Rose, Blanche, and Violet

EOSE, BLANCHE,

AND

VIOLET.

G. H. LEWES, .6Q.

AUTHOR O* "KAirrHOKPE '-
'A B1OGKAPHICAI, IIISTOKT Or PI1ILOS SjSt" ETC. ETC.

11 c'y a point de vertu proprement dite, mns victoire sur iious-
luemes, et tout ce qui ne nous coftte rien, ne v :t rien.

DE MAISTKK.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I. ^

«
i.

LONDON:

SMITH, ELDER AND CO., CD, CORNHILL.

1548.

London :

Primed bj STKWAKT and MuiutAV,
Old Bailey.

D^DICACE.

A MONSIEUR BENJAMIN MOREL

(DE DUNKERQUE),

COM ME UN

AFFECTUEUX SOUVENIR

DE L AUTEUR,

G. H. LEWES.

PREFACE.

WHEN a distinct Moral presides over the
composition of a work of fiction, there is
great danger of its so shaping the story
to suit a purpose, that human nature is
falsified by being coerced within the sharply
defined limits of some small dogma.

So conscious of this did I become in the
progress of my story, that I was forced to
abandon my original intention, in favour of
a more natural evolution of incident and
character; accordingly, the Moral has been
left to shift for itself. It was a choice

Vi PREFACE.

between truth of passion and character, on
the one hand, and on the other, didactic clear-
ness. I could not hesitate in choosing the
former.

And yet, as Hegel truly says, " in every
work of Art there is a Moral; but it de-
pends on him who draws it." If, therefore,
the reader insists upon a Moral, he may
draw one from the passions here exhibited ;
and the value of it will depend upon his
own sagacity.

From Life itself I draw one great moral,
which I may be permitted to say is illus-
• trated in various ways by the present work ;
and it is this : —

Strength of Will is the quality most need-
ing cultivation in mankind. Will is the
central force which gives strength and great-
ness to character. We over-estimate the
value of Talent, because it dazzles us ; and

PREFACE. Vll

we are apt to underrate the importance of
Will, because its works are less shining.
Talent gracefully adorns life ; but it is Will
which carries us victoriously through the
struggle. Intellect is the torch which lights
us on our way ; Will, the strong arm which
rough hews the path for us. The clever,
weak man sees all the obstacles on his path ;
the very torch he carries, being brighter
than that of most men, enables him, per-
haps, to see that the path before him may
be directest, the best, — yet it also enables
him to see the crooked turnings by which
he may, as he fancies, reach the goal with-
out encountering difficulties. If, indeed, In-
tellect were a sun, instead of a torch, — if
it irradiated every corner and crevice — then
would man see how, in spite of every ob-
stacle, the direct path was the only safe
one, and he would cut his way through

PREFACE.

by manful labour. But constituted as we
are, it is the clever, weak men who stumble
most — the strong men who are most virtuous
and happy. In this world, there cannot be
virtue without strong Will ; the weak " know
the right, and yet the wrong pursue."

No one, I suppose, will accuse me of
deifying Obstinacy, or even mere brute Will ;
nor of depreciating Intellect. But we have
had too many dithyrambs in honour of
mere Intelligence; and the older I grow,
the clearer I see that Intellect is not the
highest faculty in man, although the most
brilliant. Knowledge, after all, is not the
greatest thing in life: it is not the "be-all
and the end-all here." Life is not Science.
The light of Intellect is truly a precious
light; but its aim and end is simply to
shine. The moral nature of man is more
sacred in my • eyes than his intellectual

PREFACE. IX

nature. I know they cannot be divorced
— that without intelligence we should be
Brutes — but it is the tendency of our gap-
ing wondering dispositions to give pre-emi-
nence to those faculties which most astonish
us. Strength of character seldom, if ever,
astonishes; goodness, lovinguess, and quiet
self-sacrifice, are worth all the talents in
the world.

KENSINGTON, March 1848.

CONTENTS.

TAGS

PROLOGUE 1

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I. — FOUR YEARS LATER .... 21

II. — ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET ... 34

III. — THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS . . 44

IV. — ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME . . 58

V. — MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER . 63

VI. — How ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH

OUR UGLY HERO .... 74
VII. — ROSE VYNER WRITES TO FANNY

WORSLEY 87

VIII. — MRS. LANGLEY TURNER, AND HER

FRIENDS ,, . , . .92

IX.— Two PORTRAITS " . . . .106

X. — DECLARATION OF WAR . . .116

XI. — ONE OF OUR HEROES . . .122

Xu CONTENTS.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.-CECIL CHAMBERLAYNE TO FRANK *'

FORRESTER . . . , 127

II. — ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY . . 137

III. — CECIL is SMITTEN . . 142

IV.— CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF . . 150

V- — A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN . .167

VI- — HIDDEN MEANINGS . . . .175

VII.— MUTUAL SELF-EXAMINATION . . 186

VIII.— THE DISADVANTAGES OF UGLINESS . 190

X- — THE GREAT COMMENTATOR . . 203

IX. — CECIL AGAIN WHITES TO FRANK . 212

XII. — CECIL PUT TO THE TEST . . .215

XIII. — How A LOVER VACILLATES . . 224

XIV. — JEALOUSY 239

XV. — THE LOVERS MEET . . „ .247
XVI. — THE DISCOVERY .... 257

XVTI. — THE SACRIFICE 261

XVIII. — CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS . . 272
XIX. — THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT . . 283
XX. — CAPTAIN HEATH WATCHES OVER

BLANCHE ... . 300

ROSE, BLANCHE, AND VIOLET.

PROLOGUE.

1835.

IT was a sultry day in July, and the sun was
pouring down from a cloudless heaven intense
rays upon the High-street of
The heat made the place a desert ; more indeed
of a desert than even High-streets of country
towns usually are. There was a burnt odour
in the atmosphere, arising from the scorched
pavement, and rayed forth from the garish
brick houses. Silence and noon-day heat
reigned over the scene. The deep stillness
was brought out into stronger relief by the
occasional bark of a dog, or rumbling of a
solitary cart.

A few human beings dotted the street, at
wide intervals. There was a groom standing'
at the stable-yard entrance of the Royal
•George, indolently chewing a blade of grass.

VOL. I. B

PROLOGUE.

The clergyman's wife, hot, dusty, and demure,
was shopping. A farmer had just dismounted
from a robust white cob, which he left standing
at the door of a dismal red-brick house, on the
wire blinds of which was painted the word —
BANK. Higher up, three ragged urchins were
plotting mischief, or arranging some game. A
proud young mother was dandling her infant
at a shop door, as if desirous that the whole
street should be aware of the important fact
of her maternity — to be sure, there never was
such a beautiful baby before ! In the window
of that shop — it was a grocer's — a large black
cat was luxuriously sleeping on a bed of
moist sugar, sunning herself there, too lazy
even to disturb the flies which crowded to the
spot.

To one who, a stranger to the place, merely
cast his eyes down that street, nothing could
appear more lifeless — more devoid of all human
interest — more unchequered by the vicissitudes
of passion. It had the calm of the desert,
without the grandeur. In such a place, the
current of life would seem monotonously
placid ; existence itself scarcely better than
vegetation. It is not so, however. To those
who inhabited the place, it was known that •
beneath the stillness a stratum of boiling lava

PROLOGUE. O

was ever ready to burst forth. Every house
was really the theatre of some sad comedy, or
of some grotesque tragedy. The shop which
to an unfamiliar eye was but the depository of
retail goods, with John Smith as the retailer,
was to an inhabitant the well-known scene of
some humble heroism, or ridiculous pretension.
John Smith, smirking behind his counter, is
not simply an instrument of commerce ; he is
a husband, a father, and a citizen ; he has his
follies, his passions, his hopes, and his opinions ;
he is the object of unreckoned scandals.

To the eye of the stranger who now leisurely
paced the street, the town was dull and lifeless,
because it had not the incessant noise of a
capital, and because he knew nothing of the
dramas which were being enacted within its
walls. Yet even he was soon to learn that
sorrow, " not loud but deep," was weeping
ineffectually over a tragedy which touched him
nearly.

He was a man of about thirty years of age,
with the unmistakeable look of a gentleman,
and, to judge from his moustaches and erect
bearing, an officer in the army. As he passed
her, the proud young mother ceased for a
moment to think only of her child, and fol-
lowed with admiring eyes his retreating form.

B 2

4

PROLOGUE.

The echo of his sharp, decisive tread ran-
through the silent street; and soon he dis!
appeared, turning up towards a large house
which fronted the sea.

He knocked at the door, and with an uncon-
scious coquetry smoothed his dark moustache
while waiting. The door was opened by a
grey-haired butler.

"How d'ye do, Wilson? Are they at
home— eh ! what's this ? you in mourning ? "
' Yes, sir. What ! don't you know, sir ?"
" Good God ! what has happened ? Is Mrs
Vyner ? "

" Yes, sir, yes," replied the butler, shakin-
his head sorrowfully. « It has been a dreadful
jlow, sir, to master, and to the young ladies.
She was buried Monday week."

The stranger was almost stupefied by this
sudden shock.

Dead!" he exclaimed ; "dead! Good
God! — So young, so young. — Dead !— So
beautiful and good.— Dead !"

"Ah, sir, master will never get over it.
He does take on so. I never saw any one,'
never ; and the young ladies "

"Dead!"

" Will you please to walk up, sir ? Master
would like to see you."

PROLOGUE. 5

" No, no, no."

" It will comfort him ; indeed, sir, it will.
He likes to talk to any one, sir, about the
party that 's gone."

The tears came into the old man's eyes as
he thus alluded to his lost mistress, and the
stranger was too much affected to notice the
singular language in which the butler spoke of
" the party."

After a few moments' consideration, the
stranger walked up into the drawing-room,
while the servant went to inform Mr. Vyner
of the visit. Left to himself, and to the undis-
turbed indulgence of those feelings of solemn
sadness by which we are always affected at
the sudden death of those we know, especially
of the young — shaking us as it does in the
midst of our own security, and bringing terri-
bly home the conviction of that fact which
health and confidence keep in a dim obscurity,
that " in the midst of life we are in death " —
the stranger, whom we shall now name as
Captain Heath, walked up to a miniature of
the deceased, and gazed upon it in melancholy
curiosity.

Captain, Heath had lost a dear friend in
Mrs. Vyner, with whom he had been a great
favourite. To his credit be it said, that, al-

PROLOGUE.

though the handsome wife of a man much
older than herself, he had never for an instant
misinterpreted her kindness towards him ; and
this, too, although he was an officer in the
Hussars. Theirs was truly and strictly a
friendship between man and woman, as pure
as it was firm ; founded upon mutual esteem
and sympathy. Some malicious whispers were,
indeed, from time to time ventured on — for
who can entirely escape them ? — but they never
gained much credence. Mrs. Yyner's whole
life was an answer to calumny.

Meredith Vyner, of Wytton Hall, Devon-
shire, was the kindest if not the most fascinat-
ing of husbands. A book-worm and pedant,
he had the follies of his tribe, and was as open
to ridicule as the worst of them ; but, with all
his foibles, he was a kind, gentle, weak, indo-
lent creature, who made many friends, and,
what is more, retained them.

There was something remarkable though
not engaging in his appearance. He looked
like a dirty bishop. In his pale pufiy face
there was an ecclesiastical mildness, which
assorted well with a large forehead and weak
chin, though it brought into stronger contrast
the pugnacity of a short blunt nose, the nos-
trils of which were somewhat elevated and

PROLOGUE. 7

garnished with long black hairs. A physio-
gnomist would at once have pronounced him
obstinate, but weak ; loud in the assertion of
his intentions, vacillating in their execution.
His large person was curiously encased in
invariable black ; a tail-coat with enormous
skirts, in which were pockets capacious enough
to contain a stout volume ; the waistcoat of
black silk, liberally sprinkled with grains of
snuff, reached below the waist, and almost
concealed the watch-chain and its indefinite
number of gold seals which dangled from the
fob ; of his legs he was as proud as men
usually are who have an ungraceful develop-
ment of calf ; and hence, perhaps, the reason of
his adhering to the black tights of our fathers.
Shoes, large, square, and roomy, with broad
silver buckles, completed his invariable and
somewhat anachronical attire.

People laughed at Meredith Vyner for his
dirty nails and his love of Horace (whom he
was always quoting, without regard to the pro-
bability of his hearers understanding Latin — for
the practice seemed involuntary); but they
respected him for his integrity and goodness,
and for his great, though ill-assorted, erudition.
In a word, he was laughed at, but there was no
malice in the laughter.

8 PROLOGUE.

As Captain Heath stood gazing on the
miniature of his lost friend, a heavy hand was
placed upon his shoulder ; and on turning
round he beheld Meredith Vyner, on whose
large> pale face sorrow had deepened the lines :
his eyes were bloodshot and swollen with cry-
ing. In silence, they pressed each other's
hands for some moments, both unable to
speak. At last, in a trembling voice, Vyner
said, " Gone, gone ! She's gone from us."

Heath responded by a fervent pressure of
the hand. - f

" Only three weeks ill," continued the
wretched widower ; " and so unexpected !"

" She died without pain," he added, after a
pause ; " sweetly resigned. She is in heaven
now. I shall follow her soon : I feel I shall.
I cannot survive her loss."

" Do not forget your children."

" I do not ; I will not. Is not one of them
her child? I will struggle for its sake. So
young to be cut off!"

There was another pause, in which each
pursued the train of his sad thoughts. The
hot air puffed through the blinds of the
darkened room, and the muffled sounds of
distant waves breaking upon the shore were
faintly heard.

PROLOGUE. 9

" Come with me," said Vyner, rising.

He led the captain into the bed-room.

" There she lay," he said, pointing to the
bed : " you see the mark of the coffin on the
coverlet ? I would not have it disturbed. It
is the last trace she left."

The tears rolled down his cheek as he
gazed upon this frightful memento.

" In this room I sat up a whole night when
they laid her in the coffin, and all night as I
gazed upon those loved features, placid in
their eternal repfcse, I was constantly fancying
that she breathed, and that her bosom heaved
again with life. Alas ! it was but the mockery
of my love. She remained cold to my kiss —
insensible to the tenderness which watched
over her. Yet I could not leave her. It was
foolish, perhaps, but it was all that remained
to me. To gaze upon her was painful, yet
there was pleasure in that pain. The face
which had smiled such sunshine on me,
which had so often looked up to mine in love,
that, face was now cold, lifeless — but it was
hers, and I could not leave it. My poor, poor
girl!"

His sobs interrupted him. Captain Heath
had no disposition to check a grief which
would evidently wear itself away much more

PROLOGUE.

rapidly by thus dwelling on the subject, than
by any effort to drive it from the mind. To
say the truth, Heath was himself too much
moved to speak. The long, sharply-defined
trace of the coffin on the coverlet was to him
more terrible than the sight of the corpse
could have been ; it was so painfully sugges-

tive.

"The second night," continued Vyner,
" they prevailed on me to go to bed ; but
I could not sleep. No sooner did I drop into
an uneasy doze, than some horrible dream
aroused me. My waking thoughts were
worse. I was continually fancying the rats
would— would— ugh ! At last, I got up and
went into the room. Who should be there,
but Violet ! The dear child was in her night-
dress, praying by the side of the bed! She
did not move when I came in. I knelt
down with her. We both offered up our
feeble prayers to Him who had been pleased
to take her from us. We prayed together,
we wept together. We kissed gently the pale
rigid face, and then the dear child suffered me
to lead her away without a word. It was only
then that I suspected the depth of Violet's
grief. She had not cried so much as Rose
and Blanche. I thought she was too young

PROLOGUE. 1 1

to feel the loss. But from that moment I
understood the strange light which plays in
her eyes when she speaks of her mother."

He stooped over the bed and kissed it ; and
then, quite overcome, he threw himself upon a
chair, and buried his face in his hands. The
ceaseless wash of the distant waves was now
distinctly heard, and it gave a deeper melan-
choly to the scene. Captain Heath's feelings
were so wound up, that the room was be-
coming insupportable to him, and desirous of
shaking off these impressions, he endeavoured
to console his friend.

" I ought to be more firm," said Vyner,
rising, " but I cannot help it. I am not
ashamed of these tears —

Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tarn cari capitis ?

But I ought not to distress others by them."

He led the way down stairs, and, as the
children were out, made Heath promise to
return to dinner ; " it would help to make
them all more cheerful."

Captain Heath departed somewhat shocked
at the pedantry which in such a moment
could think of Horace; and by that very
pedantry he was awakened to a sense of the

12 PROLOGUE.

ludicrous figure which sorrow had made of

O

Vyner.

We are so constituted that, while scarcely
anything disturbs our hilarity, the least in-
congruity which seems to lessen the earnest-
ness of grief, chills our sympathy at once.
Vyner's quotation introduced into the mind
of his friend an undefined suspicion of
the sincerity of that grief which could admit
of such incongruity. But the suspicion was
unjust. It was not pedantry which dictated
that quotation. Pedantry is the pride and
ostentation of learning, and at that moment
Vyner was assuredly not thinking of display-
ing an acquaintance with the Latin poet. He
was simply obeying a habit; he gave utter-
ance to a sentence which his too faithful me-
mory presented.

Captain Heath walked on the sands musing.
He had not gone far before his eye was caught
by the appearance of two girls in deep mourn-
ing; a second glance assured him they were
Vyner's daughters. Walking rapidly towards
them, he was received with affectionate interest.
Quickly recovering from the depression
which the sight of him at first awakened, they
began with the happy volatility of childhood,
to ask him all sorts of questions.

PROLOGUE. 13

" But where is my little Violet ?" asked the
captain.

" Oh ! she 's sitting on the ledge of a rock
yonder, listening to the sea," said Blanche.

" Yes," added Rose, " it is very extraor-
dinary— she says the sea has voices in it
which speak to her. She cannot tell us what
it says, but it makes her happy. But she
cries a great deal, and that doesn't look like
happiness, does it, Captain Heath?"

" No, Rosebud, not very. But let me go
to her."

" Yes, do ; come along."

The three moved on together, and pre-
sently came to the rock, on a- ledge of which
a little girl was lounging. Pier hat was off,
and her long dark brown hair was scattered
over her shoulders by the wind. Her face
was towards the horizon, and she seemed in-
tently watching.

From the two little traits of her drawn by
her father and her sisters, Captain Heath,
who had not seen her since she was a merry
little thing of seven, anticipated a sickly pre-
cocious child, in whom reading or conversation
bad engendered some of that spiritual exaltation,
which is mostly three parts affectation to one
part disease. He was agreeably disappointed.

14 PROLOGUE.

She had not noticed their arrival, but on being
spoken to, embraced the captain with warmth,
and received him in a perfectly natural manner.

To set his doubts at rest, he said : —

" Well, Violet, has the sea been eloquent to-
day, or is it too calm ?"

She looked up at him, then at her sisters,
and coloured. " I see they have been making
fun of me," she said ; " but that 's not fair.
I love to sit by the sea because — " she
hesitated, " mama loved it. It isn't foolish of
me, is it Captain Heath ? "

" No, my dear, not at all — not at all."

"Oh, Captain Heath!" exclaimed Rose,
"you said just now it was."

He pinched her little cheek playfully, and
was about to reply, when Blanche said : —

" Look, there is Mary Hardcastle walking
with Mrs. Henley. Let us go and speak to
them. I will introduce you, Captain Heath ;
she 's very pretty."

" Another time," replied he ; " they seem
to be talking very earnestly together."
- " That they are."

" I hate Mary Hardcastle," said Violet.

"Why?"

" I don't know, but I hate her."

PROLOGUE. 15

" Silly child ! " said Rose ; " she 's always
saying kind things to you."

" And always doing unkind ones," rejoined
Violet, sharply.

" Hate is a strong word, Violet," said
Blanche.

• "Not stronger than I want," replied the
high-spirited little girl.

All this while the captain was following
with his eye the retreating form of the said
Mary Hardcastle.

Let us follow also.

" It is hopeless for me to expect my guar-
dian will allow him to come," said that young
lady, with great emphasis, to her companion ;
" you know how much he dislikes Marma-
duke. So, unless you consent — you will, won't
you?"

" I cannot resist you, Mary. But how is
this interview to be arranged ? "

" It is arranged. I was so sure of your
goodness — I knew you would not let him
leave England without seeing me once more,
to say farewell ; so I told him to call on you
this very afternoon, because I was to spend
the day with you. Thus, you see, it will all
happen in the most natural manner."

Mrs. Henley smiled, shook her forefinger

16 PROLOGUE.

at her young friend ; so they walked on, both
satisfied.

Having gained this point, it soon occurred
to Mary, that Marmaduke might be asked to
dine and spend the evening ; but as this would
expose Mrs. Henley to the chance of some one
dropping in, and she was very averse to be
supposed to favour these clandestine meetings,
a steady refusal was given. Mary inwardly
resolved that she would have a farewell meet-
ing with her lover, and alone ; but said nothing
more on the subject. To have a lover about
to sail for Brazil, and to part with him coldly
before others, was an idea no young girl could
entertain, and least of all Mary Hardcastle.
She was too well read in romance to think of
such a thing.

It does not occur to every girl, in our unro-
mantic days, to have a stern guardian who
dislikes her lover, and forbids him the house.
Mary, therefore, might consider herself as
greatly favoured by misfortune; her misery
was as perfectly select as even her wish could
frame, and the great, the thrilling climax —
the parting — was at hand. That it should be
moonlight was a matter of course — moonlight
on the sea-shore.

Mary Hardcastle was just nineteen. There

PROLOGUE. 17

was something wonderfully attractive about
her, though it puzzled you to say wherein lay
the precise attraction. Very diminutive, and
slightly humpbacked, she had somewhat the
air of a sprite — so tiny, so agile, so fragile, and
cunning did she appear ; and this appearance
was further aided by the amazing luxuriance
of her golden hair, which hung in curls,
drooping to her waist. The mixture of
deformity and grace in her figure was almost
unearthly. She had a skin of exquisite
texture and whiteness, and the blood came
and went in her face with the most charming
mobility. All her features were alive, and
all had their peculiar character. The great
defects of her face were, the thinness of her
lips, and the cat-like cruelty sometimes visible
in her small, grey eyes. I find it impossible
to convey, in words, the effect of her personal
charms. The impression was so mixed up of
the graceful and diabolic, of the attractive and
repulsive, that I know of no better description
of her than is given in Marmaduke's favourite
names for her: he called her his " fascinating

O

panther," and his " tiger-eyed sylph."

She had completely enslaved Marmaduke
Ashley. With the blood of the tropics in his
veins, he had much of the instinct of the
VOL. i. c

18 PROLOGUE.

savage, and as when u boy he had felt a pecu-
liar passion for snakes and tigers, so in his
manhood were there certain fibres which the
implacable eyes of Mary Hardcastle made
vibrate with a delight no other woman had
roused. He was then only twenty-four, and in
all the credulity of youth.

Everything transpired according to Mary's
wish, and at nine o'clock she contrived to slip
away in the evening, unnoticed, to meet her
lover on the sands. True it was not moon-
light. She had forgotten that the moon would
not rise ; but, after the first disappointment,
she was consoled by the muttering of distant
thunder, and the dark and stormy appearance
of the night ; a storm would have been a more
romantic parting scene than any moonlight
could afford. So when Marmaduke joined
her, she was in a proper state of excitement,
and felt as miserable as the most exacting
school-girl could require. The sea, as it broke
sullenly upon the shore, heaved not its bosom
with a heavier sigh, than that with which she
greeted her lover, and nestled in his arms.
She wept bitterly, reproached her fate, and
wished to die that moment. Marmaduke, who
had never before seen such a display of her
affection, was intensely 'gratified, and with

PROLOGUE. 19

passionate protestations of his undying love,
endeavoured to console her.

But she did not want to be consoled. As
she could not be happy with him, her only
relief was to be miserable. Self-pity was the
balm for her wounds. By making herself
thoroughly wretched, she stood well in her own
opinion. In fact, without her being aware of
it, her love sprang not from the heart, but from
the head. She was acting a part in her own
drama, and naturally chose the most romantic
part.

The storm threatened, but did not burst.
The heavens continued dark ; and the white
streaks of foam cresting the dark waves were
almost the only things the eye could discern.
The lovers did not venture far from the house,
but paced up and down, occasionally pausing
in the earnestness of talk.

Their conversation need not be recorded
here ; the more so as it was but a repetition of
one or two themes, such as the misery of their
situation, the constancy of their affection, and
their sanguineness of his speedy return and
their happy union.

" Marmaduke," she said at last, " it is get-
ting late ; Mrs. Henley will miss me ; I must
go."

c 2

20 PROLOGUE.

" A moment longer ; one moment."

" Only a moment. Dearest Marmaduke,
will you never forget me? Will you think of
me always ? Will you write as often as you
can? Let us every night at twelve look at
the moon ; it will be so sweet to know that at
that moment each is doing the same thing,
and each thinking of the other. You will not
lose my locket ? But, stay ; you have never
given me a lock of your hair. Do so now."

He took a penknife from his pocket, and,
with noble disregard to his appearance, cut off*
a large lock of his black hair, which he folded
in a piece of paper and gave to her. She
kissed it many times, and vowed its place
should be upon her heart. Then, after throw-
ing herself into his arms, in one last embrace
of despair, she broke from him and darted
into the house, rushed up into a bed-room,
threw herself outside the bed, and gave way
to so vehement a fit of crying, that when Mrs.
Henley came in to look for her, she found her
in hysterics.

Nota benc. — Sixteen months afterwards,
Mary Hardcastle became Mrs. Meredith
Vyner.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

FOUR YEARS LATER.

Messire Bon 1'a prise en manage,
Quoiqu'il n'ait plus que quatre cheveux gris ;
Mais comme il est le premier du pays
Son bien supplee au defaut de son age.

LAFONTAINE.

MY heroines have grown up into young women
since we last saw them idling on the sands ;
and it is proper I should at once give some
idea of their appearance. Rose and Blanche,
children by the first wife, are very unlike their
sister Violet, the only child of the second Mrs.
Vyner : they are fair as Englishwomen only
are fair ; she is dark as the children of the
south are dark. They are plump and middle-
sized; she is thin and very tall. They are

22 FOUR YEARS LATER.

settling into rounded womanhood ; she is at
that undeveloped " awkward age" when the
beauty of womanhood has not yet come to fill
the place of the vanished grace of childhood.

Two prettier creatures than Rose and
Blanche, it would be impossible to find.
There were sisterly resemblances peeping out
amidst the most charming differences. I
know not which deserved the palm ; Rose,
with her bright grey eyes swimming in mirth,
her little piquant nose with its nostrils so deli-
cately cut, her ruddy pouting lips which Firen-
zuola would with justice have called 'fontana
de ttitte le amorose dolcezze,' her dimpled
cheeks; and the whole face, in short, radiant
with lovingness and enjoyment. Shakspeare,
who has said so many exquisite things of women,
has painted Rose in one line : —

Pretty and witty, wild, and yet, too, gentle.

But then Blanche, with her long dreamy eyes,
loving mouth, and general expression of meek-
ness and devotion, was in her way quite as
bewitching. As for poor Violet, she was
almost plain : it was only those lustrous eyes, so
unlike the eyes of ordinary mortals, which
redeemed her thin sallow face. If plain, how-
ever, it has already great energy, great cha-

FOUR YEARS LATER. 23

racier, and a strange mixture of the most
womanly caressing gentleness, with haughtiness
and wilfulness that are quite startling. Those?
who remember her as a lovely child, prophesy
that she will become a splendid woman.

From the three girls, let us turn our eyes to
the strange stepmother which fate — or rather
foolishness and cunning — had given them. <

Mary Hardcastle, at the age of twenty, was
placed in perhaps the most critical position
which can await a young woman, viz. that of
stepmother to girls very little younger than
herself. In that situation, she exhibited un-
common skill ; the very difficulties of it were
calculated to draw out her strategetical science
in the disposition of her troops; and certainly
few women have ever arranged circumstances
with more adroitness than herself. She was a
stepmother indeed, and the reader anticipates
what kind of stepmother; but she was too
cunning to fall into the ordinary mistake of
ostensibly assuming the reins of government.
Apparently, she did nothing ; she was not the
mistress of her own house ; she never under-
took the management of a single detail. A
meek, submissive wife, anxious to gain the
affection of her ' dear girls ;' trembling before
the responsibilities of her situation, she not only

24 FOUR YEARS LATER.

deluded the world, but she even deceived Cap-
tain Heath, and almost reconciled him to the
marriage. Nay, what was more remarkable,
she deceived the girls — at least, the two elder
girls. They were her companions — her pets.
Before people, she adored them ; in private, she
gave them pretty clearly to understand that all
their indulgences came from her ; and all their
privations from their father. It was her wish,
indeed, that her dear girls should want for
nothing, but papa was so obstinate — he could
not be persuaded.

Strange discrepancies between word and
deed would sometimes show themselves, but
how was it possible to -doubt the sincerity of
one whose language and sentiments were so
kind and liberal? She herself trembled before
her husband, and often got the girls to inter-
cede for her. The natural consequence was
that they soon became convinced that papa
was very much altered, and that as he grew
older he grew less kind.

Altered he was. Formerly he had secluded
himself in his study, interfering scarcely at all
in family arrangements, making few observa-
tions upon what his children did; ancj if not
taking any great interest in them, at least
behaving with pretty uniform kindness. Now

FOUR YEARS L --TER. 25

he was for ever interfering to forbid this, to
put a stop to that; discovering that he "really
could not afford " that which hitherto he had
always allowed them ; and, above all, discover-
ing that his daughters were always trying to
" govern " in his house.

Violet alone was undeceived. She had
always hated Mary Hardcastle, without precisely
knowing why ; now she hated her because
occupying the place which her dear mother
had occupied, and that, too, in a spirit of
hypocrisy evident in her eyes. Violet, there-
fore, at once fixed the change in her father
upon her stepmother. How it was accom-
plished, she knew not ; but she was certain of
the fact.

The mystery was simple. Meredith Vyner,
^ike all weak men, had an irresistible tendency
to conceal his weakness from himself, by what
he called some act of firmness. He would
have his own way, he said. He would not be
governed. He would be master in his own
house. Mrs. Vyner saw through him at a
glance. Wishing to separate him from his
children, and so preserve undisputed sway over
him, she artfully contrived to persuade him
that he had always suffered himself to be
governed by his children, and that he had not a

26 FOUR YEARS LATER.

will of his own. Thus prompted, he was easily
moved to exert his authority with some asperity
whenever his wife insinuated that it was dis-
regarded; and he established a character for
firmness in his own eyes, by thwarting his
daughters, and depriving them of indulgences.

Moreover, Mrs. Vyner was, or affected to be,
excessively jealous of his affection for the girls.
He neglected her for them, she said ; of course
she could not expect it to be otherwise, were
they not his children? were they not accus-
tomed to have everything give way to them ?
What was she ? an interloper. Yet she loved
him — foolishly, perhaps, but she loved him —
and love would be jealous, would feel hurt at
neglect.

Vyner, delighted and annoyed at this jea-
lousy, assured her that it was groundless ; but
the only assurance she would accept was acts,
not words ; accordingly, the poor old man was
gradually forced to shut his heart against his
girls ; or, at any rate, to cease his demonstra-
tions of affection, merely to get peace.

In a few sentences I convey the result of
months of artful struggle ; but the reader can
understand the process by which this result
was obtained, especially if I indicate the nature
of the empire Mrs. Vyner had established.

FOUR YEARS LATER. 27

Vyner was completely fascinated by the little
coquette. It was not only his senses, but his
mind, that was subdued. She had early im-
pressed him with two convictions : one, the
extreme delicacy of her nerves; the other, her
immense superiority to himself. The first con-
viction was impressed upon him by the alarm-
ing hysterics into which contradiction, or any
other mental affliction, threw her. If any
thing went wrong — if the girls resisted her
authority — if her own wishes were not gratified,
she did not command, she did not storm. ; she
wept silently, retired to her room, and was
found there lifeless, or in an alarming state, by
the first person who went in.

The second conviction took more time to
establish, but she established it by perpetually
dinning into his ear that he could not " under-
stand her." Nor, in truth, could he. She had
a lively imagination, and was fond of the most
imaginative poetry ; — the less disposition he
manifested towards it, the more she insinuated
how necessary a part it was of all exalted
minds. In her views of art, of life, and of
religion, she was always exaggerated, and what
the Germans call schwarmerisch. Vyner was
as prosaic as prose, and owned his incapacity
for " those higher raptures " which were said

28 FOUR YEARS LATER.

to 'result from " an exalted ideal." What we
do not understand, we always admire or despise.
Vyner admired.

One admirable specimen of her tactics was
to make him feel that, although she loved him,
she did not love him with all the ardour of her
passionate nature ; and a hope was adroitly
held out, that upon him only depended whether
she should one day acknowledge that he had
her entire affections. To gain this end, what
man would not have made himself a slave ? If
any man could resist such an attraction, Vyner
was not that man ; and he submitted to every
caprice, in the deluded hope of seeing his sub-
mission crowned with its reward.

In effect, Mrs. Vyner's will was law ; yet so
dexterously did she contrive matters, that it
always seemed as if Vyner was the sole ordainer
of everything. He was the puppet, moving as
she pulled the wires, and gaining all the odium
for her acts.

Violet, as I said, was the only one who saw
this. She read her stepmother's character
aright ; and by her Mrs. Vyner knew that
she was judged. She used her best arts to
gain Violet's good opinion, tried to pet her in
every way, but nothing availed : the haughty
girl was neither to be blinded nor cajoled.

FOUR YEARS LATER. 29

One day Vyner found his wife in tears. He
inquired the cause. She wept on, and could
not be induced to speak. He entreated her to
confide her sorrows to him, which, after long
pressing, she did as follows : —

" Oh ! it is very natural," she said, sobbing ;
" very — I have no right to complain : none. I
ought never to have married."

" Dearest Mary, what is the matter ? "
" I have no right to be afflicted. I ought to
have been prepared for it. Of course, it must
be so. Yet I did hope to make them love me.
I love them so. I tried all I could ; but I am
a stepmother — every one will tell them that a
stepmother is unkind."
" The ungrateful things ! "
Vyner was really incensed against his daugh-
ters before he knew what they had done, simply
because they were the cause of his conjugal
peace being disturbed.

" Rose and Blanche, indeed," sobbed his
wife, " do give me credit sometimes, but Violet
hates me — hates me because I married you.
She is jealous of your regard for me. She
says you ought never to have married again —
perhaps she is right, but it is cruel for me to
hear it."

" The wretched girl ! "

30 FOUR YEARS LATER.

" She will never forget I am not her mother
— she looks upon our marriage as a crime, I
believe ! "

A spasm, short but sharp, was visible on his
face ; but the touch of remorse quickly gave
way to anger. He felt, indeed, that he had
acted wrongly in marrying again, especially in
marrying one so young. He knew that well
enough, knew what the world must think of it ;
but nothing, as she knew, made him so angry
as any allusion to it. The sense of his fault
exasperated his sense of the impertinence of
those who ventured to speak of it. He had
surely a right to do as he pleased. He loved a
charming, a "most superior" woman, and he
"supposed he was to be considered, no less
than his children/' It was very strange that
he should be expected to sacrifice everything
to them. Other fathers were not so com-
plaisant.

And yet, through all the arguments which
irritated self-Jove could suggest, there pierced
the consciousness of his error. That Violet
should resent his njarriage was no more than
natural ; but his wife well knew the tender
chord she touched, when she thus alluded to
his daughter's feelings.

