955 UC-NRLF $B im MDM THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA THE DUKE AND THE COUSIl BY MRS. GREY, / AUTHOR OF "SYBIL LENNARD," "THE GAMBLER'S WIFlg; •* THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA," ETC. ETC. v ** Oh, woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made. When pain and anguish wring the bro\r, A ministering angel thou ! " Scott. pi)ilabelpl}ia: T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 306 CHESTNUT STREET. t Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with tending from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/dukecousinOOgreyrich THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. CHAPTER I. "1 ever read Pride was uiunvely." miliation, and which now obliges him to fly hia country. How people can exceed their income, 1 never could conceive; however limited my means In a splendid drawing-room, in one of the finest might have been, I should certainly have curtailed houses in London, where unbounded wealth had my expenses accordingly " accumulated every luxury to satisfy even her fas- tidious taste, Lady Clairville reclined on her velvet fauteuil, listless and unhappj. The surrounding elegance of the apartment, with its costly decora- tions, was all unheeded by her, and a little writing- table slie had ^nishcd from before her, and on .which lay a half-written note, showed she had found even the task o'' tracing a few lines on the highly-scented paper, wearisome. She was now absorbed in deep meditation ; and the knit brow and compressed lips told that her thoughts were far from satisfactory. Lady Clairville was a beautiful woman ; the forty summers which she had numbered had taken nothing from the brilliancy of her eye, or the majesty of her form. Pride and worldly-mindedness had done more to deteriorate tlie loveliness she once possessed ; and the gazer now turned dissatisfied from 'J''hus spoke the pamperev! child of prosperity, who^ in the hardness of heart and apathy of feeling engen- dered by luxury, forgot to pympathize with those who had to struggle with the contending influencea of pride, and povertA-, even though one of their many victims was her brother. She knew not, surrounded as she was by afiluence and splendor, of the sicken- ing desire to " keep up appearances," as it is termed, — condemned, even while persisted in,~by those whose fortune is inadequate to their position in s6- ciety. She could not make allowances for those over whom the arbitrary dominion of the world of fashion was by circumstances established, and whos« shrinking pride feels that they are only estimated according to their power of following its een the union of thei* son with the orphan niece of the former. Not that the gentle Blanche owed this preference to her own individual excellence, but to the circumstance of her great wealth, and because in her was vested the rank of her ancestors. As Baroness De Cressy, she was an object of unceasing interest to her ambitious aunt; who, coveting the peeress for her son's bride, saw and felt nothing of the many virtues with which the high-bom girl wag crowned. Loving his fair relative with all the ten- derness of a brother, Julian evinced in his own per- son, how difficult it is to control or direct aflections of a more ardent descrip^n- As the young peoj)le advanced in life, the plai^%iat were formed for them dawned upon their minds, producing, however, only the mutual resolve, that they should ever remain as they had hitherto been — the kindest and most united friends, but nothing more. And thus, while the perfect good will and understanding, which evidently existed between them, encouraged the hopes Lady Clairville had formed for their future union, they were in fact mutual confidants of the deep and youthful alTection that beat in the bosom of either for their much-loved and pitied cousins, Herbert and Evelyn Cecil. Previous to the fatal involvements of Captain Cecil, and the almost utter destitution they occa- sioned, tlie two families had lived upon terms of great intimacy : not that there was much sympathy between Lady Clairville and the wife of her unfoi- tunate brother, but each rejoiced in the happiness their constant meetings appeared to yield to the junior branches of the family. However, when Captain Cecil's embarrassments became the topic of general conversation. Lady Clairville's conduct wa» 1 so cruel and unsir^terly, that her brt)ther, partaking THE DUKE AND THE COLSIN. perhaps, too much of the natural pride of his sister's disposition, with his mind irritated by distress, and the unkindness which he had received from the source from whence he ought to have derived conso- lation, most positively forbade his children to hold the slightest communication with the Clairvilles. Indeed, so great was his dread that his children should receive assistance from any one connected with tiie sister who had so cruelly spurned and taunted him in his misfortunes, that he exacted the most sacred promise from every member of his family, that they should most scrupulously conceal themselves from their relations while the season of adversity lasted. Captain Cecil was too much loved not to be conscientiously obeyed ; and though deeply deploring his decree, they themselves assisted in the measures which were taken to prevent even their very existence being known to any of Lord Clair- ville's family. These precautions were most etfec- tual ; and vainly did JuUan, assisted by Blanche, Bcek to discover the spot chosen for their retreat. Lad} Clairville most truly rejoiced at this cir- cumstance, fehe had lately foreseen, with undis- guised dismay, the frustration of all her long-cherish- ed plans, in the evident interest which Julian evinced for the beautiful Evelyn, the eldest daughter of Captain Cecil. Too proud to dissemble, the extent of his attachment soon became known to his mother, after her first suspicions had been awakened ; and perhaps it was this knowledge which prompted the cold and cutting sarcasms directed to her brother, so calculated to produce the estrangement which ensued. Once removed from the immediate and in- creasing influence which the daily sight of Evelyn's Attractions assumed over her son, Lady Clairville fondly believed that Julian would again experience for Blanche the affection which this, as she con- sidered it, ephemeral admiration for his cousin had wtmkened ; but when she perceived the complete alteration his character underwent, from the first moment of the Cecils' disap])earance, — now gaiety and thoughtlessness being replaced by deep dejection, and, towards herself, a chilling moroseness ; she trembled for her cause, which she further injured by her intemperate and injudicious mode of proceeding, CH4nTER n. •*ITis friends were half estranged, and vulgar me Presumed upon their services and grew Familiar witli him." * * ♦ * ♦ *' And in lier chamber sat his wife in tears. And his sweet babes grew sad with wUisper'd fears.*' It was the boast of the father of Captain Cecil, that he had once refused a peerage ; and had never, by any commercial undertaking, added to the fallen fortunes of the Cecil family. The consequence was, that he died, leaving the ancient honors of his race unalloyed, it is true, v\t\\ modern nobility ; but, at the same time, his income so diminished that his widow found herself reduced to the necessity of con- siderably contracting the scale of her expenses, and retiring to comparatively private life. All who knew her, felt that in the lovely retirement of Riversdalc Ab])ey, where she possessed a small property, Mrs. Cecil had found a sphere much better suited to her gentle virtues, than those scenes of superficial splen- dor and ill-supported ostentation, which had marked her married life. There was nothing to be regretted on Ihe score of this seclusion as regarded others ; for the two Misses Cecil, influenced, perhaps, by the pride which had mingled with every action of their father, and indeed, acting by his persuasion, had both, though young, made splendid marriages. .It was thus he termed connections to which pride and worldly feeling had alone conducted. Julia, the eldest, had given her lovely self to Lord Clairville ; stipulating, however, for enormous settlements, as it were to indemnify her for wedding age and infirmity. Blanche, the younger sister, more happy in her choice, was united to the young Lord de Cressy : but even here, sickness and decay triumphed over wealth and rank ; and, five years after their marriage, he died, leaving her afflicted with the same pulmonary complaint which had begun its work of death even before their union. She did not long survive him ; and the orphan peeress, in whom centred all the glory and fortune of the ancient family of Cressy was left to the guardianship of Lady Clairville ; thus proving to the last, how great was the influence which the imperious Julia had ever exercised over her unresisting sister. In the amiable disposition and lightsome spirit of her only son, Mrs. Cecil found much to reconcile her to the comparative estrangement which had ever ex- isted between herself and her worldly-minded daugh- ters. She engaged a private tutor for him ; and, in his affectionate society, while v^itnessing the daily improvements he made in intellect and knowledge, she felt more than repaid for the violence her tastes and ideas had undergone hi former years. This, however, was not to last long. At fifteen, his often •combated wush of choosing the navy as a profession, was again called forth, by meeting a distinguished admiral visiting at a neighbour's hou.se. The gene- rous ardor of the boy pleased the veteran, who saw in him the spirit, that was sure to raise hiin to dis- tinction ; and joining his entreaties to those of the enthusiastic Herbert, Mrs. Cecil was by them induced to give her consent to her son's entering the navy. There was nothing now between the lonely widow and her God : and years passed on and found her free from the intervening idols whicli the world offers for the wor.ship of the weak-hearted, with her whole soul dedicated to her Creator. It is true, she at times saw her son. and scarcely an hour passed that some heaven-bound prayer did Tift. rise for his welfare. Still he peemed no more U.p child of her bosom ; and slie learned to look upon Lua as one for whom his country, his wife, and his chil- dren, had equal claims with herself. Shortly after obtaining his rank as commander, Captain Cecil married a young and lovely woman, who, moreover, was heiress to considerable wealtlv His own fortune, also, was materially improved by some extensive piratical captures off the South Ame- rican coast ; and the fust act of his extended finances was the purchase of Riversdale Abbey, a beautiful demesne immediately contiguous to his mother's cottage. It was there he left his wife and children during those periods of absence which his high pro- fessional abilities often caused, and it was there they gained those lessons in piety and virtue which rested by them to the end of their lives. At the period in which thi.-^ history commences. Captain Cecil had been for some time without any naval employment. Since the battle of Algiers, where he had gathered bright and unfading laurels, he had not been called upon by the Admiralty, and was left to that perfect leisure which marks the hours of -1 THE DUKE A N'T) THE COUSIN. men, thrown, as it wore, out of their professional «areer. The brave and active sailor had now hu* one pursuit, — that of contributing to the happines* of his family. A strict disciplinarian and daring officer, he was still a man of a peculiarly amiable temperament. Mild, tender, and affectionate in pri- vate life, his heart was deeply impressed with the feelings of social and domestic love ; and while in the hazardous profession, of which he was a dis- tinguished member, he ever evinced a manly firm- ness and an unflinching zeal, — the gentleness which characterized him as a husband and a father, was Kjually remarkable. Alas ! where, even in the best and brightest examples of human nature, where can we find that nature perfect ? Captain Cecil, with all his great and excellent qualities, had also his besetting weaknesses. Brought up amidst the pomps and vanities of the world, and accustomed to see the sacrifices made to them, they assumed a false consequence in his eyes ; thus the being who had suffered hardships and deprivations with an unruffled brow, still paid an undue homage to the tinsel adornments and luxuries of life. It is true, he ©oveted, more for his family than himself, the factitious advantages which are to be derived irom wealth and situation ; still he did covet them, thus showing the importance they held in his esti- mation, though no selfish feeling mingled with his desire of possessing them. His income, though not large, was amply sufficient ; and, with attention to economy, he might in partial retirement have brought ap his children in respectability and comfort, still leaving enough for the exigencies which, with an increasing family, are scarcely foreseen. But Captain Cecil's connections were all moving In the first circles ; then why — was the question, half put to himself — why deprive his children of the advantages such connections were likely to produce ] It was in a measure robbing them of their birthright ; and the result of this idea was the establishment of his family in one of the most expensive houses in the Regent's Park. Once in London, they were soon drawn, by the force of circumstances and example, into a vortex of extravagance and dissipation. The consequences were such as might be expected : in a few years Captain Cecil found his finances in a most embar- rassed state, with the consciousness, that his family were becoming daily more expensive in their ideks —while in fact, more was required for them. Not possessing the firmness and energy to place that con- fidence in his wife and children, with regard to the involved state of his affairs, which would have led them to join hand and heart with him in breaking through their present ruinous and unprofitable mode of life, he chose rather to postpone the day of re- trenchment, than confide the tale of his pecuniary distress to those whom he loved too well to aftlict. Blessed in the affections of the most amiable of wives, he was in that respect, " happy past the com- mon lot." She was indeed one of the sweetest per- sonifications of women. Mild, tender, and confidinj^, she was devoted to her husband ; and her ardent love magnifying all his real excellence, to her he was perfection. Mrs. Cecil was still young and beauti- ful ; but no thought of herself was intermixed with the satisfaction that the knowledge of her beauty brought to her heart. If she rejoiced that slie was fair, it was because the husband of her affections she mingled in dissipated society, it was not that she enjoyed the haunts of gaiety, for her heart was in her home ; but her husband considered it expedient, that tliey should thus cultivate the extensive circle of their connections and friends. He must be right ; and his will was her heart's dearest law. However, she fancied that their income could be scarcely ade- quate to their expenditure, and her only source of unhappiness arose from that idea. .She labored to be economical ; but money must be spent, and their style of hving induced many and great expenses. Still, as long as her husband looked cheerful, Mrs. Cecil, with that feeling of hope which too often lurk? near the heart that it deceives, was fain to trust thai all was right. As time went on, many were the moments of un- easiness and thought with which her bosom was troubled ; and although there was a degree of uncer- tainty in her apprehensions, yet there were circum- stances which occurred to make her fear, that the gay answer sometimes given to her anxious interrogations had more in it of tenderness for her feelings, than of truth. Had Captain Cecil possessed only the firmness to make his wife renlly aware of the exact state of his circumstances, and to have decided on bringing up his children according to their prospects, instead of squandering on their pleasures the resources ne- cessary for their future welfare, from what anguish he might have been spared ! what comfort and assistance he would have derived, from confiding in one so nearly interested as a mother, the distress which threatened to involve her children ! But, though equal to any sacrifice for those he so dearly loved, there was one obstacle to his well-doing, — one fatal feeUng, which hastened the misfortunes his affection would have taken any step to aveit, but that of self-humiliation : a confession of hig embarrassments must of necessity have impugnci/ at once his good sense, and that high sense of h'TJor, which should shrink from the degradation of debt The most difficult error to conquer is pride. This passion, excited by the temyiler, burned in the breast of its first victim, and she fell ! And who of Eve's posterity can say, that they are wholly exempt from its deadly influence 1 There is no affection of the mind so much blended ifk^ur nature, and wrought into our very constitution, as pride. It appears under a multitude of disguises, and is betrayed by a thousand symptoms. It causes the first dissen- sions in the nursery, and even lingers on the death- pillow of old age ; and although we are taught to believe that it is abhorred by God and man, as the baneful spring from whence all other vices flow, still do we suffer it to steal unobserved upon the heart, where, veiled under a vane*y of unsuspected ap- pearances, it will assume even ?he form of humility itself. It was the pride of circumstance, and his posi- tion in society, which w-as Captain Cecil's beRettiug sin. He feared the world's dread laugh — that world, which, speaking literally, means the thoughtless and the foolish who inhabit the earth ; the prosper- ous, who, holding all from the hand of a beneficenl Providence, behold with a criminal contempt the less endowed of their fellow-creatures, who follow with moderation, and contentment, the more private path which that Providence has assigned to them. He feared the taunts of the phailow worldlin?; and boked with gladness on her lovely countenance. Ifi how mu :h more intensely did he tear to own to bis THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN wife, and to his children, that the husband — the fikther of their love — had deceived them ! For what was it but deception, to excite wishes and incUna- tions which he khew it would be beyond his power to fulfil] ; Thus infatuated, we need not wdnder that the unhappy Captain Cecil became daily more impji- cated in all the horrors which mark the hours of those who have forfeited their independence, by in- curring claims they have not the power to annul. The high-souled sailor had to soothe the just, but offensive anger of the vulgar citizen, who felt de- frauded by him of his lawful maintenance. The tenacious man of honor, who ever visited with the Bcverost treatment the slightest dereliction from truth in any of his olficers, had now to speak promises and fair words to clamorous creditors, whom he felt it was his purpose to deceive. The descendant of a long and honorable line of ancestry, with feelings at once refined by birth and situation, had to associate with the bourgeois millionaire, or the narrow-minded stock-broker, and even intercede for the loan which further involved him, while he was obliged to show courtesy and patience to men, from whose coarse familiarity and presumption his very soul shrank with disgust. But this was not all. Strange visitors and urgent messengers had been seen : loud and angry expos- tulations had been heard at different times, by his wife and elder children ; and in their anxious looks he read the natural, though unuttered question — *« Why is all this V Still, he could not speak ; but, trusting things would go on better, busied himself in plans of pleasure, and engaged fresh masters in interesting studies ; seeking thus to remove the cloud of sadness, which the expressive countenances of those he loved presented to him. At times he suc- ceeded ; and then the deluded man would strive for the minute to forget, what " unreal mockery" are festivity and splendor, in an insolvent's house ! CHAPTER ni. "Who hathwalk'd The world with such a winning loveliness And on its bright brief journey gather'd up Sur.h treasures of affection 1 8he was loved Only as idols are She was the pride Of her familiar sphere — the daily joy Of all who on her gracefulness might gaze. And in the light and music of her way, Have a companion's portion." He-rbekt, the eldest son of Captain Cecil, was, ftt the time he is presented to my readers, nearly twenty ; Evelyn, his lovely sister, two years younger ; four other children completed the family — a boy of nine years old, and three younger little girls. Herbert, both in person and in mind, was some- what in advance of his years. He was a grave and studious youth ; and his dark eyes and complexion, with the beautiful oval of his classically formed face, gave something of a sublime character to his thoughtful, and yet mild, countenance. On a first meeting, his deep intellectual glance, the compressed lip that spoke of serious reflection, and his cold and retiring manners, gave the impression that the stu- dious precincts of a college was the sphere best suited for him ; but, on a further acquaintance, when the energy and enthusiasm of his character became evident, and the eye dwelt with admiration on the open and manly brow, around which the dark curls clustered with wild profusion — or beheld the beau- tiful and athletic proportions of his youthful figure, , one felt that his profession had been wisely chosen for him, and that he promised to grace, aa well as to do honor to, a military career. Indeed, his heart was now set, with all its native enthusiasm, on the path inclination, as well as persuasion, had led him to select; and he looked forward with certaint/, soon to obtain a commission. With characteristics of a very different nature, still was Evelyn — the sweet, the winning, Evelyn — the adored idol of her brother's heart. Nothing could be more touching — more beautiful to iiehold, than the deep affection which mutually influenced them: so pure, so confiding — so unmixed with the dross and affectation of the majority of worldly tie*. It was a love that angels might look upon, and smile approval. How seldom is it that the affection of maturer years carries with it so much of trust, so little of selfishness, as that of our early youth! That love which mingles in all our dreams of the past, when the brother, the sister, who Was thft sharer of our young joys as well as sorrows, appear before us, as they were in those by-gone days, with all their youth and freshness. In afler life, that love will still hover near the heart; and although the cold world, with all its blighting influences, may chill our other feelings, still that will continue to shed within our breasts the light and warmth of earlier years ! With a countenance glowing with the bloom of beauty, which spoke of health and happiness — with spirits cheerful and bright as the spring, her sweet emblem, the life of Evelyn, until the period at which this history commences, had offered no cloud of sorrow to dim the gay sunshine of her mind or person. Her hours had passed in a round of per- petual gladness ; nor could she look forward to any thing hut happiness. Surrounded by those she so dearly loved, and cherished by them, as the bright- est treasure of their hearts, she had never breathed a wish that was ungratified ; and with no experience beyond her school-room, where even in that solemn apartment, she had always *' laughed the houri away," she could scarcely picture to herself aught but joy. It is true she was sad when Herbert's studies called him from home; but her rejoicings at his return more than compensated for that passing sorrow. The liveliness of her mind, in a manner imparted itself to all around ; even a brighter smile emanated from the dark eyes of her grave brother, as he watched her lovely countenance, and hstened to the animated tone of her young voice, and the gaiety with which she commenced every task, that circumstances or choice had imposed — the playful vivacity with which she spoke, — the grace in all het actions, — combined with her merry laugh, her light step, her beaming eye, cheered even the hearts of those not so interested in her happiness. Her father too, deeply idolized her; and, while with watchful tenderness, he would have removed even the rose leaf from her path, he thought the brightest of this world's ^^ods scarcely equal to the merits of hia sweet Evelyn. And fondly, indeed, iVas she loved by her gentle mother, who often jjazed upon her till a tear rose in her eye, and a sigh heaved from her heart, as she breathed the fervent prayer that she might ever be thirs! free from care. The Cecil family passed half the year in Lon- don* the other portion was spent at Riversdale THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. Abbey, where the children had every species of country amusement ; as if the tender father thought by their ponies, their flower gardens, their aviaries, to indemnify them, as it were, for the more serious studies they pursued in town, where masters of every description constantly attended them. But it was at Riversdale, the dear old Abbey, that lei^sons of far greater in^portance were engrafted upon their hearts. In their daily visits to the cottage ot the elder Mrs. Cecil, they gained that knowledge which ' maketh wise unto salvation ;" — and by the conversation and example of the pious invalid — for such, a long series of rheumatic attacks had ren- dered her, — they acquired that love of religion and holiness which never left them in after life. Had Captain Cecil, on the first approach of in- volvement, entirely given up his London residence for Riversdale, a decision so many reasons combined to make desirable, much of his subsequent difficulty would have been spared him. In the comparative seclusion of the country, he would have found it a harder task quite to shut out the consciousness of his overweening expenses; and retrenchments early, and therefore efficient, would have been the consequence. But here, even with the least selfish of men, self interfered ; he liked the usual tenor of London society, disliking the customary habits of country gentlemen. His early entered profession had precluded his imbibing a taste either for agri- culture, or the amusements connected with field sports ; and his mind too soon became troubled with care and financial anxieties, to enable him to find pleasure in the calm pursuits of literature. Besides this;, he thought with Milton, that " Beauty is Na- ture's brag;" — and beloved to show his beautiful Evelyn to admiring crowds — " where most could wonder at the workmanship." Above all, it was his rooted opinion, that with two sons, who must assist in making their own fortunes, instead of sharing the provision, which, in the event of his death, he was desirous to secure to his widow and four girls, it was highly essential to cultivate those influential connec- tions he already possessed, and if possible to make others. There was much of reason in the idea, if it had been acted upon with moderation : as it was, the substance w as risked for the shadow ; and Cap- Uiin Cecil continued the struggle between pride and circumstance, duty and integrity, high ambition for his children and self-reproach at his own conduct: until, with his mind harassed by the perpetual con- flict which imparted itself to his manners, he be- came absent, irritable, and morose. The change in one usually so mild and tender, was too soon felt , and the wife's heart sickened within her, as for one minute the dark fancy passed over her, that perhaps it was her lot to deplore the toss of his love — of her husband's love — the father of her children ! It was but a minute's pang ; for blessed in the knowledge of his pure and unerring atlection, and conscious of the increased tenderness which each day of their married life had witnessed, her happy and well grounded confidence returned. Loss of fortune, with his aflfection undiminished, she felt she could bear as a minor evil ; and her thoughts then turned to that ; but in her complete ignorance of their affairs, and judging by the appear- ance of prosperity around her, she tried to believe that too was impossible. Still, that there was some secret discomfort became perfectly evident ; and though aware of a df'we on Captain Cecil's part, to avoid any very confidential conversation, she determined to seize the first opportunity of que^ tioning him on the subject. The occasion soon presented itself. After a morn- ing of unusual excitement, Captain Cecil one day requested the dinner hour might be early, as he had business in the city which was to be transacted in the evening ; and accordingly he left the house im- mediately after the cloth was removed. It was at the end of May, and the day had been one of more than common sweetness. The early dinner gave Evelyn and her brother the opportunity of an even- ing ride, which the warm weather made more desir- able at that hour ; and Julian and Blanche gladly gave up one of the splendid oanquets at ClairviliB House to join their cousins in this summer excursior, Mrs. Cecil watched their departure from the window ; and while her eye rested on their young and grace- ful figures, as they gaily hioved from the door, and their merry laugh rung on her ears, she felt that she ought to be happy in their happiness. Still, all failed to dispel the depression of her spirits ; and when she saw the younger children set out for their evening walk with their nurses, it seemed an inexpressible re- lief to her overcharged heart to feel herself thus alone, and to know that she might weep, without fear of interruption. She sought to shake off" the weight which oppressed her ; and seating herself at the open window, she endeavoured to remove the vague sop- row at her heart, by properly appreciating the bless- ings around her. All was indeed luxury and elegance ; on every side were the marks of her husband's care for her enjoyment and plea.-ure. At her feet, even blossomed the choicest and freshest flowers, and the balcony vied with the gayest of her parterres at Riversdale. Still, this fond tribute to het particular taste now' failed to soothe ; and the perfume of the mignonette, the Provence rose, the Persian violet, exhaled around her unheeded. Mrs. Cecil was not the first who has experienced the inadequacy of exterior objects to cheat the mind of any inward grief ; indeed, the perturbation Captain Cecil had evinced the whole morning had filled her with a dark dread of evil, which every minute in- creased ; and at length retreating to a couch, in a corner of the apartment, she gave way to a burst of grief, which only seemed to save her heart from breaking. Long and fearful was the agitation that oppressed her ; and her long pent-up feelings seemed to have gathered strength from the efibrts she had used in controlling them. By degrees, however, and as if soothed by the un- wonted indulgence, a calm came over her troubled spirit ; and she could think that, as her sorrow was still imaginary, it was scarcely justifiable. Breathing an ejaculatory prayer, to be 9j)ared the continued trial of seeing her husband's altered demeanor, she dried the still flowing tears ; and taking up a book, sought to gain calmness in its perusal, for she was aware her little ones would soon enter to receive their kiss of " good night." They came as she expected ; with feigned cheerfulness she entered into all their prat- tling details of the pleasures of the walk ; but still she felt it was a relief when they left her, and she found herself once more alone. In a few minutes, however, the door again opened, and Captain Cecil entered. For the instant she felt embarrassed ; and fearful there might still be traces of her late emotion visible, she l)ent her head to caress the little spaniel, which entering with bir THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. sli^h^c master , bounded on the sofa beside WBrFor the sanie reason, although Captain Cecil seated hiin- Belf on a chair near her. she avoided speaking, lest the tones of her voice should also betray her. He was the first to break silence, by at length remarking querulously — " Mary — you seem happier to see my dog, than you are to welcome your husband." " Oh ! no," she replied, extending her hand, " I am indeed s^lad you are returned from your trouble- some expedition." As she spoke, in spite of her best efforts, a tear fell from her eye. This, v I • 10 THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. After the lapse bfa few minutes, Evelyn held up her beautiful face, and, looking anxiously to her brother, said, " I am unhappy, Herbert, — very, very unhappy, — but why, I cannot tell you ; unless it is the evident inquietude of our dear mother, and the gloom there has oeen lately on my father's spirits : but, Herbert," she continued earnestly, " you v\ ho are 80 quick-sighted and observant of every thing, is it j-opsible that you have been unmindful of all this]" •*0h ! no, no, dear Evelyn," Herbert replied, mournfully shaking his head. *' I have seen all — much more — more than I dared dwell on to myself, much less to you, my gentle sister. But now I must speak. It is weak, it is unmanly, thus to shrink from looking into the evil which I fear threatens us. Evelyn, are you prepared to hear me 1" Herbert continued, rising as he spoke, and, to his sister's I astonishment, proceeding to the door, which he ' opened, and looking carefully round, re-entered the room, closing it firmly after him. This action, and his previous words, conspired to alarm Evelyn, and she sat with her hands clasped, and her face blanched with terror. " For mercy's sake, speak !" she said quickly, as Herbert again placed himself by her side. By deigrees, however, her muscles lost their tension, ' and her cheeks regained their usual bloom as Her- bert, at some length, related to her the many and powerful reasons he had for believing that the change, so perceptible in the whole bearing of their father, was owing to great pecuniary embarrassment and distress. ♦' Is that all, Herbert V* exclaimed Evelyn, spring- ing up from her attitude of despair, " Is that realli/ •11 ] Oh ! how you relieve me ! I had fancied some- thing so much more dreadful. Sometimes I thought it might be some dangero\is and fearful expedition that was to take our dear father to sea, and that his honor might be compromised if he declined the ser- vice ; and then, sometimes, I have been wicked enough to dread — " and here she hid her face in her brother's bosom — " that some disgrace or dishonor was hanging over him for past actions, and your manner just now, Herbert, corroborated this frightful idea, you looked so pale and mournful. Thank God ! thank God !" she exclaimed, again resuming her usual attractive animation of manner, " that poverty is the oidy evil we have to fear. How soon every thing can be arranged ! My father can sell this house and dear Riversdale, and we can have a cottage close to grandmamma, which will do just as well. I can teach my sisters, and you can act as tutor to Edwin, and not go to that odious Germany. We need not have carriage horses, our ponies and pony chaise will be all we shall require, and we shall be soon as happy as ever. Now, do not look so mournful, my dear, dear Herbert," she added caress- ingly, and playing with the dark curls that clustered round her brother's troubled brow ; " Does there need a casque on this beautiful head to make him still handsomer 1" she fondly and playfully asked, as pressing her fair cheek to his, she encircled him with her arm. "He shall be a soldier, and Blanche de Cressy shall love him better for his valor." She was suddenly stayed in her endearing and fond raillery by feeling her cheek wet with her brother's tears. Herbert was indeed weeping, but not for himself; he mourned in spirit to see how little, with her sim- plicity and perfect unworldliness of mind, his sister anticipate! or understood the nature of the evils with which they' were threatened. Loving his sister to idolatry, and thinking her the loveliest of created things, fitted only to live in the sphere of luxury and refinement in which they had been reared, it was his painful task to make her comprehend that the ruin which he too truly anticipated, menaced them with the extreme of penury, and endangered the personal liberty of their father. He began with judgment, and first touching on the lighter sacrifices she would have