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 OS
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 TREVETHLAN: 
 
 & GCorntsf) &torg. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM DAVY WATSON, Esq., 
 
 BABRISTER-AT-LAW. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1318.
 
 London: 
 
 Printed by Stewart and Murray, 
 
 Old Bailey.
 
 / /v. 
 -US339 t 
 
 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " What, am I poor of late ? 
 "lis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, 
 Must fall out with men too. What the declined is, 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, 
 As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies, 
 Show not their mealy wings but to the summer ; 
 And not a man, for being simply man, 
 Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours 
 That are without him, as place, riches, favour, 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Late in September, some thirty years ago, 
 Henry Trevethlan lay dying* in the state- 
 bedchamber of Trevethlan Castle, in Corn- 
 wall. It was a large and lofty apartment, 
 indifferently lighted by Gothic casements 
 overlooking the sea, and wearing a gloomy 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 5527S
 
 2 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 and desolate aspect. Old hangings of 
 tapestry, much faded and worn, covered 
 the walls ; the furniture was scanty and 
 inconvenient ; the floor was bare, and the 
 dark oak had lost its polish ; the very logs 
 in the spacious chimney seemed damped 
 hy the cheerlessness of the room, and 
 threw a dull red glare over the prodigious 
 bed, where death was silently counting the 
 few sands yet remaining in the upper half 
 of his hour-glass. 
 
 As soon as he found himself seriously ill, 
 Mr. Trevethlan had solemnly charged his 
 medical attendant to warn him of the first 
 approach of danger ; and immediately that 
 the announcement was made, he caused 
 himself to he removed from the smaller 
 but more commodious apartment which he 
 usually occupied, to the dreary greatness 
 of the state-chamber, taking no heed of 
 the remonstrance that the change would 
 probably hasten his dissolution. 
 
 a Pshaw !" said lie. " What matter a
 
 TREVETHLAN. 3 
 
 few days ? The Trevethlans always die in 
 the state-rooms." 
 
 Accordingly their present representative 
 was duly observing* the custom. Four days 
 had elapsed since his removal, and he had 
 sunk so rapidly, that it was now doubtful 
 whether as many more hours remained to 
 him :, but his mental faculties were still clear 
 and unclouded. His son and daughter 
 watched mournfully by his bedside. 
 
 tt Helen," he said, u Helen Trevethlan, 
 I wish to speak with your brother. Leave 
 us for a while." 
 
 The girl rose silently, and glided out of 
 the room. As soon as she had closed the 
 door, the dying man turned feebly upon his 
 pillows, fixed his still bright eyes upon his 
 son, and spoke in low but distinct accents : 
 
 Ci Randolph, I leave you a beggar and a 
 Trevethlan ! May my curse cling to you, 
 if ever you suffer poverty to tamper with 
 pride. Employment will be open to you : 
 may youv appointment be your death- 
 
 b2
 
 4 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 warrant. Ay, methinks it may raise my 
 ghost, if Randolph Trevethlan accept a 
 favour from Philip Pendarrel". Live, sir, 
 here, as I have lived. Marry, sir, as I 
 married. Rear an heir to the castle, as I 
 have reared you. Bequeath him the same 
 legacy, which I bequeath you. But there 
 is my fear. How much of your mother's 
 blood runs in your veins ? What base lean- 
 ing's may you not have inherited from her ? 
 Feel you not a love for your peasant re- 
 latives ? Gratifying* my revenge by en- 
 grafting* a wild bud on a noble stem, I for- 
 got that the fruit might degenerate. Speak, 
 sir, is it so 1 Do the honours of Treveth- 
 lan descend upon a dastard ? Say it, that 
 a father's curse may embitter the remainder 
 of your days." 
 
 u Oh, my father," said the young man, 
 in deep and earnest tones, " never shall 
 our name be degraded while it belongs to 
 me. But may I not strive to restore it to 
 splendour? Must Trevethlan ever be de-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 solate ? Shall the successors of our race 
 wander in these halls ; only to mourn over 
 their decay ? And is the livery of office the 
 sole passport to the means of renovation ? 
 Have I not hands, and a head, and 
 heart ? " 
 
 "What would }~ou, sir?" exclaimed the 
 father. a Hands ! would you dig- ? There 
 speaks your peasant mother. Head ! learn- 
 ing' ! profession ! What portrait has its 
 face turned to the wall in yonder gallery ? 
 Mr. Justice Trevethlan, attaint of corrup- 
 tion. Heart ! arms ! Ay, but not in peace. 
 No Trevethlan wears a sword to adorn a 
 levee. And now, sir, the source of your 
 commission would make it a disgrace." 
 
 a My father," Randolph again said, "to 
 no patron will I be indebted for advance- 
 ment. On myself alone I rely. May I 
 not exert the powers I derive from nature? 
 I thought not of the army : a uniform has 
 no temptations for me. But, gazing on the 
 back of that picture, might I not hope to
 
 6 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 wipe out the stain incurred in a corrupt 
 age, by rising* to be an example in purer 
 times ?" 
 
 a Shall a Trevethlan descend among* the 
 paltry Chiquanous?" said the dying* man, 
 with g*reat bitterness. u Shall that name 
 be mingled with the low trickery of the 
 modern forum ; exposed to the risk of 
 failure, and to the mockery of upstart 
 talent? Shall Esther Pendarrel smile at 
 the rude eloquence of her rejected suitor's 
 heir, and exult over the unretrieved ruin 
 of his house? No, sir. Think it not. 
 Starve, sir, here in Trevethlan Castle." 
 
 u But my father," the young* man urg*ed, 
 u if means could be found whereby all such 
 risk should be avoided ; if success might 
 restore our house, while failure could not 
 degrade it ; might I not venture on a 
 career so g*uarded?" 
 
 u How, sir, is such a course practicable V 7 
 
 " By permitting* me, my father, for a 
 time to wear a mask," answered Bandolph.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 7 
 
 a The name of Trevethlan may be sup- 
 posed to be wandering abroad, while the 
 estates are recovering themselves at home ; 
 and the real bearer of the name, assuming* 
 one less known, may live obscurely in Lon- 
 don^ struggling' honourably for an inde- 
 pendence. If he fail, the pilgrim returns : 
 if he succeeds, he brings new honour to 
 Trevethlan Castle." 
 
 Mr. Trevethlan made no answer to this 
 proposition for a considerable time j and his 
 son might see by the varying* expression 
 of his sharpened features, the struggle 
 which agitated his mind. At length he 
 spoke, in tones milder and more parental 
 than he had used previously. 
 
 " Randolph, I consent. I have watched 
 you well, and, in spite of the. taunts which 
 break from my soured heart, I believe you 
 are worthy of your name." 
 
 u Father," said the son, " my life must 
 show my gratitude: it shall be passed, as 
 if you still beheld it."
 
 8 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 Again there was a long- silence in the 
 gloomy chamber. Then the dying' man 
 spoke anew ; in accents still tenderer than 
 his last. 
 
 ec Randolph, I mentioned Esther Pen- 
 darrel. You know her not by sight. She 
 was once; or I fancied she was ; very dear 
 to me. She coquetted with me; discarded 
 me, and wedded my kinsman. I never for- 
 gave her ; and; except on one provision; I 
 now forbid all future intercourse with her 
 or hers. But I have sometimes thought I 
 was not so indifferent to her; as she; in 
 her contempt; pretended. If it were SO; 
 she has avenged me on herself, and has my 
 pardon. You know my dying will. As 
 I have consented to the temporary obscu- 
 ration of our race; so do you promise ; with 
 the qualification I mentioned; to have no 
 friendly relations with the family of Philip 
 Pendarrel." 
 
 Rashly and wrongfully the son gave the 
 pledge wrongfully and deliberately required
 
 TREVETHLAN. 9 
 
 by the father, and soon afterwards sum- 
 moned his sister back to her place beside 
 the bed of death. The following- morning- 
 the blinds were not raised in the windows 
 of the castle, and the rag-g-ed flag- which 
 waved over the loftiest watch-tower, floated 
 from the middle of its staff. The last sand 
 of the hour-g-lass had run, and Henry 
 Trevethlan was numbered with his fathers. 
 
 Trevethlan Castle was an extensive pile 
 of Tudor architecture, situate on a bold 
 headland projecting- into the sea between 
 the Lizard and Marazion. The state apart- 
 ments stretched along- the cliff, and com- 
 manded a fine view of Mount's Bay and 
 the surrounding- uplands ; while the other 
 building's of the castle, strengthened at 
 intervals by lofty towers, enclosed an ir- 
 reg-ular court-yard. The remains of walls 
 and ruined turrets, sweeping' inland, marked 
 the circuit of what had once been the base- 
 court — a spacious area, where Owen Tre- 
 vethlan mustered his vassals to pursue
 
 10 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 Perkin Warbeck's rebels, obtaining" for his 
 services on that occasion the title of baron. 
 This honour had, however, been allowed to 
 lapse ; and, although it was stated to be 
 easily recoverable, no subsequent head of 
 the family had chosen to moot the question. 
 Perhaps they thought their name sufficiently 
 distinguished without any addition : perhaps 
 the fact that, being a crotchetty race, they 
 were almost always in opposition to the 
 Crown, made them loth to seek even the 
 shadow of a favour, 
 
 But the days of feudal violence and civil 
 dudgeon were long gone by; and instead 
 of the clang of arms and the tramp of 
 soldiers, the base-court of Trevethlan Castle 
 now echoed no sound more military than 
 the occasional crack of a fowling-piece ; and 
 its silence was more generally broken by 
 the mower sharpening his scythe, or the 
 gardener trailing a roller. Sooth to say, 
 even these peaceful noises had been very 
 rare for a long- time previous to the opening
 
 TREVETHLAN. 11 
 
 of this tale : the garden which occupied the 
 old place of arms had fallen into neglect \ 
 the ivy, which might have been ornamental 
 to the ruined walls and outworks, stifled 
 the trees and shrubs in its oppressive em- 
 brace ; the flowers struggled hard for life 
 amidst a host of weeds ; the grass of the 
 lawn, unmown since the summer, when it 
 was cut for hay, was rusty and patchy; 
 the gravel walks were green and mouldy. 
 One little plot of ground, however, was an 
 oasis in the general desert : it occupied an 
 angle of the castle, having a southern 
 aspect, and was screened from the sea- 
 breezes by the wall along the cliff: here trim 
 flower-beds were cut in a small expanse of 
 turf, and displayed, even at this advanced 
 season, not a few gems of horticulture. 
 
 And two or three windows, looking from 
 the first floor on this still blooming garden, 
 presented no less striking a contrast to the 
 rest of the castle, than the garden itself 
 afforded to the remainder of the great court.
 
 12 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 Their florid decorations were sharp and 
 fresh ; their glass was bright and clear ; 
 and white curtains within might temper 
 the radiance of the mid-day sun. But, 
 everywhere else, the progress of decay was 
 manifest : the Gothic tracery was crumbling 
 away ; panes were frequently wanting- in 
 the casements ; and when they were perfect, 
 the winter spray and summer dust had ren- 
 dered them nearly opaque. Weeds grew 
 between the stones and on the ledges of 
 the walls ; and long creeping-plants hung 
 from the battlements, and waved mournfully 
 in the wind. Desolation reigned paramount 
 over Trevethlan Castle. 
 
 Nor did the interior of the building belie 
 its external aspect. The state bed-chamber 
 was a sample of all the rest. In many of 
 the rooms the dust had been undisturbed 
 for nearly thirty years. But two were 
 exceptions to the general neglect : one, the 
 gallery to which Mr. Trevethlan referred, 
 where hung the portraits of the family,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 18 
 
 generation after generation, from the days 
 of Holbein to those of Reynolds. This 
 was the favourite walk of Mrs. Griffith; the 
 wife of the steward, whose office had been 
 hereditary in his family almost from the 
 earliest of those portraits. Mrs. Griffith 
 used to spend much of her spare time in 
 the gallery, walking to and fro with a long 
 flapper of feathers in her hand, gently and 
 reverentially brushing the dust from the 
 pictures, and never passing that which was 
 turned to the wall without a deep sigh. 
 
 The last Mrs. Trevethlan — a new Griselda 
 — had been treated with civil neglect by her 
 husband, and died under the weight of her 
 position, after bearing him the son and 
 daughter already introduced. She was the 
 child of a small tenant upon the estate ; 
 and Mr. Trevethlan, having* attained the 
 only object of his marriage, checked some 
 presumption of her family with marked 
 disdain. The maternal care and early edu- 
 cation of his children devolved upon Mrs.
 
 14 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 Griffith, and the portrait-gallery was their 
 usual school-room. Here they learned the 
 history of their family as the history of 
 En o*l and : not a bad memoria technica, hut 
 one attended with some risk. However, it 
 may easily he guessed that they had no 
 hard task-mistress, and that battledore-and- 
 shuttlecock often interrupted the story of 
 Queen Elizabeth's maid-of-hohour, or of the 
 colonel who fell in endeavouring' to rally 
 Fairfax's horse at Marston Moor. 
 
 And whatever family pride might be 
 acquired in this gallery was chastened in 
 the other apartment exempted from the 
 general desolation. This was the library, 
 the especial domain of Polydore Riches, 
 the chaplain of the castle. Riches held a 
 fellowship at Cambridge, but had incurred, 
 no matter how, the dislike of his superiors ; 
 being somewhat timid and retiring, he there- 
 upon gave up residence, and accepted Mr. 
 Trevethlan's offer of his chaplaincy and the 
 curacy of the hamlet. And when that
 
 TREVETHLAN. 15 
 
 gentleman's affairs became inextricably in- 
 volved ; the worthy clergyman declined a 
 release from his duties^ and continued to 
 reside at Trevethlan,, maintaining- himself 
 on the proceeds of his fellowship. The 
 people at the village said he might some- 
 times be seen in the dusk of evenings lean- 
 ing* on the tombstone in their churchyard 
 which marked the resting-place of Eose 
 Griffith, a relation of the steward. It was 
 also said that he had positively refused to 
 perform the marriage ceremony between his 
 patron and Margaret Basset ; and it was 
 true. For once, Mr. Trevethlan respected 
 a pride that was equal to his own^ and 
 contented himself with a sarcasm on the 
 eccentricity of poverty. 
 
 Polydore had now resided nearly thirty 
 years at the castle^ and was more than 
 fifty in age. But time sat light upon him., 
 and he looked much younger. From Mrs. 
 Griffith he received as pupils his patron's 
 children^ and the library took the place
 
 16 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 of the picture gallery. Polydore was en- 
 thusiastic, and children love enthusiasm : 
 there was a tmsre of sadness in his de- 
 meanour, and childish pity is more akin 
 to affection than that of older persons. 
 It was not wonderful that Randolph and 
 Helen were frequently glad to escape from 
 the presence of the cold and stern man 
 whom they called father, to the teaching* 
 of the tender and o-entle beino- who ruled 
 in the library. Nor was it more strang*e 
 that with such an instructor they made 
 rapid proficiency in whatever pursuit he 
 directed. 
 
 (( Lonely," he exclaimed one day, when 
 Randolph, then sixteen, inquired if he did 
 not feel so in the solitude of the castle, 
 " lonely with a library like this ! Lonely 
 in the society of those around me ! Of 
 Park, first beholding- the Niger! Of Co- 
 lumbus, seeing the light from the poop 
 of his ship ! Of Watt, contemplating one 
 of our Cornish engines ! Of Newton, ob-
 
 TKEVETHLAN. 17 
 
 serving- the fall of the apple ! Of Luther, 
 taking* his stand at the Diet of Worms ! 
 Of Shakspeare, g'iving 
 
 ' to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and. a name !' 
 
 Of |focon, writing- ' Thus thought Francis 
 of Verulam !' Lonely amidst the triumphs 
 of enterprise, art and science ; of history, 
 poetry and philosophy ! Lonely, where 
 whatever science has discovered, and art 
 applied, and enterprise accomplished * what 
 history has recorded, and poetry exalted, 
 and philosophy ordered, is visibly pre- 
 sented ! Where power, skill, and under- 
 standing', memory, fancy, and wisdom have 
 written their greatest names, their mighti- 
 est deeds, their noblest thoughts ! No, 
 Randolph Trevethlan, there is no loneliness 
 in such society as this." 
 
 It was his own feeling, perhaps, that 
 Randolph expressed in the inquiry which 
 extracted this speech from the chaplain. 
 For to the buoyancy of youth, the castle 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 might well seem a dreary abode. When 
 a man gives up the world; the world gene- 
 rally returns the compliment ; and in this 
 instance Mr. Trevethlan's violation of the 
 biens^ances in his marriage widened the 
 breach. No friend or relation visited him 
 during the last years of his life. And, 
 indeed^ their entertainment would have 
 been a serious burden on the finances of 
 their host. It is probable that the steward 
 was a much richer man than his master 5 
 it is not impossible that all the expenses 
 of Trevethlan did not fall upon its lord. 
 
 Yet the establishment had gradually de- 
 clined to the lowest point. An old porter, 
 named Jeffrey, who occupied the entrance 
 lodge to the inner court, and cultivated 
 a small kitchen garden, was the only male 
 domestic : his wife, and two or three maid- 
 servants performed all the other offices of 
 the castle. People often wondered that 
 Mr. Griffith did not leave such a falling 
 house. But Mr. Griffith was not a rat.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 19 
 
 He had lived there more than half a 
 century, and was prepared to continue as 
 long- again. 
 
 Nor let it be supposed that this devotion 
 was entirely due to the place. Proud and 
 reserved as had been its recent master, he 
 was far from being* wholly un amiable ; even 
 his children, to whom he behaved with 
 uniform harshness, reg-arded him with as 
 much affection as awe • and his dependents, 
 whom he treated with almost as constant 
 kindness, served him with real attachment. 
 Well did Griffith recollect the day, although 
 it was five and thirty years past, and he 
 was scarcely twenty at the time, when Mr. 
 Trevethlan g*alloped into the court-yard 
 with his horse in a foam, on his return 
 from Pendarrel, ordered his carriage, paced 
 impatiently up and down the great hall 
 while it was being prepared, and departed 
 to London without uttering another word. 
 Well, too, did the steward remember his 
 father's grief, as missive after missive came 
 
 c 2
 
 20 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 to Trevethlan in the few following* years, 
 of which the constant burden was " money, 
 money." Mortgage Tresylty, sell Penrevil, 
 fell Withewood ; so it went on, until the 
 extensive domain, once appended to the 
 castle, was reduced to its immediate pre- 
 cincts. Then Mr. Trevethlan came home, 
 and lived during* the remainder of his days 
 in the secluded manner, which has already 
 been sufficiently described.
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Strange is it, that our bloods. 
 Of colour, weight, and heat, poured all together, 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
 In differences so mighty." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Randolph Treyethlan was just of age 
 when his father died; his sister ; two years 
 younger. Their singular education had 
 impressed peculiarities upon each of them • 
 but, trained so entirely together, their 
 habits and dispositions had grown into a 
 conformity almost perfect. Their pursuits, 
 their wishes, their attachments were always 
 the same. Their father never allowed them 
 to set foot on any ground which had been 
 alienated from the castle ; and as such sur- 
 rounded it at a short distance, their inland
 
 22 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 walks were restricted within a very narrow 
 cordon. But the beach, no man's land, was 
 open to their rambles : a winding- stair led 
 from the castle to a portal cut in the face 
 of the rock on which it stood, and a flight 
 of steps descended from this doorway to 
 the shingles, washed by the waves which 
 rolled eternally from the farthest Atlantic. 
 Not far to the south, the rock formed a 
 narrow promontory of inconsiderable height, 
 but running- out some distance into the sea. 
 The rough granite afforded good footing*, 
 and with a little •exertion, it was not diffi- 
 cult to reach the extremity, where there 
 was a small cave. Randolph smoothed the 
 ruggedness of the way, and this recess, 
 which they called Merlin's Cave, became 
 the favourite resort of himself and Helen. 
 From it, they looked straightforward past 
 Mousehole and the Logan Hock to the 
 meeting of sea and sky, while a turn to the 
 right, showed them St. Michael's Mount 
 and the beautiful woods over Penzance.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 23 
 
 Here, in the warm season, they often sat 
 for many hours together, reading* the 
 leg-ends of Cornubia, and of Armorica 
 across the waters. Here, in the winter, 
 when the wind blew heavily from the west, 
 they came to admire the huge swell of the 
 ocean thundering* idly on the granite be- 
 neath their feet. It might be thought that 
 such a life would produce a dreamy and 
 feeble turn of mind, ill-calculated to with- 
 stand the buffets of the world. And it will 
 be found, in fact, that this result did in 
 some degree follow. But the lessons and 
 conversation of Polydore Eiches, and the 
 cold cynicism of Mr. Trevethlan, furnished 
 a partial antidote to its enervating ten- 
 dency. It made the brother and sister 
 highly enthusiastic, but it did not entirely 
 substitute romance for reality. They knew 
 very little of the world, yet the castles 
 which they built in the air, were of brick 
 and mortar, not of crystal and vapour. 
 The plan which Randolph disclosed to his
 
 24 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 dying' father, had been often discussed be- 
 tween himself and Helen. An old edition 
 of Blackstone's Commentaries, and one, 
 equally out of date of Burn's Justice, 
 which he found in the library, attested by 
 their wear and tear, the diligence of the 
 young 1 student, who little thought of the 
 depth to which he must dive, to find the 
 sands of the legal Pactolus. To go to 
 London, to take some suburban lodging, to 
 dwell in frugal retirement, was the scheme 
 arranged by Randolph and Helen Morton. 
 Mr. Griffith and Polydore would be their 
 only confidants ; the former would introduce 
 Randolph to the family lawyer, of course 
 in his feigned name, who would procure his 
 admission at an Inn of Court 5 five years — 
 that was the bitter in the cup — five long 
 years would qualify him for the bar : and 
 then, he should stretch forth his hand and 
 collect the golden grains. When a suffi- 
 ciency of the commodity was stored up, 
 Randolph and Helen Trevetlilan would
 
 TREVETHLAN. 25 
 
 arrive one fine day at Trevetlilan Castle, 
 which would have been gradually restored 
 to receive them, and there would be ringing' 
 of bells and firing* of cannon ; a new flag 
 would fly from the lofty watch-tower ; Grif- 
 fith and his wife would weep for joy ; Poly- 
 dore would give them his blessing ; and the 
 sun of Trevethlan, long hidden by clouds, 
 would shine out with a glory never to be 
 again obscured. 
 
 These visions were interrupted by Mr. 
 Trevethlan's illness and death. The prepa- 
 rations necessary for the funeral devolved 
 upon the steward and his wife. Mrs. Grif- 
 fith produced some velvet which had once 
 been black, wherewith to hang the state 
 chamber, and a few tapers lighted up the 
 solemn mockery. The orphan brother and 
 sister sat afar in those rooms, which have 
 been already described as overlooking a 
 small flower garden. The blinds, lowered 
 reverentially, debarred the occupants from 
 beholding the prospect, and seemed to sever
 
 26 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 them from all communion with the world. 
 They leant against each other in sad silence, 
 as if they were too feeble to sustain them- 
 selves apart, and required mutual support. 
 Little had they thought how much the loss, 
 even of their father, could add to the loneli- 
 ness of Trevethlan Castle. And the scheme 
 on which they had so long- and so often 
 dwelt in Merlin's Cave, and which then 
 seemed 'so simple and feasible, now assumed 
 a hard and perplexing* aspect. The edifice, 
 which at a distance looked fair and stately, 
 presented on a nearer view the whited wall 
 of the sepulchre. 
 
 Wrapped in such reverie, with their arms 
 twined around each other, they were sitting- 
 side by side, the day preceding- that ap- 
 pointed for the funeral, when the chaplain 
 entered with a letter in his hand. Yery 
 rare, indeed, was the arrival of such a 
 missive at the castle, and Polydore's ap- 
 pearance roused the mourners from their 
 lethargy. He delivered the epistle to Kan-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 27 
 
 dolph, and retired with delicate kindness. 
 It was dated from May Fair, London, and 
 was to the following' effect : — 
 
 " My dear Nephew, 
 
 a The estrangement, which has so long* 
 and so unhappily divided our families, can- 
 not deter me from offering* you and my 
 niece, the sincere condolence both of Mrs. 
 Trevethlan Pendarrel and of myself, on the 
 recent melancholy event. 
 
 " Most deeply do I regret that a pressure 
 of engagements will prevent me from at- 
 tending- the last obsequies of my lamented 
 relative ; but Mrs. Trevethlan Pendarrel 
 intends to have the pleasure of calling* at 
 Trevethlan Castle before many clays have 
 elapsed, and of making* the acquaintance of 
 her nephew and niece. 
 
 " Fearing* that circumstances may render 
 the funeral an embarrassment, and awaiting* 
 a satisfactory arrang'ement for the comfort 
 of yourself and your sister, I have ventured
 
 28 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 to direct my bankers, Messrs. , to 
 
 honour the drafts of Mr. Randolph Tre- 
 vethlan to the amount of £500. 
 
 (i Mrs. Trevethlan Pendarrel unites in 
 the regard with which 
 u I am, 
 
 " My dear nephew, 
 u Yours very affectionately, 
 " P. Trevethlan Pendarrel." 
 
 Helen watched her brother's face as he 
 read this effusion of sympathy, and was 
 almost alarmed at the change which came 
 over it. He held the letter at arm's length, 
 and gazed upon it : the lessons of the por- 
 trait-gallery crowded thickly upon him, and 
 those of the library were forgotten. 
 
 " May I read it, Randolph ? " his sister 
 asked, timidly laying her hand on his ex- 
 tended arm. 
 
 a Read it !" he repeated. a A} 7- , read it, 
 Helen ; read it, and learn what we have 
 become ! Well might our father say that a
 
 TREVETHLAN. 29 
 
 favour received from Philip Pendarrel would 
 disturb him in his grave." 
 
 " Was it not kindly meant ?" Helen said, 
 gently, after perusing* the letter. 
 
 " Is insult ever kind V asked her brother 
 in reply. a Think they the spirit of our 
 house is extinct, that they come in such hot 
 haste to exult over its decay ? Helen, the 
 letter gives me heart. Why have we de- 
 sponded of our scheme ? We are not yet 
 absolutely beggars. The last moveable in 
 the castle shall be sold, the last farthing 
 spent, in the struggle for independence. 
 And if it fail, we will come back to our 
 cold hearth, and here, for the last time, our 
 hearts shall beat together as they do now. 
 But, Helen, my dearest sister, we will not 
 fail." 
 
 "And this promised visit?" his sister 
 said, after a pause. 
 
 " Mrs. Pendarrel must return as she 
 comes," said Randolph. " She does not 
 cross the threshold of Trevethlan Castle
 
 30 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 while I am its master. — Come, let us take a 
 turn in the gallery." 
 
 Helen sighed as she took her brother's 
 arm for the walk he proposed. The conflict 
 which restored his spirit, saddened hers. 
 It seemed a presage of evil, that the first 
 step of the orphans should involve them 
 in a quarrel with their nearest relations. 
 The rowan bends Availing* under the 
 breeze which the oak defies. Several 
 times had the length of the gallery been 
 traversed in silence, when Randolph pro- 
 duced a small miniature, and showed it to 
 his sister. 
 
 " See, Helen/' he said : " they found this 
 upon him. I imagine it is her likeness — 
 Mrs. Pendarrel's." 
 
 " It is very beautiful," Helen remarked. 
 
 "Very beautiful," repeated her brother, 
 " at first sight. But is it not a beauty 
 rather to fear than to love 1 There is strong 
 expression in the face — but of what? Is 
 hatred or affection most apparent in those
 
 TREVETHLAN. 31 
 
 inscrutable dark eyes ? Is it good-humour 
 or disdain that curls those lips ?" 
 
 u And why/' Helen asked, " do you 
 think it is a portrait of Mrs. Pendarrel?" 
 
 " Because, my dear sister, our poor 
 father told me she was once very dear to 
 him : she encouraged him, he said, and 
 refused him. When they brought me this 
 picture, it recalled his words. There is a 
 key to the history which we have dimly 
 heard." 
 
 Again the orphans made several turns in 
 the gallery, musing in silence. Then Ran- 
 dolph spoke : — 
 
 u Yes, Helen ! — that was the beauty 
 destined to be the ruin of our house. In 
 each successive crash that broke upon his 
 head, our father hoped to find forgetfulness 
 of the past. But it was too deeply written 
 on his heart. And when the desolation 
 was complete, he came back here to hide 
 anguish under pride, to cover tenderness 
 with stern reserve. Hence that cold de-
 
 32 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 meanour which kept even his children at 
 a distance, and, seeming* to reject their 
 affection, checked, but did not stifle, its 
 growth. The story has made him more 
 dear to me than ever before. And now 
 she, who broke his heart and drove him to 
 ruin ; insults us with her sympathy and her 
 wealth." 
 
 " She must herself be old," said Helen. 
 " Perhaps she, too, has had sorrows. I 
 would fain believe you misinterpret that 
 letter." 
 
 "Your wish is what it should be," ob- 
 served Randolph : K I should be glad to 
 think it well founded. Forgive me, dear 
 sister, if, for once, I differ from you. We 
 must not see Mrs. Pendarrel." 
 
 The next day Randolph Trevethlan fol- 
 lowed his father's remains to the vault in 
 the village churchyard. It was but a short 
 space from the gates of the base-court, and 
 within the precinct still appertaining* to the 
 castle. Polydore Riches performed the
 
 TBEVETHLAN. 33 
 
 funeral rites, and the grave closed over the 
 dead. 
 
 The chief mourner had been too much 
 absorbed in his own emotions during- the 
 ceremony to notice the bystanders ; but 
 when it w r as over, he looked round to thank 
 such as were known to him, for their 
 sympathy and respect. While so engaged, 
 he happened to turn his eye on a couple, 
 who stood a little apart, beneath the shade 
 of an old yew tree. They were a young- 
 man about his own age, and a decrepit old 
 woman. They returned his look with an 
 air which might be termed insolent, and 
 which, under other circumstances, might 
 have provoked his anger. But the features 
 of the youth, although coarse and sinister, 
 seemed vaguely to resemble some with 
 which Randolph was familiar, and as he 
 gazed upon them, he asked the chaplain 
 if he knew who the stranger was. Before 
 Polydore could reply, the old woman an- 
 swered, having seen, not heard, the question. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 a Who am I ? Thy mother's mother : 
 thy grandmother. Who is this? Thy 
 mother's sister's son: thy cousin. We were 
 not asked to the burying", but we came. 
 To Aveep for a son-in-law ? To weep for an 
 uncle? Did he weep for his wife? Na, 
 na." 
 
 Randolph was inexpressibly shocked. 
 
 "I dreamt not of this/' he said to the 
 chaplain in a low tone. a Something 1 must 
 be done. Are they in distress?" 
 
 lt Na, na/' said the old woman with a 
 frightful grin, again interpreting the mo- 
 tion of his lips, u we want nothing of you, 
 Mr. Randolph Trevethlan. We belong to 
 Pendar'l now. And so will Trevethlan. 
 
 ' When the castle a bride from the cot shall claim, 
 Pendar'l and Trevethlan shall own one name.' 
 
