DYNEVOR TERRACE:

OR

THE CLUE OF LIFE. 

BY

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 

THE AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE'

CONTENTS

 I. CHARLOTTE. II. AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. III. LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE. IV. THISTLE-DOWN. V. THE TWO MINISTERS. VI. FAREWELLS. VII. GOSSAMER. VIII. A TRUANT DISPOSITION. IX. THE FAMILY COMPACT. X. THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. XI. A HALTING PROPOSAL. XII. CHILDE ROLAND. XIII. FROSTY, BUT KINDLY. XIV. NEW INHABITANTS. XV. MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. XVI. THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE XVII. THE RIVALS. XVIII. REST FOR THE WEARY. XIX. MOONSHINE. XX. THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. XXI. THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES. XXII. BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS. 

VOLUME I

 Who wisdom's sacred prize would win, Must with the fear of God begin; Immortal praise and heavenly skill Have they who know and do His will. New Version. 

CHAPTER I. 

CHARLOTTE. 

 Farewell rewards and fairies, Good housewives now may say, For now foul sluts in dairies May fare as well as they. BP. CORBET. 

An ancient leafless stump of a horse-chesnut stood in the middle of adusty field, bordered on the south side by a row of houses of somepretension. Against this stump, a pretty delicate fair girl ofseventeen, whose short lilac sleeves revealed slender white arms, andher tight, plain cap tresses of flaxen hair that many a beauty mighthave envied, was banging a cocoa-nut mat, chanting by way ofaccompaniment in a sort of cadence--

 'I have found out a gift for my fur, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me the plunder forbear, She will say--'

'Hollo, I'll give you a shilling for 'em!' was the unlooked-forconclusion, causing her to start aside with a slight scream, as therestood beside her a stout, black-eyed, round-faced lad, his ruddy cheeksand loutish air showing more rusticity than agreed with his keen, saucyexpression, and mechanic's dress. 

'So that's what you call beating a mat, ' said he, catching it from herhands, and mimicking the tender clasp of her little fingers. 'D'yethink it's alive, that you use it so gingerly? Look here! Give it himwell!' as he made it resound against the tree, and emit a whirlwind ofdust. 'Lay it into him with some jolly good song fit to fetch a strokehome with! Why, I heard my young Lord say, when Shakspeare was abutcher, he used to make speeches at the calves, as if they was for asacrifice, or ever he could lift a knife to 'em. '

'Shakspeare! He as wrote Romeo and Juliet, and all that! He abutcher! Why, he was a poet!' cried the girl, indignantly. 

'If you know better than Lord Fitzjocelyn, you may!' said the boy. 

'I couldn't have thought it!' sighed the maiden. 

'It's the best of it!' cried the lad, eagerly. 'Why, Charlotte, don'tye see, he rose hisself. Anybody may rise hisself as has a mind to it!'

'Yes, I've read that in books said Charlotte. 'You can, men can, Tom, if you would but educate yourself like Edmund! in the _Old EnglishBaron_. But then, you know whose son you are. There can't be nocatastrophe--'

'I don't want none, ' said Tom. 'We are all equal by birth, so theorator proves without a doubt, and we'll show it one of these days. Arare lady I'll make of you yet, Charlotte Arnold. '

'O hush, Tom, I can never be a lady--and I can't stand dawdlinghere--nor you neither. 'Tisn't right to want to be out of our station, though I do wish I lived in an old castle, where the maidens workedtapestry, and heard minstrels, never had no stairs to scour. Come, giveme my mats, and thank you kindly!'

'I'll take 'em in, ' said Tom, shouldering them. ''Tis breakfast-hour, so I thought I'd just run up and ax you when my young Lord goes up toOxford. 

'He is gone, ' said Charlotte; 'he was here yesterday to take leave ofmissus. Mr. James goes later--'

'Gone!' cried Tom. 'If he didn't say he'd come and see me at Mr. Smith's!'

'Did you want to speak to him?'

'I wanted to see him particular. There's a thing lays heavy on mymind. You see that place down in Ferny dell--there's a steep bank downto the water. Well, my young Lord was very keen about building a kindof steps there in the summer, and he and I settled the stones, and Iwas to cement 'em. By comes Mr. Frost, and finds faults, what Ithought he'd no call to; so I flings down my trowel, and wouldn't go onfor he! I was so mortal angry, I would not go back to the work; and Ibelieve my Lord forgot it--and then he went back to college; andFrampton and Gervas, they put on me, and you know how 'twas I come awayfrom Ormersfield. I was not going to say a word to one of that lot! butif I could see Lord Fitzjocelyn, I'd tell him they stones arn't fixed;and if the frost gets into 'em, there'll be a pretty go next timethere's a tolerablish weight! But there--it is his own look-out! Ifhe never thought it worth his while to keep his promise, and come andsee me--'

'O Tom! that isn't right! He only forgot--I hear Mrs. Beckett tellinghim he'd forget his own head if it wasn't fixed on, and Mr. James isalways at him. '

'Forget! Aye, there's nothing gentlefolks forget like poor folks. ButI've done with he! Let him look out--I kept my promises to him longenough, but if he don't keep his'n--'

'For shame, for shame, Tom! You don't mean it!' cried Charlotte. 'But, oh!' with a different tone, 'give me the mat! There's the old Lord andMr. Poynings riding down the terrace!'

'I ain't ashamed of nothing!' said the lad, proudly; and as Charlottesnatched away the mats, and vanished like a frightened hare, he stalkedalong like a village Hampden, muttering, 'The old tyrant shall seewhether I'm to be trampled on!' and with both hands in his pockets, hegazed straight up into the face of the grave elderly gentleman, whonever even perceived him. He could merely bandy glances with Poynings, the groom, and he was so far from indifferent that he significantlylifted up the end of his whip. Nothing could more have gratified Tom, who retorted with a grimace and murmur, 'Don't you wish you may catchme? You jealous syc--what is the word, sick of uncles or aunts, wasit, that the orator called 'em? He'd say I'd a good miss of being oneof that sort, and that my young Lord there opened my eyes in time. Nobetter than the rest of 'em--'

And the clock striking eight, he quickened his pace to return to hiswork. He had for the two or three previous years been nominally underthe gardener at Ormersfield, but really a sort of follower andfavourite to the young heir, Lord Fitzjocelyn--a position which hadbrought on him dislike from the superior servants, who were notpropitiated by his independent and insubordinate temper. Faults onevery side had led to his dismissal; but Lord Fitzjocelyn had placedhim at an ironmonger's shop in the town of Northwold, where he had beenjust long enough to become accessible to the various temptations of alad in such a situation. 

Charlotte sped hastily round the end of the block of buildings, hurrieddown the little back garden, and flew breathlessly into her ownkitchen, as a haven of refuge, but she found a tall, stiff starched, elderly woman standing just within the door, and heard her last words. 

'Well! as I said, 'tis no concern of mine; only I thought it the partof a friend to give you a warning, when I seen it with my own eyes!--Ah! here she is!' as Charlotte dropped into a chair. 'Yes, yes, Miss, you need not think to deceive me; I saw you from Miss Mercy's window--'

'Saw what?' faintly exclaimed Charlotte. 

'You know well enough, ' was the return. 'You may think to blind Mrs. Beckett here, but I know what over good-nature to young girls comes to. Pretty use to make of your fine scholarship, to be encouragingfollowers and sweethearts, at that time in the morning too!'

'Speak up, Charlotte, ' said the other occupant of the room, a pleasantlittle brisk woman, with soft brown, eyes, a clear pale skin, and aface smooth, in spite of nearly sixty years; 'speak up, and tell Mrs. Martha the truth, that you never encouraged no one. '

The girl's face was all one flame, but she rose up, and clasping herhands together, exclaimed--'Me encourage! I never thought of what Mrs. Martha says! I don't know what it is all about!'

'Here, Jane Beckett, ' cried Mrs. Martha; 'd'ye see what 'tis tovindicate her! Will you take her word against mine, that she's beengossiping this half hour with that young rogue as was turned off atOrmersfield?'

'Tom Madison! cried the girl, in utter amaze. 'Oh! Mrs. Martha!'

'Well! I can't stop!' said Martha. 'I must get Miss Faithfull'sbreakfast! but if you was under me, Miss Charlotte, I can tell you itwould be better for you! You'll sup sorrow yet, and you'll bothrecollect my advice, both of you. '

Wherewith the Cassandra departed, and Charlotte, throwing her apronover her face, began to cry and sob piteously. 

'My dear! what is it now? exclaimed her kind companion, pulling downher apron, and trying to draw down first one, then the other of thearms which persisted in veiling the crimson face. 'Surely you don'tthink missus or I would mistrust you, or think you'd take up with thelikes of him!'

'How could she be so cruel--so spiteful, ' sobbed Charlotte, 'when heonly came to ask one question, and did a good turn for me with themats. I never thought of such a thing. Sweetheart, indeed! So cruelof her!'

'Bless me!' said Jane, 'girls used to think it only civility to saythey had a sweetheart!'

'Don't, Mrs. Beckett! I hate the word! I don't want no such thing! Iwon't never speak to Tom Madison again, if such constructions is to beput on it!'

'Well, after all, Charlotte dear, that will be the safest way. You areyoung yet, and best not to think of settling, special if you aren'tsure of one that is steady and religious, and you'd better keepyourself up, and not get a name for gossiping--though there's no harmdone yet, so don't make such a work. Bless me, if I don't hear hislordship's voice! He ain't never come so early!'

'Yes, he is, ' said Charlotte, recovering from her sobs; 'he rode up asI came in. '

'Well, to be sure, he is come to breakfast! I hope nothin's amiss withmy young Lord! I must run up with a cup and plate, and you, make theplace tidy, in case Mr. Poynings comes in. You'd better run into thescullery and wash your face; 'tis all tears! You're a terrible one tocry, Charlotte!' with a kind, cheering smile and caress. 

Mrs. Beckett bustled off, leaving Charlotte to restore herself to thelittle handy piece of household mechanism which kind, patient, motherlytraining had rendered her. 

Charlotte Arnold had been fairly educated at a village school, andtenderly brought up at home till left an orphan, when she had beentaken into her present place. She had much native refinement andimagination, which, half cultivated, produced a curious mixture ofromance and simplicity. Her insatiable taste for reading wasmeritorious in the eyes of Mrs. Beckett, who, unlearned herself, thought any book better than 'gadding about, ' and, after hearing herdaily portion of the Bible, listened to the most adventurous romances, with a sense of pleasure and duty in keeping the girl to her book. She loved the little fragile orphan, taught her, and had patience withher, and trusted the true high sound principle which she recognised inCharlotte, amid much that she could not fathom, and set downalternately to the score of scholarship and youth. 

Taste, modesty, and timidity were guards to Charlotte. A broad starewas terror to her, and she had many a fictitious horror, as well asbetter-founded ones. Truly she said, she hated the broad words Marthahad used. One who craved a true knight to be twitted with asweetheart! Martha and Tom Madison were almost equally distasteful, asconnected with such a reproach; and the little maiden drew intoherself, promenaded her fancy in castles and tournaments, kept underJane's wing, and was upheld by her as a sensible, prudent girl. 

CHAPTER II. 

AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

 I praise thee, matron, and thy due Is praise, heroic praise and true; With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold. Thy looks and gestures all present The picture of a life well spent; Our human nature throws away Its second twilight and looks gay. WORDSWORTH. 

Unconscious of Charlotte's flight and Tom's affront, the Earl ofOrmersfield rode along Dynevor Terrace--a row of houses with handsomecemented fronts, tragic and comic masks alternating over the downstairswindows, and the centre of the block adorned with a pediment andcolonnade; but there was an air as if something ailed the place: thegardens were weedy, the glass doors hazy, the cement stained andscarred, and many of the windows closed and dark, like eyes wantingspeculation, or with merely the dreary words 'To be let' enliveningtheir blank gloom. At the house where Charlotte had vanished, he drewhis rein, and opened the gate--not one of the rusty ones--he enteredthe garden, where all was trim and fresh, the shadow of the house lyingacross the sward, and preserving the hoar-frost, which, in thesunshine, was melting into diamond drops on the lingering China roses. 

Without ring or knock, he passed into a narrow, carpetless vestibule, unadorned except by a beautiful blue Wedgewood vase, and laying downhat and whip, mounted the bare staircase, long since divested of allpaint or polish. Avoiding the door of the principal room, he openedanother at the side, and stood in a flood of sunshine, pouring in fromthe window, which looked over all the roofs of the town, to thecoppices and moorlands of Ormersfield. On the bright fire sung akettle, a white cat purred on the hearth, a canary twittered merrily inthe window, and the light smiled on a languishing Dresden shepherdessand her lover on the mantelpiece, and danced on the ceiling, reflectedfrom a beautifully chased silver cream-jug--an inconsistent companionfor the homely black teapot and willow-patterned plates, though the twocups of rare Indian porcelain were not unworthy of it. The furniturewas the same mixture of the ordinary and the choice, either worn andshabby, or such as would suit a virtuoso, but the whole arranged withtaste and care that made the effect bright, pleasant, and comfortable. Lord Ormersfield stood on the hearth-rug waiting. His face was that ofone who had learnt to wait, more considerate than acute, and bearingthe stamp both of toil and suffering, as if grief had taken away allmobility of expression, and left a stern, thoughtful steadfastness. 

Presently a lady entered the room. Her hair was white as snow, and shecould not have seen less than seventy-seven years; but beauty was notgone from her features--smiles were still on her lips, brightness inher clear hazel eyes, buoyancy in her tread, and alertness and dignityin her tall, slender, unbent figure. There was nothing so remarkableabout her as the elasticity as well as sweetness of her whole look andbearing, as if, while she had something to love, nothing could becapable of crushing her. 

'You here!' she exclaimed, holding out her hand to her guest. 'You arecome to breakfast. '

'Thank you; I wished to see you without interrupting your day's work. Have you many scholars at present?'

'Only seven, and three go into school at Easter. Jem and Clara, wishme to undertake no more, but I should sorely miss the little fellows. Iwish they may do me as much credit as Sydney Calcott. He wrote himselfto tell me of his success. '

'I am glad to hear it. He is a very promising young man. '

'I tell him I shall come to honour, as the old dame who taught him tospell. My scholars may make a Dr. Busby of me in history. '

'I am afraid your preferment will depend chiefly on James and youngCalcott. '

'Nay, Louis tells me that he is going to read wonderfully hard; and ifhe chooses, he can do more than even Sydney Calcott. '

'If!' said the Earl. 

Jane here entered with another cup and plate, and Lord Ormersfield satdown to the breakfast-table. After some minutes' pause he said, 'Haveyou heard from Peru?'

'Not by this mail. Have you?'

'Yes, I have. Mary is coming home. '

'Mary!' she cried, almost springing up--'Mary Ponsonby? This is goodnews--unless, ' as she watched his grave face, 'it is her health thatbrings her. '

'It is. She has consulted the surgeon of the Libra, a very able man, who tells her that there is absolute need of good advice and a colderclimate; and Ponsonby has consented to let her and her daughter comehome in the Libra. I expect them in February. '

'My poor Mary! But she will get better away from him. I trust he isnot coming!'

'Not he, ' said Lord Ormersfield. 

'Dear, dear Mary! I had scarcely dared to hope to see her again, 'cried the old lady, with tears in her eyes. 'I hope she will beallowed to be with us, not kept in London with his sister. London doesher no good. '

'The very purport of my visit, ' said Lord Ormersfield, 'was to askwhether you could do me the favour to set aside your scholars, andenable me to receive Mrs. Ponsonby at home. '

'Thank you--oh, thank you. There is nothing I should like better, butI must consider--'

'Clara would find a companion in the younger Mary in the holidays, andif James would make Fitzjocelyn his charge, it would complete theobligation. It would be by far the best arrangement for Mary'scomfort, and it would be the greatest satisfaction to me to see herwith you at Ormersfield. '

'I believe it would indeed, ' said the old lady, more touched than theoutward manner of the Earl seemed to warrant. 'I would--you know Iwould do my very best that you and Mary should be comfortabletogether'--and her voice trembled--'but you see I cannot promise all atonce. I must see about these little boys. I must talk to Jem. Inshort, you must not be disappointed'--and she put her hands before herface, trying to laugh, but almost overcome. 

'Nay, I did not mean to press you, ' said Lord Ormersfield, gently; 'butI thought, since James has had the fellowship and Clara has been atschool, that you wished to give up your pupils. '

'So I do, ' said the lady, but still not yielding absolutely. 

'For the rest, I am very anxious that James should accept Fitzjocelynas his pupil. I have always considered their friendship as the besthope, and other plans have had so little success, that--'

'I'm not going to hear Louis abused!' she exclaimed, gaily. 

'Yes, ' said Lord Ormersfield, with a look nearly approaching a smile, 'you are the last person I ought to invite, if I wish to keep yournephew unspoiled. '

'I wish there were any one else to spoil him!'

'For his sake, then, come and make Ormersfield cheerful. It will befar better for him. '

'And for you, to see more of Jem, ' she added. 'If he were yours, whatwould you say to such hours?'

The last words were aimed at a young man who came briskly into theroom, and as he kissed her, and shook hands with the Earl, answered ina quick, bright tone, 'Shocking, aye. All owing to sitting up tillone!'

'Reading?' said the Earl. 

'Reading, ' he answered, with a sort of laughing satisfaction in dashingaside the approval expressed in the query, 'but not quite as yousuppose. See here, ' as he held up maliciously a railway novel. 

'I am afraid I know where it came from, ' said Lord Ormersfield. 

'Exactly so, ' said James. 'It was Fitzjocelyn's desertion of it thatexcited my curiosity. '

'Indeed. I should have thought his desertions far too common to exciteany curiosity. '

'By no means. He always has a reason. '

'A plausible one. '

'More than plausible, ' cried James, excitement sparkling in his vividblack eyes. 'It happens that this is the very book that you would mostrejoice to see distasteful to him--low morality, false principles, morbid excitement, not a line that ought to please a healthy mind. '--

'Yet it has interest enough for you. '

'I am not Fitzjocelyn. '

'You know how to plead for him. '

'I speak simple truth, ' bluntly answered James, running his handthrough his black hair, to the ruin of the morning smoothness, so thatit, as well as the whole of his quick, dark countenance seemed to haveundergone a change from sunny south to stormy north in the few momentssince his first appearance. 

After a short silence, Lord Ormersfield turned to him, saying 'I havebeen begging a favour of my aunt, and I have another to ask of you, 'and repeating his explanation, begged him to undertake the tutorship ofhis son. 

'I shall not be at liberty at Easter, ' said James, 'I have all butundertaken some men at Oxford. '

'Oh, my dear Jem!' exclaimed the old lady, 'is that settled beyondalteration?'

'I'm not going to throw them over. '

'Then I shall hope for you at Midsummer, ' said the Earl. 

'We shall see how things stand, ' he returned, ungraciously. 

'I shall write to you, ' said Lord Ormersfield, still undaunted, andsoon after taking his leave. 

'Cool!' cried James, as soon as he was gone. 'To expect you to give upyour school at his beck, to come and keep house for him as long as itmay suit him!'

