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THE ITAIIUf -&TKL "WATCHZUG- TK TEE ABBEY G&EDEiT FOB. CAK.OLINT1 LTDTlMJ . 
 
DOMINGTON HALL : 
 
 % Mabd, 
 
 C7 CI. 
 
 BT THE 
 
 EEY, F. TALBOT O'DOIS'OGHIIE, B.A., 
 
 ticae of tickbwham, somebset, aitd chaplaix to the maeqttia 09 
 webxheath; avxhob of "bx. eitighion's keite," etc. 
 
 LOjN'DOT^; 
 
 SAUJSTDEES, OTLEY, AND CO., 
 
 66, BROOK STREET, W. 
 
 ilDCCCLXV. 
 
 [All rights reserved.] 
 
LONDON ! 
 
 •R-II/LIAM STEVENS, PEINTEE, 37, BELL TAED, 
 TEMPLE BAE, 
 
<-^ ^., r 
 
 WRITTEN TO RELIEVE A GREAT SORROW, 
 IS DEDICATED 
 TO HER WHO MORE THAN SHARED THE PAIN- 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 March, 1365. 
 
 395 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 "Well, I am glad it is all over at last!" ex- 
 claimed Sir Jolin De Marbury, throwing himself 
 into an easy-chair in his library at Donnington 
 Hall, in Cheshire. " It has been nothing but a 
 scene of eating, and drinking, and speechifpng 
 from early dawn ; and then to have to hear one's 
 own praises sung at such a prodigious rate ! such 
 prophecies too of one's well-doing ! I am heartily 
 tired, I know." 
 
 "You see, John," said a grave, middle-aged 
 lady, who was the only other occupant of the 
 room, " you may get weary of pleasure itself." 
 
 B 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 " But I say, motlier," went on tlie young man, 
 gaily, for lie had no idea of being taken in for a 
 lecture on this the very day of his coming of age, 
 *' how the little curate did lay it on ! I thought 
 he was coming it rather strong, with a vengeance ; 
 and so I fancy did Mr. Hulton. I don't think 
 he very much admired Mr. Jones's display of 
 eloquence." 
 
 '' I suppose Mr. Jones has an eye upon one of 
 your livings. He thinks you may give him one 
 in return for all the fine things he has been saying 
 about you." 
 
 *' Catch me, indeed, doing anything of the sort ! 
 Besides, I don't like him mj-self. He is a great 
 deal too * bumptious' for me." 
 
 '' By the way, John, wasn't it rather odd that 
 Mr. Hulton should have ke^^t away from the 
 dinner in the way he did, only just coming in for 
 a few moments, after the cloth was removed, to 
 propose your health, and then going away again ? 
 I thought it odd." 
 
 " Oh, he explained all about it to me. This is 
 some saint's day or other — St. Peter's day, I think 
 
Dox^'I^'GTO^' hall. 6 
 
 he said — and, as lie has always his two serTices on 
 these days, with the Communion, and as Jones 
 wished so much to be here, why, the rector had 
 to stay at home for the services, and was just able 
 to slip over for half an hour in order to say his 
 say — to show his s}Tiipathy upon the 'joyful 
 occasion,' as he called it. I like Hulton. He is 
 a gentleman, and means well, I think." 
 
 "It is a pity he is so dreadfidly High Church ; 
 yet he was not so when your father gave him the 
 li^uns:. I remember when he used to dance at all 
 the Xewchurch assemblies. I see him now, turn- 
 ing roimd to the orchestra, and clapping his 
 white-kid- gloved hands as a sign for them to 
 change the quadrille. Ah, he has altered since 
 those days ! I only hope it is for the better." 
 
 " WeM, I do confess myself that I have rather 
 a dislike to seeing parsons in the ball-room or 
 hunting-field. I think they may find quite 
 enough to do at home in their parishes." 
 
 "Oh, of course I don't mean tlw.t. But, as 
 Mr. Marshall says, all this wiU- worship, and 
 saint's-day services, and chanting, is sadly in- 
 
 B 2 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 consistent witli the simplicity of our Protestant 
 worship." 
 
 " Well, as you know, mother, there is no great 
 love lost between ]\Ir. Hulton and Mr. Marshall. 
 Marshall always classes Papists and Tractarians 
 together, and, I believe, considers the rector every 
 bit as bad as Mr. Delawney, the priest.'* 
 
 " Was the priest at the dinner to-day ? I haven't 
 noticed him going about." 
 
 '' Oh, that he was, and as jolly as ever. He 
 seemed quite to enjoy the exhibition poor Jones 
 was making of himself after dinner. Poor little 
 fellow ! I imagine an extra glass of wine or two 
 quite upsets him. But I saw that Hulton was 
 annoyed." 
 
 As the reader will have gathered, Sir John De 
 Marbury, upon this 29th day of June, 184 — , at- 
 tained his twenty-first year, and was put in legal 
 possession of the Donnington Hall estates, in 
 Cheshire. There had been a long minority, and, 
 under the judicious management of Lady De 
 Marbury, aided by her experienced man of 
 business at l^ewchurch, Mr. Ardern, the property 
 
DOXNINGTON HALL. 
 
 had somewhat improved in value by the time the 
 son came of age. But still it required very care- 
 ful nursing, as the late Sir Richard had got 
 into great difficulties, owing to his passion for 
 buying land, which, in the end, never paid, or 
 even so much as covered the interest of the money 
 he had been obliged to borrow for the purpose. 
 In consequence. Sir Eichard De Marbury died 
 greatly involved, and his estates, heavily encum- 
 bered, passed, along with the title, to his only 
 son, then a child. Though matters had improved, 
 as we have said, during the minority, yet Sir 
 John De Marbur}^ was soon to learn, after all the 
 bustle and feasting were over, that, though 
 nominally the owner of six thousand a year, yet, 
 after his mother's jointure and other charges 
 upon the property were paid, he had scarcely as 
 many hundreds to Kve upon. This was rather a 
 let-down to his pride — a slight abatement to his 
 satisfaction upon taking possession of the property. 
 However, Mr. Ardern, in the course of a long 
 and confidential sitting, soon after the termination 
 of the coming-of-age festivities, explained to Sir 
 
6 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 John tliat his affairs, tliongli embarrassed at the 
 time, were not irremediably so. 
 
 *' We must sell," said the lawyer, " some of the 
 purchased property, if nothing else can be done. 
 But, before we do this," went on Mr. Ardern, for 
 he saw that the young man winced at the sugges- 
 tion, "we can have recourse to other measures, 
 about which there will be no difficulty now that 
 you are of age. "We must sell the next presenta- 
 tions to Donnington, and also Sproston." 
 
 '' Poor Jones, and his expectations !" thought Sir 
 John to himself; but he only said, " And you think 
 this is absolutely necessary ? I don't much care 
 about Sproston, but I should have liked to have 
 kept Donnington in my own hands ; some man 
 might get it whom I shouldn't like." 
 
 *' "Well, you must take your chance of that. They 
 are both good livings, and I think I can find you 
 purchasers without difficulty. Indeed, I hapj)en 
 to know of a Manchester man " 
 
 " Oh, dear !" exclaimed Sir John — 
 
 " who would be glad to buy Donnington for 
 
 his son, now a boy at school. He would give a 
 
DOXXINGTOX HALL. 7 
 
 good price for it too ; and tlien tlie Rector of Spros- 
 ton is an old man, and the li^-ing is sure to drop 
 soon. Altogether, I conld ensure you several 
 thousand pounds in this war ; and then, "^th 
 this money, we could pay off some of the mort- 
 gagees." 
 
 '' Oh, then, you will want all the money," said 
 Sir John, with rather a blank expression. 
 
 " Why, of course ; by this means you will have 
 something more of an income to live upon. I 
 don't say," went on Mr. Ardern, good-humouredly, 
 and by way of throwing in a sop, "that we 
 may not spare you a few hundreds for any purpose 
 you have a fancy for." 
 
 " A few himdreds won't go far. But neyer 
 mind ; it can't be helped." 
 
 " And then another thing has occurred to me 
 within the last few days. You are paying very 
 high interest on the mortgages — in no case less 
 than six per cent., and in some cases practically 
 ten per cent. Now there is an old fellow in Xew- 
 church, rich as Croesus — I mean old Delyes — of 
 whom you haye heard, I dare say, plenty of stories. 
 
8 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Well, I know that he would have no objection to 
 lend money for reasonable interest upon a safe 
 mortgage. Indeed, he told me as much not long 
 ago, when we were doing some little business to- 
 gether in my office. Now suppose we were to 
 borrow, say, £10,000 from him at four or five per 
 cent,, and pay ofi" some of these people ; why, that 
 would put some himdreds a year in your pocket at 
 once." 
 
 " If you can only manage it with the old fellow, 
 of course I shall be delighted." 
 
 "I think I can;" and with these words the 
 lawyer bundled up his papers, swallowed a mouth- 
 ful of luncheon, and was ofi* in his gig for New- 
 church. 
 
 x\.t Sir John De Marbury's age pecuniary diffi- 
 culties seldom appear very formidable ; and, being 
 a good-looking young fellow enough, with plenty of 
 spirits, and with his title and estate (such as it was), 
 he was not unnaturally disposed to take rather a 
 bright view of things in general, and to rely with 
 implicit faith upon Mr. Ardern's making everything 
 straight for him. Sir John had a great opinion 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 9 
 
 too, tliougli lie didn't show it more tlian lie could 
 help, of his own consequence as a baronet— the only- 
 one in that part of Cheshire ; and, then, was he 
 not a De Marhury, the representative of one of the 
 oldest families in the county, whose ancestor, Ro- 
 bertus Latronus, had come over with the Conqueror ? 
 and were not those his ancestors — De Marburys — 
 those cross-legged knights who were to be seen at 
 Donnington Church ? It must be admitted that 
 Sir John sometimes talked rather big about his 
 " ancestors," and made a few mistakes when he 
 got upon the subject. He was not wanting in in- 
 telligence, though not what would be called clever, 
 but was awfully vain. For, between you and my- 
 self, reader, there was not a drop of the De Mar- 
 bury blood after all in Sir John's veins, and Ro- 
 bertus Latronus, and those knights-templar in the 
 chancel of Donnington Chui'ch, were no more his 
 ancestors than they were yours or mine. The truth 
 of the matter is, that Sir John De Marbury's grand- 
 father, old Dr. Hibbert, being the Rector of Don- 
 nington, had married a half-sister (by the same 
 mother, but not by the same father) of the last of 
 
10 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 the old line, Sir Hugh De Marbury, who, dying 
 without issue, and without any other near relations 
 of his own, left all his property to his half-sister's 
 son, Eichard Hibbert, who was very shortly after- 
 wards transmuted, by Royal permission under the 
 sign manual, into Eichard De Marbury ; and, upon 
 his marrying a daughter of Lord Clapham, the pos- 
 sessor of large estates in Lancashire, and a man 
 of great political influence at the time, the De 
 Marbmy baronetcy was revived in the person of 
 the actual possessor of Donnington, and from him, 
 as already narrated, both title and estates passed 
 to the son. So that, altogether, when Sir John 
 De Marbury produced his splendidly emblazoned 
 genealogical tree, or dwelt upon the gallant deeds 
 of sundry of the De Marbury s (which he had 
 read of in Dr. Flummery's County History), 
 and when he talked with contempt of such and 
 such a one being a novtts homo, though undoubtedly 
 an impression was produced upon young Mr. Jones, 
 the curate, who was perhaps dining with his 
 squire at the time, and though a feeling of awe 
 would creep over his unsophisticated mind at 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. H 
 
 beholding (tlirongli tlie medium, possibly, of two 
 or three glasses of sherry) the lineal descendant, 
 as he fondly imagined, of that yery Eobertus 
 Latronus whose name figured at the toj) of the 
 family tree, — yet, in the ears of the older and 
 more knowing portion of the. community, this 
 boasting of his pedigree savoured strongly of the 
 ludicrous. However, Sir John was, for all that, a 
 firm believer in his owti pretensions, and as com- 
 pletely ignored the existence of his great grand- 
 father, who was a surgeon- apothecary in a very 
 small way in Newchurch (a few old people could 
 jmt remember him), as if there never had been 
 any such person. And he accordingly climg to 
 the De Marburys, and dilated upon their exploits, 
 just as if their red blood, and not the puddle of 
 the surgeon-apothecary, trickled through his veins. 
 Except for this weakness — a pardonable one 
 after all — Sir John was likely to make his way, 
 and rise in the estimation of his brother squires 
 and of people generally. He went in for all the 
 county honours, picked up a smattering of law 
 from the newspapers, and, after a time, presided 
 
12 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 occasionally, with, some credit too, at quarter 
 sessions in tlie absence of old Lord Powderham. 
 He was a favourite witli tlie barristers, who were 
 glad to be asked out to dine at Donnington, and 
 sometimes even to spend a day or two tliere. So 
 they winked at any slips Sir John migbt make in 
 his law, and, with one consent, while skirmishing 
 with each other as usual, treated the chairman 
 with unvarying resj)ect, and helped him out of 
 his little difficulties. And it was to some extent 
 the same at agricultural dinners : Sir John, after 
 he came of age, was in great request as chairman. 
 He had some humour about him, and could throw 
 off the little speeches expected on such occasions 
 in a highly satisfactory manner. It was only 
 when he came to real business matters — to pro- 
 nouncing his opinion ex cathedra upon short horns 
 and long horns, upon broad-breasted beasts and 
 narrow-breasted, upon the best way of making 
 cheese, and the like — that he found himself in a 
 hobble. The farmers were by no means so com- 
 plaisant as the barristers, and it only required for 
 the chairman to drop a word in favour of short 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 13 
 
 horns to liave all tlie long horns (speaking meta- 
 phorically) thrust on all sides of him : the broad- 
 breasters would be down upon him with indigna- 
 tion for his panegyric upon the narrow-breasts. 
 And as for Sir John (who, as new to the thing, 
 rather prided himself upon giving advice to the 
 farmers) venturing to find fault with the way in 
 which the Cheshire dairymaids made their cheese, 
 or in which the farmers cultivated their land, why, 
 poor Sir John had better have kept his well-meant 
 advice to himself. For forthwith, upon one occa- 
 sion in particular, there arose such a tremendous 
 hubbub on all sides, such storms of hisses and 
 cat- calls, and other such sounds which never fall 
 gratefully upon a speaker's ear, that, though 
 obliged to weather it all out, and even to appear 
 amused by it, yet it is believed that it was upon 
 that memorable occasion Sir John registered a 
 vow never again to seek to illumine the darkened 
 minds of Cheshire farmers, but to leave them to 
 their own ignorance and bad farming for the 
 future. And there is some reason to suppose, too, 
 that he kept to his resolution ; for it was observed 
 
14 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 that lie was ever afterwards remarkably sliy of 
 offering advice at mixed agricultural meetings in 
 his own county. With this exception — when the 
 young squire, upon more than one occasion, would 
 have done well to have called to mind, and to 
 have acted upon, a certain well-laiown Latin 
 maxim, which implies that everybody is supjjosed 
 to imderstand his own business best — all went well 
 with him : he was becoming generally popular in 
 the count}^ ; his reign had opened auspiciously ; and 
 so here we leave him for the present, and turn to 
 others who are to figure in this history. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 15 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Ajs'd now to go back a little to Sir John's father. 
 \Yhen it was imderstood that young Richard Hib- 
 bert was engaged to be married to the Honourable 
 Elizabeth Simeon, Lord Clapham's eldest daughter, 
 he was rallied a good deal by the county wits upon 
 his choice of a " saint " as his wife. Not that 
 anything particular was known of the young lady 
 either one way or another, either for or against 
 her. She was, indeed, too young at the time of 
 her engagement for her character to be formed. 
 But then she came of a very " strict family," and 
 it seemed to be quite a matter of course that every 
 one bearing the name of Simeon should be very 
 Evangelical and Low Church. IN'or was this 
 notion entirely dispelled until the eldest son and 
 
16 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 heir to tlie title astonished tlie world one day by- 
 turning Roman Catholic, and ever afterwards dis- 
 playing an extraordinary degree of bitterness 
 against his former co-religionists, and especially 
 that particular section of them of which his father 
 continued to be the honoured and influential 
 leader. 
 
 Lady De Marbury brought with her to her hus- 
 band's house all the traditions amongst which she 
 had been brought up. Her father had been the 
 friend and adviser of Wilberforce and Thornton ; 
 and the peculiar tenets which are identified with 
 their names represented to her mind the only 
 vital religion in existence. How Miss Simeon or 
 her parents ever came to view with any degree 
 of favour such a wild, rattling, good-natured young 
 fellow as Dick Hibbert was a puzzle to many. 
 Nor was it quite easy to see what attractions the 
 young lady possessed in her lover's eyes ; for she 
 was homely-looking enough, always dressed with- 
 out taste, and brought but little fortune with her. 
 She had, however, prudence, and a fair share of 
 common sense — two qualities in which Sir Richard 
 
DOXNINGTON HALL. 17 
 
 was woefully deficient. And tlien tlie connection 
 was a good one, and it was not long before Lord 
 Clapham exerted his considerable political influence 
 in obtaining a reyiyal of the baronetcy in fayour 
 of his son-in-law, who had just changed his name 
 of Hibbert for De Marbury. Altogether, there 
 was less disparity about the alliance than seemed 
 at first sight : on one side, a title, a good income, 
 and a fine place situated in one of the most desir- 
 able parts of Cheshire ; on the other, a respectable 
 connection, and a good position in society. Richard 
 Hibbert, too, though careless and reckless enough 
 in his habits, and devoted to field-sports, yet was 
 not wanting in affection for his wife, and readily 
 fell in with any of her little plans for promoting 
 the spiritual welfare of the tenantry or improving 
 the education of their children. Accordingly, 
 school-houses were built on the estate at her 
 instance, and efficient masters and mistresses pro- 
 vided. But what Lady De Marbury prized more 
 than anything else, and which was only brought 
 about by her own persevering efforts, was the 
 erection by her husband of a plain-looking edifice, 
 
 c 
 
18 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 whicli was to serve as a clmrcli for tlie use of the 
 tenants and others who might choose to resort to it 
 in preference to the parish church of Donnington, 
 which was situated about a mile and a half from 
 the Hall. 
 
 This chapel, which was in a corner of the 
 demesne, and which appeared to have been 
 built after the model of a meeting-house, was only 
 licensed, not consecrated ; so that, as Sir Richard 
 used sometimes to say, by way of a boast, and 
 her ladyship by way of a kind of threat levelled 
 at the rector, it might any day be diverted to 
 some other purpose — a barn, for instance, or a 
 Dissenting meeting-house. This chapel was a con- 
 tinual bone of contention between Sir Richard, or 
 rather Lady De Marbury, and the rector, Mr. 
 Hulton, then a young man. From the very first 
 her ladyship had expressed dissatisfaction with the 
 minister whom she found in possession at Donning- 
 ton ; and this dissatisfaction kept increasing until 
 it displayed itself openly in the erection, within 
 the demesne, of a chapel for the use of the Hall 
 family and tenantry. First it was Mr. Plulton's 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 19 
 
 " worldliness " that was complained of, and his 
 frequent appearance at the IN^ewchurch assemblies, 
 where he attracted Lady De Marbiiry's unfayoiir- 
 able observation upon the only occasion, soon after 
 his marriage, that she could be induced, at her 
 husband's earnest entreaty, to fayour that resort 
 of county fashion with her presence ; and when, in 
 course of time, 3Ir. Hulton married and " settled,'* 
 and began to take up with "High Church no- 
 tions," and to introduce frequent choral services, and 
 to preach in his surplice, and to keep saints' days, it 
 was then that Lady De Marbury's indignation 
 boiled oyer. And it is not too much to say that 
 the aj)pearance of the surplice in Donnington 
 pulpit was what gave the final and strongest im- 
 petus to the erection of the family chaj^el. Lady 
 De Marbury gave her husband no peace until the 
 building was set about ; and, as ever^-thing was to 
 be " as plain as possible," at the special instance 
 of Lord Clapham, who, as well as different members 
 of his family, was a frequent visitor at Donnington 
 Hall, it was not long before the edifice was com- 
 pleted, and the chapel ready to be '' opened." A 
 
 c 2 
 
20 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 delay, indeed, occurred in consequence of the 
 rector's determined hostility to the opening of 
 what he foresaw would be a regular opposition 
 place of worshi]3 in his parish ; and many and 
 disagreeable were the letters which passred between 
 him and Sir Richard on the subject. The Bishop's 
 interference was invoked b}^ both parties. He was 
 a timorous man, and for some time endeavoured to 
 effect a compromise between them. His religious 
 sympathies were, indeed, all with the Hall people, 
 and, besides, he had a particular dislike to fall- 
 ing out with any of the " county families." But 
 then he could not very well throw the rector over- 
 board, who, he Ivnew, had law and usage on his 
 side. So he vainly endeavoured to induce Sir 
 Richard and Lady De Marbury to allow the rector 
 to nominate a minister to the chapel, he also un- 
 dertaking to pay the sti]3end. But this was re- 
 fused point-blank, and with something like con- 
 tempt. It then came down to, might the rector 
 have a veto in the appointment ? This was also 
 refused, and most decidedly. Things were now 
 at a dead lock, and Mr. Hulton and his wife, who 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 21 
 
 was quite as strong a partisan on lier husband's 
 side of tlie question as Lady De Marbury was on 
 the opposite side, began to flatter themselves that 
 the day was theirs, that the " Clapham faction " 
 were defeated. But they little knew her ladyship, 
 or the resources which her noble father (who had 
 been the secret adviser throughout) had to fall 
 back upon (if everything else failed), sooner than 
 yield to their "High Church" rector. Accord- 
 ingly, a studiously civil intimation was sent to the 
 Bishop that it was Sir Bichard De Marbury' s in- 
 tention to have the chapel that he had built licensed 
 as a Dissenting meeting-house. This effected what, 
 perhaps, nothing else would. Mr. Hulton shrunk 
 with horror at the idea of a meeting-house within 
 the very park, and of so many of his people being 
 encouraged to declare themselves Dissenters ; so 
 that, at the Bishop's urgent request, he withdrew his 
 opposition ; and thus Donnington Chapel was duly 
 licensed for public worship, " according to the rites 
 and ceremonies of the United Church of England 
 and Ireland." The great thing now was to get 
 a "popular preacher," and (though such a thing was 
 
22 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 never named, yet it must have been uppermost in 
 her ladyship's mind all along) to " empty the parish 
 church ;" and then Lady De Marbury's triumph 
 over the rector and his wife would be complete. 
 
 In the meantime that care which her ladyship 
 took of the morals of the people about her, and the 
 vigilant supervision which she exercised (each year 
 more strictly) over their affairs in general, might 
 with great advantage have been brought to bear 
 upon her husband and his concerns. Poor Dick 
 De Marbury (as he was generally called) made no 
 pretensions to religion. He, perhaps, thought 
 that his wife possessed a supererogation of it which 
 might be of avail to himself. At any rate, he was 
 the best of husbands in lea^ang her alone, to be as 
 religious as ever she liked, and to eschew balls 
 and Newchurch assemblies to the end of her days, 
 and he found her money for all her pet plans and 
 projects. But then it was pretty clearly under- 
 stood that he was not to be interfered ^vdth himself. 
 He was to hunt, and shoot, and fish, to his heart's 
 content. He liked, too, to have his house full of 
 company of one kind or another. Even old Lord 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 23 
 
 Clapliam, lie would say, with his long extempore 
 prayers, both morning and evening, and his end- 
 less preaching, even he was better than nobody. 
 Altogether, Sir Richard pursued a somewhat reck- 
 less course, Kving much above his income (as was 
 discovered when it was too late), and constantly 
 making extravagant purchases of land ; and, if his 
 peccadilloes of another sort did not create any 
 public scandal, it is to be feared that a dread of 
 offending his rigidly proper wife, and her high- 
 born connections, contributed very materiallv to 
 the outward appearance of decorum which Sir 
 Kichard invariably maintained. However, the end 
 was not long in coming. Comparatively young as 
 he was, yet early dissipation and "living hard," 
 in the frequent company of his sporting com- 
 panions, cut short poor Dick's days in his thirty- 
 first year : he was carried off in a few days by 
 gastric fever, and a hatchment over the door of 
 Donnington Hall, and a long inscription, setting 
 forth all his virtues, followed by a text of Scrip- 
 ture, beautifully executed on a marble slab in 
 Donnington Church, were very soon all that 
 
24 DONNINGTOX HALL. 
 
 remained to remind people of poor Dick De 
 Marbury. 
 
 Ttie grief of persons of Lady De Marbury's 
 cbaracter is usually not very intense. She quietly 
 took it for granted that her husband was in heaven 
 — a haj)py inconsistency — for, if only one-half of 
 that which her favourite preacher at the chapel 
 dinned into people's ears, Sunday after Sunday, was 
 true, when he ap]Darently consigned nine-tenths of 
 mankind to eternal perdition, it is to be feared that 
 poor Dick's hahitat was not exactly where his fond 
 wife placed it. However, such reflections did not 
 seem to trouble Lady De Marbury. She dwelt com- 
 placently upon the many schools and churches which 
 her deceased husband had contributed towards — 
 and especially upon that one crowning act of his life, 
 the erection of Donnington Chapel, and the anxiety 
 he had always expressed that his tenants and ser- 
 vants should be regular in their attendance at 
 church ; and so she arrived at the comfortable 
 conclusion that, under an apparent carelessness and 
 even boyishness of demeanour, there was laid up a 
 store of deep religious feeling and conscientious- 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 25 
 
 ness in lier late husband's bosom wbicb, bad bis 
 life only been prolonged, would no doubt bave 
 developed itself and borne much fruit. 
 
 Consoled by sucb reflections, ber ladysbip de- 
 voted berself to looking into ber deceased bus- 
 band's afiairs, and to tbe care and bringing-up 
 of ber only cbild, tben a boy of ten or eleven. 
 Averse to public scbools, and from an unwilling- 
 ness to lose sigbt of ber child, Lady De Marbury 
 was srlad to turn to account the classical abilities 
 of Mr. Hulton's curate, and to intrust young Sir 
 John to his tuition. Accordingly, every morning, 
 except Sundays, the lad might be seen trotting 
 across tbe park upon his pony and making for tbe 
 curate's lodgings, near the church. Sir Eichard's 
 early and imlooked-for death had done something 
 towards healing the breach between the Hall and 
 the Rectory. He had always been partial to Mr. 
 Hulton, as his widow would mention in conversa- 
 tion, alleging it as an instance of Sir Richard's 
 great goodness of heart and forgiving disposition. 
 And, thouo^b irritated at the time at what he 
 considered tbe rector's vexatious opposition to his 
 
26 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 wishes in the matter of the chapel, yet, for some 
 time before his death, he had resumed his attend- 
 ance of an afternoon at the parish church, and had 
 even made some overtures towards a reconciliation 
 with the rector and his wife. 
 
 " Hang it !" Sir Eichard used sometimes to say- 
 to one of his sporting companions; "why ever 
 did Hidton go and run counter to my Lady? 
 There, there is a stop put to all our intercourse. 
 And I used to like Hulton to come up and dine 
 here, and to have a chat with him. And there is 
 his wife too — a prettier, nicer, brighter little 
 thing I don't know an where ! They are as 
 different as chalk is from cheese from that groan- 
 ing, cadaverous-looking fellow and his vulgar 
 wife that we have got at our chapel here. It 
 was that precious father-in-law of mine who sent 
 them here. I only wish I had caught a sight of 
 the fellow's phiz before I engaged him. And 
 then he preaches such tremendously long sermons, 
 and drops his A's and all that sort of thing. He 
 is a literate, or something of that sort ; and we 
 can never have him at table when there is any one 
 
DONXIXGTON HALL. 27 
 
 stajdng here. As for his wife, happily we are 
 spared that infliction." 
 
 In this way used Sir Kichard to run on ; and it 
 must be admitted that, down to the time of his 
 death, the chapel had not quite fulfilled his or 
 Lady De Marbury's expectations. The sort of 
 men who came there were decidedly not desirable. 
 And then there were such frequent changes. 
 The position of the minister of the chapel, or the 
 chaplain, as he was sometimes called, was an 
 awkward one. He had no cure of souls — ^had no 
 right, strictly speaking, to visit ministerially in 
 the parish, or to perform any other clerical office 
 whatever outside the walls of his little chapel. 
 And then the rector, Mr. Hulton, kept a very 
 sharp eye upon the Hall chaplain and his doings, 
 and would by no means, if he could possibly help 
 it, permit the allegiance of his flock to be tampered 
 with. He was, therefore, now more than doubly 
 assiduous in his pastoral visiting, and would look 
 up absentees from church with untiring energy. 
 Besides, being a man of good family, and having 
 been for so many years rector of the parish, and 
 
28 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 therefore well known to every one, lie had 
 manifestly a considerable advantage over those 
 nameless individuals who from time to time filled 
 the office of chaplain at Donnington Hall. Alto- 
 gether, the position of the chaplain was not an 
 enviable one. So things went on dmnng Sir 
 Richard's lifetime. And when, some time after 
 his death, Lady De Marbury made an effort to 
 secure the services of some one superior to the 
 general run of those who had been hitherto 
 officiating at the chapel, her object being that her 
 chaplain should also act as tutor to her son, and 
 be a companion for him, the result was not happy. 
 For the new chaplain, a native of the sister isle, 
 and fresh from Trinity College, Dublin, did not 
 exactly combine the qualifications she looked for 
 in her chaplain. He was a great deal too young 
 and inexperienced, she thought, to prove a useful 
 tutor for her son. And then he spoke with a 
 strong Irish accent which grated upon her lady- 
 shij)'s fastidious ears. However, he soon made 
 himself at home, and became a prodigious 
 favourite with the little baronet, and popular 
 
DONXINGTOX HALL. 29 
 
 witli the servants. He was a tall, liaiidsome, good- 
 looking young fellow, with, a pair of most nn- 
 clerical black whiskers, and with brilliant dark 
 eyes, which the housemaid, Bettv, declared were 
 "beauties." His sermons, too, delivered with all 
 the national fire, were greatly admired. "Xot 
 much in them, certainly," Lady De Marbury 
 would say confidentially to her friends, " and too 
 many flowers and figures of speech for my fancy ; 
 but still people like them : they are more rousing 
 and energetic than poor Mr. Thomas's ; and, alto- 
 gether, I suppose we must be satisfied. He is 
 very yoimg too, and I suppose will improve as he 
 gets older." 
 
 But what commended him most in her lady- 
 ship's eyes was the unconmion fancy that her son, 
 young Sir John, seemed to have taken to the new 
 chaplain. They were inseparables ; and young 
 MacMahon — that was the chaplain's name — being 
 very strong and active, and expert at various out- 
 of-door games, won the admiration of all. Even the 
 rector called on him, and asked him to dinner ; and 
 both he and Mrs. Hulton coidd not but be amused 
 
30 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 at their guest's native drollery and good-humour. 
 He was certainly very different from all his pre- 
 decessors at the chapel. Lady De Marbury did 
 not know what to think of it, and could not make 
 up her mind whether she liked the new chaplain 
 or not. He was rather volatile, she thought ; and 
 then her father didn't approve of him, that was 
 plain, and seldom even spoke to him when staying 
 at Donnington, But this may have been prejudice ; 
 and he was getting an old man now ; and perhaps 
 he thought that Mr. MacMahon did not treat him 
 with sufficient respect. So her ladyship thought 
 she would let things go on as they were ; only she 
 hoped that her son was learning something. She 
 was afraid that he did not look up to his tutor 
 enough. She would consult the rector aboiit it. 
 In the meantime the chaplain was becoming quite 
 paternal in his feelings towards his little pupil, 
 and loaded him with presents. He would pat him 
 on the head, and bid him be a good boy, and he 
 would always have a friend in Tom MacMahon. 
 It began to be noticed, too, that the chaplain was 
 more for giving his opinion to the steward and 
 
DONNI^'GTOX HALL. 31 
 
 gardener, and people about the place, than he had 
 been. He even once countermanded the cutting 
 down of a favourite tree — a piece of interference, 
 however, which he never attempted to repeat after 
 the blowing- up he got from the Scotch steward, 
 who was a Presbyterian, and disliked all parsons 
 except those of his own persuasion. MacMahon 
 was too good-humoured to bear ill-will against the 
 man ; so he only laughed at him, and called him 
 '' a crusty old fellow." About this time, too — for 
 it all got well talked of afterwards — the chaplain's 
 sermons became more than ever poetical and 
 incomprehensible. Scraps of paper, too, in his 
 handwriting, and containing long extracts from 
 Moore and Byron, would be found lying about the 
 house, and would turn up at odd times and places. 
 Sometimes they would flutter out of books which 
 Lady De Marbury was in the habit of reading, or 
 make their a^Dpearance between the leaves of the 
 drawing-room blotting-book, at which her ladyship 
 wrote most of her notes. It was some time before 
 Lady De Marbury could in the least imderstand 
 these scraps of paper, when she attempted to read the 
 
32 do:n'nington hall. 
 
 first few lines of tliem ; for fartlier slie never went. 
 Slie liacl never heard of Moore in her life, much 
 less read any of his profane poetry ; and as for 
 Bj^ron, she only knew him as a Lord, and a very 
 wicked one too, who was separated from his wife, 
 and had written a great deal that was objectionable. 
 As for any chaplain of hers, who had the imlimited 
 entree of the house, being an admirer of such a cha- 
 racter, or of his writings, such a di^eadful thought 
 would never be likely to cross her ladyship's 
 mind. She had no taste for poetry herself, except 
 in the shape of hymns, and could never understand 
 people — serious people too — admiring what usually 
 struck her as a farrago of nonsense. When 
 such scraps of paper thus turned up, it never 
 entered Lady De Marbury's mind to attach any 
 importance to them. She never read them bej^ond 
 the first line or two ; but, perceiving them to be 
 in rhjTiie, and in her chaplain's handwriting, she 
 came to the conclusion, they were written so care- 
 fully, that he was endeavouring to improve his 
 hand, none of the best at any time ; or possibly 
 they were, she thought, "nonsense- verses," of which 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 33 
 
 she remembered to liave heard sometlimg in lier 
 school-room, days, and designed probably for the 
 instruction of her son. She never attached the 
 slightest personal meaning to the verses ; and 
 accordingly, when her eye happened to light uj^on 
 
 *' Come to my bosom, my own stricken deer I " 
 
 in the chaplain's handwriting, it never occurred 
 to her that the " stricken deer " was that great, 
 tall, black-whiskered young fellow whom she 
 encountered twenty times a day in one place or 
 another, and that the invitation was supposed to 
 , issue from her own matronly lips. However, 
 things went on as usual for a time, the chaplain 
 seeking in vain for signs of consciousness in Lady 
 De Marbury's countenance ; vrhen, upon a vreek- 
 day evening, after there had been the usual once- 
 a-week service in the chapel, and after a sermon 
 delivered with more than usual energy, the chaj)- 
 lain resolved to declare his passion, which he had 
 persuaded himself needed only to he declared in 
 order to ensure an ardent return ; and so, taking 
 advantage of a quiet half-hour when the servants 
 
34 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 liacl gone to suj)per, and after Sir Jolin had retired 
 for the niglit (lie said lie was going to bed shortly, 
 but he first paid a visit to the harness-room, where 
 he was taking lessons in smoking from one of the 
 stable-helpers), thus, choosing his opportunity, 
 and speaking in a very weak, fluttering voice, poor 
 MacMahon disclosed to the widow the meaning of 
 all those mysterious scraps of paper which had so 
 long puzzled her ; drew attention to his own 
 altered looks, as evidence of the sincerity of his 
 passion ; and finally, as not a word fell all the time 
 from the lady, made a vain attempt to possess 
 himself of her hand, while he devoted himself 
 heart and soul to her future happiness, if she 
 would accej)t him, and thereby make him the 
 happiest of men. Poor Mac (as his friends fami- 
 liarly called him) had never a very clear idea, 
 when he recurred to the subject, as he frequently 
 did in after times, as to what the widow actually 
 did say to him on this occasion. He had only a 
 vague recollection of her angrily drawing away 
 her hand, and pushing back her chair, and saying 
 something about his having lost his senses, to be 
 
DONXINGTON HALL. 35 
 
 guilty of such impertinence, and then of a hurried 
 movement towards the bell, and then of finding 
 himself in the hall, and of letting himself out of 
 the door before the servant who had been runo^ for 
 had time to come and be a witness to his dissTace. 
 Poor MacMahon's thoughts were none of the 
 clearest as he made his way through the shrubbery 
 on that moonlight night towards his farm-house 
 lodgings, at a Kttle distance off. " What ever is 
 to be done?" he found himself saying twenty 
 times in the course of that night and the following 
 morning. However, he was not long left in doubt. 
 " A servant from the Hall, sir, has brought this 
 letter," said the woman who waited on him — the 
 farmer's wife — '' and please, sir, he says he is to 
 take back a receipt." 
 
 " Yery well, Mrs. Clarke. Let him wait for a 
 minute ; I will tell jow when it is ready." A thin, 
 coloured piece of paper of an oblong shape fell 
 from the opened letter. It was a cheque upon 
 Messrs. Jones, Loyd, and Co., of Manchester, for 
 the amount of a quarter's salary in advance. This 
 told its own tale plainly enough. There were 
 
 D 2 
 
36 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 but two or three lines written on a sheet of note- 
 paper. 
 
 " Lady De Marbury encloses Mr. MacMabon a 
 quarter's salary in advance, and has no further 
 occasion for his services. 
 
 " Donnington Hall, Oct. 184—." 
 
 *' Poor Mac, I am sorry you are going,*' cried 
 out the little baronet, bursting into the room soon 
 after Mr. MacMahon's receipt of the letter ; " and 
 we are all sorr}^ for you — the servants, and all ; 
 they have been just telling me so ; and Jack Tom- 
 linson says he will put the horse into the trap any 
 time you want it, and drive you to the station. 
 You wanted to marry mamma, I hear. But that 
 wouldn't do, you know. And they are all 
 sajdng, in the servants' hall, how mad grandpapa 
 will be with you when he hears of it ; and he is 
 coming down to-day by the mail-train." 
 