to make, spoke of her presentation at Court, which was fixed for the ensuing month — of her first l)all at Almack's — of the opera box which her infatuated father liad promised her for the next season — of her saddle- horse — her harp master — all, all to be given up. As he expected, a blush of angry emotion suflused her cheeks as he spoke, and interrupting him impa- tiently, she exclaimed, " O, Herbert, Herbert, this is cruel of you ! why speak of such frivolities, which only the excess of prosperity could make one wish for 1 I know I am foolish, and may have been the means of contributing much to the needless expenses of my poor father ; but Heaven is my witness how sincerely I deplore my weakness, and how ready I am by any sacrifice to repair my fault. There is no privation to which I would not submit with the ut- most cheerfulness for the welfare of those so dear to me, and to restore our dear father to his usual peace of mind." " I believe you, my sweet Evelyn," Herbert re- plied, while his heart glowed with admiration at witnessing the entire forgetfulness of self in the lovely girl before him ; " and may God grant you resolution to bear all that he may please to inflict upon you !" He then entered more fully into the subject of the distress and involvement, which, from the knowledge he had gained, he feared must too soon be madia known to them all in its direst extent; and he sought to prepare his sister for the sad reverses she must then endure. He rejoiced to see that, although all color had left her cheek, and the quickly throb- bing pulse in her white throat showed she now more completely understood the nature of the evil, still she shrunk not from entering into its details, and questioned him with a low, though calm voice, as to the time when it was probable this dark cloud would burst over them; He was unable to inform her, though suggesting that the bankruptcy of the city banker, with whom he knew his father had money transactions, must hasten matters. A long pilence ensued, and for some time each of these youthful sutforers struggled with deep and painful emotion, in the vain hope of concealing it from the other Herbert was the first again to speak. " Evelyn," he said, as he drew her gently towanils him, •' it is now the time for us to show our parents, that at least their children do not wish to add to their griefs, and that every situation will be endured with cheerfulness by us. Our resignation will spare my father many a pang, and we must assure him that we are ready and willing to give up every thing — your pretty cottage and ponies. Eve — my pros- pects as a soldier — nay, start not, my sister, or look so incredulous — that trial — and it was a trial— is now over. It would be now a subject for the keenest self-reproach, did I for a moment dare to think of embarking in a profession which, far from erjabling me to assist my family, would only entail on it ex- penses. No, Evelyn, I shall never go into the THE DUKE AND THE C U S VN. U army. Thanks to the educaticMi I haW received, my knowledge of languages will doubtless get me a situation in some ofiice, which will be a means of subsistence for myself, if it does not permit me to contribute to the comforts of my parents. My boyish dream of distinction and glory has all faded away," he added, with a faint smile ; " mathematics, and all my Sandhurst lore, must now be forgotten ; but rely on my words, Evelyn," he continued, seeing his sis- ter was about to interrupt him with words of cora- miseiation at this sacrifice of his warmest hopes, " we insure to ourselves far greater peace of mind by submitting with resignation to the decrees of the Almighty, than by opposition or repinings at his will ; and, even should the knowledge of fulfilled duties, and patiently endured misfortunes, fail to soothe the wounded spirit at the first outset, we may depend much on the efficacy of prayer." Evelyn did not reply : her young heart was strug- gling with so many contending feelings she dared not trust her voice, and she longed for the privacy of her own apartment, where she might for a time hide her sorrows, and strive to gain that self-posses- sion which she felt was necessary before she could meet her mother, whom they both rightly guessed was still in ignorance of the misfortunes they had been discussing. She therefore rose to quit her bro- ther, and they parted with a fond, though mournful embrace, which told that in their mutual and pure affection, there was still much of consolation for the ills of life. CHAPTER V. •* Oh ! man may hear with sufTerin? : his heart Is a strong thinp, and eodlike in the grasp Of pain that wrimra niortaMty ; hut toar One cord alfection clings to, part one tie That binds him to a woman's delicate h)ve, And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed." One month after the scene described in the fore- going chapter, the evils there anticipated were real- ized to a fearful extent by the Cecil family. Having already exhausted every possible channel for relief, the unhappy, and now awakened author of all this ruin, saw in what a fatal position he stood. ^ There remained but one quarter where he had not sought assistance. It was the last to be applied to, and that application cost the proud heart of the still high-minded Cecil moie than any other. It was to his rich and powerful sister he at length addressed himself, for the innocent victims to his blind extra- vagance. For their sakes he humbled himself to supplication, but, as we have before intimated, was spurned with bitter reproaches and denial. Nothing then remained for him but to leave England, with as much expedition and secrecy as possible, other- wise his arrest would have inevitably occurred, to have heaped still further misery on the heads of his unhappy wife and fvmily. They would joyfully have accompanied him in his flight, but there were two obstacles to this; — the illness of the youngest child, and the fragile strength of jMrs. Cecil, whose trials, added to her expectation of adding in a few months another to the number of the little helpless beings who surrounded her, rendered her health too precarious for even the undertaking of a few hours' journey. Sad was the parting between the heart-stricken husband and his adored wife. Her fainting spirit •ank withiii her at the desolate prospect of his ab- sence at a time when his cheering voice, that haj- whispored soLice to her sullerings — his kiss of aflec- tion to the mother and the new-born babe, seemed her only earthly support — a support now more than ever to be desired : and he — what pen can describe the anguish that bont him to the earth as he turned from that abode wau h, luie a rich casket, contained all his precious treasures, to seek a shelter in a dis- tant land ! It were a vain and painful task to follow Captain Cecil through all the trying soenns preceding and connected with this hurried departure. The parting injunctions to his nible Herl)ert; the prayer to Ids gentle Evelyn, that she would struggle with misfor- tunes for his sake ; the tears shed over the affrighted children, who, comprehending nothing of the dis- tress around them, still wept piteously at his leaving them ; and then the death struggle it was to tear; himself from his half expiring wife ; and, heart- broken with affliction, to have to mingle with the crowd — to act and think on affairs unconnected with the dear ones he had left ! " Oh ! when the heart is full— when bittw thoughta Come crowding thickly up for ntterancf, And the poor common words of courtesy Are such a very mockery— how much The bursting heart may" pour iteelf in prayer! He pray'd — and his voice went up Strongly and fervently. He pray'd for those Whose love had been his shield— and his deep tones Grew tremulous.'* Thus it was with the unfortunate Captain Cecil. Even amidst the wretchedness and disgrace of a lonely flight, he found solace and strength in the prayers he addressed to Heaven, and though thick sobs choked his utterance as he supplicated the pro- tection of the Almighty for the wife of his bosom and his beloved children, the first night that found him so widely separated from them, still he wa;j soothed by his devotions, and relieved by the teari the act called forth. '^ Captain Cecil was so universally beloved, that every thing had been conducted with as much deli- cacy as possible, in the distressing circumstances in which he found himself; and possessing in his law yer a warm friend, besides an intelligent professional adviser, much of the exposure had been spared hiiri, which usually attends such ruin as his own. All he possessed had been given up witliout reservation to his creditors. The pittance necessary for his own sustenance, and that of his unhay)py fainily, was derived from his mother, who cheerfully shared with her beloved, though misguided, son, all that was left of her slender income, which had been pre- viou>--ly reduced by the assistance she had belbrc afl!brded him. Mrs. Cecil and her children only remained in the house jn the Regent's Park, until a humble and cheap lodging could be procured for them ; into which the heart-broken wife was with difficulty re- moved, so great was the prostration of strength hot sorrows had occasioned. They were accompanied by one female servant, who, with the devotion which is sometimes to be met with in that sphere of life, at once determined to follow the fortunes of a family who were dearer to her heart than any other earthly- object. She was the nurse who had been with them from their earliest infancy, and who cherished them with an aff*ection. the warmth of which could scarcely be equalled by that of their mother. In prosperity, she ha^ boon ^ good, and, valuable s^- I i »i.v> »(' '•! ei, vai > "utt USUI dciiiiw o^;i<,;i)» 13 THE DUKE AND THE COL SIN; vant: and her kindness and fidelity in adversity, was like a ray of sunshine, in the dark prospects of the Cecils. For her beloved mistress, and the dear children reared hy her eareful attention, she was ready to sacrifice every thing ; personal fatigue, cer- tain inconvenience, weighed not a moment, against her sense of the duty she owed them. No selfish > considerations impeded the flow of her kindness, or checked her prompt performance of this labor of love : and when we consider the importance which wealth and station usually hold in the eyes of those in a servile capacity, who arrogate to themselves the distinction of the masters they serve, a d in the same degree feel degraded with them, it is an en- hancement of the character of " poor humah nature," to know that such examples of self sacrifice are by no means unfrequent. Poor Rachael, the nurse, had indeed her trials ; and, although they affected none of the deeper feelings of the heart, still the mere reverse of situation she had to sustain, striking as it did at the very prejudices of her station, was of itself a stumbling-block, that would have turned attachment less faithful than her own. Much to the credit of the female sex, they are known to sustain, with praise-worthy fortitude, those reven?»t3 of fortune which have overwhelmed the minds of men with despair; and it is no unusual circumstance, to see the spirit of a woman rise as it were with the strokes of misfortune, and assume an elevation of character, approaching to perfect ex- cellence. It was thus with our gentle heroine, Eve- lyn Cecil ; and it was an affecting and beautiful spectacle to behold the young and lovely girl, who had, hitherto been cherished in the very lap of luxury, changing, as by a magic touch, all the helpless habits, such fostering engenders, to be the comfort and sup- port of those around her ; and by active means doing her utmost to Ughten the cloud which hung over all in the small and retired house in Kensington, which was now the humble asylum of the unfortunate Cecils. Leaving the care of amusing and soothing her mother's mind, to the idolized son — the good and affectionate Herbert, — Evelyn's chief scene of action was the apartment called the nursery. But, .Oh! how dilTerent from the rooms which had before been appropriated . to that purpose in the time of their prosperity. Where were the pretty cots, looking more like little beds to be occupied by fairy-queens than human babies 1 Where, too, the rich litter occasioned by the expensive toys, which used for- merly to scatter the floor, and amuse the happy hours of the little Cecils 1 The ac'dvo nursery maids — no longer to he seen bustling about, all waiting upon the important-look- ing liachael, who, seated upon her low nursery-chair, her cliair of state, lulled on her knee the baby of the family, with its laced cap and embroidered robe, while at the same time she directed with her looks and smiles the lovely little group playing around her ; and, with the love and pride these beauteous little beings called forth, fancied they owed half their beauty, and all their health to her fostering care. AH was now changed. The present apartment, with its uncarpeted floor, and shabby- looking beds, oflTered a sad contrast to the nursery they had just left; Evelyn was now the usual occupant of the low nursing-chair, Rachael's present duties being more pf a household nature. Poor f>elyn ! it was a sad charge which had now devolved on her , auvl in the fragile heanh and increasing wcaknesf ^( the poo* baby, who was scarcely ever out of her arms, «ha found cause for sorrowful and anxious apprehension. Often when nursing the poor little Rose, who had numbered little more than two years, she felt the tears rise to her eyes, as they rested on its pale and sulfering countenance ; when fearful of alarming the other chddren, (who, with allcctionate instipct, were playing in silence by her side,) she would tell them to leave her. ,, Edwin, a beautiful boy of nine, who, wit^ his clustering curls of fair hair, his bright coniplexton and sunny blue eyes, most resembled his sister Eve- lyn, ever left her with regret; it was only when re- quested to take charge of the tv/o little girls, in the narrow court before the house, which aspired to the name of garden, that he quitted his much-loved Evelyn cheerlully. The idea of being of service, even in his young heart, somewhat reconciled him to being absent from her; and it was thus that each of the sufil'ring family sought to spare the mother some trial, while all endeavoured, by tender care and watchfulness, to alleviate the poignant grief which bent their unfortunate parent's spirit to the earth. CHAPTER VI. ■ "Ife was not 111 i:ostly piment cljid. nor on his brow Tlie symbol of a princely liriesige wore; Yet in liis mien Command sat tJironed serene, and if lie smil'd, A kingly condescension graced liis lips." Among the minor evils attendant on reduced cir- cumstances, it may seem trifling to mention (never* tholoss it is by no means an inconsiderable cause of suffering and chagrin) the barrier which is then removed between females of refinement and the world at large. 7*his may not be so acutely felt in the country, where retirement can be generally secured; and if not, there is a deference paid to misfortune, even by the most rustic, which soothes, rather than irritates the sulfcrer. But in London or other large towns, it is very diirerent. Crowds may daily pass unnoticed and unnoticing; but the young female who, with timid steps and downcast eyes, finds her- self in the novel position of walking unprotected amidst a throng, becomes at once an object of rude and inquisitive regard, — which, adding to her em- barrassment and fear, gives her a sense of desolation, though surrounded by her fellow-creatures loneliness would fail to inflict. ^ Poor Evelyn Cecil, with a mind nerved to endur ance, by principles of religion as well as afllcction though sulfering all which the rude gaze of stran- gers must impose on shrinking delicacy, hid even from Herbert her aversion to walk alone, or at lea?t accompanied only by her little brother and sisters. However it had been occasionally necessary that she should visit the solicitor, who was now doing his utmost to disentangle the confusion of his client's affairs, and also.oflfering as nmch solace as lay in his power to the wretched family. With this valuable friend, Herbert and his sister were in constant com- munication. From him they gained tidings of their beloved father, though at present kept in ignorance of his place of refuge; and in return they sent that information of themselves and their proceediHjra, which was all the alleviation the unhappy parent experienced to his misery. With cares and occupations for every hour of thei»i THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. ii time, it was seldom that Herbert and Evelyn could leave the house together; unless Mrs. Cecil slept during the day, which a restless night rendered ne- cessary, they never quitted her at the same time; and as the household duties which devolved on Evelyn, obliged 'her frequent absence, it was on Herbert that the care of soothing and amusing his motlier's mind chiefly rested. How beautifully did his character display itself in passing through this ordeal ! one of such peculiar trial to a youth of his age. His best and brightest hopes \vere all blighted by the misfortunes of his family ; all the brilliant expectations of his youth had faded away ! But did he repnie No ; though with agony at his heart, from the knowledge of the misery endured by those he so fondly loved, he thought not of the shipwreck liis own fortunes had sustained ; but with the most devoted tenderness — with a softness and patience of manner, strongly contrasting with the manly tenor and general bearing of his character, he took upon nimself the sad task of watching sedulously by the couch of his suffering mother, while occupying and soothing her mind with the sweet hopes that religion permitted him to hold out. But not only did the great qualities and virtues of Herbert shine in the sick room ; with judgment far surpa^^sing his years, and the light and brilliant nature of his education, he labored with his father's man of business to bring their aflairs into some train for amelioration ; and whilst his powerful abilities and clear understanding surprised to the utmost degree the sensible lawyer, the feeling and gentlemanly conduct of the yotyig Cecil inspired him with such deep interest, as made him redouble his active endeavors for the father. One morning it was essential that Herbert should be in Berner's Street, where this exccllont friend msided, to explain some memoranda of his father's which Mr. Disney had forwarded to him. On this occasion, there appeared such an increase of depres- sion on Mrs. Cecil's spirits, when he mentioned he must leave her, and the book he was reading aloud, that tears coursed each other down her pallid cheeks, with all that abandon of grief, which the reduced in health and happiness too often fdel for comparatively trivial causes. He therefore sought Evelyn, though I perhaps even more averse than herself to her walk- ing farther than a retired path in the Park near them, when unprotected by himself; and requested her to take Edwin, and proceed to Mr. Disney, she being I as well able as himself to explain all the details re- quired, relative to the affair in question. The cause was too urgent for her to hesitate ; and Herbert again rejoined his mother, wlw) felt almost a sensation of joy at finding she could have him by her side the whole of the morning. Evelyn, wrapped in the folds of a large cloak, and with her beautiful radiant countenance shaded by a tliick veil, set out on her expedition with the little Edw^in, too proud and too happy to be her cavalier on the occasion. After having fulfilled her niission, they were re- turning at a quick pace, and had nearly reached home, when Evelyn found she had lost her watch, now the only timepiece of the family ; for with this exception, all the valuables of Mrs. Cecil and her children had been resigned to the creditors. It had been the gift of Julian, her dear and valued cousin. Every time she looked at it, it brought to her remem- brance the kind smile and kind words with which it had been given to her. She recollected, too, the delight with which she liad received it ; and often, when most miseraHe, had she taken the glittering token from her bosom, and pressed it to her lips, aa if by that act she approached herself nearer to the kind and affectionate cousin whose indulgence had bestowed it upon her. Now that she fancied it wag gone for ever, her agony was great ; and, though despairing of recovering it, she turned with her bro ther, for the purpose of seeking for it. In her anx- iety the veil had been thrown back ; and with a flushed and eager countenance she commenced the search, which with much reason, she feared must" prove hopeless. There was one circumstance 'con- nected with her loss, which rendered it unnecessary* to retrace her steps beyond a certain point ; they' both recollected that when half-way through tiio' Park, she had taken out her watch to compare it with the clock at the Knights-bridge barracks, which was then striking the hour. As they approached this; spot without having recovered the lost treasure, her hopes became more depressed, and with tears in her eyes, which almost impeded their sight as she glanced quickly and anxiously around her, she reached the very place, beyond which her vain search would be even wprse than fruitless. So intent had she been in her scrutiny of every step they were taking, that she did not observe a tall man in a sort of military undress, yet with a dignity and grace in his appear ance which spoke more of courts than camps, who was standing in the path where they now halted ; nor did she witness the looks of curiosity and admi- ration directed to herself and her little companion, who with his cheeks rosy from exercise and excite- ment, and with the bright gol(^cn curls which halt shaded his laughing blue eyes, was the very perso- nification of the " Paphian boy." " Edwin, it is indeed gone !" Evelyn exclaimed sadly, just as the gentleman, stepping forward, pre- sented to her delighted gaze the lost watch, asking if she had dropped it. Quick and energetic in all her movements, her first impulse was to seize it eagerly, and press it to her lips. , Edwin fully par- ticipated in her joy, which he evinced by taking the stranger's hand with childish artlessness aiid exclaim- ing, "Thank you a thousand times, dear, good sir." Recalled by his words from her first wild feelinga of girlish delight, Evelyn, in her turn, expressed her acknowledgments with graceful warmth and cour- tesy ; encouraged by the mild and gentlemanly countenance of him she addressed into a forgetfuhiess of his being so utter a stranger, she spoke of the manner in which-she guessed she had lost it, adding how its intrinsic value w^as enhanced in her eyes, from the circumstance of its being the gift of a much- loved friend. 'u . rw " Yes," said Edwin, our dear .cousin Ju — *' "Hush, hush!" interrupted Evelyn, quickly, in a moment recollecting she was in a measure infringing the strict incognito her father had required of tlieih : and again repeating her thanks, she took her ;bro- ther's hand and pursued her course homewards. Long did, the stranger pause, and look after these two young beings, whom chance had brought so im- mediately to his notice ! On finilmg the beautiful little watch, his first impulse had been a kind wish to seek the loser ; a second thought told him the. most effectual means for the purpose, would be to remain near the place where it had been dropped, until some one mi^ht pass, wliotn he could send for a servant to take his post. The amiable and const- derate plan succeeded as we have just related, and \4 THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. »,.e n".»uU more tliari repaid him for the trouble his kind ft?chngs had induced him to undertake. lie had Uved lonjj and much in the world, his sa- tiated eyes had dwelt on every description of beauty ; and be.iuly had by him, at one time, been worshipped and adored wherever he had found it enshrined ; but at tliis moment he acknowledged to himatdf, that he had nevt r been so moved, as by the contemplation of the brother and sister who had just left him. Tlieir two lovely faces formed, as it were, in the same mould — the infantine beauty of the boy — the feminine grace of the girl — her dignified though natural manners — marked at once with high breed- ing and virtue, left an impression of admiration, that recalled the vivid feelings of past years. " They come of no common parentage," apostro- phized the stranger, as he stood lost in thought, revolving in his mind the apparent inconsistency of a girl of distinguished beauty and manners being suifered to be unattended in a public walk, which, though it was late in tlie London season, was suffi- ciently thro .ged to be unpleasant for her — he also wondered at the htrange contrast offered by the childish abandon of her manner, and the evident desire for concealment, by her large cloak, and thick veil, and her hasty interruption of her brother's in- genuous remarks. V Who, or what can they be 1" he muttered, as he turned to pursue his walk. He returned to his splendid home ; and often during the day, even when the engrossing business of a states- man, and the occupations of one high in ofnce, filled e ich passing hour, did the vision of these fair children fii't before his mind, and cling to his imagination with a tenacity which surprised himself. Whether it was by accident, or intention, she knew not, neither did her thoughts dwell at all on tlie subject; but after this, Evelyn very frequently en<30uritered the stranger, in the early walks which she made a point of taking with the children, every iijoniing. He generally recognized his younij ac- quaintances with a bow, but that was all ; until one day, after a week had passed, during which she had l>een unable to attend her little charges in the Park, cji again resuming lier vvalks, Evelyn was surprised to see little Edwin, at a distant glimpse of the stran- ger, bound to meet him, exclaiming, " Oh ! here comes that dear, kind man." It then appeared that, when walking with Raphael only, the stranger had repeatedly spoken to the attractive little fellow, and their acquaintance had nearly reached to intimacy. Evelyn, though with something of an effort to her lively and frank disposition, met the inquiries of Edwin's friend with a degree of reserve ; still there was a benevolence, a tone of high breeding in his every word, with so much of kind interest, when listening to her account of the increased illness of the poor little baby, that soon dispelled every feeling of constraint, with the recollection of the unusual nature of their acquaintance. Evelyn, indeed, had too little knowledge of the world — at least, of the vicious part of it, to be aware of the extent of the risk encountered, by suffering the continuance of so irregular a proceeding, or the reflection it threw on her own sense of propriety. Though reared amidst all the refinements of life, and early brought forward in the cultivated society of her father's house, still, in heart and in ideas, Evelyn was as unsophisticated as the mo=;t genuine rustic could have been. This is no uncommon re- iuh'frf ifi' careful education, and we laay class it among the happiest. It is not often that so sorrow- ful a reverse is experienced by the favorites of fortune, as to render a deeper knowledge of the world necessary. Wanting this, poor Evelyn con- ducted herself in the circumstances which accident had brought about> with the same bonne foi she would have shown, had her watch been picked up for her by some stranger in her mother's drawing- rboms. She knew not, therefore, she could not think of harm ; and happily, the simplicity which marked her behavior towards the stranger was, iri that instance, in no danger of being misconstrued or imposed upon ; on the contrary, the interviews which every morning's walk seemed so naturally to occa- sion, while impressing her admiring he«icr with aa extraordinary interest for the intt llect and cultivation of her mind, as well as the irresistible naivefe of her manners, also confirmed him in the belief that Evelyn had always lived in the best society, amongst persons of virtue and education. Still, that there was mystery was very evident. It may have added to the charm these youthful beings possessed, in the stranger's eyes, and it may not ; but it is certain, that although wishing strangely to penetrate this mystery, and feeling that by adroit and indirect questioning, the ingenuousness of his young friends would soon lietray it ; yet, withheld by a high and honorable feeling of delicacy, as well as a sense of their weakness, he forbore to probe their secret, and only allowed himself to guess when anything aflforded him a clue for so doing. l^ot aware of his gentlemanly forbearance in thig^ particular, Evelyn, in their walks with this new-found acquaintance, had some difficulty in restraining Edwin, v^ho would occasionally inad- vertently say what she feared might give some, in- sight into their family history ; this she knew was what her father most strenuously wished them to avoid, in all their encounters with strangers or ac- quaintances. She thought the stranger must wish to learn their name, and she was sorry it was not in her power to disclose it ; and with an innate dis- like to deception, she felt averse to let him hear the nameof Norton, which was that which their parent's strong motive for concealment had induced them to assume; as it was, Evelyn and Edwin was all he knew of their distinguishing appellations. Their whole secret was, however, at one time, very nearly divulged, by the giddiness of the little chattering Edwin. A carriage, bearing a coronet, passed them one morning, in one of their early promenades in the Park ; and, packed for travelling, was evidently on its departure from London. Evelyn thought she knew the carriage, and her heart beat with emo- tion ; but she was silent. Edwin, less cautious, exclaimed, " O Evelyn ! there goes my uncle Clair- ville's carriage." " Whose did you say ?" their companion, as i* were, involuntarily uttered, turning quickly round to examine the equipage, which, however, had whirled rapidly away. Evelyn looked reprovingly at Edwin, who stop- ping short made no answer; and the gentleman, perceiving their confusion, forbore to press the ques- tion, and changed the subject ; and seeing by Evelyn's perturbation and changing color, that slie was agi- tated, soon wished them adieu. ] He had scarcely quitted them when the tear* ' flowed fast from poor Evelyn's eyes; she had never j before even caught a glimpse of former friends in THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. 1* the obscarity in which they now lived, and this pass- '. jng glance brought a pang to her heart which s.x'ined to make her feel more acutely all tlie desolation ot nirnir situation. The impression lasted nearly the whole day, and while nursing the poor little suffering Rose, oteu and often did the image of the travelling carriiige pass over her mind, and with it the thoughts, that doubtless it held her two dear cousins, Julian and the lady de Cressy, journeying in their hap{)iness to Lord Clairville's country house, whore, she knew by experience, pleasure was courted in every possi- ble form. The question rose to her sorrowing heart, " Do these dear friends still think of their unfortunate relatives 1 or has the coldness and cruelty of Lady (Jlairville taught them to corisider us disgraced, and to shrink from our remembrance 1" Her own knowledge of the warm-hearted JuUan and Blanche, seemed to forbid ihe surmise, and with a sigh and a foreboding guess at futurity, she wondered how all this wretchedness would end. CHAPTER VII. "Love knovveth every form of air. And every shape of earth, And comes unbidden everywhere, Like thought's mysterious birth." Tht-ke are few situations more conducive to en- joyment and sociability than a country house in England, particularly at that season of the year when the prospect of field sports, and the attractions of la vie dii chateau, bring together an assemblage of both sexes, determined on giving and receiving pleasure. It was in the latter days of August, a month so lovely in this country, that a brilliant'and numerous party were assembled at Oakwood, the splendid seat of Lord Clairville. All was delight and excitement. Archery, pic-nics, races, and cricket-matches were bj turns the chosen objects and promoters of plea- sure ; while the near approach of the first of Sep- tember gave an interest to each passing day, that any who have witnessed the assumed or natural engouement of our English denizens for field sports, may well imagine. But, alas ! for the uninitiated — it cannot be described. Who can recount conver- sations where Mantons and Macintoshes, pointers and percussions, setters and spatterdashes, are the mystical words for ever intervening 1 Who can describe the impassioned gesture, the glowing cheeks, and glittering eyes accompanying the rela- tion of some past deed in preserve or moor, by " flood or fein" Still, however, the importance attached to these matters bears with it something of infection, and when we hear of foreigners with no other shoot- ing dress than tight morocco boots and chaiy trowsers, and owning moreover a perfect ignorance of all the private mysteries of a double-barrelled gun, being inoculated with this manie de chasse, we may aot wonder at the universal and overwhelming fever that predominates on the first of September with our own natives, who have taken it naturally. Yet in truth it must be said there is scarcely a more pleasing sight, particularly in these days of luxury and self-indulgence, than thot of a young man, who in London is a complete petit maitre, devoted to every description of false and etTpminate pleasure, discarding all bis fripi)ery ; and in his •hooting jacket, thirk shoes, a;id :^ugh gaiters. walking forth as sturdily into the stubble field or tangled coppice, as if his feet had never trod the carpeted saloqns of Crockford's, or he had ever breathed the perfumed air of a boudoir or opera box^ We may suj)pose this excessive fondness for the sports of the iield, among the higher classes of the English, has at least a salutary effect on the national character ; inasmuch as the manliness it inculcatea and encourages one half of the year, is a powerful counterbalance to the enervating and trivial pursuits of the other. This may partially account for some peculiar characteristics of those whom we may call par excellence English gentlemen ; I mean that union of personal elegance with a hardihood and conterrjipt of fatigue, not exceeded by the poorest laborer, a robustness of frame with extreme delicacy of idea, and a deep insight into the Sybarite's science of good iivhig and luxurious enjoyment, with the simple mar>r«ei-8 and Ijealfeliful constitution of a peasant, ^ There is r^rtalijly no other nation of which the most influential part pass so much of their time ii^ the country, or pursue so eagerly the invigorating recreations if aflbrds : this we may infer, while i^ gives a healthy tone of mind, and manliness of spiri^ and demeanor, in a great measure counteracts thg baleful influence of the follies and dissipations of a town life. Indeed, there is something of purity in the happiness connected with a country life, that imparts its nature to the character ; and when we observe that the profligate, the mercenary, or the malevolent, can rarely enter into the pleasure which is yielded by exercise in the pure and renovating air, — the rich prospect unfolding the illimitable beauties of creation, — or the tranquil study of nature in all her " cunning work," — we may fairly conclude that the feelings ivhich such things call so abun- dantly from the heart, are in themselves virtuous ^ and though the pallid senses may shrink from thei^ participation, we cannot doubt their being the natur ral and genuine sources of enjoyment bestowed by a beneficent Creator, especially when we see theiii last long after the factitious charms of the world have ceased to please. A varipty of motives had led to the assemblage of the gay party who now met beneath the hospit- able roof of Oakwood, and though the ostensible onq was pleasure, a deeper and more anxious reason had actuated its presiding genius. Lady Clairville had become most desirous of amusing, and by every means in her power Qonciljating her son Juhan, whose gravity and dejection seemed to become each day more habitual, while there was a coldness in his demeanor, towards herself yvhich made his prcsenjt ideas and opinions, in a manner inaccessible. By gathering at her .house the gay, the yoiii^g, and the dissipated, the wily mother thought to mak^ him forget former intimacies and connections, and by including in the party the all attractive Lady Florence St, John, and associating her in hei schemes, she might win him from his childish fancy for Evelyn Cecil. It was thus she designated hif deep and fervent attachment for his beautiful cousin Lady Florence St. John was as much renownet, for her surpassing beauty as for her flirtations, and was exactly the person Lady Clairville wished should attract her son. Aware, as she was, tha| before his feelings could be awakened for Blanche, they must be detached from the present idol of hi9 heart, she knew of uo oiie so likely to effect l^i hh 4^ A^'^ 6 l) K E A N D T H E C O U S I S. ■jprurposo as fc'ady Florence, particularly as her views for the marriage of the young baroness and Julian wotiKl there encounter no obstacle ; the co-opera- tions of her Circe could but extend to an affaire de cceur, from the circumstance of her being a married woman. As far as regarded Blanche de Crcssy, she had no fear of opposition to her wishes. She con- sidered her too gentle to offer any contradiction to her will. Ignorant, moreover, of the deep interest Herbert Cecil had created in her heart, of which Julian was, in a measure, the promoter and confi- dant, she fully believed, from the many signs of confiv^en tification as our only law I Although Lady Florende jjqssessed qualities, which, if cultivated, might have considerably en- hanced the value of her character : the trifling and superficial education she had received, together with the dissipation of the last years of her life, had con- siderably militated against those evidences of a bet- ter nature which had peeped fortl in her early youth, when, \\\\i\ as the scenery amidst which she wandered, and pure as the mountain lake which reflected the blooming child,' she dreamt not of the follies and pleasures which now led her captive. With all her better feelings smothered, and, though not actually criminal, with the bright sur- face of a woman's purity in some iiiCHSure sullied, Lady Florence St. John arrived at Oakwood, the very agent the designs of Lady Clairville required, and the first day of her visit had scarcely passed, before Julian was marked out as the victim upoq whom she intended to pour forth her enchantment* THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. n Her intentions were by no means weakened on find- ing that the task of making him her shive would not ■ be easy. Her captives were wont to sue for their chains, and when fettered, press them to their bo- soms ; she foresaw greater difficulty with JuHan, and this discovery served to add zest to herscherties of subjugation. There was yet a deeper motive which actuated the plans of the beautiful Florence, which, although not acknowledged to herself, was not the less pow- erful. Beauty, like a despot queen, has a quick and jealous eye for any aggression upon her ascendency'; 'and during the last season Lady Florence, in two instances, had suffered a defalcation of allies, owing to the gentle and unassuming, but newly presented Lady de Cressy. This called for vengeance. Al- though, not for an instant questioning the nature of the attraction which had won from her empire the homage of a Cabinet Minister and of a German prince, it was not less annoying to find that beauty, and all the seductions which she could so dexter- ously employ, might soon be superseded by the fas- cination of mere wealth. As to the personal attractions of the young Ba- roness, they were too slight in the estimation of Lady Florence, to merit competition ; she neverthe- less felt that it behoved her to exhibit to her rival and to the world, which had quietly witnessed th*' apostasy of her two lovers, some signal victory as a demonstration of her supremacy. The opportunity now presented itself; Lady Florence had scarcely V-cen two days at Oakwood, ere she fancied that she had discovered, in the tender and confiding manners uf the Lady de Cressy to her cousin, the cause of her disregard of all the adorers which her peculiar sitr.ation had gathered around her in London, and which had caused the rejection even of the Cabinet Minister and the German prince, her own most valued cavaliers. ' The belief of Blanche's secret attachment did not surprise her ; for as she was aware of Lady Clairville's wishes in that point, and had now the Opportunity of observing the very superior nature of Julian's personal as well as intellectual qualities, it seemed the most natural thin^ in the world that this inexperienced girl should love her cousin. The reciprocity of the sentiment did riot appear so cJoa/ly ; and Lady Florence mentally resolved to do her pn^Sfbls to prevent its existence. What triumph it would be to subdue that proud Bplrit, she thought one morning, as she sat gazing on the haughty brow and apathetic indifference, with which Julian listened to some chattering oei.