'Nay, Jem, he knew how few boys I have, and that I intended to givethem up. You don't mean to refuse Louis?' she said, imploringly. 

'I shall certainly not take him at Easter. It would be a mere farceintended to compensate to us for giving up the school, and I'll notlend myself to it while I can have real work. '

'At Midsummer, then. You know he will never let Louis spend a longvacation without a tutor. '

'I hate to be at Ormersfield, ' proceeded James, vehemently, 'to seeFitzjocelyn browbeaten and contradicted every moment, and myself set upfor a model. I may steal a horse, while he may not look over the wall!Did you observe the inconsistency?--angry with the poor fellow firstfor having the book, and then for not reading the whole, while itbecame amiable and praiseworthy in me to burn out a candle over it!'

'Ah! that was my concern. I tell him he would sing another note if youwere his son. '

'I'd soon make him! I would not stand what Louis does. The more he isset down and sneered at, the more debonnaire he looks, till I couldrave at him for taking it so easily. '

'I hoped you might have hindered them from fretting each other, as theydo so often. '

'I should only be a fresh element of discord, while his lordship willpersist in making me his pattern young man. It makes me hate myself, especially as Louis is such an unaccountable fellow that he won't. '

'I am sorry you dislike the plan so much. '

'Do you mean that you wish for it, grandmamma? cried he, turning fullround on her with an air of extreme amazement. 'If you do, there's anend of it; but I thought you valued nothing more than an independenthome. '

'Nor would I give it up on any account, ' said she. 'I do not imaginethis could possibly last for more than a few months, or a year at theutmost. But you know, dear Jem, I would do nothing you did not like. '

'That's nothing to the purpose, ' replied James. 'Though it is to beconsidered whether Ormersfield is likely to be the best preparation forClara's future life. However, I see you wish it--'

'I confess that I do, for a few months at least, which need interfereneither with Clara nor with you. I have not seen Lord Ormersfield soeager for many years, and I should be very sorry to prevent those twofrom being comfortably together in the old home--'

'And can't that be without a chaperon?' exclaimed James, laughing. 'Why, his lordship is fifty-five, and she can't be much less. That isa good joke. '

'It is not punctilio, ' said his grandmother, looking distressed. 'Itis needful to be on the safe side with such a man as Mr. Ponsonby. Myfear is that he may send her home with orders not to come near us. '

'She used to be always at Ormersfield in the old times. '

'Yes, when my sister was alive. Ah! you were too young to know aboutthose matters then. The fact was, that things had come to such a passfrom Mr. Ponsonby's neglect and unkindness, that Lord Ormersfield, standing in the place of her brother, thought it right to interfere. His mother went to London with him, to bring poor Mary and her littlegirl back to Ormersfield, and there they were till my sister's death, when of course they could not remain. Mr. Ponsonby had just got hisappointment as British envoy in Peru, and wished her to go with him. It was much against Lord Ormersfield's advice, but she thought it herduty, poor dear. I believe he positively hates Lord Ormersfield; andas if for a parting unkindness, he left his little girl at school withorders to spend her holidays with his sister, and never to be with us. '

'That accounts for it!' said James. 'I never knew all this! nor why wewere so entirely cut off from Mary Ponsonby. I wonder what she is now!She was a droll sturdy child in those days! We used to call herDownright Dunstable! She was almost of the same age as Louis, and agreat deal stouter, and used to fight for him and herself too. Has notshe been out in Peru?'

'Yes, she went out at seventeen. I believe she is an infinite comfortto her mother. '

'Poor Mary! Well, we children lived in the middle of a tragedy, andlittle suspected it! By the bye, what relation are the Ponsonbys tous?'

'Mrs. Ponsonby is my niece. My dear sister, Mary--'

'Married Mr. Raymond--yes, I know! I'll make the whole lucid; I'lldraw up a pedigree, and Louis shall learn it. ' And with elaborateneatness he wrote as follows, filling in the dates from the first leafof an old Bible, after his grandmother had left the room. The task, lightly undertaken, became a mournful one, and as he read over hisperformance, his countenance varied from the gentleness of regret to alook of sarcastic pride, as though he felt that the world had dealthardly by him, and yet disdained to complain. 

 KING ARTHUR - Pendragons and Dynevors innumerable - Roland Dynevor, d. 1793 - 1. 2. 3. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 - - -

 Catharine, m. James Frost Dynevor, Esq. Elizabeth, m. Jocelyn, 3rd Earl of Ormersfield Mary, m. Ch. Raymond, Esq. B. 1770 b. 1765 b. 1772 b. 1760 b. 1774 d. 1802 d. 1816 d. 1835 d. 1833 d. 1800

 1. 2. -------------------------------------------------- Jocelyn, m. Louisa Villars, Mary, m. Robert Ponsonby Esq. , Henry Roland m. Frances Preston Oliver J. Frost 4th Earl of b. 1805 b. 1796 British Envoy Frost Dynevor b. 1802 Dynevor Ormersfield d. 1826 in Peru. B. 1794 d. 1832 b. 1797 b. 1792 d. 1832

 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. ------------------------------------------------------------ James Roland Frances Catharine Oliver Clara Louis Fitzjocelyn Mary Ponsonby Frost Dynevor b. 1826 b. 1827 b. 1829 b. 1831 Viscount Fitzjocelyn b. 1826 b. 1824 d. 1832 d. 1832 d. 1832 b. 1826. Fellow of St. F. College, Oxford. 

'Since 1816, ' muttered James, as he finished. 'Thirty years ofdrudgery! When shall I be able to relieve her? Ha! O. J. F. Dynevor, Esquire, if it were you who were coming from Peru, you would find ascore to settle!'

He ran down stairs to assist his grandmother in the Latin lessons ofher little school, the usual employment of his vacations. 

Catharine Dynevor had begun life with little prospect of spendingnearly half of it as mistress of a school. 

Her father was the last male of the Dynevors of Cheveleigh--a familymounting up to the days of the Pendragons--and she had been made totake the place of an eldest son, inheriting the extensive landedproperty on condition that her name and arms should be assumed in caseof her marriage. Her choice was one of the instances in which heraffections had the mastery over her next strongest characteristic, family pride. She married a highly-educated and wealthy gentleman, ofgood family, but of mercantile connexions, such as her father, ifliving, would have disdained. Her married life was, however, perfectlyunclouded, her ample means gave her the power of dispensing joy, andher temperament was so blithe and unselfish that no pleasure everpalled upon her. Cheveleigh was a proverb for hospitality, affordingunfailing fetes for all ages, full of a graceful ease and freedom thatinspired enjoyment. 

Mr. Frost Dynevor was a man of refined taste, open-handed even toextravagance, liberal in all his appointments, and gratifying to theutmost his love of art and decoration, while his charities and generousactions were hearty and lavish enough to satisfy even his warm-heartedwife. 

Joined with all this was a strong turn for speculations. When the mindhas once become absorbed in earthly visions of wealth and prosperity, the excitement exercises such a fascination over the senses that thejudgment loses balance. Bold assumptions are taken as certainties, andmade the foundation of fresh fabrics--the very power of discerningbetween fact and possibility departs, and, in mere good-will, men, honest and honourable at heart, risk their own and their neighbours'property, and ruin their character and good name, by the very actionsmost foreign to to their nature, ere it had fallen under the strongdelusion. 

Mr. Frost Dynevor had the misfortune to live in a country rich inmineral wealth, and to have a brother-in-law easily guided, and withmore love of figures than power of investigating estimates on a largescale. Mines were set on foot, companies established, and buildingscommenced, and the results were only to be paralleled by those of thechalybeate springs discovered by Mr. Dynevor at the little town ofNorthwold, which were pronounced by his favourite hanger-on to bedestined 'literally to cut the throat of Bath and Cheltenham. '

Some towns are said to have required the life of a child ere theirfoundations could be laid. Many a speculation has swallowed a life andfortune before its time for thriving has come. Mr. Frost Dynevor andLord Ormersfield were the foremost victims to the Cheveleigh ironfoundries and the Northwold baths. The close of the war brought acommercial crisis that their companies could not stand; and Mr. Dynevor's death spared him from the sight of the crash, which histalent and sagacity might possibly have averted. He had shown nomisgivings, but, no sooner was he removed from the helm, than thevessel was found on the brink of destruction. Enormous sums had beensunk without tangible return, and the liabilities of the companies farsurpassed anything that they had realized. 

Lord Ormersfield was stunned and helpless. Mrs. Dynevor had but oneidea--namely, to sacrifice everything to clear her husband's name. Hersons were mere boys, and the only person who proved himself able to actor judge was the heir of Ormersfield, then about four-and-twenty, whocame forward with sound judgment and upright dispassionate sense ofjustice to cope with the difficulties and clear away the involvements. 

He joined his father in mortgaging land, sacrificing timber, andreducing the establishment, so as to set the estate in the way offinally becoming free, though at the expense of rigid economy andself-denial. 

Cheveleigh could not have been saved, even had the heiress not beenwilling to yield everything to satisfy the just claims of thecreditors. She was happy when she heard that it would suffice, andthat no one would be able to accuse her husband of having wronged him. But for this, she would hardly have submitted to retain what her nephewsucceeded in securing for her--namely, an income of about 150 poundsper annum, and the row of houses called Dynevor Terrace, one of thebuilding ventures at Northwold. This was the sole dependence withwhich she and her sons quitted the home of their forefathers. 'Nevermind, mother, ' said Henry, kissing her, to prevent the tears fromspringing, 'home is wherever we are together!' 'Never fear, mother, 'echoed Oliver, with knitted brow and clenched hands, 'I will win itback. '

Oliver was a quiet lad, of diligent, methodical habits, and willinglyaccepted a clerkship in a mercantile house, which owed some obligationsto his father. At the end of a couple of years he was sent to residein South America; and his parting words to his mother were--'When yousee me again, Cheveleigh shall be yours. '

'Oh, my boy, take care. Remember, 'They that haste to be rich shallnot be innocent. ''

That was the last time she had seen Oliver. 

Her great object was to maintain herself independently and to completeHenry's education as a gentleman. With this view she took up her abodein the least eligible of her houses at Northwold, and, dropping thearistocratic name which alone remained of her heiress-ship, opened aschool for little boys, declaring that she was rejoiced to recall thedays when Henry and Oliver wore frocks and learnt to spell. If anyhuman being could sweeten the Latin Grammar, it was Mrs. Frost, withthe motherliness of a dame, and the refinement of a lady, unfailingsympathy and buoyant spirits, she loved each urchin, and each urchinloved her, till she had become a sort of adopted grandmamma to allNorthwold and the neighbourhood. 

Henry went to Oxford. He gained no scholarship, took no honours, buthe fell neither into debt nor disgrace; he led a goodnatured easy life, and made a vast number of friends; and when he was not staying withthem, he and his mother were supremely happy together. He walked withher, read to her, sang to her, and played with her pupils. He hadalways been brought up as the heir--petted, humoured, and waited on--apost which he filled with goodhumoured easy grace, and which hecontinued to fill in the same manner, though he had no one to wait onhim but his mother, and her faithful servant Jane Beckett. Yearspassed on, and they seemed perfectly satisfied with their division oflabour, --Mrs. Frost kept school, and Henry played the flute, or shotover the Ormersfield property. 

If any one remonstrated, Henry was always said to be waiting for agovernment appointment, which was to be procured by the Ormersfieldinterest. More for the sake of his mother than of himself, theOrmersfield interest was at length exerted, and the appointment wasconferred on him. The immediate consequence was his marriage with thefirst pretty girl he met, poorer than himself, and all the Ormersfieldinterest failed to make his mother angry with him. 

The cholera of 1832 put an end to poor Henry's desultory life. Hishouse, in a crowded part of London, was especially doomed by the deadlysickness; and out of the whole family the sole survivors were a littlegirl of ten months old, and a boy of seven years, the latter of whomwas with his grandmother at Northwold. 

Mrs. Frost was one of the women of whom affection makes unconsciousheroines. She could never sink, as long as there was aught to need herlove and care; and though Henry had been her darling, the veryknowledge that his orphans had no one but herself to depend on, seemedto brace her energies with fresh life. They were left entirely on herhands, her son Oliver made no offers of assistance. He had risen, so asto be a prosperous merchant at Lima, and he wrote with regularity anddutifulness, but he had never proposed coming to England, and did notproffer any aid in the charge of his brother's children. If she hadexpected anything from him, she did not say so; she seldom spoke ofhim, but never without tenderness, and usually as her 'poor Oliver, 'and she abstained from teaching her grandchildren either to look totheir rich uncle or to mourn over their lost inheritance. Cheveleighwas a winter evening's romance with no one but Jane Beckett; and thegrandmother always answered the children's inquiries by bidding themprove their ancient blood by resolute independence, and by that truedignity which wealth could neither give nor take away. 

Of that dignity, Mrs. Frost was a perfect model. A singular compoundof the gentle and the lofty, of tenderness and independence, she hadnever ceased to be the Northwold standard of the 'real lady, ' too mildand gracious to be regarded as proud and poor, and yet too dignifiedfor any liberty to be attempted, her only fault, that touch of pride, so ladylike and refined that it was kept out of sight, and neveroffended, and everything else so sweet and winning that there wasscarcely a being who did not love, as well as honour her, for thecheerfulness and resignation that had borne her through her manytrials. Her trustful spirit and warm heart had been an elixir ofyouth, and had preserved her freshness and elasticity long after hersister and brother-in-law at Ormersfield had grown aged and sunk intothe grave, and even her nephew was fast verging upon more than middleage. 

CHAPTER III. 

LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE. 

 I walked by his garden and saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher. ISC WATTS. 

Ormersfield Park was extensive, ranging into fine broken ground, rockyand overgrown with brushwood; but it bore the marks of retrenchment;there was hardly a large timber tree on the estate, enclosures had beenbegun and deserted, and the deer had been sold off to make room forfarmers' cattle, which grazed up to the very front door. 

The house was of the stately era of Anne, with a heavy portico andclumsy pediment on the garden side, all the windows of the suite ofrooms opening on a broad stone terrace, whence steps descended to thelawn, neatly kept, but sombre, for want of openings in the surroundingevergreens. 

It was early March, and a lady wrapped in a shawl was seated on theterrace, enjoying the mild gleam of spring, and the freshness of thesun-warmed air, which awoke a smile of welcome as it breathed on herfaded cheek, and her eyes gazed on the scene, in fond recognition. 

It had been the home of Mrs. Ponsonby's childhood; and the slopes ofturf and belts of dark ilex were fraught with many a recollection ofgirlish musings, youthful visions, and later, intervals of tranquillityand repose. After fourteen years spent in South America, how manythreads she had to take up again! She had been as a sister to hercousin, Lord Ormersfield, and had shared more of his confidence thanany other person during their earlier years, but afterwards theirintercourse had necessarily been confined to brief and guarded letters. She had found him unchanged in his kindness to herself, and she was themore led to ponder on the grave, stern impassiveness of his manner toothers, and to try to understand the tone of mind that it indicated. 

She recalled him as he had been in his first youth--reserved, sensible, thoughtful, but with the fire of ambition burning strongly within, andever and anon flashing forth vividly, repressed at once as toodemonstrative, but filling her with enthusiastic admiration. Sheremembered him calmly and manfully meeting the shock of the failure, that would, he knew, fetter and encumber him through life--howresolutely he had faced the difficulties, how unselfishly he had puthimself out of the question, how uprightly he had dealt by thecreditors, how considerately by his father and aunt, how wise andmoderate his proceedings had been throughout. She recollected how shehad shared his aspirations, and gloried in his consistent and prudentcourse, without perceiving what sorrow had since taught her-thatambition was to him what pleasure was to other young men. What had itnot been to her when that ambition began to be gratified! when he hadbecome a leading man in Parliament, and by-and-by held office. 

There, a change came over the spirit of her dream; and though shesighed, she could not but smile at the fair picture that rose beforeher, of a young girl of radiant loveliness, her golden curls droopingover her neck, and her eyes blue as the starry veronica by the hedgeside, smiling in the sunshine. She thought of the glances of prouddelight that her cousin had stolen at her, to read in her face, thathis Louisa was more than all he had told her. Little was needed tomake her love the sweet, caressing young creature who had thrown herarms round her, and told her that she saw it was all nonsense to tellher she was such a good, grave, dreadful cousin Mary! Yet there hadbeen some few misgivings! So short an acquaintance! Her cousin toobusy for more than being bewitched by the lovely face! The Villiersfamily, so gay and fashionable! Might not all have been foreseen? Andyet, of what use would foresight have been? The gentleman was deeplyattached, and the lady's family courted the match, the distinction hehad won, atoning for his encumbered fortune. 

Other scenes arose on her memory--Louisa, a triumphant beauty, livingon the homage she received, all brilliance, grace, and enjoyment. Butthere was a darkening background which grew more prominent. PoorLouisa had little wisdom by nature, and her education had been solelydirected to enable her to shine in the world, not to render her fit forthe companionship of a man of domestic tastes, accustomed to thesociety of superior women. There was nothing to fall back upon, nothing to make a home, she was listless and weary whenever gaietyfailed her--and he, disappointed and baffled, too unbending to draw herout, too much occupied to watch over her, yielded to her tastes, andlet her pursue her favourite enjoyments unchecked. 

A time had come when childish vanity and frivolity were verging onlevity and imprudence. Expostulations fell powerless on hershallowness. Painful was the remembrance of the deprecating roguishglance of the beautiful eyes, and the coaxing caresses with which shekissed away the lecture, and made promises, only to forget them. Shewas like the soulless Undine, with her reckless gaiety and sweetness, so loving and childish that there was no being displeased with her, soinnocent and devoid of all art or guile in her wilfulness, that herfaults could hardly bear a harsher name than follies. 

Again, Mrs. Ponsonby thought of the days when she herself had been leftto stay with her old uncle and aunt. In this very house while herhusband was absent abroad, when she had assisted them to receive thepoor young wife, sent home in failing health. She thought of the sadweeks, so melancholy in the impossibility of making an impression, orof leading poor Louisa from her frivolities, she recalled the sorrow ofhearing her build on future schemes of pleasure, the dead blank whenher prattle on them failed, the tedium of deeper subjects, and yet thebewitching sweetness overpowering all vexation at her exceedingsilliness. Though full one-and-twenty years had passed, still thetears thrilled warm into Mrs. Ponsonby's eyes at the thought ofLouisa's fond clinging to her, in spite of many an admonition and evenexertion of authority, for she alone dared to control the spoiltchild's self-will; and had far more power than the husband, who seemedto act as a check and restraint, and whose presence rendered her nolonger easy and natural. One confidence had explained the whole. 

'You know, Mary dear, I always was so much afraid of him! If I had hadmy own way, I know who it would have been; but there were mamma andAnna Maria always saying how fortunate I was, and that he would bePrime Minister, and all the rest. Oh! I was far too young and foolishfor him. He should have married a sober body, such as you, Mary! Whydid he not? She wished she had never teased him by going out so much, and letting people talk nonsense; he had been very kind, and she wasnot half good enough for him. That confession, made to him, would havebeen balm for ever; but she had not resolution for the effort, and thedays slid away till the worst fears were fulfilled. Nay, were they theworst fears? Was there not an unavowed sense that it was safer thatshe should die, while innocent of all but wayward folly, than be leftto perils which she was so little able to resist?