 *'Well, good-bye, my boy," said MacMahon, 
 with an attempt at cheerfulness ; '' your mother 
 needn't have been so hard on me, and talked about 
 it, as she seems to have done." 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 37 
 
 " Oh, everybody knows it by tbis time. 'Bye, 
 'bye, Mac ;" and off scampered tbe young baronet 
 to tell bis mamma " bow awfully cut up old Mac 
 seemed to be." Poor MacMabon's arrangements 
 were soon made. A carpet-bag and portmanteau 
 — to follow bim to tbe station — contained all bis 
 worldly goods. His landlady was settled witb ; 
 ber busband was called out of tbe field ; tben tbere 
 was a general sbaking of bands and wisbing of 
 good-byes and " God bless you's f and so tbe Rev. 
 Tbomas MacMabon turned bis back witb a sore 
 beart enougb upon tbe pleasant woods and green 
 fields of Donnington Hall. 
 
38 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 ArxER this little affair of Mr. MacMahon's, whicli 
 the widow talked of quite openly and with con- 
 siderable bitterness, there was an interregniun 
 at the chapel for some time, and the duty 
 was taken by the master of the grammar-school 
 at Newchurch. An arrangement was next made 
 with Mr. Hulton that he should allow one of his 
 curates to officiate occasionally. And so, one way 
 or another, the services were kept up. And thus 
 things remained until within about a year of the 
 coming of age of Sir John. It so happened then 
 that an application for the chaplaincy, from one 
 the Eey. Paul Marshall, reached Lady De Mar- 
 bury through the medium of a " Christian friend," 
 who had heard Mr. Marshall highly spoken of in 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 39 
 
 Brighton a year or two previously. Mr. Marshall 
 had only just lately returned from abroad, where 
 he had been, it was understood, for the benefit of 
 his health. He was a middle-aged man, Lady De 
 Marbury's friend informed her, of gentlemanly" 
 manners, and no doubt a graduate of one of the 
 Universities. Altogether, Lady De Marbury liked 
 what she heard of him ; and, as her son was now 
 emancipated from tutors and governors, there was 
 all the less difficidty in making a proper selection 
 of a chaplain. A visit from ISLr^ Marshall himself 
 confirmed her ladj^ship's favourable impressions. 
 He was evidently a man who had mixed in 
 society. His address was particularly bland and 
 insinuating. He had been on the Continent for 
 some time, and, while at Rome, had seen a good 
 deal, he said, of Lady De Marbury' s eldest brother, 
 who now, by the death of his father, was Lord 
 Clapham, and of whose awful "perversion" Mr. 
 Marshall spoke in the strongest and most afiect- 
 ing terms. In person Mr. Marshall, whose age 
 appeared to be fortj^, was about the middle height, 
 and sparely made. He was dark^ and of a sallow, 
 
40 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 bilious complexion. His appearance was not wliat 
 would be considered prepossessing ; but yet, when 
 he spoke, tliere was something rather attractive 
 and pleasing in his manner. He expressed him- 
 self on the theological subjects of the day in a 
 manner which delighted Lady De Marbury, and 
 strongly reminded her, she said, of her dear friend 
 Daniel Wilson, formerly of Islington, now Bishop 
 of Calcutta. Mr. Marshall was for no half- 
 measures. " If I come to Donnington," he would 
 say, " my great aim and effort must be to root 
 out Tractarianism from the place. It is far more 
 dangerous than downright Popery. When you 
 have got to do with a Eomanist you have got to 
 do with an open enemy ; but when it is with a 
 Tractarian, you see before you a concealed traitor, 
 one who hasn't the courage or honesty to show 
 his real colours. So I tell your ladyship fairly 
 that,, if I come to Donnington, there must be no 
 paltering, as far as I am concerned, with Popery 
 in disguise. I shall consider it my bounden duty 
 to endeavour to open Sir John's eyes to the per- 
 nicious teaching and practices of these Tractarians, 
 
DONNIXGTOX HALL. 41 
 
 and to preserve him in tlie simplicity of tlie Pro- 
 testant faitli." Lady De Marbury could have 
 taken Mr. Marshall in her arms and absolutely 
 huo-gred him, if such a thino^ had been at all 
 proper in a grave, staid matron like herself, she 
 was so delighted with the sentiments he expressed. 
 Here was the very man she had been so long on 
 the look-out for — a polished, gentlemanly, and 
 educated man, who would be something of a match 
 for Mr. Hulton. He appeared to have the Eomish 
 controversy quite at his finger-ends, and to enter- 
 tain a perfect abhorrence both of Popery and 
 Tractarianism. *' It may be bad taste in me," 
 he said, "but I have no sympathy with your 
 gaudily decorated churches, with your handsome 
 stained windows, surpliced choristers, and all the 
 * man-millinery ' that is now the rage. Give 
 me the plain, simple Protestant service of our 
 Reformers, and an unpretending structure like 
 that yonder in the park, and I ask no more." 
 Lady De Marbury, as we have said, was quite 
 delighted with her visitor, and wrote ofi* at once 
 to her friend Miss Cecil at Brighton, to thank her 
 
42 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 for sending them such, a treasure. Sir John did 
 not testify the same admiration of Mr. Marshall. 
 He always preferred the parish church, and its 
 choral services, to their own uninteresting chapel, 
 and the long sermons usually deKvered there. 
 But this, as Mr. Marshall quietly observed to 
 Lady De Marburj^, was only what might be ex- 
 pected. Sir John had been too long exposed to 
 the insidious snares of Tractarianism. It must 
 be his (Mr. Marshall's) endeavour to open his 
 eyes. No doubt to the natural man there was 
 something very alluring in all these ceremonies 
 and decorations and will-worship. 
 
 " Let us hope, my dear lady," said Mr. Marshall, 
 taking her ladyship's hand, '^ that we may be 
 able to replace them with something better. For 
 truly I feel an interest in your son alread}^, and 
 would gladly help to rescue him from the snare of 
 the fowler." 
 
 Lady De Marbury and Mr. Marshall then 
 parted, mutually satisfied with each other. Sir 
 John was too young, and had been too long accus- 
 tomed to his mother's sway, to think of offering 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 43 
 
 any opposition to lier choice of a chaplain. He 
 only hoped that something or other would occur to 
 defeat it, and in the meantime resigned himself to 
 his fate. But in due time Mr. Marshall did arrive 
 and was duly installed in the lodgings usually 
 occupied by the chaplain. Here let us leave him 
 for the present, and turn to another individual 
 whose name has hitherto been only casually intro- 
 ^uced. — the Eev. Peter Delawney, the Roman 
 CathoKc priest. The De Marbury family had 
 always been Roman Catholics down to Sir Thomas, 
 the father of Sir Hugh, the last of the old line, and 
 he was the first who conformed to the Church of 
 England — more, it was thought, because the ob- 
 noxious religion which he professed was a barrier 
 to his promotion in the army than from any con- 
 scientious convictions. But, however this might 
 be, the son. Sir Hugh, was brought up in the re- 
 formed faith, and the property had ever since 
 remained in Protestant hands. One memorial, 
 however, remained at Donnington, or, we might 
 rather say, two, to keep up the recollection of what 
 had been once the family faith, and that for so 
 
44 DONXINGTON HALL. 
 
 many generations ; and this was a small E-oman 
 Catholic chapel, which stood at no great distance 
 from the house, and forming part of a still older 
 building, once the residence of the family, which 
 had fallen into decay, and was now only kept up 
 as a sort of picturesque ruin. To this chapel there 
 was attached a priest whose stipend formed a charge 
 upon the Donnington estate. His congregation 
 was not a large one ; it consisted of a few of the 
 middle-class tradespeople in Newchurch, with a 
 sprinkling of Irish labourers who were employed 
 on the adjacent farms. Occasionally, too, some 
 Roman Catholic gentleman, or a foreigner 
 stopping in the neighbourhood, would attend the 
 service. And it was in Father Delawney's power 
 to boast that Prince This and Count That had often 
 formed a member of his little cono^reg-ation when 
 staying at the Hall or elsewhere. It had always 
 been an object with the Eoman Catholic authorities 
 to win back the De Marburys, if possible, to the 
 ancient faith, and therefore they had always been 
 particular as to the priest assigned for the Don- 
 nington mission. It was necessary that he should 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 45 
 
 be a gentleman, in order to obtain admission to 
 the squire's table. It was necessary that be 
 sbould be a man of some parts, in order to be able 
 to cope with the Protestant rector, whom be would 
 often probably meet at tbe Hall, and be Kable to 
 be brought in collision with at any time. He 
 must not be too strict — that is, be must be some- 
 tbing of a man of tbe world — or be might only 
 disgust and give offence where he ought to try and 
 conciKate. And, lastly, he must have zeal and 
 energy, and never lose sight of the main object of 
 his mission — the recovery of the De Marburys to 
 the Catholic faith. All along this object had been 
 perseveringly pursued, and with some share of 
 success. Old Sir Thomas De Marbury, the father 
 of Sir Hugh, had, upon his death- bed, it is said, 
 been " reconciled to the Church" by the Abbe Le 
 Grand, who was at that time the priest of Don- 
 nington. Of Sir Hugh it would have been diffi- 
 cult to say what reKgion he belonged to. For, 
 after the marriage of his sister with Dr. Hibbert, 
 which he violently resented at the time, -Sir Hugh 
 ceased to attend the parish church, or any other 
 
46 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 cliiircli ; and, in fact, lie never entered Donnington 
 Churcli again until brought there to be laid with his 
 ancestors. So that, though he never formally ab- 
 jured his rehgion, yet he could scarcely be claimed 
 as a member of the Anglican Church, whose ser- 
 vices he habitually absented himself from. But 
 for his sudden death, occasioned by an accident 
 while out hunting, the Abbe Le Grand always 
 maintained that, like his father, he would have 
 returned to the old faith of his family before his 
 death had time been allowed. And it is certain 
 that, upon the strength of this, masses were offered 
 up for his soul in the little chapel, and even an 
 effort made, which was fiercely and successfully 
 resisted by little Dr. Hibbert, the rector, to bury 
 the deceased baronet with the rites and ceremonies 
 of the Eoman Catholic Church. Any attempts to 
 change the faith of Ei chard Hibbert (to whom the 
 property, contrary to all expectation, had been 
 willed by Sir Hugh) would have been utterly use- 
 less. In the first instance, by his father, and 
 subsequently by his rigid Calvinistic wife, poor 
 Dick was a great deal too closely w^atched and 
 
DOXNIXGTOX HALL. 47 
 
 taken care of for any priest to have the remotest 
 chance of gaining liini over as a convert. Mr. 
 Delawney, who had succeeded the Abbe Le Grand, 
 was obKged, therefore, to confine himself to making 
 occasional allusions to the ancient faith of the 
 De Marburys, and to uttering half-jocular pro- 
 phecies that Sir Eichard would have to send for 
 him some time or other. But fiu-ther than this he 
 durstn't go. Lady De Marbury had, in fact, given 
 him plainly to imderstand that, if he wished to 
 remain on friendly terms with the family, his at- 
 tempts at proselytizing must cease, and the Father 
 had deemed it wisest to take the hint and bide 
 his time. It is true that, soon after her ladyship's 
 coming to the Hall, each party had made an at- 
 tempt to convert the other. The priest had wil- 
 lingly promised to read some of the Clapham tracts 
 which her ladyship had brought from home with 
 her, and had even professed to be struck with some 
 of her own arguments. But, when he came to seek 
 reciprocity, to ask for a patient consideration for 
 his own little books, including the Rosar}^ and 
 "Garden of the Soul," and said something about 
 
48 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 having invoked tlie Blessed Virgin's intercession 
 in behalf of Lady De Marbnry, all expectations 
 vanished on either side, and each party, from that 
 time forth, looked upon the other as a hopeless 
 subject for conversion. 
 
 From many Kttle hints which Mr. Delawney 
 dropped, it was evident that, though the father 
 had slipped through his hands, and though it was 
 clear enough that nothing was to be made of the 
 mother, yet that of the son's conversion he had 
 considerable hopes. It was at a time when many 
 adverse decisions against the doctrines and faith of 
 the Church of England, as it was thought, were 
 being given in the courts of law ; and High 
 Church squires and catholic-minded young ladies 
 woidd talk of quitting a communion thus seriously 
 compromised as respected its articles of faith, and 
 of setting up some kind of church for themselves, 
 after the fashion of the non-jurors. Amongst the 
 persons who took up this cry — he was in the habit 
 of hearmg the subject frequently discussed at the 
 Rectory — was yomig Sir John. It has been said 
 that he had rather a weakness for being considered 
 
DOXNIXGTON HALL. 49 
 
 one of the old stock — a regular De Marbury; and, as 
 they might be said to have been all Ptonian Catho- 
 lics, he certainly entertained no particular antipathy 
 himself towards the faith of his " ancestors." He 
 was keen enough, too, to perceive — or at least he 
 fancied he perceived — something like inconsistency 
 between Mr. Hulton's avowed opinions upon many 
 subjects, especially the sacraments, and his love of 
 ceremonies, and his general mode of conducting 
 the Church service, all strongly savouring of 
 Popery — at least Sir John thought so — and the 
 downright hostility he always exhibited towards 
 Eoman Catholics themselves and theii' faith. He 
 and Mr. Delawney were hardly on speaking 
 terms ; indeed, they never conversed, except at 
 Sir John's table, when occasionally, especially 
 after the arrival of Mr. Marshall, theological or 
 ecclesiastical subjects would come upon the tapis. 
 Mr. Dela^^Tiey always spoke of the rector as a very 
 high kind of gentleman, and as scorning a " po^r 
 priest" like himself; while Mr. Hulton in relorn 
 looked upon the priest as a '' deep, designing 
 Jesuit," which he probably was. If Sir John's 
 
50 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 o^;7n tendencies, and tlie remarks lie was in tlie 
 liabit of hearing made, not only at tlie rector's 
 table, but also at tlie different county bouses wbere 
 be stayed — if tliese all led bim to look witb no very 
 unfavourable eye upon tbe little ivy-covered 
 cnapel, witb its simple cross, and on tbe services 
 wbicb were performed tbere, it is to be feared tbat 
 tbe bigbly Calvinistic discourses wbicb be bad to 
 listen to on Sunday mornings at bis own cbapel 
 did notbing to counteract tbose influences. It 
 was always bad enougb. Sir Jobn used to say, 
 as regarded most of bis motber's cbaplains, and 
 tbe occasional belps, wbom be could remember ; 
 but notbing ever equalled tbe fanaticism wbicb 
 poured from tbe lij)s of tbe last arrival — tbe Rev. 
 Paul Marsball. By bis account tbe Pope was 
 Anticbrist, tbe Cburcb of Ptome tbe Scarlet 
 Woman sitting upon tbe seven bills, and tbe 
 Tractarians, wbom be never lost sigbt of, and for 
 wbom indeed be reserved bis deadliest blows, were 
 tbe *' frogs," referred to in tbe book of Pevela- 
 tion, wbicb '^ came out of tbe nioutb of tbe 
 dragon, and out of tbe moutb of tbe beast, and 
 
DOXXINGTOX HALL. 51 
 
 out of the mouth, of tlie false prophet/* Upon 
 this subject — and, as he was an extempore preacher, 
 it was a subject which seemed to find its way into 
 every sermon he preached — Mr. Marshall would 
 become perfectly frantic, and his pale saturnine 
 features would appear to be lighted up with an 
 almost unearthly expression. Lady De Marbury 
 would listen to his words with rapt attention, 
 and seem to hang upon the ]3reacher's lips. She 
 would glance occasionally at her son to see what 
 effect such impassioned words were producing 
 uDon him. But nothins: was to be read in Sir 
 John's countenance but sheer amazement at the 
 preacher's violence, and at the strange applica- 
 tions of Scripture in which he indulged. All his 
 fire, all his ener2:v, seemed to be reserved for the 
 sermon. The prayers he read through in a 
 slovenly, listless manner, as though going through 
 some irksome task ; and, as a prayer-meeting in- 
 Tariably followed each service, which he conducted 
 with warmth and energy enough, it might be 
 naturally concluded that, in Mr. Marshall's esti- 
 mation, the Cburcli's prayers were insufficient of 
 
 E 2 
 
52 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 themselves to convey all that a true , worshipper 
 must needs express. With these prayer-meetings, 
 of course, Sir John had nothing to do, though his 
 lady mother much approved of them, and was one 
 of the most regular attendants. But often on a 
 Sunday, in crossing the park, after he had been 
 listening for upwards of an hour to Mr. Marshall's 
 wild fanatical effusions, would Sir John heave a 
 sigh as he called to mind those solemn chants and 
 strains of music which on every seventh morning 
 would come wafted over the mere which lay be- 
 tween the Roman Catholic chapel and his own 
 house. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 53 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 "We have not as yet described tlie Eev. Father 
 Delawney. He was, then, a short, stout, good- 
 humoured-looking man, with rather a red face, 
 closely shaven, and with a merry twinkling gray 
 eye. He was very particular and natty about his 
 dress, and, but for the piece of white muslin round 
 his neck, might have been taken for some well- 
 endowed Protestant dignitary. For he always 
 wore one of those curiously- shaped hats, turned 
 up at the sides, much affected by deans and arch- 
 deacons and other great personages. In fact, the 
 Rev. Father did fill some dignified post in the 
 cathedral church of Chester, to which he said he 
 had been canonically inducted, though the duties 
 (and salary) of his office were in abeyance, and 
 
54 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 likely, to all appearances, to remain so. How- 
 ever, this was enough to entitle him to be called 
 amongst his own flock ** Canon Delawney ;" and 
 he would sometimes say humorously, when dining 
 at the Hall, that he was entitled, by reason of his 
 " Canon's stall," to take precedence of all the 
 parsons present, instead of following in their wake 
 as he generally did. But neither his titidar 
 dignity, nor his joke, could make any impression 
 upon the rector, who would pass him unceremo- 
 niously, generally with Lady He Marbury on his 
 arm, with the same air of indifference and non- 
 recognition with which he would pass presently 
 the servants who lined the Hall. Independently 
 of any serious considerations, Mr. Delawney was 
 not unacceptable to Sir John. His constant good- 
 humour made him rather a favourite ; and then he 
 had been there so long, and had kno"\vn Sir John 
 ever since he had been a child. Apparently, too, 
 there was no bigotry about him. He always 
 spoke in a humorous, half-jesting way about the 
 many divisions which existed amongst Protestants, 
 and would casually contrast them with the union 
 
DONXINGTON HALL. 55 
 
 and liarirLoiiy wLicli prevailed amongst " Catliolics." 
 He would make a joke of the rector's dislike 
 towards kimself, tkough. they kad been acquaint- 
 ances for so many years ; and, what rather took 
 Sir John's fancy, the priest would regularly, on 
 the first day of the hunting season, and on other 
 special occasions, seek out Sir John, and solemnly 
 give him his blessing. He would allege that such 
 had been always the custom at Donnington — which 
 was quite enough for vSii- John — and so, though 
 half ashamed of his compliance, the young baronet 
 would partly kneel while the priest, with extended 
 hands, and in Latin, would implore the protection 
 of Heaven, and of all the saints there, upon the 
 head of the young man. " I am an old man com- 
 pared with you," the priest would say kindly to 
 him, ''and the blessings of an old man never 
 harmed any one yet." » 
 
 From the circumstance of their respective resi- 
 dences being so near to each other, the priest and 
 Mr. Marshall were frequenth^ meeting, especially 
 at the Hall. There appeared to be a kind of 
 armed peace between them. Mr. Marshall, of 
 
56 DONXIXGTOX HALL. 
 
 course, always spoke of the other as being under 
 an "awful delusion/' but seemed to accord bim 
 tbat credit for sincerity wliicb be witbbeld from 
 tbe rector and his party ; while Father De- 
 lawney, protesting bis desire to live peaceably 
 with all men — with the rector himself, if he 
 might be allowed — would good-himiouredly dis- 
 cuss with Mr. Marshall, in the presence of Sir 
 John (to " keep the peace," as the priest would 
 pleasantly observe), the points of difference be- 
 tween the two Churches. The conversation, in- 
 deed, would often turn upon such subjects after 
 dinner, and Mr. Hulton, when present, would not 
 unfrequently be drawn into it. He had no liking 
 for discussing theological subjects at such a time 
 and in such company. But, in the presence of 
 startling assertions, he could not hold his peace ; 
 and, unfortunately, he usually found himself 
 opposed to two adversaries, who, viewing the same 
 question from opposite extremes, yet agreed in 
 differing from the rector, and in condemning his 
 views. Mr. Marshall spoke well and fluently, and 
 had perfect command of his temper, so far at least 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 57 
 
 as to refrain from any actual intemperance of 
 expression. But lie had. that manner whicli 
 irritates an opponent perhaps more than violence 
 of language. He Tvoiild speak with a calm 
 assumption of superiority, seeking to draw out 
 the other's meaning, and then, by putting some 
 extreme or ridiculous case, endeavour to amuse 
 the company at his expense. To one naturally 
 proud and reserved, like Mr. Hidton, and espe- 
 cially when on his own ground, as rector of the 
 parish, and in the presence of his leading parish- 
 ioner — sometimes Lady De Marbury would be 
 present as well — such a manner seldom failed to 
 be highly offensive to him ; and he coidd not but 
 be aware of the bad effect which must be produced 
 upon the mind of a young man like Sir John at 
 seeino^ two clersrvmen of the same Church at such 
 hopeless variance from each other, and that, too, 
 upon really fundamental points. In his good- 
 humoured way, too, the priest woidd not be slow 
 to take advantage of the circumstance. 
 
 " When you two gentlemen," he would say, 
 '' have settled between yourselves what is really 
 
58 
 
 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 the doctrine of your own Cliurcli, it will be time 
 enough for the poor Catholic priest to answer you." 
 
 *' My dear Hidton, do you seriously tell me/' 
 Mr. Marshall said on one of these occasions, with a 
 mingled tone of seriousness and irony, " that you 
 attach any imjDortance to the figment of apostolical 
 succession? Why not be content to rest the 
 foundation of our Protestant Church upon the 
 faith of our martyred Reformers, instead of going 
 back to the dark ages of superstition ?'* 
 
 " Do you mean to say," asked Mr. Hulton, 
 rather hotly, " that you think the Church of 
 England was founded at the Reformation ? because, 
 if you do " 
 
 *' Excuse me, Hulton. TVTiat possible advantage 
 can it be to the cause of truth to trace u^ the 
 spiritual ancestry of our bishops through a succes- 
 sion of Romish prelates ? Even if the thing could 
 be proved, which it can't, of what value would it 
 be ? Better rely for our credentials, as ministers 
 of the Gospel, upon the authority of the ' written 
 Word' than occupy our minds with fables and 
 endless genealogies." 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 59 
 
 '' Then, Mr. Marshall, do you consider there is 
 any difference between a priest of the Church of 
 England and a Dissenting minister ?'' 
 
 '' Priest ! I don't like the word ; minister is 
 the more evangelical term. However, as to your 
 question, I think, if a person is lawfully ' called 
 by his congregation,' and if he preaches the 
 truth, he is quite as much a minister as either you 
 or I ; and you know that the 23rd Article says 
 the same." 
 
 "Well, it is useless pursuing the subject," 
 observed Mr. Hulton, with some displeasure. 
 
 '' And then, if I might put in but one word," 
 said the priest, " when you talk, Mr. Hulton, about 
 the apostolical succession, you cannot have for- 
 gotten all about the Nag's Head controversy !" 
 
 " AYhat was that. Father Peter ?" asked Sir 
 John, who had been listening attentively to the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Oh, he is only referring to the consecra- 
 tion of our first Protestant archbishop — Parker," 
 said Mr. Marshall, with a smile. "I believe 
 there was some little irregularity about it 
 
60 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 — lie consecrated himself, or soraething of tliat 
 sort." 
 
 " You must be aware, Mr. Marsliall," broke in 
 the rector, angrily, as lie was preparing to leave 
 the room, *' tbat tbe fable of tbe Nag's Head bas 
 been given up by Lingard, and by every respect- 
 able Roman Catbolic writer." 
 
 " Well, well, wbat does it signify ? As long as 
 we preacb the truth, we needn't trouble our heads 
 about such things." 
 
 " It is sad to see your Church so disunited," 
 observed Father Peter to Sir John as they re- 
 mained behind the others over their wine. 
 
 " Yes, there is some difference between Hulton's 
 preaching and Mr. Marshall's. You know I have 
 to attend our o^ti chapel on Sunday forenoons ; 
 my mother wishes it ; but I like to go to the 
 afternoon service at Donnington. And it is hard 
 to know, between them both, what is really the 
 faith of the Church of England." 
 
 " I should be sorry for it if I were one of you." 
 This was the priest's answer ; and here the con- 
 versation closed. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 61 
 
 The above is but a sligbt specimen of tlie con- 
 versations that frequently passed at Sir John's 
 table after Mr. Marshall's arrival ; for, let Mr. 
 Hulton have determined as he might not to be 
 betrayed into taking any part in such passages of 
 arms, which he was sure to repent of afterwards, 
 yet, from his zeal and natural temperament, he 
 was too often hurried into a defence of his prin- 
 ciples, especially when assailed, either openly or 
 covertly, by one from whom he might naturally 
 have counted upon aid, and not opposition. Sir 
 John had a turn for theology, and was interested 
 rather than otherwise in hearing such subjects 
 discussed ; and as for Lady De Marbury, she was 
 so persuaded of the advantage it must be to her 
 son to be put on his guard against Tractarianism, 
 that she heartily approved of, and seconded in 
 every way, Mr. Marshall's endeavours frequently 
 to give the conversation such a direction as 
 to afford him an opportunity of declaring his 
 sentiments. Such was the state of things at 
 the Hall, and only a few months had elapsed 
 since Sir John's coming of age, when a visit from 
 
62 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 his uncle, Lord Claptiam, was announced. Upon 
 the occasion of his lordship's last visit — then the 
 Hon. Richard Simeon — he had bidden fair to 
 tread in the steps of his father, of Exeter Hall 
 celebrity. He had had several battles mth the 
 rector ; had conducted much of the correspondence 
 -with the bishop about the licensing of the little 
 chapel ; had been a prime mover and director in 
 that business throughout ; and, above all, had 
 made the most strenuous efforts to get rid of 
 Father Delawney and his chapel out of the 
 demesne. He not only refused to meet him at 
 dinner, or to be introduced to him, but distributed 
 tracts and publications in all directions, cautioning 
 people against Popery. Nay, his religious zeal 
 was carried so far that he refused to attend the 
 services at Donnington Church, but put himself 
 to the trouble of walking a considerable distance 
 every Sunday morning to another church. Xow 
 all was changed ; and Father Delawney had the 
 satisfaction of receiving a very humble epistle from 
 the noble convert, expressing the deepest sorrow 
 for his past refractory behaviour, and a desire to 
 
Q 
 
 DONNIJQGTON HALL. 6' 
 
 perform some kind of public penance upon tlie 
 occasion of Ms approacliing visit to Donnington. 
 This letter it was not safe to communicate at the 
 Hall : any publication of its contents might, by 
 causing the visit to be declined, have interfered 
 with the edifying little spectacle which Father 
 Delawney had in store for his people on the Sun- 
 day after the arrival of Lord Clapham. It was, of 
 course, tacitly understood that his lordship (who 
 was a weak, delicate-looking young man) woidd 
 attend Father Delawney's little chapel on the 
 following morning ; but certainly her ladyship 
 never calculated on the sight which actually met 
 her astonished view, and that of Sir John, almost 
 the first thing next day, as they stood at the 
 windows of the morning room, which commanded 
 a view of the little i^y- covered chapel with its 
 cross, on the other side of the mere. At first their 
 attention was attracted by an unusual crowd about 
 the chapel, and very soon afterwards by a figure 
 clad in a white sheet, to be seen kneeling down 
 outside the porch, and rem^aining in that position 
 bareheaded, and upon a cold winter's morning. 
 
64 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 A considerable time elapsed before tbe ruddy face 
 of Fatber Delawney presented itself. A total pros- 
 tration of tbe kneeling peer upon tbe cold stones 
 followed, and tben some ceremony appeared to be 
 gone tbrougb, probably tbe absolution ; and after 
 tbat it was evident tbat tbe risen peer was ad- 
 dressing tbe by-standers. Sbortly afterwards tbe 
 wbole party disappeared witbin tbe cbapel, wbere 
 tbe peer served tbe priest at mass, it was soon 
 known. Tbe penance scene was witnessed by 
 Lady De Marbmy witb burning cbeeks ; and 
 scarcely a word passed between berself and ber 
 son during tbe entire time tbat tbe ceremony 
 lasted. It was not, bowever, quite finisbed yet. 
 A blazing fire, a little in front of tbe cbaj)el, soon 
 attracted attention, and drew tbe party from tbe 
 breakfast-table to tbe windows again; and bere 
 tbe sigbt tbat met tbe eye was no less astounding 
 tban tbe otber : it was a general burning of all 
 tbe books and tracts wbicb bis lordsbip, as Mr. 
 Simeon, bad for years been in tbe babit of dis- 
 tributing amongst tbe people. Tbe books and 
 tracts were delivered by tbe priest to bis lordsbip, 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 65 
 
 wlio, with, his own hands, tossed them into the 
 flames. A visitor fresh from such an auto-da-fe 
 coidd not, we might have thought, have been a 
 very acceptable guest at Lady De Marbury's 
 breakfast-table, even though that guest was her 
 own brother ; and probably he was not. But Lord 
 Clapham's delicate appearance and imquestionable 
 sincerity pleaded for indidgence ; and, besides, her 
 ladyship had a notable plan for reconverting bim 
 and brino-ino; him back to the Protestant faith. 
 She bad consulted Mr. Marshall about it, who 
 thought tbat the thing was possible. There could 
 be no harm in tr^s'ing, at any rate ; and, with this 
 view, and that they might see as muck of eack 
 otker as possible, Mr. Marskall was in^-ited to be a 
 visitor at tke Hall during tke entii^e time tkat 
 Lord Clapkam stayed, wkick was to be about a 
 week. 
 
66 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 Lady De Marbury liad continued to reside at tlie 
 Hall after her son had attained his majority. She 
 had not been in the habit of seeing much company 
 herself, either during Sir Richard's Kfetime, or 
 after she became a widow. Their principal visitors 
 would be relations and friends of the family. To 
 the clergy, too, connected with Donnington it 
 had been always customary to extend hospitality. 
 Thino:s had not much altered since Sir John had 
 come of age. Every now and then two or three 
 of the neighbouring squires, with their wives and 
 daughters, would come to dinner, but nothing 
 more. Upon the occasion, however, of Lord Clap- 
 ham's visit, being the first since his accession to 
 the title, and with a view of paying him a com- 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 67 
 
 pliment, two or three large parties were to be given, 
 and several of the guests had been invited, not 
 only to dine, but also to sleep. ^Ir. Marshall, as 
 has been said, was amongst those who were to be 
 staying in the house. This influx of visitors re- 
 quired a good deal of management as respected 
 the rooms, in order that all parties might be suit- 
 ably accommodated. In many instances dressing- 
 rooms had to be provided as well. Altogether, 
 there was some difficulty in deciding where the 
 guests were to be bestowed. Lady De Marbury 
 usually occupied one of the principal bed-rooms, 
 which was over the dining-room ; but upon this 
 occasion she gave it up, with its adjacent dressing- 
 room, to Lord and Lady Withington, who were to 
 stay for a few days, and she had to take refuge in 
 one of a cluster of small rooms which lay some- 
 what by themselves in a wing of the house. Here 
 most of the single young men of the party were 
 quartered, including Lord Cla2:)ham. Mr. Mar- 
 shall, too, had one of these rooms assig-ned to 
 him. The first grand party was given on the 
 Tuesda}^ after Lord Clapham's arrival. Some came 
 
 F 2 
 
68 DOXNINGTON HALL. 
 
 to dinner, sucli as Mr. and Mrs. Hulton, but most 
 of the guests were staying in the house. The 
 party broke up rather late for a country house ; 
 and Lady De Marbury, with whose habits late 
 hours did not agree, was glad to slip away quietly 
 to her room as soon as Lady Withington and a 
 few of the principal ladies had retired for the 
 night. Presently, one after another was heard 
 coming up-stairs, and, with a friendly *' good 
 night," going into their rooms. Every now and 
 then a loiterer would make his way up who had, 
 perhaps, been smoking a cigar doT\Ti-stairs with 
 Sir John. But at length the last door seemed to 
 have been shut for the night, and then all was 
 still. Lady De Marbury was in the habit of sit- 
 ting up reading for some time before she went to 
 bed, and upon this night, and after all the bustle 
 and excitement of the day, she especially enjoyed 
 the thoughts of a quiet half-hour with her Bible 
 and books of devotion. Accordingly^, her maid 
 dismissed for the night, she composed herself to 
 read. The next room to hers was her brother's. 
 She could hear him moving about the room, stirring 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 69 
 
 the fire, and drawing up the blind. He was pro- 
 bably looking out of the window and admiring the 
 beautiful moonlight night. His eye would be 
 directed, no doubt, across the gleaming sheet of 
 water which lay before him, and woidd rest upon 
 those iv}^-covered walls, the scene of his recent 
 penance. Lady De Marbury could have gone in 
 and thrown herself in her brother's arms, so deeply 
 was her heart touched with recollections of the past, 
 painful and otherwise, which were so intimately 
 interwoven with him. She recalled him as a 
 boy at school, at Westminster ; she could re- 
 member very well when he was born, being 
 several years his senior, and the rejoicings which 
 took place on that event ; and then his college 
 days, when he would stay for weeks together at 
 Donnington, during the himting and shooting 
 seasons, and go out with Sir Richard. And then, 
 in after-times, when he had taken a serious turn, 
 and gave promise of treading in his father's steps, 
 and was looked upon as a young man of great 
 promise in the regions of Exeter Hall, his sister 
 would recall his frequent visits to her then 
 
70 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 widowed house, and his youthful zeal and restless 
 activity, and incessant tract-distributing, and even 
 reading and lecturing in the cottages. And now 
 it seemed like a dreadful dream, something to 
 make their dead father turn in his coffin, to think 
 of the miserable scene of the Sunday previous : a 
 peer of England in a white sheet, kneeling before 
 a Romish priest, heaping words of scorn and con- 
 tumely upon the faith in which he had been 
 brought up, and afterwards, by such a public 
 and significant act, expressing such utter hate and 
 detestation of those principles which he had for- 
 merly been so assiduous in propagating ! Such 
 thoughts as these were crowding into Lady 
 De Marbury's mind as the simple footfall 
 soimded in her ear, and she had thoughts of 
 rushing in and imploring her brother, the bearer 
 of an honoured name and title, to listen to rea- 
 soning and advice — to allow Mr. Marshall to speak 
 wdth him; she would pray him, she thought, 
 for the sake of their common father's memory, to 
 return to his early faith. Lady De Marbury had 
 almost made up her mind to take this step, when 
 
DONNIXGTOX HALL. 71 
 
 the stealthy turning of a handle in one of tlio 
 adjoining rooms first attracted her notice and then 
 excited her curiosity. It was from Mr. Marshall's 
 room that the soimd jDroceeded. Then, in a 
 moment or two, a cautious footstep was heard to 
 cross the passage, and there was a low knock at 
 Lord Claj)ham's door. The person who knocked 
 did not wait for the answer, but walked into the 
 room like one who was expected, and the door 
 was shut. 
 
 Lady De Marbury could not doubt but that the 
 person who went into Lord Clapham's room was 
 Mr. Marshall. The conversation was carried on in 
 a low under- tone. Mr. Marshall seemed to be relat- 
 ing something, and there was a comment or obser- 
 vation occasionally from the other. A suppressed 
 laugh fell imcomfortably on the listener's ears ; it 
 proceeded evidently from Mr. Marshall. " TThat 
 can these two have to say to each other at this late 
 hour of the night ?" thought Lady De Marbury to 
 herself. It could not be that Mr. Marshall had 
 entered that night upon his task of seeking to win 
 back his lordship to the faith. He would not 
 
72 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 have chosen sucli a time and place for it, slie knew. 
 Besides, tliougli slie could hardly detect a single 
 word that passed between them — only Mr. Hulton's 
 name once or twice reaching her ears — yet she 
 could tell that the tone was not a controversial one 
 — no eager questions and answers, no indignant 
 disclaimers, no impatient interruptions. It was 
 more that of a person relating a narrative, and 
 laughing occasionally at the humorous portions of 
 it. Lady De Marbury thought that the sitting 
 would never come to an end. There was no retiring 
 to rest until it was over. She was getting nervous 
 and fidgety ; she could give no reason for it. "Why 
 should not her brother and Mr. Marshall have a 
 little chat together before going to bed ? Every 
 one did it — young ladies did it ; where was the 
 harm? Her brother and Mr. Marshall had met 
 abroad ; what so natural as that they should like to 
 talk over old times ? 
 
 At length there were sjrmptoms of a move in 
 the next room — a yawn and exclamation of fatigue 
 from her brother, and then a pushing back of 
 chairs from the fireplace, and then a j)ause of a 
 
DONNIXGTOX HALL. 73 
 
 moment or two, and tlien the handle of the door 
 was turned softly and Mr. Marshall came out. 
 Lady De Marbury just overheard him saying, as 
 he left, apparently with reference to something his 
 lordship had said, " Why, you know everjiihing is 
 fair in war," and then the door was shut, and 
 Mr. Marshall returned to his own room, so as 
 scarcely to be heard. 
 
