority, had voted herself permanent 
 chairwoman at the breakfast-table, where she and 
 the letter-bag were always found waiting for the 
 other members of the family. Since her engage- 
 ment and Reginald's absence, Helen also made her 
 appearance with the arrival of the post, eagerly 
 listening for her father's step — for the opening of 
 the bag, when he was at home, was a prerogatiy© 
 which he rather jealously guarded. 
 
 " Papa is late this morning," observed Helen, 
 wistfully glancing at the bag. 
 
 " I think," remarked Constance, seeing her 
 sister's impatience, " I shall propose to papa that 
 we have two bags now, one for mamma and our- 
 selves, which we may open without his aid ; it is' 
 really too tantalizing, thus to have unknown 
 wealth in our hands, without being able to look at 
 and enjoy it." 
 
 Constance had an additional motive in suggest- 
 ing this arrangement. Some weeks ago, Colonel 
 Teinpleton, in turning the key with great impetu- 
 osity, and rather a trembling hand, the result no 
 less of impatience than of the last evening's wine, 
 which he had not slept off, broke the key, and in 
 trying to extract the piece left in, the lock was in- 
 jured. 
 
 This Mr. Cooper undertook to have carefully 
 repaired ; and after it came back, the first time 
 Constance distributed the contents, which her 
 father often permitted, on handing a letter to her 
 mother, which bore the Grantham post-mark, she 
 fancied the seal looked less clearly defined than 
 those made by her quick but skillful aunt always 
 were. On another occasion, a letter to herself, 
 from Mrs. Charles Vernon, seemed so evidently to 
 have been tampered with, that she determined to 
 keep watch on these matters ; for it brought the 
 indignaiit flush to her very brow, when sh3 
 thought that information of strictly a family na- 
 ture should be publi.shed, to satisfy the imperti- 
 nent curiosity of persons from whom she instinct- 
 ively shrank ; especially was she roused at the 
 mere idea, that Reginald's letters to her sister 
 shoidd be pr>.faiied by the vulgar prying of the 
 she-captain and her bold daughter, or furnish 
 matter of conversation to those who were wholly 
 unable to appreciate the dignity and purity of 
 natures such as Reginald's— this alone would have 
 been sufficient motive for the request, and she re- 
 solved no longer to delay making it. 
 
 " Papa," she said, when he appeared, and very 
 deliberately turned the key, " 1 think I shall set 
 up a little private affair on my own account ; that 
 bag," she continued, with a serio-comic expres- 
 sion, " has been inflicting tortures for the last half- 
 hour— the famous bags which Ulysses had are 
 nothing in comparison. I fancy I have heard the 
 gentle voice of Mrs Charles Vernon crying, like 
 Sterne's starling, ' I can't get out,' while an 
 Italian remonstrance from Cecilia says, ' voi che 
 enlrate qui, lascialt vgni speranza.' " 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 53 
 
 "What are you driving at, Constance; what 
 whim now ?" he inquired ; and she knew, by the 
 tone, that the moment was propitious ; so at once 
 replied : • 
 
 " I wish you, dear papa, to let me drive over to 
 Seabrooke and purchase a letter-bag, which will 
 be consecrated to female tViendsliip and poetry — 
 to sentimental effusions and aoco'ints of the fash- 
 ions—to harmless tittle-tattle and stray pieces of 
 news — in short, that will relieve your grave and 
 busine^-like dispatches from a degrading partner- 
 ship with our frivolous missives. Only taucy the 
 indignation your lawyer's bulky bill must feel, at 
 being kept for a needless hour in company vdth a 
 flimsy account for ribbons, lace, and muslins." 
 
 " Very well — just as you like — only no tricks, 
 no clandestine doings." 
 
 " IV ever fear me^ papa," she replied, her haughty 
 and beautiful eyes fearlessly meeting his; " wlie'n 
 I do that, I give you leave to lock me up in the 
 bag with my correspondence, as a punishment ;" 
 but her tone was grave, though her words were 
 not. 
 
 " Depend upon my doing that, or something 
 like it, with your leave or without," said her 
 father, laughing ; for this girl had a strange and 
 unusual power over him — unconsciously to himself, 
 he wished for her good opinion — in her presence 
 lie would make an effort to check his unmanly out- 
 breaks when any thing annoyed him, more especi- 
 ally as any conduct of this kind shown toward 
 Mrs. Templetou called forth the expression of her 
 displeasure, by those looks which were too true 
 aud eloquent to be mistaken. He was, on her | 
 -iccount, more indulgent and generous to them 
 all, for he saw that Constance would not allow of 
 any thing like a demonstration of partiality ; and 
 while Mrs. Templeton and Helen were too timid to 
 ask, and especially to remonstrate. Constance did 
 ^loth — often with success, and without in the least 
 Mifiingingon the respect due to the Colonel as her 
 
 1 he very same day she ordered a letter-bag, not 
 ; om Seabrooke, but from London, which was to 
 i ive a Bramali lock, and when it arrived she her- 
 
 If carried it down to the post-office, and consign- 
 >• 1 the duplicate key to the master, with an in- 
 junction that it should never, except by an order ' 
 .'^igned by Mrs. Templeton or her daughters, quit I 
 Ills possession. " And I hope," she said, having ' 
 an object to gain by the remark, " that Robin 
 comes himself in good time to meet the mail." I 
 
 " Why, yes, miss, he always do ; but once or I 
 twice Master Cooper's lad have come early like, 
 to fetch Colonel's bag, being as how he was going 
 up direct to the Priory ; shall I give him this, miss, 
 if so be he comes first r" 
 
 " Certainly," she replied, aloud. " So, so," she 
 «aid to herself, " I was not wrong in my sus- 
 jiieions, but I think, as regard our letters, I have 
 c.mght them ; and now, if Master Cooper's lad be 
 conuEg up early like," and she laughed merrily 
 at the idea, " we shall have the benefit of his | 
 6peed." 
 
 She told Mrs. Templeton of her little device, and ' 
 greatly amused her by imagining the sufferings | 
 that her counterplot would intiict on a curiosity 
 which further and careful examination of several 
 envelopes proved, had not let itself burst in igno- 1 
 ranee- 1 
 
 We must now, however, take a short walk into 
 the village— but as it is to perform an act of ju.s- 
 tice, and will not take long, it may be easily i>*r- 
 doned. 
 
 There is a gentleman— we have Hamlet's author- 
 ity for thus calling him— who is represented as 
 being perpetually in mourning ; and an ancient 
 and kind remonstrance is currpnt against paint- 
 ing him blacker than he is, Let such clemency 
 be awarded to Cooper, for it is very unfair toward 
 his delicacy of feelings, to suspect him of reading 
 the correspondence of the Priory ladies— why 
 should he .' — what would he gain by doing so .' 
 nothing — therefore he did not. He read, or fan- 
 cied he read, all the Colonel's letters, and that 
 sulficied for him. 
 
 But not so easily satisfied were the inquiring 
 minds of his sister, we mean Mrs. Captain and 
 the fair Juliet — hence, but with his full conniv- 
 ance, the manufacture of a third key. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! what is the meaning of this r" 
 asked Mrs. Captain, the day after Constance had 
 established a private bag; "and pray what is 
 this for } two bags for the Priory, and different 
 locks. I wonder what next ! but Mrs. Temple- 
 ton is at the bottom of this scheme;" she had an 
 especial spite against the mistress of the Priory ; 
 " but I shall find away of settling this, and many 
 other accounts with her, one of these days, see if 
 I don't." 
 
 " I rather think," interposed Cooper, who, upon 
 the whole, was disposed to defend Mrs. Temple- 
 ton, whose uncomplaining gentle character had 
 touched him — even him — " I rather think that 
 the lovely Constance is the plotter here." 
 
 •' I hate that girl even worse than Helen," ex- 
 claimed the free and easy Juliet; '• and if I catch 
 Hubert Forrester so often accidentally, as he pre- 
 tends, meeting my young miss at Sea-View Cot- 
 tage, I'll make him repent it." 
 
 " Mind your own conduct, and escape the need 
 of repentance yourself," said Cooper, with a half 
 threat, half sneer ; " I can not think what you 
 and your mother mean by running after that 
 young chap, who is only amusing himself at your 
 cost; you had better bait your trap for that scam- 
 pering foreign fellow, young Morton ; he is much 
 more likely to bite than the other." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that as you seem to be ; 
 but suppose I set my trap for both," was the im- 
 pudent retort. 
 
 " Yes," said Augustus, who was the pest of the 
 whole village, from his sly and mischievous pro- 
 pensities, and who had listened to this conversa- 
 tion from between the folds of the curtain — " yes, 
 only remember that between two stools—" but, 
 before he could finish his elegant proverb, his sis- 
 ter flew at him, and administered in rapid succes- 
 sion sundry cuffs, which were so unmeekly taken, 
 and with so little disposition to offer the other 
 cheek, that, like some of Homer's heroes, the two 
 parties closed in angry fight, and ]Mrs. Captain, 
 all her warlike tendencies roused at the sight, 
 gave Juliet such a blow on the back of her neck, 
 that the offended ivory showed black-and-blue 
 tokens of anger for several succeeding days. In 
 the midst of this scene, which he viewed with the 
 most philosophical indifference. Cooper and the 
 bags disappeared, as they had already been de- 
 layed suspiciously long. But his boy was no 
 
64 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 longer so early a riser as to precede Robin at the 
 puii-office ! 
 
 One morning Helen, who was deputy key- 
 keeper to Constance, unlocked their bag, and with- 
 drew that letter so dear to her— so dear on ac- 
 count of the writer— that directly it was forced 
 from its envelope, it was pressed again and 
 again to her lips — so sacred in her eyes that 
 in solitude only could it be read and fully enjoy- 
 ed — so she walked out on the broad terrace, and 
 casting her eyes on the glorious prospect which 
 met them eyerywhere, " tliis bridal of the earth 
 and sky," she opened her letter, and eagerly read 
 words of love and coulidence, which tilled her 
 heart with thankfulness. She there learned how 
 truly she was loved and prized — she there found 
 how much she had it in her power to soothe and 
 comfort— and already her affectionate heart sug- 
 gested a reply, in which all her love was to be 
 told ; and Reginald was to be made still happier, 
 by learning that long ago he had, in her thoughts, 
 symbolized all that was noble and true. 
 
 Alas! alas! how we plan and decide for our 
 whole future existence, when, if even the great 
 destroyer be not by our side, events almost as 
 powerful are hastening to change the whole course 
 of our future destiny ! That letter, which Helen 
 read, with her .speaking and lovely countenance 
 telling of happiness, was the first sent after the 
 travelers had reached Scotland ; and at the very 
 moment she put it reverently, fondly, within the 
 folds of her muslin dress, Keginuld was journey- 
 ing with wild haste toward Old Court ; but she 
 was .spared the knowledge for a brief period only. 
 
 " Helen, dear, have you heard from Keginuld ?" 
 inquii-ed her mother. 
 
 " Oh, yes, mamma, and here are a few. lines 
 from Ashley addressed to you ; but it is evident 
 they are really meant for us all," folding down 
 the postscript, and handing the letter to Mrs. 
 Templeton. 
 
 " Ashley is the prince of friends," cried Con- 
 stance, reading over her mother's shoulder ; " he 
 says they are already better for their journey, 
 and on the eve of starting for Ci-aigahm." 
 
 " j^hley is one of the kindest and best I ever 
 knew," said Mrs. Templeton, who had had re- 
 peated opportunities of understanding the supe- 
 riority of his character in her constant and inti- 
 mate intercourse with his family. 
 
 " That he is," warmly echoed Constance, " and 
 I sincerely hope he will find a wife who will value 
 him as he deserves. 
 
 Her motlier glanced at the animated face, but 
 it said nothing that the tongue had not. 
 
 " Ah ! now there is papa, and the tea and cof- 
 fee are ready to the moment. Here is a lovely 
 morning, papa," she said ; " I give you good-day, 
 and claim your promise of a ride. I hope you 
 liave not business t'liere,'' indicating the letters, 
 *' wiiicli will rush out and detain you prisoner." 
 
 •' 1 do not expect .so formidable an arrest," he 
 replie<l, carelessly o])ening the bag, and taking 
 out the contcrts very slowly. " So we will go to 
 }lurstwood,and perhaps Helen will like to accom- 
 pany us." 
 
 •' With great pleasure, papa," she quickly re- 
 plied, excessively gratific<l at this unwonted mark 
 of attention ; " it is just the day for seeing Hurst- 
 wood Avenue to perfection." 
 
 " Here, dear papa," said Constance, handirg " 
 him a cup, ■' taste this coffee before you begin 
 your feast on the news ;" but, as he tasted, he 
 undid his papers,* nd reading a summary of pub- 
 lic matters, he pushed away his cup, saying, 
 " Now, Constance, for some of your excellent 
 tea ;" when casting his eyes on a paragraph, ho 
 struck the table so fiercely as to break a saucer 
 that was near him ; and while every one in breath- 
 less terror turned their looks toward him, he 
 rudely threw the paper to his wife, and looking 
 thunder at poor Helen, who trembled she scarcely 
 knew why, with a fearful oath, he said, " Read 
 that, madam, and see what your tine favorite ia 
 come to ;" then, from extreme rage being unable 
 to articulate more, he sat down with clenched 
 hands, every feature swollen and distorted by 
 intense passion. 
 
 Helen hastily rose, but not before Mrs. Temple- 
 ton, having read the fatal lines, had gasped out, 
 " Oh, Cod, my child !" and following the direcMon 
 of her mother's eye, she read, or rather devoured, 
 the adjoining paragraph : " Marriage in High 
 Life.— On Thursday last, privately, at the parish 
 church, near Old Court, Lord Ernest West, second 
 son of the late Lord Westrough, and brother of 
 the present Marquis, to Charlotte Ernesta, only 
 child of the late Stephen Melville, Esq., of Can- 
 terbury." 
 
 But the Colonel by this time had recovered his 
 voice, and while Helen, feeling that some dreadful 
 blow was about to fall, but not comprehending its 
 full weight, clung to Constance, he exclaimed, 
 " A pretty beggar this, to come and ask for one 
 of my daughters — a fellow who has not a shilling 
 — a needy upstart — but" — he continuetl, as if col- 
 lecting his energies for "some awful denunciation, 
 when Mrs. Templeton, pale as her dress, said, 
 " Stop, Lionel, oh, stop !" 
 
 "Stop.-" he almost shouted; but Helen, who 
 had at last understood all — all that involved, nok 
 the present only, but the future — with a deep sob> 
 fell into her sister's arms, fainting. 
 
 "Mamma, help me, help!" cried Constance; 
 and they placed her near the window : " hold her 
 while 1 letch water." The father ro.se and left the 
 room, banging the door violently ; they sprinkled 
 her pale face, they opened her collar, and Con- 
 stance drew away the letter — the last, last happy 
 letter that her sister was ever to receive — for sht) 
 read all that was to happen in her father's gloomy 
 brow, in his muttered threats; and her heart 
 ached as she anticipated what awaited Helen. 
 
 liut this was not the time for dwelling on these 
 glimpses of the future; and flying for IJ.iwson, iu 
 preference to summoning their own young attend- 
 ant, by her aid Helen was partially recovered, and 
 laid on her bed, and a messenger dispatched for 
 Mr. Curtis, the doctor. Having waited till ho 
 came, and gave his directions, some hours after- 
 ward Constance determine<l to have an interview 
 with her father. She knew that he was alone, for 
 she had seen Cooper canter toward the village, 
 she, therefore, knocked at the library door, and, 
 receiving permission, entered. 
 
 The Colonel lifted his head and prepared to 
 speak, but she quickly stopped him by saying, 
 " I thought, papa, you would like to know hovf 
 poor, dear Helen is, so I have come to say she is 
 asleep. Mr. Curtis wishes her to be kept quiet. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 55 
 
 find means to call again this evening. This is a 
 very s;ui circumstance, " she continued, gently., 
 and determining most carefully to feel her way, 
 lest any indiscreet step should injure, where she 
 was so anxious and resolved to serve. 
 
 "Sad aiiair, Constance!" exclaimed her fa- 
 ther ; " it is an infamous piece of trickery — a 
 most dishonorable cheat ; but I have, at any rate, 
 given my opinion ;" and he pointed to two letters, 
 addressed respectively to Lord Ernest and to Reg- 
 inald. 
 
 Oh ! how she longed to withdraw the latter. 
 Oh ! how she wislied she might plead for gentle- ; 
 ness and forbearance toward one so sinned against. ! 
 But prudence said, " Silence ;" patience said, j 
 "Wait and see." She knew that Keginald would 
 be so crushed beneath this load of accumulated 
 sorrow and disgrace, that this addition, ungener- 
 ous and cruel as it might be, would add but little 
 to his burden ; therofore, almost to her father's 
 surprise, she said, alluding to Lord Ernest, by 
 pointing to his name, and without remarking the i 
 letter to Reginald, " About him there can be but 
 one opinion ; henceforth his name is another word 
 for dishonor ; but, oh, papa ! how cruel, how base, 
 thus to have played with the happiness of others, 
 and to have destroyed it !" 
 
 " Constance," said he, much more gently than 
 she could have ventured to hope for, •' you are a 
 sensible girl, and I do not mind talking to you. 1 
 confess, when I first saw you enter, I wished you 
 away, for I expected you had come to pester me 
 with sentiment and whimperings, which 1 detest ; 
 but I see your good sense tells j'ou that there 
 must at once be an end to this matter." 
 
 " I fear, indeed, there must ; for even if you 
 •were disposed to waive ail considerations, and for- 
 get changed situations, I do not see how Keginald 
 could accept your generosity. Poor Reginald ! — 
 dear Helen ! — they were so happy, and their pros- 
 pects seemed so bright and fair : I hope, however, 
 papa," she added, " that you fully acquit him of 
 any thing base and false ;" and her face kindled, 
 ready for the defense. 
 
 " Well, I do not know that I did quite take that 
 view of the matter," said the Colonel, sliding his 
 hand, as if without being conscious, toward the 
 letter directed to Scotland ;" but you say truly, 
 he could have nothing to do with this disgraceful 
 proceeding, which injures him materially ; besides, 
 it really is not like him ; so, upon second thoughts, 
 I shall not send my letter just yet." 
 
 Constance felt how gladly she could have thanked 
 and kissed him for saying this ; but lest it should 
 seem as if .she took it for a concession, which 
 might annoy her fathei-, she again listened to her 
 friend — prudence. 
 
 " I am sui-e mamma and Helen would be much 
 relieved and gratified by a little message from 
 you," she said, and the tears stood in her eyes. 
 "May I say you are very sorry for this sad 
 trouble V 
 
 " Do as you will," for he did not feel comforta- 
 ble while the joyous beauty of her face was ban- 
 ished; "but, mind, I shall not like to dine alone. 
 1 hate weeping and sighing, so say what you 
 wilL" 
 
 " Thank you, dear papa," said she, very grate- 
 fully ; and, stooping down, she removed his still 
 redundant locks, and kissed his forehead. It was 
 
 one of her little ways, which strangely affected 
 and pleased lier father — so much so, that he often 
 returned the innocent cai'ess. He did it on this 
 occasion. 
 
 But Constance did not hasten with eager steps 
 to give this message, though she knew that, scant 
 as it was, it would be welcome ; she turned toward 
 the garden, and there, with nothing but nature 
 and her own heart, she held earnest, serious com- 
 munion. 
 
 Constance had long been aware of the state of 
 affairs at home ; unlike Helen, who had been gra- 
 dually concentrating her attention on what related 
 to Reginald, slic, " fancy free," had watched 
 events, and carefully drawn her own conclusions. 
 She saw that her mother was unhappy — she slow- 
 ly discovered that her father's conduct was the 
 cause ; and if, at one time, inexperience and lov- 
 ing enthusiasm had allowed her to dream of being 
 the means by which asperities might be smoothed 
 and difficulties removed, subsequent knowledge 
 had awakened her. And now, here was this new, 
 this dreatU'ul trial. How would Helen bear it.' 
 and if slie sorrowed and refused consolation, oh ! 
 how that would add to the burden of her idolized 
 mother. Therefore, Constance felt that to prevent 
 this must be her endeavor — this must be the mo- 
 tive for exertion on her part. She saw that now 
 was the time to prove tlie sincerity of her love, 
 and solemnly did she devote herself to the task. 
 
 It was truly a beautiful thing to see how tliese 
 young girls ever remembered their mother — in 
 their joys, to share them with her — ii^ their sor- 
 rows, hitherto little more than those' of childhood, 
 to hide them from her. 
 
 After a long and sorrowful vigil spent by Hel- 
 en's bedside, who had been restless and feverish, 
 though she occasionally dozed, toward the hour 
 of dinner Constance prevailed on her mother to 
 seek rest, if not sleep — promising soon to follow 
 her example; and scarcely had Mrs. Templeton 
 left, when Helen opened her heavy and swollen 
 eyelids. " Constance," said she, and she raised 
 her sad, pale face. 
 
 " I am here, deadest, but lie dawn." 
 
 " I will presently," replied Helen; " but I have 
 been awake ever since you prevailed on dear 
 mamma to go, and I have been thinking ;" and 
 tears, quiet tears, flowed freely down her cheeks. 
 
 Constance, in her heart, thanked God for this 
 proof that Helen was more composed, and said, 
 "But you had better try and sleep again, darling, 
 had you not .' Thinking will not suit your poor 
 head just now, will it :" 
 
 " jS'o," replied Helen, " nor uncertainty either; 
 jnd now, dear, you must tell me all that terrible 
 history, that struck me as if for death. I shall be 
 better wlien it is all clear to me." 
 
 And Constance began, and faithfully told her 
 all— not omitting the interview with her father; 
 and, perceiving that Helen was calm and atten- 
 tive, she told her all she had thought of in the 
 garden. 
 
 " I am thankful, very thankful, that pnpa doea 
 justice to one who so truly merits it. Cuuatance, 
 did you take a letter from me r" 
 
 " Yes, dearest, here it is." Helen took it, and, 
 kissing it, placed it on her pillow. 
 
 " All you have said is wise and good ; all your 
 counsel I will try to act up to. Our mother must 
 
56 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 not grieve, when, by an exertion on our part, we 
 can prevent it. Now leave me — I shall like to be 
 alone for a few hours." I 
 
 And Con.stance, darkening the room which the 
 fond niotlier had made so beautiful for her beloved 
 ones, went to speak peace to her who was scarcely 
 ever absent from her thoughts. Truly was she a ! 
 ministering angel, that fair girl; for the tidings | 
 she brought to Mrs. Tcmpleton were such as she i 
 had never ventured to hope for. That Helen j 
 should unselfishly determine to wrestle with her 
 grief, was, perhaps, not .so strange to one who 
 knew so well what aftection could do; but that 
 her husband should so fur have yielded to a better 
 influence and to better feelings, as actually to 
 ■withdraw a letter written while his heart was full 
 of anger and disappointment, because convinced 
 that it would be unjust to send it, that did aston- 
 ish her. 
 
 " And it is to you, my brave pet, we entirely 
 owe this desirable result ; it is from the exercise 
 of your good sense so much of this comes," said 
 her mother, fondly embracing Constance ; " and 
 richly, this day, have you recompensed me for 
 many and many a lonely year, passed while my 
 children were the joy and delight of a stranger's 
 home." 
 
 " Dear mamma, but you felt, you knew that 
 our love was»ever with you," said Constance. 
 " (Jh, how often we used to laugh, and say, ' How 
 mamma's face muse burn, we have been talking 
 60 long of her.' " 
 
 And then the conversation took another direc- 
 tion, and they spoke of the event which had in 
 one moment dashed aside the hopes of two loving 
 hearts ; and Constance learned from her mother 
 many particulars of Lord Ernest and of the West- 
 rough family, till then unknown to her. Thus 
 talking, they passed the time till shortly before 
 dinner, when they were surprised by the entrance 
 of Helen, looking wan and languid, but evidently 
 not so overcome as they had naturally expected 
 Bhe would have been. 
 
 She held a folded letter in her hand. " I have 
 come, mamma and Constance," she said, " to con- 
 vince you that I am not going to increase the 
 painful consequences of this day's sad news, by 
 giving way to any feelings I can possibly over- 
 come. 1 have thought much and deeply during 
 the last two hours, and the result is in this letter. 
 If papa will permit it to go, I think it will be bet- 
 ter for all. Constance, you may tell him the sub- 
 Btance of it, which is this. That I have set Regi- 
 nald—" she faltered at the name, but, as if in 
 puni.-hmcnt for her weakness, repeated it — " I 
 have set Reginald free ; but 1 have not asked to. 
 be set free in return— that would be useless; I do 
 not wish it ; and to him," she resumed, with kin- 
 dling looks, " it is, 1 know, only useful as making 
 hiui feci that he can go where he likes — do as he 
 likes, without the least restraint, but such as his ' 
 never-ending love for me may make pleasant to 
 him. 1 love him, oh, mother ! 1 love him more 
 than ever ; so I tell him, but I give him up for a 
 time ; and whenever he can claim me, and 1 know 
 he will some day, then, if 1 live, 1 am ready to be 
 his— his wife; but this once 1 must be permitted 
 to speak my own words, and to utter my own 
 feelings; after this I shall, perhaps, never ask 
 more than one other favor — it will be to have the 
 
 reply. Can you manage this for me, dear Con- 
 stance.-" 
 
 " That I will, dearest sister, in such a cause I 
 can not fail ;" and Helen, who had nobly made 
 this efibrt, looked faint and exhausted, excused 
 herself from appearing at dinner ; but Constance 
 prevailed on Mrs. Templeton to descend, remem- 
 bering that her father had rather made a point 
 of their being present. 
 
 The meal passed in more than usual silence ; 
 still it was not so formidable as Mrs. Templeton 
 had apprehended; and when the dessert wa- 
 placed, and the servants dismissed, at a signal 
 from her daughter she rose and walked out, us ii 
 to fetch some flowers. 
 
 " Papa," began Constance, " you were so very 
 kind this morning, that I venture to prefer a 
 petition, which arises partly out of the conversa- 
 tion we then held, and which 1 repeated to Helen 
 — who at once saw your reasons'' — not quite ex- 
 act, dear Constance, but let it pass — " so, papa, 
 she has decided to set Reginald free." 
 
 " Set him free!" loudly began the Colonel. 
 
 " Pray, papa, let me finish before you con- 
 demn; but, very naturally, she wishes her lettev 
 to go at once" — she did not think it necessary to 
 say, unread — " and this is the favor." 
 
 " Oh I if that is all, send it — but remember, ir 
 must be the only one; but send it, it will save 
 me the trouble of writing another letter myself;" 
 thus giving her to understand that the offensive 
 communication would be suppressed. 
 
 " Thanks— a thousand thauks," she said aloud 
 and very fervently to herself, she added, '■ an 1 
 thanks, indeed, tenfold, that that terrible epistle 
 has been destroyed." 
 
 So Helen's letter went, and she was, to all 
 pearance, wonderfully calm. 
 
 " But the face may be tingVI with a warm, sunny smile 
 Though ihe cold heart to ruin runs darkly the whUe." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " They grew in beauty side by side, 
 They fiU'd one house wiih gUe." 
 
 Mks. Hemans. 
 
 The news, of course, quickly spread througI\ 
 the house, and thence equally, of course, over tlie 
 village, that .Mr. West was a ruined man — thaS 
 his prospects were blighted, and his marriage 
 with Miss Templeton broken off! •£ 
 
 By the more intimate friends of both parties 
 the news was listened to wiili the kindest ex- 
 pressions of condolence ; and while truly sympa- 
 tiiizing with Reginald on this blow to his love 
 and his hopes, every one felt that his afliiction 
 would be rendered more poignant by the reflec- 
 tions which must be cast on Lord Ernest's want 
 of honor and justice. 
 
 " What a dreadful disappointment for him,** 
 said Lady Dallas, her eyes actually overflowing, 
 as her kindness pictured his distress. 
 
 "Sad, indeed," replied Mrs. Forrester. "I 
 little thought 1 could so soon refer to the lo.ss of 
 my dear friend, his mother, with such resigna- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 57 
 
 tion ; but I now see she is spared this, and is, 
 indeed, taken from the evil to come." 
 
 " Of course," remarked Laurette, " Mr. West 
 must see the propriety — indeed, the necessity, 
 of -writing to free Helen — and painful as it may 
 he, I hop that he will take the lead." 
 
 " 1 am quite sure that Reginald will do all 
 that is honorable, though his heart should break 
 in the effort,"' said Mrs. Forrester, decidedly ; 
 " and like you, my dear Laurette, I hope he will 
 do so promptly." 
 
 . But several days passed without any letter, 
 and those whose friendship gave them a claim to 
 information, looked dilhppointed and anxious. 
 At last, letters came from Lady Sinclair to the 
 Priory, and to her daughter ; to the latter she 
 gave a detailed account of all slie knew, express- 
 ing her strong desire to learn more, and espe- 
 cially all the particulars Laurette could send 
 respecting the Templetons, about whom she and 
 Bir Archibald were most anxious 
 
 Her Ladj-ship's letter to the Priory was by 
 the same jiost which also brought a few lines 
 from Ashley Vernon, cautiously informing them 
 of Reginald's illness, and promising dail^' reports. 
 Then it was that poor Helen felt there might be 
 a trial in store for her too dreadful even to be 
 thought of 
 
 Outwardlj' calm as she had been for the last 
 few days, who may tell all the agony of that 
 bruised young heart — resigned as she had seemed 
 — who knew through what an ordeal, in silence 
 and in tears, she had passed, before slie had at- 
 tained it — and now — oh ! it was too bitter a sor- 
 row to be possible ! Was she never, never again 
 to hear that loved voice.' never again to see that 
 dear face .' must he, indeed, pass away, and she 
 not have the sad consolation of watching by his 
 side .' Poor Helen ! poor girl ! and her heart 
 was heavy with its sorrow. 
 
 Neither her mother, nor Constance, during 
 this agonizing suspense, attempted to comfort 
 her; they could not bid her hope ; they felt that 
 she needed that support which nothing earthly 
 can give ; and oh ! the prolonged agony, when, 
 day after day, letters came from Ashley, from 
 his mother and sister, all repeating the same 
 fearful tale — Reginald lingering between life 
 and death. Helen at last gave way ; it seemed 
 as if she had no longer either hope, or care, or 
 object in life. 
 
 At last, blessed tidings ! are they true .' there 
 is hope ! and when the next day they were con- 
 firmed, and a letter, such a letter ! came to 
 Helen from Dr. Vernon, though she still wept, 
 they were no longer the tears of despair. 
 
 One morning, about a week after tliis news, 
 ■which daily became more and more certain, when 
 Colonel Templeton came down to breakfast, he 
 was astonished to see the two letter- bags lying 
 On the table before his chair, and tiie little key, 
 which Constance rather ostentatiously carried 
 attaclied to her watch-chain, on the top of that 
 belonging to her. 
 
 " What is tills for .'" he inquired of Con- 
 Stance, who was tlie only other occupant of the 
 room. 
 
 " When you gave me leave to have that b.ag, 
 papa." replied slie, " we all little tliought of the 
 eloud that was gathering over our heads. I 
 
 then laughingly promised you never to let it bo 
 the medium of any thing clandestine ; to myself 
 I solemnly said, it sh:ill never be the means of 
 weakening my father's confidence in me ; till this 
 morning, 1 never knew the strength of tempta- 
 tion, or the extent of my own weakness ;" she 
 rose, and opening the bag, drew forth a letter 
 addressed to Helen. The writin-,' was much 
 changed, evidently formed by a feeble hand, for 
 the characters were uneven and tremulous ; but 
 still, post-mark, seal, all proclaimed that it was 
 from Reginald. 
 
 " This," proceeded Constance gravely, and 
 firmly retaining the letter, " will either be given 
 to Helen or destroyed !" she did not add, " no 
 one else shall read it, nor shall it be insultingly 
 returned ;" but that was evident in her tone and 
 look. •• Papa, wliich is it to be !" 
 
 He looked up at the young ingenuous face, a 
 slight expression of entreaty was mixed with 
 a tolerably large portion of decision, and gave 
 even more than usual dignity to the perfect fea- 
 tures. 
 
 " Constance," said lie, after a pause, during 
 which he had steadily looked at her, " you are a 
 brave girl, and what is more, you are a noble 
 one. There,"' he continued, pushing away both 
 bag and key, " henceforth it is yours, and yours 
 only; so never fear losing my confidence ; 1 must 
 be a demon to distrust you. But wliy are you 
 always sent on these matters .' Wliy does not 
 Helen come forward herself.' Upon my soul, I 
 am sorry for this affair, I am indeed ; and she 
 ought to be quite sure tliat it is so." 
 
 " Helen is not "very strong or very well, and 
 she has been sadly tried," said Con^tance ; " be- 
 sides, I think she is — " she hesitated to say, 
 " afi-aid of you" — but he did— " you think, you 
 know, she is afraid of me— say it at once ;" and 
 he half strangled a sigh. 
 
 " Helen never was strong as I, papa; but I still 
 feel quite sure that on all important occasions 
 she has strength of mind and principle which 
 will carry her safely through, where 1 miglit, 
 perhaps, fail ; and 1 am sure she will be very 
 grateful for your indulgence," looking at the let- 
 ter, " as well as for your expressions of sympa- 
 thy ; but are tliere no means by whicli V — she 
 colored and stopped, for her fatlier's brow grew 
 dark. 
 
 " Constance, I tell you there are none ; you do 
 not know exactly how I am circumstanced ; per- 
 haps — well — some day I may let you see how I 
 iim hampered — but never mind that now. I must 
 look at my own dispatches." 
 
 He did so, and held a letter which lie had 
 read more than once, for a few minutes in his 
 hand, as if undecided what to do; at lengtli, 
 he threw it over to Constance, saying, witli 
 some emotion, " Upon my life this is too bad — 
 Vjy heavens ! he is too fine a fellow to be thus 
 sacrificed to this imbecile old rascal; read it, 
 read it." 
 
 As she had suspected, the letter was from Reg- 
 inald, written directly he could hold a pen ; it 
 was,of curse, short, but the tears fell fast down 
 the face of Constance as she read the quiet resig- 
 nation with which he yielded to his fate— nu word 
 of reproach or complaint. On the ci>ntr:iry, he 
 thanked Colonel Templeton for hia forbearance in 
 
58 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 not having upbraided him for being the cause, i 
 though the innocent one, of the distress which, j 
 he -was too candid to conceal, he was sure had , 
 fallen on Helen. He also accepted the Colonel's j 
 eilence as an .assurance, whicii was very precious 
 to him, that he cast no shadow of duubt on the j 
 integrity and honor of his, Reginald's, conduct. 
 
 Glancing at her father, to read his consent to ] 
 her retaining tliis letter, she secured it in her j 
 bag, and then seeing that he was at leisure, she 
 said, " 1 was thinking, papa, that if Helen and 
 mamma could go away for a short time — if you 
 will let me take care of you, 1 will do my best 
 to make you comfortable — their absence, under 
 all the circumstances, might be a good plan." 
 
 '• The very thing, though it never struck me 
 till you proposed it— but you must all march off 
 together. 1 shall take that opportunity of run- 
 ning up to town. At present, however, none of 
 us can leave, for Lord Ilurstwood is expected; 
 and as we could not receive him when he was 
 last here, we must now liave a grand affair in 
 his honor. Afterward, you shall all go to the 
 Granthams, your mother says they have long 
 wanted yoxi ; will that do, you dictatorial, hec- 
 toring little puss .'"' 
 
 " Very well, indeed, papa, and now I shall leave 
 
 you." 
 
 Armed with letters, which, while they wounded, 
 would bring healing and peace, Constance has- 
 tened to Helen, who was breakfasting with her 
 mother ; and having dismissed her, to read and 
 weep, as she vrns sure to do, over such letters. 
 Constance astonished her mother with an account 
 of all she had done in reference to their intended 
 visit. It was precisely the plan Mrs. Templeton 
 most desired. To escape for a time from all the 
 recollections of the Priory — even from friendly 
 sympathies, much as she valued these last, would 
 have been a boon gratefully accepted — but when 
 she found that she was again to visit the scenes 
 of her early days — that beautiful Grantham, 
 which had been the paradise of her youth, and 
 from which she had been exiled ever since her 
 marriage — it seemed almost too happy to be true. 
 
 Witli her brother and his wife she had always 
 maintained the most friendly correspondence ; 
 and though they kindled with indignation when 
 they thought how her happiness had been wrecked 
 — the system from Which she had never departed, 
 effectually prevented all interference — therefore, 
 externally, all looked well ; for Colonel Temple- 
 ton was always included in the many and pressing 
 entreaties to visit them — Grantham, after many 
 years of alienation, having again come into his 
 lordship's possession. 
 
 CIL\PTER XXV. 
 
 •'•Sweet wl <>n the. winter of (ILciPiiiie ig pnst. 
 Ami (liu eUd 8|iriiif; nf IichIiIi r. tiirrirt at Innt ; 
 On II liiveil chi-fk, I'liii: lilo Ml. !(■»•<, to l)i'h"ld 
 18 Ursl faitil lint, ihc lrciiiOliiij» nm- ur lol.l," 
 
 Dk. BllOWN. 
 
 In the mean time, terrible were the days, the 
 weeks of suspense, which harassed Reginald's de- 
 
 voted friends in the north. Though his medical 
 attendant was correct in saying all danger was 
 voer, and, at last, gave permission to remove him 
 to Charles Vernon's comfortable parsonage, only 
 they wTio have watched the alternations of return- 
 ing health, the hopes which a breath ofifeir may [ 
 dash to the ground, the appearance of amendment 
 which some unknown cause proves to have been , 
 false, only they who have gone through this, can 
 understand what anxiety there was, and how dif- 
 ficult it was not occasionally to despair. 
 
 At length, symptoms of decided and permanent 
 amendment appeared, and again he was welcomed 
 by them, almost as on# from the tomb. But 
 though health gradually returned, where were the 
 hopes which had rendered life one long blessing ? 
 they had departed like the singing-birds of the ; 
 season— and would come no more! • 
 
 Directly he was able to read his letters, he 
 asked for them. Ashley had previously seen all 
 that had arrived, those, of course, excepted, which 
 had come from the Priory. Two, one from Mrs. 
 Templeton, and another from Constance, Reginald 
 put into Ashley's hands for him to read; and as 
 he received them back, he said, " Terrible enough 
 to be separated from such hearts as those, what, 
 then, must it be .'"—but he could not proceed, and 
 pointed with a look of despair at Helen's. 
 
 Lord Westrough wrote to him very kindly, and 
 in another letter to Ashley, expressed his hope ; 
 that when Reginald was sufficiently recovered, ho 
 would prevail on him to spend some time at tlieir 
 house near town, politely adding, that if Ashley 
 would accompany his friend, it would increase 
 the pleasure. His Lordship also hinted, that he 
 would use all his influence to procure him some 
 appointment, when he ascertained what woull 
 best suit him. But at the word appointment, A^l; 
 ley, who was happily alone, almost uttered a ve: ; 
 strong expression — very strong, indeed — let r 
 hope that the recording augel was jxs merciful to 
 him as to Uncle Toby, in similar circumstances. 
 
 Mr. Morton also wrote to Dr. Vernon, expressiii,;; 
 an earnest and friendly desire to learn the e.xact 
 state of Reginalds afl'airs, so far as the latter 
 would honor him by his confidence, frankly plac- 
 ing any sum of money at his immediate dispo.sal, 
 which could help to carry out his intentions, whoa 
 he was able to form any. 
 
 But after the letter from Mrs. Melville, which 
 Ashley told Reginald he had destroyed, there w;i.- 
 no information from that quarter, except a brief 
 note of respectful inquiry from old Roberts, who 
 wrote evidently in great anxiety and alarm on 
 Reginald's account, and whose hints and insinua- 
 tions were so extraordinary, that some interfe- 
 rence appeared needed; at any rate, it seemed 
 desirable to ascertain what foundation these 
 strange allusions rested on. 
 
 " \\ ill you object to my visiting Old Court .'" 
 asked Ashley of Reginald, when they had one day , 
 been talking of the singular event which had had 
 60 wide and fatal an influence. " I am not sure 
 that you are justified in thus keeping aloof. Lord 
 Westrough will not move, and it really seems to 
 me a mistake thus tamely to permit this artful 
 woman to triumph." 
 
 " iSo far as 1 am concerned," replied Reginald, 
 " I very decidedly object to any step being taken, 
 lest my motives should be misconstrued. A gulf 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 50 
 
 is open .between me and Old Court, but I have no 
 right to let my scruples interfere and prevent 
 ■what you and the Doctor thiuk proper ; it is hor- 
 rible to fancy to what extremes such a woman 
 may carry her machinations, if she thinks there 
 is no one to protect her victim ;" and it was, 
 therefore, decided that Ashley should go, and, if 
 possible, see Lord Ernest, and leu'-n from him his 
 real wishes and situation ; and to this he was, by 
 Eeginald, strictly limited. 
 
 To follow Ashley, and tell what then and there 
 befell, will not greatly fatigue the pen of the his- 
 torian ; for, except seeing Uld Court and Roberts, 
 who was excessively distressed and nervous, Ash- 
 ley saw no more. He was civilly, but positively, 
 refused an interview with Lord Ernest, on the 
 plea of indisposition. It was said that his Lord- 
 ship himself sent this message ; but many things 
 are said which are not all true. And when Rob- 
 erts next attended his Lord, and alluded to Mr. 
 Vernon's visit, he was convinced that he had not 
 known of it, or had been over-persuaded to decline 
 seeing him, his only remark being, " Never mind 
 now— never mind now !" 
 
 Though his mission to Old Court had been so 
 fruitless, Ashley was not much surprised, and still 
 glad that the attempt had been made. His next 
 journey was to Seabrooke, to which place these 
 unforeseen events had made Dr. Vernon desirous 
 of returning But church reparations, like chui-ch 
 improvements, are slow in progress, and those 
 going on at Seabrooke maintained this character. 
 Therefore, having made what attempts and ar- 
 rangements he could to hasten piogress, especially 
 at the Rectory, whose state seemed hopeless lor at 
 least some mouths, Ashley, who appeared to have 
 forgotten his own affairs in his zealous and un- 
 tiring interest in those of his friend, accepted .Mr. 
 Morton s invitation to make a home of the Her- 
 mitage, and proceeded to the Priory. 
 
 Alas ! how was all changed there, since that 
 memorable evening when Reginald's manner had 
 betrayed his secret ! How was his kind and manly 
 heart wrung, to perceive that the shade of melan- 
 choly had so greatly deepened on the brow of Mrs. 
 Templeton, while the lovely face of Helen was 
 mournful in the extreme ! Still, how delighted 
 they all were to see him — how they clustered 
 round him — how eagerly they listened to his 
 woi-ds ; and though tears flowed abundantly at 
 his recital, he felt quite sure that his arrival had 
 given them comfort. 
 
 When he left, charged with messages of love 
 from them all, Constance said she would accom- 
 pany him to the first lodge; and frankly linking 
 her arm in his, as if he had been a beloved 
 brother, she entered more fully than could be 
 done during their agitated interview, into accounts , 
 of her mother and Helen, chiefly expatiating on j 
 her dear, sweet Helen's unselfish triumph over this 
 great blow, though still feeling it so deeply. 8he 
 said that she was sure her sister perpetually cher- i 
 ished the hope of fulfilling her engagement with 
 Reginald, and she charged him to impress this on 
 his friend, so as to rouse him from an apathy 
 which, to her, Ashley owned he feared was not 
 the result of bodily weakness only, but a listless, 
 paralyzing influence, arising from a hopeless state 
 of mind, and which would, if indulged, bo fatal 
 to the future. 
 
 I " And you," said Ashley, as they were parting, 
 ' " is there no word of yourself.'" 
 
 " 1 .'" she replied, " oli ! 1 only wish I could, by 
 sharing Helens sorrow, diminish its burden to 
 her ! As it is, I have only the sorrows of others, 
 and it sometimes appears to me that I have no 
 right to be so spared." 
 
 "Heaven grant that it may ever be thus!" lio 
 replied, fixing his splendid eyes on her animated 
 but pale face. " And our neighbors, ' he contin- 
 ued, " how are they .' I am sure they have not 
 failed you at this time." 
 
 " Indeed, they have been every thing most kind ; 
 Lady Dallas has quite forgotten all her own trou- 
 bles" — and here she gave a little smile, which re- 
 minded him that once, either in lip, in eye, or 
 dimple, a smile ever lurked — "she has sent little 
 Minnie to amuse us, and in all things has been 
 so sympathizing Mr. Victor also daily brings 
 kind inquiries from his father, who, according to 
 his account, has quite lost his heart to dear 
 mamma." 
 
 " And the Forresters ?" he asked as an excuse 
 for lingering. 
 
 " Very kind ; Laurette is still there, and — Mr. 
 Hubert often comes to inquire." Why did she 
 hesitate and blush ? why did that ping at the 
 heart, which he had often felt, pain so very much 
 ' just now ? But ('onstance felt this sudden silence 
 embarrassing, and her quick ear catching the ap- 
 proach of a horse, she held out her hand, and 
 hastily said, " Farewell now — remember, we are 
 to sec you again before you leave." 
 
 He slightly touched that fair hand, but instead 
 of going the direct road leading to the Hermitage, 
 he proceeded toward the horseman. It was Hu- 
 bert Forrester — but Ashley knew this before. 
 
 " Ah ! Vernon, my dear fellow !" said Hubert, 
 " how delighted I am to see you ; why, when did 
 you come among us '" 
 
 " Only yesterday evening." 
 
 " And where are you quartered .' not at the 
 Rectory, I am sure, where every thing must smell 
 of paint, and taste of bricks and mortar. Have 
 you swung your hammock among the trees, or 
 pitched your tout on the lawn .'" 
 
 " Neither; I am at the Hermitage. Victor has 
 gone to Forest Hill to bid you to a quartette lun- 
 cheon, for I was anxious to see you, knowing you 
 would like to have news of Reginald ; but I have 
 no tima to spare at tliis moment, and perhaps you 
 are not quite at leisure. 
 
 "Thanks," said Hubert. "I shall be there 
 almost as soon as you ; but I have now a little 
 mes.'-age from my mother to Constance — to Mrs. 
 Templeton — so adieu till we meet." 
 
 Asldey did not hasten his return ; something 
 had matle him feel .spiritless and weary ; but he, 
 however, preceded Hubert by nearly an hour — 
 and still luncheon waited for the loitering guest — 
 and when he did enter, flushed witli heat, and liia 
 liandsome countenance radiant with happiness, 
 Ashley thought him one of the most glorious- 
 looking beings he had ever beheld ; and then, by 
 some strange association of ideas, not easily 
 fathomed, Constance presented herself to his 
 mind, and he stifled a sigh. 
 
 " And now, tell me all you can about poor Re- 
 ginald,' said Hubert ; " how scandalou.-iy he lias 
 been used. By Jove ! that old uncle of hia de- 
 
60 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 serves to be executed. What could such an owl 
 as that want with a wife, and she a mere girl ? 
 it would be a charity to go and run off with her — 
 and no bad idea that." 
 
 " Nor one at all unlikely to be unsuccessful if 
 you attempted it," thought Ashley ; and forthwith 
 he proceeded to tell many particulars relating to 
 Reginald, whicli he knew he was at liberty to do, 
 and whicii Hubert, kind, generous, and impulsive, 
 listened to with tlie greatest interest. 
 
 " And what will Mr. West do :" inquired Vic- 
 tor, whcse admiration of -Mrs. Templeton had been 
 extended to her daughters, now that he had had 
 an opportunity of becoming better acquainted with 
 them. " 1 Impe he will become rich, and then 
 marry Miss Templeton." 
 
 " She is not at all the girl to make such a ro- 
 mance," said Hubert, " or, upon my honor, I 
 should say nothing would be better than for her to 
 elope with him." 
 
 " Nonsense, Forrester," said Ashley ; " besides, 
 how could he maintain her .' at least at present ; 
 he has nothing but kind friends," glancing at Mr. 
 Morton; '-and Colonel Templeton is quite the 
 man to disinherit her, if she took such a step. 
 No, no, on every account that has not my 
 sanction." 
 
 "Nor mine either," said Mr. Morton; "few 
 circumstances can justify that scandal." 
 
 " Very fine talking, you grave and reverend 
 seigniors," said Hubert, with sparkling eyes ; " but 
 I know, if I loved a beautiful girl, and she loved 
 me, and any dragon said nay, 1 would carry her 
 off without a scruple." 
 
 " And work for her and yourself?" asked Ashley 
 drily. 
 
 • " Why, that is a sort of codicil to my will and 
 intention that I have not provided for. I am not 
 fond of much work, and very fond of much plea- 
 sure ; but if — " he paused and colored. 
 
 " Happily," remarked Mr. Morton, " you run 
 little danger of being put to the proof in either 
 case — the elopement or the hard work ; if you can 
 make sure of the lady," he added significantly, 
 " there is no fear of a dragon or any other fabu- 
 lous monster interfering to say nay." 
 
 Ashley at this moment felt the room so close 
 that he rose and opened the window, and address- 
 ing Victor, said, " How much better you see the 
 Priory from this point than you used to do — or 
 have I foi'gotten .'" 
 
 ♦'Oh, no, you are quite right, for the Colonel 
 has been thinning the woods — and it is a real ad- 
 vantage to us, as it gives such a pretty peep." 
 
 " 1 liear there w.as quite a row about that cut- 
 ting," remarked Hubert ; " it was done at the in- | 
 Btigatiou of that i'ellow Cooper, who is a bad one." j 
 
 "So are all who belong to him," interrupted' 
 Mr. Morton, with a meaning look, which Hubert 
 either did not or would not notice ; for he went on 
 saying— 
 
 "It seems Cooper had marked right and left, 
 without much reference to either age or girth ; 
 luckily for hin*, before the men had cut very long, 
 down came a message from the Colonel stopping 
 jh-ogress, and lie furious with the agent for the 
 toischief he had already caused." 
 
 " But," observed Ashley, " this sounds very 
 contradictory; to my knowledge, the trees have 
 been maiked for a long time — lor 1 remember my 
 
 I father saying, he was not quite clear as to the 
 propriety of siich indiscriminate felling — so the 
 
 I Colonel must have known it." 
 
 I " And Cooper protests that he had the Colonel's 
 authority and order — if he had, 1 suppose it was 
 
 j some after-dinner order, for all has ''jen counter- 
 manded, and men set to work to plant and rtpair, 
 as much as possible, this, as well as some former 
 injudicious cleai-Lngs. ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " So the bareain was struck ; with the liltle god laden, 
 8hcj.\ fully flew to her thrine iu lli^- grove. 
 ' Farewell,' said the sculpt .r; • jou're not th- first maiden 
 Wlio came but for if'rieiidabip, aud took away Lov^-.' " 
 MooKE. 
 
 After Hubert's departure with Victor, Mr. 
 Morton and Ashley held a long aud interesting 
 conversation regarding Reginald ; in the course 
 of which, Mr. Morton evinced a srood sense and 
 knowledge of business, quite equal to tlie gene- 
 rosity and kindness of his offers. He spoke of 
 Mrs. Templeton aud Helen with the deepest re- 
 spect, and, knowing the long standing friendsliip 
 which subsisted between them and all Ashley's 
 family, delicately hinted at the frequency of Hu- 
 bert Forrester's visits to the Priory ; to which, 
 he said. Lady Dallas had more than once alluded ; 
 and finished rather a long speech, in which he 
 had no interruption from Ashley, by fervently 
 expressing his hope that, if rumor spoke truly, 
 the course of true love might flow smooth for the 
 fair Constance. 
 
 But perceiving, at length, that this subject 
 had no interest for Ashley, who had been very 
 busy adding up some figures on a piece of paper, 
 he turned the conversation to the state of repairs 
 at the Rectory, which Ashley found he must 
 again visit that same day : therefore suiting his 
 dinner-hour to his young friend's engagements, 
 Mr. Morton left him. 
 
 Very slowly indeed did Ashley walk toward 
 the church, and when he reached one particul ir 
 spot, whence there was a most beautilul view if 
 the Priory, its immediate grounds and park, he 
 sat down. Long, long did he sit there, lost in 
 thought; and very grave, nay, sad, was the ex- 
 pression which was impressed on his countenance 
 when he rose, and sighing deeply, prepared for 
 his return to the Hermitage, Ah ! he had lost 
 so much time idling up in the churchyard, that 
 he could not fulfill his promise of again seeing 
 Mrs. Templeton; and as he went away early 
 the next morning, he left a note of apology for 
 his omission, and took leave of Mr. Morton, with 
 an increased consciousness of that gentleman's 
 worth. 
 
 Now what is all this about Hubert Forrester's 
 visits to the Priory .' is it not possible for him to 
 ride over there with " little messages from hia 
 mother to Constance — to Mrs. Templeton," with- 
 out rumor detecting some other motive .' Ru- 
 mor has, in general, so bad a character for vera- 
 city, that when she is true, it would be cruel not 
 
THE WIFE'S TllIALS. 
 
 CI 
 
 to own it— and so when she said that the gay 
 young heir of the Forresters was as much at- 
 tracted by the sweet face of Constance, as by 
 the syuipiithj' he truly felt for lier sister, the 
 faithtul historian is bound to admit it was a 
 fact. 
 
 And what says Constance ? is the next inquiry 
 — one not so easily answered. 
 
 Shortly before Mrs. West's removal to Harrow- 
 gate, and when Hubert had just returned from a 
 continental tour he had made with young Morton 
 from some quarter, and by some means which 
 slie could not distinctly trace, Constance had 
 received a vague impression that Hubert was at- 
 tached to Laurette. Now, it could not be that 
 this, whisper had emanated from Laurette her- 
 self; no delicately-minded lady speaks of such 
 tilings till the gentleman puts them beyond a 
 ti.iubt — above all, no lady so proud and reserved 
 as Laurette. Nor had she spoken — .slie had 
 merely insinuated, and this so dexterously, that 
 while every word had the exact effect she in- 
 tended, it was difficult to remember who had 
 spoken them; and Constance, not caring about 
 the truth or falsehood of the report, gave herself 
 no trouble to investigate it, while Hubert's fre- 
 quent visits to the Priory seemed only a confirm- 
 ation. 
 
 But when Laurette left for Forest Hill, and 
 still Hubert came daily, and almost always 
 alone, Constance thought it very kind of him. 
 Gradually, however, the daily visitor began to 
 be expected .■" she was disappointed if he did not 
 come at the usual hour, which she now particu- 
 larly marked, and during which she did not like 
 tu lie absent ; his anxious inquiries after Helen 
 ought to be answered by one of the family, and 
 ns her mother was very much with Helen, who 
 did not usually see visitors, who but Constance 
 could receive him .' 
 
 Perhaps, had all gone smoothly and happily 
 with Helen's engagement, Hubert would never 
 have made the impression on the imagination of 
 Constance which lie now did. At least, he would 
 never have had the opportunity this gave him 
 of being a kind of consoler, a sort of confidant to 
 her — rather dangerous characters, when the 
 heart is unoccupied and the imagination strong — 
 when tlie consoler is eminently handsome, and 
 the consoled atFectionare and enthusiastic. 
 
 Constance was naturally gay, fond of society, 
 and possessed herself the most delightful com- 
 panionable qualities, in a mind richly stored 
 with varied information, and in a fancy of pecu- 
 liar delicacy and vivacity. 
 
 All around her now was sad, gloomy, almost 
 stern ; and though we have seen how she shared 
 and lejsened the sorrows of her loved ones, there 
 was no sense in proving her sympathy by seeking 
 sadness and reJL'cting pleasure; no reason why 
 she should close her eyes to the sun, because it 
 did not shine on Helen. In short, before she was 
 aware of it, the joyous, handsome vision, all un- 
 dimmed by care, or darkened by the world's 
 frown, which daily met her, became to her indis- 
 pensable. 
 
 His voice was almost the only cheer''ul one she 
 heard : his, almost the only smile tliat greeted 
 her. He alone, in his gay ignorance of their 
 real position, talked of happiness to Helen and 
 
 her mother, or ventured to predict that the fu- 
 ture would richly compensate for tiie trials of the 
 present. And tiien, he was so noble in his proud 
 bearing, yet so graceful ; so gentle, so tender 
 in his care and solicitude ; so animated and elo- 
 quent in his predictions of bright days and cloud- 
 less skies! 
 
 Constance, like most girls of cultivated and 
 poetic feelings, was an ardent admirer of beauty 
 in every thing. Harmony of form, tone, or color 
 was always necessary to her enjoyment ; which 
 was always diminished when discord or deConnity 
 presented itself And she had but to look at Hu- 
 bert, or to listen to him, and eye and ear alike 
 found pleasure. And so, as many a girl not 
 eighteen has done, she fell in love with him, con- 
 vinced by all those tokens, intelligible only to 
 the initiated, that this love was fully returned ; 
 and it was; Hubert loved Constance, as he be- 
 lieved none had ever loved before — the creed to 
 which every lover subscribes— and this he would 
 have told lier over and over again, but ho had 
 already spoken to his father, whose consent had 
 been conditionally and very reluctantly given. 
 
 First, Mr. Forrester insisted that nothing 
 should be said till they understood each other's 
 characters and tastes better. Needless cause for 
 silence and delay, thought the son, who was fully 
 persuaded that on these points, they were thor- 
 roughly informed. Secondly, he argued that, 
 under present circumstances, there was a kind of 
 impropriety in such an avowal. While one sister 
 was mourning the violent dissolution of her en- 
 gagement, it seemed, to the stately old gentleman, 
 indelicate in the other to be forming one. Fi- 
 nally, and he might have said chietly, he never 
 had liked, never could like Colonel Teiiipleton ; 
 and some proceedings of that worthy oflScer's 
 having lately reached Mr. Forrester's e.ars, this 
 dislike had arisen almost to contempt; so he ne- 
 gotiated for delay, and trusted to accidents ; for, 
 as to interfering by a positive prohibition, that 
 never entered his mind, where Hubert was con- 
 cerned ; and as the son knew this, he the more 
 readily acquiesced in his fither's suggestions. 
 Therefore, so far as silence of tlie tongue went, not 
 a word was spoken ; and still Constance was quite 
 easy and contented ; and, upon the whole, rather 
 respected the delicacy which restrained Hubert 
 from speaking till Helen's first grief should have 
 calmed into regret. 
 
 But Hubert had another motive in submitting 
 to delay ; he hopeil that during the interval 
 Laurette would return to Scotland ; for, without 
 being exposed to the charge of vanity, he had 
 seen that she was not only the favorite of his 
 parents, but that she aspired to be his favorite 
 also. In his estimation, however, she w.is by no 
 means likely to dispute the palm successfully 
 with Constance. She was, at least, three years 
 older than he, a seniority fatal to her views on a 
 I'omantic young man of his age ; slie was too 
 elaborate, too artificial in feeling an 1 m.anner, 
 without possessing the beauty of face and figure 
 which had peculiar charms for him 
 
 In spite, however, of the silence which w.as ob- 
 served, an instinct that rarely errs when direct- 
 ed by love, warned her of what was going on. 
 
 Laurette knew his secret- 
 
 ■11 
 
 if sho 
 
 had accompanied him in every one of his daily 
 
62 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 visits, and seen every look he bestowed on her 
 cousin. Her jilan wns therefore changeil, and a 
 new one arranged, for she was bent on conquest. 
 She did love Hubert, and this gave energy and 
 power to her scheuies While Mr. and Mrs. For- 
 rester kept sdeut, she carefully avoided all that 
 might invite confidence; but by artful lamenta- 
 tions about poor Helen, and the injurious effect 
 her disappointment might have on her sister's 
 prospects, she led the minds of her hearers into 
 the train of thought she wished. :ind left them to 
 Work it out alone. Their pride was awakened, 
 they hardly knew why or how— let them find it 
 out, if possible— and, in order to make them 
 sensible of her value, at this critical moment 
 she accepted an invitation to Lady Westrough's, 
 after which she was to return to the Priory and 
 finis^h her series of English visits by going to 
 Forest Hill. 
 
 Laurette hated Scotland, and would go any- 
 where; rather than to Craignlan; even her pride, 
 •which might have been gratified by thi^ princely 
 establishment at home, was offended by the ex- 
 clusive homage rendered to the young heir ; 
 and as all her early associations had been 
 formed during the long absence of Lady Sin- 
 clair, perhaps it was only natural that she 
 should cling to those who had been the friends 
 of lier childhood, and to that country where all 
 she most cared for resided. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Das schwere llerz wird ukht (lurch Worte leicht." — 
 German I'roverb. 
 
 Reginald, meanwhile, had fully recovered his 
 health, and the first thing now was to decide for 
 the future. For that purpose, a consultation 
 ■was held with his friends, the Vernons. 
 
 As regarded pecuniary means, he was almost 
 destitute, except what remained of the sum 
 which Lord Ernest had so strangely, as it seemed 
 at the time, forced upon him. Sea- View Cottage, 
 to his great surprise, he found his mother liid 
 purchased, jit least for a long term ; for after 
 the conversation between herself and Reginald, 
 which has been related, she began to lay by, 
 and the hundred pounds sent for some ornament, 
 were solemnly set apart as the first fruit of her 
 resolve. 
 
 Pretty, but small, with merely enough garden 
 round it to shut out pa.><sing gazers, the sum 
 needed for the purchase was but trifling ; for it 
 belonged to Mr. Forrester, who put little more 
 than a nominal value on the place, when he 
 learned her wishes. 
 
 This being neatly furnished, would probably 
 "always command a tenant; but the rent would 
 not support Heginald. and piy the expenses of 
 his professional studies. Lord Wcsirough had 
 frankly declared his inability to lielp him, ex- 
 cept in using his government intiuL-nce, and to 
 this influence Ashley hated liiiii to resort; be- 
 sides, unless this visionary appointment were 
 held irrespective of party politics, who could say 
 
 how long that to which his Lordship belonged 
 would remain in ofiioe ? Ashley said they were 
 by no means as firm as a rock, and then all 
 would have to begin again; just so much time 
 lost. 
 
 "Reginald, do not irritate me by refusing to 
 share, .as far as you want, what 1 do not ; there 
 is all that money which was left me by my god- 
 father, and which my generous father has allowed 
 to accumulate, till it is a fortune. Let us enjoy 
 it together ; you are to me as my brother," said 
 the noble Ashley ; " my father and mother love 
 you like a son." 
 
 " And Carry like another dear brother," said 
 she, giving him her hand, which he pressed with 
 deop emotion; "now. as a sou, what should you 
 do wiien a father advises .'" 
 
 " Take his advice, and his help also," replied 
 Reginald, in a husky voice, fairly overcome by 
 their love and kindness. 
 
 '• Right, my son Reginald," said the Doctor ; 
 " now we can go on better, and see our way- 
 more clearly. What are your own ideas and 
 wishes V 
 
 " To earn my living honorably, and as speedily 
 as may be. Had I been permitted to have ex- 
 erted myself years ago, I should by this time 
 have been fi ee and independent, instead of just 
 going to school. Older than Ashley, I am tit 
 only to be his pupil ; for his profession will, if ic 
 can be managed, be mine. 1 like the exercise of 
 intellect which it gives. I like the demand it 
 makes upon the attention. 1 like its facts, dry 
 though they be ; its research, its quaintness, its 
 associations with the past, connecting it so inti- 
 mately with the present ; these all amuse my 
 fancy, though that word may sound inappro- 
 priate ; but then, when I think of the time, all 
 this is visionary." 
 
 " It need not be; three ye.ars soon pass away, 
 and it seems to me this may be arranged even 
 more easily than any other plan; what say you, 
 Ashley ?" turning to his son. 
 
 "It is already done, my dear father; while 
 Reginald was talking, I settled it all; he is ex- 
 actly the man to suit Mr. Turner; and we shall 
 yet be distinguished characiei-s, and have a niche 
 in the temple of fame." 
 
 " Yes," said Caroline, "and both of you may 
 help to swell the ari.-tocratic ranks of merry 
 England, which, judging Iruiu the supply it re- 
 ceives from your profession, would be ' tine by 
 degrees and beautifully less,' were you too grand 
 to accept its honors." 
 
 " If that is your amende honorable for some 
 former high-treason speech," said Ashley, kiss- 
 ing his sister, " you have paid the debt, and with 
 interest." , 
 
 And it was settled that the friends should pro- 
 ceed to London, where Ashley was to give the 
 benefit of his experience. Reginald wrote a long 
 letter to Mr. Morton, informing him of the deci- 
 sion to which he had come, expressed his grati- 
 tude for kimlness received and intended ; prom- 
 ising, that if lie needed his help, he would ask tor 
 it as frankly as it had been offered; and con- 
 cluded by h(<pii!g when they met in London, he 
 would find that lime had been profitably spent. 
 
 The arrangements for Reginald were soon per- 
 fected through the zealous efforts of the Doctor 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 63 
 
 and his son, and no timo was lost in setting off, 
 for Ashley, now that his services were no longer 
 required by the side of a sick bed, avowed bis 
 anxiety to renew his legal studies, and read hard, 
 80 as to overtake interrupted time. 
 
 They were to meet daily at the chambers of 
 the same gentleman; but great as he owned the 
 temptation was, Reginald overruled Ashley's pro- 
 posal, that they should lodge together. He frank- 
 ly owned his reasons ; he could not, he ought 
 not, to live at an expense which, though quite 
 Buitable for Ashley with his mcms, would be 
 absurd for him, already so deeply indebted to 
 to the whole family. Mrs. Vernon came to his 
 support, and entirely approved of his decision, in 
 spite of her son's argument, that they should 
 both actually save by clubbing their expenses; 
 and she further proceeded to say, that Reginald, 
 ■whose health still required care, should seek 
 some comfortable lodging, removed from the smoke 
 of London, yet within walking distance ; and had 
 arranged for him thus ftir, when she suddenly 
 remembered, that in one of the letters she hyd 
 received from Mrs Templeton during Reginald's 
 illness, she had mentioned her former nurse, 
 Gretchen, as one whose services would be most 
 valuable should he much longer require unre- 
 mitting attention ; she had therefore inclosed 
 Gretchen, or rather Madame Stopsel's address, 
 at Hampstead, where she let, a part of what, in 
 her former letters to her former mistress, she de- 
 scribed as a very pretty cottnge. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon read this letter, and copied che 
 
 her sweet baby eyes opened on. And pray, sir, 
 come often, it will do you both good." 
 
 And oft«n enough he did come, though it ia 
 doubtful what good it did him, to hear tales with- 
 out end, first of Helen, then of Constance — 
 chiefly, it must be confessed, of the latter— for he 
 made her comprehend, that, as there was not the 
 faintest hope of the engagement ever being renew- 
 ed, it was better not to remind Mr. West of his 
 loss by naming Helen. * 
 
 Reginald found the life he now led so congenial 
 to his tastes, so healthy to both mind and body, 
 that, had it not l)een for one corroding care, " one 
 fatal remembrance," he would have called this the 
 brightest, as well as the most profitable, period of 
 his life. He was working for independence ; and, 
 by the blessing of Providence, he felt sure that 
 Re should attain it. There was every inducement 
 to urge him on ; the expectations of his valued 
 friends must be realized, his debt, his pecuniai-y 
 debt, must be repaid, and this could be done only 
 by unwearying perseverance ; and if, sometimes, 
 he allowed himself the sad indulgence of thinking, 
 that years hence, when, perhaps, both were old, if 
 they chanced to meet, s/it should not have to be 
 ashiim^ of him, this was an additional incentive 
 to exertion. 
 
 He, therefore, courngeously looked his real po- 
 sition in the face ; he saw its difficulties ; he saw 
 also the means of overcoming them ; and finding, 
 by experience, that occupation was in every case 
 his best friend, in allowing no leisure for un- 
 healthy and useless regrets, he sought employ- 
 
 address, advising them, before they fixed on any | ment on this account, jis well as for emolument 
 other place, to see what accommodation Madame j and having been introduced to a publisher who 
 Stbpsel offered ; and she added, her knowledge of was able to appreciate his literary acquire- 
 Gretchen made her certain that, as regarded care . ments, busied himself in exercising his really 
 and kindness, Reginald would be better off in her rich imagination in light literature, after the dry 
 simple abode, than amid all the liixuries of Mi- and severe labor of his adopted profession had 
 vart" s hotel. | been performed. 
 
 On reaching town, Ashley insisted on Reginald's [ Ashley, who had a jealous horror of any pat- 
 remaining his guest for a short time; merely, as \ ronizing interference, rather encouraged Reginald 
 he said, to take off the chill of the place, and the | in declining, at least at present, the very kind 
 worse chill of solitude ; and in a few days they { invitations sent by Lord Westrough, though ]\e 
 walked out to see Gretchen, having previously had , saw the value of preserving his friendship ; but he 
 an interview with her husband, from whom they j took every opportunity of introducing his friend 
 learned, that if they wore satisfied with what she to several whom he valued for their worth and 
 could offer, she could receive one as a lodger. I intelligence, and whose acquaintance was likely to 
 
 Regpald was pleased to find that he should be beneficial to Reginald in the course of his 
 here breathe a purer air than that of the great future career : so that, though constantly and 
 Babylon, and on arriving at the cottage was | usefully occupied, his life was neither monotonous 
 charmed with the combination of neatness and J nor solitary, 
 comfort that every thing presented. 
 
 Under the pretense of making Mr. We.st rest, 
 while she showed Mr. Vernon the view, she led the 
 latter into the garden ; and as she had heard only 
 a very disjointed account of all relating to her 
 sweet lady and dear child, as she affectionately call- 
 ed Helen, Ashlcv,knowin"; how justly she was val- „„ , .■ u, .u . r . u J. 
 
 ,, ,' , ■',' , .■'^■,^ r I, * 1 ,„!,„„ " Courts fire unquestionably the seat.s of Boofl breedinff, 
 
 ned by those she had so taithtully served, gave her , ^„^ ^„,, necossanly be s.; otherwise ihey would be ihi 
 as detailed a history of wliat had occurred as time , seats of violence and desolation."— IFo/W. 
 Would admit of, while her tears and exclamations 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 sorrow frequently interrupted the narrative. 
 
 "Never fear for Mr. Reginald," was her a.esu- 
 rance, as they returned to the house : " I shall 
 cherish him for Miss Helen's sake, let alone old 
 acquaintance at Sea Cottage. Ah ! sir, what days 
 they were, when you were all little creatures — 
 long before he came; and Miss Constance, the 
 laugliing darling, well do I remember the sorrow 
 
 Mrs. Tkmplkton, after the conversation with 
 Consttince, which had reference to their visit to 
 Grantham, wrote immediately to propose it; in 
 answer to which, a most cordial welcome had been 
 promised; an ' anxiously did she await the perio<l 
 when the ' /looel would set them at liberty. 
 
 Rut, unfortunately. Lord Hurstwood's ai-rival 
 was delayed ; and till he had been received and 
 
64 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 feted, they knew there was no chance of their 
 moving. Besides, the Colonel himself had lately 
 been strange and uic*)dy, so that even Constance 
 lost her accustomed freedom of manner in his pre- 
 sence; and a violent misunderstanding between 
 him and Cooper, relating to some blunder about 
 felling timber, had in no way tended to make mat- 
 ters more agreeable— and, as if for a climax to 
 these uncertainties, without any previous hint of 
 his intentions, he one day gave notice that he was 
 going to London, where he should probably re- 
 main a week. 
 
 Undyr all these adverse circumstances, Mrs. 
 Templeton felt it wrong to keep her brother and 
 his wife, day after day, in a state of suspense, 
 which might perhaps interfere with other plan.s. 
 She therelbre proposed to the giils that the visit 
 should, for this time, be relinquished. * 
 
 Had Constance spoken with her usual frank- 
 ness, she would have given a glad assent to this ; 
 for the Triory had a daily visitant who rendered 
 it the delectabla land to her — but remembering 
 that her original object in proposing the change, 
 had been the benelit which her motlier and sister 
 were likely to gain from it, she preferred leaving 
 the decision to them. Helen had, at first, em- 
 braced the plan, because it had seemed to please 
 her mother ; as to herself, she was altogether in- 
 different about place or change — the one who, to 
 her, would have made a paradise in tli^ desert 
 was away, and what cared she more for Gran- 
 tham than Seabrooke ? 
 
 Therefore Mrs. Templeton stated her difficul- 
 ties, and declined the inwtation, though it was 
 with a pang ; but she was glad she had so decided, 
 when Lady Grantham wrote to say, that as Cecil 
 had not lately been vei'y well, they should go to 
 the Pyrenees for baths. Henry, his Avife, and 
 Cecilia, Avere, during their absence, to occupy 
 Grantham ; but that the latter would lilce to visit 
 the Priory bc-forc settling at home, as she so 
 greatly wished to see them all after her long ab- 
 sence in Italy. Her ladyship concluded with 
 alfectionate inquiries after Helen, strongly advis- 
 ing Mrs. Templeton to let her travel with them, 
 as she was sure change of scene was desirable. 
 
 "Oh, dear mamma! 1 can not leave you and 
 Constance," exclaimed Helen, in alarm. " I am 
 Tnuch better here with you, than anywhere else 
 without you— you are all to me now," she added 
 sadly. 
 
 " Then, my love, I shall not again mention it — 
 except to thank your aunt for thinking of you." 
 
 " And, mamma, how glad I shall be to see Ce- 
 cilia," said Constance ; " she is so right-minded 
 and kind." 
 
 '•So she is," replied Mrs. Templeton; "even 
 her occasional want of, what fhall 1 say .' not re- 
 finement—" 
 
 " Genll.ness," suggested Helen. 
 
 " Yes. gentleness, is pardoned — in her evident 
 wish to oblige — besides, she is so free from arti- 
 fice." 
 
 "And not artifice alone — but art or artificial- 
 ness," observed Constance, " if there be such a 
 word ; I prefer her rather decided and brusque 
 manner, to Laurette's correct but cold elegance — 
 even Cecilia's figure, and her commanding style, 
 are, to me, more pleasing than Laurette's finished 
 grace and slender form." 
 
 " And what a help she will be to us, mamma, 
 when that formidable Lord Hurstwood comes," 
 said Helen. " Cecilia would not care for a room- 
 ful of kings or emperors." 
 
 " Nor, in one sense, do I," cried Constance, 
 lifting her graceful head ; " all I should care for, 
 if a really great king came here, would be not to 
 incur his censure — merely because the esteem of 
 the good is always valuable. I do not think rank, 
 however elevated, would deprive me of my self- 
 possession ; but what sort of a man is Lord Hurst- 
 wood, mamma, that his coming excites so much 
 interest — you have often seen him V 
 
 " JS'o, not very often, my dear. When we first 
 came here, his fatlier, the late lord, was living ; 
 he died a few years ago. I then first saw his pre- 
 sent lordship, who soon left for St. Petersburg, 
 where, 1 hear, he much distinguished himself in 
 the management of some difficult and important 
 political question. He is now expected from Ire- 
 land, where he has large property, and it is said 
 that he means to remain in England." 
 
 " Ah, mamma," said Constance, laughing, " how 
 cunningly you think you have evaded my other 
 question— what sort of a man is he ?" 
 
 " How do you mean, my child .'" 
 
 " You shall not escape, you maneuvering moth- 
 er ; first, is he handsome ?" 
 
 " He most likely was." 
 
 "Was— ah ! that means, I suppose, that he is 
 so no longer, and that he is old." 
 
 " He is some years younger than your papa, I 
 imagine — forty-seven or eight." 
 
 " l3ut then papa is so h:\ndsome— to me he never 
 looks old," said Constance, musing; " if he re- 
 sembled his portrait, I think there never could 
 have been a finer-looking man." 
 
 Mrs. Templeton very calmly replied—" And it 
 is an excellent likeness — but 1 have seen faces 
 which I tliink much finer" — here a deep sish from 
 Helen almost startled her. Mrs Templeton felt 
 sad, for she knew her child's thoughts were of 
 lleginald— though her own allusion included Ash- 
 ley Vernon— but, as if she had not remarked 
 Helen's interruption, she proceeded to say, " for 
 instance, Hubert Forrester." 
 
 Ah, Mrs. Templeton ! you are bent on playing 
 at cross purposes, for Constance nearly let her 
 watch fall, and was so intent on fastening it 
 safely that she was silent, and it was Helen who 
 returned to the charge. 
 
 '• Then, mamma, we are to infer that you do 
 not like Lord Hurstwood— Constance, mamma is 
 in the trap at last— and there I shall keep her tiU 
 she fully and truly replies." 
 
 " My dears," said Mrs. Templeton, pleased to 
 see her sad Helen maldng an effort to be clieerful, 
 " I can not reply by a yes or a no— so you must 
 allow me to arrange my materials and separate 
 good from indift'erent and bad. I think Lord 
 Hurstwood, in one sense, a man of very polished 
 manners — those manners which a person of the 
 least taste and refinement can hardly fail to ac- 
 quire Avho frequents the best society — I was told 
 that he long and sincerely mourned the loss of an 
 only sister Avlio died Avhcn on the eve of marriage." 
 
 " Well," sloAvly remarked ("onstance, " though 
 not much in his favor, all this is not much against 
 him— and my knowledge of the world tells me," 
 and she laughed at her ignorance, " that this is 
 
TIIK WIFF/S TRIALS 
 
 65 
 
 ot to be despised — but go on with your an- 
 lysis." 
 ' I do not think, if he were to marry, his wife 
 [ be unhappy — though one with very strong 
 ffections would feel disappointed. I believe, also, 
 hat a sensible, totally imromantic woman might 
 e very happy with him — but that he is selhsh, 
 nd rather heartless, I fear is true — and nicely 
 ceighed, his Lordship is, by me, found wanting. 
 Vhat say you, Helen .'" 
 
 I, mamma ! he is precisely one of that species 
 rhich 1 particularly dislike," was her decided 
 eply. " But when will the dear Vernons return r" 
 he asked, no longer caring to discuss his Lord- 
 hip's character. 
 
 Oh, not for two months, so my last letter 
 ays," answered her mother ; " they have been in- 
 ited to Craigalan, but probably only the Doctor 
 .nd Caroline will accept— as Mrs. Vernon wishes 
 remain with Charles and his family." 
 
 " Is Mr. Victor Morton invited to 'meet Lord 
 lurstwood .'" said Helen. 
 
 " Certainly, he is your papa's great favorite ; 
 ,nd were it not for the awkward misunderstand- 
 ng which attended his father's possession of the 
 lermitage, and his very stiff reserve since, I am 
 ure /le would be included also. However, he 
 eems much pleased at his son's popularity." 
 
 '• Mamma, I think I have discovered a secret 
 jibout Mr. Victor," said Helen ; " by accident I 
 bund out that he wears the miniature of a lady 
 ound his neck !" 
 
 " Which means," said her mother, " that he is 
 n love, or that you think so — which .'"' 
 " You are right — what else can it be .'" 
 " Well, as he always seems very merry and 
 ght-hearted — though that is a wrong description 
 )f one who is supposed to have lost his heart^ — 1 con- 
 lude it is a satisfactory exchange ; and thinking 
 im true, and his father kind and sensible, I wish 
 jim happiness." 
 
 I believe," said Constance, " Helen is mis- 
 aken — it is a miniature of his mother, so says 
 arry. Mr Morton is a merchant, is he not ?" 
 " Yes, or rather he was, for I have met him so 
 ioften at the Rectory, that we are quite confiden- 
 tial and friendly, and chat about his aifairs 
 tVeely. Then he is so generous and manly in all 
 li's opinions and deeds, besides standing high in 
 the Doctors esteem, that I hope Victor may fulfill 
 all his wishes— only I think a feAV years' more ex- 
 perience would be desirable before forming an at- 
 tachment, if Helen's idea be correct." 
 
 Constance blushed painfully ; he and Hubert 
 were so nearly of the same age, that this remark 
 was as applicable to one as the other. Happily* 
 for her, the conversation again turned on Ce- 
 cilia's expected visit, and terminated without any 
 mure of those " words at random spoken," which 
 ai e often so embarrassing. 
 
 And Cecilia at length arrived, amazingly im- 
 provrd by her foreign residence, and yet without 
 hiving lost any of that sincerity which was so 
 very refreshing, or that courageous love of 
 truth on which those who knew her so safely re- 
 ru.ed. 
 
 '• What a splendid specimen of English beauty 
 nii'l foreign ease Miss Grantham is!" said Lady 
 Dallas to Mrs. Forrester after Cecilia had duly 
 renewed her acquaintance with her Seabrooke 
 
 friends. " Sir William calls her Juno the ma- 
 jestic."' 
 "Yes," replied Mrs. Forrester, '-she is very 
 , handsome, but rather too demonstrative fur my 
 [ taste. 1 own to admiring the elegant rather than 
 i the magnificent — and certainly, in the former, 
 Miss Sinclair excels." 
 
 I "Oh! certainly," acquiesced her Ladyship; 
 I " but they are so different, we hardly ever tliink 
 1 of comparing them. But what says our oi'acle, 
 .Mr. Hubert : his opinion is of consequence to the 
 young ladies." 
 
 I "Oh! Hubert," rather stiffly said Mrs. For- 
 I rester ; " Hubert would never admire any one so 
 I ready to take the lead as Miss Grantham. He 
 prefers the quiet and retiring — he has not lost 
 I his taste for an English blush." 
 
 " Ah ! and no one blushes more beautifully 
 than tliat sweet girl Constance Templeton," was 
 I the rejoinder of the blundering visitor, never 
 j imagining Mrs. Forrester's speech had reference 
 to Laureae, who hardly ever changed counte- 
 nance under any circumstances. " It is truly 
 deliglitful to watch the color deepen and fade on 
 her eloquent face — so perfectly feminine and 
 graceful as she is; and yet how bravely she bore 
 up under their late trial, and sustained the spirits 
 of both her mother and sister." 
 
 "It has indeed been a sad disappointment," 
 observed Mrs. Forrester, "sad to all; for these 
 events often leave an uncomfortable cloud on the' 
 j prosjjccts of a whole family." 
 
 Happily, her figure of speech was cloudy also, 
 I and by no means clej^r to Lady Dallas, who 
 would never have imagined how sorrow to one 
 member of a family could involve disgrace to tlie 
 rest; and probably thinking that tiie lady, of 
 Forest Hill was only more ihetorical than usualj 
 she still went on pitying Helen, unconscious that 
 I she was thus injuring Constance. But Lau- 
 rette's insinuation had not been lost on jSlrs. For- 
 I rester, who soon felt its effects ; for tlie more she 
 realized it, the less did she like the idea of Hu- 
 bert's marrying one whose sister had been dis- 
 appointed and pitied. A»d yet Mrs. Forrester 
 was kind! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " I'm the strangest person iu the whole world ; for what 
 care I for money 1 I wrilu lor reputation." — The J{e/ieurt,al, 
 
 ! Reginald was one day emerging from the 
 Teinj)le, deeply plunged in thought about some 
 
 j legal difficulty, when a gentleman, whom he had 
 not noticed, but whom he nearly ran against, 
 exclaimed, "Eyes right, young Chancellor, or 
 there will be an action for assault and battei'y" 
 — his quick sight having detected some papers 
 
 I which the other carried — and then, as Reginald 
 stopped to make an apology, he shouted, " West, 
 Reggy West ! or my name is not Charles Stacey." 
 " Good heavens, Stacey ! You here ? how glad 
 I am to see you !'' 
 
 " And how glad I am to hear you say so," re- 
 plied the new comer; "but for God's sake! do 
 
THE WIPES TRIALS. 
 
 not lose sight of me in this English Cimmerium, | 
 or, like Uei»ut!ition, you will never see me again. I 
 I am gi>ing to transact a little business at a ' 
 bankers near here; come -with me, and then I I 
 will drive you home. My horse is too aristo- 
 cratic to leiip Temiile Bar, so I have left him on j 
 the other side. Now, no excuse, I am deaf to | 
 it," as Reginald began with, •' I am afraid — " 
 
 '• You liad l)Ctter go quietly." said he named 
 Stacey, " or I will call the police, and vow you 
 have run away from your lodging without paying 
 die rent — and a good joke that would be, too;" 
 and lie laughed heartily at the idea. 
 
 Nothing loth, Reginald yielded to this violent 
 detention, oniy he wished to inform Ashley of it, 
 as he had proui.sed to meet him in the course of 
 an liour at his chambers. But his companion 
 Would not set him free even for this purpose, so 
 the check was cashed, and away they rattled, till 
 theycime to a very jiretty villa, near Kensington, 
 wliure I'leginald was introduced to a very pretty 
 little woman, as " my friend Reginald West," and 
 Keginald West was told '■ this is my little wife." 
 
 '• And now you are here, you must stay and 
 dine." said Mr. Stacey ; but this Reginald pos- 
 itively declined, alleging a previous engagement 
 to Ashley, at which uan'e tne other ag.iui shout- 
 ed wiili plea.surj; and, learning the address of 
 e.icli, .-ind being pacified witli a promi.se that the 
 next day but one tliey Would boih dine with him, 
 Keginald was sutfered to depart. 
 
 Ciiarles Stacey was a college acquaintance of 
 both Ashley and Keg nald. lie entered shortly 
 af.er the former dia, and being a young man of 
 extraordinaiy genius and most amiable manners, 
 he soon won, n .t, only their admiration, but their 
 interest. 
 
 . By birth he was by no means their equal ; 
 but where there are agreeable, companionable 
 qualitietf, and nothing in the conduct or senti- 
 ments ungentlemanly and oifensive, frank and 
 open-hearted youth does not generally care for 
 pedigree. His moilier was a widow, and he her 
 only child ; but tlie nobleman, whose Irish agent 
 hei- husband h:id been, and who had di.'-chMrged 
 his soinec lines unpleasant duties to the beiietit 
 and satisfac.ion of all parties, promised to look 
 after this faiherless boy. and had faithfully kept 
 his promise. Stacey, having been well educated, 
 was sent to colb ge preparatory to his taking or- 
 ders as there was a MUall living in his patron's 
 gitt which was destined for Jiim. And after 
 beinn thus provided for. he was given to under- 
 staiidthat he must take care of his future fortune 
 him.self. 
 
 'I'liis provision, though perhaps more than he 
 would have obtained bad his father lived, was 
 one very little admired by young Stacey! his 
 ambition or imagination liad pictured a some- 
 thing, though he might have been puzzled to say 
 what ; liut a finale to his academical career very 
 diUereni from a quiet, modest country living, 
 witii lis scanty income, its incessant and abund- 
 ant labor His first impression was that he was 
 a very ill-u.sed person ; he forgot that his educa- 
 tion, though e.vcellent, had been economically 
 procured at a hirge, but not public school; that 
 nothing had ever bren .sai«l or done by his noble 
 protector to justify the notion that he meant to 
 educiiie him a" ' '8 own sons were, though during 
 
 the holidays,, and on other occasions, he asso- 
 ciated freely with them ; this permission, thougli 
 kindly intended, was perhaps a mistake, tendthg 
 to encourage unfounded pretensions; nor was it 
 the only one. The young man's own wishes had 
 never been consulted as regarded his future 
 destination ; had they been, his disinclination 
 and unfitness for clerical duties would have been 
 discovered, and something more congenial to his 
 tastes and talents might have been oflered to him. 
 To his mother he hesitated not to avow his 
 dislike to the path marked out for him ; but she 
 was a silly, vain woman, who. though she thought 
 her clever Charles fit for any thing, and nothing 
 too good for him, had distant and indistinct 
 visions of church dignitaries, prebends' stalls, 
 lawn sleeves, and perhaps, in her ignorance and 
 folly, even of the pope's triple crown ; so she 
 talked about the gentility of the church till in 
 her mind gentility stood next to, if not in the 
 place of, go'dliness ; and drawing largely on fable 
 and f.iiry land, she so filled Charles's imaginative 
 brain with a fashionable congregation listening j 
 with rapt attention to his eloquence, and young i 
 ladies in love with the h.indsome clergj-man, that 
 these dreams jostled and drove aw.ay common 
 ; sense and her liomely progeny, and had the field 
 ' all to themselves. 
 
 And so behold the future " conquering hero" 
 in canonicals, at Cambridge, where, preparatory 
 to his becoming the pet of the congregation, he 
 became the pet of the cothbination-rooms. In- 
 stead of stealing young hearts away by senti- 
 mental s?rmons and good looks, he said and 
 wrote good-'things, and gave a welcome to the 
 enemy which steals men's brains ; his witti- 
 cisms were quoted and circulated far and wide, 
 but the heads of the university forgot him, or 
 passed him unnoticed ; his bon mot would set the 
 table in a roar, but his neglect of lectures and 
 chapel made tutors look grave ; in short, he waa 
 the life of his party— but, he was rusticated ! 
 
 Ashley, who was more constantly at Cambridge 
 than Keginald, had often remonstrated, but in 
 vain — be had threatened to withdraw his friend- 
 ship, equ.dly in vain ; the threat he himself found 
 too difliculi for performance, for Stacey was one 
 of those troublesome persons called, •' no one's 
 enemy but his own ;" though where either (Jie 
 truth or the appropriateness of the designation 
 lies, it seems difficult to discover, for the man who 
 is his own enemy, is, directly or indirectly, the 
 enemy of all who have any dealings or association 
 with him. 
 
 Stacey, however, left Cambridge generally re-'' 
 •grctted — those who condemned his conduct la- 
 I montcd this waste of talent andopportunity, while 
 his thoughtless associates bewiviled his departure 
 as an irreparable loss — for who was now to .supjtly 
 the place of this prince of good fellows .' He left 
 j also, indebted to almost everyone who had monev 
 ' to lend, though, in justice to him, it must be .-^LiJ 
 th.at he was aghast when he became aware of the 
 amount of his liabilities — but again he rallii ',. 
 j for when his disgrace fell upon him like a tin 
 I derbolt, " Never mind, old fellow ! we will sec .1 1 1 
 you," was said and meant by many of his U' ' 
 juid wealthy particulars; and some kept tin 
 word. 
 I And thus did his clerical prospects close )u. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 G7 
 
 tliese he did not much regret or lament — he had 
 1. iig ago discovered, that over-crowded congrega- 
 tions are disagreeable in more senses tliau one, 
 and that girls who weep over their prayer-books, 
 invariably have colds and red noses^but then, 
 this news killed his mother, and to her he was 
 tenderly attached ; we do not mean, that on hear- 
 ing of his disgrace she dropped down dead, but 
 she never recovered from the ettects of the shock, 
 was never again happy or well, and shortly after- 
 ward died." * 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " I rptnarked with what justic!> of distribution he directed 
 bis talk lo a. wide circle — he ainused<he timid, soiiened tlie 
 eupercilious, and opened the reserved." — De. Johnson. 
 
 How often do we say,' speaking of pain, " it was 
 as bad as it could be," — or of sorrow, "I could 
 not have gone through more." 
 
 The day after Cecilia's arrival, Constance was 
 so much indisposed with a violent cold, that Mr. 
 Curtis condemned her to remain a prisoner in her 
 room. " No such terrible fate after all," as he 
 smilingly remarked, glancing at the numerous 
 accessories of comfort and lirsury by which she 
 was surrounded. 
 
 It was while she was still an invalid, and before 
 Colonel Templetou had returned from his unex- 
 pected visit to London, that Lord Hurstwood's 
 arrival at the hall was announced, and the day 
 after the report he presented himself at the Priory. 
 Jlrs. Temijleton expressed her regret at her bus- 
 baud's absence, who was expected that same eve- 
 ning. His Lordship, however, seemed to bear the 
 disappointment very philosophically^, discussing, 
 with his usual grace, various topics with Mrs. 
 Templeton, Helen, and Cecilia, to whom he was 
 1; i\v for the first time introduced. Laurette was 
 must provokingly av.'ay ; she had gone to look 
 after her domestic pet at Forest Hill, whom, at.er 
 all, she did not see, and on her return had the 
 rnnrtification to learn, that she had missed the in- 
 duction to Lord Hurstwood, for Laurette was a 
 lough coquette; perhaps also she meant to try 
 ;.ie old game of playing oif the Peer against the 
 inquire. 
 
 Lord Hurstwood had remained some time, in- 
 deed, rather a long time for a call, when he sud- 
 denly remembered he had a very important affair 
 about which he wished for the Colonel's opinion, 
 and whose absence he seemed to find so inconve- 
 nient, that Mrs. Templeton, though scarcely sure 
 that she was doing what her husband would ap- 
 prove of, invited him to luncheon the next day ; 
 an invitation which was promptly accepted. 
 
 As he had led his family to expect, the Colonel 
 arrived the same evening; but either his business 
 in town had not proceeded to his wishes, or he was 
 tired or bilious, for he brought with him a tem- 
 per, which, had not the presence of his nieces in a 
 great degree restrained, would in some shape or 
 other have Ijeen displayed to his wife and daugh- 
 ter more offensively than it was. Even the arri- 
 Tal of Cecilia failed to chase away the foul fiend ; 
 and complaining of the absence of Constance 
 
 fatigue, any thing which furnished thesemblnnco 
 of an excuse for his manner, he was not .<<een by 
 any of them after they left the dining-room. 
 
 " My uncle is amiable," said Laurette, sarcas- 
 tically ; " I hope it is edifying to be with him 
 when he is in these moods ; for 1 confess to feeling 
 it a slight discipline." 
 
 " I must own that I do not think him improved 
 either in manner or appearance," returned 
 Cecilia ; " but he looks evidently fatigued and 
 harassed this evening; he most hkely feels an- 
 noyed at Lord Ernest's unjustifiable behavior. 
 Poor Helen ! how admirably she acts. Were slie 
 and Reginald West much attached .' I was in 
 Italy during the greater part of their engage- 
 ment, and therefore know but little of the par- 
 ticulars." 
 
 " They were very much attached," answeviMl 
 Laurette. " it was quite a love affair ; and 1 shuuM 
 not wonder if Helen, in her romance, has di'cidc d 
 already to renounce lovers and matrimony 
 forever." 
 
 " That comes of having what is called une 
 graiu/e passion," remarked her companion; 
 " happily, we are both too old for such a catas- 
 trophe — which, I believe, never can happen after 
 twenty — and as sentiment was never my forte, if 
 I ever should marry— rather an unlikely event, 
 being ' a tocherlass lass ^vi' a lang pedigree' — I 
 shall be contented to receive and give a very mod- 
 erate portion of love." 
 
 " Perhaps you would not object to a little aver- 
 sion just to begin with," said Laurette, laugliing ; 
 " but I agree with you, that at our age a marriage 
 de convc/tatice is the most sensible arrangement." 
 Had she forgotten Hubert while she said this .' 
 by no means ; it was the bitter consciousness of 
 her real feelings, and the dread she now had 6f 
 their being discovered, which induced her to adopt 
 this bantering tone ; she had begun to fear that 
 she was wrong in having permitted Hubert to sus- 
 pect the truth ; and was doubly careful to lii(^ 
 from all others. 
 
 The next day was a sort of review, preparatory 
 to the grand field day, when all was to be stately 
 and magnificent. Colonel Templeton, who was 
 anxious to be on friendly terms with his noble 
 neighbor, and much gratified to find that the 
 overtures toward intimacy emanated first from the 
 Hall, played the gay and courteous host to per- 
 fection ; and as to liis Lordship, if he had been 
 pronounced " really very agreeable" during his 
 morning crdl, his manners and conversation at, 
 luncheon were delightful — so graceful and chival- 
 rous in his attentions to the young ladies — so re- 
 spectful to Mrs. Templeton, that Helen looked at 
 him with eyes full of gratitude — so full, that he 
 noticed again and again the look and the eyes too, 
 and perfectly remembered both, even after he had 
 left her presence— and then his conversation — so 
 perfect in the selection of subjects sure to interest, 
 proving him both the well-read man and tlie 
 accomplished courtier ; Cecilia and he played ad- 
 mirably into each other's hands, capping anec- 
 dotes of foreign courts and customs, that never 
 once allowed the conversation to flag. 
 
 Unfortunately, Laurette was not in her usual 
 spirits ; she complained of a headache, tluvt con- 
 venient malady ; but the truth is, she was morti- 
 fied to find herself a nonentity where she meant 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS, 
 
 to have been conspicuous. Though remarkably 
 ■well-informed, endowed with a ready wit and 
 gracelul flow of language, she knew nothing, by 
 experience, of foreign life, and hud no pjrsunal 
 associations with continental celebrities, and was, 
 therefore, condemned to be a listener where she 
 had anticipated trophies as a talker; and afforded, 
 by her ill-concealed inditterence, a marked con- 
 trast to the silent but evidently gratified attention 
 of Helen, 
 
 Though it must have been clearly shown that 
 Seabro<^ke I'riory was famous neither for domestic 
 happiness nor public gayety, on such occasions as 
 thai now about to take place, it evinced no deiici- 
 ency of splendor or perfect appointment ; and 
 as Colonel lempleton glanced along and around 
 his table, he felt that even Hurstwood Hall could 
 not outshine the wealth and beauty which he had 
 assembled to do honor to his lordly neighbor. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton's graceful loveliness was still 
 conspicuous; and being desirous of supplying any 
 deficiency of animation in Helen, with her very 
 becoming attire, she tried to put on cheerful looks, 
 and succeeded so well, that even her husband was 
 pleased as well as surprised. 
 
 True to her promise, Helen, though certainly not 
 gay, was by no means ostentatiously sad; and 
 -With her cousins, each very attractive in her own 
 pu'culiar manner, assisted her mother most effi- 
 ciently to receive their numerous guests. 
 
 Constance, to her infinite disappointment, was 
 still invisible beyond her own room — indeed, by ^ 
 order of Mr. Curtis, Helen -was banished from 
 their joint sleeping apartment into her dressing- 
 room, adjoining the con.servatory ; " Precaution,"',, 
 as the vjllage Galen oracularly observed, '• being 
 better than cure ; and Miss "Constance had symp- , 
 toms of fever and sore throat, -which, though at 
 present trifling, required care and attention. ' 
 
 Lord Hursiwood, whose popularity was still in 
 the ascendant, won more golden opinions, when, 
 in the course of the evening, he proposed to call i 
 a council of ladies, in order to arrange a dejeuner 
 at the Hall, the grounds of which were now in all 
 their bloom and beauty. When this proposal was 
 received with smiling approbation by the fair 
 hearers, he remarked, that such a bachelor estab- 
 lishment as his could not expect to be honored 
 wiih the presence of gentle visitants until some 
 lady would assume the temporary hostess, and be 
 there to receive them ; and addressing Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton, he ventured to hope that she would till the 
 oftice, in default of a permanent occupant— and 
 La<iy Dallas with her usual look of meaning, de- 
 clared, tliat as he said these words, his eye fell 
 very distinctly on the unconscious Helen ; who 
 certainly, so far as grace and beauty went, was 
 very likely to attract him— a professed admirer 
 of loveliness; since it was imanimously agreed 
 that rarely had she looked more c.iptivating; her 
 ■white dress of rich materials was relieved by no 
 color save that of a few natural flowers, and her 
 graceful head and pertVct features were seen to ad- 
 vantage by the classical style in which tlie splendid 
 dark hair was arranged, wliile her intellect and 
 feeling which gave grace to her movements and 
 music to her voice were eminently visible in her 
 varying countenance. 
 
 Cecilia Grantham looked queen-like in her 
 rather strange foreign fashion, which, however, 
 
 became her admirably ; and though Laurette 
 perhaps made a little mistake in wearing a kind 
 of half Spanish costume, it nevertheless suited her 
 dark beauty and elegant little figure better than 
 might have been expected. 
 
 Of course, where all the principal families of the 
 neighborhood were assembled, iliere would be the 
 Forresters; and though Mrs. i'orr^ter admitted 
 to herself that as Lord Hurstwood had arrang.- 1 
 his party at the Priory, he could not have avoiaL-d 
 nominating MrsTXempleton deputy-queen, she yet 
 thought that distinction should have fallen on her, 
 as due lx)th to her age and the length of her resi- 
 dence in the county. 
 
 Mr. Forrester, also, was not quite at ease. 
 Hubert had been so pre-occupied, so dull, so un- 
 like himself, that his father could not but ascribe 
 the change to the absence of Constance ; and 
 began to tear that her influence on his sons hap- 
 piness was stronger than he had anticipated. He 
 had also remarked that Colonel Templeton indulg- 
 ed very freely in wine— that he and Lord Hurst- 
 wood had talked a great deal with a foreign gen- 
 tleman, who had accompanied a neigii boring 
 family, of gaming and gaming-houses abroad, 
 during which he had evinced an intimate acquaint* 
 ance with the mysteries of the said places, which 
 greatly shocked the aristocratic prejudices of Mr. 
 Forrester — a man whom pride alone would have 
 kept from any amusement in which sharpers and 
 swindlers were almost sure to be his associates ; 
 even had not his habits and tastes been opposed to 
 speculation and risk. In short, he never had 
 hked the Colonel. They difi'ered in all essentials, 
 and many hints which he had collected from 
 various quarters acquired strength from this con- 
 versation, and reminded him of the exceedingly 
 doubtiui character of the party by whom the Col- 
 onel was accompanied some years ago. on his re- 
 turn from the Continent, so ihat he left the Priory 
 with all his prejudices arrayed more violently 
 than ever against Hubert's suit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 " Ye gods ! what crime had my poor father done, 
 That yuu should muke a poet of his sun ? ' 
 
 Vanbbuoh. 
 
 "We left Reginald in his humble but peaceful 
 retreat at llampstead gradually learning what was 
 meant by the words labor and study. Happily 
 his acquaintance with the difiiculties which at- 
 tended his choice did not daunt nor deter himi 
 from steadily pursuing it. Happily, also, as nov- 
 elty wore ott", inditfurencc did not succeed ; but 
 he went on day by day finding his views of lifa 
 and its respmsibilities clearer, more enlarged^ 
 his self-knowledge imperceptibly leading him to a: 
 self-reliance he would formerly have thought al- 
 most presumptuous — but which he now saw was 
 quite compatible with the conviction that there 
 Avas still much to learn. 
 
 As he realized the fact, that henceforth he must 
 take rank among the sons of labor, and worki 
 for a living, the charm which was at first thrown 
 over the notion of independence ilid not dissolve. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 69 
 
 He not only found his enertries respond cheerfully 
 to the calls for exertion, aud furnish a supply of 
 industry equal to the toil and need— but he found 
 that he was really happier — better able to bear 
 liis trials and losses with resignation, than when 
 condemned to inactivity and the tnnui of unem- 
 ployed leisure. He was now making a successful 
 struggle, and this assurance gave him dignity in 
 his own eyes ; he was laborin;.; for indep.Midence, 
 and the thought cheered him in his daily task. 
 
 It is true he never forgot that she wliom he 
 still tenderly loved was separated from him for- 
 ever. It is true he acutely felt the great change 
 and blight that had f illen on his own once bril- 
 liant prospects. But the remembrance was not 
 «ne of constant and unmitigated bitterness. Life 
 lad still its duties for him to perform, and in the 
 tithful discharge of them he trusted to find a 
 iltting recompense. 
 
 His new course of study at first entirely occu- 
 pied him ; but wlien he had, by the help of tiie 
 gentleman with whom he placed himself, arranged 
 that, and judiciously apportioned his time, he 
 found there was still enough leisure for social 
 purposes, and the pursuit of that literary occupa- 
 tion which he hoped would prove remunerative, 
 aud relieve him from pecuniary dependence on 
 friends whose generosity was exceeded only by 
 their kindness and delicacy. 
 
 Having related to Ashley his unexpected meet- 
 ing with Charles Stacey, and the engagement he 
 had conditionally accepted for both of them, it 
 was agreed that Ashley sliould write and confirm 
 the accej)tance ; and at- the time appointed they 
 made their appearance at the villa, the elegant 
 exterior of which was only in keeping with the 
 st\ie and comfort of the internal arrangements. 
 
 They were the only guests, Stacey saying he 
 anticipated too much pleasure in talking over old 
 times to have their confidential chat restrained 
 by the presence of a less intimate friend. Rumor 
 had informed him of K,eginald's changed fortune, 
 but there was still much of which he was ignor- 
 ant, and which he felt a kind interest to learn ; 
 while, as Stacey's spoke in the wheel of fortune 
 seemed now uppermost, his guests felt much 
 curiosity to hear how he had fared since they 
 had all parted at Cambridge. 
 
 Mrs. Stacey joined them at an elegant dinner, 
 but apologized for the necessity of leaving them 
 hi take their coffee alone — she was engaged to a 
 snirie at her friend Lady De Vere"s, and expected 
 her Ladyship's carriage very shortly to fetch her. 
 
 '• And so you two industrious fellows are going 
 to graduate at Westminster Hall r" said Stacey, 
 when they were alone ; " well, success attend 
 you, you deserve it, for having the courage to 
 make the attempt. I tried it after I left Cam- 
 bridge. A solemn old fellow, who was, however, 
 very kind and generous, recommended it, but I 
 soon found the life would never suit me." 
 
 " Why not .'" asked Ashley, anxious to learn 
 what time had made of this " no man's enemy 
 but his own." 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, the atmosphere of 
 chambers did not agree with my constitution. 
 The dust and rust of legal antiquities and curi- i 
 osities would have been fatal to my genius. j\Iy 
 fancy turned every deed into a deed of horror ; > 
 and, to my imagination, parchment, ' parchment 1 
 
 I was and nothing more,' when, in a lucky moment, 
 I met Lord Charlton, who was so shocked at the 
 inroads eating mutton liad made o«i my health, 
 that he carried me off to spend Christmas at the 
 Uuke's in tlie north, where tliere was a house full 
 j of company, all, as the puffers of oil and cheap 
 coats say, > the ^lite and haut-voli' Well, such 
 a glorious time as we had of it ! Tableaux 
 vivans, private theatricals, balls, flirtations, 
 ' such rousing of the owls in a niglitcatcli,' for, 
 I promise you, my mellifluous voice was at a 
 premium — aud, to crown all, it was discovered 
 tiiat I had a tolerable gift for improvising ! so I 
 leave you to imagine how 1 was courted and 
 ft ted /" 
 
 " And, after all this banqueting at Olympus, 
 this feasting on nectar and ambrosia," inquired 
 Reginald, " how did your genius condescend to 
 fold its wings and bi"ood over the earthly matters 
 of the law .'" 
 
 " Oh ! it was rebellious, absolutely contuma- 
 cious !" was the gay reply ; " flatly refused to 
 soil its plumage by contact with such dirty litera- 
 ture. An'd when I called on my good old quiz " 
 — (this good old quiz had paid the fees and pro- 
 mised all reasonable help) — " to tell him juris- 
 prudence was not my element, he drily retorted, 
 ' Nor any other prudence, I believe,' but con- 
 gratulated me on having so soon made the 
 discovery, as it would save him any further 
 waste of money. Cool that — was it not .'" 
 
 " Very," answered Ashley, almost as drily as 
 the good old quiz might have done. 
 
 Stacey continued, " My nmther's little fortune" 
 (her fortune, poor old woman ! it consisted of a 
 few hundreds, saved by a self-denial that would 
 have been laudable, had it been for a better 
 purpose than to minister to her son"s extrava- 
 gance) — "had already been spent; in fact, ii 
 took wings and flew away, during a short visit I 
 paid to Paris directly I left Alma Mater ; but, 
 luckily, I had been introduced to a bookseller by 
 his friend, my crusty old master; to him I now 
 went — for tiie excliequer was low — in short, was 
 empty. I knocked off a few songs as a specimen 
 — they pleased him, he paid me, and really paid 
 well, liberally — took me to his country-house — 
 and, by Jove ! you should see the style in which 
 some of these sliop-keeping fellows live. I w.-is 
 inspired by green fields and clear sky, and, 
 presto! there was soon a pretty little volume 
 ready for the discerning public. My fortune 
 was made; why should 1. with a mine in my 
 head, bury myself in gloom and seclusion .' 
 besides, rank, beauty, elegance, which almost 
 fought for the prize — my unworthy self — were 
 much more to my t.iste than blue bags, wigs and 
 gowns, and all the atrocious masciuerade of bench 
 and bar. My dainty muse, my delicite Egeria, 
 likes them not; while there is scarcely a coro- 
 neted album in tlie land, that has not sonie gos- 
 samer contribution fVuru me, inspired by the 
 fashion and grace which fill Kugland's ncjide 
 saloons." 
 
 " Ah !" said Ashley, with a comic eini)liaHis, 
 which greatly amused Reginald, who believed ho 
 read what wsis passing in his mind — as to the 
 value of such inspiring sources. " But you have 
 not told us your love episode, and it is treason to 
 Mrs. Stacey to omit that." 
 
70 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 "It is soon said," replied Stacey ; "1 lisive 
 lately iiiaiTied a nice little wife, and — nie voi/u." 
 
 •' And a very couil'ortable sight you present," 
 rein.irked lleginaM ; " may you go on and pros- 
 per, and yijur shadow never be less." 
 
 " No fear of tiial, my dear fellow," said Stacey ; 
 " but your forbearance has made me detestably 
 egotistical, and so dismiss we this subject ; it is 
 now your turn to relate your adventures, there- 
 fore imitate me, and give tliein in full." 
 
 He had lieard a good deal of what Keginald 
 briefly related — and listened with that kindness 
 whioli was one of his characteristics, for kind he 
 was, and generous also — so, without any allusion 
 to llelen, Reginald told of his present pursuits, 
 hopes, and wishes — but when he said he was 
 employing his leisure in atteuijits at miscellaneous 
 authorship, Stacey eagerly exclaimed,"! know 
 a man whom you will suit, and who will exactly 
 suit y^u — can you meet me to-morrow at the 
 Institution .' I have no other way in which I can 
 show my friendly interest ; and it must be to- 
 morrow, as the next day Susan and I leave home 
 to assist at a few theatrical amusements at Roe- 
 hampton; and when these will be over, and all 
 the invitations to which they are sure to lead, 
 neither I nor the genius of gayety can say — can 
 you come .'" 
 
 iteginald promised to be punctual, and Stacey 
 r('i)iMte(l, " 1 will introduce you to the very man 
 to lurther your project." 
 
 In this autobiogrjiphjs as in every other, a 
 few chasms need filling up; the brilliant coloring 
 of the self painted artist requires a little toning i 
 down, and the elaborate and profuse embroidery j 
 with wliich the common texture of the material [ 
 is concealed must be carefully removed. At no 
 time is it so ilillicult to keep strictly to truth as ' 
 when we are the heroes or heroines of our own 
 story — and (Jharles Stacey, a poet, a man of im- 
 agination and fancy, was very little likely to 
 steer clear of this rock a-head to all biogmphers, 
 who ate sure to tell too little or too much— for 
 inst:uice, lie did not tell that twice he had been 
 arrested ; (in tlie first occasion a few " good- 
 hearted felh)Ws"' subscribed their superfluous 
 CMsh and set him free ; but the next time, he was 
 ol^liged to mortgnge his brain before he was 
 liberated —his publisher freed him from one sort 
 of imprisonment to inclose him in another ; and 
 the genius that pined away at the companionship 
 of rusty and dusty legal records, that spurned a^l 
 rule and all law, sold itself, pawned itself, hag- 
 gled about pounds, shillings, and pence, and, for 
 a term, bccMme that horror of intellect— that 
 bane to tahut— th.it mental degradation — a book- 
 seller's hack ! 
 
 Stacey was happily rescued from the claws of 
 the harjpy who flourished and grew fat on human 
 brain, ami furnished his country-house luxuri- 
 ously from the life-sjirings of genius ; and found 
 a steady, just, and liber.al friend in the gentle- 
 man to whom — free from all petty rivalry^ — he 
 was going to Mitroduce Hegin.il^l. lie also omit- 
 ted to s:iy tiiat his wife, a guileless, but rather 
 weak little body, was Lady De Verc's prolif^er ; 
 the word is l)y no means synonymous with friend, 
 an explanation not so iieeille^is as many tliink. 
 Her Ladyshi]) hinl permitted her to give a con- 
 cert at lloehamptoii, tu which she, as hostess, 
 
 had an unlimited supply of tickets for self and 
 fiieiuls, besides acquiring, without any cost, the 
 character of being a liberal patroness of art. 
 There Stacey first met her ; they sang together, 
 and, by the display of their varied talents, 
 charmed the noble company, by the greater 
 part of whom they were probably forgotten the 
 next day ; and after a few weeks' acquaintance, 
 married on the strength of their sweet voices, 
 and for the same cause were continually in de- 
 mand at one aristocratic riuniun or another, 
 where they willingly went, under the delusion 
 that they were guests, while the truth is, they 
 wer(« only assistants gratis ! 
 
 All this time, and while they were leading this 
 butterfly life, Stacey's poem, which had been an- 
 nounced as " shortly to appear," had reached only 
 a few hundred lines- -he himself was in debt, and 
 his little wile's wedding finery began to look very 
 shabby by daylight, while she was without the 
 means of supplying the deficiencies. This he did 
 not mention; but his memory must have been 
 very bad, or he would not have forgotten to tell 
 his friends, when they congratulated him on be- 
 ing the owner of a villa so elegantly furnished, 
 that it and its contents were only hired ! 
 
 " And what think you of our friend Charles ?" 
 asked Reginald of Ashley, as they returned to 
 town. 
 
 " I think all I have heard and seen is both un- 
 satisfactory and painful, except his frank offer to 
 you ; aad that proves there is some good stuff in 
 him still," was the reply. " Why, my dear 
 Reggy, it is eiisy to see through the flimsy life 
 he IS leading ; and. unless he soon becomes con- 
 scious of the rottenness of all on which he seems 
 so confidentially to lean, he must fall. Good 
 God! to think that a man with a pair of hands 
 and a well-informed mind, can allow himself to 
 be juggled and cheated as he is, astonislies me; 
 and because he is admitted to the society of lords 
 and ladies, how he can be so blind to tluir mean- 
 ness, as well as his own, is incomprehensible. 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, do you intend to say, 
 that a man of inferior birth or fortune can not 
 be received hy the most lofty and most wealthy 
 without forfeiting his independence and self- 
 respect .'" 
 
 " By no means— nobility, with intellect, will 
 always be the first to seek and honor the latter 
 wherever it is found allied to real worth— but it 
 is the degradation of patronage— the paralyzing 
 efforts of familiarity without respect, which I so 
 detest. It is useless for Stacey to say or think, 
 ' I am their equal; nay, in learning, in talent, in 
 genius, their superior;' for he is throwing him- 
 self aw;ay among those who, having little or none 
 of these qualities, do not value them in him. On 
 the contrary, they are contented to take his. tin- 
 sel instead of his gold — his excitement instead of 
 his inspiration. But he must come and see us, 
 and discover, that plodders as we are, we ar6 
 honored with the companionship, and friendship, 
 too, of the leading minds of the day." , 
 
 " And no bad exchange for the introduction 
 which he has so kindly promised me," said Reg- 
 inald. _ ! 
 
 This promise Stacey redeemed at the appointed 
 time, and it led to results most valuable to Regi- 
 nald, who felt his mind and power of application 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 71 
 
 Btrengthen, as he judiciously exerted and worked 
 them both. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 " But you are no such man ; you are rather point device 
 in your ai-coutrements. as loving yourself, tlian securing the 
 love of any other.' — As You Like It. 
 
 The signal for gayety which Lord FTurstwood's 
 arrival h;ul given, was promptly responded to by 
 the county families ; and after iht ft tc at thellall 
 which was on a scale of unusual magnificence, 
 party vied with party in receiving and doing hon- 
 or to the noble giver of so sumptuous an enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 It was very mortifying that at the moment 
 ■when Seabrooke had an unusual fit of hilarity, 
 and when visiting and pleasure seemed the order 
 of the day, Constance Templeton was excluded 
 from all participation in these festivities. It is 
 true she was no longer confined to her room, but 
 it was thought more prudent to keep her at home, 
 safe from the fatigue aad excitement of large par- 
 ties and crowded rooms. 
 
 AVhen, at length, these extraordinary dissipa- 
 tions were over. Cecilia returned to Grantham ; 
 and Laurette, loving dove, hovering round the 
 nest which contained her treasure, accepted an 
 invitation to the Grange ; and Seabrooke once 
 more resumed its quiet but still friendly inter- 
 course. • 
 
 During the whole of this season of gayety, in 
 which Constance had taken no part, there was a 
 frequent, nay, a cunst.iut visitor to the Priory — 
 one whose presence to the convalescent more than 
 compensated for the privation. 
 
 It seemed as if is were fated that Hubert Forres- 
 ter should be associated in her mind with the char- 
 acter of consoler in all periods of sorrow, or 
 sickness, or lonelines-s ; for though both her mo- 
 ther aud Helen had offered to give up any en- 
 gagement which took them from her, Constance 
 would not hear of the proposal — and this most 
 affectionately "and truly on her sister's account ; 
 who seemed so much better for the exertion these 
 parties exacted, that Constance unselfishly in- 
 sisted on her attending them, though this in- 
 volved the absence of Mrs. Temi>letou, without 
 whose chaperonage she could not have gone. 
 Sometimes Constance thought that she ought to 
 tell her mother of all that was passing in her 
 heart — and felt that it would be a great comfort 
 to do so — but she was checked V»y the reflec- 
 tion, that, till Hubert spoke, she could not, 
 with propriety, be the one to break the silence. 
 Had her mother been less engrossed with Helen, 
 less solicitous to support and spare her, she sure- 
 ly must have noticed much that was passing; 
 but there was no one whose vigilance (5ould sup- 
 ply her want of observation. 
 
 The Forresters had decided in keeping their 
 own counsel— the fancy might die away. Lau- 
 rette ignored the matter from the same motive, 
 and a hope that such would be tlie case ; and 
 though that Argus of the neighborhood, Lady 
 Dallas, had during one of their conversations 
 
 alluded to Hubert's evident admiration of Con- 
 stance, her cousin denied the charge, >iud sdi lued 
 if she did not convince her Ladyship, by assuring 
 her that such a report, if it reached tiie e.irs of 
 the parents on either side, would be e.vtremely 
 injurious — and miglit lead to great mischief. 
 
 It happened thai one day Lord Hurstwood and 
 the Colonel were riding through the woods be- 
 longing the latter, when his Lordship, pointing 
 to some trees, remarked, " You cut very young 
 here, do you not .'" 
 
 *' Cooper, my agent, marks very j'oung trees," 
 was the reply — '■ but thise will noi fall j-et : in- 
 
 ' deed, he involved me, or ratlier himself, in a 
 scrape about several hundred he cut on the Her- 
 mitage side — it almost ended in a quarrel be- 
 tween us — happily I interfered in time to save 
 
 ; these, though they still bear tokens of the dangers 
 
 I they ran ; they are now safe for several years, 
 though I wish they were not — for in conse- 
 quence of some extensive improvements I have 
 
 I been making, I should he glad to turn my wood 
 
 i into gold." 
 
 '•This is a splendid property," said the Peer; 
 " and it must richly repay you for any outlay 
 you may make — I do not know of a more compact 
 and beautiful place anywhere." 
 
 " So my daughters will one day find it," replied 
 the owner ; " hut with both of them to introduce, 
 and very likely soon to portion. I do not find my 
 
 I expensive outlay come back quite fast enough." 
 Expensive and extensive as he represented both 
 outlay and improvements, he very wisely abstain- 
 ed from pointing out either — and, indeed, his 
 Lordship must have been blessed with extraordi- 
 nary power of vision, to have seen what was only 
 
 '• imaginary. Ho, therefore, replied with naic'u 
 
 I gallantry, " I should think witii such daughters, 
 though I have seen very little of the younger, and 
 especially with this noble estate to divide between 
 them eventually, you need not be saving and 
 screwing for portions; and I take this (>j)portu- 
 
 1 nity of saying, what I have for some time medi- 
 
 j tated doing, that if you will grant me the elder, I 
 shall consider her quite gift enough without so 
 many thousands down — for, on my honor, I never 
 saw a more lovely creature anywhere." 
 
 I Almost speechless with amazement, the Colonel 
 
 } had, however, too much presence of mind to show 
 it, lest it would seem as if the ofl'er were such as 
 he had no right to expect ; he therefore merely 
 
 j replied with a laugh, " Oh ! win her by all means, 
 my Lord, you have my con.scnt ;" and then re- 
 membering, that when his Lordship's offer became 
 known in the county, the history of Helen's re- 
 cent cng.agement would be told him, with Heaven 
 knows how many historical embellishments, he de- 
 
 j ter mined to be beforehand with gossip, and to 
 make the first impression ; and added carelessly, 
 as if the affair had been one of mere nursery fol- 
 ly — "I ought to tell you, that Helen is rather 
 romantic, and there was a notion of affection be- 
 
 I tween her and young Mr. West; play-companions 
 they were, almost from the cradle — but the h)lly 
 
 I of Lord Ernest completely extinguished that faint 
 
 j spark." 
 
 j " Oh ! I think nothing of these childish absur- 
 dities," was the composed reply of this man so 
 well read in foreign courts ; " I have lived too 
 
 1 long among continental manners to attach the 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 least importance to these passaghes fancies — and 
 upon the whole, either custom or conviction leads 
 me also to prefer the foreign plan of letting expe- 
 rienced relatives conduct the whole of these ne- 
 gotiations ; in this, 1 have no doubt you agree 
 with me." 
 
 Of course he did, and would have been very glad 
 had his daughters been educated on this system 
 of passive obedience and non-resistance, as it 
 would have prevented much of the trouble and in- 
 convenience which his prophetic mind foresaw 
 would attend his proceedings. 
 
 " Dine, then, with me, tett-c-tete, to-morrow," 
 said Lord lluistwood. '• when we will quietly dis- 
 cuss the matter — but consider me pledged. I am 
 old enough — or," correcting himself with a laugh, 
 " fatigued enough with public life to abandon for- 
 eign service ; it was quite my intention, on my 
 return, to marry, and this fair Helen decides alike 
 my choice and my plans ; so aurevoir;" and they 
 separated. 
 
 Very slowly indeed did the Colonel ride toward 
 home, thinking over the unexpected offer which 
 had just been made. To do him justice, it was a 
 result for which he had never speculated or 
 schemed. lie /tail felt tor Helen, and his sympa- 
 thy had been increased by the uncomplaining 
 dignity with which she had borne her sorrow ; 
 and though her successful etforts to appear cheer- 
 ful had really gratified him, he had never so 
 wholly misundersioud her character as to fancy 
 she ceased to remember and mourn ; and if the 
 thought of her marrying ever crossed his mind, it 
 had always been as at some distant period, when 
 time had done its usual work, in destroying the 
 poetry of youth aud replacing it with the prose of 
 age. I'erhaps Lord Hurstwood, of all whom he 
 knew, would have been tlie least likely to have 
 presented himself as a probable future son-in-law ; 
 but the idea having been started, he pursued it 
 keenly — becoming move aud more pleased with it, 
 an! more aud more resolved not to be disappointed. 
 
 But he had much to do before this successful 
 result could be attained. Much that would cause 
 pain, sorrow, difficulty, and— who knew.' — per- 
 haps opposition. None of these anticipations and 
 retlect.ons moved him— except, indeed, the diffi- 
 culty of deciding upon his plan. Should he try 
 conciliation— work by kindness .' or should he at 
 once clear away all obstacles, by striking terror 
 iu.o the gentle heart he meant to use as a step- 
 ping-s;oiie to his own designs.' Yes, tlius it 
 biiouH be — this was the shortest and surest way— 
 and yet there was a dim outline of one figure 
 standing boldly in his way, and not to be driven 
 tlience by threats or menaces ; it was the vision 
 of a figure of great beauty, with resolute brow, 
 with upliftetl and advanced hiind, in an attitude 
 equally defiant and protecting— making an actual 
 movement, he tried to wave it away, and passed 
 bis hand over his eyes to shut it out, so that he 
 miglit think of all the advantages this alliance 
 ortored. 
 
 No fortune required, at least at present- that 
 suited him admirably— one daughter placed in 
 such a position as would, pcrliiips, enable her to 
 raise her sister to a simihir eminence. His name 
 uii.ted with that of Lord Hurstwood, whose rank, 
 woalih, and political reputation were known 
 ihiougliout the civilized world. And was all this 
 
 to be relinquished by yielding to the fancies of a 
 romantic girl — preposterous! Like Pharaoh, he 
 hardened his heart. It was too good to be re- 
 jected or thrown away for a whim — too attractive 
 a picture to be washed away by a few tears ; and 
 he vowed a deep vow that it should not. Again, 
 the beautiful face, with a frown on its brow and 
 its bright but threatening eyes, was faintly visi- 
 ble. But setting spurs to his horse he rode 
 quickly on. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 " ril have it dispatched, 
 And suddenly, my lonl, ili;u I may say — 
 My honorable, my riglil honorable daughter." 
 
 Ma^singeb. 
 
 Constance having been out riding, and over- 
 
 I tired herself, by her mother's ad-\ice remained 
 
 quietly in her room, therefore Mrs. Tempk'ton and 
 
 Helen were the Colonel's only companions at 
 
 ! dinner. 
 
 i ^Vhen they rose to leave after desert, he, who 
 had been quaffing glass after glass, rather more 
 j quickly than was even his wont, called out, not 
 very gently, 
 
 " Stop ! I have so^ne rare news to tell Helen." 
 I Little expecting the thunder-bolt tliat was 
 I ready to fall, they both obeyed ; and the Colonel, 
 I replenishing his glass, said, " I have been riding 
 With Lord Hurstwood, and I can tell you. Helen, 
 he has a discerning eye — he admires you prodi- 
 giously." 
 
 " Me, papa !" said Helen, wholly unconsciou; 
 i of what was to follow — not so her mother — her 
 j sensitive love divined all — her apprehensive heart 
 j anticipated the storm ; and fainc and giddj', she 
 I rested her arm on the table. 
 
 " Yes, you — you hypocritical little monkey, 
 I looking as if you did not know this." 
 
 Still, not comprehending how her knowledge or 
 ignorance of this unimportant fact could signify, 
 she smiled and said nothing — but her fatlier, 
 sightly provoked at recei\'ing no help fi-om excla- 
 mation or protestation, procec<lcil very speedily to 
 enlighten her, by adding, though his voicj slightly 
 I faltered, " He admires you so much that he hai 
 I commissioned me to offer you his hand." 
 ; " This, and to me !" said Helen, with a kind 
 ling look. 
 I " Ah ! you may well be surprised." said he 
 wily father, seizing this advantage, and feignin- 
 j not to understand all that the tone and look ver 
 : plainly said ; " it is an honor wiiich does not fal 
 j to every one — this laying coronet and title at th« 
 feet of a little girl, and you may well look prouti 
 ! of the distinction." 
 
 I '• Papa,'' began Helen — she paused, for his fact 
 looked unpropitious — encouraging herself, how- 
 : ever, as she became aware of the necessity, she 
 continued, " Papa, I must still suppose you jest." 
 [ "Jest!" he repeated, striking the table fiercely ; 
 "you may be as amused as you please with the 
 jest, for 1 promise you that it will prove a real- 
 ity ' — then, seeing that she still looked bewildered, 
 : he resumed ; " Listen, girl — attend to me, Helen," 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 73 
 
 as she drew nearer to her mother ; " this mar- 
 riage pleases and suits me— and," with a dreadful 
 imprecation, he added, •' it shall take place !" 
 
 " Mamma, mamma, ilid you hear ? — what does 
 it all mean ? — what is it ?"' she inquired, turning 
 \ her blanched face toward her father. 
 
 " It means," he sternly replied, " that I have 
 promised you shall marry Lord iiurstwoocf, and 
 this promise I will keep." 
 
 In speechless terror poor Helen looked at her 
 mother, who now first spoke. 
 
 " Lionel," she said, " this can not be ; think of 
 aU that it involves." 
 
 " Madam," he replied, " it -mil be, and I have 
 thought of all that it involves — it involves honor, 
 wealth, station, power — it frees me from difficul- 
 ties, and it pleases me that my daughter should 
 be Lady Hurstwood — and now, instead of encour- 
 aging her in insensate and useless resistance, I 
 advise you to let your daughter benefit by your 
 experience, and learn from you the folly of at- 
 tempting to frustrate mi/ will ;" and he rose, and 
 before Helen, who tried to stop him, could find 
 strength enough to do so, he rudely waved her 
 away, and left the room. 
 
 " Oh, mamma," said the miserable girl, sinking 
 at her feet and sobbing on her lap ; ■' oh, mam- 
 ma, is it true — must I learn this dreadful lesson 
 from you, and must you teach it ? Speak, moth- 
 er," she urged, as Mrs Templeton, faint and suf- 
 focating, could hardly breathe. At last she said, 
 "God knows whether it must be so, but if it 
 must, I feel that my heart will break in perform- 
 ing the task." 
 
 " If.' oh, mamma, you said if — is there, then, 
 any hope :" 
 
 " Alas ! my precious child, I dare not say 
 there is— still — Helen," she suddenly exclaimed ; 
 «' have you courage .'' can you be true to your- 
 self.'" and then tenderly caressing her trem- 
 bling hands, she mournfully added, "but what 
 •will this avail .'" 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Helen with a 
 look of tearless despair ; " only tell me what I 
 can do, I will try any thing to escape this dread- 
 ful fate." 
 
 " And I scarcely understand my own mean- 
 ing," replied her mother ; " we can neither of 
 lis reason or think to much purpose at present. 
 Constance must be told — but not to-night, she is 
 still very delicate — but early to-morrow we will | 
 see her, and take counsel together." 
 
 " Then, for her sake, dearest mamma, I will 
 make an effort ; but she must know all very soon ; 
 she is my only hope now that you have none — j 
 but surely, surely," she added, with a fresh burst 
 of sorrow, " this must pass away like some fright- 
 'ful dream ; I can not be asked to consent to any 
 thing so monstrous." 
 
 ■ " Listen to me, my dear child ; all that can be 
 done to avert so terrible a doom shall be tried, 
 in spite of a voice that whispers it is hopeless ; 
 control yourself for this evening, before your sis- 
 ter ; she has great energy and courage, quali- 
 ties which, I fear, my poor girl, we both are de- 
 ficient in — and we know no effort she can make 
 will be wanting." 
 
 And so, by seeking Constance late and leaving 
 her early, Helen succeeded in not exciting her 
 suspicion or curiosity ; while Mrs. Templeton, 
 
 ! who had remained the whole time with them, by 
 I a powerful effort, continued to talk as usual on 
 indifferent subjects, and took leave of her for the 
 [ night when Helen did. 
 
 The latter was seated listlessly before lier 
 dressing-table wiien her mother entered the 
 room, which, since Constance had been tlireat- 
 ened with fever and sure throat, had been lior 
 I bed-room. She bent down to kiss the poor girl, 
 who raised her tearful eyes to her face, as if 
 seeking consolation in her looks, but she could 
 not read it there. 
 
 " I have just remembered that you are ig- 
 norant of a trifling alteration I had made, but 
 which has hitherto been useless ; to-night my 
 anxiety for you will find it serviceable, but you 
 must know of it, or my unexpected presence 
 might alarm you. Look here, Helen" — and 
 going toward a pie?" glass let into the wall,' she 
 1 removed two ornaments, and then showed her 
 that the panel was a door which opened to the 
 conservatory at right-angles with the door of her 
 own apartments. Helen looked astonished, and 
 Mrs. Templeton proceeded to explain. 
 
 " When you and Constance were coming home 
 — and I need not tell you how I thought of that 
 time, hoping, as I did, for so much happiness 
 from your dear society — I fancied I never could 
 be too near to my treasures, whom I longed, as 
 it were, to hide in my bosom ; and it one day 
 struck me that I should like a means of commu- 
 nication by which we could at all times meet 
 quietly and freely ; I therefore had this door 
 made. At that time I had no idea of conceal- 
 ment, and, of course, it is known to many of the 
 workmen then busy in performing my orders. 
 But as your father was away, and, besides, rare- 
 ly visits our domains, I am sure he knows not of 
 it. I do not by any means depend on your maid 
 Ruth; Dawson has hinted very unpleasant things 
 to her disadvantage, and I had intended her dis- 
 missal ; but Constance's illness, and various 
 other events, have caused me to delay. She 
 knows nothing of this ; the rooms were finished 
 and furnished before she came ; see how the 
 opening is masked ;" and she showed Helen how 
 a common blind on the other side effectually hid 
 the opening. Helen looked surprised at the sim- 
 ple ingenuity of the contrivance. This duplicate 
 key of my conservatory door will enable you to 
 find me without crossing the corridor." 
 
 " Thanks, dear manmia; though I can not ex- 
 actly see the advantage of this arrangement." 
 
 " I fully intend to use it to-night, my love, for 
 I shall keep anxious vigils till you are at rest, or 
 comfort you with my presence I shall come this 
 way to avoid the risk of disturbing Constance, 
 and to-morrow I shall be able to see you as early 
 as I like. And now, darling, let me leave you 
 with sometliing like a hope that you will seek 
 and find repose. Let no morbid indulgence in- 
 capacitate you for exertion and tliought ;" anc. 
 yielding to her mother's wishes, Heleu went tc 
 bed, wliere, two hours afterward, lier niotiici 
 found her asleep; and though the flushed cliei-k 
 and troubled brow spoke not of calm or h:im<} 
 slumber, Mrs. Templeton knelt in thankfuUuw 
 for this brief respite from the consciousness of 
 what, her boding heart said, was to be the great 
 trial of her child's life. 
 
74 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 It Avas Helen's turn, the following morning, to | 
 av;<il herself of tliis newly-discovered means of 
 cnieiiug her mother's rooms : and Mrs. Teraple- 
 toii. ;ilter .in uiniost sleepless night, was, at an 
 eirly hour, thoroughly aroused by her entrance. 
 iSite assisted her mother to dress, and they then 
 talked with more composure on Helen's part than 
 Mrs. Tcn)pleton had ventured to expect, of the 
 whole matter. Still, nothing that seemed likely 
 to prove successful iu averting the evil presented 
 itself, and Helen sat with clasped hands and 
 ]iale cheeks while her mother warned her against 
 saying or looking any thing that might rouse her 
 her father to passion, or even anger. At length, 
 hojuug to find Constance awake, and recovered 
 from her fitigue, her mother entered her room, 
 and was cheered to find her not onlj- dressed, ' 
 bur declaring her^elf quite strong and well — 
 both would be needed when informed of the ex- j 
 tr.aordinary scene which had taken place the I 
 previous day. And when Constance did hear of ' 
 tliis fresh trial which awaited them all — for in 
 ovory thing slie rejoiced and sorrowed with her 
 mother and sister— she seemed as if unable to 
 believe it. Slie could not, at first, by any effort 
 realize it. What! while Helen's heart was still 
 Ptill filled with love for Keginald, ask her to wed 
 another! What! threaten her, constrain her to 
 utter vows which her affection refused to ratify! 
 Mon-iirous ! impossible ! and Constance paced 
 backward and forward, uttering vehement pro- 
 tesis .•lg;lin,>^t it. • j 
 
 '• Helen," she suddenly said, " we must seek 
 p ipa. Suppose he should take your silence as a 
 {iroof of acquiescence. Mamma, we must all go 
 down to breakfast. Helen must not absent her- 
 self— slie must try to be firm." 
 
 " Constance," interrupted Helen, " I have not 
 courage to encounter my father." 
 
 "But you must summon it," cried her impet- 
 uous sister; "think what is at stake, Helen, 
 not only your happiness — almost j'our honor — 
 b\Jt the happiness, the peace of poor, noble Keg- 
 inald." 
 
 •• Uh ! sister, sister, name him not, I implore 
 you." said Helen, bursting into a passion of tears. 
 
 " I name him — but it is to rouse you," replied 
 Constance. " Heaven knows it is done neither 
 unkindly nor heedlessly ; but you are still 
 stunned— still unable to think, or j-ou would see 
 as clearly as I do, that your fate is greatly in 
 y.ur own power. Kefuse — but be firm, or you 
 are lost." 
 
 Heleu fixed her large dark eyes on her sister ; 
 a deep glow overspread her face, but was quickly 
 succeeded by a deadly pallor, as she felt how 
 imp<.ssible it was that she could imitate her res- 
 olution. 
 
 " .My glorious girl !" said her mother, gazing 
 on Tier animated beauty, and catching courage, 
 almost liope, from her dauntless bearing and 
 word.s ; " yes, you are right. Helen, this is 
 something of my meaning, when I said you must 
 be true to ycurself I, 1 your mother, say, here 
 you ought not to yield ; Constance and I will 
 precede you.". 
 
 " Oh ! no, dear mamma ; oh ! Constance, do 
 not desert me — I never can enter alone. Go you 
 first, we will quickly follow." But when she en- 
 tered tJie room it was empty. 
 
 Constance, however, took her post, and was 
 making breakfast when the Colonel entered. 
 She glanced at him, but saw no signs of relent- 
 ing in that gloomy face, a gloom which the 
 perusal of his letters did not tend to dispel ; and, 
 after the usual greetings, all was silence till he 
 abruptly said, "I dine at the Hall to-day; I 
 shallduform his Lordship that I have an obe- 
 dient daughter." 
 
 •' Uh ! father, have pity on me !" exclaimed 
 Helen, feeling that this was perhaps a crisis; 
 " think what I have so lately suffered, in silently 
 bearing the great trial that has fallen to my lot. 
 Do not, oh ! do not make my life intolerable, by 
 urging me to a step I never can consent to — 
 never ought to consent to." 
 
 " Helen !" he said, quietly, but not the less 
 did his words stifle all hope. " Helen, this folly 
 and opposition are useless — it must, it shall be." 
 
 " Oh ! papa, be merciful ; mother, entreat for 
 me !" turning to Mrs. Templeton, who was weep- 
 ing. Alas ! what would avail her entreaties 
 with that selfish man — and her tears flowed 
 more abundantly. " Constance" — and she raised 
 her sorrowful eyes to her sister — •' plead for 
 me ;" but Constance stood silent and firm by her 
 mother. '• Papa does love you, and, perhaps — " 
 but she could say no more, for sobs came thick 
 and fast and stopped her utterance. 
 
 And did he not love her then, that gentle, un- 
 offending girl .' He looked sternly at her, and 
 then at her mother, and slightly shuddereti 
 Constance saw the look and the movement. What 
 did tliey express r — pity .' — oh, no. 
 
 " Dear mamma, take Helen away," she said, 
 for she perceived that the latter was only injur- 
 ing her cause by her evident distress and terror ; 
 and as Mrs. Templeton complied, leading away 
 the passive girl, and closing the door, Constance, 
 without the least sign of trepidation, though evi- 
 dently much affected, advanced toward her father, 
 and said, " Papa, I have but this morning heard 
 of this strange, distressing proposal. I am not 
 going to suppose it any thing but a horrible f ict, 
 still I can not imagine that Lord Hurstwood — 
 that any man with the feelings of a gentleman — 
 would condescend to accept an unwilling bride — 
 no true-hearted man could think of inflicting so 
 much cruelty on another who has scarcely the 
 power to resist; therefore, this can proceed no 
 further." 
 
 " You have more sense than any girl I ever 
 met with," said the Colonel, "but in this case 
 you are quite wrong. Lord Hurstwood knows of 
 Helen's folly, and is }"et willing to marry her — so 
 that argument falls to the ground." 
 
 " Then he must be a degraded and dishonor- 
 able man," replied Constance, without the least 
 passion, but with strong contempt both in man- 
 ner and expression. " Still, his being regardless 
 of his honor is not to make Helen forget hers ; 
 and she can not marry one man while loving 
 another." 
 
 " Ton my soul, Constance, if you go on so, I 
 shall believe you as great a fool as the others" — 
 a polite and manly way of classing his wife and 
 daughter. " Ask your mother what comes of 
 love matches — love matches, indeed," he repeat- 
 ed, with a sneer. 
 
 " I can not ask mamma about any thing which 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 75 
 
 would, when known, weaken my respect for eitlier 
 of my parents," replied Constance, with a spirit 
 and dignity wliich so pleased her father that he 
 b;iid, rather mure gently, 
 
 '■ Why make all this opposition, when in the 
 end she must yield, for J will not — she will be 
 obliged to see that it is her duty." 
 
 " But she must not yield ; she never can so 
 misconceive what is her duty. Listen for one 
 moment to me, papa," slie said, rendered despe- 
 rate by her secret terror, " listen to me indul- 
 gently — it is the cause of my dear sister I am 
 advocating. Her duty to you is, never to marry 
 without your consent — your duty to her — yes, I 
 repeat it — your duty to her is, never to compel 
 her to take a solemn oatli which she can not keep. , 
 Helen has tacitly promised to give up Reginald, | 
 not because he is unworthy, but because he is | 
 poor, and you object ; and nothing would induce l 
 her to break this promise, unless — " she slightly 
 hesitated 
 
 " Unless what ?" thundered her father. 
 
 " Unless," she said, looking at him with her 
 proud eyes, " unless you make her. by trying to 
 compel her to marry this — this — man."' She ut- 
 tei'ed these words slowly, and as if sounds could 
 not fully express the depth of her abhorrence 
 and scorn. 
 
 " Enough of this," he said, rising ; " Constance, 
 you forget yourself;" and she felt that, perhaps, 
 her zeal was hurrying her too far — so she made 
 no reply, and they separated ; he to prepare for 
 his visit to Hurstwood, for he was wholly un- 
 moved at any thing that had been said ; and she 
 to destroy all hope Helen might have encouraged 
 from her mediation. 
 
 '• Htive you done any thing for me ?" cried 
 Helen, eagerly, as Constance joined her and her 
 mother. 
 
 " Alas ! no, dearest — still I do not mean to give 
 up ; but go you and take a quiet turn in the gar- 
 den, and let mamma and me consider what is the 
 safest and best course to pursue." 
 
 " Constance," said Mrs. Templeton, when they 
 ■were alone, " do you despair .'" 
 
 " I do. mamma, unless Helen be strong enough 
 to asbcrt her rights ; were it me, nothing — no- 
 thing should tempt or terrify me into compliance. 
 33uc dear Helen has lately been so overwhelmed 
 •with sorroM'S, ' they so tread each other's heel,' 
 that she is bowed down with them ; and to think 
 that at this time, when they are so greatly want- 
 ed, the Vernons should be away, every tliing 
 seems against us. Can not Ashley be sent to .'"' 
 
 "No! no! not Ashley, he can do nothing 
 here," replied Mrs. Templeton, quickly rising as 
 if a thought had suddenly struck her ; " and you 
 fear, then, that Ave can not depend on Helen's 
 courage ?" 
 
 " I fear we can not !" 
 
 " Then, my darling, leave me now, and seek 
 Helen, she needs comfort and support. _ I think 
 it very likely that Mr. Victor may call this morn- 
 ing, as he talks of soon leaving for the Levant ; 
 if you meet him, send him to me, and desire the 
 servants to do the same." 
 
 " I fear," thought Mrs. Templeton. " that 
 Constance \b right regarding Helen, and I so dis- 
 trust my own judgment in a matter which so 
 deeply affects my feelings, that I tremble lest I 
 
 should be misled ;" and she sat for some time in 
 deep reflection. 
 
 It was, as Constance had observed, particularly 
 unfortunate that the Vernons should be away at 
 this juncture — their friendship, their judgment, 
 would have been now invaluable. The gentle- 
 man who supplied the Doctor's place, though a 
 most amiable young man, was not to be tliought 
 of as his substitute on this occasion — the (irant- 
 hams were away, and, for a variety of reasons, 
 Mrs. Templeton shrunk from consulting either 
 Mr. Forrester or Sir William Dallas— not from 
 any doubt of their kindness, but she felt she 
 could not make them comprehend her views of 
 the case. It was when Constance proposed Ash- 
 ley, the idea flashed across her mind, that in Mr, 
 Morton she should find the help she needed. She 
 was convinced of his integrity and honor — hia 
 kindness also was evident in all his proceedings, 
 and she knew that his warmest sympathy would 
 immediately be roused, when he understood how 
 deeply this matter affected Keginald. To him, 
 therefore, she determined to apply — to state the 
 whole case, and frankly submit to his judgment 
 her desperate alternative; and, having arrived 
 at this conclusion, she prepared the following 
 note to him, which she hoped to be able to send 
 by Victor, now almost a daily visitor. 
 
 " Mrs. Templeton takes the liberty of request- 
 ing an ii^erview with Mr. Morton, at the Her- 
 mitage, this afternoon at five o'clock. She 
 depeudi upon his usual kindness for pardoning 
 this intrusion." \ 
 
 This done, she felt that one step was taktn — 
 and hoping that it had been in the right direc- 
 tion, she quietly awaited Victor's arrival, and 
 trusted that his father's answer would signify 
 that he could see her — for as the Colonel would 
 be absent at the Hall, it was an opportunity not 
 to be neglected — besides, time might be most 
 valuable, as it was impossible to conjecture what 
 would be the result of this dinner at Hurstwood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " I enti-rtnin the offer of this match. 
 Witli piir|)08 • to conflriii it pri senily. 
 1 have alreudj- named it to my daughter." 
 
 TOUBSEUB. 
 
 " And what says my sweet lady to my suit ?" 
 inquired the Peer of the Colonel, when they were 
 relieved from the presence of servants. 
 
 " Oh !' replied he gayly, and as if relating a 
 capital joke ; " she gave herself airs, treated 
 Mrs. Templeton and me to a few tragedy-queen 
 graces, and angrily refused to hear of any thing 
 so shocking— it is clear that she means to make 
 you enact the Amadis, and put on armor before 
 you win the prize." 
 
 " rvlontiirs," cried his Lordship, filling hia 
 glass ; " let us drink success to the attack ; and 
 very beautiful doubtless the fair criielty looked, 
 while playing the persecuted princess." 
 
 '• Siie will probably give you an opportunity 
 of judging of that," laughed her father, well 
 pleased to see how hia bait was taken. 
 
THE WIFPrs TRIALS. 
 
 " Then that, perhaps, I may have the pleasure 
 of doing to-morrow." 
 
 '■ Pardon me, i\o. The truth is, that Mrs. 
 Templeton, who is rather romantic, has imbued 
 her daughters with a few exploded sentimentali- 
 ties, and all together, t'liey raise such a chorus 
 against j-our Lordship for having employed an 
 ambassador on this tender occasion, though the 
 unworthy papa performs that office ; instead of 
 'ourself coming in full dress, coach-and-six, out- 
 'iders, and such torn-foolery, that Helen, who 
 has a pretty little pouting temper, is in the angry 
 heroics, and till this quiets down, whicli- it will 
 do in a day or two, ray counsel is, to let the 
 young lady expect you a little while before you 
 appoir." 
 
 " But suppose she should mistake this absence 
 for indifference ? I should be sorry — " 
 
 " Not at all— not at all likely — it will only 
 prove to her that you are not disposed to en- 
 courage her romance." 
 
 " As you will then," coolly replied his Lord- 
 ship, carefully preparing his fruit, with most un- 
 lover-like solicitude, for himself; " but as I can 
 not have an audience to-morrow. I fear I must 
 postpone that pleasure till I return from town, 
 where I have business the day after, which may 
 detain me. In the mean time, I rely upon your 
 good offices, for I shall hate much courting, as 
 you in England call it ; and I should also wish to 
 have the marriage celebrated with as little delay 
 as possible. Has she been presented ?" • 
 
 " No, it was postponed in order that her sister 
 might accompany her." 
 
 " Tant mieux ! then I ^all have the pleasure 
 of knowing that the most beautiful debutante of 
 the season is my wife. My relative, the Duchess 
 of Isleford, shall do me the service of being chap- 
 erone. Mrs. Templeton will, I hope, be satisfied 
 with introducing her other lovely daughter — we 
 can not allow her to monopolize. Apropos, I was 
 looking over some gew-gaws last night, and sent 
 off a box of these toys to Storr's to be reset. I 
 shall now delay this till I can consult him in per- 
 son — and I hope, by the time I return, to find 
 Mrs. Templeton and her daughters disposed to 
 judge me leniently, and to pardon my foreign 
 method of wooing." 
 
 A conversation thfn ensued relating to settle- 
 ments and such matters, and the Colonel, charmed 
 with the success of hLs schemes and hints, and 
 from the liberal intentions of Lord Hurstwood 
 more than ever bent on carrying his point, passed 
 a very pleasant evening with his well-bred son-in- 
 law elect ; and parted from him the next morning, 
 with smiling predictions of success, short love- 
 makings, and a speedy marriage. 
 
 He might well venture to foretell all this ; for 
 he returned to the Priory, his heart stealed to all 
 entreaty— armed from head to heel in iron, so 
 that no assailable point should be found— he was 
 more invulnerable than Achilles — for with re- 
 morseless hand he himself had cast all feeling 
 into the petrifying Styx ; and he rode home, re- 
 solved to crush all obstacles to his wishes, while 
 he availed hFmself of every thing likely to facili- 
 tate them. With this view he determined to take 
 advantage, not only of Helen's gentleness and 
 timidity, but of her affection, which he knew was 
 strong and uncalculating ; this, joined to her 
 
 utter ignorance of all relating to the details of 
 business, he thought he could direct in his own 
 favor ; and for this purpose, before he proceeded 
 to extremities, he very ingeniously arranged a 
 little drama, in which he was to sustain the prin- 
 cipal part, that of the parent appealing to the 
 daughter ; in other words, the villain of the piece, 
 whose difficulties were to be removed by the misery 
 and degradation of his child. 
 
 In the mean time Mrs. Templeton's little plan 
 had encountered no obstacles. Victor came, took 
 the note, and the following i"eply quickly reached 
 her : "Mr. Morton will be happy to see Mrs. 
 Templeton at the hour indicated." 
 
 She therefore set out with Helen, and drove to 
 the Hermitage ; and bidding her return and call 
 for her in an hour, she was conducted by Morton 
 to what he smiUngly called his state apartment — 
 for though externally the Hermitage was much 
 in the same state as when occupied by Johnson, 
 it had undergone gi'eat changes and improvements 
 within. The furniture was elegant, apparently a 
 collection from distant countries, both curious and 
 costly ; but though at another time it would have 
 attracted Mrs. Templeton's attention, from its nov- 
 elty and rarity, at this moment she scarcely re- 
 marked any difference or felt any interest beyond 
 satisfaction at the sight of Mr. Morton, on whose 
 aid she so fully relied. 
 
 " I shall not waste time in conjecturing your 
 surprise at my note or conduct," said she, directly 
 they were both seated, " they are the result of n.v 
 firm belief in your kindness and honor. I knc 
 also, that you are much interested for many a\ L 
 are very dear to me, and in my sad and iomly 
 need I come to you no less for their sake than my 
 own" — she paused, as if making an effort, wliile 
 Mr. Morton sat silent, but evincing by his look and 
 attitude the most respectful sympathy — she tlun 
 quickly resumed : " i\ly daughter Helen, as you 
 know, was engaged to 5lr. West, the rest also vuu 
 know; but though engagements may be broken 
 off, love will not be bid hence; the memory of 
 former associations can not depart at the fir.st 
 command. You will think there must be extraor- 
 dinary circumstauoes when a mother speaks cahii- 
 ly, voluntarily, of her daughter still loving where 
 there seems not the least hope of union. I'.ut 
 Lord Hurstwood now seeks her in marriage, and 
 Colonel Templeton has promised to further his 
 suit." 
 
 " How ! when so lately he consented to her 
 marriage with another, and while she yet sor- 
 rows for his loss .■"" burst forth Mr. Morton indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " Wonder not, but listen to my plan, to my 
 remedy, inspired only by despair, and to be used 
 only in the last extremity. With my consent, 
 Helen shall never be forced into so dreadful a fate , 
 —but my open opposition will avail nothing, per- 
 haps would only provoke harsher measures — I do ; 
 not even expect the mercy of delay. I have but 
 one other step to take, before acting very decided- 
 ly — it is to appeal to Lord Hurstwood himself." 
 
 " Right," said Mr. Morton ; " report, which de- 
 scribes him as a thorough man of the world, de- 
 scribes him also as a gentleman." 
 
 " Yes, to that character I make my appeal. I ' 
 have already prepared a letter, and must be guided ■ 
 by the events of the next few days; should my 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 77 
 
 letter have no effect, and he still sliould persist, 
 then. I\Ir. Morton, my hope is iu you." 
 
 '• And it shall not fail," he exclaimed with en- 
 orgy. " I solemnly promise to further j-our wisli- 
 es, and aid you to the utmost : say on." 
 
 "Then," she said, and her hps were pale and 
 trembling, while her voice shook with emotion, 
 " Kcginald West must come and fetch her away ; 
 yes, he must condescend to steal away my darling 
 girl ; and her unhappy mother must not only con- 
 nive at, but arrange the elopement— think, think 
 what it must be when this is the only alterna- 
 tive." 
 
 " Mrs. Templeton," cried Mr. Morton with ve- 
 hemence, " I honor you — I place myself entirely 
 at your command ; you have but to say what you 
 wish, and it shall be done." 
 
 " Then you do not condemn my scheme, you do 
 not think me imprudent and rash to liave imag- 
 ined it — though if you did, I should still act, foi- I 
 am resolved to save my child." 
 
 " Condemn ! good heavens, condemn ! when you 
 are snatching your innocent child from a fate 
 worse than death ; marriage with one when the 
 henrt is devoted to another ! the infamy of such 
 proceedings, no matter by what sophistry they 
 are made to appear sublime and heroic, fills me 
 with disgust, and heart and soul shall I joyfully 
 help you to save her. Of course, the first thing, 
 wlien the crisis seems near, will be to summon 
 Jlr. West. Various circumstances prevent my 
 olfering to convey her to him ; someday you shall 
 know them." 
 
 " There is no one w^ho can act for me but you 
 and Ileginald; the Vernons and my brother, to 
 whom in this emergency I should, for the first time, 
 have applied, are all far aAvay." 
 
 " And Miss Templeton, herself," inquired he ; 
 '■ will lier resistance be useless .'" 
 
 •' Alas ! it would, even if I could depend on her 
 maintaining it ; but she is so gentle, so unused to 
 
 intention, and from recent trials so unequal to it, 
 ;hat, if left to herself, her fate would be sealed ; 
 110 — all was well examined before I became hope- 
 less and desperate." 
 
 " I see, and you have no alternative but to ad- 
 here to your plan." 
 
 " I fear not ; therefore directly you again hear 
 from me, summon him ; but let all be done with 
 the utmost caution — one false move and all is 
 lost;" and her voice ^ank to a whisper, as she 
 added, " were my agency suspected, not only 
 would my separation from my children be certain 
 — very certain— but my liberty would be scarcely 
 secure. Now, adieu, and accept my most grate- 
 ful thankis."' 
 
 AVhen Helen returned, she was surprised to see 
 the excited and troubled glance of Mr. Morton, as 
 he bent his eyes with almost painful pertinacity 
 on her face, while respectfully taking leave of her 
 mother, whose thoughtful mood continued unbro- 
 ken during their drive home. 
 
 " The villain ! the cowardly villain !" said Mr. 
 Morton, aloud, as he traversed his garden ; " and 
 those sweet creatures are "his victims; but unless 
 Providence sees it best to frustrate me, I will save 
 this gentle girl. 
 
 Meanwhile, Constance, whose daily vision had 
 beeti sadly interrupted during her indisposition, 
 met Hubert to-day with such evident pleasure, 
 
 though she so3^ relapsed into sadness, that had lie 
 not felt bound by his promise to his fatlier, he 
 must have declared his love during this interview. 
 As it was, his manner was so tender, there could 
 be no doubt of the nature of his feelings, as gently 
 taking her hand, and bending his tine eyes on her 
 distressed countenance, he said : 
 
 " Dear Constance, what is the matter .' — no bad 
 news of Reginald West, I trust ?" and she, quite 
 overtasked by her grief, and overcome by the sym- 
 pathy in the look and tone, burst into tears, and 
 could only reply by sliaking her head. 
 
 " Nay— nay, tears! thiAis too sad, this mu.st 
 not be ; confide in me as one — ■" he paused for a 
 word, " as one who has known you from child- 
 hood — come, tell your old friend and true knight 
 what it is !" 
 
 "Nothing from poor Reginald," she replied 
 more calmly, soothed by the irresistible charm of 
 his manner, " but di-eadful ncyvs for him. Lord 
 Ilurstwood has proposed to Helen, and — but I do 
 not know that 1 ought to tell this." 
 
 " Surely to me you may tell any thing — Helen 
 has not accepted him .'" 
 
 " Oh, no!" she cried, now roused to defend her 
 sister from wdiat she thought almost a reflection 
 on her delicacy. " Oh, Hubert ! how could you 
 imagine such an indignity of Helen !" 
 
 " Merely to account for your grief, which 
 seemed hardly justified by the simple fact of a 
 proposal, that," he continued, smiling, " most 
 3'oung ladies would consider an honor, proceeding 
 from one so distinguished." 
 
 " Ah ! but you have not heard all — only think, 
 Hubert, only think,"- she repeated, clasping her 
 hands, " papa says it shall take place. Oh I I 
 know it will kill Helen ;" and again a violent flood 
 of tears burst forth. 
 
 " This begins to be indeed serious, I fear," said 
 young Forrester, gravely, for he. as well as all 
 who knew Colonel Templeton, set him down as a 
 domestic tyrant ; " may no one interfere, Con- 
 stance :" 
 
 " No one," she sadly answered, " even I lose 
 courage and hope — but, of course, you will not 
 mention this — though, soon perhaps — " she could 
 not finish— the terrible idea of the whole county 
 discussing Helen's p; ospects was too much. 
 
 " Certainly I shall not name it while you en- 
 join silence ; but might not my father — " and 
 then remembering his father's avowed dislike of 
 the Colonel, he also stopped. " Where are Mrs. 
 Templeton and Helen .'" 
 
 " Out in the phaeton ; mamma thought a drive 
 would do them both good — and hark ! I hear the 
 ponies; mamma, 1 know, will like to see you, so 
 wait for her; but Helen, I think will prefer being 
 alone." • 
 
 And she hastened to inform her mother of Hu- 
 bert's visit, wliile he remained to ponder on the 
 startling news she had just communicated, and tlio 
 more he tliought of all it involved, the more did ho 
 feel sure that while it would fill the hearts of Mrs. 
 Templeton and Constance with soi-row, it would 
 blight to the very root the happiness of Helen. 
 
 The next daypassed with all that lieavy dread 
 which suspense everbiings; and yet not one word 
 from Colonel Templeton by whicli his wife and 
 daughters could guess his intentions. 
 
 " Had he relented r" asked Helen. 
 
78 
 
 THE WIPES TRIALS. 
 
 To which Mrs. Templeton replie«l by a mourn- shrink from disgrace and dishonor ! -why, they 
 ful shake of her head — for she knew he had not — ; were epithets affixed to his name by those who 
 and the agony of doubt began to tell on Helen's , knew him, as familiar ashouseliold words, 
 looks, and in'her languid movements, when Mrs. i " Speak, Helen, what will my daughter do .•"■ 
 
 Templeton accidentally learned that Lord Hurst 
 wood had left the Hall. After consulting her 
 oracle, Constance, she decided on telling Helen of 
 it; it was better that she should at once know 
 
 " Oh, papa." she replied, with tearless ( •, 
 but in an agonized tone, "take my life fi^ 
 but do not sell me — ask any thing but this." 
 
 " Of course,"' he retorted, beginning to. feci 
 
 this was was only a lull, in order that she might , ritated that she did not at once comply ; " your 
 
 be prepared for the storm when it burst, for such 
 her mother's experience convinced her would be 
 the case. 
 
 And so the wearyAhours dragged their slow 
 length along, till a few days before that on which 
 Colonel Templeton expected his Lordship's return ; 
 when, as the sisters were in their pretty .sitting- 
 room, Constance reading to Helen, the latter, who 
 was reclining on the sofa, started, and said : 
 
 life is useless to me, so you offer it—there is hut 
 one request I make, therefore you promise all but 
 that. 
 
 " Is there then no other way V she asked, 
 greatly terrified even at her own terror, and 
 slightly moved. 
 
 " None — but 1 give you three days for reflection, 
 and will do my best to hinder Lord Hurstwood i 
 from coming ; in the mean time, and if you con- ; 
 
 " That is papa's step ; oh ! sister, he is coming I sent. I promii-e also to postpone the marri.ige as 
 here— do not leave me, I entreat you," and almost long as I can. i 
 
 before she finished speaking, he entered ; for the 
 time had now come when his little di-ama was 
 ready for performance ; he had learned his part 
 perfectly; the scenery was well painted, and he 
 hoped the traps would be quite hidden, and work 
 eflfectually. 
 
 " Helen," he said, almost kindly, " I want to 
 speak with you — Constance, go to your mother ;" 
 and with a foreboding heart, Helen heard her 
 close the door. 
 
 To Helen this concession seemed a boon beyond I 
 all expectation. " Papa," she said, "I am notj 
 very well nor very strong — perhaps I do not see ) 
 my path quite clearly at present— but if my' 
 happiness would be the only sacrifice, I think I' 
 could freely make it for you— only — but my liead 
 swims,'' and she fainted.' j 
 
 He laid her on the sofa, and so death-like didj 
 she look in her young beauty, that for a moment: 
 his cruel resolve faltered ; but muttering '■ She 
 
 " You seem so averse to this proposal, and so soon will recover," he entered Mrs. Templetuu's 
 insensiVile to the honor done you," he began, " that , room, and told her that Helen was not well ; but • 
 were I like some fathers, I might punish you by when Constance attempted to follow her, he held ! 
 
 while his brow was 
 
 her forcibly back, saymg, 
 stern and lowering : 
 
 " Folly enough there already — you stay — and 
 mark me, if I find you influence Helen against mv 
 firm determination, tremble at the consequeuc - 
 
 She looked at him till even his angry eyes ! 
 but she uttered not a word; and as he descen i 
 the grand staircase, he heard her voice askini^; : 
 
 humoring your folly — but as I am not altogether 
 disinterested in this case, I shall state my chief 
 inducement for favoring Lord Hurstwood, and 
 appeal to your better feelings and your sense of 
 duty for withdrawing your refusal. You proba- 
 bly know, or at least have a right to expr-ct. that 
 at my death this handsome property will descend 
 to you and Constance. Well, in order to render it 
 
 as complete as any thing the county can boast of, Heleu'sdoor, "How is she, dear mamma?" and tlic ii 
 and also to be remembered when I am no more, I it closed, and when she and her mother, a IV w 
 by the improvements I have efl"ected for my heir- hours after, entered the dining-room, Helen sh ] t. 
 esses, I have lately laid out very large sums of " Ah, there is ^Ir. Victor come to luncheon : 
 money in clearing and altering— some of this though I am always glad to see him, how I wi-h 
 money I have borrowed, and, to be frank with it had been Ashley or any of those dear Vernon- ' 
 you. I have anticipated my income, cramped my- ' exclaimed Constance. 
 
 self for the benefit of my children, and am at this " I echo your wish most truly," replied her in - 
 moment sorely pressed for payment — indeed, I ther, \)ho was, however, thankful to see a mes- : 
 shall l>e held disgraced if I do not fulfill my en- : ger from the Hermitage now a daily event ; 
 gagement, which I really can not, unless assisted. ' ^Irs. Templeton found her beautiful vision in V, - 
 Lord Hurstwood is the only one who will come ' tor Morton, and this day she was especially g'. . 1 
 forward and advance' to any amount, and save me to see him. She had learned all from Helen ; .in I 
 from some measure of dishonor ^but then you ' though she herself was convinced that wh.at lier 
 must consent to marry him— will you do this'for , husband had so plausibly represented was a 
 your-father, and spare your mother all the anxi- ' cunningly devised fable, she was by no mems 
 
 ety which must follow when she becomes aware of 
 the truth .=" 
 
 All. poor Helen! he has you in his toils, the 
 well-oiled trap-door silently gapes for you— had 
 the arch -liar been able or forced to speak the 
 truth, he wouhl have said, that the best thing for 
 him would be, that his memory should die with 
 himself— had he stated the rc<iilt of his clearings, 
 he would liave nameil a hanlsome sum put into 
 his hands, at the expense of hundreds of young 
 trees, and to the injury of the estate for many 
 .-■ears— money which was soon dissipated in gam- 
 'ling and its attendant vices. He, to aflfect to 
 
 sure she had proved this to Helen, wlio indeed 
 seemed so completely subdued and wretciied, 
 that jMrs. Templeton was dreadfully alarmed both 
 for her health and reason. She began to fear 
 that, tried as the poor thing had been, she would 
 become a passive victim to her father's wiles, and 
 she resolved no longer to hesitate about attempt- 
 ing her plan — time w.as now precious, and Helen' 
 must not be lost through her vacillation. 
 
 Her letter to Lord Hurstwood, though sent 
 more than a week ago, with orders to be forward- 
 ed, had received no reply— so from that quai-ter 
 she had no hope of assistance. Had she known i 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 ror, J f 
 
 that the worthy Cooper had played postman, she 
 might still htive paused. A persoual appeal 
 would have been hazarded, and all might have 
 been changed — hut now hours and minutes were 
 flying by, while she was inactive ; so she at once 
 passed the Rubicon, by giving Victor a packet 
 she had previously prepared, which contained the 
 following lines to Mr. Morton an^i a letter to Re- 
 ginald : " The die is cast — forward the inclosed 
 express to Reginald — it is to summon him to us, 
 and without delay, or all will be lost. Any sug- 
 gestions your kindness and experience may offer, 
 as to how he can come and where remain, act 
 upon, and believe us all deepl3' your debtors." 
 
 To Reginald she wrote thus : " Read my letter 
 to the end before you presume to judge me. Reg- 
 inald ! events have very recently occurred 
 which have increased our difficulties and sorrow 
 a hundred-fold. Unless you step in to save her, 
 Helen is lost — lost to happiness as well as to you. 
 You must not delay an hour after you read this, 
 or she who loves you only will be given to another. 
 Her miserable mother implores you to come — to 
 come clandestinely, and take her away. Think 
 how imminent must be her danger — how fear- 
 ful her peril, when I — I, whose only pride was 
 my children — whose only joy was their pres- 
 ence, entreat you not to desert us in this bitter 
 extremity. And, oh, Reginald, my son, if I am 
 wrong — but surely you can not think so — let not 
 my error be visited on my guiltless, persecuted 
 gii-1." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 "And, by my word, the bonny bin] 
 In danger shall not tarry." Campbf.ll. 
 
 Mr. Morton, leaving instructions with his 
 servants, on whose discretion he could fully de- 
 pend, started without delay for Reginald's abode 
 carrying this precious document with him. He 
 had pretty accurately guessed what would be 
 required of him, and had prepared all according- 
 ly. He had money, and he knew how to spend it, 
 for others as well as himself; four horses met 
 him at the various stages, and the same were 
 ordered for his return — and thus, traveling all 
 night, the better to conceal his movements, by 
 six the next morning he reached the small cottage 
 occupied by Reginald. 
 
 And now, as he drew near to the garden-gate.the 
 horrible fear, suppose he should be away or ill, 
 arose in his mind, which had previously been busy 
 with many other thoughts. "Thank Heaven!'' 
 he cried aloud, as attracted by the unusual ap- 
 pearance of a carriage-and-four, Regin.ald, ever 
 an early riser, and now busily engageil in pre- 
 paring a paper for his publisher, looked over the 
 blind. Seeing that the new arrival was Mr. 
 Morton, his tried and valued friend, lie hastened 
 out, exclaiming, " In the name of all that is un- 
 expected, tell me what brings you here, and in 
 such post-haste style I" 
 
 " I came because my horses would come," was 
 the cheerful reply, for he was anxious to state his 
 real object without alarming ileginald, wRo still 
 looked as if he had b 'on an invalid; " but will 
 your cottage afford a cup of coffee '" 
 
 •' Come in at once and see," was his answer. 
 
 " First let me give my ordf rs to the postillions," 
 which were, to secure four fresh horses, and in 
 ten minutes' time to have them ready for starting 
 — he then followed Reginald ; and as quickly as 
 possible, Gretchen, who prided herself on the ex- 
 cellence of her coffee, had a comfortable meal pre- 
 pared, and having stipplied Mr. Morton's need, 
 for he had taken scarcely any refreshment since 
 he left home, Reginald proceeded to ([uestion his 
 guest about Scabrooke, though the name perjiet- 
 ually hovering on his lips was left unpronounced. 
 
 " I heard from Mrs. Templetoa yesterday," said 
 Mr. Morton, taking the plunge. 
 
 " I hope she — that all of them are well" — and 
 he stopped with a sigh. 
 
 " Xes, pretty well— Miss Constance has, I hear, 
 been rather an invalid. Victor is almost a daily 
 guest there, or at Forest Hill, and brings news of 
 the whole parish. The truth is, I have a little 
 commission from ^Irs. Templeton, but witliout 
 your help, I shall not be able to succee<l." 
 
 '• In all things command me freely — what can, I 
 do .'" he asked, with a quivering lip and beating 
 heart. 
 
 " It is to accompany me back to the Hermitage, 
 and" — but Reginald impetuously interrupted him, 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " There is something the matter with Helen — 
 tell me — tell me — but, for mercy's sake ! do not 
 say she is ill." 
 
 " She is not," replied Mr. Morton with empha- 
 sis; "but she is ill at ease— there is talk of a 
 marriage — stop," he added gravely, indeed .'stern- 
 ly, for Keginald's looks became wild, as he made 
 a passionate movement — " stop, Mr. West, listen 
 to me, and do not by any mistimed vehemence 
 frustrate what her friends have arranged — you 
 are summoned by her mother to save her — to car- 
 ry her awaj'— to marry her — do you now under- 
 stand .' but you do not" — for he perceived tiiat 
 Reginald by no means comprehended the extrem- 
 ity of the case — he, therefore, proceeded more 
 plainly — " unless you can resolve to do this, she 
 will be given to Lord Hurstwood, without delay or 
 pity- — do you refuse .'" 
 
 "Refuse! Great God, no — refuse!" and he 
 started up, " why do we lose a moment .' — sweet, 
 dear Helen— ^fuse to take you to my heart as 
 my cherished wife ! thus called for, I would hasten 
 from the other side of the globe — what may be 
 going on even now — why delay when time is so 
 precious r" 
 
 " It is precious, but we have enough for our 
 purpose — and since my arrival, another idea has 
 presented itself. Your good landlady is, I know, 
 the attached nurse of this poor young lady ; now 
 the step we are deliberately about to take, re- 
 quires very strong reasons to render it jtistifiable, 
 and an}' thing we can do to les.son its impropriety, 
 ought not to be neglected. She must, therefore, 
 accompany us, and return with you and tliis sweet 
 girl — for your marriage must be delayed till the 
 requisite measures have been taken— is that a 
 good amendment .'" 
 
 "Good!" said Reginald, wringing his hand, 
 "it does you honor; and I know she will go if 
 possible— so that must be a.scerlained directly." 
 
 But Mr. Morton, seeing that he Hcarcely knew 
 what hfc -id or said, advised him to pack a few 
 
80 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Deedful things, while he consulted Madame Stop- 
 ?ell, Nvhose husband -willingly yielded his consent, 
 ?he was ready for her short absence almost as 
 joon as Reginald. Stopsel was told to have all 
 •eady for Helen, as Gretchen would not suppose 
 ailuVe, and he was also to inform Mr. Vernon of 
 vhat had occurred ; and again they sped back, 
 •caching a small village, a few miles from Sea- 
 jrooke, toward the dusk of the evening, when 
 Reginald took care not to be recognized, and 
 reached the Hermitage quietly and unnoticed 
 in Mr. Morton's carriage, which was awaiting 
 them. 
 
 Vain would be the attempt to describe Regi- 
 nald's liorror, indignation, and grief on learning 
 the mere outlines of this attempt on Helen's hap- 
 piness—the particulars of which Mr. Morton did 
 not know. Till he found himself thus suddenly 
 threatened with her loss, he had not been con- 
 scious that hope still lingered in his heart— had 
 not been aware that this had insensibly given him 
 courage and patience; he now felt, that were any 
 fatal event to deprive him of her — life would lose 
 all its attractions, and that he would thankfully 
 close his eyes on it, and die. 
 
 Again and again did he peruse Mrs. Temple- 
 tons letter of entreaty ; and again and again did 
 tie to himself, and aloud, promise that slie should 
 lever, never repent of her confidence in him. 
 
 ••Can nothing be done immediately.'" he in- 
 quired, as soon as they reached the Hermitage. 
 
 " Nothing," replied his host ; '• very early to- 
 morrow, Victor will see Mrs Templeton ; he will 
 probably breakfast there, for he is of necessity 
 partly in our conlidence, but he has been well 
 trained to discretion, so fear not him. Let us act 
 in all things rationally, so as to diminish the 
 chances of failure. We now need refreshment 
 and rest ; we must take both. To-morrow night 
 will decide all — and, like wise generals, we must 
 be cool and on the alert, to meet and defeat what- 
 ever may impede us. Miss Templeton will, of 
 course, remain with her nurse till you are mar- 
 ried—you must go elsewhere." 
 
 " I ought to be transported with joy at this 
 most unexpected iulfillnient of my dearest wish ; 
 and yet there are two causes which oppress me to 
 agony," said Reginald, and lie looked melancholy 
 and dispirited. " First, this sweeta injured inno- 
 cent is driven to take a step by both of us equally 
 condemned, alike oppo.sed'to our feelings of pro- 
 priety. And then, when this precious gift is 
 mine — mine to love and cherish, and retain while 
 life lasts — think you, Mr. Morton, I am not pain- 
 fully reminded that she gives herself to a beg- 
 gar — to one who is himself living on the generos- 
 ity of others .' To work for her. Heaven knows ! 
 would be one continual pleasure, could I do so with 
 success — but — " He stopped and hid his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 " When you have real troubles to contend -with, 
 Mr. West, and especially when you need all your 
 presence of mind and resolution to rescue her you 
 love from misory, it sot-ms scarcely wise to conjure 
 up ideal trials, or by dwelling on them to incapa- 
 citate yourself for unusual exertion. Permit me 
 to conclude," said Mr. Morton, seriously, as Reg- 
 inald attempted to sijeak, " you love this young 
 lafly .'" 
 
 '• More than life, more than life," murmured 
 
 the poor fellow ; disregarding the interruption, 
 his friend continued — 
 
 " She loves you — a frightful danger menaces 
 her. You alone can save her. Not only that, 
 youalonftcan make her happy. Young gentleman, 
 this, then, is not the time to listen to the sugges- 
 tions of a foolish pride. You are now called upon 
 to stifle every selfish consideration, and cast aside 
 all these artificial impediments. In short, my 
 dear friend," said he, kindly, and approaching 
 Reginald, " you are to take this book, and use the 
 
 j contents whenever they are wanted to add to her 
 
 I comfort." 
 
 I Reginald was completely overcome with this 
 
 j delicacy and kindness ; he tried to speak, but 
 
 1 could not, and repeatedly pressed the generous 
 
 j hands that came thus loaded. 
 
 j " Come, come," said Mr. Morton, himself much 
 affected, but assuming a cheerful manner — " old 
 as I am, I would give a thousand pounds readily, 
 eagerly, to save her loving heart from the least 
 pang — but you have the privilege of protecting 
 her from all. And now we understand each 
 other, so good-night." 
 
 Whether Mr. Morton slept well, we pause not 
 to ask^certainly Reginald did not. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and sciur." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Victor breakfasted at the Priory, not a little 
 wondering at the brisk correspondence which had 
 suddenly sprung up between the lady there and 
 his father. For, though he knew that it was 
 caused by some fresh trial to Helen, in which Mr. 
 West was deeply concerned, he little suspected 
 what the denouement was likely to be. 
 
 The note he brought from Mrs. Templeton was 
 to this eft'ect : The Colonel was going to the Hall, 
 to fix the next day for Lord Hurstwoods visit, and 
 Helen's acceptance of him would follow, but he 
 would return to dinner. Mrs. Templeton would 
 have an interview with Reginald, before twelve, 
 
 ; at the Hermitage. 
 
 ' The intervening time was passed by the two 
 gentlemen in settling their plan of operation, 
 which would be submitted to Mrs. Templeton, for 
 the underlined words in her" note proved that she 
 expected no respite or change. 
 
 I Punctual to the time, she arrived, and terrible 
 was her emotion on first seeing Reginald. But 
 she soon became composed, at least in appearance, 
 and requested that Mr. Morton would favor them 
 with his presence ; for, deeply interested as his 
 friendship had made him in this transaction, his 
 experience and calmness would materially aid in 
 avoiding all danger of disappointment. 
 
 Their plan was this : Mr. Morton and Gretchen 
 were to remain at the gate leading to the private 
 garden. She knew both the spot, and the trick 
 of opening the spring, should th.-it be found shut. 
 Reginald was to enter by the upper conservatory 
 at eleven, and there take Helen from her mother's 
 hands. " And, oh ! Reginald," said tJiat sad but 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 tenvless niotlicr, " cherish my child — never by 
 li)i k or thdU'iht rcjiroach lier fur this Jict, of 
 which she yet knows nothing ; but remember the 
 aiteriiativo, ni-d th.-ink God for permitting these 
 mesms of rescue ! Promise me this, and I shull 
 trust you." 
 
 " I swear by all man holds sacred, that I will 
 be her loving-, gentle husband to tl\c end of our 
 days!" and a sensation of joy filled his heart, 
 and shone out in lii-s pale face, as he thought that 
 the being lie loved so devotedly, and, till lately, 
 60 hopcles.-ly, -would be his own. 
 
 Quite satisfied now that the matter had pro- 
 ceeded thus far -without obstacle, that she had 
 remained firm to her purpose, and most grateful 
 for the delieate thought and feeling that had 
 secured the motherly attendance of her faithful 
 Gretchen, Avith whom she held a short conference, I 
 Mrs. Templetou, in comparative peace, returned i 
 to the Priory. 
 
 And now for Helen," thought the anxious ' 
 mother, so completely' roused by the danger of her 
 darling, that she seemed scarcely to fear even her 
 husband. She cared for nothing but the SMfety 
 of Helen ; and to secure that, was prepared to 
 brave every thing. All else was, for the moment, 
 jnditferenr to her: and gratified with her success 
 hitherto, she, with almost cheerful looks, joined 
 her daughters at luncheon. 
 
 Constance was surprised at her mother's man- 
 ner, for knowing the cause of her fathers absence, 
 she was half wild with apprehension, as to the 
 efi^'ect the proceedings of the next day would have 
 on Helen's destiny. 
 
 As to poor Helen herself, she seemed to have 
 sunk into an apathy that was more alarming to 
 her sisier than the most violent demonstrations of j 
 grief; from the vehemence of the latter some 
 resistance might be expected — but what hope was 
 there, when she seemed unable to offer any oppo- 
 sition .' I 
 
 Oh ! ho-sv long did the day seem to Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton ! how inip.-itiently did she sigh for the hour 
 v.hich should remove one of her idols from all 
 danger of injurj'. 
 
 At lengtli came dinner-time ; at first, the meal 
 seemed to pass as usual. Constance had lost all 
 that sparkling vivacity which brought suns-liine 
 among them— and all were now silent and gloomy. 1 
 Mrs. Tenipleton sat lost in her own thouglits ai.d 
 anxieties: Helen, ms if unconscious of every 
 thing — even the servants, who were partly cogni- 
 zant of what was pending, moved tibout with more , 
 of the solemnity of waiters at a funeral, than with 
 that brisk and smiling alacrity which generally 
 characterized them. | 
 
 Under all th.ese circumstances, it was perhaps 
 to be expected that Colonel Tenipleton, when 
 alone with them, should draw their attention to 
 the present time, and to their actual position, I 
 which he did by remarking with a sneer, I 
 
 "We are a most lively set, quite an agreeable 
 family party. I only hope Lord Hurstwood may 1 
 not find our spirits too overpowering when he 
 lunches here to-morrow." I 
 
 Helen mournfully turned her face toward him, \ 
 and sighed deeply, but did not speak. Constance 
 felt the color mount to her brow, and courageously 
 said, 
 
 •• I hope, -papa — " 
 
 But what she hoped, none ever knew, as he 
 rudely interrupted her by saying — 
 
 " 1 have neither the inclination to listen to dis- 
 obedient speeclies, nor to have my will di-'^jiuted 
 by my ill-directed daughters; this evening I 
 sliall hold some ci)nvcrsation witii you," looking 
 at Helen, who, however, now gave no signs of 
 attention. 
 
 "Not tliis evening, I entreat of you, Lionel." 
 petitioned Mrs. Tenipleton ; for her heart seemed 
 to die within lier, as she glanced from tlie statue- 
 like countenance of Helen, to the angry one of 
 her husband, and thence to the decanters by 
 which he was surrounded. 
 
 " Well, to-iiiOi-row, then, and directly after 
 breakfast; I have a little information to give 
 her regarding Lord Hurstwood's munificent in- 
 tentions and plans, -\\hieh will tell greatly in his 
 favor." 
 
 Since the conversation he had held witli her, 
 when he made up a sentimental falile, artfully 
 appealing to her feelings, he had carefully avoided 
 the sulyect. His policy was. to take her silence 
 as consent, and to hurry her into a promise just 
 before his Lordship's arriv.-il, so as to leave her 
 no alternative but to ratify it, in the presence of 
 the latter ; to-morrow would, therefore, suit, him. 
 better. 
 
 Constance fondly put her arm-round her sister, 
 and ISIrs. Tenipleton rising without making any 
 comment on her husband's speech, they all left 
 the room; the Colonel sootliing his irritation, as 
 well as he could, with his wine, which daily 
 seemed to become his most favorite solace. 
 
 " We are all looking weary," remarked Mrs. 
 Tenipleton, as she dismi.ssed the tea- equipage ; 
 her pulses telling her that t/ie hour — the import- 
 ant hour — Avas fast approaching. " I have lately 
 had wretc ed nights, and so has poor Helen ; we 
 shall be obliged, 1 fear, to letive you very enrly to 
 your own resources, Constance — and do not let 
 Huth disturb your sister; when you dismiss her, 
 let her go to bed." 
 
 Helen languidly rose to bid them good night, 
 and left the room. They exchanged looks, and 
 were silent for a few moments, when Constance 
 said — 
 
 " Is she to be lost without one more effort ?" 
 
 " No, dear child, while there is the least chance, 
 we will not relinquish the task, we must both 
 make one more trial in her behalf; but it is cruel 
 as well as useless, under the idea of sympathy, 
 for us to liarass her to-night ; so kiss me, darling, 
 and early as it is, take my blessing and Avishes 
 that you may find rest." 
 
 "I'ou must let me be your physician for once, 
 dear mamma, .and I slnill take upon me to pre- 
 scribe one of Mr. Curtis's infallible draughts — 
 you may safely take it, as 1 know of what it is 
 composed. 1 think it will send yoti to sleep — to- 
 morrow, "she said with a shudder, " we shall need 
 all our strength, both of mind and body." 
 
 Constance ijad a little plan of her OAvn, wiiicb 
 this early separation gretitly facilittitcd. She! 
 had resolved to Avrite to her lather, since he 
 would not permit her to speak ; and she meant so 
 to plead for poor Helen, that he must relent---s]io 
 intended so to entreat, that he could not refuse; 
 and encouraging herself to hope all from her 
 affectionate eloquence, she the more readily 
 
82 
 
 THE WIFES TRIALS. 
 
 allowed Helen to retire without trying to comfort, 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Tcmpleton^ who generally dispensed with 
 personal service, and rang whenever she required 
 it, entered her boudoir and loclied the door, to 
 feel safe from all intrusion ; she thence passed to 
 the conservatory, and opened the one already 
 descrihed as leading to llelen's present sleeping 
 apartment. 
 
 It sef-med to her, as if every thing she heard 
 and saw tended to deepen her resolve, and give 
 her strength to carry it out ; and when she looked 
 ac Hel(»n, what a sight for a loving mother met 
 her anxiou< eyes ! She sat on a hnv chair, lean- 
 ing her head on the back, her arms lianging by 
 her side— her eybs were open, but she appeared 
 unconscious of every thing ; even her uiother's 
 entrance, by the concealed opening, failed to 
 rouse lier. 
 
 Mrs. Tcmpleton approached, and gently laid 
 lier liand on her head; a slight shudder alone 
 ;gave indication of >iensibility. 
 
 " Helen. Helen I"' cried her mother, really ter- 
 rified— still Helen took no notice. 
 
 " Mercilul Heaven ! what new trial awaits me," 
 she ejaculated, kneeling by her daughter, chafing 
 and caressing her cold hands. 
 
 "Mother, grieve not," slowly broke from her 
 pale lips, but the voice sounded strange and hol- 
 low — '• it is good to die." 
 
 " Talk not thus, my darling," cried her mother, 
 laying her head on her bosom, and removing the 
 glossy hair which hung heavy on her brow — 
 then, believing that she required some powerful 
 stimulus to enible her to shake off this frightful 
 apathy, slie added, with a deliberate purpose 
 very abrupll}- — '■ I bring hope, my child — do you 
 hear me ; — I bring hope and rescue " 
 
 " Kescue !" she said, now slightly moved ; 
 " rescue, and hope ?" she repeated. 
 
 " Yes, both, if you will but rouse yourself to 
 assist me " 
 
 " I can do any thing to escape this fate," she 
 replied, quite able to listen, and with a look of 
 intelligence in her eyes ; " but how can so great a 
 Ijlessing be gained ?" 
 
 " With Heginahl's help," said her mother slow- 
 ly, " all could be gained." 
 
 She started — she almost screamed. 
 
 '• llu-h !'■ whispered Mrs. Tcmpleton, having 
 now to lay the spirit she had evoked ; " yes, lleg- 
 inald - he is at hand — will soon be liere tosaveynu, 
 to take you away; rouseyoursclf thoroughly, and 
 li«ten to me, and try to understand mo." As she 
 •said these words, oh, blessed sight! Helen burst 
 into tears and wept abundantly, nor did hernioth- 
 ^cr try to check her ; but when her sobs became 
 fainter she proceeded to say, as calmly as she 
 •could, "You have known enough of me to be 
 fiure that I should never even countenance, much 
 l^'ss assist in or advise any thing that would re- 
 flect on my children's reputation " Helen was 
 rsilent, but evidently attending to every word ; 
 and thus encouraged, her mother went on. " Our 
 duties sometimes seem to clash. I say seem, for 
 i much doubt whether they ever do ; it may be 
 that some feeling, half revealed, or only half un- 
 derstood, inclines us to one or the other; or be- j 
 cause we really and honestly do not comprehend | 
 all the word duty involves. Now I firmly be- | 
 
 lieve it to be ni}' dxtty to s.ave you from this con- 
 templated marriage.' 
 
 " Dearest, best mamma," murmured Helen, 
 kissing her. And seeing the success of her rather 
 lengthy exordium, on which she had purposely 
 dwelt, in order to fix Helen's thoughts, she pro- 
 ceeded more rapidly : " In short. I never will 
 consent to it. While you were left unmolested, 
 I never should have thought of such an opposition 
 to your father's will as to have s.'incti()ncd your 
 marriage with Reginald, much as I love and re- 
 spect him; but now I command it. And — hush ! 
 do not speak — and this night, in company with 
 our faithful Gretchen, he will take you away, 
 and, directly the law permits, marry you. whit-h, 
 however, can not be before the expiration of threo 
 weeks." 
 
 Breathless with astonishment at all she heard 
 — almost giddy from the rapidity with which she 
 had been raised from the depths of despair and ■ 
 been told to hope, Helen gazed at her mother for 
 a minute before she could find words; and then, 
 while her face, lately so ghastly pale, became ' 
 crimson from some hidden thought, she said — 
 
 " Elope! oh! mother, must i encounter that 
 disgrace ?" 
 
 '• Yes, elope, or what word you please, Helen; ] 
 either submit to that, or consent to marry Lord j 
 Hurstwobd." J 
 
 " And Reginald, oh ! what will he think of \ 
 me .'" and again she wept. 
 
 " He will think that you are an ill-used, help- ; 
 less girl, Avhom he is bound, by any method that : 
 is not disgraceful, to serve — and tliis is the otilv 
 one — he will also think that your sorrows ; ' 
 misfortunes bind him, by every motive, to i ; 
 tect, love, and honor j'ou. Yes, Helen, hn:. 
 y<m; for where is her purity who gives her han 1 
 wlu-re her heart can not accompanj' it.' wh' • 
 her truth who swears to love, when she has al- 
 ready none to give r" 
 
 '• Dear mamma !" said Helen — and again i 
 fixint tinge colored her cheeks—" then you civo 
 me to Reginald, freely, cheerfully." 
 
 " Yes ; freelJ^ cheerfully, gratefully. .And 
 now, lose no time ! look out your darkest wr.i]i- 
 per; give me a few things you will immediately 
 require; for," looking at her watch, "the time 
 draws near." 
 
 Helen trembled so violently that her motlv - 
 was forced to do every thing for her; she h' r 
 self was firm and self-possessed. But even wi 
 fearing lest Helen's nerves and courage sh' i, 
 fail them at the extremity, she remarked a Hlm 
 in the eyes, and a movement about the counte- 
 nance, which showed that the name of Reginald 
 h.iil not lost its talismanic influence. ; 
 
 When all was ready she took her mother's 
 haml. and, kneeling kissed it reverently, saying,' 
 " Bless you, mother, for all you have done for 
 me. And, oh ! God grant that this last crown- 
 ing act may not involve you in greater sorrow ! 
 if I thought it, I have courage to face every 
 thing." 
 
 "Fear not for me," replied Mrs. Temph'ton 
 "I am sure that in acting thus I do my duty: 
 but now, w.ait here courageously alone, one min- 
 ute," as she lieard several clocks tell the hour: 
 and, going into the consorvatorj', she opened the 
 garden entrance just in time to admit Rfgiual'i. 
 
THE WIFF/S TRIALS. 
 
 83 
 
 He -was very pule, but he looked resolved and 
 gtcrn. 
 
 " Where is she ?" he whispered. 
 
 " Here," was the hushed reply, for Helen had 
 glided out from her room the moment she heard 
 ills step. 
 
 lie lifted his hat for a moment, and the shade<l 
 lisrht fell full on his pale face and g'itterino; eyes. 
 Helen also mechanically raised her vail — and 
 once more they looked in each other's faces — 
 both so young, so beautiful ! both so worn, so 
 sad! 
 
 " Helen !" 
 
 '^Reginald." 
 
 " Pear Helen !" opening; his arms, and she fell 
 on his bosom. He pressed her convulsively to 
 his heart, and looking at lier said, in a low l>ut 
 solemn voice, " mine !" then, again raising his 
 hat, he added, with deep reverence, " mine, 
 nhom I swear to protect and cherish ; and, as I 
 dial by you, so may God deal with me !" 
 
 " Amen !" said .Mrs. Templeton, deeply touched. 
 " Kneel, my children, and may the blessing from 
 n high be with you now and forever. Ileginald, 
 ) trust you with something more precious than 
 life, but I have neither doubt nor fear. Take 
 this," giving him a small packet; " cnnsult with 
 Mr. Morton about the contents. Now, kiss me, 
 my son — kiss me, my daughter, and, farewell !" 
 She al«o gave him the small hag slie had filled 
 Helen's wardrobe, watcliiel them till tliey were 
 ?o«t in the gloom and windings of the shrubbery, 
 and locked the door. 
 
 Then, and not till then, did a reaction take 
 place. She had strength to place her lamp 
 safely on the table, and then she must have 
 fainted ; for when she recovered it was nearly 
 one o'clock. 
 
 She bathed her face and hands in cold water, 
 ' n 1 approaching her dressing-table to prepare 
 
 :■ bed, saw a vial and slip of paper ; on the lat- 
 
 r was written: " Tiiis i^ one of the draughts 
 'Ir. Curtis sent me — it will be of use, dearest 
 mother, and send you to sleep — tnke it, and 
 pood-night. C. F. T " And, after Mrs. Temple- 
 ton had undressed, she swallowed the draiiglit, 
 simply because she had not the power to leflect, 
 «r the strength to dispute even a written or- 
 der; and soon after, over-tasked and exhausted 
 nature sank into a repose which lasted fur many 
 hours. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVn. 
 
 How n 
 
 Twixt hour and hnur 
 
 " Prythpp, pppak ; 
 
 Iff >>{ miles may we well ride 
 
 Cijmheline. 
 
 Mr. Stops EI., though requested to communi- 
 cate with Mr. Vernon, when lie went to business, 
 with true German in'liftVrence to such orders, in- 
 terpreted the command in his own way. 
 
 He first visited his shop, to see that all there 
 Was right ; and finding that he must go into the 
 city, determined to call in the Temvle as he re- 
 turr-r-^ ^ut it was nearly one o'elck when he 
 ha'. - o-xo.' o led his errand ; and during the whole 
 
 of the morning Ashlev had been expectiiio- to see 
 his friend. ' 
 
 As hour after hour passed, and he did not ap- 
 pear, Ashley became rather une.isy, fir Reg- 
 inald was always so punctual, tiiat he fearc.l he 
 was ill, his health being still occasionally del- 
 icate. 
 
 Twelve boomed out St. Paul's ; twelve was 
 echoed by tlie giants of St. Uunstan's, and re- 
 peated SLiprano, contralto, and basso from iho 
 numerous clocks all around— half past— still no 
 Reginald, still no note or messenger 
 
 Ashley could wait no longer— but leaving a 
 mess:ige, in c isc they should pass each other on 
 the road, lie set off to see after him. Arriveii at 
 the cottage, he was much relieved to iiear that 
 Mr West was well, but out. In reply to liis 
 further qtiestions. Mr. West, tlie serv.int .said, 
 with a slight increase of dignity in the flutter of 
 her cap-ribbons, had that very morning, before 
 seven o'clock, gone oflf with four horses ! 
 
 " Four horses V 
 
 " Yes. sir, four — and my missus." 
 
 "Speak plainly," said Ashley, rather angrily. 
 
 But the ribbons this time waved, imh-ed, it 
 may more properly be said, tossed with insulted 
 majesty. 
 
 "Well, sir, I cm not speak more plainer — 
 four horses, my missus, and a strange gentle- 
 man." 
 
 Hopeless of extracting information, he ne.xc 
 askecl, but more gently — " And left no mes.-age 
 for me .'"' 
 
 " Not as I know of, sir." 
 
 " Nor said when he sh<tuld return .'" 
 
 " No, sir — hut missus did — his room is to be 
 clean turned out. and got ready for a lady, and 
 they are to bring her to-nigiit." 
 
 •'Well." said Ashley, half aloud, "then pa- 
 tience and w.-iit." And his hand,some face re- 
 sumed its usual expression of serenity, .so that 
 the otfended ribbons no more -vibrated with an- 
 ger ; and the wearer told her confidant, the 
 young lady who did tlie work next dnor — in gen- 
 teel parlance, the gi'ncral servant — that, " not 
 'aving an 'art as 'ard as hiern, them fine eyes of 
 his'n m.ade sad avick of it " 
 
 While Ashley was thus philosophically sum- 
 moning j)atience, and resigning himself to ig- 
 norance .and his fate Ma'iame Stop-scl's German 
 servant made her appear:ince. and from lie r he 
 received a confirmation of all the otlier iiad snid, 
 with the important additions that her mister iiad 
 a message fur him, and that the stranger had left 
 a card. 
 
 Silently denouncing the stupidity which rib- 
 bons, afid cap too, covered tip, ,\'hley rushed into 
 the sitting-ro'im, and seized Mr. Morton's card, 
 on which he had written in French: " Kxpect 
 them to-moiT(iw morning — Miss Tem]ileton re- 
 turns with them — a letter will tell you more." 
 
 " H< len here ! Good heavens ! what c in it 
 mean .' A letter — ah ! that will explain, and it 
 probably now lies on my table" — for Mr M^r- 
 I ton, who had not forgotten any thing, had. even 
 while traveling, scrawled a few lines of explaii.a- 
 tion to Ashley, which he posted at the nearest 
 place he piissed. 
 
 .lumping into the cab, Ashley was whirled 
 back to town, and had the mortiticaticn of hear- 
 
84 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 inj: tli.it Mr. Stppsel had called during liis nlj- 
 SBuce ; but there lay the precious letter which 
 wa.s to unravel the mystery ; for though of ne- 
 cessity sli-.rt, -Mr. Morton gave him all tlie in- 
 f.)rm.itioii that was most important A note, 
 witli little more tli:in a few incoherent words 
 from Keginald lay \>y its side, adding little to 
 his knowledge, but a great deal to his amaze- 
 nieut. 
 
 As he read, Ashley became almost dizzy with 
 wonder. Helen Hying from her father's house, 
 and at her mother's command, and with Keginald ! 
 was a picture he could hardly believe real— but 
 real it most assuredly was. 
 
 Aud niiw what could he do to help them .' for 
 as to atieuding to business, that was impossible 
 — no, he would dedicate himself and his time to 
 their service — and how could he best show his 
 ze:.l ? 
 
 First, he would endeavor to see Mr. Stopsel, 
 aud lc;ii'n, if possible, something more precise 
 So, fairly yielding tO' his impulse, off he set once 
 more, to do, he knew not exactly what, except 
 that he wa.s resolved to be at Hampstead to meet 
 the travelers on their arrival. 
 
 He then remembered that Reginald must give 
 up his lodgings to Helen, aud, of course, remain 
 his guest; so back he went to settle for his ac- 
 commod.-itiou, and once more en route tor Stopsel. 
 from liim he learned little that he particularly 
 cared for, beyond the information contained in 
 Mr. Morion's letter, except that Gretchen had 
 left strict injunctions for every thing to be done 
 and arranged, that could tend to make her dear 
 young lady comfortable. 
 
 •• Is there any thing wanting ?" asked Ashley, 
 visions of furniture and upholstery floating before 
 his " mind's eye" — but btopsel assured him that 
 every thing was already very good aud complete, 
 aiil ih;it iie could not imagine any addition 
 ueeiful. 
 
 liut, delighted with this thought, which pro- 
 mise i him occupation for the remainder of the 
 d.iy, Ashley for the second time started for the 
 Cottage, aud was charmed to find various de- 
 licieiicies which he should be so happy to supply ; 
 therefore, a luxurious lounging chair for the sit- 
 ting- room, with a pre.ty work-table. Jind some 
 eiegint chimney ornaments, being all he could 
 detect as wanting, or indeed liud room for there, 
 he beg.in his V(jyage of discovery in the bed- 
 room. It looked very cheerful and very pretty 
 — c.iiiital lor a young bachelor ; but where were 
 all tlie appliances and comforts which its future 
 lair occupant had been used to ? and how could 
 he tell what these ougiu to be .' Decidedly, how- 
 ever, lie couM improve the appe irance of the 
 toileite-tablt,' — and so he did, with sover.il costly 
 triU'-s, which the niau who supplied the other 
 nriicles was so oblig.n^ .as to sugi;est : and when 
 this was done, vexed tliat tliere were no further 
 improvenu-nts to m.ake— like Alexander, when he 
 wept tliai there were no more worlds to cimquer 
 — As:dey siglied to think how he sliould now pass 
 tlie t.me, beiore he could expect his truant f: lend. 
 
 To the sitting-room he again descended ; and 
 
 " Siitan fln'ls" soiiio mi* hiof Blill 
 i'or idle haiuls lo <lo," 
 
 uc began to arrange llcginald'a writing table, 
 
 when an unfinished sentence, partly illegible, 
 owing to a large blot, which hsfd fallen from a 
 pen hastily thrown down, arrested his attention. 
 He guessed directly how it was ; Reginald must 
 have been writing when interrupted by Mr. Mor- 
 ton's arrival — aud he was right — it was part of a 
 review whicli he was preparing for a forthcoming 
 number, and which, in the hurry of his depart- | 
 ure, he had left exactly as when he hastened out ' 
 to welcome his friend. 
 
 " This sheet is precious," said he, indulging in 
 a little bit of sentiment — and he was in the act 
 of withdrawing it, when she of the ribbons enter- ' 
 ed — " Lawk, sir ! pray, pray don't touch that — • 
 none of us, not even missus, dares to meddle with 
 Mr. West's table." 
 
 Respecting her scruples, he laid it down ; de- 
 termined, however, no printer's devil should ever 
 defile it with black hands, and already fancying 
 he saw it framed and preserved by Helen, as a 
 family relic, connected with the great romantic 
 incident of her life and Reginald's. 
 
 Still there were many wearisome hours to I'm 
 "Oh! he would have dinner, he really net- i 
 refreshment' — and Mr. Stopsel returning IV 
 his daily duties, Ashley was enabled to have a • 
 chop and a glass of wine. 1 
 
 He was ignorant of the time when Reginald ' 
 would start from .Seabrooke. even if ail went ' 
 right, and now a doubt of that came to his res 
 cue ; yes, it really was a relief to be uneasy— 
 hitherto he had imagined success certain, and I 
 that idea had become familiar and monotonous^] 
 this less comfortable supposition excited ;ui'l 
 roused him. 
 
 The philosophical landlord advised him to g • 
 bed aud permit himself some repose — he hini> . 
 iniended to follow his own advice — and Mr. Xw- 
 non could be called at four— three — any liour in' 
 liked ; the stranger gentleman did not arrive till 
 six the previous morning. 
 
 No, lie thanked him — he would be found ex- 
 pecting them with his eyes open — theconsequcn ' 
 of which was, that, spite of strong resolution ■ 
 still stronger coffee, aided by a volume of Genu 
 diablerie, — the lounging chair, consecrated i > 
 Helen's use, spre.id its arms and tempted him 
 about^four o'clock, to sit down for a wink - 
 merely a wink ; and at eight, when they arriv 
 he was simud asleep, and only awoke to be aw . 
 of the bustle made in receiving them 
 
 He sprang up, and was out in the garden ii 
 moment — yes, there they are — there is Heir 
 Heavens, how changed ! there is Reginald. ]>■>. 
 but be.iming and cheerful; and there is Gretclu'n, 
 like every Geriu.m woman, cramming " Ja, ja," 
 with all sorts of intonations, into her conveis.i- 
 tion Willi lur husband; her kind, round fice 
 looking as if she had just risen, or, more proper-' 
 ly, just, awoke — which was nearly the truth, for, 
 she ii:id slept soundly f )r many hours. 
 
 So wlioliy unexpected, so very wonderful and;; 
 sudden, had been the change in Helen s destiny, 
 1 that it was not surprising if she failed to realize: 
 it immediately She ftdt hke one in a dream ; ■ 
 nor was it till .'ihe beheld Reginald, and heard s 
 his voice, th.'it she was quite convinced that whatj 
 I had passed between her aud her mother was a, 
 I certainty. Perhaps, indeed, she scarcely com- 
 j prehended the whole truth, till she found herself 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 85 
 
 «lone with him, the cool night vir blowing fresh 
 and reviving on her feverish cheeks, and gently 
 rustling among tlie trees in tlie slirubbery. 
 
 With every sense sliarpened by terror, slie 
 beard the key turn in the door of the conserva- 
 tory, though they Avere several paces from it ; 
 lid the tiiuught then arose, that it was, perhaps, 
 ; iie signal of perpetual exile from her home — 
 'ruin her mother — from her sister ; and she half 
 ' urned round, as if to retrace her steps — wlien 
 iiemory whispered •' to-morrow !" and the 
 hcught of what then awaited her made her 
 :o lunger hesitate. Trembling, so a^ to be 
 -..'urcely able to stand, she tottered, rather than 
 walked, spite of the encircling and sustaining 
 ftrm of Reginald, who did not venture to address 
 to her one word of encouragement, even in a 
 whisper, so greatly did he dread lest any im- 
 prudence should deprive him of his recently re- 
 covered treasure. 
 
 " All safe," was softly uttered by each party 
 as they met : and then, as quickly as they could, 
 tbey made for the Hermitage, to which they were 
 obliged to walk ; and though, under ordinary 
 circumstanct-s, the distance would not be thought 
 great, all lelt they had never before found it so 
 far. Oil their arrival, the black servant alone 
 awaited them ; for Mi\ Morton never needlessly 
 extended his confidence ; if people found out any 
 thing, he could not hinder it ; but he did not help 
 them to the discovery. Kefr^jhrnents were spread, 
 and sume were also ready packed. The carriage 
 and horses the^' would find at the village already 
 named, where a person, greatly bound to Mr. 
 Morton, settled this part of the business ; a heavy 
 bribe, and one still heavier, being promised, if 
 all went right, secured silence and punctuality. 
 
 " I shidl drive you," said Mr. Jilorton, who had 
 entered with extra-ordinary zeal and kindness in- 
 to the matter, " and see you safely on the road 
 to Lundon. Have the banns published directly," 
 he wliispered to Reginald, " and send cupics to 
 that anxious mother the instant the ceremony is 
 performed ; — use the contents of the pocket-book, 
 and another, also freely. And now, dear Miss 
 Templeton, we may not linger." 
 
 Helen silently entered the carriage ; her com- 
 panions followed, and they speedily reached the 
 spot where the fX)st-carriage waited. 
 
 " Let me have early and consrant tidings ; 
 God bless y<m, Miss Templeton ; and you, too, 
 my brave boy. Take care of that," directing 
 Gretchens attention to the basket; " you must 
 not stop for refreshmene, so it will be very use- 
 ful." 
 
 They step from one conveyance to the other, 
 the door closes, and they are oif, as fast ae their 
 fresh and impatient steeds can go. 
 
 All was so well phiBned. and all so well suc- 
 ceeded, that they met with not the least delay. 
 Hftl^n wept iucessintly and silently for souk; 
 time ; she then nestled closer to Reginald, and 
 slept heavily and motionhes till nearly four ; 
 and when she awoke, Bhe felt refVeshed, and free 
 from headache. Reginald fondly kissed her 
 brow, and on her inquiring if he had not nlno 
 elepr, he smiled, and protested that he was 
 ashamed to say he feared he had. She then eii- 
 treaccd him to try and obtain more rest, while she 
 kept watch — but this was impossible ; so they 
 
 agreed to talk, but gently, so as not to awa,<on 
 Gretchen; for those who had just met alter 
 having been, as they thought, parted forevor, 
 were not likely to be at a loss for subjects oldccp 
 and engrossing interest. Thus passed the re- 
 maining hours, till, as has been related, they 
 arrived at the cottage, when they were mot by 
 Ashley, who was thoroughly awake in a moment. 
 He ru.shed forward, and juct Reginald with Helen 
 hanging on his arm, to whom he was saving, 
 " Welcome, dear one, to our home ;" and shaking 
 him warmly by the hand, and drawing Helen's 
 disengaged arm through his, he said : 
 
 •' Welcome ! welcome ! both of you — all of you 
 — how glad I am you have come — what an age it 
 seems since I have been expecting you — every 
 thing is ready lor Helen. I propose that Madame 
 Stiipsel at once see her safe in her room— we will 
 then have breakfast, for which all is prepared — 
 and by that time we shall be quieted down, and 
 fit lor business -Mr. Stopscl's room is at your 
 service, Reginald, for the present ; but 1 have ar- 
 ranged all for you, with me, in town." 
 
 Glad enough was Helen to lay her weary Tmbs 
 on the comfortable bed, and after she had taken 
 some breakfast, she slept — this time, the sweet, 
 bkvssed .sleep that refreshes both mind and body ; 
 and when, toward noon, she awoke, it was with a 
 feeling of security from trial and sorrow, such as 
 she had long been deprived of. 
 
 At length Madame Stopsel entered to assist her 
 to dre.ss, and Helen was quite astonished at the 
 gloAV of pleasure with which she heard that the 
 gentlemen would both return to dinner by five 
 o'clock— she, who had lately been so very misera- 
 ble as to have thought future happines.s in'ipossible ; 
 and though she sighed when she reflected on her 
 very peculiar position, and could scarcely keep 
 back her tears, when she remembered the recent 
 scene of her parting with her mother, all, all 
 seemed endurable, except the fate from which she 
 had fled. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Helen," said Gretchen, ae she was 
 looking for some toilet adjunct which all A^hlcy■s 
 care and ingenuity had (ailed to .'-upply, "you 
 will mi.'is all your grand things here, though how 
 Mr. Vernon remembered half he has, surprises 
 me. He has been up here, they tell me, routing 
 about, and settling the things as well as he could, 
 and very well that is— look at those beautiful 
 bottles, and those candlesticks— a noble creature 
 he is, and always was." 
 
 "Dear (iretchen," replied Helen, kissing her 
 on both her plump cheeks, a mode of salutation 
 Gretchen particularly affected, " what signify 
 grandeur and pomp where there is not peace .' 
 Were it not for the absence of my dearest mother 
 and sister, much leas than I find here would sullice 
 for mfi happiness — so never again allude to such 
 trifles." 
 
 While Helen liad slept, Reginald gave his frieml 
 an account of all that had hitely happened at the 
 I'riorj', for Helen had furnished him with the tie- 
 tails. 
 
 " Think what a villain he mugt be," suid .Ash- 
 ley, vehemently; "for though lie is to lie your 
 father-in-law — I nuist say it — li) act so as to com- 
 p -1 such a woman as his wife to decide on thi.'i 
 measure — " 
 
 " But, surely," rejoined Reginald, jealous at 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 this implied censure ou bis two idols, "you do not 
 Llaiiic it?" 
 
 ' ■ Blame it, my dear fellow ! that would be an 
 unmanly thing ; I only meant to say that he must 
 have tyrannized and persecuted to the utmost, or 
 she would never have done what I have repeatedly 
 heard her censure, unless there were some such 
 desperate causes as those which drove her on. My 
 firm belief is, that any muther is justified in sav- 
 ing her daughter from the degradation that men- 
 aced Helen -^ while no girl of delicacy could ever 
 consent to it, if she properly understood what real 
 delicacy means. Unfortuuijtely, the disgrace and 
 dishonor are so jumbled up with sentiniental non- 
 sense, of sacritice, and heroism, and all that jar- 
 gon, that no wonder many a miserable girl is be- 
 wildered. Ilegiuald, duties are never antagonistic 
 — it is impious to think so," concluded Ashley, 
 echoing almost the words of Mrs. Templeton to 
 Helen. 
 
 " Why, Ashley, you are warm on the subject ; 
 one would think you held a brief for some of these 
 gentle victims." 
 
 " Am I .'" he aslced smiling : " but now about 
 your marriage — before we go to town we must 
 have that settled. Here, 1 trust, your sweet 
 bride is safe— no chance, I should think, of trac- 
 ing her." 
 
 Reginald looked disturbed. "God forbid! — 
 still 1 shall be anxious and wretched till we are 
 secure from molestation and danger — and though 
 you wish me to share your lodgings, I think I 
 must settle near here, where I am sure to be per- 
 petually hovering." 
 
 " How do you communicate with Mrs. Temple- 
 ton .'" 
 
 " I have arranged nothing — time was wanting 
 — at p-esent, through Mr. Morton — and I shall 
 avail myself of this channel immediately — and 
 look here, Ashley, what he insisted on my bor- 
 rowing—using, was his generous word." But, 
 suddenly remembering the packet Mrs. Templeton 
 had given him, when they parted, and which he 
 may be pardoned for having forgotten till now ; 
 '• let us see what this is, and about which I ought 
 to have consulted Mr. Morion " 
 
 It was opened, and contained several papers; 
 thu first had the address of a solicitor, well known 
 to Ashley as a most respectable man; to whom 
 Reginald was referred for any information he 
 might require beyond that Mrs. Templeton gave. 
 She told him of the manner in which five thousand 
 pouniJs had been settled ; that, as interest had ac- 
 cumulated, it also, from time to time, had been 
 invested — so that, except several hundreds which 
 she IukI received on various occasions, when she 
 had nut thought it right to apply other money to 
 her p'lrposes — it had remained untouched — the 
 intei'cst of the original sum she now wished to 
 SI cine to him and Helen— the accumulated inter- 
 est to bostill at her command. How business like. 
 Low cautious she had grown, since the luckless 
 day when she had given liei-self to Lionel Temple- 
 ton, and cast iier splendid fortune at his feet ! 
 
 '• And so, after all, you have run away with an 
 Iicire.ss, you lucky fellow,"' cried Ashley, gayly; 
 " hut you look as if you hardly knew how to wel- 
 come this unexpected wealth." 
 
 " Vou are right. I had intended using Mr. Mor- 
 tous offer only in case of need, and had Ujen pleas- 
 
 ing myself with the idea of working for Helen — of 
 letting no one share this precious privilege." 
 
 " And so now, because she will have mauy com- 
 forts, without the pain of seeing you worn to a 
 thread in procuring them, you are discontented. 
 Upon my word, you romantic fellows are hard to 
 please." 
 
 Reginald smiled at Ashley's Mentor-like lecture, 
 but owned that he deserved it ; and, leaving strict 
 injunctions with Gretchen, which she was sure to 
 observe, to let no one enter the house who Avas not 
 well known to her, they proceedeil to arrange 
 about the marriage, Ashley slily remarking, that 
 Miss Lydia Languish would pronounce this " no 
 elopement after all," it w^as so bn.siness-like and 
 methodical ; and then, with a look of irresistible 
 humor in his handsome eyes, he reminded Regi- 
 nald of the basket of provisions they had, by Mr. 
 Morton's orders, snugly stowed in the carriage, 
 and their three formal and tidy little carpet-bag.*, 
 which followed them as they descended, so thought- 
 ful and cosy, till, struck with the anti-pathos 
 which had mingled with their romance, almost to 
 the utter destruction of the latter, they both 
 laughed heartily : — " From the sublime to tka 
 ridiculous there is but one step." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 •^Bat wb') the chieftain's rigp c.nn teH, 
 When, s' light irom lowest dungeon's cell. 
 To highest tower Ihn ciisllt- round, / 
 
 No Lady Edilh Ihtre was found ?" 1 
 
 L-jriJ of the Idea. [ 
 
 While Mrs. Templeton and Helen vere having • 
 the agitating conversation already related, Con- 
 stance sat down to compose her letter of letters, 
 which was to be so irresistible. But before sh& 
 commenced her task, she quitted her room to taka 
 the medicine to her mother, and not finding her, 
 she left it, with the few lines found by it. 
 
 Her letter was at length finished, and almiist to 
 her satisfaction. This done, she went to bed ; an ' 
 while Helen, with faltering steps, was quittinL; 
 her home, Constance slept. 
 
 The next morning when she tapped at Helen .-* 
 door and received no answer, hoping her sister 
 was asleep, she descended to the breakfast-roonu 
 The letter was in her bosom, ready to be given to 
 her father, when she judged the favorable moment 
 had arrived. He was much later than usual; 
 and, glancing, as he entered, at the vacant place, 
 remarked, " Alone .'" 
 
 '•Yes,' she replied ; " Helen is asleep, I did not 
 open her door to disturb her ; and as I playoJ 
 physician to mamma last night, I was not likely to 
 i-ouse her, and destroy the effects of my prescrip- 
 tion. And papa," she continued, in a changeC. 
 and faltering voice, " as this is the last appeal I 
 shall over make in behalf of Helen, I have written 
 it — my courage fails when I attempt to speak, and 
 I thought, perhaps, you would not reject it on 
 one perusal only." 
 
 She took it from the folds of her dress, and 
 placed it by him ; as she did so. the mournful ex- 
 p-essioa of her natiirally bright and beaming 
 
THE WIFE'S TllIALS. 
 
 87 
 
 young face struck hira — its sad beautj^ smote on | But short time was llicre for the indulgence of 
 his heart — for he felt he had brought the cloud | tender or grateful thoughts, as his voice was heard 
 which shadowed its radiance. He, however, read : raging high and loml in the hall ; and pausing 
 letter, but without any visible emotion, and fervently to thank tiodfor this especial protection 
 
 of her mother, she closed the dour, and h 
 
 quietly placing it in his breast-pocket, continued 
 Ms breakfast in silence. 
 
 Constance felt sick and faint, as she beheld her 
 last hope so remorselessly destroyed, when sud- 
 denly voices were heard in the hall, and the door 
 was hastily opened by Mrs Dawson, closely follow- 
 ed by Ruth— both looking pale and frightened. 
 The Colonel glanced up astonished ; but before he 
 oould speak, Dawson, in a trembling voice, said, 
 f Ruth has just informed me, sir, that Miss Tem- 
 pleton is not in her room, nor has she even slept 
 there !" 
 
 Constance clasped her hands, and wildly shriek- 
 ing, "The pond! the waterfall!" was darting 
 from the room, when her father forcibly restrain- 
 ed her, 
 
 " Stay !" he shouted, in a voice of thunder, 
 while every evil passion looked out of those 
 expressive eyes ; " speak, wench !" seizing and 
 almost shaking the terrified Ruth ; " what else is 
 gone ?" 
 
 " I do not know, I am not sure," she quivered 
 forth ; " but several things — bonnet, carriage- 
 cloak—" 
 
 He needed no more — it was plain — Helen had 
 fled ! and he was perhaps baffled ! And utteiing a 
 
 stoned 
 to inquire if any thing fresh had been discovered. 
 
 There was nothing— but orders were given to 
 various individuals to institute the most rigorous 
 search, and i'requently to repoi-t progress ; whili.' 
 the Colonel ordered out horses, to conlmeuce the 
 pursuit of the fugitives, the moment he Ijad tht 
 least clue to their destination. 
 
 London never entered his mind, though he wa? 
 pretty sure that, by some means, Reginald had 
 carried her otf— and here his habitual selfishness 
 and indift'erence about others stood in his way. 
 Since his separation from Helen, Reginald — his 
 means and liis plans — had scai'cely ever been 
 thought of — never inquired after — and thus ho 
 was completely ignorant of much that would, 
 probably, have guided his search successfully. 
 
 Half-an-hour, an hour, still no trace ; when, 
 impatient of further delay, and vowing the most 
 signal vengeance, he sent for Constance. 
 
 " I believe you knew nothing of this — there, 
 there, do not pester me with heroics — ^I believe 
 neither you nor your mother do — for, by heavens ! 
 if I suspected either of you — well, never mind — I 
 am unable to think. You, however, must write a 
 note, and send it express, directly I am gone, to 
 
 dreadful oath, he dashed up the stairs, closely fol- Hurstwood. Put ofi:' his Lordship's visit — he is 
 lowed by Constance, who had directly read his [ expected here — tell him the truth, or invent any 
 
 suspicion, and dreaded, she scarcely knew what. 
 
 He almost burst in the panels of the door that 
 led to their bed-room, in his wild impatience 
 making for the most evident entrance, and s-wept 
 through the apartments like a raging hurricane — 
 but he found nothing except confirmation of liis 
 fears. He then, with hasty strides, approached 
 his wife's sleeping-room ; but Constance, brave, 
 loving Constance, at once herself when danger 
 menaced that worshiped mother — and unerring 
 instinct told her it now did — had preceded him ; 
 and as he entered, the demon in both face and 
 heart, he was arrested by the sight he beheld. 
 
 Constance, like some bright and holy angel, 
 stood by her mother's bedside — the old look, the 
 old attitude, only more decided and defiant than 
 ever— with one hand, she warned him to stiind 
 aloof, while with tlie other, she seemed to shelter 
 her sleeping mother from harm— it was as though 
 she possessed some power more than human, for 
 he stopped as if petrified. She softly sfil, 
 "Hush!" and changing her position, pointed to 
 the object she was guarding with such vigilant 
 jfealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Templetou, having been almost worn out 
 with anxiety, and soothed by the draught she liad 
 taken, in blessed ignorance of her danger, was 
 
 lie you choose — I care not ;" and he set out on his 
 fruitless errand. 
 
 Constance did not feel herself bound to tell tlie 
 truth, nor did she condescend to a falsehood; she 
 merely wrote, " That circumstances induced Colo- 
 nel Templeton to request that his Lordship would 
 postpone his visit tdl the Colonel could wait on 
 him." 
 
 Letters and notes were, it seemed, not destined 
 to go s.ifely from the Priory to the Hall— the 
 groom, in his zeal to deliver his missive without 
 delay, rode so furiously that his horse fell and 
 was hurt, when about half-way ; and the man, 
 having to walk the rest of the distance, arrived 
 after Lord Hurstwood had set out. 
 
 And here occurs one of those miscalled trifles, 
 on which so many results hang — we miglit pause 
 and moralize a little, and perhaps we ought, only 
 the reader would be sure to skip the page — we 
 might refer to the celebrated cup of tea, to .show 
 our historical learning; we might quote Pope, to 
 show the extent of our poetical reading — we .shall 
 not do any of tliese things, which are often done, 
 only to fill up the page— but merely observe, that, 
 had his Lordship received the note, not oidy 
 would he have kept clear of the Priory on this 
 d:iy — but on hearing of the flight of hi.s* intended 
 
 sleeping as peacefully as an infant— to the fond bride, he might have been too much mortified ever 
 
 eyes that now guarded her, she looked unusually 
 lovely, for the habitual melancholy of her expres- 
 sion was changed to one of perfect contentment — 
 while the cheeks, generally too pale, were tinged 
 with a delicate glow, the evidence, perhaps, of in- 
 cipient fever. " Jlother, how beautiful th(ju art !" 
 hurst from the lips of Constance, as she knelt and 
 kissed the small hand which lav on the quilt— and 
 when she arose and looked round, her father had 
 <7onp. ! 
 
 to liave called again, and then — ah ! let us not 
 anticipate, but regularly and soberly go on. 
 
 Kooii alter eleven, Dawson entered iMrs. Tem- 
 pleton's room, and found her only just awake ;. 
 but looking so rei'rcshed, that the kind house- 
 kcepcr almost hated herself for being the mes- 
 senger of such news as he had to impart. 
 
 " You have slept late, madam," slie remarket!, 
 " but I hope you feel the better foi- it." 
 
 " Much butter, thaiik you," was the reply; and 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 tlie sound of the first voice she had heard since the 
 important eyent of the previous night brought the 
 whole scene before her, and reminded her of the 
 necessity of caution. 
 
 " .Miss Constance was my doctor," pointing to 
 the phial, " and her remedy has been really very 
 successful." 
 
 " Then you heard nothing extraordinary last 
 night .'" asked Dawson. 
 
 " I must have slept the moment I went to bed," 
 was the evasive reply ; " but I shall soon rise, and 
 then have a cup of tea." 
 
 Now, though quite against all precedent and 
 rule, that the housekeeper, in a family of their 
 rank, should condescend even to recognize her 
 lady, except when receiving her daily orders — 
 eucii was not the arrangement here 
 
 Mrs. Templeton, before the permanent arrival 
 of lier daughters, had been mucli annoyed by the 
 misconduct or fine-ladyisms of licr waiting-maids, 
 who really had little else to do than to be tire- 
 some, owing to her very independent habits. 
 She had, therefore, engaged a young woman for 
 her children, and readily accepted the voluntary 
 otfer of Dawson, to attend her for the trifling ser- 
 vices she required, instead of adding to her trou- 
 ble, by having to keep order between two lad3''s- 
 maids. 
 
 There was a bond between the mistress and this 
 kind woman which nothing could sever ; it had 
 sprung up at their first meeting, and had grown 
 stronger every year. Sweetness, sorrow, pa- 
 tience, and benevolence on one side — on the other, 
 attachment, fidelity, sympathy. 
 
 " The Colonel has gone off in a hurry this morn- 
 ing, madam." 
 
 " Has he !" she neither asked why nor where. 
 
 " Miss Templeton has gone also," pursued Mrs. 
 Dawson, with a quickened pulse ; but no remark 
 or start, as .she expected — and then, no longer 
 able to bear this irritating insensibility on the 
 part of lier mistress, she added, " and, God foi'give 
 me ! but I hope he will not overtake her." 
 
 Still no reply, and thoroughly exa.spcrated, she 
 Bald, sharply, '♦ JMadam, Miss Templeton is gone 
 — she has mn away, and no one knows where." 
 
 Expecting that her lady would now be sui-e to 
 faint or scream, she was almost frightened at ner 
 silence, and looked fixedly at her. Their eyes 
 met— .she read it all at a glance, as if in a book ; 
 and stooping down, she respectfully pressed her 
 hand, and said stoutly, as if to assure her, " The 
 rack ^hou^i not get it from me." 
 
 •• Tliaiik you, old friend," was tlie reply ; and 
 tho bi.ud between them was stronger than ever. 
 " Tell Miss Constance that you liave informed 
 me— UDlliing more." 
 
 Constance, meanwhile, hud been liarassing 
 herself almost to a fever ; dreiuling — yet longing 
 f.n- — tlie moment wlion she should meet her mo- 
 ther : and wlien D.iwson informed her that her 
 lady had a.^^ked for her, she addeil : 
 
 " And, Miss Constance, my mistress knows, and 
 •wishes you not to speak of it — at least, not yet." 
 
 So with 'ilownjast eyes and mortifit'd lo(jks, 
 Constance met iier mother; and hiding her face 
 on her bosom burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 " Wo must talk of this another time," said Mrs. 
 Tfmi'lcton, with what, to Constance :ij)peared un- 
 heard-of composure ; " I have given orders to 
 
 have Lord Hurstwood admitted, so it will not do 
 to give way now ; he must not be dismissed, to 
 hear of this from public report." 
 
 "I have happily put olf his visit, by papa's 
 orders," said Constance; so you will be spared 
 th.'it trial — but, oh ! if the dear Vernons had but 
 been here now, instead of waiting till next 
 month." 
 
 " Let us be thankful, my love, to have them 
 then," replied her mother; and Constance won- 
 dered more and more that she said nothing about 
 Helen ; till thinking that she, like herself, felt 
 implicated in a proceeding so at variance with 
 her ideas of propriety, she became more reconcil- 
 ed to the implied wish of keeping silence, and 
 readily permitted it to be an interdicted subject ; 
 especially as, though mortified that Helen's con- 
 duct should be publicly canvassed and censured, 
 she could not be consisttnit with her well-known 
 opinions, now one she loved had braved them, by 
 truly and heartily blaming what her sister had 
 done. 
 
 She obtained her mother's permission to write 
 to Cecilia Grantham, and entreat her to come 
 immediately to them ; remarking that there was 
 no one, not excepting Caroline Vernon, whose so- 
 ciety Avould do them both so much good— an 
 opinion to which Mrs. Templeton very cordially 
 assented 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ' Duncan Grey cam here to w( 
 Ha ! ha I ihe wooing o'l." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 To Mrs Templeton's surprise, after wha 
 Constance had told her, about one o'clock. Lor 
 Hurstwood was announced — the orders for his ati 
 mittance not having been countermanded, as she 
 had ceased to expect him. 
 
 After the usu.il exchange of greetings, and a 
 few unimportant remarks, she began to suspect 
 some mistake, and that, after all, she should have 
 the p;iin and embarrassment of herself telling 
 him what had occurred. 
 
 " 1 fear," she said, " that a messenger, sent 
 express by the Colonel's orders, had not reached 
 the Hall before you left." 
 
 •' Assuredly not ; I left rather early, having 
 come round by Forest Hill ; but I hope nothing 
 painful or unpleasant was the cause of such 
 haste." 
 
 " Painful to ourselves only, I hope," was the 
 reply ; " though the news will be unple.is;int, I 
 feai-, to your Lordship. Miss Templeton, who, 
 from various circumstances, was averse to over- 
 tures of marriage from any quarter, having failed 
 to convince Colonel Templeton that she has a right 
 1 to be consulted — has decided upon using this 
 right — she left us last night." 
 
 Believing that he had received h(r letter, one 
 which she fancied no man of refined feeling would 
 have withstood, and without deigning the com- 
 mon courtesy of a reply, except by persisting io 
 a suit which site had plainly told him was dis- 
 tressing, she spokd with an asperity and pride 
 quite unUke her usual graceful gentleness. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 But she had met with more than her match, as 
 the Peer quite cool and collected, said, withovit 
 tlie least pique of maiinor. but a soiip^on of a 
 soeer in his eye — the single word : 
 
 '•Elope<l:" 
 
 "That, I fear, is the proper term," she replied, 
 and wincing, as he intended she should. 
 
 "Egad! a girl of spirit," w:»s the courtier's 
 spoken remark, and he actually smiled. " A 
 deuced good thing it was before, instead of after," 
 was the unspoken thought, as he remembered 
 Lord Ogleby, ami smiled again. 
 
 '•I grieve," began poor Mrs. Templeton, for 
 she felt that lier meditated attack, like Pyrrhus' 
 elephants, had been turned on herself; but tiie 
 man who, during his diplomatic career, had been 
 Ujid to turning tables, and such political jugglery 
 — to borrow a modern phrase— promptly took the 
 initiative, and said, with a well got-up look of 
 sympathy, " I deeply grieve on your account, my 
 dear madam, to hear this — as, from whatever 
 cause, prudential, romantic, or heroic, such a 
 stfp is sure to give rise to unpleasant remarks, 
 ill-natured censure, or—" 
 
 " Pardon me, my Lord," interrupted Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton, provoked at the dexterity with which he 
 had seized his advantage, and indignant at the 
 use beseemed disposed to make of it ; "pardon 
 me, if I remind you, that all these inconvenien- 
 ces you are so carefully enumerating, wouhl have 
 been avoided, had you noticed, as I fully expected 
 you would, the letter I judged it due to you to 
 send." 
 
 " To me ! 1, in my turn, must ask pardon, but 
 I have never had the honor of receiving any letter 
 from you." 
 
 " I greatly regret this — since its loss has been 
 the cause of my judging your Lordship unjustly. 
 I can now only repeat, that, knowing my daugh- 
 ter wished to decline any oifer of marriage, and 
 entering into her feilings, though her father 
 could not, I wrote, informing your Lordship of 
 this disiucliuation. trusting both to your delicacy 
 and liouor as to the course you would take; had 
 Tou received this, oh, how much suffering would 
 have been spared us " 
 
 " I sincerely deplore the unlucky chance that 
 I'vevented it from reaching me ; and I beg you to 
 i'elievc, that I deeply sympathize with you and 
 ymr fimily in this unpleasant occurrence." He 
 Wis sincere, and she felt it — indeed, she began to 
 think he had not been by any means well-used 
 ill this transaction, and, woman like, she was half 
 disposed to comfort him ; therefore wlien he con- 
 cluded by saying, " May I do myself the honor of 
 Bending and calling to inquire after you .'" her 
 reply was quite cordial. " The Colonel will, lam 
 sure, feel flattered by this proof of your friend- 
 sliip; to all of us your Lordship will ever be a 
 welcome guest"— so he bowed respectfully on her 
 extended hand, and departed. 
 
 " I think I managed pretty well there," was 
 his remark to himself, as he rode away ; " it will 
 n(jt do for me to wear the willow — and yet, she 
 is a beautiful creature— very like her mother — 
 the s.ime ouiline, so delicate and graceful; the 
 same gentle, dark eyes — and so she thinks she 
 has blimled mine '.—bur I see it all — she approves 
 of this flight, that I will swear to ; nay, more, she 
 knew of it, perhaps arranged it. After all, these 
 
 women beat us out and out — they are politicians 
 and intriguers in the cradle. Bah ! wh.it care I 
 how fair she be — but she is very beautiful ;" and 
 he rode more thoughtfully home, memory recall- 
 ing a face which, in his young days, had seemed 
 to him even fairer, and something like a sigh 
 arose. 
 
 But shaking off tliis unfiimiliar mood, and dis- 
 missing these painful visions of the past — he 
 decided on the line of conduct to be pursued, so 
 as to spare his vanity and Ids pride. Happily, 
 the whole affair had been begun and terminated 
 Avitiiin so short a space of time, that he liciped Ids 
 own share in the performance remained unknown 
 — or so imperfectly, as to render any explanation 
 he chose to give readily believed. It would not 
 do, therefore, to cut the Priory all at once — no — 
 lie would let them down very gently, and then 
 leave the neighborhood for a period, perhaps 
 negotiate an alLance with some young lady, if 
 aiii/ siich thire tvere, who had no invincible 
 objections to marriage from any quarter ; and he 
 smiled, as he quoted Mrs. Templeton"s words. 
 Yes — that would be the least embarrassing, the 
 most dignified and sati.v factory conduct to jairsue; 
 and having thus settled the question to his liking, 
 he was once more himself; and so effectual had 
 been the indurating eflects of his worldly and 
 courtly career, that meeting the fair Juliet, who 
 profited by the use of her mother's pony chaise to 
 drive beyond the limits of the village, he entered 
 into a half lively, lialf sentimental chat with that 
 blooming nymph, which ended in a gallant invi- 
 tation to her, to come and give lier opinion of the 
 beauty of some rare exotics he had in tlie hot- 
 houses at the Hall, an invitation which was at 
 first coyly refused, but finally accepted. 
 
 Now, Lord llurstwood Avas neitiier a villain nor 
 a wretch ; those who expect he will turn out a 
 Henry the Eighth or a Blue Beard, a Charles the 
 Second or a Itochcster, or any other demon in a 
 modern dress, are destined to be disappointed. 
 He was not even a very bad man ; though this 
 avowal may be fatal to his claims on our in- 
 terest. 
 
 It is true he had been dissipated, for he began 
 his courtly career while a mere youth, when 
 profligacy and intemperance w^re royal favorites ; 
 I and as a well- trained courtier, of couise, they 
 j became his also ; so he intrigued, he drank, he 
 I gambled, and fell in and out of debt, according to 
 his ill-luck or his father's generosity ; and, like 
 many of his compeers, bade fair to lead a short 
 hie. though not quite sure that it had really been 
 a merry one; wlien, at last, after much hesita- 
 tion, and postponing ihe final scene of the farce 
 as long as possible, fat old kings did die and their 
 fat old mistresses died also— the nation cried, 
 '■ Le Jioi est nwrt," and some, who interj.reted 
 literally that crafty quibble, that kings can not 
 do wrong, put on black ; the courtiers shouted, 
 " Viae It' liui," and dressed themselves out for a 
 coronation. 
 
 At any rate, a new reign began ; vice no longer 
 stared virtue out of countenance ; was no longer 
 so fiishionable as to be praised, admired, imitated 
 like a Parisian nouvniuti — perhaps, indeed, there 
 was quite as much of it ; but, whetiier from })()licy 
 or police, matters not, it discreetly kr)! out ('f 
 sight — or -when it did appear, was no longer, liko 
 
90 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 some antique statue, in a state of nudity, but put 
 on comforiable and decent covering. 
 
 It was no longer tliouglit a most exquisite wit- 
 ticism to run in debt, clieat tlie wiue-merchant, 
 and become more gloriously drunk than ever at 
 ids expense, perbajjs his ruiu — the discover}' had 
 been made, that, take quant, sulf. of impudence, 
 ditto meanness ; and auy one could repeat this 
 true swindlers wit, — princes no longer be- 
 queathed their debts to uduiiring posterity, with 
 a modest codicil recommending prompt payment; 
 nor did great men leave mementoes of their pecca- 
 dilloes iis legacies to a grateful country, to be 
 maintained and provided for at the said country's 
 expense. A change had come o'er the spirit of 
 the nation's dream; and, happily, it was for the 
 better. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " There's beggary i 
 
 the Love that can be reckoned." 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 It happened that the morning after Helen's 
 flight, Cooper had been detained by business con- 
 nected with his duties, till an unusually late 
 liour, at the Grange ; and when he arrived at the 
 Priory, all was such bustle and excitement, such 
 astonishment and dismay, that no one seemed 
 able to give a coherent account of what had hap- 
 pened. From Kuih he obtained the best informa- 
 tion, but even she could not tell much ; and he 
 was very closely cross-examining her, when he 
 heard tlie sound of the Colonel's voice, giving his 
 orders, with all that want of judgment which 
 extreme passion generally evinces, and hastened 
 to him. 
 
 At the moment of Cooper's appearance, Colonel 
 Templeton was threatening, not only Constance, 
 but every member of the family, with his most 
 direful vengeance, if any communication should 
 be attempted between them and the fugitive, 
 whom lie denounced in langunge so wildly fierce, 
 as to justify Cooper in reminuing him of his 
 daughter's presence. But this interference in no 
 way tended to allay the storm, though it drew it 
 into another quarter, namely, on himself, with 
 Buch unprovoked violence, that the agent, who 
 hail fully intended to have otfered his services, 
 whic;i iiiigiit have been extremely useful, with 
 an otl'ended air kept silent, and quickly with- 
 drew. 
 