The iron expression of grief on her husband's face had forbidden allsympathy, all attempt at consolation. He had returned at once to hisbusiness in London, there to find that poor Louisa's extravagance hadequalled her folly, and that he, whose pride it had been to redeem hispaternal property, was thrown back by heavy debts on his own account. This had been known to Mrs. Ponsonby, but by no word from him; he hadnever permitted the most distant reference to his wife, and yet, withinconsistency betraying his passionate love, he had ordered one of themost beautiful and costly monuments that art could execute, for hergrave at Ormersfield, and had sent brief but explicit orders that, contrary to all family precedent, his infant should bear no name butLouis. 

On this boy Mrs. Ponsonby had founded all her hopes of a renewal ofhappiness for her cousin; but when she had left England there had beenlittle amalgamation between the volatile animated boy, and his graveunbending father. She could not conjure up any more comfortablepicture of them than the child uneasily perched on his papa's knee, looking wistfully for a way of escape, and his father with an air ofhaving lifted him up as a duty, without knowing what to do with him orto say to him. 

At her earnest advice, the little fellow had been placed as a boarderwith his great aunt, Mrs. Frost, when his grandmother's death haddeprived him of all that was homelike at Ormersfield, He had been withher till he was old enough for a public school, and she spoke of him asif he were no less dear to her than her own grandchildren; but she wasone who saw no fault in those whom she loved, and Mrs. Ponsonby hadbeen rendered a little anxious by a certain tone of dissatisfaction inLord Ormersfield's curt mention of his son, and above all by his coldmanner of announcing that this was the day when he would return fromOxford for the Easter vacation. 

Could it be that the son was unworthy, or had the father's feelingsbeen too much chilled ever to warm again, and all home affections lostin the strife of politics? These had ever since engaged him, whetherin or out of office, leaving little time for society or for anydomestic pursuit. 

Her reflections were interrupted by a call of 'Mamma!' and her daughtercame running up the steps. Mary Ponsonby had too wide a face forbeauty, and not slightness enough for symmetry, but nothing could bemore pleasing and trustworthy than the open countenance, the steady, clear, greenish-brown eyes, the kind, sensible mouth, the firm chin, broad though rather short forehead, and healthy though nothighly-coloured cheek; and the voice--full, soft, and cheerful--wellagreed with the expression, and always brought gladness and promise ofsympathy. 

'See, mamma, what we have found for you. '

'Violets! The very purple ones that used to grow on the orchard bank!'

'So they did. Mary knew exactly where to look for them, ' said Mrs. Frost, who had followed her up the steps. 

'And there is Gervas, ' continued Mary; 'so charmed to hear of you, thatwe had almost brought him to see you. '

Mrs. Ponsonby declared herself so much invigorated by Ormersfield air, that she would go to see her old friend the gardener. Mary hurried tofetch her bonnet, and returned while a panegyric was going on upon herabilities as maid-of-all-work, in her mother's difficulties with malehousemaids--black and brown--and washerwomen who rode on horseback inwhite satin shoes. She looked as if it were hardly natural that anyone but herself should support her mother, when Mrs. Frost tenderlydrew Mrs. Ponsonby's arm into her own; and it was indeed strange to seethe younger lady so frail and broken, and the elder so strong, vigorous, and active; as they moved along in the sunshine, pausing tonote each spring blossom that bordered the gravel, and entered thewalled kitchen-garden, where espaliers ran parallel with the walks, dividing the vegetables from the narrow flower-beds, illuminated bycrocuses opening the depths of their golden hearts to the sunbeams andthe revelling bees. Old Gervas, in a patriarchal red waistcoat, welcomed Mrs. Ponsonby with more warmth than flattery. Bless me, ma'am, I'm right glad to see you; but how old you be!'

'I must come home to learn how to grow young, Gervas, ' said she, smiling; 'I hear Betty is as youthful as my aunt here. '

'Ay, ma'am, Betty do fight it out tolerablish, ' was the reply to thiscompliment. 

'Why, Gervas, what's all that wilderness? Surely those used to bestrawberry beds. '

'Yes, ma'am, the earliest hautboys; don't ye mind? My young Lord cameand begged it of me, and, bless the lad, I can't refuse him nothing. '

'He seems to be no gardener!'

'He said he wanted to make a Botany Bay sort of garden, ' said the oldman; 'and sure enough 'tis a garden of weeds he's made of it, and mineinto the bargain! He has a great big thistle here, and the down blowsright over my beds, thick as snow, so that it is three women's work tobe a match for the weeds; but speak to him of pulling it up, ye'd think'twas the heart out of him. '

'Does he ever work here?'

'At first it was nought else; he and that young chap, Madison, alwaysbringing docks and darnel out of the hedges, and plants from thenursery gardens, and bringing rockwork, and letting water in to make aswamp. There's no saying what's in the lad's head! But, of late, he'snot done much but by times lying on the bank, reading or speakingverses out loud to himself, or getting young Madison off his work tolisten to him. Once he got me to hear; but, ma'am, 'twas all aboutfairies and such like, putting an ass's head on an honest body as hadlost his way. I told him 'twas no good for him or the boy to read suchstuff, and I'd ha' none of it; but, if he chose to read me some goodbook, he'd be welcome--for the candles baint so good as they used, andI can't get no spectacles to suit me. '

'And did he read to you?'

'A bit or two, ma'am, if the humour took him. But he's young, you see, ma'am. I'm right glad he'll find you here. My old woman says he dowant a lady about the place to make him comfortable like. '

'And who is this young Madison?' asked Mrs. Ponsonby, when they hadturned from the old gardener. 

'To hear Jem, you would believe that he is the most promising plantrearing for Botany Bay!' said Mrs. Frost. 'He is a boy from that wildplace Marksedge, whom Louis took interest in, and made more familiarthan Jem liked, or than, perhaps, was good for him. It did not answer;the servants did not like it, and it ended in his being sent to workwith Smith, the ironmonger. Poor Louis! he took it sadly to heart, forhe had taken great pains with the boy. '

'I like to hear the old name, Louis!'

'I can't help it, ' said Mrs. Frost. 'He must be his old aunt Kitty'sLouis le Debonnaire! Don't you, remember your calling him so when hewas a baby?'

'Oh yes, it has exactly recalled to me the sort of gracious look thathe used to have--half sly, half sweet-and so very pretty!'

'It suits him as well now. He is the kind of being who must have a petname;' and Mrs. Frost, hoping he might be already arrived, could hardlyslacken her eager step so as to keep pace with her niece's feeblemovements. She was disappointed; the carriage had returned withoutLord Fitzjocelyn. His hat and luggage were come, but he himself wasmissing. Mrs. Frost was very uneasy, but his father silencedconjectures by saying, that it was his usual way, and he would make hisappearance before the evening. He would not send to meet anothertrain, saying, that the penalty of irregularity must be borne, and thehorses should not suffer for such freaks; and he would fain have beenutterly indifferent, but he was evidently listening to every sound, andbetrayed his anxiety by the decision with which he checked allexpression of his aunt's fears. 

There was no arrival all that evening, no explanation in the morning;and Betty Gervas, whom Mary went to visit in the course of the day, began to wonder whether the young Lord could be gone for a soldier--theusual fate of all missing village lads. 

Mary was on her way home, through the park, along a path skirting thetop of a wooded ravine, a dashing rivulet making a pleasant murmuramong the rocks below, and glancing here and there through thebrushwood that clothed the precipitous banks, when, with a suddenrustling and crackling, a man leaped upon the path with a stone in eachhand. 

Mary started, but she did not lose her presence of mind, and her nextglance showed her that the apparition was not alarming, and was nearlyas much amazed as herself. It was a tall slight young man, in a suitof shepherd's plaid, with a fair face and graceful agile form, recalling the word debonnaire as she had yesterday heard it applied. Ininstant conviction that this was the truant, she put out her hand bythe same impulse that lighted his features with a smile of welcome, andthe years of separation seemed annihilated as he exclaimed, 'My cousinMary!' and grasped her hand, adding, 'I hope I did not frighten you--'

'Oh no; but where did you come from?'

'Up a hill perpendicular, like Hotspur, ' he replied, in soft low quiettones, which were a strange contrast to the words. 'No, see here, ' andparting the bushes he showed some rude steps, half nature, half art, leading between the ferns and mountain-ash, and looking very inviting. 

'How delightful!' cried Mary. 

'I am glad you appreciate it, ' he exclaimed; 'I will finish it off now, and put a rail. I did not care to go on when I had lost the poorfellow who helped me, but it saves a world of distance. '

'It must be very pretty amongst those beautiful ferns!'

'You can't conceive anything more charming, ' he continued, with thesame low distinct utterance, but an earnestness that almost took awayher breath. 'There are nine ferns on this bank--that is, if we havethe Scolopendrium Loevigatum, as I am persuaded. Do you know anythingof ferns? Ah! you come from the land of tree ferns. '

'Oh! I am so glad to exchange them for our home flowers. Primroseslook so friendly and natural. '

'These rocks are perfect nests for them, and they even overhang theriver. This is the best bit of the stream, so rapid and foaming that Imust throw a bridge across for Aunt Catharine. Which would be mostappropriate? I was weighing it as I came up--a simple stone, or arustic performance in wood?'

'I should like stone, ' said Mary, amused by his eagerness. 

'A rough Druidical stone! That's it! The idea of rude negligentstrength accords with such places, and this is a stone country. I knowthe very stone! Do come down and see!'

'To-morrow, if you please, ' said Mary. 'Mamma must want me, and--but Isuppose they know of your return at home. '

'No, they don't. They have learnt by experience that the right time isthe one never to expect me. '

Mary's eyes were all astonishment, as she said, between wonder andreproof, 'Is that on purpose?'

'Adventures are thrust on some people, ' was the nonchalant reply, withshoulders depressed, and a twinkle of the eye, as if he purposedamazing his auditor. '

'I hope you have had an adventure, for nothing else could justify you, 'said Mary, with some humour, but more gravity. 

'Only a stray infant-errant, cast on my mercy at the junction station. Nurse, between eating and gossiping left behind--bell rings--enginesqueaks--train starts--Fitzjocelyn and infant vis-a-vis. '

'You don't mean a baby?'

'A child of five years old, who soon ceased howling, and confided hishistory to me. He had been visiting grandmamma in London, and wasgoing home to Illershall; so I found the best plan would be to leavethe train at the next station, and take him home. '

'Oh, that was quite another thing!' exclaimed Mary, gratified at beingable to like him. 'Could you find his home?'

'Yes; he knew his name and address too well to be lost or mislaid. Iwould have come home as soon as I had seen him in at the door; but thewhole family rushed out on me, and conjured me first to dine and thento sleep. They are capital people. Dobbs is superintendent of thecopper and tin works--a thoroughly right-minded man, with a nice, ladylike wife, the right sort of sound stuff that old England's heartis made of. It was worth anything to have seen it! They doincalculable good with their work-people. I saw the whole concern. '

He launched into an explanation of the process, producing from hispocket, papers of the ore, in every stage of manufacture, and twistingthem up so carelessly, that they would have become a mass of confusion, had not Mary undertaken the repacking. 

As they approached the house, the library window was thrown up, andMrs. Frost came hurrying down with outstretched arms. She was met byher young nephew with an overflow of fond affection, before he lookedup and beheld his father standing upright and motionless on the higheststep. His excuses were made more lightly and easily than seemed tosuit such rigid looks; but Lord Ormersfield bent his head as ifresigning himself perforce to the explanation, and, with the softenedvoice in which he always spoke to Mrs. Ponsonby, said, 'Here heis--Louis, you remember your cousin. '

She was positively startled; for it was as if his mother's deep blueeyes were raised to hers, and there were the same regular delicatefeatures, fair, transparent complexion, and glossy light-brown hairtinted with gold--the same careless yet deprecating glance, the sameengaging smile that warmed her heart to him at once, in spite of an airwhich was not that of wisdom. 

'How little altered you are!' she exclaimed. 'If you were not tallerthan your father, I should say you were the same Louis that I leftfourteen years ago. '

'I fear that is the chief change, ' said Lord Ormersfield. 

'A boy that would be a boy all his life, like Sir Thomas More's son!'said Louis, coolly and simply, but with a twinkle in the corner of hiseye, as if he said it on purpose to be provoking; and Mrs. Frostinterposed by asking where the cousins had met, and whether they hadknown each other. 

'I knew him by what you said yesterday, ' said Mary. 

'Louis le Debonnaire? asked Mrs. Frost, smiling. 

'No, Mary; not that name!' he exclaimed. 'It is what Jem calls me, when he has nothing more cutting to say--'

'Aye, because it is exactly what you look when you know you deserve ascolding--with your shoulders pulled down, and your face made up!' saidhis aunt, patting him. 

When Mrs. Ponsonby and Mary had left the room to dress, Louisexclaimed, 'And that is Mrs. Ponsonby! How ill she does look! Hervery voice has broken down, though it still has the sweet sound that Icould never forget! Has she had advice?'

'Dr. Hastings saw her in London, ' said his father. 'He sent her intothe country at once, and thinks that there is fair hope that completerest of spirits may check the disease. '

'Will she stay here?' said Louis, eagerly. 'That would be like oldtimes, and we could make her very comfortable. I would train those twoponies for her drives--'

'I wish she would remain here, ' said his father; 'but she is bent onbecoming my aunt's tenant. '

'Ha! That is next best! They could do nothing more commendable. Willthey be a windfall for the House Beautiful?'

'No, ' said Mrs. Frost. 'They wish to have a house of their own, incase Mr. Ponsonby should come home, or Miss Ponsonby to stay with them. '

'The respected aunt who brought Mary up! How long has she been atLima?'

'Four years. '

'Four years! She has not made use of her opportunities! Alas for theillusion dispelled! The Spanish walk and mantilla melt away; andbehold! the primitive wide-mouthed body of fourteen years since!'

Mrs. Frost laughed, but it seemed to be a serious matter with LordOrmersfield. 'If you could appreciate sterling worth, ' he said, 'youwould be ashamed to speak of your cousin with such conceiteddisrespect. '

All the effect was to make Louis walk quietly out of the room; but hisshoulder and eyebrow made a secret telegraph of amazement to Mrs. Frost. 

The new arrival seemed to have put the Earl into a state of constantrestless anxiety, subdued and concealed with a high hand, but stillvisible to one who knew him so intimately as did Mrs. Ponsonby. Shesaw that he watched each word and gesture, and studied her looks tojudge of the opinion they might create in her. Now the process wasmuch like weighing and balancing the down of Fitzjocelyn's ownfavourite thistle; the profusion, the unsubstantiality, and thevolatility being far too similar; and there was something positivelysad in the solicitous heed taken of such utter heedlessness. 

The reigning idea was the expedition to Illershall, and the excellentcondition of the work-people under his new friend the superintendent. Forgetful that mines were a tender subject, the eager speaker becamecertain that copper must exist in the neighbourhood, and what anemployment it would afford to all the country round. 'Marksedge mustbe the very place, the soil promises metallic veins, the discoverywould be the utmost boon to the people. It would lead to industry andcivilization, and counteract all the evils we have brought on them. Mary, do you remember Marksedge, the place of exile?'

'Not that I know of. '

'No; we were too young to understand the iniquity. In the lastgeneration, it was not the plan to stone Naboth, but to remove him. Great people could not endure little people; so, by way of kindness, our whole population of Ormersfield, except a few necessary retainers, were transported bodily from betwixt the wind and our nobility, locatedon a moor beyond our confines, a generous gift to the poor-rates ofBletchynden, away from church, away from work, away fromsuperintendence, away from all amenities of the poor man's life!'

This was one of the improvements to which Mr. Dynevor had prompted thelast Earl; but Louis did not know whom he was cutting, as he utteredthis tirade, with a glow on his cheek and eye, but with his usual soft, modulated intonation and polished language, the distinctness anddeliberation taking off all air of rattle, and rendering his words moreimpressive. 

'Indeed! is there much distress at Marksedge?' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 

'They have gifts with our own poor at Christmas, ' said LordOrmersfield, 'but they are a defiant, ungrateful set, always indistress by their own fault. '

'What cause have they for gratitude?' exclaimed his son. 'For beingturned out of house and home? for the three miles' walk to their dailywork! Yes, it is the fact. The dozen families left here, with edictsagainst lodgers, cannot suffice for the farmer's work; and all Norris'sand Beecher's men have to walk six miles every day of their lives, besides the hard day's work. They are still farther from their parish, they are no one's charge, they have neither church nor school, and whomshould we blame for their being lawless?'

'It used to be thought a very good thing for the parish, ' said Mrs. Frost, looking at her niece. 'I remember being sorry for the poorpeople, but we did not see things in the light in which Louis puts it. '

'Young men like to find fault with the doings of their elders, ' saidLord Ormersfield. 

'Nothing can make me regard it otherwise than as a wicked sin!' saidLouis. 

'Nay, my dear, ' mildly said Aunt Catharine, 'if it were mistaken, I amsure it was not intentionally cruel. '

'What I call wicked is to sacrifice the welfare of dependents to ourown selfish convenience! And you would call it cruel too, AuntCatharine, if you could hear the poor creatures beg as a favour of Mr. Holdsworth to be buried among their kin, and know how it has preyed onthe minds of the dying that they might not lie here among their ownpeople. '

'Change the subject, Fitzjocelyn, ' said his father: 'the thing is done, and cannot be undone. '

'The undoing is my daily thought, ' said Louis. 'If I could have triedmy plan of weaving cordage out of cotton-grass and thistle-down, Ithink I could have contrived for them. '

Mary looked up, and met his merry blue eye. Was he saying it sogravely to try whether he could take her in? 'If you could--' shesaid, and he went off into a hearty laugh, and finished by saying, sothat no one could guess whether it was sport or earnest, 'Even takinginto account the depredations of the goldfinches, it would be anadmirable speculation, and would confer immeasurable benefits on theowners of waste lands. I mean to take out a patent when I havesucceeded in the spinning. '

'A patent for a donkey, ' whispered Aunt Catharine. He responded with adeferential bow, and the conversation was changed by the Earl; butcopper was still the subject uppermost with Louis, and no sooner wasdinner over than he followed the ladies to the library, and begansearching every book on metals and minerals, till he had heaped up apile of volumes, whence be rang the changes on oxide, pyrites, andcarbonate, and octohedron crystals--names which poor Mrs. Frost hadheard but too often. At last it came to certainty that he had seen thevery masses containing ore; he would send one to-morrow to Illershallto be analysed, and bring his friend Dobbs down to view the spot. 

'Not in my time, ' interposed Lord Ormersfield. 'I would not wish for agreater misfortune than the discovery of a mine on my property. '

'No wonder, ' thought Mrs. Ponsonby, as she recollected Wheal Salamancaand Wheal Catharine, and Wheal Dynevor, and all the other wheals thathad wheeled away all Cheveleigh and half Ormersfield, till the lastunfortunate wheal failed when the rope broke, and there were no fundsto buy a new one. No wonder Lord Ormersfield trembled when he heardhis son launch out into those easily-ascending conjecturalcalculations, freely working sums in his head, so exactly like the oldEarl, his grandfather, that she could have laughed, but for sympathywith the father, and anxiety to see how the son would take the damp sovexatiously cast on his projects. 