-hbor at the breakfast-table; what deFight to call some glances of feeling from those deep, calm eyes; eyes which, to Lady Florence's great sur- prise, had as vBt never to her knowledge rested for a miiiQte on herself. But if that indifference piqued her, how doubly so did the smile which ever en- lightened his countenance when Blanche addressed him; which, lasting only while she spoke, faded gradually away, leaving him grave and cold as he was before. ' Though stung almost to anger by this unusual inaensibility of her loveliness and attractions, Lady Florence, in spite of herself, conceived a deep in- terest for the handsome and stoical Julian. Here- tofore, when waging war against some vagrant heart, flhe had found that the less her' own feelirigs were engaged, the more powerful were her measures ; therefore, in those schemes of conquest with wiiirh she had sought to fill that vacuum in her heart, which a marriage v/ithout aflection and a life of dissipation had occasioned ; she had rather hailed the apathy which in fact had proved her safe-guard. It was very different now; she could not conceal from herself that she had a double interest in the success of her fascinations. She had also some slight sense of the dangers with which her present pursuits were fraught ; but with that rcckhvssnes.^ which former impunity had given her, and the v/i!- fulness of a spoiled child, she gave her every thought and attention to the unconscious Julian. There was in truth much to admire in this new object of her notice; even the air of deep dejection which clouded his fine brow, made him more attrac- tive to her feelings, as it rendered him so totally different from the young men with whom LaiJy Florence had been accustomed to find herself asso- ciated. Surrounded as he was by all the pomp of wealth and ranlc, he appeared perfectly regardless of both ; his manners were simple and unstudied, but grace- fully imbued with a distinct tone of high breeding his whole bearing, indeed, was perfectly unaffected -;— yet, although he appeared scarcely conscious of the distinguished plac^ he held in societv, the evidences of a lofty spirit, and pride of another sort were clearly perceptible. Manly in his pursuits, ai^i with a highly cultivated mind, his conversation, though he spoke little, was consistent with his av tainments. Possessed of gre.'it goodness of hearc, almost approaching to weakness, where his alfp.,- tions were concerned, it beamed in kindness fro;?) his eyes when they were illumined by a smile ; at the same time, there was an occasional flasli from those dark orbs which betrayed an impetuosity of feeling and exceeding warmth of temper ; teliin j, also, of deep absorbing passion; and it was on this that Lady Florence founded her hopes of subjecting him to her dominion. Julian was courteous and considerate to all his mother's guests ; bvrt it was evidently with an ef^)rl that he exerted himself to enter into the little in- terests of the passing hour; and he quickly rel 'p'-.C'l into his usual absence of mind and deep reveries. This inaccessibility made him, perhaps, a still more attractive object of^ observation to a woman who had hitherto never encountered such indifference, but had always found herself the shrine at which the whole world, — that is, her world, — had ever wor- shipped. It was with much satisfaction Lady Florence re- marked, that the manners of Julian to his cousin, although those of a most affectionate brother, weie nothing more. It is true, there was a bright smiU on his lips when he looked upon her ; and his atten- tion to the minutest wishes she expiessed. almo.Ht evinced the alacrity of a lover ; but all was too open — too undisguised, for that feeling which gene- rally seeks concealment. Still there was enouv.h tenderness and confidence, apparently existing be- tween them, to warrant some curiosity on the part of Lady Florence. She could perceive that he loved tl"w? gentle Blanche for her own sake : but there wvji a'second feeling which puzzled her, unconscious as she was of 'a little secret in the heart of Blanche which corresponded too truly with that which burned within the bosom of Julian, not to rendei his couai» still more dear in his eyes. 18 THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. *' Time and watchfulness must fathom this mys- tery," thought Lady Florence, as slie in vain sought an elucidation in her own mind. '' I can fancy this girl-peeress loves her cousin ; I can sec, by her ex- cessive vigilance when he speaks to me, she is a little jralous ; but I am confident, his feelings towards her are purely those of a brother; — children brought up from infancy together, with a view to matrimony, seldom care much "for each other. He knows he can marry her any day he chooses — therefore, why that degree of gloom upon his spirits ? Can he love another ?" The question struck like a barbed arrow to lier heart ; and even then the imprudent Florence shrunk not from the fearful consciousness, that she was suflcring an interest to take possession of her, ihaX, like too many of the same nature, begun in folly, must end in tears, . CHAPTER Vni. His frame was slipht, liis forehead high, And swept by threads of raven hair; The fire of thought was in his eye, And he was p'nle— ***♦♦♦ I watched his graceful step of pride, And loved him ere the echo died. Had Lady Florence St. John, with all the world- lincss and trifling inclinations of a woman of fashion, possessed at the same time the internal, as well as assumed apathy — the usual characteristic of the class to v.'hich she belonged — her present pursuit would have been one of little peril to herself. If merely an affair of rivalry, it would have affected her only as her supremacy was proved or set aside; and Julian, won from his allegiance to the Baroness, would have been a thing of nought, except as the spoil gathered from a rival power. But, alas ! for Lady Florence, there was a deep well-spring of tenderness in her heart, which was not the less plenteous because till now it had remained hidden and untouched. Although she deluded herself with the belief that she merely sought amusement by her plans, and was only acting up to foregone jesting assertions, that there was no offering more flattering or touching than ies prentices d'un jeune cocur — there was a wilder and more unhallowed incentive in her bosom, which thjeatened to inflict misery on all concerned. At times, fearing that some deep and absorbing pass^ion could alone have subdued a mind and spirit such as Julian's, Lady Florence thought it possible she might gain some elucidation of the mystery from Ladv Clairville herself, who, she was quick-sighted enough to perceive, regarded him frequently with a furtive, but anxious scrutiny, as though all was not quite as she wished. The op])ortunity of some private conversation soon presented itself; for although the claims of Lady Clairville's numerous guests precluded everything in the shape of a tete-a-tete during the morning, the impatient Florence eagerly seized the occasion afforde.^. by her hostess one evening ; who, on the plea of a headache retired to a couch in a distant earner of the saloon, immediately on quitting the dining-room. Thither Lady Florei,v« followed her; and seating herself by her side, in the most soothing, bewitching mannfr, bathed her temples with Eau de Cologne, alternately and gently fanning them. At length she commenced her attack upon the " secret of the priflon-house." " Dear Lady Clairville, how very lovely you look T and how like your handsome son, now that you are a Uttle pale, and I have drawn your hair from shading your splendid forehead !" There was more truth in these words than usuall/ exists in the compliments oi one female to another ; and the admiration with which Lady Florence gazed on the beautiful face before her was unfeigned^ though perhaps, derived from a second feehng. "Shall I tell you a secret 1" she continued, half playfully — half seriously. "Do you know. Lady Clairville, that I am almost in love with that beauti- ful, grave, cross-looking Julian of yours? Not that I have spoken twenty words to him, or that I have heard him speak half the number; but still there ia ' something intensely interesting in his melancholy ' woe-begone appearance." "That is exactly what provokes me beyond the power of endurance," exclaimed Lady Clairvil'/j, rising from her recumbent posture, and forgetting in a moment, as it were, her previous headache /nd interesting languor. " I am deeply annoyed at jhia absurd melancholy which you admire ; ^and the caKise from whence it springs disturbs me still more. In- deed, I have much wished to talk with you on the subject; for I am sure you will sympathize in. my irritated feelings, and perhaps assist me, sweet L| dy Florence, to reform this wayward boy. But you can- not jjidge of my disappointment, dearest, until I tell you the real state of the case." Lady Florence actually trembled with emotion and curiosity, at once dreading to hear the announce- ment of some deeply -rooted passion that had taken possession of Julian; yet rejoicing in the confidence and friendly familiarity of his mother, she listened with mute attention as Lady Clairville vehemtntly continued the relation of her grievances. "The truth is, my dejxr Lady Florence, that I, — that is. Lord Clairville and myself, have intended my niece, Blanche de Cressy, for this perverse Julian, from their earliest youth. You know what dipartie she is — imagine the agony of my mind, when I tell you that this absurd ungrateful son pertinaciously re- fuses it ; and for what, your good sense and know- ledge of the world will never divine — it is for no less an absurdity, than because he indulges in the ridicu- lous fancy that he is in love with another. The idea of a person in his station of life imagining for a moment that love is as necessary in marriage as in a melo-drama !" " But who is the object of this folly V* asked Lady Florence, with an eagerness which, to one less pre- occupied than Lady Clairville, would have betrayed more interest than she could have hoped so soon to i have created by her words. i " Oh ! you certainly know my unfortunate hrother, j and his family — indeed I fancied you knew the girl." " Do you mean that beautiful Evelyn ?" exclaimed Lady Florence : " then \ indeed know the rest. She is in truth a lovely creature," she added, half in soliloquo}'^ ; and, while remembering her form of virgin purity and beauty, she sighed ; whether from dread of her power, or from the consciousness of the evil she would herself inflict on so fair a creature, we cannot say. " Lovely !" repeated Lady Clairville, with indig- nation and surprise : " and what does that weigh in the scale with riches and rank ? Blanche is also good-looking ; at least, sufficiently so." ♦< But is Lady de Creasy attached to her cousin 1** THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. 19 " Oh ! of course she must be. I have never directly put the question to her ; but there can be no doubt upon the subject: she knows my wishes, and fias b >en properly, brought up under my direction. I consider it one of the first proofs of a ri^ht education, for a girl to be ready to marry the per-on her friends point out for her choice. In my opinion, it is a mark of under breeding and vulgarity for a girl to fall in love. It is so like the soubrette of a theatre, or a lady's-maid, who hangs herself, because a gentleman's gentleman does not return her passion. The very idea is repugnant to my notions of delicacy." Lady Florence turned away to hide the smile she could not suppress ; but said, with her usual soft mild voice, " Indeed, dear Lady Clairville, I am quite distressed for you ; but what is to be done 1" " My lovely young friend," Lady Clairville replied, impressively laying her hand upon the beautiful Utile white one, which rested trembling on the couch ; ** you can do everything for me in this sad affair. There is but one course to pursue. Julian has seen very little of the world, and has mixed but slightly in female society. Do you endeavour to gain his confidence ; once possessed of it, your fascinating words may charm him from his folly. Who could ever resist your persuasions, accompanied by the eloquence of those dove-like eyesi Besides this, when Julian is once sensible of your beauty, your manners, your attractions, he will then discover what loveliness really is. O Lady Florence, if you could wean him from this silly girl, what would be my gratitude and joy ! You would be dearer to ray heart than even you are now." At this moment the conversation, which was becoming so highly interesting to both, was suddenly 'interrupted by the entrance of the gentlemen from the dining-room, and the approach of some to the couch on which Lady Clairville was seated. Enough had been said, however, to make Lady Florence understand the nature of services required of her, and to develope the faulty character of the mother, who. with a fearful absence of principle, did not hesitate, for the sake of attaining one pomt, to throw her son into the midst of the most dangerous temptations; nor to enlist as her ally, a young woman, unstable in conduct, and who, with supposed laxity, if not licentiousness of principle, entered into all the dissipations of the world, apparently without religion to restrain her, or friends to admonish. It is true, she still bore in society an unaspersed name ; but by a constant series of dissipated habits, the heart is as thoroughly corrupted, as by the actual coaimission of crime. Indulgence gives the feelings strength, while the absence of glaring guilt may seemingly justify the want of restraint ; and thus, unawakened by remorse, a woman may prq^eed, until by gradual and stealthy steps, the destruction of all morality is achieved. How insufficient is prosperity for happiness! Even at its very height, a single disappointment can destroy the relish of all its pleasures. Lady Clairville, though surrounded l)y luxury, power, and opulence, was at this moment stung by discontent, and her bosom filled with feelings of outraged pride and resentment. . r We may assemble all the evils with which the world abounds, and their stings will be found less poignant than those which opposition offers to pride, and to an overbearing spirit. Amid.st the ordinary calamities with which humanity is afflicted, the well- disciplined mind feels consolation in the reflection that they come direct from a higher Power, and that with the affliction, strength is also bestowed ; but where those disorders of an ill-regulated and oyer- weening disposition exist, ev^ry contrariety to its will or pleasure seems to attack human nature in its " strong hold ;" and penetrating jto the very seat olt sensation, converts all the power? of thought' injib instruments of torture. Lady Florence was deeply moved by the precede ing conversation ; and while mn ing intently on aa its particulars, she saw Julian enter the room. But he sought her not, — her surpassing beauty had as yet made no impression upon his pre-occupiring friends^ Do they, can they know chat it is our ignorance of the asylum they have •ciibs'-n, that has kept us from them] O dear Blanche, you cannot imagine what this idea at times makes me endure, or what I suffer from the suspense of not knowing what has become of them ! It preys upon my spirits, disturbs my jest; in short, is de- stroying me." " Julian," replied Blanche, almost weeping at the evident distress of her cousin's mind, "I enter into all your feelings most truly. You know full well how dearly I also prize these beloved Cecils ; there- fore I suffer equally with yourself. What is to be done r cannot imagine. Y.y avmt will never assist us in this sad affair, and I am most sorry to tell you, dear Julian, that this very morning she has again talked to me upon the old subject of our marriage. Fain would I have told her how differently both our hearts were fixed ; but you know how much I fear your mother, and I v»'as silent, although I struggled for courage to say what might put the subject to rest for ever." " Dear Blanche," said Julian sorroAvfully, " how much I regret your timidity on this point, when you can show so much firmness on matters of infinitely loss importance ! Is it the violence of my mother's manner which intimidates you?" " Oh yes," said Blanche, almost shuddering at the hire idea ; " knowing how long her hopes have been fi'ced upon uniting us, and having witnessed so often how opposition to her lea.st wish raises all the angry ifnnorious feelings of her nature; how could I, Julian, alone stand the brunt of her wrath and indignation, on finding we dared to disappoint her dearest hope 1" Julian sighed, feeling that even he, with all his mother's high and overbearing disposition, should almost tremble at her anger when she should first learn that they dared to oppose her will. Therefore, though he ardently wished it, could he expect Blanche to be the first to tell her how completely they had resolved to disobey her wishes'? " I believe we must leave it to accident to discover otir real feelings," Julian replied, after a few minutes silence ; " but what was it, Blanche, that my mother $ai:l to you this mornincr? I had almost hoped that in her anxiety for what she calls proper attention on my part to this beautiful Lady Florence, she, had forg'otten that I have a hand or heart to dispose of." ''Oh, no!" Blanche replied, "after some general rernarlcs on the al)surdity of boyish fancies and nffectior>s — which I perfectly understood were intended to do away from my mind any impression that you loved my cousin better than mj^self, — Lady Clairville told me that as you were now of ag^e, ihere was nothing to prevent our union taking place immediately ; and, that a.s soon as the present party should break up, she intended to have it fornjally announced to all the members of our family, and to commence every preparation for it." " By heavens! she shall not make such a puppet of me," Julian exclaimed with a vehemence, which startled his cousin; "I know, through the unhappy weakness of my father, she has the power of making me a beggar, if I do not marry according to her wishes, but so let it be : I can sacrifice wealth, biit never, never my affections." " Blanche," he conti- nued, in a calmer tone, "we understand each other .so perfectly, that I am not fearful of olUmding yoij, by thus shrinking from a marriage planned with such mercenary feelings. You know how truly I love .you, and I rejoice in feeling convinced that no sister ever more kindly prized a brother than you do me ; but whatever may be the consequences, my mother must be told in what light we view each other, and why she can never hope to see a tenderer affection between us. This may ruin me," he continued, seeing Blanche wished to interrupt him, "but with you, dear cousin, it is very different. You cannot be hurt by any disclosure ; for remember that in two short years you will be independent of every one. Blanche! why do you not at once boldlyavow your affection for the noble Herbert? You ougrht to glory in your preference for so excellent, .so manly a creature. Why suffer the tyranny of my mother thus to fetter your actions ? Is it that you doubt tlie constancy of your own sentiments, for one in obsca- rity and poverty ?" " Oh ! no, no, Julian — the very supposition is a cruelty and injustice to my feelings," Blanche replied anxiously; "had Herbert but openly sought me, I should, as you say, glory to avow my preference for him. But you forget, Julian, that as yet we only suspect his love : and although we may know and appreciate the feelings of delicacy, which withhold him from seeking to attach one who is .his superior in the worldly distinctions of rank and fortune, still that knowledge would not exculpate me from the charge of unfeminine conduct, were I to confess an attachment for one who had never sought the avowal from my lips. Oh ! no, no, Julian, I must be silent until Herbert speaks of the love, which it is now my only happiness to think he cherishes for me." Julian felt that she was right; and when he thought of the adulation which on all sides sur rounded her, and the hioth and fastidious notions of honor entertained by Herbert, who had his full share of the Cecil pride, he sighed with the con- sciousness, that even now it was pos.sible their young airections might be blighted in the bud. The idea gave him pain ; for he believed Herbert to be all that was excellent, and well deserving the prosperity which a union with the wealthy Blanche de CresKy would insure to him. He was f(»r some moments silent ; at last he said kindly, though seriously — " Blanche, your immense fortune and influence, to say nothing of your attractions, place you in a very peculiar po.sition. You are courted on all sides by rank, by talent, and by everything that is fascinating to woman. Can you withstand all this, and give it all up for the ruined Herbert Cecil 1 At this mo- ment, and in this house, there are three men, who, were it not for the .supposition of your engagemen!; to me, are ready to throw themselves at your feet. (I'oronets are at your di.^nosil ; nay. a f*cottish duky- do:n only waits a smile from you, to sue for an uniqn ¥k tHE Duke and the cousin. .Vith your fair English barony. Tell me, Blanche, y^i^l not reflection and time bring with them any 'change in your feelings ?" " I do reflect," said Blanche, in a firm voice, " and every thought — every remembrance, only impresses more vividly on my heart, the image of one whose perfections appear to me so great, that I shall feel inore honored by being known as the object of his affections, than by all the worldly wooing, you so linkindly suppose can have sway with me. Dear ^Herbert!" she continued enthusiastically, and as if thinking aloud — " to suppose that such mercenary 'flatterers pould ever rival you in my heart ! You, whom nature has formed so good, so excellent, and endowed so amply with beauties both of mind and person. Nay, Julian, do not smile — do not think I have said too much. I do not love him for his beauty, .tiut look upon it with admiration, as bearing the im- press of his noble mind. Am I wrong, Julian, in thus so completely avowing my affection for Herbert 1 Alas ! it is this moonlight that h:is made me so bold, and yet it has also made me very sad ;" and Blanche turned away in tears. " Sweet cousin !" Julian replied, affectionately taking her hand ; " I delight in hearing you thus own a sentiment so good, so purely disinterested. Fortunate girl, how I envy you ! What happiness is your portion ! A very short time will render you mistress of your own actions, and at liberty to place in the situation to which his birth and merit entitle him, one whose love and aflfection will amply repay all you can bestow upon him. Through your means, Blanche, talent and virtue will be led into the road of honor and independence, and society will regain a bright and valuable ornament. IJappy, happy iJlanche — how different is my lot !" At this moment, a large party, at the instigation ci LaJy Florence, who wondered with impatience tX the protracted absence of the cousins, issued from the house, hnd Julian and Blanche were no longer alone. CHAPTER IX. •*She was cnlm in the mpekness of a heart Resting on d'od, and held the fair young child Upon her hosom, with its gentle eyes Folded in sleep, as if its soul had Jjone To whisper the baptismal vow in heaven. ****** Iler lips moved silently, and tears, fast tears. Stole from beneath her lashes, and upon The forehead of the suffering child lay soft." Oy a sofa in a small bedroom, supported by cush- ions, was extended the emaciated form of Mrs. Cecil, pale . and suffering ; she looked the very spectre of her former self. Herbert was seated close to the couch of his mo- ther ; he too was paler than ever, while his counte- nance exhibited a deeper and more settled melan- choly than was usual to it. Clasped in his own, he held one of his mother's attenuated trembUng hands ; and in the other rested the book from which he had been reading. That volume was the Bible ! " Herbert," said his mother, " these are indeed sad houfs of trial; but it is here that patience and sub- mission must be exercised. How much comfort I have derived from that beautiful psalm you have just read to me ! ' If I take the wings of the mornin?, and remain in the uttermost pa is of the sea; even there also shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand •aall hold me.* Beyond the uttermost sea . It is there that thou art, my hu.sbaiid," she ccixtinued as though thinking aloud ; " but there too is our God — and there does his hand uphold thee ! My dearest child," she again said, after a pause, " resignation is one of the most difHcuIt, and at the satne time th^ most consoling duties of a Christian. Tiiese wretched days of separation from your father, are momtMiLs of affliction which call upon me to recollect that I am tried; and that even the most innocent and virtuous loVe should be subservient to the will of God. Per- haps this love has hitherto absorbed too much my faculties, keeping me too far from Go 1. AJhs! now in my bitter hours of anguish, the days of my past existence pass in retrospect before my eyes, and self- reproach marks each period." Herbert, fearful that his mother would suffer from, the highly-wrought state of her feelings, endeavprejd to check this burst of emotion, but in vain. "My kind — my good and excellent husband," continued Mrs. Cecil, " why did you permit me to continue in a careless happy state of self-indulgence ? Why did you not cSnfide in me 1 What pride and triumph it would have been to have proved by my actions, that I loved him exclusively f.>r himself! I would have been his stay and solace in his diflScuI- ties, tenderly supporting his drooping spirits, and as.sisting him with my poor advice ; but now it is all too late. He is gone ,- and these three words ! comprehend the dreadful extent of my misfortune. Gone in lowliness and misery, to dra^ on his wretched existence far from his wife, — his children. But if it plea-^e the Almighty to send affliction, let me en- deavor to suffer humbly. Could I bi.t bring my mind to turn my sufferings into bK'f-sings, by my manner of receiving and supporting them! though stretched upon a bed of sickness, if my soul rest upon God with hope and resignation, then death would be a welcome release, and a happy admission to the presence of our heavenly Father, who will wipe all tears from our eyes ; from whose sigjt sorrow and sighing flee away — <■' in whose presence is the fulness of joy, and at whose right hand^there are pleasures for ever more.' " It was thus, half in meditation, half in utterance, that the poor mother would pursue the thouglits brought in mercy to her mind by the soothing words which were read to her by her son ; and Herbert felt that it was the only consolation she could derive, under the present wretched aspect of their affairs. No ray of comfort beamed from this world ; -but from the next, what joy, what peace ! for his beloved parent. Her mind was so heaven-ward bound — so pure, so good, that in her case, " to die" would in- deed " be gain." Herbert's ideas of religion partook of the solemn and heightened enthusiasm of his nature; and he ' knew that a deep conviction of it^ healing influence I could alone calm the torture of his ii}Other's mind, which was also dreadfully subdued by bodily suffer- ing- _ . With never-failing patience, did this touching and bright example of fiUal excellence sit for hours by the couch of the poor sufferer ; and as if inspired by the Almighty, words^ of comfort and piety flowed from his youthful hps, which soothed her fainting spirits. He allowed her to speak of the probability of hei approachino: death, and assisted her in arranging all their worldly plans, in case this dreadful calamity should indeed jccur. It tortured his affectiohau? THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. 