 " And what think you of this news .'" he asked 
 Mrs. Captain, to wliom he liad related the scene 
 whicii he had just witnessed, and a few particu- 
 lars of it^ cause, tliiit he had subsequently col- 
 lected — " what is to be made of this ?" 
 
 •' \\ iiy, it is to hriiig grist to my mill," she 
 boldly replied, •' as every tiling else th.at happens 
 up llicrc sliall, while I have inlliience and wit to 
 turn it to firofit — there is now one less mmy way. 
 And what s.iy.s tlie pnmd, jiale mother at this 
 stolen march in lier prim beauty — but perhaps 
 my dignified madam knew of it." 
 
 " Kuliculous," said Cooper ; " as if such a 
 thing would be at all likely : wliy, 1 hear siie is 
 ili, and keeps her bed — though the Colonel has 
 
 been raging and roaring through the house lil 
 a tempest. By George ! if she liad any hand in it. 
 and he knew it, 1 beheve he would murder her."' 
 " And serve her right, a poor, tame-spirited 
 creature. If he dared to use me as he does her, I 
 would fire the house over his head — 1 hate her for 
 her meanness." 
 
 "Come, come," said Cooper, with a sneer, "this 
 is rather too bad — do you suppose she would put 
 up with it and remain, if it were not for those 
 girls ?" 
 
 " Ah ! I will make the place too hot to hold that 
 other scornful minx. 1 have not forgotten her 
 impudence about the letter-bag — oh ! her letters, 
 truly, must be kept sacred — and no one may look 
 at them, it seems." 
 
 " Not inside, and without permission," he re- 
 torted, seemingly bent on provoking his martial 
 relative; " and egad ! 1 tliink she was right — what 
 was it to you and Juliet who wrote to her, or 
 what they wrote about :" 
 
 " It signified much, if I could find out any thing 
 to help my purpose. What do you suppose I have 
 come down here for.' burying my.•^elf alive in th 
 detestably dull place, and am'ong these old-fa-' 
 ioned fools, who are beginuing to fancy themsclv 
 too good for us— I tell you 1 will stick at nothiiiL: 
 and if that pretty Jemmy JeSvsamy, that darlii 
 Hubert Forrester, thinks to escape me, he is mis- 
 taken — 1 will stop his philandering at the Pri- 
 ory." 
 
 " Now, Maria, you are too absurd; your other 
 schemes are wild enough, but this is preposterous. 
 I tell you it is as hopeless for you to think of in- 
 I ducing.him to marry Juliet as if you had fixed on 
 j the Kector as a son-in-law;" and he laughed 
 heartily at the idea of the Doctor, in his canoni- 
 cals and shovel hat, making love to that fair im- 
 pudence. 
 
 " You leave me to manage these matters ni\ 
 own way. Why, there is that sly little Miss Sm"- 
 clair pilaying into my hand, while trying for tlio 
 odd trick herself. But what is going on at the 
 Hermitage .'" 
 
 "Nothing, except that Mr. Morton seems di^- 
 poscd to purchase Bridgend. I begin to think li. 
 took the Hermitage merely to be on the spot if any 
 property he fancied oftered itself; for I know 
 there is nothing of a house, beyond large farms, 
 on his Norfolk estate, good as it is; and I think 
 you must be mistaken as to his ever having seen 
 us on the Continent. Why should he be silent if 
 he had .'" 
 
 " Very true ; still, I do not think I am wrong. 
 However, he does not interest us ; for that Geruniu 
 boy of his was too deep, and young Forrester is a 
 better catch. I suppose lluth will be here to- 
 day .'" 
 
 " No, she has nothing to tell. I saw her for a 
 few minutes, and it is better to avoid exciting 
 suspicion by keeping quiet." 
 
 ••8hc is a poor tool," observed Mr.s. Captain, 
 " and pbrlnips w.U plague us alter all ; but where 
 do you think this wandering damsel is.'" 
 
 " Of course with young West— most Lkely on 
 the borders by this time, and the Colonel in hot, 
 chase ; but if all is as well arranged as the be- 
 ginning, he wdl have his ride ior nothing — and , 
 serve him right for snarbng at me as he did." 
 " He was a hot-headed fool for that; for I wUl 
 
TUK WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 91 
 
 venture to say you could have suggested some- 
 thing better than he will imagine." 
 
 " i'es, and lor my own satisfaction, if he should 
 return unsuccessful, I shall apply myself to the 
 task." And he did so; and proceeding with more 
 coolness and method than his principal, tlirough a 
 skillful emissary, he traced Reginald from one 
 etcp to another, till he found him at Ashley's ; 
 thence to his modest lodgings, where, a few days 
 before the marriage, he discovered Helen ; and 
 then held council with iNIrs. Captain as to what 
 use they should make of their knowledge. Hap- 
 pily, so convinced were these hateful confidantes, 
 ihat not only was iNIrs. Templetou guiltless of 
 having aided in her daughters departure, but 
 that she was deeply wounded at the remarks to 
 ■which it exposed her, that they determined to 
 keep this discovery to themselves, at least lor the 
 present, so as to prevent the Colonel's interfer- 
 ence, who would, and they knew it well, have toin 
 Helen away even from the altar ; and thus their 
 malice was made a means of furthering Mrs. 
 Templeton's designs, vvhile they thought only of 
 more deeply annoying and injuring her. 
 
 But to return to Constance, whom we left sad 
 and anxious. When she heard that Lord Hurst- 
 ■WDod was with her mother, and this in spite of her 
 note, the safe delivery of which she had never 
 doubted, she began to fear some new catastrophe, 
 though what she could not well imagine, it being- 
 difficult to lancy any thing worse than the scene 
 they had lately passed through ; so, finishing her 
 letter to Cecilia, she, with that ingenuity in self- 
 torturing, not uncommon when the nerves are 
 over-excited and the heart ill at ease, began to 
 torment herself with conjectures about the eltcct 
 this fresh disaster would have on Hubert and his 
 opinions. She then wandered into Helen's room, 
 the bright thought flashing across her mind, 
 ♦' Perhaps there 1 shall find some indication of her 
 intentions, which may tend to tranquilize us, 
 some message, some farewell." But there was 
 none. She examined the drawers, still with the 
 same ill success ; only she noticed that a few arti- 
 cles of dress seemed to have been hastily removed, 
 while the others were left in great disorder. 
 Smoothing and arranging these, she locked away 
 every louse or stray object she could find, and 
 then again descended, in the eager hope that Hu- 
 bert might have arrived — but he had not. Wan- 
 dering about, unhappy, lonely, and with a slight 
 feeling of being neglected, she entered the garden ; 
 but to-day, in vain did its rare beauty meet her 
 eyes— in vain did the loveliness of nature call her 
 to admire it — she, almost an enthusiastic wor- 
 shiper of its glories and its infinite variety of at- 
 tractions, to-day felt them not. Suddenly and 
 hastily she ascended the stops that led to her 
 mother's conservatory, and rushed to a particular 
 plant of lud.an origin, under the broad leaves of 
 which they all three had been in the habit of 
 leaving little notes, containing information of 
 their movements, which they did not choose to 
 leave as verbal messages— still the same result — 
 there wns nothing to repay the search. An 1 slie 
 was dil.geutly employed at the foot of these same 
 steps, try.ngto ascertain whether the impression 
 of a small foot could have been just m.ide by her- 
 self, and whether it was in the right direction, 
 ■when she cawght sight of Hubert in the distance. 
 
 " Yes, it is he — certainly it is," as he drew 
 nearer ; " how would he meet her .- — did he kmiw ? 
 —or had he come because he was still ignorant 
 of tliis last trial .' — if he knew, would he think 
 that Helen's flight reflected on her : ' And as he 
 approached, she was thankful to perceive that hi.s 
 look and tone were as kind — nay, why conceal 
 the truth .- — as loving as ever. I'oor Constance ! 
 has it come to this, that thou art grateful to see 
 kindness, or, if thou wilt, love still on that coun- 
 tenance, in thy eyes so glorious.' Alas! such 
 was the case, and the bright color rose to her 
 beautiful cheeks when the thought came — " Per- 
 haps he docs not yet know of the blight that has 
 settled on us all ;" and she felt ready to weep ; 
 for this was no prudery or afl^'ectatiou — no morbid 
 sentiment or overstrained notion. Constance real- 
 ly felt as if she were lowered in general estima- 
 tion. 
 
 His first words proved his ignorance, and she 
 felt she must have the task, of telling him. 
 
 "Well, dear Constance," for seeing that she 
 looked so very sad, he was, unconsciously, more 
 tender than ever, " How is Helen.' and what is to 
 be done ?" 
 
 " Alas ! Hubert, then you know not of the blow 
 that has struck us almost to the earth. Last 
 night—" She stopped, biit he looked so anxious, 
 slie continued hurriedly, " Last night she left 
 us!" 
 
 " Good God ! fled ! where ? — with whom ? This 
 is distressing news." 
 
 " We do not know — it is so unexpected, so ovcr- 
 vhelming. Papa is gone in pursuit. Lord Hurst- 
 wood is now with mamma ;" and she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "^"ay, dear Consta'nce, do not give way thus." 
 He took her hand, which she did not witlidraw. 
 How he longed to tell her all — to tell her that he 
 loved her — he fancied — it was not vanity, he was 
 above that weakness — he fancied he should tlien 
 leave her less sorrowful ; but, to his honor be it 
 said, he remembered his promise, and was still 
 silent, though inwardly vowing this s.lence should 
 not last. '• Constance," he proceeded, •' tell me, 
 can 1 — can we — be of any use .' You know you 
 may command me in any way ; but how does 
 your mother bear this .'" lor he began to fear lor 
 his re.'^olution. if he did not change tlie subject; 
 and while her grief made this more dillicult, his 
 chivalry whispered that it should not be taken 
 advantage of. 
 
 "Dear mamma has so much to try her, that she 
 bears up wonderfully under this, though, of 
 course, she lejls it dreadfully ; but 1 almost doubt 
 whether she has yet realized the lull e.\tent of 
 this last catastrophe. 1 have just sent I'or Cecilia 
 Grantham, for there is a look of feverish excite- 
 ment about mamma which makes me uneasy ; 
 and now this intei-view with Lord lluistwood, and 
 the suspense t.ll papa returns, may be too much 
 for her —and I dread so much being alone." 
 " Then you have no idea where llekn is .'" 
 " Yes, 1 have a strong conviction that she is 
 with Reginald West; in short, that he assisted 
 hor flight. Uuly think, Hubert, wliat she must 
 have sufl'ered and dreaded, to have been forced 
 into a step so repugnant to her primij)b's." 
 
 '• Poor girl! slie must indeed— not that i blamo 
 her ; no one, knowing all the circumstances. 
 
U2 
 
 •THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 could ; and I wish I liad permission to publish 
 tlicse at once. Do you still refuse to grant it ? 
 It must be as you will, then. But 1 shall not now 
 wait to see Mrs. Templeton, who would, probably, 
 rather be alone ;" and somewhat abruptly he de- 
 parted, leaving Con.stance with much to think of, 
 and scarcely understanding whether she was com- 
 forted or not by this interview. 
 
 If Cunstaiice' thought that Hubert's hasty de- 
 parture had any connection with the tidings he 
 had just heard, in one sense she did him injus- 
 tice ; it wiis not bec:iuse this fresh s-jrrow made 
 him feel less fur her, but because he so deeply 
 eympjitliized with her grief, that he resolved to 
 have the riglit of sharing it, and trying by every 
 means iu his power to lessen its poignancy. 
 
 He was now determined to bring matters to a 
 termination ; therefore, directly he reached home, 
 he sought ail interview with ins father, nor did 
 he leave him till his consent was given — with 
 great reluciance, however — that he might plead 
 Jiis suit with Constance, his father promising to 
 accompany hiiu at the same time to see the Col- 
 onel. Conditions were, however, aflixed to this 
 concession, that nothing should be done till they 
 had news of Helen's marriage, and that she was 
 safely and honorably provided for ; it was use- 
 less for Hubert to entreat on this point ; his fa- 
 ther insisted with firmness quite unusual when 
 his son's wishes interfered, but Mr. Forrester's 
 objections were increased ten-fold by this esca- 
 pade of Helen's ; and Mrs. Forrester, spite of 
 her unbouuded love for her son, could hardly 
 yield to his entreaties, and give her consent on 
 any terms. 
 
 In this mood they met at dinner, at which 
 Laurette, using her privilege of being almost 
 i'ln/ant de lafaniUtc, joined them without invi- 
 tation — for by tliis time the news had reached, 
 not only to the Grange, but had spread through 
 the wliole village— though, as Lord Hurstwood 
 had calculated, no one but Hubert knew how 
 much his proposals had brought, about this 
 crisis. 
 
 Laurette's quick intelligence soon put her au 
 fait as regarded the thoughts and feelings of her 
 three companions. Hubert had already pro- 
 posed to Coustance, without waiting for his fa- 
 ther's sanction ; or was about to do so with it — 
 eitlier supposition readily accounted for the looks 
 and manners of them all — and in any case she 
 Would try and contribute her usual ottering of a 
 few drops of gall — if one did not swallow them, 
 anotlier would. 
 
 " 1 should not have ventured to show myself 
 anywhere but here," she remarked, d propos to 
 uotliing, and atfccting deep concern ami distress, 
 tkiliruliy mingled with a little reproachful look, 
 as if slic felt lU-used, and another smaller look 
 of iiumiliiition ; " l)ut though not one to paraile 
 wiiat 1 can not but feel as retlected dit^grace — for 
 1 do not forget that she is my cousin — I knew 
 among such kind friends 1 should still receive a 
 cordial welcome.' 
 
 •' Why should you or any one else doubt that .'"' 
 retorted Hubert, much irritated. " Helen's act 
 is lier own, and reflects on no one else, even if it 
 do on iier, p^ior girl ! which 1 am not the least 
 di>posed to admit." 
 
 " Hubert !" interpose*', his mother, solemnly, 
 
 " we can not excuse tliis, so we will not dis- 
 cuss it— at least, just now — though, as to Lau- 
 rette, I do not see how the censure can extend 
 to her." 
 
 " Nor to anybody else," persisted Hubert, 
 looking as a spoiled only sou can sometimes look, 
 and thinking Laurette perfectly detest ible. 
 
 '• Now for arrow the second," thought that 
 clever markswoman, carefully examining her ■ 
 quiver for the longest and sharpest, that should, 
 if possible, like a skewer, run tliem all through. 
 
 " This will make Constance a fine prize," said 
 she carelessly, " and bring swarms of hitherto , 
 undecid'ed swains to her feet. Nothing like its 
 beaux yiux de sa cassette for that. I am much 
 mistaken if uncle Lionel do not make her sole 
 heiress — she was always his favorite." , 
 
 Hubert and his father exchanged glances. The \ 
 arrow must have passed right through him, for i 
 he su'ldenly started, and became crimson to the ■ 
 very brow. It also found its way sure enough to 
 the stately old father, who looked indignant and 
 offended. Nor did the mother wholly escape a 
 slight scratch, quite enough, though, to bring 
 tears to her eyes. 
 
 " Well done ; it has hit the white," said the 
 amiable Laurette to herself. '■ It will be tuo 
 late for the Priory to-day, even for me to be ad- 
 mitted ; but to-morrow, like the slaughterinj; 
 sparrow so famous in nursery poetry, 1 will go 
 with my bow and arrow, and practice a litile 
 archery there also." 
 
 " Hubert," inquired his father, after she had 
 gone, '■ did you notice Miss Sinclair's remark :" 
 
 " Yes," said Hubert, angrily, adding very dis- 
 respectfully. '• and I wish .-he had been at Ji n- 
 cho before she thought of making it here. Ln; 
 no once could ever suppose me influenced by -^ 
 paltry a motive;" and then suddenly remem- 
 bering that if he had had his own way, and luru 
 allowed to propose to Constance when he fir>t 
 wished, this imputation could never, bj* any po.-- 
 sibiiity, have been attached to hini, he pound 
 out such a torrent of reproaches on himself i^r 
 having been obedient, and on his father for hav- 
 ing required it, that Mr. Forrester was effect- 
 ually silenced ; and his mother, not knowing of 
 this outl)reak, having ventured to hint that L'on 
 stance was compromised by Helen's proceeding,";, 
 he defended her so vehemently, mixed witli sot i 
 severe reproaches on his mother for her unwom- 
 anly cruelty, that she burst into an agony oi 
 tears; a result so unusual, that Hubert was at 
 length moved to ask pardon, kiss and be friends, 
 and concluded by again promising to delay fur- 
 ther proceedings for a sliort time. 
 
 After a fruitless s-'arch. Colonel Templeton re- 
 turned, and le.irned that his wife was ill in brl. 
 Mr. Curtis said it was a nervous attack ; and he 
 was right, for many days elapsed before she was 
 able to leave her room. 
 
 His arrival was quicklj' followed by that uf 
 Cecilia, who, witii a promptness which ever ac- 
 companies sincerity, had, immediately on the 
 receipt of her cousin's letter, started off for ilu> 
 Priory, leaving Grantham, at that time tlie very 
 focus of gayety, for the house of mourning — 
 Constance having informed her of their distrets V 
 — and urge<l this as a motive for her coming I 
 which she knew would not be disregarded. I I 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 93 
 
 Mrs. Templeton brid kept up an appearance 
 of compo.-iue during her interview with Lord 
 Hurstwood, and till she heard that the fugitives 
 had reached London ; and then, knowing tliat 
 weeks must elapse before she could be quite at 
 ease, she fairly gave way ; and her illness being 
 attributed by the Colonel to her sorrow and au.\- 
 iety, was mercifully the means of averting all 
 suspicion from her. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the presence of 
 Cecilia was a general advantage. Her uncle 
 heard from her ihai Lord Ilur.-stwood had seen 
 Mrs. Templeton ; and though the particulars of 
 this interview never transpired, he was gratified 
 to find that all communic.ition between the two 
 families was not quite broken oft'. He spoke to 
 her of Helen, of his still unsuccessful search — in 
 all this she indulged him ; but when he began to 
 niter threats or invectives she invariably signi- 
 fied her disapproval, or left the room. She did 
 not unwisely defend Helen in all she had done — 
 she rather souglit to excuse her. and to win him 
 to pardon her; but here she failed. Gradually, 
 htiwever, her influence prev.iiled so far, that he 
 resumed his usual pursuits, no longer harassing 
 them by outbursts of anger and fury. 
 
 One morning, when he entered the breakfast- 
 room, he found Constance so deeply absorbed in 
 reading a letter, that she did not notice his en- 
 trance. 
 
 "From whom is that .'" he asked, with a look 
 of suspicion. 
 
 " From my aunt Sinclair," replied she, not no- 
 ticing his manner cr tone. 
 
 " Let me see it," he said, rudely ; " I shall per- 
 mit no underhand doings with you." 
 
 Coloring violently, Constance quickly handed 
 him the letter, while Cecilia gazed at him with 
 asronishment so evident, in eyes which her mother 
 had properly called fine, that it was impossible to 
 mistiike her thoughts. 
 
 " Prevention is better than cure, so says Cur- 
 tis," he remarked, with an awkward attempt at 
 a laugl), and too much ashamed even to glance at 
 the letter ; " but if Constance is to have her pri- 
 Virte letter-bag, it must be on p.irol." 
 
 " 'I refu.se to keep it on those terms," said Con- 
 stance ; "if any letters came whicli contained 
 news from those I love, I should read them. I 
 tiie>'efore give up my bag." 
 
 " Uncle," said Cecilia, " I need not remind you 
 that I rarely interfere in what does not stricily 
 concern me — but this does— and I appe.il to \ou. 
 as a gentleman, if this is quite Cun>istent with 
 that clia^acter. There are many circumstances 
 Connected with an event, which I am sure we all 
 regret, tliat I trust will eveutually plfad in be- 
 half of those concerned ; and it is an error to 
 suppose one mistake can root out the love of 
 years." 
 
 " You have said more than any other would 
 have ventured to say," he replied ; " you have 
 alluded to one who is an alien and an outcast — 
 one who — " 
 
 " I am sorry to hear there is so little courage, 
 then," she said, quickly, seeing to wliat he was 
 teniling ; " but, without her being put on parol, 
 I know you do not mean to meddle with a lady's 
 lct;er-b:ig ;" find thus the matter ended, Con- 
 stance being wisely deaf to the pride that whis- 
 
 pered, " refuse the amnesty," hecause she really 
 shrank, with sometliing like horror, from tlio 
 idea of having her letters once more at tlie mercy 
 of the agent's unscrupulous lamily. 
 
 She had not spoken the wlnde of this time, 
 but she looked steadily at her father when he 
 began denouncing Helen ; and it ia remarkaldo 
 that from that hour she rarely addressed liim na 
 father, never by the more childlike epitliut of 
 " dear papa,'' which had often fallen like music 
 on his ear— nor did she ever again pre.>-s her in- 
 nocent lips, with the caress he so much loved, on 
 his brow. Always respectful, she was never 
 again fond. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 ' the pure, open, prospcrnus love, 
 
 That pleils'd ou eiirili. and 8i iil'd alinvt?, 
 Growa iu iho world's upproviug eyes." 
 J.alla 
 
 Firm to his original purpose, that nothing in 
 his manner should show how mortified he really 
 was, at the tiesperate alternative Helen had 
 adopted, rather than marry him, in the course 
 of a few days Loid Hurstwood again presented 
 himself at the Priory, and found that no tidings 
 had been received <jf the runaway, nor yet from 
 the Colonel, though tiie return of the latter was 
 hourly expected. 
 
 This he learned from Cecilia, as well as that 
 her aunt was so ill as not to be able to leave her 
 room. This news aft'orded him a pretext for 
 another visit; and from one cause or another, 
 again and again did he come — at first, to the 
 gre.it, and scarcely concealed, annoy.ance of Con- 
 stance ; but as he was always courteous, and his 
 intentions apparently were both kind and re- 
 spectful, she gradually unbent, and received him 
 graciously — und this the more easilj", as her 
 mother had told her of the fate of her letter to 
 the Hall, a fact which she had ascertained 
 through the cautious inquiries of D.iwson. 
 
 Thus cleared from what had seemed tlie most 
 objectionable and least pardonable proceedings, 
 Coii,«tance jmlged him more favorably — and be- 
 gan to think that it was nothing so extraordinary 
 that he should .iilmirc Helen — and admiriug, that 
 he sliould then dtsire to win her. 
 
 Laurette, the arrant coquette, was constantly 
 at the Priory at those times when she knew he 
 was most likely to be there. 
 
 He had had one interview with the Colonel, 
 during which, as had been his arranged line of 
 policy, he gave, instead of receiving, sympatiiy ; 
 and recollecting the few hints that hail escaped 
 from .Mrs Templeton, by which he plainly saw that 
 it had been the Colonel's intention to make liim liis 
 dupe, and not finding it suitable to liis dignity to 
 resent tljis openly, he lo.st no opportunity of ut- 
 tering words which, to one not cognizant of the 
 truth, seemed to have no special meaning, but 
 which yet made the Colonel smart, as it stung 
 by a cloud of musquitoes, and induced him in- 
 wardly to restjlve that, if his Lord.vjiip di<l liim 
 the honor to call, he should not ofteu find him at 
 home to receive him. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 But the absence of the master of the mansion 
 •was borne with sufficient philosophy by the gal- 
 lant noble ; when one, perlinps all the graces, as 
 he mentally called them, received him — at least, 
 with extreme politeness, if not pleasure. He was, 
 in short, deliguteJ with the success of his endeav- 
 or* to remove any unfavorable suspicions his mat- 
 rimonial C(//i//-<?twj9. had excited— charmed also 
 at the friendly mode of calling, which he had es- 
 tablished — above all, the notion of still playing 
 the amiable to three such damsels, was any thing 
 but disagreeable to a man of his tastes and habits. 
 Another reason, also, ofien drew him there, which 
 •would have deeply wounded the self-love of Lau- 
 rette, could she but have suspected it ; he was ex- 
 cessively amused at her little tricks — her pretty 
 maneuvers, through which he saw as plainly, as if 
 she had been a raw young aiiachi sent by his op- 
 ponent to tell some pohtical lie— diverted him 
 extremely ; for, in fact, her utter ignorance of 
 his character was purpatually betraying her into 
 some amusing absurdity ; an 1 seemingly bent on 
 blundering her part, she affected a little air of 
 eentiment, as if .she took him lor one who was 
 struggling to hide a wounded heart, .and needed 
 the Dalra of sympathy to effect his cure — she cov- 
 ertly offered him condolence and pity, both in tone 
 and looks — and all this to him, who was doing his 
 utmost tu prove, to all who knew the real state of 
 affairs, that he cared as little for the loss of his 
 mistress as for his glove or cane. 
 
 Cecilia, above all these petty arts, and quite 
 free from design of any kind, had, perhaps, never 
 appeared to greater advantage Poor Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton, whose nerves had been, as it were, laid 
 bare by late events, was the only one who, loving 
 her truly, did not hail her appearance ; but to 
 one suffering as she was, from bodily weakness, 
 and the greatest suspense and anxiety of mind, 
 Cecilia's presence was, in every sense, too much. 
 Her digniliod, but, perhaps, r.ither decided, step 
 — her musical and well-toned, but rather loud, 
 voice ; the rus.le of hjr rich and ample silks ; the 
 demons:rative manner in which she placed and re- 
 placed any thing about the invaLd, sometimes 
 made her aunt shrink ; but then her kind and 
 bright face, her SL-nsible remarks, her unltagging 
 spirits, were such valuable counterweights, espe- 
 cially to Constance, who, from some feeling she 
 had not tried to comprehend, was never more than 
 friendly with Laurette, that when, in the course 
 of a week, Mrs. Templeton admitted the young peo- 
 ple to her boudoir, and occasionally accompanied 
 them in a walk or drive, she felt that Ceciliafs 
 presence was aa bright and cheering as sun- 
 shiuc. 
 
 Une day, very shortly after her recovery, Mrs. 
 Templeton, being alone with Constance, said: 
 
 •' While 1 was suffering so severely from my 
 nervous attack. 1 deliberately refrained from allu- 
 ding to the painful circumstance which has latelj' 
 occurrel. 1 mig'it, perhaps, have spared you 
 much, as your d.sLrosse<l Iook.s and manner have 
 not been unnoticed — but I really feared my own 
 •weakness. I have heard both ot and from Helen 
 — she is quite safe— in honirable security — and 
 •we shall soon, an 1 frequently, by some meaus, 
 which you must not seek to know, hear more." 
 
 " Dear mamma, liow your words relieve me," 
 said Constance, only kept from vehement demon- 
 
 strations of joy by the fear of agitating her mo- 
 ther. " One question — and Heaven be praised, 
 first, for what I already know— is she with Regi- 
 nald .' — are they married '" 
 
 " Not yet, to both your questions ; and now no 
 more — though I see a whole volume of inquiries 
 on your face ; when I have any thing certain to 
 communicate, be assured you shall hear it." 
 
 " And you are well enough to dine with us, are 
 you not, dearest .'" 
 
 '• I hope so ; and to-morrow we will all go and 
 look at tlie Kectory. both within and without, and 
 jiass judgment on Mr. Morton's taste, which, I 
 hear, has been at work there." 
 
 " Ashley must be very busy," remarked Con- 
 stance, " to delegate so much to our venerable 
 Ht-rmit; but I suppose he ynW. find time to run 
 away from his duties, at least to meet the dear 
 Rec tori tes— how I long to see them all." 
 
 " So do I, dear child, though we must not 
 grudge the Doctor this almost unexampled absence 
 — tlie first of any length I have ever known him 
 take. Have the Forresters called or sent lately .' 
 I have a very kind note from Lady Dallas, which 
 Laurette brought yesterday." 
 
 '■ Oh, yes, they have sent every day," said Con- 
 stance, coloring, and very hastily adjusting her 
 her mothers collar, but certainly not improving it. 
 
 " Very well ; and now, dear, 1 am tired — send 
 Dawson." 
 
 The day at length came when Mrs. Templeton 
 expected to have all her fears and anxieties put to 
 rest, by receiving information of Helen's mar- 
 riage ; she had been so much excited the previous 
 evening, that Mr. Curtis, at the earnest request 
 of Constance and Cecilia, had been again sum- 
 moned. Mrs. Templeton patiently resigne<l her- 
 self to composing di;aughts, solitude, quiet, an I 
 the usual remedies; though she well knew tliut 
 neither psace nor quiet would be her lot till the 
 important packet arrived she had so much wishe 1 
 for. " Canst thou minister to a mind diseased .- ' 
 she might have asked of her kind Esculapius — ■ 
 " canst thou compose the mind of the mother, 
 who knows that this day, unsustained by a mo- 
 ther's presence, unaccompanied by a father's 
 blessing, her beloved child will pronounce tlie 
 V-.AS that bind her to another .'" 
 
 And the next morning, having ins'sted on ris- 
 int;;; to breakfast, in sp.te of entreaties that she 
 would remain quiet, when the bag was opL-ned, it 
 was with a feeling of faintness that she •.lok from 
 Constance a letter of unusual dimensions. She 
 opened it; " Heaven be thanked !" was her half- 
 uttered exclamation, as she unfolded a paper be- 
 fore breaking the seal of a letter which accompa- 
 nied it. " Constanc-e, pass this to your papa; it 
 is the certificate of Helen's marriage." 
 
 " Dear aunt," said Cecilia, tears in her eyes, 
 and she kissed her — but she had too much tact to 
 say more while her uncle was present. 
 
 With a cry of joy Constance seized the precious 
 document, and laid it before her father. He was 
 opening a letter, from which fluttered a paper of 
 similar appearance — he glanced at it — and hia 
 brow grew dark as midnight ; with a muttered 
 curse he collectcl both documents and the letter, 
 and without deigning further to read the contents, 
 he held them in the flame of a taper, generally 
 placed at his side for the convenience of sealing 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 letters or notes, and though his hand shook vrith 
 passion, lie persevered till they were consumed. 
 
 " Uufle," said Cecilia, her lace in a glow, and 
 her eyes sparkling with indignation. 
 
 But not a word from Constance. 
 
 " They are but copies," said .Mrs. Tenipleton, her 
 pale face Hushing to the very brow, as she rose 
 and left the room, carrying her letters with her. 
 They were from both her children, as she fondly 
 termed them ; and when Constance, after a while, 
 cntereil, she gave them to her to read, and sat 
 with her arm round her remaining treasure, while 
 the tears of the latter fell like rain, and blinded 
 her so, that she could searcelj' sec words of love 
 and tenderness — expressions of regret at scpara- 
 tiiin from them, and hopes of happiness, in the 
 full confidence, the lovely writer felt, that Regi- 
 nald would never }iiake her repent the course she 
 had pursued. Slie then turned to Reginald's let- 
 ter. " Ah, mamma," said she, " let us no longer 
 sorrow, but rather rejoice; it is far better as it 
 is;"' and tenderly embracing her mother, she 
 went to tell Cecilia of this termination to their 
 present anxiety. 
 
 How happy was her meeting with Hubert, to 
 V. liom, witliout reserve, she told of these dear let- 
 ters ; and though he left her after a very brief 
 interview, so deeply did she love her sister, that 
 the thought of her and her new duties made it 
 delightful to be alone. 
 
 Hubert hastened back to Forest Hill, eager to 
 l)e the first to carry the news of Helen's marriage, 
 and claim from his father the fulfillment of his 
 promise, and that, immediately. Having con- 
 vinced him that any change in his sentiments 
 was utterly impossible, he obtained his consent to 
 accompany him on the morrow to the Priory ; 
 for. though far from using the exact words, ^ir. 
 Forrester began to think that, if it must be done, 
 " then 'twere well it were done quickly ;" and, 
 accordingly, the next morning s sun shone on the 
 s.ately figure of the father and the hamlsome one 
 of the son as they set lorth to determine the fate 
 of the latter. 
 
 Constance was in the act of descending the 
 grand staircase, when she heard the voice of Mr. 
 Forrester inquiring for the Colonel, and request- 
 ing the servant to inform him, that he had ridden 
 over purposely to see him. 
 
 Divining the cause of his visit, she flew back 
 into her now k^nely apartments, and almost 
 breathless sank into a chair. As she thus sat, 
 s riving to regain composure, she heard the rich 
 voice of Hubert singing a few bars of a trio which 
 til' y had both, months ago, practiced witli Helen 
 Well did she remember that evening the only 
 cloud then resting on them being the illness of 
 Mrs. West. Heavy and dark enough did that 
 thtn seem — but how rapidly had it increased, 
 both in size and density —till, lately, it had 
 blackened their whole horizon. 
 
 iMrs. West was now dead— Reginald w.aa strip- 
 ped of all his brilliant expectations, and was toil- 
 ing for his bread — and Helen, her dear, her beau- 
 tiful sister, was forced to become a fugitive, and 
 an alien from her father's house. 
 
 She hid her face in her hands, as if she would 
 shut out the sad pictures which memory present- 
 ed, when again the voice she loved came floating 
 upward in a gay refrain : she listened, till the 
 
 cheerful sounds were accepted as tokens of hap- 
 pier days ; and knowing for whom Hubeit linger- 
 ed on the terrace, she descended to meet liini. 
 
 " Ah ! dear ('(instance !" was his cheerful greet- 
 ing, '• how delighted 1 am to see you ; I was half 
 afraid you would be hid somewhere till my lather'* 
 — he paused — •' in short," he said, looking unusu- 
 ally grave and earnest, " 1 must learn the truth 
 from your own dear self. Am 1 mistaken .'— have 
 I been giving you my love, my idolatry in vain .' 
 — have 1 been cherishing a blessed hope which can 
 not be realized .'— Constance, j'ou know that 1 lovo 
 you, but 3'ou can not know how much — can you 
 give me hope— love, in return r 
 
 " Oh ! Hubert, how ungrateful you must think 
 me, if you doubt," was the whispered reply. 
 
 " It is not gratitude I ask for," he quickly 
 said, " it is love — your love, dear Constance." 
 
 " And is that all r" she asked, with a smile, 
 which he thought was. that of an angel, giving 
 him her hand. 
 
 "All! dearest; what more can I wish for.' 
 and with this precious hand you give it, do you 
 not .'" so drawing her toward him, he pressed the 
 kiss of affiance on her blushing cheek. 
 
 " My father is with the Colonel," he said, after 
 a pause, full of deep emotion to both ; '• but, 
 Constance, one condition he insists on, in spite of 
 my enireaty and opposition. In a short time, 
 Victor Morton will leave for the Mediterranean ; 
 he has long wished me to accompany him ; and 
 though he is the king of traveling companions, I 
 need not tell you, I could not thiidc of it — nor 
 why. Well, my father con^cnts to our engage- 
 ment, if I win you ; and 1 have, have I not .'' Of 
 course, ahso supposing neither the Colonel nor 
 Mrs. Templeton clisapprove ; but he will make me 
 set oft" on this rambling expedition — what think 
 you, dear one ?" 
 
 " Do not mistake me, dear Hubert," replied 
 Constance, " if I say I at once see the propriety 
 of this plan. Time alone can soften the etVects of 
 our last misfortune ; and when we meet after this 
 parting, perhaps Providence will so have orderetl 
 it, that our troubles may be lessened ; so let ug 
 try and think that this is for the best, though 
 sadly shall I miss my kind and daily consoler — 
 when do you think of leaving ?" 
 
 " I belie\ 2 Victor starts in the course of six 
 weeks ; but there are many things to be done for 
 us before I go. Hargraves must be looked after, 
 and a thousand other matters settled — but here 
 are our respected fathers, both looking any thing 
 but dreadful;" 
 
 They did not, h'bwever, look very cheerful ; 
 and Constance, trembling very much as her 
 father drew near, and feeling that if the scene 
 were prolonged she should faint, sat down. 
 
 " Mr. Forrester has been asking me to give you 
 to his son, Constance, and I have consented," was 
 all he said. 
 
 But .Mr. Forrester, looking at the beautiful 
 girl who was thus coolly di.sposed of witlmut, a.s 
 it seemed, being allowed any voice in the matter, 
 could not help adding, with that old-fashioned 
 chivalry, which agreed so well with his proud and 
 reserved mnniu'rs : 
 
 " Which consent, we venture to hope you will 
 make my son — will make us happy by confirm- 
 ing." 
 
96 
 
 THE WIFES TRIALS. 
 
 But slie could not speak, for her father's want 
 of courtesy, not to say kin'lness, bad deeply 
 ■wouuded her; and Huoert. seeing she was much 
 overcome, and willing to terminate tlie interview 
 and set her free, added, with a gratified smile, 
 " 1 hope Constance will not prove inexorable ;" 
 and while she escaped, shook hands with the 
 Ckilonel, and warmly thanked him, as well as his 
 father. 
 
 " 1 have informed Colonel Templeton of your 
 propo.sed absence, in the reasonableness of which 
 Le entirely concurs " 
 
 " And Mrs. Templeton .'" asked Hubert. 
 
 " Mrs. Templeton is far from well," replied her 
 husband ; " to-morrow, perhaps, she may see 
 you. ' 
 
 IJut though to the father, who was still very 
 indiflerent about the whole matter, this was a 
 sufficient reason for not urging an interview, not 
 so to the son. He left his father at the Rectory, 
 and rode back, requesting by note to see Mrs. 
 Templeton, if only for a few minutes. 
 
 Directly she left the gentlemen, Constance 
 hastened to her mother, whom she found in her 
 boudoir, writing. 
 
 " M;imma," she said, kneeling by her side, no 
 uncommon attitude, " Mr. Forrester is here, and 
 Hubert :" she paused, but the smile and the blush 
 spoke volumes — and her mother, looking at the 
 lovely face raised so fondly to her, read that the 
 hour was come, when she must give away this 
 treasure also. Still, it was so wholly unexpected 
 — the gift asked for, was, to her, so inexpressibly 
 dear, so exceedingly valued, that for a minute 
 she was silent — perhaps, also, some thought or 
 fancy of her own had to be banished — but it was 
 impossible to see a shade of anxiety steal over 
 that swjet countenance, and not hasten to remove 
 it. So she said, very tenderly but calmly, '• And 
 they have come to ask for my Constance, and she 
 says, yes— is it so ?" 
 
 " Yes," she faintly echoed ; " and, mother, 
 bless me." 
 
 " I do, my child — I always have— and the 
 blessing has returned a hundred-fold into my \ 
 own boiom, in both my children; yes, both — and 
 you love this gay and handsome Hubert." 
 
 " Ah ! mamma, you think him handsome ; no 
 wonder, then, that the foolish Constance does." 
 
 " Ni)t foolish, if she love him for qualities with- 
 out which there can be no reasonable hope of hap- 
 pine.'^s — but like me, in this abo, she iuvcs him 
 because he is true and honorable." 
 
 " Dear mother, how good you are — how well 
 you know how to make me quite happy. I some- 
 times felt as if L must be almost Avicked to have 
 j jy in my heart while all of us liave lately been 
 so wretched ; and let me s;iy this now, that you 
 can not think how greatly 1 wished to tell you all 
 1 fancicl— but I could not very well, could I .'" 
 
 " Not very well, certainly, till Hubert took the 
 first step, unl -ss you had doubted the return of 
 your affection— and then, my pet, you know you 
 must have avoided him." 
 
 " But that W!us not tlie case — and so — but we 
 Hhall not part very soon, dear mamma ;" but be- 
 fore she related why, tiic little no'.^ was put into 
 Mrs. T-mploton"s hands, and much f ntified at 
 tlie kind and delicate feeling it evinced, slic order- 
 ed Mr. Hubert to be inuuediately summoned. 
 
 Constance was still by her mother's side, who i 
 on Hubert's entrance, with a smile, put out hei 
 hand ; he kissetl it, and with the hands of motlni 
 and daughter tenderly clasped in his, stooped Li; 
 graceful figure. 
 
 " God bless you, children," said the motl 
 solemnl}'. "Hubert, you have won her l > 
 value and respect the gift, as you hope tor h-. 
 ness. You are both young — very young — tli 
 fore, I am glad you have an opportunity ot! 
 you for understiiuding more clearly what su.li .: 
 engagement as yours really means. Murmur uyi: 
 at a short delay — let it be a period of useful pro-, 
 bation; and, ttnder all and every circumstance i 
 be true to yourselves, be true to each other | 
 Now go — and, Hubert, tell Mrs. Forrester whai 
 an invalid I am— but that I shall, 1 hope. '" 
 equal to receiving her to-morrow." 
 
 Ah ! how proud and gay he was as he i 
 along : and how he almost succeeded in convinc- 
 ing Mr. Forrester that he had done a very gooc; 
 and very meritorious day's work — almost, noil 
 quite ; for all that gentleman's prejudices agnirr ' 
 the Colonel had been strengthened during t' 
 strictly business-like interview. 
 
 The master of Seabrooke had testified notliinL 
 like a due sense of the dignity of the family intcj 
 which his daughter was to be received. Th( 
 Colonel talked of nobility — Mr. Forrester of an-j 
 cestry The Colonel dwelt on the fortune hisi 
 daughter would eventuiilly possess — iMr. Forresteii 
 of the Hargrave estate Hubert would at once h.ivc; 
 assigned to him ; and though the value of tii(| 
 Seabrooke property was ostentatiously paraded ' 
 as the Colonel evaded any precise reply as to thcj 
 sum he would immediately lay down, Mr. Forres-| 
 ter felt sure that he was embarrassed asregardec" 
 ready money, a conviction which gained strength ' 
 when he remembered how often report had saicj 
 that inimeu-e sums had been lost at play, both ir' 
 London and abroad. 
 
 However, by insisting on Hubert's absci 
 t me was gained. Hargraves, also, required i 
 pairs and alterations, which /le should not ; 
 bound to hurry on; and though it would bed 
 injustice both to Mr. and Mrs. Forrester to ii,- 
 uate that they hoped or even anticipr.tcd 
 material alteration from time, when their < 
 and their son's honor were equally concern 1 
 the proceeding, the^- were glad that Hubert ^ 
 so fir reasonable as to have yielded. 
 
 Laurette was duly iniorme<i the next day. ^ i 
 Forrester called at the Grange, after an intew,, 
 with Mrs. Templeton and Constance, during wi; 
 she saw and heard so much to admire in both, i 
 believed there were so many caiises to ex 
 sympathy, that the good old lady w;is n( . 
 recnnciled to the idea of having so sweet a ci' 
 ture for Hubert's wife — and decided that she ^v,;^ 
 really worthy of him. 
 
 And what thought Laurette of this news .- t. 
 her by no means unexpected— fervently asshe hi 1 
 iioped some chapter of accidents would at le :- 
 h:ive postponed ihedi/niwu} .-.7. Laurette's v- 
 thoughts were not always " for ibms to peck .i' 
 and, on this occision, she kept them to hersvl . 
 
 But she tendered her congratulations ve: , 
 warmly, and wrote to Cr.iigalan, expressing her 
 e.irnest wish that her fither an<l mother wo\ild 
 make an effort , and visit to wn. She had suddenly , 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 discovered that it -was very long since tliey had 
 all met at the Priory — vfhere she was sure their 
 presence -would now be so serviceable, as well as 
 agreeable — dwelt on the claims of other old 
 friends, and concluded by saying, that, if they 
 made the first move southward, tliey would pro- 
 bably persuade her uncle Lionel to take her 
 aunt and Constance to return the visit ; a change 
 which she suggested would be of much benefit, 
 after all they had lately gone through. 
 
 She then called at the Priory, kissed Constance 
 with an affectionate smile, and remarked, that 
 while she and her mother were so unhappy about 
 Helen, this little interlude of proposals and 
 acceptance must be doubly valuable — it was so 
 calculated to concentrate their thoughts on affairs 
 at home — and then left her cousin, with cheeks 
 tingling at her implied sensibility, to act the part 
 of comforter to her aunt, to whom she accidentally 
 remarked — "I am sure the feeling that Hubert is 
 pledged in a serious engagement, anywhere 
 among their own circle, must be a great relief to 
 both his parents, who have been greatly annoyed 
 at his folly in calling so perpetually on that dis- 
 reputable person, Mrs. Mordaunt, and her equally 
 objectionable daughter ;" and though she had not 
 the gratifying assurance that the arrow had 
 touched the mark, it had — and, spite of the 
 unconcern with which Mrs. Templeton had 
 appeared to hear this inuendo, many a painful 
 hour did its rankling cause that fon^d and anxious 
 mother. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 " Amaryllis I did woo, 
 And Ic. urted I'hiilis too." "Withers. 
 
 " 'Tis well to be off with the old love, 
 Before you are on wiih the new." 
 
 The day at last came which was to bring back 
 the Vernons. Constance and Cecilia were at the 
 Kectory long before the hour appointed for their 
 arrival — flying from room to room to see that all 
 Was in order, and ever detecting something that 
 required arranging. They had come accompanied 
 by a servant, loaded with flowers from the Priory, 
 which Cecilia declared was literally " sweets to 
 the sweet," as the Rectory garden was one scene 
 of beauty — for knives and scissors had been doing 
 sharp duty in cutting away all that was faded or 
 unsightly. 
 
 The house was filled with the perfume of its 
 fragrant ornaments, and Constance, having just 
 declared all perfect, liad risen to give a more 
 graceful effect to a vase of choice exotics, when 
 the bells pealed forth their rustic music, and the 
 Bounds of welcome from many voices, in a loud 
 huzza from the parishioners, who had. assembled 
 to greet their pastor, reached the quiet drawing- 
 room. 
 
 She paused in her arrangement, and sat down, 
 looking very pale. Since she had last seen them, 
 how much had happened ! But there was short 
 time for sorrowful retrospection ; the sound of 
 wheels, a rush, a cry, and they are all kissing 
 and embracing as if scarcely knowing what they 
 
 did — all, for the Doctor was, for a minute, as 
 much overcome as any of them. 
 
 " And your mother, Constance, where is she ?" 
 " Coming— she, or rather we. feared tlic bustle 
 and first excitement for her — but tlic bells were 
 to be her signal — and lo ! here she is."' 
 
 She bore the meeting admirably — was perhaps 
 more calm than Mrs. Vernon ; and though many 
 painful feelings agitated each individual, grati- 
 tude and pleasure were certainly predominant. 
 
 When alone with Constance, Caroline wept bit- 
 terly as she listened to a hasty outline of what 
 had passed — for no letters could tell what five 
 minutes' conversation did — and they tlien speedily 
 rejoined the rest of the piu-ty, when it was 
 arranged that they should part for this day, and 
 leave the travelers to settle and rest themselves ; 
 and that Mrs. Templeton should spend an hour 
 there the next, with the Doctor and his wife, 
 while the carriage took back Caroline to tlie 
 Priory, there to meet Laurette, and pass the day 
 with them. 
 
 Meantime, the visits of Lord Hurstwood to the 
 Priory were, in one sense, any thing but angelic 
 — that is to say, they were neither few nor far 
 between ; on the contrary, they were long and 
 frequent. 
 
 Thus it happened, that calling there one day, 
 rather earlier than usual, he was informed that 
 the young ladies were in tha drawing-room con- 
 servatory, whither he proceeded unannounced, the 
 servant having left him to seek his mistress. His 
 entrance was quite unobserved by the cousins — 
 the I'oom in which he stood being darkened by 
 blinds, -while they sat in the full light of their 
 floral apartment — and certainly he may be par- 
 doned for pausing to look at the picture they pre- 
 sented. 
 
 Constance, in her simple white dress, relieved 
 by one bow of her favorite color, blue, her rich 
 brown hair wound round her well-shaped head, 
 and her sweet face peeping through her thick 
 glossy curls, was seated on a low divan, profusely 
 scattered with cut flowers, Avhich she was arrang- 
 ing. Laurette, fashionably, but most becoming- 
 ly dressed, had her somewhat dark style of beauty 
 skillfully brought out by a pink Ixinnet. remark- 
 able for the absence of any thing like showy trim- 
 ming, while her standing position gave her an 
 opportunity of assuming one of those graceful 
 attitudes which had lost all appearance of being 
 studied from lunnng become quite habitual. 
 
 Cecilia sat witii a half opened book in her hand, 
 from which she seemetl to have been reading; an 
 animated reply, which she was making to Lau- 
 rette, displayed to singular advantage all the dig- 
 nity of her manner and the irresistible charm of 
 her mouth and smile. 
 
 " I maintain," she was saying. " that there is 
 not the least resemblance between the case of this 
 sentimental heroine here," indicating the book, 
 " and our dear Helen. This girl runs away with 
 a worthless lover, after having had proofs of his 
 baseness— Helen did nothing of the kind." 
 
 ♦'Certainly not," said Laurette, with a sneer, 
 little conscious who was approaching so slowly— 
 for his Lordship was seized with sudden cramp — 
 " she ran away to escape ' the dandy of si.xty, wlio 
 bows with a grace.' " 
 
 " What a caustic little devil it is !" was the 
 
98 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 listener's thought. " Hang it ! I am not quite 
 forty-eight." 
 
 '"Bat had she not loved Reginald, who is a 
 noble and a true gentleman," replied Cecilia, 
 " that objection would not have excused her with 
 ever^' one. .Most girls would consider an offer 
 from one of his rank and station an honor— and 
 depend upon it, Lauretta, there will be as much 
 scheming among mothers, ay, and among daugh- 
 ters too, to se^-ure him, as among courtiers to get 
 the vacant ribbon." 
 
 •• What a complexion that girl has, and what a 
 shapa," muttered the peer ; and having recovered 
 from his cramp, which still prevented his moving 
 in double quick time, he gently retraced his steps, 
 but not before he heard Laurette, with a mocking 
 laugh, say—" iShopherds, have 'you seen my love .' ' 
 and" protesting by all that was spiteful, that the 
 little dark vixen would die an old maid, he made 
 his way through the hall to the door of the con- 
 servatory which faced the park. 
 
 He smiled as he gracefully saluted the ladies, 
 and thought of the " dandy of sixty ;" but, true 
 to his courtier training, he was careful not to 
 show the least trace of pique in his manner to 
 Laurette, except, that when she began to play her 
 airs of patronizing sympathy, he replied in so gay 
 and jesting a tone as to throw back the ridicule 
 on her 
 
 This time, as he returned to Hurstwood, he was 
 80 absorbed in thought as not to remark whom he 
 passed on the road ; such, at least, we must sup- 
 pose was the case, as so polite a nobleman would 
 never remorselessly have cut a pretty acquaint- 
 ance like Miss Juliet, Avho " happened" to be driv- 
 ing the way that l«d to the Hall ; indeed, as she 
 had more than once remarked to Lord Hurstwood, 
 it was something extraordinary this should so 
 often "happen;" to which he would gallantly 
 rejoin some nonsense about attraction and sympa- 
 thy. 
 
 He now, however, passed her so qujckly, that she 
 scarcely heard the hoofs on the soft turf, before 
 his horse was far a-head. throwing the dust in her 
 face, as plentifully as his master had pre-saously 
 thrown it in her eyes : the groom respectfully 
 touched his hat— but that was for my lord ; he 
 grinned — and tliat was for the lady. Juliet was 
 ready to cry from rage and mortiiication — she did 
 not, however, but went home, and did what was 
 more often the case — she was saucy to her mother 
 jn.stead; conduct which that sensible matron was 
 not likely to permit ; in.solence followed violent rep- 
 rimand and the result was one of those outbreaks 
 nicknamed, by some who had heard them more 
 than once, on account of theii- noise, " the Coopers 
 at work " 
 
 A few days after this, Laurette and Constance 
 had set out to the Rectory ; Mrs Templeton and 
 Cecilia were to follow. In her stately way, the 
 latter was pacing the terrace, when Lord Hurst- 
 wood appeareil Irom the garden wing, and as she 
 was walking from him, he iiad full time to remark 
 the well-proportioned and springy figure, wliich 
 was surmounted by a head and bust tit model for 
 a Juno. 
 
 "Hymen, I invoke thee," said he, raising his 
 liat. and still retaining it in his hand, as the fig- 
 uro turti-d and showed the pleasant face bebug- 
 ing 10 it. 
 
 " Good-morning, my lord,"' she said, in return 
 to his silent bow ; " Mrs. Templeton will, I believe, 
 be here immediately " 
 
 " 1 hope not before my object in coming, so soon 
 after my visit of yesterday, is stated; and were 
 it not presumptuous to hope for a very great hap- 
 piness, I should venture to add, not, 1 hops, before 
 my object is gained." 
 
 " So successful a statesman as we all know your 
 Lordship to be, should never anticipate failure. I 
 have read it somewhere, that half the secret of 
 success is, to believe it certain." 
 
 " I wish I could listen to you, Miss Grantham 
 as worshipers of old did to their oracles— wiiii 
 implicit faith in their predictions — but this I 
 have not the vanity to do ; in any event, how- 
 ever, you will decide my fate. May I therefore 
 crave the honor of your attention for a few min- 
 utes .'■' 
 
 Cecilia bowed, slightly agitated. 
 
 " With mp the age of romance is passed— I an: 
 nearly forty-eight" — he said this to let her kn .. 
 he was not sixty, and to spare her the trouble ' r 
 consulting the peerage; " domestic life, and tlu- 
 happiness it brings, have been long enough neg- 
 lected for my public duties ; but till I saw you, I 
 never saw any one with whom I felt sure I should 
 find it. If I should be so highly favored as to 
 have obtained the least interest in your good opin- 
 ion, my dearest wish will be gained. Pardon me. 
 also, if I seem presuming, or too eager to secure 
 so great a boon ; but if you can make me' happy 
 by "at once replying favorably to my requfct, I 
 entreat you to do so. If I ask too much, or am 
 too precipitate or hasty, condescend to consider 
 what I have said." 
 
 " Lord Hurstwood," answered Cecilia, now 
 thoroughly herself, " I am said to be frank, 
 almost to rashness ; and perhaps," she continued, 
 smiling, " you, like a true politician, will turn 
 this confession to your advantage — be it so. I tru.■^t 
 implicitly to your honor; " — he bowed, well pleas- 
 ed at tliis exordium — " but before I decide, I 
 ' should prefer that you, as well as myself, see Lord 
 I and Lady Grantham, who have but just returned 
 j to Eni^land ; on which account my visit here will 
 tern)inate in two days." 
 
 I " Tlien,"' he said, bowing on her hand, which 
 i she readily held out, in three days' time I sliall 
 have tlie hunor of seeing Lord and Lady Gran- 
 tham, and of again meeting you under tlieir roof; 
 till tlien, thus the affair remains ; I now take my 
 leave, and carrying with me your permission to 
 hope." 
 
 " Nay, that is your own addition." 
 
 " Then ratify it with your own gracious and 
 sweet consent— so that it may not be my inven- 
 tion ; you will also permit me to communicate 
 witli you by letter, should I have forgotten any 
 minor detail, while wholly engrossed with. 
 thoughts of securing the crowning blessing of 
 Ufe." 
 
 To this she readily consented, and he was tak- 
 ing his leave, when he said, " 13ut here is Mrs. 
 Templeton; I will merely bid her good-morning, 
 and adieu. Our next meeting will, I trust, be ;> 
 happy one at Grantham." 
 
 And he departed, quite reconciled to the En-,'- 
 lish method of wooing — and quoting the poet's 
 I advice : 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 9S 
 
 " Therefore all hearts in love ns" their own tongue ; 
 Lei every eye iieiiniiiile for ilself, 
 And trust no agent." 
 
 The following day, as might have been expected, 
 ■brought a note from the Hall ; to obtain some 
 trifling information was the ostensible reason ; 
 the real one was to have an answer Irom Cecilia ; 
 but as siie has alreadj' decided on accepting him, 
 there was no need for any little finessing — it, 
 however, gave her the opportunity of saying that 
 her parents were the first to whom she should men- 
 tion liis wishes ; her love and respect for her aunt, 
 being subordinate to her strong feeling of affec- 
 tion toward them. 
 
 Mrs Templeton's interview with the Doctor 
 and Mrs. Vernon was, at first, painful and excit- 
 ing; for though they had received full accounts, 
 by almost the last post from Ashley, and were 
 able to inform her of many tilings which were 
 not mentioned by either Reginald or Helen, yet 
 the history of the sad train of events which had 
 led to this most unexpected result revealed much 
 ■which displayed the tyranny and hardness of the 
 Colonel more evidently than ever. But enimgli 
 ■was learned to fully exonerate both Mrs. Temple- 
 ton and Helen, in Mrs Vernon's opinion; even 
 the good Doctor went so far as to say, that, much 
 as he wished they had been at hand, to comfort 
 and sustain her during this season of perplexity 
 and trouble, he was very glad that his absence 
 had saved him from the difficulty of being obliged 
 to decide, where, he feared, his feelings and his 
 his sense of duty might have been at variance. 
 
 She also informed ihem of the engagement be- 
 tween Hubert and Constance, as well as of the 
 contemplated departure of the former ; and 
 though they both congratulated her in the most 
 friendly manner, it was evident they thought tiiis 
 temporary separation a wise arrangement ; es- . 
 peciidly the Doctor, who remarked that Hubert, 
 whose generous and affection-.ite nature none who 
 knew him could deny, had hitherto had very little 
 oppor:unity of knowing much of himself or of the 
 Woi Id ; and though he'went on his long tour with ; 
 one not older than himself, still Victor Morton ' 
 •was years his senior in experience ; was used to 
 traveling about in the most independent niajmer, 
 and possessed such valuable introductions, that 
 great advantage might be derived from this plan. 
 
 " And when is Ashley coming, Caroline .'" ask- 
 ed Constance, as they sat chatting together. 
 " How I long to see him— for I am not fully in 
 mamma's confidence yet— she merely tells me 
 briefly. Helen is well, or, as she said lately, Helen 
 is married — but there is so much warning — not 
 that I for a moment wish to learn what she 
 thinks it best to conceal; but there are so many 
 gaps, which 1 could honorably ask Ashley to fill 
 
 '* We expect him very shortly," replied his sis- 
 ter; indeed, I think papa and m.amma are disap- 
 pointed that he is not here to receive us— but you 
 know with him friendship is a very absorbing 
 feeling ; and while he can serve Reginald and 
 Helen, he will not leave them, even for us— whom 
 he can only pleane, not assist." 
 
 " What a lover he will make," remarked Con- 
 stance, smiling and then blushing. 
 
 " Yes," said Caroline, gravely ; " ivith him it 
 •will be once and forever." 
 
 " But, suppose— though even the supposition \n 
 very shocking — but suppose the lady should 
 die .'" 
 
 " He will still love her memory more than any 
 other living creature ; ' to live with them is I'ar 
 less sweet than to remember thee.' " 
 
 " But if unworthy :" persisted Constance. 
 
 "Ah! that is supposing an impossible case. 
 My brother," she said, rather proudly, " never 
 can love anything unworthy — he seems intuitive- 
 ly to jivoid all such." 
 
 " You are quite right there, dear Carry — and 
 this has always made me feel, tliat the friend- 
 ship of Ashley conferred more honor than ranker 
 station." And in their exalted estimate of one 
 who richly merited their praises, neither of these 
 beautiful girls seemed ever to have thought it 
 possible that Ashley might suffer from a third 
 cause — that of loving without meeting a return. 
 
 After Mrs. Templeton and Constance left, Car- 
 oline s.-it down to write to this beloved brother. 
 She told him first of their disappointment at not 
 seeing him — sent him news of the Priory, and of 
 the village generally ; and as she was closing lier 
 letter, Mrs. Vernon entered. 
 
 " To Ashley, dear.'" she asked, looking at the 
 letter. 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 " Did Constance tell you anything of Hubert.'" 
 
 " Nothing, and I really forgot to ask of him — 
 though I suppose she knows of the scheme Victor 
 mentioned last night. But I have told Ashley 
 how wonderfully the traveled young hermit is 
 improved— really, if he goes on so, he has a 
 chance of becoming celebrated." 
 
 " Then, my dear, you must tell Ashley, who 
 can scarcely yet know it, that when the wan- 
 derers return, Hubert's engagement to Constance 
 will, be ratified, and they -will be mairied." How 
 surprised you look !" 
 
 " I am a great simpleton to be perpetually sur- 
 prised at these love affairs. I hope I shall liave 
 fair warning when my turn conies — if ever itdo — 
 but dear nianiiha, 1 am surprised still — though I 
 have he:ird of it for these last two minutes." 
 
 " And yet there is nothing very extaordinary," 
 was her mother's quiet remark. 
 
 "No — certainly not," was the rather hesitating 
 reply and manner. " I see Constance can keep 
 lier secrets." 
 
 " No, my love, she can not — for she particu- 
 larly requested her mother to inform us of tlie 
 I fact, and without any delaj' — are you pacified :' 
 j '• Oh ! mamma— 1 am sure I respect her feel- 
 ings too mucli to be otherwise — but." and she 
 looked full at her mother, " Hubert is not my 
 choice for Constance." 
 
 " Indeed ! and why .' or on whom would your 
 perfect approval have fallen :" 
 
 "On no one I know— but Hubert Forrester, 
 amiable and charming as he is, has not, and I 
 fear never will have, the deep yet lofty feelin;;.s 
 which she is so eminently calculated to appre- 
 ciate " 
 
 " Well, my dear, I can not contradict ynn— for 
 the truth is. this is exactly my opinion — lau time 
 and intelligent society may greatly improve a na- 
 ture so honorable as that of Hubert." 
 
 Therefore this piece of news was added in i' 
 postscript, without remark or comment. Bui )■ 
 
100 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 did not seem greatly to have interested Ashley, as 
 he never noticed it in his reply, which contained 
 a long account of himself and his friends, but 
 merely expressed his regret at not being able to 
 leave town just then. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 "There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 
 Where two lliat are link"d in one heavenly lie. 
 With hearl nevtr chat ging. a brow never cold. 
 Love on through all ill, and love on till they die !" 
 
 MOOEB. 
 
 Helen has been left a long time to recover 
 from the fatigue of her rapid journey ; so long, 
 that if she had h:id nothing to do but to examine 
 her new abode and all it contained, she must have 
 wearied of the task. 
 
 liut such was not the case — in truth, she was 
 60 much occupied in realizing the change in her 
 prospects, which had been so une.\pectedly 
 effected, that days glided into weeks belbre she 
 succeeded. 
 
 She sometimes felt as if she had been suddenly 
 cast on some strange and uninhabited island — so 
 huslied and quiet did all appear ; so entirely was 
 she removed from her late agitating associations 
 — so completely had her more familiar apprehen- 
 sions given place to others, and entirely new ones 
 — still, with all this there were tranquillity and 
 peace — and she felt how gracious the change was. 
 
 But these thoughts and feelings occupied her 
 only when she was alone. When Reginald and 
 Asliley came in tlie evening, sometimes remaining 
 to tea, at whicli jNIrs Stopsel always made one of 
 the party, it was then as if some beneficent 
 genius had transformed her desert into something 
 very delightful — a kind of real happy valley — 
 where she could hear the voice best loved, and 
 see the face so dear. " My dear, dear mother, 
 my sweet sister, oh that you were here !" was on 
 tlie-c occasions the only desire that arose in her 
 heart. 
 
 Almost every day did she, and very often Regi- 
 nald, through Mr. Morton, write to tliis mother, 
 who h;id made so great an effort fur their sakes ; 
 and frequent were the short replies sent through 
 the same channel ; or if he were absent, they were 
 posted by Mrs. Templeton — so well had she learned 
 out of the book of old experience. And wlien 
 these precious tokens came, how bitterly did 
 Helen sometimes weep — tliDugh not for worlds 
 wouhJ slie have had Reginald know of her tears — 
 but the very means by which their coiTe;'pondence 
 was carried on. seemed perpetually to remind her 
 of what she had been forced to do— and the 
 would iisk, " Why had she been so liarshly, so 
 unjustly treated, ilmt the only escape from what, 
 to iier, would have been real ignominy, wis to 
 brave whatmatiy would condemn most severely .'" 
 
 She might liave niairied amansliedid niitlove, 
 one indeed, whose character, tliough not exactly 
 bud, po.-ses>ed no quality with which slie could 
 sympathize — she mi^iit liave done tiiis. even while 
 hiving another, and the world wouhl liave called 
 her a sensible girl, who had not weakly yielded 
 
 to a romantic attachment. Now, though hal- 
 lowed by her mother's sanction, her marriage 
 would be called — odious words— a run-away 
 match. 
 
 But here again the good genius would appear, 
 and his arguments were so conclusive when he 
 named Reginald, that she dried her eyes, and met 
 him with a smile. 
 
 It is astonishing how discontented and fastidi- 
 ous Ashley had lately become — the rooms whicli 
 he had pronounced so comfortable, while Reginald 
 was the sole occupant, were, in his eyes, strangely 
 altered — for scarcely a day passed without some 
 exchange or addition — and he was now racking 
 his brain with some architectural contrivance, 
 which would enable him to introduce a piano into 
 their rather limited quarters ; when Gretchen and 
 he had a long conference together one evening, 
 which suddenly put a stop to all further changes. 
 Helen received a small part of her wardrobe 
 soon after her departure — the remainder, with 
 many useful articles from the Priory, which 
 strictly belonged to her, were forwarded after 
 her marriage. Mrs. Templeton, aided hy Daw- 
 son, had effected this transmission — there was 
 neither leave asked nor concealment affected — 
 but they were packed and sent; whether the 
 Colonel knew it or not, did not transpire — per- 
 haps to have interfered with this, now that all 
 interference with his daughter was useless, would 
 have been a petty spite, of which even he was 
 incapable. 
 
 A few days before that appointed for their mar- 
 riage, " Helen," said Reginald, when they wera 
 alone, an unusual event, " where shall we go, 
 dearest, to spend the first week of our honey- 
 moon ?" 
 
 " Must we go anywhere away .'" she asked. 
 " Not must, but I have arranged for a week's 
 holiday — I can not spare a longer time." 
 
 " Then, dear Reginald, let us go to that pretty 
 village near Hastings, on the coast — I remember 
 driving to it once with Mrs. Loftus, when we were 
 all there for cliange of air." 
 
 *• Be it so — and we will start from the church- 
 door. Helen," he said, after a pause, " if I have 
 said but little of the circumstances into which 
 very peculiar events have forced us, it is because 
 I feel them too deeply to trust myself with any 
 
 I allusion ; and because I also feared to do or s ly 
 
 j any thing that might agitate or distress you — you 
 
 ' have understood this V 
 
 I " As well as if you had repeatedly spoken, 
 
 t Reginald — I am quite reconciled to all that hits 
 happened— why should 1 hesitate to say it? for 
 
 ! without it, I never should have been your happy 
 
 I wife." 
 
 ! '' Now bles>:ings on your dear head," replied 
 he, much touched at this mark of confidence and 
 affeciion, "for that sweet avowal. Ah! Helen, 
 if health and life be granted, how joyfully shall I 
 labor to show my gratitude for what you will bo 
 to ine— and, after all, we are not so poor as many 
 — for your mother's gift supplies all that we shall 
 actually sjieiid, and my generous friends will not 
 hear me, v.hen I talk of relinquishing their aid 
 toward my legal expenses." 
 
 " With our kind Gretchen to teach me, I shall 
 soon learn, to play Madame L'Econome, so as to 
 astonish you." 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 101 
 
 " That you do already— so you may safely re- 
 main stationary in your excellence, for I cnn not 
 love or admire you more, do what you will." 
 " We shall see," she replied. 
 Mr. Turner, the eminent lawyer with whom 
 Ashley and lleginald read, had necessarily learned 
 much of the latter"s history ; and as time made 
 him better acquainted with the worth of the two 
 friends, his interest in their welfare increased, so 
 much so, that he seized every opportunity forgiv- 
 ing them all the advantages his talents and posi- 
 tion afforded. 
 
 Considering him, as he had every right to do. a 
 sincere friend, Reginald had frankly informed him 
 of the novel circumstances in which Helen's claim 
 had placed him. 
 
 " \Vell, then, your first step will be to marry 
 this young lady ?" 
 
 " Of courss — directly I can." 
 " Do you think she would like to receive any of 
 your fi-iends, Avho have not the pleasure of yet 
 knowing her, before that event takes place .' If 
 80, my sister — I never had time to fall in love and 
 marry, I was too busy ellx)wing my way through 
 life— but my sister, as iine a specimen of an old 
 maid as ever was — but you are acquainted with 
 her — worth a whole zenana of silly wives — will 
 have great pleasure in calling on her." 
 
 "Those who visit you are not likely to over- 
 look jMiss Turner. As to Ashley, I believe he is 
 half in love with her."- 
 
 " No — you don't say so — the sly dog — and if he 
 were to offer, depend upon it he would be accepted 
 — so I must look sharp after my housekeeper." 
 
 " I strimgly ad\ise it — but though I thank you 
 for your kindness, at present. Miss Templeton 
 shrinks from all society ; but when we return — 
 for I mean to steal a week — we shall feel very 
 much gratified at any attention Miss Turner may 
 show us." 
 
 " And who gives this pretty thing away ? for 
 pretty of course she is ?" 
 
 Reginald smiled. " Ashley claims that privi- 
 lege." 
 
 " Very well ; and now that you have won her, 
 my young friend, be kind and gentle to her ; they 
 are tender and loving creatures, and God help 
 them when man does not." 
 
 It is the morning of Helen's wedding-day, and 
 there she sits in her room, looking so beautiful, 
 and waiting the arrival of Reginald and Ashley. 
 There is the carriage with them, and Gretclien, 
 half smiles, half tears, enters in her appropriate, 
 but unostentatious, dress of gray silk, Reginald's 
 gift. 
 
 " Are they come ?" said Helen. 
 " Yes, my darling, and I am here to fetch you 
 down." 
 
 Calmly Helen followed her, and on entering the 
 parlor, gave a hand to each of them ; and then 
 taking Reginald's arm, advanced toward the car- 
 riage, followed by A.shley and Gretchen. 
 
 " Do you remember," asked Ashley of Reginald, 
 " one day, when I threatened to give you Helen, 
 to remove some of your odd notions ?" 
 
 " Yes," was the reply ; "but though very dif- 
 ferently placed then, was I half m happy .'" 
 
 The ceremony is over — they leave their tried 
 friends at the church-door, so it had i)eon arranged. 
 "My wife," said Reginald, tenderly embracing 
 
 Helen. " My dear, dear husband," was the quirt 
 reply. 
 
 " And now Mrs. Stopsel," said Ashley, when 
 after a silent walk they reached the cottage, " wo 
 have not a moment to lose, if wo would succeed in 
 carrying out our little surprise. 1 fwir we must 
 limit ourselves to white-wasliing and papering, 
 but with some simple furniture in good ta.sie I 
 am sure every one will pronounce the idea a good 
 one." But in order that we may give an opiuion, 
 it is necessary to explain. 
 
 The cottage occupied by Stopsel and his wife 
 was one of those suburban villus, as the advertis- 
 ing sheet phrases it — cottage is the proper term — 
 with which the envimns of London abound ; it 
 stood detached in its own small garden, with rooms 
 on each side of the entrance. On one side was 
 Gretchen's parlor, behind that her kitciien ; on 
 the other side was a tolerably sized room, looking 
 back and front; above these were the same num- 
 ber of bed-rooms, with a tiny dressing-room over 
 tlie tiny hull. 
 
 The original proprietor had probably possessed 
 that luxury of ambitious London tradesmen, a 
 one-horse chaise, for there was accommodation for 
 both. The last occupant had been an artist— of 
 course the stable and chaise-house, as such, were 
 useless to him ; but he had turned the latter into 
 a painting-room, lighted from the roof, and though 
 the change was done economically, the result was 
 a very snug and cosy scudio— but the access was 
 from the garden, and during the time the Stcipsels 
 had lived there, it was used entirely as a lumber- 
 room. 
 
 On this Ashley had cast eyes of desire ; a door 
 could so easily be opened from the present largo 
 sitting-room into it — and though this would make 
 a sort of passage-way of the former, so much would 
 be gained by tlie addition of another apartment, 
 that that objection had but little weight. 
 
 This, therefore, was to be dedicated to Helen 
 and her piano — and as Ashley spent money as if 
 he had found Fortunatus' purse, when cleaned, 
 papered, and furnished, it looked so pretty as to 
 bid fair to become a great favorite. 
 
 And so Ashley's wliim was indulged, and when 
 the absentees returned, he was richly repaid by the 
 unqualified admiration they expre.ssjd. 
 
 " This, dear Helen," said Ashley," is my railenu 
 de muriaf^e ; and this," saluting her, " is my re- 
 ward." 
 
 " Oh, Reginald, oh, Ashley," she replied, turn- 
 ing her sweet face from one to the other, " lunv 
 rich we are in the be.-<t of treasures —dear hus- 
 band and dear brother, in gaining one I have 
 gained both." 
 
 And how eloquent was her next letter to her 
 mother, when, speaking of her happ!ne.s,s, alloyed 
 only by separation from her and Con^stance, she 
 dwelt in glowing terms on .Vshl'.y s kindncs.?, 
 Ashley's generosity ; till Mrs. TemplL'ton, who re.ad 
 the letter to GonsUmce, remarked, " Ashley, 
 almost aa often as Reginald." 
 
102 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIY. 
 
 "L"' cipl dont nous voyons que I'ordre est lout piii.'sant, 
 Pour diirferrnis fm|.|om n..Uf folir q'lf fii naissaiil ; 
 Et tiiui e»|iril nVsi |.asc mcosfe li'uiie fet ff^-, 
 Q'li 8e irouve laill6e & faire uu phil'>su|ihe. 
 Lc mien est fail, ma goeur, pour allcr terre & teire." 
 
 MOLIEEB. 
 
 " And it is then true that you have accepted 
 *^ord Hurstwoo"! ?' said her mother, when Cecilia 
 told her .. f his ofiFer. 
 
 " Yes, mamma, and I hope neither you nor 
 papa will see cause to reject him." 
 
 " You know but little of his character or tem- 
 per, Cecilia," said lier mother, looking unusually 
 grave; "and 1 own I have been accustomed to 
 rank him among those who are rather lax in their 
 principles on many subjects." 
 
 " 1 have no doubt but that, while he was young, 
 he was led by the fashion ; but when we were in 
 Italy, the theater of his early diplomatic career, 
 he was always spoken of with respect — certainly 
 not as free from all vice— but as one whose con- 
 duct had never given rise to .any one of those ter- 
 rible scandals which disgrace the lives of many of 
 his cotemporaries. As to his temper, I sincerely 
 believe that to be excellent — for he was much at 
 the Priory, and there were many occasions when, 
 I must say, I think uncle Lionel rather tried it." 
 
 '• Well, my dear, you have plenty of sense, and 
 have a right to judge for yourself in this matter. 
 In point of rank and wealth this is beyond our 
 utmost ambition ; and if you think j-^ou can be 
 happy, you have our consent and blessing." 
 
 " 1 have no doubt of being happy as Lord 
 Hurstwood's wife," she replied, confidently, 
 "thou'jh many would not feel so secure. I am 
 no*, romantic — he is amiable; for, with respect to 
 Eden, I think he was shamefully ill-used, I am 
 no longer in my fii-st youth — charming sixteen is 
 now seen from a distant point of view." continued 
 sue, laughing ; " and to tell you the truth, dear 
 mamma, I have lately thought a good deal about 
 my future prospects. Were I not the Honorable 
 Miss Gi-jinthprn, it would be very ditferent, for I 
 have sufficient sense ami moderation to reduce my 
 wants to my means ; and, as a poor man's child, 
 could live on very scanty ones, or work in order 
 to increase them; but a poor nobleman's daughter 
 is 8o <lifferent — the shackles of rank interfere with 
 freedom of action, turn which way you will; and 
 I should not like to eke out a slender income, by 
 annually visiting from one relative or friend to 
 another, till 1 become a new kind of income-tax." 
 
 " That is true, Cecilia ; and though Henry has 
 acted most gi-nerously. and never forgets either 
 you or his brothers— for Alfred still needs help— 
 his own family have claims upon him " 
 
 " Henry is a real nubleman," was the sister's 
 energetic reply. " You sigh, dear mamma, but I 
 assure you. without cause; I am neither a victim 
 nor a sacrifice. Think how much better off I am 
 than many girls in my station. I by no means 
 dislike Lord Hurstwood — on the contrary, I be- 
 lieve I could very easily love him ; and when I 
 think how often I have seen you look grave and 
 careful, when any extraordinary expense has been 
 needful, surely you must bo glad to know that 
 this, at least, will not be my trial." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, I certainly do not wish you 
 
 to have the anxieties I have had ; they have some- 
 times, perhaps, made me over-bold in asking favoi-s 
 for my children ; and your affectionate and ener- 
 getic character will find a more suitable sphere of 
 action among family claims than in single blessed- 
 ness ; still there is your aunt Lucy, of a noble 
 family like yourself, and yet unmarried." 
 
 " The cases are not similar ; aunt Lucy has 
 fortune enough to live quite independently, in- 
 ! deed, to spare tor others, as we have good reason 
 I to know ; and then, from the fact, that she has 
 ' refused several excellent offers, preferring to re- 
 I main fiiithful to the memory of her gallant lover, 
 ' she has become a sort of romance, such as I never 
 could become. Now I firmly intend to do my duty 
 by Lord Hurstwood, and make him as happj' as I 
 can. I am grateful to him, and I shall let him 
 see it." 
 
 " Y'^ou are right, my dear," said her mother, 
 stifling a sigh, " happy you must make any one 
 you live with ; and such gratitude as yours is no 
 bad substitute for love." 
 
 And when Lord Hyrstwood came, he was very 
 soon most favorably impressed with all he saw in 
 the family of his bride-elect, and in his turn was 
 equally well received. Under such circumstances 
 his suit prospered ; the preparations for the wed- 
 ding were hastened as much as possible ; and in 
 less than two months after her quiet marriage, 
 Helen read an account of her cousin's splendid 
 nuptials, in the paper, with a paragraph especially 
 dedicated to description and millinery — among 
 the list of company were the names of the two 
 chief bridesmaids. Miss Sinclair and Miss Temple- 
 ton, relatives, so the paper said, of the beautiful ' 
 bride. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton, with Constance and Lauretto, 
 remained for a week at Grantham after the wed- 
 ding. Lord and Lady Hurstwood went to a small 
 property his Lordship had in Wales; and they 
 meant, on their return to the Hall, to give a se- 
 ries of parties. 
 
 In order to be ready for a full share in these, 
 by being somewhere at Seabrooke, Lauretto took i 
 this O23portuuity of spending the interval with tlie i 
 Westroughs. It was further settled, that they ' I 
 .should all travel north when Hubert departed, J 
 for she had made such a point of the Templetons f 
 visiting Scotland, that she obtained her uncle's 
 consent, and silenced her aunt's objections by in- 
 sisting so much on the benefit they would all de- 
 rive, that, at last. Mrs. Templeton was induced 
 to think it her duty to give Constance an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing a little more of society before she 
 married. 
 
 This visit to Grantham, the first she had made 
 for years, had much gratified Mrs. Temjileton ; 
 and coming as it did, when her health had been 
 so shaken by recent trials, its beneficial effects 
 went far to strengthen the arguments Lauretto 
 brought forward, and reconciled her to a further 
 journey. Besides, the bustle and excitement of 
 Cecilia's marriage, which forced her thoughts into 
 a fresh and cheerful channel, were of permanent 
 advantage. 
 
 Lady Grantham, who, in the midst of so much 
 to claim her exclusive attention, never forgot 
 others, learned from her sister-in-law many par- 
 ticulars that deeply affected and interested her, 
 and though, of course, the part Lord Hurstwood 
 
THI-: WJFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 103 
 
 had had in the affair -was lightly and delicately 
 elluded to ; and thougli there was no contidencc 
 respecting the steps she herself had taken in 
 Helen's flight, this was so evident to her Lady- 
 ship, that, when she subsequently fultilled her 
 mise to see Helen, she frankly alluded to it. 
 jord Grantham oti'ered his services as mediator 
 •ween Colonel Templeton and the young couple ; 
 jut his sister declined, for the same reasons whicli 
 had induced her to refuse Doctor Vernon's inter- 
 ference—namely, her conviction that it would be 
 useless, and might be injurious. At present, she | 
 could correspond with Helen —she could also, 
 through Mrs. Vernon, who sometimes took a peep 
 at Ashk^y ;ind London, have tliose personal re- 
 ports which she so pined to verify with her own 
 eyes ; but fierce and vehement as had been her 
 husband's denunciations against any who pre- 
 sumed to disobey his prohibition, he had been 
 contented with apparent submission ; and with a 
 levity which characterized him, had probably \ 
 C^sed to remember or care for the chasm which 
 his violence had made in their small circle, j 
 Therefore his wife said, " Let me not risk what I 
 have in trying to obtain more. Helen is happy, j 
 and I am learning to be resigned." i 
 
 The return of the Lord and Lady to Hurstwood 
 was preparatory to a series of such gayeties as 
 had not enlivened the neighborhood for years. 
 Lady Dallas said she was ready to cry because 
 Ada, her eldest daughter, was not old enough to 
 share in them - but apparently she reconsidered 
 the matter, and enjoyed herself enough for botli. 
 
 The hall was filled with noble and fashionable 
 guests, ready to join in any scheme of pleasure 
 and amusement, and amiable to exti'act both out 
 of all that was ofF.Tel. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the polished courtesy of 
 his Lordship — nothing disturbed or rufiled the 
 sweet temper of her Ladyship or banished her 
 charming smile — they both seemed as happy as 
 their best friends could desire ; and their popu- 
 larity lost nothing by the frank condescension of 
 their manner. 
 
 The Forresters, careless of wealth or new titles, 
 ■were worshipers of old nobility ; and as the 
 Hurstwood nil me had become, from first to last, 
 antique enough even for them, a feeble ray of this 
 splendor fell on Constance ; and the cousin of 
 L.idy Hurstwood was allowed to hide the sister 
 of therun-away Helen. 
 
 Hubert liad made various excuses for delaying 
 his departure, to which Mr. Morton had kindly | 
 yielded ; but when he saw that indulgence led 
 only to further delay, he said that either Hubert 
 must accompany Victor at once, or the latter must 
 sail without him. This, and Victor's profound 
 remark, tliat the sooner he left the sooner he 
 would return, decided the matter ; and a few 
 'months after their engagement, Hubert and Con- 
 stance parted — but not before arrangements had i 
 been made fur a regular correspondence — at wliich ; 
 Mr. Morton laughed, dryly remarking, that in ; 
 addition to the uncertainty of winds and waves, 
 must be added tliat of scarcely knowing their own 
 destination till they reached it — for Victor's ob- 
 ject was not entirely pleasure — he was intrusted 
 with some important commissions from Mr. Mor- 
 ton, with which his mercantile career would ter- 
 minate. ' 
 
 Cecilia very much wished that Constance would 
 spend a short time with her after Hubert's de- 
 parture, for as the Hull was now thinned of its 
 late gay and festive throng, she could devote 
 herself more exclusively to iier amusement; hut 
 she never could be persuaded to leave hernioilier, 
 though tlie latter seconded Cecilia's kind invita- 
 tion. " I will come over as soon as you like, for 
 the day," said she ; " but I can not leave mamma 
 to the care of any one else — not even. the kind 
 llectorites." 
 
 Claiming, therefore, this promise, Cecilia one 
 day drove out to fetch lier, and on their return 
 noticed, at one of the lodge-gates, a small j.ony- 
 ch.iise. Supposing, if she supposed at nil about 
 what did not concern her, that it belonged to some 
 one there on business, she passed on, and about 
 five minutes' drive brought within their view the 
 figure of some one, very smartly dressed, walking 
 in the direction of tlie flower-garden. 
 
 " Who is that," asked Cecilia, " who seems t» 
 know the place better than the regulations .•" 
 
 But Constance, who did not recognize the gay 
 shawl and tasty bonnet, shook her head. 
 
 '• It is Miss Mordaunt, my Lady," said the 
 groom, in reply to iier Ladysliip's look. 
 
 " Ride on then." was the order, given very 
 coolly, " and inform her that this is private prop- 
 erty, and show her the warning against intruders, 
 as you see her out.'' 
 
 Juliet, it was really she whose artless simplicity 
 had exposed her to this rebuff, heard the order 
 with burning indignation ; and her face became 
 crimson as she also heard the quick canter of the 
 groom hastening to obey. 
 
 "Beg pardon, Miss, but this is private prop- 
 erty," said he, civilly. 
 
 And tiiere being no altcrnntive but for her to 
 retrace her steps, she turned to do so, swelling 
 with mortification and rage ; and thus saw who 
 was the companion of the Lady Paramount, and 
 the witness of her humiliation. If she could have 
 cast Constance under the wlieels of lier cousin's 
 elegant equipage, or under those of her own little 
 vehicle, it was evident that she would have done 
 it with tlie pleasure or indifl'erence of a Tullia, so 
 malignant was tlie glance she darted — as, closely 
 followed by the groom, she swept by. 
 
 Wholly indift'erent to her love or hate, Lady 
 Hurstwood, without vouchsafing tlie least remark, 
 calmly drove on— not so the gentle Juliet. The 
 pretty pony, a great favorite with Mrs. Captain, 
 was made to feel the young lady's woes, by sun- 
 dry lashes and switches, till lashed and switched 
 beyond even a pony's endurance, he flew along so 
 as to leave no c.iu.se for urging ; and Juliet, now 
 rising to lash out tlie fury she had lashed in, and 
 to beat him into a sober pace, was jerked out — 
 and while the lad wlio was with her kdl into some 
 soft mud, and escaped with a whole skin but torn 
 habiliments, she not only spoiled her gay attire, 
 but for a long time her pretty f ice, wh:cli liad an 
 ugly wound on the cheek, was obliged to be 
 eclipsed by a prolusion of ringlets — too profuse lo 
 be becoming. 
 
 Nor was this all; for wliile her tender mother 
 was busy plastering up tlie wound and bathing 
 the bruises, she, who had learned from her muddy 
 servant what had happened, seized the opportunity 
 of administering a little healing to the mind and 
 
104 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 feelings which were evidently ill disposed and out 
 of order; or this model youug lady would never 
 have exposed herself to an ignominious ejectment 
 as a trespasser ; but, like medicine invariably, 
 this was so unpalatable, that the patient was re- 
 fractory, and refused to swallow it quietly ; and 
 was then threatened, like a naughty child, with 
 her uncle's displeasure — which proved no empty 
 threat, but a very unpleasant reaUty, so that for 
 some time the agent's abode was not wholly ten- 
 anted by peace and love^for while mother and 
 daughter, " likesweet ie//f « jangling out of tune," 
 tarried on their wordy warfare, " fell discord 
 reigned, and fury dire." 
 
 Juliet, who. by some process of ratiocination 
 peculiar to those who are pupils of the green-eyed 
 monster, considered Constance as the cause of this 
 disgrace, secretly vowed to visit all these mishaps 
 on her unconscious head. She had always hated 
 her with a vindictive and peculiar hatred ; and 
 now this rival — yes, such was her insane pre- 
 sumption — though partly Hubert's fault — this 
 successful rival, who had witnessed the insult, 
 should pay dearly for all she now suffered. 
 
 Self-willed and daring, however, as she was, 
 Juliet would hardly have ventured on such a 
 proceeding as that of intruding on the Hurstwood 
 grounds, had she not heard that the noble owners 
 had gone to spend the day at some distance — for 
 she had both sense and pride enough to avoid his 
 Lordship after the unceremonious stop he had put 
 to their floricultural meetings — and it was by the 
 invitation of the head gardener's son, who gave 
 her the information, that she had taken this occa- 
 sion to go for some flowers and fruit which he had 
 also promised her. But Lord Hurstwood liad gone 
 alone — her Ladyship, as we see, went to the Priory 
 for Constance. 
 
 Nor was this the only indignity the roving hab- 
 its of those young scions of the Mordaunt family 
 brought on themselves. 
 
 Augustus, whose education was carried on in 
 France, had returned to Seabrooke for a long 
 holiday. He had always been greatly disliked, 
 on account of his impudent air of assumption, his 
 mischievous propensities, and many other habits, 
 the result of his mother's foolish indulgence. 
 
 Gradually Mrs. Captain's original popularity 
 faded away, and there were now very few in the 
 village who cared to be on terms of intimacy with 
 her. But as she often had very tine friends from 
 London, whom she visited in return, this, she did 
 not pine about. Augustus soon found out his 
 sister's secrets, among others, her clandestine and 
 frequent drives to the Hall ; and threatening to 
 tell his mother of this, and slyly alluding to 
 Hubert also, she fell into his power, which, as was 
 to be expected, he used like a tyrant. He made 
 her introduce him to the Hall, meaning the lodges 
 and garden, and once there, he was soon intimate 
 with the stable-yard and its inhabitants, horses, 
 dogs, men, and boys. 
 
 One of the men had promised to give him a 
 capital little ♦errier, and Augustus was fre- 
 quently there to watch and overlook the edu- 
 cation of the little animal ; but when the family 
 returned, he received a hint to make himself 
 scarce. 
 
 Now ns the sisters three ordained, a few days 
 after Juliet's expulsion, which she had entreated 
 
 her mother not to mention to him, he was loung- 
 ing along the Hurstwood private drive, whistling, 
 with his hands in his pockets, in rather a low, 
 
 I r.iffish style, and making his way to>¥ard the 
 stables, wlien the trot of iiorses' fi'et wjirned him 
 that he liad chosen an uufavorabie time for at- 
 tending the quadruped school. He turned his 
 head and saw her Ladyship s htile p.irk phaeton 
 advancing at a smart p:ice, and turning :i corner, 
 which would bring him in full bight. Quick as 
 thought, he darted under a wide-spreading tree; 
 but my lady's eyes were as quick as his feet — 
 she had seen him ihroiigh a sudden opening; and 
 really thinking he was sume mischievous boy who 
 had come after the bird;*, which she had given 
 strict orders to hfve unmolested, slia drove to 
 the spot, where the supposed delinquent fancied 
 himself safely concealed, and handing her whip 
 to the servant who attended her desired him to 
 make the offender feel her verbal commands, as 
 he had not attended to tlie painted ones 
 
 The man who related this and the forn^r 
 scene, in which he had also taken part, to his 
 fellow-servants and a few cliauce listenei-s, de- 
 clared " he was ready to burst with inside l.iugh- 
 ter to see her Ladyship handling the rihtons so 
 coolly and cleverly, while he turned out the 
 
 [ agent's fine-gentleman nephew, who ran like 
 lightning, when he cracked the wliip. just," he 
 
 j said, with a knowing wink, and laying Ins fin- 
 ger along his nose, " to obey my huly ;" but 
 
 I some knew better — antl that he was not .--nrry to 
 pay an installment of a grudge he owed the 
 agent for by-gone favors. 
 
 Be this as it may, Augustus took to his heels, 
 inwardly vowing he would never be so caught 
 
 j again ; while still all-unconscious that she had 
 offered a fresh affront to the Mordaunt escutcli- 
 
 ! eon, Ladj' Hurstwood drove abuut park and 
 
 j country, looking so handsome and so happy, that 
 many who had shaken their heads wiien ihey 
 heard of the projected marriage, were now 
 among the loudest to declare they had always 
 thought she was just the wife to suit his Lord- 
 ship, and he the husband to suit her. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 " Why, how now. Madam Flirt? 
 If you must thus chatter. 
 And are for flingini;: dirt, 
 Let's try who bt-s can spatter, 
 Madam Flirt '!" 
 
 BtggarH Opera. 
 
 Now Mrs. Sims kept the little haberdashery 
 shop at Seabrooke, whence emanated almost all 
 the finery and fashion worn by those of the fem- 
 inine gender in the village who ranked below 
 the " county families." , Mrs. Curtis, the doc- 
 tor's wife, for instance, was a constant custom- 
 er ; all the substantial and wealthy farmers' 
 wives patronized her wares ; and as she was also 
 mother to the only drossmnker the place boasted 
 of, she was a person who tliuught she had aright 
 to hold up her head witli the best. 
 
 Her younger daughter, Betsey, helped in the 
 shop, as well as in the work-room. Ann, or a« 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 105 
 
 she thought proper to be called since her visit to 
 Loudon, for the purpose of being " finished oif," 
 Miss Annie, 'presided over the millinery and 
 gown depiirtmcnt. and altogether they ■\vere an 
 industrious and very respectable family. 
 
 There was always a kind of deferential man- 
 ner observed by them toward the housekeepers 
 and ladies' maids of the "families" and their 
 guests ; for the patronage of these prin^ min- 
 isters was well worth securing — as it frequently 
 gave them the honor of a visit from the ladies 
 themselves ; while Mrs. and Miss Vernon and the 
 Priory young ladies, who often spent money 
 there, were cited by the whole ftimily as "your 
 real nobility— none of your uppish sort, who are 
 afraid of being civil to those of a lower rank than 
 themselves " 
 
 When first j\Irs. Captain Mordaunt and all her 
 grand silks and fashions appeared, she created as 
 much commotion and sensation in this little village 
 sphere as the discovery of a new planet among 
 savants, and as her aim was to become popular, 
 80 it was her cue to be aifable, gracious, conde- 
 scending, and chatty. She occasionally showed 
 Ann Sims her dresses and finery, before she per- 
 mitted the profane eyes of the public to have 
 that pleasure ; all the wealth of Juliet's ward- 
 tobe was also spread out before her admiring 
 gaze ; and in return, the latter, who, though 
 well supplied vnth money, never had any to 
 spare, would often have a ribbon or neckerchief 
 a real bargain, now and then, indeed, a present. 
 
 Gradually the intimacy increased — and when 
 it reached the zenith, like other more movable 
 things, gradually it declined. 
 
 Mrs. Sims, it is true, kept up an appearance 
 of civility, quoting a proverb to the butcher's 
 wife, her great crony, about "holding a candle 
 to somebody — " the rest was lost in nods and 
 winks, which the butcher's wife seemed fully to 
 comprehend. But she no longer allowed Betsey 
 to walk about with Juliet, nor Ann to take tea 
 6(1 often with Mrs. Captain ; adroitly freeing her- 
 sidf from the dilemma, by saying, her girls had 
 their honest living to gain, and must not be 
 spoiled by associating with those who were dif- 
 ferent from them ; all which excuses were gra- 
 ciously accepted, and the little equivoque inter- 
 preted as a compliment— till, after a long absence, 
 Mrs. Captain found, on her return with Juliet, 
 that her popularity had suffered — her influence 
 was on the wane — she was no longer booked to 
 win on the favorite — in short, people looked 
 askance. 
 
 Various causes had combined to produce this 
 effect — rumors of a very unfavorable character 
 were rife ; and Colonel Templeton's frequent vis- 
 its had become the talk of all— the agent was 
 disliked for his conduct about the farms, and 
 Other acts of petty tyranny and insolence. Au- 
 gustus, who had been spending his holidays 
 there, was the very head and front of all the low 
 mischief that took place. Juliet angled too 
 openly for Victor or Hubert, and was pro- 
 nounced a bold, confident minx by all prudent 
 mothers, in the hearing of their daughters ; and 
 above all, and to crown all, Mrs. Captain, just 
 before her departure, had had some very fine 
 friends, very fine indeed, staying with her, and 
 she had neither called on any one with them, nor 
 
 invited any one to call on them ; though Ihoy 
 went driving about, day after day, who but 
 "they .' So coolness grew to silent contempt, and 
 that at length burst into speaking impertinence 
 — the tongue is truly an unruly member, esjie- 
 cially a woman's — and looks and tossings of the 
 head spoke with an eloquence peculiar to them- 
 selves; and there wanted now but one move to 
 cry " checkmate," and open a breach that couM 
 never^be closed — it was the few last grains which 
 broke the camel's back — the rose-leaf which 
 made the cup run over ; and when things arc 
 thus over-ripe, the gentlest zephyr shakes them 
 down. 
 
 So it happened, that when Mrs. Captain en- 
 tered the little shop, about a week after Augus- 
 tus had fled from the crack of the whip, Mrs. 
 Sims, at first, hardly recognized her ! 
 
 " Oh ! Mrs. Mordaunt," she said, at length, 
 looking over her spectacles, but still not rising 
 — but that might be because Betsey was at her 
 post, and it would be needless for two to wait on 
 one customer. " And what can we possibly show 
 you?" a slight emphasis, in a very dry tone. 
 
 Now all this was remarkably ungrateful of 
 Mrs. Sims, for Mrs. Captain had come for some 
 common calico, which she knew she should find 
 there as cheap and good as in any great town — 
 besides, she began to feel that the loss of her 
 popularity was not an affair to be pooh-poohed 
 as if she had mislaid an old glove — and she de- 
 termined to see what she could do so as to regain 
 it — at any rate, in part. For this purpose she 
 had arranged a round of shoppings which should 
 bring her into contact with many of her former 
 worshipers, whom she resolved, by wheedling or 
 bullying, by flattering or frightening, to bring 
 back to the old faith. 
 
 She therefore had, in a most amiable mood, 
 entered the shop of her once most bigoted con- 
 vert, Mrs. Sims. But, alas ! how little encour- 
 agement does virtue receive ! a melancholy truth, 
 as she was destined to experience ; for, justly 
 provoked at this unbecoming behavior in a paltry 
 village shopkeeper — she cast her good intentions 
 to the winds and took her revenge instead. 
 
 " I dare say I have come on a hopeless er- 
 rand," she said with a scornful smile, while her 
 large bright eyes looked disdaiulully around, 
 " for I was silly enough to think 1 might, by 
 chance, match this ribbon," daintily touching the 
 strings of her fashionable bonnet. 
 
 " Betsey," said her motlier, coloring, and 
 speaking sharply, "hand down those ribbons Ju- 
 liet was pulling about the other day, though she 
 could not afford to buy any." 
 
 " Do you mean Miss Mordaunt .'" asked Mrs. 
 Captain, with assumed indifference and calmness. 
 
 " Yes, I mean your girl, your daughter, I sup- 
 pose, Juliet f" 
 
 " You are more free than welcome," was the 
 dignified rebuke; "the day, I think, is long 
 long enough for Miss Juliet Mordaunt." 
 
 " 1 do not know that it is, unless I choose to 
 think so as well," was the tart reply ; " at any 
 rate. Lord Hurstwood's grooms do not think so." 
 
 " Woman, are you mad .'" cried the incensed 
 half of the defunct hero, lier black eyes glaring. 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Sims, half closing hers, 
 pursing up her mouth, and nodding her head 
 
106 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 with short and quick nods, like some China Joss 
 in a pa'ssion — " neither mad nor bad ;" and she 
 tiieu tossed her head back, and drew iier breath 
 with a signi'ticant "hem!' as much as to say, 
 " rhyme lor you now, presently, if you provoke 
 me, you shall have reason ;" and, almost restored 
 to her usual good temper by the discovery ol' this 
 latent talent lor poetry, which surprised her as 
 much as .M. Jourd.iin was, when he found he had 
 unknowingly been talking prose all his life, 
 she repealed: "Neither mad nor bad — nor my 
 daughters either. Thank goodness ! / run no 
 risk of the ducking-stool, nor my girls of being 
 horsewliipped out of the Hall grounds, as your 
 line miss was one day — and your nest-stealing 
 boy the next." 
 
 " Now this passes patience," began Mrs. Cap- 
 ^tain; but Mrs. Sims, to use her own expression 
 *wheu relating the scene, was up, both figura- 
 tively and literally, as, walking from behind the 
 counter, the better to confront her antagonist, 
 she said, " It had not need — for you will want a 
 jjretty large stock of that same commodity, Mrs. 
 Wliat's-your-naiue, before you and yours have 
 run out your rigs — look after your brazen bag- 
 gage at home, and stop her from looking after all 
 lUe men, from the young "squire of the Hill, to 
 the horse-boy at the Hall— look after that rogue 
 in the shell, your impudent varlet of a son. Ask 
 ■what i.s thought of you and your master, and you 
 will need plenty of patience — patience, indeed" — 
 the very word was s\iggestive of her own waste 
 of this virtue—" and 1 tell you what, get out of 
 wy linucst, decent place directly, and never show 
 yttur imjiudont face here to an honest man's hon- 
 est widow and her decent girls, or 111 send for 
 the beadle to turn you out." 
 
 It would be impossible for words to convey a 
 just idea of the rage which literally made Mrs. 
 Captain i»peecliless during this long and remorse- 
 less harangue; she pressed with such uncon- 
 scious, but uncontrollable violence on the top of 
 a small glass case, which contained some choice 
 specimens of the trade, that she crushed it right 
 through, severely wounding her hand. Then, 
 roused by the pain to recollection, and the use 
 of her tongue, and bursting with passion, she 
 glared at the fiery little shoike-per, and shaking 
 her fist, said, with a look that would have struck 
 her down, could looks ever do so — " Bitterly shall 
 you rue this insolence, you detestable, trumpery 
 old woman ! I'll have my foot on your neck 
 yet ;" iind she banged the door with such fury, 
 that the meek little bell, which rarely emitted 
 more than a "very humble tinkle, was so terrified 
 at iis own unu.sual clamor, that it shook fur more 
 than five minutes after the fierce assault it had 
 sustained; during which time the roused Ama- 
 zon had hastened home, and vented her fury on 
 all who approached, and especially on Juliet, 
 wiiom she considered the chief cause of this au- 
 dacious attack. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 " Till- bl.ickest Ink of Fale w.is sure my lot, 
 
 ' ii'l when she writ my uame, she o ailc « blot." 
 
 Tlw. Jie/ii-urml. 
 
 How truly might Helen tell her mother that 
 
 there was but one cloud in her bright sky, and 
 ■ that was, that they never met. 
 ; How industrious was this sweet young wife 
 about her small domain — how eager to become 
 acquainted with all the mysteries of housekeep- 
 ing — how anxious to arrange every thing for 
 Reginald's comfort — dear Reginald ! how was it 
 possible to do too much for him ? She only feared 
 he nemv could understand how deeply, how de- 
 votedly she loved him. And then the pretty little 
 I air of independence with which she transacted her 
 affairs, and the look of experience she tried to as- 
 sume while supplying the household wants — .-;ome- 
 j, times, spite of herself, obliged to refer to Gretchen 
 I — and above all, the demure matronly sternness 
 she would affect, when she allowed herself the 
 pleasure of walking out alone, to meet that hus- 
 band so beloved, when he returned home : and the 
 handsome face, with its deep loving eyes that then 
 I met her, and richly repaid her all, with a look 
 I and smile that told of undiminished affection. 
 Ah ! mother ! ah ! Constance ! all this was a 
 loss to you. 
 
 Ashley was their frequent guest— indeed, he 
 said he was so happy when with them, that they 
 must turn him out when he came too often. 
 
 " Too often, brother Ashley !" said Helen : 
 " what do you take us for, that you talk such 
 nonsense ?" 
 
 " Not such nonsense as Reginald was talking 
 as he came hither ; but of this, Helen, you shall 
 be judge. You need not look ready to challenge 
 me,' he continued, as Reginald made a gesture 
 of impatience ; " this then it is. He has receivei/ 
 an invitation from Mr. Lester, the publi.'^her, to 
 meet a few literary men at dinner, and meditates 
 a refusal, because jou can not accompany him." 
 " It is rather difficult, dear Helen,"' said Kcgi 
 nald, «■ to make all this quite clear to you— bu 
 Ashley is too precipitate in saying I meditated a 
 refusal ; I merely hesitated till I could consult 
 you." 
 
 " If you hesitated because you doubted my 
 cheerful acquiescence in any plan you think right, 
 hesitate no longer. I am the wile of a profession- 
 al and literary man,"' she said, Avith.a look of 
 pride exceedingly becoming, so thought Reginald ; 
 " and it would be as absurd for me to think of 
 going with you to every dinner-party, as to go 
 with you to Westminster Hall or the printing ot- 
 fice. No, dear husband, let me help, not mar, 
 your prospects." 
 
 '• Help, you most assuredly do," Avas his reply, 
 " and therefore I shall go." 
 
 True to his promise, Mr. Turner expressed a 
 wish to his sister that she would call on Mrs. 
 West, a wish she lost no time in gratifying ; ami 
 on her return gave him such an account of the 
 vision of beauty she had seen, that he laughingly 
 told this to Reginald, and requested permission to 
 pay his respects to this fair prize also — a permis- 
 sion the proud husband readily gave ; and as the 
 discerning old genflleman was as much pleased 
 with her intelligence, as his sister with her beau- 
 ty, a most friendly succession of calls followe<l ; 
 and though Helen, on many accounts, declined 
 entering much into society, she was pleased to 
 have secured so sensible an acquaintance as Mis> 
 Turner proved to be. 
 The Westroughs, who had made common cause 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 107 
 
 with Reginald, -vThon Lord Ernest's marriage had 
 su suddenly blighted his prospects, were particu- 
 larly friendly. • 
 
 AVheu parliamentary duties required his Lord- 
 ship to be near London, they resided at Hendon, 
 on aecount of the delicate health of Lady West- 
 rough and one of her daughters. The latter, 
 good-tempered girls, often drove "ver to fetch 
 Helen to spend the morning at their pretty villa, 
 Trhence she always returned loaded with fruit 
 and flowers. 
 
 The youngest was the invalid ; the second, with 
 whom, at one time, it was hoped Reginald might 
 be smitten, was now engaged to a middle-aged 
 but wealthy Baronet ; the eldest. Lady Louisa, 
 rumor said, had been slighted by one who had 
 professed love— she was thirty ; but, spite of her 
 age and disappointment, was cheerful and ami- 
 able, and especially disposed to show Helen any 
 attentions the latter might find agreeable. 
 j '• 1 have had a visit from Stacey," said Ashley, 
 [one day, to Ueginald, when the latter returned 
 tfrom an interview with Mr. Lester. 
 
 ■' And what has the man of genius been doing 
 all this time .'" 
 
 " You remember my telling you that I called 
 at Kensington a few weeks after we dined with 
 him — but he had not returned from his noble 
 friends house. As it is too far to go merely for 
 the ceremony of leaving a card, I wrote to say I 
 should be glad to know when he returned, as I 
 had a fQw friends to whom I should like to intro- 
 duce him ; but as my note remained unanswered, 
 I concluded they were still away — indeed, your 
 auaa-s so claimed attention, that I rarely thought 
 of him. This morning he called ; they have 
 changed their residence, and have temporary 
 lodgings near Portman Square. But I can not 
 help fearing that all is not right with him. Stacey 
 never asked me to call — seemed dreadfully out of 
 spirits, and when I asked after Mrs. Stacey, he 
 replied, ' Oh, poor Susan is not very well ;' alto- 
 gL'ther, I do not like the look of it." 
 
 •• What is to be done .'" asked Reginald. 
 
 " I hardly know ; he, however, promised to call 
 or write when they were settled ; but I have a 
 suspicion, which makes me uncomfortable about 
 the gay, thoughtless fellow." 
 
 " I shall see Lester again before I go home," 
 said Reginald; '-of course I shall not inquire; 
 but he may say something, as I know ."^tacey | 
 owes him several articles for his magazine, and i 
 the conclusion of a poem began months ago. [ 
 Stacey has had the money, but how or when 
 Lester will have the rhyme is another and doubt- j 
 ful matter ; and I know he is rather irritated at 
 having so often to apologize to the public for a 
 delay in the conclusion of more than one con- 
 tribution." 
 
 Ashley was quite right in his suspicions— Stacey 
 and his wife paid a round of visits to one fa.shion- 
 able mansion after another, till both felt the ne- 
 cessity of returning to replenish their purse and 
 renew their tinery ; though how this was to be 
 done, neither of them well knew ; and on reaching 
 the villa the difficulty was rather alarmingly in- '• 
 creased, for they found a man in possession, and- 
 another ready for Stacey, who was, in a summary j 
 manner, conveyed to the lock-up house, till the 
 debt for which he was arrested should be paid. | 
 
 The landlord had wi'itten several letters de- 
 manding payment of the rent, of v,fnch now 
 nearly three months was due ; these Stacey said 
 he had never received, though it was ditliiult to 
 convince a man of regular business habits that 
 such was the truth. Probably they had been 
 forwarded ; but the movements of the Staceya 
 were so uncertain, that even that was doubtful. 
 There was little in the villa that did not already 
 belong to the landlord — tradesmen all round now 
 rose en masse; the livery-stable keeper was furi- 
 ous, and poor Mrs. Stacey, terrified and weeping, 
 accompanied her husband, till some other shelter 
 could be provided. 
 
 He wrote to some of his friends who were in 
 town — to this appeal some, once more, responded ; 
 a compromise was etfected, a second floor engaged, 
 and the rent paid in advance. They had been 
 there a fortnight, and Stacey was now really 
 busy and in earnest ; ha%'ing already propitiated 
 the justly angry publisher by completing one of 
 the unfinished articles. 
 
 Such, in substance, was Mr. Lester's report, 
 which he felt it no breach of confidence to make 
 to Reginald ; but he did not then know that Mrs. 
 Stacey, ill and frightened at the new scene of life 
 in which she had to sustain a sad part, had been 
 confined that very day, and so unexpectedly, that 
 she and her infant were but very scantily sup- 
 phed with what both so much needed. 
 " This additional information Ashley learned the 
 next morning from Stacey, who, really fond of 
 his wife, came to him in a state bordering on dis- 
 traction. Ashley, always prompt in kindness, 
 placed a check in Stacey's hand, went to Mr. 
 Turner, and briefly saying that Miss Turner's 
 help was now sadly needed, asked permission to 
 apply to her in this emergency. 
 
 '• Go to her yourself; 1 have hardly time to 
 speak to you just now," he replied, scarcely rais- 
 ing his eyes from a paper he was reading. 
 
 And Ashley did go; and before night another 
 room — it was but an attic— was prcp.ired, a nur.se 
 engaged, and several other comforts supplied, 
 " till, ' as Miss Turner said, " they could . ee their 
 way." 
 
 Stacey, poor fellow, worked unremittingly; and 
 though he said, wit.i tears in his eyes, that .sorrow 
 and anxiety left no room for wit, he proved that 
 the two former - unwelcome guests though they 
 be in a man s bosom — could spur and stimulate 
 him to some purpose ; and that if they bullied and 
 hectored so as to scare wit and hunior, they were 
 rare magnets in attracting industry and perse- 
 verance. 
 
 Les'.er, when he saw the results, swore a round 
 oath that it was a shame talent and genius, which 
 could dehght the literary and intellectual, sliould 
 be wasted upon empty-headed, though noble fools; 
 and he expressed an earnest hope that Stacey had 
 at length discovered his real strength, and the 
 best way of rendering it profitable. 
 
 When Helen heard this sad history, she imme- 
 diately ort'ered her services, which were aceepte<l, 
 but limited by Miss Turner to such help as her 
 skillful needle afforded, in preparing articles of 
 clothing for the mother and babe. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. West, your present can do no 
 good at this moment; besides," ,'<he continued, 
 " this is one of those cases in whicn we are in 
 
108 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 great danger of allowing our benevolence to frus- 
 trate its own designs — this is one of the dilemmas 
 of genius — more difficult to manage than a case 
 of lunacy. I have heard the whole from Mr. 
 Vernon, and we agree admirably as to what is 
 our wisest course. Just now." with emphasis, 
 " Mr. Stacey has a lucid interval, and it is aston- 
 Lshing what he has done. Hiive you read his lit- 
 tle poem, ' On my First-born,' and the exquisite 
 manner in which he works out his motto, ' Born 
 to sorrow, as the sparks fly upward .'' " 
 
 "I have," replied Helen, teai-s springing to her 
 eyes as she remembered it well ; " it speaks many 
 a mournful and many a healthy truth, expressed 
 with a terseness and vigor which alike banish all 
 morbid sentiment, though imagination and grace 
 are evident in every line. Surely, from a mind 
 capable of what he has lately done, we may hope 
 for gre;it things still." 
 
 "1 wish I had a little more of that animating 
 feeling, as regards the stability and perseverance 
 of this gifted author," said Miss Turner ; " but — 
 well, we must wait patiently. Two such friends 
 as Mr. West and Mr. Vernon are, to him, worth 
 the whole army of the aristocracy. Not that I 
 have any disrespectful prejudice against nobility; 
 on the contrary, it contains names which I highly 
 esteem. What I mean is, that, unfortunately, 
 Mr. Stacey's acquaintance with title and rank 
 will, I fear, always exercise an injurious influence 
 over him ; he has too much vanity, and too little 
 pride and self-respect to be safely trusted among 
 merely noble associates. In language, he is self- 
 sufficient and self-reliant; not so inaction. He 
 has not enough moral independence ; so that were 
 he to mingle with the most learned and sensible 
 of those who adorn our peerage, he would be try- 
 ing to convert them into patrons and bestowers 
 of that place and fame which he should resolve to 
 owe only to himself But while I have been ha- 
 ranguing, you have been making up a most useful 
 parcel, for which I thank you in the name of those 
 who can not." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 *'IIe has brought wiih him such an iuclitiHtion to tale- 
 bearing, lliat h.- d. Slurbs bolli himself aud all Ihe UL-ighbor- 
 hood." — Spectator. 
 
 Stacey lionorably kept liis promise, and worked 
 bravely at his duties, till his wife was so far re- 
 covered as to bear removing to more comfortable 
 quarters. Helen proposed that a small house near 
 theirs .'^hould be prepared as their residence ; and 
 after discussing the matter with Miss Turner, it 
 was agreed that Stacey should come and look at 
 it. The rent was very moderate, and one respect- 
 able servant, with a young girl for the baby, 
 could easily do all tliat their scanty means re- 
 quired. He came, and was delighted with the 
 sweet air and lovely prospect ; and well he might 
 be, poor fellow, after having for weeks been the 
 a;cupant of a London attic, which had been both 
 bidroom and study. A quarter's rent was paid 
 in advance, and all was to be ready lor wife and 
 baby in the course of the next day. This Helen 
 undertook to see after. 
 
 " Good heavens !" said he to Ashley, when they ; 
 left her, scarcely, even in her presence, able to 
 restrain his enthusiastic admiration, '• what a 
 miracle of beauty Mrs. West is ! She shall be my 
 Muse, my Inspiration ; when I am dull and stu- 
 pid I shall merely go ' and gaze upon her beauty, 
 nothing more.' Her eyes will serve me instead 
 of a Pegasus, to set the streams of Hippocrene 
 flowing in murmurs sweet, graceful, and pure as 
 herself. I hear," he added after a pause, " that 
 she has a sister — do they resemble each other .'" 
 
 " Only in being both beautiful — some give the 
 preference to Miss Templeton," replied Ashley, 
 briefly ; and, changing the subject, he said, " l)o 
 not let Mrs. Stacey delay her removal after the 
 morning, as Mrs. West intimated she would be 
 there to receive her." 
 
 And when, in accordance with this injunction, 
 they arrived early, there was Helen to meet 
 them ; and she had so decked and arrayed the 
 little parlor, and received them so sweetly, that 
 the poor mother, still weak, had a violent fit of 
 weeping, which she, however, declared had done 
 her a great deal of good. 
 
 Something, at any rate, had done good, both to 
 her and her delicate nursling, for in the course 
 of a few weeks they looked quite bright and 
 healthy ; and again the stimulus of vanity being 
 given to her husband, aided by a few pinches 
 from necessity, he worked on so steadily and suc- 
 cessfully as to encourage his friends to hope, not 
 only that he would easily weather this storm, 
 but that he would never risk encountering such I 
 another. 
 
 About this time Ashley announced his inten- 
 tion of going to Seabrooke; they had been ex- 
 pecting him so long and so often, he would no 
 longer defer giving himself this pleasure. 
 
 _" Oh, Ashley," said Helen, when she heard of 
 this, " just to fix on this time, when mamma and 
 Constance are at Craigalan. Why did you not go 
 before :" 
 
 " Because I could not," he replied ; " and be- 
 cause, as they are away, the stronger reason that 
 I should go, and, by my humble presence, try in 
 some degree to compensate for their abseuco." 
 
 And, to the great joy of all at the Kectory. he 
 remained there several weeks, during wliich time 
 he heard from various quarters many things 
 which gave him ample materials for thought. In- 
 deed, the very day after his arrival, as he went 
 to call on the families with whom he was intimate, 
 a heavy shower of news fell on him. 
 
 During breakfiist, lie had heard from his father 
 thiit the Pi'iory estate had been cleared of every 
 bit of timber that could be cut, and that lately 
 the Colonel, it was whispered, had been borrowing 
 largely, for Avhich, if true, the Doctor said, he 
 must be paying dear, on account of the tenure by 
 which he held the property. Cooper was univer- 
 sally disliked ; and from expressions which Mr. 
 iSlorton had repeatedly let fall or openly used, 
 there was no doubt but that the whole family 
 were disreputable people. 
 
 Caroline added, it was the talk of the village 
 that Juliet and the boy had, by order of Lady 
 Ilurstwood, been threatened with a horsewhipping 
 if again found trespassing about the Hall; and • 
 though she did not believe in the report of the 
 threat, she knew from Constance that her ceusin 
 
THK WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 109 
 
 sent her groom to sco the girl safe out at the " Exactly so ; and here they seemed more likely 
 
 ge. I of success, from the character of their intended 
 
 Lady Dallas told him, as a great secret, that it i prey. Hubert lias absolutely no knowledge of life 
 
 hmted vei-y broadly, Hubert Forrester and ' or the world. All he has seen of either was dur- 
 
 leyoung beauty at the agent's were very friendly ! j ing his short tour in Germany with Victor, and 
 
 Impossible," cried Ashley, his handsome face his equally short residence at Oxford. You know 
 
 that he is gay to giddiness — sweet tempered — and 
 easily duped — and, I fear, both vain and irreso- 
 
 ,,.^or 
 "ief 
 
 ring a look not usually seen there — " engaged 
 
 to another — it is impossible !" 
 
 Perhaps it is," she said, and then went on to 
 
 irove that it was not, by adding, " 1 only know 
 
 hat Mr. Victor Morton expressed a strong wish 
 
 hat Forrester would start before mischief came 
 
 if delay ; but for further particulars 1 must refer 
 
 ,ou to Caroline, to whom, of course, he would be 
 
 ^ore communicative than to any one else." 
 
 «ik|[ I*retty pickings there for one day's work — and 
 
 they are not all. 
 
 He called at Forest Hill, where he was as cor- 
 
 lially rect'lved as he was at their town residence, 
 
 rvlienever Mr. Forrester felt it necessary to be 
 
 here, during the session of Parliament ; but here 
 
 le found insinuations, rather than assertions, 
 
 igainst Colonel Templeton. Mr. Forrester also, 
 
 u the course of conversation, intimated that he 
 
 lisliked early marriages ; in this he was consist- 
 
 ?nt, for he had waited till he was forty before he 
 
 "liund his Eve; and he now declared that, much as 
 
 ■e and Mrs. Forrester felt at parting from Hu- 
 
 j.rt, they had become quite reconciled to the 
 
 ■I'lration, as it gave him an opportunity of see- 
 
 ug life before he settled at Hargraves. 
 
 And when, with his wallet full of these scraps, 
 Ashley returned to the Rectory, he resolved to 
 ivrange his fragments, and see what his mother 
 mu Carolina could add thereto. 
 
 First, he had a very particular motive, but of 
 this he said nothing, to learn all he could that re- 
 lated to Hubert's conduct -with regard to Juliet; 
 be owned that he could not believe half that he 
 beard, still there was enough left for suspicion; 
 ami this justified him in desiring to know, if pos- 
 -ilile, ihc truth; and he related the contribution 
 Lndy Dallas had given. 
 
 Caroline blushed violently as her brother re- 
 puted the inuendo — and when his look expressed 
 iarprise at her emotion, she drew nearer to him, I 
 and putting his arm around her, laid her head on 
 Lis shoulder. 
 
 " Pres-_-ntly," said she; "and now, mamma, 
 tell him what Mr. Morton said." 
 
 ■ He told us," said Mrs. Vernon, "that soon 
 •V his sou's second and final return from Ger- 
 
 lute. 
 
 " Ah, Constance !" burst from Ashley's lips. 
 
 But his mother, without remarking it, proceed- 
 ed : " Let us, however, be just ; I believe that since 
 his engagement to Constance, he has rarely been 
 to Cooptr's, though this girl has constantly been 
 contriving to meet him ; she is now at Paris with 
 her mother — at least, so it is said." 
 
 There was a long pause ; at last Ashley said 
 calmly, and Heaven knows what it cost him to do 
 so, "1 can not excuse Hubert, even assuming 
 that this conduct has no deeper meaning than we 
 are disposed to give it— still it is mucli to know 
 that lately he has become aware of what is due to 
 propriety and honor ; but, mother, do the For- 
 resters really approve of this engagement .'" 
 
 " I hardly know how to reply ; bat from vari- 
 ous observations I have been almost Ibrced to 
 make, I fancy not ; Mr. Forrester has never been 
 cordial with the Colonel, and has been sadly pre- 
 judiced against them all, since poor dear Helen 
 left home." 
 
 " Helen," said Ashley, and now he really gave 
 way to his feelings ; " Helen, poor, persecuted 
 girl ! why, if Reginald had been away, or ill, or 
 by any means unable to have saved her, I myself 
 yould have snatched her from Lord Hurstwood 
 rather than have permitted such a crud daed." 
 
 " And married her yourself, my son .' " 
 
 " No, mother," he replied ; and the tone and tha 
 look forbade all further jesting. 
 
 " And now, what is this about our dear Carry .'" 
 and the brother's voice this time was gentle and 
 musical, and the noble face wore a touching ex- 
 pression, it looked so fond and tender. 
 
 " Ah, Ashley," said his sister, " can not you 
 guess .'" 
 
 " Well, I will try— the young hermit has fallen 
 in love, and taught our sister to do the same." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " and papa and mamma have 
 given their consent ; and, Ashley, you give yours 
 also, do you not ?" 
 
 " Right willingly ; only we shall not like to 
 have you carried all over the world with 
 
 this 
 iiy. Cooper had, on several occasions, met him, good-looking rover— or settled away from us on 
 ; 111 under some pretext or another — at one time I the Norfolk property." 
 
 tij show him a foreign curiosity, at another to ask | " It will not be either," said Mrs. Vernon, "and 
 him to tr:iu.slate a German letter— had invited that assurance removes the only difficulty. Mr. 
 liini to his house, where he was introduced to Mrs. i Morton means them to remain here, not at the Her- 
 Captain Mordaunt and her daughter. That some- \ mitage, so you need not laugh at the idea of threo 
 thing, Mr. Morton did not say what, induced Vic- making a crowd; buthe thinksof buying Bridgend, 
 tin- to mention this to his father. The result was, ' which is not many miles oil", and there they will 
 tliat, by his advice, he ceased to call at Coopers. ; be fixed-but not yet— Victor will be away at 
 In short, Ashley, to quote Mr. Morton's words, \ least two years." 
 
 there seems, no doubt, a scheme was on foot to en- i " Then this induced my father to urge me so 
 trap Victor, his father's reputed fortune being the strongly to come d(jwn wiiiiout delay .'" 
 temptation, and the son's open, but fearless and " It did— a very long lettjr from Mr. Morton 
 r ish manners, giving hope of success. What I j will explain all to you; last night he could not 
 am now going to add is little more than surmise, enter on the subject, and to-day, at Caroline's 
 Failing in this plot, probably Hubert was the next request, it was to have been delayed till evening; 
 to 1.3 trie L" but now you know the great fact, Caroline will like 
 
 '• Nothing venture, nothing have," said iVshley. to tell you the particulars." 
 
110 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " No, mamma, I should much prefer that you 
 Vroukl." 
 
 " Very -well, ray dear ; only instead of Ashley 
 having a story of the true orthodox size, in three 
 volumes, he will have a very slender pamphlet. 
 But to commence. Not very long before Victor 
 left for his present voyage, both the Doctor and 
 myself fancied, that unless Caroline felt something 
 more than kindness and friendship for him, his 
 departure could not be too much hastened ; but 
 as tliis drew near, we became a little anxious 
 about her. Do not interrupt roe. my dear, your 
 dignity is safe in my hands. At length Hubert and 
 Victor set otF, accompanied by Mr. Morton. A week 
 ago, a long letter arrived from the latter, dated Lis- 
 bon ; in it he formerly requests us to sanction his 
 son's addresses to our daughter. Victor, it seems, 
 could no longer keep his secret ; he began to fear 
 all m:inner of dangers, and in a letter, inclosed in 
 his father's, he tells us all we before su^ected — ■■ 
 and tells it so well, that I believe — is it not so, 
 Caroline.'— we shall all consent." 
 
 " But why not propose before he left .'" 
 
 " Because he heard us, as well as his father, 
 express ourselves very strongly against long en- 
 gagements, after we had been talking of Hubert 
 
 then fixed for them to come over and lunch, aiK 
 when this was settled, Lady Hurstwood said, 
 " My dear Lord, I am going to walk with Mr, 
 Vernon to my new flower-garden — the chaise shaHJ 
 follow us, and then he can drive me to your inge- 
 nious device in rock work. Caroline, take care of 
 his Lordship, who, in return, will show you some 
 beautiful intaglios and mosaics he collected when 
 in Italy." 
 
 And then, arm-in-arm with Ashley, she gayly 
 led him to her beautiful garden, and made him 
 tell her all that the time would allow her to hear 
 about Helen, for whom she expressetl the most 
 aflectionate interest. 
 
 " I know," she said, when he had conclu I 
 " that my aunt Ellinor corresponds with her. 
 still, Mr. Vernon, how dreadful never to have i:; . 
 for so many months " 
 
 " It is sad," he i eplied, " but Mrs. Templcton 
 values too greatly what she calls this connivoJ-ut 
 exchange of letters, to provoke a prohibition iiy 
 grasping after more ; so we must leave it to tiiii,> " 
 
 '■ 1 anticipate some favorable result from (nn- 
 stance's marriage, who might make the reconcilia- 
 tion a condition — what think you .'" 
 
 But he seemed not to have heard her, and rc- 
 
 id.li' 
 
 nil 
 
 and Constance, when I said I was sorry one so | marked, that he had had no idea the views i 
 
 young as she, and who knew so little of society, 
 should enter it so shackled. I wonder when we 
 shall be cured of making rash speeches, for 
 
 the Hall grounds were so extensive and beau^ 
 
 A dinner party at Hurstwood gave him a still 
 more favorable impression of his noble host, and 
 
 behold me, voluntarily, in precisely the situation ; convinced him that in choosing her Ladyship to 
 
 I deprecated 
 
 "Caroline," said Ashley, 
 phased with the brother-in-law you destine to 
 give me ; and so I shall write and tell him." 
 
 '• Dear Ashley, how kind you always are ; but 
 I shall soon be coming to see you in London. 
 Mamma will take me to Mr. Morton's sister-in- 
 law and his two daughtei'S, and we are promising 
 ourselves the great delight of often meeting Helen, 
 and Mrs. Loftus, who has just retui-ned from 
 visiting Charles and Fanny." 
 
 " That will be charming, indeed," said he; and 
 then he began to give them a full account of Reg- 
 inald and Helen, their sayings and do'ngs, of 
 which his hearers could not have too much. 
 
 " Does my father visit much at Hurstwood .'" 
 asked Ashley, turning the conversation. 
 
 " Yes," replied his mother, smiling at the signifi- 
 cance of his tone, "and so must his son Ashley. 
 Nothing can be more kind and polite than they 
 are, and Mrs. Templaton has so completely exon- 
 erated Lord Hurstwood, as to make him appear 
 to have been more sinned against than sinning — 
 at least, it is evident that is the view she wishes 
 
 I wear the rejected coronet he had done wisely ; and 
 I am very much ! had he asked either of them a question, usually so 
 dangerous, as to whether they could confirm this 
 opinion, both would have replied in the affirmative. 
 Cecilia's good sense, her truth of character and 
 word, became daily more valuable and refreshing 
 to one whose life had been spent in the petty ;it- I 
 I paltry intrigues of continental courts— whose in! 
 had been taught to move through the sinuosi 
 of diplomatic labyrinths, and who had been acr.: 
 I tomed to see the whole drama of state-craft ]m : - 
 , formed by complex machinery, secret sprin_' . 
 I hidden agencies, and masked actors. He iv: 
 I charmed with her frank, confiding nature 1 
 was proud of his handsome .-md dignified w;; . 
 I Nor any the less so, for having won her easily— 
 j it spoke well for his powers of conquest — while his 
 1 boundless generosity and indulgence, which at 
 first won her ready gratitude, at length awoke lur 
 love. 
 
 I And Ashley, when he left Seabrooke, and w:<-- 
 once more stirring his tea in the little coti:i 
 drew from his store various stray scraps of n 
 which made them all glad — among the reft, i 
 
 her friends to take ; and 1 own that 1 should picture he drew of Cecilia and her future w 
 
 regret h:iving an opinion that obliged us to refuse 
 their friendly overtures. Cecilia is much too 
 excellent for us to be comfortable in the belief that 
 she has married one we could not tolerate." 
 
 " I nuich more than tolerate Lord Hurstwood," 
 said <."arf)line ; " lie is both so gentle and gentle- 
 manlike to his wife — and I believe the wildest wish 
 she could imagine would be gratified with pleasure 
 and eagerness— 1 think she is more charming than 
 ever." 
 
 '• To-morrow, then, we will ride over, and you 
 fchall introduce me." 
 
 Tliis w.as done, and Ashley saw nothing to con- 
 ti-overt his sisters opinion. An early day was 
 
 mented on with real pleasure. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 "II pet aussi f cit"<1epe trnmpersoi-mdmesanss'en aper- 
 oev.ir qiru est diffl-ilt! (1'> tmiDper les autres saiisqa'ils s'tu 
 ajjtrcoiveuu" — La. Uochefoucauld. 
 
 While the Templetons were in Scotland, where 
 every day brought some fresh scheme of plensiire 
 and amusement, an event occurred which openly 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 hi 
 
 drew the attention of Reginald to a subject that 
 often secretly occupied his thoughts — namely, Old 
 Court. 
 
 For months it had given no more sign of life 
 or movement than if it had been Tadmor in the 
 Desert. Occasionally the West roughs named it 
 to Helen with no vci'y respectful or friendly tone ; 
 for Lady Anne, the bride-elect, considered her- 
 self defrauded and swindled out of five thousand 
 pounds, which her uncle Ernest had always prom- 
 ised to any of his nieces on their marriage. 
 '• Now." she said, " the harpies who reign there will 
 take care to intercept all such acceptable waifs." 
 
 Keginald had written to announce his marriage 
 — but no reply was sent — not even a line from old 
 Roberts. 
 
 And now, behold ! when conjecture had grown 
 weary and curiosity faded away, on returning 
 f5rom a London shopping expedition witli one of 
 her daughters. Lady Westrough was astonished 
 to find cards, " Lady Ernest West," " Mrs. Mel- 
 ■ville," and the direction in a fashionable quarter of 
 the metropolis. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this .'" she asked, and 
 learned from Lady Ella, the invalid, that two la- 
 dies had called, and hearing that she was at 
 home, had sent their cards, and asked if they 
 could have the pleasure of seeing her. This, on 
 the plea of ill health, she had declined ; they then 
 left cards for Lord and Lady Westrough, and 
 having inquired when her Ladyship was usually 
 at home, had driven away. 
 
 " I am always out." was her Ladyship's com- 
 mand to the servant, as she pointed to tlie cards, 
 " when these people call ;" which they did a few 
 days after. 
 
 AH this was duly reported to Helen when they 
 next met, embellished with various piquant re- 
 marks, which none but vexed ladies can make; 
 she begged for a card to show Reginald, not, as 
 she laughingly remarked, that he miglit call and 
 pay their debts, but because she thouglit he ought 
 to 'inquire whether Lord Ernest were with theiu. 
 
 Reginald, after naming this to Asliley. thought 
 himself justified in making some inquiries in the 
 neighborhood of the ladies" residence, and learned 
 that, except servants. Lady Ernest and her mother 
 were alone. He conjectured that her Ladyship 
 had come to town for medical advice, as she was 
 near her confinement. 
 
 " There is some scheme on foot here," said Ash- 
 ley ; " I do not like this arrangement ; let me 
 name it to Mr. Turner, and hear what he says." 
 
 " If not troubling him, I should be very glad of 
 his ojJ^nion." 
 
 " No trouble ; I am sure he will like it." 
 
 And the next day Ashley sayl, " I am always 
 intruding my affairs on you, sir." 
 
 " Your friends' affairs you mean ; which of them 
 now ?" 
 
 " Mr. W'^est's." 
 
 " Ah ! indeed— what of him ? and how can I 
 help r 
 
 " It is a long story," said Ashley. 
 
 " Then begin at once, while I have leisure to 
 listen," said Mr. Turner. 
 
 Thereupon Ashley entered into the particulars 
 of Reginald's expectations, till he came to the 
 arrival of Mrs. Melville and her daughter in 
 London. 
 
 When he concluded, Mr Turner remarked : " It 
 may be all right— previous circumstances, how- 
 ever, will justify you in acting as if it were not ; 
 at least, till you are convinced to the contrary. 
 
 I Will Mr. West leave it to us ? lor I expect, if wo 
 
 I take him to our councils, he will be refractory — 
 what say you .'" 
 
 I " 1 think you are right, so I shall venture at 
 
 I once to banish him." 
 
 j " Very well— we must send down directly to 
 Old Court. I know the very man — next, we must 
 learn who is the medical man — and what sort of 
 an establishment there is with the ladies in town 
 — here again I can help you;" and almost as he 
 
 I spoke he had written two short notes, sealed and 
 
 I directed them 
 
 I " I am to dine to-day with the chief justice," 
 said Mr. Turner; "will you breakfast with mo 
 to-morrow at eight precisely ?" 
 " I will be punctual." 
 " Very well — now I am busy." 
 At eight, Ashley was in Bedford Square, scatcfl 
 at a well-spread breakfast-table, the pleasant fig- 
 ure of Miss Turner presiding, whose eyes were 
 fixed on her brother's face, as he conversed earn- 
 estly with Ashley. 
 
 " Is Mr. Tebbat here .'" he asked of a servant, 
 whom the bell had just summoned ; " if so, send 
 him up directly." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Tebb.at, here are your instructions," 
 said Mr. Turner to a person who had very quietly 
 entered, and remained standing. Ashley was 
 
 j puzzled as he looked «t the man, and felt that, 
 had he been desired to describe him, it could have 
 
 ! been only by negatives— no phrase suggested 
 
 I itself so appropriate as this : " he seems to be not 
 
 1 anything." 
 
 ! " You will not, on any account, be tempted to 
 
 ' exceed them," pursued the lawyer ; " there is quite 
 scope enough for your ingenuity." 
 
 The negative took the paper and rapidly glanced 
 it over. 
 
 " Do you understand .'" 
 
 " Quite, sir ;" but he was no longer a catalogue 
 of negatives ; both voice and eye were, very de- 
 cidedly and distinctly, affirmative. 
 
 " Then put the paper in that book, where there 
 is money, and lose no time — good-morning." 
 " Has Styles been here this morning, Jolin ':" 
 " Yes, sir, he said he would walk round the 
 Square, when I told him you were engaged ; but 
 I think that is his knock ; will you see him now, 
 sir .'" 
 
 " Bring him up at once ;" and enter Mr. Styles, 
 a dapper, neat little man, with a roguish pair of 
 black eyes, and a pleasant little smile ; altogeth- 
 er, a little fellow who looked as if for sixpence ho 
 would make love to half the houscnuiids, or cooks 
 either, in the Square — one of those winking, 
 smirking, hat-on-one-side men, who arc regular 
 incendiaries among the combustible hearts of the 
 aforesaid epecies. 
 
 " I wish to have tliese questions answered," said 
 Mr. Turner ; and the bright eyes of this Antiniius 
 of the area and nur.sery ran over the list beforo 
 
 j you could say Jack Robinson. 
 
 1 " Very good, sir ; give me a few evenings, I cao 
 
 . hardly do '\t in le-ss." 
 
 I " Oh, -'ou may have a week, if it will amuse 
 
 ! y</a more. ■" 
 
112 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 •' Very good, sir," laughing, and showing a fine 
 set of teeth. 
 
 " I always breakfast about this time, so you are 
 sure to find me." 
 
 " Very good, sir. I wish you good-morning, 
 sir !" with a bow, which included them all ; and, 
 with something like grace, he withdrew, but not 
 before his bright eyes had taken a daguerreotype 
 of Ashley. 
 
 " He was an actor," said Mr. Turner, in reply 
 to his young friends look; " so he is now, when 
 he can find an engagement." 
 
 " I suppose the Lothario of the piece," observed 
 
 " .M"ost likely ; he is not a bad fellow— but he 
 is vain and quarrelsome, and that keeps him poor. 
 He will sit up half the night to copy old Greys 
 atrocious hieroglyphics, and then spend the money 
 on a gay waistcoat." 
 
 " And the other r" 
 
 " Oh. not so good ! — but he owes me a debt for 
 help in need, and is grateful when he is not drunk; 
 even then he is trustworthy." 
 
 Both agents succeeded marvelously well, be- 
 cause cacii kept to his usual character — one as a 
 lounging, idle rambler, the other as lover to the 
 ladys-maid and two house-maids. The cook, an 
 old'stager. let with the house, knew nothing of 
 her employers worth learning, and was not, there- 
 fore, left like Ariadne, or Dido, or any other of 
 the fair deceived, to bewail the false words of the 
 false man. 
 
 The report of Tebbat t«is to this effect : He 
 went, as ordered, to Old Court, and, of course, 
 took up his quarters at the public-house. He 
 then began his inquiries, and learned that Lord 
 Ernest had remained much as when we last peeped 
 at him ; even the news of Ueginald's marriage 
 had failed to disturb the monotony of his exist- 
 ence. If, however, Iieginald had not informed 
 Ilobcrtsof this important event, it is very unlikely 
 his uncle would ever have heard of it, as the let- 
 ter to liim had never come to hand — that is, to 
 /lis hand ; it had probably been lost, through that 
 dreadfully careless medium, the post-ofSce. But 
 Roberts fetched all his little correspondence him- 
 self from the small public, and secured the deliv- 
 ery ; and there it was that Tebbat became 
 acquainted with him. His Lordship drove out for 
 about an hour every day, and sometiiues saw his 
 own doctor— sometimes the clergyman dined with 
 him ; but that was all the variety. Now it must 
 be ailmitted that this dull and dreary life was 
 most aggi-avating to a young person like her Lady- 
 ship, and a womin like her mother, whose talents 
 80 eminently fitte i her for an active and bustling, 
 if not a useful, ]X)sition in society ; and when Mrs. 
 Melville hinted to her noble son-in-law that Er"- 
 nesta required me lie il watching, he said, " Send 
 for Edwanls :" and when she slightly turned up 
 her nose at Edwards, he .said, " Send' for any one 
 you like ;" but there was no one within sending- 
 distancc whom she did like, for this was not her 
 aim. 
 
 In short — but thi« she dM not tell him — Er- 
 nesta \\;v\ be^-n rebellioii.s ; she had threatened to 
 kill herself — to run away — any thing but endure 
 this horrible s(yle of living ; and her mother had 
 only been able to pacify her by promising a visit 
 to town, where she proposed that slie should be 
 
 ] confined ; after which it would be a round of gay- 
 I ety, parties, and dress. 
 
 When Lord Ernest was made to understand 
 ; that his wife and wife's mother wished to go to 
 London, he readily gave his consent ; but when, 
 for the sake of appearances, she hinted that he 
 should accompany them, it was another matter. 
 He would not go without Old Court ; but they 
 ; could not take Old Court — eri;o, he could not go ; 
 they must leave him — and they did. 
 I Mrs. Melville had many reasons for indulging 
 ! her daughter in this visit to London, t^he could 
 I not be blind to the fact, that the poor girl was 
 I looking wretchedly ill ; it was of the utmost im- 
 portance to the furtherance of her plans that lur 
 expected grandchild should be strong an i 
 healthy : she hated Old Court, as a residence, us 
 j much as Erncsta ; she also intended to try if she 
 j could not, by a roup dc main, beat down the re- 
 j serves and prejudices of the Westrough family 
 and their connections, as well as beat up the 
 quarters of former patronesses and benefactor.^, 
 some of whom, she had good reason to know, 
 would never withstand the combined force ut 
 ! title, a handsome equipage, and a fashionable res- 
 I idence. 
 
 j But the Westroughs presented such an impen- 
 j etrable front, that she could not break thronu'ii 
 it — the connections had either a title, a carria.' 
 or a fashionable house of their own, so hers wr 
 of no avail ; and thus discomfited and driven fi - .. 
 the main body, she fell back on her old allies. 
 
 And here her plan seemed more promising for 
 success. Like Sancho, she fancied she had at hist 
 attained her government — is there a Dr. Snateii 
 away at every court .' — Wait. 
 
 Among the odds and ends picked up by tli. - 
 sharp-sighted, industrious chiffoniers, Mes?rs. 
 Tebbat and Styles, there was one stray atom upon 
 which both pounced, as if well worth throwing 
 into their basket. 
 
 At the small public where Tebbat fixed himself, 
 as he said, for the purpose of angling, though the 
 trout-stream was miles away, a young man iiad 
 frequently taken lodgings for weeks together ; per- 
 haps said the landlady, from whom, in the coui .-e 
 of gossip, he learned this, he was an artist, thousrh 
 she had never seen any of his drawings — or a 
 poacher ; at any rate, as she very sagaciously 
 observed, he must be something — and he seemel 
 to have a particular .admiration for Old Court. IK 
 had first appeared when Mrs. Melville and her 
 daughter went there, and had been in the neigh- 
 borhood very often since the marriage of tiie 
 latter. 
 
 Here Styles stepped forth with a piece he Ir 
 found, and dove-tailing it with the last, it assuin 
 a sort of shape. From the lady's-maid he lean;' i 
 that this was a poor relative whom her lady often 
 helped with small sums of money, unknown to' 
 tlic old one — a classic soubriquet by which Mrs.j 
 Melville was designated. He was now in town,, 
 w.uting for some appointment Lady Ernest was to 
 obtain for him, through the influence of her pow- 
 erful relations. 
 
 And is that the nurse .'" asked Styles, alludi: 
 to a woman in an interesting state, who was do 
 mesticated at the hired house. 
 
 " Yes, she expects to be confined shortly before 
 my lady, and is to take the young heir" — (heir, oJ 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 113 
 
 course, said the inquisitive little man to himself) 
 — " from its birth — her own baby will be brought 
 up by hand, out of the house." 
 
 " And the other nurse, where is she ?" 
 
 " Lor, what does it matter to you ?" 
 
 " Oh. nothing, 1 was only tliinking when we are 
 married — " a gentle squeeze, and a smart slap in 
 the face for liis impudence, administered by her 
 fair hand, was the reply. 
 
 And the next day, meeting the upper liouse- 
 maid " quite promiscus," by appointment, he 
 escorted her on her errand, and suddenly discov- 
 ering that he was by no means well, asked who 
 atteuded at her house, remarking, " Of course, he 
 is one of the nobs, a regularbig-wig ?" 
 
 "Indeed he is no such thing," she replied, 
 with a disdainful toss of her floral head ; '• fur a 
 more sneaking, mean little fellow I never saw, and 
 no one seems to know where he comes from." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! then I suppose he does not come 
 often ?" 
 
 " Oh yes he does, every other day, as punctually 
 at one as luncheon does— but I did not come here 
 to be bothered about such as him, with his dirty 
 wristbands and sliabby hat ;" and Styles, finding 
 he was not likely to gain more useful knowledge 
 at present, soon found means to take the monkey 
 I oflf the bade of his Dulcinea, and said — " ^"ow I 
 must, tliough reluctantly, say farewell — but first 
 tell me wlien we are to go to the play together ?" 
 
 " Oh, when you come to fetch me," she replied 
 coquettishly, and hurrying round the corner. 
 
 And exactly at one was Mr Styles on tiie look- 
 out, nor did he cease to look till he watched the 
 sneaking, mean little fellow in — and out too — nor 
 was he satisfied with his gaze till he had the 
 pleasure of seeing him safe to a shabby little place 
 on the skirts of Loudon, and ascertained that he 
 was the man who answered to the name on the 
 surgery door. 
 
 Tebbat added to his previous information, that 
 lloberts seemed quite ignorant any one had meet- 
 ings with tli^ young lady. He, however, com- 
 plained bitterly of the discomfort Mfs. Melville 
 had introduced into their peaceful household ; 
 and, without ceremony, called her " artful old 
 jade,"' whenever he mentioned her. 
 
 " And what do you make of this :" asked Mr. 
 Turner of Reginald, when with Ashley's help he 
 hud arranged all his information. 
 
 " I fear," was his reply, •' that Mrs. Melville 
 merits Roberts' ungallant designation." 
 
 " That I think is pretty clear, and we must 
 watch her, or we shall, perhaps, have more sons 
 and heirs than Providence intended." 
 
 Subsequent discoveries and confessions proved 
 that a scheme, somewhat to that effect, liad been 
 concocted by the wily mother, who knew that the 
 birth of an heir couhl alone secure' lier sway, and 
 probably make such a change in all the arrange- 
 ments at Old Court as would help to reconcile the 
 refractory Ernest a to her fate. 
 
 Accident, however, frustrated all — " the best- 
 liiid schemes o' men ami mice gang aft agley." 
 
 Mrs. Melville, who had succeeded in part of her 
 j design, that of dazzling some of her farmer patron- 
 [ esses, but who was prevented, by her daughter's 
 State of health, fiom making much display at her 
 } handsome house, in compen.sation for tjiis was 
 I never weary of exhibiting her elegant equipage, 
 
 and in her turn assuming airs of protection and 
 patronage, would frequently call in state and 
 style on her old acquaintance, and condescend- 
 ingly offer them a seat in the well-appointed 
 carriage. 
 
 She was one day indulging this benevolent 
 feeling, and conveying a lady to Kensington, 
 when a sudden scream from the latter caused her 
 to turn her head, and she beheld a riderless horse 
 dasliing furiously toward them. 
 
 The coachman, wlio would have been quito 
 equal to this emergency had he been left to him- 
 self, distracted by the screams of the ludy, and 
 the contradictory orders of Mrs. Melville, la-^iicd 
 one of his horses, a spirited animal, which reared, 
 as she was standing, and threw her across the 
 carriage. 
 
 Ernesta, who had sat pale and motionless, 
 alarmed at this, fainted ; and when all danger 
 from the runaway horse was long over, she was 
 hastily driven to the first doctor's for aid, and 
 scarcely had she so far recovered as to reach home, 
 than she gave birth to a little girl, wiio breatlied 
 for a few hours only ; while the young motlier lay 
 for weeks in a most alarming state, and two- 
 months elapsed before she could be removed to- 
 Old Court, where her husband still obstinately 
 persisted in remaining, in spite of Mrs. Melville's- 
 earnest entreaties that lie would join them. 
 
 Instead of .attending to this, lie wrote to his 
 lawyer to see that all they needed was abundiintly 
 supplied, to pay all the bills, and wiieu Lady 
 Ernest was able to travel, to arrange for her re- 
 turn home. 
 
 News of this disaster, and all its concomitants, 
 was brought by Styles, who added, that a new 
 actor hail appeared on the scene. This was one 
 of those Ibul blots on an honorable profession, who 
 never find any job too dirty for their unwashed 
 consciences, or too dishonorable for their callous 
 feelings. 
 
 And now Mr. Turner himself interfered, lie 
 called on the respectable gentleman who actetl for 
 Lord Ernest, and lold him what he actually knew, 
 what he also su.>-pected — but he was very plainly 
 told nothing could be done till his Lordship was 
 roused to action — only it was wtU to watch the 
 enemy, and by threats terrify her from plunging 
 deeper into intrigue and danger ; and acting 
 upon tliis, Mr Turner, in the ciiaracter of friend 
 to the heir-at-law, wrote to inform Jier that her 
 machinations were all known to Lord Ernest's 
 family — her plot witli the p-ttifogger, as well as 
 that witii the quMck. But in relating hi.s inter- 
 view with .Mr. Manning to Ashley, Mr. Turner 
 remarked— •'! suspect that 1 did not tell him 
 much news— and more, that he has by some means 
 got this Jezeliel in his power." 
 
 So, back went Mr.s. Melville, fully resolved that 
 the next heir should be born at Old Court Hut 
 Ernesta was long before siie recovereil either 
 health or spirits, while the sight of her mother 
 seemed to fill her with dread as well as dishke;. 
 so that she often asked tlie ancient housekeeper to- 
 remain with her, when she peevisiily rcfu.-jcd ad- 
 uiiitance to her mother. 
 
114 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 "The cluiins of earth's immurement 
 
 Fi-llfrMiu lanihe's Hpini; 
 They siini..k and brake like bacing. sof Btraw 
 
 Benealli a wakeiiVI L'l'in't sireiigih. 
 She knew her glorious cliaiige." Siiellby. 
 
 And now the London ?e;ison approaches, and 
 the papers announce a drawing-room, the first 
 that has been heUl since Cecilia s marriage ; and 
 Lord and Lady Hurstwood arrive to take posses- 
 sion of their town-house, which has been refur- 
 nished, with all the splendor becoming their rank 
 and weilth. 
 
 And very busy they both are about this draw- 
 in"--ru nil— for if my lady holds a committee of 
 liiste with the coui-t milliner, my lord does the 
 pame with the jeweler; and very important he 
 seems to think the subject, judging from his 
 regard liss-of-expeuse orders. 
 
 And eminently successful did the result of his 
 consultations pruve, when his bride was presented, 
 by his stately relative, the Dowager Duchess of 
 L-ileford — for Lady Ilurstwood's diamonds were 
 pronounced unrivaled both for taste and value. 
 
 Nor was there much diiference of opinion about 
 the fair wearer, who was voted the great star of 
 this courtly performance, to the infinite satisfac- 
 tion of her lord. 
 
 " I can tell you, you had a loss," said a brother 
 oflicer to Captain Mortimer ; '• the drawing-room 
 was superb." 
 
 " 80 every one says ; but I was detained on 
 business at the Horse Guards— not that I cave 
 much about these things," said he, yawning, and 1 
 att'ecting n, b/a.ie air; "one pretty much resem- 
 liles another. But they all report that Lady 
 Hurstwood, or Lady Hurstwood s diamonds, out- 
 heroded Herod." 
 
 " It was both— upon my soul, I never saw a 
 finer or more dignified woman. Old Hurst has 
 jockeyed I'amously to have won this prize." 
 
 " Halt, there!" said a fine-looking, middle-aged 
 man, who Avas of the party. " What do you lads 
 mean by old ? Why, a fellow is not of age till he 
 is thirty, iwv does he come to years of discretion 
 till ten years later. Hurstwood is my junior, and 
 1 am only fifty." 
 
 "Juvenility is a matter of fancy," replied the 
 first spcalcer, with a laugh. " Sydney Staples 
 seems to like a long figure in years, as well as in 
 lortune — he already complains that he sold him- 
 self a dead bargain." 
 
 '• Like him ; but some one told me that a royal 
 ncadcnucian is regularly engaged and paid to 
 keep Mrs. Syd's countenance in repair." 
 
 " She is right to put a good face on her mar- 
 riage," WHS the retort ; " if she could paint out 
 Sylney's debts as well as her wrinkles, she might 
 take out a patent. I am sorry to u.se such a word, 
 but it was absolutely disgusting to see this made- 
 up old Sycorax daubed like some hideous figure- 
 head on a Dutch craft." 
 
 " Still, she is to be pitied," said Lord Hurst- 
 wood's senior. " Sydney Staples has neither 
 principle nor mercy— and he will soon run through 
 iier vast property." 
 
 •' Well, tliat is her concern — she married him 
 for his rank and good looks, which will last longer 
 ^an her money. Uut what la this .Mother Bunch 
 
 talc about Templeton's little girl ! do you know, 
 Morty .'" 
 
 " Oh ! yes — old Hurst — well, then, young Plurst, 
 it seems, went prowling about the country for a 
 wife, and saw this little creature, whereupon ho 
 came, saying, ' fee. faw, fum,' and the poor child, 
 with her pinafore at her eyes, and her mouth full 
 of bread-and-butter — these girls are everlastingly 
 eating it — ran roaring away from the ogre, in 
 the utmost terror, and meeting the parish clerk, 
 or something of the same kind, went slap otf with 
 him." 
 
 " Quite a Templeton trick," remarked the offi- 
 cer; "her grandmother did the same, only she 
 jilted a worthy "squire in some out-of-the-way 
 place. And what said Templeton when the young 
 chip started oft" .'" 
 
 " Said .' not much — but he swore awfully, raged 
 like a stung bear, beat his wife and theother girl, 
 broke some china and furniture, drank lots of 
 wine, and was carried to bed." 
 
 " I wish, Mortimer, you would condescend and 
 talk sense, when you converse with any one who 
 can understand it." 
 
 " Ah ! but that is so rare, for he is sadly 
 addicted to soliloquizing," slyly remarked the 
 brothcr-in-arms, and then he continued : " Old 
 Chilvers, I hear, is really dying this time." 
 
 "It is true — there is no hope— and, by Jove!" 
 said Mortimer, " when one thinks of the miserable 
 artificial life he led, it must be almost a comfort 
 to him to have any thing so real about him as 
 death. I vow when I think of him, and what his 
 vanity and selfishness end in, I am ready to ask 
 the first pretty girl I meet to have compassion on 
 me, and save me from such a fate, by marrying 
 me." 
 
 " Better a.sk your fair cousin," advised the el- 
 derly speaker; " report, however, says that you 
 have, and you look guilty. Well, if so, I wish you 
 joy. 1 married before I was five-and-twenty, 
 with an abundance of nothing but love to begin 
 housekeeping with — but the experiment answered 
 so well, 1 mean my boys to do the same, if they 
 like, so adieu." 
 
 "All very fine for him !" said the officer ; " but 
 such women as his wife are not quite so plentiful 
 as blackberries." 
 
 Greatly as both Mrs. Templeton and Constance 
 had enjoyed their visit to Scotland, and much as 
 i they felt the kindness the Sinclairs had shown, in 
 j omitting nothing that could interest them, they 
 both felt glad when they left Edinburgh, where 
 they had remained with some other friends more 
 than a monUi ; and, accompanied by their hos- 
 pitable relatives, set out for England, whither the 
 Colon"! had preceded them. 
 ' Though to Mrs. Templeton the Priory, spite of 
 
 the beauty with which both nature and art com- f |, 
 biued to clothe it, had few associations connected 
 with happiness or even pi >asure, she longed to re- 
 turn to it; for there alona coiiM she contrive to 
 correspond with the banished one, as their uncer- 
 tain movements, while in the north, had greatly || ,j 
 interfered with this ; and she felt that one gratl 
 fication, at least, would be hers, when again settled 1 jj 
 at Seabrooke. 
 
 Nor was Laiirette less anxious once move t3 be 
 at head-quarters, to see what could be done with 
 the fragments of 'aope, which had been so ruth- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 lessly dasbed to the earth hy TTubert's engage- 
 ment. It had been arranged by her parents that 
 6he should pay a round of visits among her Eng- 
 lish friends, ending with the marriage of (Vin- 
 etance, whicli it was presumed would take place 
 Boon after Hubert's return: Sir Archibald frankly 
 expressing his hope, that slie would then choose a 
 husband from several admirers whom she co- 
 quettishly kept in suspense, dismiss the rest, and 
 settle, like a douce lassie, into the duties of a 
 happy and sensible wife. 
 
 How far was this common-place humdrum finale 
 —at least, as her father meant it— from her in- 
 tentions ! as if, among those on whom she con- 
 descended to bestow her smiles, and to whom she 
 doled out barely enough graciousness to keep their 
 hopes alive, there was one who could compare 
 with him who despised the love she had unsought 
 given him. 
 
 Hubert, the invincible Hubert, at least toward 
 !ier, was still the idol she worshiped. Hubert, in 
 love with, engaged to, Constance, was the one 
 she yet hoped to bring to her feet; and difficult 
 as this seemed, she resolved to neglect no means 
 by which it might be effected. 
 
 Her infatuation had in no degree blinded her 
 to his faults— these she meant to render subser- 
 vient to her purpose — his weakness would be her 
 strength ; his irresolution rendered her more de- 
 termined; for these gave her hope — she remem- 
 
 I .Ted, and quoted to herself, the saying, that the 
 ; 'rong udnd governs the weak, and took courage. 
 ) I ;id she known more of the world, she would have 
 ^r^uld that this is very far from being always 
 tiue. 
 
 She had, besides, been so much at Forest Hill, 
 aji'l had had such favorable oi)portunities of 
 studying and becoming acquainted with his char- 
 a,:tor, that she fancied she knew it thoi-oughly, 
 :va 1 that, skillfully managed, the materials were 
 
 II Al adapted to insure success — especially if she 
 :tlsa levied such contributions from the weaknesses 
 ot his parents as she possessed the art to exti-act — 
 r.'rl taking this view of her case, Laurette decided 
 tiKit it was far from being desperate. 
 
 ( onstance she had never much liked; and as 
 Jier extraordinary beauty had at one time excited 
 her envy, so now, to a greater extent, did her su- 
 )''rior intellect: it was rivaling her where she 
 l^a I thought herself most secure — it was infring- 
 iuir on what she felt was her best claim to admi- 
 r ition — it was therefore unpardon-ible. 
 
 When Constance had so earnestly pleaded for 
 permission to return home with Helen, she had 
 made the girlish promise of continuing lier studies, 
 and she fully intended to do all she promised. 
 But events soon thickened powerfully and closely 
 around her, wliicb rendered all the.se fair resolu- 
 tions of no effect, — at least in the manner she in- 
 tended. 
 
 Constance was now to go through that course 
 of instruction which none may altogether escape. 
 She was to become a pupil in the university of tlte 
 world — she was to listen to the harsh teachings 
 of circumstances — to read the bitter experiences 
 and learn the painful lessons of life; and, in re- 
 compense, she was to gain self-knowle<lge, self- 
 guidance, self-respect — she was to acquire a con- 
 sciousness of lier own resources and powers, and 
 of the solemn responsibility for the use she made 
 
 of them; to find that trials may be made blessings 
 and losses gains ; and feeling that her own fauhs 
 and failings needed forbearance, to be ever ready 
 to extend this to others. 
 
 This was the training and discipline to which 
 Constance had been subjected : and to which licr 
 loving, noble heart, her imaginative and poetic 
 mind rendered her, at first, refractory. 
 
 Her sense of justice was wounded and roused, 
 almost to passionate impatience, when .she under- 
 stood the situation in which her worshiped mother 
 was placed; her brave spirit rose in rebellion 
 against the petty tyranny and overbearing con- 
 duct of her father ; as she gradually became con- 
 scious that the yoke was pressing on lierself, she 
 struggled violently against it; and when her sis- 
 ter, her gentle Helen, was so sorely tried, nothing 
 but the a.ssurance that open defiance would only 
 aggravate the evil, restrained the strong ex- 
 pression of her indignation. Happily, however, 
 her love and good sense here made her rc;isonable. 
 She felt that she no longer loved her father, and 
 oh ! the pang this conviction gave her ; still, in 
 the character of parent, he had a claim on her 
 outward respect, and with her mother's beautiful 
 and consistent behavior ever at hand to guide and 
 strengthen her, she resolved that no word should 
 ever escape her unbecoming the duty of a child. 
 
 It was in this stage of her moral tr.iining, which 
 had made her " older than her looks," that b'«e 
 was formally introduced at Lady Hurstwocd's 
 wedding; and it was then that rlie advantages of 
 associating with well-cultivated minds began to 
 influence her own. She li.-tened and learned ; 
 she looked around and look in ki.uwledge — as her 
 intellect came in contact with tlie intelligence of 
 others, she became aware of her strength, and 
 used it ; or discovered lier deficiencies, and en- 
 deavored to supply them. Tlie poetry of her na- 
 ture, which had hitherto dwelt solely on evident 
 and material beauty, now lelt it where the cold 
 j and passionless never can. She •' heanl the voice 
 they did not hear," which spoke to her of gran- 
 deur and sublimity — of truth and ju.<tiee— (f 
 duty and patience: siie " saw the iiand they did 
 not see," which beekoiied lier on in the pursw't 
 of all that can elevate ami ennoble. To her there 
 was poetry in every thing great, generous, and 
 unselfish — her sympathy was kindled, and beheld 
 heroism in patient sutlVring— even in patient toil ; 
 and as she yielded to all iliese stirring influences, 
 her true and lovely face was indeed the tablet on 
 which might be read thoughts the highest and 
 purest that humanity owns. 
 
 The visit to the Sinclairs had tended greatly to 
 perfect this quiet process of intellectual and moral 
 advancement. Nature, in her grandest and most 
 sulilime aspect, had there presented herself to a 
 fervent admirer ; and society, which sent some of 
 its most cultivated and learned members as ever- 
 welcome guests to Craigalan, found one who duly 
 appreciated their worth, and its advantage to her- 
 self; so tliat, in almost every respect, to her 
 mother and lierself, time had lately shown hi.s 
 bird -of- paradise wings, as hours and days flew so 
 pleasantly away. Uut there is ever some alloy ; 
 and they both thought of Helen, an<l sighed tli:.t 
 slie could not enjoy all tiiis with them. 
 
 When the excitement of their return had sub- 
 sided, Constance began to feel a little uuxioua 
 
116 
 
 THE WIFES TRIALS. 
 
 nhout the arrival of letters from Hubert; some 
 time liiid clipsed, and no direct news from him 
 had been received. 
 
 Mr. Morton liad accompanied his young friends 
 as far as Seville, when they had left him, and 
 proceeded to Naples. Here Hubert met with some 
 agreealile English acquaintances, who wished to 
 persuade him and Victor to remain for a long 
 visit. This, Victor would have been quite as 
 ■willing to do as Hubert; but he reminded his 
 friend that he had business of importance to tran- 
 sact for his father in Cyprus, which he could not 
 postpone, and tiierefore proposed that they should 
 return to Naples when this was over. " Business 
 first, pleasuie after," said he ; and he was much 
 astonished wiien, after having delayed some days, 
 Hubert proposed to remain where he was, and 
 there await his companion's return. 
 
 Of course, to this, no objection could be made ; 
 and young Morton, who possessed, perhaps 
 rather in excess the qualities Hubert so much 
 wanted — decision and firmness— set sail that same 
 evening. 
 
 In his letter to Caroline Vernon, with whom he 
 had obtained permission to correspond, and of 
 •which he had availed himself very liberally, 
 ■when alluding to the separation, he merely said 
 he had left Hubert at Naples; for he had par- 
 ticular reasons for avoiding all mention of aught 
 beyond. 
 
 But every one was not so scrupulous, nor is it 
 needful that we should be. 
 
 Both Hubert and Victor had quickly obtained 
 that share of popularity at Naples, which good 
 introductions, good fortunes, good looks, and 
 agreeable manners are sure to obtain for their 
 possessors. If Victor were the cynosure of Eng- 
 lish eyes, Hubert had more than compensation in 
 the almost furor his peculiar style of face and 
 figure excited among tlie Neapolitan beauties, 
 wlio, like most people, attached a factitious value 
 to rarity. 
 
 His was the kind of complexion we should give 
 the Apollo statue, if we ever associated it with the 
 idea of color ; and, like that glorious inspiration, 
 Hubert's cast of features was slightly effeminate, 
 but redeemed from this defect by his frank and 
 manly bearing. Elegant, instead of noble, was 
 tlie lerin that would have best described him ; 
 and when to this natural beauty we add the fas- 
 cinutiou of a .smile few could withstand, and a 
 voice of exquisite harmony and modulation, it 
 will not be wrong to call him rather a dangerous 
 fellow. 
 
 Such, at any rate, many a lovely daughter of 
 Italy thought him — sucii,one found him. And it 
 was not without a sigh for her, for Hubert, for 
 Constance, whom, ils Caroline's dearest friend, 
 Victor greatly esteemed, that he sailed away 
 alone. 
 
 Thih wdl, perhaps, explain why Constance had 
 lately been anxious fur a letter from Italy : she 
 knew that Hul)ert wa.s no longer himlered by the 
 (litHcully of writing while at sea; he was now 
 stationary — or, at most, only going to Rome, and 
 yet Ills correspondence was any thing but regular 
 
 lengthy. He seemed to encounter epistolary 
 .iipfilinients on land which Victor never met 
 vith on water — for lie wrote when Hubert could 
 Hot. or, most certainly, did not. 
 
 I ** Constance, have you heard from Italy lately ?" 
 inquired Laurette, about a fortnight aftel- their 
 I arrival at the Priory. 
 
 " Not very lately," was the reply, and she 
 blushed to think such was the case; "perhaps 
 the letters have not been regularly forwarded 
 from Scotland," she added, in the desperate hope 
 J that Laurette would tiiink the same. 
 j " Mamma's and mine have all arrived, and so 
 I have papa's, as 1 saw him take a goodly number 
 away redirected only this morning; besides, we. 
 have been here a fortnight or more,"' she contin- 
 ued, maliciously, and determined that this sub- 
 terfuge should not save her cousin. " But I 
 thought you could not have heard, or you would 
 have mentioned it, that Hubert had joined a party 
 in an exploring visit to Sicily." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Constance, now thoroughly 
 surprised ; " how did you hear that .'" 
 
 " A friend of mine, who has lately married, has 
 been traveling with her husband in Italy. At 
 Naples they were introduced to Hubert, and from 
 her account the handsome Englishman is making 
 sad havoc among Italian hearts." 
 
 " Nonsense, Laurette ! how you rattle on," said 
 Constance, laughing, and too unsu^iicious to be 
 wounded by this arrow. 
 
 *■ Nothing like credulity and incredulity," re- 
 plied Laurette, *' for I have constantly remarked 
 that they usually walk hand-in-hand ; so, my 
 dear, let them both console you, till you discover 
 for yourself that this gay Hubert is — now do not 
 be angry — a sad flirt." 
 
 " Nay, Laurette, that is an odious word." 
 
 " Odious or not, it is the true and proper one 
 here. Why, Hubert would have flirted with mo 
 if 1 would have permitted it ; and when he found 
 that I did not think this suitable amusement for 
 a lady and gentleman, he would flirt with any of 
 the village girls rather than be out of practice." 
 
 Constance was too angry to reply to this ; but 
 really wishing to hear about the Sicilian expedi- 
 tion, she checked any display of feeling, and 
 asked, with affected composure, '• Did your friend 
 I join this party ?" 
 
 " It has struck," thought Laurette, noting the 
 shade on that ingenuous tace, and the pointed dis- 
 regard of her censure. " No, she could not,'" she- 
 replied, "and much regretted the impos.sibility, 
 as a Neapolitan family, with whose daughter she 
 had tormed an acquaintance, were the promoters 
 of the party in which Hubert was included. I 
 dare s;iy," she added carelessly, " you have heard 
 Lady llurstwood speak of the Duca di St. An- 
 gelo :" 
 
 •' No," said Constance, thoughtfully ; but she 
 was not now likely to forget the name. 
 
 Another week, still no letter— at last a very 
 hurrietl one, dated Palermo — but no mention 
 made of having joined any particular party ; nor 
 did he find time to say wliere her answer would 
 reach him. 
 
 Pained, she scarcely ventured to ask herself 
 why, Constance was too just, too generous, to 
 dwell upon what seemed injurious to Hubert's 
 character, especially as he was absent. She 
 therefore busied herself as usual in any thing 
 that needed her help, and sent for little Minnie 
 Dallas, who, since Helen's departure, had been 
 frequently for weeks her companion and amuse- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 117 
 
 ment, and who was will with delight at hearing 
 of the summons. She assisted Mrs. Vernon and 
 Caroline in their village duties, and was as the 
 apple of her eye to her fond motlicr. 
 
 Caroline was now preparing for her visit to 
 London, as Mr. Morton had, w-ithin the last few 
 days, returned to the Hermitage, for the purpose 
 of escorting her and Mrs. Vernon to his town- 
 house. . 
 
 " Oh, Caroline, how I envy you !" sighed Con- 
 stance, having walked to the Rectory to bid her 
 farewell. " You look shocked at my speech, but 
 you can see our darling Hch'U, you, and Mrs. 
 Vernon ; and mamma and I can not," and tears 
 rushed to her eyes at the thought that this hap- 
 piness was forbidden t-o them by whom it was 
 most prized. 
 
 " Dear Constance," replied Caroline, gently and 
 soothingly, " I know this is your sad trial ; but 
 dear friend, it must work out its use, and tlien 
 God will remove it ; do not, therefore, lengthen 
 your probation by repining." 
 
 " I try not, Carry," she said, sadly but hum- 
 bly ; but you never had a sister." 
 
 " No ; but I have two brothers — one lost to us 
 by marriage," she answered, trying to impart a 
 ray of lier own cheerfulnesss — " and the other 
 swallowed up by law." 
 
 " Yes," said Constance, determined not to talk 
 of her sorrows, though she could not forget them; 
 " and that reminds me I have a message to send 
 to Ashle}'. Tell him, I shall not forgive him for 
 taking sur;h ungenerous advantage of our absence, 
 and making his visit then, till he comes and sues 
 for it humbly ia person. And mind, Carry, you 
 send us drawings of all you see at Helen's ; the 
 inside and outside of their cottage, a sketch of 
 dear old Gretchen, and pray take notice how she 
 looks when you give her my copy of mamma's 
 sweet face ; and send us portraits, morally, in- 
 tellectually, and physically, of all their friends, I 
 and in short telLus all you can of them — dear Keg- 
 ginald, and thrice dear Helen." 
 
 " You will not, then, refuse to pay the postage 
 of these bulky descriptious .'" 
 
 "Certainly not; they will be worth their 
 weight in gold." 
 
 And when Mrs. Vernon returned, having left 
 Caroline with the Mortons, by whom she was 
 lodged and feted like a princess, it is wonderful 
 how she managed to answer all the questions 
 Constance poured forth. 
 
 "Dear child," said Mrs. Templeton, "let our 
 kind friend take breath ;" but she looked very 
 happy herself to hear the replies, though tears 
 ■were still on her cheeks. 
 
 " I have a great mind to punish you by being 
 obedient, mamma. You pretend to stop me and 
 yet sit there urging me to go on — yes, you do. 
 What does your d^jar contented face say, but ' (lo 
 on, Constance, let mi hear something else that will 
 make us happy .' " 
 
 " I believe, then, that you can scarcely ank 
 any thing to which my reply would not be satis- 
 factory," said Mrs- Vernon, cheerfully. " A-h- 
 ley says, that if ever he is inclined to feel dull, 
 he goes to Kegin;ild"8, and comes away almost 
 happy — why he should not say quite, 1 can not 
 tell." 
 
 " He studies too hard," said Constance. " You 
 
 must insist on his coming here, and tliat will 
 cure him." 
 
 " And so the little Mortons are sweet birds, 
 you say.'" asked Mis. Templeton; "and Caro- 
 line's introduction to Victor's relatives pleases 
 you.'" 
 
 •" Very much. They have a noble, well-ap- 
 pointed house ; Miss Newman is very amiahle— 
 older than Mr. Morton, and already Helen has 
 won her interest. While I was in town I was 
 also introduced to Mr. Turner and his sister 
 — both of them studies in intelligence and kind- 
 ness — and to a Mr. and Mrs. Stacey, of whom more 
 hereafter." 
 
 '• What a delight this visit has been, dearest," 
 said Constance to her mother, as they drove home ; 
 " Helen seems to have quite a list of friends, and 
 all of them people we should like to know — clever 
 and intellectual, all more or less celebrated ; and 
 then, if t^he and Reginald do not mind giving up 
 pomp and lu.xuries, how much better off are they 
 than manj' others !" 
 
 " Does Minnie Dallas still occupy your dress- 
 ing-room, Constance .'" inquired Mrs. Templeton, 
 as if, during this remark, her thoughts had been 
 far away. 
 
 " Yes, mamma ; I have taken Helen's ever since 
 she left, and keep it sacred from any one else." 
 
 "Then, come, my dear, and have a chat with 
 me to-night, instead of going to your room." 
 
 " Thank you, dear mother ! 1 shall enjoy 
 that ; it is such a pleasure to feel I am your friend 
 as well as your child- — there is nothing better." 
 
 Had she forgotten her vexation about Hubert .' 
 In truth, this looked and .^souncled ^-ather like it ; 
 and yet it was only the firm trust that love and 
 respect bring, which mjide her so contented and 
 happy. She was sure he had a sufficient reason 
 for acting as he did ; he must not be judged hast- 
 ily ; and her noble and truthful nature had its 
 reward in being spared the agony of fear and 
 doubt. 
 
 CHAPTER, L. 
 
 "If Misfortune comps, she btings along • 
 Th\j bravLSl virluea." Tiiomsoh. 
 
 " And now, mamma, that we are so snug and 
 comfortable, what have you to tell me .'" inquired 
 Constance, as she sat in her mother's bopdoir. 
 
 " Several things, my dear, but first come 
 here — " and she showed Constance the door 
 through which Helen had passed on tliat memor- 
 able night, and repeated the explanation she had 
 then given- 
 
 " I see it a])," said Constance, with a look of 
 intelligence, and a sigh which seemed as if a load 
 had been removed from her breast — •' ami that I 
 should never liave thought of it — but we must not 
 speak of it, 1 suppose." 
 
 " Not yet," replied Mrs. Templeton, pleased to 
 find that Constance had divined what she wi.shed 
 her to know, and yet had hesitated to avow. " 1 
 show you this simple contrivance because I liave 
 still the same su.^-picions regarding Ruth that I 
 then h:id — Dawson does not hesitate to say that 
 she is not trustworthy. ' 
 
11) 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " If you distrust Ruth, why not dismiss her ?" 
 nskeJ Constance. 
 
 " Because I do not like to act upon mere sus- 
 picion — for 1 might do her a serious injury. No 
 one could have been more attentive or useful while 
 we were at Grantham, and during our Scotch 
 visit She seems attached to us— and yet 1 doubt 
 her." 
 
 " Is Dawson prejudiced ?" 
 
 " I believe not — but she asserts that she has 
 often found Kuth lingering about this corridor, 
 after she has been dismissed, as if listening or 
 spying — that once shij heard her shut a drawer 
 hastily in your dressing-room, and, on entering, 
 she smelt the peculiar scent of that Indian box 
 in which you keep your letters, and which 1 know 
 you lock up in your dressing-case. Dawson at 
 once recognized the scent. ^Vhat do you keep 
 there : Hubert "s letters, I suppose." 
 
 " No, mamma," said Constance, with a smile 
 and a blush, " they live by themselves. In that 
 bo.^ there are only letters and notes from my 
 general correspondents." 
 
 " I am glad of that — we must be careful ; and 
 directly I can, without injury to her, I shall dis- 
 miss Kuth : but my greatest objection to her is 
 still to be told — 1 know that she is intimate at 
 Cooper's ; and, Constance, believe me, that man 
 is a rogue, and all his party good for nothing. 
 But I have not yet done with my revelations- 
 come here." 
 
 The rooms which especially were called Mrs. 
 Templetons consisted, as we have said, of four, 
 the last being a bath-room. 
 
 One day, years ago, Mrs. Templeton remarked, 
 that while the external wall ran in an unbroken 
 line, this bath-room was internally much smaller 
 than the dressing- room which it joined ; and, on 
 examining it, she felt sure thac there was either 
 a very large closet or some waste space. 
 
 " I mentioned this to Dawson," she continued, 
 " who was amused at my having attached any 
 mystery to the matter — the wall was built even 
 outside, to preserve architectural symmetry, but 
 as the tireplace of the bath-room could be placed 
 only on that side, a double wall was run up— see 
 this projection is made by the chimnc-y and fire- 
 place ;" and Constance followed her mother into a 
 long, narrow, but lofty slip or closet, the entrance 
 to which was by a sliding panel neatly contrived, 
 but apparently with so little desire for conccal- 
 niL'nt, that it was surprising every successive 
 housemaid had not detectetl it. 
 
 " 1 show it you because it gave me the idea of 
 opening the door I had made from your rooms. I 
 often think of that communication — " she sud- 
 denly stopped and became pale and agitated. 
 " Constance," she continued, solemnly, " I have 
 sometinjcs trembled at the thought that if ever 
 your father should learn the particulars of Helen's 
 flight, in his anger he would hesitate at nothing." 
 
 " Good heavens ! mother ;" and Constance cast 
 her arms round her, as if to protect hor from 
 hann. 
 
 " Well," snid Mrs. Templeton. after a pause, 
 '• I am glad that this is t<jld— and now, my child, 
 I am about to incur further risk, and 1 want you 
 to help me — I mmt s'c Helen." 
 
 " .NIamma, you really terrify me." 
 
 " 1 hope not, for 1 rely on your presence of 
 
 mind and energy. Helen expects to be confiued 
 in a few months. I must, I will see her— but, if 
 I delay, perhaps Reginald might object to my 
 wish — indeed. 1 must go soon, or not at all, — ani 
 I repeat it, I will see her — why am I passively to 
 submit to this : all else, all else — but not to lose 
 my children ;" and she laid her head on Con- 
 stance's shoulder and wept convulsively. 
 
 Constance spoke not ; tears silently rolled dowa 
 her face, but she pressed her mother to her heart : 
 and repeatedly kissed her. 
 
 " I believe I have said all I need," resumed i 
 Mrs. Templeton, making a successful eflFort to be 
 calm — " forgive me, my child, for having laid on 
 your young heart part of a burden 1 sometimes 
 tind almost too heavy to bear alone, and in i 
 silence." '' 
 
 " Oh, mother ! dearest mother ! God knows I 
 willingly accept it -and how willingly I would, 
 if I could, take it all from you. Mother, is good 
 to come from this also .'" 
 
 " I firmly believe so," was the reply; "if not 
 in the way we wish, in a way that will be nine' 
 better for us. And now listen ; my plan is tlr 
 The Sinclairs leave us for a week's visit at Hui - 
 wood. In a few days your father is going t ;. 
 I toYim on bvLsiness. I know this, as Cecilia puts 
 ' off her party in order that we may all be there — 
 for she is kindly bent on keeping up a friendly 
 appearance. Doctor and Mrs. Vernon are in- 
 formed of my intentions — the latter will accom- 
 pany me — we shall, or rather she will, ostenta- 
 tiously leave in the evening early — we travel all 
 xiight, and breakfast with my darling girl — a 
 short rest, again a night journey, and home. Yuu 
 may, if you like, take Dawson into your con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " jVnd what can I do .'" 
 
 " Show lights in my rooms — moving lights, a3 
 if I were there — disarrange the rooms as though 
 tliey had been occupieil, to avert suspicion — but 
 above all, lights at night — I know there are spit's 
 without, 1 believe there is one within. Be especi- 
 ally on your guard against Ruth. Are you equ;il 
 to all this .' the pier-door will enable you to do it. 
 without crossing the corridor." 
 
 " Trust me," replied Constance ; " in this car- 
 I am strong and vigilant." 
 
 " And now, my precious, receive my thank 
 and good-night — but stay, I have one trifle nvw 
 to tell you ;" and she informed Constance of tlie 
 income she had secured to Helen, and how si" 
 had been enabled to do so^ — '-and should a; 
 thing have occurred which you wish me to le i 
 directly I return, if we can not meet, do not in 
 get our broad-leaved letter-lx)x ;" and lea'lii 
 her through the glass-door she again kissed h. 
 and they separated. 
 
 When Constance readied her own room, late !v.s , 
 it was, she sat down to think over all that her 
 mother had told her — how thankful she was th;' 
 Helen's disappearance was sanctioned by tli 
 mother ; for, to her, there had always be 
 something painful and degrading in the susp - 
 cion that Helen, even in the desperate circum- 
 stances in which she was placed, should havo 
 arranged and carried on a clandestine correr<- 
 pondence — or that while her mother and sister 
 were sorrowing and suffering with her, she should 
 have planned an escape. From all this Helen now i 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 stood quite exonerated — as well as Ki-ginald, who 
 had shared in the secret censui-e which Constance 
 could not lielp pronouncing. 
 
 How her mother had carried the matter suc- 
 cessfully through, Constance knew not ; but it 
 was an infinite relief to believe that the whole 
 respon.sibility rested on her. 
 
 The ini'ormation relating to Helen's pecuniary 
 matters, gave her also great pleasure. 1 1 ow often 
 had she looked at the luxuries which everywhere 
 em-rounded her, and thought that, perhaps, the 
 strictest economy could hardly make their pres- 
 ent means suffice — for she knew that Reginald 
 had scarcely any thing of his own beyond the 
 rent of Sea-View Cottage — now, she could picture 
 them comfortably oif; and this, added to the 
 charming description Mrs. Vernon had given of 
 them and their society, made her feel quite 
 happy. 
 
 But then suddenly rushed into her mind the 
 dread of discovery ; and Constance shuddered at 
 the bare idea of what her father's rage would be, j 
 and of what it would lead to. She knew, tliat ^ 
 though he connived at her mother's hearing from 
 Helen, perhaps only because he could not possibly [ 
 kelp it, his anger was not at all abated — on tlie i 
 contrary, Cecilia's mari-iage had but served to | 
 sharpen his indignation against Helen, for having j 
 scorned those advantages he now, more plainly | 
 than ever, saw would have attended the match — [ 
 while some rnnoying arrangements about money, 
 which he had recently been forced to make, would 
 have been unnecessary, had he had the wealthy 
 peer for his son-in-law, 
 
 Constance dreaded also this fresh risk her 
 mother was going to encounter, though slie 
 sighed to think that such danger should ever 
 attend a parent's visit to her child. How she 
 now wished for Hubert ! his presence would so 
 cheer and encourage her. Gay, happy Huliert, 
 who always brought sunshine with him. " J'er- 
 haps," she said. " I shall have a letter to-mor- 
 row ;" and with that hope she retire<l to rest. 
 
 " I expect Mrs. Vernon to-morrow morning, 
 to breakfast with us, Helen," said Reginald, try- 
 ing to speak, as if this were an every-day occur- 
 rence. " I have told Gretchen, and she is already 
 as busy as a bee, preparing quite a banquet of 
 coflFee and cakes." 
 
 " When did she arrive .'" inquired Helen ; " I 
 hope tliey are all well." 
 
 " Very well — but she has not yet arrived ; her 
 visit will be truly a flying one— for they imitate 
 us, and travel all night." 
 
 " What an odd arrangement — does tlie Doctor 
 accompany her :" 
 
 " No," he said, and he felt anxious, as he 
 knew what a few more questions would re- 
 Teal ; " she brings a lady friend to see us— to 
 tsee you." 
 
 " Oh, Reginald ! Reginald !" and she fixed her 
 expressive eyes wildly on his face. 
 
 " But they will not be admitted, if my little 
 wife is not quice composed ;" he put his arm 
 round her, for she looked pale. 
 
 " It is mamma ! my darling mother !" and she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Yes, my love, it is — but do not make us re- 
 pent having planned this pleasure, or it must not 
 take place." 
 
 " Dear husband, let me weep— it docs mo 
 good," said Helen ; and after a few minutes' 
 quiet indulgence in this luxury of tears, she 
 raised her head from liis slioulder, and .•<aid, 
 " How kind of you— 1 have so pined for tlii.-. 
 ' you can not think — and it will make me bo 
 I happy." 
 
 " 1 know it, dear Helen, and therefore I have 
 j urged it ; and now let us talk it over composedly, 
 ; and let this dear inannna see tliat my wife is n"l- 
 , most more beautifid than ever, and tis happy as 
 she is fair ;" and he looked fondly at the sweet 
 face which raised its grateful eyes to his. 
 
 And when, the next day, she rose earlier than 
 usual, he was delighted to find tliat instead (jf 
 [ exciting, the expected interview had almost (jui- 
 eted her. Her great wish was ahout to be grunt- 
 ed, and Helen felt sootiied and tliankful. 
 
 And the breakfast was jirepared in grand 
 style, for Gretchen had seen after that; and 
 Helen, in her simple dress, was looking .si 
 charming, that Reginald forgot lost wealth and 
 station, and felt there w:is nothing wanting to 
 complete liis happiness but a reconciliation with 
 her family. 
 
 But here is the carriage — Helen turns faint 
 and pale — in a minute she is in her mother's 
 arms — how it was all managed she does not 
 know, but there stands Reginald, looking so 
 proud and so handsome, and tliere was her moili- 
 er's smiling face, while her arms were still round 
 her, and Mrs. Vernon and Gretchen deep in tiio 
 mysteries of the breakfast-table. 
 
 " We have usurped your throne, dear Helen." 
 said the former ; '• but your mother and 1 have 
 traveled all night, so we both require breakfast. 
 And the sound of the well-known voice com- 
 pletely restored Helen to consciousness, for a 
 strange feeling of swimming liad prevented her 
 from fully understanding all that had so sudden- 
 ly ha]ipened. 
 
 " .^lamnla !'' and a shower of kisses fell on the 
 dear form she had so longcil to sec — she kissed 
 her hands, her hair, her very dress, in an ecsta- 
 sy of rapture ; and then followed question upon 
 question, till Mrs. Vernon called " Order, order," 
 and set tliem an example of what she termed sen- 
 sible behavior, by commencing her breakfast in 
 good earnest. 
 
 And a strange meal this breakfast was ; nor 
 was Gretclien's conduct the least extraordinary 
 part of it; siie came in, for at least, tlic tenth 
 time, apropos to notliing, except to look at Mrs. 
 Templeton. touch lier bonnet, or shawl, or some- 
 thing that belonged to her; but wlien her mis- 
 tress again put out her hand, au<l once more 
 tlianked her for all siie had done for Helen, 
 Gretchen could stMud out no longer — she pres.sed 
 tlie hand with deep reverence to her lips, and 
 in her own language uttered a prayer over it, 
 tliat the good Lord would, one day, see fit to let 
 ills face shine on her and liers, even in this life; 
 and having thus relieved lier jient-up feelings, 
 she quietly resumed her household iluties, and 
 busied herself in preparations for her unexpected 
 but cherished vi.siiors. 
 
 "Now," said .Mr.s. Vernon, " I think half-an- 
 hour's walk on your beautiful heath will refresh 
 me more than any thing— so, if Mr. West will ac- 
 company me, I am ready." 
 
120 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " Will you not lie down in preference r'' asked " Another mercy to return thanks for," Sfii'd 
 Helen ; " there is a room quite prepared for Constance, solemnly. 
 
 you." 
 
 '• Not till after my walk ; then I may. per- 
 haps, doze— at present 1 could not; now adieu 
 for an hour." 
 
 80 mother and daughter were again left alone; 
 
 " You are right, it is indeed — but has all gone 
 well, here r" 
 
 " Quite well — Dawson has helped me — you 
 were not missed till last evening, when Ruth 
 wanted particularly to see you — but 1 told her 
 
 for the first time since that eventful night when her business must wait till this morning. I was 
 
 one had braved so much to save the other. And 
 amply was this now repaid— there sat Helen, no 
 longer pale, broken-hearted, desperate, and de- 
 spairing—but blooming, happy, joy dancing =- 
 
 up long before any one— put your room into 
 ' most admired disorder,' and when Huth enters 
 mine, she will find that 1 have flown — and as we 
 return together, may suppose that we both rose 
 
 her eyes and smiles on her lips ; and as Mrs. early for a walk. 1 was sadly afraid Lost night, 
 
 Templeton looked around and saw, not indeed for the clouds threatened rain, and then my plot 
 
 luxuries, but comfort, and marked the love that would have been a failure." 
 
 spoke in every tone of Reginald's voice, she felt " And the lights .'" 
 
 that she had done well to secure such great bless- " Most ostentatiously displayed — especially last 
 
 ings for her child. I night — for I fancied when 1 entered the conserva- 
 
 Ashley rode up for half-an-hour toward the ! tory that I heard a step on the gravel." 
 middle of the day; he fancied that this inter- I '• Had you a light then .-" 
 
 ruption would be a relief to the continued in- j " Of course not — or my means of access would 
 dulgence of feelings which were almost painful have been discovered, had any one been watch- 
 from their intensity ; and he was right — the ! ing. So I returned to my room and rang for 
 thoughts of all were brought down to a more Ruth, who was a very long time before she 
 common level, while conversation was diverted came. Dawson declares she had to be sought 
 into a more ordinary channel. for, but she means to find this out, in her own 
 
 The Staceys, who had been told of this ex- j fashion." 
 pected visit, of course kept away : but he had " Well, dear, and then ?" 
 
 worked himself up to such a state of excitement I "Then I undressed, and dismissed her ag 
 in imagining the scene, that he struck off a short usual, before I read a little. I again entered 
 poem, which described so much that had really your conservatory — carefully lighted the taper 
 occurred, and this with so graceful a flow of in your bed-room — the boudoir table-lamp had 
 language, that when he read it the next week to ' been lighted before, so that the oil might be 
 Helen, her eyes filled with tears ; which he pro- consumed — and then I paraded from your dress- 
 
 tested was tho most flattering homage a poet 
 could receive. 
 
 But now evening is come — and they must 
 part, who have so lately met. Helen's smile 
 
 ing-room to your bed-room, as if going to rest 
 — put out the lamp, and left the night-light 
 burning." 
 
 Well done, dear ; you have, by your courage. 
 
 faded away as her mother pressed her to her enabled me to secure a great and permanent 
 bosom. " But we will soon meet again, my dear : pleasure, one that Helen also largely shares in ;" 
 girl ; meantime, let us treasure the remem- and then she proceeded to give Constance all the 
 brance of this bright day, to cheer us through minutite she could possibly remember relating to 
 any gloomy ones." ' that dear banished one. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon, who had had some refreshing ' Still she was not satisfied ; but smiled and 
 
 sleep at the Cottage, now undertook to watch 
 and arrange, while her exhausted friend re- 
 posed. 
 
 -As they approached the end of their journey, 
 which had been arranged on Mr. Mortons plan, 
 though not performed quite so expeditiously, 
 Mrs. Templeton began to be nervous and un- 
 Ciisy. 
 
 Tliere is the Doctor's carriage waiting to con- 
 vey them to the Rectory — here is the Rectory — 
 '• And see, my husband," said Mrs. Vernon ; I 
 " and yes — it is— there is Constance." 
 
 " All safe, dearest mamma," were the first 
 words 
 
 " Heaven be praised for this mercy." 
 
 " Amen." said the Doctor, reverently, " we do 
 not a.-sk you to stay and breakfast, my dear friend ; 
 you will be better at home — and when you feel 
 
 bJid, remember this great blessing, and praise His Helen — not that I mean this as a reproach — per- 
 nainc for it." ; haps, to the majority, it would sound like a 
 
 •' We shall, most devoutly; and now adieu." ' compiliment. Even /have sometimes questioned 
 
 " And Helen?" cried Constance, looking as if whether the possessor of great delicacy and re- 
 the answer must be returned in some way more finement, strong aflfections and acute sensibil- 
 specdily than by words. , ities, is to be envied — whether, in short, these 
 
 " Happy — happier and more beautiful than [ are the fit materi.ab* with which to go through 
 ever— for she looks cheerful and contented." I this work-a-day world. 1 fear they cause many 
 
 shook her head, remarking that she feared her 
 mother had no eye for the details of a picture, as 
 she could tell neither the color of Helen's dress, 
 nor give a catalogue of the furniture. 
 
 " 1 plead guilty to this — but in compensation, 
 I can tell you that this journey has relieved my 
 mind of a host of apprehensions and fears. I now 
 picture Helen well and happy— instead of fancy- 
 ing her still the pale, dispirited girl who fled to 
 avoid all but dislionor." 
 
 " And yet, mamma," observed Constance, " how 
 happy Cecilia is" 
 
 " Yes — and you would say, in the very situa- 
 tion from which Helen shrunk with dismay— but 
 Cecilia, though she had no decided preference for 
 Lord Hurstwood, had certainly no deciiled ob- 
 jection — nor did she love another. Besides, she 
 is altogether a very dift'erent character from 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 121 
 
 a vround and bruise, from which others, who pos- 
 sess them not, escape: and, except strong affec- 
 tions. Cecilia is not much troubled wiih tlie rest 
 — she is true, honorable, an excellent daughter, 
 a firm friend, and will, I am per!<uaded, unless it 
 be his own fault, make Lord llurstwood very 
 happy. She is one whom 1 greatly- love and re- 
 spect; and all the good qualities he has, and 
 which have hitherto been perverted or warped 
 aside, ^vill, by her invisible management, be de- 
 veloped and confirmed " 
 
 " Still, mamma, great refinement, though it 
 may be hurt where rouglier natures never can, 
 has pleasures which these can never know." 
 
 " You are right ; for I never yet met with any 
 one who possessed it that was willing to excliangc 
 it for more blunted feelings, though they might, 
 at the very moment, be smarting from contact 
 with the rude and rough." 
 
 " And now, I suppose, you will try and see 
 Helen again .'" said Constance. 
 
 "I shall, but not till after her confinement. 
 I have no longer a feverish anxiety about her. I 
 have seen that, hitherto, all has gone well, and 
 this I hope will strengthen me to trust the fu- 
 ture with One who does all things wisely ; but, 
 darling, can I not contrive to pleasure you — can 
 you not share in what you have ably helped me 
 to enjoy ?" 
 
 "Me! oh, mamma !" her eyes sparkling with 
 delight; '-oh, if you could safely contrive it," 
 and she began eagerly to pace up and down the 
 room. 
 
 " Well, we will accustom ourselves to the 
 idea, and then think and consult about effect- 
 ing it." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 "The devil knew not what he did when he made man 
 politic ; he crossed hirasell" by it, and I can noi think but, 
 in the end,the villainies of men will set him clear." — Tiinon 
 of AtJtens. 
 
 The dinner-party at the Hall comprised most 
 of those with whose names we are familiar, ex- 
 cept the Forresters. A ministerial crisis required 
 the presence of all their party, of which Mr. For- 
 rester formed one. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear," said the host, ad- 
 dressing Lady Sinclair, " that Lady llurstwood 
 has prevailed on you to prolong your stay and 
 favor her with your company during my ab- 
 sence. I am going to London to morrow, to be 
 at my post in the house," he continued, turning 
 to Doctor Vernon ; " a very important question 
 is pending, and if the ministers are beaten on it, 
 they must resign." 
 
 " Then there will probably be a dissolution," 
 observed Sir William Dallas. 
 
 " No doubt — this is the sixth year of the 
 Parliament's age — when it is generally pro- 
 nounced superannuated, and receives the same 
 fate, as I have read the Hindoos inflict on the 
 aged and infirm— namely, is killed, to spare the 
 pain of narurnl death." 
 , " I wonder your Lordship does not exercise 
 
 your privilege, and vote by proxy," said Mrs. 
 Templcton. 
 
 " So 1 would, if I did not wish to show very 
 pointetUy that 1 am in oj>position— 1 may safely 
 say so— as our respected memlier, Mr. Forrester, 
 is absent— for whom no one has more regard than 
 myself, though we are political antipodes." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope they will be beaten, lor then there 
 will be an election," exclaimed Lady Dallas, 
 whose imagination was already busy with bows, 
 ribbons, banners, chairing, and, finally, a ball at 
 the Grange, tlie usual close to what was generally 
 a very friendly and quiet little transaction ; in 
 the course of which Mr. Forrester would be nom- 
 inated, seconded, and make a speech about Church 
 and Constitution — would be returned in the most 
 genteel manner possible; make another speech 
 about Constitution and Church, assure his friendly 
 supporters that Britannia was still very busy rul- 
 ing the waves — return thanks in a somewhat 
 lengthy wind-up, and dismiss them to a plentiful 
 dinner, where they might eat and drink as long 
 as they could 
 
 " Ah ! those ivere glorious times for country 
 gentlemen— there was no Carlton with its snug- 
 gery — no gallant officer with his A.S.S. signature 
 — or, suppose there were — there was no ' Times' 
 to drag the convenient arrangements before the 
 public — to tear the lion mask oft' the honorable 
 initials and show that he signal truly — there 
 was no rude violation of the Eleusinian mysteries 
 performed in little dark rooms, and the hocus- 
 pocus doings of tlie presiding priest — no inquisitive 
 and prying election committee, vailgarly troub- 
 ling themselves with their neighbors' affairs— oh, 
 no ! — " a fellow-feeling made them wondrous 
 kind"— they remembered their Latin, aijd as they 
 themselves lived in glass houses, forbore to throw 
 stones — there was no cross-ques»tioning of " frail" 
 witnesses and agents, whetlier Black, Brown, or 
 Grey— but when a gentleman was returned, his 
 friends congratulated him, and wished his country 
 joy of .so honorable a member. 
 
 The day after this party, Colonel Tcmpleton 
 mentioned the rumor, of a probable dissolution, to 
 Cooper — for it was no secret to all wlio took an in- 
 terest in politics, that it was expected there would 
 be a struggle, a mustering of forces, and, per- 
 chance, a defeat. 
 
 Cooper, when he returned home, in his turn 
 named it to .Mrs. Captain, as an event likely to 
 excite her attention, on account of the festivities 
 and amusement even this peaceful election cause<l. 
 He forgot how trities light as air are, by a strong 
 will, made powerful instruments to serve a cher- 
 ished purp)se — perhaps he had never rcjad the 
 court gossip of how Abigail Masham's best silk 
 gown was spoiled, and the disasters it caused 
 — but it was too late if he had. for the words were 
 spoken, iind dauntless Mrs. Captain grappled at 
 once with a new idea. 
 
 " I'ut Colonel Templeton in opposition," said 
 this brave and patriotic dame. 
 
 " Good fJod ! what are you thinking of ?" ex- 
 claimed Cooper. 
 
 " Of myself," was the sublime reply. 
 
 " Return Colonel Templeton !" ga.'^ped the 
 amazed agent. 
 
 " Who spoke of return ':" withering .scorn on 
 her bold but handsome face. " 1 said, put him in 
 
222 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 opposition, and I mean what I say. How will that 
 stately, pompous old empty head," such was her 
 irreverent way of mentioning Forrester of Forest 
 Hill and llargrave likewise — " how will he like 
 the man, or the daughter of the man either, who 
 attempts this? for I know it will be but an 
 attempt." 
 
 " And the money, where is that to come from? 
 for I know he is hard up." 
 
 " It must come from the wood — it needs no fairy, 
 in these days, to turn trees to gold — a good chop- 
 per does lliat." 
 
 " How often must I tell you," asked Cooper, 
 impatiently, " that he will not cut any more ? 
 You know he almost quarreled with me about that 
 last clearance. Will you never understand the 
 difference between trees and timber ?" 
 
 " Pooh !" she retorted, with infinite contempt ; 
 " a distinction without a ditference." 
 
 " Maria, I told you then, that I believed he con- 
 sulted some one in London about that fall, and 
 found he had done wrong — besides, if you put this 
 clearing project into his head, I would not give 
 much for the stability of any thing he could con- 
 vert into money; and I fancy it would not suit 
 your schemes to have only the bare walls of the 
 Priory left " 
 
 " Certainly not ;'* and she laughed a little merry 
 laugh. " Well, then, he must borrow, and make 
 those about him more economical ; so, send him 
 to me ; I undertake that he shall come back 
 primed and loaded, qifite ready to take the field — 
 there shall, at least, be an explosion, and a little 
 mischief." 
 
 I very much fear that the old king who said 
 women are the cause of all the disasters that hap- 
 pen, had reasoned from cause to effect, and from 
 eti'ect to cause, as closely as any Scotch metaphy- 
 sician^for certain it is that from Eve, the first 
 mischief-maker, down to the last little miss who 
 encouraged her brother to steal the green goose- 
 berries, which she ate, and for which he was pun- 
 ished, tliese fair creatures are perpetually tossing 
 about apples of discord. It is a fact, that Colonel 
 Templeton, who had laughed at Cooper, when that 
 wortliy hinted at the astonishment Mr. Forrester 
 would feel, were he to offer himself as his oppon- 
 ent, and who had subsequently never thought of 
 such a proceeding, returned from the village, bent 
 on trying his chance in a contested election. 
 " Some demon whispered, Colonel, have a seat." 
 
 When this determination became known, it is 
 more easy to imagine tlian describe the dismay of 
 his wife and diuigliter, the sorrow of the Vernons, 
 and the indignation of Sir William Dallas ; who, 
 though, like his father the General, he dilTered in 
 opinion from .Mr. Forrester, considered him so 
 honorable and independent a man, that notwith- 
 standing more than one application, both had 
 always lieclincd to oppose his return. 
 
 And now, i'lilnnel Templeton, a man not liked 
 even on his own property — a man who, for various 
 reasons, was positively disliked in many other 
 quarters, a man of no particuhir intelligence, in- 
 lluence, or weight — wlio had never done any one 
 act likely to make him popular — he, above all 
 others, to break through .ill precedent !— it Avas 
 monstrouu ! 
 
 It is true that the Ashley family, who had I 
 
 agreed in politics with the Forresters, had, on 
 one or two occasions, been returned instead of a 
 Forrester- — but this had never been on account of 
 any unfriendly or adverse feeling — it had gont'V- 
 ally happened when, from seniority in age, an 
 Ashley had the advantage. 
 
 " My dear Cecilia," said Lord Ilurstwood, a few 
 days after the event he had predicted, and helptnl 
 to eSect, had happened, " did you know that Col- 
 onel Templeton intends to oppose Mr. Forrester's 
 return .'" 
 
 •' No, indeed, I did not," she replied, " and on 
 every account I am sui'prised — for one reason, very 
 sorry. How will this affect his son's engagement 
 with Constance .'" 
 
 His Lordship merely shrugged his shoulders, a 
 movement which plainly and expressively said, 
 " that is his aliair." 
 
 " I think," he said, after a pause, " that if you 
 do not object, we might very pleasantly pass four 
 or five weeks in Paris. You have never been then'. 
 On our return this election will be over, and Lady 
 Grantham will then ])erform lier promise of 
 spending a few months iiere." 
 
 " I am delighted witli your plan, my dear 
 Lord," she answered — she was almost always 
 pleased with what he proposed, wise wife ! — " and 
 I presume you will like to start soon." 
 
 So to Paris they went ; his Lordsliip giving his 
 tenantry to understand that they were to vote as 
 they tliought proper ; for, though the Colonel was 
 his wife's uncle, and on his own side of the ques- 
 tion, that was no reason why he should dictate to 
 them ; in short, he respected Mr. Forrester, but 
 not Colonel Templeton. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 " Here we go up, up, up, 
 And here we go down, down, down." 
 
 ii^<r«(,v(/ lihyrMS. 
 
 Hubert was at Naples when he received a 
 letter from his father, summoning him immedi- 
 ately to England, but in whicli no reason was 
 assigned for this unexpected though peremptory 
 call. 
 
 Happily for his character as an obedient son, 
 this arrived at a juncture when his father's com- 
 mand was more readily attended to tlian it would 
 have been a few weeks earlier ; for the Duca di 
 St. Augelo and his family had gone to visit a 
 relative at Tarento. 
 
 Therefore, with some undefined idea that he 
 would return, and complete his term of probation 
 in that delicious climate, Hubert set out without 
 any needless delay. 
 
 ilad any one told him that his love for Con- 
 stance iiad diminished with absence, he would 
 have repelled the accusation with indignation ; 
 because it would have been equivalent to calling 
 him fickle, false, dishonorable, lint had he cx- 
 amineil his own feelings, or taken a just view of 
 his recent conduct, perliaps these oftensive terms 
 might have been suggested and whispered by 
 himsell". 
 
adofi 
 Mil 
 
 TilK WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 123 
 
 But Hubert never did examine or justly view 
 himself. He meant nothing dishonorable, he de- 
 liberately planned nothing faithless toward Con- 
 stance by his attentions to Beatrice. But was be, 
 therefore, guiltless ? 
 
 His fatiier's letter had, however, this good 
 effect : it awoke recollections of liome that had 
 lately been rather drowsy ; it recalled one fair 
 image, which had gradually ceased to be the one 
 most prominent ; and the reply to his father, an- 
 nouncing his prompt return, was accompanied by 
 one to Constance, so full of joyful anticipations of 
 their approaching meeting and of expressions of 
 unabated love, that she was vexed to remember 
 how she had sometimes thought his letters unin- 
 teresting and unsatisfactory, rare as they had 
 generally been. 
 
 It was, therefore, with double pleasure she read 
 this, which told of his return, at the very moment 
 when the thoughtless, the selfish conduct of her 
 father might have provoked a very ditt'ercnt tone ; 
 for she had never stopped to inquire if Hubert 
 knew what had occurred, and his letter had led 
 her to infer he returned because longer banish- 
 ment was insupportable ; for attaching but little 
 importance to his father's desire to see him, he 
 had not even alluded to it. 
 
 The Forresters, whose proud feelings had re- 
 ceived a wound never anticipated, and from a 
 quarter the least likely to have struck the blow, 
 remained in dignified silence in town, '• nursing 
 their wrath to keep it warm," and meditating 
 how, in a way most consistent with their family 
 honor, they could revenge the insult it had re- 
 ceived. 
 
 Of course, nothing was neglected by the Forest 
 Hill party to secure the defeat of the intruder ; 
 and though this seemed by no means a difficult 
 task, the zeal of Mr. Forrester's adherents made 
 them most desirous that his discoujfiture should 
 be so complete as to prevent any future interfer- 
 ence — at least, from him. 
 
 Nor, to do him justice, was Cooper less active ; 
 he was the very man of the situation — unscrupu- 
 lous both in deed and speech — confident of suc- 
 cess, and imparting this confiilence to others; 
 supple, and accommodating liimself to tlie whims, 
 prejudices, and ignorance of all ; cajoling, coax- 
 ing, bullying, as any of these means seemed 
 likely to succeed ; and had his principal possessed 
 the least chance of success, Cooper would soon 
 have inflated that chance, and made it a man-to- 
 man struggle. How miserably was all this talent 
 now wasted ! Surely such as he must liave been 
 in the mind's eye of the poet when h(? lamented 
 over the flower that blushes unseen, and the gem 
 that shines unheeded. How would a man like 
 Cooper have been hailed and feted during the 
 progress of some of those elections which have 
 lately become — we were gong to say— "so fa- 
 mous;" elections, where blarney, bribery, and 
 bludgeons— priests and perjury — fighting, rant- 
 ing, and calumny, if used generously and boldly, 
 are sure to carry the day — elections, where it is 
 impudence, meanness, and lungs, versus lionesty, 
 reason, and brains. He. at any rate, even now, 
 left nothing undone ; and the very day that Hu- 
 bert, not knowing his family were in London, ar- 
 rived at Forest Hill, and there first learned what 
 was going on, this faithful and zealous adherent 
 
 j was made practically to learn that there are 
 I other 
 
 Before Hubert left the Continent, the English 
 papers had informed him that tliere would lie a 
 general election; and as he approached Sea- 
 brooke, the name of " Tcmpleton, the coming 
 man," and similar placards, had astonished anil 
 greatly annoyed him. 
 
 From his deserted home, where he was in- 
 formed by his f ither's steward of the exact state 
 of atiairs, he rode immediately to tlie Priory, in 
 order to understand, if pcissible, wlnit had led to 
 this extraordinary opposition; but, alas! for his 
 father's cause!— his father's insulted dignity! — 
 the first person he beheld was Constance, more 
 beautiful than he had ever thought her, more be- 
 witching than he had ever found her. 
 
 How rapturously he gazed on her! how proud 
 
 he was to think that she was his, by promi.se — 
 
 his, by her own free will ! How could he ever 
 
 have fancied any other comparable with her.' — 
 
 and so, with a brow unclouded by self-reproach — 
 
 I for really he felt none — be was as gay. as charm- 
 
 I ing, as handsome as ever. And when Colonel 
 
 Templeton came home, with a very grave face and 
 
 I in no amiable temper, the sight of this smiling 
 
 j vision made him look less gloomy, and checked 
 
 I his ill humor, especially as events had just oc- 
 
 j curred which made Hubert's arrival, evidently in 
 
 ] a pacific character, most opportune. 
 
 Ah! Mr. Forrester ! Mr. Forrester ! if you do 
 not legislate better for the nation than you do to 
 I gain your own purposes, your defeat would be no 
 j loss to your country. 
 
 I Poor gentleman ! he had blundered at every 
 move. None the less enraged because he refrain- 
 ed from an open demonstration of anger, he 
 thought it a capital stroke of diplomacy to sum- 
 mon Hubert without giving his reasons, lest his 
 son, anticipating a rupture with Colonel Temple- 
 ton, shoukl refuse to return, and be implicated in 
 the quarrel. 
 
 Had he told Hubert the truth, the whole truth, 
 namely, that he intended to withdraw his pro- 
 mise, holding himself justified in so doing by the 
 offensive conduct of Colonel Templeton, who 
 knows whether that exemplary and dutiful son, 
 with the lovely face of Beatrice di 8t. Angeio 
 fresh in his recollection, might not have consent- 
 ed to relinquish the far lovelier one of Constance 
 Templeton .' 
 
 Why. also, had he not prevented his going to 
 Seabroike, by informing him that liimself and 
 his mother were in town .' this, to say the truth, 
 j he had done, but the letter never reached Hubert, 
 
 owing to his quick return. 
 j It is easy to imagine why Constance was re- 
 ; joiced to see Hubert ; but her father was not in 
 , love, nor did he usually evince much pleasure at 
 I seeing any one ; why, therefore, did he look glad, 
 : and say so ? 
 
 ; It is all very easy to plan a great and glorious 
 deed — the next thing is to execute it. Indeed, 
 some common-sense people insist upon it, tliat tiio 
 execution is tlie all in all, the only part that has 
 any merit. They quote vulg.ir jiroverlis— tho 
 })roof of the pudding, belling the cat, and such 
 like— but then, common sense ia ho low ! 
 
124 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Now Colonel Templeton had talked both largely 
 and loudly of representing his country — so far, 
 it was great and glorious. In aiding and abet- 
 ting, as before said, Cooper was not slack ; he 
 composed addresses and had them printed — he, 
 or Mrs. Captain, inventeil rude and insulting 
 placards about dumb orators and silent speakers, . 
 in allusion to Mr. Forrester's being generally 
 satisfied with recording his vote, without wasting 
 the time of the House by a speech, when his rea- 
 sons had already been well expressed by those 
 ■with whom he agreed. He was contented with 
 being recognized as a consistent, independent 
 member— and this he was, without having re- 
 course to brogue, bluster, or blunder, insolence 
 or invective; he had no talents for becoming 
 trumpeter in any demagogue's brass band; and 
 was too much a gentleman and a patriot to serve 
 in any political brigade, either as officer or sub- 
 altern. 
 
 This quality, which made him respected by all 
 parties in the House, was now, by the broad car- 
 icatures of Mrs. Captain, turned into ridicule ; 
 and the g.iping villagers were at iirst shocked, 
 and then uuiused, to see these coarse but humor- 
 ous jokes stuck in various conspicuous places, 
 and freely distributed to all who would take 
 them. 
 
 Not contented with collecting all the worthless 
 vagabonds and trampers, who sniff the ale and 
 beer of a coming contest from afar, and making 
 them drunk and quarrelsome, Cooper, embold- 
 ened by the continued absence of Mr. Forrester, 
 detcruiined to carry the war into the enemy's 
 quarters, and ventured to the village, from the 
 public-house of which hung and swung the For- 
 resters" arms. " 
 
 Here he began with some random observations, 
 till a little group, who had been lounging round 
 the green, attracted by the subject, gathered close 
 about him. Charmed with the apparent success 
 of his m.ancuver, he began to harangue them, 
 which was quietly listened to, till, coupling Mr. 
 Forrester's name with some impertinent jest, he 
 was at once made aware of his folly and rashness. 
 For suddenly, strong hands pinioned him, strong 
 hands blindfolded him, as securely as if he had 
 been Dame Fortune herself; and before he could 
 well understand it, he felt himself literally danc- 
 ing on notliing— but air ! for kicking and strug- 
 gling, up he went — s^houting and bawling, down 
 he came — up again — down again — and all in per- 
 fect silence ; ht had soon no power to cry, his 
 tormentors no intention — a woman's voice alone 
 was heard singing— 
 
 ■ An old woman tossed np in a blanket, 
 Scvi-niy limes as high as llie moon ; 
 AU'l in her hand she carried a broom — " 
 
 till faint, and evincing this by being passive in 
 the hands, or rather Idanket, of his a.ssailants ; 
 sick, dizzy, but carefully kept from bone-breaking, 
 he felt himself laid in a cold bath, and after a 
 short interval heard a voice, most suspiciously 
 like the one that had sung, exclaim — " Lauk-a- 
 day, Mustei" Cooper ! be it you. man .' deary me ! 
 ■what be you a doing of here .'" and the bandage 
 being removed, he found himself in the horse- 
 trough ! Too .sick and sore to move, he was lifted 
 out by the landlord and hostler, who grinned and 
 sniggered at each other, while a perfect roar 
 
 arose from the tap-room, as he was carried through 
 it up. stairs to bed. where, as he lay sore and sav- 
 age, he heard a full chorus shout out — 
 
 " Old woman, old woman, says I, says I, 
 
 Where are voii cuing sn liigh, su h sti ? , 
 
 Tu sweep the cobwebs .,ui of the skv, / 
 
 And I shall be back again by-aod-by." ! 
 
 There he remained all night, and early the next 
 morning, stiff, bruised, with aching head and fe- 
 verish body, he was conveyed in the landlord's 
 covered cart home, where he remained invisible to 
 all eyes for several days. And when he did re- 
 cover and emerge, so crestfallen and yet enraged 
 was he, that Colonel Templeton advised a week's 
 absence to some place where he could recover his 
 nerves and, if possible, his temper. 
 
 But this incident decided the fate of the elec- . 
 tion. Colonel Templeton, who had never compre- 
 hended what standing meant, had already stood 
 till he was tired ; and he was now glad to sit — if 
 not in Parliament, in peace and quiet, as he Lad 
 done before. He therefore relinquished the mat- 
 ter with as much levity as he had 'taken it up. 
 
 To him, therefore, Hubert was doubly, nay,, 
 trebly welcome. He was to be ambassador, pleni- 
 potentiary, any thing, so that he did but make, 
 peace between his father and the Colonel; and this 
 he confidently promised to do. 
 
 For a long time, however, his father and his 
 mother also were inexorable— they declared that 
 such an unprovoked insult freed them from every 
 promise ; so it might, had Hubert been willing t) 
 consent to this; but he insisted on keeping ///^ 
 plighted faith, and talked so like a modern B;iy- 
 ard of the dishonor that would attend a failure 
 on his part, that any one who had peeped into liis 
 heart at Naples, and while in the society of Bea- 
 trice, might have asked, " Is this the same Hu- 
 bert who was perpetually haunting her, and fol- 
 lowing her with looks of love .' or is it only bis 
 exact likeness .'" 
 
 But he won the day — though his parents were 
 never, after this, even cordial in their manner to 
 the Templetons; and Laurette, who, ■with her 
 mother, was in town during the beginning of the 
 rupture, and had,' in her indirect way, done all 
 she could to widen the breach and strengthen 
 their objections, now protested that she must 
 accomj^any dear Mrs. Forrester to Seabrooke, and 
 remain with her a short time, to cheer her up 
 after this very painful misunderstanding. 
 
 " Pray spare her to mc for a few weeks," said 
 Mrs. Forrester to Lady Sinclair ; " she -vvill be 
 every thing to me at this particular moment;," 
 and her ladyship, who loudly and openly blamed 
 her brother's conduct to the family, whose son 
 was engaged to his daughter, easily consented to 
 this proposal. 
 
 CHAPTER LI II. 
 
 " Ne eont-ce pas Ips femmeg qui rulnent ou qui goutien- 
 nent leg maisons, qui rdglenl tout le dfetail df« choscs do- 
 mestiquts '/"— Fenelos. 
 
 " How your needle flies through your work, and 
 how beautifully that is done!" remarked Mrs. 
 Stacey one day to Helen, as she sat watching her 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 125 
 
 I tion 
 
 ABxpe 
 ■ but 
 
 orogress on some pretty article of dress for her 
 
 To work neatly was made part of our educa- 
 tion," said she"; " Mrs. Loftus, ■who for many 
 rs was kept out of her property, found from 
 experience that this was a resource too conmionly 
 " ut improperly neglected. She therefore made 
 completion of a portion of useful needle- work 
 one of our daily duties. How gratef id I now am, 
 for being skillful in this despised art, I can not 
 tell. My husband's very small income would 
 sadly sutler if I could not hem and sew, or even 
 put on buttons," and she smiled. 
 
 Very early in the progress of their acquaint- 
 ance, -Mrs. Stacey had made the di.scovery of Hel- 
 ens superiority, and, happily, she had made it 
 herself No injudicious friend had placed Helen 
 in the disagreeable position of tiugel-woman, so 
 Mrs. Stacey, of her own free will, and because 
 she felt a pleasure in doing it, had adopted Helen 
 as lier pattern. The homage she rendered was, 
 therefore, the deeper from being self-imposed ; 
 while the influence of Mrs. AVest was, uncon- 
 sciously to either of them, producing a good 
 eftoct. 
 
 Mrs. Stacey's self-love was never wounded by 
 advice being offered unasked for, by censure well 
 meant, but useless, because it was unwise ; but 
 her voluntary admission of her own inferiority, 
 when she compared herself to this kind friend, led 
 to a knowledge of her own deticiencics, and to an 
 earnest wish to supply tliem; and when self is 
 thoroughly roused to useful exertion, it is aston- 
 ishing how it clears away obstacles, how remorse- 
 lessly it tears up weeds, roots out deep-seated 
 prejudices, and cuts • down the tough hedge of 
 long-indulged habits. To be convinced of this 
 assertion, nothing more was requisite than to 
 watch Mrs. Stacey; while silently but resolutely 
 engaged in this clearance she proved herself quite 
 a little heroine. 
 
 She and Helen were often together to their mu- 
 tual advantage — they generally met during their 
 walks; and sometimes, whtn .Mi.ss Baby was quiet 
 for the evening, Htacey would bring his wife to 
 the cottage and read to them, and to that Khada- 
 manthus of critics, as he called Ashley, the results 
 I of his literary labors. 
 
 They were all more or less musical, and though 
 Mrs. Stacey, during her troubles and illness, had 
 lost her voice, she almost feared i'orever, as she 
 and Helen were superior musicians, these even- 
 ings possessed a charm which was often remem- 
 bered in after years ; and it was during one of | 
 these meetings that Mrs. Stacey had remarked on 
 Helen's industry and the beauty of her perform- 
 ance. 
 
 The next morning it was not fine enough for a ' 
 Tfralk ; and Helen, knowing the " wee thing" j 
 would^detain JNIrs Stacey at home, sent a little 
 note, in which she said that she should brave the 
 weather with wrappers and strong shoes, and 
 spend a few hours with the mamma. 
 
 Of course she was welcomed with real pleasure, ' 
 and soon seated very comfortably in a large chair 
 by tlio fire. I 
 
 " Now do not faint at the sight of my thimble," 
 said she, " or think that I introduce it u propos 
 to a compliment." 
 
 " No ; but it will very well introduce a question I 
 
 I have to ask," was the reply ; " if it becomes you, 
 Mrs. West, to do so many things, because you arc 
 ! not rich— how disgraceful it is for nie not to imi- 
 tate you ; so I am determined, hencefurtli, to woi-k 
 as much as I can for us all. And I blush to tliink 
 how many useful and beautiful things uiy baby 
 owes to you, while I have been little better than 
 an idle looker-on." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Helen, glad to hear tliis, and 
 much too honest to compliment away what she 
 felt convinced was a goud and most needful resolu- 
 tion ; '' you have been very busy nursing her, and 
 seeing after your house, and very comfortable it 
 always looks." 
 
 " Even that is due to your example — you, born 
 an heiress to great wealth, connected on every 
 side with nobility, liave taught me, a penniless 
 , girl, brought up to earn her living; how to keep 
 my house and u.se my needle." 
 
 " Now you are too serious and too severe, espe- 
 cially upon faults which have disappeared," re- 
 plied Helen; " and you must read me something 
 merry as a cure." 
 
 I " 1 would much rather, if you will have tho 
 goodness to allow me the choice, fetch my work, 
 I and, spite of the seeming egotism, tell you of niy- 
 I self" » 
 
 I " Do; I shall like that better flian any thing," 
 returned Helen, with that ready and true sympa-' 
 thy which was so beautiful a feature in her char- 
 acter, ancf which made all who knew her so im- 
 j plicitly trust her. 
 
 I " Oh, it is commonplace enough, and soon said," 
 remarked Mrs. Stacey, with a siglu " I lost both 
 parents when I was very young. My mother I 
 remember as a pretty woman, always fashionably 
 dressed; As to my own appearance, it was the 
 great topic with almost all whom I met-. My 
 mother, I say it with reverence, treated me more 
 like a live doll than a rational and responsible 
 being. I was perpetually being dressed and un- 
 dressed, and she was perpetually bu.'^y, making or 
 devising something elegant and becoming for me, 
 which foolish friends \vere called upon to admire 
 in my presence, till I began to confound myself 
 with my frock or bonnet ; and when tliese were 
 praised, to receive the admiration as something 
 personally meritorious — of course, I did not thin 
 reason in this way, but such was the effect. 
 
 '•My nurse would any, ' Be good, and you shall 
 wear your pink or blue sash ;' and when I was 
 naughty, I was punished by being made to put on 
 a shabby frock. 
 
 '• 1 was about eight when both my parents died, 
 and then went to live with a relation. I must 
 now begin my education — and hard work it was. 
 It seems tliat I early showed a talent for music — 
 this must be cultivated; for I had, literally, 
 nothing i'rom the wreck which extravagance and 
 waste had caused, so 1 must be taught to earn my 
 own living. My aunt could barely afford the sum 
 necessary for my instruction ; but slie.did manage 
 it, and treated me with great kindness. Vou nmst 
 remember that the dre.sscd-out baby of eight was 
 almost entirely ignorant. 1 could read, liut very 
 badly— to compensate, I sang a numlier of .songs 
 very charmingly. I could not write at all ; but I 
 had a remarkable taste in arranging colors — so 
 think of the labor ! 
 
 " At length I was admitted to the Academy of 
 
126 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Music ; my fear was good — my voice gave promise 
 of being very fine — and when the drudgery of 
 piano \vas nearly over, came the fatigue of singing 
 and learning Italian. 
 
 " As soon as I could, I tried to relieve my kind 
 .aunt of some expense, by endeavoring to obtain 
 pupils; this was extremely difficult— I knew no 
 one whose influence could serve me, and those with 
 whom I most a.'.sociated were rivals, each seeking 
 for the same thing. | 
 
 " At length 1 did succeed, by the help of one of | 
 the profc-^^.sors-and then— oh ! the weary fag of ' 
 going fi-om place to place, through all weathers — \ 
 and for so trifling a remuneration. I 
 
 " However, I had what many had not — a re- I 
 epectaMe home a^d a kind relative; for these, let | 
 me hope, 1 was truly grateful. But when I was ] 
 alx)ut nineteen, this dear friend died, leaving me j 
 all she had, which was but little, as her income 
 died with her. Still I was not destitute, for I had 
 a suijill connection; 1 really was industrious— 
 readily took what was ofFert^d, if it only paid, and 
 tried hanl to please my employers — this was easy, 
 where my pupils were clever and amiable — but 
 as they were not all of this description, of course 
 then I failed. 
 
 " But. not to weary you, in the course of a few 
 years I began to feel that, if health were granted 
 me, I had taken a step in the right direction ; 
 when the mother of one of my pupils offered to 
 introduce me to her friend Lady L)e Vere, who, 
 this la<ly saitl, was a most excellent patroness 
 where she took a liking. 
 
 " I need hardly tell you that my musical career 
 had given me vei-y little knowledge of society be- 
 yond those of my own profession, and the few who 
 employed me ; I was young and wholly unpro- 
 tected, and had, therefore, been rather careful to 
 limit my acquaintance to an unusually small 
 circle. Still I had heard and read a good deal of 
 patrons and patronesses ; and the impression left 
 on my mind was not favorable to the idea of being 
 dependent for more than the recommendation my 
 talents really merited; but not understanding 
 very clearly the limits which separated the re- 
 ward of merit from the puff of patronage, I called 
 on my old master, who had been particularly 
 kind to me, and stating the offer and my own 
 difficulty, I asked his opinion. 
 
 " ' How are you doing now ?' he asked. 
 
 " ' Well,' I replied. 
 
 " ' Are you laying by ?' 
 
 " ' Very little indeed .'' 
 
 " ' No matter how little— ^it is in favor of my 
 opinion ; why not trust to your own endeavors .' 
 gnidually, as you become known, you may raise 
 your terms, you may give lessons at home. I 
 knowwliat La<ly De Vere will propose — a concert 
 at her hou.^'e; this will interfere with your teach- 
 ing, perhiips give offense to your old connections 
 —and if, from nervousness or cold, or any of the 
 tho\isand accidents voice and fingers are subject 
 to, you should fail to produce a sensation^ — why, 
 then there is an end of you at once.' 
 
 " ' But if I succeed .•" 
 
 " ' You sui.'ceed— and so you do now. You may 
 S'ly. but the introduction to titled and noble 
 pupils is a chance worth securing; do not let that 
 inliuenc" you — in the long run, yoiir present 
 wealthy pupils will be the best for you. But 
 
 think well of it before you decide. I see yon are 
 a little dazzled.' 
 
 " I was very much dazzled ; and the more I 
 thought of the offer, the more brilliant and fasci- 
 nating did it appear. In short, you know, I ac- 
 cepted it. The concert was proposed, arranged, 
 and came off. I did not clear five pounds, though, 
 in order to secure a dazzling array of nobis 
 names, the tickets were very expensive ; and had 
 not Mr. Stacey come to the rescue, I sliould cer- 
 tainly have failed altogether — for I was faiut with 
 excitement, fatigue, and anxiety ; but he kindly 
 helped me — he joined me in an unexpected duet, 
 and then sang a song of his own composition, 
 written, as he said, expre.ssly for the occasion ; 
 and at the conclusion, more dead than alive, I 
 was led alx)ut by Lady De Vere, to be compli- 
 mented, feted, and forgotten ! 
 
 " Not a single pupil did 1 gain by that first ap- 
 pearance in public ; but the time needed for re- 
 hearsing, organizing, coaxing rlN'als to put aside 
 rivalry, and be generous for a few hours, lost me 
 several of my best engagements — for few of the 
 parties where I taught were on her Ladyships 
 list, and were consequently affronted at my pro- 
 sumption, and kept aloof; and the high bribes 1 
 was obliged to offer the avaricious to help me, and 
 the insolent to be civil, swallowed up, as I before 
 said, all the profit. 
 
 " Then dear Charles married me ; and, all at 
 once, carried up by his genius and popularity, I 
 found myself m such society as 1 had never, in 
 my -ivildest dream of ambition, aspired to. 
 
 " We sang, we acted vaudeville and comedy, till 
 the tragedy came in earnest ; and had it not been 
 for friends, whom God reward and bless for their 
 goodness ! 1 know not what would have become 
 of us. May the terrible experience we then had, 
 prevent us from being ever again misled by sucli 
 senseless ambition !" 
 
 " If that be the result, and you are happy an I 
 contented in your present circumstances," sail 
 Helen, '• you will have but little cauSe to sigh that 
 the delusion has vanished." 
 
 " I never was happier," replied Mrs. Stacey ; 
 " my husband is gradually working himself fi"ee 
 from those pecuniary difficulties which, ever since 
 our marriage, have painfully pressed on him— he 
 is becoming known and esteemed among men of 
 intelligence and high literary attainments; be- 
 lieve me," she added, with deep feeling, "it is no 
 small reward to have won the regard of two such 
 characters as Mr. West and Mr. Vernon, while 
 you . on your part, kindly permit me the privilege 
 of calling you friend." 
 
 " I am sure," said Helen, " you greatly over- 
 rate this, and quite forget my share of the plea- 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 " WhHt crime to me unknown, 
 
 t>ut-pM me in iuliV in> part-ills', or my own?" 
 
 Pope. 
 
 " Mr. Tur.v ru wishes to be introduced to* you, 
 Stacey," said Keg nald the same evening, "but 
 you must waive ceremony, and accompany me to 
 town some morning — when can you do so i" 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 127 
 
 •* To-morrow, if this ^vill not seem too eager to 
 avail myself of his invitiition." 
 
 " Not at all ; promptuess, in this case, is a 
 compliment." 
 
 And the next day Stacey -was made known to 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 " A friend of mine," said Mr. Tui'ner, " a cele- 
 brated scientific man, tliough ratl\er an oddity — 
 I say this merely Jo prepare you for some of his 
 notions— has papers and letters relating and once 
 belonging to a man who formerly made a little 
 noise in the world. Mr. Moore thinks the time 
 has arrived for giving selections of these to the 
 public ; but being, in some sense, no more fit for 
 the task himself than I should be to command a 
 fleet ; and, happily, being as well aware of his 
 deficiency, he has consulted me on the subject. 
 Now, I should like you to meet him, for I think 
 you would suit his purpose, and I also think his 
 purpose would suit you. Though he is a man of 
 rare talent, the fame which follows the profession 
 of. what is termed, elegant literature, would be 
 readily relinquished to you ; and as to any ar- 
 rangement that may be requisite, you may depend 
 upon his liberality and honorable character." 
 
 " I wonder," remarked Stacey, slightly nettled, 
 to think that he was permitted to scramble for the 
 crumbs of notoriety and fame, merely because 
 another scorned them — " I wonder, with this lofty 
 di.sdain of light literature, he should condescend 
 in any way to contribute to it." 
 
 "That," replied Mr. Turner, dryly, "is his 
 concern, not ours — and, perhaps, I have not well 
 expressed my meaning. In this case, he contrib- 
 
 whom 'Mr. Yernon was interested, he thought 
 Stacey might be exactly the man to help his friuiid 
 with his project ; and so, as he {'(nu'luded with 
 " here is my card," he did, perhaps, by turning 
 to his papers, dismiss the votary of Apullo rather 
 cavalierly. " Mr. Turner, IJedibrd Sijuare." 
 muttered Stacey, and looked so clearly as if ho 
 longed to ask where that was, that this shrewd 
 reader of character, glancing sharply at him, and 
 saying, " Yes, it is known to all respectable Lon- 
 doners, you wijl be sure to find it— good-morning," 
 was, belbre Stacey reached the door, deep in the 
 mysteries of liis brief. 
 
 " That is a queer old governor of yours," was 
 Stacey "s remark to Reginald ; " you have no idea 
 how small he contrived to make me feel ; and I 
 was so provoked, that remembering the anecdote 
 of a roj'al duke — when he gave me his card, I 
 longed to ask where Bedford Square was." 
 
 " I hope you did not," said Kcginahl, gravely. 
 
 " No, faith, he looked tof) grimly clever, some- 
 thing as you do now," was his laughing reply. 
 " I saw a sly devil twinkling in the corner of his 
 gray eye, which told me I should feel the sting of 
 his answer." 
 
 " Then, for once, a demon spoke truly," said 
 Reginald ; " but do you think the task one likely 
 to interest and suit you :" 
 
 " If it be as I suspect, it will be the very thing 
 —it is true, I shall be but little more than tlio 
 arranger of materials ; but as precious stones 
 tcssed in a disordered heap seem neither attractive 
 nor valuable till the eye of taste disposes them in 
 forms fit for the arm and bosom of beauty, thug 
 
 red at ^Ir. Turner's comfortable house, and 
 
 sible, after his death, the evil ; and by pointing a 
 moral, warn from the rocks on which he himself 
 split. However, as I really have not time now to 
 eiUcr into particulars and discuss them with you, 
 dine with me the day afcer to-morrow, and meet 
 Mr. Moore : you will afterward be able to sec each 
 other, and make your ftnal arrangements — here 
 is my card, half-past six punctually.' 
 
 utes the materials, which originally were not his | it may be with these shreds and patches ; and it 
 ^and the money to insure their being well ar- i must be my care to arrange them so that the sil- 
 ranged, which is. In this undertaking, which ver thread, which connects, may here and there 
 mnso lay bare the deformities and weaknesses of peep out." 
 genius, his purpose is to make one, who, during j Arrivei 
 his life, exercised an injurious influence, and who , seated at his well-served and well-arranged table, 
 had no idea of honesty or morality, repair, if pos- Stacey had time to look around on thegursts, most 
 
 of whom were men wliose names were well known to 
 fame, and respected by tliat bestower of celebrity — 
 the public. And as lie glanced from one intelligent 
 countenance to another, he acknowledged, that not 
 even at the fashionable and recherche diimers of 
 Basingstoke House, the rallying-place of wit and 
 talent among the aristocracy, had he ever seen 
 heads and faces that promised a more agreeable 
 Stacey, who ha"d inwardly fumed and fretted at j party. 
 til? business-like manner of .Mr. Turner, who. As he recognized name after name, he knew 
 during their interview, seemed wholly unconscious I them to be all men of learning, education, and 
 that he was addressing the man whose ver.-^es, just energy; many, he recollected, must liave toile<l 
 puolished, were at that very moment being talked their way up to eminbnce by the most indefatiga- 
 of by young lords, and by ladies, both young and ble industry. Tliey had considered notiiing cle- 
 old, and which had brought the author something grading or disgraceful that was free from mean- 
 very substantial in the form of a check from his ness and dishonor ; and by reviewing, revising, 
 
 reporting, and all those mental labors which 
 cause men to rise early and late take rest, they 
 had, steadily and surely, establislie 1 for them- 
 selves both renown and station ; and long before 
 dinner was ended. Stacey found that second-hantJ 
 would here 
 attract no attention ; that the best substitute lor 
 silver, though passing current for tlie n;.il metal 
 among fine ladylings and lordlings, fell liere witli 
 a flat and leal-like noise, when contrasted with 
 the ringing sound of the pure coin, and its plastic 
 rebound. 
 
 " Aud so," said a titled dignitary, whose ver- 
 
 well-pleased publisher, hardly knew how at once 
 to descend from his Parnassian stilts, and walk 
 ■with the common-sense companion just made 
 known to him. 
 
 The truth is, we blush as we write it, Mr. 
 Turner knew nothing of these poems but what his repartee and well-turned platitud 
 kind sister had occasionally read to him, when he 
 ■was tired and sleepy, after a day of hard intellec- 
 tual wrestling with some pro tempo rival ; and at 
 those times, more in deference to her than from 
 any particular impression they produced, he 
 murmured now and then, " Yery pretty, very 
 good;" and associating the author with one for 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 satile powers and extraordinary attainments ren- 
 dered him one of the most remarkable men of his 
 time, addressing Mr. Moore, " it is whispered that 
 you are at hist goinp; to give us a peep into the 
 life and career of Hammond. I sincerely hope 
 that Kumor has. on this occasion, blown through 
 the trumpet of truth." 
 
 "i think she has— I have long been contem- 
 plating this work. So many years have elapsed 
 since his death, and there are now no relatives 
 whose feeling> can be wounded by any disclosures, 
 that 1 am much disposed to consider this a favor- 
 able moment." 
 
 " But iis he was so intimately connected with 
 the most celebrated of his cotemporaries, and in 
 brisk correspondence with many, whose fime may 
 be a little tarnished by a revelation of these pri- 
 vate matters, may not their collaterals wince. '' 
 
 " Certainly not, if these memoirs are published 
 according to my notion of what is due to the liv- 
 ing, as well as to the dead I purpose it to be the 
 ' Life of Hammond'— not to be swelled to endless 
 volumes by introducing anecdotes of every wit 
 and vaurien with whom he occasionally associa- 
 ted ; so the vanity of their descendants need fear 
 no wound, nor their egotism anticipate much 
 gratitication." 
 
 " But the letters ?" suggested a young gentle- 
 man, who had, as he said, once perpetrated a 
 tragedy. 
 