He made the gesture that Mrs. Frost called debonnaire--read on for fiveminutes in silence, insisted on teaching his aunt the cause of thecolours in peacock ores, compared them to a pigeon's neck, and talkedof old Betty Gervas's tame pigeons; whence he proceeded to memories ofthe days that he and Mary had spent together, and asked which of theirold haunts she had revisited. Had she been into the nursery?

'Oh yes! but I wondered you had sent the old walnut press into thatlumber-room. '

'Is that satire?' said Louis, starting and looking in her face. 

'I don't know what you mean. '

'I have a better right to ask what you mean by stigmatizing myapartment as a lumber-room?'

'It was only what I saw from the door, ' said Mary, a little confused, but rallying and answering with spirit; 'and I must maintain that, ifyou mean the room over the garden entrance, it is very like alumber-room. '

'Ah, Mary! you have not outgrown the delusions of your sex. Is anEnglishman's house his castle while housemaids maraud over it, ransacking his possessions, irritating poor peaceful dust that onlywants to be let alone, sweeping away cherished cobwebs?'

'Oh, if you cherish cobwebs!' said Mary. 

'Did not the fortunes of Scotland hang on a spider's thread? Did not acobweb save the life of Mahomet, or Ali, or a mediaeval saint--nomatter which? Was not a spider the solace of the Bastille? Have not Ilain for hours on a summer morning watching the tremulous lines of thebeautiful geometrical composition?'

'More shame for you!' said Mary, with a sort of dry humorous bluntness. 

'The very answer you would have made in old times, ' cried Louis, delighted. 'O Mary, you bring me back the days of my youth! You neverwould see the giant who used to live in that press!'

'I remember our great fall from the top of it. '

'Oh yes!' cried Louis; 'Jem Frost had set us up there bolt upright forsentries, and I saw the enemies too soon, when you would not allow thatthey were there. I was going to fire my musket at them; but you usedviolence to keep me steady to my duty--pulled my hair, did not you?'

'I know you scratched me, and we both rolled off together! I wonder wewere not both killed!'

'That did not trouble Jem! He picked us up, and ordered us into arrestunder the bed for breach of discipline. '

'I fear Jem was a martinet, ' said Mrs. Frost. 

'That he was! A general formed on the model of him who, not contentedwith assaulting a demi-lune, had taken une lune toute entiere. We hada siege of the Fort Bombadero, inaccessible, and with mortars firingdouble-hand grenades. They were dandelion clocks, and there werenettles to act the part of poisoned spikes on the breach. '

'I remember the nettles, ' said Mary, 'and Jem's driving you to gatherthem; you standing with your bare legs in the nettle-bed, when he wouldmake me dig, and I could not come to help you!'

'On duty in the trenches. Your sense of duty was exemplary. Iremember your digging on, like a very Casablanca, all alone, in themidst of a thunder-storm, because Jem had forgotten to call you in, crying all the time with fear of the lightning!'

'You came to help me, ' said Mary. 'You came rushing out from thenursery to my rescue!'

'I could not make you stir. We were taken prisoners by a sally fromthe nursery. For once in your life, you were in disgrace!'

'I quite thought I ought to mind Jem, ' said Mary, 'and never knewwhether it was play or earnest. '

'Only so could you transgress, ' said Louis, --'you who never cried, except as my amateur Mungo Malagrowther. Poor Mary! what an amazementit was to me to find you breaking your heart over the utmost penaltiesof the nursery law, when to me they only afforded agreeable occasionsof showing that I did not care! I must have been intolerable till youand Mrs. Ponsonby took me in hand!'

'I am glad you own your obligations, ' said Lord Ormersfield. 

'I own myself as much obliged to Mary for making me wise, as to Jem formaking me foolish. '

'It is not the cause of gratitude I should have expected, ' said hisfather. 

'Alas! if he and Clara were but here!' sighed Louis. 'I entreated himin terms that might have moved a pyramid from its base, but the Frostwas arctic. An iceberg will move, but he is past all melting!'

'I respect his steadiness of purpose, ' said the Earl; 'I know no youngman whom I honour more than James. '

His aunt and his son were looking towards each other with glisteningeyes of triumph and congratulation, and Mrs. Frost cleared her voice tosay that he was making far too much of her Jemmy; a very good boy, tobe sure, but if he said so much of him, the Marys would be disappointedto see nothing but a little fiery Welshman. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THISTLE-DOWN. 

 Lightly soars the thistle-down, Lightly does it float--, Lightly seeds of care are sown, Little do we note. Watch life's thistles bud and blow, Oh, 'tis pleasant folly; But when all life's paths they strew, Then comes melancholy. Poetry Past and Present. 

Mary Ponsonby had led a life of change and wandering that had given herfew strong local attachments. The period she had spent at Ormersfield, when she was from five to seven years old, had been the most joyouspart of her life, and had given her a strong feeling for the placewhere she had lived with her mother, and in an atmosphere of affection, free from the shadow of that skeleton in the house, which had darkenedher childhood more than she understood. 

The great weakness of Mrs. Ponsonby's life had been her over-hastyacceptance of a man, whom she did not thoroughly know, because herdelicacy had taken alarm at foolish gossip about herself and hercousin. It was a folly that had been severely visited. Irreligioushimself, Mr. Ponsonby disliked his wife's strictness; he resented heraffection for her own family, gave way to dissipated habits, and madeher miserable both by violence and neglect. Born late of this unhappymarriage, little Mary was his only substantial link to his wife, and hehad never been wanting in tenderness to her: but many a storm had ragedover the poor child's head; and, though she did not know why the kindold Countess had come to remove her and her mother, and 'papa' wasstill a loved and honoured title, she was fully sensible of the calmsecurity at Ormersfield. 

When Mr. Ponsonby had recalled his wife on his appointment at Lima, Mary had been left in England for education, under the charge of hissister in London. Miss Ponsonby was good and kind, but of narrowviews, thinking all titled people fashionable, and all fashionablepeople reprobate, jealous of her sister-in-law's love for her ownfamily, and, though unable to believe her brother blameless, holding itas an axiom that married people could not fall out without faults onboth sides, and charging a large share of their unhappiness on thehouse of Fitzjocelyn. Principle had prevented her from endeavouring toweaken the little girl's affection to her mother; but it had been hergreat object to train her up in habits of sober judgment, and freedomfrom all the romance, poetry, and enthusiasm which she fancied had beeninjurious to Mrs. Ponsonby. The soil was of the very kind that shewould have chosen. Mary was intelligent, but with more sense thanfancy, more practical than intellectual, and preferring the homely tothe tasteful. At school, study and accomplishments were mere tasks, her recreation was found in acts of kindness to her companions, and herhopes were all fixed on the going out to Peru, to be useful to herfather and mother. At seventeen she went; full of active, housewifelyhabits, with a clear head, sound heart, and cramped mind, her spiritseven and cheerful, but not high nor mirthful, after ten years ofevenings spent in needlework beside a dry maiden aunt. 

Nor was the home she found at Lima likely to foster the joyousness ofearly girlhood. Mr. Ponsonby was excessively fond of her; but hisaffection to her only marked, by contrast, the gulf between him and hermother. There was no longer any open misconduct on his part, and Mrs. Ponsonby was almost tremblingly attentive to his wishes; but he waschill and sarcastic in his manner towards her, and her nervous attacksoften betrayed that she had been made to suffer in private fordifferences of opinion. Health and spirits were breaking down; and, though she never uttered a word of complaint, the sight of hersufferings was trying for a warm-hearted young girl. 

Mary's refuge was hearty affection to both parents. She would notreason nor notice where filial tact taught her that it was best to beignorant; she charged all tracasseries on the Peruvian republic, andset herself simply to ameliorate each vexation as it arose, and divertattention from it without generalizing, even to herself, on the stateof the family. The English comfort which she brought into the Limenianhousehold was one element of peace; and her brisk, energetic habitsproduced an air of ease and pleasantness that did much to make homeagreeable to her father, and removed many cares which oppressed hermother. To her, Mary was all the world-daughter, comforter, friend, and nurse, unfailing in deeds of love or words of cheer, and removingall sense of dreariness and solitude. And Mary had found her motherall, and more than all she remembered, and admired and loved her with adeep, quiet glow of intense affection. There was so much call forMary's actual exertion of various kinds, that there was littleopportunity for cultivating or enlarging her mind by books, though thescenes and circumstances around her could not but take some effect. Still, at twenty-one she was so much what she had been at seventeen--sostaid, sensible, and practical, that Miss Ponsonby gladly pronouncedher not in the least spoilt. 

Fain would her aunt have kept both her and her mother as her guests;but Mrs. Ponsonby had permission to choose whatever residence bestsuited her, and felt that Bryanston-square and Miss Ponsonby would befatal to her harassed spirits. She yearned after the home andcompanions of her youth, and Miss Ponsonby could only look severe, talkof London doctors, and take Mary aside to warn her against temptationsfrom fashionable people. 

Mary had been looking for the fashionable people ever since, and thefirst sign of them she had seen, was the air and figure of her cousinFitzjocelyn. Probably good Aunt Melicent would distrust him; and yethis odd startling talk, and the arch look of mischief in the corners ofhis mouth and eyes, had so much likeness to the little Louis of oldtimes, that she could not look on him as a stranger nor as a formidablebeing; but was always recurring to the almost monitorial sense ofprotection, with which she formerly used to regard him, when she sharedhis nursery. 

Her mother had cultivated her love for Ormersfield, and she was charmedby her visits to old haunts, well remembering everything. She gladlyrecognised the little low-browed church, the dumpy tower, andgrave-yard rising so high that it seemed to intend to bury the churchitself, and permitted many a view, through the lattices, of the seats, and the Fitzjocelyn hatchments and monuments. 

She lingered after church on Sunday afternoon with Mrs. Frost to lookat Lady Fitzjocelyn's monument. It was in the chancel, a recumbentfigure in white marble, as if newly fallen asleep, and with the lovelyfeatures chiselled from a cast taken after death had fixed and ennobledtheir beauty. 

'It is just like Louis's profile!' said Mrs. Frost, as they came out. 

'Well, ' said Louis, who was nearer than she was aware, 'I hope at leastno one will make me the occasion of a lion when I am dead. '

'It is very beautiful, ' said Mary. 

'May be so; but the sentiment is destroyed by its having been sixmonths in the Royal Academy, number 16, 136, and by seeing it down amongthe excursions in the Northwold Guide. '

'Louis, my dear, you should not be satirical on this, ' said Mrs. Frost. 

'I never meant it, ' said Louis, 'but I never could love that monument. It used to oppress me with a sense of having a white marble mother!And, seriously, it fills up the chancel as if it were its show-room, according to our family tradition that the church is dedicated to theFitzjocelyns. Living or dead, we have taken it all to ourselves. '

'It was a very fair, respectable congregation, ' said his aunt. 

'Exactly so. That is my complaint. Everything belonging to hislordship is respectable--except his son. '

'Take care, Louis; here is Mary looking as if she would take you atyour word. '

'Pray, Mary, do they let no one who is not respectable go to church inPeru?'

'I do not think you would change your congregation for the wretchedcrowds of brown beggars, ' said Mary. 

'Would I not?' cried Louis. 'Oh! if the analogous class here inEngland could but feel that the church was for them!--not driven outand thrust aside, by our respectability. '

'Marksedge to wit!' said a good-humoured voice, as Mr. Holdsworth, theyoung Vicar, appeared at his own wicket, with a hearty greeting. 'Inever hear those words without knowing where you are, Fitzjocelyn. '

'I hope to be there literally some day this week, ' said Louis. 'Willyou walk with me? I want to ask old Madison how his grandson goes on. I missed going to see after the boy last time I was at home. '

'I fear he has not been going on well, and have been sorry for it eversince, ' said the Vicar. 'His master told me that he found him veryidle and saucy. '

'People of that sort never know how to speak to a lad, ' said Louis. 'Itis their own rating that they ought to blame. '

'Not Tom Madison, I know, ' said Mr. Holdsworth, laughing. 'But I didnot come out to combat that point, but to inquire after the commissionsyou kindly undertook. '

'I have brought you such a set of prizes! Red rubrics, red margins;and for the apparatus, I have brought a globe with all the mountains inhigh relief;--yes, and an admirable physical atlas, and a box ofinstruments and models for applying mathematics to mechanics. We mightgive evening lectures, and interest the young farmers. '

'Pray, ' said the Vicar, with a sound of dismay, 'where may the bill be?I thought the limits were two pounds eighteen. '

'Oh! I take all that on myself. '

'We shall see, ' said Mr. Holdsworth, not gratefully. 'Was Origen senthome in time for you to bring?'

'There!' cried Louis, starting, 'Origen is lying on the very chairwhere I put him last January. I will write to Jem Frost to-morrow tosend him to the binder. '

'Is it of any use to ask for the music?'

'I assure you, Mr. Holdsworth, I am very sorry. I'll write at once toFrost. '

'Then I am afraid the parish will not be reformed as you promised lastChristmas, ' said the Vicar, turning, with a smile, to Mrs. Frost. 'Wewere to be civilized by weekly concerts in the school. '

'What were you to play, Louis?' said Mrs. Frost, laughing. 

'I was to imitate all the birds in the air at once, ' said Louis, beginning to chirp like a melee of sparrows, turning it into the croakof a raven, and breaking off suddenly with, 'I beg your pardon--Iforgot it was Sunday! Indeed, Mr. Holdsworth, I can say no more thanthat I was a wretch not to remember. Next time I'll write it all downin the top of my hat, with a pathetic entreaty that if my hat bestolen, the thief shall fulfil the commissions, and punctually send inthe bill to the Rev. W. B. Holdsworth!'

'I shall hardly run the risk, ' said Mr. Holdsworth, smiling, as heparted with them, and disappeared within his clipped yew hedges. 

'Poor, ill-used Mr. Holdsworth!' cried Aunt Catharine. 

'Yes, it was base to forget the binding of that book, ' said Louis, gravely. 'I wish I knew what amends to make. '

'You owe amends far more for making a present of a commission. I usedto do the like, to save myself trouble, till I came down in the world, and then I found it had been a mere air de grand seigneur. '

'I should not dare to serve you or Jem so; but I thought the school wasimpersonal, and could receive a favour. '

'It is no favour, unless you clearly define where the commission endedand the gift began. Careless benefits oblige no one. '

Fitzjocelyn received his aunt's scoldings very prettily. His manner toher was a becoming mixture of the chivalrous, the filial, and theplayful. Mary watched it as a new and pretty picture. All hisconfidence, too, seemed to be hers; but who could help pouring out hisheart to the ever-indulgent, sympathizing Aunt Catharine? It wasevidently the greatest treat to him to have her for his guest, and hisattention to her extended even to the reading a sermon to her in theevening, to spare her eyes; a measure so entirely after Aunt Melicent'sheart, that Mary decided that even she would not think her cousin sohopelessly fashionable. 

Goodnatured he was, without doubt; for as the three ladies were sittingdown to a sociable morning of work and reading aloud, he came in to sayhe was going to see after Tom Madison, and to ask if there were anycommands for Northwold, with his checked shooting-jacket pockets sopuffed out that his aunt began patting and inquiring. 'Provisions forthe House Beautiful, ' he said, as forth came on the one side a longrough brown yam. 'I saw it at a shop in London, ' he said, 'and thoughtthe Faithfull sisters would like to be reminded of their West Indianfeasts. ' And, 'to make the balance true, ' he had in the other pocket alambswool shawl of gorgeous dyes, with wools to make the like, and thereceipt, in what he called 'female algebra, ' the long knitting-pinsunder his arm like a riding-whip. He explained that he thought itwould be a winter's work for Miss Salome to imitate it, and that shewould succour half-a-dozen families with the proceeds; and Mrs. Ponsonby was pleased to hear him speak so affectionately of the two oldmaiden sisters. They were the nieces of an old gentleman to whom thecentral and handsomest house of Dynevor Terrace had been let. He hadan annuity which had died with him, and they inherited very little butthe furniture with which they had lived on in the same house, in hopesof lodgers, and paying rent to Mrs. Frost when they had any. There wasa close friendship and perfect understanding between her and them, and, as she truly assured them, full and constant rent could hardly havedone her as much good as their neighbourhood. Miss Mercy was theSister of Charity of all Northwold; Miss Salome, who was confined toher chair by a complaint in her knee, knitted and made fancy-works, thesale of which furnished funds for her charities. She was highlyeducated, and had a great knowledge of natural history. Fitzjocelynhad given their abode the name of the House Beautiful, as beingredolent of the essence of the Pilgrim's Progress; and the title was sofully accepted by their friends, that the very postman would soon knowit. He lingered, discoursing on this topic, while Mary repacked hisparcels, and his aunt gave him a message to Jane Beckett, to send thecarpenter to No. 5 before Mary's visit of inspection; but sheprophesied that he would forget; and, in fact, it was no good augurythat he left the knitting-pins behind him on the table, and Mary wasonly just in time to catch him with them at the front door. 

'Thank you, Mary--you are the universal memory, ' he said. 'What restyou must give my father's methodical spirit! I saw you pile up allthose Blackwoods of mine this morning, just as he was going to fallupon them. '

'If you saw it, I should have expected you to do it yourself, ' saidMary, in her quaint downright manner. 

'Never expect me to do what is expected, ' answered he. 

'Do you do that because it is not expected?' said Mary, feeling almostas if he were beyond the pale of reason, as she saw him adjusting aplant of groundsel in his cap. 

'It is for the dicky-bird at my aunt's. There's no lack of it at theTerrace; but it is an old habit, and there always was an illusion thatOrmersfield groundsel is a superior article. '

'I suppose that is why you grow go much. '

'Are you a gardener? Some day we will go to work, clear the place, andseparate the botanical from the intrusive!'

'I should like it, of all things!'

'I'll send the horse round to the stable, and begin at once!' exclaimedLouis, all eagerness; but Mary demurred, as she had promised to read toher mother and aunt some of their old favourites, Madame de Sevigne'sletters, and his attention flew off to his restless steed, which hewanted her to admire. 

'My Yeomanry charger, ' he said. 'We turn out five troopers. I hopeyou will be here when we go out, for going round to Northwold broughtme into a direful scrape when I went to exhibit myself to the dear oldTerrace world. My father said it was an unworthy ambition. What wouldhe have thought, if he had seen Jane stroking me down with the brush onthe plea of dust, but really on the principle of stroking a dog! Goodold Jane! Have you seen her yet? Has she talked to you about MasterOliver?'

The horse became so impatient, that Mary had no time for more than amonosyllable, before Louis was obliged to mount and ride off; and hewas seen no more till just before dinner, when, with a shade of Frenchmalice, Mrs. Frost inquired about Jane and the carpenter: she had seenthe cap, still decorated with groundsel, lying in the hall, and had ashrewd suspicion, but the answer went beyond her expectations--'Ah!' hesaid, 'it is all the effect of the Norman mania!'