 Lady De Marbury could not get to sleep for 
 some time. At length, taking it for granted that 
 something must have passed between them both 
 in former times, more than she was aware of — 
 perhaps money transactions (Lord Clapham being 
 wealthy) — ^her ladyship almost dismissed the sub- 
 ject from her mind. At breakfast, however, some- 
 thing occurring to remind her of it, she made the 
 remark to her brother that he seemed to have been 
 sitting up rather late the previous night. *' For I 
 slept in the next room to you," she added, carelessly, 
 bv way of accounting for the observation. Lord 
 Clapham looked slightly confused for a moment, 
 and, taking up a newspaper, merely remarked that 
 he had not been aware they had been such near 
 
74 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 neighbours. Mr. Marshall, however, who was sit- 
 ting opposite, explained everything, by saying to 
 Lady De Marbury, with one of his most mean- 
 ing looks, and in his blandest voice, that he and 
 his lordship were " having a chat about old times ;" 
 and so the subject was allowed to drop. 
 
 After this no particular intimacy was observable 
 between Lord Clapham and Mr. Marshall. The 
 conversation, however, after dinner, when there 
 was no company, turned more than ever upon 
 theological subjects. They were disembarrassed 
 now of the presence of Mr. Hulton, who of late 
 had invariably excused himself from making one 
 of their family party, only dining at the Hall 
 when there was mixed company, and when the 
 conversation, therefore, was sure to be of a general 
 fH nature. The priest, too, had not been invited 
 since the affair of the chapel ; her ladyship refusing 
 to sit do^vn to table with him, and alleging, as a 
 justification of her conduct, the great insult which, 
 through his instrumentality, had been done to her 
 family and to her father's memory. Of course, 
 her brother she did not consider so much to blame. 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 75 
 
 He was a tool in the hands of the priests, and 
 seemed to think he could never humble himself 
 enough for his past resistance to their authority. 
 He was not very strong-minded at any time, and 
 ill-health and pernicious advice had still further 
 weakened his frame. 
 
 Except, then, upon the two or three occasions 
 when there was company to dinner, the party con- 
 sisted merely of Lady De Marbury, Sir John, Lord 
 Clapham, and Mr. Marshall — a snug little quar- 
 tet — and invariably, as a subject interesting, he 
 knew, to each of the party, though for different 
 reasons, Mr. Marshall would make a friendly 
 attack upon his lordship on account of the religious 
 opinions he had adopted. Mr. Marshall's argu- 
 ments and reasons were all really of the most 
 flimsy and transparent character, though clothed '^ 
 with a good deal of rhetoric and dehvered with 
 fluency and animation. He always proceeded on 
 the assumption that his opinions were in accord- 
 ance with the Bible, and that his opponent's were 
 not so ; and, when reminded, as he would be, civilly 
 by Lord Clapham that this was in reality only 
 
76 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 begging the question, assuming tlie very point 
 that was a dispute between them, Mr. Marshall's 
 reply would consist merely of some vague reference 
 to his own feelings and conviction of the truth, 
 and such-like commonplaces. With Lady De 
 Marbury all this declamation and confident asser- 
 tion had great weight, and she wondered how any 
 one could resist her chaplain's eloquence ; but to 
 Sir John, as to every masculine mind, the defects 
 in Mr. Marshall's logic were apparent enough. 
 He could see but little connection between most of 
 his premises and the conclusions he drew from 
 them, however he might try and mj^stify the 
 matter in a cloud of words and figures of speech. 
 He dealt in assertions when it was proofs that 
 were wanted, and declaimed instead of argued, 
 '^^ord Clapham had, therefore, but little difficulty 
 in dealing with such an opponent, and disposed of 
 him and his *' arguments" with something like 
 contempt. 
 
 It must be allowed that the efiect produced 
 upon Sir John's mind by these reiterated discus- 
 sions was far from satisfactory, and that, instead 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 77 
 
 of building him up in tte Protestant faith, wliich 
 was the wish next to his mother's heart, his 
 opinions were becoming more and more unsettled 
 and indeterminate. Not that he had any serious 
 thoughts of forsaking his own communion, especi- 
 ally during his mother's Kfetime, but the idea 
 was gaining ground in his mind, from what he 
 had heard, that all the reasoning and arguments 
 were on the one side, all the mere declamation and 
 assertion on the other. He had been much struck 
 with Mr. Marshall's own admission, when hard 
 pressed by his noble opponent, that the '' Protes- 
 tant establishment," by which term he invariably 
 designated the Church of England, "had the 
 Apostles' doctrine, though not their fellowship;" an 
 admission which his lordship made the most of, 
 though Lady De Marbury was of opinion that the .'^ 
 observation was a very striking and just one. 
 
78 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 It may be remembered that, at the coromencement 
 of this history, it is related that Sir John and his 
 lawyer, Mr. Ardern, had had a long and serious 
 conversation, immediately after the former's coming 
 of age, upon the best steps to be adopted for re- 
 lieving the estate of some of its embarrassments, 
 and that, amongst other measures devised, recourse 
 to an old man called Delves, residing in New- 
 %^ church, had been suggested, as a person able to 
 advance a considerable sum of money and at a 
 moderate rate of interest. This project had not 
 been lost sight of, either by Sir John or his legal 
 adviser. Indeed, the experience of a few months 
 only convinced them the more of the desirableness 
 and almost necessity of taking some such step, and 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 79 
 
 that before long. Though, not extravagant in his 
 habits, yet Sir John could but ill brook the idea of 
 practising a rigid economy and foregoing those 
 pursuits and amusements natural at his age, and 
 to \rhich his station seemed to entitle him; but 
 many of these Tvere such as involved considerable 
 expense, and such as were little suited to the 
 small income he had to live upon. 
 
 In coimtry society the income of a person in 
 Sir John's position soon comes to be pretty accu- 
 rately known. Prudent mammas, with but slenderly 
 portioned daughters, threw out their baits for 
 others, but not for him. Ever welcome as a guest, 
 and to be desired as a partner for a dance, yet he 
 was not esteemed an eligible match for one of 
 their daughters by those of his ov/n rank and 
 social position in the coimty. He was always ' 
 spoken of as a "very poor man" by his own equals, 
 and as one who could never think of marrying, 
 unless it might be some one with a much larger 
 fortune than any of the young ladies in that part' 
 of Cheshire could lay claim to. Marrying, how- 
 ever, and that at his early age, formed no part of 
 
80 DONNIXGTON HALL. 
 
 Sir Jolin De Marbury's plans or aspirations ; but 
 lie certainly did wisb to bunt, and sboot, and fisb, 
 and to go into company, and to receive company, 
 and to sport a bandsome turn-out and ride a good 
 borse, like tbe otber Cbesbire squires about bim. 
 But all tbis required money — implied a good 
 income. It was not long, tben, before Mr. Ardern's 
 suggestions, by wbicb some bundreds a year were 
 to be added to bis income, began to be seriously 
 pondered upon ; and steps at lengtb were to be 
 taken to carry tbem out. Tbe most important of 
 tbose suggestions bad reference to a loan of 
 £10,000, to be obtained from old Jacob Delves 
 (as be was called by every one) by a mortgage 
 upon tbe Donnington estates, and for wbicb be 
 was willing to accept tbe moderate rate of interest 
 of four per cent. Tbis Jacob Delves, at tbe time 
 we speak of, was a little old sbrunken man witb 
 wbose sbabby appearance about N^ewcburcb two 
 generations bad been familiar. He bad com- 
 menced life as a poor boy employed about tbe 
 gardens of Donnington, in old Sir Tbomas De Mar- 
 bmy's time. He bad always bad a great turn for 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 81 
 
 saving, and used to collect nails and. old pieces 
 of iron, and gather scrapings on tlie road, to 
 dispose of tlieni in Xewchurcli. Afterwards lie 
 came to be employed as boots at tbe "Royal 
 George" hotel in that to^uTi, where, after a few 
 years, and by a life of great penuriousness, he 
 contrived to save up a good bit of money. x4lS he 
 married a widow with some fortune of her own, 
 his means became still further enlarged ; and from 
 this time, what between lending out small sums of 
 money, at an enormous interest, to struggling Kttle 
 tradesmen, and what between a few fortunate mining 
 speculations, he became richer and richer, until at 
 last, in his old age, we find him in the proud posi- 
 tion of being able to accommodate the owner of 
 Donnington Hall with a loan of £10,000, and yet 
 not to inconvenience himself thereby. Saving, 
 saving, had been always his hobby from a youth ; 
 and probably the gratification of this sordid taste 
 had been his only pleasure through life. He was 
 quite a " character " in Newchurch ; and people 
 would stop to point him out as, with blear-eyed 
 looks and seemingly bent half double, he would 
 
 G 
 
82 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 grope along, as if searcliiiig in the kennel for 
 sometliing lie had lost. He had never been known 
 to drink a glass of beer or any intoxicating liquor ; 
 nor had he ever given anything away in his life. 
 He was a privileged man ; nobody ever expected 
 him to give. All the speculation was what he 
 would do with his money — to whom would he leave 
 it. He had several poor relations in and about 
 Newchurch, but had long since, in order to avoid 
 their possible importunitj', dropped their acquaint- 
 ance and shut his door against them. His house 
 was small and mean-looking, situated in one of the 
 back streets. It had very little furniture in it, 
 and few visitors were ever known to cross its 
 threshold. In this house the old man lived at the 
 time we are writing about, with a little girl, his 
 W grand- daughter, as his only companion. His wife 
 had been dead for some years, and the little girl, 
 now in her twelfth year, waited upon her grand- 
 father and made him as comfortable as she could. 
 Her mother, who was a daughter of the old man, 
 and Yv^ho had taken care of him for some time after 
 his wife's death, had, soon after the death of her 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 83 
 
 husband, married a second time, and gone to 
 America and settled there. Little Annie Delves, 
 as she was generally called, though her right name 
 was Annie Eckersley, was a bright, good-tempered 
 little thing, and kept the house and everything in 
 it as tidily as possible. She had grown up under 
 the eyes of the neighbours round about, and had 
 received what little education she got at the neigh- 
 bouring national school. After his way, the grand- 
 father seemed to be fond of her, and to provide 
 her with whatever she stood in need of. To all 
 appearance, however, she was a poor person's 
 child, and, in her dress, differed not at all from 
 any of the neighbours' children about. So that, 
 when Sir John De Marbury, in company with his 
 solicitor, called upon old Jacob Delves, by appoint- 
 ment, to make final arrangements about the loan, & 
 and to seal and to sign certain deeds, he was 
 astonished to see the old man's grand- daughter 
 upon her knees, and busy scrubbing the pas- 
 sage. She got up upon recognising Mr. Ardern, 
 and, with a courtesy to the strange gentleman, 
 proceeded, her dress tucked up and her hands 
 
 G 2 
 
84 DONNIXGTOX HALL. 
 
 dripping from the pail, to tlirow open tlie par- 
 lour door. " Grandfather," she said, " here is Mr. 
 Ardern and another gentleman wants to see you.'' 
 "Walk in, gentlemen, walk in," said the old 
 man, coming to the parlour door and ushering 
 them into a shabbily-furnished sitting-room where 
 everything seemed much the worse for wear. 
 There was a seemingly much-used old black horse- 
 hair sofa, with two or three common painted deal 
 chairs with rush bottoms, and a small rickety- 
 looking mahogany table in the centre of the room. 
 Including the carpet and some faded curtains, 
 everything in the room would scarcely have 
 fetched thirty shillings at a sale. The old man, 
 nearly bent double, and wearing a green shade to 
 protect his eyes from the sun, which happened to 
 be shining in brightly at the time, received his 
 visitors courteously and accommodated them with 
 chairs. The business was soon entered upon ; and 
 a sort of scrivener, or irregular practitioner, whom 
 Jacob employed about his affairs, having been 
 summoned, and having, in conjunction with his 
 employer, carefully examined the deeds and other 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 85 
 
 papers connected with tlie transaction, finally the 
 papers were all signed and sealed, as well as wit- 
 nessed, and the greater part of them delivered over 
 to the old man, who consigned them to his strong 
 box. He then, his hands trembling with age, and 
 his sight so impaired that he had to stoop over the 
 paper to such an extent that his face almost touched 
 it, wrote a cheque on a common piece of note-paper 
 upon Messrs. Jones, Loyd, and Co., bankers, Man- 
 chester, for the sum of £10,000 ; and, with this 
 precious piece of paper in his possession. Sir John 
 De Marbury, as well as Mr. Ardern, wished the 
 old man good-bye and took his leave, the grand- 
 daughter opening the door for them and courtesying 
 and smiling pleasantly in acknowledgment of Mr. 
 Ardern' s notice as the visitors passed out. It was 
 in this way that old Jacob Delves became the 
 principal mortgagee upon the Donnington Hall 
 estate. There were others, though for no great 
 amount separately ; and, as Mr. Ardern observed, 
 it needed but another scratch of that old man's 
 pen to wipe out the remaining claims. Sir John 
 now returned in high spirits to the Hall, and for 
 
86 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 some time afterwards gave full scope to Ms most 
 expensive tastes. He assumed for a time the 
 mastership of the Cheshire hounds, kept open house, 
 and served the office of high sheriff with brilliant 
 eclat, eclipsing all his predecessors (so he was told) 
 in the splendour of his liveries and general mag- 
 nificence of his turn-out. These things had to be 
 paid for in time, and Sir John soon found himself 
 again in straitened circumstances. His solicitor 
 shook his head when he talked about raising 
 money upon another mortgage, and intimated his 
 opinion that the thing could not be done. He 
 must retrench ; he must get rid of those expensive 
 fox-hounds. There was nothing for it but to try 
 and live within his income. If everything else 
 failed, another application might be made by-and- 
 by to old Jacob Delves ; but, for the present, and 
 coming so soon after the first loan, Mr. Ardern 
 would not recommend it. So Sir John was fain to 
 act upon this advice, and to accommodate himself 
 to his confined circumstances. 
 
 In the meantime the din of theological warfare 
 seemed rather to increase than to diminish at 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 87 
 
 Donnington. Sir John, it is true, took no part 
 in it. He had many other things now to occupy 
 his mind, which interested him much more. 
 Besides, Mr. Marshall and his extreme opinions 
 were more than ever distasteful to him. He had 
 an undefined dislike to the man, and distrust in 
 him, which he could not very well explain. And 
 it was evident that, from some cause or other, 
 the reverend gentleman did not stand quite so 
 high in her ladyship's good graces as he used. 
 So that, altogether, he was not such a frequent 
 guest at the Hall as formerly ; and, as the priest 
 was still in Lady De Marhury's black books, it 
 came to pass that the theological discussions 
 which for a time occupied so large a share of the 
 usual after-dinner conversation at the Hall almost 
 entirely ceased. But what was gained in one 
 way was lost in another. If the inmates of the 
 Hall were left in peace, the storm raged all the 
 more fiercely out of doors. Controversial lectures, 
 two or three a week, were the order of the day. 
 Mr. Marshall delivered a course of week-day 
 lectures upon the distinctive doctrines and practices 
 
88 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 of the Roman Catliolic Cliurcli, and denounced 
 tliem so fiercely and wholesale that numbers came 
 from all quarters to hear him. There would be 
 occasional interruptions too — usually on the part 
 of some excitable sons of Erin, who resented hear- 
 ing the Pope spoken of as Antichrist — and so an 
 " Irish row " not unfrequently added zest to the 
 scene. As his "Roman Catholic brethren" were 
 " affectionately invited" by Mr. Marshall to attend, 
 these Patlanders used frequently to muster in 
 fidl force, and to make their sweet voices heard 
 to an extent that quite disconcerted the speaker. 
 The success of these lectures was very far from 
 answering the expectations of those who, like 
 Lady De Marbury, encouraged Mr. Marshall — 
 nothing loath himself certainly — to set them on 
 foot. R-esults were indubitably produced, but 
 not of the required kind. Inquiries were set on 
 foot which were not so easily answered as the 
 promoters of the lectures imagined. It is a law of 
 human nature that persecution, or anything that 
 wears that appearance, begets sympathy for the 
 weaker party. And so, when people v/ho had 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 89 
 
 heretofore been indifierent enough to the merits 
 of the controversy heard the Roman Catholic 
 faith assailed in such bitter terms, and its 
 ceremonies turned into ridicule, it led many 
 of them to attend on Sundays at the little 
 E-oman Catholic chapel to hear what Father 
 Delawney had to say upon his side of the question, 
 and to judge for themselves whether the cere- 
 monies practised there were quite as ridiculous 
 as had been represented. This naturally led to 
 interviews and explanations with the priest, and 
 after a time to several "conversions." Few 
 people amongst the middle and lower classes are 
 in reality competent to form a judgment upon 
 those subjects for themselves. They go by some 
 rouo^h rule of rig'ht and wrono: which thev have 
 in their OAvn minds. " The priest is such a nice 
 civil-spoken man, and asked so kindly after 
 mother," therefore "what he says cannot be 
 wrong." " Things are not at all at the chapel as 
 parson says. At least I saw none of it. They 
 pray to God, and not to the Virgin Mary, the 
 priest says. They only ask her intercession and 
 
90 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 prayers, as we might ask anotlier to speak up for 
 us. I see no harm in that anyhow ; and the 
 priest says he will be so glad to see anj of us again 
 if we have any more questions to ask him. He is 
 a nice free-spoken gentleman, that he is, and I 
 like him better any day than the t'other one who 
 is so bigoted-like and uncharitable." 
 
 By some such process of reasoning numbers 
 amongst the lower orders about Donnington, and 
 even two or three of a rank somewhat above them, 
 got into the way of attending the Roman Catholic 
 services at Donnington. First it was occasionally, 
 soon, in many instances, habitually, and then some 
 would, after a while, renounce the Protestant faith 
 and become Roman Catholics. 
 
 Lady De Marbury put down all these con- 
 versions to the unceasing activity and wiles of 
 Father Delawney, and never dreamt of connect- 
 ing them with her chaplain's lectures. She only 
 saw in him a person who was apparently very 
 diligent and active in counteracting the priest's 
 proselytizing efforts, and readily accepted Mr. 
 Marshall's oft-repeated assurance that things woiJd 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 91 
 
 all come riglit by-and-by ; that when tbe novelty 
 bad \\'orii off, and tbey bad got tired of tbe 
 gewgaws of tbe Romisb ser^^ces (for wbicb tbe 
 rector's innovations, be alleged, bad given tbe 
 people a taste), tbey woidd come back soon enougb 
 to tbe simple Scriptural services of bis little cburcb. 
 It was not nntil tbese conversions reacbed tbe 
 Hall itself tbat ber ladysbip was tborougbly 
 alarmed. But wben, first, tbe under-bousemaid, 
 and, subsequently, one of tbe grooms, requested to 
 be excused from attending Mr. Marsball's cbapel 
 any more, and even sbowed some reluctance about 
 coming in to family prayers, upon tbe grounds of 
 tbeir baving become " Catbolics" and baving 
 been already received into " tbe Cburcb " by 
 Fatber Delawney, tbe danger appeared too im- 
 minent to be regarded witbout serious appre- 
 bension. Sbe could not belp, tberefore, testifpng 
 some dissatisfaction to Mr. Marsball at tbe falling 
 aw^ay of so many of bis flock, and treated ^4tb a 
 dryness of manner tbat was not usual to ber bis 
 allusions to tbe priest's wily snares and to tbe 
 semi-papistical services at tbe parisb cburcb. 
 
92 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Apparently Mr. Marshall tliouglit it necessary, 
 after this expression of Lady De Marbury's dis- 
 satisfaction, to be up and doing sometbing. And 
 accordingly, wben it was announced tbat he bad 
 made a convert as well as tbe priest, bis credit 
 began to rise again witb ber ladyship ; and, as 
 a boy was to be seen going about in his company 
 for a day or two, the news wore the appearance 
 of truth. But, it coming out that the " conversion" 
 was from *^ Tractarianism," and not from Popery, 
 and that the subject of it — a discarded singing- 
 boy from the parish church — had made his sub- 
 mission to the rector (or rather his parents for 
 him) and had returned to his duties at Donnington 
 Church, Lady De Marbury's transient satisfaction 
 disappeared. From the signs of the times it was 
 evident to all that a change at the Hall chapel 
 was impending, and that, when any decent pretext 
 presented itself, Mr. Marshall would be got rid of. 
 And so he seemed to think himself. There was 
 an air of more independence about him, and he 
 seemed less desirous of conciliating Lady De 
 Marbury's esteem or good opinion. He suddenly 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 93 
 
 abandoned, too, his lectures, and laid aside miicli 
 of Ms controversial tone. Altogether, he seemed 
 like one desirous of anticipating his dismissal 
 by a "voluntary" resignation; and he was re- 
 peatedly^ and mysteriously absent, even to the dis- 
 arrangement of his services, without thinking it 
 necessary to assign any explanation or make an 
 apology. But an event occurred which brought 
 matters to a crisis sooner than might have been 
 expected. 
 
94 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTEH YII. 
 
 Sir John De Marbury, as may liave been 
 gathered, was a keen sportsman, and fond of 
 liunting in particular. Wlien staying from home 
 for any time during the hunting season, he usually 
 took his horses with him, or rather sent them on 
 to be kept at some good stable in the neighbour- 
 hood where he was stopping. With the Warwick- 
 shire hounds in particular he was frequently in 
 the habit of hunting, especially when staying, as 
 he did commonly every year, for some weeks in the 
 early spring, at Leamington. Upon one occasion, 
 the meet happening to be at Aston, near Birming- 
 ham, Sir John sent his horses over the day before ; 
 and, not being sure about the stable, and wishing 
 to look after his horses himself, he determined on 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 95 
 
 following tliem tlie same day, and sleeping in 
 Birmingham tliat night. He arrived at the '' Hen 
 and Chickens" in that to^vTi in the course of the 
 afternoon ; and, having dined, and seen his horses 
 made up to his satisfaction, accident, and partly 
 fancy, took him in the direction of the Roman 
 Catholic cathedral — the only ecclesiastical edifice 
 worth looking at, he thought, in Birmingham. 
 It was about seven o'clock when he reached the 
 doors of the " cathedral," and from the rumbling 
 of the organ it was plain that a service of some 
 kind was going forward. So, pushing aside the 
 heavy curtain which was drawn across one of 
 the side doors, and groping through a dark 
 passage or two, he made his way into the body of 
 the church, which was filled with people, it being 
 the eve of one of the great days in the Romish 
 Church — the Feast of the Annunciation of the 
 B. Y. M. Most of the people were on their knees, 
 gazing with uplifted eyes towards the splendidly- 
 decorated high altar, around which, from nimiber- 
 less wax candles, shone a perfect blaze of light. 
 Flowers, poih natural and artificial, decorated not 
 
96 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 only tlie liigli altar and tlie side chapels, but also 
 were twined round the pillars, and a wreath of 
 lilies adorned the head of her who was the object 
 of the coming festival, and whose image occupied 
 a conspicuous place upon one side of the altar. 
 Most of the peoj^le were kneeling, as we have 
 said, and apparently engaged in adoring the figure 
 we have described ; others, who were on their 
 knees also, were busily engaged in reading little 
 books of devotion, only occasionally pausing to 
 cross themselves, or to cast a look upon the 
 services that were being performed at the altar ; 
 and others, again, like Sir Jolin, were sitting some- 
 what in the background, and surveying the scene 
 before them — possibly edified by it, possibly much 
 the reverse. Sir John's feelings were probably 
 something between the two : admiration of what 
 he saw as a spectacle, and a sensation of shame, as 
 if those whom he saw before him were so many 
 pagan worshippers bowing down before yonder 
 gaudily- attired image, holding a child in its arms, 
 and with that tinsel croT^Ti upon its head. ISTot- 
 withstanding the profusion of wax candles and oil 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 97 
 
 lamps througliout tlie building, yet so dense were 
 the clouds of incense floating about, and almost 
 seeming to envelop the persons of tbe officiating 
 priests, as tbey moved about the altar, sometimes 
 dropping the knee to it, sometimes rapidly turning 
 round and showing something to the people, 
 which they would appear to hide and cover up 
 immediately afterwards, and then to kneel down 
 and pray to, that it was some time before Sir John 
 could see very clearly what was passing, or under- 
 stand at all what sort of service was being per- 
 formed. From a neighbour, however, a looker-on 
 like himself, he learnt that it was a " Benediction, 
 with a sermon. The preacher was him in the 
 black robe, of the Order of Jesus ;" and Sir John 
 for the first time perceived a kneeling figure on 
 one side of the altar, a little in front of it, and 
 with his face sideways towards the congregation, 
 but gazing — in a trance almost, it seemed, he was 
 so wrapped up in the beatific vision — upon the 
 Host, which was displayed on the altar. When 
 Sir John's eyes first rested upon the kneeling 
 figure he gave a start which attracted the notice 
 
 H 
 
98 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 of those on either side of him, and then continued 
 to gaze with painful earnestness upon that kneel- 
 ing form, never once withdrawing his eyes from 
 it. At length, upon a signal from the organ, 
 which began to play a slow, solemn dirge, that 
 kneeling figure arose, and, slowly turning romid, 
 displayed to Sir John's astounded eyes the features 
 of the Rev. Paul Marshall. It was some time be- 
 fore Sir John could take his eyes ofi" him, or pay 
 attention even to what he was saying. 
 
 " Who is that ?" he asked of the same person he 
 had spoken to before, and indicating the preacher 
 by the direction of his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, that's the famous Father Paul, of whom 
 you may have heard. He is a Jesuit, and is 
 coming back to this mission. He has been 
 abroad, I believe, or somewhere." And then the 
 speaker appeared to compose himself to listen with 
 attention to what such a famous preacher might 
 have to say. Placing himself in such a way as to 
 interpose a pillar between himself and Father 
 Paul, Sir John listened with amazement to the 
 torrent of words which poui^ed forth from his 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 99 
 
 lips, and in those accents whicli were so familiar 
 to him. Vituperation of Protestantism, and of the 
 English Church in particular, formed the staj)le of 
 his oration, as it might be called. At times he 
 would appear quite frantic with excitement, his 
 long black hair floating about him. At such 
 times a perfect stillness — as if there was a general 
 holding of people's breath — would prevail through- 
 out the dense mass whom the preacher was ad- 
 dressing. He referred to his own bondage as an 
 English clergyman in times past, and, with a 
 fervour of thanksgiving almost amounting to 
 rapture, poured forth his thanks that the net 
 which had so long entangled him was broken, and 
 that he was set free. For uj)wards of an hour, it 
 might be said, did Father Paul hold that congre- 
 gation absolutely entranced by his eloquence. 
 Sometimes he would lash himself into a perfect 
 storm of indignation, and his voice would echo 
 through and through the lofty building, as lie 
 spoke of the daring, audacious enemies of Holy 
 Church, and their mad, impious designs against 
 her ; and then, sinking his voice, would, in tones 
 
 H 2 
 
100 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 of tenderest pathos that might have pierced the 
 hardest heart, commend to the boundless mercy 
 of the great Father in Heaven those unhappy, 
 misguided beings who were lifting up their puny 
 hands against the Yicar of Christ, and assailing 
 with fruitless violence that Hock upon which His 
 Church is built. It was not possible to be alto- 
 gether proof against the charms of that fascinating 
 manner ; and it was only by summoning to his 
 aid the recollection of the treachery and perfidy 
 of which Mr. Marshall had been so long and un- 
 deniably guiltj^, that Sir John could bring himself 
 to entertain a proper sense of indignation against 
 him. To remain in Birmingham an hour longer 
 than was necessary was, he felt, impossible ; and so, 
 hastily giving what directions were necessary to 
 his groom. Sir John set off the same night by the 
 mail-train, and, to the astonishment of his mother 
 and of the whole household, arrived early on the 
 following morning at Donnington Hall. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 101 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 Lady De Marbury's indignation, of course, knew 
 no bounds. "Whatever else slie had suspected, it 
 could never have occurred to her that all Mr. 
 Marshall's fierce denunciations against Popery were 
 a mere sham, and that he was, in fact, and with a 
 good deal of success, plapng Father Delawney's 
 game for him. Could the priest, she wondered, 
 have been aware that the apparent Protestant 
 minister was, in reality, a concealed Jesmt ? There 
 was nothing in Father Delawney's manner, or in 
 anything he had ever said, to enable her to decide 
 either way. His face always wore that smooth, 
 oily, impenetrable look which may be said to 
 be the badge of his tribe ; he was never to be 
 taken off his guard ; and even now, though in her 
 
102 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 ladyship's black-books, be treated her, when they 
 casually met in their walks, with the same im- 
 boimded deference and smiling civility that he 
 had ever shown during the three- and- twenty years 
 she had resided at Marbury. And, as for her 
 brother, the contemplation was a sad one ! ^^o 
 does not know the degrading state of mental thral- 
 dom in which the Romish laity are held b}^ their 
 priests ? Where the interests of Holy Church are 
 in question, what will not its members say or do, 
 whether they be laics or ecclesiastics ? And 
 then, in Lord Clapham's delicate state of health, 
 and with his morbid conviction of having been a 
 rebel of more than ordinary daring against the 
 authority of holy mother Church, what more 
 easy than so to work upon his feelings as to make 
 him look upon it in the light of a duty (in some 
 degree atoning for his former heresy) to aid and 
 abet Father Paul in his indefatigable efforts to win 
 back the De Marbury family, in the person of Sir 
 John, to the Catholic faith, and to help forward the 
 general work of conversion by such means as lay 
 in his power. Lady De Marbury did not know 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 103 
 
 what to think of her brother's share in the decep- 
 tion. For that he was aware of Father Paul's 
 real character before he left could not, she thought, 
 admit of any doubt. That secret midnight con- 
 versation, the suppressed laughter on the part of 
 Mr. Marshall which affected her so unpleasantly 
 at the time, though ignorant of its import, and 
 the slight air of confusion visible on her brother's 
 face next morning when he learnt that his sister 
 had, on that particular night, been the occupant of 
 the room adjoining his — all these things convinced 
 Lady De Marbury that her brother had, at any 
 rate, been put in possession of the secret before 
 quitting Donnington ; but that he had advised 
 it, or even approved of it, seemed doubtful. That 
 an English gentleman, a peer of the realm, could 
 have abetted such a disgraceful imposition, she was 
 unwilling to believe, imless there was more evidence 
 to prove it than she was possessed of. Nay, those 
 two or three parting words of Mr. Marshall as he 
 left the room, that " everything was fair in war," 
 would seem to imply — encouraged her, at any rate, 
 to hope — that Lord Clapham, priest-ridden as he 
 
104 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 was, yet had sufficient of tlie feelings of an English 
 gentleman about him to condemn such an abuse of 
 his sister's confidence, and to have expressed his 
 disapproval of the plot. She would cling to the 
 hope, at any rate. 
 
 It was on a Saturday morning that Sir John 
 returned. He learnt, from inquiries immediately 
 instituted, that Mr. Marshall had been absent all 
 the week, and was not expected back until late 
 that same night. Sir John's first impulse was to 
 write him a letter which he might get upon his 
 arrival, and to give orders for the immediate clos- 
 ing of the chapel, so that Mr. Marshall might not 
 again desecrate its walls by his ministrations 
 within them ; but there being some doubt — so 
 Mr. Ardern, at least, said — as to how far it would 
 be legal to close a duly licensed place of worship 
 without the bishop's authority (which there was 
 not time to appeal to, his lordship being in Lon- 
 don), and Sir John being under the impression 
 that Mr. Marshall, as licensed minister of the 
 chapel (though it turned out afterwards, upon 
 inquiry, that he never had been actually licensed. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 105 
 
 througli some informality in Ms papers), could, 
 and would probably, insist upon officiating until 
 duly deprived by the bishop, — Sir John de- 
 termined, being of a fearless, resolute nature, to 
 attend tbe morning service as usual, and after- 
 wards to confront the reverend gentleman and 
 tax him witb bis deceit. In order the better to 
 carry out his purpose, and to provide himself with 
 an unexceptionable witness of what might pass 
 between them, he wrote a note to his friend Cap- 
 tain Legh, of Ashton Hall, who happened to be at 
 home on leave of absence, and requested him to be 
 his guest at the Hall, and to aid him with his 
 advice and presence in a matter of some emergency. 
 The gallant dragoon promptly obeyed the sum- 
 mons, wondering much what was up now with 
 Sir John. ''Was he going to fight a duel?" This 
 was his first question when he saw him ; the next 
 was — "Was it an}i:hing about poachers?" All 
 the young man's thoughts, you see, running pro- 
 fessionally upon ''battle, murder, and sudden 
 death." 
 Bat when he was told that it was only about a 
 
106 DONNINGTON HALL, 
 
 parson, wliom liis friend wanted to get rid of, the 
 young man's temporary excitement very speedily 
 subsided. ^' Getting rid of a parson," so as lie was 
 not a rector or vicar, or with a great county fol- 
 lowing, seemed to him to be a very simple proceed- 
 ing. It was looked upon quite in that light, in 
 Cheshire, at the time I speak of, and is so still 
 probably. If a curate, or friendless man, was so 
 unlucky as to give offence to the squire, or to the 
 squire's lady more probably, short work was made 
 of him. The rector must at once get rid of him, if 
 he valued the favour of the great people at the 
 Hall, and did not wish all the parish charities to 
 be thrown uj)on his hands ; or the bishop would 
 be written to — '' Mr. So-and-so had made himself 
 disagreeable;" or, perhaps, it was that he was 
 making himself " too agreeable to one of the 
 young ladies :" — it was requested that he might 
 be removed, or else, &c., &c. ; and so removed 
 young Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones would be, with 
 very little ceremony. So, when Captain Legh 
 was told that his aid and presence were required 
 to enable his friend Sir John to get rid of an 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 107 
 
 obnoxious parson, lie took the matter yery quietly, 
 only marvelling, as he stroked his moustache, in 
 what way his himible services could be of use where 
 it was only a parson that was to be demolished. 
 After dinner, however, when the young men were 
 left alone, and after the affair had been duly gone 
 into, the young captain took more interest in the 
 matter, and speculated even upon the part he might 
 be called upon to play in the forthcoming mclte. 
 
 "By Jove ! only to think of the fellow's assurance ! 
 He must have had a deuced deal of cleverness to 
 play the game he has ; only you must contrive to 
 keep your temper with him, Jack. Those Jesuits, 
 I imaofine, are verv difficult fellows to come over ; 
 and then you mustn't argue with him, my dear 
 fellow, or he'll be sure to floor you. First tell him 
 quietly that you are not going to stand any more 
 of this sort of thing ; and, if he gets at all imperti- 
 nent, just leave him to me : I'll know how to manage 
 him!" 
 
 Thus self-complacently did the young captain 
 advise his friend as to what was to be his demeanour 
 and course of proceeding for the next day. 
 
108 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Lady De Marbury did not think, of course, of 
 attending the services of their own chapel on that 
 Sunday. She hoped never to set eyes upon the 
 wily Jesuit again, or to hear the sound of his voice. 
 Great, then, was the sensation at the parish church 
 when the little door opened which admitted into 
 the family seat directly from the outside, and the 
 tall, erect figure of Lady De Marbury was seen to 
 enter, just a few minutes after the service had 
 commenced. As she had not been at her parish 
 church more than two or three times since the 
 death of her husband, many were the speculations 
 as to the cause of so unusual an event. The rector's 
 wife, we may be sure, shared in the general sur- 
 prise; and, as one object with her ladyship in 
 coming over was to disburden her mind of its 
 troubles to Mr. and Mrs. Hulton, they were not 
 long left in doubt as to what had happened. The 
 rector could not join her after church, being busy 
 with his clothing club, or some such thing ; but 
 into the sympathizing ear of Mrs. Hiilton, who, as 
 she listened, was thinking all the time what a treat 
 there was in store for her husband when he came 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 109 
 
 in to lunclieoii, — into lier s^nnpatliizing ear did 
 Lady De Marbury pour the whole history of her 
 wrongs, and of Father Paul's deception ; and, having 
 thus relieved herself, and being all anxiety to 
 learn what had passed between Sir John and Mr. 
 Marshall that morning, or perhaps what was 
 passing at that moment, she drove home. 
 
 " Well, I have something to tell you, Harry, 
 that will astonish you.'* It was thus that the 
 rector was greeted upon entering the house. "You 
 could never guess what has happened at the Hall." 
 
 " Something about Marshall, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, something about him ; but what do you 
 think it is ?" 
 
 " He has been making up to the widow, perhaps. 
 All the single chaplains seem to go in for that." 
 
 *' Oh, worse, worse — a great deal worse than 
 anything that has ever happened there before." 
 
 " Good gracious, Charlotte ! what is it ? Marshall 
 hasn't run off, has he ? or he and the priest haven't 
 come to blows, have they ?" 
 
 " Well, sit down and eat something while I tell 
 you. What do you think of this Mr. Marshall 
 
110 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 being all the time a Romanist in disguise — an 
 actual Jesuit, Lady De Marbury says. He is the 
 same Father Paul of the Oratory that there was 
 such a disturbance about two or three years ago. 
 You may recollect it : something about taking a 
 child away from its parents and concealing it ; — the 
 poor little thing died." 
 
 *' I remember." 
 
 " Well, he is the very same Father Paul. You 
 know he was a pervert. He was one of the curates 
 of Brighton, and was run after so by all the evan- 
 gelical young ladies ; when, all of a sudden, he went 
 to just the opposite extreme, and ended by going 
 over to Rome. He went abroad. Lady De Marbury 
 said, and, when he came back, was only known as 
 Father Paid." 
 
 " He must have made use of his letters of orders, 
 and perhaps some old testimonials, to have imposed 
 upon the bishop. I wonder the secretary didn't 
 twig him ; he is generally sharp enough — at least, 
 where money is concerned." 
 
 " Lady De Marbury says that Mr. Marshall once 
 told her something about his having a difficulty in 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. Ill 
 
 getting his papers signed, on account of liis having 
 been so long out of tlie country ; but sbe never 
 thought anything of it, of course." 
 
 " But how ever did it all come out ?" asked the 
 rector, hardly recovered from his amazement. 
 