 " I shall most scrupulously insert all that are 
 necessary to place the character in a true light — 
 neither suppress, nor aught set down in malice ; 
 but I shall not repeat the dose ad naustat?!. 
 There is also much correspondence, whicli, allud- 
 ing to the political and public events of tlie day, 
 is in one sense historical, which must be carefully 
 gone over; and here I mean to entreat your 
 Lordship to assist me. as from the enormous mass 
 of letters sent and received, few, comparatively, 
 will be published." 
 
 " I am right glad to hear that," said Mr. 
 Turner ; "it is really time to stem the torrent of 
 violated private correspondence, which threatens 
 learning with a second deluge. Men now write 
 an order to their tailors and bootmakers, with the 
 dread of publication before their eyes, or the in- 
 quiry' of 'What will Mrs. Grundy say:' — and 
 while this rage for rummaging the post-bag fet- 
 ters persons of sense and ability, and destroys all 
 tiie ease and. freedom of confidential correspond- 
 ence, it operates as injuriously in another way on 
 men and women too, whose little coterie, which to 
 them represents the universe, be-puflfs and be- 
 praises them, till they no longer exchange invi- 
 tations without writing, as Pope is said to have 
 done, with one eye on the note, the other on pub- 
 lishers and posterity. And many an honest soul 
 who went re.-i)ectably through life, becomes after 
 death, by the foolish toadying of a friend, the butt 
 for a spiteful reviewer or wsispish critic. And I 
 am truly glad, my dear Lord, that you will help 
 in this selection. ' 
 
 " 1 could hardly have been asked to do any 
 thing I siial'. more completely revel in," replied 
 his Lordship. " 1 accept Mr. Moore's challenge 
 C071 amore — when will tiie pleasuro commence .'" 
 
 •' W,e shall settle that with Mr. IStiicey," was 
 the answer. And Stacey, bold as a lion in the 
 Balons of mafiy a duke and marchioness, perhaps 
 
 never more painfully felt his own inferiority than 
 at this moment. 
 
 " I congratulate you on having found such a 
 Plutarch," said a guest, whom Stacey had often 
 met at Basingstoke House; "the man who can 
 send us such sparkling poetry from the Heath, 
 and burn the midnight oil while he writes so acute 
 an analysis of Doctor AVhite's ethics, is the very 
 one to do justice to poor Hammond. Good heav- 
 ens ! it compels us to serious*tliouglits when we 
 revert to that brilliant but brief career, and 
 know that the end was gloom, darkness, and 
 misery." 
 
 " Yes," said Stacey, taking courage, and 
 pleased to be thus recognized, "that will be the 
 most difficult, the most painful part of the biogra- 
 pher's task ; but we may hope he will do it gently, 
 and so interest all the kind ami better feelings ^ t 
 readers, that they shall remember the fate of hli . 
 whose memoirs are before them, and • be to L ^ 
 faults a little blind.' " 
 
 " And what says Mr. Moore to that tender 
 handling ?" asked Reginald. 
 
 "He says." replied the party addressed, his 
 his slrbngly marked but benevolent face full of 
 expression, " that thus he would have it, nut 
 only toward the erring sons of genius, of whom 
 we say with a sigh, ' How art thou fallen, oh 
 Lucifer ! star of the morning' — but in all our 
 daily and ordinary intercourse, one with another, 
 Mercy always holding .Justice by the hand — not 
 one inch more will I seek to ' draw his frailtiis 
 from their dread abode,' than I think necessary 
 to prevent others from following his specious but 
 fatal example. Edward Hammond had a splen- 
 did fortune, and his sickly child was supported 
 by the charity of friends till death closed her 
 brief existence. He had talents of the highest 
 order, tiiey were applied to the meanest purposes 
 — he att.iined to extraordinary eminence — he be- 
 came at last infamous, and was avoided as a 
 drunken nuisance by those who helped to sup- 
 port him ; and though he showed occasional 
 glimpses of his lost glory, he was generally a 
 mean, dependent sot. But enough of tliis. And 
 so they cut you up famously, did they :" turnin:^ 
 to a very young man, who gayly replied — 
 
 " Infinitely worse than any surgical dissecti' :. 
 at the Hotel Lieu— but you see I have saved tl, 
 pieces, aud here I am, ready to undergo anotlu i 
 operation." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo !" said Mr. Turner ; " at any 
 rate you will not die of a review." 
 
 " No, I shall print again, and ' shame the 
 fools.' " 
 
 And then, after a more general conversation, 
 they adjourned to the drawing-room, where they 
 found. Miss Turner with a party of ladies ; for 
 her brother did not choose his guests fi oni talent 
 or station of that coarse kind which mates with 
 cooks and laundresses — worthy as these may be, 
 when wielding the spit or broom. His sister 
 was highly cultivated, and delighted in good 
 society as well as himself, so he gave it to her in 
 the wives and daughters of his own associates 
 
 Mrs. West and Mrs. Stacey were now amonir 
 those who formed her party; and with some 
 other ladies gave such music as is not often 
 heard out of the concert-room, while Stacey, now 
 completely in hia element, charmed them with his 
 
TIIK WIFE'S TlilALS. 
 
 129 
 
 impromptu and improvising till the smixW hours 
 had rung out twice before they separated. 
 
 " What a delightful evening, and what glo- 
 rious fellows those are !" he said to lleginaUl ; 
 
 ■by Jove! I was a monstrous fool not to stick 
 to the law when I had so good a hold of its robe 
 —but I always fancied a lawyer with a pen 
 i't'liind his ear, a blue bag in his hand, and his 
 fiiiu-ers and wristbii^ds stained with ink. And 
 
 iiiiy think, on Saturday, Mr. Moore and I dine 
 with that Colossus who does bestride the world 
 3f letters— is not that something to talk of.'"' 
 
 " I am sure,"' said Mrs. Stacey, " we never can 
 mfficientlj' express our thanks to the friends wlio 
 aave done so much for us ;" and the grateful lit- 
 
 le creature quietly wiped her eyes — but such 
 tears do good. 
 
 in ^' 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 "Vous 6Ioigner! — croyez moi mon ami c'est nn mau- 
 moyen — I'absence ne fait rien sur un amour vferitabli-. 
 ous lie Toublierez pas el vous serez plus malheureux." 
 
 ■yALEElE. 
 
 Hubert remained a few days at the Priory, as 
 'orest Hill was still in solitary state ; and seeing 
 )onstance, which he now did for the first time, as 
 n inmate of the same house, he was more in love 
 vith her than ever ; and as he made no secret of 
 his, there can be no treachery in telling it. 
 
 Constance, perhaps, less demonstrative, or from 
 Ki'ulenly reserve more silent, did not echo him on 
 ills subject ; so we must remain in doubt whether 
 • !■ love still kept pace with his. 
 
 Shortly after Hubert's departure, her mother 
 injiosed that she should avail herself of Doctor 
 
 (I lions escort to town, and visit her aunt, Lady 
 ^ iielair, who had repeatedly m-ged it; and for 
 lie first time, Constance consented to leave home 
 
 "It will be only a fortnight's absence," she 
 ; lid ; " and during that time it will be odd indeed 
 t we do not drive to Hampstead Heath — is it not 
 :n. mamma .'" A smile and a kiss were the reply. 
 
 At Lady Sinclair's she was, therefore, safely 
 
 ■ r ; and found no diiEculty in gaining her assent 
 
 hive in the desired direction. Her aunt had 
 
 lys blamed the Colonel for forcing Helen to 
 
 lud extreme. She observed, that it was bad 
 
 linough lor the match to be broken off Avith Mr. 
 
 'irVest — but that was inevitable ; and Helen's sub- 
 
 lussion, in this case, her Ladyship contended, 
 
 liight to have secured her from any persecution 
 
 I rising from other offers. 
 
 A little note apprised Helen of the guests she 
 might ex.pect, and, punctual to the hour named, 
 they arrived. 
 
 ( onstance, who had resolved to be so calm and 
 inllcctcd, could scarcely repress a scream when 
 -lie saw this beloved sister smiling in the little 
 [wrch ; and was astonished, as she looked up 
 [through her tears, to hear Helen's gentle voice 
 imurmur, " Dear" Constance, dear sister, you are 
 [Overcome— lean on me." 
 
 i The contrast from what she had pictured to her- 
 self, in which she was to act the heroine, was so 
 9 
 
 great, that she was roused to exertion, ami smil- 
 ing, in her turn she exclaimed, 
 
 " So, this is the result of my bravery and self- 
 control!" and she looked lovinglj' at Helen, wliom 
 she kissed and fondled as if she had been a liLtlo 
 child. 
 
 "How delightful this is," said Helen; "how 
 kind, how very kind of aunt Laura to leave iis to- 
 gether. Constance, how you have grown— and 
 dear mamma, tell me all." 
 
 These, and a thousand questions and remarks, 
 were poured forth by both, during their first mo- 
 ments of meeting ; "for those who love and have 
 1 been long p.arted, .seem scarcely to know how to 
 make the most of their happy re-union. 
 
 But when this effervescence of the thoughts and 
 feelings had subsided, Constance had time to look 
 about her, to look at Helen ; and to see every- 
 where, and especially in her loved face, tokens of 
 comfort and contentment. She then undei'stood 
 how it was that her mother had brought away 
 such a treasure of peace, collected during her 
 hasty visit. 
 
 " And (iretchen, I scarcely saw her in my de- 
 light at h.aving you once more in my arms ;" and 
 forthwith .Madame Stopsel was sunnnoued, to be 
 thanked and chatted with, and to feast her affec- 
 tionate eyes on her two nurslings, seated, with 
 beaming faces, side by side. " Has she not gro-.vn, 
 Gretchen .'" said Helen. " Stand up, Constance."' 
 
 " (Jrown ! du Ilimmel ! she has grown the love- 
 liest thing I ever saw." 
 
 " Oh ! fye, Gretchen ! I shall certainly be 
 jealous." 
 
 " No need," was the cheerful retort ; " Mr. Reg- 
 inald will soon set that to rights, and supply my 
 deficiency —but, sure .Miss Constance will stay and 
 sleep here, and see him." 
 
 '• Ah ! Constance, if you could but do that — if 
 aunt Laura could send for you to-morrow."' 
 
 " I never ventured to hope for such a pleasure, 
 but now you have reminded me of it, we will try 
 our united eloquence." 
 
 And when Lady Sinclair returned from her 
 visit to the Westroughs, she was so assailed that 
 it was impossible to refuse ; and Constance, half- 
 wild at this prolongation of her furlough, tlew 
 about the cottage, looking into the very kitchen, 
 and astonisliing the staiil (Jcrman servant with 
 her volubility and fluency in her own language. 
 
 But here is Reginald, and oh ! unexpected joy, 
 Ashley — and while (.'onstance rushed into the 
 arms of her brother-in-law, and received his first 
 kiss of welcome, Ashley happily had time to take 
 breath— thougli his voice shook, and he was very 
 pale, as he took her extended hands, and muttered 
 ; over them some unheard inquiry. 
 
 Constance had not seen either of them for a long 
 ' time — lieginald, not since he departeil for .his 
 I Scotch tour; nor Ashley, since he so abruptly left 
 I her at the Priory, during the absence of his 
 family ; and when the first tumult of feeling h.ad 
 calmed down, how difficult it was to keep up a 
 connecteil conversation— lor memory was \i\iny 
 with all of them— and loaded with filestores wiiich 
 I had accumulated during this long sepuration, they 
 ; were poured forth with a prodigality and abun- 
 dance wliich made silence almost a pleasure, it 
 ' was ti-uly riinbarrns ties ric/irssi-s. 
 i Ashley was, perhaps, the one most conscious of 
 
130 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 this tendency to ponder rather than to converse ; 
 for he made the most vigorous, and at length suc- 
 cessful, efforts to free himself from this dreamy 
 influence, when his sudden eagerness to learn par- 
 ticular news of all wlio were at 8eabrooke drew 
 on him the playful indignation of Constance — who 
 a.«surcd him that there was not one of his old 
 friends who did not feel hurt at the indifference 
 his self-banishment implied. She especially sub- 
 mitted whether, in her case, there was not a 
 marked avoidance, since the only visit he had 
 made was during her absence. Nor would her 
 justly-excited wrath be appeased till he promised 
 to take the first opportunity of disproving all her 
 allegations. " And, mamma." she continued, "to 
 whom you vowed fealty — oh ! you faithless 
 knight, to leave us all deserted." 
 
 " This is too bad of you, Constance," said Regi- 
 nald, coming to the rescue of his friend, for Ash- 
 Icy was uncommonly tired and out of spirits ; 
 " why, he left an excellent deputy in Victor Mor- 
 ton, who seems to h.ave been at the Priory perpet- 
 ually, when he could escape from the Hermitage." 
 
 " Yes ; a deputy something like his principal, 
 especially latterly, who started for the Priory and 
 always stopped at the Picctory." 
 
 " Now, 1 will punish your duplicity. There -was 
 the handsome Hubert Forrester — did he also stop 
 at the Rectory }" 
 
 She colored crimson ; but, happily, Helen re- 
 membered she wished to know about Minnie Dal- 
 l.'is, of whom her mother had made mention as 
 their frequent guest. 
 
 Asliley left early, and declined the invitation 
 t<j breakfast the next morning on the plea of busi- 
 ni.tis; but he made lleginald imder.stand, when 
 th;'y parted in the garden, that, as Constance was 
 limited to time, Helen might prefer having her 
 society more entirely to herself. 
 
 But he was in no hurry to return to town after 
 he left the little party ; he walked rapidly for 
 more than an hour on the broad road at the top 
 of the heath, severely examining himself, and 
 unsparingly taking himself to task. Was this the 
 result of his many months of self-denial ? What ! 
 had li* refused himself the pleasure of joining his 
 own loved family circle— had he condemned him- 
 self to such severe and unremitting mental occu- 
 paticm as began almost to affect his health— and 
 was iliis his recompense — this liis success .' 
 
 Was the first glance at that lovely face, the 
 first sound of that musical voice, to show him that 
 his struggles, his resolution, were all in vain.' 
 Was the enchantress to come, and with a touch of 
 her hand cause his shield to melt away and his 
 armor to become useless .' 
 
 Ashley loved Constance — passionately, hopeless- 
 ly lovcil her— loved her with the romantic ten- 
 derjiess of a poetic temperament — with the en- 
 during intensity of a faithful, .affectionate heart; 
 he had loved licr childish beauty and grace, her 
 girlish tokens of intellectual superiority, her 
 Ijravo truthfulness of character ; and as her early 
 j)romi.se of --are excellence was fulfilled, so did his 
 love steadily increase and deepen. 
 
 They liad been parted by sad circumstances, 
 and fvs Ashley became aware of his affection its 
 f<ily and hopelessness, they had been kept asun- 
 der bj' his own stern determination to strive 
 against a passion which her splendid prospects 
 
 rendered absurd, and which her subsequent en- 
 gagement to Hubert made desperate, and its indul- 
 gence little better than insanity. 
 
 Unexpectedly they now met ; a year has more 
 than realized all he foresaw — ah ! much more 
 than all; for though, with lover-like credulity, 
 he had prophesied that time would mature and 
 strengthen her mental powers, he had thought it 
 impossible for her loveliness to grow more extra- 
 ordinary. Yet there she had sat before him, her 
 old, sweet, playful expression chased away bj' a 
 look of such deep feeling ; and now again the smile 
 returns, to yield to the grave intelligence wdiich 
 looks out from her eyes, and gives dignity and ad- 
 ditional beauty to every feature. And, as he 
 gazed, " Constance, Constance, oh, how I love 
 thee !"' was the simple, earnest language of his 
 rebellious but worshiping heart. 
 
 " But I will no longer submit to this ; I will no 
 longer deprive myself of intercourse vrith i :;■ 
 own family. Why should I, since the objeci . 
 this sacrifice is not gained.' 1 will see tlam 
 will see her, and no longer tremble in LerprcM n •■ 
 when with her, nor dread it when away. Abive 
 all, I will see the7)i together ; and though it will lie 
 torture, I must. I will endure it. Yes. I will sif 
 them together ; I Avill see her happiness, and- hi,- 
 also. I will try and find him worthy of this tre:i • 
 ure : and if so, God give me strength to bear i 
 part in silence, and With calmness ! IwillniK 
 lay, but go at once." And, as if he medic, . 
 walking there forthwith, he set off toward town at 
 a pace which few could have overtaken without 
 running. 
 
 Constance, the next morning, amused her broth- 
 er and sister with her account of the ignominious 
 exit of the intruders at Hurstwood — that of the 
 boy, she said, Dawson had told her, when tl 
 I sat together the night of Mrs. Templeton"s 
 sence : and they all laughed heartily at the sai. . 
 fruid with which they fancied Cecilia had g.mi 
 , through this. 
 
 She also told them of her performance whih 
 keeping watch; but here Ecgin.ald interru]i:i' 
 her, and charged her very earnestly to be cai\lul 
 if she or her mother had reason to fear treachei y 
 he informed her that Cooper and his relatives wc . 
 held in the utmost disrespect by the villagers <sv]\ 
 erally, who were quite justified in entertaining 
 this feeling; and that Mr. Morton strongly m;- 
 pected Cooper of having .some deep design in .il 
 the acts of mismanagement to which he advice 
 her father ; and, above all, he strongly recommend 
 ed that, if Ruth's conduct seemed doubtful, she 
 her mother, and Dawson should compare notes, anc 
 dismiss her summarily if all did not seem clear. 
 
 " You have no idea, Constance," was his con 
 eluding remark, " of the dreadful mischief whicl 
 may arise should this girl be — as from your ac 
 count I think very likely — in league with thi 
 Coopers." 
 
 To all this she promised to pay attention. 
 
 Though the Forresters were in town during thi 
 whole time that Constance remained with Ladj 
 Sinclair, and though Hubert was almost a dail^ 
 and welcome guest at Sir Archibalds, the senion 
 kept very much aloof, on the plea that Mrs. For- 
 rester was not quite well enough to pay and receive 
 visits. 
 
 Whether Constance noticed this is not known 
 
THE WIFK'S TRIALS. 
 
 131 
 
 as neither by -word nor manner did she give any 
 imliciition of being cither hurt or disappointed. 
 Not so quiescent was her aunt. 
 
 " This is rather odd behavior of the Forresters," 
 she remarked, to Laurette; "they have called 
 here only once, have declined an invitation to din- 
 ner, ani never expressed the most distant wis^h 
 tliat Constance should sjiend a few »hys with them ; 
 not that I wish it ; she is a sweet girl, and, I hope, 
 enjoys herself here more than she could with them, 
 iu tlieir hum-drum way ; only, I repeat, that it 
 is very odd ; especially as Mrs. Forrester has made 
 such a point of your visit to Forest Hill when they 
 return." 
 
 " Perhaps you would understand it all much 
 better if you had been behind the scenes, as I 
 have been, both at the Priory and at Forest Hill. 
 Mamma, I am sure they do not like this match." 
 
 " Not like it !" exclaimed her mother, looking 
 both angry and astonished ; " and why not .' 
 where can they expect to find any thing bettei' 
 —at least for them.' The Templetons, if not 
 originally so rich, are quite as respectable as the 
 Forresters; here is a splendid fortune, for I sup- 
 pose Constance will have almost all the Sea- 
 brooke property ; and to my mind,"' pursued her 
 Ladysliip, proudly drawing herself up, " she is 
 one of tlie most beautiful and accomplished girls 
 in England." 
 
 Laurette had a tart reply at hand, but she 
 prudently saved it for another occasion and an- 
 other hearer, so she said quietly : 
 
 " Mrs. Forrester never forgets Helen's mar- 
 riage" — but she did not say she took very good 
 care to prevent this obliviousness — " and in ad- 
 dition to former indifference, my uncle Lionel 
 has grievously offended Mr. Forrester by this 
 foolisti election business." 
 
 " I grant that is an annoyance," replied Lady 
 Sinclair ; " only as he permits the engagement 
 to continue, it would show the good politician to 
 ilo so graciously." After a pause she asked, 
 '• Do you think Hubert is very much in love :" 
 
 "I believe be fancies that he is," was the re- 
 ply, with a scornful laugh ; for it was with a 
 jealous pang she was forced to admit even this. 
 
 ■'1 tliouglit so," said her mother; "there is 
 imt enough depth of character in him for any 
 thing strong or enthusiastic. I suspect that the 
 last speaker is his oracle, and the last pretty face 
 his idol." 
 
 Lady Sinclair's judgment here was correct ; 
 and tlioiigh Laurette liked but little in a speech 
 wiiich retiected so severely on one who was her 
 divinity, she could not deny that her motlier was 
 right. But this very weakness in her Apollo was 
 to he her assurance and means of success ; could 
 .■•he contrive to be often the last speaker, could 
 hers become frequently the last fair face, slie 
 thought she might triumph; and hence tlie per- 
 tinacity with wliich she contrived to be so much 
 domesticated in the same house. 
 
 She forgot that, to Hubert, hers never had 
 been a fair face. Though the clever and the in- ' 
 tellectual might see much to admire in her 
 speaking black eyes, in her flexible features; ' 
 and truly as they could appreciate her culii- j 
 Tated and richly-stored mind— this to Hubert 
 Was not beauty — he could not uu'lerstand it, | 
 Talue it, or sympathize with it. His gay and , 
 
 thoughtless nnturo could not comprehend her 
 cutting irony, her hliarp ami caustic wit — lii-, s>i- 
 jjcrticial observation was rather startled tlnm 
 pleased at her piquiint remarks, her satir'cal an- 
 jilysis, her merciless dissection of charnclcr, while 
 her undoubted superiority of intellect frequently 
 only wearied or oppressed him. 
 
 Had she been a very httle prettier, ami a 
 great deal less talented, Laurette might Ikivc 
 W(.n him with ease, and wouhl most likely have 
 found that her faitli in tlie power of propinquity 
 was not misplaced. But as it was— well— she 
 was still hopeful, still patient, in spite of tho 
 French sneer at the last quality, " la jmtitncr ; 
 c'est la vertii dcs uncs ;" still it is sometiiing to 
 admit that it is a virtue; and as a proof tlmt 
 Laurette posses.sed it, she resolved again to es- 
 tablish herself at Forest Hill, in defiance of what 
 her mother, witfi more frankness than ])olite- 
 ness, termed the humdrummery of the old peo- 
 ple — an opinion in whicii Hubert seemed fully to 
 concur, who, finding the society at home more 
 dull than usual, and his father's feelings still 
 ruffled by the recent behavior of the Colonel, 
 .availed himself freely of a general invitation to 
 the Sinclairs, where, besides the attraction of 
 Constance, there was always some amusement 
 either going on or being devised. 
 
 Lady Sinclair, who was kindly desirous to 
 vary what she knew was rather a monoti»niais 
 life to Constance when at home, determined 
 that this short visit should include as much 
 jileasure to her as the season afl'orded ; and as 
 she and Sir Archibald readily collected round 
 them society of the best kind, .she fully succeeded 
 in rendering this absence from home, whicli was 
 prolonged to three weeks, one of the golden eras 
 iu her niece's existence. 
 
 Here, for the first time, she beheld Hubert 
 among those who were distinguished as scholars 
 and men of literature and science. Without de- 
 liberately contrasting him with these recognized 
 leaders of intellect, she could not help remark) ni^ 
 ills inferiority— his want of information, talon:, 
 and taste; and without attempting to account 
 for this, slie decided that here lie was not in his 
 proper sphere; that the gay vision which at tlie 
 i'riory she daily expected with impatience, was 
 not suited to a London converzatiunc ; yes, tli:.t 
 w.is the reason, the deficiency must be caused "ny 
 place alone, for Hubert must be still the same ; 
 and so he was. He was gay, amiable, kind ; 
 ever ready for pleasure; fluent and amusing 
 about trifles; skimnung all that was elegani, 
 and using it adroitly — but silent, wearied, boieii 
 when any mental labor was necessary. 
 
 Still, tliis might not have been so evident, or 
 have made any permanent impression, liad not 
 Laurette given it importance by her invidious 
 remarks. And thougli she almost hated herseii' 
 for speaking in disparagement of one she j>:ia- 
 sionately loved, she yet determined not to lu^c 
 this opportunity of enlightening Constance. 
 
 " Mr. Fergus is, doubtless, a very clever 
 man," she remarked to her one morning, " l>ia 
 1 own he is quite beyond mc ; aipl re.illy my 
 head aches only to think of the load liis has to 
 carry." 
 
 " Uh !" said Constance, " I have scarcely ever 
 been so deeply iuterested in uny one's couversa- 
 
132 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 tion and descriptions, and I quite long for to- 1 attend-next she hinted, the wedding parties at 
 morrow, when we are to go and see the beautilul both H.U and Pnory-then, with a knowing nod, 
 and cuHous collection he has i.K.le. He has the chr.stemng at Hurs wood and, perhaps, a 
 kindly promised me some engravings of the mar- lew strays and waits which those resolved on 
 bles he has brought home." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, 1 perceived that he was wooing you 
 through vour love of beauty, and it was equally 
 evident tliat he ranked Hubert and me among the 
 dunces." 
 
 '• Hubert has no tasto for antiques," said ton- 
 stance, rather ve.\ed at this remark 
 
 '• To say tlie truth," replie I Laurette, " 1 
 think that last niglit he seemed to have very 
 little taste .for any thing but our projected g.y 
 party to Richmond. He appeared quite ready 
 to excuse liimself from joining us at Lord Lat- 
 imer's to-day— though his Lordship has one of 
 tlie finest private collections of pictures in the 
 kingdom; 1 suppose, during his intimacy with 
 the St. Angelo family, he had a surfeit of the 
 line arts. ' 
 
 Constance had often been on the point of 
 naming this family to Hubert and asking about 
 tiieiu— but some feeling she did not well under- 
 stand had always prevented her— and now she 
 felt particularly annoyed when Laurette pro- 
 ceeded to ask, ■• Did Hubert ever speak of them 
 to you .'" and she was obliged to reply, " No." 
 
 '• Well, that is odd, so intimate as they were ; 
 ho\vf:Vor.. as Hubert has his secrets, it is not wise 
 for fneiids to pry and guess"— and she saun- 
 tered away to dress— leaving her words to be 
 remembered or forgotten, as the case might be. 
 
 amusement would be sure to pick up from all this 
 gayety. 
 
 •' Ada is wild to be introduced," she said one 
 day to Laurette, when they had been talking over 
 probabilities ; " but Sir William thinks she is too 
 young." 
 
 " And so she is," said Laurette, remorselessly 
 destroying all hope of help from her opinion ; " it 
 is bad policy to bring girls out too early — I was 
 uineieen before I was presented." 
 
 " I suppose you are right," sighed Lady Dallas, 
 who longed to indulge her daughter; "so she 
 must give up the idea — only I hope there is no 
 harm in her occasionally joining a quiet little 
 party." 
 
 " That depends on what the quiet little party 
 Is composed of," replied the referee ; for she folt 
 that Ada, though only a pretty girl, shy and 
 timid, might be dangerous to such a flirt aa 
 
 Hubert, and tempt him from his allegiance to 
 
 her cousin — not to mention any diminution it 
 might make in her own chances. 
 
 '•So says her papa; but next year she shall 
 put away governess and pinafore, and see what 
 life is, before she settles as an engaged youn;j; 
 lady, or, perhaps, a wife." 
 
 " I wish you would ride over to Hargravos with 
 me," said Hubert to his father, about a week after 
 they had all arrived ; " I want to see what they 
 are doing there." 
 
 " Willingly," replied Mr. Forrester, who knew 
 very well that they were doing nothing there, but 
 who gladly seized this opportunitj- of having some 
 conversation with his son regarding his own vii ^n 
 and wishes— a conversation which something h . 
 made him shrink from attempting at home, a 
 that same something very significantly warned 
 him that Hubert would most likely start off at 
 the opening. 
 
 " Your mother and myself have been lati ' 
 talking of the situation in which we find oursclv 
 placed with regard to the Priory, and, to be ca. 
 did, we find it rather embarrassing." 
 
 " I am not surprised at that," replied IIubiM 
 much to his father's amazement, adding, " to hk. 
 it is very annoying." 
 
 " That is precisely the term I should have 
 used," rather hastily interrupted Mr. Forrester, 
 '• only I wished to avoid any thing that might 
 needlessly hurt your feelings." 
 
 ■"Thank you. dear father, for being so con- 
 siderate — and this encourages nie to proceed— 
 for, I assure you, I never go there now without, 
 in my own mind, reverting to the foolish way in 
 which the Colonel suffered "liirasidf to be so ill-ad- 
 vised, and wishing the awkwardness removed by 
 my immoliato marriage with Constance." 
 
 " (jood heavens! Hubert, how I have misun- 
 derstood you. 1 was in hopes that, upon mature 
 reflection, you fully entered into my feelings with 
 regard to this deliberate insult, for suchi con- 
 sider it, and would .so far sympathize with mo 
 siim of gaycties and festivities looming, to borrow and your mother as to see the propriety, indeed, 
 a popul.ir piii-ase, in the distance. First, as she j the necessity, of withdrawing from your engage- 
 remarked to one of her frien<ls, the election ball, mont there " 
 that would be given directly Mr. Forrester could | " Withdraw !" broke in IlubtJrt, '• what ! when 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 " WtTe'l not aff.'Clion eh.iins thy tender days 
 T.i the 8W- et lihinois of lliy lionorM love, 
 1 rather wi>uid eiilreiit lliy Ciiiipatn, 
 To SL-e the woiuiura of llio world abroa<l." 
 
 SU.VKSPKAKB. 
 
 U.vLiMiTF.D powers had been given to Mr. 
 Forrester's bailiff, with regard to feasting his 
 tenantry and voters who liked to avail them- 
 selves of beef, pudding, and malt liquor; but 
 Lady Dallas wore a disappointed look, for she, 
 and all who had fully counted on it, were de- 
 frauded of tlie ball, without which no election, in 
 the memory '■ of the oldest, inhabitant," liad ever 
 terminated. Sir William was as ready as ever to 
 indulge lier in tliis harmless pleasure, but in the 
 first i)lace Mrs. Foirester was far too poorly ei- 
 tiier in niin«l or body to attend ; and next, there 
 was a little ditUculty, nntil it was clear how this 
 jU-advised opposition w<mld affect the relative 
 circumstances of tlie two rival lainilies. " A 
 plague on botli y<nir houses!' was her Ladyship's 
 ejaculation wlienever visions of dress and ball- 
 room rosj before her. 
 
 But Hubert's conduct quickly reassured and 
 comforted her— the ball need only be postponed ; 
 and her imagination relieved from this pressure 
 once more ran rather riot, and boheld a succes- 
 
THE WIFE'S TIIIALS. 
 
 133 
 
 we are engaged, pledged, plighted to each other— 
 and because of a paltry electioneering squabble ! 
 you surprise me, sir." 
 
 " Not half so much as you do me, to call an 
 affront offered to us a petty squabble. I sliould 
 have thought my son knew too well what is due 
 to a Forrester of Forest Hill, to hav« spoken so 
 lightly." 
 
 " But I must be pardoned for asking in my 
 turn, what notions of honor a Forrester must 
 liave, wlio, for such a cause, would expect his son 
 to break his promise, to forfeit his word, and 
 that, too, to one he loves ? I thought, sir, we had 
 sufficiently discusse<l this during our interview. 
 Boon after my return ; and I repeat now, as then, 
 that nothing shall induce me to give up Con- 
 stance. I love her every day more and more." 
 
 " I regret exceedingly," replied his father, 
 overcome by Hubert's impetuosity, and yielding 
 when the latter insisted so strongly, " that on an 
 occasion such as this we should have any differ- 
 ence of opinion. You know that from the first it 
 was with reluctance I consented to this match. 1 
 never did, I never can, like Colonel Templeton ; 
 toward (.onstauce I can not possibly have any ob- 
 jection, though I may have wished your choice 
 had fallen elsewhere — but I assure you, Hubert, 
 that this recent proceeding of her'father's has 
 increased ten-fold every motive for dislike which 
 ^your mother and I have ever entertained — and, 
 'in my opinion, fully justifies me in desiring that 
 further intercourse with his family should cease 
 — his conduct releases us from all engagement — 
 but of course, if you insist on his daughter's 
 being introduced to our family, we submit — but I 
 feel bound to say she will not be cordially wel- 
 comed." 
 
 Beautiful Constance ! has it then come to this? 
 thou with thy wealth of- loveliness, thou so richly 
 dowered with intellect, with a loving heart, with 
 thy true and noble nature ! and so thou art not 
 to be cordially welcomed ! 
 
 Something of this, perhaps, Hubert felt — for he 
 turned his handsome face, glowing with indigna- 
 tion and love, to his father ; but happily recol- 
 lecting that it was his father, he rode on in 
 silence. j 
 
 After this had continued some time, Mr. For- , 
 Tester said, with rather a hesitating manner, 
 " As this subject seems ever to herald something 
 unpleasant and painful, let me say now, that if 1 
 forbear urging any further objections, it is on the 
 express condition that you complete your stipu- 
 lated term of absence — indeed, wliether you do or 
 not, I could not permit the marriage at once to 
 take place, as Hargraves is almost in the same 
 state as when you left I have, hitherto, clung 
 to the hope that it would never be needed for this 
 purpose." 
 
 " 1 then only leave on the understanding that 
 Hargraves shall be immediately seen after, and 
 that, from time to time, a statement of progress 
 be forwarded to me ; and this very day, as you 
 and my mother persist in your singular avoidance 
 of the Priory — which to Constance and her mother 
 must be very unpleasant — I shall speak to Colonel 
 and Mrs. Templeton. as well as explain to (Jon- 
 stance pretty frankly how matters stand, of 
 course not affronting her by a repetition of the 
 whole of your conversation." 
 
 I And in no very peaceable mood did the two, 
 , abandoning the useless examination of Hargraves, 
 I separate— Mr. Forrester to .seek the svnipatliy of 
 ! his wife, and Hubert riding to the I'Viory, when 
 : he explained to the Colonel'the state of liis future 
 abode, and his father's wish that he should delay 
 I his marriage till he could conduct his bride 
 home. 
 
 I Colonel Templeton laughingly told him, " That 
 I delay as he might, he would still hav time to 
 repent when fairly tied ;" and added, '• You must 
 not expect me to hurry the bricklayers and car- 
 penters, lor what we shall do without Constance 
 1 do not know;"' and feeling secretly much re- 
 lieved that " that confounded election blunder" 
 had not produced a serious quarrel, he wa.s more 
 than u.sually gracious with Hubert and the rest 
 of his family when they met at dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton, hearing tliat Mr. Forrester 
 still wished Hubert to see a little more of life, 
 strongly seconded his intentions ; but she recom- 
 mended that he should not remain permanentlv 
 in one place, but avail himself more of his excel- 
 lent introducticns than he had done during his 
 previous absence. She remarked that lie and 
 Victor, when in Germany, some time ago,. had 
 done little more than pay a hasty homage to its 
 attractions, and said he ought now to examine 
 more at leisure the beauties of both nature and 
 art ; and she added, " that delay would have been 
 her own proposition, even had it not emanated 
 from his father." 
 
 Bathed in this, quarter, he sought Constance, 
 hoping that she would listen to his murmurs; 
 but she said, how delightful it must be to see so 
 much that was grand and lovely. 
 
 " But, Constance, we could see it so much bet- 
 ter together— and besides, to tell you the truth, I 
 do not think 1 care much for these things. >«ow 
 there was Morton, when we were at Naples, why. 
 he used to go about raving of the beauty of effects 
 — he would drag me about to look at the sea. one 
 day because it was quiet, and the next becajise it 
 was rough. One night it was the stars that kept 
 me from sleeping; another, the moon. I must 
 wake early to see the sun rise, and go dinnerless 
 to sec him set ; and then he went poking and pry- 
 ing about after associations and facts, inuigina- 
 tions and realities, till it was rather a bore." 
 
 " The more reason you should go and complete 
 your education." she smilingly replied; " for I 
 see it has been sadly neglected : be.sides. if you 
 took me," she added, gravely, "you would find 
 me quite as bad as Mr. Victor— indeed, 1 may as 
 well say the truth, a great deal worse." 
 
 This, of course, he gayly denied being possible ; 
 but the result was, that go he must ; for Mrs. 
 Forrester had conununicated part of her hus- 
 band's report to Laurette, who advised firmness 
 — at least as regarde<l Hubert's absence 
 
 CHAI'TKIl LVII. 
 
 "So Imly, and co porfeot ig my Ion-, 
 And I'm siicli ii piivrriy of prii'-f. 
 That I shidl think it a. in<ml |.1i-ii1.mii« crop 
 To elenn Ihe hroken cars afior lh<- ni.oi 
 That the main )iarv(>«l rrB|)»." yiiAKHri:,\RB. 
 
 And dear Helen has a little boy,'' said Cou 
 
134 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS 
 
 Btance, as she sat holding her mother's hiiml 
 " .Mamma, are you not very grateJ'ul for this joy- 
 ful news .'" 
 
 " Very, very grateful indecfl, my love," was 
 Mrs. TfrnjiLiton's energetic reply. " You shall 
 have this luiter from Mrs. Lofius, and read it to 
 Caroline, while I tell our kiuU friends the good 
 news; so prepare for a walk to the Hectory." 
 
 "Do you know, dear mammi," said Constance, 
 n.s tliey joyfully pur.sued their way jilong the 
 beautiful path which led from tlie ground toward 
 t.e church. " that I have sometimes had a 
 thought, which, after all, is perijaps hardly just ; 
 but I hive ihought the marke 1 avoidance of all 
 reference to Helen, which Mrs. Forrester shows, 
 is rather unkind Hubert very often inquires, 
 but Laurette sometimes annoys me also by her 
 nyiparent indifference, so that 1 never volunteer 
 any information to her; thorefure she can not 
 repeat much. I do not like this forgetfulness or 
 pointed omission And then Ln<ly Dallas is al- 
 ways so kind in her inquiries, that the difference 
 strikes me as more remarkable Have you ever 
 felt this?" 
 
 " I have, dear ; and I have tried to prevent its 
 having any influence on my manner or feelings. 
 1 advise you to do the same. Has Hubert fixed 
 a time for leaving home?" 
 
 ••I believe the end of this month ; he goes at 
 once to Naples." 
 
 " I thought he purposed remaining some time 
 at ^'cIlice." 
 
 •• He did ; but Laurette snya he has some par- 
 ticular friend.s at Naples;" and as Constance said 
 this slie was conscious of blushing deeply, for 
 Lame: to ha<l not told her this only, but had 
 kindly added, " It I wei'e you. Constance, I should 
 forbiii iliis V sit Strange rumors have made 
 tliemselvcs he.ird about a certain Italian beauty, 
 and Master Hubert's conduct when he was there 
 before ;" but though Constance felt vexed, it was 
 more, she believed, itt Laurette's manner than at 
 Jier matter, lor she had returned no answer to 
 lier insinuations. 
 
 •* What a blessing it is to iiave such friends as 
 tlie Vernoiis," said .Mi-s. 'I'eiupleton, as they re- 
 turned from the Rectory, wiiere the thankfulness 
 and congratulations had been so sincere; "lan- 
 guage fails to express all they have been to me. 
 And iiere is thatnol>le, generous Ashley insisting 
 on m-iking my obligations hereiiitary. Sucli 
 friends — such rare friends to me and my children ! 
 God i-eward them for it !" 
 
 ••All, manmia!" said Constance, "I think 
 Ashley almost tiie grandest of human beings." 
 
 " 1 tiiink liim quite," replied her mother, ra- 
 ther quickly. But, wiihout noticing this inter- 
 lujiti'in, Con.stance went on: 
 
 " Vou should iiave seen Caroline when I read 
 that part, of the letter in which Mrs. Loftus 
 Hpeaks of liini — she made me read it twice: and 
 bhe is so delighted that the baby is to be called 
 Reginald Ashley ; and the tears actually sprung 
 to her eyes when she heard that almost the first 
 words of our darling Helen, when s^e knew it 
 was a boy, were, ' Let me see my little Reginald 
 Ashley.'" 
 
 '• it is so like the grateful, affectionate charac- 
 ter of iltden," said her mother; "and so like 
 Mrs. Loftus to notice and relate it." 
 
 " I have been making a little romance out of 
 this," said Constance, after a few minutes' si- 
 lence. " Suppose Ashley, now he sees more of 
 Kate Loftus, should fall in love with her " 
 
 " Oh ! you are not half romantic enough, child ; 
 you should fancy him falling in love with Mrs. 
 Loftus, or even Gretchen ; either is as likely aa 
 your plan ;" and her tone was rather sharp as 
 she said this. 
 
 "Oh, mamma!" and she laughed; but wholly 
 insensible to the evident annoyance the subject 
 gave Mrs. Templeton, she continued : " I have 
 often wondered that Ashley does not marry — do, 
 not you ?" 
 
 " No, my dear," was the short reply ; and as 
 if determined to banish the topic she said : " you 
 will not be surprised that I wish to see Helen and 
 her baby, my grandson, you know," and her 
 look was now nearly bright ; " therefore you will 
 have to contrive for me as before — will you ?" 
 
 •' Oh ! I shall be delighted to help you to se- 
 cure this great pleasure — shall you go soon ?" 
 
 " 1 shall wait patiently till Mrs. Loftus sends 
 for me. Ah, Constance! it is not thus that the 
 son of Reginald and Helen should be visited by 
 his grandmother." 
 
 " True, dear mamma ; but if they were in In- 
 dia — " 
 
 " Right, my child ! alwaj-s remind me of my 
 blessings'and privileges when 1 sigh because they 
 are not greater or more numerous." 
 
 And again did Mrs. Templeton, availing her- 
 self of the Colonel's first absence, see Helen, and 
 again she returned, without having excited any 
 suspicion that she had been away 
 
 It was now carefully and calmly debated 
 whetlier an attempt should be made to effect a 
 reconciliation. Helen was extremely anxious 
 that the birth of her boy should be the cause of 
 so desirable a result ; and on her account her 
 husband yielded; for he had felt deeply wounded 
 that Helen's entreaties, accompanied by her own 
 avowal, that nothing but the extraordinary cir- 
 cumstances in which they were placed could pal- 
 liate their disobedience, had received the most 
 contemptuous neglect and silence. 
 
 Only to Ashley had Mrs. Templeton mentioned 
 the insulting behavior of her husband when the 
 marriage certificate and the joint letters arrived ; 
 and on Jiearingof this violent token of displeasure 
 and rage, he counseled delaj-^ and further consid- 
 eration. It was his intention, he said, to spend 
 the next week at Seabrooke, and while there 
 they would be able to deliberate and avail them- 
 selves of any circumstance that would seem fa- 
 vorable. 
 
 Yes, Ashley was going to Seabrooke; he had 
 determined to see Constance and Hubert together ; 
 after that, they would be so associated in his 
 memory that there would be no excuse for think- 
 ing of her without him ; there would be no )iossi- 
 bility of her image presenting it.^^elf unaccompa- 
 nied by her accepted lover — her affianced liu>band ; 
 and tlius guarded, Ashley trusted tiiat time would 
 aid his own honorable and strong determination 
 to hide this love in his heart, so that none sliould 
 suspect its'existence ; root it out, he believed, nay, 
 he w,as sure, lie never could. And tlieii, if lie 
 felt certain that her happiness was secured, what 
 mattered it ? then " let the stricken hart go 
 
TiiK \viff;s trials. 
 
 ms 
 
 weep ;" but in order to pass through this silent j 
 martyrdom he must see tlieiu both. I 
 
 "H.ipf>y, well, and lovely! so that is Regi- ' 
 Hold's description of liis wife. I should not won- 
 der, mamma, if, after all, he fancies he has 
 uiarried perfection." I 
 
 " Oh ! he has not the least doubt of that," re- | 
 plied Mrs. Templeton, " aud Helen's appearance ! 
 so fully warranted his description, as to leave me j 
 no feeling but joy and gratitude ; and till I looked I 
 at you, dear girl, I thought it impossible to see I 
 any thing more beautiful." I 
 
 " Oh ! m iinmi," said ("onstance, with a grati- 
 tieii blush, " and the baby !" ] 
 
 '• Like all other line babies, if we could be ra- 
 tional enough to believe it — that the parents 
 should think it a prodigy is nothing extraordi- 
 nary — but, I assure you, Mrs. Loftus never rested 
 till she made me say it was the sweetest little 
 thing I had ever seen." 
 
 '• Ah ! and you thought so, you rational, philo- 
 sophical grandmamma, I know," said Coustancc, 
 kissing her mother's still lovely face, and smooth- 
 ing her silky, dark hair. " It seems so edd to be I 
 nn aunt; but, mother," and her gay countenance 
 was suddenly overcast, "■ about papa, was any 
 thing said .'" 
 
 •' Much, and we have decided on leaving every 
 thing till Ashley comes — which he will do next 
 week." 
 
 " Then all will go well," said Constance, with 
 a sigh of relief; " he will arrange it wisely and 
 ki'.idly — perhaps,"' she continued, thoughtfully, 
 •• this may do papa good — who knows .'" 
 
 " Who knows, indeed, dear child,"' replied her 
 mother; "• Providence, though it does condescend 
 smnetinies to use human means, does not work by 
 the aid of giants — its most striking punishments, 
 as well as its most signal mercies, are generally 
 etl'ected by agencies that seem the least fitted to 
 jiroduce them ; and to that Providence we must 
 leave this, and all other events." 
 
 Ashley came as he had promised ; and after the 
 joy occasioned by his arrival had a little subsi- 
 ded, he was all impatience to walk to the Priory 
 — for under his acquired calmness there lay an 
 impetuosity which it sometimes required all his 
 good sense to govern and subdue. 
 
 " Dear Ashley, give me time to bonnet and ; 
 shawl," pleaded Caroline ; " how eager you are to ' 
 open your budget of news !" 
 
 •' Yes, I am very impatient to tell what will 
 give so much pleasure ;" but he did not add, 
 '• and to have an interview over which will give 
 so much pain." 
 
 And it was with a pang which made him feel 
 sick and dizzy, that, on entering the drawing- 
 room, he found himself in the presence of Hubert, 
 us well as of Mrs. Templeton and her daughter. 
 He was conscious of his want of self-possession ; 
 but as this was his first visit to the Priory since 
 Helen's marriage, he trusted his embarrassed 
 manner would be ascribed to bis recollection of 
 all that had subsequently happened. 
 
 How joyful, how almost fond, was his recep- 
 tion. Mrs. Templeton declared afterward she 
 longed to embrace him; and Constance told Caro- 
 line it was a good thing for her character that 
 Hubert was present, or she must, in her delight, 
 have thrown herself into Ashley's arms. 
 
 And Caroline told him what they "lad .«ftid . 
 and it is odd how soon he forgot this, and she had 
 to repeat it to her father and motlier, and tiuiill}' 
 again to himsCif, before lie understood it. as tin 
 excellent joke, at which they all, except himself, 
 laughed right merrily. 
 
 After a long tcU-a-ttte with Mrs. Templeton, 
 they joined the rest in the conservatory — the very 
 conservatory wh;ch hsid helped to dicide the fate 
 of Lord HurstwiM d and Cecilia; when Constance, 
 who. witii Caroline, was laughing at Hubert's at- 
 tempts to arrange a nosegay, deliberately owned 
 she must hand Inm over to her mother, to l>o 
 taught tlie A b (' of that important art. while .she 
 learned news miich more valuable to her th.m 
 all the art in the world. 
 
 "This is the vtry first time," she said, taking 
 his arm, as he expressed it to himself, just as if 
 nothing had happened, " that you have come 
 among us since our great trial. Oh, Ashley ! you 
 can not think how dear mamma and I have 
 missed you— how often we have needed your kind, 
 wise advice." 
 
 " H.ive you .'" he asked mechanically ; fancy- 
 ing some remark was necessary — and shrinking 
 from the tone, the look, the touch, which all 
 spoke so clearly the confidence of friendship, 
 nothing more — fool, madman, he thought, what 
 more were you wild enough to dream of? 
 
 "Ah, you know we have ; there is no one on 
 whom we more rely — you are the adopted son of 
 mamma — the dear brother to Helen and me— even 
 Caroline consents to this claim, so you will hardly 
 refuse." 
 
 " Refuse ! and to you ?" then checking himself, 
 he continued calmly. Heaven knows witli what an 
 effort — " yes, let me be so to you and Helen — and 
 now let us talk of her. Your mother and 1 have 
 been considering the best way of introducing this 
 little stranger to your father's knowledge, to his 
 affection— and my father thinks it will be bettor, 
 and more in ticcordance with the position he occu- 
 pies here, if he undertakes to inform him, and at 
 the same time endeavors to plead the cause of its 
 parents. You know he may safely be trusted with 
 this important mis.sion." 
 
 " No one else half so well," replied she. " Doc- 
 tor Vernon will be so gentle, there can be no 
 danger of his irritating papa; and thin he is so 
 forbearing himself, that there is no fear of his 
 temper giving w.iy. Besides, it is his boundeu 
 duty to try and make peace, and counsel forgive- 
 ness." 
 
 "Precisely so," said A.shley; "and for these 
 reasons he consents to become mediator, and let 
 us hope that the result may show that a blessing 
 has attended his exertions." 
 
 " God grant it," she lervently ejaculated ; •' for 
 though they are so happy with each other, and so 
 contented with their conditii n, 1 am sure this 
 state of things must be tlic perpetual bitter mixed 
 with their sweets. Not," she continued, " that 
 poor Helen knows the whole extent to which papa s 
 anger led him,'' and she trembled and turned jialo 
 as she sai^, "nor would I, under any circum- 
 stances, ever have her know ; and oii I if Doctor 
 "Vernon could only have this unsaid, it would be 
 an unspeakable relief to mamma and me ;" and 
 then, for the first time, did Asldey collect, from 
 her look and manner, that some dreadlul maledic- 
 
136 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 tion must have burst from her father's lips during 
 the paroxysm of rage. 
 
 " And KeginaWs law, how does that go on ?" 
 she asked, niter making an eifort to banish the 
 recollection of that dreadful scene. 
 
 " Nothing can be better; I assure you he rivals 
 me in the good graces of Mr. Turner — and were 
 not Helen to sound my praise now and then, he 
 would do the same with Miss Turner.' 
 
 " Miss Turner !" repeated Constance ; " is that 
 his daughter, and is she beautiful :" 
 
 " No, to your first inquiry — she is his sister. 
 Yes, to your last — for she is one of the kindest 
 and most benevolent old ladies I ever knew."' 
 
 " Ah ! I understand what you mean by that 
 indirect reply and that covert rebuke ; but I am 
 nearly cured' of that folly, and I — even I — can 
 now see beauty in mind, in feelings, in acts. I 
 have learned to look through or beyoud the ma- 
 terial — and you will not now hear me say, with 
 tiie literal meaning I then attached to the words, 
 ' I can never love what is ugly' — though in anoth- 
 er sense I may still feel it — for I never can love 
 what is wicked, or even base and mean; but I 
 have seen the most homely features beautified 
 with the light of intellect, and the plain face sud- 
 denly ennobled and made lovely by its sympathy 
 with what is truly great and heroic." 
 
 And as Ashley looked at the enthusiastic coun- 
 tenance that waii raised to his. he thought if the.se 
 feelings beautify the homely, and give tlignity to 
 the ignoble, what will mind and sentiment do to 
 one already of surpassing loveliness.' and he 
 sighed. 
 
 " But you doubt my good report of myself?" 
 
 He shook his head — he feared to speak. 
 
 " And you — you will soon be called ? will you 
 not .'" 
 
 " Yes, very soon." 
 
 " And then you will not study so hard, but you 
 will come among us ?" 
 
 '• Yes— no— 1 do not know;" but feeling that 
 he had endured enough for the first attempt, he 
 s.aid, " 1 fear that Caroline is waiting for me." I 
 
 " Then she is in an unusual hurry. I have not I 
 asked half I intended — but you both dine here to- j 
 morrow — mamma said .so." 
 
 '• Yes, I promised Mrs. Templeton," for he 
 resolved to go through his self-imposed ordeal. 
 
 And the following day he met Colonel Temple- 
 ton, with wlioni he had always been a particular 
 lavorite. Ashley and Victor were continually 
 cited by the Colonel as specimens of what he called, 
 real out-and-out fellows— handsome, spirited lads I 
 who had a will of their own, therefore his wel- i 
 coma to him was both warm and sincere. j 
 
 Ashley thought him much altered ; he looked 
 older by several years, though little more than 
 one had passed since their la.st meeting -he was 
 lc.<s naturally cheerful, though at times loud in 
 his mirlh — and it was with deep regret that he 
 perceived how he indulged in wine— and that he 
 did not accompany llubjrt an<l himself when they 
 joined tlie ladies. 
 
 .Vshley had now the ojiportunity he sought; for 
 without any attempt ou his part to draw Hubert 
 out. Caroline unconsciously furthered his views. 
 
 Associated as Hubert and Victor had been, for 
 .some time before tlie latter left for Cyprus, it was 
 n.itural that she should refer to various events of I 
 
 which his letters had subsequently informed her; 
 and this naturally, also, led to discu.ssions on these 
 subjects, and involved an expression of opinion ; 
 from which the tastes and liabits of the speaker 
 were rendered apparent. Asliley. who hail beeu 
 in Italy, was also curious to learn about many 
 changes in public feeling which had since then 
 taken place; but Hubert, finding that all these , 
 inquiries supposed that he had been a clo.se ob- 
 server, and that he had a greater knowledge of 
 j the progress of society and the arts than lie pos- 
 sessed, candidly referreil them to Victor Morton, 
 j who, he said, gossiped with all sorts of people 
 I about all sorts of things. Arid then, thoroughly 
 weary of the conversation, he asked Constance to 
 sing one of the pretty serenades he had brought 
 ' home. •' 
 
 I "I see," said Caroline, opening the music, ■' that 
 ' it is dedicated to Beatrice di St. Angelo; did you 
 j not meet that family when you were at Rome :" 
 ' she asked of her brother. 
 
 I " Yes," he replied ; " I met them, or rather, I 
 
 should say, the Duca very frequently — he mar- 
 
 > ried an English lady — his only child I never saw 
 
 ! — but I have since heard she has grown into 
 
 a celebrated beauty. The mother diet! of decliiu', 
 
 [ and at one time there were fears of this girls 
 
 health being delicate. The Duca is a man grea 1 1 y 
 
 esteemed. But," suddenly addressing Hubert. 
 
 " you. of course, have been introduced to him .-■ 
 
 j " Yes," replied Hubert, Uushing to the templo, 
 
 j " he has a place in Sicily ;" then tuining to Con- 
 
 { stance he said, rather abruptly, " If you dislike 
 
 that song, try this," substituting another in place 
 
 of the first. 
 
 Why .should he suppose Constance disliked that 
 particular song.' — had she given any indicatinn 
 of so doing .'—none. Had he any reason lor 
 thinking she might .' — and did conscience wake 
 and utter a whisper? 
 
 Both brother and sister, on their return to the 
 Rectory, for some time kept silence ; at length 
 Caroline said, " 1 hope Constance has done wisely 
 in choosing Hubert." 
 
 " What makes you have any doubt about it ?" 
 asked Ashley steadily. 
 
 " Merely a vague feeling that, agreeable and 
 amiable as he is, he is not exactly the person I 
 think suited to her. Circumstances have very re- 
 markably developed her character, which always 
 gave promise of great superiority ; but 1 suspect 
 that Hubert's mind has done growing, and will 
 never be taller or stouter."^' 
 
 " Hubert," said her brother, " has hitherto only 
 played with life, and therefore his character seems 
 stunted — it is the penalty the Sybarite must 
 always pay — happily, however, very few are al- 
 lowed to make a pastime of the world, and wlun 
 they begin in good earnest to straggle against its 
 trials — lO grapple with its realities — to find that 
 they must conquer or die, then men show of what 
 they are made ; and if this be of the true stutf, 
 then qualities and powers undreamed of answer 
 to the call." 
 
 " But all are not of the true stuff— all are not 
 great." 
 
 " No." ho replied, '• for if all were great, none 
 would be so;" and amused at her puzzled look, 
 he continued, with a smile, " never mind the par- 
 adox just now, ' I will explain it when 1 have 
 
THE WIFE'S TKIALS. 
 
 137 
 
 time,^ as Doctor RochecliflFc says. In the common ncss, ho having never allu(le<l, even the most din- 
 •cceptation of the term great, it is not neccsinury j tnntly, to family afl'air.s, the t'olmiel led tlic way 
 that all should be so, tliough there is a moral ^ to the library, where he politely waited for him 
 greatness which all may achieve, and then society j to begin. 
 
 would be much benefited. l!ut with reference to " My oflicc and calling often im)i(ise that upun 
 gar present question, what 1 mean is, that a life me as a duty which in others Wo\ild be imperti- 
 of ease, with no aclmowlids^ed duty of sufficient ' nent and oflicious. I come to you fully e>pectiiig 
 ""portance to rouse to exertion, never can pro- ' a blessings blessed arc the peace-make's." 
 
 duce a character above mediocrity; but Hubert 
 mays till be placed in a position that will devel- 
 op qualities for which we now scarcely give him 
 credit. However, Caroline, 1 do not think he ever 
 could be either a Heginald or a Victor Morton." 
 
 " Still less an Ashley," she replied, fondly, 
 pressing his arm. Then, after a pause, she added 
 
 " If yo\i come with acy ide;i. Doctor Vernon, 
 that 1 shall consider even your office justifies in- 
 terference in my domestic arrangements, dismiss 
 it at once," interrupted the Colonel rising and 
 speaking with much excitement. 
 
 " Nay, call it not interference," resumed the 
 Doctor, mildly; "remember, you have a.ssumecl 
 
 «' You can not think how happy your just appre- | that. I do not admit the charge. You have 
 dation of Victor makes me. And only think of known me long enough to be sure that nothing 
 
 my ignorance of character, for I once used to 
 dismiss both him and Hubert with the disrespect- 
 fill remark, " Two thoughtless, do-nothing lads." 
 Calmly as Ashley, to all appearance, had dis- 
 cussed Huberfs character, it was not so that he 
 felt Too noble and generous to seek for faults, 
 even in his rival, and to rejoice when he had 
 found them, he sighed to think that further obser- 
 vation had only served to confirm his previous im- 
 pressions. He felt sure that though Hubert did, 
 must love Constance for her beauty, accomplish- 
 ments, and amiability, he was quite unable to 
 
 but the best motives could induce me to say what 
 might, perchance, annoy. Helieve me. Colonel 
 Templetou, that if my mi.ssion succeed, though but 
 in the smallest degree, yon will very largely 
 share in the blessing— why then cast it from you .' 
 — why close your heart so that peace and' love 
 knock in vain for admittance r— if you can not 
 wholly forgive, remembering that you— that all 
 — need forgiveness— do not cherish bitter feelings 
 and unhallowed hate." 
 
 " Doctor," said he, resummg his seat, " as I am 
 willing to believe that a sense of duty animates 
 
 comprehend the real elevation of her mind, the re- I you, and that you have no intention to offend, you 
 fined taste, the exquisite sense of the beautiful in j must give me equal credit for the absence of any 
 feeling and morals which were so eminently her j thing like disrespect toward you when I assure 
 characteristics. And Constance, would she ever j you that your attempt is useless. 15y that girl's 
 discover this superiority .' and would this want of conduct I have been place<l in circumstances most 
 sympathy be then keenly felt .' But, after all, ! irritating and mortifying to one of my character ; 
 what was this to him } All this thought and j and I never will forgive her— she left this house, 
 speculation would not help him to banish Con- j and while I live she shall never re-enter it. Do 
 stance, and prevent her taking so prominent a I not interrupt me," seeing the Doctor prepareil to 
 position in all his dreams ; and yet it had been I .speak. " In my just indignation I pronounced a 
 his firm resolution to achieve this, " at least," he ! male<liction on her. This 1 withdraw ; but any 
 said, with a sigh, " my firm resolution to attempt further concession I never will make so long as I 
 it." I live — 1 never wish to hear her name pronounced 
 
 ■ The same day that Ashley left, Doctor Vernon — 1 care not what becomes of her nor whe»e she 
 set forth on his errand of peace. He met the Col- goes ;" and then seeing the excellent Ixector quite ' 
 onel in the grounds, and though there was no overpowered with emotion, he added, witiv rather 
 friendship between men so dissimilar, the sacred ' less vehemence, " This unpleasant interview was 
 character of the Doctors duties, and his unaffec- ' wholly un.soliciteil on my part— and I lx;g you to 
 
 ted piety in their performance, obliged all to re 
 spect him; while his Christian sorrow for these 
 who, like <"olonel Templeton, cast away their hap- 
 piness with their integrity, imparted a gentleness 
 and kindness to his maimer which was not alto- 
 gether unfelt by the most hardened. 
 
 " have come to crave a little of your time and 
 
 believe that my pleasure does not prolong it.' 
 
 " Colonel," said the Doctor, rising in imitation 
 of his companion, " for the withdrawal of wonis so 
 fearful, and which no offense from another can 
 ever justify, I rejoice on your account. Curses 
 injure not those against whom thej* are hurled be- 
 yond the .sorrow they cause, when we see that ono 
 
 indulgence,' said the Doctor, meeting him on the j human being should be so vimlictive against an- 
 terrace and proceeding toward thehouse, as there, other ; your child is under the protection of that 
 he knew, the Colonel could not abruptly leave or Power wlio can not only shield her from evil 
 dismiss him; "and 1 hope I have cho.sen an op- j wishes, but cause them to return whence they 
 portunity as favorable to success as this sweet came. If the day should ever arrive, ami I pray 
 health-inspiring morning is to gratitude and kind that it soon may, when you repent of having cast 
 " ■■ away the blessing I brought for j-ou, semi for mo 
 
 — it may, mercifully, even then not be too late to 
 secure it ;" and feeling that further remonstrance 
 would only more deeply exasperate the man whoso 
 suppre.Hsed passion spoke in every tone, every move- 
 ment, every look, he Ixjwed and withdrew. 
 
 Oh! how did his slow step thrill through the 
 heart of Mrs. Templeton and ConstJince, whose 
 impatience and anxiety as to the re.-ult had boon 
 almost agony — and who roftd, in the sorrowful 
 
 feelings. 
 
 " Ah ! you must not expect to find that I resem- 
 ble that placid sky or these gentle zephyrs," re- 
 plied he, laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! but I do expect it," rejoined the Rector, 
 " for a grateful spirit is preci.sely the one we de- 
 sire for him of whom we are about to ask favors, 
 and you have many causes for gratitude." 
 
 " I am not at all sure of that," he answerc<l ; 
 and wholly unconscious of Doctor Vernon's busi- 
 
138 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 expression of his benevolent countenance, that 
 tlieir hopes had been fallacious, and that the fa- 
 ther s heart was steeled against the child's peti- 
 tion for pardon. 
 
 " No hope, then, dear friend .'" murmured Mrs. 
 Templeton. 
 
 '• None— like the angels, we must wait to see 
 ■why this mercy is still withheld " 
 
 Constance burst into a paroxysm of tears — but 
 she said not a word. 
 
 '• The Colonel consents to withdraw his terrible 
 denunciation— but even this was accompanied 
 with wo.ds of .such cruel indifference, that we 
 have scarcely gained by their substitution ; and 
 as poor Helen was never informed of the extent to 
 whicli passion led her father— she is as she was." 
 
 " Did you tell him of the birth of her boy .'" 
 
 " No— I would uot risk the repetition of words 
 evincing such cruel apathy— and shrunk from 
 associating an innocent babe with an interview so 
 very puiuful. Again I say to you and dear Con- 
 stance, wait— the purpose is wise, though we dis- 
 cern it not." 
 
 " Oh ! mamma, mamma," sobbed Constance, 
 •while lier mother pressed her to her heart — " this 
 is dreadful, dreadful !" 
 
 " .My child it is— even I have not learned to 
 bear it without a murmur." 
 
 CHAPTER LVni. 
 
 " Men'a evil manners live in brass." — Shakspeakk. 
 
 AVhen Stacey, according to appointment, called 
 tipon Mr. Moore, he found the old gentleman 
 seated in his liandsome and comfortable library, 
 the table literally covered with books and papers 
 —the latter, some tied up, others looking yellow 
 and worn — were open, and seemed as if they had 
 lately been pL'rused. 
 
 • Mr. Moore s intelligent countenance had an ex- 
 pression of deep and serious thought as he rose 
 and kindly greeted Stacey. 
 
 " You tind me here," he said, pointing to the 
 opeiiet.1 letters, " seated like Marius amid ruins — 
 tlie ruins of the Creator's best and noblest endow- 
 ment — that of intellect; and it has saddened me 
 to trace the decline, decay, and total downfall of 
 one who had the fatal gift of genius." 
 
 Stacey was no less touched by the tone of earn- 
 eat regret with which this was uttered, than 
 stung by some remembrance that whispered " take 
 warning i ' but shaking oft" a mood by no means 
 habitual to him, he i-euiarked that it was painful 
 to be forced to admit that the term " fatal" was 
 here only too justly applied, but that, happily, 
 such was not always the case. 
 
 ■' It is, indeed, but too properly used here, and 
 in numijerless other instances," replied Mr. Moore ; 
 " but. as you say, liappily, it is not inseparably 
 connected with genius any more than with beauty, 
 the iiiimi.sc alone renders it appropriate; and this 
 is precisely one of the mistakes or fancies which I 
 would gladly attempt to destroy. Instead of im- 
 prudence, extravagance, and, in some instances, 
 vice, being thought the necc'^sary and inevitable 
 uccumpaniments of genius — nay, sometimes wel- 
 
 comed as sure indications of its existence- [ should 
 like to show that they are its disgrace, its uauj, 
 its impediments, its certain destruction. Good 
 God ! are we to believe that the power which ren- 
 ders man's efforts imperishable is clogged with a 
 condition so ruinous and hateful .' Are men of 
 the highest intellect, of the richest imagination, 
 of the most elegant fancy, to pay for this distinc- 
 tion by being blind to moral elevation, and inca- 
 pable of valuing the dignity of truth, honesty, 
 and laborious independence .' It is monstrous to 
 suppose it !" 
 
 " Kight !" cried Stacey, carried away by Mr. 
 Moore's warmth ; " we must no longer allow them 
 to quote the hackneyed ' Video melior — ' and so 
 on, as an excuse for their inconsistency ; and 
 though it will never be as easy to do, as to know 
 what were good to do, it will, indeed, be a grand 
 victory to sweep away this cobweb w^hich entangles 
 the judgment and obscures the moral perceptions 
 of so many." 
 
 " Yes ; and to return to your quotation — 
 'though I can easier teach twenty what were 
 good to be done, than be one of the twenty to fol- 
 low my own teaching,' let these master spirits 
 henceforth no more neutralize the good effects of 
 their lessons by the bad effects of their example." 
 " But how often does it fortunately happen that 
 this evil example has little or no influence, from 
 the ignorance which so commonly prevails, as \" 
 all that personally relates to authors," remarkc'l 
 Stacey. 
 
 " I grant that, but only in part ; the author, 
 let him be as personally unknown as you please, 
 knows and feels the effects himself ; and so, un- 
 happily, do all who are connected with him ; and 
 this alone ought to be motive sufficient to make us 
 expose this fallacy ; but when he is not unknown, 
 but courted, sought after, imitated, then no one 
 can be insensible to the danger of his example. 
 Besides, unknown as he may be during his life, in 
 this biographical and autobiographical ago, he i^ 
 lucky who escapes being disinterred and draggci 
 before the public, either through his own vanity, 
 the folly of friends, or the cupidity of a publisher ; 
 only think what encouragement folly and extrava- 
 gance then receive. They take refuge under one 
 name of literary celebrity, and indulge in habits 
 of destructive intoxication; under anotiier, mean- 
 ly take from honest industry to support their 
 pampered and luxurious habits ; under a third, 
 for conduct still more disreputable ; and so, under 
 cover of one name of note or another, tliey jilay off 
 pranks at ' which the angels weep,' but which 
 they and the foolish public call vagaries of intel- 
 lect, eccentricities of genius, as if intellect and 
 genius did not pay the penalty of folly and crime. 
 But you Avill think me a hot-headed old fellow, 
 perhaps a soured one ; only take these packets 
 I home, read them carefully, and before you judgo 
 me unfavorably, remember that, if 1 speak warm- 
 ly, it is because I feel warmly and kindly toward 
 j these children of genius, who, in so many cases, 
 ' never cease to be chiMren. Ah ! why should 
 reason and poetry be antagonists ." — why -should 
 common sense and talent so often pursue diftcrent 
 j paths .' And now, adieu !— will you dine with me 
 i ttte-d-lele this day week, and prove to me that I 
 j have not scared you ?" 
 I Pleased, interested, touched, and roused, Stacey 
 
THK WIFF/S TRIALS. 
 
 139 
 
 {rarsued his way home; and finding, when he 
 reached the Heath, that he had still food for medi- 
 tation, he walked and sauntered about for a full 
 hour, thinking over all he had heard; and so 
 deeply were both judgment and imagination at 
 work, that before he entered his own house 
 he had collected from memorj', and occasional 
 glimpses at the papers he carried, materials for 
 his introductory chapters — for tlie individual 
 whose memoirs he had undertaken to write was 
 one whose name, for good and evil, had, during 
 his life, and long after his death, attracted public 
 attention, and was even now often quoted as a 
 proof that talent without principle is a curse. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 " 0' my word, tlie father's son— I'll swear 'tis a very pretty 
 
 hi>\." — Coi-io/anus. 
 
 Mkrrily and cheerily rang out the bells at 
 Hurstwood, and told in their musical tones and 
 laughing voices that an heir is born to the Lord 
 and Lady there. Busy figures flit about, and im- 
 portant faces are met here, there, and everywhere, 
 announcing that no common every-day occurrence 
 has taken place — smiling looks and happy voices 
 report that my lady is doing as well as can be ex- 
 pected, and that the baby is the finest tliat ever 
 was seen — " the very model of my noble master,"' 
 said the dignified nurse ; and Lady Grantham 
 goes about with a more stately step than usual, 
 oppres.sed, perhaps, with the weight of her newly- 
 blown honor in being grandmother to a Lord. 
 
 " It's u very grand thing to bc> mother in-law 
 To a very niagniflcent three-tailed Biushaw." 
 
 But Lord Hurstwood!— never was a man more 
 elated — his wife was safe, and to do him justice, 
 that was his first thought— the child, oh ! climax 
 of joy, the child is a boy ! 
 
 Already he began to doubt whether he had 
 done quite wisely in having so decidedly retired 
 from public life— he had certainly been rash and 
 premature ; at his age, it was rather absurd to 
 suppose that his country could not benefit by liis 
 wisdom and experience — and he comforted him- 
 self with the reflection, that statesmen, like other 
 celebrated performers, may have more than one 
 positively last appearance. 
 
 He commanded the steward to have the usual 
 rejoicings and festivities arranged on a larger 
 scale than ever; so that directly her Ladyship 
 could appe;ir to receive congratulations, every 
 mark of respect should be ready prepared— and 
 he presented Lady Grantham with a splendid 
 copy of Cecilia's portrait, which had lately been 
 added to the family picture gallery. 
 
 And when he was admitted to .see his lady and 
 their fir.stborn, his expressions of joy and grati- 
 tude were so reiterated and sincere, as to make 
 her threaten him with banishment if he did not 
 moderate his transport.s — though she privately 
 told Lady Grantham that that wouM be puni.sh- 
 ing herself, as it really gratified her to perceive 
 how much this event had added to his happiness 
 aa well as to her own. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton and Constance were among tho 
 first to otter their congratulations; and it will not, 
 it is hoped, detract from the character of the for- 
 mer, if we record that while she most sincerely 
 rejoiced with her sister-in-law, the remembrance 
 of her own little grandson came across her mind 
 and made lier sigh. 
 
 It was impo.«sible to check the train of thought 
 which was bu.'sy in drawing contrasts between two 
 very similar events. Here tlie young mother was 
 not only surrounded by every comfort and luxury 
 that great wealth could procure, but she was 
 cheered atid sustained by the presence of her 
 mother, and receiving openly tiie felicitations of 
 her nearest and dearest relatives. 
 
 There, far from /ler care and watching, was her 
 beautiful Helen ; not, it is true, needing one com- 
 fort these she could readily have— but in a small 
 and liumble abode, attended by strangers, an 
 alien to her kindred, her father's blessing refused 
 to her innocent babe, and her mother's caress pro- 
 hibited. 
 
 But, thanks to her disciplined mind, here Mrs. 
 Templeton stopped. What signified all these con- 
 trasts when such rich blessings had still been be- 
 stowed on her .' She had the love of her noble, 
 true-hearted husband; she had her mother's 
 prayers and blessings, though denied tho comfort 
 of her presence ; and above all, as with tlie noble 
 Lady of Hurstwood, Providence had sent health to 
 her and her child ; and with a chastened mind 
 and self- rebuked spirit she lifted up her heart in 
 thankfulness. 
 
 " iMamma, I fancy I know what you have been 
 thinking of," said Constance, remarking the silence 
 and thoughtfid look of her mother — "you were 
 comparing Helen and Cecilia." 
 
 " 1 was going, dear Constance, to plead guilty ; 
 but at the very moment you spoke 1 wns calling 
 myself strictly to account for indulging ungrate- 
 ful and discontented thoughts, and 1 lu.pe 1 have 
 succeeded in bidding them hence." 
 
 The little Lord Stanley, the son and heir, par 
 exce/l()ire',-wns about six weeks oM; and culls and 
 congratulations were nearly over, when one day 
 Lady Hurstwood was in her own private sitting- 
 room, into wliich she often had a beautiful little 
 cot introduced, with its still more beautilul inmate. 
 Such was the case now, and seated by it she was 
 fondly contemplating her sleeping boy, when a 
 gentle tap and the gently opening door announced 
 his lorilsliip. 
 
 Happy man! he may easily be pardoned if he 
 stopped for a iew seconds to gaze with delight on 
 the scene. 
 
 His handsome wife, dressed in a costly and most 
 becoming nc^/igir, was bending over the cot, 
 holiiing back one of the lacc-trimme<l curtains, so 
 that she might have a full view of that living and 
 breatliijig picture which is tlie loveliest and best 
 a mother s eye can rest on. Hir fact;, always at- 
 tractive when lighted by one of her sweet smiles, 
 was eminently so now; fijr mixed w'.tli her look 
 of love and pride tliere was an expression of deep 
 thought which harmonized most louciiingly with 
 her occupation and attituile. it .seemed as if siio 
 were trying to gaze into futurity, and .-^cc there 
 wliat was to be the destiny of that innocent slum- 
 berer; as if she were endeavoring to raise tho 
 curtain which hid the history of hia life from her 
 
140 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 eyes, and to learn from it all that the feeble, 
 helpless little being, so unconscious at present, 
 was to do and sull'er hereafter; and she gently 
 sighed as, dropping the muslin, she turned to 
 greet her husband. 
 
 " How beautiful he looks, Frederic," she said. 
 
 " Very beautiful, indeed," he replied, always 
 much pleased when his ynfe addressed him by his 
 Christian name, which she occasionally did in pri- 
 vate. To his ears this was especially agreeable — 
 it sounded affectionate— it sounded youthful also 
 — it awoke dormant feelings which were a little 
 romantic — it united the happiness of the present 
 with pleasant recollections of the past, and hopes 
 of pleasure for the future; above all, to him it 
 whispered an assurance of his wife's love, and 
 this he had learned to value. 
 
 " We must think, my love, of giving some earth- 
 ly name to that dreaming Cupid, and if you are 
 at leisure I sliould like to consult you about it." 
 
 " My opinion is soon given," she said, softly 
 touching the dimpled little hand that lay on the 
 satin coverlet ; " no name will be so pleasant to 
 me as his father's." 
 
 " My dear Cecilia, you will positively spoil me ; 
 but to be candid, I intended to have proposed it, 
 with the addition of Cecil, which will be a com- 
 pliment to Lord Grantham that I shall be truly 
 delighted to offer." 
 
 " Very kind, indeed," she replied; "but when 
 are you not .' I was thinking, just as you entered, 
 of many things ; some strangely at variance with 
 what our sleeping infant seems likely to have sug- 
 gested ; and yet he was the most prominent figure 
 among all the various groups. But with other 
 tilings, my dear lord, I was framing a little re- 
 quest I have to make." 
 
 " You have but to speak ; it is granted if in my 
 power." 
 
 " That power I am not quite sure of; but as I 
 Icnow you have influence with the present govern- 
 ment, I want it exerted for one whom I am certain 
 you would esteem if you knew him." 
 
 " May I venture to guess .'" he asked, with a 
 smile. "It is Mr. Reginald West whom you 
 mean." 
 
 " The same — how kindly and readily you read 
 my thoughts. You are already partly acquainted 
 with his unfortunate liistory ; and though I find 
 from Mr. Ashley Vernon that he has talents of tlie 
 highest order, with industry and perseverance to 
 render tlieni useful, it may be years before his 
 profession can make him independent, especially 
 as, like you," she added, laughing, " he is bur- 
 dened with a wife and son." 
 
 " 1 have more than once thought of this gentle- 
 man, dear Cecilia; but ] felt delicate about men- 
 tioning him, as being your connection. Your usual 
 good sense and candor now set me at liberty, and, 
 in imitation of your conduct, I may say I actually 
 have a commission from oificial quarters to name 
 a gentleman, such as 1 believe Mr. West to be, for 
 employment in a foreign court ; which employ- 
 ment may contfnue for two years — scarcely less ; 
 but if performed in a sati.-factory manner, it will 
 be certain to lead to higher duties and prefer- 
 ment. Now I thought you would like this to be a 
 little offering from us both, on this joyful occa- 
 'sion, to your cousin — what says my lady .'" 
 
 Jjut my lady was rather overcome for a brief 
 
 space; indeed, she wiped her eyes before she 
 could say, " Nothing can be better — more grace- 
 ful — more thoughtful ; and if I might suggest the 
 best Avay of opening the business, it will be 
 through Mr. Ashley Vernon, with whom you are 
 already acquainted." 
 
 Ah ! Reginald and Helen, is Preferment coming 
 with a thundering rap-a-tap-tap at your humble 
 door ? and have you no presentiment that the 
 great personage is so near ? 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 " A momentary grace of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God !" 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 " I AM not quite comfortnble about Stacey," re- , 
 marked Reginald to his friend, some time after 
 the birth of his son ; " his little mfe looks anxious, 
 and he talks of changing the atmosphere, and 
 running away for a short time with that good- 
 natured but silly Lord Chalton." 
 " " In that case I have no doubt that the atmos- j 
 phere will, indeed, be quite changed ; but I do , 
 doubt whether it will be more healthy for him. : 
 However, he has really worked on so steadily for 
 some months, that 1 am not surprised he desires a 
 little respite. His mercurial nature and thought- 
 less habits require a holiday now and then to 
 make him work cheerfully when he returns to 
 school ; and I must own, the rapidity and success 
 with which he produced that first volume of 
 memoirs fairly took me by surprise." 
 
 " Well, if you are satisfied, I have no reason to 
 croak and be dismal." 
 
 It would have been well had Mrs. Stacey been 
 satisfied also ; but such was not the case. 
 
 Since the remarkable success of part of tlie 
 work, for the appearance of which public curiosity 
 had been raised by all the machinery that pub- 
 lishers so well know how to put in operation, and 
 which from its own real merit, both as regarded 
 manner and matter, had produced quite a sensa- 
 tion in the reading world, Stacey's mind and pen 
 had flagged. Like a racer that distances all 
 others till near the goal, and then drops dead 
 lame, so it was with him ; instead of following up 
 this success, and securing for himself a high and 
 permanent place in the temple of Fame, he acted 
 as if that were certain, or already attained — in 
 truth, he seemed to have made an cflbrt he had 
 not strength to continue ; and Ashley was partly 
 correct when he said Stacey wanted a holiday. 
 
 Wie all want a holiday now and then — a kind 
 of change ; Nature herself requires it — she works 
 hard, she lays in her stores, she prepares her vast 
 laboratories, and silently continues her labors 
 without giving much sign of even the faintest ex- 
 ertion. Spring comes, and she then evinces her 
 taste and skill in making evident preparations for 
 the beautiful and gorgeous attire in which she 
 pranks herself, and takes her holiday amid flowers 
 and fresh perfumes during the glorious summer. 
 
 And so, we repeat, we all want a holiday.' 
 But there is a great difference in the Wiiy of 
 spending it. Some make it a season of over- 
 
'J 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 141 
 
 fteding— too much plum pudding — too many 
 mince-pios ; tlien, after sundry nnturul punish- 
 ments, conios tbe crowning penalty in the doc- 
 tor, with his draughts and powders. liy some 
 it is spent in over-pleasuring — and though a 
 diflferent process is gone through, still there is 
 the same result — a penalty of some kind to be paid. 
 
 A few enjoy it rationally. 
 
 But Stacey was not one of the rational ani- i 
 mals— so he flew olT with his rattle-brained 
 friend, and soon found himself more than ever 
 the observed of all observers — tlie petted — the 
 feted. Nothing could be done witliout him and 
 his direction — so that, if he liad thought, he 
 might have asked, "Have all these people been ! 
 in an enchanted sleep since I last met them ? 
 and am 1 the prince who alone can wake them .' 
 How have they done without me during this long 
 interval ?" 
 
 But it was enough for him that they offe'red 
 incense ; he asked not how long it was since they 
 had burneil it to the cap and bells, nor how soon 
 tiiey would do so again. He was once more on 
 the pedestal — what mattered it that some creep- 
 ing tiling iiad squatted tliere before him, or that 
 Bouie bird of prey would alight on it after. 
 
 " This is a poor substitute for the second vol- 
 nme, whieh so many are looking for," remarked 
 Reginald to his wife and Ashley, as he opened a 
 splendidly bound and illustrated book of poems, 
 by Charles Stacey. 
 
 " I can not tell you how greatly I am disap- 
 pointed," replied Ashley; "not exactly in tliis, 
 which is a fair average specimen of modern poet- 
 ry, but I am sorry that a man who possesses the 
 talents Stacey really has — the memoir evinces 
 that— should allow them to be wasted in the tri- 
 fling, shallow society into which he has so eagerly 
 thrown himself" 
 
 " But they are not entirely wasted," observed 
 Helen, apologetically; "witness this gay little 
 volume." 
 
 " Which proves nothing for your argument, 
 Helen," answered Ashley; "the best of these 
 poems, as you may see by the dates and allu- 
 sions, were written wliile living here — and even 
 ■without tliose indications I would undertake to 
 point out all that have been inspired— inspired, 
 indeed ! it is to profane the word — composed, un- 
 der the influence of 
 
 'The music, and the banquet, and the wine, 
 The irarlind. ihe ruse odors, and ihi- fluwerg, 
 The sparkliiig eyes, and flashiujj ornaaieul?,' 
 
 of the world of fashion. It was not at Almack's 
 that the true poet learned to ' give to airy nothing 
 a local habitation and a name.' " 
 
 "You would insinuate, then, that these smell of 
 the lamp .•" asked Keginald, laugiiing at the oth- 
 er's warmth. 
 
 " In one sense, certainly. Ah ! how inferior is 
 all this finery, contributed by jijwelers, uphol- 
 sterers, and mercers, to that gentle but majestic 
 beauty which is imparted by liolding converse 
 with Nature. How fre.sh are all tlie similes bor- 
 rowed from her ever-varying a.spect— how true 
 and life-like all the images drawn from her 
 boundless stores !" 
 
 " Oh ! Ashley," pleaded Helen. " do you then 
 forbid us ever to borrow from art .'" 
 
 "Do not urge him just now," an'nl Reginald, 
 "or I foresee he will answer rashly — we siiall 
 have him denouncing art itself, and branding 
 poor Stacey as one of the miiltitmlo, who ' iudito 
 much metre with much pains.' " 
 
 " And little or no meaning .'" asked she. 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that," said Asliley, calm- 
 ing down ; " though I am bold enough to assert, 
 that the more we copy from copies, the leas shall 
 
 e tinc^of the real spirit of poesic." 
 "Still," " 
 
 persisted. Helen, willing to say what 
 she could, in extenuation of Stacey. whose many 
 amiable qualities made her lenient to his follies, 
 though not blind to them ; " still, you sec, these, 
 poems, artificial as many confessedly are, sell 
 well. Mr. Stacey writes for his patrons, and they 
 buy what he writes. 
 
 ." Yes, and he deiHcates his rhymes to a woman 
 who is quite unable to comjirehend true poetry^ 
 who made use of Irim.self and bis wife while it 
 suited her — and forgot them in their distress, 
 when the remembrance did not suit her. She 
 now again coolly invites him, because he is tho 
 literary pet of the day, and still leaves his wife 
 unnoticed, as if she were not in existence. It is 
 such people who, under the name of patronage, 
 are the vampires of intellect and true genius. 
 Happily, a man of real talent does not need a 
 patron now — he has only to write or paint up to 
 the mark, and society at large are his patrons; 
 and, reversing the old order of phraseology, are 
 his grateful patrons too." 
 
 " Ah ! Ashley, you are not consistent— why, 
 your old idols would never have lived till now 
 had not their inspirations been fostered by the 
 warmth of p.atronage, ay, and royal patronage 
 too. Speak up, old Chaucer," continued Helen, 
 " and say how your patron and frii-nd aided and 
 encouraged you. Faerie Queenc, bring your 
 own true poet, and bid him tell us of his brother 
 bard and kindred spirit, the gallant Sidney. 
 Why, if I were to summon them all, with their 
 queenly and noble patrons, ' and they did come 
 when 1 did call for them,' not tliis little room 
 only, but not this large heath, would hold them." 
 
 " Well done, Helen " said Keginald ; " jou are 
 fit to be Solicitor-General to ilefunct poets and 
 their encouragers. Mind you ask for the ap- 
 pointnu'nt." 
 
 " She has spoken well," returned Ashley ; 
 "but she forgets that when John of Gaunt so 
 nobly favored Chaucer, very lew, but tliose in 
 the learned professions, could do more tlian read 
 tlie scanty range of religious book" then in .MS. 
 — that the great mass knew absolutely nothing 
 but what they heard read — that even in the 
 reign of Klizabeth, learning was only beginning 
 to be diffused — and that directly ])atronage ema- 
 nated Irom the mere courtiers, as in the time of 
 Charles the Second, never was our literature so 
 near total destruction — elegance and gnssnass 
 went side by side — the most nolde sentiments 
 were contaminated by union with the fdulest 
 ideas; so that, purified as it is. much of tlio 
 treasure bequeatlieil by the lancy ami imngina- 
 tion of that age is as useless to the gentM-.il read- 
 er MS if the benefit of a rich legacy were nega 
 tived by the condition that we siiould inhabit i\ 
 pest-house, and there iilonc enjoy if." 
 
 "I entirely agree with you," said Reginald; 
 
142 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " and then, only think of the miserable fawning, 
 the fulsome panegyric, which the man with brains 
 so often paid to the man without." 
 
 " All ! it rejoices me to think that we have at 
 last made a step in tlie right direction," said 
 Ashley," his fine face glowing with enthusiasm ; 
 " the man of letters has at last said lie will also 
 be the man of independence, and live respectably 
 and honestly by his labor." 
 
 " What a fellow you are. Ashley !" exclaimed 
 Reginald, who had been looking at him with 
 friendly delight — " I wish Constance had been 
 here to have caught your look, and transferred it 
 to her collection of celebrated character por- 
 traits, about which she talked with such anima- 
 tion when in town." 
 
 Silenced, at least on this subject, Ashley 
 walktd toward the window, and iu a tone com- 
 pletely subdued, turning soon after to Helen, he 
 said — " When am I to have that portrait of you 
 
 and my godson, which Mrs. G promised to 
 
 send home last week .■" 
 
 " Oh ! it is done, all but the hands," she said, 
 laughing ; " and they are to have a sitting by 
 themselves." 
 
 " And I promise you that Constance will give 
 you no peace till she has a copy of this your 
 modern Madonna — she was crazy about it, 
 after having seen it when only half done," re- 
 marked the mal-a-propos Reginald ; and again 
 Ashley's eloquence forsook him — when, happily, 
 Mrs. Stacey was announced She apologized for 
 geeiuiiig. as she said, to haunt Mrs. ^\ est, hut 
 the temptation was very strong; and the latter 
 assured her that if the visits of ghosts were al- 
 ways as agreeable as hers, no one need dread 
 them 
 
 " And where is Mr. Stacey ?" asked Helen of 
 his wife when she came alone one evening, about 
 a week afterward to see her ; " though I shall 
 not regret his absence, if it be the cause of se- 
 curing me the pleasure of your company, as Mr. 
 West dines to-day with Mr. Turner." 
 
 " That is quite an unusual event for him to 
 leave you,'' remarked Mrs. Stacey. 
 
 " Our visiting list, to talk fashionably," said 
 Helen, laughing, " is so limited, that he rarely 
 has an opportunity ; and then, you know, we 
 are not rich, so that want of money and want 
 of leisure are sufficient reasons for our quiet 
 life." 
 
 "To tell you the truth," said the visitor, "I 
 am a wee bit, only a wee bit, out of temper ; and 
 what will you say when I tell you that it is partly 
 with Charles r" 
 
 " If it is only part of a wee bit," replied Helen, 
 " I suspect this infinitesimal dose will not be very 
 difficult to swallow ; especially as I cimclude the 
 other, and larger part, falls on yourself for in- 
 dulging in such undutiful conduct." 
 
 '• You are not a true guesser, Mrs. West," 
 said her friend, usually very easily mollified ; 
 " I am vexed and much hurt at Lady De Vere's 
 conduct — she has invited my husband to Roe- 
 hampton till the day after to-morrow, and never 
 sends the slightest message to me to prove that I 
 am not quite forgotten " 
 
 " Perhaps that shows that she is at least 
 truthful, if not kind, oi* even courteous. But, 
 ujy dear Mrs. Stacey, I thought long ago you 
 
 had taken the measure of her Ladyship s regard, 
 and put a just estimate on it. Suppose she had 
 invited you, could you, or would_ you, have 
 gone r 
 
 " Probably not — certainly it would have been 
 very inconvenient ; still it is not pleasant to be 
 thus ignored, and on that account I think 
 Charles should not have accepted when I was 
 not invited." 
 
 Suspecting that her little' friend was much more 
 hurt at her husband's going than at her Lady- 
 ship's bad memory or rudenoss, Helen saw that 
 she must act the peace-maker. 
 
 " I think," she said, " that when a man occu- 
 pies a place in public attention, which it is im- 
 portant that he should retain, his wife, viewing 
 him in some sort as a 'servant to posterity," 
 should be contented to share his society with 
 that public — in return for which sacrifice she 
 has the pleasure of sympathizing with his celeb- 
 rity. I can scarcely imagine any thing more 
 emharra.s.-ing than for a man devoted to litera- 
 ture and the arts, to feel it a personal slight if 
 his wife be not invited wherever he is." 
 
 " But do YOU not think this exclusion seems as 
 if the wife were not considered fit society for 
 those who receive the husband ?" 
 
 " I think the wife will do well not to encour- 
 age such I^Iimosa-like feelings, or she will pass 
 througii life perpetually suffering. An artist is 
 frequently asked to visit for several days, in 
 families where he is engaged to paint ; but it is 
 surely no aftVont not to include his Avife." 
 
 " That is true," said ]\Irs. Stacey, though with 
 rather an unconvinced face; "but here I have 
 been a visitor." 
 
 " Now, dear Mrs. Stacey," answered Helen, 
 and she felt that she must be that disagreeable 
 person, the teller of unpalatable truths. •' have 
 you not often said, that the terms on which ymi 
 w.'re both received at that house were like those 
 of persons hired to amuse, without the substan- 
 tial equivalent of being paid r" 
 
 " You are right, Mrs. West; and I blush w!i 
 I remember my folly in believing th.it I was c ■ 
 sidered any thing else Still,! wisli my husbm: 
 shared my feeling — and this on many acconi 
 — as I know that those who now tempt him in 
 their charmed circle, do so because he anui- 
 them, or because they like to show him off as i * 
 lion of the day." 
 
 Helen so entirely agreed with her, that, wliii 
 careful not to own it, she mentioned this conv 
 sation to her husband; and both expresseil 
 hope that when Stacey had once more found tli ,o 
 all is not gold that glittjcrs, or when he had tired 
 of his friends, or vice-versa, they of him, that he 
 would resume his industrious habits, without 
 which his old difficulties, and from which he 
 was not even now quite free, would again close 
 round him and become fetters to both mind and 
 body. 
 
 It was, however, some time before he returned 
 to what he now termed the drudgery of life ; 
 while Mrs. Stacey with dismaj- discovered that 
 during this effervescence of a few weeks, more 
 money had been spent than Avould have maintain- 
 ed their frugal housekeeping for double the num- 
 ber of months. 
 
 As regarded wisdom, Mrs. Stacy was never 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 143 
 
 »!),■ 
 
 likely to rival tho Queen of Sheba ; but she had a 
 remarkably large .share of that vulgar, though 
 not common plant, honesty; and this throve all 
 the more vigorously from being cultivated by 
 gratitude and aftection. She lovctl her liusband, 
 and was very proud of him — but her gratitude to 
 the friends who had come, like ministering angels, 
 between them and misery, amounted to enthusi- 
 asm, and slie determined that no etfort on her part 
 should lie omitted to prove this, and to secure the 
 intimacy and friendship which to her were as pre- 
 cious as light and air. 
 
 To Helen her society had been extremely useful 
 since the birth of her little boy ; and when she, 
 on one occasion, expressed this strongly, Mrs. 
 Stacey, disclaiming all thanks said, 
 
 " If I shall not weary you, I should be glad to 
 consult you about a plan I have been revolving in 
 my inind ;" and receiving an assurance that she 
 should at least have a true opinion, she continued : 
 " I have been trj-iug to understand the position in 
 which Charles and 1 really are placed. At present, 
 the result of his literary labors maintains us ; but 
 since we moved and furnished our house, it does 
 no more ; and I never forget that we have pecu- 
 niary debts which ought gradually to be discharg- 
 ed. Now, before I married I earned my own liv- 
 ing—why should I not try and do something 
 now ?" 
 
 " But your little Isabel ?" 
 
 " I have thought of that^ — she must on no ac- 
 count be neglected ; but if I had any success I 
 should immedia,tely engage a good nurse — the help 
 of one I even now often need. If I am patient, I 
 have great hopes also that my voice may be re- 
 stored." 
 
 " And Mr. Stacey .'" 
 
 " Oh !" she replied, coloring deeply, " he would 
 not object ; but now j^our opinion." 
 
 " I approve of it. provided you are not obliged 
 to live in London — for, putting aside my own self- ! 
 ish desire to retain your society, it will be bet- 
 ter for all of you to remain here.' ! 
 
 " ^Vhile Charles consents to remain, / will not 
 move," was the emphatic reply ; " and he has ad- 
 vantages here for which nothing in the heart of 
 the great Babel could compensate. I have also 
 ventured to think you would name mc to Lady 
 Westrough and Mrs. Loftus, who, as they both re- 
 side within a few miles, may be able to introduce | 
 my cards." ' 
 
 " I shall do so at once," said Helen. " I pre- ' 
 diet that in Mrs. Loftus you will have a most effi- 
 cient ally ; she has herself lived through a stormy 
 day, and will readily give you her sympathy. 
 While the affairs of Captain Loftus were unsettled, 
 she did not sit waiting the result with foMed hands ; 
 she knew what Jupiter advised in similar circum- 
 stances, and .she put her shoulder to tlie wheel, and 
 kept it there for many years, and this in spite of the 
 remonstrances of her husband's family. But she 
 used to say, that if poor relations are a burden, 
 rich ones are often an impediment ; and with two 
 children to maintain and educate, impediments 
 must be removed or jumped over : she did botli, 
 and finally proved that her way was the best. 
 But here is my husband ; wait till I tell him of 
 your plan, and then he shall see you safely 
 home." I 
 
 " Well done, brave little wife," he exclaimed. 
 
 ■when informed of it ; " and may you succeed— for 
 you richly deserve to do so." 
 
 And thus were matters at the Heath when tlio 
 rap-a-tap-tap came, to which allusion has already 
 been made. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 " I 8nw Bassnnio and Antonio part. 
 Tiirnine his liicc. he put \m han<l h. hind him; 
 And with afri-clion W()nilri>iis scnsjlilc. 
 Ho wrung IJa.-sunio's hand— and so ihoy pnrtod.' 
 
 " It makes me breathless," said Helen, when 
 Reginald communicated to her the result of an in- 
 terview he had had with a government member, in 
 consequence of Lord Hurstwood's proposition ; 
 " St. Petersburg ! and perhaps two years' ab- 
 sence !" 
 
 "But you, my love, would not object to accom- 
 pany me .'" 
 
 " Object, Reginald ! why, you would never think 
 of going without me ?" 
 
 "'Assuredly not— while we could struggle on 
 together here— but we must talk this over wiili 
 our friends when we have quietly considered it 
 ourselves. After all tliey have done for me, I 
 am not at liberty to accept or reject till I havo 
 heard their opinion ; and then, dearest, there aro 
 mamma and sister Constance." 
 
 " Alas ! as regards them, we are scarcely fur- 
 ther of there than here. If you accept, so do 1 — 
 your wife shall never hinder j'our progress." 
 
 "You are my best treasure," was the reply; 
 •' and long before this really kind ami gracit'ul 
 act, Lord Hurstwood had my forgiveness— with- 
 out him I should sfill have been witliout you." 
 
 When Ashley was t.iken into their counsel, ho 
 w.as at first disposed to advise rejection, without 
 weighing all the reasons for and against. It .-o 
 completely swept away all the visions in wliich 
 he had indulgi-d for his frien<l, it so entirely 
 broke off" that daily iiitercour.se wliidi was so val- 
 uable to him tliat he could scarcely be brought 
 to listen patiently to all tiie advantages it offered ; 
 but at length struck witii the selfishness of his 
 opposition, he promised to witlidraw it if the ma- 
 jority were against liim. 
 
 Mr. Turner said it would spoil a capital lawyer. 
 But when Mr. Morton was constilted, he strongly 
 advise<l Reginald no longer to hesitate — but to 
 accept it at once — and this the latter was much 
 disposed to do. 
 
 He reminded Ashley, that when he accepted 
 the help of his friends he was unmarried, and 
 firmly resolved to continue so ; but tiiat witli his 
 unexpeeteil ha)>i)iness came additional expenses; 
 and though the income Helen enjoyed freed them 
 botli from serious inconvenience, he owneil that 
 it often caused him grave dis(|uii'lude to tiiink 
 wliat would be her pT)sition and that of iier boy 
 if illness or death interfered willi his emieavora 
 to support tliem ; and tiiat his utmost exertions, 
 even if ultimately successful, could not free him 
 from debt and dependence for many years, where- 
 
144 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " Do not speak those odious words," said Ash- 
 ley, infinite disgust expressed on his fine face. 
 
 " Let us spealf the truth, old friend," returned 
 Reginald, with deep emotion. " ^ly debt to you 
 and Mr. Morton weighs upon nie more than you, 
 who never tliink of it. can imagine. I almost 
 grudge myself the least indulgence, and some- 
 limes tear Helen must think me a dull companion, 
 ^vith my everlasting translations and originals ; 
 and yet' these have added materially to our com- 
 forts. 
 
 " He is quite right," said Mr. Morton, who had 
 been a >;ileiit but not unmoved listener. " God 
 knows how happy he would make me, if he would 
 accept, as a son from a father, some of my abun- 
 dance — hut I have cea.sed to urge it. This office, 
 it appears, is one for which he is peculiarly 
 qualified ; and Lord Ilurstwood says, ' lie will 
 have established such a claim upon government, 
 when these duties are performed, as must insure 
 his appointment to an equally good post for a 
 ponnanency.'" 
 
 "Tliat," said Reginald, "weighs with me more 
 than any other advantage — without this, I would 
 not drop the substance for the shadow. Helen 
 has also heard from the Priory ; and though re- 
 luctant to consent to our exile, her mother's good 
 sense decides in the affirmative. Constance, wlio 
 has frequently met them at the Hall, speaks in 
 the highest terms of the Duke and Duchess of Isle- 
 ford ; about the former she has sent us a little ro- 
 mance, wliich already has had its effect on Helen." 
 
 ■' 1 see it is useless to stem such a torrent 
 against me," said Ashley ; " when are you to go r" 
 
 '• In a couple of months ; and in a note which 
 Lady Hurst woodsent my wife, with a most splen- 
 did outfit for your godson, she informs her of 
 their intended arrival in town, the week after 
 next. It is clear they do not anticipate a refusal, 
 and I conjecture that I am expected to call on 
 them." 
 
 " No doubt," replied Mr. Morton ; " and greatly 
 do I rejoice that thus all difficulties will be re- 
 moved in that quarter. I wish, also, that you 
 au<l Mrs. West would establish yourselves with 
 my sister in town ; it will save much time and 
 fatigue, while making your preparations." 
 
 And Helen did^jartly accept of this thoughtful 
 invitation, to tlie great sorrow of Mrs. Stacey, 
 thougii she said she was quite angry with herself 
 for indulging regret at wliat was so useful to her 
 friend. As to Gretchen, she hovered about Helen 
 like her shadow; and when the parting came, 
 and they were really gone, she shut herself up in 
 the little room which had served for a nursery, 
 and, at first, was deaf to words of comfort. 
 
 Ashley, who felt their departure quite as much 
 as .she did, took pity on her distress, and resolved 
 himself to occupy the now deserted apartments. 
 He therefirc offered to supply the place of Regi- 
 nald, and good-n.aturedly asked if that would not 
 be some equivalent — "Ja! ja! yes, for Mr. Regi- 
 nald he wouM be — but who was to comfort her 
 for the lo.'-s of .Miss Helen .' — no one but Miss Con- 
 stance; she, indeed — " but Ashley waited for no 
 more, and happily no one was present to witness 
 his precipitate exit. 
 
 It is thc.ilay fixed for the departure of the 
 Wests, and Constance was waiting for her mother 
 10 join her in a drive to the Grange. 
 
 Some refreshing showers w^ich had fallen after 
 a long drouth, h.ad given additional beauty to 
 the ever lovely scenery of the Priory. The air 
 was full of odors, distilled alike from the bosom 
 of the earth and the masses of flowers with which 
 the gay parterres were adorned. 
 
 Constance, whose eye for the graceful and 
 beautiful was always open, whether in the ar- 
 rangements of drapery, the suitableness of orna- 
 ment, or the contrasting of colors, had herself 
 superintended the forming and laying out of these 
 flower-beds; and now, while she was viewing the 
 result of her taste, her ear was also gratified by 
 the joyous songs which were being poured forth 
 from slirub and tree. A rival and rural opera- 
 house seemed to have established itself in that 
 sweet spot — the notes of the happy birds making 
 themselves heard with that delicious clearness 
 which is the usual effect of a recently refreshed 
 atmosphere ; and as Constance watched the little 
 musicians winging their IJiglit from tree to tree, 
 she thought, " Oh that I had wings like a dove !" 
 — and tears silently, almost unconsciously, fell 
 from her eyes as she remembered that her be- 
 loved sister was now, perhaps at that very mo- 
 ment, leaving England. Should they ever again 
 meet on that broad terrace .' should they ever 
 again watch together those white sails steering 
 clear of the coast, and yet approaching near 
 enough to add all those attractions the prospect 
 needed to make it perfect in beauty and poetry ? 
 ~^ll, Constance ? did it need no gay vision, once 
 thought so essential ? 
 
 But as this question suggested itself, the face 
 of the fair girl was more deeply overcast with a 
 look of anxiety as well as sorrow— for Hubert had 
 been away some months, and his letters liad not 
 been numerous. He had been told of this new 
 trial which she and her mother had gone through. 
 in bidding adieu, by letter only, to the travelers, 
 and no word of sympathy had arrived, wliile Mr. 
 .and Mrs. Forrester since his absence seemed to 
 have become more stately and chilling than ever. 
 
 They were now in kScotland, having returned 
 with the Sinclairs ; but before they went, Lau- 
 rette found means to instill into their minds a 
 greater dislike than ever to their son's union with 
 Constance ; while to the last she did not fail from 
 time to time to enlarge on Hubert's want of punc- 
 tuality in writing — a fact she contrived to learn, 
 by pretended inquiries from Mrs. Forrester, re- 
 specting her son's movements and occupations, of 
 which she expected, of courtie, Constance could 
 inform her, and of which, by the way, Laurette, 
 through her friends in Italy, learned more than 
 any other person. 
 
 All tliese reflections crowded into the mind of 
 Constance and made her feel very sad — a sadness 
 she tried to ascribe wholly to the departure of 
 Helen, wlio had gone without having again seen 
 either Mrs. Templeton or her sister. This had 
 been impossible— for the Colonel had never been 
 long enough away, and a growing conviction that 
 Ruth was in some way a spy on herself and daugh- 
 ter made Mrs. Templeton more cautious than 
 ever. 
 
 Constance at last saw her mother approach; 
 and trj'ing to banish all traces of discomfort from 
 her countenance, she hastened to meet her. Mrs. 
 Templeton looked very pale, and as if she had 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 145 
 
 ^f^en wocpiiiff; nw] wisliing to drnwher nttcntion 
 Tiin s:ul tli<>ii<rlit<, she forced a smile as slie 
 jcinteil to tlu' si'i in all its calm miijosiy, wliilo a 
 tinj' speck of sail in the distance was tlip only 
 sign of life on its Iwundless expanse. But, as is 
 !:!o often the case, she produced the very effect she 
 
 111 wished to avoid. 
 
 ■•Yes, darlins," said her mother; "by this 
 .iiae our beloved Helen has left us— I realize it 
 ill." 
 
 " But she writes in such good spirits, dear 
 mamma, and Reiin.ild is so pleased with the ap- 
 pointment — and then it may not be so lonp; as two 
 years — and. you know, you have often told Caro- 
 line, when she spoke of Victor, that they soon 
 p;iss." 
 
 " Another proof," replied Mrs. Tenipleton, 
 " that we are very philosophical in bearing the 
 trials of others Still, dear child, I am not going 
 to repine — and ■nss thinking less of the length of 
 lime than of the many events that may happen in 
 a very short space — and then I fancy I could so 
 mucli better h;ive borne it had I been able to have' 
 t'iiMen my childrtn God-speed — but tie knows 
 !iest — yes. surely lie knows best." 
 
 A few days aftpr tliis, Caroline called to tell 
 them very agreeable news from Victor. He had 
 joined a party of intelligent French travelers, 
 and was visiting the wonders of Egypt and the 
 Xile. 
 
 "Only think," said Dr. Vernon, when Mrs. 
 Templeton alluded to this at their next meeting. 
 " what a book of travels the young hermit will 
 be; we shall read him over and over again." 
 
 " No difficult, matter to read Victor," remarked 
 Mrs. Templeton, on whom his frank, true charac- 
 ter had made a most favorable impression ; " the 
 ivriting is always legible, and the style both 
 
 ir and happy — but when will he return?" 
 
 ■' Ah ! not yet," replied Caroline, with a sigh, 
 "High she colored with pleasure at Mrs. Temple- 
 ion's speech— -'he fears that some troublesome 
 busine.'^s will oblige him to visit Smyrna before we 
 fee him in England." 
 
 She longed to hear Constance say something 
 of Hubert; but though they loved each other 
 dearly, and frequently conversed of the absent 
 
 •■1 the loved, Caroline always hesitated to in- 
 
 lire about him— she had a vague and unsatis- 
 
 ■tory feeling that between them there was not 
 the same confidence nnd truth as between her and 
 Victor; though so cautious was she not to say 
 any thing lo draw fortli an expression of Con- 
 stance's sentiments, that Laurette wasted several 
 choice pieces of malice on Caroline, in the mis- 
 taken hope that tliey would find the mark at 
 v.hich she shot — and many and many an iSnkind 
 hint or in iirect anecdote was carefully kept in 
 licr friendly bosom which the narrator intended 
 j-hould wound the heart of her cousin. 
 
 At length came the long-expected letter from 
 
 Italy. But, instead of sending condolence and 
 
 \vnipatliy. Hubert siw nothing in the departure 
 
 ■ :' ;lie Wests but a subject for congratul.-ition. He 
 
 illy wished he had had such an offer — a post of 
 
 iiioluni'^nt and confidence — one leading also to cer- 
 
 ttiin promotion and employment — he really envied 
 
 Ilt'grnald. At first Constance was so provoked 
 
 I hat she was ready to weep — then, as she again 
 
 read this, and much more to the same purpose, 
 
 10 
 
 she remembered these were the very arguments 
 all tlieir sensible friends, anil Reginald himseU", 
 had used, in order to reroncUe them to tiio pain 
 of separation; and she thought it was kind and 
 wise of Hubert to dwell upon the advantages of an 
 inevitable event, rather than by useless sentiment 
 and foolish pity render them unli.ippy and dis- 
 contented; and as she rend an animaied account 
 of a visit to Vesuvius, and a ib scrii)tioii of .some 
 curious specimens of carved lava he had packed 
 up for herself and Mrs. Templeton, lier spirits re- 
 sumed tiieir even tone— tliough it was .••till with 
 something of (lis ippointraent that she fohled and 
 locked away the letter. 
 
 Had she judged it impartially, she would have 
 said it was commonplace and nn'nterosting — per- 
 hap.s she might have added cob 1 anl indifferent; 
 and had Helen, during the halcyon days of her 
 short courtship, been in the habit of parading 
 Reginald's letters, which, of course, she was not, 
 Con.stance might have been still more un.>-paring 
 in her criticisms. 
 
 At any rate she had heard — and heard that he 
 was well, for, lately, that anxiety had begun to 
 harass her ; she could also tell her mother that 
 Hubert had ascended .Mount Vesuvius ; and 
 liitle as that was it was something— for she had 
 fancied that Mrs. Templeton, though imitating, in 
 one sense, Hubert's silence, had thought it more 
 extraordinary than that gay youth himself seem- 
 ed to have done. 
 
 A visit from Miss Newman and the little Jlor- 
 tons to the Vernons was a pleasing interruption to 
 the monotony of their present life. Hurstwood 
 was left to the servants ; the Forresters were 
 away— not that the Priory missed them much ; 
 Lady Dallas was at the sea with all her family, 
 except Minnie, who was left with Constance at 
 their united request ; and it seemed as if a more 
 
 floomy shadow than ever had fallen on Colonel 
 empleton. He was often much occupied with 
 his solicitor from town, and under the plea of 
 busness frequently absented himself from tho 
 morning meal, so that, as far as his presence 
 went, both his wife and daughter might have 
 spent half their time with Helen had she been in 
 England. 
 
 j it may, therefore, be imagined how^ the arrival 
 of the Rectory guests was haileif by Constance, 
 
 I whose love of children was excessive, and wlio ha/l 
 more than once called on Miss Newman while 
 visiting her aunt ; and her mother was delighted 
 to perceive that the briglit eyes were brighter, 
 
 j the musical laugh more frequent, and that her 
 Constance, who had lately looked so droop'ng, was 
 
 I once more the cheerful, blithe creature who had 
 returned from scho(d so full of gay hopes, almost 
 every one of which had been destroyed. And 
 when letters were at length forwarded from .Ash- 
 ley, announcing the arrival at St. Petersburg of 
 all, even the new nurse, safe and well, Mrs, 
 Templeton uttered grateful thanks for mercies 
 vouchsafed, and endeavored not to think of thc?e: 
 which, she fancied, were withheld. 
 
 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 • Ollenlimcs, to win iw to our harm, 
 
 Tue iiiairuiueuts of ilurkuess leli us irn h» " 
 
 SllAKSPEARK. 
 
 " Do you think you can procure me a copy of 
 old Ashley's will ?" a-'ikeJ Mrs. Captain in her 
 usual disrespectful style of conversation when 
 alone with Cuopcr. . . 
 
 •• No doubt 1 can," he replied ; " but what is in 
 the wind now ?— what dodge are you up to r" 
 
 " Never you mind/' was tlie courteous reply ; 
 " perhups 1 have no motive but curiosity. You 
 let me have a sight of this will, and I shall then 
 know better what 1 want." 
 
 Accordingly, as a copy of the will was among 
 the Colonels papars, and quite easy of access, it 
 was borrowed by the agent and conveyed to Mrs. 
 Captain .Mordaunt, who, after several futile at- 
 tempts to come at the plain English meaning, en- 
 veloped as that was in the "technicalities of the 
 law, was fain to ask Mr. Cooper s assistance re- 
 specting a few sentences wiuch seemed particular- 
 ly to interest her. 
 
 " If you think to wheedle him out of more 
 money just now, you will find your mistake — he 
 has been bothered lately in many ways, and tliat 
 annuity to you swept off a cool five thousand and 
 odd." 
 
 " And what of that .'" she retorted, with a con- 
 temptuous laugh ; " I can put him in the way of, 
 perliaps, repaying himself with interest, and a 
 handsome present to tlie gold-iinder, besides " 
 
 it. I have often warned him, since we have had 
 nothing to do with it— but I believe he is some- 
 times mid after the dice. And now I think of it, 
 what is Mits Ruth doing, or, rather, what has she i 
 done lately .''" 
 
 "Oh! slie says every one suspects her, and 
 that she is miserable, and talks of leaving, and 
 being sorry, and such stuff." 
 
 " Ah ! she must do a little more, and be a little 
 more sorry, bclbrc I have done witli her, and 
 then she may leave and go where she likes ; she 
 must have acted like an idiot to cause suspicion — 
 and serve her right." 
 
 " Well, this is good," cried Coop?r ; " why, you 
 have tempted tiie girl to watch and betray her 
 employers, and now you upbraid her with haviiij: 
 drawn upi.n herself suspicion. That old dragon, 
 Dawson, I am sure, has set them against her, and 
 I owe her one for that trick." 
 
 " And I owe her many, for several tricks," said 
 she ; " but it will be odd if I do not pay her, and 
 another old witch, wJK^n my turn comes — but 
 even he is besotted about her honesty and man- 
 agement, forsooth." 
 
 The " //e" thus unceremoniously alluded to 
 came that eT:'n".ng, on a little business connected 
 with Augustus, who was expected from Paris; 
 but from whom his mother had that day received 
 a letter, dated London, in which he said that he 
 should be detained there for a few days. 
 
 Two or three words must here be espscially de- 
 voted to Master Gussy and his doiuj^s : for the 
 truth is, he was absent without leave — he had 
 I absconded, deserted — in short, run away from 
 
 What stuti' you talk, Maria," exclaimed Coop- j gcbool. He had there been detected in so many 
 er, angrily ; " whenever you get on that hobby j discreditable pranks — among others, frcqnentinj; 
 
 you remind me of a beggar on horseback 
 
 " Vou keep a civil tongue in your hoad, or 
 when I am lady paramount you may look for 
 your profitable agency some fine day, and find it 
 gone. ' 
 
 " By the Lord Harry !" he replied, pale with 
 sp!te and rage, " if you go on so, I will blow your 
 fine scheme about your ears, and — " 
 
 " Be buried yourself under the fragments. 
 Dare but to threaten me again, and see if I do 
 not rout out that Palais Eoyal affair." 
 
 " Fool and fury," he began— 
 
 " Keep the first title to yourself," she retorted, 
 interrupting him; "why, you are quarreling 
 with your bread-and-butter, you great gaby — 
 and now tell me, what is that man from London 
 domg up yonder .-' — what plot is hatching there .' ' 
 
 " 1 do not know," he replied, sullenly ; '• and 
 if I did I would not tell you.'' 
 
 estaminets, gaming and smoking with the soldiers 
 stationed al Versailles, where bis school was^ 
 that the hoad master, at length, determining t" 
 impose some severe penance on him, ordered him 
 to solitary confinemeui till he could think of what 
 was most likely to cure him. But Augustus did 
 not relish the idea of waiting till this salutary 
 measure was arranged ; he contrived to escape, 
 made his way to Paris, where, among a few pro- 
 fligate acquantance he had picked up during hi9 
 mother's sojourn in that city, he was concealed 
 and encouraged — till, every franc spent, and a 
 handsome watch and appendages, with his clothes, 
 all gone, he wrote for a remittance to enable him 
 to cross the water, as he positively refused to re- 
 turn to school ; and by threatening his mother to 
 do something dreadful, obtained at once the re- 
 quisite sum. Arrived in London, he jo'ned Juliet 
 at the house of one of his mother's friends, wisely 
 
 Yes, you would," she replied, with a concilia- i waiting till the storm, which he knew raged 
 
 ' against him at Seabrooke, had passed over. 
 
 " What is this about Augustus .'" asked the 
 Colonel ; " what is he doing in town .' and where 
 is he staying .'" 
 
 Prudently avoiding an answer to the first two 
 questions, Mrs. Captain tliought it enough to re- 
 
 tory laugh and patting his back; "there, the 
 monlcey is off— and do not play these tricks with 
 me. Are we not both in the same boat .'" 
 
 " I am not quite sure of that," said he, begin- 
 ning to be controllable ; " but you make me mad 
 when you go on so absurdly. I know no more 
 
 ■than you about this business with Mr. Sloper ; I ply to tlie third 
 
 only suppose they are trying to raise the needful 
 somehow, though how be spends liis income, puz- 
 tlcs me." 
 
 " If he meets that set in town, it is easily un- 
 derstood— renu-mltcr what he lost one night -n 
 Paris— why, that German alone would strp th*- 
 very skin off you, if he could make any thing of 
 
 lie is staying with the Lawfords." 
 " Well, 1 hope they will be able to keep him 
 out of mischief— his last visit cost me a pretty 
 penny, and I promise both him and you that I 
 have neither pence nor farthings to spare just 
 now." 
 
 «' Why, Juliet is there, and it is very natural 
 
TFIE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 147 
 
 ■f'.icy sl'.ould like to take a Utile pleasure to- 
 ;:etiier " 
 
 " As much as they like, provided that I have 
 Jiot. to piy the piper; f.r, to ^peak ti-uly, I have 
 >io more the will than the mi'^iiis " 
 
 " Oh, you never want the will to be kind and 
 CMien/us when you hnve tlie power, that we all 
 know,'" slie artfully replies I, «'t noticing the ill 
 Jcinp'T with whicli ir was evideut he was anima- 
 ted ; " and what will you give ihe person who 
 biiall sliow you where a snug little sum is buried, 
 and onjy waiting for you to dig it up r" 
 
 " Why, I sliall say, when that happens, that I 
 believe in the Philosoplier's stotie." lie repli»'d, 
 iilighily clearing his stormy brow; " but where 
 is Co>iper r" 
 
 '•Never mind him. Colonel," flic answerc<l, 
 •' but attend to me now. Praj' did you ever read 
 tlie whole of the will under which you inherit the 
 Seabrooke property .-" 
 
 •' Ever read the whole ?" he said, with a fal- 
 tering voice, and turning pale. " Good God ! 
 wh.it do you mean ?" 
 
 *' Why, one wouhl think from your manner that 
 it was forged,' she remarked, but s:ill uncon- 
 scious of the depth of his agitation, or she would 
 not I'ave hazarded a jest. 
 
 " 1 am in no mood for trifling. You have a 
 motive for asking — what is it ? speak out, and at 
 once." And there was something in his look 
 which reminded her that even she had better obey. 
 
 " Siaply this," she replied; and without fur- 
 tiier pailey siie handed him an extract she had 
 made for that purpose. 
 
 •' Also to Ellinor, the wife of the said Lionel 
 Temiileton, I give and bequeath the sum of five 
 thou-and pounds for her sule and j^eparate use ;' 
 and blie stood watching him as he read, and saw 
 the look of intelligence that gradually spread 
 ever liis face; then she knew that the poisoned 
 drop wo\ild fall and torture where she so bitterly 
 h.ited. 
 
 When he lifted his eyes from the paper he en- 
 countered hers fixed full on him. Neither spoke 
 a Word for a few minutes, till, unable to bear the 
 sdence and suspense, she asked, 
 
 " And where is that sum ?" 
 
 "bpent— I believe— I suppose," he stammered. 
 
 "Believe — suppose — had you not belter make 
 -lire t" 
 
 " And for what purpose, except to disclo.se to 
 lier and others that 1 have so greatly exceeded 
 -::iy income ? I have no power over this money — 
 it id left expressly f )r her use." 
 
 '• You have power over her," .sneered this shc- 
 d'-vil, " and her cypress use will be ex.actly such 
 • IS you dictate — what business has any woman 
 with such a sum, in addition to tiie money with 
 which you so liberally supply her .' Why, the 
 interest alone of this would make her independent 
 of you " 
 
 " That is true," replied tlie tempted. 
 
 '• And," pur.-ued the tempter, aiming at ran- 
 dom, but uiiliappily hitting riglit. " who can tell 
 whether that gallant young Lovelace h:i3 not had 
 a slice of this comfortable little leg icy ? I advise 
 you to borrow the remainder before you have an- 
 other Gretna green iiflf.iir ;" but she paused, for 
 the cloud had returned with double iritensity and 
 gloota 
 
 I " Once for all," he said, in a voice of concen- 
 
 ' trated rage, '• name not /irr ; angels only should 
 spcMk of her; and I swear if you disobey mo I 
 will keep no teims with you ; do not try mt> too 
 
 ■ much, or you may tind the strengtli does not lie 
 where ynu fancy." 
 
 Inwardly boiling with rap«, and vowing deep 
 vows ot venge ince, when she had the 0| portunity, 
 Mrs. Captain was obedient— for this was not the 
 fiist lime lur tpite against Cotist.ance had hccn 
 hurletl back up(m herself; but she again reverted 
 
 I to this sum, and by plausibly representing that 
 it could be easily borrowed, and by bringing be- 
 Ibre him his need of money, which was hardly 
 
 j requisite, inasmuch as the recollection perpi-tu- 
 
 j ally annoyed him, she sent him home fully le- 
 
 ! solved to liave this money — by fair means, if pis- 
 
 j sible— but — to have it. 
 
 Tliat day the Colonel had no opportunity of 
 carrying out his magnanimous intention ; for 
 
 , Constance, who ,>-eemed uncomfortable when slio 
 had not her u«ual post by lier mother's side, never 
 
 j left her. 
 
 The next morning was n^ore propitious to his 
 
 [ design, as he heanl little Minnie IJal! is talking 
 with Constance in her own room, and knew that 
 his wife was cither in or near the upper conserv- 
 atory. Thither, therefore, he rep.oired, ra\'\ found 
 her in the boudijir, occupied in making a reduccl 
 copy of the portraits of her daughters, intended 
 as a present to Mrs. Vernon : fov Mrs. Templetou, 
 like Constance, excelled in this charming art. 
 
 The beautiful llehe ftxceof Constance was ail- 
 mirably finished, and she was now completing 
 that of Helen, with its touching ami Madonna- 
 like expression; but some associations and rtctl- 
 lections were busy at woik in the minti of the 
 fond mother and impeded her look of love, for as 
 she raised her eyes, on the entrance of her hus- 
 band, they were filled with tears. 
 
 She started when she saw who it was, and her 
 first movement was that of trying to hide the na- 
 ture of her employment — but this theatate of tlio 
 oils prevented ; and before she could even quit the 
 easel, he stood by her side. 
 
 '■ A very successlul copy indeed," he remarked 
 graciously; "though as to any one ever satisfy- 
 ing me in representing that girl's bewitching 
 face, I bilieve it inipossdile; even you have given 
 it a pensive cast, wlixh does not naturally belong 
 to it." 
 
 Surprised, half 8tartle<l that he should evince 
 any thing like interest in her pursuits, .Mrs. Tcm- 
 pkton replied, " IJui it is one whicli her awoet 
 countenance ha.s lately worn, ami 1 own to think- 
 ing it does not. in tlie le:ust. diminish its beauty." 
 " Oh ! pray do not encourage Coastance to dis- 
 figure herself with dismals and sentiment," he 
 said, sharply ; "she has every thing a girl c^m 
 want now, with Forest Hill and Hargraves, when 
 she marries." 
 
 How the mother longed to direct his attention 
 to the other charming face, which .seeimd so 
 touchingly to appeal to all of gentle and kind that 
 might yet linger in his nature — but theie was a 
 scowl on his brow which warned her to besili'iit. 
 '* I have always forgotten to name to you a 
 legiicv to which you are eniiilcd by the will of 
 tlie late Mr. Ashley," he said, f.-eling that h« 
 should be glad when this matter was over. 
 
148 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 Tremblinw at the storm which she knew im- 
 peii'l.'J. and wliich slie also knew she could not 
 avoid, she replied, as calmly .-u; she could : " ily 
 trst net on possessing it was to invest it for the 
 children." 
 
 "Tlie devil you did!" he retorted sharply; 
 " and pray who were your trustees in this pre- 
 ciou.s whim r" 
 
 " My brotlier and his solicitor." 
 
 "Upon my sail I a pretty conspiracy, under 
 the sanction of Lord Granthiim, and a very hon- 
 orable tiling this interference with my property." 
 
 Aware that to resent this insulting mention of 
 her brother, or to remind him that it was not his 
 property, woul 1 only draw down his fury the soon- 
 er, she w.is s I mt. 
 
 " I presume that these honorable counselors in- 
 vested it so as to bjar interest — you, probably, 
 know sjmsthing of that ?" 
 
 " The iiite.est I have generally drawn for va- 
 rious pur^rosijs such as my 1-ttle charities — or in- 
 dulgences to the girls while with Mrs. Loftus." 
 
 " Charities ! to the tune of nearly two hundred 
 a-year ! upon my word, madam, you have noble 
 ideas— pity they did not prevent you from defraud- 
 ing your husband." 
 
 " It w.is no fraud upon yoii, Lionel," she re- 
 plied. " I was given to understand that this leg- 
 acy was so absolutely mine th.at I could at once 
 have given it away." 
 
 " .\ud confourfled fools they are who allow any 
 woman to have this power. However, henceforth, 
 I slinli controli,he interest, and also soe what I 
 can do about the prlnciral. At a moment when 
 every hundred is mjst valuabla to m3, to be coolly 
 toll by you that you have alienated five thousand, 
 is intolerable. Where are the^e papers .' and give 
 me the address of this rascally lawyer." 
 
 " I have no papers," she repliel ; " but you can 
 have the address "' 
 
 •' No papers! by heavens, madam, you arc a 
 fool I- — what aocurity have you for the income ."' 
 
 " I gave them up when Helsn was forced from 
 her home,' she said, slightly roused ; " thz couhl 
 not be left peuniless — and—" but he broke 
 forth— 
 
 " She should not only have been left penniless, 
 but to starve— she richly deserved it for her d>o- 
 bcdience, and in which I now find you have been 
 encouriiging her — but I will tear this from them 
 — her and tier beggar husbanl. By the heavens 
 above! I w 11 make you all repent of this combi- 
 nation— p'nuiless, in lejd— and to give it to them 
 wlien / wauu ini>n jy !" 
 
 " 1 am really sorry that you shoixld noed money 
 — though, wit!i < ur ine me, it can only be for a I 
 short tinij," returned Mi-s. Templeton ; " but we 
 can economize in some way, or, perhaps, you can 
 borrow." I 
 
 " Borrow ! — how am I to borrow .'" he said, sav- 
 agely ; " I am tied hand and foot by this cursed re- I 
 striction — but tell me, wlnre is this thief who firsb i 
 steals my daughter and th-'n my money .'" 
 
 " At St. Petersburg ;" an 1 there was a joy in 
 her heart wliich unconsc'ously communicate 1 itself 
 to her tone, at the thought that let what might 
 , oie to her, these dear on\s were safe. 
 
 "Now," said Colonel Temple on, approaching 
 ier, while she instinct. vely recoiled, " you have 
 not forgotten that no one, you, especially, can 
 
 escape my vengeance— you must revoke thi 
 deed." 
 
 •' But it is impossible," gasped she, pale wit! 
 extreme terror. 
 
 "It must be done. Helen— out on her! tha 
 I have to name her — must consent. Do yoi 
 hear .'" 
 
 " Yes," she said, rejoicing to think that sh( 
 knew so much better than he the nature of tbi 
 trust, as to be certain it could not be annulled. 
 
 " And now, as you have frustrated me by this 
 arrangement, you must be prepared to submit t( 
 mine. Probably we shall all go abroad, an 1 let 
 this expensive place — and as my need for everj 
 guinea is pressing, I must have your pearls " 
 
 The bare threat of living abroad so overpowerec 
 Mrs. Templeton that she lost all presence of mind, 
 and rais'.ng her voice she exclaimed, " Oh ! not 
 abroad ! not again abroad !" 
 
 He also spoke in louder tones, swearing that if; 
 she thwartel him, their exile should begin with-; 
 out delay — and, stamping his foot, bade her fetcti 
 the pearls immediately. ' 
 
 She left the room for that purpose just as the 
 door opjned which led to the corridor, and gave 
 admittance to Constance, who having heard hei. 
 father's voice from that quarter, a most unusual 
 occurrence, entered her mother's boudoir. 
 
 Her father stood with his back toward her,' 
 quite unaware of her entrance ; her mother soon! 
 returned, and placing the jewel-case on the table, 
 she sank pale and trembling on a chair. 
 
 " Dearest mamma !" was the cry that brx)kc the 
 ominous sibnce, and Constance rushed forward—. 
 " Mamma, you are ill,"' she continued, not noticingi' 
 her father; " what is the matter ."' • 
 
 " Nothing, child — leave me, leave me," she said 
 faintly; but Constance twk no heed of tliis re- 
 quest — for kneeling down, she began to chafe the 
 cold hands, repeatedly kissing them. 
 
 " Your mother and I have business," said the 
 Colonel; " leive us," 
 
 '• Not while mamma is ill and fainting," re- 
 plied she; "no om can desire that; and then 
 her glance falling on the jiwel-cisj, she at oncej 
 suspected that threats, perhaps violence, had beer, 
 used, and rising, she said—" It must be evident 
 to you, papa, that she can not enter into business! 
 details at present ; perhaps it will not inconven-j 
 ienc3 any one if it be delayed ;" and she main-' 
 taincd her post so as to intercept all approach tei 
 her mother, while it was difficult, with those flash-, 
 ing eyes fixed on him, for the Colonel to toucl:; 
 the case; so turning his fierce" looks on his wife! 
 he said, " Hemember, I will not be thwarted!' 
 and left the room. 
 
 Constance quickly locked the door after him 
 and then returned to her mother, soothing am 
 caressing her, as if they had exchanged charac-i 
 tors, and i\Irs. Templeton had been the child 
 neeiiing a mother's care and protection A'i 
 length she had the satisfaction of seeing tear' 
 flow abundantly, while her mother sobbed out— 
 " My darling child! my guardian angel !"' 
 
 " Now, mamma, lie down, while I remain here !' 
 and C(mstance felt that, more than ever, she mus 
 keep watch over this beloved parent; she was 
 again roused to a sense of her mother's helpless' 
 unprotected state ; and fervently did she nov 
 thank Mr. Forrester for the various impediraonti' 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 149 
 
 he had interposed to her speedy mnrrinjic ; indeed, 
 in her enthusiasm, she doubted whetlicr she ought 
 ever to leave her — and began seriously to think 
 she never would. 
 
 " How is your mother now ?" asked the Colonel, 
 when they mot at luncheon, where she had hoped 
 toseo him- lor Constance had no fear. 
 
 "She is better, thank you." 
 
 " Anyone would think I had been trying to kill 
 her," he said. '• It was alwut money ; and whin 
 I wanted thousands, you mother is foolish enough 
 to offer her jewels." 
 
 Willin<i to accept any overture that sounded 
 pacific, Constance quietly r^plie<l, '-Perhaps mam- 
 ma thouglit it would please you, to see that she 
 wished to help you " 
 
 " No sign of tliat in her aggravating folly, to 
 have locked up five tliousand pounds, or handed 
 it over to her disobedient dauglitcr. 
 
 " Mrs. West is my sister," s.aid Constance, with 
 the flash and the frown. 
 
 " Anl, truly, a great honor that ie," he replied, 
 half-amused, half- provoked at these well known 
 signals ; " wandering over Europe in search of a 
 living." 
 
 " That want is not her fault ; and as to wan- 
 dering, it is a disgrace or an honor in which her 
 husband has the company of the Duke of Isle- 
 ford." 
 
 But he did not trouble Lord Grantham with his 
 insulting opinion respecting trusteeship, for on 
 consulting his lawyer lie found nothing could be 
 done. Fortunately there was no attempt made to 
 investigate the account, or there would have been 
 found a handy little sum arising from income 
 which had been gradually added to the capital, 
 which would have paid a few bills that Mrs. Cap- 
 tain and Co. hsjd contracted — for both .Juliet and 
 Augustus were quite capable of having little out- 
 staniling accounts ; indeed, the latter never was 
 known to spend a guinea in the way ordered, if he 
 once handled it — and a small misjippropriation, 
 or it would be more genteel to say, mistake, of 
 this kimi having occurred. Mrs Captain Mordaunt 
 listened to the Colonel s defeat about his wife's 
 legacy with double vexation. 
 
 CH.U'TER LXIIL 
 
 " Tnirr«titnde is a monrter, Carolo. 
 To be Hlraoglud iu the birih, nol C> be chcrithoi^." 
 
 Massihorb. 
 
 Another unpleasant event followed this. 
 Nothing less than a quarrel in the lower regions — 
 an outbreak among the servants— which lei Mrs. 
 Daw.stjn to tliink it was now time to d scharge 
 Rutlu One of the women servants declared that 
 she was in the habit of skulking down sUiirs at 
 night and listening at the door of .Mrs. Tenipleton 
 and her young lady's rooms : and thit, moreover, 
 ehe had keys which enable*^! her to examine their 
 desks and ^vriting-table-s. 
 
 To one part only of this did Ruth deign a reply 
 — she boldly challenged an invc't'galion <if her 
 young lady's property, who, kIk; nuid, would not 
 find pa ohi ribbon m-fln'oig. The otlier charges 
 
 flhe flatly denied — and even demnnde<l lliat slio 
 sliould be allowc<l to appeal to Mrs. Tcmplettm. 
 
 Kuth presented herself in a state of painful ex- 
 citement ; and though Constance bnre tcatiniouy 
 to her honesty, .so f.ir as rogarilc<l her property, 
 she frankly owned that she believed Kuth. f<ir 
 some bad purpose, was in the habit of opening her 
 desks and several other places. "Why, or for 
 whom you seek to gratify this dishonest curiosity 
 is not your .secret only," said Constance, impres- 
 sively ; " but, Huth, in yielding to tliis wicked 
 inlluenec, you are perhaps not aware iiow you 
 may injure one to whom gratitude should so 
 so strongly bind you." 
 
 To this there was no reply ; but the girl stood 
 with an cxprcs.'-ion on her rather pretty face 
 which it was diflicult to read— it was defiant, sor- 
 rowful, irresolute. 
 
 " It pains me much," said the gentle voice of 
 Mrs, Templeton, " to say that, under any circum- 
 stances, it will be better you should leave. Where 
 do you propose going .' your father's home is not 
 fit for you." 
 
 " My father is as respectable, in his way, as 
 many who are rich," was the saucy retort; " but 
 I have very kind friends in the village, who arc 
 bound to give me welcome." 
 
 " If so, I am glad," said Mrs. Templeton, really 
 grieved that a motherless girl, to whom she had 
 been hind, .•should prove .so heartless. 
 
 Still, the departure of this woman wns a relief, 
 and various disclosures now made convinced Mrs. 
 Dawson that her kind lady had long had a epy 
 in the house. 
 
 The mine had, however, been sprung before all 
 was readj'; for, on going to Mrs. Captain's. Kutli 
 heard that she hail set otV that morning to London ; 
 and though Mr. Cooper proposed that she should 
 remain, this seemed scarcely expedient— it would 
 oaly confirm the slanders which had been hissed 
 into Ruth's car.s from more than one quarter. 
 
 Before .she had been taken by Mrs. Templeton 
 into her daughters' service, she had been lor a few 
 months with .Mrs. Sims, to acquire a finish in 
 needle-work, nnii to liJirn those trifling duties her 
 new situation would render necessary. For a hing 
 time after this a very friendly feeling subsisted 
 between her and the SiuiH family ; but it is almost 
 proverbial— 
 
 " Ilnw •lieht A riin«e ■« iH mnv< 
 I)i«8 11 loll \>( iwcvii luiirln Ilia' lo*'c — 
 A wor.l uukui'l "-r wroi.tjl.v lukrii," 
 
 the pf)et tells us, in enough ; what chance, then, 
 of its en'luring where there are many unkind 
 words .' Thus it ensued between Huth and her 
 friends the haberdashers — who scrupled not to 
 hint at very paw-paw doings— high treason against 
 her kind nlistress, and other misdemeanoi-s ; and 
 in proportion as the intimacy between Ruth and 
 the Coojiers rose to boiling heat, w» did her friend- 
 3hip with the Simses sink to below zero. 
 
 However, it w.is with Kuih now, Hob^on'* 
 choice; hO laying aside iier pri<ie. of wliich him 
 had a fair jiroportion, she presenteil licrself at 
 the smart simp with the rniiibow winilow— and 
 luckily, as she thought, found MIhs Annie. 
 
 '•I have come, Annie," said siie, "to ack if 
 vou can receive me for a short linie. till I cnn 
 see my way clear, for 1 have lefi the I'nory ?" 
 
150 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " Left the Priory?'' repeated Mrs. S'.ms, wlio, I 
 lieai iiig her voice, had opened the Utile parlor- | 
 door ; " indeed ! and why ? if I may be bold to 
 nsk." 
 
 '• 0:i ! it is so wretchedly dull up there, and 
 Mrs. Dawson has lately bueii so very Uis igreeable, 
 tliat really I cuuid not put up with it." 
 
 •' Mis. D.iwsou is a highly respeotable person," 
 remarked Mrs. Siius, "anl I fi-ar that ttiey who 
 tiud f.iulc with her will uot be over-pleased witii 
 me ; we both dislike treacherous, sh;viiieles.i 
 young wonijn — besides, you will find it inconven- 
 ient to be here wiiile all your things are at Coop- 
 ers yonder," for she had heard something from 
 the Priory, aud seen Kuth's boxes received at 
 Cooper's cott^ige. 
 
 '■ Oh !" Slid lluth, trying to laugh oflf the sting 
 contained in this speech, '• I h.id a message there, 
 and the siupid boy followed with my things." 
 
 " Ah ! then you had not heard that the woman 
 there, and thai dreadful boy of iiers, set off to 
 town this morning? But take my advice, Ruth, 
 and go to your old lather's — ;ie is not always dead 
 drunk; wiule the Coopers, if that is the name, 
 are always up to some wickedness." 
 
 " Mother," interposed Annie, " Paith can have 
 a shakedown here, till she turns about." 
 
 '• No. she can not," replied the s'ern old dame; 
 " I harbor no tale-bearers — we want neither to 
 make mischief, nor be a cafs paw to mischief- 
 njHkers ; if Ruth had honestly lost her place, and 
 come here at once for shelter, she sliould have 
 had it — as it is, the less we see of her the better. 
 Young woman," she continued, '• my advice to 
 you is, make Cooper give you a right to be at his 
 home as soon as you can— before liis fine mad.im 
 comes hack, if possible— or it may be too late ;" 
 and, regai-dles.s of the crimson flash of shame and 
 r.ige whicli overspread the unfortunate girl's face, 
 she fixed her eyes on her with painful significance. 
 
 Without another word, Ruth flung out of the 
 shop, a host of bitter feelings warring in her 
 heart and giving her a foretaste of the wages she 
 was to receive ; nor was this anticipation lessened 
 by a residence with her father, who, while fret'ly 
 taking from her, taunted her with the fine-lady 
 habits whioli rendered his miserable cottage so 
 unbearable, that she decided on braving all, aud 
 went to Cooper's. 
 
 Here, a few days after, Mrs. Captain arrived : 
 liiid whether her temper had been previously 
 triad by the unfilial conduct of her good-looking 
 but good-for-nothing Augustus, or by tlie iuaDi- 
 Ur ill niodo, but foitittr in re, of sundry insig- 
 nificant tradesmen; or whether she thought Ruth 
 seemed moie domi.'sticated at their happy fireside 
 th;iu suited her phin, matters not -she, however, 
 lovked very coMly at lier. and liinted that, when 
 Juliet came home, tlie house would scarcely hold 
 them all — probably because she intended to make 
 it loo iiot for tliat purpose. 
 
 Ruth soon began to find that she had indeed 
 sold herself to hard taskmasters; but, alas! it 
 was too late tc retrace htr -^leps, tliougii conscience 
 wliispered that even now she miglit pause and go 
 no turther ; but inste.id of blaming herself, she 
 blamed those she h;id so wickidly betrayed; 
 an i believing that s!ie had a bribe with wliich 
 phe could still propitiate her present associates, 
 she determined to offer it. 
 
 Cooper had long professed love for her, had 
 promised to many her — he must now, ar once, 
 perform this promise; and having raised Mrs. 
 Captains curiosity, by hinting at an important 
 revelation, and extracted her solemn as.suranco 
 that Cooper should have no rest till Huih wag 
 his wife, she proceeded to state particulars which 
 left no doubt but that Mrs. Templetoa was cog- 
 nizant of Helen's flight— nay, that she had as- 
 sisted it. 
 
 Speechless with amazement at this assertion, 
 tilled with fiendish delight and malice that the 
 rival whom she so remorsde-sly pursued at last 
 was in her power, this hateful specimen of a bold, 
 bad woman m ide no secret of lier sarisfaction — 
 scarcely any of her diabolical intentions ; so that 
 Ruth, like Frankenstein, trembled at the devil 
 she had helped to raise. But she liad sown to tin 
 wind, she must reap of the whirlwind 
 
 Two days passed witliout any communicatiir 
 from the Priory, but on the third the Colonel 
 came for ilie express purpose of "rowing" Au- 
 gustus, who had, very impertinently, attempted 
 to defend himself for having spent money which 
 he had received for other purposes. 
 
 Nothing irritated Mrs. Mordaunt more than 
 for any one to blame her son. He was the plague 
 of her life— perpetually vexing her, ami some- 
 times to such an extent as to make even his dar- 
 ing spirit quake at the anger he provoked ; but 
 so sure as any one else complained, so sure did 
 her wrath fall on the complainer. Aud thus it 
 happened how. 
 
 The groom was listlessly standing by the horses, 
 when loud and louder rose angry voices from 
 within — the open wimlows, sha<led only by mus- 
 lin curtains, rendering it easy to hear words, ami 
 whole sentences, very distinctly. ■ 'J'he man lis 
 tened with but little interest, heyon 1 what tli 
 whole village would have given, to a sharp tlire:u 
 uttered by his master ag.iinst that young scamp 
 Augustus, and the folly <if his mother who at- 
 tempted to shield him from correction ; when 
 high and loud were heard her shrill tones, bid- 
 ding the Colonel look at home and find out how 
 his runaway daughter escaped. Here ensued a 
 pause : and Robin, who was much a'tached to his 
 mistress, strained every nerve to hear what would 
 follow; presently his master's voice, regardless 
 of caution, told her, with fierce oaths, not to pliy 
 with his suspense. Ami then distinctly did she 
 relate, that on the night Helen left home, Rutli 
 was dismisseil earlier tlian usual; that she heard 
 voices in her room, and listened; but distin- 
 guislied nothing but an opening of drawer- — that, 
 while undressing, she heard steps on the gravel, 
 and fancied she perceived four persons. That the 
 ne.'it n»orning, on discovering tlie flight of iier 
 young lady, she went to the spot, "And see, she 
 picked up tills glove." 
 
 Of course, Robin, whatever he heard, saw noth- 
 ing, but the Colonel seized a man's glove, which 
 she handed him. " And what does this prove?" 
 he asked in a hoarse voice ; " I swear that if your 
 suspicions are true, I will take sucli vengeance 
 
 " But the man waited to hear no more — he 
 
 knew not that this woman, turning to the inside 
 of the glove, pointed to R. W. very plainly writ- 
 ten — for Robin felt he must act. not listen — > 
 wuruiiig could never hurt, though it might Lo 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 151 
 
 n«edless. Gently and softly leading the horses 
 till lie readied the gate opening on to the road, 
 he beckoned a lad who was loitering about, 
 and making up a f.ico as itsutfering great agony, 
 desired him to stay there, and s.ny. if he sliouid 
 be inquired for, th.it lie, Robin. " was suddenly 
 tuok b.iil, and liad gone to Mr. Curtis for a little 
 remedy."' And then, once out cf -iiiht, he lost no 
 time, but made straight for Mrs. Sims. Without 
 alighting, he called out the good woman, who was 
 pcared with his pale face and anxious look. 
 ••Never luind me," he replied, in answer to her 
 inquiry; but have you any one you can send 
 like lightning to the Priory .=— and, for God's 
 sake! write me a few lines, for I tremble in every 
 limb." 
 
 " I can send our Bill up— luckily he is at 
 hand ;"' and seeing tliere was terror in the man's 
 whole matiner, unlike most people, she did not 
 hinder him with q-iestioMs, but said, " What am 
 I to write :" — " ' Mrs. Dawson, tny lady is in 
 danger — it is found nut about Miss Helen— she 
 must, hide or run without losing a minute' — 
 now a wafer -and Bill, give that directly you 
 arrive to Mrs. Dawson, and see what o'clock it is 
 by the stable clock— there, be off like a stee^ile- 
 chaser, and if you are there before ten minutes, 
 I will give you a bran new shilling— now, cut 
 over hedge and ditch, and run for tiie bare life ;"' 
 and aw.iy flew the boy like an arrow. 
 
 " I will come down and tell you all— but mum's 
 the word now ;" and putting spurs to his horse, 
 the groom was back just in time to hear the 
 Colonel swearing furiously at his absence, which 
 Kobin assured him was caused by a dreadful 
 pain that took him all over on a sudden. 
 
 To cause a little more delay, Robin had slipped 
 the buckle of the bridle; and his trembling liands 
 and p:ile face so moved Mrs. Captain's compas- 
 sion, that she asked if he would have any tliino:; 
 and slightly reprimanding the Colonel for liis 
 impatience, she graciously fastened the buckle 
 herself. 
 
 At last they are off— and Robin's terror, lest 
 they should overtake his messenger, instead of 
 meeting him, was absolutely painful. Some 
 vague notion of a dreadful scene took such pos- 
 f ssion of him, that he could scarcely prevent 
 'limself from darting past his master, to ascertain 
 ii )W his attempt had sped. Nor was the Colonel's 
 manner calculated to quiet him — he looked deid- 
 ly pale, and rode as if on the racp-course. But 
 iiflp came again by means of the refractory 
 buckle; which had not been fixed in the lonp. 
 This time his master alighted and secured it. and 
 they came to the Priory stables, where Robin 
 cauglit sight of Bill just coming out of tiie gate. 
 An intelligent glance was exciiangod, ajid Robin 
 was so overpowered by the reaction, that it was 
 !iot without, help he alighted an i stood by the j 
 Colonel, who, still whip in hand, with rapid 
 strides entered the house. 
 
 In tlie drawing room sat Constance, dressed, as 
 usual, in her white muslin, waiting for dinner to 
 be announced. 
 
 "Where is your mother?" he asked; and the 
 voice was so hoarse and unnatural that, with 
 startled look, she rose. 
 
 " Mamma is up stairs ; she has but this minute 
 come in." 
 
 But a muttered imprecation, ere he ru.shed out, 
 made her hastily follow. 
 
 lie t6re up the stairs as if pursued l)y Hie fu- 
 ries ; lie burst into Mrs. Tempk-toirs room, tlieine 
 through tiie others to the bat li-rooni, overturn- 
 ing alLthat impeded his savagely-mad progress. 
 Ashe returned from his fruiih'.ss search, seeing 
 her bonnet and lace scarf lying on the sofa, he 
 took them up, and fearing them to fragment^, 
 trampled on the shreds; in the ecstasy of his 
 rage he struck the dressing-|able and shivered 
 the glass bottles to dust; an* eatoliiiig, in tiio 
 mirror, the reflection of his own dciiioa face, 
 hurled it to the ground. 
 
 While this bedlam tragedy w,i.s acting, Con- 
 stance, whose presence of mind never failed her, 
 wiiere lier mother was concerned, had ascer- 
 tained th.it she was not in the consi-rvatory ; but 
 convinced that she could not be far off, slij 
 trembled lest she should have taken refogp iu 
 her rooms, and hastening thither, was qtiickly 
 followed by her father, who, like a tornado, burst 
 through them. 
 
 As he was leaving what li.ad been the joint 
 bedroom of his daugiiters, in which there was a 
 copy of his wife's portrait, his eyes fell on it; a 
 blaze of uncontrollable fury shot tortli from them, 
 while the other features expressed the most vin- 
 dictive hatred, and, with a low hiss, he lifted his 
 hand. 
 
 Constance read all in that look — that sound. 
 
 Quick as lightning she tlirew herself before the 
 portrait, to save from desecration what, to her 
 heart, was next to sacred. 
 
 Once more— once more— only once more — be- 
 hold ! the old attitude — the protecting, the men- 
 acing ! She seems to have grown larger within 
 the moment — the floating muslin looks cloud-like 
 —she raises her fair arm. Great God ! wdl th.it 
 madman strike her .' It falls— the p.ale face flush- 
 es. but she flinches not; the eyes, severe in youth- 
 ful beauty, look scorn, contempt, almost rage — 
 but she does not move; and a crim.son bracelet 
 slowly, slowly encircles that round and still up- 
 raised wrist. It was the work of a moment; 
 and, let us be just, he meant not the blow for 
 her, though had it fallen with its first violence 
 it might li.ive broken the perfectly-molded limb. 
 
 Brave girl ! still firm at her post, she moves no 
 more than if she had been an exquisitely carved 
 statue. Fathe;- and daughter, both terrible in 
 their beauty, gaze on each otlier ; and — coward ! 
 — lie is the first to quail. Following him with 
 her stern, reproaclilul glance, she never falters 
 till he wiiiidraws ; and she hears his retreating 
 step descending the stairs. 
 
 Then Constance sank on the carpet and 
 fainied. 
 
 When slie recovered consciousness she found 
 Dawson kneeling by her side. " Thank God !" 
 .said tiie aftVctionate creature, as Constance looked 
 at her. 
 
 " .Mamma ! — my mamma !" 
 
 "Safe; but, hush!" anil hiding her hoad on 
 her kind bosom, Constance burst n\U) refreshing 
 tears. 
 
 " But my precious Miss Constance, wliat is 
 the matter r" — the movement she made dis- 
 closing her wrist, frightfully swollen and still 
 bleeding. 
 
152 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 '* Tt. is nothinfr ; it only pains me : but arc you 
 eni-e all is sale ?" 
 
 " Quite sure. I have sent for Mr. Curtis ; you 
 had better undress bvlore liccomes." 
 
 "Dear Dawson, 1 can nor, do any thing till I 
 know all about my dear, suffering mother.." 
 
 " Hush, Mit^s Constance ! you shall see her, but 
 you must first be fit to do so." 
 
 '• Why, you are pi.le and trembling yourself, 
 kind old friend ; liow selfish of me to keep you ; 
 send Betsey to me." 
 
 At this moment, Botsey, who supplied the 
 place of Hufh. came to inquire, from her master, 
 how Miss lempieton was. 
 
 '• Miss Temjik'ton is better, but declines 
 leaving her room," was the brief reply. And 
 when tlie fussy, but renlly skillful, little doctor 
 canie, he at once ordered bed and a composing 
 draught. 
 
 "But what have we here?" looking at the 
 bruised arm. 
 
 " An accident," said Constance, now feeling a 
 pain wliich made her sick. 
 
 "A blow," he rejtlied, gently and carefully 
 examining it. " My dear young lady, it is well 
 it was on this side, though the bone is badly 
 hurt; but on the other, among all those — well, 
 well — do not faint ; let vis be thankful, when tlure 
 is an accident, that it is not worse. You must 
 be very particular to see that the fomentations 
 are carefully applied, so as not to toucii the 
 •wound, Mrs. Dawson. But, bless my heart ! 
 ■what is the matter with you all .' You are as 
 pale as death, and as shaky as if you had seen a 
 ghjost ; and ihcie is that strong chap, Kobin, 
 Bays I must send him something for the shakes. 
 I hope our g(jod Colonel and Mrs. Templeton are 
 not touched with the contagion — quite a house 
 of shakers ;" and, smiling at this joke, the little 
 man went on giving his directions, till Constance 
 thought she must use the uninjured hand and 
 lead him to the door. At last he went. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 " I have hcaril, sir," 
 or men in debt that chngo, for .siinctiarv, 
 Their lodging uiulcintfaih ihyir crcdtto s' noses." 
 
 Duke of Milan. 
 
 Whrn Bill look the note from Mrs Sims, it 
 was with an undefined notion that there was 
 danger in delay, but with a very clear convic- 
 tion that there would be reward in speed. Tlie 
 bran new shilling, as we have seen, sent him ofl' 
 like an arrow. 
 
 "ThP willing miiiil u<Ms fcithi-rs f> tho hwl. 
 And inukes llii; clown u winged .Mercury." 
 
 And Bill certainly lost no lime in reaching the 
 Priory — but, alas! that tlie demon of cupidity 
 should so often mar our best projects. On ar- 
 riving, inste.'id of seeking Mrs. Dawson and giv- 
 ing her tlie precious mis.nive, lie went round by 
 the stables to note the exact hour by the clock; 
 and when he had ascertained tiiis. and decided 
 that it was — it must be — it should be— a few 
 
 minutes too fast, he began his inquirie.'', still, 
 however, insisting on delivering the note into her 
 own hand. 
 
 Fortunately, Mrs. Dawson was crossing the en- 
 trance to the servants' hall, and heard Bill's 
 assurance that he could deliver the note to Mrs. 
 Dawson only; and catching sight of her, he darted 
 after her into a small room, in which they wero 
 alone. 
 
 " Please, marm, Eobin bid me give this to your 
 own hands, and you wor please to see what o'clock 
 the stable is, though I think it too fast." 
 
 " The stable clock ! what does the lad mean r* 
 as usual, looking at the paper, and not opening 
 it; " Have you any parcel lor the ladies .'" 
 
 " No, marm, only from Itobin — and he bid me 
 cut and run, for the love of a new shilling." 
 
 But by this time the note was opined, and she 
 sank into a chair, for Mrs. Templeton, she knew, 
 was s;iil out. But, hark! a b.dl; Heaven be 
 praised ! it is hers ; and she was hurrying away, 
 when the boy, repeating—" Please to say, marm, 
 what is the s-table clock." placed himself in her 
 path; but almost knocking h.m down, in her 
 haste and excitement, she ran up the back stairs, 
 and without ceremony burst into the room whero 
 Mrs. Templeton was calmly taking off her bonnet 
 — and " Haste ! haste ! ' cried Dawson, pale, and 
 her very voice shaking; "here is not a moment 
 to lose." 
 
 " I know," replied her lady ; " I mistook the 
 dinner fur the dressing bell ; the Colonel has not 
 yet returned." 
 
 " But he will be here directly — hark !" 
 
 " What is all this ? ' asked Mrs. Templeton 
 catching the alarm. 
 
 " It is discovered— Miss Helen— master knows ' 
 
 " Then I am lost indeed!" exclaimed she. clasp- 
 ing her hands, standing motionless and power-- 
 less. 
 
 " No, no— the slip, the slip," for the heavy but 
 quick step of anger was heard at this moment on 
 the marble hall. 
 
 They ficw to the panel. Mr.?. Templeton's 
 trembling fingers were useless; and pushing her 
 aside, Dawson s powerful pressure made it yield. 
 Almost carrying her mistress she entered with 
 her, and as the door of the boudoir was rud«ly 
 flung (ipen, had a Fine-ear been there, he might 
 have heard ix sharp click from the dressing-room. 
 
 Terror had so completely mastered i\lrs. Tem- 
 pleton that she seemed unable to control herself; 
 and as the sounds of destruction, with the terrible 
 threats of her husband, approached her hiding- 
 place, she w.as on the point of shrieking in the 
 extremity of her fear, had not Dawson, heedless 
 of form, covered her mouth with part of her dress, 
 while she softly motioned her to sit on the floor — • 
 the slip being quite destitute of furniture — and 
 then crouching by her, the kind old lady put her 
 arms round her and laid her head on her shoul- 
 der. 
 
 But by this time the frightful storm of passion 
 had rolled into the other room, whence no voice was 
 heard but that of the Colonel; soon that subsides 
 — they hear him descending the stairs Dawscm 
 gently rises, and very cautiously opens the pam-l : 
 the rooms arc deserted ; she seizes the caraffe an ; 
 tumbler, and with about a spoonful of cau (le-(^ 
 logue still left in the shivered bottle, swii'tl;,' 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 153 
 
 pushes tliem In to her mistresn, and then swallow- 
 ing a ihauglit of water, ha; tens to the young 
 ladies' rooms. 
 
 It was now her turn to feel how ilifficult it is to 
 control terror ; for she had nearly ruined all by 
 a scream, which, proceedinj; from that quarter, 
 •would infallibly have drawn fortli the mother— 
 for there, lying i:ke a corpse, v' v* Constance. 
 
 "The innocent child, he has killed her— the 
 monstrous villain !" and ringing the bell, she or- 
 dered a messenger to be sent for Mr. Curtis, while 
 she busied herself in applying such remedies as j 
 ■were near; and after a long interval, during I 
 which slie had lavished all manner of tender epi- 
 thets on her swoet flower, her beautiful bird, Con- 
 stance opened her eyes and spoke. 
 
 Having then resigned her to the care of Betsey, 
 she returned to Mrs. Templeton, and carefully 
 locking the doors, was unspeakably relieved when 
 she found her so far recovered from her alarm as 
 to be anxious about her daughter. 
 
 •' Miss Templeton is quite safe — but like you, 
 Badly terrified -so I have s?nt for Mr. Curtis, and 
 directly he is gone, she shall come and see you." 
 
 «' Poor Constance ! — kind Dawson !" 
 
 *' Hush ! madam," said that steady ally ; and 
 thinking a little exertion would be of use. siie 
 handed her a few articles of furniture, which 
 were not Lkely to be missed ; and remarking that 
 they must not mind dust, though to her tidy 
 habits the least speck was offensive, they pro- 
 ceeded to render the slip available as a hiding- 
 place. 
 
 " It is clear to me madam, that here you must 
 remain till the hue and cry is over ; so, now for 
 this little table ; there, sit down, and put your 
 feet on that stool, and this low chair for our 
 beauty. Oh! we will have it all so snug; three 
 taps on the panil will be .Miss Constance or me. 
 Now I must go and collect the news — can you 
 spare me .-" 
 
 " My kind old friend, I must ; but return as 
 Boon as you can." 
 
 And away she trotted, to hear that dinner w.as 
 all spoiled ; but no matter, there is no one to eat 
 it, for the Colonel, directly he received the an- 
 swer from Constance, had mounted in fiery haste 
 and galloped to the Rectory, feeling convinced that 
 there aluiio sliciuld he find lii.s wife. 
 
 " \Vhere could she be .' ' he asked of himself, as 
 he returned from this fruitless errand. He com- 
 niande^l every nook to be searched — he himself 
 once more visited all the rooms ; and then, remem- 
 bering tlie bonnet anl scarf he had torn to at- 
 oms, he was convinced by the conservatorj' alone 
 could she have escaped. Still no one had 8,'en 
 her. 
 
 Having ascertained that all was safe, Dawson 
 opjned tlie pier door, and led the trembling Con- 
 stance to thj panel. Three taps were the m iscmic 
 signals, the open Sesame, and mother and daughter 
 were in each other's arms. She left them together 
 whil • she collected a few materiala for Mrs. Tcm- 
 pljton's bed. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! dear mamma, that you are 
 Bftfe," sobbed Constance. 
 
 " And you. my treasure," said the mother, press- 
 ing her 1 ps on the pale cheek that nestled m her 
 bosom ; an I there was .a long silence. ■" And now 
 that wo liiiio sjjn each other, we must separate ; 
 
 there is much to think of— much still to endure 
 and do ; let us trj' and regain our scattered Hi.iu>ea 
 by sleep — our excellent Dawson insists upon our 
 taking some refreshment. 1 am going to obey 
 her ; do you the same, and to-morrow wo will all 
 take counsel." 
 
 And Daw.son was right ; for though all really 
 genteel heroines can fast, and do without rest «</ 
 libitum, we op.ne they would always do better 
 with — and, like Dawson, we recommend them to 
 eat and sleep while they may. 
 
 " Send Mrs. Dawson here," was the Colonel's 
 order wiieu he found that his daughter did not 
 appear at breakfast. "Have you seen .Miss Tem- 
 pleton .'■' when she obeyed the summons ; and on 
 her replying in the affirmative, he continued, 
 " How is she V 
 
 " Very far from well, sir — she can not move ono 
 of her arms, which is dreadfully hurt by .some 
 accident. I ventured yesterday, on my own au- 
 thority, to send for Mr. Cur, is.' 
 
 " You have done quite right, and I thank you ; 
 let me see .Mr. Curtis myself to-day ;" for his color 
 changed when he heard that Constance had met 
 with so severe an accii/ent — " and as to this busi- 
 ness," he added, walking away, " I shall not, of 
 course, be long baffled in my search." 
 
 " I have locked the rooms," she said ; " they 
 were in great disorder — perhaps I had better see 
 to them, and keep out the rest. ' 
 
 " Certainly, I leave that to you;" and curtsey- 
 ing herself out, away trotted the diplomate in pet- 
 ticoats—no rare character, by t..e way — to feed 
 and comfort her two pets. 
 
 Constance when she awoke, was suffering acute 
 pain from her arm, which was so frightfully swol- 
 len as to hinder any attempt to dress herself be- 
 yond a loose wrapper ; but a cradle having been 
 adjusted, she hastenel to her motlier, who had 
 been apprised by Dawson that she had hurt her 
 arm. 
 
 '* Mamma, you are not to fret about it," said 
 she, parryihg her mothers anxious inquii-ics; 
 " some day you .shall know all. ' 
 
 " And thou wert struck for mo .'" sighed Mrs. 
 Templeton, unconsciously repeating, if not tiie 
 words, the idea of Macduff. 
 
 " And now. dear mamma, have you any plan .'" 
 
 "None till I am free — except that it is to the 
 Hejtory Imust manige toescapj;' and, after care- 
 I ful deliberation, Cunstance tlecided on trying to 
 I walk there, even in her disliabille, directly her 
 farhcr left the house, wliich he was pretty sure to 
 I do. In this she succeede<l, and came back so com- 
 forted that she declared, if her arm were but 
 • well, she was equal to any thing, fur she was com- 
 I manded to tell her mother, their doors would bo 
 open for her, by night as well as by day. 
 I It was not, however, till .Mrs. Templeton had 
 I been concealed three whole days, that it waa 
 I thought safe for her to emerge from her hiding- 
 place, fur Cooper seemed to be pc rpetuaily liover- 
 j ing rouud the place ; an I Mrs. Daw.son, who fan- 
 cied she had seen him play hide-und s-ek in Iho 
 ' shrubbery, entered the garden very la o ono cvon- 
 I ing, from .Mrs. Templeton s rooms, ani, sure 
 , enough, there he was, and had it b'cn her mis- 
 tress, this dirty myrmidon would have raised the 
 alarm, and probably have seized her. 
 i " Dear me, Mr. Cooper, is it you .' 1 thoaght 
 
154 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 it was a thief," she remarked with wonderful 
 coolness. 
 
 " No, it is only I," he repliid. 
 
 " Oh ! it is all the same," was her ambiguous 
 rejoinder ; " but, dear me ! what are you doing 
 here at this hour r" 
 
 " I may ask the same of you," was his very 
 natural retort. 
 
 '• Why, I h:ive been so occupied lately with Miss 
 Tenipleton, and tlie dreidlul doings here, that I 
 really want a little fresh air." 
 
 "1 should have thought the breezes in the 
 liou.oe might have satislied you," replied lie, try- 
 ing to c 'iiciliate her with a jest ; " but I will now 
 Bay g.iod night." 
 
 Oonvinueii by this, that the utmost caution was 
 uec^•^s iry , .Mrs. Tenipleton still remained hid ; but 
 on the thud evening, Dawson, having ascertained 
 that Cooper was wuh the Colonel, strongly ad- 
 vised tliat the opportunity should not be lost. 
 She voluuteerel to see her safe, and bring back a 
 message to poor Constance, who, when she felt 
 her nioilier's leirs and kisses on her clieeks, was 
 struck, for the fiist time, with the dreadful idea 
 that this was no ordinary partiiig ; and, scarcely 
 able to bear the thought, she w.is on the point of 
 rushing altt^r her, wlien she remembered that this 
 selfish indulgence might compromise the safety 
 of her she bO devotedly love i. 
 
 Dawson returned with a smiling countenance ; 
 she had w.iited till her lady had been received, 
 unnoticed by the servants. 
 
 Tears ll^wed ahuiidantly as Constance, accom- 
 panied by D.iwson, p.issed through her mother's 
 rooms. How duf-olaie they looked — though that 
 was but iniMginary, for all traces of the devast.i- 
 tion caused by the progress of passion thrc.ugh 
 them had been removed, nnd there was now the 
 same order as if .Mrs. Tenipleton had left them 
 for merely a few huu's; and yet both felt there 
 was a dill'erence. as they stood looking around. 
 
 " Miss Templeton,' said Dawson, alwavs keep- 
 ing in mind the need.'ul and the comfortable, "I 
 took to-night a very small parcel f .r my lady's 
 immediate use. I advise that we p.ick up and 
 arrange all we can, and while we can, in cise we 
 liave an opportunity to f irward more : it is bet- 
 ter, my de ir young lidy, to be busy when we 
 have trials— so, as early as you like to-morrow, 
 we will begin " 
 
 " Dear Mrs. D iwson." said Constance, con- 
 vinced o( the gooil sense of this couns- 1, ■' all this 
 is sidly cncroachitig on your kindness." 
 
 "You never mind me. Miss Cons ance, I will 
 rest when all is done ; the Colonel shall not find 
 me negligent in my housekeeping, and this is my 
 uffiir. ' 
 
 "Ah!" she .said, when she went at night to 
 bathe the arm now mueh reduced in size, " litile 
 did I ever, think this house, once so peaceful, 
 would be so ctiaiiged." 
 
 " A m^rry pJHCP. 'li^cnd in <lnvn i f ynre. 
 Bal 8 .meliio.K iii •« i ii-w— li' |,l„r,- i- ciirse.l," 
 
 was the menlai comment of Constnnce. 
 
 " My dear m.ister." continue i Dawson, so lov- 
 rnz anil gi'iiile— St kin 1 to all about him— I did 
 think that perhaps an .\shley might again dwell 
 here, when you all firsi (•.•une— .-iml since then I 
 have fancied— b t — no matter; only it gave mo 
 
 great pleasure to hear that the little innocent, 
 lately born has that name, to my ears the sweet- 
 est ever pronounced. 
 
 " Ah," said Constance, small chance of my in- 
 fant nephew ever reigning here. But if an Ash- 
 ley ever does, he shall take all our debt of grati- 
 tude to you on his shoulders, and pay it too, still 
 leaving us your debtors for kindness through 
 many long years. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 " The flend looked up, and knew 
 
 Jlis uiounled bc.ilf aloft; nor ni.ire; bui fled 
 Murni'riag, aud with him fleU the sbaaes of iiieht." 
 
 MiLTO.I 
 
 The result of a long consultation at the Rec- 
 tory was, that Mrs. Templeton should, early the 
 next morning, set off to town, in company with 
 Miss Newman; Mr. Morton was in Pans, so that 
 impediment to her accepting this friendly offer 
 was removed, and, as it had been by some contriv- 
 ance that her arrival had been concealed from the 
 servans, the sooner she left the better. 
 
 Circumstances must now quickly decide Mrs, 
 Templetou"s future proceedings, for all felt that a 
 crisis had arrived. Lord Grantham w.as the only 
 one who could move in the matter; to his wile 
 she, therefore, wrote, informing her of what had 
 happened, and entreating that, till ihey heard 
 furtlier from her, no step might be taken. She 
 felt that Constance was held as a hostage, and on 
 this account she strongly insisted that her brother 
 I should remain passive. 
 
 The Doctor wrote to stop Ashley, who was on 
 the eve of starting lor the Continent, liaving half 
 promised tiie Wests that he would spend all of th( 
 long vacation he could at St. Peteisburg. 
 
 Dut the play was not yet played out. 
 
 On the third morning after her mother's de- 
 parture, Constance, still leeling l.mguid and 
 dreadfully depressed, was seated in the small 
 diawiug-room, listlessly turning over the pages 
 of a book, but thinking of the even.s of the last 
 two years, and of the share her f.ther had had 
 in all their soirow, when the butler entered, so 
 closely followed by another person that he could 
 hardly prevent her entrance as he stammered out, 
 •' It is a mistake, I will send Mrs. Dawsou— this 
 person. Miss Templeton," koking at his young 
 mistress. But " this person," thus ambiguously 
 (lesgnated confidently sle})ped forth to announce 
 heiself, saying, with a sneer, "Miss Templeton 
 will do as well ; and made Constance aware that 
 she was in the presence — in the same room, with 
 the wretched creature who h.ad worked ail their 
 woe. 
 
 She rose, deliberately, haughtily, and without 
 look or word passed out by the window. 
 
 Knitting her brows tdl they met, the shame- 
 less intruder, provoked to have had a servant 
 witness her discomtitiirc, turned her fierce looks 
 on the man. who stood with the door in his hand, 
 and tliat expression of civ.l impertinence on his 
 face which nis class find so ea>y to .assume. She 
 threw a c ird un the table rudely bidding him give 
 that to his master. 
 
Till-: WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 155 
 
 " Am I to be subject to this .'" cried Constance, 
 when slie reached her room, her cheeks burning 
 with inlign.ition ; " is there no one to protect me 
 from this insult ?" — an'i then there rushed across 
 her mind, almost for the tirst lime lor many days, 
 80 fully had sorrow and anxiety occupit-d lier, 
 that tl.vre was, there ouglit to be, one, able and 
 willing to save, protect, and skelter them both. 
 
 Hubert Forrester, wliere art thou .= — while she 
 to whum thou arc affianced is in grief and peril. 
 Art thou impatieutly hoping to hear good tidings 
 from htr.-— art thuu eagirly anticipating tlie 
 time when thou shalt return, to cbiim ber as 
 ttiiue own — thy loved and loving bride .' or art 
 ihou gazing on one not more fair, and in her 
 b4iiiles forgetting her whose heart is heavy with 
 Borrow ? 
 
 And while thinking of Hubert, of Helen, of all 
 those who ouglit to be near, but were so far away, 
 Constance sat and wept. 
 
 One step she resolved to take: to appeal to her 
 father fur security agninst this insulting, this 
 degrading inti'u.sion; for she was well aware of 
 the discreiit.ible rep )ris wli.ch prevailed regard- 
 ing her recent visitor, and for ttiis purpose she 
 now was ;is liesirous of an interview with him as 
 hhe had previously sliunued it. 
 
 This w.i.-; not quite so easy, as Colonel Temple- 
 ton w.is still continuing his search. At length 
 they met, at dinner. 
 
 " I am sorry, Constance, to see you look so ill," 
 was his Cool remark, '-and still more sorry your 
 arm is hurt. Vou must, of course, know that it 
 was accidental." 
 
 '• I am better, thank you," she replied ; " but 
 an excet'diugly unpleasant event his occurred, 
 which I must appe.il to your s-ense of propriety to 
 prevent in future ;" and she pointed to the card. 
 
 A singular expression passed over his f ice, and 
 there was a short pause before he replied, 
 
 " You must not expect me to mount gu ird at 
 the hall-door. Your plotting iiioiher has seen fit , 
 to abandon tier home, and during iier absence you 1 
 must protect yourself." i 
 
 '• I shall, tlien, endeavor to do so," said she, 
 fully resolved on a measure wh'ch every loving 
 impulse pioii.pted. and which Inrlher e.\posuie lo , 
 BO intolerable a degiadation, she fully believed, | 
 would quite justify. | 
 
 The next liay she met her relentless persecutor , 
 in the park ; an 1 though, by the Colonel s exjuess 
 commands, the sirictt-sc privacy was preserved, j 
 Constance was not going to make the open deli- i 
 ance of these a casus btlli. 
 
 The following day, matters were brought to a 
 climax. Constance was arranging some flowers 
 in the same room she had occupied when before ; 
 intruded on, and which opened to the terrace;) 
 Dawson was with her, anil tial just arr.inged her | 
 sl.ng when both were startled by a shadow at the | 
 open window, and a voice .«ayiiig : i 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Templelon; I cime to 
 speak to the Colonel jibout — " when D.iwson, 
 wliose presence seennd to have been quite over- 
 looked, sepped briskly forw.ird. and Constance, 
 trembling with indignation, quitted the room 
 
 '• 1 ! Mrs. Dawson," co dly observed the 
 dauntle.ss Mi>. Captain, for ^he it really was, " I ' 
 came up to see about a pmy carriage the Colonel, 
 last night, said he no longer wanted, and which . 
 
 he promised »o lend me. I bad no idea I should 
 have the pleasure of finding any of the ladies 
 here, having utuierstood they had iuaoduced the 
 fashion of running away. 
 
 " 1 have heard Air. Curtis s.iy, it is quite pro- 
 per to do so when there is danger of fever and 
 contagion, or of encountering any other tlrcadtul 
 thing; it is bad to. be near what may infect in 
 any way." 
 
 Without noticing this retort, valiant Mrs. Cap- 
 tain, as if pursuing her speech. Wtiit on : " So I 
 came, expecting to find the poor Colonel a widower 
 bewitched." 
 
 '■ As to a wido\j-er," replied the seemingly-lit- 
 eral housekeeper, " with such a sweet, honorable 
 lady for his wife, we all hojie he will never live 
 to be that; but as for being bewitched, some of 
 our counti-}' folk believe in the power of an evil 
 eye; and at present," added she, demurely, and 
 looking full at the female inilitaire, " I confess I 
 am of that number." 
 
 •' Very likely," was the cavalier reply ; " old 
 .and uiuducated persons often ha^e strange ideas 
 and ways." 
 
 " Respectable and reputable ways arc, indeed, 
 so strange to some people, that they do not know 
 how to behave to those who maintain iheiii ; so I 
 must go, but I refer you to the stablemen ; they. 
 peihaps, will understand you better than I can ;" 
 and thus saying she quickly stepped back and 
 closed the window on the enemy, whose tactics 
 being thus circumvented, walked away, treasur- 
 ing up ihis new atfront ag.iinst the great pay-day 
 which she hoped w.as near at hand. 
 
 " All ! this is very dreadful," s id Dawson, to 
 herself as she retreated, after gaining the victory; 
 " something terrible will come of it : to think of 
 allowing his innocent daughter to be insulted by 
 this — Ah! it is too bad;" and she wi nt in pur- 
 suit of Constance, whom she found wr.ting, while 
 t le crimson spot of outraged leading buiued on 
 each cheek. 
 
 " My dear old friend." said she, turning to- 
 ward her, '• this can not be — 1 have been told to 
 protect myself 1 shall obey ; and in j lining my 
 dear, ill-used mother, I shall alone he sale " 
 
 " Dear Miss Constance," cried D.iw.-on, '• have 
 you thought well — paidon me — but would it not 
 be better to consult the Doctor.' E.scusc my 
 freedom, dear }Oung lady, but Mr. Foirester — " 
 
 '• Would he the last to recotnnn n 1 iIk- endu- 
 rance of this." interrupted she, wiih impetuosity 
 " I shall tee Dr. Vernon, to claim his l.-mporary 
 protection, i sh;i|l certainly not add to the list 
 of terrified runaways, but, in a few da_\ s, I shall 
 le.ive this place, perhaps lorever. One by one we 
 have been driven forth," she added, in a tone of 
 deep sadness : " even you leel that 1 have no al- 
 tern.iiive, in order to avoid the r.sk ot lieing do- 
 mesticated with such infamy ;" and she ro.ve and 
 rapidly paced the room. Then, sto]iping beloro 
 her mother's portrait, and remembii ing what had 
 so lately haj)(iened, she s.iid. " This must be re- 
 moved and secured from all chance ot |)iolanati<in ; 
 it shall be taken from the frame and placed in 
 the slip. I know you will be sure lo keep it Iroui 
 harm. To-morrow 1 sli.ill see the Hector " 
 
 Constance had >lone well to trust her eau.se to 
 the Vernoiis; at first the excellent Doctor would 
 not bear of thestep she coniemplaietl, but .aiisttd 
 
156 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 that she should remain with them. But Mrs. 
 Vernon ojtpDsed this iia strongly .as Constance. 
 They both reminded him of the Colonel's unbend- 
 ing nature, of his.instnsibility to any appe.ils the 
 Uucior could make, iind ilie impropriety of al- 
 lowing Conitance to be :ig liti exposed to insult. 
 
 "JVlrs. Templeton," she said, '• has at last m.ide 
 a move, and iliose who know what she has Suf- 
 fered must own that to advise her return would 
 be most cruel nnd unwise. He will never allow 
 Constanci; lo be here— perhaps carry out his 
 threat, and take her abroad. How unfortunate 
 that Hubert— that the Forresters should be 
 away." 
 
 " Were they here, nothing would induce me to 
 npply to theui," answered Constance, so decidedly, 
 that, tliougli Mrs. Vernon made no remark, the 
 manner and tone startled her. '• jS^either could I 
 have ajplied to Cecilia. No; much as I shrink 
 from intruding another fugitive on Miss New- 
 man's hospitality, there 1 sliall go; for there I 
 shall find uiy dear mother. Tiie difficulty is, how 
 to reach her so as not to be traced." 
 
 "Alas! dear girl," said Mrs. Vernon, looking 
 at tlie sweet, care-worn face ; " this indeed is 
 difficult, or 1 myself would see you sale in your 
 mother s arms." 
 
 " Try and forget that I am scarcely nineteen — 
 fancy tliat 1 have already been accustomed to 
 rough it ; you do not know how strung and brave 
 I am " 
 
 " But, dear Constance," said Caroline, tenderly 
 embracing her, " what will Hubert think of 
 this .=" 
 
 " Hubert's opinion must, on this occasion, coin- 
 cide with mine, or it wuuKl be disregaided ;" and 
 a slight color tinged lier pale cliei.-ks as she added 
 Biguificautly, "he has been long e.\pected in Eng- 
 land, but tiiis does not carry me to London." 
 
 •' 1 see but one w;iy," said Mrs. Vernon ; " you 
 can not go alone — none of us dare accompany you, 
 but Miss Goddard can ; I will take the responsi- 
 bility of this plan, and also of Lucy and Inez 
 Morton, till her return." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Vernon — " said Constance, start- 
 ing up. 
 
 •' btop and listen ; you must both walk to the 
 place from wliicli your mamma and I set out; it 
 is several miles liistant, and it will, at once, try 
 your boasted strength." 
 
 "Oil! if Mss (joddard will kindly disregard 
 it," retui;ned Constance, anxiously. 
 
 " I will answer for her; she is a most experi- 
 enced traveler, and quite old enough to be con- 
 sidered a sufficient escort. I will, to-day. arrange 
 that; now, dear child, have you money .'" 
 
 " Yis, quite enough for the journey." 
 
 We linger not on ihe parting with Dawson, nor 
 on the struggle that arose in the mind and heart 
 of Constance .is she 1 oked her last look on all 
 familiar obj.cts; but she faltered not in her re- 
 solve ; and tlius, without disg^i^^e, and apparently 
 without fear, dnl she take her first independent 
 etep into the world. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 " Whnt sacrifice of reveronce. duly, walching, 
 Alihoiich I •DuM put ■ifl' ilie usu ".f t.l.-e|>. 
 Wiiul (latigiTS. iliuUih III iieVr si h>irriil stia'es, 
 Can I, aua With a Ihanklul willingness, snffcr." 
 
 MASsisGza. 
 
 Miss Godd.\rd would not admit that this hasty 
 
 departure could the least inconvenience her ; and 
 
 I by gradually calling the attention of Constance 
 
 from lier own troubles, saved her from finding the 
 
 journey very tedious. 
 
 They arrived so late, that Mrs. Templeton was 
 preparing for bed ; but scarcely had Miss New- 
 man announced the new comer, before Constance 
 was on her bosom. No matter what had brought 
 her, ji.y was tlie result. Slie asked no questions 
 then ; it was enough that slie looked on ner trea- 
 sure and felt her warm embrace. " My pale 
 darling," she murmured, and again she showered 
 kisses on that sorrowful young face. 
 
 " Uut Miss Goddard, who has been so kind, 
 dearest mamma, throw on your shawl, and let us 
 thank her, and send messages to the friends wlio 
 so truly and steadily cling to us. Ah ! Misd 
 Newman," as that lady entered, "you have an- 
 other claimant on j^our goodness." 
 
 "Not one too many, my dear; Miss Goddard 
 will leave directly — she is used to eating and 
 sleeping in a carriage ; bid her adieu, and then 1 
 shall order you some refreshment and bed." 
 
 " Let me share mamiua's room, may 1 :" And 
 after having informed them both of the event that 
 had driven her forth a wanderer, sweet was the 
 sleep that fell on her fair lids. 
 
 Not so her mother, who complained of violent 
 headache, which increased so much, that being 
 accompanied with feverish symptoms, their k;ml 
 hostess sent for the fam.ly doctor, whose fears of 
 illuess were soon ver fied. 
 
 A month of danger succeeded, with several day:^ 
 of agoniz3d suspense, during which Mrs. Tempk-- 
 ton seemed haunted by the terrible sounds of her 
 husband's frantic outbreak in her rooms at the 
 Priory. 
 
 At last a gracious Providence sent a blessing 
 with the remedies; fever subsided, and the danger 
 was over. But so much had she been enfeebled, 
 and so greatly had the nervous system been over- 
 tried and shaken, that still the greatest care w .rf 
 needed. 
 
 And Constance— who can tell what a dreadful 
 time that had been to her .' the whole respcnsi- 
 b.lity of decision rested on her. Friends might 
 suggest and advise, but she could alone dictate 
 and decide. 
 
 This time the Colonel redoubled his endeavors 1. 1 
 trace them, for he knew Constance was with hi 
 mother ; he had never doubted but that she could 
 at once have intbrmed him where Mrs. Templeton 
 was; and now, could he but find her, his ven- 
 geance would be doubly gratified. Alter many 
 days of u.seless search and inquiry, the Colonel 
 and Cooper proceeded to town, that wily cmitsary 
 suggesting, that at no place were thty so likely to 
 be found as at thtit which had afFordeil shelter U> 
 Helen, and hinted, as it from a sudden thought, 
 that this was a very good idea; and calling on l.ia 
 lawyer, whom he took with them, thither the Col- 
 onel drove. 
 
THE WIFE'S TKIALS. 
 
 157 
 
 Ashley, 'wlio now occupied Madnmc Stopscl's 
 apartineuts, had not felt ut liberty to name any 
 part of his mother's news regarding Mrs. Temple- 
 ton to her, therefore she was ignorant of all late 
 events 
 
 Thus was the state of matters, when, on his re- 
 turn home, alter having received a most disheart- 
 ening report of .Mrs. Temple ton-, he was met by 
 Ml". Stopsel, and informed of a v.sit his wife had 
 that very day received. 
 
 Gretchen was seated quietly and happijy at her 
 work, humming a German song, an especial fa- 
 vorite of Reginald's; and occasionally glancing 
 around, where every thing reminded her of Helen ; 
 for Ashley had been particular in retaining all 
 exactly as the \Vests had left it, and slie was in 
 his silt ng room, when a ring at the house-bell 
 was promptly answered by the servant, the only 
 one who was at home. 
 
 Before (iretclun reached the door, attracted by 
 voices and the 'sound of approaching steps, it was 
 violently burst open "oy Colonel Tenipleton, who, 
 closely Ibllowed by two others, rudely entered the 
 p.irior, exclaiming, "Woman! tell me instantly 
 wiiere is your mistress r' and seeing the door 
 opjn which led to what had been, by courtesy, 
 termed Helen's boudoir, he darted forward, his 
 quick glance detecting many objects which, to 
 him, were proofs that at last he was right. So 
 thought Cooper and the lawyer, and both trem- 
 bled at what might be the consequ'.-nce of success. 
 
 Gretchcn, quK-k as lightning, umicrstood it all 
 — at last then, what she had for years expected, 
 and wondered that it could have been so long de- 
 layed, hud come to pass. Mrs. Templetou had 
 Iv.'cn dr.ven fniu her home! 
 
 Throwing down a large easy chair, and tearing 
 aside two curtains, which only concealed a book- 
 case, Well tilled with volumes, that Mr. Sloper saw 
 at a glanee were law books, he rushed out of the 
 room up stairs, uttering oaths and threats in Wild 
 fury. 
 
 lie burst into Ashley's bed-room, where he saw 
 'traces cf a gentleman s apartment only; thence 
 into Gretcheus room, and that belonging to the 
 servants, but nothing here met his glance that 
 justified his conduct. At last he entered the little 
 room which had served for a nursery ; and here | 
 the pretty cot, .Mrs. Vernon's gift, met his eye; | 
 he .started, he paus'jd— but the evil .^jiirits in his | 
 heart whispered, " Sjek her, she is liere;" and 
 again he descended to the parlor. 
 
 Jiut Gretchen was now ready for l.im. 
 
 " Woman !" he thundered, '• where is my wife .'" 
 
 '•In Gods keep.ng," she replied, "and there 
 ycru can never go to find hLr." 
 
 " Bandy not words with mc;" his fury passing 
 all bound, he advanced toward her, a .'imuU cane 
 vibrating in his grasp. 
 
 But she wa's thoroughly roused, and quite as 
 much excited as he. " Touch me at your peril, " 
 she almost .shr.ekud, ralh-r than spoke; 'if you 
 lay a fiug> r on me 1 will fell you to the ground- 
 yes, and men .•■purn you : the strength of n giant 
 is in myi.rm;" anl to look at herwell made mu.s- 
 cul.ir fjrm, this did not seem an empty boa.«t ; 
 «> and it shall strike not for myself only, but for 
 the trembling young wife, and pay you ^s•ith in- 
 terest the blow that bruise*! her, poor, unprotect- 
 ed angel. Coward and ruffian, it shall pay you 
 
 for tearing your innocent babj p^rl frohi ber arms, 
 to pawn her to one of ymir inlainous paramours, 
 till money was raisjil by the sale of our clothes- 
 yes, ours, for mine went as well." 
 
 "Devil! stop!" roared ihe Coknel, almost l)c- 
 side himself at this goading; '-once hr all, tell 
 me where is my wile? — where is t'cjiisiance?" 
 
 " .\nd my other darling gone — miudri ed. per- 
 haps,"' screamed the frcuzied woman; " '/ook at 
 him," she said, pointing, " he has been a thief— it 
 is easy for him to be a murderer." 
 
 " Answer me," he repeated, in a low tone, that 
 sounded ominous. 
 
 " This railing is u.«cles3," interposed Mr. Shiper. 
 "It is not," she burst forth, terrible in her 
 fearless vehemence; " ask him what he did with 
 the pearls he stole from her dre.s.sing-case while 
 she slept, llannchen, ' she cried, p.irtly opening 
 the door, " look after a policeman, and it I scream, 
 call him. and give these fellows in charge; tlioy 
 have no businel-s here." 
 
 "We have. Mis. Stbpscl," said Cooper, for the 
 first time speakii g. 
 
 '• And who are you?" she asked, as if now she 
 only noticed him. " Oh ! you are the agent — the 
 man who lives 1 y the shame of his sister — the spy 
 — the informer— the cheat— a pretly set you are, 
 to break into a defenseless woman's house. I 
 wish my gentleman lo Iger had been here ; ho 
 would have horswhipi>od that unmanly fellow 
 there, and kicked lum cut; nor wouKl it have 
 been the first time he met with his deserts," 
 touching her lip with a most insulting and irritat- 
 ing laugh. The cane fell, but so gently, for she 
 saw it, as scarcely to touch her, while her vigor- 
 ous hand dealt a slap that sounded wiili fearful 
 distinctness. A loud scream rcse from her at the 
 same moment, and llannchen, literally obeying 
 her orders, bawled for the police 
 
 " Let me go, let me go," cried the Colonel, 
 struggling to free himself from the gra.sp of his 
 alarmed companions ; " I shall murder her." 
 
 "No you won't," she replied, der.sively, " there 
 are witnesses ; where have you put my dear mis- 
 tress and her child, you wretch ? Du liimntCl !" 
 she exclaimed, a national ejaculation which was 
 habituul to her when excited; " t!iy innocents 
 suffer — and that monster lives ! ' And as a po- 
 liceman now actually appeared, she said, " Clear 
 the house of these fellows ; they have come after 
 no good, and one has struck me— that one, he pro- 
 tind.'j he has come here fqr his vlfe " 
 •'.Mis .Stopsel," began Cocpjr. 
 " Be off every one, or I will give you in charge 
 if y<)U come prowling about here, and send you all 
 tj the It; 8.'>haus." 
 
 "Tliere i.s no lady here," said the policeman; 
 "what is it all about?" as, marshaled by him, 
 they went out, she double-locking the door after 
 th.-m. 
 
 " ,[o are seeking a lady and her daughter, who 
 have lately lef.- tueir home." said .Mr Sloper, 
 heart ly disgusted with the whole muter. 
 
 " Not here, ' replied the mm ; " the hnlger is a 
 gentleman— and these are very re-poetablc peo- 
 ple ," and convinced that they were wnjug in their 
 conjectures, the d.scomtited party regained the 
 carriage and drove off. 
 
 Meanwhile, Gretchen, no longer sustained by 
 her hatred and anger, was paying a gcn'.le penalty 
 
158 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 for the mclul;;once of these ngreoable feel'iigs, and 
 a violent flood of tears, in wliicli, from sympathy, 
 Ilann^lien jo n iil, ende 1 in an attack of hysterics ; 
 and when 8.oiisel came home he found his house 
 in most adm red disorder. 
 
 In answer to his reiterated inquiry, " What is 
 all this r" sh2 tol i him what had happened. Even 
 his somewhat p'iL-gma:ic nature was stirred as he 
 listened, the nu>re^'asily,p.'rhaps, as he perceived 
 the effect this unwarr.in able intrusion had had 
 on his wife, to whom he was truly attached ; anl 
 thongh hs sympithy was expressed as strongly 
 as she could possibly desire, he concluded by ex- 
 horting her to try and calm herself, adding, " My 
 •wife, it is not guod for thee to be so angry. ' 
 
 " It is good, my Franz, to be angry in tuch a 
 caus(^,' was her encrLT'-'iic reply. 
 
 '• Hut thou art suff ring, and that grieves me," 
 ■was his piiilosophical remark. 
 
 •' Ah : thy good and true heart can not ima- 
 gine the baseness and wickedness of his ; but, 
 !■ ranz, we must be up and doing. I shall have 
 noith jr rest nor peace till 1 know what has become 
 of my lambs." 
 
 Anl the worthy pair were discussing all prac- 
 ticable means lor ascertaining the facts, when, 
 by the arrival of Mr. Vernon, they learned all. 
 
 ilelieved of her worst fears, but alarmed at his 
 account of Mrs. Templeton's state, Ciretchen so 
 earnestly implored permission to go and, at least, 
 look at them, that Ashley seconded her entreaties; 
 and, accompanied by him, she set off. 
 
 Ashley 8 heart beat with unusual violence as he 
 waited Wilh Gretchen in the dining-room, where 
 Miss Newman left them to fetch Constance. The 
 door opens, and a fi -ure like an angel, all in white, 
 glidei in. " Liebes Multerchen!' — "Thou most 
 precious darling!" and she is folded, almost 
 wrappcl up, in a Ibnd embrace. Ashley turned 
 away half unmanned ; the movement made Con- 
 stance start. 
 
 " And you here, dear Ashley :" she said. " Ah ! 
 true and unwearied friend, always near, always 
 ready ; and she held out her hand, which he took 
 in his trembling grasp, and for the first time 
 looked in that lace ^v.nicli to him seemed as if 
 made to give us an idea of heaven. But, oh how 
 changed ! and yet how touching in its pale, sad 
 lovehness ! The eyes, usually sparkling with m.rth 
 anl inlelligenee, were now heavy and dim with 
 tears ; the dimpled mouth wore an expression of 
 intense anxiety ; and the graceful elastic form 
 was bowed down with the heaviness that lay at 
 her heart. 
 
 Ashley felt as if he longed to fall at her feet 
 and worsiiip iier with the enthusiasm of an idola- 
 ter, since to him was denied the richer bless.ng of 
 taking iier to his heart, and drying her tears with 
 his loving kisses. 
 
 " And the mistress, my dearest .'" asked Gret- 
 chen. 
 
 " Poor mamma is the s.ame, certainly not bet- 
 ter !" and tears IjII abun iaatly but quietlj'. 
 
 " M.iy 1 not help to nur.se her .' ' 
 
 " Ah ! (Jrctihou, that would be a comfort ; hut 
 already we have intruded beyond all bounds. ' 
 
 There is a g.ntle rustling of silks, an 1 then the 
 kind face of M ss Newman was se -n at the door. 
 " It will be an unspeakable relief to my responsi- 
 bility, my dear Constance," she said, " it your 
 
 valued friend can share our vigils. If you coul(3 
 but think this house quite at your disposal, you 
 would make ms feel more at home." 
 
 And tiretchen, made happy by having seen onf 
 of her innocent lambs, as slie called them, return- 
 ed to ask, and obtain, It-ave of absence from hei 
 indulgent husband. 
 
 Frequent were the calls of Ashley : hut except 
 when he wished for any particular direction, ho 
 never saw Constance. He hardly knew whsthei 
 he repined at tliis ; for every interview only 
 s.Tvcd to deepen his lov; ; and though, if left to 
 himself, he would, perhaps, never have denied 
 himself th.s dangerous privilege, he trieJ to be- 
 lieve that the disappointment was good — that ho 
 even wished it; and by all those talla.ies with 
 wh.ch men cheat themselves, he fancied he proved 
 his firmness and consistency. 
 
 H« one day called when Mrs. Templeton was in 
 imminent d.inger, and it was a qui-jition about 
 informing Helen. Only a week before this, let- 
 ters had been received IromSt. Petersburg, filled 
 with accounts of the very satis-factory position 
 lleginnld occupied, and ot the health and li:ippi- 
 ness of them all. " Besides," said Constance, 
 
 with quivering lips, " oh ! Ashley, Dr. C 
 
 says, before they would he.ir" — but she cnuld nol 
 proceed, and fur a brief moment hid her lace ou 
 his shoulder, .'is if to shut out the terrible imagi;. 
 
 And how felt Ashley .' 
 
 "Litrh; was tht- l<m. b, l>iH it tlirille.l to the b me, 
 Ami never did da-p of one », <1. ur, 
 tslrike on ihe pul;e wiili siicli leeliug of fear." 
 
 lie stood motionless, almost breathless— it wan 
 but for a moment ; she then raised her tearless, 
 colorle.'ss fice and continued more calmly," With 
 regard to my uncle, I shall delay only till to- 
 morrow ; and, till then, farewell ! — take my 
 th.iuks and ble.'?sing." And he stood alone, 
 scarcely comprehending any thing, but that ho 
 was alone. 
 
 But Heaven was merciful, and Mrs. Templeton 
 lived ; and when amendment once began, her ex- 
 cellent constitution regained strength rapidly. 
 Siie was soon able to see her friends, to discues 
 the future, and to listen, with grate-tul delight, 
 to the letters from St. Petersburg, and irom 
 other quarters, which reached her through Mr.^. 
 Vernon. 
 
 She herself wrote to Lord Grantham, promising 
 to summon him to a consultation directly her 
 strength permitted ; and finally it was settled 
 that site and Constance should take Ashley's place 
 at the btupseb. 
 
 CHAPTER Lxvn. 
 
 " Knob line an 1 liii-ament of it in the drawing, 
 So luiicliiallv obaerveil, thai, had ll mo i 'ii, 
 In no uiu. b 'iwere htri,t;il.' Massikokb. 
 
 •• Ar e these all the letters that have arrived ;" 
 inquired the Colon d when he returned, after an 
 absence of more tli.in a week. 
 
 " All, Colonel," was the reply. 
 
 " Tiien send .Mrs. Dawsou." 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 150 
 
 "Well, sir," s.iid sTie, as she inado her nppear- 
 nnce, tiding to make the two words souud as 
 auxiouH as she could. 
 
 " Wk-11," lie replied ; " unless you have discov- 
 ered soiuetliiiig. there is nothing to tell. I am 
 harassed to deaih," and lie looked ill and weary. 
 '• I suppose yuu will he leaving me next," ho ob- 
 served, with a kind of half laugh, 
 
 '• No, sir," she replied ; " so long ns you please 
 to keep me, I shall never go. Here I was born, 
 and here, or near here, 1 hope to die."' 
 
 " Well, well," he said, feeling that it was the 
 plnce, not respect for him, that kept her, hvit still 
 glad she remained, as her services were more than 
 ever needful—" then that is settled; and now, I 
 hope, we sh.ill go on properly." 
 
 " So f:ir MS 1 am concerned ; but," she said, 
 drawing up her ne itly-dressed figure, '" I must 
 beg you, Mr, to see that my character is pro- 
 tected." 
 
 " Why. you old fool !" said her master, smiling, 
 in spite of his pre-occupation, at what he culled 
 her goosey gander prudery, " who is going to in^ 
 jure your character ? — you are surely not afraid 
 of me :" 
 
 '• Oh no, sir !" replied Dawson, demurely ; " it 
 is not bad [lenple of yciur sex I fear ; but a woman 
 is never s.ife from improper people of her own ; 
 and I must take the liberty of saying that 1 never 
 can go on comfortably if all sorts of disrespecta- 
 bles, iuid such like, from ihe village, come about 
 the premises." 
 
 " Wh.it is tlie woman driving at .' Speak out. 
 ■^Vhat do y<iu mean to insinuate .'" 
 
 "1 insinuate noth ng, Colonel; I only believe 
 what all Seabrooke rings with." 
 
 " By heavens ! you must also believe you are 
 dealing vviili Job. AVhat do you mean .'" 
 
 '• 2\o, sir, 1 do not mistake you for Job; he 
 was a good man, and a righteous," was her aggra- 
 vating rej ly. "What I nie:ni is, that if ihat 
 ^voman fr..m C- oper"s is to siiow lier brazen face 
 liere, 1 must decline the situation." 
 
 "It is well the woman with the brazen face 
 (Iocs nnt hear you," lie observed, tickled at the 
 ilea such a rencounter suggested, *■ or there 
 would be a leguhir row." 
 
 " Very 1 k.-iy, sir," was the cool rejoinder ; 
 " hut if "-he caii 8 ly six words, I have always an 
 old h;ilf-(luzen to spare in return." 
 
 •• Well, 1 will see about it," was his concluding 
 remark : f .r though he h.ad, in the afFiir with 
 <'ons:ance, seemed very indifferent while she 
 ."poke, such was not his real feeling, and conjec- 
 tuiing What had led to her departure, he had 
 fully resolved not to have his wishes regarding 
 Mrs. Captain's absence from the I'riory a matter 
 (if doubt; f(n- this purpose he at once rode down 
 to the village, secretly hoping that she wouhJ see 
 the necessity (jf quiutly yielding to his rcpresen- 
 t.i;ions; for he wns not yet quite prepared to 
 mike her see how far she had injured her own 
 cause by having driven Constance to such an 
 extremity. 
 
 " U hen Greek meets Greek, then come'' the tug 
 of war," is almost a proverb ; and when twosuch 
 bpirits as the Colonel and Cajitain encounter in 
 Strife, it is war to the knife; and certainly they 
 now proved that, neither in word nor deed, were 
 they fitted for members of a peace society. Pro- 
 
 I hibition was met by open rebellion — reproach 
 roused recrimination; when, happily, Augustus 
 came tearing in, and brought the dispute to an 
 abrupt terminal ion. 
 
 " .Viid now let it be understood," said the Col- 
 onel, as he rose to depart, •' that we have no more 
 visits at the Priory, and in the course of tiie day 
 I shall send down the pony-carriage you have set 
 your heart on." 
 
 And, to the great scandal of the village, the 
 elegant little chaise belonging to Mrs. Templeton 
 W!is seen driving hither and thither with Mrs. 
 Captain and her young Jehu, the ne'er-do-weel 
 Augustus. 
 
 But though the possession ofthiswasa triumph, 
 proving her ascendency over the tyrannicul mas- 
 ter of the Priory, it was a poor substitute for 
 that which had been for years the oliject of all 
 her plans, «nd lor which she had lately played 
 so desperate and destructive a game 
 
 To become mistress of the Priory, either legally 
 or illeg.dlj', she would hazard and compromise 
 much more than she had ; and iuiving succeeded 
 in driving away those whose just cl.iin.s had 
 dr.iwn on them her most vindictive hostility, it 
 WHS irrit.iting in the extreme to meet with such 
 determined opposition from one whom she had 
 hitherto generally ruled with despotic sw.-iy. 
 
 I About a week after this, and when Cooper had 
 
 [ returned from a fruitless expedition to Craiga- 
 I'ln, Mrs. Dawson presented herself before the 
 
 I Colonel with maiks of real distress, both in 
 countenance and manner. 
 
 I " Betsey, sir," said she, " has been arranging 
 those rooms up stairs, and on lifting a portfolio 
 
 : this w.is found behind it." 
 
 j It W.IS the note of farewell which Constance 
 liad written to her father, and which in the ngi- 
 tatiim of departure she liad forgotten to give 
 
 '• Dawson ; it had been accidentnlly thrown aside, 
 and was discovered only tliat morning. Laying 
 
 j it on the table, she wiihdrew. 
 
 I It iL'a.t then as he suspected ; Constance had 
 been driven forth by an intrusion, which ho 
 
 1 owned, too l.ite, he should have prevented. He 
 
 I had never intended that she should so liter.ally 
 have construed his peevish refusal to protect her ; 
 
 ! now, but for this outrageous insult she at least 
 
 I might have bien lelth.m; and in proportion as 
 he Constantly felt her loss, so did liis imger rise 
 
 ] against the imjiudent cause of it, and feelings of 
 
 ! indifference and annoynnce which had long been 
 
 ' siiMildering toward the whole crew at the tottago 
 were now exasperated to fury, none the less 
 strong (or being sirppressed ; wliile he firmly re- 
 solved that, in some way, they, or rather she, 
 should smart for what he now suffered through 
 her insolent interference. 
 
 "This must be seen to," he muttered, as with 
 a lowering brow he again read his innocent 
 cliild's letter; it was only a few line-*, but those 
 seemed to sink into his lieart as if a bran'ling 
 iron impressed him there ; even tlie haughty 
 tone, evident throughout, failed to rouse liis an- 
 ger ; the total tibsence alike of tender <.r re- 
 proachful expressions s'rangely touched him ; ho 
 fancied the pn/ud look on that beamilul lace, ns 
 she wrote iliese few words, and almost— almost a 
 feeling (d' sorrow, a pang of remor.se smote him. 
 Then, suddenly thinking that, as this j.aper had 
 
160 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 been so unexpectedly found, there migbt be oth- 
 ers in which he might find a clue to direct his 
 re.-earches, he rang, and ordered all the portfo- 
 lios to be brought. 
 
 He e;igerly examined the contents; but a few 
 spirited sketches of t«cenery, some half-finished 
 copies of various lieads fruiii the antique, and at- 
 tempts .-It original portraits were all lie found in 
 one. in another, tliere was a more choice col- 
 lection ; again and again a copy of Mrs. Temple- 
 ton's portrait in crayons, and water-color — again 
 Mrs. Templeton, an original sketch, much later 
 — another, mure highly finished, in which there 
 was an idea borrowed from Muiillo's " Assump- 
 tion of the Virgin," where this beloved mother 
 was still the prominent figure, while charming 
 beids, represi-ntiiig Helen, Constance, the ani- 
 mated brunette bemty of Caroline Vernon, with 
 one or two other faces unknown tow him, looked 
 forth from wings and clouds. 
 
 But, good heavens ! what is this 1 for as a 
 prudent to the rich, glowing complexion of Mis.s 
 Vernon was a face which, as he looked, caused 
 his own to blanch with amazement and fear, and 
 which seemed to stop the cuirent of circulation. 
 It furnied a striking and effective contrast to 
 the joyously bright countenance of Constance, 
 on wliose snowy throat the soft, dark ringlets 
 that adorneil its exquisite head rested. But how 
 came it here .' by what magic was that face, 
 w.'jich h.id long been shrouded in the grave, made 
 to turn its luving eyes on him ? 
 
 With a trembling hand he laid it aside; and 
 again minutely looked over every scrap of paper 
 or ivory he found. On the former were attempts 
 at the same head, and on one large sheet an ex- 
 tremely clever crayon copy, including the bust 
 and h.-inds. He was still more perplexed when 
 on the finger he saw a ring of peculiar but well- 
 remembered fashion; and in the han 1 one of 
 those Spanisii fins so celebrated in the toilette I 
 details of the graceful Andalusians — here, also, 
 the mantilla and n.ational costume were pre- i 
 served, the whole bringing back to him the ' 
 memory of d:iys long past — of love betrayed, of 
 h;ippiness and life destroyed. 
 
 But wliere was the original painting ? and 
 how had CtJiistance ever seen it .' for this was no 
 fmcy of hers, hut a copy, the beautiful, living 
 original of which seemed now once again before 
 him. 
 
 The more he thought and looked the more was 
 iid agitated and bewildered; and then to know 
 tiiat when lie would freely have given thousands 
 to obtain authentic intelligence of any thing con- 
 nected witli the history of tliat portrait, this ex- 
 iraordin.iry discovery should be made at the very 
 moment when the one who could, perhaps, have 
 enlightened him was gone. 
 
 Here was a key to th.at mystery which for 
 years had been his hindrance and torment, actu- 
 ally in his hands, and yet the ."ecret itself was as i 
 impenetrably locked up from him as ever ; and he 
 paced up and down the library devising fresh 
 j)lan3 for relieving himself from a state of sus- 
 jicnse and thrall wliich had Img been almost 
 unbearable; and had his eagerness to trace his 
 wife and daughter suffered diminution, this, this 
 alone would have revived it with additional 
 force. 
 
 One morning a larger supply of letters than 
 usual filled the bag ; the fii st the Colonel drew 
 forth bore the Grantham seal, and was addressed 
 in the free, tirm writing of her Ladyship; and 
 though the contents purported to be from her 
 Lord, it was evident that they were finished off 
 and pointed by my Lady's sharp pen, and as he 
 read the severe and cutting recapitulitiou of hia 
 meanness and tyranny, his falsehood and dis- 
 honor, it made him writhe, while conscience 
 whispered that tiie castigation was scarcely equal 
 to his deserts; but rousing himself, and tossing 
 aside the letter, he remaiked, •' This is my active 
 Lady, not my lazy Lord ; only let me catch my 
 pretty Constance, and I will show them what I 
 can and will do;" for though he knew his wife 
 could set him at defiance, he also knew he should 
 then have the power to paralyze her every move- 
 ment. 
 
 Another letter— ah ! and in -that well-knowa 
 hand which of late years had ever made the 
 strong man tremble like an infant! AVliat now ?, 
 and he opened it with desperate courUge. An- 
 other prohibition, and just as he was exulting 
 over what success would enable him to do. How 
 can his domestic afi'airs interest the writer and 
 call forth a threat that strikes more home than 
 any of the former ? why must he stop further 
 search for his wife and daughter .' He sat lost 
 in thought, half afraid of again bringing to light 
 the contents of a bag which had already fur- 
 nished f6od for such bitter reflection, when Cooper 
 knocked and obtained admittance. 
 
 " I am sorry to say. Colonel, that Von Stein- 
 burg has sent down about that odd five thou- 
 sand, which has been standing for some time." 
 
 " And must stand for some time longer, and 
 so you may tell him; 1 am paying more than 
 double interest, and that ought to satisfy the 
 swindling rascal." 
 
 " I expect it is because others also have found 
 out that he is a swindling rascal, that he is in 
 such a deuced hurry ; the fact is, he must cut 
 and run." 
 
 "Well, the sooner the better; he must wi' 
 my convenience." 
 
 " But he says he will not ; he is at my hou.s.;. 
 I had great difliculty in persuading him not to 
 come up." 
 
 " But I tell you, and you know it, I have not 
 the money ; there have been enormous payments 
 lately, and to pay more I must make tremeudoua 
 sacrifices." 
 
 "1 know it; now I think he has come to try 
 what compromise he can make, for I really be- 
 lieve he has, in some way, committed himself; 
 and 1 think if you could make him a reasonable 
 otfer,.he would readily take it as payment in 
 full." 
 
 " Any thing to get rid of him, but how to do 
 this immediately is difficult." 
 
 •'Let me have Kyecroft as a security, and I 
 will do my best : peihaps Maria can help — " 
 
 " Raise it as you will, only send that fellow 
 away." 
 
 And the so-called Baron, .who felt the hot 
 breath of justice in eager pursuit, and who had 
 a little pet plan which he was desirous to make 
 sure of before he left the hospitable shores of 
 "perfidious Albion," had sneaked down to sea 
 
Tin: WIFK'S TKIALS. 
 
 ICl 
 
 what he could do, and snonkcd back with n thou- 
 sand pounds, as full discharge for a gambling, 
 cheating debt of live thousand ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXVill. 
 
 ••What! keep a week away? scyen days and nights? 
 eight scoro eisriu hours? and h)vi!'4 absent houn? Oh! 
 weary reckoning."' — Suakbpeak& 
 
 "Mamaia," said Constance, when they were 
 quite settled in tlieir snug retreat, and Mrs. Teni- 
 pleton's pale cheek began to show a little tinge 
 of color, •' if it will not weary you, 1 should like 
 to talk about myself." 
 
 " It can not tire me, darling, when you and 
 Helen occupy very nearly all my thougiits." 
 
 " Then read that first, and you will perceive 
 the cause of my request;" and placing a letter in 
 her mothers liaiid she left the room, but not be- 
 fore Mrs. Templeton perceived that her eyes 
 looked red with recent weeping. 
 
 " Constance to Hubert. 
 '•Whether you are informed of the events 
 which have bitely occurred, or not, I am igno- 
 rant, but in either case various circumstances 
 n-nder the course which I ought to pursue no 
 longer doubtlul. More tlian two month's have 
 . ijised since I heard from you, and grievous 
 iiiges htive happened since then. My liearest 
 ther and myself are no longer at our beauti- 
 1 Priory. 1 can not bring myself to enter into 
 ails — suffice it, that all our best friends ac- 
 luwledge there was no alternative. In this 
 1 anged stare of affairs, Hubert, I give you back 
 ur promise, not because I am now portionless — 
 ,:tiow and honor your character in this respect 
 > well to suppose for a moment that that would 
 iuence you — neither do I allude to the de^p 
 - M row which has so changed me — this your gen- 
 erous kindness would seek to lessen — but 1 have 
 long felt that our marriage would never have 
 been pleasant to Mr. and Mrs. Forrester. Tiieir 
 marked neglect, their systematic avoidance, con- 
 vince me of this ; and though out of their great 
 love for you tliey have consented, it has been 
 with reluctance. Is not this true .' ah ! you 
 know it is. Nor is this all : I fear I shall pain 
 V(jU, and wiilingly would I avoid it — but 1 ask it 
 : you as a favor, I demand it of you as a duty — 
 imine your own couduct — question ycjur own 
 irt^— and tell me, have you really, truly, con- 
 K.iued to love me a.s when you asked me to share 
 nur lot? Let no filse notions of honor betray 
 yuu into a mistake ; no unsolicited and mis- 
 called comi)assion lead you to conceal the trutii ; 
 the hap|jiness of both — perhaps of a third — is 
 invofved in a strict investigation of your own 
 feelings; sophistry hire would not only be dis- 
 honorable, but cruel ; if you have learned to 
 love another, I conjure you tell me, and let me 
 be no obstacle to your happiness ; my best wishes 
 — my most friendly interest will, 1 trust, ever 
 be yours. C. F. T." 
 
 And 
 
 it has come to this at last," thought 
 11 
 
 Mrs. Templeton with a sigh, but as if greatly re- 
 lieved. " How needles.->ly have I disquieted my- 
 self! His reply 1 anticipate; for weak though 
 he be, he is too honorable to withstand this ap- 
 peal. I must still be patient, and w.iit ;" and Ibr 
 6ome minutes she sat as if again reading the let- 
 ter, though her thoughts were now far away. 
 At length Constance returned, mid went up lo 
 her, asking, " Is it yes, mamma .'" 
 
 " Yes, quite yes," was her emphatic answer ; 
 
 " I entirely approve of wiiat you have done ; let 
 
 this go at once, for I think you will agree with 
 
 me, that we must suspend our final opinion till 
 
 i we have the rejily." 
 
 I " Perhaps you are right; I wish we could have 
 it soon. 1 will add, that the answer must be sent 
 to the Rectory, for we can not run any risk of 
 being discovered." 
 
 " Do ; and then we must hold a Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer meeting." 
 
 " And who will form the Opposition, mamma .=" 
 asked she, unwilling to check h.r mother's cheer- 
 fulness by indulging in gloom about herself. 
 
 " Oh, Asldey is the leader, and a formidable 
 one, too, for he leads his father, who has written 
 Mr. Morton over to his will, having previously 
 talked over yottr uncle Cecil ; however, in spite 
 of this formidable array, we will have our own 
 way, and with economy and management I foresee 
 great doings." 
 
 " Yes ; and you must accustom yourself to see 
 mo out of my expensive white muslins, even in 
 I summer; but, in spite of that," she said, laugh- 
 i ing at the remembrance of her childish lancies, 
 1 " 1 shall be incorrigible, for I shall wear good, 
 strong, warranted to wash, blue " 
 I Ashley arrived as expected, armed with his fi- 
 nancial statements ; and though he tried haril to 
 ; persuade Mrs. Templeton that she ought, she must, 
 I permit his father to advance her a few hundre<ls, 
 I she observed, that facts and figures were stubborn 
 I things, and that she had already not only enough 
 I for their wants, but for their whims, glancing at 
 , Constance, and making .Xshley smile at the idea 
 ' of the true blue in which she meant to become 
 ; famous. " And," continued site, " 1 am so little 
 ' a candidate for the honor of heroineship, that .1 
 I shall not have the least hesitation in reclaiming 
 ' the small income I allow Keginahl, directly their 
 present handsome salary is regularly paid. Con- 
 stance fully enters into my views." 
 I "Fully, mamma: and though you so disdain- 
 fully repudiate heroineship, I am not quite sure 
 that I do not still cling to a romantic vision, in 
 which 1 am shown working at something to eke 
 out our .scanty means ; and perhaj'S, after all, I 
 may turn out an imlu-trious .sj)eeimen of one who 
 has seen better days, and had lo.s.ses." 
 
 Alter interviews such as these— ami, alas! for 
 Ashleys peace, tliey were frequent— he invariably 
 returned to his solitary chambers out of .sort.s, out 
 of spirits ! What can Hubert Forrester be about ? 
 was his constant thtmght; surely every event that 
 happens only the more evidently sliow.s the nec<l 
 of liis presence. Uliy does he not give Coiistnnco 
 a home where she can fcarle>sly j)roiect lier sweoi 
 mother .' (iood heavens! why, in his j)lace, 1 "— 
 i but he would stop — not always to lecture himself 
 I — not always to condemn Hubert — for he would 
 remember with a feeling of agony thai his arrival 
 
162 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 ■would take from him what wis his daily delight, 
 till* cberJHiied privilege of watdiing over aud 
 guinling both of these defens Joss l>eings. 
 
 Lord Grantliam and his wife came at the very 
 hrso summons, and nobly, gcnjrously did they en- 
 troit Mrs. Tompleton to let them openly espouse 
 her cvuse. 
 
 '■ No, 0^3:1— no, Henrietta, it must not be. 
 The c:\lm 1 now enj'jy has been unlcnown to me 
 ovsr sm". I m;n-r.cd. Look at nu, in spite of that 
 v olmt illneiw fi-om which I have not yet quite re- 
 covered ; 1 am batter th;in I have b3en for years, 
 and my spiri!.s arc recovi-ring their elasticity. It 
 w:is alw.iys my inlention, d:rcctly my girls mar- 
 ried or attain,* I tiie.r majority, to insist on a sep- 
 aration ; be-'ilos, were my retreat discovered by 
 your in:ervcn:.on, what would become of Con- 
 8t.iu3c .- So, \o: us wait." 
 
 " And the Forresters :" asked Lady Grantham. 
 
 " Of thorn 1 can not yet spoak — a few weeks 
 must dtcdo that matter; till then I leave Con- 
 stance to her own reflections." 
 
 " EUiujr is right," said Lady Grantham, as 
 they returned from this interview ; " already, 
 out of theso frightful events, gjod seems arising." 
 
 *' Yes. and most sincerely do I rejoice that she 
 i.*, by almost any means, fraod from that detesta- 
 bl; rascal's power — but what on earth could have 
 m:iio a girl Lke Constance fall in love with Hu- 
 b.'rt Forrester .-" inquired Lord Grantham ; " he 
 h IS nothing but good loolvs and goad temp::r to rec- 
 o.uiujnl h.m." 
 
 ■' Anl j'ou count those nothing .'" she replied, 
 mush amusod at the unwonted energy Avith which 
 hi made this remark; "most g'.rls would think 
 tliem quite ouough, without his being encumberel 
 w.'Ai Fo.^t Hill and Ilargraves as inevitable ap- 
 pendages." 
 
 " Most girls! yes — but Constance is not like 
 most girls : she is one of the most intelligent as 
 Wvill as most beautiful creatures I ever saw ; she 
 wauld be lost on that pompous, proud old man as 
 well as on his empty-headed son." 
 
 Something like this thought his wife when 
 she said : '• Ah ! there are few Reginalds or Ash- 
 leys." 
 
 Hubert duly received Constance's letter, which 
 hxinl .him still idling aw y Lis time at Niiplas. 
 .\ liostof diri.-n.ni feelings rose tumultou.-^iy in his 
 licart r.s he read it : shame at his own coninct — 
 inortiticalion at the seeming ease with which Con- 
 Rt.nnce absolved him from his promise; but with 
 both was mixed a throb of scarcely acknowledged 
 exultation at the tliougiit that he was free; 
 though fur this his g.merous nature reproached 
 him as he road the simple allusion to her changed 
 and saddened position. How nobly she had done 
 him justice! Could he tjike advantage of this 
 and accopt the freedom she otfared .' and then of- 
 fended vanity suggested that she did not write as 
 if this were a sacrifice ; but conscience here re- 
 m'nded him of one to whom lie had already whis- 
 pered wards of love, spite of his solf-roproaches 
 at this double treachery; and the thought that 
 be might now do so (ip.^nly, fearlessly, honorably, 
 (hcid'vl him ; and even had it not, the sight of 
 tint young face which brightened at his approach 
 wmild sn.edily have settled the question; and 
 l.m:;, Ini't I). 'fore lie ri>plicd to Constance he was 
 the iuivopljd lover of Beatrice, though the Duca 
 
 ' positively insisted on receiving his father's sanc- 
 ' tion before he would consent to their marriage. 
 
 This consent Hubert confidently reckoned on 
 i gaining, but weeks passed in all the happiness of 
 i his recent betrothment before Hubert could re- 
 I solve to tear himself from Beatrice; ami alas! 
 alas ! for man's constancy that so it should be, 
 ' but it was not till he was arranging his desk, 
 preparatory to traveling, that he remembered 
 ! he had not replied to Constance ! that must be 
 j done at once, and he wrote — 
 
 " From your letter I received the first intima- 
 tion of ciianges, to which you do but nlluile. 
 This you must believe, or my silence under the 
 suppo.sed knowledge must have aroused your 
 I well-merited indignation and contempt. Cnn- 
 I stance, in one resj^ect you do me but strict jus- 
 tice ; no altered circumstances, no saiidtuing 
 I events, would have had any effect on my ff clings; 
 ! but with your solemn appeal before my eyis [ 
 dare not venture to disobey you ; forgive, l»iit li) 
 not despise me when I confess that you have di - 
 covered the truth. I have nothing to urge in 
 justificition of my conduct. I take back t'ne 
 promise which, pardon the remark, you so stern- 
 ly, so cal.mly return ; but 1 accept with j.iy and 
 gratitude the friendship and interest you offer in 
 exchange.— H.'F." 
 
 This dispatched, and bis remaining prepara- 
 tions completed, Hubert set out for En^l^iud, 
 having iniormed his family of his speedy return. 
 The news reached them at Craigalan, and thoy 
 now claiined Laurette's promise to return with 
 ibem, and remiin till Lady Anne"s marriage. 
 
 Not till their return to the Sinclairs did they 
 hear of the fresh catastrophe at the Priory. 
 Laurette"s policy had been to keep them and Hu- 
 bert in ignorance as long as possible ; for she 
 dreaded lest the impetuosity of the latter should 
 bring him home directly and hasten his marriage, 
 as she knew enough of his generous character to 
 feel sure that he would consider what liad h^ip- 
 pened as only giving Constance an additional 
 claim to his love and protection. Faint :is it w.is. 
 there remained hope so long as he continued un- 
 married, and she resolved that her most strenu- 
 ous endeavors should be used with his parents to 
 cause sucii a rupture between them and her un 
 cle, as would mike the last play her same, bv 
 means of his authority over her cousin. 
 
 Slie omitted no opportunity of adding frr- 
 fuLd to the tire which the Forrester pride li , 
 kindled ; and while affecting to exonerate Con- 
 stance, she contrived to throw the ignominy of 
 the whole affair on her ; and she so fir succeeded, 
 that by the time they reached home, a coinnumi- 
 cation was all but written to Colonel Tenipleton, 
 formally declining further intercourse between 
 the two families. 
 
 But the first letter opened was me from Hu 
 bert, dated Paris, in which he said it wouid 
 quickly be followed by his arrival ; and thouga 
 Laurette urged this as another motive for prompt 
 measures on the part of his father, so that the in- 
 itiative might be taken before he came, Mr. Fbr- 
 rt ster thought the matter one in which his dig- 
 nity was so ileeply concerned, that every move ojI 
 his side should be performed with due delibera- 
 tion and care. 
 While the honor of the Forresters was thus 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 IfiS 
 
 woif^hcd in one ?calo ngainst tlic finesse of Lau- 
 r.'tfo in tlie otluT, Huberts hnste in performing 
 
 I • journey brought him in time to prove tluU 
 
 II ' iher of tlicsc lijul any weight with him; and 
 ■';■. Forrester felt inex])re?sibly relieved when lie 
 
 Ttiiined, from n few sentences Huhert let full, 
 
 t nothing having reference to Constance had 
 
 fenced his return ; and before ihe day was 
 
 r he received the astounding intelligence that 
 
 vas free — free by the act of Constance herself"! 
 
 was thunderstruck — rejected ! his son ! the 
 
 tract "broken, and with his heir! and by her ! 
 
 ver was elderly gentleman, to borrow a nauti- 
 
 u phrase, so taken aback. And then the astou- 
 
 i-iiiiig, the incomprehensible indifference of Hu- 
 
 i' rt : or was this merely assumed to hide the 
 
 i:nd Avhich his love and his pride had received ? 
 
 i uhcrt's gaj'ety was indeed a riddle to them all ; 
 
 hough on hearing a few particulars C(mnectcd 
 
 I the departure of Mrs. Templeton and her 
 
 uhter he was much shocked, there was nothing 
 
 '; s manner that indicated the rejected lover's 
 
 ■ncholy. 
 
 16 evening of his return Laurette was seated 
 ne and pondering over this anomaly, when IIu- 
 : entered. 
 
 ■ -Vh ! Laurette," he exclaimed, " what a hap- 
 • ss to find you alone; and taking a seat he 
 :-;xl so intently at her, and ^vith so strange an 
 
 I'vession, that her heart beat violently. Is it — 
 
 M it be? was the unfinished mental inquiry, 
 
 i'.e his own embarrassment and continued 
 
 ;iLe increased her agitation 
 
 Laurette," he at length said, and his whole 
 
 .liter betokened deep feeling, " j-ou have alwaj's 
 
 It my friend; when 1 was a boy, and you an 
 
 laplished woman ' — Lanrette shivered — " you 
 
 ned or explained away my follies; help me 
 
 - time, and you bind me to you indissolubly ; 
 
 me alone, but us." She felt faint, but the 
 
 ng will overcame the feeling. " I am captive, 
 
 It and soul, to a lovely girl in Italy, Beatrice 
 
 ;. Angelo — you turn away ; I sea you are dis- 
 
 " t!o on." she gasped, with an emotion which 
 1" iiappily ascrib-jd to condemnation of his fickle- 
 
 fjtais. 
 " V/ell, my dear friend, she -blessed angel! — 
 'dvcs me; her father consents, provided — mind, 
 
 ■ videdminsdoes. This, I assured him, he would 
 . lily do ; and at the time I believed all I said. 
 
 during my solitary journey I have had leisure 
 
 ' ivfiect; and though resolved, firmly resolved, 
 
 liver to give up Beatrice, I begin to dread my 
 
 ,1 her's opposition. His prejudices, his peculiar 
 
 . ; ns and views, will, I fear, start up in formid- 
 
 ■ array again.<t my wishes. My dear mother 
 
 res all these, but 1 can soon persuade her to 
 
 . ■! 1, and so, in time, I can my father : but the 
 
 liiaa will brook no hesitation, tor his Italian pride 
 
 •(Hials our Engli.sh ; and (iod knows what the 
 
 • iKcquence might be, for my sweet Beatrice is 
 
 A'K Strong." 
 
 This long explanation had given Laurette an op- 
 
 .'•tunity to rally, though her cheek was ashy 
 
 ' :1 ■, and her voice faUered a.>» she said : " Hubert, 
 
 Jit have made mc giddy with your confession. 
 
 . •til otfer you no hope, (iivc me time to consider, 
 
 ml to-morrow let us talk of it." 
 
 '• Thanks for your interest," replied he, taking 
 
 her hand and looking so kindly at her she could 
 scarcely bear it, " a thousaiul thanks. 1 trust 
 all to you ; but you are tired." 
 
 " Rather ; and rather overcome also." she said, 
 with truth, and she hastened to her own room. 
 
 The next day, by her advice, lie mentioned the 
 matter to his-father. 
 
 " Hubert, are you mad, or do you believe me to 
 be so .' What! — a Pap'st! — a foreigner I — a resi- 
 dence abroad ! — impossible ! Name it no more, for 
 I never will consent." 
 
 " I am deeply grieved to hear this," was the 
 reply ; " but. my dear father, my happiness, my 
 honor, arc equally cenccrned. 1 had no doubt 
 of your consent, and therefore acted on this as- 
 surance." 
 
 " ^Vhat yon have done, you alone must answer 
 for ; for me, I shall Lc bound by nothing of the 
 kind." 
 
 " But, sir — " 
 
 " But, Hubert, I desire that there may be no 
 more arguing. I never can consent to receive a 
 foreigner as the future mistres.< of my property." 
 
 '• I confidently h( pe you will relent, sii-, or I 
 really can not answer for the consequences." 
 
 " The consequences can not be worse, when al- 
 ready my son threatens mc." 
 
 " Nay, father — " 
 
 " Do not interrupt me ; let this interview be 
 final. I forbid you to proceed in this matter ; and 
 now leave me." 
 
 Judging by past experience that he had bet- 
 ter not urge too much, Hubert obeyed ; and to say 
 the truth, not much daunted by this commence- 
 ment, laid his plans for a second attack, in which 
 his hopes represented him as victorious. How 
 could it be otlierwise .' Was he not an only son 
 and heir .' 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 " Elln 6ioit de ce monde, 
 OC li-s< |>lii8 belles cliuses 
 
 Out l<- pire dt-siiii ; 
 El rosf, elle ii v6cu 
 Ce que vi\cn'. !<•» rogeo. 
 
 LiVciiace d'uii iiiulin." 
 
 Oxt,Y son and heir ! — ah ! bow much error and 
 
 misery do these words cause ! 
 
 I Hubert not only had the rich properties of For- 
 j est Hill and Hargraves, with the largo fortune h 3 
 
 father had accumulated, but he was also the last 
 I of two old and honorable families ; but Mr. and 
 I Mrs. Forrester forgot thiit society could not un- 
 ! derstand the overwhelnnng importance whieh l/nij 
 I attat^hcd to tliis f osition. In the world, Hubert 
 , was only oiieof the many ; his sickness, his health. 
 
 his joys or sorrows excited no interest beyond lua 
 
 own circle — a circle whose dianieterwas unusii;;!- 
 
 ly small, owing to the proud exclusivcness or shy 
 j fastidiousness of his ptirents. 
 I Hubert wished to go to a public school ; no, ho 
 
 must he educated at home, where his ai.qtiainlunco 
 ] was limited to the v^cry few country families who 
 I were neighbors; Buls.qucntly Keginald We.s:, 
 i and, later still, Victor Morton, wore h.s co)np:in- 
 
 ions ; and though between him and the latter the 
 
164 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 contrast was evident in almost every respect, a 
 strong friendship ever united them. 
 
 Then came the contest about the University. 
 Hubert preferred Cambridge; there Ashley and 
 Reginald would have been his associates ; but his 
 father decided for Oxford, at which place Hubert 
 remained little more than a year ; and, in spite 
 of extraordinary indulgences, it seemed as if a 
 system of opposition had been regularly organized 
 by both fatlier and son ; there was always some 
 compromise— some feeble medium measure, which 
 destroyed the grace of yielding in both. 
 
 Happily the refinement of Hubert's taste and 
 feelings k.^pt him from all low and ignoble pleas- 
 ures, even his love for the beautiful was in his 
 case a protection ; vice, to him, was always coarse 
 and repellent, and never lost its hideous mien. 
 But his taste wanted elevation; his character, 
 firmness and decision— his life, an aim. Hitherto, 
 all had been harmony with him, and his handsome 
 exterior and fascinating manners were types of 
 his intellect and feelings ; but there was nothing 
 grand, ni;ijestic, sublime; and on seeing and 
 'watching him you were tempted to ask, " Is the 
 beginning of such an existence to be the reflex of 
 a similar end .'" 
 
 It is said that a celebrated foreign musical 
 amateur, and one also well versed in human na- 
 ture, after having listened to a young dehutantc, 
 vhose singing was generally much admired, was 
 asked his opinion. In his idiomatic way, he re- 
 plied, " She has the fine organ, but she v.uit vone 
 grand disappointment before she louch the 
 heart !" 
 
 Before the fruit attains perfection, it must be 
 watered by the i-aiu, as well as shone on by ilie 
 
 BUQ. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Forrester, when informed by her 
 husband of all that had passed, felt he:»rt-sick at 
 the discord which she foresaw ; and fully enter- 
 ing into all his objections, anticipated with dread 
 the result of lier dear Hubert's fruitless appeals. 
 Laurette could give her no comfort; for though 
 she Siiid it was a sad entanglement, slie was so 
 shocked at the idea of popery, that she outdid 
 Mrs. Forrester in her expressions of horror ; and 
 then her objections to foreigners, and Italians es- 
 pecially, were equally in excess; besides, as she 
 failo«l not to observe, to think that Hubert would 
 bo expected to reside chiefly abroad!— it was too 
 bud of the St. Angelo family — they quite forget 
 what was due to an Englishman of birth and 
 station. 
 
 Left to himself, the father had time to view the 
 proposal in all its most objectionable aspects. If 
 ho did not think of the Pope as always lighting 
 fires to burn heretics, he believed him very often 
 
 fircsiding at some other diabolical performance. 
 f he did not consider every foi-eign title a fiction, 
 and every Duca or Conte a myth, lie had some 
 uotion that they all dealt in wine, maccaroni, and 
 olives — modern antiques, original copies, and 
 plaster casts; and to think that he should be 
 asked toiKiite his son with one of their daugh- 
 ters! impoa^ible— .and thrice impossilile ! — and 
 this time he felt reilly strong in the goodness of 
 his cause. Then, also, came the recollection of 
 the beautiful high-bred girl, whom he had so un- 
 kindly slighted ; the Knglish girl of noble de- 
 scent, whom he had not thought wortliy of his 
 
 son — the son she had since rejected! There wc 
 bitterness in this reflection. 
 
 Hubert, after a second and more peremptor 
 refusal, left Forest Hill, and went in sullen dis 
 appointment to the discomforts of Hargrave; 
 wliich was so far altered as to be stripped of ,il 
 farm-like comforts, and yet not sufficiently ac 
 vanced to compensate for this by its mansion-lik; 
 elegancies. After a week of solitary, self-in' 
 [losed exile, Hubert wrote to his father, annoum 
 ing his determination to brave his displeasui 
 and follow his own idea of what, as a man o 
 honor, he was bound to do. He deeply lamentC' 
 any thing like disunion where all had formerl 
 been peace and love ; but he indirectly reproache 
 his father for the vacillation wliich had constantl 
 marked his conduct when he had beenconcernetj 
 and by the help of a little sophistry proved thr: 
 Mr. Forrester was answerable for his passion fc 
 Beatrice by having bani.shed him from home. 
 
 And the result was a surrender, but still not 
 frank or complete one, for it was some days b( 
 fore Hubert obtained such a consent as he kne : 
 would alone satisfy the scruples of the Duca, or^ 
 of /those few relics Italy yet possesses to remin 
 her of the noble in nanie and deed, of whom sh, 
 once had many. This was wrung from him b| 
 the almost; frantic vehemence of Hubert after bi 
 had received a letter from Beatrice, which rouses 
 him as nothing before h;id ever done. 
 
 She spoke of her anxiety to see him, an , 
 hinted, though very slightly, at her increased ii 
 disposition, which still kept them at Naples. 
 
 Hubert was changed — no indecision now ; thei 
 was command in liis look, in his voice, as he ha: 
 tened the preparations for starting, without 
 minute's unnecessary delay. And never di' 
 Laurette forget that not one word of farewell Wi 
 left lor her, not one evidence that she was eve 
 remembered ; there was no room for her — tl 
 heart, the thoughts, were filled by the image c 
 another. 
 
 Ami now Heaven grant that he may find quic 
 passnge across the water; he does; night an, 
 d.iy, night and day, the then fatiguing journej 
 was pursued. His servant gave up at Florence^ 
 but with Hubert it was on. on — stop not; nor di 
 he till he reached Naples— reached the Palazzo c 
 the Duca. A horrible foreboding of ill had foi: 
 bidden him the rest another might have found 
 he was helped out by the servants, who quickl 
 summoned the Duca, for he had fainted. 
 
 His first word on recovering was " Beatrice .'' 
 
 '• Is very ill," was the sorrowful reply; "hi 
 your arrival, which she has so pined for, will t 
 a restorative." 
 
 '• Infinite mercy now be praised!" said Huber 
 who was with difficulty persuaded tc take mucl 
 needed rest and refreshment before he saw he i 
 And when lie did— merciful powers! can it be- 
 is this to be the end.' for his quick eye, wliid 
 had hist seen her in comparative heiilth, perceive 
 a clu.nge — and oh ! such a change ! 
 
 He pressed her to his heart; he kissed h< 
 flusliel cheek, now painted by that insidious ei 
 eiiiy, which also sent the sparkle to her beMUtif 
 eyes and g;ive her a treacherous and decepii' 
 strength. With anguish that can not be tol' 
 Hubert read it all ; his love rendered him ouV 
 more coguzaut of the truth — and he had thf' 
 
TlIK WIFKS TRIALS. 
 
 165 
 
 won her but to lose her ! nnd liis heart seomed 
 breaking as it echoed buck liis list wonis. 
 