'What have you been doing? What is the matter?' she cried, alarmed. 

'The matter is not with me, but with the magistrates. '

'My dear Louis, don't look so very wise and capable, or I shall thinkit a very bad scrape indeed! Pray tell me what you have been about. '

'You know Sir Gilbert Brewster and Mr. Shoreland are rabid about thelittle brook between their estates, of which each wishes to arrogate tohimself the exclusive fishing. Their keepers watch like the Austrianguard on the Danube, in a life of perpetual assault and battery. LastSaturday, March 3rd, 1847, one Benjamin Hodgekin, aged fifteen, had themisfortune to wash his feet in the debateable water; the belligerentpowers made common cause, and haled the wretch before the PettySessions. His mother met me. She lived in service here till shemarried a man at Marksedge, now dead. This poor boy is an admirableson, the main stay of the family, who must starve if he wereimprisoned, and she declared, with tears in her eyes, that she couldnot bear for a child of hers to be sent to gaol, and begged me to speakto the gentlemen. ' He started up with kindling eyes and vehementmanner. 'I went to the Justice-room!'

'My dear! with the groundsel?'

'And the knitting-needles!'

On rushed the narration, unheeding trifles. 'There was the array: Mr. Calcott in the chair, and old Freeman, and Captain Shaw, and fat SirGilbert, and all the rest, met to condemn this wretched widow's son forwashing his feet in a gutter!'

'Pray what said the indictment?' asked Mrs. Ponsonby. 

'Oh, that he had killed an infant trout of the value of threefarthings! Three giant keepers made oath to it, but I had his ownmother's word that he was washing his feet!'

No one could help laughing, but Fitzjocelyn was far past perceiving anysuch thing. 'Urge what I would, they fined him. I talked to oldBrewster! I appealed to his generosity, if there be room forgenerosity about a trout no bigger than a gudgeon! I talked to Mr. Calcott, who, I thought, had more sense, but Justice Shallow would havebeen more practicable! No one took a rational view but Ramsbotham ofthe factory, a very sensible man, with excellent feeling. When it isrecorded in history, who will believe that seven moral, well-meaningmen agreed in condemning a poor lad of fifteen to a fine of fiveshillings, costs three-and-sixpence--a sum he could no more pay than Ithe National Debt, and with the alternative of three months'imprisonment, branding and contaminating for life, and destroying allself-respect? I paid the fine, so there is one act of destruction theless on the heads of the English squirearchy. '

'Act of destruction!'

'The worst destruction is to blast a man's character because the loveof adventure is strong within him--!'

He was at this point when Lord Ormersfield entered, and after his dailycivil ceremonious inquiries of the ladies whether they had walked ordriven out, he turned to his son, saying, 'I met Mr. Calcott just now, and heard from him that he had been sorry to convict a person in whomyou took interest, a lad from Marksedge. What did you know of him?'

'I was prompted by common justice and humanity, ' said Louis. 'Myprotection was claimed for the poor boy, as the son of an old servantof ours. '

'Indeed! I think you must have been imposed on. Mr. Calcott spoke ofthe family as notorious poachers. '

'Find a poor fellow on the wrong side of a hedge, and not a squire butwill swear that he is a hardened ruffian!'

'Usually with reason, ' said the Earl. 'Pray when did this person'sparents allege that they had been in my service?'

'It was his mother. Her name was Blackett, and she left us on hermarriage with one of the Hodgekins. '

Lord Ormersfield rang the bell, and Frampton, the butler andconfidential servant, formed on his own model, made his appearance. 

'Do you know whether a woman of the name of Blackett ever lived inservice here?'

'Not that I am aware of, my Lord. I will ascertain the fact. '

In a few moments Frampton returned. 'Yes, my Lord, a girl namedBlackett was once engaged to help in the scullery, but was dischargedfor dishonesty at the end of a month. '

'Did not Frampton know that that related to me?' said Louis, sottovoce, to his aunt. 'Did he not trust that he was reducing me from asea anemone to a lump of quaking jelly?'

So far from this consummation, Lord Fitzjocelyn looked as triumphant asDon Quixote liberating Gines de Pasamonte. He and his father mighthave sat for illustrations of

 'Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care, '

as they occupied the two ends of the dinner-table; the Earl concealinganxiety and vexation, under more than ordinary punctilious politeness;the Viscount doing his share of the honours with easy, winning graceand attention, and rattling on in an under-tone of lively conversationwith Aunt Catharine. Mary was silently amazed at her encouraging him;but perhaps she could not help spoiling him the more, because there wasa storm impending. At least, as soon as she was in the drawing-room, she became restless and nervous, and said that she wished his fathercould see that speaking sternly to him never did any good; besides, itwas mere inconsiderateness, the excess of chivalrous compassion. 

Mrs. Ponsonby said she thought young men's ardour more apt to beagainst than for the poacher. 

'I must confess, ' said Aunt Catherine, with all the reluctance of ahigh-spirited Dynevor, --'I must confess that Louis is no sportsman! Hewas eager about it once, till he had become a good shot; and then itlost all zest for him, and he prefers his own vagaries. He never takesa gun unless James drives him out; and, oddly enough, his father isquite vexed at his indifference, as if it were not manly. If his fatherwould only understand him!'

The specimen of that day had almost made Mrs. Ponsonby fear that therewas nothing to understand, and that only dear Aunt Kitty's affectioncould perceive anything but amiable folly, and it was not much betterwhen the young gentleman reappeared, looking very debonnaire, and, sitting down beside Mrs. Frost, said, in a voice meant for heralone--'Henry IV; Part II. , the insult to Chief Justice Gascoigne. Myfather will presently enter and address you:

 'O that it could be proved That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged In cradle-cloths our children as they lay, -- Call'd yours Fitzjocelyn--mine, Frost Dynevor!'

'For shame, Louis! I shall have to call you Fitzjocelyn! You arebehaving very ill. '

'Insulting the English constitution in the person of seven squires. '

'Don't, my dear! It was the very thing to vex your father that youshould have put yourself in such a position. '

'Bearding the Northwold bench with a groundsel plume and aknitting-needle:

 'With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat, Wilt thou fight a traverse with the Castle cat?'

The proper champion in such a cause, since 'What cat's averse to fish?''

'No, Louis dear, ' said his aunt, struggling like a girl to keep hercountenance; 'this is no time for nonsense. One would think you had nofeeling for your father. '

'My dear aunt, I can't go to gaol like Prince Hal. I do assure you, Idid not assault the bench with the knitting-pins. What am I to do?'

'Not set at nought your father's displeasure. '

'I can't help it, ' said he, almost sadly, though half smiling. 'Whatwould become of me if I tried to support the full weight? Interferingwith institutions, ruining reputation, blasting bulwarks, patronizingpoachers, vituperating venerated--'

'Quite true, ' cried Aunt Catherine, with spirit. 'You know you had nobusiness there, lecturing a set of men old enough to be yourgrandfathers, and talking them all to death, no doubt. '

'Well, Aunt Kitty, if oppression maddens the wise, what must it do tothe foolish?'

'If you only allow that it was foolish--'

'No; I had rather know whether it was wrong. I believe I was tooeager, and not respectful enough to the old squire: and, on reflection, it might have been a matter of obedience to my father, not to interferewith the prejudices of true-born English magistrates. Yes, I waswrong: I would have owned it sooner, but for the shell he fired over myhead. And for the rest, I don't know how to repent of having protestedagainst tyranny. '

There was something redeeming in the conclusion, and it was a comfort, for it was impossible to retain anger with one so gently, good-humouredly polite and attentive. 

A practical answer to the champion was not long in coming. Hevolunteered the next day to walk to Northwold with Mrs. Frost and Mary, who wanted to spend the morning in selecting a house in DynevorTerrace, and to be fetched home by-and-by, when Mrs. Ponsonby took herairing. Two miles seemed nothing to Aunt Catharine, who accepted hernephew's arm for love, and not for need, as he discoursed of all theanimals that might be naturalized in England, obtained from Mary anaccount of the llamas of the Andes, and rode off upon a scheme of animportation to make the fortune of Marksedge by a manufacture of Alpacaumbrellas. 

Meantime, he must show the beautiful American ducks which he hoped tonaturalize on the pond near the keeper's lodge: but, whistle and callas he would, nothing showed itself but screaming Canada geese. He ranround, pulled out a boat half full of water, and, with a foot on eachside, paddled across to a bushy island in the centre, --but in vain. The keeper's wife, who had the charge over them, came out: 'Oh, myLord, I am so sorry! They pretty ducks!'

'Ha! the foxes?'

'I wish it was, my Lord; but it is they poachers out at Marksedge thatare so daring, they would come anywheres--and you see the ducks wouldroost up in the trees, and you said I was not to shut 'em up at night. My master was out up by Beech hollow; I heerd a gun, and looked out; Iseen a man and a boy--I'd take my oath it was young Hodgekin. They dosay Nanny Hodgekin, she as was one of the Blacketts, whose husband wastransported, took in two ducks next morning to Northwold. Warrencouldn't make nothing of it; but if ever he meets that Hodgekin again, he says he _shall_ catch it!'

'Well, Mrs. Warren, it can't be helped--thank you for the good care youtook of the poor ducks, ' said Louis, kindly; and as he walked onthrough the gate, he gave a long sigh, and said, 'My dainty ducks! Sothere's an end of them, and all their tameness!' But the smile couldnot but return. 'It is lucky the case does not come before the bench!but really that woman deserves a medal for coolness!'

'I suppose, ' said Mary, 'she could have paid the fine with the price ofthe ducks. '

'Ah! the beauties! I wish Mr. Hodgekin had fallen on the pheasantsinstead! However, I am thankful he and Warren did not come to acollision about them. I am always expecting that, having made thoseMarksedge people thieves, murder will be the next consequence. '

A few seconds sufficed to bring the ludicrous back. 'How pat it comes!Mary, did you prime Mrs. Warren, or did Frampton?'

'I believe you had rather laugh at yourself than at any one else, 'exclaimed his aunt, who felt baffled at having thrown away hercompassion. 

'Of course. One knows how much can be borne. Why, Mary, has that setyou studying, --do you dissent?'

'I was thinking whether it is the best thing to be always ready tolaugh at oneself, ' said Mary. 'Does it always help in mending?'

''Don't care' came to a bad end, ' said Louis; 'but on the other hand, care killed a cat--so there are two sides to the question. '

While Mary was feeling disappointed at his light tone, he changed it toone that was almost mournful. 'The worst of it is, that 'don't care'is my refuge. Whatever I do care about is always thwarted by Framptonor somebody, and being for ever thrown over, I have only to fall assoftly as I can. '

'You know, my dear, ' said Mrs. Frost, 'that your father has no commandof means to gratify you. '

'There are means enough for ourselves, ' said Louis; 'that is theneedful duty. What merely personal indulgence did I ever ask for thatwas refused me?'

'If that is all you have to complain of, I can't pity you, ' said Mary. 

'Listen, Mary. Let me wish for a horse, there it is! Let me wish fora painted window, we can't afford it, though, after all, it would noteat; but horses are an adjunct of state and propriety. So again, theparish feasted last 18th of January, because I came of age, and it was_proper_; while if I ask that our people may be released from work onGood Friday or Ascension Day, it is thought outrageous. '

'If I remember right, my dear, ' interposed his aunt, 'you wanted nowork to be done on any saint's-day. Was there not a scheme that Mr. Holdsworth called the cricket cure!'

'That may yet be. No one knows the good a few free days would do thepoor. But I developed my plan too rapidly! I'll try again for theirchurch-going on Good Friday. '

'I think you ought to succeed there. '

'I know how it will be. My father will ring, propound the matter toFrampton; the answer will be, 'Quite impracticable, my Lord, ' and therewill be an end of it. '

'Perhaps not. At least it will have been considered, ' said Mary. 

'True, ' said Louis; 'but you little know what it is to have a Frampton!If he be a fair sample of prime ministers, no wonder Princes of Walesgo into the opposition!'

'I thought Frampton was a very valuable superior servant. '

'Exactly so. That is the worst of it. He is supreme authority, andwell deserves it. When la Grande Mademoiselle stood before the gatesof Orleans calling to the sentinel to open them, he never stirred astep, but replied merely with profound bows. That is my case. I makea request, am answered, 'Yes, my Lord;' find no results, repeat theprocess, and at the fourth time am silenced with, 'Quite impracticablemy Lord. ''

'Surely Frampton is respectful?'

'It is his very essence. He is a thorough aristocrat, respectinghimself, and therefore respecting all others as they deserve. Herespects a Viscount Fitzjocelyn as an appendage nearly as needful asthe wyverns on each side of the shield; but as to the individualholding that office, he regards him much as he would one of the wyvernswith a fool's-cap on. '

And with those words, Fitzjocelyn had sprung into the hedge to gatherthe earliest willow-catkins, and came down dilating on their silvery, downy buds and golden blossoms, and on the pleasure they would giveMiss Faithfull, till Mary, who had been beginning to compassionate him, was almost vexed to think her pity wasted on grievances of mere randomtalk. 

Warm and kindly was his greeting of his aunt's good old servant, JaneBeckett, whom Mary was well pleased to meet as one of the kind friendsof her childhood. The refinement that was like an atmosphere aroundMrs. Frost, seemed to have extended even to her servants; for Jane, though she could hardly read, and carried her accounts in her head, hadmanners of a gentle warmth and propriety that had a grace of their own, even in her racy, bad grammar; and there was no withstanding the merrysmile that twitched up one side of her mouth, while her eyes twinkledin the varied moods prompted by an inexhaustible fund of good temper, sympathy, and affection, but the fulness of her love was for thedistant 'Master Oliver, ' whose young nursery-maid she had been. Hereyes winked between tears and smiles when she heard that Miss Mary hadseen him but five months ago, and she inquired after him, gloried inhis prosperity, and talked of his coming home, with far less reservethan his mother had done. 

Mary was struck, also, with the pretty, modest looks of the littleunderling, and remarked on them as they proceeded to the inspection ofthe next house. 

'Yes, ' said Louis, 'Charlotte is something between a wood sorrel and afive-plume moth. Tom Madison, as usual, shows exquisite taste. She isa perfect Lady of Eschalott. '

'Now, Louis!' said his aunt, standing still, and really lookingannoyed, 'you know I cannot encourage any such thing. Poor littleCharlotte is an orphan, and I am all the more responsible for her. '

'There's a chivalry in poor Tom--'

'Nonsense!' said his aunt, as if resolved not to hear him out, becauseafraid of herself. 'Don't say any more about it. I wish I had neverallowed of his bringing your messages. '

'Who set him down in the kitchen to drink a cup of beer?' said Louis, mischievously. 

'Ah! well! one comfort is, that girls never care for boys of the sameage, ' replied Aunt Catharine, as she turned the key, and admitted theminto No. 7; when Fitzjocelyn confused Mary's judgment with hisrecommendations, till Aunt Catharine pointing out the broken shutter, and asking if he would not have been better employed in fetching thecarpenter, than in hectoring the magistrates, he promised to make upfor it, fetched a piece of wood and James's tools, and was quickly atwork, his Aunt only warning him, that if he lost Jem's tools she wouldnot say it was her fault. 

By the time Mary's imagination had portrayed what paper, paint, furniture, and habitation might make the house, and had discerned howto arrange a pretty little study in case of her father's return; he hadcompleted the repair in a workmanlike manner, and putting two fingersto his cap, asked, 'Any other little job for me, ma'am?'

Of course, he forgot the tools, till shamed by Mary's turning back forthem, and after a merry luncheon, served up in haste by Jane, theybetook themselves to Number 8, where the Miss Faithfulls were seated ata dessert of hard biscuits and water, of neither of which they everpartook: they only adhered to the hereditary institution of sitting fortwenty minutes after dinner with their red and purple doileys beforethem. 

Mary seemed to herself carried back fourteen years, and to understandwhy her childish fancy had always believed Christiana's Mercy a livingcharacter, when she found herself in the calm, happy little household. The chief change was that she must now bend down, instead of reachingup, to receive the kind embraces. Even the garments seemed unchanged, the dark merino gowns, black silk aprons, white cap-ribbons, the softlittle Indian shawl worn by the elder sister, the ribbon bow by theyounger, distinctions that used to puzzle her infant speculation, notaware that the coloured bow was Miss Mercy's ensign of youth, and thatits absence would have made Miss Salome feel aged indeed. The twosisters were much alike--but the younger was the more spare, shrivelledup into a cheery nonpareil, her bloom changed into something quite asfresh and healthful, and her blithe tripping step always active, exceptwhen her fingers were nimbly taking their turn. Miss Salome had becomemore plump, her cheek was smoother and paler, her eye more placid, herair that of a patient invalid, and her countenance more intellectualthan her sister's. She said less about their extreme enjoyment of theyam, and while Mrs. Frost and Mary held counsel with Miss Mercy onservants and furniture, there was a talk on entomology going on betweenher and Fitzjocelyn. 

It was very pretty to see him with the old ladies, so gently attentive, without patronizing, and they, though evidently doting on him, laughingat him, and treating him like a spoilt child. He insisted on Mary'sseeing their ordinary sitting room, which nature had intended for ahousekeeper's room, but which ladylike inhabitants had rendered what hecalled the very 'kernel of the House Beautiful. ' There were the standsof flowers in the window; the bullfinch scolding in his cage, the rareold shells and china on the old-fashioned cabinets that Mary so wellremembered; and the silk patchwork sofa-cover, the old piano, and MissFaithfull's arm chair by the fire, her little table with her beautifulknitting, and often a flower or insect that she was copying; for shestill drew nicely; and she smiled and consented, as Louis pulled outher portfolios, life-long collections of portraits of birds, flowers, or insects. Her knitting found a sale at the workshop, where the objectwas well known, and the proceeds were diffused by her sister, andwhether she deserved her name might be guessed by the basket of poorpeople's stores beside her chair. 

Miss Mercy was well known in every dusky Northwold lane or alley, whereshe always found or made a welcome for herself. The kindly counsel andready hand were more potent than far larger means without them. 

Such neighbours were in themselves a host, and Mary and her mother bothfelt as if they had attained a region of unwonted tranquillity andrepose, when they had agreed to rent No. 5, Dynevor Terrace, from theensuing Lady-day, and to take possession when carpenters andupholsterers should have worked their will. 

Louis was half-way home when he exclaimed, 'There! I have missed TomMadison a second time. When shall I ever remember him at the righttime?'

Little did Louis guess the effect his neglect was taking! CharlotteArnold might have told, for Mrs. Martha had brought in stories of hisunsteadiness and idle habits that confirmed her in her obedience toJane. She never went out alone in his leisure hours; never looked forhim in returning from church--alas! that was not the place to look forhim now. And yet she could not believe him such a very bad boy as shewas told he had become. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE TWO MINISTERS. 

 'The creature's neither one nor t'other. I caught the animal last night, And viewed him o'er by candle-light; I marked him well, 'twas black as jet. You stare, but sirs, I've got him yet, And can produce him. ' 'Pray, sir, do; I'll lay my life the thing is blue. ' 'And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green. ' 'Well, then, at once to end the doubt, ' Replies the man, 'I'll turn him out; And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him. ' He said--then, full before their sight Produced the beast, and lo! 'twas white! MERRICK. 