 Margaret Basset's mother seeks not from 
 a son the help which a husband refused." 
 
 Polydore put his arm throug'h Ran- 
 dolph's, and drew him away. The late Mr. 
 Trevethlan's marriage had been a pro-
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 35 
 
 hibited subject at the castle, and all that 
 his children knew concerning it, was, that 
 their mother had been of humble birth. So 
 this was his son's first introduction to his 
 maternal relations. " It is thus," thought 
 the* chaplain, "that the sins of the fathers 
 are visited upon the children." 
 
 The resemblance which Kandolpli had 
 detected in the young- man's features, was 
 to himself. It was of that vague character 
 which the eye often discovers in an un- 
 known portrait, depending not on com- 
 plexion, or lineaments, or even expression, 
 and difficult, therefore, to make visible to 
 another's perception. So now a third 
 person would probably have failed to see 
 the likeness, recognised at once by the heir 
 of Trevethlan. For while candour and 
 courage distinguished Eandolph's counte- 
 nance, cunnino* and meanness lurked in the 
 aspect of Michael Sinson. 
 
 The development of such traits in the 
 peasant might be owing- to his early life. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 When Margaret Basset sorrowfully obeyed 
 the order which seemed to make her mis- 
 tress of Trevetlilan Castle, her family con- 
 ceived great hopes from her elevation, 
 instead of sympathising in her grief. Her 
 nephew, Michael, was trained in the habits 
 they fancied most likely to conciliate the 
 favour of their lord, vulgar obsequiousness 
 and fawning,' dissimulation. For some 
 time after Mrs. Trevethlan's death, he was 
 allowed to hang* about the castle, enjoying 
 the benefit of Polydore's instruction, and 
 encouraged in the idea, that he might grow 
 to be the confidant and companion of the 
 youthful heir. Those who thought so, little 
 knew Mr. Trevetlilan. Pride hates the 
 sycophancy which is acceptable to vanity. 
 He was simply disgusted by the offered 
 homage ; and at once perceiving its drift, 
 excluded his wife's relations from all con- 
 nexion with his household, and ejected them 
 from their little farm. They settled upon 
 the neighbouring estates of Pendarrel,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 37 
 
 cherishing* a natural enmity against their 
 late landlord, and beholding* his ruin with a 
 certain exultation. They also chose to 
 consider that poor Margaret had been 
 aggrieved by the compulsion in which they 
 themselves participated, and thus sharpened 
 craft and malice with the feeling- of injury. 
 With such spiteful mind old Maud Basset 
 came to the funeral, and flung' in Ran- 
 dolph's teeth a prophecy, which had been 
 much recited of late years among the pea- 
 santry of the neighbourhood. 
 
 And now Trevethlan Castle re-assumed 
 its usual appearance. One of Randolph's 
 first cares after the funeral was to warn 
 Jeffrey, the porter, that all visitors what- 
 soever who might present themselves at the 
 gates, were to be informed neither he nor 
 his sister was at home, and were not to be 
 admitted on any pretence. Archbishop 
 Seeker is reported to have said, that the 
 first person who used this excuse told a
 
 38 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 lie. It sorely puzzled old Jeffrey's notions 
 of morality. 
 
 "Not at home. Master Randolph/' he 
 said* "and are ye and my young- lady to 
 leave us so soon?" 
 
 " No, Jeffrey/' was the answer ; u we 
 are not going* away immediately. But we 
 desire to see no company, and this is the 
 usual mode of saying* so." 
 
 a Good truth, Master Randolph, 'twill be 
 a strange thing* for company to come to 
 Trevethlan," said the porter. ''''And where 
 shall I say you are gone ?" 
 
 u N owhere," replied Randolph. " Say 
 no more than that we are not at home ; 
 and do not open the gates, whoever may 
 ask." 
 
 u Trust old Jeffrey to obey a Treveth- 
 lan," the retainer said as his master retired ; 
 a and faith, we want no fine folks here 
 spying" out the nakedness of the land. 
 Jeffrey will send them away with a flea in 
 their ear."
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Nature never framed a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 u Me. Teevethlan Pendaeeel " — 
 The gentleman so addressed put down an 
 untasted glass of wine with which he was 
 about to give zest to his luncheon, and he 
 looked towards the lady who spoke. She 
 was reading* a newspaper. 
 
 " Did }^ou observe this?" she continued. 
 " We regret to announce the death of 
 Henry Trevethlan, Esq. ; of Trevethlan 
 Castle!"
 
 40 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 Ci My poor nephew ! " exclaimed the 
 gentleman. 
 
 The lady flung- a glance upon him, which 
 made him lower his eyes, and read on. 
 u He is succeeded in his estates — his 
 estates ! — by his son Kandolph Treveth- 
 lan, Esq.., who, with his sister, is now at the 
 castle." 
 
 Mr. Pendarrel, probably thinking- of the 
 look which had just rebuked him, made no 
 further observation. 
 
 " Have you nothing- to remark upon 
 this intelligence ?" asked his wife. u No 
 commiseration for your great nephew and 
 niece, as well as their father ? " 
 
 ei They must be very j)oor," her husband 
 answered. a Anything 1 I can do — " 
 
 " Anything you can do, Mr. Trevethlan 
 Pendarrel !" the lady exclaimed, interrupt- 
 ing him sharply. " You must buy me the 
 castle, and they may live on the price. 
 
 ' Pendar'l and Trevethlan shall own one name ! '" 
 
 She laid aside the newspaper, and rising,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 41 
 
 walked to and fro in the apartment, speak- 
 ing* in a tone free from the irony and scorn 
 which had given an unfeminine expression 
 to her previous words. 
 
 " Let me see. Seventeen, ninety-six- 
 seven' — Randolph must be just of age. And 
 Helen a year or two younger. Poor ! 
 Indeed they must be poor. The castle 
 will be very ornamental as a ruin. Already 
 it is more picturesque than habitable. They 
 will be relieved to have it taken off their 
 hands. And we can be generous. If not, 
 what do they know ? Why, Randolph has 
 never slept away. They must be as wild 
 as mountain-g'oats. And their society ! 
 What ideas can they have formed of life ? 
 Yet we may be generous ; if they like, 
 friendly. There is a pleasant cottage on 
 the shore under Pendarrel : comfortable ; 
 suitable for straitened means ; in wild 
 scenery, like Trevethlan. They might have 
 it at an easy rent ; or in part purchase of 
 the castle."
 
 42 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 Thus, Alnaschar-like, Mrs. Pendarrel 
 accomplished in reverie what had long- been 
 the settled purpose of her mind. Such was 
 the vision that rose from her basket of 
 crockery. She was a woman of genius, 
 and knew it, and loved the knowledge. 
 
 u Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel, have you 
 yet finished your luncheon? Then follow 
 me to the library. You must write to 
 Kandolph; and I shall go down to Corn- 
 wall next week, and visit him and his 
 sister." 
 
 In the library the lady dictated the letter 
 which the reader has already perused. 
 When her husband looked over what he 
 had written, he ventured to remonstrate. 
 
 " Do you not think, my dear Esther, 
 this is rather, just a little, the least in the 
 world ; you know what I mean." 
 
 " No, I do not, Mr. Trevethlan Pen- 
 darrel. I am not initiated in the mysteries 
 of your office, where they use language to 
 conceal their thoughts."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 43 
 
 " Nay, I know it is not your in- 
 tention/' continued her husband ; " but 
 might it not be supposed? It would be 
 quite wrong-, of course. Still, perhaps, 
 they mig-ht think — people do form such 
 curious ideas." 
 
 C( Your ideas seem very curious indeed," 
 said the lady. * What on earth do you 
 mean?" 
 
 a Why, my dear Esther, might not this 
 letter, quite undesignedly, quite — might it 
 not wound Mr. Randolph Trevethlan's 
 feelings ? " 
 
 " Not if I appreciate them rightly, Mr. 
 Trevethlan Pendarrel," answered his wife ; 
 et and it will furnish me with a key to his 
 character. If, as I fully expect, that offer 
 is regarded as kind, and gratefully accepted, 
 the heir of Trevethlan becomes my humble 
 dependent. If, as I think very unlikely, 
 the letter is resented as an affront, then I 
 know that the old spirit still animates the 
 old ruin, and I prepare accordingly. Is it
 
 44 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 sealed ? Well : remember to give the in- 
 struction to Messrs " 
 
 And so saying", the lady withdrew. Her 
 husband was the brother of the late Henry 
 Trevethlan's father, and, therefore, great- 
 uncle to Randolph $ but having- been born 
 more than twenty years after his elder 
 brother, he was but little older than his 
 nephew, and was brought up in companion- 
 ship with him at Trevethlan Castle. Rivalry 
 for the hand of Esther Pendarrel disturbed 
 their affection soon after Henry succeeded 
 to the estates, and it g-ave place to hatred, 
 when Philip carried off the prize and 
 assumed his wife's name. Rumour said, 
 that nothing but Henry's positive refusal 
 to submit to this condition, led to his 
 rejection. 
 
 For once rumour was probably right. 
 The families of Trevethlan and Pendarrel 
 had long lived in the usual friendship of 
 neighbours, frequently intermarrying, but 
 never united under one head. When, how- 
 ever, circumstances made Esther sole heiress
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 45 
 
 of her house, it seemed likely that this 
 might at last occur, and that the name of 
 Pendarrel miffht mero-e in that of Treveth- 
 Ian. The lady's own attention was at- 
 tracted to this contingency by a little 
 altercation she happened to overhear be- 
 tween two peasants, respecting the pro- 
 phecy already quoted. 
 
 u Well, Jem," said one, " ye see Pen- 
 dar'l 's like to come to Trevethlan without 
 a bride from under the thatch. 'T is a 
 bonny lady whereby they'll own one name." 
 
 " Do not ye think it, Eobin," answered 
 the other. " The saying 's as old as Carn 
 Dew. My lady 's not one to sink her 
 name : there 's that in her eye tells another 
 tale." 
 
 When Esther heard these remarks, the 
 first rustic seemed to be much nearer the 
 truth than the second ; for Henry Tre- 
 vethlan was so close an attendant upon 
 her, that it could not be supposed that his 
 assiduity was unwelcome. But she had
 
 46 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 been trained in a sufficiently high sense of 
 her own importance • and the peasant's 
 words made her ponder, and roused the 
 pride which had almost been laid to sleep 
 by love. She quarrelled with Henry, and 
 married Philip. 
 
 Her first lover endeavoured to forget his 
 disappointment in the excitement of play. 
 She, always hoping* to realize the prediction 
 in her own sense, rejoiced in adding- the 
 estates which he sold, one after another, to 
 the already extensive domains of Pendarrel. 
 By degrees, she thus drove the enemy into 
 his citadel, and beleaguered him on all 
 sides, trusting* at last to starve him into 
 submission. And now that the defence had 
 fallen into young* and inexperienced hands, 
 she rushed eagerly to the assault, heralding 
 it with the demand for a capitulation, con- 
 tained in the letter she caused her husband 
 to write. 
 
 He, poor man, did not count for much 
 in his wife's arrangements. At home, he
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 47 
 
 was nearly a nonentity ; abroad, he held 
 a subordinate place of some importance 
 under Government. His official conse- 
 quence consoled him for his domestic in- 
 significance • and some such comfort he 
 needed ; for he had no will of his own 
 whenever Esther interfered, so rigorous was 
 the sway wherewith the strong- mind ruled 
 the weak. 
 
 Their family — a sore point was this with 
 Mrs. Pendarrel, who foresaw that in some 
 shape her own manoeuvre must be repeated 
 — consisted of two daughters, Gertrude and 
 Mildred. Gertrude was nearly thirty, mar- 
 ried, but without offspring- : Mildred was 
 not quite twenty. In appearance, they 
 both resembled their mother, and mig'ht be 
 imagined to exhibit traces of the ancient 
 people said, in some legends, to have 
 founded Marazion. 
 
 Esther lost no time in fulfilling' her pur- 
 pose of visiting the orphans. As soon as 
 possible after the despatch of the letter, she
 
 48 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 started for Pendarrel Hall, which, unlike 
 Trevetlilan Castle, was a modern mansion, 
 surrounded by a large park. The day after 
 her arrival, she drove to perform her 
 errand. 
 
 Old Jeffrey had pondered much on the 
 novel instructions received from his young" 
 master ; and every sound of the gate-bell 
 roused him to a gTeat display of vigilance. 
 First, he reconnoitred the party seeking 
 admission, through a loop-hole : if that 
 scrutiny were satisfactory, he opened a slit 
 in the wicket, and held a parley : if this 
 proved equally free from danger, he un- 
 closed the wicket itself, and allowed the 
 visitor to enter. Hitherto, he had not been 
 called upon to pronounce the message of 
 exclusion. 
 
 But the sound of an approaching* car- 
 riage awoke all the caution of the old 
 warder. Mrs. Pendarrel's chariot wound 
 heavily up the now rugged road, which led 
 through the base-court to the main gate-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 49 
 
 way of the castle. The lady looked from 
 side to side, and viewed the surrounding- 
 desolation with some secret triumph, as 
 betokening' a necessity which must he glad 
 to accept relief. At length her carriage 
 drew up in front of the arched portal, and 
 a servant alighted, and rang* the hell with 
 correct violence. 
 
 Old Jeffrey had sufficient shrewdness to 
 know that such an attack as this could not 
 he repelled from the loop-hole • so he de- 
 scended to parley through the opening* in 
 the wicket. 
 
 a Now, sir," said the invading- servant, 
 u how long* is my lady to wait ? " 
 
 " Who did you want to see ? " asked the 
 porter in turn. 
 
 " Open the gates, sir : let us drive to the 
 hall-door." 
 
 « Troth," said Jeffrey, « this is the hall- 
 door just now. Who did ye want to see ?" 
 
 Mrs. Pendarrel, slightly impatient, re- 
 peated her servant's demand from the win- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 clow of the carriage : Jeffrey met it with 
 the same question. 
 
 " Mr. Trevethlan," said the lady. 
 
 " Mr. Trevethlan 's not at home/' said 
 the obstinate warder. 
 
 u Not at home, sir ! What do you mean ? 
 Where is he V* 
 
 u He 's not at home/' Jeffrey repeated. 
 
 Mrs. Pendarrel mused for a moment. 
 
 " Miss Trevethlan is at home, I sup- 
 pose?" she asked. 
 
 a Miss Trevethlan is not at home/' was 
 again the reply. 
 
 u This is insolence," the lady said. " Do 
 you know, sir, who I am ?" 
 
 " I think I know the Pendar'l liveries/' 
 answered Jeffrey. 
 
 a Home/'" said Mrs. Pendarrel to her 
 servant. And the carriage rattled down 
 the descent. 
 
 A young" man was leaning* on the gate of 
 the base-court: as the chariot approached, 
 he opened it, and stood cap in hand while
 
 TREVETHLAN. 51 
 
 the lady drove through. She pulled the 
 check-string-, and beckoned the stranger to 
 the window. 
 
 "Do you belong- to the castle?" she 
 asked; when he drew near. 
 
 "No, in good truth, ma'am/' the youth 
 replied with a peculiar smile : " I am a 
 tenant of Pendar'l." 
 
 " What is your name ?" 
 
 " Sinson, ma'am • Michael Sinson at 
 your service, ma'am ; grandson of old Maud 
 Basset." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the lady hastily, " a 
 relation " 
 
 " The late Mrs. Trevethlan's nephew, 
 ma'am," said Michael. 
 
 " Come to the hall to-morrow," Mrs. 
 Pendarrel said ; " I may be able to employ 
 you." 
 
 Michael made a cringing 1 bow, and the 
 carriage drove on. 
 
 " So," mused its occupant, " it is war. 
 The old spirit does animate the old ruin. 
 
 e 2
 
 52 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 A pleasant pastime, Henry Trevethlan, 
 have you bequeathed to your children. 
 Long- shall your race rue the day, when 
 you took a woman at her first word. Was 
 not Esther Pendarrel worth asking* twice ? 
 Was it impossible to conciliate her pride, 
 except by the sacrifice of your own ? Was 
 no allowance to be made for the petulance 
 of a girl nursed by flattery? Was there 
 no middle course? Might not Trevethlan 
 have been preserved, yet Pendarrel not ex- 
 tinguished ? I smiled when 3*011 left me : I 
 smiled when I saw } T our rapid gallop down 
 the avenue : I smiled still, when I heard 
 you were departed to London. No fal- 
 coner's voice, methought, will be required^ 
 i to lure nry tassel-gentle back again/ A 
 week — and another, and another — and no 
 news. A month, and news. His kinsman 
 comes. To intercede for him ? Ah, no. 
 To tell me of his folly, and to plead for 
 himself. c There is no fury like a woman 
 scorned.' I listened, but it was long before
 
 TREVETHLAN. 53 
 
 I consented. A bold wooer truly was my 
 worthy lord ! Did he not venture to urge, 
 that his nephew's passion was so ardent, it 
 would prevent him from any other union 1 
 That therefore the castle would descend to 
 him 1 That so the properties would he 
 united in my name? That he loved me 
 more — oh, cant and hypocrisy, how I 
 loathed you at the time ! Yet I listened, 
 and listened, and in my wrath and for my 
 sorrow, consented. Did I drive you to 
 ruin, Henry Trevethlan ? Did I embitter 
 your days ? Alas ! mine have been equally 
 dark. Proud man, I ask again, why did 
 you trample on me ? Why mig'ht we not 
 minister to our mutual happiness, instead of 
 running- a race for revenge ? I could not, 
 you knew I could not, unasked, revoke my 
 words. Might I not have had the oppor- 
 tunity ? And should I submit to my doom 
 in patience ? 
 
 " And you have bequeathed your hatred 
 to your children. To the children of Mar-
 
 54 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 garet Basset. And, verily, they seem wor- 
 thy of the trust. But they shall find their 
 match in Esther Pendarrel. And now 
 the plan of the campaign. I must learn 
 the nature of the ground. Then, sound 
 trumpets, and no quarter." 
 
 The following- morning 1 } T oung Sinson ful- 
 filled Mrs. Pendarrel's behest, by calling- at 
 the hall, where he had an interview of some 
 length with its mistress. One of the park 
 lodges, Wilderness gate, happened to be 
 vacant at the time, and was assigned to 
 Michael as a residence, in consideration of 
 services, either past or to come, which were 
 a mystery to the retainers of the family, 
 among whom some jealousy was created by 
 the preference. 
 
 Within a few days afterwards, Mrs. 
 Pendarrel returned to London.
 
 TREVETHLAN. &o 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 t 
 
 "But can the noble mind for ever brood, 
 The willing victim of a weary mood, 
 On heartless cares that squander life away, 
 And cloud young genius brightening into day ? 
 Shame to the coward thought that e'er betrayed 
 The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! " 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 The Trevethlans, it lias already been re- 
 marked, were a crotchetty race. One of 
 their peculiarities was displayed in the dis- 
 position of their property. No portion had 
 been entailed within the memory of man, 
 and the whole had very frequently de- 
 scended simply by inheritance. Wills were 
 of rare occurrence among- the family muni- 
 ments, and marked the existence of dis- 
 agreement. And now that cause was 
 active, and produced its effect. A few
 
 50 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 clays after Mr. Trevethlan's funeral, liis 
 children were summoned by the chaplain 
 to hear the last desires of their parent, Mr. 
 Griffith being' also present with his account 
 books. 
 
 The will which Polydore produced was 
 very slrort and simple. The testator merely 
 appointed the Rev. Polydore Riches and 
 Mr. Edward Griffith, to be the guardians 
 of his children, in case he died before they 
 were of age, leaving 1 his property to de- 
 scend by inheritance. A short silence 
 ensued when the chaplain finished reading- 
 the document : it was first broken by the 
 steward. 
 
 u It is but a small patrimony," he said, 
 " Mr. Trevethlan, that you inherit. A 
 very small patrimony for the owner of this 
 castle. And a sad trust is this for me, who 
 can remember, when from the top of the 
 watch-tower, we saw little that was not 
 ours." 
 
 "Mr. Griffith," Randolph said, "we
 
 TREVETHLAN. 57 
 
 must think of the present and the future, 
 not of the past. But if the trust is un- 
 welcome, do not undertake it." 
 
 " The trust is not unwelcome, Randolph/' 
 observed the chaplain, with a slight accent 
 of reproof. a The sadness of which our 
 friend speaks is caused by the lightness, not 
 the oppressiveness, of our duty. We pro- 
 mised to undertake it, and we shall feel 
 pleasure in fulfilling- it, so as most effectually 
 to promote your welfare in every respect." 
 
 u I know it," said the heir. " I am sure 
 of it; I did not mean to doubt Mr. Grif- 
 fith's g-ood will." 
 
 u Here," the steward said, opening- one 
 of his books, a here are the accounts of the 
 last few years : and here is an abstract or 
 estimate, which I have prepared from them, 
 showing- the probable receipts and the 
 necessary expenses for the future." 
 
 Randolph took the paper from Mr. Grif- 
 fith's hands, and perused it attentively, his 
 sister also looking* over him.
 
 58 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 ec From this/' he said at length, Cl I 
 perceive that our total income is something 
 under seven hundred pounds a year, and 
 the needful outgoings something" more than 
 two ; leaving us a clear revenue of four 
 hundred. Why, Helen, we are rich !" 
 
 " They are young"," the steward observed 
 aside to Polydore. 
 
 The brother and sister conferred together 
 for a few minutes in an under tone. Then 
 Randolph spoke aloud : — 
 
 u Mr. Riches, the expenditure of the 
 castle household, as here set down, is very 
 small. Surely it does not include — " He 
 stopped. 
 
 "1 know what } r ou would say, Ran- 
 dolph," the chaplain remarked. iC The ser- 
 vices of Mr. Griffith and myself have 
 already been remunerated far in advance. 
 There is nothing- due on our account, nor 
 will there be for a long- time." 
 
 Metaphorically, this might be true. 
 Randolph looked incredulous.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 59 
 
 u Mr. Trevethlan," said the steward, " I 
 hope you will not press us into a difficulty. 
 That statement is made up strictly from 
 my books ; and unless you desire to alter 
 the establishment " 
 
 "Oh, no, certainly not/' Randolph ex- 
 claimed. "I wish everything- to g*o on as 
 hitherto." 
 
 a And have you formed any plan for the 
 future V 9 the chaplain asked. " Do you 
 propose to live here in retirement, or to g-o 
 into the world?" 
 
 This question was not answered imme- 
 diately. Randolph's heart was full. He 
 rose from his seat and walked to a window 
 of the apartment, where he leant his fore- 
 head ag'ainst the glass, and gazed upon the 
 sea. A mist clouded his eyes. Helen 
 came softly to his side, and laid her hand 
 on his shoulder, but he turned not towards 
 her, for it was of her loneliness that he 
 was thinking-. 
 
 "'Tis a hard question for him, Mr. 
 Riches," said Griffith.
 
 60 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 "He will answer it as he ought/' ob- 
 served the chaplain. 
 
 " Randolph/' Helen whispered in the 
 mean time, "is this our firmness? Who 
 said, c we will not fail V See, it is my turn 
 now." 
 
 He turned and looked at her, meeting- a 
 smile so full of hope, that his momentary 
 irresolution vanished at once. The castle 
 rose ao-ain in the air, firm and substantial. 
 He led his sister back to her seat, and 
 resuming his own, said : — 
 
 "You, Mr. Eiches, and you, my good 
 sir, will not smile at a scheme which has 
 been often discussed by my sister and my- 
 self, and to which our poor father assented 
 almost with his parting words. If we 
 are visionaries, you will be gentle in re- 
 moving the illusion. This then is our 
 plan." 
 
 And at some length, Randolph unfolded 
 the design with which the reader is already 
 acquainted. Both the chaplain and the
 
 TREVETHLAN. Gl 
 
 steward listened with great interest, al- 
 though the latter could not avoid smiling' to 
 himself, as he perceived the little artifices 
 by which the speaker blinded his eyes to 
 the difficulties of his proposition. Poly- 
 dore was willing* to be also blind to them. 
 
 u And now, my friends/' Randolph con- 
 cluded, having* talked himself into cheerful- 
 ness, u we will leave you to deliberate on 
 our romance. Helen and I will g'o to the 
 flower-garden, and await the reply of the 
 oracle. Let it be at least decisive." 
 
 So sayings he took Helen's arm upon 
 his, and led her from the room. Griffith 
 looked at the chaplain, and repeated his 
 previous observation, a they are j^oung-." 
 
 a Youth and imprudence are not neces- 
 sarily connected, Mr. Griffith," answered 
 Polydore. 
 
 u And are you disposed to sanction this 
 scheme ?" the steward asked. " Do rfot 
 you see its difficulties ? Are fortunes to be 
 found now as in nursery tales? And at
 
 02 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 the bar, of all ways ? Even in my narrow 
 experience, what failures have I known ! 
 and with fairer prospects than Mr. Ran- 
 dolph's. It is a lottery, Mr. Riches ; a 
 mere lottery." 
 
 " It is not the chance of a prize," said 
 the chaplain, "upon which I reckon. I 
 hate lotteries. It is the price which must 
 in this instance he paid for a chance, and 
 which I believe Randolph is prepared to 
 pay, that reconciles me to the speculation." 
 
 " You mean the labour bestowed and the 
 knowledge acquired," observed Griffith. 
 " Is it of the best kind ? Might not better 
 be obtained here ?" 
 
 Ci You interpret my meaning- rightly but 
 not completely, Mr. Griffith," the chaplain 
 said. " I include in the term knowledge, 
 knowledge of the world; that knowledge, 
 without which we cannot love the world. 
 A recluse may fancy that he loves his race, 
 but it is not until he has actually felt their 
 kindness, ay, and their unkindness, that he
 
 TREVETHLAN. 63 
 
 can realize the affection. A man is worth- 
 less until he has experienced some of the 
 buffeting- of the world." 
 
 " And do you think Mr. Randolph 
 qualified to withstand it to advantage ? " 'the 
 steward inquired. 
 
 "Do I, Mr. Griffith?" exclaimed Poly- 
 dore. " I should take shame to myself if I 
 did not. He may not succeed at the bar. 
 He may return to Trevethlan Castle as 
 poor as he quits it. As poor, I mean, in 
 worldly g-oods. But he will return to enjoy 
 life : not to mope away a miserable time 
 of idleness amongst these g'ray walls : not to 
 pine for what is unattainable; and sicken 
 with ever-increasino- discontent : not to 
 vanish from the stage an unprofitable super- 
 numerary. No, the habits he will have 
 acquired will accompany him in his retreat ; 
 in his solitude he will still be active ; he 
 will give his thoughts to the world ; he 
 will be a benefactor to his race. Let him 
 g*o ; Mr. Griffith. The very chivalry of the
 
 64 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 idea is charming* in nry eyes. Believe me, 
 his portrait will one day be an honour to 
 our gallery." 
 
 The steward was infected with Polydore's 
 enthusiasm. He shook the chaplain's hand 
 with great warmth. 
 
 u Mr. Kiches," he said, " I know how 
 much Trevethlan owes to you; and your 
 words inspire me with hope. Yet, Miss 
 Helen, is the scheme equally adapted for 
 her ?" 
 
 " And why not, my good sir?" answered 
 the chaplain. " Where can she be better 
 than with her brother? What can cheer 
 his studies, no trifle, Mr. Griffith, like her 
 company when they are over ? What would 
 not I have given for a sister to make 
 my tea at college ? She will be his comfort 
 and his stay ; his light and his hope ; his 
 joy and his pride. Let them go, my friend ; 
 we shall see a dance at Trevethlan yet." 
 
 Griffith, a quiet and thoughtful man, was 
 entirely carried away by the increasing
 
 TItEVETHLAN. G5 
 
 animation of the chaplain. In silence he 
 assented to Polydore's conclusion. a Come/' 
 said the latter, u let us seek them in their 
 garden;" and he took the steward's arm 
 and led him thither. On their way pru- 
 dential considerations again beset the man 
 of business, and he stopped the man of 
 letters to speak of their wards' inexperience. 
 
 " Inexperience ! " echoed the divine ; 
 u and how shall they gain experience 1 
 Staying - here, they will always be in- 
 experienced. No fear, my friend ; give 
 them a g*ood introduction to Winter, and 
 they'll do. Winter's the very personifica- 
 tion of prudence." 
 
 Randolph and his sister were watching* 
 the bees on a bed of mignionettef, one of 
 the pleasantest pastimes afforded by a gar- 
 den in autumn. The eye is gratified by 
 the unceasing flutter of the busy insects ; 
 the ear rejoices in the perpetual murmur 
 accompanying* their industry; a delicious 
 fragrance arises from the gently agitated 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 florets; and some observers may, perhaps, 
 remember a moral they were taught to lisp 
 in childhood, and cast a fond retrospect 
 over their early years. 
 
 u Joy for you, Randolph Morton," cried 
 the chaplain ; "and for you, Helen Mor- 
 ton j joy for your old master, and for 
 the towers of Trevethlan. You shall go 
 forth like Fortunio, without needing- his 
 seven servants * like Fortunatus, without 
 requiring- his purse." 
 
 In his g-lee Pokydore had quitted Mr. 
 Griffith, and preceded him. The brother 
 and sister turned at the sound of his 
 voice, ran rather than walked to meet him, 
 and each seizing- a hand, as they used 
 of old, looked into his face with sparkling- 
 eyes. 
 
 « Be still," he said, " be still, or Mr. 
 Griffith will declare you must not be trusted 
 alone." 
 
 "And may we g-o?" Randolph asked. 
 " May I try to be useful upon earth ? "
 
 TREVETHLAX. G7 
 
 "Stay away, Mr. Griffith/ cried the 
 chaplain to the steward, who was now 
 approaching- ; a stay away ; or } r ou will say 
 that even I am a child. Yes/' he con- 
 tinued, turn in g to Randolph, cc yes, you 
 shall have your wish, and we doubt not that 
 with the blessing- of God, you will prosper 
 to your heart's content." 
 
 Warm and sincere were the acknowledge- 
 ments paid by the orphans to their guar- 
 dians for this acquiescence in their scheme ; 
 and by Polydore, at least, they were as 
 warmly returned. Child-like, but not child- 
 ish, was the good chaplain in his affections. 
 And if the sanguine ardour of youth is a 
 glorious thing, surely the tempered en- 
 thusiasm of mature age is as admirable, and 
 less uncertain. 
 
 The preparations for departure were com- 
 menced immediately. Mrs. Griffith was 
 saddened a little when Helen brought her 
 the news; but she recovered her spirits 
 under the influence of her old pupil's ani- 
 
 f2
 
 68 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 mation. And strange it would have been, 
 if the anticipation of so great a change had 
 not produced considerable excitement in 
 those upon whom it was about to fall. 
 They had never — as Mrs. Pendarrel re- 
 marked — spent a night away from the 
 castle ; they had seen no town larger than 
 Penzance ; they had been familiar with 
 none save the household around them. 
 Wonderful it would have been, if with a 
 calm pulse they could contemplate abiding 
 in mighty London, among a host of stran- 
 gers, and competing in the great race of 
 life. Yet upon their earnest tempers the 
 prospect produced less effect than it would 
 on dispositions less serious ; and they 
 watched and superintended the necessary 
 arrangements with a foresight which de- 
 lighted Polydore, and was satisfactory even 
 to the steward. 
 