 Ah ! how he cursed the delay that hud deprived 
 him of all those precious, precious hours he might 
 have spent in w.itchiiiji and cariiij; fur her; how 
 he execrated those prejudices whicli, by prohmg- 
 ing his absence, iiad perhaps increased the dan- 
 ger and needles-^ly p lined her b^ <inxiety. 
 
 After this uieetini; he sought tiie Duca ; and 
 though it was with d fficulty he brouglit himself 
 to give words to his fears, the very iinmiiiencc of 
 the danger made him desperate, lie named his 
 ■wish for further advice, for the father sei-mcd not 
 yet sensible of the truth. And when fresh opin- 
 ions corroborated Huberts dread, even then he 
 could not, would not, believe such misery was 
 awaiting him ; and as day by day brought ita 
 false but flattering fluctuations, he would appeal 
 to Hubert, and ask him if eyes so bright, if a face 
 BO animated, could have the icy touch of death 
 so near .' 
 
 But Hubert, hopeless and heart-broken, did not 
 share in his disbelief; every day some fresh 
 symptom alarmed him, for the remembrance that 
 the mother of Beatrice was an English lady, and 
 had died young, filled hiiu with the most agoniz- 
 ing fears. 
 
 About ten days after his return he was with 
 her, listening to her expressions of pleasure at 
 again seeing him after her anxiety during his 
 absence : '• But that is past — and you are here 
 once more — not soon again to leave us." 
 
 " My beautiful I my own !" he murmured, " we 
 part no more ;" but as he said so, he shuddered 
 to think no voice from his heart repeated his 
 words, while the ravages of disease on that loved 
 form were more than ever perceptible. 
 
 Beatrice, fondly laid lier head on his bosom, 
 saying: " Thanks, dear Hubert, for that assur- 
 ance, for you can not. after this, again leave me." 
 
 " Never, never, my beloved !" again kissing i 
 her fair brow ; and, as if worn out with fatigue, 
 she soon fell asleep with his arm round her, and 
 his face, to her so glorious in its beauty, bent over 
 her, and his loving eyes watching her— and so, 
 she died ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 " And thf-reforp is Love sa'd to be n phiM. 
 Because, in choice, he la M>ofi btgniUMl." 
 
 SlIAKSPEilBB. 
 
 As days changed to weeks, and still no reply 
 came from Hubert, Mrs. Templeton fouml it diffi- 
 cult to adhere to her resfdution, that they would 
 not talk of the matter, especially a^ she saw that 
 Constance was looking anxious and haras.scd. She 
 was restless before the arrival of the pfjst, and 
 evidently depressed and disappf>inte<i afterward, 
 though nothing could be more unwearie*! than 
 her efforts to hide this from her mother. 
 
 Stacey had not yet recovered from the intoxi- 
 cating effects of hi.s one- volume great 8ucce.ss, or, 
 as Mr. Moore patiently remarked, had not yet 
 got to the end of his tether ; and though this sud- 
 den falling off had greatly disuppointe<J him, as 
 he was was really much interested in the complc- 
 
 I tion of the memoirs, he goo.| natnrcdly hopwl 
 I that Stacey, of whoso talents he hnd a high 
 j opinion, woifld, in the end, justify h;.s vpecta- 
 tious. 
 
 At present, Iwth to Mr. Turner nnd .Ashley, 
 this seemed very unlikely. He was gayjy JlutUT- 
 ing about sahions ami drawing-rooms ;" hV was the 
 loader in all private theatricals— managed, wrote, 
 sang, and played; and thus, at once the I'roteiia 
 of fashionaiile s^iciety, and the lion of fiddle- 
 I faddle literary coteries, there was no chance of hid 
 voluntarily quitting them to become the laljo- 
 rious author or the tlomestie man. 
 1 He had at first been enthu.-iastic in his ad- 
 miration of Mrs Templeton and her daughter, 
 but sotm even they failed to attract, when per- 
 fumed notes from Lady Hose or Lady lUancho 
 entieetl him within the charmed circle of fashion- 
 able life and its attendant gayeties. 
 
 •Though all this unprotitabie, indeed injurious, 
 adulation turnetl Stacey "s head, happily it did 
 not destroy his kindness or affi-ction for his wife. 
 True it is, she was perpetually left at home to 
 work hard for the necessaries of life, while ho 
 was working hard to amuse his noble and titled 
 friends; true, the money he made by an occa- 
 sional contribution to a magazine or some g.iy 
 volume of songs was soon ui)sorbed by the ex- 
 pense which attended this association with wealth 
 ami luxury ; still, when he had money, he never 
 failed to make her some present, which though 
 perhaps too costly to wear, being offered with tho 
 intention to please, was as such accepted with 
 thanks. 
 
 When at home, he was happy, and made her 
 so, and was oxceedingly amusi'il at her profes- 
 sional industry, calling her an absurd little bee, 
 a money-loving little miser — wondered what she 
 could possibly do with the sixpences she was so 
 busily collecting, and talked like a dreamer or 
 poet of the life they would lead when he obtaini-d 
 his appointment ; for. in addition to all the other 
 causes which helpe<l to bewilder him, some friend, 
 more than usually indiscreet, had liintcl at a 
 snug little sinecure, and promisefl to name him 
 to Lords A, B, C, and all the lord^ to the end of 
 the alphabet, some of whom would be sure to 
 give it. 
 
 Stacey was a poet ; had he never read, or had 
 he forgotten, Spjnser's experience, which ho so 
 forcibly tells as a warning to all expectants for 
 place and preferment > 
 
 At last the expected letter from Italy arrive*!, 
 after Constance ha<l be.ome weary with waiting 
 and Kus[>ense. Mrs. Templeton felt a shade of 
 disappointment 'steal over her as she noticed tho 
 eagerness with which it was received, tho trem- 
 bling anxiety with which it was re id ; it was, a.s 
 she fcareil. and Constance was weeping over this 
 pr(M)f of Hubert's fickleness. 
 
 Silently she drew near and attompte 1 to re- 
 move her hand from her face. 
 
 "It is not sorrow, mamma," siid Comtaneo; 
 " but I have waited so long for this, that 1 at last 
 began to dread what it might contain when it 
 did come. Kead it ilear ;" and .-ihe put tho brief 
 reply into Mrs. Templeton's hand. 
 
 "I sec that Hubert accepts hi.-! relea.sc," wn^ 
 the reply ; " but still, dear child, 1 do not undei 
 stand all this emotion." 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 " Neither do I— that is— quite,"' answered she ; 
 " but if you have patience to listen lo my confes- 
 sion, perhaps between us we ui:iy nialie it clear." 
 
 " I shall not bj h.ippy till we do— .so begin at 
 once ; here, sit on this otioin in close by me. And 
 now — volume fiisr, chapter one ' 
 
 "Oh, mamma! you are already laughing at 
 nii; but never mind, with you for my only 
 critic, 1 shall not tremble veiy violently. You 
 know how much we went through during Helen's 
 terrible trial ; there was no one to help or com- 
 fort us. At this time Hubert came very often; 
 he wa^ so kind, so cheering, and— well, 1 may as 
 well say it— so handsome^ that 1 learned to expect 
 his appearance as almost the ouly happy thing.'" 
 
 " .My poor girl," said Mrs. Templeton, smooth- 
 ing her rich curls. 
 
 •• And this went on; I could not trouble you 
 with all my an.\ieties while you had so many of 
 your own : but Herbert listened so patiently, and 
 encouraged me so kindly to hope for better days, 
 that somehow ho himself becasue associated with 
 those future and brlghte.- times. At last, having 
 taken his share of my grief, he proposed to take 
 me; and, to my feeling, there was something so 
 ungrateful in the idea of not returning his love, 
 that I believed I did— that I mu.st, or ought, or 
 eome fancy of that kind— and— but you know the 
 rest. Then we went to Craigalan, and there for 
 the lirst time 1 saw what society could leally pro- 
 duce. At Gran;ham also, after Cecilia's wedding, 
 I h id an o]tportun!ty of associating with many 
 not older th:in Hubert, who had in some honorable 
 pursuit won credit and renown; and I came.home 
 with my uiiul in a very dilFerent state from that 
 in wh.ch it had been a few mouths earlier. Hu- 
 berts letters also, though kin J an 1 cheerful, after 
 a time invariably disappointed me; besides, I 
 could njl but be struck witli the difference be- 
 tv.'een ii;s long-delayed and brief ccrcspondence 
 and ih\t const.int interchange of thought and IV e!- 
 ing which e>:.3;cd during tlie shcrt, happy period 
 which followed Helen's engngement. I was neither 
 .so v.iin nor so feo'.ish as to faney that 1 could ever 
 inspire such an affection as our de.ar Helen co 1?, 
 St 11— -c: that pass. By degrees, however, I began 
 to duubi whe h;r Hubert really did love me — and 
 here Liureue helped to open my eyes. Then Hu- 
 bert returned — and now, dear mamma, comes 
 my confeshlon. You have no idea how changed 
 he seemed to me — so different from what I had 
 fancied, in short, so unlike what I believed I loved; 
 and yet 1 was very glad to see him, and really 
 liked him very much — only I was so conscious of 
 his deficien.ics, that I scarcely felt that respect 
 which 1 had been romantic enough to think it es- 
 sential to enlert.iin t.)ward my husband." 
 
 •' No romance, dear child, no romance is this 
 requirement — no love is secure that is not based 
 on it." 
 
 •• But I must try and be concise : this, and a 
 neglect which I f It very keerdy in the conduct of 
 bo:h .Mr. and Mrs. Forrester — hints and insinua- 
 tions from more than one person — our changed 
 pi).-^ition — his scarcely pardonable silence — induced 
 me, after deep, an I, I must say, painful reflection, 
 to write the hitter of which you approved." 
 
 •• But, my love, wliy are you .so anxious for a 
 reply, and why so Cvcitcd when it came.'" 
 
 " Because, after 1 had taken that decided step, 
 
 I feared I had misjudged Hubert ; I thought, if 
 he still really loved me, how I must have pained 
 
 , )iim. And above all, I feared, yes, that is the 
 feeling — I feared he might refuse to take back liiaJ lern 
 promise — might, from some of those terrible mis-} f-'.; 
 
 I takes which cause so much sorrow, feel bound, 
 now, more especially, to continue oui* engage" 
 ment." 
 
 j " .And then, Constance ?" . 
 
 I " Then, I should, I suppose, have married him ;| 
 and though with Hubert s amiability and gener-i 
 osity, that would never have been a very puiablo 
 lo:, I greatly prefer my freedom — and the blessed 
 privilege of devoting myself to you, and of mak- 
 ing your happiness, instead of his, the great ob- 
 ject of my life, particularly as he has found what 
 
 j he considers so good a substitute." 
 
 ! " Much that you have said hardly surprises 
 
 j me," replied .Mrs. Templeton; "the estim:tie you 
 
 ' have only lately formed of Hubert s ch iractcr 
 
 ; has always been mine. Constance, darling, 1 
 was disappointed that you had given yourself to 
 him ; but doing him, as you have done, full jus- 
 tice, I had no objections that sufficiently author- 
 ized my interference, and believed it was the 
 mother s vanity which pronounced him not quite 
 equal to my own noble-minded, intelligeut girl 
 But 1 can scarcely express to you the indignation 
 I have felt at the behavior of the elder f'orres- 
 ters — unkind and disrespectful in the extreme, 
 as it has uniformly been — yet I have always 
 thought that they were weak enough to be iutiu- 
 enced by an interested party — by Laurette t'in- 
 
 I clair ; you look surprised — did it never occur to 
 you that she loves Hubert .'" 
 
 " You surprise me still more by that question. 
 Laurette ! the fastidious Liurette ! wlio used to 
 take a tiresome pleasure in jwinting out Hubert's 
 faulrs and failings ?" 
 
 " To me this is not so extraordinary as to you. 
 However, tiie result of this measure, which you 
 have had the moral courage to take, is to me nio.^t 
 satisfactory, as I began to fear you had, in a fis 
 of romantic generosity, or— do not be offended— 
 of jealous pride, made a greater sacrifice than you 
 were aware of. Henceforth Hubert will be le- 
 tnembered as one whom we both admire for much 
 that is good, but with no deeper feelings." 
 
 "Exactly so; I should at this moment rejoice 
 to see him, and could honestly congratulate him 
 on his marriage with another ; so now I hopeyi>u 
 are at rest on my account. And you really think 
 Laurette has been playing a part .'" 
 
 "1 do ; .1 detect her agency in many things, 
 -•^nd now that we fully understand each otiier, I 
 may say I rejoice truly that you are neither 
 bound by promises, the performance of which 1 
 could never have sincerely rejoiced at, nor bro- 
 ken-hearted at the fickleness which has set you 
 free. It is evident that gratitude on your part 
 and sympathy on Hubert's were mistaken for 
 that affection without which, I do not s:iy mar- 
 riage is misery, but which is necessary to render 
 it a state of re il h.ippiness." 
 
 " But though i^ou judge me so leniently, dear 
 mamma, I feel deeply liumiliated when I think 
 what people generally will think of me; you just 
 now spoke of Hubert's fickleness — is not that the 
 word thi-y will apply to me ':" 
 
 " Some, probably, may ; not so those who beat 
 
THK WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 167 
 
 know you ; but better, far better, tlmt friends 
 should join in condiyiining you, than that any 
 morbid dread of their censure should have de- 
 terred you from taking this step. To have per- 
 sisted in your engagement, after the knowledge 
 you had obtained of your own feelings, would 
 ];:ive been to encounter sorrows much more poig- 
 nant than the condemnation of all vou most love. 
 1 almost tremble to think how near you were to 
 tliat gi-eat evil, a mistaken marriage. Better, 
 I veu at the altar itself, to pause and turn back, 
 .11 to run the risk of passing a life of misery 
 r botii." 
 ■ But so inany reasons, mamma — " 
 
 • I anticipate all you would urge, and yet I 
 ■ ; eat what I have said ; it m.-iy seem an encour- 
 
 i inent to rash engagements; it may appear to 
 weaken the solemnity of a promise; it may sound 
 i live an excuse for indifference to the feelings of 
 : ;i ithcr; but, again I say, turn back even from 
 
 • altar, if your further acquaintance with 
 1 '.self or the character of another should lead 
 I 10 see you have been mistaken." 
 
 Alter a pause Constance said : " As there is no 
 ossity to revert to this correspondence, 1 should 
 
 ■;<.r no allusion being made, even to our best 
 Uiv'uds." 
 
 •' Certainly, my love ; you have a right topre- 
 M,Tibe in this matter." 
 
 Laurette had scarcely alluded to Hubert during 
 the single interview she had with Caroline before 
 slie went to Lady Westrough's. Her engagement 
 there she determined to fulfill, tliough even her 
 powers of dissimulation were unable to hide the 
 change so apparent in her looks and manner. Nor 
 did she give way when she heard of Hubert's 
 drcauiul loss and of Lis subsequent dangerous 
 iilucss. Sae had a part to play, a secret to keep, 
 and pride gave her strength. Like Calantha, she 
 could say, •' On to the dance." 
 
 And when the wedding and its subsequent gay- 
 ety was over, she returned to Craigalan, which 
 for a long time she never left. 
 
 Caroline, when she wrote to Ashley, named 
 Hubert's return ; and as he daily expected his 
 appearance at the Heath. Ashley kept away till 
 tiie news came that Hubert had again left Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Had he seen Constance .' if so, why had it never 
 been mentioned .' why any need of concealment ? 
 surely, and he felt humbled at the thouglit, surely 
 Mrs. Templeton— Constance, liad not read the 
 '^ :t!i in any inadvertency of manner and wished 
 - to spare him pain.' And so much did this 
 
 : torment him, that it was long before he re- 
 red that external serenity wliich he had so 
 
 eiully tried to maintain. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXr. 
 
 " Our rcmrdies oft in ourwlvcg < 
 Which we asTibe to Heaven." 
 
 During all this time, nothing could be more 
 gloomy than tlie interior of the Priory. It seemed 
 as if the old monastic silence, wliich had so long 
 been banished, had returned ; and iliat the spirits 
 
 of those who, ages ago, had abjured nil cliccrlul- 
 ness and i)leiisure still haunted it.diflusing cvery- 
 ' where tiie inlluence of their solitary an>i :is -L-tic 
 lives. Whole suites of rooms were dismaniUd ; 
 ; ranges of windows were closed ; and by the Col- 
 onel's express desire, ^Irs. Dawson made great 
 j reductions in all connected with her department, 
 while a similar plan of economy was extended to 
 the out-door arrangements. Doctor Vernon alone 
 j called, but he never obtained an interview. Kx- 
 I cept on business, the Colonel rarely left the limits 
 ! of his estate, in the details and improvement of 
 which lie was unusually interested. Fits of 
 ' glooiu were succeided by uiicontrolb.i.lc reslless- 
 ^ ness, and the habit of indulging in wine seemed 
 I now confirmed, though there was, apparently, 
 method even in that. Mr. Sloper was now often 
 closeted with him, to the exclusion of Cooper, with 
 whom, ou several occasions, the Colonel liad been 
 very short and peremptory, so much so, that the 
 worthy agent carried his complaints to the foot 
 j of the throne— namely, to Mrs. Captain, who in 
 I her wisdom recommended patience ; and as this 
 ' Was by nil means what she iierself ever practiced, 
 unless sjme great and certain reward was in view, 
 he was disposed to be guided by her. 
 
 But a blow fell on her which demanded all her 
 I stock of this most excellent virtue. This.was the 
 ! marriage of Juliet with Steinberg, for as to the Vou 
 ; or the Baron they were equally apocryphal. lu- 
 j stead of leaving Engbind with the money he had 
 j procured from Cooper, he remained till he had 
 ^ persuaded the ill-regulated girl ihat, as Madame 
 la Baronne, she would at once assume a rank that 
 would dazzle her n:otiier into compliance; and 
 one fine day he and Juliet were united for better 
 and worse — or for worse only. 
 
 The rage of Mrs. Mordauut defies description ; 
 her bitter disappointment might almost have 
 moved pity, for she really was, in her way, very 
 fond of her children, and no one knew better than 
 she the delusion under which Juliet had acted — 
 none foresaw more clearly the fate that awaited 
 her ; the past life of her swindling, infamous son- 
 in-law was no mystery to her ; she was as well 
 acquainted with his various offenses as he with 
 the various prisons to which those offenses had 
 led him; and she s.iw the vain, silly Juliet at 
 once the dupe and the victim of one little better 
 than a felon. 
 
 Another disgrac? also was near. Ruth, who 
 had been flattered and bribed into the commis- 
 sion of the basest treachery, was in her turn to 
 be betrayed. No longer needed, she was to bo 
 thrown aside — driven from the roof of her sctlu- 
 cer when her stata most require 1 compassion. 
 
 Thus were affaii-s when the Colonel one evening 
 came to Cooper's house, and after some conversa- 
 tion, which arose out of a meeting they had had 
 that morning with Mr. Sloper, Colonel Templeton 
 remarked : 
 
 " I am more than usually an.cious to free my- 
 self from that debt which Sloper lias continued 
 to stave off so long, and to do so would m.ike al- 
 most any sacrifice, though to raise money on the 
 property is almost as bad as to owe it. 1 wish to 
 God some one would take it and sot mc free of 
 all incumbrances." 
 
 " Vou need not bo long wishing that," quickly 
 observed Mrs. Captain ; " why, you might Pu..so 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 double what you want by making some one with 
 plenty of ready money your heir ; anJ 1 wonder 
 old 81oper was not sharp enough to make the pro- 
 posal." 
 
 " Perhaps he would," replied the Colonel, laugh- 
 ing, " if I had given him any encouragement ; for 
 he anticipated your scheme, and named a good 
 round sum which many would be ready to otfer as 
 an equivalent." 
 
 '• iUen why did you not close with the bargain .'" 
 asked she, her face flushing with eagerness. 
 
 " Because," answered the Colonel drylj- , " they 
 might not be those I mean to let reign after me ; 
 one year s income would very nearly clear me — 
 your annuity, let me tell you, cut out a good 
 shce." 
 
 " And suppose I let you have that back, and 
 Cooper used his endeavors to free you, how would 
 that help you ':" 
 
 " ilow .' why, if he procured me efi5cient help, 
 and 1 resold that annuity, with the next two 
 years' rents, 1 should be comparatively free ; for 
 never again will 1 touch cards or dice — never 
 again lose a year's income with a set of sharpers." 
 
 '• And what will you give to the one who helps 
 so quickly to set you free '" 
 
 " A deed of gift of the property— provided I 
 like the offerer as well as the oti'er." 
 
 " Ah ! but you might live to be as old as old 
 Parr, and then who would gain :" 
 
 '• 1 shall never Lve to be old," was the gloomy re- 
 ply, and there was a silence ; but he broke it by 
 saying, •' Of course, you expect that at my death 
 juu will find something wortli picking up ; talk this 
 over with Woop^T, and if a gift of part, or even the 
 whole, will put me to rights, why, then, let me 
 know." 
 
 And so effectually was it talked over with 
 Cooper, thit iu a very short time the annuity was 
 rcass.guea, and a sum so large ottered as filled 
 the Colonel with amazement as to how it had 
 been procui'ed, till su.spicion suggested that he 
 was only enjoying his own again, and the Sea- 
 brooke properly — the property which had de- 
 scended tlirough many generations of the hon- 
 Oi-ed and honorable Ashleys— was made the in- 
 
 h-ritance of (J teiiipora ! O mures ! " to 
 
 what base uses we may return." 
 
 Throughout this wholesale disinheriting, the 
 only token that Colonel Templeton gave of re- 
 taining tlie least recollection of those whose claims 
 upon liim were of the holiest and most sacred 
 kind was, that he most strictly limited this gift to 
 the property as entailed by the late Horace Asli- 
 ley. Lvery thing else he bequeathed to his 
 daughter Constance Franciska. 
 
 " And now," he said, as he signed this import- 
 ant docunieut, whicli had been drawn up with 
 great secrecy by a legal friend of Cooper's, " my 
 mind is relieved of a load ; and though I am in no 
 hurry to make way for you, 1 wish you joy of your 
 line inheritance wlien it becomes yours" 
 
 And on his return, iu uncommon spirits, he in- 
 formed .Mrs. Dawson, to whom he had become 
 much attached, that he had that day done what 
 would make the hair of all stand on end when it 
 was known ; and added, that it had given him 
 more pleasure than any thing since he had be- 
 come master of Seabrooke. 
 
 CHAPTER Lxxn 
 
 '•My wife! my 
 
 ife? I have no wife." 
 OUielU), 
 
 '" I AM presenting myself at a very unreason- 
 able hour, dear Mrs. Templeton," said ^\shley, as 
 he one morning entered while 'shcy were taking : 
 breakfast, •' but read that, and you will see that 
 I have no alternative." 
 
 " And while mamma does so," said Constance, 
 looking so happy and so lovely in her dark-blue 
 autumnal dress, that he for a minute forgot him- 
 self, while his eyes rested on her with dehght, 
 "you shall have a cup of our most excellent cof- 
 fee ; for I expect you have, as usual, furgottea 
 youi-self while thinking of us ; ' and he felt there 
 was more truth in this remark than she was 
 aware of. 
 
 " Your mother will tell you there was no time 
 for much thought of either coffee or tea ;" and 
 turning to Mrs. Templeton he continued, " 1 have 
 already seen Mr. Turner, and he advises no d'^- 
 lay." 
 
 " Here is the note, Constance," said her moth 
 handing it over to her. 
 
 " To Ashley Vernon, Esq. 
 
 " Sir : My honored Lord desires me to inform 
 
 you, that if Mr. Reginald is still from Eughmd, 
 
 he hopes you will not lose any time in coming 
 
 here. My Lady has gone, but Mrs. ^lelville will 
 
 not. By my Lords desire 1 write also to .Mr. 
 
 Manning. Please to see liim, and come together. 
 
 " Honored sir, your most obedient servant, 
 
 •' Robert Robekts." 
 
 " Lord Ernest's servant .-" a^ked she. 
 " Yes ; 1 think there is no doubt of what I 
 should do. Still, in Reginald's absence, I did 
 
 j not choose to act Avithout referring to you."' 
 
 " 1 agree with Mr. Turner ; go at once. And 
 
 I what a terrible catastrophe the note alludes to," 
 
 ' remarked Mrs. Templeton. 
 
 ] " Terrible, indeed ! Mr. Turner says he ex- 
 pected this long ago. To hear him, you would 
 
 ' think him the veriest cynic you ever met ; and 
 yet, to watch him act, there is not a kinder 
 heart beating." 
 
 '• I think Mr. Turner one of the most delight- 
 ful old men I ever saw," said Constance ; " he and 
 Mr. Moore between tliem share my bust affections, 
 and I am puzzled how 1 shall settle it when they 
 both propose."' iVnd then remarking her mother s 
 coVert smile, she blushed violently, and gave Ash- 
 
 1 ley so much sugar in his coff'ee that he was obliged 
 
 I to cry, '■ Hold'." 
 
 : '• You must contrive to let me see these equally- 
 favored rivals,'" said Mrs. Templeton, who never 
 felt at liberty to visit. 
 
 i At Old Court, affairs were in so complicated a 
 
 ' state that Ashley was truly glad to have the help 
 of Mr. Manning ; and they learned from Itoberta 
 that Lady Ernest had made no mystery of her 
 departure, and, in a letter left for her husband, 
 had attempted to justify her conduct by remind- 
 ing him of his. 
 
 " What a wretch must this mother be !" ex- 
 claimed Ashley, indignantly ; " she knew this girl 
 
 I loved another— she must have known the kind of 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 1G9 
 
 life to which she wns dooming her, ami yet no' 
 compassiou withhoM her." I 
 
 And still this indeiiitig.able intriguer was try- | 
 ing to maintain her position and still laying her 
 plans. She .^eonRNl disposed to carry matters with 
 a high hand, having decided on assuming the 
 character of an ill-used woman ; but .Mr. Man- I 
 ning quickly reduced her from iii-r tragcily stilts I 
 and imitation heroics to a more suitable level, that 
 of petitioner for favors. 
 
 The conduct of tlws mean termagant had made 
 an enemy of every individual in the house. The ' 
 housekeeper insinuated that before her luggage | 
 was allowed to go. it had better be examined, and j 
 Lady Ernest's waiting-woman insisted on the ne- I 
 
 oessity of some one helping her to find various 
 articles of value belonging to her mistress, which 
 had gone since her ladyship had. 
 
 But the first thing toward restoring order being 
 her absence, Mr. Manning decline<l all inspection 
 of her effects, and even persuaded Lord Ernest to 
 send her titty pounds, which he however kept till 
 she and her movables were safely lodged in a post- 
 chaise, which at length carried her off. 
 
 " Congratulate me," said he, returning to Ash- 
 ley ; " and remember, I deserve a laurel crown, 
 for, believe me, it is no despicable victory that 
 which is gained over such a virago." 
 
 " And what do you now mean to advise ':" 
 " A divorce, if possible ; this fellow with whom 
 she is gone was, it seems, her accepted lover before 
 the nefarious plot of offering her up here entered 
 the head of her Jezebel mother ; let him now be 
 enabled to marry her." 
 
 •• But why am I summoned ?" asked Ashley, an- 
 noyed to find himself where, apparently, he was 
 not needed. 
 
 " I suppose Lord Ernest identifies you with Mr. 
 West; and, upon the whole, it is well that he 
 should have some one to represent him." 
 
 For the first time Ashley now saw his Lordship, 
 a gentlemanly, but nervous, weak-minded man, 
 precisely the character suited to Mrs. Melville's 
 views, who committed a great error when she re- 
 linquished her scheme of marrying him herself. 
 *' She would have succeeded, with a little more pa- 
 tience and a good deal more bullying,' remarked 
 Mr. Manning when afterward talking over the 
 matter with Ashley. 
 
 " And now, my Lord," said Mr. Manning, in a 
 cheerful tone, and after he had introduced Mr. 
 .Lshley Vernon, " as you are once more master of 
 your own castle, I presume you are ready to pro- 
 ceed to business. Mr. Vernon's time is valuable, 
 and he wishes, if possible, to leave to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " Do not let us be in a hurry," replied Lord 
 Ernest. " I hope Mr. Vernon will contrive to 
 make himself comfortable here. Tell IJobcrts to 
 see to it. And do you not think, then, that Lord 
 W estrough will come .'" 
 
 " 1 imagine not; he .=pokc of l)cing much occu- 
 piei with his daughters marriage, and the incon- 
 venience of being absent just now." 
 
 " Ah ! that reminds me I always promise*! Lady 
 Anne a wedding present; sec that it is done at 
 once. It was to be five thousand pfjunds, I be- 
 lieve; and uppose I add a hundred for a trinket 
 or some fancy — see to it at once." 
 
 «« Deoend on me," said Mr. Manning ; " perhaps 
 
 you will draw the chock now," for he ihonght that 
 was the only way in which he could see about it. 
 Then, with evident uneasiness, glaring at .\sh- 
 ley, he asked, "Poor Reginald! What will ho 
 say, Mr. Vernon .'" 
 
 " Nothing but what is kind and generous," ho 
 answered. 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course ; but this is a sad affair ; 
 they never should have come hero. .\nd now 
 about Reginald — (lod forgive me for the mis«ry I 
 have cau.sed ! But 1 did not intend it, p<ior follow ! 
 .Vnd now sent out to Russia, with his pretty wife 
 and child ! Mr. Vernon, do you think they can 
 forgive me .'" 
 
 " I bt'licve, sir," said Ashley, " that Reginald 
 has never once thought such a thing neic-sary. 
 He is too noble-minded to harbor resentment ; and 
 as to any step you took, with a view to add to 
 your own happiness, he would have been the first 
 to rejoice at it." 
 
 " Ah ! but it never did add to my happiness ; it 
 brought always misery, and now shame and ruin. 
 See to it, Mr. Manning. Remember, he is my 
 heir ; he must come back and take care of me. 
 Will his wife forgive me, Mr. Vernon .' She must 
 have suffered a great deal ; it all comes to my 
 mind now ; other terrible events made me forget 
 it. How has Reginald managed .'" 
 
 " He has workeil hard for his living, sir," re- 
 turned Ashley, his hand.some face glowing with 
 friendly enthusiasm ; " he has toiled early and 
 late ; he has made himself a name which will not 
 soon be forgotten among men of talent ; he has 
 gaineil friends, of whom any one might be proud ; 
 and he has a beautiful, loving wife, frho would 
 make him happy anywhere." 
 
 " Now Gwl be praised ! Go<l bless them !" ex- 
 claimed Lord Ernest, tears coursing down his 
 cheeks. " Write to him for me — 1 can not ; and 
 tell him every thing. Tell him, also, that 1 have 
 given him all I have. See to it immediately, Mr. 
 Manning." 
 
 Order and quiet having been restored to Old 
 Court, the following day the two gentlemen de- 
 parted. 
 
 " My first business shall be to prepare the deed 
 in Mr. Wests favor," said Mr. Manning, "then I 
 shall be able to broach the delicate matter of the 
 divorce, for the neces.-iity of which, at present. 
 Lord Ernest appears quite unconscious. You per- 
 ceive Mr. Vernon, the character we have to deal 
 with. After this luckless marriage, when I was 
 most urgent with Lord Ernest to make the best 
 reparation he could to .Mr. West, I was repeatclly 
 put off with the most flimsy excuses." 
 
 When .Ashley arrived at Chambers, he found a 
 Voluminous packet, franked by the ambassador, 
 from Russia. This was eagerly opened, it being 
 the first that had arrive<l since the last sad news 
 of Mrs. Templeton's illness had reached St. Peters- 
 burg. He found a letter to himself, in which 
 ReginaM declared that nothing would lie thought 
 a sacrifice if Mrs. Tenipleton wishc><l for their 
 presence in England. Inclo.sed were letters to 
 Mrs. Templeton, which Ashley decided on taking 
 him.self when he went to make his rejKjrt of pro- 
 cee<lings at Old Court. The next letter w.as from 
 Caroline: she informe<l him of the sudden di-par- 
 ture of the Forresters for Italy, whither they were 
 hastening in consequence of bud news, but of what 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 nature she could not inform him, as Mrs. Forrest- 
 ers note to her mother saemci to assume that they 
 knew more th:in they really did, and referred 
 Uieni to Laurette for particulars. She entreated 
 him to see Mrs Templetou and Constance immedi- 
 ately, fancying that the latter must be in great 
 sorrow, as slie could think of nothing less than 
 that Hubert was ill. 
 
 Ashley was astonished and perplexed beyond all 
 cspression. Only two days ago he had seen them, 
 and remarked, not only that Mrs. Templeton 
 seemed daily to be exchanging her depression for 
 the most gratifying cheerfulness, but that Con- 
 atanci, who had lately looked both anxious and 
 ill, was in the most charming spirits. 
 
 lie looked at the date of Caroline's letter : the 
 news must have reached the Forresters before he 
 left for Lord Ernest s ; strange, therefore, that in- 
 Ibrmation had not been sent to Mrs. Templeton ; 
 for Ashley never for a moment supposed that the 
 Forojit 11:11 family were not informed of all relat- 
 ing to her and Constance. 
 
 '" Poor Constance!" sighed Ashley, " the sweet 
 smiles with which your dear face was decked when 
 1 last saw you, will be sadly changed." But as 
 his tidings from Russia were so satisfactory, he 
 determined that no wish to avoid the pain of be- 
 holding her distress should delay his giving the 
 comfort the last was sure to impart. 
 
 But, good heavens ! can he see aright .' there is 
 Constance Hying out of the boudoir, and greeting 
 him with a voic3, look, and manner more suited to 
 soKij Euphrosyne, than to her who had received 
 bad news from the one beloved. 
 
 " Uh, nKimma! here is Ashley again;" and 
 linking her arm in his she led him to her mother. 
 
 •' No one more welcome," was the smiling re- 
 ply ; " but yuu are tired ? you have bad news .'" 
 
 '• No, the contrary," he replied, making a pow- 
 erful effort; "I have in my hands what I know 
 you will think the best that ever were written, ' 
 handing her the ilussian packet. 
 
 "From Helen! from Reginald!" she cried, 
 turning pale with emotion ; and tearing off the 
 envelopes, she gave part to Constance, while she 
 herself wept tears of pleasure, and kissed the sig- 
 nature again and again. 
 
 •' I shall go and call on Mrs. Stacey," said he, 
 feeling they were best left alone with their let- 
 ters ; and when in about an hour he returned, he 
 found that Madame Stopsel had been called in to 
 share with them the joy at the account the 
 " blessed darlings" gave of themselves. 
 
 " 'Ihese letters," said he, " have arrived quite 
 u prujitif to the changes at Old Court ;' and he 
 proceeded to give the result of his visit there. 
 
 "I oppose Keginalds return," she said, Avhen 
 this was namcJ as Lord Ernests wish ; " he is no 
 longer alone. He hints at the probability of their 
 absence being shorter than itwasatfir.st expectel, 
 and seems tu th nk that, in any case, his position 
 i.i fixed ; and spjaks wi;h pride of the friendship 
 the young Duchess of Isleford has formed for 
 Helen. Happy mother that I am," said she, her 
 eyes bright witu tears, and kissing Constance, who 
 had glided to her side. " So you see, dear Ashley, 
 I am worldly-wise enough to prefer that Reginald 
 should hold fast what his own worth and exertion 
 have gained." 
 
 "\^ud now," he said, hesitating and looking 
 
 strangely confused, " if you could spare me a few 
 minutes." 
 
 But Constance was gone even before he conclud- 
 ed ; and as she slowly ascended the stairs, a 
 strange thought flashed across her mind, while a 
 kind of spasm seized her heart and made her feel 
 faint. " Ashley is going to be married !" and she 
 i sat down trembling and sad. Instead -of again 
 reading Helen's letter, as she had intended, she 
 ! remained lost in meditation, scarcely consuious of 
 the contradictory and conflicting nature of her 
 thoughts, but with a keen siJnse that they were 
 painiul, when she was roused by Gretcliens voice, 
 who came with hungry and thirsty ears for fur- 
 I ther news from St. Petersburg — and Constance 
 proceeded to gratify her. 
 
 I But hush ! there is a step — the garden gate 
 \ closes — Ashley, then, is gone. 
 j Left alone with .Mrs. Templeton, he silently put 
 his sister's letter into her hand ; he watched the 
 j expression of gravity and sorrow which overspread 
 I her face; but though she said, " This is very sad, 
 1 I grieve much for them — poor Hubert I" there 
 was not the least reference lo Constance — strange! 
 what could it mean ? At last, after reading it 
 partly through again, she observed, " How very 
 j sorry Constance will be to learn this." 
 1 "I had expected that you both already knew, 
 I perhaps, even more than CaroUue ; but my first 
 ' glance at you convinced me that I should be the 
 I earliest to bring tidings of this sorrow." 
 
 " It is indeed sorrow," she replied ; " for though 
 we can only imagine or guess the truth, it is evi- 
 dent that no trifling cause could have taken either 
 Mr. or Mrs. Forrester to Italy." 
 
 "And without writing to you?" he remarked 
 abruptly ; and then added, " pardon me but — '" 
 
 '• But you can not understand it," interrupted 
 Mrs. Templeton ; " it will, however, be clear to 
 you, my dear Ashley, when I tell you that Con- 
 stance has returned his promise to Hubert, and 
 that he accepted it." 
 
 " Good God ! it makes me giddy,"' he replied, 
 turning very pale. But affecting not lo remark 
 his emotion she proceeded; "Various Events have 
 j long been leading to this." 
 
 " And — and Constance .'" he asked, vainly en- 
 deavoring to speak with a steady voice. 
 
 " And Constance," she calmly continued, " vim 
 the one to propose it to me. Let me, however, 
 exonerate Hubert ; before our changed circum- 
 stances occurred, to her this step seemed desir- 
 able ; it is not the result of any indifl'crcnce on 
 his part since she became portionless. The 
 measure had my entire concurrenc?, and with the 
 result 1 am perfectly satisfied. Having said this 
 much, though Constance is morbidly sensitive 
 about having it known, I feel that j'ou, as one of 
 our dearest friends, have a right to learn more ;" 
 and she proceeded to give him an aci-ount of the 
 various reasons which had induced Constance to 
 come to this decision. 
 
 Ashley thanked her for this mark of her confi- 
 dence ; though as to the reasons she gave he 
 scarcely remembered one — the result, the unex- 
 pected, the astonishing result, was what alono 
 tilled his mind ; he mechanically took his hat, but 
 left his sister and Reginald's letters, and without 
 further adieu departed. 
 
 Instead of being offended at this unpoliteness, 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 171 
 
 Mrs. Templeton smiled as she went to seek Con- , liberty to relate the startling disclosure Mim. 
 
 Btance, aul iiuplore her pardon lor her breach of Templeton had made to liiui, rightly conjectur- 
 
 trust. By her mothers look she knew tliat some- ing that, if she wished it published, slie would 
 
 tiling unusual had been communicated, and still, do so ; and by the time several otlier matters of :i 
 
 with this strange apprehensive feeling predomin- professional nature had been transacted, he felt 
 
 ftnt, she longed — yet dreaded— to hear the first himself at liberty to think uninterruptedly over 
 
 words. what he had heard. 
 
 " Ashley has been telling me what I am greatly Constance free ! no longer the airianced of an- 
 
 surprised at." she remarked, " and, indeed, what other ! was the idea that seemed to banish all 
 
 grieves me also." , others ; and even when he partly recovered from 
 
 •' Dear mamma, why should it grieve you r" the tumult of feeUng into which this unexpected 
 
 asked Constant-e, impressed with the correctness news had thrown him, tlie recollection that the 
 
 of her own interpretation. ; ties which had bound her to Hubert were sev- 
 
 " How should it do otherwise .' and you, I am cred. mixed and interfered with all his tliought.'j. 
 
 sure, will be grieved as well ;" and almost to her At first a bounding sensation of joy showed 
 
 daughter's relief, she proceeded, without interrup- him but too plainly how vain had been hi.s be- 
 
 ti n. to relate all that had passed, pleading the lief, tliat tlie hopelessness of his love had enabled 
 
 ii:ipos^;bilty of concealing the real state of the liim to conquer it. Then, as a check to some- 
 
 L-;se from Ashley. thing very like pleasure, came the question, what, 
 
 '• Oil ! mamma, what must he think of me !" was tliough she had rejected Hubert, did it follow tiiat 
 her first remark; pardon her egotism, pardon she could love him? perhaps, after all, she had, 
 her selfishness, her insensibility, all you who woull from a feeling of womanly pride, released him, 
 have acted differently — for her second was, " I'oor. while she herself retained all her old affection; 
 dear Hubert ! ill, and very ill, I fear, or his p.v- and his noble heart felt sad at the thought ; sup- 
 vents would not have been sent for. And Lau- pose she also should be the victim of an unre- 
 •ette. how ai-e we to learn from her! for lately quitedlove.' 
 
 she has never written to us." 
 
 Distracted with all these conflictinn; emo'.ic 
 
 must patiently bear this suspense; we poor Ashley bitterly reproached the talse reli- 
 
 are always laying Asliley, and Ashley's time 
 much under contribution, that I hesitate to en 
 crouch, or I would entreat him to call at the West' 
 roughs, where Laurette now is." 
 
 ance he had had on himself in having lately so 
 much sought her society. Where was his con- 
 sistency .' where his self-government .' and he 
 determined henceforth that these meetings, so 
 
 '• Oh, di3 — he is always so kind ;" and the first precious, should be interdicted; that the de- 
 question was now again the last. " What will lie [ lightful evenings spent at the Heath should 
 think of me ? how fickle I must appear — and he, l cease. And tiien, with the contradiction so nat- 
 of all people, to know it." ! ural, he asked, wherefore this stern denial of his 
 
 " But why so, Constance .' the truth must be- only pleasure .' besides, his duty as a friend 
 come generally known before long; and I confess [ called liim there, and let the conseciuence be fatal 
 that I think our old friends may hold themselves j as it might to his peace, tliere he would go ; and 
 slighted to be informed of the fact from a third happily for liis overtired state, with this mag- 
 party." ! nanimous and really happy resolution he retired 
 
 " In that case, mamma, use your own wise 1 to rest, and rose tlie next morning with a half- 
 judgment. I give it up. And after all, I believe j saddened, half-joyous anticipation tliat he should 
 I did not fear any one so much as Ashley. You | soon again be obliged to see .Mrs. Templeton. 
 
 Slie, in the mean time, at once made use of tho 
 permission Constance had given, and wrote to iu- 
 
 have no idea how strict and stern he is about 
 promises. Caroline says she is sure he never 
 could love a second time ; therefore he would be 
 ▼ery severe on all caprices and fancies. Perhaps 
 he may despise me for my conduct." 
 
 '• Dismiss all these imaginary apprehensions, 
 my dear child: Ashley, I am sure, will not be so 
 
 form Mrs. Vernon of the exact state of matters 
 between Constance and Hubert, expressing at the 
 same time the anxiety they both felt to hear fur- 
 ther news of the Forresters. 
 
 But time passed, and still no direct informa- 
 
 unjust. A girl of s:;venteen may be allowed to tion reached them. From one of Mr. Morton'.s 
 mistake gratitude .and sisterly kindness for a deep- I numeinus corrL-spondimts lliey learned the sad 
 er feeling without being condemned as fickle and ' history of the death of Beatrice — of Hubert's 
 capricious. I hope, dearest, that you may still { alarming illness— the summons to liis parents. 
 
 some day tell me you agree with those who disbe 
 lieve in seccmd love, even while asking my bless- 
 ing on your more experienced choice." 
 
 '* No. no, mamma," said Constance, shaking her 
 head and still lookingljoth grave and troubled ; 
 while, contrary to her usual anxiety wlien her 
 daughter showed symptoms of depression, Mrs 
 Templeton was rather well pleased to perceive 
 that such was now the fact. 
 
 It was well ior .Ashley that, on returning 
 
 and their arrival ; but no news reached them that 
 at all relieved their anxiety. 
 
 Again, but indirectly, they heard ; this time 
 from Victor Morton, who was on his return to 
 England, after what he termed his lengthened 
 banishment. He had stopped at Naples, and 
 hearing of the .sorrow that had fallen on tlio 
 family of the Duca, he felt sure, from remarks 
 which he had made two years ago. tliat Hubert 
 must bo in some degree a sharer in this grief 
 
 home, he found business of importance awaiting | Victor said that though better, Hubert would 
 him; still, before he did any thing else, he an- i not listen to any propo.sal for his leaving Naples, 
 Bwered Carolines letter, entreating her to obtain j his greatest comfort being the society ol the be- 
 all the inlormation she could from Laurette, and I ro.av«l Duca; that at first he almost fuiiou.ily 
 to let him know the result. He did not feel at I refuatC to see his parents— but happily the tears 
 
172 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 of his mother and the entreaties of his father had 
 prevailed. His letter concluded with an intima- 
 tion that he hoped to be in England shortly after 
 Christmas. " 
 
 This sad account was very distressing to those 
 who, while aware of Hubert's failings, loved him 
 for his many amiable qualities; and when Ashley 
 looked at the tearful countenance of Constance 
 it was with a sharp pang he said to himself: 
 " Ah ! she deceived herself, and little knew how 
 much she still loves him ;" while his manner, 
 which had unconsciously become graver and more 
 reserved, was to her a proof that he classed her 
 among the frivolous and changeable, perhaps the 
 cold-hearted ; and so it sometmies happened that 
 Ashley came and departed without seeing her, 
 and ascribed her absence to her wish to conceal 
 the distress she felt about Hubert. 
 
 Constance had now no difficulty in deciding 
 that she had, at last, clearly and truly under- 
 stood her feelings toward Hubert. She had dis- 
 covered that her dread of Ashley's contempt had 
 a deeper source than she had at first imagined ; 
 it was neither pride nor self-love which had 
 shrunk from his expected censure, and with 
 something like terror she acknowledged to her- 
 self that she loved Ashley Vernon ! 
 
 Ah ! how could it be otherwise .' was he not 
 the constant theme of praise with Mrs. Stacey 
 and Ciretchen.' did not her mother regard him 
 and speak of him as one of the noblest of human 
 beings ? were not the letters they received from 
 St. Petersburg eloquent in his praise ? and did 
 not her own heart echo back again and again all 
 that others spoke and thought .' 
 
 How diiferent was the value .she set upon his 
 approbation from any thing she had ever before 
 prized, and oh ! how infinitely superior did he 
 appear to any one she had ever met. 
 
 " But what will he care for my thoughts of 
 him .' Beyond the kind and friendly manner so 
 habitual to him in his general intercourse, what 
 can I expect ? nothing. Perhaps he has already 
 given his love ;" and at this thought Constance 
 hid her face in her hands and wept. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 "Sho is mine own ! 
 And I as rifli in having siicti a jewel 
 As iweniy seas, il" all llieir band were pearl." 
 
 SlIAKSPEABE. 
 
 At length Laurette heard from Mrs. Forrester, 
 who gave her a long and melancholy account of 
 all that liad happened. Sorrow had broken down 
 the barriers which pride and reserve had raised, 
 and the terms in which she spoke of Laurette, I 
 and expressed her fear that all hope of Hubert's I 
 early return to England was vain, opened the 
 floo'l-gates of that grief which she had so long ! 
 and so stoically repressed. She copied all of Mrs. I 
 Forrester's letters which could interest Caroline, I 
 merely saying, as regarded herself, that the dis- 
 sipation and giiyety attending Lady Anne's mar- 
 riage rendere<l the quiet of Craigalan qiute need- 
 ful ; and assuming that the Vernons were in 
 
 correspondence with her aunt and cousin, she 
 sent a very kind message to them both. 
 
 Ashley took the letter to Mrs. Templeton with- 
 out delay, as he believed that Constance was 
 spending the day with Miss Turner, which, how- 
 ever, proved a -mistake. His manner was so 
 unlike his usual self-possession, that Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton, who had. lately watched both him and 
 Constance with no little anxiety, and who saw in; 
 his looks to-day something that betokened a 
 change of feeling or thought, expressed her fears 
 that he was ill. 
 
 " No," he said, faintly smiling, " not ill, but. 
 ill at ease in mind — restless and unhappy ;" and 
 perceiving the concern her looks plainly ex- 
 pressed, he abruptly added ! " 1 have resolved 
 that this shall terminate one way or the other. 
 Dear Mrs. Templeton, you must see, you must 
 know, that Constance is — that I love her — have 
 loved her for years — have never ceased to do so — ; 
 that, hopeless as her engagement rendered it, 
 still I could not free myself from her influence — 
 that even now, while watching with agony, that 
 can not be told, her distress for another, I think 
 only of her — dream only of her. Heaven help 
 me ! her very sorrow makes me love her the 
 more ;" and overcome with emotion he turned ' 
 away and shaded his face. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton sat pale, and, at first, speech- 
 less ; she was not sure of the state of Constance's 
 feeling ; she could but guess. 
 
 How she longed to say " hope'' to the noble, 
 generous heart whose deep and enduring love had , 
 been shown to her ; how she longed to say, 
 "Take her— to thee I give her freely, fearless- ; 
 ly ;" but if she had mistaken the nature of the ' 
 sentiments of Constance, what additional sorrow ' 
 might she not cause. 
 
 '•Ashley," she at length said, very quietly, and 
 the friendly tone fell soothingly on his quivering 
 nerves, " why not tell all this to Constance her- 
 self .' what makes you think your love so hope- 
 less ?" 
 
 " Because." he replied, with something like 
 asperity, '-she still loves another. She has mis- 
 taken herself, or why this distress, this anxiety ' 
 about Italy .'" 
 
 " You are in an error regarding all this. I 
 am convinced that though a friendly concern, 
 natural to a kind and aftectionate nature, makes 
 Constance sympathize with the Forresters, there ' 
 is no other feeling ; nay, I am convinced that 
 from the very first there has been nothing be- 
 yond deep gratitude for attentions and services 
 when suft'ering and sorrow were under our own 
 roof; if I were not fully convinced of this, how 
 do you suppose I could rejoice, as I truly do, at 
 the dissolution of this engagement ? Listen calm- 
 ly to me," observing that his face flushed and his , 
 looks became more animated; "much, and by 
 far the greater part, of the depression you have 
 remarked, arises from the dread my darling felt 
 that what she persist» in calling her fickleness 
 and indecision had sunk her in your estimation — 
 that you must henceforth think of her as one 
 infirm of purpose and incapable of understanding 
 her own feelings ; the great value she sets on 
 your approbation makes her dread its loss." 
 
 " And Constance could fancy all this!" he ex- 
 claimed, impetuously. " Good heavens ! how I 
 
THK \Y1KKS TllIALS. 
 
 have been misunderstood. Constance, whom I all 
 but worship — what liave 1 said or done to cause 
 this mistake ? Oh ! tell her so. dear Mi-s. Tera- 
 pleton ; let me no longer appear a liarsh censor, 
 when, I vow to jou, 1 think all she docs perfect— 
 yes, perfect." 
 
 " Vou must tell her this yourself, my dear 
 Ashley and receive it as a favorable omen that 
 here she is, and that you have my best wishes for 
 your success ;"' and before he could rejny or pro- 
 test, she went to meet Constance, who had been out 
 with Gretchen. leaving; him in the little boudoir. 
 
 " There is a letter waiting you from Caroline," 
 said her mother, motioning to the sitting-i-oom, 
 •while she went up-stairs to hope and pray that 
 the long-cherished wish of her heart might be on 
 the eve of accomplishment ; for Ashley's love had 
 been discovered by her even before Hubert pro- 
 posed, and it was the superior estimation in wliich 
 she held him that had made her feel keenly dis- 
 appointed when young Forrester was accepted. 
 
 Hastily discarding bonnet and cloak, Constance 
 went forward and opened the door. There stood 
 Ashley : what made Constance feel faint and wish 
 herself far away .' Surely not the siglit of that 
 hamisome face and form — surely not the expression 
 of those splendid eyes : But quickly rallying, she 
 said. " .Mumma told me there was a letter from 
 dear Caroline;"' and eagerly taking it from him, 
 as he silently handed it to her, she began the 
 perusal. 
 
 How he noted the changes of her beautiful 
 counienance as she road — how critically he ob- 
 served that, though sad, she did not look wretch- 
 el— and what a sigh of relief did he give when, 
 t'olding up the letter, she remarked : "Poor Mrs. 
 Forrester, my heart aches for her— and Hubert, 
 too. to have his happiness thus overcast at its 
 early dawn.' This did not sound like the lan- 
 ,2;u;ige of a blighted heart, nor did the sympathy 
 ot her mann.r betoken any exclusively personal 
 feelings; and hop?, wliich had first awoke wlicn 
 Mrs. Templeton spuke, was now felt in every pulse, 
 itather astonished at his silence she looked up, 
 ai.d the eloquent features she gazed at told the 
 whole liistory ; the treasured secret, the jealously 
 guanled feelings of years, were there written as 
 plainly as in a lx)ok. He took the trembling hand 
 that offered h.m the letter, and gently retaining 
 it, said, while his rich voice shook with emotion : 
 
 •' Constance I have loved you for years; I still i 
 love you— must ever love you ;" and growing j 
 bolder, as somcihing in her attitude and tace en- 1 
 couraged his fast inereasing hop-', he <lrew her 
 toward him — " tell me, ' he continued, and tiiere 
 was almost a solenm earnestness in his whole man- 
 ner, " tell nic ; buL oh, tell me not that it is hope- 
 less .'" 
 
 For the second time in her life the sweet face 
 was lud on his siiouller-but not now, as in the | 
 exT.mity of her dcsol ition, to be wiliidrawn pale ; 
 and so. r.jw-stricken ; oh no! n^it .so— .she was fold- ' 
 ed in a luving embnaca to his tricl and true heart, 
 while a distinct but gentle " .No," burst from her 
 lips- -and Tims and his minutes passed unheeded 
 by- 
 
 "Fi>r who with plpnr nrcorint ritnark) 
 Th- .■!)!. inc. .r lii:i Kla-. 
 Wli'-ii all ii- »^ii.|narr- (Iiiunonil fpaiks, 
 Wuicli dazzle u ibcy puaa?" 
 
 Poor Mrs. Templeton, meanwhile, was agitated 
 by the alternations of fear iiml hope, the latter 
 gaining strength as her watch told that an hour 
 had passed since Constance had entered ; fur she 
 justly conjecture<l that a refusal need not occupy 
 more than a few minutes. 
 
 At lengtli she descended, and the first look at 
 the perfectly radiant countenance of Ashley told 
 the tale of successful and accepted love. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Templeton, congratulate mo," said 
 he, leading Constance forward. 
 
 " And who is to condole with me :" she asked, 
 trying to conceal her emotion. 
 
 " You shall never be allowed to need condolence," 
 was his animated reply. 
 
 " I believe you — 1 know that you say well. For 
 years I have hojied for this, even wiien hopo 
 seemed almost madness; I have long read your 
 secret, my son, and siglied to know that you were 
 not happy ; ah ! when shall we learn to wait and 
 trust ^ This blessed day coiiipeasates for all." 
 
 '* May I come again this evening ':" he In- 
 quired, a bright smile lighting up his face as ho 
 looked at Constance, whose arm was affectionately 
 thrown round her mother. 
 
 " If you feel inclined — only if," was her cheer- 
 ful answer ; " but now farewell." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 Must lay her baiaix 
 
 by, anil u»o Iut .iKnr.l." 
 
 iMASSL-fOKB. 
 
 " I AM sorry to disturb and trouble you, air," 
 said .Mrs. Dawson to the Colonel, " but really my 
 conscience will not allow me to keep silent any 
 longer." 
 
 '■ And what has made your conscience so desir- 
 ous of hearing you talk just now .'" 
 
 '• Why, sir, it is rather a long and unpleasant 
 story; but, if you have time, I really should bo 
 very glad if you would listen." 
 
 " Very well," he replied, scarcely, however, 
 removing his eyes from his papers ; " begin ; only 
 remember that / am not your constience, nor so 
 determined to make you break silence; therefor© 
 be brief." 
 
 '* I sliall do my best. Colonel, as I always do ; 
 no one can aceuse me of chatter and gossip" — and 
 as he discreetly made no reply, she proceeded. 
 " Vou remember Kiith, sir, the young ladys-maid" 
 — he nodded—" well, sir, long hefore troublecame 
 upon us so fast and heavy, there were suspicions 
 of her honesty : 1 do not mean that she stole, but 
 there was no doubt of her being leagueil with the 
 low-born enemies of this house, and tiial, tlirough 
 some bribe or another, slie was induce 1 to carry 
 down to that den of— of iniquity — all the news she 
 could collect here " 
 
 " And you arc not far wrong," ho remarke<l, 
 recollecting that it was through her that traces 
 of Helen's tlight had be -n di.-covered. " (io on.'' 
 
 *' Well, sir, before the last dreadful blow waa 
 struck — " 
 
 " Woman ! are you mad .'" ho exclaimed, with 
 blazing eyes and pale face. *' How dare you ?" — 
 
174 
 
 THE wiff;s trials. 
 
 but reading in Mrs. Dawson's astonished and 
 alarmed manner her total ignorance of the literal 
 meaning he attached to her words, he more quietly 
 repsitrd -" go on ! go on !" 
 
 " Vec, 'dr, only I am so fluttered-like. So, sir, 
 just heOre the last blow lell she was dismissed; 
 she cheQ openly went ^o those people, and, to 
 8hor'.,eri iny story, waj turned out by the women 
 there in disgrace and shame, and took refuge in some 
 placj provided for her by >,)ie kindness of Mrs. Sims. 
 You remember Mrs. Sims^ Colonel, the milliner .'" 
 — he assented. '• lluth's wretchel, drunken old 
 father would have killed her had she gone home. 
 I myself, angry as I was, could not let the misera- 
 ble girl perish, so, without consulting you, sir, I 
 have, parily at my own cost, but chietly at yours, 
 helped her."' Another nod. "Mr. Curtis has 
 applied to Cooper, but ha is as hard and brazen 
 as possible, and the woman with him the same ; 
 they will do nothing fov her or the child, but taunt 
 and insult her without mercy. The whole village 
 is astir ; the Revercnl Doctor has even interfered ; 
 and to say the truth, 1 expect mischief will hap- 
 pen if those people do not in some waj' right her, 
 or leave tl.e place. Cooper promised her mar- 
 riage, and tjc poor fcol believed him, and so sold 
 herself to (vork their dirty work and help their 
 base sch-.;ire,s; for I am bold to say. with the rest 
 of our folSj it is mainly through them that these 
 evil days ii-^.ve fallen on the Priory," 
 
 " And what do you, and the rest of our folk, 
 expect me to do .'' I can not make him marry this 
 wench." 
 
 " Dismiss him, sir, and get rid of the whole 
 crew," she said, almost surprised at her own 
 courage. 
 
 " Soon said, but not so soon done." 
 
 " E IS}' enough, sir, if you do but resolve on it ; 
 besides, if they care for themselves, they will 
 re.illy be glad of a hint to dep.irt." 
 
 " In tli:it case," he remarked, as if he mused 
 over her alternative, " I will, perhaps, see about 
 it. And so this girl was the tale-bearer .'" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and through her tales that woman 
 ventured up here, and by her insolence drove 
 away ihat blessed angel ;" and tears started to 
 her eyr s as she recalled the mournful indignation 
 of Constance at this insult. 
 
 " Then she d"^serves all she meets with," was 
 his fierce reply ; " and you, I forbid your sending 
 her a scrap; give it to the hounds rather. Let 
 her starve and die !" 
 
 '• No, sir," she replied, with spirit; "you must 
 forgive me for being disobedient. Visit in the 
 right quarter the mischief and misery, and I shall 
 be gild ; she is now paying the penalty of Aer sin, 
 and wliy should tliey escape."' 
 
 " Porhiips you are right; but they shall not 
 escape." he said, uttering a terrihle oath and vio- 
 lently striking the taljle. " Send Robin with the 
 horses " 
 
 And, followed by the groom, he rode toward 
 tlie village, his brow more gloomy, and he him- 
 self evidently more irritable thfin usual, though 
 he called at several places before he paused at 
 Mr. Cooper's. 
 
 Wliat then and there befell, Ilohin never heard, 
 it bi'ing now cold cnougli for closed doors and 
 v,-in<h)\vs; nor is it well to clironicle the wicked 
 Words of wicked doers — wlien thre;itroused threat 
 
 — when fury opened the prison-house and brouglit 
 to liglit crimes long ago suspected — when r.ige 
 grew careless and gave word to deeds that liud 
 hiilierto been carefully concealed — and when un- 
 hallowed wishes for evil were loudly and fiercely 
 expressed. 
 
 But the result of this was the arrival of Mr. 
 Sloper — the departure of Cooper and Augustus, 
 and, after a while, of Mrs. Captain also, though 
 the house was still kept ready for the latter, w!io 
 occasionally re-appeared on tlie scene. 
 
 A respectable man now assumed the manage- 
 ment of the property ; planting was continued on 
 an extensive scale, and such timely changes made 
 as materially benefited th<» *.enantry, so that the 
 faithful old housekeeper uegan to think that it 
 was not yet too late for sunny times again to 
 shine on her cherished Seabrooke, and that the 
 faces she loved might once more smile there. 
 
 Even her master came in for his full share of 
 her benevolent wishes — 
 
 " O wail ye t,ak a thouglit an' men', 
 Ye uiblins might," 
 
 was often the tenor, though not tlie words, of her 
 meditations ; and vigilantly did she watch for any 
 indications that a cliange had come over his feel- 
 ings toward her beloved lady and the two fair 
 daughters, but alas ! in vain ; while with grief 
 she perceived tliat the habit of indulging in wine 
 became gradually stronger and stronger. 
 
 " There, dear nianinia, you will not have to com- 
 plain of your comp.anionless state any longer," 
 said Constance, as she collected numerous loo.^e 
 sheets of manuscript; "my task is over, I hav.' 
 just written the last word of my translation ; ai 1 
 it only remains to be proved wh.at was truth aii 1 
 what flattery in Ashley's criticism." 
 
 " How so .'" inquired her mother, 
 
 " If the editor should black-ball my contribu- 
 tion, I shall certainly charge him with having 
 lured me on with false pretenses. ,And now, iis a 
 reward for j'our kind help in copying my blotted 
 pages, and your patiently-endured curiosity, I 
 shall tell you what I mean to do with the pro- 
 ceeds — always provided," she added, laughing, 
 " that I am not the girl who reckoned her chick- 
 ens too soon — 1 mean to buy little Is.ibel one of 
 those pretty dresses I saw when I went to town 
 with Miss Newman ; next — or first, perhaps— I 
 mean to buy a capital, easy, self-adjusting spring 
 chair for dear old Gietchen." 
 
 " And so it is this you have been toiling for :" 
 
 " Yes, but it has been really a labor of lov •. 
 Oh! there is a pleasure even in poverty, when it 
 leads to these little acts of self-denial." 
 
 " Dear Constance, you make me laugh, andy.t 
 you are very absurd ; poverty, my child, whatiio 
 you know of poverty .' why, we are ricli — we rank 
 among the wealtliy classes— our little ecrnomies 
 do us good in every way. Oh ! no," .site added, 
 gravely, " in real poverty there is no pleasure ; 
 there may be, there often is, contentment, and the 
 reward which honest industry ever brings; but 
 these spring not from poverty, but tlie successful 
 struggle against it. When you were born, my 
 treasure. J knew what poverty was ; many a 
 restless night, many an anxious day, many a 
 heart-ache, did it inflict on me. When you first 
 saw light, on the border of that lake after which 
 
TITR -^VIFI-rS TRIALS. 
 
 176 
 
 you are nnmed, strnngers tninistcreJ to my wnnts, 
 and I with scarcely a fuint hope of ever being 
 able to repay them; so I left it to Him who has 
 said, •Cast tiiy bread on the waters." " 
 
 Too much moved to speak. Constance sat look- 
 ing with fond reverence on her motlier, who con- 
 tinued : " It was the recollection of ihc ignorance 
 and helplessness against whicli I had then to 
 struggle, the results of my aristocraticeducation, 
 that made me so anxious you and lIcKn should be 
 taught many things not usually carul for by the 
 wealthy. To Helen this has been of the greatest 
 use. And you, my love, in marrying .\shley, do 
 not marry a man of large property, though his 
 profession and private resources will make him 
 quite independent." 
 
 " But Asidey will not listen to me when I tell 
 him he will have a portionless bride." 
 
 ''I do not wonder at that," returned her 
 mother, quietly; "you and Helen are wealth 
 enough for any reasonable man — now do not 
 laugh at your mother's partial folly. Do you 
 expect Mrs. Stacey this evening r" 
 
 " Yes. Mr. Stacey promised to accompany 
 her ; he has compo.sed a graceful little song wliicii 
 she has set to music, and dedicated to her friends. 
 I also expect that he will bring some chapters of 
 tiiat second volume, at the very name of which 
 Mr. Turner always makes a wry face." 
 
 " He is very hard on Mr. Stacey," remarked 
 
 consulting another, by all moans let us use the 
 privilege; if not, let us silently bear it;" and 
 this remark, coming as it ilid from one who en- 
 forced it by the example of her whole married 
 life, was not lost on the hearer. 
 
 Spring had long set in, and though many cir- 
 cumstances kept Constance from sharing very 
 largely in its gayctics, there wore still so many 
 opportunities for availing herself of exhibitions, 
 concerts, and the society of two or three valued 
 friends, that to her, whose life hail been so quiet, 
 it seemed now very much like di.xsipation. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon and Caroline, whose deliglit had 
 been unbounded when Ashley carried, in person, 
 the news of his unexpected happiness, spent 3;)nie 
 weeks at Mr. Morton's, where Victor's arrival in 
 Juno completed their joyful party. Of course 
 Mrs. Templeton could rarely accompany her 
 daughter — -she knew not that, to t!ie grcit sur- 
 prise of all around him, her iiusband hail sud- 
 denly, soon after her depirture, ceased all further 
 pursuit or even inquiry, so that the dread of him 
 and his emissaries still peipctually haunted her; 
 but the peaceful life she now enjoyed, the hapjiy 
 prospects which .seemed opening to her children, 
 and the seeing society so much in accordance with 
 her tastes .and wishes, made her leel that a hap- 
 py calm had suddenly succeeded the many years 
 of storm and gloom which had followed her mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Mrs. Templeton; " and because, under the in- | The more she saw of Ashley, who, no longer 
 fhience of an unusual enthusiasm, he once wrote burdened with feelings it was so difficult and 
 more in a few months than most others couUl painful to conceal, was the life and soul of these 
 
 ive dene in treble the time, he expects him to 
 
 I:^rp up that pace. I sometimes think that, sen- 
 
 I'le and intelligjnt as he is, he makes no allow- 
 
 uicelbr the peculiar temperament, which, I sup- 
 
 iMj,~e, ever accompanies much imagination." 
 
 '• I think, dear mammae you rather mistake 
 Mr. Turner, who is, on the contrary, always 
 ready to make extraordinary concession to poetic 
 influ.nce, and to grant it great indulgencies. It 
 
 happy parties, the more was she certain that witjj 
 him the happlnes.s of Constance was secure. His 
 enlarg?d views on all subjects, his extensive and 
 rare intormatinn, his disp.i.ssonate judgment and 
 refined taste, all rendered him a lit guide to one 
 whose quick percepticn of the beautiful and fas- 
 tidious rejection of all that was not perfect, re- 
 quired the help of his philosophical analysis — 
 one who needetl his comprehensive views to teach 
 
 Mr. Stacey's infatuation for his present style of her to see order and iiarmony where lier impa 
 1 fe which lie ccn.sures as well as laments; he | tient glance had failed to discover them. 
 
 siys that a fashionable, frivolous life of mere gay- 
 ety destroys all that is majestic and sublime in 
 t::ought and feeling; bethinks that its influence 
 les;ructivc to his fine imagination, as well as 
 .iijarii.us to his pecuniary prospects." 
 
 " Probably he is correct," said Mrs. Templeton; 
 " and as we do not come under the head of frivo- 
 li us or fasliionable, I may conscientiously enjoy 
 i.i,^ ple.isuro of his society, especially as his ex- 
 e Uent wile will be gratified by having her share 
 ii it also. 
 
 " I so.metimes think," said Constance, *• it must 
 be rather a trial to Mrs. Stacey to visit so little 
 ill those circles where her husband is so much 
 courted." 
 
 " It shows her rare good sense," replied her 
 mother, " that her friends can only guess at her 
 f clings. Nothing is more dangerous or undigni- 
 lii d than for a woman to make her husbands con- 
 ' act the subject of her complaint and conversa- 
 i n. I believe that people who introduce their 
 ^ rrows or vexations at every visit, end by cntire- 
 the sympathy of thsir best friends 
 
 And spring went, and summer brought its 
 we.ilth of swe.'t scents and beautiful lluwers; and 
 in its turn gave place to autumn's rich and glo- 
 rious sun-.sets and magnificent tints, wh..n cnco 
 more Reginald c;:rnestly pressed Ashley to visit 
 them at St. Petersburg. 
 
 " Go," s.aid (.'oastanco ; " last year we hinder- 
 ed you— and this, I hope, will be your final op- 
 portunity, for Helen confidently talks of a return 
 next spring." 
 
 " Besides. I want your impartial opinion of 
 my little liu-^sian granddaughter." urgetl Mrs. 
 I'emple'.on. " which, according to Helen's descrip- 
 tion, is the most extraordinary child ever born." 
 
 " And she only three daj's old when that dis- 
 covery was made," remarked t^'onstance ; '• poor 
 little thing! I hope he will not find her crushed 
 Ijeneath the load of names which her courtier- 
 like pirents and ducal spon.sors think it necessary 
 to give her " 
 
 " As you both evidently want to get rid of 
 me," said A.shley, " I really tliiiik I .sliall take 
 this opptjrtunity of seeing a city not quite so ac- 
 
 bluntin__, ^ . . . . . .^ . .. 
 
 lile. by be'n':^ dwelt upon, and by coitstaut rep- cessible as Paris, and have tli- l)"n' lit. al."o, of 
 
 Lion, these trials acquire an imaginary promi- seeinf>; it undi-r suiiL iJiYtirable auspices. But I 
 
 uce and intensity. If we can cure an evil by mw.i t.ill ytJii of a circiiuja^tote which occurred 
 
176 
 
 THE \YIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 last night at Basingstoke House, wbere I dined 
 witli several agreeable and distinguished guests — 
 among others, Lord and Lady Hurstwood, and 
 our Iriend Stacey. But my anecdote is for you, 
 Constance, not lor mamma, whose mantle is so 
 large, she throws it over the follies and weak- 
 nesses of every one. 
 
 " Mamma's cars will be shut as long as you 
 desire— and as to the width of her mantle, be- 
 vfare lest it be too scanty to cover the keen satire 
 of Ashley Vernon," was Mrs. Templcton's cheer- 
 lul reply. 
 
 '• Now, Ashley, begin— I am all ready and at- 
 tentive," said Constance. 
 
 '• I was seated," said he, '• nearly opposite to 
 Stacey, who had on one side of him Lady Hurst- 
 wood, and the conversation had turned on several 
 parties which had been lately given in the noble 
 and fashionable world, when some one happened 
 to remark, that he had recently dined at the 
 Marquis of D.'s, and there had had the pleasure of 
 meeting Professor Soames and Dr. Weaver, both 
 men of note in the scientific world, but who ha^ve 
 attained that eminence solely by their own talent 
 and exertion. Upon which, Stacey, with the most 
 insufferable petit maitre air of affectation imagin- 
 able, drawled out, ' Good God ! what will the 
 world come to next .'' and as this exquisite and 
 becoming ebullition of disdain was apparently ad- 
 dressed to Lady llurstwood, fancy her, with her 
 undemonstrative manner and irresistible smile, 
 replying, quite unconscious of saying any thing 
 sarcastic, ' Perhaps you may be invited to meet 
 them !' I caught Stacey's eye, and assure you I 
 found it difficult to keep my countenance as I did 
 
 60."' 
 
 " Excellent," said Constance; " I can imagine 
 Cecilia saying this, and without the least idea of 
 having said any thing severe. Mamma, are you 
 listening, or are you still pretending deafness:" 
 
 " I not only hear, but I see the whole, nor 
 could any one make Cecilia comprehend that she 
 had made any thing but a polite remark. Her 
 good sense, high notions of propriety, and affec- 
 tionate nature make me love and respect her 
 greatly, but as a child, and to this moment 
 she never could readily understand any thing 
 that was not literal; and the way in which Laii- 
 rctte used to perplex her, by her witty allusions 
 and satirical remark.-, often made me smile." 
 
 " But this is not all," resumed Ashley ; " im- 
 agine her coming to Stacey and me and telling 
 us that tliesc very gentlemen were to be at the 
 Dowager Duchess of L-^leford's soiree next week, 
 and offering to have tickets sent to us. Of course 
 I accepted with delight, and so, in fact, did Sta- 
 cey, tliough I reminded him that the consequence 
 would piobably be an introduction to these scien- 
 tific celebrities. 
 
 " ' It is on that very account I am desirous you 
 should be there,' was her ladyship's naive I'eply. 
 ' I tiioiight Mr. Stacey would be pleased to be 
 acquainted with two literary gentlemen whom 
 the Duchess so greatly respects.' Stacey was as 
 ready to laugh at liis folly as I; he is too amiable 
 ever to be ill-tempered or disagreeable; but all 
 this only convinces me that he must take liis own 
 course. I wislicd him to accompany me to St. 
 Petersburg, but he toll me of so many LaJy 
 llobcrts and Lord Johns who would die of ennui 
 
 during the autumnal months, spent in the coun- 
 I try, without his aid, that I could not run the 
 risk of having such a hecatomb of illustrious 
 victims lying on my conscience. 
 I " We shall yet see Mr. Stacey take that place 
 I among men of genius to which his superior tal- 
 I ents entitle him," said Mrs. Templeton. " At pre- 
 ' sent he is not aware of his responsibility to him- 
 self or society. He perpetually reminds me of a 
 cliilil playing with diamonds, unconscious of their 
 value and regardless of their injury or loss ; but 
 ' there is a strain of honorable feeling through all 
 1 his levity, and a generosity with all his selfish- 
 I ness, which make me hope that the day will 
 I come when those who have borne with his folly 
 i and imprudence will be fully repaid." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Templeton, your candor and char- 
 ity make me ashamed of my severity. 
 j '• Xot so, Ashley, I also censure — but it is the 
 thoughtless, shallow society who lure him on ; let 
 him but once be convinced of their heartlessness, 
 let him find that the promises of a snug little 
 place, to quote his own Avords, are of no worth, 
 and we shall see him lean on his own resources, 
 I and then only become aware of" their strength 
 I and value." 
 
 I But A shlcy did not tell all the reasons he had 
 for wishing to draw Stacey out of this destruc- 
 I tive vortex, which was turning his head and 
 hastening him to ruin : he was desirous to keep 
 I him from running deeply in debt, and again in- 
 volving Mrs. Stacey in the difficulties which beset 
 them a few years ago. 
 
 " Another dispatch from St. Petersburg .'" ob- 
 served Mrs. Templeton, as Constance eagerly 
 opened her letter; "Ashley now relieves both 
 Helen and Reginald of all labor in the home de- 
 partment of correspondence. 
 
 " (Jh ! mamma," said she, scarcely lifting her 
 eyes from the well-covered paper, while a smile 
 and a blusli spread over her animated face, •' it is 
 really very kind of Ashley to send us such frequent 
 and long accounts, and I must not have you un- 
 grateful to him." 
 
 " And if I could be so wicked," replied her 
 mother, " you seem always quite ready to supply 
 my deficiencies, though why I am, by my grati- 
 tude, to pay your debts for what is exclusively 
 your own, I do not clearly comprehend." 
 
 " Because incurring the debt ^pakes me so 
 happy." 
 
 " 1 am answered, dear child ; but when you do 
 come to any information that p:trticularly "con- 
 cerns me, let me know, that is all ; perhajis by the 
 time I have written to Lady Grantham, you may 
 have reached that insignificant portion of your 
 pamphlet." 
 
 '• Now, mamma, you are malicious this morn- 
 ing ; so, to punish you, I shall carry my letter and 
 myself away." 
 
 •'I suppose that is called turning the t.ables," 
 ! said she, laughing ; " give me a kiss for furnish- 
 I ing you with the excuse for picking a quarrel, and 
 run away." 
 
 And so she did, with her precious letter. No 
 comparisons now between herself and Helen — no 
 reference now to rtcginald as the complete letter- 
 writer— he was entirely eclipsed, and Ashley in 
 the ascendant. " How could it be otherwise ?" 
 she asked herself—" who could write such delight- 
 
THE WIFF/S TRIALS. 
 
 ful letters as he ? — so affectionate, so intellectual 
 —so gracelul— so" — Lut Vfords aro wuutiug. 
 
 Ih'.ppy, liappy Cons.anco. 
 
 CHAPTEIl hXXV 
 
 Ihiis sh«» stofwl — 
 
 lif: 111 iii:ijcM> ^«.^rMl lif-. 
 
 siuuds; »Utii Urol i wmiM h^r. 
 
 WiNTKR h;id set in, with ifcs gloom and cheer- 
 fulness — its cold and tiros. Melancholy winds 
 howled and niounjU aruun I and aLuu;, but were 
 BL-arcely lizard audd the sound otuurry voices and 
 pleesoiue l.iughter which arosi tVoui ni.iny a hright 
 tireside. But Chr stmas, with its scc.al pari.es 
 .lud I'amdy galhcnngs,had pass.'d away, an 1 chil- 
 dren wiio were overcom ng the cffjc s of turkey 
 .ind twefth cake, now begin to count the days 
 tliat Wore Ldt of iheir hol.Uays ; winle the scn.ors, 
 liavlng recruited from the fat;gue of d.nu «r giv.ng 
 ■■■Aid dune ng, b.g m to count tae cost tliereot, and 
 
 lue of ilum 10 ch.nk they had pa:d too dear tor 
 ir wiiisdj when vJun^ur and ilowoll sent in 
 ilielr b lis. 
 
 At th J I'riory all this was unknown ; there were 
 
 Tio hoUdays— an ill sp n. life njver h is tlum — no 
 
 'imdy ga her;ugs, lor ev.l passions hi 1 driven ail 
 
 way, and soleuiu silence, gloom, anl unhappiness 
 
 : ■ gn in ihe vasi uuJ splendid roou^s of Sjaorooke 
 
 i-ory. 
 
 Mrs. Diwson conSJentially assured Mrs. S'nis 
 ''lat slie re-.illy did nj; think she coul I s:auJ th s 
 ' ate of tii.ngs anot.ier L'hris.mas. Tn.s was the 
 
 •oud wh.cn, according to her es;.mat3. hal been 
 
 i thrown away — lost, i.ke; an I nothing could be 
 . .ji-e dismal than the Lfe her master lei; slio de- 
 ■ arcd he seemed melancholy mad, lell off .n li:s 
 
 od, ani attenied to nothing but the improve- 
 M.ent of the p.oper^y ; thougu that, she sa.d, was 
 '^.1 quite rigU:. 
 
 " It is my opinion," remarked Mrs. S!ms, " that 
 i- is all along of these Coopers; why, she was 
 .\vn hjic ouiy a few weeks ago, and \\h:it for, 1 
 . ould I.ke to Know .' No gooU, 1 am sure." 
 
 "No, indeed,' replied iMrs. Dawson. "And 
 tliink of the assurance of madam — she c.inie up 
 t J the I'liory, and 1 saw, by the Colonels man- 
 !i'jr,that he was all in a secret rage I.ke; she 
 wanted, fuiiooth, to sje the house! — but belore 1 
 would have unlocked the d(;ors for that puipiwe, 1 
 nould have thrown the keys down the well and 
 1 It the pLice forever, though that would be lieart- 
 1.1 caking for me. but, lor once, my master w:us 
 . i -ar r.glit : he said, ' No ! she must wait ;' and, 
 ull in my hearing, went on to say, but very quiet- 
 ly, ' 1 adv.se you to be patient ' " 
 
 " Why, goodness me. Mrs. Dawson !" exclaimed 
 I; r friend, " sure there is no mean ng in tho.se 
 ^ '.rds:' anl she looked so express. vi-ly at her, 
 'hat liie old l.dy f.lt s'.ck an I fa nt, na a vague 
 t rror po-s^SjC I her witli a {'.limpsc of the tru h. 
 
 " Oh, no; ' she said, in a vo.ce that shook w.th 
 
 Tidignation and alarm; "he never could b« so 
 
 ,.;i.se as all that. If 1 thought it— but it is impoi- 
 
 ^;l,lu !"_and sac fell into a lit of musing that wa3 
 
 U 
 
 not dispelled when Mrs. Sims, heaving a deep sigh, 
 or railior groan, remarked, " Well, well, ihoao 
 who l.vc the longest w.U .see. 
 
 Daw^ons account lell lar short of the reality. 
 Colonel Teaipieton had said, '• Kv.l, be ihoii my 
 good!' amine must abide by his choice I'lov- 
 idencj ever v.nd.cates its ways, though m.n .a-o 
 olteu too 11 nd to see it. 
 
 '■ Have you any idea whetlier Mr. Morti n Is at 
 the Ucrmiiage .' he inquired one duy of the houoo- 
 keper. 
 
 '• 1 rather think he is, sir. Robin saw his black 
 servant yesterday, and he said h.s master was e.\- 
 pected, 1 buppo;;e,s.r, you know that, young .\lr. 
 Alor.on is to many .M.ss Vernon this spring .■• it 
 has been a long engagement. ' 
 
 *' 1 heard oi it some time ago. Will they live 
 here .'" 
 
 " At Bridge-end, I .am told, sir ; Mr. Morton is 
 having the puce laid out in grand order.' 
 
 " On : he IS the purchaser of Bridge-end .'" ob- 
 served the Colonel. 
 
 " i OS, s;r , an 1 I am told that the young ladies 
 are com.ng to the llectory in the course oi a lew 
 weeks, iou never saw inein,i th.nk, s.r." 
 
 " No ; it w.is altogether a s.upid mat.er, man- 
 aged oy ihal scoun a-cd Cooper, lor the pu)p(.,se, I 
 boi.eve, of muk.ng a quarrel. However, i must 
 break ihe ice now myself, as I want to turn tao 
 road by the Uerniiiuge, and change a p.cce of 
 gioun ;, whth, 1 tind, 1 can not Uo w.u.ou. iho 
 consent of ihe otcupan. — always some coiUouudod 
 impediment iii my way ! ' he mut.ercd. 
 
 .And .11 lurdier.inLe of h s oljecc he set cut to 
 make his hist visit at the Hermitage s u.e .Mr. 
 .Morten iia 1 oeen ilie tenant. 
 
 Un arr.v.ng. he was ush.red into a em ill room, 
 com. or .ably arn^ngM as a library, wnere he was 
 Lf- to remark at leiburo the many s n-ulir and 
 foreigii-.ti^lving tbj c s which loiined p.i.tof the 
 lurn.iure, all ev.cknJy choice and rare. Lngaged 
 I in the &ui Vey, wh cli in.orested h.iii, ana made 
 ! h.in unions. .ous of the tlight of time, he walked 
 fiom one oLjc^ to ano her till he ajpioaJiel a 
 door, wh.ca, he icuKniber.d, led to ine largest 
 room thelleiiiii.ag; conta.ned. Th.sstood already 
 more haa half open; anl though really too well 
 bred to have intiuded, under oidinary c.icum- 
 stanccs, he may be pardoned for now pus.i.iig it 
 Wide open, as tne part.ai glance sliowea tiie lur- 
 niture of th.s room to be cos. ly and cur.ou.i .n .l.o 
 ex.rcme. lire wliole arrangemeiu was so un i.n- 
 gl.sh, it so vaguely anl fa.n ly rem.nded h.m if a 
 shadowy something connected with ycais Icng, 
 long gene by, that nc so far forgot him -.elf as lO 
 en.er. 
 
 D.rctly opposite the wide b.ay window, an im- 
 proveincn; oi .\lr. Mor.on s, hung a large, (juaint- 
 ly-carveU fr.ime, cvidcndy encircling a pa n..ng; 
 but though the general etiect of the lumKurc uaa 
 gay, as well as ricli, and the chintzes and hang- 
 ings of a cheerlul hue, this was covered w.ili a- 
 black velvet turta.u, heavy with deip Lull.oa. 
 fringe. 
 
 Urged on by an irresistible impulse, with a faco- 
 from wh.ch every vestige of color had tie I, wi.h a 
 step that desperation had remlered lirm, l.u. with 
 a irembLng hand, he drew aside the thick, black 
 folds. 
 
 A cry, as from one in the extremity of tLnor 
 
178 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 and agony, burst from his lips ; the velvet dropped 
 from liis nerveless grasp, and, like one who collects 
 all his strength for some great cllort, he stagger- 
 ed into the adjoining room, and fell heavily on the 
 carpet. 
 
 \\ hat ghastly object had met his view .'—what 
 hideous and appalling semblance had, as it were, 
 Idasted his sight ? Could that lovely, smiling face 
 Strike terror .' Could those loving eyes dart dag- 
 ger-looks .' Could those young lips, '• parted with 
 virgin breath,"' utter words so fearful that the 
 listener would stop his ears and pray for deafness ? 
 Ah ! no ; but 
 
 " Cniiscieno- lialh a thousand ceveral tongues, 
 Ami fvery tongue brings in a st-veral i:iIh, 
 Ami eviry toli; cuiiilenius nu; for a villain!" 
 
 When Colonel Templeton recovered, he was in' 
 the small library ; and glancing fearfully around, 
 as he struggled to recall his recollection of what 
 had passed, he was relieved to see that the door 
 of the room which contained an object so full of 
 terror to him w.is shut, and the Af-ican servant 
 ^f Mr. Morton engaged in bathing his hands and 
 temples. 
 
 " Ah ! he do now — ^he look round," remarked 
 the sable nurse to another person, the woman who 
 had admitted him, and wtio, thinh.ng that her 
 master was still at home, had gone in search of 
 him, and thus given time for the Colonel s survey. 
 
 " 1 am quite well now," he said, having listened 
 to this explanation, without understanding a word 
 that was uttered. '• A sutlden dizziness to which 
 1 am subject — that is all — I will see Mr. Morton 
 another t;me." 
 
 " Strange — unaccountable— what brought it 
 there :' he half audibly muttered as lie wal'cxl 
 .home. " Yet it is not the original painting — can 
 I be mistaken .' I can not — 1 can not — the same 
 <i;ingular sort of frame — the ring, the fan. Great 
 Vlodl what does it all mean .' alive, yet dead — ^in 
 England — fool, coward that I Avas not to know 
 oiore !" and he paused, as if to retrace his steps, 
 but the shiver that shook him from head to lout 
 forbade the effort, and as he walked on, the clear, 
 sharp air revived both body and mind. 
 
 " After all," and he tried to call up a scornful 
 smile at his own weakness, but the attempt was 
 ineffectual — after all, it may be but a copy prized 
 ior its exquisite lovehness — as well it may be," he 
 addjJ with a groan; "it must, it shall be so — 
 anl thosj sketches in the portfolio arc copies of a 
 ■ci.py ;■' and endeavoring to reassure himself by 
 this supposition, his first act, when he rea'.hed the 
 i'riory, was again to examine the portfolios, with 
 the ■contents of which he had become well ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 Vcs, there it was, that most lovely face ! 
 
 All day the remembrance of what he had seen 
 rose vividly before him; at night, the portrait 
 haunted his dreams : yet not this, but one fuU- 
 lenyth, which he scorned so plainly to recognize, 
 tha^, the very room iu which he had first beheld it 
 was, as it were, aroun I him — and there, in one 
 partieuTar spjt, is the portrait. No, not so, it is 
 alive, it moves— it looks at him, and he feols him- 
 self shudtl'jr before the steadfast gaze of those 
 large mournful eyes— again it changes — it fades 
 — it is gone -and the frame contain.s u blank, over 
 which slowly falls a heavj' black pall, and he 
 awakes. Heaven be praised ! it is but a dream ! 
 
 It is one, however, from which he is not rei 
 freed ; in the broad daylight, it is there— it Vialks 
 by his side, it sits at his table— it mingles with 
 his every thought — it interferes with all his occu- 
 pations — it never leaves liim. 
 
 Worn out, excited, and feveri.sh, driven half 
 mad with the perpetual presence of this specter of 
 his consciencq, wliich had haunted him during the 
 whole day, he hoped to find relief in sleep, and 
 drained glass alter glass to insure its soothing iu- 
 iluencc. 
 
 At length he ascended the stairs to gain his 
 room ; but as he raised his eyes— there, at the 
 top — in the corridor, stands this smiling terror ; 
 it seems to pause at the door of his daughter's 
 sitting-room, which he had never enteretl since 
 Constance left him ; and here he loses sight of his 
 shadowy persecutor. Kendered desperate, he 
 bursts open the door, but recoils with a loud cry, 
 for there, in the space which he well remem- 
 bered — ah ! had he not cause — there, where the 
 portrait of his ill-used wife stood — now in her 
 j place, was this mysterious visitant ; once more a 
 loud cry resounds through the desolate htmse, and 
 is heard by the alarmed Mrs. Dawson and his own 
 j servant. 
 
 They hastened toward him, and found him like 
 1 one entranced, gazing with looks of horror on the 
 , blank pier from which Constance had removed 
 I her mothers portrait, having, however, left the 
 frame. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson was the first to rally ; she took the 
 candlestick from his trembling and unresisting 
 j hand, and beckoning to his servant to follow, led the 
 way to his looin ; then desiring to be fetched 
 , when he v.'as in be<l, she gave him a composing 
 j draught, and quietly took her station by tlie fire, 
 t.'omrary to Iks usual custom, he was passive un- 
 j djr this treatment, and veiy soon fell into a re- 
 [ freshing sleep, ivhich lasted till late the next day. 
 when he arose calm but languid, and ple.'iding fa- 
 tigue declined an incervicw even w.ln his agent; 
 I and, under one pretext or another, kciit .Mrs. 
 ' Uawson with him the greater part of the day. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 " Jaffier. Now, tlianlc IIo;iven ! — 
 I'ieire. 'I'liauk ll.iivtn! tdrwiiat? 
 JaJJUr. That I'm iiui worm a .nod 
 
 Preserved. 
 
 " This is very painful news, Constance," said 
 Mrs. Templeton, handing her a note 
 
 " Very sad, indeed; what can be done .'" 
 
 " Go at once, my dear, and see if Mr. Stbpscl 
 be still at home Hark! I hear his voice ; run 
 and ask him to step here.'" 
 
 " We have had very bad news from our friend 
 Mrs. Stacey," she said as he entered ; " a seizure 
 for debt, and we can not tell what we had better 
 do. Vou would greatly oblige us if you could 
 call there before you go to business." 
 
 "Of curse, madam, I will." 
 
 " Thank you ;" and having hastily di.sniissed him 
 with the message, she and Constance looked at 
 each other for a few minutes in silent dismay. 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 17» 
 
 " Can you asccrtnia fic*m the note wlicre Mr. 
 ijtacey is ?" 
 
 " lin'.oed, mamma, it is so incoherent, I can 
 r.iit, but I expect he is at home, and that it 
 ■i her alarm on his accouat which has so excited 
 .jr." • 
 
 "The best tliina;," said Airs. Templeton, " will 
 • ' for me to go with Cuotchcn, and see how m.attcTs 
 ivilly are. ,So far as 1 can help tliem, it shall 
 ' ■ done at once; but J fear the little 1 can im- 
 .L'diatcly otter will be of no use; let us hold a 
 lusultation of ways and moans witli Grctchen. 
 I here is no doubt but that we CJin give coni- 
 lurtable shelter to Mrs. !:>tacey and her little girl."' 
 
 "Oh! easily, dear mamma; there is Helen's 
 c >t will do beautifully for Isabel, and a small bed 
 ' lu be contrived in the same room for her mother ; 
 liut you may leave that to me, while you go and 
 .'. e what funds you have." 
 
 But, alas ! the funds were low, for this was to- 
 ward the middle of February ; and Mrs. Tcniple- 
 ;i n, for the first time since she leXt the Priory, 
 i'Ai lh;it islie was p)or. 
 
 When she reached the Staccys, she found all 
 fh'?re distress and confusion ; poor Mrs. Stacey 
 ! ked the very picture of woe, nor did he look 
 luch better; while to all the sorrow that liis 
 V- I'c felt, was added, in h's case, the coiwcious- 
 i: ss that Lis imprudence, follj-, and vanity had 
 J .' 1 to this catastrophe. I 
 
 Mrs. Templeton had soon ascertained that her 
 ;i 1 would scarcely lessen the ditli.-ulty ; for if the 
 !u;it were paid, other claimants would become im- 
 lortunate, and press forwawl with bills to a very 
 I uinous amount. 
 
 The landlord, who was by no means one of those 
 'Irauiatic, stony-hearted roonsicrs who seU the bed 
 t.'id turn the wife bonnetless and .shocle.«.s out of 
 'iuors^ li.stened respectfully to Mrs. Teiupleton's 
 ) .oposals that lie should take that part of liis debt 
 . ;iich her me&us cnaLled her to di.si-harge at 
 lice, and wait till an arrangement could be eifect- 
 ' I by which all could be ck-ared off. ' 
 
 '• I am really very sorry, raaam, to seem harsh, 
 'i.ut I and my family depend chietty on my rents. 
 Upward of half-a-year is due. Mr. .Stacey will 
 <i-.vn that I have always been patient." • 
 
 " I do,'' said Stacey, thus api).;aled to. " My dear ' 
 >\rs. Templeton, let the law take its course — it is 
 
 It j^l^t; and were I the only one punlKhed. I 
 lould say no matter how s.vere the penally. But 
 / really dues cut me U> the heart to sec mjj Wife 
 .•.;il child liomelcss throu:^'! my folly." 
 
 •■That they shall not be for one moment," in- 
 terrupted slie : '• all is ready for them at our cot- 
 I ige ; my daughter expects tliem, and Isabel will at 
 I .ICC return with Ciretchen. I shall remain, and 
 ^■•e how I can serve Mrs. 8tjxcey." 
 
 Quite overcome, he buricl lii.s face in hi.'^ hands 
 •.iid sobbe'l, while his wife, attempting to comfort 
 liim, wept aloud. Mrs. Templeton and the land- 
 )(!i-d left them together. 
 
 " Unfortunately." she said, "this gontleman'a ' 
 b -M friend is out of town, and probaldy will be 
 -inay for two or t!:rec days. UuJcss others come 
 forward, what will be the consequLuce .'" | 
 
 " Why, if otiiers press for tlieir money— and I 
 '■/ hear it is to the tune of some hundreds— my 
 .1 Ivice would be, go at once to prison." Mrs. 
 r.;iJiploton started. " Why, 'yon see, madam, =t 
 
 will be much better than to .r.vur tLo expense of 
 a lock-up house." 
 
 Disheartened at this prospect she returne<l. and 
 found Mrs. Stacey, woman-like, still engaged in 
 the task of consolation. 
 
 " I have decided on taking the only cour.=<o now 
 left me," said .Stacey ; " 1 give myself and all 
 up." 
 
 " But not before you have applied to j'our 
 friends. Ashley will be in town in a few days." 
 
 " And were he now here, not with my consent 
 should ho be involved ; there is no one to wlnm, 
 ■\vith the least propriety or self-respect, I could 
 send. Lister has already advanced mo upward 
 of two hundretl pounds; .Mr. Moore has been so 
 annoyed and vexed at my procrastination, that to 
 him I could not turn, if I would : no, this time 1 
 must take wliat 1 have earned. y\y poor Susan, 
 do not look so sad. I know ii)tliing is loss to bo 
 depended on than n. promise made in my circum- 
 stjiiices, but I feel very strongly that, only let me 
 work myself out of this, and it shall be my last 
 scrape. ' I have seen at last, 1 hope," he added, 
 with bitterness, " that I was not courtefl for my 
 sense— but for my folly ; not for my wortli — but 
 my worthlessncss ; the draught is unpalatable, but 
 if I swallow it bravely, it will prove wholesome." 
 
 And the next day, bidding his wife clieer up 
 and hope for a perfect cure, this imprudent man 
 of genius folded his gay pinion.s for a while — f »r 
 of what use would they be in a prison ? 
 
 This time Stacey learned what the in.sidc of a 
 prison really was. 
 
 Ashley, who wa.s unexpectedly dctaine<l at Cam 
 bridge, wrote to Mr. Turner, requesting him to 
 act for him, and frea .Stacc}' ; but he received 
 such a letter in reply, as convinced him that that 
 rigid respecter of cause and effect would not ii- 
 terlere with the natural course of wiiat he called 
 a beautiful arrangirncnt ; and though at first 
 vexed, and inclined to h'i anijry r.t the Oato-like 
 severity of the ol 1 law ycr, on rc-perus-ng his letter, 
 Ashley felt that Mr. Wrncrwas right ; indeed, it 
 was useless to think oth'rwise. for till he could 
 personally interfere, he knew that he must per- 
 force remain pas.<ive. 
 
 Directly he returned he went to the Heath, 
 and from Mrs. Tempi '.ton loarne«l ::11 particulars. 
 .Stacey had given a list of his debts, and, withnut 
 including Mr. Listers, they amoun'.ud to nearly 
 SIX hundred pouii Is. 
 
 " .Mr. Turner," .said she, " who has in ft very 
 friendly manner callcl here abotit the affair, h.i.s 
 convince<l me that his seeming harshness is I ut 
 kindness in d.sgul-«;. Mr. Moore ai.-irces with 1 iiu 
 — though I really I.eliove tliat if a thou.s:.Md 
 ponnds would at ouce and jicrmanontly bring Mv. 
 Stacey to his s.^nse8, it would be clK-orfully given. 
 The latter, at first, would not hear of the sale of 
 his effects, but his sturdier friend says, let the law 
 tajce its course." 
 
 "Just like him." sjiid Asldoy ; " /e roy fr 
 veult ; and yet I know tliat he is thinking how 
 he can be kind as well as wise at the same time; 
 but still I shall try and break a lance witli hin.." 
 
 And Ashley did, 1)ut — was lieaten. 
 
 "Now listen to good sens!," said .Mr. Turner; 
 " this is the second time since his marriage that 
 he hiis been in a similar lifliculty ; nov/ lot him 
 suffer — thi" ia his own view of the uia.ier. It \a 
 
180 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 from no morbid spirit of martyrdom — from noth- | 
 ing uiigratetul or ungracious, but at prasant he , 
 decidjJiy d-cl.ncs the lulp ot his irlenas. I h we 
 eejn h;iu, an. I lor the tirsc timu he has impressed i 
 rae with a favorabL' opiu.on of his sonse. 1 IJnd, 
 also, tha; ha has n^j coiucuipabb store of what | 
 lie calls fragments— these he is now busily ar- | 
 ranging. Lcc him tiul how tar he can help him- 
 self , it will sirengtueu sellu-cspect and self-re- 
 liance." 
 
 " 1 own that you are quite right ; but I own, 
 also, that I shrink from tiic idea of this bright 
 8Jij;.ng-bird shut up in so dark a cage." 
 
 "Tuoh! nonsense! he will sing all the better 
 and the stronger when he coaus out; besides, 
 he will have grown wiser, an. I will not suffer him- 
 self to be caught so agam.' 
 
 As.iley laugaed, and then went to visit Stacey; 
 and liad he felt any sentimental grief on his ac- 
 coun:. the appearance anf conversation of the 
 
 prison J 
 
 wouii have cured him. 
 
 Not because S:acey was gay, or callous to his 
 degradation. On the contrary, he lamented his 
 cuuiition, but in an honest, manly tone, reserv- 
 ing all his sympathy for his wile, of whom he 
 spoke widi the most respectful alfection, and re- 
 ferred, almost wuh tears of grat.tude, to the 
 kindness of his real and stcrl.iig friends. lie 
 alsj talked of the coUecaon he was makmg of his 
 patcii-work p.eces, hopiuj by their sale to realize 
 a gum that, by lessai.ng his l.ab.litics, would 
 eneourage h.m to p..'rjevere and resUiiie the great 
 work— tae complet.on of tiie memoirs, lie frank- 
 ly avowed his uisl ke to his present situation, but 
 decl.n.!d ail attempt to free lum by any help but 
 his own. And Aihley left him, with a s-rong 
 conv.ci/.on r.sing in h.s mind, that this w .s the 
 crisis in tjtaeey s moral and mental health, and 
 an abnost equally strong hope that he would 
 come out of it luliy cureil. 
 
 CHAPTEIl LXXVII. 
 
 " The giwl* are jii"!. ami nf o;ir pleHSiint viei o 
 M.iku ii.slrmiieiilj lo scou ge uo." Lear, 
 
 Two days were passed by Colonel Tempbton in 
 a state of inactivity an, I d.pression, quite contrary 
 to hiS general habits, bur.ng that time iMrs. 
 Dawson was frequently witli him; she brought 
 lier knitting at his desire, and, altjr she had 
 prepared his evening cilLe, rema.ned for, per- 
 liapi, an hour, oaeoi.r.ige I by him to chatter on 
 the thenij most pl.-as.iui ti her — lorinjr days at 
 the I'r.ory, when all wi.o so happy, and when the 
 master was so gond. ooinetuiies he appeared 
 really to listen to her, a^ o hers lie was cviden.ly 
 lost m his own tliougli.s; anl when she was not 
 with him, s le conjeutuiod, from various remarks 
 made by h s new agent, that hj was occupied in 
 lo<.ikii)g over and arraiig iig h.s pipjrs. 
 
 On the third mjrn.ng, alter breakfast, during 
 which he scarcely tioic more than a cup of cotfce, 
 Mrs. D.iwson reiuiikcJ, "I fear, s.r, you are 
 not very well— perhaps u little advice from Mr. 
 Curtis—" 
 
 15 at he stopped her, saying, "lie must advise 
 
 an opiate, then, for I liaTe not closed my cyei; 
 the whole night;" nor was it likely that s^lrep 
 could have visited him wdien his mmd was agi- 
 tated by the many harassing recollections in 
 >Yliicii he had voluntarily indulged; for a sud- 
 den thought had tlie previous evening struck 
 him— he had followed it up, till it led to a deter- 
 mination of great iiuport.ince. ; 
 
 lie felt sure that, liy >onic me.tns, Con.stnnco ' 
 could give him a clue liy wiiicli a strange inter- 
 tereiice, of many years' duration, could he traced 
 to its source — by which, perhaps, he could freo 
 himself from the trammels that had hiinpered 
 almost all his niovemenis and |din.s He would, 
 therefore, write to Lord Gram ham — put himself 
 in his hands — so that he niiglit agiin have Con- 
 stance witii him, if not j erpetu.iUy— tliai per- ■ 
 h-ips was e.\pect.ng too much— but as an ouc:i- 
 sioiial gUfSD. as a couip.mion, as a comforter. 
 Tills purpose it w.is thai had driven away both 
 sleep and rest; and as a good prepiration, ho 
 said, the next time Dawson entered, " I should 
 like that piinting wliicli hangs over the piano in 
 the west su.te, removed to my bedroom i" but 
 but he did not lift his eyes from a hook which he 
 held — '• have it done at once, if you please." 
 
 " Ceita.iily. sir.' .she repl.ed, while her mental 
 remark was, •' now. giodiie.-s lie prai>ed fur that 
 — who knows what ii niny lead to ? and if these 
 two beautiful faces are not reaily to look at liiin, 
 the iie.Kt time he g..es into his room — my name ia 
 not Elizibeth Dawson." 
 
 And in imisu ince of this prompt obedience, 
 the frame containing the portraits of his daugh- 
 ters Was removed ; liut as he had not said whera 
 it w;is lo he hung, she had it carefully placed on, 
 a portfolio-stand looking toward the head ol iho 
 bel. 
 
 While this was being done, he had ordered hia' 
 horse, resjlvctl to go .at once to the Hermitage,' 
 and try to learn how it was that a painting, 
 wliicii had so teaifuliy e.Kcited him, had come 
 into the posses-ion of i\ir. Mortun. Though soiuo 
 days had passed ."-inoe that memorable evening, 
 when the s-orpi(m siings of conscience and re- > 
 morse had driven him almost mad — and though' 
 there had been no return of iliar frightiiil pirox- 
 y.~m — iliere h id been hut little peace of mm 1 for 
 liim. He w.aild n.iw seek every means of solving; 
 the mystery which, not now f r ihe tirst tiine,^ 
 had loroieiued him, but wiiich, for t<-n or twelve 
 J ears, had iiiet and ojipcs d him ,at every turn. 
 Let the consequences t>e what they might, he 
 Wi.uld br.ive and endure iheiii — nothing could be 
 to iiisupporiabh! as ihs hiuiuing secret 
 
 If IVlr. Morton shoul I prove unable to inform 
 him of any t.iing. he mg.it, from liis e.xiensive' 
 acquaintance atul kno.vleilge, he able to help his 
 r.searcli. Bat whetlier ;ii home or n<)t — once' 
 more he would see that portrait — would look at 
 it quietly, if that were puss. hie, anil noie nil the' 
 p .WKS of resemblance, so as to feel sure that it 
 was actually a copy of one which he well re- 
 membered. 
 
 " It is very coM, sir," siid Mrs. Dawson, who 
 must have sotue hii>g to watch over and take 
 care of ; " and you h.ive Hot your great-coat oa.", 
 
 " All ! I forgot it — you are ri'4lit, it is verj 
 cold," he replie I ; and sue noticed that he sliiv- 
 ered and looked deadly pale as she Jielpcd him tc 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 181 
 
 j;tit it on, while, spife of the d'AFerence which ex- I " Send to the Rectory, and on? of you start off 
 pressii'n alw.iy.s givc^, there wns ii i-oiiu-iliing in for Dr. G. I must hav'.- hjlph.TC, ' were tiielirst 
 the e.vejj and >t3le of tlie face that piiufully re- j directions of Mr. lurtis. Furth.-r cxam'.natioii 
 
 tainted her of Cuiistanee. 
 
 *■ Mr. Morten is not at home, sir ; we expect 
 him ihis evening, ' said the servant. 
 
 " In th it ca.se 1 will alight and leave a note ;" 
 and, precedeii by the womaii, !;e oiico more tn- 
 tered the small Suok-room — when mIic began ofli- 
 ciou.sly to anange wni ng materials. 
 
 proved that his sk llfiil eye had not exaggerated 
 the cas2, and when Dr. <i. arrived, he looked u5 
 grave and anxious as his coaijutor. 
 
 In reply to Dr. Vernon he answered : " It is 
 impossible to say at onjo what is the extent of 
 injury — or the imminence of the danger. As Col- 
 onel Templeton is unable to give direction.s, you 
 
 It is rati.er d^irk here," lie observed; and had better do all that is requisite— and be pre- 
 she, e.iger to pay him respect, opened the door \ pared lor any emergency." 
 
 of tiie uext room — i/iat room — uud wheeled a I And as Dr. Vernon thought the mo-st requisite 
 writing-t:ible iu o the w.de buy step was to .•summon Mrs. 'I'empleton and Cou- 
 
 •'Tii.iuk you, 1 will leave the note here •," and I stance, he immediately rcqucstetl his wife to uii- 
 he proceeded to wme, and actmdly continued to ' dertake the painful ta.sk of bringing them, while 
 do BO :ifier she had left. The note w.ks very con- j he remaine 1 to wa'ch over the sutlercr. 
 cise; he folded it carefully — lighted a taper, and j A fracturel limb was at once dLscovcrcd ; but 
 firmly pressed his siguet-nng on the w.ix. i it was feare<l that other and more dangerous in- 
 
 *• And now,' he .said, wiiile liis heart beat [ juries had bsen received, which they could u )t yet 
 loudly an 1 painfully. He had never once turned ascertain ; for ho never spoke, but deep groans 
 Lis eyes low.nd the pbice— but he knew that ir ] broke forth when any attempt was made to movo 
 was there! He s epiie 1 forward, and w.is con- J him. Before the next morning, however, internal 
 pas-ed over his 
 
 6C10US that a ciMii-e pas-ea over ii;s i.iee, as 
 slowly, but. w.th a tirm h.iud, he removed the 
 velvet foils. 
 
 Yes— glorious in its almost girlish beauty 
 there it w is — and the ant. que ring on the l.iper 
 finger — and the fm, look ! it is the same. Aii ! 
 anu that smde, not .ihout liie mouth oidy, liut 
 over the whole oi the faultless tace. He wrung 
 his h.iuds m agony ; he pi es.^ed them over his 
 eyes, to shutout tne leniembrance td the injured 
 origiual- still the sweet smile was theic— he 
 shed scalding testis, and it smiled on. *'.My 
 God! my GoJ .'"' he cried, '• she is dead, and my 
 cruelty killed her! — wrelcii ! luouster thit I 
 
 hurt was discovered : and the joint opinion was, 
 that the worst rc.-^ult was to be apprehended. .\a 
 consciousness returned, so did sensibility, so did 
 sutfering, for every breath seemed to be drawn 
 with agony. 
 
 Mrs Vernon, who, during her rapid journey, 
 had had time to think of all that iiad better be 
 don?, ('.■■eided upon trying to secure the attcn lanoa 
 of one of the first suigeons of tlu' day. This she 
 was iiappily enabled to do ; sj that, before she 
 saw Mrs. Temideton. .she had the satisf ictitn of 
 knowing thnt he and his a.ssistant were already on 
 their way to the Priory. 
 
 The d stress of Constance, on learn'ng thu 
 but ihuu — thou art bitterly avenged;" and dreadful cause of Mr.s. Verneus visit, was at first 
 again lie gazed at it, till his eyes saw nothing for overwhelming; how often ha'lshe and her mother 
 the tears tnat, bl n led iht-m — an I, leveiMitly i talked over the past, and s<jmetinies ven'.ured to 
 closing the curtain, he bowei h.s head, and leit ' tpoculate on the time, when some of its bitter of- 
 the TiMUi ! fects having passed away, the .spirit of repentance 
 
 The servant appeared to receive his message; m=ght alight on one heart, and agan p.-rmit of 
 but the Colonel w.is so deeplv plunge 1 in thought I forgiveness and peace ; and when.onei- more, they 
 that she d.d not hl;e to .-pe'.k; and slowly, and j might see their loved— their beautiful home, llow 
 
 with a. 
 
 :ult\ 
 
 Ijis horse, he lode 
 
 away. 
 
 ilis mood MfAi so striinge, that P.obin, more 
 than ouee, rode by his s.de, w.tiiout being rep- 
 rimanded; and thus they proceeded till they 
 
 were they now summont-d .' Not by the holy spirit 
 of peace and love, but because the angel of death 
 was hover.ng ovtr it. and bjcauae piin racked the 
 body, and ev.l passions the m nd, of its owner. 
 Mrs. Templeton. though pale wh le listmng to 
 
 reaciiea a genie sh.pe. wli.eh terminated very I the recital of this f jarful accident, was c ilm and 
 ni;ar to the I'riory t.rr.ice. At t..i.s (oint. Hobin collected— CLipable of making all thenecesiary ar- 
 eaw nis master pre-s his ban is together, and rangcments lor their iinmed. ate d. pirtnre. How 
 then wddlv to-s iheui above i.is hea-J, wliile a ' could it Ijc expected that she should fed niitcra- 
 cry broke irom him Tlie bridle fell an I tou.hed blc, and incapable of l.stening to re: son •' For 
 the horse. Which started aU'l ^tumbled, for the years her heart h:id been cru>h.d—tran.pled on— 
 ground was slippery tiom a Febru iry frost, and | till nothing remained for the cherished iMil cf her 
 the C^loiul. withi.ut the It-iusi atciopt to save I youth but the sentiments of humtuiity which would 
 himself, fell heavily on the haid ground. have been rouswl for almost any sullcrer ; and not 
 
 "Help! help!' shout, d the gr<x*m. at i lie for a moment did she hesitate about obeying Dr. 
 pitch of hiS voce; hapjulv he was heard by two ' Vernon s desire for her presenee. 
 men Working in the grounds. " .Mr. ( urtis ! .Mr. | Painful as it wius to her, under circumstances 
 Cuts! l.tch him ai once, mount my horse!" was 'so shocking, :o make even a mental allusion to 
 th-; .-ens ble onier of Kob.n, to one of them. His | past scenes, she felt that she must trust hor caiwe 
 uiasler lay mo.ionlei's '• ^uiek ! f.-i. h a sofa, a ! to Ccnstunce, unles.s repiils -d : and this she hardly 
 niatiress any thing we en lay him on;" he] expected; her jdaee was by hr father's be<Lside, 
 stooped to move h.ni, a groan gave a sign of life, and she wept to think that a pn 
 
 ihibiti 
 
 die did 
 
 pan of his dress was loo.-ened, and by the time not e.vpect was almost certain to await lier mother, 
 they had gently and carefully raised him, Mr. I When they arrived they were met by Da^-^.n. 
 - -^ 'who received them with the first cheerful look which 
 
 Curtis came. 
 
182 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 had shone on her kind face since the Colonel was 
 brought in. The medical men, after an examina- 
 tion, were in consultation; after which the Lon- 
 don surgeon saw Dr. Vernon, and candidly admit- 
 ted that, unless most unexpected .succe:<d attended 
 the measures agreed on, there was no hope. All had 
 been skillfully done, but the injuries were of a 
 na.ure that soL'mjd far beyond the reach of 
 remedy ; a few days, even less, might decide the 
 case. The patient was now dozing, and must not 
 be disturbed. 
 
 " Oh, Dawson ! has papa asked for me ?" in- 
 quired the weeping Constance. 
 
 " Till witliin the last few hours, my poor master 
 has been conscious of nothing but the dreadful 
 pain," was the reply, for she could not bear to 
 Bay that he had not. 
 
 " Do the doctors give hope ?" asked Mrs. Tem- 
 •pleton. 
 
 " I fear not," she answered ; and then proceed- 
 ed to tell, as well as she could, how the accident 
 happened. 
 
 And in the room of suffering, what was there 
 going on .' Had sleep shed its balmy influence 
 there .' Alas, no ! The eyes were closed and all 
 was still and motionless : but who may tell the 
 pangs which memory and remorse were inflicting : 
 memory, that in rapid succession brought back 
 the scenes of his past life ! — remorse, that remind- 
 ed him of his evil deeds ! How they rise and dis- 
 appear, these phantoms of his brain! 
 
 Where is she. the fond, trusting girl who had 
 loved him, and died because she had.' In the 
 grave, to which, in her young beauty, his treach- 
 ery had consigned her ! And his gentle wife, and 
 hor two innocent girls.' Gone, gone! — and he 
 thought of the last, whom his harshness had driv- 
 en forth — should he no more see that graceful 
 figure by his side.' — never again feel her innocent 
 kiss on his burning brow .' But, as he tried to 
 turn and shake off" the waking nightmare which 
 had tortured him, his feverish hand was gently 
 pressed by the cool, soft touch he so well remem- 
 bered. 
 
 •' Dear papa," said a gentle voice ; and the eyes 
 he had so often dreamed of were bent afi'ection- 
 ately on him, as he lot)ked up with astonishment. 
 
 A faint smile, a feeble return of her caressing 
 pressure, and Constance knew that she was wel- 
 come. 
 
 •• Now God be praised for this mercy !" was her 
 silent ejaculation ; and tenderly removing the 
 hair from his hot, throbbing foi-ohead, once more 
 ho felt her kiss of love; an! as he looked at her, ' 
 she scmed an angel sent to chase away the bu.sy 1 
 demons who had lately allowe I him neither rest 
 cor peace ; for, again trying to press her hand, 
 ho fell asleep — a sleep which lasted nearly two 
 hours, and which was calm and refreshing. 
 
 An 1 she sat by his side, for the first time real- 
 izing all that had happened, and waiting with 
 trembling eagerness for the slight signal which 
 fihould justify her in sending for her mother, with- 
 out the terrible danger of her presence being for- 
 bidden. 
 
 And still Constance remained in deep and solemn 
 thought, scarcely moving, except to raise a warn- 
 ing hand when any one ai)proaclied tlie door, till 
 her father awoke refreslied, but very weak. 
 " Curtis," was all he could say, and to him she 
 
 j resigned her plase, only again to resume it when 
 the surgeon had helped to change the piitient's 
 j position. •• The Colonel will be easier now," he 
 I said ; but she remarked that his countenance was 
 I very grave. And thus in silence and suffering 
 [ passed another hour, when again Mr. Curtis ap- 
 peared, to give him the refreshment of change of 
 2)osition and some restorative; he then adminis- 
 tered an opiate, and sent Constance to take the 
 rest slie so greatly neaded. 
 
 '• Oh, mamma !" she said, bursting into an 
 hysterical fit of weeping, for she was worn out 
 with anxiety and fatigue ; " is there do hope .'" 
 
 " Constance," said Doctor Veruou, for Mrs. 
 Templeton could not speak ; " i fear tliere is 
 none— but will he see me, will he see us .'" 
 
 " Not yet," she replied, observing that her 
 mother looked eagerly up ; " but he seems much 
 pleased to fiud me here " 
 
 " Now try and take something," said Mrs. Ver- 
 non, '• and then lie down ;" wliich she did, ami 
 slept — till her mother roused her, saying her 
 fatlier had asked for her. 
 
 " Life is fast ebbing, but pain is ceasing," said 
 Mr. Curtis to the Doctor; "God grant that he 
 may yet wish to see you and Mrs. Templeton. 
 He rambles, and asks for persons whom I never 
 heard of" 
 
 When Constance again entered the room, her 
 father put out his hand. "Dr. Vernon is liere, 
 dear papa," she said ; " would you like to see 
 him .'" 
 
 " No. you — only you," taking her hand as if to 
 secure her. 
 
 " The portfolio I" he said ; and seeing the puz- 
 zled expression of her face, he added, •' Diwsun." 
 
 Slio was summoned — '• The portfolio" — and the 
 exertion made him faint. 
 
 " What does papa mean .'" she asked. 
 
 " Oh ! it is your portfolio, Miss Templeton, 
 with all those portraits — here it is;" and as he 
 revived, his looks lighted uj) for a moment, vhen 
 tliey laid it on tlie bed. He glanced at Constance, 
 but seemed too feeble to say more, and lioping it 
 was her mother's likeness he wanted, she sought 
 for it — and came to tlie one surrounded by so 
 many cherub faces. He laid hi.s finger on ilieone 
 that seemed now to mingle with every iliought, 
 and a faint "more!" was heard. At last her 
 spirited outline of the full-sized head appeared — 
 he put out liis hand to take it. 
 
 Constance gave it him; he looked at her with 
 an expression that brought tears into her eyes, 
 and made Dawson sob aloud ; but he could not 
 articulate; she tried to read wliat that exiraor- 
 dinary expression meant — but still keeping the 
 paper, he lool^ed from one to the otlier — so anx- 
 ious, so eager, so piteous was tlie look, that Con- 
 stance felt faint; at last he riveted his eyes on 
 the paper, and fre.-h feelings seemed to arise in 
 his heart; for the gaze, though intent, was soft, 
 tender, loving, and a calm stole over the hitcly 
 agonized countenance. 
 
 •' Fetch mamma, quick," whispered Constance ; 
 in a few minutes Mrs. Templeiou appeared sit die 
 door ; but without removing his eyes, and n.aking 
 a powerful but unav.iiling elfort to speak, he laid 
 his hand gently on the smiling face, and with a 
 deep sob expired ! : 
 
 Mrs. Templeton advanced, and gazing mourn- 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 183 
 
 fully on the inanimate form of her husband, 
 raist'd the weeping Ci>nstauce, who had sunk on 
 her kuees — and consigning hei' to Dawson's care, 
 closed the door after them, and remained for 
 some time alone with the dead ! 
 
 When slie descended, traces of deep feeling 
 were on her face. " 1 shall not leave this place," 
 she said to Doctor Vernon; and requesting him 
 to settle with Ashley, who was hourly expected, 
 all that was proper, again Mrs. Templeton pre- 
 pared to sleep under that roof from which vio- 
 lence and terror had once driven her. The voice 
 which had sent her forth was forever silent — the 
 heart which had harbored such ungovernable 
 passions had ceased to beat — he had gone from : 
 this World— let him be remembered by those who 
 remain, with sorrow, pity, and forgiveness. j 
 
 And soon the news spreads that the master of 1 
 the i'riory is numbered with the dead; and soon ] 
 the funeral procession tells that be is being car- j 
 ried to his last earthly resting-place ; aslus to 
 ashes ! dust to dust ; and is this the end of all 
 things .' On earth, it is the end. 
 
 Reginald was far away ; Lord Grantham de- 
 clined to attend ; but Mr. Morton and Victor was 
 there — some said, as their representatives, for I 
 they took precedence of Ashley. 
 
 Constance was re.-illy ill. Poor girl ! how she | 
 wept ! how dreadful, how stunning seemed the | 
 events of the last fortnight ! Her father suddenly j 
 summoned away in so dreadful a manner, appa- 
 rently to the last implacable, unforgiving to tliose | 
 she best loved; but her mother should never 
 know this — she came, believing that her husband i 
 bad sent for her; and Const.ince determined not | 
 to deprive her of the consolation this belief gave 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER, LXXVIII. 
 
 " O ! my gentle brother, 
 Have we thus lu. I'v" Ci/>nlcline. 
 
 The following day came, ushered in with all 
 the glory of the infant spring. The clear atmos- | 
 phere, the sparkling stream, the bright sunsliine, 
 and joyous songs of the birds seemed painfully j 
 out ot keeping with the sorrow which lay so 
 heavily at her young heart — for Coustunce had 
 once loved her taiher dearly. 
 
 She and her mother were taking their break- ' 
 fist in their room, which Dawson's kind and 
 prompt attention had made so comfortable, when 
 the sound of wheels disturbed them. 
 
 " .Mr. Sloper, of course, has every thing provi- 
 ded for him .-" asked .Mrs. Templeton. 
 
 " Certainly, madam, and 1 bring a message 
 from him, appointing twelve, aa arranged between 
 him and the Doctor yisterday, for an interview." 
 
 "We will be punctual," said her mistress; 
 "but who was that who arrived so early '" 
 
 " A stranger, wlio li.is ahked for Mr. Slnper." 
 
 Again wheels ; but this time, that was not the , 
 only Sound; thuugh happily Mrs Templeton and 
 her dauirhter, who had just gone to the sitting- 
 room of the latter, heard nothing of it. 
 
 Perhaps the first in the village who knew of the 
 
 Colonel's death was Mrs. Captain Mordaunt ; but 
 it would be offensive to relate all that passed be- 
 tween her and her man-confidant when the con- 
 sequence of this was discussed. Hardly could 
 the female hatefulness refrain from, at (Hice, pro- 
 claiming her rights; but her less interested 
 associate persuaded her that this would be but a 
 needless provoking of popular indignation, of 
 which, though she professed to despise it, she was 
 not wholly regardless. 
 
 But the morning after the funeral her impa- 
 tience would brook no further delay. Without 
 the Womanly decency of mourning, even in garb, 
 for him by whose will she inherited so rich a pos- 
 session, she drove in lull-blown pride and arro- 
 gance to the grand entrance. Here she was met 
 by the butler, and one who was an entire stranger 
 to her.— the gentleman who had just preceded 
 her. 
 
 Without announcing herself, she attempted to 
 pass at once into the house ; but the former civilly, 
 though ett'ectually, barred the p.issago. 
 
 " Make way !' she said, imperiously. 
 
 " I must first know for whom," was his quiet re- 
 mark, " as none but the friends of the family can 
 bo admitted." 
 
 " Fellow !" she said, " make way for the lawful 
 possessor of the place." 
 
 "That I shall readily do," replied he; "but 
 till then, I have strict orders to prevent all in- 
 trusion." 
 
 " You are pleased to bo insolent, but you will 
 change your tune and tone too, when you know 
 what I bring with me. Stranger as you think me, 
 1 will soon make all here feel who is mistress : 
 once more, make way, and let me pass into my own 
 house !" 
 
 At these words, the butler, who had effectually 
 aided the strangers evident intention, to keep 
 Mrs. Captain from obtaining an enirance, started. 
 and changed color, for her words fearfully corrob- 
 orated a rumor which lie had heard in more than 
 one quarter, and she, attempting to take advan- 
 tage of his surprise, quickly moved toward tho 
 entrance ; when Mr. Morton, in deep mourning, 
 and looking pale and ill, appeared from the inner 
 hall. 
 
 " What is all this unseemly altercation .'" he in ■ 
 quired, addressing the stranger. 
 
 " Only sir," he replied, •• that this woman who, I 
 think, must be mad, wants to effect a violent en- 
 try, and raves about her rights." 
 
 "An insolent Ja;;k-in-ottice ! what do you 
 mean : ' she began. 
 
 ".S.lence!" said the calm, resolute voice of Mr. 
 Morton ; " what do you mean by this conduct .' 
 what do you want at this house, to which your 
 plots and iniquity have already brought soriow 
 enough. Woman," he said, sternly, '• go back, 
 leave this place at once, and forever, you and your 
 infamous partner." 
 
 But though she quailed at first, her dauntless 
 character did not disj o.se her so readily to fly tho 
 field; backed as she was ly that imp irtant docu- 
 ment, a copy of which she had with licr. 
 
 "And who are you, to dict.ito to mo.'" she 
 asked ; •' go away, indee 1 ! this pLice is m no, and 
 licre 1 slay — remove me who d.ires. \\ liy, long 
 ago, it was given to me ; and 1 have proofs, to con- 
 vince all who venture to dispute it. Go uwayl 
 
184 
 
 THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 never! it is mine— and let mc sec wLo will dare 
 to contest it vrAh uie. ' 
 
 " Look at rue then. I dipputo it ; look nt me, and 
 remember the scone uliich occurred ;hat night at 
 Paris, when one of your dupes lost, at a thiow, the 
 epl jndid ncome of one yeai-, and -when you were the 
 decoy; yes, look at me— bui bstcn aiio — 1 know 
 your whole career— the whole infamy of it ; 
 wretched woman ! if I can not make you feci for 
 the sorrows of those you have so foully wronged, 
 I will at L-ast prevent the intrusion of your hate- 
 ful presence en ihcm. Listtn to me, wh.le 1 tell 
 you that he whom you lured on to ru n has 
 avenged both them and himsjlf. If, as you say, 
 you have a paper which gives you a claim here, 1 
 tell you it js of no effect — there Avas no power to 
 alienate," — she turned pale— " I repeat, no 
 power to alienate." 
 
 '•I do not believe it; tut she evidently spoke 
 according to her wish, not her conviction, for her 
 •whole manner was chang&l ; " for the present 
 enjoy j-our victory ; my turn will come next ;" 
 and With these words she entered her chaise, the 
 dhver having been a hearer of the whole, as well 
 as Mr. Sloper, who had been attracted by the 
 loud altercation, and who evidently viewed the 
 conduct of Jlr. .Morton with aston shment. 
 
 " Had you any idea of this claim ?" asked Mr. 
 Morton. 
 
 «' None whatever ; on the contrary, I have in 
 my possess.on a document which at once invali- 
 dates it, unless"— and he s;opp2d, as if sa-uck 
 ■with a ncjw thought — " but all this had better be 
 deferred till we assemble for business." 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Morton : " but I have 
 come for the express purpose of se.3ing Mrs. Tem- 
 pleton and her daughter ;" and send.ng up a few 
 lines, requesting an )nterview, thcsjrvanc brought 
 an aiTirmitivj, and he remained with them till 
 they were told Dr. Vernon and Ashley had ar- 
 rived. ; 
 The latter met them on their entrance, and ' 
 seated himself between the inother and daughter ; 
 when Mr. iSloper proceeded to unfold what pur- 
 ported to hi the last will of Lionel Tcmple-cn, by 
 which, in very f>w words, h^ bequeathed all the 
 law permitted him to bequeath, to his dear daugh- 
 ter (Jonstance Franciska. , 
 
 He ihcn follel the brief do3umeat— and sat 
 without rais'ng his eyes, ^ir there was tha neg- 
 lected, forgotten widow present. At length, he j 
 added, •' 1 can not pinu.t this occasion to pass , 
 without stating that I ventur.Kl to remonstrate 
 against tliis largj boqueit. knowing well that 
 Miss Templeton would thank me /or having done 
 
 BO." 
 
 " S'ac does," said Ashley ; nnd Constance raised 
 her te.irful eyes to him with an expression of 
 grateful love. 
 
 " I beheve," said Mr. iMorton, who alone pre- 
 seJTfod his sdf-posscssion, " that we are all sure 
 of your honorable feelings— and it is but proper 
 you should be informed that tlie estate goes, by 
 entail, to the hci--at-law. The late ( olonel Tem- 
 pleton ha 1 a son by a first marriage, and that son 
 lives— my nephew, the son of my half-sister, Inez 
 Dormer — Victor Templeton, known as Victor Mor- 
 ton !" 
 
 " Good heavens ! and my lat« client then — " 
 
 " lias known of the existence of this son for 
 
 many years— Avh en I first interposed to prevent 
 the was.e and ruin of the pi'cpjr.y ; bi,t he never 
 knew who and where the boy was — reasuus, which 
 I hope all will thmk justily my couduot, having 
 decided mo to preserve this secret. 
 
 '• Loth the ladies are aware of the claim I make 
 — my friend Dr. Vernon was partly iulormo\l be- 
 fore his daughter s engagement ; but Victor and 
 Mr. Ashley learned the wUole only two days ago — 
 as Mr. Templeton would, of course, des.re to take 
 his place at ihe funeral." 
 
 Asnley, leaving his father with the other gen- 
 tlemen, led away Mrs. Templeton and Constance 
 to their rooms ; and whisper.ug to the latter, " Vic- 
 tor," disappeared to fetch him. 
 
 Quite overcome with emotion, he folded them 
 alternately to his heart — wh.le the endear. ng 
 words, " Mother ! sister !" accompanied hiS affec- 
 tionate kiss. 
 
 '• Dear Victor," said Mrs. Templeton, " how 
 wonderlul all this seems, and how gracious is that 
 Providence who brings as master and owner of 
 our former home one we so truly love and re- 
 spect !" 
 
 " iSay not former home, dear mother ! dear sis- 
 ter !— let it be our home, our common home, wdien 
 we all have others. Helens home— Ueg.nald's 
 home — Ashk-y s home — it is quite large enough, 
 but still not so large as my heart, where long, very 
 long, you have all dwelt -even belore I knew I 
 hau a claim on your love in return. I have never 
 known a real mother, though I have never want- 
 ed a mother s care and affection— and now 1 havo 
 such wealth of relatives, as, 1 believe, none ever 
 had belore." 
 
 Caiol.ne was there to remain, if agreeable; and 
 who can doubt the reply? and m the evening, 
 wh.le Mr. Morton, at the llectory, was tcll.ng his 
 strange tale, Victor was relataig much to the 
 same effect at the Priory, to Ashley and the three 
 ladies. 
 
 " An Ashley," at last. Miss Vernon," said Mrs. 
 Dawson, her whole frame trembhng with jleasur- 
 able emotion, lor Caroline, who coul 1 more calmly 
 than Constance inlorm her of the e.»:tiaLrdinary 
 discovery, had been giv.ng her an ou-hue of tho 
 facts. '• An Ashley, she repea.ed, " once more 
 to reign over us, lor you know, Mi.ss, that he is to 
 take tiie name — and, to make the blcss-ng moro 
 secure, ouh sweet Miss Constance marries your 
 noble brother — Mr. Ashley Vernon, ah ! 1 ouco 
 feared there was no hope of this— but God bo 
 praised for all his mercies ! Bright and happy 
 aays wiil now come again to this clear old place ; 
 buD oh ! Miss Vernon, it is through great trials 
 and sorrows that joy returns. ' 
 " li- is often thus, ' said Caroline. 
 
 " Amen !" said the kind old lady ; " and may 
 His peace and love henceforth dwell among us." 
 
THE \YIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 189 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 " Where sh»ll ihi- traitor rest, 
 
 Uf, ilip (it'i-riviT. 
 Willi oiiiild Aiii iUHiilcn'3 breast, 
 
 Uuiii, i.iid l.< V.' iK-r'/ 
 Sl.aiii.- ,111.1 .li.|i..n..rs;t 
 
 H> InsL'r.iv.t-Mr; 
 B..8 ii.i:, .^liHll huUowi!,- 
 
 Mf»iT, <itj! uivir:" Maiinion, 
 
 Nothing could exceed the astonislimcnt of the 
 villagers, except their incredulity, when the won- 
 drous tale was circulate*! among tlioin. That Mr. 
 Morton s s^on, as they still persisted in calling Vic- 
 tor, should be the heir of 8eabrooke, was ridicu- 
 lous; that the young hermit could be the late 
 Colonels son, was impossible. Nevertheless, there 
 lie was permitted to rule — there he was received, 
 and there acknowledged as ma^ster. 
 
 One among them there was who would gladly, 
 most gladly have believed in the illegality of his 
 chum — wlio would abuost have pawne*.! her soul 
 to have effected his cUsmissal ; one who stormed, 
 and ravetl, and threatened — but in vain ; one, who, 
 •with her confederate, was met and defeated at 
 every move. 
 
 So monstrous seemed the idea, that ever Colonel 
 Templelou cuuld have signed away this magnifi- 
 cent property for the equivalent said to have been 
 given in exchange, that many, and e?p»-ially Mr. 
 bloper, believed the deed a torgery ; others, that 
 it had been executed after dinner, when the Colo- 
 nel was not sober ; and these opinions both re- 
 ceived s:rength from the fact, that it had been 
 prepared and executed by a man who was avoided 
 by every respectable lawyer as a disgrace to the 
 profession. 
 
 " And now, my dear friend," said Doctor Ver- 
 non to Mr. Morton, when they were assembled in 
 the Rectory drawing- i"oom, " give us the account 
 you promised." 
 
 It wa.s the old story of the ungrateful guest — 
 the old story of love, marriage, and desertion, 
 ending in the early death of the gcn:le victim. 
 Frequently, during the recital of the villainy by 
 which a belovc^l s.ster had been remorselessly de- 
 fitroyel, Mr. Morton"s indignation broke forth— 
 checked ag.ain by his deep emotion w.. en detailing 
 hfr uncouiphuning grief. " At last, Inez gave 
 liirth to a boy; ihe event failed to rouso her, 
 though she could scarcely bear to lose sight of it ; 
 but why linger on all this, when the end is at 
 hand ? Month by month— week by week she fad- 
 id, and it was evident to her poor mother and 
 myself, that our beautiful darling— she who had 
 been to us as an angel on earth — was soon to bo 
 taken from us, to be an angel in heaven. 
 
 " ' Carlos — mother,' she said, a few weeks before 
 she left us ; '1 am his wife— Victor is his lawful 
 cliild — defend my memory, defend the rights of 
 my boy. (Jh ! Lionel, it is very cruel of tlice to 
 have lor.s.akun us thus; 1 who loved thee so truly, so 
 trustingly. IJro'her C'arlos, promise me solemnly 
 to protect tny child — let him be yours — only yours 
 — take liim now in your arms— promise to bring 
 Irira up as your son — receive him as my last, my 
 dying gift— promise to keep and love liim.' Nee<l 
 1 say, 1 swore to cherish the boy as my own lite.' 
 and wlicn he was a year old, by his mother s dying 
 bed, 1 npcaiel this oath. And, oh ! Inez, wilncsa 
 Low well I have kept it." 
 
 " This is too much, my dear friend," said Doc- 
 tor Vernon, rising, and pacing backward an 1 lor- 
 ward, in his excitement ; '• some otlier time.' 
 
 '• None so good as the pre.scnt," rcphetl Mr. 
 Morton, struggling against his deep emotion ; 
 " permit me toproceed. After the death of this 
 cherished sister, this idolized daughter, lu-r moth- 
 er lost all motive to exertitn; her little grand- 
 son alone aroused her from the deep melancholy 
 to which she yielded. She reproached herself as 
 the cause of all our misfortunes; and when sho 
 found that her imprudent confidence during my 
 absence, had so injured (,ur picperty as to make 
 it necessary that 1 slioul 1 almost begin life anew, 
 slie would not be comforted— but endured rather 
 than enjoyed life. Our property at Seville ami 
 Constnntina was sold. I took a small but com- 
 
 j fortable house near Seville for her, Vic:or, and 
 our good Dolores, and then, in earnest, set about 
 retrieving our affairs, though nmid nil this my 
 inquiries were not suspended as regarded the fefl 
 destroyer of our peace. But with the uncertain 
 information I had, this was not ea.^y ; .•sometimes 
 
 I I iancie I the name had been assumed — then s< mo 
 
 j trace would appear to contradict this terrible snr- 
 m S3. I always had an impression, that in Kng- 
 land only would my researches be sue -cssful ; but 
 business so claimed my attention, that the time 
 ci.uld not be spared. Not to be prolix, three 
 years after the death of Inez her mother died. 
 Some time after this, having been eminently buc- 
 
 : cessful in my mercantile tr.insactions, 1 married 
 an English lady, with whose family I had become 
 acquainted at .NLadeira. She was an heiress, and 
 according to agreement, I took her name; and 
 
 I the first visit 1 paid to England since my boy- 
 
 ' hood was not more for the purpose of see ng after 
 her property, than to state the olject I had so 
 much at heart to an eminent legal authority, and 
 
 I through whom, after many delays an 1 dis;ipp<iint- 
 nients, I tracetl my sisters destroyer. Every 
 thing corresponded — Lionel Teniploton, with the 
 EngiL--h army, dates — all convinced me we were 
 right ; and wiien we came to follow him through 
 the details of private life, there al.-o, in his prof- 
 ligacy and extravaganee, was corrolx)rativo evi- 
 dence." 
 
 " I must interrupt you," said Mrs. Vernon. 
 «'my intense interest will not longer let me bo 
 silent; how does his marriage with my dear 
 friend stand with reference to his first wife's 
 death ?" 
 
 " Happily for the present Mrs, Templeton, 
 they were not married till nearly a year after 
 my poor Inez died; he is thus .saved the commis- 
 sion of a crowning piece of injustice, while thoso 
 victims of his late ruffianly v.oknce are ,save<l 
 from the terrible consequences. The knowledge 
 of this fact has made my duty more easy of per- 
 formance; for it would greatly have increa.scd 
 my difficulties had 1 constan'ly had the feeling 
 that, in supporting and ( nforc ng the rights of 
 one, I neces.-4arily inllicled sorrow .-in 1 ignominy 
 on three innocent and helple.ss beings. 
 
 " After his second marriage, we traced his 
 career abroad — Jind the infamy of that mnn'.s 
 conduct almost pa.'J.ses belief. We tln-n f<iund 
 him the poK.ses.sor of a .'splendid pro|eriy. with ii 
 restricting cUuse which, at one •, put liini in oiir 
 power. He was, in fact, only trustee to this fiuo 
 
THE WIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 estate, and having ascertained this, it was no less 
 my duty than ray pleasure to watch his proceed- 
 ings on behiilf of his son. But this, at first, 1 
 was compelled to do by proxy. My wifes health, j 
 always delicate, began to show symptoms of that 
 latal disease by whose ravages she had been left 
 the last of her race— my valued friend, Miss 
 Newman, being her elder and half sister ; and I 
 then began our wanderings in quest of tbe great 
 blessing— health— to Italy, Greece, and, inally, ; 
 Madeira, where she sleeps among so many of her , 
 kindred who had precetled her on this final jour- | 
 ney. As, for many years, 1 had no means of as- | 
 certaining that Victor's position in life would be 
 any thing beyoud what my means would place 
 him in, his education and pursuits had fitted him 
 for the future merchant, nor were my plans much 
 altered when I found that, ultimately, he had a 
 noble inheritance secured to him. I was quite 
 sure that, by instilling into his mind principles 
 of honor and truth, and a high sense of his re- 
 sponsibility, in any condition of life to Avhich he 
 might be called, I was qualifying him for the per- 
 formance of the duties which would devolve on 
 Lim'. 
 
 '• For many yeai's my reports from Seabrooke 
 were sucli as gave me no pretext for interfering. 
 But as I had made arrangements for residing in 
 England, I resolved myself to visit a place which 
 circumstances ma/le so interesting tome ; and after 
 several vain attempts to find a suitable residence, 
 1 made the arrangement with Johnson which led 
 to my taking the Hermitage. It was singular 
 that my coming was attended with events which 
 at once brought mo into collision with tlie man 
 whom I had such bitter cause to hate ; and need- 
 less would it be for me to dilate on all the strug- 
 gles I had, to discipline myself as never to permit 
 my just indignation to betray me. The very idea 
 of seeing the wretch who had so remorselessly 
 sent to an early grave my beloved Inez made 
 every nerve quiver, and sent the blood rushing 
 through my veins as if it would burst them— I, 
 who felt that I could, with pleasure, have felled 
 him to the earth, and then have spurned him, 
 sliould now be oblige! to meet him Avith an ap- 
 pearance of calmness ; yet it must be done, or I 
 had better keep away — for as to risking a dis- 
 covery, tlie bare thoi^ght distressed me beyond 
 measure ; for if he once learned that Victor was 
 his son, I should have no longer power to retain 
 him— besides, there was my solemn promise. 
 Shortly after my arrival, he cut down a splendid 
 plantation ; this I was advised to permit, in order 
 to justify a tlireat; it was sent — and with it 
 were inclosed a copy of tlie certificates of his first 
 marriage— infiriuation of the birth of a boy, and 
 threats of exposure if he continued to trespass 
 on the rights of that son; but nothing further 
 was added — not even that Inez was dead. 
 
 " Tlie eft'ect of thi^ was to send him to London, 
 doubtless to consult some la^vycr, as preparations 
 for more cutting suddenly ceasod ; and so much 
 importance did he seem to attach to the notice, 
 that, the next year, lie went himself to the scene 
 of his diabolical treachery— for, singular enough, 
 1 was at Constantina at the very time he appear- 
 ed there. But 1 imagined he learned little be- 
 yond the death of Inez and the birth of the child. 
 Of late, I know there have been renewed cllorts 
 
 to trace and discover him ; but this I anticipated, 
 for I was certain when he came of age, his un- 
 principled father would require him to adminis- 
 ter to his reckless selfishness by helping him to 
 raise money. Anxious to obtain all tlie informa- 
 tion 1 could of this man's general conduct and 
 pursuits, so that I might know how to act in case 
 of any emergency, by means of my extensive 
 continental correspondents I easily obtained all I 
 wanted; this also involved disclosures respecting 
 his rascally agent and his female associate, both 
 of whom were too well known in Paris to remain 
 there, and where Colonel Templeton became ac- 
 quainted with them on his return from his fruit- 
 less inquiries in Spain. He had stopped in that 
 city, and there had involved himself in gambling 
 transactions to the extent of more than a year's 
 income. 
 
 " From these, I know he never till lately be- 
 came free ; for he was caught in the toils of a set 
 of cheats and swindlers, some of whom polluted this 
 sweet spot with their unhallowed presence. After 
 he had driven his wife and daughter away, I 
 ventured a step in their behalf, and warned him 
 to desist from persecuting them ; and this I en- 
 forced, when, through the bragging vanity of 
 Cooper, I heard of the so-called mortgage that 
 worthy held on Ryecroft, and which the Colonel 
 knew very well was invalid. 
 
 " But my great difficulty rose from the attach- 
 ment Victor vei-y naturally formed for your fair 
 daughter, Mrs. Vernon. Happily they were both 
 so young that you were the first to propose de- 
 lay. Long did I ponder on what wns light, under 
 this' fresh aspect of affairs ; and 1 decided on tell- 
 ing Victor immediately some pai't of tiie true case, ' 
 and the whole to him and all your family before 
 the marriage took place. Nor was it till the 
 tragic termination of a life, in wliich we were so 
 deeply interested, that I informed him who hia 
 father really was." 
 
 " This is an extraordinary case," said Mr. 
 Sloper, who was present, and whom professional 
 habits had made an attentive listener ; "and it 
 at once enables me to understand the leason of 
 various questions and difficulties which wero 
 submitted to eminent counsel by the late Colonel. 
 I remember well, trying to negotiate a loan of 
 sixty thousand pounds — which wms effected only 
 by means of heavy life insurances. Nothing 
 but desperate gambling, and the mismanage- 
 ment of that rascal Cooper, could have rendered 
 sucli measures necessary with an estate like that 
 of the Priory." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 "Thon let the merry bells rins round, 
 Au(J the jocuuO rebecks souuil:"' 
 
 Of course, Victor Templeton's marringe' wa3 
 postponed, and before it took place, Reginald, 
 Helen, and their children arrived in England. 
 Pass we over the meeting ; such can never be 
 truly described— words are useless where feel- 
 ings deep as theirs prevail. Once more under 
 one roof — cuce more all together, for Victor 
 

 THK WIFF/S THIALS. 
 
 ^87 
 
 would have it so— there was not one who did not '-Only i'ov joy nn<\ sr'ititudo, dear Asliley," 
 acknowlcilfre . '• that sorrow may tiuluro fur a slie said, as he tumily kissed lier, imd Icrventiv 
 night, but joy Cometh in the nioruinj;." I exuhiinied, "God grant, sweet wile, iliut vuii 
 
 Alier a visit to Old Court, where UeginaM in- may never shed tliein for any otlier cause !" 
 troduced all his treasures, in July, wlien suiiiincr I And so, amid the beauties and iiiaj;nilicenco 
 puts on her gayest, iiiost gorgeous dress ; when , of nature, in which the Vicarage id' Charles Ver- 
 ihe sky with its glowing liues, and earth, with non was placed, did his brotlier and lovily brido 
 its field and forest of refreshing verdure, are spend several weeks, before they set out for Scot- 
 rich in poetic imagery and suggestion, Charles land, on a visit to the t^inclaiis, who were jav- 
 Ashley left his quiet "lakes and hills to perform ! vented, by Laurette's severe illness, from being 
 the ceremony that united Victor and Caroline, present at the wedding. 
 
 Doctor Vernun was, of Course, there, though vol 
 to assist, for Charles Vernon was quite equal to 
 the dignified discharge of his duty without being 
 atsUlcd by any other reverend ; though her fa- , 
 
 Last wonis are proverbially tiresome ; but as 
 we hojie the reader is sealed by the co.>^y fire- 
 side, or under the greenwood tree, or on iho 
 sofa in tlie comlbrtable dressing-room, or, in 
 
 ther's blessing, when given in the ve>try, made short, anywhere most favorable to tlie exercise 
 
 Caroline feel more than ever the solemnity of the 
 duties she had undertaken, and the sacreduess 
 of the jiTomise just made. 
 
 Tiie ceremony was very quiet and private ; 
 iig to the recent events, none but the nearest 
 ;ives were present ; but as tlie iiandsome 
 
 of good teinper and kind feeling, we shall bravo 
 the proverb— for, the truth is, we i.re " loth to 
 depart." 
 
 Laurette Sinclair never married— and never 
 revisited Seabrooke. 
 
 lltibert Forrester remained abroad till the 
 
 ng master of Seabrooke looked around, grat- dea:h of his father, which happened about two 
 
 Iter this, brought him to England ; but 
 thou^.i his former friendship with Vicior was re- 
 newed, with great advantage to him, it was lung 
 before he recovered any thing like the former 
 happy and gay feelings once so natural to him 
 But when he was more than thirty, and Minu.o 
 Dallas eighteen, he married her. 
 
 Lord Ernest lived some years after Heginald 3 
 r3turn, happy in the happiness of his adopted son, 
 and rejoicing to sec that the course itegiuald had 
 marked out for himself was one tiiat hail led to 
 credit and honor — when, at Lord ./e.stioiigh"s 
 death, Heginald in the Uppjr House and Asidey 
 in the Lower, were distinguished by the integrity 
 aud consistency of their conduct. 
 
 'J'he ULXt communication which pas-sed between 
 Mrs. Melville and Lord Ernest was about a year 
 
 filled his heart as his bright eyts rested on 
 I ; iiiy fair and noble forms, with all of whom he 
 :1 1 claim kindred. 
 
 ' ace more, and, as he said, for the last tithe 
 many a year, he and his bride were bound 
 a continental tour of several months. At 
 end of that period they wtre to return and 
 liow Mrs. Templeton had kept house for 
 
 iJiuing his absence, Sea-View Cottage had 
 
 u enlarged and fitted up for her, though siie 
 
 ..us ibrbidden to entertain the preposterous no- 
 
 [lun that she was ever quietly to reside there; 
 
 '<nt she liked the idea of having it. Victor had, 
 
 . tlie most generous manner, secured her a 
 
 ii isome income, and had presented each of his 
 
 ■ ly-fouad sisters with a noble portion — it was 
 
 "ss to remonstrate with liim — "how could he subsequent to her daughters divorce, t^he then 
 1 (Caroline .-peiiLl all they had, witliout lielp .'" wrote, soliciting his aid in establishing a board- 
 \ii 1 tlie following April, more than a year | ing house, somewhere toward the West End. 
 :• her fathers death, Constance was given, by I This, like all the rest of his correspondence, waa 
 proud brother, to the happy Ashley Vernon forwardeil to .Mr. Manning, with orders Ibr him 
 
 to act as he thought fit ; and he did think fit to 
 remit her one hundred pounds, at the same timo 
 strictly prohibiting any further application, and 
 making her understand that all business matters 
 )vere submitted to hiui. 
 
 Alany years after this, when Mrs. Melville and 
 
 her njaneuvcrs were among the things that havo 
 
 been, and are forgotten, one of Mr. Manning's 
 
 ' clients desired him to oppose a claim which was 
 
 made on the property of h.s aunt, la.ely deceased, 
 
 by the person with whom she had lodged ; and 
 
 Air. Manning, having done what was requisite, 
 
 was surpri.sed, a few days after, by the appearanc j 
 
 of a person in widow's weeds, named \\ liite, who 
 
 proved to be the party claiming, and who was no 
 
 other than the ol I arch-intriguer, .Mr.-;. .Melville. 
 
 She had passed through the usual grades of un- 
 
 id Constance. Tliese filled tlic iiouse with successful trickery, and now kept a lodging-houso 
 
 ■ty. wliile festivities on the most liberal scale , of third-cla.ss rate. The old lady, lat.jly ilead, 
 
 ! ■ prepared for the tenantry and villagers. . came to lodge with her, was whimsical, and oa 
 
 I iiistauce was as in a dream — her mother's . the strength of her riches, was overbear ng with 
 
 • -ing and farewell embrace rou-ed her— and her relatives, and after her residence with Mrs. 
 
 |Vhen seated in their carri.ige, witii her loved , >Virite — (a name assumed to bailie creditor.-.) ^ud- 
 
 ttnd .loving husband, she turned her beautiful I denly estranged herself from all iier lurmtr ass<v 
 
 ijyes toward him, they were full of tears. I ciates. The paper under which Mrs. While chum- 
 
 - Hid the Doctor, being quite ready to assist in 
 u iig such a daughter, marrieil them. 
 Such a wedding, Mrs. Dawson and the de- 
 fined Gretcheu declared, had never been seen, 
 iiiipleton Ashley's joyous and generous nature 
 1 tiiis occasion assembling all who could share 
 1 and understand his happiness. 
 The Hurstwoods, the Grantham.ij, Mr. Turner 
 id his sister ; Stacey, who was working his way 
 iiough his diflicuhies, and his now.happy wife; 
 II .Mr. .Moore was wiled out of his literary cir- 
 liy the entreaty of his favorites, Constance 
 1 Ashley Lady Dallas, always kind, and 
 had bei'n peculiarly so during the season of 
 1. with her pretty Ada, were present — wiiile 
 iiie w.is half wild with pleasure at tiie idea 
 iiiing one of the bridesmaids to her dear j 
 
188 
 
 THE ^YIFE'S TRIALS. 
 
 e;l the five hundred pounds and all the personals 
 loJgiJ at her hous.', was disputed, and she had 
 now come to S3C if shj coull m ikj tjrms through , 
 the i MS ;ru mentality of her former antagonist. 
 
 !S!ie informed Irnn that hsr daugh:cr was mar- I 
 ricd, :ind, with her husband anl famly, Kved in 
 America; but that a small annuity, which her 
 sonm law granted her, was payable only wh.b I 
 she kept from the shorej of the New World. Of I 
 course, s.ie cons.d.T.'d hers.df an lU-usei woman, j 
 and bitterly coinpla no I of her daughter's ingrat- 
 itude; buG her J Mr. Manning stopped the tor- | 
 rent of hjr eloquence, and recalled her to the case 
 in dispute. He strongly advised her not to bring 
 further exposure an 1 d.sgrace on herself by per- , 
 sisting in a claim which was, he scrupled not to 
 Bay, a barefaced fraud. The only thing to which 
 he would pledge himsjlf, was to try and pjrsuade 
 his client to relinquish all claim to various arti- 
 cl.'s Avhich his aged r:'la;ive had with her at the 
 t luo ol her dei'h. This offjr she seemed, at first, 
 gra-cfully to accept ; but, to ke:p up the farce, 
 pi'otested that, be.ng a lone, unprotected female, 
 she was shamefully defrauded of her legal r ghts, 
 soh-nudy assur.ng Mr Planning that this five 
 haiidrod pounds was but a small recompense lor 
 
 all that she had done for a lodger who used all 
 her time and given her infinite trouble. This, 
 i\lr. Manning dryly admitted, was very likely, 
 and significantly advised her never to take such 
 trouble again. The result was, that his cl.cnt 
 proved tractable, and th s was the list he ever 
 heard of cne whom he called a singulirly cLvot 
 woman, if she had but the sense to use her talents 
 alight 
 
 Stacey, freed from duns and debts, occupied the 
 Hermitage, and declared, that with such adjuncts 
 as nature there presented, and the real excellen- 
 ces of character and intellect by which his fi-ieuds 
 were distinguished, he lived in the very Eldorado 
 of poetry — under the direct influence of the true 
 d.vine atiiatus. St 11, this did not prevent him IVom 
 running up now and then to London, to see how 
 prose Avent on in the nether world ; but as he 
 never failed to return with renewed enthusiasm to 
 his Paradise, Eve always received her truant Adam 
 ■with a smiling face 
 
 And Mrs. "Templetcn .' her own words nre i 
 " My 1 fe is a perpetual bymn cf praise and thank- 
 fulness— and a striving to prove, not that 1 do- 
 serve such goodness, but that I ever love the gra 
 cious hand which has hitherto helped me, ' 
 
 THE END, 
 
4\ 
 
 THE 
 
 rt03IAXCE OF THE IIAPtE3I, 
 
 CHATTER I. 
 
 Carimfil Hanoum, the beautiful young wife of 
 Saifula Pasha, was eick even unto death; and 
 her husband, who loved her tenderly, became 
 well nigh maddened by grief. Long had the 
 malady hung upon lier ; and her diamond eyes 
 were huiguid, and her small hands so weak and 
 wasted as to leave iier scarcely strength suffi- 
 cient to lift her feather fan, or to attach the 
 jewels to her turban. 
 
 What was to be done f It signifies not of 
 what province Saifula Pasha was Governor ; 
 suffice it, that it was so far distant from Con- 
 stantinople, and so little visited by the wander- 
 ing giaours, who of late j-ears have overrun the j 
 East, that there was no hope of obtaining the 
 advice of a Frank ilakeeni, or doctor, wiio would, 
 as a matter of course, have cured the Ilanoum j 
 on his first visit; and the wise men aud tiie j 
 wise women of the province had long fairly 
 given up the case as desperate. j 
 
 As time wore on, things grew worse and j 
 worse : and the Pasha waxed more moody and j 
 melanchol}-. The Ilanoum, wearied alike of 
 her diamonds, her birds, her slaves, and her hus- ! 
 band, sighed for some new and hitherto untasted ! 
 pleasure ; but how was tliis to be procured ? j 
 Ilcr apartments had long been filled with the 
 rarest flowers, and her languid palate tempted 
 by the choicest fruits. Every satellite of the 
 Pttsha (and they were many!) lost himself in 
 efforts to gratify her fancies ;' and still there was 
 no satisfying them. 
 
 Carimfil Ilanoum was a Circassian, lovely as 
 a houri, and quite conscious of her power over; 
 the Pasha; gorgeous in her beauty, as the t\ilip 
 after which she has been named ; and capricious' 
 enough to have supplied all tli«* harem of the | 
 Grand Seignio.ir with whims. ''• nic of her wo-| 
 men even went so far as to sa, that their fairi 
 mistress affected more indispow.don than she | 
 felt, in order to satisfy her love of power and| 
 change ; and certain it is, that if the little beauty i 
 poMessed the tact to do this, it completely an- 
 swered her hopes, for th« more exacting she 
 became, the more the Paaha appeared to hang 
 upon her smiles. I 
 
 After this explanation of the state of affairs in; 
 the palace of the Pashalik, it may be believed 
 ■with what delight the intelligence was received I 
 that a travelling slave-merchant on his way to, 
 Btambov/1 had halted in the city; and that, 
 among bis slaves thers vaa a Greek girl of | 
 
 incomparable beauty and great talent, whom h« 
 hoped to sell to the Sultan. 
 
 The Satrap,* preceded by two kava«3C8,f and 
 followed b}- four of liis chaoushes,^ threw a 
 purse to the pipe-benrer who brouglit him the 
 news; and thrusting his feet into his 8lip|>er8, 
 too anxious to entrust the mission to an officer 
 of his household, he hastened to the caravanserai, 
 which was the temporary abode of the merchant 
 Tahiz. An idea had instantly suggested itself, 
 which lie determined to realize. What were a 
 few thousand piastres when put in competition 
 with the happiness of his adored Carimfil ? lie 
 would purchase this wonderful slave, and her 
 talents should serve to beguile the ennui of his 
 beautiful young wife. 
 
 The merchant prostrated himself to the earth 
 as the shadow of tl>e Pasha fell across his thres- 
 hold ; what evil might not this unexpected 
 visit portend to his fortunes ? But he was soon 
 reassured by the bland " Khosh Bulduk — well 
 found," which met his ear; and, after having 
 traversed the floor on his knees to the feet of 
 his visiter, and pressed the hem of his garment 
 to his lips and brow, he meekly crossed his 
 hands upon his breast, and ventured to raise his 
 eyes. 
 
 " You luivc with you slaves o£ price, w ii not 
 so ?" asked the Pasha, as he took possession of 
 the low sofa. 
 
 " It is so, my lord ;" was the reply. 
 
 " Whence are they f and are there any among 
 them who are worthy that 1 should look upon 
 them f" 
 
 " What shall I say to my lord ? They are 
 from many lands, and some of them are worthy 
 even of his gracious notice, which will be to 
 them as a light from Paradise." 
 
 " I will see th'-m," said Saifula Pasha, na bin 
 chibouque-bearer knelt and nresente«l to him his 
 costly pipe of cherry wood lipped with amber; 
 while his cafeghe approached with the tiny cup 
 of porcelain, in its fillagree stand, redoleiit of 
 the perfumed mocha: "'I will see them — if I 
 may find pleasure in looking on them, Allah 
 bilir — Allah only knows. Bakulum — we shall 
 see." 
 
 " Bashustun — on my head be it !" replied tlie 
 merchant, as he jierforuied the graceful salum 
 aleikum.g and left the apartment. 
 
 One by one the veiled beauties were led to 
 the presence of the Satrap. There were gorg*- 
 
 * Oovernor of i Prorince. \ I'olice. ; Uilicer*. 
 ^ Kutcro ialoUlion. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 ♦U8 Georgians, with tlieir large, deep, flasliiiig 
 wee, and their sparkling teeth, their tinely- 
 tnouUied figures, and jett^- hair; languid (Jir- 
 tassians, witii tiieir dreamy, dove-like glanees, 
 Hu'ir snowy skins, and their exquisitely rounded 
 liiuhs; and beauties from the Islands, with their 
 ^languishing listless graec, and sweetly-toned 
 'oices. But the fair Greek girl did not appear; 
 a d as the last of the bright train withdrew, and 
 liie merchant again prostrated himself before 
 the Pasha, he asked calmlj- — " Are there uo 
 more ?" 
 
 " None, may it please my lord. Evallah I 
 there are a few Kurdish women, but they are 
 bosh — nothing." 
 
 " Kiupek — dog !" said the Satrap sternly : 
 " Do you lie to my beard ! Where is the young 
 Greek whom you have held back?" 
 
 The affrighted merehant bent his head to the 
 earth: "Surely my lord jests with his slave — 
 the girl is a giaour — an infidel — a haremzadeh 
 — an ill born. Nothing, and less than nothing." 
 
 "Ouf! ouf! — peace, peace!" said the I'asha, 
 impatiently, " or your head shall answer for 
 your presumption. Is it for you, and such 
 as you, to decide upon my pleasure? Tehapouk 
 — quick — bring hither the young Greek, or the 
 bowstring shall give your slaves a new master." 
 
 " Astaferallah — Heaven, forbid !" faltered out 
 the merchant : " will my lord hear his servant ? 
 The young giaour has already- been seen by a 
 Yuzbashi — a captain of soldiers, who is now on 
 his wa^- to the capital, and who has promised 
 to talk of her to the Kislar Aglia*of the ISultan, 
 (whom may Allah prosper!) How, then, can 
 the slave of my lord, who is but as a dog in his 
 siglit, di.spose of this Greek woman until he has 
 learnt the pleasure of the Padishah ?"f 
 
 " Kelb — cur!" e.vclaimed the Pasha, enraged 
 at this new dilheulty ; " do you dare to eat dirt; 
 and to pour out your words as though they 
 were the words of wisdom, when they are but 
 tlie promptings of Sheitan, and the instigations 
 of the Evil One! I spit upon the grave of your 
 father, and blacken the face of j-our mother! 
 Who am I that 1 should listen to you, when my 
 foot is on your head ? Bak — see ! the slave is 
 mine and the gold is ready — ^Ijring her hither 
 with speed ; or, by the beard of the Prophet, 
 your neck shall be fitted with a bowstring!" 
 
 " Allah buyuk der — Allah is great !" murmur- 
 ed the merchant, as he prepared to obey. "Who 
 can withstand his fate !" 
 
 During the brief interval that ensued, the 
 Pasha smoked on in silence; his curiosity was 
 aroused, and his anger e.xcited ; and yet he 
 enjoyed the scone, for it had afforded liim anew 
 sensation, and restrung his nerves, which had 
 latterly been terribly shattered by his an.xiety 
 lor Carimfil llanoum. Thus he was in no un- 
 gracious mood, when, with much parade, and 
 with a mostnnwillinge.N-pressionof eounteiiaiiee, 
 themerehan. slowly returned, leading in a figure 
 ostentatiously muflied in close and heavy dra- 1 
 pery. 
 
 " Ey vah ! this pearl beyond price is at least ' 
 well guarded;" said the Pasha, endeavoring to 
 conceal his interest beneath an affectation of 
 
 Chief of the Eunuchi. f Bovereign. 
 
 scorn ; " but we waste time; and I have occupa- 
 tion of more moment than sitting to witness the 
 unveiling of a woman." 
 
 " Sen ektiar der — you are the master ;" replied 
 the merehant, as he cast aside the mantle of the 
 female : " be it as my lord wills." 
 
 For a moment the Pasha was silent; for it 
 was truly a vision of surpassing beauty which 
 liad been so suddenly revealed to him. The fair 
 Greek was scarcely si.xteen years of age, slight 
 as a willow wand, and graceful as an antelope. 
 The bewildered Sai'fula Pasha had never beheld 
 such eyes, save in his dreams ; and then only 
 when he had dreamt of paradise. Of the deep- 
 est blue that ever caught their dye from heaven, 
 they were fringed witli lashes as black as night; 
 and the long silky hair, which fell in a score of 
 rich braids about her ivory shoulders, was of 
 the same hue. Her slight figure was habited ia 
 a tight jacket of emerald-colored velvet, laced 
 with gold; and the eymar that veiled her throat 
 was white as the bosom upon which it rested. 
 Her small feet were partially covered with em- 
 broidered slippers of crimson, sprinked with 
 small pearls; and the short full petti£oat of 
 white linen revealed an ankle of exquisite sym- 
 metry. 
 
 The Pasha drew a long breath. What, in- 
 deed, was gold, when weighed against a houri 
 like this? But he did not, in that moment, 
 think of the beautiful Carimfil — his idolized 
 wife ! " And her price is — what ?" was his first 
 question. 
 
 "How shall I answer, my lord?" said the 
 merchant, warily. " The slave is his." 
 
 " Chok chay — that is much ;" smiled the Pasha, 
 as he removed the chibouque from his mouth, 
 and threw out a slender thread of smoke : " but 
 the piastres are ready — how far shall they be 
 counted?" 
 
 " The slave plays on the zebee, and sings the 
 songs of her own land ;" was the reply : " nay, 
 should my lord care to listen, she can tell tales 
 like a massaldjhe."* 
 
 " Allah kerim — Allah be praised 1" ejaculated 
 the Pasiia, as for the first time since the veil of 
 the slave had been withdrawn, his thoughts 
 were forced back to his absent beauty ; " the 
 Prophet has heard my prayer. Once more I tell 
 you to name your price, and that the slave is 
 mine." 
 
 " Ne bilirim — what can I say !" replied the 
 merchant, meekly ; " I have given much for her 
 — ajaib der — she is a wonder 1 She speaks Turk* 
 ish like a daughter of paradise ; and her voice 
 is as the voice of the bulbul in the gardens of 
 Nishapor." 
 
 " Mashallah ! there has been enough, and too 
 much of this;" impatiently broke in the Pasha: 
 " For the last time, what ask you for the girl I* 
 
 The merchant cast down his eyes, and hesi- 
 tated for a moment ; but he had been shrewd 
 enough to detect the effect which the extrem* 
 beauty of the maiden had produced upon the 
 Pasha ; and he con.sequently summoned courage 
 to name a price which he could never hope to 
 obtain under other circumstances. 
 
 " Y' Allah— in the name of the Prophet, that 
 
 • Professional story-teller. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TIIF. IIARF.M. 
 
 IS much i" snid tho atnrtlod Pnslia ; " iMft y thou- 
 •and piastres ! A liumlroil pinsos I Lives tliore 
 a wom-in betwoen Staniboiil niul Paradise, wiio 
 is worth a hundred purses i" 
 
 Tiie nierehant was silent. 
 
 " Give liim sixty thousand, and bring hither 
 the araba to convey tlie shivc to my harem ;" 
 pursued tlic I'nslia, turnintr to Ids principal 
 chaoush • nnd as the oftieer withdrew, he shuf- 
 fled otF the sofa, resumed Ids slippers, and pass- 
 ing tlie juostrate merchant without a ghiuce. 
 elowly walked out of the caravanserai. 
 
 CIIArTER IL 
 
 The most difRcult portion of the arrangement 
 •was yet to be accomplished ; foi- the I'asha could 
 not conceal froni himself tliat it was just ])ossi- 
 ble that ttie beautiful Cnrinifil might not alto- 
 gether approve of tlie means which he had now 
 adopted for her gratitieation ; and he therefore 
 resolved to take her by surprise, and to regale 
 her with the vaunted minstrelsy of the fair slave, 
 before she was introduced into her presence. 
 
 The morning meal had accordingly scarcely 
 terminated on the morrow, ere the I'asha found 
 it necessary to summon the j'oung Greek, who 
 bad been kept carefully concealed, in order that I 
 he might explain to her the suftering state of iier 
 new mistress, and his own anxiety for her amuse- 
 ment. She entered slowly, and with her white | 
 arms folded meekly upon her bosom : her eyes | 
 were heavy, and the Pasha saw that she had I 
 been weeping. The langour of grief added a 
 new charm to her bea\ity ; and as she bent licr 
 forehead to the eaith on the threshold of the 
 chamber, the Satrap welcomed her with a gentle 
 " Khosh geldin — you are welcome." 
 
 Her prostration performed, the slave stood 
 with bent head, one pace within the room, and 
 awaited the orders of the Pasha. 
 
 " Korkma — feai- not ;" was his next address ; 
 "your home beneath my roof shall be a liapi)y 
 one. How are }-ou called?" 
 
 " Katinka," murmured out a low soft voice. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the Satrap gaily ; " yours is 
 but an infidel name for sueli a liouri. How say 
 you? shall we call you Buyazl* 'Tis a more 
 fitting appellation for such a lily I" 
 
 " Sen ektiar der, .ngain — you are the master, 
 my lord," was the reply. 
 
 '• Beyaz be it then," pursued the Pasha: " and 
 now. hear me. Your talents have been extolled, 
 and I doubt not that the}' are worthj* of all the 
 praise which has been lavislied on them. I have 
 a fair wife, beautiful cno:ig!i to have been the 
 daufflitcr of a peri, and born of a sunbeam, but 
 she languishes beneath a crud malady, and we 
 cannot restore to her eyis the light that has fled 
 fi-om them. Be this task yours; it will require 
 a gentle hand, and a bi-ight spirit," 
 
 " .My lieart will be in the task ;" said the fair 
 Greek softly, " even now I am rca<lv." 
 
 '■ Taib, janum — well said, my soul !" exclaimed 
 the Pasha ; " you shall be the liakeem. to whom 
 she will owe her recovered bloom, ai\d to whom 
 
 Whiij. 
 
 ' I shall be indebted for a renewal of the happi- 
 ness to which 1 have long been a stranger. 
 Khosh geldin — you are welcome, fair BiJ}uz, to 
 the harem of Saifula Pasha." 
 
 " And how wills my lord that I shouhl enter 
 upon my oiKce?" demanded Katinka, somewhat 
 hastil}- : " shall I take my zebec, and sing to the 
 Hanoum Etfendi one of our mountain iiuli)diesf" 
 
 "That were well tlone," said the Satrap; 
 " but I would not that she should sec the min- 
 strel while she listens to her voice : that were 
 too much!" and the Pasha looked palroiiizinglv, 
 and almost tenderly, towards the young Greek. 
 But the glance fell like a sunbeam upon niarbl« 
 — the maiden did not raise her eyes ; and, after 
 a short silence, she asked humbly — ' 
 
 " What wills my lord that I should sing? 
 Shall the strain be sad, like the heart of the 
 beautiful listener; or jo\-ou8 aa the mood in 
 which he loves to see her?" 
 
 "Be it even as you will ;" said the Pasha; 
 and clapi>iiig his hands, he gave orders to an at- 
 tendant that Katinka should be conducted to an 
 apartment contiguous to that inhabited by the 
 Buyuk Hanoum, where she could be heard un- 
 seen. 
 
 This command uttered, the slave awaited no 
 further bidding to withdraw ; but, once more 
 prostrating herself, she performed her salfim 
 aleikum, and followed the attendant from the 
 apartment, 
 
 Carimtil Hanoum sat moodily on her sofa, 
 heedless of the cttorts of her maidens to arouse 
 her from her re very. She had ca.st aside her costly 
 tusbee* of gems, and flung her feather-framed 
 aiittlif from her in disgust Costly pcrfumeg 
 were burning in a vnse of silver on a small table 
 near her, and at intervals she passed her hand 
 through the scented vapor as if unconsciously. 
 Jewels of price were scattered over her cushions, 
 and a few flowers were strown among them ; but 
 they were alike ludiceded. 
 
 Yet it seemed not like the languor of disease 
 which Aveighed her down ; but rather bore the 
 character of deep and settled melancholy, fed by 
 regretful thought. 
 
 Suddenly she raised her head, as a low strain 
 of music broke upon her ear: it was a wild 
 gushing melody, half hope, half sadness; and, 
 by whatever spell it wrought, it fastened at 
 once upon the spirit of the fair Carimtil Hanoum, 
 who sat entranced among her cushions, and lis- 
 tened breathlessly even to its close. 
 
 SONG OF THE GREEK SLAVE. 
 
 Joy is a bird '. 
 
 Cntch it ax it uprinijs ; 
 It will return no more 
 
 WUr.if oixce it spreads its wingi. 
 I(a i-ong in jay, but brief. 
 
 The voire of «unny weather; 
 But ah ! tlie bird and leaf 
 
 Vanish botli together! 
 
 Joy i« a flower ! 
 
 I'luck it in its bloom ; 
 Twill cloiie its petals up 
 
 If darker skiea should gloom. 
 It in a lovely thing, 
 
 And formed for sunny weather; 
 But ah ! the flower and spring 
 
 Vanuh both together! 
 
 Rosary 
 
 t Hand-mirror. 
 
THE KOiL^XE OF THE IIAREiL 
 
 Joy is a cb Id ! 
 
 Seize it in its mirth ; 
 For soon its lip will know 
 
 The -withering taint of eaxth. 
 Its eye is bright as truth, 
 
 A type of !.unny weather ; 
 But ah: the smile and youth 
 
 Vanish both together! 
 
 The song ceased, but for a long interval the 
 beautiful CircHssiau remained njotionless. Tlie 
 strain had evidently awakened memories Avhich 
 she ought not to dispel ; and, when at length a 
 deep sigh relieved her overcharged heart, she 
 impatiently commanded that the invisible musi- 
 cian should he brought Before her. 
 
 At her desire the curtain of tapestry was 
 raised, and the Greek girl stood on the threshold 
 with lier zebec in her hand. 
 
 " Ajaib — wonderful !" broke from the lips of 
 both, as tliey gazed earnestly on each other; 
 and Katinka had bounded half way across the 
 floor, and the wife of the Pasha had sprung 
 from her sofa, ere the slave remembered that 
 she who had once been her friend had now 
 become her mistress; and she stopped suddenly 
 with the indignant blood mantling her brow, 
 and would have turned aside, but the delighted 
 young Hanoum caught her to her heart. 
 
 " ttister of my soul !" she murmured, as the 
 first rush of joyful surprise was succeeded by a 
 calmer and more assured delight : " Whence 
 come you ? "Welcome are j-ou, as the first roses 
 that gem the gardens of the peris — dear have 
 you ever been, as the memory of the Idved and 
 lost!" 
 
 " I come from your own fair land — from the 
 mountains where we were wont to wander to- 
 gether;" was the reply; "but when you were 
 gone the flowers of the valley hung their heads ; 
 and tlie wind on the hill-tops murmured only 
 sadness. But I have found j'ou once more, and 
 the sorrows that have fallen upon me since we 
 parted are forgotten." 
 
 " Une of them at least is overpast ;" hastily 
 inteiposed the Circassian : " from this hour, 
 beloved of my spirit, you are free." And as she 
 spoke siie led the maiden to the sofa, and seated 
 her by her side. 
 
 The news soon reached the Pasha that, in the 
 person of the Greek slave, his wife had found a 
 long-lost fiiond ; and he learnt the fact with a 
 bewilderment of feeling which he did not seek 
 to analyze ; but when he again visited t!ie 
 beautiful Hanoum, and saw that the light danced 
 in her eye, and that her lip was wreathed with 
 smiles, he almost persuaded himself that he was 
 satisfied with the event. 
 
 Had the worthy Satrap been more conversant 
 with the mysteries of a woman's heart, he might 
 perchance liave suspected that even the meeting 
 with one whom she liad loved in her own land 
 with the love of a sister, would be insufficient 
 to produce so sudden and so great a change in ' 
 the temi)er of Ids wife ; but Saifula Pasha was ! 
 no wizard ii> the lore of love; the eflect delighted J 
 him ; and, sensible as he liimself was to the 
 beauty of the fair Greek, he looked no deeper 
 for the cause, but snicked the chibouque of ' 
 content, and occujiied the divan of justice, as 
 well satislicd with himself and all that apper- 1 
 
 tained to him, as though neither mysteiy nor 
 jealousy existed in the world. 
 
 It was on a fair evening in summer that the 
 two friends sat together, conversing in low- 
 whispers of past years and vanished happiness. 
 The draperies of the portal were drawn back; 
 and beyond the thresliold of the apartment 
 stretched away the garden and groves of the 
 palace, far as the eye could reach. Fountains 
 of delicate Avhite marble threw their sparkling 
 waters into the air; and, as the volume de- 
 scended, touched b}' the colors of the setting 
 sun, it fell back upon the lotus blossoms in the 
 basin like a tide of gems. Birds of gorgeous 
 plumage were suspended in golden cages from 
 the branches of the tall trees, or wandered 
 among the rainbow-tinted flowers; while the 
 sweet breath of the lime-buds and the Persian 
 jasmine came soothingly- upon the wind. 
 
 It was a lovely hour ; but there was a sadden- 
 ing influence in its luxurious calm which the fair 
 Circassian felt in everj- pulse ; tears stood in 
 her deep ej-es; and the unbidden sigh rose at 
 intervals, as if to rebuke the effort which she 
 made to smile. 
 
 The gentle Greek gazed fondly on her for a 
 moment ; and then, flinging her white arms 
 about her neck, she said playfully — 
 
 " Ai, guzum— my .eyes ! when' Saifula Pasha 
 paid sixty purses for a certain slave whom he 
 purchased not many months back, it was in the 
 iiope that she might be able to while his way- 
 ward wife fi'oni her sadness. How say you f 
 shall we try her skill? ily first tale I have1^)ld 
 j-ou, as the rose avows her love to the bulbul, 
 in secret — the rest may be more openly delivered 
 — the Prophet grant that, like the bulbul's an- 
 swer to his blossom-love, they may be sweet, 
 even although perchance somewhat sad. Speak, 
 Eftendiniou — my mistress, shall it be so ?" 
 
 '• Janum — my soul !" answered her companion ; 
 " I live but to listen." And, having placed her- 
 self more commodiously among her cushions, 
 and possessed lierself of the fair hand which was 
 wandering lovingly among her tresses, thi 
 Pasha's wife, surrounded by her slaves, prepared 
 to hearken to the tale of her new-found friend. 
 
 The Greek remained silent for a moment, with 
 her open palm pressed upon her brow in deep 
 thought ; and then, suddenlj- smiling u[)on the 
 young beauty at her side, she struck a few notes 
 upon her zebec, and commenced her narrative. 
 
 CIIAI^TER HI. 
 
 \he diamond merchant. 
 
 In the reign • of Sultan Mourad the Second, 
 there dwelt in Stamboul a young man whose 
 name was Hassan. His father, who had been a 
 merchant of some reputation, died while his son 
 was yet a child ; and his n-other had lived 
 through the subsequent years of her widowhood 
 without an interest or an affection which did 
 not ccnire in her boy. "Well had the youth 
 repaid the loving care of his last parent; and 
 often did the aged Yusnu-gul bless the Prophet 
 
THE llOMANCK OF Till: HAUKM. 7 
 
 who had spared such a trcaeure to h«jr gray As slio Hung liors.If upon a pilo of ctishiom 
 liiiii-s. hosid.' th.- sofii of tlif D.-ncr-.ljir, an,l l«...k.-l i,p 
 
 Hassan EfFendi was ardent, iinactiiiative, and t.-nderly in his faor, a i'ol(liir«.s f.'ll tipon Ii.t 
 high-hearted, and was as reniarkal.le for his heart, and slie reinainod for a wliile silent ; yet 
 moral qualities as f>>.' his personal altraetions. even fliat availeil iier nothing, for her sii.n.-e 
 As he is the hero of n-y story, 1 must heexeused passfd unheeded; no foud f^aze linp're.i upon 
 if I attempt his deserii>tion"; and I will give it lier beauty; and a tinge of Itiller an<l regr.tful 
 !n as few words as possilile. To a stature so surprise iningled with the sigh that Inave.l li.r 
 lofty that, had it not been tempeied by extreme bosom, as she stretelied her jewelh.l band t«- 
 gruce, it might have been considered almost as wards her zebee, and swept the eliords with 
 H defect, ho united the advantages of a noble lingers as light as the breath of evening among 
 expression of countenance, and features of the roses. 
 
 most classical beauty. His dark eyes had a The spirit of the Deffer-dar was softened by 
 depth whence, in moments of excitement, the the strain, and he sighed in bis turn: but, alas! 
 living fire tlashe.l forth with meteorie brilliancy ; tii.- sigh was not f»ir Nef/.i Sabali ; for as bis 
 and bis lip had that curve of iningled .<eorn and troiibl.d thougiit.s resolved tliemselve.-j into calm, 
 softness wliich betrays the workings of the spirit be reinemb.-ied Hassan; and, while the boanii- 
 without the aid of words. The turban never ful ( irea-ssian was breathing out a lay of love, 
 bound a nobler brow than that of Hassan he was menially expatiating ou the delights of 
 Etfendi ; nor was the girdle of cacbemire ever frieiniship. 
 
 folded above a more generous heart. ' " Uf what avail," he asked himself, " have 
 
 Constituted as I have here described him, it been f be toils and the intrigues of years? Of 
 will not be matter of surprise to any that Hassan what value bave been the false vows of tin- tinio- 
 created for himself a surpassing interest in tbe serving herd wlio have followed in my path? 
 breast of the Defter-dar, or Treasurer to the The toils have withered me — the intrigues bavu 
 Crown, who soon felt for the young man the blighted me — the flatterers have proved falsi- — 
 affection of a father. His love was gratefnlly the gaud and tbe glitter of court favor were 
 returned; and it was the more valuable to the sunlight in whieh they basked, and tb.v 
 Hassan because he had never known a father's have no time to siiiver in the slinde of <li.«.i|i- 
 fondness. To the atfection of u son he added prtintment. Now is the moment to revenge niv- 
 the reverence of aprotege, and thus deepened the self on fate, and to make the lure of ainbilion 
 feeling which shed a glow of hapjiiness over his : yield to the calm impulse of friendship. I am 
 existence ; while his brightest moments, despite , no longer the favorite of Mourad, but I am still 
 his youth and his enthusiasm, were spent in the the friend of Hassan ; and what is the possession 
 Bo.iety of his powerful and partial friend. of power compared to that of one honest herir'. f 
 
 Thus were things situated, when one of those When the storm rages, the surf is scattered upon 
 diplomatic avalanches, which descend no where the shore ; but the jewel which is hidden in the 
 BO suddenly nor so fatally as in the East, over- I depths of ocean is unmoved by the tumult of 
 whelmed the Deftcr-dar, and he found himsi-lf the billows." 
 
 dispossessed of all his honors at a ]>eriod when | With this consolatory reflection the Defler-<lar 
 they had become habitual to him. Nor was liis concluded Ids revery ; and, as the smile of reeo- 
 interest at court the oidy loss which aceom- | vered complacency rose to his lip, N<-fzi-Sabah 
 panied his dismission from" office — true, his for-, | ccase.i her song, and smiled in her turn at tlie 
 tune, which was am]>le, remained intact ami 
 UninTaded liy the hand of power: he was still 
 
 ss of her fond experiment 
 Nor was the stoii-al composure of the ox- 
 courtier subject of surprise to those around him. 
 lively Turk is aware that the same band whi< h 
 bi-ekons bin to a I'ashalik can also twine the 
 bowstring about his neck; and he accepts the 
 one with as murh outward composure as he sub- 
 mits to tbe other. I'.veii beggary, 8U<ideiily an 
 • it may e<mie upon bim, fails to wring a murmur 
 I from his li]>s. H<' looks upon worldly advaiiee- 
 
 Bnrrounded by luxury and indulgence ; but 1 
 antechamber wivs n<> long .r thronged with iho-e 
 troops of fririuls who had been wont to irowd 
 it, and whose attendance had ever been eori- 
 sidered over|>:iid by his smiles: he awoke on 
 the morrow after his dismissal, wearied bv a 
 night of fitful and uneas}' dreams, only to had 
 himself alone. 
 
 Tliere is something strange and startling to 1 tneiit and worldly jiossessions as mere transitory 
 one who has been accustomed to a bevy of adu- | benefits, and the grave as tbe great and eeiluin 
 lators — to a herd of Bupf>lianfs — to a throng of end of all ; and, unlike the theoretical Europei 
 obsequious sycophants — in finding kis altar sud- who, admilling th 
 - • • • . •^. • ,,,„„^,, i,,^.^. , 
 
 denly abandoned by the incense-breatning wor- 
 shippers who v'->Y- wont to eiw-'-'e it; and thus 
 felt the I)efter-<iar. lis wanaered listlessly aiid 
 sadly through his sf»acious apartments ; he laid 
 his pipe a8i<le, and left his coffee untasted ; and, 
 after a while, he passed into the harem; but 
 even the smiles of Ncfzi-Sabah, his wife, failed 
 to awaken him to joy. And yet she was the 
 wife of only a few short months, and beautiful as 
 a houri. Gentle as the " Morning Zephyr," 
 whose name she bore, dark-eyed as the gazelle, 
 and graceful as a fawn, Nefzi-Sabah found the 
 •pell of her lovcliucBs for the first Lime powerless. 
 
 : same belief, neverthell•^r^ 
 r'ere tbe 8Uj)rerae good — 
 .Mpha and Omega of all created beings — 
 .Muskclmaun, instead of terminating his r< ver 
 with a |)islol or a razor, or supporting them 
 
 lirst with a dogged 
 plaees him beyond tl 
 
 lid sullen d' 
 
 •span 
 
 rhirh 
 
 pale of future exertion, 
 1 atrophises" the energies of all who are de 
 [teiident on bim, <almly rehii^iis him-.elf to a fate 
 which h.; had not pow'er to eontiol, ami make* 
 the best of that whieh still remains. TIk- Defter- 
 dar was wealthy ; he yet pos.se8se.l the meant 
 of tranquil, and even costly enjoyment ; tbe 
 substance was untouched, it was the »liiidow 
 
THE ROMAKCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 only which had passed away ; and, under snch 
 circumstiinees, no Turk wonld arrogate to liim- 
 self the right of complaint ; or deeni that he 
 could be an object of comniisei-ation. 
 
 It was a time of festival, the Rainazan was 
 waning to a close — the morrow was the feast of 
 tlie Bairam; and the Defter-dar ere long quitted 
 tlic women's apartments, in order to prepare the 
 presents which, at this period, it is cnstomai-y to 
 distribute among the members of the household. 
 
 As the ex-courtier turned a hasty glance on 
 the many gifts that lay around him, each enve- 
 loped in the boksha or handkerchief in which 
 the offering is made, he could not repress the 
 j-ising scorn which grew out of the memory of 
 past yeai-s, and the conviction that the link that 
 now united him to those who were about to 
 share his bounty, was one of interest, not love. 
 ]-5ut the feeling passed away, as his eye lingered 
 on the costly gifts prepared for Hassan ; and, 
 with unwonted earnestness, he once Triore un- 
 folded the boksha to assure himself that the 
 present was worthy of his love. 
 
 A shawl from the looms of Caehemire, whose 
 price would have ransomed a province con- 
 cealed amid its folds a Damascus dagger, and a 
 pail" of diamond-studded pistols; and. as the 
 l)efter-dar replaced the weapons, and refolded 
 the handkerchief, he put into the hands of a 
 trusty slave the precious offeriiig of fi-ieudship, 
 and turned away with a calm brow and a cheer- 
 ful s])irit. 
 
 But the cup of disappointment was not j-et 
 diained to the dregs, aud the Defter-dar was 
 "ated to imbibe the draught even to the last 
 drop. 
 
 Eager to expedite the work of bounty, the 
 slave loaded himself with as many packages as 
 he could conveniently carry, and hastened on 
 his errand. Numerous were the greetings which 
 awaited him as he passed on ; and each chance- 
 pa.ssengcr whom he encountered on his way 
 grasped his hand in fellowship and congratula- 
 tion, as is customary atthis solemn feast; can- 
 non boomed along 'the 'Bosphorus ; the distant 
 sound of music came upon the wind ; and the 
 good ilusselmaun, excited and preoccupied, 
 hastily placed in the possession of one of the 
 impatient expectants the sumptuous gift destined 
 for Hassan ; and then unconsciously pursued his 
 way to the dwelling of the young Effendi. 
 
 Hassan, meanwhile, suffered far more at the 
 niisfortunes of his friend than the Defter-dar 
 himself. The ex-courtier was no longer in the 
 first rush of youth ; he had attained the age 
 when, despite all circumstances, a certain degree 
 of philosophy is forced upon every man. He 
 had sufficient experience to perceive and to ap- 
 preciate the hollowness and uncertainty of 
 worldly honors, and a mind energetic enough to 
 turn to nobler means of consolation. But^Has- 
 Baii was yet in the fresh years when the dew of 
 hope fails plentifully on tiie wayside of exis- 
 tence, and cabs up a thousand bright tints from 
 tlie wilding flowers which blos.«oMi there. He 
 liad not yet learnt (he usefid and care-taught 
 lesson of self-examination and self-government. 
 He coidd not com|)rehend tiie possibility of 
 casting aside worldly distinctions, and rcpl.acing 
 "'•er by the more social possessions of 
 
 fellowship and regard. He had ever looked 
 upon the Defter-dar as upon one born to autho- 
 rity and trust ; and he could not, in the first 
 rusii of feeling, disentangle those attributes 
 which had so long been blent in his imagination. 
 To say that he pitied the individual were an er- 
 ror — he only mourned the evil ; for he regarded 
 his friend with the same honoring eyes as when 
 he moved in pride and power. " The sun," said 
 Hassan, in replj' to some observation of Yusnu- 
 gul, his mother: "is still the sun, though clouds 
 may have passed before it. Who shall dare to 
 lift an irreverent look to the glorious orb, or t« 
 deride its want of light, because the vapors of 
 the morning have overshadowed it?" 
 
 " The Defter-dar," retorted the aged woman, 
 as she resumed her pipe, and deposited beside 
 her cushions the bag of embroidei-ed cacheraire 
 containing the scented tobacco with which she 
 had just replenished it ; " the Defter-dar has 
 still the heart and the hand of a prince; and 
 fear not " 
 
 " What should I fear?" exclaimed Hassan, his 
 dark eyes flashing scorn at the inference of his 
 more worldly-minded mother; "Mashallah! have 
 I loved him only for the riches with which he 
 has loaded me ? Have I been bought at a price f 
 Do not even you know me better? I tell you. 
 mother, that the world holds not the being who 
 shall ever rend away my heart from the Defter- 
 dar; he has been a father to me in affection, a 
 friend in tru.st, a protector in munificence. He 
 only can undo the work of his own kindness; 
 and while he still loves me, nothing shall part 
 us, though all the ills of life should accumulate 
 around him." 
 
 The words had scarcelj^ passed the lips of the 
 excited young man, when a slave of Yusnu-gul's 
 harem stood slipperless at the door of the apart- 
 ment, holding in her hand an embroidered 
 boksha, which she laid at the feet of Hassan as 
 the gift of the Defter-dar; and then, retreating 
 a fev/ paces, she crossed her hands before her. 
 and awaited in silence the orders of her lord. 
 
 With an eager hand and a throbbing heart, 
 Hassan prepared to unfold the handkerchief; 
 and Yusnu-gul raised herself from herrecumbent 
 position to feast her eyes on the costly present 
 which her son was about to reveal. 
 
 It was not the expectation of acquiring a new 
 and valuable possession which agitated Hassan 
 as he threw back the folds of the boksha : it 
 was the consciousness that the gift offered on 
 tiie occasion of the Bairam is always in propor- 
 tion to the degree of regard in which the in<ii- 
 vidual to whom it is offered is held by the donor; 
 and his- disimiy may consequently be eonceivcii 
 when the handkerchief delivered up its contents. 
 The blood mounted to his brow, and the fire 
 flashed from his deep eyes, as he discovered their 
 nature — a shirtof the stuff' worn by tlie boatmen 
 on the Bospliorus ; pantaloons of the conunon 
 material used by the peasantry ; a shawl whose 
 coarse folds Avere meet only to' bind the forehead 
 of a ghez-metkian, or domestic slave. Such was 
 the present which had been tendered to tlio 
 hitherto favorite friend of the Defter-dar I 
 
 For a few moments the young man remained 
 speechless ; and that brief space sufficed for a 
 thousand comments from Yusuu guL " tjhekiur 
 
lilE ROMANCE OF THE IIAIIEM. g 
 
 Allah— Praise be to God !" she exclftimcd ; " we | still unrcnt, and they deem that all men irro 
 
 truth— hut Yam undi'ooived. Insliiillali— I tniKt 
 in God ! 1 iiavo drained my dinni^lit. nf hitter- 
 noss, and the cup is emptv. Ill int. d Hassan I 
 to have but one friend, and (o los.- him tluisl" 
 
 "And what avails friendship at your bright 
 age, Klfendim ?" murmured out a low voiee elose 
 biside iiim, as a small haiul was laid lighllv on 
 his arm : " Bosh der— it is nothing. Fri.-mfship 
 is for the grayd)eard and the dotard ; but your 
 beard is yet blaek as the midnight cloiul'and 
 your wit keen as the dagger it) your girdle — 
 friendship is but the dregs wiiieh life oilers to 
 the aged when youth has drained the draught) — 
 friendship is the eold resting-plaee of satiety 
 when passion has extinguished the flames of it« 
 tiery ear, and swept onward on dusky wings into 
 irrecoverable darkness. You are 'not formed 
 for friendship — the spring sun does but light up 
 the flowers: the fruits of autumn rcfpiire a 
 tiercer beam. You are like one who hungers at 
 a feast, because he lacks energy to stretch forth 
 
 are not yet so sunk as to need such courtesy us 
 this! Is the Defter-dar become a divane, an 
 idiot, or does lie take you for tlie son of a bagh- 
 djee,* that he sends you garments titting only 
 for a slave ! Sen ehok adam, you are much of 
 a man, if you bear this wit hout" complaint 1" 
 
 But Hassan answered not. He sat with his 
 head bowed down xipon his breast, lost in 
 thought; until, as the tndignation of his mother 
 became gradmdly more loud and less measured, 
 he roused himself, and replied in a broken tone: 
 " Enough of this, 1 have read tiie meaning of 
 the Defter-dar — he is lord of his own will, and 1 
 have no right to condemn him for its exercise. 
 All the world has changed to him ; and he is 
 free in his turn to change to lue. Jt is his own 
 fiat which separates us. May he fiinl another 
 heart that will cling to him as fomily and 
 as faithfully as that of Hassan would have done 
 had he not spurned it from him !" 
 
 A gusli of tears followed the woi-ds ; and 
 hastily flinging from him the wadded covering 
 of the tandourf beneath which he had been 
 sitting, the young man folded his pelisse about 
 him and rushed into the street He had need 
 of the keen eold air that was blowing from the 
 Bospiiorus to relieve his labored and painful 
 breathing, for his agony sutioeated him. 
 
 "All save this, 1 could have borne," he niur 
 mured to himself, "but to be ranked among 
 his menial servants — to be put upon a footing 
 with his slaves — to be tacitly taught that he 
 holds me as lightly as any other vailet whom he 
 has bought with his gold — this oidy I cannot 
 bear, lil-fated Hassan ! to have but one friend, 
 Qud to lose him thus !" 
 
 For hours did the joung man wander about 
 the city: he heard not the busy hum of the 
 streets ; he heeded not the bright eyes wliieh 
 flashed upon him as he passed, from beneath the 
 jealous yashmac ;:^ he returned not the greetings 
 tliat were addressed to him by his acquaintance, 
 nor the i<lle jests of which he was the subject. 
 His mind was absorbed by one engrossing idea ; 
 and at intervals he mentally repeated, "Hl- 
 fated Hassan ! to have but one friend, and to 
 lose him thus !" 
 
 In this dark mood of mind the young Effendi 
 turned aside from the stieets, just as twilight 
 was beginning to thicken aroimd him ; and 
 entered one of the eerneteries of the city. The 
 iiight-win<l was already sighing among the tall 
 cyj)resses that overshadowed the graves, an<l 
 the turbaned head-stones gleamed eold and 
 ghastlj- through the gloom. In the distance the 
 illuminated minarets looked like {airy palaces 
 hung in mid-air; the world without was bright- 
 ened by festivity, and loud with revel — Hassan 
 felt as though it were a bitter mockery; — and 
 while he lingered among the damp graves, he 
 congratulated himself in the darkness of his 
 
 spirit that he was alone; and, in the fervor of 
 the feelii;g he exclaimed aloud, "Yes; they too 
 must run the same career of cheating affection ; 
 but as yet they are happy — for them the veil'is 
 
 * A laborej-. 
 
 t A wcjoJen frame, containin); a brazier of heated char- 
 ooal, and overlaid \\ ith Miken o verleu. 
 I Veil worn Ity Turkish females in the ttreeL 
 
 his hand 
 
 " Who are you? and what would vou with 
 me?" asked Hassan, gloomily. 
 
 " 1 am called Fclech-so," was the rej.ly ; "and 
 1 ask of you only to be just to yours'elf; the 
 bulbul amid its sorrows has its rose— it murmurs 
 not to the winds of heaven without one fond ear 
 to listen ; there is a charm even in grief where 
 it awakens sympathy. But the biightest eye 
 will grow dim with tears, and the "smoothest 
 brow become furrowed by bitter thought ; and 
 thus the young and the qiiick-heartcd do well to 
 trample care beneath their feet, ere it beeomea 
 too strong to be overmastered." 
 
 "Yours is joyous philosophy; affiet ollah— 
 much good may it do you ;" said Hassan with a 
 scornful smile, as he bent down to take a closer 
 view of his companion, interested in spite of 
 himself in the singularity of the adventure: "but 
 a man must be a fop or a stoic who professea 
 it" 
 
 -And wherefore*?" qsked the low, soft, but 
 somewhat mocking voice: "the stoic of ihree- 
 and-twenty bids fair to change his creed at fifty 
 for one less stern. Hassan Kll'endi, if you could 
 only look on me, you would believe me." 
 
 " You kimw me, then?" said the young man, 
 wi«h astoidshment 
 
 Know yon ?" was the laughing rejoinder 
 •'■who in Stamboul knows you not ? Those who 
 may not gather the rose are, nevertheless, not 
 forbidden to look upon it." 
 
 Hassan listened more complacently. " I-hav« 
 tracked you for the last hour: I woiihl fain save 
 you from yourself. You are cursing your 
 feleeli,* when you are, in truth, y<>urown worst 
 enemy. Move a few jiaces onward, into yonder 
 spot, where the reflection of a cluster of bl.i/ing 
 minarets almost cheats the eye into n beli.f of 
 da\ light 1 will detain you but a moment, and 
 you shall tlien be free to* act as you deem best." 
 Hassan involuntarily obeyed; and. as lie 
 followed closely on the footsteps of his sfrango 
 guide, he was struck with the lightness of her 
 movements, and the graceful undnlations of her 
 slight figure; but when they had ut lengih 
 
 * Constellation. 
 
10 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 reached the spot ■whicli she indicated, and that 
 she -withdrew her yashmac, and revealed to him 
 the loveliest face on which he had ever looked, 
 his breath came quicker, and he demanded 
 hurriedly : — " How said you that you were 
 called r 
 
 " Feleeh-so" — murmured the low voice. 
 
 " And j-ou are rightly named !" exclaimed the 
 excited young man ; " for your constellation 
 must, indeed, be ever in the ascendant. Speak! 
 What would j-ou ?" 
 
 " Effendim,! have told you all my errand. I 
 would fain call back the smile to your lip, and 
 the light to your e\-e. Our mouUahs may prate 
 to you of prayer — our Pashas of power — our 
 merchants of gold — I promise you all these, if 
 you care to mend your fortune. And now, fol- 
 low me on the instant, if you will ; or bid me 
 farewell at once, for, if we part to-night, we 
 part forever. I am a Turkish woman; the sun 
 has set, and I an: yet abroad : none, save your- 
 self, must look upon, or dog me. How say you ? 
 "Will you confide in me? Can my smile lighten 
 your grief? sen bilirsen — you kno\^ best— it is 
 for you to decide-, will you trust to me?" 
 
 " Instantly — eternally." 
 
 •' It is well ;" said Felech-so, as she re-adjusted 
 lier yash-mac, and drew her heavy cloak more 
 closely aV'out her: — "I shall lead you by by- 
 paths and unfrequented streets : follow me at a 
 distance ; and when you see me enter the 
 dwelling whither I am about to conduct you, 
 the door will be left ajar, and you may safely 
 pass the threshold." 
 
 " Stay j-et a moment," murmured Hassan. 
 
 "And wherefore, Effendini? When once we 
 have left the public streets, and that the same 
 roof covers us, shall I not be free to fill your 
 pipe, to linnd your slippers, and to serve your 
 coffee? Will not the music of my zebec be 
 softer than the distant murmurs of the city? and 
 the glances of your slave be more dazzling than 
 the glare of man\- torches !" 
 
 Hassan insisted no farther; and in the next 
 instant he was following the short and rapid 
 6tei)S of his new acquaintance through by-wa3-s 
 hitherto unknown to him. At times he caught 
 glimpses of tlie Bosj>horus, basking in the re- 
 flection of the myriad lamps of the hill-seated 
 city: at times he left it far ])ehind him, to follow 
 tlie ascent of some steep and narrow street — but 
 he hesitated no longer : and, after the hurried 
 walk of an hour, during the whole of which 
 time he never once lost sight of his mysterious 
 guide, he saw her pause an instant at the portal 
 of a stately building whose vast shadow lay 
 long upon "the eartii, and then disappear across 
 the threshold. In the next moment he stood on 
 the same spot: the door, as he had been fore- 
 warned, remained ajar; he pushed it gently 
 back, strode through tie portal, and found him- 
 Bi'lf in a spacious and cov<;red court, lighted only 
 by one dim and-fliikering lamp. 
 
 Hassan stood for a wiiile in some perplexity, 
 and not withfuit a passing suspicion that treach- 
 ery was int»-nded towards him ; when suddenly 
 a black slave, habited in a rich costume, who | 
 had evidently been awaiting his arrival, seized 
 him by the hand, and dr<_-w liim forward. Has- 1 
 BOn wjia neither of an age nor a temperament to j 
 
 yield slavishly to fear, yet, as he was hurried 
 onward through dark passages, and dragged up 
 one flight of steps and down another, where the 
 deep silence was broken only by his own foot- 
 falls and those of his conductor, a vague appre- 
 hension of evil grew upon him ; but it was by 
 this time too late to recede, for, even could he 
 have escaped from his companion, and had no 
 resistance been offered to his retreat, he was 
 conscious that he should be totally unable to re- 
 trace his path : and under these eircumstancea 
 he resolved quietly to follow up the adventure, 
 terminate as it might. 
 
 Having come to this decision, he bestowed 
 undivided attention on the movements of the 
 slave who conducted him ; and soon became 
 convinced that, altliough the building into 
 which he had been introduced was extremely 
 spacious, he had, nevertheless, trodden the same 
 ground more than once : a circumstance which 
 proved that, whatever might be the motive of 
 its owner, the intention was evidently to mys- 
 tify him as to its formation and extent. Not a 
 glimpse of light had he encountered since he 
 quitted the court ; and, as a door immediately 
 in front him suddenly fell back, Hassan in vol 
 untarily pressed his open palm upon his eyes to 
 shield them fi-om a glare which almost blinded 
 him. Peals of ringing laughter, and the glad 
 sounds of many zebecs, mingled with the joyous 
 voices of women, burst upon his ear ; and, as he 
 hastily withdrew his hand, the light form of 
 Felech-so detached itself from a group of young 
 beatities, as fair and briglit as houris, and ap- 
 proached him with a bounding step. 
 
 CHAPTER rV". 
 
 THE DIAMOND MERCHANT CONTINTIED. 
 
 Hour after hour sat Yusnu-gul in her apart- 
 ment, listening to the footfalls of every passing 
 slave, and deeming that each in turn heralded 
 the return of Hassan ; but Hassan came not ! 
 
 Daylight had passed away ; and the illumin- 
 ated minarets shot high into the air, like fiery 
 shafts, their graceful columns of light, while the 
 bosom of the Channel glowed like molten metal 
 beneath the blaze. Music was soft in the dis- 
 tance, and, at intervals, a light laugh or a merry 
 song rang upon the wind — and still Hassan 
 came not! 
 
 As yet, however, Yusnu-gul rather marvelled 
 than mourned at his delay : all the youth of 
 Stamboul were abroad in the glad city, and 
 Hassan, gentle as he was, ever loved to be the 
 first in every festival. The aged woman, there- 
 fore, quietly replenished her pipe, and sipped 
 her coffee, and lost herself in conjectures as to 
 the motive of the extraordinary conduct of the 
 Hefter-dar, and mental repinings at the unmerit- 
 ed mortification of her high-hearted son. 
 
 Another hour was filtered througli the lap of 
 time, and the loud cannon boomed along the 
 Bosphorus in rapid succession, while the flitting 
 fires of the festival ran skimmering .ilong tli« 
 dark face of night, like mimic lightning; glanc- 
 ing over the tops of the tall cedars, and spread- 
 
THE ROMANCK OF THE lIAIiEAL 
 
 n 
 
 iug in sheets of transient flnnic a numtU' of 
 golden glory about the city. At longlh llie cold 
 grey liglit of morning broke pule and oliilly in 
 the east; the dusky rocks of the Asiatic coast 
 loomed out, stern and sterile; the wliite build- 
 ings of IVra gleamed blank and bleak in the 
 faint sky ; and the distant minarets of Scutari 
 looked like giant-spirits, as iho tirst beams of 
 day revealed their shadowy outline, it was the 
 morrow of the ISairam — and still llassan re- 
 turned not ! 
 
 Yusnu-gul, who loved her son with a devotion 
 as untiring as it was profound, had watched 
 throughout the night without a sensation of 
 weariness, llassan was young and high-spirited, 
 and had, doubtlessly, been detained by his 
 associates; and the lioart of the mother was 
 soothed by the belief that, amid the dissipation 
 of the festival, he would forget his reecut mort- 
 ification. But with the chilly, cheerless dawn 
 came other and more anxious thoughts. Alike 
 to the pain-worn patient and to the weary 
 watcher — to the sick and to the sorrowing — 
 there are no moments so sad and so depressing 
 as those in which day and night stand together 
 on the threshold of time, as though each were 
 reluctant to j-ield up its empire. 
 
 When the light broke around her, Yusnu-gul 
 began to fear she knew not what! llassan was 
 impetuous, haughty, and uncompromising; of 
 ■what rashness might he not have been guilty, 
 in the first rush of his resentment? True, he 
 had loved the Defter-dar as a father ; but 
 Yusnu-gul was woman enough to be aware that 
 outraged affection is the very foundation on 
 which may be erected the firmest superstruc- 
 ture of hate. His attachment to the Ex-Trea- 
 surer had been divested of every taint of world- 
 liness and self-interest — a spontaneous out- 
 pouring of reverence and regard — but it is ever 
 the most generous spirit which is the quickliest 
 stung ; and the niotlier found no consolation for 
 her solitude in the suggestions of her awakened 
 fancies. 
 
 The slaves of Yusnu-gul removed her morning 
 meal untouched, llassan was yet absent ; and 
 the tearless eyes of the gray and faded woman 
 burnt with the fever of lier'throbbing bruin. 
 
 It was thus that she was found by >\ef/.i- 
 Sabah, the favorite wife of the Dcftor-dar, who, 
 on the day succeeding that of the Bairani, en- 
 tered the" harem of Vusnu-gul, followed by a 
 couple of her slaves ; and, easting aside her 
 yashmac, turned towards the mother of llassan 
 a brow as moody a-s lier own. 
 
 " Hai, hai — so, so, you are tardy with your 
 welcome, Kffendiin;" eomnicnced the beautiful 
 Circassian, for the aged woman had uttered no 
 greeting to her visitor; " nor do 1 ask from you 
 more speedy courtesy, ilashullah ! the wrongs 
 that I have" suffered from' the son are filly fol- 
 lowed by the coldness of the mother." 
 
 " If jou are come to tell of lUissan, speak 1" 
 said Yusnu-gul, earnestly. 
 
 "If lam come to tell of llassan!" was the 
 retort; " think you that 1 can tamely suffer the 
 rivalry of a stripling in the affeelions of the 
 Defter-dar? Are my eyes dim, or my cheeks 
 faded, that I should be overlooked because he 
 
 ' has a smooth tongue and a ready wilf I« htf 
 
 not a sakil-siz — a no-beard?" 
 i "Is llassan indeed with the Dofler-darJ" 
 asked Yusnu-gul, while a gleam of joy lit up lur 
 fadcil brow. 
 
 "What avails it that he is not;" ileinanded 
 Nef/i-.Sabah peevishly ; " when even the ingra- 
 titude and discourtesy of his absence <luriiig the 
 festival of yesterday have not yet o|)ened the 
 eyes of the Defter-tlar. Ne var — what is this! 
 Am I to listen to no discourse more flattering 
 to my self-love than repinings of the nou-aj)- 
 pearance of an ingrate?" 
 
 "Talk not of ingratitude, Effendim;" said the 
 mother indiginmtlv ; " after the bokshalik* with 
 which the Defter-Jar honored my son, he could 
 scarcely have expected thanks at his hands — • 
 Inshallah! llassan Elfendi is no slave." 
 
 " Were he a 1'a.Hha he could not desire one 
 more costly !" exclaimed the Circassian ; " but 
 perchance the spoiled favorite forgot the friend, 
 when he no longer looked upon the Defter- 
 dar." 
 
 " A shirt suited to a cni<|uejhe !"f said the 
 mother scornfully. 
 
 " Pistols for his woman-hand, of which the 
 diamond-hilts can alone be valuable to the 
 troubler of the peace of harems — " followed up 
 the Circassian. 
 
 "Schalvar,J fitting oid}- for a peasant — " pur- 
 sued Yusnu-gul. 
 
 "A Damascus dagger whose fellow would be 
 sought in vain, even throughout the golden city 
 of btamboid — " persisted Nefzl-Sabali. 
 
 " A shawl — " eonitneiiced the aged woman. 
 
 " Worthy to have covered the loins of the 
 camel which carried the Prophet — " broke in 
 her companion. 
 
 Yusnu-gul clapped her hands with a gesture 
 of contemptuous indifference, and hastily eom- 
 maniled that the boksha of the Defter-dar should 
 be unfolded before the visiter; when the sur- 
 prise of the Circassian was extreme, on seeing 
 the coarse and unseendy garments which liad 
 been tendered to Hassan us the gift of his pro- 
 tector. 
 
 llapidly and energetically tlid Nef/.i-Sabah 
 enumerate and describe the contents of the hutid- 
 kerchief which had been prej)ared by the hands 
 of the Defter-dar for his favorite ; and, forget- 
 ful of her own fancied subject of coni|)laint 
 against Hassan, she was soon engaged as anx- 
 iously as Vusnu-gul herself in a thousand con- 
 tradictory and im|)rol)able conjectures as to the 
 cause of his unwonted absence, lint, alas! in 
 vain did they surmist?, and consult, and explain 
 — Hassan returned not I 
 I Months wore painfull}- away. The heart <if 
 Yusnu-gid was a widowed heart; and, as she 
 ] looked upon the s|)urkling waters (jf the llos- 
 I phorus during the sunny days of summer, she 
 ! saw not their beauty, she felt not their eharm : 
 to her those waters ever seemed to be the grave 
 of Hassan. 
 
 " Yes," would she murmur to hersi'lf in her 
 bereavement; "there — beneath that smiling 
 and treacherous wave, lies my manly boy — my 
 only one — the light of my eyes, the moon of my 
 
 t Uoauuan. 
 
 I T, 
 
12 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM, 
 
 evening sky, the bulbul whose voice is hushed ; ' into the deep gloom of the grave-forest, an 
 the joy of my old age, Hassau the high- soon stood before ihe tall stone Avhich liad beei 
 hearted!" indicated. At its base was one of those snia. 
 
 Kor did the Defter-dar mourn less deeply the reservoirs, hollowed in the marble for the us< 
 disappearance of his favorite. Of his death, his I of the birds and the wandering dogs, so eoinnior 
 violent or self-inflicted doatii, it was impossible in Tui-kish burial-places; the little basin waf 
 to doubt, as every endeavor to discover his fate ! dried up : and in this spot the generous fiient. 
 had proved abortive; and the tirst anguish of deposited the sum which had been rec^uired oi 
 despair had slowly yielded to the calmer but no I him, turned a long, searching look into the 
 
 less heartfelt grief of resignation, when a letter -' -^ '=" --• ' *'— • -' — '" ^ 
 
 was one morning placed in the hands of the 
 
 Defter-dar, wlio started with a surprise whicl 
 almost amounted to incredulity, on recognizing 
 tlie well-known character of Hassan. 
 
 "Bismillah ! — In the name of the most merci- 
 ful Allah; such were the contents of the paper; 
 " I am lost to you, and to the world ; I am lost 
 even to myself: and, having told you this, I 
 dare not add any thing in elucidation of a mys- 
 tery which must have bewildered, and, I do 
 even hope, have grieved you. I think of you 
 often — fondly — your memory dwells with me 
 as the remembrance of lost light lingers with 
 the tenant of a dungeon ; or as the vision of 
 departed liberty comes back upon the spirit of 
 the despairing captive. I love to remember that 
 I was dear to you ; I have foigotten all that 
 wounded alike my pride and my affection. I 
 retain jealously and fondly the gentler reminis- 
 cences which are wound about mj' heart too 
 closely ever to be rent asunder 1 I parted from 
 you proudly ; all the kindness that you had 
 lavished upon me ; everj- token of affection, 
 every proof of regard, had been the spontaneous 
 offering of your own generous nature. Alas ! I 
 now appeal to your memory as a suppliant. If 
 you ever loved — if you still love me — if you 
 would save me from misery, from suff'ering, 
 from death — a speedy and painful death — cher- 
 ish no doubt, admit no suspicion ; seek not to 
 penetrate a mystery too dense ever to be fa- 
 thomed. Do not despise nor refuse me ; but 
 remembering only the loving trust of our earlier 
 and happier communion, bestow out of the 
 wealth which Allah has poured into j-our lap 
 sufficient to save me from destruction. Deposit, 
 at the waning of the moon, a purse, containing 
 twenty thousand piastres, on the tall tijrbaned 
 head-stone to the right of the great avenue of 
 the Cemetery^ of Scutari ; one will be there to 
 secure it; but, as you love me, linger not to 
 assure yourself of this fact, nor to palter with 
 the messenger. In doing either you will destroy- 
 me. I dare add no more — pity and pray for 
 tlie lost Hassan." 
 
 The Defter-dar read and re-read the letter; 
 there could be no doubt but that the hand- 
 writing was that of him whom he has loved so 
 well — of the son of Yusnu-gul ; and, although 
 with a sick heart, and a throbbing pulse, he he- 
 Bitated not to obey tlie bidding. 
 
 The dawn was spreading faintly in the sky, 
 and t.'ie moor was waning into a pale and sickly 
 white, wiicn the Dcfter-dai-, leaving his caique 
 at the pier of Scutari, slowly wound his way 
 through the hushed and slumbering city, an'd 
 thence passed alone into its stately necropolis. 
 Long sweeps of wind were heaving the heavy 
 cypress boughs, like s])irit-sighs ; but the Defter- 
 
 gloom around him, and then slowly moved 
 away. 
 
 But it was difficult to depart without one re- 
 trospective glance ; and the Defter-dar had not 
 progressed more than a few yards, ere he paus- 
 ed, and looked back. A dusky figu7-e flitted 
 across the path, and lingered an instant beneath 
 the tall tomb — a deep voice murmured, " It is 
 well!" and then the ex-courtier was once more 
 alone in the midst of the deep stillness. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DIAMOND MERCHANT CONTINIIED, 
 
 A YEAR went by — a long and dreary year— 
 and the memory of Hassan became to the Defter- 
 dar like the indistinct vision of a painful dream ; 
 but the mystery was j-et to deepen, and tlie 
 fact of his existence was once more to ai'ouse all 
 the pain-fraught sympathies of those who had 
 loved him. A second letter, written like the 
 first in agony of spirit, was placed in the hands 
 of the Defter-dar at the expiration of that period 
 Ijy one of his slaves ; and the bearer, unmoved 
 by the peril of his mission, had east off" his slip- 
 pers on the threshold of the Ex-Treasurer ; and 
 there, awaited a reply. 
 
 " Once," thus ran the missive ; " once I was 
 dear to you : you were to me as a father, and 1 
 loved you as a son. That I still hold you in my 
 heart, be this my witness! I may be forgottc -i 
 — maj' have been so long; yet 1 pray you ii. 
 mercy to recall my memoiy. I am in danger 
 — imminent, instant danger — and you alone can 
 save me. You are wealth}', you are generous 
 — a trusty slave will deliver this letter. Should 
 you deny my prayer, or detain my messenger, 
 i shall soon be beyond help. If however, you 
 would once more save me from destruction, lot 
 him be the bearer of twenty thousand piastres. 
 I dare not doubt that you will preserve mo ; 
 Inshallah! you are the fast hope of the miser- 
 able Hassan !" 
 
 The Defter-dar summoned the strange slave 
 into his presence ; he bribed him with gold and 
 soft words; he threatened him with the basti- 
 nado and the bowstring; but he could extoi-t 
 no intelligence of the present position or the 
 threatened peril of Hassan. 
 
 "Destroy or even detain me, and he is lost ;" 
 was the oidy answer to every threat. " Dog 
 me ; and, wlnle I am eluding your pursuit, his 
 fate will be accomplished." 
 
 To the more gentle argument of bribe and 
 entreaty he was equally invulnerable. "If you 
 grant tiie request of which I am the bearer," he 
 
 dar quailed not in his purpose. He plunged j said, " Hassau is saved ; and for myself, in tb." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THi: HAREM. 
 
 IS 
 
 case, my reward is sure. ElTondim, I ask of yi/u 
 notliiiig save des]>ateh." 
 
 Without tlie hesitation of a moment, the 
 Defter-dar phieed the required sum in the linnds 
 of tlie messenger; and aeeoinpanied it witii a 
 letter, replete with friendship and anxiety, to 
 Hassan, and expressions of the most atfcetionato 
 and sorrowing interest. He besought iiiin to 
 •mveil his melancholy mystery to his best friend, 
 fi)r inelaueholy it must assuredly be, when it 
 conl.l thus sever him from the mother of liis 
 youth and the eompanion of his nnudiood ; he 
 ]>roniised, should he have plaeed his life in jeo- 
 parily bj' some aet of violenee or folly, to exert 
 for him all the interest whieh he yet possessed 
 at eourt; and concluded by drawing a miser- 
 able picture of the wretched Yusnu-gul, wither- 
 ing a\Tay into a solitary and unregietted grave. 
 
 But when the letter was concluded, and the 
 money delivered into the keeping of the slave, 
 It was not so easy to suffer him to depart un- 
 watehed ; and a trusty servant was f)ui upon his 
 tr.ii'k. who followed for houi-s the intricate course 
 of the stranger; but he followed in vain — the 
 inattention of a moment sufficed to render abor- 
 tive the exertions of a ar^-; and he returned to 
 the palace of the Defler-dar, defeated and baf- 
 fled. 
 
 Once more months passed away ; and, even 
 as it ha<l been foretold to Hassan, the discon- 
 solate Yusnu-gul died. She had mourned her 
 son, when she believed him to be lost to her for 
 ever, with the calm, deep grief of resignation ; 
 but her feeble frame and excited mind could not 
 contend with the irritation of this new mj-stcrv, 
 this unfathomable secret; and she bent beneath 
 the shock as the forest tree bends to the tempest 
 breath ; and as the overstrained brandies, bow- 
 ed beyond their power of resistance, rend the 
 trunk from which they sprang, so did the feel- 
 ings of Yusnu-gul, indulged and encouraged in 
 the solitude of the harem, break the heart that | 
 could sustain the pressure no longer. 
 
 There were moments, when in thinking of 
 Hassan, and in weaving strange fancies on his j 
 fate, the Defter-dar almost hoped that he should 
 dear of him no more. That his letter had re- 
 mained unanswered ratlier grieved than sur- 
 prised him ; for he felt that, had Hassan been 
 free to aet, he would long ere this have returned , 
 to his home, and to those whom he had loved 
 from his boyhood ; and he, consequently, visited ' 
 his silence upon the same system of coercion i 
 whieh had forbidden his re-apjiearance among 
 nis friends. Could he have disentangled the 
 ravelled skein of secrecy in whose meshes the poor 
 youth was bound, the Defter-dar would have 
 exerted every energy, and strained every nerve 
 to restore him to the world ; but to hear of him 
 only to earn the miserable privilege of knowing 
 him to be beyond human help, was a torment 
 rather than a blessing to his anxious affection. I 
 His mother was no more ; his former associates 
 had almost forgotten him. He, alone, remem- 
 bered him with regret; and yet he would have 
 thanked the messenger who broutrht the titlings 
 of h's death. B'lt this was not to l)e : a third 
 titc" onme » sci-^'l from Hassan — a voice from ' 
 hi* ' ~^ — "^^e — 1 record of his jeopardy — an 
 appeal to ■the fne?d who bad cherished him : — | 
 
 ' " For the last time." he wrote, "Hassan, the 
 son of Said, pours forth his grief before tlio 
 Defter-dar of the Sultan Mourail. I have a 
 vague dream that a shadow had jia.ssed over 
 your brightness, ere from me light was allogo 
 ther shut out. It may have been so— I know 
 not if it were — I heed it not, though you pio 
 claim it to be truth. The sky is full of stars 
 the sage alone nmrks tlie quenching of those 
 whieh fade from the g^ilaxy : to the common 
 ga/e all is unchanged — I shall trouble you no 
 more — this is my last appeal. Save me, or I am 
 lost — golil alone can serve me : jou have gold, 
 and your heart is large : to none else can I ap- 
 ply. I write to you like a madman, but it is 
 only the madness of desperation. I care not 
 what may be the consequence, I will write to 
 you no more. Friend! father! protector! — 
 save me again on this occasion — place the samo 
 sum as before at the disposal of my messenger , 
 then pity and forget the lost Hassan." 
 
 The Defter-dar replied to the mis.siv6 by 
 silently putting 11 purse of gold into the handd 
 of the expectant slave, and coldly telling him 
 that he was free to depart when he listi-d. The 
 man looked steadily in the face of the courtier, 
 made a respectful obeisance, and withdrew. As 
 he left the liouse, he glanced stealthily back to 
 note if he were pursued, but the street was 
 empty; and the numner of the Defter-dar had 
 been sufficienth' indifferent to convince him that 
 the existence and well-being of Hassan were 
 rapidly becoming unimportant to his former 
 friend. Thus assured, the messenger made few 
 digressions from his direct path ; and, after half 
 an hour of rapid walking, beat U])on the iloor 
 of a stately mansion, and was instantly admit- 
 ted. 
 
 But the Defter-dar had learnt a lesoon of self- 
 reliance from the failure of the attendant whom 
 he had on a previous occasion intrusted with 
 the discovery of a secret which he was morbidly 
 anxious to unravel ; and suffering the me.sseiH 
 ger of Hassan to leave the house by the main 
 portal, unnursTied and unimpeded, he hastily 
 changed his turban an<l pelisse, and jmssed out 
 by a side door opening into his own ctarden.atid 
 thence into a cross path terminating in the main 
 street, along which he shrewdly coiijeetured 
 that the slave, whose ])erson he was confiilent 
 of recognizing on the instant, must ultimately 
 pas.s. Nor was he deceivi.-d in his conjecture 
 for, having by this less circuitous route arrived 
 in the great thoroughfare before the jierson 
 whom he was anxious to observe, and having, 
 moreover, by his own change of costnnn-. pre- 
 vented all suspicion save that whieh might bo 
 created by his subs<<)uent want of caution, ho 
 had ere long tin.' satisfaction of seeing the slave 
 turn the corner of the lane, and make hi* way 
 towards the great scjuare of the Atmei.lan. 
 
 The Defter-dar was careful, as they .roMod 
 the large open space, and passed beside it* state- 
 ly columns, to shroucl himself among th.- crowd ; 
 and, when they entered the street beyoml it, to 
 leave such a distance between the stranger and 
 himself as to set suspieion at deflanee. lb? ro- 
 marked that the slave looked ba.k at int.rTaln. 
 like one who cared not to trust altogi-lher to his 
 seeming impunity ; but whenever this happen- 
 
u 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 ed, the Defter-dar craftily patised, as though he , 
 were entering some house beside his path;' or 
 fairly swung himself round, and made a few' 
 backward steps, as though his route crossed that 
 of his fellow-passenger : thus preventing the [ 
 
 Eerfect view of his person which would have [ 
 etrayed his continued identitj-. 
 
 And thus it was that the Defter-dar tracked 
 the messenger of Hassan to the dwelling which 
 he entered ; and he even ventured to linger for 
 a while in its immediate neighborhood to mark 
 whether he would i-eappear ; but he came not 
 forth again ; and the Defter-dar finally bent his 
 steps homeward, with the feeling of one who is 
 just awakening from a perplexed and painful 
 dream. 
 
 On the morrow he caused strict but guarded 
 inquiries to be made, and soon learnt the history 
 of the house and its inhabitants. It was the 
 abode, said the neighbors, of a stern and pious 
 matron, Hemdoune Hanoum by name, whose 
 harem was invisible as that of the Grand Seig- 
 niour himself: who gave aim's largely to the 
 poor; and who welcomed with courtesy every 
 wandering dervish or fakeer who claimed her 
 hospitality, and deemed her cares amply repaid 
 by their prayers and blessings. 
 
 In vain did the Defter-dar endeavor by subtle 
 questionings to elicit information of a more mys- 
 terious and exciting nature ; the whole day was 
 spent in useless efforts to shake, or at least to 
 throw a doubt upon, this well-connected story ; 
 and, when evening fell, he became more than 
 ever perplexed as to the measures which he 
 should adopt to penetrate so closely-woven a 
 mj'stery. 
 
 The hour of rest came, and the Defter-dar re- 
 tired to his bed, but not to sleep. He lay re- 
 volving a thousand schemes, each less feasible 
 than the last, until suddenly a new idea burst 
 upon him ; when, with a prayer to Allah and 
 the Prophet, he composed himself quietly upon 
 his cushions with a smile upon his lips and slept. 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 * THE DIAMOND MERCHANT CONTINUED. 
 
 Early in the morning the purse-bearer of the 
 Defter-dar bent his way to the great Tcharchi 
 of the city, and was absent nearly an hour ; 
 and during this time, his master more than once 
 removed the chibouque from his lips, and leaned 
 forward in the attitude of listening. When at 
 length he returned, he passed at once to the 
 presence of the Effendi ; and, having made his 
 obeisance, and carefully let fall behind him the 
 heavy screen of tapestry which veiled the door 
 of the apartment, he drew from beneath his 
 ample robe a handkerchief, from which he took 
 the flowing garments of a Bektachy, or Moun- 
 tain Dervish. There was the wadded cap of 
 cloth with its binding of crimson wool: the buf- 
 falo-horn with its leathern sling ; the broad belt 
 of untaiined leather clasped with a clasp of 
 metal; the scarlet slippers, the heavy rosary, 
 the iron lamp suspended from the girdle, and 
 the ample robe and mantle of serge. 
 
 Tlie metamorphosis was speedily completed ; 
 and only a few moments had passed since the 
 return of the purse-bearer, ere the ex-courtier 
 stood before him in the full garb of a mountain 
 devotee. But the Defter-dar, however excellent 
 he admitted the disguise to be, would not ven- 
 tui'e to trust it to the prying eye of day ; and the 
 garments were accordingly laid aside until the 
 twilight came to aid, with its long shadows, the 
 entei'prise of the adventurous friend. 
 
 At length the favorable hour arrived ; and 
 when the Defter-dar passed out into tlie street, 
 in the midst of his own slaves, not a prostration 
 was made, though many an eye turned on him in 
 wonder, as none had seen him enter. Satisfied 
 with this unceremonious proof of his successful 
 transformation, the heart of the Efi'endi beat 
 high with hope as he pi-essed forward to the 
 dwelling of the mysterious Hemdounii Hanoum; 
 nor did he allow his hand to falter as he beat 
 upon the well-remembered door. 
 
 A weary interval elapsed ere his summons 
 was answered ; but ultimately a sturdy slave 
 appeared, who seemed desirous to veil tlie inte- 
 rior of the dwelling from the gaze of the intru- 
 der, as he scarce!}' opened the portal sufficient 
 to enable the suppliant dervish to perceive that 
 the hall beyond was of vast extent and magni- 
 ficent proportions, although scantily lighted 
 from the gallery which ran round its lofty 
 walls. 
 
 The Defter-dar was not, however, to be di- 
 verted from his purpose by the surliness of a 
 porter ; and he told his tale of travel and weari- 
 ness in a tone which at once insured to it the 
 ample credence of his listener. 
 
 " The Hanoum Eft'endi cares not to open her 
 doors after sunset;" said the slave coldly ; "she 
 is a widow, and deems it not seemly. But you 
 are a holy man, and you are travel-spent; I will 
 tell her of your arrival, and shall be speedy 
 with my answer. Bashustun, upon my head be 
 it ! she shall know that you are at her thresh- 
 old." And, without awaiting the reply of the 
 Defter-dar, he hastily closed the door, and the 
 sound of his rapidly retreating footsteps soon 
 died away in the distance. 
 
 After a brief interval he returned, and with 
 civil words welcomed the stranger to the roof 
 of his mistress, as he stood aside to give him en- 
 trance ; and the Defter-dar found himself in a 
 stately-hall, paved with marble, around which 
 ran a wide gallery, whence opened a range of 
 apartments. But he had little time to acquaint 
 himself with the locality, for he was hastily hur- 
 ried forward a considerable distance down one 
 or two dark passages ; and, finally, into a second 
 saloon of incomparable beauty, surrounded, like 
 the outer hall, by a gallery, whose heavy bal- 
 ustrades were richly wrought and gilded, and 
 to which access was aft'orded by a noble flight 
 of marble steps that swept downward on either 
 side of the stately apartment; he cast ri hasty 
 glance around as he was about to follow his con- 
 ductor to a chamber on the ground floor, when 
 a shuffling of slippers was heard, and the slave 
 paused, and bowed reverently before a tall 
 muflled figure which hastily approached him. 
 
 " Is this the holy man f" asked a voice which 
 would have been harsh, had not time softened 
 
TUE ROMANCE "OF TUE UARKM. 
 
 In some degree its asperity ; " No bilirim — whnt 
 can I say? Is tins the dervish who olaims shel- 
 ter for tlie niglit beneatli my roof f" Ami, as 
 the question was utt«red, a lean and withered 
 arm emerged from the mass of drapery, and a 
 bony hand held a lamp close to the face of the 
 pretended devotee. 
 
 The Dofter-diir bent low befor ■ the speaker, 
 and answered humbly in the artirmntive. 
 if A shrill, mocking laugli. that rung painfully 
 . in his ears, was the result of tiie assurance ; and 
 ere he had recovered from its ett'ect^, tiie mantle 
 in which the female was enveloped was cast off; 
 the lamp that she held transferred to the slave, 
 who still stood silently beside her; and, as she 
 clapped her hands, the doors along the gallery 
 were flung back, disclosing a glare of light by 
 which tiie Defter-dar was momentarily bliiidcil, 
 while, like a flight of summer birds forth flocked 
 a troop of maidens as fair as the morning, whose 
 ringing and yet musical alughter created in an 
 instant an atmosphere of joy about them, as 
 they rapidly descended the marble stairs into 
 the'hall. 
 
 " Ajaib — wonderful ! here is one," half-croaked, 
 half shrieked the withered crone who appeared 
 to be the mistress of the revels, " one who comes 
 to us with a chaplet of beads and the robe of a 
 dervish, and thinks to cheat us intj a belief of 
 his sanctity! Look to it, all of -.ou, for there 
 must be treachery here." And as she ceased 
 speaking, the slave put the lamp into the hand 
 of the foremost of the young beauties, who, with 
 a jesture half mocking, half curious, raised it to 
 the face of the merchant, as the old woman had 
 previously done, and then passed it, with a si- 
 lent shake of the head, to her neighbor. 
 
 When each had played her part in this singu- 
 lar pantomime, and that all had disclaimed any 
 knowledge of the stranger's identity, he stood in 
 the centre of the group, utterly unable to con- 
 jecture the meaning of a scene such as assuredly 
 he had never before witnessed ; and so bewil- 
 dered were his senses by the loveliness around 
 him, tliat no fear for his personal safety mingled 
 with his surprise. That the character for piety 
 borne by llemdounti Ilanoum in tiie neigiibor- 
 hood, was not altogether merited, he at once 
 perceived ; and, as he glanced toward the lean 
 and withered beldame, who stood glaring at him 
 with keen and eager eyes, as though sh* would 
 read his secret on his bi-ow, strange thoughts 
 and fancies crowded upon him, and be olmost 
 began to regret that he had undertaken the ad- 
 1 venture. iJut repentance came too late : he 
 was now utterly in her power, and he f« It that 
 firmness alone could Bare him from its effects. 
 
 " Our holy guest faints with travel," onee 
 I more burst fortli the acrid voice of the old wo- 
 man; " he bus toiled all day beneath a hot sun, 
 and there is neither soil nor dust upon his gar- 
 ments ; he has left, his slippers on the threshold, 
 and the crimson is yet unfadeil. Let him, how- 
 evei", blow >is one blast upon his bufTalo-horn, 
 and we will crave the benefit of his prayers. 
 How now, ^ff'indim, is your breath spent, that 
 you refuse me this courtesy f" 
 
 It was, however, no part of the Deft-er-Dar** 
 pui-pose to refuse, though he hesitated for a mo- 
 ment ere be complied, being perfectly ignorant 
 
 [of his own capabilities in this new «cienco ; and 
 when at last he raised the priniitivo instrnmant 
 to his lips, he blew so discordant and unmea- 
 sured a blast as threw the laughing maidens into 
 a convulsion of merrimt^nt, and perfectly satin- 
 fled IIemdouni> Ilanoum that her ordinary saga- 
 city had not forsaken her. 
 
 " Gel, gel — come, come;" she exclaimed, " we 
 will trouble our pious guest for no more moun- 
 tain music, lie has, however, done his best 
 to amuse us, and we are bound to re|)ay his 
 Igood-will in kind. Fclech-so, my daughter, to 
 j your care I contide him; show him the wondei-s 
 !of our fairy palace, and tend him carefully until 
 jhe has o'ermastered his fatigue — I will be with 
 I you anon;" and, with another liendish laugh, 
 she shuffled from the hall. 
 
 i Felech-so gazed upon the stranger for an in- 
 stant, as though some faint and far-off memory 
 j were shaping itself into tangibility in her mind; 
 but she did not long indulge so daniferous u 
 mood, and, in the ne.\t moment she was busily 
 engaged in assisting her companions to replace 
 the coarse head-gear of the i)efter->lar with a 
 turban of consummate cost and beauty, and to 
 ! throw over his robe of serge a pelisse richly 
 j lined and overlaid with sables. When this waj< 
 'done, thej- led him to a sofa, and established him 
 j among the yielding cushions, whose golden em- 
 broidery showed gorgeously on its ground of 
 pale 1 lue satin; and, while one fllled his chi- 
 boque of jasmin wood, and another handed to 
 I him oi her knees the mmute cup of mocha, in its 
 prccio s setting of lillagreed gold, lii)|)ed with 
 jewels, Felech-so established herself on a Persian 
 carpet .it his feet, and, with her graceful zebec 
 and powerful voice, regulated the movements 
 of a grouj) who had range<i themselves in the 
 centre of the floor, to dance the dance of tl>e 
 harem. 
 
 The Defter-dar was daezled, but he was not 
 blinded. lie felt at once that all this was part 
 of a system intended to bewilder and throw him 
 off his guard; but he was no longer young 
 enough to yield up his reason captive to the 
 fascinations of the moment. Dark eyes were 
 flashing round him, white arms were wreathing 
 gracefully in air, and long jetty tresses were 
 fallmg in rich masses on shoulders as white and 
 smooth as ivory. The Defler-dar saw all, aii<l 
 jfelt its beauty: but, as he gaziil about him, he 
 r<'membereil a tale which had onee been told to 
 him by a giaour, of one of the diversioiiS of the 
 far West, where crowds flock together, and seat 
 them.selves Under pavilions of crimson, to listen 
 to soft music, and to see fair women and grace- 
 ful men mimic the adventures of everyday life, 
 and live through a long and eventful existence 
 in the course of one brief night. Even thus 
 looke<l the Defter-dar on the scene around him. 
 He felt that it was a hollow and deeeifiil jm- 
 geant, which must ere long fade before nlerner 
 and cold realities; and when the bright shapes 
 which had flitted past him in the dance iillj- 
 mately grouped themselves about him, as if to 
 owait' his pleasure, he thanked them for their 
 courtesy in a voi<'e as steacly as its wont. 
 