23 b-^art to hear a mother, so fondly beloved, speak with almost certainty of an event so afflicting ; but seeing that it was a relief to her excited mind, (which to keep tranquil was their most anxious care,) he stifled all he felt; and with a steady hand, though sinking heart, wrote down all her directions. He bad the comfort of seeing, that when all these ar- rangements were over, she resigned herself in meek submission to her lot, waiting patiently for her ap- pointed hour of trial, endeavoring to wean her mind, in some degree, from the endearing ties which bound her to this life, and striving to fix her thoughts on God alone. But with such ties, how difficult is the taisk ! A husband in existence, fondly and 'devotedly beloved — and such sweet children to leave, all at an age when the mother's care is most wanting. Under such circumstances, it is indeed hard to die : at least so it must be thought, until the mind is brought into that state which enables us to feel that " God will provide," — that He will be a father to the orphan children, — that with His unfailing mercy. He will support the spirits of those we love best on earth, if we trust implicitly on His word, and to His aid. Then, indeed, may we leave all safely in His hands. He will visit the house of sorrow, and be near to the broken and bruised heart ; for is He not the " Father of mercies and God of all comfort 1" It may be thought extraordinary, that, amongst all the hifluential connections of the Cecil family, there was no one to whom they might apply in this pre- sent hour of calamity. There were many who called themselves their friends, — some among them might perhaps have been found kind and ready to assist ; but Captain Cecil, having applied to his nearest, and we should have imagined, dearest relative, and she deserting and reproaching him in his hour of need, added fuel to the fire of a distracted and proud mind ; and he felt averse to incur fresh insults upon himself and family, by making his situation known to other friends. There was also the stinging shaft of 'self- reproach to withhold him, by the reflection that all must consider that he had brought these difficulties upon himself and family by his want of common prudence. Thus, although the Cecils at one time owned rich and powerful friends, they were as no- thing to them now ; indeed, how few in adversity find consolation in those who in prosperity have been " their dearest and their best !" Much has been said upon the hollowness of worldly friendships ; but we scarcely credit what we hear, until the truth is taught by sad experience. There is something in sorrow from which the gay and the joyful shrink. The contrast between the sick chamber and the banqueting-room is too great to be endured. The sigh of grief, and the laughter of mirth, blend most inharmoniously together; amidst a life of tumultuous gaiety, or busy trifling, the best affections are crushed ; \Vhile coldness and selfishness usurp the place of those feeUngs which would lead us to " bear one another's burthens." But, as far as regards pecuniary aid, few, even should they possess the wish, can command the means. It is now generally the system, to live to the utmost extent of income. Luxury has so completely crept into our habits, that with every additional hundred we add a fresh indulgence. Spending all for enjoy- ment, we have no resources left to sers'e a fellow creature, beyond the trifling contributions of the day to the utterly destitute. We comfort our con- •uences by our own interpretation of the homely, proverb, " Charity begins at home ;" and think Tv«r are doing a great deal by circulating money, and employing tradespeople. He who is blessed with the means, and — what is of far more consequence — the disposition to be lienevolent, has abundant reason to be thankful to the Author of all good, for the nieasure he has bestowed on him. Prosperity is redoubled to a good man by his generous use of it; being in a measure reflected back upon him by every one whom he makes happy. The Cecils felt that nil that remained to them, at the present juncture of poverty and sorrow, was to hide their disgrace and misfortunes, and in obscurity work through contending difficulties, trusting in no other aid than Providence. They felt truly, that although the hand of affection and real friendship imports inestimable value to the most trifling token of kindness, a magnificent gift, drawn from n severe and cold heart. Is like golden fetters, which weigh upon the mind not the less heavily for being made of costly materials. Thus the assistance which the affluence of Lady Clairville might have afforded them, was not coveted ; although the sum squandered on one of the evening assemblies at Clairville Houjse would have rendered unnecessary the perfect change in their situation, and for months have supported them in comfort and respectability, still they mur- mured not, feeling thoy could better bear the priva-. tion than the reproaches and taunts which doubtless would have accompanied any pecuniary aid. Be- sides this, they had deeper sorrows to occupy their hearts than the mere absence of the elegancies and comforts to which they had been accustomed. There was the separation from a husband and father ten- derly beloved — there was the suffering and sorrow of a mother who claimed all their best care and affection — and lastly, there was the poor little Rose, who had been so long ailing, and who now grew gradually worse. She was a lovely fair infant, of a delicate and fragile appearance ; and from her beauty and weakness, was an object of the tendercst interest to the whole family. As for Evelyn, she doted on the poor baby with all the fervor of her enthusiastic nature; and whilst the nuise was often obliged to relinquish her charge, in order to bestow her attentions upon the sick mother, Evelyn most readily took her place; and so tender was her care, that the poor little sufferer would never willinglv leave her anus. To add to all the afflictions which thus crowded round them, their medical attendant, who had ever been the comfort of the family, was at this moment out of England. The sickness of an only child had obliged him to relinquish every other engageinent, and go with her in search of that health which even his great skill yvas unable to command. " Oh, if our dear doctor were here, he would save this darling child !" exclaimed Evelyn one morning, when tortured with grief she looked upon the dying baby who lay upon her knees, and witnessed its sufferings and exhaustion. "He knows all our constitutions so well, I have often heard mamma say that he saved me once fiom the very hand of death. But O, dear Herbert !" she continued, while the tears rose to her ey^s, " can I, ought I to be thankful"? Would it not have been happier for me to have died when I was as this dear angel, than to have lived to witness all this wretchedness ?" "Evelyn, my dearest Evelyn,'' Herbert replied quickly and reproachfully, "your grief has wt-ak- $4 THE DUKE A'NB THE COUSIN. ened yoar spirits, or you would not speak thus; you could not thus murmur at the will of God, or doubt the wisdom of" His decrees. It was His mighty hand vk^hich reiicued you from deatli, by a chosen instru- ment ; and are you so changed, my sweet sister, as to think you were preserved merely for your own hitppiness ] Think of your present situation. Young as you are, you are already actively engaged in the duties of life. Are you not performing the office of a mother to those who are deprived of a mother's cire 1 If you had died young, what would have become of us, darling Evelyn 1-^you who are our comfort, our everything!" Evelyn felt the tender reproach as it was meant, and leaning forward to the arms extended to embrace her, shed tears of love, of sorrow, and of re-awakened piety on her brother's bosom. Her heart was too full to allow her fo speak ; but her virtuous resolves were all strengthened, and meekly and piously did she pursue her labor of love, agonizing as it was to her feehng heart. What are the sorrows of the prosperous in com- parison to those of the needy 1 They have all earthly resources within their reach ; and when sickness romes near the dwellings of the rich, how much is Ihere to alleviate the visitation ! The best medical tdvice, every luxury to nourish the drooping frame, 30'nmodious apartments, careful attendance, and ftU those comforts we so fervently covet for the sick. The needy have none of these outward alle- viations to soothe them ; and when poor Herbert and Evelyn thought of former luxuries and indul- gences, in the small attic to which the little girl had been removed on her becoming much worse, that her moans should not reach the ear of the suffering mother, it is only natural that they should for the moment have supposed that,, had it been the will of God to have continued the prosperity they once en- joyed, the darling Rose might have been spared them. Mrs. Cecil was so very ill, and the time of her confinement was drawing so near, that their great anxiety was to keep the increased sickness of the poor baby entirely from her knowledge. Indeed she was so weak, and in such a state of nervous irrita- bility, that she was not allowed to see her younger children ; therefore it was not difficult to keep her in ignorance of this fresh sorrow ; and little did the poor mother imagine how soon the pure spirit of one 01 her babes would wing its flight to heaven. It was a stormy dark night, the rain and wind beat heavily against the unshuttered windows of the dismal apartment in which Evelyn sat, as usual, with the child upon her lap. The day had been VTitensely hot ; but Evelyn, though nearly worn out with fatigue a^id sorrow, would not relinquish her charge to the woman who had been engaged to assist in its attendance. Herbert was tenderly shar- ing in the afflicting task. The woman, who was herself a mother, and a kind and well-meaning per- son, saw that the babe was dying, and earnestly entreated to be allowed to take it from Evelyn, anx- ious to spare her the misery of witnessing its last struggles. But Evelyn still pressed the poor baby to her aching heart; its infant gaze was fixed upon the countenance which had so constantly beamed tenderness and love towards the helpless sufferer, and a sweet though faint smile was on its pallid lips. Presently it closed its eyes as if to sleep ; but tJmost instantly a conTulsion seized its frame, and in another moment all was over. Herbert b^rst ir>to iears, but the source of Eve lyn's grief was closed. ' She kissed the dear babe, and allowed the woman to take it from her. Hrwr brother sought to lead her from the room, but she resisted his wishes, begging that he would leave them ; and not until al,l the last sad duties were per- formed, did she think of quitting the object of her cares and sorrows ; then kneeling by itj side, she ihought of her parent who was in exile, and the remembrance of his tender love towards the child,' flashed upon her mind, and she exclaimed in a voio nearly distracted, " Father, I have done ray duty by your darling babe ;" and nature being thoroughly exhausted, she sunk into a long and fearful fainting- fit. . ' CHAPTER X. *' And he went forth, alone ! not one of all Tlie innny whom he loved, nor she whose name Was woven in the tibrea of the heart Breaking within hiin now, to come and speak Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, Sick; and heart-broken, and alone !" . jj, It was not alone on the desolate faroily in Ken^ sington, that sorrows and misfortunes rested ; the unhappy Captain Cecil also drank deeply of the bitter cup of affliction, without one palliating cir- cumstance ; and with the overwhelming reflection' that it was his madness, his criminal disregard of the dictates of common sense, that had called down all this misery upon himself and upon those dearer to him than self. / On first leaving his mansion in the Regent's Park, Captain Cecil lingered for a short time in the suburbs of London, in order to gain time to make some necessary arrangements for the little comfort that could be secured for his family; and also (o take strict precautions in his intended flight to ,the Continent, havhig heard that means were in prepa- ration for his arrest, at more of the seaports than one. His embarkation, however, was at length safely effected at Southampton ; and on landing iii Frarice, he took up his abode in the little town of Honfleur, immediately on the coast. It is scarcely possible to imagine greater wretchedness than now assailed him. The occupation of business connected with his affairs, and the excitement attending hia escape had now ceased ; and he was alone in hia misery \^ith no one near to whom he could turn for some word of comfort, — no friendly being who mighr beguile some of the long and dreary hours which crept so slowly and sorrowfully away. Possessing the most affectionate and tender of hearts, which was wholly devoted to the wife and children from whom he had been severed in so cruel a manner, il is not to be wondered that such excess of grief crushed to the utmost his spirit, and for some time he gave himself wholly up to despair. Living in the meanest lodging; denying himselif nearly the very necessaries of life, that the little which remained to him, of former prosperity might be hus- banded for the service of his family ; thinking by day and by night of the wife of his bosom, alone, sinking and suffering, at a moment when his utmost care and tenderness were most to be desired for her — his every thought was distracting — his every feeling tinctured with woe unutterable ; and death, scarcely now to be dreaded, seemed really hovering near the broken-hearted man. In the apartments immediately below the rooic THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. 25 QCcupieil by Cuplain Cecil, there wa.s Jydjjing a Catholic priocit. Le ?• re Liotwas a man of ciliica- tii)n, and of an enlij^htened mind ; he had travelled muoh, h^d inix'oJ .freely with his fcllow-cicatures ; and although devoted to his own form of' religion,. iru^n a conscientious belief of its! being the only true *ar boy," the stranger replied, returning his caresses ; " I am only very sorry. I went home ye.'^terday hopi"? that I had contributed to your comfort ; and at this moment, heaven knows, I would give a great deal to be of use to you .and your family. In the wot Id in which I live, I seldom meet wiih those whose conduct excites in me the feeling which you have called. fbtth." ^, . ;/ The stranger mused pensively for a minute or jwp^ and during that short period, a grave smilR, and |ir faint color passed over bis usually pale countenance*. He then added, " Tell ?Ierbert, as you call him. that I can fathom his motives, and therefore I honor him iO\^ what he has done. I wish T kne^v him, and then I think I could convince him. that my sympathy for his family is pundy disinterestet] ; and. that I ajij' still most truly ijesirous of being, of- seryice,ito jpqL all.'*: '" ;.. . \ '■ ., •*0h! thank you for speaking so kindlv; deai THEDUKKAND THE OOUSIX ■^ «r," Edwin replied, reassured by the stranger's words. " I am already so very unhappy, that I could not bear to lose your kindness also. How often I wish I was older, that I too might be of some use to them ; but I am such a little boy that I am now only an additional trouble.'* « Would you like to go to school ?" inquired his friend anxiously. " Certainly, but that is out of the question now'; indeed, perhaps I might be unhappy to leave them all now they are all so wretched ; but it would be a good thing if there was one loss at home to trouble them. Even now that we have lost that sweet dar- ling Rose, Rachacl says that it is better for her; and oh ! sir, tliough poor Rachael cries while she says 80, she tells us we must feel that it is better for others." Such was the nursery philosophy that the poor child had gathered in affliction, which may be truly said to purify and enlighten every age and every station. Even in this young boy, its sanctifying and patience-teaching influence was plainly visible. The gentleman was much affected by these evi- dences of afTectioii and resignation. " Edwin," he said, *' I have it in my power to send you to an excellent school, where you would be educated free of every expense to any one ; but I must know your name. It is far from my intention to wring your secret from you merely for the sake of indulging an idle curiosity, but my wish is to serve you effectually." " I am sure," said Edwin with boyish openness, " if it only depended upon me, I would tell you this instant. I do not know why they wish it concealed, particularly when I have often heard my father say he loved his name and every thing connected with it. But I will ask Herbert, and tell him what you have said." " Well, my boy, ask him ; and let me hear to- morrow," said the stranger, kindly patting the soft rosy cheek, which even sorrow had not robbed of its bright coloring. "Not to-morrow," said Edwin, shaking his head mournfully. /' To-morrow, at one o'clock, poor Rose is to be buried." They then parted. Edwin had not an opportu- rtity of speaking to Herbert upon the subject of the foregoing conversation that daj'^ ; for he was almost in constant attendance on his mother, who was suf- fering more than usually from languor and extreme depression of spirits ; and when he felt able to leilve her under the charge of Evelyn or the anxious Ra- chael, his attention was employed upon business of a harassing and absorbing nature. CHAPTER XII. " A boy ! yet in hts f>ye ynu trace 'Die watchfulness of ripnr years, And tales are in that serious face Of feelinfis early steep'd in tears." •' And now the tjrave for its cold breast hath won thee !*' TiiT, next morning a deepened gloom seemed to prevail throughout the lowly dwelling-place of the Cecils ; it was the day appointed for the funeral of the little girl. Wljat was to be done with Evelyn, whose sorrow this day burs^t forth with fresh violence 1 As long as the little coffin still remained, and she could gaze o'n the sweet placid form which it con- tained, Evelyh felt that something still remained to her of her dearly loved nursling ; but when she was led from the room, in order that the undertaker might perform his office of closing for ever from her sight the precious remains, she felt as if until then the halve had scarcely died. Herbert was aware that his only expedient was to take her into her mother's room There he knew she must control her feelings. His suffering parent was particularly feeble that day, from having passed a wretched night. Herbert said to her, '• Dear mother, it is very unfortunate that both Rachacl and I are obliged to go out upon business, for Evelyn has a dreadful headache ; but she Can lie quietly upon the sofa at the foot of your bed, and as you appear inclined to sleep, she can watch silently by you ; we shall not be away long.^* Herbert's excellent judgment in this case strongly evinced itself; for, once near her mother, Evelyn felt that her sorrow was selfish, was wicked, when com- pared to that endured so patiently by her suffering and beloved parent. Mrs. Cecil in the tenderest manner expressed her regret at her indisposition. " Kiss me, dearest," she said ; *' I fear you exert yourself too much for my sake. You have certainly not been well lately, your hands and lips are burn- ing. Repose yourself, my darling, and let us both endeavor to sleep; do not think of me, for I will call you if I wish for anything." The room was darkened, therefore the sad appear- ance of poor Evelyn was not perceptible to her mo-" ther, and she did not trust her voice to speak. Her- bert placed her upon the sofa, after having made her swallow a composing draught, and there she lay with' her head buried in the cushions struggling with her feelings. At length soothed by the opiate which had been administered, she fell into a deep and refreshing sleep, whilst the sick mother in her turn, watched with anxiety over her slumbers. Herbert in the mean time, accompanied by Ra- chael and Edwin, proceeded with a sorrowful and an aching heart, on the sad duty he had to perform. When in the churchyard, where the earthly remains of the poor baby were to be deposited, he and hia companions were too deeply absorbed in the melan- choly ceremony in which they were engaged, to be aware of the presence of more than the few children who generally loiter to witness a funeral ; and as they stood over the little grave which the sexton was rapidly closing over the unostentatious coffin, they little imagined of what deep interest and scrutiny they were the objects. A spectator was there, who with anxious attention examined the countenance of Herbert. The stranger, who had been deeply moved by his last conversation with Edwin, could not divest him- self of the earnest desire to learn something of the history of the family, about which there was evident mystery and secrecy. Having heard from his littlo friend the hour at which the funeral was to take place, he determined to go to the churchyard, and with his own eyes behold the Herbert of whom he had heard so much, and of whom he had formed as it werf. intuitively, or by the force of his imagination, a high and admiring opinion. Herbert stood with his fine head uncovered. His countenance, though pale as marble with emotion, expressed a manly firmness, in which were mingle j the tenderest feelings. His form was tall and com- manding, though bending in reverential prayer aK the service proceeded, and his dark eyes were dini- med with tears. 'He held by his hand little Edwin, whose light waving locks and fair complexion, flushed with a bright color from weeping formed a suoug 30 THE DUKE: AND THE COUSIN. ,tontra;st to the pale face anj ebon cutl.s of liis bro thet. He was. leaning hid head against the arm, of his, poor nurse Rachael. who wa« iinlecil ut that mo- ment the very personification of care and sorrow;-^ sorrow for the babe who liad been torn from her, care for the beloved objects still left to iill her heart with anxious tenderness. Slie was truly " Rachael weeping for her children, and would not he com- forted." It was altogether an aficcting scene, and perhaps never in the course of a long life had the ^traiiger's feelings of sympathy been so powerfully and tenderly excited. , ,1 jj;/^ When all was over, he saw the clergy njanr ad- vance towards Herbert, most kindly. shake him by ilie hand, and say a few words which were evidently those of benevolent condolence. His friendly ex- pressions seemed listened to by the young man, with a grateful courtesy, though apparently he was too much agitated to speak ; and he soon turned to de- part, still leading by the hand the poor little heart- broken Edwin, whose sobs were audible even as they (iUitled the churchyard. The stranger, who till then had stood by a pro- jecting part of the church, which had partially con- cealed him, now came forward ; and politely accosting the clergyman, immediately entered into conversa- tion respecting the melancholy little party who had just quitted their presence. He drew from him only that, until that day, he l;iad always knov?n the young man and his sister by the name of Norton ; but that, on the occasion of the funeral, he had confided to him their real name, requesting that the one disclosed to him might not transpire. " Therefore," added the good-hearted old man, " you will excuse me, sir, from betraying the confidence of that very charming youth. I am i)y no means surprised that he should have attracted your interest and attention, — indeed, I never saw such a faniily. There is a lovely girl, apparently about seventeen, who regularly attends my church, with a Httle brother or sister on each side of her ; and while her feminine and graceful exterior attracts much observation, I can perceive she is so absorbed by piety, and devotion, that she is unconscious of any notice. Though so young, however, I fear she has already drunk deeply of the bitter cup of afflic- tion. She prays fervently, but it is often with tears coursing each other down her youthful cheeks. God grant that such innocence and heart-felt prayers, may be heard by His unfaiUng mercy ; and that sooner or later comfort may overtake them !" " ft shall — it shall — my good sir," exclaimed the stranger, mucli moved by the words of the old cler- gyman, and kindly pressing his hand. "But tell me more about them, or my best wishes to serve them may be futile." " I know very little, sir." the clergyman replied, eyeing the stranger with some curiosity, in which, however, no unworthy suspicion was blended ; " I know very little ; for they live most strictly private, and have decHned, though gratefully, those attentions which I have offered, considering them as part of my parochial duties. I have heard of them chiefly from Mr. Wilson the apothecary, who is a kind-hearted man, and who has actually shed tears when be has related to me the magnanimous conduct of those young people." The stranger paused for a few moments, and ap- peared lost in thought; he then anxiously recjuested that he might accompany the good man to his house, in order tliat he might have jSopj^j.^jHrtlj^ co^ven^ tion with him. . -,, .f ; , , • ; It is ;^ot necessary to relate all tl^Rt transpired during this itte-a-tete, as tlie results will appear as we proceed in our story ; .however^ it was observed that the clergyman conducted his visitor to, the door, on bi8depurture,\vith gf^a| ceremony and ])rofounder bows than he usually manifested ; and that he 'e- turfjed to his study with a flushed though pleased countenance, remaini(ng particularly theughtful dur- ing the rest of the day. CHAPTER XIII. •'If thine opon hand hath relieved riistrpss — If Ihy pity hatii sprung to wretf.hednuss — II will hriiig relief 10 ihirve achinu brow. And with joy and peace ihou wilt sink to rest." Ox Herbert's return home, he found Evelyn still in a deep sweet sleej) ; and his mother, with some of her former solicitude, listening to her soft breath- ing. Her slumber still continued, and when she at last awoke, she was not only considerably refreshed,, but had gained strength of mind and composure. The next day dawned more brightly upon the dis- tressed farhily, A letter arrived from France which they had' dreaded to receive; but their father, in an- swer to the one which had announced the death of the little girl, had so controlled his pen, that he spoke of the event with a degree of calmness and resigna- tion which had greatly comforted them. He thanked his fondly loved children in the warmest terms, for their devoted kiridness to his babe, and for all their unremitting attention to their mother. He spoke soothingly of himself, telling them of his improved health, and the solace he had experienced in the society of the excellent Monsieur! Liot ; and concluded by saying, that he was becom- ing quite rich by the profitable labors of his pen. In. short the letter vvas a balm to their wounded feelings. Whilst they were still musing over these satis- factory communications, another letter was delivered to them. It was in an unknown hand, and addressed to Herbert by the naine, which, in compliance with his father's wishes, he had adopted. He opened it hastily, with curiosity, and read as follows : — ~ "Althocoh my proffered services have been: once refused, I am not to be repulsed. I feel too. deep and heartfelt an interest in the welfare of your family to allow you to reject the assistance of a friend, who is so, willing and able to serve you. I have (liscovored your true name ; and you may be assured, with that knowledge it is far from my in- tention to offer any insult to the children of Captain Cecil. In early life, he once received from me the greatest of benefits. This is not mentioned as a vain boast; but to engage that confidence of his family, without which my best wishes must prove nugatory; and I now offer that protection and sup- port which I feel certain, if he be indeed the Herbert Cecil, the friend of my early youth, he would accept with pleasure. I have procured the promise of a nomination to the Charterhouse School. It is my most ardent wish that Edwin should benefit by it. I love the boy, and am anxious that the good and honorable; feelings; which are united in him should find a favorable sphere for their development. 1 inclose a hundred pounds for the expenses ef the necessary preparations for his removal. I leav^ town to-morrow ; but in a fortnight or three wetka, T.HE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. mi I trust to be able to present Captain Cecil's permis- gion for t)ie steps 1 have taken ; and the assurance that I may consider henceforth the line httle feUow as the cliiild of my adoption. For the present I sign no name. I have also my reasons for wishing to \ remain incognito." , . , '^'''.' A|mazement and joy were visible upon the coun- " 'tenance of Herbert when he placed the letter in the hands of livelyn, who, with much anxiety, had been watching his countenance whilst he perused it. " Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy Gometh in the morning ;" and this was joy assuredly, to find in the depths of sorrowr that still the hand and eye of kindness were watching over them, and that they did not stand alone and uncared for in the world. There was a blunt friendliness in the letter that seemed to bespeak the writer as sincere and honor- able ; and Evelyn's raptures and rejoicings seemed at once to recall her from the deep sorrow which had lately taken possession of every thought and feeling. 8he had always felt a peculiar sensation of trust and confidence in the stranger ; though Herbert had censured so strongly the acquaintance, that she had determined henceforth to alter her conduct towards him, and henceforth avoid, as far as lay in h^r power, every opportunity of future intercourse with him. But now to be able once more to believe that he, who in spite of herself had won so completely her consideration and respect, was indeed their friend, and that he had been misjudged by the too fastidious Herbert, was in itself happiness to one wliose loving heart, in charity with all mankind, Buir^-red pain at being taught to doubt the jwobity of any one. Again, if she rightly understood t\\e sense ipaplied ' by some expressions in his letter, they were there instructed to consider this stranger — this chance ac- quaintance, as the friend — nay, more than friend — in some way the benefactor of their father. There , seemed in this such a romantic combination of de- light to the ardent spirit of Evelyn, that it broui/ht smiles of joy once more to her radiant eyes and - rosy lips. Again she perused the letter ; and at . every sentence her gratitude burst forth in expres- sions at once evincing all the fervor of her kind and feeling heart. At length a shade of sorrow passed over her expressive countenance, as, turning to her brothpr, she said, "0 Herbert! how wrongly you , have judged this generous being ! How ungracious — nay, how ungrateful must our rejection of his for-mer munificence have appeared! Oh! let us hasten and endeavor to find him, that we may repair our ftiilts.aiKl show that we can be grateful." "Softly, my sweet Evelyn," Herbert replied, ,almo?it amused by his sister's enthusiasm. "You forget that our unknown friend tells us he is to leave town to-day, for his letter is dated last night ; and moreover, I can scarcely yet give credence, to such uncalled for and gratuitous benevolence. It almost appears to me that, by some strange chance — for instance, through this mysterious benefactor, — our kind cousins have discovered our distresses, and that he is rather the instrument of their benevolence, than its author. Both Julian and Blanche guess well if they suppose that charity from the merest stranger would be scarcely so wounding to our feel- ings, ao relief from the hands or purse of a Clairville — from a si.ster who refused so insultingly to assist a brother ! It is a hard case it any rate;" H.erbejrt continued, sighing. " But I will go and consult Mr. Disney. We can also write to our father, and receive his answer before the expiration of the fort- 1 night which is to solve thi:? mystery. By that time, however, Edwin ought to be in perfect readiness, so that, if we are indeed allowed to accept this advan- tageous oiTer for the dear little fellow, the stranger may not consider us backward in availing ourselves of his friendly services." Evelyn still thought Herbert cold-hearted in his hesitation and doubts, and even felt as if it were an injustice to the exquisite kindness of the stranger, thus to attribute to others what she felt by an innate persuasion was the result of his own pure and dia- interested benevolence. She longed to take a pen, and pour forth, in the most enthusiastic terms, all she felt upon the subject to the kind friend who had come forward like a ministering angel, in their hour of distress. She wished to call him by every nama I which her warm gratitude could suggest. But ! Herbert checked her with his grave smile, saying, I " This must not be, dear Evelyn. You are too rauch j the creature of impulse ; and although I may love I you the more for this excitable, though pure and ; confiding nature, still it is my duty to repress it. j You may think me cold and ungrateful; but believe 1 me that it is a painful efibrt to me thus to doubt — I thus to weigh the propriety of accepting relief, which ! at this moment is so needful — so well timed. Yes, j dear Evelyn, you may look incredulous; but be as- ! sured I feel equally inclined with yourself to seek this generous man and to tell him all the gratitude I feel. — all the happiness his benevolence offers to us, and to our poor, little, neglected Edwin. But in the responsible situation in which my father's inls- fortunes have placed me, I dare not act without advice; therefore I will at once proceed to Berner^s Street. Mr. Disney, as a man of the world, is well calculated to counsel me on this subject ; besides, from the length of time he has known. my father, he may be able to guess who this incognito friend ac- tually is ; particularly as it appears to tbethat some benefit has already been bestowed. I will also men- tion to him my half formed suspicions, that after all it is to our cousins we arc indebted for this mysteri- ous donation. Evelyn, do you not think," and the color mounted to the pale cheeks of Herbert as he spoke ; " do you not think it likely that the delicate feelings of Blanche have prompted her thus to wrap in mystery the simple truth of her compassionate generosity ?" Evelyn did not think so. There had been a con- sistent kindness and sympathy in the mannei-sof the stranger, from the first moment of his presenting to her her lost watch ; she had also heard from Edwin all the particulars of his many interviews with him ; and she had made him repeat most minutely all that had been said when his first benevolent offering was returned. To her, then, there was nothing extra- ordinary in this second act of munificence, v^'hen it appeared that their distresses were known to him, and that he had the power, as well as the will to relieve them. As far as regarded the nomination to the Charterhouse, loving the attractive little Edwin as she did, the kindness to him seemed the most natural thing in the world. With feeling, though hurried eloquence, she imparted all these reasons to her brother, who seemed relieved by her conclu- sions that it was to the stranger alone they owed the generous gift which came so opportunely to their 32 THE DUKE ANd THK €0 1) SIN. assistiince ; and kissing her cheek afToctionatoly, he ^ begged her to compose herself, and to go and watch -: by their poor unconscious mother, who still must be kept in ignorance of all that was passing. , Herbert, the patiently-enduring, the noble, sufTer- - ing Herbert, that t!ay went forth happy, and more light of heart than he had been for months. A gleam of hope crossed his mind which seemed to tell him the clouds of adversity were dispersing; and he . breathed an inward prayer that so it might be, and , tliatat least the bright prospect opening for his loved and cherished Edwin might be realized. This sun- phine— this happiness sprung from a single act of benevolence from one who, hazarding it as a com- ^ mencement of the services he wished to render this 1 distressed family, scarcely dreamt of the cheering I effect it would produce. There is ever this blessed result from the pmc and .spontaneous actions of benevolence. The clouds • of distress fly from before them ; the storms of misery and affliction are made to abate ; and spreading bless- ings around, every thing seems to partake of the brightness benignly extended to ,the sufferer. It is t truly the glorious attribute of God, ever to have , mercy and unfailing kindness : but man may here imitate without presumption ; and as the mandate has gone forth, " Be ye perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect," why is it that men will rather hoard for their sins, than dispense the . good a bounteous Providence haa laid at their dis- " Twill be the comfort of your latter day, In sickness and in sorrow it will chesr you. To tliink that you have protected the unhappy." . j!,These are not vain words; their truth has often- : times been proved, and will again. There are others of a higher and holier authority. " Blessetl are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." The duty , is enjoined, the reward is promised ; we read it — we hear it — and alas ! some vain pursuit, some frivolous gratification, will bid us forget it all, and treat with neglect and coldness the mourner we might have soothed. Could the stranger have witnessed the glow I .which hope and satisfaction caused to mantle on | the pale cheek of poor Evelyn, he must have rejoiced ' that, unchecked by the fastidious delicacy which had i first repulsed his wish to serve them, he had perse- ' vered in his good intentions. But although anxious that his proffered assistance should be well received, i he was not in the least aware of the excess of diffi- 1 culty and embarrassment which rendered what he I considered a sum barely sufficient for the expenses ' attendant on the fitting out a gentleman's son for a I public school, a means of increasing the comforts of a sufferer who, but for his aid, must have still en- dured great privation. He had merely heard from the good old clergy- man, who appeared to be so warmly interested in the piety and gentle bearing of Evelyn, that her brother the morning of the funeral had imparted to him, that they were the children of Captain Cecil of the navy, though, for private reasons, at present pa.ssing by the name of Norton. The stranger, on questioning further, could learn nothing more than that they were evidently in very straitened circum- stances, and that their father had never been seen with them, though Mr. Wilson, the apothecary, de- t«cribed the mother as being in a very precarious state. li« From his own conversations with £dwin, the stranger however had gleaned, that the plans for hi« public education had been set aside by the em< barrassed circumstances of his father ; and though scarcely believing that thus left in sorrow and seclu- sion, they could indeed be the children of the Cap- tain Cecil, of whose connection with the Clairville family he was well aware, he gave way to the iin[>ulse of befriending, to the utmost of his power the noble and attractive boy in whose favor he was so deeply interested. Intending, dhring a vi.