 At length, these were completed, and the 
 eve of the journey arrived. The autumnal 
 sun was setting in radiance over the oppo-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 09 
 
 site side of Mount's Bay ; when the orphans^ 
 moved by a sympathetic impulse, took their 
 way for a farewell visit to Merlin's Cave. 
 A purple flush lay on the uplands above 
 Gulvall and Ludgvan ; there was scarce a 
 ripple on the sea, and the fishermen of 
 Newlyn were obliged to use their oars to 
 gain the offing-. The tranquillity of the 
 evening- sank into the hearts of the brother 
 and sister, as they sat in silence, side by 
 side, under their little canopy of rock. But 
 at last, Helen interrupted the reverie. The 
 sun had reached the crest of the hills ; the 
 tower of St. Paul's Church stood out dark 
 against the sk) r , with its edges fringed by 
 the level rays; the flush on the heather 
 had grown deeper and warmer ; when she 
 suddenly began to sing, to an old Jacobite 
 air, a ballad, composed by an ancestor who 
 fled to Switzerland at the Restoration, and 
 known in the family as " Trevethlan's Fare- 
 well :"—
 
 70 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " Farewell to Trevethlan ! A farewell for ever ! 
 Farewell to the towers that stand by the sea ! 
 Ah ! hard is my fortune from home so to sever, 
 And seek me a shelter where still men are free ! 
 
 " No more at midsummer to see our hills lighted 
 With bonfires that welcome the eve of St. John ; 
 No more by old Christmas to frolic invited, 
 
 To greet our fair orchards with glad benison ; — 
 
 " Nor yet in the May-time, at Helston's gay furry, 
 With garlands of oak-leaves to dance to the song ; 
 But far o'er the waters an exile to hurry, 
 
 And pine for my kinsmen strange faces among. 
 
 " Ay, sad as the children of Morvah retreating 
 
 To Pendeen's dark caverns beside the sea-swell, 
 While the crags of Penvonlas bewailed the fierce meeting, 
 And Men Skryfa marked where Rialobran fell. 
 
 " The sun will still brighten St. Michael's high tower, 
 And redden at setting the rocks of Trereen ; 
 The billow lave gently Lamoma's soft bower, 
 By banished Trevethlan no more to be seen. 
 
 " The maidens of Madron will hie to their fountain, 
 And drop the smooth pebble his fortune to tell — 
 Ah ! glad for the exile, afar on the mountain, 
 The day when no ripple shall ruffle the well.
 
 TREVETHLAN 71 
 
 " But, hark ! 't is the signal from home now to sever— 
 O'er ruin Tregagel is howling his glee : 
 JFarewell to Trevethlan ! A farewell for ever ! 
 Earewell to the towers that stand by the sea ! " 
 
 The last note of Helen's sono- had some 
 time died away, and the sun had sunk 
 behind the hill ; hut the western sky was 
 still ruddy, and the warm tint still lingered 
 on the moorlands. 
 
 a Surely, my dear sister/' Eandolph said, 
 with a g-entle smile, " your song 1 is not of 
 g-ood omen for our exile." 
 
 a Oh ! yes/' Helen answered quickly ; 
 a recollect that Reg-maid survived the Re- 
 volution, and ended his days happily at 
 Trevethlan." 
 
 a 'T was a long- banishment, Helen," ob- 
 served her brother. u But the sun has set. 
 Let us return to the castle." 
 
 And, making* not a few pauses, they 
 pursued the path homewards.
 
 72 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Then hope grew round me like the twiniug vine, 
 And fruits and foliage, not my own, seemed mine." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 The promise of the red evening- described 
 in the last chapter was faithfully kept, and 
 a splendid day witnessed the departure of 
 the heir of Trevethlan and his sister from 
 their ancestral home. At their earnest 
 request; Polydore Riches accompanied them 
 as far as Falmouth^ from whence places 
 had been secured for London by the mail. 
 The chaplain thought that the more sudden 
 the change, the better it would be borne ; 
 and would g*ladly at once have cast the 
 orphans upon their own resources ; but he 
 succumbed to their entreaties. And if a
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 73 
 
 tear glistened in Polydore's eye when the 
 mail had disappeared round the first corner, 
 it surely will not be thought to bring- dis- 
 credit upon his head. 
 
 In subdued sadness the chaplain returned 
 to the castle. There it was generally un- 
 derstood that Mr. Randolph and Miss 
 Helen were o-oino- to travel abroad for some 
 years. And this impression was confirmed 
 by the following' announcement, which ap- 
 peared in the local journals, and was copied 
 into some of the metropolitan : — u We are 
 informed that Mr. and Miss Trevethlan 
 have left Trevethlan Castle, to make a 
 sojourn of some duration in the South of 
 Europe." The paragraph flavoured many 
 a cup of tea at Helston and Penzance, and 
 attracted attention at one house in May 
 Fair. 
 
 But the mail is rattling along, to the 
 music of the guard's horn and the quadru- 
 pedant sound of the horses, heedless alike 
 of local verjuice and of London pride. Not
 
 74 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 yet had it been polished into the dashing- 
 Quicksilver, but it rattled along- very re- 
 spectabry, contented with itself, and despis- 
 ing- the heavy Subscription. Poor thing- ! 
 — its vanity has been severely punished. 
 Needless it is to dwell on the incidents of 
 the journey. Long- and wearisome it was, 
 and g-lad were the orphans when the wheels 
 had made their last turn, and they alig'hted 
 about daybreak in the yard of the old 
 Bull and Mouth, St. Martin's-le- Grand. 
 Slumber soon broug*ht oblivion both of care 
 and fatig-ue. 
 
 When Randolph, leaving- his chamber 
 near noon, was shown into a sittingvroom, 
 he found Helen already there. She was 
 looking* out of the old-fashioned window, 
 the heavy wood-work of which mig-ht re- 
 mind her of farm-houses in her own country. 
 Traffic was in full vigour in the street 
 below, and the noise and hurry so confused 
 her, that she was not aware of her brother's 
 approach until he stood by her side.
 
 TREVETIILAN. 75 
 
 w Welcome to London, Miss Helen Mor- 
 ton/' lie said, becoming* in turn amazed at 
 the scene beneath his eyes. 
 
 They breakfasted with considerable gaiety 
 in the excitement of their new situation ; 
 and then Randolph started to discover Mr. 
 Winter's offices in Lincoln's Inn ; while his 
 sister sat down to write Polydore an ac- 
 count of their safe arrival at their journey's 
 end. 
 
 Griffith had already written to the at- 
 torney, requesting* his services on behalf of 
 the son of an old friend, recently deceased. 
 Mr. Morton, he said, possessed a small 
 competence, and was desirous of proceeding* 
 to the bar. He would be in town with his 
 only sister in a few days, and any kind- 
 ness which Mr. Winter could show them 
 would confer a great favour upon his cor- 
 respondent. 
 
 Winter has been spoken of by the chap- 
 lain as an impersonation of prudence. The 
 description was just j but it was a prudence
 
 76 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 untainted by the slightest selfishness. He 
 was a man of a large, liberal, and honour- 
 able nature, without a trace of the narrow- 
 mindedness so often and so erroneously 
 thought inseparable from his profession ; 
 he was so genial, withal, in his temper, that 
 his friends used to quote him as a notable 
 example of the rule, that surnames go by 
 contraries. Spring, they would say, was 
 the proper season for Winter, and Winter 
 was proper for all seasons. Happy were 
 they, privileged in July to sip his claret in 
 the arbour of his garden at Hampstead — 
 there was a touch of the Cockney about 
 him — and in December to quaff his old 
 port in his sanctum within-doors : hours 
 never grudged by Mrs. Winter, who was as 
 cheerful as her spouse. 
 
 For several generations the legal busi- 
 ness of the Trevethlan family had been 
 managed in the office over which Mr. 
 Winter now presided ; and it was with a 
 sad heart that the worthy attorney effected
 
 TliEVETHLAN. 77 
 
 the alienations ordered by the late owner of 
 the castle. He entertained a hio-h regard 
 for the steward^ and was quite prepared to 
 extend it to the son of his friend. No 
 time elapsed after Randolph had sent in 
 his name, before he was ushered into Mr. 
 Winter's private room. 
 
 " Welcome, my young* friend/ 7 the lawj^er 
 cried ; extending- his hand, and looking- with 
 satisfaction on Randolph's open counte- 
 nance, a welcome to town. I have been 
 expecting* you : it is a pleasure to know a 
 friend of Griffith's. How is the worthy 
 steward ? He has had his trials, poor 
 man ! Trevethlan is not what it was — 
 Ah me ! The young- squire g-oing- abroad, 
 I understand. No use. He should marry, 
 Mr. Morton. There's many a girl would 
 jump at the castle, even yet. — So you are 
 for the bar. A fashionable profession just 
 now, Mr. Morton. Red coats are cheap. 
 Cornets from Waterloo — midshipmen of 
 Trafalgar — all rushing- to the law. Un-
 
 78 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 commonly martial it is just now. JY'im- 
 porte : there ? s room for all. But this by- 
 and-by. — Miss Morton came with you — 
 Where have you left her ? —   Not over- 
 fatigue cl, I hope V f 
 
 The attorney's volubility was meant to 
 give his new acquaintance time to over- 
 come his first diffidence, and effected its 
 object. Randolph thanked him, and gave 
 the information asked for. 
 
 a Lodgings/' said "Winter, " that 's what 
 you want, I suppose 1 There is a friend of 
 mine on Hampstead Heath, who might 
 perhaps suit you. An old clerk in one of 
 the great city houses, and a sterling fellow ; 
 with an amiable old maiden sister. Would 
 you like to try it ? " 
 
 a Surely, my dear sir," Randolph an- 
 swered. 
 
 "I thought bo/' Winter said. "Then 
 just observe : here is the precise address. 
 A porter of the inn will put you and Miss 
 Morton into a coach, which will drop you
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 79 
 
 at Peach's door. Tell Clotilda, Miss Peach, 
 I mean, you are from me. If you like it, 
 well. Let Miss Morton take possession 
 then and there. You come back for the 
 luggage. If it does not suit, ask Miss 
 Peach the way to my house — I live at 
 Hampstead — leave your sister there, and 
 equally come back for the traps. I shall 
 be home by six. So, you understand. And 
 now excuse me. There is no time to lose. 
 There never is. Good morning'." 
 
 Randolph left the gloomy chambers with 
 much the same feeling-s, that a patient 
 experiences, when after long- suffering' on a 
 sick bed, he is at last bid " throw physic to 
 the dog-s," and begone to the sea. He 
 seemed to be already at work, and enjoyed 
 the exhilarating" effect. With lip*ht feet 
 and as light a heart, he hurried back to the 
 Bull and Mouth. Helen had finished her 
 letter, and g-ave it him to read : she looked 
 over his shoulder while he wrote a post- 
 script, saying* in hyperbolical terms, how
 
 80 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 delighted he was with Mr. Winter. A 
 porter guided the young- pair to a Hamp- 
 stead coach, in which they were the third 
 part of a half dozen, and in no long* time 
 the vehicle rumbled over the stones towards 
 Camden Town. 
 
 A squalid part of the metropolis it was 
 they traversed, but it was forgotten when 
 the conveyance stopped, and the announce- 
 ment " Mr. Peach's, if you please, sir," 
 summoned Randolph and Helen to alight. 
 Clotilda was at the parlour window, and 
 came to meet her visitors. Mr. "Winter 
 had prepared the way for them, and Ran- 
 dolph had only to mention his name to 
 g*ain a welcome. 
 
 " Walk in, my dear sir," said the spins- 
 ter, a walk in, my dear young" lady. I 
 wish Cornelius was at home. Mr. Winter 
 spoke of Cornelius, I suppose. The lodg 1 - 
 ing's? yes, it is all the first floor. Two 
 bed-rooms and sitting-room. Cornelius 
 says "
 
 TREVETHLAN. 81 
 
 JNo matter what. Miss Peacli had pre- 
 ceded her guests upstairs. Helen walked 
 to the drawing-room window, and uttered 
 an exclamation of surprise. Buried in that 
 old six inside convenience, she had not 
 observed that it had been ascending' a con- 
 siderable hill. The front of Mr. Peach's 
 cottage looked on a sandy lane. But the 
 drawing-room was at the back, and well 
 might Helen be startled, for the window 
 she stood at commanded a view of the 
 rich landscape lying- between the heath and 
 Harrow. Five minutes afterwards the 
 bargain was struck, and in five minutes 
 more Randolph was on his way back into 
 the city in quest of the boxes and bags, 
 leaving Helen to become acquainted with 
 their future hostess. 
 
 A quaint but genial pair of humourists 
 were Cornelius and Clotida Peach. Mr. 
 Shandy would perhaps have attributed some 
 of their oddity to the chance which gave 
 them their names. A row of folio volumes 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 . TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 in the parlour might afford some key to the 
 brother's tastes, and would intimate that he 
 was fond of old poems, old plays, and old 
 divinity. Here and there a bit of paper 
 peeping' from the leaves, and written upon, 
 betrayed some scribbling* propensity on the 
 part of the owner. Manly and kindly were 
 all his favourite authors, and if the latter 
 quality predominated in himself, it was only 
 perhaps because the former had never been 
 called into activity. Everyone who knew 
 him loved Cornelius Peach. 
 
 And his sister loved him best. She 
 looked up to him also, as something* great. 
 She never contradicted him, except at whist, 
 a g*ame in which they both rejoiced. In 
 all other matters, when she had quoted the 
 opinion of Cornelius, she considered the 
 question at issue decided. A small garden 
 was attached to the cottage, and Clotilda 
 piqued herself on her pansies and carna- 
 tions, but never grudged a flower for her 
 qrother's button-hole. Sometimes, but very
 
 TREVETHLAN. 83 
 
 rarely, her sisterly care was tried by the 
 effect of a social party upon his upright- 
 ness, on which occasions Cornelius was apt to 
 become sentimental about a certain Mabel 
 whom he said he ought to have married, 
 but whom his friends believed to be a mere 
 phantom of his imagination. They never 
 could learn her sirname. 
 
 Such were the worthy couple with whom 
 the orphans of Trevethlan were now to be 
 domesticated. When Randolph returned 
 with the luggage, he found dinner ready 
 for himself and Helen ; and after the re- 
 past, he inquired his way to Mr. Winter's — 
 the Elms — and left a message there, ex- 
 pressing his thanks, and saying how com- 
 fortably his sister and he were settled. 
 Later in the evening- a note invited them to 
 dinner at the lawyer's the following day, 
 which engagement they accepted with plea- 
 sure. And then, till bed-time, they were 
 busied in arranging their goods and chat- 
 tels. Mr. Peach, with thoughtful polite- 
 
 G 2
 
 84 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 ness, deferred an introduction till the morn- 
 ing-. 
 
 When it came, Cornelius made his bow, 
 and a very awkward one it was, to his new 
 lodgers. 
 
 "Good morrow, Mr. Morton/' he said, 
 looking- nowhere straight, but at Helen 
 sidewa}^s • " good morning, Miss Morton. 
 c Pack clouds away, and welcome day.' I 
 trust you have rested well. Some never 
 can sleep in a strange bed. Yours I hope 
 will not have that fault long*." 
 
 Randolph thanked him: they had slept 
 very well. 
 
 u Ahj Miss Morton," continued the land- 
 lord, " I would you had come earlier in the 
 year. The fall is a sad season. Nothing* 
 in the garden but Michaelmas daisies, those 
 miserable old bachelors of flowers ; and a 
 few chrysanthemums, the showy old maids. 
 You will never be a chrysanthemum. Miss 
 Morton." 
 
 The ponderous machine which called at
 
 TREVETHLAN. 85 
 
 the cottage every morning to convey Mr. 
 Peach to the city, was now heard lumber- 
 ing along" the lane, and the iocund little 
 man took his departure. 
 
 So far Randolph and Helen had scarcely 
 found time to breathe, much less to think ; 
 but when they strolled out upon the heath 
 in the course of the day, reflections came 
 crowding* upon their minds. The founda- 
 tion of the aerial castle was fairly laid : did 
 it promise as well, as when viewed from 
 Merlin's Cave ? Not quite perhaps. Some- 
 thing- grated on their feelings ; it might be 
 they missed the sound of the sea ; it might 
 be the flurry through which they had passed ; 
 it might be such a trifle as the oddities of 
 their host and hostess. The total dis- 
 ruption of all their old habits was more 
 violent than they had expected. They ex- 
 perienced a vague uneasiness. They almost 
 began to regret the calm of Trevethlan 
 Castle. And when they gazed down upon 
 the vast city, veiled by the clouds that roll
 
 86 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 continually from its myriad hearths, through 
 which the dome of St. Paul's loomed in ex- 
 aggerated dimensions, it must he confessed 
 that their vision of the future wore a doubt- 
 ful and variable hue. Their looks were 
 downcast ; gravity took the place of ani- 
 mation in their faces ; and it was with some 
 anxiety that they set forth on their way to 
 the Elms. 
 
 This feeling was soon charmed away by 
 the perfect quiet of their reception. Mr. 
 Winter at Lincoln's Inn, and Mr, Winter at 
 Hampstead, were very different men : there, 
 he considered the moments as precious for 
 work ; here, they were only precious for 
 enjoyment : there, he governed them ; here, 
 he yielded to them. A shade of impatience 
 mio'ht be detected in his manner at chain- 
 bers; nothing ruffled him at home. And 
 Mrs. Winter, accustomed as she had always 
 been to see only the sunny side of things, 
 ministered admirably to the happiness of all 
 around her, and particularly of her husband.
 
 TItEVETHLAN. 87 
 
 Thev and their eldest daughter Emily, a 
 blue-eved £ - irl with lio-ht hair, were in the 
 drawing-room, when Randolph and Helen 
 arrived. Before dinner was announced, 
 the orphans had forgotten all their soli- 
 citude. 
 
 And except that they talked with rather 
 too much preciseness, too much like a book 
 as people say ; they acquitted themselves 
 very well in the gentle stream of conver- 
 sation which their host kept tranquilly 
 flowing*. And by the time that Mrs. Win- 
 ter rose to retire, they felt that they had 
 been introduced to a new pleasure, that of 
 agreeable society. 
 
 " So, Mr. Morton," the lawyer then said, 
 u you wish to prepare yourself for our 
 English forum : as honourable an arena 
 as the Roman, although our advocates do 
 accept of fees. Are you acquainted with 
 the mysteries of initiation?" 
 
 Randolph referred to the old editions of 
 Blackstone and Burn. Mr. Winter appre-
 
 88 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 hended, but did not say, that there might 
 be something* to unlearn. 
 
 " Faith/' said he, "the process has more 
 to do with beef than with Blackstone ; you 
 eat your way, rather than read it. True, 
 the sig'n-posts and mile-stones are not to be 
 neglected, but you may arrive at the full 
 dignity of wig* and gown, without having 
 turned a leaf. I don't say that is the way 
 to turn a penny." 
 
 u It is with the last purpose that I aspire 
 to the dignity," Randolph said, " and very 
 much obliged to you shall I be for any 
 advice which may further it." 
 
 u And happy I shall be to give the best 
 I can, Mr. Morton," observed Winter. 
 " The first step is to enter at an Inn of 
 Court. There are four. Divers bits of 
 doggerel describe their respective merits. 
 Have you any predilection ?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Winter/' Randolph answered, 
 " none : I am ignorant of their distinguish- 
 ing* peculiarities."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 89 
 
 u Lincoln's Inn is the largest, Gray's the 
 smallest of the societies/' said "Winter. 
 The Temples are intermediate. The Mid- 
 dle famous for its fine hall, the Inner for 
 its fine garden. No well-defined profes- 
 sional advantages attaching* to any one. 
 It is a matter of whim. What say you?" 
 
 a One of the Temples/' replied Ran- 
 dolph, "and I prefer the garden to the 
 hall." 
 
 u So be it/' the law}^er said. u Any- 
 thing* but indecision. The Inner Temple 
 wins. Come down to town with me in the 
 morning, and I will introduce you. And 
 after that you must, in the first place, 
 work • and in the second place, work ; and 
 in the third place, work. Fill your glass, 
 Mr. Morton." 
 
 " The work should be directed, I sup- 
 pose," Randolph observed, obeying the in- 
 vitation. 
 
 "Certainly," said Winter. "But I'll 
 tell you what. Let me direct you for two
 
 90 TBEVETHLAN. 
 
 months or so. Take the run of my office. 
 See a little of the actual practice of the 
 law. And then you will go into a pleader's 
 chambers,, with a sense of the reality of 
 your business, which increases at once both 
 its interest and its profit." 
 
 In accepting- the offer thus made, Ean- 
 dolpli little thought how short lived its 
 fruits were destined to be. Man proposes, 
 Heaven disposes. There was a certain 
 poetry in the visions of Trevethlan Castle, 
 which veiled the real prosiness of the 
 orphans' scheme. They knew nothing* of 
 the world. And as they walked home that 
 evening* under the stars, and thought that 
 so they were shining upon their native 
 towers, the doubts of the morning* again 
 beset them, and they retired to rest with 
 foreboding hearts. 
 
 The next day Mr. Winter drove Ean- 
 dolph to Lincoln's Inn. u Now," said the 
 lawyer, when they alighted in Chancery 
 Lane, ''''that is the way to the Temple.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 91 
 
 Prowl about ; look at the garden, and the 
 dingy buildings around it. Ask for the 
 treasurer's office. There say you wish to 
 enter as a student for the bar. They'll 
 give you a paper. Bring- it to me. But 
 take your time. Be here again at one." 
 
 Obeying' these instructions, the neophyte 
 traversed the hurrying throng- of Fleet 
 Street, and passed under the ancient arch 
 that forms the portal of Inner Temple Lane, 
 not without a momentary recollection of 
 Dante's famous "All hope abandon, you 
 who enter here." He felt immediately that 
 he was in the toils ; law stationers on each 
 hand showed their red tape, and quills, and 
 parchment, polite slips of the latter pre- 
 senting* King* George's greeting to his 
 sheriff of what county you will j dapper 
 clerks were bustling along* with bundles of 
 paper ; every door-post was crowded with a 
 host of names, among which Randolph 
 might recognize some he had been used 
 to read in the newspaper. He passed
 
 92 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 under the porch of the church, recalling* 
 the days when the sword was more power- 
 ful than the pen ; read the inscription re- 
 cordino- the fire and rebuilding of the 
 cloister* and looked with respect on the 
 powdered wigs in the hairdresser's window. 
 He felt benumbed by the high, dismal, 
 worm-eaten building's, but was relieved 
 when the sound of falling* water attracted 
 his eye to the fountain, flinging* its column 
 of silver into the air amidst elms and 
 sycamores. Hastening towards this green 
 spot, he saw the hall of which Mr. Winter 
 had spoken, and proceeded to the stairs 
 leading* to the quiet little garden, one of the 
 pleasantest retreats in all London. Ran- 
 dolph gazed some time on this oasis in the 
 legal desert, and then turned to fulfil the 
 rest of his mission. And now he marked 
 the many sing-ular dials, fixed aloft against 
 the buildings, so that one or other was 
 always available, reminding* the denizens of, 
 the value of the minutes by their dry
 
 TREVETHLAN. 93 
 
 mottos, " Time and tide tarry for no man," 
 a Pereunt et imputantur/' they perish and 
 are laid to charge. Retracing* his steps, 
 he surveyed with pleasure the more spa- 
 cious garden which had decided his choice 
 of 'a society for his studentship. 
 
 The office which he sought was close at 
 hand, On making- his application he was 
 provided with a printed form, and in- 
 structed to fill up the blanks and return it. 
 With this he obtained admission to the 
 o-arden, and sat down in one of the alcoves 
 bv the river-side to examine the document. 
 Perplexity fell upon him as he read. Two 
 barristers were to certify that they knew 
 him, and believed him to be a gentleman. 
 The expression awoke all the pride of a 
 Trevethlan. 
 
 "Was my father, then, right?" he 
 thought, gazing moodily on the water. 
 (e Is this a course meet for one of our name ? 
 To skulk among men in disguise ? To beg 
 certificates of honour? Believed to be a
 
 94 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 gentleman ! Already my dream is fading* 
 away. Oh ! my own sister, would we were 
 back at Trevethlan ! Yet shall I vex you 
 too with my doubts? . . . Know me? Who 
 knows me? Who in London knows Ran- 
 dolph Morton ? " 
 
 Irresolute and half desponding, Randolph 
 returned to Mr. Winter's. That gentle- 
 man soon solved the difficulty implied in 
 the conclusion of the above reverie. " Come 
 with me," he said ; conducted the neophyte 
 to some neighbouring* chambers, presented 
 him to Mr. Flotsam, and told his errand. 
 u Happy to oblige a friend of } T ours, Win- 
 ter," said the conveyancer^ signing* the 
 paper; "hope Mr. Morton will prosper." 
 The second signature was still more a mat- 
 ter of form, Mr. Winter merely sending* the 
 paper to Mr. Jetsam, with his compliments. 
 " There," said he to Randolph, " now take 
 it back to the Temple ; refer to Mr. Flot- 
 sam as your acquaintance ; and in a week 
 or so y ou will hear of your admission."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 95 
 
 It was as the lawyer said. But the new 
 student received the announcement with 
 feelings very different from those he had so 
 long- cherished in his home by the sea.
 
 96 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 " Yon bosky dingle still the rustics name ; 
 'Twas there the blushing maid confessed her flame. 
 Down yon green lane they oft were seen to hie, 
 When evening slumbered on the western sky. 
 That blasted yew, that mouldering walnut bare, 
 Each bears mementos of the fated pair." 
 
 Kirke White. 
 
 Wilderness Gate was the most pic- 
 turesque, although not the principal en- 
 trance to the park of Pendarrel. The en- 
 closing- wallj formed of rough gray stones, 
 and coloured with mosses and ferns, there 
 swept inwards from the public road, leaving 
 a space of turf, usually occupied by the 
 geese of the neighbouring cottagers. The 
 gate was in the centre of the recess, and 
 opened on a long winding avenue of Scotch
 
 TKEVETHLAN. 97 
 
 iirs ; the branches of which met overhead, 
 and made the path slippery with their 
 fallen spines. On either hand the eye 
 mig'ht glance between their straight stems 
 to some open ground beyond, of uneven 
 surface, mostly covered with tall ferns, and 
 chequered with birch-trees. A streamlet 
 might be heard, but not seen, rippling 
 along- not far from the walk. Here and 
 there the antlers of a stao- would rise above 
 the herbage, and a hare or rabbit might 
 be occasionally seen to bound across an 
 exposed plot of grass. The scene wore an 
 air of neglect. The dead leaves were not 
 swept from the paths; the brambles ex- 
 tended their long shoots at pleasure ; the 
 ruggedness of the ground was the work 
 of nature. But the avenue wound gently 
 up an eminence ; the wood on each side 
 became deeper, until, on arriving at the 
 summit of a ridge, the visitor emerged 
 suddenly from the dark firs, and gazed 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 clown upon the trim plantations and nicely- 
 shorn lawns immediately surrounding* the 
 Hall. The portion of the park through 
 which he had passed was called the "Wilder- 
 ness, and gave its name to the gate by 
 which he entered. 
 
 Beside this gate, and close to the park- 
 wall, was the lodge which Mrs. Pendarrel 
 assigned as a dwelling to Maud Basset 
 and Michael Sinson. They had previously 
 resided at the farm-house occupied by the 
 Young man's father, the brother-in-law of 
 the hapless Margaret. But the gloomy 
 firs of Wilderness Lodge were more 
 congenial to the disposition of the old 
 woman than the cheerful garden of the 
 Priory Farm, and the idle life of a gate- 
 keeper suited Michael's habits better than 
 the activity of his father's employment. 
 The instructions also, which he received 
 from Mrs. Pendarrel, raised vague ideas of 
 future consequence in the young man's
 
 TREVETHLAN. 99 
 
 mind, and revived the hopes which had 
 originally sprung" from his connection with 
 the family of Trevethlan. His new mis- 
 tress discovered that he possessed some edu- 
 cation, the abiding- result of Polydore's 
 teachings and desired him to improve it, 
 and to attend to his appearance, hinting" 
 at the same time rather than saying*, that 
 he might unobtrusively watch the proceed- 
 ings at Trevethlan Castle, and report any 
 changes he detected. These orders grati- 
 fied his vanity, suited his meanness, and 
 raised his expectations. 
 
 But the departure of the orphans seemed 
 to deprive him of his occupation ; nothing- 
 transpired to contradict the newspaper 
 account of their intentions ; and, indeed, 
 these appeared so entirely natural, that a 
 suspicion of incorrectness could hardly arise. 
 None, at least, was likely to be suggested 
 in the country. But only a brief space 
 had elapsed, when a summons from Mrs. 
 
 TT o
 
 100 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 Pendarrelj requiring* young* Sinson to re- 
 pair immediately to the metropolis, dis- 
 turbed the serenity of Wilderness Lodge. 
 His grandmother exulted in the news. 
 Her onlv reading was in that fanatical 
 literature, the study of which is apt either 
 to find men mad, or to leave them so ; and 
 she was, besides, deeply versed in all the 
 local superstitions of the district. Such 
 lore had given her mind a sombre hue, and 
 inclined her to indulge in the practice of 
 vaticination. She had foretold a career of 
 distinction for her grandson, and she fancied 
 that he was now about to enter upon it. 
 On the eve of his departure, his mother 
 Cicely came to Wilderness Lodge to bid 
 him farewell. She did not share in Maud's 
 gratification. 
 
 " So," she said, sitting under the thatched 
 verandah, " Mercy Page may suit herself 
 now, I suppose ; and Edward Owen need 
 not fear another fall?"
 
 TREVETHLAN. 101 
 
 " Mercy should know her own mind 
 better/' said Michael. a She might have 
 had me long* ago, if she pleased ; 't is her 
 own fault if it 's too late now. Eut I don't 
 think Owen '11 win her, if I never try a fall 
 with him ao-ain." 
 
 " Let her 'bide/' muttered Maud - " let 
 her 'bide. What want we with the folks of 
 Trevethlan?" 
 
 u And what seeks my lady with you in 
 London, Michael ?" Cicely asked. 
 
 u I shall know when I get there, I dare 
 say/' he answered. " My lady's secrets are 
 mine." 
 
 Cicely sighed. 
 
 " I thought you might let us know/' she 
 said. 
 
 " What I know not myself. Some office, 
 my lady speaks of, I am to fit myself for." 
 
 " Ah ! my son/' continued his mother, 
 11 1 do hope you '11 not forget the country 
 as well as Mercy Pag-e. Life is wild in
 
 102 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 London, they say. Think of the poor 
 squire." 
 
 " Think of my winsome Margaret/' Maud 
 exclaimed fiercely. a Think of her that the 
 squire murdered ! Wild ! Na, na \ he 11 
 see the light." 
 