 The dance had not long ceased when Mem- 
 doune Hanoum entered the apartment, and, tia 
 I she crossed the threshold, every fair head hitat 
 
16 
 
 THE ROMANCE t)F THE IIAREM. 
 
 low before her. " It is well," she said, as she 
 glanced towards her visitor; "my lord has cast 
 oli'his disguise, and has now only to tell us his 
 name and I'ank, ere we devise new modes of 
 amusement to divert his leisure hours." 
 
 " Ke bilirim — what can I say ? You do your 
 slave too mucli grace, Effendini," said the Defter 
 dar quietly ; " tliatl am not that wliicli I would 
 fain have seemed, is true, and I will not wrong 
 your sagacity by attempting longer to conceal 
 the fact But neither am I that which your 
 courtesy would suggest. Your reception has 
 been so much beyond my poor deserts, that I 
 am bound in gratitude to tell you all — " 
 
 As the Defter-dar paused for a moment, he 
 accidental!}- caught the bright eye of Felech-so 
 fixed engerly, and, as it seemed, deprecatingly, 
 upon him ; but it might have been only fancy 
 that there was warning in her earnest gaze, and 
 he had no opportunity to convince himself of 
 the fact, as her head was hastily averted when 
 their eyes had met. 
 
 •' I am a merchant, Effendim, trading from a 
 port in the Black Sea to the fair city of Stam 
 boul, and I have just freighted an outward-bound 
 brig with the whole produce often years of indus- 
 try, leaving myself so scantily provided as to be 
 utterly unable' to meet the daily outlay neces 
 sary to my existence, until the arrival of a bro 
 fiier-merchant, for whom I am anxiously watch 
 ing from hour to hour ; and who has promised 
 me a share in a venture of so profitable a cha- 
 racter, that, should he hold to his wo 'd, my 
 fortune is made. In this strait, being \\r \villing 
 to lodge myself in a khan without the present 
 means of paying fairly for the accomm jdation, 
 I exchanged my usual dress with a dealer in the 
 Tcharchi for the costume of a mountain dervish, 
 well knowing that in that guise I should be cer 
 tain to profit by the alms of the pious. The fame 
 of the holy and charitable Hemdoune Hanoum 
 reached mo as I. stood in one of the great tho- 
 roughfares of the city, uncertain towards which 
 quarter I should first bend my steps, and decided 
 me at once. I have now confessed mj-self to be 
 an impostor, Effendim, and should you put me 
 forth, I shall submit to the justice of your fiat 
 without a murmur." 
 
 As he ceased speaking, the Defter-dar glanced 
 towards Felech-so, and this time there could be 
 no mistake. An expression of unutterable relief 
 had passed over her features, but she sat with 
 her face turned slightly aside, and her hands 
 folded upon her bosom, as though she felt no in- 
 terest ill the narration of the stranger. 
 
 " And you are then really too poor to lodge 
 yourself in a jniblic caravanserai?" said Hem- 
 doune Ilaiiouni, interrogatively. 
 
 " You have said it," was the concise reply. 
 
 "Do you not rather mock us with a new fable ?" 
 a«ke«l the old woman, angrily, " when you amuse 
 us with the tale of your poverty, while you wear 
 upon your finger a diamond which would well 
 lugh ransom a province I Ey vah I we are not 
 to be cheated twice." 
 
 For a moment the Defter-dar did not reply — 
 
 f lor a second his ready wit deserted him — and 
 
 the blood rushed in a volume to his brow, as he 
 
 stood self-convicted of a carelessness which, for 
 
 aught he knew, might perhaps cost him his life. 
 
 Tliat the aged fiend who sat with her keen 
 eyes fixed upon him, evidently gloating over his 
 discomposure, would suffer him to depart after 
 having laid bare before him, for some hidden 
 purpose of her own, the secrets of her household, 
 he was not weak enough to believe even for an 
 instant ; and that she would not scruple to rid 
 herself, by the most effectual means, of so profit- 
 less a guest, he was equalh' assured ; and, in 
 this dilemma, he resolved to make one more 
 attempt, ere he resigned himself tamely to a fato 
 at which it was not difficult to guess. 
 
 " What blossom shall be hidden from the sunf 
 and what sand-rift shall resist the billow?" ex- 
 claimed he, as if in admiration of the shrewdness 
 of his hostess. " Is it not in vain that I would 
 conceal even a portion of my secret from Ilem- 
 doune Hanoum, to whom it is given to know all 
 things. This ring, Effendim ;" and, as in obed- 
 ience to a gesture of the old woman, he with- 
 drew it from his finger, and placed it in her 
 hand, he remembered with a pang that the pre- 
 cious jewel had been the gift of tlie Sultan in his 
 days of court favor, and that it was now, m all 
 probability, lost to him for ever! — " this ring is 
 a portion of the mystery. Look on it well, and 
 then tell me if it be not a diamond of surpassing 
 beauty." 
 
 The aged woman readily obeyed : she passed 
 the glorious jewel on her own bony finger, and, 
 having examined it near the light, and ascer- 
 tained that it was without spot or blemish ; and 
 that, as she slowly moved her hand to and fro, 
 it gave out a thousand rainbow tints, she with- 
 drew with it into a far corner of the saloon, and 
 there, shading it from the glare of the tapers, 
 she admired the sparks which, with every move- 
 ment that she made, it flung out into the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 " It is a rare stone!" she said, moro blandly 
 than she had yet spoken, as she returned to the 
 side of the Defter-dar ; " the Sultan himself hath 
 not a finer. I would fain hear its history ere I 
 restore it to you." 
 
 " That shall you not do, Effendim," replied 
 her crafty guest, " if its possession give you 
 pleasure — nay, offer me no acknowledgments, I 
 pray you:" he added, hastily, as his hostess was 
 about to speak : " keep the bauble, and I will 
 tell you all. I have already stated that 1 am 
 awaiting in Stamboul a "merchant of my ac- 
 quaintance ; but I played you false when I 
 pleaded poverty as an extenuation of my dis- 
 guise. 1 am about to confide tq you a secret 
 upon which hangs my life, but you will not be- 
 tray me : and brief shall be the period which 
 intervenes ere 1 i-epay you a hundred fold for 
 all the courtesies that you have lavished on me, 
 Effendim, the trinket on your finger is a mere 
 toy — the jewel is counterfeit — I came to the city 
 with many such for sale, and I have parted from 
 them all at a heavy sum, save this, which I re- 
 tained in a weak fit of sentiment, because it had 
 been given to me by my friend ere he admitted 
 me to a share in his adventurous trafiic. Many 
 of the stones with which I came laden to Stam- 
 boul have found their way into the treasury of 
 the Padishah,* others are in the harems of our 
 
 Sovereign. 
 
TUE ROMANCE OF THE HAUK.M. 
 
 IT 
 
 wealthiest Pnslias, while a few of the meanest CHAPTER VII. 
 
 are at this uiomeut the boajst aiul wonder of tlie 
 bezenstein. Were my seeret diseovered, tlie 
 bowstring wouhi bo my portion ; but, mean- 
 while, so long as I eontinue iinbetraved. I eoin 
 Diastres faster tlian tlie Turaf-hamN* himself." 
 
 A deep thougiitfiilnoss settled like a eloud on 
 the stern brow of ilenuloune llanoum, and she I 
 
 did not immediately reply to the ooiiimiinioation | having narrowly 9«'arched iiis ehambi-rto ase« 
 of her guest: but, after a while she looked up, | lain tiiat he eouid not be intruded upon from 
 and said anxiously : " Do I understand that you any other outlet, threw himself upon iiis bod to 
 have no other jewel of the same sort iu your think over the oecurrenoes of the evening. That 
 
 THE DIAMOND MEKCIIANT CONTINUED. 
 
 In a short time all was silence in that house 
 of mystery. The Dcfter-dar, greatly to his satis- 
 faction, found himself lodgod in a mean apart- 
 nent oj>eriing beside the door of cnlratico : and 
 
 possession ?" 
 
 " At this moment, none ;" answered the guest, 
 readily ; " but my friend and principal, Meehmed 
 Cadir6 Ishmael. who hiiuself manufactures them, 
 should arrive in the city to-morrow evening at 
 the latest ; and if it be permitted to him to share 
 in the smiles which have lit up my own existence 
 
 he was still in considerable danger he was fully 
 aware: for he comprehended at once that he 
 was hidcbted to the cupidity of his hostess for 
 even the (luestioiiable ehanee of iseape whieii 
 now offered itself. He had marked the sparkle 
 of her eye when she first detected the jewel: 
 he had observed her inward struggle, ere, iu the 
 
 since sunset, I will answer for the readiness with ' hope of greater gain, she had conipeiled herself 
 . - . - . . ^jj^. ^^^. K .... 
 
 I liozen I J 
 lie sale li 
 
 which he will repay the debt of hospitality, by I to permit his departure; even yet slie might 
 permitting the llanoum Etfendi to select a dozen I pent ! And, as this la 
 
 I of the stones, ere he offers them for pul 
 in the bezenstein. as a memorial of her owu cha- 
 rity and our gratitude." 
 
 •' But he will not know where to find you;" 
 -nggested the llanoum. 
 
 • Doubtlessly, should I not myself seek and 
 
 conduct him hither, he will pursue me in vain ;" 
 
 I replied the Defter-dar ; " for he will scarcely 
 
 I look to find his comrade Ibrahim in the palace 
 
 1 of a Pasha's wife." 
 
 " You shall describe the good merchant to my 
 ti-usty slave Emin ;" said the old woman : " and 
 you can write a few words of greeting and invita- 
 tion, which will be his warrant with your friend." 
 '• You say well, Elfendirn," was the ready an- 
 swer; " but I know not the color of his vest, nor 
 tlie tint of his turban. Meehmed is from the 
 
 last fearful reflection crossed 
 s mind, the Defter-dar became uneasy and 
 restless — fearing he knew not what ; and at in- 
 tervals imagining that he detected tlirough the 
 deep stillness the stealthy tread of feet and the 
 rustling of drapery. Hours passed over liim 
 thus — iiours which appeared to his exei(ed ima- 
 gination as interminable : when suddenly he 
 become aware tiiat his fancy no longer cheated 
 him, but that some one was beside him, whose 
 deep and hurried breathing came hot and troiib 
 led to his brow. 
 
 The Defter-dar sprang inst^intly into a sitting 
 posture, and would have spoken: but a small 
 soft hand was pressed heavily upon his mouth, 
 as the voice of Felech-so murmured in his ear: 
 " Khosh-buldiik ! — well found! Be calm! — be 
 silent — or you are lost — Hassan is lost — and I 
 
 iesert, and only leaves the caravan to pass over | shall mjself become the sacrifice of your indis- 
 to the Golden Cit}'. There are many of his -- •= - ""'^ ' '-— '- ' i"^ ^ - 
 
 I name in the bezenstein, and your slave may miss 
 
 j him until his fairest merchandise is bartered to 
 the dealers in diamonds, and he has no longer any 
 stones to ofler to the Hanoum Effendi, or her 
 ladies." 
 
 " It is true," said the crone, after another 
 pause of thought ; - I would have kept you 
 
 here as a surety for his coming, but the jewel i once end his sorrows with the bow-string: and 
 whieli you leave with me convinces me of your j I need not tell you, KfTenilim, that the grave be- 
 good faith. You shall depart then to-moirow ' trays no secret. He is one of many who are 
 at break of day, and at sunset I shall e.xpect you • wasting away their bright youth not a hundred 
 b&ck, accompanied by your friend. It will ; feet beneath the spot where I now staiuL 
 
 f (lease me to see his merehandi.se, and to hiari Thrice have I saved the life of Ha.ssan, when iiis 
 "om him the tllle of his desert-pilgrimage." She hours were numbered by his refusal to write 
 
 cretion. We have no time to lose — listen to mo 
 then attentively. Hassan is here, bowed by 
 chains in a loathsome dungeon, .where he will 
 be suffered to exist until his friend the I)efler' 
 dar, to whom he has been eompilled to apply 
 for vast sums, refuses farther to assist him. 
 When the slave who bears his letter first returns 
 empty-handed, Saduk and his comrades will at 
 
 then clapped her hands, and a slave, habited in 
 a flowing robe of crimson and gold, hastily 
 obeyed the signal, and prostrated himself to the 
 earth before her. 
 
 "Saduk," she said with peculiar ompha.sis; 
 "conduct Ibrahim Effendi, my honored guest, to 
 a chamber near the hall of entrance. At day- 
 break he will depart — hinder him not — I have 
 told you my pleasure." 
 
 "To hear is to obey" — was the brief rejily ; 
 but, as the slave glanced towards the Defter-dar, 
 he could not wholly conceal the astonishment 
 which the words of his mistress had elicited. 
 
 • Inepector of the mint. 
 2 
 
 are taugiit to make our iiiis,M-a- 
 iieans of wiling to her roof tlie 
 
 those letters to his friend. The accursed love of 
 gold is the im|)ulse of the vile mistress of thii 
 impious house. We, her slaves, the eteiitures 
 whom she has bought at a juiee, and tutored in 
 
 her Wiekedne; 
 
 ble beauty th, 
 
 young and the wialthy ; and iiere tl 
 
 polled to drag on a di-spairingexistoriei', so hmg 
 
 as their f»rayors for gold are answered l>y their 
 
 friends. Biit Hassan! Hassan! can you not 
 
 save him from this living death? I Iibv# 
 
 watched over his existence as thoiigii my owe 
 
 hung upon its duration, for 1 have j.arnt to love 
 
 him in his misery. I it wiu» who wile. I him 
 
 hither; but now, now," she coiiL:med, im her 
 
IS 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 roict •ocaiae elifled with agony : " now I would 
 eladh ty iown my blighted and unhappy life, 
 to kiic w- that he was once more free." 
 
 " Tcna])ouk, tchapouk, — Haste! haste! let me 
 know all," urged the Defter-dar. 
 
 " I trembled for j'ou a few hours back," pui*- 
 Bued Folech-so, struggling to control her an- 
 guish ; " I know not why, but, from the moment 
 of your entrance here, a strange wild hope grew 
 in my heart that you were fated to save Hassan 
 — and I treuibled lest your own tale should 
 destroy you. But j'ou acted wisely, and for the 
 moment j-ou are saved. Think not, however, 
 that I am duped by your fiction of the false 
 diamond — trust nov that Hemdoun^ Hanoum 
 when in tlie solitude of her chamber her fiendish 
 avarice j-ields to her fear of detection and ex- 
 posure, Avill not also awaken to a conviction of 
 Its falsehood; and suspicious of your motive, 
 place you at once bej'ond all power of treachery. 
 Wait not for the dawn, or j-ou will never see 
 the rise of another sun. I have drugged the 
 sherbet of Saduk with opium ; he should keep 
 the door, but even now he sleeps a sleep as deep 
 fts that of the grave. Take the key from his 
 girdle, and fly — return speedily, but'be it with 
 help and arms — away. I dare not linger another 
 moment — farewell, and remember Felech-so." 
 
 As the last words passed her lips, the Deftei-- 
 dar was conscious that she had left his side ; 
 and an instant afterwards a cold stream of air, 
 entering through a concealed opening in the 
 wall of his apartment, assured him of her de- 
 parture. 
 
 Not a moment was to be lost, and, hastily 
 seizing the turban and pelisse which lay beside 
 his bed, the excited courtier strode silently into 
 the hall. An expiring lamp still flung a dim 
 and uncertain liglit on the surrounding objects, 
 and by its assistance he at once distinguished the 
 form of Saduk, stretched on a mat in a heavy 
 sleep. For one instant, and but one, the Defter- 
 dar hesitated. Should this nocturnal visit be 
 only a part of the plot, to induce him to exhibit 
 suspicion, and thxis afford a plausible pretext for 
 violence ? but immediately came the reflection 
 that, if violence were indeed intended, no action 
 of his own would be required as an apology for 
 its exercise — and had not Felech-so told him that 
 Hassan yet lived — in rnisery, and suftering, and 
 chains? The Defter-dar despised himself that 
 he had yielded even momentarily to the prompt- 
 ings of his cowardice ; and, bending over Saduk 
 for an instant to assure himself that his slumber 
 was not feigned, he possessed himself of the huge 
 key that was hidden amid the folds of the shawl 
 which bound his waist, and ere long found him- 
 self beneath the broad moonlight in the open 
 street. 
 
 The Defter-dar stopped not to admire the 
 beautiful effects of light and shade which pre- 
 sented themselves as he hurried on, but hastily 
 pursued his way to his own habitation; feeling 
 as though he had been absent h.m his home 
 for months; so much had he be-;n impressed 
 by the rapid and extraordinary events of t-c 
 evening. 
 
 Morning was just beginning to break over the 
 Asian hills when he reached his own door, and 
 beat loudly for admittance : and he had ti-a- 
 
 versed his accustomed chamber more than om 
 and examined minutely the rich pelisse, and t 
 costly cachemire that composed his turban, < 
 he could quite convince himself that he had r 
 just awakened from a troublous dream. As 1 
 thoughts unravelled themselves slowly from t 
 chaos of memories in which they were involvf 
 the Defter-dar was glad that he had retaim 
 these vouchers for his story, for the more 
 nmsed upon the night's adventure, the more ■ 
 felt its apparent improbability and romanc 
 and, conscious of the imperative necessity 
 speedy and powei-ful measures, in order to p: 
 serve the life of Hassan, he knew that he h 
 but one line of conduct to pursue ; and th 
 painful and humiliating as it was, he could r 
 hope for success througii any other means. 
 
 Never since his dismission from otflce had t 
 ex-courtier sought the presence of the Sulta 
 he felt that he had been wronged for a m 
 favorite, and he had too much self-respect 
 expostulate, where he was conscious that exp 
 tulation would avail him nothing. And no; 
 when yeui-s had gone by, and it might be, t\. 
 his very name was forgotten by Mourad, he ■« 
 about to present himself at the "foot of the thro, 
 as a suppliant — as an actor in a wild and qu 
 tionable drama — as a mad and fool-hardy adv* 
 turer. 
 
 The resolution of the Defter-dar did not fal 
 for an instant but his pride revolted, and 
 sickened under his task, as he bent his way 
 the Sublime Porte to supplicate an audience 
 the Sultan. Well was it for him that he ca' 
 in a fortunate hour ; for the court astrnloi 
 had predicted that every undertaking nf 
 Imperial master during this auspicious im 
 should prosper to his heart's content ; an.l. :i 
 chanced that it had hitherto oft'ered little m 
 satiety to the high-hearted monarch, he at oi 
 consented to receive his discarded courtier, a 
 to lend a favorable ear to his petition, be . 
 what it might. 
 
 But Sultan Mourad. when he so graciou; 
 signified his pleasure, looked not to be repi' 
 by a tale so wild and strange as that of the ]• 
 Treasurer : and he had scarcely heard it to . 
 end ere he exclaimed earnestly: — B6 heyl> 
 what's this? Why, it surpasses our most s:'- 
 guine hopes! There is still adventure to , 
 found in our good city 1 Why have you b( 
 ao long absent from our presence, my lord 1 
 Treasurer? We have always respected them: 
 though we dismissed the minister. And \ 
 are to return to the haunts of these yon 
 Houri, said you not so ? and your friend is to 
 admitted on your responsibility !" 
 
 " Light of the World !" replied the Defter-d 
 as he still remained prostrate before the Suit! 
 " I was compelled to the promise in order • 
 save my life ; for myself, I have resolve. 1 
 keep my word ; and it is to crave your suMi 
 appro-al and assistance that I am now a si 
 pliant :ii the dust before you — but the fahl' 
 it an end : the rest of the adventure mu,=t 
 achieved by force ; for none would venture ■ 
 share with me the risk of further deception." 
 
 " Bakalum — we shall see. You forget ' 
 whom you speak," said the excited Moura, 
 " you shall yet p.ay your part, even to the e i 
 
 ' 
 
Tilt: ROMANCE OF THK IIARKM. 
 
 19 
 
 — yoQ shall still bo Ibrnlum KfTondi. nnd I will 
 persoimte MeclnuoJ CadiiO Ulunncl, the iimmi- 
 facturei* of diiimonJsl Maitlmlluli. it i* * Rood 
 trade, and one that wore \v«ll wt<rtli tli? learn- 
 uig ! We shall pave oiir jmlaees with g dd-dtist 
 when we have mastered the niyi't<-ryl And 
 now, withdraw, Ktlendini : we have of lat<> had 
 some defalealion* in onr puhlu trtiunry, and 
 you bring us a eooret so iiidookedfor and so 
 ■welcome, that we owe you an insttnnt demon- 
 stration of our gratitude: retire tlicn, l>efter- 
 dar, and at sunset return hitlier, for we shall 
 look for you, and be prepared to start upon our 
 expedition." 
 
 The Minister, reinstated at once in favor of 
 the Sultan and in his long-forfeited dignities, 
 kissed the hem of the sacred garment, and with- 
 drew from the presence to muse over his un- 
 expected gotnl fortune. It was to Nefii-Snbah 
 tliat he first confided it; but gradually the 
 happy intelligence spread through the house- 
 hold, "and thence to the world beyond; and long 
 ere the setting sun warned the restored favorite 
 that the lu»ur had arrived when he was once 
 more to sei forth in pursuance of an adventure 
 which had already so deeply benefited his 
 fortunes, his ante-room was filled with long- 
 oblivious friends, who were sud<lenly seized 
 with eager ami earnest anxiety for his social 
 and bodily welfare 1 
 
 On arriving at the palace, the Defter-dar was 
 immediateU' ushered with much ceremony to a 
 private apartment, whieh he had scarcely enter- 
 ed when he pereeived an individual, plainly- 
 clad in the conuuon garb of a merchant, ailvaiu- 
 ing towards him ; and he had barely time to 
 bend his forehead to the earth, when the Sultan 
 exclaimed gaily: — " Rise, Ibrahim, my brother; 
 with this eoarse and somewhat ineonvenient 
 garb I have for a time dotTed the I'adishah. We 
 should now be on our way ; and I can acquaint 
 you as we traverse the city with the plans whieh 1 
 have formed to ensure suecess of our undertaking. 
 To our ta>ik, then, Ibrahim I The sun will set 
 ere long ; and you were pledged to return to 
 the hospitable halls of lieuidoune llauoum ere 
 nightfall." 
 
 The word of Mourad was law ; and the god 
 of day had scarcely dipped his golden hair in 
 the blue waters of the liosphorus, when the two 
 di.^guiscd merehnnts beat upon tlie door of 
 Ilussai 's prison-house. 
 
 together in the ball, while ho haRloned to «p| ri«« 
 liis mistress «if their arrival. 
 
 If they had been detained in the street, they 
 had no cause to eomplain of delay on tho part 
 of the old woman. Only a f«'w seeond.* Iiiul 
 elapse.!, ere the rapid shuffling of h<T «hp|>'r« 
 was heard in the distance, and the two mer- 
 chants bent low before her, as she emerged from 
 the long galh-rv, anil stocMl beside them. 
 
 "Kliosii gel.^in — you arc welcome;" she ex- 
 claimed hastily. 
 
 ••Khoch bdldak— well found," was the ready 
 reply of her visiters, as they repeated tho sal&m 
 aleikum. 
 
 " Why, this is well, Ibrahim, my son ;" she 
 ••aid, with a smile whos«« fierceness sne eouldiiot 
 wholly eoneial ; "after having played the truant 
 in suc)i unseemly style, m to give us room to 
 ilouht at once yonr truth ami your honesty, you 
 
 reappear. 
 
 niiiig to your promise, wlu>n we 
 
 CHAITUi Vlll. 
 
 THK DIAMO.ND MER< IIANT— COXTIXCKD. 
 
 TiiET were eviilently not expected ; for, as on 
 the occasion of the I*efter-dar'» fonner vinit, they 
 were detained for a eonsidi-rahlc time ere the 
 door was caiitioii.Hly o[Kned ; but, at sight of the 
 ■well-reiiieinbered faee of the merchant lliraliim 
 the slave hastily lmd<' them enter, and an haul ily 
 closed the door behinrl them. The words of Ins 
 greeting were courteous, but its nianii<-r struek 
 both the Sultan and his eom|>anion, as dark and 
 threatening ; and it was without regret tliat 
 they obeyed his bidding, ond remained aluue 
 
 had aliandoiud all hope of again reeeiving you 
 as a giiesl. And this, then, is the honorable 
 merchant your friend, .Meehined t'ailire Isliinaell 
 lie is welcome to my hous<> ; and the more m> 
 that you are his eompanion. Hut come, eonie ;" 
 she added, somewhat impatientlj' ; " the hall is 
 chilly, and we waste time." Then, a.sshe moved 
 slowly on before, them, attended by the slave 
 bearing a lamp, she mnttered in a low voi«e, 
 whieh distinctly reaehed the ear of the Sultan, 
 who was imiiieiliately tn-hind her: " An<l I am 
 to seleet a score of stones — a score I poor fools, 
 poor fools — are they not all mine — ail/" and a 
 fiendish chuckle and a el.-nehing of the thin bony 
 hands filled up the iiu-asure of her meaning. ' 
 
 '• Hut tell ine, Ktreiidiin, tell m.>," she saiil, a 
 moment afterwanis; " y»>n, Ibrahim, my frieml, 
 it is to you I speak, and tli<' exe<'llent merehanl, 
 your asso<-iate, will pardon me that 1 negleet 
 him for a whiU- — tell ine, I pray you, wherefore 
 you (led from my ihvelling last night, like one 
 who apprehen«led evil f Did any olfer you 
 insult or annoyance f I)id any wifd suspicion, 
 or weak alarm. ]>rompt your flight I Tell n>« 
 honestly, for I hate mystery." 
 
 "Surely the llanou'in Klfendi jest* with hot 
 slave;" wo-s the reply of the l>efl«'rdar ; " th« 
 cause was too simple to ne.-d long seeking. I 
 hatl an ill dream, whieh somewhat ruffled me, 
 and, to rid myself of its effectit, I passed fn»m 
 my ehanilH-r int<i tin- hall, that 1 might breathe 
 more freely, when 1 was attracted l>y the sight 
 of the slothful Saduk. I knew at once that he 
 shouhl keep the door, and I remembered that 
 tho suf.ly of llemdiiune llanoum and her whole 
 household de|»<'nde>l on the vigilam-c of this 
 snoring slave, I did not awaken him, for the 
 thought struek me that 1 could teaeh him a 
 jesoon more I kely to produce amendment than 
 any reproaches; and aeeordingly, I resolved, 
 I even at s<»ine inconvenience to myiwlf, to depart 
 , with<uit his assistance, in order to prove to hint 
 that his sluggishness, might, under some eircuin- 
 stances. have be.n the eaiise of mi».-hiot H 
 I did wrong, th.- llanoum Klfen.li will pardon 
 me — as to the slaves who sliimlM-r when they 
 should wat<-h. what are they » hoivon dcr— ihrj 
 
 I are animals!" 
 " Twas shrewdly done," said ihe old erono ; 
 "•deed afl«r my'owu heart, i hore myscU 
 
20 
 
 THE ROiL^'CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 finished the work which you began so bravely ; 
 and there is now no fear that the slave Saduk 
 will ever sleep upon his post again." 
 
 As she uttered the words, the party emerged 
 from the dark passage along -which they had 
 been slowly advancing, and found themselves in 
 & superb saloon, brilliantly lighted, and occupied 
 »y h.ilf a score of young beauties, among whom 
 the Defter-dar instantly recognized Felech-so. 
 But ere he made his salutation to the bright 
 band, he gave one hurried glance at the old wo- 
 man, and remarked with satisfaction that every 
 shade of suspicion had vanished from her hag- 
 gard countenance. 
 
 The guests were soon seated on the sumptu- 
 ous divan, beside their hostess, and supplied 
 with chibouques and coffee by the fair hands of 
 her attendant maidens ; and then the impatience 
 of Hemdouni Hanoum became uncontrollable, 
 and she abruptly desired the merchant Mechmed 
 Cadir^ Ishmael to display his diamonds. 
 
 The Sultan bowed low, and thrust his hand 
 amid the folds of his girdle, but suddenly with- 
 drew it, and pressed it upon his brow with an 
 expression of acute pain. "Air! air!" he ex- 
 claimed convulsively, " Ibrahim, air, or I faint!" 
 
 "Quick! quick!" shouted the hostess in her 
 turn ; " look that the lattices be firm, and throw 
 up the easement ; see ye not that the Effendi 
 labors for breath." 
 
 Felech-so Avas the first to obey the bidding; 
 she sprang upon the divan with the rapidity of 
 lightning, and flung the wide casement back to 
 its fullest extent ; and, as the sweet breath of 
 evening came softly into the apartment, the mer- 
 ehant slowly revived. A goblet of water, ten- 
 dered to him by one of the ladies, completed 
 his recovery, and he lost no time in gratifying 
 the curiosity of his hostess. 
 
 The joy of Hemdoun^ Hanoum amounted al- 
 most to insanity, as her guest spread before her 
 eorae of the costliest jewels of the Imperial 
 Treasury. Her wasted fingers opened and shut, 
 as though she were already clutching them in 
 spirit ; and her eager eyes ifastened on them as 
 if she feared tly;ir instant disappearance, and 
 would thrall them with a look. 
 
 " Gulu*— Zembrutf — Maitap:]: — Felech-so — " 
 8he exclaimed, addressing the individuals on 
 whom h^r glance chanced to fall ; " we have 
 made a precious harvest to-night ! The ransom 
 of an En)perorl And now we will waste no 
 aiore time upon these simple idiots, who have 
 brought their own necks to the bow-string;" 
 and she was about to clap her hands, to summon 
 *ome one without, when the Defter-dar seized 
 er forcibly by the arm, as .she shouted, "Fools! 
 laniacs! close the casement, if you would not 
 have the kavashlirg upon us, and call hither j 
 Memish and Fcrhat; are we to be frightened 
 by the impotent violence of two hair-brained 
 madrnen ?" 
 
 One of the maidens sprang to the window, 
 but she was held back by Felech-so, who had 
 already stationed herself beside it ; and the pro- 
 gress of the others towards the door was arrest- 
 ed by the Sultan, who, as he flung himself across 
 their path, drew a pistol from his girdle, and 
 
 •Rose. t Emerald. } Moonlight. § City police. 
 
 fired it through the open casement Tlie repo 
 of the shot was answered by a shrill cry froi 
 the minaret of a neighboring mosque ; and tt 
 Sultan had scarcely wrenched from the hand c 
 the fiendish old woman a dagger which she ha 
 aimed at him, ere the room was full of arme 
 men. Thick and fast they poured in throng 
 the shivered casements on all sides of the dwe 
 ling ; and the clatter of their arms, and thei 
 shrill ci-ies, as they pursued each other throug 
 the intricate passages of the house sounded feai 
 fully through the silence of the night. 
 
 The saloon in which the Sultan stood in thi ; 
 dwelling of darkness presented a singular spec ( 
 taele as the Janissaries prostrated themselve 
 before him. Strown over the rich Persian cat 
 pet were the costly jewels which had been scatter 
 ed during the struggle of the Defter-dar with th< 
 old woman ; in the centre of the floor stood tb 
 Sultan, his brow dark, and his eye bright witl' 
 a terrible meaning. In one corner of the apart 
 ment were clustered together a group of lovelj 
 girls, splendidly attired, and wan -ttith fear , 
 while on the rich sofa of gold and azm-e, lay th« 
 graceful form of Felech-so, one round^hite arn 
 falling over the edge of the divan, and a slendei 
 stream of blood flowing from her bosom to the 
 floor. 
 
 The signal shot of the Sultan had been fired 
 in haste, and the ball had terminated the life of 
 the fair and gentle Felech-so. 
 
 My tale is almost told. The wretched Hem- 
 doune Hanoum was bow-strung by two of her 
 own slaves, who had been made captive by the 
 Janissaries. Coldly and sternly, Mourad, asthey 
 were brought trembling before him, inquired of 
 each his name ; and then, selecting from their 
 number, Memish and Ferhat, who had beendes-; 
 tined to the honor of terminating his own ex- 
 istence, he stood by to see his will accomplished. 
 The victim uttered no cry — made no supplica- 
 tion — but submitted to her fate with a reckles*- 
 ness worthy of her impious life ; and, as her 
 quivering body was flung down by her execu- 
 tioners, the Sultan bade them conduct him to 
 the prison of Hassan. 
 
 The report of Felech-so to the Defter-dar was 
 true in e\;ery particular. The vaults beneath 
 the house had been converted into dungeons; 
 where, surrounded bj- squalor, filth, and wretch- . 
 edness, loaded with chains, and attenuated by 
 hunger, the Sultan found not only Hassan, but 
 a score of other victims, all young men of 
 wealth or rank, many of whom had been lost to 
 their families for years. 
 
 The joy of the miserable prisoners may be 
 imagined, when they recognized their deliverers. 
 Hassan fell on the neck of the Defter-dar and , 
 wept, and. as his chains were struck off", he 
 mingled with his gratitude an inquiry for Felech- 
 so ; and his tears only flowed the faster when 
 he learnt that she had perished in the sei'vice 
 of her aff'ection. 
 
 Of the fate of her companions there is no 
 record ; but, as they were Eastern women who 
 had come under the ban of the law, it is not 
 difficult to imagine it; while it is certain that, 
 in many of the state documents subsequent to 
 this adventure, mention is made of a certain 
 Hassan Pasha, who h^ld a high oflice of Stato 
 
iiicj'j; 
 
 file 4 
 and tl^ 
 
 t. 
 
 TIIK ROMANCE OF THE llAKIiM. 
 
 21 
 
 r.-igii of Sultiui 
 
 during the lattor part of th 
 Mourad the SecouJ.'* 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CIIAITER IX. 
 
 "Taib! taib! — well done, well done!" ex- 
 cloimed Cnrinitil llanouin, as the fai^Massaldjhe 
 ceased speaking; "Y'AUah! 'tis a wondrous 
 tale, and my ears have drunk it in like soft inusie ; 
 but, trul}', asyou forewarned me, it is somewhat 
 of the saddest. The cahimf whieii traoed it 
 must have grown beside a swift river, and heen 
 fanned by the breeze of evening ; and. ne bili- 
 rim — what ean I say? methinks that I better 
 love a tale of happier issue." 
 
 The young Greek only replied by lifting her 
 instrument from the cushion on wliieh she had 
 laid it when she commeneed her narrative, and 
 emilling archly at lier friend, as, with rapid 
 utterance, she poured forth the following ballad. 
 
 THE LOST OXE 
 
 "The -vrinds of onr mountains, how gladsome they are ; 
 But the voice of my loved one is sweeter by far, 
 As on his swift Arab, as bright as the day, 
 He comes from my bondage to bear me away. 
 
 "They have wreathed my dark tresses with blossom and 
 
 gem. 
 But my heart has no fondness to lavish on them ; 
 I was sought by a stranger — they made me his bride. 
 And my free spirit pines in its passion.ite pride. 
 
 " Speed 1 speed I to the rider who comes like the wind I 
 .Whom no peril can daunt, and no fetter can bind ;" 
 Bo sang the sweet voice which we welcome no more. 
 For the bride of the stranger has fled with the giaour! 
 
 "Enough, khatoun— darling;" said the fair 
 Circassian in a low whisper, as a deep blush man- 
 tled her brow and bosom; " I like your ballad 
 eyen less than jour history, for it tells a tale to 
 which it is a sin to listen. ''^ 
 
 " I have done," smiled her companion, " and 
 now we will hearken to the fall of the fountains, 
 the murmuring of the winds in tlie mimosa trees, 
 and the song of the caged birds; for, truly, they 
 make sweet music." 
 
 Not long, however, had the fair friends re- 
 eigned themselves in silence to the calm beauty 
 of the hour, and the train of thought which it 
 engendered, when a slave approached witii in- 
 timation that the Pasha purp<^>sed paying a visit 
 to the harem after the evening meal ; and, his 
 wife having signified her readiness to receive 
 him, the ladies shortly afterwards removed to 
 another apartment, in which the Bupper had 
 been spread by their attendants. 
 
 Cushions of delicate J)ink satin, sprinkled with 
 
 • Wild, romantic, and improbable, &« this tale will ap- 
 pear to European readem, it u nevertheleim strictly true ; 
 having befn drawn from the archives of theTurkmh Km- 
 
 , pire. and related by Peroui»e Hanoum, the lady .Secretary 
 of the Sultana Aztni. for the purpose of being communi- 
 cated to r-e, during my resilience at Constantinople, in 
 
 (the year KiO. Mourad, or ai he is styled in England, 
 Amurath II., was a prince devoted to a<lventure, and of 
 
 , great personal courage. 
 
 , t Pen made from a reed. 
 
 golden stars, were placed bcfiido the nilvor tray 
 on which the meal was to be served; napkins- 
 of iiuislin, as white and fine as gossamer, cx- 
 <|uisitely embroidercil an<l friiigiil with colond 
 silks and silver, were laid carclnlly ucros.-* tlnir 
 knees and over tluir arms: tepid rose-wat«r, 
 poured from a richly gild»'d vase into a ba.>.in ••! 
 the same material, was showered upon their 
 white una taper fingers, and the repast com- 
 menced. 
 
 A line of slaves, extending from the low tray 
 to the dtior of the a])artment, |iaHsed the dishes, 
 which were served singly, from hand to hand; 
 the one nearest to her mistress setting it down 
 before her unon her knees. 
 
 Not a word was spoken as tlie meal proceeded, 
 which was accompanied by the voices of half-a- 
 dozen slave girls grouped together at the extreme 
 end of the room. There were the delicate kef- 
 tas. balls of highly sea.-ioned force-meat ; t<-halva, 
 a dish made of Hour, honey, and oil; kainmek, 
 an exquisite preparation of thickened cream: 
 moalibe, a species of inferi«>r blane mange, nuich 
 prized by the Orientals, and eaten with powder- 
 ed sugar and rose-water ; kialuibs of lamb, serv- 
 ed up on skewers of jasmine wood ; kubeh, spiced 
 meat, minced, and rolled in vine-leaves, baked 
 crisp; dolraas, a similar preparation stewed in 
 cream : tchorba, or s^nip of several descriptions ; 
 dried beef, prepared with garlic, the Turkish 
 substitute for ham ; and all the various provoc- 
 atives to ajipetite which fill up the measure of 
 an Oriental repast ; and, lastly, the national 
 pillauf, richly colored with tomato juice, an«l 
 flav<ired with quails. Sherbets and cotl'ec suc- 
 ceeded : and, having once more batlied their fair 
 hands in' perfumed water, Carimfil Ilaroum and 
 her Oreek friend returned to the garden saloon 
 to await the coming of the Tasha. 
 
 The sun was just setting, and the tall syca- 
 mores which bounded the view were gleaming 
 in gold and orange ; while, as the rays fell u|h)ii 
 the noble sheet of water immediately below the 
 casement, they shed a soft pink tint ujwn the 
 marble basin, and over the pale blossoms of the 
 lotos flowers, 
 
 " How fair must this sweet evening close upon 
 the mountains of my beloved land!" sighed «)ut 
 the beautiful Circassian ; "can you not picture 
 to yourself, Katinka inou, the glory of this rich 
 ligfit flung over tlie blessed valley, wher> — " 
 
 But the kadeun* had no time to loeali/.e h-r 
 picture; for, as she was sjieuking, the tap. stry 
 curtain of the inner d<Mjr was lifted by a couple 
 of negro slaves, and the I'usha entered the apart- 
 ment 
 
 " Salam aleikum," said the Satrap, as the ladies 
 rose to receive him. 
 
 " Aleikum Salam," replied his wife, as he ad- 
 vanced towards the sofa ; while the (Jre.-k, re- 
 tiring a few puces, stood silent in un attitude ol 
 deep respect 
 
 ■' Keifiniz ayi me — is your humor good f" n^k- 
 ed the i'asha, us liis young wife bent her knefl 
 and pressed his haml to her lips and brow. 
 
 "Ouzel — good:" was theaiiftwer; "my lord 
 has brought joy to the heart of his slave, for h« 
 has restored to her the sister of her soul." 
 
 •Lady. 
 
82 
 
 THE ROiLAJNX'E OF THE nAIlE:SL 
 
 The Satrap glanced for the first time towards 
 Katinka: "Approach, kizem — mj' daughter;" 
 he said kindly ; " I have much to thank you for, 
 ^vlien I see the bloom and tlie liglit restored to 
 this jewel of my existence ; you have been a 
 skilful physician ; every hake'em whom I have 
 hitherto consulted has been an ass and the father 
 of asses; but you liave brought back joy to my 
 harem, as the dawn brings back liglit. Who lias 
 taught you a skill valuable as the precepts of 
 the Koran, and sure as the Paradise of the Pro- 
 phet? How is it that, while the wise men of 
 the land liave heaped upon my head the dirt of 
 disappointment, you have spread for my feet the 
 carpet of content ?" 
 
 " Allah buyidc der — the Kadeun Hanoum has 
 rejoiced in my minstrelsy, and we have broken 
 together the spiced bread of memory," was the 
 reply. " The heart, when it is sad, ever loves to 
 fall back upon the past; the river may flow 
 through many valleys, but its waters have all 
 been fed from the same source, and they cannot 
 change their nature." 
 
 " And yet, what is the past V said the Satrap 
 philosophically, as he took from the hand of an 
 attendant his richly ornamented chibouque, of 
 ■which the boudaka, or bowl, was curiouslj' gilt, 
 and painted ; " is it not bosh — nothing ! The 
 song that has been sung, the tale that has been 
 told, the sherbet that has been drunk, what 
 avail they? Bashustun — On my head be it! 
 They are even less than nought — ^I have said it." 
 
 " Otour, janum — Sit, my soul ;" was his next 
 e;cclamation, as he witlidrew for an instant the 
 chibouque from his lips, and turned towards his 
 wife: and when, profiting by this gracious per- 
 mission, she had placed Jierself on the extreme 
 edge of the sofa on which he was comfortably 
 establislied, a motion of the hand implied a sim- 
 ilar connnand to the young Gi-eek, who obej-ed 
 it by taking her place on a pile of cushions at 
 the feet of her friend. 
 
 " Beyaz ;" said the Satrap a moment after as 
 he looked up ; "I have been searching for the 
 cause of your vaunted cleverness, and 1 find not 
 in the chambers of my brain one with which I 
 can feel satisfied. Hai — true, you are a Greek, 
 and the women of }-our nation are content to 
 turn over the leaves of knowledge, and to trace 
 the characters of eonununication themselves, 
 wliile tlie fair inmates of our harems — Alhem- 
 dullilali — praise be to Allah! — sit quietly upon 
 their sofas, and for a few piastres, purchase the 
 labors of others ; but you do more than this — 
 you are as a daugliter of Frangistan — as a sister 
 of the Unbelievers, who walk the streets with 
 their faces naked, and pour dust upon the heads 
 of the karabashes, the wise men of our countrj-, 
 •who double up their feet upon the sofa of 
 science, and pour the sherbet of study into the 
 goblet of learning. Mashnllah ! Frangi domous 
 — the Franks are liogs — and their women are 
 the sisters of Slieitan, and the hand-maidens of 
 Eblis !" and the Pasha spat upon the carpet, 
 overcome at once by indignation and fatigue. 
 
 " The women of the Franks, what are they, 
 that we 8lu)uld talk of them?" asked the Cir- 
 cassian. " Do not their own husbands hold 
 them 60 ligiitly that thej' nujy come and go as I 
 they list, and receive strange men in their ha- 1 
 
 rems, and sit at meat with them unrebuked 
 Are they not giaours and unbelievers?" 
 
 "Taib — well said; why should we talk of 
 them, guzum, my eyes!" replied the Pasha; 
 " are they not as alme,* wandering from house 
 to house unveiled, and smiling upon every bey- 
 zadehf who smokes from the chibouque of 
 their husband ? Ajaib ! — wonderful !" 
 
 " Have you ever looked upon one of these 
 unhappy ones?" asked the Hanoum anxiously. 
 
 " But once, janum, and that was at Stamboul, 
 before I t§ok possession of my pashalik ; and, 
 ouf !" — and again he assumed an expression of 
 intense disgust. " She had neither turban upon 
 her head, nor henna upon her hands ! When I 
 peered at her from behind a curtain, for I would 
 not enter her apartment, she had a Prankish 
 calam in her hand, and she was tracing upon 
 the leaf of an open volume a knot of flowers that 
 was Ij'ing open before her; and I swear by the i 
 Koran tliat I could scarcely tell the precise 
 blossom to which the prophet had given life. 
 Who could breathe the breath of peace in a ha- 
 rem where his women could laugh at himtohia 
 beard!" 
 
 "Mashallah! who indeed?" murmured the 
 young wife ; and for a time there was silence. 
 
 Katinka, whose zebec lay beside her, wearied 
 of the dull common-places to which she had 
 been so long compelled to listen, swept her 
 hand across the strings of her instrument, and 
 at once changed the current of the Pasha's 
 thoxights. 
 
 " Pekahi — very well," he said smilingly, " be 
 it so — we will have music." And, without fur- 
 ther bidding, the maiden poured forth one of 
 the wild melodies of her country. 
 
 "I have been thinking of you as you sang;" 
 said the Satrap, as the strain ceased, and the 
 young Greek remained with her head bent over 
 the zebec, to conceal the large tears that were 
 standing in her eyes; "and as I have no more 
 important occupation than to listen, I would 
 fain hear your history, and terminate a per- 
 plexity of which it fatigues me to attempt a so- 
 lution. Do I say well, Cai-imfil, janum, shall 
 she tell us the tale of her life 1" 
 
 " As my lord wills ;" said the Circassian in a 
 low melancholy accent; "she lives but to obey 
 you." 
 
 The young Greek passed her hand before her 
 eyes, flung back the clustering braids which had 
 fallen over her face, and after having continued 
 silent for a moment, turned a long sjuaking look 
 upon her friend, and commenced her story. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " I AM a native of Scio, of that delicious island 
 which, mirrored in the clear wateis of the 
 Egean, and rich in all the prodigal gifts of na- 
 ture, appeared to have sprung from the blue 
 depths of ocean to give to man a renewed 
 glimpse of the forfeited but unforgotten Eden. 
 1 dare not detail to my lord, as my Greek heart 
 
 ' Dancing girls. 
 
 t Son of a lord 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAUE>L 
 
 ifould dictate, all the horrora to which my 
 birtli-place bocuine a proy. Again the sorpt'iit 
 Btole upon the oiiltn happiness of innoooiioe; and 
 again man was driven out into the wilderness 
 of the world; but tiiis time it was witii blood 
 and tears — " 
 
 " Mnshallah !" broke in the Pasha ; " if you 
 put so many words to the tiring: of a town ami 
 the murder of a few thousand revolted Greeks, 
 your narrative is likely to last to the next Ha- 
 mazan ! IJut go on ; it may perelianee mend 
 BS you proeeed — Bakalum — we shall see." 
 
 " The cry of blood rose to heaven ;" pui-sued 
 Katinka, heedless of the interruption, and rather 
 speaking to herself than addressing the Pasha ; 
 ♦■ and in heav<.Mi's good time it will be answered ! 
 How many hap|>y ones did a brief day make 
 orphans! Shrieks and groans rang tlnougli tlie 
 groves whieh had so lately resouinled with 
 luugliter and music ; and the graceful limbs that 
 had led the romaika under the shade of the tail 
 sycamore and the drooping safsaf,* lay maimed 
 and bleeding by the wayside. All was terror 
 and dismay; and my aft'righted mother, seizing 
 with frantic liaste my brother and myself by 
 the hand, hurried us along by-paths little fre- 
 quented, and quite unknown to our enemies, to 
 a cavern in the rock, which had already afforded 
 refuge to a score of other fugitives, ileanwhile 
 the flames of the burning villages rose into the 
 air in volumes, and the occasional discharge of 
 musketry continued throughout the nigiit. My 
 Qiother sat upon the ground, with her head 
 buried on her knees, my brother was beside her, 
 and 1 lay at her feet, and slept, overcome by 
 fatigue and terror. 
 
 " Througli the agency of a relative, who lost 
 his wife and children during the massacre, after 
 four tedious and miserable days spent in the 
 cavern, during which we subsisted on shell-fish 
 and wild berries, collected by the boldest of the 
 wretched companj- during the night ; we escaped 
 in the frail bark of a fisherman, whom the hope 
 of gain had induced to hover about the island, 
 and who landed us ere the day was spent on a 
 bleak rock, where we continued until we could 
 safely transport ourselves to Athens; our faith- 
 ful fisherman supplying us with food, and 
 ultimately informing the friends to whom we 
 were anxious to be convej-ed, of our destitute 
 and miserable condition. 
 
 " Landed in Greece, we were in comparative 
 security; and the uncle of my mother, a wealth}- 
 merchant, without any nearer relativ.s than 
 ourselves, lavisheil u[»on us every luxury which 
 liis ulfection could procure or devise ; but my 
 poor mother's heart was broken: and, while 1 
 was yet a child, she was laid beneath an acacia 
 tree to rcsL 
 
 " We wore now wholly dependent on Age An- 
 este, our uncle, and we became to him as children; 
 all the advantages that g<»ld could secure he 
 pound forth upon us; but even that effort would 
 not sati-fy his love. We were about to be 
 transported to Frangistan, to a 8ea-|)ort of the 
 Gauls, touehiiig on the gulf of ( Jenoa, and there — " 
 
 " Y' Allah f — in the name of the Prophet, how 
 •ay you i Have you been in the land of the 
 
 Egyptian willow. 
 
 t infidel I" exelaimed the Pn.slia, Buddenly aronspd 
 from his indilVerenee ; " know you not that iliu 
 country of the Uiilielievei-s is but a men/i 
 khaneh, a post-house, on the road toJeliMnum I* 
 I '• Shekiur Allah !— heaven be pniis..!, the soU 
 I of my foot has never been j)olluted by treading 
 I the soil of the giaour;" replied the young Gre<'k, 
 with a (liiiet smile. " 1 was about to inform 
 1 your highness that the felucca was at anchor 
 before the city, when n Frank stranger r.rriv.d 
 , with his only cliiM at the house of one whom 
 Age Aneste loved, and in who.se compatiy he 
 I passed a great portion of his time. When fh.y 
 I landed in Greece, it was evident to all who 
 looked u|>on the stranger that he luuleomc tlicre 
 j only to die. His eye burnt with a li<ree light 
 I which was almost dazzling, and there was a 
 bloom upon his cheek better suited to a stripling 
 tiian to one whose head was white with the 
 ' siiow^ of age. The Frank was devoured by the 
 disease whieh is the plague of his country ; and 
 the hakeems of his own laixl iiad sent him forth 
 1 in despair from the fogs an<l snows of his un- 
 i happy clime to our more genial Fast ; he had 
 i passed rapidly from one fair island to anothir, 
 I with the restlessness of his disease and of his 
 ; pet)ple ; until, feeling that the angel Azratil was 
 i rnpnlly folding his wings about him, he resolveu 
 to visit (ireece, thougli well he knew that it 
 : must be his burial-place. 
 
 " I have spoken of his child — it was a daugh- 
 ter, with eyes like the blue heaven that floods 
 the world with beauty, and hair as golden as 
 the last rays of the setting sun. Alas! she ho- 
 I ped on to the last ; and when Allah at length 
 recalled the breath that he had given, and she 
 I was left alone, slie prayed in lier anguish that 
 the same stone might cover them. She lived on, 
 I however, for the prayer of the bursting heart 
 I was set aside in mercy ; and she became an in- 
 I mate of my uncle's house. P'rom her I learnt 
 ; the lore of the Franks, and when she at length 
 i followed her father to the grav. — for the poi- 
 I soned shaft wliich had struck down the strong 
 I man lurked also in the veins of the goldeii- 
 1 haired child of his love — we mourned for her 
 I as though she had been of our own blood. 
 I " Affairs of commerce calling Ago Aneste to 
 Circassia, he determined, in order to remove the 
 melancholy which had fastened vampire-like 
 ujjon my heart, to carry my brotlnr ami myself 
 with him upon his inLnsling exjx ilition. i'h.n 
 and there it was, your higliness, that, for a few 
 brief and happy months 1 enjoyed the friendship 
 ' of the beautiful Carimfil llanoum. whom mnv 
 Allah long jtrtserve in loveliness! Wlieii hfs 
 affairs were settled, my uncle pined for his ov.n 
 land, and tlie familiar comforts of his own ro<'f , 
 j but my brother's bohhr spirit had beeoini- ena- 
 moured of the mouniaiii lif", and t!ie g.-fierou* 
 hospitality of ('ireas,-.ia, and In- reMdvt-.l to fol- 
 low out his fortunes in the war which the brava 
 moiintaiiieei-s wen- waging with the .Mu ,.-ovit<«. 
 Heaven was merciful, for on oiir nturii to 
 Athens, our felucca was lalon by a 'i'u; kisli \e-». 
 sel ; my iinha|>py uneli- diiil lik<- a brave <;re. k. 
 with his weap(m in his hand; and, for m\»< if," 
 — and the voice of tin- maidi'ii lall« r^ d. anil the 
 bitter tears of anguish fell upon li.r l.o.oin — • I 
 am pursuing my destiny — nnrsiil in blooil, and 
 
24 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE ILiREM. 
 
 reared in exile, I am novr wearing a-way my 
 youth in slavery — " 
 
 " Xay, not 6o, Khatoun ;" exclaimed the Cir- 
 cassian, throwing her white arms about her 
 friend, heedless of the presence of the Pasha ; 
 " your sorrows now are ended, your life shall 
 be one of sunshine, and they who oppress or in- 
 jure you shall be the enemies of the Satrap." 
 
 " Taib — well said ;" echoed Saifula Pasha ; " I 
 will pluck out their beards, and fill the r nos- 
 trils with ashes. But we have had enoiigh of 
 grief — let your slaves be summoned, EtFendi 
 mou, that the dance may dry up your tears, 
 which are pouring out like the fountains of the 
 desert. Inshallah! I would rather see the flow- 
 ers when the sunshine rests upon them, than 
 when the shower falls heavy on their heads, and 
 bends them earthward." 
 
 Carimfil Hanoum clapped her hands, and the 
 dancing girls of her liarem speedily entered, 
 greatly to the satisfaction of the Satrap ; who, 
 when he commanded the narration of Katinka, 
 had by no means anticipated so gloomy a his- 
 tory ; and who Avas far better amused by the 
 monotonous twanging of the wiry Turkish man- 
 dolins, and the meaningless movements of the 
 slaves, than he would have been by all the fa- 
 bles of the wily Scheherazade herself 
 
 To the dance succeeded a shrill chorus of voi- 
 ces, sufficient to have cracked the drums of any 
 ears save those of an Osmanli ; and, when the 
 musicians had performed their prostrations, and 
 tjuitted the apartments, Carimfil Hanoum, anx- 
 ious to reinstate her friend in the good graces 
 of her husband, whose favor had evidently been 
 much lessened by the saddening nature of h 
 story, by Avhieh he had nearly been put to 
 sleep, and, at the same time to diminish its efi"eet 
 upon her own spirits, roused herself by a vio- 
 lent effort, and said laughingly — 
 
 " The moon is as bright to-night as the sword 
 of the Padishah — 'tis an hour for a love-tale ; 
 a3'e, and one of happy issue. Have you none 
 such, guzum ? Bak — see ! you have biit to look 
 at those threads of silver flung over the leaves 
 like a net-work, in order to weave a thousand 
 gladsome fancies, and to dispel at once the gloom 
 of the Satrap, who has done nought but sigh 
 since the singing women left the apartment." 
 
 "_ Guzel ! — good, goodi" smiled the Pasha, 
 " 'tis a good thought, janum — my soul; but we 
 will have no more revolts, nor pirates, nor 
 Frank women wandering into far lands to die, 
 instead of waiting quietly upon their sofas the 
 coming of Azraiil ; as they would have done had 
 they covered their faces, and not eaten dirt from 
 their childhood. But first" — and he clapped 
 his hands, and said gravely to the negro who 
 answered his summons, " Chibouque, cahveh 
 getir— bring pipes and coffee ;" ere he turned 
 gaily towards the young Greek, and added, with 
 a seff-gratulatory chuckle at liis own wit. " First 
 pass the sponge of oblivion over the parchment 
 of memory, and fold your feet upon the cushion 
 of delight; for if you fail to make me laugh ere 
 I leave the harem, I will condemn you to pre- 
 pare your pillauf with green rice ; so let j'our 
 words be your slaves, that they may make 
 smiles as plentiful in my harem as roses in tlie 
 gardens of Nishapor." 
 
 The fair Greek bowed her head, and laid her 
 hand upon her heart and lips; and, when the 
 cafejhis had retired, prepared to obey the Pasha 
 V)y relating the story of — 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TUE SEVEN DOORS. 
 
 Not above a hundred years ago, there lived 
 in the city of Stamboul, near the mosque of 
 Sultan Bajazet, a shawl merchant named Sulei- 
 man, to whom the prophet had been auspicious, 
 and who had consequently accumulated im- 
 mense wealth. For sixty-five years he had 
 been content to see his harem occupied only by 
 his very aged mother and her slaves : but at the 
 termination of that period, as he was one day 
 sitting in the Shawl Bazar, his attention was 
 attracted by the stately form and graceful car- 
 riage of a female, who paused for a moment be- 
 side his carpet to examine a magnificent cache- 
 mire of Lahore, which he was in the act of dis- 
 playing to a Frank customer, and then hastily 
 passed on attended by a slave. 
 
 The Frank purchased the shawl, and the bright 
 eyes of the fair pedestrian had so far favored 
 I, that he did not pay above a thousand 
 piastres more than its value ; Suleiman having, 
 in his temporary bewilderment of spirit, named 
 to the Giaour the very sum which he wouM 
 have demanded of a True Believer ; and, when 
 the merchant had carefully deposited the gold 
 in his tobacco purse instead of the more legiti- 
 mate receptiele destined for his gains, and had 
 inhaled in silence the ai-oma of a newly-replen- 
 ished chibouque, he was aroused from his fit of 
 musing by the voice of his neighbor Najib, an 
 Adrianopolitan by birth, and, like himself, a 
 shawl merchant by profession, who had wit- 
 nessed the bargain with some surprise ; but with 
 that quiet philosophy of non-interfei'ence com- 
 mon in the East. 
 
 " Allah mouthy emmin ^il^y^ — Allah grant that 
 it maj' be of good omen to you :" he said calmly. 
 "The dog of an infidel was ready with his gold, 
 and paid it fairly ; but j-ou, methinks, were 
 somewhat over-hasty on your side, or you 
 might have counted it up to a heavier sum. 
 Even the light-footed daughter of old Abdullah, 
 the silversmith, stopped for a moment as she 
 passed, in wonder at your fair dealing with a 
 Giaour." 
 
 " Mashallah — Allah be praised — the eye must 
 be keen that pierces the folds of a yashmac,"* 
 retorted the other, thoroughly aroused by the 
 subject; "How know you, Etfendim, that Ab- 
 dullah has a daughter ? or that the girl wlio 
 just walked through the bazar was his child ?" 
 
 " To your first question, I answer that my 
 wife asked her for our son Hafiz, but it was not 
 his kismet — his fate — to be pleasing in the ej'ea 
 of the old man ; and to the second, that the ne- 
 gress who followed her was reared up in my 
 own harem, and bade ' God guard me,' as she 
 stepped beside my carpet." 
 
 by Turkish women. 
 
THE ROiL\^-CE OF THE 1IAUK.NL 
 
 Suleiman smoked on after this eliort dialogue 
 in silence : a new idea had sprung into existonee 
 in his niiiul; and he remained quietly resolving 
 the subject until an hour before sunset, at which 
 period tlio tcharchi* closes; wlien, having ex- 
 \ hausted his last pipe, he rolled up liis carpet, 
 
 i secured Iiis costly merchandise, and walked 
 slowly homeward. 
 " it is my fekeh — my constellation" — he mur- 
 mured to himself, as he cast otf his slippers at 
 the door of tlie harem, and proceeded to pay a 
 visit to his mother; " What is to be, will be!" 
 And having indulged in this consolatory and 
 soothing retleetion, Suleiman, the shawl mer- 
 chant philosophically resigned himself to his 
 fate! "Allah keriu'i — Allah is merciful!" — he 
 said quietly, as he took possession of a cushion 
 near the sofa on which his aged and widowed 
 parent sat supported by pillows: " Allah kerini 
 — my home has hitherto been one of solitude, 
 and the hair of my mother has grown gray with 
 years; and as 3et she has had no daughter to 
 pour water into her goblet, nor coffee into her 
 cup — but this must not be for ever — I have 
 said it" 
 
 " Allah kerim !" echoed the old woman in her 
 turn : " the Prophet has heard my prayer. I 
 will see Ilumot the slave-merchant, before the 
 set of to-morrow's sun." 
 
 " Nay. not so ;" was the reply ; " I have heard 
 that Abdullah tlie silversmith, he who wrought 
 the niangalf for the Sultan's new palace, hatli a 
 daughter; men speak well of him, and his beard 
 is white. I will marry the girl." 
 
 " Pekalii — very well," answered the aged 
 crone : " then will I see the Ilanoum, her mo- 
 ther ; the Iniaum shall be warned ; and next 
 •week her foot shall be on your threshold." 
 
 " Abdullah hath refused her to Hafiz, the son 
 of Najib ;" observed the suitor with a sudden 
 misgiving. 
 
 "And what of that?" asked his mother sharp- 
 ly ; " is it not bosh — nothing ? Ilatiz is a mere 
 boy, and the camel is not yet foaled which will 
 carry him to Mecca." 
 
 Even on the morrow did Gunduz Ilanoura 
 (for thus was the mother of Suleiman called — 
 Gunduz signifying Daylight, though the sun of 
 her mortal sky had long been set, and her exist- 
 ence dwindled away into a mere gloaming; and 
 Ilanoum being translated, reading as lady or 
 mistress:) even on the morrow did she set for- 
 ward upon her interesting errand. Nor had the 
 aged ambassadress the most remote doubt as to 
 the success of her mission : true, the silvcrsniith 
 had refused to give the maiden to Hafiz, the 
 first-born of Najib, the Adrianopolitan ; but Na- 
 jib was not a man of substance, and the son fed 
 only upon his father's fortunes ; while Sulei- 
 man 
 
 It was at this point of her musing that the 
 araba, or latticed carriage, of (iunduz Ilanoum 
 stopped before the harem of th.; moth«r of Ha- 
 fiz; and when the arabajhe had beaten upon the 
 door, and it ha<i been opened by some invisible 
 means from within, her slaves slowly lifted her 
 from her cushions, and bore her into the hull of 
 
 •Great Exchange. 
 
 t A brazier lor holding heit«d chaicokl. 
 
 I Abdullah's house, whence she was supported up 
 stairs; and, having traversed a wide t-orridor 
 
 I surrounded by tha^women's ajtartments, she was 
 ushered into the princi|)al room of the liarein, 
 and the presence of its mistress. 
 
 " IJouroum — you are weleonic ;" i*nid the lady, 
 rising courteously from her sofa, as the gu.st 
 entered ; and she motioned the (h crepi.i old 
 woman to the jtlaee of honor; " You are Wel- 
 come, though I know not whence you are, nor 
 
 ' on what errand you come." And while the 
 
 I visiter, having put olF her slippers, settled her- 
 self comfortably at the upper end of the divan 
 she clapped her hands, and a slave entered with 
 coffee. 
 
 ! Long sat the two women side by side in si 
 lence; and, when the coffee had disappeared, 
 the wife of Abdullah prepared a ehiboiKjue for 
 
 , her guest, and, having duly placed on the 
 summit of the tobacco a small piece of lighted 
 
 I charcoal, she offered the pij)e to lier visiter with 
 her own hands, who received it with a cour- 
 teous salam aleikum.* 
 
 " You are the wife of Abdullah the siver- 
 smith" — commenced the old woman at length, 
 after she had imbibed the aroma of the tobacco, 
 
 I and that the raised circle of light white ashes 
 
 1 had formed round the bowl of the chibouque, 
 
 j which betrays that the virtue of the "scented 
 weed" is well nigh evaporated ; " you are the 
 
 j wife of Abdullah the silversmith, and I am the 
 mother of Suloimaii the shawl merchant, who 
 
 I lives within the shadow of the mosque of Sultan 
 Bajazet — you have a fair daughter; and my son 
 is one who can well atford to flavor his pillauf 
 with spices — do I speak clearly ?" 
 
 " Y'ou speak clearly ;" responded her auditor 
 without the slightest gesture of surprise, and 
 drawing as she sjjoke a longer stream of vapor 
 through the slender i)ipe of jasmin wood which 
 she was herself smoking. 
 
 " 1 would see the girl ;" followed up the old 
 woman. 
 
 "And why not?" readily rejoined her new 
 acquaintance ; " Alhemdullilah — I'raisu be to 
 Allah — she has eyes like oysters, and lips as 
 ruddy as the dye of Khorasan — why should I 
 bid her hide herself when a mussafir — a guest — 
 desires to look upon her?" 
 
 And again she elanped her hands, and, on the 
 entrance of an nttenuant, bade her summon llel 
 
 i niiLs ilanoum to her presence. 
 
 The maiden obeyed without delay ; and even 
 
 I as she made her graceful obeisance at the thres 
 
 j hold, ere she advanced deeper into the apart 
 ment, the keen eye of the old woman ha<l de- 
 
 I tected in her intended daughter-in-law all thf 
 charms which she had silently settled in her 
 own mind to be imperative and indispensable iu 
 the wife of her son. She was indeed, as her 
 name implied, a " diamond" among women : 
 she had the height and grace of her (Jeorgiac 
 mother, but her eye and brow were tliiw<! of her 
 Turkish father. It may seem somewhat apo- 
 cryphal to dilate on eyes which Inr own parent 
 had just likened to so utterly unc iitimental 
 an object in natural history os an oyster; but 
 the simile will nevertheless bear analvsia aa 
 
 * £a<t«rn i&luution. 
 
26 
 
 THE IlOMA^'CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 well as most — her eyes were full, and round, 
 and clear, and, moroover, deeplj' fringed with 
 lashes as black as night — s]^ was pale, very 
 pale ; hut ere the visit of Suleiman's mother 
 ended, her cheek had flushed into a dye that 
 would have shamed the roses of Gurgistan ; her 
 long dark hair fell in masses upon shoulders as 
 white and polished as ivory; and she moved 
 with a grace that lent a new charm to her 
 beauty. 
 
 " In'shalhih — I trust in Allah — she is no Kurd ;" 
 said the wife of Abdullah, as the lovely Helmas 
 Hanoum raised the withered hand of the visiter 
 to her lips: "she is worthy to be the wife of a 
 True Believer." 
 
 She is worthy" — echoed the other high con- 
 tracting party, without removing her sharp gray 
 eyes from the countenance of the fair girl ; " she 
 shall be the wife of Sideiman, even of my own 
 son." 
 
 The maiden started painfully, and raised her 
 downcast eyes with an expression of acute suf- 
 fering ; her lip trembled, but she did not ven- 
 ture to give voice to the words that quivered 
 there ; and she almost bounded from the room 
 as her mother bade her retire. 
 
 The declaration of Gunduz Hanoum was ful- 
 filled to the letter; one short week beheld the 
 young and lovely daughter of Abdullah the wife 
 of Suleiman the shawl merchant. She wept bit- 
 terly as she was borne into the harem ; and she 
 closed her ej'es as the dancing girls moved along 
 before her, and turned aside her head as the 
 singing women pealed forth her bridal song. In 
 short, it avails not to mak.e a secret of that which 
 her husband was not slow to discover ; the peer- 
 less Helmas Hanoum had given away her heart 
 ere the aged mother of Suleiman went on her 
 matrimonial mission to the harem of Abdullah 
 the silvei'smith. 
 
 But who was the favored lover? Who should 
 say ? In taking a wife, the worthy shawl mer- 
 chant had secured at once a misery and a mys- 
 tery. He sought to win the secret by tender- 
 ness ; but the sentiment of sixty-five long years, 
 written in wrinkles on the brow of a new-made 
 husband, is no key to open the heart of a young, 
 and pretty, and preoccupied wife. The Hanoum,- 
 his mother, endeavored to gain her point by 
 taunts and menaces, but she was only answered 
 by tears, from which nothing could be learned 
 save that there was a secret; and this only made 
 the matter worse. 
 
 How many sleepless nights did the unhappy 
 Suleiman pass in vain endeavors to remedy an 
 evil whose exact cause he could not even fathom! 
 And how often did he swear to himself by the 
 beard of the Prophet that he would outmatch 
 in cunning every lover in Stamboul, though they 
 should bo leagued with Sheitan to do him wrong. 
 
 For one whole weary month he sat in the 
 bazar, apparently gazing on the passers-by, but 
 in reality with his eyes turned inward, and his 
 thoughts plotting treason against his liege lady 
 and wife. At length the electric spark was 
 struck, and the luminous atom grew into breadth 
 ■ and form — it is true that for a time the breath 
 of the loving husband came thick and hard a< le 
 revolved the different bearings of his 8ci.^3e, 
 but the more he reflected, the more he became 
 
 reconciled to the idea : and when, in a privat* 
 conference with his mother, it had received her 
 sanction and approval, he hesitated no longer to 
 prepare an effectual remedy against all lover- 
 like stratagems on the part of his unknown 
 rival. 
 
 Beneath the house of Suleiman was excavated 
 a vault of some extent, which, with considerable 
 labor, was fashioned by the jealous merchant 
 into a spacious and comfortable apartment, save 
 that the light of heaven could not peneti'ate its 
 gloom ; and this subterranean was approached 
 by a long vaulted passage, along which, for bet- 
 ter security, he placed, at regular distances, 
 seven doors strongly plated with iron and fas- 
 tened with locks, each different from the other, 
 and to be opened only by the key that apper- 
 tained to it. 
 
 The surprise of the young wife may be ima- 
 gined when she was introduced into this living 
 grave, and told that it was to be thenceforward 
 her abiding place. She wept, she knelt, she 
 even shrieked in her anguish, but the heart of 
 Suleiman was steeled by jealousy, and tardily- 
 awakened love. Nor, as he took some trouble 
 to explain, would she be so much to be pitied 
 as she seemed to apprehend ; for, with the ex- 
 ception of light, liberty, and fresh air, nothing 
 in reason would be denied to her. But the 
 young beauty was deaf to all his rhetoric ; she 
 saw only in the subterranean, in which she was 
 to be immured with the faithful negress who had 
 followed her from her father's house, at once a 
 prison and a tomb ; nor did the passionate pro- 
 testations of her liusband reconcile her in the 
 slightest degree to his very original arrange- 
 ment. Never were the inconveniences of exces- 
 sive attachment more strongly developed; and 
 after an hour uselessly expended in sententious 
 consolation, the merchant was fain to ascend to 
 the level of the earth, leaving his lovely victim 
 bathed in tears of most sincere distress. 
 
 Now it so chanced, that the house adjoining 
 that of Suleiman the shawl merchant had long 
 been uninhabited, and was likely to continue so, 
 for the window panes were shivered, the roof 
 had fallen in, in many places, and the suns of 
 summer and the rains of winter had combined 
 to render it as forlorn and uninviting as any 
 tenement could well be ; and the merchant 
 congratulated himself that it was so, for the 
 grief and terror of his young wife had been more 
 vociferous and demonstrative than he had antici- 
 pated ; and he felt all the inconvenience which 
 might have acci'ued to himself from a possible 
 interference on the part of a neighbor. 
 
 Were this the time or place for moralizing, or 
 were the habit of so doing more popular than it 
 is, I might be tempted at this period of my story 
 to pause a little, and to remark on the proneness 
 of purblind human nature to exult over the very 
 circumstances which are frequently the most 
 inimical to the success of its projects ; but as it 
 is, I will not indulge myself with digression ; 
 and this resolution brings me back at once to 
 the prison-chamber of the fair and ill-fated Hel- 
 mas Hanoum. 
 
 ^ " What care I for my beauty !" she exclaimed 
 peevishly, cutting short the anxious exhortations 
 of her attendant, who sat on a cushion at her 
 
THE R01LV>'CE OF TIIH IIARKil. 
 
 27 
 
 *se.; "I detest the very atniosplioro he brentlios. 
 Tchirtut — wrcteli ! Slinll I bniid my liiiir for 
 him, and stain my hands with henna to give 
 him pleasure ? If I am mad, let liini send me to 
 the Timernaz(i ;* tliore at loast I shall foel the 
 breath of Heaven, and U>ok on tlie blue sky — 
 and soon, soon ;" she added, with a fresh burst 
 of passionate grief; " I shall be t^.tted only for 
 sueli a home." 
 
 Time wore on heavily enough in the subter- 
 ranean, though Suleiman rarely failed to visit 
 each daj' the lady of his heart, who met his affec- 
 tion either in sullen silence, or with vehement 
 reproach ; but a Turkish husband cares little for 
 a storm of words — it is only a woman — she must 
 be suffered to say all that she lists — her anger is 
 bosh, nothing — she is better when she has poured 
 forth her dissatisfaction; and upon this principle 
 listened the husband of the incarcerated fair one, 
 without swerving one iota from his purpose ; 
 and upon this- principle he bore the tempest 
 meekly ; and consoled himself by double locking 
 laeh of the seven doors, as he re-ascended to the 
 light, and never suffering the precious keys to 
 he deposited elsewhere than amid the folds of 
 tJie shawl that he wore about his waist. 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 THE SEVEN DOOES C0^'T1^•UED. 
 
 Six weary weeks had passed since Helmas 
 Hauoum first be^me the tenant of the vault, 
 when, as she sat One day listlessly passing the 
 heads of her ehaplet through her slender fingers, 
 she detected a strange noise in a corner of the 
 subterranean ; and so much was she perplexed 
 to define its cause, that she awoke her com- 
 jninion, who lay sleeping peacefully upon a mat 
 thrown on the floor, not half a dozen paces from 
 her sofa: "Wake, Zeinipl wake, I say!" she 
 cried impatiently; " Ne var — what is that! 
 Bome one is in the apartment" 
 
 " Afiiet oUah — much pleasure attend you — 
 we shall then see a new face ;" said the negress 
 quietly, as she passed her hand over her eyes, 
 and rose to a sitting posture ; " But where, 
 Effendim, is the mussafir?f IJir chey yok — 
 there is nothing ; we are still alone aa when I 
 liiy down to sleep." 
 
 " Yavash, yavash — softly, softly;" whispered 
 UiC imprisoned beauty, pressing her finger on 
 her lip ; " hear you nothing T* 
 
 " Nothing, save a rat which has lost his way 
 in the dark, and would take a short cut through 
 our under-ground harem. Hahi ! the I'rophet ', 
 pardon you, Effendim, for you have H|)oiled the j 
 sweetest dream that has gladdened my sleeping i 
 hours since — " I 
 
 "Hist! I tell you, 'tis no rat; now Allah' 
 shield us ! what can it mean f" j 
 
 The slave, seeing the terror of her mistress, | 
 and being by this time wide awake, listfned in | 
 her turn. In five seconds she decided that her 
 first guess had been a eoiTect one, but in five 
 minutes she confessed that such could not be the 
 
 * Luna.ic Asyluc 
 
 I case. And in truth, it was not wonderful that 
 I the two incarcerated women should instinctively 
 draw closer together, and throw th.-ir whole 
 souls — for the Turks have nlways allowed that 
 I their women /larc souls, whatever it may have 
 pleased Europeans -to declare to the contrary 
 ! — and throw their whole souls into their ears, 
 as the mysterious noise continued with senrcely 
 any intermission. It was not precisely a knock- 
 ing, nor (^uite a scratching, nor altogether a 
 grinding; it was a strange irregular compound 
 of each and all of these; and the only decision 
 to which Helmas Ilanouni and her ebony- 
 colored attendant could come on the subject, 
 was, that some person or thing was striving to 
 make a way into the vault. 
 
 Ha\'ing arrive<l at this conclusion, their terror 
 began after a time to grow into curit)sity. What 
 could it be? What could it mean ? The young 
 beauty looked towards her slave, and miirin\ired 
 out " If it should be my father!" — and the slave 
 in her turn looked towards her mistress, and in a 
 tone as low as the last whispering of the wind 
 on the ocean ripple, replied to the suggestion 
 .b}' slowly saying, " If it should be your lover!" 
 
 The sentence was no sedative, for the cheek 
 of the young wife crimsoned, and her heart 
 began to beat painfull}- ; and meanwhile the 
 knocking, scratching, and grinding went on 
 with an indcfatigability which did infinite credit 
 to the perseverance of the operator. Tlie upper 
 end of the vault, where it touched the subter- 
 ranean of the adjoining dwelling, was secured 
 by some of those huge blocks of stone which 
 are frequently to be seen in the most ancient 
 quarters of Stamboul, and seem to have been 
 hewn by the Titans; they were moreover united 
 by that mysterious, and almost indestruetiblo 
 cement, of which the secret is now supposed to 
 be lost ; and, altogether, no jealous husband 
 could possibly have devised a more solid or 
 satisfactory species of partition between his 
 own house and that of his neighbor. But what 
 avail even blocks of stone, or Roman cement, 
 against the resolute determination of headstrong 
 passion ? The complicated noise went on day 
 after day, until the two prisoners became so 
 thoroughly accustomed to it, that it was no 
 longer a cause of fear, though, amid the mono- 
 tony of their existence, it still remained a sub- 
 ject of curiosity and conversation. 
 
 It was somewhat remorkable that the invisi- 
 ble workman, as thongh gifted with the power 
 of seeing through the stone that he found it so 
 difficult to penetrate, never continued his labors 
 during the daily visits of the merchant; the 
 instant thot thekey of Suleiman turned in the 
 lock of the seventh door, all was us still as the 
 grave; and perhaps it was equally strange, that 
 neither of the women ever volunteered to the 
 merchant the slightest mention of the circum- 
 stance. It might be that in the excitement of 
 his reception it escaped their memory: or it 
 might be that they considered the incident to 
 be altogethor insignificant, and tiierefore un- 
 worthy of attention, lean not take upon my- 
 self to explain their motive, but, he it what it 
 would, it shrouded itself in silence. 
 
 It will readily be believed by those who have 
 the advantage of Suleiman, anil who are in pot 
 
28 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Bession of the secret, that the noise became grad- 
 nally louder as the work advanced ; and that, 
 when once a huge stone was displaced from its 
 legitimate position, the two trembling women 
 — for they did tremble more violently than ever 
 when they saw the loosened mass actually yield 
 to some external force — were " all eyes," as they 
 had long been " all ears," to discover the cause 
 of the mystery. Ilelmas Ilanoum was the first 
 to recover from her panic, as a very handsome 
 head appeared in the chasm, which was quickly 
 eucceeded by a tall, slight, graceful figure, 
 that, having passed the narrow space with some 
 difiiculty, started suddenly into a standing pos- 
 ture ; and then, quick as thought, was prostrate 
 once more at the feet of the young beauty. 
 
 " Hafiz 1" murmured the low voice of the mei'- 
 chant's wife. 
 
 " My fair, my loved, my long-lost houril" an- 
 swered the j-outh, as he covered her small hand 
 with kisses: "Sultana of my soul! Was it for 
 this that they refused you to me — to bury you 
 beneath the earth ere the Prophet had beckoned 
 back your spirit ? Was it for this V and tears 
 of mingled joy and bitterness swelled in his 
 large dark eyes. 
 
 " It is my fate 1" said Helmas Hanoum mourn- 
 fully: "it is my fate: and you have done ill, 
 Hafiz, to seek me out. Was I not sad enough in 
 my loneliness that you bring me a deeper grief? 
 Ne bilirim — what can I say ? You are a mad- 
 man!" 
 
 " The nightingale sings to the rose when the 
 Bun has set ;" was the meek reply : " I have 
 learnt a lesson of a silly bird ; and shall I be 
 chidden by the flower which has won my wor- 
 ship ?" 
 
 " If I chid you not in brighter days ;" said the 
 weeping beauty ; " how could I chide you now ? 
 And yet, Hafiz — " 
 
 " Aiguzum! janumi — oh, my eyes! my soul!" 
 comme^iced the lover — 
 
 "Enough, enough of this;" interposed the 
 slave abruptly : " we lose time — you love each 
 other — a way of escape is open ; let us fly to the 
 mountains." 
 
 "Peace, Zeinip!'* said her mistress sternly: 
 "am I not the wife of Suleiman?" 
 
 " You are a child," retorted the negress un- 
 ceremoniously ; " see you not that the young 
 Eff"endi is your feleeli — your constellation ? Will 
 you put out the light of your own star? Will 
 you blacken your face because your father sold 
 you to a greybeard's gold? and eat dirt with 
 him when you may share the pillauf of one who 
 loves you ?" • 
 
 And. as the energetic Zeinip paused for breath, 
 Hafiz looked up at the trembling girl, and whis- 
 pered " She says well — will you indeed do this ?" 
 
 "Listen to me I" said Ilelmas Hanoum, who 
 at once perceived that she should have to con- 
 tend with the pleadings of her own heart, as 
 well as tiiose of both her companions; and who 
 was anxious to gain time, lest, in this first mo- 
 ment of happy emotion, she might be induced to 
 take a step, against which reason and propriety 
 alike revolted; and, with the ready tact of her 
 sex in all countries, and under all circurhstances, 
 she adopted at once the tone and manner best 
 fitted to win her lover to a compliance with her 
 
 conditions. Like the evil enchanters of the 
 East, and the spoiled beauties of every land, she 
 insisted on the performance of feats which she 
 affected to believe impossible, but on whose ac- 
 complishment she bound herself to unite her 
 fate with that of Hafiz, and to fly with him from 
 Stamboul for ever. 
 
 In vain did the young man argue, expostulate, 
 and plead ; he wasted alike his time and hie' 
 eloquence, for Ilelmas Hanoum was firm. "1 
 have said it, Hafiz, and thus onl}- may you hope 
 to win me ; remember, too, for how many weary 
 weeks I have been buried here, and shall I nol 
 be revenged upon my tormentor ? Between the 
 entrance of the vault and this apartment there 
 are seven doors, and so many times must you 
 deceive Suleiman in some wise, so thoroughlj 
 that he may believe himself the sport of a fou] 
 fiend without having power to free himself froDC 
 the thrall ; and j'ou must, moreover, so conduct: 
 your machinations as to make me a party ir 
 every plot. You need not doubt but I shal 
 play my part well, and my faithful Zeinip also — 'I 
 
 " Have I not grown up with him from a child !'■ 
 interposed the negress; " and will not my heart 
 be with him while he walks the earth ? Inshal 
 lah — I shall not mar his plotting." 
 
 After a time Hafiz became more reconciled t< 
 the whim of his mistress: for, with the sanguim 
 and joyous spirit of youth, he anticipated only i 
 successful issue to each adventure, be it as wiU; 
 as it might; and the two thoughtless and happj 
 lovers — happy in spite of all the dangers am 
 difiiculties by which they were surrounded— 
 laughed heartily, ere they parted, at the mer< 
 anticipation of the discomfortthey were prepaf' 
 iug for the merchant. , 
 
 Prudence, however pointed at length to tht 
 displaced fragment of wall, which must, to insun 
 the success of their schemes, be carefully read 
 justed ere the next visit of Suleiman; and tu 
 Hafiz prepared to depart, Helmas Hanoum un 
 clasped from her slender wrist a costly bracele 
 well known to her husband, whose bridal gift i 
 had been, and tendered it to her lover : " I nee«' 
 not tell you how to use it ;" she said smilingly 
 " Zeinip and I will not fail in our parts — th. 
 stone shall b« sufliciently loosened, as soon a 
 the Eftendi departs, to enable you to remove i ' 
 by a slight effort, and to restore the jewel er 
 he can turn the keys in his seven locks ; an< 
 now, farewell." 
 
 Hafiz obeyed, and left the vault; the ston. 
 was rolled back into its place ; the rubbish tba 
 he had flung into the apartment carefully swep 
 away ; and then the wary slave stretched acres 
 that portion of the wall the silken cord on whic! 
 hang the embroidered napkins used by Turkis), 
 females in their ablutions lifter each meal. 
 
 They had scarcely terminated their task, whei! 
 the echoes of the subterranean vault betraye<i 
 the approach of the shawl merchant, who cam. 
 to pay his daily'visit ere he departed forth 
 Tcharchi. He found his young wife languidb 
 reclining on heV cushions, and complaining Q 
 indisposition, which she attributed to the ud^ 
 wholesome atmosphere of her prison-chambei 
 Suleiman endeavored to soothe her, but she onl; 
 became more silent and sullen; and he left he 
 with a promise that she should not be muc. 
 
TlIE ROMANCE OF THE IIAUKM. 
 
 29 
 
 longor an occupant of this gloomj- nbodo, since 
 neither the luxuriousin'ss of its arrnugi'iuonts, 
 nor liis own nrgiimonts. had power to win her 
 to an approval of lier position. 
 
 " Masliallah! what liave 1 done?" she faltered, 
 when she was once iiiore left alone with her at- 
 tendant; "should he indeed now yield to the 
 frayer to which he has so long continued deaf, 
 shall have ruined uiy own cause, and broken 
 the heart of llatiz." 
 
 " Dry your tears, Effondim, and assist me to 
 remove the stone;" answered Zeinip calmly; 
 '* bir ehey yok — there is nothing to fear — the 
 Effendi only seeks to amuse you with wonls ; 
 and, even wore it otherwise, the son of Najib 
 must use your jewel with less wit than I tak 
 
 "Wish me better fortune;" said Ifafiz; "I 
 have a jewel to sell." And he drew from !)e- 
 neatli the fol.ls of tiie sliawl that girdl.d his 
 waist a bag of golden.broidercd eii.heniire, 
 whence he took a small parcel containing a 
 bracelet. The ornament was a peo\iliar one ; it 
 was a choin of tine gold, curiously worked, ito 
 links being wrought to resemble the minnto 
 scales of a serpent, and eacii at its p<unt being 
 tipped with a ruby; while the head of the rep- 
 tile was fornied of one large emerald, into which 
 two brilliant droj)s had been introduced to re- 
 present the eyes. 
 
 " Mashallaii I" munuured Najib, fixing his gaze 
 intently on tlie eostlv stone that elasjied the 
 jewel, with all the discriminating admiration 
 
 him to possess, if he does not make your jealous I bestowed in the East on gems of price ; "M 
 jailer look closer than ever to the locks of his shallah ! 'tis a drop of ligiit on a si>ring leaf! 
 seven doors." 'tis a gaud for a Sultana !" And without a mo- 
 
 Satistied of the truth of the remark, the pretty nunt's deUy he stretched the haml which held 
 prisoner rose from her sofa to aid the efforts of I it towards his neighbor, saying earnestly ; " J low 
 
 think you, Elfendim? Is it not a noble gem J" 
 
 her more far-seeing companion, and they readily 
 rolled back the friendly stone sutticiently for 
 their purpose ; and then, with beating hearts 
 
 Suleinmn received th"> jewel eabnly, but he 
 did not long look on it with a plai-iil brow; the 
 
 and attentive ears, awaited impatiently the ter- blood rushed in a volume to his cheeks and f< 
 
 mination of the tirst adventure of llatiz with th. 
 merchant 
 
 head, an<l the tire tiashed from his eyes; ho 
 thrust back his turban, and gasped for lireath ; 
 " You would sell this bauble, young man ;" ho 
 said, in a cold deep accent of coneonlrated pas- 
 CIIAPTER XIII. sion ; " And I, perchance, would become a pur- 
 
 chaser ; but honest men do not j>ay away their 
 THE SEVEN DOORS — coNTixuED. golu lor things like these without tirst learning 
 
 somewhat of their history — I would fain know — " 
 ScLErsLW was squatted on his carpet, gravely " What would you have me tell you V asked 
 knocking the ashes of an exhaustea chibouque llatiz, with a smile which roused, as he believed 
 from the bowl of moulded red clay in wliichjtiiat it nmst do, every suspicious pang of the 
 they had burnt away, and was preparing to re- Jealous husband, who had at once reeognize«l tho 
 new the luxury, when the young and handsome jjcwel ; "Should I say that it was given to mo 
 son of Najib, the Adrianopolitan, who occupied I by a woman, were it not bosh — nothing! Yon 
 the adjoining counter to that of the worthy hus- must see that it is a woman's toy, and, as such, 
 band of Ilelmas Hanoum, lounged slowly up to useless to me; and you woulJ hold mc aa a 
 the station of his father, and conversed with him vain boaster — a sakal-siz, a no-beard." 
 for a while on the merits of some merchandise [ Again Suleiman gasped for breath. " I will 
 which he had been displaying without success buy the jewel;" he said hoarsely; " yos, 1 will 
 to a departed customer; or, rather, to one who 'buy it; leave it with me for to-niglit, that I 
 he had hoped would have become such. |nuiy ascertain if^ value, and to-morrow I will 
 
 "I have tlone nothing to-da}-, nothing;" saiil pay you the gold." 
 Najib, in reply to the inquiry of his son ; " save ! " That may not be, Effendim ;" cahnly replied 
 fold and unfold to no purpose. I must surely llatiz; "I wjU trust no one with the trinket un- 
 have been smitten by the Evil Eye, for the Kis- til it cea.ses to be my property. Shall I heap 
 lar Aglia. who purchased cachemires of me last dirt on my own lii-ud f 
 
 year to the amount of two hundred and sixty I " Hut 1 have not wherewithal to purchase it 
 thousand piastres, passed through the bazar this until I return to my own house" — urged the 
 morning, without turning a glanco towards me ,meiehant. 
 
 as I sat among my merchandise; and when his| "To-morrow, then, I will treat with jou, 
 pipe-bearer, who had good reason to remember sliftuld no one ease in.- of it meanwhile;" and 
 the bargain, approached him with ' Effendim, llatiz htretched forth his hand to resume posses 
 this is Najib of Adrmnopl.-,' — he answered, has- sion of tho braecKt. For a moment, however, 
 tily, ' What of that f- do I owe him gold that liSub-iman did not ivlaj his hold, his tingers had 
 am not free to pass on a* I list ?' and in half an i instinctively closed over tiie treasure as ho 
 hour I saw him depart, followed by tho nephew niarked the action of the youth ; but Hudib-nly 
 of Namik the one-eyed, almost staggering under a thought appeared to strlk"' him, ami he mir- 
 tne wight of his fcurthen. Tho Cliibouquejho I rendered it ujiwith a mien of as much indilfer- 
 gave me a look as he passed, which I translated ence as he could assume. 
 
 easily into an avowal that Namik had not acted I " I'ek ahi, pek ahi — well, well, to-morrow b« 
 by him as generously as I had done, and that it then — to-morrow, or the next day, <>r at tho 
 he was by no m-ans satisfied with the change. I opening of the coming week, as may bt ti suit 
 But what do 1 say? Am I a woman that I vent your leisure. Nay, how know I," and he forced 
 mv disappointmeni in words f Is not my beard, a grim and a ghastly smile, " how know I thai 
 ■white I" 
 
10 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 I may not have outworn my fancy \rhen we 
 next meet?" 
 
 " Even as you will ;" replied the youth, taking 
 his place beside his father, and affecting to oc 
 cupy himself with a mercantile Alculation, 
 while he was in fact narrowh- watching every 
 motion of his excited neighhor ; " I shall fold 
 mj- feet upon the carpet of patience — what is 
 written will come to pass I" 
 
 Suleiman filled a fresh pipe, and strove to 
 be composed, but the effort was beyond his 
 strength ; there was a nervous quivering of the 
 eyelids and twitching of the upper lip, which 
 betraj-ed the workings of his spirit. Turk 
 though he was. there is a boundary beyond 
 which even a Turk's apathy cannot hold out, 
 and at length he reached it ; a cold dew stood 
 on his forehead, a chill came over his heart, a 
 thousand frightful phantasms danced across his 
 brain, and he fairly gave up the struggle. After 
 uttering a few hurried and almost inaudible di- 
 rections to the lad who attended his commands, 
 he rose slowly from his carpet, and, carefully 
 putting aside his chibouque, he resumed his 
 slippers, and offered his farewell greeting to 
 Najib and his son. " I have business with the 
 Algerine Hussein," he said, as he slowly moved 
 away ; " the bazar is dull to-day, and I will pro- 
 fit by the opportunity." 
 
 Hafiz returned his parting salutation with an 
 air of pre-oceupatiou admirably acted ; and 
 ■when Suleiman suddenly stopped at the distance 
 of a hundred paces, and looked back, there still 
 sat the son of Najib, the pen in his hand, the 
 paper resting upon his knee, and his head bent 
 down over his occupation. But there were 
 eagle eyes under that ample turban which were 
 otherwise employed than in deciphering the in- 
 tricate characters of the scroll before them ; and 
 no sooner had Suleiman turned into another 
 branch of tiie Tcharchi, than Hafiz, springing 
 from his seat, and oversetting in his haste a pile 
 of bright-patterned shawls, that in their fall 
 made a rainbow-like confusion on the narrow 
 path, rushed hastily round a neighboring corner, 
 and flew, as rapidly as his slippered feet would 
 carry him, to the empty house adjoining that of 
 the jealous husband. He had not been deluded 
 by the subterfuge of his victim, and he knew 
 that he had not a moment to lose. Accordingly 
 be turned the key which he carried in his gir- 
 dle, without the delay of an instant, in the half- 
 rusted lock, and drew the door after him, threw 
 off his encumbering slippers in the passage, and, 
 bounding down the steps that led to the vault, 
 throe or four at once, had just time to fling the 
 bracelet through the aperture in the wall, and 
 to force 1)ack the stone, ere the approach of the 
 merchant became audible. 
 
 The young wife, on her side, was not idle ; she 
 hastily clasped the jewel on her arm, and, fold- 
 ing herself closely in a shawl that enveloped her 
 head and shoulders, laid herself along the sofa, 
 like one suffering from indisposition ; while Zei- 
 nip, as expert in deception as her mistress, 
 squatted on the floor, busied in the manufacture 
 of lemon sherbet. 
 
 As the merchant entered the vault, he raised 
 the lamp that he carried above his head, and 
 glared suspiciously around ; but all was calm. 
 
 and still, and undisturbed ; so calm and so stil 
 indeed, that it smote upon the heart of Sidei 
 man fi'om its contrast to the heat and hurry ol 
 his own emotions ; " Khosh geldin — you' an 
 welcome ;" whispered the negress, affecting t 
 deprecate the sound of the husband's approac* 
 ing step ; " but tread softly, Efteudim, for st 
 has just fallen asleep." 
 
 " Sister of Sheitan!" said Jhe merchant in re 
 ply ; " what treason are you hatching here t< 
 fit your neck for the bowstring f Do you tak. 
 me for a divane — an idiot ?" 
 
 The imperturbable Zeinip only answered b' • 
 raising her ebony hands in wonder, and roUinj 
 her eyes until nothing save the whites wer 
 visible. 
 
 " Tell me — " persisted Suleiman, in the sam 
 subdued voice in which he had before spoken 
 " tell me, mother of a dog, who has been here} 
 
 " Herei" echoed the slave stupidly. 
 
 " Ay, here in the boudroum — the subterro 
 nean ! a man — a young man — a devil!" 
 
 " Holy Prophet ! has a devil been here ?" es 
 claimed the negress in her turn, with a look an 
 accent of horror; " and a young man too 
 Did they come together?" 
 
 This was too much — the patience of the mei 
 chant could hold out no longer — it was too pa!. 
 pable — his suspicions were but too well founde 
 — lie had been duped — he — Suleiman! — he, wh 
 had even buried his wife in the bowels of th 
 earth from the eyes of the whole world — he ha, 
 been played upon — cheated by a couple of fah 
 plotting women, one of them a mere child ! H; 
 required only the evidence of his eyes to b. 
 fully, fatally, convinced of his misfortune — tb' 
 sleeping beautj% whom his entrance had faile 
 to rouse from her slumber, no longer wore th. 
 jewel which he had clasped upon her arm whe 
 he had welcomed her to his house — she woul 
 not venture to tell him that she had lost it; f( 
 was not that subterranean her world ? — an 
 thus she would be the instrument of her ow 
 destruction. For a moment the heart of tl^ 
 merchant quailed — she was so young, so fair, s, 
 sad ; but he remembered the half exulting, ha 
 supercilious smile of the son of Kajib when 1 
 spoke of the jewel, and he hastily approach^ 
 the sofa, and flung back the shawl in which si 
 was enveloped. 
 
 Still the young Ilanoum slept, or appeared t 
 sleep; nor could the excited merchant satis) 
 himself of her treachery without awakenii 
 her, for her head was pillowed upon the vei 
 arm that should have worn the bracelet. r< 
 another moment he paused; and it was n^ 
 surprising that he should do so, for a pretti- 
 picture than that beneath his eye it had nev<' 
 been his lot to look upon. Her arms, fro 
 which the long open sleeves had fallen bac 
 were as white and smoothly-moulded as marbh 
 and the long dark hair that was scattered ov 
 her shoulders formed a strong contrast from tl 
 pure pale beauty of her complexion. A brig, 
 crimson spot was upon her cheek, deeper thi 
 mere sleep would have called up ; but she h« 
 already stifled the beating of her heart, and si 
 breathed gently and calmly like 'one to who 
 slumber was indeed repose. The various tin 
 of her gaudy costume sho- ved gaily in the ligi 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAUEM. 
 
 of the lamp; and the little naked foot that: 
 peeped from boiioatli llic ample tchalvn— or , 
 DAntaluon, of prnty-oolored chintz, gleniued out 
 like a snow-tlako. 
 
 " Guzol — jiok gu/.ol — prott y, very pretty I" 
 murmurod tlio inonhniit involunturily ; but at 
 the instant tito iiniig*> of ll:itiic. and his ini«ultiiig 
 triumph once more rose up ()i fore him, and 
 steeled his heart, *' Wake, llelmas!" ho cried 
 etcrnlj' ; " wake, 'fi? your husband call* yon." 
 
 " Mashallali !" cxolaimod the young wife, 
 opening hor diep eyo8. but without altering iur 
 position; "are vou returned f you had been 
 here already to-day, and now yo\i come only to 
 awaken me fiom a dream in wiiieh 1 had quite 
 forgotten you and 3-our tyranny." 
 
 " And is this the fashion of tour reoeption ?" 
 demanded tlto enraged mcrehanl ; "but 1 will 
 endure vour woman-whims no longer. Witli 
 your childish follies, your idle tears, I eouM 
 nave borne with patience — I have borne them — 
 but you have become a dog, and the mother of 
 dogs — you have eaten dirt — you have blackened 
 your face, and defiled the grave of jour fa- 
 ther I" 
 
 " Ne bilirim f — what can I sayf What have 
 I done?"' asked the young llanoum, who, secure 
 as she knew herself to be in the possession of 
 her bracelet, yet quailed beneath the deep stern 
 passion of the merchant ; " How can I answer 
 npbi>aidings that I am unable to comprehend i 
 Tell me at least " 
 
 " Rather tell me" — burst forth Suleiman, goad- 
 ed to madness by the placidity of the culprit ; 
 " rather tell me, sister of the Evil One, to whom 
 have you given the jewel that I jdaced upon 
 your arm when I was fool enough to take you 
 to my home?" 
 
 " Given it I" said his wife in well-counterfeit- 
 ed astonishment., as she calmly withdrew her 
 arm from beneath her hea<l, an<l extended it. 
 encircled by the bracelet, towards her hiiHband, 
 while the negress raising her spread palms in 
 the air, groaned audibly as though she were 
 mourning over tl>e departed mtellect of her 
 master; •' Agaib — wonderful! (iiven it f" «he 
 repeated, as if doubting that she had really com- 
 prehended the question. " To whom could I 
 give it, even were 1 dispo.sed to imrt with the 
 pretty batible, save to my fnithfnl Z<'iiiip, who 
 baa as little occasion a.-* myself to wear gems 
 where no one can see them V 
 
 The merchant could not believe his eyes ; but 
 yes — there was the jewel — and that which llati/. 
 had offered for sale, clearly, therefore, could not 
 have Ixen his wife's ; he to<ik it from her arm ; 
 he examined it narrowlv--hk. not the thing 
 been impossible, he could li, ?e svorn — an<l yet, 
 he should palpably have been a perjurerl man, 
 for he ha>l never jiarted from hi« seven key« — 
 
 tl>e lotks had a.'isureilly not I ii tatiipereil 
 
 with, and there was no "other outlet from the 
 vault It was with a d<»ep and almost hy-^terienl 
 respiration tiiat Suleiman one more fiu-ti'in-d on 
 the ornament, fully jK-rsuaded that he muni have 
 been acting uii'ler s^»me delusion of witchcraft, 
 and keenly conscious of the full ridieule of his 
 positioiu At that moment he woubl almost have 
 rejoiced had his suspicions been confirmed, for 
 then, at least, he would have been justified in 
 
 81 
 
 his own eyes for the violence with whieh he had 
 acted towards his young ami inno4M>nl wile ; an 
 it was, he felt that he must iiiaki' a very norry 
 figure, and he eonld not inuiKiliulelv deeido 
 upon his best mode of action. Nor ilid the Ha- 
 noum and her handmai<l afford him iiiueh space 
 for rellection ; they were eonseions of their ad- 
 vantjige, and resolved to nvail tliems. Ives of it 
 to the utnnist, and the poor shawl nienliant was 
 conseqiieiitlv assailed with such a t'-iiipest of 
 reproach, vituperation, ami tear-", as had well 
 nigh driven him mad, ere he was allowed once 
 more to hear the sound of his own voice, and 
 permitted to ponr forth his regrets for an intem- 
 perance into whieh he had been betrayetl by 
 circumstances that he was alike unable to fathom 
 or to explain. 
 
 Peace wiu», however, ultimately j>roelaimcd, 
 for the females, conscious that they were not 
 altogether so blameless in <he affair as they w^ere 
 now believed to Ix-, and remembering that tho 
 
 purgatorial sufferings of the ill-fated merchant 
 I were only eomiiicn<-ing. were graciously phased 
 to be pacified by slow «legrees, and to aeeept the 
 promises of their victim that he would never 
 I again otfend by hinting that his wife was a fa- 
 I mily connexion of the Kvil One, or polluting the 
 I grave of her unoffending parent. Enough of 
 doubt, nev<-rtheless, remaineil upon the mind of 
 Suleiman, though he could not have shaped it 
 I into a tangible form, amid all this mystification, 
 I to induce him, ere he departed, to steal another 
 ; long wary look nuind the vault ; and, after 
 ! locking each of the seven doors, to hold his lamp 
 I close to the key-h<de, and to examine most nar- 
 I rowly the mechanism of the fastening, about 
 I whieh it must, however, be admitted that he 
 knew nothing whatever; but it is a satisfaction 
 to inv(!stigate closely and carefully, ami to form 
 our own juilgment, even of things on whieh we 
 I are profoundly ignorant ; and so the iiierehant 
 found it, as, aft«r closing the bKt door, he retir 
 ' od to his own ajmrtineiit, perfectly sutisfi.'d o| 
 ; the utter iiniMP-isihility of any entrance into the 
 I |irison-eliaiuber, save by means of his own pro- 
 cious keys, 
 
 I lint one un<1crtaking had been auccessfiilly ao- 
 com|ilished, and Ilafiz had now only to contend 
 against six of the seven doors I 
 
 It needs not to be t<dd that, on his next meet- 
 ing with the merchant, he replied to his in- 
 <piirie« by a«serting that lu' had disponed of his 
 jewid to anotlur purchasi-r, nor tiiat the answer 
 ' added to the bewilderment of .Subiinan. lie 
 ' knew not why, but he lia*l assuredly never ex- 
 I pected to see it again in the ban. Is of the young 
 man, nor to be urg<d a second time to make it 
 I his own property ; on the contrary. In- ha<l felt 
 a most unpleasant presentiment that such would 
 , not be the case; and yet, when his ex|>'<latiorm 
 I were reiili/cd, fre«h doubts, and Jiangs, nnd 
 I wonderiii!;-* a«-ailed him. Ibit be it at it mii^lit, 
 what eoiilil ho do more timn In' had nlr< udy 
 donef What locality eouhl be more serur.- 
 I than that in whiidi he had immured his wil. . 
 1 Ergo, he iiiiist forg.-t the mysterious reseinbUne.- 
 of the two bracelets, for 'it could of course be 
 nothing more : and dismiM the subject from his 
 mind altogether. 
 
 Now this was perhaps the wisest concluaMo 
 
82 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREiL 
 
 to which the worthy aierchant had ever come 
 ia his life, and it is probable that in time, had 
 nothing occurred to renew the impression of 
 the incident, his practice might have rivalled 
 his theory; but his kismet — his fate — had or- 
 dained it otherwise. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ■niE SEVEN DOORS CONTINUED. 
 
 Suleiman had a friend who was perfume-mer- 
 chant to the Sultan. A man of mark was Sai- 
 domer Nourren Atem, and well skilled in the 
 composition of sweet and subtle scents. Every 
 flower of the East had in turn given up its de- 
 licious breath in his crucibles and pipkins ; but 
 there were certain secrets whose results were 
 reserved for the exclusive use of the imperial 
 harem. Ko slave in the tcharchi wore a gayer 
 vest or a more elaborate turban than the Abys- 
 sinian confidant of Saidomer Nourren Atem, or 
 filled with a better grace the minute essence- 
 boxes of ivory into which the more costly per- 
 fumes were compressed. No Musselmaun smoked 
 a more princely chibouque, or cinctured his 
 brows with a more magnificent cachemire than 
 Saidomer Nourren Atem himself; he looked 
 around him calmly on the rival establishments 
 of the tcharchi, and defied competition. 
 
 Now it so chanced, that, about a week after 
 the adventure with the bracelet, the skilful 
 Bcent-merchant made a discovery which, Turk 
 though he was, well nigh turned him mad with 
 delight. Never was so exquisite a perfume as 
 that which after a score or two of costly experi- 
 ments, he succeeded in producing. The Attar- 
 gul itself was fetid beside it ! The Abyssinian 
 slave who had assisted in the work flung himself 
 along the floor in a paroxysm of ecstacy, and 
 rolled his huge eyes, and" clasped his ebony 
 hands like a lunatic ; while even the stately, 
 and ordinarily imperturbable Saidomer Nourren 
 Atem himself apostrophised Allah and the 
 Prophet, as though he had succeeded in con- 
 verting all the Christian raiahs of the empire to 
 Mohammedanism. 
 
 It was at this moment that Suleiman, a privi- 
 leged person at all times, entered the spicy la- 
 boratory of the excited scent-dealer ; and in the 
 first moment of exultation, nothing could be 
 more simple than that Saidomer Nourren Atem 
 should introduce to his friend the delicate com- 
 
 Eosition which he was at that moment ready to 
 elieve would go far to immortalize him. The 
 Orientals love perfumes beyond all other luxu- 
 ries; and it is therefore not surprising that, as 
 the exquisite aroma entered his nostrils, Sulei- 
 man the shawl merchant should stroke down 
 his beard, draw a long breath, and stagger to 
 the sofa, as though overwhelmed bj' its sweetness. 
 " Y'allah ! — in the name of the Prophet, 
 whence comes it?" he murmured, when he could 
 again command his voice; " He who di.stilU-d it 
 must have been born of a rose, and nursed in 
 the flower-garden of Paradise I I would give a 
 cachemire of Lahore for a gilded flagon of that 
 surpassing essence." 
 
 ""What shall I say?" was the reply of the 
 flattered Saidomer Nourren Atem ; " I it 
 was who caught the breath of the Hourl, 
 and imprisoned it in this liquid for the gratifi- 
 cation of our imperial master; and until the 
 Sultan hath quafted it in his sherbet, how may 
 I dispose of even the lightest drop to one of hia 
 slaves." 
 
 " And when he shall have inhaled ifs match- 
 less sweetness ;" followed up Suleiman; " if he 
 does justice to its wise inventor, he will forbid 
 that it should be purchased at will in the 
 tcharchi, and thus — " 
 
 " You are right, my friend;" said the scent- 
 merchant, and you, at least, shall forestall the 
 prohibition. Your felech hath guided you here 
 in a happy moment — I will give you some of 
 these drops of my soul — Bacarac ;" and the at- 
 tentive slave bent forward to receive his in- 
 structions ; " give to the Elfendi of this precious 
 perfume as much as will fill the smallest box in 
 the fourth drawer on the right hand. Have a 
 care that the wool on which it is poured be of 
 the finest and softest quality, and that the covet 
 of the box fit to a nicety, for the essence is 
 subtle, and I would not that he should perfume 
 the tcharchi as he passes along." 
 
 The slave bent low, and prepared reverently 
 to obey. The box indicated Avas most minute, 
 curiously turned, and could be hermetically 
 closed ; the wool was with some difliculty in- 
 troduced, and the precious liquid poured slowly, 
 drop by drop, as though it had been blood 
 wrung from the heart. Suleiman received it 
 as it beseemed him to accept so costly a gift; 
 and while the delighted Saidomer Nourren 
 Atem listened to his profuse and ln-[ierbolieal 
 expressions of admiration, and gave directions 
 for the security of the wondrous production of 
 his genius, the shawl-merchant was inwardly 
 indulging a feeling of self-gratulation at the 
 fortunate chance which would enable him to 
 off"er to his yet sullen wife a gift that must at 
 once insure his favor. 
 
 It was consequently with a lighter step than 
 usual that Suleiman bent his waj' homeward on 
 the closing of the tcharchi, and, when his even- 
 ing meal was ended, descended to the subter- 
 ranean. Helmas Hanoum laid aside her zebec 
 as he entered. It was no paj't of her system to 
 allow him to think that slie passed a single mo- 
 ment of the twenty-four hours in seeking to 
 divert her thoughts from his tyranny and her 
 own misfortune ; and she was only more cold, 
 and sullen, and ungracious, than her wont when 
 he approached her. But what Eastern woman 
 would not have been melted by such an offering 
 as tliat of Suleiman ? A new and delicious per- , 
 fume — to be forbidden, moreover, to all save the 
 imperial family ! How doubly charmed was the 
 young wife of the shawl-merchant when she had ■■ 
 learnt the history of her treasure I Was ever 
 husband so assiduous to torment himself? This 
 was indeed a two-edged scimitar 1 Nay, so glad 
 and gay was her spirit, as she deposited the es- 
 sence-box carefully amM the folds of the shawl 
 that girdled her waist, tnat she viclded at oncn ' 
 to a desire which he had often expressed, and 
 she had a» constantly refused to gratify, by re- 
 suming her instrument, and playing and sinf- 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE II A HEM. 
 
 ing until Suleiman fancied himself in the seventh 
 heaven ! 
 
 In a few hours the essence-box was in the pos- 
 session of llntiz. 
 
 It must surely have been through the agency 
 of some imp of diirkuess that Niijib the Ailriuno- 
 
 etlitan and tlie husband of tiie pretty Helmas 
 anoum chanced to be neiglibors in the tchariHii, 
 for it gave to the plots of iiali?. ^\'. the etfeet of 
 chance. Nothing could be more simple tlian timt 
 he should afford to his father the opportunity of 
 shariug his enjoyments; and accordingly there 
 was no appeaiance of design in his hturied ad- 
 dress, as he seated himself beside Najib, and 
 drew forth his new trea-sure. 
 
 " Maliomet be praised!" he said, smilingly; 
 " new stars and new flowers spring to life about 
 UB each day of our existence." . 
 
 " Would that they were new customers ! it 
 would be more protitable to the merchants of 
 the city ;' re]>!ied Najib drily ; " stars and 
 flowers are pretty tilings enough, but they will 
 neither turn to pillauf nor piastres," 
 
 " Of the stars it is true that nothing can be 
 made ;" pursued the young man in the same 
 joyous tone in which he had commenced the 
 conversation ; " but tlowers boast not only 
 brightness and beauty " 
 
 *' Pshaw ! are you going to talk in verse, like 
 your Persian namesake?" asked his father, whose 
 temper had been somewhat ruffled by a morning 
 of idleness. 
 
 " Would that I might, do I exclaim in my 
 turn ;" said his son ; " but I am simply going to 
 prove to j-ou, better than by words, that flowers 
 are not to be considered as mere toys. 1 will 
 not talk of the sighs of roses, cauglit and changed 
 into atUir-gul, nor the sweet scents of jasmine, 
 and a score of other blossoms, prisoned in minute I 
 flacons, and making summer wherever their 
 breath is sullVred to escape. I will rather eon- 
 found you at once by an argument into which is 
 crushed the combined perfume of a world of 
 flowers — and here it is — " and he |daced in the 
 hand of his father the small ivory box that had 
 been confided to him by the wife of the shawl- 
 merchant. 
 
 " Tiiere is but one Allah, and Mahomet is his 
 
 Erophet !" murmured Najib, slowly swinging 
 imself backward, as he inhaled the odor of the 
 new essence. " N.e bilirim — what can I say ? 
 This it 18 to live in the country of tlve True IJ.-- 
 lievers. They talk to us of Erangistan — is my 
 face blackened, that I should b. lieve that the 
 dogs of Giaours have jojs like these in their own 
 lands, where they never see the sun? H — a — a" — 
 and again he stroked down his beard as he drew 
 in the sweet savour of the essenec ; " what are 
 the gums of Araby or the roses of Gurgistan 
 beside this f" 
 
 So well indeed did the worthy Adrianopolitan 
 appreciate the enjoyment, that he <lid not ap- 
 
 Sear likely to offer "a portion of his jiUawure to 
 uleiman, who sat enveloped in the scented 
 fumes of his Saloniea tobacco, apparently quite 
 unmoved by the raptures of his neighbor. Sud- 
 denly, however, Najib remembered that a grati- 
 fication, of whatever description, is greatly en- 
 hanced by participation ami Bym|)athv ; and 
 1 upon this priuciple b j bent towards tiie rival 
 
 shawl-merchant, and proffered to him the littl* 
 box. 
 
 " Tchabouk, tchabouk — quick, (luick I close 
 it carefully as you restore it;" cantione<l llafis, 
 with an air of extreme anxiety: " I would not, 
 for all the riches on the shelves of Saulomer 
 Nourrem Atem, the sultan's scent-dealer, that a 
 breatli of this precious comjiound should es< ape." 
 
 But tiie petrified shawl-merchant hei'ded liifn 
 not; he sat gazing from Ilafiz to the ivorv box, 
 and from the ivory box baek again to Ilati/., like 
 one who is not quite certain that he does not 
 dream. lie unscrewed the lid, he bent dowa 
 liis head, and hurriedly inhaled the precioue 
 jierfume, and again he fixed his large, dark, 
 flashing eyes on the son of Najib. 
 
 " Is it not a breathing of Paradise?" asked 
 the young man, witii a self-gratulatory smile. 
 
 "And you obtained it, where I" gasped oat 
 Suleiman. 
 
 " Yok, yok — no, no — I am not bound to name 
 the houri who paid me so richly for a light 
 flattery ;" was the reply ; " but this much I may 
 confess, that where I won th^ bracelet, there 
 also I gained the essence." 
 
 Suleiman ground his teeth, but he did not 
 articulate a syllable. 
 
 " Beware, llafiz ;" said his father, deprecating- 
 l}- ; " where the rose grows, there does the thorn 
 flourish ; and the jewelled hilt ever betokens the 
 keen weapon." 
 
 " But what if I secure the gems, and defy the 
 blade !" asked the young man. 
 
 " It is ill making your hoi-se's bridle out of a 
 bowstring;" followed up the anxious parent; 
 •■ let this gift be the last." 
 
 Ilafix only smiled again, and, as he did so, his 
 eves met those of the agitated Suleiman ; " What 
 sfiall I give you for this toy?" he demanded 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Ne bilirim — what cail I sayf Not all the 
 silks in the tcharehi of Broussa shouhl buy it of 
 me; shall I fill my own mouth with ashes?" 
 and, as he spoke, the youth extended his hand 
 to regain possession of the treasure. • 
 
 "Only let me show it to Saidomer Nourren 
 Atem ;" urged Suleiman ; " I know not its name, 
 and I would fain become the j)osscssor — " 
 
 " Hay, hay! — so, so! Think you that I will 
 suffer it to be hawked through the bazilr like 
 some villain merchandise?" asked llafiz angrily ; 
 " Mashallah, I am not so base." 
 
 The discomfited Suleinmn only sighed, and 
 reliiKjuished the fairy box to its owner; this 
 time there coui<l be no mistake — there was not 
 its fellow in Stamboul — he had been too slow in 
 detecting the first artifice of his jdotling hel(>- 
 mate ; but now — now — ho should confront her 
 on the instant, ere she had time or opportunity 
 to dune him twice — he was bewildere.l, mystifi- 
 ed — there must be witehcraft in it ; but, strong in 
 his sense of wrong, he would defy thi' Evil <^no 
 himself to-day to cheat him with a lie I And 
 with this laudable conviction he shuffled off hia 
 carpet, thrust his feet into his sii|>pers, and, 
 without the courtesy of a parting word to his 
 companions, hurrieuly proceed.,d towards hia 
 dwelling. 
 
 But, alas for the worthy merchant I the Tcry 
 precaution which should have secured his safety. 
 
doors I 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 U THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREJVr. 
 
 proved his bane, for he -was so long engaged in ! where a deep bass blended ^vith an harmonion* 
 unlocking his seven doors, that the/ ivory box, tenor, ran througli the subterr^mean. 
 arrived in the prison-chamber before him ; and, j The joy of Hatiz was great — he had opened a 
 as he turned the last key to the accompaniment of second lock — he had flung back two of the seven 
 the high clear voice of liis wife, wlio was war- 
 . bling out a love-ballad, he had the gratification 
 of finding her engaged at a game of bull with 
 the box itself, which she was dropping from one 
 hand to the other in regular time with the strain ; 
 her delicate little fii.gers closing and unclosiii 
 over it, and her fair round arms gleaming out 
 in the lamp-light like water-lilies. 
 
 Suleiman was petrified ! He rubbed his eyes, 
 and p.inched himself to ascertain whether he 
 really was awake — he darted forward, and seized 
 the toy from the hands of his pre ttj; captive, for 
 ■which he was rewarded with a frown and a pout 
 — he examined it nari'owly, and there it was 
 the rerj- same — a small rose in the centre of the 
 lid, three rings round the outside, and a flaw in 
 tlie ivory about the size of a pin's head ! He 
 had seen all this in the tcharchi — he had almost 
 walked himself into a fever to prove that he 
 had been played upon and cheated, and — here 
 was the box ! 
 
 In the agony of his amazement he seated him- 
 self beside the young Ilauoum, and, as soon as 
 he had recovered his breath, he told her all. 
 "When the tale was ended, the happy husband 
 was glad that he had done so, for never were 
 two women more overwhelmed with wonder. 
 His wife cast up her bright ej-es, and crept 
 closer to him as she murmured something about 
 demons and magic ; and Zeinip whispered that 
 the victim of this dark sorcerj^ would do well to 
 summon a dervish of the sect of the Melavies, 
 and be exorcised. Suleiman listened to the 
 counselling of his trembling prisoners, and prom- 
 ised to think seriously of their advice. Never 
 since their incarceration in the vault had they 
 been so gentle and so*'courteous ; and, although 
 a pang and a doubt would now and then cross 
 the mind of the merchant as he lent a willing 
 ear to their surmises, and suffered himself to be 
 soothed \fy their suggestions, he soon banished 
 all mistrust, for was it not worse than folly to 
 believe that a jewelled bracelet and a box of 
 essence could escape through stone walls ? and, 
 more absurd still, be in two places at once ? 
 
 And yet^ — but what availed it to dwell upon 
 the subject? There were the locks, the walls, 
 and the doors; and, consequently, however 
 strange, and unaccountable, and bewildering 
 such coincidences undoubtedly were, they could 
 be only coincidences after all Suleiman was a 
 wise man in his own way, a man of forethought 
 and precaution, with an energy of self-confi- 
 dence which always made hitn wind up his re- 
 flections with the comfortable and seU-gratula- 
 tory mental apostrophe of—" It cannot be other- 
 wise ; I am not the person to bo taken in — I 
 
 THE SEVEN DOORS — CONTINUED. 
 
 Suleiman denied no enjoyment save that of 
 light and liberty to his young wife. Those well- 
 beloved luxuries of Turkish women, shawls and 
 diamonds, he lavished on her with as much pro- 
 fusion as though she possessed the opportunity 
 of exhibiting them to the admiration and envy 
 of her acquaintance: and it was but a few days 
 after the adventure of the essence-box that he 
 carried with him, on his visit to the vault, a 
 cachemire of a new and rare description, the 
 first which had been seen in the tcharchi of Con- 
 stantinople. 
 
 All shawls of price in the East being woven in 
 pairs, Suleiman, as he made the purchase of a 
 strangerwith whom he had never before traded, 
 inquired eagerly for its fellow, when he was in- 
 formed that, the pecuniary means «f the mer- 
 chant having become impaired by a long and 
 unsuccessful speculation, he had been permitted, 
 through the courtesy of a friend, to possess him- 
 self of one of these costly pieces of merchandise, 
 although he was unable to pay down the sum 
 necessary to make him the owner of both ; and 
 that, in consequence of this arrangement, none 
 could be found in the city of the same pattern 
 and texture. 
 
 Groups of minute and finely-wrought flowera ' 
 were scattered over a groujid of faint yellow, 
 and a few threads of green wei'e woven into a 
 border of crimson, of so rich a dye that it looked 
 as though the wool had been stained with the 
 juice of the pomegranate blossom. The mer- 
 chant added his private mark to those which 
 were already impressed on the paper ticket, r&- ■ 
 garded in the East as an additional ornament, ■ 
 and alway conspicuously displayed in token of 
 (he freshness of the shawl, ere he irnfolded it 
 before the admiring eyes of his wife and her at- ■ 
 tend ant. 
 
 The pretty Hanoum smiled her thanks for the 
 costh' gift, and in five minutes it was gracefully 
 folded about her waist ; the rich crimson border 
 in strong relief on the sky-blue tchalva, and tho 
 pale yellow centre rendered still more delicat.^ 
 in tint as it contrasted with the deep pui']il<! 
 vest'. 
 
 The interior of the vault would have been nt 
 that moment a study for the orientalized pencil 
 of Pickersgill ; the languid beauty of the young 
 
 have lived too long to be duped by fools:" andi wife, whoW upon hei"cushions on the groundj | 
 this was the murmured aecompaii'lment to the beside the sofa honored by the occupation of th« 
 echo of hii footsteps as he slowly ascended from j merchant, in his flowing" robes of ruby-colored 
 the vault on the jiresent occasion; and scarcely ! cloth, ample turban, and amber-lipped diibou- 
 could he have extinguished his lamp on arriving' que, was softened into deeper loveliness by the 
 ut the head of the stair, ere the stone was rolled faint ligJit of the distant tapers, groupe'd to- 
 away that gave ingress to the prison-chamber gether on a small stand at the extrcniily of the 
 of the pretty Uanoum, and a chorus of laughter, apartment; while, immediately iu their broadest 
 
TIIE ROMANCF, OP TIIK IIAREM. 
 
 85 
 
 glare, squnUcd the ncgross in an antory* of 
 white cotton, with her loii^ liuir fiillini^ ovor hor 
 ehoiilders ili a score of luiuuto braij.s, aiul her 
 large eyes fixed eariiestl}' upon iior misitross. 
 The sofa glittered with goKl fringe, and the 
 cushions were gay witli embroidered flowers; 
 all the showy toys of a Turkish hareiu were 
 lavishly strown in every direction ; and ns the 
 lai^e deep eyes of the Hanoum wmulered over 
 the chamber, a smile rose to her lip, wiiieli, by 
 whatever feeling it might have beeM summoned 
 there, added to the briglitness of her pure and 
 pallid beauty. No wonder tiiat the merchant, 
 as he gazcil upon her ciiildlike loveliness, con- 
 irratulated himself upon his sagacity and eau- 
 • II ; no wonder that as he looked upon her lan- 
 ^' ii 1 grace, and the dove-like drf-aminess that 
 j dwelt in her dark eyes, he felt at once the folly 
 j of his passing doubts. She had not energy to 
 ', plot against his peace ! 
 
 It was with a somewhat coxcombical swing in 
 - gait that Ilafiz, a day or two subsequently 
 I ■ that of wliich I have just spoken. a[>pniached 
 the husband of Helmas ilanouni as he sat in his 
 usual i^lace in the tcharchi ; and, after sail ting 
 him with infinite politeness, begged him to take 
 the trouble of examining the cachemire that 
 formed his turbau, as he had been desired to 
 purchase a similar one for a friend who WJis 
 About to depart for Smyrna, and who was ready 
 to pay down the price which miglit be agreed 
 BpoQ between them. 
 
 " I would have sought it among the bales of 
 my father;" pursued the young man, as he un- 
 folded it from his brow before the fascinated eyes 
 of the astonished Merciiant; " but I should only 
 have wasted time, for well know I that lie hat'li 
 not such a cachemire, though it might be paid 
 for by all the piastres in the imperial treasury. 
 ' No,' said I^ as I passed the threshold of my 
 home ; ' I will away at once to Suleiman Ktten- 
 di. he only can be the owner of sucii a shawl as 
 mine, for has he not the newest and tiie richest 
 .Tiods in the teharelii?' Have I said well, Kf- 
 li ndim ? Can you pair me my cachetnire ?" 
 
 But tlip merchant answered not ; his gaze was 
 riveted— not by the fine and delicate texture of 
 the costly shawl — not by tiie deep ricli tints of 
 its gorgeous border — but on the little ticket 
 where he recognized his own private mark I 
 
 Sulcimaa was right when he resolved this 
 lime, whatever miglit be tlie consecjuence, not to 
 'ore the shawl tu Ilafiz until he iia<l assured 
 iself beyond all jxishibility of deception, that 
 : waif not his own property. Yes — let ihecon- 
 Bcquenc* be what it mi^^hl ! he armed hini^ielf 
 resolutely against reproaches, threat.s, aiiu vio- 
 lence, for he was prepared for all these; ami. 
 gradually rc<T)vering his self-jKisses-sion an he 
 formed this doughty resolution, he atTecte<l for 
 a time to be carefully examining the quality of 
 the cachemire, in or^er to o<iIlect his idru«, and 
 to determine on his mode of action. A few ino- 
 
 " Is the Effendi, your friend, prepared to pay 
 down a heavy sum for the gouLs i" 
 
 Havcit — ye-"';" answered the youth .alndy. 
 " Then to-morrow I may perchance be ready 
 to deliver it up ;" and again Suleiman examin<''d 
 the ticket ; " Ky vah I 'tis not often that 1 have 
 seen so costly a shawl. Did you purchase it in 
 the tcharchi)" 
 
 " Purchas.' if !" cehocd IlafiK, with another of 
 those mocking smiles which ha<l alrea.ly mad- 
 dened the merchant o.i a former occasion ; 
 " where was the son of Najib to rind piastres 
 enough to buy such a caehemire as that ? Mash- 
 allali! I should be long in counting tiiem." 
 
 " But it is your property, since you have just 
 untwisted it from your brow V 
 
 "Alhemdullilalil jiraise be to Allah I You 
 have said well, KHendim ; it is mine— but that 
 is not my errand ; to-morrow then you will pair 
 it, and tell me your price?" And, as he sjmke, 
 he took hold 'of the shawl, and would have 
 drawn it from under the hand of the merchant, 
 but Suleiman's fingers closed over it with a firm 
 grasp, as he pre|)ared himself to contend with 
 the indignation and anger of its declared owner. 
 Yavash, yavash— softly, softly, Kffen.lim ;" 
 he said, in a grave and stately tone ; " this is 
 not a question of matching a porcelain cup, nor a 
 ■lay chibouque-bowl ; nmny things are to be coa- 
 •idcred and ascertained. Learned as I am ia 
 the lore, I cannot carry away with me the exact 
 texture of the cachemire, the quality of the 
 wool, nor even the intricacies of the pattern, 
 and the shades of the dye.s — you must leave the 
 hawl with me, in order that I may compare it 
 ivith that to \^hieh 1 have already likened it in 
 my mind ; and to-morrow I will bring you the 
 two together." 
 
 Ilafiz laughed a light laugh. " You jest with 
 me, Ertcndim ;" he said .tauntingly ; "I know 
 you to be a rich man, and I believe you to be aa 
 honest one, but 1 will not therefore part from 
 mj- property as though I cared not — " 
 
 "1 will deposit its value with you in gold," 
 interposed Suleiman; " and when 1 return the 
 shawl, you can restore the piastres — otour — 
 sit," 
 
 " Be it so ;" said the young man calmly ; and, 
 throwing off his slippers, he seated himself b»- 
 bitle the merchant; and, having lighted his chi- 
 bouque, smoked on in silence, while the more 
 than ever bewildered Suleiman counted out tke 
 de|)o.sit money on tJic e«ipct between them. 
 
 •• I'ek ahi— it is w.ll— ' were the next words 
 he uttered, as the giddeii and glittering pile of 
 coin was transferred to his purse; •' Fail not, I 
 pray you, at this hour to-morrow with the fel- 
 low-shawl, and I have no fear that we sliall cavil 
 hu- the price." Then, shaking the a-slies frota 
 his pipe, he put nj) the money, resumed his slip- 
 pers, and walked away, leaving Suleiman in 
 possession of the cachmere. 
 
 J.ong sat the merchant gazing at the rninljow- 
 
 ments sufficed for this; and keeping, witlxiut j ^'ke subject of his new mystification. He w 
 apparent -design, his hold of the prize, he nii«c,l more perplexed than ever. He could vow upon 
 
 his ej'es to those of the young man, and, slowly 
 removing the chibouque from his lips, said 
 ^ictlj-. 
 
 • Outer dre»«. 
 
 the Koran that this was his own shawl — the 
 present that he had made to his wife — the cosily 
 piece of merchandise to which he had prrmdiy 
 affixed his private niurkf— and there ipan the 
 maik — there was no mistaking his niisfurluuo — 
 
THE ROMA^XE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 the father of evil was assuredly mixed up with 
 tlie transaction, for the shawl nuist have been 
 conveyed to Ilafiz, eitlier through the bowels 
 of the earth, or on the bosom of the air: be that 
 as it might, and he could not attempt the solu- 
 tion of the problem, he now held the shawl ; 
 and he resolved not to relax his grasp for a 
 moment, until he confronted his wife with her 
 perfidy, and forced from her a confession of the 
 ta-uth. 
 
 Acting upon this determination, Suleiman 
 carefully folded tlie cachemire, and lodged it 
 Bafely beneath his ample robe : and, having seen 
 his uiei'chandise duly secured by his attendant, 
 bent his steps homeward, with visions of bow- 
 Bti'iugs, sacks, and overwhelming waters, cha- 
 sing each other, like the spectre-hounds of the 
 Arabian fiction, across his over-heated brain. 
 It is a singular fact, and one which it would be 
 difficult to explain, but it is nevertheless true, 
 that, as he moved slowly through the crowded 
 streets, and exchanged salutations with his ac- 
 quaintance, he could not decide whether he 
 wished to prove his wife unworthy of the extra- 
 ordinary indulgence with which he had treated 
 her, or not. It was vexatious, certainly, to lose 
 the idea of being, if not quite loved, at least 
 reverenced and feared, and, above all, obeyed — 
 ■while, on the other hand, it was provoking to 
 be duped, and mystified, and pursued by con- 
 stantly-recurring doubts. This day must, how- 
 ever decide all ; and he magnanimously resolved 
 to proportion the punishment of his wife to her 
 apparent contrition, and to his own convic- 
 tion of her repentance and pr(^able amend- 
 ment. 
 
 Kindly thoughts and relenting feelings were 
 creeping over him as he descended tlie stair to 
 the vault. Helmas Ilanoum was so young, so 
 pretty, and so graceful, it would be ten thou- 
 sand pities to drown or to exile her; and he had 
 arrived at a firm determination to push his for- 
 bearance to the extremest limit, when, on arri- 
 ving at the fifth dooi-, his ear caught the distant 
 echo of a female voice, and he became conscious 
 that his intriguing and false-hearted helpmate 
 was actually at that very moment — that awful 
 moment, freighted as it was with the chances of 
 life or death — when he held iu his hand the 
 scales of severe and rigid justice, which his sin- 
 gle breath would suffice to turn against i>er — 
 actually singing to her zebec, as tliough neither 
 doubt nor danger existed in the world ! 
 
 This was too much even for a Turk's philoso- 
 phy, and he accordingly flung back tiie two re- 
 maining doors with a more rapid hand ; and his 
 brow was crimson as he stood befoi-e tiie pretty 
 culprit, ])repared to overwhelm her with cutting 
 reproaches, and indisputable proofs of her une- 
 qualled guilt. But, ere the first sentence liad 
 passed his lips, liis words were arrested in the 
 utterance; for, as the young Ilanoum according 
 to custom, laid aside lier instrument on his en- 
 trance, he at once discovered that her waist 
 was girdled with ^Az-sliawl — the shawl that was 
 even yet hidden beneath the folds of his robe — 
 the shawl whose counterpart had never been 
 seen in iStamboull 
 
 The merchant gasped for breath, and the 
 lamp fell from his band upon the snowy Indian 
 
 I matting that covered the floor, amid the laugh- 
 I ter of his wife, and the reproachful ejaculations 
 j of her more thrifty attendant; but'he heeded 
 I neither the one nor the other as he rushed for- 
 j wai'd, and, seizing a corner of the cachemire, 
 looked eagerly for his own private mark upon 
 I tlie ticket. His search proved successful : there 
 it was — and his next action was to tear the 
 shawl which he bore about him from its hiding- 
 place ; a second sufficed to draw it forth ; and 
 who shall describe the astonishment of Suleiman 
 when he found himself unable to distinguish 
 between the two — they were alike to a thread 
 — to a shade — and to crown all — his mark — 
 his own private and peculiar mark — was upon 
 each. 
 
 '• WTiat means this?" asked the young beauty, 
 as she possessed herself of the newly-arrived 
 cachemire. " Did you not tell me that Stara- 
 boul held not the fellow-shawl to mine? And 
 are not these two as like as twin roses ? Chak 
 chay — that is much — do I speak clearlj^ ?" 
 
 " You say truly — you say truly ;" gasped the 
 merchant : " they are alike, quite alike ; woven 
 in the same loom — d^-ed in the same copper — 
 marked by the same — but no, no ; if I really 
 live, and do not dream, they cannot have been 
 marked by the same hand. It is an invention 
 of Satan — a plot hatched by the Evil One." 
 
 " Sen ektiar der — you are tlie master ; but 
 what new mystification is this V demanded 
 Ilelmas Hanoum pettislil}'. " Is it not enough 
 that you should vaunt your own generosity in 
 giving me a shawl of which even the Sultan 
 himself (may his shadow never be less !) might 
 be proud, and which he could not purchase ih 
 Stamboul — but you must come to place another 
 precisely similar under my very eyes, to prove 
 that you have made me an easy dupe? Un- 
 happy woman that I am, to be first buried 
 alive, and then treated like a wayward child 
 by my own husband!" 
 
 "Peace — peace," — exclaimed the merchant, 
 impatiently : " Woman I you do noi know — ^you 
 cannot guess" — 
 
 " I do not wish to know, and I will not guess T 
 broke in his wife in a higher key : " Affict oUoh 
 — much good may it do you — you are a divan^ 
 — an idiot — you do not speak Turkish — your 
 words are dark, and your face is blackened — 
 Who am I that you should have made me your 
 wife ?" 
 
 Suleiman only sighed ; he was too wise to an- 
 swer the revilings of a woman ; and he folded 
 up the mysterious shaAvl with a steady eye, 
 though his heart beat more tumult uou.sly than 
 usual. lie stayed not to apologize for his 
 abruptness, nor to explain his perplexity ; but, 
 taking his lamp from the hand of Zeiiiip, who 
 had busied herself in retrimming it after its fall, 
 he walked silently out of tlie subterranean. 
 
 Long and loud was the laughter that followed • 
 closely on his departure, and the last key was 
 not turned in its lock ere Hafiz was seated at 
 the feet of his mistress, detailing to her tlie 
 scene of the morning. 
 
 " I would have given a thousand piastres to 
 have seen him when you so readily consented 
 to leave the cachemire in his hands," said the 
 Hanoum gaily : " and to watch him as he counted 
 
THE ROMAXCE OF THE llAHl:^^. 
 
 87 
 
 out his darling gold, ftnd placed it before you I 
 But, now tell me, Hiifiz, how your friend beenme 
 possessed of this rare ehawl, and left you only 
 the task of counterfeiting Suleiman's mark upon 
 the ticket." 
 
 " 'Tis a simple tale, my Sultana ;" replied the 
 youth, as he looked into her laughing eyes ; 
 " and requires no khoja — no serih , to record it. 
 My friend Noureddin fell from his camel as he 
 was journej-ing to Stamboul, and was grievously 
 bruised: when a certain merchant, wlio travel- 
 led in his company, tended iiim like a brother, 
 and bore with him through all hiii hours of suf- 
 fering. Noureddin was not one to forget such 
 kindness: lie reads the Koriln daily, and gives 
 freely to the poor; how much more readily then 
 did he open his hand to the friend of his sick- 
 ness ! He only hesitated as to the means of 
 6erving him, wi»en,as«f guid.d by the Prophet, 
 the merchant himself suggested the methoa, by 
 thus addressing him as tiiey rode side bv side 
 together through the gate of Scutjiri : — 'i^flfen- 
 dim, said the merchant, ' you are a wealthy 
 man, and a pious one : you are ever ready to 
 help the needy, and to uphold the weak — I pray 
 you do me a grace — I know that your bales are 
 precious; and I have heard tliat among your 
 merchandise are shawls of so fine a fabric, that 
 they seem to have been woven by the Ilouri. 
 Sell me. I pray you, one of these at an easy 
 price, that I may on my arrival in Stamboul dis- 
 ]>ose of it in the tcharchi, at a rate that may help 
 to defray the cost of my voyage ; for my affaiis 
 have not prospered, and I am loth to return to 
 the house of my father, and render up so poor an 
 account of my venture.' — ' Bfe it so,' answered 
 Noureddin cheerfully ; and, when they reached 
 the khan where he had resolved to house his 
 goods, he opened a bale of shawls, containing 
 among otiiers that which j-ou now wear, and tiie 
 one that I borrowed and carried to 50ur husband. 
 
 " The merchant was struck with the splendor 
 of the cachemircs, but e.ven although Noureddin 
 offered them to liiin at the pri";e that they had 
 cost in the loom, Jie 3-et wanteii gold to make »ip 
 the sum; and it was at last arranged tiiat he 
 should become the possessor of one of these only, 
 taking with the remainder of liis piastres another 
 of inferior value. On arriving m Stamboul he 
 disposed of it, doubti<s*!y with gnat advantage, 
 to Suleiman; while I clianod to remark iU fel- 
 low when examining the merchandise with 
 which Noureddin propos<d to trad*- at Sevasto- 
 pol, whither he was bound when lie had ar- 
 ranged his affairs in tliis country. The rest of 
 the tale is not worth telling; and you are boun<l 
 from this instant to eonfer,s that 1 have opened 
 three of the seven doors !" 
 
 CHAITF.Il XVI. 
 
 TIIE %EVr.S DOORS CO.NTINUED. 
 
 Auori a week elapsed after the adventure of 
 the shawls, when, as Suleiman was one morn- 
 ing sitting in the salemliek,* or man's wing of 
 
 Literally, 
 
 the man U honored." 
 
 the house, smoking his last pipe previously to 
 n-pairing to the tviutrehi, a slave infornie<riiiin 
 that a negress, who refused to tell her errand, 
 craved to see him for a few moments. The mer- 
 chant " pished," and " pshawed," and eoniract- 
 ed his brows with impatient annoyance, for ha 
 hail (juity enough to do to arrange his own 
 affairs, without interfering in those of others; 
 but he nevertheless consented, after a moment's 
 delay, to receive the ap|)licant, be she whom she 
 might; and accordingly, hiavinn her slippers at 
 the extremity of the passage, the stranger ap- 
 proached with a succes-sion of lowly |irostrik- 
 tions, as far as the door of Suleiman's apartment 
 Every one knows that the yashmac worn by 
 the Turkish women in the streets conceals the 
 whole of the face save the eye.M, and that the 
 ample feridjhe of cloth envelopes the form so 
 closely as to disguise the whole of its outline; 
 but those who have resided in the f^ast for any 
 I length of time are quite aware that it is pos8i- 
 I ble, despite all these preeatitions, to give some- 
 i thing more than a guess at the identify of the 
 
 wearer: and thus, as the negress st I lufora 
 
 him, the merchant started, for he thouirht he 
 traced a singular likeness in the stranger to the 
 slave who shared the prison-harem of his wife. 
 "There is but one Allah I" commenced the 
 intruder, as soon as she found herself alone with 
 the merchant: "Do I stand before Suleiman, 
 the son of Gunduz llanoumf" 
 
 " You stand before him ;" answered the host. 
 " I have a message for Suleiman Kffendi ;" 
 pursued the slave; "and ekhi kateti — there is 
 something in it ; a message from a young and 
 anxious beauty who craves of him a grace, which, 
 ! if he be the lu'yzadeh that men deem him, he 
 1 will not refuse." 
 
 I " What you say is idle ;" interposed the mer- 
 j chant ; " bosh deV — it is nothing ; 1 am a grave 
 man, and my beard is white." 
 I " May it never be t)lucked out!" said the 
 I negress solemidy. " What shall I rejily to my 
 mistress? i>hall I — " 
 
 i "Who is the Ilanr-im Effendi, and who are 
 
 I you yourself?" demanded the irritated Suleiman, 
 
 I whose suspicions were strengthened by the voice 
 
 of his strange visitor, even mufiled as it wius be- 
 
 ' nealh her yashmac. " I shall give no ])ledge 
 
 ' until I know with whom I have affair. ^Ia^l)r 
 
 allah! I am too old to be cheated by a wofiiaiw" 
 
 I "May my face be blackened;" urgc«l the 
 
 slave earnestly, using in her energy an ejacu- 
 
 latory sentence whiefi savoured strongly of 
 
 supererogation: "may my face be blai'kened if 
 
 1 seek to deceive so pious and wortiiy a Mussil- 
 
 rnann — Kiefiniz ayi im — is your humor good I 
 
 i Effendini. I was told not to b<'tray to you the 
 
 name of the youmr beauty, nor ^vcn to mention 
 
 'my own; but who shall disobey your bidding? 
 
 Inshailnh! I am not so bold, when my foot in 
 
 on your fl<)or, and my slijipers are at your 
 
 M.re;hold." 
 
 "Speak then ;" said the merchant, " I listen." 
 " lia.Ksan is a man of substanee :" coninnMie.il 
 , the negress ; " he has goo<ls in the teharehi. and 
 ■ gold in the Miiendiek ; a eai.jue on the Ho-ph..ru\ 
 and an araba in the city ntreelK If ntfeetion 
 I could have been bouKl't like nnwroiiifht nilk, 
 1 and fashioned into form like beulvn bilver, the 
 
S8 
 
 THE EOilANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 wife of Hassan might have loved him ; but love, 
 Effendim, is like the wind: it comes and goes as 
 it lists, and no man can buy it with treasure, 
 nor fetter it with bonds — nay, had Hassan buried 
 his young wife in the bowels of the earth, and 
 robbed lier of the glorious daylight which Allah 
 gave alike to all, he must know littleof the sex 
 who is not quite aware that slie would have 
 ' cheated him at last. But why do I say this to 
 you, Effendim? to you, who need no words of 
 mine to convince you of the fact? Aqi I a 
 divanu — an idiot — tliat I talk thus to Suleiman 
 the son of Gunduz Hanoum, who knows all 
 things? Ne apalum — what can I do?" 
 
 Something between a sigh and a groan es- 
 caped from the merchant but he did not utter a 
 syllable. 
 
 " Let not the EfFendi imagine, however," re- 
 sumed the negress, " that Hassan did so bury 
 his fair young wife — Shekiur Allah ! he was too 
 good a Musselmaun thus to provoke tlie wi-ath 
 of the Prophet ; no, no, he knew better. Are 
 there not laws in Stamboul ? Is there not a 
 strong cord and a swift current, if a man really 
 wishes to sell himself to Sheitan, and to defile 
 his own grave? Wky then should he act like a 
 madman, and be laughed at to his beard ?" 
 
 "All tliis is then bosh — notliing:" said the 
 merchant angrily ; "why do you tire my ears, 
 and devour my time with empty tales; say your 
 errand, and leave me to my thoughts " 
 
 " You are a wise man, Effendim ; and I am 
 but a woman," was the reply ; " Allah bilir — 
 God alone knows ; as for me, I was only en- 
 deavoring to explain — " 
 
 " A wise head spareth its tongue ;" said the 
 host sententiously ; "few words make wisdom 
 — you waste time!" 
 
 The slave folded her arms before her, and 
 bowed her head meekly on her bosom as she 
 continued ; " Hassan brought a wife into his 
 harem, but She never gave him her lieart. How 
 could she ? Hassan suspected that she loved 
 anotlier. He was a wise man in this at least, 
 for she did. Why did the Prophet plant roses 
 in the gardens of Paradise, save that they should 
 be gathered!" 
 
 "And who is this Hassan of whom you speak !" 
 again demanded the merchant, as he suffered 
 the smoke from his chibouque to escape, and 
 roll away in dense curls over his mustache : 
 " who is tiiis Hassanwho mated himself so ill ?" 
 
 " He sits on the fourth carpet in tlie Bezen- 
 fltein :" said the slave, " and he is kinsman to 
 the Cadi." 
 
 "And liis wife? — " 
 
 " Was the daughter of Hakif the sekeljhe,* 
 near the Atmeidan ; Gul-shyf Hanoum, the 
 prettiest girl in that quarter of the city." 
 
 " And what would slie ask of me ?" inquired 
 the merchant, somcwliat mollified by the elabo- 
 rate candor of hia comj)anion. 
 
 " The chiirl her husband has refused to give 
 her a new cachemire for the feast of the Bairam, 
 because, forsooth, he suspects her of — " 
 
 " Yok, yok — no, no ! 1 will assist no plotting 
 wife to cleceive her husbnud I" bi-oke forth 
 Suldiman in a transport of virtuous indignation. 
 
 Confectioner. 
 
 t Rose water. 
 
 X Parasol. 
 
 " Get you gone — there are easy dupes in the 
 tcharchi who, having been foo'led themselves, 
 will be glad to aid in the good work of hood- 
 winking others : but I am not of these — I am not 
 of these. Return to your light mistress, and tell 
 her — " 
 
 " Yavash, yavash — not so fast, Effendim, not 
 so fast;" interposed the pertinacious slave ; "I 
 have as yet told but half my tale. In the shawl- 
 bazar sits a woi'thy merchant named Najib, an 
 Adrianopolitan by birth, wlio has a son called — " 
 
 " Hafiz," — exclaimed her listener, aroused at 
 once into attention. 
 
 " You have said well, Effendim : he is indeed 
 named Hafiz, and it would seem that you know 
 him. If it be the same of whom I speak, lie is 
 a tall youth, with large dark eyes, and a smile 
 like daybreak — " 
 
 The merchant made a^esture of impatience, 
 and knocked the ashes from a pipe which was 
 but newly replenished — " And what of this 
 young man?" he asked peevishlJ^ 
 
 " He has seen the Hanoum Ettendi, and loves 
 her:" was the reply ; "He has learnt that she 
 desires a new cachemire, and lie has offered to 
 procure for her the richest shawl in the city if ■ 
 she will buy it with a smile." 
 
 "Kiupek — dog! and the son of dogs! hia 
 beard is not yet grown ;" muttered Suleiman 
 beneath his breath ; but the quick ear of the 
 negress caught the words, and she answered 
 readily, " Even so said mj- mistress ; — ' Semsi,'| [ 
 whispered she as she spoke; ' am I a child to b'e 
 won by a stripling — shall I sell mj-self to a boy, 
 when i have only to ask the love of a man, and 
 win it.' " 
 
 " She said well," murmured Suleiman, senten- 
 tiously ; " the wife of Hassan is. a wise woman, , 
 and deserves to eat her pillauf in peace. Bash- 
 ustun ! on my head be it !" 
 
 " She has set her heart on a new eacliemire," 
 pursued the slave, heedless of the interruption; 
 " but she has no gold, and Hafiz has resolved to 
 tempt her to-morrow with tlie choicest in tho 
 tcharchi: she must have a fikawl, or she will 
 fall sick, and should she fall sick she will lose 
 her beauty, and then the brightest carnation ia 
 Stamboul will be withered for lack of a few 
 hundred piastres; unfess, indeed, the Effendi ' 
 before whom I stand will consent to receive in ■ 
 exchange some jewels, for which her fancy is ^ 
 outworn, and which will sell well in the bezen- , 
 stein." ' 
 
 "And why not?" asked Suleiman, who had i 
 forgotten his suspicious in the joy that he felt ' 
 from the hope of outwitting Hafiz. "Show m« j 
 the diamonds, and I will tell you at once if I 
 can venture on the traffic." i 
 
 " Astaferallah — Heaven forbid ! Does the ' 
 Effendi imagine tliat the young Hanoum would ' 
 intrust me with the jewels before she learnt his 
 determination ! Or that she will not desire to 
 select lier own cachemire ? ISo, no, — if the 
 Effendi consents to eft'ect the exchange, he will I 
 have an opportunity of making his own bargain ; 
 with the fair wife of Hassan, who has already 
 looked upon him from behind her lattices, and 
 selected him from among all the merchants ia j 
 the tcharchi, because she saw him with pleasure, j ' 
 Shall it be so, Effendim ?" > 
 
THE ROiLVXCE OF THE UArJ'il. 
 
 If 
 
 The fl ittered and flattered Suleiman did not 
 immediately reply — a thousand suspicions of 
 foul play rose up before him ; and, as liis loiijj; 
 gaze fastened on the ncgress, and his ear drank 
 in her accents, he could not divest himsi-lf of the 
 belief that it wjis really Zeinip who stood before 
 liim, or Sheit^m himself in her lik-^ness ; but then 
 again all was uncertainty, and Ilatiz — what 
 would he not give to circumvent the plottings 
 of his arch-enemy f for as such he could not 
 forbear cousidering him — '" Do you take me for 
 a fool? — a madman?" he. asked quietly; "that 
 I should set my foot in the harem of Hassan the 
 jeweller, aiid bring my neck to the bowstring f 
 Am I a boy, like the son of ^'ajib, that I should 
 do this thing ?" 
 
 " And is tlie daughter of Hakif an idiot, that 
 she should share her pillauf witli dogs, and 
 blacken her own face V asked the ncgress in her 
 turn. " Are there no harems in Stamboul save 
 that of Hassan her husband i Alinh buyiik der 
 — Allah is great — the Etiendi is as a man who 
 dreams." 
 
 The merchant started. He had never com- 
 mitted the folly of compromising his personal 
 safety, even in his youtli ; and that he should 
 now voluntarily encounter an almost certain 
 peril for the mere gratification of tliwarting a 
 vain and froward boy, was an excess of rashness 
 and indiscretion from which he shrank with very 
 natural repugnance. " I will answer j'ou to- 
 morrow on this point," he said, at last; " let me 
 see you before the noon-tide prayer in the bazar, 
 and I will tell you my decision." 
 
 " Ere that hour the sliawl of Ilafiz will be in 
 the harem of Hassan's wife ; but be it as you 
 will — " and, as the slave spoke, she pressed 
 lier fingers to her lips and brow, and moved to 
 depart. 
 
 "Listen to me" — exclaimed the merchant 
 '•■rnly, as he rose suddenlj' from the sofa, and 
 laid his hand upon her arm; "I am no longer 
 .1 be cheated like a child — you are Zeinip, the 
 ^'.ave of Helmas Uanoum my wife — how jou 
 ame here 1 knovrnot, but it must have been by 
 the agency of some devilish magic — I have 
 watched you narrowly — djiny it not — you are 
 the plotting sister of slieitan to whom I owe the 
 miseries of months, and hence you depart not 
 • ntil I have visited the vault. Should mv 
 -uspicions be coiTCct, make jjour peace with 
 Allah while you may, for you have not long to 
 live — " and, a.-^ he spoke, he pointed with his 
 outstretched finger to the window, through 
 which might be seen in the di.stance, the bright 
 ripple of tlie Bosphorus dancing in the sunliglit ; 
 " but if 1 have deluded myself, { shall not d>tain 
 you long; and I swear to yo»i, by the beard of the 
 Prophet, to follow you withersoever you lisL" 
 
 " And why should I wish it otherwise ?" a.-<ked 
 the negress, shaking off his gra-sp ; " Am I not 
 your slave? and are there not stdl manj* hours 
 to sunset ? I have told you that m\- name is 
 Bemsi, and that I serve (iul-siiy Hanoum, the 
 wife of Hassan the jeweller." 
 
 " And I have told you, in my turn," retorted 
 the Merchant ; " that I am no longer to be fool- 
 ed. Wliat I have said is said." 
 
 " It is said ;" echoed the visiter, as she calmly 
 squatted down upon a cushion which chanced 
 
 to bo near her, with an unmoved gesture of ot- 
 homeness, that more tlian ever convinced the 
 angry Suleiman of her identity. " Hut the 
 EHendi will do well to return quickly, im my 
 mistress may require my services; mean while, 
 I will tell my tusuec, and wish good speed to hiii 
 errand." 
 
 The mi'roJiant did not vouchsafe a rejily, but 
 contented himself with desiring two of lifs ser- 
 vants, who were lounging in the lower liall of 
 tile house, not to sutler the negress to escape ; 
 and, after this very natural precaution, lie light- 
 ed a lamp, ami proceeded as fast as his agitation 
 would permit to the |irison of his wife. 
 
 As the last iloor flew back, the irritated hus- 
 band became instantly aware, even through the 
 unusual gloom of the subterraneiin, that it waa 
 tenanted as usual by t\vo individuals. On the 
 sofa sat Helmas Hanoum with a circular mirror 
 in her hand, staining her eyebrows with the 
 juices of a nut which she had bien bmning on 
 the candle that stood on a small table beside 
 her; and immediately beneath the lamp, at tike 
 other extrefiiity of "the *ault, expiring at the 
 ver}' moment of his entrance, as it appeared 
 from lack of oil, was spread the prayer-carpet 
 of the slave, who, with the long white cloth 
 twined about her head and face, without which 
 the Musselmaun women never repeat their ori- 
 sons, was devoutly engaged in her iiamaz.^ 
 The merchant actually trembled with nig<; and 
 mystification — there she was! — at intervals 
 pressing her ebony-colored hands upon her 
 knees; and her naked feet showing like two 
 lumps of charcoal on the crimson ground of the 
 carpet; piously indifferent tg his entrance; and 
 wholly unconscious of the absurd error into 
 which she had been the innocent means of be- 
 traying him. So earnest was her devotion, 
 moreover, that, as she bent down in the pauses 
 of the prayer, sundry low groans escaj)ed her, 
 which, had she been otherwise engaged, would 
 have appeared rather to be hysterical efforts to 
 subdue a movement of mirth, than conscience- 
 stricken demonstrations of holy suffering; as it 
 was, however, the worthy merchant saw at 
 once that he ha<l committed a new folly: and, 
 even while he sustained a disjointed and unsatis- 
 factory conversati<in with his wife, his thoiiglits 
 were with the ca[»tive negress in the sah-inli.k: 
 who, on her return to the harem of the daugliter 
 of Hakif, would not fail to make merry at the 
 expense of the jeahnis husband, lb- was also 
 eoiiHcious of having betrayed a secn-t not alto- 
 gether calculated to decrease the ri«riiiile ; and 
 thus he deemed it expedient to mak"- a hastv re 
 treat from the prison-chamber, in oi-.l.r to liber- 
 ate his new eajjtive. whom each add< d moment 
 of restraint could notifuil to exa«i>erate into a 
 resolution of more determine<l revengi'. He ac- 
 cordingly informed Helmas Hanonm. whose eye- 
 brows had by this time been taught t.> form a 
 curved line all across h<r for.li.ucl, that he hiid 
 pressing business at the teharelii ; ami. aft.r bid- 
 ding her console herself in her eaplivily with 
 her zebec, an<l leaving beside her a small l)a^ket 
 containing a piliaiif inaile of quails, In- resumed 
 his lamp, turned another last, unloving look on 
 
 • DtTotioni. 
 
40 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 the devout npgrjss, and was soon on his way 
 through the vaulted passage to the salemliek. 
 
 The key had turned in the third door which 
 parted him from his prisoners, when the kneel- 
 ing figure sprang lightly into an upright atti- 
 tude ; and, flinging aside the prayer-cloth that 
 had bound its head, stood before the laughing 
 Helmas Hanoum, at least a foot too tall for the 
 Degress Zeinip. The shaven skull, with its one 
 long lock of silky black haii-, was soon concealed 
 beneath an ample turban; the dye washed from 
 the face, hands, and feet of the impostor: the 
 trailing antery exchanged for a tight vest and 
 girdle of shawl; and the prettj- Helmas Hanoum 
 and the adventurous Hafiz busied, amid their 
 merriment, in preparing, over the glowing char- 
 eoal of the brazier, the savory pillauf of the 
 mystified Suleiman ; who, on his arrival at the 
 apartment in which he had left the negress, 
 found her still squatted quietly on the cushion, 
 and with more haste than courtesy bade her 
 , summon him on the morrow to fulfil his pledge. 
 The slave rose, bowed humbly before him, 
 and, without uttering a syllable, passed into the 
 street But she was conscious that she was 
 dogged by one of the household of the merchant ; 
 and it was, moreover, so long since she had en- 
 joyed a siglit of the sun and the bustle of the 
 city streets, that she arrived at the empty house 
 beside that of her master by as many turnings 
 and windings as a Greek pirate in the Archipe- 
 lago ; and the pillauf had been heated, and the 
 fair fingers of the pretty Hanoum had dipped 
 with those of her lover in the dish so often, that, 
 ere the entrance of Zeinip had been effected 
 through the agency of Hafiz, the feast was at an 
 end ; and the fatigued and hungry negress was 
 fain to content herself with the relics of the yes- 
 terday's meal. But this was no misfortune to 
 one who had so merry a tale to tell ; and heartily 
 did the three plotters laugh ere the lover de- 
 parted, at the bold device by which they had 
 unlocked the fourth door of the prison-chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 THE SEVEN DOORS CONTINUED. 
 
 On the morrow, Suleiman was seated among 
 his merchandise in the tcharchi one hour before 
 his usual time ; but his brow was dark, and his 
 mood more than oi-dinarily taciturn. He re- 
 membered, and, remembering, he deeply re- 
 gretted, the pledge that he had given to the 
 negress. He had, moreover, passed a wretched 
 night ; he had dreamed of bright eyes and ruby 
 lips, it is true, but he had unfortunatelj' dream- 
 ed of them in conjunetion with dark-browed 
 negroes, and darker browed husbands. He had 
 enjoyed a a ision of a more than earthly beauty, 
 who' iiad welcomed him to her presence with 
 tlie assurance that he stood before the favourite 
 wife of the Sultan ; but, while he gazed in won- 
 dering admiration, mingled with a very power- 
 ful degree of respectful terror, he had been sur- 
 rounded by armed slaves, thrown on the ground, 
 bowstrung with the rapidity of lightning, and 
 
 finally had awoke just as the rapid current of 
 the Bosphorus was consigning him to the tender 
 mercies of the Black Sea. 
 
 iS'ow Suleiman was not a man of prowess, bat 
 a man of peace — he despised the Jews, and hated 
 the Janissaries: he had neither taste for adven- 
 tures, nor affection for danger; and, when he 
 raised his head from the pillow, he thanked 
 Allah and the Prophet, from the verj- depths of 
 his spirit, that it was all a dream ; and a mo- 
 ment afterwards he shuddered at the recollec- 
 tion of the perils to which he had actually sub- 
 jected himself through his own headstrong and 
 causeless jealousy. It was, consequently, to es- 
 cape from his unquiet thoughts and self-reproach, 
 that he hurried to the tcharchi with such un- 
 wonted diligence, in the hope of finding amuse- 
 ment in the passing scene ; but ever and anon, 
 as he saw the gleam of a yashmac in the dist- 
 ance, a cold chill crept over him, and made his 
 shaven head feel for an instant, as though it were 
 covered with bristles. 
 
 Hour after hour wore on, however, and he 
 began to nurse a vague and timidly indulged 
 belief that the wayward beauty had repented 
 her bold enterprise, and even to hope that she 
 had suffered herself to relent in favor of Hafiz, 
 and had accepted his offering; when, as he was 
 carefully readjusting the folds of a shawl which 
 had been hastily put aside on the previous day, 
 he saw the son of JS'ajib approaching him with a 
 rapid step. 
 
 " Khosh geldin — you are welcome :" said the 
 merchant, as the young man stopped beside his 
 carpet, wishing him, at the moment in which he 
 uttered the greeting, safely deposited in the 
 great cemetry of the city : " affiet ollah — much 
 pleasure attend you ; can I serve you in aught? 
 or are you only whiling away the time until the 
 mid-day prayer ? " 
 
 " Kay, not so ;" replied Hafiz, as he returned 
 the salutation. " I am hurried even more than 
 my wont on this occasion ; and, therefore, pray 
 you to show me, with what speed you may, all 
 the cachemires of Thibet on which j-ou can lay 
 your hand. My father's stock is exhausted, and 
 I am commissioned to make a purchase for the 
 wife of a rich Bey." 
 
 " Of a Bey, said you ?" demanded the merch- 
 ant, as unconcernedly as he could, while he was 
 in the act of taking down some merchandise 
 from one of the shelves. "Ax-e you sure that 
 her husband is a Bey?" 
 
 " Haveit — yes ; she is the wife of Hassan Bey, 
 who served for several years in Tripoli, and 
 who now inhabits a house near the fortress of 
 the Seven Towers. She desires a new shawl for 
 the feast of the Ba'iram." 
 
 " And she has commissioned you to select it 
 for her — is it so ?" asked Suleiman, as he looked 
 steadily towards the youth. 
 
 " JIashallah ! that were a tale for a massald- 
 jhe"*- -laughed Hafiz ; " 'tis the good Bey him- 
 self who has charged me to make the bargain .- 
 and 1 must make a successful one, or it will fare 
 ill with me, for Hassan is not a man to trifle 
 with. He has been so many years accustomed 
 to have every thing liis own way, that he is not 
 
 * Professional story-teller. 
 
THE ROiLVNCK OF TIIK IIARKM. 
 
 41 
 
 particular about the propriety 9f the niannor in 
 which he mnnifests his dispU'iisure. 1 never 
 look at him without fancying that I see a bow- 
 string peeping from amid the fohls of his 
 girdU'." 
 
 Suleimau actually shivered with terror as he 
 Bat 
 
 "Just now," whispered lintiz confidentially, a^ 
 he bent towards the merchant; "all gives way 
 before the beautiful young Gul-siiv llanoum. liis 
 new wife ; but her favor is preeamons, for it has 
 been insinuated to the Hey "that slie is not so 
 devoted to him as it behoves her to be. Hul 
 who shall say? " and he looked up archly into 
 the face of his listener. 
 
 "Wallah billah— by the Prophet I are we 
 Musselmauns that we thus talk together of a 
 woman!" murmured Suleiman depree.ilingly ; 
 " what is it to you or to me, Efleudim, if it be 
 Tbo or not ?" 
 
 Again Uatiz laughed. " You say well ; to us 
 it is indeed bosh — nothing. So now we will ex- 
 amine the shawls." 
 
 But the husband of Helmas Hanoum had 
 heard too little or too much — too little aa re- 
 garded the unknown beauty herself, and too 
 much a3 it regarded her husband, for a man who 
 was bound hand and foot to risk his life in the 
 furtherance of a woman's caprice. Yet how to 
 lead back the discourse to the point at which he 
 wished to arrive, he knew not ; for the Turks, 
 even among themselves, do not make their wo- 
 men the subject of conversation or comment; 
 and thus, with all the terrors of the uncompro- 
 mising Bej' before his eyes, coupled with the 
 consciousness that he was about to beard him in 
 his very den, he was compelled to turn over 
 shawl after shawl, and to expatiate on the beau- 
 ties and qualities of each, wliile visions of fear, 
 and peril, and jeopardy, were crowding across 
 his brain. 
 
 " What have I to do," he asked himself almost 
 aloud, '• with the light-headed and wilful wife 
 of another man, and that man, moreover, a Bey 
 and a soldier? avret der — it is a woman. Have 
 1 not counted nearly seventy years since the 
 prophet first blew the breatli of life into my 
 nostrils ? Is not my beard gray, and my hand 
 weakened ? Is it for me to measure myself with 
 boysf" But all these retlections availed noth- 
 ing; and, just as llafiz, after quarrelling with 
 the quality of one shawl and the cost of another, 
 had flu!lg"a^i.le tiie last with a dissentient g. s- 
 ture, declaring that he should not dure to meet 
 the li.-v if he made no better bargain than those 
 (jirered'to iiim by his futiier's friend, a mgr.ss. 
 whose yashmac almost covered her eyes, walked 
 quietlv up to the merehant. and, without noti- 
 cing th«- vicinity of llafiz, said in a calm tone, 
 'The Ellendi awaits you hard by — I am to con- 
 duct voii to him." And the jxiralyzed Suhi- 
 maii, williout a word, east all his costly goods 
 upon til.- tloor of the little Htore-rooiii behind 
 him, lo.k.d the door, and, shullling on his clip- 
 pers, pr.par.d to follow his ebony -colored guide, 
 like one under a spell. t 
 
 One glance, and but one, passed between the 
 slave and llafiz, and that was unnoticd bv the 
 merehant, who was absorbed in the trembling 
 discomfort of hia own terrors ; and in the next 
 
 instant ,the heavily-draped t.'^Tc^? jras ihrpatj- 
 ing her way along the narrow ct.<-<t.- of tiiti 
 teharchi, followed at some distance 'hy her 
 victim. 
 
 They moved onwards very slo-vly, for the 
 pathways were throng<'d with pa.>wfngi'r» ; but 
 at length they enierged into the o|»('n streeU of 
 the city, ami Suleiman remarkitl, with some- 
 thing like a sensation of joy, that tinir road did 
 not lie in the direction of the .S.v.n 'lowers, 
 wh.nee it was evident that tiie trouldesome 
 beauty eoiiM not purpose to receive him beneath 
 the roof of iier husband 1 
 
 On turning an abrupt corner, the nienhant 
 fotmd himself suddenly in u street little fre- 
 quented, and, as it chanced, at tiuit moment saw 
 no human being near him except his mysterious 
 conductress, who was standing a f« \v paces from 
 the opening, evidi-ntly awaiting ids approach, 
 lie did not accelerate his pace, however, but 
 rather walked nior>' slowly, for he dreaded all 
 comnmnii-ation witii the dusky y\'-<;^ of mysti- 
 cism will) liad ln.gnilf.1 him into hi- ju-sint pre- 
 dicament ; wiiile the slave, on ht-r side, ap|>eared 
 perfectly inditferent to everything save the ol>- 
 ject that she sought to attain, ami contented 
 herself by excloiming, when heat Kiigtli reu<'lied 
 her side ; " So far, so well — ligiitly falls the foot 
 of him who is summoned by a |iaj*ha's wife : afe- 
 i-in — well done, Elfendim'; the llanoum will 
 n^oice to find that her bidding has been so joy- 
 ously obeyed." 
 
 Acold dew rose to the brow of the worthy 
 Suleiman, but he did not dare to ask a quj-stion, 
 as the slave, having uttered her extraordinary 
 address, again moved forward. The wife of 
 Hassan the jeweller had grown into the favorite 
 of Hassan Bey. and again into tin- consort of a 
 
 rmsha, within the twenty-four hours sine^ he 
 lad first h«.urd of her. I'here was but another 
 step to take— he had now only to learn tlmtshe 
 was on inmate of the sultan's harem, and hi« 
 doom would be seaUd 1 He r<-membered hie 
 dream, and trembled; and, as the nogross from 
 time to time looked back to assure licrseif that 
 he followed, he each moment expected to have 
 the dreaded intelligence poure<l into his iiuail- 
 ing eai-s. But no sueh misfortune as this lufel 
 him; for his companion never addresscil him 
 again until they reached the narrow and squalid 
 street wliich "terminates in the TchcrnberUi 
 Tasch, or Burnt Pillar. This celehratrd column 
 
 , was at that |M-riod nearly pt-rfeet; the figur.- of 
 Apollo, oii<> of the masterpieces of Phidias, wlii.-h 
 had originally crowned it, was iiultad gone : 
 
 ' but the delieaU- garlands of oak leaves, that en- 
 circled it ot rtgular distances from its hus*' fo 
 its gummit, were yet perfect; anil tin- murbU 
 
 I was but slightly stained with fire marks. 
 
 About midway of the street tin- n.gn-rs pnusod 
 
 ! before till- gate of a dreary-looking ho;i'.- ; and 
 
 ; having fix<-d one long, significant gaz- on tli« 
 nnrehant, b.atupon the door, and wa^ in»tnnlly 
 admit till. Sul.iman took 8<-viTal tiirn* along 
 the rude and rnggid paving, and d«lay>d hb 
 
 i long aa hesuf.lv .oiil.i, ere lie reliietanily fol- 
 lowed her .-xaiiml.-, aii.l then, with a tr.ii.hlintf 
 hand, he ruis.-d the ponderous kno.k. r, and 
 heard iU harsh sound slowly die uway in th« 
 
 I void beyond. 
 
42 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 He wns not tcpt long in suspense. The 
 door flew back, and, as he passed the thieshold. 
 closed slowly behind him ; his old acquaintance 
 Semsi was in waiting, and he obeyed her silent 
 
 Sesture, and followed her through a long and 
 usty passage, which looked as though the day- 
 light had never penetrated its gloom. There 
 ■was no matting upon the floor; and, even 
 Btealthily as he moved along, the unfortunate 
 merchant could lu-ar the echo of his own foot- 
 steps, and almost tlie beatings of his heart. 
 Every tale of terror to which he had ever lis- 
 tened came fresh to his memory ; and he sub- 
 mitted to his fate unquestioning, like one who 
 felt that lie had gone too far to recede, and that 
 escape was now hopeless. I 
 
 The passage terminated at a door, before 
 •which hung a tapestried curtain, and the ne- i 
 gress, having flung it aside, bade him enter! 
 ■without ceremony. For the first moment he | 
 could not distinguish any thing, though he was j 
 conscious that the slave Avas still beside him ; i 
 but in the next, a sti'ong glare burst forth from 
 the upper end of the chamber, as a hand flung 
 upon the brazier by which the apartment was| 
 heated a quantity of aromatic wood. When j 
 the smoke cleared away, Suleiman could just j 
 discover that a female, whose dress glittered 
 ■with gold embroidery, lay reclined upon a pile 
 of cushions spread upon the flooi- ; and, while 
 he was yet employed in endeavoring to obtain 
 a view of her features, she clapped her hands, 
 and half a dozen slaves entered with lights. 
 
 Suleiman rubbed his eyes, and fancied that 
 he must be the sport of a dream. The whole 
 apartment was the very embodiment of splen- 
 dor and luxury. It was like awakening in the 
 Prophet's paradise after the sleep of the grave. 
 The floor was covered with Persian carpets; 
 the sofas were sprinkled with embroidered 
 flowers, and looked like a petrified parterre — 
 draperies of gorgeously-tinted silk veiled the 
 latticed windows — and, in the midst of this 
 Bcene of costly comfort reclined its unveiled 
 mistress, .in a vestment so resplendent with 
 gold and jewels, that the dazzled merchant cast 
 down his eyes, like one who has inadvertently 
 looked upon the sun. 
 
 But he was not long sufi"ered to remain in 
 this attitude of silent wonder. A voice which 
 Bounded strangely familiar, to his ear bade him 
 ■welcome, and invited him to approach ; and, as 
 be advanced further into the apartment, his eye 
 fell on a group of splendidly-dressed slaves, 
 who were standing near the couch of their mis- 
 tress. Coffee was served to him in silence; 
 and then a ehibnuque of cherry-wood, with a 
 mouth-|)iece of the tinest and palest amber, was 
 put into his hand by an attendant, young, beau- 
 tiful, and graceful, wiio bore so strong a resem- 
 blance to his imjiri.^oned wife, that he started 
 as he took the pipe, and almost suiiered it to 
 escape his clasp. 
 
 "Yoti have done me much grace, Eff"endim ;" 
 said the lady of the revel, as soon as the proper 
 ceremonies had been observed towards her ; 
 guest: "kliosh geldin — you are welcome; and I 
 am grntefi.l to you for "running so great a risk 
 to indulge one of my idle caprices. The pasha, 
 my husband, is jealous and lynx-eyed, and we 
 
 shall be fortunate if we contrive your departnr* 
 ■without exciting suspicion. But we will not 
 talk of him. My slave Semsi, by whom you 
 were summoned, has doubtless told you that a 
 new whim, on whose gratification 1 am, aa 
 usual detern)iuedly b'ent, has compelled me to 
 apply to your generosity. Bana bak — look at 
 me — I am one to be'thwarted? I need not ex- 
 plain more ; I will merely put before you the 
 toys which I desire to give in exchange for one 
 of your most costly; cachemires. I know all the 
 risk that I incur in oi'der to work out my plea- 
 sure, and I am grateful to you for having so 
 willingly shared it. Joy and fear are not mow 
 opposite in their eff"ects than in the feeling 
 which they excite towards those who are our 
 partners in the emotion; in joy, we find the 
 pleasure doubled by participation ; while, in 
 fear — oh Eff'endim, you know not, you cannot 
 guess the sensation with which a young, and 
 pretty, and idolized wife looks upon the indi- 
 vidual, who, at the moment when he pays ho- 
 mage to her beautj', is conscious that, should 
 his devotion be discovered, he can save her by 
 oft'ering himself up a willing sacrifice to her 
 off"ended husband ! Could I not at this instant, 
 were the pasha to intrude into the harem, vow 
 that I knew not your errand, and had never 
 sanctioned your entrance? Nothing could be 
 moi'e simple ; and as the result of such a decla- 
 ration, it were vain to expatiate on it — Mashal- 
 lah I Hassan Pasha is too methodical to leave 
 anyone in doubt on such a subject. 'Gul-siiy 
 Hiinoum,' he will say to me, ' you are the light 
 of my eyes, and the sun of my sky, and rather 
 would 1 put out the beam of the one, and miss 
 the warmth of the othei-, than know that they 
 had been shared by the Sovereign of the world 
 — the Padishah of the most glorious empire of 
 the earth — '" 
 
 The merchant wiped the gathering damps 
 from his brow, and only groaned a reply. 
 
 " Korkma — fear not; what care I for all these 
 love-sentences?" pursued the lady ; "will they 
 buy me a cachemire, or give me a pleasant 
 dream? Are they not mere words? Perhaps 
 you have a fair wife in your harem, EtTendira; 
 nay, I am sure you have, for your beard is 
 ■white, and your days are numbered, and you 
 would be a divane — an idiot — not to se<k some 
 solace for your age in bright smiles and gentle 
 words; and if you have a ■\vife, young, and pret- 
 ty, and ready-witted, as women will be, though 
 all good Musselmauns would fain see them other- 
 wise, you must know that she would rather have 
 one puise* than a score of compliments — from 
 you at least. Yet wherefore ■waste your time 
 with idle talk, when every instant may be 
 fraught with danger? Diliram" — and, as she 
 spok"e, the slave who looked and moved like the 
 merchant's imprisoned wife, advanced, and bent 
 meekly before her ; " show to Suleiman Eff'endi 
 the toys which I desire to barter with him." 
 
 She was obeyed on the instant; the attendant 
 silently withdrew, and in a moment returned, 
 bearing a tray, which she deposited at the feet 
 of the visite;-. It was covered with a gold-eiiv 
 
 * Generally containing 500 pia-^tres (or £5) ; all impe- 
 rial presdius in specie are made in "purses." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 4t 
 
 broidered nnpkin, which waa hnstily thrown .door of the RorfjoousapArtmont, jind pnsgod into 
 aside, and the first object that met the eye of tlie void and echoing gallery heyond. 
 Suleiman was a jewelled bracelet, whose "form But no othcious S.insi follow.'d to g\iid« liim 
 and setting were as familiar to him as tiie pre- ithroiigh the dark labyrinth— no .•ompunionsliip 
 cepts of the Koran. Beside it lay an essence- [save that of a iau.! and mocking p.-al ..f laughter 
 box of ivory, small, and quaintly-fiL-ihioned ; and, from the partywliom he had just (piitic.l. bo- 
 both were pillowed on a costly eachcmire of pale 'guiled the difhculty of his progress; an<l even 
 yellow, with a border of grjen ai-J crimson! jthatdied away as suddenly as it had burst fortlu 
 Let those who have writhed under the visita-j Not a single lamp shed it« i)rotecting light to 
 tion of the nightmare, picture to themselves the isave him from yawning staircases and gloomy 
 sensations of Suleiman! He looked loug and passages; and he wandered on slowly and paia- 
 earnestly on the objects of barter as they were fully.Vith fear an.l trembling, bewildering hitn- 
 spread out before him— he handled them each in self" more and more in the intricacies of the 
 their turn, and they were all real and palpable building, in silence and in darkness, until after 
 — they were otiered to him for sale, and he could the lap.ie of an hour, when he distinguished in 
 Bwear that they were his own! In his bewilder- the distance the glimmering of a sickly light, 
 ment he turned towards the pasha's wife, and towards which he cautiou.sly advanced" in the 
 gazed keenly and inquiringly upon fier. The hope that it might afford him a means of escape 
 haughty beauty bore his steady look unshrink- from his malicious enemies. Not a sound waa to 
 ingly : not a blush, not a word escaped her ; and be heard as he neared the beacon, save the dull 
 it was strange how the expression of those large echo of his own footsteps; and he conse<iuently 
 dark ejes added to the mystitication of the nier- ; became sufficiently reassured to quicken his pace, 
 chant; there was a mocking light in them that and to pass without hesitation tlie threshold of 
 withered his very soul! fie had seen them be- the vast and apparently empty apartment in 
 fore, he knew not where or when; his memory I which the lamp was burning. But he had no 
 played the traitor, and his senses reeled: and 'sootier done so than the door dosed with vio- 
 meanwhile there lay the bracelet, the essence- jlence behind him, cutting off all hope of escape 
 box, and the shawl — the ferocious pasha in per- by the gallery along which he had passed, and 
 epective — the imprudent beauty in presence — the sickly lamp gave out one strong burst of 
 and a crowd of phantoms, shapeless, indefinite, light, an"d instantly expired. In that brief in- 
 and mystical, writhing and winding through all tcrval, however, momentary as it was, the trena- 
 the intricate angles of his imagination. There bling merchant discovered the whole extent of 
 too stood the slave, the j-oung and mystical slave, his misfortune ; nor was any time permitted him 
 who looked and moved so like his own wife ! for preparation ; in an instant he was seized — 
 The merchant instinctively buried his hand in flung on the ground — held down by powerful 
 his girdle — this at least must be a delusion, for hands, amid low and mocking laughter — and ia 
 there were the keys: and hence it was only fair | five minutes he had fainted beneath the basti- 
 to infer that he was under a spell — that the Evil nado. 
 
 Eye was on him — and that the bracelet, the | The sun was bright tipon the domes and mina- 
 eesenee-box, and the yellow eachcmire, were all: rets of the eity, when Suleiman the shawl-mer- 
 phantoras, engendered by the fever of his own .chant painfully 6tret<.'hing his limbs, and opening 
 over-heated brain. his haggard eyes, found liimself extendeil on a 
 
 "While he was yet abandoned to his bewilder- marble slab in the Armenian cemetery of Pera, 
 ment, the slaves, as if to increase it, struck up a beneath the light shade of a blossoming acacia, 
 wild, shi-ill concert of voices and zebecs, which] He might well hav.; believed that all the scene 
 rang through the saloon, and whistled in the ears througli which he had lately passed was but a 
 of Suleiman like an east wind. Well nigh mad- .hag-ridden dream, had not the swollen and 
 dened by the noise, the mystification, and the smarting soles of his dishonored fcut assured 
 terror, which grew deeper each moment from him to the contrary, lie could not doubt the 
 the necessity of its concealment, the unhappy extent of his wrong; and if he did not instant- 
 merchant began hurriedly to off'.r he scarce ly lay his complaint before the cadi, it was 
 knew what, for the hated objects of barter ; and simijly because he was unable to make his way 
 anxious to escape from the scene of torment, to the Bosphorus, and to pass over to Stamboill 
 swore to the dark-eyed lady of the revel that[unassiste<L 
 
 she should turn over every bale in his store, and ' Severil hours were consequently wasted, to 
 select the shawl which pleased her, be its value I the gre-it di.sgust of the merchant, among the 
 hat it might The offer was accepteii on the Christian graves, ere he was gladdened by the 
 instant; nor was an effort made to detain the ajiproach of an Armenian jeweller, who cime, 
 liberal Suleiman when he had jdedged himself as his wmit was towards sunset, to smoke hit 
 to observe, and faithfully to ftillil the compact; h-hibouque bchidi- the grave of one of his reliv- 
 while, on his part, he as willingly consented toitives. Suh-iman knew him well, as he had often 
 leave behind him the valuable pledges that were traded with him in the bezenstein; and to him, 
 to be given in exchange. He lost not a moment therefore, he confided, without hesitation, the 
 descending from the sofa, and shuffling on his (history of his discomfiture, taking care, however, 
 slippers; and having made his obeisance to the | as he subsequently did in his eomjilaint before 
 hostess, who was sunning herself in the light of i the cadi, to conceal the fa<t of feminine agency; 
 her own eyes, as they were reflecteil from a cir-' and contenting himself with the declaration thai 
 cular mirror set into a frame of ostrich feathers, he had been decoyed to this house of mystery 
 he lifted the tapestry hanging that veiled the | for the purposes of commerce. 
 
44 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 By the agency of Takotir-Oglou, the Armenian 
 'eweller, a carriage was soon procured, in which 
 tlie suffering Suleiman was safely deposited on 
 the wooden pier at Topp-hanne, and there em- 
 barked in a caique for 8tamboul^ where, on his 
 arrival at home, he lost no time in laying his case 
 before the c&di and demanding justice. 
 
 His description of the house was so circum- 
 Btantial, and he was so positive as to its ac- 
 curacy, that the officers of justice found it at 
 once, and thundered for admittance without a 
 moment's hesitation ; but the sturdy strokes 
 which they beat upon the door only produced a 
 long-sustamed echo as they died slowly away in 
 the distance ; and when at length their impor- 
 tunity excited the attention of the neighbors, an 
 old crone, closely muffled in a scarf of blue and 
 white checked linen, tottered forth from one of 
 the most squalid-looking tenements of the 
 wretched street, and delivered up the key of 
 the empty house, with an assurance that it had 
 been long uninhabited ; and that her son, who 
 was pursuing his trade in one of the Archipela- 
 gan islands, and whose patrimony it was, desired 
 with all his heart to dispose of it, even at a loss. 
 
 The followers of the cadi left the withered 
 woman to pour forth her information to the half 
 dozen individuals whom the outcry in the street 
 had attracted, and rushed through the entrance- 
 court into the desolate gallery beyond. But 
 they discovered no object in any one of the 
 empty and mouldering apartments which bore 
 testimony to the truth of the merchant's story. 
 
 Weather-stained walls — faded frescoes, peel- 
 ing from the neglected ceilings — doors hanging 
 loosely upon broken hinges — and casements 
 from which the perished lattices were dropping 
 in fragments — were about them in every direc- 
 tion, but not a trace of recent inhabitation was 
 perceptible ; and, after having traversed the 
 whole building, and searched every room and 
 gallery, tliey were compelled to vacate the 
 premises with a firm conviction that the mer- 
 chant had misled them, and had altogether mis- 
 taken the locality of his disgrace. 
 
 But it was not so : and during the interval 
 which succeeded ere the enraged and baffled 
 Suleiman had regained the use of his feet, and 
 was once more enabled to visit the subterranean, 
 many a jest and jibe of which he was the sub- 
 
 i'ect, had lightened the tedium of the prison- 
 arem ; and more than once had Hafiz twined 
 about his head the costly calemkier,* in which 
 he had enacted the Pasha's wife ; and practised 
 before the anali (or hand-mirror) of the treache- 
 rous Helmas Hanoum the same languishing 
 grimaces witli which he had favored her un- 
 happy husband. 
 
 Well might the youtliful lov£r exult over the 
 success of his treacherous artifices — for five of 
 the seven locks were now unloosed, and more 
 than iialf his adventurous task was accom- 
 plished! 
 
 * Painted handkerchief. 
 
 CHAPTER XVTIL 
 
 THE SEVEN DOORS CONTINUED. 
 
 SuLEniAN was one morning descending to the 
 vault, when, as he was turning the key of the 
 last door which separated him from the prison- 
 chamber, he was startled by the sounds of 
 violent contention ; and he paused for a few 
 seconds ere he entered, in order to acquaint 
 himself with the cause of the outer}-. High and 
 shrill rose the voice of his young wife, but "higher 
 and shriller still were the tones of Zcinip ; and 
 the amazement of the merchant was extreme 
 when he discovered that that the gentle Helmas 
 Hanoum was actuallj- in anger against her long- 
 favored attendant ; and that the pampered ne-' 
 gress, forgetful of all the indulgence and kind- 
 ness of her mistress, was casting back every re- 
 proach, and retorting every injurious epithet. 
 Had Suleiman seen a purse of gold upon his 
 path, he could not have been more rejoiced! A 
 quiet smile played about his lip, and he stroked 
 down his beard with'a gesture of complacency 
 and self-gratulation truly enviable. Novi every 
 mystery would be unravelled; if, indeed, as he 
 was still sometimes inclined to suspect, the ten- 
 ants of his pretty prison were privy to all his 
 annoyances. A quarrel between the conspira- 
 tors would necessarily involve discovery; for 
 what angry woman ever kept the secret of her 
 adversary ? Thus the merchant listened with 
 all his ears ; and the contention continued long 
 enough to convince him that the belligerents 
 would show each other no quarter when his 
 appearance aftbrded to them the opportunity 
 of revenging their imaginary wrongs. 
 
 But with all his powers of hearing on the 
 stretch, Suleiman could not gather amid the vio- 
 lence of the quarrel a single sentence tending to 
 throw any light upon the subject on which he 
 was anxious to be better informed; and, accord- 
 ingly, making a great rattling with the stupend- 
 ous bunch of keys that he carried in his hand, 
 he \iltimatel_y threw back the door, and stood 
 befoi'e the flushed and furious women, who 
 seemed well nigh exliausted by the violence of 
 their contest. 
 
 I shall not stop to detail the torrent of words 
 by whicii the merchant was assailed : suffice it, 
 that one plucked him by the sleeve, and that 
 the other twitched him by the robe — that one 
 pulled him one way, and the other dragged him 
 the other — that one screamed into his riglitear, 
 and the other into his left. — that they teazed, tor- 
 mented, and almbst terrified him, ere he could 
 produce the slightest appearance of peace, and 
 make himself master of the very obscure and, 
 mystified cause of contention. 
 
 Strange and startling inferences had escaped! 
 both fi-om the lady and her .attendant, as th«' 
 war of words went on ; and ever and anon th€ 
 merchant imagined that he had glimpses of a, 
 mystery which he would fain have fathomed; 
 biit even as he seemed about to grasp it, it eluded', 
 him, and he remained fully as bewildered as 
 ever. 
 
 In vain did he attempt to pacify his fair and 
 furious wife — she was resolved — she might be P; 
 prisoner — he might deprive her of the light o: 
 
TlIK ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 heaven, and the free air which was the heritage 
 of the happy — hut he shouhl not coinpol her to , 
 ishare her dungeon witi» one wiio had become | 
 Ihateful to her. Nay more — if Suleiman lursi.sted 
 in retaining the obnoxious negrcas in iii* service, i 
 fehe determined little beauty threatened him witii ^ 
 ber enduring and unmeasured wrath. Siie 
 should be sold — absolutely sold in the slave- 
 market — -disposed of to tlie best bidiler — banish- 
 ed for ever from all chance of otl'eiuling the eyes { 
 of her irate mistress ; and, despite his better | 
 reason — for, amid all the declamation and vio- 
 lenee of his wife, Suleiman was (juite nnablc to 
 ascertain of what crime Zeinip had actually been 
 juiltj- — he was compelled to acquiesce in all 
 that was required of him, and to promise that 
 be would without delay, purchase a younger 
 and more submissive attendant for his angry 
 belpraate. 
 
 With some difficulty he, however, prevailed 
 
 I the young Hanoum to retain the uegress 
 until he had decided on her successor ; and, 
 having carried this point as an especial favor to 
 himself, he quitted the vault, leaving both the 
 women silent and sulky. 
 
 On the morrow the merchant sauntered to the 
 slave-market ; his brow was clouded, and his 
 humor dark ; for he was too full}- convinced of 
 the powers of elocution possessed by Zeinip, not 
 to feel painfully certain that his prison-harem 
 would atford a fruitful topic for verbal display 
 in the next family of which she became an 
 inmate. Suleiman dreaded ridicule with a most 
 holy dread ; and he actually shivered aa he 
 remembered how legitimate a subject his jeal- 
 ousy had supplied to the discarded negress. 
 But for this evil there was no remedy, save 
 retaining the delinquent in his own service; and 
 ere he reached the enclosure appropriated to tlie 
 
 le of Kurd and Abyssinian slaves, he accord- 
 ingly determined to effect a purchase if possible, 
 ill order to pacify his wife ; and then to propose 
 to her the luxurious alternative of retaining both 
 the slaves in her service. The more the mer- 
 chant pondered on his scheme, the more feasible 
 it appeared ; for he deemed it oidy probable 
 that a storm which had arisen so suddenly, 
 might as suddenly be calmed ; and that the 
 morrow miglit see the di.-graced favorite rein- 
 stated in the good graces of her mistress. The 
 thought was u pleasant one ; and as Suleiman 
 moved on into the centre of the market-court, 
 he passed his hand caressingly down his b'-ard ; 
 for this transient tem|>e8t had at hast proved to 
 him beyond all further doubt, that the extraor- 
 dinary and mysterious annoyances which had 
 lately ruffied him, had not originated in the 
 vault 
 
 Slowly, therefore, and complacently, the mer- 
 chant stepped into the midst of the groiij's who 
 were squatted on their rugs and tnaU< under the 
 broad sun, and laughing out their thoughtlefw- 
 ness as they waited to be purchased. Once or 
 twice he pause<l, attracted by a merry face, or 
 a bright eye ; but he resolved to make the tour 
 of the court ere he conmiitted himself by word 
 or sign ; and accordingly he pursued his way 
 until he stood beside a solitary negri-ss ; who, 
 veiled and clad more decently than the gener- 
 ality of those by whom she was surrouuded, 
 
 appeared to be wholly absorbed by her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 Suleiman started as his eye fell upon her — he 
 paused np<M» his path, and fastened his gaze oa 
 the ajiparently unconscious negress like one 
 fascinated — and tlx-n he silently bcckonecl to an 
 aged, coarse-looking Turk, who was (piietly 
 smoking his chibouque on a faded rersian carpet, 
 a few paces from the slave. 
 
 " She is yours f" said the merchant inrpiiring- 
 ly, as the hoary dealer in human beings dcliber 
 atcly obe3'ed his summons. 
 
 " She is mine," was the brief reply. 
 
 " 1 would sec her," pursued the merchant 
 
 " Allahn es marladek — Allah jireserve you I 
 the Etfendi is lord, and I am his slave," said the 
 owner of the negress, as he pointed to the yash- 
 mac which she wore. "Musna, unveil." 
 
 Without the delay of a moment he was obeyed. 
 The woman unwound the scarf of fair white 
 muslin which had concealed her face, and stood 
 before him with a smile upon Iier lin!». 
 
 " Zeinip 1" exclaimeil the excited Suleiman; 
 but his ejaculation was met by a stolid and un- 
 conscious look from both the slave and her ma»- 
 ter. " Answer me, sister of Sheitan !" he per- 
 sisted, '* answer me for your life, how came you 
 here f" • 
 
 "Amanl" groaned out her owner; but the 
 negress did not move a muscle. 
 
 " Ajaib chay — they are wonders both I" cried 
 the furious Suleiman, turning fiercely on the old 
 man. "Dog! whence came this woman? In 
 what hellish plot have you engaged, that you 
 bring her here to laugh at me to my beard I 
 Are there no laws in Stamboul, that you dare to 
 trifle thus with one who trades in the city, and 
 s|)reails his prayer-carpet in the mosque of St 
 .Sophia? Am 1 a giaour, that you thus defile 
 the grave of my father?" 
 
 " Eh vah — mercy on us 1 What means my 
 lord?" asked the slave owner in his turn : "Is 
 not the woman an Abyssinian? and did I not 
 buy her honestly at the market of Adrianople. 
 When the sun rose this morning, four of them 
 occupied my carpet : the day i« well nigh spent, 
 and Musna alone is left : the rest have foniK, 
 jnirchasers among the Etfemlis of the city. Even 
 she herself slumld have been provided with a 
 new nnister en; this, ha<l I not demaialed n heavy 
 sum for one so well skilled in housewifery. A 
 young gallant ehenpened her only an hour sine^J 
 for the liarem (»f his mother, and we parted for 
 u hundred pitiful piastres — Lo«jk at her, EtVen- 
 dim ; if, indeed, you lack a slave to tend your 
 daughters — and surely, my lord, whose beard is 
 while, hath daughters — lor you will scarcely 
 meet with one so ekilfid in her duties." 
 
 " llaif! haif! — shame! shame I" impatiently 
 interposed Suleiman: "1 tell yi>ii, roiru.- and 
 juggler as you arc, that the slave is already 
 mine, ami I dare her to deny it." 
 
 " Aman I aman ! — alas ! alas I" sighed the old 
 man in his turn, affecting a look of deei) con- 
 cern : " would that the stricken one could obey 
 your biilding." 
 
 " What mean you, hoary sinner?" ihtnanded 
 his angry listener: " ne oldou — what hus hap- 
 pened? I am wcory of this folly, i»ud can bear 
 no more." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM, 
 
 " On my soul be it;" answered the slave-dealer, 
 \rith a gesture of deep humility, -wliile the 
 Degress calmly' and deliberately readjusted her 
 veil : " Who shall murmur against the decrees 
 of Allah, and the -will of the holy prophet? 
 Were it not so, the piasters liad been mine, and 
 I had long ere this shaken the dust of the city 
 streets from my feet — Musna is skilful in the 
 harem, and ready at the bath ; but my lord bids 
 her speak, and she cannot obey him — she is 
 Bwift of foot, and -willing of hand, but worsd 
 are denied her — Musna is dumb 1 
 
 The merchant looked incredulous, and his re- 
 Bolution was taken at once. " Bosh der — it is 
 nothing;" he said hastily; "even thus I will 
 purchase her — name your price, and ifyou be 
 neither a Jew nor a Giaour, the slave is mine." 
 
 "The Etlendi will pardon me that I intrude 
 on his privacy;" said a detested voice close to 
 the elbow of the exasperated Suleiman ; " I come 
 but to pay over to Mustafa a few hundreds of 
 piastres for an Abyssinian slave, and I will im- 
 mediately retire. Insliallah ! the purses are true, 
 and the negress is mine, is it not so, Mustafa ?" 
 And llafiz turned to the old man, Avho was erf- 
 gaged in counting the money, which he had put 
 into his hand. 
 
 "khe is yours;" said Mustafa gravely; and 
 motLoning to the negress to follow her new mas- 
 ter, he was about to address the shawl-merchant, 
 when he was interrupted by an angry exclama- 
 ' tion, as Suleiman flung himself across the path 
 of the slave, and dared her to follow the sou of 
 Najib. 
 
 But the dumb wdman, apparently unsuspici- 
 ous of his meaning, merely moved aside, and 
 made her way to the gate by a less direct line ; 
 while Hafiz, with a light laugh, affected to treat 
 the interference of Suleiman as a jest, and said 
 gaily as he moved away ; " The Ett'endi may be 
 right in deeming my bargain a poor one ; but 
 my mother hath already many about her wlio 
 have the gift of speech, and to her it will be 
 little drawback that I bring her one who cannot 
 add to the outcry." 
 
 The shawl-merchant literally gasped for 
 breath ; he dared not offer any open violence, 
 nor detain the woman by force, lest he should 
 be seized by the kavashlir,* as a disorderly per- 
 son, and hurried before the cadi ; while, mingled 
 with his rage, came an intrusive memory of his 
 former mistake, when he made a prisoner of the 
 slave Semsi, who had doubtlessly amused her 
 mischievous mistress, and the wliole harem, with 
 an embellished version of his jealous}-, and of 
 the hints which in his anger he hud inadvertent- 
 ly suffered to escape him. Under these circum- 
 stances he considered it more expedient to per- 
 mit the departure of the mysterious negress and 
 her purclwiser ; and to endeavor, tliis time at 
 least, to entrap them ere they had leisure to re- 
 joice over the suceees of their new scheme, 
 should thcv indeed be wound up in the web of 
 his annoyances. 
 
 But tlic felech — the constellation of Suleiman 
 was adverse. An araba, drawn up by the side 
 of the street, received the slave ; and the driver, 
 having bent for an instant towards llafiz, 
 
 * PoUce of the city. 
 
 ' who gave his directions in so low a voice aa t« 
 , be inaudible to the bystanders, drove off at a 
 pace as rapid as the defective pavement would 
 permit 
 
 The result requires little explanation ; for the 
 speed of the merchant was no match for that 
 of the carriage ; and when he at length reached 
 the vault, he was more vexed than surprised to 
 be half deafened by the peals of laughter which 
 resounded through the subterranean ^ and to find 
 the lady and her attendant in the full flow of 
 confidence and hilarity. 
 
 " Effendim," commenced the merchant stern, 
 ly ; "I have purchased for you a new slave, who 
 Avill be with you to-morrow ; and I have trans- 
 ferred Zeinip, at some pecuniary loss, to a Cte- 
 sarian merchant, who has been "deputed to sup- 
 ply the wives of the Fasha of the Dardanelles 
 with four attendants. To-night, therefore, she 
 will remain in the vault, but at dawn her new 
 muster will be here to claim her. 
 
 " Oghour ola— heaven speed you ! that were 
 a tale worth telling ;" laughed his wife. " Know 
 j-ou so little of a woman's nature as to believe 
 that she will nurse her wrath for so many hours? 
 If you take Zeinip from me I shall fall sick ; I 
 will neither touch myzebec, nor sing the ballads 
 to which you love to listen. See'then if you 
 wish to part \\s." 
 
 The merchant ground his teeth, and all his 
 doubts and suspicions came back upon him — but 
 he was powerless; and profiting by past ex- 
 perience he resolved to affect an inditference 
 which he was far from feeling ; and to endeavor, 
 by appealing unconscious that any mystifica- 
 tion was intended, to throw the eonspiratora 
 off their guard, and thus take them in their own 
 toils. 
 
 Acting upon this somewhat tardy resolution,' 
 Suleiman smoothed his ruffled brow, called a 
 smile to his rigid lips, and gave a ready assent 
 to his wife's new arrangement, to the no small 
 astonishment of his tormentors, who were pre- 
 pared for an obstinate opposition. Andsolong, 
 indeed, did he linger in the vault, that the pretty 
 llanoum began to fear that the patience of llnfiz 
 would fairly fail him ore the departure of her 
 incomprehensible husband I 
 
 At length, liowever, Suleiman departed, quite 
 unconscious of the next and final surprise which 
 awaited him ; and when he was out of liearing, 
 llafiz sprang laughingly through the chasm, and 
 bounded into the centre of the floor. 
 
 '* Joy I joy I" he exclaimed, as the young 
 beauty rose from the sofa to receive him : "six 
 of the doors are conquered — six of the locks are 
 shivered — six of the keys are lost — and for the 
 seventh, my sultana — for the .seventh and the 
 last, we have an easy remedy. The araba yet 
 waits which brought our hiithful Zeinip from the 
 slave-market, where she played her part like the 
 favorite of a padishah* — the caique dances on 
 the rijiple at the pier that juts into the harbor 
 beside ' The Gate' .f the Garden' — that trusty 
 caique which is to bear us across into Asia; 
 there all is jjrepared for our flight ; and when 
 once we have reached tlie mountains, we may , 
 defy all the jealous husbands inSlamboul. Bull 
 
 ' An Kinperor. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 ijroo weep, my houri ! Light of my eyes and ; who look for it, than appcnrfl upon tlio surface, 
 jihadow of my existence — do j-ou regret that j The gold-scckors do not ciirrv uwav in their 
 Ijrour word is pledged?" | vessoia tlio water of the stream", bnt tliey wnah 
 
 For a moment the weeping Ilanoura made no ' the eund when they would find the ort. 
 
 her woman-spirit quailed for an instant ; I " Yaviish, yavasii — softly, nofllv ;" said the 
 ut her resolution was taken ; and, placing her satrap : " we care not for any thing further than 
 
 Find in that of her lover, she turned on him 
 lile, in whose light her tears were forgotten. 
 Zeinip, laeanwhile, was busying lio/self among 
 
 the fable it^elf- 
 one to sleep. 
 • hi; 
 
 -the moral is but beng" — it sets 
 
 * Your highness drinks of the mirage, like 
 pe wardrobe of her mistress^ when she brought ' one who wanders in the desert;" interpiised K»- 
 |i golden bracelet, a eaehemire shawl, and a box j tinka ; "the tale that 1 have told is no fable ; 
 j)f essence ; the prayer-cloth in which Ilatizhad and the lovers yet live." 
 
 pnaet^d the kneelingslave — the head-dress that " IVk ahi — it is well done ;" said the Pasha 
 ae had worn as the Pasha's wife, and the dark I yawning: " As for the merchant, he was a do- 
 jeridjhe in which she had herself figured in the j mous— a hog; and they spiced his dolrnas for 
 lave-market — and having laid them separately j him after a wise fashion ; but you have mensur- 
 ipon the table, she disturbed the tete-;\-tetc of j ed your tale with a mitkal.f and have filled it 
 ne lovers, to remind them that her portion of to overllowitig, for the night has grown on us 
 he comedy was concluded. since you began it. Had it not been a good 
 
 E "Mashailah! our good Zeinip hath more pru- , story, you would have been cramming our 
 lenee than we can boast, my sultana;" exclaim- mouths with hashish ;}: but it has truly been as 
 d Hafiz; " we waste moments that we can ill light as the air-bng of a camel, g and our eyelids 
 
 pare — here are six of our successful engines — 
 >nd here" — and as he spoke he took from amid 
 he folds of his girdle seven keys, six of which 
 
 are scarcely yet weigiied down 
 
 It \yas, as the Satrap had remarked, wearing 
 deep into the night ; and when sweetmeats ana 
 le broke deliberately one after the other, and j eoJiee had agajn been been served, he descended 
 dded to the separate heaps — one only remained f'om the sofa, resumed his papooshes, and re- 
 ntire, and that he laid alone and apart, turned to the salemliek, leaving the two frienda 
 
 "Sun of my sky!" he murmured, as the muf- 1 once more together, 
 led Hanoum prepared to follow him through ! . " 1 tcannot sleep, khatoun ;" said the Circaa- 
 be subterranean ; "Tchabouk, tchabouk, gide- j sian : " your tale, merry as it was. has troubled 
 m — quick, quick, let us go — our sands are gold | »ie. Have we not been laughing at the Pasha 
 ntil we have left Stamloul behind us— tliey | to his beard 1" 
 
 mst not run to waste ; and back, janum — see, I " li's highness would not listen to the moral, 
 ly soul! he who was your husband at least jnnum ;" i'«^plied the laugiiing Greek ; " his wit, 
 wes me one debt of gratitude — for I have left I I'ke the piety of a santon, sonielimos sleeps, and 
 im a goodly key with which to secure the 1'^ cares not to have it awakened. He will 
 oor of his pretty prison-cage, when his bird is dream pleasant dreams on his sofa to-night — 
 own!" ^"'"e not for him, but rather let up pass into the 
 
 garden, and breathe the sweet air of the lime- 
 blossoms; for my brain tiirobs with fatigue, 
 and the soft odors of the tlowers will calm iu 
 pulses." 
 
 A fond smile was the only answer, as the 
 Circassian thrust her small feet intolur embroi- 
 dered slippers, and led the way to the palace- 
 terrace. Thence they descended, by a flight of 
 marble 8tei>s, into the parterre ; aiid having 
 lingered awhile beside the basin, to see the 
 scales of the gold fish with which it was filled 
 glitter in the moonlight, they slowly entered tl»« 
 lime-avenue. 
 
 The night wind was making gentle minstrelsy 
 
 with the leaves, and the flowers were jiouiing 
 
 themselves out in perfume, while the full of the 
 
 I many fountains came soothingly to the ear, and 
 
 And what becam«of the kiupek— the dog of completed the luxury of the hour. 
 
 iisbandr demanded the lauKhing Carimfil ' ","''* '" "'O'"*-'"** "ke these," said Kalinka, 
 
 as the two ladles flung themselves down uuioiig 
 the cushions which a slave who followed them 
 heaped above a I'ersian carpet, under u sUil« v 
 tulip-tree; "moments of external calm, win. 
 the moonlight seems to .slumber on the beaulifu. 
 bosom of the earth, that the n.-ihes of the past 
 'sweep in clouds over the soul. Curimfil, does 
 
 PART III. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 By the soul of the Prophet 'tis a good story !" 
 xelairaed Saifula Pasha ; " I know not when I 
 ave heard a better ! But was not Suleiman 
 le shawl-merchant an ass, and the father of 
 5ses, to let his beard be plucked out, handful 
 y handful, by a pair of plotting women, and a 
 "ripling? Allah buyuk der— Allah is great; 
 e could have had no more wit than a drome- 
 ary " 
 
 laughing Carimfil 
 ianoum: " Diil he keep his next harem above 
 le earth, or did he try the same experiment a 
 scond time ?" 
 
 " History makes no further mention of him ;" 
 ipliod the young fJreek, with assumed gravity. 
 What should it tell of a man who had jilaced 
 is reliance on seven morsels of metal, when he 
 ight have been safer by far hail he trusted to 
 ppearances from the first, and not taken to his 
 ouse the promised wife of another? Tliere is 
 better moral in ray story, kadeun ;" she eon- 
 'nued, turning towards the Circassian, " to those 
 
 • A narcotic. t Turki«h mcuuro. J A nircolie. 
 
 ^ When these anim&lii ora dutrsMFd on their }>«Ma;t 
 through the donert, lh«)r blow from ihoir inouthi a li(;ht 
 blood-iiDtcd ikm which prescxYM Ibom from lh» Aouiog 
 Ukod. 
 
THE RO^IANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 not yoTir spirit fall back upon the days when, 
 loved and loving, as woman loves and is loved 
 but once, your arm wi'eathed in that of Anas- 
 tatius, you wandered, surrounded by an atmo- 
 sphei-e of dcligiit, among the scented groves and 
 beside the sparkling streams of your delicious 
 land? When the words of your chosen one rose 
 on the air like perfume ; and the light of his 
 eyes outslione the watcliing moon ! Are the ties 
 ■which bind you to the Moslem so holy as those 
 ■which linked you to your first love? The chains 
 may be golden, but still they are mere fetters ; 
 and the free spirit sickens beneath constraint." 
 
 " Of what avail, sister of my soul, are such 
 inquiries?" asked the Circassian in reply; "kis- 
 met — it is my fate ! You have but to look on 
 my dim eye and my faded cheek, and to remem- 
 ber what I once was, to feel how little all this 
 splendor has touched my heart, though I have 
 been compelled to bow before the power of my 
 constellation. Could I purchase with a year of 
 this empty and profitless profusion one hour 
 such at those to which you have just alluded, 
 how gladly would I crush all my future life into 
 a few short days, and live it out at once in 
 happiness 1" 
 
 "Natone — there it is !" retorted the young 
 Greek ; " your heart plays the rebel, and yet 
 youatfect to feel horror at the thought of eman- 
 cipating yourself from your present thrall* Think 
 you, that once more free, I would waste an hour 
 m the harem of the Moslem, were it not from 
 the conviction that the day is not far distant, 
 ■when — " 
 
 " Nay, nay, no more of this to-night ;" mur- 
 mured the Ilanoum, as she turned aside her 
 head, and her tears glittered in the moonlight ; 
 " my dreams are already evil, and yet I sorrow 
 to awaken. The deep and hopeless grief to 
 whicli I wiis a prey ere your arrival has been 
 exchanged for an anguish far more acute, and 
 yet to which I cling as tliough it were a joy." 
 
 Katinka smiled, and for a time there Avas 
 silence, while tlie Circassian was left to her own 
 thouglits, from which she started suddenlj-, and 
 turning towards lier companion, asked anxious- 
 ly ; " How will you contrive to inform him that 
 ■we are liere ?" 
 
 " Am I not a Greek ?"' demanded Katinka ; 
 " sorrow has taught me subtlety. Ere this he 
 must be on his way." 
 
 A gush of tears from the beautiful Circassian 
 replied to the intimation, as she threw lierself 
 upon the bosom of her friend, and wept aloud. 
 
 " Why, this is idle, khatoun 1" said the Greek, 
 soothingly; " your fate is in your own 'hands ; 
 you have but to bid me drive him hence, and he 
 ■will obey you, and carry his broken heart to his 
 own land. 
 
 " He has perchance forgotten me" — sobbed 
 out the fair Carimfil. 
 
 " Do tlie flowers forget the sun, or the lake 
 the moonlight ? Come they not at the appointed 
 hour? V/hercforQ then should j'ou, who are 
 brighter than the flowers, and fairer than the 
 mooidight, doubt that your lover will fly to 
 your feet wlien he is summoned tliere ?" 
 
 The argument was unanswerable ; for there is 
 no consolation so satisfactory to a pretty woman 
 OS that which is deduced from her own beauty ; 
 
 and although in the present instance, the fair 
 mourner asked no further assurance of her lov- 
 er's probable advent, she began to consider it as 
 less doubtful than it had appeared a moment 
 back ; and it was consequently with a bright 
 smile that she listened to a thousand trifling, 
 but, to her, interesting details, which her com- 
 panion poured into her willing ear as the time 
 went by unheeded. The attendant daves, who 
 occupied a mat a short distance from their 
 mistresses, had long fallen asleep, lulled by the 
 plashing waters and the sighing wind ; but the 
 dreams of the two friends were waking dreams, 
 rendered the more delightful from a sense of 
 their reality. 
 
 Katinka was the first to remark tliat the sha- 
 dows were growing shorter and fainter, and the 
 night almost spent. 
 
 ''We are playing truant strangely from our 
 gilded cage ;' she said, as she pressed her lips to 
 the brow of her companoin ; " and may chance 
 to prove our imprudence to-morrow by our suf- 
 fering — and lest we should have already incur- 
 red this penalty, I will, ere we leave the gar- 
 den, sing to you a song which you must well 
 remember, for it was a tribute to your own 
 bright eyes, in one of the laughing hours when 
 our visions were only of joy. You cannot have 
 forgotten it — for I, who did but smile because 
 you were happy, can yet see the minstrel, seated 
 at your feet, beneath a cedar-tree, his mandoliu 
 in his hand, and his gaze riveted on the brow 
 
 of his beloved. Listen " and she swept the 
 
 strings of her zebec, and sung her wild ballad to 
 a melody which is sometimes the accompani- 
 ment of the graceful Romaika. 
 
 SONG OF THE GREEK LOVER. 
 
 I've heard of isles beyond the sea, 
 
 "Where summer neither fails nor fades, 
 ■Where leaves are ever on the tree, 
 
 Wliere verdure ever clothe^ the glades— 
 I've heard of birds so gay and bright. 
 
 That as they hover round the lioAvers 
 Whose blossoms woo the noonday light. 
 
 They look like fair and flying flowers. 
 
 I've heard of coral caves, beneath 
 
 The heaving bosom of the ocean ; 
 "Where many a sea-nymph twines her wreath, 
 And warbles out with tuneful breath, 
 
 Iler young and beautiful emotion — 
 I've heard ot iiiouniains bleak and bare, 
 
 Shaming with barrenness the vision, 
 Which yet embosom'd gems as rare 
 
 As ever shone in halls Elysian. 
 
 I've heard of fountain goddesses, 
 
 "With drooping head and flowing curls, 
 Who. in their liquid boddices, 
 
 Whene'er they wept, shed tears of pearla— 
 I've heard of Krial spirits, flitting 
 
 In beauty through the summer beam; 
 I've heard of river nymphs, calm sitting 
 
 Beside some leaf-embower'd stream. 
 
 In short, I've heard of many things. 
 All beautiful, and bright, and free; 
 
 And 'mid these fond imaginings, 
 Lady, my thoughts have flown to thee 1 
 
 I take the sunshine of the isles, 
 
 Those homes of everlasting spring ; 
 And as 1 coin them into smiles. 
 
 Upon thy brow those smiles I fling. 
 And the bright birds ! 1 lend their grace, 
 
 Their buoyancy, and happy voices. 
 To thy glad tones, and that fair face. 
 
 Which every lieart and eye rejoices ', 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE IIAIIOL 
 
 49 
 
 But when I come ti nymphs and fayt, 
 
 To goddesses, and sprites celestial, 
 I drop all meiapliori.: lays. 
 
 And ihank the I'.ites that thou'rt tenettrial I 
 For in thy young and sparkling beauty 
 
 Thou axt to me more lair hj far, 
 Than it"l tendered mere lip duty, 
 
 To thee in semblance of a star. 
 
 i'es. rather would I wreathe around thee 
 A garlaid of each tlower that blows, 
 
 Than have to lell that i had found thee 
 A sprite, soft sleeping in a rose — 
 
 And 'twere far pleasanter with thee 
 O'er gem-iined rocks to climb and climber. 
 
 Than tiiine enchanted form to see 
 
 Enclosed within a wall of amber. 
 
 Thus then, though idly I may dream, 
 
 And liken thee to things celestial ; 
 I say acain— I love thy beam 
 
 The better that it is terrestrial I 
 
 " Ah! well indeed do I remember it!" ex- 
 aimed Carimfil llauoimi, elasping her hands 
 assionately ; but it was now the turn of the 
 oung Greek to preacli prudence, and to urge 
 le necessity of returning to the house. 
 
 " Sleepless e\-es will be dim ;" she said, smil- 
 igly; "and late vigils make a dull harem; 
 lere are j-et some liours to the dawn : let us 
 I, and to rest while we may, kadeun ; it is now 
 H) late alike for smiles or tears." 
 
 In half an hour the harem of Saifula Pasha 
 as buried in sleep. 
 
 CIIAI^TER XX. 
 
 Meanwhile, a more active scene was trans- 
 iting elsewhere. A Tatar, who had been pro- 
 isely recompensed, was despatched to Circassia, 
 » the dwelling of the young merchant, Anasta- 
 us Maniolopolo, with a scroll of parchment, in- 
 ribed with delicate Greek characters. The 
 issive was received with a doliglit which won 
 >lden acknowledgments of hi* fidelity from the 
 ver; who asked not by whom it iiad been in- 
 ■uated to him, but retained his services as his 
 guide on his journey to the province of .">ai- 
 ila I'asha. A .'iliort time sutrKid for the ar- 
 ngement of liis alfairs, wliicli h" placed undt-r 
 le superintend'-nce of a Greek friend: and liulf 
 ild with the joy of fimling his sister still in iif.-, 
 hen he had so long wepl her as dead ; and of 
 arning the imdimini.--hed affection of the beau- 
 ful girl to whom he had given lus heart ; he 
 ide adieu to Circassia, accomparried by Safii, 
 8 Tatar guide, without having fram.-d one 
 asible plan fur the rif;ulation of hi-* future [>ro- 
 ledings; and contented, in the first ru^h of iiis 
 ilight, to breathe the same air as bis loved 
 les, and to trust to liis happy fate for tlie 
 ture. 
 
 Ana-statius Maniolopolo was, perhaps, in tlu' 
 ost enviable frame of mind, as he galloped his 
 jet steed among the mountains, to wiiich man 
 tn attain in this world : carelcgs of the jiust, 
 ijoying the present, and without a fear for the 
 ture! Had not the dead come to life, and the 
 at one been found ? Why then should he 
 read what was to follow ? She would fly with 
 LDi — she would leave her gilded prison, and 
 4 
 
 once more live over again in his company thoM 
 glorious hours which the horrors of war liad 
 terminated so abruptly. 
 
 Such were his thoughts, as, followed by Safii 
 the Tatar, he reached on tlie second day of hi« 
 journey a lovely valley, lying like a huge emer- 
 ald at the mountain-foot, and traverse.! hy a fair 
 stream, which, fed by a spring in the "higher 
 lands, and falling in a natural cascade down the 
 face of the rock, formed in the bottom a lovely 
 river flowing above party-colored nebl)le8 and 
 sparkling sand, and over-arched at intervals by 
 groups of forest trees, among which the stately 
 and unibrtigeous maple and the delicate weep- 
 ing birch were conspicuous ; while tufts of mi- 
 mosa and henna bushes, with their minute blos- 
 soms, as white and as sweet as the flowers of 
 the jasmine, made the air l)almy with their fra- 
 grance. Storks and cranes flew over their 
 heads, and numbers of pheasants rested among 
 the branches of the tall trees, which were also 
 vocal with singing birds. The wild vine flung 
 its leafy garlands from stem to stem, and the 
 grapes were hanging from it in blushing clusters, 
 wooing the hand of the travellers. Numbers of 
 the Jerhuah or leaping mice,* common in the 
 country, were sporting on the banks of the 
 river; and the turf beneath the trees was en- 
 amelled with flowers. 
 
 It was a scene that Benuzzeer, the Persian 
 Claude, would have loved to paint ; and here 
 the travellers sprang from their saddles, in order 
 to enjoy tlieir noontide meal upon the grass; 
 and while Safii was kindling a fire, and prepar- 
 ing their repast, the lover walked apart on the 
 margin of the stream, and lost himself in visions 
 of delight, such as could only be realized in IV 
 ristan. 
 
 The sun, riding in mid course, fell 1)rilliantly 
 on every surrounding object, and rendered the 
 freshness of the running water, and the coolness 
 of tlie long grass beneath the trees, <loubly re- 
 freshing; and it was not until he had been twice 
 summoned by his hungry companion, that Man- 
 iolo]iolo abandoned his tielicious revery, to mio- 
 ister to the gros*r necessities of existence. 
 
 And even then, when the repast was spread 
 oiit before him, tiie young Greek could scarcely 
 [ withdraw his eyes from the glorious landscape ; 
 I his heart overflowed with happiness, and Na- 
 ture seemed to sympathize in liis joy ; while all 
 I around was so thoroughly in unison with the 
 ; iiarmony and elasticity ofhis own feelings, that 
 i Maniolopolo did but scant justice to the meal, to 
 j w hich his companion was paying homage as 
 ; devout as ev.r (Jhebre lavished ujwn the suercd 
 flame of his faith. 
 
 It was almost with regret that the young 
 Greek once more ro.se from his fair and frngniMt 
 resting-place, and prepared to resunie liis 
 journey. Hut the remeiuhnmce of the beiiuiiful 
 Carimfil pien^ed throngli the mists of memory 
 like a bright star; and as ho vaulted into hiS 
 
 • The Jerhuah (otherwiie Gerboa) or lespinK monta et 
 CircaMia, ii aluo a natire of Northern Africa. Nubia, and 
 Keypt ; It is about the lize of a squirrel, letrgrd like* 
 kangaroo, and has long eart ; it hax a hubit of laying ita 
 tail flat upon it« back, and leaping to a eooiJerabU 
 height or diitanoa ; from which peculiarity it dcrivo* ita 
 naia*. 
 
60 
 
 THE R0ilA2>-CE OF THE mVEEM. 
 
 saddle, and struck the sharp spur into the flank 
 of his flt-et-footed Arab, tlie name of his young 
 lore was ou his lips, and hope again buoyant 
 in his heart 
 
 " My lord loves this fair scene ;" said Safil, as, 
 after a brief space, the young lover once more 
 checked his gallant horse, and gazed around 
 him ; " and in truth it looks as though Joy had 
 built her nest among its branches, and Love 
 rocked her first-born on the river-blossoms : and 
 yet, I have heard a darker tale told of as smil- 
 ing a valley as this: a tale in which the muddy 
 toiTcnt of 'misery overflowed the bright plain 
 of youth, and the rude hand of violence clasped 
 the mantle of helplessness : — but, after all, what 
 are these fables of past times? are they not 
 bosh — nothing." 
 
 " Jv'ay, not so, Safii ;" replied Maniolopolo ; 
 " there is much to be learnt from the legends of 
 the massaldjhis, if we only read them aright. 
 Tell me this tale as we ascend the mountain ; it 
 will beguile the waj'." 
 
 The Tatar smiled; and having flung the 
 bridle on the neck of his steed, at once complied, 
 with the air of one who feels that he is con- 
 ferring a benefit 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE TATARS TALK. 
 
 In the famous city of Schamachie, the capital 
 of the province of Schirwan in Persia, lived a 
 merchant named Ali, who, from his immense 
 wealth, was considered as a second Karoon.* 
 He traded with the Franks in raw and wrought 
 silks, and the wove cottons of the West; with 
 the Muscovite dealers in furs, leathers, and 
 metals ; with the Tatars in horses ; and with 
 the JeAvs — may their father's graves be defiled ! 
 — in gold and silver, brocades and weapons, 
 woollen goods and tapestry: in short, there was 
 no caravan passed in or out of the city in which 
 the merchant Ali had not a large venture ; and 
 BO favored was he by the Prophet that he 
 seemed to live only to prove the fallacy of the 
 proverb, which says that, for every pearl of 
 price that sees the sun, the diver must descend 
 a score 'of times to the bottom of the ocean. Cer- 
 tain it is that, as often as he dipped his right 
 hand into the bowl of fortune, he drew up the 
 gem from the depth. 
 
 Moreover, the merchant had a son — a youth 
 of pride and promise ; and of a disposition so 
 gentle that it seemed as though he had been 
 nursed by the Peris, and fed with the honey- 
 dew that the early bee rifles from the rose. 
 Even as the azure veil of the firmament hides 
 the ten thousand houris who live amid the sun- 
 beams, so did his modesty conceal from all, save 
 a chosen few, the divine perfections of his na- 
 ture. 
 
 Mohammed, for that was his name, was one 
 day walking in the pleasant and fertile environs 
 of the cit}-, musing over the ruined wall of the 
 southern quarter which was so demolished by 
 
 • Th« Croisut of the £ut. 
 
 Shah Abbas, and sighing in the gentleness of 
 his spirit at the cruel eftects of violence, when 
 the slowly sinking sun, pillowing its golden 
 brow on its cushion of crimson and purple, 
 warned him to return to the house of his father 
 in time for the evening m^al. 
 
 As he passed slowly along one of the narrow- 
 est and least frequented streets of the city, his 
 ear was suddenly outraged by the voice of an- 
 guish ; and advancing anxiously in the quarter 
 whence it came, he saw an old man of stern 
 aspect, who, with ferocious gestures, was urging 
 on the wall's guard to tear a young and beautiful 
 female, whose veil had escaped in the struggle, 
 from the arms of her aged parent, while sha 
 rent the vault of heaven with cries and suppU- 
 cations. 
 
 Mahommed sprang forward like the light- 
 hoofed deer before the tread of the hunter, and 
 at once inquired the cause of this iron-hearted 
 violence ; as the maiden turned aside her grace- 
 ful head with a blush which threw a new sun- 
 light over her beauty. The story was soon 
 told. The father of the young houri was the 
 debtor of the hoary sinner who stood by, en- 
 forcing this deed of darkness: and his child was. 
 about to be torn from him, and sold into slavery, 
 in default of other payment. 
 
 The voice of sorrow was soon turned into' that 
 of joy, and the happy father laid the forehead 
 of thanksgiving in the dust of gratitude, as Mo- 
 hammed, out of the abundance of his generosity, 
 paid down the required sum, and freed the 
 beautiful Zohara* from the grasp of her captor. 
 But, alas! the son of Hali had but transferred 
 the chain of slavery to his own heart ; and when,, 
 in obedience to the old man's prayer, he passed 
 the threshold of the father of Zohara, and saw 
 her mother weeping at his knees, while the 
 maiden herself stood by in her young loveliness, 
 partially shrouding her face in the folds of her 
 robe, he felt that the sun and moon of his earth- 
 ly sky would hereafter be the eyes of the fair 
 creature whom he had rescued. It was true 
 that at present the mists of sorrow obscured the' 
 sunbeams of beauty, but Zohara was like tlie' 
 water-lily which is ever the loveliest in it« 
 tears: and as the young man quitted tiie roof 
 to which he had now restored happiness, he' 
 felt that an arrow was in his heart, whieli he, 
 sought not to pluck sut. 
 
 Mohammed had studied like a moullah in tht' 
 colleges for which Schamachie has so long beei 
 famous, and the boasted sciences of the Franks 
 were no more than atoms in the beams of hii 
 knowledge ; but from this time forth he sheath 
 ed the briglit spear of study in the breast of im' 
 dolence, and wandered during whole days besidt, 
 the streams of the valley, or beneath the sha 
 dows of the forest-boughs, weaving sweet fancici 
 of which the fair Zohara was ever the brilliaiif 
 subject 
 
 Such a passion as this could end only in mar 
 riage: and it was not long ere Mohammed, tli 
 son of the wealthy Hali, asked for his bride th' 
 daughter of the pennyless Tinisah, whose world 
 ly possessions would not have loaded the weak' 
 est-backed camel in the city. It is not difficul 
 
 Morning SUr. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 61 
 
 to imagine how be was nnswored ; and while 
 the mother of the young nmii was piopariiig to 
 receive the wife of lier son, lu- piijisoil wliolo 
 hours beside her, gazing on hor frisii ohook. 
 where nature had crushed its roses to paint tiic 
 fairest skin that ever Hushed at praise ; and 
 into her deep eyes, where tiio liffht seemed to 
 slumber, save when his smile ealled it forth in 
 living fire. Graceful was she as the safsaf. and 
 fawn-like aa the light-footed maidens of Singol ; 
 Iwhile her voice was low and sweet as the night- 
 rwind among the tombs of the early dead. 
 
 R^chid Aga was the friend of Mohammed ; 
 
 [they clung together like double pomegranates ; 
 
 land, in the exuberance of his joy, the unwar}' 
 
 [young man poured into the ear" of his chosen 
 
 lassociate the tale of his approaching happiness. 
 
 JRechid listened, and a wild wish grew in his 
 
 >ul, and poisoned it like the breath of the upas. 
 
 he painted wings of vanity were folded about 
 
 is heart ; and. as he curie J his dark and glossy 
 
 eard over his fingers, he began to ask himself 
 
 herefore the felecli of Mohammed had shed a 
 
 ight upon his path which had been denied to 
 
 im? If the maiden was so fair as the ey<s of 
 
 friend had made her, she must be a banished 
 
 leri, condemned to visit earth for a time, and 
 
 o be won by a mortal — Why then should he 
 
 lot be that favored one ? And as Eblis thus 
 
 irompted him, vague thoughts and hopes grew 
 
 nto shape and tangibility within his bosom ; 
 
 ;nd he resolved to learn all that the trusting 
 
 riendship of ^lohammed might lead him to 
 
 eveal; seizing, therefore, with the hand of 
 
 port, the skirts of confidence, he smilingly 
 
 fiked a thousand questions, to which his friend 
 
 eplied with unsuspicious frankness ; and thus 
 
 he poverty of Tiinsah, and the obscurity of his 
 
 osition became l^iown to him, as well as the 
 
 eauty of Zohara, and the storj' of her rescue. 
 
 Rechid Aga left the presence of his friend 
 
 rith treachery in his heart His fancy had 
 
 een taken captive by the glowing picture of 
 
 [lis peerless beauty so soon to be a bride, and 
 
 e resolved that should she be but half as love- 
 
 , lis she had been painted to him, she should 
 
 ■ liis, if craft or violence could win her. 
 
 As the steel-hearted leopard springs on' the 
 
 •embling chamois, so rusli.-d the treacherous 
 
 ga on his prey I The house of the slumbering 
 
 imsah was fired at miilnight ; and the shriek- 
 
 ig Zohara borne through the flames, only to be 
 
 laced on a swift horse, encircled by the arm of 
 
 8 rider, and panting with affright 
 
 As day dawned the horseman reined up his 
 
 ipid steep, and springing to the earth, drew 
 
 ;ter him his pale and sinking burden. 
 
 It was a glorious morning; ami their halt 
 
 as in a valley where happy hearts, blessed in 
 
 ich other, might have been content to dwelf for 
 
 ?^er. Much time was spent in restoring the 
 
 |aiden to consciousness, for her swoon waa long 
 
 id heavy; and as Uechiil Aga hung over her, 
 
 id bathed her pale brow with the pure water 
 
 ■ a mountain stream, and crushed in her small 
 
 inds the aiomatic blossoms of the henna-plant, 
 
 J felt that the words of Mohammed harl been 
 
 eak in painting her beauty. He had laid her 
 
 jwn beneath the tall boughs of a maple tree, 
 
 / whose roots the fresh moss grew rankly, 
 
 clnstored with deep-blue violets; ; and when the 
 fair Zohara at length opened her eyes, iind be- 
 held besi.le her the friend of her afhaneed hus- 
 band, she clasped her hands in n transport of 
 joy and gratitude ; for she guessed not that he 
 had stain.d the skirts of his honor with the de- 
 filements of treachery, but at once belli- ve.l that 
 he had preserved her from the flames in friend- 
 ship foi' Mohammed. 
 
 As the Aga caught her meaning, he eagerly 
 encouraged the delusion; and, spreading bi;fore 
 her some dried fruits, with which he hud come 
 provided, he urged her to jmrlake of them ere 
 they pursued their way back to the city. The 
 gentle Zohara, grateful for his care, smilingly 
 obeyed ; and, as her false-hearted compnnion 
 hastened to the stream to jirocure for her a 
 draught of its refreshing water, she looked eager- 
 ly and admiringly about her, on the fair scene 
 amid which she was seated. 
 
 The clouds, those graceful cup-bearej-s of the 
 sky, were riding like snow-flakes upon the clear 
 blue bosom of space ; on every side bloomed 
 clusters of bright and many-tinted flowers, 
 worthy to be the envy of the constellations; 
 the sun, a heaven-insj>ired painter! had sketch- 
 ed a thousand beautiful designs on their leafy 
 tablets ; and sweeter than the musk of Tartary 
 was the perfume which accompanied his touch. 
 The forest-boughs dropped honey, for the haunt 
 of the wild bee was among their leaves ;' and 
 the ruby cups of the bursting buils were each 
 scaled with a diamond drop of dew. The dis- 
 tant mountains bathed their brows in light; and 
 the lesser heights were clothed in draperies of 
 many-colored vegetation ; the tall trees which 
 overhung the stream looked like stately beauties 
 mirroring their gnieefulness in the clear waters; 
 while the more flexible safsaf, the weeping wil- 
 low, and the feathery birch, bent low into the 
 wave, as though faint with enjoyment The 
 slender-hoofed hind at intervals bounded pa-st, 
 light as the wiml that waved the branches ; and 
 the bulbul nestled amid' the leaves above her 
 head, and not yet weary of his melodious griefs, 
 was jiouring out a song to which the peris might 
 have loved to listen. 
 
 As Zohara contemplated this fairy scene, her 
 soul was steeped in the honey of delight; the 
 thorns of care, uikI the gnawing caustic of sor- 
 row, were alike shut out; and when the Aga 
 held the cup to lur lips, sparkling with the cold 
 rock water, she thanked him with a smile which 
 spread the glo.s.sy feathers of hope over the bla«;k 
 heart of fiilsehood. 
 
 Hut ere long the serpent-tongue of guilt be- 
 trayed its worthless purpose ; and the atfrighted 
 muidi-n learnt the unholy piussion which had 
 eauseil her to be tlius borne away from the roof 
 of her father, with a terror wh"i<-li denied her 
 utterance. The vows breathed by her perlidioiis 
 suitor did but rouse hatred in her bosom ; and 
 as she became more calm, she wedded the name 
 of Heehid Aga toevery reproachful epithet with 
 I which her memory supplied her. She reminded 
 I him of the heavy chain of gratitude that had 
 jb«en flung arouml her by tin- generous ai(j of 
 Mahommed, ere she yet had learnt to love him ; 
 j and she vowed by the soul of the prophet and 
 j by the grave of her father, that she would rather 
 
62 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF TIIE HAREiL 
 
 die by her own hand, tlian be the wife of an- 
 other. The protestations of tlie Aga fell on her 
 ear like water upon sand, and l^ft no impression ; 
 while the young man gnashed the sharp teeth 
 of disappointment against the shivered weapon 
 of defeat, as with her small dagger in her hand, 
 which she had drawn from amidst the folds of 
 her girdle, she threatened to sheathe the steel of 
 death in her heart, if he did not leave her on 
 the instant. 
 
 The aga urged and expostulated in vain. He 
 represented the impossibility of her return to 
 the city, alone and unprotected; but the maiden 
 epurned alike his threats and his entreaties; and 
 ehe had raised her arm to strike, preferring 
 death to further communion witli her treacher- 
 ous companion, when the tramp of horses was 
 heard in the distance ; and before Rechid Aga 
 ceuld warn her of the probable danger, a wild 
 shriek from Zohara summoned to their side a 
 party of predatory Arabs. 
 
 The maiden had scarcely time to cover her 
 face with her robe, when the foremost of the 
 train checked his steed under the shadow of the 
 tree beneath which she was sitting ; while in 
 the next instant the aga, who had drawn his 
 scimitar ori the fii'st alaim, was wounded, over- 
 powered, and bound to one of its branches. 
 
 So unlooked-for a capture, almost in the vici- 
 nity of the city, was hailed with delight by the 
 Arabs, whose chief immediately claimed the 
 maiden as his spoil ; and haying looked upon 
 her beauty, talked exultingly of the number of 
 purses which would be freely paid down for so 
 fair a purchase ; while others appropriated the 
 horse and weapons of the aga, the whole of 
 which, as their practised glance at once detected, 
 were of gi-eat value. Having satisfied them- 
 selves on this point, half-a-dozen of the most dis- 
 tinguished of the party seated themselves on the 
 grass, and prepared to partake of the fruits 
 which were still spread before the maiden ; 
 while the rest, formed into separate groups on 
 the margin of the stream, drew from out of their 
 
 avelling-bags their less delicate contents, and 
 commenced a hurried meal. 
 
 Zohara, meanwhile, looked on tremblingly, 
 and vague projects of escape rolled across her 
 mind; hut. like wreaths of vapor they left no- 
 thing tangible behind ; and as she turned aside 
 from her captors, and her eye fell on the droop- 
 ing and wounded aga, the origin of all her suf- 
 ferings, her heart froze within her, and her 
 pulses stood still, as though Azrael had pressed 
 Lis finger upon her brow. 
 