-^it he was about to make at Oakwood to gain all the information he could, previous to the ex[)i'ration of the time which must eliipse before Edwin should be conveyed to the Charterhouse, his plan was, if his inquiries proved that the interesting beings with whom he had so accidentally bcconfio acquainted, were the family of the Captain Cecil whose distresses had been feo pul)licly discussed, he would at once rnake himself known to them. He was well aware that his name and station in society would give them that confi- dence in him, which it was apparent that they now withheld. T'he reserve and delicacy of feeling which he had perceived in their characters, met with toe kindred a spirit in his own bosom to be lightly donh with ; an'd to his ardent desire of serving them \v^s added the wish of doing so in the most effective, as well as in the least displeasing manner possible. Herbert returned home from his consuUation with Mr. Disney, with his spirits still raised, and with hopes at least sanguine for his little brother, though his own fortunes were as dark and, unproiiiisirtg as ever. • ■ ■• .V. , Mr; Disney, on reading the strang;er*s letter, had immediately advised the unhesitating acceptance of an offer so replete with importance to Edwin, and recommended a letter being immediately written to Captain Cecil for his sanction, urging the strong motives for his forwarding it to them. A letter w^s therefore instantly despatched to Frahce. The answer arrived without delay, ahd was just what Herbert wished, and Evelyn had prayed it might be. Captain Cecil was overwhelmed with sUrpn.se arid gratitude. The pride which had once pervuded every feeling in his bosom, and miglit have prompt- ed the rejection of a stranger's services, was now laid low. By the holiness inculcated and set forth by the example of the good priest, his heart haO Iiren brought to religion and a more intimite knowledge of God ; he could now think of his reverse's with a feeling which made them an hourly an'd salutary lesson. What had brought him to his present lowly condition, but proud, inordinate, extra vdgJmt depire-sT Pride, that evil principle on which the gcrifstures pronounce a curse, had been the iiicitement to all his efforts. No matter whether it was for riches, for rank, for influence, or for the minor advantages of refinement and respectability that his wisb.es had been directed, pride had been at the bottom of a!L To be distinguished, to be foremost, to be more than his fathers had been, and still to piish his children above himself, had been the one predominating inr>- tive of all his actions. And God — was it in dis- pleasured — had gratified the proud desires of his heart. But the reproof of Heaven l;iad now gone forth, and he prayed that it might be in mercy. ' It is true he had not coveted riches'to hoaVd, but did profusion in^ike covkousness less a crime 7 It i« true that with iiitention he had defrauded no mau. THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. sn but could he oe certain that the murmurs of sone un[)aid creditor had not reached the ears of the Ahnighty] Was his bUnd excess an excuse for in- justice 1 AUhough his days had been one scene of festive pleasure, no immoraUty, no profaneness had marked their course ; but was man born to immor- tality in another world, to exercise no other vocation in this than that of the Sybarite or the Epicurean of the heathens ? He felt 7iot. Ho felt that his whole life had been one chaos of mistaken aims and ends, fend his soul sickened at the review of his mis-spent years. This was the tenor of the letter which affected the sensitive Evelyn to tears, neither did it leave the eyes o( Herbert undimmed ; but they were not drops of sorrow, but tender rejoicings at the excellence of a father. Captain Cecil offered no surmises as to the identity of the stranger. He said that it mast in- deed be the hand of a fiiend, that could bestow, at such a time, so great a benefit upon his poor desti- tute boy, and he prayed that he might prove himself worthy of such consideration. With regard to the mention made of some benefit conferred upon him- self, he said that in a profession so fraught with danger, as the one into whicli he had so early entered, he had been in situations where the greatest services had been rendered him ; too many indeed for him to hazard any conjecture on the subject. If, indeed, it were some early comrade who was now befricndiug his helpless children, the discovery would add much to the happiness he had already bestowed, and he supposed a short time would solve all that theie was of mystery in the atfiir. Notliing now remained for Herbert and Evelyn but to prepJJ e for the departure of Edwin to the Charterhouse. The liberality of the stranger had afforded ample means for them to procure everything that wa.? necessary to send him from home, as the son of a gentleman'; and by the industry of Evelyn, every essential preparation was soon completed. Though rejoicing in his good fortune, she could not help feeling very sad when she thought how short a time he had now to remain with them ; and her warm and tender nature shrunk from the idea of parting with a being she so fondly loved. Edwin, although at first enraptured at the change which awaited him, and anticipating with childish joy the gambols with boys of his own age, so differ- ent from the stillness of the dark narrow street where he now passed so much of his time; still, as the separation drew near, he felt his spirits sink. He had once or twice seen Evelyn's tears drop on ihe work she was completing for him ; he sought to rv>nsole her by telling her how hard he would study, *t^at he might become a great and a clever man, and be of use to them hereafter. Evelyn would dry her eyes, and for his sake endeavor to be cheerful ; but *s he s,it in silence by her side, apparently watching the preparations she was making, if he detected an expression of sadness on her countenance, he would glide from the room, and more than once he was discovered in some solitary corner weeping bitterly. However, all this was soon to come to an end. Ton days had elapsed of the fortnight, at the end of which they had every reason to expect some ftirther communication from the stranger ; and already every letter presented to them, every ap- proach to their humble dwelling, caused an agitation as well to the usually imperturbable Herbert, as to the more easily excited Evelyn. It was an interesting epoch in their hves. The'C trusted the hour was about to arrive when they should know the name of the person who had so benevolently sought to serve them ; and at the time they felt the happy assurance that they were aboul to become acquainted with one who might prove their friend and protector, amid the clouds which had risen to darken their young hopes, and to overshadow the bright expectations in which former prosperity had taught them to indulge. CHAPTER XIV. " Fler hrnw Lofty like this, her lips thus delicate, Her neck thus queenly, and the sweepinijcurvft Thus matchless, from the ginall and ' pearl-round ear.' To the o'er polished shoulder." " I FEEL so glad that you begin to understand nr^e a little better, Mr. Sinclair," said Lady Florence, as leaning upon the arm of Julian, they sauntered through a sequestered and beautiful part of the Park. " It really grieved me when I first came to Oakwood. to see that you regarded me almost with an evil eye." " Nay, Lady Florence," Julian replied iri that li'^ht tone of gallantry which means nothing, and of all others was the most displeasing to his fair auditoi, who felt that hesitation and anxious denial of her charge would better evince the interest which it wa.** now the sole aim of all her actions to create in h's bosom. " Nay, Lady Florence, you must betu-r know your own manifold perfections than to induli^*- in such a supposition. Could an eye look evil on such bright curls as these?" and with the easy familiarity which, scarcely known to himself, her caressing manners encouraged in him, he touched the beautiful ringlets which a flivorable zephyr had drawn from the protection of her morning mpnle. " Well then, if it was not an evil eye, it was aii apathetic one," Lady Florence said almost pantmg'; and with the prettiest aggrieved air possible, added. " do you know, Mr. Sinclair, I have been all my life such a spoilt child, — so cheri-shed, so petted, tha) inditlerence now seems to me almost aversion, and that is not the most agreeable sentiment for one to inspire who has thoughts of kindness for all the world." " Dear, dear Lady Florence," Julian anxiou.sly interrupted, "you do me much wrong if you think [ ever harbored one unkind feeling towards you. When you first arrived at Oakwood, my mind was painfully engrossed, my every feeling so jarred and out of tune, that until you deigned so sweetly to in- terest yourself in my ungracious misanthropy, ^ could scarcely think of intruding mes ennuis in the gay crowd which usually surrounded yon." There was much of dissimulation in this assertion, and the wily Florence detected it as soon as uttered . but she dreamed not of resenting, or even of remark ing it. She felt that the deception aro.se from the desire of ingratiating himself, or at least from the wish of glossing over to her his former neglect, and this was something gained from the late impractica- ble Julian. She was for .some moments silent ; at length turn- ing her lovely countenance full upon her companion, .she said arch'y, yet tenderly, " I should have thought, Mr. Sinclair, those sunny eyes of yours might have seen more clearly, and have shown y u that or e sigh of yo ar ennui, aa you St THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. lerm your most Wertcr-like melancholy, would have beon more pleasing to these poor ears, than all the •iyirtcnse to which thg, that a tremor passed over his whole frame, while his heart beat with a violence that for a few moments impeded his powers of utterance. At length, pressing with much fervor the tremWing hand which still rested upcn his arm, he said in low tones, but with an expression of greater feehng than he had yet evinced towards her, "Your sympathy, dearest Lady Florence, has . sviolhed a spirit which was consuming me; your '' gentle pity has proved a solace to annoyed feelings which I scarcely believed they were capable of re- ceiving. In gratitude for the consolation the con- templation of your loveliness offers me. in gratitude f'tr ail your exquisite kindness and indulgence, you musit in your turn suffer me to be the consoler, the patient and sym|)athi7,ihg listener to all your griefs. is it possible, Lady Florence, that with the idolatry i^f a world at your disposal, you have one wish, one hope unanswered 1" A sigh and a mournful shake of the head were the only re]>Iy : and leaving them, we will revert to the incidents, which had thus brought matters to what T*a:]y Florence in her own mind would have termed B) cliarming a consistency. 'Vac true state of the case was this. Lady Florence having once excited the interest of Julian by her adroit mention of the Cecil family, was de- tf'Vmiiied to leave no means untried to increase this interest, and gain his confidence. With her be- witching graces of manner, and a power of amusing, given her by most consummate tact, as well as a quick irfsisht itito character, can we wonder that she soon gained her point 1 Her motive was of a mixed nature. Some real feeling mixed up with a great deal that vvps as light as the gossamer floating in her path. A desire of showing superiority over the Lady df ' Cressy, was decidedly the first incentive to her actions, vanity and the love of atlmiration had their full share in encouraging them ; but now there was Ji other was usurping her place, and that she, whose bosom had hitherto been the repository of all his hopes and fears — whose ear had eVer been open to all his mur- murings, was now comparatively neglected. The young Barone:^s had conceived no very kvorable opinion of Lady Florence Though younger than Julian, she had lived much more in the world; and with that quick perception of character which usually comes sooner to maturity in women than in men, she saw at once all the faultiness of the nature of Lady Florence, with the errors fostered by the mode of life pursued by her. Having already " been out," as the affair is termed, a season in London, Blanche had gained much insight into her conduct, from the circumstance of her visiting list being nearly that of Lady Clairviile's ; and' though scandal had as yet attached no glaring criminality to her name, the Baroness knew that the serious part of the community thought her succef^'s too eagerly sought, and her conquests too ostentatiously exhibited. Julian's life had hitherto been passed either at college, or in travelling on the Continent. His va- cations had all been spent in the fcountry, a:nd, until he met Lady Floreijce at Oakwood, he had been scarcely aware that such a person was in existence. In the crowded assemblies he had occasionally en- tered during the last season, his mind had been too much occupied with the difficulties his attachment to Evelyn Cecil seemed likely to encounter, to allow him to distinguish one among the many lovely- women his eyes might rest upon. Lady Clairville had encouraged this indifference as being favorable to her views, but she had now changed her plans; and, as if borrowing from the system of homoeopathy, it appeared she was of opinion that to bring him into what she considered a healthy frame of mind, he must exchange one disease for another before the real cure could be eflected, and he be disposed to enter into her wishes. Blanche beheld with dread the influence that was' daily gaining more power over the feelings of her' cousin. She thought of sweet Evelyn, and felt in- dignant for her. She was angry with every one— with Julian, Lady Florence, and with her aunt, who* she plainly saw encouraged, by every art in her pow£r, the growing intimacy of her son and her lovely guest. Still, dissatisfied as she was with the least show of injustice or forgetfulness to one of the beloved Cecil family, she felt herself powerless in the present circumstances, and every day less able to counteract the magic. of the enchantress. Our young Baroness was an enthusiastic being, though a reserved and impenetrable manner scarcely gave evidence of her warmth of heart, or of the fer- vor which characterized her every feeling. Her affections and dislikes all partook of the ardor of her nature, but happily thfire was a deep well-spring of tenderness in her bosom which made the former the predominating spirit. Although only nineteen, for more than two years she had been devotedly though secretly attached to Herbert Cecil'. In his most prosperous days she well knew he must be poor, but she also knew the extent of her own possessions. Prom- her earliest childhood she had heard these riches form the theme of many a conversation. It' was told in an audible wUfspor when she paid he>' visit to tlie drawing-room, and in the nursery, the word$T->-" such a rich young lady as your ladyship,"' were everlastingly sounding in her ears. In the school-room, too, her wealth was brouf her sentiments^ a» these were ever most pleasing to Mrs. Stt^wart, who hailed in them the symptoms of that trust and inge* nuous affection she had been ever anxious to inspirev Still, though loving the Baroness for the child-like simplicity vi'hich led her thus to speak her every thought, she felt it incumbent at the moment to re- mind her, that the choice which had been made for her. was of one in whom virtue as well as talent and attractions were united ; at the same time that his fortune and station in life were nearly equal to her own. Lady de Cressy looked hurt, as she said reproachfully, " My dear friend, how can you urge me upon that subject-— you, who know so well how we are all situated 1 Have I not always regarded* Julian in tJ>e light of a brother 1 Even if our heart* were free, I could never consider him in- any othei relation. But you know so well his deep and fer- vent love for Evelyn, that you can only speak thus as a matter of form ; thinking that as Madame flU' slitutrice, you ought so to advise me. I am certain my dear Mrs. Stewart loves both .Julian and myself too well to recommend seriously a union betwreen two individuals so averse to such a measure." Could Mrs. Stewart argue further against her dear pupil's anxious reasoning 1 She knew hov# completely she despised the pomp of wealth, and how little she valued the pleasures it commandea ; pleasures, which she saw only tended to enervate and ])ervert the mind. Indeed it was almost her daily observation, that wealth, rank, and splendor, have no certain connection with felicity ; — that there are disappointments over which they have no power, and troubles which they cannot exclude ;— that they can neither mitigate bodily anguish, nor shield the heart from woe. Mrs. Stewart still felt, however, in a difficult po- sition, thus listening to opinions so inimical to the views of Lady Clairville ; and she was also troubled when she reflected that the Baroness was still in per- fect ignorance of what Herbert's feehngs weie as re- lating to herself. Was he aware how fortune seemed resolved to smile upon him, in the form of this charming girl 1 She could not offer a surmise on the subject, so thoroughly unconscious did he appear of the deep impression he had made upon her heart. The truth was this : admiring Blanche, with all t!ie fervor of his young and ardent nature, Herbert felt that the knovvledge of her immense wealth and ex- alted rank had placed an insurmountable barrier be- tween them which his pride could never surmount. Still, as he looked upon her expressive countenaTice. witnessed her goodness, and saw with delight her unfeigned humility o't mind, in the midst of so much adulation — such unmixed prosperity, — his heart swelled within him with a bitter regret, that so fair. THE DTK E AND THE COUSIN. 37 fto excellent a being could never be his. He would have died rather than have expressed this sorrow, feehnL' that her destiny was in a higher sphere ; and though he might look up and admire, it would be »u infringement on honor to attempt to \yin her. .Still, he had rejoiced in the evidence.s of her kindness, and had felt justified in showing her the tender and unreserved alfection of a cousin ; and even while repeating those lines of the poor Helena, "It were all < That I Should love a bright, p And ihiuk to wed it." iii* ular star. He would continue the quotation with a mournful satisfaction, " In her bright radiance and collaiernl light Must I be comforted, not in her sphere." He was indeed comforted by the intimacy their consanguinity permitted; but still no unguarded word or look ever betrayed the deep and passionate feelings of his heart. No wonder, then, that Mrs. Stewart had experi- j enced anxiety respecting the tenderness of Blanche j for her cousin. At one lime, thinking she ougiu to| use all her power to di.scourage and repel it ; and | then again, feeling that the whole being of herj enthusiastic pupil was too much wrapped up in this i spontaneous alfection, for her to hazard wresting i from her this, her greatest happiness, either present or prospective. CHAPTER XVI. " 'Tifl difficult to see another, A passing stranger of a day. Pluck with a look thine heart away." With feelings such as have been described in the foregoing chapter, we cannot wonder at the sorrow which Blanche experienced in daily witnessing Julian's apostasy from the friend of her bosom, the sister of him whose interests were dearer to her than her ojvn. Her mind filled with sorrowfjjl reflections upon this very subject, she was walking one morning in ^the Park, listlessly and alone, when, on turning ' suddenly into a shady walk, she discovered the two objects of her thoughts. She was too near them to retreat without speaking, which was her first im- pulse ; but Lady Florence was seated on a rustic bench not ten yards distance ; and Julian, who was reclining on the grass near her, saw his cousin the inst^jint she entered the shrubbery. Provoked at coming in such close contact with those whom she would have wished earnestly at that moment to avoid, the cplor rose to her cheeks, and she looked displeased and embarrassed. But the expression of her countenance assumed a severer character, when she perceived the mi.vture of feelings betrayed by that of Julian. He too looked provoked; but still cojifusion and agitation were the most conspicu- ous symptoms of his inward perturbation. Julian, who had risen on Blanche's appearance, remained standing, but without speaking or even raising his eyes to the countenance of his cousin. Lady Florence was the first to break the awkward silence, and said, with the greatest composure, though a malicious smile trembled in the corners of her lovely mouth — " Sit do'vn, dear Lady dc Cressy, tnd admire with us this splendid view so judiciously iet in )V this oponinj in the wood ; for though doubt- less you have often contemplated it, it is a scene which must be ever-varying — ever new and beautil'ul." Blanche made no reply, but apparently without observing her constrained manner, Lady Florence continued,—" The hghts and shadows falling on that picturesque hill, are for ever placing objects under a new aspect. I could gaze for hours had I not a more interesting occupation. You can now assist me. Lady de Cressy. Do -sit down and second my efibrts to raise the spirits of your melancholy cousin." " If Julian is in low spirits, it must be perfectly without reference t) anything upon which I can give him consolation," Blanche replied, giving way to an impulse of anger which was in general foreign to her nature. " I am going home ; — pray do not let me disturb you," she added haughtily, yet with tears in her eyes that seemed to contradict the sternness of her manners, and which she vainly endeavored to conceal. She then walked rapidly on, and never slopped until she found herself within the sanctuary of her own boudoir. There, throwing herself into a large arm chair, she gave full vent to her feelings. She was mortified and grieved, and could Lady Florence have beheld the evidences of her grief, she might well have mistaken its source, as she had done the nature of her feelings towards Julian. But it was the jealousy of a doting sister which- Blanche experienced, and much of disappointment and regret mingled with her feelings. The Julian whom shje had imagined almost perfect, to be thus changed ! No longer tender towards herself, or true to the love he had so long profes.sed ; but devoted to the society of — giving his whole thoughts and attentions to, one his better nature ought to condemn ; and oh ! how unlike the angelic Evelyn ! Blanche wept bitterly, and her tears seemed tp be increased by the variety of sources from which they flowed. She was soon joined by Mrs. Stewart, and to her she poured forth all her griefs. , "But this is not all," she added, after a pause which was broken by her sobs, " this is not all that I have to tell you, my dearest friend,- upon this pain- ful subject. I am fearful that I must also incur your blan^e, and that I have given way to an impulse of anger in a manner which was scarcely lady-Hke, and which must have displeased Julian: but you cannot imagine whnt I felt — what I have felt for days. My pent-up feelings could no longer be re- pressed. I, who have been ever since I can remember, the chosen sister of Julian — from whom he never kept a thought, and who seemed necessary to his every happiness and delight, — to find that since the arrival of Lady Florence, our intimacy by degrees has almost ceased — nay that I am even avoided by him — oh ! this is too cruel. And then, when I think of poor Evelyn, and what I have so long hoped to see realized, it almost breaks my heart to see him hourly becoming more and more entangled in the snares which that vain, worldly-minded woman throws around him." Mrs. Stewart was grieved and shocked by what she heard, and for the sorrow it occasioned her be- loved pupil. She felt for Julian almost as much affection and interest as she experienced for the Lady de Cressy, and her kind voice was rising in his defence, when a^ quick tap at the door made them both start, as it was a sound- well known to their ears. « What shall I do 1" exclaimed Blanche, hastUj '3fe t He h t^ K^ A N D t rt'B' G d IT'S t K wiping her eyes; but she had no time to regain her lost composure, for Mrs. Stewart's immeJiate answer of "come in," brought JuUan instantly before her. He had entered with a flushed and almost angry air ; but as soon as he beheld Blanche in tears, he was in a moment at her feet, and seating himself on a footstool, he took her hand, while affectionately kissing it, he said, " My own darling sister, what is the matter]" Blanche could make no reply ; her tears flowing faster than ever : but they now came from feelings soothed and, softened. Julian again before her, seated in his old place at her feet, with liis own kind expression of countenance, anxiously endeavoring to read her feelings', and looking at her with alTijction and apprehension, bade all her doubts and fears almost immediately vanish. After a moment or two, which she found necessary to gain some steadiness of voice, she placed both her hands within his, "aying kindly, though a little reproach- fully, ".Tulian, you have made me very unhappy, more so than T can describe; and I should be want- ing in sincerity, and in the confidence you have a right to claim from me, did I not at once confide in you the occasion of my grief." Blanche then entered into the subject by explain- ing to him the state of her feelings for the last fort- night. She told him how jealous she felt for Evelyn, and for herself; how it had grieved her to see him pass every moment with a woman of light and arti- ficial character, and whose own conduct proved her designing in the extreme. Blanche was too severe in her strictures on Lady Florence, and it was inju- dicious in her thus to force them on Julian's atten- tion, who, it was evident, judged of her far more fiivorably. He felt that she showed too much seve- rity, but there was a consciousness of error in him- nelf, and an anxiety to be restored to the tender approval of Blanche, which prevented him remon- strating, or saying aught in defence of Lady Flo- rence. However, the enthusiastic Baroness proceeded so rapidly in her discourse that he could scarcely find a pause wherein he could make any remark. She next spoke of Evelyn, so different in her sweet and angelic purity — her childlike innocence — to the artificial and exacting coquette, who now occupied his time and thoughts ; who teaching him to find "happiness in her smiles and attentions, had caused hirn apparently to forget her. who might at that very moment be dragging on a miserable existence, cheered by no one thought, save that of his tender aflleciion and rememl>rance. Long did Blanche Bpeak, becoming every nioment more earnest and (I'loquent on the subject of her words, as she per- ceived they affected her auditor. She proceeded uninterrupted by Julian, who sat with his counte- ^nance shaded' by his hands ; and even when she had ceased speaking he still remained silent. A long and painful pause ensued, which was at length broken by Julian, who, rising with a pale and agi- tated countenance, said in a low mournful voice, " Blanche — my dearest Blanche — every word that you have uttered has sunk deep into my soul ; and as far as regards myself, I feel, the justness as well 'as the severity of all you have said. I have indeed sinned against the affection I profess for poor Eve- lyn ; even by suff'<^ring it to appear that I have allowed a moment's f rgetfulness to remove her from my thoughts. But my fault sliall be expiated." he rontinued, after heaving a deep sigh ; "I must leave inis pl.it^ — I'oAve all the follies I have been guilty of. I will commence aefiiii a - vered, my Evelyn shall have protection — my arnx shall be her support ; and, together, swrely your efforts and mine, however insufficient, may at least do something towards ameliorating the suM'^rings of my poor aunt and her chiMren." •• -,.iii.'/^ji " My own dear Julian, this is like yourself,** ex- claimed the delighted Blanche. " Once 'dih-coVor these dear cousins," .she added, "and we itiay be all happy." A rosy blush and a smile of joy which illumined her speaking countenance betrayetl how far the hopes and expectations of the sanguine gin had reached. When the party assembled before dinner* the aspect of affairs had considerably changed. Juli m was pale, his manners cold and reserved, as on the day Lady Florence first beheld him, though there was a degree of constraint and embarrassme/it in hla bearing now, which bad not then been visible. Lady de Cressy was all smiles and happine^, although a flushed countenance and agitated tone of voice might have evinced even to a careless ob- server, that something had occurred to excite h^r feehngs in a most lively manner. ^ Lady Florence looked into the counfenapcea \pfi both, and beheld in an instant very strong symptom* of rebellion to her dominion, if not evident signs j which threatened the termination of her reign. Still ! she was not discouraged. Julian had betmyed to I her that he had feelings and affections of which she ; in some measure held the command ; and guarding j most carefully against exhibiting any marks of dis^ quiet or anxiety, she contented herself with calmly I awaiting the moment of renevping her empire over j one, whose temporary dereliction had showed her i of what value he was to her heart. When Blanche had left, them in the wood that morning. Lady Florence had perceived that Julian ; was violently moved by his cousin's agitated man- ner, though he had sedulously endeavored to conceal it. But notwithstanding his best efforts, he had been silent and abstracted during their walk to the house. On entering it she had said to him, "I think, Mr. Sinclair, in consideration of all the pomp and ceremony with which the arrival of this favored magnate of Lady Clairville's is to afflict ns, you ought really to drive me in your phaeton to that lovely wilderness we saw yesterday ; that at least some show of nature may prepare us for the display of odious art, that doubtless this banquet, which is to welcome the Puke of Strathhaven, will exhibit to us. How I hate stars!" she adJ.nl, laughingly ; " and what is rnore, how I YMe star- gazers ! Lady Clairville told me this morning that she expected at least twenty of those inanimate spe- cimens of the creation, called * county people' to meet hi& grace, in addition to our own nice party* Is it not dreadful ?" she asked, observing Julian hesi- tated giving an answer to the proposal of the drive ; " is it not fearful, sittinc^ near one of those dense icebergs, either masculine, feminine or neuter, which by the way is their most usual distinction ? Posi- tively there is such a chill damp atmosphere of cold conceit about them, that it never fails to take mj hair out of curl, if T escape catching cold myself.** Julian laughed in s;> te of pre-occupied thoughts at ideas so rriuch 'in accordance with liis ov\n ; and THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN. 38 took the opportunity of excusing liimself from the drive to Oak-vood chase, though at the moment he coulcl think of no vety good plea for so doing. Lady Florence detected the subterfuge, though she ap- peared to receive his reasons for declining to oblige her, and abruptly left him, fearing the anger and mortilication which filled her heart, might betray themselves in her countenance. Her feelings wore any thing l)ul enviable, particu- larly when from a mission of espionage on which she sent her maid, she found that Mr. Sinclair had joined his cousin and Mrs. Stewart, in the boudoir of the former. The tumult of tender regret, and mortified pride, which then warred in her bosom, might have shown her the precipice nea-r which she stood ; but, alas ! they only served to urge her nearer that brink, beyond which one step was utter destruction. CHAPTER XVII. " Cease to lament ("or that ihou canst not help. And study help for that which thou lameiitest. Time i^ the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love." As Lady Florence St. John had mentioned, an immense party had been invited to greet the arrival of that illustrious statesman and general, the Duke of St?athhaven. There was too much eclat attend'-int on even a short visit from his Grace, for Lady Clair- ville to omit the opportunity of allowing her neigh- bors that Oakwood was actually to have possession cf so distinguished a personage for three days, and her invitations had been distri!)uted accordingly. The Duke having arrived during the afternoon, liad met nearly all the guests who were visitors at the house ; and with his favorite, the Lady de Cressy, and two sighing aspirants to her favor, he had already taken a short stroll in the grounds. To one unconscious as was the young baroness, it would have been scarcely perceptible that his Grace had a second motive in seeking to bs with her ; but when we inform our readers that the Duke of Strathhaven and the stranger who had entered with such kind commiseration into the sorrows of the Cecil flimily, were one and the same person, it will be readily be- lieved that he felt impatient at every obstacle which impeded the inquiries he wished to make, and that the exquisite persons of Colonel Irby Fitz-Irby, and Lord John Hale, were decidedly de trap. The fact was, that the invitation of Ladv Clair- ville had been only accepted at the present time by the Duke of Strathhaven as affording the means of pursuing that research which was necessary ere his benevolent intentions with regard to the Cor ils could he rendered available to them. The first measure to be adopted was to establish the identity of the unhappy family at Kensington, with that of the brother of Lady Clairville, and then to gain from Lady de Cressy, or Julian, some clue by which he might learn the retreat of Captain Cecil. Expe- rience had taught him the difficulty of gaining that information from Lady Clairville, who hod shown herself at once annoyed and impracticable on the subject. Nothing doubting that the opportunity must soon occur of pursuing the inquiries he wished, stili the Duke felt anxious and even restless on the subject. Throuks betrayed it, and Julian resolved at the first op- portunity to attempt some elucidation of the afl'air. it is true that the gra^-e and rather austere manners uf the Duke, together with the distinguished position which he held in the world, had always imposed a degree of restraint upon him ; but this must be over- come. The interests of Evelyn— the wishes of Blanche, he felt, demanded that he should seek some further knowledge from the Duke ; and he trusted that the evening would -^afford him the occasion that he sought. , ' The dinner, like all magnificent banquets, was long and tediims to all those who have not an inter- set in the culinary fictions, and appetible inventiona of a chef de culaiae, as well as to those who find that the atfmities have not been at all considered by the chance which has given them their right and left companions. To poor Julian, who had mentally formed a plan which that evening was to see accomr plished, the repast appeared interminable. However, towards the end of all this sumptuous ennui, an in- cident occurred which seemed to both the ladies Olairville and St. John, as if a fate was busy in throwing stumbling-blocks in the way of their schemes, in the shape of reminiscences of the dreaded Cecil family. Daring a pause in the business of the table, which was occupying a host of serving men in livery, be- sides the maitre d'hotcl, and four equally gentle- manly-looking allies, a guest who, from a long residence abroad, was in perfect ignorance of its b^ing decidedly against the rules of Englrsh bon ton to speak above a whisper, or attempt any thing like conversation at dinner, addressed Lady Olairville from some distance with this unacceptable question ; '• May I ask your Ladyship where your brother Ca{)t.ain Cecil is ] Since my return to England, I have in vain sought for him at his own residence, which I find occupied by a new proprietor. I wished so much again to see him and his beautiful children !" Lady Clairville's countenance grew dark as night at this maUa-propos attempt of a good-natured man tt> make himself agreeable, and with forced compo- sure she said, " My brother is abroad for the educa- tion of his family ;" then addressing a question to the gentleman next her, she showed very plainly that she wished for no more discussion on that topic. Julian started at heariiuj his uncle's name men- tioned so suddenly ; an ' bhisbed violently at the fa!seh(»cd Lady Ctairvjlle uttered with such calm- uess ; particularly as he perceived that the eves of 6 the Duke of Stratlihaven were fixed upon her with scrutinizing sternness, during the question and her answer. He titeu turned his regards tov^ards Ju- lian, as if to observe whether he took as a matter pt course the colorhig given to the mis^fortunes of hia uncle; and Julian felt mortified in the extreme, bj the tacit supposition of one, who he now felt cpn- vinccd, knew the true nature of the case. It was some relief that Lady Olairville soon rgse to leave the dinner-rqom ; and by thq time the train of beauty and fashion had disappeared, he had in a degree re- covered himself. On the gentlemen again seating themselves at the table, Julian felt a little surprised by hearing the Duke call to hiu> by his name, and in a kind and courteous manner request him to take the vacant seat by his side. The circumstance seemed to offer too great a facility fbrhis making the inquiries which he had determined upon, for him to hesitate an in stant; and he joined his Grace with much alacrity. Prefacing his conversation with some apology ioif what at first might be deemed ill-timed. curiosity, the Duke at once begged that he would give him some information concerning the C^ecil family ; adding, that circumstances had trans])ired which had given him a peculiar interest in their affairs; but that the services he was anxiouS to render Captain Cecil could not be available unless he was acquainted vyith his present place of abode. > ■ .? , There was so manly a conciseness in the Duke's words, yet at the same time so much evident solici- tude and sincere benevolence, that Julian's heart opened immediately ; and anxious to show confi- dence in one who manifested such good-will towards those he so dearly loved, he unhesitatingly g^aye hia I interrogator every detail that was in hi.