Mrs. Ponsonby had seen in the tropics birds of brilliant hues, thateven, whilst the gazer pronounced them all one beaming tint of gorgeouspurple, would give one flutter, and in another light would flash withgolden green or fiery scarlet. No less startling and unexpected werethe aspects of Lord Fitzjocelyn, 'Every thing by starts, and nothinglong;' sometimes absorbed in study, sometimes equally ardent over achildish game; wild about philanthropic plans, and apparentlyforgetting them the instant a cold word had fallen on them; attemptingeverything, finishing nothing; dipping into every kind of book, andforsaking it after a cursory glance; ever busy, yet ever idle; full ofdesultory knowledge, ranging through all kinds of reading and naturalhistory, and still more full of talk. This last was perhaps his mostdecided gift. To any one, of whatever degree, he would talk, he couldhardly have been silent ten minutes with any human being, exceptFrampton or his father, and whether deep reflections or arrant nonsensecame out of his mouth, seemed an even chance, though both alike were inthe same soft low voice, and with the same air of quaint pensivesimplicity. He was exceedingly provoking, and yet there was no beingprovoked with him!

He was so sincere, affectionate, and obliging, that not to love him wasimpossible, yet that love only made his faults more annoying, and Mrs. Ponsonby could well understand his father's perpetual restless anxiety, for his foibles were exactly of the sort most likely to tease such aman as the Earl, and the most positively unsatisfactory part of hischaracter was the insouciance that he displayed when his trifling orhis wild projects had given umbrage. Yet, even here, she could not butfeel a hope, such as it was, that the carelessness might be the effectof want of sympathy and visible affection from his father, whose veryanxiety made him the more unbending; and that, what a worse tempermight have resented, rendered a good one gaily reckless and unheeding. 

She often wondered whether she should try to give a hint--but LordOrmersfield seemed to dread leading to the subject, although on allelse that interested him he came to her as in old times, and seemedgreatly refreshed and softened by her companionship. 

An old friend and former fellow-minister had proposed spending a nightat Ormersfield. He was the person whom the Earl most highly esteemed, and, in his own dignified way, he was solicitous that the householdshould be in more than usually perfect order, holding a long conferencewith the man of whom he was sure, Frampton. Would that he could havebeen equally sure of his son! He looked at him almost wistfullyseveral times during breakfast, and at last, as they rose, gave anexhortation 'that he would be punctual to dinner at half-past seven, which would give him ample time, and he hoped he would be--' He pausedfor a word, and his son supplied it. 'On my good behaviour, Iunderstand. ' With that he walked off, leaving Lord Ormersfield tellingMrs. Ponsonby that it was the first introduction, as he had 'forvarious reasons' thought it undesirable to bring Fitzjocelyn early toLondon, and betraying his own anxiety as to the impression he mightproduce on Sir Miles Oakstead. His own perplexity and despondencyshowed themselves in his desire to view his son with the eyes ofothers, and he also thought the tenor of Fitzjocelyn's future lifemight be coloured by his friend's opinion. 

Evening brought the guest. Mrs. Ponsonby was not well enough to appearat dinner, but Mary and Mrs. Frost, pleased to see an historicalcharacter, were in the drawing-room, enjoying Sir Miles's agreeableconversation, until they caught certain misgivings reflected in eachother's looks, as time wore on and nothing had been seen or heard ofLouis. The half-hour struck; the Earl waited five minutes, then rangthe bell. 'Is Lord Fitzjocelyn come in?'

'No, my Lord. '

'Bring in the dinner. '

Mary longed to fly in search of him, and spare further vexation. Shehad assumed all an elder sister's feelings, and suffered for him as sheused to do, when he was in disgrace and would not heed it. She heardno more of the conversation, and was insensible to the honour of goingin to dinner with the late Secretary of State, as she saw the emptyplace at the table. 

The soup was over, when she was aware of a step in the hall, and besideher stood a grey figure, bespattered with mud, shading his eyes withhis hand, as if dazzled by the lights. 'I beg your pardon, ' were thewords, 'but I was obliged to go to Northwold. I have shot arose-coloured pastor!'

'Shot him!' cried Mary. 'Was he much hurt?'

'Killed! I took him to Miss Faithfull, to be sketched before he isstuffed--'

A clearer view of the company, a wave of the hand from the Earl, andthe young gentleman was gone. Next he opened the library door, saying, 'Here's my pretty behaviour!'

'Louis! what is the matter?' cried Mrs. Ponsonby. 

'I entirely forgot the right honourable, and marched into thedining-room to tell Aunt Catharine that I have killed a rose-colouredpastor. '

'Killed what?'

'A bird, hardly ever seen in England. I spied him in the fir-wood, went to Warren for a gun, brought him down, and walked on to the HouseBeautiful, where Miss Faithfull was enchanted. She will copy him, andsend him to the bird-stuffer. I looked in to give directions, and oldJenyns was amazed; he never knew one shot here before, so early in theyear too. He says we must send the account to the Ornithological--'

'Do you know how wet you are? exclaimed Mrs. Ponsonby, seeing rivuletsdropping from his coat. 

'I see. It rained all the way home, and was so dark, I could not seethe footpath; and when I came in, my eyes were blinded by the light, and my head so full of the pastor, that the other minister neveroccurred to me, and remains under the impression that I have confesseda sacrilegious murder. '

'You really are incorrigible!' cried Mrs. Ponsonby. 'Why are you notdressing for dinner?'

'Because you are going to give me a cup of your tea. '

'Certainly not. I shall begin to think you purposely mortified yourfather, when you know he wanted you to be reasonable. '

'The lower species never show off well to strangers, ' said Fitzjocelyn, coolly; but, as he lighted his candle, he added, with more candour, 'Ibeg your pardon--indeed I did not do this on purpose, but don't sayanything about appearances--there's something in me that is sure torevolt. '

So noiselessly that the moment was unknown, the vacant chair was filledby a gentleman irreproachably attired, his face glowing with exercise, or with what made him very debonnaire and really silent, dining rapidlyand unobtrusively, and never raising his eyes even to his aunt, probably intending thus to remain all the evening; but presently SirMiles turned to him and said, 'Pray satisfy my curiosity. Who is therose-coloured pastor?'

Louis raised his eyes, and meeting a pleasing, sensible face, outbeamed his arch look of suppressed fun as he answered, 'He is not atall clerical. He is otherwise called the rose-coloured ouzel orstarling. '

'Whence is that other startling name?'

'From his attending flocks of sheep, on the same mission as jackdawsfulfil here--which likewise have an ecclesiastical reputation--

 'A great frequenter of the church. ''

Fearing alike nonsense and ornithology, Lord Ormersfield changed thesubject, and Louis subsided, but when the gentlemen came into thedrawing-room, Mrs. Ponsonby was surprised to see him taking a fairshare, and no more, of the conversation. Some information had beenwanted about the terms of labour in the mining districts, and Louis'svisit to Illershall enabled him to throw light on the subject, withmuch clearness and accuracy. Sir Miles had more literature than LordOrmersfield, and was more used to young men; and he began to drawFitzjocelyn out, with complete success. Louis fully responded to thetouch, and without a notion that he was showing himself to the bestadvantage, he yielded to the pleasure, and for once proved of what hewas capable--revealing unawares an unusual amount of intelligence andobservation, and great power of expression. Not even his aunt had everseen him appear so much like a superior man, and the only alloy was hisfather's, ill-repressed dread lest he should fall on dangerous ground, and commit himself either to his wildly philanthropical orextravagantly monarchical views, whichever might happen to be in theascendant. However, such shoals were not approached, nor did Louisever plunge out of his depth. The whole of his manner and demeanourwere proofs that, in his case, much talk sprang from exuberance ofideas, not from self-conceit. 

He was equally good in the morning: he had risen early to hunt up someinformation which Sir Miles wanted, and the clearness and readinesswith which he had found it were wonderful. The guest was delightedwith him; gave him a warm invitation to Oakstead, and on being leftalone with Mrs. Ponsonby, whom he had formerly known, expressed hisadmiration of his friend's son--as a fine, promising young man, ofgreat ability and originality, and, what was still more remarkable, ofmost simple, natural manners, perfectly free from conceit. He seemedthe more amazed, when he found, what he would hardly believe, thatFitzjocelyn was twenty-one, and had nearly finished his universityeducation. 

The liking was mutual. No sooner had Sir Miles departed, than Louiscame to the library in a rapture, declaring that here was therefreshing sight of a man unspoilt by political life, which usually ateout the hearts of people. 

Mary smiled at this, and told him that he was talking 'like an oldstatesman weary of the world. '

'One may be weary of the world beforehand as well as after, ' said he. 

'That does not seem worth while, ' said Mary. 

'No, ' he said, 'but one's own immediate look-out may not be flattering, whatever the next turn may bring;' and he took up the newspaper, andbegan to turn it over. ''As butler--as single-handed man--as clerk andaccountant. ' There, those are the lucky men, with downright work, andsome one to work for. Or, just listen to this!' and he plunged into astory of some heroic conduct during a shipwreck. While he was readingit aloud, with kindling eyes and enthusiastic interest, his fatheropened the door. 'Louis, ' he said, 'if you are doing nothing, I shouldbe obliged if you would make two copies of this letter. '

Louis glanced at the end of what he was reading, laid the paper down, and opened a blotting-book. 

'You had better come into the study, or you will not write correctly. '

'I can write, whatever goes on. '

'I particularly wish this to be legible and accurate. You have beguntoo low down. '

Louis took another sheet. 

'That pen is not fit to write with. '

'The pens are delusions, ' said Louis, trying them round, in an easy, idle way: 'I never could mend a quill! How is this steel one? Refusesto recognise the purpose of his existence. Aunt Catherine, do youstill forbid steel pens in your school? If so, it must be the solitaryinstance. How geese must cackle blessings on the inventor! He shouldhave a testimonial--a silver inkstand representing the goose that laidthe golden eggs, --and all writing-masters should subscribe. Ha! wheredid this pen come from? Mary, were you the bounteous mender! Athousand thanks. '

If Louis fretted his father by loitering and nonsense, his father wasno less trying by standing over him with advice and criticisms whichwould have driven most youths beyond patience, but which he bore withconstant good-humour, till his father returned to the study, when heexclaimed, 'Now, Mary, if you like to finish the wreck, it will notinterrupt me. This is mere machine-work. '

'Thank you, ' said Mary; 'I should like it better afterwards. Do youthink I might do one copy for you? Or would it not suit LordOrmersfield?'

Louis made polite demurs, but she overruled them and began. 

He stretched himself, took up his Times, and skimmed the remainingincidents of the shipwreck, till he was shamed by seeing Mary half-waydown the first page, when he resumed his pen, overtook her, and thenrelapsed into talk, till Mrs. Frost fairly left the room, to silencehim. 

As the two copies were completed, Lord Ormersfield returned; and Mary, with many apologies, presented her copy, and received most graciousthanks and compliments on her firm, clear writing, a vexation to herrather than otherwise, since 'Fitzjocelyn' was called to account fordubious scrawls, errors, and erasures. 

He meekly took another sheet, consoling himself, however, by saying, 'Iwarn you that pains will only make it Miss Fanny. '

'What do you mean?'

As if glad to be instigated, he replied, 'Did you never hear of mysignature being mistaken by an ingenious person, who addressed hisanswer to 'Miss Fanny Jocelyn? Why, Fanny has been one of Jem'sregular names for me ever since! I have the envelope somewhere as acuriosity. I'll show it to you, Mary. '

'You seem to be proud of it!' exclaimed his father, nearly out ofpatience. 'Pray tell me whether you intend to copy this creditably ornot. '

'I will endeavour, but the Fates must decide. I can scrawl, or, withpains, I can imitate Miss Fanny; but the other alternative only comesin happy moments. '

'Do you mean that you cannot write well if you choose?'

'It is like other arts--an inspiration. Dogberry was deep when he saidit came by nature. '

'Then make no more attempts. No. That schoolgirl's niggle is worsethan the first. '

'Fanny, as I told you, ' said Louis, looking vacantly up in resigneddespair, yet not without the lurking expression of amusement, 'I willtry again. '

'No, I thank you. I will have no more time wasted. '

Louis passively moved to the window, where he exclaimed that he sawAunt Catharine sunning herself in the garden, and must go and help her. 

'Did you ever see anything like that?' cried Lord Ormersfield, thoroughly moved to displeasure. 

'There was at least good-humour, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 'Pardon me, there was almost as much to try his temper as yours. '

'He is insensible!'

'I think not. A word from Aunt Catharine rules him. '

'Though you counselled it, Mary, I doubt whether her training hasanswered. Henry Frost should have been a warning. '

Mary found herself blundering in her new copy, and retreated with it tothe study, while her mother made answer: 'I do not repent of my advice. The affection between him and Aunt Catherine is the greatest blessingto him. '

'Poor boy!' said his father, forgetting his letters as he stoodpondering. Mrs. Ponsonby seized the moment for reporting Sir Miles'sopinion, but the Earl did not betray his gratification. 'First sight!'he said. 'Last night and this afternoon he is as unlike as these are, 'and he placed before her Louis's unlucky copies, together with a letterwritten in a bold, manly hand. 'Three different men might have writtenthese! And he pretends he cannot write like this, if he please!'

'I have no doubt it is to a certain extent true. Yes, absolutely true. You do not conceive the influence that mood has on some charactersbefore they have learnt to master themselves. I do not mean temper, but the mere frame of spirits. Even sense of restraint will often takeaway the actual power from a child, or where there is not a strongwill. '

'You are right!' said he, becoming rigid as if with pain. 'He is achild! You have not yet told me what you think of him. You need nothesitate. No one sees the likeness more plainly than I do. '

'It is strong externally, ' she said; 'but I think it is more externalthan real, more temperament than character. '

'You are too metaphysical for me, Mary;' and he would fain have smiled. 

'I want you to be hopeful. Half the object would be attained if youwere, and he really deserves that you should. '

'He will not let me. If I hope at one moment, I am disappointed thenext. '

'And how? By nothing worse than boyishness. You confirm what my aunttells me, that there has never been a serious complaint of him. '

'Never. His conduct has always been blameless; but every tutor hassaid the same--that he has no application, and allows himself to besurpassed by any one of moderate energy!'

'Blameless conduct! How many fathers would give worlds to be able togive such a character of a son!'

'There are faults that are the very indications of a manly spirit, 'began the Earl, impatiently. 'Not that I mean that I wish--he hasnever given me any trouble--but just look at James Frost, and you wouldsee what I mean! There's energy in him--fire--independence; you feelthere is substance in him, and like him the better for having a willand way of his own. '

'So, I think, has Louis; but it is so often thwarted, that it sinksaway under the sense of duty and submission. '

'If there were any consistency or reason in his fancies, they would notgive way so easily; but it is all talk, all extravagant notions--hereone day, gone the next. Not a spark of ambition!'

'Ambition is not so safe a spark that we should wish to see it lighted. '

'A man must wish to see his son hold his proper station, and aim high!No one can be satisfied to see him a trifler. '

'I have been trying to find out why he trifles. As far as I can see, he has no ambition, and I do not think his turn will be for a life likeyours. His bent is towards what is to do good to others. He wouldmake an admirable country gentleman. '

'A mere farmer, idling away his time in his fields. '

'No; doing infinite good by example and influence, and coming forwardwhenever duty required it. Depend upon it, the benefit to others isthe impulse which can work on Louis, not personal ambition. Birth hasalready given him more than he values. '

'You may be right, ' said Lord Ormersfield, 'but it is hard to see somany advantages thrown away, and what sometimes seems like so muchability wasted. But who can tell? he is never the same for an hourtogether. '

'May it not be for want of a sphere of wholesome action?'

'He is not fit for it, Mary. You know I resolved that the wholeburthen of our losses should fall on me; I made it my object that heshould not suffer, and should freely have whatever I had at the sameage. Everything is cleared at last. I could give him the same incomeas I started in life with; but he is so reckless of money, that Icannot feel justified in putting it into his hands. Say what I will, not a vacation occurs but he comes to tell me of some paltry debt often or fifteen pounds. '

'He comes to tell you! Nay, never say he has no resolution! Suchdebts as those, what are they compared with other young men's, of whichthey do not tell their fathers?'

'If he were like other youths, I should know how to deal with him. Butyou agree with me, he is not fit to have a larger sum in his hands. '

'Perhaps not; he is too impulsive and inexperienced. If you were toask me how to make it conduce to his happiness, I should say, lay outmore on the estate, so as to employ more men, and make improvements inwhich he would take interest. '

'I cannot make him care for the estate. Last winter, when he came ofage, I tried to explain the state of affairs; but he was utterlyindifferent--would not trouble himself to understand the papers he wasto sign, and made me quite ashamed of such an exhibition beforeRichardson. '

'I wish I could defend him! And yet--you will think me unreasonable, but I do believe that if he had thought the welfare of others wasconcerned, he would have attended more. '

'Umph!'

'I am not sure that it is not his good qualities that make him so hardto deal with. The want of selfishness and vanity seem to take away twocommon springs of action, but I do believe that patience will bring outsomething much higher when you have found the way to reach it. '

'That I certainly have not, if it be there!'

'To cultivate his sympathies with you, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, hesitating, and not venturing to look into his face. 

'Enough, Mary, ' he said, hastily. You said the like to me once before. '

'But, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, firmly, '_here_ there is a foundation towork on. There are affections that only need to be drawn out to makeyou happy, and him--not, perhaps, what you now wish, but better thanyou wish. '

His face had become hard as he answered, 'Thank you, Mary; you havealways meant the best. You have always been kind to me, and to allbelonging to me. '

Her heart ached for the father and son, understanding each other solittle, and paining each other so much, and she feared that the Earl'smind had been too much cramped, and his feelings too much chilled, forsuch softening on his part as could alone, as it seemed, prevent Louisfrom being estranged, and left to his naturally fickle and indolentdisposition. 

Mary had in the mean time completed her copies, and left them on theEarl's table; and wishing neither to be thanked nor contrasted withLouis, she put on her bonnet, to go in search of Aunt Catharine. Notfinding her in the garden, she decided on visiting old Gervas and hiswife, who had gladly caught at her offer of reading to them. The visitover, she returned by the favourite path above Ferny dell, gatheringprimroses, and meditating how to stir up Louis to finish off his rockysteps, and make one piece of work complete. She paused at the summitof them, and was much inclined to descend and examine what was wanting, when she started at hearing a rustling beneath, then a low moan and anattempt at a call. The bushes and a projecting rock cut off her view;but, in some trepidation, she called out, 'Is any one there?' Littledid she expect the answer--

'It is I--Fitzjocelyn. Come!--I have had a fall. '

'I'm coming--are you hurt?' she cried, as with shaking limbs sheprepared to begin the descent. 

'Not that way, ' he called; 'it gave way--go to the left. '

She was almost disobeying; but, recalling herself to thought, shehurried along the top till the bank became practicable, and tore herway through brake and brier, till she could return along the side ofthe stream. 