 Coiled among the branches above her head, 
 she beheld an enormous serpent, slowly moving 
 along towards the bough to which thc"unhappy 
 young man had been secured. The sunlight fell 
 flickering through the leaves and touching at 
 intervals the bright scales with which he was 
 covered turned them into jewels : his deep 
 green eyes looked like emeralds, and his forked 
 tongue proti-uded its poisoned lance from the 
 blood-stained cavern of his yawning jaws. On, 
 on he moved — and Zohara could not "stir a limb, 
 nor utter a cry for help — on, on, until his head 
 rested on the shoulder of the wounded man, 
 and his gleaming folds were coiled around his 
 body. Here for awhile he remained, as though 
 
 contemplating the scene beneath ; and then 
 gliding away into the thick foliage as noiselessly 
 as he had stolen forth, he disappeared among 
 the leaves. 
 
 Again Zohara breathed freely ; and she would 
 have warned her captors of the vicinity of their 
 dangerous enemy, and besought of them to rescue 
 the insensible aga from so horrible a death ; but 
 at this moment, the Arabs, having drunk too 
 deeply from their wine-skiiw, began to wrangle 
 among themselves, and never ceased their dis- 
 pute until the slumber of inebriety stole upon 
 them, when, one by one, they laid their heads 
 upon the earth, and slept. 
 
 Now, indeed, the maiden began to let the 
 wings of hope flutter about her heart: but she 
 yet felt the necessity of caution, for although 
 the groups by the river bank followed the ex- 
 ample of their chiefs, and flung themselves into 
 the attitude of repose, she knew that theirs 
 would be but the lighter slumbers of fatigue, 
 which an unguarded movement might serve to 
 dissipate. While, therefore, she was carefully 
 turning in her mind the most feasible means of 
 success, her thoughts divided between her ter- 
 ror of the serpent, and her hope of escape from 
 her enemies ; the mighty snake once more ap- 
 peared above her head, and as her eye again 
 rested upon it, she crouched down with clasped 
 hands and clenched teeth, without power to 
 withdraw herself from the danger. 
 
 The sei'pent, however, glided down the tree, 
 and passed her by unheeded, attracted by the 
 scent of the wine-skins which j'et lay beside the 
 sleeping Ai'abs. Twice, thrice, he reared his 
 crested head high above them; and then plunging 
 it into the liquid, he drank deep, and flung back 
 into the wine a few heavy black drops of the 
 foul poison which hung about his jaws. , 
 
 The noise of his retreat, as he again glided 
 swiftly into the underwood, with a rattling 
 sound, accompanied by a shrill hissing noise, 
 aroused the Arabs, who started from the earth, 
 and clutched their weapons ; but, when, on 
 looking around, titey could discover no cause of 
 alarm, and saw one pale captive seated beneath 
 the ti-ee, and the other yet bound to its branches 
 they only muttered an imprecation ; ami seizing 
 the skins of wine, passed them one to the other' 
 and resumed their rest. 
 
 Now was the moment come when Zohara fell 
 within her the courage which grows out of peril ' 
 She glided to the side of the aga, but he did no 
 unclose his e^'es — she touched his hand, it Wfti 
 cold and nerveless — and the maiden started witl ' 
 a jiew terror, for she felt that she looked oil, 
 death. I 
 
 A sudden impulse shook her, and she in% 
 forth her dagger. "Were not they who wep 
 sleeiiing but a few paces off her enemies? an>l 
 might she not deliver herself from their graspi 
 Those at her feet could injure her no further, fo| 
 she knew that they had quatfed poison with thei, 
 last draught. She moved towards the margiil 
 of the stream, but her heart grew sick; she fel; 
 that, if when the sword is in the hand of powei! 
 generosity is the scabbard of heroes, so muo' 
 should mercy be that of women ! 
 
 The steed of the aga was standing, fastened h 
 a mimosa bush, not fi^y paces from her; ar > 
 
THE KOMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 68 
 
 •with the speed of lightnins; she disoiigngoil ll>o 
 bridle, nnd sprang upon his biiok ; but ere she 
 could commenee lier flight, a second trampling 
 of horses sounded through the valley, and at 
 once the sleeping Arabs vaulted into their sad- 
 dles, and, shouting to their chiefs, prepared to 
 meet the coming enemy. But their chiefs an- 
 swered not ; they lay jirone and inolioidess upon 
 the earth, their faces blackening in the wind, and 
 the poison oozing from tlieirparte<l lips: and the 
 wondering tribe were yet busied in endeavor- 
 ing to awaken them, when a band of horsemen, 
 led by Mohammed the son of Hall, came like a 
 thunder-cloud across the valley, sweeping down 
 all before them. 
 
 Zohara was saved! The "Morning Star" 
 once more lit up the skj- of Mohammed's happi- 
 ness ; and the dark-hearted nga paid tlie forfeit 
 of his treachery. — But here we arc on the moun- 
 tain brow, Effendira; and, with the help of tiie 
 prophet, we should be past the daik ridge which 
 cuts against the clouds yonder, before sunset ; 
 BO we liave little tixne to waste." And as Satii 
 ceased speaking he gave his go(Td horse the rein, 
 and, followed by Mauiolopolo, was soon descend- 
 ing into the valley. 
 
 PART IV. 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 " Ne oldot — what .has happened ?" demanded 
 Saifula Pasha, as his ehibouque-bashi handed to 
 him his fourth pipe, while the Cadi of the town 
 was devoutly kissing the hem of his robe. " If 
 my head were as large as the mountain of El 
 Caf, which surrounds the habitable globe, it 
 •would scarcely sutfice for all its duties: and if 
 my arm were long enough to reach from Stam- 
 boul to Scanderia, it would still be too short to 
 grasp all that it is required to hold. But speak. 
 Cadi Almadhafer — what has happened in the 
 city f " 
 
 " May the condescension of mj' lord increase !" 
 said the justice, as he lifted his head from tiie 
 earth, and obeying a motion of the pasha's hand, 
 assumed a sitting posture. " I believe that the 
 Ibn Sheitan — the son of Satan, has • arrived 
 among us." * 
 
 " Min Allah — Heaven forbid !" ejaculated the 
 fat rap. flinging out a long thread of smoke. 
 " And yet," he added with a faint smile, as he 
 looked down u|>on the pumpkin-headed, un- 
 wieldy little coward at his feet, " you are a wise 
 man. Cadi Almadhafer, and moreover a lawyer 
 — you are, therefore, fully competent t« form a 
 judgment on such a point And how comes he 
 to our quiet province I Is he a sakalsiz — a no- 
 beard, like the natives of Frangistan f or is he in 
 the true likeness of Eblis, horned and tailed? 
 Speak, good cadi. — Mashaliah ! I listen." 
 
 "May my lord's lip never want a jest!" was 
 the reply: " but truly this is no theme for mer- 
 riment The baseborn stranger, who is now 
 brawling under Uie verv palace-walls of your 
 excellency, is, as I hear, (for I have never looked 
 upon him myself,) handsome enough to be the 
 
 high priest of .\nirftn.» He walks the bazAr 
 like my lord himself — flings his piastres from 
 him as freely as a padi.thali — feeds all the rag- 
 ged pezevenksf in the city — ami has given to a 
 black-eved ahuoj; a eachemire rich enough for a 
 vozir's harem." And as he concluded this cata- 
 logue of vices, the corpulent cadi paused for 
 breath. 
 
 " Chok chay — that is much I" said the pasha 
 complacently; "he will leave money in the 
 city." 
 
 " I sent to his hou.se," pursued the cadi, " to 
 learn who he was, and whence he came, a* ia 
 my wont with all strangers; and his reply waa 
 this — • Tell him who sent you, Yuzbashi" — for to 
 do him honor 1 entrusted the incpiirv to the cap- 
 Uiia of your excellency's guard — 'that when I 
 put my beard into his hand, he shall be free to 
 pluck it out' — and so he turned uj)on his heel, 
 and left the chamber." 
 
 " Almadhafer," said the pasha, " you are an 
 ass" — and, having delivered himself of this opin- 
 ion, he smoked on for a time in silence. " Have 
 you never heard, Ktfendim," he resumed at 
 length, for the cadi had not ventured to contro- 
 vert the assertion of his superior; " have you 
 never heard that the spur is for the steed, the 
 koorbash for the bull'alo, the capidgi-baahi for 
 the traitor, and the hand-mirror for the young 
 beauty ? Cadi Almadhafer, do you mean to bi 
 a dog all your days ?" 
 
 To which question the obsequious judge only 
 replied by an emphatic " Win Allah — Heaven 
 forbid !" 
 ; "Listen to me, then," said the satrap; "let 
 this giddy-brained stranger alone ; send no mes- 
 senger to his house, ask no questions of himself 
 ' — it is unseemly : but cadi — fold your feet upon 
 the carpet of watchfulness; if his servants love 
 rakee, let it poured into their cups — the tiery 
 sherbet of the Franks unlocks the lips of all 
 ' men, and lays their heart* U|>on your hands, 
 I where you may read them at your leisure. Let: 
 ' him give his feasts in peace, but be careful that 
 I some of your own spies sit down to every repa.«t, 
 I — let him be fooled and flattered, and made 
 ' merry with songs and daiKM-s; and he will surd/ 
 I fall liito our power by some act of inadvertence, 
 j which he will be glad to buy olf with gold. 
 I Shekiur Allah! — we wish him no harm; and we 
 , have need just now of such as can pay their 
 j avaniasg with an open hand !" 
 
 " Sen bilirsen — you.kii()w best;" said the obe- 
 ! dient cadi, whose disaftpointment at the calm 
 I ness with which the satrap received his iiitelli- 
 ' gence of the arrival of a wealthy stranger at the 
 I quiet city of the j»ashalik was beyond his piiwer 
 of concealment : "Inshallah! my lord knows 
 best — bakalum — we shall see." 
 ' -The hour at which the satrap was accustonud 
 to give audience had arrived; and the cadi, 
 having once more attempted to kiss the extrem- 
 ity of his garment, and being condescendingly 
 ' i)revented from so doing, jia.ssed at once fi.«;a 
 tlie presence of the pasha ; who followe.l slowly. 
 ' supported on either side by a eliaoUHli,| wln> 
 ! held him up under the arm's, as though he had 
 
 * Hymen. 
 ( Finei. 
 
 t RaicaU. 
 
 J Dancing-girtk 
 y Utlictr 
 
04 
 
 THE ROiL\XCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 been a cripple, as is usual with all high person- 
 ages in the East; to whom locomotion, on oeca- 
 eioiis of solemnit}', is apparently supposed to be 
 considered peculiarly injurious. The great man 
 Was followed by two chokhadai's, or cloak- 
 bearers, his keeper of the purse, his chibouque- 
 ^bashi, his cafejhe-bashi, and four soldiers of his 
 g.ard. 
 
 As he made his way across the wide hall of 
 audience to the divan at the upper end, all the 
 applicants who thronged the doorway prostra- 
 ted themselves to the earth, while the otfieers 
 and individuals of sufiieieut rank to approach his 
 person, bent down, and laid his hand upon their 
 Leads. 
 
 " Alhemdullilah ! — all are sure of justice while 
 Saifula Pasha is satrap of the province ;" com- 
 menced the pasha himself, as he took his gor- 
 geous pipe, with its pale lemon-colored amber 
 mouth-piece, enamelled with blue and gold, from 
 his chibouque-bashi ; while a second attendant 
 slid a small brazen dish under the boudaka* 
 " Who has any thing to ask from the favorite of 
 the Padishah, the Light of the Eai'th, and the 
 Lord of the Three Seas? — Let him speak — 1 
 ■Jisten." 
 
 The words were yet upon his lips when an 
 aged Jew detached himself from the crowd at 
 the bottom of the hall, and, sinking upon his 
 knees, made his way thus to the centre of the 
 floor, where he flung himself with his face upon 
 the earth. The appearance of the grey-bearded 
 Hebrew was by no means calculated to prejudice 
 the spectators in his favor; his turban was of 
 coarse cotton, of which the original color had 
 long been a mystery ; his brow was deepl}' and 
 closely wrinkled, his quick restless eyes were 
 partially hidden by a pair of thick and wiry eye- 
 brows, his prominent nose was pinched and 
 sharp, and his thin lips were pressed closely to- 
 gether, as though he could not part gratuitously 
 even with his breath, without an etiort to retain 
 it. His grizzled beard hung to his girdle, which 
 was of black woollen, and bound above an outer 
 dress of blue and white cotton much worn and 
 discolored ; his feet were bare, for the ragged 
 Yapoushes which he had left at the door had 
 been their only covering ; and altogether Yacob 
 the Jew was as unprepossessing an individual as 
 could well have beeu selected to open the divan. 
 
 But, ungainly as he was, he was not unknown 
 to the pasha, who stroked down his beard, as he 
 saw the Hebrew j)erforra his prostration ; and 
 ejfclaimed, without removing the chibouque 
 from his lips: — 
 
 " Khosh geldin — you are welcome, Yacob : it 
 is some time since we have seen you here. How 
 ar» your aftairs, Hebrew ? Is your gold in bars, 
 or in coin? and do you come to make us your trea- 
 surers, lest the metal should not be secure under 
 your own roof?" 
 
 " Heaven help me ! Should I venture to I 
 trouble my lord if it were thus? Ai, ai — alas! j 
 alas ! — I come to the mirror of justice only when 
 1 am wronged, that the light of my lord's coun- 
 tenance may be turned upon me, and the tears 
 •may be dried in my aged eyes — I am here to 
 .put up a complaint against my neighbor Steph- 
 
 * Pipe-bowl. 
 
 anaki the serudjhe,* who has defrauded me of 
 my just rights." 
 
 " Stcphanaki," shouted a chaoush close be- 
 side the satrap ; " come forth, and kneel in the 
 shadow of my lord the pasha, whose attribute is 
 justice." 
 
 The call was instantly obeyed, and a fine- 
 looking young Greek, weaj-ing the picturesque 
 and becoming costume of the islands, knelt be- 
 side his accuser. Stephanaki was in the first 
 bloom of manhood, with a laughing eye, and a 
 sunshiny expression of countenance, which even 
 the dread presence of the pasha could not whol- 
 ly overcloud. 
 
 "Mashallah!" murmured the satrap to the 
 khoja or secretary who was squatted at his feet, 
 with his ink-bottle in his girdle, and a huge 
 strip of parchment resting upon his knee ready 
 to be made use of, while he dipped his calam or 
 reed-pen into the ink in order to commence his 
 duties : " Mashallah ! this is as it should be ; a 
 dervish against a woman, and a Greek against a 
 Jew — Bakalum — we shall see." 
 
 A motion of the pasha's hand intimated to 
 Yacob that he was to speak: and he at once 
 commenced his complaint. 
 
 " Is not my lord as one who has sat on the 
 right hand of the padishah, and whose mouth 
 has been filled with the gold of truth ? In my 
 soreness of spirit I said — ' I will awaj^ to the 
 giver of health, the promoter of joy, the great 
 and just Saifula Pasha, for does he not hold the 
 reins of life and death f and is he not like the 
 sun at noonday, without which the earth would 
 be dark ?' " • 
 
 "Taib! — well said, Jew ;" nodded the satrap, 
 as he toyed with his perfumed beard ; and there 
 was a sudden chorus of voices in the apartment, 
 all murmuring "Taib! Taib!" 
 
 " At the last mahak,"f pursued the Jew, in 
 the same humble and submissive tone, and with- 
 out suffering the slightest token of elation to 
 escape him at the approbation which his words 
 had elicited, " came Stephanaki to my poor hut 
 to purchase dhourra:| I was at meat, and I bade 
 him rest awhile until my meal was finished, , 
 when I would wash, and come forth to the store- 
 house wherein I had housed the grain ; but he 
 pleaded haste, and thus I was obliged to leave 
 the food almost untasted, lest he should go else- 
 where, which might have been inconvenient to 
 the poor youth." 
 
 " Had you not done better to have asked him 
 to share it with you ?" demanded the pasha. 
 
 "\ow, by our father Abraham !" exclaimed 
 the shrinking Israelite : " would my lord desire 
 me to eat with a Christian ? to sit at table with 
 a filthy Greek ?" 
 
 " True :" said the pasha with a quiet smilft ■ 
 " I had forgotten that the two infidel drinkers 
 of wine, the Tchifout§ and the Giaour, were | 
 unclean even to each other I Allah kerim! — On [ 
 with your tale, Hebrew." 
 
 " We were long ere we concluded the bar- 
 gain ;" continued Yacob ; " and I finished by 
 selling my grain some piastres too cheap — " 
 
 * Horse keeper. 
 ; Indian corn. 
 
THE liOMANCE OF THE HAllEM. 
 
 * But ho did hny of you at lust; say you not 
 Jo1" doinainlod the siitrap. 
 
 " He did ;" replied the Jew ; " but he shoviKl 
 have paid ine at the very least — " 
 
 " Klioja,"^ said the pasha, slowly removing 
 the chibouque from his mouth, and looking to- 
 wards the seeretai-y; "write that Yaeob the 
 Jew shall, before sunset, pay an uvania to ti>e 
 
 Sasha of one hundred piastres, for soiling 
 hourra witliiii the walls of the oit}-, without 
 authority — now Hebrew, onee more we listen." 
 
 But if the Jew had sueoessfully concealed his 
 triumph when he was euvironod by plaudits, he 
 was by uo means so fortunate when he found 
 himseif betrayed by his own folly he plueked 
 his beard until thehairs remajned in his grasp, 
 he thrust his turban awry, and wrung his hands 
 as though he was ruined for ever. His parox- 
 ysm gave the pasha time to reflect ; and that 
 he had done so, he very soon gave proof, by 
 again addressing the scribe. " Write, likewise, 
 that Stephanaki the Greek raiah shall also pay 
 to the pasha, by the same period, his avania of 
 fifty piastres, for having purchased within the 
 city walls certain bags of dhourra from a cheater 
 of the revenue." 
 
 The khoja was just about to record this second 
 reflection of the mirror of justice when the 
 Greek, prostrating himself in the most approved 
 manner, exclaimed ; " The words of my lord the 
 pasha are as the diamonds of S;imarcand tlung 
 forth upon the path of life. Surely my lord will 
 suffer even a vassal to gather up some of these 
 pi'ecious jewels, and to examine their lustre. It 
 IS true, oh. Light of the World ! that I pur- 
 chased the dhourra of this rascally Tchifout; but 
 I made him deliver it to me on tlie meidan* be- 
 yond the city gates. He is indeed guilty, and 
 deserves the hue which your highness has in 
 mercy made very disproportionate to the crime ; 
 but I have committed no offence, as my lord 
 will learn, when the kiupek — the cur, has told 
 his tale." 
 
 " Kiupek in your teeth, dog of a giaour !" re- 
 torted the enraged Jew, glad to have secured an 
 object on which to vent his wrath, without 
 danger to the soles of his feet " Who arc you 
 that you should fling dirt upon my head? \Vhat 
 are you but a Greek ? Are you not a raiah like 
 myself? and are vou not, moreover, like the 
 rest of your degraded race, a liar and a cheat? 
 — haivan der — j'ou are an animal." 
 
 " Ajaib — wonderful!" ejaculated the pasha. 
 ■ Yacob has found his tongue, and is now head 
 brawler of tiie city ! Peace, I say, old man. Is 
 the divan become a Tlieriaki-tcharchi.f or a Ti- 
 merhaze,^ that I am to have my cars rent by 
 your clamour? Take care of your own; and 
 meanwhile, I have heard enough. Stephanaki, 
 you have gained your cause. I am satisfied that 
 you are a bash-pezcvenk — a great rogue ; for, 
 although every Kouniia rascal can talk of the 
 deeds of liis ancesters, Mashallah! there are few 
 among you who dare venture to speak of his 
 own. Nevertheless, I say, your cause is gained, 
 for you have kept your temper, and the Jew has 
 
 • Plain, 
 t Resort 
 heavy blows are frequent. 
 t Lunatic Asylurn. 
 
 for oj)iura-eateri, 
 Ire 
 
 where night-brawli and 
 
 lost his; by which I know that he i« in thfl 
 wrong. Wrile, khoja, fiiat tlie Hebrew Yaeob 
 is lined fifty jiiastres for bringing b.'fore ihe Di- 
 van a cause which he could not sujiport." 
 
 And while the unhappy Isiai'litc was on' e 
 more giving way to a burst of grief, the mirror 
 of justice munmircd to the cadi, who was seated 
 near him; " The rascally Jew can well afford to 
 pay his avania; but I question if the gidi mas- 
 cara — the young seaiamoueh, in the embroider- 
 ed leggings, does not carry all his piastres on his 
 back.""^ 
 
 To which sagacious deduction, the Cadi replied 
 by his usyal " Taib — excellent I my lord sees 
 through the darkness of midnight — who sluill 
 dispute his wisdom?" But as he again settled 
 himself Upon his carpet, he muttered between 
 his closed teeth : " Curse on the unbelieving 
 Jew 1 he should have preferred his comjdaint to 
 me — I would not have mulcted him in more than 
 a hundred jiiastres in all; and moreover, ho 
 should have gained his cause." 
 
 The next applicant was a woman, who, tak- 
 ing off her slipper, turned the sole upwards, and 
 demanded justice on her husband, who had |>ut 
 her forth from his harem, and refused to allow 
 her a decent maintenance in the house of her 
 father. 
 
 As her own statement went to show that she 
 was neither young nor pretty, and that she ha<I 
 moreover led the unhappy man a life which had 
 bj- no moans tended to mcrease his attachment 
 to this world, her case was soon dismissed ; and 
 she was lined twenty piastres for vague and 
 frivolous accusations against a good .Moslem, 
 who had been careful before the Divan sat that 
 morning, to forward to the satrap a jiaeket of 
 rare and costly gebeli,* whose aroma was ao- 
 tually escaping from the chibouque of the pasha, 
 while he listened to the tale of the wife. 
 
 In this instance, as the virtuous wrath of the 
 satrap was more than commonly excited, he oi^ 
 dained that the fine should be paid before the 
 couqilainant loft the court ; and reimirked, 
 moreover, that if any rumour reached him of a 
 new apjdication of the slipper of the miserabla 
 woman before him to the ears of her husband or 
 his young wife, tlve consequences would be se- 
 rious; after which, he declared him.solf exhaust- 
 ed ; and deputing the cadi to the seat of justice, 
 retired from the .vight of tiie crowd of applicants 
 who still thronged llie hall of audience; and, 
 supported by his attendants, withdrew slowly 
 and gravely to the women's apartments, to for- 
 get in the society of the beautiful Cariinlil liiul 
 her Greek friend the toils of the morning. 
 
 Coffee and sweetmeats were served wiien he 
 had taken up his position on the shfa, and re- 
 ceived the salutations and condolenees of his 
 companions; after which Katinka sang to h-r 
 zebec, until the 8alra|) gave a f.w indications ..f 
 drowsiness, by no means flattering to lier min- 
 strelsy ; when, anxious that he »ho(d«l not have 
 cause to complain of ennui while she pi>-seKs«d 
 the means of diverting his idleness, she laid usido 
 her instrument and exclaimed sudtlenly : " Let 
 not my lord's eyes close before he has heard the 
 Ulo which I have been pondering for his amuse- 
 
 Tobaeeo. 
 
THE ROMA^XE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 ment It may be that it -will possess the power 
 of relieving his spirit from the fatigues of the 
 divan and the affairs of the city." And, as the 
 pasha smiled his assent, she at once commenced 
 the narrative of: — 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED. 
 
 Ildji Reza was tlie son of a rich merchant of 
 Damascus; and, being the only child of his 
 father, to whose prayers the prophet had long 
 been deaf, bv refusing to his wives the honor and 
 advantage of giving him an heir to his immense 
 wealth, the boy necessarily became the pet and 
 playtliing of the salemliek, and the idol of the 
 whole harem. 
 
 His beautiful Georgian mother, proud of the 
 supremacy which the birth of her son gave her 
 over the mind of her husband, grew haughty 
 and imperious; and the Buyiik Hanoum of 
 Yezid, (for so was the merchant called) who had 
 been the daughter of a distinguished emir, re- 
 tired in disgust to her father's house, and refused 
 to i-eturn beneath the roof of her husband, how- 
 ever great the instances which he made to re- 
 claim her. 
 
 The secession of the principal lady of the Mer- 
 chant's establishment left the Georgian mother 
 supreme mistress of the harem ; and the fact of 
 this ascendancy, derived from her son, only pro- 
 duced still greater and more ill-judged indul- 
 gence towards the boy himself: everj' whim, 
 however senseless, every caprice, however ex- 
 ti-avagant, was not only indulged, but applaud- 
 ed ; and he aceoi-dingly grew up a perfect imp 
 of Eblis, both in beauty and mischief. 
 
 I say in beauty ; for the experience of every 
 day tends to convince us that the popular pre- 
 judice which peoples Jehanum with ghouls and 
 afrits, is as false as that the tattered cloak of a 
 dervish always covers a saint. More than half 
 the evil which is wrought upon earth is the work 
 of individuals whose beards are glossy and well- 
 combed, and whose turbans are seated upon 
 brows as smooth as the Prophet's palm ; and he 
 who asserts to tlie contrary eats dirt, or has 
 walked from Btaniboul to Mecca with his fingers 
 in his eyes, and the skirts of his robe defiled by 
 the abomination of ignorance. 
 
 JVith regard to his other attribute of mischief, 
 I believe no one ever denied that to be the son 
 of a burnt father, so I shall not insist on the pro- 
 priety of mj- description. 
 
 Had Yezid been as rich as King Karoon, the 
 
 Joungster grew up in a spirit well calculated to 
 ecrease his wealth. The hours which his 
 father believed to be spent in study in the med- 
 resh of the Mosque of Sultan Daoud, were pass- 
 ed among the most profligate of the youth of 
 the city : and as all the slaves found it to their 
 lidvantage to be silent — for Ildji Rezi\ was as 
 generous as he was profuse — and as the wortliy 
 merchant was descending the liill of life, and 
 greasing the beard of years with the pillauf of 
 dotage, he pursued his career unfettered ; while 
 Buch was the fascination of his beauty, and the 
 
 influence of his mother, that there was not a 
 woman in the harem of Yezid the khawaji,'* 
 who would not have sold her jewels to minister 
 to his caprices. 
 
 But the most serious extravagance was yet to 
 come. Suddenly there appeared in the city a 
 dealer in horses, who brought with him animali 
 of such surpassing beauty, that all the younf, 
 men of Damascus who had ever tugged at any 
 tiling more exciting than a maharf well nigb 
 lost their wits. Day by day the dealer and his 
 horses traversed the principal streets of the 
 city; and so beatitiful were many of these crea- 
 tures, that more than one harem-lattice wft 
 thrown back further than it should have been, 
 either in admiration of the glorious animals, or 
 of the gallant young Effendis who followed in 
 their wake. The dealer was a shrewd man : he 
 had gathered up his feet on the mat of calcula- 
 tion, and spiced his sherbet with avarice: he 
 was the verj' Khawaji to bring his beasts to a 
 good market ; but for a few days he affected ui>- 
 willingness to part from them — he loved them 
 as his life — called them janum, guzum — my love^ 
 my eyes, my soul — feigned to whisper flatteries 
 in' their ears, while by some subtle art he taught 
 them to look as though they comprehended and 
 appreciated his gentleness ; and showed so much 
 love for his already tempting merchandise, that 
 ever}- person who had gold to lavish on a whim, 
 was convinced that never horses were worth 60 
 many purses as the horses of Ali the Toorkomaa 
 
 When he at length suffered himself to be pre- 
 vailed on to exchange them for piastres, it need 
 not be told that they were counted up to a good 
 sum; and many times had Ildji Reza been among 
 the bidders for the different animals which were 
 paraded one by one through the great thorough- 
 fares of the city; but on each occasion the Toork- 
 oman had set him aside with a low " Yavash, y»- 
 viish — softly, softly — your 'time is not yet come. 
 The camel who holds his head high is guided by 
 the ass that leads the string ; so let my lord be 
 led in this matter by his slave ; and folding the 
 skirts of patience under the feet of reason, wait 
 yet a while until the bit is in the mouth of the 
 beast which is alone worthy to bear him." 
 
 Peplexed as he was by this unaccountable 
 conduct on the part of the merchant, Ildji Reia 
 complied in silence ; but when a score of noble 
 horses, each more beautiful than the last, had 
 found owners among the young gallants of Da- 
 mascus, the Toorkoman disappeared, much to 
 the chagrin of the son of Yezid, who daily saw 
 his associates galloping along upon animals to 
 which his own, whieli had nevertheless been 
 purchased at a heavy price, and given to him 
 by his father, was but as a buffalo. 
 
 So jaundiced, indeed, was his spirit, by this 
 unlooked-for disappointment, that ever, as his 
 acquaintances greeted him, he seemed to see .the 
 laughter of mockery in their smile ; and when 
 they jested with him on his delay, or condoled 
 with him on his annoyance, he felt that they 
 were now revenging themselves for a host of 
 petty mortifications entailed on them by his un- 
 caleulatiiig profusion. 
 
 The young man's heart burnt within bis 
 
 t Camel's bridle. 
 
TUE ROiLV^TE OF THE IIAIIEM. 
 
 67 
 
 bosom, and be well nigh fell sick with voxfttion ; 
 ■when one day, as ho was walking moodily 
 along, he was overtaken near the eastern gate 
 of the city by a beetachy, or mountain dervish, 
 vrhv saluted liim as he passed with a courteous 
 
 an object, uttered an exclamation of »mtniiinl>. 
 meiit, and stroked down his white heard willmu 
 " Ajaib I" as fervent as it was prolonged. 
 
 If the Dervish was thtis atfeel,'.! by the np- 
 |ieiirance of the animal, it mav be imajjined that 
 
 ilutatioii, lldj 
 Iracted by th 
 
 ^•eeling, which broke in upon his revery ; and lldji Rezil was transfixed ; and as the rider (lev 
 raising his head to rejdy to the ■ •• ..^-i .• ■ . 
 
 Reza on his side was at once i 
 tone and look of tiie devotee. 
 
 He appeared to be about sixty years of age, 
 but time had neither furrowed his brow, thiii- 
 ned his cheek, nor dimmed the lustre of his large 
 dear gray eye. His glance was keen, fiery and 
 Beorching : his step tirm and assured ; and his 
 
 past him, seeming to be traversing the worKl on 
 the wings of tiie wind, or mounted on on.« of 
 the flying horses of IVristan, ho almost nhouted 
 in the excess of his rapture. 
 
 "Wallah billah— by the Prophet! to be the 
 
 owner of that steed, 1 -would " 
 
 " What would you do, my son ?" asked the 
 beetachy. 
 voice as full and melodious as though he were' "Any thing that mav bo lawful for a good 
 yet a stripling. lie wore a tunic and khirkheli, Musselinaun ;" was the riplv: niid iiijji Ue/A 
 or cloak of camel's hair, girt about his wai.<t heard, or faMeic<l ho heanl, uiow chuckle which 
 "with a leathern girdle, over which flowed his|came unpleasantly to ids ear; " l^ing have I 
 snow-white beard; while a conical cap edged : coveted a steed "which shoul.l have no peer, 
 with fur, crimson papooshes, and a prayer chap- Alhemdullilah — praiso be to Allah I here ha 
 let hung round his neck, completed his costumt, 'comes again !" 
 
 and proclaimed his sanctity. I And it was so : the horseman had returned 
 
 "Tis a fair day, father;" said the young upon his path ; and. diverging t»» the right and 
 man, respectfully; "are you long from the, left, and vaulting his high-blooded Arab over 
 mountains?" every impediment, he at length ehecke<l liiin 
 
 " I travelled to the city, my son ;" replied the close beside the young man and the dervisli, 
 dervish, "some twelve weeks back, in company witli a suddenness thatbronght the tiery animal 
 with a Toorkoman Arab, who sought to dispose on his haunches, while the sniirke issiad from 
 of a string of horses ; and when 1 parted from his transparent nostrils, and the foaiu flew from 
 him at the khan, where he had taken up his his moutli. 
 
 abode, I hastened to the dwelling of a kinsman, I " Khosh buldilk — well found!" shouted the 
 beside whose bed stood Azrael and his attendant rider, whom lldji Uezji at once recognized at the 
 epirits: there did I watch and pray until yester-lToorkonian dealer; " How savs my lord now? 
 day: and I am now on my way home, praising | Hid 1 not well to liold back his hand until I 
 the power which has removed a sufterer from a I brought to Damascus a horse such as had never 
 world of care and misery." yet been seen in the city streets? — Yavaah, 
 
 "Can you really- rejoice that the wings of lyavash — quiet, quiet, Thunderboli:" he added, 
 death have folded themselves about the soul of I addressing the animal, that was impatiently 
 one whose blood leaps in your own veins? and pawing the earth with his small hoof: "see yon 
 
 tliat a warm and sentient spirit is now dark in 
 the darkness of the tomb ?" 
 
 " And whj- not ?" asked the dervish ; " Do we 
 gfaow our love for our dear ones, by wishing t<i 
 protract their period of wretchedness ? Kvallah! 
 I trust that no fond heart will put up such a 
 prayer for me." 
 
 " Did you, not tell me, father, that you travel- 
 led to Damascus in com|)anv with a'kiupek — a 
 dog of a horse-dealer, who fat<>ly traded in the 
 city?" asked the young man, for whom so me- 
 lancholy a discourse possessed no attraction ; 
 and who sudderdy conceived a hor>e that, 
 through the medium of this holy man, lie might 
 obtain some information, enabling him to disco- 
 ver the abode of the Toorkoman ; " know you 
 what has since become of him ? and where he is 
 now throwing dirt on the beards of true be- 
 lievei-8?" 
 
 " Ne bilirim — what can I say ?" rei>lied the 
 l>cctachy: — " Have I not told you that 1 have 
 been tiie tenant of a sick room, whence tin; 
 world is over shut out? How, then, ran I give 
 you tidings of the bazAr, or of the nierclianta 
 who Irerjuent it?" 
 
 As ho spoke, the clatter of horses' lujofa 
 
 not that I would t^lk with the beyzadeh"?"* 
 and the creature quaibvl beneath tiie rebuke, 
 and stood like a statue hewn in black marble 
 beside the path. 
 
 "What means this, khawaji ?" exclaimed tho 
 young nuui eagerly ; " Whenee aie you ? and why 
 have you been so long abnetit fmm Dama^'iis'l 
 How many purse's do you demand for this brave 
 beast? And how became you i«osso»sed of an 
 animal worthy to have earned the I'ronhet?" 
 
 " Chok.hay — that is much ;" smile. 1 the Arab; 
 " but I will answer my lord as 1 best may. li 
 means that 1 have brought for him tiie horse of 
 whiih he alone should be the owner — 1 am even 
 now from the degert^ — I have delavecl my return 
 until I deemed the animal mafclibiis alike in 
 H|K<(1 and docility — I demand for my mer- 
 eliandisc a j»rice which must be pai.l ore I 
 consent to make him tho projicrty ot another — 
 and 1 have p<jMesHod him sineo lio sported a 
 graeeful foal besiile his mother, in a green ousis. 
 near which we hod pitched our tents. Is my 
 lord answered ?" 
 
 Ihiji Kezii smiled in his turn ; " Ai, mascara — 
 scaramouch !" ho saiil gaily : " for the lost moon 
 1 have been smoking the ehibouqiie of l.itternoiw. 
 
 soujided in the distance; and soon a horseman , for I believed that you hod cast lislies upon my 
 appeared mounted on a coal-block st.-erl jif such beard ; and not a moment ago 1 naked tiding* 
 Incomparable symmetry and beouty, that even 
 the beetachy, unused as he might he supponed 
 to be to feci any interest in so purely worldly 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 of you from this holy man, who travelled with 
 you manj' weeks back, from the mountains !" 
 
 " Khosh bulduk, father:" said tlie Toorkoman, 
 looking for the first time toward the dervish : 
 " I must have eaten dirt tliat I did not see you 
 when I first stopped beside tlie Effendi. Down, 
 Thunderbolt, and make your salara to the holy 
 man." And the obedient animal once more 
 obeyed by sinking gently upon his knees, and 
 laying his nose in the dust. 
 
 " Mashallah ! 'tis a beast which might well 
 shame many a True Believer ;" said Ildji Reza ; 
 " Bashustuu — on my head be it — the horse is 
 mine." 
 
 " Are tlie coffers of Yezid Effendi well filled ?" 
 laughed the Toorkoman ; " My lord has not yet 
 learned that the piety of a dervish and the 
 qualities of a horse should never be taken upon 
 trust." 
 
 " Nay, Khawaji, you are uncivil ;" said the 
 young man : " but our good father must pardon 
 you, for you have not folded your feet upon the 
 cushion of caution ; nor have you made slaves 
 of your words. You should have more rever- 
 ence for the khirkheh 1" 
 
 "Heed him not, EfFendimou — my master;" 
 interposed the bectachy : " his calling is one of 
 light mood and free speech, and he means me 
 no evil — his words are like the sands of the de- 
 sert, they pass by, and no man inquires whence 
 they come." 
 
 " W'Allah — by Allah ! 'tis well put ;" ex- 
 claimed the Toorkoman : " when the boudaka is 
 full, I smoke it ; but when once the ashes are 
 knocked out, I forget the flavor of the gebeli. 
 Phrases savoring of the sosun* and the bannuff- 
 shaf are for the use of the harem : they are not 
 for the wandering merchant, whose medresch;]: 
 is the way-side." 
 
 " They fail you not, however, Khawaji ;" said 
 ndji Reza, as he hung over the coal-black Arab, 
 and passed portions of its flowing and silky 
 mane through his fingers, as though they had 
 been the love-locks of a young beauty. " But 
 we wander from our purpose : tell me the price 
 of this wind-winged steed, that I may count 
 you the purses, and make it mine." 
 
 " Listen to me, Effemdim ;" said the Toorko- 
 man emphatically ; " this animal has been to 
 me as a child — it has shared alike my tent and 
 my repast ; my voice has become music in his 
 ears, and my will the impulse of its being. I 
 cannot sell it for gold — all the purses of all the 
 padishahs of the East should not buy it, — I will 
 only part from it to secure what is yet more 
 dear to me." 
 
 " And what, in the name of the Prophet, may 
 that be ?" asked the young man in some sur- 
 prise: " Can there be aught on earth that a man 
 whose beard is black, would value beyond an 
 animal like tliis ? Affiet ollah — much good may 
 it do you. If it be in my possession or in that 
 of Yezid my father, it is yours." 
 
 "Taib — well said!" exclaimed the bectachy: 
 *• the words of the beyzadeh are precious as the 
 gems of Araby — he wastes them not idly." 
 1 "Will you swear this?" asked the khawaji 
 calmly, 
 
 • White lily. j "Violet. t Collee*. 
 
 Hdji Reza hesitated for a moment: and then, 
 glancing at the dervish, and perceiving that he 
 was looking towards him with a placid smile, 
 he answered boldly ; " That will I, by the sou] 
 of tlie Prophet!" 
 
 " Nay, we will not make the Prophet a party 
 in the compact ;" said the Toorkoman ; " swear 
 by your own hopes of Paradise, and by the 
 beard of your father, and I am satisfied." 
 
 "Cliok chay — that is much!" exclaimed the 
 young man ; " but so be it. May the houris 
 never receive me into Paradise, and may the 
 beard of my father be eternally defiled, if I fail 
 you." 
 
 " Taib ! taib ! I say again ;" exclaimed the 
 dervish; ''I love the daring of a free spirit; 
 and now, Khawaji, to your share of the coi»- 
 tract — as I have accidentally been a witness to 
 the bargain, I will not proceed on my way until 
 I see the bridle of the animal in the hand of 
 the beyzedeh." 
 
 "The horse is his, father:" said the Toorko- 
 man readily ; " I am willing to fulfil the pledge 
 that I have given ;" and he placed the rein of 
 the coveted steed in the grasp of Ildji Reza; who 
 bewildered with delight, would have vaulted into 
 the saddle and galloped oft", had not the Kha- 
 waji laid his hand upon his arm, and detained 
 him. 
 
 " My lord is as yet but my mir akhor ;"* he 
 said, with a smile which almost withered into a 
 sneer: "I have satisfied hira; but he has, as 
 yet, given me naught save promises, strength- 
 ened, however, by a vow which lie dare not 
 violate. It is now his turn. My demand will , 
 neither exhaust the coffers of the worthy mer- 
 chant his father, nor cost himself a piastre. 
 During my sojourn in Damascus, I chanced — it 
 avails not how — to look into the bright eyes of 
 the daughter of Kassim Bey — the peerless Del- 
 saisij Hanoum. Nay turn not on me that with- 
 ering frown, Effendim ; the heart of the maiden 
 is as pure as the waters of the fountain in which 
 she Avas laughingly contemplating lier own 
 beauty when she knew not that any gaze was on 
 her. From that hour I loved her — in that hour . 
 I strove to win her — But how? As I wandered 
 gloomily through an obscure street, I followed 
 unobserved two portly Effendis, who were evi- . 
 dently on their way from some coft'ee-kiosque \o 
 their own dwellings. Twilight had fallen upou 
 the city, and they believed themselves unob- 
 served ; and thus, as they moved slowly along, 
 they threw their words out right and left, iis 
 the mimoso-bush throws out its thorns. Tlicv 
 were the merchant Yezid, and his powerfiil 
 friend Kassim Bey ; and then and there I learnt 
 that the beautiful and gazelle-eyed Delsais(i was 
 the promised bride of the Khawaji's only son. 
 Does my lord read the writing on the parcli- 
 ment?" 
 
 " You would have the maiden for your wifo ; 
 is it not so ?" asked the Ildji RezA. 
 
 The Toorkoman nodded assent. 
 
 " If that be all ;" laughed the young man ; 
 " bir chey yok — it is notliing. If you can win 
 her father to consent, let her be your's; I am no 
 woman-wooer, and I have renounced my claim. 
 
 • Chief of the Stables 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAUEM 
 
 I would rnthor have tliis poorless Arab in my 
 stable, than the fairest iiiaideu of Daiuaacus in 
 my barom." 
 
 "Pek ahi — it is well;" retorted the Toorko- 
 man; "but tliat is not enough. Shall I strew 
 dirt upon my head, by asking the daughter of a 
 Bey for my wife i Shall 1 expose myself to the 
 gtbes and jeers of every idler like a spinning 
 Santon, by telling my condition and the wild 
 object of my desires J I will eat sour pillauf 
 with no man. You must become for once an 
 earnest lover ; you must repent your tirst deci- 
 sion ; and not content with waiting the pleasure 
 of a capricious mistress, and a cautious father, you 
 must put everyart in practice to win the young 
 beauty ere the next moon tcatics ; and, having won 
 her, you must instantly mount your trusty steed, 
 and enveloping the maiden in her mantle, and 
 I placing her before you, leave the city by the 
 southern gate; and never draw your rein until 
 you arrive under the shadow of the rock-seated 
 tower* which overhangs the river. I will be 
 within the walls awaiting you; and there 1 will 
 relieve you of your burden. Will you again 
 swear ?" 
 
 And once more the infatuated Hdji RezA, driven 
 to destruction by his felech, answered gaily and 
 readily, •' I will." 
 
 Little more passed that day. Tlie son of Yezid 
 uttered a hast^ parting salutation to the khawaji 
 and the dervish, who remained together ; and 
 springing upon the noble Arab, sped, like an 
 arrow shot by a strong arm, towards the city ; 
 while the clatter of his horse's hoofs drowned 
 the laughter which followed him upon the wind. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED COXTINUED. 
 
 Gre.\t was the exultation of the young man 
 when he remarked that every eye was turned 
 upon his steed as he hurried along. In the 
 pride of his spirit he committed a thousand ex- 
 travagancies and drew upon himself the gaze 
 and the envy of the whole city. lie passed not 
 the habitation of one of his acquaintance with- 
 out indulging his fiery horse in as many caprices 
 and caracoles as brought all the fair inhabitants 
 of the harem to their lattices; ami it waa not 
 until he reached liLs father's house, ami with his 
 usual impetuosity wa-i himself proviiling for the 
 couifortof his new aci{ui.'<iti<>n, that his thoughts 
 recurred to the singular contract into which he 
 had so reckle*^ly entered ; and then the difficul- 
 ties that oppo8<-d themselves on all sides at once 
 flashed upon him. Hut it was now too late to 
 retract; he was f.-ttenid by a vow; and he had 
 no alternative but to breast the stream as best 
 he might 
 
 When he entered the house, ho accordingly 
 shut himself into his apartment to ruminate on 
 the most fea.sible method of commencing his 
 operations ; and after mature d<liberation, or 
 what approached as near to it as lldji Keul was 
 
 • On the nouth- westerly »id« of the eitjr, & •m&U build- 
 ing ii erected on the crut of a itMp precipice, beneath 
 'wkich flows the Barrady. 
 
 able to bestow on any subject, ho left his chnn»> 
 ber, and joined Yezid tlie merehant, in his own 
 room, where ho was quietly smoking his chibou- 
 que on a corner of the sofa. 
 
 " Salam Aleikum;" said the son, as ho passed 
 the threshold with a respectful salutation. 
 
 •' Aleiktim Salftm;" replied the iiunhant, with* 
 out withdrawing the j>ipe from his mouth ; " you 
 are early from the cotlec-kiosqui' this evening, 
 lldji Uezd; whither are you now bound?" 
 
 " I would ask to share your sofa, Elfendim, if 
 your thoughts are not so differently engaged, 
 that my words will sound harshly in your 
 ears." 
 
 The delighted Yezid stroked down his beard 
 with a happy smile, as he surtmumed a slave 
 with a chibouque for his unexpected guest ; mar- 
 velling, as he did so, what such an unusual pro- 
 ceeding might portend. 
 
 Pijies having been supplied, and the slaves 
 withdrawn, the father aiKl son sat for a time en- 
 veloped in the vapors of the delieately-sconted 
 gebeli ; Yezi<I glancing from time to time at the 
 handsome youth by his si>le, with a fond pride 
 which blinded hini to the wilfulness of his dis- 
 position ; and with, perhaps, a i)ar<lonable van- 
 ity endeavoring to trace in the high smooth 
 brow, the large wild dark eye, the rich curved 
 lip, and the short, thick, curling beard, a re- 
 newed picture of his own youth; while lldji 
 RezA himself was turning over in his mind how 
 he might best introduce the subject which was 
 now uppermost in his thoughtii. 
 
 " EfTendim ;" he said at length ; " you may re- 
 member, that some months back you talked 
 to me of bringing home a wife to my harem ; 
 and that I made no willing reply to your sug- 
 gestion, because I had never laid my head upon 
 the cushion of quiet, and desired st^ill to be left 
 free to follow the dictates of my own will. What 
 shall I say? — I have since dwelt upon your 
 words; and I have heard from my mother that 
 the maiden whom you had sik-cted for me is as 
 beautiful as a moonbeam, and as graceful as a 
 gazelle. What is written, is written — I will 
 marry her !" 
 
 " Alhemdullilah — praise be to Allah I" saiil tho 
 merehant: "the sun is at length rising in tho 
 East. My son, life has hitherto been to you like 
 the fiery sherbets of the Franks, pletutant and 
 poisonous: but you are now recovering from tho 
 partial insanity under which you have labor- 
 ed : and flinging away the husks of the dhourra, 
 you will at last begin to hoard the grain. But 
 what say 1 ? The bey is angered by your re- 
 jection of the maidi'ii, and may perchance not 
 listen to a renewal of our suit. You were hasty, 
 IKlji liv/A, to spiiik ere you had turned the words 
 on your onen palm, and seen that they were 
 good and fitting." 
 
 The young man cast down his eyes, and ro- 
 mained silent. 
 
 "Tho wife whom I had chosen for you," con- 
 tinued his father; "had been described to me a« 
 a mirror of beauty; a lily whose leaves wero 
 scarcely yet unfolded— a vi«»let whieh had grown 
 so secretlv amid the seculsion of the harem, that 
 she would have been as a jewel, whieh you 
 would have dug from the mine ere another eyo 
 had rested on it But yet forget not, uiy son, 
 
eo 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 ihonld my words yet prevail with the father 
 of the maiden, that you are a man, and that 
 your beard has grown : do not. in the contem- 
 plation of her beauty, forget that your days 
 must not be spent in the harcni of 3-our wife. 
 What are the loveliest maidens that they should 
 be suffered to hold an undue empire ? Like the 
 fair-seeming flower of Caraminia which poisons 
 the wind as it sweeps over it, the xmnatural 
 dominion of a wife enervates the mind, and 
 weakens the energies of her husband. Never 
 forget, Ildji Reza, that young and beautiful 
 though they be, they are yet women ; and thut 
 in short, my sou, they are all bosh — nothing !" 
 
 The listener nodded his concurrence to this 
 sentiment. 
 
 " Tell no treason to a courtier — no heresy to 
 a moullah — and no secret to j'our wife :" pursued 
 the merchant, perceiving that the attention 
 of his son was poured out upon his words ; 
 " The tongue of a woman is more dangerous 
 than the scimitar of a warrior, for you can never 
 tell where its blows may fall, and a wise man 
 wastes not his words upon children. Neither 
 put too much trust in your slaves : but ever be 
 vigilant yourself to protect your own honor. 
 Why did the Prophet, who overran the world 
 with a sword in one hand, and a houri in the 
 other, put a veil before her face, and a lattice 
 before her casement? Was it not to point out 
 how little dependence should be placed upon her 
 own discretion ?" 
 
 " Well said, Effendim," broke forth the young 
 man earnestly : " it was — but fear not for me — 
 no kelb will dare to laugh at my beard ! — no 
 zamparalik* for the mouths of the massaldjhes 
 will ever issue from my harem ! Inshallah, few 
 know better than I the just value of every Aga 
 Babaf in Damascus." 
 
 " And yet, my son, many have been wounded 
 by the blade of which they well knew the tem- 
 per — I have spoken." 
 
 " Wallah billah — by the Prophet ! and you 
 have spoken wisely ;" replied the son. 
 
 " And if I warn you not to build up your faith 
 on the fidelity of an eunuch;" followed up 
 Yezid ; " so do I also counsel you never to let 
 the folly of a woman ruffle your beard. Patience, 
 my son, under the affliction of a wife's folly, is 
 like the red earth of our own plains, which 
 deadens the sting of the Hoxious reptile that has 
 fastened on U8."| 
 
 " Korkma — fear not:" returned the young 
 man : " your lesson shall not be lost upon me ; 
 and now, I pray you, to hasten my suit with the 
 bey, that when I close the door of my harem, I 
 may no longer find it empty." 
 
 " Allah buyukdcr;" was the only reply of the 
 merchant, as Ildji RczA descended from the sofa, 
 
 })ressed the hand of his father to his lips and 
 brehead, and hastily quitted the apartment. 
 
 From the presence of Yezid the young man 
 passed '.t once into the harem, and made his 
 way to the chamber of his mother. 
 
 Amidci Hanoum was still a handsome woman ; 
 and the smile with which she received her son 
 
 • Bit of Ecandal. t Chief of the h&rem euard. 
 t In the plain beyond the city is found a red eaith which 
 cures the sting of venomous insects. 
 
 lit up her noble features, and gave a lustre to 
 her eye, that for the moment almost renewed 
 her youth. 
 
 " Khosh geldin, Ildji Reza ;" she said fondly^ 
 as she flung back the heavy sleeve of her gold* 
 embroidered antery, and extended to him her 
 small white hand, which he immediately raised 
 to his heart and lips ; " You are welcome — and 
 what news bring you from the city, my son? foi 
 to-day I have received no guests, and my slaves 
 are as dull as an empty chibouque." 
 
 " Evallah ! Damascus, fair mother, is scarcely 
 more full of kief* than j-our own harem ; its 
 anti(juity,'|- like that of a moullah, has done no 
 service to its beard. A caravan passed out at 
 sunrise on its way to Aleppo, numbering among 
 its merchants two Frank beys, whose dinars 
 were more plentiful than their garments, which 
 made good sport for the idle youths wlio were 
 congregated at the great coffee-kiosque ;; but 
 the train soon disappeared aloug the banks of 
 the Golden River,§ and the streets are again 
 quiet." 
 
 " And what errand brings Ildji Reza, the pride 
 of Damascus, to the sofa of his mother?" asked 
 the Georgian fondly ; " Is his purse empty, oi 
 his head heavy from last night's revel ?" 
 
 " Asteferallah — heaven forbid !" laughed het 
 son; "for those are two evils which have not 
 even the charm of novelty to recommend them. 
 Ai, ai !" and he wrung his hands as if in anguish 
 while a mocking light danced in his eye : " ] 
 haye been converted, and instead of gold, I an 
 now coming to crave a wife." 
 
 " Wallah!" exclaimed Amide Hanoum ; " thii, 
 is an hour for which I long have looked. Ho-n 
 will the Khawaji Effendi rejoice, when on hii' 
 next visit to the harem, I read to him this new 
 page in the volume of delight! And the wifi. 
 whom I have wooed for you, Ildji Reza, guzum 
 is fair as the snow-flake upon the mountain 
 pausing on the threshold of her loveliness, wit! 
 the heart of a girl, and the beauty of a woman- 
 the Bey her father of the best blood in the em 
 pire, and the Hanoum Eftendi, her mother, i 
 very model of propriety and politeness — Nay, 
 more :" continued the Georgian, as she remarlcet 
 the indifference with which her son listened t< 
 these advantages ; " it must not be breather 
 save between ourselves ; but as you are no\ 
 prepared to regard her with the eyes of affec' 
 tion, I may venture to whisper it in your ear- 
 she loves you, Ildji Rezii !— -JShe has seen yo 
 from her lattice as you passed along the streets 
 she has watched you from her araba as you ga 
 loped along the plain — she was told that yo 
 were to be her husband — and now when she i 
 restless, and her slaves would soothe her t 
 
 • Spirit. 
 
 t Damascus is said to be the most venerable city in tl 
 world ; having been built by Uz, the son of Abraham, ar 
 grandson of She:n, the son of Noah. It was, moreover, tl 
 birthplace of Abraham's steward, Eliezar. 
 
 ; In the city of Damascus is a colVee-house, capable 
 contitining with convenience five hundred individual 
 The building is divided into two equal portions ; one beir 
 appropriated to the hot summer months, for which its a 
 rangements are admirably calculated ; and the other , 
 those of winter, where no less attention has been paid 
 the comfort of the visiters. 
 
 $ The river Barrady — formerly called by the Greeks t 
 Chryssrrhoas, or Golden River. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE llAREiL 
 
 61 
 
 ■leep, thoy tell hor tales of Ildji Rcza^ for she 
 will li^iten to none other.'' 
 
 For tlie tirst time the young mail's breath 
 came quiek, und his lip quivered. " And she 
 is fair, you tell me, mother ?' he said, taller- 
 ingly. 
 
 '"As a peri! answered Aiiii.^c Hanoum : 
 ''and when I wish to awaken her into bright- 
 er beauty, I talk to her of my son !'' 
 
 *• And will she listen?" 
 
 "As a hadji listens to the Koran at the 
 Prophet's tomb — with clasped hands and 
 bowe^d-down-head. Her soul is as a mirror 
 ■which reflects but one image, and that one is 
 Ildji Rcza!- 
 
 The younsr man with ditRculty suppressed 
 the groan that rose to his lips : never until 
 that moment had he felt how bitter it must be 
 to sacrifice one who loves yoti : '• 'Tis at tiie 
 "rest a mere irirlish lancy:"' he said, endeavor- 
 ing to suppress his emotion : '"were she told 
 to-morrow that she must marry Mansoor Aga 
 my friend, the mirror would receive a new 
 shadow, and I should be forgotten !"' 
 
 "My son!"' said the Georgian, earnestly: 
 " "Tis not given to man to read a woman's 
 heart ! Do you believe that the same power 
 •which fetters our actions has dominion over 
 our souls ! Alas ! you will not be convinced ; 
 aud every day of your experience you eat the 
 bitter apple of regret, when you might be en- 
 joying the pomegranate of contentment. The 
 first character inscribed upon a woman's heart 
 is indelible— others may follow, which for a 
 time appear as la^iting. but they are written 
 only by her fancy or her vanity, and they are 
 efiaced by time."' 
 
 '' But has she not been told that when the 
 bey her father offered her to the son of Yezid 
 in marriage, he folded his hands in the sleeve 
 of his garment, and turned away?" asked the 
 young man. '• Can she love one who was 
 insensible to her beauty and her tenderness ?"' 
 
 '•My son;" said the Georgian earnestly: 
 " aflection never rea.sons ; the heart is not 
 logical — it is content to feel.'" 
 
 •• And the bey ? Think you that he will 
 yield her up to one by whom she ha-s been 
 slighted? He, at least, will have no advocate 
 whispering in his heart," 
 
 '■ Ildji, my son :*' said Amide Hanoum, an 
 she held her feather-framed hand-mirror to- 
 wards his glowing countenance, and his eye 
 rested upon his own luxuriant beauty : '"the 
 nightingale turns not a.side from the ro.sc- 
 garden of Nishapor, when he may fold his 
 •wing in peace amid the blossoms. The bey 
 loves his child, and he knows that thou art 
 beloved by her : the eye of beauty is too 
 bright to be dimmed by team, salt and bitter 
 enough to mingle with the waves of the great 
 sea de.'^ert." 
 
 " And would she really weep for me ?" 
 
 again demanded the young man, touclisd to 
 the heart by the words of his mother. 
 
 The Georgian, for all answiT. again raised 
 the nurror, and pointed \Nith a smile, half 
 archness, and half pride, towards it-* surJaco, 
 which once more refleetca the image of tlio 
 questioner. 
 
 Ildji Uezii sighed ; and a strange curiosity 
 gresv upon him to see this lovely woman, 
 who amid his neglect, and his irregularities, 
 liud venturrd to love him. Hitherto In- hiul 
 held his mother as a thing apart, which hud, 
 by some inexplicable good fortune, escaped 
 from the pollution that had been poured torih 
 on her sex : for the son of Vezid new iioiluiig 
 of women save their vices ; but lie now began 
 to believe that there might yet be others, pure, 
 and beauiitul. and lovin*;, whose smiles would 
 be as a foreta,ste of paradise. His lather had 
 told him that his promi.scd bride was lovely 
 as a daughter of Peristan, and his mother 
 dwelt upon her innocence, her love, and lier 
 devotion. 
 
 Ildji Reza fell inio a delightful dream ; and 
 when he at length left the harem, be was an 
 altered man. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE AR.\B STKED — CONTINLED. 
 
 The son of Yezid fir.>t bent his steps to the 
 mcidan.* resolved to restore to the mysterious 
 All his ill-omened Arab; but none knew to 
 whom he alluded. A mimerous caravan was 
 preparing to depart at daybreak on the morrow 
 for Bagdad, and all save himself were active 
 and preoccupied. 
 
 The space immediately around the building 
 was heaped with merchandise ; there were 
 scimitars, carefully jiaeked in woollen wrap- 
 pers, lest the weather should destroy llieir 
 brightness — sword blades, knives, curious 
 bridle-biLH. andoiher articles skillully wruiii^ht 
 in iron and steel, tor which the city liiul long 
 been famous ; while a few bales of merchan- 
 dise, of a more costly and perishable nature, 
 were carefully heaped together a little space 
 apart, and guarded by black slaves. Tlio 
 artisans, meanwhile, to the amount of two or 
 three hundred, who.se credit was involved in 
 the safe transport of their handicraft, were 
 shouting, cavilling, and directiii!;, at the pilch 
 of their lungs; and eomplcled the confusion 
 of the scene. 
 
 Strings of camels huddled together, some 
 standing snulling the air, and others lying 
 placidly on the earth ; their long thin nccku 
 
 • A largo field n»r ih» city, in which iimd. »c«riT»»- 
 Mni for pilgrimi »nJ .IranRer*, who »/• mainUiBtd 
 during iheir lojourn there ft( Uie expeiue of the lalua. 
 
«2 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 outstretched, and their soft, sleepy black eyes, 
 slowly roiling from one side to the other as 
 any sudden outburst of tongues roused them 
 lightly from their lethargy, were also con- 
 spicuous ; while in the midst of them reposed 
 the asses which led the train. Here and there 
 tlie horse of a wealthy merchant, with its 
 softly padded saddle, and tasselled brow-band 
 and breast-plate, was led through the space 
 by a groom ; while crowds of hungry and 
 yelling dogs were s;een in every direction, 
 quarrelling and fighting over the garbage 
 which had been flung out by the slaves of the 
 caravanserai. 
 
 A group of hadjis stood looking on from a 
 distance ; and a few buffoons, santons, and 
 dervishes, were gliding among the crowd: but 
 the merchants and their followers were too 
 busy to heed them : and Ildji Reza. convinced 
 that he should obtain no information at so 
 bustling a moment, slowly passed out of the 
 enclosure and entered the city gate. 
 
 Ere he left the meidan, the sun was rapidly 
 sinking in the west; and as his road lay past 
 the palace of Kassim Bey, he involuntarily 
 slackened his pace when he emerged from the 
 covered street. On his right hand the fortress- 
 castle, with its graceful oval, flanked with 
 four square towers, was casting long shadows 
 across the earth, but he heeded them not : his 
 thoughts were occupied for the first time by a 
 woman ! 
 
 It was strange that since Yezid the merch- 
 ant had asked for his .«on the daughter of Kas- 
 sim Bey, tlie young man, regardless of the 
 honor of such an alliance, had never spent a 
 moment in speculating upon the probable 
 change which it would work in his fortunes : 
 but now — when he was conscious that to sat- 
 isfy a selfish vanity, he had sacrificed all the 
 advantages which might accrue from it, even 
 should he yet succeed in his suit, he had 
 ■worked himself into a belief that he was madly 
 in love with the maiden ; and, come what 
 might, he was determined to judge with his 
 own eyes whether she were worthy of all the 
 panegyrics wiiich had been lavished upon her 
 beneath the roof of his father. 
 
 Coupled with this rcsoluiion grew a regret 
 that he had spoken to his parents of his change 
 of temper. Should they at once win the young 
 beauty to his harem, he could have no oppor- 
 tunity of estimating her attractions through 
 the medium of his own ingenuity, but must 
 yield her up on the instant to his arch tempter. 
 the Toorkoman. Regrets were, however, un- 
 availing, and he at once resolved to spare 
 neither subtlety uor danger to achieve his pur- 
 pose. 
 
 In the first rush of this new fancy, Ildji 
 Reza thouglit of the Aga Baba of the bey, who, 
 as he judged from many a past experience, 
 •would scarcely be proof against his gold ; but 
 •when he dwelt upon the idea of the fair girl 
 
 who loved him, he resolved not to be indebted 
 to so gross a medium for his success : and for- 
 getting, in the energy of this new pursuit, the 
 fearful penalty by which it was to be accom- 
 panied, he paused under the shadow of the 
 bey's dwelling, and sent a searching glance 
 along the whole fagade of the building. But 
 
 j the harem, as is generally the case, overlooked 
 the gardens of the palace,., and had no com- 
 munication with the street, save by casements 
 too high and too well guarded to admit of any 
 ingress ; and one door, which was watched 
 day and night by an eunuch. This difliculty, 
 however, to the excited imagination of the 
 young man, only added another charm to those 
 which already encompassed his mistress; and 
 from gazing on the long dreary walls of the 
 building, he turned away to follow those of 
 the extensive pleasure grounds of the harem. 
 
 Tracing them as they climbed the gentle 
 ascent behind the city, he noted with an ex- 
 perienced eye, every point which might pro- 
 mise advantage; and remarked that several 
 tall cedar trees flung their long arms into the' 
 road beyond, as if wooing the incursion of the 
 adventurous; when, satisfied of the practica- 
 bility of securing an entrance into the forbid- 
 den territory, he returned slowly homeward, 
 and flung himself upon the sofa of repose. 
 
 But dawn had scarcely flooded the East, 
 when Ildji Reza, who had passed the night in 
 dreams which seemed to have been steeped in 
 the sherbet of paradise; whose cu.shions had 
 been smoothed by liouris ; and whose brows 
 had been fanned by the breezes that breathe 
 of Peristal! ; sprang from his sofa, his brain 
 throbbing, and his pulses leaping like those of 
 a chamois, and proceeded to the stable Mhere 
 he had left, half buried among the flexible 
 leaves ofthedhourra, his incomparable Arabian. 
 If the creature were to be the engine of his' 
 misery, it might, at least, ere the dark hour 
 
 I came, be the instrument of his triumph ; but 
 as he approached it, and listened while it; 
 
 [ neighed out with delight when he drew near, 
 
 : as though among so many strangers, it had 
 
 'recognized a familiar face, he half forgot his 
 fears, his doubts, and his misgivings, in his 
 
 I admiration of an animal, such as he had never 
 
 I before beheld. 
 
 Springing to the saddle, the excited young 
 
 ' man passed out through one of the eight gates 
 of the city, and following the banks of the. 
 Golden river, galloped for awhile about the 
 plain, fanned by the perfume-laden wind, and 
 seeming to follow it in its course ; his bridle- 
 rein hung loose upon the neck of the gallant 
 horse, but it needed not the guidance of its 
 rider; and Ihlji Reza felt a proud conviction 
 that never before had mortal steed obeyed tb« 
 unuttered wishes of him who should havf 
 pointed out its path, like the animal that he 
 bestrode. 
 
 As he returned to the city, and passed th« 
 
TIIE ROMANCE OF TIIK IIARRM. 61 
 
 palace of Kassim Bey, anxious to afford to tlio I cloak, issued forth, and closed it hoiitily behind 
 latticed ininaies of the harcin a view of his I her ; and the young man fell at tlie moment 
 skilful horsemanship, ho irritated the creature | as thoui,'h the uncon.seious wnmun had shut 
 both in the mouth and flank, to make him | ngainst him the <;ate of paradise. In the next 
 prance and caracole: and he was conscious i moment he resolved to follow lur ; lie eould 
 that he was disjdayed to the greatest ad- ; not have aeeounlcd for-the imjiulM- ; he did 
 vantage, though his seat upon th-^ saddle con- ' not seek to do so ; and, for a eonMderabio 
 tinued to be safe and asciisy as lliouyh he had lime he conlenled himself wilii traekim; her 
 
 been upon his sofa; while a faint scream 
 ■which came to his ear from behind the guard- 
 ed casement of the women's aparlments. con- 
 vinced him that, however secure lie miiiht 
 himself leel, his situation appeared by no 
 means equally so to the lookers-on. The voice 
 of fear had been that of a young per.son. for it 
 ■was musieal even in its terror ; and Ildji Keza 
 forgot to speciilale on the extraordinary pro- 
 pefties of his horse, in the belief that it eould 
 have been none other than that of the fair 
 DelsaVsc herself. 
 
 There is a charm in the voice of woman, 
 erven although it may be lilted in terror : there 
 is a mellowness, a depth, which seem to have 
 been drawn from the recesses of the soul — a 
 music, which neither fear nor anguish can to- 
 tally overpower — and Ildji Heza felt it even 
 to the remotest corners of liis soul. She loved 
 him ; she feared for him — for Aim .' And what 
 part ■was he about to play in this strange dra- 
 ma? All was yet in the hands of fate ; but 
 
 up one of the eovereil streets and dosvii ano- 
 ther ; until, at length, when she arrived in the 
 bazar, and he observed Iroin the nature of her 
 purchases, and the readiness with which she 
 paid the price demanded, without liesitalion or 
 cavil, that they must be intendid lor the us© 
 of .Muiie one of very superior rank to her.scll', a 
 hope i;rew upon him that she inii;lit even be 
 tlie conlidcnlial attendant of Delsaisi- Manouin j 
 and no sooner had tlie idea eui^ge.sted itself, 
 than he walked (luietly up to the carpet ot the 
 dealer of whom she was purehasing an em- 
 broidered handkerchief of great beauty, whose 
 muslin centre was richly bordered with, a 
 wreath of flowers, exquisitely wrought in nee- 
 dle-work, with colored silks and gold ; and, 
 alfeeling to be also in searcii of a similar arti- 
 cle, he turned courteously towards tiie female, 
 and requested her to assist him in the selec- 
 tion. Thus addressed, the slave glanced 
 from beneath her veil at the speaker, and 
 immediately saluted him with respectful dc- 
 
 his word was pledged ; he was vowed to the I ferenee 
 
 ruin of loveliness and innocence: and he j "Is not my lord's will mine?'' she askcxt 
 
 must abide by the pledge that he had given. 
 
 Having come to this conviction, the wi.-^esi 
 thing that the young man could have done even as he commands ? May his days be 
 
 ' as she turned a longer and more earnest look 
 I upon the young man ; "and shall it not be 
 
 •would have been to avoid every opportunity 
 of dwelling on the beauty and perfections of 
 his promised bride : and the saeriliee. ■when he 
 ■was called upon to make it. would thus have 
 been rendered less bitter; but by that extra- 
 ordinary perversity of judgment which consti- 
 tutes the weakness of human nature, he not 
 only drew from his mother, already too wil- 
 ling on her side to expiate on so pleasant a 
 theme, everj* particular relating to the maiden : 
 but hour by hour, the inclination to look upon 
 her grew more strong ; and hour by hour, his 
 reason made fainter cfl'urts against the infatu- 
 ation. 
 
 CHAPTKR X.XVI. 
 
 THK ARAB STKF.I) CO.NTI.M ED. 
 
 Day airain waned ; and, as the many-colored 
 clouds that clustered in homage round the 
 Betting sun, paying back in glory the light 
 
 many, and his shadow never deerciu-e;" and 
 she began to turn over the handkerchiefs with 
 renewed energy; "But how may 1 tell the 
 taste of my lord ? were I still purehasing for 
 my mistress, I would take this — '' and sho 
 held towards him one which Vas wroimht 
 into a garland of minute rose-buds ; '• but it 
 tells a tale of happy love, and my lord may 
 not seek to make so soft a gill.'' 
 
 " Weni I sure that it would bo welcome, 
 that is the very present which I should wish 
 to offer." replied lldji Kezii, looking earnestly 
 towards her: " but if it were returned to me 
 with a sprig of rue among its folds, I cannot 
 tell to what my felei-h might drive me ui my 
 despair." 
 
 " How say you. Hadji Ferhat?'' laughed tho 
 slave, addressing iicrself to the grccn-lurbaned 
 dealer; ''docs my lord look like one whose 
 love-gift is likely to be returned upon his 
 hands V 
 
 " Mashallah !" retorte<l tho crafty dealer 
 stroking down his beard, quite salisfietl by the 
 
 ■which he shed over them, were repeated in i manner of IxUh his eu.siouK-r.s that there waa 
 fainter tints on the ripple of the noble river, I a mystery in the afl'.iir, ho it what it miirht. 
 
 I]||ji Kczii left his home : and alone, and on 
 foot, bent his way to the palace of the bey. 
 
 As he pa-ssed the door of the harem, a female 
 slave, closely veiled, and muflied in a dark 
 
 which he could not latli.in, mid r-solvid, if 
 possible, to turn it to his own advantage; 
 " Mashallah ! I would peril my whole stock 
 of merchandise on the chance — but if my lord 
 
THE ROMAKCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 really wishes to make a love-gift, shall I not 
 show him a scarf of cachemire. of the color of 
 the leaf that the rose shuts closest to her heart ; 
 having a border of golden threads, WTOUght 
 into a passionate ballad of the Persian poet, 
 Hafiz?--* . 
 
 " Ne i^tersiniz — what do you want to do ?" 
 asked the slave in affected anger ; " would you 
 play the Jew with the Beyzadeh, Hadji ? Do 
 I not know the scarf? And am I not aware 
 that my mistress, the beautiful daughter of 
 Kassim Bey — (may his weapon never rust !) 
 
 have conducted her to the door of the bey'i 
 harem ; but he at once gave her credit for tho 
 tact it displayed ; as most of the gardens were 
 enclosed by high walls, rendering the road as 
 private as the circumstances required ; while 
 at the same time she avoided the appearance 
 of expecting that he would again address her. 
 Having at length reached a spot more se- 
 cluded than any which they had yet passed, 
 the young man quickened his pace, and ove^ 
 took the attendant of his mistress, who at once 
 understood his purpose ; and after as much 
 
 would herself have purchased it, had you not hesitation as she considered necessaiy to en- 
 cast ashes upon your beard, by asking a price j hance the value of her concession, and sundry 
 
 that would frishten any one but an infidel 
 Frank ?"' 
 
 '' And have I not a right to do so ?" de- 
 manded Ferhat in his turn, with considerable 
 asperity : " Is there such another scarf to be 
 found in Damascus ? — Bak, Eifendim ;" he 
 
 assurances of the risk which she ran of her 
 lady's displeasure, the scarf was transferred 
 to her care, accompanied by a thousand hyper- 
 bolical asseverations, and a broad piece of 
 gold, which was no less graciously received. 
 As they parted, twilight was falling over 
 
 continued, as he drew the delicate drapery | the earth; and Ildji Reza, in order to escape 
 from its case of cedar wood, and laid it before ^ from his own thoughts, sauntered into the 
 Ildji Reza ; ■' Is that a thing to be cast before 1 great coffee-house, and joined a party of his 
 
 dogs ? 
 
 " Inshallah ! no ;" replied the young man 
 as he lifted a corner of the beautiful scarf : 
 acfd ^vith glowing cheek perused a couplet. 
 " How many purses do you ask for this pretty 
 toy?" 
 
 The price named was exorbitant ; but Ildji 
 Reza scarcely heeded its amount, as he drew 
 forth the embroidered bag containing his 
 money, and paid doAATi the gold without a re- 
 
 associates, who were smoking their chibou- 
 ques, and sipping their coffee, to the music of 
 a couple of mandolins, and as many small 
 Arab drums, played upon by Jews ; while two 
 fine youths, the sons of one of the musicians, 
 sang in alternate stanzas some of those lengthy 
 and monotonous ballads in which the Turli 
 delight. 
 
 " Khosh geldin, Ildji Reza :"' shouted the , 
 first idler who perceived his entrance ; " you 
 are so late that we feared vou had been seized 
 
 mark ; the pilgrim-merchant looking mean 
 while as grave and collected as though he had 'by the Wali — but gel, gel — come, come ; here 
 only completed an ho)iest bargain, instead of jis room for you beside me — and these dogs of 
 playing the knave as none but a hadji knows | Hebrews are in full voice to-night. Wallah ! 
 how to play it; and ringing every piece of coin I have been trying to persuade Naim to shave 
 separately lest he might be duped in his turn, [his beard, and expose it lor sale in the 
 
 The slave meanwhile, remained quietly 
 looking on, %s if conscious that she had not 
 yet completed her share of the adventure ; but 
 when Ildji Reza had folded the scarf in the 
 scarcely less beautiful muslin handkerchief, 
 she paid for her own purchase, and after a 
 courteous *' Salam aliekam," slowly moyed 
 a.way. 
 
 The youg man was less tardy in following; 
 and was by no means surprised to observe 
 that when she quitted the bazar she took a 
 totally different road home from that by which 
 she had come; avoiding the close and covered 
 streets, where at every instant she was liable 
 to be elbowed by some passer-by : and select- 
 ing the more open path that wound among the 
 OTchards and gardens by which the city is so 
 thickly intersected. Nor did Ildji Reza re- 
 quire to be informed of her reason for thus 
 preferring a circuitous route, to that more 
 direct one wiiich would in half the time 
 
 * These beautiful and costly scarfs are by no means un- 
 common in the East. They aje souietiinrs in^cnbe^l with 
 pass&gos from the Kor&n: and at others, &a in the present 
 case, with popular lore ballads. 
 
 it would fetch a good price, were it only be- 
 cause he has apretty daughter." 
 
 '• My lord is merry to-night ;" said the pa-. 
 tient Jew, as he forced a smile at the pitiful 
 pleasantry, and glanced down upon the long, 
 grizzled beard which depended to his girdle;: 
 •• and what am I that I should restrain his 
 mirth." 
 
 '• Taib — well said, infidel;" laughed the 
 young aga ; "is it not much that we suffer 
 such dogs, and fathers of dogs as you are, to 
 wear beards, and to lock up their daughters ?" 
 
 And his companions exclaimed simultaneous-, 
 ly, '• Chok chay — it is much." 
 
 '• May it please your highness ?" faltered' 
 out the trembling Jew, whose very lips be-| 
 came livid at the second mention of his; 
 daughter: '• My child Sara departed f or Alep-i 
 po by the caravan that left the city ycstermorc 
 at sunrise." 
 
 '•Hast thou dared. Kelb ?" asked Husseir 
 Aga removing the chiboitque from his lins. 
 and fixing his eyes sternly on the wretched He 
 man : •• By whose permission did she pass tiu 
 gate? has thou forgotten we have alreadj 
 
TITE ROMANCE OF THE IIAUI'M. 
 
 M 
 
 taught thee that the soles of thy foef are not 
 made of caiiiefs liide ? Why went slie to 
 Aleppo ?" 
 
 The miserable Nairn quailed beneath the 
 question : '• As the Proplioi is in Purudise'' — 
 le bagiui, but ho was instantly silenced by a 
 •ry of '■ Unbeliever ! intidel ! whose do? art 
 thou thai tliou sliould'st dare to talk of the 
 Prophet of the Faithful? Wherefore went 
 thy daughter to Aleppo ?" 
 
 The aL'cd Hebrew wrung his hands in agony ; 
 "She is gone, your higliness, to nurse a siek 
 kinsman, who is on the bed of death.' 
 
 ■ Alliemduililah !" sneered another of the' 
 party: '-I have also a kinsman at Aleppo. 
 How say you. Aga, shall we overtake tlic 
 caravan, and protect the pretty Sara by the 
 way ?"' 
 
 The handsome young aga nodded smilingly, 
 and was about to reply, wlien Ildji Hezil ex- 
 claimed, *• Jew, thou liest in thy beard, for 1 
 saw the caravan pass out, and even watched 
 the women as they mounted, and not one of 
 thy spawn was among them."' 
 
 More threats were uttered, rather in sport 
 than in anger by the party of young men : and 
 ;hen the subject was sulfered to die away : 
 md the Hebrews resumed their discordant 
 min.strelsy, for which they were uliimately 
 rewarded with quite as many curses as coins, 
 rime meanwhile, wore on; and it grew deep 
 Jito the night : nor wa,s it until every good 
 Mus.^elmaun had long dropped his head upon 
 ,he cushion of rest, that the idle and dissolute 
 >'oung men. who. after the d.-parture of the 
 lews, had exchanged their coffee and sherbets 
 or the more iH)icnt beverages of the Franks, 
 separated each to his dwelling, with quicken- 
 'A pulses and throbbing brains. 
 
 CHAPTKR XXVII. 
 
 THE ARAB STEF.D COXTrSlED. 
 
 Far differently had the young and innocent 
 )elsai8C pa.sscd the early hours of the niglit. 
 The slave Ziba no sooner parted from the son 
 )f Yezid, than she hastened to the harem of 
 ler master, and having delivered to tlie wife 
 if the bey the various purchases which she 
 lad made in the city, .•■he left the n]iartnu-nt 
 nsearchof her beautiful younKiim-trt'ss. She 
 ost no time in the palace, for she knew that 
 it tliis hour the fair girl was ever to be found 
 n a garden-kio.<que containing a fountain of 
 vhite marble, and overlooking a small par- 
 erre, of which the flower-b»ds wcrt; fiu<hioncd 
 Dto intricate and pleasant forms, and tilled 
 nth a variety of sweet-scented and caily- 
 ofored blof-soins. Thrher she aecor<lin:;iy 
 lent her steps, but even accustomed as she was 
 o gaxe upon the lovely DcUaisc at all hours, 
 5 
 
 she yet paused a moment in admiration ere she 
 entered. 
 
 The tapestry curtain was drawn a.^idc, and 
 the hiooniight slreained into the kiosqm- ; 
 where, alter turning the waters of the buMu 
 into liquid diamonds, it fell on the lair form 
 of the young beauty, wrfo lay. wrapped in a 
 flowing robe of soft white nuislin. on a divaa 
 of silver tissue. Her long dark lres.--e.s. phut- 
 ed with large pearls, fell over her Ijosoiii ; a 
 crimson turi)an einctund her brow : her heiui 
 was pillowed upon her hand, and Ii.t largo 
 eyes were bi-nt earthward : her papoo.shes of 
 purjde velvet sprinkled with gems lay on the 
 'carpet near the edge of the fountain ; and on© 
 jof her small feet, dazzling in its whiteness, 
 jhuni; lightly over the front of the divan. 
 
 The step of the slave aroused her from her 
 Ireverj', and, as Ziba prep;ired to enter the 
 ;kiosque, she started and looked up: •• Yon are 
 I welcome, Zibamou;"' she said, wiih a sweet 
 smile; ''you have lingered later than usual in 
 the city, and I have wearied for you. Tell 
 rae — have you .seen him?"' 
 I The slave seated herself upon the carpet at 
 ithc feet of her young mistress, and looked up 
 into her eVcs. '"Von have then thoiiylit of 
 him, Kflendim, during my ab.sonee : and yet, 
 of what avail to think of one who has slight- 
 ed you, scorned you, and shaken the dust from, 
 his feet a.s he passed your threshold ? But 
 turn not away in aniier. I have never blamed 
 him when oilier tongues in the bey's harem 
 have been loud and bitter ; I am not about 
 even to chide you for your question ; but rather 
 to tell you that you have done well, lor 1 hav» 
 talked with him in the bazar." 
 ; '• Ziba ! my own Ziba !"' exclaimed the 
 beaulilul girl, ela>iiing her fair hands to- 
 gether in an ccstacy of delight ; " this day 
 must be marked as tlio happiest of my lile ! 
 And did he speak of me ? Did he ask if I 
 loved him? And. above all, Ziba, my dear 
 Ziba. did he say that he loved me ?' 
 
 " .Miwhallah I"' cried the laughing slave ; 
 "here are a hiuidrc<l qiu-stions in a breath : 
 why it would reciuirc the luniis of a moullah 
 to answer them ! Listen, and I will tell my 
 tale ; but first, oh ! sultana, he is as handsome 
 as the day. He has eyes — no, never, never 
 did 1 behold such eyes ! — teeth — talk to me of 
 I)carls. I say onf ! pearls arc as henna U-side 
 them — haiuls like the water-lily — and a >H-ard 
 — Astelerallah ! there is not such another 
 beard in Ihimasens." 
 
 I '• But what did he say. Ziba ?"' inter|x>iied 
 I the anxious girl : " I know that he is handsome 
 'enough to turn the heads of thchonris — I hav» 
 seen him from my lattice — tell me rather, 
 therefore, what he said ?" 
 
 I •• You have seen liim, KiTendim. say you !" 
 echoed the slave, in an accent of jieorn. ' You 
 cannot even eiie.>-s what he is like ! Have you 
 .eyes that will look without winking on the 
 
«s 
 
 THE ROMANCE 9F THE HAREM, 
 
 I 
 
 sun ? Sen bilirsen — ^}'ou know best : but if 
 you have not, you have never seen Ildji Reza 
 
 " But what said he, Zibamou ?" again urged 
 the maiden. 
 
 " He said," at length commenced the slave : 
 "that he lived but for you — that his thoughts 
 all flew to you with the force of a stone hurl- 
 ed by an elephant — that he dreamed of you on 
 his sofa — tliiit his blooil turned to fire when 
 fear of your displeasure grew upon him — that 
 — in short, sultana mou, if I undertake to 
 repeat to you all he said) we shall get no fur- 
 ther by day-dawn ; enough that he extorted 
 from me a promise that I would meet him 
 a^ain to-morrow." 
 
 '• Happy, happy Ziba !" murmured out the 
 excited girl. 
 
 •• Nay. for that matter," laughed the hand- 
 maiden; " It is even as it may be : do 1 not 
 go to hear him talk of you ? Say rather, 
 iiappy Delsaisc Haiioum, who will be the bride 
 of the handsomest youth in the city ; for his 
 bride you will be, in sj)ite of all that is past, 
 as surely as though it had been foretold by the 
 sagest karabash of Damascus. Think, my 
 sultana; did not the pretty daughter of the 
 Wali marry a hunchback? Did not Isau Aga 
 give the only child he had to Daoud Effendi, 
 whose odious squint ever reminds one of the 
 Kvil Eye ? Has not Djamilc Hanoum thrown 
 away your favorite playfellow, Shereeii, upon 
 ■old Amin the Cadi, whose beard is as while 
 as your hand? Eh, vah ! who is the happy 
 one here? Answer me that." 
 
 And the young beauty sighed out in her de- 
 light ; "You are right, Ziba : it is indeed I." 
 
 '•Guzel — good;" said the attendant: "but 
 'do you believe that nothing more passed be- 
 tween us ? Astefcrallah ! Ildji lieza is no 
 sakalsiz ! See !" and she drew from beneath 
 her cloak the costly present of the sou of 
 Yczid, which the maiden seized with a scream 
 of rapture. " It will tell its own tale, and 
 needs no words from me. Rut hearken, Ef- 
 fendi mou — my mistress; you were to have 
 been the wife of this young man, or I would 
 have undertaken no such mission." 
 
 The prudence, tardy as it was, of her com- 
 panion, was, however, lost upon the beautiful 
 girl, who, full of the delight of being beloved 
 for the first time, had already pressed the 
 oflering of her lover to her heart and lips, and 
 was now busily employed in dccijiheriiig the 
 •characters of the embroidered border. When 
 she had read the whole, she again embraced 
 the splendid token of tldji Rezas afl'ection ; 
 and then, bending over the faithlul Ziba.' she 
 repeated to her in a clear whisper the words 
 ■of the ballad, which many a Persian maiden, 
 almost as fair and as fond as herself, has sung 
 to her mandolin : 
 
 LOVE AND THE LOTUS. 
 
 FROM HAFIZ. 
 
 When in the east, the golden sun 
 
 Has risen from his ocean bed. 
 And o'er the earth, tso lately dark, 
 
 The glories of his brii: Illness shed ; 
 The Lotus, on the river's lireast. 
 
 Ijifts, with deep love, her dewy eye, 
 And thanks him for the life and light 
 
 lie sheds upon her from the sky. 
 
 At noon her loving gaze pursues 
 
 His proud career, untired, unlurn'd; 
 And when at length he slowly sets, 
 
 ?he watches every beam that burn'd, 
 Until the last is lost — and then 
 
 Slie downward bends her gentle head, 
 And leans in sadness o'er the stream, 
 
 To weep till morn his brightness fled. 
 
 So, lady, do I turn to thee. 
 
 Through every change, in every hour; 
 Heedless of all on eartti beside, 
 
 Save thy pure beauty's thralling power ; 
 In thy loved light 1 live — but when 
 
 ] lose the glory of its ray. 
 Like to the Lotus, bow'd and bruised, 
 
 My spirit weeps itself away. 
 
 " Mashallah !" exclaimed Ziba. as the mur- 
 mur of the sweet voice ceased ; '" 'tis the love- 
 song of a peri ! And even .so, sultana, doefi 
 the EfTeiidi talk. If many of the fair message^: 
 with which he entrusted me were to be put' 
 into verse, they would make just such ballade 
 as that ! Wallah ! what shall I say to hiir 
 to-morrow in reply ?" 
 
 " What ought you to say, dear Ziba !" askcc 
 the innocent girl ; •• you shall tell him wha; 
 you will : only forget not to assure him that !. 
 love him as the lotus loved the sun : and tha ' 
 even so have I watched him when he ha' 
 passed under the windows of the harem — foi 
 the rest, you know best — say to to him -wha 
 you will," 
 
 • Taib, EfTendimou — well said, my mistress 
 but have you nothing to send him as a tokei 
 
 at I am an honest interpreter of your heart?' 
 
 Delsaise hesitated for a moment ; young am' 
 unpractised as she was in love, she yetshraiil 
 with instinctive delicacy from so decided i 
 neneure ; but the encouraging words and flat^ 
 teries of Ziba soon won her to consent, and sli 
 ultimately severed from her head one of il 
 glossy braids wreathed with pearls, and, haviii' 
 entwined it about a bunch of jasmine llower: 
 which lay beside lier on the sofa, she deliverer 
 it into the kee|)ing of her atlendant, " M 
 heart goes with it ;" she said, as a tear swel, 
 led in her large dark eye ; '• but there can b 
 no evil in the gift to one who, you assure nic 
 will one day be my hu.sband." 
 
 '• Evil !" exclaimed the slave : " who drr;. 
 of evil ? Even if you had giA'cn it to tli'' i 
 fendi with your own hand, where could < 
 exist ? Was he not cho.«en lor you by the I ■ 
 3^our father ? and might he not have niani' 
 you if he had wished it, months ago ! Is li 
 not now eager to do so ? You owe him at leaf' 
 a return for the srace that he has done yon.' 
 
 "Nay, elude nic not, Ziba;" smiled \v 
 
TlIK nOMANTK OF Tl 
 
 lIAROf. 
 
 miestress, -whom the eiiorsA- of Iho aftciulnjit 
 had served to reassure ; ' I am so liappv tliut 
 I cannot listen to any woiils save iho.so of af- 
 fection and senllene.-s. Ilow.vliall I repay yon. 
 dear, kind Ziba, for the interest iliut yon liave 
 Bhown in my happiness ? My licarl leaps as 
 if il had bnt newly spruni; into life : and 1 
 could almost chide the darkness tnat will la.«<t 
 so many hours, before you can ayain see him !"" 
 and she buried her face anions the cushions 
 of the divan, and shed a liood of those passionate 
 tears which scald the spirit from whence they 
 snring, and destroy for ever the bloonnnc'^s of 
 > lirsi pertect purity : tears wrung by the im- 
 , iiscsof earth from the hitherto untouched 
 .-I ui : withering as they fall, and blighting in 
 their hot flow the very sources of their being. 
 
 From this luxury of grief slic was aroused 
 by the rustling of leaves imincd.iately outside 
 tlie kiosquc ; it was not the sighing of the 
 wind, tor the night was calm and still, and not 
 a breuih bent the starry jasmine flowers, whose 
 shadows were reflected on the marble floor. 
 Tlic ear of Ziba also caught the sound, but 
 murmuring to herself • Here comes that Ibn 
 Sheiian — that son of Satan, the Asa Biiba — 
 may his pillauf be made of green rice !"' she I 
 quietly dropped her head once more upon her ! 
 knees, regardless of the interruption. i 
 
 But the fair DelsaVse was not of the same 
 opinion ; and she still continued to gaze 
 through the open door, fearing she knew not 
 what, and ashamed to conless her panic to her , 
 attendant, until the clear inoonlight was shut i 
 out by the dark figure of a man, who stood on I 
 Uie threshold. | 
 
 The maiden uttered a faint screain. and ! 
 drew closer to the slave : while the intruder, ] 
 clearing the marble ba^in at a bound, flung , 
 himself at her feet, and, raising hi» eyes to i 
 hers, disclosed the counienance of lldji llcza 
 
 CHAI'TKll XXVIIl. 
 
 THE ARAB STEEP CONTINLED. * 
 
 I HAVE said that, ere tlie young men who I 
 were congregated at tlie great eoflce-hoiL'.c ho- \ 
 paratcd for the night, they had drunk deep, i 
 and become excited with noise an<l elainor ; 
 but I have yet to tell you that when the son 
 of Yezid once more found hiiiifclf uloiie, his 
 brain burning, and his brow l.-vercd. ho turned i 
 aside from the Btreet leading to his fathers 
 house, and followed the same solitary path ■ 
 that the slave had selected some hours before. ! 
 For a time he walked slowly, buried in thou-jht, i 
 and indulging in a halcyon dream, rendi-red 
 only the more brilliant 1 y his partial e.xalia- ' 
 tion ; but as he pursued the «ulij<ct, his step 
 grew hurried and irregular, his breath came ' 
 quick, and the blood receded to his heart, j 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, hcsitnted, and then with 
 the speed of desperation rushed down a nar- 
 row road loading to the palace-gardens of the 
 bey. When he had icaelied them, ho walked 
 for a short time to and fro beiuMlh the wall. 
 gaRiiig upwiinls ui>on the overhanging trew. 
 until, having selected that which best suited 
 his purpose, ho unwound his turban, and las- 
 teniiiii a heavy stone into the long searl »;f 
 which it was formed, fluii^ it skillully across 
 a projecting bough, and tlins securing his 
 a.'icent, soon found himself upon the wall, 
 Icxtking down upon what to his excited imagi- 
 nation appeared to bo the entrance of ilio 
 Seventh Heaven ! 
 
 All was indeed calm and beautiiul in that 
 sweet spot — the nightingale was jioiiring furili 
 Ills love-.song to the rose ; and the moon was 
 flooding the earth with silver: the flowers 
 wore paying back her liiiht in fragrance; and 
 the lotus blossoms were inirron-d in the spark- 
 ling water, as they bent their heads beneath 
 the diamond shower that fell upon them. 
 
 For a moment the heart of lldji llez.-i quail- 
 ed within him. The stillnc-^s and purity of 
 the scene had schooled and sobered hi.s wild 
 and phrcnsied feelings; and he felt like a 
 guilty .>.oul hovering on the conlines of jwra- 
 disc. Hut this involuntary compunction en- 
 dured not long : another rush of reckless emo- 
 tion followed ; and he flung himself amid tlie 
 branches of the cedar tree, and descended into 
 the garden. 
 
 Ha.-tily he readjusted his turban ; and ih- ii 
 he stole along under the shadow of the wall, 
 in the direction of the palace ; w hen suddenly 
 he came upon the kiosquc of the fountain. 
 His path being undelermincd, he bent his steps 
 thither ; and he had arrived nearly ul the 
 threshold, ere the po.^sibility of its being ten- 
 anted suddenly occurred to him. when he 
 hastily concealed himself among the shrnlw 
 by wliicli it was surrounded ; until he dis- 
 tinctly di.>-tin;;uishcd two feinalo ligures with- 
 in. In the next moineiit, he became satisfled 
 tiiut one of these was the slave Ziba; and as 
 he gazed upon the younger and lairer crea- 
 ture on the divan, his heart at once a.ssured 
 him that this could be none other than Delsaise, 
 his )iroiiiised bride. For a while lie guzed 
 cntruiiced, drinking in her pure moonlighted 
 beauty; until, no longer able to control ilio 
 feelinijs which overN\ helmed liiin, he rushed 
 forward and flung himself at her leei. 
 
 The exclamation which had risen to tlio 
 lips of the )ouiig beauty died away, and the 
 question arose in her mind — Had he heard her 
 la>t words ? WaA ho CKii.seious that (ho tear* 
 which yet glistened in her eyes hud Uen shod 
 for him? — She glanc<d towards her attoii<!.int, 
 but there was nothing to reaK-iure her in iho 
 aspect of the paruUzed Ziba; itnpruilent om 
 she had been, the aliectionate woman hud 
 never dreaded such a i-.im..:.'o h.- .u ihii ' 
 
68 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 For a while there was silence j the timid 
 girl remained with averted head and heaving 
 heart, incapable of uttering a sentence; and 
 the entranced and liappy Ikiji Rcza hesitated 
 for the first few ninmejits to break so exquisite 
 a pause ; while Ziba, painfully aware that 
 she Wivs not altogether blameless in the affair, 
 hid her burning hrovr upon the lap of her mis- 
 tress, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 '•Fairest of the daughters of Peristan !" at 
 length whisjiered the enraptured lover, as he 
 possessed himself of her small white hand ; 
 '• Houii, whom the Prophet has sent on earth 
 to show man in what mould tlie shapes of 
 Paradise are made — Star of the summer-night, 
 before whose liuht the moon herself grows 
 pale — Sultana, at whose feet the world might 
 bow in homage, and yet fail to render thee thy 
 due — Wilt thou not speak to me, that I may 
 listen to the music of the bulbi^l? Wilt thou 
 not amile on me, that I may see the day dawn 
 in the east, while to all beyond thine influence 
 the earth is wrapped in darkness ? The low- 
 liest of Ihy slaves is at thy feet — -his life is in 
 thy hands — he asks it of tliee as a boon." 
 
 He paused, and a smile, like the dawn to 
 which he had likened it, stole over the fair 
 features of the bewildered girl j but she had 
 not power to articulate a syllable. 
 
 '• Take that forfeit life ;" pursued the young 
 man, conscious of his advantage; '"that life 
 which my entrance here has placed at your 
 mercy. I shall yet be happy, for I shall die 
 at your feet !'' 
 
 '• Asleferallah — Heaven forbid !" murmur- 
 ed the low soft voice. 
 
 " I shall live, then !" exclaimed Ildji Fteza, 
 as ho flung his arm about the shrinking girl, 
 and drew her to his bosom ; " My love — -my 
 soul — my bride !" 
 
 '' Eh, vah !" whispered Ziba, rousing her- 
 self from the paroxysm of terror: '• What is 
 this, Ellendiin ? Are you a man, that you 
 steal thus upon our privacy, and peril our 
 lives ? Have we dcaervcd this at your 
 hands ?•' 
 
 But Ihlji Reza heeded her not ; the fairest 
 creature whom the earth ever held was in his 
 arms — upon his heart — -her long hair swept 
 across hia hand — her breath came to his cheek. 
 She loved him! — his image alone occupied 
 her ; and how could he think of aught save her ? 
 
 Ere they parted, the dawn, veiled in her 
 dusky mantle, was slowly ascending the sky; 
 and the awakening birds were twittering in 
 the boughs, and shaking from the leaves, 
 among which they had been nestled, the dia- 
 mond-drops that they had worn throughout 
 the night ; the lovers had even talked of future 
 meetings ; and the fair cheek of the maiden 
 had flushed crimson as she promised to hold 
 the visit of her imprudent suitor a secret from 
 all save Ziba. Often did they murmur a low 
 farewell, and as often did Ildji Reza delay yet 
 
 another moment, to press the delicate fingen 
 of his mistress to his lips, and to hear her 
 breathe out another parting word. But the 
 slave, as she marked a few streaks spread 
 across the sky, red as the banner of the Pro- 
 phet, would brook no further venture ; and, 
 while the weeping and bewildered girl waved 
 her last adieu to a lover whose rashness had 
 not only perilled his own life, but hers, Ziba 
 hurried him to a point of the wail where a 
 decayed buttress afforded a safe and easy 
 means of escape from the garden ; and, as he 
 failed not at the same moment to remark, secu- 
 red to him as commodious a mod^ of ingress. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED — CONTINUED. 
 
 The new moon sprang to the brow of night, 
 and crowned it with a crescent of silver; and 
 the beautiful daughter of Kassim Bey. and the 
 son of Yezid the Khawaji, sat hand in haiiJ 
 in the kiosque of the fountain, and looked 
 upon its pale and feeble light. It grew larger, 
 until it sailed like a bark formed of one vast 
 diamond upon the* wavy clouds of the calm 
 star-lighted heavens : and still they gazed on 
 it together : changed only in having felt their 
 love brighten and increase like the orb on 
 which they looked ; still he was at her feet, 
 and held her hand, and beguiled the hours of 
 night with gentle words ; and the innocent 
 and unsuspecting girl loved the growing light, 
 for she knew not that to her it portended evil. 
 And next it rose to its high place like a burn- 
 ing world, poised in mid-air, and ruddy with 
 the flame which fed upon its heart ; till, as it 
 reached its throne of sapphire sprinkled with 
 diamonds, it grew clearer and purer in its 
 brightness, and flooded all the earth with sil- 
 ver. And the lovers were yet together — tra- 
 cing its quivering light upon the leaves, and 
 weaving sweet fancies worthy of such an 
 hour. * 
 
 But mahak* came at last ; and, as the 
 young man watched the outline of the fair orb 
 diminish, he suddenly remembered his vow, 
 and quiet departed from him — the fair cheek 
 of his beloved looked livid in the clear lisht, 
 and a sadness seemed to dwell in her deep 
 eyes. He remembered his vow, and his spirit 
 melted within him. On that night he toro 
 himself from his beautiful mistress with 
 agony in his soul. Tliere might yet be time 
 to save her — 'he bounded along the garden 
 path : he climbed the wall like a shamois ; he 
 looked neither to the right nor to the left, to 
 mark if he were observed, but ran madly down 
 the road in the direction of the city ; conscious^ 
 
 Deoline of the moon. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TIIK llAUFM. 
 
 C» 
 
 even amid his anguish, that (he shout of de- 
 tection followed at his heels. 
 
 Like a hunted animal, he doubled upon his 
 pursuers ; he erouchod aloll^ under the shad- 
 ows of the buildin? : he rushed like a nnininc 
 across the open spaces which intervened upon 
 his path. And still he tlew on i'^ the dirtx'iion 
 of the Mcidan. until, in the broad n)oonlii;lit,- 
 immediately confront nii: him, he saw the bec- 
 tacliy who had witncj^sed his unholy vow. 
 
 '•Well found!" shouted the dervish; "a 
 few bounds more, and you are saved ; haste, 
 haste, the blood-hounds are at your heels'''"" 
 Instinctively he obeyed; and. CTaspiu"; tlie 
 hand that was extended to liiin. he tollowe<l 
 like a child. He heard the shouts, which hiul 
 80 lately grown with terrible riipidity upon his 
 '^ar, die away in the distance ; and then he 
 1 ing himself down upon the earth in a parox- 
 >in of agony : and writhed like one iu the 
 : ath-spasm. 
 
 '• And whither were you bound so fast, my 
 en ?'* asked the dervish, as lldja Reza, slowly 
 recovering his .«ell'-possession. raised liimself 
 on his elbow, and glanced wildly round the 
 tomb into which his companion hail dragged 
 him : '■ What has the owl of atHiction screamed 
 into the hollow of your ears, to move you 
 thus ? You struck the fiery hoof of speed on 
 the stony path of flight, like one who escaped 
 from the pestilence — what may this storm of 
 passion signify ?"' 
 
 " Father :"' gasped the fugitive : '' I am ac- 
 cursed — I have become an Ibn Sheitan — the 
 son of Satan — touch me not with the hem of 
 your garment: but pa.<6 on, and let me die."' 
 
 " Ne oldou — what has happened ?"' again 
 urged the bcciachy: "when we last met. \ou 
 seemed to soar above the power of your felech, 
 and to have expanded the wings of pride in tlie 
 akasli* of happiness — Why do you now grovel 
 in the dust of disapiwintment ?"' 
 
 " Where is the traitor Ali ?" asked the 
 young man in reply; "where is the Toorko- 
 man fiend who bought from me the slriniis of 
 my heart, and the pulses of my being? If 
 you cannot bring me to him; then oik-c more 
 I say — let me die."' 
 
 'Pouff! pouf! — pshaw! pshaw! Young 
 blood chills not so soon ;" retorted the dervihh ; 
 '' talk not of the dues of Asr'ael while you 
 have the power to defraud him of them. Why 
 do you despair? Has your gallant steed 
 foundered? or ha£ he .•■pumed the bit? Why 
 seal the trouble of your heart with the signei 
 of .'•ecrecy ? The physician who ha* not learnt 
 the nature of the malady can never nave the 
 patient. Tell me your grief; and who knowK 
 but I may find its cure. Have I not alrea<dy 
 saved you from the negro hounds who were 
 yelping at your heels, attracted thither no 
 
 • Eaiiterii philoiopher* innmt on a fifth element. whKh 
 ■hey desipnata aJcask; uid which tiief iaraU with pcr- 
 >ct purity. 
 
 doubt by some imprudence of your own ? 
 Why Mien should you hesitate to confidw in 
 me ?■' 
 
 '•What can [ say, oh ! father?" exclaimed 
 Ildji Heza jinssionately : '• 1 have strewed the 
 path of vanity with the pearls of happiness, 
 and they have been trodden under foot Oh, 
 that 1 could grasp the skirts of the future with 
 the fingers of repentance : and that it were yet 
 my fate to call Delsai'se my own !" 
 
 "Are the.sc tears, these pangs, then for a 
 woman?'.' asked the beetachy scornfully: '• and 
 j is it indeed the soir of Vezid. whoso lately 
 laughed the sex to t^corw. who now moistens 
 the marble floor with the drops of unavailing 
 and unmanly p.i.^sion ? Have you not the 
 steed in your stable, whom you coveted more 
 than all the beauties of the imjierial hareiti ? 
 I and do you play the sakalsiz tor a puny girl ?" 
 I " You chide in vain, father :"' said the young 
 ! man, recovering his silf-po.ssession by a vio- 
 ! lent efiort ; "rather a.ssist me to find the 
 I wretch who has cheated me into ruin — my 
 i vow must be cancelled, thouL'h I pave the 
 1 floor of his tent with gold — Let him take hack 
 the horse, and restore to me my soul — and then 
 let us part, never to breathe the same air 
 again." 
 
 " You talk widly. my son. Ali the khawaji 
 has left the city. You cannot now pluck the 
 rings of obedience from the ears of destiny — 
 You have sworn, and you must abide by your 
 oath." 
 
 •■ And when ? — when ?" gasped out the 
 victim. 
 
 The dervish pointed to the moon ; " Th*; 
 mahak has commenced ;"' he said solemnly : 
 •• you remember the compact." 
 I Ildji Heza smote upon his brow with his 
 clenelied hand, and ground his teeth like & 
 maniac. 
 
 } •■ When will man learn liis error !"' mur- 
 mured the beetachy, communing with hi« 
 jown thoughts: "Thus is it ever tliat the 
 I shallow cup of youth overflows with the froth 
 of folly : and that time brings only repentance 
 a» its dowry." 
 
 I " Can you not save us both ?" uryed the 
 young man ; "oh. lather! could you but im- 
 atiine half her beauty, her gentleness, lur 
 truth, you would feel that such a late mutiC 
 destroy her, as that which ray own madness 
 has drawn down-^do you ask gold ? I will 
 pour into your lap the pure ore of Siinuitra 
 which is current over the wlioN; earth. I>o 
 you love |K)wcr ? 1 will Ihj your slave, and 
 make my laws of the desires of yoiir lijn — 
 Your days shall How like the Bacr<d waters ot 
 Zimziin :* and your nights shall be niylii* ct 
 ' pciu-e. But save us. father, or wc i>eriiih. 
 , Head the stars for us, and teach mc how w« 
 may escape." 
 
 A luaotAia o««x Mmo*. 
 
10 
 
 THE ROI^IANCE OF THE HAEEM, 
 
 " Son of Yezid :" replied the dervish ; •' why 
 do you thus sit down in the sepulclire of sor- 
 row, and heap ashes upon your own head, 
 when you should arouse the man within you, 
 and siiake off the woman-weakness that bows 
 your spirit. Love is tiie very moon of mad- 
 ness, laughing amid the darkness over the 
 terrors of its power ; a ghoul, who.se food is 
 the heart of its victim, and whose wine is its 
 tears ; whose bonds are the chains of folly, 
 and whose music is the howling of those who 
 ■wear them. Earth is full of its bitterness : 
 and the very houris who have dared its sway, 
 have bowed beneath the curse ; joy dwells not 
 with them in the paradise of the faithful, and 
 its llowery paths are strown for them with 
 burning sand. Up then, son of Yezid, and 
 fling oir this diadem of serpents, which you 
 have woven about your brow." 
 
 '• Dervish, you preach in vain ;" said the 
 mournful Ildji Reza ; " help me if you can — 
 to chide me is useless — he who has once 
 looked on the light caimot dwell in darkness 
 with a merry heart." 
 
 '• Ne apalum — what can I do, my son ?" 
 a.sked the beetachy ; " Listen to me ; the 
 mahak has but commenced ; you have yet 
 time for reflection. But beware of repeating 
 the folly of to-night. You have been seen 
 and pursued : and, had I not been upon your 
 path, to guide the foot of flight into the way 
 of safety, you would ere now have been sacri- 
 ficed to the offended honor of the bey. Be 
 thankful therefore for your escape — La illaha 
 lUallah — there is but one Allah ! and you are 
 yet in a whole skin. Rest quietly here for 
 to-night. You are safe under the shadow of 
 a holy name ; and you will not be tlie first 
 sinner who has owed life and limb to the same 
 protection. Here is food :" and he produced 
 from bcneatli his khirkheh a handful of dates 
 and a flap of bread : — '• and here :" and as he 
 spoke he dislodged a stone within the tomb, 
 and drew forth a small skin filled with liquid : 
 '• here is wine — wine from Cyjirus — as sweet 
 and almost as thick as honey — You look 
 amazed, young man, but you have yet much 
 to learn, even in the good city of Damascus. 
 And now, eat and refresh your.self ; while I 
 go forth and strive to learn whether you were 
 recognized in your flight. If the Ibn Shcitan 
 — the sons of Satan — who pursued you, know 
 no more than thai they gave chase to a man, 
 without suspecting his identity, then may you 
 go boldly to the house of your falher, and re- 
 commence your career of folly : but if the cry 
 was raised at the heels of the son of Yezid, 
 you must gather up tlie skirts of speed, and 
 pass tiiCv city walls while there is yet time. 
 Farewell then for a while. When you have 
 eaten and drunk, you can replace the skin in 
 its hiding-place ; and should I tarry on my 
 mi-ssion, you must lay your head on the pillow 
 of patience, and sleep or dream till niy return. ■' 
 
 And, without awaiting further parley, the 
 dervish strode out of the tomb. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED CO.NTINUED. 
 
 Ildji Reza sat for a time with his head 
 bowed upon his clasped hands, like a figure 
 hewn in stone ; but after a while th» faint 
 sickne.-s of exhaustion stole upon him, and he 
 lifted the wine-skin to his lips, and drained a 
 deep draught. Again and again he raised it ; 
 and at length sleep stole upon him, and, 
 stretching himself along behind one of the 
 pillars which supported the dome of the build- 
 ing, he was soon buried in slumber. 
 
 How long he might have slept he knew not, 
 when he was suddenly aroused by a hoarse 
 peal of laughter immediately in his vicinity ; 
 and, raising himself gently on his elbow, he 
 discovered that the night was spent : and that, 
 to use the figurative expression of a Persian 
 poet, '• morning, in her mantle of dun edged 
 with saffron, was, like a shepherdess of the 
 plains, driving her fair flock of stars before 
 her to the shade." 
 
 The chilly dawn was peering into the 
 building ; and as his eye became familiarized 
 with tlie faint light, Ildji Reza discovered that 
 he had slept in company with the very out- 
 casts of the city. There were two filthy 
 hadjis, covered with rags, and loud with 
 ribaldry : a couple of those convenient way- 
 farers who receive the wages of wealthy indo- 
 lence, and save at once their own souls and 
 those of their employers ; while they drive a 
 lucrative trade by vending to the home-staying 
 devotees shreds of rag, morsels of painted 
 glass, and splinters of marble, collected at the 
 Prophet's Tomb. It being part of the system 
 of these money-making pilgrims to enhance in 
 the eyes of their patrons the fatigues and 
 diiliculties of their undertaking, they are 
 always careful to appear before tliem both 
 ragged and filthy ; and those who now at- 
 tracted the attention of Ildji Reza were masters 
 of their trade. 
 
 It was from the throat of one of these hadji.s 
 that the laugh had proceeded which roused 
 the young man from his slumber ; and it had . 
 scarcely died away when a howl, deep, pro- 
 longed, and fierce, as though it had been 
 uttered by a wild beast in the recesses of the 
 desert, formed its hideous answer ; and as the 
 son of Yezid grasped his handjar, and bent 
 forward to learn its cause, he saw, crouching! 
 near the base of a pillar, a miserable wretch 
 whose elf-locks fell over liis lank and haggard 
 countenance, and whose grizzled beard, dank 
 with the night dew, and matted into thick 
 ropes from neglect, hung to his waist; his 
 
TIIE llO^IAXCE OF THH lIAIIKNf. 
 
 n 
 
 legs were bare from the knocs, and covered [ turned liis deep liollow eyr8 upon liiin in 
 ■with scars, ns tlioui,'li his putli through lilV - wonder as he a.skcd, 
 
 had been among briars; his rainienl. \\i\a\ '•Whoaro you? — Monker and Nakir have 
 scarce, and coarse, and worn ; and lii.s long left me, the mist rolls hack, and the hiiio sky 
 thin fingers were clasped in the mass of hair j once more Hoods my soul — Wlieroam I ? TIiih 
 that hung over his wild fierce eyes, drai:;;in',' cannot be I'aradi.se. for 1 have not liodd.Mi iho 
 ii aside, as he glared upon a sa:i«-)n, or profes- Eternal Hiidgc : and the earth on which I lio 
 sional saint, who was squatted on an old rug chills mo as though I were pillowed on a ser- 
 
 beside him. 
 
 " Peace ! father of a8.<!es !" said the elder 
 hadji, shaking his clasped hand at the wretch- 
 ed maniac; "ihis is what thy vain folly has 
 done lor thee. Do you remember this howling 
 idiot, Hadji Latif ?" he asked of his compan- 
 ion: 'Mlierc were nono like him at the Tekio 
 of Scutari, when he llrst joined the brother- 
 hood : but his zeal was stronger than his head : 
 and though, a.s you may sec by his scarred 
 limbs, and the seams ujwn his chest, he tried 
 to keep it cool by blood-letting, it grew too 
 hot for him at last — " 
 
 ■' It burns I it burns !"' howled the misera- 
 ilo maniac, catching a glimpse of the hadji's 
 meaning; '-La illaha illallah !■' and as the 
 words passed his lips, he tell flat upon the 
 earth, with closed eyes and risid limbs. 
 
 pent. 
 
 " Yon arc safe, quite safe ;" was the reply. 
 •'Sit up, lean on me, and swallow some of 
 this cordial ; hero arc none to harm you." 
 
 '"Harm mo!" echoed the maniac, a.s ho 
 drained a deep draught of the ri'lrc^hiim wino 
 of Cyprus , '■ my day of iVar is juist ;" and ho 
 clasped his loim bony hands toL"Mher, and bin 
 liead drotipod upon his breast as ho murmured ; 
 " By sea and by land — by siorin and by calm 
 — in the crowded city — on the wide waste of 
 waters — above me, beneath me, about mc on 
 every side — they are ever there I — ever I — and 
 she. my own one, my beloved Comladcve,* 
 she Ijor whom I bore all, sho alone is ab- 
 sent — " 
 
 The low despairing tone of the dervi.sh 
 truck to the licart of Ildji Reza; he knew 
 
 It was a spectacle of horror : and springing thai it was the mere wailing of a madman 
 to his feet. Ildji Reza bounded acro.ss the lloor, i but he felt, as he listened, that it must havo 
 and rushed through the portal of the tomb. j been a biting mi.-^ery which had shattered tho 
 
 "A spy! a spy!"' shouted the sanlon ; 
 
 " Let us away, my friends, or we shall have 
 the city griard upon us." 
 
 The hadjis appeared to consider the advice 
 sea-sonable. for, tightening their girdles, and 
 replacing their turbans with all speed, they 
 left the building; being probably too well ac- 
 
 intcllect of the wretched man beside him; 
 and again he soothed, eiieoura'.'ed and condoled, 
 until his accents melted the spirit of the strick- 
 en one, and he wept tears in which there waa 
 no bitterness. 
 
 Suddenly he grasped the arm of the young 
 man. and said ea::crly ; '' I know not what you 
 quainied with the tender mercies of the Cadi i have given me — 1 care not — hut. though 1 am 
 of Damascus, to be desirous of placing cither niad — mad — with a bursting pul.so and a 
 their feet or their throats at his disposal. ! burning brain. I can thank you — and you .^hall 
 
 Ildji Reza stood for awhile in the chill i hear all — all! — 1 have not told the tale for 
 morning air. panting for breath, and sick at' year.« — I never thought to ti-ll it again — but a 
 heart, ere he remembered the wretched maniac ' sudden streiiL'th is eoiiio ujxin mc ; and. i-re I 
 in the tomb: when, shaking off the disgust die. I will clear my brea.sl of the Iriu-htlul se- 
 that had grown on him, he slowly retraced his ' cret. Allah keriin ! the vulture that gnaw.s 
 steps, and found the mi.serable man still lying my heart will soon hubs its meal — the worm 
 extended on the marble floor like a corpse ; that has coiled itself in the cells of my brain 
 his livid lips parted, and drawn tightly back will ere long unwrcatho its fold.i — " .And 
 from his large and di.scolorcd teeth: every j flinging his arms frantically in tho air, he 
 limb inflexible and rigid, and his long wild | yelled out like a wounded uninnil, ere. by aii- 
 locks scattered over the pavement. j other transition of feeling, ho cowered closer 
 
 To fling over him water Irom a fountain into the corner of the building, and in a rapid 
 which was near at hand, and to loree down ' voice commenced his wild dream of tho past, 
 his throat a draught of the wine which the 
 bcctachy had left for his owti use, wojt the 
 work of a moment to Ildji Rczii ; and. as tho 
 
 madman writhed and struggled with returning CIl.Al'TER XX.XI. 
 
 consciousness, he soothed him with words and 
 
 accents of gentlencs.-*, such as had probably not THE ARAB stekd — contim'ed. 
 
 "met the ears of the ill-fated man lor years. 
 
 "Gel, gel. gardash mou — come, come, my ' '• I know not what crime I had committed i 
 brother;" he said kindly; •' rouse yourself, or . I am ignorant if I was even accuhcd of any;. 
 I must icave you in your misery, for I look to — — 
 
 be summoned ere long;" and tho maniac 
 
 • W»ur-hlr. 
 
12 
 
 THE ROMA^XE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 but at midnight men stood beside my bed. and 
 around it ; and my narrow chamber was filled 
 •with dusky forms, seen dimly athwart the 
 darkness. Shapes of fear they were; armed, 
 and strong, and tall in the shadow; and their 
 heavy weapons struck discordantly and harshly 
 on tlie marble floor as they moved silently 
 about the chamber. 
 
 '■ 1 strove to speak, but I could not; Allah 
 knows the terror which froze up my soul ! my 
 tongue seemed parched, and clave to my fe- 
 vered palate : fear had paralyzed my ener- 
 gies, and 1 could not move a limb. 
 
 " I had little time to straggle with the dread 
 that pressed upon my spirits ; a strong grasp 
 raised me from my mat. and busy hands were 
 soon folding my garments round me. They 
 put my turban on my head, and fastened it 
 beneath my chin with the chain which had 
 sustained my dagger ; my arms were pinioned 
 tightly behind my back, and secured by my 
 own costly shawl — that shawl which I had 
 bound in pride about me wheu I last beheld 
 Comladeve. the peri of my spirit. What a 
 vision did tliat memory conjure up ! I was 
 about to be borne 1 know not whither; the 
 hour would come when she would look for me 
 again ; when she would have renewed tlie 
 henna on her delicate hands, and scattered 
 perfumes in her hair; when she would listen 
 near her latticed casement for my coming step, 
 and hear only the breath of the evening wind 
 sighing over the roses and the lotus-flowers ; 
 her zebec would be silent, and her heart 
 heavy; for her loved one might not stand be- 
 ncatli her window in the starlight, nor look 
 with her upon the moon. 
 
 '■ These thoughts swept hurriedly over my 
 soul like the winged steed of Mahomet through 
 a stormy sky. 1 stru.'fgled, but the effort came 
 too late — I was lilted from the earth ; a coarse 
 beneesh was folded round me, and I was flung 
 rudely across a war-horse guided by a strong 
 hand. Away we flew like the wind ! and" 
 shrouded as I was, I distinguished the hoof- 
 clang of many steeds, and the hoarse tones of 
 their riders, urging them to yet greater speed. 
 
 '• On. on, we sped; and, as I lay panting 
 across the animal which bore me, the coarse 
 covering pressed rudely upon my mouth and 
 nostrils, and 1 sickciicJ for air. For a while 
 I became senseless, and when at length I again 
 breathed freely, the wind of an autumnal 
 evening was fanning my brow like the wing 
 of a peri. I thought that I had wakened in 
 Paradise ; and 1 hastily looked up to meet the 
 dark eyes which were to welcome me to the 
 everlasting bowers. 
 
 " I gave but one glance, ere I again closed 
 my aching lids : I was surrounded by dark 
 forms ; they pressed closely about me : and a 
 crowd of turbaned heads were turned towards 
 me, as if awaiting my restoration to conscious- 
 ness. A deep murmur ran tlurough the throng 
 
 as I looked up ; again a strong hand lifted me 
 from the earth, and I involuntarily gazed onoe 
 more around. 
 
 " We were standing on the verge of a dark 
 rock ; and the wide sea, in all its might and 
 its majesty, was beneath us. I gave one 
 frenzied shriek — it was the A'oice of my agony, 
 as I hung in air for an instant in the grasp of 
 that iron hand ! 
 
 •' As the scream died away, a deep voice 
 sounded in my ear — the words were seared 
 into my heart — How oiten since that moment 
 have I uttered them with the laugli of partial 
 insanity, or the hollow tone of reckless despair, 
 when none were near to listen : — 
 
 " ' Be the sea thy home — the grave which 
 it offers to others, it shall refuse to thee — for 
 seven long years jihalt thou float on, and on — 
 Earth shall fly from thee ; and the inhabitants 
 of the earth shall reject thy fellowship — Thou 
 shall look on forms that thou hast loved, and 
 hearken to tones which have been dear to 
 thee — Thou shalt look and listen and it shall 
 avail thee nothing.' 
 
 " A hoarse laugh from the assembled crowd 
 followed closely on the awful words ; and, 
 ere the discordant mirth had wholly subsided, 
 he who held me strode yet nearer to the edge 
 of the dark rock. Instinctively I closed my 
 eyes : a sickness as of death came over me : 
 there was another yell of fiendish joy — another 
 hellish mockery of mirth — a sudden fall — a 
 loud plash — and I was floating like a corse 
 upon the waters. — 
 
 •'Oh ! the agony of that moment ! — I 
 writhed — I struggled — I strove to wrench 
 away the bonds which bound my arni.s — but, 
 at every heave of my tortured body, at every 
 spasm of Illy fettered strength, I only sank 
 deeper into tlie wave ; and as I rose again ex- 
 hausted and panting to the surface, I threw 
 back the salt water from my mouth and nos- 
 trils in nauseous streams. 
 
 '• As the breeze swept over me, I caught the 
 breath of flowers, the scents of earth ! But I 
 heard also the clattering hoof-strokes of the 
 demon train who had borne me to the coast 
 rapidly returning to the city. My heart swel- 
 led almost to bursting ; and had not my brain 
 been scorched, I could have wept. 1 looked 
 up ; the gray twilight was deepening around 
 mc — Wretch as I was, this alone was wanting 
 to complete my misery ! 
 
 " Night was gathering in the sky, the long, 
 dark, fearful night ; and 1 turned my eyes 
 despairingly on either side. In one direction 
 the tall rock from which I had been hurled 
 rose bleak and frowning, while the waters 
 chafed and bellowed at its base ; and tlie light 
 spray fell back, far across the waves, like rain 
 As I gazed, distant and twinkling lights ap- 
 peared in many a chasm, and I knew that they 
 betokened the habitations of men. I could see 
 in my mind's eye the narrow hearth of the fish- 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE nARKM. 
 
 71 
 
 knnan, peopled, by his ehiUlrcn and their mo- 
 ther; and again I buffeted tlic waters, and lelt 
 half a maniac as I stniiiEiled with my bonds. 
 
 '' The nijiht thickenod around me. and the 
 murky clouds iratherod lilco the sable wings of I for it Ihrnuulioul llio lon^, lony iiii;lil, 
 the ajigel Asrael ; not a star was in tlic sky, I had come at Icmitii. only lo hnwj witl 
 
 " Flunger came njioii me, and tliirsl ; and 
 the sun, as it lose in tiio iicavens, heal mad- 
 deningly upon my uncovered face. I hod 
 praved for daylight : I liad watelicd nnd panted 
 
 id it 
 
 t an 
 
 and the moon looked not upon Ibc earth, nor acce>sion of misery, for 1 sickened bencatli iho 
 across the s«a. wiiere I lay like a log upon the' fierce heat and the blindini; Imlit. 
 waters. The wind freshened ; ami 1 felt that 
 I was rapidly borne away from the land. 
 There was a mightier heaving in the billows, 
 and a deeper murmur from the depths of the 
 jocean; while the sea-birds shrieked out as into hope. Tiie specInU albalro.>.s clave tlte 
 they dippe* for an instant their ill-omened air with wh'ite and niolionlrss winL', and cast 
 bosoms in the wave, ami then pursued their I its long, dark, solitary shadow far across the 
 way to their rocky resting-places till the mor- ' wave, 
 row. Alas ! I had no resting-place ! I prayed I ''Then came evening, witii its softened 
 
 Ouriim the darkness I had diiflcd far out 
 to .<:ea ; the wilderness of waters was ar(>und 
 me : not a vestige of man, nor of that earth 
 which is his inheritance, was left to cheat mo 
 
 to the Prophet that I might die; but, from the 
 depths of his amaranth bowers, he heard me 
 not ; and I lived on. 
 
 '' And now a fresh agony grew upon me. 
 The folds of my turban became weighty a,s the 
 moisture penetrated even to my liair-roots : 
 
 light and its subdued breeze : and my aching 
 eyes were cooled by its approach ; though I 
 shuddered as I remembered that nigiit would 
 follow in its train. 
 
 '• Well might I shudder with prophetic 
 dread ; lor (luit night taught me that I was 
 
 and I was bowed back heavily into the waters. I never, during my occan-pilgriinaiie, to close 
 
 Ba.^huslun — on my head be it, Etfendim 
 You have never dreamed of hours so long as 
 those of that dark weary night: with its shrill 
 winds, its angry sky, and its deep dreamy so- 
 litude. Ere morning dawned I had writhed lowy bed. 
 Bo violently in my bonds that the blood gushed I '-Years passsed over mc thus, chequered 
 from my ears and nostrils, and trickled down only by an occasional accession of misery, by 
 my beard. I was weak and spiritless; and at ~ 
 
 length I wept like a child. They were the 
 first tears of my manhood, and they were 
 wrung from my heart in agony and bitterness. 
 
 As the light broke, a huge sea swept over 
 me ; and though but a moment before I had 
 prayed for death, yet now I panted and strug- 
 gled with the sutlbcating element, and felt 
 a.lmost joy when the mighty billow was over- 
 past. 
 
 " The day came — the glorious day ! Wreaths 
 of clouds, beautiful in their blended lints of 
 
 my eyes m sleep ! I spent it like tiio last ; at 
 times I was furiou.*!. and struiiglcd and shriek- 
 ed in my despair ; and at others I lay bleed- 
 exhausted, and almost reckless, on my bil- 
 
 storm, and hurricane, and tempest. Fagaine 
 and thirst were still gnawing at my heart, and 
 yet I could not die — "' 
 
 CIlAl'TKIl XX.XII. 
 
 THE ARAB STKED CONTIMED 
 
 Mkn say that I am mad ; and it may well 
 be so — it was in truth a maddening thing to 
 
 gold and gray, floated in the ea.st, like heralds I lie year after year in my helplessness, storm- 
 [)f the rising sun. Asain I heard the shrill worn, sleeple.-s, hopeless — In.-hallah ! thi-re 
 shriek of the water-fowl, and saw the gleam- is anotiier world for the True Believer, where 
 ing wings of the sea-gull and the cormorant the tempest-breath and the billow will never 
 as they flew over my head. Sounds of un- 1 come — " 
 
 sarthly music ro.^c from the ocean-cells, like I " And did you still live on alone ?" dcmand- 
 Jie welcome of the water-gods to the daylight ; | ed lldji IU-zjI, interested despite himself in the 
 whispers swept along the wave as the breeze 1 strange tale of the maniac; " llatl you no 
 rippled it ; and the golden tints of the morning companion in misery ? no occupation lo bo- 
 sky danced in brightness on the waters. ' guile the dreary days ?" 
 
 Crowds of flying-fish darted tiigh into the air, ' '• Companion !"' echoed the dervish with a 
 and fell back one by one a.s the moisture dried | wild laui;h. " What companion would you 
 apon their win:.'s. Many a shark in pursuit' have given lo mc ? not a mortal — im ; no ! — 
 )f prey darted along so close beside me as to he could have held no conimunion with me — 
 leave the very tiiiiow by which I was up- 1 I was no longer an inhabitant of earih. but a 
 borne, yet it saw me not. I was plun^jed deep, ' loathed and unnatural beini;. living a charmed 
 leep into the waters by the heavy tin-Ktrokc life — breathing upon an clement winch would 
 )f the /r.:i:hty whale as it pas.sed mc by ; and • have brouiihl death to my fellow-ni'-n — fore- 
 ;he fairy nautilus hoisted its transparent sail, i doomed to years of unholy exisienee — whero 
 md guided its Liny bark fearlessly wilhm my , could 1 hope to find a ciimpanion? Oceujia- 
 eery grasp. 1 tiou !" he pursued still more earnestly. " Can 
 
74 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 you not gue?s my occupation? I learnt to 
 note the hours by tlie appearance of the sun- 
 beams on the Avater. or the position of the 
 stars ; and I colkcted the ashes of madness, 
 -which, after smouldering; for a time, at length 
 burst into a flame, and seared my brain. 
 
 •' At times I lay quietly upon the surface 
 of the ocean, and, fixing my eye upon a par- 
 ticular wave afar oft' I watched its progress, 
 and laughed Ions and loudly whea at length 
 it broke over me ; and at others I shrieked an 
 echo to I he shrill cry of the sea-fowl, and felt 
 a cunning exuhation as I found how fully I 
 had caught the discordant note: and heard 
 the bird, mocked into a belief that it was the 
 call of one of his own species, answer in his 
 turn. 
 
 'But not always did I thus sport with my 
 vmhallowed wreichedness ; these were my 
 hours of revel, and the startled spirit soon 
 shrank back into itself — into its idiot vanity or 
 its maddening despair ! 
 
 •' How often, during these miserable years, 
 did I look on land : ay, even watched the 
 fi.-;herman while he drew his nets ; and caught 
 the sound of laughter as it came shrilly along 
 the waves ; — then, even although I felt the im- 
 potence of my etibrls. I again strove to burst 
 my bonds — panted — yelled in the agony of my 
 helplessness, as I sank into deep water ; and 
 writhed like a baited animal when I once more 
 rose. to the stirface. 
 
 '• All day I have floated past the land; at 
 times dashed furiottsly against projecting points 
 of rock, and then cast back, maimed and bleed- 
 ing, on the retiring breakers ; at others gliding 
 slowly and smoothly along a smiling shore ; 
 breatliing the breath of flowers, cooled by the 
 long shadows of stately trees, listening to the 
 lowing of cattle, the song of birds, the sounds 
 of music, the voice of childi-en — unseen, un- 
 heard, unpitied ! 
 
 '•Thus sped my days: my nights brought no 
 mental rest, for sleep was denied to me — 
 Effcndim, Alia Allah — Heaven forbid ! — that 
 you should ever know how the brain grows 
 crazed under ihc unwinking watchfulness of 
 years ! — the long, long wakefulness which 
 knows no rest — the vigil that is unbroken ! 
 And yet I longed for night ; for its darkness, 
 weary and witlieiing as it was, offered me at 
 least a respite from the tedious monotony of 
 the ocean and tlie burning fury of the sun. 
 Sometimes, too. tiie pale moon rode high in 
 heaven, and tlie sea gleamed like a sheet of 
 molten silver, wiiile I lay there, the only dark 
 speck to mar the glory of the scene. 
 
 " On such nights I was ever sad and resign- 
 ed to my destiny; I did not struggle — I did 
 not shriek — I lay calmly, and wept like an 
 infant ; or, after gazing a while on the fair 
 moon, I fixed on a briiiht star above my head, 
 and fancied a world of happiness for Comla- 
 deve and myself in such a sphere of light ; 
 
 [ and, as I gazed, the houri of my soul -flrould 
 I stand upon the vapor that swept across th« 
 ! moon ; and point to the star on which I loved 
 I to look ; and lo ! it changed ; and I saw the 
 diamond key that opens the portal of the 
 Prophet's paradise ; while she beckoned me to 
 a death of blessedness which I could not die I 
 That vision brought madness with it — and 
 then I held discourse with the sky, and with 
 the sea. and again played the maniac. 
 
 "One evening, after a day of fierce licat. aa 
 I lay inhaling with avidity the cool breeze 
 which slept along the wave, and feathered it 
 with its refreshing breath, a distant object 
 caught my eye, and I gazed upon it with de- 
 lirious joy ! Nearer it came in its pride : ifc 
 I was — it was a ship ! Ay ! on she came, with 
 her sails set, and her bowsprit bending at in- 
 I tervals even into the very ripple as tlie fresh i 
 I breeze sped her on. I could see her tall masts, > 
 I her white canvass, her complicated cordage;' 
 and. more than all, I could see many of her 
 crew — men ! my fellow-men ! my brothers ! 
 
 '•' They came not from my own land, for 
 their unturbaned heads were bare, and the 
 I wind played among their long and curling. 
 j locks — they were not of my own faith, for the 
 Christian symbol streamed from the mast of 
 the stately ship — but what cared I for this 
 They would save me : I should once more bo 
 restored to the world, to Comladeve-iand tc 
 myself. Can you not believe tliat my joy wa; 
 maddening ? 
 
 " One among them stood like the spirit of 
 the lutge ship : and looked and spoke with the 
 glance and the tone of pride. In the iniervah 
 ! of my struggles and of my cries, I waichci. 
 him narrowly: once I thought tliat he pointec 
 i towards me, and my heart leaped with trans-' 
 port : but he turned suddenly away, and I sa'^ 
 him no more. Still, however, the full aiK 
 lordly voice met my ear — alas ! had I knowi 
 the import of the words it uttered, the pealin; 
 of the midjiight thunder had been more wel 
 come. 
 
 " As I strained my eyes to look on the gal 
 lant ship, her sails shivered for an instant n 
 the wind ; I heard the myriad ropes boa 
 heavily against the deck, as if cast down smi 
 denly from many hands ; and, ere I couli 
 draw another breath, the vast canvass one 
 more opened to the breeze ; and away flcwlh 
 swift vessel like a mighty bird, and left m, 
 writhing and wretched — an alien, and an out 
 cast ! 
 
 " How I watched the ship as she receded 
 The figures on her deck became less and lef 
 perceptible, and soon totally disappeared ; er 
 long, masts, and sails, and cordage grew into on 
 confused but wondrous mass: and, finally, sli 
 dwindled to a mere speck upon the ocuan. 
 
 " Yet still I watched her — Allah ! how m 
 eyes grew to that fading object as it slowl. 
 melted into thin air iu the distance ! I hope 
 
 I 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE lUREiL 
 
 Y< 
 
 10 longer: but I IkuI looked on men, and lis- 
 ned to ilie huiiiau voice; and when even 
 he dark speck utterly disappeiired in the 
 lorizon, I lulieicd the waves anew, and ex- 
 austed my streiiijth in strui;i;lcs with my un- 
 ieldiiig bonds. 
 
 When the light came ngn::>, I searched 
 
 round, as tiiough I could yet lo».k upon tho 
 
 lorious vision — but I saw it no more. 1 lived 
 
 I'on the memory of that sliip lor months. I 
 
 lid have described her. a^; thoui;h siie had 
 
 cu still belore my eyes. I remembered every 
 
 vok and gesture of the proud spirit who go- 
 
 L'crned her. I saw once more the graeelul 
 
 bound with which, after the temporary check, 
 
 me again darted on her way — it was inscribed 
 
 bpon my heart and in my brain.-' 
 
 The maniac paused : and, grasping his broad 
 orehead with his bony hands seemed as Ihougii 
 le thought to still the pang his vision had 
 
 ailed up; while Ildji Rcza sat beside him. golden beams still glowed and gii.stencd on 
 marvelling how great a share memory could the ocean-wave, when again my ear waa 
 laim of a narrative in which madness was | tilled with sounds which had long been stran- 
 lent with sutiering. Wild as it was, there i gers to it — sounds of mirth and music — and, 
 vas yet a connecting principle in the tale to j like a thing of light, a gay bark swept grace- 
 vhich he had been listening, that seemed too fully along, with a gilded crescent at herinasU 
 nighty an eflbrt for a mind shattered like that Ye.s — she came from my own land! She 
 f the wretched object on whom he looked ; I came to bring me life and liappine.ss ! There 
 nd the young man remembered that, ere the j were revellers on the deck of that fair i>hip ; 
 amp of life is extinguished, its llaiiic .>;ome- ] her silken sails were looped with llowens ; ainl 
 lines lights up for a short period the long- I silver vases, filled with perfumed incense, 
 ^acated sepulchre of the brain ; and thus he i were shedding their costly breath ui)on tlie 
 emained silently beside the dervish, awaiting air; I heard the shrill tones of the fife, tho 
 rith the reverence which is ever paid to mad- ringing notes of the zebcc, and the clangour 
 by his countrymen, the termination of a of the martial cymbal — for a while I spoke 
 ecital which was evidently exhausting the "ol — stirred not — my gaze was riveted on one 
 
 ly, upon mine, souUcps and sightless; the lijM 
 parted as if in the death a:,Miiy ; and the wmk 
 of corruption begun. Horrible I mtsi hornltle ! 
 And yet. Wallah biilah— by the riuphet ! this 
 was but the natural eirtci of ;in eli-meni on 
 which man might not live, save by demoiiiao 
 means; and I only loathed mysilf tin. more, as 
 the foul corse was borne beyond my ken. that 
 my lot was not even as tlial of him who had 
 perished in the deep waters. //<•. at leant, had 
 buireted the billows with uiislmekl.d limh^ — 
 had striven manfully wiih the fate whicli 
 threatened him — and, when the bitter auoiiy 
 was overpast, had dic(l. I had been bound ; 
 had striven — struggled — suH'ocated — suirered 
 all the pangs, the awfulnes.-* of .h.^.-iolution, and 
 yet lived. The tide wave bore away its dead, 
 and I envied the cold and Inathsoino corse ! 
 
 '' But my cup of agony had not yet over- 
 flowed. 'J'lie sun had .>iet gloriouslv, and ita 
 
 trength of the narrator. 
 
 Ekhi kateti — there is something; some- 
 ding that we neither see nor understand, 
 [hawaji ;-' at length pursued the maniac, 
 upon our path, in the air we breathe, about, 
 bove. and around us — I was the prey of that 
 ower. be it wliat it may — I am ."^o still — tiierc 
 re moments when I am mad — mad ! — when 
 
 bright form, which moved like a spirit of 
 beauty among the revellers. Mi.-ery, mad- 
 ness, tanime, had failed to blot tliat image 
 from the records of my brain — I gazed like 
 one who would exhau.st hiiii.velf in a long, last 
 look, for I filt that it wa.s L'omladcve — she 
 whom I had loved, whom I had almost won. 
 Yes, she was there! Her long hair wa« 
 
 le subtle enemy has drunk up the juices of : floating to the breeze ; her eyes were flashing 
 ly being, withered the marrow of my bones, ; like meteors ; iier white arms were bare, and 
 nd turned the stream of my blo(jd to lire — but gleamed like sea-foam ; slie was dancing on 
 )-day the clasp is slackened from my heart — that ve.shel's deck, to tho sound of the clashing 
 le demon sleeps — and I am aaain one of tho.'ie cymbal.-* ! 
 
 ) whom the world was given as a heritage. | ' Now, indeed, I writhed and struggled to 
 'et I am not always so — and. least of all. free my limbs from the bonds which lettered 
 hen I was floating over that endles.«, endless | them ; with the violence of my frantic ellortti, 
 a. Do you dream that I saw none but < 1 »»ank deep into the waters, and the waves 
 leasant scenes while I rode the wave, and elot-cd above my head ; but il was only for a 
 lated with monsters? Ai. ai — wo is me! while; and ere long I rose again panting and 
 ou are young, and the world has used you "Ulloeatiiig, to the surface. As my bicalii 
 ently — you are strong, and your limbs have j returned, 1 strove to speak, to utter the namo 
 ever writhed in bonds. You!' and he j of my beloved, to call on Comladevc lo i.uccor 
 lughed the shrill mocking laugh of frenzy; and to save me; but I gave voice only to a 
 how can yon guess at all I saw when the shrill scream, like those of the oquatic fowl 
 hirlwind and the tempest had done their whose cries I had moiked in my madncM— 
 'OTk? Olten. after a nichl of storm, did a ; speech hatl departed from me ! 
 ale bloated corse pass close bendeme; the | ''Vain were it for mo to tell you all — 
 idely-opened cyea glaring, glazed, and ghasl- 1 Allah kcriin — Allah is merciful— I was close 
 
u 
 
 TEE EOMAXCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 beside the vessel, and they saw me not. I started convulsively. Like the blossom o 
 
 shrieked aloud in my agony, but they did not the nirgis* bent she over the murmuring bit 
 
 heed me. As the* bark swept along, the tide lows ; but not as she was wont to look whei 
 
 carried me forward in its wake ; and when she listened to my voice, looked she at tha 
 
 the moon rose, and tlie breeze freshened. 1 saw moment. Gardash — brother — have you eve 
 
 Comladevc lean pensively over the vessel's gazed into the eye of a peri who had foldet 
 
 side; and. as she raised her eye to heaven, a the wings of her affection upon your bosom 
 
 tear fell from it — She stood not long alone; a and forsaken the flowery paths of pleasure foi 
 
 lall figure approached her; a jewelled cres- the shady home of peace? Ha! ha! sh 
 
 cent glittered in his turban, and there were looked down, down, deep into the heaving sei 
 
 gems m the hilt of the handjar in his girdle. — not with love — not with tenderness — no 
 
 As he reached her side, he murmured a few with trusi — it was wild, maddening, phrensici' 
 
 words in her ear : he breathed them softly terror that gave a fierce light to her eye, ani 
 
 and fondly, but / heard them, whispered threw a shadow over her pale brow : anxious 
 
 though they were! In an instant his arm | 
 encircled her, and her head rested tenderly 
 upon las shoulder — again he spoke, and as the 
 voice ceat^ed, he looked up. Allah ! needed 
 tlierc this ? Was 1 not yet a wretch ? It was 
 my brother ! that brother w"hoiu I had loved 
 even as my own soul — he was beside my 
 betrothed bride — his arm was twined around 
 her waist — his voice murmured the words of 
 passion — and I — I was near them — borne on 
 the same ocean — breathed on by the same 
 wind — lighted by the same moon — and they 
 heeded, they heard me not." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED CONTINUED. 
 
 " Allah esmarladek — Allah have you in 
 his holy keeping ;"' murmured lldji Rcza, 
 carried away, in spite of his reason, by the 
 phrensied energy of the dervish. " This was 
 indeed a gtief.''" 
 
 '• But I survived even that !" laughed out 
 the maniac ; " and a new trouble grew upon 
 me as I looked upon the lovers — I felt that 
 mysterious sighing steal along the surface of 
 the sea, which I had learnt to be the wailing 
 of the water-gods over the coming ruin of the 
 tempest-wrath ; murmurs arose from the ocean- 
 depths, the awakening of the storm-bnath 
 among the billows ; the huge porpoises roiled 
 over uneasily ; and the hungry sharks con- 
 gregated round the goodly ship. Too well I 
 knew these signs — they foreboded death — 
 death, Khawaji; the sickening, struggling 
 death of the angry billow and the shrieking 
 ■wind — I knew them all, for I had watched 
 them for years, and they had never failed ! 
 
 '■ For my.sclf I feared not — what could I 
 fear ? They did not even promise me the death 
 for which I prayed ; but lor her — for Comla- 
 deve — for my soul's idle — the water-lily over 
 which the tide of sorrow never should have 
 passed — for her I trembled with a dread for 
 which the pangs of death had been a rich ex- 
 change; and I yelled forth in my terror sounds the maddenin 
 of fearful warning. She heard them, and| 
 
 y she searched among the billows for the fear 
 lul creature which had uttered a sound s: 
 dread ; but though her gaze seemed fixed o 
 my very brow, she saw me not : and, after ; 
 while, she again raised her bright looks to th 
 evening sky. 
 
 '■•She looked calmly on an horizon which t 
 me was fraught with terrible warninii : dar 
 clouds were Hitting rapidly over the face o 
 the heavens, and congregating in one denS' 
 mass, so black and heavy that it seemed t 
 oppress my breathing ; the moon had risen, m. 
 in beauty, but red as blood : while the low( 
 fringes of the huge black cloud caught the n 
 flection, and flung back far upon the wav(; 
 their ensanguined shadow. At intervals, ; 
 fiery vapor played in fearful light round tt 
 gilded crescent at the mast of the doomed shi' 
 and ran along it from point to point — lh(i 
 came a deep hollow peal, which was cor 
 menced by the dark cloud, and echoed fro 
 every cave of ocean , and again the dei 
 waters swelled and heaved in their might, lil 
 the fettered limbs of a giant; though the su 
 face of the sea was yet calm, and tlie vess 
 rode as smoothly as though it had been glidii; 
 over the bosom of a lake. , 
 
 '• But the storm came at length : a sudden fla • 
 struck on the crescent once more, and ran dov 
 the mast, clasping it round and round like 
 fiery giidle. cast by some avenging spirit frc 
 his loins — the huge cloud parted in twain, 
 and the storm-god howled forth his summo. 
 to the tempest ! Instantly was it answered 
 the giant billows burst their bonds at on 
 and rose high into the air, crowned w 
 foam. 
 
 " Allah ! 'tis a rare sight to seethe fury 
 the waves when they are lashed to madness 
 tlie storm-wind — when the surf flies hi 
 against the heavens, as though if mocked t; 
 vapors drifting over head — and the sea ope 
 wide its yawning sepulchres, and gapes fori' 
 dead who ai-e so soon to fill them !» — Butwlji 
 these are the young, tiie beautiful, the ; 
 loved — the treasured of your spirit, the cheri;* 
 cd of your soul — Ha ! ha ! ha ! can you :^ 
 feel the wild delirium, the bitter excitati* 
 mpulse of the conflict? ,i 
 
 ' I<laicisEUB. 
 
THE ROMANCE OP THE HAREM. 
 
 n* 
 
 "I saw the light ship tossed like a ball.bearancc, spranp to liis foot, ntid hurriedly 
 Lgainst the sky, and tlieii ihniwnbiuk into the whispered : "Oghonr ola — licavoii Fpeed you 
 ieep trough of tiie sen. like a slrieken lurd." — bultell mo, wlial more? wlial iin.re ?"' 
 \gain 1 saw it raised on hi:ih until the holvj "Haiuibak — look at me:' ^aid tlio wrelehcd 
 xesceut — the symbol of ihe Prophet — seemed ntun : "can you not read the ehar.iclcru that 
 have grown into the dark, threalenini,'. Ilie foul liend burnt into my brow wlicn ho 
 nysterious cloud, and I felt it n^aii' fall back :■ (led howliiii; belore the fury of my donpair? 
 or. as it came, a portion of its rent tna.si felli Wo met face to lace — there — on the wild 
 ver the side, and struck me heavily lu it i waves just subsiding after the lempest; wa 
 ouched the waves — down I sank — down — ; met. and struaaled a.s di nions only sirn;;gIo ; 
 own — struiicling with that miahty mass of j we wre.-.tled together; but 1 .shouled aloud iho 
 uin. until it again rose biioyanily to the sur-|name of the Prophet: and as he cowered be- 
 ice, carrying me with it once more above the 
 illowB. 
 
 )r ever — fragments of the wreck were riding i dreams, too: dreams of sun.»hine, and birds 
 n the foaming waters — I caught the breath land (lowers, and cool green leaves, and gush- 
 f the scattered incense: and llowers. audi ing streams; and I wandered nmon:; thorn with 
 Dstly turbans Heated past mo. as I panted to: C'omiadcve : but at lonclh I awtike ; awoke, to 
 
 gain my breath. What eared I for the.se ; find myself stretched along the earth! Th« 
 auds ? They were of tlie world, and to me sea was near me. but the tide did noi touch 
 ley were bosh — nothing. I thought only. 'me where I lay ; bright .<.helLs were scattered 
 )okcd only, for Comladeve — and I saw her I j along the strand, and the morning sun waa 
 ler dark hair floated like a cloud upon the glittering gaily on the waters. I beat the 
 
 ave which bore her ujT — her veil had escaped, earth with my hand, and the blood llowcd 
 nd her beloved countenance was revealed in from it; I rose to my feet; the dark rocks 
 le moonlight— she was within my reach, andjheaved under my weight, anil 1 .sia:.'::ered and 
 
 " The .ship and her proud crew had parted 
 
 fore me. he gra.«ped my brain, and .scared it 
 with his fiery touch. 
 
 "• After this I slept ; ay, slept ! I had 
 
 ly arms were pinioned — I could not gras 
 
 I uttered one crj- in my acony : and then, 
 ith frantic violence. I hurled my.sclf against 
 portion of the wreck. La illaha illallah — 
 lere is but one Allah ! the effort, the sirUL'- 
 e, Ihe attempt to brave the death which had 
 I long evaded me. brouiiht partial freedom — 
 had burst my bonds ! For a moment I could 
 Jt raise my arms high into the air. strike Iho 
 ilms of my spread hands forcibly tofethor. 
 id scream out a withering shriek of half- 
 addened deliirht — but soon camothe remein- 
 ance of Comladeve — she was already car- 
 ed far, far beyond my reach — but what was 
 
 >ace? labor? time ? I was free I- 
 ust mv hea\"S' turban from mv head 
 
 -free ! I 
 1 parted 
 
 ilmosi fell : but I felt the earth ! 1 wa.s once 
 more like my fellow men. and I crawled 
 along amid the high grass, and the painted 
 llowers, till 1 found that which I sought; it 
 was not the houri of p.aradise ; it wa^ not the 
 rose-garden of Nishajwr ; it was a human be 
 iiig ; a creature of my own kind : a holy man 
 a santon of the desert. Mashalluh ! how I 
 yelled forth my joy when I .saw him leaning 
 ujMjii his Ktad": but he repul.sed me with scorn 
 and loathing — he. the first human beiim whom 
 I approached for years — Lahnet be i>hcitan— 
 Curse on the devil !. he struck me with hit 
 staff; spurned mc with his fool, and turned 
 away to tell his ehuplet. while I fainted witk 
 famine. 
 
 Khawaji, my soul is sick. A light ha* 
 
 le Maves with a powerful stroke, and F gain-iHiekered to-day about my brain, which had 
 1 rapidly upon my mistres. — Nearer ! noar-|beon long put out. They hay that i am holy, 
 
 ! I grasped her mantle — I drew her forei-'lor 1 can piorce my side and my breaiit with 
 y towards me — her pale cheok touched my sliarp wea|iun.s, and torture my liu.bs with 
 ind — my breath was in her hair — one more! seariiig iron, and ni|iping bonds; they know 
 Forl^ — one more — and I should hold her to not thai the fire luid tlie knile had done Ihcir 
 y heart — I. who for long years had been; work ere they folded thu khirkhoh of a der- 
 one — alone, upon the wa.ste of waters — one , vish about mc, and gave me a phue in tho 
 ore effort, and she would dc mine. Ajait) — iTokic. Hut all thin nearly ended : the solid 
 onderful ! my Comladeve — the blojinom of I earth reels before my eyes_ and ilio daylight 
 y soul I 1 made it^ — I strove to lx-at back uroww dim and dusky : yet the lilm has passed 
 mighty billow, but it ovcrwholmed mc — a from my soul : I have been calUd Ibn Sallah 
 age fragment of Ihe wreck passed over us, — the S<>n of Prayer. None knew the curses 
 id I lost my hold — Comladeve was gono— 'which had wiihored mc for years! And 
 me for ever !" | to-day — now — come nearer to me, ^lrangcr 
 
 A wild s..riek broke from the lips of the 'though you be, to-day 1 can prny : iho cry of 
 r\-ish. as he buried his head upon his knees, niy spirit is no longer vras, vrns — kill, kill ! 
 id cowerod under Ihe vision whieli his own but 1 say to you, Allah esinarladok — Allah 
 stemperwl fancy had conjured up : while take you into Ins holy k<i ping, for the biitcr« 
 dji Kezd, excited beyond all power of for-jness of life is almost past.'' 
 i 
 
ii 
 
 THE ROMA^fCfe OF THE HAREM. 
 
 ''>' Allah buyuk der — Alia is great !" said 
 Ildji Ueza ; rouse yourself, and all will yet be 
 well ; but if you fold your feet upon the 
 carpet of despair, Moiilcer and Nakir will 
 soon seat themselves upon its border, and the 
 shadow of their dark wings will obscure your 
 soul." 
 
 '• The mountain of El Caf is high, and en- 
 closes the world," replied the dying man ; 
 *• but it cannot shut out Asrael the Destroyer. 
 The bridge of Al Sirat is sleep, and narrow : 
 the footing is but a hair's breadih, yet it must 
 be trodden by every True Believer who would 
 reach Paradise. I am content J 1 do not die 
 tlie howling maniac that I have lately lived ; 
 I see my wretchedness, I feel my desolation ; 
 Khawaji, pass on, and leave me : Allah ke- 
 riin — Allah is merciful ! Your charity has 
 reconciled me with my kind, and I shall go in 
 peace." 
 
 '•Nay, not so;" commenced Ildji Reza, as a 
 swift but stealthy step approached the tomb- 
 house, and the bectachy passed the threshold ; 
 " chance has flung us together on the way-side 
 of life, and I will not forsake you in your ex- 
 tremity ; Min Allah — Heaven forbid !" 
 
 "Kim boo — who is that?" demanded the 
 new-comer, hastily, as he stopped beside the 
 son of Vezid. ''Wallah! this is no time, 
 Ildji Reza. to play the nurse, when you should 
 be under your father's roof, to answer to the 
 voices of those who call you. Away then 
 with the speed of the simorg* you arc as yet 
 unsuspected ; delay, and Bashustun — on my 
 head be it, if some babbling fool do not whis- 
 per somewhat of the tale ere noon." 
 
 Ildji Reza glanced towards the dying der- 
 vish ; nature had ^exhausted herself in the 
 effort which he had made to retrace the 
 troubled vision of the past; and life was eb- 
 bing last. Alan's care could avail no longer ; 
 and with a deep-breathed " Aghour ola — 
 Heaven speed you;" he turned away, and 
 prepared to quit the tomb. 
 
 " AlUet oUah — much pleasure attend you:" 
 smiled the bectachy ; '• but forget not, young 
 man, that I cannot be ever upon your path 
 with a strong grasp, and a skin of Cyprus 
 wine. Be wary, therefore ; and the Prophet 
 be propiiiouB to your prayers." 
 
 "And tills poor sullerer?" said the son of 
 Yezid, pointing towards the dying wretch, who 
 had now Hung him.-clf along the cold pave- 
 ment of the loinb : '-you will not leave him 
 in his misery ?" 
 
 " Away — I will abide here while he needs 
 me:" was the reply; " I shall not be long de- 
 layed." 
 
 And without further parley, Ildji Reza 
 walked forth into tlic clear calm air of morn- 
 ing, with the feeling of one who has awakened 
 from a horrid dream. 
 
 * The ro«. 
 
 The breath of the lemon trees was flooding 
 the atmosphere with perfume, and the scented 
 dews were dropping from the branches be- 
 neath which he passed. The incense, offered 
 up by Nature to the Eternal, was asceiidiii» 
 on all sides ; and the glorious sun, the visible 
 presence of the Deity, was calling into life all 
 animate objects, gilding the leaves and the 
 river-ripple, and shedding warmth, and bright- 
 ness, and beauty over the whole creation. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED CONTINUED. 
 
 In the city all was already astir. The ; 
 lowing of the camels, and the barking of the I 
 watch-dogs of the Meidan ; the shouting of ■ 
 the slaves at the caravanserais, and the cry [ 
 of the muezzin from the minaret of the Greats 
 Mosque ; all proclaimed that the sun had 
 risen : and many a pious Musselmnuu was oif 
 his way towards the stately temple which 
 was built by Heraclius, in honor of Zcchariah, ; 
 the father of John the Baptist, but which it is; 
 now death to any Christian to enter. 
 
 lldji Reza walked swiftly through the; 
 streets ; and stepping over the two slaves who; 
 were yet lying sleeping in the outer ballot 
 his father's house, hastened to his own apart-' 
 ment. When he had closed the door, audi 
 Hung himself down upon the heaped-np cush- 
 ions which his attendants had prepared for his; 
 repose, he began to review more leisurely the, 
 events of the past night ; and eager as he wai' 
 once more to sun himself in the eyes of the 
 beautiful Delsaise, he could not conceal froir 
 his own reason that all future attempts to in- 
 vade the garden pavilion must prove abortive 
 as well as perilous, when the vigilance of th<' 
 bey's household had been once arou>;ed. Noi 
 could he wholly divest himself of a feeling o. 
 extreme and anxious terror, as he remeniberec' 
 that suspicion might have attached itself tii 
 his fair and gentle mistress; and that allhoug); 
 he had individually escaped the penalty of hi^ 
 rash adventure, it might be visited in teiifoli^ 
 severity upon her ! \ 
 
 On — on — progressed thought; one dark me 1 
 mory linking itself to another, and forming il 
 bitter chain of wretchedness. The Toorkoj 
 man — the steed — the maliak — the deadly voV 
 by which he was fettered — that vow fror! 
 which there was no appeal, and no release-; 
 by which Delsaise would be sacrificed; an 
 he himself die len thousand deaths ! 
 
 To look back upon the past was madip 
 and with the natural buoyancy of youth, '• 
 turned after awhile to the future ; and bega; 
 to devise new stratagems, which were eac; 
 discarded in turn as unfeasible, or ]ikely Ij 
 be unproductive of success, uiitil he at leugt 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREIL 
 
 79 
 
 solved to trust to his fclech : and afler 
 ving swallowed liis cotTec, to repair to the 
 mmam, and take advantage of any {rood 
 rtune or lucky chance that nught betide 
 m. 
 
 j Having decided on this very simple mode 
 I action, Ildji Rezii, after a short rest, rose 
 pm his coueh. and having smoked a chi- 
 puque, hastenid to the shop of the Armenian 
 irber who was wont to operate upon the 
 ;ads and chins of all the handsome youths 
 Damascus. 
 
 '• Khosh geldin, Effendim ;" said the oper- 
 or, as Udji Reza entered the spacious paved 
 lartment, surrounded by sofas, on which 
 ere congregated, even at this early hour, 
 ilf ascore of the gay young gallants of the 
 ty. " Vou are welcome, my master : and 
 e rather that I last night received a packet 
 soap from Stamboul. and scented oils from 
 nyrna, which have not yet been rubbed upon 
 
 beard of any Etiendi who frequents n)y 
 op. And sooth to say. Khawaji. you have 
 ed of them, for your chin is in a disarray 
 iiich would go nigh to ruin my reputation 
 you were to walk through the tcharchi un- 
 (mbed, as you have entered here. There is 
 iws, too, in the city — the harem of Ka.-^.-^im 
 [lyhas been attempted: some idle ma.^cara 
 :aramoucli) with belter legs than wits, was 
 im to leap the wall of the women's gardens : 
 id such screeching and screammg have not 
 len heard under that roof since it was raised ; 
 I the Aga Baba himself told me, when he 
 (me in ju.-t at sun-rise, in order that I might 
 Dair the ravages of the nocturnal cliase in 
 ■\iich he had been engaged — '' 
 
 '• And as usual,' laughed out Latif ElTendi, 
 t owing forth a volume of smoke in which he 
 >5 nearly enveloped : '"the oldest and the 
 xliest of the women made the uproar, wliile 
 is young ones ran to strive for a parting 
 gmpse of the intruder."'" 
 
 • Hai, Hai — true, true — on my head be it :'' 
 
 Bd Ildji llezu, forcing a mirth which he wa.'; 
 
 f from feeling. " What is written, i.s wriitcn : 
 
 iiil the lovely are never the merciless. But 
 
 was the Uelhibx>^hi — the priuce of mad- 
 
 . — who atleinpted so rash an exploit?"' 
 r Some say it was Ashrcf the Nnmidian 
 npon-merchant, who had become enamored 
 
 he negress Giadilla, the du.<ky hand-maiden 
 
 hat queen-lily, the fuir Uelsaisc^the Bey's 
 
 y child;" again broke in the waggish 
 
 if; '-but others athrin that it was none 
 ojcr than our worthy host here, Apic Ouglou, 
 WD had dreamt a dream of the young lianoum 
 Eiudi herself, while beating up the suds des- 
 
 :d to lave the thick head of the Cadi; (may 
 
 beard prosper !) and who—"' 
 
 Me? Ai-telerallah I McV" exclaimed the 
 a^rmed barber : " Heaven forbid ! Is it for 
 
 to dream dreams of a Beys daughter, and 
 tojput my neck into the bows' ring? St. 
 
 I George, St. Nicholas, and St. Lawrence pro- 
 serve me from such mad presumption !" 
 I A peal of low chuckling laiiuhler followed 
 I close on the barber's (lej)reeaiory exelimatioii ; 
 I while, withdrawing his turban, lldji Ifevul 
 seated liiiiisclf. and ran his lingers compla- 
 cently through his luxurianr and glos^y beard. 
 I '• Guzel, pek guzcl I"' said the Armenian 
 admiringly, as he also passed his hand over 
 I it ; '• handsome, very handi^ome I Ba.-hustuii — 
 on my head be it, there arc not half a dozen 
 such beards as this in D.ima.seus !"' 
 
 '• Say half a hundred, Apic. my friend, .«ay 
 half a hundred ■'" smiled Laiif KU'eiuli ; "or 
 you will lose your practice, seeing that we are 
 all more or less touched by your deci.-^ion ! for 
 myself I care not; I am beyond your malice — 
 but Sarim the Bynbashi, Bemzer the Saraf, 
 and -Mazzouk the Klioja of His Excellency 
 Ashui Pasha, will one and all feel them.xclves 
 aggriesed : as 1 hear that tliey have been 
 wickedly called sakil-siz (no beard!.) by the 
 idle boys of the city : and that tlioy have not 
 rejoiced in the name."' 
 
 •• Min Allah — Heaven forbid that I should 
 anger the Elfendis by a VvAit word ;'' said the 
 mild Armenian ; '• but even as the Yuzbnshi 
 (llie captain of a hundred) loves to handle a 
 good weapon, so do I joy to comb out a tine 
 beard." 
 
 As the barber spoke, lie threw around Ildji 
 Rczj'i a fringed and embroidered napkin, and 
 prepared his razors, by trying their temper on 
 the palm of his hand : and w hilc he was thus 
 engaged, one of the ilmerant pcrfuine-incr- 
 chants so common in the Ea.>>t, an old and 
 withered woman, whose feeble .>.leps were sup- 
 ported by a Blair, slopped on the threshold, and 
 invited the Ell'endis to examine her wans. 
 
 '• No, no; see you not that their exct'llen- 
 cies are engaged?"' said the .\rnicnian. motion- 
 ing her away ; •• pass on ; we need you not !" 
 '• Sen cktiar der — you arc ihe master;" re- 
 plied the old crone quiclly : '• but surely these 
 handaome gallants mu^l want something to 
 send to the young beauties wluiin they wor- 
 ship; and you will not .sj.oil my market. 1 
 trust, Apic Oglou, you whom I have known for 
 I so many years, and to whom I have not been 
 quite useless." 
 
 ; '• Evallah — to bo sure, to be sure ;" hastily 
 interposed the barber; '• I owe you no ill-will, 
 b.itira; but to-day you will lose your tune by 
 loitering at my threshold." 
 
 ■• Saiira!" exclaimed lldji l!ez."i anxiousl'*: 
 I "did you call her Salira ! Is the wortliy wi 
 man who has been thrice before the Cadi, am 
 1 once bastinadoed, for inlroducing into the hid- 
 I den chambers of the harem certain missivcH, 
 I where woids of pa>8ion were inscribed with 
 ' gold du.st upon the leaves of roses ? is she — " 
 I '• It IS myself, ElV.ndimou, my master;" 
 said the old woman, nodding her veiled head, 
 I and turning her dimc>es towards the inquirer, 
 
80 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAEEM. 
 
 as she advanced into the apartment, and de- 
 posited her essence-case on the lip of the mar- 
 ble I'ountain; '■ It is myself, kliatoun, my dar- 
 ling : and, aged as I am I care neither for the 
 Cadi nor the thong. What shall I show to the 
 Beyzadeh? I have dyes, and soaps, and un- 
 guents : essences, and spices, and pastilles 
 made of all the precious gums of Araby, and 
 sparkling with gold-dust; 1 have calams for 
 tracing gentle words; a.nd all ihe love-ballads 
 of Hahz. written in cliaraetcrs of many colors. 
 I have amulets, and charms, and spells : bou- 
 quets of spices and garlic, to preserve the 
 young molhcr and her infant from the influ- 
 ence of the Evil Eye ;* and — " 
 
 '' Have you any charm to preserve us from 
 the influence of the black and bright ones 
 which flash upon us as we walk the bazar. 
 from beneath the jealous yashmacs of our 
 young beauties?" asked Latif : " for the Evil 
 Eye, we of Damascus fear it not ; and care not 
 though—" 
 
 " Yavash. yavash — softly, softly. ElTendim ]'' 
 broke in ihe old woman ; " Allah buyuk der — 
 let us utter no words that we have not thrice 
 turned in the palms of our hands, lest we wish 
 to gather them up again when it is too late." 
 
 And a murmur of '• Taib ! taib ! — well said, 
 well said ;"' from the groups around the apart- 
 ment, bore testimony that the feeling of defi- 
 ance towards the Evil Eye was not so common 
 in the good city of Dainascus, as Latif Eifendi. 
 in his lightness of spirit, would fain have had 
 it believed. 
 
 " But you ask if I have spells against bright 
 eyes, Efiendimou ? Min Allah — Heaven for- 
 bid. How should I vend my wares, and to 
 whom, if the peris of paradise were to fold 
 their wings, and wither into afrits ? And how 
 should I pass away my hours, were it not that 
 I always carry home the merchandise that I 
 sell, and deliver with the gift the ' Oghour ola 
 — the Allah speed you,' of the giver ?'"' 
 
 '• Ma.>^hallah ! she speaks well;" laughed 
 her listeners. 
 
 '■'■ And who see I there, on the sofa beyond ?" 
 suddenly exclaimed the crone. " Can it really 
 be my lord Aboudahab himself, tire light of 
 my eyes, and the hope of my soul ! Na to ne 
 — there it is — I sought you all yesterday, 
 agam, and found you not : and to-day, when I 
 looked no longer, thinking that my lord had 
 left the city. I encounter you here, and may do 
 mine errand." 
 
 " And \\ hat errand can Satira, the discreet 
 perfume-merchant, have with the staid and 
 pious Aboudahab?" shouted one of the young 
 men. '• Speak, ElTendim, what can be the 
 business of this veiled houri with you ?" 
 
 "Allah hilir — Allah .alone knows:" said 
 
 • It i* a common custom in Turkey to send the.«e bou- 
 quets as prfii-ents to tlie mothers of new-born infants, who 
 h&T* the most perfect faith in their efficacy. 
 
 the handsome young Yuzbashi of the pasha'i 
 guard, who had been thus unceremoniously 
 addressed ; endeavoring, as he spuke, to as- 
 sume an expression of unconcern. ^^ hich, how- 
 ever, sat but awkwardly upon him. ''HavB 
 you yet to learn that she is the mother of lies, 
 and that she is as likely to hatch one for me 
 as for any other of this goodly company? 
 Mashallah, the wonder is neither a plague nor 
 an earthquake." 
 
 •• Bakaluin — we shall see ;" was the laugh- 
 ing rejoinder. '• Say your errand boldly, Sa- 
 tira, my soul, for you find that the brave cap- 
 tain defies you." 
 
 •• Yok, yok — no, no :" persisted the old 
 woman. " The Yuzbashi jests, for he has 
 more discretion than to make the brow of a 
 pretty hanoum wear the tint of the Prophet's 
 banner. Bak, Etfendim — see. sir;'" she pur- 
 sued, taking from her girdle a delicate roll of 
 parchment, fastened with a lock of silky hair; 
 •• docs this deserve no better welcome from the 
 Yuzbashi Aboudahab than foul words, and the 
 shame that is worse than words ? Aman — 
 mercy ! but I looked for other coin when I ran 
 the risk of the lash, to convey this wTitten 
 violet to his own hands." 
 
 " Peace, peace, Satira, jaquir benum — ^my 
 guardian angel ;" exclaimed the young soldier, 
 forgetting his confusion in his eagerness to ob- 
 tain possession of the billet doux ; and draw- 
 ing forth at the same time his embroidered 
 pur.se; "'I will ransom the prize bravely: 
 would that I could pay every word with a 
 piece of gold. I should not grudge tlie price !'' 
 
 And regardless of the merriment around 
 him, the delighted lover thrust a handful of 
 silver coins into the ready palm of the old 
 crone ; and hastened to detach the bright tress 
 which bound up the scroll. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED CONTINUED. 
 
 Ildji Reza had been no inattentive specta 
 tor of the scene ; and when the decrepid mes^ 
 senger of love had transferred the money wit! 
 a low chuckling laugh to the bag which slu 
 carried in her ginlle, he disengaged himsell 
 from the hands of the Armenian, and proceed 
 ed to pour ujion his beard the contents of oni 
 of the essence-bottles. \ 
 
 '" Alhemdullilah — praises be to the Proi 
 phet !" muttered Satira, as she marked thv 
 reckless profusion of the son of Yezid : " wha' 
 can he have to ask of me ! eklii kateli— then 
 is something — What a Beyzadeh is this, wh I 
 empties at one clfort as much perfume as h. 
 must pay with a broad piece of gold ! I shal 
 have to run my old neck into the bowstring fo 
 this !" 
 
THE ROMANCE 01- TIIK IIAUI:^L 
 
 al 
 
 fhen. afTecting not to remark bis occupa- 
 . y, she turned towanls one of the iiroups. 
 ,* demanded : '• What can I do lor your ex- 
 ..'.iieies ? I liave oliarms for all evils — hcuix 
 ... lia.sliisli* lor tiie sleejdess, perlnmcs for 
 "•uxunous. and enamell.-d boudakasf for 
 liArom. Ne apaluin — what cmi I do ?"' 
 • Vau may nivc mc some len^;. kizem. mv 
 
 csscncc-caso were beside lier, and Bbo was 
 quietly smoking her ehibou(|ue : whieh. lio«- 
 evor, as soon as heapproaohcd she haHiilypul 
 away, in order to rearrange her yasiunae. 
 
 •• What is written, is wrilten ;" she said as 
 lie slopped beside her. "ll requires no calam 
 to inscribe tiie truth on the surface of my un- 
 derstanding — Son of Vczid, you are in love ; 
 
 r :•. liter : said Mansoor Aga. the dull-witted |and you want me to peril life and luiil) 
 
 ol the pashalik. as he Hung down a 
 ece of money : •• "lis the best charm that I 
 low igaust all the ills of life — better even 
 an th-. sherbet of the Franks, for it loaves 
 ) hei.d&.i;h'> behind it."' 
 
 Atlai gul for me, molhcr,"' said Lntif 
 fiendi' '" unless, indeed, you have another 
 ve-micjiv: to dispose of. and then I am will- 
 g to hcco.ne a luirchascr ; though, for a 
 iestcsB of Aniran.J methinks you arc some- 
 hai dull in you' olUee.' 
 '•Ay. ay. lo\e 'nkens are the raz kallah — 
 e daily bread, o*' you gay young Eflendis : 
 •u never wearj ol them. But is it the hand- 
 me son of B-.'dmri",ah the jeweller, who asks 
 e for such ware ? Ai. ai. there is no truth 
 ft witliin the bamor of El Caf !"' 
 " Wallah ! it is "^ell said :"" exclaimed the 
 dji Reza, as he to«ik up a packet of the pow- 
 ir of the sweet-Bomnted violet, and a small 
 « of the paste of (he while lily, a delicate 
 id costly preparatJDn for the hands; '-and 
 )W, count up my debt, good mother, and let 
 e cancel it." 
 
 " Allah mouteyemmin eileye agam — .\llah 
 ant that it be of omen to you. my lord :" said 
 e old woman. •• for it will cost you some coin. 
 e hey ? — what is this ? a whole bottle of es- 
 nce, of which every drop is worth — "' 
 "Listen, mother ;" said Ildji Heza in a low 
 )ice; ' I am not yet content with my pur- 
 lase. I covet all your wares ; but 1 will not 
 archasethem here. Meet mean hour ln-nco 
 I the great cemetery ; and meanwhile here is 
 bat will supply you with a pillauf at your 
 lid-day meal :'' and he flung into her baskri 
 large gold coin, which she greedily securc.l. 
 '• Said my lord one hour hence ?" 
 " I did.-' 
 
 " Pek ahi — it is well. I will be there." 
 This short dialogue did not pa.'^s unobserv'- 
 ; and the jests were numerous with whieh 
 dji Reza had to contend ere he quitted the 
 laving room of the Armenian barber. Hut 
 8 heart was too deeply engaged for him to 
 ed them ; and a cibe wa.s yet upon the lips 
 the incorriuiblc Latif when he took leave of 
 
 •■ Mm Allah — Heaven forbid ! I have not 
 such desperate visions :" exclaimed the young 
 man i.'aily. '• Vou, Satira, khatoun, have 
 trodden the harcm-lloor too often with a feath- 
 er from the bulbuls throat in your keeping, 
 to run mucli risk of mischief in obliging me. 
 Vou have been young in your time, mother, 
 and perhaps beautiful ; and now — "' 
 
 •'And what now?" hastily broke in the 
 aged woman ; " now. you would tell me that 
 I am old. and wrinkled, and palsied ; and 
 that such as I am are not numbered among 
 the houri — I know it — I know it — 1 require 
 no assurance that 1 am changed from the days 
 when a smile from my lip made the crown ol' 
 the loved ones hi-ad touch the cupola of heav- 
 en. Son of Vezid. were it not so. 1 should not 
 be here and thus. Then the gold of Sumatra 
 was on my neck, and the diamonds of the 
 larthest Kast upon my brow — the cachcmires 
 of Thibet bound a waist as slender as the cy- 
 press : and the silks of Bithuania were folded 
 about a form as graceful as that of the simorg 
 — veils of muslin, as fni<' as the gossamer that 
 flits across the setting sun, shielded my face 
 from the beam that would have marred its 
 beauty — a face that looked like the moon at 
 its full, in the season when the vines are leal- 
 less, and the stars hold their place about her 
 silver throne, almost a.s radiant as herself — 
 now, my yashmac is coarse and heavy, the 
 old and the gems have pji>sedaway: I smile, 
 [but it IS in bitterne.-8. for no Ibnd eye hangs 
 upon my looks: and 1 fold my cloak about a» 
 lone a heart as any in Damascus. Needed 
 ihcre words, then, Elfendim, from the gay and 
 the handsome like yourself, to remind nic of 
 the change ?'' 
 
 '• Nay. nay, you mistook me !" interposed 
 lidji KczA, as the bitter smile passed from the 
 lips ol his compani.)n. '• I would have- said 
 that none better than yourself could f.i-l and 
 act for me. Let us waste no more words ; 1 
 love Dela'iKc Hanoum, the daughter of Kassun 
 Bey " 
 
 " Love who?"' exclaimed the esRcnc<*-mer- 
 chant. "Bo hey— What's this? Would none 
 
 le laughing company, and bent his way to 
 ards the cemetery of the city. lother do for the son of Yezid the nu-rehant 
 
 There, among the tall cyprcs.'.es, seated up-|l»"in the only chii.l of tho Ik-rco KasMm B.-y? 
 ri a grave, and leaning against the turban- i''''""k, think, Etlendim : you are too young 
 rested headstone, he found the old woman ;«"'• t"" gallant to olf-T your neck to the bow- 
 iready awaiting' him. Her basket and "iring: I will dip my hand in uo pillauf like 
 
 . jthia; Allah bllir — Allah alono knows how il 
 
 •Narcotic*. t Pipe-bowU. t Ilyraen. | may end.'* 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE H.\REM. 
 
 " Have you then never heard that she was 
 offered to ine in marriage, and that I refused 
 to bring a wife into my harem ? You look 
 surprised, mother, but I tell you the truth. It 
 njaiters not wherel'ore, but I have changed my 
 humor, and now I would make lier love me 
 ere she enters the house of my father, that she 
 may forget my past coldness." 
 
 ■' It will be no heavy task," said the old 
 woman, as she gazed admiringly on the hand- 
 some youth ; '• you have but to gallop past her 
 window, or to saunter beneath it, or, in short, 
 to show yourself by any means in your power, 
 and your object will be accompli.shed."^ 
 
 '• I would do more," said Udji Reza. " I 
 cannot be content with the mere eye-worship, 
 that may be won by every hand.some carnal in 
 the city; I would penetrate into the harem, 
 and look upon her, and comnmne with her, 
 and pour out my soul in passionate words. 
 which should fall gently on her ear. as the 
 leaves of the gumcistus on the earth at twi- 
 light" 
 
 " And what furtherance seek you from me 
 in this wild scheme ?" asked the old woman. 
 
 '• The loan of a disguise. Your cloak, your 
 veil, and your essence-box. Go to the bazar, 
 mother, and purchase for me toys and gauds 
 such as may fix the eye of a young beauty ; 
 teach me the quivering tone, the unsteady step. 
 and the cant and craft of your calling — nay. 
 no denial ; I will pay you back in gold enough 
 to enable you to smoke the chibouque of your 
 age in peace." 
 
 '■ But should my share in this mad attempt 
 be discovered " 
 
 " Korkma — fear not," said Ildji Reza. " I 
 will peril neither your neck nor my own 
 beard. What is written, is written. I have 
 resolved on this venture, and I will not be 
 iturned from my purpose." 
 
 •' Allah buyuk dcr !" apostrophized the es- 
 sence-merchant ; "the hair grows fast upon 
 young heads, and some one must play the 
 barber ! I am ready, EfTendim. I will trust 
 ■both to your prudence and your generosity. 
 And now give me gold, that I may hasten to 
 the bazar to my friend Mazzouk, the honestcst 
 ..merchant who ever dropped attar-gul into an 
 ivory-box : for I will trade for you, Agam, as 
 for myself. Deovlelin istial — may your pros- 
 perity increase!" she added, as Ildji Reza 
 placed a well-filled purse in her ready hand : 
 ^' I always love to trade with such as you ; the 
 women, ay, even the youngest, the hand- 
 somest, and the wealthiest, will cavil with me 
 for a dinar, and blacken my face to obtain a 
 bargain ; while the gallants of the city are as 
 ready with their gold as with their jests. To- 
 morrow, then, Eflendiin, I will return and 
 bring to you on this very spot all that you 
 have asked of me." 
 
 '•It is well; farewell then till to-morrow:" 
 said the young man. as he turned away. 
 
 " Delhibashi — Prince of madmen !" mut 
 tered the old woman, while slie followed birr 
 with her eyes. " He shalj pay me all, all 
 ere he risks the venture : |t|r, if Sheitan does 
 not aid him, he will not escape in a whol( 
 skin from Kassim Bey." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED — CONTINUED. 
 
 Slowly, and absorbed in thought, Ildj 
 Reza quitted the cemetery, and turned hi; 
 steps towards his father's house. The tapestri 
 door of the merchant's chamber was heli 
 aside by a slave, for Yezid was about to past 
 out ; and the young man met him on th( 
 threshold at a moment when he would gladl] 
 have avoided all notice. But this was not U 
 be ; for, when a greeting had passed betweei 
 them. Ildji Reza found himself invited by t 
 grave and silent gesture to follow the khawaj 
 back into the apartment whence he had but i 
 moment before been about to depart ; and, tu 
 he entered, a feeling of impatient irritatioi 
 grew upon him, on perceiving upon the soft 
 of Yezid a couple of carefully folded parcels 
 covered by finely-wrought bokshas or handker 
 chiefs, such as are only wrapped about thi 
 most valuable merchandise. 
 
 '• Wallah billah— by the Prophet !" mut 
 tered the young man beneath his' breath 
 '• here has my unhappy felech led me into i 
 discussion on the relative value of muslin 
 and tissues, when I would have shut mysel: 
 into my own chamber to arrange my plans lb 
 to-morrow. But patience, Ildji Reza, thoi 
 must fulfil thy destiny." 
 
 The philosophy of the son of Yezid seemei 
 indeed about to be put to the test; for thedoo. 
 of the apartment was scarcely closed behim 
 them, and the merchant had barely reacli& 
 the centre of the floor, when he pointed toth, 
 jiackages on the sofa, and asked in a tone o: 
 bitterness and wounded pride : '" Ildji Reza. d 
 you see those bokshas ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 '' Can you guess what they contain ?" 
 
 " Perhaps muslins from Hindostan ; pci 
 haps silks from Broussa; or, it may be. jewel 
 from — " 
 
 '■They contain all of these ;" interpose' 
 Yezid hastily : " and each the most costly o 
 its kind — and yet — listen to me, Ildji Reza— 
 swear that they are more loatlisome in ni 
 sight than if they were the discarded rags o 
 some filthy Jew. They were the bridal gift 
 of the son of Yezid to the daughter of Kassir 
 Bey — from the relenting lover to the neglecte 
 mistress — and you see how they have spec 
 The profligate heir of the poor Khawaji is n 
 longer a fitting suitor for the only child of tt 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 M 
 
 haiighty bey. You have played Iho fool so 
 •well, Ildji Reza, that yon have trniisferred the 
 motley to me, and I shall be pointed at a> I 
 •walk the city streets. '' 
 
 " Now, by the soul of the prophet !•* burut 
 forth the' young man. 
 
 " Yavash, yavash — softly, soft I v :" said the 
 merchant in the calm accent of lonccntratcd 
 passion ; " anger is unavailing, and hot words 
 were made for women. We arc no ioncer lield 
 •worthy to dip our spoon into the same (chorha 
 (soup) with a nohle — we have put our beards 
 into his hand, and we have no riiiht to com- 
 plain that he has plucked them out. You now 
 know all. Ildji Hezii, and must henceforward 
 be content to seek a wife among the merchants 
 of the city."' 
 
 As Yezid ceased speakins, he clapped his 
 hands, and a slave reappeared on the threshold 
 ■with his slippers. Ildji Reza was aware that 
 the outward show of calmness which his 
 fathei had maintained during their brief inter- 
 view, was as deceitful as the stillness of a 
 volcano ere the lava flood bursts forth ; and he 
 did not dare to detain him : while a ru.-h of 
 conflicting feelings rooted him lor a time to the 
 spot, and kept him motionless. 
 
 All was then over, as regarded his recog- 
 nized marriage with the beautiful DelsaVse. 
 Should he win her by stratagem, he must fly 
 wth her to another land — and it might even 
 be — and in that thought there was madness ! 
 that she had been accessory to his insulting 
 dismissal — the no^•elty of his aflcction had 
 ■worn away — the mystery of his love was about 
 to be terminated by a marriage sanctioned by 
 her father, and her woman-fancy, thwarted in 
 its full flow, had deseneratcd into disappoint- 
 ed indifference. Rut.no. no; this could not. 
 could not be ' He remembered a thousand 
 whispered words which had pledged her to 
 him in ever>' change of fortune : and he would 
 not believe that her pride could play the traitor 
 to her peace. 
 
 He would trust to her affection — he must 
 trust to it, not only his happiness, but his life, 
 or she was lost to him for ever : for he felt 
 assured that his disguise, carefully as it might 
 be adjusted, would soon fail to insure his 
 safety beneath the eyes of suspicion and 
 inquiry. 
 
 Rut -what cared Ildji Reza for the risk ? 
 What was life to him, if its best principle 
 were wanting? He was content to abide Ins 
 fate ; and. for a •while, he abandoned himself 
 to happy dreams of the sweet existence, which 
 far, far from Damascus, and from the frown 
 of a proud father, he would lend with Do Isaisc 
 — •with the loved one, whom he would rescue 
 from her cheerless thraldom to be the wife of 
 his bo.«om. and the idol of his heart — but 
 suddenly a dark shadow crosse<l the mirror of 
 his mind — he remembered the Toorkoman, 
 and all was again despair and remorse ! 
 
 Thus did Ildji Rezii piu«s the night : somo- 
 times wrajiped in visions winch could have 
 been realized only in the paradise of Mnhom- 
 i et : and at others sunk in unnvailinR regret, 
 and trembling apprehension. Hut the morrow 
 I came at length : and the young man, rousing 
 himself by a violent elforl. prepared to keep 
 his adventurous appointmen*. with lhce.s^cnc•- 
 mereliant. 
 
 When he reached the spot where he had left 
 Satira on the previous day. he found her al- 
 ready at her post : hut, a.s he apjiroaclied. she 
 ! moved silently on until she stood amid a 
 I cluster of thickly-planted trees, and be.-ide a 
 i tomb of unusual size ; here she paused, anil 
 ' drawing from beneath her cloak a parcel of 
 I considerable bulk, she flung it at the feet of 
 j Ildji Reza. 
 
 '• You arc obeyed, my son :' she said, as she 
 'deposited her es.'jence-box on the ground hoMde 
 I her : '' and fear not, for though the garment* 
 be coarse and worn, they came not from the 
 ; quarter where the khanzyr (hogs) of Jcms 
 I nurse the plasue that it may scatter the True 
 Relievers before its loathsome breath. It is 
 true that I have paid a heavier sum for them, 
 than if I had purchased them of the doiis of 
 Infidels : but I ])referred the pillauf of safety 
 to the pomegranate of nold.and heeded not the 
 price. Rak agam — look, my lord ;" she con- 
 tinued, as she unfolded the squalid raiment in 
 which the hitherto fastidious Ildji Reza was 
 about, although not without a dissustful 
 I shudder, to envelope himself *' Here are an 
 antery and schalwar which the Ktfendi. who 
 'sold them (o me, valued at two purses, though, 
 I at length, by dint of cavil. I j>aid for them both 
 I with one — and here is a feridjho (mantle) of 
 green cloth — you will be for a time descended 
 from our lioly Prophet — see that your deeds 
 do no dishonor to the alliance — it is somewhat 
 short for you. of a truth : but these ra]>itnl 
 boots of yellow morocco (scarcely soiled, by 
 the way. save that they have been sliiihlly 
 discolored by the mud of the city streets) will 
 render that inconvenience of lilllo account. 
 I And now, seat yourself, that I may arranjje 
 . your yashrnac ; the muslin is rent in places, 
 and It will require some skill to fold it to the 
 best advantage. Pek alii — ver>' well !'" she 
 said exultingly, as she concealed the hand^flme 
 face of the son of Yezid beneath the tattered 
 veil of coarse white muslin : " Hut you must 
 remember that your eyes are visible, and that 
 no old merchant-pedler sufl"ers her glances to 
 go roving far and wide, as yours arc wont to 
 do : drop your eyelids heavily over them, or 
 you will be betrayed ere the Aga Ihiba Iir« 
 accepted your bribe, and sulfered you to pni>t 
 into the harem. Hear in miii<l loo. tlint your 
 ! fendjhe is something of the shorleni ; lenn, 
 I therefore, ujton your statr. and bend your 
 'knees; sink your head between your shoulders, 
 land give a curve to your buek ; iJio ycat% 
 
84 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 ■which can be flung off at will, may be allowed 
 to press hard for a few hours. 
 
 lldji Reza listened in silence, for his heart 
 was loo full ''or idle collcquy ; and when he 
 was fairly invested with his new character, 
 and that his own garments were folded and 
 delivered to the safe keeping of his garrulous 
 companion, he Hung to her a purse, which she 
 deemed it expedient to secure without comment, 
 and lifting the essence-box from the earth, and 
 seizing the staff which she held towards him, 
 he took leave of the old woman; and while 
 she seated herself on the tomb, and prepared 
 to recruit her exhausted energies wuh a 
 chibouque, he quietly passed out of the cemetery. 
 
 Not an eye turned on him in inquiry as he 
 traversed the city streets ; his disguise and 
 his caution were alike perfect ; and he had 
 gained a considerable portion of self-confidence 
 when he at length paused at the harem-door 
 of Ka.ssim Bey. 
 
 Well did he know that on the result of the 
 next few hours depended his future welfare — 
 that on the sounding of this particular chord 
 on The mysterious instrument of fate, hung the 
 harmony or discord of his after-life : and he 
 resolved to meet it manfully. 
 
 Two sharp strokes with the head of his staff 
 brought a negro slave to the threshold, who, 
 holding the door carei'uUy in his hand, uttered 
 a quick and angry inquiry as to the identity 
 of the stranger. 
 
 '' It is me, janum — my soul ; it is me ;" re- 
 plied the impostor boldly ; '• surely you have 
 not forgotten me so soon, Effendiin, in the 
 fumes of my own gebeli — Bana bak — look at 
 me, I am Satira the essence-merchant ; with 
 a fresh cargo of perfumes for the fair Ha- 
 noums of the bey's harem, and a stock of the 
 finest Salorica tobacco for my own friends. 
 Open the door, again, open the door, and let 
 me pass in, for I am weary." 
 
 " You must rest awhile in the hall, mother, 
 until I summon the Aga Baba;'' said ihe. 
 slave. '• I am but newly arrived and you are 
 a stranger to me. You can unpack the to- 
 bacco while you wait." 
 
 '•' Taib — well said :" retorted the visiter : 
 " it is gebeli lor a pasha, and you shall taste 
 of the best — and for my lord the Aga Baba 
 (may his power increase !) is not my life and 
 all that I have at his command ? for has he 
 not ever turned the light of his countenance 
 upon me, and bii;;htened my soul ?"' 
 
 The concluding portion of this rhapsody was 
 uttered with great emphasis, for the wily lldji 
 Reza had remarked the stealthy entrance of 
 the hideous Numidian at the lower end of the 
 hall, whence he was listening to the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " The wife of Asian Pasha has quarrelled 
 with the chief of her harem-guard ;" pursued 
 the speaker, affecting to lay bare his merch- 
 andise to the admiration of the slave by whom 
 
 he had been admitted : " and she swore to m 
 by the soul of the Propliet, that if her husban. 
 loved her, her enemy should never pass an 
 other Bairam in the palace of the pashalik 
 where his duties are light, and his gain 
 heavy ; and she is one who will keep he 
 word. ' But where shall we find another t 
 supply his place in Damascus?' she asked 
 • one worthy to watch over the heaven giftei 
 beauties of Asian Pasha's harem?' 'Fea 
 not, fairest of the daughters of Peristan :' an 
 swered I boldly ; ' the prince of Aga Babaf 
 the most renowned of negroes, is within th 
 reach of your excellency's summons — the in 
 mutable Kafoor Elfendi, the trusted friend c 
 Kassim Bey — ' "' 
 
 " Kim boo — who is that?" growled a hoars 
 voice, sounding like the roar of a bear froi 
 amid the underwood of a forest, as the redoubt 
 able Kafoor himself came forward, attemptin 
 to appear unconscious of the compliment 
 which had just been lavished on him. ■' Wh! 
 is that ? and what does she here ?" 
 
 Ere lldji Reza could frame a reply, th 
 Aga Baba had waddled across the hall, an 
 stood beside him ; he was of immense si? 
 and height ; his head was disproportiouabl 
 large, and flattened as though it had in h 
 youth supported some overpowering weight 
 his eyes were large and bloodshot, and ove 
 hung by long and shaggy brows which nn 
 across his broad and bridgeless nose ; h 
 nelher lip hung low upon his chin ; and tl 
 belt which supported his scimitar was burn 
 between two ndges of fat which girdled hi 
 with obesity. 
 
 But lldji Reza wasted no time on the e 
 ternal qualities of the Aga Baba; as, makii 
 a low and respectful obeisance, he besoug 
 that his favor might overshadow him. and h 
 smile bring him happiness. 
 
 '•Have I done ill, my lord;" he aske(' 
 '• that before I subjected my wares to the ey 
 and lingers of half the city, 1 have broug 
 them here to pleasure you with their novelt)' 
 Has tiie chibouque of sweet savour ceased . 
 please ? or may I hope again to supply tl. 
 boudaka of the far-famed Kafoor Effendi fro 
 this fresh bag of the fragrant gebeli of Sal 
 nica ? Have 1 angered my lord, or will ; 
 condescend to mix his sherbet from these d 
 licate cakes of preserved sugar ? Or to d 
 his fingers into this jar of tchalva, or his ha; 
 into this dish of kubeh ?"* and the son 
 Yezid, moving between the Aga Baba and t 
 attendant slave, so as quite to impede t 
 view of the latter, extended towards the N 
 midian a china saucer, where, in the midst 
 the dainties he had mentioned, lay a purse 
 gold coins which were distinctly visit 
 through the transparent muslin that contain 
 them. 
 
 Baked force-meat, -wrapped in vinaleavas. 
 
THE ROMANCK OF THK HAUKM. 
 
 '* \nd why not?"' asnin growled the worthy 
 guanliaii ot" Kassim Bey's harem, a.s he eliiteh- 
 ed witli the same grasp tlie purse and the kn- 
 beh. •' Is it because our own eooks are eriitly. 
 that there sliould be none other such in Da- 
 mascus ? Min AlUih — Allah forbid I the 
 lood is good, mother, and well ihivored ; and 
 if you desire to dispose of your wan s lo (lie 
 ladies of the bey, I will myself eomluet you 
 
 tJie harem." 
 
 lUIji Rezas breath came quick, for although 
 his errand appeared to speed well, there was 
 
 keen malicious expression in the large un-' 
 sightly eye of the Numidian which made his 
 pulses quiver, and redoubled his caution. 
 
 it is strange that I have forgoitcn your 
 name, mother:"' followed up the formidable 
 Aga Baba, with still increasinir scrutiny of 
 look and manner ; " for it would seem that 
 you and I should be well acquainted."' 
 
 •• My lord surely jests w ith his slave ;" said 
 Ildji Reza hurriedly ; ■■ for how should such as 
 he remember poor Satira the essence-merehant, 
 pave by the excess of liis condescension ?" 
 
 Hai, hai — true, true :"' was the reply ; as a 
 low chuckling laugh escaped the functionary. 
 ' I should have remembered you. for I saw 
 you bastinadoed in the bazar by the wali's of- 
 ficer for carrying love-tokens into the harem 
 of Nazif the Jeweller — Bashustun — on my 
 head be it ! but then the cows thong did its 
 enerously that day. mother. " 
 A'nd did luy lord believe that I wa.s 
 guilty?" asked Ildji Rcz4 deprecatinsly, as he 
 slipped another pur.-^e into the palm of the 
 Aga Baba ; '• could my lord think that 1 was 
 »uch a castaway T' 
 
 Nay, nay : I said not that you had done 
 the deed :" was the quick reply, as the hand 
 f the Numidian was hastily plunged amid 
 he folds of his girdle, and then drawn back 
 mpty ! " Thai was the wall's affair, not 
 
 ine — but we waste time : and truly I am 
 not sorrj- to see you here, mother ; for the 
 lady Delsaiso, who has done nothing but weep 
 for the last two days, may perhaps find amuse- 
 ment for a few moments in wa-sting the bey's 
 money on your toys and trumjKjry." 
 
 Little did the Numidian imagine the effect 
 of his words upon the eager and impatient 
 listener. Delsaise wept then I and he alone 
 could dry her tears, for it was for him that 
 Ihey were shed. He would have rushed to 
 [ler presence, have Hung himself at her feci, 
 land have poured out hu transport like a lava- 
 pood before her : but again the har»h voice of 
 the Aga Baba fell u[X)n his ear, and he fell 
 Ihe necessity of caution. 
 
 " You spoke of the harem of the pasha, mo- 
 ther ; and of some misunderstanding which 
 bad ari.sen between the chief of the guard and 
 his fair mi.Hiress the Buyuk Hanoum — Are 
 you sure of the fact?" 
 
 '• As sure as that there arc stars in heaven 
 
 'during a summer night. Did not ihe )>eauliful 
 (Julzara. the rose-ganlen of delight, irjl me 
 the tale with her own coral-tininl lips? And 
 did I not in return — "' 
 
 1 '• Enou>;h. enough, poo<l moilier : I know the 
 rest: but think you that vou have intiuence 
 
 ?aji t 
 ii<"Tl: 
 
 you shall pass to and fro unqucsiioni-ii ; ny, 
 even although you were the liiuh priestess of 
 Anirfiu hersell". I desire to serve the piislia : 
 he is indolent and aeneroiis: nml so Ion:; as he 
 can fold Ins feet ujKin tlie earpi"! of quiet ore* 
 not who counUs out the pia.str<'» of profit.'" 
 
 '• My lord says well, and my face is black- 
 ened het'ore his wisdom :' replied Ildji K<za : 
 " so sure as I am an esscnee-inerehant, shall 
 Kafoor KITendi, if such be lii.s pleasure, be- 
 come the guardian of the bey's harem." 
 '• You will swear this?" 
 '■ And ^vhy not ? ' 
 
 '' You will swear it by your father's beard ?" 
 " I will." 
 
 " Knough — we will talk further of this pre- 
 sently ! but you must not breathe a syllable 
 of the compact under this root.'' 
 
 '' I shall be as silent as the dead ; Kvallah ! 
 ( I have long learned when to Ik* mute, and 
 when to trust myself with words." 
 
 • You are discreet and wise ;" said this 
 ! pink of Aga Babas. as he preceded the innxjg- 
 ! tor to the principal apartment of the lian-in. 
 I '' Allah buyuk der — Allah is great. Fortune 
 ! IS not always overtaken by the swift ; some 
 I men sallK-r her up under the roofs of their 
 own dwellings, while others wander Hie strccta, 
 and find nothing'." 
 
 I '• Ajaib ! — wonderful!" ejaculated Ildji 
 ' Reza. as if in amazement at the wisdom of 
 ' his companion. 
 
 I " Wherefore." continued the Numidinn wilh 
 increased scntentiousncss ; " look not for inor- 
 dinate and exceeding profit in the vending of 
 your wares : rapaciouMies.n is unseemly : the 
 Projihet fovors the right-minded, and the just 
 are always the happy." 
 
 The son of Yczid listened, half wondering 
 and half amused, lo this tirade from the li|it 
 I of an individual who had just received a bribe 
 to betray his trust ; but chancing lo glance 
 around, he discovered that they were watched 
 by a young slave, bound on some errand in the 
 harem ; and he at once uiidersto>Ml the plot of 
 ihe comedy. 
 
 "Ilaniah Dclsa'is* llanoum — Wherein the 
 lady I)elsais<> ?' inquired the Aga Baba, af- 
 fecting suddenly to perceive the maiden. 
 " Hero is Satira the cssence-merchani, who 
 wohid fain tempt her with toys and |>erfump«." 
 '■ Aferin — well done!"' was ihe P-fdy ; 
 " you are well nut, mother : for wo have 
 srarce a pastille left m the pnlneo : and the 
 witr of 'I'imsah the inir akhor (l^ad ;;rix>m) 
 IK the mother of a fine boy, and we havn no 
 spell Of ainit the Kvil Kye lo offer her." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 " Leave it all to me, kizein — my daughter;" 
 returned Ildji Kezii, dreading lest the bright- 
 eyed damsel should detain him ; '• leave it all 
 to me; prcuier trinkeis. ciioicer scents, or 
 stronger si)clls I have never vended than those 
 in iny present stock." 
 " As he spoke, the Aga Baba put aside the 
 t inged and embroidered screen which veiled 
 <iie door of an apartment at the extremity of 
 tlie inner hall or saloon in which they stood ; 
 and, Willi a lowly prostration, Ildji Reza 
 paused at the threshold. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE ARAB STEED CONTINUEU. 
 
 The low cushioned divan which stretched 
 along three sides of the spacious room was of 
 crimson velvet flowered with gold, and from 
 the seat to the floor a rich fringe of the same 
 costly material fell glittering in the light. 
 The apartment was covered with a bright- 
 colored Persian carpet ; gilt cages, containing 
 gaily plumed birds, were hung against the 
 walls, and instruments of music were scattered 
 about in every direction. 
 
 On one corner of the sofa sat the beautiful 
 DelsaYse: she was as pale as a lotus under 
 the moonbeams ; and about her waist' she 
 wore the gorgeous scarf which had been the 
 love-gifc of ildji Reza. A cluster of tube- 
 roses lay near her, but she appeared to have 
 flung them aside in weariness of spirir. At 
 her feet reclined the faithful Ziba, seeming 
 scarcely less sorrowful than herself; and a 
 pang suiote on the heart of Ildji Reza as he 
 remarked the air of languid indillerence with 
 which his lovely mistress turned to note the 
 entrance of the stranger ; ever an event of in- 
 terest in a Turki.-ih harem. 
 
 •' Here is a visiter, Eflendim ;" said the Aga 
 Baba : '• Satira the pe.ller, who is come to ease 
 you of your gold, should your humor serve."' 
 
 '■ She is welcome ;''" was the unmoved reply. 
 
 " May your days be many, and your beauty 
 never decrease :"' commenced the impostor in 
 a less assured tone than he had yet spoken, 
 for ihe spell of her loveliness was on him; 
 " dcovletin istiat — may you increase in pro.s- 
 pcrity ; and may every wind waft to your 
 biow Ihe tint of the lily, and the breath of the 
 violet." 
 
 The lady started as the voice met her ear, 
 for, disguised though it was, it awoke an echo 
 ill her bosom, and a bright blush mantled upon 
 lier cheek, as she bent forward to listen more 
 J'reely. 
 
 " Are you pensive, queen of the peris ? I 
 ♦lave love-ballads wrought in threads of pure 
 gold, on muslins fine enough to float upon the 
 eumraer wind. Are you sick ? I have per- 
 
 fumes which would recall the fainling spi 
 about to escape the boundary of El Caf. Ha 
 you been smitten by the Evil Eye — thou 
 that can scarcely be, when your cheek is . 
 beauty, and your brow all light — I ha 
 charias, and spells, and amulets to overcoi 
 the visitation." 
 
 " Give me those ! give me those !" exclai 
 ed the fair girl eagerly. " My heart is sa 
 and I would fain find a spell by which it m 
 be lightened.' 
 
 '' Heaven grant that it be of good omen 
 you !" said the disguised merchant, as he { 
 vanced to the sofa, and spread his wares up 
 the carpet. '"For the Evil Eye, spices, a 
 garlic, and beads, and crescents of bone av 
 much when properly prepared ; but for a hea 
 heart there are other spells more simple, si 
 as withered flowers, gathered when the sun 
 joy had opened wide their petals and preseri 
 where no eyed could see them fade. I : 
 Effendiin — See, lady;" and Ildji Reza h . 
 towards her a spray of withered jasmine, bot . 
 about with a long lock of jetty hair. 
 
 "Laillaha illallah — there is butone Ailal ' 
 murmured the bcaufjful daughter of the b , 
 as she recognized her own oflering to I i 
 Pi.eza ; and at once, with the natural penet • 
 tion of woman, felt assured of his sec . 
 "But how, good mother, can these fail 
 blossoms lessen my grief?" 
 
 '• By teaching you, sultana, that all is t 
 dark when a cloud comes upon the sky : t 't 
 when it is night in one land, the sun is shin » 
 in another ; and that when the gloom is 3 
 most dense, the brightness is oft times t 
 hand" 
 
 The lady DelsaYse hung eagerly upon s 
 words ; and even Ziba was roused by a stra » 
 suspicion; while the Aga Baba — lost indre: i 
 of ambition, and ruling in idea the hareniT 
 Asian Pasha with a rod of iron — forcing » 
 women to buy his forbearance with brib ; 
 and wringing from the wretches who sout 
 the favor and protection of the satrap and « 
 satellites, even to their last dinar — the ji 
 Baba was altogether unconscious of the dar r 
 to which his cupidity had afibrded such fai - 
 ties. 
 
 " Nay, you need not retain the charr ' 
 continued the son of Yezid, as, after gas.g 
 earnestly at the faded flowers, the agitfil 
 girl was about to deposit them on the eusln 
 beside her. " You need only press them f » 
 moment to your lips, and the spell will.e 
 complete." 
 
 DelsaYse obeyed, and the withered jasn e 
 was then restored to its owner, who recc; d 
 it with as much fervor as though it had In 
 a relic from the Prophet's tomb. 
 
 •' Here is another and a more powe u 
 charm ;" continued Ildji Reza emphatica : 
 " but it can only be wrought at midnight, V 
 side a fountain, and under the shadow of U 
 
TIIE Ro.M.\..cr: UF Tin: IIARKM. W 
 
 and leafy trees."' Ami lie fixed liis eyes earn- ' fered to her only nnd idolized son ; but, j>nj>ju 
 estly on the iiiaiJon, to learn if she had read j ing quietly to \\\s own apiirlnienl, he eU>M-tl ilio 
 bis meaning. I door ai;ninst nil intrndern. and >piiii the hi.ura 
 
 '• Pck alii, dostoum — very well, my friend ;''' which niiisl intorvene nniil iiinliuijhi. m cu- 
 she replied wiih is much comiw>uro an tihe deavoriiii; to picture to hiiiiH<-|| ihf n-Mill ol 
 could tt,>i^uiiie ; '• but may I not bring a com- his iippcai to Iho bey'« dunuhler. Much did 
 panion with me? ' he trust to the lovcf-hc bore him ; but iilim I um 
 
 '"Not one;'" said lUlji Ueza deei.sivdy. Ildji Kez.i. in mditude. conleiiiplaled the rxtml 
 '•You must sit beside the founiaiii with your of the .saenlice whieh, m tlieir cotiiin-^ iiilor- 
 face turned Mecca- ward, just where the yliad- view, he was about to require of her, he found 
 0W8 of the bouuhs are deepest : and dip this himself less at case, and by no means so eon- 
 mirror Uuee times into the pure water. At fident of suceess as he had been when ho firhl 
 ihe third immersion loosen your hold, and your , formed tlie jirojccl. 
 
 griefs will sink to the bottom of tiic basin wilii lie iiad askfd her to fly with him : to aban- 
 the anali : then cast over yourself a dark col- don her father's roof, to forego her mothers 
 ored cloak, and remain an hour nioiioiilc.«s. alfeotioii. and to quit her birlh-plaee wiih all 
 Do this, and when next I bask beneath the its a.ssociations ot love and luxury, to share 
 ylory of your smile, it will be as bright as the fortuncB of a wanderer, who must carve 
 daybreak in tJie East.'' out his destiny in a distant land and anion;; 
 
 The fair Delsa'jsc extended her hand to re- 1 strangers, with the edge of his weapon: and 
 ceive the prize, and. a-s he resijined it, Ihe son ildji Hezii quailed, even in hi.s solitude, when 
 of Yezid pointed to the frainework in which it ' he remembered that this was not all I That, 
 was set : and the delighted girl saw that it , before he could secure to her the mere doubt- 
 vras written entirely over in a small and dis- i ful benclit of such an exisienee. a still more 
 tinct character. Hastily laying it aside, she | terrible trial awaited lur ! But should ho 
 busied herself among the toys and perlumes : taincly sutler her to incur it? She. in 'whom 
 and having selected a few of the most costly, ! he had learned to garner up his soul — who«o 
 slJfe flung a' purse of gold into the box. for the \ love was his life, whose presence made his 
 eye of the Aga Baba chanced to be upon her ; paradise? Never ! never ! He would leave 
 and bade Ziba carry them to her mother, while , a heavy sum in the hands of the bectnchy. to 
 she selected a few trifles to distribute among I satisfy the Arab dealer for his accursed horse : 
 her attendants. and on that very animal would he bear away 
 
 Many a covert hint, and many a paasionate : his bride. The thought dtlighted him; and 
 pledge veiled in metaphor, passed between the ho hurriedly counted out a heap of gold, and 
 happy lovers, ere Ildji Keza obeyed the man- | secured it in a sealed bag. which he super- 
 date of the Aga Baba. and prepared to quit the \ scribed with the name of Ali the Toorkonmn : 
 harem. He arranged his mercliandise with a and as soon as the twilight fell, he hastened 
 care which rendered the ceremony most wea- with it to the tomb when' he had on the pro- 
 risome to the Numidian; and, had it not been | vious night been secreted by thi- di-rvish. 
 that the worthy functionary was yet exi>eelinff ; All was silent ; and as ni> vcnee replied to 
 an oflering of tobacco from the i>edler, the son , his cauunus whis{>er, he entered ; and groping 
 of Yezid would assuredly have been ejected his way to the sjKJt whence the beetaehy had 
 with more speed tlian courtesy. All was. how- 1 taken the cypress wine, he removed the stone, 
 ever, at length replaced : theca*es were closed, | and deposited the gold beside the almoul ex- 
 the bokslias folded, and having pressed the i hau.sted liquid : and this done, he left the 
 hem of the lady's carment to his lips, Ildji ' building with a lighter heart than he had 
 Keza tound himself compelled to depart. knowu since hui coinpocl with the ToorkomoiJ. 
 
 But the magic mirror was in her hands — 
 his image w;ui yet in her heart — that very 
 night, if she lif-tcncd to his prayer, they would 
 meet to part no more — to fly together — to be 
 happy! ildji Keza scarcely fell liie earth on 
 which he troid — his spirit floated in the pure 
 akash — he wa« an altered man ; and he had 
 Btoleii to the s^ptalid hovel of Hatira. and cast 
 Je the ra^s m which he had been disguiiwd. 
 
 CHAII'KIl XXXVIM. 
 
 THE ARAB STKKl) CO.NTINVJU. 
 
 Scarcely had the Aga Baba quitted the 
 rof»m with the son of Yezid. to secure hta 
 ere one memory of the Toorkoman and his own portion of the »|)oil yi-t to b<« obiain<-d fr..in the 
 rash oath had marred the brightncsj. of his supposed pcdlcr, in the sha|>c of tohor.-.. and 
 visions. [sweetmeats; than the lair i^-lKau^-. brii<liii^ 
 
 When he reached hi« fathers house, he paid over her faithful Ziba, murinured. in a low 
 no visit to the harem, for he knew that the happy voice, the nume of Ihlji UczA. 
 proud spirit of his mother must be stricken to • What of him Klfindimou— my mistrriu.'" 
 the earth by the indignity which had been of- , "he asked ; '" Mashullali ! can it b« that my 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREit 
 
 wild suspicion vras indeed true? Has he 
 really desecrated the harem of Kassim Bey by 
 liis presence !" 
 
 " Not so, not so ;" smiled the fond girl, 
 trembling with excitement and delight. " Say, 
 rather, can it be that he has risked his life to 
 f,'ladden the wretched DelsaVse with the as- 
 surance of a love that can survive even in- 
 sult? Yes, Ziba, yes; it was indeed the son 
 of Yezid who knelt beside me but a moment 
 back — who made the sunbeams of joy pene- 
 trate through the lattices of my bosom — who 
 has raised me from the deptlis of wretched- 
 ness to a bliss worthy of thehouris ! Guzum 
 — my eyes ! the light of my being ! Janum 
 — my soul ! my sultan ! and my lord ! Nor 
 am I even yet desolate, although the day-beam 
 has departed, for I have still this precious anali, 
 which shall be to me as a companion until we 
 again meet !" 
 
 And flinging herself back among her cushions 
 like one who brooked no further converse ; 
 heedless of the piteous " Eh vah ! eh vah ! — 
 Mercy on us !"' of the terrified and conscience- 
 ^trictven Ziba. the young beauty commenced 
 ilic perusal of Ildji Ileza's communication on 
 llie frame- work of the hand-mirror. 
 
 As she read, her breath came quick, and her 
 cheek crimsoned — to fly with him from her 
 home, without the solace of a mother's part- 
 ing kiss, and it might be, pursued by a father's 
 curse ; it was a fearful prospect ! But to fly 
 with him whom she loved — to be his for ever 
 wliile life warmed her pulses — to see him, hear 
 him. and to devote to him the best energies of 
 4ier heart — to know that for her, and for her 
 love, he had thus become an exile and a wan- 
 derer — there was solace for all her suffering in 
 the thought : and she had many hours yet left 
 to her in which to decide ; while she should at 
 least see hiin once more that very night where 
 they had first met, and hear from his own lips 
 all that he had to urge in favor of a project 
 to which her trusting woman-heart already 
 inclined. 
 
 The mirror had wi-ought its spell; and 
 when the fond girl had pressed again and again 
 to her lips the precious characters which had 
 been inscribed upon it, she plunged it into a 
 vessel of rose-water which stood beside her, 
 and smiled as she saw the writing fade be- 
 neath the moisture. And then, how she sigh- 
 ed for the twilight ! and when the twilight 
 fell, how earnestly she prayed for the night ! 
 The calm, soft, perfume-laden night, with its 
 myriad stars, and its fading moon, on which she 
 guessed not that her young fate was hinged ! 
 
 And the midnight came at length, and soon 
 the harem of the bey was hushed in sleep. 
 The check of beauty rested on the embroider- 
 ed cusiiions of luxury — the music of the zebec, 
 and the voices of the singing women wore at 
 rest ; the soul, freed from the heavy prison of 
 the flesli, in which by day it was pent up, 
 
 stood in all its splendor on the threshold of 
 the spirit-land : and Fancy, unlocking with a 
 jewelled key the golden barrier of the city of 
 dreams, let loose a troop of iris-habited visions 
 which danced lightly through the realms of 
 slumber ; and cheated many a doomed and 
 stricken wretch into a temporary glory tha/ 
 lent new bitierness to his waking. 
 
 Midnight ! In which prowl Ibrth the onU 
 cast sinner, and tlie beast of prey, the terroi 
 of the city and of the forest : the felon, yet 
 unwhipped of justice, whose deeds shun the 
 light : and the wretched, to whom that hghl 
 is loathsome. But one kept vigil at that still 
 hour who was none of these : one to whom 
 life had hitherto offered more of sunshine than 
 of shade ; none of whose thoughts were evil ; 
 and she stood listeningly for a while at the 
 garden-portal of her proud father's palace, 
 with her white garments gleaming in the moon- 
 light, and her small hand pressed upon her 
 heart to still its beatings, like the fair spirit 
 of another world, wandering by some strange 
 spell among the denizens of this ! 
 
 There was not a sound to be heard in the 
 harem ; even the watchful Aga Baba slept: 
 no voice came from the slumbering city — she 
 heard only the whispering of the leaves to the 
 summer wind, and the fall of the fountain, as 
 the waters plashed on the large petals of the 
 delicate lilac lotus ; and the fair Delsai'so 
 raised her bright young brow to the blue sky, 
 and smiled as she fled across the open space 
 which intervened between the large basin 
 and the acacia-grove, where she was to meet 
 iier lover. 
 
 He was already there, awaiting her ; and, 
 as he strained her to his heart, and listened 
 to her murmured words of tenderness and 
 trust, he was stricken to the very soul ; and 
 could have grovelled in the dust at her feet, 
 as he remembered the fate to which, in his 
 ignorance and vanity, he had madly doomed 
 her. " It may not yet be too late !" he whis- 
 pered to himself: "I will redeem my honor 
 while I have yet time : I will tell her all ; I 
 will lay bare my un worthiness, and leave her 
 forever! She is so young, so beautiful, so 
 little fitted to a life of struggle — Allah be 
 thanked, it is not yet too late !" 
 
 "Dclsaisc !" he said at length, as he led 
 her deeper into the shadow of the trees ; ''sul- 
 tana of my soul without whom the sky of life , 
 will know no sun ! peri, who wert sent on 
 earth to show mankind the fellowship that 
 awaits them in paradise! since I saw thee 
 last — in' the few fleeting hours which have 
 elapsed since I talked to thee of love, and 
 flight, and asked of thee the sacrifice of 
 home, and parents, and country ; my spirit 
 has sickened at its own selfishness : and now 
 I am here to say that I cannot — that I will 
 not — so wrong thy trust, so ill repay thy ten- 
 derness." 
 
THE ROMANCK OF THE IIAIIKM. 
 
 " And wherefore '" demanded fho fair girl 
 fu astonishment. "Did I shrink from tho 
 trial? Mill Allah — Heaven forbid ! That is 
 not love which basks in the sunshine, and 
 cowers under tiie tempest ; that is not love 
 which lives only in the midst of luxury and | 
 ease, and expires in the hour f^f 'rial and of j 
 tears. Talk not thus, janum — my soul! Do, 
 you abandon nolluns when you ask of mc the 
 sacrifice of home and friends ? Docs not our 
 flight entail on you also the loss of both ? 
 And shall I murmur where you do not re- 
 
 pine 
 
 v" 
 
 "DelsaYs^,"' faltered Ildji Rezi, as he drew 
 a dagger from his girdle : '• plunge this hand- 
 jar into my breast : it will bo less painful 
 than words like these ! You know not half 
 my unworthincss — half my crime. Hut a 
 better feeling is come upon me, and you 
 shall no longer be deceived. Inshallah ! I 
 trust in Heaven, that you will pardon, and 
 forget mc." 
 
 '• Forget you !'' echoed the fond girl with 
 pale and quivering lips. '• What words are 
 these? If you leave mc I shall linscr for 
 ever about your memory, as a ghoul wan- 
 ders among the graves of the dead ; for me 
 there will be no longer stars in heaven, nor 
 flowers upon earth. Ildji Reza, you shall not 
 leave me !"' 
 
 " Ne bilirim — what can I say ?"' retorted the 
 anguished lover. '" At lea.«t. ere you abandon 
 yourself to certain hardship, and probable 
 peril, let me tell you all" — and they seated 
 themselves side by side in that leafy soli- 
 tude, and the son of Yczid poured into the 
 ear of the trembling girl the fatal secret of his 
 mad oath. 
 
 " And you would have given me to ano- 
 ther?" was the tender reproach which first 
 rose to her woman-lip. 
 
 "Alas! I had never then beheld you; 
 never looked upon the brightness of a beauty, 
 compared with which that of other maidens 
 is but as the ray of the fire-fly beside the sun- 
 beam." 
 
 " And when said you that this fearful com- 
 pact was to be kept ?" 
 
 "Even at the mahak;" gasped out Ildji 
 Rezi. 
 
 The wretched girl glanced at the fading 
 moon ; it wa« her last nigiit ; the fatal hour 
 was come. 
 
 " Allaha cs marladck — Heaven preserve 
 me !" she murmured. 
 
 '•He will ! he will !" exclaimed the son of 
 Yezid, as he started to his feet. " 1 go. Del- 
 saVs^, with the curse of a broken vow upon 
 me, a perjured man : and I go for ever ; the 
 brand is on my brow — the iron in my soul ; 
 — but better thus, far belter, than if your 
 wretchedness were written there : for I go 
 alone." 
 
 "Not so — not so — " said the brave girl, as 
 
 she stood beside him, and firmly Rrajiped his 
 arm. " Hence you go not, unless wc go to- 
 gether ; nay, hear mc out in my turn ; if you 
 persist, I will arouse tho harem, and I will 
 cling to you. and fetter your motmiis, so that 
 every attiiiipt at escape shall bo uselcBS. 
 Need 1 tell you what will be the result?" 
 and she raised her lar-je eyes in horror to 
 his: '■ death, death — a bitter and a degrading 
 death ; but we shall at least die together." 
 
 " DelsaisO!, this must not — shall not be — 
 to see you in tho power of that fiend would 
 be to me worse than ten thousand deaths."' 
 
 " But we will escape him."' 
 
 " I dare not brave the venture." 
 
 " Ildji Hesu'i :"' said the bey"s daughter ; " I 
 am a woman, and yet I say to you, wo will 
 dare the danger, and overcome it.'' 
 
 '• By what means ?" was the gloomy inquiry. 
 
 " Inshallah — I trust in Heaven !'" answered 
 Delsaist*. as she clasped her hands tosethcr, 
 and bowed her head meekly upon her bosom. 
 
 '■ Vet listen tome — "' comiiieiieed Ildji RezA 
 dcprccatingly. 
 
 The voluntary victim only replied by point- 
 ing to the moon, whose sickly light was wax- 
 ing fainter in the distance ; and ere she had 
 withdrawn her hand, both were startled by 
 the loud neighing of a steed close under the 
 wall of the garden. Ildji Reza smote his 
 brow passionately, and flung himself along the 
 earth. 
 
 • We are summoned, my soul :" said Del- 
 saisi^, in a low shrill whisper which made the 
 blood curdle in his veins. " It is our only 
 chance of escape — if we part, wo die ; and 
 you are lost here and hereafter. ' 
 
 " 1 dare not — will not — "' 
 
 But again the maiden pointed towards the 
 moon, and the son of Yezid sprang from the 
 earth like a maniac. " Bo it so, ihcn : " he 
 exclaimed Iranticly : "we will lly — we will 
 escape — wc will yet bo happy "' And he 
 laughed wildly as ho lifted the undaunted girl 
 in his arms, and ninunting the mouldering wall 
 at tlic spot which Ziba had formerly indicated, 
 leaped fearlessly from tho summit into tho rood 
 beyond. 
 
 iN'ear the tree beside which they stood, the 
 fatal .\rabiait was made fast to a buttress of 
 the wall, beneath the thick branches of a 
 hanging cedar, by which it was nearly con- 
 cealed ; in an instant its bridle-rein wait in 
 the hand of Ildji Kezil, and he in the saddle, 
 with Ins precious burden in hiu arins. But in 
 vain did tho frantic young man attempt to 
 direct the course of the ill-oiiu-ned steed. 
 Seemingly atfrighted by its unaccusldmed load, 
 the animal llcw reckl<s.sly along, as though 
 driven forward by some invisihlo «|>irit ; and, 
 heedlfss alike of bit and stirru|>. plunged 
 headlong towards tho high precipice indicated 
 I by the Toorkoman, beneath which Uowed the 
 rapid Barrady. 
 
90 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 The brain of Ildji Reza reeled, and his 
 strength forsook him ; he Hung tiie bridle from 
 liis hand, and clasped the slender form of 
 Delsaise clo.-er to his heart, while she hid her 
 face upon his shoulder, and neither wept nor 
 spoke. On, on they Hew, until borne upon 
 the wind came the triumphant shout of the 
 expectant Toorkoman : and then once more 
 the heart of the .son of Yezid grew big with 
 the advancing peril : and wlicn they gained 
 the base of the lock, and that the hated form 
 of the Arab nierciiant emerged from beneath 
 the shadow of the building by which it was 
 crested, he drew his handjar from his girdle, 
 and clutched it like one who holds to his last 
 hope of life. 
 
 But the mad animal paused not beneath the 
 precipice : with dilated nostrils, expanded 
 eyes, and outstretched neck, he toiled and 
 scrambled up the frightful ascent, leaping like 
 a wild cat over every cleft and chasm, and 
 dashing fragments of the rock from beneath 
 his feet, which fell rattling and plashing into 
 the stream ; until, upon the narrow tableland 
 on which the tower was built, stood the horse 
 and his owner side by side, not many inches 
 from the brink of the precipice. 
 
 The pause Avas brief : for, as the animal 
 halted beside the merchant, a heavy hand was 
 laid upon its rein, and it reared violently to 
 escape the pressure ; when it rose on its 
 haunches, Ildji Reza slackened his grasp of 
 the maiden to strike at the Toorkoman with 
 his handjar ; and as it suddenly recovered its 
 position, impelled earthward by the weight of 
 Ills bending figure, the abruptness of the mo- 
 tion flung the ill-fated girl from the saddle. 
 One wild .shriek rang out on the clear air, as 
 a mass of white drapery fell headlong from 
 the summit of the precipice, and was succeed- 
 ed by a heavy plash, and the dashing of the 
 *vered waters against the base of the rock : 
 and them came' a yell, scaring the winds of 
 heaven like the uttered agony of a tortured 
 spirit : and the son of Yezid vaulted from the 
 saddle to the earth, and stood face to face with 
 his enemy ! — There was no waste of words — 
 nothing to learn, nothing to tell ; as Ildji Reza 
 pointed downwards to the death-freighted 
 waters of the river, and sprang to the throat 
 of the Toorkoman like a maniac ! 
 
 Scarcely a foot's space was between them 
 and a cruel deatii, whose horrible presence 
 had been with them but a moment back ; and 
 yet they struggled like men who liad the wide 
 earth for their arena. The merchant was 
 armed as well as his antagonist with a sharp 
 dagger, but for some seconds their weapons 
 were useless; they grappled like men in the 
 last agony — they wound about each other like 
 Bi'rpcnt.s — they clung together as though united 
 by .some invisible link — jt was a wrestling of 
 sj)irits, where the body bent to the impul.ses 
 of a mightier influence : but this could not 
 
 last ; ere long there was a deep gasping groan 
 — a heavy fall — and the Toorkoman wai 
 standing over his victim, panting with hatred 
 and exertion ; his teeth clenched, his turban 
 loosened, and his hand bloody : while the first 
 faint ray of dawn just rested on the shining 
 hilt of the weapon which was buried in the 
 heart of Ildji Reza, and revealed his severed 
 lips and glittoring teeth : the hand which still 
 grasped his dagger hung over the precipice ; and 
 as the exulting victor spurned him with his 
 foot, it seemed as though the next touch must 
 hurl him from the brink ; but the Toorkoman, 
 after having by that indignity s'atiated his hate, 
 bent calmly down, and withdrew his handjar 
 from the breast of his victim, wiping it care- 
 fully with the hem of his garment, ere he re- 
 turned it to the scabbard ; this done, he gave 
 one long shrill whistle, and fcrth from beneath 
 the shadow of the building came the bectachy, 
 
 " Gidelem — let us go:" said Ali hoarsely; 
 '•' the kavashlir* will scent the carrion, and 
 some foul chance may put thein upon my 
 track — Cursed be the stripling arm that could 
 not keep a firmer hold ! I have lost my bride 
 — I am for £1 Masr — when you next hear of 
 me I shall be snuffing the sea-breeze at Roulac. 
 Meanwhile, there is your gold, and with it this 
 screed of counsel : — when you would again 
 sell yourself to Sheitan, see that you earn 
 your wages more manfully, or you may chance 
 to be paid in another coin !'' and having struck 
 his hand contemptuously on the hilt of his 
 weapon, and flung a purse at the feet of the 
 dervish, the Toorkoman seized the bridle-rein 
 of his horse, and led him to the base of the 
 rock, when, springing lightly to the saddle, he 
 galloped away across the plain. 
 
 It was a bectachy who some hours subse- 
 quently carried to the house of Yezid the 
 khawaji the dark tidings of his son's murder, 
 and led the agonized father to the spot where 
 lay his child : and who shortly afterwards 
 went on his way rejoicing, for he had earned 
 gold by the discovery, and escaped suspicion. 
 
 The Barrady ere sunset gave up its dead ; 
 and many were the surmises which were 
 hazarded throughout Damascus, at the extra- 
 ordinary coincidence which on the same day 
 had plunged two families in tears and lamen- 
 tations, that were to have been united in bonds i 
 of relationship. Dark hints, and mysterious i 
 whispers were busy in the bazars ; and even 
 Latif Effendi himself foreborc to je.«t on an oc- i 
 currence apparently inexplicable ; while, as ' 
 neither the Toorkoman dealer nor the wander- 
 ing dervish ever again appeared in Damascus, 
 tiie truth would never have come to light, had : 
 not Ali the khawaji told the tale when he was 
 lying on his death-bed at Scandcria, waiting 
 with the lively faith of a True Believer to be 
 wafted on the dark wings of Asracil to the 
 arms of the houri. ^^^ 
 
 * City police. , 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 91 
 
 PART V. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 '' By the Black Stone at Mecca !* he was a 
 more fitting companion for the iiV.oulsand alVits 
 of .lehanum :" yawned the paslm, as the low 
 voice of Katinka ceased : not altogether consci- 
 ous whether he had really heard or only dream- 
 ed the termination oftiie mercliant's adventures. 
 "Anesseny sikdam If was he not a dou, and 
 the father of dogs ? And was the paradise of 
 the Faithful ever meant to be an ahidmg-place 
 for the unclean? Wallah billah — by the Pro- 
 phet ! you might as well people it with Franks 
 and giaours ! What say you, janum — my 
 BQul?" he added, turning to his fair wife, 
 down whose pale cheeks the large tears were 
 coursing each other in streams : " do you be- 
 lieve that Ali the Toorkoman ever bathed in 
 rivers of milk, and drank his sherbet in Para- 
 dise ?" 
 
 "Allah forbid!"' murmured Carimfil Ha- 
 iioum piously : " such as he were strange com- 
 pany for the houri of Corkam."t 
 
 " As to Ildji Pieza :''" pursued the satrap, 
 who was inclined to be critical under the gen- 
 tle approbation of his wife ; '• the man had 
 no wit in him ; he blackened his own face, 
 and deserved his fate : though it was hard 
 that the poor girl should suffer — But what 
 eaid 1 ? what is written, is written — and she 
 merited her destiny; for had she not dese- 
 crated the harem by allowing the foot of a 
 stranger 'to tread its carpets? By the head 
 of the Emperor ! had I been Kassim Bey — "' 
 
 What the satrap would have added is un- • 
 known, as the threat terminated in a volume ' 
 of smoke which curled down his beard, and 
 left the remainder of the sentence unuttered : 
 but the cheek of the Circassian flushed pain- 
 fully for an instant, and then became pale as 
 the leaf of' the river-lotus : and her heart 
 heaved as though it would have burst the 
 shawl that cinctured her waist. 
 
 The Greek, meanwhile, sat apart: deep 
 thought was on her brow, and something like 
 contempt wreathed her lip, as .she marked the 
 emotion of her friend, and the obtuse self- 
 complacency of the pa.sha. To her more wily 
 spirit the victim .«ecmed scarce worthy to be \ 
 deceived : and yet, even amid tiiat conviction, 
 Btrange speculations and wild visions grew 
 Tipon her. The Circaj*sian loved anoliicr — Jur 
 brother — the last relative whom she now pos- 
 sessed on earth — When they fled together — 
 and fly together they would, she felt and knew 
 if they again met — she should be alone ; tlicy 
 "Would be everything to each other ; and they 
 should have no hold on the great chain of «o- 
 ciety if she fashioned not the link herself. 
 
 • The famous stone in the holy lepulchre, which ii 
 kimed by every Moslem on hii ajriral. 
 
 t An expression of cuntempt. } ParadUe. 
 
 She glanced at the paslm — he* was old : but 
 what availed it to count his years? — ho waa 
 dull and vain ; but these were qualities whicli 
 insured a wife's supremacy — he niii,'ht Ikj 
 weighed in the holy wczn* with half the sa- 
 traps in the pay of the padishah. and not kick 
 the beam ; he was in short — a Turk — and the 
 lip of the beautiful (Jreek curled again into 
 deeper di.Mlain than before. 
 
 But the electric spark had been struck; and 
 Katinka, with the quick talent of her nation, 
 possessed al.-<o its cralt and scllishness ; and 
 slowly, by almost imperceptible degrees, her 
 manner towards the pasha changed. Even 
 Carimfil /('// that it did so; but it was impos- 
 sible to say in what the chansc consisted — 
 perhaps the voice was a shade softer than bo- 
 fore ; the bright eye shadowed : the light step 
 less elastic : but be it what it might, the young 
 wife was satisfied, as it harmonized with her 
 own pensive mood, and dreamy tendencies ; 
 for now Katinka sighed where she used to ral- 
 ly, and sympathized where she had formerly 
 chidden. 
 
 The satrap himself was the last to perceive 
 the revolution which had taken place in tho 
 beautiful Greek ; but he was conscious, dur- 
 ing his visits to the harem, that the flexible 
 form of the young slave flitted more frequently 
 betbrc him : that the courteous offices which 
 she rendered to him were more graciously and 
 gracefully performed: and, at length, he even 
 detected her eyes resting upon him with an 
 expression of melancholy tenderness and ab- 
 straction that he could not fail to remark. 
 
 The pasha smoked and wondered : and caz- 
 ed alternately at his wife and her friend, until 
 the deep and glowing beauty of the Greek 
 grew upon his fancy, and threw the pale love- 
 liness of the Circassian into the shade ; and 
 then he pondered within himself whether Ka- 
 tinka indeed loved him, and began to note 
 with increasing interest, every action of tho 
 wily slave. He slept no more when she 
 swept the chords of her zebec. though it.s 
 music had become more subdued and mourn- 
 ful ; and when she sang, he li.-iencd yet more 
 complacently, for her words told of hopeless 
 passion, and love which fed upon itself, and 
 clung to its own ruin. The sherbet offered by 
 her hand had more sweetness, and tho chi- 
 bouque more perfume ; and. in short, the visits 
 of the pa.sha to the harem became more fre- 
 quent and more lengthened as he crndually 
 yielded to the conviction that he was beloved. 
 Carimfil, beautiful and induL'cd as she wa«, 
 liad never loved him : yet here beside her was 
 a youm.' creature to the full as fair, glowing 
 with talent and enthusiasm, sraceful nn a si- 
 moru, and musical as a bulbul, whose look« 
 betrayed to liim the secret of her li«>nrt ! 
 
 The idea was fascinating ; and tho utrap 
 
 • The b*l»Be« of lh» Prophet 
 
92 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 dwelt upon it "with increased satisfaction from 
 day to day ; carefully abstaining from a word 
 or gesture which might awaken the jealousy 
 of his wife : and it was reserved for the breath 
 of song to break the spell, and to afford to Ka- 
 tinka the first assurance that she was under- 
 stood. 
 
 The fair Carimfil was, on one occasion, 
 more melancholy even than her wont, the pa- 
 sha more silent and more tedious; and the 
 crafty Greek felt her power to chase this 
 gloom, and to render the satrap conscious of 
 the value of her acquirements : without a 
 ■word, therefore, and regardless of any bidding. 
 she struck a few wild chords upon her instru- 
 ment, and with bowed head, and eyes bent to 
 the earth, she murmured out her song. 
 
 My childhood's home was 'mid the isles 
 
 That gem the bright Egean sea; 
 Where summer in its beauty smiles, 
 
 And song-birJs hold their jubilee. 
 Where sunshine with the ocean blent, 
 
 And rested on its loving breast ; 
 And every hour, in passing, lent 
 
 Some charm to earth to make it blest. 
 
 I never dream'd I could forget 
 
 That blissful home ; but ah ! the heart 
 When its warm flow with love is met 
 
 Can make its own bright world apart ; 
 Tis only when unloved— alone— 
 
 And blighted— that I sigh to be 
 In the dear isle where once I dwelt 
 
 Amid the bright Egean sea! 
 
 As the song ceased, the dark eyefe of Katinka 
 sought those of the pasha, and she read there 
 an a.^surance that thenceforward her island- 
 home might be forgotten. 
 
 '' Mail oldum — I have fallen in love !" 
 communed the satrap with himself; but he 
 only gave utterance to a low grunt of appro- 
 val, and a '' Pek ahi, B^yaz — very well" — as 
 he drew a jewelled ring from his finger, and 
 tendered it to the songstress. " Your voice is 
 pleasant as the soutli wind, and we owe you 
 some requital for the enjoyment." And as 
 the Greek prostrated herself before him, the 
 pa.sha held her hand a moment longer than 
 was necessary, while he gave the gem into 
 her possession. 
 
 '• Where the nightingale harbors, there is 
 no need lo welcome the thrush y' said the pa- 
 sha, when Katinka had made her prostration, 
 and returned to her place ; " and where the 
 fair Beyaz dwells, the awali (singing-women) 
 are needless." 
 
 The languid Circassian smiled ; her thoughts 
 were with Maniolopolo ; and it was a relief 
 to her when the pa.'<ha at length quitted the 
 harem, ana she could throw herself upon the 
 bosom of her friend, to talk of the lover of her 
 youth, and weep over his absence. 
 
 Skilfully did Katinka fan the flame ; she 
 called up memories which made the heart of 
 the unhappy wife beat high with tenderness 
 and regret — she speculated on the future until 
 the pale cheek burned, and the slight form 
 
 quivered with emotion — she mocked at the 
 pasha's blindness, and made merry at the ex- 
 pense of his complacent vanity : and then she 
 digressed to her brother — that brother who had 
 long been every thing to both of them — she 
 reminded the fond Circassian, who required 
 no prompting to do full justice to the memory 
 of his perfections, of all the noble qualities of 
 his nature ; and how adversity, like the tile 
 on the acanthus, had at once subdued and 
 beautified his free and haughty spirit. 
 