 " Oh, Sir John happened to be over at Birming- 
 ham about something or other — he has been stay- 
 ing at Leamington, you know — and he went into 
 the E-omish cathedi^al out of curiosity, having 
 nothing else to do ; and one of the first persons he 
 sees is Mr. Marshall (they call him Father Paul 
 there) ; and Sir John heard him deliver such a 
 sermon — so full of abuse against our Church ; and 
 then Sir John met some one in the train as he was 
 coming back who was able to enlighten him a 
 little more about Father Paul's antecedents." 
 
 " Well, I never heard such a thing before. You 
 know I have often said to you that, if Marshall 
 was paid for doing mischief to the Church, he 
 couldn't have gone about it more effectually. The 
 way in which he used to talk before Sir John was 
 quite enough to unsettle any young man in his 
 Church principles. Why, the priest used to beat 
 
112 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 him out and out in his arguments, and not leave 
 him a leg to stand upon ; and when I used to 
 uphold the catholicity of our Church and its 
 orders, why, this Marshall would be the first to 
 turn upon me and sneer at what I said, and repre- 
 sent that his oiiit, and not mine, were the real 
 doctrines of the Church of England ; and, of 
 course, he had plenty of authority quite at his 
 fingers' ends. It makes my blood boil to think of 
 it. However, I must be ofi": it is time for school.'* 
 We now turn to what was passing at Donning- 
 ton Chapel at the very time the rector and his 
 wife were talldng over Mr. Marshall and his 
 proceedings. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL, 113 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 As may be supposed, Sir John De Marbury's 
 feelings were anything but comfortable as he and 
 his friend took their seats in the great square pew 
 in Donnington Chapel which belonged to the Hall. 
 He had a great dislike to a scene under any cir- 
 cumstances. Especially he shrank from haying 
 openly hostile words with his clerg}Tnan — in his 
 own church, too — and on a Sunday. But he was 
 in a state of too much nerrous irritation to brook 
 delay : Mr. Marshall might leave directly after 
 the services, or early on the following morning — 
 might feign illness, or might give him the slip in 
 some other way. Better, then, strike while the 
 iron was hot. And there was something like a 
 righteous retribution in exposing this man on the 
 
 I 
 
114 DONNINGTOX HALL. 
 
 yeiy spot where lie had so long carried on his 
 deceitful practices. Still he felt he should be very 
 glad when it was all over. "While buried in such 
 thoughts, and looking with an air of abstraction 
 upon the congregation assembling by twos and 
 threes, mostly farmers and their wives, with a 
 sprinkling from T^ewchurch and one or two other 
 parishes — persons who considered it a privilege to 
 "sit nnder" Mr. Marshall, in preference to their 
 own respective clergjinen, — while this was going 
 on, the little bell suddenly ceased its jingling, the 
 organ played out a voluntary, and in walked the 
 Rev. Mr. Marshall, looking calm and composed as 
 usual, and at once proceeded with the service. 
 There was one thing which seemed to strike him ; 
 and that was the empty pews generally occupied 
 by the Hall servants — a considerable array. Kone 
 of them were there. This, coupled with Lady De 
 Marbury's unusual absence, appeared to attract 
 Mr. Marshall's notice ; for his eye seemed to seek 
 Sir John's curiously on more than one occasion 
 during the service. The sermon, unlike any that 
 Sir John had ever heard from him before, was 
 
DOXNIXGTON HALL. 115 
 
 short, delivered obviously without any preparation, 
 and was rather a hasty commentary upon some 
 portion of the services of the day than anything 
 else. At length all was over, and the time had 
 come for confronting the reverend dissembler. 
 There was a good-sized vestry-room attached to 
 Donnington Chapel, being intended also for the 
 use of the Sunday-school, for Bible- classes, and 
 the like ; and in this room, which was furnished 
 with a table, a few chairs and forms, it was 
 Mr. Marshall's well-known custom to spend the 
 couple of hours which intervened between the 
 morning and afternoon services ; so that Sir John 
 made sure of finding him there when he should go 
 in. Waiting, therefore, until all the congregation 
 had dispersed, and the officials of the church were 
 withdrawn, and the doors closed. Sir John then, 
 accompanied by his friend, first knocked at the 
 door of the vestry-room, and then entered it. 
 They found Mr. Marshall in there, as they ex- 
 pected, and engaged with a book of devotion 
 which looked like the Breviary, and which he 
 made no attempt to conceal or put aside. Sir 
 
 I 2 
 
116 DONNINGTON HALL, 
 
 Jolm's face must have worn some peculiar expres- 
 sion, for the Jesuit seemed to read his purpose in 
 a moment. He stood up, and said in a steady, 
 fearless tone, " You have come, I suppose, to tell 
 me that you are aware who and what I am?" 
 Pausing for a moment, and gathering from Sir 
 John's expression that he was right in his surmise, 
 the priest went on. " Yes, you see before you no 
 pitiful Protestant minister of the Establishment, 
 but Father Paul of the Cross — an unworthy brother 
 of the Company of Jesus." 
 
 This was taking a high tone, and it somewhat 
 disconcerted Sir John in his intentions of deliver- 
 ing a sharp rebuke to him, and then leaving. 
 
 " Sir John De Marbury," said the priest, noticing 
 his momentary hesitation, " before you speak, be- 
 fore you utter words which you may repent of all 
 your life, listen to what I have to say. You 
 think, perhaps, in your blindness, that you come 
 here to degrade me — come here to tax me with 
 baseness. But I tell you that never was mes- 
 senger of good news hailed with greater delight 
 than I welcome your presence here to-day. At 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 117 
 
 the bidding of the general of my order, and as 
 some sliglit atonement for heresy long persisted in 
 against tlie light, I have done that for weU-nigh 
 two years in comparison with which work at the 
 galleys, labour fathoms deep in a mine, would 
 have been embraced with transport. I have coun- 
 terfeited the Protestant minister, have polluted 
 my tongue with the language of heretics. But 
 now joy ! joy ! " cried out the priest, his face 
 radiant with delight, and in accents of thrilling 
 emotion ; " I have done with Protestantism and 
 heresy for ever ! — not in appearance even must 
 I be for an hour longer what I so utterly loathe 
 and abhor. Laics Deo ! Do tibi gratias, Domine. 
 * The snare is broken, and we are delivered.' '* 
 
 " Mr. Marshall, I come not here," said Sir John, 
 with dignity, " to hear the faith of the Church of 
 England reviled by an apostate — ^by one whose 
 lips have been hitherto steeped in dissimulation. 
 I come not even to ' degrade* you, as you have 
 said : you have done that quite sufficiently for your- 
 self. I shall not even stay to tax you with your 
 inconceivable baseness and dissimulation " 
 
118 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 " Stop, Sir Jolm/' said tlie priest, with, an air 
 of authority; "you are not addressing some 
 wretched culprit at Sessions. 'No, Sir John," and 
 here the priest advanced a step or two, and, placing 
 his hand on Sir John's arm, and looking steadily 
 into his face, went on in a tone of mournful sad- 
 ness ; " you are heaping these taunts upon one 
 who has been labouring night and day for your 
 best happiness — endeavouring, if it might be, to 
 win back to the faith the representative of the 
 old Catholic family of the De Marburys. Oh, 
 Sir John ! refuse not my entreaty. I could kneel 
 down to you if I could prevail on you to return 
 to the bosom of that holy Church to which your 
 forefathers belonged, of which all of that family 
 whom you now represent were devout members. 
 Talk not to me of degradation ! of what avail 
 men's idle notions about honour, compared with, 
 the saving of your soul ? Oh, give me your con- 
 version as my payment for all the pains and 
 mortification I have endured on your account." 
 The priest was too much in earnest to be repulsed 
 with scorn. His eyes filled with tears, his voice 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 119 
 
 shook, as lie pleaded witli pathetic earnestness, 
 and besought the young man whose hand he 
 grasjDed to make his submission to the Church at 
 once, upon the very spot where they stood. Sir 
 John was too much overcome to be able to reply 
 at the moment. His friend, therefore, who had 
 played a much less conspicuous part on the occa- 
 sion than he expected, and whose presence in the 
 room, indeed, the priest seemed hardly to have 
 noticed, at length put in, and said — 
 
 "You don't expect, I suppose, that Sir John 
 is going to forsake his religion ? You will find 
 yourself mistaken, by Jove ! if you think so." 
 
 " Young man," said the priest, turning on him, 
 and addressing him with authoritative voice, 
 different from the tones of tenderness he had 
 hitherto been using, "be content with killing 
 human bodies : seek not to destroy souls as well. 
 You are proud of your achievement in spearing 
 ever so many of those wretched Sikhs in the war : 
 lay aside such false pride ; seek, with your friend 
 here, admission, as a humble penitent, to the 
 only one true Church. At any rate, stand not 
 
120 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 now between your friend and the kingdom of 
 God.'' 
 
 Matters had turned out so completely different 
 from what they had expected, the priest had, all 
 through, assumed such a tone of superiority, that 
 the young men were only anxious now about 
 getting away. 
 
 "Mr. Marshall," said Sir John, gravely, ''I 
 accept your assurance that what you have done 
 has been with a view to my benefit. You cannot 
 expect me, or any member of my family, to ap- 
 prove of the means which you have adopted to 
 effect your purpose. They are contrary, at any rate, 
 to the notions of honour with which I have been 
 brought up, idle as you may think them. But I 
 wish to part in peace with you. I have no in- 
 tention of changing my religion, and must beg 
 not to be importuned further on the subject." 
 
 " Farewell, then," said the priest. " The seed 
 sown now may bear fruit hereafter. We shall 
 never meet more. Sir John, or, in all probability, 
 look on each other's faces again. I go, after a 
 brief stay at the oratory in Birmingham, first back 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 131 
 
 to Italy, to lay at tlie lioly father's feet tlie results 
 of my mission to England : they have not been 
 altogether barren ; and then, at the bidding of the 
 general of my order, I shall have to cross many 
 seas and traverse distant lands, even to the walls 
 of China. There, as you know, the Catholic 
 missionary carries his life in his hand from day 
 to day. What shall befall me is known alone to 
 Him whom I have faithfully endeavoured to serve. 
 Farewell, then. Sir John De Marbury ! Eemem- 
 ber that the last words the Catholic priest ever 
 addressed to you were to adjure you, by all your 
 hopes of heaven, to seek for reconciliation with 
 that holy mother Church whom you have so long 
 slio:hted. And as for vou, voung man," went on 
 the priest, turning towards Captain Legh, "you 
 may tire yet of your inhuman trade of massacring 
 your fellow-creatures, made, whether white or 
 black, after the image of God, and of defacing 
 His likeness by thrusting your cruel weapons into 
 their bodies ; remember that holy Church spreads 
 out her arms for you as well as others, and invites 
 you to take refuge within her everlasting gates ! 
 
122 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and oh, remember, wlien struck down in battle, or 
 parcbed with fever in your hospital, — ob, remember, 
 at such times, if you bave tbe power of tbougbt, 
 my last words to you in tbis room. Fail not at 
 once to send, witb tbe speed of lightning, for 
 some holy priest to receive your confession and 
 give you absolution before it be too late." 
 
 With these words the priest disappeared through 
 a side door, and was never seen again at Don- 
 nington. 
 
 Years afterwards though, when one of those 
 two young men who stood in the vestry-room of 
 Donnington Chapel on that particular Sunday 
 found himself under the walls of Canton, Father 
 Paul once more crossed his path. As aide-de-camp 
 to the general in command. Major Legh, as he 
 then was, had been more than once indebted for 
 local information and intelligence respecting the 
 movements of the enemy to a tea-merchant, who 
 spoke the language like a native, and di^essed and 
 looked precisely like one. Major Legh had first 
 made his acquaintance in a joss-house, which he 
 had gone to see, with some of his brother officers. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 123 
 
 out of curiosity, and wliere tlie seeming mercliant 
 was engaged assisting at some native ceremony. 
 This man appeared to attach himself to Major 
 Legh ahnost from the first, and had given him to 
 understand that he was in reality a Christian 
 missionary. He was missed after a time, and 
 nothing heard of him until nearly the termination 
 of the war, when one night, late, a person dis- 
 guised as a Malay sailor, but who was indeed a 
 French priest, conveyed a token from the seeming 
 tea-merchant which left no doubt of his identit3\ 
 It was a scrap of paper, on which these words 
 were written : " Father Paul of the Cross. Re- 
 member Donnington Chapel, Sunday, April — , 
 184—." 
 
 " That piece of paper was given me by Father 
 Paul," the French priest went on to say ; " and he 
 charged me, as a dying request, to place it myself 
 in your hands if I ever escaped from the prison in 
 which we were both confined. Father Paul was 
 led out to execution shortly afterwards, and, by 
 the express order of Commissioner Yeh, and under 
 his personal superintendance, was sawn asunder." 
 
124 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Such was the fate of Father Paul, as it became 
 known long afterwards. The French priest, it 
 seems, contrived to escape in the disguise in which 
 Major Legh saw him. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 125 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Lady De !Marbuiiy was, of course, all eagerness 
 for the return of her son and his friend from 
 church. She had to wait a long time, however, 
 before her curiosity as to what had passed between 
 them and the disguised Jesuit was gratified. At 
 length, as she stood watching at one of the Hall 
 windows, she saw Sir John and Captain Legh walk- 
 ing slowly towards the house. There was an air 
 of reserve and thoughtfulness, and an indisposition 
 to enlarge much upon what had so recently passed 
 at the chapel, that struck her with surprise as they 
 entered. She was prepared for a graphic, perhaps 
 amusing, accoimt of a " scene " with Father Paul, 
 and for the display of a good deal of excitement on 
 the part of both the young men ; but, instead of 
 
126 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 that, slie merely learnt from Iter son tliat Father 
 Paul had at once admitted the deception he had so 
 long practised, and had alleged that his motives 
 were good for acting in the way he had done. 
 
 "His motives !" exclaimed Lady De Marhury, 
 indignantly; "what might they have been, 
 pray?'' 
 
 "He wished me to conform to the Catholic 
 Church," her son replied, rather sadly, and taking 
 up a book. 
 
 " Wished you to become a Papist ! I hope, 
 John, you gave him a good talking to when he 
 dared to speak to you in that way, and to try and 
 brazen the thing out ?" 
 
 " I didn't say much to him. I only said I had 
 no intention at present of changing my religion." 
 
 " At present ! then do you mean to say you 
 held out any prospect to him that such a thing 
 was possible ?" 
 
 " Well, I forget the exact words I used," replied 
 Sir John, apparently anxious to drop the subject. 
 " I only know I said that I was not going to 
 become a E-omanist." 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 127 
 
 " 'Why, my dear Jolin, you talk as if this man 
 tad some control over you — as if i/ou. were the 
 person who had reason to dread his displeasure ! 
 I hope you told him pretty plainly what we all 
 thought of him ?" 
 
 " T\Tiy, you see, his intentions were, no doubt, 
 good." 
 
 '' Well, I have no patience with you, I declare ! 
 to allow yourself to have been talked over by this 
 wily Jesuit in the way you have been, and after 
 the shameful manner in which he has acted towards 
 your mother and everybody else ! What do i/oic 
 say. Captain Legh ? — ?/oi( were not afraid of him, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 ''Why, you see, Lady De Marbur}'," said the 
 captain, sitting down to limcheon and evading 
 the question, "he is a deuced clever sort of fellow, 
 and all that.'' 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense !" said her ladyship, with 
 rising displeasure. " Grood intentions, cleverness ; 
 what next will you both say in his favour ? I am 
 really ashamed of you both, that you should have 
 let this wily, scheming Jesuit off so easily. If it 
 
128 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 hadn't been Sunday, and if I had thought that he 
 would have made such fools of you both, why, I 
 would have sent the two footmen down to give 
 him a good ducking in the mere." 
 
 " It is better as it is. He says he is going to 
 China shortly." 
 
 " To play the same game with the Chinese ! 
 He may meet his match there, if he is caught 
 at it." 
 
 "It is extraordinary," said Captain Legh, with 
 an absent manner, and addressing no one in par- 
 ticular, ''what these menwiU not undergo in order 
 to spread their faith. There is really a kind of 
 sublimity about their self-devotion, in the sacrifices 
 they are ready to make, that one cannot help 
 admiring." 
 
 Apparently this remark was as little to Lady 
 De Marbury's taste as anything that had fallen 
 from either of the young men since they came in ; 
 for, pushing back her chair, she quitted the table 
 with some abruptness, and was not visible again 
 until dinner-time, when all traces of displeasure 
 had disappeared from her usually placid features, 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 129 
 
 and tlie name of Father Paul seemed to be avoided 
 by general consent. 
 
 It bad been agreed in tbe morning tbat Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hulton were to come over to luncbeon next 
 day ; and Lady De Marbury bad tbe satisfaction 
 of knowing tbat, in tbe rector and bis wife, sbe 
 would bave warm abettors, and tbat notbing sbe 
 could say against Fatber Paul would be too bad in 
 tbeir estimation. Accordingly, at luncbeon-time 
 next day tbey arrived, and very soon Fatber Paul 
 and bis delinquencies formed tbe subject of con- 
 versation. Captain Legb bad left, and Sir Jobn 
 was out about tbe place somewbere ; so Lady De 
 Marbury bad it all ber own way for some time at 
 least. 
 
 " Would you believe it, Mr. Hidton, tbat Sir 
 Jobn and Rowland Legb were actually balf de- 
 fending Mr. Marsball yesterday — were talking 
 about bis good intentions, and bis cleverness, and 
 all tbat stuff — not a word about bis treacbery and 
 sbameful bebaviour ? " 
 
 '' I bope to goodness be can be well punisbed : 
 one would bave no patience witb bis getting off.'* 
 
130 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 So spoke Mrs. Hulton, looking very pretty and 
 animated all the time, as ske advocated wkat she 
 called " decided measures" against tke Jesuit. 
 
 '' Well, I have no love for tke man myself," 
 said Mr. Hulton ; "but I believe tke best tking 
 would be to let kirn go quietly out of tke country 
 — if to Ckina, all tke better ; and I only wisk ke 
 would take tkat wily priest Delawney along witk 
 
 kim." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be most desirable, Mr. Hulton, if 
 we could break up tke nest of tkem kere, and get 
 rid of tke priest and ckapel and all ? You know 
 it kas been tried once or twice. I mean to speak 
 to Sir Jokn about it. But kere ke comes kimself." 
 
 "I kave been down," said Sir Jokn, after ke 
 kad greeted kis visitors and joined tke party at 
 lunckeon, " as far as Mr. Delawney's. I wanted 
 to ask kim wkat ke knew exactly about tkis 
 business of Marskall's." 
 
 " Well, did you see kim ? and wkat did ke 
 say ?" inquired Lady De Marbury anxiously. 
 
 " He said tkat latterly ke kad kis suspicions." 
 
 "But did you ask kim tke question point- 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 131 
 
 blank/' said the rector, " whetlier lie knew that 
 Mr. Marshall was a disguised Jesuit when he used 
 to come here and carry on those discussions with 
 himself?" 
 
 " I imderstood him to say he was ignorant of it 
 at the time. At least, he implied as much." 
 
 " You didn't get much out of him, John, it 
 seems." 
 
 " Not much." 
 
 " We were sa}"ing just now, before you came 
 in," said Mr. Hulton, after a pause in the con- 
 yersation, ''that it would be well if you were to 
 try and get rid of the whole concern, priest and 
 chaj)el and all, out of Donnington : buy them out, 
 if necessary : it would contribute yery much to the 
 peace of the parish." 
 
 " The same idea has occurred to myself, and I 
 intend to speak to Mr. Ardern about it. I should 
 think a place of worship and a residence in !Xew- 
 church, where the bulk of his congregation are, 
 would be much more conyenient to the priest. 
 But I shoiddn't be for doing anything hastily : 
 it might huit his feelings." 
 
 K 2 
 
132 DONNINGTON HALL, 
 
 " Hurt Ills feelings !" exclaimed Lady De 
 Marbury, turning up her eyes to tlie ceiling — a 
 favourite mode of liers when she would intimate 
 dissent without expressing it in words. 
 
 " You are too good-natured, Sir John," put in 
 pretty little Mrs. Hulton, whose satisfaction would 
 have been complete if the priest could have been 
 severely punished as well as Mr. Marshall. 
 
 '' He is quite as deep as the other," said Mr. 
 Hulton, " and I would stand on no ceremony with 
 him. I would get rid of them root and branch 
 out of the place, if I were you." 
 
 " Well, we'll see what is to be done. And now 
 about the duty at our chapel : what arrangement 
 is to be made ? I don't intend to have any more 
 chaplains resident here. They have been altogether 
 a sad nuisance." 
 
 " I think you had better let me provide for the 
 duty. I can send one of my curates, and you can 
 give me £50 a year, and that will help to make 
 out his salary. There isn't enough here to occupy 
 a man's time, and so they take to pernicious or 
 foolish courses." 
 
.DOXXIXGTON HALL. 133 
 
 The last words came out rather awkwardly, and 
 the rector tried to check himself. His hesitation, 
 however, attracted Lady De Marbury's attention, 
 and her thoughts rambled off for a moment from 
 Mr. Marshall to poor MacMahon, with his " Oirish 
 melodies '' and " poethrey " nonsense. The same 
 thought probably occurred to Mrs. Hulton, for she 
 straightway fell to admiring some flowers upon 
 the table, and to questioning Sir John about his 
 conservatory. 
 
 So the thing was settled in a few words, that 
 Mr. Hulton was in future to provide for the duty 
 at Donnington Chapel by himself or curates ; and 
 thus that which had been formerly such a bone of 
 contention between the Hall and the Rectory was 
 quite quietly disposed of, and without a word of 
 objection on the j)art of Lady De Marbury. It 
 is true that her reign at the Hall was over, and 
 that the power had passed into other hands. She 
 was also talking of taking a house at Bath, and 
 going to reside there ; so that her interest in 
 Donnington Chapel, and in the selection of a 
 minister for it, had naturally much diminished ; 
 
134 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and so she acquiesced in the rector's arrangement 
 as the best that could be made under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 *'I shall one of these days/' said Sir John, 
 " whenever I am rich enough, be for pulling down 
 that chapel, and building a handsome church with 
 a spire in its stead. It would look very well 
 through the trees ; and perhaps we might have a 
 district assigned to it." 
 
 " Come," thought Lady De Marbury to herself, 
 " it is not so bad, after all. He talks of building 
 a church and getting rid of those Jesuits. He 
 can't be thinking of turning Papist, after all." 
 
donnijS'gton hall. 135 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 There was a positive calm in the moral atmo- 
 sphere after the departure of Mr. Marshall ; and 
 as for conversions, such things speedily ceased to 
 be talked about, or to occur. By degrees, most 
 of those who had got into the way of attending 
 the services at Father Delawney's little chapel 
 slunk back into their places at church, and 
 seemed heartily ashamed of their temporary per- 
 version. Even the contumacious groom had, after 
 the departure of his Susan (upon the expiration 
 of her month's warning), expressed such an invin- 
 cible dislike to fasting and going to confession, 
 that no difficulty at all was found in inducing him 
 to resume his attendance at church. Being a 
 young man of somewhat fickle disposition, it was 
 
136 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 not long before lie and Susan's successor in the 
 brush and dustpan department were " keeping 
 company " with each other, and visiting on the 
 sly, when it was her " Sunday out," a little white- 
 washed meeting-house on the outskirts of the 
 parish, whither the disaffected in church matters 
 were wont to resort. Altogether, things returned 
 very much to the status in quo, and soon Mr. 
 Marshall and his plot had gone the way of other 
 nine-days' wonders. 
 
 Shortly after the above occurrences, Lady De 
 Marbury had carried out her long-talked-of plan 
 of taking a house at Bath and going to live there. 
 There was at that time a famous preacher — a 
 countryman of Mr. MacMahon's, by the way — at 
 the Octagon Chapel in that city ; and this circum- 
 stance had, no doubt, very much turned the scale 
 in favour of Bath. 
 
 Lady De Marbury's departure from the Hall 
 was viewed with a good deal of secret satisfaction 
 by most of the county magnates, with whom she 
 had never been very popular. Sir John, it was 
 thought, would come out more now, and throw 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 137 
 
 his house open to the county. Donnington Hall 
 had been under an eclipse too long, and its restora- 
 tion into the cycle of " entertaining houses " would 
 be hailed with universal satisfaction. The only 
 thing wanting was to find a suitable wife for Sir 
 John. She must have money, that was certain ; 
 and if she was Cheshire born and related to any of 
 the "ruling families," why, so much the better. 
 The young lady who was principally talked of for 
 him, and who answered most of the necessary re- 
 quirements to be sought for in the future mistress 
 of Donnington — though, unfortunately, not the 
 principal one — was Mrs. Hulton's sister, Miss 
 Townley. As she was often staying at the Rec- 
 tory, and as she went about everj^where in that 
 part of the county, it necessarily happened that 
 she and Sir John were brought into frequent con- 
 tact, and were, indeed, upon intimate terms. This 
 young lady had beauty, and was possessed of all 
 her sister's lively, agreeable manners, and was con- 
 sidered to be fidly as accomplished; but, unluckily, 
 her fortune was not large — a simple five thousand 
 pounds ; and here was the difiiculty. For that she 
 
138 BONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and Sir Jolm liked each, other well enougli was no 
 mystery in county circles, only it seemed clear 
 that they were not rich enough to marry — at any 
 rate, during Lady De Marbury's lifetime, her con- 
 siderable jointure constituting a serious burden 
 upon the estate ; and Lady De Marbury's life was 
 good for many years to come. 
 
 Mrs. Hulton did, indeed, try her hand at making 
 up a match between her sister and Sir John, and 
 would sometimes talk the matter over with her 
 grave husband, who was some years older than 
 herself. Time was, indeed, when Mr. Hulton 
 himself was no despicable match in the eyes of 
 match-making mammas. He had the three 
 requisites which Cheshire magnates look for in 
 aspirants to their daughters' hands : he had 
 Family, Fortune, and was Presentable. Other 
 things are very well in their way — amiability, 
 talent, morality, and so on ; but let a man have 
 tbese three quaKfications, and he will be acceptable 
 anywhere in the county, unless there be something 
 very outrageous indeed in his goings-on. And 
 Mr. Hulton, then the life and soul of gaiety, fully 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 139 
 
 came up to the mark ; and it was not long before 
 his capture was effected, and he was led about in 
 triumph by her who now sat so contentedly by his 
 side, and who went hand-in-hand with him in all 
 his plans for the good of the parish, and who 
 worked as assiduously at her school, and read to 
 the old peojDle, and physicked the ailing, as if she 
 had never been the belle of the ^N^ewchurch assem- 
 blies and the glory of many a Cheshire ball- 
 room. Her great wish now was to bring about a 
 match between her sister and the squire. AYhy 
 shouldn't they be able to live upon £800 a year ? 
 Mightn't some uncles or aunts die and leave them 
 money? If anything were to happen to Lord 
 Clapham, and to that sister of his who was so 
 delicate, would not a good deal of the property come 
 necessarily to Sir John ? She was quite certain 
 that something would turn up. And then it would 
 be such a nice thing to have Lotty at the Hall, 
 instead of that disagreeable old Puritan the 
 dowager. It was quite worth while, at any rate, 
 to make an effort to bring the thing about. 
 
 Mr. Hulton, as has been intimated, was once him- 
 
140 DONNIXGTON HALL. 
 
 self the subject of a somewliat similar speculation, 
 upon the part, not of her who was now his loving 
 wife, but of her mother (she had been a Miss 
 Parker). Sis fortune had been well looked into ; 
 his tastes and habits quietly scanned ; and, when 
 it was decided that he was worth catching — the 
 line had been thrown out by skilful hands — the 
 -bait, after a little trifling with it, was taken, and 
 the prize landed. All this was past and gone — 
 forgotten almost — as if it had happened a himdred 
 years ago. Mr. Hulton was only too happy in 
 his captivity, too proud of his chains, to care to 
 inquire too minutely into the process by which 
 his capture had been effected. And now, when 
 his little wife talked over with him the best way 
 of bringing about a match between her sister 
 and the squire, no tame elephant conducting his 
 fellows into a trap could have been more amenable 
 than was the rector to do her bidding. Yes, he 
 thought it tcould be a very nice thing to see Lotty 
 at the Hall. He was quite willing to aid the 
 project. Let them have Lotty on a visit, and 
 then ask Sir John to dine every now and then. 
 
DOXXINGTOX HALL. 141 
 
 He was alone, too, at the Hall, and would be glad 
 of some lively girl to chat with. Only point out in 
 what way he (the rector) could be serviceable, and 
 he would be only too happy. Might he now go out 
 into his parish ? he had several sick people to ^-isit. 
 And thus the matter was settled for the present. 
 But it is one thing to make arrangements for two 
 other people — that they should marry ; that it is 
 the very thing for them — and quite another for 
 the parties themselves to fall in with your plans, 
 either one or both. Lotty was capricious. Lotty 
 would flirt with yoimg Davenport — she seemed to 
 prefer him to the baronet ; she would get to cross- 
 purposes with her sister, and contrive to mar her 
 little projects in the most provoking way possible. 
 Perhaps it was that she thought Sir John was 
 dilatory in coming to the point — that they had 
 been talked of too much as it was, if nothing was 
 to come of it. 
 
 Perhaps it was ; but who can penetrate into 
 the recesses of the female heart, and follow all 
 its windings ? Lotty ^s tactics may have been 
 the best, after all. Was she not her mother's 
 
142 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 daugliter ? as if that was not quite enougli. You 
 and I, common-place persons as we are, might 
 have blundered out our meaning. That little girl, 
 though not quite eighteen, would have been more 
 than a match, I suspect, for us both. Sir John 
 seemed rather disconcerted by the young lady's 
 waywardness. Some barrier seemed to have 
 arisen between them. Was it that Mrs. To^Noiley 
 (whose fame as a match-maker was spread over 
 Cheshire) had been giving her daughter a hint ? 
 There was no finding her alone, or getting to sit 
 next to her at dinner. She was *^ at home" at 
 the Rectory, and coidd contrive to sit j)i'etty 
 much wherever she had a mind. Why shoidd 
 she encourage that young Davenport to be always 
 dangling after her, and coming over so often from 
 Malpas ? Sir John's case was one that required 
 very careful handling. Perhaps Lotty had hardly 
 experience enough to deal with it. It was a case 
 for her mother. 8lie woidd no doubt have dis- 
 played her usual acumen. For you see it was 
 this way : Sir John's was not simply a case of 
 holding back : there was no indisposition on his 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 143 
 
 part to make Miss Lotty an offer — that came out 
 afterwards, only it was too late ; but the young 
 man knew bis own circumstances best — knew that 
 he bad difficulty enough as it was to make both 
 ends meet ; how would it be, then, with a gay 
 fashionable girl like Charlotte Townley as his wife ? 
 How could he ever hope to satisfy Mrs. TowTiley's 
 requirements (there was a Mr. Townley, but no 
 one ever thought of him in these matters) as 
 to jointure and pin-money, and all those con- 
 comitants to matrimony ? She might give him 
 credit for being better off than he was. How 
 mortifying to be obliged to disclose the real state 
 of his finances, that he had barely £700 a year to 
 live upon, and with an ex]Densive place like the 
 Hall to keep up ! If Sir John had had an oppor- 
 tunity of imfolding the matter to that experienced 
 lady Mrs. Townley, it is probable that things 
 might have turned out differently from what they 
 did. But, discouraged as he was by the way in 
 which Miss Lotty met his advances (it is possible 
 she saw her error afterwards), and distrusting his 
 acceptableness with the family on account of his 
 
144 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 straitened means, it is certain tliat Sir John 
 made no sign during Lotty's somewliat protracted 
 stay at the Rectory ; and so Mrs. Hulton's little 
 plan for making the two young people hapjDy came 
 to nothing. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Little is ever heard in Xewcliurch. of old Jacob 
 Delves : on fine days he just gets outside Lis door 
 and basks in the sun. It can never be too wann 
 for tbe old man. The cold creeps into his marrow, 
 and it is with difficulty that the vital heat is sus- 
 tained in him. The doctor tells him to live well, 
 to take nourishing things, to drink a Kttle wine 
 — that a glass of gin-and- water, the last thing at 
 night, would do him no harm. But Jacob has 
 been too long accustomed to his old penurious 
 ways to begin indulging himself now. He dreads 
 being reduced to want. The only pleasure of his 
 life has been to hoard wp money. Deprive him of 
 that, and you deprive him of the only object worth 
 living for, in his estimation. His sight is too weak 
 
 L 
 
146 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 to permit limi to read much.. Little Annie, his 
 grand-daughter, reads him a chapter in the Bible 
 every now and then. He likes to hear her read, 
 and to notice her improvement. The long words 
 and proper names are no longer slurred over, and 
 a chapter in the Old Testament is not the formid- 
 able thing to her that it was a short time back. 
 It is difficult to say what sense the old man puts 
 upon many of the parts read to him which enjoin 
 liberality, bountifulness, and the like. It is certain 
 that he never acts upon them. He has never been 
 known to give a subscription towards any object 
 in his life, and, were it not for little smiling Annie, 
 who puts by the scraps, and has always something 
 to give away, many a beggar would have turned 
 from his door with bitterness in his heart and 
 curses on his lips. Old Jacob's nearest relations, 
 two sisters and their children, pass and re-pass the 
 old man as he sits sunning himself at his door ; but 
 greeting for them he has none. Their inquiries 
 after his health elicit no kindly response ; in fact, 
 he does not like to see them about him ; and as 
 for that tall, hulking young fellow, his nephew, 
 
DONXINGTON HALL. 147 
 
 wlio never seems to liave anytlimg to do but to 
 worry liini with, questions, and to interrupt little 
 Annie at her work, lie cannot endure the sight of 
 him. Perhaps the young man considers himself 
 as his heir, and this may account for his never 
 having done anything for himself. He lives with 
 his mother, and depends ujoon her hardly-earned 
 money, as a laundress, to supply himself with beer 
 and tobacco and other indulgences ; or it may 
 be, when he loiters so long about his uncle's 
 door, and watches for Annie as she goes for the 
 milk or trips out upon any little errand for her 
 grandfather, that the young man would establish 
 for himself an interest in that little damsel's heart. 
 " The old fellow may leave his money to Aer, after 
 all, and not to me : who knows ?" It is a pro- 
 blem that he is perpetually engaged in solving, 
 *' To whom will the old man leave his money ?" and 
 though viewed in ever so many different lights, 
 amidst clouds of tobacco, and under the peculiar 
 sort of inspiration produced by more than one glass 
 of spirits-and-water, quite irradiating the ycung 
 man's imagination and filling him with golden 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 visions of tlie future, yet it must be admitted 
 that he is no nearer a solution at the end of his 
 cogitations than he was before. 
 
 It was certain that the old man had the money — 
 as much as £30,000, it was said : wouldn't he know 
 how to spend it? — and it was certain that this 
 money must come to somebody, or be divided. 
 But further than this Tom Swigmore had never 
 been able to get. Surely the old man wouldn't 
 be such an unnatural wretch as to leave all his 
 money to an hospital, to an infirmary, to the par- 
 sons to build churches with ! The thought was an 
 agonizing one, and at a certain period of the young 
 man^s potations would bring tears to his eyes. 
 But others, besides Tom Swigmore and the family, 
 had an eye upon old Jacob, and would speculate 
 as to what he would do with his money. No one 
 thought he would part with any of it in his 
 lifetime. But then he was upwards of eighty, 
 and could not go on living for ever. It was doubt- 
 ful whether any of his relations would receive 
 much of his money : perhaps a few hundreds might 
 come to Annie ; that was all, it was thought. 
 
DONXIXGTON HALL. 149 
 
 From his cliaracter and peculiarities it was more 
 likely that old Jacob would leave the greater part 
 of his money to some public institution — to the 
 Queen, it was even suggested ; and so there would 
 be no harm in putting before him the claims of a 
 few of the most deserving of the public charities 
 and of the religious societies, in case old Jacob 
 should be at any loss what to do with his mone}^ 
 Accordingly, every now and then the post would 
 bring him a case of "Alarming Spiritual Destitu- 
 tion in the Potteries," or an "Appeal in behalf of 
 the Manchester Infirmary," or a paper headed 
 "Hasten to the Rescue," and setting forth the 
 claims of some ragged school, or Magdalen asylmn, 
 or juvenile reformatory, or what not ; and not 
 unfrequently it would be an urgent representation 
 of the imperative duty on the part of Englishmen 
 of sending out missionaries to Patagonia or Tim- 
 buctoo, or even despatching them into Ireland to 
 convert the natives there. 
 
 Jacob did not seem to dislike getting these 
 papers ; and so, instead of throwing them into a 
 waste-paper basket (supposing he possessed such a 
 
150 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 thing), lie would con over one of these for days 
 together, apparently trying to master some fact or 
 statistics in them, and then, when he had quite 
 done with it, or its place had been supplied by 
 another, he would carefully tie it up and add it to 
 a heap of similar papers, which he kept on one of 
 the shelves of his sitting-room. It may be he had 
 some idea of resj)onding to the appeal ; there may 
 have seemed to him some merit even in the enter- 
 taining of such a bountiful thought ; or perhaps it 
 was merely the result of his old habit of hoarding : 
 they would fetch something as waste-paper. Like 
 most of his class, who have risen from nothing, and 
 who have been scraping money together all their 
 days, old Jacob was fond of dilating upon his early 
 struggles. He would dwell upon his having been 
 originally a poor boy emploj^ed about the gardens 
 of Donnington Hall, glad to earn a penny in any 
 honest way ; often obliged to dine off a hard crust ; 
 thankfid. for any scraps the cook had no use for. 
 He would dwell upon the glories of Donnington 
 in those days, and describe some of Sir Thomas's 
 feats in the hunting-field, and recall with pride 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 151 
 
 his ctance notice of himself, and tell how Sir 
 Hugh, in after-days, wished him to be his coach- 
 man, but that he was doing better for himself as 
 head hostler of the ''Royal George ;'* and so the old 
 man would ramble on about his early days, with 
 little Annie usually as his Kstener. She knew the 
 whole history of the De Marburys, from Sir 
 Thomas's father downwards, so repeatedly did 
 they form the subject of the old man's talk. She 
 knew all about their marriages, and christenings, 
 and funerals, and how the ladies dressed them- 
 selves in old times. It was the one subject that 
 interested her grandfather, and she was content to 
 listen to his oft-told tales with that exemplary air 
 of interest that all her sex know so well how to 
 assume. She gave promise of being pretty, did 
 Annie, had fine dark eyes, fair hair, pure trans- 
 parent complexion, and a bright, pleasant expres- 
 sion of countenance. She would talk upon those 
 subjects the old man liked to dwell upon, and had 
 at all times a loving, gentle manner with her 
 towards him which won upon him more and more, 
 so that he could scarcely bear her out of his sight. 
 
152 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 " All," lie would often say to lier, stroking lier 
 head fondly, " if I could only see my little Annie 
 a lady, that would make your old grandfather 
 happy ! You are not fit to rough it : these little 
 dainty hands were never meant for the scrubbing- 
 brush. Why shouldn't you hold up your head 
 with the best of them ? I have money enough, if 
 that is all." And then the old man would keep 
 on muttering something to himself. He seemed 
 to be breaking fast, and often now complained of 
 restless nights. He had been a hale, hearty man 
 in his time, had old Jacob, even when getting 
 perceptibly into years. Down to comparatively a 
 recent period he had been engaged in the Stafford- 
 shire pottery trade and in coal-mine speculations, 
 by which he had amassed a large fortune. During 
 all that time, and while a resident in the Potteries 
 (Sir Richard then reigned at the Hall), Donnington 
 affairs were a blank to him ; he knew of little that 
 was passing there, and nothing scarcely of Sir 
 E-ichard himself; and, since his return to New- 
 church, and during the long minority of Sir John, 
 there was nothing stirring at the Hall of a nature 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 153 
 
 to enffasre Ms attention. Sir John's visit to him, 
 however, with Mr. Ardern, had revived his interest 
 in the family, and the old man seemed to recur to 
 it with gratification. He dwelt upon Sir John's 
 good looks and free and pleasant manners, and 
 heard with interest any little details connected 
 with his habits and pursuits. Things were in this 
 state, and the old man was in the house, and com- 
 plaining of being poorly, when a visitor made his 
 appearance in the person of Mr. Ardern. His 
 business was soon explained : Sir John was likely 
 to be put to inconvenience by the calling in of a 
 considerable sum of money which had been ad- 
 vanced to the late Sir Eichard to enable him to 
 complete the purchase of some land, and which 
 had remained a charge upon the property ever 
 since. Could Mr. Delves lend the money, and at 
 the same rate of interest that the former loan had 
 been had of him? The money required was 
 £5000. Old Jacob took some time to answer. 
 He then said — 
 
 '' If I were to lend this money. Sir John would 
 be in my debt £15,000 — a large sum. I must 
 
154 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 think tlie matter well over. Has Sir Jolin any 
 means of repaying tlie wliole sum if I require it 
 for any purpose, and after reasonable notice ?" 
 And the old man fixed his still keen eyes upon the 
 lawyer and awaited his answer. 
 
 *' Well, only by going into the market. I sup- 
 pose he could still raise enough off his property to 
 pay you in full, though it might put him to some 
 temporary inconvenience.'* 
 
 " Well, Mr. Ardern, I'll think over it ; and, in 
 the meantime, will you ask Sir John to call upon 
 me ? I should like to speak to him before making 
 any promise." 
 
 After this conversation, and upon the departure 
 of the lawyer, the old man seemed buried in re- 
 flection. He spoke little, but remained sitting 
 over the fire. 
 
 " Business with these lawyers is more, grand- 
 father, than you are well able for, now. You had 
 better leave it to Mr. Dean." This was the name 
 of the scrivener, or actuary, who managed most of 
 Mr. D elves' s affairs for him. 
 
 " It is so cold," said the old man, spreading his 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 155 
 
 skrivelled hands before tlie fire. " But I shall be 
 better when I have had my tea." 
 
 As he had been complaining of not feeling well 
 for two or three daj^s, Annie felt more alarm than 
 she otherwise would. She had not been in the 
 room when Mr. Ardern called, but, taking it for 
 granted that it was upon business, and business, 
 perhaps, of an exciting nature, she had made the 
 suggestion of sending for Mr. Dean, and leaving 
 him to settle the business with Mr. Ardern. 
 Nothing more was said upon the subject. But 
 the old man still complaining of cold and 
 shiverings, Annie stepped out and despatched a 
 messenger for Mr. Wright, old Jacob's usual 
 medical attendant. 
 
 " He has got a touch of this influenza that is 
 going about," pronounced Mr. "Wright, after feeling 
 his pulse and examining his tongue. " You had 
 better go to bed early, Mr. Delves, and I'll send 
 you some medicine." 
 
 "Is grandfather very bad?" asked poor little 
 Annie, putting the corner of her apron to her 
 eyes. 
 
166 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 " No ; it is notliing but a cold lie has caught. 
 Still, eighty- three — I think that is his age, is it 
 not ? — eighty-three is a disease in itself." 
 
 The old man did not rest very well that night, 
 and when he awoke there was an increase of fever- 
 ish symptoms about him. He expressed a great 
 desire to see Sir John De Marbury, and, accord- 
 ingly, a message to that effect was soon despatched 
 to Donnington Hall. " Sir John was out riding," 
 the messenger brought back word, "but as soon 
 as ever he came in he should be told of Jacob's 
 wish to see him." As the day wore on the 
 feverish symptoms somewhat abated, lea\ang, 
 however, the old man very weak. It was just 
 getting dusk when the sound of horses' feet under 
 the window aroused the patient from a brief 
 slimaber, and directly afterwards the old woman 
 who was nursing him announced " Sir John De 
 Marbury." 
 
 " Let every one leave the room," said the old 
 man feebly, looking towards the nurse and two or 
 three who had upon some pretence come into the 
 room. " I wish to speak to Sir John De Marbury 
 
POI^NINGTON HALL. 157 
 
 quite alone ; and let the door be shut.'* These 
 directions being obeyed, Sir John, seating himself 
 at the bed-side, prepared to listen to what the sick 
 man might have to say to him. 
 
158 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The last rays of the sun faintly lighted up the sick 
 chamber. There were the usual tokens of illness 
 about the room: half-emptied bottles; an orange or 
 two ; the tea-cup, with a spoon in it, out of which 
 the last nauseous powder had been taken ; and then 
 the sick man's clothes which he had for daily use, 
 stowed away here and there, as if not likely to be 
 wanted soon again. Who has not before his eyes 
 some such chamber, with its windows slightly open 
 at times for purposes of ventilation ? The furni- 
 ture in Jacob's sleepmg-room, like that do^\ai- stairs, 
 was old, and of a heterogeneous description, as if 
 picked up at a sale or broker's. But the bed-linen 
 and aU belonging to it, as well as the curtains, were 
 perfectly neat and clean, and altogether the old 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 159 
 
 man wanted for notliing. He lay there on tlie bed, 
 breathing witb some difficulty, but free from actual 
 pain, only very weak, lie said. Sickness sucb as 
 bis is a great leveller of distinctions, and so Jacob 
 Delves took little notice of Sir John De Marbury 
 as be entered tbe room and sat down by the bed- 
 side, and only gave the direction already mentioned, 
 speaking in feeble and husky tones, that all else 
 should leave the room. After a little pause the 
 old man began, speaking at first in a very low 
 tone, but his voice gaining strength as he pro- 
 ceeded : — 
 
 *' I feel, Sir John, as if I was not likely to be 
 here very long, and there is something on my mind 
 I have to say to you which concerns us both. I am 
 an old man, in my eighty-third year, and have 
 worked hard in my time for my living. I began 
 life, as you know, at the Hall, and I wish, when 
 I am dead and gone, that my bones should rest 
 in Donnington Churchyard, under the old elm- 
 tree which I have so often climbed as a boy : 
 will you promise me that — that you will see it 
 done?" 
 
160 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 A squeeze of tlie liand assured tlie dying man 
 of Sir John's readiness to see his wish complied 
 with. He then went on : — 
 
 "I have always loved Donnington and every- 
 thing belonging to it. I was poor there, and happy, 
 before the cares of riches and of money-making 
 took such hold upon me. Now it is about this 
 money I want to speak to you. When Mr. Ardern 
 told me, two years ago, that he thought you would 
 be glad to borrow of me, I was proud to accommo- 
 date the owner of Donnington, and let you have 
 the money on easier terms than were customary 
 with me. Since then — it was only yesterday, 
 though it seems longer — Mr. Ardern has been to 
 me again, to say that you wished to borrow £5000 
 more, which would make in all, if I were to lend 
 it to you, £15,000. Now, Sir John, I can't do 
 this in the way you wish. I am going out of the 
 world — the doctor says I can't last more than a 
 few days — and I wish to settle my affairs at once. 
 I have no one except my little grand- daughter, 
 whom you may have seen, whom I care for, or who 
 cares for me. It is only my money they want. I 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 161 
 
 tave provided, therefore, for Annie, so that she 
 shall never want, and left a few hundreds amongst 
 my sisters and their children. But the bulk of my 
 property, amounting in all to £20,000, goes to the 
 Manchester Infirmary, and to one or two other 
 institutions. They w-ill be sure to call in at once 
 the £10,000 I lent you ; and Mr. Ardern tells me 
 that this may put you to much inconvenience. If 
 I was to lend you another £5000, your difficulties 
 would be all the greater." 
 
 Here the old man paused for breath, and being 
 supplied, at his request, with a mixture of some 
 sort, seemed to feel a little recruited. He then, 
 with great difficulty, raising himself up in bed, 
 took from imder his pillow a paper, and then went 
 on: — 
 
 '' This paper is my will, by which my directions 
 will be carried out as I have just described them to 
 you. It has been fairly written out, and is ready for 
 execution this evening — in half an hour hence. It 
 only wants my signature and those of witnesses to 
 be binding. Once I am passed away, and you will 
 be in the hands of the Governors of the Manchester 
 
 M 
 
162 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Infirmary, and sucli as them ; and you know what 
 sort of creditors they are likely to prove, and 
 how little they'd care if they were to ruin all 
 the De Marburys in the world. You understand 
 me?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said the young man. 
 
 " Now, Sir John," and here the old man's voice 
 quivered, *' I have not sent for you merely to tell 
 you this — for you would know it quite soon enough 
 — but I have sent to tell you that it rests with your- 
 self, and yourself alone, whether I carry out my 
 purpose of leaving all my money to public institu- 
 tions, or whether, with the trifling exception of a 
 few hundreds, all my money goes to yourself. Yes, 
 to yourself. You look surprised; but I mean 
 what I say. All my money, amounting to more 
 than £20,000, shall be yours, upon one condition ; 
 and that is, if you will marry my grand-daughter.^^ 
 
 *' Marry your grand- daughter ? why, she is a 
 mere child, if you mean the one I have seen here 
 with you." 
 
 " Annie is just fourteen. See that she is edu- 
 cated ; get Lady De Marbury to act as her guardian ; 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 163 
 
 and, in three or four years* time, slie will be fit to 
 be tbe wife even of a De Marbury." 
 
 Sir John was too much astounded at the propo- 
 sition to be able to say more than — 
 
 "I must think this well over, and you shall 
 have my answer as soon as possible. My mother 
 is now on a visit with me, and I shall lose no time 
 in consulting her about your ofier." 
 
 " And, Sir John," went on the old man, detain- 
 ing him as he was rising to take his leave, " re- 
 member that my days are counted — nay, that it 
 may be a question of hours with me. Tarry not, 
 then, and let me have your answer before twelve 
 o'clock to-morrow." 
 
 "Depend on me. Does your grand-daughter 
 know an}i;hing of this ?" 
 " Not a syllable." 
 
 Sir John encountered the unconscious subject of 
 this conversation as he went down-stairs and 
 passed through the hall, or passage, leading to the 
 front door. She was looking smiling and pleasant 
 as usual, and courtesied, as was her wont, as the 
 young baronet prepared to pass through the door 
 
 M 2 
 
164 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 wHch slie held open for liim. Not a trace of 
 consciousness appeared on her features — not tlie 
 faintest surmise that she was looking, it might be, 
 upon her future husband. She had never spoken 
 to her grandfather's titled visitor in her life, but 
 had only smiled and courtesied as she had answered 
 the door once or twice, and let him in or out. So 
 it was a surprise to her that Sir John should, upon 
 this occasion, and contrary to what had ever hap- 
 pened before, stop for a few moments to express 
 his concern at her grandfather's ilhiess. He was 
 curious to hear the sound of her voice, to observe 
 her manner. " If she is to be my wife, it is time 
 that I should know something about her," he said 
 to himself. But there was not much to be got 
 out of Annie. Ideas do not flow very fast, or words 
 come readily, to a little maiden of fourteen, ad- 
 dressed for the first time in her life by a handsome 
 young man of two or three and twenty — vastly her 
 superior in station, the owner of Donnington Hall, 
 the place her grandfather was so fond of talking 
 about. Sir John, too, spoke to her with more of 
 feeling and personal interest than was usually 
 
DONXINGTON HALL. 
 
 165 
 
 addressed to lier by those in his station. This, how- 
 ever, she put down in her o^tl mind to his being 
 such a '^nice gentleman; so free, too." She said, 
 however, but little — only looked her thanks ; and Sir 
 John took his departure, almost knocking against 
 Tom Swigmore, who, since the old man's attack, 
 had kept hovering about the house in case he 
 should be wanted. He considered that Sir John's 
 unusually late ^dsit must have reference to him- 
 self — perhaps he was to be his guardian. And 
 so he was not a little disappointed as the baronet 
 passed him without saying a word, but only 
 returned Tom's salute. 
 
 The nature of the decision come to by Sir John 
 De Marbury and his mother on the subject which 
 occupied, as may be supposed, their entire thoughts, 
 and formed the chief subject of their conversation 
 that evening and the following morning, might 
 have been surmised by the appearance of the Don- 
 nington carriage in the streets of Newchurch early 
 on the day succeeding the conversation with the 
 old man. In this carriage were seated Lady De 
 Marbury and Sir John. The carriage drove at 
 
166 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 once tlirougli one or two back streets and tlien 
 was drawn up at Jacob Delves' s door. A burried 
 glance up at tbe windows, as tbey got out, assured 
 tbe visitors tbat tbe old man was still in tbe land 
 of tbe living. Sir Jobn at once went up-stairs, 
 and was soon closeted witb bim, wbile Lady De 
 Marbury, asking to be sbown into tbe sitting-room, 
 sent a message by tbe female wbo opened tbe door 
 — a neigbbour's wife, come in to belp — witb a re- 
 quest tbat sbe migbt speak witb tbe grand-daugbter. 
 And Annie, accordingly, soon made ber appearance 
 at tbe summons. It was evident from ber de- 
 meanour tbat sbe bad not tbe sligbtest conception 
 of tbe real object Lady De Marbury bad in view 
 in wisbing to see ber. Sbe first tbougbt tbat it 
 must be about a *' place " for ber wben ber grand- 
 fatber was dead ; perbaps Lady De Marbury was 
 going to bave ber about ber own person, to train 
 ber to be ber maid after a wbile. And tbis, sbe 
 tbougbt, would be so pleasant — far preferable to 
 baving to live witb one of ber aunts, and to bave 
 to work bard for a living. Tben, sbe tbougbt, 
 wben sbe observed Lady De Marbury' s grave, 
 
DONNINGTON H.AXL. 167 
 
 quiet manner, as, after looking at lier attentively, 
 slie said to her, on entering the room, " Come here, 
 my dear, and sit beside me. I want you to like 
 me ; and I am sure, from your face, that I shall be 
 very fond of you after a time,^' She thought that 
 this great lady must have heard something about 
 her, and was going to give her some good advice ; 
 perhaps it was to caution her against Tom Swig- 
 more. This was the only thing she could think of. 
 What was, then, her overwhelming astonishment 
 when Lady Be Marbury said to her, in the kindest 
 and gentlest of tones — 
 
 " Annie, love, your grandfather made a pro- 
 posal to my son yesterday^ which greatly concerns 
 yourself, and it is about that proposal I am come 
 to speak to you- You must be very calm, my 
 dear, while I am telling you what that proposal is, 
 and you must try and consider me as if I was your 
 mother, and not be at all afraid to open your mind 
 to me. Your grandfather, then, wishes that you 
 should become my son's wife — that you should be 
 Lady De Marbury — and offers to endow you with 
 almost all his fortune if his wishes are gratified. 
 
168 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Of course, Annie, tliougli the marriage ceremony 
 would be performed without delay, for your poor 
 grandfather's satisfaction before he died, yet you 
 would not go and live at the Hall, or with Sir 
 John as his wife, until three or four years had 
 elapsed. You would be sent to school, in the first 
 instance, to be educated. And then you would 
 come and live with me until you were properly 
 trained and qualified to take your place in the 
 world as Lady De Marbury, and to be the mistress 
 of Donnington Hall. Now tell me, my love, what 
 you think of such a change in your prospects." 
 
 Annie had a tender, sensitive disposition ; and 
 so, after making several attempts to answer Lady 
 De Marbury, she at length fairly broke down 
 and burst into tears. She sobbed hysterically for 
 a considerable time, and allowed Lady De Marbury 
 to soothe and quiet her as if she was her own 
 mother. At length, after a considerable interval, 
 she was just able to articulate, " Oh, what happi- 
 ness may be in store for me !" and then had to 
 beg that she might be allowed to retire to her 
 room and lie down a little. And so, with a part- 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 169 
 
 in^ kiss from Lady De Marburv, little Annie 
 retired, just too as Sir John's steps were teard 
 upon the stairs. Mother and son shortly after- 
 wards quitted the house, and, entering into the 
 carriage, which they found waiting at the door, 
 drove out to Donnington. ^Whien in the carriage, 
 Sir John recounted what had passed between 
 himself and the old man. He had foimd Jacob 
 much the same ; and, upon communicating to 
 him the acceptance of the offer, the old man's 
 countenance had quite brightened up. He said, 
 " I shall live, then, to see a grandchild of mine 
 after all mistress of Donnington ! who could ever 
 have thought of such a thing ! when I have once 
 seen that secured, I care not how soon I go." 
 Most of their conversation then turned, Sir John 
 said, upon the arrangements that would be neces- 
 sary in order to carry out the plan. Amongst 
 other things, it was settled that Sir John should 
 proceed at once to London on that very afternoon, 
 procure a special license from the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, granting a dispensation as to hours 
 and places, and that the ceremony should be 
 
170 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 performed on tlie following evening, by tlie sick 
 man's bedside. Detaining tbe carriage, then, at 
 tbe door, when tbey reached tbe Hall, Sir Jobn 
 just went in to get tbe few tbings necessary for 
 bis journey, and drove off to tbe nearest station, 
 wbicb be reacbed in time for tbe up express 
 train. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 171 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 It was evening. Jacob Delves lay dj^ng. A 
 mournful group were gathered about bis bedside. 
 Tbe doctor, Mr. Wright, was in and out of the 
 room occasionally. His patient, be said, could not 
 last through the night. But for stimulants, he 
 would probably have passed away ere this. The old 
 man lay perfectly composed; his breathing was 
 easier. Nought was heard but an occasional 
 whisper from one of the attendant group to the 
 other. That group consisted of little Annie, who, 
 with head buried in her hands, was kneeling by 
 the bedside, one of her aged grandfather's cold 
 hands clasped in hers and moistened with her 
 tears. 
 
 Lady De Marbury sat by the dying man's 
 
172 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 pillow, and read to Him, every now and then, 
 a verse out of tlie Book of Comfort. The curate 
 of the parish, Mr. Jackson, had but an hour 
 or two previously administered to him the most 
 solemn of all religious rites, the Holy Communion, 
 and he was now in an adjoining room, conversing 
 in an under-tone with the doctor ; he had been 
 requested to wait, as his services might be required 
 again very shortly. A hired nurse, and a neigh- 
 bour, moved about the sick room with noiseless 
 feet to get anything that was required. Old 
 Jacob's wants were now few enough, it was plain. 
 He occasionally opened his eyes, however, and 
 seemed to fix them upon the kneeling figure by 
 his bedside, from whom a sob of anguish would 
 escape at intervals. Lady De Marbury was com- 
 posed and tranquil, as usual, though her face wore 
 traces of recent weeping. She looked at her 
 watch occasionally, and seemed to be expecting 
 somebody. 
 
 As the evening wore on and turned into night 
 some anxiety began to betray itself in her usually 
 placid features. She spoke in a whisper to the 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 173 
 
 doctor each time lie approaclied the bedside, which 
 he began to do at more frequent intervals than 
 before, and appeared uneasy at the dubious expres- 
 sion of his countenance. "He is sinking fast," at 
 length he said, almost out loud. Jacob did not, as 
 heretofore, open his eyes or take the least notice 
 of the interruption to the prevailing silence ; but, 
 just at that moment, and as Lady De Mar bury 
 was smoothing the pillow of death, the sound of 
 wheels was heard under the window, and of a 
 horse being pulled up suddenly with a jerk. The 
 nurse's assistant quietly left the room. There 
 was a sound as of an arrival down- stairs, and pre- 
 sently the female returned, and, whispering a few 
 words to the clerg}Tnan, who was standing by the 
 bedside, having just finished the commendatory 
 prayer for one about to depart, withdrew him 
 from the room. 
 
 The slight noise below seemed to have had 
 the effect of arousing Jacob ; he opened his eyes 
 again, and they seemed to follow the retreat- 
 ing figure of the clergyman. He murmured 
 something which Lady De Marbury in vain 
 
174 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 endeavoured to catcli. Presently tlie same female 
 attendant touched Annie on the shoulder, who 
 arose and followed her out of the room. A small 
 table with a white cloth on it, which had been 
 used at the administration of the Holy Communion, 
 and which stood in a corner of the room, was now 
 brought forward by the nurse and placed at the 
 foot of the bed, and a few simple arrangements 
 made for the performance of some ceremony. The 
 ejffect produced upon Jacob had been quite mar- 
 vellous. He watched the arrangements with 
 something of his former intelligence. "It has 
 recalled him to life for the time," said the surgeon, 
 tiuming to Lady De Marbury ; " but, when the 
 little excitement is over, he will pass away." The 
 small table arranged, there was a slight sound 
 outside the door, as of two or three assembling in 
 the passage, and immediately afterwards the clergy- 
 man entered, wearing his surplice, and took his 
 place at one end of the little table, and so as to 
 stand sideways towards the dying man. 
 
 Sir John De Marbury next came in, accom- 
 panied by his solicitor, Mr. Ardern, and at once 
 
DONNINGTOJT HALL. 175 
 
 handed to tlie officiating minister what looked like 
 a slip of parchment with a large seal dangling to 
 it, and which proved to be a special license from 
 the most Eeverend Father in God, William, by 
 Divine Providence, Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 authorizing his beloved in Christ, Henry William 
 Jackson, Clerk, Master of Arts, Curate of New- 
 church, or any other lawful minister, to celebrate 
 a marriage between one John De Marbury, of the 
 parish of Donnington, in the county of Chester, 
 Baronet, a bachelor, and of full age (as asserted), 
 and one Ann Eckersley (otherwise Delves), of the 
 parish of Newchurch, in the same county, spinster, 
 and dispensing, by virtue of the prerogative now 
 and from ancient times attached to the see of 
 Canterbury, and for due and sufficient reasons set 
 forth in the affidavit of the above-named John De 
 Marbury, Baronet, with the observance of canoni- 
 cal hours, and permitting the marriage to be 
 performed in any fit place other than a duly 
 licensed church or chapel. 
 
 The clergjTuan just glanced at this document, 
 and then, laying it down, and opening his book, 
 
176 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 prepared to read the service. Lady De Marbury 
 had gone out of the room, but returned in two or 
 three minutes leading Annie Delves by the hand. 
 The attendant had thrown over Annie a white 
 muslin scarf or mantle, but, with this exception, 
 she wore the same simple cotton dress that she 
 usually did. 
 
 Sir John had not seen her since he spoke 
 those few words to her at the door on the 
 night of his visit to Jacob, and partly turned 
 towards her, as if to greet her, when his mother 
 conducted her in and placed her on the left hand 
 of her son. The medical man remained standing 
 by Jacob, occasionally turning aside to observe 
 the group at that little table. The nurse was 
 entirely occupied in watching Jacob, moistening 
 his lips from time to time, and administering 
 a teaspoonful of weak brandy-and-water occa- 
 sionally. 
 
 There was a perfect silence in the room for a 
 minute or two, and then fell upon the ears of all 
 present those solemn, affecting words which are 
 rehearsed to us at the most momentous period of 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 177 
 
 our lives — " Dearly beloved, we are gathered 
 together here in the sight of God, and in the face 
 of this congregation, to join together this man and 
 this woman in holy matrimony ;" and so on with 
 the remainder of the address. When the question 
 was put, " Who giveth this woman to be married 
 to this man?" there was a hesitation for a moment, 
 when Mr. Ardern stepped forward, and, taking 
 Annie's hand, placed it in that of her future 
 husband. Sir John went calmly through his 
 part, and repeated the necessary words after the 
 minister in a low but distinct voice, adapted to 
 the place where they were assembled. As for 
 Annie, it was in tones faltering with emotion, 
 though heard in the stillness of that chamber of 
 death, that she repeated after the clerg}Tnan, 
 "I, Annie, take thee, John, to my wedded 
 husband," &c. "The ring?" whispered the 
 clerg^Tuan to Sir John ; but this was the first 
 time he remembered such a thing would be wanted. 
 His mother, however, quietly slipping oflP her own 
 wedding ring, supplied the deficiency. The re- 
 maining part of the service (with abridgments) 
 
178 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 was then proceeded with. At its conclusion, first 
 Sir John, and next Lady De Marbury, imprinted 
 a kiss on the bride's forehead ; and then they all 
 approached the bedside of the dying man. 
 
 " Do you know what has been passing ?'' the 
 clergyman asked of Jacob. 
 
 " Yes," he whispered ; " God bless you all. I am 
 going." He then stretched out his withered arms, 
 and, taking Sir John's hand and Annie's in his, 
 and clasping them together, said, "I now die 
 happy : Lord receive my spirit ! " And with 
 these words old Jacob Delves fell back into the 
 arms of Lady De Marbury, and passed out of life 
 without a groan or struggle. The little family 
 party — that is, mother, son, and daughter-in-law 
 — assembled in the sitting-room, leaving the 
 attendants to perform the customary sad offices 
 for the dead. 
 
 " My dear, dear daughter," exclaimed Lady De 
 Marbury, with considerable emotion, as she em- 
 braced the weeping Annie, and sought to comfort 
 her, " you have lost one parent, but you have 
 gained another; and especially you will be the 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 179 
 
 object of my son's tenderest love and affection 
 when the time comes for surrendering up my 
 charge," With these and such like fond maternal 
 expressions did Lady De Marbury soothe the 
 troubled mind of her youthful daughter-in-law. 
 When Annie grew more composed, plans began to 
 be discussed, Sir John striking in occasionally, 
 and adopting a cheerful and encouraging, rather 
 than tender or sentimental, manner towards his 
 child- wife. By degrees little Annie's smiles came 
 again, and she was able to take some part, and 
 show an interest, in the conversation that fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 "You will return with me, my love, to the 
 Hall to-night. I have ordered the carriage 
 to be here in half-an-hour's time, and you can 
 put up the few things you will want. We 
 shall stay at the Hall until after the funeral, 
 which will take place at Donnington, and which 
 we shall all attend. You will have time against 
 then to have your mourning made up, and to be 
 provided with such things as you require. For, 
 immediately after the funeral, we leave for Bath ; 
 
 N 2 
 
180 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and there, my love, I liope to make arrangements 
 for putting yon to some first-rate school. But all 
 these after-arrangements we shall have plenty of 
 time to discuss at Donnington. Now wish your 
 husband good-bye for the present : he will stop at 
 Mr. Ardern's for a day or two, and then goes to 
 Ashton Hall until after the funeral. But here 
 comes the carriage." 
 
 Annie's simple preparations did not occupy 
 much time, and, handed into the carriage by Sir 
 John, both mother and daughter-in-law were soon 
 on the road to Donnington Hall. As Sir John 
 was leaving the house, having given what direc- 
 tions he deemed necessary, he was accosted, in a 
 somewhat familiar tone, by Tom Swigmore, who 
 had, apparently, been drinking. 
 
 " So the poor old man is gone at last — thought 
 he'd have sent for me. Ton honour, a shame for 
 a man to neglect his nephew at such a time ! 
 Hope, however, he has made up for it in his will. 
 Perhaps you can tell me. Sir John, as you have 
 been so uncommonly attentive to the old man, how 
 my uncle has left his money ?" 
 
DONNIXGTOX HALL. ^ 181 
 
 *' I believe," said Sir John, speaking witli forced 
 civility, '' that the will is in Mr. Ardern's hands, 
 and that it will not be read until after the funeral. 
 I am not able, therefore, to tell you anything 
 about it." 
 
 '' Oh, that's it," said the young man, with an 
 impertinent sneer. " I suppose I musn't ask you, 
 then, if you know its contents ?" 
 
 ''You may ask, certainly," was Sir John's 
 reply, as he lighted a cigar, "but I shall take the 
 liberty of refusing to give you any answer." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! and I suppose I am not to know 
 where Annie is gone to either ?" 
 
 "She is gone home with Lady De Marbury 
 — I have no objection to tell you that — and will 
 be well cared for in future." 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing ! My mother 
 and aunt are her nearest relations, and ought to 
 have the charge of her, I know that." 
 
 " It is at her grandfather's special request, and 
 by his directions, that your cousin has been placed 
 under my mother's charge." 
 
 Muttering to himseK that he wasn't going to be 
 
182 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 *' done out of his rights in that way by all the De 
 Marburys in England,'* this hopeful young man 
 took his departure, while Sir John pursued his 
 way to Mr. Ardern's. 
 
 At Jacob's express request, his funeral was con- 
 ducted in the most unostentatious manner. He 
 was buried in the place indicated by himself, Mr. 
 Hulton reading the burial service. No invitations 
 to the funeral were issued ; but it was thought 
 riffht to intimate the hour that had been fixed on 
 to the near relations of Jacob, who resided in and 
 about Newchurch. Accordingly, most of them 
 attended. It was made known, also, that, after 
 the service, and at the school-house, the will would 
 be read by Mr. Ardern. 
 
 The hour fixed for the funeral was twelve 
 o'clock; and shortly before that time Lady 
 De Marbury, accompanied by Annie, arrived 
 from the Hall, and fell in with the line of 
 mourners as they entered the churchyard, Sir 
 John taking his place as chief mourner. After 
 the service, the whole party adjourned to the 
 school-room to hear the will read. It was very 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 183 
 
 short. £100 was bequeathed to each of the sisters, 
 and £50 apiece to the children ; £200 was left to the 
 vicar and churchwardens of Donnino^ton for ever, 
 the interest of which was to be distributed every 
 Christmas in coals and warm clothinor amonsrst the 
 poor. All the residue of his propert}^ he bequeathed 
 to his grand- daughter, Annie Eckerslev, otherwise 
 Delves, appointing Sir John De Marbury as her 
 sole guardian, and directing that she shoidd live 
 with Lady De Marbury until she attained the age 
 of seventeen years. He also appointed Sir John 
 as his sole executor and trustee. This was the 
 will. A dead silence succeeded the reading of it ; 
 until, at length, one of the sisters, pushing back 
 her chair, and exclaiming that " she didn't see 
 what was to be got by remaining there," prepared 
 the way for a general move on the part of the re- 
 lations. Tom, judging from his countenance, was 
 boiling over with indignation, but deeming it safest, 
 apparently, to refrain from giving expression to it 
 until he had got outside the door, and out of the 
 presence of those " nobs " (so he designated Sir 
 John, the rector, and Mr. Ardern), he said nothing 
 
184 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 until lie joined tlie group of aunts and cousins, 
 but was then heard, with a loud Yoice, to intimate 
 his opinion that " he knew who had got round the 
 old man," and that " anything more iniquitous " 
 he (Tom) had " never heard of." 
 
 Of course the fact of Sir John's marriage 
 very soon oozed out ; and so he was not sur- 
 prised, upon entering the Rectory, to receive 
 at once Mr. Hulton's friendly, good-humoured 
 congratulations, delivered in an under -tone. 
 There was luncheon prepared ; and Annie had 
 turned to such good account the few days that 
 she had already spent at the Hall, and her 
 mourning became her so well, that Sir John had 
 no reason to be ashamed of the appearance or 
 manners of his child- wife, even sitting, as she was, 
 beside Mrs. Hulton herself. After all the oc- 
 currences of the last ten days, and the consequent 
 excitement, the rest of the Rectory was pronounced 
 a real enjoyment ; and, as Sir John strolled with 
 Annie about the beautifully laid out grounds, and 
 as he talked to her of their future plans, when she 
 would come to reside at the Hall, an increased 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 185 
 
 feeling of satisfaction stole over him, and lie felt 
 iiow tenderly lie could love tlie simple, artless child 
 of nature walking beside him, and resolved that 
 her future happiness should be his study. Sir 
 John then bade adieu to her, and they did not 
 meet again for three years. 
 
186 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Within a few hours' sail of the English shores are 
 a group of islands which are scarcely as much 
 visited as might have been expected. For, whereas 
 tourists on the Continent and up the Rhine may 
 be reckoned by the hundred, visitors to the 
 Channel Islands are to be told off by dozens. 
 The mixture of races, and the blending of home 
 with Continental customs, give a charm to Jersey 
 and Guernsey in particular, which is not to be 
 found elsewhere. The natives are singularly 
 tenacious of their rights and peculiar customs ; 
 and, though largely indebted to the strangers 
 who visit, or have taken up their abode on, these 
 islands, yet little intercourse prevails between the 
 two. These islanders are indeed unparalleled in 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 187 
 
 their own conceit. They consider that England 
 belongs to them, not they to England; and, in 
 the case even of outrages on the person or pro- 
 perty (so as the person aggrieved be not a native 
 of the island — which makes all the difference, as 
 you will find out if you try), the ends of justice 
 are considered to be sufficiently answered by the 
 ''transportation" of the criminal ''to England,'' 
 to Ireland — wherever he likes to go. Banishment 
 from one of these sweet islands is punishment 
 enough, in the Jerseyman's opinion, for all but the 
 worst class of offences ; and, even in the case of 
 these, where the prosecutor, suppose, is an English- 
 man, and the defendant is a Jerseyman, it is 
 useless to go into their courts of law, where all 
 the proceedings are carried on in Norman-French 
 — where the jiidges, the advocates, the jurats, all 
 the officials, are natives. You may possibly pro- 
 cure a conviction where the evidence is over- 
 whelming (such a thing has been known) ; but as 
 for seeing the sentence carried out, as for seeing 
 a Jerseyman sent to prison on your account — an 
 Englishman, as you are — you must put that out 
 
188 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 of your head. It is not to be tliouglit of for 
 a single moment. Be content if your enemy 
 is willing to let you liave your property back 
 again, or if lie promises to assault you no more, 
 and go your way. Let it be a lesson to you not 
 to go to law with a Jerseyman again. It must be 
 admitted, however, in fairness, that no complaint 
 on the score of tardiness of justice can be made in 
 cases the reverse of this, where the Jerseyman is 
 the plaintiff and you are the defendant. For so 
 swiftly does the arm of the law reach you, that an 
 affidavit on the part of the plaintiff that he thinks 
 you are likely to leave the island is quite enough 
 to insure your incarceration sine die. You are 
 arrested with very little ceremony and thrown 
 into prison, and what becomes of you afterwards it 
 matters not now to speculate about. Even the 
 Queen's writ is hardly obeyed in these very inde- 
 pendent islands ; and we know that a few years 
 ago there was a regular trial of strength between 
 the Court of Queen's Bench and the Supreme 
 Court of Jersey, which ended in a kind of drawn 
 battle. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 189 
 
 Despite these drawbacks, however, Jersey and 
 Guernsey are pleasant places enough to visit, if 
 not to reside in. Few of us have any occasion to 
 go into their courts of law. As we know what 
 awaits us there, we had better keep out of them, 
 and settle that Kttle matter of ours with Le Breton 
 or De Journeaux out of doors. But we all 
 appreciate pure air and charming scenery. And 
 these you have to perfection in the two islands I 
 am principally referring to. Grapes ripen in the 
 open air ; and in no part of Devon or Cornwall 
 do the mjrrtles, fuchsias, and geraniums flourish 
 more, or attain a greater height. Jersey pears 
 have a world-wide reputation; and equally 
 plentiful and fine are most of the other fruits, 
 such as peaches and nectarines, which find their 
 way over in such abundance from the sunny 
 slopes of Brittany and Normandy, which lie 
 before you dazzKng in the sun. "Walk into the 
 market of St. Helier on a Saturday ; listen to the 
 jabbering of French (or what passes for such) 
 going on ; see those I^orman peasants with their 
 snowy white caps, some of them towering in the 
 
190 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 air like helmets, — and you miglit well fancy your- 
 self in some foreign market-place. And as for 
 the Jersey and Guernsey lanes, what visitor can 
 have forgotten their peculiar charm ? — narrow, 
 with steep banks covered with flowers, and the 
 trees arched overhead, with glimpses of the sea 
 occasionally ; and then those exquisitely culti- 
 vated little fields and well-kej^t orchards, and the 
 graceful little Jersey cow tethered amidst rich 
 pastures. Altogether, the interior of these islands 
 presents a scene of rural beauty and rich cultiva- 
 tion seldom to be met with anywhere else. The 
 same subdivision of land which exists now in 
 France prevails also in Jersey and Guernsey ; 
 and, whatever may be thought of its efiects on a 
 larger scale, yet, in a little island, and amongst a 
 primitive people whose wants are few and who 
 live sparingly, such a system seems to work well, 
 as it certainly conduces to the rich, highly 
 cultivated appearance of the two islands. Every 
 peasant almost has his plot of ground — frequently 
 his cow — and what between supplying the markets 
 of St. Helier and St. Peter's Port, in both which 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 191 
 
 towns tliere is a large English, population, and 
 sellins: his milk and butter, he seems to thrive 
 well enough. Except on government works, and 
 in the nursery- gardens, there is but little constant 
 emplojonent to be had in these two islands. 
 There are, indeed, several dreary manor-houses, 
 surrounded with a few trees, to be found scattered 
 up and down ; but they seem to be generally shut 
 up or unoccupied. The contrast between these 
 dark gloomy demesnes, with their dilapidated 
 gates — off their hinges probably — and the window- 
 shut house, with those smiling green pastures, 
 and rich orchards, and extensive fields of parsnips 
 and carrots (on which the cattle are fed), is 
 striking indeed. And as for the lord, the 
 " Seigneur,'' as he is called, he is nobody, never 
 seen or heard of, and possessed of no influence in 
 the island. The subdivision of land has worked 
 ill for him^ it must be admitted, as it has for the 
 descendants of the old noblesse in France. For 
 what is a "Seigneur" without tenants and de- 
 pendants ? — what but a vain and empty name ? 
 In the chief town of Jersey, St. Helier, and in 
 
192 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 its immediate neighbourhood, there are a great 
 many English and Irish families of respectability 
 resident. The society to be had there, and the 
 supposed cheapness of the living, together with 
 educational advantages, constitute the chief at- 
 traction. Climate and scenery allure more ephe- 
 meral visitors. At any rate, what between 
 visitors and residents, the English and Irish in 
 St. Helier far outnumber the natives; and, as 
 they briag with them their own habits and 
 customs, and see much to object to in the 
 laws and government of the little island, and 
 make frequent efforts to correct what they deem 
 amiss, it may be supposed that the regard enter- 
 tained towards them by the natives, high and low, 
 is the very reverse of enthusiastic or demon- 
 strative. 
 
 However, the Jerseyman likes the Englishman's 
 gold, if he does not like himself ; and the English- 
 man likes the island, though he can make nothing 
 of the natives ; and so they get on together some- 
 how. There are crescents and terraces without 
 end in the immediate vicinity of the town, and, 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 193 
 
 a little farther out in tlie country, thougL. stiU 
 quite within a walk, old-fashioned chateaus and 
 farm-houses. 
 
 In one of these chateaus, about a mile from 
 the town, two ladies had been resident for some 
 months in the summer of 184 — . They might 
 be mother and daughter, to judge from their 
 probable ages. They walked and drove about 
 the island like other people, but kept no society. 
 As there was an extensive flower-garden in front 
 of the house, the younger of the two ladies seemed 
 to fill up her time with her flowers and plants ; 
 and occasionally she, as well as her companion, 
 would sit and read under one of the many wide- 
 spreading chestnut-trees which were in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the house. The house itself had, in 
 its time, been probably the residence of some 
 family of note. The floors were all of dark 
 polished oak, or more probably walnut, with a 
 wide staircase to correspond ; and in more than 
 one of the principal rooms the oak panelling had 
 been preserved. Yines, and jessamine, and other 
 creeping plants covered the sides of the house in 
 
 o 
 
194 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 ricL. profusion. Altogether, a pleasanter or more 
 picturesque temporary abode Lady De Marbury 
 — or rather Annie, for she it was who at once 
 set her heart upon securing the place — could not 
 well have pitched upon. They had had plenty 
 of knocking about, had these two ladies, and 
 were glad enough now of a little repose during 
 the short time longer they were to remain 
 together. 
 
 Three years and upwards had elapsed since those 
 two ladies had looked upon Sir John's face, and 
 since they bade him farewell in the hall of Don- 
 nington Rectory. Two of those years had been 
 spent in Bath and London, where Sir John's wife 
 had every advantage in the shape of instruction 
 and masters that money could procure ; and 
 the last year had been spent entirely on the Con- 
 tinent, first at Paris, and subsequently at E-ome 
 and Florence. 
 
 They had not very long returned from their 
 travels, and here in Jersey it was fixed that 
 the meeting so long planned, and so often and 
 so anxiously thought about, should take place. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 195 
 
 Sir Jolm liad been a still greater traveller than 
 themselves. Where had he not been ? He had 
 been to Constantinople, Greece, Egypt, the Holy- 
 Land, all over the East almost. Returning 
 occasionally to Donnington, yet he had never 
 remained at home long together since the de- 
 parture of his mother and her charge. His 
 position when at home was not exactly an agree- 
 able one — married, and yet a single man, as it 
 were. By those of his own age and condition he 
 would be bantered not a little about his child- 
 wife. Young ladies would amuse themselves at 
 his expense, and could not always refrain from a 
 sly question or innuendo bearing upon his matri- 
 monial circumstances ; while grave old country 
 squires and plotting mammas would, by their 
 studied silence, and avoidance of anything bear- 
 ing upon the subject, seem to intimate their 
 opinion that Sir John had made a mesalliance, in 
 some degree compromising, not only himself, but 
 his " order" — necessary, it might be, but still to 
 be regretted. 
 
 There was not much temptation then for 
 
 o 2 
 
196 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Sir Jolm to remain at home. He found that 
 both Sessions and agricultural meetings could 
 go on very well without him, that his law 
 began to be sneered at, his knowledge of agri- 
 culture to be altogether disbelieved in. Even 
 Mrs. Hulton slightly " patronized" him, and had 
 the pleasure of announcing to him (which we may 
 be sure she did with no sort of reluctance) Lotty's 
 engagement to young Lord Harecastle, and of 
 dwelling upon the many admirable qualities of 
 which the youthful peer was supposed to be the 
 possessor. 
 
 Altogether, Sir John was glad enough to start 
 off on another continental ramble, this time fully 
 intending to make the ascent of Mont Blanc (not 
 such a common feat then as it has become since) and 
 to take up his residence at Geneva. He had been 
 absent on this last occasion upwards of a twelve- 
 month, and was now daily expected. It was 
 agreed that he was to join his mother and wife in 
 Jersey, and, after staying some time in that island, 
 that he should return to Donnington with his 
 bride and introduce her to the county. The time 
 
DOXNINGTON HALL. 197 
 
 was OYer-due when they miglit expect Sir John, 
 and each morning, when the ladies awoke, they 
 anticipated the probability of seeing him before 
 night. 
 
 It was an anxious time for the younger of the 
 two. During those three years that had gone 
 over her head since her grandfather^s death she 
 had passed from almost childhood to woman- 
 hood — from the condition of a peasant- girl, it 
 might be said, to a rank and station that would 
 place her on terms of equality with the proudest 
 in the land. 
 
 " Will he be pleased with me ? Will he be 
 satisfied with my looks ? Is there anything about 
 my manners he would wish different ?" These 
 were the questions the young girl would put to 
 herself as she stood before the glass arranging her 
 golden tresses as they fell in rich profusion over 
 her shoulders. 
 
 Annie had shot up now into a tall, graceful 
 woman: she had just enough colour to denote 
 perfect health; and her large, liquid, dark eyes 
 would be lighted up with animation when talking 
 
198 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 upon any subject tliat interested her. She was 
 yery lively and unaffected^ and recurred to her 
 early days, when there was any occasion for it, 
 in a simple, modest manner. From the very first 
 she had looked up to Lady De Marbury, and quite 
 treated her as if she had been her own mother ; 
 and, now that the time was approaching when they 
 must be separated, each thought of the inevitable 
 event with a pang, and almost regretted that 
 another year of preparation could not be added 
 to its predecessors. 
 
 In a delightful climate like that of Jersey, and 
 during the summer months, a drive to the sea- 
 side is always a pleasant mode of passing the 
 day ; and you have your choice of a number of 
 delightful places — Mt. Orgueil, St. Catherine's, 
 Roselle, Goree, and many other equally charming 
 spots. 
 
 Of these places, Eoselle was, perhaps, the favourite 
 with Annie and her mother, as she now always 
 called Lady De Marbury ; and they would delight 
 to start early from Rougemont Farm (for so was 
 the place called where they resided), and, taking 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 199 
 
 refresliments witli them, to bring their books and 
 work, and to spend tbe day at Eoselle, choosing 
 some pleasant spot commanding a good \dew of 
 the sea and of the opposite coast of France ; or 
 sometimes Annie would bring her drawing mate- 
 rials and make a sketch, of any picturesque object — 
 a sail-boat, a Jersey peasant in her red petticoat 
 and sabots. 
 
 They had driven out one day, as usual, and 
 were partly working, partly talking. The opposite 
 coast would seem to have suggested the same line 
 of thought to both. 
 
 " I wonder when we shall see John," Lady De 
 Marbury said, " and where he is now." 
 
 " I was just thinking about it. He must, one 
 would think, have crossed over to England, or he 
 would have been here before this : he was to have 
 left Geneva, you know, several days ago." 
 
 " Why, he knows that there are steamers direct 
 to Jersey from St. Malo and Granville, and it is 
 more likely he will come by one of them. There 
 may have been some delay." 
 
 *' Well, we shall know all about it soon ;" and 
 
200 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Annie proceeded to arrange some flowers they had 
 been given from a neighbouring garden. 
 
 " You shall know all about it now, if you like/* 
 said a voice close to them, and Sir John De Mar- 
 bury, with delight written on his face, stood before 
 them. 
 
 " Well, John, we were just talking about you, 
 and wondering what had become of you. Where 
 have you dropped from ?" 
 
 Lady De Marbury spoke in her usual conversa- 
 tional tone, as if she had only parted from her son 
 the day before. She thus gave Annie time to get 
 over any feeling of nervousness or emotion which 
 the sudden appearance of her husband might have 
 occasioned. 
 
 "Why," said Sir John, "I have been most 
 vexatiously detained at Granville these couple of 
 days, owing to some accident to the steamer. Its 
 engines were out of order ; and there I have 
 been kept waiting on, in that dullest of all 
 towns, where there is nothing but the church to 
 look at. I should think you might almost see 
 it from here, for it stands conspicuously on a 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 201 
 
 till. What a charming look-out you liave from 
 here ! Well, Annie, would you have known me 
 again? I should have passed you, I declare: 
 you have grown a great deal." 
 
 It was in this easy chatty way the first meeting 
 was got over, so anxiously looked forward to by all 
 parties. Actually, Annie had not to make a single 
 one of the many pretty speeches she had prepared 
 in her own mind for the first occasion on which 
 she should meet her husband after such a long 
 separation ! Nor had he looked at her in the least 
 as she expected, or made any remark or put any 
 such questions as she thought. He hardly looked 
 at her at first, as he sat down on the grass beside 
 them ; and it was not until they had been chatting 
 and laughing together for some time that she be- 
 came aware she was the object of his quiet but 
 earnest scrutiny. 
 
 "Well, you want to know how I found you 
 out here,'' he went on gaily, replying to a ques- 
 tion of Annie's. " Why, we got into the harbour 
 very early this morning, and, as I couldn't think 
 of knocking you up at such an unconscionable > 
 
202 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 hour, I made for tlie hotel, turned in, and had 
 a good sleep, and then, after a cup of coffee 
 and a biscuit, I set off to find you. It was some 
 time before I could make out whereabouts Rouge- 
 mont Farm lay ; and then I took two or three 
 wrong turns ; so that it was after eleven when I 
 got to the house, fully expecting to see you both. 
 Just fancy my disappointment when your servant 
 told me that you had both gone out for the 
 day, and were not expected back imtil evening ! 
 Luckil}^, she was able to tell me where you had 
 gone, or I should have been distracted: I posi- 
 tively should, Mrs. Annie, though you laugh so. 
 Well, then, I posted back to the hotel, got a 
 horse, and here I am, as hungry as possible. 
 However, I have brought some sandwiches in my 
 pocket, not wishing to take you at an unfair 
 advantage.'* 
 
 " It is well you have, John; for I don't suppose 
 Capel (she is my new maid) has put up much 
 more in the basket than is sufficient for Annie and 
 myself." 
 
 Sitting down on the grass, then, and enjoying 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 203 
 
 the pure air and stretcli of blue sea before them, 
 tbey partook of such provisions as were to be 
 bad. 
 
 Sir John was in raptures with tbe scenery. " I 
 saw * Lodgings ' stuck up in one of tbe windows 
 of that bouse with tbe pretty garden before it as 
 I came along. Wbat do you say, botb of you, to 
 our coming out bere for two or tbree weeks ?" 
 
 " Well, Annie and I baye been talking about 
 it more tban once ; we are botb so fond of tbis 
 spot ; and I tbink you two young people can't do 
 better tban come out and stay bere for two or 
 tbree weeks. It is just tbe place to spend one's 
 honeymoon." 
 
 " What do you say, Annie ?" asked her husband. 
 Annie blushed considerably, but she thought 
 " it would be a very nice place to stay at," only 
 Lady De Marbury must come too. " It would be 
 pleasant," she added, *' for us all to be together." 
 However, her ladyship was not to be persuaded. 
 " She would drive out and see them frequently," 
 she said, *' but she would be de trop staying with 
 them at present. No ; she would stop at home 
 
204 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and take care of Rougemont ; and when they were 
 tired of each other's company they were to come 
 to her.'* 
 
 And thus it was settled. The " lodgings " were 
 taken, and were to be ready against next day ; and 
 so the party drove home, Sir John sending the 
 horse back by one of the helpers from a neighbour- 
 ing inn. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 205 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 There was this peculiarity in tlie relationsliip 
 between Sir Jolin De Marbury and Annie, that 
 tbougb in one sense an "old'' married couple, 
 yet that in reality tbey were all but strangers to 
 eacb other. He bad never been half an hour alone 
 in ber company in bis life. Tbey bad corresponded, 
 indeed ; but Sir Jobn was not mucb of a letter- 
 writer, so bis effusions were principally protesta- 
 tions of undjdng lore whenever tbey should come 
 to live together ; while hers savoured too mucb of 
 the boarding-school young lady. She did not, in 
 fact, well know what to put in them. It hardly 
 seemed maidenly to dwell too much upon her 
 love for him, a stranger to her almost ; and 
 anything short of that — ^regard, esteem, affection, 
 
206 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 what not — seemed tame and unsatisfactory. Lady 
 De Marbury, to whom slie once casually mentioned 
 her difficulty, could give her but little assistance. 
 She thought all love-letters a pack of nonsense — 
 by long-established prescription — and that it did 
 not much matter how many terms of endearment 
 you crammed into them. They were all words, of 
 course ; a few, more or less, what did it signify ? 
 Still this did not relieve Annie's perplexity : she 
 could never write a letter to her husband to her 
 satisfaction. 
 
 *' Give him an account, my dear, as minute as 
 you like," said Lady De Marbury to her, one day, 
 seeing the half- filled sheet of paper before her, and 
 the writer apparently at a complete stand- still, *'of 
 the places you have visited, of the people you have 
 met, of the books you are reading : this will always 
 fill up your letters, and the time will, after all, be 
 better employed than in dwelling on all your little 
 hopes and fears and phantasies." 
 
 The advice was taken ; and, accordingly, much 
 to Sir John's amusement, who partly guessed the 
 cause, his wife's letters were in future almost 
 
DONNIKGTON HALL. 207 
 
 entirely taken up "witli lively sketclies of where 
 they had been, whom they had met, and, when 
 very hard driven indeed for a subject (for her 
 husband seldom looked at anything but a news- 
 paper), what books she had been reading; and 
 the change was altogether to be commended, for 
 Annie wrote freely and naturally upon subjects 
 she was at hom.e in. 
 
 Again, though both so young, yet there was a 
 difference of nearly ten years between them, which 
 told for something in their intercourse. Sir John, 
 too, had been always, in Annie's eyes, the Squire 
 of Donnington, the most influential man about 
 Newchurch, and she had never known him in any 
 other light. How was she, then, to look upon him 
 as her husband, how to pet and caress him, how 
 to tease and tantalize him — all of which have been 
 the privileges of a wife from time immemorial, as 
 Annie knew very well, by a kind of instinct, I be- 
 lieve ? She felt as if she could hardly ever be quite 
 at her ease with him. Even his frank, careless, 
 joyous manner, when he came upon them so un- 
 expectedly at Roselle, did not quite remove all her 
 
208 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 tremors at once, though his manner was certainly 
 reassuring. 
 
 But now the time had come for her to assume 
 her position as the wife of Sir John De Marbury ; 
 and wisely did the old lady pack them both off to 
 Boselle, to get acquainted with each other, and to 
 shake off that feeling of strangeness which must 
 necessarily cling to them both for a while. 
 
 They were left to their own resources for a good 
 week, notwithstanding the motherly promise of 
 frequent visits ; and that week had wrought won- 
 ders. When Lady De Marbury paid them a visit 
 her daughter-in-law could order her husband 
 about, could rally him about his old loves (she had 
 already possessed herself of the particulars respect- 
 ing Miss Lotty, and took a dislike at once to that 
 young lady, to which she gave free expression 
 occasionally), and altogether had her husband in 
 as good training as if she had known him for 
 years, and to an extent that rather astonished her 
 mother-in-law. 
 
 " No occasion," was her mental reflection, '' to 
 make myseK uneasy about their not getting on." 
 
DOXNIXGTON HALL. 209 
 
 " I have just been telling John," said the Kvely 
 young lady, as she presided at the head of her own 
 table, '' that he smokes a great deal too much, and 
 that I mean to limit him to two or three cigars 
 in the course of the day. Don't you think I am 
 quite right, mamma ? See how his hand shakes ; 
 and that is all from smoking so much, I know 
 it is." 
 
 "I suppose I picked up the habit in the 
 East. They do nothing else there, scarcely, but 
 smoke." 
 
 " Your poor father was \ery seldom without a 
 cigar in his mouth, and I am afraid he injured his 
 health by that means. So I think you are quite 
 right, Annie, to try and induce John to leave off 
 smoking." 
 
 " Oh, I won't be so hard upon him as all that, 
 poor fellow ! but I'll keep his cigars for him, and 
 only give him one now and then when he deserves 
 it — when he behaves properly ;" and here the 
 young lady gave a would-be saucy look at her 
 husband, who paid her off presently after a fashion 
 that is common enough amongst newly-married 
 
 p 
 
210 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 couples, and whicli occasionally causes a slight 
 degree of embarrassment on the part of the lookers- 
 on. However, the mother was most obligingly 
 blind ; and were they not both her children ? 
 " Only/' she thought to herself, " in my time 
 young people were much more on their guard." 
 It was with difficulty the young couple could tear 
 themselves away from so sweet and pleasant a 
 retreat. 
 
 The frequent visits of strangers, too, who are 
 sure to pay Roselle a visit during their stay in 
 Jersey, prevented the place from appearing dull. 
 The infinite variety of costumes adopted by 
 English tourists — the cajDS and wide-awakes, of 
 all shapes and colours — is amusing enough, and 
 afibrded frequent emplo}Tnent for Annie's pencil, 
 when inclined to sketch. 
 
 She was amusing herself one day transfer- 
 ring to paper a more than ordinary John-Bull- 
 ish-looking person, very stout and red-faced, 
 with white hat and in a suit of nankeen, and 
 was touching ofi* his great clumsy feet, so as to 
 give her husband a good laugh when he joined 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 211 
 
 her. He was coming up to where she was sitting, 
 a little apart, upon a camp-stool, and the group of 
 which the subject of her sketch formed one were at 
 a little distance off dispersed about, and waiting 
 apparently until divers imposing-looking hampers 
 were impacked. 
 
 " Why, that is old Legh, as I am alive ! ^Tiere 
 were your eyes? You must have seen him 
 often in Newchurch. Ah, Legh, what brings 
 you here ?" 
 
 "Bless my soul, De Marbury, is that you?" 
 and the two shook hands cordially. 
 
 Annie's sketch, we may be sure, disappeared 
 rapidly enough within the recesses of her port- 
 folio, and she had hardly accomplished this ma- 
 noeuvre when her husband brought up his friend 
 to introduce him. 
 
 The old gentleman, at first, could hardly 
 credit that the tall and elegant-looking young 
 lady whom he had observed sketching — little 
 suspecting, however, the subject of her draw- 
 inff — was none other than old Jacob Delves' s 
 grand-daughter, and the wife of his friend and 
 
 p 2 
 
212 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 neighbour Sir John De Marbury. He was a 
 courteous and polite old man, grotesque as he 
 looked in the dress in which he had thought fit to 
 array himself, and which was as difierent as possible 
 from anything he ever thought of wearing when 
 at home. So, approaching Annie, and taking her 
 hand after quite a paternal fashion, he said, " I 
 am proud indeed to make the acquaintance of my 
 friend's wife. I knew your grandfather very weU 
 indeed, and we have often had a chat together. 
 How long have you been in Jersey ?" &c., &c. ; 
 and so the ice was broken, and Annie and the old 
 gentleman talked away as if they had been old 
 friends. And it was only when the calls and 
 summonses to the old gentleman from his party 
 became too urgent to be any longer disregarded 
 with safety, that he and the De Marburys bade 
 adieu to each other. 
 
 ''We shall hope to be amongst the very 
 first to pay our respects at Donnington Hall 
 when we all find our way back into Cheshire ;" 
 these were the kind old man's parting words. 
 
 Another week was to be spent by them in 
 
DOXNINGTON HALL. 213 
 
 Jersey, not at Roselle any longer, but at Eonge- 
 mont Farm with the elder Lady De Marbury, and 
 then the young couple thought of tiu-ning their 
 faces homewards. 
 
 St. Helier is a great rendezvous of retired military 
 and nayalmen. Generals, and colonels, and admirals 
 are to be met with there as thick as blackberries. 
 You are perpetually, when walking in the streets, 
 knocking against ex-goyemors, and former com- 
 manding officers of regiments. The little comforts 
 and luxuries of life which such extino-uished 
 potentates and deposed rulers especially affect, 
 such as French wines, and brandies, and grapes, 
 and pine-apples, are to be had in great plenty and 
 abundance, and cheap, upon the island. Xo one 
 eyer dreams of setting up an equipage in Jersey. 
 So that, though in England it might excite re- 
 mark to see the ex-Goyernor of Timbuctoo, or the 
 late Commander-in-chief of her ^Majesty's land 
 forces in New South Wales, trudging it on foot 
 about his neighbourhood, yet here in Jersey he 
 may walk about, and di'ess like any ordinary 
 mortal, and as if he neyer had had satraps and 
 
214 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 slaves (white and black) to bow down to bim in 
 bis life. And you may live as you like, spend 
 wbola days and nigbts at tbe club, and play cards, 
 and bave your game of billiards, and no one be 
 mucb tbe wiser for it. Time bangs beavy upon 
 tbe bands of tbese ex-military and naval gentle- 
 men. Tbe club, and parties, and watcbing for tbe 
 arrival of tbe steamer witb tbe Englisb mails — 
 tbese are tbeir only resources. And wben tbese 
 resources are exbausted, or wearied of, tbere is 
 notbing for it but to take to tbe streets, and to 
 criticise ladies' dresses and appearances, and to 
 talk over witb some naval or military brotber 
 tbat last brusb witb tbe Sikbs or affair witb tbe 
 Cbinese, and to lament tbat tbe business was so 
 grossly mismanaged, and tbat tbe commanding 
 officer sbould be obviously so unfit for bis duties. 
 
 Sir Jobn De Marbury used to meet divers 
 of tbese beroes at tbe club of wbicb be bad 
 been made an bonorary member, and it was bis 
 own fault entirely, and not from any lack 
 of attention on tbeir part, if be was not fully 
 indoctrinated into all tbe mysteries of piquet, 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 215 
 
 and whist, and unlimited loo, and made an 
 expert at billiards and the best mode of 
 " making a canon," as well as put in full posses- 
 sion of the latest intelligence from the seat of 
 war, with a lucid explanation of the various 
 blunders by which it would seem that the British 
 arms were being frequently tarnished in those 
 parts from want of efficient and experienced com- 
 manders — like (it was certainly the inference, 
 though not expressed in so many words) the 
 speaker, for instance. 
 
 Sir John would come home and amuse his wife, 
 and somewhat shock his mother, by describing 
 club Kfe, and the difficulty experienced by many 
 of the veterans he encountered in the disposing of 
 their time until dinner, and the general weariness 
 and satiety of life under which many were suc- 
 cumbing who had been in their day gallant 
 officers and useful members of society. 
 
 At length the day of departure arrived, and Sir 
 John and Lady De Marbury bid farewell to the 
 pleasant isle of Jersey, with its rocky coast, and 
 beautiful bays, and shady lanes, and yonder miaa- 
 
216 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 rets and crescents glittering in tlie sun, and to 
 the rugged castle of Elizabetli, with the English 
 fiag waving from its hold, guarding the entrance 
 to the harbour. 
 
DONNIXGTOX HL\LL. 
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTEE XYII. 
 
 The clmrch bells of Donnington are ringing 
 merrily. A flag waves proudly from the old 
 tower. Cliildren are rimning here and there, with 
 white rosettes pinned to their dresses. The rector 
 and his wife occasionally make their appearance 
 on the scene, and hold huiTied consultations with 
 the churchwarden or the schoolmaster or mistress, 
 as it may be. There is eager expectation written 
 upon every countenance : something or other is 
 about to come ofi". Xow one, now another, runs 
 to the top of the hill, whence a good view is 
 obtained of the road leading from the station. At 
 length the distant sound of wheels is heard, as 
 of a carriage rattling over the paved lane which 
 turns off from the main road and leads direct to 
 
218 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Donnington ; and now all doubt is dispelled. A 
 glimpse lias been obtained of the postillion's 
 scarlet jacket as be urges on bis borses, and very 
 soon a close carriage and pair makes its appearance, 
 and seated in it are tbe owner of Donnington and 
 bis youtbful bride, wbile in tbe rumble bebind are 
 Lady De Marbury's maid and Sir Jobn's o^ti man. 
 Tbe scbool-cbildren are drawn up in a line, mider 
 tbe anxious superintendence of tbe master and 
 mistress, and fortbwitb commence singing a song 
 of welcome wbicb tbey bad been practising tbe 
 previous fortnigbt, but wbicb tbey, of course, made 
 a bungle of and sang quite out of tune. Few, 
 bowever, noticed it except tbe master, wbose own 
 composition it was, and set by bimself to music : 
 be bad substituted it for tbe National Antbem, 
 conceiving it to be, on tbe wbole, a superior 
 production. Tbere were not, bowever, balf a 
 dozen tbere wbo knew wbat tbe cbildren were 
 singing, or wbo, if asked tbe question afterwards, 
 would bave been quite sure tbat tbey sang at 
 all ; for tbere, tbe moment tbe carriage draws up 
 opposite to tbe cburcb, Mrs. Hulton steps forward 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 219 
 
 with a splendid bouquet of flowers {almost rivalling 
 those of the island Lady De Marbury has but just 
 quitted) and presents it to the bride, who, all 
 smiles, accepts it. The rector then advances and 
 shakes hands with both, and then there are some 
 general inquiries and replies ; and then the singing 
 conies to a close rather abruptly, as it seems, and 
 the churchwarden, as representing the parishioners, 
 comes forward and reads an addi'ess of congratula- 
 tion couched in the most flowery and half-classical 
 style (which could have been the comj)osition of 
 only one man in all that group), and then there 
 are the few words of thanks and acknowledgment, 
 and the carriage diives on. Time was, and that 
 not so long ago either, when the natural place of 
 that fair girl in the carriage, who smiled her 
 thanks so graciously to all who approached her, 
 would have been amongst the ranks of those very 
 school- children whom she made such an efibrt to 
 listen to and comprehend ; and the honest farmer 
 who, with blushing modesty, was endeavouring to 
 get through as well as he coidd all the fine things 
 " Schoolmeaster Page " had contrived to squeeze 
 
220 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 into the address, would liave considered himself, 
 not to say the equal, but infinitely the superior of 
 her in whose presence it would almost seem as if he 
 was now ready to sink into the earth, so alarmed 
 was he at the sound of his own voice. Such, 
 indeed, is the Cheshire farmer's — we cannot call it 
 exactly respect, and certainly not affection, but his 
 awe and dread of his landlord (he is always haunted 
 by the apprehension of getting " notice to quit " 
 some fine morning, or by receiving a communica- 
 tion from the steward to say that his rent has been 
 raised), that he is quite as much overcome by his 
 feelings of nervousness and apprehension when 
 entering the presence of Squire So-and-so or 
 So-and-so, who are known to be, the one the 
 greatest fool, and the other the hardest drinker in 
 all Cheshire, as he would be if sent for by Lord 
 Powderham or old Squire Legh. Well, the car- 
 riage drove on, and the school- children sat down 
 to the treat pro^dded for them in the Rectory 
 grounds; and the master dwelt with pride upon 
 some of his own happily-turned expressions and 
 classical allusions in the address, which, he thinks, 
 
DONXIXGTOX HALL. 221 
 
 must have struck Sir Jolin, only that Fanner 
 Thorley read it so badly ; and the rector and his 
 wife went about seeing that all the yoimg people 
 were made comfortable ; and the bells kept ring- 
 ing ; and so the long-expected day came to a close, 
 and, both at Hall and Rectory, in farm-house and 
 cottage, there was the feeling that all had gone off 
 as it should : the day was fine, the lady and Sir 
 John looked pleased, and the Hall was once more 
 occupied. 
 
 It was with feelings of secret wonderment that 
 Lady De Marbury had walked through the ranks 
 of those bowing obsequious domestics as they lined 
 the hall on the day of her arrival at Donnington. 
 The butler looked quite the gentleman, and would 
 probably disdain to sit at table with any of her 
 relations. And then the housekeeper — what an 
 awful personage was she, even to glance at, with 
 that curious superstructure of a cap on her head ! 
 She had lived all her Life at the Hall, in one 
 capacity or another, and was now gettino- on 
 towards her threescore years and ten. She must 
 well remember the beginnino; and rise of Jacob 
 
222 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Delves' s fortimes, and whenever they met it would 
 have been, no doubt, as old friends. Indeed, 
 Annie remembered perfectly well her grandfather 
 talking of his friend Mrs. Margaret Evison at the 
 Hall, and being pleased at some token of recollec- 
 tion he had received from her. 
 
 And it was the same with others of the old 
 servants and dependents whom she saw as she 
 alighted from the carriage, handed out, as she was, 
 most attentively by her husband, and as she entered 
 her future home. The old gardener, the Scotch 
 steward, the head keeper — gray-headed men 
 all, and who had grown gray in the service 
 of the squires of Donnington — they must all 
 remember old Jacob well, as having been reared 
 at Donnington, and as having laid the foundation 
 of his large fortune in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood. ^Vhy, they coidd hardly walk into New- 
 church, an}^ of them, now, without stimibling upon 
 some uncle, or aunt, or cousin of hers, any one 
 of whom would deem it an honour to be spoken 
 to by one of the upper servants at the Hall. But 
 not a trace was there to be seen of any such 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 223 
 
 reminiscences or reflections on a single one of 
 those many awfully deferential faces slie looked 
 upon : they knew their business too well for that. 
 In their eyes Lady De Marbury was the repre- 
 sentative of twenty, some said thirty, and even 
 forty thousand pounds, and, true to their instinct, 
 they fell down and worshipped the golden image. 
 It was not a feigned, or merely put on for the 
 occasion, respect on their part, but a thorough, 
 genuine respect for the owner of so much money. 
 They were never tired of talking and thinking 
 about it (as far as such persons are capable of 
 thinking), and seemed to derive some increased 
 consequence from talking familiarly to each other 
 about such large, large sums of money. 
 
 Well, Annie was glad enough when the recep- 
 tion was over, and when in the evening, after 
 dinner and coffee partaken of, she and her 
 husband were able to shut themselves into the 
 library, glad to rest from all the fatigues and 
 excitement of the day. The servants were just 
 going to their supper, and there was little fear 
 of their hurrying themselves over that ; so there 
 
224 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 was a good liour before it would be time to sum- 
 mon in the retinue to prayers. 
 
 "You look tired, my love," Sir Jobn said 
 tenderly to bis young wife ; " and no wonder. 
 You bad better go to bed early, as soon as prayers 
 are over." 
 
 " Ob, I sball be all rigbt, Jobn, presently. 
 One can't get quite rid of tbe motion of tbe 
 steamer ; and tben seeing tbis old place again, 
 and tbe cburcb, and all, it ratber upsets one." 
 
 " Well, my love, I was very bappy, at least I 
 believe I tbougbt so, on tbe day I came of age ; 
 but it was notbing to wbat I feel now." 
 
 Here we leave it to tbe experienced reader to 
 supply for bimself, ad libitum, any osculatory 
 details be pleases, by imagining wbat bis own 
 probable demeanour would bave been on sucb an 
 occasion. 
 
 After, tben, any little interruption in tbe con- 
 versation wbicb ma?/ bave taken place — I am 
 not saying tbat it did — Sir Jobn went on — 
 
 " I remember so well my motber just sitting 
 wbere you are now, and my coming in quite 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 225 
 
 knocked up, kaTing been doing tke agreeable tke 
 entire day. And Tve got talking, I recollect, of 
 all tke nonsense a poor little fellow called Jones, 
 wko was curate kere tken, kad been delivering 
 kimself of at tke dinner in tke tent ; and tken 
 my motker was crying up tkat man Marskall and 
 quite swearing by kim. How ke did take ker in, 
 to be sure !" 
 
 '' Ske never speaks of kim now, I kave 
 noticed." 
 
 "Askamed, I suppose." 
 
 " Did you like kim ?" 
 
 " I^ever, until tke last ; and I didn't like kim 
 tken. And it wouldn't be true to say I respected 
 kim. But I admired kis self-devotion, kis sacri- 
 ficing kimself in tke way ke did for tke sake of 
 wkat ke believed to be tke trutk. Mind you, I 
 believe it to be a bad system tkrougkout wkick 
 would exact suck fearful sacrifices from an}^ one, 
 of trutk, of konour, of sincerity; but, supposing 
 tke system itself was a good one (wkick of course 
 it isn't), you can't kelp almost admiring tke man 
 wko will sacrifice kis all for it." 
 
 Q 
 
226 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 " I understand. I remember one of those priests 
 coming to poor grandpapa once/' 
 
 "It wasn't Delawney, was it — a short, stout, 
 red- faced man ?" 
 
 " No, it wasn't him. I have seen him. No, it 
 was a slight, delicate-looking man." 
 
 " Well, what did he want ?" 
 
 "He said that he had been appointed to the 
 Newchurch * Mission,' and that, as he heard 
 grandpapa was not bigoted, but a man of a 
 liberal mind and open to conviction, he had come 
 to call upon him." 
 
 " Well, what did your grandfather say to that ?" 
 
 " Oh, he thanked him, and said he was glad to 
 see him. And then the priest went on to regret 
 that there wasn't more love and charity in the 
 world, that there were so many differences about 
 religion, and he said that it was a pity Protestant 
 ministers hated poor Catholics as they did, and 
 told so many stories about them that were not 
 true." 
 
 "Well, and how did your grandfather take 
 it aU ?" 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 227 
 
 " Oh, grandfatlier let liim go on talking. He 
 was glad to see any one, so that they didn't want 
 money — that is," explained Annie, with a slight 
 blush, " if they didn't come begging for it." 
 
 " Well, about the priest ?" said Sir John, laugh- 
 ing at her little embarrassment. 
 
 *' They got on well enough together for some 
 time. But, at last, he began talking about the 
 advantage of being a Catholic, and that for so 
 much money you could procure absolution for 
 your sins, and have masses said for your soul after 
 you were dead, which would be sure to bring you 
 to heaven." 
 
 " What did your grandfather say to that ?" 
 
 "He said he coidd get his sins forgiven for 
 nothing — without paying any money for it — and 
 he didn't think masses vrould do any good. The 
 priest wanted to argue with him. But grand- 
 father said, if there was any money to be paid, he 
 would have nothing to do with being a Catholic." 
 
 " Did the priest go away then ?" 
 
 " Yes, he did. And he said if grandfather ever 
 wanted him, to be sure and send for him — that it 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 PONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 would be better for Mm to save bis soul tban to 
 leave ever so mucb money bebind bim. to tbose 
 wbo would make a bad use of it." 
 
 " Tbey are all alike !" said Sir Jobn ; and bere 
 we drop tbe curtain, and leave tbe weary couple 
 to tbeir repose. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 YisiTORS, of course, began to pour in apace as 
 soon as Lady De Marbury bad made ber appear- 
 ance at cbui'cb and it was known sbe was ready 
 to receive tbem. It is a good neigbbourbood all 
 about JS'ewcburcb, and tbere are plenty of carriages 
 and equestrians to be encountered most days on 
 tbe roads about tbere. Tbe old woman at tbe 
 lodge bad a busy time of it, wbat between oj^ening 
 and sbutting tbe gate for visitors. Tbere was a 
 wide- spread curiosity to see bow little Annie 
 Delves, as sbe used to be called by tbose wbo were 
 aware of ber existence, would comport berself 
 under ber new and trj^ing circimastances. Old 
 Squire Legb's report bad been bigbly favourable, 
 wben be bad returned from bis summer outing ; 
 
230 DOXNINGTON HALL. 
 
 SO that people did not go ex23ectmg to see any- 
 thing very outre in Sir John's wife. But still 
 they were not prepared for the perfect composure, 
 and yet liveliness of manner, which marked Lady 
 De Marbury's reception of them, and her general 
 demeanour. As for her beauty, there could not 
 be a second opinion about that. And it was a 
 kind of beauty connected so much with expression, 
 and fine dark eyes, and abundance of fair hair, 
 that it was likely to wear well. Any who had 
 come with the intention of criticising Annie, and 
 finding out her defects, had marvellously little to 
 descant on when they returned home. Anybody 
 who had come to ^' patronize " her went away with 
 the purpose unfulfilled. It was generally allowed 
 that Sir John could not well have done better. 
 But how was the difficulty about her poor relations 
 to be got over ? This was the question next raised 
 for discussion. Would Lady De Marbury acknow- 
 ledge them ? And if she did, what would Sir 
 John say to it ? And then supposing her mother 
 was to turn up from America, or Australia, or 
 wherever else it was that she had gone ; what was 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 231 
 
 to be done then ? These were the difficulties to 
 be faced. People could not have such good luck 
 without paying dearly for it in some way or other. 
 Well, these difficulties gave her neighbours a 
 great deal more concern than they did Lady De 
 Marbury herself. She was of too truthful and 
 ingenuous a nature not to have realized her own 
 position and the duties and responsibilities that 
 devolved upon her. And she and her husband 
 had far too much confidence in each other, and 
 were too sincerely attached, to allow any little 
 social difficulties that must, under the circum- 
 stances, necessarily arise from time to time, to 
 disturb the good understanding that had from the 
 first prevailed between them. 
 
 " These persons are my relations," thought 
 Lady De Marbury to herself, "and there- 
 fore I must not be ashamed to acknowledge 
 them. It is only by the merest accident in 
 the world I am not in the same position my- 
 self. And every one knows this — all my ser- 
 vants know it — even if I were foolish enough 
 to try and shut nay eyes to it. Then they are 
 
232 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 poor, and tliat is a reason why I, wlio liave so 
 mucli money at my command, should do something 
 for them. They had as good claims as I had, 
 and, if grandfather had died without a will, they 
 woTild have been in far different circumstances 
 than they are in now. And, if ignorant and un- 
 cultivated, if I can do nothing for the elders, 
 I can, at any rate, for the children." Thus sensibly 
 did Lady De Marbury put the case to herself, and 
 she was not slow to act upon it. One embarrass- 
 ment, however, she was spared, and for that she 
 was thankful. Tom Swigmore, after lounging 
 about Newchurch for some months subsequently 
 to his grandfather's death, had got into a scrape in 
 connection with some farmer's daughter in the 
 neighbourhood ; so he had to make a precipitate 
 retreat from the place to avoid the conse- 
 quences, and had gone and enlisted under some 
 feigned name, and had not since been heard of. 
 While giving every weight to the^eonsiderations 
 adverted to, and determining, with her husband's 
 sanction, to do her duty towards her relations. 
 Lady De Marbury was not unmindful of what she 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 233 
 
 owed likewise to the man who had honoured her 
 by making her his wife. His rank and position 
 she had been called on to share ; she must not, 
 therefore, do anji:hing to tarnish or discredit 
 either. And as there were distinctions of rank 
 all the world over, and as it was necessary to keep 
 up those distinctions. Lady De Marbury came to 
 the conclusion that she would best discharge her 
 duty, not by indiscriminate \-Lsiting amongst her 
 relations, but by pensioning the aged and infirm 
 among them, by setting the sons up in business, 
 portioning the daughters, and paying for the 
 education of the children. And all this, which 
 was one of her first cares after getting settled at 
 Donnino-ton, she was enabled to do both to her 
 husband's and her own satisfaction, and principally 
 through the ready instrumentality of Mr. Hulton, 
 their rector. The aged and sick among them she 
 visited with regularity.'- Kor did she ever, in any 
 instance, experience annoyance or embarrassment 
 from any inopportune or over- eager claiming 
 of relationship amongst her kindred. Such was 
 the happy result of recognising the natui-al claims 
 
234 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 of relatlonsliip witlioiit being betrayed into a 
 disregard of tbe feelings of those with whom she 
 had become allied. 
 
 It has been mentioned already that Annie^s 
 mother had married a second time and settled in 
 America. No tidings had been heard of her since 
 that time, though she had been written to by her 
 daughter immediately after the death of her grand- 
 father. It was not known whether she was alive. 
 The two or three letters that had been written had 
 never come back ; so it might be presumed that 
 some one had received them — some one of her 
 family, if not herself It was understood that she 
 had intended to settle in Mobile, but nothing more 
 was known about her ; and so things remained for 
 several months after the arrival of Sir John and 
 Lady De Marbury at the HaU. But one after- 
 noon — it was in the early part of January — Lady 
 De Marbury was informed that some one wished 
 to see her on particidar business. "He is a 
 respectable-looking man," the servant said, and 
 had been shown into the housekeeper's room. 
 Upon repairing thither, a middle-aged man, 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 235 
 
 dressed in black, and who appeared to be in 
 the rank of a tradesman, or, perhaps, small farmer, 
 rose up to greet her. He was a sad-looking 
 person, but intelligent, and bad witb bim two 
 little boys of about the ages of nine and six 
 respectively. Tbey were slight, fair-haired chil- 
 di^en, with fresh complexions and bright faces, but 
 did not look strong : they bore no resemblance to 
 the person who brought them, he being dark and 
 sallow. The Kttle boys looked up wistfully at the 
 pleasant face of the lady as she entered the room ; 
 and her heart seemed to yearn towards them, 
 though she knew not, as yet, their sad history ; for 
 sad it must be, she thought, from the little attempt 
 at mourning about their dresses that at once 
 struck her eye. The black ribbon which confined 
 their shirt-collars, and the little bit of crape about 
 their caps, both told of some recent bereayement. 
 
 *' Lady De IMarbury," said the man respectfully, 
 ^' my name is Johnson. I have come many thou- 
 sand miles to see you, and to fulfil the dj^g 
 request of the parents of these two Kttle helpless 
 orphan children. I have brought them all the 
 
236 DOXXINGTON HALL. 
 
 way from Mobile, in the Southern States of 
 America. They are the children — the only ones 
 left — of your mother, Mary Yenables." Thus far 
 did the man proceed, when Lady De Marbury, 
 bursting into tears, drew towards her those mother- 
 less and fatherless children and gave wa}^ for a 
 long time to successive bursts of grief. She had 
 felt, from the moment she saw them, an instinctive 
 going forth of her heart towards them ; and now, 
 as she looked upon their little innocent, uncon- 
 scious faces, they wondering at the great lady's 
 tears — for, poor things, they had well-nigh for- 
 gotten all the sad events of the past few months — 
 she could not, for some time, control her emotion. 
 Making an effort, however, to restrain her feelings, 
 she intimated to her visitor that he should proceed. 
 "It has been a sad case, and I would have 
 you. Lady De Marbury, ask for strength from on 
 high to hear what more I have to tell you. I 
 keep a store myself in a little village called 
 Winchester, in Mobile State. I have lived there 
 several years, though I am a native of this 
 country. It is a most imhealthy place and sur- 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 237 
 
 rounded witli swamps. However, I have got used 
 to it, and, praised be tlie Lord! have prospered 
 there, though I have had several bad fevers and 
 sharp attacks of ague. Mine is well-nigh the 
 only store there, and I deal in everything, I may 
 say. I do all the imdertaker's business for fifty 
 miles round, and that alone woidd keep a man in 
 constant employ. On Sundays, also, I preach, as 
 there is no parson or place of worship within a 
 himdred miles. It is about two years ago, come 
 next Lady Day, since Thomas Yenables and his 
 wife fixed themselves in a location near to Win- 
 chester. He had bought a deal of marshy land 
 from one of these agents up the country, and 
 thought to drain it and to make it into pasture 
 and tillage. He had never seen the place, and I 
 reckon he had gotten it cheap ; but he never did 
 rightly tell me what he gave for it. Well, ma'am, 
 when they came to "Winchester they were as 
 healthy a looking family as you would wish to see 
 — quite old-countrylike-looking folk. He had 
 been a Cheshire farmer in a small way, I reckon, 
 somewhere near iN'orthwich ; and the missus, she 
 
238 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 was fine and clever too wlien slie came, and with. 
 such a spirit ! ' Only let master/ she would say 
 to me wlien she came into my store to get any 
 little thing, ' put a few tiles in, and drain that 
 land he has taken, and see if I don't turn you out 
 as fine a cheese as they'd make in Cheshire.' But 
 I knew better than that. However, as I was 
 saying, they were as healthy a looking family as 
 you would wish to see, considering especially they 
 had been some years out in America, in the 
 Northern States somewhere. Wlien they came to 
 Winchester they had four children — a girl, the 
 eldest, about eight or nine, these two, and a baby 
 in arms. Well, ma'am, not to make too long a 
 story of it, the master, he did work, might and 
 main, at that land of his, striving to drain it and 
 to bring it under cultivation, and to make pas- 
 turage for a few cows ; and I do believe that he 
 would have succeeded, after all, in making some- 
 thing of the land, but that he was pulled down, 
 first by rheimaatic fever, then by a long attack of 
 ague, which kept him to his bed ten weeks together, 
 and when he got up he was fit for nothing. And 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 239 
 
 tlieii the missus, she did strive and strive till slie 
 nearly killed herself. ' We don't like, Mr. John- 
 son,* she woidd say to me, 'to throw all our money 
 and labour away ; but, if we can only realize some- 
 thing by the sale of this land, and get away with 
 our lives — for it be a dreadfully unhealthy place — 
 we shall be only too thankful.' But, poor dear ! 
 she never did get away from it alive. First one, 
 then another of the children was taken bad. The 
 youngest of these two had it worse than any of 
 them, and no one thought he would ever get over 
 it. It was some kind of low fever, the doctor said. 
 The eldest girl died iirst, then the baby ; after that 
 the master sickened and was soon gone. The 
 missus bore up bravely to the last : she was so 
 busy nursing these two little ones that it seemed 
 almost as if she had not time to be ill. IS^o one 
 thought this young one would recover ; but at 
 length the doctor said he might pull through ; 
 and it was only then that missus gave way. She 
 had overtaxed her strength, I take it ; for, from 
 the very first, after she was taken ill, she gave 
 herself up and said she should never recover. So 
 
240 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 one iiiglit late slie sends for me. ' Mr. Jolinson,' 
 slie said, ' I feel that I am not long for this world. 
 Tlie only thing that troubles me is about those 
 two dear children sleeping in their cribs there. 
 If I thought they'd be taken care of, I could be 
 well content to follow my husband and my other 
 two children. I have a daughter in England, who 
 would be married by this time and who is well off. 
 Take those two chikben to her, and charge her, as 
 her mother's last dying request, never to let them 
 ^ant — ^never to forget that they are her brothers, 
 and, as she hopes to meet her own mother in 
 heaven, to be herseK a tender careful mother to 
 these poor dear little boys whom I am leaving 
 behind me.' She then charged me to place in 
 your hands this parcel, containing a locket of jout 
 o^vn hair, which she had brought with her from 
 England, with a few other things, and also told 
 me to make what I could of their house and the 
 things in it, and to sell the land, when I could 
 with advantage, and to let the money be for the 
 benefit of these two children and to pay for the 
 expenses of removing them to England." 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 241 
 
 Her Yisitor then placed in Lady De Marbury's 
 hands a small brown-paper parcel, which, from 
 the hasty glance she took at it, seemed to contain 
 a few trifling ornaments, including the locket 
 referred to, a Bible and Prayer Book, with the 
 name " Mary Eckersley, Newchurch," written in 
 both. There were also three or four letters, written 
 in a school- girl's hand, which Lady De Marbury 
 had no difficulty in recognising as having been 
 addressed by herself to her mother after she had 
 gone to America. 
 
 "Did my mother ever say ami:hing," asked 
 Lady De Marbury, her voice broken with sobs, 
 "about those letters I wrote her, and why they 
 remained unanswered? Did she ever speak of 
 writing to me ?" 
 
 " I reckon," replied Johnson, with a little hesi- 
 tation, " that missus wasn't much of a scholar, nor 
 master either, for the matter of that ; but she did 
 say, many a time and oft, sure enough, that she 
 would get me to write a letter for her to her 
 daughter in Eno^land, when she knew for certain 
 that she was married and returned from abroad. 
 
242 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 She had been told that the old madam had carried 
 you off to a distance, somewhere, and I reckon she 
 thought it was no use writing to you until you 
 were your own mistress, like. You will excuse me, 
 my lady, for making so free ?" 
 
 *' There is not the least occasion for apology, *' 
 replied Lady De Marbury, with sweetness. " I 
 thank you from my heart for having brought 
 these two dear children to me. They are my 
 brothers, and as my brothers they shall be treated. 
 I accept my dear, dearest mother's parting charge. 
 These children shall be reared as tenderly as if 
 they were my own : they shall be properly educated 
 and put out in life. I can answer for my husband 
 as I can for myself. And now, Mr. Johnson, I 
 must commit you and these two dear children to 
 the care of my housekeeper, for the present, while 
 I go and find Sir John, and communicate to him 
 all the painful intelligence of which you have been 
 the bearer, and inform him of the important 
 charge I am about to take on me. My housekeeper 
 will supply you and these little fellows with any 
 refreshment you may require." 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 243 
 
 Saying this, and tenderly kissing her little bro- 
 thers, she went out of the room to find her hus- 
 band. Sir John was standing, in conversation 
 with one of the keepers, at a little distance from 
 the house, when he was joined by his wife. 
 
 " Let us take a turn in the shrubberies, dear," 
 she said, taking his arm. " I have heard some- 
 thing that has greatly agitated and distressed 
 
 me. 
 
 " Nothing about my mother, is it ?" 
 
 "No; nothing about your mother, but about 
 mine. Oh, John ! my dearest mother is dead : I 
 have just heard it;" and she leaned upon her 
 husband's shoulder, and wept bitterly for some 
 time. 
 
 " My darling, I will try and make up to you for 
 every loss by double tenderness and afiection. Do 
 not, dearest Annie, give way to such grief. Come 
 and sit down in this arbour, and tell me what you 
 have heard, and who told you." 
 
 " There is a man here who has come all the way 
 from Mobile in the Southern States, and who has 
 been giving me such a sad account of all the sick- 
 
 R 2 
 
244 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 ness and sufferings tliat befell my dearest motlier 
 and the wliole family. First, two of tlie children 
 died from some kind of low fever, then the father, 
 and last of all, quite worn out by sorrow and suffer- 
 ing, my own dearest mother ; and oh, John, she has 
 left me, as a charge, as a parting legacy, and with 
 her dying breath, two of the sweetest children — 
 little boys — I have ever seen ! Oh, it is heart- 
 rending to see their little innocent faces, and how 
 unconscious they seem of the great loss they have 
 sustained ! I have promised, John, to receive them 
 as a sacred charge from my dying mother, always 
 to care for them as if they were my own, and to be 
 their friend and a mother to them as long as I 
 live. Have I your sanction ?" 
 
 " My best beloved," said her husband, tenderly 
 embracing her, " you can never do anything wrong 
 as long as you follow the dictates of your own 
 loving heart. You have never disappointed me 
 yet. You have been throughout most kind, and 
 yet judicious, in all you have done for your 
 relations. We will go and see these poor little 
 fellows you speak of, and, whatever you settle 
 
DOXXTXGTON HALL. 245 
 
 about the matter, you may depend upon my 
 
 concurrence.'* 
 
 Wlien they returned to the house, and sought 
 out the housekeeper's room, they found Mr. John- 
 son, who had partaken of some refreshment, engaged 
 with a newspaper which happened to be in the 
 room, while the two little boys had opened the 
 window and were plapng quietly together in a 
 little garden that was outside. From his visitor 
 Sir John heard what was pretty much a repetition 
 of his wife's narrative to him in the shrubbery, 
 with enlargements; while Lady De Marbury, 
 stepping out through the window, carried off the 
 little boys to show them the pigeons and other 
 objects of interest and curiosity to them. 
 
 Mr. Johnson took his departure in due time, and 
 shortly afterwards retiuTied to America, where, by 
 the last accoimts, he was doing an extensive busi- 
 ness at Winchester, Mobile State, as an undertaker 
 and general merchant. The little boys remained 
 under their sister's special charge until she con- 
 sidered them old enough and strong enough to be 
 sent as week-day boarders to the Grrammar School 
 
246 DONXINGTON HALL. 
 
 in I^ewcliurcli ; and on every Saturday, as a general 
 thing, and when it was fine enongli. Lady De Mar- 
 bury was to be seen driving ber pair of ponies into 
 ^N^ewcburcb to bring out Harry and Arthur to the 
 Hall until the Monday. This was the pleasantest 
 occupation of the week to her ; and as she saw the 
 glow of health returning into the once delicate 
 countenances of her little brothers, and heard their 
 ringing laugh as they played about the orchards 
 and shrubberies of Donnington, she felt how much 
 ''more blessed it is to give than to receive," and 
 that (with the exception of the gift of a fond and 
 devoted husband) no pleasure or advantage which 
 she had derived from her grandfather's wiU at all 
 came up to the delight of tenderly caring for those 
 two fatherless and motherless little boys. 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "We left the Dowager Lady De Marbury, as she 
 is now entitled to be called, in Jersey, and there 
 she remained until the period for which her 
 house was taken had expired. And this was 
 at the Michaelmas succeeding the departure of 
 her son and daughter. She then bid adieu, in all 
 probability for ever, to that pleasant island, and 
 looked for the last time upon the wide-spreading 
 chestnuts whose leayes were beginning to turn 
 and drop off, and the vine- covered house, with 
 the grapes fast ripening under so genial a sun, 
 and her garden of flowers where she and Annie 
 had spent so many quiet happy days, and upon 
 all those little nameless things about a place to 
 which we get so accustomed, and which the 
 
248 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 eye rests upon with gladness, morning after 
 morning, wlien we come forth and breathe the 
 fresh air of heaven. At no period of the year, 
 indeed, does Jersey appear to more advantage 
 than in the autumn, when the heat of summer 
 has passed away and the golden fruit hangs ripe 
 in many an orchard. Large clusters of grapes 
 are gathered by the peasants, and eaten in homely 
 fashion along with their bread ; and their minia- 
 ture harvest is being gathered in, each little spot 
 of ground growing that which, with frugality, will 
 supply the family's wants until another twelve- 
 month comes round. 
 
 After a certain period of life most persons dis- 
 like change, not in the abstract so much, but 
 when it comes to be carried out. If we have 
 stayed at a place, even for a few weeks or months, 
 when we come to leave it (unless we are more 
 than ordinarily unfortunate) we do so with re- 
 luctance. For we have got to be familiar with 
 its land-marks, and to take some interest in its 
 local politics and feuds. We may never see the 
 place again, and possibly our sojourn there has 
 
DONNIXGTOX H.1LL. 249 
 
 had a character of its own stamped upon it — 
 joyous, or the reverse — ^by occurrences which have 
 interrupted the even tenour of our lives, and which 
 cause us ever afterwards to associate them with 
 some of the inanimate objects which surrounded 
 us at the time. Thoughts such as these thronged 
 through Lady De Marbury's mind as she drove 
 through the quiet streets of St. Helier, just begin- 
 ning to awake into fresh life, and proceeded along 
 the pier on her way to the steamer. There was 
 the usual miscellaneous assemblage which marks 
 the departure of the steamer everjnvhere. Cabs 
 driving hastily up and discharging themselves of 
 their fare ; and then what piles of boxes and 
 portmanteaus come off the roof, and are thrown 
 one on top of the other upon the ground, imme- 
 diately to be seized upon by three or four men, 
 each with a little brass plate, having a number on 
 it, on his arm, and conveyed off by him you know 
 not where, except that he seems to go in the 
 direction where the steamer is puffing and its 
 smoke blending with the morning air. 
 
 Then there are the groups of friends come do^vn 
 
250 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 thus early to see some member of tlie family off, 
 and tlie tender farewells, and promises to write. 
 Then there is the single man who has nobody to 
 care for him, and whose only luggage is a port- 
 manteau and hat-box, besides the plaid and 
 umbrella which he prefers carrying himself. To 
 him all these adieus, and promises to write, and 
 this wiping of eyes, seem supremely ludicrous, 
 and he is half tempted to express his sentiments 
 on the subject to that pretty-looking girl who 
 keeps waving her handkerchief to the group on 
 the pier, and wiping her eyes, by turns. There 
 is a great bustle now. A spring cart, driven by 
 a man in a red-laced coat, with a gold band 
 round his hat, comes tearing along the pier, 
 scattering people right and left, and clearing the 
 way up to where the steamer is lying. These are 
 the mails. Great leathern bags, and a sack or 
 two, are pitched upon the ground, immediately 
 seized on, and hurried on board. The ladder is 
 withdrawn, bells ring in quick succession, a crisis 
 is evidently imminent, handkerchiefs now are 
 waved with redoubled energy, the steam is up, 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 251 
 
 the vessel lias a slight motion about it, when a 
 cab is descried by some half-dozen porters all a^ 
 once, driving at full speed along the pier, loaded 
 with luggage. It is just half an hour after the 
 time. The captain from his elevation on the 
 paddle-box fimies, and frets, and utters curses, 
 as the ladder is thrown across again, and a whole 
 heap of luggage finds its way on board on the 
 backs of sturdy porters. The owner comes last, 
 taking everything very quietly, and apparently 
 not at all crediting that the steamer was actually 
 going so soon as the choleric captain would have 
 him believe. However, there is no mistake this 
 time. " Xow then, go ahead V the captain shouts 
 out ; and soon the vessel is steaming out of the 
 harbour, and the people on the pier are reduced 
 to a mere speck, and the weeping girl puts by her 
 pocket-handkerchief and takes to smelling and 
 admiring her bouquet. And the single gentleman 
 pays her some attention, and ofiers her the use 
 of his plaid, and so she is " comforted, '* All 
 subside into their places presently, for there is 
 usually a swell between Jersey and Guernsey; 
 
252 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and so the steamer plouglis its watery way to 
 Soutliampton. 
 
 Lady De Marbury had taken everything very 
 quietly from the first, as she well might, with 
 her own maid and man-servant to look after 
 things and see them on board ; and then she had 
 settled herself quietly upon the deck, with an 
 awning over her, and spent the time very tran- 
 quilly with her book and knitting until they had 
 passed the Isle of Wight and found themselves 
 steaming up the river. Apartments at " Radley's" 
 had been engaged for her, and here she rested for 
 the night. 
 
 Next day she left for Bath, and in the course of 
 the afternoon was once more installed in her own 
 house in the Crescent, which had been let during 
 her absence. At Bath Lady De Marbury was 
 at home, and knew most of the clergy, and the 
 resident families of any note. She mixed princi- 
 pally, indeed almost exclusively, with those who 
 constituted the " serious society " of the place. As 
 the clergy, without any excej)tion, belonged to 
 that peculiar section of the Church denominated 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 253 
 
 ^' Evangelical/* and of which Lady De Marbury (as 
 became her father's daughter) had been at all 
 times a stanch adherent, it was natural that she 
 should cidtivate their acquaintance and that of 
 their families, and that her house should be at all 
 times hosjDitably thrown open to them. As every- 
 body knows, there is no end of private and 
 proprietary chapels in Bath, with all sorts of fan- 
 tastic names — the Laura, the Octagon, and so on 
 — each maintaining its own pet parson, and in a 
 state of glorious independence of the parish church, 
 or any other church. Well, the chapel that Lady 
 De Marbury patronized was the Pentagon (you 
 wiU not find it in the '' Clergy List "). She had 
 preferred it above all its rivals, by reason of the 
 superior " gifts " and deejDer spiritual experience 
 of its inciunbent, the Rev. Henry O'jN^eil (half of 
 the popular, and one or two of the unpopular as 
 well, preachers in Bath are Irish) which she con- 
 ceived him to be the possessor of above all his 
 brethren in that city. Well, in her absence this 
 Mr. O'Neil had had a " call," or whatever they 
 phrase it, to a proprietary chapel in London, which 
 
254 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 had the advantage of having a much handsomer 
 income attached to it than the Pentagon, though 
 that was not despicable as clerical incomes go. 
 And this " call " Mr. O'Neil had " seen his way " 
 to accept. So that, when Lady De Marbury re- 
 turned to Bath, she found a successor installed in 
 Mr. O'Neirs place. There had been great competi- 
 tion for the appointment, and each of the candidates 
 had preached before a select committee of trustees 
 and pew-holders, both male and female, and the 
 election had fallen upon a countryman and personal 
 friend of the late incimibent, one Mr. Mahon. 
 Now it never once occurred to Lady De Marbury 
 that she could have had any previous acquaintance 
 with this Mr. Mahon. She hardly troubled herself 
 about the clergjrman's name. It was of no sort of 
 importance to her what it was or where he came 
 from. The one great point with her was, was 
 he a "faithful minister?" Did he preach the 
 Gospel? and was it in a " searching way ?" If 
 these questions could be answered satisfactorily, 
 she did not really care who he was. It was not 
 the man, but the minister she thought of. When, 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 255 
 
 therefore, slie heard the ladies of her acquaintance, 
 one and all, raving about their new minister, pane- 
 gyrizing his appearance, quoting his beautiful 
 metaphors, and dwelling upon the unction of his 
 extempore addresses, she was all anxiety to go and 
 hear him. This she could not do for a Sunday or 
 two after her arrival in Bath, on account of illness ; 
 but at length she was able to get out, and the very 
 first walk she took (contrary, by the way, to the 
 advice of her medical man) was to church — to the 
 Pentagon, where she prepared herself for a rich 
 spiritual treat. The place was crowded, galleries 
 and all. And at length the ''clerical Adonis" 
 (as he was nicknamed by those who were jealous 
 of him, or who were carnally-minded) made his 
 appearance. He was a tall, stout, handsome man, 
 with fine black whiskers, and hair of the same 
 colour, well brushed, and with a division down 
 the centre of it. His voice, for such a great, big, 
 stout man, was low and rather mincing. He made 
 a long extempore prayer before the sermon which 
 abounded in Scripture phrases, and then threw 
 himself into the sermon with an energy and a 
 
256 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 zest whicli proved pretty plainly tliat lie knew 
 wliat was expected of him ; that if lie didn't please 
 the critical audience, and rows of Evangelical 
 ladies before him, he might as well go about his 
 business. And never, it was admitted, during the 
 few months he had been there, had Mr. Mahon 
 acquitted himself more satisfactorily than he had 
 done upon this occasion. His auditors seemed to 
 hang upon his every word ; and as soon as church 
 was over, and the congregation dismissed, such 
 words as " How beautiful \" " What a dear man !'' 
 " What a sweet preacher !" echoed on every side. 
 Lady De Marbury had not listened to him in the 
 pulpit five minutes before she recognised in Mr. 
 Mahon her quondam chaplain and admirer. She 
 had a better view of him when he ascended the 
 pulpit than in the reading-desk, and his identity 
 flashed upon her in an instant, though it must 
 have been a good dozen years and upwards since 
 she had seen him. That he was aware who formed 
 one of his hearers could admit of little doubt, both 
 from the unusual eloquence and fervour he had ex- 
 hibited, which had struck several, and also because 
 
DOXXIXGTON HALL. 257 
 
 Lady De Marbury was a person of too mucli im- 
 portance in tlie religious world of Bath for Iter 
 name not to have reached the ears of Mr. Mahon 
 (he had dropped the Mac), or for the circumstance 
 of her being an attendant at the Pentagon not to 
 be well known to him. 
 
 It was some consolation to know that he was 
 married. He had married a rich widow in Bath, 
 some years older than himself, when, a short 
 time previously to his appointment, he had 
 been taking duty in the neighbourhood. It 
 was a puzzle to Lady De Marbury to know what 
 it was best to do. To leave the chapel without 
 assigning any reason would give rise to comment, 
 and would no doubt be construed by her *' religious 
 friends" into disapproval of the object of their 
 enthusiastic praise; while to assign the reason was 
 not to be thought of. There would be something 
 ludicrous in associating her name — who was now 
 a grave, staid, matronly-looking person — ^with that 
 of a young handsome man like Mr. Mahon. No ; 
 the less said about it the better. She would 
 meet him, as she would have to meet him some 
 
 s 
 
258 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 time or other, as a mere casual acquaint- 
 ance. It was not probable tbat he would allude 
 to tbe past, and it was quite certain that she 
 would not. She felt, however, for the awkward- 
 ness he must experience at seeing one who had 
 all but turned him out of her house, and who had 
 dismissed him with less ceremony than she would 
 have used towards her butler. She would there- 
 fore assume a gracious demeanour, and be the first 
 to show that she wished by-gones to be by-gones. 
 She need not, however, have made herself uneasy. 
 Mr. Mahon, the popular preacher of Bath, and the 
 indispensable ornament at so many tea-tables, was 
 a very different person from her former chaplain, 
 running over with drollery, and an adept at all 
 athletic sports. 
 
 She encountered him and his wife unexpectedly 
 at a house in the Crescent, where she went to pay 
 a morning call. Her first impulse was to advance 
 and shake hands with him; but, perceiving no 
 tokens of recognition on his part, she returned his 
 ceremonious bow in a similar fashion. The tone he 
 adopted was that of exalted spirituality ; and if he 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 259 
 
 condescended to take part in any merely secular 
 conversation, it was under protest, as it were. One 
 or two of Lady De Marbury's remarks upon some 
 common-place subject of the day he took up, and, 
 speaking in his capacity of spiritual adviser of 
 the assembled party, appeared slightly to take 
 exception to, as savouring too much of the earth, 
 earthy. He spoke in very low tones, and with 
 unctuousness of manner ; but there was no mis- 
 taking his meaning : he considered Lady De 
 Marbury's remarks as lacking spirituality, as 
 savoui'ing too much of the things of time. 
 
 His wife, who was a showily- dressed, rather 
 fine-looking woman, thouo^h her features were 
 plain, and who talked a great deal, slightly pa- 
 tronized Lady De Marbury, and e^'idently looked 
 upon her as one who had been formerly the victim 
 of a misplaced passion, slightly reprehensible, un- 
 der all the circumstances, and considering the dis- 
 parity of years between the parties ; she therefore 
 *' adopted a tone" as much as to say, "You see 
 / am in the place that you once wished to 
 occupy. It was natin-al, no doubt, upon your part. 
 
 s 2 
 
260 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 But the thing Is now hopeless." Altogether, Lady 
 De Marbury felt rather put out. " For him to be 
 giving me a lecture, indeed ! She to adopt that tone 
 of superiority and pity !" And it must be admitted 
 that it was rather mortifying to Lady De Marbury 
 to be treated so — that he should be monopolizing 
 the conversation to a certain extent, and then, when 
 his wife did speak, that she should do nothing but 
 quote her husband's authority and appeal to him. 
 "What account," she thought to herself as she 
 walked slowly back to her house, " can he have 
 given his wife of his former life at Donnington 
 Hall, that she should so plainly presume upon 
 it?" 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 It is a long time since we have heard anytMng of 
 tlie Eev. Father Delawney. It wiU be recollected 
 that he did not come very well out of that affair 
 of Mr. Marshall's. The suspicion of being an 
 accomjDlice hung over him. It was in vain for 
 him to deprecate the uncharitable surmises which 
 he said Protestants were so ready to entertain 
 against *'poor Catholics." It was not by an}^ 
 means an easy matter to put the Rev. Father out 
 of countenance. Almost the only time he was 
 ever known to falter, and look a little abashed, 
 was when Sir John questioned him closely, in the 
 presence of some of the farmers, as to his know- 
 ledge all along of Mr. Marshall's real character. 
 The hesitation was certainly but for a moment ; 
 
262 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 and it may possibly liave been tbe case, as lie said 
 it was, tbat be was too mncb bnrt and surprised 
 at sucb questions being put to bim to be able to 
 make an immediate answer. And be seemed 
 ratber to dwell upon tbe indignity tbat had been 
 put upon bim, and upon people's willingness to 
 believe tbe worst wberever a priest was concerned, 
 tban to be in any burry to answer tbe questions 
 tbat were put to bim. However, be was under- 
 stood to deny tbe charge in general terms ; tbat 
 is, be said tbat " of course if be bad known for 
 certain tbat Mr. Marshall was a Jesuit, it would 
 have been his duty to have informed Sir John.'* 
 But even this was not quite satisfactory. For, 
 as Mr. Hulton said, how few can be said to 
 know for certain what another is, however con- 
 clusive the evidence ; and then, though it might 
 certainly have been his duty to have disclosed 
 what he knew, yet the performance of a duty is 
 often postponed for what are alleged to be 
 sufficient reasons. Who is to be the judge of 
 those reasons ? The priest might have thought 
 that there were sufficient reasons for postponing 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 263 
 
 the performance of Lis duty until Sir Jolin had 
 become a Catholic, until Mr. Marshall had left — in 
 a word, might have postponed it sine die. Who 
 can tell ? Altogether, as far as the Father was 
 concerned, people were not one bit the wiser than 
 they were before. The priest assumed the air of 
 injured innocence, and was looked upon by his 
 flock as the victim of Protestant intolerance and 
 malevolence. 
 
 It was not very easy to know what to do. 
 Father Delawney had been so long an appen- 
 das:e to Donnino:ton that Sir John was unwilling 
 to resort to any harsh and discourteous steps, 
 such as his mother, and (it must be admitted) 
 the rector too, urged upon him. He was allowed, 
 therefore, to go on his old way ; only he was never 
 invited afterwards to sit down to table at the 
 Hall. AU this was immediately subsequent to 
 the discovery of Mr. Marshall's real character. 
 But about the period of Sir John's marriage a 
 rumour reached him that Father Delawney had 
 expressed himself as actuated by a strong desire 
 to seek the chair of St. Peter and throw himself 
 
264 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 at the feet of the Holy Father. This was a very 
 welcome piece of intelligence to Sir John and to 
 the other ruling powers at Donnington. And 
 most fervently did they hope that nothing would 
 occur to prevent the Eev. Father from carrjdng 
 out such a pious design. Sir John had at the 
 time things of more importance to think about ; 
 but after the stir connected with his marriage 
 was over, and the necessary legal business con- 
 sequent upon that event had been got through, he 
 had leisure to make inquiries respecting the Eev. 
 Father's intentions. Great was his delight then 
 to hear that Priest Delawney was not only think- 
 ing of going to Rome, but that he had actually 
 gone, and was to be absent two years. Don- 
 nington was to be served by the priest who had 
 been recently appointed to the Newchurch Mission, 
 the same reverend gentleman who undertook to 
 make poor old Jacob Delves easy about his sins 
 for a pecuniary consideration. 
 
 *' jS'ow is the time to do something," thought 
 Sir John. He could not pull down the Eoman 
 Catholic chapel without the consent of the Yicar- 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 265 
 
 Apostolic of the district, who resided at Birming- 
 liam. But the house the priest lived in be- 
 longed to Sir John, and could be resumed by 
 him at pleasure, upon giving due notice. This, 
 however, was only to be resorted to as a 
 dernier. 
 
 An amicable negotiation was at once set on 
 foot with the proper authorities, whereby Sir 
 John undertook, on condition of being allowed 
 to level to the ground the old chapel by the 
 mere, to contribute a certain sum towards the 
 erection of a chapel in Xewchiu^ch (where it was 
 really wanted), and to provide the priest there 
 with a house rent free. This was carried out 
 after a lengthened negotiation. At times it 
 seemed as if nothing would come of it ; there were 
 so many permissions to be asked, and disjDensa- 
 tions granted, and conditions acceded to. One 
 of these written conditions was that " no Pro- 
 testant" (it was wished to insert the words ''or 
 heretical," but Sir John objected) "place of 
 worship should be erected upon the now site, or 
 within five hundred yards of the now site, of the 
 
266 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Cliapel of St. Thomas of Canterbury, Martyr and 
 Confessor, at Donnington, and that none of the 
 stones, nor any part of the present building, be 
 applied, under any circumstances whatever, to the 
 erection of any such Protestant place of worship/' 
 
 Sir John had, at length, the satisfaction of 
 seeing the place fairly dismantled. He gave per- 
 mission to the late owners to carry away everything 
 that could be of service to them in building their 
 new chapel. And this having been done, and the 
 walls being left standing, with the remains of the 
 east window and the doorway, he turned it into 
 the present very picturesque ruin, covered with 
 ivj, which any one may see for himself who makes 
 an expedition to Donnington, and can find his way 
 to the place. 
 
 Thus was rooted up, at last, and efiectually, 
 a Eomish settlement which had existed at Don- 
 nington ever since the reign of Edward I., 
 and with it seem to have disappeared all hopes 
 and expectations of mnning back the heir of 
 the De Marburys to the ancient faith. It was 
 said at the time, but I know not with what 
 
DOXNIXGTOX HALL. 267 
 
 trutli, that, after considering the matter for two 
 years, the Sacred Congregation at Rome pro- 
 noimced judgment in the case of the Donning- 
 ton Mission, and condemned Fathers Paul and 
 Delawney as having been gnilty of "indiscre- 
 tion," and admonished them as to their future 
 carriage. 
 
 There is some reason to believe that Father 
 Delawney 's journey to Rome was not quite as vo- 
 luntary a one as he wished people to believe, but 
 that it was the result of a peremptory summons 
 from the Sacred Congregation to enable them to 
 arrive at a definite conclusion. As for the stories 
 that were in circulation as to the Rev. Father's 
 having fallen into the hands of the Most Holy 
 Inquisition, they may be dismissed, I think, as 
 fabulous ; the fact being that he was allowed to 
 take up his residence at the English College, where 
 he ended his days several years afterwards. 
 
 A remedy had now been applied to one standing 
 source of annoyance, and, as it had proved upon 
 more than one occasion, of serious mischief. The 
 proselytizing zeal of the Romish clergy foimd 
 
268 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 ample scope amongst the smaller tradespeople of 
 Newchurch, and even succeeded in winning over, 
 to tlie outward profession of religion, at any rate, 
 two or three hoary-headed reprobates, who had 
 long been proof against the warnings and exhorta- 
 tions of their own ministers. But Sir John De 
 Marbury and his family were henceforth left in 
 peace, and he was no longer regarded in the light 
 of one who had eluded indeed for a time the loving 
 vigilance of his holy mother the Church, but 
 who would be sure, be it sooner or be it later, to 
 seek a reconciliation with her, and be numbered 
 amongst the sheep of her fold. 
 
 Another eyesore yet remained to be dealt 
 with, though of a minor description ; and that 
 was to get rid of the ugly meeting-house- 
 style of building which had so long disfigured 
 the park. The matter had been often talked 
 over between Sir John and his wife as a thing 
 that it would be desirable to accomplish at the 
 first favourable opportunity, and that o]3portunity 
 was not long in presenting itself. Lady De 
 Marbury had found herself, after being put in pos- 
 
DONXINGTON HALL. 269 
 
 session of her fortune, riclier, by several thousand 
 pounds, than she had expected. Some money that 
 had been long looked upon as lost, and which had 
 been lent out at high interest by her grandfather 
 several years previously to his death, had been 
 unexpectedly repaid with interest and compoimd 
 interest ; and this sum, amounting in all to five or 
 six thousand pounds, Lady De Marbury resolved 
 to devote to the biulding of a memorial church to 
 her grandfather. Plans and specifications were 
 soon fix:ed upon, and in due time a small, ele- 
 gant-looking church, with tapering spire, took 
 the place of that ugly red-brick structure, with 
 its staring windows, which always had seemed 
 to bear, in its unlovely features, traces of its 
 schismatical origin, and of the many painful 
 incidents connected with its history from the very 
 first. 
 
 It was a pleasant day, and a day to be thank- 
 ful for, when the white-robed procession of cho- 
 risters and clergy, chanting psalms, wended their 
 way across the park from the school-house, and 
 entered those about -to -be -consecrated portals. 
 
270 DONNINGTON HALL, 
 
 For liere at the entrance they were joined by 
 the Bishop of the Diocese, who at once com- 
 menced the office of consecration — walldng up 
 the nave towards the spacious chancel amidst 
 a throng of worshippers on either side of him. 
 The petition for consecration was presented 
 by Sir John, and the usual services performed, 
 with a sermon by the bishop, and the whole was 
 appropriately concluded with the Holy Com- 
 munion. No pains or expense had been spared 
 to make this little church, with its open seats and 
 encaustic tiles, in some degree worthy of the high 
 and holy purpose to which it was to be henceforth 
 exclusively devoted. Most of the windows were 
 filled with stained glass of exquisite beauty. But 
 the one which attracted the greatest share of atten- 
 tion, and the effect of which was most striking as 
 you entered the chui'ch on the south side, was the 
 memorial window erected by his grand-daughter 
 and her husband to Jacob Delves. It was a beau- 
 tiful representation of the Resurrection, with the 
 inscription at foot, " In memoriam Jacobi Delves, 
 de JN^ewchurch, qui obiit sext. die Septembris, a.d. 
 
DONNIKGTON HALL. 271 
 
 mdcccxliii., getate Ixxxiii. Jesu merci." And a hand- 
 some brass plate, wliicli had been let into the wall 
 upon one side of the window, contained this inscrip- 
 tion, in Old English letters of red and black: "This 
 window has been erected by John De Marbury, of 
 Donnington, in the county of Chester, Baronet, 
 and Dame Annie his wife, in memory of Jacob 
 Delves, formerly of Donnington, and who was 
 grandfather of the aforesaid Dame Annie De 
 Marbnry. He endowed this parish with £200 for 
 the benefit of the poor for ever. ' Ye have the 
 poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye 
 may do them good.' (S. Mark xiv. 7)." 
 
 It was with streaming eyes that Annie, after 
 the services of the day were all over and her guests 
 had departed, stole do^Ti to this beautiful church 
 again, all quiet now, and with its holy character 
 yet fresh upon it, and prostrated herself before its 
 altar in humble recognition of that '' goodness and 
 mercy which had followed her all the days of her 
 life." She was overcome with thoughts of the past, 
 — ^with the remembrance of the first time she had 
 ever seen her husband, and her awe of him — with 
 
272 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 the recollection of tlie solemn scene by lier grand- 
 father's death-bed, he just waiting to see his 
 fondest wish fulfilled before his soul should wing 
 its flight to the everlasting habitations of the just ; 
 and then all her varied life since, and the strange 
 places and scenes she had visited. But most 
 touching of all were the thoughts of her dead 
 mother, and of the cup of bitterness that had been 
 given her to drink to the very dregs, dying in 
 a distant land, and bequeathing those helpless 
 orphans to her daughter's care and tender pity. 
 Well, she would, with God's help, strive and do 
 her duty by them. Her mother was, alas ! gone 
 beyond her reach before she could receive any 
 tokens of a daughter's love. But these children ! 
 she thanked God she had an opportunity of 
 showing her regard for her mother's memor}^ by 
 the care she took of them. And then thoughts of 
 the day's religious services came into her mind — 
 all so soothing and fraught with blessing. Here 
 they had been enabled to build a house in some 
 degree worthy of that Being to whose worship it 
 was now solemnly dedicated ; and the comfort it 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 273 
 
 was to think that daily prayers would now be 
 henceforward offered np in this beautiful church. 
 Mr. Hulton had gladly promised this, and to 
 provide for the duty, both on Sundays and week- 
 days, until some more permanent arrangement 
 could be made. 
 
 Annie was yet kneeling before the altar, ab- 
 sorbed in grateful recollection of past mercies, 
 and in forming good resolutions for the future, 
 when the faintest, gentlest breathing by her side 
 attracted her notice and roused her from her 
 contemplation. 
 
 First one of her little brothers, and then the 
 other, she perceived standing close by her, as 
 if they would associate themselves with her 
 in the solemn religious exercise they found her 
 eno-aofed in : and, in a moment afterwards, her 
 husband, who had been seeking her, and who, 
 with the little boys, had entered the sacred build- 
 ing so noiselessly as not to have attracted his 
 wife's notice, approached, and silently took his 
 place beside her. They remained thus devoutly 
 emj^loyed for several minutes, and with the two 
 
274 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 children kneeling likewise. Afterwards they 
 rose up, with a fresh bond of union, as it were, 
 between them, and, with tranquil joy in their 
 hearts, returned to the house. 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 275 
 
 CHAPTEH XXI. 
 
 "W^E left the Dowager Lady De Marbury a little 
 ruffled at the almost contemptuous way in which, 
 her advances had been met by the now popular 
 minister of the Pentagon and his not very refined 
 wife. It really seemed as if they were determined 
 to be beforehand in the exhibition of indifference, 
 if not hostility. 
 
 The reverend gentleman, it may be presimied, 
 was fully alive to the advantage of being the first 
 to gain possession of the public ear. Though it 
 does not ensure your triimiph, yet, undoubtedly, 
 it conduces to it. Many T\'ill not be at the trouble 
 of contradicting injurious reports, however false 
 or exaggerated they be ; many go about it un- 
 skilfully, and damage their own cause by intem- 
 
 T 2 
 
276 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 perance of language or the rashness of their pro- 
 ceedings; and some there are who succumb at 
 once, lose heart, and turn their backs upon the 
 enemy. 
 
 To one, then, whose bread depended in some 
 measure upon his popularity, and to whom the 
 applause of his listeners, and the admiration of 
 men generally, were as the breath of his nostrils 
 (though he counted such things, he often said, as 
 mere vanity), it was obviously of importance to 
 anticipate any hostile movement, or even any 
 disclosures affecting his reputation, which might 
 emanate from Lady De Marbury. Mr. Mahon 
 knew enough of the world to be aware that, situated 
 as he was, any whispers of former indiscretion or 
 levity of behaviour, upon his part, would weaken 
 the hold he had over his flock far more effectually 
 than any display of avowed enmity. 
 
 A popular preacher's position is eminentlj^ a fac- 
 titious one. He is not really any wiser, or better, 
 or more sensible than the generality of his brethren, 
 frequently the reverse. But the two things in his 
 favour, and which are his entire stock-in-trade, are, 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 277 
 
 first, that a certain number of people have agreed 
 to think that he is a superior being, and have staked 
 their credit to that effect ; and, secondly, that he 
 has the tact and skill to keep up that impression 
 amongst the members of his flock. But once shake 
 his people's faith in him, and down comes the whole 
 structure in a run. To men of the world there may 
 seem to be something almost contemptible in a great 
 big fellow like Mahon always speaking (especialty 
 to ladies) in that low unctuous tone, so as scarcely 
 to be heard a yard off; and they ask why he should 
 take people's hands in that tender, affectionate way, 
 and hold them in his so long, and then take his 
 leave with that fervent clasp ; and whether it is 
 absolutely necessary that, amongst the elderly por- 
 tion of his flock, the popular preacher's conversation 
 should be so exclusively upon religious topics. 
 
 But people who cavil in this way have never 
 fairly reaKzed to themselves the necessities of the 
 popular preacher's position. If he were to speak 
 and act like other people, his prestige would at 
 once vanish. The female mind needs sympathy : it 
 must be addressed in soothing, gentle phraseology. 
 
278* DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 If he, therefore, does take the single lady's hand 
 and press it, and look into her eyes, and mnrmur 
 a few words of inquiry, or condolence, or what not, 
 where is the harm ? She likes to be thus accosted, 
 and practice has made it easy for him. So they 
 are both satisfied. Why shouldn't we be ? 
 
 A little mild persecution never comes amiss to the 
 popular preacher, especially if his persecutor be an 
 episcopal one. It makes him at once an object of 
 s}Tiipathy, even with those to whom he was before 
 one of indifference. Delicate health, domestic 
 troubles, the rej)utation of holding '' startling 
 views" — such as that the world is coming to an end 
 in the course of a year or two, that the Millennium 
 is at hand — may all be turned to account by one who 
 knows his business. These things keep up people's 
 interest in him, make him the subject of general 
 conversation. But anything calculated to strip 
 him of his pretensions, to make him appear as a 
 charlatan and adventurer, to throw ridicule upon 
 his antecedents — these are things to be most 
 carefully guarded against if you wish to retain 
 your place. For who would value the attentions 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 279 
 
 of a man who liad been almost "turned off" for 
 his presumption in making love to liis mistress ? 
 And then to think of the present popular preacher 
 of the Pentagon being the same as the love- stricken 
 spouter of Moore and Byron a few years back ! Is 
 it certain that he is so very much changed ? 
 
 It will be admitted, therefore, that Mr. Mahon 
 showed common sense in this instance, at any rate, 
 when he decided upon the part he should act. 
 What he told his wife we have no means of know- 
 ing ; but I much fear that, if it was the truth, it 
 was not " the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth." For how could she have got it into her 
 head that, in years gone by, this very Lady De 
 Marbury, meek and saint-like though she looked 
 now, had made advances to her son's tutor and 
 her own chaplain, and that, if Mr. Mahon was not 
 now the husband of this lady, it was his own fault, 
 and not hers ? How could such an idea have got 
 into Mrs. Mahon's head ? It can only, I think, 
 admit of one explanation, and that is, that she 
 derived her information from her husband him- 
 self. Be that as it may, Mrs. Mahon' s demeanour 
 
280 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 towards Iter was very far indeed from being 
 'agreeable to Lady De Marbury. It said, as 
 plainly as words could say, " How mortified you 
 must be to see me in possession of the busband 
 you vainly strove to win ! Poor woman I I can 
 make allowance for you. But tbere must be no 
 tampering with my busband now. He is entirely 
 mine ; and you sball bave no opportunity of prac- 
 tising your wiles and blandishments upon him. 
 I'll look to that." And, accordingly, in the 
 chance intercourse which took place between the 
 parties, Mrs. Mahon was never very far from her 
 husband's side, and would remain a silent and 
 attentive listener to any conversation that might 
 be going on between Lady De Marbury and her 
 clergyman. Indeed, she has been known rudely 
 to interrupt the conversation, and summon her 
 husband to her side, if he seemed too attentive to 
 her ladyship, or to manifest any desire again to 
 cultivate her acquaintance. 
 
 It is probable that poor Mac had no very easy 
 time of it with his wife. She was said to be 
 intensely jealous of him ; and, from the necessity 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 
 
 281 
 
 lie was under to stand well in tlie eyes of his flock, 
 especially the female portion of them, he may have 
 given some occasion for those outbursts of jealousy 
 which were very frequent episodes in their matri- 
 monial life. 
 
 Mac was not quite such an altered person but 
 that he had some of his countrjTnen's peculiarities 
 lingering about him. He was naturally partial to 
 the society of the fair sex, and got on with them ; 
 he was fond of paying compliments, and could 
 appreciate female beauty when he saw it. Even 
 in the case of Lady De Marbury herself, when he 
 perceived that she meant him no mischief, and that 
 the past was to be buried in obli^-ion, he would 
 gladly have returned to their former habits of 
 intimac}^ ; but he reckoned without his wife. He 
 soon found the inconvenience of having possessed 
 her of the notion that there had been something of 
 an attachment on the part of Lady De Marbury 
 towards himself in days gone by. 
 
 Xo lioness robbed of her whelps could have 
 displayed greater rage than did Mrs. Mahon at the 
 bare mention of her husband's proposal, that they 
 
282 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 sHould show Lady De Marbury some civility, and 
 see a little more of lier. Mac got too mucli of it 
 the first time lie ever broached the subject, to be 
 willing again to bring on himself such an avalanche 
 of fury. It was not pleasant to his feelings to be 
 called by the wife of his bosom an " Irish adven- 
 turer'' and an "impostor/' and to have the sincerity 
 of his religious convictions decidedly questioned. 
 Worse insinuations, if possible, were thrown out ; 
 and there was no knowing where the excited lady 
 would have stopped, if Mac had not made his 
 peace by at once promising to give up all inter- 
 course with Lady De Marbury. 
 
 This was the first specimen of what his wife 
 was capable of saying that Mr. Mahon had been 
 favoured with, and he was in no hurry to provoke 
 another. She held the purse, and could very soon 
 reduce him to submission. 
 
 Mrs. Mahon was the widow of a cornchandler 
 when her husband married her, and she had no 
 family by either husband. She was very ordinary- 
 looking, but dressed in an expensive, showy manner, 
 and with a great profusion of jewelry ; a contrast, 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 283 
 
 in this respect, to Lady De Marbury, who in- 
 variably dressed very plainly and scarcely ever 
 wore ornaments. 
 
 Mrs. Mabon^s present social position was, of 
 course, considerably elevated above ber former one, 
 and, being a woman of a good deal of cleverness, 
 and with much natural quickness, she pushed 
 through her part and contrived to pass muster. 
 She kept her carriage, and gave frequent enter- 
 tainments, and was altogether popular enough 
 amongst her husband's flock. Young ladies she 
 kept in their place, and had a quick eye for any 
 incipient flirtation with her husband. It was 
 seldom repeated, and Mac would slink away with 
 a sort of half-guilty consciousness from one of these 
 charmers when next they encountered. 
 
 As for poor Lady De Marbury, she was con- 
 strained to give up visiting at her clergyman's 
 house, so undisguised had Mrs. Mahon's jealousy 
 ao-ainst her become. I do not know that this exhi- 
 bition of jealousy was, after all, so very disagree- 
 able to Lady De Marbury, though it was attended 
 with inconvenience, and even annoyance at times. 
 
284 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 It seemed a sort of intimation tliat she was still an 
 object capable of being viewed as a rival — that she 
 was not so Yery passe, after all, but that a man might 
 get attached to her, or that attachment towards her 
 might revive in his bosom. It is probable that she 
 never thought much about it, but that, when any- 
 thingremiuded her of Mrs. Mahon's jealousy, she felt 
 more kindly disposed towards poor Mac than she 
 had ever done in her life before ; or was it that 
 she took a pleasure in tormenting Mrs. Mahon, and 
 making her feel by what a precarious tenure she 
 retained her husband's affections? 
 
 It is certain that Lady De Marbury attended 
 the Pentagon as usual, and, whenever she met 
 Mr. Mahon in some of the poor houses of his dis- 
 trict, behaved to him with remarkable cordiality 
 and friendliness. 
 
 'No woman ever really dislikes a man for having 
 been once fond of her, and for having wished to 
 marry her. The Fates may have been against 
 their union. There may be still insuperable 
 obstacles in the way of it, as much so as ever. 
 
 But Lady De Marbury would have had but very 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 285 
 
 little of tlie woman about Iter if she could have 
 harboured any ill-will against a man whose 
 principal crime consisted in his having made 
 love to her when she was some dozen years 
 yoimger. Besides, she pitied him, or fancied 
 she pitied him, for being tied to such a virago 
 as his wife. She would have liked to have 
 seen him married to some nice lady-like girl 
 about his own age, and then they might have 
 talked about old times and seen a good deal of 
 each other. 
 
 It was surprising, too, how much more naturally 
 and pleasantly poor MacMahon (as we may call 
 him this once) talked when he was off his guard 
 and away from his wife. He was not like the 
 same person. And when he would speak about 
 Donnington, and ask after " John," and have his 
 joke, as of old times, about the crusty old Scotch 
 steward, and praise Mrs. Hulton's beauty and 
 friendliness towards a young Irish parson as he 
 then was. Lady De Marbury felt her heart expand 
 towards him, and wished that she had made more 
 allowance long ago for the youthful indiscretion 
 
286 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 he liad been betrayed into by tbe natural warmtb 
 of tbe Hibernian temperament, of wbicb be bad 
 bis full sbare, 
 
 " Lady De Marbury," said be to ber one dajy 
 as tbey were walking up and down in front of 
 tbe Crescent, " I bave often wisbed to say to you 
 bow deeply I regret tbe fooKsb action I was once 
 guilty of wben I lived at Donnington. I bave 
 often wondered bow I could bave conmiitted sucb 
 an act of absurdity and presumption ; but I trust 
 tbat if you bave not forgotten it, yet tbat, at any 
 rate, you bave ceased to remember it against me 
 to my disadvantage.'' 
 
 "Tbis is an opportunity I bave long wisbed 
 for," sbe said, *' to be able to assure you tbat tbe 
 regret and compunction is not all on your side, 
 Mr. Mabon. As we get older I suppose we get 
 more forbearing, and allow more for eacb otber's 
 weaknesses. At any rate, I feel now tbat I acted 
 witb imnecessary barsbness and precipitation in 
 tbe instance you refer to. I could not, of course, 
 bave entertained your proposal, but I need not 
 bave rejected it witb tbe scorn and contumely I 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 287 
 
 did. We poor, solitary women," added Iter lady- 
 ship pleasantly, "have not so many to care 
 for us that we can afford to fling back in a 
 person's face any well-meant and genuine offers of 
 kindness." 
 
 " I will put everything out of my mind, then, 
 relating to the past in which you are concerned, 
 save the recollection of your former kindness, and 
 of the many happy days I have spent at Don- 
 nington." This Mr. Mahon said with much feeling. 
 
 " And, for my part, I hope you understand me 
 to say that, if I have ever caused you pain or 
 uneasiness by any action or word of mine, I now 
 wish that action undone and that word unsaid. 
 And if I have ever, even though unintentionally, 
 led you to suppose that an offer of marriage from 
 you would not be altogether disagreeable to me, 
 why, I must blame myseK (if any blame there 
 be about the matter) for the consequences." 
 
 With these words they parted; and Mr. 
 Mahon went to his home not a little moved by a 
 display of frankness and candour, on Lady De 
 Marbury's part, of which, indeed, he had not 
 
288 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 believed her capable. And it suggested some 
 reflections to bis own mind, by way of contrast, 
 for wbicb we may bope be was tbe better. 
 
 He felt almost hourly tbe inconvenience of 
 having dropped into his wife's narrow mind the 
 idea that Lady De Marbury bad once given him 
 encouragement, and he was now reaping the 
 bitter fruits of it. 
 
 The ready inference which such a woman as 
 we have described Mrs. Mahon to be would 
 draw from the circumstance would be that there 
 must have been some love-maldng on her hus- 
 band's side, as well as on the lady's. *' There 
 were six of one and half a dozen of the other : 
 probably the family interfered and put a stop to 
 it;" so the irate lady reasoned, and jumped to a 
 conclusion which, though not quite correct, yet 
 had some foundation of truth. And her husba^ ' 
 heard enough about it, morning, noon, and night, 
 until he wished most heartily that he had never 
 mentioned Lady De Marbury's name to her, or 
 that he was back once more in Ireland, in his own 
 native village of Ballydoodle. 
 
DOXXIXGTOX HALL. 289 
 
 Things went on in this way for a considerable 
 time, Mr. jMahon doing all he could, for the sake 
 of his position in the town, to conceal these 
 domestic bickerings from the knowledge of his 
 flock. Poor man ! he forgot that servants have ears, 
 and tongues too, which they are never slow to make 
 use of when there is any domestic scandal stirring. 
 
 It oozed out, then, that matters were not going 
 on very comfortably between the minister of the 
 Pentagon and his rich wife. Scenes between 
 them were even described — with additions, pro- 
 bably. For it was hardly conceivable that a 
 woman woidd hurl a china tea-pot at her hus- 
 band's head, and one, too, that had cost so much 
 money. However, it was said that she did so, 
 and that the cause was jealousy. 
 
 Kumours now were rife enough in Bath. 
 ' jre was to be a separation, it was said. He 
 treated his wife badly : she had discovered that 
 he had a wife in Ireland. 
 
 These and such-Kke rumours were buzzed 
 about from one to another, and there was some 
 fresh scandal every day. 
 
 u 
 
290 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 Poor Mahon's chapel was more crowded than 
 ever ; though it was a doubtful symptom of the 
 state of the popular mind, at best. People were 
 anxious to see how he looked, to hear if he would 
 make any allusion to the reports that were in 
 circulation about him. He had all the ladies on 
 his side (they always do side against the wife). 
 The fathers and brothers only were sceptical, and 
 had their "own opinion" about the business — 
 that Mahon was " no better than he ought to be. 
 There was probably something in that story about 
 another wife in Ireland : such things, it is well 
 known, are thought nothing of there." 
 
 Lady De Marbury occupied her place as usual 
 Sunday after Sunday. Her name had not been 
 openly talked of. People did not like to let their 
 tongues loose about the daughter of Lord Clapham. 
 
 Mrs. Mahon herself even used some reticence 
 about naming (except to her husband) one who 
 stood so high in the religious world, was the 
 person of the greatest rank in her husband's 
 congregation, and was so indefatigable in going 
 about amongst the poor and relieving them. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 291 
 
 But, if she spared Lady De Marbury's name, it 
 was more tlian slie did with, regard to Miss This 
 and Miss The Other, whom she was perpetually 
 casting up in her husband's teeth, and with 
 whom she almost carried on open warfare when 
 they encoimtered in public. 
 
 This was a pleasing source of excitement to 
 the young ladies in question. They rather liked 
 it, and it made them of importance in the place. 
 They were quite a match for Mrs. Mahon any 
 day, and defied her wrath. They would talk to 
 Mr. Mahon as much as they pleased, and his wife 
 might do her worst. At length it was generally 
 known that Mrs. Mahon had gone to Cheltenham 
 for " her health," and that her husband was now 
 alone in the field. 
 
 This was the signal for an inundation of worked 
 slippers, anti-macassars (they were then in fashion), 
 ottoman-covers, foot-stools — anything that female 
 ingenuity could devise, ^ot were there wanting 
 more substantial "tokens of respect," wrung out 
 of only half-convinced fathers, and entirely scep- 
 tical brothers, in the shape of a handsome service 
 
 V 2 
 
292 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 of plate, with a purse containing a couple of 
 hundred sovereigns. 
 
 Nor was Lady De Marbury's supplemental pre- 
 sent of a few dozen of wine the least acceptable of 
 the many testimonials of liking and sympathy 
 which poured in upon Mr. Mahon, now deprived 
 of the company of his wife. 
 
 It must be admitted that Mac did not take much 
 to heart the loss of her society. So things went 
 on for some time, Mr. Mahon still retaining his 
 hold over the minds of the congregation that 
 assembled for worship at the Pentagon. His wife 
 never troubled him, and was contented to remain 
 at Cheltenham until her husband showed signs 
 of contrition, which, it must be admitted, were 
 very slow in coming. 
 
 She continued, however, to pay the rent and 
 taxes of the very handsome house he occupied in 
 Bath, and, as long as she did this (which, having 
 taken the house herself, and for a term, she could 
 not very well avoid doing), her husband was quite 
 willing that she should prolong her absence to any 
 extent she pleased. 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 293 
 
 But tlioiigli prosperity seemed to attend Mr. 
 Malion for some time, it was not destined to be 
 very long-lived. Fortune appeared to be tired 
 of befriending bim. Breakers abead made tbeir 
 appearance. 
 
 Tbe danger proceeded, in tbis instance, from an 
 •unexpected quarter. An uncoutb-looking curate 
 bad been lately turned adrift from tbe Abbey 
 Cburcb, wbere be bad offended tbe aristocratical 
 members of tbe congregation by a species of low 
 buffoonery in tbe pulpit, and by bis babit of saying 
 wbatever came uppermost in bis mind wbile 
 preacbing — bowever ridiculous, or even irreverent, 
 tbe sentiment migbt bappen to be. 
 
 Mr. Bunning bad been formerly a Dissenting 
 preacber, and bad got ordained tbrougb one of 
 tbose back doors into tbe Cburcb's ministry wbicb 
 exist in tbis country in tbe sbape of cbeap tbeolo- 
 gical colleges. He was very voluble, bad a good deal 
 of bumour and drollery about bim, and a certain 
 degree of smartness and cleverness. 
 
 It was impossible to refrain from smiling at 
 some of tbe ludicrous tbings be would introduce 
 
294 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 into liis sermons without apparently being in tlie 
 least conscious of the indecorum he was guilty of. 
 He has been known, in the pulpit, and amidst the 
 scarcely-repressed titters of his hearers, to quote 
 the lines — 
 
 " "When the devil was sick, 
 The devil a monk would be : 
 When the devil was well, 
 The devil a monk was he." 
 
 And he had a choice collection of similar sayings, 
 which he would produce on the most inappropriate 
 occasions. 
 
 "Well, will it be believed that such a man had 
 his admirers ? He was supposed, in his own coarse 
 way, often to hit the right nail on the head. He 
 kept up people's attention, it was said — ^he certainly 
 did that. Many who would pay no attention to 
 ordinary exhortations would be struck with the 
 pithiness of some of Mr. Bunniug's sayings, and 
 could not well help remembering and (it might 
 happen) acting upon them. 
 
 This was what his admirers said in his behalf. 
 And no sooner had he been ejected from his 
 
DONNIXGTON HALL. 295 
 
 curacy — with very little ceremony, too — than a 
 proprietary chapel, called the Heptagon, was at 
 once engaged and licensed for him, and there he 
 forthwith commenced his ministrations. 
 
 The Heptagon was situated at a very short 
 distance from Mr. Mahon's chapel, and the po2:>u- 
 larity of the new preacher at once told upon the 
 congregation of the latter place : many who went 
 to hear and to be amused at first, ended in t akin 2: 
 sittings. 
 
 There was more in Mr. B mining's sermons, it 
 was said, than there was in Mr. Mahon's ; and it 
 must be admitted that poor Mac's were rather 
 diffuse and overlaid with imagery. However 
 poetical and beautiful as compositions, yet they 
 were thoroughly useless sermons, without any 
 definite aim or object ; while Mr. Bunning's 
 (whatever else they were) were pointed and 
 telling enough, and it would certainly have been 
 no easy matter to have gone to sleep under his 
 ministry. 
 
 Poor Mahon's congregation fell off by degrees. 
 People were getting tired of him ; and it may be 
 
296 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 that there was some trutli in wliat was whispered 
 about him — that he was getting lazy, and was 
 rather too fond of dining out. He was not at all 
 the favourite he had been, that was certain. 
 
 Lady De Marbury watched these sjonptoms of 
 declining popularity with concern. She had a 
 sort of kindness for Mr. Mahon, from old asso- 
 ciations ; and though his ministrations were not 
 exactly to her mind — never had been, in fact — 
 yet she was unwilling to desert him in his need. 
 So she continued to attend the Pentagon with the 
 same regularity as before, even though the nu- 
 merous empty pews presented such a depressing 
 sight, especially to one of her ladyship's school, 
 who delight in crowded churches and to " sit 
 under " an " acceptable minister." 
 
 Luckily, at this time old Lord Portbury, who 
 was at the head of the Indian Board, happened to 
 come to Bath to drink the waters. He was 
 brother-in-law to the late Lord Clapham, they 
 having married sisters, and was consequently 
 uncle, by marriage, to Lady De Marbury. 
 
 To him she at once applied herself, and, by dint 
 
DONXINGTOX HALL. 297 
 
 of a little perseverance, obtained for Mr. Mahon 
 (whom the noble viscount was induced to go and 
 bear) an appointment to an Indian chaplaincy. 
 
 He was only too glad to exchange for it his 
 incumbency of the Pentagon, which was becoming 
 more and more unprofitable, in every sense of 
 the word. 
 
 He shortly afterwards sailed for India, and I 
 have never heard of his death, nor can I say 
 whether he has been joined by his wife : she 
 certainly did not go out with him. 
 
 There was nothing very much to admire in poor 
 Mac's character, it must be allowed, and not a 
 little to condemn ; but, on the whole, we must be 
 glad that he found such a friend as he did in Lady 
 De Marbury. 
 
298 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 It frequently happens that a man is the possessor 
 of an amount of ability and energy for which he 
 has never got the credit from others, and which, 
 to a great extent, has been unknown to himself. 
 Opportunity or necessity has been the means of 
 developing his hidden resources, and he astonishes 
 the world and himself by the rapidity with which 
 he seizes on a foremost place amongst writers, or 
 speakers, or workers. 
 
 Sir John De Marbury was an illustration of 
 this. He had passed, in the estimation of his 
 neighbours, as a man of pleasure, as a man vain 
 of his position, as setting a great store upon the 
 advantages which that position gave him. He 
 was known, indeed, to be far from wanting in 
 
DONXIXGTON HALL. 299 
 
 inteUlgence, and that lie could readily make him- 
 self master of any subject he applied himself to. 
 He was not much of a reader of books, indeed, 
 but he was of the great page of human nature ; 
 and it might be said of him that nothing escaped 
 his notice, or was lost on him, which fell within his 
 range of observation. 
 
 His travels abroad, too, which, owing to his 
 peculiar circumstances, were unusually prolonged, 
 had not been of that aimless and desultory charac- 
 ter which rambles on the Continent usually are, 
 and they had undoubtedly tended to enlarge his 
 mind and mature many a half-developed concep- 
 tion. At Geneva, in particidar, he had cultivated 
 the Kterary society of the place, and seemed to have 
 imbibed some of that spirit of freedom of inquiry 
 which appears to be indigenous to it. 
 
 When he returned to Cheshire with his wife, 
 and began to take part again in county business, 
 it was soon seen that a change had come over him. 
 He had married a wife with no pretensions to 
 aristocratical birth. She was one of the people — 
 one of that large family of workers by whose 
 
300 
 
 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 incessant toil lie, and such as he, were enabled 
 to take tlieir ease. From hencefortli lie would 
 identify himself witli their interests, and endeavour 
 to elevate tliem to the rank they were entitled to 
 hold — that of a free, enlightened, and educated 
 English peasantry. 
 
 These were his sentiments, and he was not 
 backward in proclaiming them. He called him- 
 self a Tory, but it must have been of a class for 
 which we have to turn back the page of history 
 for a good century and a half. 
 
 The Tories, he was in the habit of saying, were 
 the natural friends and allies of the people ; and he 
 expressed but little sympathy with the narrow and 
 exclusive views which he found dominant upon 
 his return to his native county. 
 
 This was the time when " young England " was 
 so much talked about. No one exactly knew what 
 was meant by the term, or what principles the 
 party professed ; and I believe that, down to the 
 present time, we are not much enlightened upon 
 the subject. It seemed to be a sort of High 
 Church Chartism. 
 
DONNIXGTOX HALL. 301 
 
 Tlie priests and nobles of the land were to put 
 themselves at the head of the peasantry ; but 
 who were to be demoKshed remained a mystery — 
 probably the Whigs. 
 
 Their only foreign policy seemed to consist in 
 the restoration of Don Carlos to the Spanish 
 throne, and their home views to be identified with 
 such things as free and unappropriated churches, 
 more frequent holidays for the people, rustic 
 sports on Sundays, curbing the spirit of commer- 
 cial enterprise throughout the country, and sub- 
 stituting for it the predominance of the landed 
 interests. 
 
 Such views, vague and mystified, and incapable 
 of being carried out into practice, as the}^ were, 
 had yet their attraction for a character such as 
 Sir John De Marbury's. 
 
 To a generous mind there is always something 
 noble in stripping one's self of the adventitious 
 trappings of wealth and station, and descending 
 to take your place amongst the workers in this 
 busy world, and to win, by your own exertions, 
 what, without worth or deserving on your part, 
 
302 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 would have been readily accorded to your rank 
 and position in society. 
 
 A life of ease and indolence at Donnington 
 seemed to be an ignoble thing, after all; and 
 county business and magistrates* meetings lay no 
 great burden, wben all is said and done, upon the 
 intellectual powers. 
 
 Sir John needed a wider sphere for his exer- 
 tions. He would go into Parliament if the chance 
 came in his way. He was now, by the death of 
 his uncle, Lord Clapham (who died of decline at 
 Rome), a rich man, having succeeded, by the 
 terms of his grandfather's will, to large landed 
 estates in Lancashire. He could aflPord a contest, 
 therefore. 
 
 The county was not to be thought of. That 
 was sacred ground ; and he woidd have lost caste 
 for ever if it was known that he had any hanker- 
 ing after what was looked upon as the inalienable 
 patrimony of two or three powerful county families. 
 The son succeeded the father, as a matter of course, 
 if there was a son in the case, and if he wished 
 to sit in Parliament. Otherwise, a relation (the 
 
DONNINGTON HALL. 303 
 
 nearer tlie better) would be sougbt out, who bad 
 a standing of bis own in tbe county as well, and 
 in due time be would be declared a representative 
 of tbe people. 
 
 Newcburcb was sometbing of a close borougb 
 itself. It was a very aristocratic little town, and 
 most of tbe tradespeople were dependent for tbeir 
 custom upon tbe gentry of tbe town and neigb- 
 bourbood. It bad always returned two members 
 to Parliament. 
 
 At tbe period of tbe passing of tbe Reform Bill 
 a great effort bad been made to disfrancbise tbis 
 borougb, or at any rate to strike off one of its 
 members. But local interest bad proved too 
 strong. 
 
 By a kind of understanding between tbe beads 
 of tbe borougb and some of tbe influential fami- 
 lies in tbe neigbbourbood, a Conservative and a 
 Liberal bad been always returned. Tbere bad 
 never been any opposition, or wbisper of it. Tbe 
 two present members bad beld tbeir seats for 
 years. Tbey were closely related to eacb otber, 
 and, tbougb avowedly of different politics, were 
 
304 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 marvellously alike in their conduct, their differences 
 being principally confined to the hustings. 
 
 When the farce of electing them as representa- 
 tives of the people had been gone through, little 
 more was heard of them until the period of the 
 next general election. Their names, indeed, would 
 figure in the division-lists ; that was all. Each 
 stood by his party, and could be reckoned upon 
 when any great struggle between the " ins and the 
 outs '' was to come off. But the main interest of 
 these two worthy gentlemen's lives was centred 
 in the clubs and other haunts of fashion. To 
 be in Parliament afforded them just occupation 
 enough to prevent them dying of ennui. They 
 were both eldest sons, and their fathers were great 
 landed proprietors in the county. One of them 
 was Lord Powderham's eldest son, the Honourable 
 Grenville North, and the other was his first cousin, 
 Mr. North Grenville. They had always been in 
 the habit of taking matters very quietly, and could 
 hardly credit the intelligence that reached them, 
 that there was some idea of contesting one or both 
 of the seats at the ensuing general election. 
 
DOJ^XIXGTON HALL. 305 
 
 Newcliurch, people said, was a borougb. of 
 importance, and had a considerable silk trade 
 of its own. It was desirable tbat one of its 
 members, at least, should be competent to look 
 after its interests, and pay attention to local 
 representations. 
 
 Sir John De Marbury was solicited to stand, but 
 for some time he declined, as being unwilling to 
 oppose either of the existing members, with whom 
 he was on terms of intimacy. At length the dif- 
 ficulty was got over by the retirement of one of 
 them — Mr. North — principally on account of his 
 father's advanced age, which made his own eleva- 
 tion to the Upper House a thing of probable occur- 
 rence before any great length of time should 
 elapse. There was a talk, indeed, of substituting 
 for him a younger brother ; but, as Sir John was 
 promptly in the field as soon as ever Mr. North' s 
 intention not to offer himself again was known 
 for certain, the design was abandoned. Here was 
 a wide field of usefulness and of ambition now 
 open to Sir John De Marbury; and how amply 
 he availed himself of it the records of Parlia- 
 
306 DONNINGTON HALL. 
 
 ment sufficiently show, thougL. it does not fall 
 within our present purpose to enter upon tlie 
 subject. 
 
 There was no opposition to his election. His 
 views, though, perhaps, Utopian upon some points, 
 were those of a high-minded English gentleman, 
 bent upon doing his duty, and elevating the 
 moral and social condition of those in a humbler 
 condition of life than himself. And it was a proud 
 day for Donnington, and for her who sat in her 
 open carriage near the hustings, her little brothers 
 by her side, and who listened with glistening eyes 
 to the manly, generous sentiments that proceeded 
 from her husband's lips, when the Mayor de- 
 clared North Grenville, of Norton Booths Park, 
 Esquire, and Sir John De Marbury, of Donnington 
 Hall, Baronet, to be duly elected as members to 
 serve in Parliament for the borough of New- 
 church. 
 
 Sir John De Marbury still lives, though he is 
 no longer designated by the title which he in- 
 
DONNINGTOX HALL. 307 
 
 herited from his father ; and she whom we have 
 known as Annie Delves lends grace and dignity 
 to that shining band of gold which now encircles 
 her brow. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 WILLIAil STEVENS, PEISIEE, 37, BELL XABD, XEiTPLE BAB. 
 
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