"The last of the Mortimers", a story in two voices

WMMBBfe*

MRS OLIPHANT

m

Presented to the
LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

PROFESSOR
B. M. CORRIGAN

THE

LAST OF THE MORTIIJ

PORT CARLING

in <3tto l^felC LIBRARY,

MRS. OLIPHANT,

AUTHOR OF

"MADONNA MARY," " FOR LOVE AND LIFE," " SQUIRE ARDEN,"
" MAY," "THE HOUSE ON THE MOOR," ETC. ETC.

NEW EDITION.

WARD, LOCK, AND CO.,

LONDON, NEW YORK, AND MELBOURNE.

[All rights reserved.}

CONTENTS.

PART I.

PACK

THE LADIES AT THE HALL . • • • . 1

PART II.
THE LIEUTENANT'S WIFE ..••«•• 48

PART 111.
THE LADIES AT THE HALL— continued • • • • 105

PART IV.

THE LIEUTENANT'S WIFE— continued . • • « • 1C6

PART V.
THE LADIES AT THE HALL — continued * • • . 227

POSTSCRIPT . * , , . 865

THE LAST OF THE MORTIMERS.

PAET L

THE LADIES AT THE HALL.

CHAPTER I.

I THOUGHT I heard a slight rustle, as if Sarah had taken
off her spectacles, .but 1 was really so interested in the
matter which I was then discussing with Mr. Cresswell, our
solicitor, that I did not look round, as I certainly should have
done in any other circumstances; but imagine my utter
amazement and the start which Mr. Cresswell gave, nearly
upsetting the ink on the drab table-cover, which never could
have got the better of it, when my sister Sarah, who never
speaks except to me, and then only in a whisper, pronounced
distinctly, loud out, the following words : " His Christian
name was Richard Arkwright ; he was called after the cotton -
spinner ; that was the chief thing against him in my father's
days."

Now it was years and years ago since Sarah had lost her
voice. It happened before my father died, when we were both
comparatively young people ; she had been abroad with him

2 The Last of the Mortimers.

and caught a violent cold on her way home. She was rather
proud in those days — it was before she took to knitting — and
she had not forgotten then that she was once a beauty. When
ehe saw that her voice was gone for good, Sarah gave up
talking. She declared to me privately that to keep up a con-
versation in that hoarse horrid whisper was more than she
could give in to, and though she was a very good Christian
in principle she never could be resigned to that loss. At first
she kept upstairs in her own room ; but after my father's death
she came regularly to the drawing-room, giving everybody to
understand that she was not to be spoken to. Poor dear old
soul ! she was as anxious to hear everything that was said to
me as if she had come down off her stilts and taken part in the
conversation ; but you may suppose what a startling event it
was to hear Sarah's voice.

I gave a jump, as was natural, and ran to her to see what
had happened.

"Do be cautious, Milly," she said, fretfully, in her old
whisper ; for to be sure I had whisked down her ball of worsted,
and caught one of her pins in my new-fashioned buttonholes.
" At your age a gentlewoman should move about in a different
sort of way. I am quite well, thank you. Please to go back
to your occupation, and leave me to carry on mine in peace."

"But Sarah, my dear soul! you've got back your voice!"
cried I.

Sarah smiled at me, not with her pretty smile. " People
who are strong are always thinking such things," she said.
"You don't know what it is to be afflicted ; go back to your
business, please."

"What does she say, Miss Milly?" cried Mr.- Cresswell,
quite eagerly, when I went back to the table.

" Oh, nothing at all ; it's all a mistake, I suppose," said
I, feeling a little nettled, "put it down all the same. I dare
say it was one of those spirits we hear about nowadays. And
a very useful bit of information too, which makes it all the
more remarkable, for I never heard they did much good in
that way. Richard Arkwright ! Of all the names I ever
heard, the oddest name for a Mortimer ! but put it down."

Mr. Cresswell put it down as I said. " Richard Arkwright
Mortimer is something more of an individual than Blank
Mortimer, Esq., that's true," said he ; " he ought to be some-
thing with that name. Begging your pardon, Miss Milly,
though he was a Mortimer, he ought to have had either a
profession or a trade with that name. Don't you think now,"

The Last of the Mortimers. 8

he said, lowering his voice, and making a sign at Sarah over
his shoulder, u after having broken the ice, something more
might be go out of her f

1 shook my head at first, being angry ; then I nodded as 1
came to myself, and at last said — it was all I could say —
" We'll see."

" Ah, ah, we'll see — that'll do, Miss Milly ; but don't lose
your temper, my dear lady," said Mr. Cresswell ; " all the
county reverences you for an angelic temper, as you well
know."

" Stuff !" said I ; " I've too much Welsh blood in me for
that ; but a pack of interlopers, like the rest of you, never
know the real mettle of them that come of the soil ; we're as
clear of the soil as the ore in the Llangollen mines, we Mor-
timers ; we can do what we have to do, whatever it may be."

Mr. Cresswell cast up his eyebrows a little, and gave a
kind of glance towards Sarah and her knitting. "• Well,
well, it isn't bad ore, at all events," he said, with a chuckle :
u but, after all, I suppose the first squire was not dug out of
Llewellyn cliff?"

" It will be a vast deal more profitable to find out where
the next squire is to come from," said I ; u we are old women
both of us ; I'd advise you to set things agoing without
delay. What would happen, do you suppose, if Sarah and I
were both to die without finding an heir ? What does happen,
by the bye, when such a thing occurs; does it go to the
crown ?"

" My dear lady, I would not give much for the crown's
chance," said Cresswell, with, a little shrug of his shoulders.
" Heirs-at-law are never so far lost or mislaid but they turn
up some time. Birds of the air carry the matter when there's
an estate in question. There's nothing so safe to be found,
in my humble opinion, as an heir-at-law."

" For I shouldn't much mind," said I to myself, thinking
over it, "if it went to the Queen. She might fix on the
park for autumn quarters, sure, as well as on that outlandish
{Scotch castle of hers. It's a great deal nearer, and I make
sure it's prettier ; or if she gave it to the Prince of Wales as a
present, or to any of the other children, I should not mind for
my part. It is not by any means so bad a prospect as I
supposed — it might go to the Queen."

" But, then, what would be done with Mr. Richard Ark-
wright and his progeny? I'll be bound he has ten children,"
said Mr. Cresswell. ** Somebody did leave Her Majesty an

4 The Last of the Mortimers.

estate not so very long ago, and I rather think she sought
out the heirs and made it up to them. Depend upon it, Mr.
Richard Arkwright would have it out of her. Come, we must
stick to the Mortimers, Miss Milly. I'll go off and see after
the advertisements; there's plenty of time. I don't believe
you mean to be in any hurry out of this world, either Miss
Sarah or you."

" That's as it may be — that's as God pleases," said I; " but
you must wait a little first, and I'll see if I can find out
anything further about him. Perhaps some one can think
on ; we'll see, we'll see ; more may come."

Mr. Cresswell nodded his head confidentially. " You don't
remember anything about him yourself V" he said.

" Bless you, I am ten years younger than she is," said I;
u she was a young lady, 1 was only a child. I neither knew
nor cared anything about the Lancashire cousin. Ten years
make a great deal of difference when people are young."

"And when they're old as well," said Cresswell, with a
little nod of his head. Mr. Cresswell, of course, like all
the other people, would never have looked at me when Sarah
was present in olcJ days ; but now, when we were both old
women, the sly old lawyer had wheeled about, and was rather
an admirer of mine. I have had admirers since I was fifty ;
I never had many before.

44 Mow, are you going to stay to tea ?" said I.
44 Thank you. I have not the least doubt it would be for
my own advantage ; my cook is not to be named in the same
breath with yours ; but I promised to be home to dinner,"
said Mr. Cresswell. u Thank you all the same; Sara will
be waiting for me."

" And how is the dear child ?" said I.

44 Very contrairy," said Mr. Cresswell, shaking his head.
" To tell the truth, I don't know what to make of her. I
had twenty minds to bring her to-day and leave her with
you.1'

u Bring her next. time. I never find her contrairy," said
I. '4 But perhaps you never were young yourself ?"

44 Perhaps not, Miss Milly," he said. " I have had a pretty
tough life, anyhow ; and it is hard to be thwarted at the last
by the only creature one has to love."

f •' It is harder not to have a single creature that one haa a
right to love," said 1 a little sharply. " If we had your Sara
belonging to us, contrairy or not, we should not have to hunt
up a far-off cousin, or advertise for an heir."

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. I

A little passing gleam shot from the solicitor's eye ; IIP
looked at me close for a moment, and then at Sarah, with
a lip that moved slightly, as if he were unconsciously saying
soniething within himself ; I saw what it was as clear as
daylight.

" She's a good girl," he said, faltering a little. ** I daresay
you'd soon have her in hand, Miss Milly ; there's no place
she is so fond of as the Park ; I'll bring her out to-morrow."

And he went away, never thinking that I had seen what
was in his mind*

CHAPTER IT.

OUR drawing-room was a very large one. The Mortimers
had required large rooms in their day ; and I will not
say, if we had been young people, and disposed to have com-
pany, that we could not have kept it up with any of them ;
for my father, who lived in a very homely way, proud as he
was, had laid up a good deal, and so had we. But though we
kept no company, we had not the heart to turn the Mortimer
family, of which we were the only remaining representatives,
out of their old room. So we had a great screen, made of
stamped leather, and which was like everything else, of my
grandmother's days, stretched behind Sarah's chair, and with
a very large bright fire, and a good lamp upon the round
table, we managed to find the fireside very comfortable,
though we were surrounded by all the ranges of old furniture
in the old half-dark room. Old Ellis had to come stumbling
as slowly as if the distance had been half a mile between
us and the door, when he came into the room with anything;
and I dare say impatient young people could not have put up
with the rumble of chairs rolled aside, and footstools tripped
over, with which he always gave us warning of his coining.
For my part 1 was used to it, and took no notice. Where
I sat, the prospect before me was, first, Sarah in her easj
daair, close within shade of the screen, and beyond a darkling

6 The Last of the Mortimers.

stretch of space, which a stranger might have made very
mysterious, but which I knew perfectly well to be filled with
just so many tables, chairs, ottomans, and miscellaneous
articles, not one of which could have been stolen away without
being missed. On the other side of the room, behind my own
chair, was a grand piano in a corner and another waste of
old furniture. Many people wondered why we did not make
a cosy little sitting-room of the boudoir, which had never
been used since my mother's days. But Sarah, and I may
say myself also, was of a different way of thinking. We liked
the big room which once had not been at all too big for
the Mortimers, and I am not sure that I did not even like
the dark bit on either side of us, and the two big old-
fashioned mirrors, like magic mirrors in a fairy tale, with
a faint trembling of light over them, and all the shadowy
depths of the room standing out in them, as if to double the
size, which was already so much too great. Sometimes I used
to stand and watch myself going across one of those big
mirrors. It was a strange weird creature wandering about
among the still, silent, deserted household gods. It was not
surely me.

Not that I mean to represent myself as a sentimental person
—not in the very slightest degree. I am past fifty and stout.
My own opinion is that people had best be stout when they
are past fifty, and I like my own little comforts as well as
anybody of my years. When I was young I was far from
being pretty. If I am to state frankly my own ideas on this
subject, I would say that I think I might have passed for
moderately good-looking, if 1 had not been sister to a beauty.
But when we two were described as the beautiful Miss Mor-
timer and the plain Miss Mortimer, you may suppose how any
little poor pretensions of mine were snubbed at once. To be
good-looking was something not expected from Sarah's sister.
But however the tables have rather turned of late. If you

Milly.

it doesn't matter very much, to be sure ; but dear, dear, vanity
does lie deep ! I declare honestly it's a pleasure to me.

When Sarah and I are by ourselves, we don't have a great
deal of conversation. She has lost her voice, as I said, which
makes her decline talking : and I must say, though she never
yields to acknowledge it, that I think she's lost her hearing a
little, poor dear old soul 1 Every night in her life (except

The Last of the Mortimers. 7

Sundays) she reads the Times. That paper gets great abuse in
many quarters, especially in the country, where our old
Squires, to be sure, are always at it for changing its opinions ;
but 1 say, great success, and long life to the Times ! that is my
opinion. How ever Sarah would get over those long evenings
without that paper, I don't know. It quite keeps us in
reading; and I do assure you, we know much more about
most things that are going on than a great many men do, who
are much more in the world. The Times comes in early, but
Sarah never looks at it till after tea. I have to keep out of
her sight, indeed, when I glance over it myself in the early
part of the day, for Sarah does not approve of daylight
reading. She thinks it a waste of time. We have not such a
very great deal to occupy us either, as you may suppose ; at
least Sarah has little, except her knitting, for she will rarely
allow me to consult her anything about the property, though
she is the eldest. I wonder for my part that she does not
weary of her life. She never comes down to breakfast, and I
don't know very well what she and Carson find to busy them-
selves about till noon in her room upstairs; but at twelve
o'clock punctually she comes down all dressed for the day.
She does not dress as I do, in the ordinary dress that every-
body wears, neither are Sarah's fashions the same as I remember
in our youth, when our waists were just under our arms, and
our gowns had "gores" in them. On the contrary, she has
taken to a very long waist and tight sleeves, with a worked
muslin shawl or scarf over her shoulders. ' In cold weather the
muslin is lined with silk of delicate colours, and her cap, which
is always light and pretty (Carson has great taste), trimmed to
correspond. Her hair, of course, she always wears in curis at
the front. It is quite silver-white, and her face, poor dear
soul, is a little pinched and sharp nowadays. When she takes
her seat within shelter of the screen at twelve o'clock every
day, the muslin shawl, lined with peach, is as pretty as possible
in itself : to be sure Sara Cressweli might almost wear it to a
ball ; but I do declare I thought it looked very chilly to-day
on Sarah. Nice wJaite Shetland for instance, which is almost
as pretty as lace, or, indeed, one of those beautiful soft fine
woollen shawls, would look a great deal better over that
purple silk gown, if she couid only think so. But to be sure.
Sarah will have her own way. There she sat knitting all the
time Mr. Cressweli was talking with me, and there she does
sit all day long with her basket of wools, and knitting-pins,
and patterns. Every other day she takes a drive, goes to

U The Last of the Mortimers.

church once on Sundays, and reads the Times on all the week

evenings. That is exactly how she lives.

Now perhaps this does not appear so odd to anybody else as
it does to me ; and I am sure I might have got used to it
after a dozen years ; but only Sarah, you see, has very good
abilities, and is not the person to fix herself down like this.
And she knows a great deal more of life than f do. My father
and she were, I think, near upon ten years abroad after my
mother died. What she was doing all that time I know no
•nore than Carson does. Many a rumour went about that she
wa, married, and many an anxious hour I had all by myself
at the Park. But when she came back just Miss Mortimer,
there was not a soul in the county but was surprised. Such a
great beauty ! and papa's eldest daughter and co -heiress !
people said it was unaccountable. I can't say 7 thought it
unaccountable. I never saw anybody that I could fancy

myself, except perhaps , and then he never asked me, you

know. It might be precisely the same with Sarah, though she
was a beauty. But the wonder to me is that after having
lived abroad so long, and having, as I have no doubt she had,
u life of her own, which did not merely belong to my father's
daughter, she should just have settled down like this. Many
and many a time have I thought it all over, sitting opposite to
her of an evening, when tea was over and she was reading the
Times. There she sat quite straight up, her muslin shawl with
the peach-bottom lining dropping down a little over her
shoulders, and her thin hands in their black lace mits holding
the paper. She" had never reposed any confidence in me, you
see. I did not know what might have happened to her when
she was out upon the big waves of life. I dare say many a
time when I wondered why she took no interest in my affairs,
she was back upon that reserve of her own which I knew
nothing about. But the odd thing to me is, that after having
really had something that one could call a life, something
happening to her own self, — don't you know what I mean ? —
she should have settled down so fixed and motionless here.

We dined early, which was a prejudice of mine ; but as
Sarah had a very uncertain appetite, we had always "some-
thing " to tea, which was the cause of Mr. Cresswell's allusion
to our cook Evans. Further, we indulged ourselves by having
this substantial tea in the drawing-room, which we never left
after our early dinner. When tea was over on the night of
Mr. Cresswell's visit, I had some little matters to do which
kept me about the room, going from one place to another. A*

The Last of the Mortimers. 9

1 stood in the shadow looking at the bright fire and lamp, and
Sarah reading in her easy chair, I could not prevent a great
many inquiries rising in my mind. What was Cousin Richard
Arkwright Mortimer to her, for example? He had not been
at the Park, nor heard of, so far as I know, for forty years.
And then about her voice ? On the whole it was very curious.
I resolved to try hard for some conversation with Sarah, after
she had done with the Times, that night.

CHAPTER IIL

TT was not a very easy matter to draw Sarah into a conversa-
tion, especially in the evening. I had to watch my
opportunity very carefully. At ten exactly the door opened
in the dark distance, and Ellis came rumbling along through
the dim depths behind the screen with the sherry and biscuits.
Just at the same moment Sarah smoothed out the paper care-
fully, laid it down, as she always did, on the top of her wool-
basket, and held out her hands to warm them at the fire.
They were very thin hands in their black lace mits, and they
were a little rheumatic sometimes, though she did not like to
confess it. She kept rubbing them slowly before the fire.

I poured out her glass of sherry, put the plate of biscuits
within her reach, and drew my chair nearer, that I might be
sure of hearing what she said. Sarah took no notice of my
movements ; she rubbed diligently one of her forefingers, the
joints of which were a little enlarged, and never so much as
glanced at me.

4 'Did you ever know anything about this cousin Richard of
ours, Sarah ?" said I.

She did not answer just for a moment, but kept on rubbing
her forefinger ; when that was finished she answered, "I knew
a good deal about him once. I would have married him if they
had let me, in the old times."

I was so thunderstruck by this unexpected frankness that I
scarcely knew what to say. At last I stumbled out somehow

10 The Last of the Mortimers.

— " Tou would have married him !" with a kind of inexpres-
sible amazement ; and she saying it so calmly too !

" Yes," said Sarah, rubbing her middle finger thoughtfully,
" he was young, and fresh -looking, and good-tempered. I dare
say I could have liked him if they had let me ; it is quite
true."

"And would they not let you?" cried I, in my eagerness,
thinking that perhaps Sarah was going to confide in me at
last.

" No," she said, pursing up her lips. She seemed to echo
the " no '' after, in the little nod she gave her head, but she
said nothing more.

44 And Sarah, tell me, please, if you don't mind, was it
because of his means ?" cried I ; " was he not rich enough V"

44 You don't know anything about these affairs, Milly," said
Sarah, a little scornfully. " I don't mind in the least. He
was exactly such a man as would have taken your fancy.
When I saw him, five years after, 1 was glad enough they did
not let me ; though it might have saved a deal of trouble too,"
she said to herself in a kind of sigh.

1 don't know how I managed to hear those last words. 1 am
sure she did not think I heard them. You may suppose I grew
more curious with every word she spoke.

44 And where was it you met him five years after ; was it
abroad?" said I, with a little flutter in my voice.

I cannot think she was very sharp in her hearing. She gave
a little glance up at me, noticing that I paused before the last
word; and then seeing me look a little frightened and
conscious, she drew herself up all at once, and stopped rubbing
her fingers.

44 Do you mean to cross-question me, Milly?" she cried,
giving a stamp with her foot. " Do you mean to rummage
into my affairs and find me out by your questions ? You are
very much mistaken, I can tell you. I am just as willing as
any one that Richard Mortimer should be found out. In
making your new heir you shall have no opposition from me."
44 Why, bless us all, Sarah !" said I, " it was your own idea."

41 Very well," she said, with a little confused heat of manner ;
4 'why do you imply that I have any objection? One would
suppose, to hear you, that you were trying to find out some
secrets of mine."

44 1 never knew you had any secrets to find out," said I,
sharply. I knew quite well I was aggravating her, but one,
must take one's own part.

Ths Last of the Mortimers. 11

She did not make any answer. She got up on her feet, and
drew her muslin shawl round her. There was a little nervous
tremble about her head and hands ; she often had it, but I
marked it more than ever to-night. I thought at first she was
going away without her sherry, but she thought better of that.
However, she went a few steps behind the screen to put her
basket aside, a thing she never did ; and I think I can see her
now, as I saw her in the big mirror, drawing the fingers of one
hand through the other, and gliding along through the dark
room, all reflected from head to foot in the great glass, with her
peach-blossom ribbons nodding tremulously over her grey hair,
and her white muslin shawl drawn over her shoulders. Her
face, as I saw it in the mirror, had a cloud and agitation upon
it, but was set with a fixed smile upon the lips, and a strange,
settled, passionate determination. I could no more penetrate
what it meant than I could tell why Sarah was angry. It was
something within herself that made her so, nothing that I had
done or said.

After she was gone I dropped into my chair, and sat there
wondering and pondering till the fire had nearly gone out, and
the great room was lying blank and chill in the darkness. Now
that my thoughts were directed into this channel — and it was
very strange to me that they never had been so before — there
were a thousand things to think of. When Sarah was twenty
and I only ten there was a wonderful difference to be sure be-
tween us, and not a great deal less when Sarah was thirty and
I twenty ; but from that time it had been growing less by
degrees, so that we really did not feel nowadays any great
difference in our age. But I was only fourteen when my
mother died. I had never, of course, been able to share in any
of the gaieties, being only in the schoolroom, and certainly
never dreamed of criticising my big sister, whom I thought
everything that was beautiful and splendid. Then my father
and she went away and left me. The Park was let, and I
lived with my godmother. I almost forgot that I had a father
and sister in the world. They seldom wrote, and we lived
entirely out of the world, and never heard even in gossip of the
goings on at Rome and Naples, and what place the beautiful
Miss Mortimer took there. They came home at last quite sud-
denly, in the depth of winter. Naturally Sarah had caught a
very bad cold. She kept her own room for a very long time
after and never saw anybody. Then she lost her voice. I
remember I took it quite for granted at the time that it was
her cold and the loss of her voice that made her shut herself

12 The Last of ike Mortimers.

ip ; but I must say that once or twice since I have had a little
doubt on that subject. She was then not much past five-and-
thirty, a very handsome woman. My father lived many years
after, but they never, though they had been great companions
for so long before, seemed to be at ease in each other's presence.
They never even sat down to dinner together when they could
help it. Since then, to be sure, Sarah had begun to live more
with me ; but what a life it was ! I had the concerns of the
property to occupy me, and things to manage ; besides, I was
always out and about in the vi!]age and among the neighbours ;
and still more, I was quite a different woman from Sarah, more
homely-like, and had never been out in the world. I wouldn't
for anything be what you might call suspicious of my own only
sister ; and what I could be suspicious about, even if I wanted
to, was more than I knew. Still it was odd, very odd, more
particularly after Sarah's strange words and look. My mind
was all in a ferment — I could not tell what to think ; but it
came upon me as strong as a conviction that something must
have happened in those ten years ; what it could be was as dark
as midnight, but there must be something. That was the end
I came to after all my pordermg. Ellis came twice into the
room to shut up, and twice stumbled off again with his " Beg
pardon, ma'am." It began to feel clvlly as the fire went out,
and the night grew pale and ghostly in the mirrors. By and
by I began to hear those cracks and rustles which one always
hears when one sits up late at night. It wasn't in the fur-
niture, bless you ! I know a great" deal belter than that ; the
old walnut and satin-wood was all seasoned by a century's wear.
I don't pretend to say what it was : but I know that I was made
very uneasy sitting all by myself, with the fire out, in that big
room. When it drew near twelve o'clock, I went to bed.

The Last of the Mortimers. 13

CHAPTER IV.

I MIGHT as well, before all this description of our day's
talk and cogitations, have said first who we were.
The Mortimers are an old Cheshire family. We came
originally from the other side of the Dee ; but we have been
settled here in the Park since Henry the Seventh's time, when
to be sure Welshmen were in fashion. The old tower of
Wyfod, over Llangollen way, was the cradle of our family.
So we have not travelled very far from our origin. We have
always been, since we came to the Cheshire side, tolerably
prosperous and prudent, not mixing much with politics,
having a pretty eye for a bargain, and letting other people
get along in their own way ; I say so quite frankly, not being
ashamed of it. Once, I confess, I felt a little sore that we
had no crusading knights nor wild cavaliers among our
ancestors ; but that, of course, was when I was young. Now
I take a different view of affairs. Cavaliers and crusading
knights have been generally very expensive luxuries for their
families, and must have done a great deal more mischief than
a man, however well disposed to it, could do at home.
Another circumstance has been good for our purse, but not so
good (I fear — so at least it threatens at the present moment)
for the prolongation of the race. The Mortimers have never
had large families. I suppose few English houses of our rank,
or indeed of any rank, can count so few cousins and collateral
branches. We have relations, certainly, by my mother's side,
who was one of the Stamfords of Lincolnshire ; but except
this visionary Richard Arkwiight (did ever mortal hear of
such a name for a Mortimer !), there is not a single individual
remaining of our own name and blood to inherit the property
after us, which is a very sad thing to say, and indeed, in some
degree, a sort of disgrace to us. The family allowance of
children for ever so long has been somewhat about one son and
one daughter. The daughter has married off, as was natural,
or died unmarried, as, indeed, for a Miss Mortimer, was more
natural still ; and the son has become the squire, and had a
son and a daughter in his turn. In Queen Anne's time, the
then squire, whose name was Lewis, made an unfortunate
divergence from the usual custom. He had two girls only ;
but one of them married, and her husband took our name and

1| The Last of the Mortimers.

arms ; the other died very opportunely, and left her sister in
full possession, so no harm was done. It is, however, a saying
in the family, that the Mortimers are to end in two sisters, and
that after them the property is to be divided and alienated
from the name. This is one reason why I never was much of
a favourite at home. They forgave Sarah, for she was beautiful,
and just the person to be an heiress. But co-heiresses are the
bugbear of the Mortimers. Ah me ! If there had been no
such saying as this, or if we had been poor girls, it might have
made a difference ! Not in me, to be sure ; I need not be
sentimental about it. I never saw an individual in this world
I could have fancied but one, and he, you know, never asked
me ; so it could not have made the slightest difference to me.

However, if there's one thing more than another that my
heart is set to resist, it is letting this prophecy be fulfilled in
our time. I'd rather compass sea and land to find a Mor-
timer ! I'd rather set out, old as I am, and hunt for one with
a lantern through the world! Sarah, though she is so
capricious and contrary, is of the same mind. It was she who
told me of this Mr. Richard Arkwright, whom I had forgotten
all about. And yet, you see, after showing such decided
interest, she turns upon one so ! What a very odd thing it is
that she did not marry ! 1 never could make it out, for my
part. Nobody could imagine, to see her now, how very pretty,
nay, how beautiful she was ; and such a way with her ! and
dressed, to be sure, like a duchess. All the young men in the
county were after her before she went abroad. But dear,
dear ! to think what a changed life when she came home, and
lost her voice, and shut herself up in her own room.

There is nothing I dislike more than curiosity, or prying, or
suspiciousness ; but I should like to know the rights of it — how
Sarah went on abroad. To be sure my father was anxious
enough that she should get married, and have a good humble-
minded husband, who would take the name of Mortimer. It
was only me that he would not hear of any proposal for. I
don't think he would have broken his heart if, like the Milly
Mortimer in Queen Anne's time, I had been so obliging as to
die.

However, here we are, just as we were in the nursery, two
Miss Mortimers. Sarah, who might have had half a dozen
good marriages, just the same as I am ; and I protest I don't
even know that there are two people existing in the world
who have the smallest collateral right to divide the property
and take it away from the name ; unjesg

The Last of the Mortimers. 15

fehould happen to have co-heiresses ! married to husbands who
will not change to Mortimer ! Don't let me think of such a
horror !

These are our circumstances in the meantime. It is a very
sad thing for a family when there are no collateral branches.
1 forgot to say that how this Richard Arkwright came about,
was by the strange accident of Squire George, who died in
1713, having two sons I

CHAPTER V.

DURING all this time — and indeed, after all, it was only a
single day — I had forgotten all about Mr. Cresswell and
his Sara. He and his family had been our family's solicitors
for a great many generations. He knew all our secrets that we
knew ourselves. It is only about twenty years since he suc-
ceeded his father in the business, and married that pretty
delicate young creature, the clergyman's daughter of St. John's.
She died very early, poor thing, as was to be expected, and
Sara is his only child. But, of course, he does not know any
more than a baby how to manage a pretty fantastical young
girl. They are a very respectable, substantial family in their
way, and have been settled in their house in Chester for a very
long time — though, of course, it would be absurd to call a
family of solicitors an old family — and Mr. Cresswell is very
well off in the world, and can give a very pretty fortune to his
daughter ; yet the covetous old fox has actually a fancy in his
mind — 1 could see it when he was last here — that if Sara only
played her cards well she might be heiress of the Park, and
succeed Sarah and me. An attorney's daughter ! Not that I
mean to put a slight upon Sara, who is our godchild, and a
very sweet, pretty girl. But to fancy that old Cresswell could
take up such an idea, and / not find him out! It is odd,
really, how the cleverest of men deceive themselves. He will
take every means to find out Richard Mortimer all the same.
He'll not fail of his duty, however things may turn out, I

16 The Last of the Mortimers.

know that ; but to think at the very bottom of his sly old
heart that he should have a hankering after the Park ! It is
quite inconceivable what fancies will take hold of men.

Sara is our godchild, as I said, called Sara Millicent, in token
of the kindness that poor Mrs. Cresswell, poor young mother-
less creature, thought she had received from us. Poor little
soul ! she little thought then, that the baby she was so proud
of, was the only one she was to be spared to bring into the
world. From that time till now Sara has been a pet at the
Park, and always free to come to us when she wished, or
when her father thought it would do her good. This was
how she was coming to-day. Perhaps it might be imagined
by some people rather a bold thing of one's family solicitor to
bring his daughter to us without an invitation. But you see
we were only ladies, and did not stand on our dignity as people
do when there are men in the house; and, besides, she was
our pet and godchild, which makes all the difference.

Just before dinner, Mr. CressVell's one-horse chaise came
into the courtyard. We never use the great door except for
great people, and when Sarah goes out for her airings. I
always use the court entrance, which is much handier, especially
in winter, and when there is no fire in the great hall. I really
see no use, except on occasions, for a fire in that great hall. It
looks miserable, I dare say, but then the coal it consumes is
enormous — enough to keep three families in the village com-
fortably warmed — and we keep no lackeys to lounge about
there, and be in the way. A good respectable family servant,
like Ellis, with plenty of maids, is much more to my taste than
those great saucy fellows, who have not the heart of a mouse.
But this is quite apart from what I was saying. Sarah had
come down just the same as ever, except that she had her
brown gown on, — she wears a different gown every day in the
week, — and her muslin shawl lined with blue, and of course
blue ribbons in her cap to correspond. Carson, after all, is
really a wonderful milliner. She seemed to have forgotten, or
at least passed over, our little quarrel, for she spoke just the
same as usual, and said, as she always does, that she hoped that
I would not forget to order the carriage for her drive. I have
given over being nettled about this. She says it regularly,
poor dear soul, every other day.

u And little Sara is coming to-day," said 1. " You'll take
her for company, won't you ? It will do the child good."

" Do her good I why, Cresswell has a carriage !" said Sarah
ia her whisper ; " beggars will ride before all's done."

The Last of the Mortimers. 17

" But he's nothing of a beggar, quite the reverse ; he'a
very well-to-do, indeed," said I. " I think he has a very good
right to a one-horse chciise."

44 Ah, to be sure, that makes all the difference," said Sarah
in her sharp way, " I forgot it was but one horse."

Now her voice, which is rather pleasant when she's kind,
gets a sort of hiss in it when she's spiteful, and the sound of
that " horse," though I wouldn't for the world say any harm
of my sister, drew out all the hoarseness and unpleasant sound
in the strangest way possible. I was quite glad to hear at that
moment the wheels in the courtyard.

44 There is little Sara," said 1, and went off to fetch her in,
very glad to get off, it must be confessed : but glad also, to be
sure, to see my little pet, who had always taken so kindly to
me. Before I could get to the door which Ellis was holding
open, the dear child herself came rushing upon me, fairly
driving me a few steps back, and taking away my breath.
44 You're not to come into the draught, godmamma. It's so
cold, oh, it's so cold ! 1 thought my nose would be off," cried
Sara's voice close to my ear. She was talking and kissing me
at the same moment, and after the start she had given me, you
may suppose, I did not pick up exactly every word she said
But that was the substance of it, to be sure.

u Why didn't you wear a veil? You ought to wear a veil,
child. We were all supposed to have complexions when I was
young," said I. u Don't you have any complexions, now, you
little girls V"

44 Oh, godmamma ! I don't expect ever to hear you talking
nonsense," said Sara severely. u What's the good of our
.complexions? We can't do anything with them that I ever
heard of . Come in from the draught, please, for the sake of
your dear old nose."

44 You are the rudest little girl I ever knew in my life. Go
in, child, go in, and see your godmamma," said I. '• How
ever do you manage that girl, Mr. Cresswell? Does she
think I don't know all the draughts in my own house?"

44 Ah, my dear lady, she's contrairy. I told you so — she
always was and ever will be," said Mr. Cresswell, putting down
his hat with a sigh. Dear, dear! the poor man certainly had
his troubles with that little puss. Manage her, indeed ! when,
to be sure, as was natural, she made him do exactly just as she
pleased.

When we went in after her, he and I, there she was, to be
sure, kneeling down on Sarah's footstool, trying all she could

18 The Last of the Mortimers.

to put my sister's curls out of order with kissing her. ^ If any
one else had dared to do it ! But Sara, who never since she
was a baby feared any creature, had her way with her
godmother as well as with all the rest of us. There's a great
deal in never being afraid.

" Now, go up-stairs, and take off your bonnet, there's a
good child ; there's a fire in your room to warm it for puss in
velvet. Go, and come down smooth and nice as your god-
mamma loves to see you. Dinner will be ready presently,
and you must be nice for dinner. There, there, don't talk any
more, Sara, go and smooth your hair."

" Oh yes, certainly, and then you'll see what's happened !"
cried Sara, and frisked off out of the room like a little puss as
she was.

I dare say the dear child expected nothing less than a great
curiosity on my part about what had happened. Poor dear
ittle kitten ! she forgot that these little secrets were not such
great matters to me. When she was gone we did not say a
syllable about Sara ; but her good father began to pull about
the things on one of the tables behind the screen, and made
signs to me with his eyebrows to come and talk to him.
"When I passed over that way he said quite softly, "Anything
more?"

"Not a word," said I; for, to be sure, that about Sarah
marrying if they would have let her was private, arid even the
family solicitor had nothing to do with it, though, I dare say
if the truth were known, he knew all about it better than I
did. " Not a word ; only, I suppose, I should say he must be
about her own age."

Mr. Cresswell glanced up at me, gave a short little smile, a
nod of his head, and a shrug of his shoulders, and understood
all about it as if I had told him.

" Was in love with her once, of course — thought so !" he
said in his undertone: "you ladies, for one good thing, do
think on when we've made fools of ourselves about you. It's
always our compensation."

" We think on after you've forgotten all about it — that's
what you mean," said I.

Mr. Cresswell gave another little shrug with his shoulders,
and glanced at the screen behind which Sarah was knitting.
" How lovely she was once, to be sure !" he said with a little
sigh, and then laughed out at himself, not without a little
redness in his face. To speak of a blush in a man of his years
would be simply absurd, you know. Such a piece of presump-

The Last of the Mortimers. 19

tion ! I do believe Bob Crcsswell had taken it upon him to
fall in love with Sarah too in his young days. I could have
boxed his ears for him; and to think he should have the
audacity to laugh at himself now 1

CHAPTER VI.

•"PHIS conversation of ours, if it could be called a conversa-
J_ tion, was luckily interrupted by the entrance of little
Sara, who came into the room, ligbtfooted and noiseless, as
Buch creatures can when they are young. She had on a velvet
jacket, over a thick-corded blue silk dress. She must have
spent quite a fortune in dress, the little saucy puss. What
startled me, however, was her hair. She had a beautiful head
of hair, and wore it of course in the fashion, as all young girls
ought. Some people were so misguided as to call Sara Creswell
dark-complexioned. They meant she had very dark hair, eye-
brows, and eyelashes. As for her skin, it was as pure as
Sarah's, who had always been a blonde beauty. But with all
the mass of hair she had, when she chose to spread it out and
display it, and with her black eyes and small face, I don't
wonder people thought the little witch dark. However, all
that was done away now. There she stood before me, laughing,
and making her curtsey, with short little curls, like a child's,
scarcely long enough to reach to her collar — all her splendid
hair gone — a regular crop ! I screamed out, as may be sup-
posed ; I declare I could have whipped her with the very best
will in the world. The provoking, wicked little creature ! no
wonder her poor father called her contrairy. Dear, dear, to
think what odd arrangements there are in this world ! 1 should
have brought her under some sort of authority, I promise you ;
but really, not meaning to be profane, one was really tempted to
say to one's self, what could Providence be thinking of to give
such a child to poor old Bob Cresswell, who knew no more how
to manage her than I know how to steer a boat ?

20 The Last of the Mortimers.

'* * Declare I think you are very wicked," I said when I
gained ^ j breath ; " I do believe, Sara, you take a delight in
vexing your friends. For all the world what good could it do
to cut off your hair? Don't speak to me, child ! I declare 1
am so vexed and provoked and angry, I could cry !"

" Don't cry, godmamma," said Sara quite coolly, " or I'll
have it made up into a wig ; you can't fancy how nice it is
now. Besides, what was the good of such a lot of hair? Don't
you know that's what gives people headaches? I thought I
had better be wise in time."

"You little storyteller!" cried I, "you never had a headache
in your life."

" Ah, but prevention is better than cure," said the wicked
little creature with her very demurest look.

u Dinner, Ma'am," said Ellis at the door. It was just as
well for Sara. But I had a great mind to pinch her, as Mr.
Thackeray says the ladies do, when we went together to the
dining-room. I am sure she deserved it. However, she did
not escape a little pinch which touched her, brave as she was
Sarah, 1 suppose, had not taken the trouble to look at her till
we were all seated at table. Then she looked up, quite ignorant
of what had happened. Sarah did not start like me, nor scream
out ; but she looked at little Sara quite composedly, leaning
forward to see her all round. When she had quite done, she
folded her hands upon her napkin, and smiled. " What a
shocking fright you have made of yourself, my dear child,"
said Sarah with the most amiable look in the world. Little
Sara coloured up in a moment, grew red and furious like a
little vixen, and had something angry and wicked on the very
tip of her tongue, which however, bold as she was, she dared
not say. Mr. Cresswell ventured to give a little mutter and
chuckle of a laugh, and how the little witch did look at him !
But as for me, though I was glad to have her punished, I could
DOD find in my heart to hear anything said against her without
standing up in her defence.

" Well, of course, I ani very angry," said I ; " but I can't
say I agree with your godmamma either — it's pretty enough,
for that matter."

" Oh, please, don't take any trouble about my feelincs. I
never meant it to be pretty," said little Sara, quite furious.

" Nice hair is very much in a dark person's favour. It helps4
the complexion and harmonises," said Sarah, who kept always
looking at the child in her smiling aggravating way. "People
will soon notice the want of it in you, iny iear. They will say

The Last oj the Mortimers. 21

you are very much gono off in your looks. It's a pity you
were so rash. It does make you a sad fright, whatever Milly
says."

Now, only imagine how little Sara was to bear all this,
spoken just in Sarah's whisper, which made everybody, even
Ellis, who was waiting, listen close to hear what she said. It
was very seldom she said so many words in one day, not to say
at one speaking. She began to eat her soup when she had done
her pleasant remarks. And surely I never did remark before
how odd the s's sounded in her poor lost voice. Somehow they
seemed to go hissing round the table, as if every word had an s
in it. It was a round table, and not very large. Sarah never
would do any carving, and I got tired of always, doing it. So
Ellis managed for us now on the sideboard, knowing foreign
ways a little, and a small table suited us best.

*' Ah, my dear lady, I wish you'd take her in hand," said
Mr. Cresswell (dear, dear! it is inconceivable how injudicious
some people are !) ; " she's too many for me."

uMy opinion is," said I, breaking in as well as I could,
seeing that poor little Sara must come to an explosion if they
kept it up, " that when a gentleman comes to visit two single
ladies, he should let us know what's going on in the world.
Have you never a new curate at St. John's to tell us of, and
are all the officers just exactly as they used to be? You may
all be very superior,, you wise people. But I do love gossip, I
am free to acknowledge. I heard your rector preached in his
surplice last Sunday. How did you Evangelicals take that,
Mr. Cresswell, eh ? For my part, I can't see where's the harm
in a surplice as you Low Church people do."

" You and I will never agree in that, Miss Milly," said Mr.
Cresswell ; " though, indeed, if Dr. Roberts came into the
pulpit in white, I've my own idea as to how you'd take it.
However, not to speak of surplices, the red-coats are going, I
hear. We're to have a change. The Chestnuts are coming
up from Scotland, and our men are ordered to the West
Indies. The Colonel doesn't like it a bit. It's better for him
in one way, but he's getting to like a steady friendly little
society, and not to care for moving. He's getting up in years,
like the rest of us, is the Colonel. This will tell on him,
• you'll see."

*• Well, to be sure, when a man's old, he ought to retire,"
said I ; u there are always plenty to take his place."

" Ah. it's easy to talk," said Mr. Cresswell. " It's all very
well for us to retire that have made money ; but a man that

22 The Last of the Mortimers.

has only his pay. what is he to do? He has got that pool
little widow-daughter of his to keep, and Fred is very un-
settled, I'm afraid, and little comfort to his father. There's
a deal of difference, Miss Milly, between full-pay and half -pay.
He'd have to cut down his living one half if he retired."

"That's just exactly what I quarrel with in these grand
times of ours," said 1; "what's the harm of cutting down one's
living one half ? My own opinion is, I'd respect a man very
much that did it. Great people can do it somehow. I wish
you luxurious middle-class people would learn the way. But
then you don't stand by each other when you fall into poverty.
You drop your friend when he can't ask you to dinner. You
are good to his children, and patronise them, and forget they
were just the same as yours a little while ago. I don't think
we'll ever come to any good in this country till we get back
to knowing how to be poor."

4 ' My dear lady, England never was in such splendid
Condition," said Mr. Cress well, with a smile at my ignorance.
"If we've forgotten how to save, we've learned how to grow
rich."

" I know all about England," said I ; "we read the Times ;
don't you tell me. I'm anything but easy about England.
Making money is no substitute in the world for saving it. I
tell you, the world won't be what I call right till a gentleman
may be as poor as God pleases, without being ashamed of it ;
and have the heart to cut down his living one-half too."

u Well, well Miss Milly, ladies are always optimists," said
Mr. Cresswell ; "but I shouldn't like to be poor myself, nor
see Sara tried with economics. She don't understand anything
about them, that's sure."

" The more's the pity. What if she should marry a poor
man V" said I.

"She shan't marry a poor man, my dear lady," said Mr.
Cresswell.

Upon which Sara lighted up. I knew she would. The
dear child would do anything out of contradiction.

" Rather a poor one than a rich one, papa," cried Sara, with
a little start of opposition. " Godmamma is always quite
right. It's shocking how everybody worships rich people.
If we were to live in a little cottage, now, and make a dozen
poor people comfortable! instead of always living in that dull
old house, and having the same chairs and tables, and looking
at exactly the same things every day. Godmamma ! I do so
want my room fresh papered. J know every tint of that

The Last of the Mortimers. 28

pattern, till it makes me quite ill to look at it. Wouldn't it
be a thousand times more reasonable and like a Christian, if
papa would stop giving stupid dinners, and taking me to
stupid parties, and divide all his money with, say, a dozen
poor families, and live in a sweet country cottage ? It isn't
enough for us, you know, to make us great people. But. it
would be quite enough to give us all plenty to live upon, the
dozen others and ourselves as well. Don't you think it would
be a great deal more like what a man should do, than keeping
all one's money to one's self, like papa ?"

Little Sara grew quite earnest, and her eyes sparkled as she

rke. Her father laughed inwardly under his breath, and
ught it just one of her vagaries. She divide all her money
with her neighbours, the extravagant little puss in velvet !
But don't suppose Sara was shamming. She was as thought-
less and as prodigal as ever a child was who knew no better.
But for all that, she could have done it. She could have
found out how to do -it. She meant what she said.

CHAPTER VII.

" "OUT you are a very foolish, thoughtless, provoking

_D little puss; there can't be any mistake about it,"
said I.

" Nothing of the sort, godmamma," said Sara, " such a
quantity of time was always taken up with that hair of mine ;
it had to be brushed out at night, however sleepy I was, and it
had to be done I don't know how many times a day. Think
of wasting hours of one's time upon one's hair !"

" But, my dear child, you have too much time on your
hands. Do you ever do anything in the world, you velvet
kitten," said I.

u If it was anybody else but you, I should be angry, god-
mamma," said Sara ; " but, indeed, I have tried a quantity of
things. As for working, you know I won't work — 1 tell every-

24 The Last of the Mortimers.

body so plainly. What's the good of it ? I hate crochet and
cushions and footstools. If I had some little children to keep
all tidy, there would be some good in it ; or if papa was poor
I might mend his stockings — but I won't work now, whatever
anybody says."

UI don't see any reason why you should not keep some little
children tidy, or mend papa's stockings either, if you would
like it," said I.

<; If I would like it !" cried Sara, in high wrath and indig-
nation, u as if that was why I should do it ! I don't think there
can be anything more dreadful in life than always having to
do just what one likes. Now, look hero, godmamma; suppose
I was to mend papa's stockings because I liked it, — oh, how
Mary would giggle and laugh and rejoice over me ! She has
to do 'it, and doesn't like it a bit, you may be sure. And
suppose I were making frocks for poor children, like the
Dorcas society, wouldn't all the sensible people be on me to
?ay how very much better it would be to have poor women
make them and pay them for their work ? I could only do
what it's other people's business t<? do. I have got no business.
The best thing wanted of me is just to sit idle from morning to
night and read novels; and nobody understands me either, not
even my dear old godmamma, which is hardest of all."

u But, Sara, if you chose, you could do good: the best thing

of all to do — you could "

"Oh stop, stop, godmamma ! I can't do good. I don't
want to do good. I hate going about and talking to people ;
and besides, they are all, every one of them," said Sara, with
tears, half of vexation and half of sorrow, sparkling in her
eyes, " a great deal better than me."

I had not a single word to say against this ; for indoed,
though I said it, because of course it was the right thing to
say, IvVV can't undertake, upon my honour, that I thought a
spoiled child like Sara Cresswell was the kind of creature to be
much comfort to poor men or poor women labouring hard in
the sorrows of this life.

" I went once with Miss Fielding from the Rectory. There
was one house," said Sara, speaking low and getting red,
" where they hadn't so much to live on for the whole year
through as papa had to pay for my dressmaker's bill. He had
just been worrying me about it that morning, so I remember.
But they weren't miserable! no more than you are, god-
mamma ! not one half, nor a quarter, nor a hundredth part so
miserable as I am ! And the woman looked so cheerful and

The Last of th* Mortimers. 25

right with the baby in her arms, and all the cleaning to do — I
cried and ran off home when I got out of that house. I was
ashamed, just dead ashamed, godmamma, and nothing else. —
Doing good ! — oh ! — I think if I were the little girl, coming in
to hold the baby, and help to clean, I might get some good
myself. But then nobody will understand me whatever 1 say.
I don't want to invent things to ' employ my time.' Employ-
ing one's time is about as bad as improving one's mind. I
want to have something real to do, something that lias to be
done and nobody but me to do it ; and I don't mind in the
least whether 1 should like it or not."

" Well, dear," said I, " you're not nineteen yet; plenty of
time. I dare say you'll have your hard work some day or
other, and won't like it any more than the rest of us. Have
patience, it will all come in time."

" Then, I suppose," said Sara, with a little toss of her pro-
voking little head, " I had better just go to sleep till that time
comes."

" Well, my love, papa would save a good deal, no doubt, if
if there were no dressmaker's bills. You inconsistent little
witch ! Here you tell me how disgusted you are with being a
rich man's daughter and having nothing to do, yet you cut off
your hair to save time, and go on quite composedly spending
as much as would keep a poor family — and more than one
poor family, I suspect— on your dressmaker's bill. Little
Sara, what do you mean ?"

u The two things have no connection," said Sara, tossing her
head again ; " I never pretended that I wanted to save papa's
money. What's the good of it? I like pretty things to wear,
and 1 don't care the very least in the world how much money
papa has in the bank, or wherever he keeps it. He told me
once & was my own means I was wasting, for, of course, it
would be all mine when he died," she went on, her eyes
twinkling with proud tears and wounded feeling ; " as if that
made any difference ! But I'll tell you what, godmamma. If
he was to portion out all the money to ourselves and so many
other people, just enough to live upon, you'd see how happy I
should be in muslin frocks. I know I should 1 and keep
everything so snug and nice at home."

" Oh, you deluded little child !" said I ; " don't you know
there's ever so much nasty work to do, before everything can
be nice as we always have it? Should you like to be a house-
maid with your little velvet paws, you foolish little kitten?
You don't know what you're saying."

26 The Last of the Mortimers.

" But I do, though — and I could scratch too," said the wild
little puss, with a glance out of her black eyes which con-
founded me. I thought the child had gone out of her wits
altogether. No wonder her poor father called her contrairy,
poor hapless man.

This conversation took place aftbj dinner, when we two
•went back to the drawing-room. Mr. Cresswell had returned
to Chester in his brougham, and Sarah had gone out all by
herself for her drive. Perhaps little Sara, after being so
aggravated at dinner, would not have gone with my sister
even had she been asked ; but her godmamma did not ask her,
Dear, dear, what a very strange world this is ! Poor Sarah
chose to go out alone, driving drearily through the winterly
trees and hedges ; she chose always to turn aside from the
village, which might have been a little cheerful, and she never
dreamt of calling anywhere, poor soul ! I have lived a quiet
life enough, but I could not get on without a smile here and a
word there, and the sight of my fellow-creatures at least.
However, I have no call to censure neighbours, much less my
sister. This is how Sara Cresswell and I had time for our long
conversation. I broke it off short now, thinking it was about
time for Sarah to come in.

"Now little Sara," said 1, "we'll drop the question what
you're to do as a general question just now ; but your godmamma
will be in directly. What shall you do while you're here ?
Should you like to come and set my papers straight? It's
nice, tiresome, sickening work. It always gives me a head-
ache, but I can't trust a servant to do it. I think it's the very
•work for you."

" But, dear godmamma, here's a novel," said Sara, who
was sunk deep in an easy-chair, and had not the very
slightest intention of obeying me, "just the very one I
•wanted, and I see by the first chapter that Emily is my own
very favourite heroine. I'll do it to-morrow, please — to-
morrow morning, not to-day."

" But it must be done to-day."

" Oh, must ! why must f You have only to do what you
please — you are not obliged to keep time like a dressmaker or
a clerk," said Sara, reading all the while.

"Oh, you child!" said I; "suppose papa's dinner was
waiting, or his stockings to mend, would you let them stand
till you had finished your novel? Oh, you deluded littlo
thing, is that the good workwoman you would be?"

Before I bad finished speaking Sara had started like a little

The Last of the Mortimers. 27

sprite out of her chair, tossed the novel into the corner of a
distant sofa, and went off like the wind to the library, where
I did my business and kept my papers. I had to hurry after
her as quickly as £ could. A pretty job she would have made
of it, had she done it alone !

CHAPTER VIII.

IF there is one thing I dislike more than another, it is the
housemaid, or even Ellis, meddling with my papers. I
don't scold a great deal, in a general way, but I will allow that
I don't spare any of them when they flutter my accounts and
receipts about in setting things to rights. So in the course of
nature the things get dusty ; and I quite expected to see poor
little Sara grow pale and give in before she was half through
the year's accounts. But nobody knows the spirit that is in
that child. After she had once roused herself to do it, she
held at it without an idea of yielding. I saw her look now
and again at her little toys of hands, but I took no notice ;
and on she went at the papers manfully, putting them in as
regular order as I could have done myself. It was not such a
very important business after all, but still it's a comfort to see
a person set to anything with a will, especially a little spoilt
wilful creature that never had anything to do but her own
pleasure all her life.

Nearly an hour after we had come into the library somebody
came with a gentle knock to the door ; thinking it was Ellis, I
said, " Come in," without looking up, waiting for him to speak.
But while I sat quietly going on with my business, with Sara
close by rustling her papers, T was quite startled and shaken all
at once to hear a voice close by me which I did not hear half
a dozen times in a twelvemonth, the voice of Carson, Sarah's
maid.

"Bless me, what's the matter?" I said, looking up at the
sound, being really too much startled to notice what she said.

28 Tlie Last of the Mortimers.

11 Nothing, I hope, ma'am," said Carson, who was very pre-
cise and particular. " But my missis is not come in, ma'am,
from her drive, and I thought I'd make bold to ask if she was
going anywhere as I didn't know ?"

" Sarah not come back from her drive ?" said I, looking at
my watch; "why, we've had lights this half hour, Carson; it's
getting towards five o'clock."

"Yes, ma'am," said Carson, briefly, not allowing for my
surprise, " that is just what I said."

This pulled me up a little, as you may suppose ; but I was
seriously put out about Sarah, when I really saw how the
matter stood.

"I know nothing about where she was going. Dear, dear,
can anything have happened?" I cried, getting a little flustered
and anxious; then I jumped up, as was natural, and looked out
at the window ; though of course nothing was to be seen there
but the shrubbery and a corner of the flower-garden. " But I
can't tiiink what could have happened either. The horses are
rery steady, and Jacob is care itself ; besides, we'd have heard
directly if anything had gone wrong. No, no, there can't have
been any accident. My sister was just in her usual, Carson,
eh?"

" Just in her usual ma'am," said Carson, like an echo of my
voice.

•' Then, dear, what can be the matter? it's only some acci-
dent, of course," said I ; "I don't mean accident, only some
chance turn out of the way, or something. Bless me, to think
of Sarah out after nightfall ! Why don't you run out to the
road and look for the carriage? Call some of the people about.
King the bell, child, can't you? — or no, sit still, Sara. I'll
take a peep out at the great gate myself."

Saying which, I hurried past Carson, brushing against her, as
she did not keep out of my way, and snatched a cloak out of
the hal], and ran to the gate. It was only twilight out of
doors, 'though we had our lamp lighted. A nice night, grey,
a little frosty, but rather pleasant, with the lights twinkling
out of the windows. I said to myself, " Nothing 1 should like
better than a brisk walk down to the village ; bat Sarah, you
know— Sarah's different." What could keep her out so late ?
I can't say I was alarmed, but I did get a little uneasy,
especially as I saw Ellis making his way up one road from the
gate of the courtyard, and the houseboy running down another.
It was Carson's doings, no doubt ; well, well! I ought to be

The Last of the Mortimers. 29

thankful my sister had a maid that was so fond of her ; but
taking things out of my hands in this way, not only made me
angry, as was natural, but flurried me as well.

As I stood there, however, watching, and thinking I surely
heard a sound of wheels somewhere in the distance, somebody
went past me very suddenly. I could not see where he sprang
from, he appeared in such a sudden un explainable way. I got
quite a fright, and, except that, he was a gentleman, and pro-
bably a young one, I could tell nothing more about the figure
that shot across my eyes. Very odd ; could he have been
hiding in the bushes? What could he want ? \V ho could it
be? I certainly hear the carriage now, and there conies the
houseboy up the road waving his arms about ; but instead of
looking for my sister, I looked after this figure that had passed
me. It passed Ellis too, and looked in his face, making him
start, as it appeared to me, and so went straight on, till the
road turned and I could see it no longer. I felt quite as if I
had met with an adventure. Could it be some lover of little
Sara's that had followed her out here ? — or, dear, dear ! could
it have anything to do with delaying Sarah's drive? Just
then the carriage came in sight, and I ran back to the house-
door to receive my sister and nsk what had detained her. She
stepped out of the carriage, looking paler than her ordinary,
and A\ith that nervous shake in her hands and head, and looked
as if she could quite have clutched hold of Carson, who of
course was there to receive her.

" Sarah," cried I, '; what in all the world has kept you so
long? We were at our wits' end, thinking something had
happened."

4k You'll be glad to see nothing has happened," said Sarah,
in her whisper, trying hard to be quite composed and like
herself as she took hold of Carson's arm. " The beauty of the
evening, you know, drew me a little further than I generally

gO." jr

This she said looking into my face, nay, Into my eyes all
the time, as if to defy any suspicions or doubt I might have.
Her very determination to show that there wa^ no other reason,
made it quite evident that there had been something, whatever
it was.

I said nothing of course. I had not the least idea what my
own suspicions pointed at, nor what they wero. So it was not
likely I should make any scene, or put it iuto the servants'
heads to wonder. So I stood still and askv,d no more
questions, while Sarah passed before me, leaning on Caison'a

80 The Last of the Mortimers.

arm, to go upstairs. It was the most simple and reasonable
thing in the world ; why should she not have gone further than
Bhe intended one night in her life? But she did not, that is
all.

When I went back to the library, little Sara, extraordinary
to relate, was sitting exactly where I left her, busy about the
papers. The wilful creature did not seem to have moved
during my absence. She was as busy and absorbed as if there
was nothing else to do or think of in the world. And while
we had been all of a nutter looking for Sarah, she, sitting
quiet and undisturbed, had got the greater part of her work
finished.

u Sara, you unfeeling child," said I, " were you not anxious
about your godmamma ?"

u No," said Sara, very simply. " Godmamma Sarah, and
coachman Jacob, and those two fat old horses could surely all take
care of each other. I wasn't frightened, godmamma. I never
heard of any accidents happening to big old stout carnages and
horses like yours. I've nearly got my work done while you've
been away."

This was all the sympathy I got from little Sara. Of course
I could no more have told her the puzzle my mind was in than
I could have told the servants ; but still, you know, an intelli-
gent young person might have guessed by my looks and been
a little sympathetic ; — though to be sure there is no use pre-
tending with one's self. I do believe I liked Sara twenty times
beter for taking no notice ; — and then, how cleverly the little
kitten had got through her work !

We saw nothing more of Sarah that night. When it was
time for tea, Carson came doAvn again with missus's com-
pliments, and she was tired with her long drive, and would
have tea in her own room. I said nothing at all, but handed
her the Times. I don't doubt Sarah had her tea very snug
in her nice cosy dressing-room, with Carson purring round her
and watching every move she made. I never could manage
that sort of thing for my part. Little Sara and I, however,
tnough her godmamma deserted us, were very comfortable, OB
the whole, downstairs.

The Last of tlie Mortimers.

CHAPTER IX.

TTTE had both been reading almost all the evening. Sara
VV had her novel, and I had the Times Supplement, which
I am free to confess I like as well as any other part of the
paper. I will not deny that I finished the third volume before
I began to the newspaper; but, to be sure, a novel, after you
are done with it, is an unsatisfactory piece of work ; especially
if the evening is only half over, and you have nothing else to
begin to. I sat leaning back in my chair, wandering over the
advertisements, and very ready for a talk. That is just the
time, to be sure, when one wants somebody to talk to. If I
had ever been used to the luxury of a favouritn maid when I
was young, as Sarah was, I do believe I should have been in
my own cosy room now as well as Sarah, talking everything
over with my Carson. But that is not the way I was brought
up, you see. To be sure, as there was ten years of difference
beoween us, nobody had ever looked for me, and Sarah had
got quite settled in her heiress ways before I was born. When
1 was young, I used to think it a sad pity for everybody's sake
that I ever was born, especially after my mother died ; how-
ever, L changed my views upon that subject a good many
years ago. Yet here I sat looking all over the advertisements,
and keeping an eye on Sara to see if there was any hope of
getting a little conversation out of her. Alas! she was all
lapped up and lost in her novel. She thought no more of me
than of Sarah's empty chair. Ah! novels are novels when
people are young. I looked at the poor dear child, and
admired and smiled at her over the top of the newspaper. If
I had been a cabbage, Sara could not have taken less notice of me.

At last she suddenly exclaimed out loud — at something she
was reading, of course — " I declare !" as if she had made a
discovery, and then stopped short and looked up at me with a
sort of challenge, as if .defying me to guess what she was
thinking of. Then, seeing how puzzled I looked, Sara laughed,
but reddened a little as well, to my amazement; and finally,
not without the least little touch of confusion, explained
herself. To be sure it was quite voluntary, and yet a little
unwilling too.

"There's something here exactly like the Italian gentleman;
he that people talk so much about in Chester, you know."

32 The Last of the Mortimer*.

" I never knew there was an Italian gentleman in Chester.
What a piece of news ! and you never told me," said I.

" He only came about a fortnight ago," said Sara " It
looks quite romantic, you know, godmanima, which is the only
reason / have heard anything about it. He came quite in
great style to the Angel, and said he was coming to see some
friends, and asked all about whether anybody knew where the
Countess Sermoneta lived. You may be quite sure nobody
had ever heard of such a name in Chester. I heard it all from
Lucy Wilde, who had heard it from her brother, who is
always playing billiards and things at the Angel — Harry
Wilde "

u That is the poor young man who "

u Oh, dear godmamma, don't bother ! let one go on with
one's story. Harry Wilde says the Italian came down among
them, asking everybody ' about this Countess Sermcneta, and
looking quite bewildered when he found that nobody knew
her ; but still he was quite lively, and thought it must bo
some mistake, and laughed, and made sure that this was really
Cliestare he had come to, and not any other place. But next
day? people say, he sent for the landlord and asked all about
the families in the neighbourhood, and all of a sudden grew
quite grave and serious, and soon after took lodgings in
Watergate, and has been seen going about the streets and the
walls so much since that everybody knows him. He speaks
English quite well — people say so, I mean — and he has a
servant with him, the funniest-looking fat fellow you ever
saw ; no more like a proper Italian servant in a play or a
novel than I am ; and he calls himself just Mr. Luigi ; and
that, of course, you know, must be only his Christian name."

" Nay, indeed, Sara, 1 don't know anything about it. There
is nothing at all Christianlike in the name, so far as 1 can
see."

" Well then, 7 know, godmamma, which is all the same,"
cried the impatient little creature ; " but then, to be sure, our
old Signor Valetti used to tell us they never minded their
family names in Italy; and that people might be next-door
neighbours for ever so long and never know each other's sur-
names. Isn't it pretty? especially when they have pretty
Christian names, as all the Italians have.''

" My dear, if you think Looegee pretty, T don't," said I.
"Take my word for it, there is nothing like the sensible
English names. I've had a good deal of experience, and 1
don't like your romantic foreigners. For my part, I don't like

The Last of the Mortimers. 38

people that have a story. People have no right to have stories,
child. If you do your duty honestly, and always tell the truth,
and never conceal anything, you can't get up a romance about
yourself. As for this Italian fellow and his name "

u I don't believe he's a fellow any more than you are, god-
mamma," cried Sara, quite indignantly ; " people should know
before they condemn ; and his name is just plain Lewis when
it's put into English. I did not think you were so prejudiced,
indeed I did not — or I never would have told you anything at
all about the poor count "

*' Heaven preserve us ! he's a count, is he ?" said I. " And
what do you know about him, Sara Cresswell, please, that you
would quarrel with your own godmother for his sake ?"

Sara did not speak for a few minutes, looking very flushed
and angry. At last, after a good fight with herself, she started
up and threw her arms round my neck. "Dear godmamma,
I wouldn't quarrel with you for anybody in the world," cried
the little impulsive creature. Then she stopped and gave a
little toss of her head. " But whatever anybody says, I know
it's quite right to feel kind to the poor Italian gentleman, a
stranger, and solitary, and disappointed ! I do wonder at you4
people, godmamma — you people who pretend to do what's in
the Bible. You're just as hard upon strangers and as ready to
take up a prejudice as anybody else."

" I never pretended not to be prejudiced," said I ; " it's
natural to a born Englishwoman. And as for your foreign
counts, that come sneaking into people's houses to marry their
daughters and run off with the money "

u Oh, if it is that you are thinking of, godmamma," cried
Sara with great dignity, sitting quite bolt upright in her chair,
u you are totally mistaken, I assure you. I never spoke to the
#entieman in my life ; and besides," she went on, getting very
red and vehement, u I never will marry anybody, I have quite
made up my mind; so, if you please, godmamma, whatever
you choose to say about poor Mr. Luigi, whom you don't know
anything about, I hope you will be good enough not to draw
me into any stupid story about marrying — I quite hate talk of
that kind."

I was so thunderstruck that 1 quite called out — ''You
impertinent little puss," said I, " is that how you dare to talk
to your godmother !" I declare I do not think I ever was put
down so all my life before. I gave her a good sound lecture,
as anybody will believe, about the proper respect she owed to
her friends and seniors, telling her that I was very much afraid

34 The Last of the Mortimers.

she was in a bad way ; and that, however her father, who
spoiled her, might let her talk, she ought to know Letter than
to set up her little saucy face like that in our house. I said a
great deal to the little provoking creature. I am sure she
never saw me so angry before, though she has been a perfect
plague and tease all her clays. But do you think she would
give in, and say she was sorry ? Not if it had been to save her
life ! She sat looking down on her book, opening and shutting
it upon her hand, her little delicate nostril swelling, her red
upper lip moving, her foot going pat-pat on the carpet, but
never owning to be in the wrong or making the least apology.
After I had done and taken up my paper again, pretending to
be very busy with it, she got up and rummaged out the other
volume of the novel, and came to me to say good-night,
holding out her hand and stooping down her cheek, meaning
me to kiss her, the saucy little puss! As she was in my house,
and a guest, and her first night, I did kiss her, without looking
at her. It was a regular quarrel; and so she too went off to her
own room. So here I was all alone, very angry, and much
disposed to launch out upon the servants or somebody. Con-
• trairy indeed ! I should think so ! I wonder how that poor
old Bob Cressweil can put up with his life. If she were mine I
would send her off to school, for all so accomplished as they saj
she is.

CHAPTER X.

I II AD not a very good night after these troubles : somehow
one's sleep goes from one more easily when one grows old ;
and 1 kept dreaming all the night through of my sister and
little Sara, and something they were concealing from me,
mixing them both up together in my mind. I rose very
uneasy and excited, not a bit refreshed, as one should feel in
the morning. One thing very strange I have noticed all my
life in dreams. Though never a single thing that one dreams

The Last of the Mortimers. 35

should ever come true, the feeling one has comes true somehow.
1 don't know whether anybody will understand me. I have
had friends in my young days, whom I thought a great deal
upon, that did not prove true to me. And I have remarked,
often long before I found them out, however fond o5k trustful
in them I was through the day, I was always uneasy in my
dreams, always finding out something wrong or meeting some
unkindness — which makes me have a great confidence, not in
•what^you would call dreams, you know, but in the sentiment
of dreams, if you can understand what I mean. I woke up
very unrefreshed, as I say ; and got dressed and came down-
stairs as soon as it was daylight, though I knew well enough I
should find nobody there. My sister always breakfasted in her
own room, and Sara was late of coming down at the best of
times ; however, I got some letters about business, which were
perhaps the best things I could have had. They put me off
minding my quarrel with little Sara, or trying to find out what
had kept Sarah so late on her drive.

I had nearly finished breakfast when little Sara came down-
stairs. She came up to me just as she had done the night
before, holding out her hand and stooping down her cheek to
be kissed, but not looking at me. I kissed her, the provoking
puss, and poured out her coffee. And after ten minutes or so
we got on chatting just as usual, which was a relief to me, for
I don't like apologies and explanations. I never could bear
them. Little Sara, after she had got over feeling a little
awkward and stiff, as people always do when they have been
wrong, was just in her ordinary. She was used to affront
people and to have them come to again, the little wicked
creature — I am afraid she did not mind.

This little quarrel had put Sarah a good deal out of my
mind, I must allow, but I got back to being anxious about her
directly when I saw her come down- stairs. I can't tell what
the change upon her was— she did not look older or paler, or
anything that you could put plainly in words— she was just as
particularly dressed, and had her silver-white curls as nice, and
her cap as pretty as usual, but she was not the same as she had
been yesterday ; certainly there was some change. Not to
speak of that little nervous motion of her head and hands,
which was greater to-day than ever I had seen it, there was a
strange vigilance and watchfulness in her look which I don't
remember to have ever seen there before. She looked me very
full in the face, I remember with a sort of daring defying
openness, and the same to little Sara, though, of course what

86 The Last of the Mortimers.

could the child know? All over, down to her very hands, aa
she went on with her knitting, there was a kind of self-
consciousness that had a very odd effect upon me. I could not
tell what in the world to think of it. And as for supposing that
some mere common little accident, or a fright, or anything
outside of herself, had woke tier up to that look, you need not
tell me. I have not lived fifty years in this world for nothing.
I knew better. Whatever it was that changed Sarah's look,
the causes of it were deep down and secret in herself.

It was this of course that made me anxious and almost-
alarmed, for I could not but think she must have something on
her mind to make her look so. And when she beckon ad to me
that afternoon after dinner, as she did when she had anything
particular to say, I confess my heart went thump against my
breast, and I trembled all over. However, I went close up as
usual, and drew my chair towards her that I might hear.
Little Sara was close by. She could hear too if she pleased,
but Sarah took no notice of the child.

" Have you heard anything from Cresswell about Richard
Mortimer?" Sarah asked me quite sharply all at once.

" Why, no : he did not say anything yesterday when he was
here. Did you have any conversation with him ?"

"// Do I have any conversation with any one?" said
Sarah, in her bitter way. " I want you to bestir yourself about
this business, however. We must have an htir."

" It is odd how little I have thought about it since that day
— very odd," said I; " and I was quite in earnest before. I
wondered if Providence might, maybe, have taken it up now?
1 have seen such a thing : one falls off one's anxiety somehow,
one can't tell how ; and lo ! the reason is, that the thing's
coming about ail naturally without any help from you. We'll
be having the heir dropped down at the park gates some of
these days, all as right and natural as ever was."

I said this without thinking much about it ; just because it
was an idea of mine, that most times, when God lays a kind of
lull upon our anxieties and struggles, it really turns out to be
because He himself is taking them in hand ; but having said this
easy and calm, without anything particular in my mind, you
may judge how I was startled half out of my wits by Sarah
dashing down her knitting-pin out of her hand, stamping her
foot on the footstool, and half screaming out in her sharp,
strangled whisper, that sounded like the very voice of ra^e
itself—

" The fool ! the fool ! oh, the fool ! Shall T be obliged t*

TJie Last of the Mortimers. 87

leave my home and my seclusion and do it myself? 1 that
might have been so different ! Good God ! shall 1 be obliged
to do it — me I When I was a yo'ing girl I might have hoped
to die a duchess, — everybody said so, — and now, instead of
being cared for and shielded from the envious world, — people
were always envious of me since ever 1 remember, — must I go
trudging out to find this wretched cousin? Is this all the
gratitude and natural feeling you have? Good heaven! to put
such a thing upon me !"

She stopped, all panting and breathless, like a wild creature
that had relieved itself somehow with a yell or a cry ; but,
strange, strange, at that moment Ellis opened the door. 1
will never think again she does not hear. The sound caught
her in a moment. Her passion changed into that new
watching look quicker than I can tell ; and she sat with her
eyes fixed upon me, — for, poor soul, to be sure she could not
see through the screen behind her to find out what Ellis came
for, — as if she could have killed me for the least motion. I
got so excited myself that I could hardly see the name on the
card Ellis brought in. Sarah's looks, not to say her words,
had put it so clearly in my mind that something was going to
happen, that my self-possession almost forsook me. 1 let the
card flutter down out of my hand when I lifted it off the tray,
and did not hear a single syllable of what the man was saying
till he had repeated it all twice over. It was only a neighbour
who had sent over to ask for Miss Mortimer, having heard
Bomehow that Sarah was poorly. She heard him herself, how-
ever, and gave an answer — her compliments, and she was
quite well — before I knew what it was all about. If she had
boxed me well she could not have muddled my head half so
much as she had done now. When Ellis went away again,
and left me alone close by her, I quite shook in my chair.

But she had got over her rage as it seemed. She stooped
down to pick up her knitting-pin — with a little pettish
exclamation that nobody helped her now-a-days -just in her
usual way, and took up the dropt stitches in her knitting.
But I could very well see that her hand trembled. As she did
not say any more, I thought I might venture to draw back my
chair. But when she saw the motion she started, looked up at
me, and held up her hand. 1 was not to get so easily
away.

" I had no idea you minded it so much. Well, well, Sarah
cried I, in desperation, "I will write this moment to ui^.,
Mr. Cresswell on."

88 The Last q/ the Mortimers.

« And shout it all out, plaese, that the ehild may hear !''
said Sarah, with a spiteful look as if she could bite me. I
was actually afraid of her. I got up as fast as I could, and
went oU to the writing-table at the other end of the room.
Mhere was nothing I would not do to please her in a
rational way ; but, of all the vagaries she ever took up before,
what did this dreadful passion mean ?

CHAPTER XL

THE next day I had something to do in the village, which
was only about half a. mile from the Park gates; but little
Sara, when 1 asked her to go with me, had got some piece of
business to her fancy in the greenhouse, and was not disposed
to leave it, so I went off by myself. I went in, as I passed the
lodge, to ask for little Mary Williams, who had a cough which
1 quite expected would turn to hooping-cough, though her
mother would not believe it (I turned out to be right, of course).
Mrs. Williams was rather in a way, poor body, that morning.
Mary was worse and worse, with a flushed face and shocking
cough, and nothing would please her mother but that it was
inflammation, and the child would die. It is quite the strangest
thing in the world, among those sort of people, how soon they
make up their minds that their children are to die. I scolded
her well, which did her good, and promised her the liniment
we always have for hooping-cough, and said I should bring up
a picture-book for the child (it's^a good little thing when it is
well) from the new little shop in the village. This opened up,
as I found out, quite a new phase of poor Williams' trouble.

" I wouldn't encourage it ma'am, no sure, I wouldn't, not for
a hundred picture-books. 1 wouldn't go for to set up them as
'tices men out of their houses and lads fro' home. No! I seen
enough of that when poor old Williams was alive, and we was
all in Liverpool. It's all as one as the public-houses, ma'am. I
can't see no difference. Williams, it was his chapell ; and the
boy, it's his night-school and his reading. I don't see no good

The Last of the Mortimers. 89

of it. In the old man's time, many's the weary night I've sat
by myseV mending their bits o' things, and never a soul to
cheer me up ; and now, look'ee here, the boy's tooken to it ;

and if I'm to lose Mary "

" You ridiculous woman," cried I, while the poor creature
fell sobbing and took to her apron, " what's to make you lose
Mary ? The child's going in for hooping-cough, as sure ever
child was, and I see no reason in the world why she shouldn't
get over it nicely, with the spring coming on as well. Don't
fret ; trouble comes soon enough without going out of the way
to meet it. What's all this story you've been telling me about
poor Willie, and the shop in the village, and the night-school ?
foon't you know, you foolish woman, the night-school may be
the making of the boy?"

" I don't know nothink about it, ma'am, nor I don't want to
know," said our liberal-minded retainer. " I know it takes the
boy out o' the house most nights in the week ; and I sits a-
thinking upon my troubles, and listening to all the sounds in
the trees, sometimes moidered and sometimes scared. I'd clear
away thankful any night, even washing night, when I'm folding
for the mangle, to have him write his copy at home ; and have
a hearth-stone for him, though I say it as shouldn't, as bright
as a king's. But he's a deal grander nor the like o' that, he
is — he'll stay and read the papers and talk. Bother their
talk and their papers ! I ask you, ma'am, wouldn't Willie be
a deal better at home?"

" I shouldn't say but what I might perhaps think so too,"
said I ; u but then the gentlemen say not, and they should
know best."

"The gentlemen! and there's another worry, sure," said
Mrs. Williams ; " who would you think, ma'am, has been in
the village, but a Frenchman, a-spying all about, and asking
questions ; and had the impudence to come to my very door,
to the very park gates, to ask if I knowed a lady with a French
name that was here or hereabout. I answered him short, and
said I knew nothink about the French, and shut the door in his
face, begging your pardon, ma'am ; for, to be sure, he was after
no good, coming asking for outlandish ladies here."

" Very odd," said I, "I hope it's no robber, Williams. You
were quite right to shut the door in his face."

"And if I might make so bold," said Williams, coming closer
• and speaking low, "Jacob, he maintains it was a French fellow
with a mustache that scared Miss Sarah the day afore yester-
day. Jacob seen him, but took no notice ; and directly after

40 Zhe Last of the Mortimers.

Miss Sarah up and pulled the string, and told him to drive
round by Eden Castle, a good five-mile round, and to go quick.
You may depend Miss Sarah took him for a robber, or some-
think ; and I'm dead sure it was the same man."

I was very much startled by this, though I could scarcely tell
why ; but, of course, I would not let Williams suppose there
was any mystery in it. ' ' Very likely," said I ; " my sister goes
out so little, she's timid— but I am losing my time. Good-bye,
little Mary, I'll fetch you your picture-book ; and be sure you
*rub her chest well with the liniment. I have always found it
successful, and I've tried it for ten years."

When I had fairly got out of the lodge, I went along without
losing any more time, wonderfully puzzled in my own mind.
Here was a riddle I could neither understand nor find any key
to. After hearing little Sara's tale, and all she had to say
about the Italian, there was nothing so surprising in finding
him out here, if it should happen to be him, seeing the park
was only a few miles from Chester ; only that Sara showed
more interest in him than she had any call to do, and if he should
happen to be coming after her, it was a thing that should be
looked to. But why, in all the world, should Sarah be agitated
by the sight of him? That was the extraordinary circumstance.
As for supposing her to be alarmed at the idea of a robber, that,
of course, was the merest folly, and I never entertained the idea
for a moment. But if this were not the reason, what could the
reason be? I was entirely lost in bewilderment and consterna-
tion. Could it be the mere passing face of a stranger which
made her so deeply anxious as to the name of the visitor who
called next day, and the entrance of Ellis with the card?
How, in all the world, could a wandering Italian, seeking or
pretending to seek for somebody no one had ever heard of,
make any difference to Sarah ? The more I turned it Qver the
moi'e 1 was mystified. I could not even guess at any meaning
in it ; but to drive five miles round out of her way, to be so
excited all at once about the heir of the Mortimers, and to have
got such a strange, watchful, vigilant look on her face, these
changes could not come from nothing: but I had not the merest
shadow of a clue to guide me in connecting little Sara's Italian,
if it was he, with my sister Sarah's agitation and excitement.
I stopped short at this, and could not go a step further ; if there
was any connection between the two — if there was nothing else
to account for Sarah's trouble which 1 did not know of — then,
the whole affair was the most extraordinary mystery I ever
came across.

The Last of the Mortimers. 41

I walked pretty smartly down to the village while I was
occupied with these thoughts. A nice little village ours was,
though I can't really say whether you would have called it
picturesque. A little bit of a thread of a stream ran along
the lower edge of the common, and found its way som ';liovv,
all by itself, little thing as it was, down to the Dee. At that
time of year the common was rather chilly to look at, the
grass and the gorse bushes being a good bit blackened by
frost, which had set in pretty sharply. I remember noticing,
as I passed, that Dame Marsden, whose cottage is the first you
come to on the left-hand side, just on the edge of the common,
had her washing out, some of the things, after the line was
full, being spread on the gorse, and that the shirts were lying
there with their stiff white arms stuck out like pokers, as hard
with the frost as if they had been made of wood. But after
you pass the first few cottages, which just lie here and there,
you come to a snug bit of street, with the Rectory garden and
a peep of the house on one side, and the doctor's house staring
straight at it across the road ; and the other better houses of
the village thrusting forward on both sides, as if to take care
of the aristocracy, and keep them cosy. Just before you come
to the doctor's was the new shop I had spoken of at the lodge.
It was got up by the doctor, and was going to be a failure. It
had all kinds of cheap books and papers, and of all things in
the world, a reading room ! And the shopkeeper, who was
rather a smart young fellow, taught a night school after the
shop was over. I dare to say it wasn't a bad place ; but, of
course, in a bit of a rural village like ours, it was easy to see it
would never succeed.

Into this shop, however, I went to get little Mary Williams
her picture-book ; and I can't but say I was very much struck
and surprised to see a stranger standing there whom I had
never seen before, and to hear roars of laughter coming out of
the shop and drawing the children about the door. The
stranger was one of the fattest men I ever saw : not that he
was dreadfully big or unwieldy, — on the contrary, he was
spinning about on his toes in a way that would have been
a trial to the lightest Englishman. His fatness was so beauti-
fully distributed that it was amazing to see. His arms in t-h«*
coat-sleeves which fitted them like the covers of a cushion,
his short plump fingers, all were in perfect keeping. As for
• his face, that was nearly lost in beard. When I entered the
shop he had seized his beard with one of his fat hands, in the
of his monologue ; for he was talking, I have no

42 Tfo Last of the Mortimers.

doubt, iii r very animated and lively manner, if any one
could have understood a word of what he said. Now, I confess
I felt a good deal of sympathy with the poor fellow ; for I
remember quite well the only time I ever was abroad feeling
an odd sort of conviction that if I only spoke very clear, plain,
distinct English, and spoke loud enough, people, after a while,
must come to understand me. When he saw me he made a
spin clean out of my way, took off the queer hat he had on,
made me a bow, and stopped talking till I had done^ my
business ; which was the most civil thing 1 had seen in a
stranger for many a day. And the face was such a jolly,
honest sort of face that, in spite of my prejudice against
foreigners, I felt quite disarmed all at once.

"Who is he'? What is he saying?" said J to the shop-
people.

" Goodness knows !" cried old Mrs. Taylor, the shopkeeper's
mother. "I know no more on't nor if it was a dog. Lord,
Miss Milly ! to think of poor creatures brought up from their
cradles to talk sicli stuff as that !"

" I was brought up at a grammar-school, ma'am," sr.id
young Taylor himself, with a blush ; u where it isn't modern
languages, you know, ma'am, that's the great thing ; and,
though I know the grammar, I'm not very well up in my
French."

Here his little sister, who had kept nudging him all this
time, suddenly whispered, with her face growing crimson,
"• Oh, Alfred ! ask Miss Milly ! — to be sure she knows."

And, to tell the truth, though 1 knew I could never keep up
a conversation, I had been privately conning over in my own
mind a little scrap of French, though whether he was French
or not I knew no more than Jenny Taylor. So I faced round
boldly enough, not being afraid of any criticism, and fired off
my interrogation at the good-humoured fat fellow. He looked
so blank after I had spoken that it was quite apparent he did
not understand a word of it. Pie made a profusion of bows.
He entered into a long and animated explanation, which sent
Jenny Taylor into fits of laughter, and filled her mother with
commiseration. But I caught two words, and these con-
founded me. The first was "Italiano," over and over re-
peated ; the second which he pronounced, pointing out to the
street with many lively gestures, was " padrone." I com-
prehended the matter all at once, and it made my heart, beat.
This was the servant whom little Sara had described, and the
master, the " padrone," was in the village pursubg hi,a

The Last of the Mortimers. 43

extraordinary inquiries, whatever they were, here. For the
moment I could not help being agitated; I felt, I cannot
explain why, as if I were on the eve of finding out something.
I asked him eagerly, in English, where his master was ; and
again received a voluble and smiling answer, I have no doubt
in very good Italian. Then we shook our heads mutually and
laughed, neither quite convinced that the other could not
understand if he or she would. But the end was that I got
my picture-book and left the shop without ascertaining ;my-
thing about the padrone. Perhaps it was just as well. Why
should I go and thrust myself into mysteries and troubles
which did not make any call upon me ?

CHAPTER XII.

I HAD a good many little errands in the village, and stayed
there for some time. It was dusk when 1 turned to go
home. Very nice the village looks at dusk, I assure you — the
rectory windows beginning to shine through the trees, and the
doctor's dining-room answering opposite as if by a kind of
reflection ; but no lamps or candles lighted yet in the other
village houses, only the warm glow of the fire shining through
the little muslin blind on the geraniums in the window ; and,
perhaps, the mother standing at the door to look out for the
boys at play, or to see if it is time for father's coming
home. l)ame Marsden's shirts were still lying stiff and stark
like ghosts upon the gorse bushes ; and some of the early
labourers began to come tramping heavily down the road with
their long, slow, heavy steps. I had just stopped to ask James
Hobson for his old father, when my share of the adventure
came. I call it the adventure, because I suppose, somehow,
we were all in it — Sarah, little Sara Cresswell, and me.

Just when that good Jem had gone on — such a fellow he is,
too ! keeps his old father like a prince ! — another sort of a
figure appeared before the light ; and, bless me, to think I

D

44 The Last of the Mortimers.

should have forgotten that circumstance ! — of course it was the
same figure that started so suddenly past me that evening
when I stood looking for Sarah at the gate. He took off his
hat to me. in the half light, and stopped. I stopped also, I
cannot tell why. So far as 1 could see, a handsome young
man, not so dark as one expects to see an Italian, and none of
that sort of French Ihowman look — you know what I mean —
that these sort of people generally have : on the contrary, a
look very much as if he were a gentleman : only, if I may say
it, more innocent, more like a child in his ways than the young
men are now-a-days. 1 did not see all this just in a moment,
you may be sure. Indeed, I rather felt annoyed and dis»
pleased when the stranger stopped me on the road — my own
road, that seemed to belong to me as much as the staircase or
corridor at home. If he had not been possessed of a kind of
ingratiating, conciliatory sort of manner, as these foreigners
mostly have, I should scarcely have given him a civil answer,
1 do believe.

u Pardon, Madame " — not Madam, you perceive, which is
the stiffest, ugliest word that can be used in English — and I
can't make out how, by putting an e to the end of it, and
laying the emphasis on the last syllable, it can be made so
deferential and full of respect as the French word sounds to
English ears — " pardon, Madame ; I was taking the liberty to
make inquiries in your village, and when I am so fortunate as
to make an encounter with yourself, I think it a very happy
accident. Will Madame permit me to ask her a question ;
only one, — it is very important to me?"

"Sir," said I, being a little struck with his language,
and still more with his voice, which seemed to recall to me
some other voice I had once known, uyou speak very good
English."

His hat was off again, of course, in a moment to acknowledge
the compliment ; but dark as it was. I could neither overlook
nor could I in the least understand, the singular, half pathetic,
melancholy look he gave me as he answered. u 1 had an
English mother," said the young foreigner ; and he looked at
me in the darkness, and in my complete ignorance of him, as if
somehow I, plain Millicent Mortimer, a single woman over fifty,
and living among my own people, either knew something about
his mother, or had done her an injury, or was hiding her up
somewhere, or I don't know what. I could not tell anybody
how utterly confounded and thunderstruck I was. I had nearly
screamed out : »'I? What do I know about your mother V"

The Last of the Mortimers. 45

so ranch impression did it have on me. After all it is wonderful
how these foreigners do talk in this underhand sort of way with
their eyes. I declare I do not so much wonder at the influence
they often get over young creatures. That sort of thing is
wonderfully impressive to the imagination.

He paused quite in a natural, urtful sort of way, to let the
look have its full effect ; and he must have seen I was startled
too ; for though I was old enough to have been his mother, I
was, of course, but a plain Englishwoman, and had no power
over my lace.

" Madame," said the stranger with a little more vehemence,
and a motion of his arm which looked as if he might fall into
regular gesticulating, just what disgusts one most, " to find the
Countess Sermoneta is the object of my life !"

" I am very sorry I can't help you," said I, quite restored to
myself by this, which I was, so to speak, prepared for ; " I
never heard of such a person ; there's no one of that name in
this quarter, nor hasn't been, I am sure, these thirty years."

Seeing 1 was disposed to push past, my new acquaintance
stood aside, and took off again that everlasting hat.

" I will not detain Madame," he said in a voice that, I con-
fess, rather went to my heart a little, as if I had been cruel to
him; "but Madame will not judge hardly of my case. I came
to find one whom I thought I had but to name ; and I find her
not, nor her name, nor any sign that she was ever here. Yet I
must find her, living or dead ; I made it a promise to my father
on his death-bed. Madame will not wonder if I search, ask,
look everywhere ; I cannot do otherwise. Pardon that I £.ay
so mu 'h ; I will detain Madame no more."

And so he stood aside with another salute. Still he took off
his hat like a gentleman — no sort of flourish — a little more dis-
tinctly raised from his head, perhaps, than people do now-a-
days ; but nothing in bad taste; and just in proportion to his
declaration that he would not detain me, I grew, if I must con-
ittvi it, more and more willing to be detained. I did not go on
•vyr-'n he stood out pf-my way, but rather fell a little back, and
turned more towards him than I had yet done. Dame Marsden
had just lighted her lamp, and it cast a sort of glimmery, un-
certain light upon the face of my new acquaintance ; undeniably
a handsome young man. I like good-looking people wherever
1 iiml thorn; and that was not sll. Somehow, through his
beard — which I daresay people who like such appendages would
have thought quite handsome — there seemed to me to look, by
glimpses, some face i had known long ago ; and his voice,

i& Tlie Last of the Mortimers.

foreign as it was, had a tone, just an occasional inde-
scribable note, which reminded me of some other voice, I
could not tell whom belonging to. It was very strange ; and
one forgets stories that one has no personal interest in. Did I
ever hear of any country person that had married an Italian ?
for somehow I had jumped to the conclusion that it was his
mother he sought.

" It is very odd," said I, " I can fancy I have heard a voice
like yours somewhere long ago. I seem to feel as if I knew
you. I don't remember ever hearing the name you want ; but
I'll consult my sister and an old servant we have, and try to
find out, — Sermoneta ! I certainly do not recollect ever hear-
ing the name, But it is very sad you should be so disappointed.
If you will come to the Park some day next week and ask for
Miss Millicent, I will do my best to find out for you if anybody
knows the name."

He made a great many exclamations of thanks, which, to be
sure, I could have dispensed with, and paused a little again in
a hesitating way when I wanted to go on. At last he'begau
quite in a new tone ; and this was the oddest part of all.

" If Madame should find, on inquiring, that the bearer of
this name did not will to bear it ; if there might be reasons to
conceal that name ; — if the lady, who is the Contessa, would
but see me, would but let me know "

" Sir," said I, interrupting the young fellow all at once, !'ig
it an English lady you are speaking of? English ladies do
not conceal their names. Reason or not, we own to the name
that belongs to us in this country. No, no, I know nothing
about such a possibility. I don't believe in it either. If I can
hear of a Countess Sermoneta, I'll let you know ; but as for
anybody denying their own name, you must not think such
things happen here. Good night. You're not accustomed to
England, I can see. You must not think me impatient; but
that's not how we do things in our country. Come to the
Park, all the same ; and I shall do what I can to find out
whether anybody remembers what you want to know,"

This time he did not make any answer, only drew back a
step, and so got quite out of the light of Dame Marsden's
window. He seemed to be silenced by what I had said, and I
went on quite briskly, a little stimulated, I confess, by that
little encounter, and the exertion of breaking my spear for
English honour. Denying one's name, indeed! Of course
we have our faults like other people ; but who ever heard of
an English person (not speaking or thieves, or sugb creatures,

TJie Last of Hie Mortimen. 4?

of course), denying his name ! The thing was quite pre-
posterous. It quite warmed me up as 1 hastened back to the
Park, though I was rather later than usual, and the night had
fallen dark all at once ; and, to be sure, this kept me from all
those uncomfortable ideas — that perhaps, it might ben decep-
tion after all ; and what if it were a contrivance to be admitted
to the Park? and it might, even, for anything I knew, be all a
fortune-hu:)ter'.s device to £~et introdmoi to S'u'-i Crepswoll —
which disturbed my mind sadly, though 1 felt mucn asLawedof
them alter I hud time for reaction at home.

48 The Last of the Mortimers.

PAET II.

THE LIEUTENANT'S WI7PI.

CHAPTER I.

I WILL tell yo'j exactly how it all happened.
I have been an orphan all ray life : at least, if tha*j ?«>, a
little Irish, 1 mean that 1 never knevr, or saw, that 1 know oi',
either my father or my mother. Sad enough in the bec.b of
ca?es, and mine was not the best case you could think of. I
don't know who paid for me when 1 was a child. Some of
mamma's relations, I suppose, among them ; and of all people
in the world to trust a poor little orphan child to, think of
fixing upon a soldier's wife, following the regiment ! That is
how I have always been half a soldier myself ; and one reason,
perhaps, if any reason was necessary but his dear, good,
tender-hearted self, why I was so ready, when Harry asked
me, to do the most foolish thing in the world.

Though I say they made a strange choice in leaving me
with dear Nurse Kichards, I don't mean that it was not, so far
as the woman was concerned, the very best choice that
possibly could have been made. Richards himself was a
sergeant, and she was quite a superior woman ; but much
more to the purpose than that, she had been my very own
nurse, having taken me when poor mamma died. She had
lost her baby, and I had lost my mother ; and it was for real
love, and not for hire, that Nurse Kichards took the charge of
me. Sku used to work hard, and deny herself many things, I

The Last of the Mortimers.

know, to keep the little house, or the snug lodgings we always
had, as far off from the barracks as Richards would allow
them to be. I know she could not possibly have had- enough
money for me to make up for what she spent on my account ;
but I don't think it was hard to her, working and sparing for
the poor orphan little girl. I know such things by my own
experience now. It was sweet to her to labour, and contrive,
and do a hundred things I knew nothing about, for " the
child's" sake. I would do it all over again, and thankful, for
her sake. Ah, that I would ! Pain and trouble are sweet for
those one loves.

She did her duty by me too, if ever woman did. She never
would let me forget that I was a lady, as she said. She used
to lecture me by the hour about many a thing being fit enough
for the other children which was not becoming for me, till 1
came to believe her as children do, and gave myself little airs
as was natural. I got no education, to be sure, but reading
and writing, and needlework, and how to do most things
about a house. So far as 1 have gone into life yet it has been
a very good education to me. I don't doubt much more
serviceable than if I had been at boarding-school, as poor
Aunt Connor used to lament, and wish I had ; but it was
a sad wandering life for all that. We were in Edinburgh the
first that I can recollect. I remember as clear as possible, as
if it were in a dream, the great Castle Rock standing high up
out of the town, and whatever was ado in the skies, sunshine,
or moonlight, or clouds, or a thunder-storm, or whatever was
going on, always taking that for its centre, as 1 imagined. I
could fancy still, if I shut my eyes, that I saw the grey
building up high in the blue air, with the lights twinkling in
the windows half way up to the stars ; and heard the trumpet
pealing out with a kind of wistful sound, bringing images to
me, a soldier's child, of men straying about, lost among the
darkling fields, or bewildered in the streets, when the recall
sounded far up over their heads in that calm inaccessible
height. I see that very Castle Rock now again, not in
imagination, but with my real eyes. It is just the same as
ever, though I am so very different. It is my first love, and
I am loyal to it. Not being of any country, for I am some
Irish, and some Welsh, and some Scotch, and Harry is a pure
thorough-bred Englishman, I can quite afford to be in love
with Edinburgh Castle. The regiment went to Swansea after
it left Edinburgh, and then to Belfast, and we were in dreadful
terror of being sent to Canada, where Nurse Richards declared

50 The Last of the Mortimers.

ehc never would take " the child." However, it never came tfl
trying. At Belfast, dear tender soul, she died. Ah me ! ah
me ! 1 could not think how the kind Lord could leave me
behind, so wretched as I was ; but He knew better than I did.
I was only fifteen ; I humbly hope, now I'm twenty, 1 have a
great deal more yet to do in the world. But 1 thought of
nothing then except only what a comfort it would be to slip
into the coffin beside her and be laid down quietly in lier
grave.

I did not know a single relation I had, if, indeed, I had any ;
Aunt Connor, I know, used to send the money for me ; but
Nurse Richards had often told me she was not my real aunt ;
only my uncle's wife, and he was dead. So, though she sup-
ported me, she had no right to love me ; and she couldn't love
me, and did not, that is certain ; for I was fifteen, and had
never seen her, nor a single relation in the world. However,
when she heard of Nurse Richards' death, Aunt Connor sent
her maid for me. It is very fortunate, Bridget said, we were
in Belfast, and no great distance off, for if it had been in
England, over the seas, there was no telling what might have
happened. I was very unwilling to go with Bridget. I struggled
very much, and spoke to Richards about it. I said I would
much rather go into service, where at least I could be near
her grave ; but it was of no use speaking. I was obliged to
obey.

Aunt Connor lived in Dublin ; and when I got to her house
and saw the footman, and the page in his livery, and all the
grandeur about the house, I thought really that Aunt Connor
must be a very great lady. Harry says the house was shabby-
fine, and everything vulgar about it ; but I cannot say I saw
that. Perhaps I am not so good a judge as Harry, never having
seen anything of the kind before. I do believe that she really
was very kind to me in her way ; I must say so, whatever
Harry thinks. Harry says she behaved atrociously, and was
jealous of me because I was prettier than her own girls (which
is all Harry's nonsense), and a great deal more like that — all in
the Cinderella style, you know, where the two young ladies are
spiteful and ugly, and the little girl in the kitchen is quite an
angel. I love Cinderella ; but all the same, Harry's story is not
true. I underscore the words to convince him if he should ever
see this. Alicia and Patricia were very handsome girls,— as
different from me as possible — and good girls too, and always
had a kind word for their poor little coilsin. They did not take
me to all their gaieties, to be sure, I am sure I did not wish it.

The Last of Hie Mortimer*. 51

I was much happier in the nursery. After I had seen Harry
ft few times, perhaps I did grudge going clown so seldom to the
drawing-room ; and used to keep wondering in my heart which
of them he was fond of, and had many a cry over it. But now
^that it is all past, and I see more clearly, I know they were very
'' kind indeed, considering. They were never, all the time I was
there, unfeeling to me; they liked me, and I liked them:
nothing in the world of your Cinderella story. If I had a nice
house, and was rich enough to have a visitor, there is nothing
I should like better than to have Patricia (her sister is married)
come to see me. It would be pleasant to see her bright Irish
face. No, honestly, I cannot complain of Aunt Connor. I am
very sorry I deceived her for an honr — she was never unkind to
me.

CHAPTER II.

I DID not think I could have said half a dozen words about
myself without telling all the story of my marriage. But
what 1 have said was necessary to keep you from blaming me so
much. For, after all, I was a young, friendless, desolate creature,
longing very much to have somebody belonging to me, some-
body of my very own, and with no very clear natural duty to
Aunt Connor, though she had paid for bringing me up. I say
again she was kind to me, and so were the girls ; but principally
because it was not in their nature to be unkind to anybody, and
not because they had a particular affection for me. And that
is what one wants, whatever people may choose to say. One
might die of longing for love though one was surrounded with
kindness. Ah, yes, I am sure of it : even a little unkindness
from people we belong to, and who belong to us, one can bear
it. To have nobody belonging to you is the saddest thing ia
the world.

I never was melancholy or pensive, or anything like that.
After a while, when I could think of Nurse llichards without

62 The Last of the Mortimers.

breaking my heart, I got just as cheerful as other girls of my
age, and enjoyed whatever little bit of pleasure came to me.
But after I began to know Harry — after it began to dawn upon
my mind that there might be somebody in the world who would
take an interest in all my little concerns, for no better reason
than that they belonged to me, not for kindness or compassion,
I felt as if 1 were coining to life all at once. I have had some
doubts since whether it was what people call love ; perhaps I
would have been shyer had it been so, and 1 don't think I ever
was shy to speak of. I was so glad, so thankful, to the bottom
of my heart, to think of having somebody belonging to me. If
we could have done something to make ourselves real brother
and sister, I believe I should have been just as glad. However,
of course that was impossible. All the officers used to come to
Aunt Connor's ; she was always good-tempered and pleasant,
and glad to see them, though I am sure she would not have
allowed her girls to marry any of those poor lieutenants. How-
ever, I happened to be in the drawing-room a good many times
when Harry came first. Nobody noticed that we two were
always getting together for a time ; but when my aunt did
observe it, she was angry, and said I was ilirting, and i was
not to corne downstairs any more in the evening. I thought I
didn't mind ; I never had minded before. But I did feel this.
I made quite sure Harry was falling in love with one of my
cousins, and used to wonder which it would be, and cry. Crying
by one's self does not improve one's looks ; and when I met
Harry the first day, by real accident, he looked so anxious and
concerned about me, that it quite went to rny heart. My aunt
used to send me on her particular errands at that time, — to order
things for the dinner-parties, and to match ribbons, and to take
gloves to be cleaned ; things the servants could not do properly.
She used to say if I kept my veil down, and walked very
steadily, nobody would ever molest me ; and nobody ever did.
Only Harry got to know the times I generally went out, and
always happened to meet me somewhere. Oh yes, it was very
wrong; very, very wrong . if I nacl ever had a mother I could
not have forgiven myself. But it was such a comfort to see
his face brighten up as he caught sight of me. No one could
tell how cheering it was except one as friendless as me. So, as
you may suppose, it went on from lens to more, and at last (after
we had been asked in church, and I don't know all what) Harry
and J called in at a far-off little church one morning, and were
married. I had not thought very much about it till it was over ;
but the moment it was fairly over I full into the greatest panic

The Last of the Mortimers. 53

I ever was in, in a%my life. What if Aunt Connor should find
us out? If she did find us out, what would be done to us?
what would happen to Harry? I almost think he must have
carried me out of church, my head quite spun round upon my
shoulders. I fell into such a tremble that my limbs would not
support me. When were out of the church, — it was a summer
morning, beautiful and sweet, and the air so pleasant that it
made one happy to breathe it, — we two foolish young creatures
looked with a kind of awe into each other's faces. Harry was
pale as well as me. I do believe he was in a panic too. " Oh,
Harry, what have we done ?" cried I with a little gasp. He
burst out into a great trembling laugh. u What we can never
undo, Milly darling ; nor anybody else for us," said he ; " and
God be praised !" I could not say another word. We neither
of us could speak any more ; we went silently along through the
air, so sweet and sunny, trembling and holding each other close,
to my aunt's door, where we were to part. I think we must
have gone gliding along like fairies, on the wings that grow to
people's shoulders at those wonderful moments ; surely we did
not walk over the common pavement like ordinary people.
But the common door, the white steps, the blank front of Aunt
Connor's house, disenchanted us. 1 could not stop to say good-
bye, but only gave him a frightened look, and ran in, for the
door was fortunately open. Oh, how cold and trembling I felt
when I shut my room door, and was safe in, and knew it was
all over ! I took off my white frock, all in awe and terror of
myself. But when I had put on my morning dress, and looked
at myself in the glass, it was not Milly Mortimer ! / knew it
was not Milly Mortimer. I fastened my ring so that I could
wear it round my neck under my high dress, without anybody
knowing ; but already it had made a mark round my finger.
I was married ! Oh dear, dear, and to think I could not tell
anybody ! 1 never had a secret all my life before. I went
down on my knees in the corner, and asked God to forgive me,
and to take care of us two poor children that did not know
what we were doing. Then I had to get up and open my door,
and go out in the every-day house. I can't tell how I did it.
Of all the wonders in my life, there is none like that. I can
fancy how I was led on to consent to be married ; but how did
I ever go downstairs and do my sewing, and eat my din nor,
and look Aunt Connor in the face ? I suppose I must have
done it somehow without making them suspect anything ; and
I don't wonder my aunt called me a little hypocrite, What &
hypocrite I must have been!

64 The Last of tie Mortimers*

I did not see Harry next day, and felt vc#y miserable ; cold,
ns if a sudden frost had come on in the middle of summer. But
the next morning after, looking out of my window very early,
who should I see looking up at the house but himself ! 'IhaiJ
moment I got back into the sun. We belonged to each other ;
everything, even to the dress I had on, Harry was pleased to
know about. Ah, what a difference ! I cannot say anything
else, though it may be very improper. After that moment I
never was ashamed again of what I had done, nor frightened,
nor sorry. If it was wrong, it's a pity, and I don't defend
myself; but from that time I thought only that I had somebody
belonging to me ; that I dared not get ill, or mope, or die. or
do any foolish thing ; that I had Harry to think of, and do for,
and take care of. Ah, that was different from doing Aunt
Connor's messages. It was not being married, it was being
born — it was coining to life.

CHAPTER III.

\7'OtT are not to suppose, however, that we did not pay for
JL our foolishness. If I had been a well-brought up girl
living at home, I should have been perfectly wretched in that
strange, feverish, secret life in which everything felt like guilt ;
and, as it was, the excitement and feeling of secrecy wore me
out day by day. Poor Harry, too, got quite harassed and
wretched looking. This that we had done certainly did not
make us happy. Harry still came to the house for the chance
of seeing me ; and imagine what I felt to know that he was in
tiie drawing-room, and /, Us wife, sitting upstairs, after the
little children had gone to bed, sewing in the quiet nursery! I
don't know how I ever endured it ; and to hear Alicia and
Patricia next morning saying to each other what a bear that
young Langham had grown ! Once or twice, when I was
allowed to be downstairs, it was worse and worse. If one of
the ether gentlemen so much as looked at me, Harry flushed up

The Last of the Mortimers. 65

and looked furious. Twenty times in a night I tho ight he
would have interfered and made a scene ; but all the time we
dared scarcely speak to each other ; and I am sure Aunt Connor
never thought we were flirting then. When I went out, as
before, on my aunt's errands, with my veil down, Harry,
instead of being pleased to meet me, as he used to be, was so
cross and unhappy that it was quite dreadful to be with him.
And he would come about the house looking up at the windows
at all kinds of improper times, quite in an open way, as if he
were defying Aunt Connor. I was quite in a fever night and
day ; I never knew what might happen any minute. He could
not bear so much as to think of other people ordering me about,
and making me do things I did not want to do. 1 am sure it
is very good of Harry to be so kind and fond of me as he is ;
for I feel certain that, for the first three months, our marriage
made him miserable, injured his health, and his temper, and his
appetite, and everything. You may say, why did we keep it
secret ? The reason was this, that he was to come in to a little
money, which his uncle, who was his only relation, had pro-
mised him on his birthday, and which he ought to have got
before now; and poor Harry thought every day it might come,
and was always waiting. But unless it was that promised
present, he had nothing in the world but his lieutenant's pay.

However, of course, this state of things could not go on.
One day I had gone out to take some gloves to be cleaned, and
Harry, of course, had met me. We were going along very
quiet, not saying much to each other, for he had been in one of
his troublesome humours, having got a letter from his uncle
without a word in it about the money, and I bad been begging
him to have patience a little, when all at once my heart gave a
jump, and I knew the crisis had come. There, straight before
us, crossing the road, was Aunt Connor, with her great eyes
fixed upon Harry and me !

I gave a little cry and looked round. If there had been any
cross street or opening near I should have run away, and never
looked either of them in the face again; but there was not
a single opening in all the houses. I clasped my hands together
tight, and stood still, with something throbbing so in my head
that I thought it would burst. I did not see Harry nor
anything, only Aunt Connor coining up to me whom i had
deceived.

She grasped hold of me by the arm as soon as ever she earns
up. " Oh, you shameless, ungrateful creature ! Is this what
you hare come to after all mv care of you? This is how you

66 The Last of the Mortimers.

take your walks, is it, Miss Mortimer? Oh, gDod heavens 1
was ever simple woman so taken in and imposed upon ? Oh,
you wicked, foolish, thoughtless thing! do you know you're
going to ruin? do you know you're seeking your own
destruction ? do you know ? — Lord save us, I don't know what
words to say to you! Haven't you heard what comes to young
girls that behave so? Ob, you young scapegrace! how dare
you bring such a disgrace on my house !"

" Hold your tongue, you old witch," said Harry, who was
perfectly wild with rage, as I could hear by the sound of his
voice, for 1 dared not turn my head to look at him. But there
he was, grasping hold of my hand and holding me up. "Take
your hand off my wife's arm, Mrs. Connor. What ! you dare
venture to speak about disgrace and destruction after sending
her out defenceless day after day. She has had somebody to
ditfend her, though you took no trouble about it. Yes, A i illy
darling, I am thankful it has come at last. Madam, take away
your hand ; she is my wife."

Aunt Connor fell back from me perfectly speechless, holding
up her two hands. We two stood opposite. Harry holding my
hand drawn through his arm. I thought I should have sunk
into the ground ; and yet I felt so happy and proud I could
have cried with joy. Yes, it was quite true ; I was not all by
•Myself to fight my own battles. We two belonged to each
oi her, and all the world could not make it otherwise. I could
not say a word, and I. did not mind. L could leave it all to
I lurry . Henceforward he would stand up for me before all the
world.

I really cannot tell, after that, what Aunt Connor said. I re-
member that Harry wanted to take me away at on.ce to his lodg-
ings, and said he would not allow me to go home with her ; and
fell.' took hold of my arm again, and declared she would not let me
gi > till she had proof he was telling the truth about our marriage,
riu end of it all was that we both went home with her. She was
dreadfully angry, — speechless with rage and dismay ; but after
just the first she managed to keep proper and decorous in what
she said, being in the street, and not wishing to make a scene
or gather a crowd. She took us into the library and had it out
there. Oh, what names she called me ! — not only deceitful and
ungrateful, but, what was far worse, light and easily won ; and
warned Harry against me, that I'd deceive him as well. When
she said that it roused me ; and I don't know what I should
have said if Harry had not drawn me aside quite quietly and
whispered, " Leave it all to me." I did ; I never said a'-word

The Last of the Mortimers. 67

for myself. I put my cause into his hands. To be answered
for, and have my defence undertaken so, did a great deal more
than make up to me for anything that could be said. It was
all very agitating and dreadful, however ; and I could not help
thinking that most likely Harry's uncle, when he heard what a
foolish marriage his nephew had made, would not send that
money, and Harry would have me to provide for, and so little,
so very little to do it with ; and most likely all his brother
officers making fun of him to each other for being so foolish.
Ah ! now I felt how foolish we had been.

" Milly must come home with me," said Harry. " If I
could scarcely endure her remaining here while it was all a
secret, you may suppose how impossible it is that I can endure
it now. I thank you very much, Mrs. Connor, for finding us
out; and don't think," he said, changing his look in a moment,
" that I forget or will forget what actual kindness you may
have shown to my wife. But she is my wife : she must not do
other people's business, or live in any house but her own.
Mrs. Connor will let you put your things together, Milly
darling, for I cannot leave you behind again."

" Well, young people," said Aunt Connor, " I have seen a
great deal, and come through a great deal in my life, but
such boldness and unconcern I never did see before. Why,
you don't even look ashamed of yourselves ! — not Miss here,
that is going to be at the head of her own establishment, in
the parlour over Mrs. Grogram's shop, with boots lying about
in all the corners, and a cigar-box on the mantelshelf. How-
ever, Mr. Langham, I am not such an old witch as you think
for. I won't let my poor Connor's niece go off like this, all
of a sudden, with a young man that has never made the least
preparation for her. I am not throwing any doubt upon your
marriage, nor meaning any scandal upon the lieutenant, Miss
Milly, — you need not flush up ; but what do you suppose his
landlady would say if- he came in with a young lady by his
side, and said he had brought home his wife ? Do you think
she'd believe in you, or give you proper respect, you un-
fortunate young creature ? No, no ; I'll do my duty by you,
whether you will or no. Let Mr. Langham go home and
make things a little ready for a lady. She's a lady by both
sides of the house, I can tell you, Mr. Langham; and I've
heard her poor papa say might come in for a great estate, if
she lived. Any how, she's poor Connor's niece, and she shan't
go out of my house in an unbecoming manner. Go homo and
set your place in order for a bride ; and since it must foe so,

63 The Last of tJie Mortimers.

come back for Milly ; but out of this door she's not going to-
night. Now be easy, — be easy. I have had to do with hsr
for eighteen years, and you have had to do with her for a
month or two. It's not respectable, I tell you, you two*'
young fools. AVliat ! do you think I'll make away with her, if
you leave her here while you make things decent at home V"

Neither Harry nor 1 could resist kindness; and Aunt
Connor was kind, as nobody could deny; but he blushed,

Eoor fellow, and looked uncomfortable, and looked at me to
clp him out this time. " Harry has no money, no more than I
have," said I; "it's his wife that must make things tidy at
home."

A kind of strange spasm went over Aunt Connor's face, as
if she had something to say and couldn't, or wouldn't. She
pursed up her lips all at once, and went away hastily to the
Dthcr end of the room to pick up something, — something that
had nothing at all to do with us or our business. " Weil,
well, do as you like," she said, in a curious choked voice.
When she turned away from us, Harry drew me close to him
to consult what we should do. It was quite true about the
boots, he said, with a blush and a laugh ; should I mind V
Certainly I did'nt mind ; but I thought, on the Avhole, it wa;i
best not to vex Aunt Connor any more, but to take her advice,
— he to leave me here to-night, and fetch me home to-morrow.
Fetch me home 1 I that had never known such a thing in all
my life.

\Vc parted for another day with that agreement ; and,
strange as people may think it, I was quite a heroine in
Aunt Connor's house that night. The girJs both came up to
my room and made me tell them all about it, and laughed and
kissed me, and teased me, and cried over me, and did all sorts
of kind foolish things. They found out my ring tied round
my neck, and made me put it on ; and they kept constantly
running back and forward from their own room to mine with
little presents for me. Not much, to be sure ; but I was only
a girl, though I was married, and liked their. There was
somebody to dinner, so I did not go do.vnstairs , but when the
strangers were gone, there was a liu.e supper in my honour,
and Aunt Connor made some negus with her own hand, and
ordered them all to drink dear Milly's health the last night she
would be at home. I could have really thought they loved
me that last night. They did not, however ; only, though it
might not be very steady or constant, they were kind, kind at
the heart ; and when one was just at the turn of one's life,

The Last of tlie Mortimers. 59

and all one's heait moved and excited, they could no moro
have refused their sympathy than they could have denied
their nature ; and being very much shocked and angry at first
did not make the least difference to this. The girls were
twenty times fonder of me that night than if I had beeii
married ever so properly, — dear, kind, foolish Irish hearts!

But all the while there was a strange uneasy look in Aunt
Connor's face. I divined somehow, 1 cannot tell by what
means, that there was something she ought to tell me which
she either was afraid or unwilling to let me know, or haA
some object in keeping from me. She must be an innoccnb
woman, surely, or 1 never couJd have read that so clear in her
face.

CHAPTER IV.

THE next morning Harry came radiant, quite like a new
man. Was it all for joy of taking me home? or, perhaps
he had got the money on this most convenient of all mornings?
but such things don't often happen just at the most suitable
time. He came rushing in with a kind of shout, — u Milly,
•we've orders to march ; we're going next week. Hurrah !"
cried Harry.

" And why hurrah ?" said I.

''We'll have ourselves to ourselves, and nobody in our way,"
lie said ; but just then seeing Aunt Connor, who was at the
other end of the room, stopped short and looked a little con-
fused. He had not intended to say anything ill-natured to
her.

"Oh, I am not affronted; you're excusable, you're quite
excusable," said Aunt Connor; "and I believe it is very lucky;
you'll have a fresh start, and nobody will know how foolish
you have been. I was too angry to ask yesterday, or to think
of anything but that deluded child there* that thinks herself 3Q
j — but youn# Lar.gh&;n, dear, have ye any fri

60 Tlie Last of the Mortimers.

** None to whom I am answerable," said Harry.

"Then that means no father nor mother, no parents ana
guardians?" said my aunt. " Well, what you've done is done,
and can't be undone ; we must make the best of it. Have you
put the boots into the corner, and tidied the cigars off the
mantelshelf? and now Mrs. Grogram knows all about it, — when
it happened, where it happened, and how you two took clever
Mrs. Connor in ?"

" Exactly," said Harry, laughing; "you have quite described
it all. I have done my best, Milly darling; come home."

" You're glad, you two young fools?" said my aunt.

"I should think so! and shouldn't we be glad?" cried Harry.
" If we have not a penny between us, we have what is much
better. Milly, come."

" Hush with your Milly, Milly," said Aunt Connor, " and
gpeak for yourself, young man. My poor Connor's niece, if
she is undutiful, shall never be said to be penniless. Well,'
I've won the battle. I will tdl you, for i ought. As sure as
she's standing there in her white frock, she has five hundred
pounds."

"Five hundred pounds!1' both Harry and I repeated the
words with a little cry of wonder and delight.

She had said this with n flash of resolution, as if it were quite
hard to get it out ; now khe fell suddenly into a strange sort of
coaxing, persuading tone, which was sadly painful to me just
as I was getting to like her better ; and as she coaxed and grew
affectionate she grew vulgar too. How strange ! I had rather
have given her the money than seen her humble herself so.

" But it's out at the best of interest, my dears ; what you
couldn't get for it elsewhere. Think of five-ancl-twenty pounds
a-year ; an income, Milly ! My child, I'll undertake to pay
you the half year's interest out of my own pocket to help you
with your housekeeping ; for, of course, you would never think
of lifting the money, you nor young Langham, with such an
income coming of it. No, no ; let well alone, I say. 1 would
Dot meddle with a penny of it if I were you. l^ash young
creatures that don't know the value of money, you'd just throw
it away ; but think what a comfort there is in five-and-twenty
pounds a-year !"

Harry and I looked at each other; it was as clear as day that
ehe had it herself, and did not want to give it up. He was
angry; I was only vexed and distressed. I never in all my life
had thought of money before.

" Five hundred pounds would be yery useful to Milly iu**

The Last of the Mortimers. 61

now, Mrs. Connor," said Harry ; "she has not a trousseau, as
your daughters would have ; and I can only give her all I have,
which is little enough. At least it's my duty to ascertain all
about it ; where it is, and what it is, and "

u Oh, what it is ! half of it Uncle Connor's own gift to the
ungrateful creature — half of it at the very least ; and ascertain,
to be sure !— ascertain, and welcome ! — call it in if ye please,
and spend it all in three weeks, and don't come to me for help
or credit. What do you mean, sir? Do ye think it's anything
tome?"

uOh, Aunt Connor, please don't be angry. I never had but
half-a-sovereign all my life," cried I. "You'll tell us all about
it afterwards, to be sure. Harry — I mean Mr. Langhain —
doesn't understand. But it would be so handy to have some of
it, Aunt v'onnor, don't you think so? Only please don't be
angry. I should like, all out of my own head, to spend ten
pounds."

Aunt Connor did not speak, but went to her desk and took
romething out of it that was already prepared — one envelope
she gave to Harry and the other to me.

"Here is the half year's dividend of your wife's little money;
it's just come due," said Aunt Connor, "and here, Milly, dear,
is your aunt's wedding-present to you. Now you can have
your will, you see, without breaking in upon your tiny bit of
fortune. See what it is to have thoughtful friends."

For in my envelope there was exactly the sum I wished for
— ten pounds.

And what do you suppose I did ? Harry standing there as
sulky as a statue, looking as if he would like to tear up his
share and throw it into the fire. I was so delighted I ran and
threw my arms round her neck, and kissed Aunt Connor. I
hugged her quite heartily. I did not understand five hundred
pounds; but I knew I could get something nice for Harry, and
a new dress and a wedding bonnet, with orange-blossoms, out
of what she gave me. And she cried, too, and kissed me as if
I had been her own child ; and it Wcis no hypocrisy, whatever
you may think. Harry snatched me away, and quite turned
me out of the room to get my bonnet. He looked the sulkiest,
most horrid fellow imaginable. I almost could have made faces
at him as he sent me away ; it was our first real quarrel ; but
1 can't say I was very much afraid.

When we 'got out of doors he was quite in a passion with
[•><>r Aunt Connor. "Kind! what do you mean by kind?
why, you've been living on your own money. I am sure she

62 The Last cf the Mortimers,

lias -not spent more on you, besides making you her servant,"
cried Harry. " And to take her present ! and kiss her — pah !
I would not do it for a hundred pounds."

" Nobody asked you, sir," said I : " but come this way, please
Harry, I want to look at one shop- window — jusfc one. I saw
something there yesterday that would just do for me; and now
I can afford to buy a dress."

" By Jove !" cried Harry, " what creatures you women arc ;
here we are, on as good as our wedding-day, walking home for
the iirst time, and you are thinking of the shop-windows ! Are
you just like all the rest ?"

" Oh, indeed, just precisely," said I. " Ah, Harry, I never
was in the street before that I felt quite free and yet quite
protected and safe. Only think of the difference ! I am not
afraid of anybody or anything to-day. I am going IIOFM>. If
you were not so grave and proper I think I could dance all the
way."

Harry did not say another word ; he held my arm close, anr1
called me by my name. My name was Milly darling, to Harry;
he said it sounded like the turn of an Irish song. He calls me
Milly darling still, though we have been married two years.

And how pretty he had made that little parlour over Mr?.
Grogram's shop ! Not a boot about anywhere that I could see,
nor the shadow of a cigar ; clean new muslin curtains up, and
flowers on the table ; and the landlady curtseying, and calling
me Mrs. Langham. It was the very first time I had heard the
name. How odd it sounded ! and yet an hour after I should
have laughed if any one had called me Miss Mortimer, as ii
that were the most absurd tiling in the world.

And to make home does not require many rooms or a great
fleal of furniture. I have not a u house of my own " yet, and,
perhaps, may not have for years. A poor subaltern, with
nothing but his pay, when he is so foolish as to marry, has M
take his wife to lodgings; but the best house in the world couU
not have felt to me a warmer, safer, more delightful home tha.4
Grograui's parlour above the

The Last of the Mortimers*

CHAPTER V.

« TT ir> only right, however," said Harry, "that before \vo

JL leave we should know all that Mrs. Connor can teli us>
Milly darling, about your family and your relations. Though
she's to have your five hundred pounds, she need not haw)
your family archives too."

44 Why, Harry, you almost spealc as if you grudged her the
five hundred pounds !"

"And so I do," said Harry. "Just now, while I am so
poor, it might have made you a little comfortable. Please
Heaven, after a while, five hundred pounds will not matter so
much ; at least it is to be hoped so. If there would only come
a war "

" Harry, you savage ! how dare you say so !" cried I.

44 Nonsense! what's the good of a soldier except to fight?"
he said. " Active service brings promotion, Milly. You would
not like to see me a subaltern at forty. Better to take one's
chance of getting knocked on the head."

" Ah, it is very easy for you to talk," said I ; " and if I could
disguise myself and 'list like Lady Fanshawe "

44 List ! you five-foot creature ! you could be nothing but
a drummer, Milly ; and besides, Lady Fanshawe did not 'list,
she "

" Never mind, I could contrive as well as she did," said I.
" I could get upon stilts or something, and be your man, and
never disclose myself till I had cut down all your enemies, and
brought you safe out of the battle, and then fainted in your
arms."

44 Pleasant for me," said Harry ; " but I do believe, in spite
of romance, Fanshawe himself would have given his head to
have had his wife safe at home that time. Do you think it
would be a comfort to a man if he was shot down himself to
think his wife was there with nobody to take care of her?
No, Milly darling ; the truest love would stay at home and
pray."

44 And die," said I ; " I understand it better now. If I were
'listing and going after you, it would not be for your sake,
Harry, but for my own. How do women keep alive, do you
think, when those that belong to them are at the wars?"

64 The Last of the Mortimers.

Neither of us knew ; but to think of it made us shudder antf
tremble, — I that should have to bear it some day ! for the
very people in the streets said that war was coming on.

"In the meantime let me remind you," said Harry, "that
•we're going to Aunt Connor's to bid them good -bye, and that
I mean to ask her all about your relations, and gel; a full
history of your family, in case you might happen to be a
princess in disguise, or a p/eat heiress. By the bye, she said
something like that. Only don't be too sanguine, Hilly ; if
iihere had been anything more to get on your account, Aunt
Connor would have ferreted it out."

1 thought he was rather hard upon her, but could not really
say anything in her defence. I had myself begged Harry,
after two or three talks with Aunt Connor about it, not to say
any more to her about claiming the five hundred pounds. She
had only her jointure, poor lady, and could not have paid it
without ruining herself. And, after all, she had always paid
Nurse Richards for me, and had kept me, and been kind
enough to me. So it was settled she was to keep it, and give
us the five-and- twenty pounds a-year. Not that she would
allow, straight out, that she had it. She always pretended ifc
was somebody else that paid har tiu interest, and that it was
the very best investment in the world, and she wished she
could get as much for her money. Poor Aunt Connor ! her
pretence did not deceive anybody ; but 1 suppose it was a sort
of comfort to herself.

I did not take any part in Harry's questions at first ; it was
all I could do to answer the girls, who wanted to know all how
we were going to travel, and everything about it. Patricia
brought me down her warm cloak tlwt she had worn all last
winter. She said, though it wasn't new, it would be a com-
fortable wrap for the journey, if f would have it ; and indeed
I thought so too, though Harry, I dare say, would have made
a fuss about it, if I had consulted him. But when Aunt
Connor really began to talk about poor papa and mamma, I
hushed the girls and listened. I never had heard anything
about them. It was natural it should be very interesting to
me.

" It was more from hearsay than knowledge, for, of course,
MiUy's papa was a great deal older than me," said Aunt Connor,
with a little toss of her head, " He was forty when he married
Haria, my poor Connor's only sister ; and she was not very
young either ; and it went very hard with her when Milly
there came into the world ; but though she died, poor soul ! he

The Last of the Mortimers. 65

would not call the babe Maria, do what we would, but
Millicent, because it was the great name in his family. That
was how we came to hear about his family at all. His head
was a little touched, poor soul! He said what if she should
come into the Park property after all, and not be called Milly?
He said Millicent Mortimer had been a name in the family
from the Conquest, or the Restoration, or something; and the
heiress that wasn't Millicent had no luck. When he got
weakly, he maundered on for ever about his family. It was
cousins or cousins' children had the property, and one of thorn
had jilted him. He used > say, in his wandering way, that
one would never come to good ; she'd never bring an heir to the
property. But whether there were sons, or if it was only a lady
between him and the estate, or how the rights of it were, I could
not tell you. We used to think half of it was maundering,
and my poor dear Connor never put any faith in it. Except
Maria Connor that married him being not so young as she
once was, not a creature about knew Mr. Mortimer. He was
an Englishman, and not much of a man any how. No offence
to you, Milly, dear ; he was the kind of man that never does
any good after he's been jilted ; so, if you should happen to
meet with that cousin of his that did it, you can put out your
anger upon her. He left no particulars, poor man. I don't
believe it ever came into his head that it might really matter
for his poor little girl to have friends that would help her on
in the world. And to be sure, Milly was but a year old when
papa died."

u But this was worth taking some pains and making some
inquiries about," said Harry. " Where did those friends live ?
What county did he belong to? — you must surely have known."

"We knew no more than I tell you, Langhani, dear. My
poor dear Connor, as I tell you, never put any faith in it.
There's some books in the house belonging to him, that I was
always to have sought out and given to Milly. I'll get them
to-day, if I can, before you leave. But if you'll trust my
opinion, I don't think it's the least good in the world. At the
best, he was but a distant cousin, if all was true, he said ; and
spoke about his little girl proving heir after all, more in spite
against her that jilted him than anything else. Why, all
he had, poor man, did not come to but a trifle over five
hundred pounds ; — I mean — dear ! what a memory I have ! —
three hundred pounds, for poor dear Connor put a large slice
to Milly's little fortune. .Now that's all I have to tell you.
But I'll get Milly her father's books."

CO The Last of the Mortimers.

And I have not the least doubt it was all she had to tell us ;
every word she knew. But that very night we got the books
just as we were packing up. They were as damp and mouldy
as they could be, odd volumes of one thing and another ; one
of Shakespeare, with Bichard A. Mortimer written in it, and
" Haworth" underneath ; another was Hudibras ; another was
an old French school copy of Racine, with " Sarah Mortimer,
the Park, May, 1810," upon it, and in it an old pencil drawing
all curled up at the edges, and rubbed out in some places, of a
great house with trees and gardens round it, and a young lady
mounting her horse at the door ; scribbled at the corner of
this, in a strange scratchy hand, was a kind of little inscrip-
tion : " Sarah as 1 saw her last, and the Park — I wonder was
I in love with them both? 11. M." The last of this was
evidently written at a later time than the first. But that was
all. Not a single clue to papa's grand friends, who they
were, or where they were. I dare say there are a hundred
thousand parks in England, and, unless we could find it out
from the drawing (which, I am sorry to say, was a very poor
one. Harry, being disappointed and spiteful, took the pains
to point out to me that the house was leaning up against the
trees, and off the perpendicular, and that the young lady was
on the Avrong side of the horse), there seemed no information
a,t all in poor papa's books. Poor papa ! it was very cruel of
Harry ! most likely his heart was breaking when he drew
u Sarah as I saw her last." Do you say he might have put
her on the right side of the horse for all that, you cruel savage?
Perhaps there were tears in his eyes all the time, Mr. Langham.
You are not sentimental. I dare say you would not cry if you
were looking at me for the last time. But that has nothing
to do with poor papa. 1 have no doubt he must have been
a very feeling man.

However, we did not make anything out of the books ; and
I am sure I should not have said half so much about it except
that Harry really took an interest in it which quite surprised
me. I never expected to turn out an heiress, nor cared much
whether I had grand relations or not; and a journey with
Harry in that sweet September weather was far too delightful
to let me think of anything else. It was as good as a wedding
tour.

The Last of the Mortimert, 67

CHAPTER VL

nillE regiment was ordered to Edinburgh ; and it was there
I we went accordingly in that lovely autumn weather. I
don't think Harry quite liked to hear me talk of Nurse Richards
and the way she brought me up ; but he was pleased enough to
take walks with me all round that castle which was the centre
of my recollections. At first we used to spend every leisure
moment we had wandering up and down the steep walks, and
always pausing to look up at the great precipice of rock. It
was like a friend to me, rising up out of the soft tiers and
green slopes of grass : the two churches down at its foot
looking so mean and tiny beside it. People should not build
churches there. I almost think even a great noble cathedral
would look shabby under the shadow of that rock ; and only to
think of that dreadful West Church and the other one ! how
they can dare venture to stand there and don't move and
crumble down of themselves 1 They would if there was any
feeling in stone.

We got our lodgings out to the south of the castle, two nice
little cosy rooms. It was not a fashionable quarter, to be sure,
nor were the rooms very grandly furnished ; but we had such
views from the windows ! The Castle Rock, with its buildings
jutting on the very edge, and yet standing so strong and firm ;
the harsh ridge of the crags behind, and the misty lion -head
over all, gazing like a sentinel towards the sea. And it was
not these only, but all the clouds about them. Such dramas
3 very day ! Now all sweet and serene like happiness ; now all
thundery and ominous like a great misfortune ; now brightened
up with streaks of home and comfort ; now settling down
leaden- dark, and heavy like death itself, or despair. I never
was poetical that I know of ; but it was like reading a very
great poem every day to live in that little house at Brunts-
field. Harry enjoyed it as much as I did. We lived the very
cheapest that ever was. We never went out anywhere ; for
Harry had always a little society with his brother officers and
at mess, and I had him, and old Mrs. Saltoun, our landlady,
to talk to when he was away, and was as happy as the day was
long. All the pleasantest recollections I had as a child were
connected with this place ; and when 1 looked out of my

68 Tlte Last of the Mortimers.

window at night and saw the lights shining up on the top of
the Castle Rock, and the stars higher still glimmering out
above, or the moon revealing out of " the dark where Arthur's
Seat lay quiet, couched like a sentinel ; and heard the recall
trumpet pealing out high into the clear air, my mind used to
wander from dear Nurse Richards, and the stories she used to
tell me, back to my great happiness now. When Harry
found me at the window crying to myself, he thought I was
low-spirited. Low-spirited ! I was crying for pure happiness ;
because I was too happy to tell it, or put it in words, or show
it anyhow else.

All this time we had never heard a single word from Harry's
uncle who promised him the present on his birthday. This
uncle was the only relation he had except some cousins whom
he did not know much about. He was very near as friendless
as I was ; only that he remembered his father and mother
perfectly well, and had been brought up at home, which
made a great difference. Harry of course had written to his
uncle to say what had occurred ; and he had never answered
the letter. He was an old bachelor, and rather rich ; and if
he did not take offence, and nothing happened, it had always
been supposed that Harry was to be his huir ; though I did not
know this till after we were married and could not untie
ourselves, however angry any one might be.

One day, however, Harry came home to me with a wonder-
ful face. I could not tell, though I knew what his face
meant pretty well by this time, what it was that day ; whether
he was angry, or disappointed, or vexed, or only bursting with
laughter. It turned out he was all of them together. He
tossed a letter on the table, and laughed and stamped his foot,
as if he did not quite know what he was doing.

<l By Jove, it's too absurd!" cried Harry; for I could not
get him to leave off that stupid exclamation : but I thought it
>nust be a little serious too, as well as absurd, by the look in
us eye.

And what should it be but a letter from his uncle, declaring
that, though nothing else would have induced him to do such
a thing, yet, to punish Harry's rashness and presumption, he
had made up his mind to a step which everybody assured him
was the most prudent thing he could do, and which it was
only a pity he had not thought of sooner ; this was, in short,
that he had married as well as Harry. Enclosed his nephew
would find cards addressed to his new wife : and, as for the
expenses of such an undertaking, he assured Harry that it

The Last of the Mortimers. 69

would be ridiculous to look for any assistance to a man in
•tinilar circumstances with himself. On a clear understanding
«f which he could certainly afford to wish his nephew joy, —
^ut nothing else, — for he meant now to have heirs of his
own.

Harry stared at me while I read this letter with a sort of
angry fun and indignation in his face, which would turn
either one way or another, I could see, according to how I
received it. I cannot say I was the least disappointed. I
threw down the letter, and clapped my hands and laughed.
It was the most whimsical letter you could imagine ; and, as
for the birthday present, or any other assistance to us, I had
never looked for it since Harry wrote what we had done.

"Weel, weel, it's no ill news, that's a comfort. But,
Captain, you maunna come in rampaging and disturbing the
lady when we're no looking for you," said Mrs. Saltoun, who
had been sitting with me. Now I'll gang my ways ben the
house ; and you ken where to find me, Mrs. Langham, my
dear, when you want me again."

I had it on my lips to beg her not to go away, but stopped
in time, for Harry naturally, though he likes her very well,
does not take comfort in the good old lady as I do. When she
was gone he laughed out again, but a little abruptly, and not
as if he felt particularly happy about the news.

•'Why, Harry, what's the matter; did you expect any-
thing? "'said I.

" Well, not exactly, to be sure," said Harry, with a half-
ashamcd look ; " except the first moment when I recognised
the old fellow's handwriting. I did think it woulol be
pleasant, Milly darling, to get some little comforts about you
just now."

"I have quantities of comforts," said I; "and such a
jewel of an old lady to look after me when you are away.
There is nobody in the world so lucky as me."

" Lucky !" said Harry, with a little shout. ** If you should
turn out a great heiress to be sure ; that's always a possible
contingency, according to your Aunt Connor. Otherwise, with
all sorts of things going to happen to us, and only my
subaltern's pay "

u Mr. Langham, you forget my five-and-twenty pounds a
year!" cried I.

And how do you think the savage answered me ? " The old
witch !" exclaimed Harry, " to think of her stopping your
simple mouth with that ten pounds I I'd have seen her ducked,

70 The Last of tlie Mortimers.

or burned, or whatever they do to witches, before I'd have
taken it! — and cheating you out of your little morsel of
fortune! How long do you suppose you'll get your five-and-
twenty pounds ?"

" As long as poor Aunt Connor can pay it," said I. " Things
might come in the way to be sure ; but she means to pay it
regularly, and always will when she can. What makes you so
discontented, Harry ? We have enough for to day, and God
knows all about to-morrow."

" Ah, yes ! but He's far off, Milly, to a poor fellow like me.
How can I tell that He cares much what's to become of us, —
unless, indeed, it were for your sake ;"

" Oh, Harry, Harry ! how dare you say so !" cried I. " And
see how good He has been to us two orphans. Neither of us
had any home or any one belonging to us ; and only look
round you now /"

Do you think it was not very much that he had to look
round upon ?— a little room, low-roofed, and humbly furnished.
It was nothing to any other man or woman in the world ; but
we were two of us together in it, and it was our home. Could
I help but cry when I thought how different I was from Aunt
Connor's niece in the nursery? And Harry was just as thank-
ful as I was, though he had his little pretences of grumbling
like this now and then. Does anybody think he was really
anxious, either about his uncle's present that was never to come
now, or my five hundred pounds that was not much more to be
relied on, or what was to happen to us ? No ! he was no more
anxious than I was ; only now and then he pretended to make
a little fuss about it, and to be wanting something better for
me. .

The Last of the Mortuncrt» 71

CHAPTER VII.

WE were nearly two years in Edinburgh; and it was there,
of course, that baby Harry came into the world. Ho
made a great difference in many things. I could not go out to
walk with Harry any longer ; 1 could not even sit and talk
with him so much, and, however economical I was, it could not
be denied that already three of us cost more than two of us had
done. It is strange enough, but still it is true, baby, bless
him, brought thorns upon the roses that came with him into
the world. Harry had not lived in a family since his father
died long ago ; he had lived a young man's life, and had his
own fastidious fancies like (I suppose) most young men. He
was very much delighted when baby came, but he was not so
much delighted when baby was always with us, and occupying
almost all my time and attention ; and it fretted him when he
saw traces about that once nice cosy sitting-room, which was
nursery now as well as dining-room and drawing-room ; even
baby's basket, all trimmed with white muslin and pink ribbons,
which he thought very pretty at first, annoyed him now when
he saw it about ; and when I had to stop talking to him in
order to see after baby, he would first laugh, then bite his lip,
then whistle, then go to the window, and after a while say he
had better smoke his cigar outside while I was so busy. I dare
say this cost me a few tears, for of course I thought there was
no occupation in the world so sweet as nursing baby, and was
sadly disappointed just at first that Harry could not be content
to watch his pretty ways every moment as I did ; however, I
had to make up my mind to it. And as it was my business to
mind Harry as well as his son, I had to think it all over in my
mind what was to be done. It was hard work considering
what was best; for to think of getting a servant upon our
small means went to my very heart. At last one day 1 formed
a great resolution, and took Airs. Saltoun into my confidence.

" Here is how it is," said I, u I must have a maid to help me
with baby when Mr. Langham is at home. Men can't under-
stand things ; they think it so odd to sec one always with a
baby on one's lap ; especially when they have not been accus-
tomed to anything of the sort. Mrs, Saltoun, I $huli be qbli^ed
tp have a maid,"

72 The Last of the Mortimers.

"I told you so, my dear, the very day the lammie was born,"
said Mrs. Saultoun ; "but I'm one that never presses my
advice. I know experience is far more effectual than anything
I can say."

" But look here — I can't afford it — it's a disgrace to think of
such a thing with our small means, while I am perfectly strong
and quite able to take care of him myself; but what can I do?"
said 1.

" My dear," said Mrs. Saltoun, "poverty's dreadful, and debt
is worse ; but it's heaviest of all the three to make a young
married man discontented with his ain house. Dinna be
affronted ; I'm no saying a word ! the Captain's just extraordi-
nary ; but he's no the lad to be second to the baby for a' that ;
and it's nothing to sigh about. Time's just the kind of troubles
every woman has to set her face to, as sure's she's born. My
dear, hoAvever much ye canna afford, you'll have to contrive."

u Well, I have been thinking. If you will promise faithfully
never to tell anybody, and keep my secret, and above
everything, whatever you do, never let Harry know !" cried I.

u I'll promise," said Airs. Saltoun ; u but I'll not promise to
give my consent unless it's feasible and in reason ; and no
unbecoming the Captain's bonnie young wife."

"The Captain's wife ! — ah, if he were only the Captain ! —
but he's just a subaltern yet," said I; " however, you will be
disappointed if you think I am meaning anything great. I
can't do anything to bring in money, and I am sure Harry
would not let me if I could. No — it's only — oh, Mrs. Saltoun,
if you would help me !— I could get up all the linen myself. I
can do it, though you may not think so. All Harry's things
that he is so particular about, the laundress here never pleases
him ; and baby's frocks. I think if you would contrive to help
me, I could save so many shillings a week. I'll do those pretty
collars of yours and your fine caps, and you shall see how
pretty they'll look."

"But your pretty bits of hands, my dear?" said Mrs.
Saltoun; ua small matter of work betrays itself on a lady's
hands that's not used to do anything. They would let out
your secret, however well I kept it. What would you do with
your hands ?"

" But it will not hurt my hands — such beautiful clean
work — it is quite a. lady's work," said I ; " and then I can put
gloves on when I am done, and get some of the kalydor stuff.
Besides, it will be only one day in the week."

Airs. Saltoun sat thinking it over, but she could not say a

The Last of tlie Mortimers. 73

angle word against it. If I couldn't have done it, it might have
been slow work learning; but I had a genius for it! Ah,
hadn't I ironed out Aunt Connor's lace much oftener than the
clear-starcher did ! So here was something at once that could
be saved ; and nobody knows how dreadful the laundress's bill
is when there's a baby in the house ; so now I thought I might
venture to try and look for a maid.

44 My great terror was you were thinking of giving lessons,
or selling some trumpery of fancy work, begging your pardon,
my dear," said Mrs. Saltoun ; 44 for the young ladies now-a-days
would a' break their necks to make money, before they would
take a step out of their road to save it ; and indeed, you're not
far wrong that clear-starching is lady's work. It takes nice
fingers, dainty, clean, and light. I was in an awfu' fright it
was lessons on the piano, or handscreens to take inio the
Repository. But it's really very reasonable for a young
creature of your years ; if you're quite clear in your own mind
you can take the responsibility of shirts. Of all the things I've
seen in my life I canna remember that I ever saw a man
•what you could call perfectly pleased."

" I am not afraid about that ; but remember, you have
promised solemnly, upon your honour," said I, 44 never, what-
ever you do, to tell Harry !"

"I'll keep my word. But what put it into your head, a
sensible young woman like you, to go and run away with the
like of a young sodger officer, that everybody knows have
scarcely enough for themselves, let alone a wife ? And if it's
hard work now, what will it be when you've a large family ?
and how will you ever live or keep your heart if he goes to
war?"

44 Mrs. Saltoun, don't speak !" cried I ; " what is the use of
making me miserable ? He is not going to the war to-day. It
is not certain there is to be a war at all. Why do you put
such dreadful things in my mind ? If he goes I'll have to bear
it like the other soldiers' wives; but do you suppose I have
strength to bear it now beforehand, before the time? God
does not promise anybody so much. If such a dreadful,
dreadful thing should be, I'll get strength for it that
day."

The good old lady did not say a word, but stroked my hand
that was resting on the table in a kind of comforting, coaxing
way. I looked up very much alarmed, but I could not see
anything particular in her face. I suppose she was sorry for
roe only in a general gort of way ; because I was young, and

74 The Last of the Mortimers.

poor, and just beginning my troubles. So strange? I was
pitying her all the same for being old, and nearly at the end of
hers. How different things must seem at that other end of
the road ! Some of her children were dead, some married,
close at hand so far as space was concerned, but far distant lost
in their owu life. I dare say when she liked she could go back
into memory and be again a young wife like me, or an anxious
middle-aged mother like her own daughter-in-law — and here
it had ended, leaving her all alone. But she was very cheerful
and contented all the same.

Harry came in while I was busy with planning about my
new maid. After I had decided that she would have to sleep
somewhere, and wondered why neither Mrs. Saltoun nor
myself had ever thought of that, I had begun to wonder what
sort of a person I should get ; whether, perhaps, she would be
a dear good friend-servant, or one of the silly girls one hears
about. If she were a silly girl, even, there might be good in
her. But here Harry came in, and my thoughts were all dis-
sipated, lie looked a little excited, and had a paper in his
hand, out of which he seemed just about to read me something.
Then he paused all at once, looked first at me and then at
baby's cradle, and his face clouded all over. I got terribly
alarmed ; I rushed up to him and begged him to tell me, for
pity, what it was.

" It's nothing but fancy," said Harry. " I was going to tell
you great .news, my Milly darling ; but it came over me, some-
how, what you would do, and who would take care of you if
you should be left alone with your baby ; even though 1 were
not killed."

" God would take care of us," I cried out sharp, being in a
kind of agony. " Say it out — you are going to the war ?"

" No, no ; nothing of the sort ; only look here. It has
thrown us all into great excitement; but we are not under
orders, nor like to be," said Harry. "Don't tremble— we are
all safe yet, you foolish Milly. Look here."

Though I was leaning upon him, and he held the paper
before my eyes, I could not read a word. But I guessed what
it was. It was the Proclamation of War.

" Come out with me and hear it read at the Cross. It is to
be done at twelve o'clock. Come," said Harry, coaxing and
soothing me; '-it is something to see. Pluck up a heart,
Milly ! Come and hear it courageously, like a soldier's wife.
But, oh ! I forgot baby," he said, stopping short all at 0090
With a sort of hall- annoyed laugh.

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. ?5

" Baby shan't prevent me this time," I cried ; for what
between this dreadful news and the excitement in Harry's
mind, and the sudden way he stopped when he recollected I
couldn't rightly go out with him, I was desperate. u Mrs.
Saltoun will keep him till I come back ; and he will not wake,
perhaps, for an hour."

The old lady came when I asked her ; and was quite pleased
to sit down by the cradle while I tied on my bonnet with my
trembling hands. Harry was very kind — very pleased. \Ve
went along winding up the steep paths, through the gardens to
the Castle, my favourite walk, and into that long, grand, noisy
old street with the yellow haze lingering between the deep
houses, down the long slope towards Holyrood. 1 could see the
people clearly enough about the streets, the little groups all
clustered about the outside stairs, and the stir of something
going to happen. But I could not look at the official people
coining to say it again and make it more certain, iff the
trumpet had been a gun and killed somebody, my hearb could
scarcely have leaped more. Harry's cheek flushed up ; and I
could almost fancy I felt the blood stir and swell in the arm I
was leaning on. He was a soldier, and he forgot me as he held
up his head and listened. Just then I could not hold up my
head. The trumpet sounded to me, somehow, as if it camo
lonely out of the distance over some battle where men were
dying who had wives and babies at home. A woman stood
before me crying, and drew my attention for a moment. She
dared say out what was in her heart, because, though perhaps
she was no poorer, she was not a lady like me. " Eh, weary on
them ! it's your man and my man that's to pay for their
fancies," she was saying among her tears. u Glad ! do ye ask
me to be glad at sound o' war V If our regiment doesna gang
the day, it'll gang some day. I've five weans that canna fend
for themsels', and I'm a sodger's wife. God help us a' !" I
dropped my veil over my face to hide my eyes from Harry, and
slid jny hand out of his arm — he, ail excited in his soldier-mind,
scarcely knowing it — to speak to my neighbour who had spoken
to my heart. I had nothing to give her but my hand and my
own troubled fellow-feeling, too deep and sore to be called
sympathy. " For I am a soldier's wife, too ; and God help us,
as you say '" I cried in her ear. She wiped off her tears, poor
soul, to look at me as Harry drew me away. She and the other
woman with her whispered about us as we went away through
the crowd. They forgot their own anxiety to pity "• the poor
young thing, the young lieutenant's wife." I know they did,

tfQ The Last of the Mortimers.

the kind creatures ; for one of them said so another day.— God
help us all, soldiers' wives !

"But do you know this is like a little coward, Milly
darling," said Harry, as we walked home, when he found I
could not speak, " and foolish as well. We are not going to
the wars."

"If you are not going to-day, you will go some day,
cried, with a sob. She said true, poor soul ; I felt it in my
heart.

" To be sure we shall," said Hairy ; " and you care neither
for glory nor promotion, nor to have your husband do his duty,
you poor-spirited Milly ! But you can't act Lady Fanshawe
now ; you will have baby to comfort you at home."

" Do you mean that you are going V" cried I.

" Hush, hush ! why this is like a child. I am not going.
But, Milly, understand; if I don't go some day, I shall be
wretched. Make up your mind ; you are a soldier's wife."

So I went home with this in my heart. Oh. my poor little
economies, my little vulgar cares about the housekeeping!
And perhaps he was going away from me to be killed. But
hush, hush! I could riot be Lady Fanshawe any more, now that
there were three of us in the world ; and Harry said the truest
love would stay at norne and pray.

CHAPTEB VIII.

E very next day after that, while I was singing baby to
sleep, sitting all alone by the fire, there was a soft knock
at the door. I said, " Come in !" thinking it was Mrs. Saltoun,
when there suddenly appeared before me a figure as different
as possible from the nice little cosy figure of our good old
landlady. This was an overgrown girl, fourteen or there-
abouts, in the strangest scanty dress. A printed cotton frock,
very washed out and dingy, so short as to leave a large piece of
legs, clothed in blue-grey stockings, uncomfortably visible;

The Last of the Mortimers. 77

very red arms that somewhat looked as if they were all elbow
and fingers ; a great checked blue and white pinafore, much
washed out like the frock, into the breast of which the hands
were thrust now and then by way of relief to the awkwardness
of their owner ; hair disposed to be red, and superabundant in
quantity, thrust back as far as was practicable under the shade
of a queer big bonnet, not only a full-sized woman's bonnet,
but one ten years old, and made in the dimensions common at
that distant period. She stood at the door looking at me in a
perfect agony of innocent awkwardness, shuffling one foot over
the other, twisting her red fingers, holding. down her bashful
head, but all the time staring with wistful eyes at baby and
myself, and so sincere a look of awe and admiration that of
course I was touched by it. She did not say a word, but
dropped a foolish curtsey, and grew violently red standing at
the door. I could not think what such a strange apparition
wanted with me.

u What do you want, my good girl?" said 1 at last.

" The mistress said 1 might come," with another curtsey.
Then, after a violent effort, " They said you was wanting a
lass."

A lass! Here she was then, the first applicant for the new
situation of baby's personal attendant! Oh dear, what a
spectre ! 1 had to pause a little before 1 could answer her.
lleally, though I was not much disposed to laughter, the idea
was too ludicrous to be treated gravely.

" Yes, 1 want ' a lass ;' but not one so young as you,'' said I.
" I want somebody who can take care of my baby. Who sent
you to me?"

" The mistress said I might come," answered the apparition ;
" I can keep wee babies fine "

"You can keep wee babies fine! How old are you?"
cried I.

" I'm just fourteen since I was born, but some folk count
different. I'm awfu' auld other ways," said my extraordinary
visitor, with a kind of grotesque sigh.

The creature roused my interest with her odd answers and
wistful round eyes. " Shut the door and come here," said I.
" Do you know me ? and what tempted you to think you could
do for my servant ? Were you ever in a place before ?"

u No ; but I've seen you gaun by, the Captain and you, and
I would be awfu.' glad if you would let me come. There's
plenty things I can do if I could get leave to try," cried the
girl with a wonderful commotion in her voice, " I've nursed

78 The Last of the Mortimers.

bairns since ever I was a bairn myself, and I can wash, and 1
can sew. Oh, leddy, tak me ! I'll no eat very much, and I
dinna want no wage ; and I'll learn everything you tell me, for
the mistress says I'm awf u' quick at learning ; and I'll serve
you hand and foot, nicht and day !"_

41 But, my poor girl," said J, quite amazed by this burst of
eloquence, " why do you want so much to come to me ?"

Upon this another extraordinary change came upon my
would-be maid. She fidgeted about, she blushed fiery red, she
thrust her red hands into the bosom of her pinafore, she stood
upon one heavy foot, making all sorts of wonderful twists and
contortions with the other. At last in gulps, and with every
demonstration of the most extreme confusion and shamefaced-
ness, burst forth the following avowal. "Oh! because you're
rael bonnie ; and you smile— and oh, I would like to come !"

It was an extraordinary kind of flattery, certainly ; but I
felt my cheeks flush up, and I cannot deny my heart was
touched. I remember too, when I was a little girl, taking
fancies to people ; I believe I might have fallen in lovo with a
lady and gone and offered myself to be her servant, as likely as
not if I could have done it. The uncouth creature no more
meant to flatter me than to offend me. She was deeply
ashamed of having made her confession. Her shame, and her
admiration, and her passionate childish feeling quite went to
my heart.

" You are a very strange girl," said I. " What is your
name, and where do you live? and do your parents know what
you want with meV"

4 'They ca' me Leezie Bayne. My father died six months
since," said the girl, falling into a kind of vacant tone after
her excitement, as if this account of herself was something
necessary to go through, but not otherwise interesting. " I
never had any mother, only a stepmother, and lots of little
bairns. She's gaun back to her aiu place, among her friends,
and I'm to be left, for I've naebody belonging to me. We
live down the road, and I used ay to see you gaun by.
Whiles you used to smile at me, no thinking ; but I ay
minded. And the folk said you we're awf u' happy with the
Captain, and had a kind look for everybody, — and oh, leddy,
I've naebody belonging to me !"

1 could have cried for her as she stood there, awkward,
before the little fire, with great blobs of tears dropping off her
cheeks, rubbing them away with her poor red hands. I knew
no more how to resist her, in that appeal she made to my

The Last of the Mortimers. 79

happiness, than if I had been a child like a baby in my lap.
The' tears came into my eyes, in spite of myself* In the
impulse of the moment I had nearly broken forth and confided
to her my terror and grief about Harry, and this dreadful war
that was beginning. She took possession of me, like the
soldier's wife, with a nearer fellow feeling than sympathy.
Poor, forlorn, uncouth creature, she stood before me like my
old self, strangely transmogrified, but never to be denied. I
could riot answer her — for what could 1 say? Could I cast
her off, poor child, led by the instincts of her heart to me of
all people ? And oh dear, dear, what a ridiculous contrast to
all the passionate, elevated feeling of her story, coul^ 1 take
her all in her checked pinafore and blue stockings, a pathetic
grotesque apparition, to be baby's nurse and iny little
maid ?

There never was a harder dilemma : and imagination, you
may be sure, did its very byst to make things worse, by
bringing up before me the pretty, tidy, fresh little maid I had
been dreaming of, with a white apron and a little cap, and
plump arms to hold my baby in. "What could I do? and oh,
if I could not resist my fate, what would Harry say to me ?
How he would shrug his shoulders and admire my good taste ;
how he would look at her in his curious way as if she were
a strange animal ; how he would laugh at me and my soft
heart ! I got quite restless as the creature stood there opposite
to me, twisting her poor foot and clasping her hands hard as
she thrust them into the bosom of her pinafore. I could not
stand against her wistful eyes. I grew quite desperate looking
at her. Could I ever trust my child in those long red arms
that looked all elbow — and yet how could I send her
away?

44 Lizzie, my poor girl," cried I, remonstrating, u don't you
see I am very, very sorry for you ? But look here now : my
baby is very young, not three months old, and I could never
dare trust him to a young girl like you. You must see that
very well, a girl with so much sense ; and besides, I want
somebody who knows how to do things. I don't think 1
could teach you myself ; and besides "

Here I fairly broke down, stopped by the flood of
arguments which rose one after another, not to be defeated, in
Lizzie's round anxious eyes.

44 But I dinna need to learn," she cried out whenever my
voice faltered and gave her a chance. " I ken ! I would keep
that bonnie baby from morning to night far sooner than play ;

80 The Last of the Mortimers.

if practice learns folk, I've been learning and learning a' ray
life ; and I'm that careful I would rather break every joint in
a' my body than have a scratch on his little finger ; and I can
hem that you wouldna see the stitches ; and I can sing to him
when he's wakin', and redd up the house when he's in his bed.
I'm no telling lees ; and I'll serve you on my knees, and never
have a thought but how to please you, oh, leddy, if you'll let
me come !"

Could I resist .that? I do not believe Harry himself could
if he had heard her. I gave in because I could not help
myself. I did it in shame and desperation, but what could I
do ? She was too many for me.

u Go down stairs and ask Mrs. Saltoun to come up," said

_L.

She went off in a moment, almost before I could look up,
and vanished out of the room without any noise — I suppose
because of the high excitement the poor child was in. Mrs.
Saltoun came up rather flurried, casting very strange looks at
Lizzie. When I saw the dear prim old lady beside that extra-
ordinary creature, and saw the looks she cast at her, the
lii'licrous part of it seized hold upon me, and I was seized with
oucu a fit of laughing that I could scarcely speak.

u Mrs. Saltoun," said I, " I don't know really what you will
think of me. I am going to take her for my maid.."

Mrs. Saltoun looked at me and looked at Lizzie, who made
her a curtsey, She thought I had gone out of my senses.
"It's to be hoped it's for lady's maid and not for bairn's maid
then," she said, with dreadful sarcasm. If Mrs. Saltoun was
so severe, what would Harry say.

" She is an orphan and all alone ; and she says she under-
stands about children," said I, humbly, in self-defence.

" Oh, if you please, I can keep bairns fine," said Lizzie; " if
ye'll ask the neebors they'll a' tell ; and oh, if the leddy will
try me, dinna turn her against me again ! I'm no a lassie in
mysel. I'm awfu' auld in mysel. Afore harm would come to
the baby I would die."

" And, my la^s, what good would it do the lady if ye were to
die," said Mrs. Saltoun entering the lists, u after maybe killin'
her bonnie bairn ?"

" I would a' fa' in pieces first !" cried Lizzie. " I would let
them burn spunks in my fingers, or crush my feet as they did
jangsyne ; there's no a creature in the world I wouldna fecht
and fell afore harm came to the wean !"

Mrs. Saltoun was not prepared for such an address ; nor for

The Last of the Mortimers. 81

the true fire of enthnfirnn and valour that burned through
Lizzie's tears ; but she did not give in. I had the satisfaction
to look on and listen while the old lady demonstrated in the
clearest way that she would never do, without any particular
regard for her feelings ; and then quietly enjoyed the triumph
when Lizzie burst forth upon Mrs. Saltoun, and in two minutes
routed her, horse and foot. Half an hour after Mrs. Saltoun
and I sat contriving what dress could be got up on the spur of
the moment to make the creature presentable ; and that very
night, while Harry was at mess, she sat in the little kitchen
downstairs helping to make up a fresh new printed dress for
herself in a fashion which justified part of her assertions, and
with a rapidity which I could explain only under the supposi-
tion that excitement had still forcible possession of her. I
confess I was myself a little excited ; though she was only a
girl of fourteen and a servant, not to say the most grotesque
and awkward -looking person imaginable, it is wonderful what
an effect this sudden contact with so strange and characteristic
a creature immediately had. My fears about the war faded off
for the moment. I could not help being quite occupied with-
thoughts about the new-comer: — whether, after all, I ever
would venture to trust baby with her , — what Harry would say
when he saw that odd apparition ; — whether I had only been
very foolish ; — whether I might have resisted. Lizzie Bayne
had made herself the heroine of that night.

CHAPTER IX.

days after, when Lizzie made her appearance with a
decently made dress, long enough and wide enough to
suit her stature, whatever might be her age; with a clean
collar, a white apron, and smooth hair, she looked quite pre-
sentable. I cannot say she was good-looking; but, undeniably,
she looked a capable creature, and with her lively brown eyes,
good colour, and clear complexion might improve even in looka

R2 The Last of the Mortimers.

by and by. But nobody could do anything for that grotesque
awkwardness, which belonged to Lizzie's age, perhaps, rather
than to herself. She still stood upon one foot, and twisted the
other round the leg that supported her. She worked uneasily
with her big hands, making vain efforts to thrust them into the
pinafore which recent improvements had swept away ; and she
still hung her head in agonies of awkwardness and self-con-
sciousness. A creature so sensitively aware of observation, how
could she be trusted with the most precious baby in the world ?
1 repeated this five hundred times the first morning; but never
once after I had fairly ventured to place the child in her arms.

'• What on earth is that sprite doing here? Has Mrs. Saltoun
taken her in, or where does she come from?" said Harry the
first day. I felt quite piqued and affronted. 1 felt myself
bound to defend her with all the earnestness in the world.

" Sprite ! What do you mean ? Why, that is my new maid,
Henry, that I told you of; and a capital maid she is," said I,
firing up with all the consciousness of not having taken the
wisest step in the world.

"Your new maid !" And Harry said, "Oh!" in the most
aggravating manner in the world. I am obliged to confess
that Lizzie's arrival, so much out of the ordinary way, and the
excitement of getting her up, of making her fit to appear, and
of testing her qualities, had very much aroused my mind out of
the heavy thoughts I had been entertaining a few days ago; so
that I was no longer so subdurd nor so entirely devoted to
Harry but what I could be provoked with him now and then.

" There is nothing to cry out about ; she is rather young, to
be sure, and not the most graceful figure in the world ; but
she's good and grateful, poor child, and 1 am quite content."

" You must recollect though, Milly, that we can't afford to
keep anybody for charity," said Harry; "she does not look
very gainly ; and if she can't save you the half of your present
trouble, I'll turn out a tyrant, I warn you, and send her
away."

" I am quite the best judge, you may be sure," said I, with
a little internal tremor; "and I tell you I am satisfied. If you
attempt to be tyrannical, it is you who shall be sent away."*

" Ah, Milly darling, how's that ! I shall be sent away soon
enough," said Harry, with a little sigh. " I have been thinking
that all over since we talked of it the other day. What, you've
forgot, have you, Milly ? Thank heaven ! I was only 'afraid
you were fretting over it, and thinking where I should send
you to be safe when the time came and I had to go away."

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. 83

" Oh, Harry, how cruel !" said I. " I had got it out of my
mind just then. Now, I shall never forget it again. And
where could you send me ? What would it matter, except to
be near at hand for the post, and get the earliest news."

" Unless you were to go to your Aunt Connor ; poor Milly,"
said he with a pitiful look at me.

41 Have you got your orders. ?" cried I, clasping my hands.

He said, "Nonsense!" getting up hurriedly. "Indeed, Milly,
you must consider this question without thinking it is all over
the moment I speak of it ; and don't burden yourself with an
unsuitable maid. You know, whether we go to the Crimea or
not, we are likely very soon to go somewhere. The regiment
Cannot be long here," *

14 Then, Harry, if there is nothing certain don't let us talk of
it," said I ; " when one's heart is to be broken, one cannot keep
always anticipating the moment. 4' Don't make any arrange -
ments ; when it comes, that will be time enough. I shall care
about nothing but letters. So long as I can have letters 1 shall
do."

Harry stayed, lingering about me before he went out. " I
am not so sure that the Lady Fanshawe idea is a foolish one
after all," he said after awhile. " What fetters you put a man
into, you wives and babes ! I wish I only knew somebody
that would be very good to yoir-if I have to go away. Nine-
teen ! and to be left all by yourself in the world ! It's hard
work, Milly, to be a soldier's wife."

44 If you don't mean anything particular — if there's no orders
come — have pity on me, and don't talk, Harry !" I cried out.
44 When you must go, I'll bear it. I shall do as well as the
other soldiers' wives. I can never be all by myself as long as
you are in the world, though you should be ten thousand miles
away. Don't talk of it. I shall get strength when the day
comes ; but the day has not come nor the strength ; don't puo
me to needless torture, Harry."

ik I won't," he said again, with that little sigh, and went
away leaving me very miserable. Oh ! if all this happy life
were to finish and come to an end. If I was to waken up some
dreadful morning and find him gone, and all the light gone out
like the light in a dream ! I durst not think upon it. I got
up and rushed about my little occupations. Lizzie came
upstairs when I was taking baby, who had just woke from his
morning sleep, out of the cradle. She stood, shy and doubtful,
looking at me, seeing in a moment that I was not so cheerful as
usual. Poor child, with a strange self-recollection that waa

84 The Last of the Mortimers.

quite natural, but seemed very odd to me, she thought she had
something to do with it. Her countenance fell directly. She
came sidling up to me with her heart in her face. Mrs.
Saltoun had taught her sonio faint outlines of common con-
ventional civility, and succeeded in substituting " uiem" for
" leddy" in her style of address. She came up to me accord-
ingly, with the tears ready to start, and every sign of grieved
disappointment and restrained eagerness in her face. " Oh,
mem," cried Lizzie, "have I been doing wrong? Are you
no pleased wi' me?" The words went to my heart, I can-
not tell how. It made me see more clearly than a dozen
sermons how we were every one of us going about in a
private little world of our own. To think that her shortcom-
ings, the innocent grotesque creature, should throw me into
such trouble ! What a strange unconscious self -estimation that
was not selfishness ! In spite of myself, the load at my hearb
lightened, when I smiled up at the girl.

"Lizzie," said I on the impulse of the moment, not thinking
chat I might perhaps wound her; "if we did not suit each
other, should we quite break our hearts?"

Lizzie coloured high, made a momentary pause, and dropped
her queer curtsey, " Eh no, mem, no you; I couldn't expect
it,'' said Lizzie, with a long sigh. Then, after another pause :
"If it was a' to turn out a dream after twa haill days ; and, to
be sure, it's three days coming ; but if it was a7 to come to
naething after a' this," smoothing down her new dress, " and a'
the thoughts I've had in my mind, eh me ! I think I would
have nae heart ony mair either to break or bind/'

Now, perhaps there was not very much in these words ; but;
they were so exactly what I had been thinking myself, that
they seemed to make a new link between me and my odd child-
maid.

" That is just what I have been thinking — but with far, far
more reason," said I ; " for, oh, Lizzie ! war's proclaimed, and
Mr. Langham may have to leave me ; it might happen any
day ; and what should I do alone ?"

"Oh, mem, dinna greet !" said Lizzie loudly : " dinna let
tears fa' on the wee baby ; but I ken what you would do. Just
nurse the bairn, and pray the Lord, and wait. If you were
sending me awa', it would be never to come back again ; but if
the Captain gangs to the wars he'll come hame a great general ;
maybe he would have a ribbon at his breast and a Sir at his
name !" cried Lizzie, .slowing up suddenly. " Eh, wouldna we
a' be proud 1 You inight'weary whiles, but the Captain would

The Last of the Mortimers. 85

never forget you, nor be parted in his heart, if he was ten
thousand miles away."

•• You strange little witch," said I, crying, with the strangest
f -fling of comfort, " you say the very words that come into in y
heart?1

The creature gave me a bright affectionate look, with tears
in her brown eyes. "And please can I take baby out for a
walk?" she said, immediately falling back into her own depart-
ment, with her little bob of a curtsey. "I'll gang before the
windows to let you see how careful I am. It's the bonniest
morning ever was. Eh, mem. if you're pleased, I'll ay see the
sun shining," cried my nursery-maid.

And I actually did trust her with my precious baby, and
stood at the window watching her with breathless anxiety and
satisfaction for a whole hour, afraH to lose sight of her for a
moment. Steady as a judge walked Lizzie, grand and im-
portant in her "charge," disdaining the passing appeals of
" neighbours," marching along on the sunny side of the way —
for it was already cold enough to make that necessary — shading
the child's eyes with such adroit changes of his drapery and her
own, preserving him from the wind at the corners, and picking
her steps over the unequal road with such care and devotion,
that I could have run downstairs and kissed her on the spot.
The sight, somehow, drove half the bitterness of my thoughts
out of my head. The sky was clear with that " shining after
rain" which has so much hope and freshness in it. The wind
was brisk, with plenty of floating clouds to knock about. Before
us, in the clear air, the castle rock looked almost near enough
to have touched it, with the sun shining on its bold grey front,
and all those white puffs of clouds blowing against and around
it, like heavenly children at their play. How it stood there,
everlasting ! How the sun smiled arid caressed those old walls
where Harry was, and warmed and brightened the cheerful bit
of road where, to and fro, before my eyes, unconscious in his
baby state, went Harry's son. Ah, me ! td-day is to-day, if
one were to die to-morrow. I was too young to grope about
for darkness to come, and lose the good of this beautiful hour.
Besides, does not the good Lord know all about to-morrow ?
Beginning and end of it, one thing with another, it pleases
Him. Presently we shall have it, and strength for it. So, away
till your time, you dark hour ! just now it is not God, but un
eiieiL v who sends you. The light is sweet, and it is a pleasant
thing to behold the sun.

86 The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER X.

WHEN" Harry came home that evening, I knew he had
something to tell me : but after the first start was over, I
felt sure it was not anything painful from the look of his face.
I may venture to say now that he was a very handsome young
man in those days ; but the thing that first drew my heart to
him was the way he always betrayed himself with his face.
"Whatever he was feeling or thinking, you could tell it by his
eyes ; arid if he sometimes happened to say anything he did not
think, as happens to everybody now and then, his eyes woke up
to a kind of sly, half ashamed, half amused expression, and let
you know he was fibbing in the oddest way in the world.

u I almost fell upon a discovery to-night," said Harry.
"What should you have thought, Milly darling, if I had
brought you home word about your father and that estate you
are to come heir to? I actually thought I was on the scent ot'
it for ten minutes at least."

"But it was a mistake," said I, very quietly.

u I confess, so far, it was a mistake ; but still we may hear
something," said Harry. " You have heard me talk of old
Pendleton scores of times. Fancy how I looked when he
began about Haworth, a little town in Yorkshire, all sorts of
stories, as if he knew all about it. After I had sat out a dozen
anecdotes of other people, I asked him if he knew any
Mortimers there. Oh yes, yes! he said briskly, old Mortimer
lived in the brick house opposite the church ; famous old fellow
before he got so very rheumatic and useless — had a son about
Pendleton's own age. And here he shook his head : ' Never
did any good, sir ! never did any good ! Jilted in early life,
and never got over it.' You may suppose this made me prick
up my ears."

u My father!" said I.

" To be sure ! it could not be anybody \else ; but it was your
grandfather whom old Pendleton would keep talking of. I
asked very closely all about him. It appears he only died
about ten years ago ; long after your father, Milly, and seems
to have been tolerably rich, according to Pendleton. 1 here's
none of the family remaining, Pendleton says. The red brick
house is all falling to ruins ; and how the money went, or

The Last of the Mortimers. 87

whether there was any money, he can't tell. I have a strong
idea of making some inquiries about it. Don't you think it
would be worth while?"

41 It seems to me of late that you're always thinking about
money. Why is it ?" said I. 4>Why should we go and
trouble ourselves about people that have never inquired after
us."

" You simpleton !" cried Harry. " Who cares whether they
like us or no ; but that red brick cosy house for my Milly
darling, and a little comfort to console her — it would take all
the pricks out of my pillow when "

u Don't talk, Harry. I'll not listen to you. I'll have no
inquiries made," cried I, in desperation. " Every time I
comfort myself a little you pull me back again. To-night I
am very happy and content, and don't care for your to-
morrows. Be quiet and let my grandfather alone, if I ever
had one. What do 1 care for him ? He was either in debt
and had no money to leave, or he was living on an annuity, or
he endowed a hospital, or something. And the red brick nonse
of cour&e is in Chancery. Let the old gentleman alone. I'll
tell you about baby. He certainly noticed Mrs. Saltoun's bird
swinging in its cage to-day."

•' Nonsense ! Pendleton is to write to his brother, who lives
there, and ask for all the particulars. He says your grandfather
was a character," said Harry. " He belonged to some good
family : Welsh, Pendleton thinks — but professed to scorn all
that, and called his son after Arkwright, the cotton-spinner ;
that's what the A. means in your father's name. By Jove !
I wouldn't write myself Richard Arkwright if I could help it.
What humbug it is giving fellows other people's names!
They must have had a fancy for it in those days. Guess what
Pendleton's own name is? He signs himself E. B. quite
modestly It's Edmund Burke, upon my honour !"

44 Well," said I, "we have only got three names among us;
and they are all simple enough."

" Oh, so is Richard Arkwright when it's a man's own
name," said Harry. * ' Now what do you think of my discovery?
I confess I think it's something to know where one's family
belong to. If I could only have taken you to our dear old
Rectory, Milly. What a pleasure it would ha^ e b urn to have
thought of you there! I could have watched you all round
every turn of the garden, although I had been at the other end
of the world."

" You are not going to the other end of the world ; and we

88 The Last of the Mortimers.

have no claim upon the Rectory now, any more than on my
grandfather," said I. "Here is a cup of tea for you. Now
do be content ; and don't talk, Harry ; at least not on that
subject. Of all the places in the world I like Edinburgh, a
little to the south of the Castle, and close upon Bruntsneld
Links."

"You have no imagination, Milly," said he. "However
we'll hear what old Pendleton says ; and if there is anything
known about it I should be very much tempted, little as we
have at present "

"To throw our poor good money away," cried 1. "You
who grudged baby his pretty hood ! Oh, Harry, Harry, what
wild fancies have you taken into your head V"

"To make my Milly a refuge when I'm away. Not so
wild, after all," he said to himself softly. 1 made a noise with
my teacups, and would not hear him. It was hard work keep-
ing cheerful when he would return and return to the same
subject. Sometimes I trembled "and wondered, with a sudden
pang, was it a presentiment V But all the presentiments I ever
hoard of were sudden and did not last; and it was natural
enough, too, that he should be anxious. If he did have to leave
me, would not I work, or beg, or steal, or anything, to have
everything comfortable for him? I forgave Harry for looking
out for a home for his poor little wife ; but yet every time he
spoke of it, it went to my heart.

And I must say for myself that I never had the least hope
either from my unknown relations or Harry's. I could not
believe in a grandfather, nor any cold strange people belonging
to me. If I had friends they should have shown themselves
friendly when 1 needed it most. Now I thought, in my pride,
I did not want to know anything about them. I pictured to
myself an old morose man, that would have nothing to say to
his poor son's only child. In my mind I took quite a prejudice
against the very place, and dreamt all that night of a mouldy
old red-brick house, with endless passages, and little steps now
and then to throw one down and break one's limbs in the dark-
ness. Somehow, both Harry's imagination and mine fixed on
that old red -brick house. He thought it would be pleasant to
settle me in such a place, i had the most frightful fancies
about it. I could see myself going about the old grey faded
rooms, and Harry away at the war. I could see a pale crea-
ture, that was me, go wringing her hands down the old stair-
case, and trembling at the window waiting for the post coming
in. I could see dreadful shadows of scenes that might be when

The Last of the Mortimers. 89

the letters came, which I would not look at, but could not shut
out of my heart. Harry did not think how he was torturing
me when he spoke of that old red-brick house. It seemed,
somehow, as if all my fears took solid form, and became real
when they got a shelter to house themselves in. I grew super-
stitious, as most people do when their hearts are in great
trouble. Going on from less to more I came to settle upon this
as a token for evil. If anyhow, by any dreadful chance, some-
thing should come of it, and I should ever have that house in
my power, then I should know that the light was to depart
from me, and that I was to be set down, all by myself, and
desolate, to wither down and pine to death where my hard-
hearted grandfather had died In my own mind,- and without
baying anything to anybody, I settled upon this sign; and grew
so assured of it, just by fancying things, that, if I had heard that
my grandfather had left me a fortune, and that we should be
comfortable all the rest of our lives, I should have sunk down
as if the intelligence WHS a blow. To be poor and happy, and
have our own way to make, seemed just enough, somehow; and
in my superstition 1 almost thought God would punish us for
wanting more. I thought if wealth ^Lculd possibly come, hap-
piness would fly away. I made sure if Harry got his will it
would be death to me. The thought of it put a new terror into
iny life. His going away was not now the first thing I was
afraid of. I was afraid of his finding that home for me that he
was so anxious about — that place where I cc^kld be comfortable
without him. Every grief in the world came to be implied and
suggested to my mind by the mention, of that red-brick house.

90 The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER XI.

•* /~\H yes, I am very fanciful, I know I am ; but if Harry

\J would only be content, and let me be happy while I
can," said I, trying, but without success, to gulp down my
tears.

" Mrs. Langham, my dear, the Captain canna be content,
and it stands to reason," said Mrs. Saltoun; "and being
anxious, as a good man should, to provide for his wife and his
bairn, will no take him away an hour sooner than if he were a
reckless ne'er-do-weel, that cared neither for the tane nor the
tither. Be reasonable, and let him speak. He's young and
you're young ; and you're neither o' ye that wise but ye might
thole mending. It's a real, discreet, sensible thing o' the young
gentleman to try his very utmost for a home for his wife if he
lias to go away."

u If you have taken his side I shall give up speaking," said
I. "What do I care for home, or anything else, if he is
away?"

" But you care for the Captain's peace of mind, Mrs. Langham,
my dear," said Mrs. Saltoun ; " that's far different. Maybe
the truest love of a' would make itself content to be left in
splendour for the sake of a comfortable thought to them that's
going on a far different road. J wouldna say but the thought
o' your safety would lighten mony an hour of danger. Mony's
the strange thing I've seen in my life ; but eh ! when ye have
them that ye maybe mayna have lang, gie them their will ! Let
him have his ain way, and gang in wi' him if ye can. There's
mony a young wife like you would die cheerful, or do ony
hard thing in the world for her husband, but canna see her
way just to do that. Gie him his will! I was ower late
learning that mysel'."

The very tone in which my good old lady spoke plunged me
deeper and deeper into my agony of alarm and terror. I did
not take her words for what they meant. I went aside to draw
terrifying inferences from her tone and the sound of her voice.
She thought he would go, I concluded — perhaps she had heard
already that marching orders had come — she thought that he
would never come back again, if he did leave me. Anxiety and
fear seized hold upon me so forcibly that I never stopped to.

The Last of the Mortimers. 91

think that Mrs. Saltoun had no means of knowing, any more,
or even so much as I knew, and that she could not possibly be
better informed on this point than I was.

'• And now tell me about your family, Mrs. Languam, my
dear. I've come across half the folk in the country, I might
venture to say, one time and another. I was on the continent
for three years with my old gentleman," said Mrs. Saltoun;
u it's just astonishing to say such a thing, but if you'll believe
me, a person gets better acquaint with their own country folk,
that is, meaning the higher ranks o' life, in foreign parts than
at home. It's maybe just a glance and away, that's true ; but
them that has good memories minds."

" And were you really abroad ?" said I, feeling a little
interested in epite of all my trouble ; " and who was your old
gentleman V — not "

" No, no, nobody belonging to me. I had the charge of his
house and his young family, that he had no business to have at
his age ; an auld f uil of a man that had married a young wife,
and lost her, and was left, past seventy, with four young
bairns. Mortimer ? wasn't that your name, my dear ? Eh ? I
mind of a Miss Mortimer made a great steer among a' the
English one season ; and among mair than the English by
bad fortune. She was counted a great beauty ; but 1 cannasay
she was like you."

" No, indeed, not likely !" cried I.

" I would rather have your face than hers though," said kind
Mrs. Saltoun. " Bless me, now I think of it, that was a very
strange story. There was a Count somebody that followed her
about like her shadow. Except her beauty, 1 canna say I ever
had much of an opinion of her. She was very heartless to her
servants, and, for all the admirers she had, 1 think her greatest
admirer was herself ; but between you and me, my dear, men
are great fools ; she had ay a train after her. To be sure she
was said to be a great fortune as well. I canna think but that
poor Count was badly used. Counts are no a' impostors, like
what we think them here. He was a real handsome gentleman,
that one. He was with her wherever she went for a year and
more. Some folks said they were to be married, and more
said they were married already. That was ay my opinion ; —
when, what do you think, all at once he disappeared from
her, and for a while she flirted about more than ever;
and then she went suddenly off and home with her falher.
I would like to hear the rights o' that story. Vs'lu-n a
woman's a witch, — and I canna think a great beauty without a

92 The Last of the Mortimers.

heart is on y thing else — most other women take a great interest
in finding her out. Fools say it's for envy ; but it's no for
envy, my dear. You see beauty doesna blind a woman ; we
can ay see what's going on underhand."

" And what became of her?" said I.

"That is just what I never heard. That is the worst of
meeting in with folk abroad ; you see them once, and you,
maybe, never see them a' your days again," said Mrs. Saltoun.
" To be sure, you commonly hear of them, one way or other ;
but I never heard of the beautiful Miss Mortimer again. It's
five -and- twenty years ago, if it's a day, and she was far from
young then. That poor Count — I canna mind his name — was
a good five years, if no more, younger than the witch that
kept him at her call. I took a real spite against that woman ;
for you see she was just at the over-bloom, and yet took a' the
airs of a young queen. I wouldna wonder in the least but,
after a', she was married and wouldna own to it. There was
nae heart in her."

" But if she was married, how could she help herself?"
said I.

"That is what I canna tell," said Mrs. Saltoun; "there's
wheels within wheels, especially in foreign parts. Maybe the
Count vvasna a grand enough match, maybe — I canna tell you;
it's a' guess-work ; but I am very sure of one thing, that she
was not an innocent woman, with nothing on her conscience
when she went away."

44 1 hope she is no relation of mine," said I. " Harry has
found out that I had a grandfather, and all about him. Oh,
only sup; -)se, Mrs. Saltoun, this dreadful beauty should turn
out. to be my aunt! That icou/d be delightful!" I said to
myself after a while, with a kind of bitter satisfaction; " not
to live in the red-brick house alone, but to live with a dreadful
old beauty who would be sure to be haunted. That would be
purgatory, enough, to please anybody ; and Mortimer is not at
all a common name."

My old lady looked up at me half frightened. " Don't say
such a thing, Mrs. Langham, my dear. I would not say a
word against any person's character, far less one that might
turn out a relation of yours. But, for all that I've no right to

should be so that, in the order of Providence, the Captain was
to go, you mustna take up just with ony relation without

The Last of the Mortimers. 93

considering if they would make ye happy. You must be
careful where you go — you must "

** Happy?" cried I. It seemed like mockery and a kind of
insult ; — as if I could be happy when Harry, perhaps, was in
danger, perhaps wounded or ill, in suffering, and away from
me!

"Whisht, whisht," said Mrs. Saltoun. "I ken ye better
than ye ken yourself. It'll be hard, hard work at first ; but
when the parting's over you'll get hopeful, and think o' the
meeting again ; and ye'll ay get letters to cheer ye; and with
the baby and the sun shining you'll be happy before you ken.
But I maunna have ye settled down with the like of yon Miss
Mortimer. Na! na! naething like that, if she were twenty
times an aunt. Far better stay on still with me, that would
ay be coming and going to cheer you up. Yon's a woman
without a heart. I must speak to the Captain mysel'."

Though I was much nearer crying that being amused, I
could not but laugh at Mrs. Saltoun's anxiety about her Miss
Mortimer, whom there was not the very slightest reason to
suppose any relation of mine. I took up the idea myself, I
must say, with quite a ludicrous sort of uncomfortable satis-
faction. If I had a grandfather, why should not I have an
aunt? Why should there not be an old Miss Mortimer living
in the red-brick house, ready to take me in, and kill me
slowly by degrees? I formed an immediate picture of her—
how she would look, and what she would say to me. I fancied
her dressed up in her old fashions, trying to look young and
a beauty still. How dreadful it must be to drop from being a
great beauty, and having everybody worship you, down to a
mere old woman left all by yourself ! Poor old Miss Mortimer !
If she was my aunt, and was very cross, and discontented, and
miserable, there might be something different in the old red-
brick house, that quiet, dead comfortable home that poor
Harry, in his love and kindness, was so anxious to find for me.
There would be some satisfaction in living a miserable life with
an ogre in an enchanted castle if Harry were away. Mrs.
Saltoun's words did not alarm me ; on the contrary, I grew
quite curious about this imaginary Miss Mortimer. I thought
I could fancy her going about those faded rooms which
yesterday 1 fancied seeing myself in. Now it was her figure
I saw all alone by the fire. Had she got used to it, I wonder ?
or did she chafe and beat her poor old wings against the cage,
and hate the world that had given over admiring her? I tried
to spell out what kind of a beauty she had been ; but it was

94 The Last of the Mortimers.

always twilight in the old-fashioned room. Tall, to be sure,
with grey hair that had been black, and proud eyes all
•wrinkled up in their sockets. Poor old Miss Mortimer! I
wonder did she know that she had an orphan niece who was to
be sent to her for a comfortable home? Couldn't I look
again, and see myself come in, and how she greeted me ? I
think I must have grown quite fantastic in my troubles. I
could not keep my thoughts away from Mrs. Saltoun's great
beauty. All alone in the house that was falling into decay,
what ghosts must crowd about her! Did she see the Count
she had ill-used oftenest, or some other who was more
favoured? How did she keep these phantoms off from her in
the silence ? I kept going over all this as other girls go over
imaginary romances of their own ; I knew what my own
romance was ; but still I was only nineteen, and loved to
dream.

And, perhaps, the consequence of this new turn to my
thoughts was, that I was more tolerant of Harry's curiosity
and anxious musing about my father's family, which had been
revealed to him in that strange, unexpected glimpse by Mr.
Pendleton, the regimental doctor. I did not stop him
nervously when he began to talk of that favourite subject of
his thoughts. He was always coming back to it somehow. I
could trace the idea running through all he said. Not fancy
and nonsensical imaginations like mine ; but serious, simple-
minded anxiety, and an earnest concern about the matter
which wrould have broken my heart, had I not begun to get
used to it now. There was nothing talked about or heard of
but the wrar and the quantities of soldiers who were being sent
£«way. Harry had no other expectation or hope but to go too,
and all his thought was, to find a shelter for me. I could see
it haunted his mind constantly, and at last I gave in to it,
that he might be eased on the subject. I used to discuss it
over with him whore I should go — oh, only to go like Lady
Fanshawe, and be beside him, though he did not know !
That was impossible ; so I let him talk, and smiled the best I
could. Soon enough, perhaps, we should have land and sea
between us. Let him say what he would. Let him arrange
what he would. If it was a comfort to him, what did it
matter? The old brick house and Miss Mortimer would be
better than the happiest of homes. Who could wish to bcj
happy while Harry was away

The Last of the Mortimers. 05

CHAPTER XII.

ONE day after this Harry came in with a letter in hig
hand.

"Here is news, Miily, darling; not such news as we ei*
pected, but still news," said he ; " this is not how you are to
become a great heiress, certainly ; but still it's interesting. It
turns out, after, all, that your grandfather was not rich."

" Oh ! is it Mr. Pendleton's letter?" said I.

" Pendleton's brother has something to do with it," said
Harry, with a little excitement ; " there was not much money
— not any more than enough to pay the debts and give some
presents to the old servants — but there is the house. They
had no funds to employ in looking up the heir, and nobody
cared to take much trouble. So there it stands falling to
pieces. Look here, Milly ; it's yours, indisputably yours."

"But how about Miss Mortimer?" cried I.

Harry stopped short all at once as he was opening the
letter, and stared at me. " Miss Mortimer ! who is she?" he
said, in the most entire amazement. He might well look
surprised : but I had so entirely made up my mind about her,
and that she was living in the old house, that his question was
quite a shock to me.

" Why, Miss Mortimer, to be sure," I said, faltering a
little ; and then I could not help laughing at Harry's astonished
face.

" It appears that you know more than Mr. Peiidleton does,
Milly," said he ; " there is no Miss Mortimer here. I suppose
you are only amusing yourself at my expense : but I really am
quite in earnest. Mr. Mortimer's house is entirely yours.
He had no child but your father ; you are the heir-at-law. I
only wish there had been a Miss Mortimer. You may look
displeased, Milly darling ; but think if there had been a good
old lady to take care of you while I'm away !"

" Oh, Harry, you don't know what you are saying," cried 1 ;
"that Miss Mortimer was an old witch and "beauty. Mrs.
Saltoun told me that if she should turn out to be a relation of
mine, she would speak to you herself, to say that I must not on
any account go there."

"Go where? What Miss Mortimer are you speaking of ?M
said Harry, completely mystified.

00 The Last of the Mortimers.

Then I had to confess that I knew nothing of her, and it was
all imagination; and Harry shook it off quite lightly, and
went on to talk of this house. As if I ever could, after all my
fancies, put Miss Mortimer out of that house ! As if she h;id
not taken possession, a wonderful old ghost, always to live and
reign there ! And, moreover, my heart got quite chill within
me as Harry spoke. This was my bad omen ; this was the sign

1 had appointed with myself for the corning of every trouble.
I got so pale, listening to him, that he was disturbed, and grew
quite anxious. Was I ill? What was the matter with me?
1 said No, with a gasp, and let him go on. He read out of the
letter all the description of this dreadful house ; but I am sure
I did not need any description. I saw it as clear as a picture ;
large rooms, to be sure, with great faded Turkey carpets on
them ! a low broad staircase, with myself coming down on the
post-morning wringing my hands, and Miss Mortimer sitting
all silent by the fire ; a large old garden with mossy apple-trees,
and a sun-dial somewhere about, some dozen bedrooms or so,
all hushed and solemn, as if people had died there. I am not
sure that I heard the words of Harry's description ; for what
was she good ? I saw it perfectly well in my mind, far clearer
than I ever could have known it by words.

*' .And Harry," cried I, with a start of despair, when he came
to a pause, " would you really have me go to live in such a
place — a place I never was in in all my life — a place I have
no kind feeling about, nor pleasant thoughts — only because it
was iny grandfather's house, whom I never saw, and who never
cared to see me V I did not think you could have been so cruel.
Besides, it would be far too expensive. Servants would have
to be kept for it ; and you must make up your mind that it
would kill me."

" But it might sell for a good price," said Harry, " and I
might get you a pretty cottage, where you pleased, with the
money. I am going to write to old Pendleton to tell him who
you are and all abou-t it. You have had your own way with
your first bit of fortune ; but I should not at all wonder, Milly
darling," he said, laughing, " if you were to offer it, rent free,
to your Aunt Connor, that she might find it a very eligible
situation. After such a description, Mrs. Connor is not the
woman to despise the red-brick house."

" She might have it altogether, and welcome, for me," said
I. *' Oh, Harry, I can't help thinking it's an ill omened place.
I could never be happy there."

" Who ever heard of an ill omen now-a-days?" said Harry •

The Last oj the Mortimers. 97

11 it's a pagan fancy, Milly. For my part the idea rather cap-
tivates me. I should like to live in the house my good father
was born hi. My bridegroom uncle has it now. Don't you
think I lit. I better write and tell him my little wife is an
heiress ? However, perhaps the best thing will be to try and
sell the house."

•'Oh, much the best thing!" I said. That would be
getting rid of it, at all events ; and as Harry would not leave
®ff talking of it, I persuaded him with all my might to get
done with it so. We were both quite confident that we had
only to say who we were and get it without any trouble.
Thafe, of course, was all very natural in me that knew nothing
about things, but Harry might have known better. He was
quite pleased and interested about it. I think he never was

Suite satisfied not to know who I belonged to ; but now that
e had hunted up my grandfather, he was quite comforted.
And how he did talk of the pretty cottage he was to buy me !
Sometimes it was to be in England, in his own county;
which he naturally liked best of all places; sometimes near
Edinburgh, where we were, because I was fond of it. Some-
times we took walks and looked at all the pretty little houses
we ceuld see. He had planned it out in his own mind, all the
rooms it was to have, and used to study 'the upholsterer's
windows, and take me ever so far out of my way to see some
pretty table or chair that had taken his fancy. He said if he
could only see me settled, and know exactly what I was
looking at, and all the things round me, it would be such a
comfort when he went away.

This going away was kept so constantly before my mind
that I could not forget it for a moment. I lived in a constant
state of nervous expectation. Every day when he came in I
went to meet him with a pang of fear in my heart. Such con-
stant anxiety would have made a woman ill who had nothing
to do ; but I was full in the stream of life, and one thing
counterbalanced another, and kept everything going. That
must be the reason why people do get strength to bear so many
things when they are in the midst of life. Young disengaged
people would die of half the troubles that middle-aged, hard-
labouring people have ; but I had a daily dread returning every
time Harry returned, and with a shiver of inexpressible relief
put off my anxiety to the next day, when I found there was no
news. All the evils of life" seemed to crowd into that one possi-
bility of Harry's going away. It was not that I feared any
positive harm coming to him, or had made up my mind that he

98 T1ie Last of the Mortimers,

would hot Come back again ; it was the sudden extinction of out
bright troubled life that I looked forward to, the going out of
our' happiness. I did not seem to care where I should be, or
what might happen after that time.

In the meantime Harry grew quite a man of business, and
entered with something like enjoyment, I thought, into the
pursuit of my grandfather's house. He wrote to Aunt Connor
for all the information that could be had about my father, and
for the register of his marriage and my birth. He wrote a
long letter to that Mr. Pendleton at Ila worth, who had, as he
said, something to do with it ; and old Pendleton, the surgeon,
came out to see me, and told me all he remembered about my
father. That was not very much ; the principal thing was,
that he had heard of poor papa being jilted by a relation of his
own, a great heiress — in Wales, he thought, but he could not
tell where. Of course that must have been Sarah, in poor
papa's drawing, who was getting on the wrong side of her
horse ; and u he never did any more good," Mr. Pendleton
said. He lingered about at home for some time, and then went
wandering about everywhere. He had a little money from his
mother, just enough to keep him from being obliged to do any-
thing ; and the old surgeon burst out into an outcry about the
evils of a little money, which quite frightened me. " When
silly people leave a young man just as much as he can live on,
they ruin him for life," said old Mr. Pendleton. u Unless
he's a great genius there's an end of him. Richard Mortimer,
begging your pardon, was not a great genius, Mrs. Langham ;
but he might have been a good enough soldier, or doctor, or
solicitor, or something; or a cotton-spinner, as his name in-
clined that way, — if it hadn't been for his little bit of money.
Langham, my boy, either have a great fortune or none at all ;
it will be all the better for your heir."

" We'll have a great fortune," said Harry. " The first step
must be to sell this red-brick house."

Mr. Pendleton gave him an odd look. " There's a saying
about catching the hare first before you cook it," said the
doctor. " Make yourself quite sure they'll give you a deal of
trouble before they'll let you take possession ; and then there's
no end of money wanted for repairs. The last time I saw it,
there was a hole that a man could pass through in the roof."

Harry looked aghast at this new piece of information ;

nothing that 1 ever saw had such an effect upon Harry's

• courage. He gazed with open eyes and mouth at the disen-

chanter for a moment. I do think he could see the rain

The Last of the Mortimers. 99

dropping in, and the wind blowing, and damp and decay
spreading through the house just as clearly as I saw Miss Mor-
timer sitting by the fire, and myself going down the stairs.
After that I used to think Harry was thinking of the house,
whenever it rained much. He used to sigh, and look so grave,
and say solemn things about the wet weather destroying pro-
perty. And I cannot deny that I laughed. Altogether, this
house kept us in talk and interest, and did a good deal to
am'ise us through this winter, whi?,h, without something to
lighten it, would have passed very slowly, being so full of
perpetual anxiety and fears.

CHAPTER XIII.

XT was in spring that Harry came in one day with the news
in his face ; at least I thought it was the news. Heaven
help me ! — 1 came forward with my hands clasped, struck
speechless by the thought, my limbs trembling under me so
that 1 could scarcely stand. I suppose Harry was struck by
my dumb agony. My ears, that were strained to hear the one
only thing in the world that I was afraid of, devoured, without
being satisfied, the soothing words he said to me. I gasped at
him, asking, I suppose, without any sound, to know the
worst ; and he told me at once, in pity for my desperate
face.

u No such thing, Milly darling. No, no; not to the war
just yet. We are only to leave Edinburgh, nothing more."

I think I almost fainted at this reprieve ; I could scarcely
understand it. The certainty of the other was so clear upon
my mind that 1 almost could have thought he deceived me. I
sank down into a seat when I came to myself, and cried in my
weakness like a child ; Harry all the while wondering over me
in a surprise of love and pity. I do not think he quite knew
till then how much that terror had gone to my heart.

"No, Milly, darling," he kept repeating, looking at mo

100 The Last of the Mortimers.

always with a strange compassion, as if he knew that the grief
I was dreading must come, though not yet : " take comfort,
it has not come yet ; and before it comes you must be stronger,
and able to bear what God sends."

u Yes, yes, yes, I will bear it," said I, under my breath,
" but say again it is not to be now."

"No, we are going away to Chester," said Harry, "be
satisfied, I will not try to cheat you when that time comes.
We are to go to Chester to let some other fellows away. Now
you rnnst pack again and be going, Milly, like a true soldier's
wife."

Ah, me ! if that were all that was needful for a soldier's wife !
Somehow, all that night after, I felt lighter in my heart than
usual. I had felt all this time as if the sword was hanging
over my head ; but now that we were sent out wandering
again, the danger seemed to have faded further off. Nobody
would take the trouble to send a regiment from one end of the
country to the other, and then send them right away. If they
had been going to the war, they would have gone direct from
Edinburgh. It was a respite, a little additional life granted to
us. I sang my old songs that night, as I went about the room.
I could dare laugh to baby, and dance him about. How he
was growing, the dear fellow ! He set his little pink feet firm
on my hand, and conld stand upright. I showed Harry all
his accomplishments, and rejoiced over them. How thankful
and lighthearted I was, to be sure, that night! Harry kept
watching me, following me with his eyes in the strangest,
amused, sympathetic way. He was surprised to see the
agony I was in at first ; but he was still more surprised to see
how easily, as one might have said, I got over it now.

"And, Milly, what is to be done with the sprite?" said
Harry.

" Lizzie ? what should be done with her ? She is an
orphan, she has nobody belonging to her, she has taken
shelter with me. Harry, no ; we're poor, but we're not free to
think of ourselves alone. Lizzie shall go too. She is God's
child, and He sent her to rne."

Harry did not say anything, but he kept slowly shaking his
head and drumming upon the table. Harry had the common
people's ideas rather about responsibility. He was afraid of
the responsibility. For all the kindness in his heart he did not
like to step into what might be other people's business, or to
take u-p any burdens that did not lie in his way.

" Besides, she is the best servant in the world. She is

The Last of the Mortimers. 101

worth all Aunt Connor's three inaids. I can trust her with
baby almost as well as I can trust myself ; and, besides," said
I, rather hypocritically, " look at the creature's laundry work;
you never were so pleased before."

" Well, that is rather astonishing, I confess," said Harry,
looking at his fresh wristband with a little admiration. " I
don't believe those awkward red fingers ever did it. She must
keep some private fairy in a box, or have made an agreement
with a nameless personage. What if poor Lizzie's soul were in
danger on account of your fine linen, you hard-hearted Milly !
I do not believe you would care."

u Ah ! you can't deny her talents in the laundry," cried I,
with a little injudicious laughter. " What a triumph that is !
You never were content with anybody's work before."

Harry looked at me rather doubtfully. "You look very
much as if you were a little cheat," he said. u I'll have a peep
into the laundry one of these days myself."

«' But Lizzie must go with us," said I. "I have taken very
much to the strange creature. You and I are God's orphans
too. We have a right to be good to her ; and it is not all on
one side— don't think it, Harry ; she is very good to me. She
helps me with all her might, and stands by me whenever I
want, or tries to do it. 1 had rather have her than half-a-
dozen common servants. Leave this to me."

" But consider, Milly, what you are making yourself
responsible for," cried Harry.

1 stopped hi? mouth ; I would not let him speak ; and
danced away with baby all in my joy and comfort to put him
to bed. We met Mrs. Saltoun on the stairs in the dark, and
as she kissed the child, I kissed my good old lady out of the
fulness of my heart. u We are going away, but it is only to
Chester : we shall be together still," I said in her ear. I never
thought how strange she would think it that I should be
pleased to leave her, or how she might wonder at my spirits
getting up so easily. I was very happy that night.

Lizzie was putting all baby's things away when I went into
the room. She folded and laid them all aside more nicely than
I could have done it myself ; not, so far as I know, because
orderliness came natural to her, but because, with all her heart,
she had wanted to please me, and saw with her quick eyes how
it was to be done best. When anybody looked at Lizzie, and
she knew it, she was just as awkward as ever. How I had
Laboured to make her hands and her feet look as if they
belonged to her, without twisting up or going into angles ! but

102 The Last of the Mortimers.

it was all of no use. Whenever anybody looked at Lizzie, sho
would stand on one foot, and seek refuge of an imaginary
pinafore for her hands ; but just now, in the firelight, when
you could only half see her, you cannot think how tidily and
nicely the uncouth creature was going about, her work.

I paused before the fire after the child was in bed. ' ' Lizzie,"
said I, standing in the warm light, and looking down into it,
" do you like Edinburgh very much ?" I did not look round
for her answer, I waited till she should come to me ; and yet
felt pleased to see her, with " the tail of my eye," as Mrs.
Saltoun would have said, flitting about after one thing and
another, through the pleasant darkness, with the firelight all
glimmering and shooting gleams of reflection into it, sinning
in the drawers, and chairs, and furniture, which Lizzie's hands
had rubbed so bright. I could not help thinking, with a little
pride and self-complacency, that it was all my doing. If I
had not taught her, and taken pains with her- — but then, to be
sure, if she had not been wonderfully clever and capable ; the
one thing had just as much to do with it as the other. But,
between her exertions and my own, I had been very successful
in my little maid.

" Edinburey ?" said Lizzie, coming up to me, with a linger-
ing sound in that genuine Edinburgh tone of hers, " eh, mem,
isn't it rael bonnie? They say there's no such another bonnie
town in the world."

"But there are, though," said I; "they say quantities of
foolish things. Lizzie, the regiment is ordered away."

Lizzie clasped her hands together, and gave a shrill shriek.
" I'll waken the wean, but I canna help it. Eh, what will we
do?" cried Lizzie, in a voice of suppressed and sharp despair.
"I heard you say once you would die, and if you die, so will the
bairn, and so will I ; and what heart would the Captain have
to come hame again ? He would throw himself upon the spears,
the way they do in the ballads, and get his death. Mem !" cried
the excited girl, seizing my arm and stamping her foot upon the
floor in an impassioned appeal to my weakness, "if ye dinna
bide alive, and keep up your heart, he'll never come hame !"

I cannot explain what an extraordinary effect this had upon
me. The sudden flush of excitement and desperate necessity
for doing something to inspire and hold up my weakness, which
animated Lizzie, cast a new light upon myself and my selfish
terror. She cared nothing about affronting or offending me,
the brave primitive creature ; she thought only of rousing,
pricking me up to exert what strength I had. Her grasp on

The Last of the Mortimers. 108

my arm, her stamp on the floor, were nature's own bold sug-
gestions to arrest the evil she dreaded. I should not give way,
or break down — I should not send away my soldier unworthily,
nor peril the life on which another hung, if Lizzie could help
it. What I had escaped for the moment — what I should have
to go through with by and by, came all up before me at her
words. She whom I was proud of having trained for my
service had a braver heart than me.

But when T could explain to her the real nature of the case
our position changed immediately. Lizzie's countenance fell ;
she hung her head, and relapsed into all her old awkwardness.
It was neither the bold young soul, resolved, come what might,
to inspire me with needful courage, nor the handy little maid
busied with her work, but the old uncouth Lizzie, not knowing
how to stand or look for extreme awkwardness and eagerness,
that stood gazing wistful at me in the firelight. She stood with
her lips apart, looking at me, breathless with silent anxiety,
muttering as she stood, with an incessant nervous unconscious
motion, the physical utterance of extreme anxiety. She made
no appeal to me then; but, like a faithful dog, or dumb
creature, kept gazing in my face.

"And so we shall have to go away," said I, somewhat
confused by her eyes ; "and you are an Edinburgh girl, and
people know you here. I could recommend you very well, and
you might get a better place ; you must think it all over, and
decide what we must do."

Lizzie's face showed that she only understood me by
degrees ; that she should have any choice in the matter not
seeming to have occurred to her. When she fairly made it out,
she gave a joyful shout, and another little cry ; but plunged
me into the wildest amazement, the moment after, by the
following question, in which I could find no connection what-
ever with the subject under hand.

" Mem," said Lizzie, "is a' the Bible true alike — the auld
Testament as weel as the New ?"

"• Surely," said I, in the most utter surprise.

" Then I know what I'll do," cried the girl ; " I'll bring you
a hammer and a nail, and you'll drive it into the doorpost
through my ear."

" What in the world do you mean, child?" cried I,— "are
you laughing at me, Lizzie V or is the girl c*azed."

" Me laughing ? if you would do it I would greet with joy ;
for the Bible says them that have the nail driven through,
never gang out ony mair for ever, but belong to the house,

104 The Last of the Mortimers.

Mrs. Saltoun mightna be pleased if it was done in the parlour,
but down at the'outer door it might be nae harm. Eh, mem,
will ye ask the Captain ?" cried Lizzie, " and then I'll never
leave ye mair !"

Just then Harry called me downstairs, and all laughing, and
with tears in my eyes, I hurried down to him, not knowing
whether to be most amused or melted.

Harry had something to consult me about, which he plunged
into immediately, so that I had still had no opportunity of
propounding Lizzie's petition, when, all at once, about an hour
after, she made her appearance at the door. I never saw the
creature look so bright ; hvr eyes were shining, her colour high,
her breath coming quick with agitation, excitement, and a
mingled thrill of joy and terror. In one hand she carried Mrs.
Saltoun's great hammer, in another a rusty iron nail ; and her
resolution had removed at once her awkwardness and her re-
verential dread of Harry. She came up to him with a noiseless
air of excitement, and touched him on the sleeve ; she held out
the hammer and the nail without being able to speak a word.
He, on his side, looked at her with the utmost amazement. Lizzie
was too much excited to explain herself, or even to remark his
astonished look ; she had come to prove her allegiance in the
only way that occurred to her. 1 believe, in my heart, that she
longed for the grotesque extraordinary pang which was to
make her my bondslave for ever ; the spirit of a martyr was in
the child's heart.

When Harry understood the creature's meaning you may
imagine what a scene followed. 1 had to send Lizzie away lest
her highly-wrought feelings should be driven desperate, by the
agonies of laughter it threw him into. I took her outside the
door and put away the hammer, and gave her a kiss in the
dark. I whispered in her ear, " That shall be our boi-id,
Lizzie; we will take it out of the New Testament rather than
the Old," and left her sitting on the stairs, with her apron
thrown over her head, crying her heart out. No one, from
that day forward, has ever spoken of leaving Lizzie behind

The Last of the Mortimert. 105

PAKT III.
THE LADIES AT THE HALL.

(Continued).

CHAPTER I.

I CANNOT tell what it was that made me silent about this
adventure while we were having tea. My mind was
naturally full of it, but when, having the words just on my lips, I
looked at Sarah, some strange influence held me back. That
reluctance to speak of a matter which will turn out painful to
somebody I have felt come across me like a sort of warning more
than once in my life ; and this time it was so powerful, that
during our meal I said nothing whatever about the matter. You
are not to suppose, though, that I was so good a dissembler as
not to show that I had something on my mind. Little Sara
found me out in a moment. She said, "What are you thinking
of, godmamma?" before we had been two minutes at table, and
persecuted me the whole time,— finding out whenever I made
any little mistake; and, indeed, I made several, my mind being
so much occupied. Sarah, on the contrary, took no notice; she
seemed, indeed, to have recovered herself a good deal, and had a
very good appetite. She never talked much at any time, and
had said less than usual since ev. / little Sara arrived. So what
with my abstraction and Sarah's quiet occupation with herself,
there was not much talk, you may suppose. Little Sara Cress-
well's eyes, however, quite danced with mischief when she saw
me so deep in thought. She kept asking me all sorts of ques-
tions ; whether there was any bit of the road haunted between

106 The Last of the Mortimers.

the Park and the village ? whether I had got some sermons
from the rector to read? whether Dr. Appleby had been trying
some of his new medicines (the doctor was certainly too much
given to experiments) upon me ? whether 1 had met anybody
to frighten me ? Tea was all but finished, and 1 had just rung
the bell, when the little plague asked this last question ; and
you may imagine I was quite as much inclined to tell all my
story as Sara was to draw me out.

"Now I'll just tell you what I think has happened, god-
mamma," cried Sara. "" One of your old lovers has appeared
to you, and told you that, but for you, he might have been a
happy man ; and that all his troubles began when you refused
him. Now haven't I guessed right?"

" Kiglit? Why, I have told you a dozen times, Sara, that I
never had any lovers," said I, — " not till I was forty, at least."

" But that is no answer at all," cried the little puss. " And
the poor man might die for you, when you were forty, all the
same. Was it himself, quite pined away and heart-broken,
that you saw, godmamma, or was it his ghost?"

" Uush, you little provoking thing," said I ; " you and I
had a quarrel about an Italian the other evening. Now 1 know
a deal better about him than you do, Sara. He is all the ghost
I met."

I gave a glance at Sarah, sidelong, as I spoke. I am sure
what I said was light enough, and not very serious, but her ear
hud caught it ; it was a sign to me that she was still as much
on the watch as ever. She did not speak, nor lift up her head,
except with a little momentary start, but she stopped knittmy,
which was something extraordinary to me.

And little Sara flushed up; whether it was with the recollec-
tion of our quarrel, or a private interest of her own in the
young stranger, who, to be sure, being a handsome young man,
and mysterious, and romantic, was quite likely to excite a
foolish young imagination, I cannot tell ; but her cheeks cer-
tainly reddened up at a great rate, and she looked exactly as if
she were ready to pounce and bite, what between curiosity and
wrath.

" I met him on the road ; it is my belief he passed the gate
the other evening when I was looking out. Poor young man 1
he speaks very good English for an Italian," said 1.

Then Sarah's whisper interfered and stopped me ; she spoke
very sharply. " Who are you speaking of?" she said; "there
are no Italians here."

"There is one," said I; "poor fellow Little Sara there

The Last of the Mortimers. 107

knows about him. It appears he came expecting to find a
lady hereabouts, and can't find her. I can't think on the
name myself ; I never heard it that I know of ; but I must
allow that the young man looks like a gentleman ; and for au
Italian "

" Bo silent, Milly ! What can a person like you know?"
said Sarah, in an irritated shrill tone. " They're a double-
minded, deceitful, intriguing race ; they're vile story-tellers,
everyone; they're a people no more fit to be considered like
other Christians than dogs are, or slaves. Bah! What di
you mean talking to me of Italians? None of you are the
least aware of what you are speaking of. I know them
well."

Here little Sara struck boldly into tbe breach, and saved me
from the necessity of struggling out an answer.

u Godmamma, you are frightfully unjust !" cried little
Sara. " I wonder how you can speak of a whole people so ;
and such a people ! as if everybody in the world did not know
who they are, and what they have done !"

'• They have done every kind of fraud and falsehood in
existence," said Sarah, so earnest that her voice sounded like a
sort of smothered shriek. " 1 tell you, child, whoever trusts
or believes in them gets deceived and betrayed. Don't speak
to me of Italians — I know them ; and if any Italian comes
here pretending to ask anything," she said, suddenly turning
round upon me, and catching at me, if I may say so, with her
eye, "mind you, Milly, it's a cheat! I say, recollect it's a
cheat ! He does not want any living creature ; he wants
money, and profit, and what you have to give." '

If she had said all this quietly, and there had been nothing
beforehand to rouse my attention, I should not have been
surprised ; for to be sure, that was very much like what I had
always believed ; and as for lying, and seeking their own
advantage, I rather think that is just about what an English
person, who knows no better, thinks of most foreigners, right
or wrong. But Sarah's way of speaking was breathless and
excited. She was no more thinking of Italians in general than
1 was, or than little Sara was. She was thinking on some one
thing, and some one person ; she alone knew who and what.
All her anger, and her qui ckn ess ,« arid her dreadful look of
bring in earnest, were personal to herself: and I cannot
to anybody how my sister's unexplainable anxiety and
nt. bewildered and excited me.

But, S'.irah, you don't know anything of this poor fnVnd

II

108 The Last of the Mortimers.

man ; he may be as honest as ever was. I do believe he is, for

my part," said I ; u and what he wants is "

" Don't tell me !" cried Sarah. " I don't want to hear what
he wants. How should L know anything about him ? Hold
your tongue, Milly, I tell you. What ! you go and take a
fancy to a young villain and impostor, and neglect me!"

** Neglect you ! but, dear, not for the poor young Italian
gentleman's sake; you can't think that!" said I, more and
more amazed. .

u You all neglect me !" said Sarah, throwing down her
knitting, and rising mp in her passion. UI don't want to hear
of reasons or causes. You are not to tell me what young
impostors you may fish up in the streets, or what ridiculous
things your proteges may want. Don't say anything to me, I
tell you ! I desire to hear nothing about it. Make up what
pretty romance you please, you are quite fit to do it; but I
clear my hands of all such matters — you shall not even tell
them to me !"

And as she said this, — could I believe my eyes? — Sarah
thrust her footstool out of the way, pushed back her screen,
and making a momentary pause to search round all the dim
depths of the room with her eyes, went out, leaving us two,
Sara and me, staring at each other. What had affronted her ?
"What could be the cause of her displeasure. She left her
knitting thrown down into the basket, and the Times lying on
the chair beside her seat. Nobody had done or said anything
to displease her, unless my mention of the young Italian had
done it. What strange secret irritation could be working in
her, to produce these outbursts of passion without any cause ?

Little Sara stared at me with her bright eyes wide open, till
Surah had quite gone out of the room ; then the wicked little
creature, struck, I suppose, with something comic in my blank
distressed look, burst out laughing. I cannot tell you how the
sound of her laugh, thoughtless as she was, jarred upon me.

^'Is^this how you live so amicably at the Park, godmamma?"
cried Sara. "The people say you have the temper of an angel,
and that nobody else could live with godmamma Sarah. I
never believed it was true till now. You have the temper of
an angel, godmamma. You forgave me the other night when
I was so naughty ; you kissed me, though I did not expect you
woiuct And now here you' have been kind to poor Italian Mr.
Juuigi, and you have got paid for it. What have the Italians
done to godmamma Sarah to make her so savage at their very
name ?"

The Last vf the Mortimers. 109

"Ah! that is the question— wkat is it?" said L "God
knows!"

" Then you don't know?" said little Sara. " Yet I could
have thought you did, you looked so."
" How did I look?" cried I.

" As if there were a secret somewhere; as if you were think-
ing how godmamma Sarah would take it ; as if you were — well,
just watching her a little, and trying to see whether she cared,"
said the observant little girl.

u Was I, indeed ? was I so? Ah! I deserve to be punished.
What right have I to go and dream over anybody's looks and
frame romances, as she says? Heaven forgive me ! I'll go and
beg her pardon. I did not mean to do it. To think I should
be so mean and suspicious ! Little Sara, let me go."

Sara held me fast, clinging with her arms round my waist—-
and her provoking little face the little witch turned up close to
mine. " Tell me first what the romance was, godmamma ?"
said Sara. " She accused you of it, and you confess ; and I am
sure a romance is far more in my way than yours. Tell me,
please, this very moment, what romance you are making up ?
Has Mr. Luigi anything to do with it ? Is it all about god-
mamma Sarah? Tell me directly, or I don't know what I shall
do. Sit down in this great chair, and begin — romance of real
life."

" Ah, you foolish little girl ! there's many a romance of real
life you durst not listen to, and I durst not tell you," cried I.
" I am not making up any romance. Nonsense ! Child, get
up. I'll tell you about your Mr. Luigi, which is the only story

in my head. He is looking for a lady ; but that you know "

" Oh yes, and he can't find her ; the Countess Sermoneta,"
said Sara, in her careless way.

Just then, to my still greater wonder, Sarah returned to the
room. Evidently she had heard the child's words. I saw her
come to a dead stop in the shadow close by the door, and put
her hand upon her side, as if she were out of breath and had
io recover herself. What did this strange flitting about mean?
In her usual way she never moved from her seat, except to go
to dinner. Her going away was extraordinary, and her coming
back more extraordinary still. I could but gaze at her in amaze-
ment as she came slowly up, threading through the furniture
in the half light. But Sara, who had still her arms clasped
round me, had of course her back to her godmamma, and dul
not see that she had come back to the room.
" Wasn't it the Countess Sermoneta ?" said Sara, "I kuo*

110 The Last of the Mortimers.

he was asking all over Chester for such a person, and was so
disappointed. Did you never hear of a Countess Sermoneta,
godmamma ? If you heard it once you surely would remember
the name."

Sarah had stopped again while the girl was speaking. Could
she have been running up and downstairs that her breath came
so quick, and she had to make such pauses to recover herself ?
I could not answer Sara for watching my sister, feeling some-
how fascinated; but then, remembering that Sara had detected
me in anxious observation of her godmother, I hurried on with
the conversation to avoid any suspicion of that.

"That is just what I told the young man, my dear child —
that I never had heard the name," said I ; " but I promised to
try all I could to get some news for him. It is very sad he
should be disappointed, poor young fellow. I promised to ask
Ellis, who has been centuries with the Mortimers, you know ;
and I thought, perhaps, your godmamma and I, if we had a
talk together, might recollect somebody that married a

foreigner "

Here I made a dead pause in spite of myself. Sarah had
somehow managed to get back into her seat. She was wonder-
fully pale and haggard, and looted like a different creature.
She looked to me as if all her powers were strained for some
purpose, and that at any moment the pressure might be too
much, and she might give way under it. I could not go on ;
I stopped short all at once, with a feeling that somehow I had
been cruel. "Not to-night," I said softly to Sara, "another
time." Sara was obedient for a miracle. We broke off the
conversation just at that point, with an uneasy feeling among
us that it had been far more interesting and exciting than it
ought to have been ; and that the best thing to be done was to
bury it up, and conceal what we had been talking about.
Such was the immediate result of my easy promise to consult
my sister. Sarah sat very steadily through all that evening,
remaining up even later than usual. She took no notice of
anything that was said, nor mentioned why she went away.
We were all very quiet, and had little to say for ourselves.
What was this forbidden ground ?

TJie Last of tU Mortimers. Ill

CHAPTER II.

ris very odd, when there happens to be any one bit of
tabooed ground in a family, how impossible it is to keep off
it. I daresay every member of a household, above childhood,
knows that, more or less. If there is one matter that some two
people are quite sure to disagree upon, whom it is quite the
business of your life to keep comfortable and on good terms,
isn't that matter always turning up somehow? Doesn't it
float about in the air, and hover over your head, always ready
to poke in when it is not wanted, and do what mischief it can ?
That is my experience, at least. And it was so much the
worse in our case, because little Sara had no idea of keeping
quiet, and no notion that her innocent mischief and meddling
could do any real harm, or have any worse effect than putting
her godmamma "in a passion." Putting people in a passion
was fun to the thoughtless little girl ; it never came into her
little saucy inconsiderate head that Sarah's passion was not a
flash of harmless lightning like her own, or that it meant
anything which could disturb and overturn all my sister's quiet
life, and put me into a fever of bewilderment and anxiety. For
days after I kept carefully off the subject, thinking it would be
better to leave a polite message with Ellis for the Italian young
gentleman if he called, and say I was sorry I could not get him
any information, than to worry my poor sister, who was so
unaccountably disturbed by hearing of him. Not that Sarah
said anything about it ; but she looked so haggard and anxious
that it went to my heart. She came down even earlier than
usual and sat up later ; listened eagerly to all the conversation
going on ; sometimes, even, missed her drive ; sat on the watch,
as one might have supposed ; but when she had gone out for her
airing one day, I met the carriage, — and, can you believe it, the
very blinds were down ! If, when all was quiet, and nothing
had happened, I used to wonder sometimes what sort of life
she had led when she was younger, what friends she might
have had, and what was her history when she was abroad, you
may fancy how busy my mind was on that subject now.

The more I thought it over, of course, the more I could
make nothing of it. And what do you think at last was the
conclusion I came to? That Sarah, being a great beauty, and

112 The Last of the Mortimers.

always accustomed to admiration and almost a kind of worship,
had forgotten, poor dear soul, that Time had changed all that,
and that she was an old woman ; and that she imagined the
Italian we talked of, to be one of her old lovers come here to
look for her, and was quite frightened he should see her, and
know she was at the Park, and disturb us all with his raptures
and passions. After turning it over for days and days, that
was the very best explanation I could come to. Why she
should be so tragical about it, to be sure, I could not tell.
Perhaps she thought the story of all her old gay doings, if they
•were to come to my ears, would not sound just what a quiet
old maid like me would approve of. Possibly, it might be
somebody she had jilted that she was frightened to see ; perhaps
she was afraid of that Italian revenge one reads of in books.
I do suppose people are still stabbed out of jealousy and
revenge in Italy ; and everybody carries a stiletto about him.
If that was what Sarah thought of, no wonder she was fright-
ened, poor dear. And I must say it quite went to my heart to
see her so anxious and unsettled, watching every word that was
said, and turning her keen eyes towards me — for she would not
yield to change her seat, so that she might see for herself who
came in — every time the door was opened, to know who it was
by my face ; and, above all, going out that dreary drive with
the carriage blinds down, carrying all her dismal thoughts with
her! If she would only have confidence in me, what a
difference it would make! I could very soon have relieved
her mind about it, I am sure. What was it to me if she had
been very gay and foolish when she was young ? that was all
over, and she was my very own sister. To think that I should
stand upon my dignity, or blame Sarah for anything that was
past. But then she was so proud ! she always was so proud !
she would never own to being less than perfect. The best
thing was to disabuse her mind, if possible, and to make it
evident that this Italian was a young man, far too young ever
to have been a lover of Sarah's. A lover ! why, she might have
been his mother as far as age was concerned — and that he was
seeking, quite openly, an entirely different person. If I had
been a courageous woman I should have gone through with my
Btory the first night, and most likely saved my poor sister a
great deal of unnecessary anxiety. But I never was brave at
going into disagreeable conversation. I can't say I ever was
clever at conversation at all. And when a person runs away
with a mistaken idea, and you can't manage to get it out of
her head, and the further you go the worse it becomes, what

The Last of the Mortimers. 118

can you do? I tried to nerve myself up to going into it, b::(, I
could not. Whatever it was, it made her vastly uncomfortable,
that was evident ; and really when Sarah gets into her passions
there is no reasoning with her, and I get flustered immediately,
and she won't listen to explanations. So on the whole I never
had a more troublesome piece of. business on my hands.

As for little Sara Creswell, she was the greatest tease and
plague that ever was in a house. She worried me morning and
night about the romance I was making up, and did not hesitate
the least to carry on her persecution before Sarah, who looked
at her with a kind of silent rage, which the saucy little puss
never found out. But occupied and troubled as my mind was,
it was impossible not to be amused at that inconsistent little
creature and her goings on. She had brought out two grest
trunks with her, big enough to have held the whole of my
wardrobe for winter and summer, though she knew very well
we saw no company, and never required her to dress in the
evening. And as for her lace and worked muslin, and all that
foolish extravagance, that is so much in fashion again, there
was no end to the store she had. Years before this I gave her
the name of puss in velvet, for a very good reason. What do
you think, at eleven years old, she had persuaded that poor
innocent helpless man, her unfortunate papa, to do ? Why, to
get her a velvet frock, to be sure — not a pelisse, but a dress for
evenings like any dowager old lady ! Did ever anybody hear
of anything so preposterous ? And she kept up her fancy still,
with velvet jackets, and even a little ridiculous velvet apron all
trimmed and ornamented. Poor Mr. Cresswell, to be sure,
was well off, and, indeed, rich in his way ; but she might have
ruined any man with her extravagance ; and as to being
ashamed of it, would lift up her face coolly, and tell you she
never pretended to want to save papa's money. At the same
time she was as great as ever on the subject of dividing it all,
and keeping just enough to live on. When that condition of
things came about, she was to have no servants, but to do
everything herself, and so were all the other people who were
to share poor Mr. Cresswell's money among them. When she
went into the village with me she gave a wary eye to the
cottages, how things were put tidy — and was quite resolved
ahe should do it all, and be as happy as possible. But as for
anything yenteel, or middling, she scouted at it with the
greatest contempt in the world. It was as good as a play to
hear her. If my mind had been free to amuse myself, I should
have quite enjoyed Sara's vagaries; but, as it was, I could

114 The Last of the Mortimers.

only be amused and provoked by them now and then. I do
believe she was much happier at the Park than at home. That
big dull house, with all the unchangeable furniture, was not
a place for a fantastical young girl ; she poked about the green-
houses in all the back corners where the gardener did not want
her, and where she was always sweeping down his flower-pots ;
she rummaged through the great suites of rooms that nobody
ever occupied ; she came into the library to help me with my
accounts, and tease me out of my wits ; she went fishing about
the house through all the nooks and corners, and read all tha
old novels over again ; and then she could not persuade arid
worry me into doing everything she pleased, as she could her
father. I believe just at that moment Sara being at the Park
was a great comfort to me.

CHAPTER III.

ONE day in the week I found little Sara all by herself in the
library, very much engrossed about something. Indeed,
she was in deep study, if that was to be believed. She had the
great volume of the history of the county spread out before
her, and a "Peerage " by her side ; and at her other hand were
some trumpery little books about Chester, of the handbook
kind, Chester being, as everybody knows, a place of great
antiquity, and, indeed, a kind of show place in this part of the
country. She did not hear me when 1 came in, and as I came
to an astonished pause behind her, quite bewildered to
know what the little kitten could want with that great
book, it was impossible she could see me. She was quite at
the end of the county history, going over all the details about
the families, and looking up the peerage, I could see, to find
out all the connections and collateral branches. What could
the child be so anxious about? Not our family, certainly,
for we had no collateral branches. Just once for an instant, it
shot through my mind, that her father might somehow havo

TJie Last of the Mortimers, 113

put that sly secret idea of his, own, that, if sho played her cards,
well, we might leave her heiress of the Park, in little Sara's
head; but a moment's thought convinced me that there was
nothing in that. She was far too bold and simple for any such
plan ; she would have repeated it out to me directly and
scorned it ; and she had not an idea of the value of wealth, or
what was the good of being very rich. If I could have made
her a Mortimer, she might have thought twice about it, but
not for being made simply an heiress ; that was a matter to
which Sara was quite indifferent.

But if it could not be us, who could it be ? ETad the child,
perhaps, an admirer among some of the county families ? I
made a little rustle, I suppose, as I stood watching her ; for she
turned sharp round, found me out, and flushed up violently.
In her hasty annoyance she threw the book over, shutting it
upon her morsel of a hand, and defied me, turning round on
her seat. Certainly if Mr. Cresswell hud instructed his
daughter to be very good, and amiable, and conciliatory, he
had taken the very best plan to bring about a failure. Oh !
but she was contrairy ; the poor dear unfortunate man, what a
life he must have led with that little puss !

" Godmamma !" cried Sara, with her eyes flashing, "I never
knew that you spied upon people before !"

" Nor did I," said I, quietly. kt You may flatter yourself
you are quite the first that ever found it out. Don't crush
y*ur hand to pieces, child ! 1 don't want to know what you
are about."

On this the impatient little girl threw the book open again
with a sound that echoed through all the library.

" Everybody may know what I am doing \ Now don't be
angry, godmamma, I mean I quite intended to tell you if I
found anything," cried Sara. u Look here, this is just what it
is. You said you had promised to help that poor Italian
gentleman, and I know quite well you have never tried yet to
find eut anything for him. You need not look suspicious. I
am interested about him. There is no harm in that, is there ?
If he were as old as Ellis, and as fat as his servant, I should be
interested in him all the same."

" Little Sara, never tell fibs," said I. " I am just fifty, and
you are only seventeen ; but I should not be interested in him,
all the same, if he were old and fat, I assure you. Let me
hear, now, what you have been doing. You have nothing at
all to do with him, remember ; it was me, and only me, ho
applied to ; but let us hear what it is."

116 The Last of the Mortimers.

"Oh, it is nothing at all," said Sara in a disappointed tone.
" I thought somebody might be found out, in some of these
books, that had married an Italian. I like the l Peerage ; ' it
is the funniest thing in the world to see how all the people are
twisted and linked together like network. Everybody in the
world must be everybody else's cousin, if all the common
people's families were like the peers."

" To be sure we are," said I, " only so distant it won't
count ; but 1 don't see what this has to do with what we were
talking of before. Did you find nobody that had married an
Italian in all the 4 Peerage,' Puss?"

44 You are trying to make me angry, godmamma," said
Sara, " but I shan't be angry. There is no Countess
Sermoneta, though I have looked over all the county families,
and all their connections that I can make out ; and papa, who
knows everybody, does not know any such person, for I made
him think and tell me ; and the only person I can think of who
does know is "

Here little Sara stopped and looked very closely and keenly
in my face.

"Who, child?" said I. "Not me, I am certain. Whom
do you mean ?"

kt Can't you guess? "Why, godmamma Sarah, to be sure,"
cried Sara. " I am quite sure she knows who the Countess
Sermoneta is."

• "Child!" cried I, "do you know what you are saying?
Your godmamma Sarah ! how dare you think of such a
thing !"

" Dare ? is it anything wrong ?" said Sara. " You are
making a great deal more mystery of it than I should do,
godmamma. After all, it isn't a bit mysterious. Mr. Luigi
wants to find this lady, and not knowing the country, he has
come most likely to the wrong place ; and I am sure he asks
for her plain enough out. He could not do it plainer if she
were Mrs. Smith instead of Countess Sermoneta ; and there is
nothing secret about it that I can see ; only this, that god-
mamma Sarah knows her, and is so cross she won't tell."

"Sara, Sara, don't say so !" cried I, "you make me quite
Unhappy. How can your godmamma, who never sets her
foot out of doors, one may say, — for she would almost see as
much in her own chamber as out of the carriage windows, —
how could she possibly know a person no one else knows ? And
as for being cross, I really consider it very disrespectful and
unkind of you, Sara. She never was cross to you. I am sure

The Last of the Mortimers. 117

she has always been very kind to you. You have had yon?
own way so much, child, and been so spoiled, that you think
you may say anything; but I must say, criticism on your
godmothers "

" I never criticised my godmothers," cried Sara, starting up.
" I may be as wicked as you please, but I never did so. 1
said godmamma Sarah was cross. Why, everybody knows
she is cross. I never said, nor pretended, she was cross to me ;
and as for kindness ! you don't expect me, I am sure, to give
you thanks, godmamma, for that !"

"What could you give me else?" said I, in some little
surprise.

Sara stamped her little foot on the floor in vexation and
impatience. " Godmamma ! what thing in the world could I
give you but love ?" cried the provoking little creature. " You
don't suppose thanks would do ? I thank Ellis when he opens
the door for me, or anybody I don't care for. I had rather,
if you could, you did think me wicked and ungrateful, than
suppose I would go and thank you."

" The child understands!" said I to myself, with tears in my
eyes. Ah ! what multitudes of people there are in the world
who don't understand ! I was taken by surprise. But Sara
was of that disposition that she would quarrel with everybody
all round, and fight for her secret like a little Amazon, before
she ever would let anybody find out the real feeling that was in
her heart. If you think she threw her arms round me and
kissed me after that, you are quite mistaken. On the con-
trary, if she could have pinched, scratched, or given me a good
shake, she would have liked it, I believe.

** But I want to know how this notion came into your per-
verse little head?" said I ; " how can your godmamma know,
Sara ? and what could possibly make you imagine she did ?"

kt Why did you watch her so the other night?" cried Sara.
41 You saw, yourself, she knew something about it. Didn't she
listen to every word, and look as if she could have told us in a
minute ? and I am sure she thinks it quite pleasant to keep up a
secret we don't know," cried the little girl that knew no better;
" it quite interests her. I wonder how people can have so little
feeling for others. She is not sorry for poor Mr. Luigi, nor
concerned to think of all his loss of time and patience. She
would rather keep her secret than satisfy him. What can it
matter to godmamma Sarah, whether he finds the Countess
Sermoneta or not?"

"What, indeed?" said I, with a sigh of bewilderment,

118 The Last of the Mortimers.

That was just the question I could not answer. What had site
to do with it ? and by what strange witchcraft was it, that
Sara and I had both instinctively mixed her up with this busi-
ness of which, to be sure, in reality she did not, she could not
know anything V How dared we come to such conclusions with
only looks to build upon ! Seeing my own thoughts thus re-
flected in little Sara, I became quite shocked at myself.

" Child, it is quite impossible she can know anything about
it. Both you and I are infatuated," cried I. " How can Sarah
possibly be mixed up in such a matter? It is the merest folly.
She doesn't even know your Mr. Luigi, nor who he is, nor the
very name of the lady he is looking for. It is nonsense, Sara,
quite nonsense. How is it possible she £ould know ?"

" Oh, godmamma, I'll tell you how; I have been thinking it
out, and I am sure I am right. She was a Jong time abroad,
you have often told me, and she knew a great many people,"
cried Sara ; " among the rest she knew this lady ; and either
because she likes her, or because she hates her, or because she
won't tell, she keeps all quiet about it. But she can't help
knowing, and saying she knows with her eyes. Godmamma
Sarah, though she takes no notice, knows everything better than
you do. Carson gets every oody's news of them. Why, she
even made my poor little Alic6 tell her all about Georgy Wilde,
you know, and that unlucky '.brother of hers, — how often he
came to our house, and everything about it ; and godmamma
Sarah did not leave me at (peace about it either. I am sure
they know everything that fiappens up in godmamma Sarah's
room. Godmamma, do you never have a gossip with your
maid?"

*' I have got no maid, child ; you know that very well," said
I. "I never was brought up with any such luxury; and when
I came to my kingdom I was too old to begin, and liked my
own ways. But at all events, though you are so confident in
your opinion, I am quite sure your godmamma can have no
knowledge of this business, so don't speak of it any more."

"Will you ask her?" said Sara; "if she knows nothing
about it, she will not mind being asked. Why should you be
afraid of speaking if she does not know anything about it ? It
might be awkward, perhaps, if she knew "and would not tell ;
but it can't matter if she doesn't know. Will you ask her,
godmamma? or will you let me?"

" Oh, for heaven's sake go away, child, and don't drive me
crazy !" I cried. " Go upstairs and decide what dress you will
wear, you velvet kitten ; go and gossip with your maid. Here

The Last of tlie Mortimers.

119

am I in a peck of troubles, and can't see my way out or in, and
you ask me to let you /"

14 You wouldn't mind it in the least if you thought god-
mamma Sarah did not know," said the provoking little girl ;
and so went gliding off, satisfied that I was of her opinion.
"When I was left to myself I dropped on a chair in utter
despair, and could not tell what to think. The safest way was
certainly to vow to myself that Sarah had nothing to do with
it at all. What could she have to do with it ? Her strange
anxious looks must spring from some other cause. For once,
at least, instinct must have deceived itself. Sarah knew the
world and the Italians. She was not so easily taken in as we
were — nothing else was possible ; and she was only annoyed to
see how ready to be imposed upon I was.

CHAPTER IV.

conversation, of course, set my thoughts all into a
JL ferment again. Little Sara was wonderfully quick-
witted, if she was not very wise, as, indeed, was not to be
expected at her years ; and I confess her idea did return to my
mind a great many times. Sarah might have known an
Italian Countess in that obscure time of her life which I had no
clue to ; might even know some reason why persons from Italy
might be looking for her, and might be nervous, for old
acquaintance' sake, of any one finding her out. When every-
thing was so blank, any sort of sign-post was satisfactory. It
was true that I don't remember seeing Sarah display so
much anxiety for any other person all her life before. But
there might be reasons ; and if it was a friendly feeling, 1
should certainly be the last person in the world to worry and
aggravate my sister. I wish I could have composed my mind
all the reasonings I went through ; but really, whew 1 $a\y

120 The Last of the Mortimer*.

poor Sarah sitting all watchful and conscious at her knitting,
not getting on at all with her work, hearing the least rustle in
the room, or touch at the door ; starting, and trying to concal
her start every time the bell rung, with all the features of her
face growing thinner, and her hands and head trembling more
than they ever used to do, it was quite impossible for rue
to persuade myself that her mind was not busy with some-
thing which had happened, or which was about to happen. It
might be something as completely unconnected with the poor
Italian as possible ; most likely it was ; but something there
was which agitated her most unaccountably, which I knew
nothing about, and which she was determined I should not
know. She was as conscious that I observed this strdnge
change upon her as I was myself ; and she faced me with such
a resolution and defiance ! No ! I could read it in her eyes,
and the full look she turned upon me whenever I looked at her
— she would die rather than 1 should find it out.

It is quite impossible, however ignorant you may be of the
causes of it, to live in the close presence of a person devoured
by anxiety without being infected by it, more or less. One
g<-ts curious and excited, you know, in spite of one's self; and
all the more, of course, if the cause is quite inexplicable and the
trouble sudden. I lived in the kind of feeling that you have
just immediately before a thunderstorm — the air all of a hush,
so that you could hear the faintest stir of a bird, or rustle of a
branch, yet never knowing the moment when, instead of the
bird's motion or the leaves' tremble, it might be the thunder
itself that clamoured in your ears.

In this condition of mind Sara's little side reference to
Carson, and my sister's acquaintance with everything that
passed, did not fail to have its effect upon me, as well as other
things. I don't know that I would have been above question-
ing Carson if I could have got at her ; but I did not see her
once in three months, and could not have had any conversation
with her without making quite an affair of it, and letting all the
house know. Carson was not her right name. She had been
Sarah's maid when she was a young girl, and had married and
lost her husband, and come back to the Park just in time to go
abroad with her mistress, and being well known in the house
by her maiden name, never got any other. I could not help
wondering within myself if she knew, or how much she knew,
of Sarah's trouble, and its cause, whatever that might be.
When the thought rose in my mind whether I might not try
to get to private speech of Carson, I was out in the grounds

The Last of tJie Mortimers. 121

making a little survey, to see how everything was looking for
•pring, and had just been at the lodge to see poor little Mary,
who (as I had foreseen from the beginning) was bad with the
whooping-cough, but no worse than was to be expected, and
nothing alarming or out of the way. The carriage had just
gone up to take Sarah out for her drive, and I, all in shelter of
a clump of holly bushes, became the witness, quite unawares
and without any intention, of a most singular scene. A foot-
step went softly by me upon the gravel. I was just behind
the lodge, and within sight of the gate and the road without.
I saw Carson, in her cap and in-doors dress, go softly out at
the gate. She went out into the road, pretending to hold
out her hand and raise her face to see whether it rained ; as if
it were not perfectly clear to any one that it did not rain, nor
would, either, till the glass fell. She looked up and down with
an anxious look, and lingered five minutes or more in that
same position. Then she came in, and met the carriage just
inside the gate, which Williams had come to her cottage door
to open. " All's quite bright and clear, ma'am," 1 heard
Carson say; "no appearance of rain. I hope you'll have a
pleasant drive." A moment after the carriage wheeled quickly
out, the blind being drawn down just as it turned into the
road. Carson stood looking after it with a kind of grieved,
compassionate expression, which made me like her better. She
answered Williams' question, u Whatever had come over Miss
Sarah to make her so particklar about the weather ; in the
carriage, too, as she wouldn't be none the wiser, wet nor dry !"
very shortly, sighed, and turner to go back, mincing with true
lady's-maid nicety, along the road. The sigh and the pitying
look on her face determined me. I took a quick step through
the bushes and came up to her. The holly branches tore a bit
of trimming, as long as my finger, oft7 my garden hood (I think
a hood a great deal more suitable than a hat for a person of my
years) ; but I did not mind. Here was a chance if I could
only use it well.

44 Carson," said I, not to give her time to tliink, " my sister
has surely grown very fidgety of late ?"

Carson stared at me in an alarmed, confused way ; .but soon
got back her self-possession. " My missis was always a bit
fidgety, ma'am, though no more than she had a. right to be,"
said this one real, true, faithful adherent, whom Sarah had
secured to her cause.

" I don't know about such rights," said I. "Now tell iLe,
Carson ; — you know a groat deal more about her than I do.

122 The Last of the Mortimers.

Don't you think I can see how nervous and disturbed she is?—
what's the matter with my sister? what is she afraid of? and
what do you and she expect to see upon the road, that you go
out to look that the way is clear, before she ventures beyond
the gate ? Don't tell me abottt rain, I know better ; what did
you expect to see ?"

Carson was taken entirely by surprise ; she faltered, she
grew red, she wrung her hands ; she stammered forth some-
thing quite unintelligible, consisting of exclamations. —
"Ma'am! Miss Milly!" and "My missis!" all confused and
run into each other. She had no time to invent anything ;
and her fright and nervousness for the moment quite betrayed
her.

"I don't want you to be false to your mistress," said I,
getting excited, in my turn, at finding myself so near a clue to
this mystery, as I thought. " I don't want you to tell me her
secret, if she has one — only let me know. Is there some
danger apprehended ? Is there some one in the country that
Sarah is afraid to see? What is wrong? Her limbs are
trembling under her, and her face growing thinner. Only
think of her going out with the blinds down, poor forlorn soul ;
What is wrong? It would mend matters, somehow, if I
knew."

" Miss Milly," said Carson, with a great many little coughs
and clearings of her throat, umy missis has an attack on her
nerves, that's what it is ; when she haves them attacks, she
grows fidgety, as you say, ma'am. A little nice strengthening
medicine, now, or a change of air, would be a nice thing. I
said that to my missis just this very morning. I said ' A few
months at Brighton, now, or such like, would do you a world
of good, ma'am.' It's on her nerves, that's what it is."

Carson had got quite glib and fluent before she ended this
speech ; the difficulty had only been how to begin.

" Now, Carson !"' cried I, "if your mistress's health suffers,
and it turns out to be something you could have told me, you
may be certain I shall call you to account for it. Think what
you are saying. We Mortimers never have nervous attacks.
I know you're deceiving me. Think again. Will you tell me
what is wrong?"

u Ma'am, Miss Milly, it's an attack on the nerves," cried
Carson ; my missis has had them before. I couldn't say more
if I was to talk till to-morrow. I've got my caps to see to, I
y@ur pardon ; — my missis is very particular about Ijejr
"

The Last of the Mortimers. 123

Upon which Carson somehow managed to elude me, with a
mixture of firmness and cunning quite extraordinary; and
while I had still my eyes fixed on her, and was calling her to
stay with all the authority of my position as acting mistress of
the house, contrived to melt in at a back door and escape out
of my hands, I never could explain how. Talk about con-
trolling people with your eye, and swaying them by force of
character, and all that ! I defy anybody to sway a servant in
a great house who is trained to the sort of thing, and knows
how to recollect her work at a critical moment, and the nearest
way to the back stairs. Carson had proved herself too many
forme*

CHAPTER V»

TT seems I was destined to hear of nothing but this Italian.
J_ I had not kept faith to him, certainly. I had been startled
and thrown back by finding out how the idea of him got to be
involved in Sarah's trouble ; and really I did not care much
about the Countess Sermoneta, whom 1 had never heard of. I
had been interested in him, I allow ; but how could 1 keep up
an interest in strangers, with so much closer an anxiety near
home ?

However, just the next day after I had spoken to Carson,
Dr. Roberts called. Dr. Roberts was our rector ; not a relation,
but a kind of family connection, somehow, I really could not
tell how. For three or four generations, at least, a Roberts
had held our family living. There were so few of us Mortimers,
as I have already explained, that the living could never be of
any use to us ; and our great-great-grandfathers had happened
to be intimate, and so it came about that the living was as
much an hereditary thing to the Robertses as our property waa
to us. Pr Roberts was the best of good, easy, quiet

124 The Last of the Mortimer*.

He preached us a nice little sermon every Sunday. He would
dine with the people who were in a condition to ask him, and
make himself as agreeable as possible. He patted the children
on the head, and wondered how it was that he had forgotten
their names. Of course he had his own way of doing mo,st
things, and seldom varied ; but then one could always calculate
on what he would do and say, and wasn't that a comfort? On
the whole, he was the most excellent, good drowse of a man I
ever knew. He led a very quiet life, with little interruption,
except when, now and then, a storm seized upon him, in the
shape of a new curate with advanced ideas. In such cases Dr.
Roberts generally bowed to the tempest till its force was
exhausted. He laughed in his quiet way at the young men.
" They are all for making a fuss when they begin," he said to
me, confidentially; u but depend upon it, when they come to
our age, Miss Milly, they'll find the advantage of just getting
along." That was his favourite mode of > rogress. He was too
stout and easy to make much haste, lie loved to get along
quietly ; and really, as ours was a small parish, and nothing
particular to make a commotion about, I don't suppose there
was much harm done.

But only to think of Dr. Roberts becoming one of my assail-
ants ! I never could have expected any such thing. He came
in, bringing some books from Miss Kate, who was as unlike
him as possible. She was very active in the parish, and had
something to do, with or for, everybody. She was rather
Low- Church, and sent us books to read, to do us good, which,
for my part, I always read faithfully, being very willing to
have good done me, as far as it was practicable. Dr. Roberts
sat down with a little sigh in the round easy chair, his
particular chair, which Ellis wheeled out for him ; not with a
sentiiy ental sigh, good man ; but the road to the Park ascends
a little*, and the doctor, for the same reason as Hamlet, was a
little scant of breath.

We were all as usual. Sarah, in the shadow of the screen,
with her knitting-pins in her hands, and her basket of wools
and patterns at her side ; myself opposite, commanding a view
of the door and the great mirror, and all the room ; little Sara,
half a mile off, reading at one of the windows — for it was very
mild for February, and really one did not feel much need of a
fire. Dr. Roberts wandered on in his comfortable way for half
an hour at least ; he complimented Miss Mortimer on always
being so industrious, and me upon my blooming looks ! only
think of that ! but I dare say he must have forgotten that it

The Last of ths Mortimen. 125

was Sarah who was the beauty ; and he gave us a quiet opinion
upon the books he had brought us, that they were ** very much
in Kate's style, you know ;" and had a word to say about the
curate — just one of his comfortable calls, when he has some-
thing to say about everybody ; nothing more.

u But, by-the-bye," said the good Doctor, " I had almost
forgotten the principal thing. There's something romautio
going on among us just now, Miss Milly. Where is little Miss
Cresswell ? she ought to hear this."

"What is it, Doctor?" I asked, rather startled at this
beginning.

u Well, the fact is, I have had a strange sort of visitor," said
the Doctor, with a soft little laugh ; "or rather two, I should
say," he continued, after a little pause, " ha ! ha ! I had
Hubert to him, who pretends to speak Italian, you know, ha !
ha ! He could speak Dante, perhaps ; but he can't manage the
Transteverine. I can't say that I did not enjoy it a little.
These young fellows, Miss Milly, are so happy in their own
good opinion. Poor Hubert was terribly put out."

" \V ho are you speaking of ?" asked I again.

" Well, of a visitor I had ; or two, as 1 have just said, — the
master and the man. The master speaks English very
tolerably; the man is the real, native, original article, newly
imported. I am in good condition myself," said the good
Doctor, giving a quiet unconscious pinch on his plump wrist ;
" but anything like that, you know, goes quite beyond me.
You would have laughed to see poor young Hubert, poor
fellow, talking to him in his high Dantesque way, and the fat
fellow dashing in through the midst of it all, helter skelter, in
real Italian. Ha ! ha ! it was a most amusing scene."

" Italian ?" said I, scarcely venturing to speak above my
breath, my consternation was so great.

" Yes," said Dr. Roberts, calmly, with still a little agitation
of laughter about his voice — the discomfiture of the curate
amused him excessively — " Italian. The young man called on
me to ask after a lady, whom he supposed to be living in this
neighbourhood, a Countess Sermoneta, Did you ever hear of
such a person, Miss Milly ?"

" No," said I, as quietly as I could. Sarah took no notice,
showed no curiosity, betrayed to me that she had heard this
name before, and did not learn the particulars of the stranger's
inquiry for the first time. In general she liked to hear the
news ; and though she rarely took any part in the conversation,
listened to it, and showed that she did so. To-day she never

126 The Last of the Mortimers.

raised her head. Perhaps I was over-suspicious; but thig
entire want of interest only added to my bewildering doubts.

At this point little Sara came forward, and thrust herself, as
was natural, into a conversation so interesting to her ; I only
wondered she had not done it sooner.

" That is poor Mr. Luigi, that has been so much talked of in.
Chester," cried Sara; " and godmamma met him on the road,
and promised to try and find out for him. Do make her take
it up, please Dr. Roberts. Did you never hear of the lady
either V How strange nobody should have heard of her ! Who
was she, does he say ? What does he want with her ? do tell
us, dear Dr. Roberts, please."

Sarah's knitting-pins had dropped out of her hand when her
goddaughter broke in upon Dr. Roberts' good-humoured drowsy
talk. 1 turned to help her to pick them up, but she waved me
away. What could be the matter ? she was trembling all over
like an aspen leaf.

" My dear Miss Cresswell, he gave me no information what-
ever," said the Doctor, smiling most graciously upon the pretty
dainty little creature in her velvet jacket ! " and indeed, he
was not quite the kind of man that I should undertake to
question. Hubert might do it, you know, ha ! ha ! but then
he rather stands on the dignity of his office, and would not
mind putting you, yourself, dangerous though it might be,
through your catechism. I did all that lively curiosity could
do, you may believe, to find out who he is, and who she was,
but I made nothing of it. He, as you seem to know, calls him-
self Mr. Luigi, and he wants the Countess Sermoneta, a person
no one in Cheshire ever heard of. I told him I had no doubt
he was mistaken in the locality ; near Manchester, perhaps, or
Chichester, or some other place with a similar-sounding name ;
but I don't think he took in what I said. And you saw him,
too, Miss Milly ? very odd, wasn't it ? He must have made a
mistake in the place."

" I suppose so," said I, quite faintly. Sarah's knitting-pins
had actually fallen out of her hands again !

" 1 promised to inquire and let him know if I heard any-
thing," said the rector ; " but if I do not know, and you do not
know, Miss Milly, — we're about the likeliest people in the
county, I suspect, — I don't think it is much good making other
inquiries. You are sure you never heard the name ?"

"Never in my life, so far as I recollect," said I. " T pro-
mised to make inquiries, too, and asked him to come to the
Park, and I would let him know. But that seems merely

The Last of the Mortimers. 127

tantalising him. If you will give me the address, Dr. Roberts,
I will write him a note.

He gave me the address in his own leisurely way, and then
he returned to the scene at the rectory, where he had called the
curate, who happened to be with him at the time, to talk to
Mr. Luigi's servant, not without some intention of doing the
good young man a mischief, I am sure ; and how poor Mr.
Hubert talked Dantesque, as the Doctor said, shaking his portly
person with quiet laughter, and the fat Italian burst in with a
flood of what Dr. Roberts called real Italian. I could understand
how it would be from what I had seen myself ; but I confess I
found it very difficult to listen and smile as it was necessary to
do. There sat Sarah, close up in the shelter of her screen, never
lifting her head or making any sign to show that she heard the
conversation ; not a smile rose upon her face ; she saw nothing
amusing in it ; her lips were firm set together, and all the lines
of her face drawn tight; and though her cheeks retained a
kind of unnatural glow, which, for the first time in my life,
made me think that Sarah used paint, or something to heighten
her complexion, her brow and chin, and all except that pink
spot, were ghastly grey, and colourless. She had stopped her
knitting altogether now, and was rubbing her poor fingers,
making believe to be very much occupied with them, stooping
down to rub the joints before the fire. It quite went to my
heart to see her sitting so forlorn there, shut up within herself.
Ah ! whatever it was she feared, could I ever be hard upon her?
could I ever do anything but help her to bear what misfortune
or anxiety she might be under ? I thought Dr. Roberts would
never be done with his story. I thought he would never go
away. I dare say he, on his part, thought we had just had a
quarrel, or something of that sort, and gave Miss Kate an
amusing description of us when he went home ; for he had an
amusing way of telling a story. And then, how to get quit of
little Sara when he was gone f I felt sure my sister would
break out upon me somehow, very likely without taking any
notice of the real reason ; but all that silent excitement must
find an outlet somehow ; either that, or her mind would give
way, or she would break a blood-vessel, or something dreadful
would happen. I knew Sarah's ways very well, we had been
BO long together. I knew that, one way or other, she must get
it out, and relieve herself ; and, to be sure, there was nobody
whom she could relieve her feelings upon but me.

128 The Last of the Mortimer*.

CHAPTTCR VL

ALL in haste, and in a peremptory tone, to which nobody
could be less used to than she was, I had sent little Sara
away OB some commission, invented on the spur of the moment,
when the door closed on Dr. Roberts. The child looked up in
my face with an amazed un comprehension of any order issued
to her ; I fancy I can see her great eyes growing larger and
blacker as she turned, asking what I meant. But Sara had
understanding in her, wilful as she was ; she saw there was
occasion for it, though she could not understand how ; and
whenever her first surprise was over, she went off and obeyed
me with an alacrity which I shall always remember. We two
were left alone. I took up some work that lay on the table.
I could not tell whether it was mine or Sara's, or who it
belonged to. I bent my head fumbling over it, too agitated to
see what I was doing. Now the volcano was about to explode.
Now, even, an explanation might be possible.

" What was that I heard from you just now?" cried Sarah,
in her shrill whisper. " You were so lost to all common feeling,
you were so forgetful of my claims and everybody else's, that
you invited a common foreign impostor to come here— here,
without an idea what bad intentions he might have — here to
my house !"

" Sarah ! for heaven's sake what do you know about him ?
What have you to do with this young man ?" said I, the words
bursting, in spite of myself, from my lips.

I suppose she did not expect this question. She stopped
with a flood of other reproaches and accusations ready to
be poured forth, staring at me — staring — there is no other
word for it. Her looks were dreadful to me. She looked
like some baited animal that had turned to bay. Was it
my doing? Presently her senses came back to her. And
I was glad, really thankful, when I saw that it was mere
passion— one of her fits of temper, poor dear soul! that
had returned upon her again.

"You dare to ask me such questions?" she cried; "you,
l poor simpleton that throws our doors open to any adven-

The Last of the Mortimers. 129

turer! This is what I have to do with him. He shall
never enter my house. I'll have him expelled if he comes
here. I'll muster «ihe servants and let them know who's
mistress, — you, a rustical fool that knows nothing of the
world, and are ready to throw yourself at anybody's head
that flatters you a little, or me, that knows life and can
detect a cheat ! What ! you'll go slander me in addition,
will you? You worry and drive me out of my senses, and
then pretend that I have something to do with every
impostor you pick up in the streets. 1 tell you I'll have
him turned out if he dares to come to this house. I will
not have my peace molested for your fool's tricks and intrigues.
An Italian forsooth! a fellow that will cringe to you,
and flatter you, and be as smooth as velvet. I'll have him
thrown into prison if he dares to come here 1"

"Surah! Sarah! for what reason? the poor young man
has never harmed you," I cried, holding up my hands.

She gave a strange bitter cry. " Fool ! how can you
tell whether he has harmed me?" she cried out, wringing
her thin hands: then suddenly stopping short, came to
herself again, and stared at me once more. Always that stare
of blank resistance— the hunted creature brought to bay.
She had been standing while she spoke before. Now she
dropped into her chair, exhausted, breathless, with a strange
look of fury at herself. She thought she had betrayed
herself — and most likely so she had, if I had possessed the
slightest clue by which to find her mystery out.

"I beg and entreat you to be calm, and not to excite
yourself," cried I, trying, if it were possible, to soothe her.
44 I know nothing whatever about this young Italian, Sarah.
I took an interest in him from his appearance, and something
in his voice — and because he was a stranger and had no
friends. But I will write to him immediately not to come — he
is nothing to me. He has neither flattered me nor asked
anything of me. I see no harm in him ; but I shall certainly
write and say he is not to come. You might know well that
there is no stranger in the world for whom I would cross
you."

'• Oh, I am used to fair speeches, Milly," said my sister,
44 quite used to them ; and used to being made no account of
when all's done. I, that might have been so different. I
might have had a coronet, and been one of the leaders of life,
instead of vegetating here ; and, instead of respecting me after
I have resigned all that, I am to be badgered to death by your

180 The Last of the Mortimers.

old maid's folly, and have a vulgar impostor brought in upon
me to oust me out of my home. Bring in whom you like,
thank heaven, I'm more than a match for you. I tell you,
you shall bring nobody here — it is my house, and was my
house before you were born. I shall keep it mine, and leave
it to whom I like. Your romances and fictions are nothing in
this world to me. I am mistress, and I will be mistress. You
are only my younger sister, and I have nothing in tlie world
to consult but my own pleasure. I am not to be driren into
changing my mind by any persecution. I advise you to give
up your schemes before you suffer for them. Nobody, I tell
you, — no man in the world with evil designs against me, and
my fortune, and my honour, shall come into my house !"

"Sarah! what- on earth do you mean? Who is plotting
against you? Your fortune and your honour? \Vlut are
you thinking of ? You have gone too far to draw back now,"
cried I, in the greatest excitement. " Explain yourself before
we go any farther — what do you mean ?"

Once more she stared at me blankly and fiercely ; but she
had got it out, and had more command of herself after she had
relieved her mind. Could it be only an outburst of patsion?
but my spirit was up.

"The house is my house as well as yours," I cried, when
ehe did not answer. " 1 have a voice as powerful as yours iu
everything that has to be done. Yes, I can see what is going
to happen. We are the two Mortimers that are to send it out;
of the name. But I will not give up my rights, either for the
prophecy or for any threats. I have never made a scheme
against you, nor ever will. You have been wretched about
something ever since that day you were so late on your drive.
I have seen it, though I cannot tell the reason. This Italian
cannot be any connection of yours. He is a young man; he
could not be more than born when you were abroad. You
might be his mother for age. What fancy is it that you have
taken into your mind . about him ? What do you suppose you
can have to do with him ? Sarah, for heaven's sake ! what is
the matter? If you ever had the slightest love for me, take
me into your confidence, and let me stand by you now."

For when I was speaking, some of my words, I cannot tell
which, had touched some secret spring that I knew nothing of ;
aryl dropping down her head upon her hands she gave such a
bitter, desperate groan that it went to my very heart. I ran
to her and fell on my knees by her side. I kissed her hand,
and begged her to have confidence in me, I was ready to

The Last of the Mortimers. 131

prorate never to disturb her, never to speak of setting up n
wi!! of ray own again ; Lut I felt 1 must not give in ; it uo
be now or never. She would trust me and tell me her trou.-i
whether it was real or only fanciful ; and her mind would bo
relieved when it was told.

But the now passed and the never came. She lifted up her
head and pushed me away ; she looked at me with cold stony
eyes; she relapsed without a moment's interval into her us an I
chilly, common-place, fretful, tone — that tone of a discontented
mind and closed heart which had disturbed and irritated mine
for years. All her old self returned to her in an instant.
Even her passion had been elevating and great in comparison.
She looked at me with her cold observant eyes, and bade me
get up, and not look so like a fool. " But it is impossible to
think of teaching you what anybody else of your age and
position must have learned thirty years ago," she said, twitch-
ing her dress, which, when I foolishly threw myself down
beside her, 1 had put my knee upon unawares, from under me.
I cannot describe to anybody the mortified, indignant feeling
with which I scrambled up. Think of going down upon my
knees to her, ready to do anything or give up anything in the
world for her, and meeting this reception for my pains ! I felt
almost more bitterly humiliated and ashamed than if I had
been doing something wrong. I, who was not a young girl
but an elderly woman, long accustomed to be respected and
obeyed ! If she had studied how to wound me most deeply, she
could not have succeeded better. I got up stumbling over my
own dress, and hastily went out of the room. I even went out
of the house, to calm myself down before I met anybody. I
would not like to confess to all the angry thoughts that came
into my mind for the next hour in the garden. I walked
about thinking to get rid of them, but they only grew more
and more vivid. My affection was rejected and myself insulted
at the same moment. You would not suppose, perhaps, that
one old woman could do as much for another ; but I assure you,
Sarah had wounded nie as deeply as if we had been a couple of
young men.

When I found my temper was not going down as it ought to
do, but on the contrary my imagination was busy concocting
all sorts of revengeful things to say to her, I changed my plan,
and went back to the library and looked over the newspapers
Don't go and think over it, dear good people, when you fee
very much insulted and angry. Read the papers or a novel
I went down naturally when I stopped thinking. After all>

132 The Last of the Mortimers.

poor Sarah ! poor Sarah ! whom di.l she harm by it ? only her-
self, not me.

But anybody will perceive at a glance that after this I was
more completely bewildered than ever, and could not under-
take to say to my own mind, far less to anybody else, whether
there was or was not any real reason for Sarah's nervousness, or
whether she had actually any sort of connection with this
young Italian. Sometimes I made myself miserable with the
idea that the whole matter looked like an insane fancy.
People when they are going mad, as I have heard, always take
up the idea that they are persecuted or wronged somehow.
What if Sarah's mind was tottering, and happening to catch
sight of this young man, quite a stranger, and very likely to
catch her eye, her fancy took hold of him as the person that
was scheming against her ? The more I thought over this, the
more feasible it looked ; though it was a dreadful thing to think
that one's only sister was failing in her reason, and that any
night the companion of my life might be a maniac. But what
was I to think ? How was it possible, no madness being in the
case, that a young unknown stranger could threaten the fortune
and honour of Sarah Mortimer, born heiress of the Park, and
in lawful possession of it for more than a dozen years? What
possible reason could there be for her, if she was in her sane
senses, fearing the intrigues of anybody, much less a harmless
young foreigner? But then that groan! was it a disturbed
mind that drew that involuntary utterance out of her?
Heaven help us ! What could any one think or do in such
circumstances ? I was no more able to write a note to Mr.
Luigi that evening than I was to have gone out and sought
him. Things must take their chance. If he came he must
come. I could not help myself. Besides, I h :d no thought for
Mr. Luigi and his lost Countess. I could think only of my
sister. No! no! little Sara was deceived, clever as she was.
Sarah knew no Countess Sermoneta — her mind disturbed and
unsettled, had fixed upon the strange face on the way, only as
some fanciful instrument of evil to herself.

The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER VII.

NEXT morning at breakf.-ist I found a letter waiting me, in
an unknown hand — an odd hand, not inelegant, but
which somehow gave a kind of foreign look evvn to the honest
English superscription. The address was odd, too. It \vat
Miss Milla Mortimer, a very extraordinary sort of title for me,
Millicent. That is the work of diminutives — they are apt to
get misunderstood and metamorphosed into caricatures of
names.

The letter inside was of a sufficiently odd description to
correspond with the address ; this is how it was expressed : —

"MADAME,

" You will pardon me if I say Madame, when I perhaps
should ought to say Mademoiselle. Madame will understand
that the titles of honour, which differ in every country, do
much of times puzzle a foreigner. Since I had the honour of
making an encounter with Mademoiselle, I have more than
once repeated my searches ; and all in finding no one, it has
come to me in the head to go to another place, where there
may be better of prospects. I have, then, made the conclusion
to go to Manchester, where I shall find, as they say, some
countrymen, and will consult with their experience. There
are much of places, they say, with Chester in the name. I go
to make a little voyage among them. If I have the happiness
to find the Contessa, I will take the liberty of making Madame
aware of it. If it is to fail, I must submit. I shall return to
Chester ; and all in making my homage to Madame, wi lluse
the boldness of asking if anything of news respecting the
Contessa may have come to her recollection. In all cases
Madame will permit me to remember with gratitude her
bounty to a stranger.

" LUIGI S ."

Sara and I were, as usual, alone at the breakfast-table, and
to tell the truth, I prized this interval when Sarah's eyes were
not upon me, nor all the troublous matters conveyed in her
looks present to my mind, as quite a holiday season,— when I
could look as I liked, say what I pleased, and be afraid of

184 The Last of the Mortlmei's.

nobody. Besides, though I was moro and more uneasy about
Sarah, 1 was not disturbed in my mind about this young man
to the degree I had been, nor so entirely mystified about any
possible connection between them. Since last evening, think-
ing it all over, it came to be deeply impressed upon my mind
that there was no connection between them : that my poor
sister knew nothing whatever about him or his Italian
Countess. Simply that Sarah's mind, poor dear soul, was
giving way, and that catching sight of the strange face on the
road, she had somehow identified and fixed upon it as the face
of an unknown agent of trouble, the " somebody " who always
injures, or persecutes, or haunts the tottering mind. It was
but little comfort to me to conclude upon this, as you may
suppose, but it seemed to explain everything. It cleared up
a quite unintelligible mystery. Poor Sarah! poor soul! She
who had known such a splendid morning, such an exciting
noon, such a dull leaden afternoon of life, — and how dark the
clouds were gathering round her towards the night !

But being thus eased in my mind about the young man, the
kindness I had instinctively felt to him came strong upon me.
I remembered the look he had, quite affectionately, the nice,
handsome, smiling, young fellow ! Who could it be that he
was like ? Somebody whom I remembered dimly through the
old ages ; and his voice, too ? His voice made a thrill of
strange wondering recollections run through me. Certainly
that voice had once possessed some power or influence over my
mind. I decided he would not find his Countess in Manchester.
Fancy the ridiculous notion ! A Countess in Manchester !
No. She must belong about Cheshire, somewhere ; and I
must have known her in my youth.

So I read his note twice over, with a good deal of interest,
and then naturally, as we had talked of him together so often,
handed it to Sara. jSIow I did not in the least mean to watch
Sara while she read it, but, having my eyes unconsciously
upon her face at the moment, was startled, I acknov/ledge, by
seeing her suddenly flush up, and cast a startled glance at me,
as if the child expected that something more than usual was to
be in the note. Who could tell what romantic fancies might
be in her head? It is quite possible her imagination had
been attracted by the stranger, and perhaps if she had heard
that Mr. Luigi had fallen romantically in love with her, Sara
would have been less surprised and much less shocked than I
should. However, there was no such matter, but only a
sensible, though, I must confess, rather odd and Frenchified

The Last of the Mortimers. 185

note. After the iirst glance she read it over very calmly and
carefully, then laid it. down, with something that looked
wonderfully like a little shade of pique, and cried out in her
sharpest tone :

" Oh, goihnamma, how sensible ! — to be sure to be an Italian,
and young, he must be a perfect miracle of a Luigi. Actually,
because there are countrymen of his in Manchester — music
teachers and Italian masters, of course — to give up an
appointment with a lady, and at such a house as the Park !
1 think he must be quite the most sensible and pretty-behaved
of young men."

u I think he shows a great deal of sense," said I, not
altogether pleased with the child's tone; "but if you will
excuse me saying so, Sara, I think it is just a little vulgar
of you to say k at such a house as the Park.' "

Sarah flushed up redder and redder. I quite thought we
were to have a quarrel again.

" Oh, of course, godmamma, if I had been speaking of
a — of an English gentleman ; but you- know," said the wicked
little creature, looking boldly in my face, "you set him down
at once, whenever you heard of him, as an adventurer, —
a count, you know, — one of the fellows that came sneaking
into people's houses and wanted to mnrry people's daughters.
I am only repeating what you said, godmnmma. It was not
I that said it. And now you perceive this good respectable
young man docs not attempt anything of the kind."

" But then you see we, at the Park, have no daughters to
marry," said I, looking at her rather grimly.

" Oh, to be sure, that makes all the difference," cried Sara,
bursting open her own letters with a half -ashamed, annoyed
laugh. I have no doubt she had said twice as much as she
meant to say, the impatient little puss, and was ashamed of
herself, She had set her heart on seeing Mr. Luigi, that was
the plain truth of the matter. Seeing him at the Park, whore
of course papa could have nothing to say against the intro-
duction, hearing all about his search after the unknown lady,
exercising her wiles upon him. turning him into a useless creature
like that poor boy Wiklc, in Chester, who was good for nothing
but to waylay her walks and go errands for her. That was what
she wanted, the wicked little coquette. It was just as well Mr.
Luigi had taken care of himself, and kept out of the way.
I really thought it was right to read her a lecture on tho
occasion.

" Sara, you are quite disappointed the poor young man is

136 TJie Last of the Mortimers.

not coming. You wanted to make a prey of him, you artful
puss," said I. " You thought, out here in the country, with
nothing else to do, it would be good fun to make him fall in
love with you — you know you did ! And I think it is not
at all a creditable thing, I assure you. How can you excuse
yourself for all the damage you have done to that ycung
Wilde?"

" Damage !" cried Sara. "If I am a puss, I may surely
pounce upon a mouse that comes in my way," she said spite-
fully ; and then putting on her most innocent look ; — •" but,
indeed, it is very shocking to have such suspicions of me,
especially as I am a fright now, godmainina Sarah says."

•' It is just as well Mr. Luigi does not put himself in your
way," said I ; " and it would be very wicked of you to do any
harm to him, or attempt such a thing; and I say so par-
ticularly, because I think you are quite inclined to it, Sara,
which is very wrong and very surprising. You are not such
a beauty as your godmainina Sarah was, but you have just
the same inclinations. It is something quite extraordinary
to me."

The little puss looked at me with her wicked eyes blazing,
and her face Hushed and angry. She looked quite beautiful in
spite of her short little curls. I am not sure that she might
not, when she grew older, be very near as great a beauty as
her godmainina. She did not make any answer, but bit her
lips, and set her little red mouth, and looked a very little sprite
of mischief and saucy daring. She was not abashed by what I
said to her. She was a thoughtless child, aware only of a
Btrange mischievous power she had, and thinking no harm.

" For I know," said I, half to myself, " that poor Mr. Luigi
will come back. I feel as if I had known him half a lifetime
ago. His voice is a voice I used to hear when I was young.
I can't tell whose voice it is, but I know it. He'll come back
here. He won't find the lady in Manchester, or any other
Chester ; he'll find her in Cheshire, if he finds her at all."

" Did godmamma Sarah say so?" cried Sara, suddenly losing
her own self-consciousness in her interest in this bit of
mystery.

" Child, do not be rash," cried I, in some agitation. "Your
godmamma knows nothing about her ; it is all a mistake."

" Did you ask her?" said Sara. " Godmamma, it is written
in her face. When the rector was speaking, when you were
speaking, even when I was speaking, it was quite evident she
knew her abroad, and remembered who she was ; but she will

Thf Last o/ the Mortimers* 187

not tell. It is not a guess ; I am perfectly sure of it. She
knows all about her, and she will not tell."

'* It is quite a mistake, Sara," cried I, trembling in spite of
myself. u She has taken some fancy into her head about Mr.
Luigi, some merely visionary notion that he has some bad
intention, I cannot tell you what. But I am certain she knows
nothing about this Countess. Child, don't think you know
better than anybody else ! I have thought a great deal aLout
it, and made up my mind. Your godmamma has grown
fanciful, she has taken this into her head. Don't be rash in
speaking of your fancies ; it might give her pain ; — and your
idea is all a mistake."

" Will you ask her? or will you let me ask her?" cried Sara.
"If she says 'No,' I shall be satisfied."

" I will do no such thing," said I. " She is my only sister,
I will do nothing to molest or vex her ; and, Sara, while I am
here, neither shall you.''

Sara did not say anything for a few minutes. She allowed
me to pick up my letter in silence, for we had finished break-
fast. She let me gather up my papers and ring the bell, and
make my way to the door. Then, as I stood there waiting for
Ellis, she brushed past me rapidly. " Godmamma " said Sara,
looking into my face for a momemt, u all the same, she knows,"
and had passed the next instant, and was gliding upstairs
before I had recovered my composure. How pertinacious she
was 1 Against my will this had an effect on me.

138 The Last of the Morliinerst

CHAPTER VIII.

GREAT and many were my musings what steps I ought to
take ; or, indeed, whether I ought to take any steps in the
strange dilemma I was in. I considered of it till my head
ached. What if Sarah's mind were possibly just at that delicate
point when means of cure might be effectual ? but how could 1
bring her to any means of cure? There have been many
miserable stories told about false imputations of insanity and
dreadful cruelties and injustice following, but I almost think
there might be as many and as sad on the other side, about
friends watching in agony, neither able nor willing to take any
steps until it was too late, far too late, for any good. This was
the situation I felt myself in ; no matter whether I was right
or wrong in my opinion, this was how I felt myself. I suppose
nobody can think of madness appearing beside them in the
person of their nearest companion, without a dreadful thrill
and terror at their heart ; but at the same time I felt that,
however inevitable this might be, I must first come to it un-
mistakably. I must first see it, hear it, beyond all possibility
of doubt, before I ventured to whisper it even to the secret ear
of a physician.

All this floated through my mind with that dreadful faculty
of jumping at conclusions that imagination always has. Did
ever anybody meet with any great misfortune, which has been
hanging some time over them, without going through it a
thousand times beiore the blow really fell, and the dreadful
repetition was done away with once ana xor ever? How many
times over and over, sleeping and waking, does the death-bed
watcher go through the parting that approaches before it really
comes? Dying itself, I think, — one naturally thinks what
kind of a process that is, as one comes near the appointed
natural period of its coming, — dying itself must be rehearsed
BO often, that its coming at last is a real relief to the real actor.
Not only does what is real go through a hundred performances
in one's imagination, but many a scene appals us that, thank
heaven, we are never condemned to go through with. 1 could
not see before me what was to happen, nor into Sarah's niincj

TJie Last of the Mortimers. 139

to know what was astir there ; but I tortured myself all the
same, gathering all the proofs of this new dismal light thrown
upon her, in my mind. All insane people make up a persecutor
or pursuer for themselves. Poor Sarah had found hers in the
strange face, — it was so unusual in our quiet roads to see a
strange face ! — which she met all at once and without warning,
on the quiet road.

I recollected every incident, and everything confirmed my
idea. She had taken a panic all at once,— she had driven five
miles round to get out of his way ; from that hour painful
watchfulness and anxiety had come to her face. Carson was
gent out to see that the road was clear, before, poor soul, she
would venture out, though with the carriage blinds drawn
down. Ah ! I think if my only communication with the open
air and the out-of-doors world was in the enclosure of that
carriage with the blinds drawn down, I should certainly go
mad, and quickly too ! I had a long afternoon by myself in
the library that day. I went back, as well as my memory
would carry me, into the history of the Mortimers. Insanity
was not in our family. — no trace of it. We had never been
very clever, but we had been obstinately sane and sober-minded.
My mother's family too, the Stamfords, so far as I know, were
all extremely steady people. It is odd when one individual of
a family, and no more, shows a tendency to wander ; at sixty,
too, all of a sudden, with no possible reason. But who can
search into the ways of Providence ? It might perhaps never
go any further ; it might be the long silence of her life, and
perhaps long brooding over such things as may have happened
to her in the course of it. Something must have happened to
Sarah ; she was not like me. She had really lived her life, and
had her own course in the world. She had known her own
bitterness, too, no doubt, or she— she, the great beauty, the
heiress, — would not have been Sarah Mortimer sitting voiceless
by the fireside. She had been too silent, had too much leisure
to go over her life. Her brain had rusted in the quietness ;
terrors had risen within her that took form and found an
execution for themselves whenever, without any warning, she
saw a strange face. This explained everything. I could see it
quite clear with this interpretation ; and without this nothing
could explain it ; for the young Italian looking for his friend,
the lady whom nobody had ever heard of, could be nothing in
the world to Sarah Mortimer. f

Thinking over this, it naturally occurred to me that it woulcl
be important to let my poor sister know that this innogent

K

140 The Last of the Mortimers.

young object of her fears had left the neighbourhood. It
might, even, who knows? restore the balance to her poor mind.
I got up from my chair the moment I thought of that, but did
not go out of the library quite so quickly as you might have sup-
posed, either. I was afraid of Sarah's passions and reproaches ;
I always was. She had a way of representing everybody else
as so unkind to her, poor dear soul, and of making out that she
was neglected and of no consequence. Though I knew that
this was not the case, I never could help feeling uncomfortable.
Perhaps if I could only have put myself in her place, I might
have felt the same ; but it made me very timid of starting any
subject before her that she did not like, even though it might
be to relieve her mind.

I went slowly into the drawing-room. I thought most likely
little Sara was dressing upstairs, and we two would have a
little time to ourselves. When I went into the great room it
was lying in the twilight, very dim and shadowy. The great
mirror looked like another dimmer world added on to this one
which was already so dim, — a world all full of glimpses and
gliding figures, and brightened up by the gleams of the fire-
light which happened to be blazing very bright and cheerful.
There were no curtains closed nor blinds down. Four great
long windows, each let into the opposite wall a long strip of
sky, the grass, and leafless trees, giving one a strange idea of
the whole world outside, the world of winds, and hills, and
rivers, and foreign unknown people. It was not light that
came in at these windows ; it was a sort of grey luminous
darkness, that led our eyes up to the sky and blurred every-
thing underneath. But in the centre of the room buried that
ruddy centre of fire, a light which is quite by itself, and is not
to be compared to anything else. Straight before me, as I
stood at the door, was Sarah's screen, shutting out as much
light as it could, and of course concealing her entirely ; but
beyond, full in the ruddy light on the other side of the screen,
with the red fire reddening all over her velvet jacket, her
glossy hair, and the white round arms out of those long wide
sleeves, sat little Sara Cresswell, on a footstool opposite her
godmamma, and talking to her. I cannot say Sara was in a
pretty attitude. Young ladies now-a-days are sadly careless in
their ways. She was stooping quite double, with one of her
hands thrust into her hair, and the fire scorching her com-
plexion all to nothing ; and one of the long, uncovered windows,
with the blind drawn up .to the very top, you may be sure by
Sara's own wilful hands, was letting in the sky light over her,

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. 141

like a very tall spirit with pale blue eyes, so chilly, and clear,
and pale, that it looked the oddest contrast possible to the
firelight and the little velvet kitten then in front of it, all
scorched and reddened over, as you could fancy ; velvet takes
on that surface tint wonderfully. I could see nothing of Sarah
in the shelter of her screen ; but there sat the little puss in
velvet, straight before her, talking to her as nobody else ever
ventured to talk. I have been long telling you how that
fireside scene looked, just to get my breath. I had been
trying to work myself up to the proper pitch to enter upon
that subject again with my poor sister. But lo ! here had little
Sara come on her own account and got it all over. I could see
at a glance that there was no more to be said.

I came forward quietly and dropped into my own seat without
saying anything. Dear, dear ! had it been an insane, un-
reasonable terror, or had it been something real and serious
that she knew, and she alone? Sarah was leaning a little
towards the fire, rubbing the joints of her fingers, which were
rheumatic, as I have mentioned before ; but it was not what
she was doing that struck me ; it was the strange look of ease
and comfort that had somehow come upon her. Her whole
person looked as if it had relaxed out of some bondage. Her
head drooped a little in a kind of easy languor : her muslin
shawl, lined with pale blue, hung lightly off her shoulders.
Her pins were laid down orderly and neat on her basket with
the wools. Her very foot was at ease on the footstool. How
was it ? If it had been incipient madness, could this grateful
look of rest have come so easily ? Would the fever have gone
down only at knowing he was away ? Heavens know ! I sat
all silent in my own chair in the shadow, and felt the water
moisten my old eyes. What she must have gone through
before this sudden eas2 could show itself so clearly in every
limb and movement ! What an iron bondage she must have
been putting on ! What a relief this was ! Her comfort and
sudden relaxation struck me dumb. I was appalled at the
sight of it. My notion about insanity, dreadful k> think of,
but still natural and innocent, was shaken ; a restless uneasi-
ness of a different description rose upon my mind. Could he
indeed be anything to her, this young stranger? Could she
in her own knowledge have some mysterious burden which was
connected with his coming or going ? Could she have recof/-
nised, instead of only finding an insanely fanciful destiny in
his strange face? Impossible! That foreign life of hers, so
obscure and mysterious to me. wns of an older period than his

142 The Last of the Mortimers.

existence. He could bring no gossip, no recollections to con-
found her. At the time of her return he could scarcely have
been born. Thus I was plunged into a perfect wilderness of
amazed questions again.

Whei. little Sara went off to dress, — she dressed every
evening, though we never saw anybody, — I stole to the door-
after her, and caught her little pink ear outside the door in the
half-lighted hall. She gave a little shriek when I came
suddenly behind her. I believe she thought I was angry, and
came to take her punishment into my own hand.

" What did you say to your godmamma, Sara ?" said I.

u Nothing," said the perverse child. Then, after a little
pause, " I told her that your Mr. Luigi was gone, godmamma ;
and that he was a very pretty-behaved young man ; and asked
her who the Countess Sermoneta was."

" You did?"

" Yes ; but she did not mind," said Sara. " I am not sure if
she heard me ; she gave such a long sigh, half a year long.
Godmamma Sarah's heart must be very deep down if it took
that to ease it ; and melted all out, as if frost was over some-
how, and thaw had come."

u Ah ! and what more ?" said I.

"Nothing more," cried the child. "Don't you think I
have a little heart, godmamma ? If she felt it so, could I go
poking at her with that Countess's name ? Ah ! you should
have seen her. She thawed out as if the sun was shining and
the frost gone."

"Ah!" I cried again. It went to my heart as well.
" Come down and talk, little Sara," said I, and so went back
to the drawing room, where she sat looking so eased a*id
relieved,. poor soul, poor soul! I was very miserable. I had
not the heart to ring for lights. I sat down in my chair with
all sorts of dismal thoughts in my heart. She did not speak
either. She was rubbing her rheumatic fingers, and taking in
all the warmth and comfort. She looked as if somehow she
had escaped— good heavens ! from what ?

The Last of tie Mo i timers. 143

CHAPTER IX.

"VTEXT day that change upon Sarah's whole appearance
.Li continued, and throughout the whole week. She was
like herself once more. Carson made no more stealthy ex-
peditions out of doors before my sister set out on her drive.
Sarah did not stir in her chair and eye me desperately when
the door opened. She even seemed to fall deaf again with
that old, soft, slight hardness of hearing which I used to
suspect in her. There was no pressure on her heart to startle
her ears.

While I in the meantime tried my best to think nothing
about it, tried to turn a blank face towards what might
happen, and to take the days as they came. I have not come
to be fifty without having troubles in plenty. For the last
dozen years, to be sure, there had been only common embar-
rassments. The fewer people one has to love, the fewer
pleasures and joys are possible, the less grow our sorrows. It
is cold comfort, but it is a fact notwithstanding. Grief and
delight go hand in hand in full lives; when we are stinted
down into a corner both fall off. We suffer less, we enjoy
less; we suffer nothing, we enjoy nothing in time, only
common pricks and vexations, which send no thrill to the
slumbering heart. So we had been living for years; happy
enough, nothing to disturb us ; or not happy at ali; if you
choose to take that view of the subject ; true either way. Not
such a thing as real emotion lighting upon our house, only
secondary feelings ; no love to speak of, but kindness ; no joy,
but occasional pleasure ; no grief, but sometimes regret. A
very composed life, which had been broken in upon quite
suddenly by a bewildering shadow, — tragic fear, doubt,
alarm, — sudden mystery no ways explainable, or madnesij
explainable but hopeless. In this pause of dismay and doubt,
while the dark, unknown, inexplicable figure had turned
away from the door a little, it was hard to turn from its
fascination and go quietly back to that quiet life.

Little Sara Cresswtll came much about me in the library in
those days ; she interested herself in my business much ; she

144 The Last of the Mortimers.

tried to interfere with my work and help me, as the kitten
called it. All the outlays on the estate, the works that were
going on, the improvements I loved to set a-going — which did
not all come to anything, — and the failures, of which to be
sTire there were plenty — pleased the impatient creature mightily.
I was considered rather speculative and fanciful among the
Cheshire squires; they did not approve of my goings on ; they
thought me a public nuisance for preserving no game, and
making a fuss about cottages. But I am sorry to say little
Sara did not agree with the squires. She thought my small
bits of improvements very slow affairs indeed ; she grew indig-
nant at my stinginess and contracted ideas. She thought any
little 1 did were just preliminary attempts not worth mentioning.
When was I to begin the work in earnest she wanted to know?

•'What work, Sara?"

" What work ? Why, here are you, godmamma, an old
lady — you will never grow any wiser or any better than you
ai'e,1' cried the intolerable child. "You can't get any more
good out of all that belongs to the Park than just your nice
little dinners, and teas, and the carriage, and the servants, and,
perhaps, half-a-dozen dresses in the year, — though I do believe
three would be nearer true, — and to keep all these farms, and
fields, and meadows, and orchards, and things, all for god-
mamma Sarah and you! Don't you feel frightened sometimes
when you wake up suddenly at night ?"

" You saucy little puss ! — why ?'" cried I.

" To think of the poor," said Sara, with a solemn look. She
held herself straight up, and looked quite dignified as she turned
her reproving eyes on rne. "Quantities of families without any
homes, quantities of little children growing up worse than your
pigs, godmamma, quantities of people starving, and living, and
crowding, and quarrelling in black streets not as broad as this
room, with courts off from them, like those horrid, frightful
places in Liverpool. While out here you are living in your big
rooms, in your big house, with the green park all round and
r< und you, and farmers, and gardeners, and cottagers, and
servants, and all sorts of people, working to make you com-
fortable ; with more money than you know what to do with,
and everything belonging to yoursdf , and nobody to interfere
with you. And why have you any right to it more than
them T '

Little Sara's figure swelled out, and her dark eyes shone
bright as she was speaking. It took away my breath. " Are
vou a Chartist, child ?" I cried.

The Last of the Mortimers. 115

*ll think I am a Socialist," said Sara, very compos vlly ;
'* but I don't quite know. 1 think we should all go shares. I
ha\\- told you so a dozen times, godrnamma. Suppose papa has
twelve hundred a year, — 1 do believe he has a great deal more,
— isn't it dreadful ? and all, not out of the ground like yours,
but from worrying people into lawsuits and getting them into
trouble. Well, suppose it was all divided among a dozen
families, a hundred a year. People can live very comfortably,
I assure you, godmamma, upon a hundred a year."

" Who told you, child ?" said I.

" The curate has only eighty," said Sara ; "his wife dresses
the baby and makes all its things herself, and they have very
comfortable little dinners. The window in my old nursery — •
the end window you know — just overlooks their little parlour.
They look so snug and comfortable when the baby is good. To
be sure it must be a bore taking one's dinner with the baby in
one's lap; and I am sure she is always in a fright about visitors
coming. I think it would be quite delightful to give them one
of papa's hundreds a year."

"In addition to their eighty?" said L "Why, then, there
is an end of going shares."

Sara coughed and stammered for a moment over this, quite
at fault; but not being troubled either about logic or con-
sistency, soon plunged on again as bold as ever.

" Whatever you say, godmamma, people can live quite
comfortable on a hundred a year. I have reckoned it all up ;
and I don't see really any reason why anybody should have
more. Only fancy what a quantity of hundreds a year you
and godmamma Sarah might distribute if you would. And,
instead of that, you only build a few cottages and give a few
people work — work ! as if they had not as good a right as
anybody to their living. People were not born only to work,
and to be miserable, and to die."

" People were born to do a great many harder things than
you think for, Sara," said I. " Do you think I am going to
argue with a little velvet kitten like you ? I advise you to try
your twelve families on the twelve hundreds a year. But
what do you suppose you would do if your godmamma and I ,
having no heirs, left the Park to you, and you had your will,
and might do what you pleased?"

What put this into my head I cannot say ; but I gave it
utterance on the spur of the moment. Sara stared at me for a
moment, with her pretty mouth falling a little open in astonish-
ment. Then she jumped up and clapped her hands. "Do, god-

1-16 The Last tf ilie Mortimers,

mamma !" :;!ie cried out, " oil do ; such a glorious scatter t
should make ! everybody should have enough, and we'd build
the loveliest little chapel in existence to St. Millicent, if there
is such a saint. I have always thought it would be perfectly
delightful to be a great heiress. Godmamma, do!"

To see her all sparkling with delight and eagerness quite
charmed me. Had she ever heard a hint of being left heiress
to the Park, of course she must have looked wretched and
Conscious. Anybody would that had thought of such a great
acquisition. Sara had not an idea of that. She thought it the
best fun possible. She clapped her hands and cried, u Do,
godmamma !" She was as bold as an innocent young iion,
without either guile or fear.

" It should be tied down so that you could not part with a
single acre, nor give away above five pounds at a time,"
said I.

" Ah !" said Sara, thoughtfully ; " I dare say there would be
a way of cheating you somehow though, godmamma," she said,
waking up again with a touch of malice. " People are ahvayg
cheated after they are dead. 1 knew a dear old lady that
would not have her portrait taken for anybody but one friend
whom she loved very much ; but, what do you think? after sho
was gone they found the wicked wretch of a photographic man
that kept the tiling, — the negative they call it, — and printed
scores of portraits, and let everybody have one. I would have
given my little finger to have had one ; but to go and cheat her,
and baulk her after she was dead, and all for love, that is crnel.
I would rather go against what you said right out, godmamma,
than go against what I knew was in your heart."

" Ah, Sara, you don't know anything about it," said I. "If
you had a great deal of money all to yourself, and could
do anything you liked with it, — as heaven knows you may
have soon enough ! — and were just as foolish with it as you
intend, how disgusted you would be with your charity, to be
sure, after a while ! What a little misanthrope you would
grow! What mercenary, discontented wretches you would
think all the people! 1 think I can see you fancying how
much good you are doing, and yet doing only harm instead.
Then that disagreeable old fellow, experience, would take
you in hand. The living are cheated as well as the dead. We
are all cheated, and cheat ourselves. Nothing would make me
go and have my portrait taken ; but 1 don't deny if I found
out that people had got it spontaneously, and handed it about
among themselves all for love, I should not be angry. You

The Last of the Mortimers. 147

are a little goose. You don't know what manner of spirit you
are of."

" It is very easy talking, godmamma," said Sara. " I was
watching yesterday when godmarama Sarah went out for her
drive. The groom and the boy were hard at work ever so long
with the carriage and horses before it was ready. I saw them
out of the window of Alice's room while she was mending my
dress for me. Then came old Jacob to the door with the
carriage. Then came godmamma Sarah leaning on Carson's
arm to go downstairs. So there were two great horses and four
human creatures, — three men and a woman, — all employed for
ever so long to give one old lady a half -hour's drive, when a walk
would have done her twenty times as much good," concluded
the child hastily, under her breath.

** You speak in a very improper manner ; — an old lady I
You ought to have more respect for your godmamma," said I,
indignantly. " Your godmamma has nothing that is not per-
fectly suitable to her condition of life.''

"But godmamma Sarah is an old lady, whether I am
respectful or not," said the girl stoutly. " When 1 see ladies
driving about I wonder at them. Two great horses that could
fight or plough ; and two great men that might do the same ;
and all occupied about one lady's drive ! If I were queen I
would do away with drives ! Ah ! shouldn't I like to be Semi-
ramis, the Semiramis of the story, that persuaded the king to
let her be queen for a day, and turned everything upside down,
and then "

" Cut off the king's head. Would you do it, Sara, after ho
had trusted you ?" said I.

Sara came to a sudden pause. " I would not mind about
cutting off his head ; but, to be sure, being trusted is different.
As if it were not a story, not a word true ! But please, god-
mamma," cried the wild creature, making me a curtsey, " don't
leave me the Park. I don't want to be trusted, please. I want
to have my own way."

Which was the truest word she ever said.

143 The Last of the l&orii/ner*.

CHAPTER X.

rnllE days wore away thus in talks with little Sara, and
I vague expeditions out of doors, a misty sort of confused
life. I felt as one feels when one knows of some dreadful storm,
or trial, that has passed over for a little, only to come again by
and by. After seeing Sarah show so much feeling of one kind
and another, — distress, anxiety, and apprehension one day, and
comfort and relief another, — I could not bind myself with
the thought that this could possibly pass off and come to
nothing. Such things don't happen once and get done with.
There was a secret reason somewhere working all the same,
either in her own mind alone, or in the past and her history
as well ; and one time or other it must make its appearance
again. Whether it was her mind giving way ; and in that
cane it did not matter whether Mr. Luigi came back or not,
for if he did not appear, fancy would, doubtless seize upon
some other ; or whether it was some person this young man
resembled, or some part of her life \vhich she was afraid
to hear of again which he recalled to her, in any case it was
sure to break out some other day ; and I cannot tell what
a strange uncomfortable excitement it brought into my life,
and how the impulse of watching came upon me. Sarah's
smallest motions got a meaning in my eyes. I could not
take things easily as I had used to do. She had always,
of course, been very important in the house ; but she had
been a kind of still life for a long time now. She would
r/ot be consulted about leases or improvements, or anything
done on the estate. So long as everything was very com-
fortable and nice about her, — the fire just to her liking,
which Ellis managed to a nicety ; the cooking satisfactory ;
her wools nicely matched, and plenty of new patterns ; her
screen just in the proper position, protecting her from the
draught ; and the Times always ready when she was ready
for it, — Sarah got on, as it appeared, very comfortably.
Despite all that, to be sure she would get angry sometimes;
but I was used to it, and did not mind much. Only to think
that a person, who had either in the past or in her own mind

The Last of the Mortimers. 149

something to work her up to such a pitch of excitement,
could live such a life ! She seemed to have quite resumed
it now with a strange kind of unreasoning self -consolation.
If it was the Italian that disturbed her, how could she persuade
herself that he was not coming back again? Her quiet falling
back into her old way was inexplicable to me.

I seemed to myself to stand just then in a very strange
position. Sarah on one side of me all shut up and self secluded,
with a whole life all full of strange incidents, dazzling, bril*
liant, uuforgotten years, actual things that had happened
locked in her silent memory ; and little Sara on tiptoe, ou
the other side, eager to plunge in her own way into the life she
dreamt of, but knew nothing about. All the wild notions of
the little girl, ridiculous-wise opinions, poor dear child, her
principles of right and justice with which she would rule the
world, and all her innocent break-downs and failures, ever in
her fancy, came pouring down upon me, pelting me at all
times. And on the other side was my sister, content to spend
her life in that easy-chair, my sister whom I knew nothing
about, whose memory could go out of the Park drawing-room-
into exciting scenes and wonderful events which haJ neve?
heard of. How strange it was ! I don't remember much tha\
I did in those days. I lived under a confused, uneajy cloud,
ready enough to be amused with Sara's philosophy. I am not
sure that I was not all the more disposed t -.smile at and tease
the dear child, and be amused by all the new ideas she started,
for the troubled sensation in my own mind. Nothing could
have happened, I think, that would have surprised me. Soi.ie-
times it came into my head whether my father could uave
done, or tried to do, something when he was abroad, to cut us
off from the succession ; and once I jumped bolt upright out
of my seat, thinking — what if my father had married abroad
and had a son, and we were living usurpers, and Sarah knew
of it ! How that idea did set my heart beating ! If I had not
been so much frightened for her passions, I should have gone
to her directly and questioned her. But to be sure my father
was not tlie man to leave off his own will for any consideration
about his daughters ; and would have been only too proud to
have had a son. After thinking, I gave up that idea ; but my
heart went at a gallop for hours after, and I should not have
been surprised to hear that anything had happened, or was
going to happen. Really, anything real and actual, however
bad, would have been a relief from the mystery which preyed
upon me.

150 The Last of the Mortimers.

" Papa is coming to fetch me, to-morrow," said Sara Cresa-
well, in rather a discontented tone. " There is to be some ridi-
culous ball, or something. Can anybody imagine anything so
absurd as asking people to a ball when you want to show you're
sorry to part with them? and papa might have known, if lie had
ever taken the trouble to think, that 1 have no dress -"

" Sara, child! how many hundreds a year do you give your
dressmaker ?" said I.

" That has nothing whatever to do with it, godmamma,"
said Sara, making a slightly confused pause ; and then resum-
ing, with a defiant look into my face, — u if I might give one
hundred a year away out of all papa has got, I could live upon
one dress in a year ; but what is the use of shillings and six-
pences to beggars, or of saving up a few pounds additional to
papa? I don't call that any economy. If we were living
according to nature, it would be quite different ; then I should
want no ball-dresses. Besides," continued the refractory crea-
ture, "I don't want to go; and if papa insists on me going,
why shouldn't I get some pleasure out of it? Everything else
will be just the same as usual, of course. — Godmamma," ex-
claimed Sara suddenly, with a new thought, " will you ask
papa anything about this business ? it is not done with yet.
He will come back, and all will have to be gone over again.
Will you mention it to papa ?"

She had been thinking of it too, — she, thoughtless as she
was, found something in it not of a kind to die away and be
passed over. 1 could not mistake, nor pretend to mistake, what
she meant ; it was to be read in her very eyes.

" My dear, I have told you already that your godmamma can
have nothing whatever to do with this young man," said I, with
a little irritation ; "if she is out of sorts it is nobody's business.
Do you fancy she could keep up an acquaintance with
an Italian countess for more than twenty years, and I know
nothing of it ? Nonsense ! Some fancy, or some old recollec-
tions, or something, had an effect upon her just at the moment.
Speak to your father ! Why, you told me he knew nothing
about the Countess Sermoneta. Shall I ask him to feel your
godmamma's pulse and prescribe for her ? or do you suppose,
even if he were fit for that, your godmamma would allow it,
without feeling herself ill? Your papa is highly respectable,
and has always been much trusted by the family. But there
are things with which one's solicitor has nothing whatever to
do ; there are things which belong to one's self, and to nobody
else in the world."

TJte Last of tlie Mortimers. 151

Poor little Sara ! I did not mean to mortify the child ! She
<rre\v crimson with pride and annoyance. I bad no intention
of reminding her that she was only the attorney's daughter;
but she reminded herself of it on the instant, with all the pride
of a duchess. She did not say a syllable, the little proud crea-
ture ; but turned away with such an air, her cheek burning,
her eyes flashing, her little foot spurning the ground. She
went off with a great sweep of hor full skirts, disturbing the
air to such an extent that I quite felt the breeze on my cheek.
Perhaps it was just as well. Of course there was a differenco
between the Mortimers and the Cresswells. Because we did
not stand on our dignity, people were so ready to forget
what they owed to us. It was just as well the spoiled child
could learn, for once in her life, that it was all of grace and
favour that she was made so much of at the Park.

I made quite sure that she went to her own room directly, to
see after the packing of her things, with some thoughts of start-
ing for home at once, without even waiting for her father.
However, when she began to talk to her little maid Alice, about
that ball-dress, I daresay the other matter went out of the
child's head. The next that I saw of her was when she made a
rush downstairs to ask me for postage stamps, with a letter in
her hand, all closed ready to go off. She was still pouting and
ill-tempered ; but she contrived to show me the address of the
letter. Alas, poor dear Bob Cresswell ! it was to the Chester
milliner, the best one we had, no doubt ordering a dress for the
ball. Yet I do believe, for all that, the child could really have
done what she said. I believe, if some great misfortune had
happened, and her father had lost all his money, Sara's first
impulse would have been. to clap her hands and cry, "Now
everybody shall see !" Of course it is very dreadful to lose
one's fortune and become poor and have to work. But I wonder
are there no other spoiled creatures in the world like Sara,
who have their own ideas about such calamities, and think they
would be the most famous fun in the world '? Too much of any-
thing makes a revulsion in the mind. Such over-indulged,
capricious, spoiled children have often hardy bold spirits, and
would be thankful for some real, not sham necessity. But, in
the meantime, she had not the slightest idea of doing without
ter ball-dress.

152 Tim La*t of tke Mortimer*

CHAPTER XI.

MR. CRESSWELL came next day accordingly. T confess
the very sight of him \v;is a sort of solace to me in my
perplexities ; that solid steady man, with his sharp keen eyes
and looks, as if he knew everything going on round about him.
To be sure, being a lawyer, he must have pretended to know a
great many more things than he could have any insight into.
{Still, when one is in great doubt, and cannot tell where to turn,
the sight of one of these precise men, with a vast knowledge
about other people, and no affairs of their own of any con-
sequence, is a kind of relief to one. Such men can throw light
on quantities of things quite out of their way. I could not
help saying to myself, though I had snubbed Sara for saying
it, that he might, perhaps, have helped to clear up this mystery.
But, of course, he was always a last resort if anything more
happened. They were to have dinner before they went away,
and Mr. Cresswell reached the Park by noon ; so there was
plenty of time to tell him anything. He came into the
dra wing -room rubbing his hands. Sarah had just come down-
stairs and taken her seat. She was looking just as she always
did, no tremble in her head to speak of, her attention quite
taken up with her wools, attending to what was said, but with
no anxiety about it. When Mr. Cresswell came in her face
changed a little ; she looked as if all'at once she had thought of
something, and gave me a sign, which I knew meant he was to
come to her. I brought him directly, not without a great deal
of curiosity. It was a warm day for the season ; and just
immediately before the lire, where the good man had to sit to
listen, was not just the most comfortable position in the world.
He even contrived to make a kind of appeal to me. Couldn't
I hear what it was, and tell him afterwards ? I took no notice ;
I confess it was rather agreeable to me than otherwise, — to set
him down there to get roasted before the fire.

UI want to know what you have done about Richard
Mortimer," said Sarah in her shrill whisper; " there has been
no advertisement in the Times nor the Chester papers. 1
you are not losing time ; what have you done ?"

The Last of the Mortimers. 153

It struck me that Mr. Cresswell looked just a little abashed
f.nd put out by this question ; but it might be the fire. He
put up his hand to shelter his face, and hitched round hia
chair ; then shrugged his shoulders a little, insinuating that she
was making far too much of it. " My dear lady, advertisements
are the last resort. I hope to do without any such troublesome
process," said Mr. Cresswell. " All the Mortimers in England
will rouse up at the sight of an advertisement. I should prefer
to take a little time. Information is always to be obtained
privately when one has any clue at all."

" Then have you obtained any private information ?" said
Sarah, in rather a sharp tone. She had no inclination to let
him slide away till she was quite satisfied.

u Such things take their time," said Mr. Cresswell, devoting
all his attention to screening himself from the fire. u How
you ladies can bear cooking yourselves up so, on this mild day,
I cannot understand ! 1 can hear you perfectly , Miss Mor-
timer, thank you ; your voice is as distinct as it always was,
though, unfortunately not the same tone. What a voice your
sister used to have, to be sure ! — went through people's hearts
like a bell."

This was addressed to me, in the idea of being able to
wriggle out of the conversation altogether. It is my con-
viction he had not taken a single step in the matter of Richard
Mortimer ; but if he thought he could shake off Sarah's
inquiries so, he deceived himself. She never was, all her life,
to be turned from her own way.

" It is sometime now since we instructed you on this
subject," said Sarah. " If you have not made any discovery,
at least you can tell us what you are doing. Milly, there,
like a fool, does not care. She talks of Providence dropping
us an heir at our door, — a foundling, I suppose, with its name
on a paper pinned to its frock," said Sarah, growing rather
excited, and turning an angry look on me.

To my astonishment Mr. Cresswell also looked at me ; his
was a guilty, conscious, inquiring look. What strange
creatures we all are ! This shrewd lawyer, far from thinking
that Sarah's words referred to any mysterious trouble or
derangement in her own mind, took them up, knowing his
own thoughts, with all the quickness of guilt, to refer to Sara !
He thought we had probably had a quarrel about leaving her our
heiress ; that I had stood up for her, and Sarah had opposed it.
So he turned his eyes to me to see if I would make any private
telegraphic communication to him of the state of affairs. And

154 The Last of the Mortimers.

when he found nothing but surprise in my eyes, turned back a
little disappointed, but quite cool and ready to stand to his
arms, though he had failed of this mark.

"The truth is, there is nothing so easy as finding an heir.
I'll ensure you to hunt him up from the backwoods, or China,
or anywhere in the world. There'? a fate connected with
heirs," said Mr. Cresswell, pleasantly, "whether one wants
them or not they turn up with all their certificates in their
pocket-books! Ah! they're a long-lived, sharp-sighted race;
they're sure to hear somehow when they're wanted. Don't be
afraid — we'll find him, sure enough. If you had made up your
minds to disown him, and shut him out, he'd turn up all the
same."

u Milly," cried Sarah suddenly, with her little shriek of
passion, all so unexpected and uncalled for that I fairly jumped
from the table I was standing at, and had nearly overturned
her screen on the top of her, " what do you mean by that
fixed look at me? How dare you look so at me? Did I
speak of disowning any one ? Richard Mortimer, when he's
found, shall have the park that moment, if I lived a dozen
years after it. Nobody shall venture, so long as I live, to cast
suspicious looks at me ! "

1 declare, freely, I was unconscious of looking at her as
though I had been a hundred miles away at the moment ! I
stood perfectly still, gaping with consternation and amazement.
Such an unwarranted, unexpected accusation, fairly took away
my breath, Mr. Cresswell, accustomed to observe people, was
startled, and woke up 1'rom those dreams of his own which
clouded his eyesight in this particular case. He looked at her
keenly for a moment, then, turned with a rapid question in
his eyes to me ; he seemed to feel in a moment there was
somehow some strange new element in the matter. But, of
course, I had no answer to make to him, either with voice
or eyes.

" I was not looking at you at all, Sarah," faltered I. "I
was not looking at anything in particular. Nobody is going
to be disowned, that I know of. Nobody is seeking our
property, that I know of," I said again involuntarily, my eye
turning with a kind of stupid consciousness, the very fast
feeling in the world which I wished or intended to show,
upon Mr. Cresswell, who was quite watching my looks to see
what this little episode meant.

He coloured up in a moment. He stumbled up from his
ir, looking very much confused. He dared not pretend to

The Last of tlie Mortimers. 155

know what I meant, nor show himself conscious, even that I
had looked at him. He went across the room to the window,
looked out, and came back again. It was odd to see such a
man, accustomed and trained to conceal his sentiments, so
betrayed into showing them. When he sat down again he
turned his face to the fire, and almost his back to me. Matters
had changed. It appeared I was not such a safe confidante as
he had supposed.

"You shall very soon be satisfied about Mr. Richard
Mortimer," he said, looking into the fire. "Don't be afraid ;
I am on the scent ; you may trust it to me. But, really, I
don't wonder to see Miss Milly take it very reasonably. What
do you want with heirs yet? If I had any thoughts of that
kind, I should put all my powers in motion to get that little
kitten of mine married. If I leave her by herself she will
throw away my poor dear beautiful dividends in handtuls.
But, somehow, the idea doesn't oppress me ; and, of course, I
am older than any lady in existence can be supposed to be.
I am "

"Hold your tongue, Cresswcll," cried Sarah crossly. "I
daresay we know what each other's ages are. Attend to
business, please. I want Richard Mortimer found, I tell you.
You can tell him his cousin Sarah wants him. He will come,
however far off he may be, when he hears that. You can put
it in the papers, if, you please."

Saying this Sarah gave her muslin scarf a little twitch over
her elbow, and held, up her head wiiu & Grange little vain
self -satisfied movement. Oh, how Mr. Cresswell did look at
her ! how he chuckled in his secret soul! From what 1 \\;\<\
seen once before I understood perfectly well what he meant.
He had once taken the liberty to fall in love with Sarah
Mortimer himself ; and now to see the old faded beauty
putting on one of her old airs, and reckoning on the fidelity of
a man who, no doubt — it was to be hoped, or what was to
become of our search for heirs ? — had married and forgotten
all about her years ago — tickled him beyond measure. He
felt himself quite revenged when he saw her self-complacence.
He ventured to chuckle at it secretly. I should have liked,
aboye all things, to box his ears.

" Ah ! to be sure ; I'll use all possible means immediately.
It's to be hoped he has ten children," said Mr. Cresswell, with
a very quiet private laugh. Sarah did not observe that he
was laughing at her. I believe such an idea could never have
entered her head. She began, with an habitual motion she

'

156 The Last of the Mortimers.

had got whenever she left off knitting, to rub her fingers and
stoop to the fire.

u And I insist yon should come and report to us what you
are doing," said Sarah ; " and never mind Milly ; see me. It
is I who am interested. Milly, as I tell you, thinks Providence
•will drop her an heir at the door."

What could she mean by these spiteful sneering sugges-
tions ? I had thought no more of heirs for many a day — never
since I got involved in this bewildering business, which I
could see no way through. Her sudden attack sent a little
thrill of terror through me. / was casting suspicious looks at
her ; an heir was to be dropped at our door ; somebody was
plotting against her fortune and honour. Good heavens!
•what could it mean but one thing ? Mad people are always
watched, pursued, persecuted, thwarted. I was cast from one
guess to another, as if from wave to wave of a sea. I came
back to that idea again ; and trembled in spite of myself to
think of little Sara and her father leaving us, and of being left
alone to watch the insane haze spreading over her mind. It
was sure to spread if it was there.

CHAPTEE XII.

I WILL not undertake to say that we were a particularly-
sociable party at dinner tbat day. The stranger, Mr.
Cresswell, who might have been supposed likely to give us a
little news, and refresh us with the air of out of doors, was
constrained and uncomfortable with the idea of having been
found out. I am sure it was the last idea in the world which I
•wanted to impress upon him. But still, in spite of myself, 1
had betrayed it. Then Sara, without the faintest idea of her
father's uneasiness, had a strong remembrance of my unlucky

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. 157

words on the previous day, and was very high and stately, by
way of proving to me that an attorney's daughter could be
quite as proud as a Mortimer — as if I ever doubted it ! — and a
great deal prouder. For really, when one knows exactly what
one's position is., and that nobody can change it, one does not
stand upon one's defence for every unwary word. However,
BO it was that we were all a little constrained, and I felt as one
generally feels after a pretty long visit, even from a dear friend,
that to be alone and have the house to one's self will just at
first be a luxury in its way.

Not having any free and comfortable subject to talk of, we
naturally fell to books, though Mr. Cresswell, I believe, never
opened one. He wanted to know if Sara had been reading
novels all day long, and immediately Sara turned to me to ask
whether she might have one home with her which she had
begun to read. Then there burst on my mind an innocent
way of putting a question to Mr. Cresswell which I had been
very anxious to ask without seeing any way to do it.

u I don't think you will care for it when you do read it Sara;
it is all about a poor boy who gets persuaded not to marry, and
breaks the poor creature's heart who is engaged to him, because
there has been madness in the family. High principle, you
know. I am not quite so sure in my own mind that I don't
think him a humbug ; but I suppose it's all very grand and
splendid to you young people. Young persons should be
trained very closely in their own family history if that is to be
the way of it. I hope there never was a Cresswell touched in
his brain, or, Sara, it would be a bad prospect for you."

" Jf you suppose I should think it a bad prospect to do as
Gilbert did, you are very wrong, godmamma," cried Sara.
*' Why shouldn't he have been quite as happy one way as the
other ? Do you suppose people must be married to be happy ?
it is dreadful to hear such a thing from you !"

" Well, to be sure, so it would be," said I, " if I had said it.
I am not unhappy that I know of, nor happy either. Oh, you
little velvet kitten, how do you know how people get through
life? One goes jog- jog, and does not stop to find out how one
feels. But I'd rather — though I daresay it's very bad philo-
sophy— have creatures like you do things innocently, without
being too particular about the results. Besides, I think
Cheshire air is good steady air for the mind, — not exciting, you
know. I don't think we've many mad people in our county,
eh, Mr. Cresswell ? — Did you ever hear of a crazy Mortimer ?"
Mr. Cresswell looked up at me a little curiously — which, to

158 The Last of the Mortimers.

be sure, not having any command over my face, or habit of
concealing what I thought, made me look foolish. Sarah lifted
her eyes, too, with a kind of smile which alarmed me— a smile
of ridicule and superior knowledge. Perhaps 1 had exposed my
fears to both of them by that question. I shrank away from
it immediately, frightened at my own rashness. But Mr.
Cresswell would not let me off.

" I have always heard that your grand-uncle Lewis was very
peculiar," said Mr. Cresswell, — "he that your cousin is de-
scended from. Let us hope it doesn't run in Mr. Richard's
family. I suppose there's no reason to imagine that such a
motive would prevent him from marrying?" he continued,
rather spitefully. " And it was no wonder if Lewis Mortimer
was a little queer. What could you expect? he was the second
son ! an unprecedented accident. The wonder is that some-
thing did not happen in consequence. Oh yes, he was soft a
little, was your grand-uncle Lewis; but most likely it descended
to him from his mother's side of the house."

"And my father was named after him!" cried I, with a
certain dismay.

They all laughed, even Sarah. She kept her eyes on me as
if searching through me to find out what I meant. She was
puzzled a little, I could see. She saw it was not a mere idle
question, and wanted to know the meaning. She was not con-
scious, thank heaven ! and people are dismally conscious, as I
have heard, when their brain is going. This was a little com-
fort to me under the unexpected answer I had got, for I
certainly never heard of a crazy Mortimer all my life.

" If qualities descended by names, my little kitten would be
in luck," said Mr. Cresswell. "But here is a new lot of officers
coming, Miss Milly ; what would you recommend a poor man
to do?"

"Papa!" cried Sara, with blazing indignation, " what does
any one suppose the officers are to me ? You say so to make
my own godrnamma despise me, though you know it isn't true!
I can bear anything that is true. That is why we always
quarrel, papa and I. He does not mind what stories he tells,
and thinks it good fun. I am not a flirt, nor never was —
never, even when I was too young to know any better. No,
godmamma, i}0 more than you are ! — nobody dares say it of
me."

We were just rising from table when she made this
defence of herself. It was not quite true. I know she tor-
mented that poor boy Wilde as if he had been a mouse, the

The Last of the Mortimers,

Crttel Creature ; and I am perfectly convinced that she was
much disappointed Mr. Luigi did not come to the Park, because
she had precisely the same intentions with regard to him. I
must allow, though I was very fond of Sara, that, professing to
be mighty scornful and sceptical as to hearts breaking, she
loved to try when she had it in her power. I daresay she was
not conscious of her wicked arts, she used them by instinct ;
but it came to much the same thing in the end.

I went out of the room with her, under pretence of seeing1
that her boxes were nicely packed ; I did not say anything
about it, whether I thought her a flirt or not, and she quieted
down immediately, with a perception that I had something to
say. I drew her into the great window of the hall, when
Sarah, and immediately after her Mr. Cresswell, — for, of course,
to him our early dinner only served as lunch, and no man
would dream of sitting over his wine at three o'clock in the
afternoon, especially in a lady's house, — had passed into the
drawing-room. It was a great round bay-window, at one end
of the hall, where our footmen used to lounge in my father's
time, when we kept footmen. It had our escutcheon in it, in
painted glass, and the lower panes were obscured, I cannot tell
why, unless because it made them look ugly. The hall was
covered with matting, and the fire had been lighted that day,
but must have gone out, it felt so cold.

" Sara, I wish to say to you — not that I don't trust your
discretion, my dear child ;" said I, " but you might not think I
cared — don't say anything about your godtnanmia, or about
this Mr. Luiggi, dear "

I was quite prepared to see her resent this caution, but [ was
not prepared for the burst of saucy laughter with which the
foolish little girl replied to me.

*' Oh dear, godmamma, don't be so comical ! it isn't Luiggi,
it's Luidgi, that's how it sounds," cried Sara. " To think of
any one murdering the beautiful Italian so ! Don't you really
think it's a beautiful name?"

" I freely confess I never could see any beauty in Italian,
nor any other outlandish tongue," said I. "Luidgi, be it, if
that's better. I can't see how it makes one morsel of difference';
but you will remember what I say?"

44 Luigi simply means Lewis ; and how should you be pleased
to hear Lewis mispronounced ? You said it was your faLher'a
name, godmamma," said the incorrigible child.

I turned away, shaking my head.. It was no use saying
anything more ; most likely she would pay attention to what I

160 The Last of the Mortimers.

eaid, though she was so aggravating ; oh, but she was contrairy
Never man spoke a truer word. Nevertheless, as she stood
there in her velvet jacket, with her close-cropped pretty curls,
and her eyes sparkling with laughter, I could not help admiring
her myself. I don't mind saying I am very inconsistent. A
little while before, I had been thinking 4t would be rather
pleasant to have the house quiet and to ourselves. Now, I
could not help thinking what a gap it would leave when she
was gone. Then the child, who at home was led into every
kind of amusement (to be sure procurable, in Cheshire, must be
added to this), had been so contented, after all, to live with
two old women, •whom nobody came to see, except now and
then in a morning call ; and though she was so wicked, and
provoking, and careless, she was at the same time so good and
clever (when she pleased) and captivating. One could have
put her in the corner, and kissed her the next moment. . As
she stood there in the light of the great window, I, who had
left her, shaking my head, and reflecting how contrairy she
was, went back to kiss her, though I gave her a little shake as
well. That is how one always feels to these creatures, half-
and-half ; ready to punish them and to pet them all at once.

However, after a while (though it was no easy matter
getting Sara's trunks on the carriage — I wonder Mr. Cresswell
ventured on it, for his poor horse's sake), they went away ; and
feeling just a little dull after they were gone, and as it was just
that good-for-nothing time, which is the worst of an early
dinner, the interval between dinner and tea, I set out for a
walk down to the village. It was Sarah's day for her drive,
and she passed me on the road, and kissed her hand to me out
of the carriage window. No blinds down now ; the horses
going at their steady pace, rather slowly than otherwise,
wheeling along through the soft hedgerows which began to
have some buds on them. I wonder what Jacob thought of it ;
I wonder what Williams at the lodge had to say on the subject.
Such a strange unreasonable change 1

The Last of the Mortimers. 161

CHAPTER XHI.

I CALLED at a good many houses in the village. I am
thankful to say 1 have rarely found myself unwelcome, to
the best sort of people at least. Most of us have known eacli
other so long, and have such a long stretch of memory to 1,0
back upon together, that we belong to each other in a way.
As for the scapegraces, they are a little frightened of me, I
confess. They say, Miss Milly comes a-worriting, when I
speak ucy mind to them. I can't say the men reverence me,
nor the women bless my influence, as I read they do with
some ladies in some of Miss Kate Roberts' books. But we are
good friends on the whole. When the men have been drinking,
and spent all their wages, or saucy, and put out of their place,
then they try their best to deceive me, to be sure ; but I know
all their little contrivances pretty well by this time. They
don't mean much harm after all, only to persuade one that
things are not so bad as they look.

After I had given a glance into the shop where I saw Mr.
Luigi's fat servant, — I only saw him once, but yet the place
seemed full of that fat, funny, good-humoured, outlandish
figure, with his bows and smiles, and loquacious foreign
speech, that poor Mrs. Taylor commiserated so deeply — I
stepped across to the rectory to make a call there. The
poor young shopkeeper, who had a night-class for the men
and grown lads, and was really an intelligent, well-meaning
young man, had been confiding his troubles to me. They
did not care a bit about learning ; they did not even want to
read. When they did read it was the most foolish books I
Poor young Taylor's heart was breaking over their stupidity.
And then, to keep a shop, even a bookshop, hurt his " feel-
ings," poor lad. He had been brought up for a teacher's
profession, he said — he even had some experience in " tuition."
He had thought he could make a home for his mother
and his little sister; and now Dr. Appleby was grumbling
that he did not succeed, and thought it his own faulty
Poor young fellow ! to be sure, he should have gone stplidl"
through with it, and had no business to have any " feelings.!

162 Th* Lad of the Mortimers.

But, yoit see, people will be foolish in every condition of
life.

So I stepped across the road to call on Miss Kate, thinking
of him all the way ; thinking of him and that unknown young
Italian, only once seen, whom the apparition of the fat servant
in Taylor's shop somehow connected with the young shop-
keeper. How Mr. Luigi had forced himself into all my
thoughts ! and yet the only one fact i knew about him was,
that he was looking for an apocryphal lady whom nobody ever
heard of ! Should I have thought no more about him but for
Sarah's mysterious agitation ? i really cannot tell. Again and
again his voice came back to me, independent of Sarah. Whose
voice was it ? Where had he got that hereditary tone ?

Miss Kate was in, for a great wonder. She was wonder-
fully active in the parish. She was far more the rector, except
in the pulpit, than good Dr. Roberts was. I am sure he was
very fortunate to have such an active sister. I don't think
anything ever happened, within a space of three or four miles
round the village, that Miss Kate was not at the bottom of it.
Of course I expected to hear everything over again that DP.
Roberts had told us about Mr. Luigi. But, so long as Sarah
was not present, I could take that quite easily. Indeed, I
wished so much to know more of this stranger, somehow, that
I really felt I should be glad to hear all that they had to say.

" I was indeed very much interested in the young man,"
said Miss Kate, starting the subject almost immediately, as I
expected. u I think great efforts should be made to lay hold
of every one that comes out of his poor benighted country. I
said so to the Doctor ; but the Doctor's views, you know, are
very charitable. Mr. Hubert, however, quite agreed with me.
I asked him to come .back when he came to this part of the
country again, and said I should be very glad to have some
serious conversation with him. He stared, but he was very
polite ; only, poor young man, his thoughts are all upon this
lady. I have no doubt he thought it was that business I
wanted to talk to him about."

" But I suppose, like Dr. Roberts, you can throw no light
upon her ; who she is, or where she is ?" said I. " It is strange
he should seem so positive she was here, and yet nobody
remembers her. For my own part, if I hail once heard it, I
am sure I should never have forgotten that name. I have a
wondeiful memory for names."

"Very strange no doubt," said Miss Kate, with a little
cough. "And then, that man of his. Alas, what an im-

The Last of the Mortimers. 163

prisoned soul ! To think he should be in the very midst of
light and faithful preaching, and yet not be able to derive any
benefit from it ! I never regretted more deeply not having
kept up my own Italian studies. And poor Mr. Hubert — but
you would hear all about that ; the Doctor does so delight in
an amusing story. They could not understand each other in
the very least, you know. Ah, what a matter it would be to
get hold of that poor Domenico — that's his name. Why, he
might be quite an apostle among his countrymen, when he got
back. But nothing Cc>n be done till he can be taught English,
or some agency can be found out in Italian. I can't tell you
how much interest I feel in these poor darkened creatures. And
to think they should be in the midst of the light, and no possi-
bility of bringing them under its influence ! I don't speak of
the master, of course, who knows English very well ; but I am
not one that am a respecter of persons, — the servant is quite as
much, if not more, interesting to me."

" If they stay long I daresay he'll learn English," I sug-
gested modestly ; " but it will be a sad pity if the poor gentle-
man has come so far to seek out this lady, and can't find any
trace of her. I promised him to do all I could to find out
for him ; but nobody seems ever to have heard of her. It
•will be a thousand pities if he has all his trouble for no
end."

"Ah, Miss Milly! let us hope he may acquire something
else that will far more than repay him," said Miss Kate ;
44 disappointments are often great blessings in directing one's
mind away from worldly things. We were all very much
interested in him, I assure you. Mr. Hubert promised to
write to a friend of his in Chester to ask if he could give him
any assistance. If it were only for the sake of that strange
resemblance, — the Doctor would tell you, of course, the re-
semblance which struck both him and myself ?"

44 No," cried I ; u did you find out anybody he was like? I
only saw him in the dark, and could not make out his face ; but
his voice has haunted me ever since. I was sure I knew the
voice."

" 1 wonder the Doctor did not mention it," said Miss Kate,
with a little importance. " The truth is, it struck us both a
good deal ; a resemblance to your family, Miss Milly."

I don't know whether I was most disposed to sink down upon
my chair or start up from it with a cry ; I did neither, however.

44 To my family V" I gasped out.

44 Yes ; it was very singular," said Miss Kate ; " I daresay,

164 The Last of the Mortimers.

of course, it was only one of those accidental likenesses. I re-
member being once thought very like your sister. How strange
you should think you knew his voice ! You have some relations
in Italy, perhaps V"

u Not that 1 know of," said I, feeling very faint. I cannot
tell what I was afraid of ; but 1 felt myself trembling and
shaken ; and 1 durst not get up and go out either, or Miss Kate
would have had it all over the parish before night, that some-
thing had gone wrong at the Park.

But I don't remember another word she said. I kept my
seat, and answered her till I thought I might reasonably be
supposed to have stayed long enough. Then I left the rectory,
my mind in the strangest agitation. That this stranger, who
had driven Sarah half mad, should be like our family ; what a
bewildering, extraordinary thing to think of! But stranger
still, at this moment, when I had just heard such a wonderful
aggravation of my perplexity — that voice of his which had
haunted me so long, and which I felt sure I could identify at
once, if the person it once belonged to was named to me,
vanished entirely from my mind as if by some conjuring trick.
It was extraordinary — it looked almost supernatural. I could
no more recall that tone, which I had recalled with perfect
freshness and ease when I entered the rectory garden, than I
could clear up the extraordinary puzzle thus gathering closer
and closer round all my thoughts.

In this state of mind I hurried home, feeling really as if
there must be someting supernatural in the whole business,
and too much startled to ask any definite questions of myself.
When I had reached the house, and was going upstairs, I met
one of the maids coming down, who had been upon some
errand into Sarah's room. This careless girl had left — a
thing never even seen when my sister happened to be out for
her drives— the room-door open. Before I knew what I was
doing, I had stepped inside. I can't tell what I wanted —
whether to speak with Sarah or to spy upon her, or to listen
at her door. Carson and she were in the dressing-room, I
could hear. And now I will tell you what I did. I don't
think I was responsible for my actions at that moment ; but
whether or not, this is what I did. I stepped forward
stealthily, stooped down to the keyhole, and listened at the
door!

There ! I have said it out. Nobody else knows it to this
day. I, who called myself an honourable person, listened at
pay sister's door. For the first five minutes I was so agitated

The Last of the Mortimers. 165

by my strange position that, of course, I did not hear a word
they said. But after a little I began to hear indistinctly that
they were talking of some letter that had better be burned —
that Carson was speaking in a kind of pleading tone, and
Sarah very harsh and hard, her words easier to be distinguished
in that hissing whisper of hers than if she had spoken in the
clearest voice imaginable. I can't say I was much the better
for the conversation, till at last, just as I was going away,
came this, which made my heart beat so loud that I thought it
must be heard inside that closed mysterious door :

"And to think they should have called him Lewis, too;
though the English is a deal the prettiest. Ah, ina'am," cried
Carson, with a little stifled sob, "it showed love in the
heart !"

"Yes, for the Park," said Sarah, in her whisper. I dared
not stay a moment longer, for I heard them both advancing to
the door. I fled to my own room, and dropped down there on
my sofa stupified. My head ached as if it would buist. My
heart thumped and beat as if it would leap out of my bosom
Lewis ! my father's name — and, good heaven 1 — the voice I
What did it — what coutf it meauV

166 The Last of the Mortimers.

PART IV.

THE LIEUTENANT'S WIFE.
(Continued.)

CHAPTER I.

WHAT a strange little quaint place Chester is! I thought
I should never have been tired walking along those
ramparts, looking over the soft green slopes, and up to the
blue hills in the distance, and down here and there upon the
grey old churches and the quiet busy little town ; but at first
we had our lodgings "to look for, which was a much more
serious matter. I had made up my mind from the very first
not to expect to be called upon, nor to go into society ; or
rather I had set my face against any chance of it, knowing
always that we could not do it on the little money we had.
But now I found out that Harry was not content with this.
He was very anxious to have better lodgings, where ladies
could come to see me. I should say dearer lodgings, for better
than Mrs. Saltoun's we could not have had. He wanted me to
have quite a drawing-room instead of our nice, cosy, old-
fashioned parlour, which was good for everything; and then
to think people might be asking us to dinner, and how many-
embarrassments and troubles we might meet with ! For it is
embarrassing to be asked out, and to be obliged to let the
people suppose you are sulky, and ill-tempered, and won't go ;
or else to invent excuses which, besides being sinful, are
always sure to be found out ; when the real reason is simply

The Last of tlie Mortimers. IS7

that one has not a dress, and cannot afford to get one just
then. The other ladies in the regiment might wonder what
sort of person I could be, and tell each other that poor young
Langham had married some poor girl, and been very foolish.
It was exactly true — so he had ; and as I can't say 1 had any
idea that he could be ashamed of me, I took it all very quietly.
So long as we were happy, and could afford to live in our own
way, 1 did not rnind ; but now Harry had got discontented,
somehow or other. He was quite in a fuss to think that I was
not received as I ought to be, and a great many more things
like that — perhaps somebody had said something to him, as if
he were supposed to be ashamed of me— at all events he had
changed his mind from our first plan ; and though I felt quite
convinced my way was the wisest, I had to change it as before.
Anything was better than having him uncomfortable and dis-
contented. I supported myself with Mrs. Saltouii's opinion ,
and went with resignation to look at all those expensive
lodgings.

The people seemed all to guess that we belonged to the new
regiment ; and some of them were quite great ladies, and quite
enlightened me as to what we should require. For most of the
day I was in a perfect panic ; every place seeming dearer than
another. When we went into those expensive rooms I always
found out something that it was quite impossible for me to
tolerate (quite independent, of course, you know, of any question
of price !) till Harry quite fretted at my fastidiousness. At last
we did find a place that suited me. It was no great thing in point
of situation. It was a first floor, a front and back drawing-room.
I believe, candidly, that the back room was about as big as
Mrs. Saltoun's good substantial old dining-table, which we used
to have in our sitting-room in Edinburgh; but then there were
folding-doors ; and the front drawing-room was decorated and
ornamented to such a pitch that one was quite afraid to sit
down in any of the chairs. When I heard what the rent was,
I was charmed with the rooms. Harry could not understand
my enthusiasm. I found it the handiest place in the world ; — •
and then it showed such discrimination in the landlady to ask so
moderate a rent. "We fetched Lizzie and baby from the inn
directly, and dismissed Harry to look at the town. And really,
when we got a little settled, it was not so uncomfortable ;
though, to be sure, to give up the sizeable room for company
(and they never came !), and to live in that little box behind
was very foolish, as I always thought. However, when, I
pbove and Lizzy below, we had investigated the house, an<J

168 The Last of the Mortimers.

when the landlady was made to comprehend, with difficulty,
that our washing was done at home, and that her toleration of
these processes was needful, and when her wonder and the
first shock to her system conveyed in this piece of intelligence
was over, things looked tolerably promising. The worst was,
we had no view ; no view whatever except the bit of garden
plot before the house, filled with dusty evergreens, and the
corner of a street which led to the railway station. The cabs
and people, going to and from the trains, made the only
variety in the prospect ; and anybody will allow that was
sadly different from windows which looked sidelong over
the corner of Bruntsfield Links, upon the Castle, and the
Crags, and Arthur's Seat. However, what I had to think of,
in the meantime, was how to live without getting into debt ;
for, of course, people like us, with just so much money coming
in (and oh, how very, very little it was !), had neither any
excuse nor any way of saving themselves if once they ventured
into debt.

Thus we got established in our new quarters ; and many a
long ramble I took with Harry along those strange superan-
nuated walls. — To think how they once stood up desperate, in
defence, round the brave little town! to think of the wild
'Welsh raging outside on that tranquil turf, where the races were
now-a-days ; to think of those secure streets down there, that
lengthened themselves out presumptuously beyond the ramparts,
and even cut passages through them, once cowering in alarm
below their shadow ! The place quite captivated me ; and
then the streets themselves, the strange dark covered pathways,
steps up from the street, with the shops lurking in their
shadow 1 like some of the German towns, Harry told me.
Looking into them from the street, and seeing the stream of
passengers coming and goimg, through the openings and heavy
wooden beams of the railing ; or looking out of one of those
openings upon a kind of street-scenes and life that had nothing
in , the world to do with the strange old-world arcade, from
which one looked out as from a balcony, was as good as reading
a book about ancient times. It was not like my dear Edin-
burgh, to be sure, but it was very captivating ; and Harry and
i enjoyed exploring together. It was all new and fresh to
us — and it was spring ; and when you have nothing to trouble
you much, it is delightful to see new places, and get new
pictures into the mind. Chester was quite as novel, and fresh,
and captivating, though it was only in our own country, as
that German Munich which Harry told me of — Harry had

The Last of the Mortimers. 169

been a great traveller before he joined, while his father was so
long ill — could have been.

Lizzie, however, was not nearly so much at her ease as I was.
When she felt herself laughed at, and looked at, and misunder-
stood, Lizzie fell back into her chronic state of awkwardness.
Her national pride was driven to enthusiasm by her contact
with "thae English." Lizzie entertained a steady disbelief
that the tongue in which she heard everybody speak — which
was far enough from being a refined one, however, — was their
native and natural speech. " They were a' speaking grand for
a purpose o' their ain, to make folk believe they were lords and
leddies," Lizzie said; and with a still higher pitch of indig-
nation, " Mem, you aye understood me, though you're an
English leddy ; and think o' the like o1 them setting up no' to
understand what your lass means when she's speaking! 1
dinna understand them, I'm sure, — no half a dozen words. To
hear that clippit English, and the sharp tongues they have,
deaves me. The very weans in the street they've nae innocence
i% them. They're a' making a fashion of speaking as fine as
you."

•'Never mind, Lizzie; you'll soon get accustomed to them,
and make friends," said I, with an attempt at consolation.

"Friends! I never had anybody belonging to me but a
faither," said Lizzie, who understood relations to be signified
by that word : " but I'm no heeding now ; and I'll soon learn
to nip the ends off the words like the rest o' them. There's a
grand green for drying, that Mrs. Goldsworthy calls the back
ga'den ; and, if you'll no' be angry, I can do the ironing grand
mysel'."

" You ! but I dare not trust you, Lizzie," said I, shaking my
head. "Mr. Langham would find it out — I mean he would
find me out — if they were not quite so well done ; and you
don't consider what quantities of things you will have to do —
to keep the drawing-room nice, and get tea and breakfast, and
wash, and I don't know what ; and yet always to be tidy, and
keep baby all day long. You don't know what you have on
your hands already, you unlucky girl."

" Eh, I'm glad !" cried Lizzie, clapping her hands together
with fervour ; and her brown eyes sparkled, and her uncouth
figure grew steady with the delight of conscious energy and
power. If she had been eighteen she would not have been so
simple-minded. Never anybody was so fortunate as I had
been in my little maid.

170 The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER IL

"TTERY soon we began to get interested in the people round
V about us ; for we were not here, as we had been in Mrs.
Saltoun's little house, the only strangers. By means of Lizzie,
who was much annoyed at the discovery, I found out that the
house was quite full of lodgers. On the ground floor there was
a foreign gentleman and his servant. The gentleman was
absent at first ; but the man, a very fat, good-humoured-
looking fellow, who adopted us all into his friendship imme-
diately, and expanded into smiles through the railings of the
stair when any of us went up or down, was in full possession.
The way that Lizzie avoided this smiling ogre, and the way in
which he appreciated her panic, and was amused by it, and
conciliated and coaxed her, was the most amusing thing I ever
saw. And the way he opened the door for me, and took off
his hat, and laid his hand on his heart and bowed ! The good
fellow quite kept us in amusement. When baby, who was
getting on famously and noticing everything, crowed at him,
in spite of his great beard, as children will do to men (it is very
odd ; but babies do take to strange men sooner than to strange
women, I believe), the fat foreigner burst into great shouts of
delighted laughter, and snapped his fat fingers, and made the
funniest grimaces to please the child. None of us could speak
a single word of his language ; we did not even know at first
what countryman he was ; but we all got to have the most
friendly, kind feeling for the stranger, — all except Lizzie, who
stumbled up and flew downstairs in her anxiety to avoid his
eyes. One bad habit he certainly had; he smoked perpetually.
He smoked cigars — shocking bad ones, Harry said : he did not
even put them down when he sprang out of his parlour to open
the door for me ; but only withdrew the one he was smoking
from his full red lips, and held it somehow concealed in ins-
hand. As he was constantly about in the house, or lingering
close at hand with his great-coat buttoned on round his throat
like a cloak, and the empty sleeves waving from his shoulders,
stamping his feet on the ground, and whistling like a bird, thia

The Last of the Mortimers. 171

Smell of bad cigars was perpetually about the house. Poor
Mrs. Goldsworthy went up and down with the most grieved
look upon her face. If any one made the least sign of having
smelt anything disagreeable, she held up her hands in the most
imploring way. and said, " What can a poor body do? Pie's
the obligingest creatur as ever was ! and he don't know a word
of Christian language; and the gentleman — which is a real
gentleman, and none o' your make-believes— as good as left
him in my charge ; and, bless you, if he will smoke them
cigars, and don't understand a word a body says to him, what
am I to do?" Indeed, for my own part, I had not only a great
sympathy for him, but I could not help liking the fat fellow ;
and after a few days it was astonishing how we got used to the
cigars.

Then we ourselves occupied the two next floors. It was a
strange little house ; two rooms, back and front, piled on the
top of each other four stories high ; the top-story rooms were
attics ; and there was actually a lodger in each of those attics !
Where Mrs. Goldsworthy and her daughter slept themselves was
more than either Lizzie or I could make out. One of the attic
lodgers was a thin, wistful man, whom I could not help looking
at. He worked at something in his own room, and used to go
out to dine. He was always very neat and clean ; but very
threadbare, and with a hungry look that went to one's heart.
Perhaps it was not want ; maybe he was hungry for something
else than mere money or nourishment ; but sometimes I am
sure I should not have been surprised to hear that he was
starving too. Sometimes he looked at me or at baby in his
wistful way, just as he vanished past us. I can't say he ever
smiled, even at little Harry ; but still we drew his eyes when
he chanced to meet us going out' or in. I felt a great com-
passion for this poor solitary man. He was a man that might
have been found starved, but never would have asked any
charity ; at least so I thought of him. I used to fancy him
sitting in his solitary room upstairs by the window, and not by
the fire, — for we never heard him poking any fire, and often
saw him at the window, — and wondered how people could get
so isolated, and chilled, and solitary ; how they lived at all
when they came to that condition — benumbed of all comfort,
and still not frozen to death. How strange to think of keeping
on living, years and years after one's heart is dead ! Harry
said I was fanciful and continually made stories about people;
but I did not tell Harry one half of my fancies ; I don't know
what ho would have done to me if J had ; but I did so wish I

172 The Last of ilie Mortimers.

could have some chance of doing something to please that old
man.

One day Harry came downstairs with a smile on his face.
" There is the most ludicrous scene going on below ; come and
look, Milly," he said, drawing me to the stairs. I peeped down,
and there, to be sure, I saw a reason for the sound of talking
I had heard for a few minutes past. Lizzie was sitting on the
stair, pondering deeply, with a perplexed face, over a large
book spread out on the step above her. She was holding baby
fast in one arm, and staving off his attempts to snatch at the
leaves of the book. Leaning on the bannisters regarding her,
and holding forth most volubly in an unknown tongue, was
our fat friend ; and between every two or three words he
pointed to the book, making a sort of appeal to it. The con-
trast between the two — she silent and bewildered, confused by
her efforts to restrain baby and comprehend the book — he, the
vast full figure of him, so voluble, so good-humoured, so com-
placent, talking with his fat arms and ringers, his gestures, and
every movement he made — talking with such confidence that
language which nobody understood — was almost as irresistible
to me as to Harry. We stood looking down at them, extremely
amused and wondering. Then Lizzie, failing to comprehend
the book, and hearing herself addressed so energetically, raised
her round eyes, round with amazement, to the speaker's face.
The unknown tongue awed Lizzie ; she contemplated him with
speechless wonder and dismay ; until at last, when the speaker
made an evident close appeal to her, with a natural oratory
which she could not mistake, unintelligible /is was its meaning,
her amazement burst forth in words. " Eh, man, what div ye
mean ?" cried Lizzie, in the extremity of her puzzled wonder.
It was the climax of the scene. Though I thrust Harry back
into the room instantly, that is laughter might not be heard,
and smothered my own as best I could, the sound caught
Lizzie's watchful ears. In an ther moment she had reached the
top of the stairs, breathless, ith her charge in her arms. The
puzzled look had not left zzie's eyes, but she was deeply
abashed and ashamed of h If. Harry's laughter did not
mend the matter, of course. She dropped baby in my arms,
and twisted herself into all her old awkward contortions.
I had to send her away and miss Harry into the other room.
Poor Lizzie had never posse eel sufficient courage to permit
herself to be accosted by the dreadful foreigner before.

However, we were not le amused when we heard what
Mrs. Goldsworthy would have called " the rights of it." Lizzie,

The Last of the Mortimers. 173

with great resolution, determined to have herself exculpated,
came to me with her statement as soon as she was quite assured
that ' ' the Captain" was out of the way.

" Eh ! I came to think at last he was, maybe, a Hielander,"
said Lizzie, "though they're seldom that fat. And he laid
down the book straight before in the stair. I kent what kind
of book it was. It was the book wi' a' kind o' words, and the
meanings. But the meanings just were English, and the words
were some other language. And I kind of guessed what he
wanted, too. He wanted me to look in the book for the words
he said, to tell me what he meant ; but eh ! how Avas I to ken
where one word ended and another began ? And he just hur-
ried on and on ; and the mair I listened, the inair I could not
hear a single word, and looking at the book was just nonsense ;
and Master baby, he would try his hand ; and oh, Mem, if
you're angry, I didna mean ony ill, and Til never do it
again."

''Nonsense, Lizzie! lam not angry; but couldn't you get
on with the dictionary, and help the poor fellow ? Were not
you a very good scholar at school ?"

" No very," said Lizzie, hanging her head in agonies of
pleased but painful bashf ulness, and unconsciously uttering her
sentiments in language as puzzling to an English hearer as any
uttered by our fat friend downstairs. " !No very," said Lizzie,
anxiously truthful, yet not unwilling to do herself due credit ; —
"no very, but gey."

Here I fear my laugh rather shocked and affronted Lizzie.
She stood very upright, and twisted nothing but her fingers.
It would have been as impossible to persuade her that there
was scarcely a person in Chester, but myself, who could have
translated that exquisite monosyllable as to convince the
foreigner that he was actually and positively incomprehensible
in spite of the dictionary. But I will not attempt to interpret
gey; it is untranslatable, as we are quite content so many
French words should be. Even into Harry's head, which
should be capable of better things, I find it quite impossible to
convey an idea of the expressiveness of this word. Lizzie and
I, however, knew no other to put in its place..

" But a gey good scholar might do a great deal for the poor
fellow," said I, when I had got over my laughter; " tell, him
the English names for things. Try if you can find out his
name ; but I forgot you were frightened for him, Lizzie."

41 Aye, till I thought he might, maybe, be a Hielander,"
•aid Lizzie. " Though the Hielanders dinna belang to us at

174 The Last of the Mortimers.

hame, they might feel kindly in a strange place; and I've
heard folk speaking Gaelic. But this is no like Gaelic, it's
a' aws and os ; and it's awfu1 fast, just a rattle ; a' the words
run in to one another. Forbye what harm could he do me ?
and the book was straight in my way on the stair ; and it
gangs to my heart to set my foot on a book. Ye might be
trampin' ower a bit o' the Bible without kennin' ; and then
he's very good-natured ; and then," said Lizzie, her eyes sud-
denly glowing up, "it would be grand to learn a language
that nae ither body kens !"

With the greatest cordiality I applauded this crowning
argument, and did all I could to encourage her to persevere
with the dictionary, and make herself interpreter ; for I was
not wise enough to think that this new study might possibly
be too captivating for Lizzie, and lead her into neglect of her
many and pressing duties. I only thought it was the most
amusing mode of intercourse I ever heard of, and that it would
be great fun to watch its progress. Besides, as she said
herself, what harm could he do her ? Poor Lizzie, who might
have been in danger at an elder age in such a comical friend-
ship, was invulnerable to. all the dangers of flirtation at
fourteen.

$1ie Last of the MortimeM*

CHAPTER III.

BOUT this time Harry's object was attained, and some of

. the other ladies of the regiment called on me. I think
they were a little surprised to find me just like other people,
and not very much afraid of them ; though I will confess that
in my heart I was rather anxious, thinking whether Lizzie would
have the discretion to put baby's best frock on, in case they
asked to see him. They did ask, of course ; and when, after a
few minutes, Lizzie came down, not only with his best frock
on, but with the ribbon I had just got to trim my bonnet for
spring, carefully tied round his waist for a sash, anybody
may imagine what my feelings were ! He looked very pretty
in it certainly; but only fancy my good ribbon that I had
grudged to buy, and could not do without! Ah! it- is just
possible that one's nursery-maid may be too anxious to show
off one's baby to the best advantage. However, of course, I
had to smile and make the best of it, and console myself with
bursting forth upon Lizzie whenever they were gone.

"How could you think of taking my ribbon! oh, Lizzie,
Lizzie! and I am sure I cannot afford to buy another one,"
cried I.

"It's a' preened on," said Lizzie mysteriously, "there's no
a single crumple in't ; and I made the bows just like what the
leddies have them on their bonnets, and it's no a bit the waur.
But, Mem, the very weans in the street have a sash round
their waist ; and was I gaun to let on to strangers that our
bairn hadna everything grand ? And he sat still like a king
till I fastened it a' on.. You see yoursel' it has taken nae
harm."

" But the pins !" cried I, in horror. " Were you not afraid,
you dreadful girl, to make a pincushion of my boy V"

Lizzie was fast taking them out, conveying them to her
mouth in the first place, and furtively withdrawing them again
lest I should observe her. Her only answer was to point
triumphantly to the child.

" Would he laugh like that if I had jaggit him?'' cried Lizzie.
There was no contesting that proof ; so 1 had to withdraw the

Phe Last of the Mortimetv*

ribbon out of their joint hands immediately, and put it at Once
to its proper use. This, however, was neither the first nor the
last of Lizzie's impromptus. Those great red fingers of hers, all
knuckles and corners as they were, had that light rapid touch
which distinguishes every true artiste. She devised and
appropriated for the decoration of the baby and " the credit of
the house," with the utmost boldness. It was not safe to
leave anything which she could adapt to his use in her way.

The next trial I had was an invitation to dinner, which came
for us shortly after. I set my face very much against it. Long
ago, when Harry used to tell me about their parties, I made up
my mind it never would do for us to begin going to them,
however much we might be asked. To be sure Harry might
go. I was always glad Harry should go ; but how was I, who
had got no trousseau, like other young wives, when I was
married, but just had one cheap silk dress, bought off Aunt
Connor's ten pounds, which I made up myself, to go out to
dinner ? I stood out long and obstinately ; but I had to give
in at last, just as I had about the maid and the lodgings. Harry
would not go by himself. Pie would not decline the invitation ;
he said, with a very glum face, that we had better accept, and
leave it to the chapter of accidents to find an excuse at the
time. He did not understand how necessary it was for me to
keep at home. He had been able always to go where he
wanted, and keep up with the rest, and it fretted him dread-
fully now to feel the bondage that our narrow means put us in.
You understand he did not object to be economical in a general
way, nor even, indeed, grumbled, the dear good fellow, at
giving up many of his old luxuries ; and, at first, he seemed to
be delighted with having no society but our own. But now,
when he began to feel annoyed that his wife was not in the
same position as the others, and when I plied him with all the
old arguments — that we da^l not begin such a life or the
expense would ruin us, H#rry became very restive indeed.
Somehow it seemed to gall and humble him ; the idea that his
wife could not go out for want of a dress ! He could not put
up with the thought ; he jumped up from his chair as if some-
thing had stung him. "It is nonsense, Milly! folly; the
merest shortsightedness ; you don't want half a dozen dresses to
go to one dinner, and one dress can't ruin us," cried the
unreasonable fellow. He would not understand me or listen to
me. The notion wounded him quite to the heart. He 'looked
so sulky and miserable that I could not bear to see it. I gave
ft great sigh, and gave in again. What could I do ?

The Last of the Mortimers. 177

" Well, Harry !" said I, "the foolishness is all on the other
side, mind ; but if I must give in I can't help myself. I am
only twenty, not twenty quite. I'll go in white."

u Bravo ! you could not do better than go in white !" cried
Harry, " there's a courageous woman ! But why, may an
ignoramus ask, should you not go in white, Milly darling!
Isn't it the dress of all others for a — well, an ugly little creature
like you?"

44 1 am not so sure about the ugly," said I ; " and now,
please, get your hat and come out with me. I saw the fashions
in a window at the other end of the street. Let us go and look
at them, and then 1 shall know how to make it up."

u Why can't you go to the milliner like other people,"
growled the unsatisfied man ; " and why, answer my question,
shouldn't you go in white ?"

I durstn't confess that I had my own vanity in the matter,
and being a matron, rather despised a white muslin frock to go
out in ; for if 1 had betrayed the least inkling of such a thing,
there is no saying what he might not have done; run up a bill,
or paid away all the money he had, or something; so I stopped
his mouth with some foolish answer, and ran off to get my
bonnet. Upstairs baby was sitting on the carpet, with Lizzie
beside him, jumping a little paste-board harlequin to please
him. Her brown eyes were quite sparkling over the loose-
legged, insane figure, as she jerked the string about. I could
not help but stand and look at her for a moment with a startled
sensation. She was just as much amused as baby was. Only
to think of such a child being left in charge of our boy ! I
went downstairs in consequence with a slower step, after having
given Lizzie a superabundance of cautions about taking care of
him. Only a girl of fourteen ! I daresay all this time you
must have been thinking I was mad to trust her ; but, indeed,
she was a very extraordinary girl ; and after all, when you
think it, fourteen is quite a 'trustworthy age. She was old
enough to know what she ought to do, and not old enough to
be distracted by thoughts of her own. Ah, depend upon it,
fourteen is more single-minded than eighteen ; and then Lizzie
had a woman's strength and handiness along with her child's
heart.

Not to delay longer about it, we did go to the party.
Harry said I looked very well on the whole ; he did not think
he would have been disposed to exchange with anybody. J
had no jewellery at all, which was rather a little humiliating to
xne ; but, to my wonder and delight, Harry did not object to

178 The Last of the Mortimers.

that. " They'll only think you're setting up for simplicity/1
he said, laughing. " I suppose it's safer to be thought a little
humbug than to have your dreadful destitution known. Come
along. Nobody will suspect you have not a bracelet ; only
mind you behave yourself very innocently, like a little shep-
herdess, and you'll take everybody in."

I cannot say I very much admired this piece of advice ; and
if Harry had thought me the least likely to take it, I am sure
he would riot have been so ready with his good counsels. The
party disappointed me a greau deal. How is it one reads in
books of society being so captivating, and intoxicating, and all
that, and how, when one is used to it, one can't do without it?
On the contrary, it was as dull — duller than anybody could
imagine ! instead of that delightful stream of conversation
always kept up, and so easy, and so witty, and so clever, you
could see perfectly well that everybody was trying to contrive
what they should say, and to find out things that would bear
talking about. The poor lady of the house was so anxious to
keep up the talk that she ate no dinner in the first place ; and
in the second, evidently frightened by the pauses that occurred,
kept talking loud herself, and dancing on from one subject to
another till she was quite breathless. Then there was one man
who was expected to make you laugh — people prepared to
laugh whenever he opened his lips ; but 1 am sorry to say I
was so indiscreet as only to stare at him, and wonder what it
was about. I caught the eye of the young lady sitting by him
as I did so. She was little, — less than me, — dark, and very,
very pretty. She was only Miss somebody, but she was
dressed more richly than anybody there, and had the most
beautiful bracelets. I could not help feeling a. little when I
looked at my poor wrists and my white muslin dress — I who
was married, and she only a young girl; when, just at that
moment, she gave me a quick look, lifting up her eyebrows,
and smiling rather disdainfully at the great wit beside her.
Immediately we two were put in communication somehow. I
suppose it was mesmerism. Her eyes kept seeking mine all
the time of dinner. The odd thing about her was that her
hair was quite short, hanging in little curls upon her neck, like
a child's ; and of all things in the world, for such a child to
wear, she was dressed in violet velvet, the most beautiful shade
in the world. I suppose Harry would have said she was a
little humbug too, and did it for effect ; but, to be sure, it
must have been wealth arid not poverty that did it in her
case. When we went up to the drawing-room after dinner,

The Last of the Mortimerst

179

she Very soon made her way to me. The other ladies, most of
them belonging to the regiment, had come round me, and
were doing their best to discover why I had been kept in the
dark so long, and whether anything could be found out about
me. I stood at bay pretty well, I think ; but when Miss
Cresswell came in, somehow all at once, like a fresh little
breeze, in her soft velvet dress, to the sofa beside me, I really
felt I could have laid down my head on her shoulder and cried.
To be sure it was very foolish ; one can smile and keep up
when one is being baited, and when one finds a real friend
after being aggravated out of one's life, it is only natural to
feel disposed to cry. I say a real friend, though I never saw
her before, — it was mesmerism, I suppose; we took to each
other at once.

We had got quite intimate oefore the gentlemen name
upstairs. I had told her where we lived, and she promised to
come and see me, and we had found out a great many opinions
we had in common. Things were different, however, when the
gentlemen appeared. All the young men hovered about Miss
Cresswell. There were few young ladies, and she was certainly
much -the prettiest ; and, I am very grieved to have to say it —
I cannot deny that she did flirt a little. She was disdainful,
and would take no notice of anybody at first, but by degrees
'she did come to little bursts of flirtation ; and I am afraid she
liked it too. Then there began to be things said about her and
me which displeased me. We were " Art and Nature," some-
body said ; and some of the gentlemen evidently entertained
the same feeling that Harry indicated, when he said they
would suppose me a little humbug. Evidently we were both
thought little humbugs, sitting by each other to set each other
off. Some of them, I do believe, thought it had all been made
up beforehand. Certainly we were a strange contrast ; I, in.
my plain white dress, with no ornaments ; she in velvet,
with such a quantity of jewellery. But to have people looking
at me, and contrasting me with Miss Cresswell, and making
jokes upon my dress and hers, was what I did not choose to
put up with. People accustomed to society may like it, but I
did not. So I got up and took Harry's arm, and went to look
at a picture. Nobody spoke to us for some five miutes or so,
but we were close to some ladies talking with all their might.
Then some one touched my arm, and 1 saw Miss Cresswell had
followed me, and brought an old gentleman with her. This
was her father. I got behind one of the talking ladies to veil
my " simplicity," that there might be no more nonsense about

180 The Last of the Mortimers.

it. The ladies were talking of women working. Oh, so little
they knew or pretended to know about it ; I wonder what
they would have thought if they could have seen my laundry
operations ; or, indeed, I ^fonder, under all their fine talk,
whether they had not, of mornings, some work to do them-
selves. However, I only tell this from the glimpse it gave me
of my new friend.

" It is all very well to speak of hardships," cried Miss Cress-
well. "/ can't see any hardship in doing one's work. Ah!
don't you think they are very happy who have something to
do? — something they must do whether they like it or not. I
hate always doing things if I like ! it is the most odious, tire-
some stuff ! If I like ! and if I like it pray, what is the good
of it ? It is not work any longer, it is only pleasure."

" My dear child," said one of the old ladies, " be thankful
you have so much ease and leisure. Your business just now is
to please your papa."

Here the old gentleman burst in with a long slow laugh,
"To worry him, you mean," said Mr. Cresswcll; " tell her of
her duty, Mrs. Scrivin. Ah, my dear lady, she's contrairy !"
he cried, shaking his head with a certain air of complacence
and ruefulness. Miss Cresswell gave him such a flashing,
wicked look out of her dark eyes, and then seized my hand to
lead me away somewhere. She was not a dutiful good girl, it
appeared ; she did not look like it. Now she was roused up,
first by flirting, and then by rebellion and opposition, you
could see it in her eyes. I am sorry, I am ashamed to confess
it — but I do believe I liked her the better for being so wicked.
It is very dreadful to say such a thing, but I am afraid it was
true.

The Last of the Mortimers. 181

CHAPTER IV.

OUR fat Italian friend below stairs began to give us great
amusement just then. Wherever he went he carried
under his arm that square volume as fat as himself, in which
Lizzie was at present pursuing her occult and bewildered
studies. To see Domenico (for that was his name), coming
to a sudden halt straight before you, blocking out all the light
from that tiny passage which Mrs. Goldsworthy called her
" hall," and announcing, with a nourish of his dictionary, that
he had something to communicate, was irresistibly comic cer-
tainly ; but it was a little embarrassing as well. Domenico's
verbs were innocent of either past, present, or future. I
presume he was quite above any considerations of grammar,
except that supplied to him by nature, in his own language,
and was not aware that such a master of the ceremonies existed
to introduce him to the new tongue, which the poor fellow
found so crabbed and unmanageable. • I have heard of people
managing to get on in foreign countries with a language
composed of nouns and the infinitive of verbs (I honestly
confess, that when I heard this story first, I had very vague
ideas of what the infinitive of a verb was) ; a primitive savage
language containing the possibilities of existence ; eating,
drinking, and sleeping ; but quite above the conventional uses
of conversation. Domenico's ambition was far higher, but his
information was absolutely confined to those same infinitives.
He knew the word only as it stood in the dictionary — what
were tenses and numbers to him ? But you will perceive that
a conversation conducted on these principles was necessarily
wanting in precision, and that the conversing persons did not
always understand each other with the clearness that might
have been desired.

One clear spring morning, a few days after the party, I was
going out about household affairs, when Domenico stopped me
on the way to the door. He had hfe coat oif, and the immense
expanse of man in shirt-sleeves, which presented ^tself before
me, cannot be expressed by description. As usual, he was
gmiling all over his face ; as usual, his red lips and white teeth

162 The Last of the

opened out of his beard with a primitive fulness and genial
good-humour; as usual, he seized his beard with one hand as he
addressed me, opening out his big dictionary on the ta» ^ with
the other. " Signora," cried Domenico, " the master my — me,
of me," first pointing at himself, and then, to make assurance
sure, boxing his chest emphatically, " the my master, — Signora
understand ? — come back."

" What?" cried I, " he has come back, has he, Domenico?"

Domenico nodded a hundred times with the fullest glee and
rapture. "I — me — Domenico," he cried, again boxing him-
self, that there might be no doubt of his identity, ' ' make
prepare."

From which I divined that the master was not yet returned ;
and, nodding half as often as Domenico, by way of signifying
my entire content and sympathy, foolishly concluded that I
was let off and might pass. However, Domenico was not yet
done with me.

"The Signora give little of the advice," said Domenico, with
unusual clearness, opening the door of his parlour, and inviting
me by many gestures to enter. I looked in, much puzzled, and
found the room in all the agonies of change. The carpet
had been lifted, and the floor polished, which, perhaps,
explained the sounds we had heard for some days. I cannot
describe how the mean planks of poor Mrs. Goldsworthy's little
parlour, many of them gaping apart, looked under the pains-
taking labours of Domenico. " He had contrived to rub them
into due slipperiness and a degree of shine ; but the result was
profoundly dismal, and anything but corresponding to the face
of complacency with which Domenico regarded his handiwork.
The fat fellow watched my eyes, and was delighted at first to see
my astonishment ; but, perceiving immediately, with all the
quick observation which our straitened possibilities of speech
made necessary, that my admiration was by no means equal to
surprise, his countenance fell. ' ' He not pleases to the Signora,"
said Domenico. Then he hastened to the corner where the
rejected carpet lay in a roll, and spread a corner of it over the
floor. I nodded my head again and applauded. Domenico's
disappointment was great.

" But for the sommere ?" said Domenico with a melancholy
interrogation.

" It is never so warm in England, — cold, cold," i said, with
great emphasis and distinctness. Domenico heard and bright-
ened up.

"Ah, thank! all, thank! not me remember, England I

The Last of the Mortimers.

183

ah! Inghilterra ! no Italia! ah, thank! the Signora make
good."

The Signora was permitted to consider herself dismissed, I
conclucl^ by the bows that followed, and I hastened to the
door, outstripping, as 1 thought, the anxious politeness of the
fat Italian. But I wronged his devotion : with that light step,
which was so ludicrously out of proportion to his enormous
figure, he swung out of the room to open the door for me, and
accomplished it in spite of my precipitation, taking in his vast
dimensions somehow so as to pass me without collision. I went
about my business with all the greater lightness after this
comical encounter, and a little curiosity, I confess, in respect
to the master who was coming home. Harry had heard of him
already, as having quite a romantic story attached to him. He
had come to Chester to see some lady whom he was quite con-
fident of finding, and had been hunting all the neighbouring
country for her without meeting anybody who knew even her
name. It was supposed he had gone to make inquiries some-
where else, and now he was coming home. I got quite in-
terested about it. I pictured him out to myself quite a
romantic Italian, of course, \vith long hair, and a picturesque
cloak, and possibly a guitar. I made up a story in my own
mind, like that story of the Eastern girl and A'Becket — that
prettiest story ! I could fancy Dornenico's master, not knowing
much more English, perhaps, than Domenico, wandering about
everywhere with the name on his lips ; for, of course, it must-
be a love-story. It is impossible to imagine it could be any-
thing else.

In the evening, when Harry and I were going out for a little
walk, Domenico suddenly presented himself again, and stopped
us. This time lie was beaming broader than ever with smiles
and innocent complacent self-content. He invited us into the
parlour with a multitude of bows. Harry, who had heard the
morning's adventure, went immediately, and I followed him. The
room was all in the most perfect tidiness ; Mrs. Goldsworthy's
hideous ornaments were put in corners, ornaments of any kind
being apparently better than none in Domenico's eyfg. But
the mantel-piece, where the little flower-glasses had heretofore
held sole sway, was now occupied by some plaster figures
bought from some wander ing image-merchant, whom Domenico
had loudly fraternised and chattered with at the door somo
days before. In the middle was a bust of Dante, up*n which
the Italian had placed a wreath of green leaves. The walls
WPFg PQYere4 with cheap-coloured prints in frames.— J

184. The Last of the Mortimers,-

of Domenico's own manufacture ; such prints as people fasten
up, all t'rameless in their simplicity, upon walls of nurseries :
gay, bright, cheap, highly-coloured articles, which quite satisfied
the taste of Domenico, himself a child in everything but size
and years. It was nothing to his simple mind that they had
HO money value, and I suppose no value in art either. I don't
suppose Domenico knew anything about art, though he was an
Italian. But he knew about decoration ! He had made the
walls blush and smile to welcome the new-comer. I trust his .
master was no artist either, and could appreciate the adorn-
ments which made the face of Domenico beam. The good
fellow was so pleased that he forgot his dictionary ; he burst
forth into long explanations, interspersed by bursts of laughter
and gestures of delight, in his own tongue. He threw open the
door of the little room behind to reveal to us the arrangements
of his master's bedchamber. He explained to Harry — at least I
have no doubt, by the way he pointed to the carpet, and the
frequency of the word Signora, that this was what he meant — •
all about the carpet and his polished floor. At last it suddenly
flashed upon Domenico that he was spending his eloquence in
vain. He rushed to the table where his beloved dictionary
reposed ; he dashed at its pages in frantic haste, with wild
pantomimic entreaties to us to' wait. lt Is good? good?" said
Domenico, with an eager expressiveness which made up for his
defective verbs. I applauded with all the might of gestures
and smiles ; upon which our friend once more opened the door
for us. " To-morrow ! after to-morrow!" said the good fellow.
It was then his master was coming home.

And, I am sorry to say, Harry was rather disposed to laugh
at the fat Italian, and to be sarcastic upon his beautiful prints.
Harry did not know anything in the world about pictures ; but
he know how cheap these were, and that was enough for him,
the prose English! nan. I am thankful to say that I soon
reduced him to silence. He declared I was savage in good
Domenico's defence.

The Last of the Mortimers. 185

CHAPTER V.

EM, he's been at the market," said Lizzie, next room-
ing> " and bought a hen ; and he smiles and laughs
to himself like to bring down the house.*

This was the first bulletin of the important day on which the
Italian gentleman was expected home.

The next report was more painful to Lizzie's feelings. " He's
been at the chapel," said Lizzie, in a horrified whisper, " and
brought name water to put in the wee bowlie at the maister's
bedhead. Oh, did you see it? it has a cross, and — and— a
figure on't," said Lizzie, with a deep awe, " and a wee round
bowlie for the water. What'll yon be for ? I'm no sure it's safe
to be in the same house."

Lizzie's horror, however, did not diminish her curiosity.
After a little interval another scrap of information reached my
attentive ear. " He has some veal on the kitchen -table," said
Lizzie, u and if he's no' working at it himsel'! A man ! cutting
away and paring away, and putting the pan a' ready like a
woman— and, eh, mem*, the wastry's dreadful. He's making
holes in't and stuffin' them fu' o' something. Noo he's puttin't
on the fire."

That day baby was neglected for the first time. Lizzie was
too much excited and interested — not to say that she had an
observant eye. and believed it quite possible that she might
receive a hint from this man of all work — to repress her natural
curiosity. The next thing she reported was a half-alarmed
statement that " he was away out again and left it at the fire ;
and what if it was sitting to * before he came hame ?" Lizzie's
dread of this accident carried her off downstairs to watch
Domenico's stew with friendly anxiety. In about an hour she
re-appeared again.

" He's come back ; and, eh ! o' a' the things in the world to
think upon, it's a box of thae nasty things he smokes !" cried
Lizzie. " If the gentlemen smokes tae, we'll a' be driven out
of the house."

* A Scotch expression which signifies burned in the pan.

186 The Last of the Mortimers.

Just then, however, another incident occurred which inter-
rupted Lizzie's observations. As she went out of the room, in
silent despair, after her last alarming presentiment, somebody
evidently encountered her coming up. "I want Mrs. Langham,
please," cried Miss Cresswell's voice. "Are you her maid?
Oh, I'm not to be shown into the drawing-room. I am to go
to her. Where is she ? — in the nursery ? Show me where to
go, please."

"But you maun go to the drawing room," said Lizzie,
making, as I felt sure from the little quiver in her voice, her
bob to the young lady, and audibly opening the sacred door of
our state apartment.

" Maun? do you mean must ? I never do anything I must,'"
said Miss Cresswell. "There now! make haste; show me
where Mrs. Langham is."

"The drawing-room is the place for leddies that come
visiting," said Lizzie, resolutely. " I'll no let ye in ony other
place."

"You'll not let me in ! — what do you mean, you impertinent
child ?" cried Miss Cresswell.

" I'm no a child," cried Lizzie. "I ken my duty ; and if I
was to loose my good place what good would that do onybody '?
If ye please, ye'll come in here."

The pause of astonishment that followed was evident by the
silence ; then a little quick impatient step actually passed into
that poor little drawing-room. "You strange little soul ! but
I'll tell Mrs. Langham," cried Miss Cresswell.

"I'm no a soul," said Lizzie; "I'm just like other folk.
I'm Mrs. Langham 's lass ; and she kens me different from a
stranger. What name will I say, if ye please?"

_ This question was answered by a burst of laughter from the
visitor, which I increased by throwing open the door of my
concealment and disclosing myself with baby in my arms. He
had on his lest frock Ijy accident, which explains my rashness.

" How have you managed it?" cried Miss Cresswell ; " why,
here is a romance-servant. Dear Mrs. Langham, tell me what
you have done to make her so original — and let me have
baby. I have not come to make a call, as that creature
supposed. I have come as a friend — you said I might. Why
must I be brought into this room ?"

" it is the most cheerful room," said I, evading the question :
"however, Lizzie did not mean to be saucy — she knew no
better —but she is the most famous Jielp in the world, though
ghe is little mor§ than a child,"

The Last of the Mortimers. 187

"But then I suppose you must do a great many things
yourself?" said my visitor, looking me very close in the face.

I felt my cheeks grow hot in spite of myself — if Harry had
heard her he would have been furious ; and I daresay many
people would have set this down at once as the impertinence of
the rich to the poor. I felt it was no such thing ; but still it
embarrassed me a little, against my will.

"Do you know some people would be affronted to be asked
as much ?" said I.

"I know," cried Miss Cresswell, with a little toss of her
head, — " people who can't understand how miserable it is not
to have to do anything. Do you believe in voluntary work?
I don't. I can't see it's any good. I can't see the use of it.
I should like to cook the dinner and keep the things tidy. I
should like to see everything stand gaping and calling for me
till I set it to rights. That's the pleasure ; but as for saving
somebody else trouble, why should I do it? I can't see any
advantage whatever in that."

" Then you would not have me save Lizzie or the landlady
some trouble when I can?" said I.

" That is totally a different thing," said the impetuous little
girl ; then she started, in a manner to me inexplicable, and

fazed out of the window near which she was sitting. " Mr.
Aiigi!" she exclaimed to herself; "now I should so like to
know what he wants here."

Just then there was tne noise of an arrival at the door ; of
course it must be the Italian gentleman. " Who is he-?" said
I. " Jf it is the Italian, he lives here."

Without making any immediate reply, Miss Cresswell clasped
her hands softly together. " How strange !" she exclaimed.
Of course it was her own thoughts she was following out, but
they seemed sufficiently interesting to rouse my attention. I
occupied myself in the meantime with baby, feeling that it
would be the merest cruelty to call upon Lizzie at this climax
of the day's excitement. And Miss Cresswell leant forward,
carefully drawing out the curtain of the window to shade her,
and watching the return of Domenico's master. Her colour
was a little higher than it had been previously, and she seemed
to have quite quietly and comfortably forgotten my presence,
I was amused ; and, if I must confess it, I was in a condition to
be easily affronted as well. At last she recovered herself, and
blushed violently.

u I don't know what you will think of me," she cried ; u but
it is so strange— my godmamma had the last news of his going,

*

188 The Last of the Mortimers.

and I have the first intelligence of his return. Do you know,
there is quite a story about him. He has come here to seek
out a lady whom nobody ever heard of ; but I do believe, what-
ever any one may choose to say, that godmamma Sarah
knows."

" Knows? Will she not tell, then ?" said I.

" Look here," said Miss Cresswell ; "she was once a great
beauty ; and I believe, if you never will tell anybody, that she's
a cruel, wicked old woman. There ! 1 did not mean to say
half so much. She got so agitated whenever she heard what Mr.
Luigi wanted that nobody could help finding her out ; but,
though I am certain she knows, she will do everything in the
world rather than tell."

" But why?"

u Oh, I cannot tell you why. I know nothing at all about
it ; and remember," cried my imprudent visitor, u that 1 tell
you all this in the greatest secret ! I would not tell papa nor
any one. I said it to my own godmamma just as it came into
my head, and put her into such distress, the dear old soul ! My
own idea is, that godmamma Sarah does it only for spite ; but
her sister, you know, has a different opinion, and is frightened,
and does not know what she is frightened about. 1 daresay
you will think me very strange to say so," said Miss Cresswell,
again blushing very much, "but 1 should like to meet Mr.
Luigi. I am sure he is somehow connected with my god-
mothers : 1 cannot make out how, I am sure ; but I am quite
certain, however unlikely it may be, that godmamma Sarah
knows !"

She seemed quite excited and in earnest about it ; so, as all
her thoughts were turned that way, I told her our amusing
intercourse with Domenico, and what good friends we were.
Though she laughed and clapped her hands, she was too much
engrossed with her own thoughts evidently to be much amused.
She was most anxious to know whether I had heard anything
of Mr. Luigi ; whether the landltidy talked of him ; whether I
kne\v how he came to Chester. She told me the story 1 had
heard dimly from Harry in the most clear and distinct manner.
On the whole, she filled me with suspicions. If I had not seen
her flirting so lately, I should certainly have fancied her in
love.

"You know him, then?" said I, after hearing her very
steadily to an end.

" Not in the least," she cried, once more blushing in the
most violent, undisguisable way. " How should I know

The Last of the Mortimers.

Don't you know I have no brothers or sisters, Mrs. Langham ?
ami can't you suppose that papa has exactly the same people to
dinner ye.ir after year? Ah, you are quite different ! You
nave your own place, and can choose your own-society — choose
me, please, there's a darling ! My name's Sara ; quite a
waiting-maid's name; let me have baby and come and help
you. As for saying he would not come to me, it is nonsense.
I will tell you exactly how many friends I have, — Godmamma,
who is more than a friend, of course, but no relation ; my old
nurse, whom I never see, and who lives a hundred miles off ;
and old Miss Fielding, at the rectory. Now only think how-
much I am alone ! You are quite new here ; you can choose
for yourself — choose me !"

" With all my heart !" said I. I was so much surprised by
her ignorance and her free speech, that, though 1 liked her
very much, I really dm uou unow what morn TO say.

"I suppose, then, 1 may take off my bonnet?" she said,
quite innocently looking up in my face.

If she had rushed to kiss me I could have understood it. If
she had declared we were to be friends for ever, I should have
quite gone in with her ; but, to take off her bonnet ! that was
quite a different matter. I am sadly afraid I stammered and
stared. I wanted a friend as much as she did — but men are
such strange creatures. What would Harry say when he came
in?

However, Sara Cresswell did not wait till I finished con-
sidering. In five minutes after she was sitting on the carpet
at the window with little Harry, playing with him. rihe
child was quite delighted. As for me, I was too much taken
by surprise to know whether I was pleased or not. Harry was
to dine at mess that night ; and, of course, I had only meant
to have tea all by myself in the little back room. What was
to be done ? I am sorry to say I was very much tempted to
improvise a dinner, and pretend that it was just what I always
did. I think the thing that saved me from this was looking at
her with her little short curls ; she looked s© like a child !
Besides, if we were really to be friends, was I to begin by
deceiving her? Much better she should know at once all our
simple ways.

" You will have no dinner," said I, faltering a little. " Mr.
Langham goes out, and I only take tea."

" That is exactly what I like. Dinners are such bores !"
said Sara, with the air of one who belonged to us and had
taken possession.

190 The Last of the Mortimers.

It was getting quite dark, and the lamps were being lighted
outside ; of course it delighted baby very much to be held up
t see them, as his new nurse held him. As she stood there
lifting him up, I put my hand upon her pretty hair. She had
quite taken my heart.

" Have you had a fever, dear?" said I.

Sara stared at mp a moment, then looked deeply affronted,
then burst into a strange laugh. " 1 forgive you, because you
called me dear," she cried, starting off with baby to the other
window. I suppose, then, it had not been a fever — some foolish
fancy or other, — and no doubt her friends and acquaintance
had pretty well avenged it, without any further question
from me.

The Last of the Mortimers. 191

CHAPTER -VI.

NEXT morning I was a little amused and a little surprised
to think over all that had happened. The idea of h aving
a friend, who stayed with me till after nine, and helped to put
baby to bed, and interfered with Lizzie, and turned over all
our few books, and asked all sorts of questions, was the oddest
thing in the world to me ; and of course when I told Harry I
heard all sorts of jokes from him about female friendship, and
inquiries how long it would last, which made me extremely
angry. Are men's friendships any- steadier, I wonder? I
should say male friendship, to be even with him. Mr.
Thackeray is delightful ; but he puts a great deal of stuff into
young men's heads. I allow he may joke if he likes — to be
sure, he does not mean half of it — but do you suppose they may
all follow his example ? Not that I meai/to infer anything on
Harry's part that I could not pay him back quite comfortably.
But not meaning Harry in the least, I don't see why I should
not do my little bit of criticism. I was just beginning to read
books at that time, and everything was fresh to me. All the
foolish lads think they are quite as wise as Mr. Thackeray, and
have quite as good a right to think themselves behind ths
scenes. I suppose there never was anybody who did not like to
feel superior and wiser than his neighbours. I would put
Domenico's laurel wreath on Mr. Thackeray's head; but I
should like to put an 'extinguisher on the heads of the
Thackerians. I should think the great man would be disposed
to knock down half the people that quote him, could he only
hear, and behold, and note.

However, that has nothing to do with my story. I knew
Lizzie must be in a highly excited state from ](<ng repression of
her manifold gleanings of intelligence respecting last night's
arrival ; and I went to her as soon as Harry was out lest any
explosion should happen. Lizzie, however, looked rather down-
cast as, baby being asleep, she went about her work upstairs.
My first idea was that some jealousy of Miss Cresswell had
invaded the girl's mind, but that did not explain all the
peculiarities of her manner. She certainly allowed herself to

192 The Last of the Mortimers.

be drawn into an account of Domenico's proceedings, which
gradually inspired and animated her ; but even in the midst of
this she would make a hurried pause, now and then, and listen,
as if some painful sound had reached her ear.

" It was a very grand dinner. Eh, I never saw onything
like the way he steered, and twisted, and mixed, and watched,"
said Lizzie ; " he maun be a real man -cook, like what's in books ;
and took up everything separate, six different things one after
the ither ; and Sally says there was as mony plates as if it had
been a great party ; and the minute before and the minute
after, what was the gentleman doing but smoking like as if he
was on fire ; and eh, mem, he maun be a great man yon !
Domenico kissed his hand ; but after that," continued Lizzie,
blushing and turning aside with a strong sense of impropriety,
t "the gentleman kissel him /"

" That is how foreigners do," said I, in apology.

"And after the dinner there was that sound o' tongues
through the house, you would have thought the walls would
ha'e been down. Eh, sic language for Christians to speak !
but, mem, they're no Christians, they're Papishers — is that
true?" said Lizzie, with a little anxiety. " Such a blatter o'
words, and no one a body could understand. No' that I was
wantin' to understand; but it's awfu' funny to hear folk
speakin', and nae sense in't. Eh, whisht! what was that?"
cried Lizzie, starting and stopping short in her tale.

It certainly was, or sounded, very like a moan of pain.

"What is it, Lizzie?"

" Eh, to think of us speaking of dinners, and «ic nonsense !
— and, mem, it's a poor man like to dee with pride, and sicjt-
ness, and starvation ! What will I do ? What will 1 do?"
cried Lizzie. " If naebody else in the house durst, it maun be
me. I'll no keep quiet ony langer — he canna be ill at me that
was destitute mysel'. I'll gang and steal the bairn's beef -tea,
and tell him lies, that it's his ain. Mem, let me gang. I
canna beart ony mair !"

I stopped her, however, growing very much excited myself.
"What is it? What do you mean ?"

Lizzie, who was choking with distress, eagerness, and excite-
ment, pointed her finger up, and struggled to find her voice.
It burst upon me in a moment. The "poor gentleman in the
attic, the threadbare wistful man who went out to dine, had
not been visible for some days. Lizzie told me in gasps what
the landlady had told her. He was ill ; he was very poor ;
deeply in Mrs. Goldsworthy's debt. They had noticed thai

The Last of the Mortimers. 193

his usual work had not been on his table for some time, and
that no domestic stores of any kind were in his little cupboard ;
three days ago he had become too ill to go out, they did not
think he had anything to eat, and he would accept nothing
from them. All yesterday they had not ventured to enter his
room. Sick, starving, friendless — what a picture it was ! No
wonder he had hungry, wistful eyes. I lost no time as you may
suppose. I sent Lizzie flying downstairs for the beef-tea. As
for asking whether he would admit me or not, whether he
would think it impertinent or not, I never stopped to think.
Another of those moans, more audible this time because. I was
listening for it, thrilled me through and through before Lizzie
came back. Bless the girl ! in no time at all she had got the
whitest napkin to be had in the house for the tray ; and the
beef-tea smoked and smelt just as it ought. I was at the door
of the room before I thought anything about how I was to«
excuse myself. By mere instinct I opened the door first ; then
knocked, merely to warn the inmate of my coming, and in
another moment stood all by myself in a new world.

Another world ! a world of misery, endurance, voiceless
passion, and persistence, altogether unknown to me. He was
lying on some chairs before the fireplace, supporting his gaunt
shoulders against the end of his bed, — before the fireplace, in
which there was no fire, nor had been. It was trim and well-
blacked, and filled up with faded ornamental chippings of paper.
His table was beside him, and he leaned one arm on it; nothing
on the table, not even a book, except some old pens, blotting-
paper, and an ink-bottle. His coat buttoned close up to his neck,
with dreadful suggestive secrecy, plainly telling how little there
was below ; and the hungry sad eyes, glaring wolfish and frenzied
out of his worn face. He gave a great start when I came in,
and either in passion or weakness thrust one of the chairs
from under his feet, so that it fell with a great noise on the
floor. The sound and the movement made my heart beat. But
he took no further notice, only stared at me. I went forward
and put the tray before him on the table, uncovered the basin,
placed everything within his reach. All the while he stared at
me, his eyes contracting and dilating as I never saw the eyes of
any human creature before. I scarcely think he was a human
creature at that moment ; at least he was holding to his man-
hood only by that frantic hold of pride, which hunger and
misery were rending before my very eyes. He began to
tremble dreadfully; the sight of the food excited his weakness;
but he tried to resist till the last gasp.

1§4 The Last of tiie MortimM

" Who are you? and how dare you come to my uom and
intrude upon me !" lie said hoarsely, and trembling like a palsied
man.

t; I am your fellow-lodger. You used to notice my baby
when you went downstairs ; and they told me you were ill, and
could not go out. When one is ill there is nothing so good as
beef-tea," said I, trembling a good deal myself ; 'l even if you
cannot eat, you might drink a little, and it would refresh you.
Do pray try, it will do you good."

" And how do you know V" he said trembling more and more,
till his very utterance was indistinct, "that I cannot have beef-
tea or — or anything else I like, of my own. Ah !" he ended,
with a sharp cry. He put forward his hand towards it ; then
he stopped in a dreadful spasm of resistance, and glared at me.
I obeyed my first impulse, and went out of the room hurriedly.
He would not take it while I was there.

In about five minutes after I went back again with some
coals and wood, in one of Mrs. Goldsworthy's old coal scuttles.
I thought I saw how to manage him — never to ask permission
or make apologies, but simply to do what was needful. He
had emptied the basin, I saw at a glance, and had a piece of
bread in his hand, which he put down when I came in. He
said nothing, but stared at me as I lighted the fire. When iny
back was turned to him I fancied he made another stealthy
application to the bread. He would hide the full amount of his
misery if it were possible ; but it was only a partial victory he
could obtain over himself.

"Who, who are you?" he said at. last. "You — you are a
lady, eh ? It is not your business to make up fires ?"

" Yes," said I, as cheerfully as I could ; " but we are poor ;
and when one has not much money one has many things to
do."

At this the poor gentleman gave a great groam. Then, after
a little, gasped, in broken words, " Thank God ! creatures like
you don't know the truths they say."

I understood him at once. " No," said I, "it is quite true ;
but God knows all about it, that is a comfort always. Don't
you think if I put the pillows behind you, you would' be
more comfortable ? Try this. I am quite sure it is better
so."

"Ah! but how do you know I can't have pillows as
I please, and whatever I want of my own ?" cried the
jealous, delirious pride, waking up again in his big hollow
eyes.

The Last of the MoitimefS. 195

*l I don't know anything about it," said I; "but you
have nobody with you just now. If you will not send
for any friends, you can't help having neighbours all the
same."

He said, " Ah !" again, and relapsed into his silent stare.
But for the frenzy of desperate want and desperate pride, which
only flickered up by moments, he was too far benumbed with
want and suffering to do anything in the way of resistance.
After I had settled him a little comfortable I went downstairs
again, and as soon as baby's second bowl of beef-tea, which had
been hastily made to take the place of the first, was ready, I
stole that also, and went up with it again. Baby, who was as
fat as possible, could quite well do without it ; and I remember
having read that people, who had been in great want, should
get food very often but not much at a time. The poor gentle-
man was lying with his head on the pillow and his eyes half shut,
the light of the fire glimmering over him, and a kind of quiet in
his attitude. When he opened his eyes they grew wolfish again
for a moment ; but he was subdued — the first frenzy was gone.
Somehow he did not seem alone any longer, with that dear good
charitable fire blazing and crackling, and making all the noise
it could, as if to show what company it could be. And this
time he actually drew the basin towards him, and ate its contents
before me. I went to the little window and cried a little pri-
vately. Oh, it was pitiful ! pitiful ! That morning I am sure
he had laid himself down upon these chairs, mad with want,
bitterness, and solitude, to die.

196 The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER VII.

"T7OTJ, who would not go out to dinner because you could

JL not afford it !'' cried Harry, " how do you dare venture
on such rash proceedings ? It appears to me you have adopted
a new member into the family."

" Ah, but it is different/' said I : " going1 out to dinner was
a matter of choice, this was a matter of necessity."

"It depends upon how people think," said Harry, "the
priest and the Levite were of quite a different opinion ; but if
you mean to have friends and pensio. ors, and get rich people
and poor people about you, Milly darling, we'll have to think
of new supplies. I cannot imagine how it has gone out of my
mind all this time. Pendleton actually asked me to-day
whether I had heard anything more about your grandfather's
house."

" My grandfather's house !" I said ; and we both looked at
each other and laughed ; our removal had put all that out of
our heads. Chester, and new places to look at, and new
people to see, and just the usual disturbance of one's thoughts
in changing about, had betrayed Harry who was so anxious
about it, just as much as it had betrayed me.

" I must see after it now in earnest. A thousand pounds or
BO, you know," said Harry, with a kind of serio-comic look,
" would be worth a great deal to you just now."

And with this he went out. A thousand pounds or so !
twenty would have been nice ; aye, or ten, or even five, more
than just our regular money. However, I only laughed to
myself, and went upstairs to my poor gentleman. After all, I
am not so sure that he was a gentleman, or at least anything
unusual in himself. He was very independent, and want, and
a passionate dread of being found out, and made a pauper of,
had carried him to a kind of heroism for the moment. But
when he got used to me, and consented to let me bring him
things, he became very much like other people. He was
always eager to get the newspaper and see the news. I carried
him up the Chester paper, which Mrs. Goldsworthy took in
just now.

The Last of the Mortimers. 107

When I went into his room, the first thing I saw was two
letters on the table. Pie was just drawing back, and still
trembling from his exertion, for he was still very weak. He
put the letters towards me with a little movement of his
hand.

"I am writing to ask for work; I'm wonderfully steady
now, wonderfully steady ; if they would only give me work !
Ah, it's hard times when a man can't get work," he said.

I glanced at them as he wished me. " Cresswell?" said I;
" 1 think I know his daughter, Mr. Ward. I'll speak to her ;
perhaps she can make him help you."

" She can make him do whatever she likes," said my friend,
with his wistful eyes ; "it '11 be well for him if she don't
make him do what he'll repent."

" How do you mean ?" said I, with some surprise.

u Well !" said my patient, u it's a story I don't understand,
and I can't give you the rights of it. I was never more than
just about the office an hour or so in the day, getting my
copy. You see there's two rich old ladies about half-a-dozen
miles out o' Chester, and there's either some flaw in their
title, or something that way. I know for certain there was an
advertisement written out for the Times, for one Mor-
timer "

"Mortimer!"

u Yes," he said, looking at me in his eager way. " 1
suppose it had been some day when he had quarrelled with
them, and meant to bring in the true owner ; when all of a
sudden it was withdrawn, and has never been in the Times to
this day ; and Miss Cresswell after that spent a long time at
the Park. Somebody said in the office it was more than likely
the ladies would leave their property to her ; and to be sure it
that was so, it would be none of her father's business to hunt
up the right heir."

I felt completely dizzy and bewildered ; I kept looking down
upon the table, where the letters seemed to be flitting about
with the strangest unsteady motion.

" And are the ladies called Mortimer ?" I said, almost under
my breath.

" Yes ; they're folks well known in Chester, though seldom
to be seen here," said Mr. Ward; "the youngest one, Miss
Milly, is a good creature; the other one, and her name is
Sarah, was a great beauty in her day. I remember when J,
was a lad, we young fellows would walk all that way just to
see her riding out of the gates, or driving her grey ponies ;

198 The Last of the Uortimers.

they called her the beautiful Miss Mortimer in those days. I
daresay now she's as old, and as crazy, and as chilly — but
thank heaven, she can never be as poor, and as friendless, and
as suffering— as me."

I could not make any answer for a long time. I stood with
my hands clasped together, and my brain in a perfect whirl ;
these words, Sarah, Miss Mortimer, the Park, going in gusts
through my mind. What did it mean ? 1 had come upstairs
with a smile on my lips about the fabulous house of my grand-
father. Was this the real story now ubout to disclose itself ?
I felt for a moment that overwhelming impatience to hear more
which makes one giddy when on the verge of a discovery ; but
I did not want to betray myself to the old man.

" And do you mean," said I, holding fast by the table to
keep myself from trembling, " that they are not the lawful
owners of their estate ?"

" Nay, I cannot tell you that," said my patient, very coolly ;
"but what could be wanted with an advertisement in the
Times for one Mortimer? and old Cresswell holding it back,
you know, as soon as it was likely that his girl might get the
Park."

" Do you remember what was the Mortimer's name that was
to be advertised for ? I know some Mortimers," said I, with a
little tremble in my voice.

" I can't say 1 exactly remember just at this moment,"
said the old man, after a little pause. "It wasn't like a
Mortimer name ; it was — nay, stay, — it was one of the cotton-
spinners' names; 1 remember I thought of the spinning- jenny
directly ; something in that v/ay ; 1 can't tell exactly what it
was." *

I could scarcely stand. I could scarcely keep silent ; and yet
I durst not, for something that choked the voice in i\\y throat,
Suggest my father's name boldly to his recollection. 1 hurried
away and threw myself on a chair in my own room. All was
silent there; but with just a door between us Lizzie was playing
with my boy ; and his crows of infant delight, and her soft but
homely voice, seemed to break in upon the solitude I wanted.
I rose from that retreat, and went down to our little drawing
room. There it was Domcnico's voice, round and full, singing,
whistling, talking, all in a breath. Nowhere could I get quiet
enough to think over the extraordinary information I had just
received. Or, rather, indeed it was not either Lizzie's voice, or
Domenico's, but the agitation and tumult in my own mind ;
the beating of my heart, and the stir and restlessness that rose

The Last of the Mortimers. 199

in me, that prevented me from thinking. Could it be possible
that my father's languid prophecy, which Aunt Connor reported
so lightly, had truth in it. after all? The idea excited me
beyond the power of thinking. I went out and came in. I
took up various kinds of work and threw them down again ;
I could do nothing till Harry came in, .and I had told him.
Then I fancied there might possibly seem some sense and co-
herence in the news. If this were to come true, then what
prospects might be dawning upon us ! In this sudden illumi-
nation my past dread returned to me, as a fear which has been
forgotten for a time always does. The war ! if Harry's wife
turned out a great heiress, must not Harry himself cease to be
a soldier and enter into his fortune? Ah me ! but he would
not ; he would not if I should ask him on my knees ; not, at
least, till he had taken his chance of getting killed like all the
rest.

This threw me back, with scarcely a moment's interval,
into the full tide ^ those *l'.r>Miihts which had tortured me
before we came to Chester. I got up from my chair and began
to walk about the room in the restlessness of great sudden
apprehension and terror. All my trouble came back. My
fears had but been asleep, the real circumstances were uu-
changod ; even to-day, this very day, Harry might be ordered
to the war.

He saw my nervous, troubled look in a moment when he
came in ; he was struck by it at once. " You look as you once
looked in Edinburgh, Milly," he said, coming up to me;
*' what is the matter'? Something has happened while I have
been away?"

u Harry,". cried I, with a little excitement, suddenly remem-
bering that I had news to tell him. " I have found the Park
and the Sarah ; I have found the estate I am heiress to; I have
found out something far more important than that old red-
brick house ; and, do you know, hearing of this brought
everything to my mind directly, all !)>y terrors and troubles.
Never mind, I'll tell you what I heard in the first place. It
was from my poor gentleman upstairs."

Harry, who had heard me with great interest up to this
point, suddenly shrugged up his shoulders, and put his lijs
together with that disdainful provoking whew ! with which
men think they can always put one down.

" Oh. indeed, you need not be scornful !" said I ; u he writes
papers fur a lawyer, and had a very good way of knowing.
Hu says Mr. Crwwttt had uu advertisement (ill ready to be put

200 The Last of ilie Mortimers.

into the Times some months ago, for one Mortimer, whose name
reminded him of a spinning-jenny. But it never was sent to
the paper, because Miss Cresswell went out to the Park, and
it was thought the ladies would make her their heiress ; but it
was supposed there was some flaw in their title, and that this
Mortimer would be the true heir."

" The Park, and the ladies, and Miss Cresswell, and it was
supposed? By Jove, Milly!" cried Harry, with great vehe-
mence, "do you see how important this is? — have you no
better grounds than it was thought, and, it was supposed ?"

u You are unreasonable, Harry ; I only heard what he had
to say ; and, besides, it might not be my father, nor the same
people at all. He could not tell me, I only heard what he had
to say."

But this explanation did not satisfy Harry ; he became as
excited as I had been, but in a different way. He snatched up
his hat, and would have gone at once, on the impulse of the
moment, to see Mr. Cresswell, had not I detained him. The
news had the same influence on Harry that it had on me.
It woke us both out of that happy quiescence into which we
had fallen when we came here. We were no longer dwelling at
peace, safe in each other's society ; once more we were thrown
into all the agitation that belonged to our condition and
prospects.

Harry was a soldier, ready to be sent off any day to the
camp and the trenches, gravely anxious about a home and
shelter for his wife and child ; I, a soldier's wife, ready at
any moment to have the light of my eyes torn from me, and
my life cut in twain. After the first hurried burst of consul-
tation, we were both silent, thinking on these things. Certainly
it was better that we should have been aroused. -Tiie reality
coming at once, all unapprehended and unthought of, would
otherwise have been an intolerable blow. Now there was little
fear that we could forget again.

It was natural that we should return to the subject again
and again during the day. Harry drew my father's old books,
and the drawing he had laughed at, from his own desk, where
he had kept them ; and with them the envelope, full of formal
documents, which he had written to Aunt Connor for with so
much haste and importance, to substantiate my claim to my
grandfather's house; there they lay, unused, almost unlocked
at. Harry shook his head as he drew them out. We neither
of us said anything. We were neither of us sorry that we had
forgotten all about it for a time. For my own part, I went

The Last of the Mortimers. . 201

away upstairs very like to cry. This information, which had
thrown us back into so many troubles, might never come to
anything; and even if it did, what difference would that make?
Harry, if I was found out to be a king's daughter, would
never leave his profession, or shrink from its dangers, while
this war lasted. My pleasant forgetfulness was over now.
He was looking at this subject in the same light he had
looked at it before we left Edinburgh ; — it would be a home
forme.

The Last of the Mortimers*

CHAPTER VITT.

IT was an agitated, troubled day. The accidental nature of
the information, calmly told to one who was supposed to
have no interest in it ; the coincidence of the names ; the
startled feeling we had in thus being suddenly brought into
contact with people nearly connected with us, who were
unaware of our existence, and of whose existence we had been
unaware, acted very powerfully on our imaginations. I don't
think either Harry or I had a moment's doubt upon the subject.
As to the identity of the persons, certainly none ; and I confess
that I, for one, received with perfect faith the suggestion that
there was a wrong somehow in the matter, and that my father
had turned out to be the true heir. It never occurred to me to
imagine any other reason for the suppressed advertisement ;
and Mr. Cress well, whom I had thought at the very climax of
respectability, suddenly descended into a romantic lawyer-villain
in my excited eyes.

To add to the agitation of my thoughts, Sara Cresswell chose
to take that day for one of her odd visits. She came in the
afternoon to stay with me till evening. She was clearly quite
beyond her father's control ; not even subject to a wholesome
restriction of hours and meal-times ; for she never said her
father was out to dinner on the occasions of her coming, nor
accounted in any way for her liberty at his dinner-hour. The
little brougham used to come for her at night, and her little
maid in it — a sign, I suppose, that the father did not dis-
approve ; but that was all. Only wilful as she was, I confess I
had grown to like her very much. I sometimes lectured her ;
and once or twice we quarrelled ; but she always came back
next time just the same as ever. So quarrelling with her was
evidently useless. I must say I had a very strange sensation in
welcoming her to-day. Could she know her father's base pur-
poses about the Park which, according to all appearances, ought
to be mine ? Could she have been paying her court to those
ladies with the hope of supplanting the true heir? A glance
$ fter fape, only too frank and daring always, might

The Last of the Mortimers. 203

undeceived me ; but of course, I was bucklered up in my own
thoughts, and could s ,-e nothing else.

" You are ill," said Sara, kfc or you are worried ; or 'tis I
have done something. If I have, I don't mind ; that is to say,
I am very sorry, of course, and 1 will never do it again. But
if you think you will get rid of me by looking glum, you are
Badly mistaken. I shan't go. If you won't have me for',
friend, I shall come for a servant, and fight it out with Lizzie.
Lizzie, will you have me for ' a neebor ?' Ah, I'm learning
Scotch."

" Eh, that's no Scotch !" cried Lizzie ; " ye dinna ken what
it is. I'm, maybe, no that good at learning folk now, for I
have to speak English mysel'."

" And Italian, Lizzie !" cried Sara, clapping her hands, and
forgetting all about my " glum T' face.

Lizzie's elbows and ankles fell almost immediately, and the
most extraordinary blush rose on the girl's face. " Eh, but it's
funny to hear twa speaking't," cried Lizzie, evading the subject
eagerly. The truth is, she had got overmuch involved in the
delightful excitement of the new language, and in consequence
of the ludicrous fascination of the dictionary, by means of
which Domenico and she conducted their conversations, had
come to like the society of that worthy. When I found him
escorting my child-maid and the baby out-of-doors, I thought
it was time to remonstrate on the subject ; and my remon-
strance had woke a certain womanly consciousness in the
awkward -sensitive girlish bosom of Lizzie. She was over-
whelmed with shame.

Fortunately, the mention of the "twa" diverted Sara's
thoughts. She had never ceased to be interested in Mr
Luigi, and I saw a world of questions in her eye immediately.
I hurried her downstairs, not feeling able, really, for random
talk ; and troubled, more than I could express, to think
how disappointed Harry would be when he came home
full of one subject, expecting to talk it over with me, and
found me occupied entertaining a stranger, — a stranger,
too, who had something to do with it, who was our rival,
and plotting against us, all unaware of who we were.

However, as it happened, one of the first things Sara's
eye lighted upon when we entered the room, was that old
drawing of poor papa's, which lay on the table. She was
the quickest creature imaginable. She had it in her hand
before I knew what she was about. Her exclamation made
me start and tremble as if I had been found out in some-

20-4 The Last of the Mortimers.

thing. Here was another witness giving evidence freely,
without any wish or contrivance of mine.

"Why, here is the Park!" cried Sara, "actually the
very house ! Where, in all the world, did you get it ? Have
you been there? Do you know them? ' Why, I thought
you were quite strangers to Chester! I never knew any-
thing so odd. Who did it? It is frightfully bad, to be
sure, but a staring likeness. Dear Mrs. Langharn, where
did you get this ?"

" I got it out of an old book," said I, with a guilty faltering
which I could not quite conceal. " What Park is it ? where ia
it? I do not know the place."

But I am sure if ever anybody looked guilty and the
possessor of an uncomfortable secret, it was me at that
moment. I turned away from Sara, putting away that
envelope with the certificates which Harry (how careless!)
had also left on the table. I am sure she must have felt there
was something odd in my voice.

"What Park? why, the Park, to be sure. Everybody
in Chester knows the Park ; and here is an inscription,
I declare !" she cried, running with it to the window. " Oh,
look here ; do look here ! It must have been some old lover of
godmamma Sarah's. I never saw anything so funny in
my life. ' Sarah as I saw her last.' Oh, Mrs. Langham !
do come and look at this comical, delightful thing! Isn't
it famous ? She's as old — as old as any one's grandmother.
Who could it be? who could it possibly be?"

u Did you say your godmother?" said I. This was another
novel aggravation. Of course I had heard Sara speak
of her godmothers ; but, somehow, I had not identified
them with the ladies who were expected to make her their
heir.

But Sara was too much excited and delighted, and full
of glee and ridicule, to answer me. She kept dancing
about and clapping her hands over the drawing; always
returning to it, and indulging in criticisms as free and as
depreciatory as Harry's had been. It was getting dark,
and I confess I was very glad to sit down a little in the half
light, and repose myself as well as I could while she was
thus engaged and wanted no attention from me. Just
then, however, I heard Harry's foot coming upstairs, and,
to my great wonder and almost alarm, somebody else entered
with Harry. I could scarcely see him as I rose to receive
my husband's companion. Somebody else, however, saw

The Last of the Mortimers. 205

Irim quicker than I did. In a moment Sara had dropped
into the shadow of the curtains, and became perfectly silent.
An inconceivable kind of sympathy with her (it could be
nothing but mesmerism) somehow cleared up the twilight
in a moment, and made me aware who the stranger was. It
was Domenico's master, Mr. Luigi, the Italian gentleman
downstairs.

I cannot tell how the first preliminaries were got over. Of
all times in the world to make acquaintance with anybody,
think of the twilight, just before the candles came in, and when
you could scarcely make out even the most familiar face ! We
got on somehow, however; we three — Sara sitting all the time
dropt down, and nestling like a bird. among the curtains, struck
into the most unaccountable silence. I suppose she thought
nobody saw her ; whereas, on the contrary, Mr. Luigi, looking
out of the darkness where he was sitting towards the window,
saw the outline of her pretty head against a bit of green-blue
sky as distinct as possible ; and looked at it too, as I can
testify.

When candles came at last (Mrs. Goldsworthy had a lamp ;
but it smoked, and the chimney broke, and all sorts of things
happened to it), after the first dazzled moment we all looked
at each other. Then Sara became clearly visible, and was
forced out of her corner to let the blind be drawn down. She
came forward to the light at once, with just the least bravado
in her manner, ashamed of hiding herself. She had still the
drawing in her hand.

"Mr. Langham," said Sara, "do you know this wonderful
drawing ? I never was so amused and amazed in my life. Do
you know it's the Park ? and my godmarnma Sarah when she
was a young lady and a great beauty. To think you should
find it accidentally ! And it must have been one of her old
lovers who did it. Oh, please give it to me, and let me show
it her. She would be pleased. She would soon find out whose
it was."

Here Mr. Luigi, who had taken up one of those old books of
my father's, which Harry in his carelessness bad left upon the
table, uttered a very brief instantly suppressed exclamation. I
wonder what he could have discovered ! It was the copy of
Racine, which I have before mentioned as among papa's books,
on which was written the name of Sarah Mortimer. Sarah
Mortimer ! Here were we all strangers, or almost strangers, to
each other, all apparently startled by the sound and sight of
this name. What could the Italian have to do with SaraU

206 The Last of the Mortimers.

Mortimer? she who broke poor papa's heart, and whom we had
found out so suddenly to-day?

"This lady?" said Mr. Luigi, holding up the book to me
with a slight tremulousness, " Madame will not think me
impertinent ; does she live ?"

" Indeed," said I, with a shiver of agitation, " I cannot tell.
I do not know anything about her ; her name on that book and
the drawing is all we know. I think she is a ghost. Do you
too know her name ? Sara, tell us, for pity's sake, who is this
Sarah Mortimer of the Park ?"

Sara stared at the book with still greater amazement than
she had shown at the drawing. " She is my godmamma," said
the girl, in a disturbed, amazed tone. " She is Miss Mortimer
of the Park. Since you all know her name, you all know that
certainly. How is it you know her ? why did you not tell me ?
Is there any mystery? it all seems very strange to me."

"Then it is that lady," exclaimed Mr. Luigi — "it is that
lady I did meet in the village."

" No," said Sara, recovering herself in a moment ; " you met
my other godmamma, her sister. She told me she had met
yoi£ ':••- May I ask if you found the lady in Manchester?
Godmamma was very much interested and anxious to know.
Did you find her? have you heard where she is to be found ?"

Mr. Luigi looked at the book once more ; then closed it down
firmly with his hand ; then gazed a little anxiously in Sara's
face. "Have I found the lady?" he repeated like an echo.
" Mademoiselle, I do not know."

Then the Italian, as if with an instinctive motion, laid his
other hand over the book, and clasped them both upon it as
though to hold something fast. Then to my amazement and
to Sara's — but to something more than amazement on Sara's
part— something very much like pique and offence — he turned
towards Harry and began to talk on indifferent matters. I
had noticed a half-weary, half-impatient sigh escape him as he
laid his hands over that book ; but he showed no other
symptom of emotion. The next moment he was talking in
very good English, slightly, very slightly, broken with now
and then a foreign idiom, something about public affairs. I
confess I felt disappointed as well as Sara. He had recog-
nised that name ; somehow it, was familiar to him ; and his
enigmatical answer had naturally stimulated our curiosity. He
left us behind him staring and wondering, when he suddenly
glided from the brink of some revelation to those quiet remarks
upon English politics, Harry, full, of his share of the common

The Last of the Mortimers. 207

excitement, did not enter into it with half so much heart as
Mr. Luigi. Harry blundered and was awkward, his thoughts
being elsewhere. Mr. Luigi was quite undisturbed and at his
ease. Sara scarcely spoke again while he remained ; she did
all but turn her back upon him ; she showed her pique quite
clearly enough to catch the quick eye of the Italian. Al-
together he did not stay very long, thinking us, 1 daresay,
rather an uncomfortable party ; and Harry, disappointed, as 1
had expected, not to find me alone, and be able to hold a
comfortable consultation, went downstairs with him to smoke
a cigar.

"Now they are gone," cried Sara; "now the man in the
iron mask has left us. I wonder if that is what one would
call a romantic Italian ? ah ! I'd rather have fat Domenico.
Now they're gone, do tell me, once for all, what is godmamma
Sarah to you?"

" Nothing in the world that I know of," said I, faltering a
little ; " we have only that drawing and her name in the old
book."

" I know there is something between her and him" said
Sara, returning, to my great dismay to the other books on the
table; "she knows about him, or he knows about her, or
something. You know she was a long time abroad. What
funny old books! Was it among those you found the
drawing? But, stop, here is another Mortimer — Richard A.
Mortimer — who is he? Papa has been their agent for
centuries, and I have known them all mv life, but I never
heard of a Richard luortimer. jjo ten ine, wno was he ?

" Indeed, it is all very odd," cried I, really fluttered out of
my self-possession. "I wonder what will come of it? Itia
very strange and bewildering. Richard Mortimer was my
father."

"Then you are a relation!" cried Sara; "you must be a
relation, there are so few Mortimer.? ; and your father must
have been her lover. Are you sure, are you quite sure?
Why, your name must be Mortimer too ! and Milly ! Mr.
Langham calls you Milly — Milly Mortimer! Oh, dear, dear!
I never can get to the Park to tell them to-night, and how
shall I contain myself till to-morrow ? I knew there must be
something that made me love you so much at first sight. To
be sure, that explains everything. Milly Mortimer ! oh, you
dear, pretty, good, delightful Mrs. Langham ! 1 am so glad,
EO happy ! They are my godmothers, and so to be sure we
are relations too;"

The Last of the Mortimers.

Upon which Sara threw her arms round me in a wild,
rapid embrace. I was so very much shaken and disturbed with
all that had happened, that I could scarcely bear this last. I
remember using all my remaining power to convince her that-
the relationship was by no means certain still, and that it was
not to be communicated to the ladies at the Park without
further assurance. Sara, however, only overpowered me with
caresses and exclamations. She entirely upset all the re-
maining strength I had. She kept us from that consultation
which Harry and I were both so much longing for. She left
us at last in terror lest we should be brought into immediate
contact with those unknown relatives. This day of great
news, excitement, and perplexity, was, I think, the "most
exhausted, uncomfortable day I ever met with in all ray
life.

The Last of the Mortimer*. 209

CHAPTER IX.

aTT is the oddest business altogether that I had ever any-
J_ thing to do with," said Harry, next morning ; u OHO
cannot tell what step to take first. My own idea, of course, is
to call on this old Cresswell and get it all out of him. He evi-
dently is the man who knows."

" Ah, but, Harry, if he is one of those scheming lawyers,"
said I, " why should he go and betray his clients for people
whom he never heard of before? and, besides, it would be
impossible to tell him how we got information about it, for you
could not speak of the advertisement without ruining poor Mr.
Ward."

" Milly, I may be sorry enough for your poor Mr. Ward, but
I am more interested a great deal in your rights," said Harry ;
44 besides, if everything came true we could make it up to him.
I see nothing for it but going to old Cresswell. He will be
glad — since he did think of an advertisement — to have such a
rod of terror to hold over the heads of his old ladies ; at all
events we shall know what it is. It might come to nothing
after all," said Harry, with a little sigh, " and there is nothing
more injurious than to be kept uncertain. Why, to tell the
truth, I feel extravagant this morning : I got up with the
feeling. I should like to go and ruin myself in accordance with
the sentiment of the moment. If it's all true, why should we
be economical? — your grandfather's red brick house on one
side, and this Park on the other. We're lucky people, Milly.
I'll either go and see old Cresswell and have it out with him, or
I'll go and throw away every shilling I have."

" Ah, Harry, give it to me," I said, holding out my hands ;
" but I don't believe you have any money, so it doesn't matter.
Only — just wait a little, please ; don't let us do things hastily
Think of thrusting our claims suddenly upon two old ladies
who perhaps have enjoyed it all their life. Only think of us
two, young and happy, disturbing the lives of two old people
•who are not so fortunate as we are ! Not to-day ; let us try to
get other proof first. Try if Mr. Pendleton knows anything—*
write to Haworth again. At least, don't let us be hasty j 4

210 The Last of the Mortimers.

day or two cannot matter; and I don't trust this Mr. Cress-
well," cried I, with some vehemence. " He cannot be honest,
or he would not have done such a thing."

Harry laughed at my earnestness. He said lawyer-villains
had gone out of fashion, and that there were no Mr. Gammons
now-a-days. The truth is, we had both been reading novels
since we came to Chester, and I am not at all sure that Harry
was as sceptical about Mr. Gammon as he professed to be.
But, to my consolation, he went out without any definite
purpose of beginning his proceedings. "I daresay old Cress-
well is an old humbug," said Harry. " I'll see whether there
is not some other old fellow about who is up to everybody's
genealogy; surely there ought to be some such person about the
Cathedral. And I'll write to Pendleton, Milly. To be sure,
there is nothing to hurry us. ' Let us take time, that we may
be done the sooner.' I'll do nothing desperate to-day."

"When he was gone I felt a little sense of relief. I sat long
in the same chair, with the table still littered with the breakfast
things, neglecting my duties and even baby. He had been
brought downstairs before Harry went out, and was now sitting
at my feet on the carpet, playing with my work-basket, which
much contented him. I did not observe the havoc that was
taking place, but sat still in a tumult of thoughts which I could
not describe. I suppose nobody ever did come to a sudden
knowledge— or even fancy — that they might be found out heirs
of a great estate without feeling fluttered. I was half afraid of
the thought, yet it had a strange, vague, bewildering exhilaration
in it. Sometimes a trembling shadow would cross my mind of
my old spectre ; but it had faded again to-day into the agita-
tion of surprised and trembling hopes. One does not always
feel the same even about one's own terrors. And, upon the
whole, I felt raised into a kind of general elevation, thrust up
above myself into another region, capable of being kinder, more
liberal and magnanimous than I had ever felt before. I suppose
it must have been the same feeling which Harry had when he
said he felt extravagant. I could have emptied my purse to a
beggar, I believe, — at least I could have found it in my heart
to give him sixpence instead of a penny,— to such an extent
had this vague, exhilarating rich feeling carried me away.

Lizzie looked a little mysterious when I called her at last.
She was bursting with something to tell ; and when I addressed
some ordinary question to her, her news broke forth suddenly
without any introduction. " Eh, the gentleman's awa' again,"
cried Lizzie, "and he thinks she maun be found or heard tell

The Last of the Mortimers* 211

o' — he thinks there maun be word of her. The gentleman's
awa' back where he was, to bring something he left, and
'JMenico says, as sure's death she maun be found."

"Who must be found?"

" Eh, mem, it's the leddy ! They came a* this gate, ower
the hills and the seas, to find a leddy. I canna just understand
wha she is," s.iid Lizzie, " but she's some freend ; and 'Menico'a
clear she maun be found now, and he's dancing like to bring
down the house for joy."

" But you don't look very joyful, Lizzie ; what is the
matter ?" said I.

Lizzie made a desperate effort to restrain herself, but, failing,
burst into violent tears. "Eh, he's written me a letter!" cried
the girl, sobbing ; and then, with much fumbling, eyes blind
with tears, and a face all glowing with shame, the letter came
forth from, the bosom of Lizzie's dress, and was thrust into my
hand.

Alas for my self-congratulations over Lizzie's childish age I
Fourteen, after all, it appeared, was no safeguard. But I was
as much amused as troubled when I undid Domenico's letter.
It was written on odd thin paper, in a very tolerable hand ; it
was addressed to the Elizabeth Bain, and its contents were as
follows :

" To the my little good Lessee.

" You be good child ; if the lady yours will, I take you to
the theatre after to-morrow, for gratitude. To me you show of
bounty, I to you of thanks. There be grand sight at the
theatre which will please to you. Show the ISignora yours this
letter mine, and ask if permission. It will much please to »ie
to make festa for my little good Lessee. There be none word
in English for festa, for because the English not know to make
it.

44 DOMENICO."

" But, Lizzie," cried I, in surprise, " there is nothing in this
to cry about. He only means to be kind, poor fellow. There
is not a word in all this that sounds like "

Love-making, I was about to have said, but paused, partly
in respect for the innocence of the girl, and partly ashamed of
myself for my instinctive suspicion that flirtation was inevitable
when " a foreigner," however fat, was in the case. Lizzy had
wiped her eyes and was looking at me wistfully, quite ready to
sob again.

" Oh, it's no him," cried Lizzie ; " he's a papist, puir mail,

212 The Last of the Mortimer*.

and he doesna ken ony better. But oh, mem, it's me — me that
was weel brought up, and learned the catechism and ay gaed
to the kirk ; and what will I do ? what will I do V"

u For pity's sake, Lizzie, tell me what is the matter?" cried
I, really alarmed.

Lizzie burst into tears once more. She wiped her eyes with
her apron, with hot and humid hands ; then, casting a pathetic
glance at me from under the drapery, sobbed forth the dreadful
confession, " Oh, mem ! though I think burning shame, and
ken it's dreadful, I canna help it— I would like to gang !"

This anti-climax was too much for my gravity, ami Lizzie
looked on with moist, uncomprehending eyes at the burst of
laughter which I could not restrain. Poor Lizzie ! I have no
doubt she thought me very heartless neither to satisfy her guilty
desires after such vanities, nor her scruples of conscience and
violent shame at her own weakness. Baby, however, was
more sympathetic. Seeing his beloved Lizzie in tears, a fellow-
feeling made him scream in concert. He had to be consoled,
though his nurse went away wistful, trembling lest I should
consent, and lest I should not consent. But privately I confess
I was very much relieved and not a little ashamed of myself.
To think I should have suspected any absurd love-making
between these two ! I felt ready to go and ask poor Lizzie's
pardon. But why should not she go to the theatre and satisfy
her mind? Pomenico could not be less than twenty years
older than herself. On the whole, this little episode quite
increased the lightness of my spirits. The day was bright, the
spring was every hovir becoming more sweet, and as I sat there
by myself with my child in the little back-room, noting the
sunshine, which did not reach us. fall sweet upon the little
walled- in gardens at the back, a sudden project which had
already glanced through my mind, became feasible on the
moment. Yes, I should do it. Lizzie and the baby, for a
breath of country air, should go with me. By actual witness
of my own eyes I would identify the Park.

The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER X.'

fTlHE next day Harry had duties of one sort and another,
J_ which would completely occupy his time. He had not
found any student of genealogy who could tell him all about
the Mortimers of the Park ; but he had heard of one, and.
between that and his duty, was full engaged both in person and
thoughts. A better opportunity could not be. I told him I
thought of ta,king a long walk into the country with Lizzie and
baby this beautiful day ; and, except a warning not to go too
iii far and weary myself, Harry had nothing to say against my
intention. I may say, however, that in the meantime, having
consulted with him on the subject, I had plunged Lizzie's mind
into the most dread commotion of terror, delight, and curiosity,
by consenting to Domenico's proposal, only adding Mrs. Golds-
worthy to the party, to make all right.

And it was true that Mr. Luigi had disappeared again ; he
was only to be three days gone, Domenico assured us, holding
up three of his fingers. " Tree sola, tree only," repeated the
fat fellow once more, blocking up the passage as of old ; and
once more, with that inimitable wheel and elastic step of his,
opening the door before any one could approach it. I could
not help wondering to myself whether the Italian gentleman
was likely to leave Chester before we did ; certainly the loss of
Domenico would make quite a difference in the house. I had
not thought quite so much as I might have been supposed to
have done about this Italian gentleman. He too had recognised
the name of Sarah Mortimer as having some influence on his
fate. He had left early next morning, as if acting upon the
knowledge he had gained, whatever that might be. It was very
strange ; afterwards, of course, I came to lay everything
together, and wonder at myself that I had not seen how things
were tending. But at the moment I was full of my own
thoughts ; they seemed so very much more important to me
just then than anything else. I dismissed Mr. Luigi with just
half a thought of surprise and curiosity; I dare say Sara
Cresswell had thought more of him. And Sara had not come
to me through all that long intervening day. Could she

214 The Last of the Mortimers.

have gone to the Park to. tell the news ? would they acknow-
ledge or pretend to disown us ? That was a question far more
interesting to me than all the Italians in the world.

The private object of my expedition, however, was one I
was truly ashamed to mention to anybody ; but, for all that, it
had taken a great hold upon myself. I have said I had been
reading novels ; and the very last one we had from the library
was "Ten Thousand a Year." It struck upon my mind even
at the very moment when poor Mr. Ward had told me first.
Those dear, good, delightful, fine, superfine Aubreys ! to think
of all their sufferings, the poor dear superlative people — how
dreadfully they felt it to have only a maid waiting at table !
Oh me ! and only to think that here might we ourselves be
bringing about such another calamity ! Of course you may
think it was very fantastical. I do confess that the dreadful
downfall of having only a maid to wait, seemed to me, at first
sight, the most fine distress I had ever heard of ; but it took a
hold upon my mind all the same ; I could not help imagining
to myself the other side of the picture. It was very pleasant
to think of falling heirs to a great estate, and being lifted in a
moment from poverty into great wealth ; but who were those
two pathetic figures turning away from the closed door of the
house which had been their home so long, mournfully settling
down in their new straitened quarters, breaking up all the
habits of their lives, missing somehow in an unspoken way,
that it would be ludicrous to express in words, but was far
from ludicrous to feel, all the grander circumstances of their
life V Ah ! that was quite a different question. I thought I
could see them sighing over their contracted rooms, their
fallen state — not speaking, falling silent rather, life going out
and ebbing away from them, I saw the two pale old lofty
faces, the pride, the submission, the deep sense of downfall
concealed in their hearts, and I felt myself stopped short in my
way. Those ineffable Aubreys, those figures painted on
velvet, those dear porcelain creatures, with their exquisite
troubles, had an effect upon my imagination, even though I.
might venture to smile at them sometimes. Superfine people,
to be sure, must have superfine afflictions ; and to think of
being a Tittlebat Titmouse, and driving out such angels from
their paradise into the cold-hearted, unsympathetic world,
that cared no more whether they had a six-foot footman and a
carriage, than it cared about myself, a subaltern's poor wife,
driving out of Chester in an omnibus ! So this was the real
cause of my journey. I went remorsefully, thinking all thQ

The Last of the Mortimers. 215

way how Mrs. Aubrey swooned at all emergencies. I wonder,
when they heard the dreadful power we had over them, would
Miss Sarah and Miss Milly swoon in each other's arms? I
could see them going about, stricken silent, afraid to look at
each other ; and it would be all our doing. Remorseful to my
very heart, I went to visit their village and ask about them,
and seethe house if I could. Perhaps some arrangement might
be made, after all, to prevent any loss to these poor dear old
ladies. I felt as if I could have done anything for them, my
heart was so compunctious and repentant of the power we had
to do them harm. I am not sure my great magnanimousness
did not have a root in what Harry called feeling extravagant^
as well as in u Ten Thousand a Year."

We went out a considerable part of the way in an omnibus,
and then walked. After a good long walk through a nice
country, we saw a pretty common a liitle way before us : I call
it pretty because some parts of it were very unequal and
broken, having gorse bushes, with here and there a golden
honey-bud among the prickles. To get to the common, we
crossed over a very clean, nicely kept piece of road, straight
and smooth, leading down to the village from the gates of a
great house. The house was too far off to make it out, but I
felt my heart beat a little, knowing, from the description I had
got, that it could be no other than the Park.

I left Lizzie and her charge seated on the soft grass of
the common, where baby, who had never before known any-
thing so delightful, began to pluck at the crowflowers with his
fat hands ; and went down into the village to buy them some
biscuits. 1 confess I felt very guilty. Going anywhere all by
myself confused me, not being accustomed to it ; but I was not
an innocent stranger here ; I was a spy in my rival's kingdom ;
I was a Bolingbroke pretending to acknowledge the sway of
the existing sovereign : I was going to traffic with his subjects
and tamper with them. If the village authorities had found
me out, and held a court-martial and hanged me on the spot, I
think I should have acknowledged the justice of their decision.
I was a spy.

It was a nice village — a nice, well cared-for, tidy, yet not
too picturesque or unnatural village ; looking as if the richer*
people about were friendly and sensible, not interfering too
much, but keeping up a due reverence and influence. Some
tall bushes of broom were actually bursting into yellow streaks
over the garden palings — not wall — of a house standing back a
little, which I found out to be the Rectory. It must have beeu

216 The Last of the Mortimers.

very sheltered and warm, for it was still only April. However,
though I was full of curiosity, my mind was not sufficiently
disengaged to carry away a clear picture of the village ; and
when the women looked out from the doors at me with an
instinct that a stranger was passing, I felt more guilty than
ever. I made my way accordingly to the baker's as fast as I
could, and got some dark-complexioned ponderous buns there,
which I felt sure would rouse Lizzie's national sense of supe-
riority to great triumph. Then 1 made a tremulous excuse of
wanting some biscuits besides, and so got a little time to bring
forward the questions I had prepared.

u Who is it that lives in the great house at the other end of
the village?" said I hypocritically, pointing with my finger
towards the Park.

" Who is it V" said the baker's wife, leaning on her counter
with a certain contempt and admiration of my ignorance ;
*' law bless you, ma'am, you don't know this place, seemingly.
Them's the Miss Mortimers, the oldest family in Cheshire.
They're as well known as the Queen about here."

" I am a stranger," said I hurriedly. " Are they ladies — I
mean are they young ladies ? were there no sons V"

The taker's wife leaned back upon a sack of flour, and
laughed. " Miss Milly's godrnoother to half the village," she
said ; " she's none that young, she's isn't. No, there wasn't no
son. I've heard my mother say there was once talk of making
Miss Mortimer an ouldest son like, but it couldn't be done.
They're cooheiresses, that's what it's ca'ed — I've seen it written
down myself — cooheiresses of the late Lewis Esquire ; that's
the name it goes by ; and as they ain't married it's no harm."

" Did they succeed their father, then ?" said I.

u And that they did," cried the woman, '; and their father's
father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, as far back as
I don't know when : they're no mushroom folks, tiie folks in
the Park."

I felt very much puzzled and perplexed; how could my
father, then, have anything to do with it? It was very
strange.

" But I suppose the lands were entailed, then, or something
of that sort. Was there never another heir that claimed ? I
think you must be wrong," said I, betraying myself in my
wonder and haste.

The baker's wife opened her eyes wide and stared ; then
laughed out rather scornfully — politeness is not the first rule
either of life or speech in Cheshire.

The Last of the Mortimers. 217

u I've lived here in the village all my life," she said ; " if I
don't know, I'd like to hear who should. Nay, nay, there
never was a dream of another heir ; they're surer nor most folks
are the Miss Mortimers. There ain't scarce one living be-
longing to them to get it when they're gone. I tell you what it
is, it's a mistake. You're thinking on Eden Hall."

44 Oh !" said I, " perhaps ! I am a stranger here."

44 Sure you're strange," said the baker's wife ; 44 any one in
the village could tell that. Ne'er a one asked such questions o
me — nor any questions at all, but the price of bread, and how
the crops are to be, except that Frenchman with the moustache.
You're not belonging to him, are you ? You're English by
your speech."

44 Oh yes, I'm English," cried I, not without a vague
momentary vision of the village court-martial, and being hung
up for a spy. u I will take my change, please."

And I took my change, and went away with quickened steps
but changed feelings. I had not the heart to speak to anybody
else. I passed old women at the doors, who, no doubt, could
have told something about it ; but I did not venture to make
any more inquiries. I was completely lost in perplexity. The
undisputed representatives of a race, the heirs of father, grand-
father, and great-grandfather to unknown antiquity — what
could be urged against their possession ? 1 was startled into
sudden doubt of the whole matter. What if it were all a
deception ? The very pathway swam and twisted under my
eyes. When I reached the common, arid threw myself wearily
on the grass beside little Harry and his maid, I felt quite a
different person from her who had left them there. I gave
Lizzie the coarse buns, but I did not listen to the comments
which came as I knew they would. I was far too much bewil-
dered and shaken out of my fancies to be amused. After I had
rested awhile, I got up, and, taking tLi^ with me, went up,
rather faltering, to the gates of the Park. A little lodge, half
hidden among evergreen bushes, wjis at the gate. I went
forward, Lizzie following me close, to ask if we might be per-
mitted to look at the house.

But, just as I was going up to the door, I was accosted by a
lady who came hurriedly forward by a side-path. She held out
her hand to stop us before she came up, and full of fanciful
alarm as I was, I stopped, startled, with again the sensation of
having been found out. She was middle-sized and stout, with a
plump, handsome figure and sensible, kind face — very sensible,
very kind, not brilliant at all; and, I think, with its much

218 TJie Last of the Mortimers.

perplexed thought and anxiety upon it, as there WAS on
mine .

" Don't go into the lodge with the baby, please," she cried,
as soon as she was near ; u the little girl has the hooping-cough.
It's always best to keep out of the way of danger. If I can
tell you what you want, shall be very glad. I see you're a
stranger ; or if you want to see Mrs, Williams, send away the
baby, please. Hooping-cough's very catching, and it's hard
upon such a young child."

This voice and this speech completely overpowered me.
I could not doubt for a moment that this was one of
the Miss Mortimers. I was no longer a mere spy ; I was
an unnatural traitor. I motioned Lizzie with my hand to go
away, but stood still speechless myself, the tears rising to
my eyes. The lady stood waiting to see what I wanted,
but discovering my distress, as some people can, came a
littf.e closer to me. " Are you ill ? can I help you in
anything ?" she said, looking very pitifully and kindly into my
wet eyes.

"No, thank you. I was going to ask if I might look at
the Park; but I must make haste after baby," I cried. I
had the impulse to curtsey to her as children do ; for any-
thing I know i did it. The only thing that I am certain
of is, that as fast as my feet would carry me, I hastened
away.

The Last of the Mortimers. 219

CHAPTER XL

WE were able to get the same omnibus going home,
which I was very glad of, for the strange defeat I
had received made me feel doubly weary with the walk,
which, after all, had not been a very long one. There
was only one person in this omnibus, which was not a
town omnibus, you know, but one which went between
Chester and an important village, seven or eight miles off.
He was an elderly man, very well dressed in black, with
a white cravat. To tell the plain truth, I took him for a
dissenting preacher by his dress; and as he looked very
serious and respectable, and was very polite in helping us
to get in, we had some little conversation after a while.
When he saw me look at the houses we passed with an
appearance of interest, he told me the names of them, or
who they belonged to. He was exceedingly polite and
deferential, so polite that he called me ma'am, which sounded
odd ; but I could only suppose he was an old-fashioned
person and liked such antiquated ways of expression. I
confess a suspicion of his real condition never crossed my mind.
But he evidently knew everybody, and after a while my
prevailing idea woke up again.

" Do you know," said I, with a little hesitation, " the family
at the Park — the Miss Mortimers ? I should very much like to
hear something about them."

" There's nobody I know better, ma'am," said our companion
with a slight look of surprise ; " I've been with — that is, I've
known 'em this fifty years."

" Oh, then will you please tell me how they succeeded ?" said
I ; " how did they come into the estate ?"

" How they succeeded ?" said the stranger, with a certain
slow wonder and amazement ; u why, ma'am, in the natural
way, after their father as was Squire before them."

Here I could not help thinking to myself that the dissenting
clergy must be dreadfully uneducated, if this were one of them.

" But was there never any gap in the succession?" said I ;
"has it been in a straight lkie ? has there been no break lately
— no branch of the family passed over ?"

220 The Last of the Mortimers.

" Bless you, ma'am, you don't know the Mortimers," said our
friend ; " there's never enough of them to make branches of
the family. There was a second cousin the young ladies had a
many years ago, but I never heard of no more of them, and he
was distant like, and had no more thoughts of succession than
I had. If that gen'lman was alive or had a family, things
might be different now."

"How do you mean things might be different now?" cried 1.

" The ladies, ma'am, has never married," said the man, who

certainly could not be more than a Methodist local preacher at

the utmost, " and, in the course of nature, there can't be no

natural heir."

This view of the subject, however, was one totally unsatis-
factory to me. " Are you sure," said I, u that. there never was
any other heir spoken of — that there never was any story about
the succession — that there was never anybody to dispute it with
the Miss Mortimers ? I thought 1 had heard some such story

about "

u Ah, you're thinking, ma'am, of Eden Hall, just the next
property," said he.

tk But was there never any claimant to the Park?" .asked I,
tome what excited.

"' No such thing," said the man in black, " nor couldn't be.
Bless you, the family's well known. There never was so much
as a will-case, as 1 ever heard on ; for why, you see, ma'am,
there never was such a plenty of children to make quarrels.
When there's but two or so, there's little can come of quarrel-
ling. No, no ! there never was no strange claimant to our
estate."

-'To your estate, did you say V" cried I,' in amazement.
".So, ma'am, no — no such presumption. 1 said our, and
sure I might ; I've been with the ladies this fifty year."

lv Oh !" I exclaimed, much dismayed. This was certainly
coming to the very head-quarters for information. This was
no local preacher after all, but only the Miss Mortimers' major-
domo. If there had been any possible excuse for it, I should
certainly have got out of the omnibus immediately, so utterly
confounded and taken aback did 1 feel. But as we were still some
two miles out of Chester, and we were all tired, and baby cross
and sleepy, I had to think better of it. However, in my con-
sternation I fell into instant silence, and felt really afraid of
meeting the man's eye. He sat opposite me, beside Lizzie, very
respectful and quiet, and by no means obtruding himself upon
my notice. I cannot tell how shocked aiid affronted and augr"

The Last of the Mortimers. 221

I felt with myself. I had, I suppose, like most people of my
condition, a sort of horror of men-servants, a sort of resentful
humiliation in feeling tjtiat I had mistaken one of that class for
an ordinary fellow-traveller, a frightened idea of what Harry
would think to hear of his wife sitting in an omnibus beside
Miss Mortimer's man. Altogether I was sadly discomfited and
beaten. The Miss Mortimers had got the better of me at every
hand ; and I was entirely humiliated and cast down by this
Wt blow of all.

The interval was quite tedious and oppressive till we arrived
£1 Chester. Seeing me look at another house unconsciously as
we passed, the man, most kindly and good-humouredly, I am
sure, after my sudden withdrawal from the conversation,
mentioned its name. " That is Dee-sands, ma'am, the mayor
o' Chester's place. It ain't within sight of the Dee, and
there's none of them sands near here, but they do say it's
named after a song," said the good-natured cicerone. " Oh !"
said I again, shrinking back into my corner. He looked at me
rather closely after this, muttering something that sounded
like "No offence!" and leaned back also, a little affronted.
It did not occur to me that I was only drawing his attention
to what I had said before by this sudden reserve. I took care
to show no more interest in the wayside villas, and sprang out
with a great sense of relief when we reached the end of our
journey. Happening to glance back when I had reached our
own door, I saw that the omnibus had been delayed by
numerous descents from the roof, and was still standing where
we had left it, and that Miss Mortimer's man had put his head
out of one of the windows, and was watching where I went to.
This circumstance made me enter with great haste and
trepidation. Now, above all, I had been found out ; and if
ever any one felt like a traitor and a spy, it was surely me,
stumbling back from that unsuccessful enterprise across the
threshold of Mrs. Goldsworthy's house.

The door was opened to us too alertly to be done by anybody
but Domenico ; and it was Domenico accordingly, in his vast
expanse of shirt sleeves. It was quite a comfort to see his
beaming, unconscious face. " The time is fine," said
Domenico; "it pleases to the signora to make promenade?
Ah, bravo ! the piccolo signore grow like tree."

This was in reference to baby, who crowed at him and held
out his arms, and whom Domenico freely called piccolo and
piccolino, at first somewhat to my indignation ; but I confess
the uood fellow's voice and looks, and the way baby stretched

222 The Last of the Mortimers.

out to him, out of poor Lizzie's tired arras, was quite con-
solatory and refreshing to me. It is easy to get a feeling of
home to a place, surely. It was only lodgings, and Domenico
•was a foreigner, and 1 had not the ghost of an early associa-
tion with the little insignificant house ; but I cannot tell you
what a sense of ease and protection came upon me the very
moment I was within the door.

Upstairs on the table lay a letter. We got so few letters
that I was surprised, and took it up immediately, and with still
greater surprise found it to be from Sara Cresswell, lamenting
over not having found me, wondering where I could have gone,
and concluding with a solemn invitation to dinner in her
father s name. " Papa is so anxious to see Mr. Langham and
you," wrote Sara, " and to talk over things. I have been
obliged to obey him for once, and not to go or write out to
dear godmamma till he has seen you. If you don't come he
will be so dreadfully disappointed; indeed, I am quite sure if you
don't come he will go to see you. I can't suppose you \vill be
able to resist such a threat as that. Send me a word, please,
directly. 1 shall be quite wretched till I know."

This revived all my excitement, as may be supposed ; there
must be something in it after all, and surely, instead of Harry
going to his office to seek him, it would be much better to meet
at his house, and with an evening's leisure too ; for Sara had
taken care to add that nobody else was to be there. The
earnestness of this invitation seemed so entirely contradictory
to all that I had heard to-day, that the wildest vague suspicions
of mystery began to break upon mv mind. To be sure, bakers
and butlers were not likely to be in the secret. Mr. Cresswell
knew all about it ; and here was he seeking us entirely of his
own accord ! Once more all my dazzled ambitious dreams came
back again ; I forgot my failure and sense of treachery — 1 was
no traitor — it was only my rights that I had been thinking of ;
and they were not pathetic possible victims, but triumphant
usurpers, who now had possession of the Park.

The Last of the Mortimers. 223

CHAPTER XII.

I HAD managed to regain my spirits entirely before Harry
returned : if anything, indeed, I think this revival of all
my fancies, after my disappointment and annoyance, had
stimulated me more than before. It was a beautiful April
evening, quite warm and summer-like, and there had just been
such a sunset, visible out of the front windows, as would have
gone far at any time to reconcile me to things in general. I
was sitting in the little drawing-room alone, with baby Harry
in my lap, much delighted to find that he could stand by my
side for half a minute all by himself, and rewarding him with
kisses for the exhibition of that accomplishment. I was tired
after my long walk, and felt it delicious rest to lean back in
that chair and watch the light gradually fading out of the sky,
free to think my own thoughts, yet always with the sweet
accompaniment of baby's inarticulate little syllables, and
touches of his soft small fingers. I remember that moment
like a moment detached out of my life. My heart had
rebounded higher out of its despondency. Who could tell what
a bright future that might be on the very brink of which we
trembled? And I, whom Harry had married so foolishly, it
was I who was to bring this wealth to my husband and my
child. It was pleasant thinking in that stir of hope, in that
calm of evening, sitting listening for Harry's step on the stair.
The light grew less and less in the two front windows, and the
open door of communication between the two rooms brought
in a long line of grey luminous sky from the east into my
twilight picture. And I had so much to tell Harry. Ah,
there at last was his foot upon the stair !

He came in, not to the room in which I was, but to the
other, and gave a glance round to see if I was there ; then, not
seeing me, instead of calling out for " Milly darling," as he
always did, Harry threw his cap on the table, and dropped
heavily into a chair, with a long sigh— a strange sigh, half
relieved, half impatient — the sigh of something on his mind.
I can see the half-open door, the long gleam of the eastern
window, the scarcely visible figure dropped into that chair — I

224 The Last of the Mortimers.

can see them all as clearly as at that moment. I stumbled up
unawares, gathered baby into my arms I cannot tell how, and
was at his side in a moment. My own voice sounded foreign
to my ears as I cried out, " Harry, what is it ? tell me I"
Nothing else would come from my lips.

He rose too — the attitude of rest was not possible at such a
time ; he came and held the child and me close to him, making
me lean on him. u It is nothing more than we expected," he
said, " Milly darling. It is only to have a heart — you are a
soldier's wife."

I knew without any more words. I stood within his arm,
silent, desperate, holding my dear frightened baby tight, too
tight. Ah, liod help us! In a moment, in the twinkling of
an eye, as the Bible says, out of the happiest nutter of hope
into that cold, desperate, hopeless darkness. I could have
fancied I was standing on a battlefield, with the cold, cold
wind blowing over us. I made no outcry or appeal ; my heart
only leaped with a start of agony at the worst, at the last
conclusion. We were not within his sheltering arm — he young,
and strong, and safe — but looking for him — looking for him on
that black, dead battlefield !

I don't think it was the cry of the child, whom he took softly
out of my straining arms, but Harry's compassion that roused
me. I cried out sharply, " Don't pity me, Harry ; I'll bear it."
It was all I could say. I went out of his arm with agitated,
hurried step, and shut out that cruel clear sky looking down
upon the battlefield I saw. I did not think nor notice that
this unseasonable action threw us into perfect darkness. It
was a kind of physical relief to me to do something with my
hands, to ring some common sound into my ears. At this
moment Lizzie came into the room, carrying lights. As I
lifted my confused eyes to them, what a ghastly change had
passed on this room — all so cold, dark, miserable ; the furni-
ture thrust about out of its place ; the fireplace dark, and Harry
standing there, with the child in his arms and his cap thrown
on the table, as if this very moment he was going away. He
was in uniform too, and the light caught in the glitter of his
sword. Was there to be no interval ? My head swam round.
My heart seemed to stop beating. The misery of imagination
drove me half frantic — as if the present real misery had not
been enough.

After a while we sat together once more as usual, he trying
to bring me to talk about it and receive it like a common event.
"Jt is what we have looked forward to for months," said

The Last of the Mortimers. 225

Harry; "it should not be strange to you now. Think how
you looked for it, Milly darling, long ago."

" Yes," said I. Was it likely I could talk? I only rocked
myself backward and forward in my chair.

" You said God would give you strength when the hour came :
the hour has come, Milly. You are a soldier's wife!" he
said.

" Yes, yes !" and then I burst into an attempt to tell him
what I had been doing — if I must talk let me talk of something
else than this — and broke down, and fell, God help me ! to
crying and sobbing like a child ; which was how the good Lord
gave me the power of bearing what He had sent. I got better
after that ; I heard and listened to it all, every detail,
when they would have to go, where they would sail from, — •
everything. And then I grew to see by degrees that
Harry, but for me, was not sorry to be sent to the war ;
that his eye was brightening, his head raised erect. Oh
me ! he was a soldier ; and I — I was only a foolish creature
that could not follow him or be with him, that could not come
between him and those bullets, that could only stay at home
and pray.

But when he came and stroked my hair down with his hand,
and soothed me like a child, and bent over me with such
compassion in his face— sorry for me, full of pity in his *f
tionate tender heart for the poor girl he was leaving belnn
that was more than 1 could bear. * With a dreadful pa
thought it was his widow he saw, all lonely and desolate, wuli
no one to comfort her ; and I, his wife, thrust him away, and
defied that dreadful killing thought. No 1 1 might leap at
the worst, because i cuuia HOD neip my nurrying, blind ima-
gination ; but he should not, no one else should — I was resolute
of that. So we talked of all the things that were needful for
his preparation ; and he spoke of expense and economy, and I
laughed and scorned his talk. Economy ! expense ! Perhaps
I did not know, could not think where it was to come from ;
but where careless money can get everything, do you think
careful love would fall far short V I took courage to laugh at
his words.

And then I told him all my day's trials, and that invitation
for the next day, which, even after what had happened, we
must still accept. We did not have baby downstairs again that
night — I dared not — courage will go so far, but not further. I
went upstairs to put him into his little bed, and was glad, God
help me ! to be out of Harry's sight for half an hour. But stiU

226 The Last of the Mortimers.

I was not free ; Lizzie was about me, gliding here and therd
with her inquisitive sharp eyes — sharp eyes all the sharper for
tears, praying and threatening me with her looks. Nobody
would believe in my courage. They thought I should break
down and die. Oh me ! if one could die when one pleased, one
might sometimes make short work of it ; God does not give us
that coward's refuge. When I was all alone in my own room,
I took an old regimental sash of Harry's and bound it round
me tight. I cannot tell why I did it ; I think it was in my
fancy somehow to bind up my heart, that it should neither yield
nor fail.

The Last of the Mortimers* 227

PART V.
THE LADIES AT THE HALL.

(Continued.)

CHAPTER I.

SOME weeks of quietness passed over us after these dreadful
half -revelations which really disclosed nothing. I will
not attempt to give you any explanation of my state of mind ;
I don't think J could if I tried. I had ceased to think of in-
sanity in respect to my sister Sarah ; she was not insane — no
such thing. That scrap of conversation I had overheard in her
dressing-room overturned all my delusions. Some real thing,
some real person, had power to drive her half mad with anxiety
and fear. What she could be anxious about— what she could
be afraid of — she who had lived in the deadest peace at home
for nearly five-and-twenty years — was to me an inscrutable
mystery. But that this Italian stranger was no stranger — that
his name was given him after the name of my father — that
love, supposed by Carson to be love in the heart, and admitted
by Sarah to be love for the estate, had suggested that name-
were facts not to be doubted. I need not say anything about
the long trains of agitated and confused thinking into which
these discoveries betrayed me. They ended in nothing — they
could not end in anything. But for a kind of determination I
had, to keep up stedfastly till some light came, and see the
end of it, I don't doubt they would have made me ill. But I
kept well in spite of them. Either our bodies are not so sensi-
tive as they are said to be, or I ana a very stupid person^ which

228 The Last of the Mortimers.

I wouldn't deny if I was taxed with it ; for certainly many
things that worry other people don't trouble me very much.
However, let the reason be what it might. I kept up. 1 could
not take any comfort, as Sarah did, in knowing this young man
Nad gone away. I can't tell how she could have blinded her-
elf, poor soul. / knew he would come back. She did not
seem to think so ; yet surely she knew all about it far better
than I did. What a strange blank, unexplainable mystery it
was ! Judging by appearances, the yoang man could not be
much more than born when she returned home. Yet she knew
him. Incomprehensible, wild, mad idea, of which, even after
all I had heard, my reason denied the possibility! She knew
him I and what or who, except herself, could explain it?

The only conclusion I could come to in all ny jo c °ring was
one that had glanced into my mind before, that my father had
married abroad and had a son, whom Sarah had somehow
stormed or threatened him into disowning. But then my father
was— I grieve to say it, but one must tell the truth— a man
who considered his own will and pleasure much more than any-
thing else in the world; and I don't think it would have broken
his heart to have turned us out of our heiress-honours, especially
when we grew old and did not marry. And to have left a male
heir behind him! It was a very unlikely story, to be sure ; but
certainly Sarah and he were never friends after their return.
They avoided each other, though they lived under the same
roof. They treated each other with a kind of ceremonious
politeness, more like mutual dislike than love. Dear, dear, to
think in a quiet English family how such a dark secret could
rise and grow ! I set to hunting up all my father's letters, not
those he had written to me at home, for he never wrote except
when he was obliged, but his own letters which he had left
behind him. I could find nothing there that threw the slightest
light upon the mystery. And then, if he was my father's son,
what could the young Italian mean by seeking after this
fabulous lady ? What had the Countess Sermoneta to do with
it? On the whole, anybody will see that I ended my investiga-
tions and reasonings just where I began them. 1 knew nothing
about it — I could discover nothing. I had only to wait for the
storm that was returning — that must return. And if — oh,
dear, to think of such a thing ! — if it was the miserable wealth
we had, that prompted Sarah to set her face against this stranger
- if it were to keep possession of the estate from him who was
its lawful owner, thank Heaven ! we were coheiresses. She
thought she could do as she pleased with the Park, and I dare

The Last of the Mortimers. 229

say, in right and lawful things, I might, have yielded to her ;
but I hope Millicent Mortimer was never 'the woman to keep
what did not belong to her. If he had a title to the estate —
Heaven knows how he could — I gave up trying to imagine ; —
but if he had, without either resistance or struggle he should
have my share.

I really could not tell how much time had passed from that
day when Sara Cresswell left us. It was near the end of
April, so I suppose it must have been about two months after,
when the accident I am going to tell happened. One afternoon
when I was in the shrubbery I saw a young lady comimg up
towards the gate, a young creature, pretty and fair-com-
plexioned, not tall, but very compact and orderly in her looks,
with the air of being a handy, cheerful little woman, and good
for most things she required to do. That was how she struck
me, at all events. I dare say many people would have said she
was just a very pretty girl, evidently sobered down by an early
mariiage, for she had an odd nursemaid by her side, carrying a
beautiful baby. This stranger caught her attention very much
as I watched her through the tall evergreen bushes. There was
no mystery about her, certainly. I took a liking for her all of
a sudden. Somehow it flashed into my mind that if I had evef
been so young and as happy I might have been just such a young
woman myself. I don't mean so pretty, but the same kind of
creature. She was not rich, it was clear, for the nursemaid
was not much more than a child, an odd, awkward-looking
girl; and though the young mother herself was sufficiently
well-dressed, her tilings had that indescribable home-made ImK
which one always recognises. She was a little heated \vitli
walking, and had some very grave wrinkles of care, thouglit-
fulnesf, and even anxiety, upon her pretty smooth forehead.
I saw her aiming straight at the door of the lodge, and hastened
out to warn her off. She was certainly a stranger, and could
never know that the hooping-cough was in the house. She took
my warning very oddly, looked at me with great curiosity and
with tears — I am sure I saw them coming into her eyes — and
then, with some half-explanation about wishing to see the Park,
hurried away after her lovely little boy. I don't know how
long I stood, like a fool, looking after them, with a great desire
to call her back and ask her in to see the house. Very lik"ly
she had come out from Chester to give her baby a country
walk. Pretty young soul ! I had no more doubt she was a
good little wife than that she was a pretty creature, and very
young to be that child's mother. 1 daresay she was tired and

230 The Last of the Mortimers*

would have been much the better fora rest. But while I stood
thinking of it, of course she was gone far out of the range of
my voice. As for running after her, that was out of the
question at my age ; and perhaps, after all, it was as well not
to bring that lovely baby near the lodge. Mary might have
rushed out, and the mischief might have been done in a
moment. As for hooping-cough itself, when children have
good constitutions, 1 can't say it is a thing I am very timid
about ; but it goes very hard with infants, and one could never
excuse one's-self for putting such a child in peril. So I went
back to the house, though rather slowly. I can't tell how it
was, 1 am sure, — but I felt just as if I had missed a visit from
a friend whom it would have been a great comfort to see.

I might have forgotten this little incident altogether, but
for something that happened afterwards. Ellis had to go into
Chester that day — indeed, he had just left a few minutes
before my pretty young stranger came up. When Ellis came
back he took an opportunity of speaking privately to me —
indeed, he asked me to step aside into the hall for a minute.
How he found out that there was any uneasiness in my mind,
or that any doubt about our right to the estate had ever
occurred to me, I cannot tell ; there are few things more
wonderful than the kind of instinct by which servants divine
the storms which may be only brooding about a house. Ellis
looked very grave and important ; but as he always does so, I
was noways alarmed.

" There was a young lady, ma'am," said Ellis, " rode in the
omnibus along with me this afternoon ; well, not perhaps what
you might call a real lady neither ; leastways I don't know—
her looks was all in her favour; but ladies, as you know,
ma'am, don't go riding in an omnibus with bits of nursegirls
and babies. But I don't say she was one of your common
sort."

"Why, it must have been that pretty young creature,"
eaidl.

"Well, ma'am," said Ellis, actually with a little shame-
facedness, " if you ask me my opinion, she was a pooty young
creature, and so was the baby. But it ain't what she looked,
Miss Milly ; it's what she said. She asked as anxious as could
be after the family at the Park."

"Did she know anything of us?" said I, quite delighted.
" I wonder who she is ; she quite took my heart."

" Not if you'd hate heard her speak, ma'am," said Ellis.
" She asked, kind of curious like, how .you came to succeed to

The Last of the Mortimers. 281

the estate, and whether there wasn't no gap in the line, and if
none o' the family were ever passed over, and a deal of such
questions. I told her it was Eden Hall she was thinking on,
but she wasn't satisfied. She said wasn't there another
claimant to the estate, and was I quite sure you was the
right people and hadn't passed over nobody? But the
strangest thing of all was, as soon as I let out by accident I
belonged to the Park, it was all over in a twinkling. Afore
you could know where you was, from asking her questions
and looking as anxious as you please, and her little veil up
over her bonnet, and her face turned to you like a child — in a
moment, ma'am, it was dead shut up and drawn back, and the
veil down and face as if it didn't see the place you was. I said
to myself, ' There's summut in this,' as soon as ever I seed the
way she took me belonging to the Park ; and, to be sure, all the
way not another word. Seeing things like, that, I made bold to
look after her when sne went out ; and if you might chance to
have any curiosity, Miss Milly, here's a note of the address."

"But what should I have any curiosity about?" said I,
agitated and surprised, taking the paper from him eagerly
enough, yet quite at a loss to account for any interest 1 could
have in his adventure. Ah ! had it happened six months ago,
how I should have laughed at Ellis ! but it could not have
happened six months ago. Ellis himself would have taken no
notice whatever of such questions then.

14 Ma'am," said Ellis, u the quality has their own ways ; if /
don't know that, who should? I dare say it ain't nothink to
you ; but it's curious to have parties asking about the Park, as
if we was a family as bad-romances •. and ^ing a pooty young
creature, you see, Miss Milly, i tnough. it might be possible as
you'd like to know."

" Very well, thank you, Ellis. I know you're always
careful about the interests of the family," said I.

" I've been at the Park fifty year," said Ellis, with his best
butler's bow. I gave him a nod, and went away to the
library a great deal more disturbed than I would let him
perceive, but I don't undertake to say that he didn't see it all
the same. Here was just the very fuel to set my smouldering
impatience into a blaze. A sudden impulse of doing some-
thing seized upon me like a kind of inspiration. Here was a
new actor in the strange bewildering drama. Who was she?
Could she be Luigi's wife coming to aid him ? As the thought
struck me I trembled with impatience, standing at the window
where it was too dark to read that address. I must wait for

232 The Last of the Mortimers.

the morning, but certainly there was light out of darkness;
However foolish it might be, I could bear it no longer. Here
was a clue to guide my steps, and whether right or wrong,
to-morrow I should plunge into the mystery. The idea took
possession of me beyond all power of resistance. I walked
about the library in the dark, quite excited and tremulous.
The wind had risen, and the night was rather stormy, but I
could not go into the comfort and light of that great drawing-
room where Sarah sat knitting. To-morrow, perhaps, I shouftj
know the secret of her death in life.

The Last of the Mortimer*. 233

CHAPTER EL

I GOT very little rest that night, and was up almost by
break of day the next morning. In the height of my
excitement and anxiety, I felt more comfort in my mind than
I had done for a long time. Sitting waiting is dreadful work,
but I felt myself again when there appeared anything to do.
I would not allow myself to suppose that it would end in
nothing. Such inquiries could not possibly be made without a
motive. 1 was so restless that I scarcely could remain quietly
at home for an hour or two after breakfast which, out of regard
for appearances, I was obliged to sacrifice ; but for the same
reason I made up my mind not to take the carriage, but to
walk to the point where the omnibus passed, and take my
chance of finding a seat in it as other people did. I went out
accordingly about eleven o'clock, and left a message for Sarah
that I was going to make some calls, and that she was not to
wait dinner for me, as 1 should probably Junch somewhere at
a friend's house. 1 saw Ellis look out after me from the hall
window, with a kind of solemn grin on his face. Ellis was not
to be deceived ; he knew where I was going as well as I did
myself.

As I had intended, I got into the omnibus when it passed, to
the great amazement and dismay of both guard and driver,
who knew me well enough. 1 thought to myself, after I was in
it, that it was perhaps rather a foolish thing to do. If any talk
got abroad about our family, and if the strangers, male and
female, kept making strange inquiries, and I was seen driving —
no, that is not the word — riding in an omnibus, what would
people think but that some extraordinary downfall had happened
at the Park? There were only some countrywomen in the
coach, who stared at me a little, but were too busy with their
own affairs to mind me much. Fortunately there was no one
there from our own village. It was a very long drive to
Chester, going in the omnibus ; and being unaccustomed to it,
•nd never on the outlook for jolts, I felt it a good deal, I

234 The Last of the Mortimers.

confess, besides being just the least thing in the world in a
false position. Not that I minded being seen in the omnibus,
but because the guard knew me, and was troublesomely respect-
ful, and directed the attention of the other passengers towards
me. Great people, when they pretend to travel incognito, must
find it a great bore, I should fancy. Of course somebody
always betrays them, and it must be a great deal easier to bear
what you can't help bearing when there is no mystery about it,
than when every blockhead thinks himself in your secret, and
bound to keep up the joke with you.

At last we came to the street, and I got down. It was Hear
the railway station, and so all sorts of traffic poured past the
place ; shabby hackney cabs, omnibuses from the Chester hotels,
vans of goods, all the miscellaneous stuff that pours into railway
stations. The houses were a little back from the road, to be
sure, with little " front gardens," as the people call them. I
walked past three or four times before I had screwed myself up
to the point of going in. The thing that dissipated all my
feelings of embarrassment in a moment, and brought me back
to the eagerness and excitement with which I set out from
home, was the sudden appearance of Mr. Luigi's servant, the
large, fat, good-humoured Italian, whom I have before men-
tioned, at the door of one of the houses% The sight of him
flushed me at once into determination. I turned immediately
to the house where he stood, and of course it was the house,
the number which Ellis had written down on his paper ; there
could be no doubts on the subject now.

u I wish to see your mistress," said I, going up to the man,
too breathless and eager to waste any words.

He looked at me with good-humoured scrutiny, repeating
" Meestress " with a puzzled tone ; at last a kind of gay,
half-flattered confusion came over his good-humoured face, he
put his hand on his heart, made a deprecatory, remonstrating
bow, and burst into some laughing mixture of Italian and
English, equally unintelligible. The fellow actually supposed
I meant his sweetheart, or pretended to suppose so. I became
very angry. He did not look impertinent either; but yon
may fancy how one would feel, to be supposed capable of sucii
a piece of levity at such a time. And a person of my condition,
too ! Happily, at this moment the nurse-girl whom I had
seen with my pretty young stranger suddenly made her ap-
pearance with the baby in her arms. I appealed to her, and
though she stared and made answer in words not much more
intelligible to me than her fellow-servant's, she showed me

The Last of the Mortimers. 235

upstairs. She was going out with the beautiful baby, but one
way and another I was so worried and uncomfortable, and felt
so strongly the existence of those plots against us which I was
now going to clear up, that I took no notice of the child. I
said nothing at all but that I wanted to see her mistress, and
walked into the little drawing room without thinking I might
be going into the young stranger's presence, possibly into the
presence of both husband and wife. However, the moment I
Lad entered I saw her ; there she was. In uiy heat and annoy-
ance I went up to her instantly.

" Young lady," said I, " you were in the neighbourhood
of my house yesterday ; you were in our village ; I myself saw
you approaching the Park. You put some very strange
questions to my servant. You must know how harassed and
disturbed I have been by inquiries I don't know the meaning
of. What is it all about V What claim has your husband
upon the Mortimers? Who is he? What does ho want
with us?"

1 said this without pausing to take breath, for my encounter
with the servant, I confess, had irritated me. Now, when I
had said my say and come to myself, I looked at her and felt
a little shocked. She was certainly changed since yesterday ;
but before I had time even to make a mental comment on this
change, I was entirely confounded by the entrance of a new
and unsuspected actor -on the scene ; her husband ! evidently
her husband ; but as unlike Mr. Luigi as one handsome young
man could be unlike another, — a bright, open-faced unmis-
takable Englishman, a young soldier. The sight of him struck
me aghast. What new complication was this ?

" If there's going to 1)6 any fighting, that's my trade," said
the new-comer. " We'll change places, Milly darling.
Madam, my wife has a great many things to occupy her just
now ; let me answer for her, if that is possible. I think I
know what she has been abouc."

Saying which, he wheeled the one easy chair in the room
towards me, and invited me to sit down. I sat down with the
feeling of having somehow deceived myself strangely and made
a huge mistake. 1 could not make it out. Mr. Luigi's
servant was below, and this was certainly the young woman
whom I had arrested on her way to the Park, and who had
asked questions of Ellis in the omnibus. But who was this
handsome young soldier ? What had he to do with it ? A
cold tremble came over me that it was what the newspapers
pall a mistaken identity, and that somehow I had stumbled in,

236 The Last of the Mortimers.

after the rudest and most unauthorized fashion, into the
privacy of two innocent young creatures who knew nothing
about the Park.

" Pardon me if I am wrong," I said with a gasp ; "I
fear I must be wrong, only let me ask one question. Did
you speak to a man in the omnibus yesterday about the
Mortimers of the Park ? or was it not you ? 1 am sure
I shall never forgive myself if I have made such a foolish
mistake."

"But it is no mistake," said the young wife, who had
remained in the room, standing very near the half -opened
door into the tiny apartment behind. Poor young soul!
she was certainly changed in those twenty-four hours.
I could scarcely resist an impulse that came upon me, to go
up and take her in my arms, and ask the dear young
creature what it was that ailed her. Depend upon it,
whatever she might have asked about the Mortimers, that
face meant no harm. I looked at her so closely, I was so much
attracted by her, that I scarcely noticed, till she repeated it,
what she said.

"It is no mistake," she said, growing firmer; "I did
ask questions. I am sure you are Miss Mortimer— we will tell
you how it was. Harry, you will tell Miss Mortimer all
about it. I am a little — a little stupid to-day. I'll go
and fetch the books if you will tell 'Miss. Mortimer how it
was."

She went away quite simply and quietly. He stood
looking after her with a compassionate, tender look, that
went to my heart. He did not speak for a moment, and
then he said, with a sigh, .something that had nothing
to do with my mystery. "We got marching orders for
the Crimea yesterday," said the dear simple-hearted young
fellow, with the tears coming into his honest eyes. "It
is very hard upon my poor Milly;" and he broke off with
another sigh.

If the two had come to me together the next moment,
and disclosed a plan to turn us out of our estate or pull
the house down over our heads, I could have hugged them
in my arms all the same. God bless the dear children!
whatever they had to tell, there was but one thing in
their thoughts, and that was the parting that was coming.
If I had been the hardest heart in the world, that spon-
taneous confidence must have melted me. As it was, I could
hardly help crying over them in their anguish and happi-

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. 23)

People are happy that have such anguishes. 1 could
hardly help exclaiming out aloud, " I'll take care of her !" and
yet dear ! to think of human short-sightedness ! Had not I
come all this way to find them out ?

She came back again a minute after, with some old books in
her arms.

"Have you told Miss Mortimer, Harry?" she asked,
pausing with a little surprise to hear no conversation going
on between us, and to see him leaning against the mantel-shelf
just as she had left him, with his hand over his eyes. Then
she gave him a quick, affectionate, indignant glance — I might
say petulant — and came up in her energetic way to the table,
where she put down the books. " / will tell you, Miss
Mortimer," said the brave little woman. " We do not know
very much ourselves, but perhaps when you hear our story you
can make it plain better than we can. We found it out only
by chance."

" My dear," said I, " do not call me Miss Mortimer ; my
eldest sister is Miss Mortimer. I am called Miss Milly ; Millicent
Mortimer is my name."

Here the young man broke in suddenly.- " Her name was
Millicent Mortimer too," he cried. "Milly! — that is her
name — I beg your pardon, Miss Mortimer; I think there
is no name in tne world equal to it. She's Milly, named
so at her father's dj^ire. Tell me, is she nearly related
to you?"

1 was so astonished I rose up to my feet and stared at them
both. To be sure, I had heard him call her Milly ; but my
thoughts had been so entirely drawn astray by Mr. Luigi, that
I never thought of anything else. I stood perfectly
thunderstruck, staring at them. " What are you telling me?"
I cried. Really my mind was not in a condition to take in
anything that might be said to me. She put the old books
towards me one by one. I opened them, not knowing what I
did. " Sarah Mortimer, the Park, 1810." Heaven bless us !
Sarah's hand, no doubt about it ; but who in the world was
she?

" Child, take pity on me !" I cried ; " with one thing and
another I am driven out of my wits. Tell me, for heaven'?
sake, who was your father? Are you that Luigi's sister r
Who are you ? Where did you come from ? God help us ! J
don't know what to think, or where to turn. Your father,
who was he ? What do you know about him ? Were you
bora in Italy too ? What is the truth of this wild, dreadful

238 The Last of the Mortimers.

mystery? Sarah may know about it perhaps, but I kno\?
nothing, nothing! If you would not have me go out of
my senses, child, tell me who you are, and who your father
was."

They both gazed at me astonished. " She is Millicent
Mortimer," said her young husband, u the child of Richard
Mortimer and Maria Connor ; she was born in Ireland. Milly !
Milly ! the old lady is going to faint."

For I sank dead down in my chair, as was natural. I put
my hands over my face. I fell a-crying and sobbing in that
wonderful, blessed relief. If my worst suspicions had come
true, I could have stood up and faced it. But my strength
went from me in this delicious, unspeakable comfort. Richard
Mortimer's children ! The heirs we were looking for ! Oh
clear ! to think I could ever be so distrustful of the good Lord !
This was what all the mystery had come to ! I sat crying like
a fool in my chair, the two looking on at me, thinking me crazy
most likely— most likely wondering, in their innocent grieved
hearts, at the old woman crying for nothing. How could they
tell what a mountain-load of trouble they had taken off my
head?

4 'My dear," cried T, when I could control myself enough, u if
you are Richard Mortimer's daughter you're the nearest rela-
tion we have. You were to have been advertised for before
now — we've been seeking you, or trying to seek you, everywhere.
I knew there must be something made my heart warm to you so.
My dear, we're the last of the old race ; there's nobody but
Richard Mortimer's children to carry on the name. God help
us! I am a silly old woman. I had taken dreadful fears into
my head. Why didn't you come and say it plain out, and
turn all my anxiety and troubles into joy? Ah Milly, dear
Milly Mortimer ! — I could think you were my own child some-
how— come and let me kiss you. I am not so weak as this
usually, but I'm quite overcome to-day. Come here, child, and
let me look at you. It's pleasant to think there's a young
Mortimer in the world again."

I was so much engaged with my own feelings, that I did not
notice how much the young people were taking it. When I
did come to myself a little, they were standing rather irresolute, .
that pretty young Milly Mortimer looking at me in a kind of
longing, reluctant way, either as if she could not take me at
my word, or had something on her mind. As for her husband,
he was looking at me too, but with a full eager look, which I
in a, momenfc • his lip trembling an4 swelling out a

I

The Last of the Mortimete.

little, his eyes full, his whole face telling its story. When he
caught my eye he turned his look upon her, and then back to
me again. Do you think I did not understand him? lie said,

You will take care of my Milly ?" clearer than he could have
laid it in a thousand words ; and if my eyes were slow to
answer him, you may be sure it was no fault of will or heart.
Seeing she was shy to come to me, and recovering myself, 1
went to the new Milly and kissed her. I can't tell what a
pleasure I took in looking at her. She belonged to me — she
was of cur very own blood, come from the same old forefathers.
I thought nothing strange that I loved her in a moment. It
was not love at first sight, it was natural affection. That
makes a vast difference. Even Sara Cresswell was not like a
child of our own family. To think of another Milly Mortimer,
pretty, and happy, and young ! such a Milly as I might have
been perhaps, but never was. I felt very happy in this child of
my family. Jt was half as good as having a child of one's
own.

Then they showed me some other books with poor Richard
Mortimer's name in them, and his drawing of the Park, and
Sarah getting on her horse. Poor fellow ! but I rather fear he
could not have been any great things of a man. I felt quite
easy and light at my heart ; nothing seemed to frighten me.
And the two young people even, in the little excitement, forgot
their own trouble, which was a comfort to me.

"But all this time, my dear," said I, at length, "you have
said nothing about your brother. How did he get to be
Italian, — and what did he mean by asking about that lady —
and why not come at once to the Park and say out who he
•was?"

"My brother?" said the young wife, faltering ; and gave a
wondering look at me, and then turned round, with a habit she
seemed to have, to consult her husband with her eyes ; " my
brother? I am afraid you have not understood. Harry
is "

" I know what Harry is," cried I ; " don't tell me about Jim.
I mean your brother — your brother. Why, dear, dear child,
don't you understand? I met this man at the door of this
very house — Mr Luigi, you know as they call him ; of course
Le must belong to you."

" Indeed," said the new Milly, with very grave, concerned
looks, " I never spoke to him but once in my life ; we don't
know anything about him. I never had any brother; there
were none but me."

210

The Last of the Mortimers.

I don't think 1 said anything at all in answer. I said no-
thing, so far as I know, for a long time after. I sat stupified,
feeling my burden all the heavier because I had deluded myself
into laying it off a little. Oh me ! we had found the heirs that
Sarah had thought so much about; but the cloud had not
dissolved in this pleasant sunshine. Out of my extraordinary
sense of relief, I fell into darker despondency than ever. He
was not Milly Mortimer's brother, nor anybody belonging to
her. Who could he be?

Th* Last oj Hie Mortimer*.

CHAPTEB ITT.

I DON'T know very well how I got to Mr. Cresswell's
house. I did manage to get there somehow. 1 went
listlessly through the old fashioned streets I knew so well, and
turned down upon that serious old house with its brick front
and rows of windows all covered with Venetian blinds. It met
the morning sun full, and that was why the blinds were down ;
but it had a dismal effect upon me, as anything else would
have had at that moment. I know how the rooms look inside
when the blinds are down ; it throws a chill into one's heart
that has known them put down for sadder reasons. 1 went
into the house in the same listless way, like a person in a dream.
Somehow I could not take any comfort in those dear young
creatures I had just found out. Mr. Luigi, whom I had not
found out, returned upon me like a nightmare. Was there no
possible way in which this mystery could be discovered?
What if I sought an interview with himself and put it to him
fairly to tell me who he was? I went into Bob Cresswell's
drawing-room, where the windows were open and the sunshine
slanting in through the Venetian blinds. It was rather dark,
but a green pleasant darkness, the wind stirring the curtains,
and now and then knocking the wood of the blinds softly
against the woodwork of the window ; a cheerful kind of
gloom. Sara's knick-knacks lay scattered about everywhere
on the tables, and there were cushions, and ottomans, and
screens, and fantastic pieces of ornamental work about, enough
to have persuaded a stranger that Sara was the most in-
Justrious person in the world. The creature bought them all,
/ou know, at fancy fairs and such absurd places. I am not
•mre that she ever took a needle in her fingers ; but she said
Aerself she had not the slightest intention of saving her poor
papa's money ; and indeed it was very true.

I was thankful to sit down by myself a little in the silence.
Sara was out, it appeared, and 1 threw myself into an easy-
chair, and actually felt the quietness and green-twilight look
of the room, with just a touch of sunshine here and there upon
the carpet near the windows, a comfort to me. Once again,

242 The Last of the Mortimers.

as you may suppose, I thought it all over ; but into the
confused crowd of my own thoughts, where Sarah, Carson,
Mr. Luigi, his fat servant, my new-found Milly Mortimer,
and all her belongings, kept swaying in and out and round
about each other, there came gleams of the other people sug-
gested by this room ; — Mr. Cresswell trying to make some
light out of the confusion, Sara darting about, a mischievous,
bewildering little sprite, and even, by some strange incoherency
of my imagination, Sara's poor pretty young mother, dead
seventeen years ago, flickering about it, with her melancholy
young eyes. Poor sweet lonely creature ! I remember her a
bride in that very room, with Bob Cresswell who might
almost have been her father, very fond, but not knowing a
bit what to make of her ; and then lying helpless on the sofa,
and then fading away out of sight, and the place that had
known her knowing her no more. Ah me ! I Avonder whether
that is not the best way of getting an end put to all one'8
riddles. If Sarah and I had died girls, we should have been
girls for ever, — pleasant shadows always belonging to the
old house. Now it would be different, very different. When
we were gone, what story might be told about us ? " In their
time something dreadful occurred about the succession, proving
that they had never any right to the estate;" or "the great
lawsuit began between the heirs of a younger branch and a
supposed son of Squire Lewis." Dear! dear! Who could this
young man be? and now here was our real relation, our pretty
Milly Mortimer — our true heir, if we were the true heirs of the
estate. Dare I let her believe herself the heir of the Park with
this mystery hanging over all our heads V Poor dear child, she
was thinking more about her husband's marching orders than if
a hundred Parks had been in her power. Trouble there, trouble
here ; everywhere trouble of one sort or another. I declare I
felt very tired of it all, sitting in that cool shady drawing-
room. I could turn nowhere without finding some aggravation.
This is how life serves us, though it seems such a great thing
to keep in life.

"But, godmamma, how in all the world did you come
here?" cried Sara Cresswell, springing upon me suddenly,
before I had seen her come in, like a kitten as she was ; " you
who never come to Chester but in great state, to call upon
people ! It's only one o'clock, and there's no carriage about
the streets, and you've got your old brown dress on. How did
you get here?"

"Never mind, child," said I, a little sharply ; " you take

The Last of the Mortimers. 243

ftway my breath. Suppose you get me some lunch, and don't
ask any questions. I am going to stay all day, perhaps all
night," I said with a little desperation ; " perhaps it's the best
thing I could do."

" Godmamma, something has happened !" cried Sara ; and
she came and knelt down on the stool at my feet, looking up in
my face, with cheeks all crimsoned over, and eyes sparkling
brighter than I had ever seen them. It was not anxiety but
positive expectation that flushed the child's face. 1 could not
help thrusting her away from me with my hand, in the
fulness of my heart.

" Child !" cried I, " you are glad ! you think something has
happened to us, and it flushes you with pleasure. I did not
expect as much from you !"

Sara stumbled up to her feet, confused and affronted. She
stood a moment irresolute, not sure, apparently, how to take it,
or whether to show me to the full extent how angry and
annoyed she was. However, I suppose she remembered that
we were in her father's house, and that I was her guest after a
fashion ; for she stammered some kind of apology. " You took
me into your confidence before, and naturally I wanted to
know," cried the child, with half -subdued fury. She had never
been taught how to manage her temper, and she could not do
it when she tried.

" You," said I, " we are your godmothers, Sara, and have
loved you all your life ; but you want to know, just as if it
were a story in a novel — though, for all you can tell, it may be
something that involves our fortune, or our good name, or our
life."

Now this was very foolish of me, and I confess it. It was
not anger at Sara that made me say it — nothing of the sort.
But I had come through a good deal, and my mind was so full
that I could bear no more. It burst from me like something
I could not retain, and after that I am ashamed to confess,
I cried. It was merely the excitement and agitation of the
day, so unusual to me, and coming after such a long strain
of silent excitement as I had already come through.

Sara stood before me confounded. She was quite unpre-
pared for anything of this kind. She kept standing by me in
a bewildered way, too much puzzled to say anything. At
length she knelt down on the footstool and pressed my hand
upon her little soft mouth. " Something dreadful has
happened, godmamma?" said Sara, looking up at me wistfully.
The poor child was really alarmed and full of anxiety now.

244 The Last of the Mortimers.

"No, no," said I, " nothing has happened at all. I am only
too nervous and alarmed and unhappy to bear speaking to. I am
not unhappy either. Sara, child, can't you leave me by myself
a little and 'order luncheon ? I'll tell you all about it then."

Sara got up immediately to do what I told her ; but before
she left me stole her arm round my neck and kissed me. " I
have got a secret to tell you, godmamma; you'll be so glad
when you know," whispered the creature in my ear. Glad! I
suppose it would be some of her love affairs, — some deluded
young man she was going to marry, perhaps Well ! so I might
have been glad, in a manner, if it were a suitable match, and
she had taken any other time to tell me ; but you may fancy
how much happiness 1 had to spare for anybody now.

It may be imagined that my appetite was not very great in
spite of my anxiety about luncheon, but I certainly was glad to
have a glass of Mr. Cressw ell's nice Madeira after all my fatigue
and exhaustion. Sara and I sat opposite to each other in the
dining-room, where the blinds were down also, without saying
much for some time. She was watching me I could see.
There she sat very demure and a little anxious, in he)' velvet
jacket, shaking her short curls, now and then, with an impa-
tient kind of motion. I was glad to see that kitten have so
much perception of the rights of hospitality ; for she allowed
me to take my time, and did not torture me with questions, so
that I really got the good of this little interval, and was
refreshed.

" I ought to be very happy instead of being so nervous and
uncomfortable," cried I at last; "for only fancy, my dear
child, who I have found. Do you remember when you were
at the Park hearing your godmamma Sarah speak of an heir
whom she wanted your papa to advertise for ? Well, what do
you think, Sara? I have actually found her ! for she is not an
heir but an heiress. What your godmamma Sarah will say
when she hears it, I can't think ; for she has never been
advertised for, you know. She has turned up ' quite promis-
cuous,' as Ellis says."

" Oh !— so you know !" said Sara, in quite a disappointed
tone ; " and I thought I had such a secret for you. Well, of
course, since you do know, it doesn't matter ; they're coming
here to-night."

" My dear, I know they are coming here to-night. They
told me so ; and your papa is to go over the whole, and make it
»11 out how it is. Ah, dear meJ" said I with a sigh, " if that
were but all!"

The Lad of the Mortimers. 245

" Dear godmatnma," said Sara in her coaxing way, " are you
not glad? 1 thought you would certainly be glad to tind
another MilJy Mortimer; but you've got something on your
mind."

" Ah, yes, 1 have something on my mind," said I. "Sara,
child, 1 don't know what to do with myself. I must see this
Mr. Luigi before 1 go home."

" You can't, godmamma; he is not in Chester," cried Sara,
with a sudden blush. "As soon as he found out — the very
next morning at least — he went • away to fetch some things he
had left behind."

u Found out what ?"

Sara put her hands together with a childish appealing
motion. " Indeed, 1 do not know — indeed, dear godmamma,
I do not know. If you think it wrong of me to have spoken
to him, I am very sorry, but I can't help it. 1 met hirn at
Mrs. Laugham's, you know, — and he saw Sarah Mortimer
written in her book. And the next morning he met me, — I
mean I met him — we happened to meet in the street — and he
told me he had found the clue he wanted, and was going to
fetch some things he had put for safety in London — and 1
know he "has not come back."

" How do you know he has not come back ?" said I.

Sara thought I was thinking of her, and the child blushed
and looked uneasy ; 1 observed as much, but I did not till long
afterwards connect it with Mr. Luigi. I was too impatient to
know about himself.

" Because I should have seen him," said Sara, faltering. It
did not come into my head to inquire why she was so sure she
would have seen him. My thoughts were occupied about my
own business. 1 groaned in my heart over her words- Not
yet was I to discover this mystery. Not yet was i to clear
my mind of the burden which surely, surely, 1 could not
long go on bearing. It must come to an end, or me.

The Last of the Mortimer**

CHAPTER IV.

AFTEtt what Sara had told me I felt in great doubt as to
what I should do. Staying in Chester, even for a night,
was against my habits, and might make people talk. Ellis, of
course, would be very wise over it among the servants, and the
chances were that it might alarm Sarah ; but at the same time
I could not return there in the same state of uncertainty. I
could not meet her face again, and see her going on with her
knitting in that dreadful inhuman way. Having once broken
out of my patience, it seemed to me quite impossible to return
to it. I felt as if I could only go and make a scene with Sarah,
and demand to know what it was, and be met by some cruel
cold denial that she understood anything about it, which would,
of course, — feeling sure that she understood it all, but having
no sure ground on which I could contradict her, — put me half
out of my senses. On the whole, staying in Chester all night
could do no harm. If Ellis talked about it, and pretended that
he knew quite well what I had gone about, I dare say it was no
more than he had done already, and would be very well inclined
to do again. One must always pay the penalty for having
faithful old servants, and, really, if my absence frightened
Sarah, so much the better. She ought not to be allowed to go
on placidly congratulating herself on having shut out this poor
young man. If we were wronging him, what a cruel, cruel,
miserable thing it was of Sarah to be glad of having balked
him and driven him away ! It is dreadful to say such things of
one's own only sister, but one does get driven out of patience.
Think of all 1 had come through, and the dreadful doubt hang-
ing over me ! I had kept very quiet for a long time and said
nothing to nobody; but now that 1 had broken out, 1
fear I was in rather an unchristian state of mind.

All that afternoon I kept quiet, and rested behind the green
blinds in Mr. Cresswell's half -lighted drawing-room. How
Sara ever has got into the way of enduring that half light I
can't imagine ; or rather 1 should say 1 don't believe she uses
this room at all, but has the back drawing-room, where the
Window is from which she could see down into the poor

The Last of the Mortimers. 247

curate's rooms, and watch his wife dressing tho baby, as she
told me long ago. You can see the street, too from an end
•window in that back drawing-room ; perhaps that is how she
would have known if Mr. Luigi had come back, for 1 am
pretty sure, from the glimpses I had when the doors opened,
that the blinds were not down there. She received her \isitors
in the back drawing room that afternoon. I heard them come
and go, with their dresses rustling about, and their fresh
young voices. Of course 1 neither heard nor listened what
they were talking of ; bu\ dear, to hear how eager the
creatures were in their talk! as if it were anything of any
consequence. I sat with that hum now and then coming to my
ears, bewildering myself with my own fancies. If 1 could
have read a book or a paper, or given my mind to anything
else, it would have been a deal better for me ; but my disorder
of mind, you see, had come to a crisis, and I was obliged to let
it take its way.

It was not without a good deal of difficulty and embarrass-
ment that Mr. Cresswell and I met. He was a little uncom-
fortable himself with the same feelings he had shown a spark
of at the Park, and unduly anxious to let me see that he had
lost no time in inquiring about the Langhams, — that was the
name of the young people, — as soon as he heard of them, and
had meant to come out to us next day and tell us the result.
For my part, I was a great deal more embarrassed than he was.
I could scarcely help letting him see that this new heiress was
a very small part of my excitement and trouble ; indeed, had
no share in the trouble at all, for as much as I could give my
mind to think of her, was pure pleasure ; but at the same time
my heart revolted from telling him my real difficulty. lie, I
dare say, had never once connected the young Italian, whon.
everybody in Chester knew something about, with us or oui
family ; and I was so perfectly unable to say what it was 1
feared, that a shrewd precise man like Cresswell would have
set it down at once merely as a woman's fancy. At the same
time, you know, I was quite unpractised in the art of con-
cealing my thoughts. I betrayed to him, of course, a hundred
times that I had something on my mind. I dare say he
remembered from the time of our last interview that I look«^
to have something on my mind, and he made a great maw
very skilful efforts to draw it out. He talked of Sarah, with
private appeals to me in the way of looks and cunning question?
to open my mind about her ; and, to tell the truth, it cost me
a little s,etf-4ejiial, after we really got into conversation, not to

248 The Last of the Mortimers.

say something, and put his shrewdness on the scent I dare
say he might have worried out the secret somehow or another;
but I did not commit myself. I kept my own counsel closely,
to his great surprise. I could see he went away baffled when
it was nearly time for dinner. And he was not at all pleased
to be baffled either, or to think that I was too many for him.
I felt sure now I should have to be doubly on my guard, for
his pride was piqued to find it all out.

I can't tell anybody what a comfort it was to my heart
when my new Milly Mortimer came. If the two had been
very bright and elate about finding themselves heirs to a great
estate I might have been disgusted, glad as I was to know
about them ; for, to be sure, one does not like one's heirs to be
very triumphant about wealth they can only have after one's
own death. But something more than houses or lands was in
that young creature's mind. She was wonderfully steady and
cheerful, but never for a moment lost out, of her eyes what was
going to happen to her. It was not mere sympathy, you know,
that made me know so well how she was feeling, for, to be
sure, I never was in her circumstances nor anything like
them ; it was because I was her relation, and had a natural
insight into her mind. I don't believe Sara had the least
perception of it. When we came upstairs after dinner, leaving
that fine young soldier, whom really I felt quite proud of,
with Mr. Cresswell, this came out wonderfully, and in a way
that went to my heart. Sara, who was extremely affectionate
to her, set her in an easy chair and brought her a footstool,
and paid her all those caressing little attentions which such
kittens can be so nice about when they pli-ase. u I am so
glad you have come to know my godmamma just now," said
Sara, kissing her, u because she will know to comfort you when
Mr. Langham goes away."

My Milly said nothing for a moment ; she rather drew
herself away from Sara's kiss. She did not lean back, but
pj't upright in her chair, and put away the stool with her
fo t. k'I am a soldier's wife," she said the next minute in
tne most unspeakable tone, with a kind of sob that did not
sound, but only showed, in a silent heave of her breast. Ah,
the dear child ! have not soldiers' wives a good call to be heroes
too? I drew Sara away from her in a sort of passion ; that
velvet creature with her sympathy and her kisses, when the
other was hanging on the edge of such a parting ! If one could
do nothing for the sweet soul, one might have the charity to leave
her alone

The Last of the Mortimers. 249

But after a while I drew Milly into talking of herself, for I
was naturally anxious to know ail about her, and where she had
been brought up, and how she had found out that she belonged
to us. We all knew that young Langham and Mr. Oesswel).
were going over the papers that her husband had brought with
him, and setting it all straight; but as 1 never had any doubt
from the moment I saw those books of hers, I was much more
anxious to know from Milly herself how she had spent her life.
She told us with a little reserve about her Irish friends and hor
odd bringing up, and then how she had met with Harry. She
told you all about that herself, I know, a great deal better than
I could repeat it, ana fuller, too, than she told us. But when
she got fully into that story, she could not help forgetting
herself and the present circumstances a little. Sara sat on a
stool before her, with her hands clasped on her knees, devouring
every word. Certainly Sara took a wonderful interest in it. I
never saw her so entirely carried away by interest and
sympathy. When Milly was done, the creature jumped up and
defied me.

"You couldn't blame her ; you couldn't have the heart to
blame her ! It was just what she ought to have done !" cried
Sara, with her face in such a commotion, all shining, and
blushing, and dewy with tears. I was confounded by her
earnest looks. It was very interesting, certainly, but
there was nothing to transport her into such a little rapture as
that.

" Child, be quiet," said I ; " you are determined to do me
some harm, surely. I don't blame Milly. She thought she had
nobody belonging to her, though she was mistaken there. My
dear, you have one old woman belonging to you that will expect
a great deal, I can tell you. I can feel somehow, as if it might
have been me you were telling of, if I had ever been as pretty
or as young "

" Godmamma, such nonsense !" cried Sara* lt you must have
been as young once ; and if you were not far prettier than god-
mamma Sarah, I will never believe my eyes !"

"Your godmamma Sarah was a great beauty," said I ; u but
that is nothing to the purpose. If I had ever been as young
and as pretty as this Milly Mortimer, I might have fallen in
with a Harry too, who knows ? and it might not have been
any the better for you, my dear child ; so it's just as well that
things are as they are. But, all the same, I can't help thinking
that it might have been my slory you're telling. There's a
great deal in a name, whatever people may say. I shall thinl

250 The Last of the Mortimers.

the second Milly is to go through all the things the first Milly
only wondered about. I never had any life of my own to speak
of. You have one already. I shall think I have got hold
of that life, that always slipped through my fingers, when I see
you going through with it. I shall never feel myself an odd
person again."

" Ah ! but life is not happiness," burst from my poor Milly's
lips in spite of herself ; then she hastily drew up again : " I
mean it is not play," she said, after a while.

" If it were play, it would be for children ; it is heavy work
and sore," cried I : " that much 1 know, you may be sure ; but
then there are words said, that one can never forget, about him
that endureth to the end."

Such words were comfort to me ; but not just to that young
creature in the intolerable hope and anguish she had in her
heart. She was not thinking of any end ; I was foolish to say
it ; and after all I knew more of life than she did — far more !
and knew very well it did not spring on by means of heart-
breaking events like the parting she was thinking of, or joyful
ones like the meeting again which already she had set all her
heart and life on, but crept into days and days like the slow
current it had been to me. Sara, however, as was natural,
was impatient of this talk. I believe she had something on her
mind too.

"You do not blame your Milly, godmamma?" she cried, a
little spitefully ; " but I suppose you would blame any other
poor girl ; as if people were always to do what was told them,
and like such people as they were ordered to like ! You old
people are often very cruel. Of course you would blame every
one else in the world?"

"I should certainly blame you" cried I, "if you should
venture to think you might deceive your good father, that
never denied you anything in his life. You velvet creature,
what do you know about it? You never had an unkind word
said to you, nor the most foolish wish in your little perverse
heart denied. If you were to do such a thing, I could find it
in my heart to lock you up in a garret and give you bread and
water. It would not be a simple-hearted young creature with
every excuse in the world for her, but a little cheat and traitor,
and unnatural little deceiver. There! you are a wicked
creature, but you are not so bad as that. If you said it your-
self I should not believe it of you !"

But to my amazement the child stood aghast, too much dis-
mayed, apparently, to be angry, and faltered out, " Believe

The Last of the Mortimers. 251

•what?" with her cheeks suddenly growing so pale that she
frightened me. The next moment she had rushed into the back
drawing-room, and from thence disappeared, — for I went to
look after her,— fairly flying either from herself or me. I was
entirely confounded. I could not tell what to make of it.
Was little Sara in a mystery too ?

44 If I am betraying Sara, I am very sorry," said Milly, when
I looked to her for sympathy ; " but I fear, though they don't
know it themselves, that she and the Italian gentleman are
thinking more of each other, perhaps, than they ought."

She had scarcely finished speaking when Sara returned,
dauntless and defiant. " I rushed away to see whether your
note had gone to godmamma Sarah," said the daring creature,
actually looking into my very eyes. u A sudden dreadful
thought struck me that it had been forgotten. But it is all
right, godinamma ; and now I thiuk we might have some
tea."

252 The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER V.

rpHE gentlemen came upstairs looking very cheerful and
_1_ friendly, so of course every thing had been satisfactory in
their conversation. After a little while Mr. Cresswell came to
tell me all about it. He said the papers seemed all quite
satisfactory, and he had no doubt Mrs. Langham was really
Richard Mortimer's daughter, the nearest, and indeed only
relation, on the Mortimer side of the house, that we had in the
world.

" I have no doubt about it," said I ; " Lut I am very glad, all
the same, to have it confirmed. Now, my clrar child, you
know that we belong to each other. My sister and I are,
on your father's side, the only relations you have in the
world."

Milly turned round to receive the kiss I gave her, but
trembled and looked as if she dared not lift her eyes to me.
Somehow I believe that idea which brightened her husband,
came like a cold shadow between her and me, the thought that
I would take care of her when he was away. It was very
unreasonable, to be sure ; but, dear, dear, it was very natural !
I did not quarrel with her for the impulse of her heart.

" But softly, softly, my dear lady," said Mr. Cresswell; "the
papers all seem very satisfactory, 1 admit ; but the ladies are
always jumping at conclusions. I shall have to get my Irish
correspondent to go over the whole matter, and test it, step by
step. .Xot but that 7am perfectly satisfied ; but nobody can tell
what may happen. A suit might arise, and some of these
documents might be found to have a flaw in it. We must be
cautious, very cautious, in all matters of succession."

"A suit! Why, wouldn't llichard Mortimer, if he were
alive, be heir-at-law? Who could raise a suit?" cried I.

I suppose he saw that there was some anxiety in my look
which I did not express; and, to be sure, he owed me something
for having thwarted and baffled him. "There is no calculating
what mysterious claimant might appear," said Mr. Cresswell,
quite jauntily. " I heard somebody say, not very long ago,
that all the romance now-a-days came through the hands of

The Last of the Mortimers. 253

conveyancers and attorneys. My dear lady, leave it to me ; I
understand my own business, never fear."

I felt as if a perfect fever possessed me for the moment. My
pulse beat loud, and my ears rang and tingled. " What mys-
terious claimant could there be to the Park?" I cried. 1
betrayed myself. He saw in a moment that this was the dread
that was on my mind.

*' Quite impossible to say. I know no loophole one could
creep in through," he said, with a little shrug of his shoulders
and a pretended laugh. "But these things defy all proba-
bilities. It is best to make everything safe for our young friends
here."

Now this, I confess, nettled me exceedingly ; for though we
had taken so much notice of his daughter, and had lived so
quietly for many years, neither Sarah nor I had ever given up
the pretensions of the Mortimers to be one of the first families
in the county. And to hear an attorney speaking of " our
young friends here," as if they were falling heirs to some
old maiden lady's little bit of property ! I was very much
exasperated.

41 It seems to me, Mr. Cresswell, that you make a little
mistake," said I. "Our family is not in such a position that its
members could either be lost or found without attracting
observation. In a different rank of life such things might
happen ; but the Mortimers, and all belonging to them, are too
well known among English families, if I am not mistaken, to
allow of any unknown connections turning up."

Mr. Cresswell immediately saw that he had gone too far, and
he muttered a kind of apology and got out of it the best way
he could. I drew back my chair a little, naturally indignant.
But Cresswell, whose father and his father's father had been
the confidential agents of our family, who knew very well what
we had been, and what we were whenever we chose to assert
ourselves, — to think of him, a Chester attorney, patronising
our heirs and successors ! You may imagine I had a good right
to be angry, and especially as I could see he was quite pluming
himself on his cleverness in finding out what was in my mind.
He thought it was a whim that had taken possession of me, no
doubt, — a kind of monomania. I could even see, as he thought
it all quietly over by himself over his cup of tea, what a smile
came upon his face.

Yo'ing Langham, however, just then contrived to gain my
attention, lie did it very carefully, watching his opportunitie
when Milly was not looking at him, or when he thought she

254 The Last of the Mortimers,

was not looking at him. " I am heartily glad to have found
you out now, of all times," said the young man. " Milly
would not have gone to her relations in Ireland, and I have
no relations. She will be very lonely when we are gone. Poor
Milly ! It is a hard life I have brought her into, and she so
young."

" You are not much older yourself," said I ; " and if you
children bring such trouble on yourselves, you must be all the
braver to bear it. I doubt if she'd change with Sara Cresswell
at this moment, or any other unmarried young creature in the
world."

The young man looked up at me gratefully. " I can't tell
you how good she is," he said, in his simplicity. " She never
breaks down nor complains of anything. I don't understand
how she has saved and spared our little means and made them
do ; but she has, somehow. Now, though she's pale with
thinking of this — don't you think she's pale? but I forgot, you
never saw her before — she has set all her mind upon my
outfit, and will hear of nothing else. I wish it were true what
the books say. I wish one's young wife would content herself
with thoughts of glory and honour ; indeed, I wish one could
do as much one's self," said the good young fellow, with a
smile and sigh. " I fear I am only going, for instance,
because I must go ; and that I'll cast many a look behind me
on my Milly left alone. She's just twenty," he said, with an
affectionate look at her which brought her eyes upon us and
our conversation, and interrupted so far the confidential
character of the interview between him and me.

u Say nothing about it just now," said I, hurriedly, " it
only vexes her to hear you talk of what she is to do ; leave her
alone, dear soul — but at the same time don't be afraid. The
very day you go I'll fetch her to the Park. She shall be our
child while you are away — and it is to the Park you shall
come when you come home. But say nothing about it now.
She cannot bear to think of it at present. When the worst is
over she'll breathe again. Hush ! don't let her hear us
now !"

" But you know her, though you don't know her," said he,
under his breath, with a half-wondering grateful look at me
that quite restored my good -humour. I remember I nodded
at him cheerfully. Know her ! I should like to know who
had as good a right ! These young creatures can't understand
how many things an old woman knows.

Here Milly came up to us, a little jealous, thinking some,*

The Last of the Mortimers. 255

how we were plotting against her. " Harry is talking to you
of something?" she said, with a little hesitation in her
voice.

" On the subject we both like bcsb, just now," said I.
" But I wish you both to go with me to the Park. You can
manage it, can you not? The dear baby, and the little nurse,
and — but the fat Italian ? Ah ! he doesn't belong to you.

" No ! he was in great triumph to-night ; his master has
come home," said young Langham. '; He does not belong to
us ; but he is a devoted slave of Milly's for all that.

"His master came home to-night!" I repeated the words
over to myself involuntarily ; and then a sudden thought
struck me in the feverish impulse which came with that news.
** Children," said I, with a little gasp, " it is deeply to all our
interest to know who that young man is. I can never rest,
nor take comfort in anything till 1 know. Will you try to
have him with you to-morrow, and I will come and speak to
him ? Hush ! neither the Cresswells nor anybody is to know ;
it concerns only us Mortimers. Will you help me to see him
at your house?"

"You are trembling," said Milly, suddenly taking hold of
my hand. " Tell Harry what it is and he will do it. He is
to be trusted ; but it will agitate you."

u I cannot tell Harry, for I do not know," said I, below my
breath, leaning heavily upon the arm, so firm and yet so soft,
that had come to my aid. " But I will take Harry's support
and yours. It shall be in your house. Whatever is to be
said shall be said before you. Thank heaven! if I do get
agitated and forget myself you will remember what he
says."

" It is something that distresses you ?" said the young
stranger, once more looking into my face, not curious but
wistful. I should nave been angry had Sara Cresswell
asked as much. I was glad and comforted to see Milly
anxious on my account.

" I cannot tell what it is ; but whatever it is, it is right that
you should know all about it," said I. " For anything I can
tell you it may interfere both with your succession and ours. I
can't tell you anything about it, that is the truth ! I know no
more than your baby does how Mr. Luigi can have any con-
nection with our family ; but he has a connection somehow —
that is all I know. To-morrow, to-morrow, please God ! we'll
try to find out what it is."

The two young people were a good deal startled by my

1

256 TJie Last of the Mortimers.

agitation ; perhaps, as was natural, they were also moved by the
thought of another person who might interfere with the
inheritance that had just begun to dazzle their eyes ; but as I
leaned back in my chair, exhausted with the flutter that came
over me at the very thought of questioning Mr. Luigi, my eyes
fell upon Mr. Cresswell, still sipping a cup of tea, and quietly
watching me over the top of his spectacles ; and at the same
moment Sara came in from the back drawing-room with great
agitation and excitement in her face. I could see that she
scarcely could restrain herself from coming to me and telling
me something ; but with a sudden guilty glance at her father,
and a sudden unaccountable blush, she stole off into a corner,
and, of all the wonderful things in the world, produced actually
some work out of some fantastic ornamental work-table or
other ! That was certainly a new development in Sara. But
I could read in her face that she had seen him too. She too
had somehow poked her curls into this mystery. All around
me, everybody I looked at, were moved by it, into curiosity or
interest, or something deeper — I, the principal person in the
business, feeling them all look at me, could only feel the more
that I was going blindfold to, I could not tell what danger or
precipice. Blindfold ! but at least it should be straightforward.
I knew that much of the to-morrow, which it made me
tremble with excitement to think of; but I knew nothing
more.

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. 257

PAKT VI.
THE LIEUTENANT'S WIFE.

(Continued.)

CHAPTER I.

II /TY dear old relation whom we have found out so suddenly,
JLV_L and whom I am quite ashamed to have once thought to
be a kind of usurper of something that belonged to me, has
been too much distressed and troubled altogether about this
business to have the trouble of writing it down as well ; and I
have so little, so strangely little, to take up my time just now.
The days are somehow all blank, with nothing ever happening
in them. In my mind I can always see the ship making way
over the sea, with the same rush of green water, and the same
low-falling, quiet sky, and no other ships in sight. It has been
very quiet weather — that is a great mercy. They should be
almost landed there by this time.

But that is not my business just now. My dear Aunt
Mifly — it is true she is only my father's cousin, but cousin is an
awkward title between people of such different age, and,
according to Sara Cresswell, she is my aunt, a la mode de
Bretagne, which I don't mind adopting without any very close
inquiry into its meaning — made an engagement with us to come
to our house the next morning after that first day we met her.
Harry came home from the Cresswells that night in raptures
with Aunt Milly. It was rather hard upon me to see him so
pleased. Of course I knew very well what made him se pleased.
fie thought he had secured a home for me. He was never tired

£58 The Last of tfie Mortimers,

praising her in his way. I am not exactly sure whether s!i3
herself would have relished the praises he gave her, because he
has a sad habit of talking slang like all the rest. But apart
from any reason, he took to her, which it is a great pleasure to
think of now. When we got home Mr. Luigi's window was
blazing with light just as it had done when he returned before;
for Domenico seems to be quite of the opinion that candles are
articles of love and welcome as well as of devotion. Harry, who
had quite made acquaintance with the Italian gentleman when
he was at home before, went in to see him, and I went upstairs
to baby. I used to take comfort in getting by myself a little,
just at that time. Ten minutes in my own room in the dark
did me a great deal of good. When one takes an opportunity
and gets it out of one's heart now and then, ens can go on
longer and better — at least 1 have found it so.

Lizzie, always watchful, was very ready to let me hear that
she was close at hand. The moment she heard me open my
own room-door, she began to move about in the back apartment
where she kept watch over baby, and I do believe it was only
by dint of strong self-denial that she did not burst in upon me
at once. I can't fancy what she thought would happen if I
" gave way." It must have taken some very terrible shape to
her fancy. After 1 had my moment of repose, I went to baby's
room. He was asleep like a little cherub in Mrs. Goldsworihy's
old wicker-work cradle, which I had trimmed with chintz for
him ; and Lizzie sat by the table working, but looking up at
me with her sharp suspicious eyes — sidelong inquisitive looks,
full of doubts of my fortitude, and anxiety for me. It was all
affection, poor child. When one has affectionate creatures about
one, it is impossible to be hard or shut one's self up. 1 had no
choice but to stop and tell Lizzie about my new friend.

" Oh, it was thon leddy was at the muckle gates, and warned
us away for the kingcough," cried Lizzie ; "I minded her the
very moment at the door. I was sure as could be from the first
look that it was some friend."

" Some friend," in Lizzie's language meant some relation. I
asked in wonder, " Why ?"

But Lizzie could not explain why ; it was one of those un-
reasonable impressions which are either instinctively prophetic,
or which are adopted unconsciously after the event has proved
them true.

"But you were never slow where help was needed or com-
fort," said Lizzie, dropping her eyes and ashamed of her own
compliment ; " and I kent there was somebody to be seat to

The Last oj ilie Mortimers. 25§

Comfort you ; and wha could it be but a friend ? For naebody
could take you like the way you took me."

I suppose Lizzie's view of things, being the simplest, had
power over me. I was struck by this way of regarding it.
Perhaps 1 had not just been thinking of what was Kent. I felt
as if that tight binding over my heart relaxed a little. Ah ! so
well as the Sender knew all about it — all my loneliness, dismay,
and troubles ; all my Harry's risks and dangers ; all our life
beyond — inscrutable dread life which I dared not attempt to
look at— and everything that wo.s in it, I held my breath, and
was silent in this v.ride world that opened out to me through
Lizzie's words.

" And eh, mem," cried Lizzie, opening her eyes wide, " I was
sent for down the stair."

" Where ?" cried 1 in astonishment.

" I was sent for down the stair," said Lizzie, with the oddest
blush and twist of her person. " Menico, he's aye been awfu'
ill at me since I wouldna gang to the playhouse after it was a'
settled — as if 1 could gang to play mysel' the very day the news
came ! and eh, when he came up and glowered in at the door,
and Mrs. Goldsworthy beside him, and no a person but me in
oor house, I was awfu' feared. Her being English, they were
like twa foreigners thegither ; and how was I to ken what they
were wantin' ? The only comfort I had was inindin' upon the
Captain's sword. It was aye like a protection. But a' they said
was that Mrs. Goldsworthy would stop beside baby, and I was
to gang down the stair and speak to the gentleman. I thought
shame to look as if I was feared — but I was awfu' feared for a'
that."

"And what then?"

" I had to gang,'' said Li/jzie, holding down her head ; " lie
was sleeping sound, and I kent I could hear the first word of
greetin' that was in his head ; / could hear in ony corner o' the
house ; and Mrs. Goldsworthy gied me her word she would sit
awfu' quiet and not disturb him. Eh, mem, are ye angry ? I
never did it afore, and I'll never do it again."

"No, you must not do it again," said I ; " but who wanted
you downstairs ?"

" Eh, it was the Italian gentleman," said Lizzie; "and it was
a' about the leddy that was hore the day. He wanted to ken
if she was wanting him ; and then he wanted to hear if I kent
her, and what friend she was to you ; but it was mostly a' to
make certain that it wasn't him she wanted — as if a leddy like
yon was likely to have ony troke wi' foreigners or strange men!

260 The Last of the Mortimers.

and there was aye the other blatter to Menico in their ain
language — and ower again, and ower again to me, if it wa?na
him she asked for. And me standing close at the door listen-
ing for baby, and thinking shame to be there, and awfu' feared
you would be angry. I would like to ken what the like of him
had to do wi' leddies? — and Menico, too, that might have kent
better — but there's naebody will behave to please folk perfect
in this world."

" But this is very strange news," said I. " What did you
say, Lizzie ? did you say it was Miss Mortimer, and that she
was a relation of mine."

" Eh, no me !" cried Lizzie. " Ye might think it to see me
so silly, but I wasna that daft. I said it was ane on a visit to
the leddy. 1 had nae ado with it ony mair than that, and I'm
sure neither had he."

Here Harry's voice sounded from below, calling me, and I
left Lizzie somewhat amused by her cautious and prudent
answer, and not a little curious to see that the Italian was
interested about the old lady as well as she about him. I
found Harry quite full of the same story. Mr. Luigi had
questioned him with great caution about Miss Mortimer, and
of course had heard the entire story from Harry of our
relationship, and how we found each other out. He had
received it very quietly, without expressing any feeling at all,
and had asked some very close questions about her and about
the Park, and her other sister. Harry could not make him
out. Of course neither of us knew the other sister. Evidently
it was a mysterious business somehow. But as we knew
nothing whatever about it, we soon came to an end of our
speculations. The morning, perhaps, as Aunt Milly thought,
would clear it all ujx

Last of the Mortimers. 261

CHAPTER II.

THE morning came, and a very lovely morning it was, as
bright and almost as warm as summer, one of those
glimpses of real spring which come to us only by days at a
time. Aunt Milly came almost before we had finished break-
fast. I dare say she is accustomed to early hours ; but it was
evidently strong anxiety and excitement that had brought her
out so soon to-day. I had told Lizzie she was coming, and
Lizzie, either with some perception of the real nature of her
visit, which I could not in any way account for, or with
natural Scotch jealousy and reluctance to satisfy the curiosity
of strangers as to our relationship, kept on the watch after she
had given baby into my charge, and got her triumphantly
into the house without any intervention on the part of
Domenico. Aunt Milly sank into a chair, very breathless and
agitated. Tt was some time before she could even notice little
Harry. To see her so made me more and more aware how
serious this business, whatever it was, must be.

"But I am too early, I suppose?" she said with a little
gasp.

Harry thought it was rather too early, unless he were to
tell Mr. Luigi plainly what he was wanted for, which eho
would not permit him to do. It was a very uncomfortable
interval. She sat silent, evidently with her whole mind bent
upon the approaching interview. We, neither knowing the
subject of it, nor what her anxiety was, had nothing to say,
and I was very glad when Harry went downstairs to find the
Italian. Then Aunt Milly made a hurried communication
to me when we were alone, which certainly did not explain
anything, but which still she evidently felt to be taking me
into her confidence.

" My dear, Sarah knows something about him," said Aunt
Milly; "somehow or other Sarah knows that he has a claim
upon us. When she heard of the inquiries he was making,
she was in a state of desperation — used to drive out with the
carriage blinds down, poor soul, and kept watching all da£
long, so wretched and anxious that it would have broken

l

262 jftte Last of the Mortimers.

your heart. But how it all is, and how about this CottntcSfj
and his being named Luigi, and his claim upon the estate,
and her knowing him — though, so far as I can judge, he
could be no more than born when she came home— Hark ! was
that somebody coming upstairs ?"

It was only some of the people of the house moving about.
Aunt Milly gave a sigh of relief. "My dear, I'm more and
more anxious since I've found you, to know the worst," she
said. " It is as great a mystery to you as to your baby, how
he can have any connection with us. Dear, dear! to think
of a quiet family, and such a family as the Mortimers, plunged
all at once into some mystery .' it is enough to break one's
heart ; — but then, you see, Sarah was so long abroad."

" Was she long abroad?" said I, with a little cry. All at
once, and in spite of myself, my old fancy about that old Miss
Mortimer, whom I imagined living in my grandfather's house,
came back to my mind. The great beauty whom my good Mrs.
Saltoun had seen abroad — how strange if this should be her after
all ! Somehow my old imaginations had looked so true at the
time, that 1 seemed to remember them as if they were matters
of fact and not of fancy. I looked up, quite with a conscious-
ness that I knew something about it, in Aunt Milly 's face.

"What do you know about her?" cried Aunt Milly, rising
up quite erect and rigid out of her chair. Her excitement was
extreme. She had evidently gone beyond the point at which
she could be surprised to find any stranger throwing light upon
her mystery. But at that moment those steps for which we
had been listening did ascend the stairs. We could hear them
talking as they approached, the Italian with his accent and
rather solemn dictionary English, and Harry's voice that
sounded so easy in comparison. Aunt Milly sank back again
into her chair. She grasped the arms of it to support herself,
and gave me a strange half-terriried, half-courageous look. In
another moment they had entered the room.

Mr. Luigi came in without any idea, I dare say, of the
anxiety with which we awaited him ; but he had not been a
minute in the room when his quick eye caught Aunt Milly,
though she had drawn back with an involuntary movement of
withdrawal from the crisis she had herself brought on. I could
read in his face, the instant he saw her, that he divined the
little contrivance by which he had been brought here. He
stood facing her after he had paid his respects to me, and took
no notice of the chair Harry offered him. As for Harry and I,
not knowing whether they really knew each other, or whether

The Last of the Mortimers. 263

they ought to be named to each other, or what to do, we stood
very uncomfortable and embarrassed behind. I said "Miss
Mortimer," instinctively, to lessen the embarrassment if I could.
1 don't believe he heard me. He knew Miss Mortimer very well,
however it was.

And it was he who was the first to break the silence. He
made a kind of reverence to her, more than a bow, like some
sort of old-fashioned filial demonstration. " Madame has some-
thing to say to me?" he asked, with an anxiety in his face
almost equal to her own.

" Yes," cried Aunt Milly, " I — I have something to say to
yon. ISit down, and let me get breath."

He sat down, and so did we. To see her struggling to
overcome the great tremor of excitement she had fallen into,
and we all waiting in silence for her words, must have been a
very strange scene. It was the merest wonder and curiosity, of
course, with Harry and me ; but I remember noticing even at
that moment that Mr. Luigi was not surprised. He evidently
knew something to account for her agitation. He sat looking
at her, bending towards her with visible expectation of some-
thing. It was no mystery to him.

" Sir — young man," cried Aunt Milly, with a gasp, " I do
not know you ; you are a stranger, a foreigner ; you have
nothing to do with this place. What, in the name of heaven,
is it that you have to do with mine or me ?"

Mr. Luigi's countenance fell. He was bitterly disappointed ;
it was evident in his face. He drew a long breath and clasped
his hands together, half in resignation, half appealing against
some hard fate. " Ah !" he said, " I did hope otherwise— is it,
indeed, indeed, that you know not me T'

Aunt Milly gave a cry half of terror. *4 1 recognise your
voice," she said. " I see gleams in your face of faces 1 know. I
am going out of my wits with bewilderment and trouble ; but
as sure as you are there before me, I know no more who you
are than does the child who cannot speak."

Mr. Luigi made no reply for some minutes. Then he made
some exclamations in Italian, scarcely knowing, I am sure, what
he was saying. Then he remembered himself. u Thing most
strange ! thing most terrible !" cried the young man ; " not
even now ! — not even now !" and he looked round to us with
such distress and amazement in his face, and with such an
involuntary call for our sympathy, though we knew nothing
about it, that his look went to my heart. Aunt Milly saw it,
and was confounded by it. His genuine wonder and

264 The Last of the Mortimers.

grieved consciousness that she ought to have known this secret,
whatever it was, stopped her questions upon her lips. She sat
leaning forward looking at him, struck dumb by his looks. _ I
was so excited by the evident reserve on both sides, which
implied the existence of a third person whom neither would
name, that 1 burst into it, on the spur of the moment,
without thinking whether what I said was sensible or
foolish. "Who?" I cried, " who is the other person that
knows ?"

Both of them started violently; then their eyes met in a
strango look of intelligence. Aunt Milly fell back in her chair
trembling dreadfully, trembling so much that her teeth chat-
tered. Mr. Luigi rose. " I am at Madume's disposition," he
said softly ; " but what can I say ? It is better I be gone
while 1 do not harm Madame, and make her ill. Pardon ! it is
not I who am to blame !"

Saying so, he took Aunt Milly 's hand, kissed it, and turned
to the door. She called him back faintly. u Stop, I have not
asked you rightly,'' said poor Aunt Miiiy. •' Could not you tell
me, without minding anybody else? Are you — are you?— oh!
who are you ? I do beseech you tell me. If wrong is done you,
I have no hand in it. What is there to prevent you telling
me?"

" Ah, pardon. I know my duty," said the young man.
*' If she will reject me — then ! but it is yet too early. 1 wait —
I expect — she has not yet said it to me."

Aunt Milly gathered herself up gradually, with a strange
fluttered look in her eyes. " Reject you ! God bless us ! it is
some mistake, after all. Do you know who it is you are
speaking of ? Do you know if it is my sister Sarah? She is
my elder sister, ten years older than me, — oki enough to
be your mother — is it she? or, oh, God help us! is it a
mistake?"

Mr. Luigi turned towards me for a moment, with a face
melted out of all reserve, into such affection ateness and emotion
as I scarcely ever saw on a man's face. When she named her
sister's age, he said, " Ah !" with a tone as if her words went to
his heart. But that was all. He shook his head. He said,
" No more, no more," and went slowly but steadily away. It
was no mistake. What she said conveyed no information to
him. He knew that Sarah's age and all about her, better than
her sister did, or I was mistaken. What he said, awd still more
what he looked, brought a strong sudden impression to my mind.
I don't know yet how I can be right — if I *m right it ifi tb.e

The Last of the Mortimers. 265

strangest thing in the world ; but I know it darted into my
head that morning when Luigi's face melted out so strongly,
and that cry which explained nothing came from his heart.

In the meantime, however, poor Aunt Milly sat wringing
her hands and more troubled than ever, repeating to herself
bits of the conversation which had just passed, and bits of other
conversations which we knew nothing about. Harry and I, a
little uncomfortable, still tried to occupy ourselves so that we
should not hear anything she did not waiit us to hear ; but we
did not wish to leave her either. At last Harry went out
altogether and left her alone with me, and by degrees she
calmed down. I do not wonder she was painfully excited.
There could be little doubt some strange, unnatural secret was
concealed in her house.

" But you heard him say reject" said Aunt Milly, — " if she
rejected him — do you feel quite sure he understood my last
question? Not knowing a language very well makes a
wonderful difference; and what if he supposed my sister a
young woman, Milly ? When I began to be troubled about
this business, I couldn't but think that it was some old lover
Sarah was afraid of meeting, forgetting the lapse of time. She
was a great beauty once, you know. How do you suppose,
now, an old woman could reject a young man ?"

u But there are other meanings of the word than as it is
between young women and young men," said I ; "he might
mean disown."

" He might mean disown," repeated Aunt Milly slowly, —
" disown ; but, dear, dear child," she cried, immediately
throwing off her first puzzlrd hypothesis, and falling back at
once into the real subject of her trouble, " what can he be to
Sarah that she could disown him? Before you can disown a
person he must belong to you. How could Mr. Luigi belong
to my sister ? but, to be sure, it is folly to put such questions
to you that know nothing about it. Milly, dear, I'll have to go
home."

u I am very, very sorry you are going home disappointed,"
said I.

«l Yes," said Aunt Milly, with a great sigh, " it is hard to
think one's somehow involved in doing wrong, my dear ; it's
hard to live in the house with your nearest friend, and not to
know any more of her than if she were a stranger. What was
I saying? I never said so much to any creature before. I
*»ake you as if you belonged to me, though you scarcely know
jje yet, Milly. I'd like you to settle to coine out as soou us

I

The Last of the Mortimer*.

possible, dear. I'd like you to see Sarah, and tell me what
you think. Perhaps— there is no telling— she might say
something to you"

" But will she be pleased to know about us?" said I.

" It was her desire to seek for you," said Aunt Milly. " She
thought of that, somehow, just before this trouble came on.
Sometimes it has come into my mind, that she thought if she
found your father, he would have protected her somehow. I
can't tell : it is all a great mystery to me."

And so she went away after a while, looking very sorrowful ;
but came back to tell me to put my bonnet on and come with
her to Mr. Cresswell's, who was to drive her home. On our
way there I suddenly felt her grasp my arm and point forward
a little way before us, where Mr. Luigi was walking slowly
along the road by Sara Cresswell's side. Aunt Milly came
almost to a dead stop, looking at them. They were not arm-
in-arm, nor did they look as if they had met on purpose. I dare
say it was only by accident. Sara, as usual, was dressed in a
great velvet jacket, much larger and wider than the one she
wore indoors, and held her little head high, as if she quite
meant to impress an idea of her dignity upon the Italian, who
had to stoop down a long way, and perhaps did stoop down
more than Aunt Milly and I saw to be exactly necessary.
They went the length of the street together, quite unconscious
of the critics behind them, and then separated, Mr. Luigi
marching off at a very brisk pace, and Sara continuing her way
home. We came up to her just as she reached her own door.
She was certainly a very pretty creature, and looked so fresh
and blooming in the morning air that I could not have scolded
her a great deal, though I own I had a very good mind to do
my best in that way, while we were walking behind. The
moment she saw us she took guilt to herself. Her face glowed
into the most overpowering blush, and the little parasol in her
hand fell out of her trembling ringers. But, of course, her
spirit did not forsake her. She was not the person to yield to
any such emergency.

" We have been walking after you for a long time," said
dear Aunt Milly, in a voice which I have no doubt she sup-
posed to be severe. " I should have called you to wait for
us, had I not seen you were otherwise enraged."

"Oh! then you saw Mr. Luigi, godmamma?" said Sara,
quite innocently. "He says he thinks he has found out
where the Countess Sermoneta is."
" The Countess Sermoneta !— oh, child} child, how can you

TH& Lttfti oj tne Mortimers. 267

Bpeak so to me?" cried Aunt Milly. " I don't believe there ia
any such person in the world. I believe he only makes a fuss
about a name, no one ever heard of, to cover his real designs,
whatever they may be."

*' Godmamina !" cried Sara, with a flash of fury ; " perhaps
it will be better to come indoors," cried the little wicked
creature (as Aunt Milly calls her) ; " nobody, that I ever
heard of, took away people's characters in the open street."

Aunt Milly went in quickly, shaking her head and deeply
troubled. The renewal of this subject swept Sara's enormity
out of her head. We followed, Sara bidding me precede her
with a sort of affronted grandeur, which, I confess, was a
little amusing to me. When we came into the dining-room,
where Aunt Milly went first, the little girl confronted us both,
very ready to answer anything we had to say, and confute us
to our faces. But much to Sara's surprise, and perhaps
annoyance, Aunt Milly did not say a word on the subject.
She shook her head again more energetically than ever. She
was so much shaken on this one subject, that other matters
evidently glided out of her mind, whenever she was recalled to
this.

44 No, no ! depend upon it there's no Countess Sermoneta.
I believed in it at first, naturally, as everybody else did. It
may be a lady, but it isn't an Italian lady. No, no," said
Aunt Milly, mournfully ; u he knows better. He said nothing,
you may be sure, about her to me."

At this moment Mr. Cresswell entered the room, and a
little after the brougham came to the door. There waa
nothing more said on the subject. Sara saw them drive away,
with a flutter of fear, I could see ; but she need not have been
afraid. Aunt Milly had returned into the consideration of
her own mystery, which swallowed up Sara's. I do not think,
for my own part, that I had very Christian feelings towards
Mr. Luigi as I went home.

'268 The Last of tlw Mortimer*,

CHAPTER HI.

FOR a few days after I was occupied entirely with my own
affairs. We had promised to go to the Park to see th at
strange sister Sarah, who troubled Aunt Milly's mind so much;
and we had, of course, to make some little preparations for
going — more, indeed, than were very convenient at such a time,
as you may very well suppose. However, Aunt Connor, who had
not paid the last half year's interest, sent it just then, " all in a
Jump," as she said herself, " thinking it would do you more
good ;" as indeed it did, though perhaps poor Aunt Connor had
other motives than that one for not sending it just when it was
due. Harry was quite pleased at the thought of going to the
Park. He got leave of absence for a few days ; and, naturally, it
was a satisfaction to him, sifter feeling that he had been obliged
to keep his wife in the shade so loug, to say that it was to my
relations we were going. And what with all the preparations
for his going away as well, I was so very busy that I got little
.leisure to think. It is very common to say what good oppor-
tunities for thought one has in working at one's needle— and it
is very true so far as quiet, leisurely work is concerned ; but
•when it happens to be making shirts and such things — and you
know, with most men, merely to say they are made at home is
enough to make them feel as if they did not fit, — it is quite a
different matter. I was too busy, both mind and fingers, to do
much thinking ; and that was far better for me than if I had
found more leisure. I used to go up to Lizzie's room, which
we called the nursery, and work~there. Baby sat on the carpet,
well protected with cushions, and furnished with things to play
with. He was not very particular — his playthings were of a
very humble and miscellaneous order ; but f am sure he was as
happy as a little king.

,, And eh, isn't it grand that his birthday's come before the
Captain gangs away? He'll, maybe, be back," said Lizzie,
peering in*? my face with a sidelong look, " before another
year."

The Last of the Mortimers. 269

4t Hush !" said I, hastily ; *' but you must remember, Lizzie,
to be particularly nice and tidy, and to look as if you were
twenty, at least, when we go to the Park."

Here Lizzie drew herself up a little. "I've never been
among a housefu' o' servants," said Lizzie, ** that's true — but
I've been wi' a leddy, and that suld learn folk manners better
nor a' the flunkeys in the world. For Menico says, as well as
I can understand him, that there's twa men-servants, and as
mony maids as would fill a house. Eh, mem, wouldn't it be a
great vexation to see a wheen idle folk aye in the road?
Menico's no like a common man ; there's no an article he canna
do ; but as for just flunkeys to hand the plates and do about
a house — eh, if it was me, I would think they werena
men."

" But Miss Mortimer's man is not a flunkey ; it was he who
came with us in the omnibus," said I.

u Yon gentleman ?" said Lizzie, in great dismay. " I thought
he was a minister ; and eh, to think of him puttin' on fires and
waitin' at the table! I would far sooner be a woman
mysel'."

" And have you any objection to be a woman apart from
that ?" said J. " I did not think you had been so ambitious,
Lizzie. What would you do if you were a man ?"

Lizzie's colour rose, and her work fell from her hand. " I
would gang to the wars with the Captain, cried the girl, ** I
would aye make a spring in before him where danger was. I
would send word every day how he did, and what he was
doing. I would stand by our ain flag if they hacked me in
pieces. I wouldna let the Hielanders stay still, no a moment!
— I would dash them down on the enemy wi' a' their bayonets,
and cry * Scotland and the Queen !' and if we were killed,
wha's heeding ! — it would be worth a man's while to die !"

This outburst was more than I could bear. I forgot to
think it was only Lizzie, a woman and a child, that spoke. I
put my hands over my eyes to shut out the prospect she
brought before me, but only saw the picture all the clearer, as
ny hand, with all its warm pulses beating, shut out the
daylight. I could see Harry rushing before them with his
sword drawn. I could hear his voice pealing out over their
heads ; I could see the smoke close over him and swallow him
up. Ah, heaven ! — pictures and stories are made out of such
scenes. This creature by my side had flamed up into exulting
enthusiasm at the thought. How many hearts attended those
charging regiments, breaking against each other, heart upon

270 The -Last of the Mortimers.

h >irt! It came to my heart to wonder, suddenly, whether

•re might not be some young Russian woman, like me,
..... yining that fight. Her husband and my Harry might
meet under those dreadful flags, — she and I, would not
we meet, too, in our agony ? 1 held out my arms to her
with a cry of anguish — we were sisters, though they were
foes.

When I looked up Lizzie was crying bitterly, partly with
her own excitement, partly, because she saw how cruel her
suggestion had been to me. She did not mean it so, poor
child. Baby sat playing all the time among his cushions,
crowing to himself over the bright-coloured ball he had found
under his heap of toys. I thought to myself he would laugh
all the same whatever happened, and wondered how I should
bear to hear him. But that was enough, that was too much.
I stopped myself, as best I could, from going on any further.
I got some linen that had to be cut out, and rose up to do it ;
— it was very delicate work. If I were not very careful, a
snip of the scissors, too much or too little, might spoil all the
stuff ; for Harry was very fastidious, you know, about all hia
things, like most young men. It took some trouble to steady
my hand enough — but I did manage it. I wonder what the
Russian woman did, to calm her agitation down.

Lizzie recovered very hastily when she saw what I was doing.
She picked up her work, and sewed for a long time so silently and
swiftly, that the snip of my scissors and the movement of her
arm, as she drew through her needle, were the only sounds,
except those which baby made, to be heard in the room. At
last she took courage to address me with great humility, asking
only if it was " the day after the morn" that we were going to
the Park ?

I nodded my head in return, and Lizzie took courage to go
on. The next question was whether the Italian gentleman,
would be there?

" Tho Italian gentleman ! what has he to do with the Miss
Mortimers ?" cried I.

" Eh, it's no me said it," cried Lizzie, in alarm; "but
yesterday, the day the leddy was here Menico was a' the gate
oat there, ance errand \vi' a letter. I said what way did it no
go to the post? and he said the post wouldna do. But I
wouldna let on the leddy was here."

"He went out with a letter, did he?" said I, in much
surprise. " Was that where he was all day? I did not see him
about till it was dark,"

The Last of the Mortimers. 271

tc There maun be another leddy ?" said Lizzie, inquisitively ;
" and he gaed her some grand name or another. He's awfu'
funny wi' his names, lie ca's baby Sitjiwrino and ragazzino,
and I dinna ken a' what. I looked them up in the dictionary,
and they were a' right meanings enough. But it wasna Miss
Mortimer he ca'ed the other leddy. Eh, mem, isn't Menico
getting grand at his English ? and I'me aye improving myseF
too," said Lizzie, with a little blush and awkward droop of her
head.

I was not much in the humour for laughing at poor Lizzie's
self-complacency ; but I was rather anxious to hear all the
gossip I could get for Aunt Milly's sake. I asked immediately
" Were they kind to Menico at the Park?"

Lizzie hesitated a little in her answer. " He's rael clever at
speaking," she said, apologetically, — 1 suppose finding it rather
hard to go back so soon after her laudation — " but when it's a
long story it's no so easy to ken — no a' he means. But I'm no
thinking they were very good to him — for he was awfu' angry
when he came hame. And eh, to see him at his dinner ! You
would think he hadna seen meat for a week. It's no a guid
account of a house — no meaning ony harm of a great house like
the Park," said Lizzie, reflectively, — " when a man comes awfu'
hungry hame."

Here there was a little pause while Lizzie threaded her needle.
I don't know whether she was indulging in any melancholy
anticipations of the hospitality of the Park. However, presently
she resumed her story again.

" And eh, mem ! far mair than that," said Lizzie, making a
fresh start, " he brought back the very same letter just as it
was — it might be beca/ose the leddy was out, or I dinna ken
what it might be ; but I saw him gi'e it back to the gentleman.
And the gentleman, instead of being angry, he just took the
letter and shook his head, and set fire to it at the candle. The
door was open, and I saw him do it as I came up the stairs,
gaed to my heart to see him burning the good letter," said
Lizzie; "there was, maybe, something in't that somebody
might have likit to hear."

" But, Lizzie, don't you know nobody has any business with
a letter except the person who wrote it, and the person it is
addressed to ?" said I.

I spoke, I confess, in an admonitory spirit. We did not
get very many letters, but Harry was sadly careless of those he
did get. •

272 The Last of the Mortimers.

"Eh, but foreigners are no like other folk," cried Lizzie;
" there's something awfu' queer in burning a letter, and it a'
sealed up. I couldna find it in my heart ;— and when it's a
long story, it's awfu' fickle to understand Domenico, the half o'
what he says."

Lizzie ended with a sigh of unsatisfied curiosity. Perhaps, if
1 could have done it, I might have been as anxious to cross-
question Domenico as she.

The Last of the Mortimer*. ii73

CHAPTER IV«

OUR little journey was arranged by Aunt Milly in the most
comfortable way she could think of for us. Harry would
not. consent to let her send the carriage all the way. The
railway was close to us, and it passed about two miles from the
Park, where there was a little station ; and the carriage was to
meet us there. It was a very short journey, certainly ; but I
remember when we were all in the train, — all — every one of
us, — a family entire and close together, — and especially at the
moment when we were passing through the tunnel, and felt in
the darkness more entirely separated from the world, — a sudden
thought seized upon me : " Oh, if we were only going on,
anywhere, anywhere to the end of the world!" Plunging
through the darkness, with Harry sitting close by me, and
baby on my knee, and nobody able to approach or stop us —
going on all together 1 All sorts of people have their fancies,
no doubt. I daresay mine were very homely ones ; but I shall
never forget the strange thrill that came upon my heart as this
wild possibility seized me. When we came slowly into the
daylight, and the train stopped, and the door of the carriage
flew open, and dear Aunt Milly herself appeared to welcome us,
I woke up with a little shiver into real life again. Ah me ! one
cannot dart into the bowels of the earth and hide one's self.
But life and duty somehow looked cold at me with their piercing
daylight eyes after that thought.

Everything familiar stopped short and broke off when we
got into the carriage. Aunt Milly was not a great lady. I
don't think anything could ever have made her a great lady ;
but it was clear she had been a person of consideration for
many a year. I never had been in such a carriage before ;
indeed, I don't think I had ever been in any carriage but a
public one, for, of course, Aunt Connor was not rich enough to
have a carriage of her own. But when I sat down by Aunt
Milly's side, I could not help feeling immediately that it all
belonged to me. It was a strange feeling, and indeed, if nobody
will be shocked, it was a very pleasing feeling. Instead of
making me discontented, somehow it quite reconciled me to

274 The Last of the Mortimers*

being poor, My own opinion is, that people of good family,
or whatever is equivalent to good family, — people that know
they belong to a higher class, whether other people know it or
not, — always bear poverty best. It does not humiliate them as
it does people who have always been poor. I think I could
have stood any remarks upon my bonnet, or even baby's pelisse,
with great equanimity after my visit to the Park ; being poor
looked so much more like an accidental circumstance after that.
Perhaps I don't explain very well what I mean, so I will just
state it plainly, and then you may understand, or disagree with
it, just as you choose. The higher one's rank is, the better one
can bear being poor. There ! it is not the common opinion,
but I believe it all the same for that.

And here was the Park, the very same great modern house
that stood (leaning on the trees) in poor papa's drawing, with
two wings drawn out from the main body of the building, and
a curious archway and a little paved court at the side before
you came to the great door. We went to the great door as we
were strangers, and I could see the grave face of my omnibus
acquaintance peeping through a round bow-window close to the
door before he admitted us, very solemnly and with profoundest
abstract air. 1 wonder if he could remember us. His face
looked as blankly respectful as if any idea on any subject
whatever would somehow be unbecoming the dignity of the
Park. Aunt Milly, who had gradually become fidgety, now
took hold of my hand and drew me forward quickly. 1 went
with her, a little astonished, but with no clear idea where I was
going. She took me into a very long, very large room, with a
great many tall windows on one side, a room so big as to look a
perfect maze of furniture to me. I saw nobody in it, and did
not think of it as being a room in common use. She had
brought me to see some picture, no doubt. But Aunt Milly
hurried me up this long room, with her hand upon my wrist, to a
screen that seemed drawn so as to shelter one side of the fireplace.
When we came in front of this, I was greatly startled to see a
lady, with large knitting-pins in her hands, rise slowly from an
arm-chair. There was nothing extraordinary in her look ; she
had fine features, I suppose, — I don't think I know, very well,
what fine features are, — she had white hair, and a pretty cap
with soft-coloured ribbons, and a strange, studied, soft-coloured
dress. I noticed all this unconsciously, in the midst of the
nervous and startled sensation that 1 had in being brought in
front of her so suddenly. She put both her knitting-pins into
pne hand, and held out the other to me. Then she bent

L

The Last of the Mortimers.

forward a little, meaning me to kiss her, which I did with much
awe and with no great sensation of pleasure. Her hand was
cold, and so was her cheek. I could scarcely help shrinking
away from her touch. Then she spoke, and I, being quite
unprepared for it, was still more startled. Her voice was a
kind of whisper, very strange and unpleasant ; all the s's came
out sharp, with a kind of liiss. I suppose it was because she
was so entirely used to it herself that Aunt Milly never men-
tioned it to me.

" So you are Richard Mortimer's daughter ?" she said. " Sit
down : I am very glad to see you. It is I that have been so
anxious about finding you for some time past. But where is
your husband ? I want him to come as well as you."

" He is in the hall. He will be here presently, Sarah," said
Aunt Milly. " I told Ellis to show him in, and the dear baby,
too ; but I could not keep back Milly from you for a moment.
I knew you would be anxious to see her at once."

" I wish to see her husband too," said Miss Mortimer.
" So your name is Milly ? Because it was our principal family
name, I suppose ? Your father was a great man for family
matters, because his father was such a leveller ; otherwise I
should have thought he would have called you after me."

Why, I wondered ? but indeed I had very little inclination
to speak.

" I want to see your husband particularly. I should like you
to live here. Milly says he is going to the Crimea," said Miss
Mortimer. " I hope he's a reasonable man. Why shouldn't
he leave the army at once? /want him here. You were not
the heir to an estate like the Park when he got orders for the
Crimea. I see no reason in the world why he should not sell
out and stay at home."

I think she went on saying more, but I did not hear her ;
the great room swam in my eyes ; she seemed all fading away
into pale circles. I lost hold of the chair or something I was
standing by. I don't remember anything else till I felt some
water dashed on my face, and gradually the pale circles
cleared away, and I was in the same room again. I had no
idea what had happened to me. 1 was lying on a sofa, though,
now, with my face all wet, and a dreadful singing and buzzing
in my ears, and Harry was there. I found out I had fainted.
I never did such a thing in all my life before ; how very
foolish of me ! and just when she was talking, too, about that
— that chance. I caught hold of Harry's fingers tight : " Go
and speak to her !" I cried out. I could not keep still until

276 The Last of the Mortimers.

he went, for I could see the screen, and knew she waa

there.

When he disappeared behind the screen, and when, after a
moment, Aunt Milly followed, always keeping her eyes on me,
I lay perfectly still, grasping my two hands in each other.
My mind was all seething up, as if in a fever, round what she
had said. I was conscious of nothing else. I could not hear
what they were saying now for the noise in my ears ; but as I
lay still a strange succession of feelings came over me. It was
like so many breezes of wind, each cooler, — nay, I mean
colder, — than the other. First it occurred to me what other
people would say of him, of Harry, whom no one now durst
breathe a doubt upon ; then I thought of him fighting with
himself for my sake, trying to put down his manhood and his
honour to save breaking his wife's heart; then I came to
myself last of all. Would I ? could I ? I groaned aloud in
my anguish. Oh, llussian woman, what would you say?
There are plenty to be killed and sacrificed. Shall we let our
children's fathers go, to be lost in that smoke and battle?
Harry burst out to me from behind the screen when I was in
this darkness. I never saw him look as he looked then. He
took my two hands and cried out in an appeal and remon-
strance, " Milly, do you say so ?" looking down at me with
his eyes all in a blaze. I could not; bear it. I put him away
- — thrust him away. They say I cried out to God in my
despair. I cannot tell anything that I said but " Go !" Oh,
Russian woman, I wonder if you made up your mind as I did !
No, not if it were to break my heart ; we could die, all of us,
when the good Lord p!e;ised ; but the good Lord never pleased
that one of ua should make the other fail.

Last of the Mortimers. 277

CHAPTER V.

I FELT ffl and shaken all the rest of that day. It was some
time before they would let me get up from the sofa, and [
quite remember how very strange it was to lie there in the
great daylight room, with the sky looming in through the
great window, and to watch, always so close by, and yet so
distant, that screen which was drawn out by the side of the
fire. 1 could not keep my eyes from that harmless piece of
furniture. Aunt Miily kept coining and going, constantly
talking to cheer me up, and bring things to show me. But
no sound came from the screen. There, in that little space,
shut off and shaded out of the centre of her home, sat the
woman who already fascinated me with an influence I could
not explain. Without knowing what I was doing — indeed,
even I may say against my will, — strange recollections of
stories I had read came up to my mind ; about people in masks
going whispering through an evil life, about the veiled
prophet in the poem, about secret hidden creatures suspected
of all manner of harm, but never found out, or betrayed.
There she was, within three paces of me, concealed and silent,
— or was it not rather watchful, lurking, with her bloodless
smile and her shut up heart? My imagination, perhaps, is
always too active ; somehow it quite overpowered me that
day. It seized upon Miss Sarah Mortimer's looks and her
voice, and the strange separation which she made by that
screen between herself and the world. She was different —
entirely different— from that old ghastly Miss Mortimer whom
I used to dream of in my grandfather's house ; that one with
her hair all mixed with grey, and her dark careless dress,
sitting by the fire with the ghosts of the past about her, was a
pleasant recollection in face of this. The great beauty,
deserted of all the world and fallen into solitude, had something
pathetic in her loneliness. But behind that screen there was
no pathos that I could see ; nothing human, I had almost said.
What folly to speak so! To anybody's eyes but mine, I
daresay there was only an old lady very prettily and carefully
dressed, everything about her looking as if it were intended to

273 The Last of the

repeat and reproduce the effect of lior white hair ; soft 3oK nrs
with clouds of something white coming over them. But 1
could not look at her in that way. I was in a\ve and afraid
when I looked at the screen. It was a comfort to get out of
the room, to go upstairs, where after a while Aunt Milly
took me. But I could not forget her even upstairs. There
she sat in her armchair, stony-eyed, knitting like one of the
Fates, — or was it spin they did ? — and that screen drawing a
magical, dreadful shadow round her chair.

Aunt Milly had prepared our rooms for us with the greatest
care, that was very evident. There was the daintiest little bed
for baby, all new and fresh, evidently bought for him, and
quite a basketful of new toys, which already he was doing his
best to pull all to pieces. Oh, such bright, luxurious rooms !
I felt my heart grow a little cold as I looked at them.
Neither Harry nor Aunt Milly had said a word to me on the
subject. They thought they could deceive me, I suppose ; but
the moment I saw these apartments, don't you think I could
see what they were planned out for ? I was to be taken there
when he went away.

" And, my dear, what do you think of your Aunt Sarah?"
said her kind sister, looking rather wistfully into my
face.

I was so foolish that I was half afraid to answer. How
could I tell that our words were not heard behind the screen
yonder? And as for meeting her eyes 1 could not have done
that for the world.

" But you know she is not my Aunt Sarah," said I. " It is
a love name, dear Aunt Milly. I — I don't know Miss Mor-
timer yet ; you must let me keep it for you."

" Hush ! you have not known me much longer !" cried Aunt
Milly, "No such thing, child ! we are both the same relation
to you. Poor dear Sarah ! 1 forgot to tell you about her
voice. Isn't it very sad she should have lost her beautiful
voice ? She is very clever too, Milly," said Aunt Milly, with
a sigh. u When you know her better you will admire her
very much."

u But you know she jilted poor papa," said 1, trying to
laugh and shake off my dread of the veiled woman down-
stairs.

"My dear! she jilted half the county!" said Aunt Milly,
rather solemnly and not without a little pride. " Your
Aunt Sarah was the greatest beauty that ever was seen when
ehe was as young as you."

The Last of the Mortimers. 279

This speech made me smile in spite of myself. Dear Aunt
Milly, perhaps, had been a little slighted by the county. She
had no compunction about her sister's prowess. I don't know
that I felt very sorry for her victims myself, even poor papa, I
fear. But, ah me ! what kind of a woman was this, I wonder,
that had been an enchantress in her day ! She was an
enchantress still. She charmed me, as a serpent, I could
suppose, might charm some poor creature. I wonder if there
•was any pity in her, any feeling that there was a God and a
heaven, and not merely the century-old ceiling with the
Mortimers' arms on it, over her where she sat ? I don't believe
ehe cared. I don't think there was anything in the world but
her own will and inclination, whatever it might be, that ruled
her in her dreadful solitude. I wonder when "she looked across
her knitting at such a human creature as Aunt Milly how she
felt ; whether it ever came into her head to wonder which of
them was contrary to nature? But I don't suppose Miss
Mortimer cared anything about nature. In this wonderful
•world, all so throbbing with life and affection, I think she must
have known nothing but herself.

Thinking like this, you may suppose I could not deceive Aunt
Milly to make her think I admired her sister. I kept off speak-
ing of her ; which, of course, though not quite so unpleasant,
tells one's mind clearly enough. Aunt Milly gave a little
sigh.

" My dear, I see you don't take to Sarah just at once. I was
in hopes if you had taken to each other she might, perhaps,
have told you something of what is on her mind. Because,
you know, after all we have heard, something must be on her
mind, whether she shows it or not. I am afraid it is all
beginning again now, Milly ; but somehow she hasn't let her
courage down as she did when that young man was about
before. I suppose she's more prepared now. She drove out
quite calm yesterday, just as usual ; though Mr. Luigi's servant
was out here with a letter the very day I saw his master at your
house."

« So I heard," said I.

44 So you heard! Dear! How did you hear? I know
things spread in the most dreadful way," said Aunt Milly, in
great distress ; " but to think that should have reached Chester
already ! What did you hear ?"

" I heard it only from Lizzie, my little maid," said I, pointing
to the door of the other room. 4' Mr. Luigi's servant and sue
are great friends."

280 The Last of the Mortimers.

Aunt Milly followed the movement of my hand with her
eyes, a little awe-stricken. " She must speak his language,
for he knows no English," she said, with involuntary respect.
u But dear, dear, she's only a child ! To be sure she'll go and
publish it all in the servants' hall. But speaking of that, my
dear, you ought to have a proper nurse. I felt very nervous
about baby when I saw her carrying him. She may be big,
you know, but she's only a child."

Here Lizzie, either because she had heard us, or by some
sudden inpulse of her own, knocked pretty loud at the door. I
went to it a little timidly, rather apprehensive that she had
been listening, and meant to defend herself. I did Lizzie great
injustice however. She was standing in a paroxysm of joyful
impatience on the other side of the door. I don't believe the
most injurious expression applied to herself could have reached
Lizzie's ears at that moment. She had her great arms stretched
out, stooping over little Harry. Her face was perfectly radiant
and flushed with delight. On they came, baby tottering on
his own little limbs, half triumphant, half terrified, Lizzie with
her wings spread out, ready to snatch him up the moment he
faltered. Anybody may imagine what I did. I dropped
down on the floor and held out my arms to him, and forgot all
my troubles for the moment. When he came tottering into my
arms, the touch of his little hands swept all the cares and
sorrows out of the world. It was not for long. But a minute's
joy is a wonderful cordial ; it strengthens one's heart.

" And oh, mem !" cried Lizzie, lifting her apron to her eyes,
" the Captain '11 see him afore he gangs away !"

" Go and fetch him," cried Aunt Milly, turning her out of
the room. Aunt Milly was nearly as delighted as she was ; but
she saw it was hard upon me to be continually reminded that
Harry was to be gone so soon. By way of putting it out of
my mind, she began such a lecture about letting babies walk
too soon, and about weak ankles and bowed legs and all kinds
of horrors, that I snatched my boy up on my knee, and was as
much alarmed as I had been overjoyed. When Harry came,
and found me half frightened to allow baby to exhibit his new
accomplishment, and Aunt Milly doing her best to soften down
her own declarations, and convince me that she referred to
babies in general, and not to my boy, he burst into fits of
laughter. I rather think he kissed us all round, Aunt Milly
and all. He was in very high spirits that day. It did not occur
to him what a struggle 1 had corne through before 1 over-
came Miss Mortimer's temptation ; he was contented to think

The Last of the Mortimers. 281

I had fainted from heat and excitement and all the fatigue I
had been exposed to of late ; and it was a comfort to him to
have my real voluntary consent to his going away. Then this
was to be my home, and here was my dear kind friend beside
me. His heart rose, he laughed out his amusement and
pleasure with the freedom of a young man in the height of his
strength and hope. The sound startled the unaccustomed
walls. I saw Aunt Milly look at him with a kind of delighted
surprise and pleasure. Youth had not been here for long. I
wondored did manhood, after Harry's fashion of it, belong to
the Mortimers at all ? Many a day since, sitting in these silent
rooms, the echo of Harry's laugh has come back to me ringing
like silver bells. Ah, hush ! we shall all laugh when he comes
back.

But when Lizzie came to take her charge, the expression of
t^e girl's face had completely changed. She took the child away
with a certain frightened gravity that had a great effect upon
me. Aunt Milly had left me by this time, and Harry had gone
out to see the grounds, leaving me to rest. Resting was not
very much in my way ; of course I got up from the sofa the
moment they were gone. What good would it do me, docs
anybody suppose, to lie there and murder myself with think-
ing? I went after Lizzie to ask her what was wrong. Lizzie
was very slow to answer. There was "naething wrang; she
wasna minding. The man in blacks had asked if she was the
nurse or the nursery-maid. But it's no my place to answer
questions," said Lizzie, with indignation, " and thae English
they're that saucy, they pretend they dinna ken what I'm
saying. Eh, I would just like to let them ken, leddies and
gentlemen ay ken grand what I'm saying! but they've nae
education : 'Menico says that hirnsel'."

" But what does 'Menico know about education, Lizzie ?"
said I.

Lizzie looked much affronted. " He mayna maybe ken
English," she said, "but he may be a good scholar for a' that.
The tither maids just gape and cry La ! when he takes the
dictionary, and laugh at every word he says. He says they've
nae education, thae English. He's no' a common servant-man
like that man in blacks. He kens a' the gentlemen's business
and what he's wantin', and everything about it. Eh,"
cried Lizzie, opening her eyes wide, and glancing behind
her with involuntary caution, " do you think yon would
be for?"

u Who ?" said I. Was it possible that Lizzie knew ?

282 The Last of the Mortimers.

" Mem !" said Lizzie, with national unconscious skill and tha
deepest earnestness, " do you think there's ony witches in thia
country, like what there was lang syne ?"

I was a little startled by the question ; it brought back to
my mind in an instant that extraordinary picture which had so
great an effect on my own imagination, — the veiled woman at
her knitting with the screen behind her chair.

u Or the Evil Eye," continued Lizzie, with a little gasp of
visionary terror ; "oh dinna say, if ye please, that I'm to bring
him into yon muckle room ! for I would do some ill to the house,
or her, or myself — and would be carried, and no ken what I
was doing, if she put any of her cantrips upon our bairn !"

" Lizzie!" cried I, " child, you forget what you are saying,
and where you are !"

u Oh no, no' me !" cried Lizzie with vehement tears in her
eyes ; " but, Mem, it maun be her ; there's nae other leddy
except our leddy in this house. And if I was never to say
another word, she's no canny ; I ken she's no canny, if it was
only what Domenico says."

" In the name of wonder what does Domenico say ?" cried I,
driven to despair by the wild words in which there was no
meaning. I don't believe she knew herself what the meaning
was.

Lizzie stopped short and repeated, with a puzzled and
troubled glance at me, u When it's a long story it's awfu'
fickle to ken," she said, slowly; "but just that yon's the
leddy. Eh, I dinna ken what they ca' her right, nor what ill-
will they have at her ; but 'Menico, he says — he says — Mem,
you'll no be angry, it wasna me, — he says she's the deil
himseiy

" Lizzie," said I, in considerable agitation, " try to recollect;
Miss Milly wants to know ; what does Domenico say?"

Lizzie blushed, and made a long pause again. " You see it's
the Dictionary, Mem," she said, with a sigh. " When he'a
tired looking up the words, he just gi'es a great burst out in the
Italian, and thinks he's explained it a'. It's awfu' fickle when
it's a lang story ; but just it's her ; and eh ! I'm sure she's no
canny by what Domenico says."

I had to be content with this very unsatisfactory conclusion.
It was all Lizzie could give me, — it was her; and she was a
dreaded mysterious person against whom the Italian was
struggling in vain. I felt a strange thrill of curiosity, deeply
as my own mind was pre-occupied. Was it a melodrama or a
tragedy I was about to be preesnt at? The crisis, whatever \\

The Last of the Mortimers. 283

might be, could not be long delayed. What part were we to
play in it ? why did she want Harry to stay ? I did not say
anything either to him or Aunt M.illy of Lizzie's communication
or my own fancies; but it seemed to me somehow, when I
passed through the rooms or along the passages that a certain
tingling stillness, the pause before the storm, was closing round
and round about the house.

284

CHAPTER VI.

" 1 VJ'E were interrupted in our talk yesterday," said Aunt

W Milly, "but I have not forgotten what you said
about your little maid. My dear, I don't think it is worth
your while to warn her against talking about such matters.
When they think a thing's important, they are all the more
likely to talk."

" But you don't know Lizzie," said I.

" No," said Aunt Milly, doubtfully. " I always have heard
the Scotch were faithful servants ; but it's undeniable that they
do love to talk. Besides, she's only a child. My dear, has she
any particular claim upon you?"

"Only that she is an orphan," said I, "like Harry and
me."

" Ah, dear child ! there's two of you ; it does not matter to
you," cried Aunt Milly ; then she continued, rather anxiously,
" I'd like to know, however, what she can tell about this, Milly.
Ellis told me a confused story about a foreign man coining
with a letter, and that he insisted on seeing the lady — the
lady ! and couldn't talk no more sense, Ellis says. I understood
by the description, it must be that man. There couldn't be two
fat foreign serving-men in a quiet county like this ; and
Carson, * as happened to be in the hall at the moment,' Ellis
tells me, spoke to him, ' and they arguifyed for long in a queer
language.' and then he went away. I don't know any more of
it, my dear. This Lizzie of yours, if she can understand
that man, and he told her of it, I wonder does she know any
more?"

Then I told her of the further particulars which had come
under Lizzie's observation, the letter returned and destroyed.
Aunt Milly once more grew a good deal excited. She walked
about the room with a troubled face, and many exclamations ;
but on the whole it gave her comfort. u My dear, she can't be
afraid of him now," said Aunt Milly ; and with this piece of
consolation she went away strengthened to her many businesses,
for everything evidently is in her hands. That eldest sister of
hers, whom I cannot call by any name of love, takes no

The Last of the Mortimers.

to anything. When she does talk, she talks as if she v«re the
sole mistress and ruler of the house ; \>ut Aunt Milly, though I
understand they are quite equal in their rights, has all the
trouble. It is very strange, but I could not feel so comfortable
about her sending back that letter as Aunt Milly did. To tell
the plain truth, a very distinct suspicion had entered into my
mind about her. It flashed upon me when Mr. Luigi was
speaking of her, and it grew stronger and stronger every hour
I spent in the same room, though how it could be, was more
than by any amount of thinking I could divine. I will riot
say what my fancy was ; I was always too imaginative. I don't
want to commit myself till I see whether anything will occur to
bear me out. -

The next day was wet, and I had abundant means of seeing
Miss Mortimer. I think my foolish faint that first day had
quite settled me in her opinion. She saw I was a nobody
from that moment. Accordingly all that rainy afternoon I sat
by her in the strangest unsocial way. The fire was still kept
up, though the weather was warm ; and Aunt Milly had
stationed me in her own easy chair, opposite her sister, and
commanding the entire length of the room so that I could see
who entered at the door, though Miss Mortimer could neither
eee 'or be seen by any one coming: in. The five great windows
were all very naked and bare, the curtains drawn back, and
the blinds drawn up, according to Miss Mortimer's fancy ; she
had always an amount of twilight at her command by move-
ment of her screen. These five long lines of cold broad light,
the cloudy sky looking full down upon us, and the blasts of
rain driving against the cold transparent fence of glass which
separated us from that outdoor world, where the early flowers
hung their heads in the rain, and the shrubs cowered and
drew together in the fitful gusts of wind, gave an extraordinary
atmosphere to the picture. Then that long great mirror at the
end of the room repeated the five windows in strange per-
spective, and reflected all the maze of space and crowd of
furniture in bars of light and shadow ; while here, in the
centre, played the uncertain glow of the fire, much too warm,
and making the air feel unnatural ; and close before me sat
Miss Mortimer with the screen carefully drawn round her
chair. She had on her usual dress — her muslin scarf or shawl,
I forget which, lined with pale blue silk, and ribbons of the
Bame colour in her cap, and black lace mits upon her thin
hands, which, when she happened to stop for a moment, she
rubbed slowly before the fire. She did not t*llr tp me. I

280 TJie Last of the Mortimers.

understand it was very rarely she talked to any one.
as if it wore some weird work she was about, she knitted off ;
but sometimes, as I was conscious, lifted her eyes from her
knitting, and continuing her work all the time, surveyed me
as I sat helpless before her. Every time the door of the room
happened to open she repeated this. I felt her stare at me, as
she might have stared at a mirror, to see who had entered the
»oom ; and it is impossible to describe how I felt under that
look. I durst not answer it by turning my eyes upon her ; but
looking past her at the door, as one naturally does when the
door of the room opens — and knowing her gaze to be fixed on
me, I faltered, I trembled, my face burned in spite of myself.
This went on till, in desperation, I fairly answered her look ;
then my feelings changed. Those blue eyes, which must have
paled and chilled with age, were gazing with a watchful dread
in my face. It was not me she was looking at. Her hands
went on, in their dreadful inhuman occupation, while she
found in my face a reflection of who it was that went in, or
out, by that door behind her. It might be a habit she had
got into ; bub I could read in her eyes that she sat there in
full expectation of somebody or something arriving suddenly,
which might startle and distress everybody else, but which she
knew. Again, I saw the same contrast which I had seen
between Aunt Milly and Mr. Luigi. This woman, like the
Italian, was in no perplexity. She was not confused with a
mystery she could not comprehend, as Aunt Milly was. She
knew something was coming, and what was coming, and
was prepared to defend herself, and hide her shame to the
death.

Hide her shame! oh, how do I dare say it; how could I
venture to say that she had disgraced herself, or even to think
so ? There she sat, clothed in a double respect, even by reason
of all that made her so unlovely and distasteful to me, the real
great lady of the house, served by everybody, imagining herself
quite supreme ; the head of the house, though she transferred
all the trouble of it to other shoulders ; Miss Mortimer, of the
Park, a spotless maiden lady, who might have been, as the
common story went, had she chosen to marry, almost of any
rank she pleased. All that I knew ; but as I gazed at her, tb.3
wild sudden fancy that had seized me before, grew stronger and
stronger. A kind of loathing took possession of me. Shame
may be dreadful, must be dreadful ; but to deserve it, and yet
to escape it — to know one's self guilty, and fight all one's life
against the penalty — to shut one's self up, heart and voice, likQ

The Last, of me ALoriimers. 28?

that in a corner, waiting for the discovery and exposure which
has become inevitable — and resolute by every lie and expedient
of falsehood to resist and baffle it — the sight was hideous to me.
I turned away from her with a feeling of sickness — then in the
impulse of the moment I spoke.

" Should not you like to take this seat, Miss Mortimer, if you
wish to see who comes in at the door V"

"How do you know," she cried, in her strangled voice, "that
I wish to see who comes in at the door?"

a I can see it in your eyes," said 1. I could not help a little
shudder as I spoke. Her only answer was to draw a little
further back into the twilight of her screen. I don't think she
looked at me again ; but she did something else when Ellis came
in the next time, which was quite as characteristic. She listened
visibly, with an extraordinary intentness ; her knitting stopped,
though her eyes were bent on it. I could fancy she must have
heard the very vibration of the man's foot upon the floor, and
satisfied herself by its sound what it was.

" Miss Milly's compliments, ma'am, and will you please step
into the library a moment," said Ellis to me.

" Who's in the library, eh ?" interrupted Miss Mortimer,
before I could speak -

Ellis faced round upon her slowly, with evident surprise : " I
don't know as it's nobody, ma'am," said the man ; " Miss Miily
has something to show the young lady."

" Who's in the house ? why don't you answer me? You are
making up a story," cried Miss Mortimer, almost with a
shriek.

" Nobody, as I know on, but the Captain, as is in the stables,
ma'am, looking at the colt," said Ellis, doggedly, " and Miss
Milly, as is waiting in the library for the young lady, with some
pictures to show to her, as it looked to me ; nor likely to come
neither on such a day."

Instead of resenting this speech as I supposed, Miss Mortimer
smiled to herself with a nod. She gave a glance out from her
screen at the blank of cloudy sky and the falling rain. It
seemed to soothe her somehow. She relapsed back again, and
resumed her knitting, without looking at or speaking to me.
Did it relieve her to be told that nobody was likely to come on
such a day ? Could she imagine a spring shower was motive
enough to keep the avenging truth away? I cannot tell. Who
could tell ? I might be wronging her cruelly to think of
any avenger on his way. But I left the room, leaving her
there with the blank clouds and rain, with the solitary

288 The Last of the Mortimers.

gleam of the decaying fire, in the heavy silence and broad
light of the vast room. She was standing at bay, grim
arid desperate ; but she could actnally imagine that the
fate which pursued her would be kept away by the April
shower ! I cannot express all the wonder, pity, and horror that
come over my heart — such strange, strange, inconsequent
blendings of the dreadful and the foolish were not in any phi«
losophy of inino*

The Last of the Mortimers. 289

CHAPTER ViL

T FOUND Aunt Milly in the library with some miniatures
J_ spread out before her. She wanted to show them to me. I
can't tell very well what had suggested this to her. She was kept
indoors by the rain, and with this standing uneasiness in her
mind, Aunt Milly naturally sought for some means of returning
to a discussion of the subject that engaged all her thoughts.
She made me sit down by her, and silently put one after another
before me. I could see clearly enough what she meant. A
certain family resemblance ran through them all, a resem-
blance which Aunt Milly herself had escaped, and of which
I believe there was not a trace in my features. But one
after another these portraits recalled to me the young Italian's
lace.

" I ought to tell you," said Aunt Milly in a tremulous tone,
*' what has occurred to my own mind. 1 have thought of it for
some time, but it's so very unlikely that I never could allow
myself to think it. I do believe he must be my father's son.
Yes, you may well be surprised. I can't think anything else
but that my father must have married and had a son, and Sarah
somehow had bullied him into leaving the child behind, and
we've been deceivers all this time, and the Park has never been
ours."

" But, dear Aunt Milly," cried I, " with all these terrible
thoughts, why don't you satisfy yourself. If you tell Miss
Mortimer how much you have found out, she certainly cannot
help clearing up the rest."

'* Ah ! but she can help it — she is not carried away by her
feelings ; she knows better than to bo surprised or anything
like that. Lhave asked her and been none the better for it,"
cried Aunt Milly, " and the young man will not tell me either.
Milly, hush ! there is certainly some one at the door."

The door bell at the Park was a peculiar one — it had a
solemn cathedral sort of sound that rolled through the whole
house, and it was only used by strangers or visitors on cere-

290 The Last of the Mortimers.

mony. Both of us started violently when we heard it ; it came
upon our consultations like a sudden alarm of battle.

" It rains as bad as ever ; on such a day who can ring the
great bell at our door ?" cried Aunt Milly. " God help us ! if
my father walked in at that door, I should not feel it was any-
thing out of the way. Nothing would surprise me now."

I could not make her any answer. We both sat perfectly
silent, waiting for what was to come. As if to heighten the
excitement of the moment, the rain, which had been failing
steadily all day, suddenly became violent, and dashed against
the windows in torrents. Through all this we could hear the
great door opened and the sound of voices. My thoughts
travelled into the great vacant drawing-room where these
sounds could not fail to reach Miss Mortimer within her screen.
What was she doing? Could she be sitting there still, dumb
and desperate, listening but not looking, with a pride and
resistance more dreadful in its self-control than the wildest
passions ! I trembled with suspense and wondering anxiety in
spite of myself. As for Aunt Milly, the miniatures she was
looking at fell out of her hands. She covered her eyes for an
instant, and then lifted her scared and pallid face to the door,
as if she could hear the approaching sounds better, for having
her eyes fixed that way. There was a pause that I suppose did
not endure a minute, but which looked like an hour. Then a
soft tap at the door ; then Ellis entered, looking half as pale
and anxious as we did — vaguely frightened he could not tell
how.

" Miss Milly," he said, in a hasty troubled voice, " the
gentleman is here as wants Miss Mortimer : what am I to
do?"

The old mistress and the old servant looked at each other.
The man did not know anything, but he knew the involuntary
suspicion and dread that had somehow gathered about the
house.

" What are we to do? God help us, Ellis, I know no more
than the baby !" cried Aunt Milly under her breath.

She was carried by her excitement beyond her usual dis-
cretion. I interposed as I best could.

" Let it come to the crisis !" cried I, not being well awg.ru
•what I said ; "it must be best to know qlearly Aunt Milly —
hush ! — recollect, you know nothing — let him go in."

She made a convulsive pause .and restrained herself ; and
then the usual keeping up of appearances recurred to her
mind. "My sister's voice! you know, Milly," she said.

The Last of the Mortimers. 291

turning to me as if with a kind of apology, — " who — who is
it, Ellis?"

" It's — it's the foreign gentleman, ma'am," said Ellis, with a
sympathetic faltering of his voice.

"Then show him in to Miss Mortimer?" cried Aunt Milly
with a gasp over the words. " You shouldn't have spoken so,
my dear," she said as soon as he was gone, " servants have
nothing to do with our private affairs. Dear, dear, it's
surely very cold. It's the storm come on so suddenly — a hail-
storm, I declare. Don't you feel, Milly, how cold the air has
grown ?"

I made no answer, and she did not expect any. She went up
close to the library door, and stood there as if listening, shiver-
ing now and then with the nervous chill of her own emotion.
We heard the drawing-room door open and shut, — then silence,
silence, something positive, not merely an absence of sound. I
stood by the table trembling, fancying I saw the stranger pass,
as if through a picture, up that empty-seeming room, with the
cold chill daylight spying in, and the motionless, conscious
creature who feared and yet defied him lurking behind that
screen. Would she speak to him? If she did it would not be
with that stifled whispering voice. What communication would
pass between them? Would the old walls groan with some
dark secret fatal to their honour? The very air tingled
round us in the dead calm of the house. Surely it never was
so noiseless before. As for Aunt Milly, she stood before me
shivering at the door, sometimes putting her hand upon the
*«ck, then drawing back in irresolute terror. This lasted for
sortis. time, though most likely for not half so long as I imagined
it did ; then she turned to me, wringing her hands and bursting
out into tears and cries.

" I cannot leave her alone any longer, Milly," she said in
broken words. " I cannot desert her in time of need
and made as though she would leave the room, and then
returned and sank into a chair and hid her face in her
hands.

She was entirely overwhelmed and broken down. All I
could do for her. was to get a shawl which hung over the
sofa, and wrap it round her. All this had been too much for
her strength.

In the midst of our suspense, Harry came suddenly in upon
us. The sound of his honest frank step ringing into the
library, startled me back to life again, and even Aunt Milly
lifted up her blanched face expecting him to bring some news.

292 The Last of tlie Mortimers.

Harry looked startled and curious, and did not grow less so aa
he looked at our agitated faces.

"What is the matter, Milly?" he cried. "I passed the
drawing-room windows just now, and looked in thinking
to see you. Miss Mortimer was standing at a table looking
over some papers, and by her side was Luigi, talking very
earnestly. By Jove ! to see thorn standing there you would
have said they were mother and son."

At these words Aunt Milly lifted up her head, listening, — but
Harry's expression did not seem to strike her ; she held up her
finger and cried " Hark!"

The silence was broken. A bell evidently rung — a door
hastily opened— startled us all three standing together. " Shall
Harry go after him ?" cried I, seeing how it was and pointing
Harry to the door ; but Aunt Milly would not, or perhaps
could not, suppose that the visitor was merely going away.
She sprang up, crying, " She must be ill!" and rushed out of
the library. 1 followed her, alarmed, but not for Miss Morti-
mer. I saw Luigi standing at the open door, just about to go
out into the cold rainy world out of doors, but Aunt Milly did
not see him. She rushed forward blindly into the room where
she supposed her sister to be ill.

When I rushed in after her I found the usual positions of the
two ladies much reversed. Miss Mortimer was standing
between the fire and the window, looking at her sister with a
certain fierce scorn. Aunt Milly had sunk down in utter
exhaustion and bewilderment upon a large ottoman. The two
were looking at each other. Aunt Milly all trembling, pallid,
and anxious. Miss Mortimer, with her head more erect than
usual, her muslin mantle hanging back from her shoulders, her
attitude very rigid and exact, and no symptom of excitement
about her, save in the slight hurried incessant movement of her
head and hands. A mere spectator would have said she was the
judge and the other the culprit. It was an extraordinary
scene.

"What did he say? Who is he? What does he want?
Sarah, tell me for the love of heaven," cried Aunt Milly in her
agony of distress and terror.

"Who is he? I am not a girl to distinguish any one
person by that name," said Miss Mortimer.

Then she went back steadily to her chair, and sat down in
it and took up her knitting.

"Any one who thinks to surprise me into speaking of
my private affairs, is mistaken," she said after a while.

Tfie Last of the Mortimers. 293

" Gossips like you may talk as they please ; but what belongs
to UK- is mine, and nobody in the world has a right to ask what
I either do or say."

That was all. She never opened her lips again that day.
She sat there rigid, pretending to work ; she did not work
however. I noticed that to keep her hands and her head from
excessive trembling was almost more than she was able for ;
but the day passed without any disclosuie. I believe now she
would die sooner than make any sign.

v;,?4 iK Last of the Mortimers,

CHAPTER VIII.

was a very miserable day. I cannot fa~cy a ir.ore
JL uncomfortable position for a Granger than that of being
thrust into some distressing family secret, almost immediately
after his or her introduction to the family in which it exists.
This was just what had happened to me. I was kept one way
or the other between those two sisters all the day. AuntMilly
kept continually appealing to me with her eyes, for conversation
would not keep up its fluctuating and feeble existence in pre-
sence of that figure within the shelter of the screen ; and my
unlucky position of confidante must have been so apparent that
I should not have wondered at any degree of dislike or displea-
sure which Miss Mortimer could have shown me. She did not
show any, however ; i could discern no signs of aversion to me,
What am I saying? I could discern no signs of any human
feeling whatever in her appearance and behaviour that day.
My impression was that the sole thing with which her mind
was occupied, was the effort to keep her head steady, and over-
come the nervous, tremulous motion which agitated her frame.
It was a relic, it might be an evidence, of some unseen tempest.
But I am firmly convinced that this was the subject of all her
thoughts. I watched, I must confess, with intense curiosity,
though as quietly as possible, that she might not see I was
watching her, every movement she made. But she did not
notice me ; she scarcely noticed anybody ; she was careless of
what other people were thinking ; what she laboured after, all
that miserable, lingering, rainy night was to get the command
of herself. She never ventured to unbend her attitude in the
slightest degree. She set her teeth together sometimes, and
made her face look ghastly ; but she could not keep down that
external symptom of the trouble or tempest within. Her head
kept moving with an incessant tremble ; her hands were too
much agitated to pursue their work. She kept the knitting-
pins in her fingers, and held them rigidly together, as if she
were knitting, and sometimes made a few convulsive stitches,
and dropt them again, and bent in a tragical dismal confusion
over that trifling occupation of hers, which had grown so weird

The Last of the Mortimers. 295

an adjunct of herself to me. I watched her with a certain
horror and pity which I cannot describe. It was not hei paltry
wealth and lands she was defending ; it was her honour and her
life. There she sat a solitary desperate creature driven to bay,
with dear Aunt Milly's vague terrors and anxieties revolving
about her ; but conscious in herself of a misery and danger far
transcending anything in her innocent sister's thoughts. Life
and honour ! but I believed there was no way in this world to
defend them but by unnatural falsehood, cruelty, and wrong,
and that she did not shrink from these means of upholding
herself. Perhaps even a virtuous struggle would have exer-
cised less fascination, than the sight of that desperate guilty
secret resistance. I could not keep my eyes from Miss Morti-
mer. There was something terrible to me in her convulsive
efforts after stillness, and in the nervous motion which con-
tinually betrayed her, and which no exertions on her part could
overcome.

But she sat out all the lengthy lingering hours of that
evening, after dinner, for they departed from their usual customs
at that time, and dined late out of compliment to Harry. We
did try to talk a little, but Aunt Milly's thoughts were all astray
upon one subject, and she was continually breaking off in
abrupt conclusions which irresistibly suggested the engrossing
matter which she dared not enter upon. Miss Mortimer, mean-
while, attempted to read her Times; but whether it was
that the rustle of the paper betrayed the trembling of her hands,
or that her mind was unfit for reading anything, she soon laid
the paper by, and resumed her pretence of working. You may
suppose that Harry and I were not very much at our ease in
this strange position of affairs. Almost everything that was
said among us suggested a something which could not be said,
yet which occupied everybody's thoughts. Aunt Milly sat
flushed and troubled opposite to her sister ; her distressed per-
plexed look, the look of one totally at a loss and unable to offer
any explanation even to herself ; her glances, sometimes direct-
ing me to look at Miss Mortimer, sometimes appealing to me
in vain for some suggestion which could throw light upon the
subject, were enough of themselves to betray to any stranger
the existence of some secret unhappiness in the house. Harry,
who was not so much in Aunt Milly's confidence as I was, kept
appealing to me on the other side. What was it all about ? I
never wished so fervently for the conclusion of a day as I did
for that ; and yet there must be some extraordinary fascination
\n watching one's fellow-creatures. I should not like to get

296 The Last of the Mortimers.

fairly into that dreadful inhuman occupation -which people
called studying character. But I was so curious about Miss
Mortimer that I could almost have liked to follow her to
her own room, and watch, when she was no longer on her guard
against other people, how she would look and what she would
do. Would she faint, or cry out, or dash herself against the
floor? or was she so accustomed to that dreadful secresy that
she would not betray herself even to herself ? She must have
lived that dreadful hidden life, and locked up all she knew in
ner own breast for a lifetime ; for a longer lifetime than mine.

" I wonder," said Henry, when we were alone that evening,
*' what sort of a person this Miss Mortimer is. Something's
wrong clearly. I suspect there must be something in the old
lady's life which will not bear the light of day."

u What makes you think so?" said I.

" The t'other old lady and you play into each other's hands,"
cried Harry ; " you know more about it than you choose to
tell. But of course you are right enough if it is somebody
else's secret; only recollect, Milly, I am very glad you should
be an heiress ; I am extremely glad you will have a house to
receive you while I am away, and that come what may, that
little beggar is provided for ; but look here, if there's another
relation nearer than you, legitimate or illegitimate, I won't
stand by and see him wronged."

u Harry, tell me what you mean," cried I.

Harry looked at me a little indignantly ; he thought I knew
more th<m he did, and was trifling with him. u Milly, who is
that fellow Luigi V" he said at last.

" I make dreadful guesses," said I, u but I cannot tell. Aunt
Milly knows nothing about him. The only idea she can form
is that he may be her father's son."

Harry gave a long, half amazed, incredulous whistle, and
turned away. He could scarcely believe me. Then 1 told him
all I had heard, and something of what I had guessed. We did
not converse plainly about this guess, which he had evidently
jumped at as well as myself. A secret held with such dreadful
tenacity was not a thing to be lightly discussed ; but we both
felt the same on the subject, only Harry's mind took a more
charitable view of it than I did. They say we are always
harder on guilty women than men are ; perhaps it is natural.
I felt an abhorrence rise within me which I could neither over-
come nor disguise at the idea of a woman, and especially a
woman in such a position as Miss Mortimer, having lived a
pretended life of honour and innocence all these years, with

The Last of the Mortimers. 297

that fttiilt in her mmd which nobody knew but she ; and now
of ttivr samilcing and disowning nature to keep up that dreadful
sham. I can understand people meeting death rather than
disgrace*; that is, I mean I could understand how one would
rather hear that those whom one loves should die than disgrace
themselves ; but I don't understand an insane struggle against
the disgrace which one has deserved. That is not a noble
struggle, so far as I can see ; the only way of existing through
such dreadful circumstances would be by enduring it ; and all
the same whether it was a woman or a man. I do think it is a
shame to speak as some people speak on this subject, as if the
disgrace were all ; as if all the harm was not done when the
wrong was done, whether disgrace came or no !

44 I'll tell you what, Milly," said Harry, " I must say I think
it's very hard the poor old lady should lose her good name for
something that happened an age ago. No doubt, by what we
saw to-day, she must have set her poor old heart upon resisting
and denying it, as foolish people always try to do. Now, you
know, that's evidently of no use. Of course a mere statement
of any such claim having been made, is enough to finish Miss
Mortimer, with all the gossips of the county, whether it was
proved or not. Now I shan't be here for long, and as they
seem disposed to be so very kind to you "

u Don't, Harry !"

44 But I must/' said he. " It will be no end of consolation
to me to think of you in these pretty rooms which Miss Milly
has already prepared for you. If I can do them a good turn
before I go, i will, you may depend upon it. As soon as we
return to Chester I'll see Luigi ; and if it can be got out of
him what he wants, I shall certainly make an effort to have
him satisfied, and Miss Mortimer left unmolested. It would
not do if sins of thirty years standing were to be brought
against people in this way. Why, anybody might be thrown
into sudden shame on such a principle ; and you women, you
know, are so vindictive and all that "

44 Oh, yes ! I know," said I, " and will always be vindictive
all the same. Imagine this woman standing side by side with
Aunt Milly, and considered as spotless as she ; imagine such a
long cruel abominable sin, and no retribution overtaking it !
Oh, you may be pitiful if you like, but it disgusts me."

Harry laughed. k4 1 should be surprised if it did not disgust
you, Milly darling," he said, u but poetic justice is exploded
now-a-days. I don't suppose Luigi can be very anxious for hef
personal affection, considering how she seems to have behaved;

298 TJie Last of the Mortimen.

and, indeed, to be sure he would be fully more disgraced than
she. How many days are we to be here? I shall see him
whenever we return to Chester."

u Three days longer," said I, with a sigh. Somehow this
little visit to the Park had come to look like a little barrier
between me and what was coming. Presently we should go
back to Chester, and then "

Harry understood my sigh. He repeated the very words I

was saying in my mind. " And then " said Harry, u and

then, darling, to see which of us two is bravest ! But it will
come hardest upon you, my poor little wife."

44 Harry," cried I, "don't speak!" and I went away, and
would have no more of such talk. It was enough that it was
coming ; it would be enough when it came.

Perhaps the last few words of this conversation were not the
best preparation possible for sleep. 1 know I awoke a great
many times during that long dark night, and once in its deepest
darkness and stillness I fancied I heard a groan faintly sounding
through the wall. Miss Mortimer's rooms were near ours.
This sound set all icy imagination busy again. It was she
who groaned under that veil of night. She, so dreadfully on
her guard all day long, who relieved her miserable heart thus
when nobody watched her. It was impossible not to feel
excited in the neighbourhood of such mysterious secrecy. The
sound of that groan moved me to pity ; — she had not escaped
without retribution. Was not that dread of the consequences
under which she was suffering, worse than the very hardest
shnpe the consequences were likely to assume, if they them
selves ever overtook the sinner ?

The Lasi of the Mortimers. 299

CHAPTER IX.

THE next day began much like the previous day ; it was
still showery and damp ; and though Harry was out of
doors I was prevented, by Aunt Milly's care, from joining him.
In the afternoon we were to go out with her on a round of in-
spection to see the neighbourhood, Miss Mortimer having volun-
teered to give up the carriage to us for that purpose, though
it was the day on which she generally took her drive ; and the
rector and some other near neighbours were to come to dinner
in the evening. I was once more alone with Miss Mortimer.
We sat much as we had done on the previous day, opposite
each other, the moments passing'over us in a certain excited si-
lence. She did not say anything to me ; she did not even look
at me. She showed none of that voiceless anxiety to know
who had come in when the door opened, which struck me be-
fore. She was much calmed down ; the person she expected
had come ; the blow, whatever it was, had been borne ; and
for the present moment there was an end of it. She actually
knitted her pattern correctly, and counted her stitches, and re-
ferred to her book to see if she was correct, as she sat there be-
fore me in her inhuman calm. Was she a creature of flesh and
blood, after all ? or a witch, like those of the old stories, with-
out any human motives in her heart of stone ?

I could not help thinking so as 1 sat beside her. Her head
still trembled slightly ; but I suppose that was an habitual mo-
tion. She sat there shut up in herself, — her misery and her
relief, and the cold dauntless spirit that must have risen from
that smart encounter yesterday, and gained strength by the
very struggle — hidden from everybody round her, as if they
had been a world away. I gazed and wondered, . almost trem-
bled, at that extraordinary death in life. She who had all the
tumult of passion and guilt in her memory ; she who must have
entered into the fullest excitement of life, and got entangled in
its most dreadful perplexities ; she who was no ascetic, nor even
pretended to that rival excitement of the devotee which might
have replaced the other ; how could she have lived silent and
obdurate through those dreadful years ? The very thought of

U

300 The Last of the Mortimers.

them struck me aghast. After her life of flattery, admiration,
and universal homage; after her experience, whatever that
might be, of more personal passions, to drop for a longer time
than my whole life behind that screen into that chair ! As I
sat opposite to her, my thoughts turned back to that other Miss
Mortimer, whom I had placed in imagination iii my grand-
father's house. Once more I thought I could see that large
low room which I never had seen, except in fancy, with the
ancient beauty sitting silent by the fire amid the ghosts of the
past. Was this the true impersonation of that dream of mine?
Was this the Miss Mortimer, with her foreign count, whom
Mrs. Saltoun remembered ? As this recurred to me I could
scarcely help a little start of quickened curiosity arid eagerness.
It seemed to flicker before me as a possible interpretation of all
this dark enigma, could only the connecting link be found. As
I was wandering deeper and deeper into these thoughts — so
deep as to forget the strange position 1 stood in, and the possi-
bility of being taken for a kind of domestic spy, which had
embarrassed me at first— I heard a little commotion outside. -
The door, perhaps, was ajar, or it might be simply that my
ears were quickened by hearing a little cry from baby, and
Lizzie's voice belligerent and full of determination. I got up
hastily and went to the door. I don't think Miss Mortimer
even lifted her eyes to notice my movement. It was certainly
Lizzie in some conilict with one of the authorities of the house;
and Lizzie, as the natural and primitive method of asserting
her own way, had unconsciously elevated her voice },.a proceed-
ing which alarmed baby, and also, as it appeared$ier antago-
nist. I ran and threw the door open as I heard another cry
from my little boy. There, outside, was a -curious scene.
Lizzie, in her out-of-doors dress, just returned from a walk in
the garden with baby, with her face a little flushed, and her
plentiful hair somewhat blown about by the wind, was reso-
lutely pressing forward to enter the drawing-room, where, to
be sure, she had no business to come ; while holding her back
by her cloak, and whispering threats and dissuasions, was a
person whom I had scarcely seen before, but whom I knew at
once to be Carson, Miss Mortimer's maid. Lizzie was greatly
excited; and what with managing the baby and resisting this
woman, while at the same time possessed with some mission
which she was evidently determined to perform, looked fatigued
and exhausted too.

" But I will,'" cried Lizzie, with her eyes flashing. " I'm no
heeding whether it's my place or no. I promised I would gi'e

The Last of the Mortimei's. 801

it into her ain very hand ; and do ye think I'm gaun back o1
my word ? I tell ye I uritl gie't to the leddy mysel'. Eh,
mem !" she exclaimed, breathlessly, with a sudden change of
her tone as she saw me, " I met Menico at the gate, and I pro-
mised to gi'e it into the leddy's ain hand."

When I approached, Carson fell back ; she shrank, I could
fancy, from meeting my eyes. Her hand dropped from Lizzie's
cloak ; she was as much afraid to be supposed to interfere as
she was anxious to interfere in reality.

*' My missis's nerves, ma'am," said Carson, glibly, but in a
half whisper, kl is not as strong as might be wished. If the

young person, ma'am, would give it to me, or . You see

the ladies at the Park they're known for charity, and beggars'
letters, or such like, they're too excitin' for niy missis'; they
puts her all in a tremble — it's on her nerves."

'* But, mem," cried Lizsie, " I canna go back o' my word."
I stood between them, much perplexed and bewildered. The
anxiety of Miss Mortimer's maid was evident ; and Lizzie, from
whose arms baby had instantly struggled as soon as he saw me,
was greatly excited. At this moment she produced the letter
which was in question. Carson made a stealthy spring to
seize it, but recollecting herself, drew back, and looked up
guilty, but deprecating in my face. I don't know whether it
was a desire to dear up the mystery, or the cruel curiosity of
an observer of character that decided me. I dismissed Carson
coldly, saying 1 would ring if Miss Mortimer wanted her, and
told Lizzie to follow me into the room. Lizzie's excitement
sank into .awe as she trod softly through this great, faded,
magnificent apartment. Before she reached the screen which
sheltered Miss Mortimer, she was almost- speechless with half
superstitious reverence. I am sure she would willingly have
given her letter to Carson or anybody at that moment. The very
fact that the person she was about to confront was thus con-
cealed from her overawed her simple mind. When she actually
emerged from behind the screen, and came in full sight of Mii-s
Mortimer, Lizzie's healthful face was perfectly colourless, and
her frame trembling. The supreme awkwardness of the attitude
into which she fell, the spasmodic rudeness with which she
thrust out that hand that contained the letter, the fright and
consternation visible in every twist of her person, would have
been painfully ludicrous if there had been any time to observe
it. Miss Mortimer raised her eyes and stared at the strange
figure before her. Almost absurd as that figure was in its
dismay and terror, her mind was not sufficiently at ease to be

802 The Last of the Mortimers.

simply surprised. Any strange apparition had a right to
appear before this woman in her intrenchments of dumb
resistance. As I stood by looking on, I could understand the
feeling which worked in her eyes. She was not surprised. No
miracle could have surprised her. She was rather asking in
her heart, "Who is this new assailant'? Who will come
next?"

u If ye please, it's a letter," said Lizzie, in a tremulous voice.

Miss Mortimer made no attempt to take the letter. She
said, " Who are you ?" with a strange curiosity ; as if, amid all
the powers that had a secret right to assail her in her conscious
guiltiness, this was a new hobgoblin whom she could not well
connect with the others. If there were any purgatory, I could
fancy a poor soul there asking in the same tone the name of the
new imp who came to torment it.

This was more than Lizzie could bear. I don't know what
perplexed terrors and superstitious ideas of evil influence
brought back the blood to her cheeks. She trembled all over
under that eye, which had suggested the idea of the Evil Eye
to Lizzie, and to which she was determined never to expose
*' our bairn." She must have endured a kind of martyrdom as
she stood under its steady gaze. " Eh, me? I'm no onybody,"
cried Lizzie, shivering with excitement; " it's just a letter. I
said I would gi'e it into the leddy's own hand."

Miss Mortimer turned upon me — on the child — on the very
mirror on the further wall, a look of silent defiance ; she
seemed to look round to call upon the very apartment in which
we sat to witness what she did. Then she took the letter from
Lizzie's rigid fingers, and with scarcely a motion, except of her
hand, dropped it into the fire. After she had done it, she
turned again to us with another steady look, and even with a
smile ; triumphant ! — with a certain gleam of devilish satisfac-
tion in her success, as if she had baffled us all once more. But
in that very moment, while she still smiled, I could see her
hold herself fast between the arms of her chair, to keep down
the nervous tremor which seized her. That resisting, defying
spirit was lodged in nothing stronger than a human frame.
Her head shook, steadied, trembled a£,ain, with a force beyond
all her power of control. With all that soul of successful evil
in her face, her head shook as if with the palsy of extreme old
age, and in spite of the most convulsive strenuous efforts to
keep it still. I was nearly as much awe-struck as Lizzie. I
stole out of sight of her as the girl did. Never was there such
a picture J She could conquer nature, truth, and every human

TJie Last of the Mortimers. 80S

feeling ; but she could not conquer those tremulous chords and
threads of mortal flesh which refused to be in the conspiracy.
She sat there dumbly defying every scrutiny, but with the
smile growing fixed and ghastly on her face as she tried, with
her utmost desperate feeble strength, and failed, to defy and
overcome herself.

I asked Lizzie no questions as she came upstairs after me. I
did not say anything to her when I heard her sobbing out her
agitation in her own room. There was not a word said between
us when she came refreshed by that little ebullition, and by the
necessary arrangement of her wind-blown hair and dress, to
take charge of little Harry. When I had given the child up to
her, I went downstairs again, quite silent and eager. You
may very well ask why. I cannot defend myself. I went
down with no better motive than to watch Miss Mortimer, and
see if anything more could be found out.

When I went into the room I saw nobody, but heard some
voices and movement behind the screen. I believe if Miss Mor-
timer had been speaking in the ordinary human voice, I should
not have heard her at that distance ; but I did hear that strange
stifled whisper almost as well as if it had been hissed into my
ear.

" I must deny, deny, deny," said the strange voice. " Don't
speak to me, you know nothing about it. It is the only strength
I have."

. u But, oh ! dear, dear, such a pretty young gentleman !"
said the other speaker, in a tone of weeping but hopeless
remonstrance.

" Let him prove his rights," said Miss Mortimer.

I obeyed my instincts, and fled out of the room as I heard
that she was stirring behind the screen. And I had not been
mistaken in the guess I made. She came out a few minutes
later, leaning on Carson's arm, leaning heavily, with her head
trembling like that of a palsied person ; but her eyes full of
that dreadful self-possession, knowledge and resistance. I
trembled, too, as I stood aside to let her pass. She did not say
anything, though she stared hard at me. The maid, though
she did her best to make up her usual face when she saw me
there, was evidently overpowered with anxiety and distress.

There was, then, one other individual who knew that secret
— one creature who loved that dreadful old woman, and in whom
she trusted. I could not help standing still to look after them
as they went upstairs. Carson was very little younger than
her mistress. She had a naturally anxious look, as well she

f 04 The Last of the Mortimers.

might if she had been for years the depository of this secret,
I could not help picturing their life to myself as they wenj
upstairs : the innocent woman troubled and tearful, the guiltj
woman calm and immovable, but for that trembling of her
frame which even her remorseless will was not strong enough tc
subdue. I could understand better now how she kept alive, and
could preserve that frightful stillness of hers. Upstairs, in
their own apartments, no doubt another life went on ; a life of
recollections and schemes which no one knew of, a life palpi-
tating full of those past years of which Miss Mortimer guve no
sign. That was how she kept herself alive. I could not do
anything but stand still, watching them, as they went slowly
up to that retirement, where the mask could be laid off and the
veil drawn. When they were out of sight, I strayed into the
great vacant drawing-room, unable to withdraw my thoughts
from this strange pair. UI must deny, deny, deny!" That
was the position she had taken. Could any one in existence —
could Luigi, a sensitive and high-minded young man as he
seemed to be — seek motherly love from such a woman as this?
Motherly love ! it was dreadful even in thought to apply such
words to anything that could come from her. Shame only,
shame to both. What motive could he have to go on seeking
her ? for Nature had evidently no place in her heart of stone.

The Last of the Mortimer «. 805

CHAPTEB X.

UT, dear, ^ dear, where's Sarah?" cried Aunt Milly,
when some time later she came into the room.

1 felt almost as guilty as if I had suddenly got some share in
Miss Mortimer's secret. " She was going upstairs when I
came in," said I ; but I could not find it in my heart to say
what new accident had done this.

Aunt Milly looked at her chair and her footstool, and the
work-basket she had left behind, as- if she might possibly
ascertain something from them. " My dear, it will be well to
avoid the strangers to-night," she said, nodding her head, as if
this conclusion was, on the whole, not unsatisfactory ; " and,
indeed, Milly, though you may think it strange of me to say
so, I am not sorry ; for Miss Kate, I am afraid, would be very
likely to mention something about that poor young man, who-
ever he may be !" said Aunt Milly, with a sigh. " Dear, dear,
to think what troubles people make, both for themselves an4
others, that might be avoided by a little openness. Why
couldn't he have told me, my dear? If he has claims, I'd
have seen him satisfied to the very last farthing, Milly ! and it
he hasn't claims, why should he persecute Sarah and me ?"

"But it might be something he couldn't tell," said I,
rashly.

** Something he couldn't tell ? What dp you mean, child ?
What sort of a connection could he have with our family that he
couldn't tell?" cried Miss Milly. " I see what you mean. He
might be a natural son. Harry has put that into your head,
now, for I am sure you never could have thought of it of
yourself. Milly, Milly, it's dreadful to say, but I'd be more
thankful than I can tell you, to know that he was. I shouldn't
forget he was my father's son all the same ; he should be amply
provided for — amply, my dear ; ah, but it's far too good news
to be true ; and, besides, what would Sarah care for him, if he
were illegitimate ? It could not hurt us in the least. Nothing,
but what would be an injury to us, can explain Sarah's looks.

806 The Last of the Mortimers

Don't let us think of it any more, Milly. Come and show me,
dear, what you're going to wear to-night. I should like you
to look pretty, though they are all old people ; for they're old
friends as well. Come upstairs with me, and show me what
you are to have on."

I went, not without some trepidation, for I did not know
what Aunt Milly would say when she knew I had nothing but
white muslin. She did shake her head when she saw it spread
out ready to put on. She even faltered forth some half
questions as to what I had in my wardrobe, whether I had

not a nice ; but there dear Aunt Milly stopped. She

would not hurt my feelings whatever I might wear ; and I
don't deny I felt a little mortified myself to see it laid out like
a little girl's best frock. However, I am thankful to say
Harry never had an idea that it was not the very best thing
I could wear.

u There are some lace flounces," said Aunt Milly, half to
herself, eyeing the poor white frock over again, "that might
brighten it up a little ; " then she turned round suddenly and
kissed me by way of apology. " My dear, don't be
affronted, I'm sure you will look very pretty in it ; — only
I should have preferred, just for this one night, — but, to be
Bure, you never thought of bringing out all your things for
such a short visit, and us such quiet people. Never mind,
Milly dear, it will look very nice, I am sure. I have a very
pretty scarf you shall wear thrown over it; it may not be
quite in the fashion ; but fine lace never goes out of fashion,
you know. I mean to give it you anyhow ; and here's a little
jewel-box, with some ornaments in it ; I used to wear them
myself when I was a girl, and I had them reset just for a little
remembrance of this visit. Put them on, for my sake,
to-night; and remember, dear, that -what we've been talking
about so much these few days is a family secret. If anybody
shonld say anything that seems to touch on it, or should even
mention Mr. Luigi's name, don't look as if you were conscious
of anything. It may come to nothing, you know. I am very
glad you like them, my dear. I am quite pleased I thought of
it. But recollect, Milly, my love, to be on your guard."

With these words she left me, running away from my thanks
for her present. I was very much pleased with her present,
and even at that moment, when people might suppose I had
more serious things to think of, I must say it did give me a
flutter of gratification to find bracelets in the jewel-box.
How kind and thoughtful it was of Aunt Milly ! I wonder if

The Last of the Mortimers. 807

she knew T hadn't any? I showed them to Lizzie, who
thought anything so grand had never been seen, and to baby,
who would have liked to have them to play with, and finally
to Harry when he came in, and I had to prepare for our drive.
Harry found some fault (of course) with their style, but was
quite as pleased as I was. And, indeed, it was very good of
him to be pleased, for I had almost to go down on my knees to
him to keep him from buying me something of the kind when
we came to Chester, and he naturally grudged that any one
should give them to me but himself.

To think of me saying so much about such a small affair as
bracelets, when things so much more important were sur-
rounding us on every side ! I am afraid to say it, but it is
true, that when I went down into the drawing-room that
evening I was thinking too much about my beautiful scarf and
these same bracelets to notice, at the first moment, who wag
there. The first thing that brought me to myself was hearing
the voice of Miss Mortimer behind her screen. I was so
amazed that, instinctively, without giving any reason to myself
for it, I pushed forward to see her. There she sat, that dread-
f*:^ wonderful witch of a woman — so far from being moved by
any feeling of nature which might have led her to avoid the
strangers, as innocent Aunt Milly supposed — sitting there as if
on a throne, entirely assuming the part of mistress of the house,
and receiving the homage of her guests. Evidently everybody
was surprised — everybody had understood Miss Mortimer to
have withdrawn from any but the most secluded life ; and I do
not think I ever felt such a thrill of wonder and pity, and
almost horror, as when, after all I had seen and noted, after
her convulsive trembling and watchful readiness for any attack,
after the way ia which, this very day, she had retreated,
stubborn but exhausted, upstairs, I saw her sitting here, in
full evening dress, with jewels and ornaments ; her watchful
eyes gleaming stealthily round, and her ears alive to every
sound.

As I came forward I caught sight of Aunt Milly sitting silent
by herself by a table, with a face full of the deepest perplexity
and distress. She raised her troubled eyes to me, and grasped
at my hand for a moment, as if to strengthen herself. She
could not make it out — any attempt to decipher her sister's
purpose was in vain to Aunt Milly — the light might as well
have tried to comprehend the darkness. But I had not time to
say anything to her. Miss Mortimer had called Harry, who
drew me along with him ; and it was she who introduced us to

308 TJie Last of the Mortimers.

the rector and his sister, and to that heavy old Sir George, and
the Penrhyns of Eden Castle. I am sure I cannot tell what she
said ; it was principally Harry she spoke of, and I remember
that she called him their heir and nearest relation, which gained
us a very flattering reception from the strangers. But the mere
fact of seeing her there, with hr^r bare arms and shoulders
shining thin through just such another scarf as I had on, and
her eyes meeting everybody else's with ;i certain wide-open
vigilant stare, and her head held stiffly erect to dissemble that
trembling, which, even still, she could not overcome, at once
confounded and engrossed me so much that I could observe
nothing else. Harry got into conversation with the gentlemen,
and Miss Kate, from the Rectory, a woman evidently full of
curiosity and enterprise, seized upon Miss Mortimer. I
managed to get away to Aunt Milly ; she took my hand again,
and pressed it almost painfully. "My dear, what do you
suppose this means ?" said Aunt Milly, looking wistfully up in
my face.

u To defy everybody," I said, scarcely knowing what I was
saying; "but, dear Aunt Milly, you warned me to be on my
guard. You look so troubled, people will fancy something is
wrong."

When I said that, she got up hastily and joined the others.
I can't tell how the strangers felt ; but for all of us who
belonged to the house, it is impossible to imagine any scene
more extraordinary. To see the dauntless, unnatural wicked-
ness of that woman facing and defying everybody — to see her
take the principal place, and ignore the troubled, terrified sister,
whose guests these people really were — out of all the mysterious
veil of secrecy and darkness in which she had been wrapped, to
watch her emerging thus, not only as if nothing were wrong
with her, but as if, in reality, she was the soul of everything,
and dear Aunt Milly only her shadow and servant ! When
Miss Mortimer took the head of the table at dinner, and Aunt
Milly astonished, and not knowing what to make of it, dropped
into a seat near the foot, where Harry was, our dismay and
wonder were nearly at their climax. Aunt Milly clasped my
hands hard ; she had got a chair placed in the corner beside me,
and whispered —

" I don't mind it, my dear, don't think I mind it. If all
was well, and I had known her meaning !"

I understood that perfectly ; but then all was not well, and
nobody had known the weird woman's meaning. Now she had
it all in her own hands. With her grey hair, and her thin

The Last of the Mortimers. 309

bare aged shoulders peeping out of her scarf, she marie a
dreadful pretence of flirting with that old Sir George ; and
curious Miss Kate sat scrutinising her, and making perpetual
remarks ; and Aunt Milly and I looked on with awe and alarm
which I could not describe. I could scarcely answer Mr. Penrhyn
when he spoke to me. I fear he must have thought me a very
poor representative of the Mortimers. But I could not keep
my attention from that figure at the head of the table. 1
could not help wondering, did she see the writing and the
man's hand upon the wall? for in all her pretences, and
affectations, and coquetries, — those strange coquetries, and
gestures, and movements of the head and hands, which might
have been pretty in a young beauty, but were so dismal in a
white-haired old woman — remember, she never once forgot. 1
could see it plain in her eyes all the time. If the handwriting
had come upon the wall, as it did in Belshazzar's palace, it
would not have surprised her. No allusion that could be made
would shock or startle her. She knew everything that could
come ; and, in her devilish daring, she was prepared for
all.

I hope it is not very wicked 01 me to use such words ; indeed,
I cannot tell what others l couia use.

' Things went on so till we got back to the drawing-room,
•which was a relief in its way. And by dint of continuing so
long, the pressure had, of course, grown easier, and I had
actually begun to make a little acquaintance with Mrs.
Penrhyn, who was young, and had little children of her own,
and quite insisted I should take her upstairs to see baby, when
I was suddenly recalled from that very agreeable talk we were
just falling into, by the sharp voice of Miss Kate.

"Have you heard any more of that young Italian, Miss
Milly ?" said Miss Kate ; " he that struck me, you know, as
having so odd a resemblance to your family?— very strange !
and did you not perceive it yourself? I hear he has been seen
about here again, and his servant, that stout person. Ah, how
very sad he doesn't know English, that poor fellow ! perhaps he
has picked up a little since. Of all the sad things in the world,
I know nothing so melancholy as being in the midst of light,
and yet, for such a trifling thing as the want of language,
remaining in darkness. I have never forgiven myself for
neglecting Italian since that day. Ah, I wish I knew Italian
as you do, Miss Mortimer. Who can tell what use 1 might
have been to that poor benighted man !"

I bad turned aside, with the words stopped on my very lipa,

§10 The Last of the Mortimers.

to listen, So had Aunt Milly, looking aghast, and with every
tinge of colour blanched from her face. Miss Mortimer did
not observe me ; but she noticed her sister, and stared at her
with actually a little pause and smile of malice, to direct every-
body's attention to her startled face, before she spoke.

UI can't speak even my own language now," was all Miss
Mortimer said ; and all the time looked at Aunt Milly with
that derisive look, as if to show that whoever was agitated by
this reference it was not herself. I was so wicked as to think
she meant to turn over the scandal, if any should rise, upon
her sister ; and it made my blood boil ; but, to be sure, I was
quite in error there.

" Oh, I am sure after to-night— !" cried Miss Kate ;
" Indeed, my dear Miss Mortimer, I must congratulate you.
I hope it is the beginning of a new life. If von would but
take a little interest in the parish, with your improved health,
1 am sure it would do so much good ; and if you should happen
to meet that unfortunate young man, and would be induced to
explain the truth to him a little in his own language "

Here Miss Mortimer gave an extraordinary kind of gasp,
without, however, uttering any sound. Nobody observed
it but me, as my eyes were fixed on her. Then she spoke
as if she could not help herself, drawing back into the
shadow.

" He speaks English !" she said, with an extraordinary tone
of being compelled to say something — as if some influence
within her had constrained the words from her unwilling
tongue.

"But, ah, it is the servant I speak of, "-cried Miss Kate;
" one soul is just as precious as another ; it is he, poor
unfortunate man ! If you should meet him in any of your
drives, — he is very stout, and has a large beard, and is so
completely the foreigner that you can't mistake him, — if
you would only stop the carriage and say a word in
season."

There was another wonderful contraction of all the muscles
of Miss Mortimer's face, and this time a kind of hysterical
sound came with it.

" If I meet him," she said, slowly, " I'll give him a word in
season — don't be afraid," and she laughed.

It made me shiver and tremble all over. I was thankful that
Ellis came that moment with tea, and I could get up and go
into another corner of the room to recover myself. I don't
know how Aunt Milly bore it. She had not a particle of

The Last qf the Mortimer*, 811

colour in her face the whole evening after. But Miss
Mortimer went upstairs steadily when all the guests were
gone. I do not know what befell when she got into her own
room. I do not think they had much rest there that night.
If she had fallen down in a fit, or expired at the head of the
table that evening, it would not have surprised me. She had
lived through it ; but I am sure neither she nor her poor
faithful maid closed their eyes that night.

812 The Last of the Mommer*

CHAPTER XI.

THE day after that, was the day we had fixed to go hack to
Chester. Miss Mortimer did not come downstairs ; but
Carson came to me with a little packet while i was helping
Lizzie to pack up baby's things The poor woman looked ill
and strange herself. She had a scared terrified expression, as if
she were afraid of everybody, and looked so worn-out and
exhausted that I could scarcely help telling her, for pity's sake,
to go and get some sleep.

" My missis sends her love," said Carson, "and she's very
sorry she can't corne downstairs to see vou, ma'am, nor the
Captain, bat hopes 12 won't be long till you're here again ; and
sends you this, and iier iovo.

" Is Miss Mortimer ill V" said I.

Carson hesitated befor<-> she answered.

"It's on her nerves," she said, at last, faltering ; " it's— I
mean, to be sure, she's a little overtired because of overdoing of
herself last night. It was out of compliment to the Captain,
ma'am, and you. My missis has a great spirit ; but it's the
body as is weak."

" Yes," said I, unable to restrain the impulse; "but, oh, don't
you think she has just too great a spirit? What if it kills her
one of these days ?"

The woman flashed up for a moment into an attempt
of resentment and dignity, but, partly from her weakness
andwatching and want of sleep, broke, -down immediately,
and shed a few tears in her apron. The poor creature's heart
was moved. " If it kills her she'll die ; but she'll n°,ver give in,"
sobbed Carson ; and then, recovering herself all at once — " it's
on the nerves, that's what it is," said the faithful servant, and
hurried away.

It was some time before I cared to open Miss Mortimer's
packet. It contained two rings, one of them a slight turquoise
thing, which was for me, and the other a fine diamond^ which

The Last of the Mortimers. 313

was to be given to my husband. "Tell him it's a family
jewel," said a little accompanying note. I put it down on
Harry's dressing-table, where he would find it when he came
in. / would not put such a present on his finger ; besides, it
was best he should have it direct from herself — she had always
received him as the representative of the Mortimers, and not
me.

And then Aunt Milly came upstairs to kiss and cry over
us. I was very ,sad myself, as was natural. There was nothing
now between me and Harry's going, but a few weeks — rather
a few days. J should look straight into the face of that
dreadful approaching moment when we turned our backs on
the Park.

I could not cry as Aunt Milly did. I felt to myself as if I had
been trifling all this time, taken up with other people's affairs,
and making friends with strangers, while every hour was
bringing us closer to that day. Dear Aunt Milly held me fast
in her arms, and whispered everything in the world she could
think of to console me : that I had baby ; that I should have
letters regularly ; that the war wouid not last long ; that I
must trust God, and pray. Ah, as if I did not know all that !
if I had not known it and gone over it all in my own mind
a thousand times, there might have been some comfort in what
she said.

u And look here," said Aunt Milly, thrusting a purse in to my
pocket— not into my hand, to give me a chance of putting it
back again — " he is our representative, dear. He is not to go a
ntep till he has everything — everything you can so much as think
upon to make him comfortable. Now, Milly, don't say a word.
I'll think you don't love me if you say a word. Will it be any
comfort to you, or me, to think here's some paltry money left,
and Harry gone to fight for us all without something that
would make him comfor^ible? You'd work your fingers off
to get it for him, and \ on have no excuse for denying me.
Don't say anything to Harry, child. Men don't understand
these things. It's between you and me ; and, please God, we'll
tell him all our schemes when we get him back safe, the dear
fellow. But, dear, what is that on the table? Sarah's
diamond ! that one she has always had such a fancy for. Has
she sent it to you ?"

" To Harry," said I.

" To Harry ! Dear, dear, what creatures we are !" cried Aunt
Milly, much agitated, and bursting in tears again. tk Poor
Sarah 1 she's not so hard-hearted as you and me were thinking,

814 The Last of the Mortimers.

Milly. Oh, God help her ; if He would only bring her to
deal true and fair, and have out this trouble in the face
of day, there might be some comfort yet for her in this very
life!"

I made no answer. I did not love Miss Mortimer, as I
suppose, in some sort of way, her sister did ; and, besides, my
thoughts were all turned in another direction again. I had
ceased to see the Park and its troubles so acutely as I had done
for some days past. My mind was returned to my own private
burden. I had little to say to anybody after that. I turned
away even from Aunt Milly, with a dreadful feeling that I was
not to see her again till Harry was gone. For I knew in my
heart, though they never said any thing to me, that this was how
it was to be.

I had not the heart to talk even to Harry, as we drove
slowly back to Chester — slowly, . as I fancied. We went
in the carriage all the way. We had no railway or tunnel to go
through this time. Nothing to help me to a moment's delusion
of plunging away to the end of the world, or into the bowels of
the earth, it did not matter which, all together. That was
impossible. Miss Mortimer's carriage put nothing in my mind
but the inevitable parting, and all that was to happen to ine
after Harry was gone.

When we got to our Chester lodgings, Domenico was there,
as usual, full of the noisiest, kindest bustle, to help in getting
everything in, as if he had belonged to us, instead of belonging
to a stranger, who, most likely, had little reason to bear the
heirs of the Mortimers any good will. Mr. Luigi was standing
at the window all the time, looking at the carriage, the horses,
the servants ; thinking, perhaps, they might all have been his
under different circumstances. How can I tell what he was
thinking? I am sure at that moment, though I observed
him at the window, I took no pains to imagine what his
thoughts were, and did not care. I did not care for anything
just then.

It was one of my bad times. It was one of the hundred
partings which I had with Harry before the real parting came.
When the things were lifted out of the carriage, I could see
them all in my own mind lifted in again, all but Harry's share
of them, and myself sitting blind in that corner with all the
world dark before me. Well, well ; it is no use reasoning over
it, as if that would make things any better. Thousands and
thousands were just the same as me ; did that make it any
Better, do you suppose ? I thought of the poor woman in the

TJw Last of the Mortimers. 815

Edinburgh High Street, and her hard damp hand that pressed
mine. I was a soldier's wife like all the rest. I went up into
my own room and got Harry's old sash again, and bound it
tight over my heart. It gave me a kind of ease, somehow.
And to hear baby shouting at sight of his old toys, and Harry
calling for his Milly darling, downstairs 1 It was an agony of
happiness and anguish j it waa life.

816 The Last of the Mortimer*.

CHAPTEE XII.

THE very next day Sara Cresswell came to see me. I cannot
say that I was very glad, for I grudged everything now
that did not belong to the one business which was engrossing
us. I had been out that morning with Harry trying to get
things that were necessary for him. I don't mean the common
articles of his outfit, for these, now that we had money enough,
could be ordered at once without contriving ; but the little
conveniences that might make him more comfortable. He
protested that I would load him with so many contrivances for
comfort that comforc would be impossible ; and, 1 daresay I
was foolish. But he let me do it without more than just
laughing at me. He knew it was a sort of consolation. When
Sara came the room was in a litter with all sorts of portable
apparatus ; things for cooking, and lamps, and portable dressing
things, and the wonderful convenient portmanteaus they make
now-a-days. I was putting them all together, and comparing,
and thinking all how he won Id' do when, instead of home,
where everything came naturally, without being asked for, he
should have only these skeletons to make himself comfortable
with. I had lighted the lamp, and was boiling the little kettle
ovei it, to see how it would do Ah, if we only had been
going all together ! If I could have imagined myself there to
boil the kettle and have everything warm and nice for him
when he came in from the trenches, how pleasant all these con-
trivances would have been ! As it was I had just had his
servant up and been showing him the things we had bought ;
he looking grim and half amused, touching his cap and saying,
" Yes, ma'am," to every word I said, but laughing in his mind
at all my womanish nonsense. I could see that perfectly, and
1 had a good cry after the man was gone ; and was just rousing
up from that, to boil the little kettle, when Sara Cresswell
came in.

In this short week there was a good deal of change upon
Sara. Her eyes had a quick kind of fitful light in them gleam-
ing about everywhere, as if she were somehow dissatisfied,
either with herself or her own circumstances, and sought a kiucj

The Last of the Mortimers. 817

of relief in external things. There was a change in her appear-
ance too ; her little short curls had either grown too long to
cluster about her neck as she had worn them, or she had taken
another caprice about this fashion of hers, for they were now
all gathered into a net, a thing which changed her appearance,
somehow, without one being able to see for the first minute
how it was. She flushed up wonderfully when she saw my
occupation. She came and kissed me, and sat down by me to
watch the lamp. I had to explain to her all about it, how it
was arranged, and everything ; and after she had sat with me
watching till the little kettle boiled, all at once it seemed to
flash upon her what dreadful thing was implied to me in that
little apparatus, and she suddenly looked up in my face and
took hold of my hand, and burst out crying. I gave way just
for one moment too, but even her presence and her sympathy
kept me from breaking down altogether. But it warmed my
heart to Sara to see her crying for my trouble. I took the
little teapot out of the place it was fitted into and made some
tea, and gave her some without saying anything. We sat by
the table where that little lamp was still burning, throwing the
steady, cheerful little flame that showed so strange in the day-
light, upon us. We drank that tea together without saying
anything, till Sara, not being able to contain herself, her heart
quite running over with pity for me, took the cup out of my
hand and threw her arms round me. u We shall be sisters
while he is away !" cried Sara, not knowing what to say to
comfort me. I don't think I said anything ; but we were real
fast friends from that day.

" But I must have everything cleared away now, before
Harry comes in," said I ; " he must not see all this litter we
have been making. He thinks me foolish enough already.
Go into the other room, Sara dear, and take a book and wait
for me. Lizzie is out with baby. I'll come to you presently."

" As if I could not help !" cried Sara, dashing the tears away
off her cheek. " Why, oh, Milly, why won't people let us
women do what we were born to? This is twenty times
pleasanter than going into the other room and taking a
book."

And so, I daresay, it was. When everything was tidy we
Aid go into the other room. Sara sat near the window, where
she could see out without being seen herself. I took up some
of Harry's things that I had begun to make before Aunt Milly's
money came. I would have made them every one myself if I
coold, but that, to be sure, was impossible ; and what a com

818 The Last of the Mortimers.

fort it was to think he would have such a good supply of
everything ; but still it was a pleasure to me to have that work.
We sat talking for some time about other things, about the
Park, and Aunt Milly, and Miss Mortimer, but without
touching upon anything but the surface, — how I liked them,
and all that, — till at last Sara gave a little start and exclama-
tion, and put her hands together. It was something she saw in
the street. I rose to look over her shoulder what it was.

" There is Mr. Langham and Mr. Luigi," cried Sara. " What
can they be talking about? Are they coming in, I wonder?
How earnest they both look ! Now they are turning back
again. Oh, Milly, tell me, please ! what are they talking
about?"

" How can I possibly tell you?" said I ; but I suppose there
was a little faltering and consciousness in my tone.

Sara sat watching for some time longer. " They walk up
and down, quite engrossed in their conversation," said Sara ;
" when they reach the end of the pavement, they turn back
again, up and down, up and down. Now Mr. Langham seems
urging something upon him — now he turns away, he clasps his
hands together, he appeals to Mr. Langham. What is it?
what is it all about? I never can persuade him to tell me.
How does he belong to the Park or the Mortimers? Why are
they frightened for him ? Oh, Milly, you who have just come
from them, tell me what it is? I am not asking from vain
curiosity — I — I — I have a right "

Here Sara stopped, overcome with agitation. I was close
behind her. I could not help growing agitated too.

" Sara, tell me /" I cried; "we are both motherless crea-
tures, and you have nobody to guide you. Tell me ; you call
him Jie, you don't say his name. What is he to you?"

Sara turned back and leant her head upon me, and fell into a
passion of tears again ; — different tears — tears for herself, and
out of the anguish of her heart. She was doing wrong — she
knew she was doing wrong— she had gone on with it wilfully,
knowing it was wrong all -the time ; and now she had gone too
far to draw back.

" Oh, Milly, Milly, papa does not know !" she cried, in such
a tone of misery. And, indeed, I don't wonder. How could
she look him in the face knowing how fond of her he was ?

" But, Sara, this is dreadfully wrong of Mr. Luigi," cried I j
" he ought to know better ; he should at least have gone to Mr.
Cress well. It is his fault."

*' Was it your Harry's fault?" cried Sara, starting up in my

The Last of the Mortimers. $19

face, all flushed and glowing. " Should he have gone directly
and told everybody ? And you were married, married, Milly !
— and ever such a time before it was found out. How can you
pretend to be so shocked at me ?"

To see her spring up, all blushing and beautiful, and deter-
mined as she was— she who had been sobbing on my shoulder a
moment before, took me entirely by surprise. I retreated a
step before her. I could not tell what answer to make. She
was not ashamed, the little darling creature 1 She was ready
to stand up for him against all the world.

" It was not my good father that loved me, it was only my
aunt," I said, faltering; "and, besides, it was I who should
have told her ; and as for Harry — Harry "

"He is no better than Luigi !" cried Sara; *' he ought to
have gone and told and asked for you. You know he should ;
and you were married, actually married, and oh, Milly, can
you really venture to scold me V"

" If I had nothing else to excuse me I was ashamed, at least,"
said I, a little sharply.

" I am not ashamed of Lewis !" cried the little girl, stamping
her little foot and clasping her hands together. When her
courage deserted her, she came and nestled into my side again,
and clasped her arms tight and cried. What was to be done ?
for whatever I might have done myself, I could not be an acces-
sory to Sara's secret, to break her kind father's heart.

" But tell me who he is ? What is Mr. Langham speaking
to him about?" whispered Sara at last.

" Has he not told you who he is ?"

" Only that soon he will be able to come to papa and tell
him everything, but that his duty to somebody prevents him
speaking now, till he has permission," said Sara, under her
breath. " I am not excusing him," she went on, lifting up her
head. " As you say, it was my part to tell papa ; and it was
only just the other day that — that — there was anything to tell.
We have not been going on making it up for a long time. We
have not been keeping it secret for months, like some people."

" Sara, hush," said I ; " you know quite well your case and
mine are not alike ; but, at any rate, I am older and wiser now.
Must I, or must Harry, go and tell your father ?"

Sara looked at me with a degree of affectionate spite and
wickedness I never saw equalled. "You would, you treach-
erous, perfidious creature F'she cried, flinging away from me ;
" but Mr. Langham wouldn't ! — you need not think it. You
will have to go yourself ; and papa will think we have had A

820 The Last of the Mortimers.

quarrel, and won't believe you. Ah, Milly! here they are
coming back. Tell me what Mr. Langham was saying to him ?
Tell me what it all is ?"

If I had known ever so well what to tell her, and been as
willing as I was able, I would have been prevented by Harry's
coming in. He was looking grave and perplexed. His inter-
view with Luigi had not satisfied him, any more than such a
conversation had satisfied anybody else who approached the
Italian. Sara stopped short with the most violent blush on her
face when she saw him. She withdrew from me, and got into
a corner. She went to the window, and pretended to be looking
out very earnestly. She answered Harry's salutation only over
my shoulder. The next moment she came whispering to me
that it was time for her to go. Evidently, however much she
encouraged herself by our example, she could not face Hariy.
She whispered, " Don't tell 1" and clenched her little fist at me
as she went away. Of course I only laughed at her ; but it
appeared I did not need to tell Harry. He came upstairs, after
seeing her out, with a smile on his face.

" Has she been telling you what trouble she has got herself
into? Oh, don't betray her secret," said Harry. " I have just
heard it from the other side. Here are other two fools follow-
ing our example, Milly. What is to be done for them f It is
worse, you know, in their case, as 1 took pains to show Luigi.
Mr. Cresswell is a different person from Aunt Connor ; and we
two were equal in our poverty. I don't approve," said Harry,
with a laugh mingling in his gravity, " of such a thing as
this."

" And what did he say?" said I, thinking, no doubt, that my
Harry's wisdom had made the Italian ashamed of himself.

Harry laughed again, but grew rather red. " Word for
word what I used to say when I was explaining to myself why
I did not go and ask you from your Aunt Connor. I hope
they'll have as good an issue as we have had, Milly, darling,'*
said Harry, " But here's some extraordinary mistake again.
Either we're mistaken in our guess, which I can't think pos-
sible, or poor Luigi's dreadfully mistaken in the laws of Eng-
land and of civilised life. Perhaps he thinks our being
Protestants makes an end of law. I can't tell what he thinks,
nor what to think of the whole concern. He refuses my
mediation, Milly ; at least he tells me I am wrong."

" Wrong in what particular?" I asked eagerly.

Harry shook his head. " 1 can't tell ; but he will not hear of
any compensation, ?r of giving np his pursuit of that poor old

The Last of the Mortimers. 821

lady. When he saw what I meant he grew very hot and
angry, and asked if I meant to insult him, but afterwards said
to himself, ' It is in ignorance,' with a sort of magnanimity
which would be simply ridiculous according to my notion of
the affair. They'll have it out their own way, Milly. We
can't interfere, that's clear ; only I wish there was some light
thrown upon it," said Harry, u before I went away, that I
might know what your fortune is likely to be. What would
you say if this grand Park of yours turned out to be no inherit-
ance for us at all ?"

" I should not break my heart ; but what could he have to
do with the Park ?" cried I. " If he were Mr. Mortimer's son,
why should Miss Mortimer be so troubled about it ? and how
could he, if he is Miss Mortimer's "

" Hush, Milly ;.we don't know anything about it. Let's
talk of our own concerns," said Harry, with a sigh. These
words plunged me back again into the mood from which Sara
had roused me. The other things weat like shadows — this was
the real life which belonged to us.

The Last of the

CHAPTER XIII.

I DON'T remember very well after that how these outside
affairs went on. I used to see them both, of course.
Sara came to me almost every day, and sometimes helped with
my work, and sometimes played with baby, and sometimes
would read aloud to me when Ilcirry was out. She meant it
very Avell and was very good, and a comfort, as much as that
was possible. I remember being glad when she read, and did
not talk, for then I was free to my own thoughts. I daresay,
thinking it over since, that it must have been the fascination of
seeing her constantly, which for that interval took precedence
of everything in Luigi's mind, and kept him inactive ; for I
heard from Aunt Milly that he had not been to the Park
again, nor heard of in any way, so far as she knew. And
Miss Mortimer had been ailing too, and had very bad nights,
and had been a whole week that she did not come downstair^
I heard all these things at the time without taking any notice
of them. Harry, after finding himself so unsuccessful with
Luigi, had given it all up ; and we were both too much
occupied with our own concerns to think of anything else.
We did not talk much of what was to happen when he was
gone. It had come to be tacitly concluded that I was to go
with Aunt Milly; and, I suppose, that thought that crossed
Harry's mind after his conversation with Luigi, — u What if
the Park should turn out to be no inheritance of ours after
all?" — had passed away again as it came. I can't say I ever
thought of the Park at that time one way or another ; and I
am sure what Harry was glad for me to have, was not the

Erospect of a great fortune, but the presence of a dear
fiend.

One day he rode out to see Aunt Milly, and take leave of
her. He saw them both, he told me, but nothing passed that
I cared to inquire into. We had a great deal to do, which
helped us to pull through these days. It was such a difficulty
to get those things which I had collected, packed. Harry's

The Last of the Mortimer*. 823

Servant came, and puffed and scratched his head over them,
and poor Domenico came up to help ; and what with his
broad laughs and pantomime, and his determination to get
everything in, and his cheerfulness over all his failures, and
the ludicrous way in which he and Thomson addressed each
other, each in his own language, and abused each other too,
even I was obliged to laugh, and the assistants were all kept in
good-humour. I felt as if it had been very dark all these days
— often raining, always cloudy, the streets muddy and uncom-
fortable, and the air stifling. I can't tell whether it was so in
reality, bub it certainly seemed so to me.

Then the very last day came. Harry was specially busy all
that day ; there were all the men to look after, and he was
acting adjutant. I went out by myself to see whether I could
not find anything else he might want. It was very fatiguing
walking — I suppose it was a rainy day. When I came in I
felt very faint, and sat down in a chair in the hall for an
instant to recover myself. I can't tell how Luigi knew that I
was there ; but he came out to the door of his room, and
stood looking at me for a moment. I got up, being jealous
that anybody should see me break down, just then ; but he
held up his hand as if to beg me to stay.

" May I say how I think of you?" he said. " Just now you
are never out of my mind, you and that brave Langham.
Patience, patience ! such men come back — they come back !"

"Oh, hush, hush, hush!" I cried. I could say nothing
more, and pressed past him to go upstairs

He put his hand on mine when I laid it on the rail of the
stairs, detaining me. " We are cousins," he said, softly ; u do
not put me away. In my country we say cousin-brother—it
does not matter, it is the same. L will be your brother if you
will let me. Tell him. I am not to be ashamed of ; he knows
not ; but if she will not do what is right, soon all the world
must know. I am your brother, at your disposition. Say it to
him. I will not come to say farewell to disturb you — but tell
him ; he shall trust me, and you may want a brother ; we are
of one blood."

" Oh, let me go !" I cried. " I can't ask you how this is. I
can't thank you, though I am sure it is kindness. I can't think
of anything to-day ; let me go."

Luigi kissed my hand, and let me go. It startled me very
much for the moment. I rushed upstairs, feeling as if he had
been rude to me ; — but indeed he had not been rude to me,
nor anything the least like it. But it startled me into

824 The Last of the Mortimers.

realizing all that was going to happen. That I should be altne
as to-morrow. I remember running and clutching at the
blinds which were down, and drawing them up with great
haste, and almost passion. It seemed to me as if that dim
light were predicting something ; as if the furniture standing
about was looking on, and knew what was going to be. Now
the time was come ; 1 had gone over it and over it in my fancy ;
this would be the last of my rehearsals ; to-morrow Harry
would be away.

And the to-morrow came, as they always do. I did not feel
in the least diminished in my strength. I did not feel I had any
body at all that morning. I went with him to the railway
steadily, you may suppose. I would not lose a moment of the
time we were to be together in any folly about myself. I
remember him saying something about me going home alone,
and all that, as men will do. But 1 did not lose sight of him
till the last moment when the train disappeared into the
tunnel ; and I can't tell how long I stood there watching, after
it had vanished into that darkness. Now he was gone !
Another train came up, and the crowd disturbed me standing
there all by myself. 1 did not feel as if it were truo ; but I
went away all the same. I said to myself, over and over again,
" He is gone ;" but it did me no good. I went out cf the
railway not believing in it. Outside there was a cab waiting
for me. But Domenico rushed forward to open the door, and
somehow they had contrived that Lizzie and baby should be
there to take me home. I heard afterwards that Luigi and
Domenico were both watching close by all the time, in case I
should faint, or something. I suppose they thought I would
faint, not knowing any better. Lizzie's great eyes, panic-
struck, gazing in my face, full of tears tli.it she durst not let
fall, struck me quite strangely when I got into the cab ; and

then little Harry stretched out his arms to me — and then .

But even at the worst it was not so dreadful as I thought it
would be. I was not sitting blind and desperate, with all the
world dark before me. No, no; and God forgive me for
thinking I should. Harry was living and well, and gone to do
his duty ; and this was his boy smiling in my face, and the

sun was shining . And I had to live, and to be patient,

and to pray.

When we got home, Aunt Milly's kind face, anxiously gazing
out of the window, was the first thing I saw. She came run-
ning downstairs to take me in her arms ; she seemed to think
it strange I could walk in &o steadily, and did not want anf

The Last of the Mortimers. 825

support. Sara was upstairs too. I have no doubt it was kind,
the kindest thing possible; but I felt dreadfully fatigued,
somehow, with that morning's work. I could have liked to have
been by myself a little. I went to my own room to put off my
bonnet, and sat down with a kind of pang of comfort. I thought
I was glad it was over ; and then my eye fell on Harry's old
Bcarf — and somehow the silence came ringing about my ears with
no "Milly, darling !" sounding through it : and I began to see it
was true, and he was away.

When Aunt Milly came stealing into the room after me, she
dropped down by my side where 1 was kneeling, and put her
kind arms round my waist. "Yes, dear, cry!" said Aunt
Milly, " it will do you good !" But I did not cry after that —
I was better. 1 was glad it was over now.

We waited till we had a message by the telegraph to say the
ship was just sailing out of the Mersey ; for Harry had stopped
with me till the very last moment. And then we went away. I
remember everything so clearly that happened that day. I
remember how the sun kept shining, and how they all looked
at me as if I had been ill, and had to be watched and cared for
at every step. It was all very new to me. In the hall, as we
were going away, Luigi came up to me again. Aunt Milly had
made me take her arm ; not that I needed it, but she seemed
to think I ought to need it. Luigi came and took my hand.
" Remember !" he said, u I am your brother, at your disposition,
till he comes back." I don't think I made him any answer ;
for the very sight of him made Aunt Milly tremble. He went
out after us to put us into the carriage, and somehow managed
to do it, though Aunt Milly was afraid of him. He put her in
last of all, and kissed her hand. Aunt Milly did not say
anything to me for a long time after. She kept gazing out of
the carriage windows as long as she could see Luigi ; and I
have a kind of consciousness that he stood there, with his hat
off. as long as we could be seen on the road. For the moment
ehe had returned into her own trouble and forgotten mine. I
leaned out of the other window, and felt the wind on my face.
Ah, God send the winds were safe upon the sea 1 He was
gone — really gone. I was not even to hear of him for a long
time ; and when I was to see him, God knew alone. I was
swept out of his sight, and he out of mine, as if we did not
belong to each other. There was only One now, in heaven or
earth, that at the same moment could see him and me. When
I thought of that it melted all my heart. Our Father, the only
father we two had, saw us both, with no boundaries betweeD

826 The Last of the Mortimers,

us — all that time when I could neither see nor hear of Uaffy,
God Avas my link to my husband. He knew. We were both
in His eye if we were worlds asunder. There, we were near to
each other, however else we might be separate. The impression
Came so strong upon me that for a moment I could not say I
was less than glad. No distance in the world, though it put ua
for a time out of sight of each other, could ever put us out of the
eight of God.

Tlie Last of the Mortimers* 827

CHAPTER XIV-

"VTOBODY will be surprised when I say, that, after this,
JL\| things got into their usual way very soon, and that when
the event was over, everything subsided round it, and soon
Aunt Milly began to forget that I was the invalid (in spirit)
whom she had taken such tender care of, and brought back all
her budget of perplexities and troubles to pour them into iny
ear ; and after a day or two's retirement in my own room,
which was an ease to me, I went dowstairs and about, and took
a share in everything. Miss Mortimer had got better of her
illness, if illness it was. She sat within the screen as usual,
'doing her knitting, and not taking much notice of anybody.
I don't know whether she had really suffered in her health, but
it seemed to me that she got thinner, and that sometimes there
was a gleam of fiery restrained excitement in her eyes, which
were rather cold eyes by nature. We were told that she still
had very bad nights ; and I am sure, two or three times when
I met poor Carson by accident, it took all my self-control to
keep me from speaking to her, and begging her to deliver her-
self, somehow, from this dreadful yoke. I never saw exhaus-
tion and a kind of weak despair so written upon anybody's face.
These bad nights, whatever they might be to the mistress, must
have been murderous work to the poor maid.

"My dear," said Aunt Milly, "I shall never forget that
young man's look as he put me into the carriage, and kissed my
hand." Aunt Milly held out her plump soft hand as she spoke,
and looked at it. " They have a habit of doing so, these
Italians. But if you will believe me, Milly, it was actually an
affectionate look the poor young fellow gave me ; and I have
never asked you what he meant ; he was your brother, he said.
My dear, what did he mean ? Ah, I remember how disap-
pointed I was to find that he was not your brother, and Richard
Mortimer's son. That would have been such a happy solu-
tion of everything ! but tell me why he called himself your
brother? Was it only sympathy, Milly?"

" He said we were of the same blood ; l^e s,ai4 we were
tions," said f , witfc soine hesitation,,

828 The Last of the Mortimers.

The book she had been reading fell out of Aunt Milly's hand.
" Relations!" she cried, faltering and growing pale; "then,
Milly, there can be no doubt at all about it. Milly, I tell you
he must be my father's son ; how could you be relations ? And
indeed, indeed," cried Aunt Milly, growing more and more
agitated, " I can't bear this any longer. ISTow you are with rne
to support me, I must take it into my own hands. I will go
and write to him this moment, and ask him down here to clear
it all up. Don't say anything — I must do it ; it is impossible to
go on living in this way."

" But Miss Mortimer ?" said I.

" Miss Mortimer ?" cried Aunt Milly, with a little scream,
that was almost hysterical, u what can my sister Sarah have to
do with it? It is no harder upon her than it is upon me. If
he is my father's son, how can she be mixed up in it ? And
how can you and he be relations unless he is my father's son ?
Don't speak to me, Milly. He shall come here and tell it all,
and at least we shall know what there is to fear.''

" But if she were too much excited it might make her ill,"
said I, dreading that visit, without knowing anything to say
against it.

"I can't help it!" cried Aunt Milly, "I am desperate.
Think of living and enjoying what doesn't belong to you! Oh,
Milly, Milly! what do you think I must do? I never was in
secrots and mysteries before ; it's dreadful to me ; and Sarah
would not yield to tell what she's kept hidden so long, not for
her life. We'll see how she looks to-night I did not think
she looked any worse than usual. I would not hurt her, you
may be sure, not for any relief to myself ; but we can't go on
with this hanging over us, Milly," she said, with faltering lips.
" I'll write to-morrow ; I certainly will write to-morrow.
Relations ! My dear, dear child, it will be a dreadful dis-
appointment to you ; but that is as good as proof."

Poor Aunt Milly! she was desperate, as she said ; and what
good it would do wilting, or asking, or even demanding any-
thing, that one of the people who knew it would guard at the
cost of her life, and the other would disclose only at his own
time, I could not see. Luigi had refused to tell her already ;
he would not tell Sara Cresswell. -He was waiting a per-
mission that never, never in this world would be given. And
he, too, must be deluded:. What could he think our laws or
our principles were if he could have any rights, but those of
shame? It was all a mystery; I could see that Aunt Milly's
idea was quite a false one. But I dared not tell her that idea

The Last of the Mortimers. 829

of my own, which, perhaps, for anything I knew, might prove
as false as hers.

That morning I went out with Lizzie and my boy. He
could walk now along the sunny road holding my finger, and
trot after his own little shadow, and try to catch the motes in
the sunshine, as I suppose all babies do — but, to be sure, it is
just as original and strange in every child that does it, for all
that. I was walking by him, very tranquil and even contented
in my mind. There had been very quiet weather ; and little
Harry was so well and so beautiful ; and I felt so much more
as if I could trust my Harry himself in God's hands without
trembllrg for him every moment, that rny heart opened out a
little to the beautiful day. I don't know that I sould have
borne to see Doinenico, much less to speak to him, but for
that

For there was Domenioo, unmistakably, on the edge of the
common. He was dressed in a white linen suit, all white, as if
he wanted to make his enormous bulk and his black beard as re-
markable as possible in this beardless and sober-minded country.
It was warm weather now, and I daresay he thought the hot
summer was coining as in his own home. Baby, with whom he
had always been a favourite, gave a little shout at sight of him,
and tottered forward a step or two. Of course Domenico's
hat had been in his hand from the first moment he saw me,
He threw it down on the grass now, and seized little Harry,
and tossed him up in his arms. I was afraid of this play, but
my brave boy was not ; he actually boxed at Lizzie with his
little fists when I begged Doinenico to set him down.

u Pardon," said Doinenico ; " i — me— make demand of the
signora, pardon — it pleases to the piccolo signorino beebee. I
— Doinenico— here — this," said the great fellow, punching his
breast, that I might be quite sure of the person he meant,
»" take joy in heart for see the signora another time."

" Thank you, Domenico," said I. "I shall never forget how
kind you have been. What is it that brings you here?"

Domenico pointed round to various points of the compass,
not seeming sure which to fix upon, and then burst into a great
laugh at himself. " It pieu^c? to the signora to pardon," said
Domenico ; " when not to have the Lce^- not clevare to make
the speak. Here is the master of me."

u Your master, Domenico? — where?" cried I".

Once more Domenico looked round to all the points of the
compass. "lie here — he here — puff— Ecco ! — he move far
— to make the time go. Here m v master come to

830 The Last of the Mortimers.

the visit — the signora not to know the other signora V Yes,
yes ; in that large big palazzo of not any colour. Behold 1
The my master there go."

"Who is he going to see there?" asked I, with some
anxiety.

Domenico held up his hand with many elaborate gestures of
caution and silence. Then he bent his enormous person forward
and stooped to my ear. When he spoke it was in a whisper.
"It is need to speak silent — silent! The signora contessa,"
said Domenico, witli half -important, half-guilty air of one who
communicates a secret. I drew back from him in utter
bewilderment — what could he mean ?

"There is no contessa there, Domenico," said I, in my
ordinary tone ; " your master is deceived."

Domenico held up his hand with an evident entreaty that I
would be cautious. Then he looked back upon Lizzie, the only
person in sight. " I not fear for the Lizzie," said Domenico ;
and then launched forth into a half-whispered description of
the contessa, whoever that might be. But L confess that
Domenico's description, being Italian whenever he warmed, and
only when he slackened and recollected himself falling into
such English as he was capable of, was difficult to make out.
I fully entered into Lizzie's feeling, that it was "awfu' fickle to
ken what he meant when it was a long story." I remained
profoundly bewildered, and unable to make out one word in ten.

As for learning anything about the contessa — poor fellow!
— or, rather, it was his master that was to be pitied — evidently
here was some new mistake, some additional impediment to the
finding out of this mystery. I left Lizzie with little Harry on
the common, and went rather sadly home. This little bit of
apparent foolishness naturally set me all astray as to the
mysterious business which had cost us so much thought.
Was it a mistake of Domenico's perhaps? for Luigi and Miss
Mortimer had actually met, and there could be no mistake
there.

When I looked back that great white apparition was keeping
Lizzie company on the common. They were a strange couple ;
but I cannot say I had any such doubts or fears concerning
Domenico's attendance, as a proper mistress ought to have had.
I flattered myself Lizzie was a great deal too young to take any
harm. She stood with her red-brown hair a little blown about
her eyes : her clear, sanguine complexion, her angular and still
awkward figure, looking up at the man -monster beside her, and
up her han4 tQ ghado her eyes from tfre sun, which waj

The Last of the Mortimers. 831

Burning in her face. While Domenico, with all his great pro-
portions expanded by his white dress, impended over her,
his smiling mouth opening in the midst of his black beard, an
outre extraordinary foreign figure, enough to drive any staid
English village out of its propriety. I remember the picture
they made as distinctly as possible, with the green common
surrounding them, and the gorse bushes all bursting into flower;
and my own beautiful baby tottering about the fragrant grass.
I was quite secure in Lizzie's love and Domenico's kindness. I
went away with a smile at the curious group upon that soft
English common — both figures alien to the soil — and with a
tenderness in my breast to them both. Domenico had made
himself well understood in another language, if not in that of
ordinary spoken communications. I shall always have a kind-
ness to his whole nation for that good fellow's sake.

As I paused at the gate of the Park, I saw another figure
advancing by an opposite road. I recognised Luigi in a
moment. He was coining hurriedly down between the green
hedges, no doubt coming to pay that visit of which Domenico
had warned me. I rushed in. with all the eagerness of a
child, to get my bonnet off and be in tne drawing-room before
he came.

B32

The Last of the Mortimers.

CHAPTER XV.

WHEN I reached the drawing-room, after throwing off ray
bonnet and arranging my hair in the most breathless
luiste, terrified to hear the summons at the door before I was
downstairs, I was thunderstruck to find Sara Cresswell there.
The sight of her made an end of my awkward feeling of shame
for my own haste and curiosity. Surely this was nothing less
than a crisis that was coming. Sara had just arrived, and was
explaining the reasons for her visit in such a very fluent and
demonstrative way, that I could see at once they were all made
up, and some motive entirely -different from those she men-
tioned had brought her. She was still in her hat and velvet
jacket, seated rather on the edge of her chair, talking very
volubly, but looking breathless and anxious, while Aunt Milly,
v ho was sitting in her own place, opposite her sister, and near
1 MO fireplace, looked at her, perplexed and uncertain, evidently
i ither suspicious of the many motives which had procured us
tliis visit ; which, if Sara had only said nothing about it, would
have been received as a delightful surprise, and wanted no
accounting for. It was evidently a great relief to Sara when I
came in ; she came to kiss me, turning her face away from
Aunt Milly, and caught hold of me so tight, and gave me such
a troubled, emphatic LOOK, taat even IT ± na'i not heard before,
1 should have known something was coimiig. I stood by her
breathless for a moment, wondering why the door-bell did not
ring,— Luigi had certainly had abundant time to have got to
the door, — and then went up to the other end of the room on
pretence of finding my work ; while Sara, instead of following
me, dropped into her chair again, evidently too nervous, too
anxious, too eager to see the first of it and lose nothing, to do
anything but sit still. We were both traitors and plotters.
She had come to watch something that fcras about to happen,
but which thj principal person concerned did not know. While
1, more cruel still, took my trembling way up to the other end
of the apartment, and stationed myself behind Aunt Milly s
tliat I might not lose a look or word from Miss Mortimer. I

The Last of the Mortimers. 883

felt ashamed of myself, but I could not help it. I felt a kind
of conviction that this was to be the decisive day.

But still there was no sound at the door ; there was time to
look round all the peaceable vast room, and be struck by the
quietness, the repose of the scene in which some act of this
mysterious drama was about to be enacted. It was always
very light here, but the bright day and the sunshine out of
doors, made it now even lighter than usual, and refused to any
of us the slightest shade for our faces, whatever undue expres-
sion might come to them. Sara had adopted the only expedient
possible, by turning her back upon the light, and had, besides,
a little shelter in her hat. But dear Aunt Milly, looking at
her favourite with a troubled inquiring expression, and laying
down the work she had in hand in order to examine Sara's
countenance the better, was so fully set forth in all her looks,
movements, and almost feelings, by that broad clear day-light,
that I shrank back from it in spite of myself, fearing that it
would betray me too. The only shadow in the* room was that
afforded by Miss Mortimer's screen. She sat there just as
usual, in her violet -coloured dress, her light muslin embroidered
scarf, worn without any lining, now that the weather was
warm, and her pretty cap, with ribbons corresponding to her
dress ; her head moving so slightly that it was difficult to per-
ceive the motion ; her pattern-book open on her knee, her
head bent over it. At this moment, when the thunders of
Providence were just about to break over her, she sat there,
with her head ov^r her knitting-book, counting her stitch us,
and trying a new pattern. When I saw how she was occupied,
my own trembling pretence at work fell from my hands. I
gazed at her openly with a wonder which was almost awe.
My heart cried out against her in her dread composure. The
Avenger was coming, and there she sat, all conscious, aware,
in every nerve, of her guilt, and yet able to maintain that
hideous calm. Tes ! it would have been sublime had she been
a good woman, threatened by some undeserved doom. I
declare it was ghastly, devilish, dreadful to me !

All this time nobody came to the door. I daresay, perhaps,
it was not very many minutes after all ; but in the excitement
and suspense it seemed a very long time to me. And either
the house was specially quiet, or there was something in my
agitated condition which made me think so. Miss Mortimer
never lifted her head ; if she had not been so engaged with her
pattern, surely she would have noticed the perplexed looks of
Aunt Milly, and iny excited face. But »' did not, she kept

834 The Last of the Mortimers.

working on at her new stitch. We all relapsed into perfect
silence ; Sara's voluble excuses for herself died all at once off
her lips. Aunt Milly dropped into a strange anxious silence,
looking at her. As for myself, I could not have spoken a word
whatever had been the consequences. Sara's nervous motion
of her foot on the carpet startled me so much that I had nearly
committed myself by some cry of agitation. It was a dread,
inexplainable pause, which nobody dared either break or
account for. Dead silence and expectation. And Miss Mor-
timer bending her head over her pattern-book counting the
loops for her new stitch.

The bell did not ring. If it had rung it must have startled
us all so much*" as to diminish the sense of what was coming ;
there was no such premonition ; — a little sound of steps and
subdued voices in the hall made my heart beat so loud that I
felt sure my Aunt Milly must have heard it. Sara looked up
at me suddenly Awhen that sound became audible. Her face
was perfectly colourless, and her hands firmly clasped together.

u Children, what is it?" said Aunt Milly, with a sharp
frightened cry, breaking off suddenly in a troubled manner as
the steps drew nearer. Miss Mortimer lifted her head from her
book. She looked up, she looked full at me ; she smiled. She
was listening, but she was not afraid.

When suddenly the door was thrown open ; Ellis called out,
with his fullest voice : " The Count Sormonata," and somebody
came in. I cannot tell who it was that came in. I heard Sara
cry out with a kind of shriek and repeat the name, "The Count
Sermoneta !" The work and the book and all the trifling
matters about her fell off from Miss Mortimer. She rose up,
clenching her hand, ghastly, like a dead woman. She cried out
in a voice I shall never forget : " he is dead, dead!" she cried,
with the wildest scream and outcry. ' ' I tell you, h e is dead, dead !
My God, he is dead ! Will nobody believe me ?" shrieked out
the miserable woman. Her sister ran to her, and was thrust
away with those terrible clenched hands. But she never turned
to look, nor cast aside her screen that hid the new comer from
her. She stood still like some frightful statue, rigid, with her
wild eyes fixed upon the air before her — heaven knows what
she might see there !— listening in some frightful agony to the
steps that came slowly up the room. When that scream burst
from her the footsteps faltered and stopped. Then Miss
Mortimer looked at me, the only creature she saw before her,
and laughed a dreadful laugh of madness and misery. " He
knows it I" she cried out, triumphantly, "if you did not, he

Tlie Last of the Mortimers. 835

does. He is dead, dead !" and then came to another dreadful
pause, leaning her clenched hands upon the table and fixing
her wild eyes upon something straight before her. While I
followed the mad stare of her eyes with a shudder I could not
refrain, another person came with noiseless rapidity into the
spot she was gazing on. It was not a spectre — it was simply
Luigi, from whose face agitation had banished all the colour,
and who stood trembling and speechless, wringing his hands,
and gazing at her with an unspeakable appeal and entreaty.
She did not say anything more ; she stood with her eyes full
opened and staring wide, leaning her hands on that table. I
believe, if anybody had touched her, she would have fallen. I
almost believed, while 1 looked at her, that she had died
standing, and that it was a lifeless form that stood fixed in that
horrible erect attitude, fronting us all, fronting a thousand
times more than us, all the guilt and sins of her life. I gave a
cry myself in the extremity of my terror .and trouble. I went
to her, I cannot tell how, stumbling over Aunt Milly, who had
either fallen or fainted, or 1 cannot tell what. I went and put
my arm round that dreadful ghastly figure. It was not her I
was approaching, but it, the terrible mask and image of her. I
had not a thought but that she was dead.

When I touched her, she fell, as I had thought she would.
But so strong an impression did her dreadful appearance have
upon me, that, when her figure sank into the chair and showed
Borne elasticity, instead of going down on the floor, crumbling
down, dropping to pieces, as somehow I had expected, I was
struck with a horrible fear and surprise. She was not dead. I
called out to them all, what were we to do? and she seemed to
hear me. 1 saw, with a terror I cannot explain, her terrible
eyes turn from Luigi — they looked nt mo, at Aunt Milly, they
cast a glance over the room. Was it that the spirit was living
and the body dead ?

I cannot tell what we did for a dreadful interval after that.
Carson came into the confused crowd. Luigi disappeared to
find a doctor, and we tried to get her lifted rnd laid upon the
sofa. But though she neither moved nor spoke, and scarcely
seemed to breathe, she resisted, in some dreadful way, and
would not be removed. I shall never forget that dreadful face ;
when I am ill it comes back to me, a recollection never to be
banished ; — dead — yet never consenting to die, keeping alive,
determined, resolute, unshaken. I can see the discoloured lips
begin to move, the words formed on the inarticulate tongue,
the eyes lightening out of that fixed stare. Half the house had

836 The Last of the Mortimers.

stolen into the room in this dreadful emergency without any-
body observing them. But the dead woman observed them.
And I, who was standing nearest, recoiled from her side, and
the whole circle round her broke up and fell back in speechless
horror, when a sound broke from that dreadful convulsed
mouth. Old Carson, trembling but faithful, stood by her
mistress. The poor creature said she understood that sound.
It was to send everybody away, said the woman, whose limbs
would scarcely support her, and whose very teeth chattered.
They all went away, terrified but curious ; the boldest lingered
behind the screen. Nobody remained within sight of those
dreadful eyes but Aunt Milly and me. "* We two stood huddled

in each other, not daring to say a wo\. ,, or even to exchange

looks. Carson stood by her mistress's side. Carson knew all

and everything, more than we knew. She held some cordial to

the dead lips, she chafed the ghastly hand, she gazed with

pitiful eyes and tears and entreaties at the terrible face. This

•A oiMuii was not deserted in her terrible necessity. The voice of

v humble love reached somehow to the springs of existence,

she came back slowly, in a solemn, fearful waking, out of

i.'iiih into life. We stood looking on, with an awe and terror
impossible to describe. It was a miracle slowly enacting before
us. She was dead and was alive again. Ghastly and dreadful,
like a woman out of the grave, M^sa Mortimer woke up to ail
her uuiaery again.

Hie Last of the Mortimers. 837

CHAPTER XVI.

THIS extraordinary revival was going on when the doctor
rushed in. Carbon, who had been the principal person
in all this scene, rushed at him and drew him back. She kept
her hand on his arm, detained him, ran into voluble but
trembling explanations. When he came forward the doctor
gazed with a troubled face at the patient. A fainting fit
brought on by great agitation ; n'obody could give any other
account of it ; he felt her pulse, and "prescribed, and lingered,
and looked at us all with mingled inquiry and suspicion.
What had we been doing to her ? Why had she not been
removed to bed ? A flash came from the awakening eyes. She
made a motion of her hand, waving him away, then looked at
me. and pointed vaguely but imperatively before her. When
I did not obey immediately, she repeated the question, and at
last spoke, with great evident pain, impatience, and imperious-
ness : "Bring him?" were those the words? She was so
imperative, so fiercely determined, that I hastened out to call
Luigi. I found him at the door watching, very pale, and in
profound distress. He came in after me without saying a
word ; be went up to her without waiting for me, and knelt
down at her feet, and took her hands in his own. " Mother !
Mother !" cried the young man. If it did not go to her heart,
it went to the heart of every other person present ; and Aunt
Milly, with a great cry of amazement and terror, repeated it
after him, " Mother !" But who could think of any discovery
then? The doctor stood listening, thunderstruck, behind the
screen. I believe Sara Cresswell was in the room. But we
who were round about this terrible figure could observe nothing
else, except the dread inarticulate waves of passion that kept
rising in her dead face. She thrust at her son with a wild
motion of her bloodless hands bs if to put him away. She
questioned him with her eyes in such frantic impatience,
because he could not understand her, that the sight was more

888 The Last of the Mortimers*

thnn I could bear. I fell back from her trembling and like to
faint. Then her will got the better of her weakness. She
cried out aloud, with a voice that I am sure could have been heard
all over the house ; — it was not a living voice ; it rang out
wild, and loud, and hard, in separate words, — " Where is he?
— he ? dead ! let him come. 1 know he is dead, let him come ;
— Count !" and here the terrible voice rose and broke in a wild
horror of babbling cries. God help us ! It was a dreadful
scene. Aunt Milly stood supporting herself by a chair, unable
to utter a word or even to move. 1 was afraid to stir, lest I
should faint and fall on the floor. Carson only stood close by
her mistress, supporting her head and gazing with wistful eyes
at Luigi ; the young man stumbled up from his knees in an
agony of pity and horror. He held up his hands in wild
appeal, whether to her, or to us, or only to God, I cannot tell.
" It is my father !" he cried. " She thinks it was my father ;
and I am to blame !" Then he knelt down again humbly at
her feet, and held up his clasped hands to her as if he were
praying. I think he must have done it with an intention of
drawing her attention by any means, and to prove to her that
it was the truth he said.

" Mother," he cried, looking up at tLose eyes which had
returned, and were fixed upon him, — " mother, I am your son !
My father is dead and undisturbed in his grave ; he has sent
me to his wife. It is I, it is no other. He is with the saints,
where there are no names. It is I who am Sermoneta ; mother !
Oh, heaven, does she not hear me ? will she not hear me ? It
was I, only I. It was Luigi, Countess ! If I must not bear
your name, I must bear my own. I say it was I, not my
father, who can neither do evil nor endure it, — me, either
Luigi Sermoneta or Lewis Mortimer, as you will, — your son !"

It is impossible to describe the effect this had upon us all.
Aunt Milly burst forth into weeping, convulsive, and not to. be
restrained. Poor Carson's bosom heaved with silent sobs.
Luigi, who had risen up as he said these last words, stood erect
in a passionate self-assertion and defence before his miserable
mother. Even she changed under this sudden blaze of revela-
tion. She sat up in her chair, and grew more human ; her
rigid head began to tremble, her dread- eyes to lose their horror.
Now it was no longer that mad ghastly stare with which she
regarded the young man before her. She looked at him, leaning
forward, slowly recovering her powers. Some convulsive gasps
or sobs in her throat alone interrupted this pause of terrible
silence. She looked at him, from head to foot, with a slow,

The Last of the Mortimers. 839

dismal scrutiny. Only once before in her life held she met him
face to face ; then she had been strong enough to send him
away and disown him. Now, perforce, the mother looked at
her son. The young man trembled under that steady gaze ;
he held out his hands, and cried out " Mother !" as if all the
eloquence in the world lay in that word. She continued
perusing him all over with that slow examination. Gradually
Blie returned to be herself again. Not changed, not subdued !
Out of that death and agony there came forth, not a repentant
woman, but Sarah Mor timer, a creature who would not believe
in everlasting truth and justice — not though one should rise from
the dead.

** If you are Count Sermon eta," she said, with all her old
expression, pausing between the words to get strength, but
speaking in her usual voice, "how do you dare come to me and
offer what your father refused? Impostor! you shall never,
never, never sit in my father's place ! I disown you. I — I
have nothing to do with you. What! would you kill me
again ?"

Here I interposed ; I could not help myself. My very soul
sickened at her. I came forward, without knowing what I waa
doing. " Let her alone," I cried out, " don't say anything.
She has died and come alive again, and is no better. Do you
think you can move her? Oh, Aunt Milly, it is your part
»ow. Take him away out of her sight, leave her alone in her
wretchedness. Can you bear to see her smiling there? — smiling
at us ! She is dead, and it is a devil that has come into her
frame !"

"Milly, hush, hush, you are mad," cried Sara Cresswell,
behind me ; but Aunt Milly did not think I was mad. She
came and put her arm into Luigi's, her tears driven away by
horror and indignation. " As sure as God sees us all," cried
Aunt Milly, " I will do you justice. Come away from
her, as Milly, says. You make her wickeder and wickeder
— Oh, wickeder than she really is ! Oh, Sarah," she cried
out, turning suddenly round, "is it true? — is he your
son?"

Miss Mortimer said nothing ; — the very colour had returned
to her face. Her head trembled excessively, but she had forced
some frightful caricature of a smile upon her lip. She held
out her hand and pointed at them in a kind of derision. " You
were always a fool," she said at last, with a gasp. Aunt Milly
did not wait or hesitate any longer. She was possessed, like
me, with a sudden impatience and intolerance of that inhuman

340 The Last of the Mortimer*.

hard-heartedness. She went away hastily out of the room,
drawing Luigi with her. Miss Mortimer listened to the sound
of their steps till it had quite died away. 'I'll en she turned
round to Carson with some instinctive confession of weakness
at last. Their eyes met ; but even Carson could no longer
receive this dreadful confidence. She stumbled back from her
mistress with a cry. u L cannot, I cannot !" cried Carson,
" anything but this. I held him in my arms a baby, and I'll
never disown him, if I was to die." As her mistress turned
round upon her, Carson retreated back till she came to the wall,
and stood there, fixed and despeiate, holding up her hands as if
to keep off those pursuing eyes. '* Whatever you please !" cried
Carson, " but not to disown him as I dressed the first day he
was in this world. No ! not for no payment nor coaxing !
I've served you faithful all times and seasons, but I'll not do
no more, not if I was to die !"

Miss Mortimer sat gazing at her rebellious maid. What
no other appeal could do this did. She sank into the frail old
woman she was, as she gazed at Carson, who had forsaken her.
She broke forth into feeble, passionate tears. Sh^ could bear to
send her son away from her, but she could not bear to lose her
faithful companion and attendant of forty years. " Carson!"
cried the broken voice, in a tone of absolute despair. Then
Miss Mortimer rose up. 1 ran forward to her in terror, and so
did Sara, but she waved us both away, steadied herself, cast a
long look upon the woman who stood trembling against the
wall, and slowly turned to make her way out of the room. She
walked like some one upon whom sudden blindness had fallen,
wavering, stopping to steady herself, putting out her hand to
pilot the way, groping through the piercing daylight that
penetrated every corner of the room. We followed her,
trembling and terrified. As she went slowly through the long
room, heavy sobs came from her poor breast, sobs of which she
was not conscious ; her muslin scarf had been torn and crushed
in her dreadful faint, if it was a faint, and hung all dishevelled
from her shoulders. One hand hung loosely down by her side,
the other she groped with as she made her way. Now and then
she moaned aloud. Oh, miserable forsaken creature! there
had been still one link of life to hold her on to the living
world.

We went after her, silent, hushing our very steps lest she
should turn upon us, and watching with a perfect awe of
wonder how she steered herself through the room ; she stumbled
on the stair, but still rejected any assistance. All the way up

The Last of the Mortimers. 341

she went forlorn, accepting no support. When we reached her
door, I rushed forward not to let her shut me out. " Let me
be your maid to-night," I cried out, laying my hand upon hers.
Her hand made me shiver ; it was cold, as if it had actually"
been dead. She pushed me back, not looking at me, and shut
the door. What she did, or how she sustained herself in that
vacant room, we could see no longer. Sara and J, arrested at
the door, turned and looked into each other's faces. Sara broke
out into the passionate tears of excitement and agitation which
could be restrained no longer. " She will kill herself !" cried
Sara. *' Oh, godmamma, let me in, let we in. I will never
cross you or trouble you. I will wait upon you night and day,
godmamma !" No answer came. We tried to open the door,
but she had fastened it. We could do nothing but leave her
alone in this dreadful solitude. For a little while a rustling
sound of motion was in the room, and still those pathetic, un-
conscious moans breaking at intervals into the silence. But
after a while all became still. She had not fainted or fallen,
for we should have heard her. She made no answer to our
e ' reaties— dead silence reigned in the room where that living
spirit, with all its dread forces and passions, palpitated within its
veil of worn-out flesh. I could imagine her taking possession of
that dreadful solitude, losing at a blow far more than reputation
or fair-fame, all that made her life tolerable to her, entering
upon a new, unthought of, murderous purgatory. We could
not make up our minds to leave that closed door. Sara was
still crying, and almost hysterical with her long strain of excite-
ment. I made her go into the neighbouring room, where Lizzie
was with my boy, while I ran downstairs for Aunt Milly. Oh,
what a contrast it was ! I snatched little Harry into my arms
to kiss him, and went away again, with a pity, I cannot
describe, past the door where that dreadful forsaken woman .ay
alone in the silence. I eould not bear it. God alone knew how
she had sinned ; but to leave her thus deserted in her misery
was not in the heart of man.

I ran downstairs very hastily without waiting to think— at
the foot of the stairs Carson stood crying. She gasped out an
inquiry at me which was not audible at first. u Is she alone?
alone? alone? Will nobody stay with her?" cried Carson.
" Oh, ma'am, my missis will never let me near her again ! 1
know it's no use trying ; but, for the love of mercy, let some-
body get into the room ! There's poisons and all sorts there.
God forgive me! couldn't I have held my tongue?" cried the
poor woman, in an agony of terror. I was angry with her in

842 The Last of the Mortimers.

the impatience of my thoughts. I did not consider for how
many long years Carson had endured all.

u But why can't you go up now? try if she will let
you in ; she is fond of you, Carson," said I. " Oh, go, go, and
try."

" She'll never look at me more," said Carson with mournful
certainty ; " but I'll go, I'll try. If it was at the end of the
world, I'd go ; but she'll never see me again." The poor woman
went upstairs saying this over to herself, and dreadful as it was
to think so, I was certain she was right.

And I went on to the library where Aunt Milly was.
She had forgotten her sister. She was listening, with a glowing
face, with tears, and outcries, and lamentations, to the tale
Luigi told her. Some papers were lying before them, and a
miniature, which caught my eye even at such a moment — a
picture of a lovely fair woman, imperious and splendid. I
cannot say that it bore any resemblance to the wretched,
solitary creature upstairs ; but I knew it was Sarah Mortimer, —
Sarah Mortimer, unkind, untrue, a woman making no account
of love or tenderness ; but not the Sarah Mortimer who had
delivered herself to the devil, and turned her back upon
nature. I pointed at it unconsciously in my excitement. It
was easier 1 \,n naming ner name.

u Do you. &now she is alone upstairs, by herself ?" cried I,
" perhaps dying, and nobody with her ! Aunt Milly, you are
her sister. She will neither let us in, nor answer us. You
have a right to go to her. There are all kinds of dangerous
things in the room — she might die !"

" But Carson— Carson is there," cried Aunt Milly, grasping
my hand, to bring me to myself. " My dear, Carson is a better
companion than either you or me."

*' But Carson has gone," I cried, " Carson will never be
with her any more. Hush ! was that a sound upstairs? Come,
I entreat you ! She is all alone, quite alone, not a creature
with her. It is heartrending to think what she is doing there
— come ! come!"

Aunt Milly stood perplexed. She could not comprehend
Carson's absence, and I might have had a long account of
the whole matter to go through had not Luigi come to my
assistance. He took her hand hurriedly, and pressed it in his
own.

u My aunt, I can wait," said Luigi, " and I will till there is
time for me ; but my mother, my mother is "

Aunt Milly started, and understood all n a moment. Hia

TJie Last of the Mortimers. 848

mother, the unfortunate wretched woman who had disowned
and rejected him — no need for over-much explaining, or
setting-forth of all the darker shades of the picture to show her
wretchedness. Nature and she had parted company, and there
was nothing too dreadful that might not befall her in the fatal
silence of that secluded room.

The Last of the Mortimer*.

CHAPTER XVII.

ALL the remainder of that dreadful afternoon we spent in
vain endeavours to get admission. No answer came to
us from those closed doors — silence, dead and unbroken, was
within thos^ concealing walls, which it seemed wonderful to
me did not beat and throb with the torturing life within them.
rl he whole house was disturbed, as was to be supposed. While
we stood in an anxious, troubled group round Miss Mortimer's
door, Carson, with her melancholy and ashamed face, stood
anxious and terrified at a little distance — the maids below came
to take furtive peeps upon the stairs — and Ellis himself stood
listening in the hall, catching at every sound. The whole
house was conscious of some dreadful crisis, which had occurred,
or was occurring ; and even in the frightful anxiety which
possessed us, Aunt IVliliv oeeran to rcei cuat extraordinary
infraction of all the decorums or sucn a nouse. She whispered
to Sara to leave us, and go downstairs to restore the equilibrium
of the household a little, and sent Carson into Lizzie's room,
where the poor creature sank, overpowered and almost fainting,
upon the bed. 'I hen Aunt Milly went away to her own apart-
ment, and came back with a huge bunch of keys. With these
in her hand she motioned me to follow her round about into
the little corridor to which Miss Mortimer's dressing-room
opened. " Milly, stand by me," she cried, with a sob. " I'd
rather face so many lions than go in upon her against her will
— but it must be — I cannot help myself. After what we saw
to-day, I should be guilty, I should be a criminal — don't you
think so, Milly? — if I left her alone to-night."

It was getting dusk, and the light was pale and ghastly in
that little corridor which was close upon the backstairs, and
very bare and chill. The door opened without the assistance
of the keys. We went into the little luxurious room where the
fire burned brightly, warm though the weather was, and which
bore all the marks of being lived in and cherished. An easy-
chair and footstool were placed at the side of the fire, and close
by stood a little table with a raised ornamental rim, like a tray,
in which some books and some of Miss Mortimer's materials

The Last of tlie Mortimirs. 845

for work were placed. At the other end of the room was a
window, where stood a plain rush-bottomed chair and a larg«
round basket of work ; there was Carson's place ; and the union
of the two in this their joint retirement and dwelling-place —
the junction of the lady's luxuries and the servant's labours in
this habitation common to them both — struck me with a
pathetic force, now that this old, long, immemorial connection
was brought to a close so hurriedly. Aunt Milly did not linger
in this room ; she went straight to the door leading into the
bedchamber which was fastened. " Sarah," she called softly,
" Sarah !" there was no answer. We listened, and the silence
round was dreadful ; the silence and the gathering twilight,
and the terrible mystery of life or death that lay in that closed-
up room. Then she tried the keys with her trembling hands.
Still not a word from the solitary within, not even of remon-
strance or indignation. After what seemed to us a dreadful
tedious interval, in which the night appeared visibly to darken
round us, the lock at length yielded. The key that had been
in it fell, with a dull, heavy sound, inside, making our hearts
beat. Then Aunt Milly opened the door. I shall never forget
the sensation with which 1 entered that dark room. What we
were to find there, a ghastly corpse or a miserable living crea-
ture, nobody could tell ; treading on the soft carpets that made
our footsteps noiseless, brushing past those soft-drawn curtains
which shut out every draught, coining into this atmosphere of
care, and comfort, and luxury, the contrast was almost too
dreadful to bear. I remember trying to listen for her breath,
but could not for the terrified beating of my own heart. The
darkness made everything more dreadful still, for the blinds
were drawn down, and the little light there was fell so faintly
through them that we could scarcely find our way through the
room. Aunt Milly was before me ; she made a terrified plunge
forward, and gave a cry as we came past the head of the bed,
which was towards the dressing-room door. Something lay in
a heap on the fioor by the side of the bed. She threw herself
down on the floor beside that heap. I don't think she was
conscious, even when she touched it, what it was ; but as 1
rushed to help her, as 1 thought, I was suddenly arrested by a
gleam of eyes from the bed. "I*am not dead," said Miss
Mortimer. I could not help nor command myself. Some
scream or shriek came from me in the extremity of my awe and
terror. I could hear it answered by a sudden stir and commo-
tion outside the door. u They're killing my mistreSiS," was
Lizzie's voice ; and with the wildest alarm lest some violent

846 The Last of the Mortimers.

attack on the door should follow, I rushed to it, opened it, and
asked for lights.

Outside were half the household grouped at various distances.
No precautions could stifle that eager curiosity which knew by
instinct that some wonderful mystery was here. They all
dispersed when they saw me, frightened and ashamed of them-
selves. Only Lizzie kept her ground. She seized hold of my
sleeve and detained me. " You're no to stay there !" cried
Lizzie. " Oh, no ?/ow, no you ! You'll gang and let them kill
you, and the bairn'll perish, and the Captain never come hame !
Let me in ! I'll get the drinks and keep up the fire, and never
close an e'e ; but it's no you that's to watch, and you the light
o' folks e'en. It's no to be you ! If I was to gang to my bed
and sleep, what would the Captain say to me?" cried poor
Lizzie, with a trembling burst of excitement and anxiety,
standing close up by me, holding my sleeve, pressing to enter
the room. Somehow it comforted me, though it was a piece of
folly. I told her again to get the lights, and went back into
the dark, solemn room. These sounds of the outside world
had not entered there. Miss Mortimer lay on the bed with her
eyes wide-awake and gleaming, gathering into them all the
little light in the room. Aunt Milly stood beside her, asking
how she was ; herself scarcely recovered from the shock that
had been given her by that heap of clothes upon the floor,
trembling, not knowing very well what she said, her great
yearning anxiety and curiosity to get at her sister's heart,
overflowing in uneasy questions. Did she feel ill? Would
she have anything? How was she? Miss Mortimer took no
notice of her questions. She repeated once " I am not dead,"
with a strange spitefulness and defiance, and for the rest lay
silent, looking at me as I moved about the room, a dark unde-
cipherable figure, and at poor Aunt Milly standing beside me.
She took no other notice. It seemed to please her to lie there
silent, defying all our curiosity. But she did not complain or
find fault with our presence. I believe in my heart she was
glad to have her dreadful solitude thus broken, and that it was
a comfort to her desolation to see living creatures moving in
the darkness. I cannot help thinking so ; but after that one
expression, twice repeated, not all the anxious questions of her
sister could bring a syllable to her lips.

When the candles came she closed her eyes ; then, after a
little interval, made a wrench at the curtains and gave an
impatient sigh. The sigh was for Carson, who doubtless knew
exactly what she liked and what she did not like. The fire

The Last of the Mortimers. 847

was kid already in the grate, and I lighted it, and began to
put away those things which lay on the floor. Wherever 1
moved, when it was within her sight, she followed me with her
eyes from within the crimson shadow of the curtain. She was
perfectly composed and self-possessed. She was even well as it
appeared. The ghastly colour had disappeared from her face.
She lay there self-absorbed, as she sat over her knitting. All
the dread incidents of this day had passed over, and left Sarah
Mortimer unchanged. Such a woman could deny, defy, live

through any thing. I watched her with indescribable awe and .

Well ! I had pitied her while she was alone ; but do you sup-
pose I could love such a woman, lying there unmoved and
unrepentant, in her dread self -occupation ? It was not possible
I hated her, loathed her, turned away with sickening and
disgust from her dreadful looks. It was hard, even, to pity
her now.

848 TJis Last of the Mortimers*

CHAPTEB XVIII.

I HAD with difficulty overcome Aunt Milly. I had repre-
sented to her how much better I was able to bear it than
she, and Aunt Milly herself had sent off Sara Cresswell to bed.
It was late at night, and all the house was still.. We were both
together in the dressing-room. Nothing would persuade dear
Aunt Milly to leave me alone to this vigil. She wrapped her-
self in a shawl and lay down upon the sofa. " I am at hand
the moment I am wanted," she said. 1 had kissed baby, and
said my prayers beside him. I was not frightened or nervous
now. I went in, wrapped in my dressing-gown, to loot at my
patient. She stretched out her hand, and then when she saw
me, drew it back again with a fretful groan, and turned her face
to the wall. It was Carson, still Carson, whom she missed at
every turn. But she did not answer me when 1 asked it she
wanted anything, she only groaned again with a dismal impo-
tence and impatience. I sat and watched her at a distance
while she lay in that broad wakefulncss, her eyes wandering to
and fro, her mind evident] y wandering, too, into never-ending
thought. It was to me a spirit, somehow, chained and fettered
to a body it could not throw off, which lay in irksome confine-
ment on that bed, — a spirit ever active, sleepless, evil. Why
was I sitting up with her ? she was not even ill. Was it that
she had died that day, and some wicked spirit had taken
possession of the exhausted frame ? 1 declare that this idea
returned to ma in spite of myself. 1 could not escape from it ;
as tli e night crept on strange fears came over me. Her eyes
fascinated mine. 1 could not withdraw my gaze trom those
two gleams cf strange light within the crimson curtains,
moving about from minute to minute with their restless obser-
vation. What was she thinking of? Could she tell that,
under this roof, the roof of his fathers, her injured son was
sleeping? Was she thinking ol her youth, her life, the past,
with all its dread, pertinacious, stubborn cruelty ? 1 did not
know then how the extraordinary story told by Luigi could be
harmonised into possibility. I could not think of any story ; i

TJie Last of the Mortimers. 849

could think of nothing but that solitary woman pursuing those
sleepless thoughts, which nobody shared, through all the dread
recesses of her conscience, through all the scenes, visible to her
only, of her hidden mysterious life.

It must have been about midnight when some one knocked
softly at the door. It made me start painfully with a terror I
could not subdue. I rose to see who it was, trembling at the
summons. It was Carson, who called me anxiously into the
drawing room. She did not say anything, but drew me to a
little medicine -chest, which she opened, and from which, all
silently, with the speed of long custom, she took a little bottle,
and dropped some of its contents into a glass of water. " You
must put this by her bedside," whispered Carson, "and here
are all her medicines ; but don't drop them yourself, for the
love of pity ! — you've no experience. You might give her her
death. When my missis wants her draughts, will you call
me ?" While I promised to do so, Aunt Milly woke up from
a short sleep. " Has anything happened, Milly ?" she cried,
starting up suddenly. Nothing had happened but that her
start had thrown down a footstool, and made a noise which
sounded dreadful in the calm of the night. The three of us
dispersed hastily upon that sound. Carson disappeared out of
the room Aunt Milly sat up trembling on the sofa. I went
back to the patient. The noise had roused her. She had
struggled up in bed, and was trying to look round to the
dressing-room door.

" Who is it ?" she crieol, when I went in, her eyes fixing on
me with something of the dreadful expression they had in the
drawing-room, as if she had lost control over them, and the
orbs turned wildly out and fluttered to the light. " If it's him,
let him come here."

" It was only Carson," I said.

u Carson? let her not come near me. 1 will do her an
injury," cried Miss Mortimer with wild exasperation. Then
she suffered herself to fall back on her pillows. " They're all
in a plot," she went on, " all in a plot, the very woman I
trusted ; 1 shall never trust anybody any more. But here's
the wonderful thing ; she is just as great a coward as she is a
fool ; and to think she should hate me so much as to be able to
go up and down these passages in the middle of the night with
a dead man 1 Hark, there they are !"

I fell back from the bedside at the words, unable to refrain
from a shudder of horror.

" You're afraid," said Miss Mortimer, looking at me with a

850 27w? Last of the Mortimers..

kind of contemptuous curiosity. " Yet you saw him come in
yesterday and you did not faint. I remember seeing you stare
and stare. Ah ! it's strange to see a dead man !"

" I saw nobody but Luigi ; nobody but your son," cried I, in
dismay.

When it was said I drew back in alarm, lest the words should
rouse her into passion. But they did not. She was beyond
that.

" I could not see him, though," she continued, going on in
her dreadful monologue ; "it was only a kind of feeling he
was there, and the scent of the syringas in the garden. You
know it's very overpowering ; those they call the Virgin's
Breast. It was that made me faint."

Here she fixed her eyes on me again, as if she imagined that
she had been setting tip a plausible plea and dared me to
contradict it.

u I wonder if he's as handsome now he's dead," she went on
in a very low tone ; u he was never as handsome for a man as I
was for a woman. I'll never, never speak to Carson again ;
but you might ask her if he's kept his looks. Ah ! I thought
I saw some one behind the curtains there ; but he'll never
appear to me. For he swore, you know, he swore, he was never
to give me any trouble, and he kept his word till he died."

" Oh, Miss Mortimer,"— I cried, coming forward to the bed
with the glass in my hand. She held out hers eagerly, and
interrupted me.

" Miss Mortimer! to be sure I am Miss Mortimer; I have
always been Miss Mortimer, you know that ; then what's all
this made up story about a son ? For, you know," she said,
sinking her voice again into a whisper, and holding the glass
in her hand, " to be called countess would have been a tempta-
tion to many a woman. But I never would have it, not for a
day, never after he refused to take our name. That's what a
man calls love, you know. You shall take his name if it's a
beggar's, and he will not take yours if it brings a kingdom.
But I was not the sort of woman to be a beggarly Italian
countess. And I've beaten him in his grave," she cried out in
ghastly triumph, — ' ' in his grave I've got the victory over him !
Here's the child on his knees to me to call him Lewis Mortimer.
Ah ! you're Richard Mortimer's daughter. I might have
married Richard 1C I had known how things were going to turn
out. We'll set it all right to-inorrow. Yes ; stand by me, and
we'll set it all right. There's no dead man shall conquer ine.
Do you bear ? There be is pacing about the passage as he

The Last of the Mortimers, 851

need to do when I refused to see him. But he dared not come
in ; no, not if I had been a thousand times his wife."

And I cannot help it if people may think me a fool ; there
•were steps outside in the passage. If it was a living creature
I cannot tell ; but, as certain as I live, there were footsteps
going up and down, up and down, with a heavy, melancholy
tread. She looked at me full in the face as we heard them
going on. She began to tremble so that the bed shook under
her ; her eyes grew wilder, her colonr more ghastly. In spite
of all she said, she was stricken to her very heart with fear.

And as for me, I did not feel I had courage to open the door.
I called out, " Whoever you are, go away, I beseech, — go
away ! She cannot rest while you are here." The steps
stopped in a moment , then, after a pause, went on and went
away, growing fainter in the distance. Thank heaven it must
have been somebody living ! perhaps Carson, perhaps her son.

When I came back to the bedside she had dropped asleep —
actually, in the midst of her terror, had fallen into an unnatural
slumber. It was an opiate that Carson had given her. The
little medicine-chest was full of different kinds of opiates.
Scarcely one of them that was not marked poison. I looked
into the dressing-room for a minute to comfort poor Aunt
Milly, who had heard all her sister said, and was in a dreadful
state of agitation. She kissed me and blessed me, and leaned
her dear kind head upon my shoulder for the moment I dared
stay beside her. " She would never have said so much to me,"
said Aunt Milly, and wrapped her own shawl round me, and
tried to make me take some wine which she had brought
upstairs. When I would not take that, lest it should make me
sleepy, Aunt Milly got up from the sofa to make some tea for
me. Everybody knows such nights — everybody knows how
some one always tries to comfort the watcher with such atten-
tions— tender, useless, heartbreaking attempts at outside
consolation. I went back to the sick room with a pang both
of relief and anguish. If it had been my husband or my baby
that I was watching! Thank God it was not so! but the
picture came before me with a terrible force just then, when I
did not know where Harry was, nor how he might be lying,
nor who might be watching over him. I tried to shut out my
own thoughts from this room ; but who could ever do that?
I fancied I could see white soldiers' huts rising in the darkness,
and groans of wounded men. It was a relief to me when my
patient groaned and turned in her bed. But she did not wako ;
she lay all night long in what seemed more like a stupor than a

852 The Last of the Mortimers.

sleep, interrupted by groans and stifled outcries, and long sighs
that broke one's heart. !No wonder we had heard of her bad
nights.

In the morning, when she woke at last, Miss Mortimer
turned round upon me with a half-stupified, wondering stare.
Then she recollected herself. She did not speak, but I saw all
the thoughts of the previous night come slowly back to her
face. She watched me arranging the room in the cheerful
morning light ; she even permitted me to raise her among her
pillows, and swallowed, though with an effort, the tea I brought
her. She bore no malice against me for anything I had said.
She seemed even pleased to have me beside her ; but it was not
for my sake ; I believe she thought I was doing it for an inter-
ested reason. And she — she thought she had found an
accomplice in me.

This morning she spoke with, difficulty, and her looks were
changed. She looked ill, very ill. The morning light showed
a strange widening and breadth about her eyes, a solemn fixed
expression in her face, which, though I had never watched it
coming before, went to my heart with an instinctive chill and
recognition. She could not bear me to be out of her sight for
a moment. When I went to the dressing-room door to speak a
tvord to Aunt Milly she called me back with an impatient,
Jtifled cry. At last she beckoned me close to her bedside.

" I want — 1 want — send — let him, come," she stammered

Alt.

"Luigi?" I said.

She clasped her hands together in an access of passion. " To
make my will," she cried, with a kind of scream ; " now —
now — this moment." When she had uttered the words she fell
back panting, a flush of weakness and fever coming to her face.
I went and told Aunt Milly, who, all troubled as she was, sent
off a messenger immediately for Mr. Cresswell. " I will send
for the doctor, too, and — and the clergyman ; but what can
Dr. Roberts do for her ? " cried poor Aunt Milly, wringing her
hands. The clergyman ! What, indeed, could that sleek,
comfortable man do. at this deathbed of guilt and passion ?
Ah. me 1 A poor priest might have done something, perhaps,
or a poor preacher accustomed to matters of life and death.

The day glided on while we waited. She would not let me
leave her; but she did not say anything, except disjointed
murmurs, and strange broken conversations with herself. It
was not the present time that her mind was busy with. Lis-
tening in the silence of that room I became aware of a passionate

Thj Last »f the Mortimers. 853

prime of life, an Italian summer, a bitter mortification, disap-
pointment, revenge — revenge which had come back upon the
remorseless inflictor, and made her life the desert it had been.
It all opened up before me in break^ and glimpses ; afterwards,
when I knew the story, it was with the force of an actual
representation that I remembered this broken, unconscious
autobiography. She was not raving ; she was only calling up
and setting in order the incidents of that crisis of her life, 1
cannot follow her through it now ; but I remember that the
awe, and interest, and excitement kept me from feeling any
weariness.

I could not turn away for any sort of refreshment ; I sat
fascinated before tnat revelation of the secret of her days.
She seemed to have foresworn husband and child, life itself
and all that made it bearable, in dreadful vengeance for some
broken promise or unfulfilled vow. Her father came flitting
across the troubled picture ; the count, and some dreadful
controversy about a name, all intermixed with recollections of
certain rooms and their furniture ; of a garden and a thicket of
syringas. What that point of deception or disappointment
was, on which the whole story turned, I could not tell ; but for
this she had left the stream of life when life was at its fullest
promise ; for this she had settled down in a frightful, stubborn
determination, behind that screen in the drawing-room of the
Park. All her after existence, huddled up into one long
monotonous day, had not made these scenes less fresh in her
memory. This was now sne naa revenged herself — on the
Count, who was dead- — on ner son, wnom she disowned
cast away from her ; 'ah ! above all, a thousand times
bitterly, on herself.'*"

It was afternoon wKki Mr. Cresswell came. He was brought
up to the room immediately, without a word of explanation,
and accordingly knew nothing of all the dreadful history of the
last twenty -four hours. He had not even a hint that anything
was changed, except the health of Miss Mortimer. He came
and expressed his. concern in the common-place tone of an
unexcited stranger ; he expressed his surprise to see me with
her. In his heart he set it down that this will was of my
suggesting. I am certain he did ; and smiled to find me the
nurse of the sick woman. But Miss Mortimer (that I should
still go on calling her by that name after all I had heard !) left
him very little time. She recovered herself wonderfully at
sight of him ; her very utterance became easier in the anxiety
she showed to express herself plainly. She was impatient of

The Last of tlie

his inquiries and condolences. She moved her hands uneasily
about the bed, and for a moment her eyes fluttered as they had
done the day before ; but as soon as he had prepared his
papers, and taken his pen in hand, she was composed again.
My heart beat so loud with anxiety to hear what she said,
that I could scarcely breatUe. Was she now at last to set right
the injustice of a life ?

"Write," she cried, with a gasp for breath, "that I leave
everything — mind, it is everything, Bob Cresswell, no par-
titions. My sister Milly, though she is a fool, is as fond of
her, ah ! as — as I am — all the Park and the lands belonging to
it, to Millicent Mortimer. There ! the young soldier's wife ;
and to— eh ! who is it ? Who speaks to me ?"

I grasped her hand hard in my sudden passion. It was cold,
cold, a dead hand, and horrified me with its touch. " Stop,"
I cried, "oh, stop, Mr. Cresswell ; she cannot mean such
horrible injustice ! Miss Mortimer 1 Countess ! whatever you
are ! will you dare to die and never repent ? Do you think I
will let you bring a curse on my innocent baby ? Stop ! Stop I
I forbid it. for her coul's sake 1"

Mr. Cresswell pushed back his chair and stared in amazement
too great for words. She looked at me with a strange air of
cunning and superior wisdom, and tnen at him.

" She thinks," said the dying woman, in a kind of whisper,
addressing Mr. Cresswell, " to draw me into some foolish talk,
and bring it up against the will. Fool! they are all fools;
go on."

" What does it mean ?" he said looking at me.

"It means that she ought to do justice," I cried; "that
it is all she can do now ; that she is going to die without
repenting, without making amends. If you write it, it will
be a sin."

" Bob Cresswell, go on ; it is I who am the person to be
attended to," said Miss Mortimer. " This creature, do you
hear, is a fool. I know what I mean."

" There is something here I don't understand ; my dear lady
you're not so very ill, suppose we put it off," said the lawyer
in great perplexity ; " and there's Miss Milly, you know, she
has her share in the Park.

" Attend to me/" cried Miss Mortimer, wildly. " You will
kill me; am I to be thwarted now, as well as all my life? Oh,
good heavens! in my own house, and in bed, and perhaps
going to die — and I am not to have my will, my will ! I shall
have my will, if I should write it myself 1"

The Last of the Mortimers. 855

(She stretched out her eager hand towards the writing things,
stretching out of bed, and by some chance touched Mr. Cress-
well. When he felt that deathly touch he grew very grave,
and started with a shudder. He took up his pen immedi-
ately.

" I will do what you please," he said. He could not resist
that cry of death.

856 The Last of ike Mortimer*.

CHAPTER XIX.

IRAN downstairs in desperation. I could not be content
to let that dreadful mockery go on. It was vain, for
we never, never, would have taken another man's rights;
but for herself, the miserable, guilty woman, to hinder her by
any means, to save her from putting that seal upon all her
cruelty and falsehood. I saw nobody as I flew down the stairs,
though afterwards I was conscious that Lizzie had been
standing there with my beautiful innocent boy. Do you think
I would consent for a kingdom to bring the curse of wrongful
wealth upon little Harry ? Not if starvation and misery had
been the only other choice !

I burst into the library, where I knew Aunt Milly was.
Pale with watching and anxiety, she was sitting propped up in
an easy-chair, with Sara Cresswell and Luigi beside her. I
believe they had been telling her their story, and she, straining
her ear for every sound, had been trying to listen to them.
When I came in she started up from her chair and came to
meet me, unconsciously putting them away. " What is it,
Milly ?" she cried, putting out her arms to me. I dared not
permit myself to rest or even lean upon her. I seized her hand
and drew her to the door.

" Come up, and interfere," I cried ; " she is making her
dreadful will. She is leaving everything to me. Come, before
she has put the seal to all this misery. Aunt Milly, can you
stand aside and let this be done ?"

" My dear," said Aunt Milly, with a burst of tears, kissing
me and looking in my face, u you know I love you, Milly ; you
know you are almost dearer to me now than any creature on
earth."

I could not thank her; I had no time. I did not feel
grateful or pleased, but only impatient. " Come ; come !" I
repeated almost with violence. I could not understand how she
could delay.

4» Let her do what she will," cried Aunt Milly. " If I go

The Last of the Mortimers. 857

and argue with her, it will only make her worse. Oh, child !
we can't cross her now ; don't you see we can't cross her now ?
But 1 took a vow, as sure as God saw us, I would do justice,"
said Aunt Milly, solemnly through her tears. " She can but
do what she can. We are co-heiresses ! she has no power but
over her own share."

" Share !" 1 cried, " is it shares we have to think of ? She is
dying, and she does not repent."

I could not wait there any longer ; they all followed upstairs,
Aunt Milly holding my hand. They all came into the dressing-
room, where we could faintly hear Miss Mortimer's voice, and
where Carson stood trembling at the door. At this moment
there was no order or rule in the stricken house. Then Aunt
Milly went with me into the sick room. Mr. Cresswell was
writing, and Miss Mortimer had stopped speaking. She turned
her eyes triumphantly upon us both.

" 1 have carried out your wishes, Milly. I have left every-
thing to your favourite," she said, with pauses to got her
brent h. " You may sign it after me, and then it will be
comiilete."

II Sarah, that boy, that boy !" cried Aunt Milly. " Oh, put
out your hand to him iust once — think, before it is finished,
what claims he has. vaive mm something. Sarah ! Sarah ! you
•would not take me into your confidence ; but I'll go down on
my knees to you if you'll do justice to that boy !"

u I am going to die," said Miss Mortimer, after a pause.
" I can see it in all your faces. 1 can't be much worse oil than
I've been here. But look you, Milly, if you come and drive
me into passion ; if that wretched boy so much as comes near
me, I'll die directly, and you'll be my murderers. II is father
made the choice — and I will not change, no, not if he came
again, as he did yesterday, with the dead man. Cresswcll,
I'm growing a little faint. Is it ready to sign?"

He brought it and laid it before her on the bed; and she
called to me to raise her up. I was desperate. I would rath r
have been content to be her murderer, as she said, than to let
her do that sin.

11 You are not Sarah Mortimer," said I, as with great
difficulty she wrote her signature. u It is a false name, and
you know it is. Write your own name, Countess Sennoneta,
and let everybody know that you have disinherited your
son."

She stared rnund at me, setting her teeth, then returned to
the paper, and with a desperate resolution completed it. I

358 The Last of the Mortimers.

stood perfectly aghast as I saw that dead hand trace those
words, which to me cut her off for ever from every hope : —
"By marriage, Sermoneta." God help us! was there now no
place of repentance ?

" And now," she said, falling back on her pillows, " send me
Carson — I want no more — no more from anybody ; send me
my maid. I'll forgive her though she deserted me ; — nobody,"
sobbed the poor voice, all at once breaking and growing
feeble, — " nobody knows me but Carson. I want my maid ;
Carson, here!"

She had scarcely spoken, when Carson was by her side
kneeling down at the bed, kissing the cold hand held out to her
with such tears and eager affection as I never saw a servant
show to a mistress, it was a reconciliation of love. The tears
came into Miss Mortimer's eyes. She gave her hand to her
maid's caresses with actual affection. It was the strangest
conclusion to that dismal scene. One after another we three
went out of the room confounded. Aunt Milly weeping tears,
the bitterness of which I could not enter into. Mr. Cresswell,
with a face of utter wonder, and myself, too much shocked and
shaken to be able for anything. I could not go downstairs
vvith them. I took refuge in the room that had been fitted up
as a nursery for my baby. I got my boy into my arms and
cried over him. It was too much ; when he put his innocent
arms round my neck and laid his cheek to mine to console me,
my happiness struck me as with a pang. Oh, the unutterable
things she had lost, that poor, miserable woman ! I got up
again to rush back to her with my baby, and see if that would
not touch her heart, but stumbled in weariness and weakness,
and fell on my knees on the floor. That was all that was to be
done. I acknowledged it with that dreadful sense of impotence
that one has, when hearts and souls have to be dealt with. On
my knees I might help that desolate, lonely creature, — nowhere
else, in no other manner. And even this not now. I was worn
out with excitement and distress. I was ashamed to think, or
permit myself to say, that one night's watching had done it.
1 had to put little Harry back into Lizzie's hands and lie down
in the waning daylight. My head throbbed, and my heart
beat, so that I could not even recollect my thoughts. And all
that had happened seemed to have no impression but one upon
me. I never thought of that group downstairs going over the
wonderful story which nobody had so much as guessed at. I
thought only of that hopeless woman, in her shut-up room, slowly
floating out of existence, dying hour by hour, and minute by

The Last of the Mortimers. 359

minute, unchanged and unsubdued. What was death that it
should change her, whom love and pity, and the long-suffering
of God had not changed ? But I thought to myself I could
never more blame those who preach out of season as well as in
season, and cannot be silent. There were moments in which I
could not endure myself —in which I felt as if I must go and
make another appeal to her — even at the risk of thrusting
myself into the room, and disturbing the quiet of her last
houra.

360 The Last of the Mortimer**

CHAPTER XX.

BY MISS MILLY MORTIMER.

IT is I who must finish what there is to tell. My dear Milly
was not in a condition, either of mind or body, to go on
with the story that had moved her so much ; and since then,
poor dear child, you may suppose how little heart she had to
enter upon other things. We heard of the battle that had just
been fought not long after, and knew that Harry was sure to
have been in it, having got letters from him of his safe arrival
just the day after my sister's death. And then we had to wait
for the lists. I can tell nobody how we lived through these
days. She used to go down and teach in the village school,
and to all the distressed people near. The things she did for
them might have shocked me at another time. Anything, it
did not matter what, a servant's work, whatever there might ,
happen to be to do — and came home at night tired to dcaths
but with no sleep in her poor eyes. She used to say, though
she could not sleep, that it was a kind of comfort to be very
tired, it dulled her a little in her heart. When the news
came he was slightly wounded, and had distinguished himself ,
she fell down in a faint at my feet. It was the first moment
she dared be insensible. After that little term of relief, our
anxieties were constant. But at last, you know, it is all over,
and he is coming home.

But to go back to that day. WThen we left my sister's
deathbed, and I, without even Milly to support me, went down
alone with them all to hear everything told over again, and all
Mr. Cresswell's remarks and astonishment, you may well
imagine it was very hard to me. I would have given anything
to have been able to keep all that from Mr. Cresswell, but
after what he had heard, and Sarah's extraordinary signature,
of course it was indispensable that he should understand the
whole business ; as well as for my nephew's sake. I am bound
to say Luigi behaved to his poor mother in a very different way
from that in which she had treated him. If she had been the
best mother in the world he could not have told the tale more

The Last of the Mortimers. 861

gently. He went over it all, — how there had been a secret
marriage done in Leghorn, where it was not unlawful for a
Catholic to marry a Protestant, and where his father came under
some engagement to take our own name. How it was kept
secret for some reason of her own. How my father found it
out. How the Count was summoned and called upon to bind
himself, now that the affair could not be mended, to come home
with them, and take the name of Mortimer. How, being
dreadfully irritated by his wife (I don't doubt she could have
driven a man mad, especially in the days of her beauty), he
refused ; and how she had renounced, and given him up, and
had nothing more to say to him. You may say, why did not
he claim his rights? I can't tell. He might have ruined her
reputation, to be sure, or made the whole story public ; but I
suppose she must have been more than a match for him. She
retired away into some village, and had her baby, and left it
there. Then she came home. The Count never disturbed her
all his life ; and when he died he told his son the story, and
bade him never to rest till he ha'l recovered his mother. The
young man, all amazed, full of grief for his father and anxiety
to find her, came to England, asking for the Countess Ser-
moneta. It was only after many failures, and seeking better
information from his father's papers, that he came to believe
that she called herself still Miss Mortimer; and we know all
the rest. Luigi did not blame her, not a single word ; he sat
with his head leaning on his hands, overcome with distress and
trouble. He called her his mother, his mother, every time he
spoke, and said the name in such a tone as would have gone to
anybody's heart. Little Sara sat gazing at him all the time,
with her whole heart in her eyes. When he covered his face
with his hands in that pitiful way, Sara was unable to contain
herself; she moved restlessly in her seat, fell a-crying in
extreme agitation, and then, just for a moment, laid her hand
upon his and pressed it with a" quick momentary touch of
sympathy. Her father's eyes gleamed out for a moment sur-
prise, anger, I cannot tell what mixture of feelings ; but, dear !
dear ! what had their courtships and lovemakings to do in this
stricken house ? I could not bear any such question just at
that moment. I told Cresswell that it was needful he should
make my will, too, as well as my sister's, and that I left my
share to my nephew, without any conditions. Cresswell made
objections, as was natural for a lawyer. His objections were
too much for me; I got angry and impatient, more than I
to have done. Here was he pottering about proofs aud

862 The Last of the Mortimers.

such things, when I knew, and hau seen, ana read it all in my
sister's face. This story was the key to Sarah's life ; I under-
stood it all now what it meant, from her never-uttered quarrel
with my father, down to the time when she met Luigi on the
road. And the man spoke to me about proofs ! I made him
draw out a kind of form of a will, like that which Sarah had
signed, but which Mr. Cresswell worded so cautiously, that it
would be null if Luigi was not proved my nephew — bequeathing
all my share of the Park estate to him. I confess it cost me a
pang to do this ; I confess freely that, to part the lands, and to
leave it away from Milly, and to think it was Sarah and not me
who had provided for that dear child, went to my heart ; but
I would rather have died than refused justice to my sister's
son.

Luigi carae round to my side and took my two hands and
kissed them. I was so wicked as to dislike it just at that
moment, and to think it was one of his Italian ways. But he
stood before me with tears in his eyes, and that look of the
Mortimers, which nobody could mistake. "And your love?"
he said. I could not stand out against that ; I broke down
entirely, arid cried and sobbed like a child. Dreadful days
these had been ! Now I was overpowered, and could do no
more. When I rose to go upstairs Luigi drew my arm into
his, and took care of me like a son. He begged me to go t. •
Milly, and not to be by myself ; and I cannot tell how, but his
voice had so great an effect upon me, that I did just as he said.
Oh, dear ! dear ! to think what Sarah had cast away from her.
There was she, lying alone, rejecting every creature in the
world but Carson, — and here was the love that belonged to her,
coming to me.

I did not see Mr. Cresswell again before he went away. Sara
came up a little after, in despair, saying he had ordered her to
return with him, and came and hugged me silently, and cried,
with a frightened look upon her pale little face. u I would say
farewell to godmamma Sarah, if I dared," cried the poor child ;
but I dared not let her do it. She went away, casting longing
looks back at us like a creature condemned. It was natural
that she should feel leaving us in so much trouble, and going
back to her own quiet, motionless home. It was not Sara's fault
she had not been watching with us every moment of that ter-
rible night ; but, for all that, it was very right of Mr. Cress-
well to take her away.

And then some days of watching followed. Once Sarah
fciQ h?r rgoni, and she s^yr the doctor

The Last of the Mortimers. 868

malting any objection — she would have lived still, had that
been possible — but when I begged her to see Luigi, just to say
one word to him, to let him believe she recognised him as her
son, her looks grew so terrible that I dared not say more. He
went himself, out of my knowledge, to her door, and begged
and prayed to be let in ; but Carson came out to him, pallid
with terror, and begged him to go away, or he would kill Miss
Mortimer — for they kept up that farce of a name to the end.
Luigi came to me heart-broken ; it was, indeed, a terrible
position for the young man. He reproached himself for seek-
ing his natural rights, and bringing on all this misery. He
said, " I have killed my mother !" It was all I could do to
comfort him. God forgive her! it was not he who was to
blame.

This was how my sister Sarah died. I try never to think of
it. I try not to remember that dreadful time. Thank heaven !
to judge others is not our part in this life. There is very little
comfort to be had out of it, anyhow ; living and dying it was a
sad existence for a woman. If she had not much love in her
lifetime, I think there are few graves over which have been,
shed more bitter tears. On her tombstone she is called
Countess Serinoneta ; the first time she has ever borne that ill-
fated name.

It was not difficult to prove the whole history. By degrees
Mr. Cresswell gathered enough from other sources to convince
him of Luigi's story ; and after that it did not take much
persuasion to make him consent to give my nephew his
daughter. It was not the match he might have made, of
course. The Sermonetas are a very old family in their own
country ; not much wonder the Count would not consent to
give up his own name, and take the name of the haughty
Englishman that despised him. Luigi would have changed his,
had hig mother bidden him, and for his father's sake ; but the
young man was deeply grateful to me for not making any con-
ditions. For my part, I did not want him to be the repre-
sentative of the Mortimers. I may safely say I came to love
him like a child of my own at last. But after all he was a
foreigner still, and even when I came to be fond of him, I never
could see him without pain mixing with the pleasure. It waa
Harry, little Harry, my sweet English baby, Milly's beautiful
boy, that was to be the Mortimers' heir.

And Sara will not be married till Harry Langham cornea
home. Perhaps it is not justice to Sara to say my nephew
might have done better ; but, after all, you know, her father ia

864 The Last of the Mortimers.

only an attorney, our family attorney. Her hair is grown,
now, and she is a little older, and very pretty ; very pretty
indeeed the little creature is. She is not in the least like what
my sister Sarah used to be ; she can never be such a beauty as
her poor godmarnma was. If it were nothing else, she is too
little for beauty ; but I must say she is extremely pretty. I
don't know if there is such another in all Cheshire. My Milly
is different. Of the two / should rather have her ; but then i
am not a young man

And the war is over, and the dear tUH ifi nervously happy,
and counting the days. About another week or so and Harry
.Langham will be at

The Last of the Mortimer* 865

POSTSCRIPT.

BY MRS. LANGHAM.

HATCR7 is home, safe and well. He is to get the Medjidie
sM<d the French ribbon of honour; but you can see
thp,t in- the papers. It is something else I have to tell.

It is just a week before Sara's marriage day, and 'Lizzie comes
to me looking very foolish. I had thought she had recovered of
her awkwardness. There she stands, twisting her feeb again,
rolling up her arms in her white apron, holding her head to one
side in a paroxysm of her old use and wont. Really, if she
were not standing in such a preposterous attitude, Lizzie would
look rather pretty ; she has such a nice complexion., and her
red-brown hair pleases me — it is not too red. It suits those
features which are not at all regular, but only very pleasant
and bright, with health, and youth, and a good heart. But
now there is something dreadful choking Lizzie, which must be
got out.

"Mem, the Captain's come name." came at last in a
burst.

He was brevet Major now, and most people about the Park
called him Colonel ; and he was in the next room, no further
off, so I rather stared at Lizzie's piece of news.

u And wee Mr. Harry, he's a grand little gentleman," said
Lizzie ; " and a's weel, and there's no cloud in a' the sky as big
as the dear bairn's little finger, let abee a man's hand."

This solemn enumeration of my joys alarmed me considerably.
" Do you know of anything that has happened, Lizzie?" I cried
with a momentary return of my old fears.

41 Naething's gaun to happen," said Lizzie, u I'm meaning
no to you ; naething but the blessing of God that kens a'. It
was just to say "

Here Lizzie came to a dead stop, and cried, the unfailing
resource in all difficulties. A perception of the truth flashed
upon me as I looked at her.

8G6 The Last of the Mortimers.

"Do you mean to say ?" cried I, but got no further

in my extreme amaze.

uEh, it's no me!" cried Lizzie. "But eh, Menico
says "

Here she stopped again, gave me a frightened look, made an
attempt to go on — and finally, startled by a sound in the next
room, where Harry was, dropped the apron she had uncon-
sciously pulled off, on the floor, and fairly ran away.

Leaving me thunderstruck, and by no means pleased. I
knew if 1 went and told Harry he would burst into fits of
laughter, and there would be an cad to all serious consideration
of the subject. To lose Lizzie all at once like this, to let the
creature go and marry a foreigner! There was something
quite unbearable in the thought ; what was I to do? A
foreigner, and a Catholic, too, and a man twice as old as
herself ; the girl was mad ! The more I thought of it the more
distressed I grew. At last I went to seek Aunt Milly, who
was the only practicable counsellor. She was in the garden,
and I went to seek her there. It was July, and sultry weather.
In the hall, now better occupied than it used to be, stood
Domenico, in the white suit, vast and spotless, with which he
always distinguished himself in summer weather, and which
always put me in mind of that dreadful day when the Count
Sermoneta first came, in his own name, to the Park. Do-
menico started forward, noiseless and smiling, to open the
door. The action brought before me in a minute our little
Chester lodgings, our troubled happy days, our parting, and all
the simple kindness this honest fellow had done us. His face
beamed through all my recollections of that time, always thus
starting forward with the courtesy of the heart. My heart
warmed to him in spite of all I had been cogitating against
him. Perhaps he divined what it was occupied my thoughts
— he followed me out at the door.

"It pleases to the Signora give me the Leezee?" said
Domenico, with an insinuating look. " No ? no ? But what
to have done ? The Signora displeases herself of me ? Where-
fore ? Because V I not know."

•• I am not displeased," said I. " You are a very good fellow,
Domenico, and have always been very kind. But she is a
child ; she is not seventeen. What \vculd you do with her in a
strange country ? She is too young for you."

" The Leezee contents herself,1' said Domenico, with a broad
smile opening out his black beard. "If it pleases to the
I bring her back other times ; I take the care of her ;

The Last of the Mortimers. 867

I make everything please to her. The Signora not wills to say
no?"

And of course I did not say no; I had no right to say
anything of the sort. And Lizzie actually was not afraid to
marry that mountain of a man. She went away with him,
looking dreadfully ashamed, and taking the most heartrending
farewell of little Harry and me, Domenico looking on with great
but smiling sympathy all the while, and not at all resenting
her tears. But the Captain had come home, and little Harry
had attained the independence of two and a half years. Lizzie
felt she had discharged her trust, and was no longer impera-
tively needed to take care of me. I kissed her when she went
away, as if she had been a sister of my own, and I confess was
not ashamed to add a tear to the floods that poured from her
brown eyes ; but I am obliged to avow that it is not within the
range of my powers to put correctly on paper all the long
rolling syllables of her new nama.

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808 Hunt- Room Stories and

Yachting Yarns. Illustrated.
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809 The Margravine.

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810 The Conscript's Revenge,

811 James Tacket.

By Mrs. J. K. SPENDER.
814 Godwyn's Ordeal.

By Mrs. KENNARD,
818 The Right Sort.

By Mrs. PIRKIS.

825 Wanted an Heir.

ByA.DEGALLENGA.

826 Jenny Jennett.

By SAMUEL LAING.
828 A Sporting Quixote.

By HANNAH LYNCH.
830 Through TroubledWatera

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834 Pigskin and Willow.
By CATHARINE SINCLAIR.

850 Beatrice.

851 Modern Accomplishment!

852 Holiday House.

853 Modern Flirtations.

854 Mysterious Marriage.

By JULES 7ERNE.

856 Five Weeks In a Balloon.

857 English at the North Pole

858 Among the Cannibals.

859 A Journey to the Interlo

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By ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN,

876 The Great Invasion.

877 Campaign In Kabylla.

878 Waterloo.

879 The Man- Wolf.

880 The Blockade.

88 1 The States-General.

882 Citizen Bonaparte.

883 Year One of the Republic

884 Daniel Rook.

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885 Friend Fritz.

886 The Conscript.

By Mrs. LEITH ADAMS.
goo Aunt Hepsy's Foundling.
By SAMUEL WARREN.

905 Diary of a late Physician.

906 Ten Thousand a-Year.

By HAMILTON AIDE.
920 Introduced to Society.
By W. M. THACKERAY.
925 Yellowplush Correspon.

dence,& Fitz-Boodle Papers, &c.
By OSWALD CRAWFVRD.

951 Grace Tolmar.

952 The World we Live In.

953 A Woman's Reputation.

By E. WERNER.
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961 Sacred Vows.

By F. MARION CRA WFORD.

965 An American Politician.

966 To Leeward.

ByC.E.CRADDOCK..

971 In the Clouds.

972 Story of Keedon Bluffs.

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981 Tales of the Border. I.

982 II.

983 III.

984 IV.

By GU STAVE AIMARD.

1001 The Tiger Slayer.

1002 Last of the Incas.

1003 Pirates of the Prairie.

1004 The Prairie Flower.

1005 The Trapper's Daughter.

1006 The White Scalper.

1007 The Indian Chief.

By Lord BEACONSFIELD.

1021 Vivian Grey.

1022 Conlngsby.

1023 Henrietta Temple,

1024 Venetla,

1025 Sybil.

1026 Alroy, and Contarlnl

Fleming,

1027 The Young Duke.
By EMILE GABORIAU.

1031 In Deadly PerIL

By ELIOT WARBURTOH.

1051 The Crescent and Cross.
By ALEXANDER DUMAS. '

1060 Count of Monte Crlsto,

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767 Belial.

776 First In the Field.
788 Leah, the Jewish Maiden,
796 Janetta, and Blythe Hern-
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803 Life In a Prison.
813 Tales of Tramps. Ulust
1 102 Remarkable Impostors

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3 The Right Sort. Mrs. E.

KENNAKD,

4 O. V. H. ; or, How Mr. Blake

Became Master of Fox-Hounds.
WAT BRADWOOD.

5 The Flyers of the Hunt.

JOHN MILLS.

6 Tilbury Nogo, J. G.WHYTH-

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7 H u nt-Room Stories.

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8 The Flying ScudL C. C

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SAMUEL LAISG.

10 Stable Secrets, sad The,

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