* power. I Those details consisted of the history of his jncle'a j pecuniary embarrassmentg, and the rupture with his sister ; the removal of the Cecil family to some rtv I treat which they had vainly sought to discover, and the believed fact of the unhappy father's flight to France. , Julian was much agitated when he had to touch upon !^ie unfeeling conduct of Lady Olairville, and the consequent cessation of all intei'course between the two families; but his natural ingenuousness for- bade him m,aking any reservation in his relation-; and the Duke's penetration easily discovered that the fear of her son's forming a connection '^ith the poor, but beautiful Evelyn had been one of Lady Olaiiv ville's incitements to her un.sisterly conduct , while he at once perceived what cogent reasons she had for the fear. There was a pause for many minutes ; at length the Duke said gravely — *' Do you mean me to understand, Mr. Sinclair, that with the anxiety which you express to discover the place of your cousins' residence, you really find the thing impossible ? I should have conceived that, with your knowlege of their affairs and connections, the research would not have been one of difficulty. Have they no other relations — no man of business to whom you could apply ?" Julian explained that Mr. Disney, of Berner's Street, Captain Cecil's solicitor and agent, had del- cisively refused him any information on the sii!>jcct, adding, moreover, that he should conceive he was not fulfilling the wishes of his client, if. ho dil not at once apprise the family of any endeavor to dis- cover their retreat, in order that they might taic« 42 f}\E r)\JK^fJlM^ TH'i: GQU^fa^ simulation, in vain endeavored to conceal the chagrin and passionate regrets which were jarring in ber inmost heart. 8he remained silent and aUstracted on a couch, which even her most approved cavaliers hesitated to approach, so deep was the sadness ex- pressed by her pale countenance. Blanche exerted he^-self, as she was wont for the sake of others ; but it was to no purpose. The even- ijig passed heavily to those she wished to enliven; q.nd fatigued with the irksomeness of conversing with those to whom no other feeling than courtesy drew her, it was a welcome relief when the party at len;;th broke up, and she found herself alone with her .good governess. Lady Florence, too, hailed with some degree of satisfaction the privacy of her own chamber;, not that she expected to find either peace or comfort, but at least it olferfMl concealment to the violent burst of grief which every minute she found more difficult, to restrain. Quickly disrobing herself of her splendid dinner dress, she bade her maid give her her douillefe of violet-colored satin, and then dismissed her. With, hands clasped on her beating bosom, groans, rather than sobs, issued from her trembling lips, and there was a sense of disertion and outraged atf u;tion at her heart, which seemed as though it would over- whelm her. At that moment, a tap at the door a little recalled her to herself. Tt was Lady Clairville's raaid, requesting from her lady that she would repair in a few minutes to her dressing-room. Scarcely knowing what she did, Lady Florence snatched the silver lamp that was burning on the chimney ; and gliding hastily along the corridor, entered quickly and without ceremony the apartment of her friend. For an instant she paused at the door, as if irresolute whether or not she would advance ; the rays of the lamp making visible a countenance actually trans- formed by angry emotions, and rendered in appear- ance still paler by the violet-colored wrapper which she wo«e. Lady Clairville, who was also in her rohe de ckanihre, reclining in a fauteuil by the side of a bright fire, which an autumnal night rendered neces- sary, actually started when her eyes fell upon the countenance of Lady Florence, its ex^pre&sion was so totally altered. Averse that she should perceive her surprise, she begged her to enter ; and, turning to her maid who was in attendance, made her place another chair and then withdraw. Lady Florence sunk into her seat without uttering a word, and the two friends were left alone. There was somethinoc striking in the scene which the interior of this fairy apartment presented. The beauty of its decorations, the chastened light of the alabaster lamps, which shed a sul)dued tint on every object around ; and moreover, the striking beauty of the lovely women, who. in their becoming undress and the partial obscurity of the chamber, offered subjects far an artist's pencil. Lady Clairville with her dark and brilliant eyes, her raven hair, and the flushed expression of her countenance, offering no bad representation of an insf^red Sib) 1 ; while the soul-struck Florence, as she sat with her unclosed lips, distended eyes, her fair disheveled ringlets hang- ing in disorder about her pale aaitated face, and waiting as though in terror, for what she was yet anxious to hear, seemed the very personification of one who had sought oracular instruction. They sit in si) Mice for some ti:ne. At length it •ras oroken by Ladj Clairville • who in a voice hoarse with vexation and disappointment, exclaimed, " How is this, I^ady Florence ! So all my hope^, and the well-acted drama in which you played si important a part, seem to have ended in a failure. How. is it 1 Has there been any misunderstanding— any blunder T Ypu know you hadued by the raging .spirit be- , fore us. " Your son liked my society, and may haye/j admired my ))erson ; besides which, few young men can withstand the flattery of attentions from a mar- ried woman, particularly when those attentions Imve evidently a deeper source than the mere love of conquest. But your son never loved me : admiration, and the love o^ which his ardent heart is capable, are very, very different in their n;itnre. No, L-ady Clairville, while my whole soul has trembled beneath the influence of a newly-a\vakenr\l passion, Julian has numbed its every feeling by uttering some regret for his lost Evelyn." \. . . The mental anguish of the'impassioned Florence., nere burst forth, and rising from .h^rcbuaiir fvlth Uet THE DUKE AND THE CO ITS IN. 45 chisped hands pressed on her bosom as though she would still its tremulous throbbings, she exclaimed with vehemence — '' Yes, Lady ClairviUe, it is I who am the sufferer. I gave love, ardent, devoted love, for levit3^ familiarity, and now desertion \ But it is well ; perhaps I de- serve all I endure, in suiTering myself to be made a tool in your hands — in attempting by a criminal and destructive sontiment,' to alienate his affections from a pure and legitimate object. And now to the torture of finding the feelings which I fancied I had awak- ened, were shallow and 'unreal, are added your re- proaches, your unfeeling taunts — you, Lady Clair- viUe, who threw me in the midst of temptation — you, who bade me be the companion, the seducer of one too dangerously perfect in mind and person. Now hear me, — hear me confess that I, a wife, a mother, madly, devotedly love your son ! Yes, Lady ClairviUe, my peace of jnind is gone for ever. I re- turn to niy home a degraded being, and bearing also in ray mind the consciousness of having lent rayaelf to deceit and perfidy. Yes, this is your v/ork : but listen bo rnc ; noblessing will ever attend your views whilst you use such means for their futhcrance." Lady Florence turned to depart, and Lady Clair- viUe, who was Speechless from surprise and rage, whilst her dark eyes were flashing with a fierce and terrible expression, coiild scarcely find utterance to detain her. At length she said. " This language is insuhing — is absurd from ybu, Lady Florence St. John — you, a woman of the world, one whose levity has been the talk of many a London season. You must be acting this little scene for my amusement, to divert my mind from the vexa- tions which oppress it." She paused, and for a minute regarded Lady Florence, who was leaning against the mantel-piece ; her face was shaded by her hands, and her whole form shook with emotion. I^ady ClairviUe perceived that she had gone too far ; and by an elfort suppress- ing the anger which had moved her, she said in an altered tone of voice — " Yes, indeed, my own sweet friend, T must t^iink that you are merely jesting; but forgive me, I was wrong, most faulty in giving way to a momentary vexation, which your positive assertions produced. Sit down, my dear Lady Florence," she continued in 1 tone of gentleness calculated to soothe the chafed spirit of her hitherto devoted friend, and attempting at the same time to take her hand ; " sit down and listen to mc with your usual kindness and forbear- ance. We have still some work to do ; your loveli- ness must yet ' lure this tassel-gentle back again.' " " No, Lady ClairviUe, I will hear no more. I have h'eard — I have done too much already. I have avowed a weakness which a woman should die sooner than confess, and you may solace yourself with the reflection thai it is your mighty hand which has worked all this. You have added another to the victims which your imperious will has rendered un- happy." Thus saying, this wayward child of innpulse rushed from the room. Deep sobs burst from her bosom, and with streaming eyes she was rapidly gaining her own apartment when she suddenly encountered Mrs. Stewart, who, after attending her pupil to her room, was now retiring to her own. Her surprise was great at meeting Lady Florence thus agitated, and at such a time. Her kind feelings could not resist the impulse which urged her to inquire if she could be of any use ; but Lady Florence, with a start of impatience at the rencounter, hastily motioned her to proceed ; and gliding past her, sought the refuge of her own apartment. Here her sufierings amounted to absolute torture ; abortive anger at neglected, unrequited passion form- ing their principal feature. Alas ! the time when reflection might have shown her the dangerous path she was seeking, had been trifled fruitlessly away. Having once allowed her strong passions to gain tlie ascendancy, she had been hurried by them into the midst of a torrent, by whose impetuosity she wag being borne rapidly to the fearful gulf beyond, and experienced too late there are no chains so galling, no fetter so heavy, as those which bind the heart to the errors and corruptions in which it has once indulged. CHAPTER XIX. ' "Happy is Encland ', I coiild be content To see no other verdure than its own. To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high roziiances blent " BLA>-cHE,whohad heard of the agitation in which Lady Florence had been met by Mrs. Stewart the next morning looked for her appearance at the break '' fast table, with some degree of anxiety and curiosity She felt so great a dislike to her general character, that even' to her kind heart, the idea of her sufferingg imparted no feeling of commiseration, although they had been so piteously described by Mrs. Stewart. Without much penetration, it was easv to divine that her griefs arose from temper and passion ; and Blanche surmised justly that some discussion with her aunt had roused this ebullition of emotion. It was Sunday morning, and Lady ClairviUe, who considered the proprieties of life as much as the most highly principled could do, and was generally the earliest on that day, had suffered all her guests to assemble at the breakfast table before she joined' them. ''' Through the disguise of her softest manner the' experienced eye of Blanche, when she at length' joined them, detected many symptoms 3f storm within ; and her hollow eyes and trembling hand seemed to speak of a sleepless night. Still she con- versed cheerfully and much ; and turning to Lord John Hale, who blushed with great juvenility at the sofl impeachment, said laughingly — " I fear. Lord John, you lost your heart last night to my charming friend, Florence St. John : and how will you support the information that the poor darling has been obliged to leave Oakwood suddt?n- ly ] We all know her excessive love and anxiety for her beautiful boys, and therefore ought not to wonder at her flying to them on the wings of mater- nal tenderness, because a letter this morning an- nounces the appearance of the measles in the next town — at least I think it is the next town, but I am sure it is quite as near." ' ._ > , There was a general stiiile at the r^mW^e' with' which Lady ClairviUe spoke of her friend's excitable fears; but Blanche's blushes were as deep as Lord John's, the falsehood of her aunt seemed so wanton and unnecessary. However, one truth was announc- ed, the hurried departure of Lady Florence. It was Lady de Cressy's general rule to walk to church when the weather permitted ; and whether she walked or went in the carriage, she alway? n T /H E T> U K « AND T;H 1 CO U S li^. aiTiauiicd to be accampanied by Mrs. StRwart.r, A gliijiit uutumnal rain this mqininij callrd for \[\e at- tendance of her phaeton and ponies ; and preceding tiie rest of the gncsts with her attached governess, slie left the reli{?ious portion of the })arty to find their way in the different carriages provide'i for their u»e. The reason for this emprcsaenirn/ was !ier wish to secure tor her valued friend the seat which she had always been accustometi to occupy for so many years next to her. She felt that thus kneeling in the act of devotion by theiiide of this excellent woman, to whom alone she owed the inestimable blessing and comfort of religious instruction — who h?id first tiiu^ht her infant lips to move in supi)lication to her God — that her prayers flowed more freely, in the presence 3f one whom she knew to be the very soul of piety And goodness. ,. The Duke of Strathhaven was among the number of those who that day visited the humble village church ; and when the party Kvete preparing to re- enter the carriafTes which were to convoy them home, said kindly to Blanche, "My dear Lady de Cres>;y, as the rain has entirely ceased, would you not prefer Wfilking back to Oakwood, through the Park ? I should be too happy to he your:escort."' Blanche most gladly availed herself of the propo- sal : and Mrs. Stewart having ascertained that the Irving's description of English park scenery. Hfi^ «iiys, * there is noiliing more imposing than its beanty Vast lawns, that extend like sheets pf vivid green» witli here and there clumps of gigantic trees, hcajnag up rich piles of foliage. The soj^mn pomp of^grovea ; iitid woodland glades, with the deer trooping in silewt herds across them ; the hare bounding away to the covert, or the phefisant suddenly b.ursting upon the wing; the brook taught to wind in the most natuial meanderings, or expand into a glassy lake ; the poque.stered pool, reflecting the quivering trees, with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom, and the trout roaming fearlessly abo,ut its limpid waters ; while some rustic temple, or sylvan statue, grown .green, and dank with age, gives an air of classic sanctity ta the seclusion.'" . Blanche was delighted with the quotation ; adding,, that there was §0 much graphic fidelity and be^^jfj. of expression in the description, that it 'n a m^asujreA enhanced the beauties it so eloquently depicted. . "As far as regards n\y own taste," rejoirjed her companion, " though the assertion may k-ad you to doubt my possessing any, I must confess I prefer Ent'lish village scenery to the most exquisitely con>- poscd parks in the kingdom. A rustic parish like Oakwood, on a Sunday, above ail, offers to me the most interesting of spectacles. What, a delightful shoes of the Bi^roness were equal to encountering | sj^i^ht it is, when the beil is sendjing its silver melody the still humid eartii, though her own were not, the j across the quiet fiehls, to behold the peasantry iPuke and his youthful companion proceeded on their i thronging tranquilly along the green lanes to their way ; not, however, without a look of significance ! church ! It is this sweet home-feeling," added the directed by Lord John to Colonel. Fitz-Irby, who had ! Duke vv^ith a deep sigh, " that is, after all, the parent professed in the strictest confidence that he still | of tf^e purest enjoyment and the steadiest virtues, thought he should " distance his Grace." I Oh ! how unlike tlie feverish pleasures alTorded by the There is ever an irksomeness in the commence-;! world ! The happiness enjoyed in the peacfifulness ment of a tete-a-tete, when it has been desired fpr ^j special [)urpose by both parties, as in the present case. Blanche had anxiously desired a private inter- view with the Duke that she in her turn might speak to him of the cousins, in whose welfare Julian had told her he evinced so great an interest ; but ther<^ was a delicacy in the subject, which, united with the degree of awe. in which she had been accustomed to regard the Duke, [rave an embarrassment to her feel- inurs, which kept her for some miiiutcs sileijt, as they tfirned into the Park. 'The Dulse, on his side, experienced a degree of constraint, though less perceptibly so than his com- par^ion. B\it, while it was concealed beneath the u^iiiar gravity of his manner, he internally marvelled that such should be the case, and sought to account for it, l.y supposing that it arose from averseness to speak to thq proud Baroness de Cressy of relations iii poverty and discreilit. He therefore discoursed on dilTerent topics, and the beauty of the surrounding . scenery aftorded him ample subject. This was a j)oint on which the interest of Blanche was speedily ♦ awakened; she assented with pleasure to the justice of his remarks, and offered her own with that enthu- siasm which her love for the country usually awaken- ed. On her observing that, if the view of English iftd, Seclusion of the country !;'>r^. — : — *: Wants no witnesses Bnt its own stiarprs. nr\A ajTproving Heaven ; Ttnt, like a flower dcct* liid in rucky f !ff»s, Smiles, thongh 'tis looking ojily on the sky ' " Blanche regarded her con^anion with unfeigned astonishment. She could not believe that such poeti- cal ideas and reflections could flow from lips so grave, or a heart which she fancied to be entirely devoted to diplomatic affairs. The Duke perceived her look of surprise, and smiled. " I see. Lady de Cressy," he said, " that you ima- gined me to have long outlived the age of romance,^ and my ideas to be all so centred i,n the serious realities of Hfo and of state afTairs, that my heart must be dcjulened to the beauties .of .nature, as well ,as to every sc!n;iug pleasures in London which niade me regret the country less," and here Blanche «ghed. ,, " N >w at such atimo of the year, with weather so , beautiful, you will scarcely find any friends in town," , tlie D,uke remarked. " We never go until Februarj' — and till that time we shall not have much fine weather to regret," Blanche replied, a little surprised at the Duke's words. • J, "But Lady Clairville has since breakftist inform- ^ecJ]mo, that she, wjth all the faraih% go to London on Tuesday, not to return to Oakwood this season," the Duke rejoined. Blanche was all astonishment; but she felt little sorrow at the event. Her mind was in such an un- settled state, that any change was preferable to the calm dull feeling of neither hearing of, or acting for those iipon whom her thoughts were so constantly bent. She was for a moment silent, reflecting upon what slie had heard, but soon added again, sighing, and, a;> it were, thinking aloud, "It does not how- ever si2;nify ; in London I shall be as desolate as I am here." She paused and blushed, for she perceived the Duke's penetrating gaze fixed upon herself. They were now rapidly approaching the house, and a few steps would have brought them to it, when the Duke requested that their walk might be prolonged, expressing an anxiety to see a new hermitage which had lately been erected in a little wood in the park. Blanche, who now felt an additional interest in the presenrie and conversation of her companion, acceded to his wish with pleasure ; and, drawn by the irresis- tible influence of his benevolent and courteous man- ners to greater intimacy, she pursued her walk with an absence of restraint very diiierent from the feel- ings which had usually marked her interviews with one so distiqgui'^hed by situation and talent, as the gravi^-!o3king Duke of Strathhaven. " Your cousin's hasty departure has, I fci^r, greatly incensed Lady Clairville, and I imagine that I am in spma her head as it struck, liy a sudden consciousness. Before this name was menlioned, her earnest eyes • were fixed upon the Duke with animation and open- ness. But the magic sound of this one name caused ; the eyes to drop, the lips to quiver, and the averted 'countenance was suffused with a bright crimson. : The Duke apparently took no notice of this change, but seemed determined to make himself master of every feeling of the family. . " Do tell me, Lady de Cressy," he continued, ** something of the prospects of young Cecil. We are ^talking confidentially, and I pray you to look upon me not as the stern diplomatic minister, but as the truly anxious friend of the Cecil family. A friend, in short, who is desirous of proving himself such by •deeds as well as words." . Blanche turned towards the Duke, her eyes and countenance brilliant with animation, and taking his hand, she seemed as though she would press it to her lips ; but in an instant as if ashamed and fright- ened at the act to which her feelings impelled her, she quickly relinquished it, and turning away burst into tears. They were, however, toars more of de- light than sorrow, and had the Duke's countenance ftt this moment been observed, greater symptoms of ©motion might have been detected than this redoubted warrior would have perhaps wished to betray. Gra- tified by the confidence and gratitude the enthusi- astic girl had evinced, he said in tones the most friendly and encouraging — "My dear lady, you must not make me a half confidant. Tell me most unreservedly how you tlrink I could benefit the family. My interest of coarse 'is great, and I will exert it to the utmost of my power. Tell me what would be your plans for them, and I may assist you most successfully." Lady de Cressy then spoke, and she had now conquered all hesitation. " Herbert was most anxious to go into the army, •nd was educated with this view ; but the deranged \ Btate of ray uncle's affairs precludes the possibility I of maintaining a son in the military profession, even I vonW he procure his commission. My wishes are 1 these : — Your Grace, I conclude, is well aware of the 1 extent of my hitherto useless fortune, and my desire j is to raise a sum of money which I will engage to pay, with any interest upon it, when T come of age. With that I may relieve my uncle from his difficul- ties. Herbert can enter the profession for which he is so well calculated, and my poor aunt, restored to the husband of her affection, may again smile in happiness upon her beloved children. Oh, what de- light is in the idea of the joy of such a re-union ! Can you assist me in this scheme, my dear, dear Dukel" cried Blanche, clasping her hands in sup- plication as she almost knelt before him. The Duke looked upon the warm-hearted girl with tender admiration, but he shook his head, and was thoughtfully silent. At length he said to the impa- tient anxious Blanche, who watched his countenance in an agony of suspense, . " My sweet yming lady, part of your wishes shall be realized immediately. Mr. Cecil shall have a ^dmmission in the Guards without loss of time ; and he shall not lack the means of support in the service. But the other part of your wish is too serious a matter for me immediately to Comply with. I must aonsider before I answer." ** Then with many, many thanks for your Grace's kindness,. I must decline for Heen called upon to assist lovers in distress. "i am growing old," thought he, "so my occu- pations, I suppose, are taking another character; ami this, if nothing else occurred, ought to awaken me to the truth that I am no longer young ; other- wise, this interesting girl, so good, so pure, would have shrunk from the idea of making an appoint- ment with me. However, no matter," and here a deep sigh interp>)sed in this long train of thought, "no matter, my love's young dream is over." Perhaps if we could pursue the chain of his ideas much farther, we might find them hovering over the form of a fair girl whose lovely image had made an impression upon his mind, which his strong sense in vain attempted to shake off. Blanche continued, " You are so kindly interested in the welfare of my uncle and his family, and I {eel so persuaded that you know their place of resi- dence, that I am going to solicit you to pardon a presumptuous request. Will you have the goodness to convey to them a sum of money, which by iSatur- *lav I shall have in my possession]" The Duke looked grave, and was silent for some moments. He then said, " This is rather a perplexing business. I am not (ond of secret missions, and, my dear Lady de (Jressy, although I admire the feelings of benevo- lence which you betray, yet is all this right] Is it fair to your aunt 1 does she not claim your confi- dence ] Is it fair to Captain Cecil, who, I am told by .Mr. Sinclair, has most peremptorily forbidden the least communication between your cousins and yourselves ? And how is it that you can obtain a enm of any importance without her knowledge ?" " Vour Grace," replied Blanche, with a heightened lolor. and an air of wounded pride, " need not fear that I should compromise myself or my own dignity bv the manner in ve as ballast to so vagrant a personage." '' I do not interfere in such matters ; they are far too serious, and impose more responsibility upon the niitluler in such air.iirs, than I would willingly un- dertake." said the Duke gravely. " Besides, Fitz- Ilenry is young, and unfortunately has not much vocation for the life of a married man." The words of the Duke were so far satisfactory, that Lady Clairville judged no intercession had been made tor the dissipated Fitz-Henry. But was the Duke as free from plans on his own account 1 The examination was a more difficult one, inasmuch as it approached personality ; moreover, there was a greater anxiety, and of course it was less easy to sustain the necessary nonchalance. Only second to the primary object of her life, the union of Julian with Lady de Cressy, was one lately added to the )>lans of aggrandizement which were ever agitathig the ambitious heart of Lady Clairville ; it was no other than her own marriage with the Duke of ?!itrathhaven. She had small foundation for such a scheme ; no- thing stronger than the visibly approaching end of her invalid husband, and the increase of interest which it was evident the Duke took in her family. If this proceeded from love to Blanche, it foretold a dou- ble disappointment; and the growth of cordiality be- tween them almost bade her tremble for her own hopes. After a short pause, which was essential to gain th;it indilFerence of tone, without which iier words would ;betray too great an interest, she said, " By the way, my dear Duke, I was told the other day, that you were yourself thinking of matrimony. Let me see," she added, as if recalling, instead of in- ventiiig some gossip, relative to his Grace, '< let me sue, who was your supposed choice, — oh ! I remem- hir, it was the fair widow, Lady Clitford." The Duke coldly smiled, as he said, "T believe lliat I once have spoken to her : but, Lady Clair- ville," he added with more earnestness, *' do you be- lieve that one so young and lovely could stop in her rarcer of mirth and happiness, to think of a man of my age ; and one who, from care and toils of mind, as well as body, probably looks at least ten years older]" . • Never doubt it, your Grace ; and without you realty wish to be accepted, never hazard the offer. What woman could refuse the Duke of Strathhaven ; he upon whom the admiration of the whole world is sho\vered ]" The Duke looked disappointed. It seemed to Lady Clairville, that either he disliked the idea of owing any matrimonial success to his rank and ho- nors, or else that Blanche had shown some averseness to his suit. If the latter, now was the time at once to destroy the idea that she could ever favor it ; and altering her voice from a tone of raillery to one of extreme pensiveness, she said, " Alas! these matri- ni Oiiials, they cost ;ne no little share of anxiety. You know, of the attachment of my son to his cou- sin Blanche, — you know that I trust soon their Ui irriage may be accomplished, — and still this way- ward boy leaves us with a suddenness that might well off -nd his affianced bride, and certainly it much hurts me." * Are you so certain of a mutual attachment be- tween the two cousins?" inquired the Duke. " Oh ! yes. why should I doubt it 1 Indeed," sha added, lowering her voice to a conlidential pitch, " I really beli;;vc that it was a love quarrel which made the impetuous .Julian leave us so abruptly. I know that he is very jealous of Colonel Fitz-lrby's atteij- tentions to the Baroness ; and I know also, that he had a scene with her yesterday before diimer : put that and that together, as the old ladies say, and I think we can account for his melancholy during the repast, and Blanche's perturbation on linding he had really escaped." The Duke made no comment on her words, but changed the subject with a gravity and coldness of manner, that confirmed Lady Clairville in her ien, this letter •ureljF did. The vomaa of fashion and of coudc- quence — the courtly beauty, proud of her power an 3 attractions, nowhere appeared ; but the warni-soulod Milesian — the ardent and impetuous Irishwoman, brought up amidst scenery wild as her own untamed s{)irit, and left with all the feelings of her nature to grow up unchecked, spoke in every line. Tho whole history of her actions and impressions during her stay at Oakwood was fully disclosed, with a candor at once fearful and desperate. The share that Lady Clairville had in her conduct was also completely detailed ; her reasons, and the conse- quence which had so naturally ensued ; still her own feelings were but slightly touched uj)on. However, passion was, as if unconsciously, betrayed in every line. There was a pathos — a heart-rending tone of misery throughout the whole which moved the very . soul of Julian, and he proceeded with a burning cheek and trembling lip in the perusal of the letter. Her last interview with Lady Clairville was next told in words which painted such anguish — such utter hopeless despair, added to the angry writhing!* of a soul bruised by the hanin, and the tributary homage of a crowd of admiring friends and ac- quaintance. Captain Cecil, in his turn, approached, while his heart throbbed with pleasure at the rencounter. He extended his hartd to grasp that of the idolized hero. !( was taken. — faintly ])ressed. — and a few kind words of evcry-day courtesy passed the lips of the THE DUKEAND THE COUSIN. 55 once blunt and warm-hearted Walter, but nothing further. Captain Cecil retreated. Hy felt hurt and almost incensed at the sang f raid vfilh which he had been recognized ; when, in truth, from the extreme alteration in his person, he had not been recognized at all. He never surmised the fact ; that for the last hour the lion of the day, the courted and be-laurelled warrior, who divided attention with royalty itself, had been receiving and acknowledging so many new- found friends and self-presented acquaintances, that all were confounded in his eyes ; and he returned fro'Ti court unconscious of the heart that had sprung to meet him, or the wound he had inflicted on his early friend. Sir Walter departed again for Spain, and Captain Cecil saw him no more, until he again beheld him as the Duke of Strathhaven, — the stern, unbending Tory minister. Captain Cecil's views on every matter, whether of foreign or domestic policy, were strictly liberal, and rather advancing than behind the spirit of the age. To him, as well as to his party, the opposition to reform, shown on almost all questions by the Duke, appeared the prejudices of uncompromising aristocracy. Added to this, when he observed the cold de- meanor, the grave unsmiHng front, ever preserved by his Grace, and not know ng that these were the signs of a heart dissatisfied with th; worldly am- bitious throng which surrou-nded him, or aching with domestic cares and paternal disquietudes, Captain Cecil pronounced to himself that, though identical, the proud Duke of Strathhaven was in many impor- tant particulars most different from the frank and Dnce-loved Walter Fitz-Henry. He now avoided, rather than sought any further recognition. The l)uke observed this in two or three instances , and as he had become aware of the identity of Captain Cecil with the friend of his happiest days, the slight hurt and grieved him ; while unconscious, moreover, that the advance had once been made, he sighed as ho encountered what he conceived one other proof of the powerful effects of party spirit. It caused no angrj emotion ; for he well knew how he was abused daily by the public press ; how his best intentions were perverted — his wisest acts misjudged ; and he guessed this had weight with the patriot spirit of the Whig sailor. Neither did it remove the pleasing recollections connected with the name of CcHl, which circumstance had drawn him to the splendid assem- blies at Clairville House. However, he was in every respect too much a public man, to let private feelings usurp the consideration of the graver concerns in which he had embarked ; and long before the time when the appearance of the lovely brother and sister so singular in circumstances, and so attractive in ex- terior, had excited his dormant sensibilities, all thoughts and remembrance of Captain Cecil had passed from his fully occupied mind. It has been shown how anxious the Duke of Strathhaven had been to befriend the distressed orphans, as he first believed Evelyn and Edwin to be ; and the additional claim he conceived they had upon his services, when the funeral of the little girl revealed to him their real name. The surmise of heir connection with Captain Cecil in no measure smoothed the way towards gratifying the benevolence of his nature in relieving them ; for he well knew the proud sprit of their father in his youth, and his subsequent coldness had made him rather doubt the dispositions of bis matured years. It whS through the cousins. Lady de Cressy and .lulian Sinclair, that he could alone learn aught of thetn, and so be enabled to form his plans. His interviews with them, however, speedily enabled him to arrange them, and on quitting Oakwood, the Duke proceeded at once to Riversdale, there to renew his acquaintanco with the elder Mrs. Cecil, and to devise with her means by which his generous wishes might be render- ed effective. * Many and powerful were the feelings which pi^ess- ed upon the statesrnan's heart as he retrod, for iLf first time since his boyhood, the old fiiniliar paths which led from the inn where he left his carriagti, to the cottage where so many happy hours had been passed. Forgetting, almost, the long lapse of yeirs, and all the r^.omontous and chequered incid(!nt3 which had filled them, on inspecting each well- known spot where the then young Cecil and hini.'self had so often strayed, he felt again the boy. 