 Cicely was the only one of the family 
 exempt from that hatred of the Trevethlans, 
 which darkened the hue of the old woman's 
 otherwise harmless enthusiasm, and burnt 
 sullenly in her gTandson. She had not long" 
 said her parting* words, when Michael threw 
 on his hat, shook himself free from the de- 
 taining* grasp of old Maud, and walked briskly 
 away in the direction of Trevethlan. About 
 a mile from the castle, a rugged strip of 
 waste land skirted the edge of the cliff over 
 the beach, and supported a number of aged 
 thorns, stunted and bent by the sea-breezes. 
 It was to this spot that Michael turned his 
 steps. The landscape was growing gray 
 when he reached it, but there was yet
 
 TREVETHLAN. 103 
 
 sufficient light to discover the object he 
 sought. A few strides placed him by the 
 side of a young - girl. 
 
 u Mercy/' he said, in a low voice, " the 
 first at a tryst ! It is something new." 
 
 * The days are short/' replied the girl, 
 with affected indifference : u I should not 
 have waited. Besides, you are going* away, 
 so one does not care." 
 
 " Is that your farewell, Mercy?" Michael 
 asked. 
 
 "And why not?" she said, tossing her 
 head. " You are a fine gentleman : going 
 to London : to forget Mercy Page." 
 
 u Yes," answered Michael — his com- 
 panion started at the word — "to forget 
 the Mercy of to-night, but to remember 
 another — the Mercy of old days ; to forget 
 her conceited and wilful, to remember her 
 kind and winsome. You would not wish 
 me remember the first — would you, Mercy?" 
 The maiden said nothing in reply ; and
 
 104 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 Sinson, encouraged by her silence, drew her 
 with gentle force to a seat on a bank of 
 turf. 
 
 " Do you smell the wild thyme, Mercy ?" 
 he continued. a They call it a figure of 
 love, rewarding* with sweetness even what 
 bruises it. It is so I have answered all 
 your coldness. Mind you not the St. 
 John's Eve, when the folks had caught 
 you in the rope ? Who fought his way to 
 your help 1 And then you sat by my side 
 on this very bank under the hawthorn ; and 
 when I asked, might I woo you ? — you 
 know what you said. And have I ever 
 failed in my suit ? Did I ever court an- 
 other? When you were cross, and would 
 not dance with me, did I seek any one 
 else ? Whose colours did I wear when I 
 threw, one after another, all the best of 
 Penwith ? Yet, from that first evening, 
 never could I win a civil word. And now 
 I am called far away, Mercy will give me
 
 TREVETHLAN. 105 
 
 no hope. When I come back, she will he 
 another's." 
 
 " No, " said the maiden, and stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Then why will she not be mine now ?" 
 asked Michael. " Why will she not g-o 
 with me to London ) there to be wed, and 
 live tog-ether in happiness ? Shall it not 
 be so, dear Mercy ? Alone in the great 
 town, I shall always be thinking* of Mercy 
 — be thinking* that she may be listening* to 
 Edward Owen, whom he has often thrown 
 for her sake " 
 
 "And shalt throw him again," inter- 
 rupted a manly voice. " Shalt throw him 
 again, or take a fall thyself. " 
 
 The individual whom Michael had named 
 stood before the astonished pair. Sinson 
 sprang* to his feet. Was it the duskiness of 
 the evening*, or passion, that made his face 
 so dark? 
 
 ie Owen," he said, in a fierce whisper,
 
 106 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 "thou wert best stand off now, or mayst 
 get more than a fall." 
 
 " Come on !" cried his antagonist, without 
 attempting to disguise his anger. " Come 
 on, villain ! I mi ready for you." 
 
 Fortunately perhaps for Michael, who 
 was not in a mood to fight or wrestle fairly, 
 Mercy interposed. 
 
 " Hoity-toity ! " she cried ; " pray, Master 
 Edward, where did you learn to give 
 such names to your betters ? And where 
 did you learn to follow honest people's 
 steps, and watch them? And think you, 
 my — do you hear ? — my Michael is to fight 
 with such as you? Go home, and learn 
 manners." 
 
 "Oh, Mercy!" cried Owen, "you know 
 not what you say. You know not what be 
 means. But my part is done. Remem- 
 ber, Edward Owen's is not the only heart 
 you '11 break. And so, good-night." 
 
 He turned and walked steadily away.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 107 
 
 Michael endeavoured to resume the thread 
 of his previous discourse. But his lis- 
 tener's mood was entirely changed. 
 
 a Saucy fellow !" she cried ; laughing- and 
 looking* after Owen ; u he 's a rare one to 
 come and rate me. But do you know, Mr. 
 Michael, I believe he 's a better man than 
 you. There, that will do. To London to 
 be married ! No, Mr. Michael, not quite 
 so far, if you please. Oh, yes, of course. 
 D' ye think I like fighting* ? There. Good- 
 night, Mr. Michael. No. If you follow 
 me, I shall call him back." 
 
 She disengaged herself from her suitor, 
 and tripped lightly through the gloom in 
 the footsteps of Owen. 
 
 Michael watched her retreating form 
 with a scowl darker even than that with 
 which he rose to meet the intruder upon his 
 courtship. u Shalt rue the day" — he mut- 
 tered, "shalt rue the day that saw thee 
 cross my wooing. A better man than me,
 
 108 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 did she say? Look to thyself, Master 
 Edward Owen." 
 
 With a heaving- breast and an irregular 
 gait, Sinson paced to and fro for some time 
 along- the edg*e of the cliff, and then turned 
 moodily to Wilderness Lodg-e. The next 
 day he departed on his way to London.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 109 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " II y a dans un mariage malheureux une force qui depasse 
 toutes les autres peiues de ce moude." 
 
 Madame de Stael. 
 
 The summons which called Michael Sinson 
 from the far-west to the metropolis, was the 
 result of impulse rather than of settled de- 
 sign on the part of his patroness. Quick 
 in reading- the characters of all who crossed 
 her path, in her first brief colloquy with the 
 rustic, Mrs. Pendarrel detected his ani- 
 mosity towards Trevethlan ; and in his sly 
 but fierce countenance, in his well-built but 
 cringing- form, she saw the traits of one 
 who would not be scrupulous in his mode of 
 attacking* an enemy. From the very first, 
 she suspected that the announced conti-
 
 110 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 nental tour of the orphans was a ruse, and 
 the notion gained strength whenever it re- 
 curred to her mind. But if they were still 
 in England, they were probably abiding* in 
 London. She caught at the idea, and 
 thought suddenly it would be well to have 
 some one at hand who knew them per- 
 sonally. 
 
 Suspiciousness is natural to tyranny : 
 spies are the agents of despots. Love of 
 rule, said by the fairy to be the universal 
 passion of the sex, was undoubtedly domi- 
 nant in Mrs. Pendarrel. But it is a desire 
 which, at least in youth, will find one 
 powerful rival. And so she proved. The 
 haughty beauty kept her affection down 
 with a strong hand, but it stung her never- 
 theless. The wound rankled ever in her 
 heart ; and many a time and oft she 
 cast a rapid glance upon her life, and 
 in momentary weakness compared what 
 was indeed a dark reality, with a visionary
 
 TREVETHLAN. Ill 
 
 possibility whose very glory made her 
 sad. 
 
 But though such reflections mio-ht sad- 
 den, they were far from softening- her. 
 They always terminated in the conviction 
 that she had been ill used. As years sped 
 b}^ and each showed her more plainly the 
 vacancy of her existence, this feeling- deep- 
 ened into a quenchless thirst for reveng-e. 
 Was she to be the only victim ? Man had 
 a hundred means of quelling- or forgetting- a 
 hapless passion. Should he who had so 
 lightly forsaken her — should he triumph 
 while her heart was broken ? 
 
 He threw the g-ame into her hands, and 
 died. Towards his children she entertained 
 at the moment no very definite feeling-. 
 She had scarcely thoug-ht of them. But 
 she had long cherished the idea of becoming- 
 mistress of Trevethlan Castle, and at last 
 she deemed the hour was arrived. Met 
 according to her expectations, she would
 
 112 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 probably have been kind to the orphans. 
 Spurned, as she felt it, from their door, 
 hatred burnt again fiercely in her breast. 
 And it was quickened by a strange jealousy 
 she conceived against their mother, whom 
 she had only despised before, but now 
 bitterly envied as the wife of her lover. 
 
 Could domestic happiness be expected 
 with such a parent ? Alas, for the answer 
 which would come from Mrs. Pendarrel's 
 children ! The angry passions which raged 
 in her breast gave an unmotherly hardness 
 to her love of rule. And why were they 
 daughters ? He had a son. She, the 
 wretched peasant, was the mother of a son. 
 Thus did the effects of Esther's blio-hted 
 affection fall even upon her offspring. But 
 Gertrude rebelled from early childhood 
 against the capricious rigour with which 
 she was treated. She succumbed at last, 
 however, and that in the most important 
 event of her life. In obeying the mater-
 
 TKEVETHLAN. 113 
 
 nal command to many Mr. Winston, she 
 thought she stooped to conquer. Gertrude 
 Winston would be her own mistress. And 
 so she was ; but at what a price ! Ay, 
 what an account must they render, who 
 degrade marriage into a convenience ! who 
 banish the household deities, so dear even 
 to ancient paganism, from their place beside 
 the hearth, and fill it with furies and 
 fiends ! who know not the meaning* of our 
 sweet English name of home ! Five years 
 had not reconciled Gertrude to a union 
 in which her heart had no share. Her 
 husband seemed to her cold, prudent, and 
 dull. She was enthusiastic, generous, and 
 clever. He was easy and good-natured, 
 and his very submissiveness fretted her. 
 He was, or pretended to be, fond of meta- 
 physics, and was always engaged upon 
 some terribly ponderous tome, while she 
 participated in the popular fury for Byron 
 and Scott. He liked a level road, and 
 vol. i. I
 
 114 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 a a'ood inn : she delighted in romantic 
 scenery, and was half careless about the 
 accommodation. They continually pulled 
 against each other ; but the husband was 
 insensible to the chain which galled the 
 wife to the quick. Yet Mr. Winston 
 possessed qualities, which only required to 
 be known to be beloved, and if Gertrude 
 was ignorant of them, it was in no small 
 degree her own fault. And she had not, 
 like Mrs. Pendarrel, to contend with the 
 memory of a previous attachment. 
 
 But, however bitter might be the feelings 
 with which she contemplated her own 
 position, there was one dear affection which 
 she cherished with the utmost fondness. 
 Nothing could exceed her solicitude to 
 preserve her sister from the snares into 
 which she had fallen herself. She kept 
 a watchful eye upon all the society espe- 
 cially favoured by her mother, and observed 
 Mildred's feelings with the warmest inte-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 115 
 
 rest. And she was met in the same spirit. 
 Sisterly love was the one humanizing- tie in 
 that broken family. 
 
 Each sister possessed great personal 
 attractions * but though their features were 
 strikingly alike, the character written on 
 their faces was by no means the same. 
 Gertrude's showed haughty indifference, 
 Mildred's wishful thoughtfulness. The 
 elder's smile was generally sarcastic, the 
 younger's sympathetic. Knowledge of her 
 situation, and consciousness that others 
 knew it, flashed in defiance from the dark 
 eyes of Mrs. Winston, and lent a liardiesse 
 to her tongue, which occasionally seemed 
 unfeminine. Trust and hope beamed from 
 beneath the long lashes of Miss Pendarrel, 
 and her speech was commonly soft and 
 gentle ; but in society she was lively and 
 witty, and there was a spirit lurking in her 
 heart, which might one day confound even 
 
 her mother. 
 
 t o
 
 116 TREVETIILAN. 
 
 Coming- one day about this time to May 
 Fair, Gertrude found a gentleman of her 
 acquaintance sitting with Mrs. Pendarrel 
 and Mildred. 
 
 " Dear mamma/' Mrs. Winston said, as 
 she entered, " I am come to claim Mildred 
 for an hour's drive. — Delighted to see you, 
 Mr. Melcomb. You can settle a little dis- 
 pute for me. 'Tis about the colour of the 
 Valdespini's eyes." 
 
 11 1 would prefer to leave it to Mr. 
 Winston/' answered Melcomb. " He has 
 some strange theory about colours, that 
 they are in the eyes of the seer and not in 
 the seen. It is dangerous to speak after 
 such an authority. Your best referee is at 
 home, Mrs. Winston." 
 
 " Not so," said the lady, a for he is 
 one of the disputants. One said blue, 
 another grey. None agreed. Some one 
 suggested a reference to you, and it 
 was voted unanimously. c He knows the
 
 TREVETHLAN. 117 
 
 colour of all the eyes at the opera/ they 
 said." 
 
 (i No one can mistake that of Mrs. Win- 
 ston's/ 7 Melcomb said, rising* and bowing-. 
 "My dear Mrs. Pendarrel, suffer me to 
 take my leave." 
 
 (i 'Now, Mildred dear, away and make 
 ready/' said Gertrude, smiling", and her 
 sister immediately complied with the wish. 
 
 (i Mrs. Winston !" exclaimed the mother. 
 
 ic Yes, dear mamma," Gertrude answered. 
 
 "Am I the mistress of my own house?" 
 
 11 1 presume so, dear mamma." 
 
 " Then note me. My visitors shall not 
 be affronted here by you." 
 
 " Surely, mamma, Mr. Melcomb would 
 thank me for a compliment. Every one 
 knows he is proud of his reputation." 
 
 a Every one knows your sarcasm," said 
 Mrs. Pendarrel, " and I, at least, perfectly 
 understand your meaning-. Once for all, 
 Mrs. Winston, I will suffer no interference
 
 118 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 with my intentions for Mildred. Why, I 
 almost think you would not have her set- 
 tled at all. Very sisterly indeed, Gertrude. 
 Yet in your situation " 
 
 " Mother/' exclaimed Mrs. "Winston, 
 "not another word. But listen. Bather 
 than see Mildred settled even as I am, 
 without offence, as without affection, I 
 know not to what I would not doom her ! 
 Bather than see her wedded to one like 
 Melcomb, would she might die in my 
 sisrht ! You know me, mother. She is 
 here." 
 
 " There 's no danger, Gertrude," said 
 Mrs. Pendarrel, as Mildred entered ; " au 
 revoir." 
 
 The sisters then descended the stairs. 
 As they passed through the hall, they 
 might have observed the presence of a 
 young* man, not in liver}-, plainly dressed, 
 having- an appearance of mavraise honte 
 not often imputable to the denizens of
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 119 
 
 London. They might have noticed that 
 after the first glimpse he caught of Mil- 
 dred, his gaze was rivetted upon her face, 
 and the colour deepened in his cheeks as 
 she approached and swept by him, almost 
 brushing* him with the trimming; of her 
 mantle. But in fact, they saw nothing of 
 the kind, passing along in polite indifference 
 to Mrs. Winston's carriage. 
 
 " And so, Mildred/' that lady said, as 
 they drove away, u another admirer ! You 
 are growing quite a coquette." 
 
 "Not exactly/' answered the younger 
 sister. fe But I like to amuse myself with 
 the vanity of men. After all, I wish I 
 were married." 
 
 Mrs. Winston sighed. (t At another 
 time, Mildred dear/' she said, u I might 
 rally you for the avowal. But beware. 
 Marriage is a sad lottery." 
 
 u You are happy, Gertrude," said Mil- 
 dred with some surprise.
 
 120 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 Mrs. Winston looked out of her window. 
 
 ce Melcomb will never make a woman 
 happy/' she said, after a pause. 
 
 "He will certainly never make me 
 happ} r /' exclaimed Mildred, half laughing*. 
 u But really, Gertrude, how silly I am ! 
 What does Mr. Melcomb care about 
 me ! " 
 
 "Very little, I dare say, not to flatter 
 you, dear. Very little about Mildred : a 
 good deal about Mildred's money. And 
 perhaps mamma would not care to add 
 Tolpeden to Pendarrel. You know they 
 join. There's something for your cogita- 
 tion." 
 
 For a while the sisters were silent. 
 Then the younger spoke. 
 
 " Dearest Gertrude," she said, u believe 
 me I will never marry without — believe me, 
 I have not yet seen anyone whom I would 
 marry. When I spoke just now, I hardly 
 knew what I meant."
 
 TREVETIILAN. 121 
 
 Poor Gertrude knew her sister's meaning 1 
 perfectly well. She recollected the weight 
 of the chain from which she had recklessly 
 made her escape, without calculating the 
 cost. 
 
 "Mildred/' said she. "let me ever be 
 your confidante as now." 
 
 And so in a less serious mood, the sisters 
 pursued their way round the November 
 dreariness of Hyde Park, at the season 
 when — 
 
 " Remote, unfriended, solitary, slow, 
 Scarce one lone horseman paces Rotten Row." 
 
 The stranger they had passed in Mrs. 
 Pendarrel's vestibule was Michael Sinson, 
 newly arrived in London, and come with 
 proper diligence to pay his respects to his 
 patroness. The young- countryman was 
 completely overwhelmed by the vision of 
 the two fine ladies who swept by him. 
 But his wonder was not indiscriminatmg-,
 
 122 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 and it was Mildred who fixed his gaze. 
 He had seen her at Pendarrel, but not with 
 the same impression. In kind and familiar 
 intercourse with the tenantry^ she was a 
 very different person. Here she seemed 
 almost a creature of another sphere. With 
 her mien, ^so quiet and yet so proud ; her 
 step, scarcely touching- the ground, yet 
 appearing* to spurn it ; her repose, exhibit- 
 ing* a security which it was impossible to 
 disturb. Michael followed her with his 
 eyes until she had entered the carriage 
 and continued looking* vacantly in the same 
 direction, even after the hall-door was 
 closed. A tap on the shoulder roused him 
 from his abstraction, and he followed a 
 servant into the presence of Mrs. Pen- 
 darrel. 
 
 The interview was of no great duration. 
 Sinson's patroness was pleased to notice 
 with praise that he was improved in ap- 
 pearance and address ; and asked him a
 
 TREVETHLAN. 123 
 
 few questions respecting the country, which 
 he answered to her satisfaction. She made 
 no allusion to the peculiar services she ex- 
 pected from him, hut referred him to her 
 husband at his office for information re- 
 specting" his promised employment. It was 
 necessary to know a little more of his 
 temper and disposition before making* him 
 her confidential agent. 
 
 The new Cymon, as in one sense the 
 young' rustic might be called, quitted the 
 house in May Fair, filled with vague admi- 
 ration and ambition. In the fascinations 
 surrounding Miss Pendarrel, he recognised 
 a power superior to anything within his 
 experience ; and he framed fantastic ex- 
 pectations from the career he supposed 
 opening before him. But the lover of 
 Iphigenia had concealed a noble heart 
 under a rugged exterior, and his passion 
 developed its high qualities. Michael Sin-
 
 124 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 son was a very different character from 
 Boccaccio's hero. 
 
 And was Mercy Page already forgotten ? 
 — Happy, perchance, for the too faithful 
 maiden, if so it were.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Nam veluti pueri trepidant, atque omnia ccecis 
 In tcncbris inetuunt, sic nos in luce timemus 
 Interdurn, nihilo qua? sunt metuenda magis, quaui 
 Quae pucri in tenebris pavitant, finguntque futura." 
 
 Lucket. 
 
 As children tremble, and in darkness quake 
 At ail things near, so we too sometimes shake 
 At daylight fancies, vain as those which scare 
 Children in darkness with foreboding fear. 
 
 They were not halcyon days in England 
 that succeeded the termination of the Ions* 
 struggle for liberty and existence, which, 
 during- more than twenty years, had taxed 
 to the uttermost all the resources of the 
 country ; and which, as a whole, must 
 always he regarded by Britons with pride 
 and exultation. We had given peace to
 
 126 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 the world j but we were unable to preserve 
 tranquillity at home. War is } at the best, 
 a bad education, if sometimes a necessary 
 one, for a young 1 people ; and a mature 
 nation will find that its costs are not onlv 
 
 mi 
 
 money and men. It is a lottery on the 
 grandest scale, both of fortune and life, 
 inducing' waste of the one, and recklessness 
 of the other \ removing*, therefore, in a 
 great measure, the vulgar motives of action, 
 and importing a general laxity of principle. 
 In various ways a long* war produces an 
 intestinal feverishness, aggravating any 
 incidental disorder, and favourable to the 
 designs of incendiaries. 
 
 The peace was followed by a general fall 
 in wag*es. It was a result beyond the 
 control of legislation 5 and it would pro- 
 bably have been unfelt, if prices also had 
 fallen, as naturally they should have done. 
 But the legislature was able in part to pre- 
 vent this decline, and exercised its power in
 
 TREVETHLAN. 127 
 
 favour of agricultural produce. Flaming- 
 homesteads and shattered machinery soon 
 proclaimed the discontent of the labouring- 
 population. 
 
 Political agitators sought to turn this 
 discontent into disaffection. Parliamentary 
 reform was demanded Avith a considerable 
 show of violence. There was much fierce 
 speaking- ; numbers of clubs started into 
 existence ; individuals disfigured themselves 
 with strange costumes ; mobs collected in 
 great multitudes. Presently budding La- 
 fayettes discussed the most convenient 
 length for pikes, and would-be Buonapartes 
 mustered their platoons by moonlio-ht. 
 
 There was a good deal that was wicked, 
 and not a little that was grotesque, in these 
 proceedings. One party persisted in seeing 
 only the white side of the shield, and de- 
 clared they were merely ridiculous ; another 
 had eyes only for the black, and exagge- 
 rated their danger. Nothing is so fatal to
 
 128 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 the cause of civil liberty as the abuse of 
 the privileges which it confers. The nation 
 consents to wear chains, to control a rebel- 
 lious member. Having* the gout in its 
 great toe, the body politic restricts its in- 
 dulgences. It was so at the period of 
 which we are treating. The real amount 
 of danger is a question which the candour 
 of posterity will admit could hardly be 
 discussed with tranquillity at the time. 
 Certain it is, that alarm was very great 
 and very general, and under its pressure 
 the nation resigned for a season some of its 
 dearest birth-rights. Personal liberty was 
 endangered by the suspension of the Habeas 
 Corpus Act 5 the press was shackled j the 
 right of meeting was limited. Arrests 
 were made far and wide. A north-country 
 squire, trotting quietly along upon his hack 
 to meet the hounds, was swept off to jail, 
 instead of sweeping after the fox, suspected 
 of a design to raise the shepherds. It was
 
 TREVETHLAN. 129 
 
 a mistake, and it is probable that such 
 were not rare. The practice of receiving- 
 information from spies, and still more the 
 air of mystery assumed by those in au- 
 thority, multiplied the apprehensions which 
 might justly be excited by any tumultuous 
 proceeding's. 
 
 Cornelius Peach was one of those who 
 were willing- to believe the alarm to be in 
 the main unfounded, and he used good- 
 humouredly to quiz his sister for the 
 timidity with which she adopted every 
 rumour of the day. The worthy clerk was 
 clearly in some matters a follower of the 
 philosopher of Abdera. He very much 
 preferred laughter to tears ; regarded public 
 affairs with a lofty disdain, so long* as his 
 roast, boiled, or hashed was ready at the 
 right time ; lived in a Utopia of his own, 
 and was more likely to die of seeing an ass 
 eating figs than of any ordinary calamity. 
 He could not understand why an individual 
 
 VOL. I. k
 
 130 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 should fret himself concerning- parliamentary 
 corruption, tyranny of government, abuse 
 of patronage, or any other stalking-horse 
 of sedition. No one had attempted to 
 bribe him ; he felt indifferently free ; he was 
 a candidate for no place • he had no vote for 
 anything, and rejoiced that he had not, 
 His even cheerfulness was wont to make 
 his friends declare, that their Peach was all 
 sunny side- there were no signs of shade 
 about him. 
 
 His lodo-er was of a less contented mood : 
 the symptoms of effervescence had assumed 
 a somewhat menacing aspect around his 
 home. For some time much disquiet had 
 prevailed among the miners of Somerset- 
 shire, and the same was now rapidly spread- 
 in o* amonsf their Cornish brethren, from 
 Redruth to St. Ives. Minor outrages were 
 of no uncommon occurrence. The dread 
 which Miss Peach seemed to entertain of 
 seeing* a modern Jack Straw encamped on
 
 TREVETHLAN. 131 
 
 Hampstead Heath; was felt on better 
 grounds in the far-west; and caused tre- 
 pidation among- the tea-sipping* gossips of 
 Kerrier and Penwith. So the orphans 
 learnt from the letters of Polydore Riches. 
 And they were made rather anxious by 
 perceivings that the good chaplain seemed 
 in writings to disguise the real amount of 
 his apprehensions. Often in reading* his 
 missives^ did Randolph and Helen turn their 
 thoughts fondly towards Trevethlan; and 
 wish they had never left the towers by 
 the sea. 
 
 And in the brother such yearnings were 
 quickened b}^ an ever-increasing discontent 
 with his position. This feeling had soon 
 driven him from "Winter's chambers; and he 
 was now reading with Mr. Travers, an 
 eminent special pleader. But dissatisfac- 
 tion was again creeping* over him. It was 
 true he did not neglect his studies, and he 
 had duly eaten his dinners to keep Michael- 
 
 K 2
 
 132 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 mas Term. Surely there is no fear that 
 any of our old institutions to which a 
 dinner is attached will wholly die. There 
 is a strength in the British appetite, 
 against which utilitarianism may struggle 
 in vain, till hunger and thirst are no more. 
 So at the Inns of Court. The exercises, 
 and moots, and even the revels have 
 vanished, but the dinners remain. Attend- 
 ance on the former has been commuted into 
 fines to maintain the latter. And lono- 
 may they endure, those social meeting's, 
 where many a lasting friendship is formed, 
 and the bonds of brotherhood cemented, 
 which in England unite an order, declared 
 by D'Aguesseau, aussi ancien que la magis- 
 trature, aussi noble que la vertu, aussi 
 necessaire que la justice. 
 
 As a novice, Randolph was partly inter- 
 ested and partly disconcerted on his intro- 
 duction to these assemblies. He felt a 
 reverence for the old hall, standing on the
 
 TREVETHLAN. 133 
 
 site of that of the knights whose dust 
 reposed in the neighbouring" church. He 
 looked with respect on the coats of arms of 
 the successive treasurers, emblazoned on 
 the oak panelling' of the walls, and sub- 
 scribed with many a name of high distinc- 
 tion. On the dais, beneath the portraits of 
 Littleton and Coke, sat some of the leading- 
 advocates of the day, partaking a more 
 luxurious repast than that allotted to the 
 occupants of the floor below. And on the 
 opposite side to the young student were the 
 juniors of the bar, men who had risen, were 
 rising, had not begun to rise, and never 
 would rise. 
 
 It was all curious and new. The very 
 gown in which Eandolph dined, rustled on 
 his shoulders with a forensic feeling*. The 
 repast was apportioned to messes of four, 
 all of which had precisely the same fare. 
 The attendants were called paniers ; be- 
 cause — an enemy has suggested — supported
 
 134 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 by donkeys. The platters were of Peter 
 Piper's metal, and the cups were earthen- 
 ware. As at the table of Prior's poco- 
 curante couple — 
 
 "Their ale was strong, their wine was port, 
 Their meal was large, their grace was short." 
 
 Trifles all these: forgotten perhaps by 
 the fortunate lawyer, whose clerk groans 
 under the weig-ht of his brief-bag-; ridi- 
 culed by the disappointed man, whose early 
 clients have long* disappeared; but inter- 
 esting* and entertaining- to the neophyte, 
 whose ambition foresees the career of the 
 first, whose self-reliance is too strong- to 
 fear the fate of the second. 
 
 These last were the feelino-s which had 
 inspired Randolph in the solitude of Tre- 
 vethlan Castle, and conjured up those airy 
 visions which seemed so fair in the sisrht of 
 himself and his sister. The ve^ first en- 
 counter with the world had dimmed the 
 prospect for a moment, and the brother's
 
 TEEVETHLAN. 135 
 
 subsequent intercourse with it confirmed 
 rather than diminished his disappointment. 
 It was not that he was disheartened by 
 perceiving' how very inadequate an idea he 
 had formed of the labour necessary to . 
 attain his object. The long- rows of law- 
 calf on Mr. Travers's shelves had no terrors 
 for him. Nor was it that he felt as yet 
 any decided uneasiness at living" under a 
 feigned name. He had never for an in- 
 stant imagined it was wrongs and it had his 
 father's sanction. Yet this circumstance 
 mis'ht be a chief source of his discontent. 
 He had not known the levelling- tendency 
 of a public school; nor the freedom of col- 
 leg-e. From those early lessons in the pic- 
 ture-gallery at Trevethlam, he had silently 
 grown up in the consciousness that he 
 should be the head of an ancient race, and 
 perhaps, in building* his castle in the air ; he 
 regarded himself as an architect in the 
 midst of masons. He never thought of
 
 136 TEEVETHLAN. 
 
 himself as Morton, humble and unknown, 
 but as the representative of a high family, 
 recognized and honoured. 
 
 So Mr. Griffith was right, and Polydore 
 Riches wrong*. But the worthy chaplain 
 was in no fault. No education could have 
 prevailed against the circumstances of the 
 case. A youth spent in isolation and 
 reverie, is almost certain to lead to a man- 
 hood of irresolution. The habit of think- 
 ing* becomes a curse, when it is developed 
 too early. Such precociousness is apt to 
 result in a purely negative character. This 
 was the misfortune of Randolph. And 
 although he carefully pursued his studies, "' 
 and concealed his disquietude from Helen, 
 he often sighed for the peace of his home, 
 and' sometimes even thought of abandoning 
 his scheme, and returning* thither. 
 
 The same feelings made him distant and 
 reserved in his intercourse with the men 
 in Hall and at Mr. Travers's chambers.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 137 
 
 He had no sympathy with their buoyancy, 
 and he disliked their familiarity. There 
 was, however, one of the latter, with whom 
 he grew gradually intimate, having- been 
 introduced to him by Mr. Winter. Sey- 
 mour Rereworth was a man of calm but 
 decided opinions, of quiet and diligent 
 habits, of polished manners, and of great 
 attainments. He possessed also the advan- 
 tages which Randolph missed so much, 
 having been educated at Eton, and having 
 obtained high honours at college. Look- 
 ing- to his profession for distinction more 
 than actual maintenance, he earnestly and 
 steadily pursued his aim, never revolting" 
 from the weary drudgery, never disheart- 
 ened by the thorny intricacies, through 
 which the lawyer is doomed to plod in his 
 way to eminence. Very particular in his 
 choice of friends, he was interested by the 
 mixture of enthusiasm and embarrassment 
 which he detected in Randolph, and sought
 
 X38 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 his friendship. Where llereworth sought, 
 he won. And he was of great service to 
 his companion, supplying- his want of know- 
 ledge of the world with his own, which was 
 of the best kind ; not consisting- in a fami- 
 liarity with knavery and vice, but able to 
 foil the one and repel the other ; and ex- 
 celling- in all those qualities which are com- 
 prised in the word, tact. He had a large 
 acquaintance in society; was himself very 
 well connected; was always a welcome 
 guest, and, when he chose to throw away 
 an evening, had always an invitation avail- 
 able. 
 