 The twilight stole on them ere the subject 
 was yet half exhausted ; and then they wan- 
 dered forth into the dim gardens, with their 
 white arms wreathed about each other's necks, 
 and whispered of him to the stars, and to the 
 leaves, by the low murmuring of the foun- 
 tains ; and finally they sank to rest, each wth 
 her own bright \'ision ready to melt itself into 
 a dream, and charm the hours of the long 
 summer night. 
 
 Maniolopolo had, meanwhile reached the 
 city, but had hitherto failed in every attempt 
 to make his vicinity known to the inmates of 
 the pasha's harem. In vain he traversed the 
 streets, and gazed stealthily at every yashmac 
 that he encountered, he met neither the fair 
 Carimfil nor his sister : and after hours and 
 days spent in haunting the palace of the satrap, 
 he became at length convinced that unless he 
 discovered some expedient by which lie might 
 penetrate under his very roof, he was as far 
 distant from the accomplishment of his wishes, 
 as though he had remained in Circassia. 
 
 Vexed to the soul, Maniolopolo, on the sixth 
 evening of his unprofitable watching, turned 
 away from the walls which separated him 
 from the bright object of his thoughts ; and, 
 careless of his path, sauntered on until he 
 reached the theriaki tcharchi.* whence the 
 sounds of music came floating pleasantly on 
 the still air. 
 
 " You are welcome, Effendir* ;" said a 
 portly personage who was gravely smoking 
 his chibouque on a raised-wooden platform, 
 overarched with vines, without the door of the 
 building. "A caravan had just airivcd, on 
 its way to Bassora, and among the travellers 
 are some celebrated alme (dancing-girls,) 
 whom one of the hadjis, who is my friend, has 
 prevailed upon to lodge in my house during 
 their stay in the city ; they are about to 
 dance, and again I say that you are welcome." 
 
 Maniolopolo hesitated : he was well aware 
 of the scenes of violence which occasionally 
 take place among the opium-eaters during 
 their paroxysms of temporary madness ; but 
 lere long, as the master of the tcharchi en- 
 larged upon the grace and beauty of one of the 
 fair band, his reluctance vanished ; and he 
 suffered himself to be ushered into the spacious 
 apartment, around which, on low and luxu- 
 
 Resort for opium-eaters. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 08 
 
 rious divans, sat about a score of the most dis- 
 solute youths of the city; while the centre of 
 the floor was overspread with a Persian car- 
 pet, on which stood a group of young and 
 splendidh>--habited women, about to commence 
 tlieir performance. 
 
 Maniolopolo had never before witnessed a 
 similar exhibition, and he looked on with as 
 much curiosity as amusement ; occasionally 
 joining in the low chorus of approbation, which 
 from time to time broke from the other spec- 
 tators. Never had he seen so much raki and 
 kakabi* swallowed in the same space of time, 
 nor so much khaf, and beiig. and hasliish, and 
 afiouf devoured; and it was consequently 
 without surprise that, as the hours grew into 
 night, he found the voice of revelry rapidly deep- 
 ening into discord : nor could he forbear a smile 
 when he heard the rioters reproaching cacl) 
 other with the very vices to which they were 
 themselves addicted. " Theriakee — opium- 
 eater !"' shouted one ; " dost thou, maddened 
 by the poison that thou hast swallowed, dare 
 to argue with me ?"' — •'• Dog of a wine-drink- 
 er !"' exclaimed a second ; " is it when thou 
 art drunk with the liquid fire of the infidels, 
 that thou talkest to a Mahommedan of his 
 duty ?" 
 
 Blows followed fast on words : and throw- 
 ing down a coin which offered ample payment 
 for the entertainment of the tcharchi, Maniol- 
 opolo hastened to escape Irom the pollution of 
 the scene ; leaving half-a-dozen unturbaned 
 heads rolling on the floor, amid a chorus of 
 .expletives more energetic than courteous ; and 
 |the shrill shrieks of the woman, who, huddled 
 jtogether in a corner, were trembling with 
 
 r right. 
 . But his visit to the theriakee tcharchi had 
 ot been altogether unprofitable to the young 
 reek; and he anxiously awaited the morrow 
 n order to carry into effect the plot which he 
 ad been contemplating during the perform- 
 Euices of the alme. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " I HAVE dreamed a dream ;" said SaVfula 
 Pasha on his next visit to the harem of liis 
 wife : '• a dream which lasted me the whole 
 light. Bashustun — on my head be it ! I will 
 jive a purse to whomsoever can read it to mo 
 iright." 
 
 " I have been said to have some lore on the 
 ubject of visions ;" said Katinka eagerly ; 
 'my mother read them like a book. Will it 
 )lease your Excellency to describe it to me ?" 
 
 " And why not ?"' was the reply. '■ Listen, 
 Lnd you shall hear' — I was at Stamboul, in 
 he bright ' City of the Three Seas,' but peace 
 
 ! was not within her walls : there were flames, 
 I and shouts, and sounds of warlare ; and the 
 streets ran blood; and tlien, ()u Allali ! I 
 thouuiit that I wa,s deposed from my pushaiik, 
 i and tliat all my weallii was swept away, and 
 I I was a ruined man ; and there came a sea.son 
 of famine ; and you, guziim — " and ho turned, 
 and looked fondly towards his wife ; " you 
 were beside me, and we both hungered ; when 
 suddenly tiie padishah — (may his beard flour- 
 I ish !) sent us a tray of tchalva and a di.'-h ot 
 j pillauf. But even as we ate, the cry came to 
 us of those wlio famislied ; and. Wallah! our 
 j repast was bitterly seasoned by the anguish 
 of those whom we could not succour — "T was 
 a dark dream, and I am troubled by it ! Speak, 
 j Beyaz : can you tell what it signifies ?" 
 I '-Your highness did well to terminate the 
 I fast by a least ;'" said the Greek girl witli as- 
 I sumed gravity ; '• your dream bodes you uo- 
 { thing but good ; uncertainty for a time, but 
 I ultimate success in ail your projects. I shall 
 I look ere long to see you summoned to Stam- 
 I boul by the Lord of the Three Seas, and to 
 j hear you saluted as Mushir* Sail'ula Pasha.' 
 "Allah bilir — Allah alone knows;" an- 
 I swered the satrap with a complacent smile. 
 I '• By the soul of my father, should you be a 
 ; true prophet, you siiall find tliat 1 am not un- 
 I mindl'ul of your jiropliecy — Ciiok cliay — that 
 is mucli." And tlic Pasha looked as magna- 
 nimous on the faith of his pronnse, as though 
 he had rewarded the beautiful soothsayer for 
 her vague .solution witli a hundred purses. 
 
 " The dream of my lord has brought to my 
 own mind a memory of the past ;' said Ka- 
 tinka, as a veil of sadness fell over her deep 
 eyes. ■ I have a tale whose grief will teach 
 all visionary sorrow to jta.'-s away before it, 
 as tlie mints of morning di.-per.-e before the 
 sun-break — or as the desert-sands arc scat- 
 1 lered by the simoom — I will tell it now, if my 
 j lord listens."' And liaving received an en- 
 couraaing nod from the pasiia, whoso chi- 
 bouque had just been roplciiisiied, and whoso 
 cushions were arraii;,'ed wiili a care to which 
 no luxury could be added, she seated herself 
 at his leet : and shaking back the long hair 
 which fell over her brow and bosom, and as- 
 suming as if unconsciou.«'Iy the stern cxpres- 
 bion, and impressive attitude of a Pythoness, 
 she commenced her recital. 
 
 ClIAPTKR XLl. 
 
 THE LAST OK TIIK J.\MSSARIE9. 
 
 The day of blood that witnevsed the de- 
 struction of the .lani.'-sarKH was at an end. 
 The sunlight had faded up<jn the mouulains ; 
 
 Ardent spirita. 
 
 t Intoxie«tin{ dni|(«. 
 
 • PulMofThrtaTaiU. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAEEM. 
 
 the stars were multiplied upon 'the ripple of 
 the sea of Marmora ; the fitful wind sighed 
 throu^li the forest-bouglis ; and. save in the 
 excited city of Slamboul, ail was peace, as a 
 tall and shrouded figure emerged from among 
 the totnbs in the necropolis of Eyoub. He 
 paused for a moment when he stood upon the 
 crest of the hill above the village, and shook 
 his clenched liand passionately in the direction 
 of the smouldering pile which had so lately 
 been the funeral-pyre of hundreds of his com- 
 rades — of scores of his townsmen and asso- 
 ciates. His breast heaved — his pulses quiver- 
 ed — it was Yusuf — the far-famed, the formi- 
 dable Yusuf ! When the yesterday's sun had 
 gilded the domes of the golden city, he had 
 been an aga of Janissaries. What was he 
 now ? He had seen the strong limbs of his 
 brother — of Omar the fleet-footed — quiver, as 
 he hung suspended from the fatal cord to the 
 "Tree of Groans" in the Atmedan. one of a 
 thousand of the same hour's victims — he had 
 seen it, and he felt that his heart was broken. 
 Omar was the last son of his mother — the pet 
 lamb of the fold — in the pride of his spirit he 
 had left his paternal roof to carry arms be.side 
 his brother Yusuf — and he had died the death 
 of blood before that bi'other's eyes. 
 
 The curse was deep and fearful with which, 
 after wading in carnage, and fighting like a 
 demoniac under the shadow of Omar's corpse, 
 the aga was borne away by the stream of 
 fugitives, who, hopeless at length of victory, 
 sought safety in a flight as unpromising as 
 their resistance. The band, fighting as they 
 retreated, grew weaker every instant ; long 
 pent-up hate was loosed, and the fury of the 
 inhabitants of the polluted city seconded the 
 more organized attacks of the soldiery. The 
 wretched Janissaries, maddened by their de- 
 spair, fought furiously to the la.st ; and the 
 streets, along which they passed, were choked 
 •with dead. 
 
 The .^cimitar of Yusuf gleamed above his 
 head, and he had just aimed a stroke at a new 
 opponent when tlie earth gave way beneath 
 his feet, and he fell heavily for a considerable 
 depth, pressed upon in his descent by the body 
 of the man whom he had slain. He heard a 
 shout as he disappeared, but the yell endured 
 only for a moment: the fierce crowd hurried 
 on, and ere long he could distinguish a hoarse 
 murmur which told him that the tide of blood 
 was flowing in a distant part of the city. 
 
 The aga's first care was to glare stealthily 
 around, and he was immediately conscious of 
 a faint light streaming through a cavity in the 
 roof of the subterranean into which he had 
 been so opportunely introduced. Not a sound 
 betokened the vicinity of any human com- 
 panionsliip ; and Yusuf next hurled from him 
 the body of his enemy, which yet lay heavily 
 across his own. This done, he slowly stretch- 
 ed forth limb after limb, to assure himself 
 
 that he was uninjured by the fall : and, having 
 satisfied himself of the fact, hfe was not long 
 in ascertaining the nature of his compulsatory 
 retreat. 
 
 Yusuf, as he rose from the earth, slood in a 
 spacious vault, surrounded on all sides by 
 stately columns of marble, and dimly lighted 
 by narrow grated windows level with the roof; 
 and at once understood that he tenanted, in 
 company with the dead man at his teet, the 
 immense cistern of Ben-Vebir-Direg — the 
 Vault of the Thousand-and-One Columns. 
 He shuddered as the truth burst upon him ; 
 for he remembered that, although, during the 
 hours of daylight, a crowd of miserable 
 wretches congregated there to spin silk, and 
 thus earn amid its noxious vapors a scanty 
 and insufficient existence, it was a place of 
 evil repute by night ; and said to be peopled 
 by beings whose demoniac nature shut thera 
 out from " the glimpses of the moon." 
 
 But Yustif was brave by nature, nor was 
 this a moment to yield to weak and childish 
 terrors : death was about him every where, 
 and he was ready to bless Allah and the Pro- 
 phet that he had found even this temporarj 
 haven during a night of terror. 
 
 The secret of his personal impunity after s( 
 great a fall was simple — the watercourses ol 
 the cistern having been turned during the erec 
 tion of St. Sophia, and the vault used as : 
 receptacle for the soil dug out from the founda. 
 I tions — the earth upon which he alighted wa 
 sufficiently elastic to secure him from great, 
 er injury than a few slight bruises ; bu 
 the wild legends which now localized thei 
 superstitions at Ben-Vebir-Direg rendered th 
 locality any thing but holy in the eyes of th 
 Moslem: a thousand dark and fearful mcmc 
 ries of the subterranean rushed across th. 
 brain of the fugitive — strange, and wild, an' 
 fearful shapes all located by popular rumor i 
 this gloomy spot ; and thus, bold as he wa 
 although pre-occupied by other and more ce;* 
 tain evils, had Yusuf Aga been free to sc!r 
 his hiding-place, he would assuredly not ha 
 chosen the haiuited subterranean. 
 
 The dull but instant echoes of the dreai 
 space repeated every sound: and as tl. 
 wretched fugitive slowly paced among tl 
 columns, searching for some point of escn] 
 of which he might avail himself under she): 
 of the darkness, the hollow reverberations • 
 his own footsteps made his brow burn, ni 
 his heart throb, as he mistook them in his tc 
 ror for the tramp of approaching enemies. 
 
 He soon discovered that his only hope ■ 
 egress was by the very spot of his entranc- 
 a narrow opening, formed by the decay ol 
 mass of masonr)'-, which had partially yield 
 to the unusual weightof the contending crow 
 and for an instant his spirit quailed, as hisc} 
 accustomed to the darkness, betrayed to h 
 the insecure and threatening state of that s< 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TIIR IIAREM. 
 
 tion of tho roof which touched upon tlic aper- 
 ture. Yet to stay in this gloomy vault, to in- 
 cur the certain penalty of starvation or discov- 
 ery, vras yet more iViuhlful ; and Vusuf having 
 resolved upon at lca>it attempting his escape, 
 when night should have fallen upon the city, 
 and examin-ni with care the dau'^erous acccB- 
 Bories by whose ineann it was to be accom- 
 plished, ultimately turned his attention to the 
 dead body which lay near him. 
 
 His superstitious tremors were not lessened 
 on discovering, from certain mysterious-look- 
 ing articles, carefully concealed about the 
 person of the stranger, that he wasakarabash. 
 or wise man ; a description of person with 
 whom no good Musselmaun ever desires to 
 meddle in a hostile manner. '• Y'AUah — in 
 tlie name of the Prophet ! Is this my work T' 
 murmured the aga to himself: " Haremzadch 
 — ill-born that I am ! Was it not enough that 
 I should sec my brother hung like a dog. and 
 swinging in the wind — and be hunted throuLih 
 the streets of the city like a wild beast by tiie 
 yelling cowards who once kissed the dust from 
 my slippers: but I jnust myself thro^^■'dirt 
 upon the grave of mv father, and slay a kara- 
 bash?" 
 
 And he rocked himself to and fro for several 
 minutes, as he sat beside the body of his vic- 
 tim, uttering the low '• Anian ! anulii I — alas! 
 alas !"' of a stricken spirit: while at intervals 
 he started in atTright. as the echoes of the 
 vault flung back tiie lamentation like the 
 mocking of fiends ! 
 
 Gradually, however, he recovered from his 
 panic, -with the et*nal kismet of liis faith : 
 and he then proceeded to strip the body of the 
 karabash, and to attire him.self in the dead 
 man's garments, after which he carefully 
 dressed the coqisc in his own, ere he indulged 
 himself with a more detailed survey of his new- 
 ly appropriated possessions. 
 
 The shawl which had formed the turban of 
 the karabash. was coarse in texture, and unin- 
 viting in appearance : but as the aga with- 
 "rew it. ami began to wind it about his own 
 ead, several pieces of large gold coin fell 
 rom amid its folds, to the extreme gratifica- 
 on of Yusuf, who saw in them a possible 
 cans of escape from the terrors of the bloou- 
 renched city. In a few moments the di.s- 
 nise was perfect : and having squared his 
 ard with a knife which he carried in liis 
 rdle, the aga of the Jani.'-saries wait conhcious 
 at to the eye of a stranger ho might pajw 
 nsuspected . 
 
 A few papers, which Yueuf wan unable to 
 eciphcr. but which, prudently rcmcJnbcrinK 
 at should he leave them in the vault they 
 night lead to hi.s own detection, he resolved 
 m carryinc away ; and, save these, a tobacco- 
 )urse of the mont common description, and a 
 ;haplet of ccdar-wofxl, a few paras carefully 
 icd up in a little bag, and a small box of 
 
 black dye, con.-^liluted all tho persona! cfTecta 
 of the dead man ; and piously exclaiming 
 "Allah buyilk der — (JihI is great!" Yusuf 
 had soon emptied the box of dye over hiB 
 beard and mustaches. 
 
 These arningeiueiits matle. the aga had no 
 otiier occupation lor the reniainini; liours of 
 daylight than silting on the damp earth, and 
 commending the souls of the sultan, his pashaa, 
 end his yuzbashis (captains) to the keeping of 
 Satan; spitting upon the graves of their an- 
 cestors: and branding themselves and their 
 relatives with all (he opprobrious epithets with 
 
 Which his laimuau'c is rife; until, as time 
 wore on, his bittiTiiess slowly yielded place to 
 gentler and fonder fceliniis : and his tliou^hta 
 recurred to Omar — to his brother — and then, 
 
 I burying his face in liis hands, the fierce Jan- 
 issary, the blood-thirsty Aga, the remorseleas 
 Moslem, wept ! 
 
 'Allah ! Allah! It is liard to bear:" h« 
 murmured ; " but who am I that I should rebel 
 against the Prophet of the Faithlul ? Sen 
 ektiar der — you are the master : Sen bilirserv — 
 you know best. Beeau.vc I sit down beside 
 
 ' the dried-up fountain, shall tho spring well 
 out afresh? If I say that my caique Bhatl 
 travel westward, will tho wind blow from 
 Mecca to fill her sails ?' And again the 
 stroiiu man wept : but this time it was in a 
 sadder and a calmer spirit. 
 
 Other visions L'rew upon him as he lingered 
 there. Mis mother had wooed a fair young 
 
 I bride to his home : yet another week and she 
 was to have been hi.^ — the lii-ht of his eyea, 
 
 'and the day-beam of his existence. Where 
 wa,s she now ? and by whom would she be 
 won? A shadow fell upon his brow which 
 danger had never called there, for all waa 
 over; he had no longer a home — .should he 
 
 'even es-cape. he must live an exile, and die 
 
 I a stranger to his own land ; the '• (^aptain of 
 a Hundred " was a crouching fugitive, for 
 whom the brand and the bowstring were alike 
 ready. The cldtst born of his hou-e was pro- 
 scribed and pursued — Yusuf ,\gn was no more 
 
 , — there remained only the trembling and tor- 
 ture menaced victim of a new creed. 
 
 Not a ray broke uero.-^s the murky tky of his 
 
 ' fortunes ; not a hope gleamed u|>on his future 
 — he wait a doomed man ; and for a mo^ient 
 the bold aga resolved to rctnaiii and abid« hii 
 fate ; but as the deep darkncs suddenly fell 
 around him, after that brief and nimoht im- 
 
 I perceptible twilight which in th.> east endures 
 
 i but for a moment, other lhoui;hlH and feara 
 
 ' grew upon him — positive dmi:;er and suponiti- 
 
 I lious terrorH became blended in Ins ima);ina- 
 tion ; he dreaded discovery, and shrank appal- 
 
 lied at every gust of wind whi<h |>cn<-tratcd 
 into the vault : wlulo a inomciit utter, (he 
 deep stillness well nigh niaddenrd him; and 
 he jieo'pled tho fearful space with .shadowleea 
 
 I forms, and the tall columns wore to his oref- 
 
96 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 heated fancy the semblance of gaunt and 
 death-like phantoms. 
 
 It was after one of these intervals of intense 
 and solemn terror tiiat he sprang hurriedly 
 from the earth, and resolved to incur any risk, 
 rather than endure a recurrence of sucli mad- 
 dening emotions. Even in tlic darkness he 
 turned away from the spot whereon he knew 
 that the dead karabasli was stretched ; and 
 following the wall with his hands, he felt the 
 fresh air breathing upon his brow from above, 
 and at once commenced his perilous ascent. 
 
 "La illaha illallah — there is but one Al- 
 lah !" whispered the wretched man between 
 his clenched teeth, as he endeavored to secure 
 a footing in the interstices of the masonry ; an 
 object in which he was repeatedly bafHed by 
 the darkness. 
 
 '• Alhemdullilah — Praises be to Allah !" he 
 at length exclaimed, wiping the drops from 
 his brow with the sleeve of his vest, as he ba- 
 lanced himself on the rough edge of a project- 
 ing mass. But his pious self-gratulation was 
 only momentary, for, with a crash which was 
 echoed with friglitful distinctness from the in- 
 nermost recesses of the subterranean, the tot- 
 tering stone gave way, and, in its fall, flung 
 Yusuf violently to the earth. 
 
 "Lahnet be Sheitan — curse on the devil !" 
 exclaimed the baffled captive, with that sud- 
 den transition of feeling which among the 
 Turks forms so singular a contrast from their 
 placid equanimity of manner : " Allah bela 
 versin — Heaven send it misfortunes ! Do tlie 
 very stones wage war for the bloody-minded 
 Mahmoud ? Am 1 to be balked by a mass of 
 marble ?'" And, with renewed energy, he 
 rose from the earth, and once more groped his 
 way to the aperture through which he distin- 
 guished a solitary star hanging in the heavens 
 like a lamp of silver. The aga hailed it as a 
 good omen; again he put forth all his strength, 
 and, after the struggle of a moment, lie secu- 
 red a safe footing in the chasm whence the 
 last stone had fallen. With his eye fixed 
 steadily upon the friendly star, he put forth 
 his arms in every direction until his hand 
 came in contact with an iron staple, whence 
 a portion of the marble frieze that had once 
 adorned the roof of the vault had been detached 
 by •time. A few violent etibrts sufficed to 
 convince him of its firm hold upon the stone 
 into which it had been driven ; and his next 
 attempt was to swing himself suddenly up- 
 ward, in order to seize the edge of the ma- 
 sonry projecting over the opening. Twice did 
 he e.ssay tliis dangerous exploit, and fail ; 
 while the blood spouted from liis nostrils with 
 tlie shock, and his hands clung maimed and 
 smarting to the rusted iron : but all the energy 
 of his nature was now aroused, and he did 
 not suffer himself to pause. 
 
 •■' Korkma — fear not, Yusuf ;" he almost 
 skouted in a fit of temporary delirium. '• Al- 
 
 lah wills not that you should die the death of , I 
 an earth- worm — On! on! — a bright star becb- | 
 ons you — you may yet live to revenge the I 
 death of the murdered Omar." , 
 
 As the words escaped liim, a wild blast 
 swept through the vault, and the excited Yu- 
 sef believing that he heard the voice of the 
 karabash, aroused from the sleep of death by , 
 his own menace of revenge, swung himself j 
 once more madly upward, and fell on the rude ' 
 pavement of the deserted street. 
 
 For awhile he lay stunned and motionless j 
 but as the night-air swept lovingly across his 
 forehead he slowly revived : and with return- 
 ing consciousness grew the memory of his je(v 
 pardy. Painfully and with difficulty he rose 
 from the earth — bruised alike in body and in 
 spirit ; and carefully avoiding the more fre- 
 quented streets whence the yell of blood yet 
 came to his ear. he stealthily made his way to 
 the sacred cemetei-y of Eyoub. 
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE JANISSARIES CONTINUED. 
 
 It was a glorious night as he stood there, 
 on the hill-top, among the quiet graves ; but > 
 all Avas riot in the bosom of the disguised Jan- ■; 
 issary. He was alone : far as his eye could 
 wander in the clear starlight he could distin- 
 guish no human being save himself: and he 
 moved slowly downward among the tall tombs, 
 and crossed the wide and deserted street, until 
 he paused by the water's edge — upon the lip 
 of the land-locked port, whose ripple was 
 ruddy with the fitful reflection of the burn- 
 ing pile which had once been to him as a 
 home. 
 
 " Allah buyuk der — God is great !" he said 
 passionately : '' it must be even as he wills. 
 The clouds are for the wing of the wild bird— 
 the billows for the monsters of the deep — and 
 blood for the great ones of the earth — " and he 
 smiled bitterly as he turned away, and undei 
 the .shadow of the tall trees which over-canopj 
 the village, stole hastily once more into th< 
 street. 
 
 The door of a house, about midway of th< 
 hamlet, stood partially open ; and after th< 
 pause of a moment, the disguised aga passec 
 the threshold, and then closed the gate, anc 
 secured it by a rude bar on the inside. Al 
 was silence throughout the dwelling, and th' 
 wanderer moved onward like one to when 
 the locality was familiar, until he reached 
 chamber in which a dim light was burning i: 
 a lamp upon the floor. 
 
 The room had but one tenant; an age 
 woman, half buried among cushions on a lo^ 
 sofa, and .so absorbed in grief as to be uncor 
 scious of the intruder's presence. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAUEM. 97 
 
 " Kh ' ah ! (lellii dcr — they are madnion !' The siniilen Jar.ssary Rhook his head Lit- 
 broke at intervals from her lips. " Was ii. for t'^vly. 
 
 this that a son was born to nic in my oKl aiie, | " I am old and poor ;" pursued the anxious 
 and that my first-born became strong in battle, paitint • 'I am helpless; and therein will lio 
 and great in power ! Bana bale — look at me — my strength — who would seek ihe man of 
 what am I. that I should be childless in my mii;ht in the dw.'Uing of the feeble and i;ray- 
 weak years, when the yrave is du^ lor me haired widow of Abdul the shawl-mender ?" 
 iinonET the faithful — Eh vah ! why did 1 not '' \e apalntn — what can wo do?'' ajsked 
 lie before this sorrow fell on my gray hairs !'' Yusuf despondingly. 
 
 And again she buried her face in her spread '• Wliat can we not do, if Allah spare us to 
 hands, and the deep "aman"' of utter wretch- each other?"' retorted tlie mother, encouraged 
 cdness burst from her quivering lips. by his partial aequie.^ccncc. " Yusul', my son, 
 
 "All are not gone !"' said a deep voice at the what may yet happen we know not; Allah 
 threshold of the apartment; and the mourner hilir — Cod alone knows: but we are tauglit 
 wildly thrust back the dishevelled hair from not to tumiit evil. Better to live in darkne.>:a 
 her brow, and uilanccd hurriedly towards the than to die the death of blood — belter to crouch 
 speaker. " The youngest and the fairest has beneath the wnvside briar than to lie un- 
 passed away, and his blood is on the head of sheltered from the storm. Stay with me. my 
 his murderers ; but Yusuf, the spirit-broken — son : the cloud may pa.ss away from the land 
 Yusuf, the dishonored, yet live.*: — his beard is — the ba.sh pezcvenk — the vile wretch, who 
 plucked out. and the grave of his father is de- has brought this evil upon Ihe children of the 
 filed — He who was an Aga of Janissaries, is Prophet, may yet fall before the tire of vcnge- 
 now a sakil-siz — a no-beard — but he is still ance — and then — " 
 
 the son of his mother — and lo ! he is here."' j "AH is over I"' said Yusuf, with a calm- 
 As the dull eye of the old woman detected ness of despair: "the rest is but a dream, 
 under the disguise of the karabash the features Haif! haif! — .shame! shame! that ihey who 
 of her son, and her ear drank in his accents, have so lonir upheld the glory of the failhlul, 
 she tottered towards him with a faint scream, and the banner of the Prophet, should be 
 and in the next moment she was clasped Ibnd- trodden beneath the feel of dogs in the city 
 ly to his breast. street.s — a by-word for giaours and infidels !" 
 
 " My son I" she murmured; " my first and And as he ceased speaking', his aged mother 
 fairest; you are rc^^tored to me — T <-im no caught his iiulT^nant tone, and echoed back 
 longer alone — Allah has preserved for me my "Haif! haif! — Shame ! shame !'" 
 brave Yusuf, the sun of my evening sky — my The joy of meeting once more her first-born 
 aga — '■" son had for a brief time effaced from the mc- 
 
 " Hush, mother:" whispered the fujjilive ; moryof the aged Fatma the loss of the briaht- 
 "call me no lonser by a name which is but eyed Omar: but when the burst of delicht had 
 another ierm for blood — we are swept from the spent itself, and that she had lime lo recall 
 face of the earth — the strong men of power are the words of Yusuf as he entered, the fear of 
 no more — " death grew upon her, and a sickness of tho 
 
 " Chok chay — that is much :" said the old heart bent her even to the earth, 
 woman with friirhtful calmness; "but you are I "And the ab.'-ent one — 'she gas|>cd out, 
 here, and to me bosh der — it is nothing.''" " the child of my age — where is he ?"' 
 
 "Listen to me. mother;" urged Yusuf, as' "Gardash ! gardiish ' — Brother! brother!" 
 he relea.'^cd himself from her ejasp. and led her exclaimed Yusut, chispini; his hands forcibly 
 gently to the .«ofa. " If I do not escape from together; "thou of the Ih-el loot and the 
 the city before the sun rises over the mountain eaglc-eyc — thou of the kind smile and the soft 
 of BulgTirlhu. I shall never again look upon it voice — thy race is run — thy gaze is dimmed 
 
 — my life is forfeit — Allah es marladek livid is thy lij) in death ; and thine aeeenta 
 
 Allah preserve you ! I have come but to say will be no more heard, save by the houris of 
 
 farewell to you for ever ere I depart: I have Paradise." 
 
 yet time to fly." I " Laillnhaillallah — there is but one Allah !" 
 
 "And whither?" asked his mother earnest- groaned the bereaved woman. "The groat 
 ly; "arc not the blood-hounds abroad? Do and the mighty of the earth arc beyond the 
 you hope to escape from the padishah who has vengeance of a mother's arm, but they arc not 
 vowed your ruin? Are you maddened by beyond her curse — it will cling! Yusuf, it 
 your misery when you forget that the Jiu'ht of will cling ! — fell and heavy is ever Ihe cunM 
 his power stretches alonn the earth from the of a broken heart, when the gray ln-iid and tho 
 east even to the west, and that the shadow of dim eye arc bowed over tho grave of the 
 his greatnc-s lies upon the deep waters? Sen beautiful and the yount'. murdered in their 
 chok adam — you are much of a man, Yusuf beauty and their youth: but fellerond heavier 
 Aga; but there is no sal'ety for you save in still is the malison of a mother |M)iired out 
 the arms of your mother." jupou the fierce heart and the bloody baud 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 THE ROM.iXCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 which have bereft her of her fond ones. Eh ' Allah buyuk der — God is great ! 1 have yet 
 rah ! I will sit down beside the grave of iny some gold which I can leave with you until I 
 brave boy, and the bitterness of my spirit shall may summon you hence, and offer you a roof 
 have way." in my place of exile." 
 
 " By the grave of Omar, of your last-born, " And what will be gold to mc," asked 
 will you never sit, my mother :" was the slow | Fatma, '• wlien I am bcrclt of both my chil- 
 Tiply : '■ the dead of to-day have not passed dren ? Can gold dry the tears of anguish, or 
 from earth upon their cushions : — the brand buy a light heart when grief has bowed down ; 
 and the cord have done their work — Omar is the spirit ? — Will gold give me back the days , 
 among those whose grave no man shall ever when my sons sat at my feet, and I blessed 
 find." And as he ceased speaking, Yusuf cast tliem in the fulness of my joy, as I saw them 
 
 himself upon the earth, and covered his face 
 with his robe. 
 
 " Is it so ?•" said Fatma. while a fierce gleam 
 lit up her dull eye. '' Then will I only think 
 of him when my heart melts at the grief of 
 another, that I may steel myself against that 
 mercy which has been withheld from me and 
 mine — and for he who has w"rought this ruin 
 — may the evil Eye smite him on the thres- 
 hold of the mosque, and blight his prayers ; 
 — may he never know slumber by night, nor 
 peace by day — may every breath of air which 
 fans his brow be polluting as the plauiie-wind 
 — and may his children wither, and expire 
 before his eyes at the moment when they are 
 most dear to him !" 
 
 And the stricken man who lay at her feet 
 raised his head from the earth for a moment, 
 and responded to her malison with a hoarse 
 " Amen !" ^ 
 
 It was again the old woman whose voice 
 broke upon this second and frightful silence ; 
 as from mourning for her lost son, she turned 
 to fears for the one who was yet left to her : 
 " Swear to me. my child, my brave and noble 
 boy ;" she said with startling suddenness, as 
 her thoughts painted in colors too terrible for 
 her to bear the probable consequences of his 
 ■discovery. •' Swear to me — you who are 
 now my only tie to earth — that you will not 
 attempt to escape — that you will remain here 
 beneath the roof of your dead father — that 
 you will never again venture forth into the 
 streets of this accursed citv, whose minarets 
 
 tall and stately as two cedar trees, and beau- 
 tiful as the light of morning ? One is gone- 
 gone with all his glory about him, to the grave 
 — and when the other leaves me to brave the 
 death his brother died, he talks to me of gold ! 
 Bana Bak — look at me ! am I not too feeble 
 to outlive the loss of my last hope ?" 
 
 " Hai, hai — true, true — it is indeed hard that, 
 in your old age and your bitter anguish you' 
 should be called upoiUo suffer another grief ^"' 
 said Yusuf soothingly : "but, alas: my mo- 
 ther, there is no atternative. Inshallah ! — I 
 trust in Allah ! — I am disguised; and under 
 the shadow of the darkness, if I am prompt 
 aiid cautious, I may escape. Hinder me no 
 then; but let me go forth with your blessing 
 upon me ; the world is wide, and a strong arnr 
 and a bold lieart will never lack a weapon; 
 Bashustun — on my head be it ! I will yet makj] 
 the name of Yusuf ring in the ears of th<|' 
 men of strength." * 
 
 '• Chok chay — that is much ;" replied thii 
 old woman, catching a portion of iiis mo' 
 mcntary enthusiasm : '• you are a man, am 
 you have the heart of a man ; as lor you 
 enemies, haivan der — they are animals — doL'- 
 and the fathers of dogs, and I spit upon tin i 
 beards — " 
 
 " I will go forth then, mother;" said th 
 aga. attempting to rise. 
 
 " What shall I say ?"'" exclaimed the asonizr 
 old woman : '-my son ! my son ! shall I iv 
 die as you pass the threshold ? and yet. no- 
 net so — I have no riuht to hold vou back- 
 
 point to heaven as if to direct the vengeance i why should you live in darkness and in drem 
 which will not fail. — The men of blood are ' when you might be foot-free upon the mom 
 ever abroad ; let me not have to weep over my ' tains, and batliing your brow in the clear w; 
 last child " I ters of the valley ? Go then— .since it is be 
 
 '• Mother ;" said Yusuf as he rose from the ! ter so — go — oghour ola — God speed you 
 earth, and seated himself at her feet ; " Ne I Better that I should pine in my .solitude tha 
 bilirim — what can I say ? You ask for water that I should see your bold heart breaking froi 
 during a drought when no rain falls ; and for j day to day — Sen ektiar der — you are the mn , 
 pomegranates when the world is wrapt in j ter: I am but a woman, and yours must) 
 enow. Nc apalum — what can I do ? I am I the words of wisdom : but lingernot long, n 
 yet young, and my years may be many ; can < son, ere you .send me tidings of your existenc 
 I pa.ss them in darkness, and witli a ciiain ! or I shall be. as a fountain thai is dried u 
 upon my spirit ? You are old and feeble ; and ' and as a cypross that is withered." 
 since Allali look my father to himself, I filled ' Anxious to avail himself of the remainii 
 your dish with pillauf, and your cup with ■ darkness, and rejoiced to find his mother in 
 .sherbet — how am I to buy rice, or to earn resigned a frame of mind, Yusuf hastily pou. 
 bread to support you and myself, save by ed into lier lap the gold which he had Ibund 
 escaping to a far province where I am un- the turban of the karabash ; and then, foldii, 
 known, and selling my sword to the pasha? her to his heart, and breathing above her 
 
THE KOiLVXCE OF TUE .lAUEM. 99 
 
 devont prayer to AUali (liai they might once the widowed woinnn who Miiiled ninid the bit- 
 
 more meet 111 hapimies: 
 back upon licr ciisliioiis. 
 house. 
 
 lie laid her penily 
 lid ru^lled out of llic 
 
 CHAPTER XLUr. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE JANISSARIES roNTIM'F.n. 
 
 Not an hour after the wretched Yusuf quit- 
 ted the roof of his mother, a loud outcry arose 
 m one of the most squalid streets of the city, 
 abutting on an obscure quay frequented prnici- 
 pally by fishermen. Tliere were -■rounds of 
 pursuit — shouts of fierce threateninL', minslod 
 with curses of baffled hate : and as the trem- 
 bling tenants of the neighhoring houses ro.sc on 
 their sofas to listen, they could distinguish at 
 intervals the name of Yusuf. The disgui.^cd 
 fugitive had been detected; and lie was now 
 trusting to his good speed to escape once more 
 from his enemies. The darkness favored him. 
 for the chase was long continued, and still the 
 cries were heard : " Lahnet be sheitan — curse 
 on the devil — It is Yusuf the Jani.>;sary ! It 
 is the bloody-minded aga ! — kiupek I — kelb ! 
 — dog! — cur ! Bash pczevciik — lieadsman !" 
 every opprobrious epithet was in turn applied 
 to the miserable man. as he fled before iii.s 
 pursuers ; saving the breath whicii they were 
 exiiausting in in\*ctive. for the mighty cfTort 
 at self-preservation to which liis instinct rallier 
 tlian his reason impelled him. 
 
 Again Yusuf escaped — again he stood be- 
 eide his mother, and her hot tears fell on his 
 
 terness of the hour as hhe received Iuk vow, 
 and lelt that she wu.s never agnin to part from 
 him. 
 
 They were yet sitiing side by side in 8ilence, 
 wrapped in ;;loomy imaginings, when a vio- 
 lent knocking upon Iheoulerdoor of the dwel- 
 ling aroused them from their lethargy of prief. 
 
 '• So soon !" exclaimed Yusuf fiercely. 
 " Have tliey tracked the wolf to his lair so 
 soon ! Rut Iho b<dd Agn of the .lanrasarics 
 will not die the death of a vile animal with- 
 out revenge I' And he drew from bcnealh 
 his vest a gleaming yataghan, and sprang to- 
 wards the door of the apartment. 
 
 •' Yusuf Aga." said the old woman in an 
 accent of sudden calmness ; " what would 
 you do? Can you war against a score? or 
 would you pollute your nuither's floor with 
 blood — Sen ehok adam — you are much of a 
 man ; but you cannot do battle against a 
 host." 
 
 "lean at least sell my life dearly !" wa.s 
 the reply. "' Mother, mother, you feel as a 
 woman ; but my heart is Iho heart of a des- 
 perate man. Loose mc ; and let me al least 
 die the death of a brave soldier I ' 
 
 •'Yusuf Aga, once more I tell you that you 
 are mad ;" urged the aged Fat ma, whose 
 nerves had become suddenly .•■tnum by the 
 great peril of her son. " Arc you not taught 
 by the Koran to love and to obey the mo! her 
 of your youth? Do you love mc. Yusuf? do 
 you obey me. when you give yourself up to 
 the bloodhounds, and sacrifice my gray liairs 
 to foster your own pride? Think y<.u that 
 they will s|)arc the aijed woman, when tlie 
 strong man is beaten down? If you can bear 
 
 anguished brow — and this time, in his agony 
 
 of heart he vowed on the KorSn that he would I to give up the bo.som Uj.on which \ou lay 
 
 never leave her more. 
 
 It was a fearful vow ! The young strong 
 man voluntarily resigning him.^elf to a long 
 life of imprisonment, and the never-sleeping 
 dread of detection.: coupled with the certain- 
 ty of poverty, and the probability of actual 
 want. But Yusuf was heart-broken : he had 
 fallen suddenly from a post of responsililily 
 and power to a position the most cruel : lie 
 could no longer lift his head among his fel- 
 low-men, for he had been hunted like a 
 noxious animal by his kind — he slooil alone — 
 fatherless — brotherles.>; — his very name must 
 no longer exist — his presence beneath the 
 squalid roof of his mother be unMispecl<-.l, 
 ksl the ruin which had ovtriak< n him should 
 
 your iiilancy to the knives of the butchers, go 
 on. Yusuf Aga : and we sliall die the dculli of 
 blood and shame together." 
 
 •• Allah buyuk der — God is groat !" was the 
 reply of the crushed and miserable man, as he 
 exti-iidcd his hand to tjis mother, and followed 
 her bidding as passively tut an infant. *• Do 
 with mc as you will.'' 
 
 The anxious Faliiia awaited not a second 
 bidding' and in the next moment Yusuf w;ui 
 skilfully, and wiilnul further resiBluncc, con- 
 cealed beneath ihu cushions u|)on which sho 
 had been sitting. 
 
 The uproar without had meanwhile become 
 louder and more violent ; and aiiihontalive 
 eticHof •• Atcli ! Ateh ! — open ! open I " miiig- 
 
 bc drawn down on her head also I Me had ] lug with hoarser shouts of ''Your! Your! — 
 been a Janissary, and the name had suddenly • slrikc ! break I — help ! that wc may foico tliia 
 become a death-warrant: it availed Inin crozy door, and make our own entruneo to Iho 
 nothing that there was no bleed U|K)n his hand ; den of the blood-hound!" rang throu::h the 
 the popular hatred had been seconded by the 1 dciuijalc dwellim: ; and the trembling Katma 
 power and will of the sultan, enforced by liisj had scarcely time, alter she had ccereied her 
 new myrmidon.", and the cry of destruction I son. to fling a shawl over her head, beloro her 
 was on the wind. • chamber was crowded with strangi- men. 
 
 Nothing remained to him gave his mother — | " Y'Allali— in the name of the rrophel ;" 
 
100 
 
 THE ROMA^^CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 she shrieked out, "vrithout rising from the ness of their pursuit, they had violated one ot 
 cushions upon which she had flung herself on the most sacred laws of their religion, which 
 their approach, at once to screen lier child, enjoins all good Musselmauns to respect the 
 and to deceive his pursuers; •' What is this ? privacy of their women ; and anxious, if pos- 
 Who am I that men should break in upon me sible. to recover traces of the fugitive ; were 
 and fill my house, without leaving me time to satisfied with the scrutiny which they had be-, 
 cover my face ? Am I a Frank woman, that stowed on the narrow dwelling of Fatma. and 
 I am to be seen unvciKd by every dog who did not attempt to push their inve?tiuation 
 wishes to eat dirt, and to show his prowess by further, and to rouse the indignant woman to 
 wronging the widow and the afflicted ! Wliat any loud and public expostulation or corn- 
 seek ye here ? Bana bak — look at me — what plaint. 
 
 find ye to repay you for the shame of commit- In a few minutes, consequently, the house 
 ting violence on a woman whose hair is gray, was cleared ; but it was not until after a much 
 and whose step is feeble.'' | longer interval that Fatma rose, and taking 
 
 •' Yavash, yavash — sol'tly, softly, mother :"' | the lamp in her hand, jealously searched every 
 said one of the party, as by the dim light of recess throughout the whole building in order 
 the solitary and untrimined lamp, his com- to assure her.self that no spy yet linizered be- 
 panions were hurriedly searching every nook neath her roof; ere she flung back the cover- 
 of the wretched habitation. '' We mean you ings from the face of Yusuf, and removed the 
 no harm. What could your blood profit us ? cushions among which he had been buried, 
 though we might in truth put the bow.-tring " Shekiur Allah — prai.«ed be His name;" 
 about your neck, were it only to silence your she said »^.evoutly ; •' my son is yet beside me— 
 howling. But we have seen that bash peze- the Prophet has heard my prayer. But you 
 venk — that wretch, Yusuf Aga the iron-lianded look not upon me. Yusuf. my well-beloved — 
 Janissary, enter a dwelling hereabout, and it my Aga ! — my heart beats quick, and my 
 may chance to be yours : so te":l the truth, breath is troubled — I am choked with joy even 
 mother, and we will not only leave you in amid my misery — and will you not pay me 
 peace, but we will pay the service in j ^'ith one smile for the life that I have saved ?'' 
 piastres." | " Mother, you know that I love you :" was 
 
 Hoarsely did the old woman laugh: " The the cold and despairing answer. ''It was my 
 Prophet has not so favored me;" she said duty to obey you. and it is done — but all is now 
 quietly : '• or gladly would I earn so easily over — I am no longer Yusuf Aga — a brave 
 that which I need so much. But no — no — man, and the associate of warriors — I am dis- 
 no Janissary will ever enter here — What liave graced. With a weapon in my hand, 1 have 
 I to do with the men of blood ? Kiupek der, crouched like a dog before my enemies; and 
 — they are dogs — Delhi der — they are mad- owed my safety to the sheltering garments of 
 men — their faces are blackened — Yok, yok. j a woman. While I live. I must hide my head 
 dostoum — no, no. my friends — you do but [that my shame may not be read upon my 
 waste the time which you may need for your brow — and when I die, the houris of Paradise 
 pursuit — stay here as long as you M-ill — affiet "will turn aside, that they may not welcome a 
 ollah — much good may it do you — but you craven to their arms." | 
 
 will find nothing more bloody-minded than '" Ouf ! Ouf !'" exclaimed the mother : " gu- 
 yourselves under the roof of old Abdul's zum — my eyes ! talk not in a tone that breaks 
 widow." I your mother's heart ; if the Prophet waits at ; 
 
 " Aferin — well done :'' laughed her auditor the door of the seventh heaven to welcome the 
 in his turn. " You at least take your revenge souls of the brave and the beautiful, shall the 
 on us in words : but we shall soon leave you. good son be shut out? And now, to our task, 
 mother, for 1 hear the tread of feet upon your my Aga; we may again be visited ; we must 
 ciazy stairs — my comrades are returning from make for you a readier and a surer place of 
 their search. Before I i;o. however, this much lefuge, where you may defy the pursuit of the 
 by way of warning — whon next there is an; fierce-minded and the revengeful." 
 outcry at yonr door, open more quickly, if you j " Even as you will, my mother," said Yusuf, 
 would avoid suspicion — " | as he pressed the hand of the old woman to ' 
 
 " Ne bilirim ! — what can I say !" returned! his ^'Ps and forehead; -'henceforward all shall 
 Fatma: "you scarce allow nie time to waken be even as you list." 
 
 from my sleep, and to wrap a shawl about myl And Fatma was worthy of this trustfulness; 
 head, before you burst into my house. Ma- for months wore on, and although more than 
 shallah! you are ill provided if you have not once her home was invaded by the feet of 
 more wit than patience ; and will be balked strangers searching for her son, he escaped de- 
 of your errand if you judge not more surely tection : and ultimately, if his existence were 
 when you have left my house than when you not forgotten, he was at least suff'ered to live 
 entered it." j in peace in his place of concealment. Often 
 
 The search had of course proved fruitless : did he yearn for liberty, and suggest to Fatma 
 for the intruders, conscious that in the eager- , his desire to attempt once more to escape into 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HA REM. 
 
 lol 
 
 the mountains, but she ever iliscounlcnaiiccd 
 the risk; and when he at length found liini^elf 
 unable to gain her concurrcnee, he made a 
 second vow tliat until liis Ibrtune^ changed — 
 a circumslanee that could only be acliioved by 
 a new revolution in the empire, and which was 
 consequently almost beyond iic.ie ; or that he 
 was carried away to his dislionored grave, lie 
 would never again trim his beard nor shave 
 his head. Fatnia heard the vow with thank- 
 fulness, for she felt that he had at least bent 
 his heart wholly to his Ibrtunes ; and a sleani 
 of joy passed over her wasted features as she 
 remembered that she might yet possess the 
 power of making those fortunes a shade less 
 gloomy. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE JANISS.\RIES CONTINUED. 
 
 It was an hour before noon, three months 
 subsequently to the fatal day which had ruin- 
 ed her son, that Fatma Hanoum having occa- 
 sion to visit the bazar in order to buy bread, 
 and to collect the news with which she was 
 wont to lighten the tedious hours of Yusuf s 
 captivity, turned the key in the door of her 
 dwelling; and with a slow and measured step 
 moved aside from the direct road which led to 
 Stamboul, and followed a narrow street of 
 some length, stretching steeply up the side of 
 one of the seven hills on which the city is 
 built. 
 
 Arrived before a hou.se of small but cleanly 
 and comfortable appearance, she pau.'^ed for a 
 in6ment; and had she not been closely veiled, 
 traces of great and violent agitation would 
 have been discernable on her countenance. It 
 was indeed a terrible moment for the heart of 
 Fatma, which owned no idol but Yusuf. (or in 
 it she might perhajis be scaling his r\iin ; and 
 she painfully felt that she was at all events 
 ■weaning its best afTections from herself. But 
 the mother hesitated not from selfish motive — 
 if she could shed a ray of light over the prL'^on- 
 chambcrof her child, it was cheaply purchased 
 at the price of her own regret : Hlerncr and 
 more terrible misgivings assailed lier, when 
 she found herself actually on the point of exe- 
 cuting a purpose on which she had pondered 
 from the first week of Yusufs doiiiehlicution 
 beneath her roof. 
 
 *• Inshallah — I truat in Heaven !" t-hc mur- 
 mured to her.-icif when she at length raised the 
 knocker and beat upon the door: '• Allah will 
 have mercy on a broken-hearted mother — I 
 •will not fear." 
 
 The door fell back, and as she crossed the 
 ihreshold. .she was greeted with the courteous 
 *' bonroQm" of the slave who opened it. 
 
 Fatma was a well-known and a welcome 
 
 guest beneath the roof of Hai.lr Hanoiun : and 
 the dark eyes of her pn-iiy dauijliler ever 
 turned lovingly upon the widow of .Midul. It 
 was long since they had lookeil upon her ; for, 
 durim: the last few weeks, the women of 
 Stamloul had feared to traverse the streets: 
 and it was moreover known to the friends of 
 Fatma that she had lost her two brave boy» 
 on the day of the massacre. On this oeea>iion 
 tlierelbrc she was doubly welcome : niui she 
 had scarcely reached the door of the harem, 
 when its inmates uttered the kindly '• Kho«h 
 gcldin — you are welcome" — to wliieh sha 
 as promptly replied " Khosh buldiik — well 
 found—" 
 
 Room was immediately made for her upon 
 the .sofa beside her hostess, while the fair 
 SaVryn seated herself at their feet, with her 
 melancholy gaze fixed anxiously on the visiter. 
 In the next instant the elder lady clapped 
 her hands, and as the attendant entered, she 
 said softly — " Chibonf|ue cahvch getir — Bring 
 pipes and coffee." And when her guests had 
 partaken of the sweet-scented mocha from the 
 fair hands of the young Sairyn. and that she 
 had applied her own lips to the ivor)- mouth- 
 piece of the chibouque, and pre.>icntcd it to lier 
 guest, the slave withdrew, and the thrc© 
 friends were left alone. 
 
 '• Alhcmdullilah — praises be to Allah ! the 
 wife of Abdul is once more under my roof, 
 and upon my sofa :" commen'ced the hostess. 
 " Evil days have fallen upon us, F'.ffendira ; 
 the sun has been hidden beneath a cloud ; but 
 Allah buyilk der — God is great — it may again 
 shine out." 
 
 " For me it can gleam only on graves ;" 
 said Fatma sadly : '• the days that are gone 
 ' cannot be recalled ; who siiall give back the 
 dead ?" 
 
 And her two listeners bowed tlieir heads 
 upon their liands, and cchtfcd : " Who shall 
 give them back ? ' 
 
 I •• My youngest was as the gazelle U|)on the 
 
 mountain ;" continued the widow ; '• licet of 
 
 ' foot, and graceful as the blossom that bends to 
 
 I the south wind : he was a bcyzadeh, the son 
 
 I of a lord. Stamboul held not one of nouIciT 
 
 bearing ; he has died the death of blood, and 
 
 there arc none to avenge him." And again 
 
 her companions bent down, and murmured 
 
 " Chrtk chay — it is hard to bear ! ' 
 
 '•For my first-born: — " pursued Fatma 
 Hanoum. encouraged by the voice of sympa- 
 , thy : '• But why should I talk of liim ' Was 
 I he not as a star during tempest : u light at 
 midnight; a spring in the desert ■;* Was not 
 his name mmhty, and his arm strong?" 
 ' '• Aman ! amtn ! alas ! alns !" sighed forth 
 her auditors. 
 
 '■ He was fair to look upon, and they who 
 knew him listened to his words, for they wera 
 I the words of wisdom ;" agnm hurst forth th« 
 old woman ; '• to her whom he Ir vcd he would 
 
102 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 have been as lae wild vine that clings even to 
 the d-eath. Think. Sai'ryn ;" she said sudden- 
 ly, as she turned towards the fair girl, who 
 Bat at l»€r feet ; " think how dear the Hanouni 
 your mother must have been to ine, and how 
 my aged eye.^^- must have joyed to look upon 
 your own beauty, when I sought you for his 
 wife, the wife of my best and bravest — of my 
 son Yusuf." 
 
 A smothered sob burst from the gentle girl 
 as she listened. '• Haif, half ! shame, shame !" 
 slie whispered, " that he too should be taken 
 from you.'"' 
 
 " And yet. better so:" said Fatma ; " better I 
 that he should die in the pride of his beauty" 
 and of his strength, when he felt that his kis- 
 met, his fate, was bright, and that he was be- 
 loved ; than linger in disgrace and poverty to 
 be a by-word and a scoff; the rejected of 
 those to whom his love was once a triumpli 
 and a boast."' 1 
 
 '■ Can there live one so vile "?" exclaimed 
 Sairyn in an accent of generous indignation, as 
 she raised her head proudly, and swept back 
 the long tresses from her brow. •' Lives there 
 one whom Yusuf Aga could once have loved, 
 who would desert liim now"? Ajaib ! won- 
 derful ! Did Allah people the world with 
 reptiles?" 
 
 -Guzel, guzel — good, good:" said Fatma 
 Hanoum : " you«speak like one who has never 
 Known falseliood, and never suffered wrong : 
 your heart is pure, kizem, my daughter ; and 
 your words are pleasant. Oh, that Yusuf. 
 that mv son, could rise from his grave to hear 
 them !'"' 
 
 '■ Listen to me, my mother :" said the fair 
 girl ; ',' I w-as taught to love the aga : I looked 
 upon him when he knew not tliat iny eye was 
 at tlie lattice : and I needed thenceforth no 
 further teaching. I am worthy to be your 
 daughter, for 1 shall never love another." 
 
 The glance was keen and searching that 
 Fatma Hanoum turned on the young beauty 
 as she ceased speaking ; but the belhroihed of 
 Yusuf did not slirink beneath her eye. " She- 
 kiur Allah ! praise be to Heaven ;" she said 
 at length as she averted her gaze; ■' I am 
 then not alone in my grief : my aga has not j 
 fallen unwept." | 
 
 A bur.-^t of tears from the melancholy Sa"i"ryn ' 
 was her only answer : and it was a relief to 
 both when Haide Hanoum was summoned 
 from the apartment on some household busi- 
 ness, and they were left together. 
 
 *• Come hither, Sairyn. come hither, my 
 sultana;" said the old woman, as the tapestry i 
 curtain fell behind her hostess, and the echo j 
 of her slippered feet died aw^ay in the gallery j 
 beyond ; " You are wise with the wisdom of 
 liper age, and your heart is as the heart of a 
 peri ; I would share with you my joys and my 
 Borrows, for the sake of him who should have 
 
 "Speak!" exclaimed the fair girl; "tor- 
 ture me not with caution ; speak, Ekhi kateti, 
 there is something I Tell me all, as you hope 
 for a place in paradise." 
 
 " You are young as a spring blossom." pur- 
 sued the cautious mother, regardless of the- 
 emotion of her listener ; " and beautiful as an *• j 
 houri : your felech. your constellation may be ' 
 a proud one. Who shall foretell your fate ?" 
 
 '■ Could any cunning give me back my aga. 
 the light of my eyes, the pulse of my heart, 
 I would laugh all other grief to scorn," broke 
 in Sairyn; ■• my heart is in his grave, and the 
 sky of my youth is clouded. Talk not to me 
 of my own beauty, but tell me of your son; 
 though the tale drown me in tears it will be 
 welcome, for it will be of him." 
 
 " Listen, then, child of my hope, and star 
 of my evening sky ;" said Fatma Hanoun, in 
 a shrill whisper, bending as she spoke toward 
 her listener. " Utter no cry, tell it not to any, 
 not even to the mother who gave you birth, 
 le.st the wind of heaven bear away the tale to 
 those who thirst for the blood of the mighty ; 
 Yusuf Aga lives !" 
 
 The warning was unnecessary ; for, as the 
 startling truth broke upon her, the gentle 
 Sairyn fell back senseless i^pon her cushions. 
 Yet did not Fatma Hanoum yield to the terror 
 which seized upon her as she witnessed the 
 effect of her intelligence ; she rather hailed it 
 as a proof of the deep and undying affection 
 which she coveted for her son; and with her 
 accustomed self-possession she bathed the lips 
 and brow of the unhappy girl with water, and 
 soon saw her recover from her swoon. 
 
 " Ne bilirim — what can I say '?" were the 
 first words that she gasped out ; " T am his, 
 heart and soul, as when I was first vowed to 
 him — But we must not whisper this, Eft'endi- 
 mou — let us be jealous of our secret ; say but 
 that you will take me to your bosom, and I 
 will fly to share his griefs. Nay. deny me 
 not" — she added passionately, as the aged 
 woman was about to speak : " I can under- 
 stand all that yoti would tell me — Yusuf is a 
 prisoner — shut out from all commerce with 
 his kind — debarred from the light of day — 
 wasting away his strength -in tears and dark- 
 ness. Is it not so, my mother ? I am pre- 
 pared for all this — only say that you have 
 room for me in your lieart, and I will escape 
 hence, and dwell beneath the same roof as my 
 promised lord — 1 will be the light to cheer his 
 darkness, and tlie comfort that sliall dry hifj 
 tears. If my own heart does not deceive me, 
 love can overmaster destiny ; and Yusuf Aga 
 may yet be happy. Only tell me that he M-ill 
 not reject me. mother : only promise thai he 
 will not spurn my affection ; and, from the 
 hour that I enter your dwelling, lie shall be 
 my world, and 1 will never nurse a wish of 
 wliich he is not the object." 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE ^AHE^L 
 
 lOS 
 
 self at the feet of her compnnion. listening for 
 the permission to bliglit her youth and her 
 loveliness, with a wild eai;ciness tiial had in 
 it something almost sublime. 
 
 " Allah buYiik der — Allah is great !"' said 
 the old ivoman. as the tears streamed from her 
 dim eyes : '• it shall be even as you will, my 
 dauiihtor : but think well ere you determine 
 on so desperate an act. We are poor, very 
 ]ioor — day by day misery and want arc creep- 
 ing oil us. and we know not how to .<tay their 
 steps — Yet, if you will share our poverty — if 
 your love for Yusuf, and the power of your 
 felech indeed urge you to the sacrifice, come 
 to me. and be to me as a daughter ; for none 
 save Yusuf can love you as I shall do — "And 
 .-he folded her arms about the generous girl, 
 and they mingled their tears together. 
 
 A week elapsed from the visit of Fatma to 
 the harem of Ha'ide Hanoum, when, as she 
 sat one evening in the apartment which 
 touched upon the prison-chamber of Yusuf, 
 her eager eyes glancing at intervals toward 
 the casement, and her head bent forward in 
 the attitude of listening, a low signal, for which 
 she had evidently been prepared, sounded from 
 below, and she hurriedly rose from her sofa 
 to obey it. Not a word was spoken until she 
 returned to her accustomed station : and then 
 a low burst of passionate joy escaped her. as 
 she threw herself on the neck of a shrouded 
 figure by which she had been followed. 
 
 "Is all well, mother?'' asked a sweet and 
 tremulous voice ; " does the Aga Effendi know 
 of my coming ? and may I meet him without 
 fear ? Tell me truly, lest I die of shame be- 
 neath his frown — " 
 
 " He knows not of your resolve :'' answered 
 the mother ; " how could I dare to make his 
 heart leap with joy ere I was assured that you 
 ■would not repent ? But Shekiur Allah — praise 
 be to Allah, you are here : and he will share 
 the joy of paradise when he learns the great- 
 ness of your love." 
 
 The trembling girl heard no more. She 
 sank upon the floor wuh her face buried in 
 her cloak, and her breath came thick and fa.vt 
 as she sobbed out: " Eh vah I was this well 
 done? Shall I not be les.s than nothing in his 
 sight when he first looks upon me ?" 
 
 " Allalia cs inarladck — Heaven preserve 
 you, my daushtcr ; ' was the soothing reply ; 
 " the earth holds nothing so dear ai* you will 
 be to Yusuf. Have you not resigned every 
 thing lor his sake ?" and, as ^hc Hpokc, hho 
 •withdrew the mantle of the weeping girl, and 
 seated her gently upon the sofa. 
 
 "Khosh geldin. you arc welcome; a thou- 
 *nd times welcome ! and were thi» [loor hovel 
 Ihe scrail of a sultan, still should you be its 
 Biistfess. And now. hearken, my dnushter — 
 •Yusuf is not far distant ; he can even hear the 
 Inurmur of our voice.s ; and I will Kj)enk to 
 ium — " and approaching the wall of the apart- 
 
 ' mentshe .said in a louder tone : " Korkma, fear 
 I not, my .son, altiiough 1 am not alone : lor tlio 
 first lime it is the voice of a friend which 
 I comes to you in your prison ; even of one who 
 loves you." 
 
 ' •' Kim boo — who is that?'" was tli.'. bitter 
 and incredulous rejoinder ; who is there on 
 earth save yourself who now wastes a lliought 
 on the wretched Yusuf?"' 
 
 ''Whom would you that it should be?" 
 asked the old woman, as calmly as her joy 
 would permit her to put the question. 
 I " Alas ! 1 know not :'' said the despairing 
 prisoner. '-Those whom I lo red havn fallen 
 I from inc. or have been murJeied before my 
 ' eyes ; there lives not one on earth whom I now 
 I desire to. --ee : save, indeed, the maiden who 
 should have been my bride, and that can 
 never be — " 
 
 *' Tchabouk, tchabouk — quick, quick — let 
 me fly to your feet, Agamou — my Aga — " al- 
 most shrieked the excited Sairyn. as the words 
 reached her car ; " say not that it can never 
 be, for I am here !" 
 
 CIIAI'TKU XLV. 
 
 THE LAST OK THK JANISSARIES — CONTIMED. 
 
 Two years passed slowly by : and a wretch- 
 ed group sat tog'theron the floor of a narrow 
 room, divested of every sign and apjdianco of 
 ' comfort. The ragged sola which wa.s it.s only 
 furniture, stretchi'd along three sides of the 
 j apartment, and revealed no longer the oricinal 
 I pattern of its covering ; a battered and discol- 
 : ored brazier contained a few smoldering ashes, 
 i totally inadeciuate to their purjio.se ; and a 
 coarse eartln-n pitcher and cup stood a few 
 ! paces distant, the only visible mean of refresh- 
 i rnont for its melancholy wcupants. 
 
 The most remarkable individual of the party 
 was a man in the prime of life, but wu>ted by 
 famine ; and with a thick and tangled heard 
 falling to his girdle, which had evidently onco 
 been of the deepest black, but which now, like 
 the elf-locks that e.^eajwd from beneath hm 
 idinsyand well-worn turban, was chccniered 
 with uray. Meside Inm sat a woman on whom 
 time and sormw had alike wrouyhi their bit- 
 ter Mill. Her brow was deeply lurrowi-d. and 
 her long sharp fi-atiires gave indication of a 
 craving which had been oflm unapiirascd ; 
 .while the cloud that dulled her large dim 
 eye spoke a despair in which words would 
 have been h-ss elofjiK-nt. 
 
 But there wa.«< yet another in tlnit miiterablo 
 company ; the strong man and th<" a:;i d woman 
 had not paid the penalty of lominr aiwl ml^.•ry 
 alone. There was y<t another, whoji.- uii.-nrtlily 
 and transpirent beauty mi;:ht well have 
 charmed tLc gaunt demon from his prey ! U 
 
104 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 was a young fair woman — so young, and so 
 fair, that she seemed rather lii^e a dream-born 
 vision than a denizen of earth. Her dress was 
 scanty and squalid ; and on her knee she pil- 
 lowed a dead infant — a miniature of her own 
 loveliness ; for whom the fountains of life had 
 been dried up by the gnawing want of the moth- 
 er. Her dark wild eyes, flashing with a fierce 
 and unnatural light, glanced rapidly from her 
 cold burthen to the face of her wretched hus- 
 band, and thence back again upon her child ; but 
 only by that quick and frenzied look did she ven- 
 ture to ask if all were indeed over ; for she fear- 
 ed the answer that his quivering lips would ut- 
 ter. Suddenly a thought — a memory — a dream 
 of past days, flashed across the mind of Yusuf 
 — for it was indeed Yusuf who sat beside liis 
 childless wife — and a sickly smile gleamed for 
 a moment over his pallid face. 
 
 " Mother ;" he said in a low hollow voice : 
 "the Prophet has gi>T... ...e a glimpse of the 
 
 past — we may yet save my -wife — my beloved 
 one — a whila longer. Well do I know tliat it 
 is not for yourself that you mourn, but for her 
 — for the self-sacrificing woman, who has 
 blessed me at the expense of her own misery. 
 In the years when I was free, and a brave man 
 among the warriors, a bey of the palace came 
 to me one day for gold : I lent him all that I 
 had : they were but two purses, but they avail- 
 ed him much ; and he swore by his beard that 
 he would repay them when I claimed the debt. 
 How say you ? Will you go to the house of 
 Tasin Bey, and say to him — ' My lord. I am 
 the mother of Yusuf Aga, whom, while he 
 lived, you loved ; I am old and poor — I lack 
 bread, and can find none — my son lent you two 
 purses — will you not pay them back to her for 
 whom he had hoarded them?' " 
 
 " Yusuf januiii — my soul ;" faltered out the 
 old woman : " it is so long since you have had 
 dealings with the great ones of the earth, that 
 you have forgotten of what clay the Prophet 
 made them. Listen to me : to-morrow I will 
 enter beneath tlw roof of Tasin Bey, and I 
 will tell him that I am the mother of the aga, 
 who was his friend : if he welcome me to his 
 home, and put bread before me, then will I 
 remind him of the debt ; but, if his brow be 
 cold, and his words few, I will not peril ycur 
 pride when tlie avowal would avail nothing. 
 The debtor wears his conscience upon his face ; 
 and even as you read there, so will it be." 
 
 " You are wise, and 1 am as nothing before 
 you ;" conceded the heart- worn Yusuf. " Be 
 t as you have said." 
 
 '■ He may perchance greet me kindly ;" 
 ?sumcd Fatina, her hope growing more strong, 
 A she recalled the friendship which once ex- 
 isted between the young noble and her son ; 
 "And should he do so, the rest will be sure ; 
 and we may yet have rice wherewitii to make 
 the pillaut of plenty for our precious Sairyn. 
 For the babe :" she added more sadlv. '" it is 
 
 already a spirit sporting in the garden of Para- 
 dise, and sleeping in the hearts of tlie ever- 
 blooming roses watered by the liouris.' 
 
 " Speak you of my child ?" murmured out 
 a low voice. " He is a hungered, and I have 
 no food — bring him bread, and all will yet be 
 well." 
 
 The MTctched man buried his face in his 
 hands, and groaned aloud. 
 
 " Weep not, Agamou — my Aga :" said the 
 fair young mother, laying her dead child softly 
 on the floor beside her, and approaching her 
 husband : " I have no hunger, and he has now 
 ceased to pine ; why, then, do you grieve ? 
 We have sulTcred much, but, for me, I shall 
 soon fall asleep, for I feel my eyelids heaA^-: 
 and you will not awaken me, save to still the 
 wailings of my babe if he should seek forme." 
 
 And as Yusuf folded her to his heart, she 
 sank into the deep dreamless slumber which 
 so often precedes the death of famine. 
 
 "Allah buyiik der — God is great;" said 
 Yusuf : " but this is almost more than I can 
 bear. Years have passed over me in pain and 
 terror, and for myself I would not murmur, 
 even now : but to see her thus ! What can 
 be done, my mother ? — think for me ; for my 
 brain wanders, and I am as a child, not know- 
 ing how to guide my steps." 
 
 " Bear up yet this night :" urged the aged 
 woman in reply; "to-morrow the sun may 
 rise unclouded. Who shall say?" 
 
 And he did bear it — and early on the en- 
 suing morning Fatma Hanoum folded her tat- 
 tered cloak about her, and sped to the dwel- 
 ling of Tasin Bey : and, de.«pite the jests of 
 the idle attendants who thronged the entrance- 
 hall, and who jeered alike at her age and at 
 her raiment, she waited patiently until the bey 
 passed through the apartment, on his way to 
 the caique which was waiting to convey him 
 to the palace of the sultan. 
 
 " Ne istersiniz — what do you want, wo- 
 man ?" he asked impatiently, as she placed 
 herself upon his path. " Do you not see that 
 I am in haste ?" 
 
 '• And do you not see on your side that I 
 am in want?" sternly demanded the old wo- 
 man in her turn : " I shall hold my lord back 
 but an instant in his errand of pride. By the 
 memory of Yu.su/ Aga, wiiom you once loved, 
 I come to conjure you to look upon my misery." 
 
 " Yusuf Aga died the death of a traitor:" 
 said the bey with a dark frown. " and I will 
 not that my dwelling be polluted by his name; 
 but you are old and needy, and his treason 
 should not be visited upon your gray hairs by 
 one who loved him ere he fell. Step aside, 
 Eficndim ; I have yet a moment to spare : and 
 you shall tell me the story of your grief." 
 
 The indignant Fatma had well nigh vCnted 
 her disappointed wrath in reproaches when 
 tlie bey commenced his address ; but, as she 
 raised her eve to his. she did not read there 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 lOf 
 
 the same stern expression Avhich sat upon his 
 brow : and slie restrained her anger. Obey- 
 ing the motion of his hand, she passed silent- 
 ly iVom the hall to an inner room ; and was 
 shortly followed by the young eourtier, who 
 cast down tlie tapestry curtain of the door be- 
 hind him as he entered, ere he said hurriedly — 
 
 '• What is this? Are you indeed the mother 
 of Yusuf Aga. my friend ? Why do 1 see you 
 in the garb of utter want, when he must liavc 
 told you that I owe him gold ? Did you fear 
 that I should deny the debt?'' 
 
 " Y'AUah — in the name of the Prophet, no, 
 my lord:"' replied the delighted Fatma : " but 
 the ear of the rich is heavy, and the heart of 
 the happy, shut. You ask me why 1 have 
 been dumb so long : I have no other answer — 
 na to ne — there it is." 
 
 " You have done me wrong." pursued the 
 bey : " nor have yon judged more wisely in 
 betraying your errand to my slaves. Know 
 you not that the name of Yusuf Aga is to be 
 blotted from the memory of men ? I may 
 doubt, in my turn, if you be indeed his 
 mother." 
 
 " Inshallah ! — the debt is two purses," was 
 the laconic reply of the old woman. 
 
 " Hai. hai^rue, true." said the bey readily 
 — '•' and first I will deliver to you the pias- 
 tres :"'• and taking an embroidered purse from 
 his girdle, he counted the coin into the trem- 
 bling hand of the overjoyed Fatma. 
 
 " And now." he continued, as she hid the 
 treasure among her rags, " tell me of your 
 gallant .son. Often have I \Nept over his me- 
 mory ; but. Inshallah — I trust in AUaii, I 
 shall yet meet him in Paradise." 
 
 " May the houris be long in pouring forth 
 the sherbet of my lord." said the aged wo- 
 man. " May his days on earth be many, and 
 his sorrows few, for Yusuf loved him as a 
 brother: and nobler heart bled not on that day 
 of murder than that of my noble boy !" 
 
 " Did you look on him in death ?" demanded 
 the bey: "or was he lo.'st among the many 
 ■who were seen no more ?" 
 
 " I watched over him beneath my own poor 
 roof," replied the mother. '• I saw his bright 
 eye dim, and his bold heart weak — and yet I 
 live." 
 
 Her listener paused for a moment, and a 
 strange expression swept across his brow. 
 " Lingered he long in misery ?" ho asked in a 
 shrill whisper. 
 
 '• Lonir, Ions — look at this withered arm — it 
 upheld him till it failed." 
 
 Again there was a momentary silence, 
 which was broken by the low tone* of the 
 courtier: '-Mother." he said, "you arc poor, 
 and need sold — a wild fancy hajt come upon 
 me — I could almost dream that your son y"-t 
 lives ; if it be so. deceive me not ; for thus he 
 'tnust, like yoursf^lf, be in want and misery. 
 What do you fear ? Did I not love him well ? 
 
 and is not my hand open ? Why shmild you 
 cheat me with false words, as thou::li 1 had 
 been one of those who wrought him evil . 
 Nay." he added, more peremptorily, "it is too 
 late to throw the miintlc of falsehood over the 
 garb of truth; you tremble, and your IiimIr 
 fail you — Otonr, otour — sit, sil, mother; my 
 friend Vusuf Tives !" 
 
 'What shall I say?" exclaimed Fatma; 
 "my lord is as one who has stood behind the 
 curtain of knowledge, and read the ciiaraelers 
 
 jof the wise men: it is even as ho has said, 
 Yusuf Aga lives." 
 
 " And where?" eagerly inquired the young 
 noble. " Tell me where 1 may once more 
 look upon, and listen to him ; my heart yearns 
 to my friend." 
 
 " La illaha illallah, there is but one Allah," 
 murmured the mother beneath her breath. 
 '• Yusuf is saved, SaVryn is saved, and I may 
 go down to the place of tombs in peace. 
 Aman. aman — alas, ala." — why eame not this 
 help from heaven in time to turn aside the 
 hand of the destroying angel from their pre- 
 cious babe !" 
 
 " Tell me, mother," repeated the bey ear- 
 nestly ; " tell me only the retreat of Yusuf. 
 that I may hasten to mingle my tears with 
 his." 
 
 '•Nay, not so. agam, my lord." said Efttma 
 cravely, as a chill crept over her heart: "I 
 
 jhave already betrayed to you a seerei which 
 
 was scarce mine own: more I dare not do ; 
 
 I but I will pour into the ear of my wretched 
 
 'son the glad story of your kindness, and it 
 
 j shall be then even a.s he wills." 
 
 "To-morrow, then," said the noble, as he 
 
 'moved towards the door; '' I will iiri:c you no 
 
 'further now: the heart of Yusuf shall decide 
 the rest. I am high in favor wiih tlic padi- 
 shah, and who shall say that the pardon 
 of your son may not be won by his early 
 friend ?" 
 
 " Allah cs marladek — Heaven take you into 
 its holy keeping," sobbed out the Iransportid 
 
 I mother : '• there is but one God, and Mahuinel 
 is his prophet." 
 
 1 '• Farewell, Eflendim :" smiled the bey ; 
 " I can delay my departure no longer : but I 
 
 I pray you leave not my house until you have 
 dipped your spoon into my pillaut".'* And 
 clapping his hands, he summoned a slave, and 
 ba<l<" him lead the aged F'atma to tin- dix>r of 
 the harem, and commend her l<> lh<" rare of 
 the Wdincn, that she might not depart Iroin 
 
 j beneath his roof fa«ting. •' Tell not your «r- 
 
 [raiid to any." he added, as lie tiiriuil to div 
 part ; " there is yet mucli to be done ere the 
 tale be bruited in the city streets." And ho 
 hurried lo his boat, followed by a bleh^ini; 
 such as few have ever broatln-d. 
 
 Fatma liaiiouirt fenstcd — witliMtootl the tlion- 
 saiid questions which assailed her on nil ^idoH 
 from the women of the Bey ; and finuUy set 
 
106 
 
 THE ROMAK-CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 forth on her return to her own %vretched 
 dwelling, laden with lood, and briyht with 
 hope. Once more there was joy in the prison- 
 chamber of the wasted Ai^a — once more — and 
 how cruel a proof was tins of the utterness of 
 their previous despair — they talked to each 
 other of the future — hitherto they had not 
 dared to do it ! With such a friend — by whom, 
 even amid prosperity and happiness, he had 
 been unforgotteii. for what might Yusuf not 
 hope? Even the childless molher, imbibing 
 a portion of the delight which beamed upon 
 the brow of her husband, pressed her stiffened 
 infant to her breast, and smiled a sickly smile. 
 Alas ! none could give her back her dead ! 
 
 '• Mother ■.'' said Yusuf earnestly : '• can it 
 indeed be true that I shall again look upon 
 one of tiie friends of my happy days ? It as 
 a promised light from heaven ! It is so long 
 since I have listened to the voice of sympathy, 
 save from the lips of those who were suffering 
 for my sake, that I know not if I shall outlive 
 the joy ! Delay him not, my mother, lest my 
 heart burst with the suspense : lead him here 
 to-morrow, that I may commence a new exist- 
 ence, and feel that I have yet a tie to the 
 bright world on which I have not looked for 
 long and weary yearsj." 
 
 '' Have you no fear, my son ?" ventured the 
 old woman. " It is a mighty trust !" 
 
 " Does he not deserve it at my hands ?" 
 asked Yusuf in reply ; " I were base, vile, if 
 I could doubt him. No, my molher ; the 
 Prophet is weary of our. tears, and we shall 
 yet be happy. And you, my Sairyn, my beau- 
 tiful betrothed, who have lavished on the cap- 
 tive and dishonored Yusuf all the love that 
 you had vowed only to the bold and favored 
 Aga, you shall be as the light of my eyes, and 
 as the pulse of my heart, when the beam of 
 heaven once more shines upon my brow, and 
 the blessing of. Allah is upon my lortunes. 
 Tell me, sultana of my soul, shall it not be 
 thus ?" 
 
 And the beautiful girl hid her face upon 
 his shoulder, and murmured out. " So shall 
 it be, if the Prophet hear my prayer !" 
 
 The eyes of Yusuf did not close in sleep 
 during that long, long night : but he lay upon 
 his rude cushions, buried in sweet and retro- 
 spective thought. All the proudest days of 
 his strong youth passed in array-before him. 
 and he remembered the high aspirings and 
 ambitious hopes with which he had been used 
 to color his existence. Hastily he reviewed 
 the liou"- which pro.strated his fortunes — he 
 could not bear the memory — and with a smile, 
 mingled with a tear which would not be sup- 
 pressed, the picture terminated with the fair 
 creature who was pillowed on his bosom — the 
 victim of her holy and earnest love ! 
 
 The morning dawned at length — the blessed 
 day was come which was to restore to the 
 
 hood; and the hour was 'yet early at ■whicli ^ 
 the aged Fatma started on her anxious expe- 
 dition. She tarried long — or it seemed long 
 to the weary watcher whom she had left : but 
 when she came, the tale she had to tell repaid 
 him for all his suffering. 
 
 Kindly and courteously had the Bey re- 
 ceived her : again she had eaten of his pillauf, 
 and drank of his cup : he had listened to all 
 the story of Yusuf's sufferings ; and vowed on 
 the Koran to terminate them. Already had 
 he asked a boon of the Sultan, who had smiled 
 upon his suit ; and Fatma felt that the boon 
 could be no other than the pardon of his friend. 
 Affairs of state detained him ; but, his duty 
 done, he would hasten to the prrseiiee of the 
 captive, soon to be so no lom;cr; rnd mean-^ 
 while a slave had followed the foot.-^leps of the 
 old woman, and then returned to his master, 
 to serve him as his guide. 
 
 Again and again did the happy Fatma tell 
 her tale ; and the theme was still unchanged 
 when a heavy stroke on the door of the house' 
 summoned her to receive the expected guest : ( 
 and, hastily snatching a shawl from the sofa,, 
 and folding it about her face, she descended to; 
 draw the bolt. 
 
 There was the silence of a moment: and 
 the heart of Yusuf beat high as he sprang 
 from the floor to meet his friend. " He is; 
 here, Sairyn; janum — my soul, he is here!"' 
 he exclaimed with a burst of his former joy-' 
 ousness — but his transport was short-lived.; 
 A piercing shriek rang from below — it was the; 
 voice of Fatma; and in another moment the 
 tramp of many feet sounded upon the stairs ! 
 
 In an instant the yataghan of Yusuf was ir 
 his hand, and he stood glaring like a rousec 
 tiger in the direction of the sound. " To( 
 late !" — he shouted in his despair: ''Oh, tha' 
 you had not tarried, my friend ! my friend 
 Had you speeded, you might yet have savec 
 me !" 
 
 But as the agonized cry escaped from th(' 
 lips of the doomed man, the generous drean 
 was at an end; for on the threshold of tb 
 chamber stood Tasin Bey, surrounded by i 
 band of armed attendants. For a moment tli' 
 arch-traitor paused, in doubt that the wretche* 
 object before him could indeed be Yusuf Aga 
 For a moment he remained paralyzed will 
 horror as he gazed upon the gaunt and haggar, 
 wretch, who, with elf-locks hanging niattci 
 upon his shoulders, and a tangled and loathe 
 some beard depending to his girdle, hischeek| 
 sunk and hollow, and his eyes bright with " 
 tierce and blinding light, met him midway o 
 the apartment : his weapon raised over hi 
 head, and iiis blue and livid lips parted abov 
 his fast-clenched teeth ! 
 
 Ere he had recovered his horror, Yusi 
 struck. With a yell like that of a hunted ss; 
 vage his weapon was buried to the hilt in th 
 
TIIE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 107 
 
 ti step in front of his comrades : and it seemed 
 BS though the blow had loosed the spell which 
 Ihad bound the senses of tiieir leader ; fore ere 
 |the desperate aga could withdraw his weapon. 
 Uie bey had pronounced the fatal word, and 
 instantly a score of ins followers rvi.vhed upon 
 their victim. But the soul of Yu^uf appeared 
 to have called back its strength in his last 
 [nomeut of trial, and he struggled like a de- 
 Doniac. Suddenly there was a frightful 
 pushing groan — a hea\'^' fall and he lay sense- 
 less at the feet of liis persecutors — yet no steel 
 lad touched — no cord had polluted him — he 
 ay bathed in blood, but it had gushed from 
 lis mouth and nostrils. Nature, so long ne- 
 lected, had been overtaxed in this hour of 
 jassion, and he had burst an artery. 
 
 When they raised him up. he was beyond 
 heir power. Allah, in his own good time 
 lad taken to hini.->elf the Last of the JaniS' 
 laries ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 MMEDIATELT after the mid-day prayer, 
 dien the intense heat tempted a great portion 
 if the inhabitants of the city to spend an hour 
 1 sleep. jNIaniolopolo, on the morrow of his 
 isit to the theriaki teharchi, again bent his 
 teps thitherward, to seek an interview with 
 he a) me. 
 
 As he was rich and generous, he met with 
 lO opposition from the master of the tavern, 
 rho conducted him without comment to the 
 oor of an apartment which was veiled by a 
 creen of dark-colored baize ; and here, having 
 ailed loudly on the name of Nevreste, he left 
 laniolopolo standing while he shuffled back to 
 is rug in the public room. 
 
 A shrill and peevish voice was soon heard 
 1 reply ; and the .slippers of a woman, hastily 
 ssumed, .sounded upon the floor behind the 
 creen, which was snatched a.side, and the 
 oung Greek found himself confronted by an 
 ged and wrinkled woman, whose ma.ss of| 
 
 iry hair tiiequered with gray had escaped i 
 ■om the confinement of a bright yellow liand- j 
 erchief, painted in gaudy ma.>-.seB of color, and 
 owed upon her shoulders , her drcs.s was of 
 uge-pattcrned furniture chintz, girt round 
 er waist with a well-worn cachcmirc. which i 
 ad once been costly enough to cincture the 
 )ins of a pasha; her trowBcrs were of blue 
 lu.slin, to which a few paiclics of tarnixhed 
 )il yet adhered aa if in mockery ; her leg.n 
 
 ere bare, and her whole ap{>carancc m) cnm- 
 oundcd of merctriciouBncHH and itqualor, that 
 laniolopolo had some ditiiculty in nubduui); 
 le sensation of disgust with which he looked 
 a her. 
 
 "Be hey — what's this?" she axkcd Hharply. 
 Had we not enough of your loud brawling la«t 
 
 ght to brmg ^own the codi and his gang , 
 
 I upon us, and to keep us wakini, that you ro- 
 I turn at mid-day? Go, go, elli-ndim, iho almo 
 sleep; and tliey have need lo do so. f«r they 
 ' dance to-night in the harem of the tchor- 
 badji.'' 
 
 ' '' [ do not seek the almo;" replird Mnnio' 
 lopolo, gently : '• it was yourself of wliom I 
 came in .search." 
 
 The crone laughed. " Evallah — to be .sure ! 
 .so says every young haramzadeh whom I find 
 upon my threshold ; ' mother, it is you I 
 want ;' but I have lived among thr moun- 
 tains, young sir, and can sec beyond the flight 
 of an arrow." 
 
 " May your eyes never fail !" whispered 
 the Greek, a.s he pressed a gold coin a^zainst 
 her open palm. " I come to .seek that nf you, 
 in which, if they be not keen and quick, you 
 will lack the power to serve me." 
 
 "And what wills my lord?" af-k^A Ne- 
 vreste more courteously, as she fwi.^tcd her 
 long hair once more beneath her heiid-kLrchief, 
 and tiahted the shawl about her waist ; ''.sonio 
 rose-bud of a sheltered tree to which he would 
 fain be the sunshine, to be told of his pa.><sion ; 
 or — " 
 
 "Ajaib — wonderful!" interposed Maniolo- 
 polo. aflccting surpri.se at her di.«cernmcnt. 
 
 " You have indc(^ gue.'jsed my meanine, 
 mother. How say you? will you undertake 
 so sweet a mission ? ' 
 
 The hag replied by grasping her throat with 
 her skinny fingers, and nodding her head sig« 
 nificantly. 
 
 " Min Allah — Heaven forbid !" said the 
 Greek; "you are too keen and quick-witted 
 to incur so direful a penalty. Listen lo mo :" 
 and he enforced his re(iuest with a second 
 piece of gold, which at once secured the at- 
 tention of the old woman ; '* I have a sister, 
 a slave in the pa.>-ha\s harem — " 
 
 '• The pasha's harem !" broke in Ncvrcjito 
 in afi'right ; " and who am I that I should ven- 
 ture into the hccret apartments of a satrap, 
 and carry a blight to his roses ?"' 
 
 '• Nay. nay ; you talk idly :" said Manio- 
 lopolo, iinpatii-nlly ; 'do 1 not tell you that I 
 only seek to inform my hihler of my vicinity ; 
 my young and innocent hister ; the playmuto 
 of my infancy ; the delight of my boyhood ; 
 my bitterly- wept and regretted sister; my only 
 one !" 
 
 " Humph ! there is some reason in that, to 
 be sure ;*' muttered the old crone, while a 
 hhndc of something which ulmoht Inoketl liko 
 feeling flitted over her brow, and iIhh as ^ud- 
 deiily disappeared : and left it coM unci rigid, 
 and stony as before, like the mnrliln acroM 
 whicli a struggling sunbeam lins flickerc<l for 
 an instant ; '• 1 loo \itu\ a brother once, nn ouly 
 one, as you say ; but he died — lie wo* cul 
 down by an Kgyptian scimilnr (may the arm 
 be withered that wielded it !) and ii woj. years 
 ago, before I had forgotten how lo weep; and 
 
108 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 by the soul of your father, I shed tears enough : 
 but all that is gone by now, and I am the mo- 
 ther of a troop of alme, without a home, or a 
 kinsman : living among gibes and blows, and 
 curses, with a scanty jiillauf, and a tattered 
 veil — but ey vah — mercy on us ! what dirt 
 am I eating to talk thus? The seal is set 
 upon every man's forehead at his birth, and 
 as it was written, it will be. Bana bak — look 
 at me. young, sir ; do I not seem like one who 
 can bear a heavy burden yet without falling 
 under it ?'' And the bitter laugh with which 
 she directed the attention of Maniolopolo to 
 her squalid wretchedne^^s rang painfully on 
 his ear. as he attempted to murmur out some 
 commonplace about better days and a brighter 
 fate. 
 
 " Tush, tush :" interposed the old woman, 
 •with a wild smile ; •' string no fine sentences 
 together to hang upon my rags : foucaralk 
 chanumdr — poverty is my glory. You young 
 beyzadehs know nothing of the gay immunity 
 of poverty. It is your great men who are 
 slaves ; while we. the refuse of the city, the 
 •wanderers of the land, the outcasts of society, 
 ■we are the free ; no codgea-bashi lifts the latch 
 of our dwellings to collect tribute; no latticed 
 and boiled harem fetters our will ; no saraf 
 ever runs away with our hoarded gold ; we 
 come and go as we list ; our teskara (passport) 
 needs no signature but our own ; and every 
 hedge-side or empty tomb is a menzil khaneh 
 (post-hou.<e) equal to our wants. So no more 
 sugared words to Nevreste, who is as much 
 beyond the pity of every stranger with whom 
 Bhe comes in contact during her roving life, as 
 she is indisposed to accept it. Gold ! young 
 sir ; let your consolation be offered in gold — 
 that is a universal language, never misunder- 
 stood. And now to business : what would 
 you ask of me ?" 
 
 " My request is simple : I •would see my sis- 
 ter, and I seek from you the opportunity of 
 doing so." 
 
 '• Mashallah ! is that all ? You would lift 
 the screen, and tread the carpets of a pasha's 
 harem ! You are mad, stark mad. the veriest 
 delhiba.shi — prince of madmen, in the province. 
 Have you no desire to wear a gray beard, that 
 you give the measure of your throat so early ? 
 I will not work for your ruin, you are too 
 young and too handsome for the bowstring." 
 
 '•Allah kerim— He is merciful !" said Ma- 
 niolopolo : •' I trust in him." 
 
 " Allah ! Allah ! yes, yes :" replied the old 
 crone peevishly ; " but let your words and 
 your actions be alike reasonable ; throw the 
 mantle from your iiead, and see clearly for 
 once ; and then I shall hear no more of the 
 pasha's harem." 
 
 " I am resolved ;" said the young Greek 
 moodily. 
 
 " And will you 8-wear to this stoiy of the 
 Bister ?" 
 
 " 1 will." 
 
 '• And her name is ?" 
 
 '' Katinka ;"' replied Maniolopolo : " by birth 
 i a Sciote. but long dwelling in Circa.«.«ia." 
 j '• What do you tell me !" exclaimed Nev- 
 re.<te hastily ; '' are you indeed the brother of 
 tlie young Greek slave of whom I have heard 
 so much — Ajaib — wonderful ! They say that 
 I siie reads the Koran like a Moullah, MTites 
 verses which would not disgrace a Hafiz, sings 
 like a buibul, and dances like one of my own 
 almu. Young sir, by the grave of your mo- 
 ther, is all this true ?" 
 
 I '-AH:" said Maniolopolo; "and she has 
 moreover the warmest heart and the quickest 
 wit in all Houm :* and the brightest eye, and 
 the lightest foot. How say you ? Will you 
 not assist me in looking on her once more ?" 
 
 " Ne apalum — what can I do ? I have re- 
 
 i%eived no summons from the pasha : and how. 
 
 may I present myself unbidden at the palace?'' 
 
 '• Nay ! now you laugh at my beard :" gaid 
 
 the young Greek ; '• have you not in your banc. 
 
 one of the loveliest houri out of paradise ; anci 
 
 would not a hint to the Aga Baba — " ' 
 
 '• Yavash, yavash— softly, softly. EfTendim;" 
 
 interposed Nevreste ; " I wish to draw (he eyei 
 
 of no aga baba in the country on the beaiitifu 
 
 .Mherpirwir ;t she is to me as the purjile lily; 
 
 a rare and precious thing ; and I love her lik> 
 
 a mother; there is no maiden in the brighl 
 
 band so dear to me as Mherpirwir." 
 
 ■• Did you call me, mother ?"' asked a s^v 
 voice, as the coarse screen was drawn asi 
 and a face as fresh and fair as a May morniu 
 suddenly appeared behind it ; '• I am here." '' 
 '■ Nay, nay ;" said the old woman, hastil 
 but not unkindly; ''I want you not, kizen 
 my daughter ; I called you not ; is it ever thu 
 with you, while the others sleep, you watcb^ 
 while the others idle, you toil for all. Go ii, 
 Mherpirwir, go in ; I have business with tl 
 Effendi. and shall be with you presently." 
 
 The fair girl bent her head in token of obii 
 dience. but ere she retired, cast one hurn* 
 glance at the stranger ; their eyes met. . 
 1 tliuse of the young beauty fell before the > .. 
 j nest look of the Greek. With the instincti^ 
 i tact of a woman she at once perceived ho 
 j deeply Maniolopolo was impressed by her e 
 ! celling loveliness, and she may well be pa 
 doued if she lingered in her retreat. 
 
 The alme was about sixteen years of age. 
 all the glow and glory of a beauty such a- 
 seldom looked upon. Her long dark hair i.. 
 taslically braided with beads and ribands, ai 
 intermixed with bright-colored riband.-*, fell » 
 most to her feet, and was swept back from 
 brow of dazzling whiteness, surmounting cy 
 of intense light and lustre. Her figure ^v 
 slight and graceful, and her expres.Mon ^' 
 and somewhat melancholy. To discover ; 
 
 Turkey. 
 
 t Nurse of Lot6. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 100 
 
 ;his, one glance sufTiced ; and liad Maiiiolo|iolo 
 jeenless preoccupied, and had the lair creatine 
 jcfore him been other tlian slic was. an alnie, 
 iin outcast, a wanderer anionic men, to wliom 
 iier beauty was a jest, and iier youth a snare 
 —he felt as though he could hiivc sought, a 
 ^aven in her love, and a paradise in her smiles. 
 I The dark screen I'cll from her hand ; and as 
 jihe disappeared, it seemed to the young Greek- 
 is though the light had suddenly Vailed. For 
 I moment he stood silently gazing on the veil- 
 I'd portal through which she had pa.-sed, but 
 
 F'y for a moment, for the voice of Nevrestc 
 n recalled him from his revery. 
 ' Ay. ay. look your till, her beauty may well 
 p the eye of a young gallant, whose heart, 
 ke the blo.<5Som of the rose-tree, opens to the 
 rst sun.'ihine that fla.';hes on it : but you came 
 lot for this ; nor can you linger here all day 
 o set the tongues of the whole city wagcinn 
 inoldNevrcstt^and her troop of alnu-: Wallah ! 
 I'ou have seen her. and do you still talk to me 
 if the pasha and his aga baba?"' 
 
 Nay. chide me not mother:'' said Manio- 
 opolo deprecatingly : •' the pasha has a fair 
 oung wife, as fair as Mherpirwir : and it is 
 aid that he loves her as the men of this land 
 eldom love a woman : he will look upon your 
 louri only as a bright shape whose L'raccful- 
 less can charm the eye of his youns bride, and 
 vill pour gold into her lap. and forget lier." 
 
 The aged woman stood tor a moment buried 
 n thought, and then abruptly and steadily 
 ifling her eyes to the excited countenance of 
 ler companion, she said slowly : '• Na to ne — 
 here it i.s — at length I have read the dream, 
 nd the truth is in the hollow of my hand, 
 ^ffendim. you love the pasha's wife !"' 
 
 The address was so .«uddcn and so unlooked 
 or that Maniolopolo was totally unprepared 
 rith a reply, and liis confusion confirmed the 
 rily and shrewd old woman in her suspicions. 
 ■ My son :" she pursued gravely : " I know 
 ot why I feel thus interested in your fortunes 
 I tliought that my heart had Ions been .^car- 
 d, but now I see that it can yet beat even for 
 stranger. Wliat are you about to dare ? 
 ivcn were it the mere idle caprice of a young 
 did spirit whicli prompted you to put your 
 lead under the pasiia's foot, you might well 
 
 prepared never asain to lift if from tlie 
 arth : but if it be as 1 suspect — and I am one 
 iho has read for years the sable pase of pa.*;- 
 ion — that you arc hurried on to r\im by a 
 ision which never can be realized, pondor 
 rell your purpose; for be as.'iured that cun- 
 ingiy as you may liopc to weave your web 
 f wiles, that ruin will come at hist." 
 
 Hipsi birdir — .so be it. It will be wel- ' 
 omc, if the price must be paid ;" said Mani- ' 
 lopolo almost sternly. | 
 
 And yet. you are young — and the grove 
 belters many birds of soft i.otc and briyhtj 
 
 pluimce. even if the bulbul be not there;' 
 urged Nevresti. 
 , The (J reek smiled bitterly. 
 
 " Pek ahi. dosfoum — it is well, my friend ;" 
 replied the old woman, who retpiiicd no worda 
 I to read his meaning. 'And now, icll mi-; 
 wherefore slnnild I risk the same niinV — you 
 arc a stranger; until last night I novcr looked 
 u\)f>n you — and last night, liow did mc meet ? 
 amid broil, and brawl, and intemperance, and 
 I riot : you will reply that my days arc num- 
 bered, and that their remnant can be of little 
 value, and 1 can pardon you the taunt, for 
 you do not know, you cannot know, in your 
 bright years of strength and pride, how decay- 
 I ing nature clings to her mined shrine, and 
 j hugs the fragments of her own beauty a.s they 
 I fali from her. It is strange that I waste no 
 < many word.s upon you — strange ! — but let ua 
 I part now, and if you have parent.s in your own 
 land who would weep over their lost son. go 
 in peace, and forget the madness that haa 
 J sprung up in your spirit.'' 
 j '• I have none to mourn me — none to weep 
 for me;'" said the young man. 
 I '• Away, then, away — and be just to your- 
 self — the bird that has no mate sprcaids a 
 wider wing, and takes a bolder flight.'' 
 I "You counsel me in vain ;"' said Maniol- 
 ' opolo, -'the die is cast — derdiinden ohiiim 
 I bcigoud — my torment makes me mad ; forget 
 , your suspicions, mother: and p-momber that 
 i they are but suspicions — recall the days when 
 j you had a brother whom you loved ; and help 
 I mc once more to look upon a sister who haa 
 [ been long lo.st to me.'' 
 
 " Delhibashi !' exclaimed NcvrcMc impa- 
 I ticntly ; what would you ask of me ?" 
 ' '• Even to join your troop — I will wear any 
 disguise — I will obey any i>ehcst — I will pay 
 every effort which you make lor me with gold. 
 Nay, look not so scared, mother : I am young, 
 and your skill will surely suffice to make an 
 alme of a sakal-siz.'"* 
 
 The old woman stood lost in tliought for a 
 time, but at leimtli she broke forth in an rurn- 
 e>l : '• No, nrj — I cannot, I dare not — you know 
 not what you ask; are not tlie alme trained 
 from childhood to their gracelul trade; and 
 would you cast dirt upon my head by betray- 
 ing your madness to every looker-on? Did 
 yon not sec Mherpirwir but a moment back ? 
 Would you stand be.side her on the cariHit of 
 the I'aMha, and hope to escape •''' 
 
 '• Not ho, mother; I would be the inassald- 
 uhit of your troop ; give iiic a vnl and u tur- 
 ban, an Arab drum, a heavy mantle ; dye my 
 hands with henna, and veil my shoiildcm 
 with the flowing trcsse.t of a yming f)i'«uiy ; 
 and while tfie almti rejMWtc between ll.cir 
 dances, I will win the car of the Fasha'a 
 
 • Youth, litxrally •' no-ti«»nl.*' 
 t Prof«uion&l iloo'-Ullw. 
 
no 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 harem with wild tales, and earn gold for yon 
 with a cunning tongue. Wallah billah ! you 
 shall carry a heavy purse when you leave the 
 city. And here, jaguir benum — my guardian 
 angel — here is wherewithal to jirovide for me 
 such garments as you may deem fitting." 
 
 '• Yavash, yava.sh — softly, Noftly, young 
 man :"' said Nevreste : " I am not a lover, and 
 [ cannot travel so swiftly: but we will see 
 what can be done:'" and she deposited her 
 new gains with the first ofifcring of her com- 
 panion in the folds of her tattered girdle ; 
 *^ Mherpirwir shall decide if we may venture 
 our necks so near the grasp of the capidji- 
 bashi : enter this room on the right, and 1 will 
 come to you in a moment. I have already 
 told you that we go to-night to the harem of 
 tiie Tchorbadji ; and when the alm6 awaken 
 they will find plenty of employment in prepar- 
 ing for this visit." 
 
 Maniolopolo obeyed, and instnntly found 
 himself in a gloomy apartment, overstrewn with 
 the parapliernalia of the Terpsichorean troop. 
 There were boilquets of artificial flowers, most 
 inartificially wrought, small citerns. and gui- 
 tars, and a sort of rude Castanet of rosewood ; 
 gaily-coloured veils of gauze, girdles of cache- 
 mire, and slippers of velvet worked with gold 
 and beads. A tambourine, fantastically orna- 
 mented with pendant ribbons, lay on the 
 divan near the window; and Maniolpolo 
 amused himself during the absence of the old 
 woman with this toy-like instrument, which 
 was familiar to his hand ] and as lie did so, 
 his thoughts flew back to the happy time, 
 when to its rattle, he had led the graceful ro- 
 maVka, and taught the beautiful Carimfil to 
 dream bright dreams of his lost and regretted 
 land. 
 
 He was still absorbed in his occupation, 
 when an astonished " Mashallah !" sounded 
 close beside him. and he perceived that Ne- 
 vreste and the young beauty had entered the 
 apartment unobserved, and wore gazing on 
 him with unfeigned gratification. 
 
 '■ Why this is well, khatoun — my darling;" 
 said the old woman: "you handle the tam- 
 bourine like a high-priest of Aniran at the bri- 
 dal of a sultana ! How say you, xMlierpirwir, 
 my pearl ? If the veil and the antery become 
 him like the instrument, may we not venture 
 something to pleasure him ?" 
 
 '' The effendi is master ;" said the alm6, in 
 a low, sweet tone ; " If he seeks my aid, I am 
 ready." 
 
 '• May your beauty never decrease, janum 
 — my soul !" exclaimed Maniolopolo ; for 
 which wish lie was recompensed by a deep 
 blush, and a faint smile; "under your aus- 
 pices I am sure of success — locik you — should 
 you need a minstrel to vary the charm of your 
 gracefulness, 1 am your slave ;" and he seized 
 one of the guitars, and sang in a sweet sub- 
 
 dued voice a well-kno^ATi fable, in the musical 
 words of Hafiz : — 
 
 There was a bright and a snnny sky 
 
 Spread over a laughing land. 
 But one small vapor was floating by. 
 Where the wild wave kiss'd the strand 
 And as it pass'd n'er the ocean-swell, 
 A rain-drop from the dark cloud fell. 
 
 " Alas I" the limpid moisture sigh'd, 
 
 As it clive the yielding air ; " 
 " And must I perish in that salt tide, 
 And die unregarded there ' 
 Hard is my fate to be thus riven 
 From ray glorious place 'mid the blue of Heaven ' 
 
 Down, down it fell : but ere the tide 
 
 Tiiuch'd the bright sand of the shore, 
 An oyster that thirsted, open'd wide 
 Its iiearl encrusted door : 
 And by the soft breathing of the air, 
 The limpid drop was wafted there. 
 
 Time pas«'d— and then a fisher came, 
 
 And from that oyster drew 
 A precious prize, whose wondrous fame 
 Through many a region flew ; 
 The rain-drop h ui heroine a gem, 
 To deck a monarch's diadem T 
 
 " Or, should you not love the monotonv 
 of " 
 
 " Nay, say not so/' interposed the almi: 
 eagerly : " say not .so ; there is no maiden n 
 the band with such a voice; I will answe, 
 for you Avith my head. Is it not so, mother?'; 
 
 "Bakalum — we shall see." answered Nev' 
 rest^, quietly; "put your veil upon the beyza 
 zadeh. and let us see if he can teach those dar ' 
 eyes of his as much softness as he has taughi 
 his tones. Hand hither those long tresses tha- I 
 Gubeide has flung down so heedlessly in yon; i 
 der corner ; and bid Giadilla lend you he 
 robe : she is the tallest of the band Then 
 go, and be spf^edy in your return. And yoi 
 young sir," she added, as the giri disappeare 
 acro.ss the threshold, " look towards me. unles 
 you are anxious to make a mirror of the scp^ei 
 and thus delay your purpose by gazinj altfr 
 vision that has vanished." 
 
 With a silent smile Maniolopolo obi'v 
 and on the return of the alme. the last t 
 was given to his co.stume, and the disi: 
 declared to be perfect. "Mherpirwir clasjv 
 her little hands in wonder, and whispered thi 
 he was a subject for the sunny foreground ( 
 a Benuzzeer: but all the skill and patiem' 
 of the fair girl failed to make the handson 
 young Greek move like an alm^, and ult! 
 matcly the attempt was abandoned in despaii, 
 and it was'decided that his guitar must be'h 
 dependence, coupled with his talents as 
 massaldjiii. of which they were content to a 
 cept his assurance. 
 
 The lovely Mherpirwir was zealous in li 
 services ; she taught the new pupil a thous;n 
 little coquettish graces ; showed him the cxu 
 shade of the henna which niu-^t decorate ht 
 fingers, and the precise curve that he mi' 
 give to his e>-cbro\vs : laugiicd heartily at i 
 
THE KOMANCK OF THE IIAIIEM. 
 
 Ill 
 
 languishmentsbywliii-li lie omli^avonnl to sub- 
 due the flashing of his (iaik eyes, and the 
 mincing step, and unaccustomed slide of the 
 embroidered slipper ; but occasionally she 
 { checked her mirth to bestow on hiin an encou- 
 i rasing smile, and a murmured word of appro- 
 bation. I 
 " Mashallah ! you do credit. EfTendim. to 
 your Kafiandji ousta !* Fling your veil a 
 little more Hghtly from your brow, and do not , 
 entangle the fringe of your sleeve in the but- 
 tons of your antery. It would be well too if 1 
 you did not carry your head quite so high: I 
 remember that you are but an awali.f and I 
 that you must be Inunble and modest when 
 you tread the carpets of the great. Look you. : 
 mother, how well the beyzadch comprehends 
 my meaning: and how thoroughly he reads 
 his lesson."' 
 
 " Allenidullilah ! the risk can be but slight," 
 Ireplied the old woman, '• if he will promise 
 to be prudent ; and he will do well to join us 
 to-night when we visit the ladies of the Tchor- 
 badji. in order that his task may sit more ea.sy 
 when he has more at stake.''" 
 
 After a moment's hesitation. Maniolopolo ' 
 jonsented to this arrangement : and then I 
 Hinging off the disguise in which he had been ' 
 enveloped, he bade adieu to Nevrest^. and her 
 pretty companion until twilight, and slowly 
 feauntered back to the Fendiik.| in which he 
 lad established himself. 
 
 As he moved along, he could not repress 
 he misgivings which intruded them.selves on 
 lis imasination. and made his pulses quicken 
 ind his heart grow sick. He well knew that 
 "or the Greek who invades the harem of the 
 Moslem, and who fails in his disguise, there ^ 
 s no mercy ; and although he felt that, in his 
 nterviftw with his adored Carimfil. the bliss 
 if beholding one so dearly loved and so hum 
 ost, would uphold him, he dreaded the, trial 
 vhich awaited him in the harem of the Tchor- 
 ladji. The die was, however, cast ; and he 
 esolved to abandon himself to the guidance 
 f his new friends. 
 
 CIIAPTKIL XLVil 
 
 The day slowly pa.ssed away ; for to the 
 nxious. time ever Rceins to move with folded 
 rings, and to slumber on lii« scythe: but at 
 cnglh the hours waned, and he returned to the 
 'hcriaki Tcharchi to fullil his destiny. 
 
 As he entered, he was met on (he threnhold 
 y the old woman, who silently beckon<-d him 
 nward. and conducted him to an apartment 
 k-hence the sounds of laughter, mingled with 
 ne voice of song, and the rattlinz of caftta- 
 ets, came joyously to his ear. The screen 
 
 was flung asi<le, the portal pa.^^sed, and he 
 stood among the alme, who were already 
 adorned for their evening's tiu»k. One. lair 
 girl occupied the centre of the floor, iier arms 
 were raised above her head, and in her ri:;ht 
 hand she held a tambo\irine, whence the lonK 
 streaming ribands fell, iris-tinted, in bright 
 confusion, and mingled wiih the solt tre»«c8 
 of her raven hair; her little feet were bare, 
 and her slight willow-like flgure appeared to 
 bend beneath the Mei^'ht of the fairy instru- 
 ment, while her eyes rested fondly on a young 
 beauty who was treading a graceful ineasuro 
 to the clashing of her castanets. All w.ro 
 diversely employed, save one ; and that one 
 was Mherpirwir, who, reclining on her cush- 
 ions, her fair cheek jiiilowed on her haml, and 
 hergaze turned anxiously towanl.s (he entrance 
 of the apartment, was aroused from her rcvcry 
 by the arrival of Maniolopolo. whom she 
 welcomed with a blush which dyed her brow 
 to the same tint as the glowing roses that rest- 
 ed on it. 
 
 In a moment all was confusion ; every almi 
 of the troop insisted on lemling her aid to- 
 wards the completion of a ma.-querado so 
 novel and so exciting ; and iiad Maniolopolo 
 been a Moslem, he might well have unagined 
 that he had been transported to the I'aradiao 
 of tiic Prophet, and was tended by the houri, 
 without the preliminary ceremony of dis.solu- 
 tion. 
 
 " And by what name shall we call our new 
 sister?" a.sked Mherpirwir, as she gave the 
 last graceful fold to the caeheniire girdle of 
 the young Greek. " \Vc might name her 
 Kamil,* but that those dark eyes which go 
 wandering hither and thither like hadjisf be- 
 wildered in the desert, are not quiie sober 
 enough to suit such a title. Ky vah ! Mho 
 has a head for names ? You, Lebe, who are 
 the best poet of the troop, have you no sug- 
 gestion to make ?" 
 
 " I would call him Seidika ;''t said the 
 laushiiig girl wlio had been thus suniinoDcd 
 to the council : '• tor does ho not ri^k his life 
 to look upon his mistress?" 
 
 '■ Taih ! — well (iaid :" exclaimed the old 
 woman ; and '• Taih ! Tnib !" was nmrniur- 
 cd by all the young beauties by whom she was 
 ' hurrounded. 
 
 At lengtii the moment came when the fair 
 I troop wore to trons|K)rt themselves to tlie harem 
 of the Tchorbadji : and Maniolopolo was soon 
 shrouded like the rest in a Ion:.' iind ample 
 feridjhti or mantle of dark elolii, while his 
 face was concealed by a shawl : and in thin 
 I guise he followed Ncvrcslii with bin instru- 
 ment in his hand, and a wild braiing at hii 
 heart. 
 
 The Tciiorbadji resided beyond tlie wnlU of 
 the town, in a spacious hou.tc on the cdgo of 
 
 Mistress of the Wardrobe, t Singing woman. } In 
 
 inu. ; Faittiful. 
 
lis 
 
 THE ROiLAJ^-CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 the plain; his gardens were traversed by a woman who reposed on a splendid divan of 
 bright river, and a gilded boat danced on the ^velvet, surrounded by her attendants, while 
 ripple beiieaili the leafy screen of old and ma- two fair children were sporting on a cushion 
 jestic trees. An avenue of maples, whose at her feet ; and earnest was the tone in which 
 gnarled and twisted branches had resisted the he joined in the " Khosh buldiik — well found" 
 storms of a century, led up to the house near- of the alme. as they bent before her in homage, 
 ly from the city gates, and threw a gloom i Ere long the tchorbadji arrived. He was a 
 around which fell heavily on the spirit of the man with whose beard lime had toyed until it 
 young Greek. But the alm^ were less im- had withered in his grasp; his brow was deeply 
 pressiblc ; and as they moved along, they i interlined, and from the corners of his keen 
 gaily bandied jests, and ventured inferences land fierce black eyes, a puckered mass of mi- 
 and speculations on the liberality of thenute wrinkles spread even to his temples. 
 Tchorbadji. which extorted an occasional smile ' His nose was high and salient, and his upper 
 from Maniolopolo, anxious as he was. Snatches lip was hidden by the thick and grizzled mus- 
 of wild .«ongs. and wilder stories escaped them taclie which adorned it. He was of middle 
 also, as it seemed involuntarily: their wan- height, but of great muscular power: and 
 dering and uncertain life had taught them the Maniolopolo at the first glance felt doubly 
 philosopliy of present enjoyment, and the fu- desirous to preserve his disguise unsuspected, 
 tilityof foreboding; and they lived, and jested, I Two by two the alme moved forward and 
 and laughed as though time had no morrow. | performed their graceful evolutions, whicl 
 or that they could furl his wings at their own I won for them many a *•' INlashallah !'" ant 
 giddy will. |'' Aferin !'•* from the tchorbadji, and a mur 
 
 Mhcrpirwir alone was staid and silent ; she mur of commendation from his fair youn< 
 •walked slowly with bent head, like one who wife; but when at last, and alone. MherpirwL' 
 indulges in deep and pensive thought; and fiung off her veil, and bounded into tlie centp 
 occa.'< ion ally her dark eyes flashed out from of the floor, where she stood for an instant lik, 
 behind their jealous screen as she glanced a startled fawn listening for a coming footstep 
 hastily and anxiously towards Maniolopolo. the tchorbadji half rose from his sofa, and with 
 But ere long her abstraction drew down upon drew the chibouque from his lips to gaze o 
 her the laughter of her companions, and she her. The tapers by which the apartment wa 
 aroused herself, and mingled in the idle con- illuminated threw their full blaze upon hers 
 versation of the party, or held a whispered she rested for a moment without stirring eith( 
 and momentary communion with Nevreste, eye or limb, and then suddenly springing bac 
 until they stood before the gate of the Tchor-|a pace or two, twirled her tambourine abo^ 
 badji's harem. her head, as though the joyonsness of h<, 
 
 Loud and earnest was their welcome as they young spirit could ring out through its silvr 
 sprang over the threshold into a spacious hall bells. ' i 
 
 paved with various colored marbles, where the It was now that Maniolopolo aroused hir 
 plashing of water and the song of birds made self to play his part in the pageant : and 8U | 
 the air vocal. A richly gilded door at the lering the shawl in which he had bee , 
 upi)er end was flung back, and through the .shrouded to fall from his head, but witho* 
 opening they caught a delicious glimpse in the rising from the carpet on which he was recli' | 
 moonlight of trees, and flowers, and fountains, ing, he watched the moment wjicn the ft 
 spreading far away into the distance. Groups Mhcrpirwir changed the measure of her mov 
 of slaves, many of them young and beautiful, nients to a slower and more melancholy chan' 
 were hurrying to and fro ; and each as she and catching up (he cadence where she h 
 passed had a gay word and a gayer smile for sullcred it to die away, accompanied her la 
 the alme. The sounds of music came sooth- guid and exquisite perlbrmance with the w 
 inuly from an inner apartment; and a soft ballad whose action it was intended to portrr 
 stream of moonshine played along the marble j 
 floor, and dyed it with the rich tints which it'„,C°^*'>' Cobah:t where art thou now? 
 
 .,_,.'. ... , . , 'We have sought thee in vain on the mount.iin s brow 
 
 pilfered as it passed trom the Crunson hangmgS We havelookd for thee, love, where the stream runsc: 
 
 of the numerous casements. Altogether it 'Cobah! Cobah ! thou art not here— 
 
 r 1 ■ , J i . The wind sighs its erief through the cypress bough, 
 
 was a .scene of enchantment; and it was not ~ . . . . " . ^ . . "^ . n » ' 
 
 without reiiret that Maniolopolo followed the 
 example of his companions, and obeyed the 
 summons of a smilinir slave who waited to 
 conduct them to the presence of her mistress. 
 "Khosh gcldin — you are welcome." uttered 
 in a low sweet voice which fell softly on the 
 ear of the young Greek, were the first sounds 
 that greeted him as he found himself in an 
 apartment flashing with gold fringe and em- 
 KrmrlArv niid imiiK^dlatelv onnositc to a lovelv 
 
 I She is gone I she is gone I but where 1 
 I Go ask the earth's starry flowers — 
 Where the sunbeams of yesterday rest, she's there, 
 
 She can never again be ours — 
 Life's sweetest and brightest things, 
 
 The joys we have loved and lost, 
 Exist in the land where the spirit's wingi 
 Catch Heaven's bright beam the most — 
 
 Why did she pass away. 
 
 Before her sweet yoiith was o'er, 
 
Tim UOMANCH OF THE IIAIIKM. 
 
 lis 
 
 jik« the flower which drinks in th« sunhpam to-day, 
 
 And to-morrow exists no more? 
 the loved till she lived in that lipht alone 
 
 That her own pure soul hud made — 
 ^nd she witherM because the cherish'd ons 
 rVho had been to her both breath and sun 
 
 Left her to pine and fade — 
 'uininer days pass — earth's blossom's die — 
 leaven's stars fall from the a/.ure sky — 
 )urjoys all wither one by one— 
 ^obah is gone ! Cobah is gone I 
 
 I 
 
 As he commenced his task, Maniolopolo 
 )reathed quickly, for the keen eye of I lie Tclior- 
 ladji was on him : but as tlic dance proceeded, ' 
 le became thralled by the consummate skill of- 
 he dancer, and involuntarily flung liis whole 
 »ul into his voice, while a continuous mur- 
 nur of admiration and applause escaped the 
 r-pcctators. As the .«oni,' ceased, the alme 
 peemcd to die away with the strain, her head 
 h-oopcd. her arms hung listlessly at her side,: 
 •he tambourine fell from her hand, and shcj 
 stood the very picture of despair. | 
 
 In the enthusiasm of the moment the wife 
 j)f the Tchorbadji drew a ring from her finger, j 
 and placed it in the hand of a slave, who pre-' 
 pented it to Mlicrpirwir : while the host hiin- 
 pelf flung a purse into the lap of Maniolopolo, 
 jwhich he instantly transferred to the keeping 
 bf Nevrest^. Never was success more perfect : 
 and as the fair girls stood in groups upon the 
 ibright-colored oarpcts, the young Greek 
 jthought he never had beheld a spectacle so; 
 'lovely. The gorgeously attired beauty on the 
 divan was radiant with youth, and bright with 
 (jewels; the graceful alme stood before her 
 [like attendant peris: the Tchorbadji was the 
 [one shadow which relieved tiie bright lights of 
 ithe picture: and the children wlio nestled in 
 (each other's arms, and gazed in wondering ad- 
 jmiration on the strangers with their bright 
 l?tag-like eyes, seemed to the excited imairiiia- 
 tion of the adventurer like beings of another 
 world, where care, and crime, and withering' 
 had never come. | 
 
 Dance succeeded to dance, and song to .«on2 : 
 and the Tchorbadji appeared to divide his en- 
 thu.siasm between Mlierpirwir and the dis- 
 guised SeVdika, whose large deep eyes and ex- 
 quisite voice had made no slight iniprc.>-sion 
 on the fancy of the worthy Jani.-sary. ' 
 
 " Allah buyuk der! — My selictar aga* told 
 me, mother, that one of your alme was a« ; 
 beautiful as a houri. and a.s graceful a« a fawn ; 
 and his face is whitened, for he »aid only the 
 truth ; but he made no mention of the fair 
 awali whose voice is tome as mclo<lioii.i ns the 
 Allah hu !t of the followers of the Proph«-t. 
 By the soul of >'our father ! you nhall hhow 
 your young beauties to Iuh highnc».s the pahha 
 -^he will fill their mouth.s with gold, and 
 spread the carpet.s of liberality under the feci 
 of merit — I have said it." 
 
 " May the words of my lord bo written on 
 
 the soul of his slave with the calam* of gra- 
 titude !' said Nevresti! us .she prostrated her- 
 self, until her brow touclicd the floor before 
 the Tchorbadji ; " who am I, that my lord 
 should lift my soul into the akash of fe- 
 licity? What can 1 do to remove from my 
 heati the ashes of un worthiness, and fmn 
 llie skirt of my garment the defilement of re- 
 proach ?■' 
 
 '• Ne bilirim — what can I say ?" replied the 
 Tchorbadji courteously. '-Wallah billah. I 
 am satisfied."' 
 
 '■ Seidika. to whoso music my lord has de- 
 signed to listen, is no inditlerenl massaldjhe :"' 
 said the old woman. " She has tales which 
 may charm his ear, and wean his thougiilg 
 for awhile from the cares of his exalted sta- 
 tion, if such be his good plea.sure. How says 
 my lord ?' 
 
 The stately Eflendi glanced towards his fair 
 young wife, and reading in her bright eyes an 
 intense anxiety which there was no need of 
 words to interpret, he signalled his acquies- 
 cence in the suggestion of Ncvreste ; and the 
 alme having groiip'd themselves on oithersiilo 
 of Maniolopolo in altitudes whose grace would 
 have thralled the spirit of a painter, he took 
 from the hands of Mlierpirwir, who reclined 
 near him, a richly inlaid zebee, wlience ho 
 drew tones of sweetness that hushed at onco 
 the under-current of whispered delight which 
 came like incense to the ears of the alme : 
 and then, laying aside the instrument, ho 
 turned the full beam of his dark eyes on the 
 Thorbadji. and in a voice at once subdued and 
 musical, thus told his tale. 
 
 Sword-bearer. 
 
 8 
 
 Battlt cry. 
 
 rilAl'TKR XLVIII. 
 TiiK KiM;n<iM or the mice. 
 
 A WISE man will never despise a weak 
 enemy. Fools only scolF at a danger of which 
 tln-y know not the probable extent ; and lliosc 
 in power would do well to recollect that the 
 deepest cavern of the rock is frequently be- 
 trayed by a rift scarcely wide enough to ad- 
 mit the hand of a woman. 
 
 I am about to tfll your highness a tale of a 
 mouse : and I pray you to let your fancy iravol 
 with me, that so wc may go on our way n>- 
 eether 111 u'mkI understanding. And cvi-ii liko 
 the wise man to whom I have just made allu- 
 sion, my lord nuist not drspisc the little animal 
 bceauHc of the miiiutcn.ss of his projH.riions ; 
 and the rather thai li«- was the ciii|>cror of all 
 the mice in Turkey, whom ho ruled in ponc«, 
 the beloved of his subj.-eth, with every pro- 
 spect of a long and pro.H|>erou« rcij;"- 
 
 The subterranean palace was of vast ex- 
 
114 
 
 THE ROilAXCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 tent ; and ■well and warmly furnished with 
 the spoils of many a midnight visit to the up- 
 per earth. The granaries were well stored 
 with corn : peas, beans, and lupins abounded ; 
 dried grapes, figs, and other fruits calculated 
 for tardy consumption, were neatly and com- 
 pactly housed for winter use ; and, in short, 
 the padishah of the long-tails nibbled his fa- 
 vourite roots in calm and philosophic dignity: 
 never troubling his head with the feuds which 
 he well knew were continually going on 
 above it. 
 
 But who can control it ? Who can number 
 the stars, count the notes of the bulbul, or 
 postpone the decay of the rose ? Great was 
 the consternation throughout the metropolis 
 of Mouseland, when it was discovered that an 
 old tox. well known to many of them as a 
 notoriously bad character, a marauder, and 
 a common thief, who swept away enough to 
 supply their whole community for a month, 
 at a single visit to the overgrown granaries 
 of the frightful bipeds who infested the pro- 
 vince ; and of whom the mice had never been 
 able to discover the utility, unless indeed when 
 they were reluctantly compelled to admit, that 
 by housing their corn and roots and other eat- 
 ables, they saved them (the mice) the trouble 
 of collecting their own supplies. I repeat, 
 that great was the conslernation when it was 
 discovered that this unprincipled old fox had 
 thought proper, they could n.ot imagine where- 
 fore, to eslabli.sh himself in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of their capital ; where he kept 
 up a constant and most unpleasant sensation, 
 by daily and nightly incursions into the sur- 
 rounding country, and by devouring every un- 
 happy straggler who chanced to cross liis path ; 
 a circumstance that filled all the orderly and 
 well-conducted citizens with a trepidation, 
 which, if it did not redound to the credit of 
 their courage, at least spoke volumes for their 
 principles. 
 
 Nor -w^as this all : for if any fault could be 
 found with the domestic legislation of Mouse- 
 land, it must be admitted that the error lay in 
 the same weakness which has at times operated 
 unpleasantly in other nations. His majesty 
 the emperor had a strong predilection in favor 
 of per.sonal beauty. His prime minister was 
 the prime dandy of the court, who had won 
 the imperial smile by the graceful curl of his 
 exquisitely pointed whiskers ; the secretary of 
 state was remarkable for the fine fall in his 
 back, when, poised on his hind legs, he pre- 
 sented to the monarch any of the public docu- 
 ments, which important missives were neatly 
 scratched by the thorn of the mimosa plant on 
 the bark of the orange-tree — a tablet, which 
 however unwelcome the contents of tlie scroll 
 might prove to the padishah. at least prevented 
 their ever being ofi"ensivc : while the com- 
 mander-in-chief was equally celebrated for 
 the beautiful glossiness of his skin, which. 
 
 luckily for his fortunes, was full three shades 
 lighter than any other in the nation. 
 
 But the peculiar vanity of the monarch lay 
 in the length of his subjects' tails ; and this 
 fact kept the court, the city, and the whole 
 population of the under-ground empire in a 
 perpetual state of excitement Machines were 
 invented for stretching the joints — pulleys were 
 arranged by which the most ambitious sus- 
 pended themselves heads downwards, until 
 their eyes became bloodshot, and their re.«!pira- 
 tion impeded — and there was not a mouseling 
 throughout the empire who did not imitate his 
 natural enemy the kitten, by running round 
 and round in giddy circles with his tail be- 
 tween his teeth ! 
 
 And now — here was an ill-favored and burly 
 beast, established under their very noses, whose 
 tail was so long and bushy, that with one de- 
 termined sweep it could brush away the whole 
 palace-guard, and lay bare the private apart- 
 I ments of the monarch to the gaze of the entire 
 city. It was enough to breed a rebellion ! and 
 j the court favorite, a sleek young mouse of qiia- 
 I lity, whose tail was the thirty-sixth part of an 
 I inch longer than any other near the person of 
 his majesty, and who was. moreover, about to 
 ; receive the paw of one of the princesses in 
 I marriage, actually committed suicide in the 
 I first moment of despair, by drowning himself 
 in the skin of a gourd filled with rain water 
 Being good-looking, and in favor at court, he 
 I was generally regretted by all those who had 
 i any thing to hope through his interest — and 
 j the kind and considerate sovereign, in order to 
 console his daughter for her unexpected loss, 
 buried the deceased with military honors, to 
 which — as he had always worn very magnifi; 
 cent mustaches, he was undeniably entitled. 
 
 This commotion among the mice led, how- 
 ever, to one result extremely distres-sing to the 
 p'adishah, who had never contemplated any 
 disturbance in his dominions, and whose leisure 
 was now invaded at all moments, while his 
 digestion suffered severely from the continual 
 alarms to which he was subjected : he found 
 that a conviction of his incapacity to proteri 
 i them from their dreaded enemy, was weaken- 
 ing his authority over his subjects. 
 : One of the most abject and fawning of his 
 counsellors, who had never hitherto dared In 
 move eye or limb in the presence of his impe-' 
 j rial master, until he had received his gracious^ 
 sanction to do so, had absolutely brushed liis 
 I whiskers within a foot of the tip of those of hisj 
 majesty, without proffering the slightest apo-i 
 I logy ; while several of his bravest generals 
 ; had begged leave to retire upon their laurels,! 
 'and to leave the field open to younger menS' 
 whose interests they suddenly discovered to 
 j have been greatly injured by tJicir own tena- 
 city of office. 
 
 All this was extremely perplexing and vex- 
 atious to a. monarch who wished for nothiu 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 115 
 
 beyond peace and enjoymont, and who had not 
 the slightest taste for dilficiilty and daiigiT : 
 and he therefore deemed it expedient to siiin- 
 mon a council before Uu-se incipient symptoms 
 broadened into downright rebellion : justly con- 
 sidering, that should he find it expedient to do 
 so, he had as good a right lo abdicate the 
 throne, and to provide for his own safety, as 
 his generals had to run away, and leave the 
 army to provide for itself. 
 
 It was a solemn sight to witness the as!=em- 
 bling of the gray-bearded ministers of Mouse- 
 land; each with his tail dragging along the 
 earth, extended to its extremcst length, and his 
 round black eyes cast mournfully to the ground. 
 The inhabitants of the city stood aside to let 
 the procession pass ; and they looked upon it 
 with as much interest as though they thought 
 that the idle words of a score of trembling old 
 mice were likely to dislodge the ofTending-fox. 
 and to banish him the country: nor was it un- 
 til the last joint of the last ministerial tail had 
 slowly disappeared through the portal of the 
 palace, that the crowd dispersed, and the vari- 
 ous avocations of the citizens were resumed. 
 
 The council chamber was crowded. The 
 monarch was seated on a pile of nuts, most 
 luxuriously arranged, and covered with the 
 ■white tufts of the wild cotton-tree ; while the 
 councillors took their places in two lines, one 
 on his right hand, and the other on his left, 
 and made a. most imposing appearance : each 
 having assumed his most dignified bearing, as 
 best suited to the emergency of the crisis. 
 
 The war of words was long, and at times 
 bitter ; for. with an imminent danger staring 
 them in the face, the ministers were le.«s cau- 
 •tious than usual ; and several, who had never 
 before exchanged auaht save courtesies, now 
 bandied sarcasms, and hints, which enligliened 
 the monarch more profitably than plea.sanUy 
 on many points on which he had hitherto been 
 most comfortably ignorant. Peculation was 
 brought home to the Keeper of the Privy 
 Purse ; the Seesctary for Foreign Affairs was 
 taxed with being in correspondence with their 
 enemies the Jerhuahs, or Leaping Mice, a 
 colony of adventurers from Kgypt, who had 
 established themselves, no one knew from what 
 impulse, near at hand : the Commander-in- 
 Chief was twitted willi a defeat, wliicli, it wan 
 insinuated, had filled liis storehou.ses. while it 
 exhausted his army ; and tiic Prime Minisicr 
 was flaily taxed with having recanted the prin- 
 ciples he had professed on aeceptiiig otlice ; 
 and misleading the monarch in a ncorc of in- 
 stances, not one of which bfrc the hlightcht 
 analog>- to the subject-matter that they were 
 assembled to discuss. 
 
 At length the Fox wa5 mentioned : and 
 then all individual animocitie.s were mergexl 
 in thi) common interest. What won to be 
 •done ! The answer wa.s simple. The in- 
 truder must be dislodged — ignominiously, with ' 
 
 contempt and loathing. This resolution waa 
 adopted without a dissentient voice, ; but when 
 the next question wiis propounded, the per- 
 plexity became great. Ilow was this very de- 
 j sirablc mea.'^urc to be cllected ? iNot a Mouse 
 I among them could point out the method. All 
 the wisdom, or, at least, all flic loiiL'est laiin 
 in the Empire (and hitherto that had an- 
 swered the same purpose.) collected to^'ether 
 in council were unable to decide on the how 1 
 and. at length, it was hinted by a slircwd and 
 ready-witted Lord Chamberlain, that as there 
 I appeared to be ."iomc dilliculty in removing' the 
 Fox. it miglit be expedient for the Mice them- 
 selves to migrate to .some distant territory, far 
 from the pollution of his presence; carrying 
 with them the monarcli they revered, the 
 wives they cherished, and the little ones who 
 were growing up about them. 
 
 The idea was instantly seized by an orato- 
 rical Field-Marshal, who tavored the council 
 with several well-turned periods and llounsheg 
 of sentiment ; talked of their liousehold godn, 
 their hearths and homes : and finally, concluded 
 by seconding the proposition of liis noble 
 friend, and strongly recommending change of 
 air to the whole population. 
 
 The monarch leaned his head upon his paw, 
 and remained buried in deep and painlul 
 thought ; when an aged Mouse of reverend 
 aspect who had not yet spoken, arose, and re- 
 spectfully bowing towards the tlirone, ihu.s ad- 
 dres.«cd the illustrious Pudishali by whom it 
 was occupied. 
 
 '■ Most noble and most powerful Emperor, 
 in whose smile the earth flourishes ; through- 
 out whose realms the sun shines not, lie being 
 him.self the \vj.\\i in which li:s subjeeta live ; 
 Lord of the Long Tails, wliosc joints are 
 i strengthened and made supple by ilio oil of 
 I thy counlenance. Let llie royal ga'e« of aU 
 attention be unlblded. that the chariots of my 
 I argument may enter into thy iiiiiid, and linger 
 there. 1 iiavc suffered all these noblo and 
 , learned Mice to speak betbre me ; they have 
 I flung back the bright page of the volume of 
 ! their wisdom, and I have read every lino, that 
 1 inigiit sec with their eye.s, and c<iiiiiirehend 
 with their understanding. Hul ho who lollows 
 the c4)UiiciIk of othors when his heart is not \n 
 them, IS a traitor lo his country, and unwor- 
 thy tlic confidence of his foveroign ; thus lin-n, 
 having iieruM-d the writings of the intclligeni, 
 and bowed before the argument of llie elo- 
 quent, 1 again litt my head lo d.-clarc that the 
 preci|)ilatc adviwi of this eGun>cl m contr.iry 
 to rea.ion, and likely to lead to iiicalculablo 
 ^ mischief. Great as we are aj* a people ; biuve 
 I in war ; learned in |)eace ; upnghi in judg- 
 ' mcnt ; and governed by a prince whOM> ncepire 
 sways the destinies of the world, wo mujil lut 
 disdain to learn the le.>-»oii of wiiwiom, in wlml- 
 cver tongue it may Jjc taught. 
 ' " iVudencc is the slep-Bislcr of valor — policy 
 
116 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 is the good right hand of strength — and wit is 
 the master spirit of fortune. The spider may 
 be crushed by a touch, yet in its wiliness it 
 weaves a net of subtlety by wiiich it grows 
 into a giant, and feeds upon creatures more 
 powerful than itself. The ant, still weaker 
 of its nature, builds itself in with clay where 
 the fruits are richest, and robs the bird that 
 would devour both — shall we then — We — on 
 whom depend the destinies of Mouseland. 
 Siiall wc desert ourselves in such an liour 
 as this, when by firmness we may regain 
 our threatened security ? Forbid it honor, 
 courage, and i)atrioti.sm. If we fly, what en- 
 sues ? Our city will be laid waste, our palace 
 prostrated, our pos.sessions become the .spoil of 
 our enemies ; while we shall be hunted like 
 robbers from place to place: pilgrims without 
 a shrine: wanderers without a home; a nation 
 without a name ! 
 
 •' Is it for this that we have toiled and 
 fought ; eaten the bread of carefulness, and 
 reared aloft the banner of our ancestors ? No, 
 no : we must be less than Mice to fall so tame- 
 ly ! One effort more must be made, or the 
 bones of our forefathers will not rest quietly 
 in their dishonored graves.'"' 
 
 And then, having secured the ear of atten- 
 tion, the hoary councillor laid before the as- 
 sembly the stratagem by which he hoped to 
 deliver the groaning people from their com- 
 mon enemy. All listened anxiously, and one 
 universal squeak of approbation hailed the 
 communication. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF THE MICE CONTINUED. 
 
 Bright rose the moon, and shed her veil 
 of silver over the blushing landscape. The 
 odor of the orange-blos.som. and the wild 
 thyme, floated like a cloud of incense on the 
 air. The song of the bird of love wove a 
 spell about it, beneath which the soul dis- 
 solved away in sadness ; and the leaves whis- 
 pered to the winds a tale to which no mortal 
 words miglit sive utterance ; when the great 
 Emperor of Mice mustered his forces on the 
 upper earth ; and witnessed with a noble en- 
 thusiasm, worthy of his exalted station, the 
 gatiiering of his armed hordes. 
 
 Like a lake gently agitated by the breeze, 
 he led them over an extensive plain, and with 
 prompt. Valor, and an energy incident to the 
 ureat emergency in wliich he was involved, 
 headed the host until it halted near a well- 
 Btored granary, already familiar to many of 
 the number. The place was undefended, and 
 he at once abandoned it to pillage ; while 
 every individual mouse, zealous in so good a 
 cause, carried olT his own portion of the spoil, 
 
 with which he made the best of his way home 
 and there, having abandoned it to the care of 
 the aged and the young, who were unable tc 
 encounter the fatigue and danger of a preda- 
 tory excursion, by whom it was housed, and 
 secured from the attacks of noxious reptiles ; 
 returned for a fresh booty, until title remained 
 in the building which had lately groaned be- 
 neath the weight of grain. 
 
 When things had progressed thus far. the 
 hoary sage who had devised the stratagem, 
 commanded the obedient army to collect the 
 remainder of the spoil, and strew it plentifully 
 along the path which led to the dwelling of 
 the Fox ; taking care that not one scattered 
 grain should betray the road to their own city ; 
 and having seen his order scrupulously ful- 
 filled, he joined the monarch, and they at once 
 returned in silence to the capital. 
 
 The horror of the hu.sbandmen, when on the 
 morrow they discovered that the fruits of their 
 industry had disappeared during the night, it 
 would require the eloquence of a moullah to 
 describe ; and with bitter vows of vengeance 
 they soon traced the track that had been taken 
 by the supposed thief, for the scattered grain 
 lay thick upon the ground to the very burrow 
 of the Fox. Wonder succeeded to annoyance, 
 and they communed among themselves what 
 dishonest inhabitant had there established him- 
 self; a fact which they resolved to ascertain, 
 while they also satisfied their vengeance. A 
 strong snare was accordingly prepared ; and 
 that very evening the poor innocent Fox, who 
 was returning supperless to bed. after a very 
 unsuccessful foray, was caught in the trap that 
 had befin laid for him. 
 
 Many an honest man unwittingly thrusts 
 his neck into the noose meant for a rascal, but 
 what is written, is written: and it is useless to 
 contend with fate. 
 
 In less than an hour the Emperor of Mouse- 
 land learnt the defeat of his enemy ; when a 
 I general rejoicing was proclaimed throughout 
 the city, as for a victory. And in this the 
 wise monarch discovered to his loving people 
 the profundity of his intelligence; for it is so 
 rare that a sovereign owes success to the wit 
 of his councillors, that he docs well to make 
 the occasion serve as a national jubilee. 
 
 As he ruminated on the glorious news, he 
 swelled with pride and importance, until he 
 felt as though the palace could not hold him, ■ 
 and that he must breathe the upper air, or 
 burst with his own greatness ; and according- 1! 
 ly, ordering his travelling throne, he caused ; 
 himself to be carried in state on a dried maple 
 leaf, at the head of a formidabio army, to 
 triumph over his prostrate enemy. 
 
 '• Khosh bulduk — well foLind, most mighty 
 Fox;" broke forth the exulting padishah;' 
 " How do you propose to cook those of my 
 subjects on whom you sup to-night ?" 
 
 The captive felt the delicate irony, but ho 
 
THE ROMANCE 01- THE IIAUKM. 
 
 was to wily tobandy sentences with a crowned he possessed liis claws in short, he stronuMy 
 
 head; and with admirable judsrinent he felt advised that tiie ensnared Fox shoiHd iniine- 
 that this was not exactly the moment to re- diately be jnit to dcalli : and the Knipire ihna 
 tort: he therefore bent humbly before the delivered alto';clhcr from any relapse of lU 
 monarch, and with a penitential demeanor late danger, 
 thus addressed him :— | The y.Mum and impetuous voted Ihis reason- 
 
 '■ Most mighty conqueror ! \s-b<^se armies are ing a bore, and the reasoner unsenRoiuibly 
 countless as the locusts, and formidable as the prosy: while (he elders insisted with some 
 panther of the desert : whose voice is as the plausibility that it was politic in a weak state 
 thunders of the tempest, and whose eye mocks to form powerful alliances; and that ;in ad- 
 fhe lightning by which it is accompanied. I mirable opportunity now presented iiself of 
 bow b«fore your resentment, and own that it securing an ally, who. bavins fell the. ennso- 
 is just. I mocked at your power, because in quences of their indignation, would not ai-aiu 
 your mercy you had spared me its excrci.sc : be templed to brave it. 
 
 but now. when by my enormities I have pro-) It would be well, nevertheless, if all diplo- 
 voked my punishment, I am compelled to ad- matists who are inclined to start a similar 
 init it^ because I am prostrated beneath its theory, were to reflect, that brintjinj; a danijer- 
 immensily. I deserve no forbearance, but I ous enemy into the camp, to learn at once the 
 ask it as a boon : and if a life of devotion to .secret of its weakness, and the fact that hi.t 
 your interests can atone for a brief season of j overthrow was the more fortunate i.>-8ue of an 
 folly. I put my head into your hand, and de- adventurous stratagem, is a very probable 
 vote myself henceforward to your service. Try method of making their own necks the step- 
 me, dread sovereign ! and I will soon convince pins-stones to his advaueemenl and revenue, 
 your imperial rea.soii that my future exertions The vain monarch, however, at once re- 
 fer your welfare shall more than compensate solved to act upon the latter argument : the 
 for my past enormities." Fox was accordinsly sworn to alleciancc with 
 
 The Padishah, stjuck by the humble bear- all due ceremony, and in proper form ; and he 
 ing of his lately formidable enemy, and quite was then freed from the snare by tlie teelh of 
 alive to (he additional consequence which his new allies ; the I'adishah finally return- 
 must accrue to him from the possession of so ing to the city in triumph, followed hy the 
 powerful and crafty a subject, hastily called Fox as far as the entrance of the capital, where 
 his counsellors aside, and desired them to give the Imperial suite was deprived of his pree- 
 their utmost attention to the question that he ence by the unplea.sant fact that either he 
 was about to lay before them : viz. whether was too luri^c for the cate«, or the gales were 
 the good faith of the Fox should be trusted, too small for him. To reconcile him to this 
 and his services secured to the Empire by the compulsatory exclusion, the monarch, there- 
 Rtrong chain of gratitude ; or whether, placing lore, in the exuberance of his exulting vanity, 
 no faith in his protestations of amendment, they created him Vezir. with the Imperial |>crmis- 
 fihould laugh his promises to scorn, and aban- sion to reside beyond the walls, 
 don him to the inevitable destruction which' It is dangerous policy to put aulhoritv into 
 awaited him at the hands of his captors. the hande of one with who.sc jwwer you have 
 
 Many opinions were given: for there is not strength to conteml ; but a.<« empty blud- 
 nothing of which cither men or mice are so ders float on the surfaee of the stream, and 
 lavish a.s of their advice. It is indeed often gather only the scum of the watent, while 
 given, not only unasked, but uncarcd for : and solid subntance* seek the bottom of the chan- 
 in this instance, the only sound opinion ad- nel. and form reeepfaclcH for the -.'old-dust ; 
 vanced was by the same old mouse who had so vain and thouirhtlejw men, piitTi'd up by 
 been the cause of the capture : for the young their own imaginary c<»iisequi-nce, di.xn'sard 
 vainmouselinssof the Imperial hou.'sehold were the sase counsels of the wary and the n\i.-c, to 
 delighted at the prospect of having so lariie jKillute themselves with the frothy va|H>rings 
 and strong a companion : and they already of the shallow and the selti.sh. And if such 
 began twisting their whiskers with additional be the case with men, little marvel is it tlinf 
 importance at the bare idea. Hut the hoary the same weakness should exist anion;; micr 
 sage was not to be misled by such childish The Fox, fond of |>ower. ami finding at the 
 chimerai! : and he soberly represented in the moment no more lesitimale field for his ninlu- 
 hnmblest but most earnest manner to the I'a- lion, resolved to infuse into the mind of lli • 
 dishah that a natural enemy could never he F.m[MTor of the Mice some of hi!< own wiUl 
 converted into a sincere ainl trustworthy scheim* of aagrandizeinent ; and he uceordiiigly 
 friend; for that however he might b«; com- began by assuring his majesty at the next divun. 
 pelled from distress. neooRsity, or ambition, to that, with his Iin|MTiiil permission, he would 
 hide his real lineaments under the mask of soon make him ma.ster of the whole province 
 good fellowship, the antipathies of ins nature The I'adishah was enehanled F.vcr' 
 could never be entirely conquered or eradicat- sovereign loves power, and conqupnt. and 
 ed. As well might the tiger be tamed while authority ; and it is extraordinary how;;re<:dily 
 
118 
 
 THE ROilAXCE OF THE IIARE^I. 
 
 they imbibe the prospect of securing them. 
 Tiie Vezir explained his theories, and they 
 carried conviction with them ; bO the new 
 Prime Minister snapped up the old counsellor 
 on the first t'avorable opportunity ; delivered a 
 funeral oration over his mangled remains, 
 •-Nomarkable lor its eloquence and its no-tnean- 
 i ig ; and then assumed tlie reins of govern- 
 ment without opposition, and commenced his ^ 
 political career. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OK THE MICE CONTINUED. 
 
 There was a kingdom close beside that of 
 jMonseland, which was peculiarly obnoxious 
 to the Fox; for its inhabitants, although 
 comely and specious when all went well for 
 their interests, were especially irritable and 
 pu;^nacious in the event of any opposition : 
 and as they could not be prevailed upon to 
 ent:er into the views of the new Vezir. he na- 
 turally felt the neces.-ity of laying the axe to 
 the root of their existence. 
 
 Brave as they were, the mice had some 
 ditheuUy in contending with the cats, who 
 held their nocturnal a.sscmbiies under the roof 
 of a dilapidated dwelling not a hundred roods 
 di.stant from the Im])erJal palace of the 
 Padishah ; and accomi)anied their counsels 
 with an outcry and uproar very annoying and 
 unsatisfactory to the Empire of the long-tails. 
 
 The dissonance was dreadful : and the 
 favorite wife of ihe Emperor, a pied mouse of 
 extraordinary beauty, and celebrated (un- 
 happily enough on this occasion) for the length 
 of her ears, was actually thrown into convul- 
 sions on the breaking-up one of their orgies ; a 
 circumstance which deprived the Padishah of 
 an heir, and the people of a Crown- Prince — a 
 great acquisition when there is no prospect of 
 either a siege or a famine. 
 
 The arm/, also, suifered greatly from their 
 vicinity, as ihey threw out detafehments from 
 their main body, who laid in ambush for the 
 foraging parlies of the Fox ; and not only 
 destroyed many of his most efficient troops, 
 but- moreovei threatened to occasion a famine 
 in his camp. 
 
 It is remarkably unpleasant for a general to 
 have his men picked olf by twos, and threes, 
 and made away with he knows not how ; for 
 the cats were adepts at tlie business, and never 
 left a trace of their victims, nor a sufficient 
 fragment of their remains, to admit of any 
 pretext on the part of a grateful nation to 
 erect a monument over their ashes. 
 
 Things were in this uncomfortable state, 
 when one morning as the Vezir of Mouselaiid 
 was out reconnoitring, he reached the banks 
 of a river, where a fishing party of Storks 
 
 were busily employed in the capture of theii 
 finny prey. The usual compliments passed 
 between them ; and the Fox with infinite tact 
 eulogized their skill, envied them their capa- 
 bilities for so exciting an amusement, and 
 finally accepted a fish which was cordially 
 offered to him by one of the party ; after which 
 he digressed to the beauty of tiie weather, the 
 loveliness of the landscape, and the invigo- 
 rating freshness of the morning air ; and when, 
 he made his parting bow, he left the whole 
 long-necked society deeply impressed by his 
 good breeding and judgment. 
 
 This point gained, he trotted leisurely along 
 until he reached the head-quarters of the cats, 
 when he sat down before the door, as if from 
 weariness, with the fish between his feet. 
 The aromatic order of his precious charge soon 
 began to affect the olfactory organs of the 
 feline community, who flocked from eveiypart 
 of the building with desire in their eyes, and 
 water in their mouth ; and gradually advan- 
 cing nearer and nearer to the fox, they began 
 to be very inquisitive about the fi.sh. 
 
 Reynard . having a point to carry, of course 
 affected the most supreme indiflcrcnce, and 
 turned the fish over and over with his paw in 
 a manner at once careless and graceful, exhi- 
 biting it in all its beauty to the longing cats. 
 This was natural enough, for it is what is done 
 every day in the world ; the possession of an 
 object is little, unless that possession is coveted 
 by others ; and its decided enjoyment consists 
 in the envy which it excites. 
 
 As they continued to urge him, even beyond 
 the limits of politeness, the fox at length, 
 condescended to inform the expectant cats that 
 their curiosity was as unavailing as it was 
 oppressive; for that fish could only be obtained 
 by ready wit, and good policy, by stratagem, 
 and craft ; qualities in which their people were 
 peculiarly deficient ; and that even were he to 
 tell them where they abounded, they would 
 never have the address to catch them. 
 
 This announcement occasioned universal in- 
 dignation among the cats. To be told that 
 you are a rogue is not agreeable, yet the accu- 
 sation is borne with philosophy by many a 
 haughty spirit — but to be told that you have 
 not wit enough to be a rogue, is enough to try 
 the temper of any animal : and accordingly 
 the whole feline population was in a tumult. 
 Order being at length restored by the ener- 
 getic exertions of a respectable old tabby, 
 whose talent, for ratting had given him great 
 influence over the minds of the mob, he lost 
 ' no time in explaining to them that resenting a 
 few light words evidently uttered in mere 
 ' playfulness by the fox, was not at all the way 
 to come at the fish ; a cogent species of jear 
 soiling which penetrated at once to the stom- 
 achs of the assembly ; and when he found that 
 he had secured the public ear, he gently hinted 
 that those fire-eating mousers who did not feel 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAllKM. 
 
 their honor satisfied by this policy. iiiii:ht take presenting the fish wliicli had led to tli.- dis- 
 
 cus>ion, to a ^jrarel'ul lillle ;.'riMii.cycd viva- 
 cions-lookins kitten, nearly n-lutid ti) the ro\ul 
 family, he took his leave, followed by one uni- 
 versal jnirnni; of admiration. 
 
 A eouneil of cats was speedily a-'isemblcd 
 
 an early opportunity after the tisii were secu- 
 red, of resentinjz the insult which had been 
 utiercd to tiieni as a nation ; a suiru'eslion that 
 proved the profound diplomacy of the old rat- 
 ter, and showed that he knew more of the 
 
 world and its wfsdom than the fo\ felt inclined the available troops reviewed and harnngind 
 tc 2iv« him credit for. | by a fierce old black general w lio had h hI oih« 
 
 UndcT- the infiuencc of this sound advice, the eye, tvvo inches of tail, and half an ear in 
 eats drew in their claws, lowered their backs, some previous eiiijaijemcnt : and a re.s(dutinn 
 which had each been arched like the moon wa.s formed to attack the eamj) of llio mice 
 when her course is but half run ; and becan that very nii;lit. The army were in hi^h sjn- 
 to tread on velvet, and to purr as melodiously ! rits : the citizens volunteered by scores; and 
 as though the fish which they hoped to obtain i the head-quarters were all commotion. There 
 ■were already in their possession. One or two , is nothing wiiich more excites the valor of an 
 indeed turned away their heads, and spat upon 
 f the ground in disgust ; but they passed un- 
 heeded in tlie crowd : and quite sati.-^fied with 
 havins thus masnificcntlv testified their dis- 
 
 approbation, remained on the spot to ascertain 
 ■whether they were likely to benefit by the pis- 
 catorial inquiry then pending. 
 
 At the urgent entreaty of the ancient tabby, 
 the Fox, thinking he had carried matters far 
 enough, at length consented to point out to the 
 Cats tlic place where the fish were to be pro- 
 cured : althouL'h he still assured them that the 
 
 attacking force than the. known weakncBs of tlio 
 enemy. 
 
 Lapped in delicious and most savory 
 dreams lay the august emperor of the mice 
 His visions had carried liim into the jial- 
 ace of the pasha, and buried him in the 
 midst of a piilauf of chicken ; where he wan 
 enjoying himself discreetly, when one sharp 
 shrill squeak of anguish rang through the 
 city streets, and penetrated even to tlic im- 
 perial apartment. Up sprang the padi.-hah, 
 the piilauf valiished ; and in its place he saw 
 
 gratification of their curiosity was the only j scores of ill-omened cats pouncing upon In.s 
 advantage likely to accrue to ihem from the defenceless subjects, and bearing them off in 
 information. Placing himself therefore in an ^ their insatiate jaws. 
 
 easy attitude, and occasionally whisking away ; His majesty stood for one instant aghaat — 
 a pertinacious fly. which persisted in buzzing , but only one — Like all great personages, ho 
 about his nose, with his handsome tail, he possc.s.scd the mo.st beautiful decision of char- 
 acter ; and accordingly, when he liad drawn 
 
 thus addressed them: — 
 
 '• People of Catland ! However useless the 
 secret may prove to you which you are anx- 
 ious to possess. I will humor your weakness, 
 
 a long breath, and taken in at the same time 
 a perfect view of the proceedings, he prudently 
 turned tail, and held hunself under the roota 
 
 because it is common to all nations to seek in- j of a tree near at hand. In this he acted, an 
 formation which can never avail them, or | he ever did, on principle: for, as he justly 
 rather, of which they seldom learn how to I argued, while he lay snugly ensconced in h\a 
 avail themselves. Know then that one day, | hole, and the work of carnage went on above 
 when 1 was sufl^ering- from a languor which I his head, the life of the soverei^'ii wa.s every 
 trusted might be dispelled by the fresh air, I [ thing to the subject ; his generals were paid 
 •wandered along by the river bank, where I | for fighting, just as he was paid for reigning ; 
 encountered a number of Storks feasting upon i and he could not, therefore, without indelicacy, 
 a prolUsion of the daintiest fi.sh ; and being ; interfere with their privilesjes. 
 thoroughly satiated with mice, I inquired of j The fox, meanwhile, had not been idle; lie 
 one of them where this desirable luxury could ; had an extraordinary talent for diplomacy, 
 be procured. j like motii of his race ; and ho had so thoroughly 
 
 " For a time he resisted my importunity, j ingratiated himself with the storks, who, 
 but at leniith he informed nic that on the other though long-necked, were by no nieiin!< Ions- 
 side of the river there was an exhausted lake, headed, that tlicy readily entered into Ins vicwu. 
 in which thousands of fish were expiring ; and He obtained a private audience of the chief of 
 that, for his own part, he had become not only the tribe, in which he very ably set ii.rih hu 
 ditlicult and fastidious in his Bclcction, but ab- own disinlercHlediu-ss— for he iiiid not cohm- 
 , ..lutely quite tired of them. Such being the dcrcd it necessary lo inform hin new allien 
 r.ise. ! entered into an arrangement with the that ho held an oflicial ap|>oiiitmPiil under iho 
 Stork to exchange mice for fish, which cnalles emperor of Mouseland, for whoxe perMin and 
 us to var>- our repasts, and proves perfectly people he was well awure that the *tork» en- 
 satisfactory to both of us." terlained as much contempt as ihey did fur 
 
 The Cats were overjoyed at this intelli- the nation of the frogs : devouring lliem. >* hen. 
 geuce, and thanked the Fox warmly for h\n ever they fell in their way. in preeiMJy il • 
 generosity: at which he laughed in his sleeve, , same unceremoniouit manner — wlulo h" ei.r- 
 as is customary on such occasions : and then, [ nottly and emphatically ecprcicnud ihul the 
 
120 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 storks were a mighty and a numerous tribe, I mice which they had brought with them be- 
 rcquirmg much sustenance; and, like the fore the aga. liad the satisfaction of seeing them 
 
 Arabs of the bipeds, accustomed to secure it 
 by their talenis lor the chase : while the cats 
 were an insidious, beggarly, poaching com- 
 munity, exhausting by "tlieir treacherous and 
 wily arts, the prey which was the legitimate 
 right of their more generous enemies. 
 
 The inference was clear ; in the extirpation 
 of tlie cat* the storks were ridding themselves 
 of an obnoxious race: wliile the fox could de- 
 rive no advantage whatever from their destruc- 
 tion, save the calm and placid conviction of 
 having done his duty, and benefited a most 
 important portion of the creation. 
 
 There is nothing either so rare or so beau- 
 tiful as self-sacrifice in a good cause. It is 
 the germ whence spring all patriots ! 
 
 When the generous fox had departed, the 
 aga of the storks marshalled his forces, and 
 laid before them the stratagem of their friendly 
 counsellor, which met with unanimous ap- 
 j.roval. and was immediately resolved upon; 
 i.or was its exercise long delayed, for morning 
 li.id scarcely dawned when the cats were seen 
 tillering their territory; and as the A'anguard 
 oi the iwo parlies met, the old taj>by of whom 
 iiicntion has been already made, advanced in 
 front of his follows, and was immediately coii- 
 i onted by the chief of the storks in person. 
 
 When the necessary ceremonies had termi- 
 nated, the cats announced their pacific inten- 
 t.ous, explained the treaty into which they 
 desired to enter, and proposed the prelimina- 
 ries for the deliberation of the other party. 
 
 The stoi-ks listened with a gravity worthy 
 of the occasion — the exports and imports were 
 curiously discussed ; and many propositions 
 advanced likely to accelerate the contemplated 
 excliange ; when an old stork, renowned for 
 shrewdness, and that minute talent for calcu- 
 laiion which is so es.sential to the financial in- 
 terest of a community, stood up ; and poising 
 himself steadily on one leg. with an aplomb 
 strikingly demonstrative of the complete and 
 nice equilibrium of his arguments, remarked, 
 that with all due consideration and respect 
 for the talent exhibited by their visiters, he 
 considered that in all tribes and nations sup- 
 porting ihemselves by their own exertions, 
 time was property, and consequently not to 
 be lightly or inconsiderately squandered : and 
 that, however convenient it might be for one 
 party to await the result of the other's foray, 
 it would save a great deal of time, and be in- 
 finitely more advisable, that in the event of 
 the coinpleiion of the treaty, the cats should 
 be ferried aero.ss the rivei at once, where they 
 might revel on fish, binding themselves on 
 their return to supply the camp of the storks 
 with mice enough for their immediate con- 
 sumption. 
 
 The cats, delighted at the suggestion, con- 
 eluded the treaty at once; and laying the 
 
 swallowed by the storks; after which cere- 
 mony each committed himself to the care of 
 one of their new allies, who instantly spread 
 their wings, and left the sordid earth and all 
 its creeping things far beneath them. 
 
 The cats, unaccustomed to this mode of tra- 
 velling were variously affected ; the timid 
 shut their eyes, and twisted their tails round 
 the necks of their obliging friends; the more 
 ambitious swelled with delight, and almost 
 taught themselves to believe that they were 
 flying on their own wings ; the bilious grew 
 sick and dizzy; and the more delicate abso- 
 lutely fainted. 
 
 But all delusions ceased as the storks hover- 
 ed for an instant just above the centre of the 
 rapid stream ; and then with a loud shriek of 
 triumphant hatred, loosened their hold, and 
 hurled their victims to a watery grave. Black, 
 white, or tabby, not a cat escaped; and thus 
 the fox, at the expense of a score or two of 
 mice, freed the empire for ever from their 
 dangerous vicinage, and provided for the ge- 
 neral safety ; and he retired to his burrow 
 that niglit with the happy consciousness of 
 superior desert, which must ever brighten the 
 dreams of a minister, who, while he is receiv- 
 ing the grateful acknowledgments of his sove- 
 reign, and the plauditory acclamations of a 
 whole people, is deeply impressed by the ^ 
 licious conviction that, like the cuckoo whi»h 
 lays its egg in the nest of another bird, he s 
 quietly providing for his own interests. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF THE MICE — CONTINUED. 
 
 Ambition, unlike jealousy, will not sub 
 mit to be dieted on trifles ; and. accordingly 
 the little triumphs of the Fox merely stimu 
 lated his taste for power ; and led him to wild 
 er and bolder schemes which were boundei 
 only by universal monarchy. 
 
 We are told that ambition peopled Eblis 
 and that it is the favorite vice of Slieitan; it 
 will, therefore, be readily believed that an oc- 
 casion was soon aflTorded to the Fox for tb« 
 indulgence of his peculiar passion. 
 
 A caravan passing through the province, 
 arrived within a few stadia of the metropolis 
 of Mouseland, and created intense alarm among 
 the foraging parties, who came scampering 
 homeward from all quarters, with a paucity 
 of provisions exceedingly unsatisfactory to the 
 sedentary portion of the community ; and with 
 tremendous accounts of the monsters who com 
 posed it, that plunged the whole city into con 
 vulsions of terror ; only allayed by the recol 
 lection of the quantity of good things likel) 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE IIARKAf. 
 
 121 
 
 to be scattered by tlic reckless travellers, 
 I should they chance to halt sutliciently near to 
 j the territories of his imperial majesty, to en- 
 I able his subjects to secure a part of the spoil. 
 Their hopes were fulfilled, and their fears 
 amply compensated: for. in their immediate 
 vicinity, close on the borders ol a thick wood, 
 a poor camel fell under his load, and it was 
 found impossible to raise him from the earth ; 
 his burden was accordingly divided among the 
 rest of the string:* and as liic travellers pos- 
 sessed no means of transportinir the exhausted 
 animal, he was necessarily left to his late. 
 
 Rest, and the means of indulging his hun- 
 ger, soon restored the sick camel to health : 
 and when the foraginir parties once more ven- 
 tured forth from their subterranean city, to 
 profit by the halt of the caravan, the Fox 
 espied the camel at a distance, calmly browsing 
 on the young shoots of a stately tulip-tree. 
 His resolution was instantly formed, and. 
 without the delay of a moment he turned tail, 
 and pausing at the gate of the capital, de- 
 manded an immediate audience of the em- 
 peror. His hurried manner and imperious 
 tone greatly agitated the city-guard, a party 
 of whom scampered to the palace ; and in a 
 few moments the imperial procession was seen 
 issuing forth with as much haste as decorum j 
 •would permit. 
 
 Having made his obeisance, the Fox enter- 
 ed at once on the subject of his anxiety, and 
 acquainted the august Majesty of Mouseland 
 Vrith the fact, that, an inj^olent Camel, a mere 
 beast of burden, a vile slave, bred to toil and 
 obedience — in short, it were endless to repeat 
 the opprobrious epithets lavished upon the in- 
 truder — was ravaging the forest at pleasure, 
 polluting the fountain at wliich the Imporial 
 thirst was often quenched, and devouring the 
 fruits destined for the Imperial treasury. 
 
 The monarch trembled for his throne, for he 
 had once seen a Camel, and he had never for- 
 gotten his terror on that occasion ; he wa.s, 
 therefore, unprepared with any suitable com- 
 ment on the alarming intelligence; and the 
 surprise of the monarch may be imauined, 
 when finding him dumb, the Grand Vczir thus 
 continued : — 
 
 '• This must not be, most puissant Padihhah. 
 Shall an empire like that of MouKeland — a 
 free people, under a free .••overeii.'n. whose link- 
 ed tajls would cneompa.«H Kl Caf, and whows 
 tribes fill the whole earth, bow before an in- 
 solent caitifT whose only virtue Ih obedience ? 
 Shall a nation, accuhtomed to live on the labor 
 of others, yield to a poor (.piritlcwf wretch, 
 who.se very exihtoncc is toil ' Forbid it the 
 Majesty of Mouseland I I^ord of the Loiij;- 
 Tails, I prostrate myself before you ; I pray 
 you to be just to yourself; and not to suffer 
 
 * Cuneli tnrrl in striogi in the Eul, and tha trmin if 
 Bcnaily led hj a, donkey. 
 
 [the shadow of you; grcaim-ss to diminish. 
 'Were not the Cats a miiihly and a warlike 
 people, and have we not destroyed them r" Are 
 'not the Storks the natural enemies of your 
 •subjects, and have we not sharprnod oifr wits 
 upon their dullness ; and made them serve us 
 by throwing a veil over their heads':* The 
 Camel must be subjected to the same illus- 
 ] trious sway — he must bow bctbre the carpet 
 of your Imperial majesty, and aeknowleTge 
 your supremacy: or he must die the death of 
 a traitor, and perish miserably for his pre- 
 sumption."' 
 
 A general squeak of enthusia«tic approbation 
 burst from the assembled courtiers : and it 
 was with some dilhculty that the Vox could 
 make himself heard, as lie approached the cli- 
 max of his speech. A flourwh of the mon- 
 arch's tail, however, at length cominandcd 
 attention, and the Vczir hastened to add that 
 he should strongly counsel his majesty to en- 
 force immediate obedience trom the ba.seborn 
 intruder : as should vigorous measures he long 
 delayed, they might prove al^o^cllier abortive ; 
 a circuiiistance which would tend to throw a 
 doubt on the jiower and greatness of Ins Ma- 
 jesty, and diminish the luslreof his reign. The 
 beard of rebellion should be plucked out by 
 the roots before it grew into strength and dii:- 
 nity: and he, therefore, called upon the Light 
 of the Kmpire, and the Glory of the Karlh, to 
 subdue at once the insolence of llie Camel, 
 and compel him to his allegiance. 
 
 The padishah swelled with con.setous great- 
 ness as he listened to the oration of his min- 
 ister: and, with a look of supreme command, 
 he ordered the immediate attendance of the 
 camel ; when it became a question, how, in 
 the event of the summons hems disregarded, 
 obedience could be enforced. Grjuluully. as 
 thedidicultiesof the ca.se presented themselves, 
 the dienity of the monarch dwindh-d away ; 
 and, at leiii.'th. he was lairly eoini>elli'd to con- 
 fes.s — thou'^h he did it with n reluctant majes- 
 ty of manner, much commented on by the 
 court — that he really did not sec how such au 
 event could be brought to'pass. 
 
 The fox. with a contideiil and pleasant air, 
 immediately volunteered to undertake the em- 
 bassy, and pledge<l his veracity on iissueceiut ; 
 and the whole pfipulation of Mouseland. proud 
 of Mich an ambassador, eiiihraerd the (iffcr 
 with avidity. Il is always agrecahle to find 
 a back willing to l>car our burdens, niul broud 
 enough to sup{>ort them ; and thuM the mico 
 were delighted to leave a mission, of whirli 
 they were to reap the benefit, in the hnnd.t of 
 their crafty ally. 
 
 The fox, thus duly authorized and empow 
 cred to be iinperliii<-nl. journeyed on wiili the 
 sell-complacency usual to pleiii|»<>teiiiiiirirK un- 
 der such favorable nreuiimtanceii ; iind hnvins 
 rcache<l the t.j)Ol where the camel, wenricd 
 with wandering through the forc«t. and sa- 
 
122 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 tiated with leaves and fruits, was gravely 
 chewing the cud under the shadowing branch- 
 es of an odoriferous cedar; he accosted him 
 in haughty language, at once declared his 
 mission, and so magnified the power and prow- 
 ess of his master, that the camel, who, like 
 ruany other animals in the creation who carry 
 their lie:ids high, was low enough iu heart ; 
 roie humbly from the earth, and assuring the 
 ambassador that he had transgressed ignorant- 
 ly, besought of him as an especial favor to in- 
 tercede for him to the emperor; and was at 
 once given to understand that he must forth- 
 with wait upon the padishah in person, as no 
 minor submission would be received. 
 
 The camel, trembling with anxiety and 
 terror, declared his readiness to compensate, 
 by any means in his power, for his involuntary 
 trespass on the territories of so high and pow- 
 erful a prince ; and he at once volunteered to 
 accompany the fox to court ; when, having 
 desired his timid companion to halt on the 
 edge of the wood, about a furlong from the 
 city gates, until the emperor should consent 
 to give him an audience, the v^zir of Mouse- 
 land hastened to report his success to his im- 
 perial master, and to conduct him to the pres- 
 ence of this new ally. 
 
 Greatness is merely comparative ; and it is 
 measured by so many different standards, that 
 it is often very difficult to determine on its 
 actual limits. Thus, as the camel stood 
 buried in thought, with his head drooping, 
 and his heart quailing, he scarcely heeded the 
 crowd of busy mice who were darting about 
 immediately at his feet ; nor had he an idea 
 that among them were some of the high offi- 
 « cers of the household, and personages of dis- 
 tinction about the court of the very nation to 
 which he had come there to swear allegiance. 
 Had he been asked his opinion of the locality, 
 little dreaming that he was in close vicinity of 
 a great city, he would have simply answered 
 that the spot was cool, quiet, and shady, but 
 terribly infested with vermin ! 
 
 Such is life. The greatness of one is the 
 scorn of another — the pride which fills one 
 bosom is fed by what appears disgrace to its 
 neighbor : and thus the world rolls on. peopled 
 with delusion, and deception, and self-value. 
 
 At length the camel was roused from his 
 rovery by a disagreeable chorus of squeaking, 
 and a great commotion among the mice ; whose 
 numbers continued to increase so rapidly, and 
 to approach him so nearly, that he was just 
 about to crusli a score of the boldest under his 
 heavy foot, when the reappearance of the fox 
 diverted his attention, and saved the lives of 
 a few individuals of rank and fashion who 
 would otherwise have been victimized. 
 
 Under these circumstances the rage of the 
 indignant camel may be readily imagined, 
 when on demanding of the ambassador wheth- 
 er he should succeed in obtaining an audience 
 
 of the offended monarch, he was informed that 
 he was already in the presence ; and that a 
 somewhat spare, lean-looking mouse ^^■ith gray 
 M'hiskers, seated upon a morsel of red rag, waa 
 the mighty sovereign, whose nod was to decide 
 his fate. 
 
 For a moment the camel bent down his 
 long neck, and gazed steadily and deridingly 
 on the wreiched little animal who sat swell- 
 ing with pride, suVrounded by his court ; and 
 then, flinging tip his heels, he gave one tre- 
 mendous kick which sent a dozen courtiers 
 flying into the air, and deliberately trotted 
 back to the forest. 
 
 Pride, unsustained by circumstance and pow- 
 er is as untenable as the wind : and they M-ho 
 endeavor to cover their insignificance by big 
 words, labor as idly as boys who throw stones 
 at the sun, or dogs who bay the moon- when 
 it is at full. 
 
 Abashed by the indignity which he had just 
 sustained under the very walls of his capital, 
 and in the presence of the pillars of the state, 
 the padishah sat for a while with his head 
 buried in his tail, as though he had yielded up 
 the spirit ; but at length his great soul asserted 
 itself even in this painful emergency ; and call- 
 ing the fox aside, he thus reproachfully ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 '• Vezir ! whom I have long regarded less as 
 my slave than as the brother of my adoption ; 
 upon whose neck I have flung the reins of 
 power, and in whose hands I have placed the 
 beard of wisdom ; what disgraceful ashes have 
 not your blind counsels heaped upon my dis- 
 honored head ? The graves of my ancestors 
 are defiled; and the faces of my people are 
 blackened. The wise men have said that 
 kings are as compasses in the midst of the na- 
 tions, to sweep the great circle of wisdom; but 
 you have made me the pole of folly, and the 
 index of disgrace. Till measures are well 
 pondered in the mind, madmen alone venture 
 to risk their exercise ; but double is his delu- 
 sion who crushes others in his own defeat. 
 When the sun rose to-day above the earth 
 which was created for my pleasure, my spear 
 I was as a ray of the morning, my sword a 
 bright beam flashing death and terror, and my 
 helmet a star of light : princes caught the fire 
 [of glory from my glance ; and my smile made 
 I heroes — and now, I am a dishonored sovereign, 
 I abashed by the gaze of my own subjects." 
 
 "Great sanctuary of the world!'" replied 
 'the Fox, bowing meekly before the irritated 
 monarch ; " Refuge of the distressed ! whose 
 'fame is echoed from hill to hill, and with 
 whose praise the valleys of the earth are vocal ; 
 I, the humblest slave of the Majesty of Mouse- 
 j land, beseech your highness to be no longer 
 possessed by grief, but to raise your eyes to 
 ! glory, and to regild the crown of courage. I 
 ; hold to the nostrils of power the pleasing per- 
 I fume of success ; and while I wear away my 
 
TUE ROiLVNCE OF THE lIAliEM. 
 
 lit 
 
 forehead on the humblo sands of prostration, I; The prospect of advantage always smooths 
 promise on the faith of my allegiance, that ere i the temper : it is the oil of 8ollihhnc.s.s Hung oa 
 long, the insolent slave who has dared to brave I the waters of pas^ion. 
 
 your aniier shall be trodden down in his pride.' (Jraduaily, therefore, but without lessening 
 Somewhat appeased by these assurances, the: the distance between thrni, the two lil-ansorlcd 
 monarch once more consented to be uuided by ' companions fell into convt-rsalion, until the 
 his wily minister ; and then, aoroptly dismiss- j Fox had conlided just as much of his inti-ntiona 
 ing his court, he returned incog to the city. | to the Monkey as he judged expedient; and 
 much to the disappointment of the sight-loving j had hinted to him. that if he wo»ild picdco 
 inhabitants, who had promised themselves a i himself to assist liis dosii;i)s, he would not only 
 pageant, of which the untoward event that had bestow upon him the tempting luxury which 
 occurred beyond the walls had altogether de- he appeared so much to covet, but would di- 
 prived them; for no monarch can be disposed rect him where to find a thousand such. • 
 to show himself to his people, just as he has I The Monkey first listened and doubted ; then 
 
 been kicked. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF THE MICE — CONTINUED. 
 
 The Fox, at one moment swearing ven^ 
 
 looked and believed: and tinally, requesting 
 the Fox to retire a little apart, promised his 
 cooperation as soon as he sliould have devoured 
 the sugar-cane. The crafty dcsiu'iier smiled 
 and complied ; and when the Monkey had 
 completed his delicious repast, he led the way 
 to the forest, where the unsuspieious Camel 
 wa-s browsing on the branches of the tall trees. 
 Never take an ally into the field fasting. 
 
 geancc on the insolent Camel who had dared to Hunger sours the temper, and quenches the 
 thwart him in his wishes ; and at the next, i enthusiasm. A man never loves his neighbor 
 laughing until he was obliged to wipe the tears so well as when he ha* just plunged his finger.^ 
 from his eyes with his paw. as he remembered into his pillauf. ' 
 
 the ridiculous overthrow of dandy Lords of the Having pointed out the Camel to his new 
 Bedchamber, and conceited OtTicers of State ; ! friend, the Fox sauntered away, and left th«j 
 travelled on until he reached a sugar planta- whole allair in the hands of the Monkey; wh<- 
 tion with which he was well acquainted ;: immediately scrambled into the tree on whicl 
 moralizing as he went in a strain more euri- the intended victim was feeding, and seizinj 
 ous than edifying; and not at all calculated , the broken haltnr that had been left in hi« 
 to have raised him in the esteem of the pigmy i nose. fa.stened his head to the branches. 
 Emperor of Mouseland if it had unfortunately j It is dangerous to leave even a trace of you- 
 come to his knowledge. former insigniticancc when you are bent o 
 
 Having entered the plantation, he selected | atfccting grealiie.«.s. Many a proud man is io 
 one of the finest and most luscious sugar-canes ; by the broken halter of some low habit, whii 
 he could find ; and then sauntered to a grove puts his beard into the hand of his enemy, a- i 
 in the neighborhood, the favorite haunt of an defiles it with the unsavory oil of ndiculo. 
 aged Monkey, gray in the arts of mischief. The Fox. who had kept a walehlul eye on 
 
 Affecting not to observe the hoary tenant of his new friend. siH-edily perceived hih success, 
 the wood, the Fox seated himself under a tree, and hastened to congratulolo him on his dcx- 
 and began fanning him.'^elf with his tail. a.s terity and address : and then, when he found 
 though overcome with heat and fatigue : while that the vanity of the Monkey was touched, he 
 he leered out at the ends of his eyes from time ' made him ample promises of reward, if he 
 to time, and was overjoyed to perceive the would ftblige hiin by hi* valuable co-ojK-ration 
 Monkey intent upon the sugar-cane, licking in another undertaking which he had much at 
 his wishful jaws, and leaping from branch to heart. 
 
 branch in all the restlessness of desire. At i The hoary pug, who had been linked to tlie 
 length the water be<;an to flow from his parted will ol the Fox by the chain of swcel words, 
 lips: and then the Fox, believing that the pro- directly consented; and, leaving the unforlu- 
 per moment wa.s come, affected suddenly to nale Camel lied toMhc tree, tiie two confcdo- 
 perceive him. and with extreme courtesy greet- rales journeyed through the forest until Ihcy 
 ed him. and begged to make his acqiiainlanct. [ came to a piece of timber whieh Kome woods- 
 
 The monkey grinned and chattered, and nian had bien employed in sawing onundcr. 
 maintainedi a respectful distance: having an, Mere the Fox paused, and |K)inl:ng to a wedge 
 unpleasant consciousness that Foxes Homctimcs j which hud W-en ln^erted in the wo<d. iniorinrd 
 devoured Monkeys, and deeming it most pru- 1 the Monkey, who had not yet ventured to ap- 
 dent to keep out of the reach of a paw ; though 1 proach him too nearly, that he hn<l purticular 
 ho returned the cr^mpliinent of hi* new ac- 1 occa*ion for the wei,t;e, but that he bad •Irivcn 
 quaintancc with considerable urbanity, influ- in vain to |>os»e»s hmiKclf of it, and now relied 
 enced in no slight degree by the sight of the solely u|M)n the sagaeity of the ►r.mo 
 sugar-cane. | spirit that had c»pturtd the CwnoJ. 
 
124 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Pug smiled, almost in scorn, at the help- 
 lessness of his companion ; and forthwith be- 
 gan to work away with his teeth and paws 
 with an energy which greatly diverted the 
 Fox, who was laughing heartily in his own 
 quiet peculiar way, when suddenly a mightier 
 effort than usual dislodged the wedge, and the 
 tail of the Monkey was caught, and held fast 
 by the closing timber. 
 
 " Ajaib — wonderful !'' shouted Reynard 
 giving loose to a peal of merriment that echoed 
 through the forest; "Had your beard grown 
 gray in ignorance, that you had yet to learn, 
 oh ! Monkey ! that they who toil to gratify 
 their sensual appetites, and labor under the 
 impetus of idle vanity, are fitting tools for 
 craftier spirits, and ever fall into a trap of 
 their own setting? You have breakfasted 
 heartily at my expense ; and I do not deny 
 that you have earned the meal ; but it is ever 
 ill-policy to consume the wages before the 
 work is done. I owed you the courtesy of tel- 
 ling you these truths, that you might not die 
 as unprofitably as you have lived ; but I will 
 not weary you with words." 
 
 And, so saying, he fell upon the ill-fated 
 monkey, and devoured him without mercy. 
 
 They who. to prosper themselves, consent to 
 further the evil designs of the unwortliy, fail 
 not to reap the reward of their mean self-love. 
 
 In an audience of the padishah, which he 
 obtained immediately on reaching the city, the 
 fox at once explained the situation of the 
 camel, at whicli the monarch and all the court 
 laughed themselves almost into convulsions; 
 and many witticisms were ventured, that ex- 
 tremely delighted the younger members of the 
 court; while the v6zir, in a fine imaginative 
 strain of eloquence, was explaining the strata- 
 gem by which he had secured the helpless 
 camel ; wherein it was remarkable that the 
 monkey was never once mentioned. 
 
 The ingratitude of the great was written in 
 letters of crimson upon the first scroll of know- 
 ledge. It is easier to number the stars, than 
 to be remembered by the mighty whom you 
 have served. A favor conferred upon the 
 haughty is as a chain about their necks, of 
 which they often break the links with a scim- 
 itar. 
 
 A general rejoicing was ordered throughout 
 the metropolis of Mouseland ; for former de- 
 feat always doubles the triumph of subsequent 
 success : compliments were lavished on the 
 vizir, which he received with characteristic 
 modesty. He was designated the Savior of 
 the Empire, and he placed his paw upon his 
 heart, and swore that he had done nothing, 
 absolutely nothing. He was declared with 
 acclamation to be the great hero of the age, 
 the master-spirit of victory, the Conqueror of 
 the Cats : and he only smiled a grateful smile, 
 and assured the excited populace that 1 e had , 
 but done his duty. | 
 
 They who feel their power can afford to 
 ape humility — it is throwing gold dust into 
 the eyes which should not be too clearsighted : 
 and the great do well at once to dazzle and to 
 blind ; for it is a compmind policy beyond the 
 reach of the vulgar. 
 
 While the citizens of Mouseland were en- 
 joying them'selves in preparations for the re- 
 joicing, the padi.shah, anxious to secure his 
 share of the general gratification, and unable, 
 from his exalted station, to join in the amuse*' 
 ments of his subjects, determined on proceed- 
 ing to the forest in order to gratify his revenge 
 by exulting over the arrogant captive ; and ac- 
 cordingly, commanding his retinue to be pre- 
 pared, he hastened to the field of triumph, and 
 climbing the tree to which the camel was at- 
 tached, he seated himself upon a branch di- 
 rectly above his head, and poured forth upon 
 him the whole volume of his angry satire. 
 
 " Welcome, thrice welcome, you of the 
 straight back!" he said scoffingly : "happy 
 are you, who can feed upon the young leaves 
 of the forest, and drink water from the clouds; 
 who can wander hither and thither over the 
 earth — and yet, what say I? It would seem 
 that you are less free than your stature would 
 imply ; for, had not your neck been longei 
 than your head, you would never presumptu- 
 ously have dared to kick up the dust of con- 
 tempt in the eyes of an assembled court, anj, 
 a free people, until you had learned how fai 
 it might be safe to brave their resentment' 
 How like you now the lesson ? Does it no 
 depend upon my sovereign will whether yoi 
 become once more a wanderer over the greei 
 plains, and a quaffer of the bright rivers, o 
 remain here to die the death which your vain 
 glorious self-appreciation has drawn downupo: 
 you ? Truly it does so ; that your blanche 
 bones as they glimmer in the moonlight ma 
 remind all future upstarts of the danger o 
 over-looking through their own vanity th 
 probable power of others ; and of attemptin 
 to despise and to subdue animals eminentl 
 their superiors." 
 
 As he felt that he had here uttered a mo; 
 impressive sentiment, the padishah paused f( 
 applause ; and the assembled mice, seeing i 
 once the singular appositene.ss with which sue 
 a remark fell from his imperial lips, were n^ 
 niggardly in their demonstrations of approb; 
 tion. 
 
 There are few things so admirable up( 
 earth as consistency ; and as the fox listene 
 the tears of suppressed merriment trembled 
 his eyes. 
 
 Meanwhile the camel, conscious that despi 
 the insignificance of his enemy, he was neve 
 theless completely at his mercy, felt the nece 
 sity of conforming to any proposal, and i 
 submitting to any indignity in order to sa 
 his life ; and, accordingly, making no corame 
 on the absurdity of the monarch's address, 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE UAREM. 
 
 128 
 
 !iiid his heart on tlic ashes of huinility, and 
 thus replied : — 
 
 " Mirror of mightiness, and sun of strength ! 
 My crime against your greatness has grown 
 out of my ignorance of its extent. I came from 
 a far land, a helpless stranger, unknowing and 
 unknown. No dream of your power liad 
 fallen upon my soul, nor had the light of your 
 presence beamed upon my eyes — I sinned, be- 
 cause I deceived myself, and judged of yoiir 
 strength by your size. 1 am alfitady sutlici- 
 ently punished by the knowledge that I have 
 incurred your displeasure. Pardon me, there- 
 fore, dread sovereign, lest I expire of grief: 
 and sutfer me, by a life of devotion to your 
 imperial will, to expiate my transgression. 
 Put the ring of obedience into my ears, and 
 let me swear eternal allegiance, and be counted 
 among those who have the happiness to be 
 your subjects." 
 
 As the camel ceased speaking the fox 
 stepped forward, and eloquently and humanely 
 interceded for the captive : he represented to 
 the padishah liow frequently animals really 
 fell into error unconsciously : and made a 
 delicate allusion to his own career — reminded 
 his hearers, with a most sonorous sigh, of the 
 days when he himself not only despised, but 
 fed on mice : and ultimately asked, with a 
 noble consciousness of high desert, whether he 
 had given the emperor or the empire reasons 
 to repent their mercy. 
 
 A universal and eager squeak of dis-scnt 
 rose on all sides : and as the fox bowed grace- 
 fully in acknowledgment, the padishah ordered 
 the oath to be administered to the camel, and 
 the halter gnawed asunder, which was imme- 
 diately done ; and the emancipated prisoner 
 followed his new master from the forest, a 
 good deal impressed by the oration of the fox, 
 and reconciled by Uie presence of a companion 
 in disgrace. 
 
 The troubles of others always a.'-sist in 
 consoling us for our own. 
 
 CHAI'TKR Llll. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF THE MICE CONTINUED. 
 
 The subjugation of the Caroel cauurd an 
 immense commotion in the forc»t, and the 
 mysterious provrc-s of the Mouse wan can- 
 vassed on all sides, until the most exlraordi- 
 nary and magical talcs became current ■ and 
 animals of various kinds, not wl^hlns to brave 
 an influence which they could not comprehend, 
 and anxious to continue a pcacablo cxihlenro. 
 voluntarily tendered ihcir allc;;iancc to the 
 mice. 
 
 Shadows frequently frighten the crowd; 
 and we always dread that evil the most of 
 which we cannot define the limits. 
 
 The Fox revelled in jiowor, and increased 
 in popularity. He was never idle nn hour ; 
 for when the state allairs of Mouseland 
 were arranged, he was busu-d in ingratiating 
 himself with their new allies who gladly re- 
 turned civilities by which they were likely to 
 benelit. Presents poiinil in upon him : and if 
 occa-sionally in their desire to gratily his well 
 known fondness for poultry, some of the bea.sts 
 brouuht him a Stork or two, he only , •smiled at 
 the mistake, ami did not consider it expedient 
 to inform them that they were destroying the 
 saviours of the .Mice I 
 
 But there was stiM a thorn in his heart. 
 The lion was unsubdued ! The king of the 
 forest was uneonqnen^l ! And the Fox had 
 registered a vow that every beast of (he earth 
 should own the power of his guile. With this 
 resolution he therefore aiiain presented himself 
 
 i at the carpet of the padishah, and reported th» 
 eontumacity of the Lion ; but the monarch of 
 Mouseland appeared anxious to evade the 
 subject: and even stated to the excited Vezir 
 that he deemed it no dishonor to share the 
 
 I .'iovereignty of the earth with so noble an 
 animal : — and that imh-ed. he would rather 
 live on terms of amity with him. than by pro- 
 voking his anger run the risk of arousing a 
 wrath which might be dangerous. 
 
 The Fox. with all respect, scouted this argu- 
 ment : and represented to the timid monarch 
 that while the Lion continued to be lord of the 
 forest, there was no safely for the Kmpire of 
 
 I the Mice, which In- could destroy in one 
 
 . paroxysm of raire : and he b«-i.':;ed to bo per- 
 mitted to remind tli<- pndishah that the animal 
 
 ' in question was celebrated for the irritability 
 of his dispo.xition, and his total dl.^regard of 
 the feelings of others, when he was inclined 
 to gratify either his anser or his appetite ; a 
 fact which was too notonmis to nc<-d comment. 
 
 j The Kmperor listened : and at length 
 wearied by tln^ arguimnis. and moved by the 
 entreaties of his entcr| rising Vezir, he con- 
 sented to summon the Lion to his presence ] 
 and de])U(ed the Fox Ambassador Kxtraordi- 
 nary on iIm? oceusion. 
 
 Great was the indignation of (ho Lion when 
 the Fox declared his mission ; he lushed (he 
 sounding forest with his (ail ; ho Hung light- 
 nings from his luru'e cyrn. briAtled Ins wiry 
 mane like a cohiniii of lancec, and moifitrncd 
 the duht of the earth with the crimson dro|i« 
 which till from his yawning jawH ; his roar 
 shook the young cedars to their roots ; and he 
 would instantly have devoured the Ambas- 
 sador had he not already break fun (ed, and 
 despised him loo much (o run (he rn>k v{ a 
 surfeit in the indulgence of his revenge. 
 
 A veil fell over ihc heart of the majesty o( 
 Mouseland at this new delrni ; hr had Rfown 
 out of himself by his exlraordinory succruea; 
 and every pasjicnger who picks up ninrty-nioe 
 piastre* in hu path, naturally fccU aggrieved 
 
126 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 \ 
 
 if he does not find the hundredth. Since the experienced the same attention before: his 
 Fox had urged hiiji to subjugate the Lion, the g-rca^ friend having a remarkably fine appetite, i 
 Lion liad become to him the hundredth piastre J and seldom rejecting anything but . garbage. ^ 
 and he resented the failure accordingly. An eternal regard was sworn between the new 
 
 '•We had done better, ohVt-zir;" he said acquaintance in consequence : and the Jackall 
 sharply, "had we buried our displeasure in licking his lips after his savory repa.st, whis- 
 the hollow of our hearts, and closed our eyes pered his regret that the liberal, gentlemanly 
 to an evil which was beyond remedy, than Fox. was not a Lion ; at which Reynard only 
 thus to have laid it on our open palm, and laughed, assuring him that ere long, if he 
 lifted it to the light, on a hand which had no proved faithful to his pledge, he would con. 
 power to strike it down. When a monarch vince him tfcat in a war of wits one Fox was ' 
 threatens without the means of vengeance, the equal to two Lions. 
 
 escape of his enemy is his own defeat — and Having given this very satisfactory assur- 
 thus, oh, short-sighted minister ! you have ance. and dropped a few more hints for the 
 Bcattercd the ashes of confusion on the head of guidance of his grovelling and beggarly ally, ; 
 your master!" jthe Vezir retired quietly to his burrow, and 
 
 The Fox listened respectfully; nor did he left the matter entirely to the exertions of the ; 
 attempt to justify himself, nor to remind the! Jackall : who, an hour or two after this pleas- \ 
 padishah of" the few trifling services which he I ant interview, rushed breathlessly into the 
 had rendered him ; though he might have d.one ! presence of the contumacious Lion, and fell at 
 80 in the full assurance of their being forgot- 1 his feet as if in the last agony, 
 ten. as in such cases all benefits are certain to "Hownow, haramzadeh — base-born slave !" 
 be by the great; but simply declaring to the i roared the monarch of the wood ; commencing,' 
 irritated monarch that the Lion should yet be, as from his superior strength and station, he 
 compelled to wear his yoke, he hastily quitted had every right to do, by abuse of his caitiff-, 
 the presence. follower; "What dirt have you been eating, 
 
 Hunting with the Lion is but hungry work, iand what ass was your father, that you thus 
 and fishting with him is especially dangerous ; break in upon the slumber which has just sue-; 
 of this the Fox was well aware : and he there- jceeded to my repast ? Speak, recreant ! Who; 
 fore determined to escliew his present acquaint-! has threatened your ill-fed carcase with vio- 
 
 ance either as friend or foe, and to find some 
 go-between simple enough to run all risks for 
 the mere honor of being employed. 
 
 There are many such brainless busy-bodies 
 to be found everywhere, and the crafty Vezir 
 was an adept in the choice of his tools. He 
 
 lence, that you come to play the craven in ray 
 very den ?" 
 
 " Dread lord and master !" faltered out the 
 traitor; "forgive me if I tremble, and hear, 
 my tale before you chide my fears. [ knew 
 that my lord must dine : and I was roaming 
 
 hesitated only a moment, and his resolution the country in search of prey for the Mightj 
 was taken, fie had remarked in one of his One before whom I bow, when suddenly there 
 rambles a neighboring Jackall: a poor, spirit- 'came forth of the thicket a Lion well nigh ajj 
 less, cowardly, cringing animal, who satisfied lordly as yourself, who, seeing me in pursui'i 
 himself with the offal of the very game he had 'of game, asked me for whom 1 hunted — Alas • 
 
 run down, for the weak gratification of keeping 
 company with a Lion. 
 
 What a vast number of Jackalls there are 
 in the world ! 
 
 The Fox curled his tail in contemptuous 
 satisfaction as he remembered the narrow- 
 hearted slave, and trotted away to his lair 
 without a moment's misgiving as to the result 
 of his undertaking. 
 
 " He will whiten my face once more in the 
 
 I could reply but by the truth, and I told hiii 
 humbly but firmly, that I served the lord o 
 the forest: "Be hey?— what's this?" he 
 foamed, as he ground his strong teeth will' 
 rage ; " Who is he who would be lord when, 
 my foot ranges and my roar is heard? Gc 
 wretch, to the paltry animal whose slave yen 
 are, and bid him hide himself in the decpe.v 
 den of the mountain, or the thickest undervvoo. 
 of the forest, lest I encounter him in my wan 
 
 eyes of all Mouseland ;" he murmured to him- jderings, and rend him piecemeal!" Need , 
 self as he went ; " A base-spirited bea.st, who 'tell the Light of the Earth that I refused to b 
 would b<arter his mother for a comfortable the bearer of such a message? With wlia 
 meal ! Creatures of this description are read- 1 rnitkal should I have measured out my lord 
 ily worked upon ; so now for niy new friend !" bounty, had I undertaken an errand like this 
 The negotiation was short, and the result per- No ! f sought rather to remove all aboniina 
 fectly satisfactory to both parties. The Foxjtion from the beard of majesty, and answerc 
 caught two or three rabbits by the sly, and pre- ! in as high a tone ; and truly, most puis.sau 
 sented them to the Jackall, suffering him to de- padishah of the forests, [ had well nigh pai' 
 vour the whole of them himself; a liberal and the karateh* as the penalty of my rashness 
 delicate proceeding, which was extremely a- for the impel ious stranger sprang on me, anl 
 
 greeable to that animal, who was delighted fori 
 
 once to play the Lion's part, and who had never | • Capitation-tax, levied on raiahs, or vassaU. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE HAREM 127 
 
 would have devoured mc, had I not raised the neath the responsibility of your oflloe, but look 
 (iust of flight, and hastened to apprise my lord well to your path; lor remember that you 
 of his new enemy." bear the'weiiilit of .sovcrcigntv, und the hope 
 
 Loud roared the Lion when he ceased to of an entire Kiiipirc !' 
 li.sien. He had long dwelt in. ^solitary majesty, '-Powerful i'uilishah !" replied llic stupid 
 the acknowledged monareh of the forest : and animal, with a fuluc.<-8of tnilii and a wnnt of 
 he resolved at once neither J'- abdicate liis tact, wliicli at once denicn.siratr.l to the Fox 
 power, nor to dilute it by admitting a rival. "the little probability there exihlod of his ever 
 Accordingly, with mane eceet. eyeballs of tire, rising into lavor at Court ; '"My path is eni-y, 
 and a heart swelling with indignation, he ntid my burden is lii:ht. Were it not, indeed,' 
 bade the cowering Jackall guide him instantly tlial I felt your Majesty mount, and that as 
 to the spot where he had encountered his you ran up my side. 1 exiierienecd the same 
 haughty enemy. ticklim: sensation as that eau.scd by Iho.'ic ana.-- 
 
 He was obeyed. The false craven trotted seny sikdam — tlin.>.e poor pitiful insects, the 
 on before with alacrity, and the miglity Lion forest-llie^, when they sometimes alight upon 
 followed, lashing the earth with liis tail, and mc. 1 should not liave been aware that I boro 
 moistening the brushwood through which he any burihen at all. Be tranquil, therefore, oh. 
 inad« his way with the foam tliatfcll in flakes Lord of the Long-tails, for I could carry you 
 from his parted lips. Their walk terminated round EI Caf without feeling your weight." 
 near the mouth of a well, towards which the As the Camel ceased speaking, the royal 
 Jackall pointed as the den of the usurper : and Mou.>-e was seized with a violent (it of sneez- 
 then, declining to advance further, crouched ing ; and the Fox took the opportunity of this 
 away, leaving the noble and betrayed Lion to fit of sternutation to wipe away tho tears of 
 terminate the adventure. I suppressed laugliter from his brimming eyes. 
 
 With all the impctuositv of rage. indigna-| What a beautiful tiling is truth! How it 
 tion, and jealousy, the infuriated animal always advances a man's interest.s ! 
 sprang to the margin of the well, where, re- When the party reached the well, the pigmy 
 fleeted in the clear water, he beheld his own Monareh do.'^eended from his elevated position, 
 image, and thought that he was face to face and established himself on its margin, whence 
 with his enemy : his hoarse and appalling he looked down with iiitinittt complacency on 
 roar of defiance wasTfedioed by the deep niur- the drenched and dc-ponding Lion, 
 murs of file tank: and like many another! " BoQroum Seid I* — You are welcome," he 
 hero, he leapt at a .shadow, and plunged head said smilingly: "both to our territories and 
 over ears into a bath for wliich he had been to our tanks. Had you been more courteous, 
 perfectly unprepared. !we should have received you in a lcs« incon- 
 
 Away sped the Fox, who had been contem- venient liall of audience ; but a.s it is, wo have 
 plating from a distance the success of his stra- deemed it expedient to steep the bread of di»- 
 tagem, with his tail erect, and a roguish twin- obedience in the waters of dotcai, and you 
 kle in his eye which betrayed his self-gratula- must swallow the meagre meal as you can." 
 tion; and afiecting not to remark the eoldne.-s. There was admirable poliey in this speech 
 of his reception, he forthwith laid his paw of the I'adi.'>hairs. as your fiii^hncss cannot 
 upon his head, and informed the Majesty of fail to remark ; tor. a« the Mouse saw no 
 Mouseland of the capture of the rebel Lion. , means of delivering his formulublc captive, ho 
 
 The intelligence acted like beng on the spi- resolved to make neecs.«ity ajipear design, and 
 rits of the monarch and his court, who sprang to seem to abamlon him through displciisuro 
 from side to side of the palace, squeaking with to a fate from which in jK>int of luel he had 
 delight: indeed, the popular commotion was no possible hojn; or pros|K-ct of setting him 
 80 great that it was not for a eonsicJcrablo time free. 
 
 that the Vczir could command the royal car But crc llie humbled and exhausted Lion 
 sufficiently to suggest the expediency of an could reply, the Fox approached the well, and, 
 early visit to the prison of the captive. When, seizing the royal car. whispered to the mo- 
 however. he had succeeded in so doing, narch, that friendship of so powerful and 
 the justice of the hint was at once admitted ; rcB|>«-clable an animal w<inld greatly tend to 
 and, in the pride of his little heart, the I'adi- exalt his glory : and that, it Ins maj.-.-iy could 
 shah of the Lons-tails summoned the va-^iial- induce the prisoner to swear allrgiunc'' to the 
 camel, who bendim; meekly on his kiit-es, re- throne of Mouseland, he would uodorlako to 
 coived the royal mouse upon his hump, where secure his liberation. 
 
 he enthroned himself to the great admiration " But, Vezir of quick wit and sound know- 
 of the whole city. ledge, whose head, under iho shadows of our 
 
 " Thrice-honored animal !" said the exult- greatness, is raising il^clf to the elouds," said 
 ing Monarch to the patient beast, who with tho I'udishah, widi that bcauiilui modesty 
 half-closed eyes, and droopini; head, stood and caution for which ho wo* deservedly r*« 
 
 quietly awaiting the signal todeparl : •■ Your's ■■ 
 
 is no common lot : sec that you smk not be-, *L>oa 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Downed : " Suppose that when once on dry Lion frankly apologised for the contempt in 
 laud, the mighty Seid should laugh at our which he had hitherto held all his race, and 
 beards, how could we contend against his fu- vowed to him an earnest and eternal friend- 
 rious revenge ?"' , ship. 
 
 " Bashu.stun — on my head be it !" was the ''Good deeds, oh Reynard," he said gently 
 reply of the councillor : " The Lion is an honor- '"'ever secure their own reward. Be not dis 
 able beast ; he will disdain a lie : brave to a gusted by so trite an apothegm, but ever let it 
 fault, he will do battle fbr his new master urge you to kind and generous actions like that 
 against all comers : generous and high-hearted, of this day." 
 
 he will never look back upon the past, for he 
 knows that what is written is written ; and we 
 shall thus secure an ally who will be as a 
 footstool to the throne and as an eye to the 
 state." 
 
 " Wallah billah ! it is well said," squeaked 
 the willing Mouse ; and then once more ad- 
 dressing the Lion, he exclaimed majestically, 
 " Said we not well that we would leave you 
 here to perish and to die the death of a dog 
 
 The Fox could have laughed at the Lion's 
 beard, but he scarcely thought it prudent to 
 do so ; and, perhaps, when the singular inap- 
 positiveness of the remark is considered, he 
 had some cause for mirth ; but, unconscioiis 
 of the feeling with which his words had been 
 received, the royal animal, as they pursued 
 their way to the palace of the Mouse, related 
 to his companion the treachery of the false and 
 cowardly Jackall : and uttered many a bitter 
 
 Have you aught to urge in denial? Does it , apostrophe on his ingratitude, which, had the 
 not depend on us and on our pleasure, whether , recreant overheard them, would have sufficed 
 
 you live or expire miserably amid the suffo- 
 cating waters ? And yet we would fain be 
 merciful, and not see your strength wither, and 
 your eye grow dim. How say you, vanquish- 
 ed Seid, will you become our willing va.ssal, 
 our loving ally, one of the pillars of our state 
 
 to kill him with sheer fright. 
 
 It is perhaps needless to say that the Fox 
 joined heartily in the anathema, and exas- 
 perated still more the anger of the Lion ; un- 
 til having wrought him up to the last pitch of 
 rage, he bade him be calm, for that so black a 
 
 The Lion opened his ponderous jaws to their | traitor was not fit to live, and assured him that 
 extremest width, to give utterance to the bitter j die he should. He hinted, however, that it 
 contempt he felt for the wretched little animal would be as well to say nothing on the subject 
 who thus addressed him ; but, alas ! when the | at Court, as the race of #ackalls were under 
 words should have come forth, the water rush- j the protection of the Padishah of fhe Long- 
 ed down his throat, and he was nearly choked ; ! Tails, and that consequently justice must be 
 and faint, exhausted, and powerless as he was, i done silently. 
 
 he felt that in order to preserve his wretched i The Lion acquiesced at once; and the cere- 
 existence, he had no alternative but to swal- mony of his presentation having taken place, 
 low an oath, which, however, at the mo- 1 greatly to the delight of Mouseland, and his 
 ment, was even more suffocating than the wa- 1 own disgust, he was permitted to retire to 
 ter. When he had done so, the Camel was his den ; an arrangement highly honorable and 
 once more freighted with the load of royalty ; j considerate on the part of the Padishah, who 
 and the train of courtiers having taken the | felt his inability to detain him a moment long- > 
 way back to the subterranean city, the Fox at | er than he choose to stay for the amusement ' 
 once proceeded to effect the liberation of his of his new masters. 
 
 That very night the Fox supped from the . 
 
 new associate. 
 
 Not far distant from the well which had 
 snared the Lion to his ruin, was a lake of 
 some extent, whence, in times of drought, the 
 husbandmen of the province irrigated their 
 lands by means of engines, which threw the 
 water into small canals that intersected the 
 plain, and increased the vigorous vegetation. 
 One of the channels was in the immediate 
 neighborhood; and the Fox lost no time in 
 breaking down the clay aqueduct, and suffer- 
 ing the stream to pour into the treacherous 
 tank, until 'it overflowed, and the Lion was 
 enabled to walk forth, shake his dripping mane, 
 and warm his trembling limbs in the bright 
 sunshine. 
 
 When he had recovered his breath, the first 
 impulse of the generous beast was to make 
 his acknowledgments to his deliver for so signal 
 a piece of service ; and the modesty of the 
 Fox was so conspicuous in his reply, that the 
 
 hind quarter of a very loan .Jackall ; and the' 
 Lion never again encountered the treacherom 
 slave by whom he liad been betrayed. 
 
 CHAPTER LLX. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF THE MICE CONTINUEU. , 
 
 Did your Highness ever experience the shock 
 of an earthquake ? Of one of those mys- 
 terious convulsions of nature which defy alike 
 the power and the policy of man — when the 
 whole world appears to be crumbling into dust 
 and to be insufficient to fill up the ya\vnii)i 
 chasm, dark and insatiate, which gapes to re 
 ceive the universal ruin ! When tiie voice of 
 the human race is but one common shriek ol 
 agony, and the great globe seems to be on' 
 
TOE ROiL\NCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 129 
 
 ..mmon grave? Whon not even the prospect proper credentials, and dcinUed his Anibaa- 
 : the sherbets oi" Paradise can quench the hot sador. 
 
 iiirst of terror : nor the vision of its houri I To the full as vain as liis master, the 
 
 .'troy the bitterness of deatli ? Nay, then, mouselinst of quality retreated to his hole, 
 
 : you h:ivc not, my lord has been more favor- ; where he gave his whiskers a more diploniaiio 
 
 i! than was the Padishah of Mouseland when and important twist, smoothed his slemler tail 
 
 ;s subUMranean kinizdom wai? shaken to its I into more i:racefnl i;lossincss, and adorned hnn- 
 
 liase — his palace prostrated, liis cities laid i self in tlic most approved manner, ere he di> 
 
 waste, and lii« subjects destroyed by thousands, I parted on his emha.>;«y, whieh he dnl wiib a 
 
 ar.d cumbering the streets with their maimed brisk run that promised a speedy ninrn. 
 
 luid maiii;lcd bodies ! 
 
 All was consternation among the miserable 
 fu-vivers: itn universal squeak of mourning 
 rcl.t t!ie air: aiul fatliers. sons, and lovers, 
 
 The reappearance of the unfortunate envoy 
 took place, however, with even more clispateh 
 than had been anticipated : for the Klij.iiant, 
 amu.sed rather than indi"nant at the msolenef 
 
 iniiti(;i..s ::'.;d n.aidens. collected about the vie- of the spruce-looking little reptile, had only 
 tims lo L'a;:- upon their dead. In despair at I answered his summons by blowing him numy 
 r-<> fn. lulu! a visitation, the monarch of Mouse- yards on his homeward path, with the wind 
 l.ii.d Mill moned the Fox, the Camel, and the l/rom his mighty trunk ; and in sorry plight, aa 
 Lien to iiis iirc.-cuce; and they came only to | your Highness may well imagine, did the poor 
 lin : him steeped in sorrow to the very whis- dapper diplomatist throw himself down before 
 kers : — What was to be done ? The noble Scid ■ the carpet of majcbty, and tell his laic of dis- 
 odjrcd battle on the instant, but against whom | grace. 
 
 was he to fight? The Camel suggested the " Who can war against liis fate. Light of the 
 erection of a new palace, and the founding of | Earth !"' he concluded, as the I'adishali bent 
 a new city, but where were the archiiccis to i upon him an eye of disajipointment and dis- 
 
 j'lan, and the workmen to build it ! The Fox 
 only advised patience : and promised to trace 
 llie evil to its origin, and to prevent its recur- 
 rence. 
 
 As all the population of ISIou.'cland had 
 great faiih in the p<yNver of their Vezir to fulfil 
 his jiledges, they were in some degree consoled ; 
 and man;^ hours were passed in burying the 
 
 gust : '• Who can control the elements ? What 
 animal could have braved the whirlwind by 
 which I was lifted from the earth, flung a:;ain8t 
 the clouds, and swept along over an inlinity of 
 space? Ne bilirim — what can 1 say? Iho 
 ashes of defeat arc strown ujion my head — the 
 defilement of disgrace is on my beard — the 
 an"er of the Great One of the Earth, the He- 
 
 dead, and digging a few underground apart- ' fuge of the World hius clutched my heart, and 
 nients for the accommodation of the wounded : } stoi>pcd its pulsations." 
 
 when suddenly another mighty cra.->h at a little | But the Padishah was not to be appeoBcd ; 
 distance once more overwhelmed them with the Fox was summoned to the conference, ro. 
 terror, and they ran off in every direction to .quested to beeome the executioner of the «li». 
 avert the new destruction by whieh they were comtited Ambassador, (whom he very Mibmi»- 
 threatened. 1 sively snapped up before the words were well 
 
 But on this occasion they were subjected out of the royal mouth ;) ami .-olieited to ui.dcr 
 only to alarm : for the evil had fallen on the I his opinion of the moat desirable step to be next 
 colony of their enemies the Jerhuahs; and they j taken in this very unpleasant affair, 
 were slowly recovering from their panic, when I The wily Vezir asked for an hour to d©- 
 the Fox appeared at their ruined walls, and , liberate : although feeling convinced that hit 
 informed the desponding Padishah that he had I agency would be required, ho hud already 
 discovered the author of the evil to be a huge | matured his plans; and at the tenninalion of 
 elephant, who at sunset emerged from the that period, he demaiid<-d iVom the king a utrong 
 woods into the plain, and recklessly trod down detaehment of Mice, who were to act solely 
 the roofs of the subtftrrancan cities. under his orders. 
 
 The Lord of the Long-tails trembled as he With this parly he at once quitted the ruined 
 listened: but his Vezir aflccled to hold their city, and advanced to the deep bed of an ex- 
 new enemy cheaply, and reminded the Padishah j haiisted nver, traversed by a w(.o<len bridge, 
 that he had subjui;ated the mi-hty Lion — which the Elephant was compelled to crow 
 What, then, could he fear? Nay. for the first ] during his iK-riwIical vi>il.'< to thf p!;!iii The 
 time since he had ac-ceptcd office, he hu:;gested channel of the stream eh. '•> tho 
 
 that a new envoy should be chosen by the right and lelt of this bn.l (••injj 
 
 monarch from among his own nation; and so high and jagged, and alm>..-i ■ -I'.id, 
 
 composedly did he talk on the subject, that the not many feet above the level i.j ihc water; 
 weak Mous-c bei;nn to be once more puffed up and m coiiHequcnec of this circuiiihtaner, the 
 with pride, and forgetliil of hi.s own insignifl- bridge had been flung over a wider i-orlion of 
 cance; and in this frame of mind he pitched the river, and resleil only uj>f)n a dn-p chalky 
 upon a young, sprightly, smart-wlnskcrcd Bey vein of hoil. running far into the valley, and 
 of the household, whom he furnished M'lth the suddenly terminating lu a hollow, not twenty 
 9 
 
130 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAEEM, 
 
 stadia distant from the capital of Mouse- 
 land. 
 
 On arriving at the bridge, the Fox at once 
 commenced operations by instructing his troops 
 to gnaw partially asunder the ropes and pins 
 which united the wood-work, so as to render it 
 i isecure for any hea^■y weight ; and the conse- 
 qjeuces of this step arc evident. The next 
 tune tiic Elephant endeavored to pass, his 
 enormous bulk proved an overfreight for tiie 
 frail fabric, and he fell headlong into the bed 
 of moist chalk, without power to move cither 
 to the right or left, where the rocky barrier 
 fenced in the channel. 
 
 In tliis emergency, the sagacity, strength, 
 and intelliL'ence of the animal, availed him 
 nothing. He was fairly in the toils : and was 
 only another example among many, of a crea- 
 ture ruined by his own greatness, and destroy- 
 ed by tlie very attributes on which he had 
 been wont to pride himself. 
 
 Off ran the Fox when he saw the result of 
 his stratagem ; and the destruction of half 
 Mouscland was forgotten in the triumph of 
 fjuch a capture. Many of the dead were still 
 unburied ; but their fate was overlooked in 
 the general rejoicing that made the whole 
 Empire one shrill squeak of proud delight. 
 
 These things are alike amonii men and mice. 
 
 Ledge his authority, he would undertake to re. 
 lease him from his present thrall. 
 
 The royal cortege was immediately in mo- 
 tion. First marched two fierce and shagsy 
 Bears, wielding huge staffs, and growling fonb 
 the many and miglity titles of the Padishah. 
 Tlien followed a band of female Monke)-s. 
 dancing fantastic measures to the music of a 
 score of bare-backed Apes. These were sue- 
 ceeded by a company of Porcupines, who shot 
 their quills right and left upon the crowd, 
 which threatened to impede the line of march. 
 Then came a couple of Asses, braying out 
 with lungs of iron the near approach of the 
 Refuge of the \yorld, and Lord of the Earth; 
 who followed; mounted upon the hump of the 
 Camel, having on his right the merry Fox. to 
 whom the pageant was food for unmeasured 
 mirth : and on his left the crest-fallen and 
 disgusted Lion, who stalked solemnly alon^ 
 his heart burning with sliame as he remem* 
 bered liow sorry a figure he should make in 
 the eyes of his old acquaintance the Ele» 
 phant. 
 
 We could always support our misfortunes 
 themselves with philosophy ; it is their effect 
 on the minds, and their influence on the opin* 
 ions of others, that unman us. 
 
 A guard of honor, composed of wild Goats, 
 
 your Highness. Who heeds in the pageant 'surrounded the mighty monarch : and imme 
 and parade which celebrate a yictory, the vic-'diately behind them came a tall Oiirang-ou« 
 tims who have fallen to secure it? tang, carrying a palm-leaf, on which, shaded 
 
 The vain-gloriousncss of the King of the from the public gaze by fans formed of th« 
 Long-tails was at its height. He issued all beard of the bulrush, lay the three favorite 
 sorts of contradictory orders — commanded and I wives of the Padishah; two more animals ol 
 countermanded — and all in order to keep the the same description, but of less stately pro- 
 ditferent animals, who had become his vassals, i portions, bore the slaves of the harem. Tht 
 on the run. Here flew a Rat; there rushed a light troops were represented by a group ol 
 Badger — a Squirrel sprang on one side, and a i Chaiiiois ; while the heavy regiments were 
 Chamois leapt on the other: the whole plain; most appropriately composed of Buflaloes; and 
 was in convulsions; and ever and anon the 'in this state and fashion did the King of the 
 roar of the captured Elephant came booming- Mice journey towards the prison-place of the 
 along the valley like a thunder-peal. I Elephant ; of whom he no sooner caught sight 
 
 All this was very delightful, but every plea- than he exclaimed in a transport of very nor 
 sure must have a termination: and his High-tural delight: 
 
 ne.<s the Padishah was partially recalled to' " Why, how is this, oh Vezir of power and 
 reason by a hint from the Fox, that although! wisdom ! Have you brought us here only to 
 a captive, the mighty Elephant was not yet a;show us one of our own brethren ? No re- 
 
 vassal ; and that his subjugation required in 
 Btant attention. 
 
 Unable to controvert so cogent an argument, 
 the monarch at once declared himself ready to 
 be guided by the counsels of his Vezir ; though 
 he could not avoid reminding him that this 
 was no slight concession from a sovereign who 
 wa.s now lord of the whole brute creation, 
 with the exception of the Elephant, who was 
 then in his toils. 
 
 The Fox bowed low, and laughed — but the 
 bow was to the Padishah, and the laugh to 
 
 semblance can be more perfect ; save that, 
 indeed, nature has been unkind to our poor 
 captive, in visiting hinfi with such a mass of 
 flesh, and such a length of nose ; but these 
 arc deformities which, being ourselves liappily 
 exempt, we know how to pity in others; had 
 not this misfortune attended his birth, we 
 should have been as like as two drops of water. 
 Speak, cousin !"' he continued, addressing tho 
 enormous animal with a patronising gentle- 
 ness which drew tears from his wives, and 
 convulsed the Fox with merriment; '-What 
 
 himself, and he consequently avoided giving would you of us?' 
 any ofTencc; wliile he assured the jwtentate No answer was made, for in truth the File- 
 with all due respect and reverence, that in tfie' phant did not cither see or hear the Monarch, 
 event of his inducing the Elephant to acknow- land was lost in wonder at what this meeuDj, 
 
TIIF. TvO^rANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 181 
 
 cf so many divers animals in liis iinmodiatc 
 neiuliborliood niiylit portend. 
 
 Mcaiiwliile Ihe Padisliali moved forward, 
 and transferring himself from tlie Immpof tlic 
 Camel to the capacious back of the Elephant, 
 began to walk towards his head, examining 
 him most minutely, and occasionally switch- 
 ing his tail with sclf-gratulalion and iifljiort- 
 ance : when, unfortunately chancing to pa.>^s 
 over a spot where the huge beast was parti- 
 cularly susceptible to the touch, and deemed 
 that some fly had alighted with the intent to 
 eling liini, he gave a flap with his long ear. 
 tmd down fell his majesty into the wet clay ! 
 
 The whole court was in commotion : the 
 Lady-mice squeaked, and their slaves, as in 
 duty bound, squeaked still louder ; the Bears 
 growled, the Asses brayed, the female Mon- 
 keys chattered, and the Apes grinned ; tlie 
 Porcupines rolled themselves up. the Lion 
 roared, the Camel screamed, the Fox almost 
 went into convulsions, the wild Goats shook 
 their beards, the Chamois leapt from rock to 
 rock; and the Bufl"aloes laid down, and began 
 to chew the cud of distress. And in the mean 
 time, the monarch, after avast deal of scramb- 
 ling and struggling, got safely out of the mire, 
 and reappeared among his people, all chalk, 
 mud, and misery ! 
 
 But his was not a soul to be subdued by 
 one downfall ; and as soon as he could un- 
 fasten his jaws, which were cemented together 
 most unpleasantly, and recover his breath, lie 
 Towed vengeance on the Elephant, and began 
 to dry his whiskers. 
 
 The Fox took this opportunity of coming 
 forward, and assuring his majesty that the 
 crime of the animal had been involuntary : 
 and of reminding him that the privilege of the 
 powerful was to show rnercy, coupled with an 
 intimation that he craved the pardon of the 
 offender in ihe name of the whole court and 
 army. 
 
 Thus urged, the heart of the Padi.shah soft- 
 ened ; and the Elepliant, being very soon con- 
 vinced by the repre.'^cntations of the Fox. tliat 
 his only chance of deliverance lay in hi.*! 
 swearing fealty to the Lord of the Long-tail.-^, 
 and consoled lor his misfortune by the va.s- 
 ealage of the Lion, at Icnsth con.'-entod to the 
 indignity ; when having administered the oath, 
 the ['adishah, yet shivering from his irnnu-r- 
 sion, and considerably shaken by his fall fromj 
 60 prodigious a height, withdrew with all hisj 
 court in the same order as he had set out : 
 while the Fox ha-stily collected logolher a nu- 
 merous army of miners, cornpoBcd of beavers,! 
 ferrets, rabbits. badg<TS, inungonlies. rnts. mice,! 
 and moles, and set them immedioicly to work] 
 toundermine the chalk bank which intervrncd ! 
 between the channel of the river and the' 
 hollow already mentioned. j 
 
 As they were in immense numbers, laljorcd | 
 licartily, and were con-'-idcrably a«u8ie<l by; 
 
 the Elephant himself, he wa.s enabled by sun- 
 rise the next morning to force his way through 
 Ihe crumbliiii: barrier, and to olmy tin' hum- 
 mons of the Padishah ; who sat enthroned on 
 an ear of maize, surrounded by deputaliona 
 from all the vassal-animals of the province. 
 
 When he had reached the pre.>^rncc, and 
 made his obeisance, the Fox resiierifully ad- 
 vanccil to the throne, holding' betwci n hia 
 teeth a ripe sugar-cane, which he presented to 
 his majesty as a delicious refection, and. more- 
 over, an extraordinary curiosity, which ho 
 humbly invited him to inspect. The Padishah, 
 who delighted in novelties, at once declared 
 his intention to examine Ihe i;ifl of hiscstcem- 
 ed niiiiisler and friend: and, iiavinj given per- 
 mission 10 his wives, and the Prmei- lloyal hie 
 only child, to accompany him. which they lo.>^t 
 no lime in doing, he disappeared into the 
 hollow of the cane lollowed by Ins lamily. 
 
 Standing close beside the Fox was a lone- 
 armed Ape, his especial slave, who had long 
 nursed a bitter spile against the whoh- Empire 
 of Mouseland : and no sooner had the lip of 
 the last Imperial tail vanished, than on re- 
 ceiving an encouraging wink from the Fox. he 
 adroitly blocked up the orilicc with clay, and 
 secured all the royal lamily ! 
 
 A low murmur was rising on every side, 
 when the Fox, conteinpUiously kicking' asi<lo 
 the throne of the Mouse, thus addressed the 
 surrounding animai.s — 
 
 '• Beasts of the eha.se. and of burthen : my 
 most %\firthy frieiicls and suljeets : I lia\c 
 collected you together this day, lhroni:h my 
 slave the Mouse, to declare to you how J have 
 earned for myself the sovereignty of the brute 
 creation ; and in order to prove to all animals, 
 from the lordly Lion to the dnuk'ing Mole, 
 that neither strength nf»r insmniticanee eoiiid 
 secure their posstsstirs from my rule, I made 
 my tf)ol of a sorry Mouse. To that weak, 
 piiimy. miserable reptile, have ye all bowed 
 your haughtj heads, to save your forfeit lives. 
 Friends and va.-sals ! The Imperial Mou.se 
 hull abdicated, the Imperial lamily is exiinct ! 
 I am yotir Emperor ; and I commenco my 
 reign by an a|ioiliegni. 
 
 '• When courage has failed before craft; and 
 tlie mmhty in frame have been bowed beneath 
 Ihe mii;lity in intellect: the riii-isof obeiln-nee 
 can never be rent from the ears of deleat : 
 and tlie arrows of ambition will always re- 
 Uiund from the sun of royallv, «i>on the heuds 
 of those who bend the rebelliftus bow !" 
 
 As the self-elected monorcii eea.-ed siK-ak- 
 ing. he gazed around him with a look of proud 
 defiance ; placed his ffMit u|>on the Miuar-cane 
 in which the uiiha|>py Miee were .lyiiiy of 
 HufToealion. as U)-on a fiK)istool ; and secine* 
 to dare a dissentient murmur. Hut yono 
 arose; for the uhsombled animal.", Iinmbled 
 by the consciousncis of their difgrai-clul vn*- 
 salaRe to a wretched reptile, of whom iho more 
 
132 
 
 THE ROJIANCE OF THE HAEESt 
 
 wily Fox had made first a tool and then a disguised Greek ; '• Would she be content to 
 prey; and, startled into concession by the inliabit my liarem, and to weave the threads 
 
 sudden and unlooked-for assumption of an 
 animal, under whose guile and quick-wittcd- 
 ness tiiey had all severally writhed, could not 
 deny ihe superiority of their new master ; a 
 superiority which he could make them feel at 
 any moment, and in any emergency, wiien 
 brute force could not avail : they thci-efore 
 with one accord offered their obeisance, and 
 acknowledged him as their ruler. 
 
 One able diplomatist can secure more tri- 
 umphs than an army of lances. 
 
 PART II. 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 '• Ajaib — wonderful !" murmured the Tchor- 
 badji as he flung another purse into the lap of 
 the young Greek : '• I could listen to her for 
 ever ; her voice is like the sighing of the wind 
 through the light branches of the jasmin. 
 Mashallah ! she is a wonder ! What is writ- 
 ten, is written — I will purchase this fair slave, 
 mother," 
 
 '■ May my lord's will be all-powerful !'"' 
 gasped out the terrified Nevrcste, as she again 
 prostrated herself to the earth ; " liad it been 
 any aline of my troop save Mherpirwir and 
 SeVdika. would I not have given her to my lord 
 for gold? But these two — " 
 
 " What of these two ?" demanded the 
 Tcliorbadji with a lowering brow and a stern 
 gaze ; " Whose dog are you to thwart me in 
 my liumor ? I will purchase the slave for 
 seven purses." 
 
 '• Let not my lord blacken the face of his 
 servant ;"' persisted the old woman ; '" the 
 slave is not mine. The Camalcan of Stam- 
 boul had heard of the talent of this young 
 Ivlassaldji from the Bynbashi of the troops of 
 Damascus, and he has already paid a heavy 
 price for her to her late master. She is even 
 now on her way to Iskuidar,* where a slave 
 waits to conduct her to the harem of her new 
 lord. How then can I obey ? Am I not as no- 
 thing in this matter?" 
 
 " 'i'arik — beware !" frow^lcd the Tchor- 
 badji ; " that you deceive me not : tiiere are 
 no feet so swift in ail Roum but that the cord 
 is swifter. The slave pleases me, and I am 
 ready to jiay iter price." 
 
 " Will my lord lieap ashes upon the head of 
 his servant ?" added Nevrcstti ; '• Can the fig- 
 tree bear grapes, or tlie olive produce dhour- 
 ra ? How then can I give up a maiden who 
 is not mine?" 
 
 "And what says the Massaldji herself?" 
 asked the Tchorbadji, looking kindly on the 
 
 eloquence into the web of fiction to please 
 the cars which would be ever open to listen?" 
 
 •'The Tchorbadji is lord;" said Maniolo- 
 polo, as calmly as his agitation would permit 
 him to reply : " If the Camalcan of Stamboul 
 be eftntent to leave his slave unreclaimed, 
 then are her poor services at his will. Let the 
 Pasha (may his house prosper !) decide in this 
 matter." 
 
 This suggestion at once recalled the worthy 
 Janissary to his reason, andremindcil him that 
 he could not take the beard of the Minister in 
 his hand, as though it were that of an oda- 
 bashi* or a naib ;t and determined therefore 
 to rid himself of the affair at once, he said 
 coldly : 
 
 " Min Allah ! why should I trouble my 
 lord the Pasha for this thing ? Are there not 
 many Massaldjis in the land? What is the 
 spoil for which I should contend ? A^Tet der — • 
 it is a woman — it is bosh — nothing." 
 
 For a moment there was silence ; and 
 Maniolopolo watched with considerable anxiety 
 the countenance of the Tchorbadji, who con- 
 tinued to smoke with great energy, and a con- 
 traction of eye-brow by no means indicative 
 of internal satisfaction : while the alme slow- 
 ly rising from the floor, at the signal ot Nev- 
 reste, prepared to renew their dances. A wave 
 of the host's hand, however, prevented their 
 purpose; and muttering something of the late- 
 ness of the hour, he gravely descended from 
 the sofa, and without again glancing towards 
 the dancers, abruptly quitted the harem. 
 
 When he had fairly disappeared, all was 
 once more hilarity ; and tiie young beauty on 
 the sofa smiled out her pretty scorn at the sud- 
 den wliim of tlie Tchorbadji, who liad poured 
 forth his soul on first sight of an awali, whom 
 she vowed, by the grave of her mother, had a 
 light in her eyes which was nothing less than 
 modest. 
 
 Nevreste ventured to remonstrate, and to 
 uphold the propriety 'of her handsome com- 
 panion ; greatly to the amusement of the lady, 
 wlio called the dark-browed awali to llie cush- 
 ion at her feet, where she playfully toyed with 
 the long tresses of raven hair that fell upon 
 her shoulders, and bade her tell liow many 
 hearts she had broken since her bright black 
 eyes had learned the art in which they wcro 
 such adepts. 
 
 Maniolopolo, to whom his position was irk- 
 some in the extreme, despite the small white 
 hand, and soft accents of the fair wife of the 
 Tchorbadji, answered her by a timid glance, as 
 he resumed his zebcc : and having preluded 
 for a moment in melancholy cadences, as 
 though sad recollections had been awakened by 
 the question, at length murmured out in a sub- 
 
 Corporal. 
 
 t Cadi's Clerk. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE UAUEM. 
 
 188 
 
 dued voice his low aiid thrilling reply. Tho 
 air which he selected was wilda;> tlicsuinincr 
 wind — it was a Seiote melody ; ami it brought 
 with it a thousand mcniorios of the past, 
 which heightened its expression of encr^-y and 
 passion. 
 
 The Almk's So.tr- 
 
 Who loves the Aim* ? Oh mock me not now 
 Wiih the light of that eye, and the calm of that brow ; 
 For thee, such as thee, were those bles5ed hours made, 
 When ihe sunshine is looked, and when music is said ; 
 But the Almfi, though bright her younp beauty may be, 
 Can ne'er know the bliss that is lavished on thee ! 
 
 Who loves the Alme ? Her step may be li^ht. 
 
 Her form may be graceful, her eye may b< bright, 
 
 Her ear may drink in the most eloquent wurds 
 
 That e'er swept like a spell o'er the young spirit's chords ; 
 
 But the Alms's crushed heart to despondence is vow'd 
 
 When her brow is unveiled to the gaze of the crowd. 
 
 Then ask not the Alme. proud beauty, to tell 
 The t.ilesof the past in her memory that dwell; 
 Kather bid her forget that on earth there can be 
 A being so loved and so lovely as thee ; 
 Lest, wild with despair such a contrast to meet, 
 tShe fling off her garland, and die at thy feet. 
 
 A Stifled sob met the ear of Maniolopolo as 
 he laid aside the instrument : he involunta- 
 rily turned in the direction whence it came, 
 and saw Mlierpirwir slowly moving away ; 
 and his heart smote liini that in order tiie bet- 
 ter to sustain liis disgui.«e. he had suffered 
 himself to be betrayed into any expressions 
 calculated to wound the fair and gentle girl, 
 who had so zealously embraced his cause, and 
 risked her own safety to conduce to his hap- 
 piness. NevTestc had served him for gold, 
 and had f-ecured the wages of her concession: 
 the other alme had simply and blindly fiiitilled 
 the pledge of obedience to which they were | 
 vowed ; but there was something at the heart I 
 of the young Greek that told hii7i of a deeper | 
 and a more anxious interest on the part of I 
 Mherpirvvir. True, she was assistiim liim to] 
 look upon one whom he loved — but the expc- ' 
 ricnce of the fair dancing-girl had tauijht lier I 
 no tale of constancy on the part of lovers. In 
 the sky of her destiny she had seen ray after rny 
 of the youns heart's bri^'hiness clouded by the 
 vapours of distrust and clianirc ; she had heard 
 murmurs from the sweeleaf lips in the world, I 
 and seen tears in the loveliest cyc« : and 
 Mherpirwir was no logician. ManioloiKilo ' 
 ■wa-s a Greek, a Giaour ; a despised one like i 
 herself. He could worship the wife of the. 
 Moslem only as a bright shape limned on the 
 summer cloud — a l.iughm;; lii;ht nn tin* minny I 
 wave — .•oiiiPtliint.' impaliiabh* and traiimlory — 
 while, coulil shr win Iumi I — Hut here ihc'heart 
 of the girl beat painfully, and a deep bluAh i 
 burned for an inittant on her brow — No. no ; | 
 ehe M-ouid think no more : she dnrrd not. 
 
 Some portion of the triiih had already in- 1 
 truded itself on Maniolopolo ; he had known > 
 the almti only a few hour.", but there woji a 
 sottencd lii.'hl and a tunid expreiwion in her 
 deep eye when it wa« turned on hirn- that re- I 
 Sealed her secret. 
 
 His melancholy ballad lind smitten the fair 
 girl with a painful convietion which had never 
 before so thoroughly lorced itself upon her. 
 Who was she that she thus had dared to hopo 
 lliat she niiiiht appropriate ihc heart of one 
 like Maniolopolo ? Was not the very nam© 
 of an alnicthe by-word of scorn andconiumely? 
 Were not all the troop at the beek of every 
 stranger who spread gold upon his i>alm, to 
 divert his idlene.'^s. and to obey his beholH? 
 What had she to do with love, with tender- 
 ness, with piussion? Alas! nolhini; — Man- 
 iolopolo had laid bare before her the de.Hola- 
 tion of her lot; she miiihl weep away her 
 spirit, and steep her heart in tears ; there waa 
 no hand to wipe them away, no voice to soothe, 
 no arm to uphold her; and for a moment as 
 the dancin'i-i:irl moved from the side of tho 
 young Greek, a cold chill stole throush her 
 veins, and if she could at that instant be said 
 to feci, it was the hard, cold, stern riaidity of 
 the marble whieh bears the impress of beauty 
 without iUs vitality. Rut the death-like par- 
 oxy.<m, the strong spasm of despair, endured 
 not long; the viciim was too young lobe thus 
 emancipated from suffering ; the spirit thrall 
 had more biitcr pangs in store ; and the awak- 
 ening from this transient immobility was more 
 crushing than years of nuirmured sulTering. 
 
 The night w.as far advanced when Ncvresto 
 gave the signal for deparlurc ; and the wife 
 of the Tchorbailji dismissed her guests with 
 courtesy and irifts far exceeding their expecta^ 
 tions : nor did she invite their return, for tho 
 admiration of her lord had been too manit'eHt 
 towards the dissui.-ed Seulika to render that 
 l>ersonage a welcome guest : and the troop 
 liad already jiassed the threshold of the ha- 
 rem, and Maniolojwlo was carelully guiding 
 Ihe footsteps of the trembling Mherpirwir along 
 the rude pavement of the steep street which 
 led to the Theriaki Tcharchi. while the old 
 woman followed closely behind them, when 
 they were sud(hnly met by one of the cha- 
 ouslies* of the Pasha, preceded by a s«'ratcht 
 bearini; a pai>or lantern, who approaching No- 
 vresle exclaimed : 
 
 *• lii: hey — What '« this, mother ? You are 
 abroad at an unseemly hour with your flock 
 of jK-ris : I liavc been to the Tcharejn, the 
 devils nest, in whieh >ou have hoUHed your- 
 self (and Wallah billali ! 'tis no pleaMUit liuk 
 to thread that quarter of the city after night- 
 fall I) on a misMon from his liii:liiie>s (ha 
 I'asha (may Ins beard flourish !) il<- ha« 
 heard strange tuk-H of one of your aline, and 
 he honors you by a suiniiionii to hi!t harem 
 to-morrow evening at imnset : no prepare year 
 moon-faced beauties, and be careful not lo 
 fail at the ap|Niinted hour ; but Mtze your 
 good fortune with the graup of iwcurily, and 
 when the river m the west yonder runs gold. 
 
 * Offlc-r of th* houMhoUI. 
 t tUrvftBt o( ibc ilcjr. 
 
134 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 see that you stand before the door of the Pasha's 
 harem, or the grave of your father -will be de- 
 filed, and the soles of your feet uiilitled for 
 speedy travel."' 
 
 Tlie old woman bowed her obedience, and 
 murmured out a thousand assurances of her 
 delight at ihe summons ; and wlien the chaoush 
 and his attendant had passed on, she moved to 
 the side of Maniolopolo, and wliispered : " Wal- 
 lah ! your star is m the ascendant, young sir: 
 your kismet is propitious ; but is your heart 
 strong, and your pulse steady ? Sen bilirsen 
 — you know best. For my own part, I will 
 trust you. I sell you my neck for two purses, 
 and the present of the Paslia: take care that I 
 do not make a bud bargain, and find it in the 
 uoose through any folly of your mad passion." 
 
 " Korkma — fear not, mother;"' said the 
 young Greek : '• For my own sake, and for 
 hers. I will look thrice at my words belbre I 
 utter them. What is written, is written — my 
 feiech hath placed me in your hands, and 
 opened the door of the Pacha's harem to my 
 eager foot. What says the proverb ? ' When 
 you find water, drink it; when you find a 
 bridge, pass over it.' I found the water of 
 despair, and drained a deep draught ; and now 
 I find tlie bridge of hope, I am resolved, and 
 ready to cross it." 
 
 " Sen ektiar — you are the master ;" said 
 Nevreste : " and I am your slave. And now, 
 here we are at the Tcliarchi, where you can 
 deposit your disguise until to-morrow — Aghour 
 ola — Heaven speed you in your purpose : for 
 you have a bold spirit and a true heart, giaour 
 thougli you be." 
 
 With this blessing Maniolopolo took leave 
 of the old woman ; and having silently pressed 
 tlie slender fingers of Mherpirwir wiihin his 
 own, retired to the apartment where he had 
 assumed his disguise ; and having laid aside 
 tlie veil and anicry, and replaced them by tiie 
 turban and beenisii* in which he was accus- 
 tomed to traverse the city at night, he ha.stened 
 from the Tlieriaki Tcharchi which was already 
 loud wiih revelry and riot. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 It was a glorious noon ! The sun rode high 
 in heaven; the bees were busy among tiie 
 bean-flowers; the butterflies flitted hither and 
 lliitliiT, like blossoms loosened from their stems 
 by the summer-wind to be tiie bright coinpan- 
 KM.s of liis sport ; the golden-armored fish 
 lo.ipt high above the silver-bo.somed fountain, 
 and fell back glittering with the light; the sky 
 was a vault of torquoise ; and the leaves sang 
 a jilcasant melody at the bidding of the breeze. 
 \or was this all; for the laughter of childhood 
 
 • Cloak. 
 
 and the low sweet voice of woman came softly 
 to the ear, as Saifula Pasha, with a slow step 
 and a preoccupied spirit, silently paced to and 
 fro the tree-shadowed terrace tliat stretched 
 along beneath the windows of his harem. In 
 one hand he held his amber-lipped chibouquai 
 of jasmin wood ; the other was buried amidj 
 the folds of his girdle ; his lips were slightly, 
 compressed : his head declined ; and at times' 
 he drew a long breath like one whose spirit 
 was overladen \\'ith thought. 
 