That day she said no more. She allowed

FOUR YEARS LATER. 31

herself to be consoled. But by bringing up
the subject again from time to time, she con-
trived to instil into his mind a mingled fear
and dislike of his favourite child.

Whenever Violet and her stepmother had
any " difference" — which was not unfrequent —
Vyner always sided against his daughter ; and
his wife's demeanour being one of exasperating
meekness, as if she were terrified at Violet's
vehemence, he always told people that "his
youngest daughter was unfortunately such a
devil, there was no living with her, and that
his wife was tyrannized over in a way that was
quite pitiable."

At last, Violet was sent away from home —
that she might not corrupt her sisters, it was
said — in reality, that she might be got out of
the way. Vyner thereby secured peace, and
his wife got rid of an unfavourable judge. The
poor girl was placed under the care of two
" strong-minded" women, who had been duly
prejudiced against her, and whose cue it was to
work upon her religious feelings, and awaken
her to a sense of the duty sh,e owed her parents.
She soon detected their object, and rebelled.
Disagreeable scenes took place, which ended in
Violet escaping from their odious care, and
flying to her fox-hunting uncle's, in Worcester-

32 FOUR YEARS LATER.

shire, where she was received with open arms.
Being very fond of his niece, he wrote to
Vyner, requesting permission to be allowed to
keep her with him for some time, promising
she should not want masters, and that her edu-
cation should be carefully attended to. The
permission was granted, after some difficulty,
and Violet was happily settled in Worcester-
shire, while her two sisters, grown too hand-
some and too old to be kept longer at home,
were despatched to the establishment kept b}^
Mrs. Wirrelston and Miss Smith, at Brighton.
Before accompanying them, I have one more
point to dwell on, and that was the sudden fit
of economy which had seized Mrs. Vyner.
The estate, though large, was greatly encum-
bered, and it was, moreover, entailed. Vyner,
always " going" to make some provision for
his girls, had never done so ; he had, — weak,
vacillating, procrastinating man as he was, —
" put it off," and trusted, perhaps, to the girls
marry i i. g well. Mrs. Vyner determined to
economize ; to save yearly a large sum, which
was to be set aside. In pursuance of this plan,
she began the most extraordinary retrench-
ments, and dressed the girls in a style of
plainness and economy by no means in accord-
ance with their feelings. In justice, I should

FOUR YEARS LATER. 33

add, that she dressed herself in the same style.
People were loud in their praises at her gene-
rous self-sacrifice ; but, as she sentimentally
observed, " for her dear girls she could do any-
thing." Perhaps, of all her efforts at securing
the reputation of an exemplary stepmother,
none met with such universal approbation as
this economical fit. I am sorry to be forced to
add, that while economizing even to meanness,
in some departments, she was so lavish in her
expenditure in others, as, in effect, to plunge
Vyner deeper into debt than ever.

VOL. I.

34 ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET.

CHAPTER II.

ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET.

DEAREST Vi.,

YOUR letter amused us very much ; and
we have both for a long while been going to
answer it, but have not found time. Don't be
angry at our silence.

We left home rather low spirited. Home,
indeed, was no longer the happy place it had
been, though mama, say what you will, is not
to blame for that ; but, nevertheless, leaving it
made us unhappy. Having grown up into
young women without being sent to school, we
did not like the idea of going at last.

The snow was falling fast when we arrived ;
and a dreary January day by no means en-
livened our prospects. We looked wistfully
out of the carriage-windows, and saw the
steady descent of the countless snow-flakes

ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET. 35

darkening the air, and making the day miser-
able. Nothing met our eyes but the same
endless expanse of snow-covered ground, —
cheerless, cold, and desolate — the uncomfort
of winter without its picturesqueness. But,
cold and cheerless as the day was, it was
nothing to the cheerlessness of the frigid polite-
ness and patronizing servility of Miss Smith
and Mrs. Wirrelston, our school-mistresses. I
am a physiognomist, you know, and from the
first moment, I disliked them. Blanche
thought them very kind and attentive. I
thought them too attentive : the humbugs !

They froze me. I foresaw the mistresses they
would make, and that is why I instinctively
felt that the miserable day was more genial and
clement than they. The snow would cease ;
in a few hours, gleams of sunshine would make
it sparkle ; in a few weeks, it would disappear.
But the wintry frost of their politeness would
deepen and deepen into sterner cold; there
was no hope of sunshine under that insincere
manner.

I hope you admire that paragraph ! But
for fear you should imagine I am about to turn
authoress, I must let you into the secret : it is
an application to my situation of a passage I

D 2

36 ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET.

met with yesterday in a novel one of the girls
has smuggled in.

It was about four o'clock when we arrived.
We were shown into the school-room, where
we found about nine other girls, from twelve
to seventeen years old, with whom we soon
made acquaintance. We first asked each other's
names ; then communicated our parentage ;
then followed questions as to previous schools,
and as to what sort of place this was. Accounts
varied considerably. Some thought it very
well, and liked Mrs. Wirrelston. Some thought
it detestable, and detested Mrs. Wirrelston. One
and all detested Miss Smith.

The elder girls seemed very nice ; but, from
always having been at school I suppose, they
struck me as excessively ignorant of the world,
compared with us, and still more ignorant of
books. They were children to us. Our supe-
rior knowledge, which was quickly discovered,
made us looked up to, and we were assailed
with questions. But if we were for a moment
looked up to on that account, we speedily
lost our supremacy on another. One of the
younger girls asked me how much pocket-
money we had brought?

" Twenty shillings each."

KOSE WRITES TO VIOLET. 37

" Twenty shillings ! what only twenty shil-
lings ! Why I brought five pounds."

" And I, ten," proudly ejaculated another.

I felt deeply ashamed ; the more so as I
observed the girls interchange certain looks,
which were but too intelligible. Next day we
had the mortification of hearing each new
comer informed, and in a tone of disgusted
astonishment, that "the Vyners had only
brought twenty shillings each. Only think ! "

I instantly wrote home to papa. But his
answer was, that we must learn to be econo-
mical, that he was learning it himself, and that
mama thinks it highly necessary we should
early learn to submit to small privations. I hate
economy ! \

To return to our school, however. The first
afternoon was spent in chat and games. Les-
sons were not to commence till the morrow.
And as the morrow was very much like other
days, I may sketch our routine. While dress-
ing, we have to learn a verse of scripture out
of a book called "Daily Bread.3' (I got
punished the other day for saying it was " very
dry bread, too." That odious, little, pimply
Miss Pinkerton told Miss Smith of it.) This
verse we all repeat one after the other when
prayers are finished ; and as I seldom know my

38 ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET.

verse when we come down, I contrive to sit at
the end of the table and learn it by hearing
all the others say it before me. One of the
elder and one of the little girls then collect
the bibles and put them away ; while the rest of
us, rank and file, begin to march, heads up,
chests expanded, toes out. This military exer-
cise is not, I believe, to fashion us into a
regiment of grenadiers — the Drawing-room
Invincibles — because, when I suggested that we
ought to have moustachios and muskets, I
received a severe reprimand for my levity.
Besides, we vary the march with little opera-
tions scarcely to be called military : touching,
or trying to touch, the floor with the tips of our
fingers without bending our knees, making our
elbows meet behind our backs, &c. We then
go into breakfast, and are allowed to exchange
our merciless slaughter of French idiom, for the
freely flowing idiom of our mother tongue. I
have not had the French mark yet, except for
speaking English ; my French, I am happy to
say, is beyond the criticism of the girls : what
their mastery of the language is, you may guess
by that ! You may also gain a faint idea of it
from these specimens. I passed the mark to
little Miss Pinkerton only yesterday, because
she asked me for my penknife in this elegant

ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET. 39

style : " Madle. voulcz vous pretez moi votre
COUTEAU?" Whereupon I whipped the mark
into her hands with a generous " Le voila"
Last week she said, " Je nai pas encore FAIT;"
for " I have not done (finished) yet " — and
pointed out to me, " Comme vous avez mal coupe
vos CLOUS" — meaning, that I had not cut my
finger nails well !

At meals, we are permitted to speak like
Christians. After breakfast we have half an
hour's recreation. We play, or read, or work,
or, twining an arm round our confidant's waist,
interchange confidences respecting the loves
we have had, and the husbands we intend to
have. Then come lessons. There are five
pianos — and five unhappy girls are always prac-
tising on them. We arrange our lessons so
as to take the pianos in turns, and by this
means, we all get our practice, and the thump-
ing never ceases. What a life those pianos
lead ! How I wish Miss Smith were one of
them!

The drawing-master comes at eleven. We
don't learn. Papa allows no extras, except
dancing, — he says they're "so foolish." I am
sorry we don't learn, for Mr. Hibbert, our
master, is a perfect duck! — such a nice face,
with glossy hair, turned into a sweet little

40 ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET.

curl on his forehead ; large whiskers, rosy com-
plexion, and we all say he is consumptive. Then
he draws so well — so boldly ! His strokes are as
straight, and as broad and black as — I haven't
got a simile. But you should see the copies he
sets ; boats on the sea-shore, turned on their
sides, with handsome fishermen standing by,
occupied with their nets, and pretty, fat children
dotting the sands ; or nice little cottages, with
smoke (so natural!) coming from the chimneys,
and large trees by them, and a dog or a cow,
or else a splendid castle, with turrets, and
drawbridges, and knights in armour on
horseback. Mr. Hibbert ought to be an acade-
mician !*

At twelve, when the weather permits, we go
out for a walk. In formidable files of twos
and twos, we gravely tread the esplanade and
circumambient streets (isn't that a nice word ? —
I got it from Miss Smith). We there see
withered old Indians, invalids in chairs, wheeled
about in search of Hygeia, dowagers, and some
officers, with such moustachios — the darlings !

* This last sentence makes me suspect that the whole para-
graph is a bit of the saucy Rose's irony, and that she is quiz-
zing the admiration of her schoolfellows for Mr. Hibbert. But
school girls have snch strange idols, that she may be serious
here. — Authors Note.

ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET. 41

We quiz the passers-by, and sometimes discuss
their attractions. Some of the men look so
impudent! And one always blows a kiss to us
as we pass — that is, he blows it to me. I'm
sure he 's a rake.

At half-past two, we dress for dinner. At
three, we dine. The food is plain, but good,
and abundant. After dinner we have more
lessons, till six. Then tea; then we amuse
ourselves, if we have learned all our lessons
and tasks, either with books or fancy-work. At
eight, to bed.

All the days are like this, except Sunday ;
and oh ! what a dreary day is Sunday ! What
with twice church, Collects to learn, explanations
of the Psalms and Catechism, our day is pretty
well occupied. We take no walk — we are
allowed no recreation. " Bunyan's Pilgrim's
Progress," and a few religious tales, are the
only things allowed to those who have said
Collect and Catechism, and have time to spare.
I hate Bunyan !

But this is not all. If any one has had the
three bad marks during the week, the punish-
ment is to sit in the corner all Sunday, and
learn a sermon : she is not allowed to speak all
day, except to the governesses. Miss Smith
has more than once punished me in that way,

42 ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET.

and you may imagine how it increases my love
for her !

Well, after this long dreary day, comes even-
ing lecture. Oh, Vi. ! if anything could make
school more odious than it is, that evening lec-
ture would be the thing ! Picture to yourself
eighteen weary girls, after a day's absence from
any recreation, having swallowed their tea, and
then forced to sit in the school-room on hard
benches, without backs, in prim silence, await-
ing the arrival of the Rev. Josiah Button, who
sometimes keeps us waiting for at least an hour.
We are not allowed to speak. We are not
allowed to read. We sit there in silent expec-
tation ; which a figuratively historical pen would
liken (by way of a new simile) to the senators
of Rome awaiting the Gauls. We sit and look
at the candles, look at the ceiling, look at the
governesses, and look at each other. At last
the door opens, and the reverend Dutton
appears. He takes his place at a desk, and
begins in a droning voice, meant to be impres-
sive, a lecture or sermon which we do not
attend to. I sit opposite to him, and am forced
to keep my eyes fixed upon him, because I
know Miss Smith's are fixed upon me. There
I sit, my back aching from want of support, my
eyes drawing straws in the candles, till I feel as

ROSE WRITES TO VIOLET. 43

if I should grow blind, wearied with the un-
varied occupation of the day, and still more
wearied by the effort to keep up my attention
to what I cannot interest myself in, what in-
deed, for the most part, I cannot comprehend.

There, my dear Vi., you have a return for
your long letter, and an encouragement to
write again. I'm literally at the end of my
paper, for this is the last sheet I have in the
world. Blanche is to write to you to-morrow.

P. S. — Unless you have an opportunity of
getting your letter delivered by private hand,
mind what you say ! All ours are opened.
This will be put in the post, in London, by one
of my companions, who goes there for a couple
of days ; otherwise, I dare not have sent it.

44 THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

CHAPTER III.

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

ROSE and Blanche remained three years at
Mrs. Wirrelston's.

Rose's letter has disclosed to us a suffi-
ciently detailed account of their school exist-
ence ; but she has omitted one very important
point — for the very excellent reason that, at
the time she wrote, it had not shown itself.
She speaks, indeed, of the surprise and con-
tempt of the girls when they learned how
scantily her purse was furnished ; hut the full
effects of that were only developed some time
afterwards.

A school is an image of the world in minia-
ture, and represents it, perhaps, in its least
amiable aspect. The child is not only father
to the man, but the father, before experience
has engendered tolerance, before suffering has

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS. 45

extended sympathy. The child is horribly
selfish, because unreflectingly so. Its base
instincts have not been softened or corrected.
All its vices are not only unrestrained, but un-
concealed. Its egotism and vanity are allowed
full play.

Rose's schoolfellows were quite aware of
the beauty and mental superiority which dis-
tinguished her and Blanche ; and envied them
for it. But they were also fully aware of the
scantiness of their allowance, and the in-
feriority of their dress ; and despised them
heartily, undisguisedly. Poverty, which is an
inexcusable offence in the great world, be-
comes a sort of crime at school. The love of
tyranny implanted in the human breast, and
always flourishing in children, gratified itself
by subjecting Rose and Blanche to endless
sarcasms on that score. The little irritations
which arose, in the natural course of things,
between them and their schoolfellows, were
sure to instigate some sarcasm on " mean
little creatures" — "vulgar things" — "penni-
less people," &c. It was a safe and ready
source of annoyance : a weapon always at
hand, adapted to the meanest capacity, and
certain to wound.

Beyond the indignities which it drew down

46 THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

upon them, the absence of pocket-money was
a serious inconvenience. They had only two
shillings a week each as an allowance; out
of which they had to find their own pens,
pencils, paper, india-rubber, sealing-wax, and
trifles — indispensable trifles of that kind ;
besides having to put sixpence every fortnight
into the poor-box. The hardship of this was
really terrible. The word may seem a strong
one, but if we measure the importance of
things by the effects they produce, it will not
seem too strong. To men and women, all
this inconvenience may seem petty. It was
not petty to the unhappy girls: it was the
cause of constant humiliation and bitter sor-
row.

Parents little imagine the extent of their
cruelty, when, to gratify their own ambition,
they send children to expensive schools, and
refuse to furnish them with the means of being
on a footing of equality with their school-
fellows. The effects of such conditions are
felt throughout the after life. The misery
children endure from the taunting superiority
of their companions, is only half the evil ; the
greater half is in the moral effects "of such
positions.

Upon natures less generous, healthy, and

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS. 47

good than those of Rose and Blanche, the
evil would have been incalculable. Even
upon them, it was not insignificant. It over-
developed the spirit of opposition in Rose ; it
crushed the meek spirit of Blanche. Rose
with her vivacity and elasticity could best
counteract and forget it; but it sank deeply
into the quiet, submissive soul of Blanche, and
made her singularly unfitted to cope with the
world ; as the sequel of this story will show.

I do not wish to exaggerate the influence of
this school experience ; I am well aware of the
ineradicable propensities and dispositions of
human beings ; but surely it is right to
assume that certain dispositions are fostered
or misdirected by certain powerful conditions ;
and no disposition could be otherwise than
damaged by being subjected to distressing
humiliation from companions, and on grounds
over which the victim had no earthly control.

A miserable life Rose and Blanche led.
Disliked by Mrs. Wirrelston and Miss Smith",
because they learned no extras — that fruitful
source of profit — and because they were so ill-
dressed as to be " no credit to the establish-
ment;" they were taunted by their school-
fellows, because unable to join in any subscrip-
tion which was set on foot. To any one who

48 THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

knows the female mind, I need not expatiate
on the contempt which frowned upon their
shabby attire. To be ill dressed ; to have
none of the novelties ; to continue wearing
frocks out of the season, and which were out-
grown ; to be shivering in white muslin in
the beginning of December.

Yes, reader, in December; for winter cloth-
ing they had none, and their parents were
abroad.

Mrs. Vyner's neglect is perhaps excusable
when we reflect how young she was, and how
unfit for the position she occupied; but the
effects of that neglect were very important.

"Poor things!" exclaimed Letitia Hoskins,
a citizen's daughter, in all the insolence
engendered by consols ; " their father can't
afford to clothe them."

" Yet why doesn't he send them to a cheaper
school?" suggests Amelia Wingfield.

" Vulgar 'pride. I dare say he 's some shop-
keeper. He wishes his daughters to be edu-
cated with ladies."

" Meant for governesses, I shouldn't won-
der."

" Most likely, poor things !"
In vain did Rose and Blanche repeatedly
answer such assertion*, by declaring their

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS. 49

father's family was one of the most ancient in
England (Miss Hoskins gave an exasperating
chuckle of ridicule at that), 'and was worth
twelve thousand a year. A derisive shout was
the only answer. The girls icould not have be-
lieved it, however credible ; and it was on the
face of it a very incredible statement, coming
from girls who, as Letty Hoskins once ob-
served, " had the meanness to come there
with a sovereign each, and one pot of bears'
grease 'between them. Girls who were never
dressed half so genteelly as her mama's maid."

" And learn no extras," added little Miss
Pinkerton, with a toss of her head. " When
I told Rose that I had got on so well with my
drawing (especially the shading!) that Mr. Hib-
bert said I might soon begin drawing with
Creoles, she burst out laughing, and said she
had never heard of that branch of the art be-
fore. Fancy a girl of nineteen never having
heard of drawing with Creoles !"

" With crayons, I suppose you mean," sug-
gested Amelia Wingfield, contemptuously.

" Well, it 's all the same ; she had never
heard of it."

Rose was witty enough to take fearful
reprisals on those who offended her; but,
although she thus avenged herself, she was

VOL. i. E

50 THE HAPPY SCHOOL DAYS.

always sure to be worsted in the war of words.
Nothing she could say cut so deep as the most
stupid reflection on her dress or poverty. No
sarcasm she could frame told like the old —
but never too old — reference to governesses.

Nevertheless, her vivacity and humour in
some measure softened the ill impression cre-
ated by her poverty. She amused the girls so
much, that they never allowed their insolence
to be more than a passing thing. Often would
she make the whole school merry with some
exquisitely ludicrous parody of Mrs. Wirrel-
ston or Miss Smith. The latter was her espe-
cial butt. She revelled in quizzing her. She
knew well enough that the laughers, with the
treachery of children, first enjoyed the joke,
and then repeated it to Miss Smith, to enjoy
the joker's punishment, and to curry favour
with the governess. No matter ; Rose knew
she was sure to be betrayed, yet her daring
animal spirits. were constantly inciting her to
make fun of her ridiculous mistress.

Miss Smith was a starch virago. Bred to
the profession of governess, she had consider-
able acquirements — of which she was very vain
— and great sense of the " responsibility " of
her situation, which showed itself in a morbid
watchfulness over the " morals of her young

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS. 51

charges." Her modesty was delicate and
easily alarmed; nothing, for instance, would
induce her to mention sparrows before gentle-
men— those birds having rather a libertine
reputation in natural history — she called them
" little warblers." Again : the word belly was
carefully erased from Goldsmith's History of
England, and stomach substituted in the mar-
gin. Rose once pointed this out to the girl
standing next to her at class, and was duly
punished for her " impropriety."

Miss Smith was not handsome. Her com-
plexion was of a bilious brown, mottled with
pimples. Her nose was thin and pointed ;
the nostrils pinched up, as if she were always
smelling her own breath, and that breath
stronger but not sweeter than the rose. Her
lips thin and colourless. Her figure tall and
fleshless. There was a rigidity and primness
in her whole appearance, which lent itself but
too easily to caricature ; and Rose, whose good
nature would have spared a kinder person, had
no remorse in ridiculing the ungenerous mis-
tress, who visited upon her and her sister the
sins of their father.

On the day selected for our glimpse into this
school, Rose was shivering over a long task,
which had been given her for the following

E 2

52 THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

audacity. Miss Smith had been " reviling in
good set terms" the character of Meredith
Vyner. Rose's blood had mounted to her
cheek, but she was silent, conscious that any
retort would only indulge her mistress, by show-
ing that the abuse of her father was a sore
subject. She affected to have lost her copy of
Goldsmith, and to be in great concern about
it. As it was only a common schoolbook,
bound in mottled ^calf, Miss Pinkerton could
not understand her anxiety about it, sarcasti-
cally adding, " My papa doesn't care how
many books I have. He can afford it." " Oh,
it isn't the book," replied Rose confidentially,
" it's the binding ! Real Smithskin ! "

Blanche and Miss Pinkerton both laughed ;
and the latter immediately informed Miss
Smith of the joke, and of Blanche's participa-
tion. For this offence they were both punished ;
but the name remained : to this day the mot-
tled calf binding is by the girls called Smith-
skin.

It was near the breaking up, and the elder
girls, with the horrible servility of children of
both sexes when at school, had set on foot a
subscription to present Mrs. Wirrelston and
Miss Smith with some token of their regard.
Miss Hoskins had put her name down for

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS. 53

thirty shillings. Others had subscribed a
pound, and others ten shillings ; even the
younger girls had put down five shillings each.
When the list was brought to Rose and
Blanche, they said they had no money.

" Of course not," said Miss Hoskins ;
" what 's the use of asking them ? You will
ask the servants next."

Blanche raised her mild face, and said, —

" I would subscribe if I could ; but how is
it possible? You girls come to school with
ten pounds or more in your pockets, and you
have other presents besides. Papa refuses to
allow us pocket-money — says we can have no
use for it."

" All that is true," added Rose ; " but if we
had money I would not subscribe. I have no
regard for them, and the only token I would
offer them is a copy of ' Temper,' bound in
Smithskin."

" Oh !" ejaculated several, pretending to be
very much shocked.

" Or ' Don Juan,' " pursued Rose, " binding
ditto. I 'm sure Miss Smith reads it, because
it 's called improper."

The girls were so much shocked at this
that they moved away ; but they did not dare
repeat it, so fearful did it seem !

54 THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

Mrs. Wirrelston entered. Anger darkened
her brow, though she endeavoured to be calm
and dignified. They all read what was under-
neath that calmness, and awaited in silence
till she should speak. She held in her hand
an open letter, which she passed to Miss
Smith, who, having read it, looked starch er
and more bilious than ever.

The letter was from Meredith Vyner to his
children, and this was the postscript : —

"As you are to leave school at Christmas,
mind you don't forget to bring away with you
your spoons and forks."

It was the custom at Mrs. Wirrelston's, as
at most schools, to exact from each pupil, that
she should bring her own silver spoons and
fork, also her sheets and towels ; a very satis-
factory arrangement, which saved the school-
mistress from an expense, and, as the pupils
always left them behind, was the foundation
of a respectable stock of plate when the mis-
tress should retire into private life. But the
enormity of a pupil taking away her own spoons
and fork, had hitherto been unheard of; and
the meanness of a parent who could remind his
children of their property, appeared to Mrs.
Wirrelston and Miss Smith something ex-
ceeding even what they had anticipated from

THE HAPPY SCHOOL DAYS. 55

Meredith Vyner. And yet they had formed
an exalted view of his capacity in that way,
from the odious criticisms which he permitted
himself on certain charges in the half-yearly
accounts — charges which had always been ad-
mitted by the parents of other pupils, and
which, if difficult to justify, no man of " com-
mon liberality" would question. This " trades-
manlike spirit" of examining accounts had
greatly irritated the two ladies, and they paid
off, in ill treatment to Rose and Blanche, the
annoyance caused by their father's pedantic
accuracy.

The way in which this postscript was re-
ceived may be readily imagined. It was the
climax of a series of insults. ' One would
imagine that Mrs. Wirrelston and Miss Smith
wanted to keep the paltry spoons — which were
very light after all. As if it were the custom
at that establishment to retain the young ladies'
property.'

" But be careful, young ladies," said Mrs.
Wirrelston, with great sarcasm in her tone ;
" be careful that the Misses Vyner leave
nothing behind them. It might be awkward.
We might be called upon. Everything is of
some value. Be sure that the ends of their
lead pencils are packed up."

56 THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS.

" Yes," interposed Miss Smith, " and don't
forget their curl papers. The Misses Vyner
will certainly like to pack up their curl
papers."

Blanche, unable to endure these unjust
taunts, burst into tears. But Rose, greatly
incensed, said —

" All that should be said to papa, not to
us; since he is to blame, if there is any
blame."

"You are insolent. Go to your room, Miss
Vyner ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wirrelston.

Miss Smith lifted up her eyes in amazement
at such audacity,

" I do not see," pursued the undaunted Rose,
" why we are to be taunted, because papa
wishes to see his own property."

" You don't see, you impertinent girl ! "

" No, I do not, unless our taking home our
own spoons should be a ruinous precedent."

The sarcasm cut deeply. Both mistresses
were roused to vehemence by it ; and, vowing
that such insolence was altogether insupport-
able, ordered her boxes to be packed up, and
expelled her that very afternoon.

Rose was by no means affected at the ex-
pulsion ; but poor Blanche, who was now left
alone to bear the spite and malice of two mis-

THE HAPPY SCHOOL-DAYS. 57

tresses for three weeks longer, greatly felt the
loss of her sister's company, the more so because
the other girls, at all times distant, had now
sided with their mistresses, and actually refused
to associate in any way with her.

But the three weeks passed. Breaking up
arrived. It is needless to say how many prizes
were adjudged to Blanche Vyner at the dis-
tribution. She only thought of the joy of
being once more at home.

58 ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME.

CHAPTER IV.

ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME.

No doating mother could have seemed kinder
to her daughters than was Mrs. Meredith
Vyner to Rose and Blanche, for the first three
weeks after their arrival from school. She
insisted upon their each having a separate
allowance ; but contrived that it should be
totally inadequate to the necessary expenses.
She shopped with them, but recommended, in
a tone which was almost an insistance, colours
which neither suited their complexions, nor
assorted well with each other. She made
them numberless little presents, and was
always saying charming things to them. If
they thought her pleasant before, they now
declared her quite loveable. They looked up
to her, not only as one having a mother's
authority, but also as a superior being, for she

ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME. 59

had made a decided impression on them of
that kind, by always condemning or ridiculing
their own tastes and opinions as " girlish,"
and by carefully repeating (with what amount
of embroidery I will not say) all the com-
pliments which men paid her on her own
supreme taste. The latter were not few.
Partly because a pretty, lively woman never
is in want of them : the more so, because Mrs.
Meredith Vyner not only courted admiration,
but demanded it. What more natural, there-
fore, that two girls, hearing from their father,
who was so learned, such praises of their step-
mother's talents, and observing such submission
from other men to her taste, should blindly
acknowledge a superiority so proclaimed ?

As if to make "assurance doubly sure,"
Mrs. Meredith Vyner would occasionally
repeat to them, with strong disclaimers, as
" unwarrantably satirical," certain depreciatory
comments which had been made to her, she
said, by men, the gist of which was, that they
were not admired. After a while, the poor
girls actually believed they were wanting in
attractions. Rose's brilliant colour was a
milkmaid's coarseness, and Blanche's retiring
manners were owing to a want of grace and
style. Rose, who was merry, was given to

60 ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME.

understand that she was loud and vulgar.
Blanche, who was all gentleness, had learned
to consider herself as an uninteresting, apa-
thetic, awkward girl.

To effect such impressions was only half a
victory. The real triumph was to manage
that the admiration which such beauty and
such manners as theirs were sure to call forth,
should not efface these impressions. This was
done by a very simple, but ingenious contri-
vance. Mrs. Meredith Vyner never gave
balls, seldom accepted invitations to them, or
to any dancing fetes. She went out a great
deal, and often received company. But her
society was limited to dinners and conver-
saziones. The men were almost exclusively
scientific, or members of Parliament, or cele-
brities. No specimen of the genus " Dancing
Young Man" was ever asked. Nothing could
suit Meredith Vyner better ; neither his age
nor his habits accorded with balls, while
literary and scientific men were always wel-
come guests ; so that he applauded his wife's
wisdom in giving up the "frivolities," and
hoped his girls would gladly follow her ex-
ample.

By such and similar means she had got
them, as the vulgar phrase goes, " completely

ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME. 61

under her thumb ;" and that, too, without in
any instance giving the world anything to lay
hold of which looked like a stepmother's un-
kindness. Indeed, the girls themselves, though
they at last began to suspect something, could
make no specific accusation. Mrs. Meredith
Vyner might occasionally be said to err, but
never to do anything that could be interpreted
into wilful unkindness.

It may, perhaps, be wondered that con-
sidering how much it was her desire to gain
the golden opinions of the world as an ex-
emplary stepmother in a peculiarly trying
situation, she did not see the simplest plan
would have been real, not pretended, kindness.

Bat by her line of conduct she secured all
she wanted — the appearances ; and she secured
two objects of more importance to her. One
of interest, and one of amour propre. The
first object was the complete separation of the
children from their father. Determined to
have undisputed sway over her husband, she
isolated him from the aifection of every one
else, by a calculation as cruel as it was in-
genious. The second object was the complete
triumph she obtained over her daughters,
whose age and beauty made them dreaded
rivals. If mothers cannot resist the diabolical

62 ROSE AND BLANCHE AT HOME.

suggestions of envy, but must often present
the sad spectacle of a jealousy of their own
children, how much more keenly must the
rivalry be felt with their stepdaughters, espe-
cially in England, where the unmarried women
have the advantage? And the pretty little
tiger-eyed Mrs. Vyner was too painfully con-
scious of her humpback, not to dread a com-
parison with the lovely Rose and Blanche.

I have to observe also, that the economical
fit no longer troubled Mrs. Vyner ; she had
launched into the extravagances of London
society, with the same thorough- going im-
petuosity characteristic of all her actions. No
fit ever lasted long with her ; this of economy
had endured an incredible time, and was now
put aside, never again to be mentioned.

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER. 63

CHAPTER V.

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER.

EVERYBODY was at Dr. Whiston's, as the
phrase goes, on one of his Saturday evenings.
Dr. Whiston was a scientific man, whose
great reputation wSs founded upon what his
friends thought him capable of doing, rather
than upon anything he had actually done.- He
was rich, and kne^p " everybody." His Satur-
day evenings formed an integral part of Lon-
don society. They were an institution. No
one who pretended to any acquaintance with
the aristocracy of science, or with the scientific
members of the aristocracy, could dispense
with being invited to Dr. Whiston's. There
were crowded lions of all countries, pretty
women, bony women, elderly women, strong-
minded women, and mathematical women; a
sprinkling of noblemen, a bishop or two, many

64 MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER.

clergymen, barristers, and endless nobodies
with bald foreheads and spectacles, all very
profound in one or more " ologies," but cruelly
stupid in everything else — abounding in "in-
formation," and alarmingly dull. Dr. Whiston
himself was a man of varied knowledge,
great original power, and a good talker. He
passed from lions to doctors, from beauties to
bores, with restless equanimity: a word for
each, adapted to each; and every one was
pleased.

The rooms were rapidly filling. The office
of announcing the visitors had become a sine-
cure, for the very staircase was beginning to
be invaded. Through the dense crowd of
rustling dresses and formidable spectacles, ad-
venturous persons on the search for friends
made feeble way ; but the majority stood still
gazing at the lions, or endeavouring by uneasy
fitful conversation to seem interested. Groups
were formed in the crowd and about the door-
ways, in which something like animated con-
versation went on.

In the centre of the third room, standing by
a table on which were ranged some new inven-
tions that occupied the attention of the bald
foreheads and bony women, stood a young and
striking-looking man of eight and twenty. A

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER. 65

melancholy listlessness overspread his swarthy
face, and dimmed the fire of his large eyes.
The careless grace of his attitude admirably
displayed the fine proportions of his almost
gigantic form, which was so striking as to
triumph over the miserable angularity and
meanness of our modern costume.

All the women, the instant they saw him,
asked who he was. He interested everybody
except the bald foreheads and the strong-
minded women ; but most he excited the
curiosity of the girls dragged there by scientific
papas or mathematical mamas. Who could he
be? It was quite evident he was not an
ologist. He was too gentlemanly for a lion ;
too fresh-looking for a student.

" My dear Mrs. Meredith Vyner, how d'ye
do ? Rose, my dear, you look charming ; and
you too, Blanche. And where 's papa?"

" Talking to Professor Forbes in the first
room," replied Mrs. Meredith Vyner, to her
questioner: one of the inspectors of Dr.
Whiston's inventions.

" I am trying to get a seat for my girls,"
said Mrs. Vyner peering about, as well as her
diminutive form would allow in so crowded a
room.

" I dare say you will find one in the next

VOL. i. F

66 MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER.

room. Oh, come in ; perhaps you can tell us
who is that handsome foreigner in there;
nobody knows him, and I can't get at Dr.
Whiston to ask."

They all four moved into the third room,
and the lady directed Mrs. Vyner's attention
to the mysterious stranger.

It was Marmaduke Ashley.

Mrs. Meredith Vyner did not swoon, she
did not even scream ; though, I believe, both
are expected of ladies under such circum-
stances, in novels. In real life, it is somewhat
different. Mrs. Vyner only blushed deeply,
and felt a throbbing at her temples — felt, as
people say, as if the earth were about to sink
under her — but had too much self-command
to betray anything. One observing her would,
of course, have noticed the change ; but there
happened to be no one looking at her just
then, so she recovered her self-possession
before her acquaintance had finished her
panegyric on his beauty.

She had not seen Marmaduke since that
night on which she parted from him, in a
transport of grief, on the sands behind Mrs.
Henley's house, when the thunder muttered in
the distance, and the heavy, swelling sea threw
up its sprawling lines of silvery foam, — the

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER. 67

night when he had hacked off a lock of his
raven hair for her to treasure.

She had not seen him since that night,
when the wretchedness of parting from him
seemed the climax of human suffering, from
which death — and only death — could bring
release.

She had not seen him since she had become
the wife of Meredith Vyner ; and as that wife
she was to meet him now.

What her thoughts would have been at that
moment, had she ever really loved him, the
reader may imagine ; but as her love had
sprung from the head, and not the heart, she
felt no greater pangs at seeing him, than were
suggested by the sight of one she had deceived,
and whom she would deceive again, were the
past to be recalled. Not that she cared for
her husband ; she fully appreciated the diffe-
rence between him and Marmaduke ; at the
same time she also appreciated the differences
in their fortunes, and that reconciled her.

The appearance of Marmaduke at Dr.
Whiston's rather flurried than pained her.
She dreaded " a scene." She knew the awful
vehemence of his temper ; and although believ-
ing that in an interview she could tame the
savage, and bring him submissive to her feet

F 2

68 MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER.

yet that could only be done by the ruse and
fascination of a woman ; and a soiree was by
no means the theatre for it.