Horror-struck, she perceived that a heavy stone had given way androlled down, bearing Louis with it, to the bottom, where he lay, ghastly and helpless. She called to him; and he tried to raisehimself, but sank back. 'Mary! is it you? I thought I should havedied here, ' he said; as she knelt by him, exclaiming, 'Oh, Louis!Louis! what a dreadful fall!'

'It is my fault, ' he eagerly interrupted. 'I am glad it has happenedto no one else. '

'And you are terribly hurt! I must go for help! but what can I do foryou? Would you like some water?

'Water! Oh! I have heard it all this time gurgling there!'

She filled his cap, and bathed his face, apparently to his greatrelief, and she ventured to ask if he had been long there. 

'Very long!' he said. 'I must have fainted after I got the stone offmy foot, so I missed Gervas going by. I thought no one else would comenear. Thank God!'

Mary almost grew sick as she saw how dreadfully his left ankle had beencrushed by a heavy stone; and her very turning towards it made himshudder, and say, 'Don't touch me! I am shattered all over. '

'I am afraid I should only hurt you, ' she said, with difficultycontrolling herself. 'I had better fetch some one. '

He did not know how to be left again; but the damp chilliness of hishands made her the more anxious to procure assistance, and, afterspreading her shawl over him, she made the utmost speed out of thethicket. As she emerged, she saw Lord Ormersfield riding with hisgroom, and her scream and sign arrested him; but, by the time they met, she could utter nothing but 'Louis!'

'Another accident!' was the almost impatient answer. 

'He is dreadfully hurt!' she said, sobbing and breathless. 'His footis crushed! He has been there this hour!'

The alarm was indeed given. The Earl seemed about to rush away withoutknowing whither; and she had absolutely to withhold him, while, summoning her faculties, she gave directions to Poynings. Then she lethim draw her on, too fast for speaking, until they reached the spotwhere Louis lay, so spent with pain and cold, that he barely opened hiseyes at their voices, made no distinct answers as to his hurts, andshrank and moaned when his father would have raised him. 

Mary contrived to place his head on her lap, bathed his forehead andchafed his hands, while Lord Ormersfield stood watching him with looksof misery, or paced about, anxiously looking for the servants. 

They came at last, all too soon for poor Louis, who suffered terriblyin the transport, and gave few tokens of consciousness, except a crynow and then extorted by a rougher movement. 

None of the household, scarcely even Mrs. Frost, seemed at first to beable to believe that Lord Fitzjocelyn could really have hurt himselfseriously. 'Again!' was the first word of every one, for his manyslight accidents were treated like crying 'Wolf;' but Frampton himselflooked perfectly pale and shocked when he perceived how the matterreally stood; and neither he nor Lord Ormersfield was half so helpfulas Mrs. Frost. The shock only called out her energy in behalf of herdarling, and, tender as her nature was, she shrank from nothing thatcould soothe and alleviate his suffering; and it did infinitely comforthim, as he held her hand and looked with affection into her face, evenin the extremity of pain. 

Fain would others have been the same support; but his father, thoughnot leaving him, was completely unnerved, and unable to do anything;and Mrs. Ponsonby was suffering under one of the attacks that werebrought on by any sudden agitation. Mary, though giddy and throbbingin every pulse, was forced to put a resolute check on herself--braceher limbs, steady her voice, and keep her face composed, while everyfaculty was absorbed in listening for sounds from her cousin's room, and her heart was quivering with an anguish of prayer and suspense. Could she but hide her burning cheeks for one moment, let out one ofthe sobs that seemed to be rending her breast, throw herself on herknees and burst into tears, what an infinite relief it would be! ButMary had learnt to spend her life in having no self. 

CHAPTER VI. 

FAREWELLS. 

 What yet is there that I should do, Lingering in this darksome vale? Proud and mighty, fair to view, Are our schemes, and yet they fail, Like the sand before the wind, That no power of man can bind. ARNDT, Lyra Germanica. 

Dynevor Terrace was said to have dark, damp kitchens, but by none whohad ever been in No. 5, when the little compact fire was compressed toone glowing red crater of cinders, their smile laughing ruddily backfrom the bright array on the dresser, the drugget laid down, the roundoaken table brought forward, and Jane Beckett, in afternoon trim, tending her geraniums, the offspring of the parting Cheveleigh nosegay, or gauffreing her mistress's caps. No wonder that on raw evenings, Master James, Miss Clara, or my young Lord, had often been foundgossiping with Jane, toasting their own cheeks as well as the bread, orpinching their fingers in her gauffreing machine. 

Yet, poor little Charlotte Arnold learnt that the kitchen could bedreary, when Mrs. Beckett had been summoned to nurse Lord Fitzjocelyn, and she remained in sole charge, under Mrs. Martha's occasionalsupervision. She found herself, her household cares over all too soon, on a cold light March afternoon, with the clock ticking loud enough formidnight, the smoke-jack indulging in supernatural groans, and thewhole lonely house full of undefined terrors, with an unlimited spaceof the like solitude before her. She would even have been glad to besure of an evening of Mrs. Martha's good advice, and of darningstockings! She sat down by the round table to Mr. James's wristbands;but every creak or crack of the furniture made her start, and think ofdeath-watches. She might have learnt to contemn superstition, but thatdid not prevent it from affecting her nerves. 

She spread her favourite study, The Old English Baron, on the tablebefore her; but the hero had some connexion in her mind with TomMadison, for whom she had always coveted a battle-field in France. Whatwould he feel when he heard how he had filled up his course of evil, being well-nigh the death of his benefactor! If any one ought to behaunted, it would assuredly be no other than Tom!

Chills running over her at the thought, she turned to the fire as thething nearest life, but at the moment started at a hollow call of herown name. A face was looking in at her through the geraniums! Sheshrieked aloud, and clasped her hands over her eyes. 

'Don't make a row. Open the door!'

It was such a relief to hear something unghostly, that she sprang tothe door; but as she undid it, all her scruples seized her, and shetried to hold it, saying, 'Don't come in! You unfortunate boy, do youknow what you have done?'

But Tom Madison was in a mood to which her female nature cowered. Hepushed the door open, saying authoritatively, 'Tell me how he is!'

'He is as ill as he can be to be alive, ' said Charlotte, actuated atonce by the importance of being the repository of such tidings, and bythe excitement of communicating them to one so deeply concerned. 'Mr. Poynings came in to fetch Mrs. Beckett--he would have no one else tonurse him--and he says the old Lord and Missus have never had theirclothes off these two nights. '

'Then, was it along of them stones?' asked the lad, hoarsely. 

'Yourself should know best!' returned Charlotte. 'Mr. Poynings says'twas a piece of rock as big as that warming-pan as crushed his ankle!and you know--'

'I know nothing, ' said Tom. 'Master kept me in all day yesterday, andI only heard just now at Little Northwold, where I've been to take homesome knives of Squire Calcott's. Master may blow me up if he likes, but I couldn't come till I'd heard the rights of it. Is he so verybad?'

'They've sent up to London for a doctor, ' pursued Charlotte. 'Mr. Walby don't give but little hope of him. Poor young gentleman, I'msure he had a good word from high and low!'

'Well! I'm gone!' cried Tom, vehemently. 'Goodbye to you, CharlotteArnold! You'll never see me in these parts more!'

'Gone! Oh, Tom! what do you mean!'

'D'ye think I'll stay here to have this here cast in my face? Such aone as won't never walk the earth again!' and he burst out intopassionate tears. 'I wish I was dead!'

'Oh, hush, Tom!--that is wicked!'

'May be so! I am all that's wicked, and you all turn against me!'

'I don't turn against you, ' sobbed Charlotte, moved to the bottom ofher gentle heart. 

'You! you turned against me long ago. You've been too proud to castone look at me these three months; and he forgot me; and that's whatdrew me on, when who cared what became of me--nor I neither now. '

'Don't speak that way! Don't say 'twas pride. Oh no! but I had tobehave proper, and how should I keep up acquaintance when they said youwent on--unsteady--'

'Aye, aye! I know how it is, ' said poor Tom, with broken-downhumility: 'I was not fit for you then, and I'm next thing to a murderernow; and you're like a white dove that the very fingers of me wouldgrime. I'll take myself out of your way; but, let what will come ofme, I'll never forget you, Charlotte. '

'Oh, wait, Tom! If I could but say it right!--Oh! I know there'ssomething about biding patiently, and getting a blessing--if you'd onlystop while I recollect it. '

'I thought I heard voices!' exclaimed Mrs. Martha, suddenly descendingon them. 'I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourselves, and the family insuch trouble! Downright owdacious!'

'Be this your house?' said Tom, stepping before Charlotte, hisdejection giving way instantly to rude independence. 

'Oh, very well, ' said Martha, with dignity. 'I know what to expectfrom such sort of people. The house and young woman is in my charge, sir; and if you don't be off, I'll call the police. '

'Never trouble your old bones!' retorted Tom. 

'Good-bye to you, Charlotte;' and, as in defiance of Martha, he tookher passive hand. 'You'll remember one as loved you true and faithful, but was drove desperate! Good-bye! I'll not trouble no one no more!'

The three concluding negatives with which he dashed out of the houseutterly overwhelmed Charlotte, and made her perfectly insensible toMrs. Martha's objurgations. She believed in the most horrible anddesperate intentions, and sobbed herself into such violent hystericsthat Miss Mercy came in to assist--imagined that the rude boy hadterrified her, misunderstood her shamefaced attempts at explanation, and left her lying on her bed, crying quietly over her secret terrors, and over that first, strangely-made declaration of love. The whitedove! she did not deserve it, but it was so poetical! and poor Tom wasso unhappy! She had not time even to think what was become of her owncharacter for wisdom and prudence. 

The next morning, between monition and triumph, Martha announced thatthe good-for-nothing chap was off with a valuable parcel of Mr. Calcott's, and the police were after him; with much more about hisformer idle habits, --frequenting of democratic oratory, public-houses, and fondness for bad company and strolling actors. Meek and easilycowed, Charlotte only opened her lips to say she knew that he had takenhome Mr. Calcott's parcel. But this brought down a storm on her forbeing impertinent enough to defend him, and she sat trembling till ithad subsided; and Martha retreating, left her to weep unrestrainedlyover her wild fancies, and the world's cruelty and injustice towardsone whom, as she was now ready to declare, she loved with her wholeheart. 

The bell rang sharply, knocks rattled at the front door! She was surethat Tom had been just taken out of the river! But instinct to answerthe bell awoke at the second furious clattering and double pealing, which allowed no time for her to compose her tear-streaked, swollenface, especially as the hasty sounds suggested 'Mr. James. '

Mr. James it was, but the expected rebuke for keeping him waiting wasnot spoken. As he saw her sorrowful looks, he only said, low andsoftly, 'Is it so, Charlotte?' In his eyes, there could be but onecause for grief, and Charlotte's heart smote her for hypocrisy, whenshe could barely command her voice to reply, 'No, sir; my Lord has hada little better night. '

He spoke with unusual gentleness, as he made more inquiries than shecould answer; and when, after a few minutes, he turned to walk on toOrmersfield, he said, kindly, 'Good-bye, Charlotte; I'll send you wordif I find him better:' and the tears rose in his eyes at the thoughthow every one loved the patient. 

He was not wrong. There was everywhere great affection and sympathyfor the bright, fantastic being whom all laughed at and liked, andNorthwold and the neighbourhood felt that they could have better sparedsomething more valuable. 

The danger was hardly exaggerated even by Charlotte. The chill of thelong exposure had brought on high fever; and besides the crushed ankle, there had been severe contusions, which had resulted in an acute painin the side, hitherto untouched by remedies, and beyond thecomprehension of the old Northwold surgeon, Mr. Walby. As yet, however, the idea of peril had not presented itself to Louis, though hewas perfectly sensible. Severe pain and illness were new to him; andthough not fretful nor impatient, he had not the stoicism either ofpride or of physical indifference, put little restraint on theexpression of suffering, and was to an almost childish degree absorbedin the present. He was always considerate and grateful; and his fondaffection for his Aunt Catharine, and for good old Jane, never failedto show itself whenever they did anything for his relief; and they werethe best of nurses. 

Poor Lord Ormersfield longed to be equally effective; but he wasneither handy nor ready, and could only sit hour after hour beside hisson, never moving except to help the nurses, or to try to catch theslightest accent of the sufferer. Look up when Louis would, he alwayssaw the same bowed head, and earnest eyes, which, as Mrs. Ponsonby toldher daughter, looked as they did when Louisa was dying. 

The coming of the London surgeon was an era to which Louis evidentlylooked anxiously, with the iteration of sickness, often reckoning thehours till he could arrive; and when at last he came, there was anevident effort to command attention. 

When the visit was over, and the surgeon was taking leave after theconsultation, Fitzjocelyn calmly desired to know his opinion, and kepthis eyes steadily fixed on his face, weighing the import of each word. All depended on the subduing the inflammatory action, in the side; andthere was every reason to hope that he would have strength for thesevere treatment necessary. There was no reason to despond. 

'I understand--thank you, ' said Louis. 

He shut his eyes, and lay so still that Mrs. Frost trusted that heslept; but when his father came in, they were open, and LordOrmersfield, bending over him, hoped he was in less pain. 

'Thank you, there is not much difference. ' But the plaintive sound wasgone, the suffering was not the sole thought. 

'Walby is coming with the leeches at two o'clock, ' said LordOrmersfield: 'I reckon much on them. '

'Thank you. ' Silence again, but his face spoke a wish, and his auntCatharine said, 'What, my dear?'

'I should like to see Mr. Holdsworth, ' said Louis, with eyes appealingto his father. 

'He has been here to inquire every day, ' said the Earl, choosingneither to refuse nor understand. 'Whenever it is not too much foryou--'

'It must be quickly, before I am weaker, ' said Louis. 'Let it bebefore Walby returns, father. '

'Whatever you wish, my dear--' and Lord Ormersfield, turning towardsthe table, wrote a note, which Mrs. Frost offered to despatch, thinkingthat her presence oppressed her elder nephew, who looked bowed down bythe intensity of grief, which, unexpressed, seemed to pervade the wholeman and weigh him to the earth: and perhaps this also struck Louis forthe first time, for, after having lain silent for some minutes, hesoftly said, 'Father!'

The Earl was instantly beside him, but, instead of speaking, Louisgazed in his face, and sighed, as he murmured, 'I was meant to havebeen a comfort to you. '

'My dear boy--' began Lord Ormersfield, but he could not trust hisvoice, as he saw Louis's eyes moist with tears. 

'I wish I had!' he continued; 'but I have never been anything but acare and vexation, and I see it all too late. '

'Nay, Louis, ' said his father, trying to assume his usual tone ofauthority, as if to prove his security, 'you must not give way tofeelings of illness. It is weak to despond. '

'It is best to face it, ' said the young man, with slow and feebleutterance, but with no quailing of eye or voice. 'But oh, father! Idid not think you would feel it so much. I am not worth it. '

For the Earl could neither speak nor breathe, as if smothered by onemighty unuttered sob, and holding his son's hand between both his own, pressed it convulsively. 

'I am glad Mrs. Ponsonby is here, ' said Louis; 'and you will soon findwhat a nice fellow Edward Fitzjocelyn is, whom you may make just what--'

'Louis, my own boy, hush! I cannot bear this, ' cried his father, in anaccent wrung from him by excess of grief. 

'I may recover, ' said Louis, finding it his turn to comfort, 'and Ishould like to be longer with you, to try to make up--'

'You will. The leeches must relieve you. Only keep up your spirits:you have many years before you of happiness and success. '

The words brought a look of oppression over Louis's face, but itcleared as he said, 'I am more willing to be spared those years!'

His father positively started. 'Louis, my poor boy, ' he said, 'is itreally so? I know I have seemed a cold, severe father. '

'Oh, do not say so!' exclaimed Louis; 'I have deserved far less-idle, ungrateful, careless of your wishes. I did not know I could pain youso much, or I would not have done it. You have forgiven often, say youforgive now. '

'You have far more to forgive than I, ' said the Earl. 

'If I could tell you the half-waywardness, discontent, neglect, levity, wasted time--my treatment of you only three days back. Everythingpurposed--nothing done! Oh! what a life to bring before the Judge!'And he covered his face, but his father heard long-drawn sobs. 

'Compose yourself, my dear boy, ' he exclaimed, exceedingly grieved andperplexed. 'You know there is no cause to despond; and even--even ifthere were, you have no reason to distress yourself. I can say, fromthe bottom of my heart, that you have never given me cause for realanxiety, your conduct has been exemplary, and I never saw suchattention to religion in any young man. These are mere trifles--'

'Oh, hush, father!' exclaimed Louis. 'You are only making it worse;you little know what I am! If Mr. Holdsworth would come!'

'He could only tell you the same, ' said his father. 'You may takeevery comfort in thinking how blameless you have been, keeping so clearof all the faults of your age. I may not have esteemed you as youdeserved, my poor Louis; but, be assured that very few can have solittle to reproach themselves with as you have. '

Louis almost smiled. 'Poor comfort that, ' he said, 'even if it weretrue; but oh, father!' and there was a light in his eye, 'I had thoughtof 'He hath blotted out like a cloud thy transgressions. ''

'That is right. One like you must find comfort in thinking. '

'There is comfort ineffable, ' said Louis; 'but if I knew what I maydare to take home to myself! It is all so dim and confused. This painwill not let anything come connectedly. Would you give me that littlemanuscript book!'

It was given; and as the many loose leaves fell under Louis's weakhand, his father was amazed at the mass of copies of prayers, texts, and meditations that he had brought together; the earlier pagescontaining childish prayers written in Aunt Catharine's hand. Louis'scheeks coloured at the revelation of his hidden life, as his father putthem together for him. 

'It is of no use, ' he said, sadly; 'I cannot read. Perhaps my auntwould come and read this to me. '

'Let me, ' said his father; and Louis looked pleased. 

Lord Ormersfield read what was pointed out. To him it was a glimpse ofa very new world of contrition, faith, hope, and prayer; but he saw theuneasy expression on Louis's face give place to serenity, as onealready at home in that sphere. 

'Thank you, ' he said. 'That was what I wanted. Mr. Holdsworth willsoon come, and then I don't want to say much more. Only don't takethis too much to heart--I am not worth it; and but for you and the dearTerrace home, I can be very glad. If I may hope, the hope is sobright! Here there are so many ways of going wrong, and all I doalways fails; and yet I always tried to do Him service. Oh, to haveall perfect!--no failure--no inconsistency--no self! Can it be?'

'I always tried to do Him service!' Sadly and dejectedly as the wordswere spoken--mournful as was the contrast between the will and theresult, this was the true cause that there was peace with Louis. Unstable, negligent, impetuous, and weak as he had been, the oneearnest purpose had been his, guarding the heart, though not yetcontrolling the judgment. His soul was awake to the unseen, and thusthe sense of the reality of bliss ineffable, and power to take comfortin the one great Sacrifice, came with no novelty nor strangeness. Itwas a more solemn, more painful preparation, but such as he hadhabitually made, only now it was for a more perfect Festival. 