 Him did Eandolph once or twice, during 
 the winter, persuade to come and spend 
 an evening- at Hampstead. And it must 
 be confessed that Seymour paid his second 
 visit at least as willingly as his first. If 
 he liked the brother, he no less admired 
 the sister. He mused sometimes on the 
 circumstances of so singular, he might say
 
 TREVETHLAN. 139 
 
 so romantic, a pair. Helen's dark and 
 gentle eyes, and soft and pleasant tones, 
 haunted him occasionally in his studies, 
 and kept his pen suspended in the midst 
 of many a tedious draught. But Rere- 
 worth was not a man to fall in love in 
 a hurry. 
 
 For Helen, she was always glad to see 
 him. In spite of all her brother's precau- 
 tions, she sometimes detected the gloom 
 and discontent which hung upon his brow, 
 and she saw that Rereworth's society 
 always charmed them away. Her own life 
 was so tranquil and uniform that she had 
 soon ceased to regret the quiet of Treveth- 
 lan, and she roamed about the vicinity of 
 Hampstead, seeking a spot she might liken 
 to Merlin's Cave, and only occasionally dis- 
 turb ed by the letters of Polydore Riches.
 
 140 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Romeo. — What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand 
 
 Of yonder Knight ? 
 
 Servant. — I know not, sir. 
 
 Romeo. — 0, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! 
 
 Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night, 
 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : 
 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 So the winter passed on. Christmas might 
 remind the orphans of a custom which pre- 
 vailed in the Cornwall of old times, and 
 which may possibly still survive in some 
 localities, when the family of each home- 
 stead bore a bowl of cider in jocund pro- 
 cession to their orchard, and, selecting- the 
 most respectable apple-tree, splashed his 
 trunk with the bright liquor, and wished
 
 TREVETHLAN. 141 
 
 him g-ood luck in the comino- season. 
 u Would/' exclaimed Cornelius Peachy with 
 great miction, when Helen told him the 
 story, " would that I had been born in 
 some strange, half-barbarous land ! These 
 gTeat towns kill all good customs. Even 
 what little carol-singing* there is, is a mere 
 trade." 
 
 Christmas passed, and the new year was 
 destined to introduce Helen to another 
 order of singing-. Thirty years ago the 
 London season began earlier than at pre- 
 sent. January was not over, when a note 
 from Mrs. Winter invited the brother and 
 sister to accompany her to the opera. A 
 vao-ue excitement rose in Helen's breast, 
 and sparkled in her eyes, as she gave the 
 note to Eandolph. She felt that she should 
 like to go, but a certain shyness made her 
 timid. She watched her brother's face 
 while he glanced over the invitation, and 
 saw with some regret that he did not par-
 
 142 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 take her anticipations. But he said that 
 it was very kind of Mrs. Winter ; and that 
 of course they would go. 
 
 On the appointed evening- the lawyer's 
 carriage called for the orphans, and they 
 joined him and his wife. It was a gloomy 
 ride. The night was foggy and dark. The 
 mist condensed on the windows, and per- 
 mitted nothing to be seen hut the general 
 glare of the lamps. This sort of isolation, 
 and the continuous rumble of the carriage, 
 suited Randolph's mood. He was haunted 
 by forebodings of evil. He was angry 
 with himself for accepting the invitation. 
 He felt an indefinite fear of the crowd with 
 which he was about to mingle. It was not 
 as Morton that he ought to appear in 
 public. Yet should his selfish pride debar 
 Helen of the offered amusement? He 
 leant back in his corner of the carriage, 
 abstracted and silent. 
 
 His sister on the other hand was gay
 
 TREVETHLAN. 143 
 
 and excited. She kept up a lively con- 
 versation with Mr. and Mrs. Winter, and 
 peered through the window at what was 
 to her an unknown world. So it was until 
 the carriage turned a corner, and entered a 
 broader and better-lio-hted thoroughfare than 
 those it had traversed previously. Its speed 
 abated : it even stopped — were they there ? 
 No, it moves again: papers are pressed 
 against the glasses : another pause, and 
 another advance : and now Mr. Winter 
 has lowered his window, the door is opened, 
 the steps let down, and before Helen has 
 time to think, she finds herself leaning 
 upon his arm, and ascending- a spacious 
 staircase. She looks round, and sees her 
 brother and Mrs. Winter close behind. 
 
 A few minutes more, and she stood in 
 the front of a box, and gazed on a vast 
 area, dimly lighted by a circle of small 
 lustres immediately beneath her, and an 
 immense chandelier far above. Thev were
 
 144 TItEVETHLAN. 
 
 very early 5 but few boxes were occupied, 
 the foot-lights were not raised, and the 
 orchestra was nearly empty. The dark 
 green of the great curtain seemed almost 
 black in the gloom; Helen asked Mrs. 
 Winter if it were not very dark. 
 
 " Ah ! wait a moment," said that lady. 
 
 And in fact, even as she spoke, a row of 
 bright lamps rose in front of the curtain, 
 and a flood of splendour from the central 
 chandelier irradiated the whole house, dis- 
 playing the occupants of the boxes, as por- 
 traits set in frames of rich crimson. A 
 rustle of conversation murmured from the 
 pit, but was soon lost in the confused sounds 
 which came from the orchestra, now rapidly 
 filling. With a wild kind of surprise Helen 
 listened to those discordant tones, and noted 
 how by degrees they melted into harmony 
 with the leader's long-drawn note. At 
 length there was silence ; a gentleman with 
 a small wand took his place at a desk in
 
 TIIEVETHLAN. 145 
 
 front of the musicians, talking; and laughing* 
 with those near him • a little bell rang- behind 
 the curtain ) and after three taps of the 
 wand, the orchestra whirled away into the 
 overture to an opera then new to a London 
 audience, never to become antiquated. 
 
 The foot-lights sank, and the great green 
 curtain rose. The stage was nearly dark. 
 A droll-looking' personage came stealthily 
 forward, bowing* in acknowledgment of the 
 applause, or of the laughter, which greeted 
 his appearance. Helen laughed, without 
 knowing- why. She had a book, but she 
 was too much absorbed to consult it, and 
 kept her eyes fixed on the stage. The 
 droll-looking- man sang- a whimsical com- 
 plaint, and retreated from approaching- foot- 
 steps. There was a struggle between a 
 gentleman and a lady, interrupted by an 
 old man in a night-cap. The old man was 
 killed. There was passionate lamentation 
 over his bodv. There were scenes, of which 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 Helen scarcely knew whether they were 
 comic or serious. Then came a. rural fes- 
 tival which raised her spirits • the gentle- 
 man she had seen at first, now courted one 
 of the country gills ; hand in hand they 
 quitted the stage, amidst a hurricane of 
 applause. But Helen was unconscious of 
 the enthusiasm around her, so strongly was 
 she impressed by the music. She had 
 heard Ambrogetti and Foclor sing La ci 
 darem. 
 
 The duet was repeated with nearly the 
 same effect. And for the novices, for Ean- 
 dolph as well as Helen, this was the great 
 stage sensation of the night. Other por- 
 tions of the opera, Zerlina's touching re- 
 monstrance with her jealous lover, the 
 prayer, the whirlwind of passion in which 
 the first act terminates, the semi-grotesque 
 marvels of the second with their wonderful 
 music, all excited more or less emotion ; 
 hut none so fresh and absorbing as that
 
 TREVETHLAN. 147 
 
 induced by the immortal duet between the 
 peasant-g'irl and the profligate. 
 
 And a particular circumstance distracted 
 
 i 
 
 Randolph's attention during* the second act. 
 In the interval which followed the first, 
 Mrs. Winter called her young- friends' 
 notice to the house, then very well filled, 
 instructed them in its technicalities, and 
 pointed out a few notable personages among* 
 the audience, whom she happened to know 
 by sight. While in this manner she was 
 directing* Randolph's eye along* the tier of 
 boxes level with her own, his regard fell 
 upon a young lady of so remarkable an 
 aspect, that after mechanically following 
 Mrs. Winter's instruction, he turned hastily 
 to look once more at his fair neighbour. 
 Never in his life, he thought, had he seen 
 so attractive an object. She was evidently 
 engaged in an animated conversation with 
 some one in the back of the box whom he 
 could not see. Playfulness sparkled in her 
 
 L 2
 
 148 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 otherwise soi't eyes, archness curved her 
 brows, and Eandolph almost imagined he 
 could hear the silvery laugh which parted 
 her lips. He tried to obtain a glimpse 
 of the happy person to whom she was 
 talking*, but the attempt was vain. He 
 could only discover that with her there was 
 an elderly lady, whose back was turned 
 towards him. It was not to her that the 
 sallies of the young" one were addressed. 
 Randolph began to construct a romance, 
 still gazing' on the interesting* box. Sud- 
 denly he caught his charmer's eye. It was 
 but for a moment ; he could not see that 
 the expression of her face varied in the 
 most trifling particular * yet he felt that he 
 blushed like fire, and he perceived that the 
 elder lady leant forward, and looked to- 
 wards him. What, thought he, lowering 
 his eyes for an instant, and pursuing* his 
 romance, is she so quick in detecting a 
 o-lance? It must be the mother. The
 
 TREVETHLAN. 149 
 
 thought passed, and he looked up. He 
 encountered the supposed mother's gaze 
 fixed full upon his face. Had he not seen 
 those features before ? Ideas raced through 
 his mind with a dream-like rapidity. Some 
 theorists say that the visions of a night 
 are contained in the moment of falling- 
 asleep. Surely equally swift was the flight 
 of that lady's thoughts ; or why, after a 
 look of a single second, did her countenance 
 assume that expression of scorn or defi- 
 ance 1 An expression quite apart from any 
 which mio'ht have rebuked the intrusive 
 stare of a stranger ; which even attracted 
 the notice of her companion, who glanced 
 again at Randolph, and then at his sister. 
 
 From that time, Randolph's attention 
 was almost entirely engrossed by his fasci- 
 nating neighbour. He missed the statue's 
 nod, and lost his share of the laugh at 
 Naldi's comic terror. His sister observed 
 the cause of his abstraction, and looked in
 
 150 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 the same direction, at a moment when 
 the elder lady happened to turn towards 
 her. 
 
 " Surely," Helen exclaimed, " I have 
 seen that face before ! Yet how can it 
 be?" 
 
 Randolph knew rig-ht well, but he was 
 silent. 
 
 " Do 3'ou know those ladies, Mrs. Win- 
 ter ?" Helen asked. 
 
 " No, Miss Morton. It is really a beau- 
 tiful girl." 
 
 " Beautiful!" Randolph thoug-ht; "beau- 
 tiful ! Ay, she is more than beautiful." 
 
 And the presentiment he had felt before 
 came gloomily back upon his heart. 
 
 But the fair stranger was not the only 
 damsel who attracted admiration in the 
 opera-house that nig-ht. 
 
 "Who is that, Melcomb ?" asked a 
 portly, g-ood-humoured personag-e, leaning- 
 on the rail of the orchestra,, and looking-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 151 
 
 towards Mrs. Winter's box. " A new face, 
 is it not ?" 
 
 " The girl with the bird of paradise in 
 her hair?" answered Melcomb. "Fie! 
 Winesour. Have yon forgotten Cressy ? — 
 Though, to be sure, the gentle Cressida 
 may have a new face to-night, or any 
 night." 
 
 <c Pooh ! you know who I mean," Wine- 
 sour persisted ; " in the tier below." 
 
 " The pallid thing in black ?" said Mel- 
 comb. u It 's in a state of willowhood. 
 You see through a oiass of Chambertin." 
 
 " May I never drink another," cried 
 Winesour, with a quaint twinkle of his 
 small grey eye, " if she ever saw an opera 
 before. Think you I have no eyes ? Vor- 
 rei e noil vorrei. She followed Fodor's 
 notes with her lips apart, and tears in her 
 eyes. She cried, Melcomb." 
 
 u Winesour turned enthusiastic for a 
 pale-cheeked girl !" said Melcomb. "What
 
 152 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 next ? But I love not rhapsody, so — 
 adieu ! " 
 
 But while he chose to speak of Helen's 
 appearance in these disparaging* terms, 
 Melcomb had really observed her with admi- 
 ration, and determined to ascertain who she 
 might be. He was one of those handsome, 
 careless, profligate fellows, who are too well 
 regarded by the men, and too easily par- 
 doned b}^ the women. One murder, it has 
 been rather absurdly said, makes a villain ; 
 ten thousand, a hero. But it may with 
 some truth be remarked, that the number 
 of hearts a Melcomb breaks rather adds to 
 his fame than diminishes his reputation. 
 He rises upon ruin. 
 
 Melcomb, however, was at last positively 
 thinking' of marriage, and had become the 
 slave professed of Mildred Pendarrel. But 
 he sped not in his wooing as he conceived 
 he had a right to expect. Now, it is an 
 annoying thing for one accustomed to
 
 TREVETHLAN. 153 
 
 carry the citadel by storm, to be obliged 
 to sit down and proceed according- to the 
 slow routine of a siege ; and still more 
 disagreeable to be unable to make any im- 
 pression on the enemy's works. This was 
 Melcomb's present position. He was fa- 
 voured by the mother, he was foiled by the 
 daughter. It was a case quite out of his 
 experience. Mildred rode with him, danced 
 with him, flirted with him ; but she never let 
 him utter more than one serious word. The 
 instant he assumed an air of gravity, she 
 prevented his speech with a jest. His court 
 ship was a perpetual laugh. It grew quite 
 fatiguing. Love was pleasant enough, ex- 
 cept to make. Melcomb sometimes thought 
 of retiring from the field. He was not 
 stimulated by difficulty, and he was afraid 
 of rejection. Melcomb refused ! What a 
 disgrace ! Yet he felt morally certain that 
 this would be his fate, if he now ventured 
 to drive Mildred to Yes or No. At the
 
 154 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 same time, lie was unwilling* to withdraw. 
 The match would be decidedly advantageous 
 to him, and the lady correctly ornamental. 
 So he bore with her frolic humour as best 
 he might. When accosted by Winesour 
 in the pit, he had sought refuge there from 
 Mildred's sallies ; and had been struck by 
 the strange beauty, whose earnest interest 
 in the music seemed, indeed, to distinguish 
 a novice, and excited a languid curiosity 
 in the used-up coxcomb. He now returned 
 to Mrs. Pendarrel's box, to obtain a nearer 
 view of the fair unknown, and not without 
 some notion of provoking Mildred's jea- 
 lous}-. But her mother anticipated him. 
 
 u Can you tell me," she asked, u who 
 those ladies are, Mr. Melcomb ? You know 
 everybody." 
 
 u My knowledge is at fault," he an- 
 swered. " Shall I inquire ?" 
 
 u I should like to know," Mrs. Pendarrel 
 continued ; " but they are going, and so 
 shall I."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 155 
 
 Mrs. Winter's party, unconscious of the 
 interest they excited, were waiting*, clus- 
 tered together, for the announcement of 
 their carriage, when Mrs. Pendarrel's was 
 declared to stop the way. At the sound of 
 the name, Randolph and Helen involun- 
 tarily turned, and found themselves face to 
 face with the lady who had before attracted 
 their observation. She swept haughtily 
 past them, without seeming to be aware 
 of their surprise, and was followed by Mil- 
 dred, leaning on the arm of Melcomb. 
 
 <c It was the miniature," Helen whis- 
 pered to her brother, who had become 
 suddenly pale. 
 
 In a few moments Melcomb returned to 
 the crush room, and observed the strangers 
 with a well-bred stare. Randolph frowned, 
 and the coxcomb smiled. Mrs. Winter's 
 carriage was called. Melcomb noted the 
 name, and learnt the destination. For the 
 present it was enough. The beau had
 
 156 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 become too idle and indifferent to be very 
 mischievous. He accepted a sensation if it 
 fell in his path, but he would not g-o out of 
 his way to seek one. u Hampstead 's a 
 great distance/' he muttered, and drove to 
 the Argyll Rooms.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 157 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "He that has light within his own clear breast, 
 May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day; 
 But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, 
 Benighted walks under the mid-day sun : 
 Himself is his own dungeon." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Extremely startled was Mrs. Pendarrel 
 by the appearance of the orphans of Tre- 
 vethlan at the opera. Domestic affairs had 
 temporarily diverted her suspicions respect- 
 mo- them, and her intentions were in a 
 manner dormant. Great, therefore, was 
 her surprise, when following* a g-lance of 
 Mildred's in which she detected some slight 
 emotion, her own eye fell upon a face, 
 like, yes the very image of Henry Tre- 
 vethlan: the very image of what he was
 
 158 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 that fatal day, when her hasty and haughty 
 speech drove him from her presence, for 
 once and for ever. With a sort of fasci- 
 nation she gazed upon the stranger, and 
 saw that he returned the regard with a 
 curiosity or wonder, that changed while she 
 looked into hatred and defiance. Cl Can it 
 he possible?" she asked herself. Several 
 times during* the remainder of the perform- 
 ance, she turned towards Mrs. Winter's 
 box, and never failed to catch Randolph's 
 eye. And finally, in leaving- the house, she 
 noticed the manner in which both he and 
 Helen started at the announcement of her 
 name, and again met that proud resent- 
 ment which she remembered so well in the 
 lover of her girlhood. 
 
 ''''Winter !" she mused when she lay down 
 for rest, " Winter ! Ay, that is the name of 
 their lawyer. I ouo*ht to know it well. 
 And what do they here ? Why this appa- 
 rent privacy ? Why seek this veil for their
 
 TREVETHLAN. 159 
 
 poverty 1 I must discover. They must be 
 unmasked. Who knows but they are in- 
 volved ? What plan are they devising" to 
 save those mouldering 1 towers ?" 
 
 A long- train of reflections passed through 
 Esther's mind as she lay awake that night. 
 In the morning* she summoned Michael 
 Sinson to her presence. The young' man 
 was already considerably improved in ap- 
 pearance, had lost his rusticity, and ac- 
 quired a manner " free and easy/' with a 
 very excellent opinion of himself. The 
 chang-e might be partly due to certain 
 vague aspirations which pleased his vanity, 
 and at the same time sharpened his natural 
 foresight and cunning-. He was abject in 
 deference towards his patroness. 
 
 " Sinson/' said she, when he came before 
 her, " 3^011 know Mr. Trevethlan well ?" 
 
 u Certainly, ma'am ; from his very 
 cradle." 
 
 " They say, he is abroad."
 
 1G0 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 He noted the words— they say. " Yes, 
 
 ma'am." 
 
 " There is a Mr. Winter, a lawyer, living- 
 at Hampstead," Mrs. Pendarrel continued. 
 " He has some friend remarkably like what 
 I should expect . . . young- Trevethlan to 
 he. I desire to find out who this person 
 is, and what are his pursuits. Be so good 
 as to inquire, if you can. Good morning-, 
 Sinson." 
 
 But the peasant ling-ered. 
 
 " Did you ever hear, ma'am," he said, 
 brushing- his hat, and casting* down his 
 eyes, " that the late Mr. Trevethlan's mar- 
 riag-e was not regular ?" 
 
 Mrs. Pendarrel lost no word of the slow- 
 spoken insinuation. Every nerve of her 
 body quivered, but she was silent. 
 
 " It was no blame to my unfortunate 
 relation, ma'am," Sinson proceeded ; "but 
 the report was very common, I have heard, 
 at Trevethlan, soon after the time."
 
 TKEVETHLAN. 161 
 
 u Pshaw ! sir/' Esther said, having- now- 
 mastered her emotion ; u common fame is a 
 common liar. Good-day to you." 
 
 And Michael departed, well aware that 
 his patroness suspected this friend of Mr. 
 Winter to be no other than the heir of 
 Trevethlan, and believing- also that he had 
 sent a shaft home to her heart, which might 
 further the projects lurking- dimly in his 
 own. The more he advanced in her con- 
 fidence the greater became his own assu- 
 rance, and he now quitted the house in May 
 Fair, with a certain exultation gleaming* in 
 his dark sinister eyes. 
 
 He had already supposed that he might 
 find a subordinate instrument of use to him, 
 and had even selected his man. He min- 
 gled now and then in the promiscuous 
 assembly of vice and folly which met at 
 the Argyll Booms. There he had occa- 
 sionally thrown away a guinea — he was 
 liberally supplied with money — at hazard 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 162 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 and had played at the same table with 
 Melcomb. There also he met a man, in 
 the smallness of whose stakes and the des- 
 peration of his play, Sinson read ruin. He 
 paid the gambler assiduous court. 
 
 Lewis Everope had inherited a moderate 
 patrimony, and lived as if it were inexhaus- 
 tible. He had been to a university, only 
 to squander his money, and to obtain no 
 distinction. Confident in his abilities, he 
 never gave them fair pla} r . He seemed 
 to think that intuition could supply the 
 place of information. He rarely finished 
 a book — did he not know what the author 
 was about to say? Thus his knowledge 
 was of little value, because it was never 
 complete. Every hour a new Cynthia 
 attracted his attention. He did almost 
 everything" by halfs, and therefore few 
 thing's well. Desultory men are not often 
 men of principle, and he was not one of 
 the exceptions. He was fond of society,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 163 
 
 and too careless to avoid its temptations. 
 Very soon he learned the difficulty of say- 
 ing- " No." 
 
 His career was much the same, when he 
 quitted the university with a very ignoble 
 degree, and entered an inn of court and 
 a pleader's chambers, in the idea of being- 
 admitted to the forum. He became im- 
 mersed in gay company; enjoyed, like 
 Alfieri when an ensign in the Asti militia, 
 the greatest possible liberty of doing 
 nothing*, which was precisely the one thing 
 he was determined to do; in spite of the 
 remonstrances of his friends, continually 
 postponed his call to the bar ; and in point 
 of fact never was called. 
 
 So the years sped by in idleness, and 
 Everope's resources dwindled and dwindled. 
 At little over forty he was without means, 
 and without a profession. He still" hung about 
 the inns of court, pitied by the charitable, 
 despised by the worldly wise. His natu- 
 
 m2
 
 164 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 rally sang-uine temper lent him a certain 
 gaiety of heart, which made him popular 
 with some ; and as he never plag-ued people 
 with his embarrassments, he was still able 
 to find companions. He had been one 
 of Travers's early pupils, and he occa- 
 sionally looked in at his chambers even 
 yet, although it must be owned very far 
 from a welcome guest. 
 
 But he had reached the end of his tether. 
 One mig'ht fancy him going* wistfully round 
 and round, straining his chain to nibble 
 at some distasteful weed, eagerly pursuing 
 any waif or stray wafted within his circle 
 by the wind, not } r et showing his straits 
 by the poorness of his coat, still able to 
 raise a laugh by some eccentricity, but 
 with the lustre of his eyes sadly dimmed, 
 and the confidence of his bearing wofully 
 abated. " When things come to the worst, 
 they must mend," he had been wont to say, 
 forgetting that things never do come to
 
 TREVETHLAN. 165 
 
 the worst on this side the grave. And now, 
 sanguine still, he clung* to hope in the 
 midst of despair, and trusted to chance to 
 retrieve his ruin. It is one of the evils 
 of a course like his, that by the time it is 
 run, the energy which might have shaped 
 a new one is lost, and the self-deluded 
 victim falls, too prohahly never again to 
 rise. And then is such a course most 
 miserable, when its slave is aware of his 
 own degradation, repents and sins on, 
 always harassed by self-contempt, never 
 safe in self-reliance, always thinking of 
 what he might have been, never remember- 
 ing what he yet may be. 
 
 Men in Everope's condition have but 
 little option in selecting their acquaintance, 
 and often find the embarrassments they 
 cannot uniformly conceal, embolden intru- 
 sion, which they would gladly avoid, but 
 are unable to repel. So when Sinson made 
 some advances towards him, the spendthrift
 
 166 TKEVETHLAN. 
 
 intuitively hated, yet silently endured them. 
 And now Michael determined, if possible, 
 to make Everope his bondman. 
 
 He had lost no time in fulfilling- Mrs. 
 Pendarrel's behest, and found little difficulty 
 in tracing- Morton to the pleader's chambers. 
 He had not obtained an opportunity of see- 
 ing 1 him, but felt certain that the student 
 was no other than Trevethlan. He recol- 
 lected that Everope had some connection 
 with the law, and might be of service in the 
 schemes which fluctuated indistinctly in 
 his mind. He sought the gambler at the 
 Argyll Rooms. 
 
 And he was not disappointed. He saw 
 the wretched man's last guinea swept away 
 by the ruthless rake, and met him as he 
 rose from the table, pale and desperate. 
 ec Fortune's a jade, sir," Sinson said, a come 
 and drink a glass of champagne." Eve- 
 rope, scarcely knowing- what he did, ac- 
 cepted the invitation, and quaffed glass
 
 TREVETHLAN. 107 
 
 after glass of the fluid which promised him 
 a temporary oblivion of his plight. He 
 undoubtedly achieved this object, and was 
 unable to resist when his entertainer under- 
 took to see him home. He was, however, 
 sensible enough, to be surprised when Sinson 
 followed him into his chambers. 
 
 " You are a cool fellow," he stammered. 
 " This is not exactly a palace. I '11 get a 
 light, that is if there 's a match, and then 
 you can spy the nakedness of the land. 
 Hang* me, if you don't look like a spy." 
 
 Michael answered by producing a flask. 
 The spendthrift's eyes glistened, and with 
 some trouble he discovered a couple of 
 glasses. 
 
 " It is reversing the order of things," he 
 muttered, " reversing the order of things. 
 But no matter. Sufficient for the day — " 
 
 As they continued to converse, Everope's 
 contempt for his companion, slid gradually 
 into familiarity. At length the latter, after 
 glancing round the room, exclaimed : —
 
 168 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " Egad ! Everope, I guess } r ou 're not in 
 arrears for rent?" 
 
 "Why so, sir?" asked the spendthrift, 
 with a return of his distant manner. 
 
 " Why, there 's nothing- to levy." 
 
 Everope laughed, and dismal it was to 
 hear. 
 
 "Clients are few," suggested Sinson, 
 ignorantly. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Family unfriendly," continued the in- 
 truder. 
 
 " Family !" shouted Everope, springing 
 to his feet with an oath, " what d 'ye mean, 
 sir?" He clenched his fist, but it fell to 
 his side. " Ha !" said he, "I am feeble — 
 
 " Some undone widow sits upon my arm, 
 And takes away the iise o't; and my sword, 
 Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears, 
 "Will not be drawn." 
 
 Kean, sir, Kean " He sank into his 
 
 chair, and burst into tears.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 169 
 
 This paroxysm restored him to some 
 degree of recollection. When it passed 
 away, Sinson drew his chair near him, 
 and laid his hand on his arm. The spend- 
 thrift shrank from the touch. Michael 
 quietly took out his purse, and allowed 
 some pieces of gold to roll on the table. 
 
 "Mr. Everope," said he, in the oiliest 
 tones possible, u I ask your pardon for my 
 impertinent intrusion. It was meant all 
 in good will. I was sorry to see the 
 scurvy tricks fortune played you to-night. 
 I came to ask if this petty sum would be 
 any accommodation." 
 
 u Sir," Everope answered, while his fin- 
 gers twitched convulsively, " I do not take 
 such accommodation from strangers." 
 
 u We need not be strangers," said Sinson. 
 " And if you are so delicate, you can give 
 me your note of hand. I assure you I do 
 not want the trifle." 
 
 Everope looked about the room.
 
 170 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " By the way," continued the tempter, 
 " there 's a fellow in the Temple called 
 Morton. Pupil of a Mr. Travers. Know 
 him?" 
 
 " I may have seen him at Travers's," the 
 spendthrift answered, sullenly. 
 
 " I wish you could find out who he is," 
 Sinson said, " and what he 's doing. I have 
 a sort of interest in him." 
 
 Everope only continued searching about 
 the apartment. 
 
 " Was it paper you were looking for ? " 
 Sinson asked, and tore a leaf from his 
 pocket-book. 
 
 I O U wrote Everope. 
 
 It requires no parchment and blood now- 
 a-days to sign a compact with the fiend. 
 
 " Good-night, Everope," said Michael, 
 folding the note in his book. " Recollect 
 what I said about Morton." 
 
 The spendthrift closed his door, and 
 returned to the table, and sat down and
 
 TREVETHLAN. l7l 
 
 played mechanically with the golden coun- 
 ters. Embarrassed as he had often been, 
 he had not yet learnt the ways and means of 
 raising money, and this was his initiation. 
 Miserable man ! Better for him had it been 
 to submit to any usury than, with his weak 
 temper, to become the debtor of Michael 
 Sinson. 
 
 His vacillation was remarkably shown the 
 following day. He rose at a late hour, 
 nervous and feverish, strangely troubled with 
 an idea that he had sold himself to be the 
 instrument of some villany. He knew no- 
 thing of the man who had furnished him 
 with money. He could not even tell where 
 to find him. What were his designs with 
 regard to Morton ? The little Everope 
 had seen of the young student had won his 
 respect. Ought he not to tell him what had 
 occurred ? If he knew where to find this 
 Sinson, he would return the money. 
 
 It was dusk of the evening. He remem-
 
 172 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 bered that Morton would be keeping Hilary 
 Term. He did not belong to the Temple, 
 but he lived there. He went down into the 
 cloisters and paced to and fro, waiting till 
 hall should be over. At length Randolph 
 came out alone, and Everope joined him 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Morton," the spendthrift asked, in a 
 low, husky voice, " were you ever in want ? " 
 
 The owner of Trevethlan Castle was 
 amazed and affronted, but he said nothing. 
 Since the visit to the opera, every hour 
 made him more impatient of his disguise. 
 
 "I ask you were you ever in want?" 
 repeated Everope, with some fierceness. " I 
 do not mean did you ever need a meal, or 
 lack a coat ; but were you ever embarrassed ? 
 Were you ever afraid, or ashamed to show 
 your face ? Did you ever tremble to think, 
 not perhaps of to-morrow, but of to-morrow 
 month? Did you ever shudder at the 
 thought of disgrace ? Have you any relatives
 
 TREVETHLAN. 173 
 
 whom you esteem and love ? Whose me- 
 mory has been to some extent your guardian 
 angel ? who have begun to pity and ceased 
 to regard you ? To whom you have done 
 injustice? Ay, hark in your ear, — did you 
 ever think that to them your death would be 
 a relief?" 
 
 " Is the man mad ? " Randolph asked 
 himself, but said nothing aloud. 
 
 " I see," continued Everope, gloomily ; 
 " I see you are more fortunate. You have 
 no sympathy with a vaurien. My confidence 
 is made in vain : for if you cannot answer 
 these questions, I can. You do not know 
 the circumstances which give force to temp- 
 tation. Pity those who do. Pity me, 
 Morton. Lay up my words, and have a 
 pardon ready when the day comes." 
 
 They had reached Fleet-street. The 
 spendthrift turned suddenly and hurried 
 away, before Randolph could fulfil an inten- 
 tion he had conceived of offering assistance.
 