She began to move away, having seated Rose
and Blanche, trusting that her tiny person
would not be detected in the crowd. But
Marmaduke's height gave him command of
the room. His eye was first arrested by a
head of golden hair, the drooping luxuriance
of which was but too well known to him :
another glance, and the slightly deformed
figure confirmed his suspicion. His pulses
throbbed violently, his eyes and nostrils di-
lated, and his breathing became hard ; but
he had sufficient self-command not to betray
himself, although his feelings, at the sight of
her whom he had loved so ardently, and who
had jilted him so basely, were poignant and
bitter. He also moved away ; not to follow
her, but to hide his emotion.

Little did the company suspect what elements
of a tragedy were working amidst the dull
prosiness of that soiree. Amidst all the science
that was gabbled, all the statistics quoted, all
the small talk of the scientific scandal-mongers
(perhaps the very smallest of small talk !), all
the profundities that escaped from the bald
foreheads and the strong-minded women, all

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER. 69

the listlessness and ennui of the majority, there
were a few souls who, by the earnestness and
the sincerity of their passions, vindicated the
human race — souls belonging to human beings,
and not to mere gobemouches and ologists.
These have some interest to the novelist and
his public ; so while the gabble and the twaddle
are in triumphant career, let us cast our eyes
only in those corners of the rooms where we
may find materials.

To begin with Marmaduke. What a world

O

of emotion is in the breast of that apparently
unoccupied young man, carelessly passing from
room to room ! What thoughts hurry across
his brain : thoughts of wrong, of vengeance,
of former love, and present hate ! Then Mrs.
Meredith Vyner, all smiles and kind words,
passing from group to group, throwing in a
word of criticism here, a quotation there,
listening to the account of some new discovery,
as if she understood it and cared about it — who
could suppose that a thousand rapid plans were
presenting themselves to her fertile ingenuity,
and all quickly discarded as too dangerous?
It was indeed a question of some moment, how
was she to meet Marmaduke ? Should she
give him the cut direct? Should she be senti-
mental ? Should she be haughty ?

70 MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER.

Her resolution was still unformed when
Marmaduke stood before her. Accidentally as
they had approached, they were both too much
occupied with each other to be in the least
surprised. With a sudden impulse, she held
out her hand to him. He affected not to see
the charming frankness of her greeting, and
when she said, —

" I hope I must not recall myself to your
recollection, Mr. Ashley ! "

He replied with exquisite ease, —

"I know not what will be thought of my
gallantry, madam, but, indeed, I must own the
impeachment."

" Then how must I be changed ! To be
forgotten in so short a time. Oh, you terrible
man ! I can never forgive you."

" I can never forgive myself; but so it is."

So perfectly was this epigram delivered, that
those standing around could never have sus-
pected he had said anything but a common-
place. She was deeply wounded by his manner,
and he read it in her cruel eyes ; but the smile
never left her face, and she introduced her-
self as Mrs. Meredith Vyner, with playfulness,
throwing his forgetfulness on the lapse of time
since they had met.

" You have the more reason to forgive me,"

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER. 71

said Marmaduke, " as my memory is so very
bad, that, under the circumstances, I should
have almost forgotten my own sister."

She winced, but laughingly replied, —

" Well, well, there are many virtues in a bad
memory. I suppose you forget injuries with
the same Christian alacrity."

He laughed, and said, —

" Oh, no ! I have not the virtues of bad
memory : do not invest me with them. If I
easily forget faces, I never forget injuries."

She winced again, and this time felt a vague
terror at the diabolical calmness and ease with
which he could envelope a terrible threat in the
slight laugh of affected modesty. Confusion,
even bitterness, would have been more en-
couraging to her. She felt that she was in the
presence of an enemy, and of one as self-
possessed as herself.

"Have you been long in England?"

This was to get off the perilous ground on
which they stood.

" A few months only."

" And do you intend remaining ? "

" Yes ; I fancy so. I have one or two affairs
which will keep me here an indefinite time."

"I suppose it would be proper to assume
that one of those is an affaire de coeur ? "

72 MARMADTJKE MEETS MRS. VYNER.

" Well," he replied, laughing gently, " that
depends upon how the word is used."

" I must not be indiscreet, but a mutual
friend of ours told me there was a lady in the
case."

She said this with a peculiarly significant
intonation, as if to give him to understand that
jealousy had driven her into marrying Meredith
Vyner. He did not understand her meaning,
but saw that she meant something, and re-
plied,—

" I confess to so much. In fact, one of the
affairs I spoke about is the conclusion of a little
comic drama, the commencement of which
dates before I left England. Ah, Cecil ! how
d'ye do?"

This last sentence was addressed to Cecil
Chamberlayne, an old acquaintance of Marma-
duke's. During their conversation, Mrs. Mere-
dith Vyner was enabled to pass on, and to
reach the third room, where, with more agita-
tion in her manner than the girls had ever
remarked before, she summoned them to ac-
company her, saying that she felt too unwell to
remain longer.

Blanche arose hastily, and with great sym-
pathy inquired about the nature of her illness ;
to which she only received vague replies. Rose

MARMADUKE MEETS MRS. VYNER. 73

was evidently less willing to leave. Though
why she was unwilling was not at first so
apparent. By a retrospective glance at another
little group in Dr. Whiston's salons, we shall be
able to understand this.

74 HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED

CHAPTER VI.

HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH OUR
UGLY HERO.

ABOUT three quarters of an hour before, Rose
and Blanche were seated on an ottoman, be-
tween two elderly women, ugly enough to be
erudite, and repulsive enough to forbid any
attempt at conversation. Silent the girls sat,
occasionally interchanging a remark respect-
ing the dress of some lady ; and as a witticism
was sure to follow from Rose, which Blanche
was afraid might be overheard, even this sort of
conversation was sparing, though so much food
was offered. Not a soul spoke to them. They
knew scarcely any one, for their stepmother
studiously avoided introducing them. The
consequence was, that many habitual visitors
at their father's knew them by sight, but had
no idea who they were ; and many were the
invitations in which they were not included,

WITH OUR UGLY HERO. 75

simply because their existence as young ladies
who were " out " was not suspected.

While they sat thus alone, it was some re-
lief to them to espy Mrs. St. John, whom they
knew slightly, and who had recently purchased
the Grange, an estate adjoining Wytton Hall.
She came towards them, leaning on the arm
of a young man, whom she introduced as her
son ; and one of the erudite women rising at
that moment to go, Mrs. St. John took pos-
session of her seat, next to Blanche, leaving
her son standing talking to Rose. In a
very few minutes, a withered little man in
large gold spectacles came up, and offering his
arm to the other erudite female, carried her
off, thus leaving a place, which Mr. St. John
at once seized upon.

Julius St. John had not a person corre-
sponding to the beauty of his name. Do not,
my pretty reader, turn away your head; do
not shrug your shoulders ; do not skip the
next page or so, because truth bids me inform
you Julius was remarkably plain. I would
have him handsome if I could. You may be-
lieve me, for I am perhaps a greater worshipper
of beauty than you are ; but it is, nevertheless,
true, that I am now going to demand your
admiration for a young man, who is undis-

76 HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED

guisedly, unequivocally plain. Not ugly —
ugliness implies meanness, or moral deformity
— yet absolutely without any feature which
could redeem him from being familiarly called
" a fright." Strikingly plain is the proper
expression ; so striking as, perhaps, to be the
next best thing to beauty, from the force of
the impression created. No one ever forgot
his face. No one could casually perceive it
without having the gaze arrested for a mo-
ment. Let me hasten to add, that the effect
was almost repulsive, it was so powerful. I
add this, lest you should suppose that I am
going to trifle with the truth, and to soften
my description by certain intimations of an
expression of such exquisite sweetness and
such delicate sensibility — such ideality — or
such intellectual fire illuminating his face, that
to all intents and purposes, my plain hero
becomes a handsome man. No, reader, no ;
while I am perfectly aware that some plain
features are rendered handsome by the expres-
sion, I am also aware that some faces — and
the faces of very noble creatures — are irre-
deemably plain ; and such was Julius St.
John's. Judge : —

A head of enormous size was set upon the
miserable shoulders of a diminutive body,

WITH OUR UGLY HERO. 77

which, though not deformed, was so thin and
small, that an energetic deformity would have
been preferable. This head was covered with
a mass of black, crisp, curly hair, which fell
carelessly over a massive but irregular fore-
head, ornamented with two thick eyebrows,
which, meeting over the nose, formed but one
dark line. The eyes that looked underneath
these were bright, but small. They looked
through you ; but what they expressed them-
selves it was seldom easy to guess. The nose
was insignificant ; the mobility of the nostrils
alone attracted attention to it. The mouth
was large — not ill-cut — but the lips full and
sensual. The chin large; firmly, boldly cut.
The complexion dark and spotted.

These features were not even redeemed by
the look of a gentleman, or the look of an
artist. Common he did not look, nor vulgar,
but striking; and, on the whole, repulsive.
The best point about him was his conscious-
ness of his ill looks, and the freedom from any
coxcombical effort to disguise it. He did not
bring out his ugliness into relief by a foolish
attention to dress, as most ugly men do. He
was neither a dandy nor a sloven. That he
was a " fright " he knew, and accepted his
fate with manliness.

78 HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED

" Have you been looking at those ? " he
said to Eose, as he sank into the chair by her
side, and pointed to the table on which the
inventions were laid. " Perhaps you can ex-
plain them to me ? "

" No, indeed, not I. I never understand
anything of that sort."
" Seriously ? "

" Seriously ! it's very stupid, I know ; but
I am stupid. What I am able to understand
it would, perhaps, be difficult to say ; but
there can be no hesitation in excluding every-
thing like science or manufactures. They are
my detestation."

" Whisper it not in Gath!" he said, with
mock horror. " Only conceive where you
are!"

" Very much out of place ; but mama has a
fancy for coming here, and we are obliged to
like it."

" Well, it is a comfort for me to find some
one as ignorant as myself. Everybody here
is so alarmingly instructive. I find nobody
ignorant of anything but their own ignorance.
Even the young ladies have attended Fara-
day, and the Friday evenings at the Eoyal

Institution, till "

She held up her finger threateningly, and

WITH OUR UGLY HERO. 79

said, " Now don't be severe, I am one of
those young ladies : I never miss a Faraday,
and am never allowed to miss a Friday even-
ing. Oh ! you need not look astonished. I
sleep very comfortably there, believe me."

He laughed, and continued, —

" Then I can forgive your attendance.
Science ought to be quite content with female
votaries of dubious ages. I am sure if it has
the bogies, it may leave us idlers the beauties
for our comfort. I quite sympathize with
you in your aversion to manufactures. They
are very wonderful, doubtless ; but as I am
not going to set up a mill or a factory of my
own, the processes are superlatively uninte-
resting."

" And if I may be so. bold as to ask it,
why do I see you here ? "

" Upon my word, I can hardly tell. Why
does one go anywhere? Mere idleness and
imitation. Wherever I go, it is almost always
dull, and this house is duller than most ; but
one occasionally meets with a recompense, as
I have this evening."

" In sitting next to me, eh ? I accept
the compliment, though it might have been
newer."

" Well, at any rate, it bears out my con-

80 HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED

fession of ignorance. I know not even how
to turn a compliment ! "
" Is not that Dr. Lindley ?"
" I believe so. You are a disciple of his
of course ? One may know botany without
being formidable."

" I am glad of that, because I am supposed
to be learned in that department."

" Then you have not the claim I set up for
the new degree of C. I. D."
" Pray, what is that?"
" Doctor of crass ignorance, for which my
pretensions are better than yours, as I scarcely
know a rose from a rhododendron."

"But I only told you I was supposed to be
learned, not that I am so. My reputation is
very simply acquired. Whenever people are
puzzling their memories about some flower,
I boldly call it a something spirans, if it is
of the twirligig kind, or else a something
elegans, or if it is bright-coloured, a something
spkndens. My name is instantly adopted, and
my wisdom meets with respect. Many other
reputations are no better founded. Impu-
dence may always reckon on the ignorance of
an audience.

He laughed at this, and then said —

WITH OUR UGLY HERO. 81

" Am I to presume you know something of
Latin, then?"

" About as much as of botany. Papa, you
know, is a great scholar, and has tried to
teach us all Latin, though with mediocre suc-
cess. But mind, it is a secret that I know
even the little I do. Think of the injury
it would do me. Who would waltz with a
girl who was known to understand Latin ? "

" True, true. Men don't like it. They are
proud of their wives or lovers speaking all
the continental languages, but a tinge of
Latin is pronounced too blue. The secret of
this male outcry is this : all men are supposed
to understand Latin, and very few do ; ac-
cordingly they resent any attempt to invade
their prescriptive superiority. I remember
my noble friend Leopardi used to say that
only in a woman's mouth could the true
beauty of Latin be properly recognised."

" Do you know Leopardi, then ?"

" I did know him, poor fellow ; but he has
been dead these two years. He was a grand
creature. Have you read his poems ? I have
never before met with any English who had
heard of him."

" Read them, no. He is too difficult."

"Difficult?"

VOL. I. G

82 HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED

" Why, we girls, as you are perhaps aware,
are taught to distinguish sospiri from ardiri,
and lagrime from affanni, after which we sing
Bellini, and are said to know Italian. But
when a poet a little more difficult than Me-
tastasio is placed into our hands, we are at
a stand-still."

In this way they chatted merrily enough.
Julius was eloquent in his praise of Leopardi,
from whom he went to Dante, to Byron, to
Bulwer, Scott, and Miss Austen. Rose was
delighted to find so many tastes and opinions
shared in common with this pleasant young
man, and could have sat all night talking
to him. She had forgotten his ugliness in
the charm of his conversation ; but he had
not forgotten her beauty, which was shown
to greater advantage by the liveliness of her
manner.

It was a delicious tete-a-tete. One of those
accidental enjoyments which from time to
time redeem the monotony of soirees, and
for the chance of which one consents to be
bored through a whole season. Not what was
said, but hoio it was said, made the talk so
delightful. The charm of sympathy, the com-
fort of finding yourself, as it were, mirrored
in the soul of another, the easy unaffected

WITH OUR UGLY HERO. 83

flow of words dictated by no wish to shine,
but simply suggested by the feeling, made
Rose and Julius as intimate in that brief
period, as if they had known each other many
months.

Cannot Rose's unwillingness to leave now
be appreciated ? Cannot the reader under-
stand her impatience at having such a tete-
a-tete disturbed? But there was no help
for it. She was forced to say adieu, and she
held out her hand to him with a frankness
which almost compensated him for the pain
of seeing her depart. He went home and
dreamt all night of her.

Mrs. Meredith Vyner, followed by her
daughters, sought her husband, who was
listening to a humorous narrative given him
by Cecil Charnberlayne, of the elopement of
the wife of a distinguished professor, with an
officer almost young enough to be her son.
Meredith Vyner laughed mildly, brushing
the grains of snuff from his waistcoat with the
back of his hand, and observed : —

" Egad ! I always suspected it would end in
that way. Such an ill-assorted match ! Well,
well, as Horace says, you know,

" Felices ter et amplius
Quos

G 2

84 HOW ROSE BECAME ACQUAINTED

Here he was interrupted by the appearance
of his wife, who, hurriedly intimating that she
felt the rooms too hot, desired him to take
her home.

" Directly, my dear, directly," he said,
and then turned to Cecil, to finish his quota-
tion.

" Quos irrupta tenet copula, nee mails

Divulsus querimoniis

Suprema citius solvet amor die."

" Good-evening Now, my dear,"

offering his arm to his wife, "I am at your
service."

" He talks of ill-assorted marriages ! " said
Cecil Chamberlayne to himself, as they left
the room.

The ride home was performed in silence.
Meredith Vyner was trying to recollect a
passage in Horace, which would have enabled
him to make a felicitous pun on something
Professor Forbes had said to him, and his
forgetfulness of which hadteazed him all the
evening. His wife was meditating on the
words, looks, and manner of her jilted lover,
astonished at his calmness, and alarmed at his
threats. The calmness of vehement men is
always more terrible than their rage ; and the
vagueness of Marmaduke's threat made it

WITH OUR UGLY HERO. 85

more formidable, because it suggested a thou-
sand things, and intimated none. What would
he do ? What could he do ?"

Rose was thinking of Julius St. John, and
her charming tete-a-tete. Blanche was weary
and sleepy.

Marmaduke, as he jumped into his cab, and
drove to the club, reproached himself for
having been led away by his anger so far as to
threaten. He had put her on her guard, and
thereby rendered his vengeance more difficult.
It was, indeed, a proof of the violence of his
agitation, that he should have so far forgotten
himself; and he determined, if possible, to
recover that false step.

Marmaduke Ashley was one of those

" Children of the sun whose blood is fire;"

and looked upon the treachery of his mistress
with very different feelings from those of a
calmer-blooded northern. His transports of
rage and anguis"h when he heard of her infi-
delity almost killed him, and they only settled
down into a fierce lust for vengeance. His
father dying bequeathed to him a small
fortune, which, instead of endeavouring to
increase, he brought with him to England, and
there awaited, with all the patience of an

86 ROSE AND OUR UGLY HERO.

Indian, the hour when he should be able to
wreak full vengeance on her who had humbled
his pride, shattered his illusions, and lacerated
his heart.

He had formed no plan. Time would, he
doubted not, bring forth some opportunity,
and for that he waited; enjoying himself,
meanwhile, as a young man about town, with
time on his hands and money in his pocket,
best can enjoy himself. He was no moody
Zanga, with one fixed idea. He did not go
scowling through society like the villain of a
tragedy, solacing himself with saturnine mono-
logues, and talking of nothing, thinking of
nothing, but of his wrongs and his revenge.
Such monomaniacs may exist, but they are
rare, and he was not of them. His heart
swelled, and his temples throbbed, whenever
bethought of his hated mistress, and the thirst
for vengeance was not slaked by thinking of
it. But this dark spot was only a spot in
his life, other thoughts occupied him, other
interests attracted him, throwing this quite
into the background.

ROSE VYNER WRITES TO FANNY WORSLEY. 87

CHAPTER VII.

ROSE VYNER \VRITES TO FANNY WORSLEY.

" OH ! about gaieties, I assure you I have little
to tell. We go to very few parties. Mama
says dancing is so frivolous : though I observe
she dances all the evening when we do by
chance go to a ball. Papa sides with her, and
says he cannot conceive what pleasure people
take in it. Perhaps not ; but we can ! How-
ever, we dare not complain, and mama is so
kind to us that, on the whole, we get on very
well, though I long to be in the country. Last
Saturday week, we were invited to Dr. Whis-
ton's; a wise place where every one looks
like an oracle, where there are few young
men, and those generally sickly, fewer nice
men, and scarcely any one Blanche and I
know to speak to. Mama likes these sort of
places. She is so clever, and manages to talk

88 ROSE VYNER WRITES

with all the oracles upon their separate sciences;
though she never opens a scientific book from
one month to another; but somehow she can
dispense with knowledge, and yet contrive that
people should believe her deeply-read. But
then she is so strange ! I must interrupt my
narrative to tell you something which I can't
make out in her. She gets more admiration,
in spite of her deformity, than we could ever
pretend to ; and her style of beauty seems to
be exactly what men delight in.

" How she manages to persuade us, I don't
know, but the result is, we never look well
when we go out to a party. This, and our not
being overwise, prevents our finding much
enjoyment at Dr. Whiston's; so we went on
that memorable evening prepared for a yawn.
Mama quickly got us seats, and then sailed
about the room talking to her friends. This
she does invariably. It is called chaperoning.
Though what protection young girls need at
such places, and how this can be considered as
protection, are two things I have not yet com-
prehended. Well, I seem as if I were never
coming to the point, eh? Arid yet all this
preparation is to usher in no adorably hand-
some young man with bushy whiskers and
sleepy eyes, like him we used to see at church

TO FANNY WORSLEY. 89

when we were at Mrs. Wirrelston's, and when,
you persuaded me I was in love with that
little humpbacked lawyer, in nankeens, who
used to ogle us so (do you remember?) — but,
on the contrary, to tell you my evening was
rendered perfectly delightful by a certain
Julius St. John, who sat by my side and
chatted away so pleasantly, that my evening
fled as rapidly as Cinderella's. And it was
his conversation — nothing else; for I declare
he was unreasonably hideous . . .

" I am almost ashamed of that last line.
Why should I say he was hideous? He
wasn't. He was adorably ugly. I never cared
for beauty, as you know, or you would not
have persuaded me into a little sentiment for
my nankeened humpback; and it is very foolish
in us all to make such a fuss about it : the
plainest men are certainly the most agreeable !
But, however, it is no use preaching to you.
on this subject ; you who refuse to dance with
every man whom you don't think good-
looking !

" Enough for you to know that my dear,
little, ugly man was unaffectedly chatty, and
very clever ; and that our conversation was so
pleasant, I was quite impatient for yesterday,
the second Saturday for which we were invited

90 ROSE VYNER WRITES

to Dr. Whiston's, — expecting to see him
there and to renew our tete-a-tete. I had
arranged all sorts of topics. In my mind's
eye, I prefigured his animated pleasure at
espying me, and then his coming up and
securing a seat, and chatting more charmingly
than before. Some of my replies were so
clever that they astonished me. How bril-
liantly I did talk ! How many little scenes of
this kind were rehearsed in my imagination, I
leave you to guess, if you have ever been im-
patient for any meeting. They were delicious;
but they made the reality only more cruel.

" Conceive my disappointment : he was
there, yet never came to sit beside me !
When first he saw me, his welcome was so
warm that it was the realization of what I had
expected ; but he suffered us to pass on into
the last room without once thinking of accom-
panying us. I was mortified, I confess. I
expected to find him as anxious to renew our
te'te-a-tete as myself, and began to be ashamed
of having thought so much of him, when it was
clear he had not bestowed a thought on me.

" We sat in our sullen seats, and looked on
in no very amiable mood ; that is, I was cross •
Blanche, dear creature, had nothing to ruffle
her sweet equanimity. It then occurred to me

TO FANNY WORSLEY. 91

that he would assuredly soon find us out ; but
he did not. I sat there in vain. The people
never before seemed so dull and stupid. The
rooms never were so hot. I longed for mama
to fetch us awav.

•/

" At last he did condescend to approach us
and ask us some trivial questions, which irri-
tated me so much that I hardly deigned to
answer him. He did not seem in the least
surprised by my behaviour; and that made me
angrier. It was quite a relief to me when he
turned round to speak to some one and went
away.

" I don't understand it at all. I suppose I
have been making a little fool of myself; yet,
in spite of his rudeness — no, not rudeness, but
— what shall I call it? — I should like to see
him again. His mother has purchased the
Grange, so when we are at Wyton, we shall
perhaps see a good deal of him, and I shall
then be able to understand him."

92 MRS. LANGLEY TURNER,

CHAPTER VIII.

MRS. LANGLEY TURNER, AND HER FRIENDS.

WHILE Rose was writing the foregoing letter,
Mr. and Mrs. Meredith Vyner were driving
towards Eaton-square, on a visit to the well-
known and well-worth-knowing lively widow,
Mrs. Langley Turner.

London society abounds in subjects curious
to the observer; and, in spite of its general
uniformity, is so split up into opposite and
opposing sections, that a painter of manners,
whose observation had been confined to a few
of those sections, would be accused of ignorance
or of caricature by nine-tenths of the English
public. This is the reason of the numerous
failures in the attempt to describe English
society, both by natives and foreigners. To
foreigners, indeed, the task must be hopeless.
How should they avoid taking their standard

AND HER FRIENDS. 93

of the whole from the circle in which they
move ? They see the interior of houses where
wealth, talent, political influence, and sounding
names meet together in habitual and familiar
intercourse : how can they imagine that what
they see there are not the acknowledged man-
ners of the " upper classes ? " Yet nothing
can be more erroneous. Portland-place differs
as much from Belgravia, as Regent-street
does from Bond-street. What a world is that
of Belgravia, and what a variety of worlds,
within it ! Things are there done, and accepted
as matters of course, which would make the
rest of England incredulously stare ; and we
may safely affirm that any sketch of English
society taken from the pleasant circles of Bel-
gravia, would seem quite as preposterous as
any Frenchman's " impressions " of England
taken from Leicester-square.

These few remarks were necessary to pre-
vent the reader's indignant rejection of the
description of Mrs. Langley Turner as a cari-
cature,— as opposed to the whole constitution
of English society. And we beg him there-
fore, if he have not travelled so far as Pimlico,
to retire into his ignorance, and, while staring
as much as he pleases, to believe it.

Mrs. Langley Turner's set was one of the

94 MRS. IM.NGLEY TURNER,

small orbs within the greater sphere of Bel-
gravia, and her house was one of the gayest, if
not the most exemplary, in it. Her Sunday
evenings were celebrated. Her picnics, her
breakfasts, her snug dinners, and multitudinous
parties, were each and all agreeable enough ;
but the Sunday evening was her cheval de
bataille — therein she distanced all competitors.

There was something piquant in the auda-
city of the thing in puritanical England, where,
unlike all other Protestant countries, the Sun-
day is a day on which all amusement, except
plethoric dinners, is supposed to be a sin ; and,
in 1839, such a thing was more unusual than
it has since become. This saucy defiance
thrown in the face of Puritanism, was joyfully
accepted by all those whose residence abroad
had made it familiar, as well as by those
whose opinions were in favour of a less rigid
adherence to a code which other Protestant
nations repugned. And though many women
went to Mrs. Langley Turner's Sunday even-
ings, and enjoyed them greatly, yet very few
had the courage to imitate her.

Never were pleasanter parties than hers.
The rooms were always crowded with pretty
women and somebodies. Foreigners abounded ;
literary men and artists of celebrity, Italian

AND HER FRIENDS. 95

singers, travellers, diners out, guardsmen, wits,
and roues, formed the heterogeneous and
amusing society. People with " slurs " upon
their reputation were to be met there; and
they were not the least amusing of the set.
I know not whether it is that the women whose
virtue is not absolutely intact, and the men
whose conduct is of the same easy class, are
really more amusing and better natured than
the incorruptibly virtuous and the sternly con-
scientious ; or that public envy more readily
pounces upon any slips made by the clever,
amusing, good-natured people ; but the social
fact is indisputable, that the pleasantest com-
panions are not always the most " respec-
table."

Mrs. Langley Turner had a sneaking regard
for those black sheep ; and Cecil Chamber-
layne once laughingly declared, that she never
took any notice of a person until his or her
reputation had been damaged. " In her para-
dise," he said, " all the angels will be fallen
angels."

With all due allowance for the exaggeration
here, certain it is that the truth of the bon-mot
gave it its success. Everybody said it was
so good ! " And she did not disown it.

" I like people for themselves," she would

96 MRS. LANGLEY TURNER,

say ; " and, as their virtue does not affect me,
so long as I like them and see nothing dis-
honourable in them, I will open my doors to
them."

This un-Britannic audacity of thinking for
herself, without reference to the opinion of
Mrs. Grundy, and of actually " receiving "
women about whom scandal had been busy,
very naturally gave scandal a sort of licence
with her ; but it never rose above whispers.
Mrs. Langley Turner herself was a prodigious
favourite with all classes of men. The wits
liked her, she was so lively ; the guardsmen,
she was " so larky ; " the talkers, she was so
chatty ; the authors, she was so clever, without
ink on her thumb, and knew so much of the
world ; and everybody, because she was so
quiet and good-natured. A genuine woman ;
frank, hearty, gossipy, flirty, kind, forgiving
— in a word, loveable.

It was to her house that the Vyners were
driving, Sunday afternoon being a sort of levee
with her. When the Vyners arrived the little
drawing-room was tolerably full. First on the
sofa, by Mrs. Langley Turner, sat a dowager-
countess with her young, handsome, and
uninteresting daughter. Opposite them, in an
easy chair, sat the broken, gouty, but still

AND HER FRIEXUS. 97

charming Sir Frederick Winter ; a name cele-
brated in the annals of gallantry, and one of
the now almost extinct species of roues, in
whom exquisite manner and courtly elegance
made vice the very chivalry of vice, so that, in
losing all its grossness, it did really seem to
lose half its deformity. By his side sat Cecil
Chamberlayne, and next to him the pedantic
and bony Miss Harridale and her mother ;
the former seemed to have absorbed the dregs
of her ancient family for several generations*
so cruelly vulgar was every look and move-"
ment. She was talking atrocious French to
a bearded dandy, whom Cecil called " some
very foreign count ;" occasionally entrapping
young Lord Boodle into the conversation by
an appeal to his judgment, which, after
smoothing his blonde moustache with the
ivory handle of his riding-cane, he reluctantly
drawled out.

Mrs. Meredith Vyner, in her very affec-
tionate and sprightly greeting of Mrs. Lang-
ley Turner, had time to perceive that Mar-
maduke, for whom she came, was not there. It
was her first appearance" in Eaton-square on a
Sunday, for Mrs. Meredith Vyner never missed
afternoon service, and nothing but the hope
of seeing Marmaduke, whom she was told

VOL. I. H

98 MRS. LANGLEY TURNER,

was a constant visitor, would have induced her
to break in thus upon her habits. She com-
forted herself with the expectation that he
might still come.

" Mr. Chamberlayne," said Mrs. Langley
Turner, when they were seated, *' is giving us
an enthusiastic account of a new tragic actress,
whom, he says, the Duchesnois, the Dorval,
and the Mars — three single ladies rolled into
one — would not equal."

" Who is that ?" said Mrs. Meredith Vyner,
restlessly turning upon Cecil.

" A little Jewess they call Rachel, quite a
girl, picked up from the streets, but an em-
press on the stage. Till I had seen her, I
did not believe the human voice capable, in
mere speech, of expressing such unutterable
sadness, such sobs of woe."

" And you have seen Edmund Kean ?"

" Yes, Edmund Kean ; but Rachel is some-
thing quite incomparable."

" That is true," said the very foreign count ;
" her acting is not acting."

" No," replied Cecil, " it is suffering"

The bony Miss Harridale nodded approval
of the epigram, and then informed the com-
pany that for her part she saw nothing in
French tragedy.

AND HER FRIENDS. 99

" Surely," said Cecil, " Racine is an ex-
quisite writer."

" No," replied the confident young lady,
" he has no ideas."

There was something so vague yet so crush-
ing in this dictum, which was delivered with
amazing aplomb, that no one replied for a few
seconds.

" I fancy," said Sir Frederick Winter, " we
are scarcely inclined to do justice to French
tragedy, because we always compare it with
that which it least resembles — our own."

" For my part, I never presume to have an
opinion on so delicate a subject," said Mrs.
Vyner, who hated Miss Harridale, and never
lost an opportunity of saying something dis-
agreeable ; " because I feel we English do not
understand the language sufficiently to judge
of that which depends upon the grace and
beauty of language. I do not, of course, mean
to imply Miss Harridale in that observation —
she is such a Frenchwoman ! "

Miss Harridale looked daggers, and said,
" I do not pretend to feel the graces of Racine,
about which they talk so much. I dare say
they are all very well. I only speak of the
substance : he has no ideas • and what

H 2

100 MRS. LANGLEY TURNER,

poet without profound ideas ? I am for ideas
above everything."

" But how Racine understood the heart —
especially woman's heart!" said the count.
" What insight into the passions ! what ten-
derness ! what subtlety ! what sublimity!"

" I never saw them," dogmatically pro-
nounced Miss Harridale.

" Then Corneille," added the count ; " le
grand Corneille, there is a genius ! Has he
not painted Romans ?"

" Not to my apprehension," said Cecil.
" His Romans are Gascons. The old Horace,
for example, who is so much admired, seems
to me to have more rhodomontade than gran-
deur. He is not a man, but a figment ! "

Miss Harridale smiled her approbation of
this, and declared that the celebrated quit
mourut was not an " idea."

The count failing to understand that pro-
found objection, asked if she did not regard
the gu'il mourut as sublime ?

" Not at all."

" Well, I suppose I am a heretic," said
Meredith Vyner ; " but to speak the honest
truth, French sublimity always seems to me
P"fall very wide of the mark."
Fren<..,,.eiyjllot very» sa{^ Cecil; " only a step"

AND HER FRIENDS. 101

A general laugh greeted this sally, which
made Mrs. Vyner remark Cecil, whom she
now remembered as the young man Mar-
rnaduke spoke to at Dr. Whiston's. She
resolved to invite him.

" Is this Rachel — I think you call her —
handsome?" asked Lord Boodle, tapping his
lips with his cane.

" Yes, and no — the beauty of mind."

" The only beauty worthy of the name,"
said Miss Harridale, sententiously.

It was the only style of beauty to which she
could lay claim.

" She is beautiful enough," continued Cecil,
" for the parts she plays — you never feel any
contradiction between the poet's idea and her
representation of it. You should see her
in Phedre. I think I never can forget the
desolation in her utterance of the four grand
opening lines; or the fine horror of her
' C 'est Venus tout entiere a sa proie at-
tachee ;' which by the way," he added, turn-
ing to Vyner, " is only a magnificent para-
phrase of what your favourite Horace says in
his ode to Glycera —

" In me tota ruens Venus
Cyprum deseruit."

102 MRS. LANGLEY TURNER,

Meredith Vyuer, who had a high opinion
of any man who could quote Horace appo-
sitely, suspended a pinch of snuff which he
had for some minutes been heaping up be-
tween his .thumb and forefinger, to assure
Cecil that he was perfectly correct in his con-
jecture, and as no commentator had noticed it,
he should certainly do so in his forthcoming
edition — " the work of twenty years' labour,
sir ! " Vyner added, clenching the observa-
tion with a sonorous pinch.

In a few seconds, Cecil and Vyner were
engaged together upon the nullity of com-
mentators in general, and those on Horace in
particular. Talk of contempt ! there is no
scorn like the scorn of one commentator for
another.

Vyner wound up a tirade against Burmann,
Dacier, Sanadon, and Bentley, by saying, " If
you will do me the pleasure of calling, Mr.
Chamberlayne, I will show you my edition,
together with some of my marginal corrections.
Bentley boasted that he had made eight hun-
dred corrections of the text, — sir, I have made
more than a thousand in Bentley's edition.
You shall see it : it will delight you."

Cecil thought that few things would delight

AND HER FRIENDS. 103

him less, but be was glad to have an invitation,
to the Vyners upon any pretext.

During this talk, Miss Harridale was ha-
rassing Lord Boodle with her criticisms on
modern English literature, which she found
deplorably deficient in " ideas."

Mrs. Vyner was paying great court to the
old roue, Sir Frederick — his opinion being a
verdict.

A knock at the door made her heart beat
a little faster. To her disappointment, how-
ever, it was only Julius St. John's name she
heard announced. She shortly overheard Ju-
lius informing Mrs. Langley Turner, that he
had left Mr. Ashley stretched on his sofa,
devouring Ruy Bias, just received.

" And I am to be neglected for Victor
Hugo, I presume !" said Mrs. Langley Turner.

Julius shrugged his shoulders significantly.

" I shall scold him well for it."

" Not when you hear his excuse. He told
me that no attraction could drag him from
Ruy Bias till he had finished it ; it was such
a splendid tale of vengeance."

A cold shiver ran over Mrs. Meredith
Vyner, as she heard St. John carelessly and
laughingly let fall those words full of terrible
significance to her.

104 MRS. LANGLEY TURNER,

" But he will be here this evening, I hope ? "
inquired Mrs. Langley Turner.

"Yes."

Finding it was useless waiting any longer,
Mrs. Vyner rose to withdraw.

" Do come round this evening, dear," said
~M rs. Langley Turner ; " only a few friends,
and Pellegrini is to give us some recitations
from Alfieri — will you ? "

" With pleasure."

'* That's a dear little woman, I 'm so glad."

Meredith Vyner handed Cecil his card, and
repeated how glad he should be to show him
all his notes on Horace.

"A very clever fellow, that young Mr.
Chamberlayne," said Meredith to his wife, as
they got into their carriage, " with remark-
ably sound ideas on the subject of commenta-
tors."

" Charming person — so witty. I am glad
you gave him your card. By the way, I have
said we would go to Mrs. Turner's this even-
ing, to hear Pellegrini recite from Alfieri."

" Very well, my dear," said the astonished
Vyner, not venturing to make any further re-
mark'on so singular a communication.

It was indeed enough to make him silent.
It was something so enormous, so unexpected,

AND HER FRIENDS. 105

that it sounded like a mystification. She had
always pretended to be very strict on religious
subjects ; without affecting fanaticism, she was
as rigid as was compatible with her being
a woman of the world. This relaxation from
her usual rigidity, therefore, was the more sur-
prising, because it seemed motiveless.

Her husband at last thought that the temp-
tation was Pellegrini's recitations. He knew
she was a great student of poetry, which she
always declared he knew very little about, and
had the naivete to believe, that to hear poetry
well recited would be as great a temptation
to her, as a new edition of Horace would be to
him.

Her motive really was an anxiety to come
to an " explanation" with Marmaduke, whose
threats terrified her the longer she thought
of them. She wished at least to know his
game, if she could not look over his cards ;
and as the sooner she knew that the better
for her own defence, she was restless till she
had seen him.

106 TWO PORTRAITS.

CHAPTER IX.

TWO PORTRAITS.

" Look on this picture, and on that."

SHAKSPEARE.

IT was no small gratification to Mrs. Meredith
Vyner, as, leaning on the arm of her ponderous
husband, she glided into Mrs. Langley Turner's
rooms that evening, to distinguish amongst the
first group that met her eye, Marmaduke Ash-
ley, resting against the doorway of the second
salon, talking to Cecil Chamberlayne and
Julius St. John. He was, indeed, a figure not
to escape even an indifferent eye. There was
lion-like grace about him ; a certain indefinable
something in his attitudes and movements,
which, in their oriental laisser aller, were in
sharp contrast to the stiffness and artificiality of
even the least awkward of our northern dan-
dies. When our young men are careless, they

TWO PORTRAITS. 107

have a slouching, sprawling manner, which is
more offensive to the eye than stiffness. It is
only the children of warmer climates who can
afford to let their limbs fall naturally, and be
graceful. Marmaduke, whose prodigious chest
and back betokened the strength of a bull,
seemed to have united with it the agility of a
deer, and was the very model of manly grace.

He was well dressed, without overdress;
but he had committed one error in taste, which
might, perhaps, be set down to coxcombry, in
wearing a white waistcoat, somewhat larger
than the fashion permitted. His chest was so
expansive, and he was so tall, that this vast
expanse of staring white, while it fixed all eyes
upon him, made them remark how much too
large the chest was for symmetry. It was trap
voyant, to adopt the jargon of the French dan-
dies. The effect was further increased by his
wearing a white cravat, which at that time had
only just began to replace the black, intro-
duced by that puffy potentate, so wittily cha-
racterized by Douglas Jerrold as the " most
finished gent, in Europe."

How many women sighed for him on that
evening, I cannot tell ; but certain it is, that a
shadow of regret fell on Mary's heart as she
remarked the beauty of her former lover, and

108 TWO PORTRAITS.

silently compared him with her heavy, snuffy
husband. Nor did he gaze on her unmoved.
She was a striking figure, and would have been
so even in an assembly of beauties. Perhaps
the most striking part about her was her neck
and bosom, with the whiteness and firmness of
marble, — with its coldness loo ; beautiful it
was, and yet repulsive ; hard, cold, immodest,
unvoluptuous ; no blood seemed to beat in its
delicate, blue veins — no heart seemed to move
its rise and fall ; this, the most womanly beauty
of a woman, was in her unwomanly ; it arrested
the eye, without charming it. There was some-
thing about her whole appearance which was
singularly fantastic: her golden hair, drooping
in ringlets to her waist, and her dazzling skin
and tiny figure gave her the appearance of a
little fairy ; nor did her deformity destroy this
impression. She was so pretty, or rather so
piquante, and unlike other women, that her
crooked shoulder only gave a piquancy the
more by the sort of compassionate feeling it
raised. " What a pity such a sweet creature
should be deformed!" was the universal ex-
clamation ; and this very exclamation made
people think more of the charms which re-
deemed that deformity.

In truth, the great deformity was not in the

TWO PORTRAITS.

109

back — it never is — -but in the eyes ancl mouth.
Theoretically, we may all declaim against faults j /j
of proportion and of outline, but, practically,
it is the eyes and mouth that carry the day :
according as they look and they smile, do we
feel that people are beautiful or ugly ; because
in them lies the expression of the heart and
soul. This I take to be the secret of those
astounding differences in taste upon a subject
of which there is a distinct standard — beauty.
True, there is a standard of form and colour.
We are all agreed upon the face that would
make the handsomest picture ; but the best
part of beauty is that which the painter can
never express, because he is condemned to one
expression ; and the beauty of the loving heart
and noble soul is visible in the changing lustre
of a thousand smiles and glances. Now,
although we might all agree that a certain face
has exquisite purity of outline, and gratifies the
sesthetical sense of proportion, yet we should
feel and say that some less perfect face has
charmed us more. Why ? — because we are
indifferent to perfection ? No : but because
in some less harmoniously proportioned face,
we have read a more loveable soul — a soul
with which we can better enter into com-
munion. Thus it is that men get distractedly

110 TWO PORTRAITS.

/ enamoured of women, whose beauty is more than
/ problematical, because without having had many
/ opportunities of knowing their characters, but
mostly from what the faces express, they read
there the signs of unalterable goodness and
lovingness, of high nobility of soul, or, perhaps,
only of some voluptuous and passionate ten-
dencies ; and all these are qualities more fas-
cinating than purity of outline. In support
of my argument, let me mentio nthe fact, that
the women most celebrated as beauties have
seldom, if ever, been picture-beauties. It is
impossible from any picture of Mary Queen of
Scots, for example, to imagine wherein lay the
enchantment of her beauty.

Therefore, my ill-favoured reader, take cou-
rage ; if your mind is honest, and your heart
loving, you will have true beauty — yes, the
positive effect of beauty on all those who can
read the signs of honesty and loveliness.

These signs were not legible in the eyes and
mouth of Mrs. Meredith Vyner ; and there, as
I said, lay her real deformity, though people
did not call it so. Those light, grey eyes, so
destitute of voluptuousness, but so full of light
— so cunning, so cruel, so uncomfortable toi
look upon ; and that small mouth, with its
thin, irritable, selfish lips, which a perpetual

TWO PORTRAITS. 11]

smile endeavoured to make amiable, created a

far more repulsive impression, when first you

I saw her, than any hump could have created :

" I, .... — —

\and yet she fancied that her hump was her

** _, iM.ii- i •*! i" ri i imifc

ipnly deformity. _, ,,-^

She was, as I said, repulsive at first sight ;
but most people got over that impression after
a while, as they generally do when familiarity
has blunted their perceptions. It was not
necessary to be a great physiognomist to see
at once the nature of the soul her eyes
expressed; and yet, when people heard her
amiable sentiments, and noticed the meekness
of her manner, they yielded to the popular
sophism of its being " unjust to judge from
first impressions," and they believed • in her
professions rather than in her expressions — that
is, in her calculated utterances rather than her
instinctive and unconquerable emotions.

" But," objects the reader, " first impressions

are so often false, that it would be madness to

rely on them." I answer : first impressions —

at least those of a broad and simple kind — are

rarely, if ever, false ; though often incomplete.

.The observer should not rely on them ; but

', he should nevtr absolutely reject them. They

j may be mcdifieu-- -greatly modified — but not

contradicted. Human character is marvellously

112 TWO PORTRAITS.

complex, and this very complexity serves to
confound the observer, if he have not a clue ;
and that clue is best attained on a first inter-
view, because then the perceptions are least
biassed by the opinions. If he understand
human nature, he will soon be able to modify
his first impressions, and complete the general
outline of a character.

Physiognomy is very fallacious, I know, in
its details ; but in its broad principles, which
almost all human beings instinctively employ,
there is no more infallible guide. The mistake
physiognomists commit, is in not leaving suffi-
cient margin for education. A man may have
cruelty or bad temper very legible in his face,
and yet- not in his acts be cruel or bad-tem-
pered ; but if you interrogate his boyhood, you
will find that, however he may have subdued
the demon within him, he once had the quality
which his face expresses, and, in the depths of
his nature, he has it still : the wild beast lies
chained within him, but may at any time break
loose.

If physiognomy betrays us into rash judg-
ments, far more erroneous are those into which
we are betrayed by an observation of conduct
or of speech, if we have not previously a clue
to the character ; because it is a tendency in

TWO PORTRAITS. 113

us all to attribute importance only to important
acts — only to great occasions, when as we say,
a man's true nature is called forth. Nothing
can be more false. < Trifles are the things by
which men are to be judged. If we would
know them as they are, we should observe
them in their unguarded moments, in the
routine of daily and familiar life, when no
man's eyes, as it were, are on them. If we
would know them as they wish to be considered,
then we may observe them when the import-
ance of the occasion turns men's eyes upon
them. Taking the most liberal view of the
question, one can only say that great occasions
show what men are capable of in extraordinary
circumstances, not what the men are.

I am tempted to quote the remarkable words
of a remarkable writer on this very point: " In
our judgment of men," says Henry Taylor,
"we are to beware of giving any importance to
occasional acts. By acts of occasional virtue •
weak men endeavour to redeem themselves in
their own estimation, vain men endeavour to, \
exalt themselves in that of mankind. It may
be observed, that there are no men more worth-
less and selfish, in the general tenor of their
lives, than some who from time to time perform
feats of generosity. Sentimental selfishness will

VOL. I. I

114 TWO PORTRAITS.

commonly vary its indulgences in this way, and
vain-glorious selfishness will break out into acts
of munificence. But self-government and self-
denial are not to be relied on for any real
strength, except in so far as they are found to
be exercised in detail." *

The first impression Mrs. Meredith Vyner
made, was that of a cold, cunning, cruel
woman; with plenty of nervous energy and
sensibility, but no affection. If you disregarded
that, and attended only to her conduct, and to
the sentiments she generally expressed, you
thought her an enthusiastic, affectionate, child-
like creature, whose very faults sprang from an
excess of warmth and impulsiveness; and so
good an actress was she, that it required a keen
observer, or a long intimacy with her, to detect
her real character.

It has been remarked that deformed people
are singularly noble, delicate, and generous in
their natures; or singularly mean, cunning,
and malicious. The scorn of the world so
powerfully influences them, that it brings out
into greater relief the features of that moral
physiognomy with which nature has endowed
them, making them much better or much worse
than their fellows. Mrs. Meredith Vyner bc-

* " The Statesman."

TWO PORTRAITS. 115

longed to the latter class ; but so cunning was
she, that most people were entirely deceived by
her ; and if they were occasionally startled by
some great contradiction, they got over it with
the usual remark, " Oh, she is such a very
strange woman ! "

,2

116 DECLARATION OF WAR.

CHAPTER X.

DECLARATION OF WAR.

MRS. MEREDITH VYNER had not long been in
the room before she had spoken to Marma-
duke, who, perfectly on his guard, replied with
respectful politeness to the observations she
from time to time addressed to him. It was
impossible for the acutest observer to have
suspected there was any arriere pensee in her
slightly flurried manner (she was always rest-
less), or in his dignified ease. Two gladiators
in the arena never faced each other with greater
watchfulness, than this tiny, lively woman —
confident in her skill — and this self-possessed
magnificent Brazilian.

Pellegrini placed himself with his.back to
the fire and coughed as he thrust one hand into,
his breast, previously to beginning his recita-

DECLARATION OF WAR. 117

tions. The guests crowded from the other
rooms, and disposed themselves to listen,
as if they were to understand and greatly
relish Alfieri. Mrs. Vyner, taking ad-
vantage of this movement, beckoned Mar-
rnaduke to follow her, and seating herself
at a small table in the inner room, began
turning over the leaves of the Keepsake,
and then addressing him in an under tone,
said : —

" So you wanted to cut me the other
night?"

" I did. Surely it was the 'best thing I
could do." As he said this, he sat down on
an ottoman opposite her.

" What ! before any explanation ? " she
inquired, endeavouring to throw a tenderness
into her tone, which she could not throw into
her eyes.

" All explanation is useless when the facts
are so eloquent I neither ask for explanation,
nor would I accept one."

" And you think me " She could

not proceed.

" A woman," he said, gravely.

" And what motives do you attribute ? "

"Very natural and powerful motives, or
they would not have influenced you. I know

118 DECLARATION OF WAR.

not what they were. I do not desire to know.
Either you love me "

" Mr. Ashley, remember I am a married
woman, and this language "

" I was only putting an hypothetical case :
your conduct and the present interruption
convince me it was unnecessary to put such a
case."

He rose, but she motioned to him to
be reseated. She sighed, and continued
hurriedly turning over the leaves of the
book she held. Expecting every moment
that she was going to speak, he watched
her in silence. This was exactly what she
wished ; confident in the influence of her
beauty over him, she thought it more effective
than any argument ; besides, it did not incul-
pate her in any way.

She miscalculated. The contemplation only
served to irritate him the more. If his
temples throbbed at the mere recollection
of her having jilted him, the sight of
her called up bygone scenes of tenderness,
which made her inconstancy the ' ' more
odious.

" Do you not hate me ? " she said at last,
keeping her eyes fixed on the book, not daring
to look at him.

DECLARATION OF WAR. 119

t - .

" I do," he replied, in a whisper, like the
hiss of a serpent.

She started at the sound, and raised her
terrified head to see if his face contradicted or
confirmed the words. But she could read
nothing there. The light which for a moment
had flashed from his dark eyes had passed
away, like the flush which had burnt his
cheek. He had been unable to repress that
movement of anger; but no sooner were
the words escaped than he repented them,
and endeavoured to do away with their effect,
by adding, —

" That is, I did ; now hate has given place
to contempt. When I hated you, it was be-
cause I still felt a lingering of that love which
you had outraged ; but I soon overcame that
weakness, and now I think only of you as one
who sold herself for money"

At this very bitter speech, made the more
galling from the tone of superb contempt in
which it was uttered, she shook back her
golden ringlets, and bent on him her tiger eyes
with^an expression which would have made
most men tremble, but which to Marmaduke
had a savage fascination, stirring strange feel-
ings within him, and making him almost
clutch her in a fierce embrace. She looked

120 DECLARATION OF WAR.

perfectly lovely in his eyes at that moment ;
and it is impossible to say what might have
been the result of this scene, had not her
husband appeared. He had just missed
her, and astonished at not finding her listen-
ing to Pellegrini's recitations, for which
alone he supposed her to have come there,
he began fidgeting about, till he espied her
in earnest conversation with the handsome
Marmaduke.

" My dear," said he, preparing a pinch with
slow dignity, " won't you come into the next
room, to hear Alfieri?"

" No ; I came away, unable to listen to
Pellegrini's affected declamation."

Meredith Vyner stood there somewhat
puzzled what to say. He flattered his nose
with a series of gentle taps, and in his abstrac-
tion, let fall more of the snuff than usual.
Not even his pinch, however, could clear his
ideas. He felt something like jealousy, though
the handsome young man was a perfect
stranger to him ; and wished to get his wife
away, without exactly knowing how it was to
be done.

He was relieved from his perplexity by an
influx of the company from the other room at

DECLARATION OF WAR. 121

the conclusion of the recitation. The tete a-
tete was broken up. Mrs. Vyner took her
husband's arm, and moved away, not without
a parting smile at Marmaduke, who received
it with supreme indifference.

122 ONE OF OUR HEROES.

CHAPTER XL

ONE OF OUR HEROES.

ON the following morning, Cecil Chamberlayne
was busy over his edition of Horace, " cram-
ming " for his interview with Meredith Vyner,
whose acquaintance he was the more anxious
to cultivate, now he knew that he had three
marriageable daughters.

Cecil has been introduced once or twice
before, but I have not yet had an opportunity
of sketching his portrait, so let me attempt it
now.

He was a social favourite. He had consi-
derable vivacity, which sometimes amounted to
wit, and always passed for it. He drew well,
composed well, sang well, dressed well, rode
well, wrote charming verses and agreeable
prose, played the piano and the guitar, and
waltzed to perfection : in a word, was a cavalier
accompli.

ONE OF OUR HEROES. 123

But with all these accomplishments there
was no genius. He could do many things well,
but nothing like a master. He painted better
than an amateur, but not well enough for a
professed artist.

Indeed, there was in him, both physically
and morally, a sort of faltering greatness which
arrested the attention of the observer. The
head and bust were those of a large man, but
the body and legs were small and neatly made.
In his face there was the same contradiction : a
boldness of outline, with a delicacy amounting
to weakness in the details. His brow was
broad and high, without being massive. His
eyes were blue and gentle. His nose aqui-
line, and handsomely cut. The mouth would
have been pretty had it not been too small.
In appearance he was somewhat over neat —
dapper.

At school, the boys called him " Fanny.1'

It is not often that the physical corresponds
so well with the moral, as in Cecil Chamber-
layne ; but in him the accordance was perfect.
You could not look at his white hand without
at once divining, from its conical fingers, and
the absence of strongly marked knuckles, that
it belonged to one in whom the emotions pre-
dominated, and in whom the intellect tended

124 ONE OF OUR HEROES.

naturally to art; it was, in truth, an artistic
hand, the largeness of which showed a love of
details, as the broad palm and small thumb
showed an energetic sensuality and a wavering
will.

Lively, good-natured, and accomplished, he
was a great favourite with most people, and,
indeed, the very attractiveness of his manners
had been the obstacle to his advancement in
life. His time and talents, instead of being
devoted to any honourable or useful pursuit,
were frittered away in the endless nothings
which society demanded, and he had reached
the age of seven and twenty, without fortune
and without a profession. He flattered himself
that he should be made consul somewhere, by
one among his powerful friends, or that some
sinecure would fall in his way; and on this
hope he refrained from applying himself to the
study of any profession, and only thought of
sustaining his reputation as an amusing fellow.
Meanwhile his small patrimony had dwindled
down to the interest of four thousand pounds,
which was preserved only because he could
not touch the capital : a misfortune which he
had frequently declaimed against, and to which
he now owed the means of keeping a decent
coat on his back.

ONE OF OUR HEROES. 125

He went to Vyner, listened to his remarks
on Horace, sympathized with his hatred of
editors, wondered at the beauty and rarity of
his editions, expressed strong and lively inte-
rest in his commentary, and, in short, so
ingratiated himself with the old pedant, that
he was invited down to Wytton Hall, whither
the family was about to go.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

CECIL CHAMBERLAYNE TO FRANK FORRESTER.

MY DEAR FRANK,

I AM alone in the house ; everybody is gone
somewhere, except that prosy, respectable gen-
tleman, Captain Heath, who is in the library,
reading Seneca or Hannah More, I dare say ;
and in consequence of this solitude I obey the
call of friendship, and devote my unoccupied
time to you.

I have been here three days without a yawn.
That is enough to tell you how different the
place is from what I expected. On the other
hand, I must confide to you my suspicions,
that I shall return to town perfectly heart-
whole. There are only the two elder girls at
home ; and, though very pretty, they are not

128 CECIL CHAMBERLAYNE

at all my style. Rose, the eldest, is satirical,
and far too lively to get up any sentiment
with. She makes the place ring with her
merry, musical laugh ; but I never get on
with laughing women. Her sister Blanche is
better ; but she is shy, and, I suspect, stupid.
Violet, the youngest, is expected home in a
few days ; but both her father and stepmother
give fearful accounts of her temper; and,
without making any positive charge, Mrs.
Vyner has, from time to time, said things
which convey a very unfavourable impression
of the girl's disposition.

As this is the case, I must look at Wytton
Hall from a totally different point of view.
It is now only a country house to me, and I
must criticize its attractions accordingly.

My first impression was anything but fa-
vourable. I arrived here about half-past six,
and was received by — the butler ! He showed
me to my room in silence, and I did not feel
disposed to question him. As he asked me
whether I wanted anything, I inquired after
the dinner-hour.

" Dinner will be ready, sir, as soon as you
are dressed," he replied, and left me.

The house seemed very quiet, but I dressed
myself with care, all the time speculating on

TO FRANK FORRESTER. 131

rounding shadows two silent flunkies, silently
bringing and taking away the various dishes
which represented dinner; as if dining con-
sisted solely in eating.

You often laugh at me, Frank, for my
gourmandize — and you, too, such a perfect
gourmand — but if you had seen me on that
occasion, you would have credited my funda-
mental maxim, which Brillat Savarin has
omitted in his Physiologic du Gout, viz., What
the chef de cuisine is to the raw materials, that
is the company to the chef de cuisine.

I never ate less, nor with such profound
contempt for the process of eating, reduced to
the mere satisfaction of hunger. Besides, the
sombreness and silence of the scene oppressed
me.

I was shown into the drawing-room ; a
handsome, well lighted, comfortable-looking
place, which quite cheered me. A log was
blazing joyously in the fire-place, for the
autumnal nights down here are keen ; and,
altogether, the contrast with the dark, gran-
diose, majestically-uncomfortable dining-room,
made this drawing-room delightful.

I threw myself on an ottoman, and tried to
amuse myself with a book ; but you know, I
dare say, how impossible it is to read in such

K2

132 CECIL CHAMBERLAYNE

uncertain moments. Expecting the family to
arrive every minute, it was in vain I tried to
fix my interest in anything I read.

I threw down the book, and gazed thought-
fully at the crackling log. The wind sighed
mournfully without, the clock on the mantel-
piece ticked with a sort of lively monotony,
the embers fell with a cozy familiar sound,
and I sank into one of those exquisite reveries
wherein the past is curiously enwoven with
the future, and, treading the imaginary stage,
we play such brilliant parts.

I must have passed from these waking
dreams into dreams of a less coherent kind,
and have fallen asleep, for I was aroused by
the barking of a dog, and noise of consider-
able bustle in the hall, which was quickly
followed by the entrance of Meredith Vyner,
his wife, his daughters, and his guests. He
apologized for being absent on my arrival, but
had accepted the engagement before my note
reached him to say I should be down on that
day. His welcome was warm enough ; but the
others seemed to me disagreeably cold and
constrained. They were all very tired, and
went early to bed, except Vyner, who sat up
with me discussing Horace; and Captain
Heath, who was reading the paper.

TO FRANK FORRESTER. 133

I retired to bed somewhat disgusted, and
resolved to receive a letter which should call
me up to town on urgent business; I felt so
lonely in that great house full of uncongenial
people. Sleeping in a strange house is always
rather unpleasant to me. I am bothered by
unfauiiliarity in familiar things. I could sleep
in a wigwam comfortably enough ; but in a
bedroom which is substantially the same as
all other bedrooms, and which, nevertheless,
wears an air of strangeness, I feel out of my
assiette ordinaire. This was peculiarly so on
the night I speak of, from my unpleasant im-
pression of the people I was thrown among.

It happened, however, that my impression
of the people was similar to my impression of
the place — at first repulsive, afterwards attrac-
tive. What the well-lighted drawing-room
was to the dining-room, that was the next
morning's hilarity to the over night's frigidity.
Breakfast was charming. Everybody seemed
in high spirits — the first freshness of morning
— and my opinion was completely changed.
You know how intimate one becomes after
having spent a night under the same roof: it
seems as if you breakfasted only with old
friends. I felt myself at home ; and kept the
table in a roar of laughter. This success

134 CECIL CHAMBERLAYNE

operated favourably on my own spirits ; and
in consequence, I have established myself as a
general favourite.

Now for my companions, Vyner himself
promises to be more of a bore than I anti-
cipated. His wife is very charming, and
seems to agree wonderfully in all my views,
which I, of course, regard as a sign of excel-
lent taste and judgment. The daughters I
have already spoken of. Captain Heath is
handsome, gentlemanly, but confoundedly
" sensible," and, though a guardsman, has no
idea of " life." I can't say I like him ; though
why, I don't know ; as Martial says,

Non amo te Sabidi : nee possum dicere quare ;
Hoc tantum possum dicere : Non amo te.

(I hope you remember enough Latin to un-
derstand that, eh, Frank? The truth is, I
charmed Vyner yesterday with it, by quoting
it as the original of " I do not love thee, Dr.
Fell," which he quoted to me. He was so
pleased, that I would wager he introduces it
into his commentary on Horace, which already
amounts to nearly three octavos !)

To return to Heath, I think something of
my dislike may be the mere re-action against
the immense liking, I almost said veneration,
which every one feels for him here. They

TO FRANK FORRESTER. 135

are always telling some story of his goodness.
" Goodness !" and in a guardsman !

Mrs. Langley Turner, who arrived yester-
day, Sir Harry Johnstone, and Tom Wincot,
I need not describe to you. But there is a
young fellow named Lufton who ought to be
under your hands ; he would be an admirable
fellow if "formed." To convey to you his
stupendous innocence, he told me yesterday at
billiards, when I asked him what was his usual
stake, that " he had never played for money."
Is not this something fabulous — a myth ? Let
me add, however, that he had enough savoir
vivre, to propose that I should name the
stakes, as he was quite willing to do what
I did. That re-established him in my opinion.
He won a pony from me, which I am not
likely to regain, as he plays decidedly better
than I do.

I must also not forget George Maxwell, a
saturnine, stupid, fanatical individual, in love
with Mrs. Vyner, or I am vastly mistaken,
savagely jealous of every one she notices, but
by no means rewarded by any notice from
her. I can't tell whether she observes his
passion ; but she certainly does not return it.
Nobody likes him.

There are, besides, a merry little widow, a

136 CECIL CHAMBERLAYNE TO FORRESTER.

Mrs. Broughton, and her niece, an inoffensive
girl with a happy simpering visage, radiant
with foolishness.

This is our party : rather mixed, but very
agreeable. I can't tell you now how we pass
our time, for here am I at the end of my
paper and patience.

Good-bye, Frank,

Ever yours,
CECIL.

ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY. 137

CHAPTER II.

ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY.

NEWS, my dearest Fanny — news is an article
as rare with us as with the morning papers.
We see nobody, hear nothing, do nothing, but
amuse ourselves as we best can, and that is not
adapted to a letter, it would require such end-
less explanations.

In answer to your first question, Yes ; Julius
is here, or rather, he is with his mother at the
Grange, and very frequently walks over. As to
his being my slave, don't think it! He is
evidently not indifferent to me, but as evi-
dently not in love. The vainest of our sex
(are we so vain ?) in my place could not ima-
gine him in love. I'm rather glad of it, for
I certainly don't love him, and should be sorry
to lose a friend.

But let me tell you of another new acquain-

138 ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY.

tance in the jeune premier line, — a Mr. Cecil
Chamberlayne, whom papa has invited here for
a week. He is handsome, witty, good-natured,
and clever — all very excellent qualities; but
there is a levity about him which somewhat
disturbs my liking for him. I could never fancy
myself sentimental with him for a moment.
His gaiety makes me laugh, but does not,
somehow, make me gay. Everybody sides
against me here, except Captain Heath, who
says he feels as I do in that respect. They all
swear by Mr. Chamberlayne ; but, to my taste,
Julius St. John's gaiety is far more exhilarating,
perhaps because it is tempered with a manly
seriousness ; you feel that his laugh is as hearty
(in the real primitive sense of the word) as his
earnestness is sincere.

Violet is to be home at the end of this week.
Papa has written for her, as mama says that
she is only being spoiled at my uncle's. The
real secret is, I believe, that mama has heard
how Violet speaks of her down in Worcestershire,
and that the character there given of her comes
up to London. Now, though Violet is, I
believe, unjust to mama, yet people are only
too willing, as mama says, to believe everything
ill of a stepmother. I fear Violet won't be
comfortable. Suppose Julius St. John should

ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY. 139

fall in love with her? It would be a capital
match. They would suit so well : I should
ke it above all things.

I am reading Leopardi's poems; they are
very beautiful, and very mournful. Julius St.
John says that they are the finest productions
of modern Italy. By the way, though you
will accuse me of filling my letter with Julius,
I must tell you of something that occurred
apropos of Leopardi : — the first evening I met
him— it was at Dr. Whiston's, and I wrote you a
long account of it — he spoke to me of Leo-
pardi, whom I had not heard so highly praised
before. Papa had brought a copy with him
from Italy, and I had looked into it from
curiosity, but finding it difficult to read, my
Italian being somewhat flimsy, I took no further
trouble with it, till Julius spoke so enthusiasti-
cally about him. I then set doggedly to work,
and mastered the poems ; having done so, I read
them over again with great pleasure, and am,
now a sworn admirer of this strange unhappy
being.

Well, one evening, shortly after we had come
down here, Julius took up my copy of Leo-
pardi, which happened to be lying on the
table. It was pencilled all over. He asked
whose marks those were. I told him mine.

140 ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY.

" You seem to have been a careful reader," he
said. "Your praises," I replied, "taught me
to be."

He looked up for a moment, to read in one
full, rapid gaze, the expression of my counte-
nance, and then dropped his eyes once more
upon the book, but not before I had noticed
that his cheek was flushed. Whether in anger
or in pleasure 1 know not, for his eyes are so
shadowed by his dark, straight eyebrows, which
meet across the nose, that it is only in certain
aspects you can read what is passing in them.
What there could be in my reply either to
anger or to please him, I cannot guess ; but he
changed the subject, and I could not interro-
gate him, as mama came up at that moment,
nor have I dared since. All I can say is, that
if he was angry he had quite forgotten it ; and
if he was pleased he is perfectly ungrateful.

This little incident is all I have to relate.
Imagine what our life must be when that is an
incident; and yet, as Julius says, "it is not
events but emotions which make life impor-
tant ; and events are only prized inasmuch as
they excite emotions.

Your affectionate friend,
ROSE VYNER.

ROSE TO FANNY WORSLEY. 141

P.S. — Now, don't you misinterpret a fact which
strikes me in reading this letter over, namely,
that one name occurs very frequently. It is
purely owing to the want of any subject to
write about. Don't imagine it otherwise.

142 CECIL IS SMITTEN.

CHAPTER III.

CECIL IS SMITTEN.

MY DEAR FRANK.
YOUR complaint respecting the omissions of
my letter was not very generous, considering
the length of the aforesaid letter. However, I
will now tell you what I didn't tell you then
— that there is endless fishing and famous
preserves ; so you may cultivate Vyner with
perfect safety, though excuse me if I doubt
your success.

The hall is, as I told you, formidably rococo,
or rather moyen age ; but handsome of the kind,
and spacious. The Italian terrace in front of
the house has the trim beauty of such things,
but is spoiled by a want of "keeping;" the
balustrades are griffinesque, and yet there are
copies of the Greek statues in the garden I ""

A rich embowering shrubbery leads you

CECIL IS SMITTEN. 143

down to the river, which brawls through the
property; beyond, on the other side, there is a
lovely wood, which skirts the banks of the
river, and affords a most romantic promenade.
I should have certainly been most poetically
touched the first day I went there, had it not
been for the saucy merriment of that liveliest
of girls, Rose ; but she drove all seriousness
out of me. I could have kissed her ruddy lips
to close them, and put a stop to her merciless
merriment. I have since visited the wood
alone, but one cannot be sentimental alone — at
least I cannot. The river runs through rich
meadows, on which the sleek cattle browse in
philosophic calmness : it forms an endless
source of amusement. I have sat for hours in
the boat gently dropping down the stream,
lulled by the soft ripple, and . yielding myself
to dreamy listlessness. The broad leaves of
the water-lily that float upon the stream sup-
porting the delicate-shaped yellow flower, and
the rich colours of the luxuriant loosestrife
and other wild flowers, whose names I know
not, together with the windings of the river,
and its undulating meadows on one side, and
~L my-tinted wood on the other, make up a
a icture of which I cannot tire.

But the charms of this place are nothing to

144 CECIL IS SMITTEN.

those of one of its inmates, about whom I will
now endeavour to convey my impressions. If
they are somewhat confused, attribute it to the
effect of an apparition, which has left me very
little command over my ideas.

I told you that the youngest daughter was
expected to arrive. I had consented to pro-
long my stay another week, and was not sorry
to have an opportunity of judging for myself.
It happened that one morning before breakfast
I was looking over the paper, waiting, with that
intolerance which only hungry men can appre-
ciate, till the others should descend ; when in
bounded a magnificent Scotch deer-hound, who
sprang over the chairs and sofas, in a riotous
manner, and came up to me, thrusting his
shaggy head in my hand to be caressed.

" Down, Shot, down ! " exclaimed a sweetly
imperative voice.

I looked up, and surely never did mortal
eyes behold a more bewitching apparition. A
young girl of more than ordinary height,
dressed in a blue riding-habit, which set off the
budding beauty of a graceful figure, stood before
me. She wore a black straw hat, whose broad
brim sheltered her face from the sun, and
which, with a simple blue ribband, made a head-
cu-ess ten times more picturesque and becoming

CECIL IS SMITTEN. 145

than the odious man's hat which amazons put
on ; from under it escaped ringlets of dark
brown hair, tipped witk -a~ goWen Ime. Her
brow was low, but broad — perhaps too massive
for beauty. Her eyes large, long, almond-
shaped, and inconceivably lustrous — the sort
of eye which looks you down, which, even if you
meet its gaze in passing, seems to project such
indomitable will and energy, that involuntarily
you avert your glance. I am not easily stared
out of countenance, and am rather apt to look
into women's eyes, but I find myself unable to
withstand Violet's gaze — for you must have
already divined that my apparition was Violet
Vyner. Do not, however, suppose that be-
cause all eyes droop beneath the intolerable
lustre of her glance, that she is otherwise
than bewitching. Her eyes are not fierce ;
though doubtless they could be. It is the
astonishing energy and imperious will which
look out at you, and make you feel your
inferiority. And this effect is heightened by
a certain impetuous haughtiness of demeanour
which I never observed before. Haughtiness
generally implies coldness, reserve, restraint.
But in Violet, although the haughtiness is
unmistakeable, the fire and passion are still
more so. With the airs and carriage of the

VOL. I. L

146 CECIL- IS SMITTEN.

most imperial of her sex, she unites an appear-
ance of abandon, of impetuosity, of lofty pas-
sion, which belongs more to the southern
women than to any I have before seen in
England. To complete my feeble sketch, let
me add that her nose is a trifle too large and
aquiline, her mouth also too large, though
handsomely cut, her complexion of that lumi-
nous brown which Titian so well knew how
to paint, and the form of ner face a perfect
oval. Handsomer women may be seen every
day in the park, or at the opera ; but a woman
with more character in her face — a woman
more irresistibly fascinating, I never saw.
Critically, there are many defects ; but, taken
in the ensemble, they only seem to heighten
the one effect of a queenly beauty, half sad?
half voluptuous.

I rose as she entered, but was so absorbed
by her beauty that I stood gaping at her like
a cockney at a covey of partridges, suddenly
whirring up before him.

She bowed quietly, I thought haughtily,
and did not even pay me the compliment of a
little embarrassment. I recovered from my
surprise, and ventured on a commonplace
about the weather. She had already been out
for a morning scamper ; and we soon got upon

CECIL IS SMITTEN. 147

the subject of horses and hunting, which she
understood a great deal better than I did.
Her attention was, however, soon diverted to
her dog.

" Down, Shot ; down, sir ! Do you hear
me ? Down ! " she said.

The hound was at this moment resting his
front paws on the table, and taking an in-
quiring survey of the books and flowers on it.
Disregarding the command of his mistress, he
continued to twitch his nose interrogatively,
till a smart cut from the riding whip she held
in her hand, made him spring away with a
howl ; and then, obedient to a gesture of com-
mand, he came and crouched at her feet.

This little incident disagreeably affected me.
I am rather tender-hearted, and particularly
fond of dogs ; so that to see one beaten by
anybody is extremely unpleasant to me, but by
a woman, a young and lovely woman, it is
odious. Besides, I thought the punishment
needlessly severe. She seemed quite uncon-
scious of having done anything out of the way,
and continued a lively conversation with me
on dogs and animals in general, all the time
caressing Shot, who remained at her side;
and in this conversation displaying a love

L 2

148 CECIL IS SMITTEN.

for animals, which rendered her recent act
of severity more wanton in my eyes.

I have since found out that she is anything
but cruel ; but upon the principle of spare the
rod and spoil the dog, she exacts implicit
obedience. It gives her as much pain to cor-
rect her animals as it does a mother to punish
her children; but like a courageous mother,
she knows it is to save them from more pain
and sorrow, and, therefore, unhesitatingly
punishes them.

To tell you that I am fast falling over head
and ears in love with this adorable creature,
will be only to tell you what my description
must have betrayed. To tell you that she
seems no less inclined to follow my example
will be more like news. We generally ride
together ; we sing duets, and our voices har-
monize charmingly ; in a word, young Lufton
has begun to joke me about her.

Unfortunately my visit draws to a close, and
unless I can make a tolerably deep impression
before I leave, she will have forgotten me by
next season. She is only sixteen ; but to look
at her you would say she was twenty ; and to
talk to her you would say, much more. She
is one of the precocious, and has been bred up

CECIL IS SMITTEN. 14£f

in a queer way. Adieu ! We shall meet at
the club next week.

P. S. — I open this to tell you that they will
not part with me here, and that I have
promised to remain till the shooting begins,
though I told them I had no longer any plea-
sure in shooting. But I was too happy for
any excuse to remain under the same roof
with the enchanting Violet.

150 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

CHAPTER IV.

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

THE three letters, just given, will save me a
great deal of explanation and description ;
and, as the horses are at the door, we have
no time to waste.

Mrs. Langley Turner, Sir Harry Johnstone,
young Lufton, Cecil, and Violet are preparing
to ride out, and afterwards to lunch at the
Grange.

Cecil rode remarkably well, and was proud
of it ; besides, lie looked handsomer on horse-
back, as then his head and bust were seen to
full advantage, of which he was also aware ;
and Violet, who had of late been accustomed
to follow the hounds, and spend the greater
part of every day on horseback, looked upon
him with fresh admiration, as she marked the
graceful mastery of his bearing. With a more

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 151

than womanly contempt for effeminate men,
she had at first imagined Cecil one, from the
delicacy and dapperness she noticed in him.
But finding that he was an excellent shot
with the rifle, that he even excelled her with
pistols, that he fenced well, and rode boldly,
she gave him her esteem, — and was nearly
giving him her heart ; but that was not gone
as yet. She was charmed with Cecil's manner
— she admired him, and saw his admiration for
her ; but she loved him not as yet, however
fast she might be galloping on the road to it.

Off they started, Shot barking and leaping
up at the nose of his playfellow, Violet's bay
mare, Jessy, while a sedater hound trotted
slowly behind. Mrs. Langley Turner, Sir
Harry, and Lufton rode abreast, discussing
the proposition which had just been started,
of getting up private theatricals at the hall.
Violet and Cecil followed, talking of favourite
books and favourite composers, comparing sen-
timents, and looking into each other's hand-
some faces, suffused with the bright flush of
excitement.

" Here we are at the Grange," said Violet,
as they cantered within sight of the lodge
gates.

"Alas, yes !" replied Cecil.

152 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

He sighed at the thought of his delicious
tete-a-tete being broken up; and, though he
consoled himself with the idea that, since he
was to remain at the hall, many other oppor-
tunities must occur, yet he knew by experience
that there is no such thing as the repetition
of a scene in which emotion plays the prin-
cipal part. You cannot command such thiugs.
They spring out of the moment. They are
dependent upon a thousand circumstances,
over which you have no control. The mood
of mind, the state of the atmosphere, the
accident of association, all concur in investing
some ordinary occasion with a magic charm,
which may never be felt again. " I was a
fool not to have declared myself. She would
certainly have accepted me," he said to him-
self, as he dismounted, and passed into the
drawing-room, where he found Mrs. St. John,
Julius, the clergyman's wife, and Marmaduke
Ashley, who had just come down on a visit
at the Grange. Maxwell, with Mr. and Mrs.
Meredith Vyner arrived shortly afterwards, and
the whole party sat down to a merry luncheon.

" I 'm delighted to learn that you are going
to prolong your stay down here, Mr. Chara-
berlayne," said Julius St. John ; " and hope
you will not confine your shooting to Wyton.

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 153

The Grange, they tell me, is famous for its
game."

" You are very kind," replied Cecil ; " but
I shall scarcely avail myself of your offer. I
am no sportsman."

•Violet, turning suddenly round upon him,
with a look of incredulity, said, —

" No sportsman ? — and such an excellent
shot ! "

" Don't confess it before her," said Vyner,
laughing ; " or you will be lost in her esti-
mation. She is a true descendant of Diana ;
and, like her mythic ancestress, —

Saevis inimica Virgo
Belluis . . . . "

" I 'm grieved, indeed ! " replied Cecil ; " but
treat me as a cockney ; shower contempt upon
me for the confession ; but, the truth is, I never
found much pleasure in any sport, except hunt-
ing ; and the little pleasure I used to find in
shooting was destroyed five years ago."

" How was that ? "

" The anecdote is almost childish, but I am
not such a child as to be ashamed of relating
it. I was one day rambling over the wood at
Rushfield Park, with my rifle in my hand
tired of shooting at a mark. There started a
hare at a tempting distance from me, I fired.

154 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

A slight appearance of ruffled fur alone told
me that he^as hit. He ran leisurely away,
and described a circle round me, till approach-
ing within a few paces he lay meekly down,
and died. I know not wherefore, but the death
of this hare was indescribably touching to me.
It was not the mere death : I had killed hun-
dreds before, and often had to despatch by a
blow those only wounded. But this one had
died so meekly, without a cry, without a
struggle, and had come to die so piteously at
the feet of him who had shot it, that I took
a sudden disgust to the sport, and have never
fired a gun since at either hare or partridge."

There was a slight pause. The emotion of
the speaker communicated itself to the audience,
and Mrs. Meredith Vyner, with tears in her
eyes, declared, that for her part she so well
understood what his feelings must have been,
that she must have hated him (hated was said
with the prettiest accent in the world), if he
had not relinquished shooting on the spot.

Violet would have said the same, but her
mother having volunteered the observation,
closed her mouth. She really felt what her
mother only spoke ; but the intuitive know-
ledge of her mother's insincerity — the thorough
appreciation of the tear which so sentimentally

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 155

sparkled on that mother's eyelid — made her
dread lest any expression of her own senti-
ments should be confounded with such affec-
tation, and she was silent.

Cecil was hurt at her silence. The more
so as she did not even look at him, but kept
her eyes fixed upon her plate.

Meredith Vyner, who had been vainly beat-
ing his brains for a pat quotation, now gave up
the attempt and said, —

"But then, my dear, you have so much
sensibility! Why, I vow if the story hasn't
brought tears into her eyes —

Humor et in genas
Furtim labitur.

Certainly, there never was a more tender-
hearted creature — nor one shrinking so much
from the infliction of even the smallest pain."

Vyner, as he finished his sentence, turned
aside his head to fill his nose with a pinch of
snuff adequate to the occasion — as if it was
only in some vociferous demonstration of the
kind that he could supply eloquence capable
of properly setting forth his wife's sensibility.

At the mention of her tender-heartedness,
both Marmaduke and Violet, involuntarily
looked at her, and as they withdrew their
eyes, their gaze met. No words can translate

156 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

the language which passed in that gaze : it
was but a second in duration, and yet in that
second each soul was laid bare to the eyes of
each. The ironical smile which had stolen over
their eyes changed, like the glancing hues on a
dove's neck, from irony to surprise, from sur-
prise to mutual assent, from assent to superb
contempt. Marmaduke and Violet had never
met before, yet in that one glance each said to
the other, " So, you know this woman ! You
appreciate her sincerity ! You know what a
cruel hypocrite she is!"

Mrs. Vyner did not observe that look. She
had felt Marmaduke's eyes were upon her,
and affecting not to know it, threw an extra
expression of sensibility into her face.

When Cecil fairly caught a sight of Violet's
face, he saw on it the last faint traces of that
contempt which she had expressed for her
mother, but which he attributed to her unfe-
minine delight in field-sports, and her con-
tempt for his sensibility.

He was glad when luncheon was concluded,
and the party rose to ramble about the grounds.
As they were walking through the garden, he
managed to bring up the subject, and frankly
asked her if she did not feel something like
disdain at his chicken-heartedness.

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 157

" Disdain ! " she exclaimed, " how could
you imagine it ? Knowing you to be so little
effeminate that it could not spring but from a
kind and affectionate nature, I assure you I look
upon it as the very best feather you have stuck
in your cap— at least in my presence. I have
only contempt for the affectation of sensibility.3'

" It was what your father said "

" My poor father understands me about as
little as he understands mama. Less he could
not. Fond as I am of hunting and every-
thing like exercise in the open air, I have
seen too much of the mere Nirnrods not to
value them at their just ratio. Good in the
field : detestable everywhere else."

" I 'm delighted to hear you say it."

" I must confess to prizing manliness so high,
that I prefer even brutality to cowardice.
There is nothing to me so contemptible in a
man or woman as moral weakness, and there-
fore I prefer even the outrages of strength to
the questionable virtues of a weak, yielding,
coddling mind."

"What do you mean by the questionable
virtues of such a mind ?" he asked.

" They are questionable, because not stable :
the ground from which they spring being
treacherous. A man who is weak will yield

158 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

to good arguments ; but he will also yield to
bad arguments ; and he will, moreover, yield
against his conviction. A man who is timid
will be cruel out of his very timidity, for there
is nothing so cruel as cowardice."

By this time they had left the garden, and
joined the others, who had disposed them-
selves in groups, which permitted their tttc-d-
tete to continue. Meredith Vyner, Mrs. St.
John, and the clergyman's wife were in ad-
vance. Mrs. Langley Turner and young
Lufton followed, conning over London ac-
quaintance and London gossip. Marmaduke,
Sir Harry, and Mrs. Vyner were very lively,
talking on an infinite variety of topics — Mrs.
Vyner making herself excessively engaging to
Marmaduke, whom she had not seen since
that Sunday night when his last words had
been so contemptuous, his look so strange and
voluptuous. She did not doubt that the great
motive of his visit at the Grange was to put
his threat of vengeance in execution ; and de-
termined either to soften him, or to learn his
plans, the better to combat them.

George Maxwell walked behind them,
scowling.

Julius remained in doors; so Violet and
Cecil had only to lag a little behind, to enjoy

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 159

a perfect tete-a-tfae. Shot walked gravely at
their heels.

The ramble about the grounds lasted all the
afternoon. There only occurred one incident
worth relating, as bearing upon the fortunes
of two of the actors.

Cecil and Violet, in stopping to pick many
flowers, had been left so far behind the others,
that they determined to take a shorter cut to
the house through a meadow lying alongside
of the shrubbery. They had not gone many
steps across the meadow before a bull seemed
to resent their intrusion. He began tearing
up the ground, and tossing about his head in
anger.

" I don't like the look of that animal," said
Cecil. " Let us return."

She only laughed, and said : —

" Return ! No, no. He won't interfere
with us. Besides, when you live in the
country you must take your choice, either
never to enter a field where there are cattle,
or never to turn aside from your path, should
the field be full of bulls. I made my choice
long ago."

This was said with a sort of mock heroic
air, which quite set Cecil's misgivings aside.
He thought she must certainly be perfectly

160 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

aware the bull was harmless, or she would not
have spoken in that tone ; and above all,
would not have so completely disregarded
what seemed to him rather formidable de-
monstrations on the part of the animal. They
continued, therefore, to walk leisurely along
the meadow, the bull bellowing at them, and
following at a little distance. He was evi-
dently lashing himself into the stupid rage
peculiar to his kind, and Shot showed con-
siderable alarm.

" For God's sake, Miss Vyner ! let us away
from this," said Cecil, agitated.

"He doesn't like Shot's appearance here,"
she calmly replied, as the dog slunk through
the iron hurdles which fenced off the shrubbery.

She turned round to watch the bull, and her
heart beat as she saw him close his dull fierce
eye — the certain sign that he was about to
make a rush.

Cecil saw it too, and placing his hand upon
the iron hurdle, vaulted on the other side,
obeying the rapid suggestion of danger as
quickly as it was suggested.

No sooner was his own safety accomplished,
than almost in the same instant that his feet
touched the ground, the defenceless position
of Violet rushed horribly across his mind.

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 161

" Good God ! " he said to himself; " what
have I done? How can I ever explain
this?"

He vaulted back again to rush to her suc-
cour ; but he was too late. His hesitation had
not lasted two seconds, but they were two
irrevocable seconds ; during which Violet, partly
out of bravado and contempt for the cowardice
of her lover, and partly out of that virile
energy and promptitude which on all occa-
sions made her front the danger and subdue it,
sprang forwards at the animal about to rush,
and with her riding-whip cut him sharply
twice across the nose. Startled by this attack,
and stinging with acute pain — the nose being
his most sensitive part — the brute ran off
bellowing, tail in air.

He had already relinquished the fight when
Cecil came up. The coincidence was cruel.
He felt it so. Violet, pale and trembling,
passed her hand across her brow, but turning
from Cecil, called to her dog.

l( Shot ! Shot ! come here, you foolish fellow.
He won't hurt you."

This speech was crushing. Cecil felt that
he had slunk away from danger like the dog,
and that Violet's words were levelled at him.
Never was man placed in a more humiliating

VOL. I. M

162 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

position. To have left a young girl to shift for
herself on such an occasion, and to see her
vanquish the enemy in his presence ; to appear
before a brave girl as a despicable coward, and
to feel that he could not by any means explain
his action, except to make himself more odious ;
for if he were not himself too terrified to face
the danger, what utter selfishness would it
appear for him to have so secured his own
safety !

Cecil felt the difficulty of his position, and
that chained his tongue. Violet, who was
suffering morally as well as physically, was
also unable to speak. The shock given to her
frame by the recent peril was in itself con-
siderable ; and she trembled now it was past,
almost as much as another would have trem-
bled at the moment. But, perhaps, the moral
shock was as great. She had begun to con-
sider Cecil in the light of a lover, and -was
almost in love with him herself. What she
had just witnessed turned all her feelings
against him. Deep and bitter scorn uprooted
all her previous regard, and she was angry
with herself for having ever thought of him
kindly.

They joined the rest of the party, without
uttering a word. " My dear Violet," exclaimed

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 163

Mrs. Vyner, " how pale you look ! Has
anything happened ? Are you ill ? "

Cecil's temples throbbed fearfully. He ex-
pected to hear himself exposed before them
all, and was trying to muster courage to
endure either their scorn, or Violet's sar-
castic irony in her description. She only
said, —

"Oh, nothing; only a little fright. There
was a bull in the meadow who took offence
at Shot, and began to threaten us. It is
very foolish to be so agitated; but I can't
help it."

" Very natural, too, my dear," said Mrs. St.
John. " Come and let me give you a glass of
wine : that will restore you."

" No, thank you," she replied; "it's not
worth making a fuss about. It will go off
in a minute or two. Well, Mrs. Langley
Turner, have you settled anything about the
theatricals?"

" Settled nothing, my dear, but projected an
immense deal. Let us lay our heads together
a little."

Mrs. Langley Turner twined her arm round
Violet's waist, and moved away with her.

Cecil was intent upon the structure of a
dahlia.

M2

164 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

Nothing more was said on the subject of
the fright; and amidst his poignant sense of
shame, there was a feeling of grateful reve-
rence to Violet for having spared him. He
knew her well enough to be certain that, as
she had not revealed his conduct then, she
would not whisper it in private. He knew
her capable of crushing him in her scorn by
some epigram, such as she had uttered in the
meadow, but incapable of a spiteful inuendo,
or sarcastic narration, in private.

Nevertheless, she knew it. How could he
again face her ? How could he dwell under
the same roof with her ? He would not. He
would set off on the morrow. He would
invent some pretext ; anything, so that he had
not to encounter the scorn of those haughty
features.

The ride home was a painful contrast to
the setting out; at least for the two lovers.
The rest were as gay and chatty as before ;
the horses pranced, and shook their heads ;
Shot leaped up at Jessy's nose, and the se-
dater hound trotted calmly behind. The ring
of laughter, the clatter of hoofs, and the bark-
ing of Shot, only made Cecil more conscious
of the change. He rode on in sullen silence.
Violet had taken her mother's place in the

CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF. 165

carriage, not feeling quite recovered : her
mother mounted Jessy.

It would fill a volume to tell all that passed
in the minds of Violet and Cecil during that
ride. Her thoughts were all thoughts of un-
utterable scorn ; his thoughts were of over-
whelming humiliation. There was an oppres-
sive, moody, suffocating sense of remorse and
rage weighing down his spirits. He cursed
himself for that unreflecting action as deeply,
perhaps more deeply, than if he had murdered
a man. In his impotent rage, he asked him-
self how it was that he had so utterly forgotten
her to think solely of himself; and cursed his
ill fortune that had placed the fence so close
to him. Had it been only half a dozen paces
removed, he should have thought of her be-
fore reaching it, and then he could have besn
spared this galling shame.

Violet tried to find excuses for him, bu
could not. As he rode past, rapt in gloomy
thought, crest-fallen, shame-stricken, she won-
dered that she had ever thought him handsome.
The scales had fallen from her eyes.

Who has not experienced some such revul-
sion of feeling ? Who has not looked with
astonishment upon some delusion, and asked
himself, " Was it, then, really so ? Was this

166 CECIL EXHIBITS HIMSELF.

the person I believed so great and good ? "
Alas ! no ; not this, but another. It was your
ideal that you loved, and mistook for the
reality. Seen in the bright colours of your
fancy, that man appeared admirable whom
now you see to be contemptible.

The other day I took up a common pebble
from the shore ; washed by the advancing
waves, and glittering in the summer sun, it
looked like a gem. I carried it home ; arrived
there, I took it from my pocket: the peb-
ble was dry, its splendour had vanished, and
I held it for what it was — a pebble.

Such is life, with and without its illusions.

A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHX. 167

CHAPTER V.

A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN.

As Cecil was dressing for dinner that day, he
asked himself whether he really loved Violet ;
the answer was a decided negative. He had
loved her till that afternoon: but that one
fatal incident as completely turned his love
into dislike, as it had turned Violet's into scorn.
He disliked her, as we dislike those who have
humiliated us, or who have witnessed some
action which we know must appear contemp-
tible in their eyes, but which we feel is not
really so contemptible. He resented her
superior courage ; called her coarse and un-
womanly, reckless and cruel. He remem-
bered her beating Shot on the morning of
their first interview, and it now seemed to
him, as then, an act of wanton severity. He
remembered what her father and mother said

168 A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN.

of her temper. They were right ; she was a
devil !

He went down to dinner quite satisfied
that she was not at all the woman he should
choose.

She was seated on the sofa, talking to Mrs.
Broughton, and caressing the head of her
favourite Shot. Marmaduke stood by her
side, gazing enraptured upon her beauty.

Never was there a more adorably imperial
creature than Violet. If in her riding habit,
the prompt decision and energy of her manner
conveyed the impression of her being some-
what masculine ; directly she doifed it for the
dress of her sex, she became at once a lovely,
loveable woman.

I have a particular distaste to masculine
women, and am therefore anxious that you
should not imagine Violet one. She had,
indeed, the virile energy and strength of will,
which nature seems to have appointed to our
sex ; but all, who had any penetration, at
once acknowledged that she was exquisitely
feminine. Her manner had such grace,
dignity, softness, and lovingness, tempering
its energy and independence. She had gran-
deur without hardness, and gentleness without
weakness. Her murderous eyes, whose flash-

A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN. 169

ing beauty few could withstand — there was
something domineering in their splendour and
fulness of life — had, at the same time, a certain
tenderness, the effect of which I know not
how better to describe, than in the bold feli-
citous comparison used by Goethe's mother,
when she wrote to Bettina thus : " a violoncello
was played, and I thought of thee ; it sounded
so exactly like thy brown eyes."

I dwell with some gusto on the beauty of
this creature ; she was so beautiful ! Majesty
generally implies a certain stiffness : dignified
women are detestable; but there was such
majesty in Violet — such commanding grace —
accompanied by such soft, winning manners,
that, in the midst of the sort of awe she
inspired, you felt a yearning towards her.
Firenzuola would have said of her, and said
truly, that "getta quasi un odor di regina,"
and yet, wifhal, no one was more simple and
womanly.

As Cecil entered the room, he just caught
this conclusion of Violet's speech : —

" Besides, had it come to the worst — had
the bull made his rush, I was in very good
hands. Mr. Chamberlayne and Shot were with
me."

This was uttered before she saw Cecil. She

170 A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN.

coloured slightly as he came in, but continued
her conversation in an unaltered tone. He
felt no gratitude to her for sparing him, as, by
this account of the affair, it was evidently her
intention of doing ; his self-love was so deeply
wounded, that he only perceived the covert
sarcasm of again coupling him with Shot It
made him congratulate himself on being no
longer in danger of offering her his hand.

" What a wife ! " he mentally exclaimed, as
he walked up to Rose and Julius, and broke
in upon their t&e-a-tite, for which neither
thanked him.

At dinner he sat between Mrs. Broughton
and her niece, who, regarding him as a wif,
giggled at whatever he said. He was in
high spirits. His gaiety was forced, indeed,
but it inspired some brilliant things, which I
do not chronicle here for two reasons. First,
they had no influence whatever on subsequent
events. Secondly, very few repartees bear
transplantation ; they have an apropos which
gives them their zest, and are singularly tame
without it.

" By the way, Mr. St John, Wincot has a
mysterious story about you which ought to be
cleared up."

"Pray, what is it?"

A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN. 171

" Oh ! something impossible, grotesque, in-
conceivable, but true ; at least, he swears to it,"
said Cecil.

" Let 's hear it," said Mrs. Langley Turner.

" By all means," added Mrs. Broughton.

" By all means," echoed Julius. " I find
myself the hero of a romance before I was
aware of it."

All eyes were turned upon Tom Wincot.

He was not averse to be looked at, so neither
blushed, nor let fall the glass suspended to
his eye.

Wincot is young, good-looking, well-
dressed ; rides well, waltzes well ; gains his
livelihood at whist and ecarte ; pays debts of
honour ; has no ideas ; knows nothing beyond
the sphere of a club or a drawing-room, and
has no power over the consonant r,

" I consider this vewy tw&itewous" he said ;
" when I told Chamberlayne the stowy it was
under strict secwecy."

" That is to say," rejoined Cecil, " that you
wished me particularly to divulge it."

" Not at all, not at all, a secwet is a secwet."

" You excite our curiosity to the highest
pitch," said Mrs. Langley Turner.

" Quite thrilling," said Rose.

172 A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN.

" Tell us the story yourself, Mr. Chamber-
lay ne," said young Lufton.

" No, no ; it is Wincot's story."

"Well; if your cuwiosity is excited, I must
gwatify it. Besides, Mr. St. John has pew-
haps some explanation. Yesterday, as I was
wambling along the woad to town I saw him
wide down by the wiver. Well, would you
cwedit it? he was cawying, its twue I vow,
cawying a side of bacon ! ! !"

" Is that all?" asked Violet.

" All ! " exclaimed the astonished dandy ;
"All! why Miss Violet, I pledge you my
vewacity that I wefused to believe it, it was so
twemendous an appawition ! Fancy, widing
acwoss countwy with a side of bacon on your

saddle ! It must have been a wager. It must.

° ^

Why, I would as soon have dwiven my gwand-
mother down Wegent-stweet ; dwank clawet
at an inn ; gone to a soiwee in shoes ; or any-
thing equally atwocious ! ''

" But let Mr. St. John explain," said Cecil
gaily. " This is a serious imputation on his
dandyism. Unless he can clear himself of the
charge, he will be utterly lost."

" What was it Julius, my dear ? " said Mrs.
St. John.

" One of those things which he alone is

A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN. 173

capable of," interposed Marmaduke, warmly.
" I will ask the ladies present to judge. Hap-
pening to meet Julius with that same side of
bacon, I naturally asked him how he came to
have it, and he told me the story with his usual
simplicity. This it is. He was riding through
Little Aston on his way home, he stopped
opposite a broker's shop where an auction was
going on. A side of bacon was knocked down
to him, much to his astonishment, but he paid
for it, threw it across his saddle, and carried
it twelve miles as a present to one of his poor
cottagers. The poor woman was as much
shocked as Mr. Wincot, to see the young
squire so equipped, but her gratitude was un-
bounded. I could have hugged him for it;
the more so, as, with all my admiration for the
simple goodness and courage of the act, I
doubt whether even now I should have courage
to imitate it, and certainly should never have
had such an idea come unassisted into my
head."

" You are trying to make a mountain out of
a molehill, Marmaduke," said Julius. " The
thing was quite simple. I had to pay for the
bacon ; why should not one of my cottagers
benefit by it?"

" Yes, yes ; but carrying it yourself."

174 A TRAIT OF JULIUS ST. JOHN.

" I had not my servant with me. It was no
trouble. As to what people thought, that
never troubled me. Those who knew me
knew what I was ; those who knew me not
did not bestow a thought about me."

Every one declared that it was an act of
great kindness and philosophy ; except Tom
Wincot, who pronounced it vewy extwaowdi-
nawy, and seemed to think nothing could jus-
tify such a forgetfulness of what was due to
oneself. But of all present, no one was more
proud, more pleased than Rose, who looked at
her " dear, little, ugly man," as she called him,
with fresh admiration all the evening after-
wards. It was a trait to have won her heart ;
if, indeed, her heart had not been won before.

HIDDEN MEANINGS. 175

CHAPTER VI.

HIDDEN MEANINGS.

THE subject of private theatricals was again
started that evening, when all were assembled
in the drawing-room ; and as the conversation
happened by chance to be one of those under-
neath which there runs a current of deep sig-
nificance to certain parties, while to the ap-
prehension of the rest there is nothing what-
ever meant beyond what is expressed ; I shall
detail some portions of it.

But first to dispose of the scene, as it is rather
crowded. In the right-hand corner there is
a rubber of whist played between Meredith
Vyner and Mrs. Broughton, against Sir Harry
Johnstone and Mrs. St. John.

Seated on the music-stool is Rose, who has
just ceased playing, and by her stands Julius,
who, having turned over her leaves, is now
talking to her.

176 HIDDEN MEANINGS.

At the round table in tlie centre, Mrs.
Meredith Vyner, Mrs. Langley Turner, Miss
Broughton, and Violet are disposed among
Marmaduke, Maxwell, Tom Wincot, Captain
Heath, and young Lufton ; the ladies knitting
purses, and engaged on tambour work : the
gentlemen making occasional remarks thereon,
and rendering bungling assistance in the wind-
ing of silk.

To the left, Blanche and Cecil, the latter
with his guitar in his hand.

The fire blazes cheerfully. The room is
brilliant with light. Mrs. Meredith Vyner is
applauding herself secretly at her increasing
success with Marmaduke, who she doubts not
will soon have lost all his anger towards her.
Maxwell looks blacker than ever, but is silent.
Violet is recovering from her disappointment,
and settling into calm contempt of Cecil.
Marmaduke laughs in his sleeve at Mrs.
Vyner's attempts, but is too much struck with
Violet, not to be glad of anything which
seems likely to smooth the path of acquaint-
ance with her. Captain Heath is rather an-
noyed at having lost his accustomed seat next
to Blanche, with whom he best likes to con-
verse. Cecil has completely shaken off his
depression, and is wondering he never before

HIDDEN MEANINGS. 177

discovered what incomparable eyes Blanche
has.

"But about these theatricals," said Mrs.
Langley Turner. " I am dying to have some-
thing settled. You, Mrs. Vyner, are the cle-
verest of the party, do you suggest some play.
What do you say to Othello ? "

",Oh ! " said Mrs. Broughton, " don't think
of tragedy."

"No, no," rejoined Mrs. Vyner; "if the
audience must laugh, let it at least be with
us."

" By all means," said Vyner, shuffling the
cards ; " remember, too,

Male si mandata loqueris
Aut dormitabo aut ridebo.

" At the same time," observed Mrs. Vyner ;
" Mr. Ashley would make a superb Othello."

"I rather think," replied Marmaduke,
slightly veiling his eyes with the long lashes ;
" lago would suit me better."

Mrs. Vyner affected not to understand the
allusion.

" You would not look the villain," she said.

" Perhaps not," he replied, laughing ; " but
I could act it."

" By the way," interposed Julius, " surely
that 's a very false and un-Shakespearian notion

VOL. I. N

178 HIDDEN MEANINGS.

current, respecting lago's appearance : people
associate moral with physical deformity, though
as Shakespeare himself says —

There is no art

To find the mind's construction in the face.

The critics, I observe, in speaking of an
actor, as lago, are careful to say, 'he looked
the villain.' Now, if he looked the villain,
I venture to say he did not look lago."

" Mr. St. John is right," said Cecil. " Had
lago * worn his heart upon his sleeve,' no one
could have been duped by him. Whereas
everybody places implicit confidence in him.
He is { honest lago' — a * fellow of exceeding
honesty;' and he is this, not only to the
gull Roderigo, and the royal Othello, but
equally so to the gentle Desdemona, and
his companion in arms, the ' arithmetician '
Cassio."

" So you see," said Marmaduke, turning to
Mrs. Vyner, " in spite of your handsome com-
pliment, I might have the physique de Vemploi.
Then Cecil would be a famous Cassio,

Framed to make women false."

Mrs. Vyner asked herself, " Is he showing
me his cards ? Does he mean to play lago
here, and to select Cecil as his tool ? No ;

HIDDEN MEANINGS. 179

he can't be such a blockhead ; but what does
he mean then ? "

" If we are not to play tragedy," observed
Mrs. Broughton ; " what use is there in wast-
ing argument on it. Let us think of a
comedy."

" The Rivals" suggested Captain ' Heath ;
" it has so many good parts, and that I take
to be the grand thing in private theatricals,
where every one is ambitious of playing primo
violino"

" Very natural too ! " said Julius.

" Very !" rejoined Heath, sarcastically.

" When people laugh," said Julius, " at the
vanity displayed by amateur actors, in their
reluctance to play bad parts, it is forgotten
that there is a wide distinction between play-
ing for your amusement, and playing for your
bread. Every actor on the stage would refuse
indifferent parts, were it possible for him to do
so. And when gentlemen and ladies wish to
try their skill at acting, they very naturally
seek to play such parts as will give their
talents most scope."

" We really ought to thank Mr. St. John,"
said Mrs. Vyner, " for the ingenious excuse
he has afforded our vanity, and he must have
a good part himself as reward."

N2

180 HIDDEN MEANINGS.

" You are very kind," said Julius ; " but
I have no notion whatever of acting, and must
beg you to pass me over entirely, unless you
want a servant, or something of that kind."

" I am sure," said Rose, in a low tone,
"you would act beautifully."

" Indeed, no."

" Did you ever try?"

" Never. I have no vis comica ; and as to
tragedy, my person excludes me from that."

Rose was silent and uncomfortable; all
people are when others allude to their own
personal deficiencies.

" Will you play Sir Anthony, Sir Harry ? "

" Two by cards ... I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Vyner .... Sir Anthony Absolute ?
Yes, yes, you may put me down for that."

" And who is to be Captain Absolute ? You,
Mr. Ashley?"

" Perhaps Mr. Ashley would play Falk-
land," suggested Mrs. Broughton.

" No, no, Falkland is cut out for Mr. Max-
well— he is the most tragic amongst us."

Maxwell answered with a grim smile.

" At any rate," said Mrs. Langley Turner,
" let me play Mrs. Malaprop. I quite long
to be an allegory on the banks of the Nile."

" And Violet," said Mrs. Vyner, with, the

HIDDEN MEANINGS. 181

slightest possible accent of sarcasm, " can be
Lydia Languish."

" No, mama," replied Violet, " you ought
to play that — it would suit you."

" / play ? . . . my dear child ! "

" Do you not intend to take a part? ''

" My dear Violet, how could you suppose
such a thing ? "

" I imagined," replied Violet, with exquisite
naturalness, " that you were an accomplished
actress."

" So I should have said, from the little I
have the pleasure of knowing of Mrs. Vyner,"
observed Marmaduke.

The two arrows went home ; but Mrs.
Vyner's face was impassive.

" How imprudent Violet is ! " said Blanche,
in a whisper, to Cecil.

" Do you understand that?" said Rose to
Julius.

"What?"

" Nothing, if you did not catch it."

" But who is to be Sir Lucius, we have n't
settled that," said Mrs. Broughton.

" I wather think I should play Sir Lucius
O'Twigger, as my bwogue is genewally pwo-
nounced so vewy Iwish."

" But," interposed Marmaduke, " we have

182 HIDDEN MEANINGS.

forgotten Cecil . . . Oh ! there is Acres — a
famous part ! "

" Surely, Captain Absolute would be better,"
suggested Violet.

" Is that a sarcasm ?" Cecil asked himself.

" Anybody," rejoined Marmaduke, " can
play the Captain, whereas Acres is a diffi-
cult part. It is not easy to play cowardice
naturally."

This is one of those observations, which,
seeming to have nothing in them, yet fall with
strange acrimony on the ears of certain of the
parties. It made Violet and Cecil uncom-
fortable.

" Besides," pursued Marmaduke, " it is a
rule in acting, that we always best play the
part most unlike our own ; and as Cecil
happens to be the coolest of the cool in a
duel, he ought to play the duel scene to per-
fection."

" Did you ever fight a duel, then ? " ex-
claimed Miss Broughton. " How romantic !"

Violet was astonished. Cecil, delighted at
this opportunity of redeeming himself in her
eyes, said, " Marmaduke, who was my second,
will tell you that it was by no means romantic,
Miss Broughton. A mere exchange of harm-
less shots about a very trivial circumstance."

HIDDEN MEANINGS. 183

" And, " inquired Miss Broughton, with
inimitable na'ivete, " were you not afraid ?"

A general laugh followed this question,
except from the whist players, who were
squabbling over some disputed point, and
from Violet, who was asking herself the same
question.

" Why," rejoined Cecil, gaily, " I suppose
you would hardly have me avow it, if it were
so ; cowardice is so contemptible."

" Oh, I don't know," said Miss Broughton.

" If I may speak without bravado, I should
say that, although I am a coward by tempera-
ment, I do not want bravery on reflection."

" What the deuce do you .mean by bwavewy
on weflection?"

" Some people," interposed Rose, laughing,
" have de V esprit apres coup ; so Mr. Chamber-
layne doubtless means that he has courage
when the danger is over. I had you there,
Mr. Chamberlayne. That is my return for
your uncomplimentary speech to me at
dinner."

Violet blushed ; Rose's jest seemed to her
so cruel that she quite felt for Cecil. He also
blushed, knowing the application Violet would
make. The rest laughed.

" Without accepting Miss Rose's unpar-

184 HIDDEN MEANINGS.

donable interpretation," said Cecil, " I may
acknowledge some truth in it; and as I am
thus drawn into a sort of confession, forgive
my egotism if I dwell a little longer on the
subject. I am of a very nervous, excitable
temperament. I shrink from anything sudden,
and always tremble at sudden danger. There-
fore am I constitutionally a coward. My in-
stinct is never to front danger, but to escape
it ; but my reason tells me that the surest way
of escaping it, in most cases, is to front it;
and as soon as the suddenness is over, and I
have familiarized my mind with the danger,
I have coolness and courage enough to front
it, whatever it may be. This is what I call
bravery on reflection. My first movement,
which is instinctive, is cowardly ; my second,
which is reflective, is courageous."

" This is so pwofoundly metaphysical that I
can't appwehend it at all."

" I think I can," said Violet ; " and the
distinction seems to me to be just."

Cecil was greatly relieved, and he thanked
her with a smile as he said, " I remember,
some years ago, being with some ladies in a
farm-yard, when a huge mastiff rushed furi-
ously out at us. Before I had time to check
my first instinctive movement, I had vaulted

HIDDEN MEANINGS. 185

over the gate and was beyond his reach ; but
no sooner was I on the other side than I
remembered the ladies were at his mercy. I
instantly vaulted back again ; but not before
the dog was wagging his tail, and allowing them
to pat his head. But imagine what they
thought of my gallantry ! They never forgave
me. I could offer no excuse — there was none
plausible enough, to offer — and to this day
they despise me as a coward."

" Had you given them on the spot," said
Violet, gravely, " the explanation you have
just given us, they would not have despised
you."

" I am greatly obliged to you for the assu-
rance."

He looked his thanks as he said this.

" Still, it must be deuced stwange to find
oneself in a pwedicament, and no cowage
apwopos, but only on delibewate weflection."

" It is one of the misfortunes of my tempera-
ment."

" It certainly is a misfortune," said Violet.

She became thoughtful. Cecil was radiant.

186 MUTUAL SELF-EXAMINATION.

CHAPTER VII.

MUTUAL SELF-EXAMINATION.

THE entrance of tea changed the conversation,
and changed also the positions of the party.
Cecil relinquished his place by the side of
Blanche, much to her regret, and managed to
get near Violet, who was anxious to make up
for her previous coldness and contempt. She
felt that she had wronged him. She admitted
to the full his explanation of the incident
which had so changed her feelings, and, with
the warmth of a generous nature owning its
error, she endeavoured to make him under-
stand that she had wronged him. Two hap-
pier hearts did not beat that night.

Could they have read aright their feelings,
however, they would have seen something
feverish and unhealthy in this warmth. It
was not the sympathy of sympathetic souls

MUTUAL SELF-EXAMINATION. 187

but a mutual desire to forget, and have for-
gotten the feelings which had agitated them a
little while ago.

Mrs. Meredith Vyner was more taciturn
than was her wont. The covert insinuations
Marmaduke had thrown out puzzled her
extremely ; while they were in sufficient keep-
ing with what had gone before, to prevent her
supposing he attached no meaning to them.

" Could he really suppose her in love with
Cecil ? " she asked herself; " and was he
serious in thus presenting himself in the
character of an lago ? "

Much did she vex her brain, and to little
purpose. The truth is, she was attributing to
these words a coherence and significance
which they had not in Marmaduke's mind.
She assumed them to be indications of some
deeply-laid scheme; whereas they were the
mere spurts of the moment, seized upon by
him as they presented themselves, and without
any ulterior purpose. He had no plan ; but
he was deeply enraged against her, and lashed
her with the first whip at hand. Had he been-
as cunning as she was, he would never have
betrayed himself in this way ; but being a man
of vehement passions, and accustomed to give
way to his impulses, it was only immense self-

188 MUTUAL SELF-EXAMINATION.

command which enabled him to contain him-
self so much as he did. .Julius went home to
dream of Rose. Marmaduke to pass a sleep-
less night thinking of Violet. He had never
seen a woman he admired so much. For the
first time in his life, he had encountered a gaze
that did not bend beneath his own ; for the
first time he had met with one whose will
seemed as indomitable as his own, whose soul
was as passionate. It was very different from
the effect which Mary Hardcastle had excited :
it was not so irritating, but more voluptuous.
In one word, the difference was this : Mary
excited the lower, Violet the higher qualities of
his nature. There was reverence in his feeling
for Violet ; in his feeling for Mary there had
been nothing but a sensual fascination.

Maxwell was restless. He was growing
very jealous of Marmaduke — Mrs. Vyner's
interest not escaping him. Violet was also
sleepless. She thought of Marmaduke, and
of the two interchanged glances which told
her how they had both read alike the character
of her mother ; and wondered by what pene-
tration he had discovered it. She thought him
also a magnificent — a manly man ; but she
thought no more. Cecil occupied her mind.

As I have said, her first impulse was to

MUTUAL SELF-EXAMINATION. 189

admit to the full Cecil's explanation, and to
revoke her sentence of contempt. As she lay
meditating on the whole of the circumstances,
and examined his character calmly, she was
forced to confess that if he did not deserve the
accusation of cowardice, yet by his own show-
ing his first impulse was to secure his own
safety, and then to think of others. This looked
like weakness and selfishness : two odious
vices in her eyes.

The result of her meditations was, that Cecil
had regained some portion of her liking, but had
lost for ever all hold upon her esteem. Pretty
much the same change took place in his inind
with regard to her. He admitted that she
was high-minded, generous, lovely — but not
loveable. There was something in her which
awed him, and which he called repulsive.

He went to sleep thinking what a sweet
loveable creature Blanche was, and how supe-
rior to Violet.

190 THE DISADVANTAGES

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DISADVANTAGES OF UGLINESS.

THE next day Julius was meditatively fishing
in the mill-pool adjoining the village school,
and trying to decipher the character of Rose,
who alternately fascinated and repulsed him
by her vivacity.

I have said that he' was utterly destitute of
all personal beauty. This is so common an
occurrence, that it would scarcely be worth
mentioning in any other case : beauty being
the quality which, of all others, men can best
dispense with. A charm when possessed, its
absence is not an evil. In Julius's case, how-
ever, it happened to be important, from the
importance he attributed to it, and the exces-
sive importance given to it by him thus origi-
nated.

His nurse was a very irascible woman, and

OF UGLINESS. 191

whenever she was angry, taunted him with
being such "an ugly, little fright." As she
never called him ugly but when she punished
him, he early began to associate something
peculiarly disagreeable with ugliness. This
would have soon passed away at school, had
not the boys early discovered that his ugliness
was a sore point with him ; accordingly, end-
less were the jests and sneers which, with the
brutal recklessness of boyhood, they flung at
him on that score. The climax of all, was on
one cold winter morning, when the shivering
boy-crept up to the fire, and was immediately
repulsed by a savage kick from one of the
elder boys there warming himself. Crying
with the pain, he demanded why he was
kicked. The why really was a simple move-
ment of wanton brutality and love of power,
usual enough among boys ; but the tyrant
chose to say, " Because you 're such a beast ! "

" No, I 'in not," he sobbed.

" Yes, you are, though ! "

" You 've no business to kick me ; I didn't
do anything to you."

" I shall kick you as much as I like ; you 're
so d — d ugly ! "

It had never occurred to him before to be
thrashed for his ugliness ; and although he

192 THE DISADVANTAGES

deeply felt the injustice, yet he, from that day,
imagined that his appearance was a serious
misfortune.

Increasing years, of course, greatly modified
this impression, but the effect was never wholly
effaced. From the constant dinning in his ears
that he was ugly, he had learned to accept it
as a fact, about which there could be no dis-
pute, but which no more troubled him than the
consciousness that he was not six feet high.
He became hardened to the conviction. Sneers
or slights affected him no more. He was ugly,
and knew it. To tell him of it was to tell
him of that to which he had longunade up his
mind, and about which he had no vestige of
vanity.

It is remarkable how conceited plain people
are of their persons. You hear the fact men-
tioned and commented on in society, as if it
were surprising; and you catch yourself
" wondering" at some illustration of it, as if
experience had not furnished you with num-
berless examples of the same kind. But the
explanation seems to me singularly simple.
You have only to take the reverse of the medal,
and observe that beauty is not half so solicitous
of admiration as deformity, and the solution
of the question must present itself. Conceit —

OF UGLINESS. 193

at least that which shows itself to our ridicule,
is an eager solicitation of our admiration.
Now, beauty being that which calls forth spon-
taneous admiration, needs not to be solicitous ;
and the more unequivocal the beauty, the less
coquettish the woman. When, however, a
woman's beauty is so equivocal that some
deny it, while others admit it, the necessity for
confirmation makes her solicitous of every one's
praise ; and she exhibits coquetry and conceit
— due proportion being allowed for the differ-
ences in amount of love of approbation inhe-
rent in different individuals (a condition which
influences the whole of this argument). Carry
this further, and arrive at positive plainness,
and you have this result : the amour propre of
the victim naturally softens the harsh outlines
of the face. He sees himself in a more becom-
ing mirror. However, the fact may have been
forced upon him, that he is ill-looking, he never
knows the extent of his ugliness, and he is aware
that people differ immensely in their estimates
of him ; he has — fatal circumstance ! even\
been admired. Now, admiration is such a
balm to the wounded self-love, that he craves
for more — he is eager to solicit an extension
of it, and hence that desire to attract closer
attention to him manifested by audacity of
VOL. i. o

194 - THE DISADVANTAGES

dress, certain that the closer he is observed,
the more he must be admired. He feels he is
not so ugly as people say ; he knows some do
not think so ; he wants your confirmation of
the discerning few. In a thousand different
ways he solicits some of your admiration.
You see his object, and smile at his conceit.

Now the effect of Julius St. John's education
had been to cut out, root and branch, that
needless desire to be admired for what he
knew was not admirable. He had made up
his mind to his ugliness. The benefit was im-
mense. It saved him from the hundred tortures
of self-love to which he must otherwise have
been exposed — that Tantalus thirst for admira-
tion which cannot be slaked ; and it imparted
a quiet dignity to his manner, which was not
without its charm.

The deplorable circumstance was, that he
had also imbibed a notion of the great impor-
tance of beauty in the eyes of women, which
made, him consider himself incapable of being
loved. As a boy, maid-servants had refused
to be kissed by him, because he was " a fright."
As a young man, he had often been conscious
that girls said they were engaged when he
asked them to dance, because they would not
dance with one so ugly. In the novels which

OF UGLINESS. 195

he read the heroes were invariably handsome,
and great stress was laid upon their beauty;
while the villains and scoundrels were as in-
variably ill-favoured. The conversation of
girls ran principally upon handsome men;
and their ridicule was inexhaustible upon the
unfortunates whom Nature had treated like a
stepmother.

One trait will paint the whole man. They
were one day talking about ugliness at the
Hall, when Rose exclaimed : " After all beauty
is but skin deep."

" True," he replied, " but opinion is no
deeper."

That one word revealed to her the state of
his mind on the subject. And although he
often thought of Swift, Wilkes, Mirabeau,
and other hideous men celebrated for their
successes with women ; he more often thought
of the bright-eyed, hump-backed, gifted, witty,
humble Pope, who so bitterly expiated his
presumption in raising his thoughts to the
lovely Mary Wortley Montague. If genius
could not compensate for want of beauty,
how should he, who had no genius, not even
shining talents, succeed in making a woman
pardon his ugliness ?

That Julius was strangely in error you may

o 2

196 THE DISADVANTAGES

easily suppose ; but this was perhaps the only
crotchet of his honest upright mind. A truer,
manlier creature never breathed. He was
carved from the finest clay of humanity ; and,
although possessing none of those distinguished
talents which separate a few men from their
contemporaries, and throw a lustre over per-
haps weak and unworthy natures, yet of no one
that I have ever known could I more truly
say,—

His life was gentle ; and the elements

So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up

And say to all the world, This was a man !

To know him was to love him ; it was more,
it was to revere him. There was something
ennobling in his intercourse. You felt that all
he did and said sprang from the purest truth.
He was utterly unaffected, and won your con-
fidence by the simple truthfulness of his whole
being. There was perhaps as little of what is
supposed to captivate women in his person and
manner as in any man I ever knew ; but, at
the same time, I never knew a man so cal-
culated to make a wife adore him. In a word
— he could not fiirt, but he could love.

The reader will be at no loss to discover the
reason of certain doubts and hesitations on
his part respecting Rose, with whom he was

OF UGLINESS. 197

greatly charmed, and of whom he was also
greatly afraid. The very vivacity which
allured, alarmed him. She was so bright, so
brilliant, that he was afraid to trust his heart
in her keeping, lest she should be as giddy as
she was gay ; and, above all, lest she should
scorn the mediocrity of such a man as he knew
himself to be. His first impulse was always to
seek her society, to sun himself in her eyes, to
let his soul hold unrestrained communion with
hers; but, when he came to reflect on the
delicious hours he had spent by her side, he
trembled lest they should be only luring him
into an abyss from which there would be no
escape.

Early in life he had suffered bitterly from
such a deception. He fell in love with a
beautiful and lively cousin of his, who, perhaps
from coquetry, perhaps from thoughtlessness,
certainly exhibited such signs of returning his
affection, that he one day ventured to over-
come his timidity, and declared his passion.
She only laughed at him ; and that very even-
ing he heard her answer her mother's remon-
strances on the giddiness of her conduct
towards him by saying, " But, dear mania,
who could have supposed that he was serious ;
the idea of a woman marrying him"

198 THE DISADVANTAGES

" He is an excellent creature," said the
mother.

" Perhaps so, but you must confess he is
very ugly."

Julius heard no more ; it was a girl of six-
teen in all her thoughtlessness who spoke, but
those words were never effaced from his
memory.

The truth is, Rose was as saucy as youth,
beauty, and uncontrollable spirits could make j,
her, and the general impression she made on •
men was, that of being too flirty and giddy
for love.

Julius was fishing that day with no sport
but in the chase of his own fantastic thoughts ;
which every philosophic fisherman must admit
is part of the great pleasure in throwing out
the line. People wonder what amusement
can be found in fishing, and Dr. Johnson's
definition is thought triumphant ; but if they
will allow one of the most unskilful anglers
that ever handled a rod to answer, I would
say, that when you have good sport, it is a
pleasant excitement, and when you catch no-
thing, it is a most dulcet mode of meditating.
You sit in the boat or stand on the bank : the
river runs gently and equably before you ; the

OF UGLINESS. 199

float wanders with it ; and the current of your
thoughts is undisturbed.

No sport did Julius have that day ; not a
single " run ;" but as a compensation he was
joined by Rose herself, who had been to visit
Mrs. Fletcher, the schoolmistress, to encour-
age the children.

" How is it," said Rose, " Mr. Ashley is not
with you ? Does he not indulge in this gentle
sport ? or is he too tender-hearted ? for it is
monstrously cruel you know !"

" jMarmaduke is not calm enough in his
temperament for anything so sedate as fishing ;
and I doubt whether he would think much of
any sporting less exciting than a tiger hunt, or
perhaps a boar hunt. What do you think of
him?"

" I don't think at all of him. In one even-
ing I am not able to form an opinion of any
one ; at least," checking herself, " not often.
He didn't say anything remarkably brilliant,
did he?"

" Brilliant ! No."

"The only part of his conversation I re-
member is what he related of you and your
side of bacon. I liked his manner of tell-
ing that. It was in a tone of real friend-
ship."

200 THE DISADVANTAGES

" Yes, Marmaduke has a regard for me.
But don't you think him superbly hand-
some ? "

" I don't like handsome men."

This was said with perfect unafiectedness ;
but he raised his eyes quickly, and gave her
just such a look as she remembered him to
have given her once before, when they were
talking of Leopardi, and it embarrassed her.
Indeed, said to an ugly man, this had an
equivocal sound : it was either a sarcasm or a
declaration.

" You are singular, then," was his quiet
reply.

" Why singular, in preferring brains to
beauty ? Are we women really, do you think,
the children we are said to be, and only fit to
be amused with dolls ? That is not like your
usual respect for our sex ! "

" Come, come, you do not state the case
fairly. The question is not, whether you or
your sex prefer beauty to brains, but whether
you prefer beauty to ugliness ? It is curious
to notice how this question is always confused
in this way, by mixing up with it an element
that does not properly belong to it. People
say, * Oh, a clever plain man before a hand-
some fool !" and then argue, as if all the plain

OF UGLINESS. 201

men were necessarily clever, and all the hand-
some men imperatively fools."

" Well, I 'm sure, handsome men generally
are — not, perhaps, fools — but certainly not
clever ; they think of nothing but their beauty.
Their beauty — the frights ! "

" I cannot agree with you. Running over
the list of great men you will find the pro-
portion greatly in favour of handsome men ;
which, when you come to reflect how few
handsome men there are compared to the
thousands of ugly men, is the more striking.
The reason I take to be this : these men, from
their very intellectual greatness, must have
had great beauty of expression, so that with
features a little better than ordinary they
would rank among the handsome. It may be
said, indeed, that very fine organizations in-
clude genius and beauty."

"Oh !" she replied, laughing, "if I once
get into an argument with you, you'll make
out anything. But I won't be browbeaten by
logic : ' hang up philosophy ! ' as Benedict
says. I'm as difficult to be reasoned out of my
convictions as if I were a logician myself. I
dont like handsome men, I have said it ; nor
shall you reason me into liking them."

202 THE DISADVANTAGES OF UGLINESS.

" Very well, very well. I certainly have no
cause to wish it."

" Except the love of victory in argument,
eh?"

" The victory must be on my side ; it is
gained already. If two men equal in talent
and goodness, but greatly unequal in appear-
ance, were placed before you, the handsomer
must excite the preference, and that is all our
cause of battle amounts to."

" Oh, men, men ! how you will argue ! "

At this moment they were joined by Mar-
maduke, who was all anxiety about the private
theatricals ; not for themselves, but because he
saw in them an excellent excuse for being con-
stantly at the Hall, and in Violet's society.

With his usual impetuosity Marmaduke had
already settled that Violet should be his wife.
Love at first sight, which may be a fiction with
regard to the colder children of the north, is
no fiction with regard to such passionate
natures as his ; and he was in love with Violet,
without seeking to disguise it. Indeed, he
spoke in such raptures of her to Rose, that
she smiled and looked significantly at Julius,
who returned her glance, and confirmed her
suspicions.

THE GREAT COMMENTATOR. 203

CHAPTER X.

THE GREAT COMMENTATOR.

" Eccovi un de' compositor di libri bene meriti di republics,
postillatori, glosatori, construttori, additatori, scoliatori, tra-
duttori !

. . . O bella etimologia, e di mio proprio Marte or ora
deprompta ! Or dunque quindi prope jam versus movo il
gresso, per che voglio notarla majoribus literis nel mio pro-
priarum elucubrationwrn libra" — GIORDANO BRUNO. Can-
delajo.

DURING this conversation between the lovers,
another pair of undeclared lovers were standing
on the steps of the terrace, "talking of lovely
things that conquer death," and yielding them-
selves up to the luxury of a ttte-a-tete, wherein
glances were more eloquent than tongues, and
hearts fluttered like new-caught birds, at the
most seemingly insignificant phrase.

These were Cecil and Blanche. I call them
undeclared lovers, because not only were they

204 THE GREAT COMMENTATOR.

ignorant of each other's feelings, but ignorant
also of their own. Blanche's love had been of
gradual growth. The lively, handsome, accom-
plished Cecil had early made a deep impression
on her, though her shy, retiring disposition
gave no signs of it ; and his attentions on the
evening before had been so delightful that she
was still under their influence.

That in relinquishing Violet, he should turn
to her complete opposite, Blanche, is nothing
but what one may have anticipated. Her
charms were brought into stronger relief by the
contrast ; and it has always been remarked
that the heart is never so susceptible to a new
impression as when it has been in any way
robbed of an old affection. Partly, no doubt,
because the feelings are best attuned to love
when in that state of unsatisfied excitement ;
for, —

Say that upon the altar of her beauty

You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart,

still, the sacrifice is so sweet, that it is with
difficulty we forego it ; and if the object change,
the feeling still remains. Partly, also, because
the amour propre, outraged by a defeat, is glad
to be flattered by the chance of a new suc-
cess.

THE GREAT COMMENTATOR, 205

There they stood, enchanting and enchanted,
when Meredith Vyner put his head out of the
glass door of the drawing-room which opened
on to the terrace, and said, " Mr. Chamber-
layne, you are not doing anything particular,
are you ? "

" Not at all, sir."

" Then, if you have nothing better to amuse
you, just step with me into my study; I have a
new discovery to communicate, which will, I
think, delight you."

Nothing better to amuse him ! to leave
Blanche for some twaddle about Horace ! was
it not provoking ? But he was forced to go,
there was no escaping, If anything could have
compensated him, it would have been the ex-
pression of impatience on Blanche's face, and
the look with which she seemed to say, " Don't
stay too long."

When they were in the study, Meredith
Vyner placed his snuff-box on the table, and,
resting his left foot on the fender, began strok-
ing his protuberant calf in a very deliberate
manner. This was a certain sign of his being
at that moment struggling with some concep-
tion, which demanded the greatest clearness
and composure, adequately to bring forth. His
mind was tottering under the weight of an

206 THE GREAT COMMENTATOR.

unusual burden. As the left hand slowly
descended the inner part of his leg, from the
knee to the ankle, and as slowly ascended
again the same distance, Cecil saw that he was
arranging in his head something of more con-

o o o

sequence than a verbal criticism. " The dis-
covery I am about to impart," he said at last,
with a slight pomposity, "is not perfectly
elaborated in my mind, since the first gleam
of it only came to me last night. It kept me
sleepless. I have meditated profoundly on it
since, and I am now in a condition to com-
municate it to you."

In spite of the solemnity of this introduc-
tion, Cecil, -whose thoughts were on the ter-
race, found great difficulty in assuming a pro-
per air of attentive interest. Vyner did not
remark it, but continued : —

" The discovery is so simple when once
mentioned — like all truly great discoveries —
that one asks oneself, is it possible that
hitherto it should have been overseen? It
goes, however, to nothing less than the entire
revolution of the Horatian Sapphic. Look
here: you must often, I am sure, have been
disagreeably affected by the absurdity of

Labitur ripa, Jove non probante, u-
xorius amnis.

THE GREAT COMMENTATOR. 207

" This sort of caprice is very funny in Can-
ning's

u-

-niversity of Gottingen ;

but only tolerable in comic verse : in a serious
ode it is detestable, and I cannot believe so
careful and fastidious a poet (who was no
innovator, recollect ! none of your ecole roman-
tique /) guilty of it . . ."

"You propose a new reading?" suggested
Cecil, feeling called upon to make some
remark.

" New reading ! no : that is the paltry trick
of a commentator, who endeavours to escape
a difficulty by denying its existence. No, no;
my edition will have none of these trivialities.
Everything I print shall have a solid substance.
I intend my edition to last. To the point,
however ; the difficulty vanishes at once if we
suppose, as is most natural to believe, that
Horace's Sapphics, were not composed of four
lines but of three — the fourth line being really
nothing but the Adonic termination to the
third — like the tail to an Italian sonnet — or
better still, like the lengthening of the con-
cluding line in the Spenserian stanza : which
has a magnificent swing and sweep in its
amplitude, as if gathering up into its mighty

208 THE GREAT COMMENTATOR.

arms the rich redundancy of poetic inspiration.
Thus instead of

Hise'dum se nimium querenti
Jactat ultorem, vagus et sinistra
Labitur ripa, Jove non probante, u-
Xbrius amnis.

The verses read thus: —

Ilise dum se nimium querenti

Jactat ultorem, vagus et sinistra

Labitur ripa, Jove non probante, uxorius amnis.

And so throughout. Does not the sweep of
this last line carry a fine harmony with it ? Is
it not incomparably superior to the mean,
niggling, clipping versification as we usually
receive it ? There cannot be a question about
it. And if you come to reflect, you will see how
the error has crept in by the copyists being
cramped for room, and writing the Adonic addi-
tion below, as if it were a new line. But it is no
more a new line, than the additional syllables in
Spenser are new lines; 'nevertheless, we often
see printers forced to break a line into two.
Here is an example," taking up a volume,
" which occurs in Tennyson, whom I opened
this morning." And he read aloud : —

" They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
For I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be
Queen o' the May."

" There," throwing the book down, " now

THE GREAT COMMENTATOR. 209

suppose a few centuries hence all our litera-
ture to have perished, except half a dozen
poets, some noodle of a commentator will
imagine that ' Queen o' the May' is a sepa-
rate verse, and will write learned twaddle on
the versification of the English ! "

An ample pinch closed this triumphant pe-
roration ; and Vyner holding his head slightly
downwards to bring his nose in contact with
his finger and thumb, looked up over that
finger and thumb at Cecil, who had for some
minutes ceased to hear what he was saying,
having caught a glimpse of Blanche walking
on the lawn with Captain Heath. Cecil dis-
liked the Captain; and now a vague senti-
ment of jealousy hovered about his mind. No
wonder, then, if he paid little heed to his host,
and his host's observations on an idle point of
philology. Of late he had become horribly
bored by these consultations, and had often
wished Horace and his amateur editor buried
irrecoverably beneath the dust of Herculaneum;
but never was his inattention so ill-timed as
on that occasion !

" What are you looking at?" inquired
Vyner, in a tone which his politeness could not
completely subdue.

VOL. i. p

210 THE GREAT COMMENTATOR.

"Looking at? Nothing," said Cecil em-
barrassed. *' I was reflecting ."

" Oh ! on my discovery ?"
"Yes. It occurs to me that I have met
with it before somewhere."

Cecil said this by way of cutting short the
discussion, perfectly aware that Vyner was too
much of a commentator to care one straw about
an opinion, unless he were the originator.

" Impossible ! Im - poss - ible ! " ejaculated
Vyner, much in the strain that Dominie
Sampson may have ejaculated ' prodigious ! '

" It 's very ingenious," said Cecil, who did
not know a word about it, "very; and true."

" Yes, yes, but you think it is not original ?
Its originality is everything with me."

" Perhaps as some compromise between your
theory and the ordinary one, you might say
that the orius amnis and the Adonic termina-
tion generally is only a termination, not a new
verse."

" Compromise ! " exclaimed the astonished
Vyner, " why that is my theory ! "

Cecil was posed. Convicted of such pal-
pable inattention as to have suggested, as an
improvement the very idea which had just
been explained to him, he could but stutter
out some incoherent phrases of excuse.

THE GREAT COMMENTATOR. 211

Vyner was doubly hurt. The inattention
one offence, but that was nothing to the
careless way in which Cecil had proposed as
an indifferent modification the grand discovery
he, Vyner, had made, which was to immor-
talize him. With an air of quiet dignity,
which Cecil had never seen before, the
offended philologist assuring him he was
not ripe yet for such subjects, which could
scarcely be a matter of surprise at his age* he
bowed him out.

p 2

212 CECIL AGAIN WRITES TO FRANK.

CHAPTER XL

CECIL AGAIN WRITES TO FRANK.

ALTHOUGH you bave not answered my letters,
Frank, I must write to you once more, if only
to gratify that besoin cFepanchement which all
lovers feel. Were I a century or two older,
I might carve iny Blanche's name on every
tree, comme cela se pratiquait autrefois ; but
being a frock-coated-nineteenth-century pro-
saic creature, I am condemned to write on
unsentimental Bath post, that which should
be confided only to the trees.

You will doubtless raise those wondering
eyebrows at the sight of the name Blanche.
It is not an erratum for Violet, I assure you ;
I have given up all thoughts of that high-
spirited, imperial, but imperious creature. I
looked into my heart and found I loved her
not. She is evidently hurt at my inconstancy ;

CECIL AGAIN WRITES TO FRANK. 213\

but, on nearer acquaintance, I found Blanche
so infinitely preferable, that I could not help
making the comparison. Fortunately I had
not gone too far to recede, and the haughty
girl will, I dare say, soon be consoled.

I have not given you a description of
Blanche. Shakspeare has anticipated it in
these lines —

If lusty Love should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it but in Lady Blanche ?

She is very fair, with a skin of dazzling loveli-
ness, long dreamy eyes, always moist with emo-
tion, an exquisite smile, a low soft voice — " an
excellent thing in woman" — and a wondrous
head of hair, which has that bright golden
hue which Italians prize so highly — indeed,
Firenzuola says, " che de capelli il proprio e
vero color e e esser biondi"

' We have all but declared our passion. It
has been declared by our eyes, but as yet I
have had no favourable opportunity of doing
it in form. That she loves me, I am certain ;
still more certain that I love her. She is the
only woman I ever met who would make me
happy, and I feel that she will change me into
a quiet, domestic being. High time too, seeing
that I have squandered my patrimony. How-
ever, what with my four thousand pounds, and

214 CECIL AGAIN WRITES TO FRANK.

the handsome dowry Vyner will assuredly give
his daughter, we shall be able to live modestly
till I can get diplomatic employment. Once
his son-in-law, Vyner will be forced to exert
his interest in my behalf.

By the way, it is fortunate I have already
captured Blanche's affections, for I have cer-
tainly lost all Vyner's favour, at least for the
present. He was giving me a tedious account
of some twaddling notion he had excogitated
about Horace's versification, to which I paid
all the less attention, as my eyes were then
following Blanche, who was engaged in a
deep conversation with Captain Heath. Un-
fortunately I betrayed my inattention, and he
has not forgotten it. He is now distant and
almost cold in his manner, and never men-
tions Horace. I must regain his confidence
by some splendid emendation. If not, I must
trust to Blanche to purchase my forgiveness.

The house is lightened of Mrs. Broughton
and her niece, and young Lufton. I regret
the last named; he has been useful to me,
in losing seventy pounds to me after winning-
two ponies at billiards.

Yours ever,

CECIL.

CKCIL PUT TO THE TEST. 215

CHAPTER XII.

CECIL PUT TO THE TEST.

" You think me unjust to Mr. Chamber-
layne," said Captain Heath one morning to
Blanche, as they sat together in the drawing-
room discussing the character of her lover,
" because you are so young and know so little
of the world, that you trust appearances, and
cannot pierce beneath them."

" But I cannot be mistaken in supposing
him very good hearted, and wonderfully
clever."

" He is good tempered, not good hearted ;
cleverish, but not clever. It is natural that
you should mistake the characteristics of good
temper for those of a good heart — most people
do so."

" And is not a good temper a sign of a good
heart ? "

216 CECIL PUT TO THE TEST.

" No, my dear Blanche, not in the least ; it
is very often only the sign of a weak and
indolent organization — sometimes of mere cold
selfishness. You look indignant. I do not
say it is a sign in him of selfishness, I only say
it is no sign of goodness."

" But what makes you so illiberal towards
him?"

" Illiberal ! I am merely and strictly just.
I do not like him, because he is weak and
insincere."

" Insincere ! "

" Yes ; he toadies your father by pretending
to care about Horace and your father's com-
mentary, which he laughs at behind his back."

" It is your dislike," said Blanche, rising
and colouring, " which distorts your usual can-
did judgment. You do not like him, and you
misinterpret everything. I won't have him
abused. I like him very much — very much,
and I can't sit and hear you talk so of him."
She left the room.

Captain Heath did not stir. He had never
seen such an exhibition of temper on the part
of Blanche before. She was greatly moved, it
was evident. And there could be but one
cause for her agitation — that cause made the
captain thoughtful.

CECIL PUT TO THE TEST. 217

The truth is, he loved Blanche, and now
seemed for the first time to see that she loved
Cecil. He had vaguely suspected it before.
This was a confirmation. His lip quivered as
he said, " She is perhaps right. My dislike
may be groundless. I will try him."

Cecil shortly afterwards sauntered in.

" Are you for a game at billiards," said the
captain.

Cecil stared at such an invitation from one
whom he had never seen in the billiard-room
since his arrival, but accepted, with some
curiosity as to how the " solemn prig" would
play.

The dislike was mutual ; and mutually did
they libel each other.

" By George ! you play a first-rate game,"
said Cecil, amazed at the skill of his anta-
gonist, whom he expected to find an indifferent
hand.

" Yes, I play well," quietly answered the
captain. " I used to play a great deal when
with my regiment. But you are stronger at it
than I am."

Cecil thought so, but would not acknow-
ledge it. Nevertheless, the captain won three
games in succession, which considerably irri-
tated his antagonist, who began to swear at the

218 CECIL PUT TO THE TEST.

V

chalk, to abuse the table, to change his cues
requently, and to throw the blame of his
non-success upon anything and everything
except his want of skill.

The captain, who, was critically observing
him throughout the game to see if his opinion
was well or ill founded, smiled scornfully at all
these ebullitions. He had judged rightly in
assuming that the best moment for observing
a man's real character is during a game of
chance and skill combined. Then it is that a
man unbends, and shows himself as he really
is. The self-love is implicated; and, as both
vanity and money are at stake, you see a mind
acting under the impulsion of two of its most
powerful stimulants. Cecil, who was both
vain and weak, was betrayed into a hundred
little expressions of his character ; and, as he
was also somewhat less than delicate — without
being at all dishonourable — in money matters,
he led the captain to think ill of him on that
score.

Having made up his mind as to Cecil's real
worth, he determined to put him to the trial
on a matter in which he was himself directly
interested.

" Have you ever played with Violet ? " he
asked. " She is a wonderful hand. But then

CECIL PUT TO THE TEST. 219

she does everything well. (I doubt whether
I can make this cannon — yes, there it is.)
What a splendid creature she is ! Isn't
she?"

" Splendid, indeed ! They are all three
lovely girls, though in such different styles."

" (How stands the game ? Seven, love :
good.) What a sad thing it is, though, to
think such girls should be absolutely without
fortune. (Good stroke!)"

Cecil was chalking his cue when this bomb
fell at his feet ; he suspended that operation,
and said, —

" What do you mean by their having no for-
tune?"

" Why, the estate is entailed, and Vyner,
who is already greatly in debt, will neither have
saved any money to leave them when he dies,
nor be able to give them anything but their
trousseaux when they marry."

"The devil!"

" (That 's a teasing stroke : one of the worst
losing hazards. You must take care.)"

This last remark, though applied to the
game, was too applicable to Cecil's own condi-
tion for him not to wince. The captain's eye
was upon him.

"What a d — d shame!" exclaimed Cecil,

220 CECIL PUT TO THE TEST.

for a man with an entailed estate to make no
provision for his children. It 's positively mon-
strous ! "

"Horrible, indeed!"

"Why, what is to become of them at his
death?"

" They will be penniless," gravely replied
the captain, as he sent the red ball whizzing
into the pocket.

" I wonder he is not ashamed to look them
in the face," said Cecil, duly impressed with
the enormity.

" He trusts, I suppose, to their marrying rich
men," carelessly added the captain. " (Game !
I win everything !)"

Cecil declined to play any longer. He
went up into his own room, and locked him-
self in, there to review his situation, the aspect
of which the recent intelligence had wonder-
fully altered.

Captain Heath shrugged his shoulders,
quietly lighted a cigar, and strolled out, well
satisfied with the result of his experiment.

Then he met Blanche, who came up to
him, holding out her hand, and asking forgive-
ness.

" I was very naughty," she said, " but you
have spoiled me so, that you must not be

CECIL PUT TO THE TEST. 221

astonished if I do not behave myself to you as
to my best friend. But the truth is, I was angry
with you, rand now I am angry with myself.
Am I forgiven?"

He only pressed her hand, and looked the
answer. She put her arm within his, and
walked with him to the river, where they got
into the boat, and he rowed her gently down.
She prattled to him in her prettiest style all
the way, for she was quite happy at having
" made it up with her darling Captain Heath."

It should be observed that, although he was
no more than five and thirty, yet, to the girls,
he was always an elderly man, they having
known him from childhood. They were ex-
tremely fond of him, as he was of them ; but
they laughed outright at one of their com-
panions, asking Eose if there was anything
like flirtation between them.

" Flirtation ! " exclaimed Rose. " Why, he
is bald!"

The hair, indeed, was somewhat worn away
above the forehead ; but this was from the
friction of his hussar cap, not from age.

" No, no, my dear," continued Eose, " I
make no havoc with the highly-respectable-
but- eminently -unfitted -for -flirtation race of
papas and grandpapas. My Cupid is in no need

222 CECIL PUT TO THE TEST.

of a toupet; and if I am to be shot, it shall not
be with a gouty arrow. Captain Heath is
handsome — or has been — and though his nious-
tachios are as dark and silky as a guardsman's
need be, yet he has one leetle defect — his age
makes him respectable J "

In consequence of this notion, they neither
thought of falling in love with him themselves,
nor of the probability of his falling in love
with them. They were, therefore, as unre-
strained with him as with a brother or an
uncle. Blanche was his especial favourite
and constant companion. He knew well that
she regarded him as too old to be loved, but
trusted that her eyes would be opened to the
fact, that there was really no great disparity
between them.

" I have been playing billiards with Mr.
Chamberlayne this morning," said the captain,
as he rested on his oars, and allowed the stream
to float them quietly down.

"You have? Then I hope your opinion is
changed."

" So far from it, I prophesy that his atten-
tions to you — which have been marked of late
— will visibly decrease, until they relapse into
mere insignificance. And all because I casu-
ally remarked that your father's estate, being

CECIL PUT TO THE TEST. 223

entailed, and he being in debt, you and your
sisters were portionless."

" And you suppose him capable of — oh !
this is too bad. It is ungenerous."

" My dear Blanche, I may be wrong, but
I fear I am not; let me not, however, be con-
demned, till the event condemns ine. Watch
him!"

" You shall own you have calumniated him ;
the event shall prove it," she said with great
warmth.

A dark shade passed across his brow, and he
rowed rapidly on. Not another word passed
between them.

224 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

CHAPTER XIII.

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

CECIL'S reflections had not been cheering.
Although he felt himself too much in love
with Blanche to give her up because she was
portionless, he was, at the same time, too well
aware of his own slender resources to think
of marrying upon them. Bred to luxurious
habits, he was not one by whom poverty could
be lightly treated.

The more he reflected, the more urgent it
appeared to him that he should conquer his
passion, and save himself from perdition.
Could Captain Heath have read what was
passing in his rival's mind, he would have
smiled grimly at this verification of his sus-
picions, and rejoiced in the success of an

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 225

experiment which removed that rival from his
path.

As Cecil descended into the drawing-room
that day before dinner, he was struck pain-
fully by the sight of Violet on the sofa in
exactly the same attitude — caressing Shot —
as she had appeared to him on that afternoon
when he had relinquished all idea of her. The
coincidence affected him.

" There is a fate against my marrying into
this family," he said to himself : " first one,
and then the other."

Blanche was standing at the window, look-
ing out. She turned her head towards him
as he entered, and felt a little mortified to see
him throw himself into a chair bv the side of

v

Rose, with whom he began a lively chat.

Captain Heath, who had watched this man-
oeuvre, now looked at Blanche ; but she, con-
scious of his gaze, avoided it, and again
resumed her contemplation of the undulating
lawn and woody distance.

Dinner was announced. Meredith Vyner,
as usual, took Mrs. Langley Turner; Sir
Harry Johnstone, Mrs. Vyner; and Tom Win-
cot, Violet. Cecil, to Rose's surprise, offered

VOL. i. Q

i

226 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

her his arm, which was natural enough, in-
asmuch as he had been talking to her up
to that time ; but still, as for many days he
had invariably managed to take Blanche, she
could not help remarking the circumstance.

Captain Heath walked up to Blanche, who
remained at the window ; her heart throbbing
violently, her mind distracted with contradic-
tory thoughts.

" Blanche," he said, tenderly, " we are the
last."

" I shall not dine to-day," she said, angrily,
hurt at the pity of his tone.

" My dear Blanche, do not betray yourself;
do not give him reason to suppose his neglect
can affect you."

She sighed, put her arm within his, and
walked silently with him into the dining-
room.

She sat opposite Cecil, who seemed more
talkative than usual. No one remarked her
silence — she seldom spoke at dinner, except
to her neighbour. No one asked her if she
were ill, though she sent away her plate each
time untouched. Cecil and Captain Heath
observed it ; both with pain.

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 227

Keen were the pangs she suffered at this
fulfilment of the captain's cruel prophecy, and
bitterly did she at that moment hate him for
having undeceived her. That Cecil avoided
her was but too evident. That his neglect
could have but the one motive Captain Heath
had ascribed was never doubted; but she
threw all the blame on the captain's officious-
ness in speaking about their want of^ fortune,
and in fact, with all the unreasonableness of
suffering, hated him as the proximate cause of
her pain.

Captain Heath applauded his own sagacity
as a reader of character, and rejoiced as a
lover in the success of his calculation. But
he rejoiced too soon. Like most men he had
erred in his calculation, because he dealt with
human nature as if it were simple, instead
of being, as it really is, strangely complex ; and
as if one motive was not counteracted by
another. This is the grand source of the
errors committed by cunning people : they are
said to be "too cunning" when they overreach
themselves by what seems an artful and logi-
cally-reasoned calculation ; but the truth is,
they have not been cunning enough. They

228 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

have planned their plans as if the uiind of
man were to be treated like a mathematical
problem, not as a bundle of motives, of
prejudices, and of passions. The plan may
look admirable on paper ; but then it is con-
structed on the assumption that the victim
must needs be impelled by certain motives ;
whereas, when it comes into execution, we find
that some other motives are brought into play,
the existence of which was not allowed for in
the calculation ; and these entirely subvert the
plan.

Captain Heath's plan erred in precisely this
way. Judging Cecil's character in the main
aright, he justly argued that such a man
M-ould shun poverty as a pestilence, because
he was weak, and money is power ; and that
he would shrink from affronting the world
with no other aid than his own right hand.
He therefore concluded that an intimation of
Vyner's affairs would be an effectual method
of putting an end to Cecil's attentions.

Now this argument would have no flaw in
it, if we assume that a man is led solely by
prudential considerations : it would be perfect,
were men swayed solely by their reason.

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 229

Cecil's views were precisely such as Captain
Heath had suspected. But then Cecil had
emotions, passions, senses — and these the cap-
tain had left out of the calculation. Yet these,
which are the stronger powers in every breast,
were to overthrow the captain's plan.

Cecil in his own room, surveying his situa-
tion, was a very different man from Cecil in
the presence of his beloved, pained at the
aspect of her pain, and conscience-stricken as
he gazed upon her lovely, sorrowing face. His
heart smote him for his selfishness, and he was
asking himself whether he could give her up—
whether poverty with her were not preferable
to splendour with another, when he thought he
saw something in the captain's look which be-
tokened scornful triumph.

" Can he have deceived me? Does he wish
to get me out of the way ? " he said to himself.
" Egad ! I think so. The game at billiards this
morning — that was mysterious. What could
induce him to propose such a thing to me — he
who never took the slightest notice of me
before ? He had some motive. And then his
story about Vyner's affairs — fudge ! I won't
believe it, until I have it on better authority."

230 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

The ladies rose from the table.
" I sha'n't sit long over the wine," Cecil
whispered to Blanche, as she passed him.

A sudden gleam irradiated her sweet face,
as she raised it towards him with a smile of
exquisite joy and gratitude. That one word
had rolled the heavy stone which was lying on
her heart, and gave the lie to all the " base
insinuations of that odious Captain Heath."

'Twas thus she spoke of one she really
loved, and who loved her more than anything
on earth !

The men drew their chairs closer together,
and commenced that onslaught on the dessert
which is characteristic of such moments.

" Have you never remarked," said Cecil,
"that men refuse to touch fruit until the wo-
men retire, and then attack it as if their appe-
tites had been sharpened by restraint ?"

" It is, I pwesume, upon the pwinciple of
compensation," said Tom Wincot. " De-
pwived of the fwuit of humanity, the gwapes,
apwicots, and nectawines of life, we are tli\vo\vn
upon the fwuit of nature ! I say, Cecil, isn't
that vewy poetically expwessed?"

"Very. But I don't think much of the

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 231

compensation myself. I should like the wo-
men to remain with us as they do abroad."

" That," said Meredith Vyner, " would spoil
dinners. The pleasantest part is the conver-
sation after the ladies have retired."

" Besides," objected Tom Wincot, " how-
ever pleasant the society of women, one can't
be always with them. Toujours perdwix I "

" Toujours de Zaperdrix," interposed Vyner,
glad of an opportunity of setting any one right.
" If you must quote French, quote it at least
correctly."

" Isn't loujours perdwix cowect, Mr. Mewe-
dith Vyner. I never heard it expwessed other-
wise."

" No, sir, it is grossly incorrect. The phrase
is attributed to Louis XV. who excused his
conjugal inconstancy by saying, that although
partridges might be a dainty dish, ' Mangez
toujours de la perdrix, et vous en serez bien vite
rassasiel was his witty but immoral remark.
The claret is with you, Mr. Wincot."

" By the way," said Cecil, who was anxious
to regain Vyner's goodwill, by flattering his
vanity, " I have a theory which I must call
upon your stores of learning, Mr. Vyner, to

232 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

assist me in developing." Vyner bowed, and
with his forefinger and thumb prepared a
pinch of snuff, while Cecil continued — " It was
suggested to me by Talleyrand's witticism that
language was given to man to conceal his
thoughts."

" Talleyrand," said Vyner gravely, " is not
the author of that joke ; though it is commonly
attributed to him. The author is a man now*
living in Paris, M. Harel, some of whose Ion
mots are the best I ever heard. I remember
his describing to me M. Buloz, the proprietor
of The Revue des Deux Mondes and The
Revue de Paris, as a man who was " 1'ame
de deux revues, avec T attention habile de n'en
etre jamais Pesprit."

" Inattention habile" exclaimed Cecil, laugh-
ing loudly, " is exquisite. To my theory,
however."

" No, no ; none of your theowies," said
Wincot, " they are always pwepostewously
exaggewated."

" You shall judge," replied Cecil, " in saying
language was given to us to conceal our
thoughts, M. Harel explained the construction

» 1840. He died in 1846.

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 233

of a great many words in all tongues. Thus
demonstration is evidently derived from demon.,
the father of lies."

" That is vewy faw fetched. Pass the cla-
wet."

" Then, again, Mr. Vyner will tell you," pur-
sued Cecil, " that the Greek verb to govern is
dva<r<ra>, which is derived from avacro-a, a queen,
not from ava£, a king. Now, you will admit,
that to deduce the governing principle from
the weaker sex is only a bit of irony. The
mildest possible symbol is used for the severest
possible office, viz., government. The soft
delicious sway of woman who leads humanity
by the nose is not to be disputed. Bearded
warriors, steel-clad priests, ambitious nobles, a
ragged, mighty, and mysterious plebs, these no
single arm could possibly subdue. And yet a
king is necessary. Here the grand problem
presents itself: how to force the governed to
accept a governor ? "

" Oh! pass the clawet ! "

" The king," said Vyner, shutting his box,
" is the strongest. Konig, Kb'nning, or can-
ning : he is the one who can rule."

" But," replied Cecil, " I maintain he can't

234 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

rule : no man was ever strong enough to rule
men. The true solution of the problem is,
that the first king was a woman}'

" This is fuwiously widiculous !"

" Laugh ! laugh ! I am prepared to main-
tain that woman is weak, and omnipotent be-
cause of her weakness. She is girt with the
proof armour of defencelessness. A man you
knock down, but who dares raise a hand
against a woman ?"

" Very true," suggested Vyner, " very true.
What says Anacreon, whom Plato calls ' the
wise?' Nature, he says, gave horns to bulls,
and a ' chasm of teeth to lions ; ' but when she
came to furnish woman with weapons,

TI ovv SiSuffi"; (eaXXog.

Beauty, beauty was the tremendous arm which
was to surpass all others."

" And formidably she uses it," continued
Cecil. " To man's violence she opposes her
* defencelessness ' — and nails ; to his strength
she opposes her ' weakness ' — and tongue."

" In support of your theory," said Vyner,
" the French call a queen a reine; and we say
the king reigns."

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 235

He chuckled prodigiously at this pun, which
Cecil pronounced admirable.

" My theory of kingship is this," said Cecil.
" The first king, as I said, was a woman. She
ruled unruly men. She took to herself some
male subject, helplessly strong ; some ' brute
of a man,' docile as a lamb ; him she made
her husband. Her people she ruled with
smiles and promises, touchingly alluding, on
all befitting occasions, to her helpless state.
Her husband she ruled with scratches "

" And hysterics" feelingly suggested Vyner.

" Well, a son was born — many sons if you
like ; but one was her especial darling. Grow-
ing old and infirm, she declared her son should
wield the sceptre of the state in her name.
Councillors demurred ; she cajoled ; they con-
sented. Her son became regent. At her
death he continued to govern — not in his
name, but in hers. The king was symbol of
the woman, and reigned vicariously. When
we say the king reigns, we mean the king
queens it."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Vyner, chuckling in
anticipation of the joke; "and this is the

236 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

explanation of Thiers's celebrated aphorism,
* le roi REGNE et ne gouverne pas' "

" This explains also the Salic law ; a curious
example of the tendency of language to con-
ceal the thoughts. A decree is enacted that
no woman shall reign. That is to say, men
preferred the symbol (man) to the reality
(woman). They dreaded the divine right of
mistresses — the autocratic absolutism of petti-
coats."

" And pray, Mr. Chamberlayne," asked
Vyner, " how do you explain the derivation
of the French verb tuer, to kill, from the Latin
tueor, to preserve ?"

" Nothing easier upon my theory of the
irony of language. What is death but preser-
vation ? "

" Bwavo ! pwoceed. Pwove that."

" Is it not preservation from sickness and
from sorrow, from debts, diseases, dull par-
ties, and bores ? Death preserves us, by
rescuing our frames from mortality, and waft-
ing our souls into the bosom of immortal life.
Then look at the irony of our use of the word
preserves, i. e., places where game is kept for
indiscriminate slaughter ; or else, pots of luxu-

HOW A LOVER VACILLATES. 237

rious sweets, destined to bring children to an
untimely end."

" Why," said Vyner, " do we call a syco-
phant a toady ?"

" I really don't know."

" Because his sycophancy has its source in
ro 5eos, fear" replied Vyner, delighted at the
joke.

" Good ! " said Cecil, laughing. " I accept
the derivation : the irony is perfect, as a toad
is the very last creature to accuse of syco-
phancy; he spits upon the world in an un-
biassed and exasperating impartiality : hence
the name. One of the things which has most
struck me," he continued, " is the occasional
urbanity of language — instance the word ques-
tion for torture."

" Like Astyages in Herodotus," said Vyner,
" politely counselling the herdsman not to de-
sire to proceed to necessities, es ras avaynas,
which the man perfectly understands to mean
torture. Consider, also, the changes which
take place in words. ' Virtue' originally meant
manliness. The Greek word d^err) is ob-
viously derived from Ares (Mars), and meant
martialness ; it has now degenerated into

238 HOW A LOVER VACILLATES.

virtu, a taste for cameos and pictures ; and
into virtue, woman's fairest quality, but the
farthest removed from martial excellence."

" This is all vewy ingenious, pewhaps," said
Tom Wincot ; " but let us go to the ladies,
and hear their theowies."

They rose from table. Vyner in evidently
better disposition towards Cecil than he had
been since the last Horatian discussion ; Max-
well dull and stupid as ever ; Captain Heath
silent and reflective.

JEALOUSY. 239

CHAPTER XIV.

JEALOUSY.

O, my lord, beware of jealousy.

It is a green-eyed monster that doth mock

The food it eats on.

Othello.

A BRIGHT smile from Blanche welcomed
Cecil, as he passed from the dining-room to
the drawing-room, and walked up to the piano
at which she was sitting. He thought he had
never seen her look so lovely ; perhaps the
remembrance of his having contemplated
giving her up made him more sensible of her
charms.

He took up her portfolio of loose music,
and began turning over the sheets, as if seek-
ing some particular song. She came to help
him, and as she bent over the portfolio he
whispered gently, —

240 JEALOUSY.

" Can you contrive to slip away unobserved,
and meet me in the shrubbery? I have
something of the deepest importance to com-
municatej'

She trembled, but it was with delight, as
she whispered, " Yes."

" Plead fatigue, and retire after tea."

He then moved away, and approaching
Violet asked her if she remembered the name
of a certain Neapolitan canzonette, which her
sister Blanche had sung the other night ; and
on receiving a negative sat down by her side,
and entered into conversation with her.

All the rest of the evening he sat by Violet,
only occasionally addressing indifferent ques-
tions to Blanche. Captain Heath seeing this,
and noticing a strange agitation in Blanche's
manner, which she in vain endeavoured to
disguise, interpreted it according to his wishes,
and sat down to a rubber at whist with great
internal satisfaction.

" I have been thinking, Mr. Chamber-
layne," said Meredith Vyner, shuffling the
cards, " that even differences of pronunciation
may assist your theory. Thus we English —
a modest race — express our doubt by scepticism,

JEALOUSY. 241

deriving it from ove6//ts, deliberation. But the
Scotch — a hard dogmatic race — pronounce it
skeepticism, hereby deriving it from ovcr^is,
intimating that a man leans upon his own
opinion, and that his dissent from others is
not a deliberation, but a walking-stick, where-
with he trudges onwards to the truth."

" Mr. Chamberlayne," said Mrs. Meredith
Vyner, " are we not to have some music from
you this evening? Come, one of your charm-
ing Spanish. songs."

" By the way," said Vyner, while Cecil
tuned his guitar, " talking of Spanish songs
reminds me of a passage I met in a Spanish
play this morning, in which the author says,

Sin zelos amor
Es estar sin alma el cuerpo.

What say you to that, ladies ? It means that
love without jealousy is a body without soul.
Immane quantum discrepat!"

" Love has nothing whatever to do with
jealousy," said Violet; " and so far from
jealousy being the soul of love, I should say it
was only the contemptible part of our nature
that feels jealousy, and only the highest part
of our nature that feels love."

VOL. I. R

242 JEALOUSY.

" No one will agree with you, my dear
Violet," said Mrs. Langley Turner. " Sir
Harry, it is your deal."

" Perhaps not," said Violet.

" I should vewy much like to hear Miss
Violet's pwoof of her wemark. I have always
wead that jealousy is insepewable fwom love ;
though, I confess, I never expewienced jea-
lousy myself."

" Nor love either — eh ?" said Rose.

" That is sewere, Miss Wose ! Do you
pwetend that I never felt that sensation which
evewy man has felt ?"

" If you mean love," replied Rose, " I say,
that if you have felt it, I imagine it has only
been just the beginning"

"Twue, twue!"

" And like the charity of other people, your
love has begun at home ! "

" Miss Wose, Miss Wose ! " said Tom Win-
cot, shaking his finger at the laughing girl.

" So that, if you have ever been jealous," she
continued, "you must have an exaggerated
susceptibility."

" And why an exaggewated susceptibility ?"

" Because jealous of a person no other earthly

JEALOUSY. 243

being would think of disputing with you — your
own!"

This sally produced a hearty laugh, and Tom
Wincot, turning to Violet, said, —

" I 'in afwaid of your sister Wose's wepaw-
tees, so shall not pwolong the discussion ; but
pway explain your pwevious weflection on
jealousy."

" I mean," said Violet, " that jealousy has
its source in egotism ; love, on the contrary,
has its source in sympathy : hence it is that
the manifestations of the one are always con-
temptible, of the other always noble and beau-
tiful."

" And I," said Maxwell, his dark face light-
ing up with a savage expression, " think that
jealousy is the most natural instinctive feel-
ing we possess. The man or woman who
is not jealous, does not know what it is to
love."

" That is a mere assertion, Mr. Maxwell : can
you prove it?"

" Prove it ! easily. What is jealousy but a
fear of losing what we hold most dearly ? Look
at a dog over a bone ; if you approach him he
will growl, though you may have no intention

H 2

244 JEALOUSY.

of taking away his bone : your presence is
enough to excite his fear and anger. If you
attempt to snatch it, though in play, then he will
bite."

" You are speaking of dogs" said Violet,
haughtily, " I spoke of men."

" The feeling is the same in both," retorted
Maxwell.

" Yes, when men resemble dogs. — I spoke
of men who possessed the higher qualities."

" Curiously enough," observed Vyner, " the
Spaniards, whose jealousy is proverbial, and
whose great poet, Calderon, has expressed him-
self in the almost diabolical manner just men-
tioned, these Spaniards have no word which
properly means jealousy. Zelos is only the
plural of zelo — zeal."

" I do not think, papa, you are quite correct,"
said Violet, " when you say the Spaniards are
more jealous than other nations."

" They have the character, my dear."

"I am quite aware of it. But what one
nation says of another is seldom accurate. If I
understand jealousy, it is the sort of passion
which would be felt quite as readily by north-
erns as by southerns, though it would not be

JEALOUSY. 245

expressed in so vehement a manner ; but because
one man uses a knife, when another man uses
a court of law, that does not make a difference
in the sentiments."

" I agree with Violet," said Captain Heath,
" it seems to me that jealousy is a mean and
debasing passion, whatever may be the cause
which excites it. To suspect the woman whom
you love and who loves you, is so degrading
_both to her and to you, that a man who sus-
pects, without overwhelming evidence, must be
strangely deficient in nobility of soul; and sup- •
pose the evidence complete — suppose that she
loves another, even then a noble soul arms itself
with fortitude, and instead of wailing like a
querulous child, accepts with courage the fate
which no peevishness can avert. The love that
is gone cannot be recalled by jealousy. A man
should say with Othello, —

I '11 see before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ;
And on the doubt there is no more but this —
Away at once with love and jealousy."

He looked for Blanche as he concluded this
speech, but she had already retired to her
room.

Cecil sang, but soon left off; and pleading

246 JEALOUSY.

" heartburn," caught at the advice of Tom
Wincot, who assured him that a stwong cigar
was the best wemedy for it, and strolled out
into the grounds to smoke.

THE LOVERS MEET. 247

CHAPTER XV.

THE LOVERS MEET.

And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise,
I love you : start not, speak not, answer not.

I love you

HEYWOOD. — A Woman killed with Kindness.

IT was a lovely night. The full harvest moon
shed a soft brilliance over the far-stretching
meadow-lands ; the sky was dotted with small
patches of light fleecy cloud, and a few dim
stars. All was hushed in that repose which
lends a solemn grandeur to a night-scene, when
the sky, the stars, the silence — things sugges-
tive of infinity — become the objects of contem-
plation.

Cecil was not one to remain indifferent to
such a scene : his painter's eye and poet's heart
were equally open to its mild splendour. The

248 THE LOVERS MEET.

tall trees standing dark against the sky, and
the dim outline of the woody heights around,
no more escaped his notice, than the pic-
turesquely grouped cattle, one of which, a dun
cow, with large white face and chest, stood
motionless amidst her recumbent companions.

Although he could not resist the first burst
of admiration, Cecil was in no mood to luxu-
riate in the poetry of such a scene, as he would
have done at any other time ; but, striking
into the thick and shadowy shrubbery, deli-
cately chequered with interspaces of moon-
light, he began to consider the object of this
nocturnal ramble.

It would be difficult to explain the motive
which impelled him to make this assignation.
It was one of the sudden inspirations of pas-
sion, which defeat whole months of calculated
prudence. Nothing could have been more
opposed to his calculations than anything like
an express declaration, until he had ascer-
tained the truth of what Captain Heath had
asserted. And although he rose from the table
with the resolution to be on his guard, and
to watch closely the state of affairs, his first
act, as we have seen, was one of consummate

THE LOVERS MEET. 249

imprudence — one which inextricably entangled
him in the very net from which he was anxious
to keep away. Now, upon Captain Heath's
view of his character, this was little less than
madness — in short, it was unintelligible. But
it is intelligible enough upon a more compre-
hensive view of human character; as every
one will acknowledge who has ever stood
beside the girl he loves, in a room full of
people — the very restraint of the place sharpens
desire, and makes the timid bold. Hence
one reason why so many more declarations
jare made in ball-rooms, and at parties, than
in tete-a-tetes.

Certain it is that Cecil, standing beside
Blanche looking over the same portfolio, their
hands occasionally touching, their eyes occa-
sionally meeting, was in no condition to listen
to the dictates of reason. A tumult of desire
beat at his heart. He was standing within
that atmosphere (if I may use the word) which
surrounds the beloved, and which, as by a
magnetic power, inconceivably stirs the volup-
tuousness latent in every soul. He was within
the halo which encircled her, and was dazzled
by its lustre. Irresistibly urged by his passion

250 THE LOVERS MEET.

to call this lovely creature his own, he could
not forego bringing things to a crisis ; and he
made the assignation. Her consent enchanted
him. He was in a fever of impatience for her
to retire. He cursed the lagging time for its
slowness ; and, with a thrill of delight, found
himself in the open air, about to hear from
Blanche's own lips that which her eyes had so
frequently expressed.

In a few minutes, all this impatience and
\delight subsided. He had gained his point.
Blanche had consented to meet him ; and he
/ had contrived to come to the rendezvous with-
out awakening any suspicion. Now, for the
first time, he began to consider seriously the

(object of that meeting. He was calm now ;
and grew calmer the more he pondered.
" What an ass I have been ! " he thought.
" What the devil could induce me to forget
myself so far ? She will come, expecting to
hear me declare myself. But I can't marry
her. I can't offer her beggary as a return for
her love. If Heath should have told the
truth. D — n it, he can't be such an unfeeling
egotist as not to • make some provision for his
children ! No, no ; I '11 not believe that. A

THE LOVERS MEET. 251

few thousands he must in common decency
have set aside, or he would never be able to
look honest men in the face. Besides, Vyner
doesn't appear to be particularly selfish. How-
ever, it may be true ; and if so

" Can I invent something of importance to
communicate instead of my love ? Let me see.
That will look so odd — to make an assignation
for any other purpose than the one ! But she
doesn't come. Can she be hesitating ? I wish
her fears would get the better !

" She won't come. That will release me
from the difficulty. It is the best thing that
x, could happen.

" I see a light in her room. What is she
doing ? Struggling with herself perhaps ; or
perhaps waiting till the coast is clear. D — n
the cigar, out again ! "

Upon what slight foundations sometimes
hang the most important events !

That is rather a profound remark ; not posi-
tively new, perhaps, but singularly true. It
has escaped from my pen, and as a pencil mark
of approbation is sure to be made against it in
every copy in every circulating library, why
should I hesitate to let it go forth ?

252 THE LOVERS MEET.

A fine essay might be written entitled, " The
Philosophy of Life, as collected from the
marked passages in modern novels." And I
offer the essayist, the remark above, as his
opening aphorism.

But I digress.

The situation which suggested the fore-
going aphorism was curious enough to war-
rant my writing it ; for had Blanche appeared
at the rendezvous at this time, or a few minutes
earlier, it is most likely, from the frame of mind
in which her lover then was, that he would
have made some shuffling excuse or other,
and declared anything to her but his love.
But she hesitated. With a coyness natural to
the sex, she shrunk back from that which she
most desired. Nothing would have given her
greater pleasure than to hear Cecil swear he
loved her, and yet she trembled at the idea of
meeting him to hear it said.

She kept him waiting half an hour.

Whoever has been accustomed to analyze
his own feelings, will at once foresee that Cecil,
after coming to the determination that he had
acted' with consummate folly in making the
assignation, now began to get uneasy at the

THE LOVERS MEET. 253

idea of her not keeping- it. Obstacles irritate
desires. If " the course of true love " does
not " run smooth," so much the deeper will it
run. Cecil, willing enough to blame himself
for his rashness, now began to feel piqued at
her indifference. Ten minutes before, the sight
of her coming from the house would have been
painful ; now he was irritated by her absence.
He was several times on the point of sulkily
going back to the drawing-room ; but the
thought " if she should come " arrested him.

She came at last, and his heart leapt as he
beheld her.

" Have I kept you long ?" she asked.
" Every minute away from you is an hour.
But you are with me now," he replied, as he
folded her to his breast and kissed her burn-
ing lips.

Having expressed what was in their hearts
by this long eloquent embrace, he twined his
arm around her waist, clasping her hand in
his, walked slowly with her to the river-side.

While they are thus lovingly employed, I
wish to make one remark on the superiority
of actions to words. Here were two lovers
morally certain of each other's affection, but

254 THE LOVERS MEET.

wanting the confirmation of an oath. They
met for the express purpose of saying, in good
set terms, that which only wanted the ratifi-
cation of words ; and instead of saying any-
thing on the subject they allowed a kiss — and
very eloquent such kisses are — to settle the
matter. What could they have said which
would have so well expressed it?

Although they walked down to the river,
and sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree to
admire the shimmer of moonlight upon the
gently running stream, and the cool, crisp,
delightful sound of the water as it dashed over
the huge stones that formed a weir, and then
fell over in guise of a little waterfall, they
made no allusion to the " important communi-
cation" which had drawn them both out.
They had too much to talk about. They had
to confess when it was their love began, and
to vow that it would never end. They had
the most charming confidences to make re-
specting what had been done and said by each,
and what each had felt thereat; confidences
which, though full of " eloquent music " to
them, may very well be spared here.

Nor did they much admire the river by

THE LOVERS MEET. 255

moonlight, in spite of its brilliant tracks of
light, and dusky patches of shade thrown from
the overhanging trees ; hand clasped in hand,
they looked into each other's eyes, from which
no landscape in the world could have seduced
them.

Oh, what exquisite bliss was crowded into
that brief hour ! How their pulses throbbed,
and their hearts bounded ! How their souls
looked from out their eyes as if to plunge into
an indissoluble union ! A strange fire burnt
in their veins, and made them almost faint
with pleasure too intense for mortal endurance.
He crushed her hand in his with almost savage
fury, and she returned the pressure.

Love ! divine delirium, exquisite pain ! rich
as thou art in rapture, potent as thou art o'er
the witcheries of moments which reveal to
mortal sense some glimpses of immortal bliss,
thou hast no such second moment as that which
succeeds the first avowal of two passionate
natures. Other joys thou hast in store, but no
repetition of this one thrilling ecstacy.

Love has its virginity — its bloom — its first,
but perishable melody, which sounds but once,
and then is heard no more. This melody was

256

THE LOVERS MEET.

now sounding in their hearts, as, seated on that
fallen trunk, they heeded the world no more
than the moonlit stream which glided at their
feet. One hour of intense, suffocating, over-
whelming rapture did they pass together ; an
hour Jiever to be forgottten ; an hour worth a

Tf $

life.

THE DISCOVERY. 257

CHAPTER XVI.

THE DISCOVERY.

How silver sweet sound lovers' tongues by night!
Like softest music to attending ears.

Romeo and Juliet,

LEAVING the lovers to their rapture, let us
glance in at the warm drawing-room, and at
the philosophic whist-table : Captain Heath is
standing with his back to the fire ; Tom Win-
cot having " cut in" in his place ; Violet and
Rose are knitting.

" Blanche, my dear," said Meredith Vyner.

" She has gone to bed, papa," said Rose.

" Oh, very well. Is Mr. Chamberlayne
come in ? No ! Our deal, is it not?"

This little fragment of the conversation sud-
denly made Captain Heath suspicious. He
was before aware that Blanche and Cecil were

VOL. i. s

258 THE DISCOVERY.

absent ; but he had not before coupled their
two exits in his own mind, so as to draw there-
from a conclusion. " Can they have arranged
this?" flashed across his brain. He quietly
left the room, took his hat, and walked out.
Though by no means of a jealous disposition,
he could not help commenting in his own
mind on a hundred insignificant traits of what
appeared to him' Blanche's passion for Cecil,
and the conclusion he drew from them was,
that she not only loved him, but studiously
concealed her love. As he said, with him
" once to be in doubt was once to be resolved ;"
his was none of that petty, querulous jealousy,
irritated at self-inflicted tortures, and yet too
weak to finish them by making doubts cer-
tainties. Like a brave man, as he was, he
paused not an instant in endeavouring to
arrive at certitude in all things. Instead,
therefore, of worrying himself with doubts and
arguments, with hopes that she might not love
Cecil, and fears that she did, he determined to
settle the point, and place it beyond a doubt.

He had not gone far when his quick ears
detected the indistinct murmur of conversation.
He paused for a moment, and leaned against a

THE DISCOVERY. 259

tree. A cold perspiration stood on his brow ;
a feeling of sickness, which he could not sub-
due, arrested him ; the first spasm of despair
clutched his heart, as the murmur fell upon
his ear, and told him that what he had sus-
pected was the truth.

That he might not be mistaken; that he
might not act without thorough conviction, he
approached still closer to the spot from whence
the murmur came, and there he saw the lovers
seated under the dark branches of a gigantic
larch, which served to make Blanche's white
dress more visible.

Little did that happy pair suspect with what
heartbroken interest they were contemplated.
They pressed each other's hand, and repeated
endless variations of that phrase, of all phrases
most dulcet to mortal ear, " I love you ;" and
if they thought at all, thought themselves for-
gotten by the world they so entirely forgot.

In the midst of their dreamy bliss, a low,
half-stifled sob startled them. They sprang
up. She clung tremblingly to him. He looked
eagerly around, piercing through the shadowy
pathways with a glance of terror. He could

s 2

260 THE DISCOVERY.

discover nothing. All was silent. Nothing
stirred.

" Did you not hear a groan?" he whispered.

" It seemed like a sob."

" All is silent. I see no one. Listen !"

They listened for some seconds ; not a sound
was audible.

" It must have been fancy," he said.

" No ; I heard it too plainly."

" Perhaps it was a noise made by one of the
cows yonder."

" At any rate, let us go in. Do you return
by the shrubbery. I will go round by the
garden."

THE SACRIFICE. 261

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SACRIFICE.

I know I love in vain — strive against hope —
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
I still pour out the waters of my love,
And lack not to love still.

SHAKSPKARE.— AITt Well that Ends Wett.

WHEN Cecil re-entered the drawing-room, he
found it exactly as he had left it, except that
Tom Wincot was playing whist in place of
Captain Heath, who stood leaning against the
mantelpiece, with his left hand caressing the
shaggy head of Shot ; that favoured animal
stood with his fore-paws resting on the fen-
der, and his face raised inquiringly, as if to
ascertain the reason of his friend's paleness.
Pale, indeed, was the handsome face of that
brave, sorrowing man ; and the keen sympathy

262 THE SACRIFICE.

of the hound had read in its rigidity and
calmness the signs of suffering, which escaped
the notice of every one else. True it is that
the captain somewhat shielded his face from
observation by, with his left hand, twirling
his moustache, a practice too habitual with him
to call forth any remark.

Cecil was in such a state of excitement, that
the girls remarked it. He joked, laughed
joyously at the most trivial observation, sang
with prodigious fervour, and declared there
was nothing like a moonlight ramble for the
cure of the heartburn.

" It seems to have been the heart-ache"
said Rose, " by the exuberance of your spirits
after the cure."

Cecil looked up, and seeing her saucy smile,
and her eyes swimming in laughter, knew that
she was not serious, so he asked what should
make his heart ache ?

" Ay, ay," said Vyner, " what, indeed ?
quo leatus vulnere? If you have discovered,
let us hear it."

" Yes, yes, tell us his secwet by all means,"
said Wincot, throwing down his last card;
" two by honours, thwee by twicks — game —

THE SACRIFICE. 263

that makes a single, a tweble, and the wub :
six points ! "

" No, no," said Rose, shaking her head, " I
shall not say it now."

" Pray, don't spare me," said Cecil. " I am
quite sure it was something satirical."

" It was ; but I don't choose to say it now."

Captain Heath continued to pat Shot's
head ; but he neither looked up, nor joined in
the conversation. Cecil, who had several
times endeavoured in vain to make him talk,
left him at last to his reflections, whispering to
Rose, —

" He is too grave for our frivolities."

Cecil's excitement continued all the even-
ing. He slept well that night, cradled in
enchanting dreams.

What Blanche felt as she stole up to her
own room, rapidly undressed herself, and crept
into bed, I leave to my young and pretty
readers to conjecture.

The next evening, though they had several
brief snatches of tete-a-tete during the day, our
lovers were again to indulge in a moonlight
ramble, hoping no doubt for a repetition of
the first. Blanche early pleaded fatigue, and

264 THE SACRIFICE.

declared her intention of soon retiring for the
night.

" Don't go to bed, as you did last night,"
said Captain Heath ; " if you are weary, take
a turn with me in the shrubbery : there is a
lovely moon."

Blanche coloured deeply, and kept her eyes
fixed upon her work. Cecil looked at him, as
if to read the hidden meaning of those words.

It was a moment of suspense. The entrance
of tea enabled them to hide their emotions ;
and, by occasioning a change of seats, brought
the captain close to Blanche.

" How imprudent you are ! " he whispered.
" Accept my offer of a walk, and he shall ac-
company us ; when we are out of sight, I will
leave you ; but by all three going out together,
no suspicion will be raised."

Blanche trembled and blushed, but made
no answer. The discovery of her last night's
interview was implied in what he said ; and
with that was implied this other fact, which
then for the first time flashed across her mind :
Captain Heath loved her. It was his sob
which had startled them.

If. amidst her compassion for his unhappy

THE SACRIFICE. 265

love, there was mixed some secret gratification
at having excited that passion, no one will
speak harshly of her ; it would be too much
to expect human nature should be insensible
to the flattery of affection. But flattered as
she was by the discovery, she was also sensible
of the noble delicacy of his conduct in the
matter ; and when she raised her humid eyes
to look her thanks, it was with a severe pang
that she noticed the alteration in his appear-
ance. One night had added ten years to his
age.

" Miss Blanche and I are going to stroll
out and enjoy the harvest moon," said Cap-
tain Heath about half an hour afterwards to
Cecil, " will you join us ?"

Cecil looked amazed, and felt inclined to
throw him out of the window for his proposi-
tion, but Blanche made a sign to him to ac-
cept, and he accepted.

"And I suppose I am not to come?" said
Rose.

" Certainly — if you like," replied the cap-
tain.

" No, you may go without me. Three is
company, and two is none," she said, parodying

266 THE SACRIFICE.

the popular phrase, " and if I came, we should
be two and two."

The captain did not press the matter, but
offering Blanche his arm led her out, fol-
lowed by Cecil, somewhat sulky, and not at
all comprehending the affair.

" There, now I surrender her to your
charge," said the captain, when they were
within hearing of the waterfall, " having
saved your meeting from suspicion. Conti-
nue your walk, I am here as sentinel."

He seated himself upon a gate with all the
quietness of the most ordinary transaction.
Cecil, who was a good deal annoyed at this
interference of a third party, made no reply ;
he was not even grateful for the service ren-
dered.

Blanche, who knew what it must have cost
the captain thus to sacrifice his own feelings,
and think only of her safety, took his hand
in hers, and kissed it silently. A tear fell
on it as he withdrew it.

" Make the most of your time," he said.

In another instant he was alone.

The intense gratification he felt in making
this sacrifice, will be appreciated by those

THE SACRIFICE. 267

who know what it is to forego their own
claims in favour of another — to trample on
their own egotisms, and act as their conscience
approves. The mixture of pain only added
to the intensity of the delight ; as perhaps no
enjoyment is ever perfect, physical or moral,
without the keen sense of pain thrown in as
a zest.

His greatest hope in life was gone, and yet
he sat there not torn by miserable jealousy,
but warmed with the glow of self-sacrifice.
And this is the meaning of virtue being its
own reward : had he acted with only ordinary
meanness, had he done what hundreds and
hundreds would have done in his place, he
would have suffered tortures all the more
horrible, because unavailing. Instead of that,
he looked courageously into the grim counte-
nance of misfortune, saw that he was not
loved, that another had received the heart he
coveted, and having seen that, he determined
to stifle the mighty hunger of his heart, to
give up all futile hope, and to devote himself ,
to her happiness in such ways as he could
forward it.

The lovers, with the selfishness of lovers,

268

had speedily forgotten him and every one else.
But although they sat upon the self-same tree ;
although they clasped each other by the hand,
and looked into each other's eyes, their inter-
view was cold compared with that of the night
before.

One reason might be, that on that night
they talked of love ; on this, they talked of
marriage. Cecil explained, to her the state of
his affairs, and asked her if she could leave
her present luxurious home to share his hum-
bler one.

This question is always asked under those
circumstances ; though the questioner knows
very well that it is pre-eminently superfluous,
and that there is but one possible answer,
conveyed in a look and a kiss. The answer,
however, is agreeable enough to warrant the
question; is it not?

Lovers are singularly insincere with each
other, and play at doubts — and sometimes
very offensive doubts — with an air of earnest-
ness which would imply considerable dupli-
city, were it not one of the instincts of pas-
sion. The truth is, Love loves to hear the
assurance of love ; and to hear this assurance, of

THE .SACRIFICE, 269

which it is already sure, it pretends to have
doubts, merely to have them removed.

Let us forgive Cecil his insincerity in asking
Blanche that question; and let us pass over in
silence all the others which he asked, and to
which he got the same sweet answer. They
remained there a long while ; at least it seemed
so to their sentinel ; to them it seemed too
brief. But they rose at a signal he gave ; and
when they came up with him, he said, gravely,
" Mr. Chamberlayne, I trust yon will take
what I am about to say with the same candour
as I say it. I am anxious to serve you, not
to lecture you. Although, therefore, I know
nothing of the reasons which you may have
for keeping your mutual attachment secret, I
am strongly of opinion that the best and
wisest thing you can do is to make it public
at once. Ask her father's consent, but do not
be discovered in clandestine meetings. If you
desire it, I will break the matter to Mr.
Vyner, and plead your cause to the best of my
ability." ,

This was received in complete silence. Cecil
was alarmed ; Blanche kept her eyes fixed on
him.

270 THE SACRIFICE.

" Reflect upon it," added the captain, as he
led the way to the house.

Some inexplicable foreboding damped Cecil's
spirits at the idea of declaring to her father his
affection for Blanche ; and this foreboding was
realized in the course of the evening by Vyner
casually mentioning, in his hearing, that which
Captain Heath had already informed him of,
respecting the portionless state of the girls.

" So I tell my girls," he added, " they must
keep strict guard over their hearts, to be sure
they give them to no beggar. The more so "
(here he looked at Cecil) " because, if they felt
inclined to make fools of themselves, I certainly
should not allow them to do so."

The thought occurred to Cecil, " Can Heath
have betrayed me? and is that speech levelled
at me?"

He looked at the captain to read the treach-
ery on his brow ; but that calm, honest face
triumphantly withstood the scrutiny ; and Cecil
no longer accused him.

The truth is, Vyner did suspect that Cecil
•was paying too great attention to Blanche,
and had levelled his speech at him, imagining
that the hint would be taken. Since that

THE SACRIFICE. 271

morning when the most splendid discovery on
the Horatian metres ever made, had been so
ill appreciated, Vyner ceased to regard him
with the same pleasure as before ; and in criti-
cizing his actions, observed his attentions to
Blanche.

" You see how fatal your counsel would be,"
whispered Cecil to the captain, as he took his
candle and retired for the night.

272 CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

V '
CHAPTER XVIII.

CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

CECIL reached his own room with savage sul-
lenness. He had asked Blanche if she would
share his poverty, and was delighted with her
answer ; but — strange paradox — he had never
seriously thought of sharing it with her ; and
now his perplexity was how to escape from
his present dilemma. To marry upon his
means was impossible ; impossible also to
think of giving her up. To trust for one
moment to Vyner's liberality, he felt was
futile ; the mere avowal of his attachment
would be sufficient to close the doors against
him for ever.

Angrily he paced up and down his room,
striving in vain to detect some means of ex-

CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS. 273

tricating himself. A fierce and contemptible
struggle between passion and interest agitated
him : sometimes love prevailed, and sometimes
prudence.

In the midst of this self-struggle Captain
Heath came in.

" I have come to speak with you," he said^
" and trust you will regard me as Blanche's
elder brother, anxious to befriend you, but still
more anxious to protect her. Will you treat
with me on those terms ? "

" Certainly. You have already discovered
our secret — how, I know not — and there can
be no impropriety in consulting with you ; I
have perfect confidence in you."

"Your confidence is deserved. Now, tell
me; you have yourself heard from Vyner
what I told you in the billiard-room. I told
it you, because I saw in what direction you
turned your eyes, and wished you to have
a clear comprehension of the family affairs.
Had only your fancy been touched, my warn-
ing would have been in time ; as it was, your
heart was engaged, and my warning came too

VOL. i. T

274 CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

late. I do not repent it, however, the more
so as it served to show me the strength of
your love. Pardon me for having misjudged
you," holding out his hand, " but I imagined
that what I said respecting Blanche's poverty
would at once put a stop to your attentions.
^Xou have shown me how ill I judged you.
Will this confession, while it convinces you
of my sincerity, also purchase my forgive-
ness ? "

Cecil coloured with shame, and pressed the
outstretched hand in silence.

" Now to your affairs. You wish to keep
your attachment a secret. For what purpose ?
How can it avail you ? It must be discovered,
and then you will have lost all the advantages
of openness."

" But what am I to do ? Vyner will never
give his consent. I am too poor."

" If I may ask without indiscretion —
what is your income? What are your pros-
pects?"

" My income is the interest of four thousand
pounds; my prospects are vague enough. I
have some talent. Painting and literature are

CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS. 2T5

open to me ; but I should prefer diplo-
macy."

" You cannot marry on such prospects."

" No, indeed ! But what am I to do ? "

" I have but one suggestion to make. My
brother is chairman to a railway now in course
of formation. The secretaryship is worth
four hundred a year. If you will accept of it,
I think, by exerting myself, I could secure it
for you."

" I am much obliged to you," replied Cecil,
coldly ; " but that is not at all in my
way."

" You refuse ? " said the astonished captain.
" Refuse four hundred a year ? "

" Remember I am a gentleman's son," he
said, haughtily, " and you will appreciate my
refusal."

" Upon my word, I do appreciate it, and
at its real value! Here, I offer you what
certainly I should never have thought of
offering you, had it not been for her sake,
a situation which thousands of gentlemen's
sons would be delighted to accept, a situation
which, with your own small property, will

276 CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

enable you to live in decent comfort, and you
refuse it ? "

" Really, your officious indignation," said
Cecil, getting angry in his turn, " is somewhat
out of place. You meant kindly, I dare say ;
but once for all allow me to observe, that I
neither am, nor ever will be, a quill-driver."

" Not even for her sake ? "

" No ; for no one will I degrade myself in
my own eyes. If I must work, it shall be in
some gentlemanly department. I will either
paint or write for my livelihood, when I am con-
demned to gain it."

" And you pretend to love her ?"

"I do ; but I am sure she would be the first
to dissuade me from such a degradation as you
propose. She has given her heart to a gentle-
man, and not to a clerk."

" Bah! you talk in the language of a cen-
tury ago. The pride which was then, perhaps,
excusable, becomes simply ridiculous now-a-
days."

"And you, captain, are using language
which, if it continues, I shall demand an explan-
ation "

CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS. 277

"You threaten?"

"I have no wish to do so; but the tone
you adopt is such as I can no longer per-
mit."

" Well, I did not come to quarrel with you,
so will abstain from criticism. Only, let me
ask you what you propose to do ? "

" I propose nothing, I am totally at a
loss."

" You positively refuse my offer?"

" Positively."

" You do not think of marrying upon your
present means ? "

" Decidedly not."

" Then you have but one course : to relin-
quish your claim."

" I have thought of that."

As this confession escaped him, a sudden
light shone in the captain's eyes, a sparkle of
unexpected triumph which did not escape his
rival.

It was a double betrayal. Cecil betrayed his
selfishness — the captain his love.

" I have thought of it," he repeated, " but I
cannot make the sacrifice. I love her too much.

278 CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

It may be selfish, but I feel it impossible to give

i i !'

her up."

He watched the captain's countenance with
malicious joy as he spoke this, conscious that
every phrase was an arrow to pierce his rival's
heart.

" But you must decide either to marry her,
or "

"Or," interrupted Cecil, with a sneer,
" relinquish my claim in your favour, eh ?"

Captain Heath shook slightly, and then
fixing his full gaze upon Cecil, said quietly, —

" How little you know the man whom you so
wantonly insult!"

He left the room.

" He loves her," said Cecil to himself,
bewildered at the discovery. " Loves her !
What, then, is the meaning of his conduct?
He acts as sentinel during our interview —
takes upon himself to break the matter to her
father, if I wish it — offers me a situation to
enable me to marry. Oh! it is preposter-
ous ! I should be a fool indeed to believe it !
Loves her ! loves her and assists a rival !
There is some cunning scheme in all this. I

CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS. 279

cannot divine what it is, but I am certain that
it is.

" He loves her. Let me see : first, he
endeavours to frighten me away by explaining
the state of Vyner's affairs. That is intelli-
gible enough : he wanted me to take the alarm
and decamp. Failing in that, he suddenly
changes tactics, and officiously thrusts himself
between us as a patron and protector. The
scoundrel !"

Yes, scoundrel ! for doing that which, in
its simple heroism, so distances all ordinary
actions, that it looks like a meanness. Thus
are men judged. If a man perform some act
of ostentatious grandeur, the town will ring
with loud applause ; but unless the act is r
striking, and the motive clearly intelligible, he
is sure to be maligned. Men only credit in
others the kind of virtue they feel capable of :
them^Jxes ; as Sallust says of the readers of
history, — " ubi de magna virtute et gloria bo-
norum memores quae sibi quisque facilia factu
putat, aequo animo accipit ; supra ea velnti
ficta pro falsis ducit."

Captain Heath's self-sacrifice was one de-

280 CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

manding the greatest moral fortitude, pre-
cisely because it had no adventitious aid from
the anticipation of applause; it required an
immense effort, and could have no eclat. It
was a victory to be gained after a tierce com-
bat, and to be followed by no flourish of trum-
pets. Strength of mind gained the victory ;
and the pleasure derived from all exercise of
strength was the reward.

Although I uphold such actions as heroic,
as springing from true moral greatness, and
worthy of our deepest reverence, yet it must
not be supposed that there is anything marvel-
lous in this self-abnegation. The followers of
De la Rochefoucauld might find out egotism
even here, if they used their cold scalpel
aright. They might say Captain Heath was
convinced that Blanche loved another, and all
his efforts to prevent that would be useless.
Finding himself thus completely, excluded from
all hope of obtaining her, he made up his mind
to the defeat, and instead of allowing himself
to be made miserable by idle regrets and idler
jealousy, he gave himself the delight of assist-
ing her.

CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS. 281

To Cecil, however, who was certainly so in-
capable of such conduct as to be incapable of
believing it, the captain was evidently a
scoundrel, whom he would first outwit and
then challenge.

To outwit him, he determined to carry
Blanche off.

Cecil, vacillating between his passion and his
prudence, between his love for Blanche and
his horror at poverty, suddenly lost all hesita-
tion, the instant he was aware of a rival. The
selfishness which had made him unwilling to
encounter poverty, to rush into the great
battle of life, there to gain a footing for the
sake of Blanche, now made him ready to run
all risks for the sake of triumphing over a
rival. No suggestions assailed him now re-
specting the imprudence of marriage ; no hor-
rors at bringing a family into the world without
the means of properly providing for them ; no
thought of what she would suffer now disturbed
him, as it had before. And why ? because it
then was only a mask under which he hid the
face of his own selfishness from himself. The
one-absorbing thought was how to quickly

282 CECIL IN HIS TRUE COLOURS.

call her his ; how to irrevocably bind her to
him.

" He thinks to dupe me, does he ? He shall
find out his mistake. I will this instant go to
her, and arrange our flight."

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 283

CHAPTER XIX.

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

Words that weep, and tears that speak.

COWLEY.

BLANCHE'S bed-room formed the angle of the
right wing at the back of the Hall. Her win-
dow looked upon the terrace. Between the
right wing and the offices ran an arcade, as a
sort of a connecting link. The top of this
arcade formed an open gallery with heavy
balustrades, and paved with dark iron-grey
tiles. A small side-door opened on to it from
the bed-room ; and frequently, in summer, did
Blanche sit out in this gallery to enjoy the cool
night-air, or, leaning against the balustrade,
gazed at the heavy curtain of clouds, —

" While the rare stars rush'd thro' them dim and fast."

284 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

At the end of the interior of the arcade was a
niche, in which were generally kept some of
the girl's gardening tools, and a slight ladder
which they used.

Blanche was still dressed, as the light in her
bed-room told Cecil, who had stolen out in
pursuance of the resolution recorded in the last
chapter. She was seated on the side of her
bed in an attitude of delicious reverie, her head
slightly drooping, her hands carelessly fallen
on her lap, when the sound of a pebble strik-
ing against the window-pane startled her.
Again that sound — and again ! She rose and
went to the window. The sky was overcast,
and the night was dark, but after a few
seconds she recognised Cecil, and opened the
window.

" Are you dressed, dearest ? "

" Yes."

" Then come out into the gallery. I want
to speak to you. I can get up by the ladder."

" Very well, but be careful."

She closed the window, and stepped out.
He placed the top of the ladder against the
pediment of the arcade and quickly ascended.

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 285

They rushed into each other's arms of course.
Lovers always do that directly they are to-
gether, no matter what important business
brings them there.

" Blanche, my beloved, are you willing to
share my fate, whatever that may be?"

" Have you run all this risk to ask me
that ? " she said, reproachfully.

" No ; but I must ask it you — and in saddest
seriousness — before I speak further."

Her lips sought his, and pressed them
ardently.

" Our secret is discovered — your father even
suspects it — we must fly — will you be mine?
— Hush ! what is that ? — hush ! — I heard a
door shut. — Hark! yes, a footstep — do you
not hear it? — a hurried step. — It comes this
way — good God! what shall we do?"

Blanche trembled with fright as the heavy
sounds of an approaching step smote upon her
ears ; but, with a sudden inspiration, she
dragged Cecil into her room, and opening her
window leaned out as if star-gazing, though
the sky was starless. At length the sharp
ring of the footsteps upon the stone terrace

286 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

was heard, and a male figure was dimly visible.
It came right opposite the window.

" Blanche ! not yet in bed ? " said Captain
Heath ; " and breathing the autumnal night-
air too?"

She shook slightly, but answered, " Yes.
The night-air cools me."

Cecil was greatly agitated, but held his
breath and listened. Nothing more was said
for some seconds ; at last Blanche asked him
what brought him out so late.

" Inability to remain in doors. I have just
had an interview with him, which has greatly
agitated me. He shewed himself selfish, fool-
ish, and contemptible."

Cecil was on the point of starting up, but
restrained himself on remembering where he
was. Blanche was hurt, and replied, " Silence
on that subject. Remember you are speaking
of one who is to be my husband."

" God forbid ! " he exclaimed.

She closed the discussion by shutting her
window.

He moved away; but had not taken four
steps when the ladder caught his eye. The

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 287

position of the ladder, coupled with Blanche
at the open window, still dressed, at that
hour of the night, at once convinced him that
an elopement was meditated. A sick faintness
overcame him for a moment ; but it was only
for a moment. He rallied immediately, and
taking the ladder on his shoulder, carried it
off.

Willing as he was to assist his rival in every
honourable way, he could not, after that even-
ing's conversation with him, think of allowing
an elopement, which must not only deprive
them of any chance of assistance from her
father, but also, by an unseemly precipitation,
plunge them both into a difficulty it was his
care, as Blanche's protector, to save them
from. Having carried away their ladder, he
then proceeded to the lodge-gates to see if a
post-chaise was in waiting.

Meanwhile, the lovers had recovered from
their agitation, and were arranging their plans
of escape for the following night. The first
tremor of modesty Blanche felt, on becoming
aware that she had introduced Cecil into her
bed-room, was completely set aside — the more

288 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

so as, with a delicacy which often distinguished

this weak, selfish, but still in many respects,

admirable man, Cecil kept himself at a distance

^>from her, and though holding her hand, did

^•c &£•&£££* v& raise it to his lips. By that mute

language which is more eloquent than words,
*"C ^ctf-c, -v

he had assured her that the situation only
increased his respect, and that nothing should
make him take a base advantage of her mo-
mentary forgetfulness.

There was something deeply interesting and
£ven touching in the situation of these two
lovers. Shut up in a bed-room with him at
midnight, she was as sacred in his eyes as
she would have been in broad daylight, and
surrounded by friends. She felt her security ;
and this gave a frankness and tenderness
to her manner, which plainly spoke her
thanks.

He felt also the charm of the situation, but
with the charm, the danger, and therefore
dared not keep his eyes from her, dared not
look upon the bed or toilet-table, and strove
by looking only at her to forget the place.

Modest and respectful as his attitude was,

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 289

there was an exquisite feeling engendered
by that situation which he had never felt
before, and which those will comprehend who
have trembled with secret pleasure at the
delicious nothings — an accidental touch of the
hand — the contact of a ringlet against the
cheek — nothings which love invests with an
incomparable charm. It is like a coy linger-
ing at the gates of paradise, whose splendour
the soul anticipates with delicious awe.

But the time fled rapidly, and the first cold
streaks of dawn, struggling with the faint star-
light, warned him that he must depart, ere it
seemed to him that he had said all there was
to say. Repeating every detail of their plan
once more, they arose. He timidly offered
her his lips, as begging but not demanding
a kiss, and she threw herself into his arms.
There was gratitude in her embrace, though
she knew not for what. Her innocence con-
cealed from her the perilous situation she had
gone through ; but her instinct told her con-
fusedly that she had been spared. He pressed
her closer to him, and felt a thousand-fold
repaid.

VOL. i. u

290 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

She opened the door, and they stepped out
into the gallery. Horror stiffened their fea-
tures as they missed the ladder. " Gone !
gone ! " he hoarsely whispered. " Then, we
are lost. It's that meddler, Heath ! . . . He
knew I was in your room, and he took that
method of ... But I '11 be revenged. The
scoundrel ! "

Blanche was too terrified to weep ; she did
nothing but wring her hands piteously.

What was to be done ? The arcade was
too high to allow him to drop ; and yet
there seemed to be no other mode of escape
possible.

It was a moment of horrible suspense.

" Heath loves you, Blanche, " he said
presently, with a certain fierceness in his
tone.

" I know it," she said, sadly.

There was a pause. She watched his coun-
tenance with anxiety : angry passions seemed
drifting over his soul like the clouds over a

O

stormy sky ; and she, not understanding the tor-
tures of jealousy, of hate, of revenge, of fierce
resolutions as quickly chased away as formed,

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 291

which then agitated him, looked with trem-
bling at his distorted face.

" By God !" he suddenly exclaimed, " I will
triumph yet."

Then seizing her by the waist, he carried
her back again into the room.

" Cecil, Cecil," she said, " let me go. What
do you mean ? Cecil, you alarm me — set me
down."

He tried to stop her mouth, but she strug-
gled ia his grasp, from which she at length
freed herself.

" Blanche," he said, " we are betrayed.
We shall be separated for ever — for ever !
There is but one way to prevent it, but one
way to defy them."

He approached her, but she eluded his
grasp, and said : " Oh ! dearest, dearest Cecil !
do not ... do not outrage the memory of this
night, hitherto so sacred ... do not lower me
in your eyes, and my own."

" It must ... it shall be ..."

" No, no ; do not say it ! "

"It is our only hope," he said, as he again
clasped her in his arms.

u 2

292 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

" Cecil, Cecil, I am yours . . . yours only will
I be ... can you doubt it ? ... but, oh ! leave
me now ! leave me ! leave me ! "

She sank at his feet, raising her hands im-
ploringly, and wept.

He was touched. The sight of this lovely
girl, thus passionate in her sorrow, kneeling at
his feet and imploring his pity, was more than
he could withstand. All the wild passion and
gross instincts which had been roused, were
now calmed again with the rapidity which is
usual in such moments of delirious excitement,
when the soul seems not only susceptible of
every influence bad or good, but also sus-
ceptible of the most violent and rapid changes.

He threw himself upon a chair, and bade
her rise.

" God bless you ! God bless you for that
word ! " she sobbed. " There spoke my own
Cecil."

He was silent and humiliated. The flaring
light of the candles just expiring in the
socket, told her that they would soon be in
darkness ; and she shuddered at the thought,
though not daring to disturb the sullen medi-

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 293

tation in which he was indulging, by any
prayer to him to depart. Each time the way-
ward light in its capricious action seemed on
the point of being extinguished, a thrill of
horror ran over her. The returning bright-
ness brought returning courage.
Silent he sat,

Still as any stone,

His eyes fixed on the floor, a prey to a sort of
remorseful stupid anger, not only at having
been foiled, but at finding himself helpless in
the dilemma.

One of the candles went out. Only a feeble
vacillating glimmer was shed by the other ;
bat it was enough to show him that Blanche
had fainted. The emotions of the night had
so enfeebled her, that the terror of approach-
ing darkness made her senseless.

"I have killed her!" was the horrible
thought that presented itself to his mind. He
sprang forwards, raised her in his arms, and
looked eagerly into her ashy-pale counte-
nance.

The second candle went out, and left them
in obscurity, which the delicate tints of early

294 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

morning peering through the window-curtains
scarcely lessened.

He dragged her out into the gallery, where
in a few minutes the keen air of morning1
revived her. On coming to herself, she saw
the cold grey sky above, and Cecil's anxious
face bending down to catch the first glimpse
of returning life. A sweet sigh burst from,
her, as she closed her eyes again, and leaned
her head upon his shoulder. It was like
awaking from a nightmare !

In a few minutes, she was sufficiently revived
to be able to stand. Not a word passed ; but
her eyes were most eloquent, as in mute thank-
fulness she fixed them on his agitated face.

Perhaps in all the emotions of that eventful
night, there had been none which rivalled in
peculiar and indescribable delight their pre-
sent sense of subsided agitation and terror. A
heavenly calmness had descended upon their
spirits. It was like the hushed stillness which
succeeds a storm, when the only sound is
that of the gentle dripping of rain-drops from
the leaves. Their feelings were in harmony
with the scene. The twittering of a few early

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 295

birds made them sensible of the deep repose
and quiet of the hour ; and the pale streaks
of golden light, mixed with the heavy clouds
which during the night had lowered from the
sky, not inaptly represented the streaks of
light which in their own souls drove away the
clouds of darkness and tempest.

While in the mute enjoyment of this scene,
they were suddenly alarmed by the appear-
ance of a man emerging from the wood.
Another glance assured them it was Captain
Heath ; and to avoid being seen they returned
to the bed-room.

" Heath is still prowling about," said Cecil
to her. " No doubt on the watch ; so if any
means could be devised of my descending on
to the terrace, he would be certain to see me.
I must make a bold venture, and go through
the house. At this early hour, no one can be
awake. I will take off my boots, and creep
noiselessly along."

Captain Heath was returning, trying to per-
suade himself that the ladder placed against
the arcade was purely accidental. No traces
of a post-chaise were to be seen ; and, after all,

296 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

was not an elopement most improbable, when
his interview with Cecil was kept in mind ?

It may seem strange, that one capable of
assisting his rival should feel so hurt at the
thought of an elopement. Yet the shock had
almost unmanned him. He roamed about,
like a criminal in a condemned cell, endea-
vouring to persuade himself that his doom
cannot be executed — that a reprieve must
come. The truth is — and let it not impeach
his heroism, but rather enhance it, by showing
how great was his sacrifice — he had not forti-
tude enough" to bear the blow when it fell.
He had made up his mind to see his beloved
the wife of another ; but he had not made up
his mind to see it so suddenly. Resigned to
his fate, he had not imagined his doom so near
its execution. Perhaps, in the secret recesses
of his soul, there were vague, unexpressed
hopes that something might occur to prevent
the marriage — that Vyner would refuse — that
Cecil would repent. In short, the vicissitudes
of life opened to him a hope ; and faint as
that hope might be, we know at what reeds
the sinking man will snatch.

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 297

Rather than believe in an elopement, he
made up his mind to the position of the
ladder being an accident ; and resolved at
length to seek his couch in sleep to forget the
troubles of his soul.

His bedroom was situated at the corner of
a corridor, at the end of which was Blanche's
room. His hand was upon the lock, and the
door ajar, when, emerging from the corridor,
Cecil turned the corner and came full upon his
rival.

What a look was that darted from each
startled and indignant face at this encounter !
Both were speechless — both deadly pale ; the
muscles frightfully rigid; the eyes— oh! who
shall describe the lightnings of their terrible
eyes, glaring at each other like famished
jaguars !

It was but a look, and they separated.

In that look of horror, of rage, of tri-
umph, and despair, Cecil concentrated all
the hate and jealousy he felt, as well as all
the triumph in the pain he was inflicting—
and Captain Heath all the anguish at the
discovery of his rival having passed the

298 THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.

night in Blanche's room, and despair at the
irremediable destruction of all his hopes.

Throughout the varied scenes of after life,
that look was never altogether forgotten ;
from time to time it would rise in the memory,
recalling with it all the poignant sensations
which the emotions of years could not
efface.

Not a word passed between them. The
captain went into his room, and closed the
door. Cecil crept to his room, and threw
himself undressed upon his bed ; there, worn
out with the excitement of the last few
hours, he sank into a deep and dreamless
sleep.

Watching the flood of light gradually
spreading over the sky ; watching, to use
Browning's fine expression,

Day, like a mighty river, flowing in,

Captain Heath sat forlorn at his window;
sleepless, motionless, hopeless. Measuring,
with cruel calmness, the wreck of all his
hopes; and, with stoic bitterness, the extent
of his suffering. Learning to look his misery
/in the face ; learning to stifle every vain re-

THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT. 299

gret ; learning to bear with manly courage
that which no unmanly wailing could alle-
viate.

Before he rose, he felt with the poet, that

Meeting what must be
Is half commanding it.

300 CAPTAIN HEATH

CHAPTER XX.

CAPTAIN HEATH WATCHES OVER BLANCHE.

THE next day, Blanche kept to her room,
pleading illness. Nothing passed between
Cecil and the captain ; not even a look.
They studiously avoided each other.

By mere accident, the captain overheard
one of the grooms tell another that he had
seen Mr. Chamberlayne at the Crown Inn,
that day. It was a flash of light to him. The
visit to the Crown could only have been for the
purpose of securing a post-chaise. He resolved
to watch.

During the evening, Cecil was as gay as
usual, if not gayer ; but he was closely watched
by the captain, and, when he retired for the

WATCHES OVER BLANCHE. 301

night, he made so many arrangements with
Violet and Tom Wincot for the morrow, that
the captain's suspicions were confirmed : —

" They are to elope to-night," he said ; and
quietly stole out of the house.

About two hundred yards from the lodge
gates, beneath the shade of a magnificent horse-
chestnut, he espied, as he had anticipated, a
post-chaise in waiting. He went up to the
post-boy, and, holding up a crown, he said, —

" Will you answer a question, if paid for it?"

"Why, sir, that depends upon the sort of
question."

"You are employed by Mr. Chatnberlayne
... I want to know whether you are going
towards London or Bristol. Will you tell
me ? — five shillings for you, if you tell me
truly ; broken bones on your return, if you
deceive me."

" Hm ! you 're not going to spoil my job ?"

" Not I ; I wish simply to know the fact."

" Well, then, hand here the money . . . it 's
to London."

The captain trembled : —

" To London ! I thought so."

302 CAPTAIN HEATH

This information seemed to lend him an
energy he had not felt for some time — the
energy necessary for a struggle. Had Cecil
been going to Gretna Green, the captain would
have suffered him to depart in peace. But cer-
tain suspicions of foul play had tormented him
ever since his meeting with Cecil at his bed-
room door.

"The villain!" he said to himself. "He
has accomplished her ruin, and now does not
even intend to marry her. But sJie has a
protector, thank God ! . . . I will shoot the
reprobate this very night."

He moved away ; and, retiring behind the
hedge, carefully examined his pistols, which he
had brought with him, anticipating some use
for them.

Meanwhile, Cecil was placing the ladder for
Blanche to descend.

" Hark ye ! " said Captain Heath, again ap-
proaching the postilion. " As London is your
route, I propose accompanying you. There is
a crown, to ensure your blindness. I shall get
up behind. When you arrive at the first stage,
you will promise to pass the word on to the

WATCHES OVER BLANCHE. 303

postilion who succeeds you ; he shall have
half-a-crown for his silence ; and so on, till
we reach London. Is it a bargain ? "

" Ay, surely, sir."

" Well, I will walk on. When you get
beyond the village, and reach the clump of
fir trees that skirt the road to the right of
Mrs. St. John's — you know it ? "

" Yes, sir."

" There some part of the harness must get
out of order, and you must dismount to set it
right. While doing so, I will get up behind,
and then you may drive on as fast as you
please. D 'ye hear ? "

" Yes, sir ; all right."

" Let me add, by way of precaution, that,
in case you should ride past, or attempt to
betray me, I am very capable of sending a
bullet through your head."

He drew out from his pocket one] of his
pistols, much to the postilion's horror,? and
then replacing it said, —

" Now we understand each other."

He strode rapidly on, as he finished this
speech, and was soon out of sight.

304 CAPT. HEATH WATCHES OVER BLANCHE.

The night is cold, and the postilion gets
impatient; the more so as the recent little
conversation has not heiped- to raise his
spirits. To earn a crown by a facile blind-
ness is tempting enough ; but he has an un-
easy apprehension of something unpleasant ;
he dislikes the company of one who carries
pistols, and seems so determined to use them
on slight provocation.

But why tarry the lovers? It is long past
the appointed time.

Can they have been detected? — Is the elope-
ment frustrated ?

Captain Heath anxiously asks himself these
questions ; and perhaps the reader shares his
impatience. He has a readier means of satisfy-
ing his curiosity, however, than the captain
had ; for he has only to turn to the next
volume.

END OF VOL. I.

London : Printed by STEWABT and MURIIAT, OIJ Bailey.

University of California

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