'I'iiere was the mill-stream in which they had paddled their canoe ; there was the deep woody ravine where tlipy had waited so patiently through the long winter's day for the rarely-found woodcock ; and there wa* the well-remembered elm tree, from which bit affrig-hted eye had beheld his friend precipitated. All intervening time was forgotten, and he entered ths beautiful and ancient oak portico, twined as of yore with creeping plants, lovely even in their autumr.al coloring, with almost the same buoyant spirits with which he had ever been wont to seek his friend. The answer at the door was one which deeply dis- tressed him. The cottasre was let to strangers ; and Mrs. Cecil had resided in a smaller one at a short distance ever since the misfortunes of her son. Thither he immediately proceeded. He was con- siderably affected as he made himself known ; nut there was so much unfeigned pleasure evinced at his visit, and such cheerful resignation shown, regarding her own infirmities and the distresses of her son. th^t the Duke forgot he was not again talking to Mri. Cecil in her own elegant cottage, with all the worI,l smiling upon her, and upon her children. They talked at first of bygone days ; and the disaster of the jay's nest was not forgotten. Again his prowess was extolled ; and sooth to say, the general who had led squadrons against the imperial army, felt more plea- sure in the grateful mothers eulogium, than in nil the " flattering unction" which his splendid victorit\s had drawn down upon him. At length he led th>< conversation to the present situation of lier son an 1 his family, and the manner in which he had becom»» acquainted with it. Mrs. Cecil thought with him that there would be some difficulty in inducing the fastidious pride of Captain Cecil to receive pecuniary assistance either from his niece, the Lady de Cressy, whose generom wishes on his behalf were mentioned, or from tha Duke. " Besides," she added with a smile, " yov» know Herbert has a right to consider himself a^griev ed by you. Since your cold reception of him at some levee, an age back, he has never spoken of you but as the illustrious commander, of whom ever? one talks, whether as strangers or acquaintance." The Duke looked surprised, begging her to ex- plain, which she was enabled to d(#from the circum stances having been minutely related to her on their occurrence. She had never seen the affair in a serious point of view, and had remonstrated with the morbid delicacy of her sori.. which prevented him ^6 THE UKEANDTHE COUSIN. at5>*in seeking a renewal of acquaintance with his once umch rci^arded Walter Pitz-Henry. Of course s'le now readily uuvierritood how the affair had hap- pened, from the Duke's assurance that never, to his kuowledot be as the minister-Duke. Let me first be known to these interesting young beings as their father's friend. Have they ever heard of Walter Fitz-Henry ]" Mrs. Cecil smiled, for she recollected that no nur- (Bery tale had ever afforded half the exquisite interest wiiich the relation of" brave little Wat's" desperate rourage had done ; and she also surmised that the identity of the Duke, and the young preserver of their father's life, was unknown ; aware as she was of the mortification which in the first-mentioned character, he had unconsciously inflicted. The letter was soon written ; and with the fervent assurance, that, under the blessing of Providence, better days should come, the Duke took his leave of the delighted and excellent Mrs. Cecil, who felt that already the merciful dispensations of Heaven had been extended towards them, in thus raising up so powerful a friend in their sorrow and distress CHAPTER XXni. "There was a soft enchantment in her eye. That charmed all it met ; and round it wrought A sympathetic license of pure thoiiaht, As in some fane of loveliest sanctity — Such was the look of angel from on high." It was now a few days beyond the fortnight to which Herbert and Evelyn Cecil had looked as the period of some further communication from the stranger, if not of his appearance with the full cogni- ■ zance of their father, to put into execution his beneficent intentions respecting Edwin. Every thing in the way of preparation was completed. The little school-boy's wardrobe, by the infinite industry and arrangement of Evelyn, was already made and packed in the trunk, which the poor boy regarded « daily with a smile or a tear, as affection for his \x'Ioved family whom he was about to leave, or the amhition of being a scholar, predominated in his childish but feeling heart. Evelyn, who had overtasked herself, now in the 'eaction of completed labors felt restless and uri- nappy. She dreaded the hour which was to take her dear little companion from her ; and yet with the nervousness of youth, which is sanguine to the last minute, and then desponds at the first delay, she be- , pan to fear that the stranofer had forgotten them. I Having, by the favorable evidence she had ever given of him to her brother, in some measure answered for the truth and purity of his intentions, she fell a sort of respont'ihility — an intense anxiety that he would prove the friend his words and her innate conviction had promised he would be. Still he came not ; and during this uncertainty Evelyn could settle to no occupation ; and except at those moments of intense feeling, when attending on her suffering mother, or reading to her the holy pages, which was both her own and Herbert's daily task, all animation and activity had fled from her. , She had completed the arrangement of her mo- ther's room, which was always her self-allotted task, and for which her sylph-like step and agile move- ments peculiarly fitted her, when, having returned into the little' parlor for the purpose of hearing hei young sisters recite their daily lessons, a deep sense of sorrow and desolation oppressed her, and leaning her face upon her hands Svie burst into tears. Ra- chael entered at the moment ; and seeing her young lady's despondency,. was grieved to the heart, ex- claiming most angrily — " I thought how it would be. Miss Cecil, you have not stirred from the house for days and days. Do, my sweet child, oblige your old nurse, and go and take a walk this brisk autumn morning. These two darling children look pale — ^you will all be the better for the fresh air. Mr. Herbert will remain with my mistress ; and if Master Edwin stays at home, I am sure he's clever enough to receive the strange gen- tleman, should he come." It was impossible to disobey arrangements which were so kindly but peremptorily made by one who lived but for her charge's welfare ; and kissing her nurse's check, Evelyn promised to be more mindful to her health, which an inward presentiment told her was fast failing, and proceeded with her two little sisters to equip themselves for their walk. It was with anything but pleasure that Evelyn commenced it. She was sure her mother would wish for her in her absence, or that the stranger would come, perhaps, to take Edwin immediately from them ; in short, a thousand inquietudes at first assailed her, but by degrees the beautiful bright morning dispersed the clouds from her mind, and every moment her step became more light and elas- tic, while a pale color stole over the sickly tints a' her still beautiful but attenuated and altered coun • tenance. It was at a later hour than she had ever left he home ; and although it was the empty season o London, she was for an instant appalled by the bustle and crowded state of the road, which told her she might chance to meet some former acquaintance. Drawing her veil more closely over her iixjce, sh© directed her steps as far from the public haunts and houses as was possible ; and soon having passed a suburb, they reached a more private road, which the children with mirthful glee declared was quite the country, because a hawthorn hedge with shrivelled and dusty leaves ran along one side of it. Evelyn rejoiced to see their cheeks glow, and their eyes re- sume their wonted animation ; and as they bounded on before her, she blessed the happy unconscious- ness of diildhood of mental anxiety and trouble. Presently she lost sight of them. They had arrived before the conservatory of a nursery-garden ; and tempted by the sight and perfume of some beautiful flowers, they had entered. Evelyn was hastening to them, fearful that theii THE D U K K J. N D THE C O U S i N. 57 intrusion, without any intontion of purchasing the I objects of their adniiration, might annoy tlie man | who was in attendance in the green-house, when her steps were, arresletl and iier g;i/e riveted upon an object which at that inoaienl suddenly presented itself to her startled sight. It was a groom in the Clairville Uvery. who was leading two saddle ho -ses, one of wliich she immediately recognized, it being a little grey Arabian belonging to Lady de Cressy, upon which she had taken many a happy ride. Evelyn felt that in another moment she ujighl be' in the presence of her cousins. What was she to do 1 Her father's >trict prohibition still rung in her ears ; but yet with all her filial obedience, her h#irt beat high with delight, and yearned to behold those she loved so well. Whilst she stood transfixed to the spot doubtful and fearful how to act, all choice upon the subject was ended, by seeing her cousin Julian rush from the conservatory with wild anxious looks, and followed by Blanche de Cressy, who was holding little Lucy in her arms, v/liilst Laura clung atroctionately by her side. Evelyn stood motionless and pale as marble ; but as her dear affectionate cousins approached, the warm tide of love and de- light rushed to her heart, and with exquisite joj' and emotion she felt herself alternately pressed to the bosoms of the transported Blanche and Julian, while tears, arising from the suddenness of the pleasure, fell abundantly from her eyes. After the tirst burst of emotion, although there was so much to say, so much to hear, utterance was no easy elTort; and short incoherent sentences were all that pas.sed. At last they entered the con- servatory ; and there seated between her two cousins, Evelyn for a short moment forgot her griefs in tl^e delight of their presence. Julian, too, experienced equally with herself the aU-absorbing nature of this unexpected encounter; the affiiirs of the last month, and the embarrassment jf the present period, all faded from his thoughts. There was the cherished Evelyn, the object for whom so many anxious searches had been directed, seated by his side; and chance had brought about tliat happiness which his best eflbrts had failed to eirect. Still his heart was very full as he looked upon her, and his spirit sank with a vague dread as^ he beheld the warm glow which surprise and joy had brought to her cheek fade away, leaving it pale and emaciated. Her round, dimpled face was now almost long from thinness; and those wall-remem- h'ired, bright, laughing eyes had totally lost their u-iual expression. Still she was lovely, though it wa.-^ beanly prematurely blighted. Her dress too! Evelyn had formerly been often •ostingly accused of being a perfect peiite maltresse ,• but now ! ,and Julian, a little atldicted to the vanities if the world, sighed deeply as he scanned the plain- UPoJs — almost amounting to meanness — of her attire. Hit lovidy ringlets were no longer to je seen play- ing about her cheeks and throat of Parian white- noss; but her hair was braided plain over her fo.-ehead, and her faoe nearly concealed by a deep str.'iw bonnet; while a large dark shawj seemed tijually desirous of hiding the symmetry of her n\ mph-likc figure. Julian had leisure for these ob- r rvations while the unconscious object of them was (e;npung something like coherent answers to the th »a-aiid questions 13 tche was ponrini>: into her ear Bu' Evelyn founl it dilTicult to reply, tor she cad m ich to ionceal. N^'ithjul revealing liic place of their abode, she told them of »i3 strict seclusion in which they were living by he; 'el:.-ier's command adding tliat doubtless he had sasons for the uor cealment, as also for the solemn prohibition he hau placed upon their seeking a me^iiiig with tiie Clair- ville family. She spoke of Edwin's good prospects through the medium of a friend ; but forbore to enter into particulars, scarcely knowing where to begin the story, and ieelingan indefinite averseness to mention it. With bitier tears she informed them of ihe poor baby's death; of the serious illness and protracted suiTerings of her mother ; and then with a powerful eiiort at calmness, concluded her sad history, saying with a pious unaffected tone of resignation — " But it is God's will that sorrow should at pre- sent be our portion ; we must therefore bow in pa- tience, trusting that by implicitly following the dictates of our duty, his hand will guide us through our difHculties." Julian looked at his young cousin with feelings not to be de;?rribed. If at first he thought her beauty diminished, h - now retracted the idea, it shone forth with a character so imposing. She appeared to hina, in words as well as looks, a being of angelic loveli- ness. Both Blanche and himself, though knowing the poverty and distress which had assailed her, at this moment looked at her almost as a creature of a superior celestial nature, at once above the cares ani weaknesBes of this world. Beseecliing them not to attempt to shake her resolution of returning alone to her lowly home, or her denial of again seeking a meeting with them, Evelyn at length rose to depart, alleging that her return was absolutely necessary, and that her length ened stay might occasion anxiety. All that the importunities of Blanche, and the passionate en- treaties of Julian could gain from her, was the con- sent that letters tp her might be sent through Mr. Disney in Berncr's Street, until she might gain hex father's permission for more satisfactory communi- cation, unless indeed she should ascertain that he was averse even to such slight intercourse as that already proposed. Blanche was contented with this; for with her schemes and sanguine expectations, she trusted that the day was not far distant when, through her means, all this sorrow and disuess should be forever banished. Most tender were her adieus to her beloved Eve- lyn, and many and affectionate were the kind words sent to Mrs. Cecil and Herbert. Julian had pro- ceeded to the garden to recall the little girls who had been sent there to gather the few autumnal flowers it afiTorded. Taking advantage of his absence, Blanche said earnestly to her cousin, '' Evelyn, but one more word with you. Measures will be shortly taken to alleviate the pecuniary dis- tresses of my uncle. Will you promise me one thing ? If aught comes to your knowledge, or you are any way consulted on the subject, will yo^i tell your father that the few thousands I can now offer, and which may assist him, are as nothing in the bounteous supply of wfalth which a too kind Pro- vidence has bestowed upon me : and should he still hesitate, tell him — oh ! tell him, dear Evelyn, — that one who v>^ould be his daughter now supplicates him to avail himself of her yet unappropriated for- tune." Blanche blushed deeply as she made this distinct avowal of sentiments already surmised by Evelyn, but of which she had never spokeK. Julian's ap- vas TH K OUKR ANI> Til R COUSIN. «-t)roach prevented all reply except a tender embrace, while tears of love and gratitnde fell on tlie liosoin, who.^e nobleness of feeling and generous impulses were not now for the first time betrayed to her. I The cousins parted. Evelyn turned her steps towards her home with a heart lightc ned and com- orted. It was not so with Juliaq and Blanche, whose spirits were now depressed by the fuller knowledge of sufferings and sorrow which they were still unable to alleviate. The image of their dear and once lovely Evelyn seemed still to be before tiiom as they rode slowly away in an opposite direc- tion. But how changed ! her spirits and wild vivacity oppressed, her beauty faded. Still there was the same beautiful mind jiredominant, whose early piety and angelic disposition they had ever known. " It is that which will sustain her," thought Blanche as she brushed the tears from her cheeks, and prayed to Heaven that so it might be. Julian offered no interruption to the reverie in which the late scene caused her thoughts to be ab- sorbed, and his silence was attributed by her to the same reason. But a far different subject occupied his attention. A chapel clock struck threo as they passed it, and he recollected that it was an houi later than that which he had named to Lady Flo- rence 8t. John as the time for his visit to her. His whole soul was filled with perturbation. How could he present himself before her with his feelings distracted as they were 1 how could he listen to murmurs and complaints which his better reason could not console, and yet which he must compas- •ionate? Still he dared not disappoint her. There was a vehemence and recklessness in her disposition he was well aware, which might lead her to some act of which the eclaf, and odium vi^ould reflect equally upon them both ; and to have his name coupled with that of Lady Florence in the mncan of clubs and satirical journals, at the moment when the chaste influence of Evelyn Cecil had resumed its full empire on his mind, was a thoui^ht which he isonid scarcely bear. His resolve was at length taken. He must go to Belgrave Square. Keeping a little in advance of Blanche, for which the impetuosity of his steed afforded a good pretext, he was thus enabled to ad- dress her without the embarrassment which he felt his countenance must betray, being visible. A for- gotten appointment was the plea urged for leaving her. 'V\ilyn was making her parting adieu to Blanche, ahe little imagined that \he scene was wit- ne.^sed by any cye.q but those most interested in her feelings. Whil.'^t she pressed her dear cousin tenderly in her arms, as they .stood at the entrance to the con servatory, unmindful of all passing objects, thry were looked upon with much curiosity by a stranger, who at the moment was riding slowly by. He wuu young and handsome, and his splendid horse, hia exquisite dress, and whole betiring, disjjlayed the marks of extreme hon ton : still Evelyn, though he? head was turned towards him, observed him not. He was not equally unmindful ; for her beautiful coun- tenance now flushed by excitement, and, although sorrowful, full of animation, almost electrified hi'.Ti w%h its radiant and touching lovchncss. He for an instant checked his horse, and gazed upon her with a fascinated eye, until he felt himself obliged to pro- ceed, lest his bold scrutiny should be observed. He, however, moved slowly away, turning every moment round to observe the motions of the voung ladies, who he guessed were about to part, judging from the riding dress of one and the saddle-horses standif:g near. The next time he looked round the ridii;;; party were gone; and he beheld the beautiful Evelyn advancing with languid steps towards him, accom- panied only by the two children, who with large bouquets in their hands, tripped joyfully by her .-^id!'. The young man stopped, di.smounted, protended to busy himself in adjusting the girths of his .saddle, altered the bridle, in short did everything to retard his movements, until Evelyn reached the part of the road where ho stood. His motive was to catch another glimpse of her lovely features, and then, if possible, form some conjecture as to who or wliat she might be. To judge from her attire, and the circum.stance j of her being alone and unprotected in the public road, she could not be above the lower orders of society ; but still her intimacy with one who legiti- mately, or illegitimately, seemed to take a much higher station, gave a mystery and piquancy to the object of his admiration, that her beauty .scarcely needed in his eyes. A thousand surmises pre.'ientod themselves to his fertile imagination ; and he was just balancing between the probabilities of her being «n opera dancer en retraite. or the assistant at sonie suburban academy, when she arrived clo.se to where he stood. Proudly and firmly now she walked, for .she perceived the inquisitive gaze of the young mnti fixed upon her with an expression which offended and alarmed her. Suddenly the spirited horse, perceiving dotibtlesg how little attentive its master was to its movement-s threw up its head, and made a violent swerve, in an effort to be free. By this he approached so near the footpath, that the two little girls screamed and <-lur;g in terror to their sister. The gentleman immedaitely secured his horse, and then apologized to Evchn in the most courteous terms for the a ann of which i he had been the cause to herself and young com- panions. Evelyn was then obliged to turn her head for a moment towards liim ; but her deep bonnet and thick veil, now most carefully drawn, were tantalizing barriers to his impatient eyes ; and .she merely replied to his words by bowing in the coldest manner. See- ing that he was inclined to detain them by speaking to the still affrighted children, she took them both by the hand, and making a second haughty inclina« tion of the head, she walked ha.stily and resolutely on " By Jove !" exclaimed the stranger, as he slowly remounted his horpe, jnovoked at the rcburt"; yet even more excited '7f his failure, and the dignity THE DUKE AND THE COUSIN '«S and srrace of the object of his admiration. "Here's a riddle, anetter than her anxioug family had dared to hope. Still, in order to a'.hiy the agitation which the birth of the babe under s-o many afflicting circumstances occasioned, the rnedic;«l miin was obliged to have recourse to opium ; and the effect which tiiis might produce on the mind of the patient was still to be proved. The next day, however, dawned ausj'iciously ; and Herbert was enabled to announce the event' to his father with the attend nit reassuring circumstances, oi the well-doing both of the mother and of her infant boy. CHAPTER XXV. "Tranln. 1 liiirn, I piii«, I p(>rish, Tr.inio, If I achieve not tliis yniiii« moaest irirl ; ("oiinsel ine Tranio. fur I know thou c.tiMst; Assist ins, rrJMJio." " What, in the name of nil that is preposterous, «r.ert were shedding many ppon tht? beauteous h(ad which he supported. .Tust then a noise was heard al)ove — a quick step crossing the room — then the opening of a door and footsteps descending rapidly the stairs. The brother and sister both started up ; but there was l)ut a very brief space of agonizing suspense to be endured ; for Rachael hastily entered, and v\ith an April f^ice of smiles and tear.s, exclaimed, " Thank God, my chil- dren ! Your mother is safe I Come, dear Miss Evelyn, your services are now wanted. You must take charge for the pre .sent of the baby." A ru.sh of tears relieved poor Evelyn's bursting heart ; and in an instant she flew after Rachael to the door of her mother's room. There the new-born } infant was placed \\\ her arm.s, and temjerly ho.ding | earnest manner- •• Yitlars," exclaimed the jx-nsive but now awaken- ed Fitx'Henry, " Villars, I have been confoundedly hit to-day." ' " Hit ! Why you don't mean to say that Crocky. got up any h.azard this -evening 1" inquired the Honorable Frederic Villars, bathing the delicate tJpgi of his finc;ers in the water glnss, and then as scrupu- lously drying each with his damask napkin as if ho was completing a toilette instead of a suf-per. "Pshaw !" replied his lordsliip inia prtuliiut tone as though he resented the misconstruction of hia words, "can't a fnan be hit. at anythimrbut nlav "^ I tell you Fye been hit by a woman, and devilishly hard" top !" "Gramercy on his heart!" said Mr. Yillars with a mock compa.-^sion in his tone. " Bat pray let us hear how this thousand and one hit was .struck.' Lord Fitz-Henry now smiled, I it added hi an T H R DUKE A N D T H E COUSIN. " If you choose to listen I will gladly give you the history of my adventures." " liad I tbree-and-tliirty ears I'd gladly hear thoe ; but recollect, Fitz-Hetiry, I will have no hand in this or any of your love affairs," said Mr. Villars, composing himself in his chair in the attitude of a ^etener. " What a bore you have become since your Methodist cousin has had a fortune left her ! Fred," said Lord Fitz-Henry, with a shrug of disgust. " But now for my history. This eventful morning I rode down to Brentford to see some young horses which I have there, and on my return saw something much better worth the seeing, a most exquisitely lovely girl, but so encompassed with inconsistencies, I could not say whether she was a duchess or a -iroken-down tnurcliande dt modes. And the devil's part of the business is, she had so much artificial or real dignity that she effectually repulsed me, even me, who, you know, never am easily rebuffed." ■ " Certainly not, nton cher ; but proceed," was the Bhort interruption offc^red by Mr. Villars, whose slumberous appearance rather incensed the chroni- cler of his own doughty adventures. H's lordship, however, did proceed ; and briefly relating all the particulars told in the preceding chapter, — the appa- rent diff'erence in the rank of the parting friends,— the excessive coldness and high-bearing of the beau- tiful girl whose footsteps he followed ; and her meet- ing with the handsome youth, who was too unlike her to be her brother, yet who, with his arm around her waist, bore her to a mean-looking house with fraternal tenderness at least, if not of the most dc- voted lover. Lord Fitz-Henry concluded by asking his friend's advice. " Why, Fitz," exclaimed the how awakened Vil- lars, " you surely do not mean to yjroceed in your impertinence towards this poor girl ]" g " Most assuredly I mean to proceed with my tender homage to her beauty, which is the best translation of my intentions, Villars," Lord Fitz- Henry replied ; " neither do I intend to rest until I diccovev who she is. and then rums terrojis .'" The conversation was here interrupted, and the two young men separated ; Mr, Villars with the regret of a friend, though a fashionable one, at the innate and never-ceasing profligacy of the young lord ; Lord Fitz-Henry wondering what Jennie Me- ranville would say if she discovered the nature of his intentions for tlie morrow's amusement. On the following morning, however, the usually exlgeante Jennie offered no opposition to his plans. 8he had arranged a very select party to Norwood, and considerately told '* ce cher Fiche- Henri''' he need not trouble himself about her, as the britscha wou'd just hold herself, and dear Aspasie Follian, a:;d he two cavaliers who were to accom])any them. Le cher Fiche rafher frowned as be heard the ar- rangement, but whistling ofi" his dissatisfaction to the tunc of " il segreto per csser felice,'" went his way ; and about one o'clock in the afternoon, the noble youth was seen parading one of the small streets leading out of Kensington. . His appearance certainly very little accorded with the humble character of the place wiiich he had diosen for his promenade, being strikingly distin- guished by his dress, deportment, and great personal /)» amy. He was gazed upon with surf)rise by all wlu> passed, while each individual turned round •gain to stare at the fine gentleman. This, however, he little heeded. His eyes were fixed upon one particular spot, and that was the house inhabited by Evelyn Cecil. , With the usual recklessness of consequences, where a woman was concerned. Lord Fitz-Henry was now bent on seeing and knowing more of our heroine. No sense of propriety interfered to witii- hold him, or the fear of giving pain arid alarm to a virtuous girl. Coute qui route, he must again be- hold her, and he trusted to his own perfections and adroitness to smooth all otlier difficulties. Although very young. Lord Fitz-Henry had al- ready spent a life of pleasure and indulgence, and at the age of twenty-four was almost satiated with unrestrained gratilic^tion. The sole and darling child of a young and dissipated mother, deprived of a father's w.^^lesome restrictions from the nature of his profession and long military career, he had been his own master from his earhest boyhood ; — the use he had made of the mastery was to make himself the slave of every dangerous and debasing passion. Until his mother's death, the tenor of big pursuits and occupations had been well concealed by her from the Duke, his father : in this deceit she had been assisted by his tutor, who had found very soon that his greatest merit in the mother's eyes consisted in leaving the young man to perfect free- dom, so that until that moment, the Buke had been the only one in a certain set, ignorant of the profli- gacy of his son. It was discovered too late. Even Fitz-Henry pleaded the Utter impossibility of chang- ing old habits, and the Duke was forced to consign him to his fate, trusting that time might eff'ect the reform which he found his best endeavors fail to achieve. Handsome, agreeable, rich, and powerful, the whole world appeared to be at his feet, so rarely had his desires ever been opposed. Inheriting much wealth from his mother, whose fortune had been the acting influence on the relations of the young Wal- ter Fitz-Henry, when prevailing on him to n>ake so early a marriage, he was perfectly independent 'of his father, and found that money was a powerful agent to his pleasures and vices. It is sad to think of the fearful ordeal which man in the season of youth is obliged to pass. Pleasure seems to put forth its blossoms on every side ; pas- sion urges him to pluck them while yet he may ; and rushing forward with inconsiderate ardor, the enjoyments are secured, while too often every better principle is lost. Lord Fitz-Henry felt, for the first time, some mis- givings as to the ultimate success which might crown his present pursuit. There was something even in the brief glimpse which he had caught of his thickly veiled divinity, that had staniped her as a being very different from the usual inhabitants of a suburb, who wear straw bonnets and dark shawls. Perl)a[)s this feeling heightened the excitement of his fancy, and I without excitement he could not exist. It hiui be- come as necessary to him as opium to the Turk, or tobacco to the American ; and have it he must in some form or other. After lounging about for some time, and yet see- ing nothing but the same dingy-looking house, which was rendered still more dismal in appearance from the upper windows being closely curtained, Fitz- Henry went to the extremity of peeping over the green canvass blinds into the parlor. His inspection otfeied very little to interest him, merely ena tiling him to see three young children sitting at the table THE DUKE AND THE C IT S T \. ei in the centre of the apartment busily conning their books. All this was very tiresome, and so po- tentially en.nuyeux, that he was half resolved to set olf instantly for Norwood, and see what Jennie and her friend the fair Aspasie were about. But just as he was wearied to the utmost at the dull as[)ect of affairs, it came into his head to go into a shop ex- actly opposite to the house. He thought that there at least he might gain some information with regard to its inhabitants. It was a kind of general grocer's; one who sells all sorts of commodities, and whose heterogeneous htock in trade consists usually in cheeses, bacon, eggs, letter-paper, and sealing-wax, tallow candles and mops, patens and sugar-candy. In he went, hardly knowing what he was going to say or do, and found himself in the midst of various customers, one buying an ounce of tea, a second two rush- lights, and so forth. The smell which issued from this comprehensive magazine was not very agree- able to the fastidious nerves of the c.v:(}uisite Fitz- Henry ; however, he bore it with manly fortitude, and stood at the door with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon the opposite house, waiting until he could command the attention of the mistress of the shop. One by one the customers departed. — Some cl- tnjwing our delicate lordling, as he stood taking up the entrance of the door-way ;, others courtesying re- spectfully, and eyeing him with looks of scrutiny and surprise. At length they were all gone, and the shop-keeper, • fat, gootl-tempered looking woman, with the bland- est tone of voice to which a chandler's shop ever re- SK-unded, ventured to ask, " Can I serve you now, sir]" " Oh ! yes, certainly, by all means," said Fitz- Henry, starting, and remembering, for the first time, that it was doubtless expected he should make some purchase. " If you please, ma'am,"' and his eye glanced inquiringly round the shop, "if you please, I want some' Spanish liquorice and a mop." " How much, sir 1" said the good woman, en- chanted by his courteous bearing. And on his begging for half-a-crown's worth in his simplicity, he saw a piece at least half a yard long wrapped up in brown paper for his use. "Anything more, sir !" was then asked. " Why yes, ma'am," replied Fitz-Henry, begin- ning to be amused at his present predicament, and determined upon doing the thing handsomely, " Sup- pose you put me up half-a-dozen of those mops." "Half-a-dozen, sir!" she said, looking incredu- lous. " Yes, why not 1 And one of those magnificent- looking cheeses," Fitz-Henry said, looking learnedly at the shelf on which they .stood. Refusing with unfeigned horror to taste a bit of the '"prime Cheshire," which was handed over the cof inter to him in a dirty-looking iron implement, he said, taking some sovereigns from his purse, *' And now, ma'am, if you please I will pay you, and will send for these things by-and-by," an expression Tery often used by his lordship for "never." He paid the money, however, to the delighted shopkeeper, wh) never in her life had served so good-looking and affable a customer ; and he begari in an opportune moment the interrogatories he wished to make. "And now, my good lady, that I have transacted I my little busines.s, I just want to ask you a question . or two. Can you tell me who lives in the house op- posite ] The one with the upper windows closed." j " Yes. sir, I can certainly tell you all I knows on the subject, and that's a very loetle." j "But their names," impatiently repeated Lord i Fitz-Henry. \ " Why, sir," she replied, looking mysterious, "they goes by the name of Norton. But my s<5n, who is a bit of a scholard, says he is certain that they are incog — incogs — no, incognaturs, that's what he says they are. And I have reasons for being sure that Norton is not tiieir real and true name." " Do tell me all about it, my dear Madam," said Fitz-Henry anxiously. " By the way, you may ]mt me up two of those fine-looking hams," he added, pointing to some huge dried legs of pork which graced the ceiling. He then paid some more money, and said — " IN ow tell me your reasons for thinking their nam« is not Norton." " I must tell you, sir, that Mrs. Jackson, wha takes in washing, buys all her things at my shop, and sometimes I have a leetle chat with her when I am serving her. Says I, ' Mrs. Jackson, the new folks at No. 5, can't give you much trouble in get- ting up their clothes. I never saw much plainer dressing.' ' I begs your pardon, Mrs. Brown,' sayg she, ' I never set eyes on more beautiful linen.' '•Bless us,' says I, * how odd !' Says she, ' If you will just step over to my house on Saturday, afore I sends home the clothes, I'll just show you some of it. Such shimmie*'! all trimmed with WoJlonseens, and the finest Irish. Then the pocket hankctchers! all cambric, and some with needlework, so pretty and ladylike; and indeed everything to match. But what strikes me odd,' says she to me, ' is that all the harticles is marked with C. and not one with N.' Now, sir." continued Mr.s. Brown, " I always goes a' great deal by the under clothes, and that is a proof positer to me that they are something higher than they seems. You often see your flourishing would- be grandees, with a gown and bonnet on fit for a queen ; and then if you could only catch a look at the shimmy, you would be surprised." j Lord Fitz-Henry coughed away a laugh, not w^ offend the narrator ; and to end the dissertation asked if she had ever seen any of the family. " See them ! why bless you. Miss Norton, as they calls her, comes here very often to pay the bill, sweet, pretty creature ! Would you believe it, sirl'* continued Mrs. Brown, " my son Jeemes has quite lost his heart to her. 'Jeemes,' says I, when he is> going on about her, ' what a fool you are.' ' Mother,' says he, 'a cat may look at the king !' And then he runs on about her being like an angel. And the other day when she took olf her glove to take some money out of hei purse, he really looked as if he could have eaten her little lilly-white hand," "The audacious monster I" muttered Fitz-Henry between his teeth. And then inquired in a tone of affected carelessness, if there was no gentleman be- longing to the family. " Lord bless you ! yes sir ; there's the brother a fine-looking young gentleman, but very proud like, not condescending like Miss Norton — !)ut they are • both good young people, to think of all they have gone through with that sick mother ? The poor soul was brought to bed last night, and then the trouble they had with the dear baf y that died. They ^2 T UK DUKE AN D T H E C O U S I N. jire for all the world, young as they are, like father And mother to tiie little i-hiidren.'' " Have they a father 1" inut to bed. and I soe Miss Norton herself." "How does she look without her bonnet 1" was tlie next question put. " I warrant you she looks like an angel, nothing else in life. Though I must say, sir, that her hair is done funnily ; not a curl, or a bow, or a plait, as [ have seen on the beautiful ladies' heads in the i hair-dressers' shops. Still she looked sweetly pretty, though it was done so mean like." " \'ou are really a charming woman, Mrs. Brown," said Fitz-llenry, fancying tliat he dtitected beauties tluough Mrs. Brown-'s graphic description. "Lor! sir, you are very good," she said, cour- te.sying and smirking, " and if you say so of me, who i have had a family of nine, and brought up seven, < what would you say of Miss Norton I You should have l^eard her thanking me, and saying she v/ould take my kind offer, if so be that they wanted hands. | It was i-'O prettily said, and so like a real lady. I j rvarrant me there is more there than meets the eye." | It appeared as if Mrs. Brown's words were pro- phetic : for at this moment Lord Fitz-Henry, whose ', eyes were constantly fixed upon Evelyns house, j turned very red and then quite pale; while a low- j murnmrcd oath, which being in Spanish did not | scandalize Mrs. Brown, betrayed considerable inward emotion. An apparition had met his eyes which had a most stunning effect upon his senses. It was nothing less tiian the form of his own father, walking quietly up to tlie very door that he had so watched ! He rang gently, a;id in an instant tlie door was opened by the fair creature for whose sake the gallant Fitz- Henry was now suffocating in the grocer's shop! 8hL^ at first started in surprise; but the next mo- ment., as if in a transport of joy and pleasure, she placed both her hands in the extended one of the Duke of Strathhavcn. Fitz-Henry saw him enter, and tlie door was shut. It vva.^ then that the disappointed inamorato, stunned, Itewildered, and annoyed beyond the power of de- scription,- rushed out of the shop ; and hastily seek- ing his horse, which he had left at a neighboring livery-stable, he mounted it, and galloped furiously away. CHAPTER XXVI. * R» of cnorl rheer ; Ymii are f.illen into a princely hand, fear nothing : M'tke your full reference freely to my lord. Who is so full of jjrace, that it flows over On all ihat need." SiMiAKOE events of\en follow eac-h other in quick •UccAssion. Months may elapse, and we live on in one undisturbed routine of sameness; when sud- d Mily a tide of occurrences flow in powerfully ex- citing ai>d agitating the mind, with the unwonted interruption they offer to the monotony which before prev.iiicd. It was thus with Evelyn Ce il. Since the re- moval of her family to Kensin^^ton, except at th pe -iod of tlie poor baby's death, tim ; had moved on with the same slow step, unmarkeings before him. And yet he felt relieved, — that the incognito, which, in a moment of romantic feel- ing he had wished to have observed, was ended ; as he felt that it was every way unworthy his intentions with regard to the Cecils, as also to the open and inanly ch iracter of their father. her watch. Her attenuated countenance a/id hollow The j eyes now spoke of fatigue and anxiety ; and though tiiere was a bright and rosy color on either cheek, it was more the burning flush of weakness and excite- ment, than the beautiful hue which b.ad once adorned her lovely face. He paused for a minute, while a look of deep commiseration and anxiety passed over his features; and then with a kindnesn that spoke more even than the benevolent expression of his looks, said, ** Miss Cecil, you appear fatigued. I fear the cares of your little Tuenage are indeed too much for you. I do not like to ask you to leave your suflfering mother, for I know such a request " Evelyn also became aware of the real name and j would be instantly denied to me ; but purely it wo^ 64 THE DUKE AND THE COUSIiN, , pe a means of lightening your anxieties, and keeping i your invalid ?n greatc quiet, if you would allow i your little sisters and uiy Iriend Edwin to stay with j * me some short time. 1 have much interest m your kind acquiescence to this petition, ior my excellent and early friend Mrs. Cecil half promised me a visit in town, but annexed the condition that she would only come if she could be ol use. I have no plea to urge her to leave Riversdale, but if you will tell me that I may have my htile visitors to meet her, she will, I am certain, at once consent to join us m town. We shall then only have to arrange the return of your gallant father, for you all again to be united. Come, Mr. Cecil, you nmst promise me this pleasure," the Duke added, seeing Evelyn ^ hesitated, ere she could find utterance. " Most gladly — most gratefully," was all that even the usually composed Herbert could say. liut theif kind friejid was not the less convinced of the happiness which his actions conveyed and were meant to convey. Promising that in a lew days he would return to tell them the result of his petition to Mrs. Cecil, and to claim the visit of her grand- children, the Duke then withdrew, leaving those he had so actively befriended overcome at once with joy and bewildering surprise; whilst their young and gladdened hearts sent forth grateiul aspirations that they might be worthy the friendship of so great and good a man CHAPTER XXVII. "The shade of youthful hope is there, Tiiat lingered long, and latest died; Ambition all dissolved to air, With phantom honors by his side. What empty shadows glimmer nigh 7 They once were friendship, truth, and love, Oh ; die to thought— to memory die, i Since lifeless to my heart ye prove." Wk must now for a brief space turn our attention to the father of the youthful bemgs whose happiness formed the subject of the foregoing chapter. Our last mention of Captain Cecil left him en- deavoring to humble his proud spirit, and to resign himself to the conviction that the evils he lamented, and which began forcibly to impress themselves upon his mind, had been, in fact, brought upon him by himself. He recalled with a feeling ot sorrow and shame, how completely he had hitherto sacri- ficed every consideration to the shrine of Mammon. His ambition had taken no higher flight than this world ; and oh ! how flillacions had proved his con- tracted views and wishes. To what had his ambition tended ] Blank disappointment. Where were all the friends who had fluttered around him in the sunshine of his prosperity ] None now appeared to soothe and comfort him ; none, save those who owed him nothing, and who yet appeared to him as messengers of solace sent from Heaven to this his hour of affliction. These were the kind and holy priest, and the generous and benignant man, who j had proposed to be so great a benefactor to his poor i boy. Now bowed down as was his spirit by severe distress, feeling every day more bitterly the separa- tion from his children and his' beloved wife, whose fiitiiation rendered his absence doubly painful, he felt the necessity of looking round for some city of refuge in which he might take shelter; and finding aU on earth tottering and unstable, he turned in the fie!plessne.ss of his misery to Him who is alone un- ehanging and eternal. He cast an anxious and timid glance upon past months and years ; nnn retracing his liie, he listened to the reproach ul voice ot conscience, remen)bering the indilierence with which he had received, and the ingratitmie with which he had wasted the rich gifts that had bee^ bestowed upon iiim. But it wa; now that he began to teel peace, though it was indeed alloyed witn much sadness ; and the ellect of this resignation v. a* not only a calm which grief itself could not take away, with a constant rci-diness to submit to evjrv dispensation of Providen e, but also an active and vigorous n solution whicii v>iilingly undertook ihe most painful exertions, and performed t;.e taskn assigned, whatever struggle they might co?t him. "There I saw One who did set the world at ralm defiance. And pres« right onward with a bnhl reliance ; And lie did sct-m to awe 'I he very fh ulows |)ressiiiu on his hre ist, And, with a strong heart, held himself .n rest " Captain Cecil's literary occupations were of much benefit to him, being at the same time wholcsoine employment for his mind, and great assistance in a pecuniary point of view. The society of Monsieur Liot was also most soothing, but his kind Iriend, however, had been obliged to go to Paris, and his absence threw some gloom on the spirits of Captain Cecil. The kind Frenchman had been everything to one so new to adversity. He had watched him, and had administered to his wants with the tender- ness of a woman ; and, which was still more soothing to him, he seemed ever willing to listen to that end- less subject of conversation, the wife and children of his poor friend. At this time, the heart of Captain Cecil beat with unusual impatience, for the time was drawing near when he might expect to hear of his su 11 bring wife's confiriement, an event to which he looked forward with shrinking dread. It was a stormy, gloomy day. The rain had fallen in torrents all the mornnii. and the heavy atmosphere pressed with tenfold weight upon the loaded spirit of the poor exile. He had passed the morning in working without intermission at his desk, and was now weary and sick at heart. The sun, however, seemed struggling with the clouds, and as he knew by experience that his cares always became lighter under the influence of fresh air and exercise, he determined to walk out, first directing his steps to the post-office. There a letter awaited him ! It jp-at^from Herb rt announcing his mother's safety. It was a sight which might have caused the tear of sympathy to start in many an eye to have seen the adoring husband whilst he read tiiis letter. First a bright glow, and a joyful start of surpri.se ; but in another moment a deadly paleness succeeded ; and soon large drops chased each other rapidly down his cheeks. " My poor, poor Mary !" he ex- claimed at lerigth ; " and have you suffered all thi.^ alone — without my tenderness to support and com- fort you in your hour of trouble! And my poor babe — must I not look upon thy little face, and welcome thee, even to this world of woe '?'' With disordered steps, he walked rapidly on, plan upon plan succeeding each other in his pi r- turbed mind. He thought with dread on the probable results of Mrs. Cecil's confinement, anu the dangerous attacks which she had so often experienced at those times. He .thought, tooi of those periods when her verv lie was threatened by THE D U K K A N D T f I E (3 O U S I N. 85 the frightful malady which obscured hnr riason to a fearful extent ; and how for iiiany long^ weeks, he nlone, merely assisted by a nurse and the visit*j of the doctor, had watched over her, not allowing her to sec another person, or permitting a sound to meet her ear. And now she was alone, except with her dear though iiiex[)erienced children. These ideas rushed to his mind with overwhelming force, as he by chance directed his steps to the quay.' Th^re he saw . a packet getting ready to sail for Southampton. " When do you start ?" inquired Captain Cecil, eagerly, of a sailor. •*In an hour," W9^ the answer. " Then I will go with you." The impulse was not to be resisted. The idea of his embarrassments — of his creditors — even of dis^acc and imprisonment, vanished from his mind ; or but weighed with other things as a straw in the balance. He saw only his wife stretched upon the bed of suffering, perhaps of death; and to be with her — to see her once more, to press even her lifeless form to his devoted heart, would compensate for every thing else. Go he must. Nature and every feeling of atiection urged him to depart; therefore hasten- ing back to his habitation, he made a few hurried preparations, procured his passport, and sailed for Euj^land 'I'he j aesage was boisterous — almost dangerous ; but Captain Cecil heeded not the storm ; his mind was fixed with intensity upon one object alone. It was his wife who filled his every thought. Some- times he saw her in his vivid imagination decked for her nuptials, " In the pride of youth and beauty, with a garland on her brow." Then he beheld her in her matronly character ; but still how fair and lovely ; and oh ! how happy when fancy portrayed her at Riversdale, surrounded by her good and beau- tiful children, turning her soft eyes upon them with maternal love " Thou word that sums all bliss, Gives and receives all bliss, — fullest when most Thou givest! sprinc-head of all felicity, . Deepest when most is drawn! emblem of God! O*erl]owing most when greatest numbers drink." Then again he saw her as she might be now ; and file ice bolt of despair shot through his heart. He fancied her a pale, cold corpse. The idea was too horrible to be borne ; it drew from him a piercing cry as he leaned in solitary wretchedness over the side of the vessel, apart from every one else. The packet at length reached Southampton. Cap- tain Cecil made his way instantly to the Custom- house, and owing to his hastily packed portmanteau, was no^; long detained. Without waiting to take any refreshment, he quickly mounted a coach which was al)out to start for London, and in a few minutes Was advancing rapidly towards his heart's best trea- sure. It poured a heavy rain, during the whole of the comfortless journey ; and most of the passengers r»mplained bitterly of the cold and wind. But Cap- tain Cecil was insensible to every personal inconve- lieftce, so completely and painfully was his mind absorbed by one sad subject. His heart throbbed with increased violence as he approached the metro- I ^Vis, that vast resort of thousands gay, and thou^ ids sad ■ the busy, bustling scene of strife and i ^.leasure. The crowded street, and the noisy clatter, of the | 'chicle over the pavement of Br*>ntford, increased | the nervous es^ tement of his feelings. He was now almost briiiliiing the same atm<)sphere as did hijj beloved Juiuily ; soon he wt^wld press them to his achin.! he.ni : and for a brief moment a thrill of joy passed thidi gh his frame, though in the next he trembled wiih foreboding Utror. A cold feeling of despair b>\giin to pervade lus whole being, and he felt 88 if the eye of the VImighty was for a spacr turned from him. When the heart is opp»-cssed with sorrow, rvci^» former hajipincss is little considered. Life is behchJ in all its gloom ; a dark :loud ye- nis to hai:g over it, and it is condemnui as a scene of universal wretchedness and woe. This is taking a wrong view of thiiigs. We sliould all in affliction endea- vor to bear tn mind to our great and endlens com- fort, that we are not, lik* the unbeliever, left without hope or without God in the world. And when th>.' arrows of adversity are flying thick around us, let us thank th-e Father of all mercies, that with tlu- evils he sends, he infuse^ the joylul hope of future peace ; and tlien with submission, we shall drink out of tfrdt mixed cup which he has prepared foi v* all. The evening had drawn in, and all was gloom and darkness. Captain Cecil alighted at a small inn in Kensington, at which the coach remained for a few minutes, and leaving there his portmanteau, hastily set forth to commence his search Jbr that habitation which contained his precious treasurers* but of whose locality he was not accurately inlbnnesU He made inquiries at several places in some of tiie remote streets, but so little was the family knoviu that he was for a time unsuccessful ; and he tlvMi regretted the haste which had prevented hi^ i^>^^{ seeking Mr. Disney, who would have given him an exact direction." His agitation was increasing at every step he took, when at length chance directf^tl him to the shop of our ci-devant friend Mrs. Brow!-, He found the good lady in deep gossip with a neighbor, and he was obliged to wait a moment before he could command her attention. During that short period, his sensitive ear caught enough oi the conversation to agonize his vei'y soul. " W^el!, have you heard how the poor lady at Nn. 10 is this evening ''" was the question put to th<' shopkeeper, who replied, "Ay bless you, indeed ! have ; and my heart is fit to break ! She is as bad as she can be; quite delirious, her head entirtlv gone — raving of her husband, who it seems is some- where over the sea ; more's the pit}' — or the shame ! And then those poor young creatures; it wring* one's heart to see them. I iiave been over several times to see if I r-in do anything for them ; and oh ! to see that beautiful girl — bo pale, so wanlike — and yet quite the lady through it all. Lawk a me f" added the kind soul, wiping with her broad fat hand, the tears which fell abundantly from her eyes, — " [ could give a good deal to be of some service K) them- But in my opinion, the mother is as good as a dead woman.'' VVhilst this conversation was going on, Captnifi Cecil stood like one transfixed. His whole frame appeared to become rigid, his countenance pale as marble ; while trying in vain even to articulate, he stood like the statue of despair. His strange appear- ance at length caught the eye ol' Mrs. Brown and her companion, 'i'hey looked at each other with surprise mingled alraast with alarm, for he nji^hi have been considered uuBtriict4>J. The goo friends, after a long life of separation, were in one- short minute firmly reunited ; and with hand clasp- ed in hand, poured forth the warmest expressions o friendship and pleasure. The Duke at length said, " I shall If ave it to Mvm Cecil to relate how I discovered the rea*" m of your coldness to your ancient comrade, my de{»r friend. !• must now say adieu ! and hasten to toll the joyful news of your return to your excellent mother, and her little grandchildren. You will explain to Cap- tain Cecil," he added turning to f>elyn, as he was about to withdraw, " how it is that I have at pre^sent such dear and cherished inmates of my home." " No, my dear sir, you must not leave us just a this moment," Evelyn said earnestly, and taking hia hand affectionately, almost forced him to sit by ('af>- tain Cecil, who had again sunk on the couch. "I have indeed a history to tell,"' she continued, as she fell on her knees before her father, and scarcely con- scious of the position she had taken in the enthusi- asm of the moment, she repeated, " I have indeed • history to tell ! but how can I sufficiently describe all we owe to this friend 1 How can I express tlie prompt and deep sympathy he has evinced for our sorrows — how speak of tlie tender assiduity, tho active exertion with which he has befriended us • 68 THE DUKE AND 1' fl?: C 0; C S T X. You must thank him, dear fa'hcr, yotir must join your voice in grateful thunks to Edwin's, to our henefactor." It was a touching and beautiful fij^ht to see this lovely girl kneeling fti all the unstudied* gracefuhiess of innocence and deep feeling, seeking the express- sions which would portray the grateful emotions of her heart. Her l>eautiful hair was parted on her fair brow ; her large blue eyes were raised with earnest looks of appeal to her father, and then again. beamed forth inelTable softness on him upon whose benevo- lence she would fain enlarge, whib her small white hands were pressed upon her heaving bosom, the beauty of her whole form and countenance, render- ed still more strikingly impressive by the attitude she had unconsciously taken, was almost unearthly in its loveliness. The Duke gazed upon her, until the intensity of his feelings made him forgetful of every other con- sideration. He now allowed her to proceed without ' interruption ; though before he had made many [ futile efforts to raise her from the ground, and to etay the current of her eloquence. Although he was Uie theme of her praise he now heard not what she eaid, he only saw, and thought with painful rapture of the angelic being who thus knelt before him. ' He was, however, roused from a reverie of delight, ' mingled with feelintrs of torturing regret, by Captain Cecil himself uttering the warm expressions of gratitude, which the knowledge now imparted to him, of the identity of the Duke of Strathhaven with the generous frigid of his destitute boy called forth. . (i) ■ i With much earnestness the Duke besought his fnend to say no more upon the subject, which evi- dently distressed and overpowered him; adding, " If I have done well, I am as thankful as yon can be ; but, my de?ir friend, do not torture me with thanks : ^or if you could only see into my heart, I fear you vrould find that my motives have only been too selfish ; — the gratification to myself, my most power- ful principle. Who could know your children and not feel for them deeply and unceasingly 1" and his eyes rested upon the countenance of Evelyn, who was now standing in ftn attitude of graceful listless- , iiess by her father's side. ^ I There was something in that glance which for the ' first time spoke in a peculiar manner to the heart of ; the unsophisticated girl. It brought a quick bright j blush into her cheeks ; and she felt that she must avert her eyes rather than encounter the look of passionate tenderness with which the Duke regarded her. To the innocent heart of Evelyn this was all very new — very strange ; and her bosom heaved with reciprocal emotion. She hastily made an ex- cuse to leavf* the room ; saying that she would send Herbert to join his father, while she took his place beside the sleepless couch of her, who now required •uch assiduous watching. - When they were alone the Duke besought Cap- lain Cecil to m ike his mind easy upon every subject connected with pecuniary affairs ; adding, " Do not feel angry or hurt that I; almost a stranger, should j be intimately acquainted with your present necessi- 1 iJea. A sincere friend has united with me, in making | everything easy for the present. So farewell, dear Cecil," he concluded, pressing the hand he held with tnuch warmth ; and before fne aniazed and grateful friend could soeak, the Duke of Strathhaven had left c;ie hons« : . \o lUu^^ niCJHArXER XXIX. "There hreatbes a self divinity in virtue — In crinffid, finassiiiiiin?. generous virtue, Wltos*; very silence speaj^s ; arid U'liirli m-pireB NN itlioiit proud formal lessons, a disdain Of n)ean injiifioua vice." " Bt the by. Fitz-Henry," exclaimed Mr. Villar« ?o the young Lord, as they were riding side by side in the solitude, and amidst the autumnal d ist a-n dead leaves of the Park, "I have forgotte- to asli you. how you got on with your Kensington flame You were red-hot about her the other day, but seen to have cooled very suddenly ; for not a word more have I heard you utfer about her." " Well you may now dro^) the subject entirelv, Fred ; for it is a very sore one to me," replied Fitx- Henry, with that sort of frown which unpleasant recollections produce. " The truth is. I have been completely thrown over ; and if I gave you a thou- sand and one days, you'd never guess my riva!. Upon my word I am not quite sure whether I should tell you anything about it ; but I have been so bo wiUlored, so stunned ; that I am going to take the old women's comfort, and talk about it. I have scarcely yet recovered the regular shock the deuced business gave mo." " I am all curiosity," said Mr. Villars, scarcely understanding whether his friend was in j'\st or earnest ; and not knowing how to account for the serious expression of his countenance, with the in- clination to smile betrayed by his lips, " Well, what is it 1 get on, pray." i "Villars, what do you think of my passing at least half an hour, in a dirty, greasy, infernal chan- dler's shop, opposite to the house where I found that my beauty lived ? There was I. pumping with all my might a fat groceress, and paying dearlv for all the information I obtained ; not only by being stifled to death with the pestilence of tallow candles gnl every kind of filthines.s, but actually obliged for the sake of probability to buy a score of pig's me.Tit and rancid cheeses, for which I even })aid ready money. Well, I got enough out of the fusty dame, however, to interest and excite me to the highest pitch, when in the midst of our colloquy, and whilst I was still standing staring at the abode of my Venus, and listening to my fat friend's story, who .should march up to the house, and walk in with the air of a privi- leged person, but — now, Fred, guess if you can." " Don't be provoking, Fitz-Henry — tell me at once." " Well, would you believe it possible, when I tell you that it was the renowned, the illustrious, the proud, the severe, the virtuous, Duke of Strathhaven — my respected father !" Frederick Villars started, and certainly looked as much surprised as his friend's story was intended to make him ; but in another moment he burst into a fit of laughter. *' This is, indeed, too capital ! My poor Fitz. you are done indeed." He then added, in a more serious tone, " Well, perhaps, it is some consol ition to us mnnvaifi sufeff, to know that there U no such thin^ in this world as perfection. I had really settled the thing ia ray own mind, that your father was as truly s^y?,ss a slender figure, an aquiline nose, a b«d like- ness of his ( par parenthese ,•) you wear a good coat, ride a good horse, and really make up well, mats vo.'/a tout ; — the outside of the edifice is all we must speak about." '• Thank you, Villars ; you're kind and compli- mentary," Lord Fitz-Henry said, wondering how he evqr. liked a man who, thouijh he was a capital fellow in society, and would really stand by a friend .^f|,arovv, had an ungentleinanly habit of preaching, SSil* ^^^'^'^'^ ^^^ called, " setting forth truths." T " Out am I not right, Fitz ?" continued Mr. Villars, rather warming with the subject. '* Don't you think vvitli me, that the Duke is exactly the man for a woman to worship, if once he casts his eye with alfection upon her; to the infinite disparagement of ,suc.h cphemerx as you a;id I, Fitz 1 I know the sex n|-.etty well ; and though the majority of them are enthusi;]istic little devils, there is a good deal of am- bition mixed up with their romance and genuine r;'o!in'gs. They love the sublime, as well as th'e hc.iutiful, my fine fellow. Your father is a glorious creature; and you know what Bulwer says, 'Love borrows greatly from opinion. Pride above all things s'.i-cngthens affection.' ' How could a woman resist hi.ic'a love as the Duke of Strathhaven's — so noble, so irenerous 1 Though you are his son, he is still in the p."iine of his age ; his figure is fine, his counte- nance magnificent. And then only refiect upon his gr'rii'ral character ; his life of glory, the estimation \v!iu-h he holds in the world : what woman would i; it feel the proudest of her sex to be the object of his d'^roirs .?" " Fred, you are very eloquent in your tirade on my lordly father's success witli women ; but you n.-ed not have laid it on so cimpletely at my < x- pvn'^e. It is deuced hard to hav.^ oner's rival's m.^ its ijrought in arrjiy before one, thi-igh that rival may re one's father." " My dear Fitz-Henry, the truth is, that t cannot f^f-Iiear contrasting your father a id such nonentities a^ ourselves. My mare and the flv upon her ear a^c a-; little to be compared. When t think of the B >i)!o Strathhaven. and consider all that he has done f >r his country ; the life of activity and usefulness \y;iioh he has led ; — when I see his manly bearing, and fine military figure, so superior to the enervated el.tborately dressed idler of our cfir/ue, who live but for sunshine and sensual cnjovmcnts ; whose exist- V ce \? \v,i ted in sel^^sh pnrsiiits ; whose talents, if ' tUey chai ce to possess any, are frittered away in ' dissipation ; I cannot but sigh at the sickening con* trast. Tile season of vigor and early manhood,—., how do we spend it ? The precious hours glide swiftly away, but how few are marked with spiritual, moral, or intellectual improvement? I^itz-Henry, 'ou will think that I am prosing, and so perhaps I am ; but you are my friend, and with all your faults I regard you as such ; so you must bear with me, and with the cauda I am about to put to ray exor- dium. Don't knock me down, Fitz : but you, with your youth and good looks, and high io7i and refined taste, are as inferior to your father as — as — as I am; whi), God knows ! consider myself a very worm in his path." The young men were both silent for a few min- utes. At length Fitz-Henry resumed the conversa- tion by asking, " Are you not going to listen to the end of my story? it is a mysterious business, I can assure you. But you are so confoundedly fond of hearing yourself talk, my wonders go for nothing." " I am all attention, Fitz." " Well, then," commenced Fitz-Henry, lookin* at once important and critical, " yesterday morning I happened to be up early, wishing to go out of town to see my coll take its gallop. On returning, it occurred to me that I might as well turn in. as I passed Strathhaven House, and pay my respects io the governor, who I have not seen for six weeks, and whc fancied me in Paris. The groom of the chambert? informed me that his Grace was at break- fast. 'Alone, i suppose?' said L ' Yes, my lord : there is no one with his grace, excepting the two young ladies.' Young ladies ! thought I who the devil can they be? 'Who are they?' inqnireJ I. ' Oh ! only the little Miss Cecils.' ' Show me in,' I said, rather curious on the sul)ject. Well, the doo"* of the library was opened, and what did I see but my illustrious sire, whose sword it seems is tnrneJ into a pap- boat rather than a ploughshare, sittimy and assisting two little girls to breakfast, who were placed at either side of him. They were certainly as lovely as angels, one quite young; four or five, I ■ suppose ; and the other some years older. I looked surprised, as I felt; and the Duke was evidently put out, for he actually turned red. ' I don't disturb you, I hope,' I said. ' Oh ! no, not in the least, sit down ;' and he rang for more breakfast. I had not intended to stay ; but my curiosity was excited, so I settled myself quietly down by the eldest little girl. " There was something in the looks of the chil- dren which completely mystified me ; they were beautiful, and nicely dressed ; but I am positive they are the same I saw walking with my beauty on the Kensington road. To the eldest I could swear, sho is so like her. I never saw two young ladies more at their ease, or more at home with my father, who they called ' dear Duke' at every word, and he sat looking at them with such love and adnnration. Villars, do you thint, they are my sisters ? Upon my honor, from all I heard from the old groceress, with regard to what she calls ' the incognitijr of the family,' I should not wonder. This would indeed completely floor me; and the surmise, as it entered my thoughts, went some way to do so. I swallowed my breakfast at first in silence, being somewhat confused ; and I saw by a glance that the governor was not quite at his ease and would rather that f had not made my appearance. At length I began to think that I had better make up a little to the fe- male cupids ; so I said to the eldest, who was starina ^fo THE DUKE AND THE COT SIN. with her large blue eyes fixed upon me, • And what is your name, pretty one ]' " "'Laura, sir; and pray what is yours?' she an- iv^red, in the prettiest coquettish manner possible. " ' My name is Fitz-Henry,' I said, rather mali- ciously : ' I am that gentleman's little boy.'. " ' Pooh !' she said, pouting her rosy lip, and turn- ing her head indignantly away ; * just as if my clear Duke had such an old boy as you !' Saucy answer, was it not 1 I looked at the Duke, who smiled, but still did not seem quite comfortable. At this mo- ment, his grace's secretary sent to him to say, a a messenger from the Foreign Office was arrived. Ho rose immediately and left the room. Now, thought I, I will get it all out of these little things : and I had just begun to make play, when in walks the |-room of the chambers to tell them they were wanted, and off he marched them, leaving me in the clouds. But," continued the young lord, at once changing his tone, and becoming very red as he pointed to a plain green chariot at a short distance, and for the moment stationary, — " By Jove ! there is Jennie's carriage — and there is Rushford — and there he is half in at the window talking to her. I tell you what — this will never do — that man decidedly ad- mires her, and is always dangling after her. I shall just tell him that if he does not take care, he will soon be able to describe the sensations which a horsewhip over the shoulders may occasion." i " Pray do not be such a fool, Fitz-Henry. Come, ! you had much better leave Rushford to say pretty I nothings to mademoiselle Jennie, and ride with me to Grosvenor Square," said" Mr. Villars, rather anx- ! irxisly, seeing a storm brewing in the imperious bo- | fcom of his friend. j Fitz-Henry unwillingly turned with him. mutter- ! i)ig between his teeth, " I have ceased to care for the ' girl, who, if she fed on pearls, a la Cleopatra, could not be more expensive, but I am not to be made a fool of. Master Rushford !" he then added with a milder expression of countenance, and obeying ra- ther the influence Mr. Villars had gained over his mind than the dictates of good temper. " I suppose you are of Shakspeare's opinion, Fred ! who says— 'I hold him but a fool that will endansfer His body for a girl that loves him not.' So be it ; perhaps I had better defer the horsewhip- pi iig, and go with you to Grosvenor Square. But what are you going to do there ]" " Why, call on Julian Sinclair. I hear all the Clairvillc party are in town; the baroness, heiress, and all." "Julian Sinclair, and Grosvenor Square! why, my good fellow, have you been living in the clouds, or the Thames-tunnel 1 Why poor Sinclair has been lying these last ten days on the point of death, in Belgrave Square, with as broken a head as a man need have. Fitzlrby, who i/in town because Lady &a Cressy is here, thinks Sinclair's illness a feint, and a roundabout way of securing a bonne fortune ,- but I think he is wrong : hear what the Adder says on the subject," he added, taking a small, but greatly poisonous newspaper from his bosom, and reading — " ' We learn that Dr. S— and Mr. B — have de- clared their opinion, that the Honorable J. S— has sustained a slight concussion of the brain in con.se- quence of his fall on the 2()th inst. As a change of residence would be attended with considerable risk, he is still aa inmate of Mr. St. J — 's house, at whose door the accident ocdirred. We understand that the beautiful liady F — remains in town to watch over the unfortunate HulTerer; that lady being an expert adept at St. John J-ong's method of cure that of producing a counter-irritation. It is said she has already rubbed a considerable wound in the young man's left side. — Query, is this family of kin to the late St. John Long ? ' Ay, there's the V./A .'' " "• There, Villars, what do you understand by that?" "Not much, I must confess. But give me some plain version of the story," replied Mr. Villars. " Oh ! it is .soon and simply told ; and I have it from Fitz-Irby, who had it from Lady Florence her- self, as the most approved gossips would say. Julian Sinclair rode to Belgrave Square for the purpose of calling upon the St. Johns, on a young and skittish horse. It appears that Lady Florence was in the bal- cony watching his approach, and waiting to address some words to her, before he dismounted, a pestilen- tial Punch took the opportunity o^ making some discordant exclamation, which so frightened the horse, that it first plunged, and then rearing, Sin- clair fell with his head on the pavement, the horse falling upon him. Lady Florence managed to get down, and was already by his side, before she fainted, and the two inanimate bodies were then carried into j the house together, while a score of messengers were sent for a score of surgeons. The result of their inspec- tion of Mr. Sinclair's hurt was as ' the Adder' relates, — they pronounced it a concussion of the brain, and that the patient mu.st on no account be removed. I am not acquainted with the Clairvilles, neither am I inclined to seek their acquaintance, as I under- stand her ladyship calls me the Duke's ' forlorn hope.' " Villars smiled, but made no comment on Lady Clairville's mot, but asking Fitz-Henry to accom- pany him, they both galloped ofl' to Belgrave Square, to make inquiries concerning the unfortunate Julian. CHAPTER XXX. " She sleeps ! O gentle .Sleep, shed from thy wings Balsamic life o'er .h!1 her tender frame ! From Eden's pure and peaceful fount Draw forth some drops of liquid crystal, And sprinklin