 174 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 His own mind was at this time so disturbed, 
 that the episode scarcely increased his agita- 
 tion. Nevertheless, he went the next morn- 
 ing to make the offer, which Everope's 
 abrupt departure had prevented in the 
 evening. The spendthrift lived in garrets 
 looking down from a great height on a narrow 
 dingy lane. The visitor found the outer 
 door closed, "the oak sported," in the lan- 
 guage of college. But he had learnt that 
 this by no means proved the absence of the 
 occupant, and he supposed that in Everope's 
 case there might be good reason for the pre- 
 caution. So he rapped long and loud at 
 the massive door. There was no answer : 
 no sound indicated the presence of any 
 living creature. " Mr. Everope," Randolph 
 shouted through the narrow aperture intended 
 to receive letters. He repeated the call 
 several times. At length a slight shuffling 
 noise came along the passage inside, and 
 paused at the door.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 175 
 
 "Is it you, Morton?" the spendthrift 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes. I wish to speak with you." 
 
 " Excuse me," said Everope ; "lam not 
 well. I cannot see you now. My head 
 aches." 
 
 " Nay," Randolph urged, in a low tone. 
 " Only for a moment. Can I be of service 
 
 to you ? I am not rich, but perhaps 
 
 From what you said, I thought " 
 
 A sigh, so profound that it might be 
 termed a groan, escaped from Everope's 
 breast. But he lashed himself into a spasm 
 of anger. 
 
 " You mistook me, sir," he said, savagely, 
 " and you trouble me. I can hear no 
 more." 
 
 And he went back from the door with a 
 quick and heavy tread. He had been to the 
 rooms again the night before, had lost 
 all he borrowed, and accepted a fresh loan
 
 176 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 from Sinson. It is but the first step that 
 
 costs. 
 
 Randolph betook himself to chambers 
 with a notion that he did not engross all the 
 misery of the world.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 There's a dark spirit walking in our house, 
 
 And swiftly will the Destiny close on us. 
 
 It drove me hither from my calm asylum, 
 
 It mocks my soul with charming witchery, 
 
 It lures me forward in a seraph's shape. 
 
 I see it near, I see it nearer floating, 
 
 It draws, it pulls me with a godlike power— 
 
 And lo, the abyss. 
 
 Coleridge. Piccolomini. 
 
 It would be difficult adequately to portray 
 the conflict of emotions which now agitated 
 our hero. His life at Trevethlan Castle 
 might be described as a long childhood, and 
 the boy became a man at one bound, instead 
 of by insensible degrees. Hence he had 
 not learned to control his sensations. He 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 was driven about by every wind. His will 
 was almost passive. No master-feeling yet 
 called it into action. We have seen how 
 keenly alive he was to the want of that 
 deference which he considered his due ; how 
 his pride revolted from the familiarity of 
 those around him ; how his feigned name 
 continually irritated him. And all these 
 feelings were embittered by the visit to the 
 opera. Often afterwards he remembered 
 the dark presentiment which oppressed him 
 during the gloomy ride, and which returned 
 while he gazed, rapt in ecstasy, on that fair 
 vision near him, on Mildred Pendarrel. In 
 her he recognised the image which of late 
 years haunted his dreams by the sea ; the 
 heroine of the romances which his fancy 
 created ; the mistress of his enchanted castle. 
 She was the object for which he had been 
 secretly yearning ; the being destined to fill
 
 TREVETHLAN. 179 
 
 a void which had opened in his existence; 
 the woman for whom he would live and die. 
 In the first few moments he looked at her, 
 his eyes drank in a deep draught of love, and 
 he was hers for ever. 
 
 He revelled in the new passion. In those 
 few moments he lived an age. What face 
 was that which intervened between him and 
 his love ? Where had he seen those proud 
 lineaments ? He required no hint from 
 Helen to remind him of the miniature. He 
 recognised his father's Esther at a glance ; 
 he sprang to the conclusion that it was her 
 daughter he adored ; and he remembered 
 the vow that lay upon his soul. What 
 wonder that he should feel a presentiment 
 of ill ? 
 
 There are those who smile when they hear 
 of " love at first sight." But he who drew 
 Romeo was better versed in the heart of 
 
 N 2
 
 180 TBEVETHLAN. 
 
 man. Such love is a more turbulent and 
 consuming passion than the happier affection 
 which grows up by gentle steps. Swift as 
 the lightning, it is also as desolating. Hope 
 cherishes the softer emotion ; hopelessness 
 often seems to fan the more sudden fire. 
 
 The first effect of his new passion upon 
 Randolph was to give tenfold vigour to his 
 hatred of his assumed name. Of right, he 
 was Mildred's equal. Even studying for 
 his profession as Randolph Trevethlan, he 
 would still be her equal. But as the ob- 
 scure pretender, Morton, he was degraded 
 far beneath her. In his proper person, he 
 could surmount all obstacles to obtain her. 
 Could he ? What, then, became of his 
 vow ? 
 
 That very pledge he had given in ex- 
 change for permission to wear the detested 
 mask. What a web he had spun around
 
 TREVETHLAN. 181 
 
 himself ! And should he break it at once ? 
 Should he dash boldly into the world in his 
 own name, sweep impediments from before 
 him, woo Mildred in spite of everything, and 
 bear her off to his ancestral towers, ay, in 
 defiance of her haughty mother ? Would it 
 not be a revenge acceptable to the shade of 
 his broken-hearted father ? 
 
 His wavering irresolution made him fret- 
 ful, and almost morose. It caused also a 
 strange craving for excitement. He became 
 impatient of his quiet evenings at Hamp- 
 stead. It was ungrateful, but he could not 
 help it. Helen saw his irritation with sor- 
 row, but without complaint. Rereworth saw 
 it, and tried vainly to soothe it. He had 
 frequently pressed Randolph to accompany 
 him into society ; he prevailed on him to 
 acquire the accomplishments of life, and 
 thereby provided a considerable source of
 
 182 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 amusement for Mr. Peach, who frequently 
 inquired concerning his lodger's progress in 
 the airs and graces. 
 
 " My dancing !" Randolph might exclaim 
 in answer to such queries ; " it prospers mar- 
 vellously. Yet methinks it is a ridiculous 
 occupation." 
 
 " By no means, my dear sir/' would 
 be the reply. " Hath not the ' Spectator' 
 observed, that l no one was ever a good 
 dancer that had not a good understanding ? ' 
 Ah ! I see why you smile ; but that 's not 
 the meaning." 
 
 But hitherto Rereworth had been unable 
 to persuade his friend to avail himself of his 
 new acquirements. Trevethlan's secret held 
 him back. It met him at every turn. But 
 now, in his eagerness to forget himself, he at 
 last consented to go with Seymour to an 
 assembly at the house of a near relation,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 183 
 
 where, Rereworth said, his friends were 
 always welcome. The evening arrived, 
 and Randolph joined his introducer at his 
 chambers. 
 
 " You may call yourself a happy man, 
 Morton," cried Rereworth gaily. " You 
 shall be the envy of all our sex, for my fair 
 cousin's sister is the loveliest girl in Lon- 
 don, and I have made her promise to be dis- 
 engaged to dance with you. I told her you 
 were a very good-looking fellow." 
 
 11 That is not a good introduction," Ran- 
 dolph said, with a faint smile. " But you 
 sacrifice yourself." 
 
 " Never fear, you won't disappoint her," 
 Seymour continued. " And as for me, I 
 have romped with her this many a day. She 
 waltzes with me in the morning, and teazes 
 me in the evening. I shall really be glad to 
 inflict her upon you."
 
 184 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " Then I accept the doom," said Ran- 
 dolph. 
 
 " Dance with her after supper," added his 
 friend. " That 's the time when * beauty 
 like the midnight flower — ' " and Rereworth 
 whistled " Fly not yet." 
 
 His companion's spirits rose under the 
 influence of his own. 
 
 " Another glass to her health, Morton, 
 and let us away." 
 
 It was quaffed, and they departed. A 
 lumbering hackney-coach conveyed them to 
 Cavendish-square. " Mr. Rereworth." . . . 
 " Mr. Rereworth." And Randolph had 
 made his bow to Mrs. Winston. 
 
 It is not easy for one who went down his 
 first country-dance when seven years old, 
 at a children's ball, and has since practised 
 the festive science until he is too old to 
 obtain any but children for partners, to
 
 TREVETHLAN. 185 
 
 imagine the sensations of a novice like Ran- 
 dolph. Leaning on Rereworth's arm, he 
 looked confusedly at the fluctuating scene 
 around him, stationary himself among a 
 universal motion, silent amidst an all- 
 pervading voice. His friend in the mean- 
 time was surveying the company as 
 it flowed tranquilly by him, recognising 
 acquaintances, now and then exchanging 
 a few sentences. Randolph heeded him 
 not, being engaged in a fanciful comparison 
 of the assembly to the sea, and blending 
 the faces of the company into waves, in- 
 stead of distinguishing individuals. He did 
 not even observe that one quitted the stream 
 and ranged itself on the other side of Rere- 
 worth. He did not observe it, until that 
 gentleman, pressing his arm, said, "Morton, 
 my cousin-in-law, Miss Pendarrel." 
 
 It was a little sudden. Schoolboys tell
 
 186 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 stories about home and relations ; " men " 
 at college become more reserved ; in the 
 world such confidences cease. One some- 
 times knows nothing even of an intimate 
 friend's family. Thus Rereworth had not 
 mentioned other names in his invitation to 
 Randolph, and Winston brought no asso- 
 ciations to his mind at its first announce- 
 ment. But the case was very different 
 when he heard that of Pendarrel, and recog- 
 nised its fair owner 
 
 Mechanically, intuitively, he offered Mil- 
 dred his arm. She laid her hand lightly 
 within it, and they moved onward with the 
 crowd. They made the tour of the saloon 
 before the cavalier uttered a syllable. 
 " Seymour has brought me an oddity," 
 thought Mildred. Randolph was over- 
 whelmed with a flood of rapid emotions, 
 sombre as the canopy which hung above
 
 TREVETHLAN. 187 
 
 his father's deathbed. His heart beat 
 quick, and he pressed his lips together, 
 struggling hard to obtain a mastery over the 
 tumult within him. One moment he wished 
 he could vanish away, the next he thrilled 
 with rapture at the light touch upon his 
 arm. Mildred was perplexed. She knew 
 she might esteem any one of whom Rere- 
 worth spoke well. She had been prepared 
 to see, and to excuse, a little confusion. 
 But there was more here than the confusion 
 of a novice. 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Pendarrel," at length 
 Randolph said, in a voice of tremulous ten- 
 derness : " I am new and strange to society. 
 I have relied too lightly on my friend's 
 promises. I walk in a dream." 
 
 There is a sort of seeming egotism which 
 is very profitable in love. Few men will 
 fail to excite interest by the true account
 
 188 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 of their own emotions. To a woman the 
 confidence is always flattering. Randolph's 
 speech was strangely at variance with the 
 usual persiflage. But, perhaps, if he had 
 intended to make love, he could not have 
 spoken better. Mildred was struck by his 
 accent, and interested by his manner. But 
 she was experienced. 
 
 " A pleasant dream, Mr. Morton, I 
 hope," she said. 
 
 He quivered at the sound of the name. 
 
 " Pleasant ! " he exclaimed ; and then 
 recovering himself partly — "I think it is 
 pleasant. . . . They are forming quadrilles. 
 Shall we dance, Miss Pendarrel?" 
 
 " If you please," answered Mildred, 
 partly puzzled and partly provoked. " Mr. 
 Melcomb," she added to that gentleman, as 
 he passed with a lady, " you will be my 
 vis-a-vis."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 189 
 
 Melcomb bowed, looked at Mildred's 
 partner, and raised his eyebrows slightly. 
 Randolph recollected the man he had seen 
 at the opera, disliked what he fancied was 
 a singular familiarity, and wondered what 
 was the coxcomb's position in the family. 
 As he warmed in the dance, however, his 
 moodiness and taciturnity gave way. He 
 flung himself into the humour of the mo- 
 ment, retrieved his character with his part- 
 ner, and obtained another engagement. 
 " Let destiny decide," he said to himself. 
 
 Melcomb was Mildred's partner in the 
 next set. 
 
 " Who is your unknown knight ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 "My partner!" said the lady. "A 
 friend of Mr. Rereworth's." 
 
 " He is in love with you," remarked the 
 coxcomb.
 
 190 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " I hope he is," Mildred laughed. 
 " Cruel ! He will languish and die." 
 " That is as I please. I am to dance 
 with him again." 
 
 " Is Mrs. Pendarrel here ? " 
 It was a taunt, and Mildred felt it. 
 Turn the kaleidoscope. " I consider," 
 wrote Sir Richard Steele, "woman as a 
 beautiful romantic animal, that may be 
 adorned with furs and feathers, pearls and 
 diamonds, ores and silks. The lynx shall 
 cast its skin at her feet to make her a 
 tippet; the peacock, parrot, and swan shall 
 pay contributions to her muff; the sea shall 
 be searched for shells, and the rocks for 
 gems ; and every part of nature shall fur- 
 nish out its share towards the embellish- 
 ment of a creature that is the most con- 
 summate work of it." The numerous fair 
 forms in Mrs. Winston's saloons, on which
 
 TREVETHLAN. 191 
 
 such adornments were lavished in profusion, 
 might easily remind a spectator of the toy 
 which we have named. Randolph, after 
 resigning his partner, wandered rather de- 
 solately through the brilliant throng, un- 
 observant and little observed. Finding a 
 vacant and remote corner, he ensconced 
 himself there as an absentee. The gay 
 crowd glimmered before his eyes with the 
 changing hues of the opal, the music 
 sounded from afar like the waves on the 
 sea-shore. Why did that association con- 
 tinually intrude? Why did the muser's 
 thoughts ever turn to Trevethlan ? Why 
 did he wish, so earnestly, ever and anon, 
 that he had never quitted the home of his 
 fathers ? 
 
 Solitude in a crowd has been the theme 
 of much moralizing. In Randolph's case 
 it was peculiarly striking, for it was due, not
 
 192 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 merely to absence of mind, but also to an 
 absolute want of acquaintance. Except 
 Rereworth and his late partner, the muser 
 might be said to know no one in the whole 
 of the gay assembly. And even Seymour 
 was ignorant of his real situation. Ran- 
 dolph felt oppressed by his loneliness, yet 
 at the same time unwilling to accept any 
 companionship. 
 
 In such mood he was, when a voice 
 pierced through the cloud which surrounded 
 him. Rereworth came to seek his friend. 
 
 " Morton," he cried, laughing, " ' awake, 
 arise, or be for ever fallen.' Winston 
 desires me to present you. Winston, Mr. 
 Morton — Morton, Mr. Winston. Pray find 
 my friend a partner, most philosophical 
 
 sir. 
 
 But Randolph begged to be excused. 
 He escaped from the metaphysician,] found
 
 TREVETHLAN. 193 
 
 his way to an uncurtained window, and 
 looked forth upon the midnight sky. The 
 stars were shining, and he thought of the 
 science which pretended to connect their 
 aspects with the fate of the wanderers upon 
 earth. Which was his ? The planet of 
 the queen of love was there, bright in the 
 deep blue canopy. Was she his friend ? 
 It was a soothing idea. He forgot his 
 doubts and presentiments, and allowed him- 
 self to indulge in the most delicious dreams. 
 His fancy became exalted to the highest 
 pitch. He felt supremely happy. 
 
 In this disposition he sought Mildred to 
 claim her engagement. She could com- 
 plain of no want of devotion now. Her 
 partner was romantic, without sentimen- 
 talism ; serious, and yet full of imagination. 
 He was pleased, and he exerted himself to 
 please. He allowed his natural enthusiasm 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 to take its course. Mildred wondered no 
 longer at the praises which Rereworth had 
 bestowed upon his friend. 
 
 A quadrille affords but scanty and incon- 
 venient opportunity for conversation. But 
 Randolph managed to protract the subse- 
 quent promenade. He even drew Mildred 
 apart to that deserted window from which he 
 had been gazing on the sky, and rehearsed 
 some of the marvels of the astrologers, 
 pointing out the planet which had at- 
 tracted his attention. But he was suddenly 
 awakened from his enhancement. Mrs. 
 Pendarrel, leaning on Melcomb's arm, came 
 to seek her daughter. 
 
 " Mildred, my dear," she said, " I have 
 sent to call our carriage." And she held 
 her arm to the young lady, and bowed very 
 loftily to Randolph. 
 
 " The carriage is at the door, my dear,"
 
 TREVETHLAN. 195 
 
 said a little man, bustling up with some 
 officiousness. Randolph had retired a few 
 paces, but not so far as to avoid hearing the 
 first of the following words. It was Esther 
 that spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel, I should be 
 glad if you would ascertain who that gentle- 
 man is. A Mr. Morton, I understand. 
 Hark, sir," she whispered, "do you see no 
 likeness ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, certainly I do," said the 
 obsequious husband. " To whom ? " 
 
 Randolph advanced at the same moment. 
 
 " Spare your pains, sir," he said ; "lain 
 Randolph Trevethlan." 
 
 Face to face, only two steps apart, with 
 their eyes fixed on each other, stood the 
 son and the lover of Henry Trevethlan. 
 Esther's countenance was inscrutable. Her 
 daughter clung to her arm, with cheeks 
 
 o 2
 
 196 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 and forehead flushed crimson, and glanced 
 involuntarily at her late partner. Mr. Pen- 
 darrel had shrunk a little behind. Melcomb 
 showed a nonchalant dislike to a scene. 
 Randolph faced them, pale as death, his 
 head thrown back, his breast heaving, his 
 eyes flashing fire. But he recovered himself 
 in an instant, bent one look of ineffable 
 tenderness on Mildred, and rushed from the 
 house.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness, 
 Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 There was no sleep for Randolph that 
 night. One moment had dissipated all the 
 dreams of his youth. One word had dis- 
 solved the airy castle. Henceforth he was 
 Trevethlan. So sudden a change, brought 
 about in such a manner, could not but cause 
 great agitation, yet in the midst of all his 
 tumultuous reflections Randolph felt a secret 
 satisfaction. He ,exulted in the resumption 
 of his name ; he felt an energy developing 
 itself within him, very opposite in character
 
 198 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 to the irresolution which for some time had 
 paralyzed his will. Yet he was saddened by 
 the thought of the sister who had cheered 
 his way, and encouraged his progress. 
 Happy, say we with the good chaplain of 
 Trevethlan Castle, happy is the man who, 
 in the days of his apprenticeship to the 
 world, after he has quitted the home of his 
 youth, and before he has founded a home 
 of his own, has a sister to share his dwelling, 
 and save him from the miserable existence 
 of a young bachelor. Happy is he who has 
 a smile ever ready to welcome him to his 
 fireside, to cheer his evening, and protect 
 him from himself. What talents had not 
 been squandered, what evil had been averted, 
 what ruin prevented, by such companion- 
 ship ! No one cause, perhaps, has wrecked 
 so many fair hopes and promises as the want 
 of a home.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 199 
 
 Helen saw a marked change in her 
 brother's countenance when they met for 
 breakfast. The anxiety she had *ong no- 
 ticed with regret had vanished, and was suc- 
 ceeded by an air of grave determination. 
 She asked him a few questions concerning 
 the party, but rinding him absent and taci- 
 turn, soon desisted. Pleasure gleamed in 
 her eyes, however, when, in answer to Mr. 
 Peach, who put his head in at the door to 
 inquire if Randolph would accompany him 
 to town, the latter thanked him, and de- 
 clined. 
 
 " And quite right, my good sir," said 
 Cornelius, advancing into the room. " What 
 saith Marsilius Ficinus, one of old Burton's 
 quaint physicians ? ' Other men look to 
 their tools ; a painter will wash his pencils, a 
 smith take heed to his forge, and a husband- 
 man to his plough ; a falconer and a hunts-
 
 200 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 man care for their hawks and hounds ; only 
 scholars neglect that instrument — their brain 
 and spirits, I mean — which they daily use, 
 and by which they range over all the world, 
 but. which by much study is consumed.' But 
 1 protest — I beg pardon — and hark ! there's 
 the stage. Good-morning, Miss Morton — 
 good-morning." 
 
 And with several bows he bustled out of 
 the little parlour. 
 
 "'A kind-hearted creature," observed 
 Randolph, " as ever breathed. I should like 
 to bring him and our Polydore together. 
 They would quite love one another." 
 
 Helen had smiled at her brother's idea, 
 before she noticed the gravity with which he 
 spoke. She then looked somewhat dis- 
 turbed. In spite of all Randolph's care, she 
 had partly suspected the cause of his solici- 
 tude, and had consulted Mr. Riches on the
 
 TREVETHLAN. 201 
 
 subject, suggesting also that it might be well 
 if they could visit Trevethlan in the spring. 
 The chaplain's answer had only arrived the 
 preceding day. There was a certain quaint- 
 ness about it characteristic of the writer. 
 
 " My dear Helen," Polydore said — " your 
 letter has warmed the heart of your old 
 master. I am proud that you should seek 
 my advice, and prouder that you so little 
 need it. The disguise wrong ? Surely I 
 think not. By what shall our actions be 
 judged but by our motives? Always pro- 
 vided that we do not evil that good may 
 come. Of the worthiness of your motive 
 there can be no question. Is there any- 
 thing unworthy in the means? Surely, I 
 say, I think not. When the daw dresses 
 himself in the peacock's plumage, we laugh 
 and despise him, if it is from vanity ; we 
 frown and strip him, if it is for deceit. So
 
 202 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 the wolf cannot assume the sheep's clothing 
 without treachery, nor can the ass wear the 
 lion's skin without contempt. So, again, I 
 prefer Alfred neglecting the neatherd's 
 cakes, to Alfred harping in the camp of the 
 Danes. A king may work with honour in a 
 shipwright's yard, but a king should not 
 condescend to become a spy. 
 
 " Yet is disguise always an awkward 
 thing. Concealment is repugnant to a can- 
 did mind. I like it not myself, and I appre- 
 ciate the scruples you attribute to Randolph. 
 I had rather you were Trevethlans to the 
 world, as to me. But he thinks himself 
 precluded. We will not dwell upon that. 
 He must be idle, or he must labour under a 
 veil. What abstract harm is there in the 
 metamorphosis ? Whom does it wrong ? 
 Ah, my dear Helen, I fear I am becoming 
 entangled in sophisms : the path which ap-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 203 
 
 peared so direct when I began to write, 
 already seems devious and difficult. To 
 your own conscience, and to Him who directs 
 it, I must leave you, confident that under 
 His guidance you can never go astray. 
 
 " But I am warranted in cautioning you 
 against a rash judgment. You have de- 
 lighted me, and not only me, but also our 
 friend Griffith, and his good helpmate, with 
 the proposal, if it be feasible, of a vernal 
 visit. Thereanent have we held a council ; 
 and we decide that it can be done, and 
 saving respect, shall be done. Oh ! how I 
 long for the day ! But that is not what I 
 was about to say. Oh ! yes. Postpone 
 until then our deliberations. Let Randolph 
 become versed in the mysteries of his craft. 
 And when you are here, we will plead the 
 cause in form, to rejoinder and sur-re- 
 joinder, rebutter and sur-rebutter. Above
 
 204 ' TREVETHLAN. 
 
 4 
 
 all, we will have dilatory pleas in favour of 
 remaining at Trevethlan. You see I have 
 been taking lessons — ahem ! 
 
 " Little news at Trevethlan : not good that 
 little. The miners still disturbed : troops 
 located here and there : rumours very fre- 
 quent. Our Jeffrey has strengthened the 
 defences of the castle, and sleeps, or wakes, 
 with a loaded blunderbuss. He has con- 
 suited me as to whether the cannon on 
 the battlements are safe to fire. And worse, 
 Edward Owen, of our own village, is said 
 to be much with the disaffected. The gos- 
 sips report, he frets for Mercy Page. And 
 the pretty Mercy frets too, for she has 
 lost her sweetheart. I wish she would not. 
 discompose Owen. In the castle we are all 
 quite well, and every one commends himself 
 or herself to you. 
 
 " May Heaven bless you, and so farewell ! 
 " Polydore Riches."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 205 
 
 There was an indecision in this letter, 
 which made Helen unwilling to show it to 
 her brother immediately. She was very far 
 from imagining how completely all its in- 
 tentions were already superseded. She now 
 anxiously awaited an explanation of the 
 grave expression of Randolph's counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Sister," he said, "my own sister, it is 
 all over. The bubble has burst. We re- 
 turn immediately to Trevethlan." 
 
 "Home!" Helen exclaimed, displaying, 
 both in voice and mien, the most lively 
 astonishment, " What change is this, Ran- 
 dolph ? * 
 
 " You remember the lady we saw at the 
 opera," the brother said rapidly. " The 
 miniature — the wife of Philip Pendarrel. 
 I encountered her last night, heard her 
 desire her husband to learn who I was,
 
 206 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 saved him the trouble, confronting her, 
 and announcing my name — Randolph Tre- 
 vethlan." 
 
 There was a short silence. Then the 
 speaker resumed. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! I am free. Free from 
 that double-faced servitude. I can look men 
 in the face without fear or shame. I am 
 firm on my feet, let the tempest howl round 
 me as it will. Dearest," he continued fold- 
 ing his sister to his bosom, " pardon me for 
 thus sudden rupture of all our hopes. We 
 will forget them, or think of them as a 
 chapter of romance." 
 
 " Is it inevitable ? " Helen asked in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Ay," Randolph answered. " The dis- 
 guise has led me to the brink of an abyss. 
 Even now I know not whether I have re- 
 coiled in time. Forgive me, I am scarcely
 
 TREVETHLAN. 207 
 
 calm. One day I may tell you more. But 
 let us for ever shake off this degrading mas- 
 querade. We will go home to Trevethlan. 
 Will you not like to see the sea beating 
 at our feet ? It is vain to regret. Ah, 
 me ! It is hopeless to forget." 
 
 Peremptoriness and fondness mingled both 
 in his word and manner. He kissed his 
 sister's cheek. 
 
 " Write, dearest, to Polydore," he con- 
 tinued. " The news will make him sad. 
 You will soften it better than I. Say, we 
 will be at home immediately after the letter. 
 For myself, I have much to do." 
 
 Helen obeyed, with many a thought of 
 the surprise which her letter would occasion, 
 coming so close upon that communication 
 of the chaplain's, which the reader has just 
 perused. And Randolph drew up a me- 
 morial to the benchers of his Inn, in which
 
 208 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 he very briefly stated the case, and petitioned 
 for the removal of his name from their 
 books, a matter of course. With this he 
 proceeded to town, and delivered it at the 
 proper office. He then called upon Rere- 
 worth. His friend had not yet heard of the 
 scene at Mrs. Winston's. 
 
 " Rereworth," he said, " I have a tale 
 to tell you, and an apology to make. Let 
 it be done in the fresh air. Come with 
 me into the gardens." 
 
 So they went down into those pleasant 
 grounds, rife with historical recollections, 
 and not long previously the field of exercise 
 for that regiment of legal volunteers, which 
 ambiguous wit designated " the devil's own." 
 May we never see a year like eighteen 
 hundred and eleven ! 
 
 " You little thought," said Randolph, as 
 they paced the terrace by the Thames,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 20Q 
 
 " that in presenting me to Mrs. Winston 
 last night, you introduced a relation." 
 
 Rereworth turned and looked, at the 
 speaker with unfeigned surprise. 
 
 " Under the name of Winston," the latter 
 continued, " I did not recognize a Pen- 
 darrel. I am Randolph Trevethlan. Yes, 
 you may well show astonishment. But bear 
 with me a moment. No mean purpose 
 lurked under my masquerade. 
 
 " You know that the last owner of Tre- 
 vethlan Castle had long lost the means of 
 maintaining his house. I inherited a ruin 
 and a name. To restore the one, without 
 degrading the other, was the hope of my 
 life. Doubtless the supposed retreat to the 
 continent, of my sister and myself, was 
 attributed to motives of economy. But we 
 had a very different object in view. Reared 
 in that lonely castle by the sea, ignorant 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 of society, enthusiasts perhaps by nature, 
 we taught ourselves to look forward to a 
 renovation of our old splendour, and to 
 my success in a profession as the means. 
 We read of such things in our library. But 
 there was one obstacle. My poor father — 
 a man of much sorrow, Rereworth — had the 
 feelings which — which men often have. 
 With his dying breath he forbade me to 
 risk the fame of his race in such an enter- 
 prise. It was then I mentioned the plan 
 I had devised with my sister. The world 
 might suppose us to be sojourning in a 
 strange land, while in fact we stayed here, 
 and I toiled under a feigned name in an 
 honourable profession. With a struggle my 
 father consented to the scheme. Our 
 steward introduced me as Morton to Mr. 
 Winter, and that gentleman procured me 
 admission to the Temple. But the dream 
 has vanished awav."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 211 
 
 So far Randolph spoke firmly and quickly. 
 But his voice trembled, and his words came 
 more slowly as he proceeded. 
 
 " You may know the terms — but it mat- 
 ters not. Mrs. Pendarrel was once ac- 
 quainted with my father. I suppose she 
 detected a likeness in me. I heard her 
 inquire about me last night. To be Morton 
 in her presence ! It was what I could not 
 bear. I avowed my name. — You will your- 
 self excuse the imposition. You will excuse 
 it for me to Mrs. Winston as best you 
 may." 
 
 Rereworth's wonder had increased with 
 every word he heard. It was so strange an 
 encroachment on the ordinary monotony of 
 life. He was aware of the quarrel between 
 the late Mr. Trevethlan and Mrs. Pen- 
 darrel. He understood the feelings which 
 had prompted Randolph. He regretted the 
 
 p 2
 
 212 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 termination of his career. It was the last 
 sentiment that he expressed in his answer. 
 
 " Trevethlan," he said, " no apology will 
 be necessary. Forgive me, if I grieve that 
 your intentions should be defeated. For 
 you may know that this makes your admis- 
 sion here void. But believe me, my regard 
 was not for your name, and will be un- 
 altered." 
 
 " I care for nothing else," said Randolph. 
 " Already I have petitioned the bench. 
 My sister and I return to Cornwall directly. 
 Since you are so kind, perhaps you will 
 spend the evening with us." 
 
 Rereworth consented, and his friend left 
 him musing in the gardens. This then was 
 the romance which surrounded the brother 
 and sister, and the solution of the peculiari- 
 ties upon which he had often meditated. 
 The form of Helen Trevethlan stole gently
 
 TREVETHLAN. 213 
 
 into his reverie, not unwelcome. He was 
 sorry to think she was going away, but at 
 the same time glad that he was to see her 
 again before she left. He pondered on the 
 family feud, which was nothing to him — his 
 relationship being with the Winstons — and 
 gratified himself with the idea that he might 
 possibly have prepared the way to a recon- 
 ciliation. So ignorant was he of the true 
 state of the case. But his thoughts con- 
 tinually reverted to the dark eyes of Ran- 
 dolph's sister. He was himself on the point 
 of being called to the bar, having com- 
 pleted his course of preparation, and he 
 asked himself whether a house and a wife 
 would not be agreeable possessions. 
 
 Meantime his friend went and discovered 
 himself to Mr. Winter. The lawyer was 
 much annoyed, and looked very grave. 
 
 " I will not conceal from you, Mr. Tre-
 
 214 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 vethlan, since so I must call you," he said, 
 after some reflection, " that your story gives 
 me great dissatisfaction. It is only a 
 blunder, but I wish my old friend Griffith 
 had consulted me before sanctioning this 
 scheme, and implicating me in it." 
 
 Randolph protested that the blame was 
 imputable solely to himself. 
 
 " I know," said the lawyer, " I know all 
 you would say. I am not attributing any 
 fault to anybody. But I am vexed. I 
 thought Griffith was more a man of the 
 world. As for the worthy chaplain, parsons 
 are seldom men of business. But I wish 
 my old friend had confided in me." 
 
 " It was my fault he did not," said Ran- 
 dolph. 
 
 " In truth," Winter observed, " now I 
 know all this, I am surprised I did not sus- 
 pect it before, for you have the family coun-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 215 
 
 tenance perfectly, Mr. Trevethlan. I know 
 it well. And so has your sister. It is won- 
 derful I did not think of it." 
 
 The conversation diverged to family 
 affairs, and gloomy enough seemed the for- 
 tunes of the house of Trevethlan. At 
 length Randolph took his leave, having 
 informed the lawyer of his immediate de- 
 parture for Cornwall. 
 
 The activity and vigour with which he 
 fulfilled his resolution diverted his thoughts 
 from the flame which burned hotly within 
 him and indeed inspired his energy. But, 
 in fact, although he did not know it, he was 
 nearly desperate. He might have felt his 
 own impatience while Winter was speaking 
 to him. And as he walked alone through 
 the fields, on his way back to Hampstead, 
 the consciousness of his passion revived. 
 
 " She is mine," he almost muttered aloud
 
 216 TREYETHLAN. 
 
 — " mine by every right. Family ties, 
 family feuds, parent's commands, social con- 
 ventionalities, they are cobwebs under my 
 hand. She has robbed me of my life ; she 
 must give me herself in exchange. I would 
 die for her; she must live for me. I go to my 
 home to feel myself a Trevethlan. I shall 
 breathe the air of my native halls : I shall 
 catch the inspiration of my race ; I shall 
 come forth to trample on form and rule, and 
 to bear off my bride in defiance of the 
 world. Look to your house, Esther Pen- 
 darrel. The bars are unbroken, the locks 
 are unforced. Where is your child ? In 
 the castle by the sea. Weep, proud woman 
 — weep and rend your hair for her who shall 
 never return ! Was it not enough to destroy 
 the father, but the son also must be crushed? 
 But I am made of sterner stuff. The heel 
 will be bruised that tramples me. I will
 
 TREVETHLAN. 217 
 
 not play the game of my foe. Look to 
 vour house. Did the watchman slumber ? 
 Who shall watch love? The wind of midnight 
 bore her the message, and she fled. The 
 bird sang on the house-top, and she heard 
 the song. The stars of heaven, ay, that 
 star we looked upon last night, summoned 
 her away. Fasten your windows, muster 
 your guards, note her downsitting and 
 her uprising. What ! is her place empty ? 
 Search highest and lowest. Gone? Yes. 
 she is mine ! she is mine !" 
 
 There was a softening influence in the 
 conviction, wildly as it was expressed. Ran- 
 dolph's exaltation subsided as he became 
 intimately persuaded that his passion must 
 have a happy issue, in spite of the difficulties 
 which seemed to threaten its course, and he 
 was calm and collected when he arrived at 
 his dwelling and joined his sister. But he
 
 218 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 was anxious for action, motion — anything 
 but repose — and it was agreed that they 
 should depart the very next day. 
 
 Rereworth came to them, according to his 
 engagement, some time before sun-set, and, 
 as it was a fine genial evening, they strolled 
 to the fields above West End, and looked on 
 the pleasant landscape, so agreeably described 
 by the author of the ' Sketch Book,' " with 
 its soft bosom of green pasturage lying open 
 to the south, and dotted with cattle ; the 
 steeple of Hampstead rising among rich 
 groves on the brow of the hill ; and the 
 learned height of Harrow in the distance." 
 Even at this dull season, though the trees 
 were leafless and the hedges bare, the pros- 
 pect was not without its beauties ; and 
 Rereworth discoursed of them to Helen in 
 a manner which, to him at least, was par- 
 ticularly interesting.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 219 
 
 For some time they had the conversa- 
 tion — rather serious it was — to themselves ; 
 Randolph taking no part. But when it 
 diverged to the opera, and from thence to 
 the preternatural drama, and from thence to 
 what Madame de Stael termed the cote 
 nocturne de la nature, he suddenly ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " There is a strange fascination in these 
 things. Presentiments seem to be so often 
 fulfilled." 
 
 " Because," Rereworth said, " they are 
 generally felt where the result is probable. 
 What was more likely than that Henri 
 Quatre should die by the dagger of an 
 assassin ? These pretended second-sights, 
 of all kinds, must, in fact, be revelations. 
 And to admit their truth, is to depreciate the 
 value of Revelation. I explain the whole 
 thing with four lines from Wordsworth :
 
 220 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 • What strange and wayward thoughts will slide 
 Into a lover's head ! 
 Ah, mercy ! to myself I cried, 
 If Lucy should be dead ! ' " 
 
 . " And suppose Lucy's wraith flitted by at 
 the moment," said Helen, smiling. 
 
 " All in white, uncommonly like a shred of 
 mist," added Rereworth. 
 
 " Yet," Randolph urged, " there is some- 
 thing very picturesque in these superstitions, 
 if such they must be called." 
 
 " Certainly," said his friend. " I enjoy 
 them, but I do not believe them. I en- 
 joy them more than those who believe 
 and tremble. I love a good legend, or 
 even a well-invented modern tale of gra- 
 marye." 
 
 " We shall all be mystified by the author 
 of * Waverley,' " Helen said. " Already we 
 have had Fergus's strange monitor, and the 
 fortune told for Henry Bertram, and the
 
 TREVETHLAN. 221 
 
 Ravenswood prophecy, every one of them 
 verified in the event." 
 
 " The constant return to such machinery," 
 remarked Randolph, " shows how readily it 
 finds belief." 
 
 " It is continually supported by coinci- 
 dences," Rereworth answered. " Under 
 striking circumstances, a man dreams of his 
 absent friend. On the same night the latter 
 dies. Granted in all the fulness of mystery. 
 Now how many people were in the same 
 relative position at the same time ? How 
 many dreamt or fancied the same thing ? 
 Hundreds ? Thousands ? Ay, — tens of 
 thousands. Out of myriads of dreams one is 
 verified. It proves the baselessness of" the 
 fabric." 
 
 (t One never hears of the dreams which 
 do not come true," observed Helen. 
 
 "No," Miss Trevethlan," Seymour said
 
 222 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 '■ These visions and the savings of fortune- 
 tellers are tentative ; like those famous 
 miracles, the stoppage of which occasioned 
 the well-known epigram — 
 
 c De par le roi, defense a Dieu, 
 De faire miracle en ce lieu.'" 
 
 " There is an old dame, not far from us 
 in the country," said Helen, "who I have 
 heard, has threatened a violent death to half 
 Penwith." 
 
 "Dismal individual!" exclaimed Rere- 
 worth. 
 
 " Our host complains," Helen continued, 
 " of the decay of these old wonders. There 's 
 not a child in Hampstead, he says, but will 
 cross the churchyard by night." 
 
 " Ay," said Randolph, " the age is incre- 
 dulous. For my part, I should like to be a 
 visionary."
 
 TREVETHLAN. 223 
 
 Helen perceived that her brother spoke 
 rather moodily. 
 
 " The sun is setting," she said. " If we 
 stay much longer, we shall have it dark 
 enough to encounter some spectre ourselves. 
 Let us go home." 
 
 So they went. Rereworth lingered with 
 them as long as he could, thinking of the 
 distance which would soon divide him from 
 Helen. Should they ever meet again ? 
 He felt that it only rested with himself to 
 strengthen the favourable impression he had 
 already made. But would not absence 
 efface it ? It was a question which must 
 be left to time. He was not certain of his 
 own feelings. He had arranged a cor- 
 respondence with Randolph. He should 
 therefore at least hear of Helen. He fancied 
 there was an unusual gloominess in his 
 chambers that night. The fire was out;
 
 224 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 and when he lighted his lamp, the dark 
 wainscotting of the walls, which he used to 
 admire, wore a sombre appearance. He 
 retired to rest and dreamt of Trevethlan 
 Castle. 
 
 The orphans thought it unnecessary to 
 reveal themselves to their good host and 
 hostess. They merely said that circum- 
 
 t 
 
 stances called them suddenly home. They 
 had but few adieus to make, trifling matters 
 to settle, little baggage to pack. Cor- 
 nelius and his sister had become attached to 
 their lodgers, and parted with them with 
 more than ordinary regret. Mr. Peach 
 expressed his grief that they had come to 
 Hampstead late in the fall and quitted it 
 before the Spring. They knew not the 
 beauties of his favourite suburb. His even 
 cheerfulness was shaded for a moment ; he 
 was reminded that he had a side to the wall.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 225 
 
 He insisted on accompanying his young 
 friends to the ancient inn from which they 
 were to start. And strange humours thronged 
 upon his fancy, while he stood in the court 
 of the old-fashioned hostelry, when the 
 rattling mail had departed, looked up at the 
 fantastic open galleries, and peopled them 
 with the guests of by-gone days. He went 
 up to Hampstead in a mood more serious 
 than his wont ; smoked his pipe tranquilly a 
 long time, while Clotilda sat knitting him a 
 comforter, and finished the evening with a 
 desultory discourse on the beauties and 
 merits of his never-forgotten Mabel. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Revenged ! 
 How should I be revenged ? If this be true, 
 As I have such a heart, that both mine ears 
 Must not in haste abuse — if it be true, 
 How should I be revenged? 
 
 Shakspeahe. 
 
 The emotion experienced by Esther Pen- 
 darrel, when the heir of Trevethlan confronted 
 her with the avowal of his name, was by no 
 means of unmitigated animosity. Many a 
 tender recollection arose in her mind, as she 
 gazed, fascinated, upon features so strongly 
 recalling those which, in days long gone, she 
 had stored up in her heart of hearts. The 
 remembrance of her affection prevailed for a
 
 TREVETIILAN. 227 
 
 moment over her sense of wrong and desire 
 for retribution. But it was only for a 
 moment. She saw the flushed face of her 
 daughter, and the shrinking demeanour of 
 her husband. The first she noted with 
 alarm, the second with disgust. Her feel- 
 ings recoiled upon the son of her discarded 
 suitor. That he should be an object of 
 interest to her child, and of fear or reproach 
 to her lord, made him the more odious to 
 herself. 
 
 " Morton, " she might have said in the 
 solitude of her chamber at night — " Ran- 
 dolph Morton ! Seeking the fortune so 
 recklessly thrown away ! Hoping that the 
 successful advocate would repair the ruin of 
 Trevethlan Castle ! And such things are 
 possible. Many a new family dates its 
 origin from the forum. Might not an old 
 one, in like manner, retrieve its fall ? But 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 why the feigned name ? Was it the old 
 pride ? Oh ; Henry, Henry Trevethlan ! that 
 pride has brought desolation to thee and to 
 me — to thine, and, perhaps, to mine. Was 
 there not passion in those burning cheeks, 
 and in that quivering arm ? 
 
 " And so we are face to face. Foes, 
 irreconcileable, to war to the death. What 
 was the dark hint which flashed across my 
 mind ? Who said there was no marriage?" 
 
 When Michael Sinson first let fall the in- 
 sinuation which here rose to the mind of his 
 patroness, the natural generosity of her dis- 
 position revolted from the suggestion. But 
 it recurred again and again. There was 
 strong temptation in the idea which it ex- 
 cited. Were it true, at one swoop that 
 peasant woman, whom Mrs. Pendarrel had 
 learned to hate, would be shamed, her son 
 and daughter would be fatherless in an
 
 TREVETHLAN. 229 
 
 odious sense, their inheritance would be for- 
 feited, and would fall to Esther's family. 
 The children of her lover would be outcasts 
 upon earth. Retribution so full and com- 
 plete was more than she had ever deemed 
 possible, and continually presented itself to 
 her thoughts, whether she would or no. 
 Sometimes she asked herself, was it not her 
 duty to investigate the matter ? did not 
 justice to her own children require it ? might 
 she not be charged with allowing them to 
 be defrauded ? Besides, supposing the tale 
 was well founded, and her husband's title 
 maintained, and possession had of the castle, 
 there would then be ample opportunity for 
 generosity. But justice should come first. 
 Such were the ideas which had forced them- 
 selves upon Mrs. Pendarrel's notice, and 
 been less and less unwelcome, before the 
 meeting at Mrs. Winston's party. The dis-
 
 230 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 covery there made gave them a new colour- 
 ing. If the orphans had chosen to fling 
 aside their name, a name to which they 
 might have no right, need she be scrupulous 
 in scrutinizing their title, and overthrowing 
 it if she could ? No, no. Let them be 
 Mortons, or Bassets, or what they would : if 
 they cared so little for the name of Tre- 
 vethlan who were its natural upholders, 
 surely neither need she who was pledged for 
 its extinction. 
 
 The next day Mrs. Pendarrel desired the 
 presence of her protege. The interview 
 which ensued was long. By dexterous 
 questions, flung out with great apparent 
 nonchalance, and exhibiting a scornful dis- 
 belief in the things inquired of, the lady 
 extracted from Michael Sinson all the 
 popular rumours upon which he had founded 
 his insinuation. But if she supposed that
 
 TREVETHLAN. 231 
 
 her manner blinded him to her real interest, 
 she deceived herself. He was subtile enough 
 to see that the affected indifference was only 
 a disguise. And although, in truth, very 
 willing to unfold his story, he amused himself 
 at times by feigning reluctance, and obliging 
 his patroness to speak more plainly than she 
 desired. The following pages embody the 
 substance of his information, derived, he 
 said, from rumours current in Trevethlan 
 and its neighbourhood when he was a boy, 
 but now nearly forgotten. 
 
 Margaret Basset was one of the prettiest 
 girls to be met with between the Lizard and 
 Marazion. Her song was the merriest in 
 the hay-field ; her foot was the lightest at 
 Sithney fair. Many a well-to-do young 
 man would have gladly made her his wife, 
 but Margaret was hard to please. And her 
 fastidiousness was not displeasing to her
 
 232 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 mother, Maud, who was vain of her hand- 
 some child, and read a high fortune for her 
 by the Sortes Apocalypticce, to which she 
 had recourse in all matters, both great and 
 small. It was true, that one day, when a 
 strolling gipsy was tempting Margaret to 
 learn her destiny, and Maud rushed out of 
 the house to put the witch to flight, declaring 
 that her girl's fortune required no help from 
 the like of her, the dark woman answered, 
 wrathfully, that what was thought bliss might 
 prove to be bane. But the angry prediction 
 was unheeded at the time, and only remem- 
 bered when it seemed to be fulfilled by 
 Margaret's premature death. 
 
 At that time, Henry Trevethlan was by 
 no means popular among his dependents. 
 He had lately returned to the castle, after a 
 long absence, a ruined man. For a great 
 time the hamlet had derived none of the
 
 TREVETHLAN. 233 
 
 usual benefits from the residence of its 
 proprietor, and he came home too poor to 
 confer any. The people were very jealous 
 at the alienation of the family estates, which 
 had so much divided the tenantry. It 
 seemed not unlikely that the prophecy, 
 respecting the union of Trevethlan and 
 Pendarrel, would be verified in a sense far 
 from flattering to the inhabitants of the 
 former, and even without the match. 
 
 So, when it was whispered that Mr. 
 Trevethlan was, in fact, seeking a bride 
 from among themselves, they were irritated 
 rather than conciliated. They wanted a 
 lady of fortune and rank, who might make 
 the castle a scene of hospitality, and be 
 generous to the villagers, as the ladies of 
 Trevethlan had always been wont. The 
 prophecy was quoted with more alarm. 
 Any girl, who was said to have attracted
 
 234 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 their landlord's notice, was regarded with 
 jealousy and dislike. And some old crones 
 indulged in darker sayings : how there could 
 be but one object in such wedlock, and if 
 there were no olive-branches the vine would 
 be found to wither. Either the marriage 
 would be broken, or the bride would die. 
 
 Such was the state of feeling in the 
 hamlet, when Mr. Trevethlan demanded 
 the hand of Margaret Basset. Alone, per- 
 haps, among her neighbours, the maiden's 
 mother received the announcement with joy 
 and pride. She accepted it as the fulfilling 
 of her own prediction. Margaret trembled 
 as she thought of the gipsy's. But, what- 
 ever were her feelings, she could not resist 
 the desires of her parent, and the authority 
 of the castle. Her sister, Cecily, was her 
 only confidante. The marriage was settled. 
 
 But then came the difficulty as to the
 
 TREVETHLAN. 235 
 
 performance of the ceremony. Mr. Tre- 
 vethlan respected the pride of his chaplain, 
 but he resolved to meet no other check of 
 the kind. There was a clergyman, a very 
 young man, seeking to repair his shattered 
 health by a residence on that genial coast, 
 and evidently in no very flourishing circum- 
 stances. Him did Mr. Trevethlan induce 
 to celebrate the rite, under a special license, 
 within the walls of the castle. Maud, and a 
 young rustic, named Wyley, were the only 
 witnesses ; and the country-folk might well 
 conjecture that a marriage, contracted in so 
 singular, and, to them, in so revolting a 
 manner, was irregular, and might be dis- 
 solved. Moreover, it was not entered in 
 the parish register until after the birth of 
 Randolph, and then not in the usual form. 
 
 So these circumstances provoked much 
 popular indignation. When Mr. Treveth-
 
 236 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 Ian took home his bride all the doors in 
 the hamlet were closed, and no individual 
 was visible on the green. Even Jeffrey's 
 face was shaded with discontent when he 
 threw open the gates ; and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Griffith could not avoid displaying a little 
 humiliation in receiving their new mistress. 
 Polydore Riches, alone of the household, 
 met her with a sincere welcome, in which 
 kindness was enforced by pity. Some folks 
 wondered that he remained at the castle. 
 But the chaplain had satisfied his conscience 
 by his protest, and stayed to mitigate a 
 misfortune which he was unable to avert. 
 
 The day after the marriage the hamlet 
 was startled by an occurrence, which gave 
 fresh force to the suspicions of the villagers. 
 Mr. Ashton, the clergyman, was missed 
 from his lodgings. He went out the even- 
 ing of the wedding, as was his habit, to
 
 TREVETHLAN. 237 
 
 stroll along the cliffs, and he never returned. 
 In much excitement the people made a 
 diligent and immediate search, and on the 
 beach below his haunt they found the body 
 of a man, stripped, and so disfigured, that 
 identification was impossible. It was soon 
 discovered that Wyley, the witness, was also 
 missing from his home, and the comments 
 made on the coincidence were loud and 
 strong. 
 
 Advertisements brought forward Mr. 
 Ashton's relations. From them Polydore 
 Riches learnt that his health had been 
 ruined by self-indulgence, and that he was 
 allowed a small stipend on condition of 
 residing in perfect retirement. There 
 seemed to be no very particular concern 
 felt about his fate. The gentleman who 
 came down was unable to recognise the 
 body, so great were the injuries it had
 
 238 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 received, apparently in falling from the cliff. 
 The coroner's inquest returned an open 
 verdict. 
 
 There the matter rested. The mystery 
 had not been explained. There were, how- 
 ever, low whispers, that Will Watch's 
 lugger had run along the shore the night 
 Mr. Ashton was missed, and that the 
 country lanes were alive with active traffic. 
 But if it were so, those who could be explicit 
 on the matter if they chose, found it more 
 expedient to hold their tongues. 
 
 For a time the event gave, as has been 
 said, new vigour to the suspicions concern- 
 ing poor Margaret's marriage. Her mother 
 was the only witness remaining. But when 
 a son and heir was born to Mr. Trevethlan, 
 and there came no formal impeachment 
 of the union, the rumours gradually died 
 away. The peasant-lady, by her meekness
 
 TREVETIILAN. 239 
 
 and modesty, won the regard of all the 
 inmates of the castle, except — her husband. 
 He exacted, indeed, the utmost deference 
 towards her from others, but treated her 
 himself with cold indifference, and seemed 
 jealous of her influence with her children, 
 even in their cradle. She foresaw what 
 would come, pined away, and died. Her 
 bliss had been her bane. 
 
 Michael Sinson said nothing to his 
 patroness of the mode in which Mr. Tre- 
 vethlan behaved to his wife's relations. He 
 did not tell how bitterly old Maud resented 
 the death of her daughter, nor how his own 
 expulsion from the castle rankled even yet 
 in his heart. But he dwelt with much craft 
 on the singular circumstances of the mar- 
 riage, and the mysterious disappearance of 
 the evidence ; hinted at times, that the rite 
 would have been pronounced a mockery, if
 
 240 TREVETHLAN 
 
 its purpose had not been achieved, and 
 suggested, not very indistinctly, that it might 
 yet be proved to have been so in reality. 
 
 These hints and inuendos were the main 
 novelties of the story to Mrs. Pendarrel. 
 Of her own knowledge, she recollected the 
 leading facts of the case, and was well aware 
 that, whatever might be the prejudices of 
 the vulgar, there was not the slightest public 
 ground to doubt the perfect formality of the 
 marriage. Moreover, she felt certain, from 
 her acquaintance with Henry Trevethlan's 
 character, that he would never be a party 
 to an artifice like that suggested by Sinson. 
 If there were anything irregular, she was 
 sure it was no fault of his. But there was a 
 confidence in her informant's manner which 
 seemed to intimate that he spoke on no light 
 grounds. 
 
 " Sinson," she said, after some considera-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 241 
 
 tion, and with an air of the most unreserved 
 frankness, " you know, of course, perfectly 
 well, that if the marriage you have been speak- 
 ing of were not lawfully contracted, the small 
 estate of Trevethlan would fall, by inheri- 
 tance, to Mr. Pendarrel. And though I am 
 sure he would be disposed to show every 
 kindness to those who in that case would, by 
 no fault of their own, be holding a false 
 position, still justice to his family would 
 compel him to enforce his claim. And 
 any party contributing by proper means to 
 the establishment of the title would, of 
 course, be liberally rewarded. But an at- 
 tempt which should simply cause annoyance 
 to Mr. Trevethlan without profiting our- 
 selves, would be equally disagreeable to us. 
 And we should be very far, indeed, from 
 speculating on a mere chance, or using any 
 unfair means. Now, from your manner, you 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 appear to possess, or to fancy you do, some 
 information which may be valuable. For 
 myself, I am no judge of such matters ; but 
 Mr. Pendarrel will give you an introduction 
 to our lawyer. He will consider the worth 
 of your intelligence, and you may rely on an 
 adequate remuneration." 
 
 But this suggestion in no way. squared 
 with Michael's designs. It was not exactly 
 a pecuniary recompense that he desired. 
 The calm and level manner in which Mrs. 
 Pendarrel spoke failed to conceal the strong 
 interest she really felt ; and since she alluded 
 with such nonchalant openness to conse- 
 quences, he would be somewhat more explicit 
 as to means. 
 
 " I beg pardon^ ma'am," he observed. 
 " I supposed you would think it more im- 
 portant. Certainly, ma'am, it is not for me 
 to meddle. To be sure, I know something ;
 
 TREVETHLAN. 243 
 
 but it may be all wrong, and then, ma'am, it 
 would only annoy Mr. Trevethlan to bring 
 it forward. Besides, would I wish to disturb 
 the good name of my poor relation, although 
 it would be no blame to her ? So, ma'am, I 
 might pursue a train I have laid, with your 
 leave ; and if it leads to anything, then I 
 could have the introduction. If it comes to 
 nothing, there will be no harm done." 
 
 After some fencing, Michael obtained 
 from his patroness a vague authority to con- 
 tinue the researches at which he hinted, and 
 he subsequently extracted a further sanction 
 in letters, by writing to her for instructions. 
 He was playing rather a deep game for a 
 very distant object. In this interview he 
 imagined he gained a point or two, and Mrs. 
 Pendarrel might have detected a gleam of 
 exultation in his sinister eyes, when he 
 quitted her presence at its close. And when 
 
 r 2
 
 244 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 he met her daughter in his way through the 
 hall, he glanced at her with an expression 
 which might have amused the young lady, 
 but that she always regarded him with an 
 instinctive antipathy. 
 
 The conversation disappointed Mrs. Pen- 
 darrel. She had hoped for intelligence of a 
 more definite kind, and placed very little 
 reliance on the expectations held out by her 
 protege. But now another solicitude en- 
 gaged her attention. In spite of her own 
 excitement when Randolph confronted her 
 with his name, she had not omitted to notice 
 the agitation of Mildred. She saw the scar- 
 let of her face, and felt the pressure of her 
 trembling arm. She fancied she heard the 
 exclamation — my cousin — escape from her 
 lips. Cousin indeed ! she thought. Well 
 it will be if that is all. 
 
 She had wielded her rod of iron so long,
 
 TREVETIILAX. 245 
 
 was so accustomed to entire submission from 
 all connected with her, and so firmly per- 
 suaded of the power of her will, that in 
 preparing to settle Mildred — pleasing is the 
 ambiguity of the word — as she had suc- 
 ceeded in doing Gertrude, she forgot or 
 undervalued the point of support, which 
 Mrs. Winston's position enabled her to 
 afford her sister. Right well did the clear- 
 sighted mother know, how bitterly Gertrude 
 repented the day when she exchanged cap- 
 tivity with a heart for liberty without. She 
 knew also that Mrs. Winston would cer- 
 tainly take Mildred's part in resisting an 
 unacceptable match. But the knowledge 
 rather stimulated her love of triumph than 
 occasioned her any dread. Parents seem 
 often apt to visit upon their children their 
 own hardships or misfortunes. The par- 
 venu father thinks he has fully excused
 
 246 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 narrow-mindedness towards bis son by say- 
 ing — the lad is better off than ever I was. 
 And the mother, whose own marriage, was 
 unhappy, will not seldom be careless of her 
 daughters' comfort in theirs. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Pendarrel had for some time 
 decided upon Mildred's lot. Mr. Melcomb 
 was to be the happy man. It was true, 
 he was a gambler and a rake ; but it was 
 also true that he was the owner of Tolpeden 
 Park and a large estate thereto appended. 
 It was equally true that he was pretty deeply 
 embarrassed ; but the extent of his liabilities 
 had not yet transpired, and the prudent 
 mother supposed that her daughter's fortune 
 would pay off the encumbrances upon the 
 land, and that by stringent settlements it 
 might be kept free in future, and secured 
 for the children. And so her descendants 
 would unite Tolpeden and Pendarrel. But
 
 TREVETHLAN. 247 
 
 Melcomb was desultory in his addresses, 
 haunted by that fear of a refusal already 
 mentioned. Now, however, that Mrs. Pen- 
 darrel felt some uneasiness lest Mildred 
 should fall into other chains, she became 
 anxious to bind her at once in a positive 
 
 engagement. 
 
 The coxcomb was nearly a daily visitor at 
 her house, and always admitted. She took 
 an early opportunity of sounding him more 
 closely than before as to his intentions, and* 
 hinted hopes of favour. He replied with a 
 proposal in form. Should esteem himself 
 the happiest of men. Feared he might not 
 be acceptable to Miss Pendarrel. That 
 alone had prevented him from declaring 
 himself long before. Sensible of his un- 
 worthiness : prepared to devote his life. To 
 which the mother graciously answered, that 
 she felt highly flattered. That her daughter
 
 248 
 
 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 had been educated too prudently to differ 
 from her parents. He might consider the 
 affair settled. No difficulty could arise in 
 the necessary arrangements. Mildred would 
 be ready to receive him on the following 
 day.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Juliet. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
 That sees into the hottoin of my grief? 
 O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
 Delay this marriage for a month — a week — 
 Or if you do not, make the bridal bed 
 In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
 
 Lady Capulet. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak a word : 
 Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Randolph had amply compensated, in his 
 second dance with Mildred, for any awk- 
 wardness which might have attended his 
 first. Even in this he had ultimately suc- 
 ceeded in interesting his partner, and in the 
 other he excited her enthusiasm. Carried
 
 250 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 away himself by the fatality which seemed to 
 have brought them together, he discoursed 
 in fervent and glowing language of the mystic 
 science which supposed the destinies of 
 mortals to be written in the sky, and pointed 
 to the planet which he had just before 
 imagined might rule his own. It was not as 
 a believer, not as a votary that he spoke, 
 however, but as a lover. Were it not 
 pleasant, he asked, to fancy that friends far 
 apart might look up to those rolling fires, 
 fancy one another's situation, and thus hold 
 a sympathetic communion, — no matter what 
 distance lay between them ? And certain it 
 is, that extravagant and romantic as the 
 idea might seem, Mildred never saw the 
 stars afterwards without remembering the 
 question, gazing round for the bright planet 
 which Randolph showed her, and wondering 
 was he also regarding it.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 251 
 
 No marvel if she was more than excited 
 by the scene which followed. To find a 
 relation in him whose rich tones still lingered 
 on her ear, whose burning words were still 
 thrilling in her heart ; to see in him the 
 cousin of whom she had scarcely heard, but 
 was prepared to love ; the dweller of those 
 desolate towers by the sea which she had so 
 often admired in the rambles of her child- 
 hood ; to think that all she had heard of 
 him concerned the feud which divided them ; 
 to read that feud in the flashing eyes which 
 were fixed upon her mother, and to feel the 
 overwhelming tenderness with which they 
 then bent upon herself, — no marvel surely 
 it was that the warm blood rushed to her 
 cheeks, and she trembled in every nerve, and 
 her lips breathed a recognition of her new- 
 found kinsman. 
 
 Nor was it an impression likely to be
 
 252 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 weakened by reflection. All the associa- 
 tions would rather tend to deepen it. The 
 seclusion from which he must have emerged, 
 the mystery which appeared to surround him 
 now, the consequences of his self-betrayal, 
 combined to the same end. Then, too, he 
 had a sister. Was she like him ? Where 
 was she abiding? What were her pursuits? 
 Mere curiosity would have found ample 
 employment for reverie, even if no deeper 
 and fonder interest were at hand to pro- 
 tract it. 
 
 In such meditations was Mildred absorbed 
 when her mother came to inform her, with 
 stately calmness, that Mr. Melcomb had 
 made a formal demand of her hand ; that 
 the offer was highly acceptable to herself 
 and to Mr. Pendarrel, and that her suitor 
 would pay his respects to her the next day. 
 As soon as Mildred had recovered some
 
 TREVETHLAN. 253 
 
 composure, after the short scene which fol- 
 lowed, she threw on her bonnet, — at least 
 she was not yet a prisoner in the house, — 
 and walked to Cavendish-square. Mrs. 
 Winston read the anxiety of her mind at one 
 glance. 
 
 " Mildred, dearest," she exclaimed, "what 
 is the matter ? — what has happened ? " 
 
 " Do you recollect," her sister inquired in 
 turn, with a short scornful laugh which 
 Gertrude did not like, " what we said of 
 Mr. Melcomb some time ago ? Well, it 
 seems I am to marry him : — that is what 's 
 the matter." 
 
 " Marry Melcomb ! Not while I have 
 a home to offer you," Mrs. Winston 
 said, hastily. " That is, not against your 
 wishes, dear. You may learn to like the 
 man. He is said to have very winning 
 ways."
 
 254 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " Gertrude, Gertrude ! do not jest. But 
 we may be interrupted " 
 
 " Come with me, little timidity. Fanchon 
 shall tell them I am not at home/' Mrs. 
 Winston led her sister to her boudoir. 
 " Now, dear, talk to me and the mice. 
 You can sit with your back to me if you 
 like." 
 
 " Oh, Gertrude, I think my heart will 
 break ! " 
 
 " Of course, dear. Quite correct." 
 
 " Nay, listen, sister," Mildred remon- 
 strated. " I was sitting this morning, doing 
 nothing, thinking, thinking of ... . when 
 mamma came suddenly into my room. I was 
 quite startled. Mamma was looking half 
 merry and half solemn. You know, Ger- 
 trude?" 
 
 " I do, dear," said the elder sister, with 
 some bitterness.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 255 
 
 " So she began to flatter me in different 
 ways, and said a great many little things 
 that I could really hardly attend to, and 
 something about the admiration .... and 
 then about obedience and duty, and the 
 words seemed to pass over my mind without 
 making any impression. Till at last mamma 
 assumed a very grave look, and said I must 
 be aware of the particular attentions which 
 had been paid me for a great while. There 
 were, indeed, some attentions that I had 
 
 felt, but not for a great while I was 
 
 confused, Gertrude, by the tone in which 
 mamma spoke ; she seemed to expect an 
 answer. I do not know what I said." 
 
 And Mildred here made a pause in her 
 story, after which she proceeded with more 
 animation. 
 
 " Mamma did not keep me long in sus- 
 pense. A gentleman — highly distinguished
 
 256 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 — neighbour in the country — general fa- 
 vourite — might have married so and so. 
 Could I not guess ? I had taken heart. 
 Neighbour ! I thought. I considered the 
 geography of Pendarrel. Bounded on the 
 east, I said to myself, by Mr. Peristyle, 
 married. On the south, Sir Simon Rogers, 
 who married his dairy-maid, and she is just 
 dead. Dear mamma, I asked, am I to be the 
 second Lady Rogers ? She laughed, and 
 bade me guess again. West, thought I, 
 west, between us and the sea ! And a 
 romantic idea struck me, that I was to be 
 a peace-offering, and with a wild kind of 
 hope, I exclaimed, surely, mamma, it is not 
 my cousin, Randolph ? Gertrude, I wish 
 you had seen our mother's face at that 
 moment." 
 
 " I can imagine it," Mrs. Winston 
 said.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 257 
 
 " For my part," Mildred continued, " my 
 eyes had filled with tears. After a moment's 
 silence, mamma said, in a tone that froze 
 my heart, ' You began at the wrong end. 
 Mr. Melcomb is your suitor; will be your 
 husband.' Sister, I did not believe it. I 
 fancy I smiled. Mamma went on in the same 
 voice — i Let me have no boarding-school 
 nonsense, Mildred, if you please. Rely on 
 your mother's experience, and imitate your 
 sister's prudence. Mr. Melcomb will wait 
 upon you to-morrow/ It was still some 
 time before I understood. I begged f or 
 pity, for delay, for anything. Mamma was 
 very, very stern !" 
 
 Mildred threw her arms round Gertrude, 
 and bent her face upon her neck. 
 
 " Marry him !" she exclaimed in a whis- 
 per — " never !" 
 
 " Ay," thought Mrs. Winston, pressing 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 her sister to her bosom, " I said the same. 
 And yet .... But I had no refuge. I 
 was unsupported, and helpless. It is a hard 
 struggle. May it not be avoided ? Can we 
 not gain time ? If Melcomb had a spark 
 of generosity .... But he is too vain . . . 
 and even then our mother .... There is 
 nothing for it but time. Mildred, dearest," 
 she continued aloud, " you need not tremble 
 so. You will not have to accept Mr. Mel- 
 comb." 
 
 ".What mean you?" her sister asked, 
 raising her head. 
 
 " Listen : I understand this gentleman, 
 and so, I think, do you. He will not dream 
 of asking your consent. He will take it for 
 granted. Let him — let him till the time 
 comes. It will not be long, but we shall have 
 a chance of avoiding eclat. Tell mamma, 
 that though you are not now favourable
 
 TREVETHLAN. 259 
 
 to Mr. Melcomb, you cannot refuse to see 
 him, and she will be satisfied. And then we 
 shall have the chapter of accidents on our 
 side." 
 
 "Must I do this, Gertrude ?" Mildred 
 exclaimed. " There was a time when I was 
 amused with his compliments, Heaven forgive 
 me ! But to listen to them now ! En- 
 courage him, I never did. He knew I was 
 laughing. Ah me ! If I escape this time, 
 I will never flirt again.'' 
 
 " Be not too sure," said Gertrude. " But 
 take your sister's word, no harm will come. 
 And remember, here is your home as a last 
 resort. Come, come," she continued, in 
 answer to a sigh from her sister, " let me 
 take you a drive. You are as pale as 
 
 Ophelia. But ah, <^a ira, 9a ira 
 
 do not repeat my revolutionary music to 
 papa." 
 
 s 2
 
 260 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 As the sisters rode along, Mrs. Winston 
 turned the conversation to the scene which 
 had occurred at her late party. She had not 
 seen it, nor indeed had any one save those 
 who were mentioned at the time. She brought 
 the colour into Mildred's cheeks, by alluding 
 with a smile, to her retirement with her part- 
 ner to that unfrequented little room ; and she 
 made her heart beat quick by relating all 
 the circumstances which she had learned 
 from Rereworth, who had duly delivered 
 Randolph's message, and taken the oppor- 
 tunity of extolling the merits of his friend. 
 And Gertrude ended by expressing her deep 
 regret at the continuance of the family dis- 
 agreement, to which her attention had been 
 specifically drawn for the first time, and her 
 hope that it might be approaching its termi- 
 nation. Every word of the narrative in- 
 creased the interest which was alreadv warm
 
 TREVETHLAN. 261 
 
 in Mildred's heart, and made her feel a 
 greater repugnance to receiving Melcomb in 
 the equivocal manner recommended by her 
 sister.
 
 262 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Regretter ce qu'on aime est un bien, en comparaison de 
 
 vivre avec ce que l'on hait." 
 
 La Bbuyeee. 
 
 Mildred's trial was not destined to last 
 long. Her suitor was more impatient than 
 Mrs. Winston predicted. He would, in- 
 deed, ^as she suggested, have willingly con- 
 tinued to accept a vicarious consent, until 
 things had gone so far that his intended 
 bride should be unable to recede. Hitherto 
 he had given her no opportunity for re- 
 sistance, and now with all his assurance 
 he dreaded to begin. Mildred's indiffe- 
 rence was so chilling that his spirits de-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 263 
 
 serted him in her presence. He would 
 have left her free, but for the fear of ridi- 
 cule, and the need, the pressing need, of 
 her fortune. The time came to make the 
 plunge. 
 
 " Miss Pendarrel," Melcomb said, as they 
 sat together in a small drawing-room, " dear 
 Miss Pendarrel, you must be aware how 
 long I have been the most devoted of your 
 servants." 
 
 Mildred had acquired the habit of receiv- 
 ing Melcomb's compliments in silence. She 
 said nothing. 
 
 " It is true no service could make any 
 man worthy of Miss Pendarrel," the suitor 
 continued ; " yet I have been led to hope, 
 unworthy as I am, that mine might not be 
 doomed to be endless. Is it not so, dear 
 Miss Pendarrel ? " 
 
 " You have been led to hope nothing
 
 264 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 by me, Mr. Melcomb," Mildred answered, 
 agitated by the unusual embarrassment in 
 his manner. 
 
 " Nay," urged the coxcomb, " may I 
 not hope from the position which Miss Pen- 
 darrel has permitted me to assume . . ." 
 
 " You have had no permission from mei 
 Mr. Melcomb," said Mildred, interrupting 
 him. She had well prepared herself for the 
 scene, and preserved her spirit, though very 
 much distressed. 
 
 " Surely," he continued, " I am not pre- 
 sumptuous in considering it implied." 
 
 Mildred was silent. Hers was no case for 
 argument. 
 
 " Not presumptuous," Melcomb went on, 
 speaking more rapidly, "in aspiring to the 
 happiness which that permission seemed to 
 promise. Not presumptuous in imploring 
 dear Miss Pendarrel to appoint the time,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 265 
 
 when anxiety and fidelity may be rewarded 
 with joy, and I may become the most for- 
 tunate of men." 
 
 " Mr. Melcomb," Mildred said, rising 
 from her chair, and trembling, " I am above 
 pretending to misunderstand you. Have 
 you my mother's . . . Does she ..." 
 
 " It is by Mrs. Pendarrel's leave that I 
 venture," said the coxcomb in his softest 
 manner. " And an early day, dearest 
 Mildred, " 
 
 He made a step as if to take her hand, 
 but she recoiled, and said, in a tone of 
 determination, which Melcomb probably 
 never forgot, " The day will never come." 
 
 She turned towards the door, but stopped 
 as though she wished to say something 
 more. Melcomb had anticipated a refusal, 
 but not one so decisive. 
 
 Miss Pendarrel will pardon my expressing
 
 266 
 
 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 surprise ..." he began to say. Mildred 
 hastily interrupted him, with faltering words. 
 
 " Sir, sir, perhaps it is I should ask your 
 pardon — but you have never — it is the first 
 time — I have had no opportunity — in pity 
 to me, sir, urge these addresses no farther." 
 
 She could no longer restrain her tears, 
 and quitted the room, Melcomb making no 
 attempt to detain her. 
 
 He was neither surprised, nor mortified, 
 nor even discomposed. It was a check by 
 discovery, long expected and prepared for, 
 by no means check-mate. And he had not 
 lost his queen. The game was by no means 
 desperate. But he wished for time to con- 
 sider his next move, and left the house 
 without seeing Mrs. Pendarrel. 
 
 That lady immediately conjectured what 
 had occurred, and only feared that Mildred 
 might have affronted her suitor to such a
 
 TREVETHLAN. 267 
 
 degree as to make him abandon his inten- 
 tions. He had not been very long gone before 
 she sought an explanation from her daughter. 
 
 " Mildred, my dear child," she said, 
 " what is the meaning of this ? How happens 
 it, that the politest of mankind leaves my 
 house without kissing my hand ? " 
 
 There was a covert irony in Mrs. Pen- 
 darrel's manner, which, against her will, 
 betrayed her own contempt for Melcomb, 
 and at the same time showed her ruthless 
 resolution. 
 
 " Mamma," Mildred answered, fixing her 
 reddened eyes on her mother's, "you know." 
 
 " Nay, child, I am not a divine. I hope 
 you were not rude to Mr. Melcomb ? To 
 your intended husband ? " 
 
 " I refused him, mamma." 
 
 " And why did you not refuse him long 
 ago ? " Mrs. Pendarrel asked abruptly.
 
 268 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " He never asked me, mother," answered 
 Mildred, swinging her hand to and fro. 
 " He never asked me. Till just now I have 
 heard nothing from him that I could take as 
 a proposal. How anxiously I have waited 
 for one, God knows." 
 
 Mrs. Pendarrel bit her lip. 
 
 " It is of no consequence," she said, 
 " you cannot recede without disgrace and 
 shame. If you are prepared to submit to 
 them, I am not. This marriage must pro- 
 ceed. Always, that is, if you have not 
 affronted Mr. Melcomb irrevocably. But 
 you dared not." 
 
 A flash in Mildred's eye at the word 
 might show Esther more daring than she 
 would like. 
 
 " Mother," she said, " I prayed Mr. Mel- 
 comb, in pity, to urge his suit no more. I 
 make a similar prayer to you. And, mother,
 
 TREVETHLAN. 269 
 
 there is one thing I dare not do. I dare not 
 wed this man." 
 
 (t I fancy you will find heart," said Mrs. 
 Pendarrel, with a sneer on the word. " And 
 since you are so agitated, you had better 
 stay at home till you do." 
 
 But that home was to be changed. Im- 
 mediately after this conversation, Mrs. Pen- 
 darrel determined to carry her daughter 
 down into Cornwall, and finish the matter 
 with a high hand. She had another motive 
 for the journey, having heard from Sinson 
 that the Trevethlans had gone home, and 
 feeling, she scarcely knew why, desirous to 
 be near them. But, before she could 
 execute her design, she had to undergo a 
 remonstrance from Mrs. Winston. 
 
 " And can the news I hear be true, dear 
 mamma ? " the latter asked. 
 
 " What news, Gertrude ? "
 
 270 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " That Mildred is to be Mrs. Melcomb ?" 
 
 " That is no news to you, Gertrude. You 
 have known Mr. Melcomb's position here 
 from the first." 
 
 " I knew he was idling about Mildred, as 
 he has done about fifty other girls. But I 
 did not know that she was to be sacrificed 
 without her consent." 
 
 " Sacrificed, indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Pendarrel. " Why, she has encouraged 
 him!" 
 
 " No, mother," said Mrs. Winston ; 
 " never. She may lately have seemed to do 
 so, owing to my advice. And she shall not 
 suffer for taking it." 
 
 " Shall ! " Esther repeated. " Upon my 
 word, Gertrude, I could fancy you were 
 practising the settlement of a daughter of 
 your own." 
 
 " My dear mamma ! " Mrs. Winston an-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 271 
 
 swered, in a tone which fully returned the 
 sarcasm. " And you think Mr. Melcomb 
 calculated to make Mildred happy ? " 
 
 " Surely/' replied the mother. " Is he 
 not a highly agreeable and honourable 
 man ?" 
 
 " Agreeable, because he is a roue : ho- 
 nourable, because he does not cheat at 
 cards. Is it not so, dear mamma?" 
 
 Mrs. Pendarrel smiled. 
 
 " You have been studying philosophy, my 
 dear," she said ; " taking a lesson from 
 your own good husband. You know that 
 scandal calls every handsome fellow a rake, 
 and every generous one a gambler." 
 
 " I know nothing of the sort, but I know 
 that Melcomb is both," said Mrs. Winston, 
 very bitterly. " And I will do everything 
 in my power to save my sister from the 
 misery of such a union."
 
 272 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " You are a dutiful and grateful daughter, 
 in good truth," cried Mrs. Pendarrel, with 
 suppressed rage, " And, pray, what will 
 you do ? " 
 
 " I will at least offer Mildred a shelter in 
 my house." 
 
 "'Twill avail her nothing; the law is 
 against you," the mother exclaimed furiously. 
 " And for this I toiled and toiled, and 
 placed my child in a position envied of a 
 hundred rivals! For this I plotted, and 
 manoeuvred, and wasted hours and hours on 
 that obdurate simpleton ; and mined and 
 countermined, and contended with dissen- 
 sion at home, and ill-dissembled malice 
 abroad !" 
 
 " You might at least be respectful to 
 your dupe, dear mamma, in my presence." 
 
 " Ungrateful ! But why do I argue with 
 you r
 
 TREVETHLAN. 273 
 
 Qertrude rose, and leant upon the back of 
 her mother's chair. 
 
 " Because," she said, " you know that I 
 am right. Mother, I have no reason to 
 thank you for my marriage. You know it 
 very well. It is true I have no such 
 wretchedness to encounter as would befall 
 Mildred in a match like this. The world 
 thinks me a happy woman. I do not com- 
 plain. I wear my chains as lightly and 
 gracefully as I can. But they are chains, 
 nevertheless. And you know it, mother. 
 Yet I would fain think you meant me 
 kindly, and it is therefore I remonstrate in 
 poor Mildred's behalf. May we not discuss 
 the affair as friends ?" 
 
 " It is too late," said Mrs. Pendarrel. 
 
 " Too late !" Gertrude exclaimed. 
 
 " My word is absolutely pledged to Mr. 
 Melcomb. It is impossible to recede.' 
 
 VOL. i. t
 
 274 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 "And Mildred only asked yesterday!" 
 said Mrs. Winston, quitting her position, 
 and walking away. " Sold, positively sold, 
 for the contiguity of a few acres !" 
 
 But little more passed, before the mother 
 and daughter parted with a very ceremonious 
 salute. 
 
 Did Mrs. Pendarrel flinch under the re- 
 monstrances of her child ? Did she waver 
 a moment in her course ? Reproached as 
 the cause of Gertrude's unhappiness, did 
 she hesitate to consummate the sacrifice of 
 Mildred ? If she had, she would not have 
 been Esther Pendarrel. She had a quarrel 
 with the world of five-and-thirty years' stand- 
 ing. Love ! Folly ! What had love been 
 to her ? Reason ! She had married against 
 it. Convenience ! Ay, she wedded the 
 heir presumptive of Trevethlan. So let her 
 children. Had not Gertrude a house in
 
 TREVETHLAN. 275 
 
 Cavendish-square, and Winston Park, and 
 a philosophical fool not ten years older than 
 herself? Companionship — Ridiculous: 
 there was plenty in the world. Home — 
 Rococo : one lived abroad. With some 
 soliloquy of this nature, did a withered 
 heart excuse itself for spreading desolation 
 like its own, conscious all the while that 
 its pretences were false, saying, not thinking, 
 the thing that was not. 
 
 Gertrude sought her sister on leaving 
 Mrs. Pendarrel, and found her in a humour 
 very different from what she had expected. 
 
 " So, Mildred, dear," she said, " we part. 
 They take you to the enchanted castle, and 
 where is the knight to wind the magic horn ? 
 Seriously, my poor sister, what will you do 
 at Pendarrel?" 
 
 "Do, Gertrude !" exclaimed the younger 
 sister, who might have been dreaming of the 
 
 t 2
 
 276 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 knight. * My despondency is gone. I am 
 ready for the worst." 
 
 " And prepared " 
 
 " Not to marry Mr. Melcomb, I assure 
 you. You may lead a horse to the water, 
 but who shall make him drink? All the 
 vixen rises in my bosom, Gertrude. Mamma 
 said something about my daring. I believe she 
 has put me fairly upon my mettle, and will 
 find I inherit it from her. So ! Mildred!" 
 
 She flourished an imaginary whip. Her 
 sister was perplexed, and a little troubled at 
 her manner. She changed it suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, Gertrude !" she said, " do not think 
 this levity comes from a light heart. I do 
 know how hard a part I have to play. I 
 do contemplate with sorrow this visit to 
 Pendarrel, — so different from those in the 
 old time, when we loved the country so 
 much. With sorrow, but without fear/'
 
 TREVETHLAN. 277 
 
 "Ah, my sister!" said Mrs. Winston, 
 " you are braver than I. See, you will be 
 alone. Even Mr. Melcomb will not be 
 there. You will be led on, and on, till you 
 are completely entangled." 
 
 " No, no," answered Mildred. " And 
 for him, I shall rejoice if he is away. He 
 has had one chance of being generous, he 
 will never have another. Who is so base as 
 the man who would take a young girl's hand 
 against her will ? " 
 
 The sisters continued for some time in 
 consultation, and parted with an oft-repeated 
 embrace, and many promises of corre- 
 spondence. 
 
 When Mrs. Pendarrel desired Mildred, 
 on learning her attempted refusal of her 
 suitor, to prepare for an immediate journey 
 to Pendarrel, the one idea which arose in 
 the young lady's mind was, that she should
 
 278 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 be near Trevethlan Castle. Many a train 
 of thought developed itself from that sug- 
 gestion, all ending in some vision of Ran- 
 dolph. And it was probably from such 
 anticipations that she derived the seeming 
 animation which perplexed her sister at this 
 parting interview.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Bon John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I 
 will put it iu practice. Be cunning in the working this, 
 and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 
 
 Borachio. Be you constant in the accusation, and my 
 
 cunning shall not shame me. 
 
 Shakspeabe. 
 
 Already the engagement of Squire Mel- 
 comb and Miss Mildred had been a subject 
 of discussion among the underlings of the 
 establishment in May Fair, and Michael 
 Sinson, at least, had watched the signs of 
 its progress with no little interest. The 
 announcement of Mrs. Pendarrel's imme- 
 diate departure for Cornwall, and the ru- 
 mours which circulated that there the mar-
 
 280 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 riage would be hurried forward as fast as 
 possible, struck him with new apprehension, 
 as he feared that the great prize for which 
 he was playing might slip through his hands, 
 merely from want of time to develop his 
 game. At all events, the move prevented 
 him from indulging in the finesse which at 
 once advanced his object and gratified his 
 vanity. Forward play was his only chance, 
 and he determined not to be defeated for 
 want of boldness. 
 
 Sinson had fastened his clutches firmly 
 upon the spendthrift, Everope. It is so 
 sadly easy to seduce, where the victim is 
 prepared by need and unfortified by prin- 
 ciple. It was in vain that Everope, as 
 often as the tempter forced a new obligation 
 upon him, vowed that he would only use it 
 to support himself until he could obtain 
 some employment, and would then, by
 
 TREVETHLAN. 281 
 
 extreme parsimony, save enough to repay his 
 insidious creditor. The idea always came, 
 and was always chased away by the superior 
 fascinations of the light pack and rattling 
 main. He could not be unlucky for ever. 
 The first time fortune favoured him, he 
 would satisfy Sinson's claim, break off the 
 acquaintance, and abjure gaming for once 
 and for all. 
 
 Fortune, however, frowned upon her vo- 
 tary with great perseverance. One morning, 
 after a turn of ill luck, when, in desponding 
 apathy, wringing his hands and calling upon 
 Hercules, he was thinking of breaking with 
 Sinson, cost what it might, that individual 
 crossed his path, and accosted him. 
 
 " What ! is the goddess always blind, 
 Everope ? Nothing to be done at the 
 Rooms ?" 
 
 " I shall go there no more," said the
 
 282 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 spendthrift sullenly. " I have done with 
 them, and play, and the world, and every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Which means," Sinson observed ma- 
 liciously, " that you have lost your money. 
 Perhaps I can put you in the way of getting 
 some. There 's corn in Egypt." 
 
 "What can you do?" asked Everope. 
 " Pick the lock of the granary, perchance ? 
 But I am desperate. Let me hear." 
 
 " Pooh !" said Michael. " I want a com- 
 panion for a pretty long trip into the country. 
 One not troubled with over-nice scruples ; 
 do you note me ? " 
 
 " Then you may go somewhere else," 
 cried Everope, who felt that he was selling 
 his soul past redemption. 
 
 u And you will go into the Fleet/' added 
 the tempter, " to lie there till you die. 
 Remember I have a considerable memoran-
 
 TREVETHLAN. 283 
 
 dum against you in my pocket-book ; and I 
 shall find a friend to serve me all the same. 
 There 's nothing that money won't buy ; 
 and there 's plenty of it to be won here. I 
 offer it to vou in kindness, as a friend." 
 
 And he jingled some gold in his pocket 
 to give emphasis to his words. Woe for 
 Everope ! He had made the step which 
 costs : the rest were comparatively easy. 
 " True," thought he, " if I hold back, 
 another will be found. Already I am en- 
 tangled with this scoundrel. And, after all, 
 there may be nothing bad in the business. 
 Pish! 
 
 ' .Returning is as tedious as go o'er.' " 
 
 That same night Sinson started with his 
 victim for Cornwall. He found Everope 
 quarters in a village at some little distance 
 from Pendarrel, while he himself went to 
 Wilderness Gate, where his aged grand-
 
 284 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 mother received him with doting partiality. 
 But he did not wish to attract more at- 
 tention than he could help. He showed 
 Everope about the neighbourhood of Tre- 
 vethlan, pointed out the chief features of 
 the locality, and in particular made him 
 notice the approach to the castle. 
 
 There was no harm so far, and Everope 
 rather marvelled that for this trivial survey 
 he should have been brought such a distance. 
 From Trevethlan Michael conducted his 
 slave two or three miles along the coast to 
 a cottage which stood somewhat retired. 
 
 " By the bye," he said, as they ap- 
 proached the modest dwelling, " I think you 
 were at college, Everope. How long ago ?" 
 
 " About twenty years," answered the 
 spendthrift with a deep sigh. 
 
 " Was there any one there of the name 
 of Ashton in your time ? "
 
 TREVETHLAN. 285 
 
 " I seem to remember the name," the 
 spendthrift said, musing. " Ashton ? yes, 
 a rowing man, 1 think — yes, went into the 
 church afterwards. I recollect now. But 
 he was a good deal my senior. I knew but 
 little of him." 
 
 " Did you ever hear what became of him ? " 
 
 " Well, it was something strange," Eve- 
 rope continued. " Let me see. His family 
 quarrelled with him. There was some story 
 about his being murdered." 
 
 " Exactly so/' said Sinson. " And we 
 are now close to the scene. It was in this 
 cottage that he lodged — just observe it — 
 and some half mile from here along the 
 cliff his body was found, nearly knocked to 
 pieces on the beach." 
 
 The spendthrift's attention was excited 
 by the tale, which also recalled those early 
 days at college, when precocious dissipation
 
 286 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 and riot laid the seed of future ruin. To- 
 wards what abyss had he been travelling 
 ever since ? He seemed to turn round, and 
 gaze backwards up a long slope, from the 
 extremity of which his childhood looked 
 down upon him still smiling and hopeful, 
 but whereon at every pause in the descent 
 he saw countenances more and more lour- 
 ing, and forms toiling upwards with averted 
 faces. And now before him at a little 
 distance, the incline was lost in darkness 
 and clouds, and thitherward he was inces- 
 santly impelled, and there was nothing to 
 stay his descent. 
 
 Sinson left him at his country quarters, 
 merely saying, that they would return to 
 London the following day, and that there 
 Everope should learn the object of the 
 journey. He himself repaired to the habi 
 tation of his grandmother.
 
 TREVETHLAN. 287 
 
 The old woman was sitting in a rocking 
 chair beside the fire, swinging herself back- 
 wards and forwards, and murmuring a hymn. 
 She was little sensible to emotion now-a-days, 
 but she rejoiced to behold her Michael again, 
 and to perceive, what was evident even to her 
 eyes, that he was a much finer person than 
 when he went away. As he entered the 
 lodge in the dusk of the evening, she ceased 
 singing, and settled herself on her chair 
 steadily, in order to look at him. 
 
 " Hither to me, my boy," said the old 
 crone, stretching her shrivelled arm to reach 
 a low stool and set it by her side ; " come 
 thee here to me. 'Tis dimly like, and my 
 eyes get something old." 
 
 Michael, who had his reasons for humour- 
 ing her, lighted a candle, and seated himself 
 on the floor at her feet. She drew his head 
 to her lap, and passed her hand lightly over
 
 288- TREVETHLAN. 
 
 his face, and then looked at him with eyes 
 that were still bright and black, however she 
 might complain of their decaying power. 
 
 " Ay," she said, with a smile, "he's just 
 the same always, my Michael. And hast 
 been to show thyself to Cecily, my boy?" 
 
 "No, grandame," he replied; "not just 
 now. I have not the time." 
 
 " Not time to see thy mother, child ? 
 Cecily will fret when I tell her." 
 
 " That 's just it, grandame," said Michael, 
 " and so ye 'd better not tell her at all. 
 'Tis a little errand for my mistress that 
 I 'm here for ; and she don't wish it talked 
 about." 
 
 "Well, well," mumbled Maud; "and 
 Cecily was never like my Margaret. Dost 
 mind Margaret, my boy ?" 
 
 " Aunt Margaret was a fine lady, was'nt 
 she, grandame ? "
 
 TREVETHLAN. 289 
 
 " Ay," muttered the old woman, recom- 
 mencing to rock herself, "she was fit to be 
 a queen. Did'nt I read of her glory ? But 
 they took her away, and kept her all apart. 
 'T was long months I hadn't seen her, when 
 I saw the dust thrown into her grave." 
 
 "And did you love Mr. Trevethlan, 
 grandame ? " 
 
 " Did I love the murderer of my girl ? " 
 Maud exclaimed, stopping her chair, and 
 springing to her feet. " Should I love the 
 murderer of his own wife ? And didst not 
 go with me when he was borne out in his 
 turn ? Was it tears we poured into his 
 grave? Was it comfort we carried to his 
 young son ? Na, na. There 's little love 
 between Maud Basset and anything that 
 bears the name of Trevethlan." 
 
 "Are you sure they were married?" 
 Michael asked. 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 TREVETHLAN. 
 
 " Didn't I see it with my own eyes ? 
 Didn't I see how my angel blushed and 
 trembled when he put on the ring, and he 
 all so cold and stately like? Cursed be 
 the gipsy babbler that bewitched his heart ! " 
 
 " Folks say there was great doubt about 
 it," observed Michael. 
 
 " They lie," said the old woman, again 
 seating herself. " My Margaret was the 
 lady of Trevethlan Castle, and cursed be 
 they that turned her bliss to bane." 
 
 " Well, grandame," urged the young 
 man, "would it not be a sweet revenge, to 
 show that Henry Trevethlan deceived my 
 poor aunt, and was himself deceived in turn, 
 and so the children have no right to the 
 name, and the lands pass away to stran- 
 gers ? " 
 
 " Is it her kinsman that speaks ? " ex- 
 claimed Maud. " Is it the son of her sister
 
 TREVETHLAN. 291 
 
 would bring shame upon her memory ? Is 
 it a grandson of mine would defame my 
 Margaret ? Na, na. Thou 'rt no Michael 
 of mine. Out of my sight, viper, before 
 I call the curse of Heaven upon thy head. 
 Na, na. Let me go. Let me go." 
 
 And she quitted the room. But she 
 came back again almost immediately. 
 
 " Ye did na mean it, Michael," she said. 
 " Ye did na mean it. Good night to ye, 
 my own boy. Good night." 
 
 " Good night, grandame," Michael an- 
 swered, sulkily. 
 
 The next day he and Everope started on 
 their return to London. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRISTED BY STEWART AND MURRAY, 
 
 OLD BAILEY.
 
 »- 
 
 & 
 
 January 1852. 
 A 
 
 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 IN 
 
 Various 3Sranri)e$ of literature, 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 
 
 65, CORNHILL, LONDON. 
 
 New Publications 
 
 Works of Mr. Ruskin 
 „ Currer Bell 
 ,, Leigh Hunt 
 
 Miscellaneous . 
 
 Works of Practical Inform 
 
 CONT 
 
 PAGE 
 . I 
 
 • 4 
 
 • 7 
 . 8 
 
 ' . " 9 
 ation 11 
 
 ENTS. 
 
 Illustrated Scientific Works 
 
 Oriental and Colonial 
 
 Educational 
 
 Religious 
 
 Books for the Blind 
 
 PAGE 
 
 12 
 
 J 3 
 14 
 
 15 
 16 
 
 }prcpa 
 
 ring for publication. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 A NOVEL. By W. M. Thackeray, Esq., Author 
 of " Pendennis ■" " Vanity Fair," &c. In Three 
 Volumes. 
 
 11. 
 
 THE LILY OF ST. PAUL'S ; a Romance of Old 
 London. By the Author of " Trevethlan." In 
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 in. 
 
 LENA ; the Silent Woman. By the Author of 
 King's Cope," &c. In Three Volumes. 
 
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 PICTURES OF LIFE IN MEXICO. By R. H. 
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 in. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LATE EMPEROR OF 
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