 His sclictar-aga* and his chibouque-bashif 
 followed at a short distance, but did not even 
 converse in whispers : so bewildered were they 
 by the sudden restlessness of their master. At 
 length the Satrap paused, and pointing to a 
 spot where the shadows fell deep and cool, a 
 slave obeyed the signal, and spread his carpet, 
 upon which he seated himself, while his atten- 
 dants with oflicious zeal arranged his cushions, 
 prepared his pipe, and performed for .him all 
 the little othces of attentive zeal. 
 
 " Mazzouk," said the Pasha, when his selic- 
 tar-aga alone stood beside him, all the other 
 attendants having respectfully retired: "there 
 is a weight upon my spirit ; the labors of the 
 divan have wearied me. I hate the contact 
 to which 1 am subjected by ihe supineness of 
 that dog the Cadi, who is not worth the pillauf 
 i he destroys — Masliallah ! He is an ass, and 
 the father of asses !" 
 
 The Satrap paused, and threw out a long 
 thin thread of smoke from his chibouque, 
 which curled for a moment about his bright 
 and jetty beard ; and the seliclar-aga bowed 
 his acquiescence in the opinion of his master 
 with an unction which admitted no doubt of 
 his sincerity. 
 
 '' To see the divan," pursued the Pasha, 
 " one would imagine that the city was oua 
 vast Timerhaze !| They are not men whom , 
 he brings before me for judgment : haivan der 
 — they are animals — creatures from whom 
 you may wring their heart's blood more easily , 
 than their piastres — Half! half! — shame, 
 shame ! I have sat there three ho'urs this day 
 in the name of the Prophet, and not a single 
 purse has passed into the treasury." 
 
 '• Mashallah ! He is a dog. and deserves 
 the cord," said the attendant coolly. 
 
 '•Am I not the shadow of the Padishah?" 
 continued the Pasha in a low tone of concen- 
 trated anger ; " And shall he not have justice? ' 
 Let liiin look to it if things do not change. 
 Inshallah ! I wrong no man." . 
 
 A few moments of silence succeeded, and 
 again the Satrap spoke : '' And this Frank, 
 this infidel dog, of whom he told me in full 
 divan not a month back, who scattered his 
 money in the city streets, and made an okkal{ 
 of his dwelling, where all wlio came were wel- 
 come ; what has become of him ? With whose 
 
 * Pword-beait 
 X Mad-house. 
 
 t Keeper of the pipe. 
 5 Tavern. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE UAREJI. 
 
 185 
 
 httltisherifTe* has ho passed the gates? By 
 Allah ! there has been treason — and the Cadi 
 has played tlie codgea-basha, and levied trib- 
 ute lor himself." 
 
 *• Bashusiun — on my head bo it ! My lord 
 the Pasha has his foot on the nock of tlie glior- 
 ymsak ;'' said the selietar-aga, lurnin^: nsii'.o 
 to spit out his contempt of the Cadi. 
 
 "Have you heard aught of tliis spendtlirift 
 Frank?"' asked the Pasha: "if it be as the 
 Cadi says, he must be well known in ilie city." 
 
 '•Your slave has heard that the stranger is 
 no Frank," was the reply; "but a rascally 
 Greek from the Islands, who has been laughing 
 at the beards of the True BelieverSj and call- 
 ing himself a Gaul." 
 
 "Ha ! is it so ?" said the Satrap, a gleam 
 of pleasure passing over his swarthy counten- 
 ance; '• Then by the soul of his mother, he 
 shall pay dearly for his insolence. A Greek ! 
 Where is the karatch ?t He shall pay it to 
 the uttermost para : aye, to the uttermost. 
 You shall talk with him, Mazzouk ; and you 
 know your duty." 
 
 The selictar-aga laid his hand upon his 
 heart, and smiled. 
 
 " Shall we have our faces blackened by a 
 ralah ?" pursued the Satrap; "a vile slave 
 ^•ho was born under the yoke ? and wliose 
 cunning has taught him to take shelter in the 
 name of a Frank Khawajir?| And a Gaul, 
 too! Were there not Russians and Knulish 
 enough between Seandcria and Stamboul, but 
 he must call himself a Gaul !" 
 
 " The slave is as keen a.s a makaisa :'"^ said 
 the selictar-aga, selecting a .'••imile which was 
 as professional as it was apt : " Had he writ- 
 ten himself either Ru.'-s or Briton, we miglit 
 have read the clieat. for these Giaours are all 
 as like from Ramazan to Ramazan. as the 
 pearls in my lords turban : and they who have 
 once known one of the unclean dogs, can tell 
 bim again even should they meet on the educ 
 of the Great Desert ; but the Gaul is a.« chance- 
 ful a.s the shadows of the temi)eht on the 
 waters of Boulac; and ihcrc is no swearing to 
 his beard." 
 
 "And how know you thiB?" asked Ihc 
 Fasha, amazed at the erudition of liiji attend- 
 ant; -'Have you plunged your fingcrM into the 
 same pillauf with the rnhelieven*, that you 
 can tell the signs of their uncleannc.«.« !••'' 
 
 " May the hand of your »lavc pc^l^h if it 
 hath done ihi.s !" said th'j-functionary ftolcmn- 
 ly ; •* Whose dog am I that I hhould defile my 
 own grave ? I learned the ►ecrel fr'-m a hadji 
 •who had travelled to the far eajit ; and who told 
 me that a mighty Schali. who knew litth- of the 
 >nfidcl nations of ihe w^-Bt. and who M>u<.'ht to 
 learn in what the Giaourn of ihoiie landx of 
 darkness differed the one from the other, em- 
 
 • Firman. 
 } Merc Lint. 
 
 t CapiuiioB Ux l«Ti*<) on matu. 
 ^ Sbon-tword. 
 
 ployed a famous painter, who could cunnin^'If 
 spread the luits of the rainbow over the sur- 
 face of tlic papyrus, and create briglil shu|io« 
 that wanted only breath and life to iiiak<- tliein 
 equal to the houris, to trace lor him a (Jiaour 
 of every land within the circle of Kl Cat, that 
 so ho might, should any of these reslhss har- 
 harians travel to Ins court, ho able at once to. 
 tell to what nation he belonged. Hut I wcaxy 
 
 my lord " 
 
 "Go on," said the Pasha, " I listen." 
 "The painter obeyed the Imperial com* 
 mand :" pursued the selictar-aga with iiierea*. 
 ed animation, encouraged by the uniLMial at- 
 tention of his ma.'<tcr : " and he soon laid upon 
 the step of Ihe throne so many tighi-visied 
 and whiskered etligies that the Schah had 
 nearly expired with mirth ; but at leiicth ho 
 came to one where the tJiaour stood unclothed, 
 holding in his hand a web of silk ; and he do- 
 mandcd from the painter in what land tho 
 men thus unblushingly dispensed with tho 
 garments which they po.-se.'^sed the means of 
 fashioning. ' May my lord's shadow never 
 decrea.se!' said the painter: "In nocounlryof 
 tlie west where the Giaours have learned to 
 weave the |Toducc of the worm or the eotton- 
 trce, do they llius deprive themselves of the 
 fruits of their industry. I have therefore laid 
 betore the eyes of my lord the garb of every 
 nation save one, for elsewhere the garment of 
 to-day may bo worn to-niorrow ; but with iho 
 I Gaul it is not so ; and had I made for liirn a 
 dress to any given measure. tliom.'h at sunriso 
 he might have been distinguished by it Irom 
 all the nations of the earth, at suii.set it would 
 have borne no more reseniblanco to his actual 
 I appearance than tho lotus bears to the olivo 
 { tree, or the stork to the blue dcivc. I hovo 
 therclbre given him the material uiifa.-lii<)ncd, 
 ! in order that my lord the Sehuh may imagino 
 I for hun. each time tliat he looks ui>on the pic- 
 I ture. a new and distinct costume.' 'Ihus then, 
 ! Light of the Karth ;' continued the srlietar- 
 ' Bga, bowing low before his muster; •'. 1 deem 
 that tho Greek slave hait called himself a 
 Gaul, dreading that your pcnetrntjon and 
 knowledge would have dcteetc<l the itn|HM«tiiro 
 had ho declared himself to bo tho subject of 
 any other land." 
 
 •• I lai. hai — true, true ;'' said the Satrap with 
 a grim sinilo ; " but Alhcmdullilah — i>rai»e l>o 
 to Allah ! ho will not chcapc even thu.-t. Wo 
 arc not to sulTcr the'saml of the de>erl to be 
 tiling into our even by a wrctrhed roVah. 
 Frangi domouo — the Frunkft are hog*, l>c ihcy 
 Runs or Gauls; and ihe (irei-ki> are dogn, and 
 till" falheni of dogx. lie hhull pay tho knralch 
 eitlnT w ilh hih hands or feet ." 
 
 •• liahhustun — "ii my head bn it." unid th« 
 selictar-aija. and the Paxlia smoked on with 
 renewed vigor. hain«lied that tho worthy funo* 
 tionary would kci-p lux word. 
 
 '• Mazzouk," bald the 1'ai.ha, after a long 
 
136 
 
 THE ROMAJfCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 pause. 
 
 vour face is whitened : vou have 
 
 charmed the car of attention, and turned the 
 Bands of the hour-glass to gold. I knew that 
 your arm was strong, but I have only learnt 
 to-day that you can think as well as strike. I 
 am weary of the tales told in my harem; they 
 are over-ripe pomegranates, and pall me. 
 .Have you no legend of war and strife, such as 
 may make me belieVe. while I lie here upon 
 my cn.'ihions, thai I see the roving Tartar with 
 his tall cap and slender lance, the hardy Scy- 
 thian with his huge bow grasped like a toy, 
 the Arab with his unerring djcrrid, or the false 
 Greek with his long spear gleaming in the sun- 
 shine, as he Hies before the Allah hu ! of the 
 conquering Moslem? I want a tale like the 
 neighing of a war-horse, or the blast of a trum- 
 pet : I love the far-off rumbling of warfare, 
 and had I not been a Satrap, by the soul of 
 my father ! I would haA'e been a warrior !" 
 
 At the conclusion of this noble and safe 
 burst of pugnacious oratory, the Pasha resu- 
 med his chibouque almost fiercely, while Jie 
 twirled his moustache, and looked defiance 
 at the selictar-aga, who, having respectfully 
 pressed the hem of the great man's garment to 
 liis lips, stood for a moment buried in thought, 
 and then, obeying the gracious gesture.of the 
 Pasha, seated himself on the edge of the car- 
 pet, and at once commenced his narrative. 
 
 CHAPTER LVn. 
 
 " I MUST transport my lord to the farthest 
 East, that I may tell him that which he may 
 not perchance have heard; for should I engage 
 his ear with a tale of the wars of Roum, and 
 of the glories of the conquering armies of the 
 Padishah, the Descendant of tlie Prophet, and 
 the Refuge of the World, should I not heap 
 a.>;hes upon my head, when my lord Iniows 
 all things, and his servant is less than a dog 
 before Jjim '?" 
 
 The Pa.^ha drew in a long stream of the 
 sweet-scented gcbcli, and nodded liis approba- 
 tion ; while the selictar-aga. encouraged by 
 the sesture, thus proceeded. 
 
 "Half the world had bowed beneath the 
 strong right arm of the wonderful Subuctagi 
 and his warlike son, the bright-eyed Mahmoud, 
 when his grandson Musaoud ascended the 
 royal steps of the throne of Ghizni. It was a 
 moment of trial, for the brave Azim Schah Sil- 
 jochi. the lord of the Toorkomans, had already 
 subdued tlie kingdoms of Bokhara and Sumar- 
 caml, reaping their harvest with the sword, 
 and awakenini: their echoes with the clash of 
 steel, and the thunder of prancing hoofs. He 
 was born for battle ; the storm and the tem- 
 pest rocked him to rest in his infancy ; he 
 laughed as the red lightnings danced around 
 tun, and chased the thunder-bolt, when it fell 
 
 ruin-laden into the valley. He breasted tha 
 waves when the wild sea was chafed into an- 
 ' ger, and leaped the precipices in whose depths 
 death lay coiled like a serpent. 
 
 " When his boyhood was spent, and that hh 
 upper lip was fringed with the beard of 
 I sireagth, he became only more bold and 
 I dauntless. The spear and the sword were 
 dearer to him than the zebec or the hookah, 
 I and the trumpet-blast sweeter than the voices 
 j of the awalis. His ambition was as a fiery 
 I torch which spread devastation before it, and 
 I his name was the watchword of the war^ 
 riors when they rushed upon the weapons of 
 the foe. 
 
 '• Masaoud had not yet girded on the scimi« 
 tar of sovereignty, when the warlike Azim 
 pressed onward, even within the limits of his 
 empire ; and he no sooner became the right 
 hand of power than he resolved to stem the 
 torrent of invasion ere it reached the footstep 
 of his throne ; and for this purpose he called 
 to him the noble Altasash, the brave viceroy 
 of Charism, who had long panted to cross 
 swords with the victorious Prince of the 
 Toorkomans. 
 
 '• All Ghizni was comnilsed -snth pride and 
 admiration, when the eagle-browed Altasash 
 galloped like a meteor towards the plain where 
 his gallant army was assembled. His steel- 
 clad warriors were counted by thousands, and 
 one universal shout of welcome, which seemed 
 to shake the astounded earth even to its cen» 
 tre, hailed him as he bounded forward with 
 his son Kousruf by his side. He was the idol 
 of the people, and there stood not one among 
 that closely-serried host who would not have 
 freely shed his blood for the brave and high* 
 souled Altasash. 
 
 '• Mothers blessed him as he passed, and 
 held their infants high above their heads thai 
 ; they might look upon the hero; the aged wepi 
 ] that their strength was spent, and they could 
 j not follow him to battle; while they who had 
 j hitherto resisted the temptation, flung down 
 their peaceful tools, or instruments of sport) 
 and grasping a ruder weapon, rushed to thfi ,' 
 j ranks of battle. 
 
 " Winter had already stretched his icy hand 
 ■over the earth, but the gallunt viceroy lieeded 
 ■ not its pressure ; the enemy strode on, and ho 
 disdained to yield before the perseverance of 
 the conquering Azim. As the armed host ' 
 swept tbrward, ally was wretchedness before 
 and about them ; the trees stretched forth their 
 leafless arms towards a murky and leaden 
 sky; the winds howled through the vallej-s 
 like savage monsters in search of prey; the 
 ' torrents, swoln with rain, leaped and roared, 
 as they escaped from their channel, and bore , 
 on their turbid waves the wreck of many a 
 stately tree torn from its roots, and hurled to 
 ruin by the tempest ; fragments of rock, 
 wrenched away by the storm-gusts, fell claif 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE UAREM. 
 
 137 
 
 tering into the defiles of the mountains ; and, 
 at length, amid all this desolation the gaunt 
 fiend Famine stalked through liie camp, and 
 shook his bony hand above the host. But tlie 
 heroes of Ghizui defied liim totlielast: tiie 
 ardent Altasash met him as the rock meets the 
 tempe.^t, and the troops, ciicvmraged by his 
 example, armed themselves with resolution, 
 and cried shame upon the craven who dared 
 to murmur! The mountain path " 
 
 '• Mashallah !" interrupted the Pasha, with 
 a: most unequivocal yawn ; '' I have mi.^takcn 
 my taste : 1 have already heard enough of 
 this second Rustum :* let him rest in peace, 
 ■whether he died of want or a keen steel, which 
 is a fact that, thanks be to the Propliet, I know 
 nothing about. The day is wearing, and the 
 shadows are growing longer; we will hasten 
 the evening meal, and leave your hea^T war- 
 riors to their mountain-path." 
 
 The disconcerted sword-bearer did not ven- 
 Ctire to reply; but silently motioning to the 
 attendants, who were lying half asleep upon 
 the turf at a distance, to approach and do their 
 duty, he slowly followed the Pasha to the pa- 
 lace, with a clouded brow, and a most un- 
 enviable feeling of mortified vanity. 
 
 As they pas.«ed beneath the windows of the 
 harem, the .sweet voice of Katinka came upon j 
 the wind, and the Satrap involuntarily stopped | 
 to listen. As the son<r proceeded, his eye , 
 lightened, and his lip quivered with pleasure: 
 ttnd, when it ceased, he moved on, and with- 
 out delayinc a moment in his own apartment, 
 at once beckoned to him his Aga Baba, and 
 entered the harem. 
 
 The pensive Carimfil, as she ro.se to wel- 
 <5ome him, smiled faintly, and then relapsed 
 Into her usual gloom : but the young Greek 
 girl turned on him a glance of fire that 8cem- 
 ed to be reflected on liis soul; and lier ready 
 hand arranged his cushions and her soft voice 
 greeted him A»-ith a feeling not to be misun- 
 derstood. 
 
 Coffee was served, and the graceful Kalinka 
 tras seated at the feet of her friend in respcel- 
 fill silence, when tlie Pasha, whose idienew* 
 required amusement, after graciou.-^ly imparl- 1 
 lag to his fair listeners (he recent failure of 
 the selictar-aga. turned toward.s her .'•iniiingly, | 
 and bade her i>ut tlie sword-hearer to ghuine, j 
 by one of these tales which fell from her Iijb ; 
 like wild lioney from tlic trunk of the fig- i 
 tree. ' 
 
 The beautiful slave an.swcrcd by meekly 
 pre.«.«ing her liands upon her bosom, and fcMVuiR 
 )iersclf up to thouL'ht ; and ok the Pa>ha lo<jkcd 
 upon her, he swore by hi.i beard thai hhc wan , 
 tnorc lovely than a houri, but om he did not I 
 put the vow into wordB, none were aware nave • 
 Katinka hcr.'-cif that Bhc vra« the subject of 
 his reverie. 
 
 * A celebnud autero hiro. 
 
 Slowly raisiuK iier head like a blossom that 
 lias been bent with rain, after Iho Injisoofa 
 few moments the Greek girl prepared tospcnk; 
 and fixing her deep eyes on tlie Pa.^iia. while 
 she clasped one of the fair hands of iiis young 
 wife within her own, she thus obeyed liis 
 bidding. 
 
 CIIAPTKi: LVin. 
 
 THE PASHAS DAVr.HTEn. 
 
 The Paslia Taiat was the Satrap of a 
 powerful province too far removed from the 
 magnifieent City of the Three Seas, tlic capital 
 of the Lord of Life, to be frequently convulsed 
 by the factions which must ever rend the me- 
 tropolis of a great Empire. Ilis eliaoushes 
 knew no other lord, save by the voice of ru- 
 mor ; they had never laid their forelieads in 
 the dust before a greater than himself; and 
 they served him with the blind obedience 
 which was their duty. 
 
 Every karabasli* and astrologer of the pro- 
 vince had predicted for him a long life and a 
 prosperous fortune. Ilis spahisf were alert 
 and brave, and threw the djerid with all the 
 art of Arabs: his palace was the noblest in 
 the city, and his k:isrj the stroniiest in the 
 mountains ; his mir-akhor^ was justly proud 
 of his unrivalled stud ; his yuzba.«.his|| were 
 faithful, and tlie strange merehaiit.s who from 
 time to time traded in the bazAr, rejiaid with 
 a willing and liberal hand the protection and 
 justice which they ever found in the divan of 
 Talflt Pa.si!a. 
 
 But the Satrap possessed one gem which 
 outvalued the diamonds of his treasury and 
 the revenue of Ins pa.>-lialik. Ifis beard won 
 already marbled with gray when the jtrayor 
 of his heart wa.** answered, and he l>ecaine tho 
 father of a lovely ;:irl. Pure nn the blosMnut 
 of the Indian Airla, lovely as the burslinR 
 rose when it drinks in the dew-drop of tho 
 early duwn. and graceful as the fawn which 
 sports by Ms motherK hide beneath the fcjresl 
 bouifliR, Maitap** seemed to liave come on 
 earth to .•■hew the world how fair the j^ris ot 
 Paradise may be. Her molhcr lovrd her tut 
 the bulbul loves the moonli:>ht ; her father 
 eUing to her as to the prinei|)le of Ins ••xi*l<neo ; 
 and ojt years went by, and lime only rejidered 
 hero more faultlexs — the fume of her rare 
 beauty was noised abroad ; and many a |>oct 
 rhymed the name of the Pa>lia'M daughter lo 
 a Ihoiihand expletives of harmony and love. 
 
 Fathers sued for their sons, and molhcn 
 visited the harem of tho Snirap to satiiify 
 themselves that run ilrun rcolily ; 
 
 * WiMmkii, 1 Cull*. 
 
 ( H«»d-cr.y m 
 
138 
 
 THE roma:n"ce of the harem. 
 
 but the proposals of the one. and the scrutiny palace of Talat, and his rejection had fallen 
 of the other alike availed nothing; the Pasha upon him like a stroke of destiny. From the 
 loved his child too much to thwart her fancy ; hour that he lo.st hope, he felt to live without 
 and the glorious pearl of the province only the beautiful Maitap would be inipo.-^.^ible; 
 wept when they talked to her of quitting her and as he sped homeward, he breathed an 
 father's roof. ; earnest and a solemn vow that he would win 
 
 Amons the numerous suitors whom her love- ' her or die. 
 
 lincss drew around the carpet of the Pasha, 
 was the dark-eyed Youssouf Bey, the only son 
 
 But how? 
 
 Youssouf Bey was young and sanguine, full 
 
 of a wealthy Satrap whose province adjoined of life and love — rich, talented, and hand.^ome, 
 that of the father of Maitap. The country If ever hope brushed away a dark shadow tVora 
 rang with his praises : he had read the Koran the tablet of despair with her sunny wing, ii 
 thrice throuiih : he had transcribed the poesies' was for such as he ! 
 
 of Hafiz on the tablet of his memory; while' Despite his love for his daughter, Talat 
 yet a youth he had mortally wounded an Arab, Pasha could not conceal the feeling of disap- 
 Schick in a skirmish whence older and stronger pointment with which he saw the young Bey 
 warriors had fled : to the courage of a man he depart. He could hope no brighter fortune fol 
 joined the softness of a woman : and when the her than that which she had ju^-t rejected; and 
 proud Pasha asked for him the hand of the he was mortified also that the haughty suitoi 
 Satrap Talat"s daughter, his heart was as free had not made a single effort to change th( 
 from any impression as the mysterious sea temper of the chilling beauty, but had bowec 
 over which navies have passed without leaving beneath her decision without a word of remoa 
 a trace behind; but unlike the illimitable strance. 
 
 ocean, that heart had never yet been laid bare j Time, however, which softens all things! 
 to any contact, and when the fair Maitap was gradually diminished the regret of the Pasha 
 mentioned to him as his future bride, he lis- and he forgot to sigh when the name of th(- 
 tened in silence, and taught himself to love Satrap Sarim was mentioned in his presence , 
 her in hearkening to the hyberbolical panegy-j Nor could he forbear rejoicing, when the labor 
 rics of the strangers who visited the palace. |0f the divan were over, that the sweet smil 
 But his father's rank and his own merit of Maitap still welcomed his arrival in th 
 availed him nothing. Presents both rare and harem, and shed a ray of light over his exist 
 costly were sent to the harem of Talat Pasha :ence; and, eventually, he almost learned t ' 
 his mother, anxious for his happiness, employ- rejoice that his lovely child was either colde'' 
 ed every wile in order to insure success ; the or more capricious than the rest of her sex. ', 
 father of the young beauty expatiated on the' The u.-^ual quiet monotony of llie Satrap''! 
 advantages of the connection, and every female palace was one morning disturbed by the ir " 
 tongue in the city was loud in his praise; yet telligence that a strange merchant had arrive 
 he met no happier fate tlian his less worthy ' in the city, and established himself in tb 
 
 rivals. The young beauty li.stencd. wept, and 
 finally refused to allow the name of Youssouf 
 Bey to be mentioned in her presence. 
 
 Opportunities had not been wanting when 
 she might have satisfied herself of his rare per- 
 sonal advantages, but she had avoided them ; 
 nor did she approach the lattices of her apart- 
 ment until siie ascertained that, hopeless of 
 success, he had quitted the city. 
 
 The failure of the young and gallant Bey 
 acted powerfully on the spirits of the other 
 suitors of the lady; they felt that where he 
 had gatiiered only a.shes, they could secure no 
 treasure : and one by one, slowly and reluc- 
 tantly, they withdrew their claims. 
 
 Light was the heart of the fair Maitap when 
 the last hoof-stroke of tlie lover-band resound- 
 ed through the court-vard, and the rider jial- 
 
 principal khan, with an assortment of stuf 
 such as had never before been beheld in tl: 
 province. One of the household slaves ha 
 lingered to see many of the bales opened, an 
 gave a most exciting description of their coi 
 tents, as well as of the Khawaji himself; ar 
 the fair ]\Jaitap. who had become wearied alii 
 of her tushee,* her birds, and her flower 
 amid the languor of a warm day of summe 
 was not sorry to find a new source of amus 
 ment in the hyperbolical details of the volub 
 Said^. 
 
 " Mashallah !" pursued the slave, as si 
 perceived that her beautiful young mistre 
 was leaning forward upon her cusluons to li' 
 ten ; •' I never saw such silks, nor such eye; 
 One of them worked with gold, in the cyph 
 of the Padishah on a ground of bright orang 
 
 loped a.vay in search of a more willing bride ;j and another of clear blue rayed with silv( 
 and as she hung upon the neck of her father. And then such a beard! as black and 
 and buried her sweet face in his bosom, she glossy as a bird's wing: and the most delic;i 
 murmured eentle words of tenderness and trust muslins for yashmacs If you might sec t 
 that drew tears from the eyes of the Pasha 
 and blessings from his lips. 
 Less ha 
 
 )y was the son of the Satrap Sarim ; I 
 no fear of failure had gone with him to thei 
 
 very color of the lips they covered. An 
 wallah billah ! a voice that goes through a: 
 
 Chaplet. 
 
 t Veil. 
 
TUE ROMANCE OF TUE IIAUEil. 
 
 189 
 
 flirough you, as thouiih it spoke to your soul 
 rather tliau your ears. Ajnib — wonderful ! 
 why he has broiiglit into tliecity the huliiig of 
 nine camels — ami he walks like ii Vezir."' 
 , The fair Maila|» could not restrain her mirth. 
 and clasping her lit lie hands, she pave way to 
 a hearty burst of graceful lan^I-icr. '• And 
 how call you this wondrous trader, Saidc I 
 And wlience comes lie ? From the coral caves 
 of the deep sea, or the tleeey vapors of the blue 
 sky ? For such eyes, and beard, and tones as 
 Uie«e can surely not beloni; to a nierc mortal.'' 
 
 '• Ne bilirim — what can I say '?"' replied the 
 
 slave ; " He .•seemed to me to be mortal, aye, 
 
 and to feel like a man, for when Giadilla. the 
 
 Kadenhahia,*of the Cadi's daughter, who was 
 
 looking on while he was arranging his goods, 
 
 declared that she should fall sick if she could 
 
 not persuade her mistress to purchase for her 
 
 I a calemquer.f which marvellou.»ly struck her 
 
 I fancy, tiie young Khawaji folded it in an in- 
 
 I Btant and placed it in her hand, with a smile 
 
 as bright as the colors in which it wa.^ painted, 
 
 though the a.stonished Kadenhahia told him 
 
 that she had not a para in the world." 
 
 '• Your merchant-prince is indeed a marvel ;" 
 smiled the young Hanoum ; 'but I would 
 learn his name." 
 
 '• They call him the Khawaji Zadig. and he 
 comes Irom Bassora. Mashallah ! what an 
 eye he has. and a forehead like a Padishah! 
 Giadilla was in luck to-day; her kismet won 
 a gift for her from the whitest and the softest 
 hands in the world."' 
 
 •• Nay, you are mad, Saidi ;" said the fair 
 Maitap. striving to call up a frowTi ; "One 
 would think that no strange merchant had ever 
 before visited the city, or rewarded the inso- 
 lence of an idle nurse with a head-dress ; let 
 me hear no more of this — it is unseemly." 
 
 The rebuked attendant bowed her liead in 
 silence, and shortly aWer quilted the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 An unusual restlessness suddenly seized the 
 Pasha's dauL'hter : she ro.^e from the sofa : 
 thrust her delicate lectinlo her |>earl-spniiklcd 
 slippers : tried all her m.-truments one after 
 tlie other, and rejected each in turn ; comjdain- 
 ed of an oppression in tlie air ; dihcovcred that 
 the water in her goblet wa« heated and »>ick- 
 ly, and that the musk-lefiionit which were itcat- 
 tered over the ro<>m alTicicd l.i'r h<':iH : «ii»l 
 finally quarrelled wiih the i-xr|uiMi. , 
 tliat wa.H folded about her brow, lu 
 tliat, since she had lookf'd iiiio a u, 
 had never worn a color thai became her 
 
 The inference was simple : a new cache* 
 
 mire must be purchased ; and she had alreaily 
 examined and rejected every shawl -n Iho 
 bazAr of the city, save iIklsc of tlic strango 
 merchant. She would disjiaich a slave to bid 
 the Khawaji send his choicest mrrrhiindiso to 
 ' ihe palacf ; and ycl, no — how could lit- divino 
 her tastes? He would probably reiaui the 
 very thing she wanted, and she i<hould bo 
 wearied by looking over a heap of uiiinlurcAt- 
 ins lumber. Truly, this was a dilemma. 
 The bazar was at the other exlreiiiiiy of the 
 city ; the streets were hot and close : und tlio 
 [ very wind seemed to have been fannmg tho 
 I sun, and to have carried away its N\armth, for 
 I it fell on the brow like the prc.-sure of a heat- 
 ' ed hand ; but should she delay until tho cool 
 I hours, the liuht would fail, and she could no 
 longer disliiiuuish the colors of the web— Iks- 
 ' sides, some Kmir's wife might carry otT tho 
 very cachemire that she coveted ; and this ro- 
 tlection was so alarmim;, that the fair Maitap 
 j at once clapped her hands, and de.-ired tho 
 I slave who obeyed the suiiiinons. to order her 
 ' araba, to bring her feridjhc* and ya.vhmae, and 
 to prepare her two principal attendants to ac* 
 ' company her to the bazAr. 
 I Ha VI 111: made these arrangements, the gentle 
 ' girl subsided once more into coi!i|»0!«uro ; re- 
 sumed her tusbee, and passed Its jxTlunied 
 beads rapidly tlirouizh her liiiiicrs. a.n she mur- 
 mured out a love-ballad which by some ex- 
 ' traordinary fatality just then recurred to her 
 I memory ; and smiled once or twice as though 
 I some pleasant thought had grown with iho 
 inelotly. Her resolution was a holiday for tho 
 I two favored slaves who were to attend her, for 
 [curiosity had grown very jKiwerfully in tho 
 1 harem since Said<i had told the tale of iho 
 ! goo<l-fortune of iho Cadi's Kadenhahia with 
 I the new Khawaji ; and while home of tho fair 
 slaves dreamt of painted calemquem and em- 
 broidered hilks. otheni were indulgint; vuions 
 of dark eyes, ruby lii>s, and tones of music. 
 
 The araba was soon ready, for Zobcjdah 
 and Shereen. the ehoxeii pair who wcic to pro- 
 tit by th<> Midden whim of the young iR'uuty, 
 had urged the Arabadjef and the SerudJe^| to 
 their greutenl ^|>ecd ; and Maitap was xtill 
 busily engaged in arrani;inu, with more than 
 her usual exocliiei.«, the trall^pa^e!lt folds of 
 the envious veil which was to shroud horloTO. 
 , liiiriMi when the richly gilt and Mikeii-curlaio- 
 i:;e rallied to the door. Kniir inounl- 
 .. ^u^^oululed il ; nnd ere brng it waa 
 along tho rude pavement ol lh« oilf 
 tltccU. 
 
 * nuidk«rciti«r vora •« tk» UU. 
 
140 
 
 THE ROilAKCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 THE pasha's daughter CONTINUED. 
 
 The Khan of Damascus, as the caravanserai 
 was called, in which the Merchant had taken 
 up his abode, was situated near the southern 
 gate of the city, many stadia from the palace 
 of the Pasha ; and more than once durinir her 
 drive the heart of Mai tap beat more quickly 
 than usual, as she asked herself why she thus 
 indulged a caprice, as extraordinary as it wa.< 
 unaccountable. Frequently was she tempted 
 to change her purpose, and simply to visit the 
 bazar ; but a resist less impulse urged her to 
 persevere in her original intention ; and while 
 this mental war was wasing in her heart, the 
 araba drove into the yard of the caravanserai. 
 
 In the centre of the court a handsome foun- 
 tain poured forth its volume of bright spark- 
 ling water ; and in one corner sose a small 
 edifice dedicated to the sick birds brought by 
 the hunters and peasants from the mountains. 
 A pair of noble eagles, with their feathers 
 ruffled by illness, crouched heavily upon the 
 roof; a lame stork was visible through one 
 of thecasemcnts ; and a number of small birds, 
 of different descriptions, were perched on the 
 eaves of the building. 
 
 But Maitap saw neither fountain nor infir- 
 mary ; her eyes were fixed on a young man. 
 who' stood earnestly conversing with a sapl 
 
 much whom he could be. The slaves who 
 sat at her feet detected the sudden preoccupa. 
 tion of their mistress with the intuitive pene- 
 tration of the sex : and although they uttered 
 no comment, they glanced expressively at each 
 other, and then indulged themselves in gazing 
 on the same object, with an interest and admi» 
 ration only inferior to her own. 
 
 When the carriage stopped at the entrance 
 of the store, great was the satisfaction of the 
 Pasha's daughter on remarking that the hand- 
 some stranger hurriedly terminated his conver* 
 sationwith the soldier, and turned his steps in 
 the same direction ; and the cloud which had 
 gathered upon her brow was dissipated in an 
 instant, when with a low and respectful saliita- 
 tion, he followed her into the spacious ware- 
 house, and stood silently with downcast eyes, 
 awaiting her commands. 
 
 This then was the Merchant Zadig ! 
 
 For the first time the proud beauty felt ill 
 at ease ; she had forgotten why she came 
 there, and what she sought ; and she remained 
 earnestly gazing upon the khawaji, withoul 
 making an effort to give even the sernblanct 
 of accident to her visit. 
 
 The stranger was about five-and-twenty 
 his eyes were as black as ebony, and as brigh: 
 as sunbeams ; his port was haughty ; and his 
 brow well became the pride that sat on hi; 
 finely-moulded lips. He wore a turban of 
 which the cachemire was almost above price 
 
 and whose extreme personal beauty exceeded his flowing robe was of crimson silk, rayec 
 
 any thing which she had previously imagined, i 
 As she lav back upon her cushions, with her 
 feather-fan before her face, she could indulge 
 her admiration without a fear of his observina 
 her; and this feeling of security betrayed her 
 into a reverie which was only terminated by 
 the harsh voice of the Aga Baba, who reining 
 up his splendid Arabian close to her side, in- 
 quired her further pleasure. 
 
 " Yavash, yavash — softly, softly ;" she said, 
 starting at once into a full consciousness of 
 the error into which she had been betrayed : 
 " I have not yet quite decided whether I shall 
 venture to encounter the fatigue of bargaining 
 with the khawajis to-day ; my head aches, and 
 my eyes arc heavy." 
 
 " Wc will then return at once to the palace." 
 said the uclto. and he had already gathered 
 up his bridle, when the lady exclaimed 
 peevishly, * 
 
 '■'• And yet when I have submitted to the 
 tediousness of traversing the city, I may as 
 well profit by the exertion, or I shall be com- 
 pelled to repeat it. Inquire, therefore, for the 
 store of the merchant Zadig." 
 
 The Aga Baba obeyed; and the araba 
 slowly proceeded to the quarter indicated 
 MaVtap never once removing her eyes from 
 
 the figure of the stranger, and marvelling co 
 
 with orange; and in his rich and \vell-adjuste( 
 jirdle he caified a handjar sparkling with cm 
 mmense ruby, on which was graven thi 
 cypher of the Prophet. 
 
 The silence became embarrassing ; and t< 
 dispel it, Shereen, the favorite attendant of tin 
 lady, took up a gorgeous shawl which wa , 
 flung upon one of the bales, and began to utte. 
 '• Mashallahs !" and •' Pek Guzels !"* inuu 
 merable, as she examined its patterns am 
 texture. The impulse was as successful as i 
 was inartificial, for it withdrew the eyes o:. 
 iMaVlap from the Merchant, and broke th 
 spell that had been suddenly cast over hei 
 Annoyed and mortified at her own folly, th 
 Pasha's daughter at once assumed a haughfi 
 ncss foreign to her natural character; an 
 glancing round her, she said coldly : 
 
 '• Khosh bulduk— you are well found, kha 
 waji ; my slaves tell me that you have cach( 
 mires of price among your goods, which out 
 value any in the bazars of the city. I ma 
 perchance become a purchaser ; let me, there 
 tore at once sec the most costly of your bale) 
 if I have heard the truth." 
 
 " Alhemdullilah !" murmured the merchant 
 '• your highness does my poor store too muc. 
 honor : and I and all tliat I possess are at you 
 
 * Cavalry soldier. 
 
 ind. 
 
 After which courteous dcclari 
 
 • Very pretty. 
 
TITE ROMANCE OF THE IIARE^if. 
 
 141 
 
 on, he clapped his hands, and a couple of 
 .lunidian slaves, clad in dark blue tunics, 
 iili scarlet turbans, instantly appeared Iroin 
 rhind the screen which veikd an inner apart- 
 K lit, At a silent signal from their employer. 
 ii-h .seized a corner of the tapestry curtain! 
 II I held it high above his head, while the 
 1 c'hant in a low and respectful voice bcg- 
 il the lady to favor him by passing into the 
 Kimbef where he had .secured the most costly 
 . his merchandise from the contact of casual 
 iirchasers. 
 
 IliraHed, and governed by a curiosity which 
 ;iil now become uncontrollable, the stately 
 liaitap scarcely hesitated a moment; and fol- 
 Iwed by her two attendants, she crossed the 
 jireshold. and the screen fell behind her. 
 The apartment in which he stood was spa- 
 wns, and lighted by three windows overlook- 
 :,' a court planted with maple and acacia 
 ;es ; the.'^e windows the luxurious Merchant 
 id veiled with curtains of pale pink silk that 
 ive a sunset hue to every object in the cham- 
 ;r ; but the surprise of the Pasha's daughter 
 Tiounted to wonder, as the gorgeous Numid- 
 ms, after glancing towards their master, 
 )read over the handsome divan of crimson 
 ;lvet, a covering of delicate white satin 
 rought with gold : and heaped upon it cush- 
 ns of needle-work, .such as even the loved 
 id capricious Maitap had never before beheld. 
 As the young beauty sank upon the glitter- 
 S sofa, the Merchant still stood before her 
 ith bent head, a-s though he dared not meet 
 10 eyes which rested on him : then slowly 
 tiring, he indicated to his slaves the bale 
 hich was to be opened for her inspection ; 
 hile, in order to while away the time, he 
 iread out before iier several caskets filled 
 ith gems, which flashed in the soft and 
 laded light. Tusbees of pearls, each the 
 ze of a pea : bodkins of brilliants ; rinu's of 
 se diamonds, charms, and amulets, and gil- 
 'A toys of every description, enough to turn 
 e head of a score of Eastern women. 
 Amid all lier admiration the fair dauchter 
 
 the Pasha remarked, however, that there 
 as one casket which the khawaji had not 
 )ened. and which, when he had once or twice 
 cidcntally taken it up, he had ha.'.tily laid 
 dde. There needed no more to exciie in her 
 
 om a strong desire to examine the conlcniK 
 
 the ca.skct : and when the same circum- 
 ance again occurred, during a soarcli which 
 le Merchant wa.s making for aco.'^e containing 
 me valuable lorquoi.'io«. she could not refrain 
 om pointing towards the myHtcriouH Kubject 
 
 her thought.s. and inquiring why thut ulso 
 id not been tsubinitlcd to her uinpection. 
 '• Lady.-' said the khawaji, ' all that I have 
 at the bidding of your highncB,-*. and even 
 Qwortliy of your attention. Ot what i.s mine 
 would hold back nothing. Your slave Iivcb 
 ■jt to obey you, and bis face is whitened by 
 
 jyour approbation; but the con(eii(.s of ihi.i 
 I casket are not mine : I hold them only in trust 
 I for one of my most honored cu.siojiiris ; nnd I 
 I would not lay before you a jewel of Mhich I 
 I cannot make you mistress."' 
 I " l?ut I would see it neverlhele.'«f!." urged 
 the fair MaVtap, as she extended her liand to- 
 wards the Merchant. 
 
 Zadig bowed submissively, and having loos- 
 ened the clasps of the casket, lie laid at the 
 feet of his visiter a superb hand-mirror, of 
 which the frame w.as of chased gold, profusely 
 studded with brilliants. A cypher of .>-mall 
 emeralds ornamented the back of the glas.s, 
 and a heavy tassel of gold dcjicnded from tho 
 handle : and, altogether, the toy was of so 
 costly a description that the Pasha's daughter 
 could not restrain an exclamation of delight. 
 
 '■ ("an you really not dispose of this pretty 
 anali. Elfendim ?"' she asked caiicrly. 
 
 '• Alas ! thavc told your higliness only the 
 truth. It was wrought in the bczenstein of 
 Stamboul for a young and wealthy Bey. who 
 I is about to form his harem ; and i.s destined to 
 
 I reflect the beauties of his fair bride. He has 
 'already urged its arrival more thai* once, and 
 
 I I dare not disappoint him." 
 
 I '• Y'Allah ! it is a pretty toy, and ihc Bey 
 has taste. How call you him. khawaji ?'' 
 
 " Yous.souf Bey, the son of Sariin Pasha" — 
 replied Zadig. 
 
 •' By the soul of your father, you may then 
 sell me the anali ;"' said Mailai). wiih a proud 
 toss of her pretty head ; "for tlie bride will 
 not ])Ut otr her slippers in the harem of tho 
 Satrap's .son before you have had time to make 
 a dozen such." 
 
 " Astelerallah !'' murmured the ^Icrchant ; 
 '• Your highne.'^s must have been mi. "in formed. 
 The young Hiv made a jourm-y to the province 
 of your noble father, (may hi.s vi-ars In; many !) 
 and abode, as I have been iiitorm<il.^(im<^ days 
 in the Pasha's palace ; and it wii.s on Ins return 
 thence that ho learnt the happiness which was 
 in store for him." 
 
 Maitap blushed ns she listened, until tho 
 roseate flush could be dislingui.olicd through 
 the muslin of her yashmue ; and she suffered 
 the s]di'ndid anali to full from her hand u])on 
 the eusliions. It viu. reverently rai.x»'d by tho 
 khawaji. and replaced in llie ca.-kil without a 
 word from the young beauty : for a grahp liko 
 iron wa« on her heart. Mad her pride in<lccd 
 won for her no greater triumph than this? 
 Was she f<»rKotten in a day V n-placod in a 
 month';' remembered only Willi a >milc? 
 
 Tlic reverie would have lasted loii^'iT, but 
 chancing to look up, and ni>><-tiiig th<- line dark 
 eyes of the McrclianI, M lilap huddcniy re- 
 Mime<l her scll-|»ossehsion, and uuno lull cm- 
 ployinenl both to his patience and his Insio, 
 in examining one after another all llio shawls 
 in Ins warehouBf. 
 
 It was a pretty scene. The ludy rccliucd 
 
142 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 THE PASHA'S DAVGHTER — CONTINUKD. 
 
 upon lie- cushions of parti-colored satin, -with' CHAPTER LX. 
 
 one white arm fully revealed a-s she extended it 
 to toucli the different shawls which were spread [ 
 out before her by the handsome trader ; who, j 
 
 resting upon one knee on the edge of the carpet. ' From this day the nature of the beautiful 
 took them from the handset the Numidians, Maitap underwent a total change. She was rest» 
 who stood close behind him : while the attend- less, unhappy, and capricious. The very sun 
 ants of the lovely girl, shrouded in their dark did not shine in the heavens for her as it had 
 and ample mantles, wore sfeatcd a little space once done : her flowers had no fragrance, her 
 apart. The soft and dreamy light incliowed birdsnosong. She drooped like a caged niizhtiii* 
 the atmosphere about them ; and the rainbow- gale — she withered like a blighted rose. When 
 like tints of the shawls which were scattered her maidens strove to entertain and arouse 
 through the apartment, lent a gorgeous finish 
 
 to the picture. 
 
 The j^udden entrance of the Aga Baba gave 
 a new feature to the aspect of affairs. The 
 lady held in her hand a magnificent cachemire 
 of exquisite texture, and as the screen was 
 lifted, she said suddenly : 
 
 '■It is is well, Effendim; tell me. therefore. 
 
 her, it was no longer with light tales of love 
 and laughter to which she had hitherto listened 
 with a proud feeling of amused disdain, but 
 with legends of fear, and sorrow, and despair; 
 for then she wept sweet tears over the griefs 
 of others until she soothed her own. Once ' 
 only did she repeat her visit to the khan, and 
 she found a void. The merchant Zadin had 
 
 the lowest price that you will 'take for this left the city j and there remained no trace of 
 
 which I hold, and our bargain will soon be 
 terminated." 
 
 '• Sixteen purses :" replied Zadig coldly, and 
 ■withoul raising his eyes; " and were it not 
 that I am honored by the notice of your high- 
 ness, 1 should demand twenty." 
 
 '• And this — "' and she pointed to another 
 of interior quality. 
 
 '• Will not count beyond nine ; though the 
 w^reath of nirgis* is woven by the hands of 
 the peris, 
 
 him in the caravanserai. Many were the 
 tales told, how^ever, of his liberality, his char-. 
 ity, his gracciulnessof manner, and his warmth 
 of heart : and by some extraordinary fatality 
 not one of them failed to reach the ears of the 
 pensive beauty. 
 
 For hours did she sit calling up before het 
 mental vision every word, and look, and action! 
 of the young Khawaji ; true, she had ^een. 
 him but once, and yet. she felt that there wm! 
 an expression in his deep eyes which had en- 
 
 "They are mine:" said Maitap, as she rose ! tered into her soul ; and then she rememberec 
 to depart, and the Khawaji having folded them I how soon and how easily the haughty .son of 
 
 Sarim Pasha had forgotten her. and she won- 
 dered within hcr.^elf whether she should fad« 
 as early from the memory of the Merchant. 
 
 One day, when she was as usual indulgin; 
 these speculations, a slave entered her apart 
 ment, and presented to her a small packe 
 
 in two separate handkerchiefs of colored mus- 
 lin, intended as a present to the attendants, 
 placed them in the hands t)f the Aga Baba, 
 as the murnmred " Affiet ollah — much pleas- 
 ure attend you." of his fair visiter fell on his 
 ear 
 
 Inanother moment the araba rattled through 'which had been brought to the city by th. 
 the wide gate of the khan. I Emir-hadji of a caravan that had proceeded o 
 
 The Pashas daughter never once spoke its way at daybreak. She opened it hastih 
 during her homeward drive, but as she stopped and having torn away the numerous covering! 
 at the door of the harem, she unfolded the in which it was enveloped, unclasped a crirr, 
 shawls from their coverings, and flinging the -^on casket, and started with surprise on dif 
 painted handkerchiels into the laps ot^ her: covering the well-known anali of the merchar' 
 attendants, left the peri-woven shawl which Zadig. Upon the mirror lay a stripi of papc 
 had been her last purchase, in the hands of the containing simply these words: "For tli 
 Aga Baba when he a.-sisted her to alight. j beautiful and honorable lady, her highnej' 
 
 The negro looked up: and while a broadMaitap Ilanoum. from the mostdevotedof ht. 
 smile disjilayed his large and glittering teeth, slaves." 
 
 and his huge eyes were dislended to their I The Pasha's daughter blushed until broV 
 utmost size, he bent his head, and muttered and bo.som burnt with the crimson tide thi; 
 
 Bonietiiing which passed for thanks 
 
 rushed tumultuously from her heart. Herfirj 
 impulse was to conceal the paperfrom thepr 
 faning eyes of her attendants; the nextwou. 
 probably have been dictated by her pride, ai' 
 have compelled the restoration of the gorgeoi 
 gift; but she knew not where to find thedono 
 and as she gazed into the jewelled mirror, si 
 thought that her face had never seemed 
 fair. Involuntarily she sighed, and glane 
 I down upon the sliawl which cinctiu«d h 
 
THE ROilAXCE OF THE IIAREM. H3 
 
 waist; she had long ceased to wear any other; diencc to decide on the tax which should bo 
 it was tliat whieh she had purchased of the ^levied on the sale of tlic troods ; mid hin 
 handsome stranger; it covered the heart in'Saraf* to learn wliether he nhoiild raise n new 
 w-hich his image was enshrined. : contribution in the villages on the iiroduec of 
 
 The proud beauty was subdued. As she '.lie eomiiiL' harvest. 
 h(>ld the sparkling anali in her hand, she felt The curiosity of the Satrap wnx oxcit.-d; 
 Mint all those whom she had woiindcd by her and a summons was sent to tiic Morehant,' 
 coldness werg revenged. She loved ! And who. with ready obedience, presented liimBolf 
 whom? Not»ahigb-born Bey. inwhoseharem at the palace of the Pashalic on the poing 
 she would have moved a queen ; whose rank down of the sun, when the gates of the "l.azAr 
 n-ouldhavesatisfied the ambition of her father, are elo.sed, attended by a^couple of slaves 
 uid the hopes of all her family; but a Kha- bearing tiie most rare and costly of his iner- 
 svaji, a trader; whose soul was in his bales, chandise. 
 
 md whose thoughts, instead of dwelling upouj Hi.s venerable appearance interested every 
 ler, must be engrossed by the eager thirst of one in his favor, and the gifts whieh he lavish- 
 lain. And yet, the anali ! Had he forgotten ly distributed to the ciiaoushcs of the hnn.-c- 
 ler, or had he valued his gold above her hold tended to deepen the feeling,^ He was 
 miles, would he have thus sought to win, apparently of great age; bis eyebrows and 
 hem? But what availed the fact, pleasant^ beard were as white as the snown of Mount 
 hough it was? Alas ! theymight never meet|Ararat ; histall fisuredrooped in tlie.vliouldcrs, 
 igain; and as this startling contingency forced j like that of one on whom the weiiilit of years 
 tself upon the rea.«on of the pensive girl, a pressed heavily; but his step Mas firm tiiough 
 
 ow, and his dark eyes liad a li;;lit in them, 
 
 arge tear sullied the surface of the mirror, 
 Lnd a sigh heaved the shawl that bound her 
 light and fairy form. 
 Several weary months sped by; newsuitors 
 
 whieh told that the soul yielded not to the 
 weakness of the body. 
 
 Many and profound were the prostrations 
 (resented themselves at the carpet of thejwith svhieli he entered the apartment of the 
 'asha; new instances were made to the droop- Pa-^ha, who received him most nmeiously. and 
 ng Maitap : but all were alike unheeded : ^ at once indtinned liim to display his treasures, 
 md the unhappy Satrap began to fear that | IJumor had not exagL'erated their value or 
 klonker and Nakir* were liovcring about his their beauty; and tlie audience was prolonged 
 hild, and that the golden lamp of her young I to an unusual length, without any ajipearanco 
 xistenee would be cxtingui.«hedp I of weariness on cither part. The Satmp in- 
 
 Every specie of diversion permitted in tlie quired the route of the caravan with whieh the 
 larem was lavishly essayed: dancing-girls Merchant had travelled, the appearance of the 
 erformed their graceful feats, and sinking- cities that he had pa,'>.scd. the country that ho 
 romen pealed forth their love-ditties uidiecd- had traversed, and the tribes whom lie had en- 
 d; the massaldjhis became distasteful, the countered; while every interval wa.s filled u|) 
 uests wearisome; and. at length any further in examining the jewels and weapons, and in 
 ttempt to arouse the melancholy Maitap from commenting on their cost and workmanship, 
 er languor was abandoned to despair, and | The Pasha made several purclia>es, for the 
 he was left to dream and weep in peace. | prices of the trader pleased him a« much a;* 
 
 Talat Pasha had an inordinate taste for liis merchandise; and when, at lenL'th. he re- 
 ewels ; many a place was obtained, many a ceived permission to depart, and that he had 
 ivor granted, many a cause, no longer doubt- laid aside his ouses. and delivered them to tho 
 ul, decided in the divan through the mai;ieal care of his attendants, aehaoush of thehouse- 
 gency of these costly treasures. It was there- hold conducted hiin with much courtesy toilie 
 are with no small interest that he learnt the door, a politeness whicli he wan not called up. 
 rrival of an aued Diamond-merchant in the on to perform gratuitously ; and tlam Itia 
 ity, with jewels such as had never before been ••O:;hour-ola — Heaven speed you," wajt very 
 )oked upon in the bazars of the province. His itincere, an tho Kiiawaji Htcppcd acrus-s tho 
 clietar-aga talked to him of the emerald-hill- |liou.«*ehold. 
 d handjars, the nolden-seabbarded scymitars The Pa-.ha lost no lime, when the Merrhnnt 
 
 laid with precious stones, and the sword- had quitted him. in passiiii; into the luirein. in 
 elLs worked with pearls ; his cafejlii-basha order to dihplay to his dau^'hter the ji-wellcd 
 f the zarfs.t lipped with rubies, and eliiL"c<i toys of which he had just ma<lc the at-quiai- 
 ith cunning workmanship ; and his pnneipul tioii ; and. as she languidly received thoM 
 liok-hadar? of a manllc of fine FUiropcan which were destined for hemejf. nnd raided 
 loth, whose collar wa-s a perfect galaxy of the hand of her fond lather to her Ii|h in bc 
 swelled light ; his codgca-bashi had an au- know|c<lgiiieiii of his indulgence, the Salrap 
 
 anxious to amuse her melunchnly. rotnmcntr« 
 on tho noble port, and liberal dealing of th* 
 
 •Ancels of Death. 
 
 tThe Ktands io which th« eoffe^-cnp* an ptae«d. 
 
 ) Cloak- beaier. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Btrange Merchant. For a time she listened 
 listlessly, but at length she became interested 
 in the description of the Khawaji and his mer- 
 chandise ; and she silently rescdved to summon 
 him on- the morrow. She was weary of the 
 monotony of the harem ; and the examination 
 of the glittering stores of the stranger promised 
 at least an hour's amusement. 
 
 When the Satrap had retired, the fair girl 
 dismissed her slaves, for the evening was 
 spent; and flinging back the lattice of a case- 
 ment which opened on the garden of the 
 palace, she leant out to listen to the song of 
 tlie night-bird, to inhale the perfume of the 
 flowers, and to blend her sighs with the fall 
 of the fountain, and the w^hispering of the 
 wind amoyg the leaves. 
 
 It was a glorious moonlight ! The shadows 
 lay long and dark, while the lines of silver 
 that were traced upon the earth, looked like 
 fairy-plans for some new and bright creation : 
 fleecy-clouds at times floated over the graceful 
 orb, and dimmed its beauty for a moment, as 
 the gossamer veil of a young bride softens the 
 loveliness which is but heightened by its par- 
 tial eclipse. All around breathed tenderness 
 and peace ; and the tears that fell slowly on 
 the cheek of Maitap in that still hour, were 
 devoid of bitterness. Her pride slept; she did 
 not ask her heart to lay bare the mystery of 
 its enthralmeiit, but she yielded to the sweet 
 sadness that sole over her — and again the 
 spirits that she had stricken were revenged ! 
 
 D.iylight spread over the eastern heights, 
 draping them in a mantle of sober gray, whose 
 hem soon grew into a belt of sheeny gold ; 
 gradually the sky brightened, and the flowers 
 raised their heads, and wept their perfumed 
 dew-tears on the earth : the distant lowing of 
 the cattle came on the wind ; the twittering 
 birds gave music to the woods: the basin of 
 Mie palace-garden became a gilded mirror in 
 which the purple lotus gazed till she became 
 enamored of her own beauty; and then, like 
 a discordant tone, jarring through the sweet 
 harmony of nature, came the voice of man ; 
 and once inoie the world awoke; and life, 
 with all its cares and fears, its jealousies and 
 strife, renewed its struggle. 
 
 It was on a terrace, shaded by lime-trees^ 
 whose blos^-Olns were vocal with bees, and gay 
 •with tlie graceful rose-lauiel of Kurotas. that 
 tlie Pasha's dauuhter received the Merchant. 
 She was closely veilcil, as were the slaves 
 who attended her; and the venerable Khawaji 
 was condueti;d to her presence by the watch- 
 ful Aga Haba. 
 
 The gray beard and reverend appearance 
 of the stranger were not however calculated 
 to alarm the jealous guardians of the Pasha's 
 harem; and accordingly liie Aga Baba, who 
 had already feasted his eyes on tlie glittering 
 merchandise of the stranger, and received a 
 
 I backshish* which perfectly satisfied all his 
 ideas of expediency, soon -wandered away 
 among the trees, leaving the interview to the 
 inspection of two of his subonlinales : who. ii; 
 their turn, plunged deeper into the shpde; and 
 contenting themselves with remaining withir 
 sight of the fair group, soon bent their dari 
 brows upon their breasts, and slept profoundly; 
 
 Jewel after jewel was looked tipon, and laic 
 aside; toy after toy was examined, commentw 
 on, and replaced in its casket ; until at leugtl 
 the eye of the lady was attracted to a sinal' 
 case of crimson velvet embroidered in seei 
 pearls ; which with a singularity that at one 
 reminded her of the young Merchant of th; 
 khan, he put aside as olten as it met Li 
 hand. 
 
 "And that pretty casket which you hav. 
 not yet opened;" she said gently; ■■ what doe 
 it contain ?'' 
 
 '• It was brought hither by mistake, Effer; 
 dim ;" replied the venerable khawaji ; '• it : 
 not a jewel ; it holds nothing which can ii 
 tercst your highness, or 1 should long ere th' 
 have laid it before you; it is not an article c[ 
 merchandise — in short, it is bosh — nothing.'', 
 
 " The case, at least, is prettily imagined.; 
 said the spoiled beauty, who had never lean, 
 ed to brook opposition, '"and somewhat cost; 
 for such poor contents. You will at least su: 
 fer me to examine the embroidery." ; 
 
 The JNlerchant looked embarrassed ; he li:' 
 ed the easket^as if to present it to the ladl 
 but he made no effort to obey her wishe; 
 twice he appeared about to speak, and th; 
 checked himself, as though he feared to gi 
 utterance to his thought, and all this time t 
 hand of the Pasha's haughty daughter was ( 
 tended towards him. 
 
 •* Ne bilirim — what can I say?" he fait' 
 ed at length ; "The casket is not mine; it !• 
 come here by the jiower of my unlucky felcol 
 I am responsible for its safe and secret ■ 
 livery — and " » 
 
 " And you take me for an Aga of the Jai 
 sarics, ready to see treason in a diamond;" 
 for a codgea-bashi, eager to levy a tax x 
 your merchandise, is it not so ?" asked Mait* 
 half amused and half amioyed at this unust. 
 opposition. 
 
 The gray bearded Khawaji bent low j 1 
 deprecatingly belbre lier. 
 
 "Jaiium sinindar — my soul is your's, ',9 
 said humbly, '■ my life and all that I posfS 
 are at the bidding of your highness : bt I 
 have led a long life of probity "and scorrf 
 evil ; and I have pledged myself to the o\n r 
 of this casket that no eye " 
 
 '• Enough, sir, enough,"' interposed the ly 
 haughtily, " I need no khodjlic:]: to read e 
 lessons of propriety and honor. The t e 
 
 t Constellation. 
 
 t Tutor. 
 
THE ROMANCE OV THE HAREM. 
 
 IIS 
 
 passes, and tlic road hence to your khan is Yoiissouf Bey, pninlcd by a (Minninj Frnnk, 
 Ion? and wearisome ; I will not detain you and destined for the youns bride, wlioni tho 
 liere." And she waved her hand with tlic noble Paslia (may hi.s prosperity incrcano ') 
 [niaje.<!ty of .i Sultana who desires .solitude. | hn.»i just chosen for his son,'' 
 I "Dismiss me not thu.*, Effendim ; not thus, i "Now, by the yta\c of your fafhcc! you 
 l)y your soul !"' exclaimed the merchant im- have a lalse tongue," exeiaun.d the maidrn 
 plorincly : •• Whojo dog am I that I should with a burst of sudden passion, "for that 
 'Jare to call a clor.J to your bright young brow, same INJercliant when ho visited the city many 
 ind to liuht your eye with anger. Rather let , months back, told some of my slave.-* tliat thiH 
 
 ine be forsworn forever !" And as he spoke, 
 10 tendered the casket to the Pasha's daughter, 
 tvith a fixed and earnest gaze tliat drove back 
 he warm blood to her heart, she knew not 
 fthercibre. ; 
 
 Bey was even then about to take a wife, for 
 wiiom he had purcha.sed some idle toy.s that 
 hiid aliracled their notice. How then may 
 your talc be truo when it is .so tardy ?'' 
 
 ••Nciilier the iiierchaiil Zadi^ nor mvsrif 
 
 For a moment she hesitated whether she ! have dared to profane your car with falsehood, 
 hould condescend to avail herself of the extort- Elieiidim,"' calmly rejoined the Kliawuji ; '-it 
 ;d permission of a m.ere trader to examine the is even as we liavc both stated. The Fo^ha 
 Tiysterious casket : she felt that she ought to has lens been earnest tliat his hish-born «on 
 •efrain. and to reject his tardy concession ; should bring a bride into his harem : and — 
 
 >ut her curiosity was more powerful than her and ' 
 
 3ride, and averting her eyes that she might I '' And what?"' urged Mai'tap impatiently, 
 lot encounter those of the stranger, beneath '' May your slave perish if lie olffiid you." 
 
 hich she was conscious tliat she quailed, she said the Merchant, " but it was riunore*' m 
 «ok the case from his hand, and without ' the province, where I chanced then to tr 
 illowing herself to deliberate for a moment, sojourning, that the young Bey had yielded a 
 jressed back the clasps. i willing and easer a.«sent to his noble fntliiT'g 
 
 As the lid flew open a faint cry escaped j wislics when they pointed towal•d^ '' And 
 
 icr ; and she rivctted her gaze on the contents ' again the Khawaji paused. 
 
 '• Sjieak !'■ murnuued Maitap with a »li;;ht 
 accent of scorn. 
 
 '■ It was said." pursued the stranccr. '• that 
 the Pasha's hopes had fixed lllelIl^clvc« on the 
 
 a;. 
 
 »f the little casket with an eagerness that 
 betrayed her emotions not only to her aitcnd- 
 lints, but to the JNIerchant also. Yet she 
 iared not for this : she gave it no thought ; 
 ibe -was unconscious that any «ye was on ! lovely daughter of the hi:;li-born Satrap 'I 
 
 ler : she was under the influence of a sudden ! the far-fainod Maitap Hnnouin ' 
 
 iipell, and several moments passed ere wiili j " Who cared not to be bartered like a bale 
 k deep blush, and a feeling at her heart which ! cf coveted merciiaiidise. aga'iiM the pride nnd 
 kas strangely compounded of happiness and ! power of an unknown suitor,' hanghiilyinter- 
 inguish. siie roused herself sufficiently to ask \ posed the lady. " And what lolh.wed ':•■' 
 na tone which, while sho intended 'that it I "The Bey returned tr) Ins i-riivmcc," con- 
 ihould be cold, was only gentle : — I tinned the Merchant, "siieni, gloomy, and 
 
 "It is a fair portrait fwho-^^^e may it be ? sad ! He ^pcnt his !imc prii.cipully in ridinjc 
 f indeed the dauL'hter of Talat Pasha may be 1 over the country alone, with a rapidUy und 
 
 lermittcd such a question.' 
 
 " Lady," said the Khawaii, " Mcrhaiiiet 
 lyle bendoiic — have pity on me ; I am witlier- 
 ;d by your frown. I will lay bare my heart 
 icfore you that you inny read it at your jdea- 
 
 perscvcranco which cxiiaujtted his t;ullaitl 
 Arab ; or among the spaiiix of hi^ father, who 
 adored their young criiiiiiandiTwiih a devotion 
 lor which I have no words ; lie avoided the 
 harem of Iiih niulher, und Ihe divan of hi* 
 
 are. The portrait which vou hold in your father ; he grew dreamy and niihtti.lhropicol, 
 
 land is that of You.'^sauf ]5ey, the son of Sarim and he Boeincd to cn.'.uro cxiMcncc ra-hnr 
 
 a«ha of the next province, and it resembles tlian to enjoy it. when he wni. ►uddeniy 
 
 lim as one " I aroused from this unnntural »iu|>or by a 
 
 Nay. nav, you strive uselessly to deceive '■ renewal of iho subject of his inarri!.;;c. Ho 
 
 ,' excl.iiincd Maitap sternlv, "ihc turban aiquia'crd, however, with nn ind.tl.-rciiM 
 
 5 indeed that of a Bev. and the costume im wl.icli provid that lm» heart wnj. not m tho 
 
 ich and ccstly ; but the features are those of coin|)'.ci, and the br.do wo* cl.o»<n, ai.d ih« 
 
 Shawl-merdiant at whose store I chanced to pic. i.Im iiia<lc, ond tl.c very day ««» named 
 
 light a few mouths since. He was called when hhe wa* to be r..i.duc rd to I i« l.a.cm ; 
 
 ;adi<T." but then the torpid heart ol tl.o lU y anaord 
 
 •' fdarenot sainsay your highnes-^," gravely ii»«lf. and he fled— lied like a dc.bibaj.lii Irom 
 
 eplied the Khawaji ; '• it is possible that the the city to the moun nii.a — aiul llic )ounc 
 
 ace may resemble the iflan you men:ion, chc<-k of iho muid.-n wa* wn with ir.in., aud 
 
 hose soul is bri-ihtcncd by your reiiirm- the lip of iho iiiMh.T lr.n.b:.-d 
 
 prance; but I have" told onlv the truth ^^ hen and wonder; tut the wrcul.. i 
 
 I assure you, lad v. that the portrait is that of did not rtapiHrar for da)«, and 
 I " 10 
 
 \* illi r>jroach 
 
 I )< 1. 1 ;; iiian 
 
 he rciuriicd 
 
146 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 only to deepen the regret of his betrothed, for 
 the worm of sickness was feasting on his brow, 
 and dimming the lustre of his eye ; and it was 
 vain to talk of love to one who seemed to have 
 been .stricken by Asrael." 
 
 '• Bat the rose returned to his cheek, and the 
 light to his eye, was it not so?"' eagerly mur- 
 mured Maitap. with her gaze rivetted on the 
 picture. 
 
 '.' SloAvly, imperfectly." replied the Kha- 
 waji : " Lady, it is not for the eagle who has 
 once soared towards the sun to live contented 
 beneath a lesser light. He is once more in the 
 palace of his father, once more in the harem 
 of his mother, listening to their arguments, ac- 
 ceding to their entreaties, and prepared to ful- 
 fil the contract even at the expense of his hap- 
 piness. He cannot give his heart to his young 
 bride ; he has laid it at the feet of one who 
 has rejected the offering ; and thus he searches 
 the world for toys and trifles to fill the 
 thoughts which might otherwise dwell upon 
 h's coldness." 
 
 " Toys and trifles," echoed the fair girl un 
 consciously, as she grasped the portrait more 
 closely, and then arousing herself, she asked 
 timidly, " And is this really the resemblance 
 of Youssouf Bey ?" 
 
 '• As like as the shadow of the blue heaven 
 on the surface of a lake," replied the Kha- 
 waji ; " it wants but breath and words to be 
 himself." 
 
 "And does he send her this when he loves 
 her not ?" asked the maiden, rather com- 
 muning with herself than addressing her com- 
 panion ; '• Alas! she will become as wretched 
 as the golden gunechtcliichey,* which follow.-; 
 the proud sun through the hours of day. regard- 
 less of its scorching beam, and unheeded by 
 the object of her fond idolatry." 
 
 The Khawaji listened in silence ! He felt 
 that he was not required to comment on the 
 soliloquy of the lady, and he Was discreet 
 enough to occupy himself most a.ssiduously in 
 the arrangement of his merchandise. It was 
 well that he did so ; for in a moment the 
 jiroud beauty became conscious of her indis- 
 cretion, and hastily and haughtily turned her 
 gaze upon the Merchant, as if to note the 
 effect of her unguarded exclamation ; and the 
 feeling of relief was comparatively great with 
 which she saw that he too had been pre- 
 occupied, and that her words had passed un- 
 heeded. 
 
 Again it was the Aga Baba who terminated 
 the interview. His heavy step was heard 
 upon ihe terrace path, and with nervous ea- 
 gerness the lady selected a few jewels, and 
 beiran to bargain with the Merchant. The 
 affair was .soon Herminatcd, for the Pasha's 
 daughter made but a faint siiow of resistance 
 to tiie price demanded by the trader, and it 
 
 was not until he had departed that she per- 
 ceived that in the hurry and excitement of the 
 last few moments, he had left the portrait of the 
 young Bey in her possession, and had carried 
 away the empty ca.sket. 
 
 Her first impulse was to forward it to the 
 khan by one of the negroes of the harem : but 
 a reluctance to part from so striking a resem- 
 blance to the individual who had so Ion" 
 haunted her dreams, coupled with the interest 
 flung over the picture itself by the roman- 
 tic story of the suitor whom she had dis- 
 carded, perhaps too hastily, tempted her to 
 retain it for a few hour;s. The Merchant 
 would doubtlessly discover his loss when he 
 replaced his goods in the store at the caravan- 
 serai : or should he fail to do so, she could re- 
 store it early on the morrow ; and while she: 
 mentally discussed the expediency of this ar-; 
 rangement, she slipped the picture into her 
 girdle, and pillowed it against her heart. 
 
 CHAPTER. LXI. 
 
 THE pasha's daughter CONTINUED. 
 
 When the young beauty awoke on the fol 
 low-ing morning, after a bewildering dream, ii 
 which the son of Sarim Pasha had sold her ; 
 shawl that had the portrait of a grim air 
 hideous negro hidden among its folds, and Za, 
 dig the Merchant had .seated a fair girl upa 
 her carpet, whom he told her was his bride 
 she began to reproach herself for a weaknes 
 which it was no longer time to subdue ; an 
 tlwe blu.'^h of pride dried the tears of reluctane 
 with which she enveloped the portrait o 
 Youssouf Bey in a painted handkerchief, an 
 dispatched it to the khan of the Jewel-mci. 
 chant by the hands of her favorite Shereei' 
 But her resolution was formed too late, ar 
 her heart's best prayer was granted, when tl 
 confidential slave returned with the inform:' 
 lion that the strange Khawaji had left the cii 
 at daybreak, with a caravan which chanced 
 be passing. 
 
 There was no remedy, and the portrait ( 
 the handsome son of Sarim Pasha remained 
 the possession of the Satrap's daughter. F 
 a while the fair MaVtap appeared to ha 
 drank at the fountain of a new existence; h 
 voice once more awoke the echoes of the hare' 
 into music, and her graceful laugh peal 
 through the gilded chambers ; her step agn 
 became as the step of the chamois, and 1 
 eye as the beam of the young day when 
 breaks over tlic world. 
 
 But this spirit-joy endured not long; a 
 only a few weeks had passed when the Pasli 
 daughter fell into a deeper and more hope!' 
 melancholy than any beneath which she 1 
 yet bent. Nothing aroused her save an al 
 
TIIE ROMANCE OF TIIE ILVREil. 
 
 147 
 
 Rion to the Satrap Sarini or his Avinily ; and 
 though she never uttered the name of Yous- 
 soui'Bey, her fair cheek fluslied. and her dull 
 eye lighted up x; her maidens discussed in 
 ■whispers the subject of his long-protracted 
 marriage. 
 
 Eagerly did she welcome the wandering 
 pilgrims, dervishes, and other holy men who 
 passed through the city : her purse was ever 
 open to their necessities; and thus the palace 
 of Talat Pasha was besieged by all the idle 
 hadjis who visited the hofy tomb of the Pro- 
 phet, eith'jr in expiation of their own sins, or 
 of those of their wealthy employers ; but vain- 
 ly did the fair girl receive and assist these 
 pious an 1 needy wayfarers, for not one of them 
 brought tidings of the Merchant Zadig. 
 
 Despairing, and fading slowly away, like a 
 Bun-struck blossom, the melancholy Maitap at 
 length resigned herself to tlie solitary and un- 
 happy fate which had been brougiit upon her 
 by her own pride, and only prayed to die: and 
 in this frame of mind she sent to ask an inter- 
 view with a celebrated Dervish, who for the 
 last few weeks had established himself in a 
 ruined tomb beyond the walls of the city. 
 
 Her request was refused, her summons was 
 unheeded : the holy man had taken up his 
 abode in that place of death because he had 
 done with the world, and the world with him; 
 the enjoyments and vanities of life were alike 
 obnoxious to his love of solitude and peace; 
 and the refusal was even stern with which he 
 answered the entreaty of the sinking girl. j 
 
 This unexpected didiculiy augmented the ^ 
 desire of the maiden to converse with the as- j 
 cetic recluse ; and when a second invitation 
 had met with a like repulse to the tirst, she 
 told the tale of her disappointment to the 
 Pasha with many and bitter tears: and early 
 on the morrow the unyielding Dervish was 
 commanded to present himself at the palace of 
 the Satrap. 
 
 As the day broke a couple of chaoushes 
 passed the gate of the city, and bent their 
 steps to\\'ards the ruined tomb in order to com- 
 pel the attendance of the Dervish, should he ' 
 still refuse obedience; but the caution was 
 unnecessary, for as they approached the build- 
 ing, the tall fiL'ure of the recluse, looking dark 
 and solemn in the cold gray light, appeared at 
 the portal of his inhospitable dwcllmg, and 
 slowly moved towards them. ' 
 
 A courteous '• Khosh bulduk — You are well 
 found:" from the fnnclionarie.M of the Pojtha, 
 vraa answered by the cold*'- Klunh goldin — 
 You arc welcome," of the stranger, whonlalk- 
 ed along in the direction of the city without 
 turning a second glance on hm altcndanlj*. I 
 
 The Dervish was a man of middle age. 
 whose dark piercing cye« were ovcr*hadowcd | 
 by thick and hanging brows, and «hoM; iippor 
 lip was hidden by a mass of coal-black hair 
 which covered Ins chin, and fell in long and 
 
 wavy curls below his girdle. His khirkhch* 
 was of coarse and heavy elolh. and hi« head- 
 dress drawn deep upon his forehead ; Ins sU-p 
 was firm and lolly, like that of one who hod 
 declined all lurlher struguie with the world, 
 rather from diisdnin than fear ; and Ihi-rc was 
 an air of self-centered haughtine.>is in his 
 whole manner and appearance which won for 
 him an involuntary respect to which lius lack 
 of years did not entitle him. 
 
 He was received by the Pasha with indig- 
 nant coldness, for all the father had been 
 aroused within him by the uneoiniironuHing 
 fanalieism of the devotee ; and yet the noble 
 bearing of the Dervish a.vsertcd its |X)wer e%cii 
 over the clialed temper of the Satrap, and he 
 soon found himself, lie knew not how, rather 
 seeking to conciliate than to reproach. There 
 .was a spell also in his rich deep voice, which, 
 even in the few words thai he reluctantly ut- 
 tered, had a strange eliect upon the Pa.sha — It 
 was like a note of loiig-ftirgolten music — it 
 awoke pleasant but untaiiiiibie memorii-s ; and 
 bewildered the sjiirit while it charmed the 
 ear. 
 
 After a brief interview with his host, the 
 Dervish was conducted by the Aga llaba to a 
 garden pavilion, whence the languid eye of 
 the fair Maitap loved to wander over the fairy 
 wonders of the blossom-laden parterres; and 
 where her pale brow was fanned by the per- 
 fumed breeze, which came to it lrci:;hted with 
 the spoils of the orange-tlowcr and the ja.«iniii. 
 She had been prepared for his visit, and iiad 
 cast over her head a loin; veil of delicate white 
 muslin, which fell like a cloud about her, 
 and made her beauty almost hpeclral ; about 
 her neck hung ft string of precious pearls, 
 from which was suspended a trea.Hure to her 
 still more precious, the |)ortrail of Yoiis*ouf 
 Bey ; or, ao to her it ever seemed, of the young 
 nierchanl Zadig, which was hidden beneath 
 the folds of her robe, who.so tint was of the 
 softest blue that ever spread its azure over the 
 vault of heaven. 
 
 As the recluse reached the thrcslioid of the 
 pavilion, he stumbled, and would havo fallen, 
 liad not the ready hand ol the Aga H.iha grasp- 
 ed Ins arm ; but recovering hiiii->elf in an in- 
 stant, he bent bclure the lady with silent and 
 deep reH|>ect ; and then tardily, and us it 
 sociiied, reluctantly, obeyed her bidding, and 
 advanced to the centre of ilic tiuor. 
 
 •'Holy Dervish," commenced the Posha'a 
 dau::htcr in a low lainl murmur, "forgive me 
 if 1 have disturbed your soliludo : I am un- 
 worthy to intrude U|Nin )our tlioughiii, or (o 
 iiitrcat your prayers — and yet, if to doUco a 
 breaking heart, and to ^'liiddrn the joor rem- 
 nant of a life which is !aj>l >:bbin;' away, bo a 
 work lUtcd to your piciy, you will not anidse 
 lue the few hours of conuiiumon which 1 have 
 
 LATga 4«rk eloUi. 
 
148 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAREM, 
 
 been easier to insure. Allah buyuk dcr — the the lips that are dear to us, but ^vhich are 
 angels of dealii are hoverinij over inc, and the nieicly music -when murmured by a stranger 
 light of my lamp is well nigh extinsuishcd ! to wliom no chord of our heart responds: 
 Will you not speak peace to my soul ere it is '• Had such been possible I should have said 
 called to the giddy bridge of Al Sirat ? Will that your sickness was of the spirit ; that the 
 you not " jsosun* had a canker hidden beneath its leaves; 
 
 "What my poor prayers may effect shall j but this cannot be — the beautiful daughter of 
 be freely uiven, lady.-' .'•lowly replied ihe Dcr- a powerful Pasha can never sigh away her 
 vish, '•even now I will ask peace for you.'- youth in disappoinuncnt'' — and he paused, 
 And waving his hand, as if to deprecate all i and looked so earnestly upon her, that tlio 
 further parley, he turned his face towards crimson flush which spread over her brow and 
 Mecca, and sunk upon his knees. bosom was visible tlirough her veil. •■ It can- 
 
 Tlie maiden looked on him as he knelt with not be — or, alas ! I should have deemed that 
 a feeling of deep and solemn interest; the your malady was tlie same as tliat ot one who 
 slaves wiihdrew to a small inner apartment ! is dear to me as a brollier, tlic unhap] y Yous- 
 at a signal from their mistress; and the Aga souf Bey, who loved you. lady, as lie lived the 
 Baba. to whom the scene afforded no amu.se- , bright heaven above liim — as something hal- 
 ment, and whose cupidity was not awakened ^ lowed — something holy — who . would iiave 
 by the poverty of a poor Dervish, while his poured out his best blood belbre you, if so he 
 vigilance appeared to be to the full as uiine- could have won one smile — one word from 
 cessary as his attendance, quietly walked away your sweet lips — who would do so still, even 
 to terminate an unfinished party of trie trac* for a lighter boon." 
 
 with one of the chaoushes, on which depended j The maiden gasped for breath ; '• He must 
 a case of swcetineats presented to the attcn-jnot — he dare not — he would break the heart 
 dants of the Pasha by a departing guest. jot his young bride, who has loved him, and 
 
 The prayer of the Dervish was probably 'trusted in him." 
 fervent, but it was short; for the deep still- 1 " Na bride will ever tread his haremfloor, 
 ness. amid which he could distinctly hear the if she come not from beneath the roof of Talat 
 painful breathing of the maiden, had not en- 1 Pasha." said the Dervish.hastily and carne.st- 
 dured many iiislanls, when he rose from his ly; "He has sworn by the soul of his father 
 humble posture only to assume one equally and by the grave of his mother, that he wil 
 reverential at the feet of the gentle girl, the win no other." 
 
 edge of whose veil he pressed to his lips with | ''Oil, say not so !" exclaimed MaVtap, pa."! 
 all the devotion of a hadji at the Prophet's |Sionately pressing her clasped hands upon lie: 
 shrine. heart, as she remembered the MerchaniZadig 
 
 " You are too young to die, lady." he whis-|"Oh, say not so ! He is vowed to a gcnth 
 pered, in a tone as low and gentle as her own ; girl who would wither beneath his coldnes.s 
 '•The bright world, with all its buds and bios- and her misery would be mij work. Bid hiii 
 Bonis, its sunshine, and its bliss, was made fori wed her, love her, cling to her through ever 
 such as you. The grave is for the gray head change of fortune, and make lor himself a haji 
 and the worn spirit — despair is for the wretch- |pine.-s which I sliall never know on earth, 
 ed and*tlie desolate — you should be the child And as she uttered the -last words in a lo> 
 of laughler ai;d of hope. Life has yet much inurmur that eouhl scarcely be heard at tli 
 to charm one so fair as you arc." lextremiiy of the apartment, her head .^aiik o 
 
 " Bir ehey yok — there is nothing;"' replied her breast, and a large drop stole unbidden t 
 the maiden sadly, '• I ask only for peace — for her eye. 
 
 " You lovo another tiien !" said the Dei 
 vish ; •■ and Youssouf Bey is sacrificed ! Vi 
 pause, lady, ere you reject a heart that livi 
 
 forgctfulness ; and 1 shall lind thcni in the 
 grave." 
 
 '• Forgctfulness !" echoed the Dervish 
 
 "And what thought can have been traced mi you or — answer me" — he pursued in 
 
 upon the lily-leaves of a mind .so bright and clear whisper, as again he gazed fixedly ( 
 beautiful as yours, so dark as to make memory i the astonished girl: "tell mc as you vah 
 a blot? Y'Allah ! wee every mortal spirit 'your hope of paradise, do you remember Zad, 
 but as pure, the wezn of the Prophet had been ; the .Shawl-merchant whom you once visited 
 an idle toy." |llic Khan of Damascus? Deceive me not, 1 
 
 Maii.ap li.stencd in wonder ! The austere your fate is bound up in your reply — Ha! 
 
 devotee instead of tlireatenings was shedding is so " And he averted his eyes a-s 1 
 
 Bunshine over her soul ; and she would not fair girl covered her burnirg face with h 
 mlcrriipt liim by a word. Uiaiids, and burst into tears ; while astral) 
 
 '• Had such been possible," pursued the Dcr- expression of wild delight flashed over 1 
 vish, in one of those deep whispers which are features. 
 the very voice of passionate tenderness from , " Who are you ?" gasped out the bewilder 
 
 * Backgammon. 
 
 Lily. 
 
TOE ROMAA'CE OF THE lIAIiKM. 
 
 149 
 
 I Maitap • '•' Yon. wlio have dared to call up a I Dervish, niid tlic liope of looking on \nii from 
 f vision before ine whicli I luive aliiio.'^t sacri- i a distance as you pah.^ed aloiit; llic ciiy ulrcctji 
 I ficed my life to banish? Speak !"' she repeated — it was liule for one who h.ved like Ziulis, 
 [passionately, as she lialf rose from the sofa, bul it was all for winch he cnred to live — and, 
 land prepared to recall her attendants. I lady. 1 am here."' 
 
 •' One moment, lady, and but one :" urgedi '' And you were then the Jewcl-mcrclinnt — 
 the Dervish, as lie grasped hci arm ; "beforejaiul you know all my weakness !" exclaimed 
 you call down ruin upon me. A less violent the inniden with a fresh burnt of'tcarn : " bul 
 revenge is in your power, where you may j words nrc idle. Zadig— the l>a>hn may break 
 yourself immolate the victim — the weapon of j his daughter's heart, but he will never give 
 a hireiitis would be useless, absence will killiher to a Khawaji." 
 
 sooner than steel. I perilled my life to look! ''Vet will I not complain, Light of th« 
 on you opcc more, but I perilled it cheerfully :; World I" whispered the young mnn, an he rcse 
 
 Ifor — I am Zadig the Shawl-merchant " |to his knee, and possi-.vsed him.'-elf of the hand 
 
 *=Zadig!'' echoed the maiden as she bent of the bewildered girl : ''even allhou^h 1 am 
 forward, and gazed with all her souTs deep I not the Zadig whom your i)ure .".pirit had en- 
 tenderness in her eyes upon the disguised Kha-jshrined in its calm depths, and who lia.t called 
 waji ; " Zadig — do I not dream ?' forth those precious drops of tenderness. I am 
 
 " '"Tis even I, sweet lady — then drive me indeed he whom you visited at the Khun — he 
 not from your presence only to expire with an- 1 who dared to forward to you a toy which wm 
 guish — have pity on my love, on my devotion intended to recall his memory — he who cheated 
 let mc dedicate to you a life that would be you with a gray head and a faiiltering tonguo 
 
 worthless without the hope of your afTcct ion- 
 tell me only that my boldness is forgiven. Let 
 it not be deemed a crime that I have sought to 
 'save myself from wretchedness, when even 
 Iforce was used to compel me to a step against 
 I which my reason and my respect alike re- 
 Ivolled." 
 
 into lookins upon his likeness — lie. in short, 
 who kneels before you in the garb of holincra 
 and self-denial — and whc^m you onco rejected 
 as unworthy of your love — F am Youssouf, the 
 son of Sarim I'asha."' 
 
 A faint shriek esca] ed tlic lips of the maiden, 
 and she hastily drew the jxirlait from her bo 
 
 ! " Have you forgotten. EfTendim." a.«ked theisom. and L'laneed from the ivory to her sniioc, 
 Pasha's daughter, in as cold and stern a tone [and from him back upon the picture ; nnd ns, 
 as her struggling afTection would permit her | despite his disguise, she indeed recognized its 
 to assume ; '' Have you forgotten that the step oriL-inal in the kneeling figure beside her. sha 
 is a long one from the khan to the palace ? suffered the portrait to fall from her hand, 
 Inshallah ! I am no prize for the first pilgrim-! which was in.'-tantly pressed to the lips and 
 imerchant who chances to dcein himself a tit- brow of the youni: Bey. 
 
 ting match for the Satrap's only child.'' 
 
 " I am rebuked, lady."' said the young man 
 Badly : '• and I will intrude my memory no 
 
 •' It is enoiiL'h.'' he whispered : "' and I am 
 for:;iven. The j>.i.'-t is nothiiu;. the preh«'nt ii 
 your presence, the future is the hope of your 
 
 more upon you, I go only to die ; and if 1 did affection. Light has again broke u|>on the 
 not before expire beneath the lu.Mre of your ,;oul of one whose spirit had long been dark. 
 ieycs, it was because I thought I read a lishtiOnc word, houri of my hf^art's paradise ! but 
 |in them that bade me live. But in my blind one. and I am your slave for ever I'' 
 Ipresumption I have deceived my.>ielf: and ihcj '• \i. bilirim — what can I say?" mnmnired 
 penalty of my folly shall be paid." Ithe fair Muiiap. as her head dr<>f»j)od upon the 
 
 ' Hold, madman I" almost shrieked the shoulder of her lover: " .Ml shall be even ns 
 maiden, grasping his heavy cloak as hcrose'my lord wills. I am the Buneeh-lehieliry,^ 
 slowly from his knee ; '■ I have much to ask | and he in the sun — where he moves I follow — 
 of you, and something to thank you for. And||,e is my life and my light — my eyes and my 
 first — how come you in this garb? And why.Boul arc but his shadows." 
 did you disappear so suddenly from the city, j The Dervish shortly afterwards quitlrd the 
 only to return thus?'' harcfn of TalAt Pasha ; ond with him llrd all 
 
 •Most gracious lady." murmured the il ii and tears of the gentle .Maiinp. nor 
 
 rich voice: ••the unhappy Zadig spread weeks ela|n>e i-rc Voussoul B«-y a-,'iim 
 
 his jewels before you. ami h-ft in your hi I m the city as the suuor of thr Sa- 
 
 the portrait of the Pasha Sarim's son only a iruj, » daughter, and this timp hr did n*.t sue 
 few months back ; and lie hoped in his infniu- m vain : while none save he ond his (air bridn, 
 ated passion, that even despite his gray beard (from whom I had the talc) evrr drraml (hat 
 and his bent figure you might have recognized t|,p presence of the pious Dervish in the gar- 
 him: but his presumption was keenly punished; dcn-pavilion. had any ahare in influriicing • 
 heonly drank in a deadlier i^ison by gazinff on marriage which spread )0J and bliantj 
 you for a moment, and inerca.M-d his despair throUi;hout two province*. 
 
 until he sank boneath it. What then remained , 
 
 to him? Nothing, save the khirkhch of al •««•«•»•» 
 
150 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HARESL 
 
 PART III. 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 Deovletin isLat — May you increase in 
 prosperity !" said the Pasha, as the Greek 
 girl concluded her tale ; - Your Maitap is 
 well worth* of attention; though W Allah ! 
 it was unseemly in a Satrap's daughter to 
 bend her thoughts on a mere Khawaji." 
 
 '•Oh, say not so!"' tenderly exclaimed the j the Koran of my faith, but she is the poetr 
 lovely 'slave : "Who can control the heart ? I of my existence." 
 
 The ocean-waves are not bound even by bands | " Chok tatlecin— you are very gracious ; 
 of iron: the sands of the desert cannot be ; smiled Katinka ;" I ask only to be the sister o 
 steadied when the simoon is abroad, even by j your soul." And she looked expressively at tli 
 the foundations of a city ; how then can the \ Satrap's bride, whose cheek and brow flushe 
 
 that of my beloved Katinka ; she is the bul 
 bul of the harem, the rose of the garden, thi 
 diamond of the mine — she is my eyes and m- 
 life." 
 
 " And I ?" — asked the Satrap, with a sligh 
 tone of asperity. 
 
 " What shall I say ?" answered Carimfil, a 
 she bowed her fair head upon her bosom ; " yoi^ 
 are my lord, and my master. I think of ye- 
 as the hadji thinks of the holy caba ;* you ar 
 
 afTections be controlled or guided ? The wild 
 steed upon the mountain spurns the bit, and 
 the free spirit brooks no control." And with- 
 out waiting a reply, she burst at once into a 
 gush of song whose melody swept through the 
 chamber. 
 
 Oh ! the heart is a free and a fetterless thing, 
 
 A wave of the ocean I a bird on the wing ! ^ 
 
 A riJerle^ss steed o"er the de-sert-plain bounding, 
 
 A peal of the storm o'er the valley resounding : 
 
 It i-purns at all bonds, and it m'icks the decree 
 
 Of the world and its proud ones, and dares to ba free ! 
 
 Oh ! the heart may be t«med by a smile or a tone 
 
 From the lip and the eye of ii beautiful one ; 
 
 But the frown and the forci- with its impulse contending. 
 
 Ever find it as adamant, cold and unbending ; 
 
 It may break, it may burst, but its tyrants will see 
 
 That even in ruin it dares to be free '. 
 
 " Nevertheless," persisted the Pasha ; " no 
 woman has a right to say, ' mail oldum,'* 
 and to pine away without the permission of 
 her father. With a man it is otherwise ; he 
 is the lord of himself, and accountable to no 
 one ; but a woman's beauty is her best dowry, 
 and obedience her first duty." 
 
 The fair Carimfil sighed, and the Greek 
 girl smiled : one mourned the thrall of her 
 own sj)irit, and the other scoffed at the idle 
 8olf-sufliciency of the pampered Pasha. 
 
 '' Shekier Allah!" continued the Satrap, 
 " our women seldom think for themselves ; 
 and thus when they venture to do so, they be- 
 come the subject of a tale. But what is writ- her hand across it, as though smitten by a s • 
 ten, is written ; and we will talk no more of I den pang : the chords vibrated for an inst I 
 thi.s self-willed young houri. At sunset the { from the violence of the contact, and tl i 
 alm6 will be here; and my friend the Tchorbadji trembled into silence, as the sweet voice of ! 
 lolls me that |hey are as fair as the daughters musician fell softly and sadly upon the e» 
 of Peristan. You will love to look on them, of her listeners, 
 januin — my soul ; he said, in a .softer tone, j 
 turning' towards the languid Carimfil, while . 
 he glanced at the dark -eyed Katinka ; '' and I ' 
 am as.-urcd that they have among them a inas- 
 saldjhe who is a world's wonder. Bakalum — ; 
 wc shall sec — 1 doubt much whether she will i 
 excel our own sprightly Greek." j 
 
 "No, no," said the beautiful Circassian:: 
 " there is no tongue which makes music like \ 
 
 with conscious crimson ; but these alm6— 
 dread them ; they will rob me of your smiles: 
 and should they be indeed as fair as they ar 
 painted, perhaps of your love also." And h« 
 glance wandered from the lady to the Satra.' 
 
 '• W'Allah ! there is little danger." sa' 
 the Pasha, returning the gaze with interes 
 "The alm^ ! what "are they? Ey vah— a' 
 they not bush — nothing; wandering fro 
 house to house, with light smiles and unco- 
 ered faces ? — Haivan der — they are animah: 
 and though they may be as fair as houris, thi 
 have eaten too much dirt to be remember 
 when they have received their backshish, a: 
 passed out of the harem." 
 
 " Alhemdullilah !" murmured Katinka, 
 a low tone, which reached only the ear I 
 which it was intended, that of the sententio 
 Satrap ; " Let them come then, for the echc 
 of the harem have not of late been awaken 
 by the sounds of mirth. I am often sad n 
 self;" and she passed her hand across 1 
 brow with a pretty affectation- of langii 
 which well became the expression of her i 
 ble features ; " though perchance I shot 
 chide my own heart for its weakness." 
 
 " Hai. hai — true, true, you should be gay 
 said the Pasha, nodding his head significant: : 
 " You are surrounded by flowers, and foi • 
 tains, and music, and you should be gay." 
 
 The Greek girl seized her zebec, and swt 
 
 Bright and blue is the summer s^y ; 
 And 'tis swe.;t 'neath the clustering boughs to li« 
 And to -watch the light vapors as they glance 
 Like fairy dreams o'er the pure expanse ; 
 But oh 1 in tho.se hours of calm delight. 
 When the world and its cares are forgotten quite, 
 That the charm may be a perfect one, 
 We must not watch alone ! 
 
 Wild and stern is the tempest hour, 
 
 W^hen the storm-god rides in his car of power, 
 
 • I have fallen in love. 
 
 • The Temple of Meccv 
 
TOE ROMANCE OF TlIK IIAREM. 
 
 131 
 
 When the winds make vocal the ocean cavcn, 
 And death rides throned on the crested yravei ; 
 And oh I if we would defy the t.liock 
 Of the billowy sea on the cavernod rock ; 
 And yield to our fate without a groan, 
 
 We must not die alone I 
 Cal^m is the sunset's golden spell, 
 As It sleeps in splendor each wood and fell, 
 Flinging wrrailis of gems over leaves and Qovrert, 
 And painting the starry jasmine oow.rs ; 
 But vainly its glory floods the sky, 
 If only one turn an Upraised eye 
 To mark ttie bright vision ere 'tis flown ; — 
 For life's.loveiiest things , 
 Droop their fainting wings. 
 
 When we look on them alone ! 
 
 The song of Kafiuka saddened tlie Pasha's 
 wile ; but the Paslia liiniself, for wlioni it was 
 especially intended, was quite unconscious of 
 its sentiment ; and meioly remarking that tiie 
 air was dull and monotonous, and that some- 
 times solitude was preferable to society, he in- 
 timated his intention to return to the salem- 
 liek,* to make his evening meal, and to enjoy 
 his evening shnnbcr before the arrival of the 
 ftlm^ : a resoluticn v.hich he shortly after- 
 wards carried into cfiect. to the great satisfac- 
 tion of the fair inmates of the harem. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 %' 
 
 At the set of sun Nevresti and her fair 
 band 6tt>od on the threshold of the Pasha's 
 palace. Maniolopolo and the graceful Mher- 
 pirwir walked side by side, and both were ab- 
 sorbed in tliousht. The dancing-girl neither 
 wept nor sighed, though she knew that the 
 roof beneath which she stood covered the idol 
 of a heart that she would have died to secure : 
 but she gazed despairingly on the younc Greek 
 through her veil, as though in that long look 
 she would have concentrated her whole exist- 
 ence. The emotion of Maniolopolo was of a 
 more mixed and less devoted character ; Wis 
 pulses bounded indeed, as he remembered thai 
 he should ere long behold his gentle Carimfil : 
 the first dream of his manhood, the brightctit 
 vision of his spirit : but blent with lovo for 
 her, came fcnrs for his own safety — fear* which 
 made his lip quiver, and his brain burn. 
 
 It was perhaps fortunate for hmi that hii» 
 reflectior.H tended to subdue his pamionat* im- 
 patience ; for the Asa Baba. who delmt^d 
 every incuroion on his majtter'» harrm a* 
 piously as any jealous Monlcm could doirc, 
 turned a scarchins. and by no mean* loving 
 eye, upon each of the almi a* they paMcd 
 him ; and aK-uredly the uncertain and tiinid 
 step of the young Greek Mibjecled him to no 
 suspicion. 
 
 A IrdiouN hour wn* pa>iu^ by the band in 
 an anti-room, ihroush winch the n«'gro*« of 
 the hotiM;hold came and went on their diflercnt 
 missions; while m few idlers grouped lbein> 
 
 I selves about the strangers, admiring lh<-ir 
 I dresses, and asking a tlioufand queslionj'. 
 ! which were answered by Ncvreuli with a tiicl 
 I that would not have disgraced a diplomntiitl. 
 
 But at length the expected MUinnionK ar- 
 rived, und llic daneini.'-girl8 were condnclcd 
 I through a long gallery to the inn.-r door of tie 
 I harem ; where, prostrating thi>in.s.-|v.» to llio 
 earth, they nwailed the order of the lady to 
 I advance into the apartment. They «crc a 
 I lovely group; with their flowing veils, loni* 
 : tresses, and pituresquc costumes ; their white 
 arms cleatning like sea-foam, and their dark 
 eyes tliishing out like meteors; and for the 
 fir.-^t moment the Pasha's wife was silcnl with 
 admiration: but the transitory- surpri.«.e once 
 over, she received them gently and graciously, 
 .and bade them a])proaoh without fear. 
 
 As Ncvreste led them on in obedience to the 
 1 command of the fair Circassian, ManioIopoJo 
 ventured for the first lime to glance in the di- 
 rection of the sweet and well-known voice. 
 Carimfil Hanoum was seated on the edge of a 
 I gorgeous sofa, glittering with Kold fringe, and 
 I gay with embroidery; and at her feet reclined 
 I his beautiful sister pillowed ujion a pile of 
 I cushions. The Pasha was enthroned on the 
 I gorgeous divan; his chibouque between hm 
 lips, his jewelled hand lo<>.>.ely gra.-'ping it* 
 slender tube, and his half-closed eyes givinu 
 I assurance of the tranquillity or apathy of hia 
 spirit. Behind him stootl two n<'gro<'.H, richly 
 dad, with turbans and girdles of culii-mire of 
 ; the richest dyes ; while the female slavm of 
 the harem were clustered together at the ex- 
 tremity of the apartment, which was brightly 
 lighted up by a number of tapen*. arranged on 
 small tables of inlaid wood in dillcrent part« 
 of the saloon. 
 
 Tlkc centre of the floor was vacant ; and 
 there the daneing-^'irlK ol once look there 
 stand, and grou)>ed themselveti m the moot 
 graceful and picturesque attitudcH. I'hrce of 
 the number knell upon the car|>ct with their 
 six-slringcd zcbecs on their knee* ; the re- 
 mainder Mood around them, some with their 
 chapletted heads fliii)'' bnrk ni.A \\>-\r v\wr 
 arms ramed hifh i ' 
 belU of their lam) 
 rl.iiM.H ..•l..-rn I. 
 
 and otlicrs asatn. iaiigiiiiliy •up)' 
 other in a sweet rejitwe mirli n» ih. 
 joy in the rose-bhx i;. 
 ' Muthallsh ! i 
 
 nrath hi« bre.ith 
 
 Maijoiuoi was m ftf^mi |>ru^bcl 
 
 ' Mas** kfartoMSIa. 
 
152 
 
 THE ROMAA'CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 This reverie was interrupted by the sudden 
 pealing out of the voices and instruments of 
 the dancing-girls, as a dozen of the band, led 
 by the beautiful iMherpirwir, commenced their 
 inlricate and graceful evolutions. The dance 
 told a talc of love: there was the swift pur- 
 suit, the reluctant flight, the earnes^t supplica- 
 tion, the timid dissent, the impassioned eager- , 
 ne.-s, the yielding affection ; and as the last I 
 twirl of the tambourines made the air vocal, 
 all the band were kneeling at the feet of their 
 Jiigh pries'css, the gentle IMherpirwir, holding 
 towards her the lotus-wreaths with which they I 
 had been crowned. I 
 
 •■ Aferin, aferin — well done, well done !" ' 
 exclaimed the Satrap, startled out of his apa- 
 thy by tli« enchanting spectacle : '• Abdool, fill 
 them each a feljanei,* of sherbet ; for, by the 
 soul of my father ! they are peris — I have 
 said it." 
 
 The negro obeyed: and as each fair girl 
 bent her head to the Satrap, and touched the 
 ihrystal goblet with her lips, the eyes of 
 Maniolopolo and his sister met in a long gaze 
 which revealed their secret. For a moment 
 Katinka trembled, but hers was not a soul to 
 shake at shadows: and she recovered herself 
 before the flush had laded from her brow, suf- 
 lieiently to remark that her brother looked 
 gloriously handsome in his disguise, and that 
 the attention of the unsuspecting and less ob- 
 bcrvant Carimfil might be safely drawn to him 
 without a risk of his discovery ; a circumstance 
 which would enable him to arouse in their 
 subsequent conversations a thousand tender 
 memories that would blend most happily with 
 the vision of the dark-browed awali of the 
 alme 
 
 Her resolution formed, she looked up to- 
 wards her beautiful friend, who bent over her 
 to catch the words wliich she felt were hover- 
 ing on her lips, and softly whispered : '"' Look 
 at the girl in the centre of the group — she with 
 the willow waist, and gazelle eyes — by the 
 instrument in her hand she must be an awali 
 — saw you ever sueli a face ? The rest of the 
 band arc as faded lilies beside her !" 
 
 The Pasha's wife glanced towards the dis- 
 guised Scidika as slie had been desired ; and by 
 a strange coincidence, at that vei7 moment, so 
 did the Paslia also. The wife looked long and 
 earnestly, for iheic was an expression in the 
 dark wild eyt s of the singinu-giri which 
 strangely moved her, tl:ough slie could not ac- 
 count lor the emotion that they excited : and 
 the husbitiid did so likL'wise, from a feeling of 
 admiration as intense as it was involuntary. 
 
 Maniolopolo was attired in a robe of deep 
 crimson, over wiiich floated a light veil of the 
 most. deli( ate azure ; cluster.-i of sweet-scented 
 flowers, among which tlie tubc-ro.se and the 
 hyacinth were conspicuous, hung loosely in 
 
 •Cup. 
 
 his hair, and rested upon his cheeks. His am- 
 ple schalvar (or trowsers) of tissue, concealed 
 his feet; and on his knees he supported the 
 gaily-inlaid instrument with which he was 
 accustomed to accompany his ballads. Beside 
 him lay a rambourine, and in his girdle he 
 carried a tusbee of orange-wood, and an em- 
 broidered handkerchief. 
 
 The difficulty of his position rendered him 
 cautious : and thus his bent head and dowfl- 
 cast eyes were as gentle and feminine as his 
 costume. 
 
 The Pasha was by no means an amateur of 
 music, and he had lately learnt to love it only 
 from the lips of Katinka; he listened, there- 
 fore, rather from courtesy than inclination 
 to the love-ditty, which, at the bidding of 
 Nevreste, the disguised Seidika murmured out 
 in a low and tender tone, that called tears to 
 the eyes of the women ; and when the song 
 ceased, it was matter of indifference to the fair 
 Carimfil how the exhibition proceeded, for her 
 spirit was m tumult, and she knew that her 
 lover was before her. 
 
 As he first prepared to obey his task-mis- 
 tre.ss, Maniolopolo. bending low over his zebec, 
 trifled for a moment among its strings ; and 
 softly commenced : — 
 
 " I've henrd of isles beyond the sea. 
 Where summer neither fails nor fades—" 
 
 then suddenly shaking his head mournfully,, 
 like one who dares not recall a long-forgotten 
 strain, he struck at once into a Persian love- 
 song which diverted the attention of his li.sten- 
 ers, and enabled the trembling Circassian tc 
 recover her self-possession. 
 
 " Pek ahi, Pek ahi — very well, very well,' 
 said Saifula Pasha, as the song ceased ; " 1' 
 is not bad ; but we have a bulbul in our owr. 
 harem, who has a sweeter note. Take th( 
 zebec, Bcyaz," he added, glancing down upoi 
 the Greek girl, " and we will show this pen 
 sive awali the music of our distant province.' 
 
 Katinka took up her instrument with af 
 fected reluctance; and measured the dancing 
 girls with her proud eye, as if to imply tha 
 she felt degraded by being compelled to exhiti 
 her talent in their company ; and then, meek 
 ly bowing her obedience to the Sal rap, sIk 
 turned a long look upon her adventurou, 
 brother, and commenced her song. 
 
 Where is my loved one ? Oh. ■whisper me ■where— 
 At the end of Ihe earth? I ■will seek for her lher»— . 
 Is she throneil on a gem in some jewel-lit cave I ! 
 
 Does she ride on the foam of some snew-crested w&tb— , 
 IJoes she float like a cloud through the regions of air? 
 My soul and my spirit will follow her there .' 
 
 Oh ! the globe is too rarro^w to hide -what we love— 
 .■\nd the billow below, and the v^por ahove ; 
 For Ihe heart is a guide that neVr faints on the way, 
 That cares not to slumber, and asks not to ••-lay— 
 Let the worshipped one dwell in earth, ocean, or air, 
 The spirit that loves her will follo^vr her thera ! 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE lIAIiEM. 
 
 10S 
 
 " Chok chay," smiled the Pasha, as tlic fair 
 elavc bohlly looked towards him for aiii)lausi' : 
 "that is miicli — and well enouiih to sing to a 
 lebec in an hour of idleness; but Alhcnuiul- 
 lilah ! it is more poetry and madness. Now, 
 tell me. mother,'' ho eontmucd, addrc^.^in^' 
 Nevreste, '-have you not a M.i-saldji in your 
 troop ? The Tchorbadji Ellondi talked to 
 * me of a maiden whose subtle tonsuc could en- 
 chain the ear of attention, and eharm the mind 
 into forget fulness. Let her speak — but, Ba- 
 ehustun ! I will havo no more mawkish senti- 
 ment — let there be some kief* in the talc, or 
 it will set me to sleep." 
 
 "Wallah billah. your highness shall be 
 obeyed," said the old woman; "Speak, Sd'idi- 
 ka — my lord listens.'' 
 
 "Shall I talk to the noble Satrap of love, 
 when he cares not to hear it named ?"' said 
 Maniolopolo gravely: " Asteferallah — heaven 
 forbid ! It is a threadbare subject which may 
 well be cast away like a tattered garment ; 
 every one has worn it onee, but it seldom sits 
 comfortably ; and thus it gets flung from one 
 to the other until it is known to all. and little 
 cared for by any — some think, indeed, that 
 they wear it, when they have folded them- 
 selves in a tunic of quite another fashion ; but 
 OS they seldom discover the cheat which they 
 have put upon their own shoulders, they walk 
 the bazars as erect in tlicir motley, as though 
 it were true cloth of gold. I will, however, 
 eince my lord sees fit. at onee change the sub- 
 ject, and relate to him the Adventures of the 
 Barber of Bassora." 
 
 "Inshallah! at last we .<;hall hear some- 
 thing worth listening to," said the Satrap: '"I 
 like the title of the tale va.slly: it .'macks of 
 of every-day life ; teliapouk. tchapouk. quick. 
 quick — let the ealam of memory move rapidly, 
 and you shall have no reason to regret your 
 visit to the harem of Salfula Pasha." 
 
 '•Heaven fulfil the promise of your High- 
 ness !" said Maniolopolo significantly, and, 
 amid the most perleci stillnc.«.B, with the beau- 
 tiful and agitated Carimfil immediately before 
 him, and the sad and gentle Mherpirwir at his 
 aide, he thus began his narration. 
 
 CHAI'TKR LXIV. 
 
 THB ADVENTfUES OV Till: DAUBER Of BASSORA. 
 
 In the famous city of B;i»>ora. about a liun- 
 dred years a^o. lived a worthy khamal.* naintd 
 Husrcf. who wok rcma/kaldp. firxl lor hi» im- 
 mense ftrensili of inn>-c|p, \«hich enabled hiin 
 to carry uj)on lii.« back the loads of iwo mrn ; 
 and some, indeed, v cnl ro for as to say, Ihc 
 lading of an ass ; ond for the fact of never hav- 
 
 • Cheerful i>Ma 
 
 t 8tlMt porur. 
 
 ing become the father of a eliild which liad 
 not some natural delVcl. 
 
 j There was Medjid Ihc one-eyed ; RilFut the 
 one-sided; Chiamil the thiee-tingcred ; Mcx- 
 vir the bow-legged : Elti tiie hiirc-li| ped ; and 
 Moctalob the Icft-liaiuicil. 'IIkho wrro lux 
 sons; and though his wilo Mine* wlio was 
 the only child of a sigii-painier, had been one 
 of the prettiest girls in tiie sc niewliat ob.<'Curo 
 street in which she rc.'-idfd, he wa.s not one 
 t whit more fortunate with his daii;;htrrB. 
 ' Djamilii was hump-backed : Halizc wa.s red- 
 haired ; LibabO was celebrated for a limp, and 
 Zeinip was stone deaf. In short, it could noi 
 be denied that they were a remarkable lumily. 
 With tenehildrcn, and about as many ptirus 
 a day. a man cannot be couMdi-red to be prr- 
 j feel ly independent ; and j>oor liusref aeeord- 
 I ingly sometimes ate his olives without bread, 
 j and generally his bread without caviare ; but, 
 somehow or other, all the children contrived 
 to live on, being oeea.Mcnally permitud to 
 plunge their hands into the pilauf of a lu-igh- 
 i bor, when they never failed to avail them- 
 selves freely of the privilege. Mm.'- grumbled 
 j a good deal, it is true, and seldom failed to 
 < remind her husband when he returned home 
 alter his day's labor, that, had she married the 
 ' oda-bashif of the Pa.-^ha's guard, who was 
 killed in an encounter with a predatory tribe 
 of Arabs, and whose widow had been pen.'-ion- 
 j cd by the Satrap, instead of a beggarly khainal, 
 I who dared not wag his beard bctcrc the mcan- 
 I est functionary of the city, she should have 
 I been as great a person as Ilabiloullah, the 
 wife of Marsouk ihc nielon-nierehant, 'whoHC 
 ! feridjhel had been twice iiew-lmcd since her 
 .marriage: while her own was dropping into 
 I such holes that she should not long be able to 
 j walk the bazar for very shuiiie. She had many 
 I other little complaints al^o, as unplcasuni as 
 I they were useless, with whuli she diuriially 
 I regaled his cars; but the philo.'ophic Huhnf 
 I heeded tlieni not; the heart of Mini- was re- 
 ' lieved by thcj»c outpourings ot her dihcontent ; 
 ' and her voice generally set the weary khanial 
 to bleep, despite tiic noise of the ten children, 
 who were all as n>oilt, as happy, as dirty, and 
 as ragged, as any duinestic colony in that re- 
 mote quarters of the city. 
 
 Tlius liie fomily of Husrcf the khamol, 
 might allogeiher be said to pros|K>i : for when 
 |ieople continue for years lo seo!d, to t<\cey, 
 and to treat fortune like tho M>rry jade thai 
 che is, they cannot bo roni>i<lereil «• quila 
 wr<tclied ; and, in thiA wa, '-ranj- 
 
 bliiig u|) the randhiil c»t 1.' ' urird 
 
 up to his n-*ck, and honirti; .i nio- 
 
 iiiriiiary foitin;;, the laihlnu ; < i M i • (he rr- 
 (•reilul, conliiiurd to toil, ai J Ix-ar. and for- 
 bear, until his ten chiidrrn began (o grow uilo 
 men and women oboul hiro. 
 
 • Eauo*) t Cei|>o»i. I Wmbm's doak. i ts4Ua Mf a 
 
154 
 
 THE ROilANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Matters now became furious. What wasj 
 to be done \vitli them ? Husref uttered many 
 an '• Insliallah !"' but faith alone would not 
 supply them with employment; and the deep 
 respirations of the anxiotis khamal, as he bent 
 under his load, were now frequently lengthen- 
 ed into sighs. 
 
 About this time a Sherbetjhe. whose mother 
 was the friend and gossip of MinO. demanded 
 his daughter Hafize in marriage, and he gave 
 her as freely as he would have given a draught 
 of water to a thirsty hadji. Good fortune is 
 better than gold ; and a week or two after the 
 marriage of I lie red-haiied maiden, a Serudjhe 
 of the neigliborhood offered to engage his son 
 Mezvir in his ftables, when the bow-legged 
 youth at once found himself provided with 
 food, labor, and a good bed of dhourra-Ieaves.* 
 Riffat the one-sided, established himself as 
 the keeper of a khan in the neighborhood of 
 his father's house, by doing all the duty of a 
 bent and crippled old man, who looked as 
 though he vrerc coeval with its walls, until 
 the day of his death, when he bequeathed his 
 keys, his wardrobe, his besom, his flagged 
 shed, and his ten paras a day, to the youn^ 
 volunteer, who at once declared himself in- 
 dependent, and commenced pilfering the tra- 
 vellers who frequented the caravanserai, and 
 cleaning the court, on his own account. j 
 
 All this was truly gratifying to the paternal 
 pride of the khamal ; and he congratulated 
 himself in the contentment of his heart, that 
 his sons were in a fair way to rise in the world, 
 and to become men of mark. In the exuber- 
 ance of his satisfaction he frequently forgot 
 that there was still eight of his progeny at 
 home; but the fact was soon forced upon his 
 memory as he passed his narrow portal, and 
 bent his head that he might not strike it 
 against the door-sill, by the upbraidings of his 
 wife, and the uproar and tumult of his grow- 
 ing family. i 
 
 Things were in this state when one day, as 
 Husref was leaning against the trunk of an 
 acacia tree which overshadowed the wooden 
 terrace of a coU'ee-shop near the meat-market. 
 enjoying the funics of a luxury which he did 
 not at that moment possess a para to procure. 
 a stranger descended from a jaded mule, notj 
 twenty paces from him. and throwing the 
 bridle to a serudjhe who attended him, bade 
 him take back the beast, and await him at 
 tlie house of the person he had named on their 
 arrival in the city ; while at the same time, 
 he beckoned to Husref to relieve the man of a 
 moderately sized cypress-wood box, which, 
 rested on the neck of his own beast. | 
 
 The khamal obeyed with alacrity ; and, 
 having possessed himself of the eliest, carefully 
 . deposited it on the ground to await the further 
 commands of his new employer. I 
 
 * Indian corn. I 
 
 '• Wallah ! you have a slTong arm, Kha- 
 mal," said the stranger, whom, from his garb, 
 Husref supposed to be a Persian ; ■• you are 
 the very man I want. Here are ten piastres :" 
 and as he spoke he placed them in the harid 
 of the astonished porter, who had not been 
 master of such a sum for years ; •■ Bid the 
 cafeje here give you a cup of coffee, that your 
 heart may be as light as your arm is .steady; 
 and then away with you to the southern side 
 of the Great Mosque, and there await me, 
 taking care not to lose sight of the box." 
 
 '• The delighted khamal lost not a moment 
 in obeying this command. He swalloAved the 
 coffee, saluted the stranger with a fervent 
 '• Allah es marladck — " shouldered tiie chest, 
 and started off at a light trot for the Great 
 Mosque of the city. 
 
 " Ten piastres for traversing a stadia length 
 of the street." he murmured joyously as he 
 moved along ; '' and with a mere feather- 
 weight on my shoulder : why I must surely 
 have fallen in with Karoon himself ! Y' Allah ! 
 my felech is bright to-day. What shall I say 
 to Mine ? If I tell her that I have earned 
 ten piastres, they will melt like snow before 
 the sun, for she will fancy herself a Khamal- 
 bashi's wife; No, no — I will say two — and 
 with two piastres we shall sup well." 
 
 Having made this prudent resolution, the con- 
 tented Husref jogged along, communing with 
 his own thoughts, until he reached the principal 
 mosque ; when taking up the position which 
 had been indicated to him by the stranger, he 
 placed the chest on the ground, and squatting 
 himself beside it, removed his turban from his 
 head, and concealed among its ragged folds 
 the eight piastres which were to be the com- 
 mencement of a hoard, amassed from the pro- 
 duce of as many such profitable adventures aa 
 the present, as it might please Allah to provide 
 for him. 
 
 An hour passed away ; an hour of luxury 
 to the toil-worn Husref, who had never once 
 changed his position save to pick up a coin 
 which was flung to him by a Frank traveller, 
 who seeing him seated there, covered with 
 rags, and deep in thought, threw him a piece 
 of money as a matter of course and passed ou. 
 
 " The Infidel dog is subjected by my 
 felech :"* murmured Husref, as he possessed 
 himself of the coin; -'This is to be a white 
 day. And what shall I do with this piastre? 
 shall I tell Mine that I bring her three ? or 
 shall I conceal this also in my turbaV <>' 
 
 shall I "and he glanced across the narrow 
 
 street ; " shall I fill my bag with gebcli, and 
 smoke a comfortable pijie or two of the strong- 
 savored Latakia ? Chok chay — that is much 
 it shall be so." And having first glanced it 
 every direction to ascertain that no person wa; 
 passing to carry off his trust, he shuffled alon( 
 
 • Constellation. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREJL 
 
 166 
 
 coveted luxury, ami then returned 
 establislied himself beside the chest. 
 
 and 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF THE BARBER OF BASSORA 
 CONTINUED. 
 
 at his best speed to a shop in the neighborhood, tlio har.><li stroke of tlio iron-tipped KtnfTof the 
 where he purchased a modest quantity of tlie liie-^uiird on the rude piivcment of the street. 
 
 He instinctively started from the earth, and 
 
 rubbed his eyes as lie perceived lliat he wan 
 
 surrounded by a pitcliy darkness, through 
 
 which he glanced about him to discover tho 
 
 direction of the lire ; a fact wliich he hud no 
 
 sooner ascertained, than in the contusion of 
 
 the moment, totally tbrgclting ihc chest, and 
 
 almost his own identity, he rushed forward to 
 
 the scene of ruin, and was soon busily cm- 
 
 [ ployed in rendering assistance to the sufferers. 
 
 The chibouque was soon lighted; and as i When, after the lapse of an hour, he remem- 
 
 the heavy funics of the strong and coarse bered the box, and hurriedly returned to llie 
 
 tobacco curled over his beard, the happy spot where he liad left it, it was too late — the 
 
 Husref, with a joyous feeling of secret pros- chest was gone ! 
 
 perity. began to muse on his family affairs. | Husref dashed his turban upon the earth, 
 " Two sons and a daughter respectably and almost yelled in the ai^ony of his spirit, 
 established — eight piastres among the folds of How should he face his cmp.lo) er ? he, who 
 my turban, with fifteen paras of change from had betrayed his trust. How should he take 
 the gebcli in my girdle — Shckiur Allah ! his stand on the accustomed spot. He who 
 Husref the kliamal will yet rise in the world, i was no longer worthy of confidence — who had 
 But my dear sou Moctaleb — my favorite son. ! blackened his own face through liis mtem- 
 — by the beard of the Prophet ! his fortune is l perate folly — and scattered dirt in liis beard ? 
 as lelt-handed as himself, or his fine eyes I While he thus bitterly reproached liiinself, 
 would ere this have filled his girdle with jeb- he heard a step rapidly approaching ; lie look- 
 khargi.* — Something must be done for Moc- j ed despairingly in the direction whence it 
 taleb ; he desires to be a barber, and nothing , sounded, and beheld tlie stranger within half- 
 could be better : but the shop, the soap, the j a-dozen paces of hun, in the gray light of the 
 razors, the towels, and the basins, must be i dawn. 
 
 paid for ; and where is the money ?" | •' Haidc — come along, k)iamal ;"' said the 
 
 This was an uncomfortable question, for it well-rcmcmbcred voice; '1 liavo made, you 
 was one to which the an.\ious father could not keep a long vigil, but it shall not be an un- 
 satisfactorily reply, and he therefore did the profitable one. But what is tins I"' he exclaim- 
 best thing which could be done under such , ed, hurriedly glancing round : " Where m the 
 circumstances; he determined to leave the ' chest." 
 
 matter to Providence, and to think of some- The afTrightcd Husref sank upon hi* knccfl, 
 thing else. ' |and with quivering lips related the whole hi>- 
 
 The next subject of contemplation that lie I tory of his mislbriune. The stranger Imtcncd 
 selected could not have been a very entertain- 1 anxiously, and at the concluMon of tho niory 
 ing one. for he w as just dioppin*: off to sleep, \ he broke into a low and bitter laui;li, ax ha 
 when an acquaintance who chanced to be murmured beneath his breath ; " Ajaib I — the 
 passing with a larce bai^in in his hand, rou.scd kr.-z* is welcome to his prize — ho knew not 
 him once more into consciousness by offering his own errand, and has t-avcd u.s ^oinc labor, 
 to share witii liim a copious draught of bozaf Korkma, — fear not, my friend, you are forgiv- 
 which had just been given to him in payment en; but look well to yourhelf in future, and 
 of some service that he had rendered to a when you have a troo-surc In cliar|;c, beware 
 cafejhe. ofboza. Will you promise ine ilii* ?" 
 
 The kluimal did not hesitate to accept tho •• Boj-huMtun — on my liead bo it !" Mud 
 offer: and hi.s friend, having first wcured his Hu>rcf eniphaieally : •' 1 urn tho klavo of mjr 
 own share. Iiandcd the ba>in to Husref, wlio lord for ever. I am Ic.-s than o dog bclore 
 emptied it at a draught; and the man having hiiii — and here ;'' and as he >|>«ko lit' to<.k o(f 
 passed on, he resumed his reverie, wlncii, his raau^d turban whence he drew tl»c hidden 
 blending with tlic intoxicating fumes of tlic piastres, to which ho added tht»c which he 
 boza, soon completely ovcrjiowered him. HiSjcarri«l in hm no los ruRijcd i;irdlo ; 'here 
 head sajik on ilic che*t, his linib« became re- | arc the wages llial I havolorlciled by my mad 
 laxed, his breathing heavy, and in five hcconds lolly. 'Ihc value ol lheehej.t I caimol rrplacc, 
 he was dead asleep. I for I am |>o«ir, and 1 have a wilo and cighl 
 How long he had been in the land of dreams cliildreii under my Mjualid n->i, who l<>..k to 
 he knew not, wlicn he waa huddenly nroused mo for bread ; wJiilo I p« »i«i» but lidrcn j araa 
 by the fearlul cry of ' Van gucn var I"J and lu the world. Have iiicrc) on inr, Kil< nUiin, 
 I for Aioae ddten paraa are my all.*' 
 
 rocket-moB«7. ( 
 
 A tUoaf b«vtnc*, cccDf a n d of T%ki, ^uMiilr mud i 
 Bt. I Tb*r* u a bf i 
 
 >TklaC 
 
166 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 " Put up your money," said the stranger, 
 turning a.sidc Iiis hand; " Do you take me lor 
 as great a brigand as the pezcvenk who has 
 run off \\ith our chest of cypress- wood ? But 
 your eight ciiihlren — we must talk of this — I 
 will accompany you to your house " 
 
 •' House !"' echoed the dismayed khamal : 
 " it is a hovel — my lord cannot pass under 
 Buch a roof." 
 
 " Gel, gel — come, come, no moie of this," 
 smiled tiie stranger: '-Ihave taken a liking 
 to you. in spite of the strong boza and the sto- 
 len box. I must see tlie.sc eight children, and 
 I have already fasted many hours — here is 
 gold — let your wife prepare for me a pillauf of 
 chicken well spiced, and purchase a rug for 
 me to lie down upon, and "a prayer-carpet to 
 enable me to perform my devotions, until I es- 
 tablish myself elsewhere. I wish to avoid the 
 public khans." 
 
 " My lord's will is mine " said Husref, be- 
 wildered by the extraordinary -nature of the 
 proposal, and the contemplation of a chicken- 
 pillauf prepared at his own mangal :* '• but 
 I have a son, a youth of discretion and honesty, 
 who is keeper of a khan not fifty paces from 
 my poor dwelling, who vv-ould lay his forehead 
 in the dust before the saviour of his father; 
 and it is so long a time since Mine has tried 
 her skill in the cooking of a chicken " 
 
 ''That this morning she will prepare two 
 for us, that the task may be more easy," in- 
 terrupted the stranger; "and now, let us 
 away at once, for the sun is rising above the 
 city walls, and we have both passed a busy 
 night." 
 
 And so saying, lie gathered his cloak about 
 him and turtied in the direction indicated by 
 the astonished Husref. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVr. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OK THE BARBER OF BASSORA. 
 CONTINUED. 
 
 The Khamal and his companion proceeded 
 slowly along the narrow and gloomy streets of 
 the city, until they reached the quarter in 
 which stood the squalid luibitaiion of the be- 
 wildered Husref. As they made their way 
 the stranger asked a thousand questions relat- 
 ing to the family of the porter, the number of 
 his children married and unmarried, the age 
 and temper of iiis wife, and the personal ap- 
 pearance of his daughters ; and he could not 
 conceal his amusement when the confiding 
 Husref. warmed into good fcllow.shjp by the 
 condescension of his stately employer, impart- 
 ed to him the singular ill luck which had at- 
 
 * A brazier containing heated charcoal. 
 
 tended all his progeny, and the seal that had 
 been set upon each at its birih. 
 
 " Mashallah ! 'tis like an Arab tale," 
 smiled the stranger; '• they brought a name 
 into the world with them, and you might have 
 saved yourself the trouble of giving them a 
 second. However, something must be done, 
 and I at once adopt Moctaleb as my own child, 
 for he has the same defect as myself; and as 
 I have never found that it affected my fortunes, 
 neither ought it to mar those of your favorite 
 son." 
 
 '•Allah buyuk der !" apostrophised the de- 
 lighted khamal ; " what am I that my lord 
 should repay my transgression of the past 
 night by a benefit of which I am too blind to 
 see the limit ? — But. yavash, Effendimou — 
 here is a kibaub-shop, where I shall do well to 
 turn a portion of your gold into food. 1 will 
 make my bargain and be with yon in a mo- 
 ment ; but I must go alone, or the bash peze- 
 venk* will make me pay with my eyes tor all 
 his dainties." 
 
 The stranger nodded acquiescence, and the 
 happy Husref, af^suming a consequential air, 
 consequent on the contact of the coin which he 
 held closely pressed against his horny palm, 
 stept gravely across ihc swoln and unsavory 
 kennel that intersected the street, to the tempt- 
 ing counter of the kibaub-merchant. 
 
 Here he gazed for awhile in luxurious inde- 
 ci.sion, coveting every thing, and purchasing 
 nothing, until he was aroused bytheremon-' 
 strance of the dealer, who demanded angrily 
 why he did not pursue his path instead of 
 gloating over his edibles, and, perhaps, for 
 aught he knew to the contrary, infecting his 
 food by the influence of the Evil Eye at the 
 very opening of the shutters. 
 
 '•Ne istersincz — what do you want ?"' an- 
 swered the khamal impatiently, '■ I come here 
 as a customer — Give me a basin of tehorba,f 
 a dish of dolinas,J a lump of keftas,^ half s 
 dozen quails for the pillauf, as many kibaul 
 skewers, half an oke of tchalva.H a dozer 
 fetyrs,*'* and a chicken." 
 
 •' Ajaib ust — it is wonderful !" said themer 
 chant, stroking down liis well-trimmed an< 
 bu.shy beard ; " a khamal boldly orders the re 
 past of a Pasha ; but the piastres — where ar' 
 they ?" 
 
 The customer replied by slowly opening hi 
 fingers and displaying the piece of gold. 
 
 '• Chok chay — that is much," said the ki 
 baub-merchant ; " now we will to business. 
 And without further delay he began.to pac 
 the required dainties into a small basket. 
 
 Wiieii the articles were safely arranged, th 
 bargaining commenced, and the a.sseveratiot 
 of the dealer, who swore lustily by his bear 
 
 * Great rocue. t Sonp. 
 
 t Bills made of rice and chopped meat. $ Force me? 
 
 II A composition of flour, honey and oil. 
 
 •• Thin cakes eaien warm, with honey or sugar. 
 
TIIE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 151 
 
 that lie was nimnst giving away liis property, I A word from Husrrf, as ho followed cIoko 
 had nut (he sliylitcst cfloct ujion tlic khamal : boliimi his employer, .sent the wnmmi KJiriek- 
 who, when he found tliat the kibaub-uierehant ing behind the. ^ereen ; and revealed Inlly to iho 
 was deierniineii to hold out until «)ic ia.st mo- stranijer a faet wlueh lie liad already .suRp«et- 
 ment. gravely remarked that there wore other ed— li mu.s indeed ids own Um che«i which 
 shops in the eily whose owners had the fear stood in the centre of ihc kluunalH lloor. 
 of the Prophet before their eyts, and turned As for liie astonished Hnsref. ho darted for- 
 towards the door. His departure was, how- ward, and flung liims.df upon tho box in an 
 ever, by no means to be permitted; and, ac- extaey of delight — oalled it his eyen, and hm 
 cordingly. after a little more wrangling, the soul— and eommillcd a thousand ' exiravo- 
 gold coin of the stranger was changed, the biu;- gancies, which, in so crave a man were liko 
 ket shouldered by the khamal, and himself | the gambols of a donkey : while the three 
 
 youths lookeil on in a.-^tonishmcnl. and glanced 
 Iroin their excited father to lii.s silent compan- 
 
 ion in undisguised amaze. 
 
 " Na tone, na to ne — there it is, tlicre it is !" 
 
 sturdily on his way to rejoin his employer. 
 
 [n a short time alter the purchase was made, 
 Husre.' stopped at the threshold of Jiis dwel- 
 ling. It was the remnant of what had once 
 
 been asulstantial and spacious house, but time i at length exclaimed tlie happy Husref: 'the 
 and fire had left it little more than a tottering very chest which my lord gave into my keep- 
 and blackened wreck. Portions of wall, of a ing ! Allali buyuk der — He is i^real ; and my 
 thickness which might apparently have defied face is whitened. Wallah billah I I mayonca 
 destruction, were still visible ; but the princi- more lift up my liead in the bazAr, for my 
 pal part of the structure had been composed felech has wafflicd away my shame — Speak 
 of wood, and all that now remained, save the Ktlendimou — my master, is not thiM indeed tho 
 rude and solid blocks of masonry already al- . stolen box.'' 
 
 '.uded to, were irregularly shaped and smoky- 1 '• It is indeed :" said the stranger with a 
 looking spaces, cumbered with rubbish and bitter laugh; and all that it contains w my 
 creeping plants, and grim with ruin. Niched property."' 
 
 dmong these uninviting relics of bygone com- A faint shriek was iicard from behind the 
 ibrt, and leaning against one of the remaining screen, followed by an angry whisper ; and 
 fragments of wall, rose the wooden tenement the stranger started and turned sudilenly to- 
 of Husref the khamal, like the abode of the ward the tallest of the ymiiiH. an he demand- 
 presiding genius of destruction : and through ed sternly: ''Has the lid of lliiit chcut been 
 the ill-hung door of this squalid dwelling did lifted ? And how came it lierc ?"' 
 he lead the stranger: who however he might i " Let not my lord nur.-^c disj)le!i8iire a^^ainst 
 'aave prepared himself for the sight of poverty his slave." answered the youn^' mnn d<prccat- 
 and discomtort, found that the reality tar out- ingly ; "• My father left his home )enciday at 
 ran his anticipations. ! dawn to jdy his trade in the eiiy. and forniuiiy 
 
 The hovel consisted of one iinmcn.«erouglily- hours we heeded not an absence which wax 
 paved apartment, a portion being screened oil frequently of long (ccurreiico; but wlicn (h« 
 for the harem by a time-worn curiain of baize, niglil fell, our mother became resilesji ami un- 
 attached to the ceiling and walls, by huge hapj>y. Some evil had |K-reliaiicc overtaken 
 skewers of tough wood. Not an elfort at her husband — wc all lu« ed. for wo had no 
 ornament or even comfort was visible ; all provision in the hou.-e ; and oji llie darkiiei>a 
 was bleak, cheerless, uncompromising poverty, became more dense, and our alarm inen-ajicd, 
 The wretched divan which occupied one side I »cl olF to vcareh for my foliier in liio city 
 of the outer apartment was covered with blue »lrecln. For honni I wandend hilier and 
 and white cheeked cotton, patched with pieces Ihi'licr, liavin;.' no clue to direct ii)yati-|>ii; 
 of stuff of all colors and quililics; and ihc the i.iglil advanced, and ihero were low jror- 
 only object that relieved the eye wojj the ■'jiis stirring suvo llio ;{uard, who. a'* Ihcy pa- 
 branch of a wild fig-tree which hud rooted il- Irolh-d the town. Irt-quenlly cbliKcd ino (o 
 pelf among the rubbish of the ruin, and now crouch down, lo avoid ihcin, hut Ihey nhould 
 flaunted its rich lar;.'e leaves through the rude make me prinonrr : and il Wi»» wt.cn ihu« m- 
 unglazed op ■ningthat hcr^-cd an a window, and dcavonng lo e«cai>c Iheir iii lico in Ibo ncigh- 
 could only be secured from the weather by a torhotxl of lhf> (treat .Mumiu", il.a-. n* I skulked 
 wooden shutter. ; into a corner, I htruek my h> ad ngniiml • hard 
 
 But. a»iiie stranger i>t'"pped across the threnh- »ub«tancr. which I at once ducovrntl lo be a 
 old, he saw nothing of all ihin, for hm k^^zc che«f. A^lolll^h<■d at micIi a eireni-iotanro ;— 
 was riveted on a groop in the centre of tho for, lu Ihc iwldirrii pa>ocd on, I a'eclainrd 
 floor. Kneeling U|ion the atonea, her head bonl that no livin:; itoul wan in ihc rlrrct, I alone* 
 over a chest, and her face uncovered, he beheld undcmtood tliat lliiii munt be on iiniiirdiala in- 
 the wife of t;ie khamal, while beside her mood lerponilion of my l'« lech ; nod I re-olvrd to 
 thice youths, one of whom wagtail and hand- powenji iiivm If of the box iin'.ii il.r rrturii of 
 Bome : and cloiic bclund her a younger female, my falln-r, w ho would be alio lo d.-nd" on the 
 who had a uttcrwi shawl flung about hnr head, slcpj nccetaary lo b« token with my prizA 
 
158 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 Having come 1o tliis det'..sion, I slowly left the 
 Mosque, and with the chest on my shoulder, 
 turned in the direction of our abode : but the 
 reappearance of the city-iiuard eoiiipelied me 
 to diverge Irom the direct path, and to take 
 one much more circuitous: for 1 well knew 
 that whatever might be the contents of the 
 box. my appearance, and the incoherent ac- 
 count which I should giv^, both of it and my- j found by any passer-by 
 self, could not fai 
 
 rest the chest against a block of masonry while 
 I pushed back the door, it slipped from my 
 hold and burst open with the fall." 
 
 "And y«u saw the contents?" asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 '• Even so," replied the youth : " and havnig 
 done so, I determined at once to carry the box 
 to some obscure spot, and there leave it to be 
 
 , J by any passer-by ; but as I prepared to 
 
 o create suspicion which [do so, I recognized the cord that was about it 
 
 might entail upon me dangei 
 
 destruction. While I was 
 
 cry of ' Fire !' came on the wind, and I hastily 
 
 looked about for a secure hiding-place for my 
 
 treasure, that I might hurry to the assistance 
 
 of the unfortunates whom Allah had visited 
 
 in his wrath. 
 
 "Ijeadily found one ; for, not a hundred 
 paces from the spot where I stood, I remem- 
 bered to have often remarked a small enclos- 
 ure containing a tomb which must have been 
 that of some one of note ; for the iron grating 
 that enclosed it had been richly wrought and 
 gilt, and there were traces of the chisel on the 
 solid masonry of the monument. But its glo- 
 
 , if not absolute j to be that of my father: and I instantly 
 thus engaged, a I changed my resolution, and having closed the 
 lid, I brought the mysterious chest into the 
 house." 
 
 " Mysterious indeed !" murmured the Strang- : 
 er as if unconsciously: hut instantly recov- 
 ering himself, he said blandly : •' Enough of 
 this for to-day, good-youth : we are all weary;: 
 let us eat and drink, and then endeavor to 
 sleep. Close the door, and shut out the grow- 
 ing light ; lend ine a bcenish to wrap about 
 me. or a rug to lie down upon, when we have 
 finished our repast ; and as I have brought 
 terror under your roof by the contiMits of that' 
 unlucky box, I will to-night make you ac- 
 quainted with their history. We all require 
 
 ry had long been gone by : the iron balustrade 
 
 had rusted and given way : and a rank crop j rest ; and while I am your guest, you shal 
 
 of nettles gr^w about the stonework of tlie j have a respite from labor. So now, khamal 
 
 tomb. Among these weeds I concealed the 
 chest, and then echoing the thrilling cry of 
 ' Yan gU"en var ?' I sprang forward in the di- 
 rection of tlie fl-imes, which were already drap- 
 ing the solemn heavens with crimson, and 
 putting out the stars. 
 
 " For a while I forgot the chest ; for as the 
 ■burning rafiers give way, and in their fall 
 flung showers of golden stars against the sky. 
 I heard a faint cry of anguish; it was the 
 voice of a woman: and I remember only that 
 in the next moment I w^as surrounded by fire, 
 bright, s»..orching fire, which seemed to dry 
 
 to our repast." 
 
 After some delay the meal was served ; bu 
 first the three-fingered Chiamil had to seel' 
 coals to heat the mangal, and the one-sidet 
 Ritfat butter to stew the pillauf : while thi' 
 hump-backed Djamile, with a shred of well 
 mended muslin folded about her face, spreai' 
 the tray, and filled the delf cups with watei 
 Mine was all activity ; she hurried the exer 
 tions of the limping Libabo, restrained tli 
 volubility of the hump-backed Djamil^. an 
 shook her clenched hand at the mischievou 
 Zei'nip, wliose deafness rendered her inaccess ' 
 
 the marrow in my bones ; and that I was busy ble to wordy menace, 
 tearing from the head and face of a young Thanks to these feminine exertions, all wr 
 female ?•, blazing veil of muslin which she at length ready, and the stranger having ii. 
 clutched with convulsive power — Then I was sisted that Husrcf and his sons should share h 
 once more in the free air, with the wind of meal, they were soon squatted round tlie tra' 
 heaven playing upon my brow ; and the young feasting heartily upon such fare as they hf ■ 
 beauty whom I had saved was in the arms of never before tasted save in their dreams : whi 
 an aged Emir, who was covering her with the i the women, carefully veiled, waited on the 
 shawl from his own waist, and calling upon ' most assiduously, and dexterously changed tl 
 her by every tender name that parental fond- \ dishes in time to secure for themselves a sul 
 ness ever lavished upon the object of its idol- ' eient portion of their contents. 
 
 atry, to look up and tell her anxious father 
 that she lived. But the faded lily spoke not 
 — and at length — "'" 
 
 " You remembered the chest, and returned 
 to seek 
 khamal 
 
 The meal over, Husref and his guest lightcj 
 their chibouques, and established Ihemselv 
 on the hard, straw-stulTcd divan ; while t 
 young men retired to the lower end of t 
 was it not so. my son?" asked the ' apartment, to converse in whispers on the ' 
 I traordinary events of the night, and the woiin 
 
 " I did," replied Moctaleb ; " and the dawn huddled together behind the screen, rapidly 
 was breaking as I reached the burial place, j molished the reliques of the feast. 
 and once more took possession of my jirize. 1 1 In another hour all slept under the roof ' 
 how dreaded no encounter, and walked boldly j the khamal; and the muezzin had proclaim 
 forward with iny burthen, until I reached the i the mid-day prayer from the minaret of eve 
 threshold of my home; when endeavoring to | mosque in the city ere the weary family w< 
 
THE ROMANCE 01- THE HAREM. 169 
 
 again astir. Aiiotlici 1| .arty meal commenced I " My mother, Gumu.--li,» wa.s tlio dauj-htcr 
 the business of the day ; ami although to avoid I of a lapidary who hiid moio .••eiencu than 
 the observntion of the neighbors, Husrcf and | piastres, and who.'^e forlune wiib to (lie full ua 
 his sons bent their way to the bazflr and min- i hard as the gems he fiinhioned. I never knew 
 gled with llie crowd, they only purchased pro- ; lier save as a widow; for my lather expired of 
 visions, and returned home as evening set in. ' plague in the Desert before I wiih n )car old ; 
 to listen to the promised n.urative of the , caught a.s we were told, by liih huvin« rilled 
 stranger. tlic pockets of a d\ing hadji who had joined 
 
 The appointed hour arrived, and the owner I the caravan about •nii hour before, with the 
 of the chest having directed Moctaleb to lift it | poL^on in his veins. My eldest brother took 
 into the centre of the floor, seated himself upon charge of the caravan, and eondui-tcd it safely 
 a bcenish beside it. and leaning his elbow upon to it.s destination ; but we suddenly lest m^'IiI 
 the lid. as the khamal and his family squatted of him. and it was not until many years afler- 
 themsclves beside him, he calmly desired the I wards, when my mother was no more, niid I 
 young man to explain the nature of its con- was established-in my native city, that wo 
 tents. I again heard of liiin as un eminent Emor Hadji 
 
 Moctaleb turned pale, and involuntarily i trading to and Irom ftagdail. 
 glanced towards his father. " As for me, my motlior having married 
 
 "You are an ass, and the father of asses !'• again, and her husband, a handsome young 
 said Husref impatiently. '■ there can be neither sekeljliif being to the full as mnmored of her 
 an afrit nor a ghoul shut into the chest — Why j piastres as of her person, and finding mc dc- 
 then do you not speak?' [ termined ogaiiist following Jus surfeiting trodo 
 
 " It contain.':,*' replied the young man in a under his very unpromising auspices, provision 
 low voice. •' a human eye. a human ear, a foot, ! was soon made for nie in the shop of an Ar- 
 a heart, a hand, and a dagger " ! menian barber, whose skill in bleeding and 
 
 " True, as though the Ibn Shallah* himself shaving w.is notorious through the whole city, 
 had counted them,'" said the imperturbable '' The bu.slle and go.vsipry of the public room 
 stranger: and then regardless of the horror delighted me. Not an occurrenbe could take 
 which was depicted on every countenance place in Ba^sora but it was whispered in tho 
 around him. he slowly laid his spread palm on liousc of my master : not an event was prog- 
 the lid of the chest, and began his story. , nostieatcd but the projdiecy might be traced 
 
 I to one of his customers. In .'^hori, it was the 
 news-room and scaiidal-fuctory of tho city. 
 Many a worthy Moslem lost his beard on the 
 CHAPTER LXVII. very spot where his wite liad lo>t her charac- 
 
 ter not an hour belbre ; ami n<it tinirequcntly 
 THE ADVENTURES OF Tiij: BARBER OF BASSORA 1 the cause of thc OHC asiiititcd ut the duupprar- 
 — CONTI.NUED. I an(*e of the other. 
 
 I " Excited ond amused by llio converealion 
 
 " My name is Hussein, and I was born in of thc cus'.omcrs, I soon became an adept in 
 this good city of Bas.<:ora just four-and-forly thc businciis, and al twelve yenrx oUI, standing 
 years ago, during thc fea.st of thc Bairam, upon a stool. ! ! ' ' ' '.in of many 
 
 amid festivities and rejoicings which were con- of the least i : the rftab- 
 
 sidered to be of good omen both to mother and lishnunt 1' • ' • of thingi 
 
 child. How far they fulfilled thc prophecy could !• 
 ■will appear hereafter. i '' A> I I began to twidt my tur- 
 
 " My father had been an Emir Hadj.f a man bon iir- mid to give an extra turn 
 
 of'good repute, and tolerable fortune : who had to my giniie , lur an I walked through thc bazAr 
 ^ore than once conducted a caravan of Frankn to o[»cratc »|>on some of our wrailhier employ- 
 across the Desert, and been generously paid crs at ihcir own liousrn, I not unfrrquonlly 
 by the Infidels for his guidance and protection, caught the low murmur of admtrnlion which 
 Some evil tongues had indeed insinuated more mofe frrni h^i)««!»!h (!t«- yn.«!unt''-< of th" women 
 than once that, in t: and appa- . ■ 1 
 
 rently not altosher a< JcrsoJ his • 
 
 caravans with the pr- •■ -.rocrs of a • u 
 
 good understanding nii;^lit Lc ilifcerned be- ; jji*. 
 
 twcen him and his enemies, which eoiwidrr- : i.ce; 
 
 ably militated against his integniy, while Ihcy L..^ If lo- 
 
 increascd the contents of his jcppa:| but the jurcd. and li> • rsrry indi- 
 
 world is CO censorious that it is only pnidrnt vidual who it- mt'tl I (>»• 
 
 to Khut thc oara of coDvicttoo agaitwi the voico J came convinexi t '. '.hn 
 
 of reproach. name whieh wus if : ." of 
 
 ' Sob of injrt. 1 A comioctct of f llfriou- i Tockat. I 
 
160 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREiL 
 
 ' the handsome Tlarbar of Bassora ;' and to en- 1 
 courage a horde of romantic and foolish visions 
 that well nigh turned my brain. 
 
 " Tlie few spare piastres wliich I had for- 
 merly spent in tchalva and mahalibe, I now j 
 hoarde(J until they would purchase for me 
 some articles of finery ; and I listened with 
 avidity to the talcs of the massaidjis when 
 thoj told tlie love of the great lady of a 
 princely harem for some lowly one of the land. 
 
 "My beard and mustachios were as black 
 and bright as the wing of the raven : and I 
 never failed when I was about to apply the 
 perfumed oil to the shaven head of a customer, 
 to pass my open palm over them as if by acci- 
 dent ; by wliich means they became thick and 
 glossy, ami were the envy of many a proud 
 young Bey, who would have paid every hair 
 with a piastre, could he have called them his 
 own. 
 
 " You may imagine what ensued ; and you 
 will not be surprised to hear that I soon li.s- 
 tened in trembling to many a tale of scandal, 
 of which I previously knew all the details. 
 Many comments were made upon my dress, 
 which had gradually become more and more 
 expensive ; and suspicions of the truth were 
 iiOMietimcs hinted to me by the gay young Bey- 
 zadehs who passed occasionally under my 
 hand ; but as my discretion was even more 
 powerful than my vanity, I affected never to 
 unders:aud their inferences, and they at length 
 grew weary of criticising alike my garments 
 and my humor. 
 
 " I led this life for 3-ears; during wiiieh my 
 master died, and left me sole heir to his busi- 
 ness, with a trilling sum in money, which I 
 gave in secret to my mother, whose young 
 husband had long ago forgotten that he owed 
 to her his present prosperity, and who felt the 
 Bting of poverty coupled with the bitterness of 
 neglect. The will of Allah, however, was 
 soon accomplished : for the tears of regret at 
 her past folly, which sl\c continually shed, 
 brought her to the brink of the grave, and she 
 Bank gently into it. with a blessing upon her 
 lips, which was all for me ! 
 
 " I rcsiuned to no one my place at the head 
 of her codiii, and I stood and saw the earth 
 flung upon the remains of my misguided but 
 gentle parent ; and when I turned away, I re- 
 membered that jny brother's abode was un- 
 known to me, and that 1 was alone in the world. 
 
 " But this fcelin'i of sadne.s.s did not last 
 long ; the path of life was strewn with flowers 
 for me, and the death of my mother was a 
 dark cloud which soon passed away from the 
 sky of my existence. I divided my time be- 
 tween the duties of my profession, which I 
 lightened by jjiquant anecdotes drawn from 
 secret and authentic sources, which bewilder- 
 ed and deliglite.l my listeners ; and by the la- 
 bors of the toilette, where 1 worshipped with 
 ail the ardor of vanity. 
 
 " Years passed over me, and a new race of 
 beauties afforded mo new opportunities of con- 
 quest ; 1 was courted for iny personal beauty, 
 and trusted for my discretion ; and I should 
 probably have lived and died happily, had not 
 my evil stars led me one day at noon under 
 the windows of the harem of a wealthy Bey, 
 who was absent ou an expedition in a distant 
 province. 
 
 '• To amuse the solitude of his young wife, 
 the Bey had invited to his palace his only sis- 
 ter, who was betrothed to the Pasha of Damas- 
 cus ; and this fair dame, who by no means 
 relished the retirement in wliich the wife of 
 her brother thought proper to spend the months 
 of his absence, had already decided on depart- 
 ing from Bassora; when on the day in ques- 
 tion, as she sat playing with her tusbce on the ■ 
 divan under the easement, gazing through the 
 lattices, and wishing herself far from the dull 
 palace of her kinsman, she chanced to see mo 
 pass along the street. 
 
 " ' Tchapouk, tehapouk — quick, quick, Sel- 
 hai,' she exclaimed to a slave who was passing' 
 through the apartment ; ' for the first time I 
 see a handsome man in Bassora — kim der— 
 who is it ?' 
 
 '• '■ Efiendim,' replied the maiden, as she 
 glanced through the jalousie ; • the sun shines 
 on our street to-day : that is Hussein the Bar- 
 ber.' 
 
 " ' Barber !' echoed the young beauty incre 
 dulously ; ' Mashallah ! if tiie barbers of Bas 
 sora carry such brows as that, your BcyzaJeh 
 must touch the clouds !' 
 
 '• 'Nevertheless, madam, that is in truth Hus 
 sein the barber ; and if thezamparalik* of th 
 city may be depended on, you are not the fin 
 young beauty whom his bright eyes hav 
 thralled.' 
 
 '• ' Ey vah !' replied the lady. ' you are f( 
 quick-wilted, Sclhiii ; but your barber mn 
 well turn the heads of half the city beautie 
 Does he vend perfumes and essences ?" 
 
 '• ' Both, and of the best,' answered tl 
 slave; when, receiving no further intimati( 
 that her presence was required, she proceed' 
 on her errand, and the Bey's sister was 1( 
 alone. 
 
 I shall not weary you with words. E 
 long the lady repented her request to quit t 
 city, and the very name of the Pasha of E 
 mascus became distasteful to her: but s. 
 was nevertheless compelled to abide by an >, 
 rangement which she had herself made; a,| 
 you will not be surprised to hear that ere f ■ 
 took leave of her brother's wife, I had alrea 
 disposed of my business, settled all myaffai 
 and was ou my way to the ancient city 
 Damnscus. 
 
 '• I had taken care to provide myself wi 
 sufficient raiment of goodly fashion and ma' 
 
TKE ROMANCE OF THE HAUEM. 
 
 m 
 
 rial, to obliterate every trace of the barber ' of tlie fancy, but that I \vn« really summoned 
 from my appearance : and as the Paslia had , to liio presence of ilic l*a.sliii« brido, my heart 
 sent a paity of his own people to escort the became divided between joy and icrror. True 
 lady and some of the slaves of liis own harem I loved the lady; but the love of a \uiii 
 to attend her, there was little danijcr of de- young man who lias beon tan«ht ihc value of 
 tection wiien I boldly presented niysi-h" at tlie his own altriiclions. is never hullii-n'nllv di- 
 palace af the Pashalic, and announced myself vested of st.lfi.slnH's.s to impel Inm locxircmiiy 
 as the youni;cr son of a noble house, anxious' in the indulgence of Ins ali'ceiioim. A.s I lejt 
 to serve under the Satrap of Damascus. , towards the Pa.sha's wile, so had I already 
 
 '•The Vuzbashi of the palace-guard was I'ell towards several oilier beauties ; llu. hole 
 won by my appearance, and when, as we tie which she |>o.>*.-c8,>icd upon my hcari thai 
 stopped to take coffee together in the bazar. I j was new to it.s ex|)eriencc, wa« the piido of a 
 presented to him an amber inouth-picce which . nobler conquest than any it had ycl miule. 
 he chanced to admire as we tilled oufchibou- ! "■ With this divided and calm spirit of cai- 
 ques from my own tobacco-purse, he vowed culation, the idea of the cnm.son lent of iho 
 an eternal friendship with his new and liberal harem-garden brouulit with it a heavy leehnj; 
 ally. IK- was a brave younu man and much of probable damjer. The walls were hi:;h • 
 Lcloved by the Pasha; and he might have the night clear and moonlight; ihe paiuce- 
 alarmcd my vanity, had he not been distigured guard zealous and alert; and J wa<i but too 
 by a scymitar wound which had distorled his conscious that if I were surprised by the ne- 
 features. and given a grim expression to his . groes of the I'asha they would extend liillo 
 ^unienance. mercy to my crime. 
 
 •With such an advocate, I soon found my- " I flung iny.<«elf upon my divan in a tumult 
 self a member of the Satrap's household ; and . of tiiought. The very hope of such an odveu- 
 as my heart was light, and my humor joyous, ture had brought me to Damascus, and yet 
 1 speedily became a favorite in the palace ;! now that it presenird itself a forebodinn of 
 but the liaiem was a sealed book : and des- 1 evil grew uj«n me winch would not l>o .»haken 
 pile all my endeavors, I could not even succeed i olf. There wa>, nevertheless, no alicrnulivc; 
 ill addressing one of the slaves. | my position in the Pasha's hou.'-ehold waji 
 
 "As 1 had not abandoned my liberty at I worse than precarious should I oli'end his lut 
 Bas-soia to lead the life of a dependent at Da- , and favorite wife; and in our inierviewii at 
 maficus. 1 soon began to repenl my ]ireeipita- , lias.sora, 1 had had many opportuiiitie« ol lu- 
 tion, and to meditate a return to my native cerlainiug that the tair HaU; wa* n* uiietn:- 
 city, when one evening as I was slowly cros- promiMim in her hate as in her love ; and that 
 sing the ccurt-yard to visit the guards, an aged , she would probuhly not hetitatc to Mocrifice 
 woiiian. evidently belonging to the Pasha's even me. should she believe me capable of 
 harem, passed close beside me. and muttering j sliglmng her afreetnm. 
 
 *' Ekhi kateti — there is something,' in an uii- •'Thus then I resolved totruat to my felech,^ 
 der tone, and with an air of mystery, dropped ! and to obey her suniinonn ; with a linn delPf- 
 a small cinbroidered handkerchief at my feet ' minution to repic-cnt t4. her durin;; the inter- 
 as if by accident, and then shuflled hastily ; view, all the perils whieh bchcl in. both . and 
 away. j to implore her for heroMii nake to bid me (are* 
 
 '* I did not immediately stoop to secure the . well lor ever. Dunnu' my re.-idrnco in the 
 prize; but stopping suddenly a* if by an iin- 1 palace, I hoil he^ird fri;:hiful laJeji of the 
 pulse of thought. I stood lor a minu.e or two | J'uelia's jealousy, and it* clTfts and aa ha 
 motionless; and then letting fall my own , wa* pajuuonalel) attached to the lovely Habr, 
 handkerchief U|)on that which lay on the i I could but apprehend the womlnbould he di»- 
 ground. lest I miL'ht be walclied from the pal- cover that nhe did not return hii attarhiiient. 
 ace-windows. I picked up both together, and | '• With thia resolution. I remained quietly la 
 thrust them into my girdle. liny chumU-r until the dark cloudu of night, 
 
 'When I liati rciirc<l to my chamber I loct powdered with »ilvcr dro|», dra|)ed the |>alo 
 no time iii examining the mysirrious handker- moon in her tuIm* of midnight ; whrn ^t<•allhll)r 
 chief, and. as 1 had ex|>cc!ed, I found aiiud ila , pa*»inK the |ialaco gales I eroiielu-d along 
 folds a small roll of paper, on which were i under the wall of Ihe garden until, amid the 
 written tliese words — I lree«, I »aw the golden ereacrnt ol the panlioa 
 
 ''Hus.'cin — you know the pavilion of rrim- Kl>tt«ring m the mnonliuhl. lirro I pauaod, 
 silk which the P.isba hnii erected in the bimI u* 1 glanced cauiiounly aroiinil, I traced • 
 garden of the harcin — I will be tb< re al mid- dark »hadow on the Mall Mhieh rttrr.d'-d irom 
 niiiht. lie silent and cautioua. Ihe Koa« to the »ummil to wiihin a tr\% : und 
 
 the Bulbul. ' I oleallhily approarhr.l it, a thai 
 
 'I read the scroll thrice over before I it was a shawl which I r<-. . ..nf. 
 
 could believe that my eyes had not dreeived ing to Itw lady llabe ; and 1 at euc« uiMl«nMood 
 
 ; and.ojt the cmivirtion slowly force<l il»elf 
 
 npon my mind that it was indeed no delusion t 
 11 
 
182 
 
 THE ROMAi^'CE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 that it was intended to facilitate my entrance 
 into the garden. 
 
 " For a moment a dread of treachery glanced I 
 through my mind, but 1 dismissed the suspi- 
 cion as it rose; and having ascertained that 
 the shawl was well secured on the otlier side, 
 I at once swung myself to the top of the wall, > 
 and sprang into the inclosure. My feet had 
 scarcely touched the earth, when my hand was 
 Boftly grasped, and I was rapidly led on through 
 the darkness of a laurel plantation in the di- 
 rection of the pavilion. 
 
 " I did not attempt to utter a syllable, for I 
 was convinced that the clasp was that of Habe, 
 but I deceived myself; for as my guide lifted 
 the crimson curiam of the tent, I discovered 
 that I had been conducted thither by a young 
 and beautiful slave, who, pointing towards a 
 portion of the pavilion which was flooded with 
 moonlight, silently withdrew to a distance. 
 
 '■ To fling myself at the feet of the lady 
 Habe. and to lift her fair hand to my lips and 
 ■brow, was the work of a moment: and as I' 
 igazed upon her in the soft crimson light flung 
 •over her by the rich curtains of the pavilion, 
 I thought that I had never before beheld anyj 
 thing so lovely. I forgot my wise resolutions 
 of vhe evening — I forgot my peril and my per- 
 fidy ; and I was pouring out before her all thei 
 passionate tenderness of my spirit, when a faint ! 
 shriek from the young attendant aroused us' 
 from our dream of love, as a hideous negro 
 raised the screen of the tent, and glared full 
 upon us with his flashing eyes ! ! 
 
 '■ • Fly, Hussein, fly ! and fear not for me :' 
 hastily whispered the lady : • Geosumin nuris- ' 
 sin — you are the light of my eyes ; and your ^ 
 death would destroy me — Fly! and ere long, 
 you sliall be convinced that you have nothing | 
 to fear !' _ I 
 
 "As she spoke, I sprang to my feet, and! 
 would have seized the intruder, but she held 
 me back. 
 
 "'Delhibashi — Prince of madmen! away 
 with you !' she exclaimed, as the negro rushed 
 through tlie garden in the direction of the 
 palace : ' and leave the rest to me.' j 
 
 '• With the disappearance' of the negro, my 
 reason returned ; and waiting no further bid- , 
 ding, I soon cleared the wall of the Pasha's 
 grounds, and as I fled I heard the shrieks of 
 the lady and her attendant ringing upon the 
 air. The sound added wings to my speed: 
 and availing myself of my knowledge of every 
 avenue of the palace. 1 was one of the first to 
 present myself in the great hall to inquire the 
 causo of the outcry; having moreover taken 
 tlie precaution to snatch up another turban as 
 I passed through ray, apartment, and to gird on 
 my scymitar. I calculated on the reentrance 
 of the negro through the harem, of which he 
 must possess the key, a secure, but circuitous 
 way : and I was aware that this circumstance 
 would enable me, if I exericd my best speed, 
 
 at least to reach tha salemliek at the same in. 
 stant as himself. 
 
 '• My good star was in the ascendant, for the 
 eyes of the Pasha fell on me as he hastily left 
 Ills chamber to ascertain the nature of the dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 '• ' La illaha illallah — there is but one Al- 
 lah !' he said in a tone of alarm : ' tell mc, my 
 good Toussun ?' (for such was the name that I 
 bore at Damascus) ' tell ir.e, what is all this?' 
 
 '• ' May my lord's prosperity increase :' I re- 
 plied as calmly as I could; 'I understand 
 nothing of this tumult, save tliat I hear the 
 voices of women, shrieking out in terror, as 
 though their souls were escaping tlirough theii 
 lips.' 
 
 '' Further colloquy was prevented by the en- 
 trance of a negro, who, trembling with rage.; 
 and breathless with haste, flung himself atthf 
 feet of the Satrap, exclaiming : 
 
 " 'Justice and vengeance, my lord the Pasha 
 Justice and vengeance ! Your privacy ha, 
 been invaded, and your harem polluted by ai 
 officer of your own household, by a slave o). 
 your own mercy ' 
 
 " 'How say you, wretch?' thundered out th 
 Satrap, drawing his handjar ; 'name the mis, 
 creant, that I may stab him with my ow 
 hand.' 
 
 " ' It is Toussun the Yuzbashi,' gasped oi 
 the negro ; but before he had time to utter ai 
 other syllabic, I sprang beyond the reach ( 
 the Pasha's weapon, and boldly confronted n, 
 kneeling accuser. 
 
 " ' Liar and traitor !' I yelled out with a 
 the impetuosity which a sense of my dang', 
 was calculated to inspire, and conscious th 
 ray fate hung upon the events of the nextfe 
 moments : ' Whose dog are you that wou 
 poison the ears of his Highness with such fi) 
 as this ? Look at me. miscreant ; and dare , 
 sav that I have stirred from my post t). 
 night ' 
 
 " The negro instantly obeyed ; and as 
 turned his eyes upon me, he was eviden 
 struck by a change in my appearance wli , 
 he could not explain to himself: and this r • 
 mentary hesitation saved me. 
 
 " ' Vile slave !' shouted the Pasha; ' Co I 
 you find no one on whom to fasten a lie s: J 
 my faithful Toussun ' the first of my chaous 3 
 whom I met on entering the hall ? Wha « 
 this mystery ? But it shall be unravelled t 
 once.' And so saying, he beckoned to "i 
 four of the negro guard ; and desiring im o 
 keep strict watch over the trembling wr< h 
 whose zeal had brought him nothing but > 
 terness, he passed into the harem, wiience « 
 cries of the women could still be distiii V 
 heard ; for this scene, such as I have descr ^ 
 it, had scarcely occupied a moment. 
 
 " Directly the Sa{rap disappeared, I ! '^ 
 orders to a couple of my palikars to so re 
 the arms of the crest-fallen guardfan oi i« 
 
TIIE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 108 
 
 liarein. who wasted his strength in rcvilin?8| the city ; nnd pioquctinrr my dorilo Arahmn 
 on nie. on the women, on fate, and on his own lumid tlie tall <»riiH.-, 1 Imd niyholf down clode 
 lolly ; and. meanwhile, the Pasha was busilv Inside him, and soon fell a.slrcp. Wlicn I 
 mvestisatiiiir the cause of an uproar 8o unusual awoke the gray dawn waa junt hreakniK over 
 iu his quiet and orderly household. llhc hills, and I telt the noce»8iiy of nnmediate. 
 
 '• The result did not transpire until the fol-lly pursuing my jdurney. I nceonhn^ly rnuh«d 
 lowing morning. The quailing cause of the I my horse, who was lying suiinc up<in tin- cnrih 
 not was claimed at my hands by the four in all the luxury of repo.««f, and. -prinymi,' ii^'iiin 
 negroes who had accompanied the Satrap tolinlo the saddle, incited him to his lu-.-i sj). ed. 
 the women's apartments, and carried away nol. Again my constellation favored me. Inr, after 
 one inquired whither. The Pasha did not ap- a eoujde of hours of hard ridiiii;, I l.|| mi wiih 
 pear again : and all remained silent and tran- a caravan that was cro.«sing the Doeri, wiucb 
 quil. But I stood on the crater of a volcano :[ I iinmcdiaicly joined, greatly to the relief of 
 for at an early hour, another negro, undcter- my exhausted horse, and the furtiiurancc of my 
 red by the disgrace of his companion, or pro- own safely. 
 
 bably convinced of the? truth of hisstatemert,! '"At the next town we reached. I once more 
 and determined to revenge him, passed into changed my dress, and assumed that which I 
 the garden of the harem, and visited the pa- How wear; and Ihen for the first time. I ex- 
 vilion with the keen glance of curiosity, ammcd the contents of the handkcrchn-f that 
 Leaving the tent, where he found nothing to I had lound in niy chanibcr. You, MootnU-b, 
 gratify his hope, he wandered along beneath liave seen them inlhisehest. I know not with 
 the wall, and chancing to rai.se his eyes, he what talc the wily Hab«> amused the ear of 
 discovered the sfiawl, which in the alarm and the Pasha, but it is certain that Im* rajje wo* 
 liurry of the previous night had been forgotten, craftily turned on the negro — and tlial he lent 
 
 •■ Fortunately for me. the ne-iro had a tongue too ready an ear to the accusalioius ol his boau- 
 •which outran his wit. and sufTicicnt of hiser- tiful young wife. 
 
 rand transpired before he was admitted to the "' There was a scroll folded about the di»- 
 presence af the Pasha, to impress upon my ?»sting fra:;nients of morlalily, that parliall) 
 mind the necessity of an immediate retreat ; explained the truth— thus it ran :— 
 and I at once passed into my chamber to secure " 1 lol<i you to trust to me, and I here give 
 upon my person the jewels and money which you proof thai you did not trust in vain. A 
 I had secreted when I had entered the service husband whose head is covered with a napkin, 
 of the Satrap. As I was about to leave the and whose eyes are dim, has revenged Ins wife 
 room. I accidentallv turned a last tilancc to- ui»«'n '"^^r enemy, and you on your beirnycr I 
 ■wards the divan, where I was surprised to .^ee send you the eye thai vcnturc.l to waich you 
 a small parcel folded in a dark handkerchief — tl'C car that dared to listen to your word*— 
 -which was familiar to me. Without wailing the foot that followed you— ihchun.l that drow 
 to ascertain the nature of its contents, I con- aside the screen— the heart that ventured to 
 cealcd it beneath mv robe, and mounting my betray— and the dug-er that was meant for 
 horse, which was of the true Arab breed. I another breast. I would not acc-pt jwacc un- 
 made my way to the clothes-bazflr. and pur- til these trophica were laid ujwu my carpel- 
 chased the costume of an Arab Schick, which and I M-nd them lo you a* ^ornen ol my love.' 
 I adjusted in a nei;lccfed mo..^que : and then' "I cruhhcd the ptt|*r convuUively oa I 
 without another instant's delay. I ha.stcned to finished reading U. C"Uld I ii.dee.1 hnv*. !-,vr<l 
 the gate of the citv, and pa.ssed it at f.wls tl"» woman- licnd ? I look the i 
 
 pace, as if careless of time : but once u|kiii the m my hand, wiih the inirnlioh • 
 free plain, I buried the edge of my sharp Mir- coi.ionis inlo ihe air; but a »u'. 
 nips in the flanks of my generous Aralian. remruiurd me. and (lii.Kiiii; tlicin mUi ihc ci.d 
 and away we flew like the wind: danger and whence 1 hod ^».lhdrawn my Karmei.u., I de- 
 dcaih we're behind u.h ; and liberty and lilV lermii.cd to carry Ihein v»ith mo lo IU«iKjr«, 
 before: the choice was easy : and I never drew and ibrncr. makiiii; »oine horrible addilioo 
 bit until 1 felt the willing horse quiver under to iho hoard. l» f..rw«r.l U.rm by 0." n-»« r^ 
 mc as I urced him forward. ''■van lo iii> ; . ' ' ' r 
 
 " A few mouthfuls of fresh praiw, and a to rlhci thi-- 
 deep draught at a cool stream thai riupled with »all and 
 through the dense herbage, tonn re»lored Ibe by which incaiui 
 generous animal ; while I refrcuhed mynelf by Uui I have already 
 
 laving my limbs in Ihc clear water, and »waJ- tion , for the disiai. , > 
 
 lowing some wild figii which I found in the u* ha« Icfl only the «neiu..») «» Uc u,«uij omI 
 vicinity of the nvul»'l. >»'■'■ •"*« "pon liie tablet ol my »oul, while all 
 
 •■ \f I had purj- " "f a ihe horrom of our final inrriing apiM-ar but aa 
 
 frequented path, 1 r.bly a dark va,*ur, ahaddiua lU gloom «ver ai 
 
 ■ccure, many hours ... . 1 IcU.ol brighlucaa." 
 
164 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 The stranger paused for a moment amid a 
 deep silence ; after which he resumed in an 
 altered tone. 
 
 •• Other memories and feelings hare also 
 grown upon me since 1 entered my native city. 
 I have recognizod, even amid tiie disfigur- 
 ment of poverty, my long lost pilgrim-brother 
 — and I have become conscious tliat. life has 
 better and nobler joys than vengeance.'' 
 
 As he spoke, the tearful Hu.ssein extended 
 his arms lo the Khaiiial. who flung himself 
 into them, exclaiming: '■ 1 learnt the truth 
 from the very beginning of your story, my 
 lord and brother ; but I would not darken the 
 sky of your pro^perity by telling you that the 
 wretched Husref was the once-happy Emir 
 Hadji — Alas ! alas ! 1 have also much to teil, 
 but not to night." 
 
 '^ Alhemdullilah — be it even as you will ;"' 
 replied Hussein, kissing his lips and forehead : 
 "*• 1 knew you from the first moment when you 
 lifted the chest from the mule in the public 
 street • and it was to test your probity that I 
 left it in your charge during so many hours. 
 The will of Allah is accomplished ! We have 
 met again, and we will part no more ; one 
 roof shall in future cover the Hadji-Khamal 
 and the Barber of Bassora." 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 " Mashallah !" said the Pasha, as the 
 story ended; "I do not understand why all 
 the massaldjis, let them commence a tale as 
 they will, always finish with love and intrigue. 
 One would think that no other wheel set the 
 ■world in motion. I had scarcely began to 
 relish the adventures of the Khamal and his 
 employer, when out of a fair beginning grew 
 another history of a woman's folly! Half, 
 half. — shame, shame ! And such a tissue of 
 improbabilities ! One Pasha is as good as 
 another; and Inshallah ! there is no fear that 
 any dog of a haramzadeh would venture to 
 enter 7nij harem. Why then do the fable- 
 mongers spin their brains into silken threads, 
 to invent tictions which bear no likeness to the 
 realities of life V" 
 
 " Life, your Highness," replied the disguised 
 Greek, reassured by the obtu.se self-suthciency 
 of his host, •• is a mere every-day affair, which, 
 ■without the drapery of imagination, would be 
 too crude and bare to be looked upon with 
 pleasure; and thus the massaldji is compelled 
 to select the ornaments that appear the most 
 likely to embellish it. Where can they be 
 found more readily than in the love and beauty 
 of woman? Are not her smiles the promised 
 light of Paradise, and her care its contemplated 
 recompense ? Her weakness is her triumph ; 
 
 her tenderness, the bond that links hci to those 
 by whom she is beloved, and on whom she 
 pours out all the treasures of her soul. It i» 
 not that the daring foot of either moslem or 
 giaour would indeed venture to profane the 
 harem of a True Believer, (though some assert 
 that such things really have been;) but the 
 fable gives so many opportunities to tiie nar- 
 rator of weaving sweet thoughts and fancies 
 into his web of fiction, that he turns as trust- 
 ingly to the conceit as the pilgrim to the holy 
 caba." 
 
 •• You talk like a woman :" said the Pasha, 
 with an expression of contempt which waa 
 only tempered by his admiration of the sen- 
 tentious awali ; " and it is not for me to con- 
 tend with you, Inshallah ! What is wTitten, 
 is written. The Osmanli do not put their 
 beards into the hands of their wives ; they 
 know better. The Frank v,-omen. as I have 
 heard, wander up and down with bold brows 
 and steady steps, and the Prophet only can 
 tell the disorder which must reign in their ha- 
 rems, where there are neither bolts, locks, nor 
 negroes : but, Mashallah ! the Moslems are 
 not dogs ! nor their women hadjis, wandering 
 from land to land, and cramming their brains 
 with a thousand idle and unseemly fancies I 
 Basliustun ! had I lived in those infidel coun- 
 tries. 1 should have -" 
 
 •• Korkma, Effendimou — fear not :" said 
 Carimfil Hanoum : •' no one will dare to sus- 
 pect Saifula Pasha of permitting the dust of 
 disgrace to be scattered upon his head ; and 
 thus the tales of an idle fable-monger should 
 not chafe his humor. The massaldji has done 
 her duty, for she has whiled away two weary 
 hours : but I prefer her zebeck to her story, 
 and could almost regret that I cannot, like her, 
 awaken sweet sounds such as those to which 
 we have listened from her rapid fingers." 
 
 " Alhemdullilah ! when you need music, it 
 can always be purchased;'' interposed the Sa- 
 trap abruptly ; " but the massaldji must not 
 go unrewarded, since you have found amuse- 
 ment in her talent. Remember," he added, 
 turning to the Aga Baba, "when the alme 
 leave the harem, to let this maiden have a 
 purse." 
 
 " And for myself," said the fair Circassian, 
 drawing a handsome ring from her ringer, 
 '• that the awali may not forget her visit to my 
 lord's harem. I shall reward her witli this' 
 jewel. Approach, SeVdika, and receive il 
 froin^my own hand." 
 
 Maniolopolo obeyed with a joy which gave 
 to his movements as he traversed the floor, ac 
 impetuosity almost calculated to betray him 
 but a warning glance from his sister recalled 
 his caution, and when he bent his knee before 
 tlie lady, and pressed her hand to his lips ir 
 token of his acknowledgment, although he helc 
 it longer than perfect good-breeding and rcspec 
 altogether warranted when their relative situ 
 
THE ROMANCE OF TUE ILVIiEM. 
 
 160 
 
 ations M-erc considered, this slight deviation 
 from tlic rules of etiquette was only attributed 
 by llic lookers-on to an excess of gratitude. 
 
 The mention of remuneration implied the 
 speedy departure of tlie alme ; and shortly af- 
 terwards the Paslia. remarking on tlic hiteness 
 Of tlie hour, descended from llic sofa ; and 
 having t»ken leave of his young wife and lier 
 friend, left the apartment, followed by the 
 negroes. 
 
 The screen had scarcely fallen behind them 
 ■when Maniolopolo once more flung himself at 
 the feet of the Circassian. '' I\Iy life ' my 
 soul ! mv sultana I"' he murmured, as slie hid 
 
 calmly see my bulhul caged and prisonrd. with- 
 out seeking to bur^t tlic bars of it.s capiivity, 
 and to lead it back once more to llic wild wood 
 and the free valley of u.s happiness ? We can- 
 not deceive oursel\\>s. Canmtil. wc iniisi live 
 for eacii other, or perish. To save our.M«|v(«» 
 we must tly together — why do you trcmbio 
 thus, guzum, my eyes ? lio you leave belimd 
 you one memory of joy ? Oh, no — nor will I 
 think so meanly of you as to believe that your 
 chains have been less heavy, because ihcy are 
 of gold. I thank you for tliat indiunani blu.>-h, 
 and that firm |irc.>-sure of my hand — I knew it 
 — the jnoud I'aslia and ins cilded harcni will 
 
 her tearful eyes upon his shoulder; " do we be remembered only witii horror, while ihe 
 
 green plains and woody mountains of our be- 
 loved Circassia will be welcomed as never yet 
 they have been by mortal. ' 
 
 '• Would that wo were indeed there !" 
 sighed out the timid beauty ; '" but we are I)©. 
 set by dithcultiesj surrounded witli dangers, 
 watched by jealous eves — How then can we 
 escape?'' 
 
 •• Carimfil, janum — my soul." steadily re- 
 plied the Greek ; ■ all is possible to those who 
 
 indeed meet again, after years of miserable 
 absence ? Can it be your brow which rests 
 upon my bosom ? your hand that I clasp in 
 mine? Am I still dear to you as when we 
 parted ? 
 
 " Maniolopolo,"' whispered the agitated Ca- 
 rrmtll, - (hough it be sin to tell you so, you 
 are to me more than lite or light — ^janum sin- 
 indir — my soul is yours — not a day but [ have 
 thought of you — not a night but you have been 
 in my dreams — not an hour but I have loved i love 
 you. The present has been nothing to me — I "" And your si.ster ?" 
 the pasi full of your memory, and the future " Think not of ine," said Katinka, to* she ap- 
 one wild hope of looking upon you once again. ' preached the divan, after having carelully dis- 
 The liope is accomplished — you are here, and I pcrscd tlie atli-mlanUs of the liuly in every di- 
 you love me still, and now I ask only to die." ' rcclion, and diverted the aiicntion of »lie alin^ 
 
 '• Talk not of death, katoun — my loved one," i who were \vhl^perlng among liieiiiselvcs gay 
 answered Maniolopolo : " the grave is not for comments on the prolonged conference of tiie 
 such as thee : or even there happiness might I lovers : -'Tiiink not of me — 1 should but im- 
 come. Severim seni — I love you : you have ! pede your Jlii;ht. which I would rather htnve 
 been torn from me : and I have suffered hope- I to secure. Hut now you must consent to «ep- 
 Icss misery for years. When I remember that ! arale. if you will not ruin all by your own 
 your youth has been blighted by the pa.'Jsion i imprudence ; you, Maniolo|>«ilo. we can find 
 of a despot, my brain burns, and my pulses ' whenever wc may require your council; and 
 quiver — Derdiiiden olduin beihoud — my tor- you will do well to t-vt about your projecU 
 went makes me mad ! And can you let me without delay, if your brain be ^ulhcle||tly 
 continue thus to suffer ? Do you condemn me tree from the cobwcbit of paioion to enable 
 to another banL-^hment which can end only in you to act rationally : and you. Kuioun, have 
 despair? You know how I have loved you, need of repohc. irhl your iilrcnglh fail in the 
 how I love you still: and you are silcni — hour of trial. Nevrexte and \our NiAlcr almd 
 cruel Carimfil! but the blow is less bitter awuil you. luir .^idku." nhr added laui:hiii;.'ly ; 
 from your hand than from that of anotlicr; 'ami hhould llie Au'a ILiba oliance to find y.iu 
 unless that otiier strike me at your feet, that I here on liih return. Iiih ((iimtionN may bo diilj- 
 may expire with your ima<;e belbre my oyc»t." cult to aimwer Away. then, while y«.u are 
 
 " Alas !" said the trembling beauty. '' Y'AI- uniiu»|icetcd, and *till retain your rea.-on " 
 lab — in the name of Heaven, what would you | The rcnionitlrancc ot Kalinica, nnpaUtabio 
 ask of me?" ! «w ii wa*, could not bo negirried : lor even 
 
 '• If your own heart wlii^per not my mean- 1 Maniolopolo iiuimrir wa* coinjH-IIrd to a<iiiiit 
 ing." replied tlic Greek. '' no words of ininr it« jTopricly ; and alter anotlier embrarr, oud 
 could make it welcome. My life and death onoiber murmured ai>»urance of rtmial con- 
 are in your liands, and you mu»t deal vkiWi mc utancy, he tore hiinHcif Inun the (en of lb« 
 as you deem tilting ' ' b«-autilui Canmtil, and left the palace witk 
 
 " Maniolopolo," sobbed the i'a>lia'* wife, the mliui. 
 ''you break my heart. Have you not »j**n llie On arriving ot the Thenarki Tebarebi he 
 one dream of my bli»hted cxihtrncr ' and do hastily flunj: oil Inn diK;;ui*r, and butUint; a 
 you now rpeak coldly to mc Uiat I may learn hurried lareweli to Nevrcau-, m wIiih»« banit h« 
 to fear as well as love you." placed tlic purM; winch had b<vn br*lowed oo 
 
 '' Aslafcraliali — Heaven forbid !" said the liim by tiie i'ai>ha, ho waa about to quit tJte 
 ^Oung Greek ; " but think you that 1 can buildmg, wlicn lie rcmcmborcd that ho had 
 
166 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 not seen Mherpirwir since he left the harem. 
 The devotion ot" the gentle girl had touched his 
 heart ; and, even occupied as it was by the 
 linai,'e of Carimtil. he could not refuse at least 
 the affection of a brother to the timid maiden 
 who had bruised her own spirit to contribute 
 *,o his happiness. 
 
 When he returned to seek her, the alm6 had 
 already left the outer room, and had retired to 
 the inner apartments, where they depo.'^ited the 
 most costly of their ornaments ; and he was 
 about to turn away disappointed, when by the 
 faint light of the solitary and untrimmed lamp, 
 which stood in a niche of the discolored wall, 
 he discovered Mherpirwir, crouched down in 
 one corner of the saloon, ynth her arms crossed 
 upon her knees, and her head bent over them. 
 Her lotus crown lay on the ground beside her ; 
 but the fever of lier brain had withered the 
 flowers, and they were flaccid and faded. Her 
 zebcc had a broken string ; and her veil was 
 flung beside it, as though in the wretchedness 
 of the moment she had been reckless and im- 
 patient. 
 
 Maniolopolo softly advanced : he murmured 
 her name, and at the sound of his voice the 
 dancing-girl sprung up and cast herself at his 
 feet : — •' It is in vain to contend with destiny !" 
 she whispered hoarsely ; " I know all that you 
 would tell me; I am an alme — my passion is 
 a je.st — my love a mockery — I know it — I knew 
 it from the first — and I strove against it until 
 the nerves of my heart quivered with agony ! 
 You love another — I know that also : and she 
 is fair and gentle ; and the world has never 
 yet breathed with its foul fetid breath upon 
 her name, and poisoned her existence. 'She is 
 worthy of your affection — and yet. in nursing 
 it she becomes even as I am — a banned and 
 blighted thing ! Oh, think of this—it is a 
 friglitful truth ; and you close your eyes 
 against it. because you have not courage to 
 look upon it calmly. Nay, withdraw not thus 
 your hand. I am wild w^ith anguish, and I 
 know not what I say : yet you should pardon 
 me. You, whom I have loved from the first 
 moment that I looked upon you. I have been 
 the by-word of my companions because my 
 heart was shut against the inroads of passion ; 
 now I shall be their scorn, that 1 have bowed 
 beneath it where it was worse than hopeless." 
 
 '• Mlierpirwir, be calm, be comforted,'' said 
 the Greek soothingly; "it is but a passing 
 fancy ; you are young and beautiful, and "' 
 
 '• Do you ie\[ me this?" asked the girl al- 
 most sternly ; '• you, who have left your home 
 and dareu the very bitterness of death to look 
 upon one whom you loved in your early years ? 
 But you are right, EfTendim, you are right: 
 I am young ; and, tliey tell me, beautiful ; and 
 T must learn to suffer patiently, for the heart 
 does not break at once, and 1 may have to 
 nurse its anguish for long and bitter years. 
 True, the lip-deep vows of many an idler may 
 
 tear the wound asunder, and the blood-drops 
 may fall one by one like molten lead, but I 
 shall learn to bear it. So, leave me, Etlen- 
 dim, leave me ; and forget me, unless llie poor 
 and despised dancing-girl may hope to be re- 
 membered kindly." 
 
 " Listen to me, Mherpirwir," said Maniolo- 
 polo, as he rai.sed her from the floor, and threw 
 his arm round her trembling form: '-you 
 know all my story — I have concealed nothing 
 from you, and I love you as a brother ; your 
 gentle aud ready services have lightened my 
 task, and cheered my spirit; and I would .not 
 have you think of me as an ingrate. But my 
 heart and my hope are yonder" — and he point- 
 ed towards the Pasha's palace : '• My own 
 safety, even my life, are at stake : and I peril 
 all on that one venture. How, then, could I 
 be worthy of your love, when every thought, 
 every care, every an.xiety, would be lavished 
 on another ?" 
 
 " You are right," murmured the maiden, 
 calmly withdrawing herself from his clasp; 
 *■ we can be nothing to each other : and mine 
 indeed has been an idle and a bitter dream. 
 Farewell, Eflendim, I love you ; I shall love 
 you to the end of my existence. Do you re- 
 member your ballad at the Tchorbadji's ? 
 You can now judge of its truth ; you read my 
 fate, and 1 am prepared to meet it." 
 
 " We cannot part thus — "said Maniolopolo, 
 deeply moved by her emotion. 
 
 ••Ne apalum — what can we do?" asked 
 Mherpirwir sadly : " Have you not convinced 
 ine that we can be nothing to each other? 
 She to whom you have given your heart loves 
 you even as I do — and for yourself — I feel 
 that you return her tenderness, and to me it 
 will be easier to die than to be despised." 
 
 " Tliat were impossible !" earnestly ex- 
 claimed the Greek. 
 
 '• I thank you for the assurance, but I shall 
 not dare the trial. Seek not to see me again. . 
 My good Nevrest^ will bear with my grief, ' 
 and it will w^ork its own cure. Farewell, ' 
 Elfendim— merhamet eyic bendon^— liave pity 
 on me, and linger no longer. Allah esniar- 
 Icdek — may He take you into his holy keep- 
 ing ; and believe that one heart will beat for 
 you even in the death-hour — the bruised heart 
 of the poor dancing-girl who dared to love 
 you !" 
 
 Maniolopolo would have replied with more 
 soothing words, but the alm^ waited not to 
 hear them. Like a young fawn startled by a 
 distant sound, she bounded from the side of 
 the Greek, and lifting the screen which veiled 
 the entrance of the inner apartment disap- 
 peared in an instant from his sight. He called 
 her in his gentlest tone " Mherpirwir, guzum ! 
 only a moment— only a word — Y' Allah, intlie 
 name of the Prophet ! only a moment. Mher- 
 pirwir, will you not reply ?" 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 167 
 
 The echoes of the apartment were the sole 
 answer. 
 
 " Nay, then, I will follow you !" said the 
 excited young man ; and he had laid his 
 daring hand npon the screen, when it suddenly 
 raised, and Ncvrestti stood before him. 
 
 '• Ne var — what is this ?" she a.>ked sternly : 
 '• Have we put our necks into the noose of 
 danger for your sake, young sir, only that 
 yours should be the hand to strain the cord? 
 What mean.* this violence? Sen chok adain ! 
 'tis a bold deecl to frighten half a score of wo- 
 men." 
 
 " Hear me, mother." said the agitated 
 Maniolopolo ; " on my soul you wrong me ! 
 Mherpirwir loves me, and I " 
 
 " Bak — see !" exclaimed Nevrest^ in angry 
 Bcorn : "an alinee no sooner serves aslranger, 
 than he believes that she is his, heart and 
 spirit. Fye on you. young sir ! Mherpirwir 
 has been wooed by Beys and nobles, and she 
 has slighted all their vows and protestations. 
 Aye, even with the blind scorn of the world 
 poured out upon her fair young head — a world 
 which judges only through its own short- 
 sightedness, and which dreams not that the 
 despised and hired dancing-girl has sacrified 
 her pride and self-dignity to support an aged 
 mother, and a beggared family ; — even with 
 this foul scorn preying upon her heart, she lias 
 been just to herself; and would you — you, 
 whom she has served, be among her enemies ? 
 Leave us in peace : we cannot now avail you, 
 and to-morrow we depart." 
 
 " Mother," said Maniolopolo, deeply affect- 
 ed by the honest energy of the old woman : 
 " I cannot .suffer you to bid me farewell with 
 Bueh words as these. Without your lirncly 
 and generous a.ssistance. I should now have 
 been wretched and hopeles.';, if not recklc.«s and 
 suspected. How, then, can you attribute to 
 me a falseheartedne.-^s for which I should 
 deserve to suffer death ?" 
 
 " Effendini." replied NevTe.<;t6 calmly: '-I 
 do not seek to wrong you, but — you arc a 
 Greek. We liave served you, and you have 
 liberally rewarded our exertions : tiicrc can 
 be no further tie between us. Wc are never 
 likely to meet again ; but should we indeed 
 do 80 — remember — that for your own (.aki", 
 and for that of Mherpirwir, wc meet an iitran- 
 gers. Oghour ola — Heaven xpced you. Our 
 conference is ended." 
 
 As she ceiHM'd hpcaking. the old woman 
 made a step backward ; and when the ncrcen 
 again fell. Maniolopoio wa* once more alone. 
 
 CH.M'TKR L.XI.X. 
 
 After tUn very un^ali»ifactor>- parlinK frofn 
 die alm^, Ma.iiolo|)olo bcnl U\n i>t<-|ia lo the 
 jenduk where he lodtfcd ; and aa he ii^%iflly 
 
 and cautiou.sly threaded the sfroet.s, lie re- 
 volved a thousand wild ami imprneticablo 
 schemes for the escape of his beloved C'arimfil. 
 But his good star forsook him : he could 
 imagine no plausible method of nfleeting his 
 purpose : and he at length resolved to endeavor 
 to obtain some rest, and to leave to the morrow 
 the decision at which he found it impossible lo 
 arrive in his present excited slate. 
 
 In the morning he was awoke by the 
 entrance of his servant, who presented to liim 
 a small roll of papyrus, with a seal attaciied 
 to it by a loii-i lock of silky hair. He raised 
 himself hastily on his cu.shions, and opened 
 the scroll ; the character was that of hia 
 sister. 
 
 " I have arranged all ;" thus was it worded ; 
 " Your weeping and trembling beauty ha.s at 
 last consented. You will sec me no more, but 
 I do not ask you to let tliis conviction ca.st a 
 single cloud over your fortune. At our la-st 
 night's meeting you forgot the poor Katinka 
 in a dearer and more absorbing interest ; con- 
 tinue to do still; our fates cannot now be 
 blent: our views and hopes arc different. I 
 shall not tell you wherefore, for I will not 
 occupy your mind with thougiits of me, and 
 my future life. Make all your arrangements 
 for sudden flight. Remember the skill of 
 Carimfil in gtiiding her fiery steed over the 
 plains of Circa.s.sia — then it wa.s mere sport 
 which urged her on — now she will peril her 
 happiness upon her speed, and it will not fail. 
 Provide for her the costume of a Mnmcluko ; 
 her motions will thus be free, and her sex 
 unguesscd at. 
 
 '• To-morrow at day-dawn she will await 
 you at the western gale of the city, near the 
 cemetery ; place the dress winch you dc-ign for 
 her in the tomb of Hudji Haliz in the valley ; 
 and receive the last greeting of 
 
 '• Your Bi«tcr." 
 
 " By the Saint Panagia !''• said Maniolo- 
 polo to iiimscll, a.i lie refolded the ^ll^»lvo; 
 " Katinka haM gniii<-d no hmall sliiiro of philo- 
 sophy by her remdi-nco ainnng the Otnimiili ! 
 She throws inc off tut a suitanu caittii nvvay her 
 hlipper : but hhe do«-it not fnii inc ui niy nrcd, 
 ' and her plan* arc clear and itpecdy. Y<-t, can 
 I I confide in their •uthciency ? — in their pru- 
 dence ! — I muni, for doubt m niadiieim, unim 
 I can RU8<;cjit a-inodc of action more «ure and 
 Mifc. Why how now, Sluiiclio '■'" he itmtinued 
 aloud, to a Grc<'k ndvpiilur«-r whom hr had 
 I takf-n into hm itt-rvice on hm arrival m the 
 oily ; " You have a brow na moody aa a papMl 
 wlio ban been muielrd of hi» jM-cond Iroul OB 
 a day of fa*!. What n'^w* hovr you >' 
 
 '• briate, Tchclpbm''" — • What la your pie*, 
 aure. •jr''*'' ankcd ( 'oiuilaotine, turning nud- 
 dcniy towarda hm nwuter. ^ 
 
 Vlf,, 
 
168 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 " Nay, no delay ;" said Maniolopolo : " I 
 am in no mwd to brook it ; for I must be up 
 and in the bazar witliin an hour." 
 
 " You will do well to reflect ere you walk 
 the city streets a^ain :" was the reply of the 
 domestic; '• for the Selictar-Aga of the Pasha 
 has visited the fenduk this morning, and has 
 asked a few questions, having you for their 
 object, which are scarcely palatable." 
 
 " How say you ?" exclaimed Maniopolo, 
 turning ashy pale. " The Selictar-Aga? Did 
 you see him yours^elf ? Are you sure that it 
 •was not tlie Aga-Baba?" 
 
 " The Tchelebis knows best what business 
 the chief negro of the Pasha's harem may have 
 to discuss with him:'' said Stancho, drily; 
 " but the worthy functionary of this mornins 
 ■was none other than the Sword-bearer. The 
 Aga-Baba may perhaps follow." 
 
 " Silence, fool !" thundered out the young 
 man ; " have you no wit save that which ex- 
 ists in deepening difficulty ? Speak out — what 
 have you to say ?" 
 
 " The Tchelebis reminds me ;" said the un- 
 abashed Siancho : '-of the fancy of one of our 
 old authors in the good days when Greece was I 
 a great republic, and all her sons were heroes: 
 if I remember rightly, it w-as that of a man , 
 ■who heated and cooled his pillauf with the 
 same breath ; and by St. Nicholas! the Tche- 
 lebis first tells me to be silent, and then to 
 speak : and doubtlessly expects to be obeyed 
 in both cases." 
 
 " Do not urge me further ;" said Maniolo- 
 polo ; " What did you hear ?" 
 
 " That the Pasha desired to know the name ! 
 and nation of every stranger in the city, and] 
 that he had learnt the abode of one in this i 
 fenduk, about whom he was most solicitous — 
 and, in short, sir," added the man, suddenly] 
 dropping his flippant tone, and exhibiting some ! 
 feeling ; '■ you have been kind and generous to 1 
 me since I entered your service, and even at \ 
 some personal risk I have deemed it my duty i 
 to appri.se you that you are in danger, either; 
 in your purse or person — and, for you know! 
 best where you have spent the many hours' 
 during which I have neither seen nor lieard of 
 you — perhaps, in both." 
 
 " You are an honest fellow after all, Stan- 
 cho." said his master warmly ; '• but your zeal 
 has outrun your reason : my personal safety 
 cannot be endangered, for I have done no- 
 thing ." 
 
 Maniolopolo paused suddenly, for his con- 
 science smote him ; and he profited by his 
 pause to bpring from his cushions, and prepare 
 himself for the business of the day. 
 
 "Tchelebis;" said the domestic gravely; 
 "as you seem to persist in your pvirposc of 
 leaving the house, I must speak, and you will 
 then act as you deem best. I have reason to 
 know that you are a marked person,, and W 
 forewarn you that some evil will happen ifl 
 
 you are not cautious. Before you airivcd i;_ 
 this city I had suffered poverty and hardsiiip : 
 I was a Greek; and twice I have undergone 
 the bastinado as a criminal, in order that the 
 Turkish delinquent might escape : in my 
 wretchedness I complained to the Cadi, and 
 he recompensed my faith in his justice with 
 fresh blows and fresh invectives. I laid my 
 head in the dust at the feet of the Pasha, and 
 I was reviled as a rai'ah and a rascal , and put 
 forth with hooting and contempt. You are 
 my countryman, and since you have taken me 
 into your service I have been secured alike 
 from want and from persecution : but you 
 have become yourself a mark for extortion, or 
 it may be violence. Confide then in me : let 
 me follow your fortunes: and there is no risk 
 I will not run for you ; the rope is already 
 about my neck, and it can but be tightened an 
 hour or two sooner ar later." 
 
 " Are you true or a traitor, Con.stantine ?" 
 asked Maniolopolo in very excusable doubt. 
 
 The man replied by flinging himself upon 
 his knees, pressing his two forefingers and his 
 thumb closely together, and making the sign 
 of the cross seven times with extraordinary 
 rapidity : as he called upon the name of the 
 Panagia and half the saints in the calendar to 
 testify to his truth. 
 
 '•Stancho," said his master after the hesi- 
 tation of a few moments ; '• I will trust you, 
 for I have no alternative. If I can escape this 
 day from the tyranny of these rascally Turks 
 (who will all be d — d in the next world, which 
 is some consolation !) I shall be beyond the 
 city walls early to-morrow morning, and may 
 laugh at their beards. And now, my good 
 Stancho, wfiat do you advise for to-day ?" 
 
 " That you follow me to the terrace," re- 
 plied the quick-witted Greek; '-and remain 
 there for a few moments until I prepare the 
 family of Aneste, whose court it overlooks, to 
 conceal you until the dusk. They are needy 
 and avaricious : old Dorcas, the mother, would 
 sell you the lew teeth which still remain in 
 her head for a handful of paras ; and her hus- 
 band Alexis has been beaten and kicked until 
 he has learnt to believe that he came into the 
 world for no other purpose. The Virgin help 
 them ! they have anotlier misfortune to con- 
 tend with in the .'^hape of a pretty daughter, 
 wlio entertains all the idle papas* of the pa- 
 rish with sweet words and winning smiles: 
 and the papas, while they look at her, drink 
 the old man's rakti, and oat the old woman's 
 kibaubs, which makes things -worse ; therefore 
 I can answer for it that the prospect of gaining 
 a few piastres will at once induce them to con- 
 ceal you until you think fit to leave the city. 
 The little Estafania will prepare your food 
 with her own hands; and I will take care to 
 procure for you any disguise that you mav 
 think it proper and expedient to adopt." 
 * Greek priests. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 169 
 
 "T.^11 me, Conslanline." Faitl Maniolopolo. 
 fixinii Ids keen eye steadily on liis adenilant : 
 "how Celt you \Yheii you were siiuiiietl fioni 
 the {,'ate of tlic proud Paslia"s palaee. and ca.^t 
 forth like an infected animal ?' 
 
 " Do you ai^k hotv I felt ?' demanded Stancho 
 in reply, as lie ground his teetl.. and instinc- 
 tively raised liis clenched hand to his breast, and 
 grappled idly lor a second for the daii^cr, which 
 had it not been forbidden to a rai'ah. he would 
 have worn there: "Was I not a Greek? and 
 had 1 not been insulted, stricken, and reviled ? 
 
 I swore an oath ." he paused a moment, 
 
 ■while a fierce expression of vindiclivcnc^s 
 swept like a .storm-cloud across his features : 
 
 CMAITKR LXX. 
 
 WiiKN he was left to hiniBrlf. Maniolopolo 
 did not sutler his llioushl.s to Mray into the 
 "a deep and wordless oalh, tiiat should the' future: tlie hurried rctinK|.pci by which ha 
 hour ever come when the haughty despol miuhtlhad imparted to Conslantinc the ineid.>nli» of 
 be smitten bv mv hand. I would drive the his past life, had bn.ualil b<-lorc Inni. ui all their 
 
 ment. more «ceurely tlian by any licnlumMii of 
 a le.ss revoltm:: nature. ||o dul not hc'itiitr. 
 lIxTcfore. to explain to iuiii llii< wholo pn.jn-t 
 of the lady Carinilirs c.-cajc; nnil win n Iho 
 man left him, it wa.s to proviih- di.'u^iiMti for 
 the whole party, so soon nn he had i^ocnr.d 
 a temporary asylum for Ins mahlcr "in the 
 house of Alexis Ancktc. 
 
 dagiier home — home — until its poisoned blade 
 had drained his heart !"' > 
 
 "There are wounds deeper than any that a 
 dagger can inflict, my good Stancho ;" said 
 Maniolopolo. as he grasped the arm of his ex- 
 cited attendant: '-would'st thou a.'-sist in 
 smiting the soul of the Salrap, when his per- 
 son is beyond thy reach ?"' 
 
 "Steadily — unshrinkingly — to have a full 
 and sharp revenge I would peril alike soul 
 and body."' 
 
 '•Then from this hour we are brothers :"' 
 said Maniolopolo : " and now listen, and that 
 
 first freshneas and beauty, every liiilc detail 
 connected with his early luvc winch hnd ren- 
 dered it the charm and soloee of lll^ rxn^lence. 
 He rePalled every jscene amid which he and 
 his beloved (.'arinifil had wandered to-.;rthcr 
 — the river-bank, green with short crisp h<Tb- 
 age, and sprinkled \Mlli floweri. — the forest 
 path overhung with a dciihc f(>liai.'e that cast 
 tlie sunshine aside, or made it lull dickering 
 through the h-aves. painting gohh-n ar.ihcoquca 
 upon the earth — the rocky height where, be- 
 neath a canopy of jagged stone, with a lorrcnt 
 rushing and boilina not a hundred pnee.H from 
 
 attentively: for on the next four-and-twenty them, and fallin:.' like thunder into the vallry, 
 hours depend our fate." they liad sat together, with u jwaec of licort 
 
 The attendant seated himself on a low stool and a bles.'.edness of spirit foriiiini; ii Ixaiitiful 
 near the divan: and with his gaze rivettedcoiitru,-t from the wild and savav .-en- around 
 on his ma.ster, and a bitter smile upon his lips. them. He reiiiemberrd. too. how ibry had 
 
 drank in the whole history of Maniolojwlo's 
 love, despair, and renewed hope. The tale 
 was a long one, but it was told with the vol- 
 uble eloquence of a Greek lover, and it seemed 
 to the delighted Stancho to have scarcely occu- 
 pied an hour. 
 
 And you have really trod the harem floor 
 
 been parted : and the montli5 of anl'Ul^ll and 
 dc!<pair that hud en.'^ued. until the letter of his 
 sister had once more uwukciic<l a bnu'ht hope 
 witliin liim, and sent hiiii forth a wanderer 
 again over the earth. 
 
 And the pilgrim had rearhrd hin Mreca — 
 the wurhhipi'cr hud knelt b< luri' tlie Hlirme of 
 
 and looked upon the pride of the despot's j his fondest laiih — ond hm heart teat high a.t 
 heart — the hidden pearl of his casket ! May he felt the exciting consciousnrsji of his me- 
 St. Constantino watch over your death-bed I, tcinp.-yehoiiis. 
 
 Oh, that it were my happy fate to tell him I Hm hn. Mster ? Here all wasmvHtrry— She 
 this — to watch the flushing of his brow, thclmight have flt-d with them ; her bidder Innper 
 grindingof his teeth, the trembling of his limbs would have ^usiainrd the drooping spirits of 
 
 —to catch the ga>pinL 
 
 that would fall, the more timid (^^cas^ian : but hUv had Inlk- 
 
 r-rt h 
 
 back ujKJii his heart for want of breath to ut-|ed of an elrmal separation, and 
 
 ter it — to yell into his ears that lie had 1< " ' 
 
 duped and fooled by a Greek — a rui.-ih — 
 
 an infidel ! But I sfay your utterance, T' 
 
 bis ; my joy has modrncd mc — and now v 
 
 remains to be done '"' 
 
 had bl.l.lrli 
 or rrmrmbrr h<r only with 
 a.H one over wh< >«' lule his own 
 r exerci*'* an inllmiiro 
 , .> was still iiMiKiii.' on till* infs- 
 ilrriuus rriiuiicialion of in* only rrmaininK 
 The emotion of Constantine was too mwat to* relative, his once fondly allnchea i.i»i<-r, when 
 be fciuncd : and Maniolopolo. Greek though Coiistanliiir stole into thero«ni, and ba.tr hint 
 he was, and consequently prepared lor guile follow nilpntly and iinmrdialrly t«>tlir frrrare, 
 'end .falsehood in his enuntrjniati nr nnre {xrr- as hr had heard tli«" voice of ihr Srhrtir-Aea 
 eeived that he mi-.-ht salVly • • bit- 'in the court-yard of thr mn, and bad urn, a 
 
 ter hate which Stoneho ii . the couple of the I'a>ba'» Koard loon. m;; in ||m> 
 
 Pasha, and which would >■■■ • ;. the street, like men waiting for a »uinitinii> 
 
 injury of which he would l*ccuinc au insiru-l The young man needed no second warning — 
 
170 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 the detention, even of an hour, let it terminate 
 as it might, would be ruinous to him at the 
 present juncture ; and he had, during the ab- 
 sence of Stancho, secured all his most valu- 
 able property upon his person. That active 
 emissary had also profited by the past hour to 
 ■warm the hearts of old Dorcas and her spirit- 
 bowed helpmate, by the most ready and effi- 
 cient means, towards his master : and conse- 
 quently on their arrival on the terrace beneath 
 which stood the hovel of the sordid couple, 
 they found that every facility had been afford- 
 ed for their descent. 
 
 Having seen his employer safely on his legs, 
 and drawn up and replaced the shawl of his tur^ 
 ban which had assisted in his escape, Stancho 
 left the terrace : and on his return to the cham- 
 ber of Maniolopolo, found that he had only 
 preceded by five minutes the Selictar-Aga of the 
 Pasha, who entered and inquired with great 
 courtesy after the health and well-being of his 
 master. The wily attendant replied with a 
 politeness even more exaggerated than that of 
 the Satrap's functionary : and in reply to the 
 next question of his visiter, answered readily 
 that the Effendi was at the hammam,* where 
 he had just left him to seek for a bottle of 
 essence which he had forgotten. 
 
 " I was told," said the Selictar-Aga, with 
 considerable emphasis, " that he yet slept." 
 
 " It must have been that lying Israel the 
 Tchibout.f who keeps the door, that so misled 
 your highness :" replied Stancho, calmly ; 
 " the dog is for ever blundering in the simplest 
 matters, jfnd overturning the pillauf of his 
 neighbors." And as he spoke, he busied him- 
 self in preparing a chibouque for his unwel- 
 come guest, who took possession of the divan 
 with a gravity which showed that he had no 
 intention of immediately vacating his position. 
 
 Coffee followed the pipe, which was pre- 
 pared at a mangal just without tiie door of the 
 chamber ; and as the fumes of the tobacco 
 curled from the nostrils of the doughty Sword- 
 bearer, he saw fit to pit his talents at diplo- 
 macy against those of the quick-witted and 
 wily Greek. It was the combat of the fox and 
 the buffalo. 
 
 " I have forgotten the name of your mas- 
 ter;" he said with affected unconcern; "nor 
 am I quite certain that I remember whence 
 he comes." 
 
 " Your highness may well suffer the first to 
 escape you :" smiled Stancho, as he stood with 
 his arms folded upon his breast, in ob.'^equious 
 attendance upon the man of office; "for it 
 has so strange and unnatural a sound that I at 
 once abandoned all hope of " 
 
 " But you are yourself a Greek — your tongue 
 betrays you :" interrupted the Selictar-Aga. 
 with what he considered to be a consummate 
 stroke of policy. 
 
 • Public bath. 
 
 r Vile Jew. 
 
 " May the ears of my lord never fail him ;" 
 replied the imperturbable Stancho ; devoutly 
 wishing them nailed fast to the wall, beside 
 those of one of his ancient employers, a cer- 
 tain Greek baker who was affixed to his o-mi 
 door for supplying bread in more minute quanti- 
 ties to his customers than was desirable ; " but 
 I cannot speak any Frank dialect." 
 
 "And is the stranger whom you serve really 
 a Frank ;" demanded the envoy. 
 
 " As truly as that your slave is a Christian;" 
 replied Stancho, who had some private doubta 
 of the fact when he remembered that he had 
 twice worn the turban : and had made a pil- 
 grimage to Mecca, with the produce of which 
 pious journey he had fled to this distant pro- 
 vince, and lived comfortably among his coun- 
 trymen until he had lavished his ill-gotten 
 gains; "'as truly as that your slave is a 
 Christian." 
 
 " La illaha illallah — there is but one Allah ! 
 and you are an Infidel, and less than a dog 
 before the eyes of the blessed Prophet ;" said 
 the Sword-bearer, as he gravely smoothed do^\^l 
 his beard, and the Greek bowed meekly be- 
 neath the taunt : " I had heard that the travel- 
 ler was your countryman." 
 
 Stancho replied by a second negative. 
 
 " I am weary of the quiet of this tranquil 
 city:" pursued the Selictar-Aga condescend- 
 ingly; "and I love to talk with strangers of 
 the lands through which they have passed ; of 
 the Rustems* of their own countries , and of 
 the wonders that they have seen. When will 
 the Effendi your master return from the ham- 
 mam ? I would converse with him." 
 
 "He bade me hasten with the essence;" 
 replied Stancho : " and prepare his horse for 
 two hours hence. These Franks, your high- 
 ness, ever ride like Tartars when they return 
 from the bath, instead. of quietly smoking or 
 sleeping like good Moslems." 
 
 " Mashallah ! they do well :" said the 
 Sword-bearer sententiously ; " they can smoke 
 and sleep on their divans in their own coun- 
 tries, where men run about at mid-day with 
 paper-lanterns, or grope their way in partial 
 darkness. Shekiur Allah — to His name be 
 all praise ! they come here to see the sun. and 
 they do well to take their fill of it while they 
 can— I have said it." 
 
 " Janum sinindir — my soul is your's ;" said 
 the Greek, in affected admiration of the erudi- 
 tion of his companion; "What are they but 
 dogs, and the fathers of dogs — And what wills 
 my lord that I should say to the Effendi ?" 
 
 The Selictar-Aga hesitated for a moment, 
 and then exclaimed ; "Wallah billah — by the 
 Prophet ! I must know tliis Frank : he is 
 sfirely a hakeem,t and I would ask his coun ■ 
 scl ; but enough for to-day. Tell him that I 
 will dip my fingers into his pillauf to-morrow 
 
 t Doctor. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF THE HARI«::aL 
 
 171 
 
 at the evening meal : to-day I have other pro- > 
 jects : but let him await my coming, as I have 
 said, for I shall be here without fail ; and per- 
 chance I may turn upon him the light of the 
 Pasha"s countenance." 
 
 " AUaii esmarladek ;" murmured the Greek 
 submissively : '• he will surely be on the 
 threshold at the appointed hour." 
 
 " It will be well for both of you that it 
 should be so,"' said the Selictar-Aga, as he 
 descended from the sofa, and thrust his foct 
 into liis slippers to depart ; and there was 
 something sinister in his manner of uttering 
 the remark which would have satisfied Stan- 
 cho, had he ever entertained a doubt of the 
 fact, that the intentions of the Sword-bearer 
 and his master were anything but friendly to 
 Maniolopolo. 
 
 '' The sapient Turk is as slow-witted as a 
 tortoise." he muttered to himself as the portly 
 functionary slowly descended the stair, and 
 mounted his over-fed horse, which was held 
 by a couple of fine-looking serudjes* in the 
 court of the fendijk: ''we shall be galloping 
 over sand before he descends io the city ! 
 Saint Nicholas, what a race to govern a land 
 like this, and to bow the neck of the Christian 
 — but the day will come — the day will come 
 
 " and with this vague, though apparently 
 
 consolatory ejaculation, he bowed low as the 
 grave Osmanli rode slowly away without 
 deigning to acknowledge his salutation. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 " Kara !" shouted the Aga Baba of Saifula 
 Pasha to one of the negro guard of the harem, 
 about an hour before dawn the following 
 morning, as they both lay upon their cuhhions 
 in an ante-room off the great gallery, with 
 their unsheathed scymitars beside them ; '• Ka- 
 ra — ne var — what is that? — I heard a noise'' 
 
 " The wind in the cedar-trees out«ide tiic 
 casement" perhaps; or that aecun>cd cat thai 
 spoiled Greek woman choose* to fondle, be- 
 cau.se she knows that I loathe the bca*l," wa* 
 the sulky answer : " Aye. I knew it," he con- 
 tinued, as a second ruhlling in the gallpry 
 caused the Aga Baba to rai.ic himnelf on hm 
 elbow to listen ; •• there it goc« ovit ihf ^a- 
 lustradc of the gallcr)-. leaping into tb' : 
 light ; Allah bela vcrsiii — may mi 
 overtake it ! To be awakent-d from n 
 of home and liberty by an accunt«d cat — 
 Amfln, 'tis too much !" And with a deep 
 sigh, the negro turned hi» face from tlic door, 
 and prepared to sleep affain ; an rxainple 
 which hifi superior, after lixtening for another 
 moment and ftulfi-ring no furtlier interruption, 
 Tcry judiciously followed. 
 
 The momentary disturbance had, however, 
 acted so powerfully on the nerves of the zeal- 
 ous Aga Baba. that he slept only to dream 
 that all the women of the harem were ocnp- 
 ing over the galleries, and dancing ^tt^al)and!l 
 in the moonlight, where a hundred |>rolano 
 eyes were looking on them ; and when ul lost 
 his mai^ter's fair and favorite wile ni>peared 
 before him, led into the very circle of the mazy 
 figure by the stalely Greek slave, tlie drrnmer 
 awoke with a groan that iii an in.stuiit nart'.ed 
 him into a perfect consciousness of the cause 
 of this terrific vision ; and dreading lest it 
 might not indeed have been the cat which 
 roused him from his first slumber, lie deter- 
 mined to satisfy himself that all was quiet in 
 the harem ; and accordingly he made the tour 
 of the apartments, tried the doors, and startled 
 more than one of the fair inmate.-*, who wcio 
 not slow in applying to liim sundry epithets 
 by no means flattering to his personal vanity. 
 Reassured by the result of his survey, tlio 
 Aga Baba once more resigned himself fo sleep ; 
 but he might more safely have trusted to his 
 first suspicion, for the favorite cat of Katinka 
 j had slumbered peacefully on a cu.shion 
 I throughout the whole night ; and neveriho- 
 ' less the sounds upon the gallery had been no 
 j illusion of a half-awakened fancy. 
 I When the ladies of the harem came forth 
 one by one from their chambers, each a>ked 
 the other to account for the non-ap|>carancc of 
 the beautiful Circassian and her Iriend ; and 
 a long hour went by before the small* hand of 
 Katinka was seen drawing a.sido the screen 
 that veiled the apartmciil which she shared 
 with Carimfil. Jests and quehHons welcoiiiod 
 her, but she did not return the pleasaiiincji of 
 her companions us she was nceuslomed lo do ; 
 and pressing her finger on her lip, she benought 
 ' quiet for her friend, who waa indisposed and 
 required rest. 
 
 I On an instant all was anxiety and solicitude, 
 , a thousand maladies were enumerated, and a« 
 ! many remedies suijgestcd : but Kutinka put all 
 I proffers of serviet- hteadily amde, and only cn- 
 I joining quiet, returned, as she aJliriiied, to 
 I watch beside the invalid. 
 
 The day wore on : the shadows grew shorter 
 
 ! and shorter — it was noon : again they frll 
 
 . u|>on the earth, and Ktrelohed slowly to j,'rra!pr 
 
 lfir.,Mh. Iik«- tlif limt" of a ultimbcriii;,' i;'*"t. 
 
 ; J, had Icll the 
 
 tiic hot hours 
 
 '.H>. aii>l were 
 
 , wui.d. rn.K lhr..u;il* lU« p,i.ai. .-ardri>» il was 
 
 vcrgiiii; towardit kuiiscI : and ulili tlio (irrrk 
 
 : Kirl remained in the closed a|>aMiiiriit, m brace 
 
 no sound issued save that of hrr lijtht foot M 
 
 ishe oocajiinally mov«'a nrroM iho floor 
 
 Twice the Ak^' !' ' ■ ' r, 
 
 j and declared hii> ^ 
 
 I limchc wasdriprr- » ' 
 
 , from the subdued vi^.co of kaUiikA li-- g/ow 
 
172 
 
 THE ROMAJTCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 restless and unquiet, and walked through the 
 harem, tnurinuring a few words to himself in 
 a low tone, of which " hakeem" and •' Pasha"' 
 were alone audible. Occasionally he bent his 
 ear. and listened, as he stopped before the em- 
 broidered screen which veiled the door of the 
 apartment: but all was still; and at length 
 his restlessness grew into suspicion, and with- 
 out any preliminary warning, he sofily drew 
 back one of the battants, and entered. 
 
 On a pile of satin cushions, immediately be- 
 neath one of the windows, lay a lovely form, 
 but tlie face was hidden from the officious in- 
 truder by a profusion of long glos.sy hair, and 
 by an arm of dazzling whiteness which was 
 thrown across the face. The couch of the 
 Greek girl had not been occupied, for the sil- 
 ver-frinized sheet was smoothly laid back as it 
 had been left by the attendant slaves on the 
 precedinj; evening ; and when the Aga Baba 
 looked round to inquire frona the fair Katinka 
 the cause of this unnecessary vigil, he found 
 that, save the sleeping beauty on the cushions, 
 he was alone. In an instant the truth flashed 
 upon him. He had been duped ! Mischief 
 had been at work in the harem, and his vigi- 
 lance had slumbered ! He .sprang towards the 
 low couch : he grasped the rounded arm : he 
 gazed into the eyes that met his with an ex- 
 pression half mockery and half apprehension ; 
 and his breath failed and his knees smote to- 
 gether as he beheld — Katinka ! 
 
 '■ And the lady Carimfil — the sosun of the 
 Pasha — the wife of his highness" — he gasped 
 out ; where is she ?" 
 
 " Ne bilirim — what do I know?" asked the 
 wily Greek in reply: "I have slept; and I 
 dreamed that she had escaped — and — " 
 
 " Wallah billah— by the Prophet ! I believe 
 tliat you are laughing at my beard :" muttered 
 the negro from between his clenched teeth : 
 " but have a care, proud slave, have a care — 
 there are deep waves, strong cords, and sharp 
 blades wiihin reach of a ready arm. Beware, 
 lest " 
 
 '• Slave in your teeth, vile tool of a dis- 
 honored master !" exclaimed the Greek girl, 
 sprimiing to her feet, and extending her 
 clenched hand in haughty menace, her long 
 hair streaming over her shoulders and falling 
 far below her waist, and her slight frame 
 trembling with passion : "Slave in your teeth, 
 foul iiii.-^creant ! who pressed the pillow of self- 
 ish indulgence when you siiould have looked 
 to the interests of your too indulgent master ! 
 Where were you, and your still more abject 
 followers, when the giaour stole upon the 
 privacy of the harem, and wiled the dove from 
 her nest ! Where were you when the eagle 
 swooped, that you heard not his scream, that 
 you marked not the shadow of his wings?. 
 Off, to your injured lord, and tell him how 
 doughtily you have done your duty." 
 
 "Lahuet be Sheitan — curse on the devil, 
 
 and on thee, his hand-maiden !*' exclaimed 
 the Aga Baba, undaunted by this disiday of 
 feminine energy ; " listen to me, woman ! do 
 you know the price of this night's work !" and 
 he drew closer to her, and hissed out in a 
 voice that was unearthly in its shrillness, 
 '•can you estimate the penalty of your treach- 
 ery. I was her guardian, and my arm and 
 my weapon were vowed to her security — you 
 were her companion, you were beside her 
 sleeping and waking — our peril is equal — our 
 peril is equal — one of us two must die." 
 
 '■MaUuaumdr — I know it," was the calm 
 and unshrinking answer : " and I can tell thee 
 even more than tltis: the contest may seem to 
 be an unequal one — a woman is pitted against 
 an Aga Baba — and yet" — and she lauuhed a 
 low and bitter laugh ; '' the case is not so des- 
 perate, when the woman is young, beautiful, 
 and a Greek. This neck," and as she spoke, 
 she grasped it with her slender fingers, "was 
 never meant for the bowstring." 
 
 " Bakalum — we shall see !" growled the 
 enraged negro. 
 
 " And we wa.ste time," added the fearless 
 Katinka; "the Pasha is judge between us: I 
 have no words to lavish on a slave like thee." 
 And the astonished functionary found himself 
 urged to the very measure with which he 
 hoped to have brought the trembling Greek 
 girl quailing at his feet. 
 
 " Allah kerim," he muttered as he turned 
 away trembling with dissembled rage ; " this 
 tigress must be crushed, or I am a lost man I" 
 
 But it was far more easy for the spirit-striek- 
 en Aga Baba to quit the pre.sence of the Me- 
 dusa-like beauty, than to present himself in 
 that of the Pasha. W^hat account could he 
 give of his own blindness? As he asked 
 him.self the question, he remembered the epi- 
 sode of the sleepy negro, who had amused 
 him with the conceit of the cat leaping into 
 the moonlight ; and being bewildered as to 
 the next step which it was necessary for him 
 to take in order to secure his own safety, he 
 determined to calm his brain, and to collect 
 his ideas by applying the bastinado to the un- 
 lucky subordinate, whose indolence had con- 
 duced in so eminent a degree to the catastro- 
 phe of the night. 
 
 " Ana scna. sena babe — I will destroy his 
 father and mother," he muttered, as he ground 
 his teeth until his jaws ached with the vio- 
 lence of their contact ; " when the bow-,«frii)g 
 comes to my neck, if come it must, I shall at 
 least know that he has not quite escaped — 
 but that woman — that devil — why did 1 shrink 
 betbre her gaze when it will soon be turned on 
 me in supplication ? Why did I quail beneath 
 her voice, which will so soon expire in a 
 smothered shriek ? Inshallah ! I felt as 
 though 1 withered beneath the influence of 
 the Evil Eye." ' 
 
 A few more moments elapsed, and then a 
 
iTHE ROMANCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 173 
 
 stifled groan was heard, and a wailing cry ; 
 a few heavy blows, a fall, and the dragging 
 of painful footsteps, whieli seemed as though 
 the agony of a lit'otiiiio j>ressed them into 
 the earth. 
 
 Tiie Aga Babn was soothed for the moment 
 by this seasonable exercise of his authority ; 
 but only for a moment, for as the maimed 
 negro crawled away, the recollection of his 
 ill-starred jiosition returned upon him with 
 startling distineiness. and he felt as though 
 his head was already rolling at the feet of the 
 incensed and injured Pasha. 
 
 What was to be done ? His errand, though 
 death fraught, must be executed at once. — 
 True, he was to contend only against a woman ; 
 but he could not conceal from himself that 
 there was about her an energy which would 
 struggle even to the death, and that she was 
 conscious of her advantage. 
 
 The brute force was on his side ; but the 
 subtlety of spirit, the power of thought, the 
 majesty of mind were all in arms for her. The 
 peace-loving and luxurious Pasha, who had 
 been accustomed to her presence, and by no 
 means insensible to her excelling beauty, be- 
 reft as he was of his fair wife, and threatened 
 by an isolation of heart from wliich he would 
 naturally shrink with a very pardonable sel- 
 fishness in the first moment of his bereave- 
 ment, would probably yield to the spell of her 
 impassioned eloquence — and where would he 
 tlien seek the victim ? 
 
 The head of the Aga Baba sank upon his 
 breast, and his heart heaved. He could not 
 put the answer prompted by his own reason 
 into words. 
 
 With these reflections was he accompanied 
 through the gallery of the harem, to the Se- 
 lemliek; and no brighter hope had suggested 
 itself even when he stood before the veiled 
 door of the Satrap's private apartment. How 
 he wished at that moment that he had been a 
 less privileged intruder, that tlius a few more 
 instants of delay might have been his, wliile 
 the ceremonies of liis introduction to the pres- 
 ence of the Pasha were performed ; but, alas ! 
 the wish was idle ; and with the eye of every 
 loiterer in the ante-room upon iiim he was 
 compelled at once to lift the screen, to pa»« 
 the portal and to stanif before his master. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXH. 
 
 " How now, Asref." said the Pasha, as the 
 trembling Aga Baba bowfd down before him? 
 " ne istcrsiniz — what brings you here? — Nay, 
 by my fathers beard ' you tremble — you avoid 
 my eye — speak, wretch — what of my wife ? 
 What of mv harem ? ' 
 
 In the energy of the moment, the Salrap 
 had risen from the sofa : and a* he uttered 
 
 the last eager question, he stood within a few 
 puces of the shrinking slave! 
 
 "May he live to see the beard of liis grand- 
 son white with years!" gasjied out llic Aga 
 Baba; "a wolf has stolen into the fold, or a 
 lamb lias strayed ; is not the woild lice for 
 my lord, the Pasha? Arc not all the beanties 
 of the earth at his disposal ? Can he not—" 
 "Enough of this," said the Satrap, with a 
 frightful calmness which was more iippalling 
 than the tiercest burst of passion; "say your 
 errand without metaphor or prefaci- : words 
 are idle; and I am in no humor to be loided.'' 
 The negro sank upon his knees; '• Aman, 
 aniaii — mcrcv. mercv — the lady Carimlil has 
 fled— '• 
 
 Words have no power to paint the transport 
 of the Pasha; the strength of half a dozen 
 men seemed to have passed into his arm; lie 
 lifted the unresisting neuro from the lloor, and 
 then hurled him back with a fury that threat- 
 ened the dislocation of every tremblini,' limb; 
 j he spurned him as he grovelled in the dust; 
 and his fingers clutched the luift of his hand- 
 I jar, as though his vengeance almost overcamo 
 I his prudence, and that he thirsted to destroy 
 him with the remainder of his secret still un- 
 said. But the first moment of phrenzicd an- 
 I guish over, he mastered the overwhelming 
 1 passion — he was sure of his victim ; and ho 
 had yet much to learn. A Hood of mingled 
 j memories ])ressed upon his brain : and when 
 he again spoke, his voice was hollow and 
 husky, like that of one whose lips have long 
 ' been sealed. 
 
 j Tlie tale was soon told : nor did the Sa- 
 trap inteirupt it by a word or gesture, until 
 I the wily Aslircf. in order to divert Ins ven- 
 ' geaiice into another channel, expatiated on the 
 I treachery of Kaiinka, who had not only fuvor- 
 ' ed the flight of the lost beauty, but euimingly 
 concealed it until pur.>-uit wa,** ho).cIe.'s. 
 
 " And she knew it ! The liihc Greek knew 
 that .'•he was to (!y In m me !"' he then buri>t 
 forth; '■ May all her dastanl nalion be \\ith- 
 cred for her sake ! Wa.s it for this that I .-uf- 
 fercd her dark .>-liadow to rest beside the light 
 of my eyes ; and her cunning words to ronjuro 
 mc into tcmjwrary forsclfuincss of my own 
 soul — But it IS not yd t'lo Into for vengeiinco ! 
 I Follow me. false slave ! Yon ithnll not ilio 
 I alone if Saitula Pnsha lives lo cross once mora 
 the ihre.shold of his harem.'' 
 
 As he h|)oke. the Satrap strode hau'.'lilily 
 I through the chamber, and pai>so<l out without 
 cajitin:.' a backward ghinee upon Iho tuintin^ 
 wretch who passively followc<l wilh d>-alli al- 
 ready in his heart 
 
 When the Satrap reached the {•rent hnll 
 whence the a|nrtinenl« of the women (iiTiieii 
 ni-hl and IcH. he ioiind it denerted. Thr af- 
 frighted slaves, onxioiiM to rj«ia|>fl th* firol out- 
 break of his vengcnnee. had littstily roneealrd 
 themselves on hi» aj.pioach, but v»lieii ha 
 
114: 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. 
 
 stood upon the threshold of the chamber, where i Greek girl ; " his breath pollutef! the chamber, 
 he had last beheld his lost Carimtll, he met and his vile soul cumbers the earth." Anc 
 
 the proud and unshrinking eye of the Greek 
 girl who was standing in the centre of the 
 floor. 
 
 A bitter and threatful malediction rose to 
 the lips of the Pasha ; but the calm, assured, 
 and thrilling gaze of those deep wild eyes ar- 
 rested it in the utterance : and he had ad- 
 
 without waiting the acquiescence of the Sa- 
 trap, ehe clapped her hands, and two negroe; 
 instantly obeyed the summons. 
 
 A few brief words from the Pasha, whowa.- 
 startled into instant compliance with the un-i 
 yielding will of the maiden ; and whose weal' 
 nature was overwhelmed by the hiva-flood ol 
 
 vanced a pace or two into the room in silence. 'passion that poured from her quivering lips 
 
 decided the fate of the wretched Aga Baba 
 who was borne from the apartment shriekini 
 out his despair with all the shrill terror of : 
 woman. 
 
 As the screen fell behind the executioner 
 and their victim, Katinka flung herself wild] 
 upon her knees before the Paslia ; every trac 
 of haughtiness had vanished from her brow- 
 her eyes had lost their light, and tremble 
 through a sea of tears; her head was bowe 
 upon her heaving bosom, and she was all th 
 woman. 
 
 " Look on me, my lord ;" she murmured, a. 
 she clasped the hem of his robe with her sma 
 fair hands : -'look on me, and listen to me. ei 
 
 when the low sweet voice of llie maiden broke 
 the spell. 
 
 '• Saifula Pasha, the lord of a powerful pro- 
 vince, is come to seek from the captured Ka- 
 tinka tidings of his wife,'' she said, in as un- 
 disturbed a tone as though she knew not that 
 the soul of her listener shook with anguish, 
 and that his lieart bled from a fresh and gaping 
 wound ; '• Let him rather ask the pampered 
 slave who crouches clo.se behind him, and 
 to whom he had contided the safety of 
 his harem, and his own honor ! The eye 
 slumbered that should have watched — the 
 ear was scaled that should have listened — 
 the hand wa.s nerveless for wliose clasp the 
 
 naked scymitar had been prepared — and while you condemn me — I do not mean to death— 
 that traitor lives, the name of Saifula Pasha care not for it — I do not fear it — but to tl 
 will be a mark for scorn. What has the cow- hopeless anguish of your displeasure. Am 
 ard whispered to his master? That the Greek i to blame that the lost one loved you not ?- 
 girl, who was purchased by his gold, cher- that she had poured the sherbet of afToctic, 
 ished by his care, consoled in her bondage by over the flowers of paradise before she enterd 
 his gentleness, had leagued with a false and {your harem? and that she nursed the memoi; 
 ruiloving wile to stab him as he slept — Nay, | of her first love until it grew into dishonor !- 
 speak not, wretch !'' she exclaimed haughtily, j am I to blame :" .«he continued, in a yet faint 
 as the Aga Baba was about to make another murmur, as the Pasha was about to interru 
 desperate effort at self-preservation, while the, her : "am I to blame that my heart clui 
 Pasha remained thralled and overawed by an where her's had failed to find a resting place 
 energy such as he had never belbre beheld : I that, yielding to a passion I liad no longer t' 
 " speak not, lest thy false tongue be torn from' power to control, I entered madly into a pi 
 between thy lying lips, and flung to the dogs which was to ensure the absence of her w 
 who would turn away revolted by such foul hid from me the sun of my existence? I ha 
 garbage ' — and then, as though the interruption^ done — sen ektiar dcr — you are the master: 
 had failed to break the chain other ideas, she i ask for no mercy save tliat which your ha 
 continued — -But did the dastard murmur to, may offer, by paying back the tendernesB \ 
 his lord that the exiled maiden who had eaten, mine," t 
 
 of his bread and rested beneath his roof. The astonished Pasha hesitated for a ir 
 spurned at the cflbrts that were made to leadjmcnt. during which he looked down upon t 
 her also to abandon her princely master ? Did fair young creature before him : she was ve 
 he tell how she withstood the prayers and beautiful, and Carimfil was gone: she lo\ 
 tears of the fugitive, and how she mocked atUiim — for it never occurred to him to doubt t 
 the assurance that she would be the victim of j fact : and there is a charm in novelty whi 
 another's crime, and become the sacrifice of dcejftns loveliness a hundred fold: but Saifi . 
 her own devotion? If he told this also, let Paslia was a rigid Moslem, and the maici 
 him stand forth, and bear witness that his eye, was a Greek ; and with a characteristic st( • 
 his ear, and his arm were employed in the dity, he replied to her passionate appeal b}. 
 service of his lord; but if he knew nothing stammer-allusion to her apostacy. 
 
 of the struggle between the lost one and her 
 early friend, then let him pay the price of his 
 supineness." 
 
 " Mashallah !" murmured the bewildered 
 Pasha, quivering with mingled rage, anguish, 
 and admiration ; '-ho is a false slave, and he 
 shall die the death- 
 
 The lip of the girl curled in scorn, but oi' 
 for an instant ; the stake on which she 1 1 
 perilled her life was not to be lightly lost; ; I 
 rising from her knees, her dark eyes flash ( 
 once more with the intense light that seen I 
 to burn into the soul, she exclaimed reproa • 
 ully: "And has Saifula Pasha yet to le; i 
 
 '• Away with him at once !" continued the that all is easy to those who love? Shall i 
 
TEE ROiLVNCE OF THE IIAREM. 
 
 1?« 
 
 his faith bo mine? his will be my law? and 
 his greatness be my glory ?' 
 
 " InshaJlah !" said tho Satrap, overcome by 
 the energetic eloquence of his companion ; "I 
 shall offer one sonl to the Propliet — one con- 
 vert to the truejaith. Boyaz, I will for;;ct 
 the falsehood of which I have in en the victim 
 — sevcrim seni — I love you — but — you must 
 cease to be a Giaour."' 
 
 " Allah il Allah. Mahomet resoul Allah !"' 
 said Katinka in a tirm voice, and without the 
 hesitation of a second ; " when the IniAum 
 claims me, I am ready." 
 
 " St. Estafania be my witness ;" murmured 
 the girl to herself, as the Pasha left the harem : 
 
 " I will hnng tho chainii that hnvo no louK 
 prcs.sed down my own »\nr\\. ujH>n thr ikuiI of 
 that cowardhoarlfd dcjtix>t, or ihc hliM^I that 
 was spill at Scio nhall be on my head ! I^)Vo ! 
 
 , 'tis a madman'n dream — but jmwcr, wraith, 
 and a prtuid name are the tri|>od nn winrh 
 true happiiicsH in buAcd — I have tniird for it — 
 humbled my haughty R|>iril to obtnin it — hriit 
 my neck to the oppressive yoke, nnd my liji lo 
 the ready he — and ihriic are my wu-i » — ' 
 and she lauiihed hillerly a.<t sin- Hun;; hu.k 'h- 
 lid of an inlaid ca.sket in which wcrr r-^ht.un- 
 
 ' ed the cosily jewels that the Circa*'. ion had 
 abandoned in her flicht. '' The^c — aud th« 
 
 ^ selfish passion of the Moslem."' 
 
 (d iu y :• 
 
 THK LND 
 
BALM OF THOUSAND FLOWERS 
 
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 Aa/Z) 
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 BEST THIIsrGt E3CT-A.3>TT FOR. THE TEETKC- 
 
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 rOR THE 
 
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 increase of strength 1 1 ^ 
 
 ■'^^VOOIDIjjgLlSriD CJ^LESA-nVE- 
 
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 Of "The Balm of Thousand Flowers," and "Woodland Cream, 
 Jt'o. 306 Chestnut Street, PhUadelph - 
 
 The " linlm of Thousand Flowers," price fifty cents a bottle, as well as the " Woodland Cream," '• 
 best Pomade in the world for the Hair, price fifty cents per pot, are both for sale by all A'eiM Ag h 
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I 
 
 
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 WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY