'^:l'^•^■ '^' THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE PICTURE AND THE PROSPEROUS MAN. VOL. IL BY THE SAME AUTHOR : THE EXILE OF IDRIA A GERMAN TALE. In Three Cantos. Small 8vo., 3s. 6d. " An interesting story, told in very agreeable verse." — Atlas. " " This is a sweet little vrork, possessing many of the attributes of good poetry. We know not when we have been more pleased with a metrical tale." — Metropolitan Magazine, " As a story it cannot be read without deep and varied emo- tions ; as a poem it reflects infinite credit on the imaginative powers and refined taste of the author." — New Monthly Magazine. THE PICTURE: AND THE PROSPEROUS MAN. BY THE AUTHOR OF 'THE EXILE OF IDRIA. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. IL LONDON : JAMES COCHRANE AND CO. U, WATERLOO PLACE. MDCCCXXXV. PRINTED BY A. J. VAtPY, P.ID LION COURT, FLEET STREET-. THE PICTURE. CHAPTER I. Mark was so entirely occupied with the recol- lection of his morning's walk and his mistress's perfections, that there is no saying what and when .would have been the termination of his agreeable reverie, had it not been brought about by the second bell. With all possible bustle he hurried through his half-accomplished toilet, verifying the proverb of " most haste worst speed." lie bfushed his hair with his clothes brush, and made that matter even by using his hair- brush to his trousers ; slipped the soap into his watch-pocket, and began rubbing his gold hunter in the immersed palms of his hands, and made VOL. II. ^^_, - A secs^-i 2 THE PICTURE. divers other blunders. At last all was rectified, and he rolled down a whole flight of stairs at one heat, having in his haste attempted to take four steps at a time. With all his exertions, he was too late to offer his arm to his goddess. The whole party were gone to the dining-room; and he had the mor- tification to find her fairly seated between the two new comers. " Ah ! young gentleman, here you are at last ! " said the Baronet; " Know my very good friends, Mr. Viper and Mr. Sands— Mr. Mark Mas- borouoh." *' Very glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Sands ; "believe I've seen you in company with Mr. Masborough as lived here a-while ? Very good customer of mine, sir, he used to be. Hope he 's well, sir ? " *' Very well, sir," said Mark. Mr. Viper said nothing, but bowed. Mrs. Sileby asked Mark what he had been so lono- about. He replied, she had forgotten she had herself detained him by her agreeable conversation. THE PICTURE. '' You may well call it agreeable, this once," said the lady, ''considering the subject. But as, after all, it detained us equally, how came you to be so much behind me ? I 'm afraid you were thinking of something else than dressing." " Perhaps I was>" replied Mark, "Ah, love, love," cried the lady, laughing, and glancing from Mark to Mfttilda and back, " it makes young people very negligent. Matilda, you 've lost i/our appetite too ; your walk has not made you hungry." Mark asked Mrs. Sileby if he might give her a little tongue to her chicken ,- and she said, she perceived he was trying to stop her's. *' A little more soup, if you please, Mr. Ba- ronet," cried Mr. Sands, holding out his soup- plate, " it 's tarnation good. Well peppered. I beheve, though I should not say that ; it looks like praising one's own wares. But I must say my last lot of spices has been super super. Is this some of the last I had the honour to send?" *' I really don't know, sir," said Sir Charles. " You see, Mr. Baronet, sir," continued Mr. 4 THE PICTURE. Sands, '' I know my own. If you had had it from Mr. Tubbs, you might just as well have put so much soot and saw-dust into the soup at once, and it would have tasted as nauseous for all the world as one of the precious compounds friend Viper there mixes after Dr*. Palehorse's pre- scriptions." Now Mr. Vipjfer, it must be remarked, was by no means a person to be joked with, even by so facetious a wag as Mr. Sands. Mr. Viper was one of those who have risen in the world, and who therefore feel they have a character and a certain station to support. He had till the age of thirteen or fourteen cleaned knives, blacked shoes, and run on errands ; and in order to prevent him making mistakes in the latter capacity, his master, who was a druggist at L , and who had taken a liking to him, had had him taught to read. Having some natural quickness, he learnt the Latin names of the treasures of the shop ; and being very attentive, he won from his master the farther reward of being taken apprentice ; whence, from less to more, he had in time succeeded to the THE PICTURE. 5 business. On setting up for himself, he ako, considering he had a stake in the country, became a politician — a character which he had assumed at least as legitimately as that of druggist, inasmuch as by universal consent and practice it is found that people of every degree, with any sort or no sort of preparation, are able to discuss the most intricate points of Government ; whilst it is gene- rally allowed that a certain quantity of education is useful for those who have the dispensing of salts and soda, of prussic and oxalic acid. For his imperfect education Mr. Viper compensated by a display of such scholarship as he possessed, con- sisting chiefly of very hard words, varied from the common pronunciation, and whose meaning was not always perfectly understood by himself. The dignity of his laboratory was a point on which he was peculiarly sensitive, and the remark of the grocer therefore seemed highly indecorous. *'No insinevations, Mr. Sands, if you please," said he ; " have the purliteness not to make alli- terations to my profession." " No offence, neighbour Vi," cried the grocer. 6 THE PICTURE. '' I 'm sure I 've the greatest respect for both you and the doctor — only I can't say I 'm much of a customer to either ; and there 's the rub." The last words were spoken in a low tone, with his head turned towards Mark and Mrs. Sileby, and a knowing wink. Mark invited Mr. Sands to take a glass of wine. " By all manner of means, sir, and no mis- take," said the gratified grocer; ''here 's to you and yours. Pray, sir, is there a Mrs. Masborough tliat I may drink too ? I never forget the ladies." Mark said he was not so fortunate. " All time enough yet," said Mr. Sands ; " why, let me see, I was eight-and-thirty before I married my mistress, and we 've got — let me see — six is it ? There 's Stephen Samuel Sempronius Sands — Sarah Sophia Susan Sands — and there we 'd got to the end of the Christian esses, before we 'd got to the end of our quiver — so next came Amelia Anne Sands — then Snibbs Snooks Sands — Matthew Mark Sands — Esau Jacob Sands — and our little baby that is yet to be named — what do you say we should call it, now ? " THE PICTURE. " Why, you are like the sands on the sea- shore ! " cried Sir Charles. All laughed, as expected. "Capital good that; is'nt it, eh, Vi?" cried Mr. Sands. "The Baronet's a deuced clever fellow, and will do capital well for our repre- sentative, won't he ? " " If you dericate your observation to me," said the druggist, drawing himself up, " I must with great frankincense confess that my sentiments are coinciderental and congorous to your own ; but why you should abbreviate my name I am at a loss to conjecture, as our intimacy has never been of that magnificence to have allowed your taking that liberty before." "Why, neighbour," said the good-tempered Mr. Sands, " again I say, I meant no offence : take a glass of wine with me, Vi-per." The glass was taken accordingly, and it, added to the previous ones, and the strong ale which had pre- ceded them, began to have a great effect on Mr. Sands's naturally good spirits. He accordingly had the courage to invite Mrs. Sileby to take THE PICTURE. wine with him, and to ask Mr. Baronet to join them. One step led to another, and he next proposed to Miss Chessalette to have the honour of drinking with her and her two fair sisters. He then talked to Mrs. Sileby about the two fine young gentlemen, her sons, whom he had often seen riding throug-h L in their scarlet coats to meet the hounds. Next he inquired after the fine young lady her daughter, who had married the Duke of Bran- ville. " You are mistaken, Mr. Sands ; my son-in-law is only an earl," said Mrs. Sileby. " Well, ma'am, or I suppose I should say your ladyship, as you are mother of an earl," cried Mr. Sands, " be that as it may, she was a fine young- lady, and fit for a queen. Mr. Sileby, your good husband, deals with that Tubbs, and his tea is such stuff! — why, Lord, I know the hedge where it grows : — it 's only a wonder she lived to grow up big enough to be married at all. Don't you think, Vi— I mean Mr. Viper— that sloe-leaves are poi- sonous ? you understand those things." THE PICTURE. 9 " They must be a slow poison," cried Sir Charles; 'pleased to introduce a pun. ** By Gad, I should like to hear you in the House, Mr. Baronet," exclaimed Sands. " Give me some of that pudding, Vi — I mean Mr. Viper — to which you've just helped yourself. Bless me! why, you're crying! — I'm sure I didn't mean to hurt your feelings by calling you Vi, or talking of poison. — I 'm sure nobody 's more care- ful in their labels than you are ; and really I was not thinking of that case the coroner brought in ' accidental death.' What have I done ?" " Nothing," said, or rather sobbed, Mr. Viper, holding his handkerchief to his mouth and eyes. ** Nothing. I am sure you meant no harm. Let me have another glass of wine with you. I will help you." Mr. Viper extended his arm in front of Miss Chessalette, and replenished the glass of Mr. Sands from a black bottle, which the latter sup- posed to contain some wine not usually put into decanters. They bowed. In a moment the face of Mr. Sands was as red as scarlet, the tears were VOL. II. A 5 10 THE PICTURE. in his eyes also, and he roared out — " Oh, my God, I 'm poisoned indeed ! I 've swallowed liquid fire !" '* Quantum su/f of caloric, no doubt," exclaimed Mr. Viper, " in the shape of Chili vinegar ! It was brought to me by mistake. So I thought you might as well have a benefit too — eh ?" and the scion of jEsculapius beheld with dehght the laughing face of Mark. He tossed off his own glass of Madeira, smacked his lips, threw himself back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and looked on the contortions of the excruciated grocer with unconcealed pleasure. Dinner being ended, the ladies were not reluc- tant to depart. The man of tea and sugai" had monopolized the conversation, and they were little pleased with the society of either of the electors. They retired accordingly to the drawing- room, pitying the Baronet and Mark ; especially the latter, who had no such motive as the master of the feast had to endure their vulgarity. Mark felt their departure a relief, for, though it robbed his eyes of their most treasured object, he had THE PICTURE. 11 been so uneasy at Matilda's being in company with two wretclies, whose presence before her seemed a profanation, that, while he could not help laugh- ing at the absurdities which had occurred at the dinner-table, he was glad for once to see her leave the room. The Baronet, too, was now heartily tired of his guests, but he had an object to achieve, and a task to go through. He must play the courteous and generous host, and hold fast their hearts with his gracious welcome. As soon as the ladies were gone, Mr. Sands proposed to drink their health, at the same time congratulating Sir Charles on their beauty, and expressing his hopes that his Sarah Sophia Susan and his Amelia Anne might only grow up like them, and be as pretty, as genteel, and as accom- phshed. Mark bit his lip, and longed to annihi- late the daring grocer for his treason in presuming so to abuse the optative mood. " By the bye, what are their names ?" he con- tinued. "The one at the top," said Sir Charles, "is 12 THE PICTURE. my eldest daughter, Mary ; the one between you and Mr. Viper, Matilda ; and the one on the other side of the table, my youngest daughter, Jane." '• Mary, iNIatilda, Jane," cried the grocer. " Good ! so it shall be. Mary Matilda Jane Sands is my baby's name ! Perhaps you would condescend to stand to it, Mr. Baronet ? " The Baronet said he should be most happy, and the delisrhted orocer rubbed his hands and cried, ''Mrs. Sands will be fine and pleased, I vow ! " " Mr. Viper, give us a toast," cried Sir Charles. Mr. Viper hemmed, nodded his head to and fro, knit his brow, hemmed, tapped the table, hemmed, stood on his legs, hemmed, and spoke — " Sir Charles and gentlemen, unwanted, as I am — hem — to the deliverance of public speaking — hem — I rise on this present occasion with a — hem — most profound sense of my inefficacity to do justice to the sentiment of my heart and toast— hem. Vv'hen we considerately con- sider the stately state of this mighty empire. THE PICTURE. 13 and compare it with what it was in the time of Judaeus Caesar, when our ancestors painted their backs, sides — liem — and indeed the total of the whole of their bodies with painted figures of the sun, and the fixed stars, and the other planets — • when we consider this, I say — hem — we see what has been done for us by our Parliament. There- fore — hem — we must see the fararaount impor- tance of— hem — choosing fit and proper persons to represent us all in the legislatering assembly. Therefore, I say — hem — we ought to choose a man who will attend to our — hem — interests, and understands what we want ; — who will — hem — preserve our laws like those of the Medes and Prussians, and who will see the properiety of not taxing the necessary and useful things of life, as drusrs, without which life would be intoUe- roUerable, and groceries — (' Hear, hear, hear,' from Mr. Sands) — hem. You 've put me out, Mr. Sands — hem — I was going to say — hem — therefore, if we have a good representative, we ouoht to keep Hiisas long as we can — say — hem — 14 THE PICTURE. for seven years, which is a good reason for sep- tenneral Parlourments ; and — " *' If he should be a bad one ?" whispered Mark. ** Hush!" said Sir Charles, and Mr. Viper con- tinued : '* If he should be a bad one, you say ? why then, I should say — hem — supposing him a bad one — 1 shall therefore — hem — conclude with proposing, what I am sure you must have all along antici- perated — the health of Sir Charles Chessalette, and success to the Red !" " Bravo !" cried Mr. Sands, thumping the table with his glass. " Egad, neighbour Vi, you 've the gift of the gab, though. You ought to have been bred a counsellor, and you 'd have fairly out-talked either Lawyer Boggle, or Lawyer Bray, or even Counsellor Copperass. Now, I think on 't, you must either propose or second Sir Charles — that you must." *' I 'm sure I should be most ready and most elevated to do so," said Viper, looking at Sir THE PICTURE. 15 Charles, who, however, said he had already applied -to Lord Lackland and the Rev. Mr. Swizzle — it being important to show he had the Church in his favour — to do him those kind offices, otherwise he should have been most thankful to liave availed himself of the eloquence of a Viper. Great is the force of habit. It was now the hour when Sir Charles usually, indeed regularly, took his siesta. His head began to incline, and as he ever and anon raised it up with a jerk, and opened his eyes, he apologized to his guests for feeling so overcome with the business of the morning. The constraint he was under, and the exertions he had to make, were much against the grain, and he felt but little at his ease. Pinch after pinch of snufF was called in aid ; but all in vain ; Morpheus, or as Mr. Viper called the God, Orpheus, was triumphant, and the sound of his horn for the victory was revealed to mortal ears by a snore. Mark and Mr. Viper, as ill luck would have it, got into an argument. Now Mark had un- fortunately been fully impressed with the idea 16 THE PICTURE. that Sir Charles was a Whio; and a Reformer. The observation about septennial parliaments, wliich had fallen from Mr. Viper, might have unde- ceived him, had he not been perfectly certain that that worthy orator was quite guiltless of understanding his own expressions. The Baro- net's son, Charles, he had often heard advocating: the most ultra-radical doctrines, and this he had considered the youthful version of his father's more mellowed sentiments. Sir Charles was, however, a most inveterate Tory j and it was be- cause he had looked upon Mark's defence of English poets against foreign ones, as a proof that he was on the right side, that he had con- ceived so great a liking for him. Labouring imder this error as to the principles of the Red party at L , Mark had, on finding that his host had retired in his favour from the duty of entertaining his friends, broached some notion, which, instead of receiving, as he expected, the echo of Mr. Viper and Mr. Sands, was met with denial and attempt at refutation. This had led them into a warm argument ; and THE PICTURE. 17 when the loudness of their debate had, with its angry tones, prematurely disturbed the slumbers of Sir Charles, he was petrified to hear the here- sies and dangerous and damnable doctrines which his favourite was so earnestly defending. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, and finding that it was no dream, but too true and sad a reality, he lost no time in coming to the succour of his party. *'Who do you say is intolerant?" cried the Baronet. '* I am not speaking of any particular person. Sir Charles," said Mark ; " but whatl am con- tending for is universal toleration. For, I say, that faith is an active power of the mind, but belief, or assent, is a passive quality. A man can no more persuade himself into a particular creed upon any subject short of demonstration, unless he allows himself to be acted upon by ex- ternal influences or betrayed by inward feelings, than he can by taking thought add a cubit to his stature. But if he chooses to give way to these impulses, and to surrender his judgment, making 18 THE PICTURE. his ' wish the father to his thought/ instead of being supposed to have a rational opinion on the point before him, he must be acknowledged the victim of delusion, who can only be right through error and by accident. When a man, for the sake of his own convenience and benefit, or for the sake of facilitating thereby the indulgence of vicious propensities, supports a certain code of opinions, he is amenable to society for the faitli he holds: but when for no motive of this kind, but from conviction, and especially after investiga- tion, which by the bye is not necessarily a pre- cursor of it, (since a truth may flash intuitively upon a mind well constituted for its reception,) a man holds opinions at variance with those gene- rally received or professed by society, he is not only not a proper object for persecution on that account, but is even entitled to an audience, if he seeks it in a proper tone and spirit, and from a declared wish to disabuse the world of erroneous notions. And it is wise to give him a fair hear- ing, that he may be either refuted, or, on the other hand, have his suggestions followed, and THE PICTURE. 19 his reward of fame assigned. Now, if we only consider the different, the diametrically opposite, opinions, entertained on the same subjects by men of nearly equal talent, we shall perceive how their -syllogism is in each case made up. The major premise is still their pecuhar prejudice ; and to this they refer the particular question before them &s the minor; and so they jump to their conclu- sion with a self-persuasion of argument." *' I suppose, sir," said Sir Charles, " you have a self-persuasion yours is an argument. It 's no such thing, bift mere declamation, and would lead to the idea that all religions are alike ; that our protestant religion is not better than every other ; that Cathohcs, Atheists, Deists, Idola- ters, Jews, Turks, Infidels, are not answerable ; and—" "Why, now, I'll tell you," cried Mr. Sands, interrupting Sir Charles, " what this gentleman has been saying whilst you were asleep. Oh, such shocking things, Mr. Baronet ! In the first place, he says ghosts is all humbug and stuff, and he believes there will be steam- coaches." 20 THE PICTUHE. " Oh, monstrous !" cried Sir Charles. " It 's a most radical notion." " Then, Mr. Baronet," continued Mr. Sands, " he and Mr. Viper have been arguing about Mis- sionaries and Bible Societies." " Yes, Sir Charles," cried Viper, " and he insniverates that most of the pecuniary produce is detained by the collectors and managers, thougl» it is well known they have caused so many Bibles to be printed, that you cannot pawn them for above eigh teen-pence a piece." *' Why, the fact is," said Sir Chalks, " I myself am no great advocate for these things ; for they tend to diffuse Christianity to such an extent, that the world will be all converted, and so they will hurry on the Millennium, which, though very desira- ble, I would rather leave to the natural course of events, and to posterity, than have it brought about prematurely in our time. You need not laugh, Mr. Masborough ; this is a serious and important subject, and you must excuse my say- ing that people of more experience and perhaps as much wisdom — " THE PICTUHE. 21 " Pvly dear Baronet," interrupted Mark, " pray excuse me ; I really was led on by argument by Mr. Viper to say several things, which, though they are in truth my sentiments, I know I should have kept to myself. For instance, I have been arguing .the possibiUty^ of flying, of perpetual motion, and " " Say no more ; I now fully believe you are not quite right in the upper works, and that is a sufH- cient excuse for any wild vagaries of fancy •" " Sir Charles," said Mark, " gas-hghting was lauo-hed at as the vision of an enthusiast ; steam- vessels were classed with dragons and 'griffins ; both are now in full effect ! Why should not the same happen as to our voyaging in the air, which indeed has been in part, though clumsily, effected by balloons ? And as to perpetual motion, the analoo'ies of nature warrant — " *' The analogies of a fiddle-stick, sir!" cried Sir Charles. " I find 1 have been much deceived in you, and I regret that my son should have intro- duced such an acquaintance, or rather, now I think of it, sir, that you should have introduced 22 THE PICTURE. yourself. A person of your dangerous opinions is one with whom I cannot prolong my acquaint- ance." Mark rose — "Sir Charles Chessalette," he said, " I show your years more respect than you show them yourself, in aot noticing yeur words in a more particular manner. Your conduct to your guest is such as, on reflection, I think, you will be ashamed of. I ought, perhaps, to quit your roof instantly; — but I shall content myself with departing early in the morning, for which time my chaise is already ordered. When you come lip to the drawing-room, 1 shall meet you as if this had not happened, but after to-night our acquaintance will naturally terminate." With these words Mark left the room. On arriving in the drawing-room, he found Mrs. Sileby and the youngest Miss Chessalette very intent on a game at backgammon, while the two elder ones were at the piano . He was advancino- to the latter, when Mrs. Sileby called him : "You are a good young man," said she, " to come to the ladies so soon, and to be the first of THE PICTL'RE. 23 the party; but that I expected. You've piayed the^deuce." " I have," said ]\;[ark. " Nonsense !" cried the lady ; " I was speaking to Jane, of course, not to you. What deuce have you to play?" " I have played it; that's all," said Mark. Mrs. Sileby looked up from her gEftne, and fixed her eyes inquiringly on Mark's face. She thSre saw enough to convince her that something had gone wrong, and that there was more in his words than "met the ear." She finished her game quickly with her antagonist, and then cried, " she had no chance with her ; she must try her luck with somebody else, or else she should get out of temper;" and finally she called Mark, who had gone to the musical party, to come and have one game with her. Mark made an excuse, that he did not like to dispossess Miss Jane Chessa- lette of her victorious seat ; but that was quickly overruled by the young lady's saying, " it would be a rest to her, for they had been playing so many 24 THE PICTURE. gamee, that she was beginning to mistake the black men for the white. Mark was obliged, therefore, reluctantly to take her place. lie had no wish to leave the piano, neither had he any desire to answer the interrogatories which he knew Mrs. Sileby was preparing for him. In the short interval of his passing «from the dining-room to the drawing- room, he had considered in his mind whether he should confide to her the fracas which had 6c- curred, and ask her advice ; but he had decided against doing so, partly because he recollected he had, in the heat of the moment, used a sort of hint of a personal nature to the Baronet, and partly because he was confident that Mrs. Sileby would recommend some crooked course of policy which he should feel reluctant to adopt. But from this resolution, deliberately though rapidly formed, he had not been sufficiently firm of pur- pose to save himself from being seduced by the slight temptation of an equivocal word. He sat down to his game with about as much THE PICTURE. 25 readiness as an ass exhibits when he is led forth froiii' a manger, unwontedly plentiful and just tasted, and finds himself placed between a pair of shafts, with an iron bit put into his mouth to ru- minate upon. Making a virtue of necessity, Mark, as soon as Miss Jane went away, in an under tone gave Mrs. Sileby a hasty sketch of the Baronet's un- timely wakening, and the consequences. *' You are a great— what I won't say," whis- pered the lady. " You 've undone all my handy- work." " I confess I have erred," replied Mark. *' But I am not without excuse. I could not dream that Sir Charles would awake at such an inopportune moment ; neither, had he been awake when our discussion began, should I have had the shghtest suspicion but that our politics nearly coincided, instead of their being diame- trically opposite." " Except game/' said Mrs. Sileby, " I believe politics are the cause of more quarrels among VOL. II. B 26 THE PICTUEE. your sex than any thing. A still tongue makes a wise head." " Well, dear madam, at least I have had a lesson, and will be more cautious for the future — but what do you advise for the present ?" " It is of no avail," said the lady, " to lock the door when the steed is stolen, nor to ad- minister physic when the disease has come to a mortal end. The mischief is done." '' Nay," said Mark, " I cannot quote pro- verbs with you. But I know, if my error is retrievable, you are the person to tell me how to set about it. The house that is on fire may be burnt down or saved, by despair or by ex- ertion." " There is something in what you say," said Mrs. Sileby, swallowing the compliment; " and I do think if you were to make a very ample apology, and acknowledge that on reflecting on his words you were convinced the Baronet was quite right, and you quite wrong ; and that you are become through his arguments a proselyte to Tory senti- THE PICTURE. 27 ments, and perceive how Radicalism is only fit for' '' a low and degraded crew,' and that Mr. Viper " " Stop, my dear Mrs. Sileby," cried Mark, " the advice you give is very excellent, were it practicable. I could as soon cut off my right hand as apologize to any soul breathing. Let me be- ever so convinced of my having behaved wrong (as here is by no means the case), I never will retract. I will take all consequences." " Why do you ask me to advise you?" said Mrs. Sileby, putting one hand on Mark's arm, and the finger of the other to her mouth, to hint to him to moderate the tone of his voice. '^ What is the use of my counsel if you are so to reject it ? What is the use of prescribing for a patient who says he will take no remedy?" " I do not refuse all remedies — only this one," said Mark. '* It is the only effectual one, I am quite per- suaded," cried Mrs. Sileby, " You talk about cutting off light hands, which is mere nonsense : 28 THE PICTURE. the real thing you cut is Matilda's acquaintance, and that, too, when your prize is half, more than half, won. I can read in her eyes — in her voice, the rapid spread of the sweet poison. Now, sup- pose you are angry with her father, stoop to conquer — triumph over him by bearing off the ])rize. Nay, don't interrupt my dilemma, as you t/ieoretical logicians nickname what nature teaches us : you were going to say you were not angry ; then, why continue your quarrel, — why part in anger from the father of Matilda ? why " " You know, Mrs. Sileby, these things are not in our controul. I admit the goodness of your advice ; I admit it is what I would give to a friend ; but it is against my own nature to follow it. Oh, how much harder it is te practise than to preach !" " You 're an obstinate silly young fellow," said Mrs. Sileby, " and I should serve you right if I dissolved our Holy Alliance. But I am much in your debt, and I take a greater interest in your THE PICTURE. 29 success in this quarter than you deserve. Let me' make your apologies ; — appoint me your pleni- potentiary." ** No : I would as soon apologize at once, my- self," said Mark. " Well, then, you shall not appoint me ; and I will manage it all out of my own head, without compromising your High Mightiness, without your knowing it, — you understand ? " " No ; not even so. I will not even connive." " Ay, you shall not connive : — I will do it nevertheless." *' No ; you must not. I positively forbid you." ** Right. — You positively forbid me. You even make me promise you most faithfully not to do so. I give you that promise ; but I break it, and negotiate an honourable peace. I give you your beautiful Matilda." '* Tempter !" cried Mark, unable to avoid a smile at this new specimen of the lady's diplo- matic honesty, and yet wishing to preserve a serious look, lest he should seem to give way : " Mind, I do not consent. I beg of you, in 30 THE PICTURE. earnest and sober sadness, not to commit me. If you don't promise to give up to me in this, I shall be obliged to renew my quarrel in order to defeat my own ally. I would gladly make overtures as you recommend, were it possible ; — but I assure vou it is not." '* You know," said Mrs. Sileby, " I have pro- mised not to commit you : so no more argu- ment. Go to the girls, — say I 've beaten you. Send Jane back, and make the most of vour precious time with Matilda." Mark did as he was bid : he saw the lady would have the last word ; and therefore when he said she had beaten him, " he paltered in a double sense ;" and mentally reserved the mean- ing that she had beaten him in talking, while he knew that he was understood as speaking of their game. When Mrs. Sileby had played one game with Jane, she professed herself tired of backgammon, and went to the piano. There she entered into conversation with Miss Chessalette, and inter- rupted the music. Mark naturally at the same THE PICTURE. 31 time talked to Matilda. She happened to wear a Ijeautiful cameo ring bearing the device of Cupid kicking a foot-ball, in the shape of a heart, with the motto, " Who '11 play with me ?" Mark said he was " an admirer of cameos ;" but, in truth, he was a greater admirer of soft snowy hands and taper fingers. He begged he might be al- lowed to look at the ring, and Matilda was going to draw it off for the purpose of showing it. He, however, took the liberty of not perceiving her intention, but of actually impeding it, by taking the hand into his own and holding it whilst he leaned over it, and admired the beauty of the device and the exquisite delicacy of the work- manship. His hand trembled as it lightly pressed its fair prisoner ; and he said, speaking doubtless of the ring, '* it was the most beautiful he had ever beheld — it was matchless, it was perfect sym- metry and loveliness." '* Well, now," said Mrs. Sileby, instead of answering a remark addressed to her by Miss Chessalette, " I have heard of rings being beau- 32 THE PICTURE. tiful and even lovely, but I never heard of one being si^mmetrical before — what an odd expres- sion !" Neither Mark nor Matilda took any notice of this observation, and it might have been doubted whether they had heard it, if Matilda's cheek had not echoed it to the eye, and Mark had not let go her hand. THE PICTURE. 33 CHAPTER II. When the Baronet arrived in the drawing-room with his two pohtical friends, he and Mark mutually felt the embarrassing nature of their position, and Mark began to regret that he had not at once left the house. He mentally taxed himself with having yielded to the temptation of passing one more evening in the company of Matilda. Mrs. Sileby said she wanted to have a few- words with Sir Charles, and accordingly they retired to a distant part of the drawing-room together. Mr. Viper and Mr. Sands, who had been vanquishing ]Mark in his absence, now found themselves but ill at ease. The young ladies 34 THE PICTURE. had been but too little pleased with their be- haviour at dinner to make overtures for engaging them in conversation ; and Mark eyed them both •with a look of mixed contempt and pity, giving perhaps rather a greater portion of the more angry feeling to the presumptuous and cox- comical druggist ; and rather a greater one of the latter feeling to the dispenser of almonds and raisins. Mr. Viper rubbed his chin, pulled up his gloves, and " wondered whether it was a fine night?" Nobody noticed his observation till Mr. Sands, who had been employed in putting his hands into his pockets and taking them out, not knowing what else to do with them, and who would have almost consented to instant amputation and to abide by the loss for the time to come, if he might only have been re- lieved from the incumbrance of them for the present, at length said, " he wondered too !" They stood before the fire, to which the im- pulse of habit had led them, though they were fevered with a more than usual portion of port, and there enacted the part of screens to the THE PICTURE. 35 young ladies, who hud left the piano, and were seated at a table. There was a long silence, and Mark had a malicious triumph in watching the pair of roast- ing Tories. '* I do wonder if it is a fine night ?" again said Mr. Viper. " So do I, I 'm sure !" replied Mr. Sands. Matilda whispered to Mark to go and talk to her papa's visiters. Mark asked her if she did not hear they were talking to each other. Again there was a silence, and the only thing heard was the loud whispering of Sir Charles and Mrs. Sileby, who it was evident were warmly engaged. Mark could overhear the words — " I tell you, ma'am, he is a radical, and a republican — he is an atheist and a deist ?" " But he'll have a fine property." " He has many bad properties. Do you think, ma'am, I 'd have for a son-in-law one base enough to take advantage of my sleep, and say that what I had vouched to be true as to spirits and apparitions was all a lie ? Do you think—" but the rest of the 36 THE PICTURE. sentence was lost upon Mark. Matilda told him to invite Mr. Viper to take a chair. "Will you not be seated, gentlemen?" said Mark. *' Thank you, sir," said Mr. Sands, looking all gratitude and forgiveness, and taking a chair. Mr. Viper sat down too. " If you knew what had happened," whispered Mark to Matilda, *' you would not have given me the order you did." '* Has any thing happened ? " inquired the young lady. " You said this morning," replied Mark, " your father would be sure to invite me to visit him again. What would you say if I were to tell you he had actually given me a strong notice to quit this very evening ?" " I should say it could not be true." '' But it is quite true ; and I believe I ought not to be here now." " If it were true, I should then say I was sorry." THE PICTURE. 37 " Thank you, oh, thank you," said Mark ; " for, it is' but too true, and I am sorry to say, the Baronet has altered his favourable opinion of me, and I am now at a sad discount. I regret it, especially for the consequences." " But how did this happen ? " inquired Ma- tilda. *' It would take me too long to tell you now,^' replied Mark j " If you are curious to hear the circumstances, Mrs. Sileby can tell you. I trust you will make allowances for me, should you hear me blamed by your father when I am gone." Mrs. Sileby now came to the table, and said Sir Charles would not let her off playing a rubber as his partner, against Mr. Viper and Mr. Sands. She contrived to whisper in Mark's ear that she was unable to effect any good, unless he would himself personally and amply apologize. To which he replied aloud, " He should not dream of doing any thing of the kind." The four being seated at their game, Mark and the young ladies amused themselves with looking over a collection of prints. As soon as the rubber 38- THE PICTURE. was over, Sir Charles taking his caridle, and bowing formally to Mark, led off his two new friends to their rooms. Mrs. Sileby said. Sir Charles had told her to desire his daughters not to sit up ; and accordingly they also left the draw* ing-room. As soon as she was once more alone with Mark, Mrs. Sileby told him, " he had certainly done for himself in the estimation of Matilda's father. She had never seen any one more bitter against another than he was; she thought the only things that could possibly appease him were length of time, and largeness of concession : and she confessed, after her conference with him, that the latter would require to be more ample than Mark in his present state of feeling, she supposed, would be ready to make." She then gave him some instructions as to his taking care of her husband on their journey to, London ; and promised to send him a packet of letters by her maid in the morning, for him to convey to him and to her sons and daughter. When she had retired to her own apartment to THE PICTURE. 39 write them, and Mark found himself left alone in that room where he had first beheld the picture and Matilda herself, and where so many interesting events had occurred to him, he spent a short time before the shrine of his adoration, tracing the features, and engraving them, as it were, more firmly on the tablet of his heart. The transit from the girl into the woman had wrought less change than usual, for the features remained the same, and they had been exactly copied at first ; and the expression of innocence and joyousness, which was on the picture, was still preserved in the original. Ah ! how seldom is it so ! Hcmv seldom does the fresh dewy bloom endure beyond the very earliest youth ! But the withering and glaring beams of the gay world, the blighting dust of fashion, had not profaned the sweet flower. Matilda had known little of care, and nothing of corruption. Her soul was unconscious of an evil wish, her heart untainted by any passion. The very first breath of the awakening breeze, the first ripple on the smooth surface of her unruffled feelings, was the flutter of the 40 THE PICTURE. wing- of the young god, who, at the approach of Mark, had begun to hover over her. INIark. at length retired to his room, and was not long ere the Baronet and he met on friendly- terms in the fairy region of dream-land ; and the bond of reconciliation was the hand he had been so much admiring, the hand of his beautiful Matilda ! Suddenly he started fronj his sleep with an exclamation of surprise. A hand, which held his, was hastily withdrawn ; and as he sat up in his bed, half-awake, he saw a figure wrapped up in a cloak, with a black mask on, hastily leave the room. The moonbeams did not fall upon his bed-room window, but the light of the night was still generally, though faintly, diffused over the apartment. Recovering his surprise, and rousing himself, he rushed to the door.: nobody was to be seen. In the long gallery where the moon shone bright and full, he could see that there was no one, and he was convinced his visiter, whoever it was, must have gone in the opposite direction, along a THE PICTURE. 41 short passage, and down the staircase. He was in his Tiight-dress, and he was conscious it would be useless to follow, even were he better equipped for pursuit. He returned, therefore, to his room, meditating on the strangeness of the occurrence. He felt for his purse, and found that it was quite safe. His portmanteau, as far as he could judge by that light, appeared also to be undisturbed. But what convinced him more than any thing that plunder had not been the object of his visitant, was the circumstance that he had been awakened by having his hand squeezed. In another moment he perceived there was a ring- placed on the little finger of his right hand, where he had chiefly felt the pressure ; and although he frequently wore one, it was never on that hand, and therefore he could not have got into bed with it on by mistake. Besides, the shape of the ring, and the simultaneous beat of his heart, told him it was Matilda's cameo. He went close to the window, and perceived that he was right ! If the apparition had occasioned surprise in the 42 THE PICTCRE. first instance, now it was more than doubled. He could not believe it was Matilda herself who had paid hira this nocturnal visit. Her retiring manner and her great delicacy forbade him to suppose so. Could it be Mrs. Sileby, or her maid ? It was a female, he was sure, though the proportions of the figure were wholly hid by the cloak and the darkness. Could it be Marj', or Jane Chessalette ? The latter was lively and likely to play off a practical joke, and might have either come, with the consent of Matilda, or have stolen her ring, and made a present of it without her knowledge: but, then, she had scarcely ob- served his attachment to her sister, which alone could have suggested the idea. The cloak he thought was one of the old family relics, which, consisting of antiquated court-dresses and other curious specimens of the finery of the earlier Chessalettes, were kept in a room formed out of a wider part of the smaller gallery on the drawing- room floor, and known by the name of The Ta- pestry. There, too, lay many of the old fancy dresses, which had done duty at the balls and THE PICTURE. 43 masquerades, of which Lady Chessalette had, in her Tifetime, been so fond. Masks, too, were a part of the treasures there stored ; and Mark had no doubt his visiter, be she who she might, had been thence equipped. He watched for some time in half-expectation that the figure would return, but at last gave up all hopes of that. He then renewed his speculations and his con- jectures, and, amidst them all, he fell asleep, with the cameo on his fino-er. He was awakened by a footman coming to brush his clothes, at a little before eight : but he did not rise immediately, and the consequence was he fell asleep again. He was again awakened by a knock at the door. It was Mrs. Sileby's maid, who brought him a packet, and said her mistress wished to speak to him ; she would see him in her room. Mark rose and dressed himself with all expedition, and then hastened to Mrs. Sileby's apartment. She told her maid to wait in the dressino'-room : and, apologizing to Mark for receiving him a la 44 THE PICTURE. Frangaise, begged him to take a seat by her bed-side, and then addressed him: " My dear young friend, I shall not now revert to my son's unfortunate situation. I yesterday told you every thing on that subject in our con- ference in the garden. There is a letter for him in the packet, as well as letters to Edward, Rosa, and my husband. You will see Rosa, of course ? But you and she are now nothing to one another. She is a wife, and I hope, notwithstanding what took place between Sir Charles and you, you will soon be a husband. It is highly desirable — it would heal the breach between the families — and I should be heartily glad to be of any service in bringing about so happy an event. It was on this point that I wished to speak to you. I followed dear Matilda to her room last night, and extracted from her what I should not be justified in repeating to you, were I not well assured of your sentiments towards her. " " Nay, dear madam," interrupted Mark, " you shall not tell me any thing without her leave." THE PICTUHE. 45 '' What silly fellows you clever young men are ! Why, I was pleading your cause, and whatever she said to me she of course said, as it were, to you. I praised you in' terms I will not repeat before your face ; above all, I expatiated on your previous conquests — nay, now, you need not shake your head as disclaiming what you know well enough. You know my Rosa preferred you to a lord, and Marianne Lumley to her engaged swain, as well as to my poor Sebastian. I should not confess the last fact, of course, were you likely to stand as his rival. Poor fellow ! he cannot be a rival till — but let that pass. Well, I told her these things because nothing so soon wins a woman as the reputation of previous successes : it is a testimonial of merit, it shows that others will confirm their own opinion. But I must not go into metaphysics. So, having given you the best of characters, (and I do think you deserve a good one,) I told her I had left you in the drawing-room very unhappy, and fearful that you had lost your prize ; and I said you had commissioned me to beg 46 THE PICTURE. for a pledge of hope, and a token of parting in friendship, and that it was to be the cameo ring you had so admired on her hand." "Good God! how could you do so? How could you dare to do such a thing ?" exclaimed Mark. " Look at the result," said Mrs. Sileby, taking his hand and holding up the finger, where the ring was. " How this came here, you have to tell me : how it came to come there, I have told you." " I need not tell you," said Mark, laughing, " what you know as well, if not better than I do. Do you think I didn't know you, in spite of your disguise ? I knew it was you well enough ! " "Who was I? What do you mean? I don't understand you — " " Oh, but you do," said Mark. " I certainly do understand you to insinuate that it was owing to me that you got that ring. So it may be, in one sense. For, I do assure you, I begged and prayed of Matilda to give it me for THE PICTURE. 47 you. But she positively and decidedly refused. 'Whether she afterwards brought it you herself, or sent it to you, is what I have to learn from you," " Are you serious, Mrs. Sileby, in saying it was not you, who came into my room last night, fled on my waking, and left this ring on my finger ?" " I, indeed I I did nothing of the sort," said Mrs, Sileby, " I am an old woman. What should I come into your room for ? You and I are of likely ages to fall in love with one another ! But, tell me, is that really the way you came possessed of the ring?" " It is," replied Mark, " and you must forgive me for being incredulous that this is news to you. I cannot believe that Miss Matilda Chessalette brought it." " Tell me as much as vou can," said Mrs. Sileby. Mark related the story of his waking, his surprise, his going to the gallery, and his giving up the pursuit. " You do indeed astonish me, Mr. Mas- borough!" said Mrs. Sileby. ''I said a great deal to Matilda about the ring, and I asked her to 48 THE PICTURE. connive at my taking it to you. I said if she refused it to your urgent but respectful entrea- ties—" *' I made no entreaty," said Mark. " I know that — I made it for you ! Well," continued the lady, " and I said if sh^ refused it, the inference you would draw would be that she meant to adopt her father's quarrel with you ; and, in fact, that you would look upon her refu- sing to send it as equivalent to a notice to retire. She said, that would be unreasonable. I replied, you felt desperate, were in love, distracted. Once she almost consented, I thought; and I fancied she would have been glad for you to have the token without her having to send it. But still she refused. However, I suppose, at last she was so moved by what I had urged, that though she would not make me or any one her confidante, she was determined to save you from despair, and therefore undertook the adventure herself," "Impossible!" exclaimed Mark. "Not so," rephed Mrs. Sileby. "Who else could it be ? It was not I, though you have sus- THE PICTURE. 49 pected me, I give you seriously my solemn word oflioliour. K^either can I believe Matilda would be willing to trust either of her sisters, or her maid. It must, then, have been herself ! She disguised herself, I conjecture, in order that you might suppose it was sent, not brought; and, yet by bringing it, she was sure it arrived safely, and that no one else, except the person to whom it was to convey a meaning, knew that he had it, not even I the adviser, the bearer of the petition for it." " The forger of the petition I" said Mark ; "but still, Mrs. Sileby, I cannot believe it wasAlatilda, I cannot think she would condescend so much." " She will condescend more some day, I dare say. I shall contrive for you to meet her at my house, now that I see that she has followed ray advice about the ring, though, of course, I shall not seem to know she has done so till she tells me — provided always, Sir Charles does not de- mand a promise from me to the contrary. But I must bid you adieu for the present. Our inter- view has been of much greater duration than I VOL. II. c 50 THE PICTURE. expected, and I will detain you no longer. I am sure your post-chaise must be waiting ere this, and I should regret extremely if you were to reach Sileby after my husband had left it. Adieu ! Remember me to Rosa and Edward ; and I know vou will do the best you can for poor Sebastian. Give his father a hint not to reproach him. I am sure he must suffer enough. Adieu !" " Adieu, dear madam," said Mark ; " I am full of doubts and fears. But on Sebastian's business I am strong in hope. Adieu! Remember me to the yoimg ladies ; I shall be gone before they appear .ii So saying, Mark left Mrs. Sileby and returned to his own room, sent his portmanteau down stairs to the chaise, which was waiting, and then descended slowly after it. As he drove away from the door with a heavy heart and a mind full of anxiety, he could not avoid putting his head out of the chaise-window to have one last look at the old Hall. Matilda's room he knew was on the other front, and there- fore he had no hope of seeing her. He was most THE PICTURE. 51 agreeably surprised. Upon the leads was a figure which he knew to be Matilda's. He kissed his hand : she returned the salutation ; and at the same instant the road turned round some buildings and she was lost to his sight. He had been very slow to believe that it was she herself who had brought him the ring; nor could all Mrs. Sileby's disclaimers and arguments do more than make him doubtful. But now that he had seen her on the leads, he could not but I)elieve she had stationed herself there to watch his departure, and, from a spot where she could not be observed by any of the family, strive to catch his eye, and make such signal of adieu as the time should allow of, and the message, which Mrs. Sileby had delivered as from him, seemed to require. He was not long in reaching L , where, whilst his breakfast was being prepared, he took a walk as far as the house of Mr. Cheatham. From that gentleman he learnt that his uncle had secluded himself for some weeks, in fact ever since he lost his law-suit, at Cromer, a small and 52 THE PICTURE. retired watering-place on the Norfolk coast, and, he added, he had no doubt he would there be ex- pecting him. Mark told Mr. Cheatham he should not be able to see his uncle just yet, as he was obliged to go abroad without loss of time ; and he said, that as that was the case, it would be quite unneces- sary for Mr. Cheatham to mention his having seen him at L . " This is very unlucky, sir," said Mr. Cheat- ham ; '' I have been young myself in my day, and 1 know what being on the sly means. But the fact is, your uncle is informed of your being at Rotherington just about this very moment as near as may be." •' How the deuce can that be ?" inquired Mark, not a little surprised. " Pray, sir, did you know of my being there ?" "I did not," rephed the lawyer, ''till I was told by the same person that told him, or is about telhng him. It was no other than his man Giles." " Indeed ! Giles?" exclaimed Mark. THE PICTURE. 53 •* Yes, sir," said Mr. Cheatham. " Mr. Mas- borough sent him here with sundry important documents, which he was unwilling to trust by the cross-country coaches, two days ago, and he went away only yesterday morning by the L Roaring Lion. You must know, sir, your uncde is going to carry the Rotherington case into the court above, and to try to upset the verdict of the court below : and as he is dissatisfied with my London agents, which I am much surprised at, as I have done business with that house these six- teen years, and my poor father, (who is in heaven,) Judas Cheatham, did business with them years and years before that, and I must say, though it is impossible to win every cause, I have known few so successful. Certainly, they ought to have retained Froth and Lyall, and they did let those two be on the wrong side, but — " " But — excuse me," interrupted Mark, "though this subject is very interesting to me, my time is not my own, and is so precious that I cannot now stop. Can you tell how Giles knew of my being in this neighbourhood ?" 54 THE PICTUnE. " He learnt it at the inn. They told him they had sent you in a chaise and pair on to Rother- ino'ton Hall to Sir Charles's." " Oh, I see," said Mark. " The fact is, sir, I am only in England for a day or two, and I came here to see my micle, as I thought, not knowino- Rotherinoton was in other hands. I am compelled to be off in another direction, or I would at once go to Cromer and see him." " Shall I say any thing on the subject to Mr. Masborouoh the next time I write to him ?" in- quired Mr. Cheatham. " No, thank you," said Mark ; " I shall have an opportunity of writing, myself, in the course of the day, I doubt not, now that I know his ad- dress." " I am sorry you are in such a hurry, sir," said Mr. Cheatham, bowing, " as I wished very much to consult you on the propriety of recom- mending to your uncle, since he is quite deter- mined not to employ my old agents any more, the great house of Vice, Screw, File, and Pincer, of Chancery Lane, who — " THE PICTURE. OO " Indeed, I know nothing about them, ^'oii are a much better judge than I am of sucli matters," said Mark. Mr. Cheatham again bowed, and continued : " you are very kind, sir, to say so; — very kind, sir, — very kind indeed. But at all events, sir, I should hope that house would meet your ap- probation." " I am sure I know nothing against them," said Mark ; "■ but you know I have nothing to do with the business, and am only interested for my uncle's success." Mr. Cheatham smiled : *' \ou are indeed inte- rested in his success. It will make some' thou- sands difference to you some day, whether he has had to pay costs or not. And / am interested, too ; for, I hope, in the event of his recovering Rotherington and your settling there, sir, after him, that I may hope for a continuance of fa- vours, sir ; — and, sir, — we must look to the rising- sun, you know." A smile of contempt curled the lip and nose of Mark at Mr. Cheatham's quoting the text which 56 THE PICTURE. was the rule and guide of his conduct. How- ever, the man was civil, and, as Mark recollected, only following- his view of self-interest in a some- what transparent and inartificial manner. He therefore civilly wished him good morning, and returned to the inn. Having finished his breakfast, he proceeded to Sileby Hill. He found Mr. Sileby in a low ner- vous state, but cheered a little by his arrival, and visibly pleased with his announcement that Mrs. Sileby had invited him to be his companion to London, and that he was come to offer himself for that purpose. Mrt Sileby said he was ready to set off if Mark was ; and though the latter had designed to have written to his uncle, whilst his companion was finishing his preparations for his journey, he readily assented to an immediate departure ; for he knew they would have to sleep upon the road, and that therefore he should have plenty of time for writing at whatever inn they might pass the night. They set off accordingly. Mark did all he THE PICTURE. ' 57 could to cheer the anxious and desponding fa- ther, upon whose appearance the hand of sorrow had told with a most visible effect. He partly succeeded ; and they were enabled to go a stage farther than they had proposed. They stopped at a small market-town about seventy miles from London, where they found a comfortable inn bear- ing the sign of the Rhinoceros and Spider, As Mark had anticipated, Mr. Sileby was much fatigued, and retired to bed early. He then took the opportunity of writing to Cromer, explaining to the Squire the m.istake he had made in going to Rotherington ; the late hour at which he had received true intelligence of his address, and the impossibility of his then coming to him on account of his engagement with Mrs. Sileby, and the necessity of his returning to Italy as soon as he had escorted his infirm charge to London. He begged his uncle to write to him at Flo- rence, and expressed his sorrow and surprise at not having heard from him, and also his regret at the annoyance he had met with in losing his law-suit. 68 THE PICTURE. Of course he did not tell him of his discovery of the picture being a portrait ; still less of the terms he stood on towards the original. Having finished his letter, he walked out into the town as far as the post-office and then went to bed. In the morning they left the Rhinoceros and Spider, and, proceeding on their journey, arrived in London late in the evening without meeting with any adventure. Under other circumstances Mr. Sileby would naturally have gone at once to Lord Branville's house, but he could not take up his quarters under the roof of his son-in-law at the time when he was the prosecutor of his son. They therefore drove to Fladong's ; and as soon as they had established themselves there, Mark without loss of time set out for Lord Branville's to apprise him and Lady Branville of the arrival of her father. On inquiring for Lord and Lady Branville, Mark was informed that his Lordship was gone out to dine with Colonel OTatoe, but Lady THE PICTURE. 59 Branville was at home. He sent up his card, andj'the servant returning, desired him to walk up into the drawing-room. There he found Lady Branville, excessively pale, and evidently much agitated. She rose to meet him, took his hand, pressed it, burst into tears, and threw herself back on the sofa. Mark felt very uncomfortable ; for he hardly knew whether to attribute what he beheld to her brother's unfortunate situation, or to the unex- pected sight of himself; since, after all Mrs. Sileby had told him, he could not doubt that he had stood hioh in the favour of her dauohter. *' I thought you were in Italy far away," ex- claimed Lady Branville, removing the handkerchief from her eyes for a moment whilst she fixed them on him, and then quickly returning it — "and Charles Chessalette told us you had been wounded in a duel." " I dare say my appearance here at all," said Mark, " is then a great surprise to you, and especially at this unseasonable hour of the 60 THE PICTURE. night, so unusual for any not very intimate vi- siters to venture to make calls ; — but the fact is, I have a message — " " What !— from whom ?" " Nay, calm yourself, dear Lady Branville." *' No, no, no !" cried Lady Branville, " call me Rosa — my happy name, my own name, — the name of my youth, of my home ; — the name I had when I first knew yon." " But Lady—" *' Rosa, Rosa !" vehemently exclaimed Lady Branville. " Rosa, then," said Mark, taking her hand, and speaking in the most soothing tone ; *' since you allow me the privilege of calling you by the name of former friendship — dear Rosa, you must try to exert yourself, and to be prepared for some news I have for you ; news which will please you." '' Me !" cried Lady Branville, in a tone of great agitation. '' Me ! please me ? Oh no, you surely jest. Nothing ever happens to please me THE PICTURE. 61 ♦- now, nor ever since I was sold for a title, and entered this scene of magnificent misery." Mark felt for the poor victim of ambition. He had been aware that she and Lord Branville lived unhappily together. Mrs. Sileby had told him that ; but he little expected to receive from herself so plain a confession of what people usually make a point of endeavouring to con- ceal. Lady Branville proceeded : " And yet I ought not to say so. It is pleasure to see you, and one which I little looked for at present. Come, now I am better. See how I can triumph over my weakness. There, now, do I not look like a heroine, able to receive any tidings ? Besides, you said it was good news — or else I should have been afraid my father or mother were poorly." " My news is about them," said Mark. " I have a letter from your mother — and — " '' Have you seen her, then?" inquired Lady Branville. 62 THE PICTURE. 4 " I have," replied Mark, " and I have seen your father still more lately." "When, where? — how so? Are they not to- gether?" *' No," said Mark ; " but you are losing- your self-possession again." Lady Branville drew a deep sigh ; then wiped her eyes, and putting on a smile, said : — " You were right ; — I am grown sadly nervous, espe- cially since this affair of poor Sebastian's, of which you have heard of course?" " Yes, I have," said Mark, " and it is about that that we have come to town." *' We ! — Who then is with you?" inquired Lady Branville. ♦' Do not be surprised when I tell you," said Mark, again taking her hand, and seating him- self beside her, and then after a pause, he added, " I have escorted your father to London." " My father !" exclaimed Lady Branville. " Oh, I am so glad ! But where is he? Why did he not come here ? Ah, I forgot — he THE PICTURE. 63 could not come to our house ; we are prose- cuting his eldest son." ** I must remind you to be cahn," said Mark. " Your Ladyship knows — " *' Rosa !" cried Lady Branville. " Yes, Rosa ! But what would my Lord think if he heard me addressing you so familiarly ? You know I was never much of a favourite with him." '• Because," answered Lady Branville, smiling, '' he knew you were a favourite with some one else. But those things are all past now. — Heigho ! Well ; you shall style me Lady Bran- ville before him, but Rosa when we are alone." " I shall not see you much either alone or in his presence," replied Mark. " I am off for Italy again the day after to-morrow." " I shall try to persuade you to stay," said Lady Branville. " You need not shake your head as if to say you will not. You shall not have a passport until you have proved to me some absolute necessity for going. But, my father, — where is he ?" 64 THE PICTURE. " At Fladong's, sitting up to see you." " I \vill go with you at once," said Lady Bran- ville: "My Lord will not be at home till very late, I should think, for he is going to dine or to sup, or perhaps I ought rather to say to breakfast, with an Irish colonel. You may read his note, which I consider a curiosity, whilst I put my bonnet on ; but first I must ring for my carriage." Her Ladyship rang the bell, and ordered her carriage, and then told Mark, " Lord Branville was gone to one or two of his clubs to while away the time till his dinner, which she really was puzzled whether to call early or late, but she sup- posed, as the Colonel was a senator, he liked to have done his duty to his constituents before he did his duty to his constitution. She handed Mark the Colonel's note of invitation, and left him reading it. It was as follows : — " Col. O'Tatoe presents his unfeigned com- pliments to Lord Branville, and begs the favour of the honour of the pleasure of his Lordship's com- THE PICTURE. 65 pany to dinner on Friday next at a quarter past twelve* on Saturday morning. " Shamrock Villa, Regent's Park. " ^^"ednesday Evening." Mark was a good deal amused by this specimen of the Hibernian polite letter-writer ; and half suspected that he could add another reason to the one Lady Branville had given, viz., that the worthy inviter, springing from the gem of the sea, had had probably certain scruples about regaling him- self on the day of invitation on beef and mutton, and had therefore used a little pious fraud in delaying it past the hour that should divide it from the next. In a few minutes Lady Branville returned ; the carriage was at the door, and they drove off to Fladong's. The meeting between Mr. Sileby and his daughter was very affecting. The old gentleman had never taken such active steps as his wife had done towards bringing about that marriage which had turned out so unhappily. As he stood at the window facing Ox ford- street, and saw the pale 66 THE PICTURE. face of his daughter, as she stepped out of her coroneted carriage, he felt a weight at his heart. In a minute more his daughter was in his arms. She inquired after her mother, for she said she had only had time to take a hasty glance at her letter. Mr. Sileby, in turn, inquired of her after his sons. Edward, she said, was gone to the Tem- ple, to consult with the lawyers engaged for Sebastian's defence, while Sebastian had given way to despair and the certainty that he should be found guilty. Mark, who had remained below during the first meeting of the father and daughter, now entered the room, and the three discussed what was best to be done. Lady Branville was de- cidedly of opinion that nothing would dissuade her husband from continuing the course he was pursuing, even had it been a matter for his option, which it no longer was, as on the committal of the accused, he had been bound over to prosecute, as had Mr. Smith been to give evidence. It was arranged that IMark should call early in the morning on Lady Bran- THE PICTURE. 67 ville, and see Edward, and wait to see Lord Bran- ville as soon as he should be up, which would probably not be very early, after his late banquet with Colonel O'Tatoe. After his interview with his Lordship, it was agreed they should return to Fladong's, and proceed to visit Sebastian in prison. They hoped they should be able to induce Lord Branville to call on Mr. Sileby. These matters being decided on, Lady Branville returned home, escorted by Mark. By the time he got back to his hotel, it was near one o'clock in the morning, and he found Mr. Sileby had retired. 68 THE PICTURE. CHAPTER III. The next morning Mr. Sileby was down before 3Iark, and appeared much refreshed after his jour- ney by his night's rest. As they sat at breakfast, a letter was dehvered to Mark, which the waiter said was brought by Lady Branville's footman, and which required no answer. Mark opened the let- ter, and was surprised to find it enclosed another. There was a little note from Lady Branville to the followino- effect : " My dear JMr. Masborough,— The post has just brought me a few lines from my mother, to say the accompanying letter for you reached Rother- ington the day after you left ; she says she sup- posed from the crest it must be from your uncle, and therefore lost no time in forwarding it, THE PICTURE. 69 especially as you are staying in town so short a time. " I, too, lose no time in sending it, though hoping to see you in an hour or two. Lord Bran- ville, I hear, came home at six this morning. " Ever your ''Rosa." His uncle's handwriting Iim^ always been a wel- come sight to Mark, but it was not so now ; for he could not but know that he must have written as soon as Giles had reported his being at Rothering- ton, and before the letter had reached him, which he had despatched on his journey, the evening of his stopping with Mr. Sileby at the Rhinoceros and Spider, explaining the circumstances which had taken him to Rotherington. He knew the Squire was hasty in judging, and he felt himself reminded of the packet he had once received, sent by him to Sileby, containing his father's angry letter, and his own good-natured one. Mark had been reading the paper to Mr. Sileby, and he now handed it to him, begging he would give him leave to read a letter from his uncle. It was as follows : 70 THE PICTURE. " Deab. Mark, " You see I do not beoin mv letter as vour tJather once did his, although I cannot but think I have more cause of complaint than he had. Your visiting the Chessalettes at all, considering Sir Charles's conduct towards me, is a great blow to me ; but to think you should have gone to them first, has hurt me iiMi-e than I can express. ' Ao.v m\hi si lii/guiB centum siiit oracjiie centum Ferrea vox,' could I tell you all I feel. If any one had said to me, hermitizing in this lonely spot, where defeated, cheated, robbed, I go musing and — oKeW vapa &iva iro\v uncertainty of the law ; and do you think Sir 142 THE PICTURE. Charles would not appeal to the House of Lords, and keep you in suspense — " ** ' Spernque metumque inter dubiusJ '' *' Yes, dubious till the day after doomsday." • " O Mark, thou hast been into the enemy's camp ! inimica TrojcB Castra!" '■'■ I have, and quarrelled with and cut the Agamemnon, or commander-in-chief! So don't look suspiciously upon rae as a deserter, a spy, and a traitor." ** I would not hear thine enemy say so ! No, you are all right; but pleaseth me not thine advice." *' It is sound, though, depend upon it ! Con- sider the terms. Sir Charles agrees to give you peaceable possession in six months, law-pro- ceedings are to cease, each party to pay his own costs, and, though perha])s you might eventually get costs from him, yet what to you are a few hundreds laid out in curtailing the ' law's delay,' compared to your ' peace of mind, dearer than all?'" " Well, perhaps you are right ! ' Cedo equidem, tiec, nate, tihi comes ire recnso!' THE PICTURE. 143 We '11 go to Vice and Co. 's, and settle the affair, and on our way you shall tell me how you came to quarrel with Sir Charles." Off they set, and Mark amused his uncle by his account of the rash disclosure of his politics, and its consequences. Mr. Masborough laughed heart- ily at his description of Mr. Viper's eloquence, and the family nomenclature of the good-hu- moured grocer. "And so the Baronet takes all sorts of fish in his political net ? By the bye, Mark, I mean you to oppose him the very next election at L . So you'll have another bout at politics with him, unless he has the grace to resign his claim to the seat, when he shall have quitted the neigh- bourhood." Mark did not like to hear this proposal, as he had no wish to keep up hostilities with the father of Matilda, which an electioneering contest would be but too certain to have the effect of doing. However, he thought it not prudent to dispute his uncle's inclination at present, when he saw no 144 THE PICTURE. prospect of an early dissolution of Parliament, lest in the argument any thing should come out about the daughters. His precaution was, how- ever, vain, as the very next remark of the Squire ^ras — < like young Sileby ?" " Neither, sir. I will promise to tell you some day or other how I have employed your money. " " Well, Mark, you shall have it. Secrecy has in general a bad look with it, but you are a good lad, and I can trust you for not misapplying the money, * fail ingenio praditum ; besides, it would be yours some day, when I'm gathered. Here 's my key ; you '11 find my cheque-book in the drawer of my desk in my bed-room." Mark brought the book ; the cheque was drawn, and he put it into his pocket with many thanks. " Say no more about it, my boy. As I've said, it is all to be yours, — and if I give you a little beforehand, you will not be in a hurry to run the old boy to ground, ay ?" *^ No, sir; I should be very ungrateful." " Well, I believe the way not to be wished out of the way is to be just and generous. I cer- tainly think many fathers cause themselves to be little regretted by their own selfish conduct, or. THE PICTURE. 225 as they term it, by keeping the reins in their own hands." Mark assented to this remark, and then telhng his uncle he should be out the greater part of the evenino-, he retired to his own bed-room, hav- ing first desired the waiter to let him know as soon as Mr. Edward Sileby called ; and there he sat down to debate within himself on the best and safest mode of procuring the disguises for Sebastian and Loraine. He had just decided on his plans when Ed- ward arrived. "Poor Sebastian is in a sad state," he ex- claimed ; "almost more dead than alive. I never saw such an utter prostration of the mental and bodily energies. I believe he will be dead ere night. The Prussic acid ." • " Good God ! — you have not let him have it ? " anxiously inquired Mark. « No — but I really think it would be mercy to put him out of his misery. There is no hope left." ■" There is hope," replied Masborough, and 226 THE PICTURE. then he commenced a hasty explanation of his success with Loraine. Edward hstened with the air of one who dissented from the enthusiasm and confidence of the narrator. " Your uncle," he argued, " will never give you the money for such a purpose." " The purpose I did not tell him. The money he has given !" " Indeed ! But the disguises? How can we get such as will suit the purpose you propose without running the risk of detection ? " " I have planned it all," said Masborough. " Come along. I shall need your assistance, and I will explain every thing by the way." The two friends went to a masquerade-ware- house, where Masborough bought a Turkish cloak, a turban, a large white beard, and a bag. These things they took in a hackney-coach to the' house of Mrs. Sileby. They agreed not to tell that lady of their intentions, for fear of exciting hopes which afterwards they might only disap- point. Masborough had brought his own cloak and one of those folding hats which can be put THE PICTURE. 227 intp the pocket. They took possession of a small room, to which the window belonged which Mark had described to Loraine. It had been the house- keeper's room in the time of the previous occu- pier, but by Mrs. Sileby it was only used to hold a few boxes and hampers. They gave positive orders that no one should interrupt them there during the whole day, as they were going to be particularly engaged ; and then, having secured the door, Mark unpacked the parcel of the pur- chases he had made. The turban and beard he put into the bag, and exchanged his coat for the Turkish cloak. Over this he wore his own cloak, which concealed his altered dress, and the baof. They then sallied forth, locking the door, and taking the key with them. The course they took was towards the city. On their way they looked for and found an empty house, labelled "To be let or sold," and '* to be viewed." This was what they wanted. There was an old woman in the house taking care of it, and ready to show it to visiters. As she was displaying all its ad- vantages of situation and arrangement, Mark 228 THE PICTUnE. contrived to linger behind Edward and her ; and as soon as he heard them talking on the floor above, he quickly tied on his beard, assumed the turban, and leaving the cloak, as had been agreed between him and Edward, for the latter to bring away, he walked out of the house with his bag under his arm. Edward was waiting to hear the door shut ; and as soon as the expected sound reached his ears, he said to the woman, " I hear my friend is gone — he was in a great hurry. I must not lose him ;" and thrusting a half-crown into her hand without further ex- planation, he ran down the stairs, taking care to carry off the cloak from the room in which he had last seen Mark, and where it was to be left. The woman looked at the half-crown, and rung it upon the floor. Finding it a good one, and knowing there was no furniture nor any thing moveable which could be stolen, she was quite satisfied. When Edward got out of the house, he looked, according to their arrangement, on the opposite side of the way for bis friend, whom he easily THE PICTURE. 229 recognised, notwithstanding his Jewish costume. After an exchange of intelligence by the eye, Masborough walked forwards, and Edward fol- lowed at a little distance, keeping the old clothes- man in sight. Masborough now directed his steps rapidly to that low part of the City, near the Tower and the shipping, where are to be seen an order of shops peculiar to the neigh- bourhood. Amongst others, he was not long in finding such as he wanted. He purchased some gowns, bonnets, shawls, &c. ; and then stowing them away in his bag, he pursued his course homewards. Again the friends looked for a house to be viewed, but this time they were not in such luck as before. On their knocking at a door to which a label of *' To be sold" was attached, it was opened by a surly man, who, eyeing them in a suspicious way, seemed to feel a difficulty in finding a reason for a gentleman and a Jew being associated together ; and so, saying ** it was sold," but not removing the notice, he shut the door in their faces. They moved on, and were so fortunate as to see a nar- 230 THE PICTURE. row archway leading to a small stable. Edward explored the place, and, finding it empty, beckoned Masborough, who lost not a moment in doffing his beard and turban, and putting on his hat and his cloak. He had filled his bag so completely with his purchases that it would not admit the turban ; so that they were obliged to leave that in the stable. The bag was altogether of such a size that he could no longer conceal it under his cloak, and therefore he thought it better to carry it outside, as though he had come off a journey. They escaped unperceived again into the street, and, throwing themselves into a hackney-coach, arrived once more at Mrs. Sileby's house, and again secluded themselves in the small room which they had appropriated for the occasion. Here Masbo- rough threw off his Turkish cloak, and resumed his own, while Edward emptied the bag, and arranged the contents. As it was uncertain whether Loraine would make his attempt that night or the next, it was necessary that one of them should be always in the room at all events. Edward dined with his THE PICTURE. 231 father and mother, and allowed them to under- stand, by an equivocal answer which he gave, that jNIasborough had left the house. They were too much out of spirits to have borne the pre- sence of any visiter. As soon as he could, Ed- ward returned to the small room, and then he let Mark out of the house for the purpose of his o-ettino; somethino; to eat. He went into a coffee-house, and soon despatched his hasty meal ; after which he returned, tapped at the window, and Edward went round and opened the front door for him. From that time they sat together, waiting for the hour which Loraine had men- tioned, and talking of Sebastian, the Squire, the Chessalettes, and Derwent. They had been dis- cussing these topics a good while, when Masbo- rough, looking at his watch, said it only wanted a few minutes to the half-hour past ten. On this they paused and watched the window. After waiting a short time, Edward said he thought Loraine would not make his attempt till the next night ; and Mark replied, he thought it not impossible, but he should not despair of 232 THE PICTURE. seeing them till eleven, or even a little past, and at all events it would be right for one of them to be there in readiness all the night and all the following day, in case Loraine should find any unexpected opportunity. They then re- lapsed into the same strain of conversation as before. " My poor mother only this morning was ask- ing me," said Edward, ** whether you had ever told me the history of that cameo ring you some- times wear; and, notwithstanding all her troubles, she could not help smiling as she spoke about it." " And you told her I had never told you ?" " I did. And then she gave me the history herself. She said she had a great deal of trouble in persuading Jane Chessalette to venture into your room ; and it was only by long argument about reconciling the families through your marriage, — which she said would be forwarded by a little encouragement being held out to you, and which was necessary under the circumstances, — and by her promising to take the blame on herself if it THE PICTURE. 233 was found out, that she succeeded in inducing her to undertake the adventure. My mother says she never saw any body in such a fright in her hfe. By the bye, she tells me Matilda is dying for you." " Nonsense ! " " I told her of the fright she put you in about Derwent by her letter." " Hush ! what 's that ?" said Mark, getting up and going to the window. " It is so dark, I can see nothing." A faint tap was heard, and he could just distin- guish the outline of the figure of a man. He opened the window gently. " It 's us — all right. Loraine ! " said a low voice, almost breathless with agitation. " Can we get in here? " " No," said Masborough : ** it is barred. Go round to the door. Don't make a noise. Edward, go and let them in — quietly, mind." Edward opened the door, and quickly reap- peared in the room, followed by Sebastian and Loraine. Sebastian stepped towards a chair, 234 THE PICTURE. but missed it, and fell heavily on the floor. He had fainted. " Go for some water or eau-de-Cologne, Edward," said Mark. " Quick. We will raise him." Loraine and Mark lifted Sebastian into a chair, and Edward brought some water. " I 've had much ado to get him here at all," said Loraine ; " and this fainting is very un- lucky. We 've no time to lose. By this time we must be missed, and they '11 be sure to come here. I see the dresses are all ready." Sebastian began to open his eyes : he sighed heavily, and exclaimed — " Oh, not yet. Mercy ! Oh mercy ! I did not — I did not — It was not me, me !" and again he sunk into a stupor. Edward and Mark chafed his temples. Lo- raine looked very much alarmed and impatient. At length Sebastian began to come to himself. Edward rapidly assured him he was in his friends' care, and begged him to rouse himself, as his safety depended on it. Whilst he was saying THE PICTURE. 235 this, Masborough took the cheque out of his pocket and handed it to Loraine. He put it back, and said rapidly, " Not that — not now. Give me some ready money for present emergency. Now, Mr. Sileby, exert yourself. Be a man." Sebastian was so far recovered as to be able to stand up. Loraine briefly explained to him that they must assume the disguises, and he would lead him to a place of concealment. Sebastian showed he understood him by beginning to take off his coat. With the assistance of Edward and Mark, they were both soon metamorphosed. '* The change — the money, sir," said Loraine. Masborough gave him his purse. " One thinc'' I foroot," continued Loraine, " and that is a razor. Old women must not have beards too long, nor whiskers at all.'* " I '11 bring you some," said Edward, and he flew up stairs. He soon returned with his dressins-case, from which he took two razors and a pair of scissors, and handed them to Lo- raine. Loraine drew out the sliding looking- glass, and quickly cut off' his black and bushy 236 THE PICTDREi whiskers. He then approached Sebastian, attd relieved him in like manner of his fewer and lighter hairs. Masborough looked at him with surprise, and expressed his iadmiration at his coolness and forethought. *' I learnt early in hfe to plan for myself, and have had some little experience in the art of stratagems," said Loraine ; "but now I have not time for story-telling. Let us be off. Come and let us out, and do not attempt any communica- tion till you hear from me. Your motions will be watched, you may be very sure." " If you want any thing, you will contrive some way of letting us know ?" said Mark. *' Ay, ay — don't hinder us. Suppose, however, if you don't hear sooner, you meet me this day week at nine at night at the statue in Charing- Cross. Mind, and look that no one is following you ; and when you see me, say nothing, but go where I go." As they were j ust getting to the door, Loraine turned to Edward : — " I wish you would be so good as to run up stairs again." THE PICTURE, 237 "Yes-^what for?" said Edward. " For some of the old lady's toppings, or fronts, or whatever you call those hair things women wear." The slighting way in which his mother's name was mentioned brought the blood to Edward's cheek, but he suppressed all expressions of feel- ing, and did as he was requested. Whilst he was gone, and the other three stood at the door, Loraine, turning to Mark, said in a hasty whisper, " You can bring the amount of the cheque this day week — Bank of England, and a little gold. Don't stay at Mrs. Sileby's, unless these are your regular quarters, but act just as if nothing had happened according to your usual habits, lest you put the officers on the scent. If any body saw you talking to me this morning, they '11 be after you sooner that any of Mr. Sileby's family, when I 'm missed too. — Oh, here are the curls." He snatched them from Edward's hand, and telling Mark to " assist his comrade in taking off her bonnet and tying one of those things on," he quickly did the like for himself. As soon as he 238 THE PICTURE. had made this arrangement, he impatiently and authoritatively bade Mark be quick ! "You have a right to give orders," said Mark, " Don't be offended at my hasty manner of speaking. It's no time for compliments, and J. forget I 'm a lady. I '11 be polite enough next time I see you : you shall be my guest in our garret, and over a cup of Bohea I '11 tell you all particulars of our escape. I 've no time for it now ; but in one word it was all done just as I told you it would be. Good night." -Mark shook the offered hand, whilst Edward squeezed affectionately that of his agitated bro- ther. " Keep up your spirits, Sib," he said, as Loraine hurried his less collected charge away. Masborough and Edward watched them walk quickly along the street, and then returned into the room they had left. After some consultation as to what was to be done with the clothes the fugitives had put off, it was decided it would be the safest plan to destroy them entirely. Mas- borough requested Edward to do so, as he thought THE PICTURE. 239 the advice of Loraine was so prudent that he ought not to lose any time in returning to his hotel ; an opinion which he forthwith proceeded to act upon. As soon as he was gone, Edward de- scended into the kitchen, which he found, as he expected, quite empty, all the servants being gone to bed. He put the clothes on the fire, taking care not to heap too many at a time for fear of smothering it ; and though he was in con- stant alarm of being interrupted by the pursuers of the prisoner and the under-gaoler, he watched the last rags turn into tinder, and reduced them to fine ashes with the poker, without any thing of the kind happening. He felt a strong temptation to relieve his mother's aching heart by going to her door and telling her what had happened, but prudence suggested that, in the event of inquiry, real ignorance on her part of the whole trans- action would be better for the concealed parties than assumed. Deciding therefore for the present not to extend the knowledge of the secret, he at length retired to rest. On reaching his hotel, Masborough found it 240 THE PICTURE. was half-past eleven, and his uncle was gone to b