His father, as much awestruck by his hopes as distressed by hispenitence, still gave himself credit for having soothed him, and wentto meet and forewarn the Vicar that poor Fitzjocelyn was inclined todespond, and was attaching such importance to the merest, foibles in amost innocent life, that he required the most tender and carefulencouragement. He spoke in his usual tone of authoritative courtesy;and then, finding that his son wished to be left alone with Mr. Holdsworth, he went to the library to seek the only person to whom hecould bear to talk. 

'Mary, ' he said, 'you were right. I have done so little to make thatpoor boy of mine happy, that he does not wish for life. '

Mrs. Ponsonby looked up surprised. 'Are you sure of what he meant?'she said. 'Was it not that this life has nothing to compare with thatwhich is to come?'

'But what can be more unnatural?' said the Earl. 'At his age, witheverything before him, nothing but what he felt as my harshness couldso have checked hope and enjoyment. My poor Louis!' And, though eyeand voice were steady and tearless, no words could express the anguishof his under-tone. 

Mrs. Ponsonby adduced instances showing that, to early youth, withheart still untainted by the world, the joys of the Life Everlastinghave often so beamed out as to efface all that earth could promise, buthe could not be argued out of self-reproach for his own want ofsympathy, and spoke mournfully of his cold manner, sternness to smallfaults, and denial of gratifications. 

Mary the younger could not help rising from her corner to say, 'Indeed, Louis said the other day that you never had denied him any personalindulgence. '

'My dear, he never asked for personal indulgences, ' said the Earl. Hisfurther speech was interrupted by a quick step, a slow opening of thedoor, and the entrance of James Frost, who grasped his outstretchedhand with a breathless inquiry. 

'He is very ill--' Lord Ormersfield paused, too much oppressed to saymore. 

'No better? What did the London surgeon say? what?'

'He says there is no time to be lost in attacking the inflammation. Ifwe can subdue that, he may recover; but the state of the ankle weakenshim severely. I believe myself that he is going fast, ' said the Earl, with the same despairing calmness; and James, after gazing at him tocollect his meaning, dropped into a chair, covered his face with hishands, and sobbed aloud. 

Lord Ormersfield looked on as if he almost envied the relief of theoutburst, but James's first movement was to turn on him, as if he wereneglecting his son, sharply demanding, 'Who is with him?'

'He wished to be left with Mr. Holdsworth. '

'Is it come to this!' cried James. 'Oh, why did I not come down withhim? I might have prevented all this!'

'You could not have acted otherwise, ' said the Earl, kindly. 'Yourengagement was already formed. '

'I could!' said James. 'I would not. I thought it one of your excusesfor helping us. '

'It is vain to lament these things now, ' said Lord Ormersfield. 'It isvery kind in you to have come down, and it will give him great pleasureif he be able to see you. '

'If!' James stammered between consternation and anger at the doubt, and treated the Earl with a kind of implied resentment as if forinjustice suffered by Louis, but it was affecting to see his petulancereceived with patience, almost with gratitude, as a proof of hisaffection for Louis. The Earl stood upright and motionless before thefire, answering steadily, but in an almost inward voice, all thedetailed questions put by James, who, seated on one chair, with hishands locked on the back of the other, looked keenly up to him with hissharp black eyes, often overflowing with tears, and his voice broken bygrief. When he had elicited that Louis had been much excited anddistressed by the thought of his failings, he burst out, 'Whatever youmay think, Lord Ormersfield, no one ever had less on his conscience!'

'I am sure of it. '

'I know of no one who would have given up his own way again and againwithout a murmur, only to be called fickle. '

'Yes, it has often been so, ' meekly said Lord Ormersfield. 

'Fickle!' repeated James, warming with the topic, and pouring out whathad been boiling within for years. 'He was only fickle because hisstandard was too high to be reached! You thought him weak!'

'There may be weakness by nature strengthened by principle, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 

'True, ' cried Jem, who, having taken no previous notice of her, had atfirst on her speaking bent his brows on her as if to extend to her thestorm he was inflicting on poor, defenceless Lord Ormersfield, 'he isthought soft because of his easy way; but come to the point where harmdisplays itself, you can't move him a step farther--though he hangsback in such a quiet, careless fashion, that it seems as if he was onlytired of the whole concern, and so it goes down again aschangeableness. '

'You always did him justice, ' said Lord Ormersfield, laying his hand onhis cousin's shoulder, but James retreated ungraciously. 

'I suppose, where he saw evil, he actually took a dislike, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 

'It is an absolute repugnance to anything bad. You, ' turning again onthe Earl, 'had an idea of his being too ready to run into all sorts ofcompany; but I told you there was no danger. '

'You told me I might trust to his disgust to anything unrefined ordissipated. You knew him best. '

'There is that about him which men, not otherwise particular, respectas they might a woman or a child. They never show themselves in theirtrue colours, and I have known him uphold them because he has neverseen their worst side!'

'I have always thought he learnt that peculiar refinement from yourgrandmother. '

'I think, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, softly, 'that it is purity of heartwhich makes him see heaven so bright. '

'Sydney Calcott walked part of the way with me, ' continued Jem, 'andshowed more feeling than I thought was in him. He said just what I do, that he never saw any one to whom evil seemed so unable to cling. Hespoke of him at school--said he was the friend of all the juniors, buttoo dreamy and uncertain for fellows of his own standing. He said, atfirst they did not know what to make of him, with his soft looks andcool ways--they could not make him understand bullying, for he couldnot be frightened nor put in a passion. Only once, one great louttried forcing bad language on him, and then Fitzjocelyn struck him, fought him, and was thoroughly licked, to be sure: but Calcott said itwas a moral victory--no one tried the like again--'

James was interrupted by Mr. Holdsworth's entrance. He said a fewwords apart to the Earl, who answered, with alarm, 'Not now; he hasgone through enough. '

'I told him so, but he is very anxious, and begged me to return in theevening. '

'Thank you. You had better join us at dinner. '

The Vicar understood Lord Ormersfield better than did James, and said, pressing his hand, 'My Lord, it is heart-breaking, but the blessednessis more than we can feel. '

Mrs. Ponsonby and Mary were left to try to pacify James, who was halfmad at his exclusion from the sickroom, and very angry with every hintof resignation--abusing the treatment of the doctors, calling Mr. Walbyan old woman, and vehemently bent on prophesying the well-doing of thepatient. Keenly sensitive, grief and suspense made him unusuallyirritable; and he seemed to have no power of waiting patiently, andtrusting the event to wiser Hands. 

Mrs. Ponsonby dared not entertain any such ardent wishes. Life had notafforded her so much joy that she should deem it the greatest good, andall that she had heard gave her the impression that Louis was too softand gentle for the world's hard encounter, --most pure and innocent, sincere and loving at present, but rather with the qualities ofchildhood than of manhood, with little strength or perseverance, sothat the very dread of taint or wear made it almost a relief to thinkof his freshness and sweetness being secured for ever. Even when shethought of his father, and shrank from such grief for him, she couldnot but see a hope that this affliction might soften the heart closedup by the first and far worse sorrow, and detach it from the intereststhat had absorbed it too exclusively. All this was her food for silentmeditation. Mary sat reading or working beside her, paler perhaps thanher wont, and betraying that her ear caught every sound on the stairs, but venturing no word except the most matter-of-fact remark, quietlygiving force to the more favourable symptoms. 

Not till after Mr. Walby's second visit, when there was a littlerespite in the hard life-and-death contest between the remedies and theinflammation, could Mrs. Frost spare a few moments for her grandson. She met him on the stairs--threw her arms round his neck, called himher poor Jemmy, and hastily told him that he must not make her cry. Helooked anxiously in her face, and told her that he must take her place, for she was worn out. '

'No, thank you, my dear, I can rest by-and-by. '

It sounded very hopeless. 

'Come, granny, you always take the bright side. '

'Who knows which is the bright side?' she said. 'Such as he are alwaysthe first. But there, dear Jem, I told you not to make too much ofgranny--' and hastily withdrawing her hand, she gave a parting caressto his hair as he stood on the step below her, and returned to hercharge. 

It would have been an inexpressible comfort to James to have had someone to reproach. His own wretchedness was like a personal injury, andan offence that he could resent would have been a positive relief. Hewas forced to get out of the way of Frampton coming up with a tray oflemonade, and glared at him, as if even a station on the stairs weredenied, then dashed out of doors, and paced the garden, goaded by everyassociation the scene recalled. It seemed a mere barbarity to deprivehim of what he now esteemed as the charm of his life--the cousin whohad been as a brother, ever seeking his sympathy, never offended by hissharp, imperious temper, and though often slighted or tyrannized over, meeting all in his own debonnaire fashion, and never forsaking thepoor, hard-working student, so that he might well feel that the worldcould not offer him aught like Louis Fitzjocelyn. 

He stood in the midst of the botanical garden, and, with almosttriumphant satisfaction, prognosticated that now there would be regretthat Louis's schemes had been neglected or sneered at, and when toolate, his father might feel as much sorrow as he had time for. It wasthe bitterness, not the softness of grief, in which he looked forthinto the dull blue east-windy haze deepening in the twilight, andpresently beheld something dark moving along under the orchard bankbeneath. 'Hollo! who's there?' he exclaimed, and the form, rearingitself, disclosed young Madison, never a favourite with him, andthough, as a persecuted protege of Louis, having claims which atanother time might have softened him, coming forward at an unluckymoment, when his irritation only wanted an object on which to dischargeitself. It was plain that one who came skulking in the private groundscould intend no good, and James greeted him, harshly, with 'You've nobusiness here!'

'I'm doing no harm, ' said the boy, doggedly, for his temper was asstubborn as James's was excitable. 

'No harm! lurking here in that fashion in the dark! You'll not make mebelieve that! Let me hear what brings you here! The truth, mind!'

'I came to hear how Lord Fitzjocelyn is, ' said Tom, with briefbluntness and defiance. 

'A likely story! What, you came to ask the apple-trees?' and Jamesscornfully laughed. 'There was no back-door, I suppose! I couldforgive you anything but such a barefaced falsehood, when you know itwas your own intolerable carelessness that was the only cause of theaccident!'

'Better say 'twas yourself!' cried Tom, hoarse with passion and shakingall over. 

The provocation was intense enough to bring back James's real principleand self-restraint, and he spoke with more dignity. 'You seem to bebeside yourself, Madison, ' he said, 'you had better go at once, beforeany one finds you here. Lord Fitzjocelyn cared for you so much, that Ishould not wish for you to meet your deserts under presentcircumstances. Go! I wish to have no more of your tongue!'

The boy was bounding off, while James walked slowly after to see himbeyond the grounds, and finding Warren the keeper, desired him to be onthe look-out. Warren replied with the tidings that Madison had runaway from his place, and that the police were looking out for him onthe suspicion of having stolen Mr. Calcott's parcel, moralizing furtheron the depravity of such doings when my young Lord was so ill, butaccounting for the whole by pronouncing poaching to be bred in the boneof the Marksedge people. 

This little scene had done Jem a great deal of good, both by theexhalation of bitterness and by the final exertion of forbearance. Hehad, indeed, been under two great fallacies on this day, --soothingCharlotte for the grief that was not caused by Fitzjocelyn's illness, and driving to extremity the lad brimming over with sorrow not inferiorto his own. Little did he know what a gentle word might have done forthat poor, wild, tempestuous spirit!

Yet, James's heart smote him that evening, when, according to Louis'searnest wish, Mr. Holdsworth came again, and they all were admitted tothe room, and he saw the feeble sign and summons to the Vicar to benddown and listen. 'Tell poor Madison, it was wrong in me not to go tosee him. Give him one of my books, and tell him to go on well!'

That day had been one of rapid change, and the remedies and sufferinghad so exhausted Louis that he could scarcely speak, and seemed hardlyconscious who was present. All his faculties were absorbed in the onewish, which late in the evening was granted. The scene was like anepitome of his life--the large irregular room, cumbered with thedisorderly apparatus of all his multifarious pursuits, while there helay on his little narrow iron bed, his features so fair and colourlessas to be strangely like his mother's marble effigy--his eyes closed, and his brows often contracted with pain, so that there was a doubt howfar his attention was free, but still with a calm, pure sweetness, thatsettled down more and more, as if he were being lulled into a sleep. 

'He is asleep, ' Mrs. Frost said, as they all rose up. 

They felt what that sleep might become. 

'We might as well wish to detain a snow-wreath, ' thought Mr. Holdsworth. 

CHAPTER VII. 

GOSSAMER. 

 Chaos is come again. --Othello. 

That sleep was not unto death. When James and Mary came simultaneouslycreeping to the door in the grey twilight of the morning, they heardthat there had been less pain and more rest, and gradually throughoutthe day, there was a diminution of the dangerous symptoms, till thetrembling hope revived that the patient might be given back again tolife. 

James was still sadly aggrieved at being forbidden the sick-room, andexceedingly envied Lord Ormersfield's seat there. He declared, so thatMary doubted whether it were jest or earnest, that the Earl onlyremained there because society expected it from their relativepositions, and that it must retard poor Fitzjocelyn's recovery to beperpetually basilisked by those cold grey eyes. Mary stood upgallantly for the Earl, who had always been so kind to her, and, on hermother's authority, vouched for his strong though hidden, feelings; towhich Jem replied, 'Aye! he was hiding a strong fear of being too latefor the beginning of the Session. '

'I do not think it right to impute motives, ' said Mary. 

'I would not, Mary, if I could help it, ' said James, 'but through thewhole course of my life I have never seen a token that his lordship isworthy of his son. If he were an ordinary, practical, common-placeblock, apt to support his dignity, he might value him, but all thegrace, peculiarity, and conventionality is a mere burthen and vexation, utterly wasted. '

Mary knew that she was a common-place block, and did not wonder atherself for not agreeing with James, but cherishing a strong convictionthat the father and son would now leave off rubbing against each other;since no unprejudiced person could doubt of the strong affection of thefather, nor of the warm gratitude of the son. In spite of the asperitywith which James spoke of the Earl, she was beginning to like himalmost as much as she esteemed him. This had not been the case intheir childhood, when he used to be praised by the elders for hisobedience to his grandmother and his progress in the Northwold GrammarSchool; but was terribly overbearing with his juniors, and whether hecuffed Louis or led him into mischief, equally distressed her. Grownup, he was peculiarly vif, quick and ready, unselfish in all his ways, and warmly affectionate--very agreeable companion where hissensitiveness was not wounded, and meriting high honour by his deeperqualities. Young as he was, he had already relieved his grandmotherfrom his own maintenance: he had turned to the utmost account hiseducation at the endowed school at Northwold; by sheer diligence, hadobtained, first a scholarship and then a fellowship at Oxford; and now, by practising rigid economy, and spending his vacations in tuition, hewas enabled to send his sister to a boarding-school. He had stolen afew days from his pupils on hearing of Fitzjocelyn's danger, but wasforced to return as soon as the improvement became confirmed. On theprevious day, he asked Mary to walk with him to the scene of theaccident, and they discussed the cause with more coolness than theyreally felt, as they shuddered at the depth of the fall, and the sizeof the stones. 

James declared it all the fault of that runaway scamp, young Madison, in whom Louis had always been deceived, and who had never been seensince the night of his apparition in the garden. 

'Poor boy! I suppose that was the reason he ran away, ' said Mary. 

'A very good thing, too. He would never have been anything but atorment to Louis. I remember telling him he was setting the stones soas to break the neck of some one!'

'I think it would be of more use to build them up than to settle howthey broke down, ' said Mary. 'Do you think we could manage it safely?'

'A capital thought!' cried James, eagerly, and no sooner said thandone. The two cousins set to work--procured some cement from thebricklayer in the village, and toiled at their masonry with rightgood-will as long as light and time served them, then made anappointment to meet at half-past six next morning, and finish theirwork. 

When the rendezvous took place, they were rejoicing over Mrs. Frost'sreport of an excellent night, and over her own happy looks, from whichJames prognosticated that all her fatigue and watching had done no harmto her vigorous frame, for which gladness was always the best cordial. It was a joyous beginning on that spring morning, and seemed to addfresh sparkles to the dazzling dewdrops, and double merriment to theblackbirds and thrushes answering each other far and wide, around, asthe sun drew up the grey veil of morning mist. 'They all seem holding afeast for his recovery!' exclaimed Mary, warming for once into poetry, as she trudged along, leaving green footmarks in the silver dew. 

'Well they may, ' said James; 'for who loves them better than he? Igrudge myself this lovely morning, when he is lying there, and my poorClara is caged up at that place--the two who would the most enjoy it. '

'Your going to see her will be as good as the spring morning. '

'Poor child! I dread it!' sighed Jem. 

It was his first voluntary mention of his sister. He had always turnedthe conversation when Mrs. Ponsonby or Mary had tried to inquire forher, and Mary was glad to lead him on to say more. 

'I remember her last when you were teaching her to run alone, andletting none of us touch her, because you said she was your child, andbelonged to no one else. '

'I should not be so ungrateful, now that I am come to the sense of myresponsibility in teaching her to go alone. '

'But she has Aunt Catherine, ' said Mary, thinking that he was puttingthe natural guardian out of the question as much now as in the daysreferred to. 

'My grandmother never had to do with any girl before, and does notprofess to understand them. She let Clara be regularly a boy inschool, at first learning the same lessons, and then teaching; andwhatever I tried to impress in the feminine line, naturally, all wentfor nothing. She is as wild as a hare, and has not a particle of agirl about her!'

'But she is very young. '

'There it is again! She grows so outrageously. She is not sixteen, and there she is taller than granny already. It is getting quiteabsurd. '

'What advice do you want on that head?'

'Seriously, it is a disadvantage, especially to that sort of girl, whocan't afford to look like a woman before her time. Well, as she mustprobably depend on herself, I looked out for as good a school as couldbe had for the means, and thought I had succeeded, and that she wouldbe brought into some sort of shape. Granny was ready to break herheart, but thought it quite right. '

'Then, does it not answer?'

'That is just what I can't tell. You have been used to schools: I wishyou could tell me whether it is a necessary evil, or Clara's ownidiosyncrasy, or peculiar to the place. '

'Whether what is?'

'Her misery!'

'Misery! Why, there is nothing of that in her letters to my aunt. There is not a complaint. '

'She is a brave girl, who spares granny, when she knows it would be ofno use to distress her. Judge now, there's the sort of letter that Iget from her. '

Mary read. 

'DEAREST JEMMY, --Write to me as quick as ever you can, and tell me howLouis is; and let me come home, or I shall run mad. It is no goodtelling me to command my feelings; I am sure I would if I could, forthe girls are more detestable than ever; but what can one do when onecannot sleep nor eat? All the screaming and crying has got into onebump in my throat, because I can't get it out in peace. If I couldonly shy the inkstand at the English teacher's head! or get one momentalone and out of sight! Let me come home. I could at least runmessages; and it is of no use for me to stay here, for I can't learn, and all the girls are looking at me. If they were but boys, they wouldhave sense! or if I could but kick them! This will make you angry, butdo forgive me; I can't help it, for I am so very unhappy. Louis is asmuch to me as you are, and no one ever was so kind; but I know he willget well--I know he will; only if I knew the pain was better, and couldbut hear every minute. You need not come to fetch me; only send me atelegraph, and one to Miss Brigham. I have money enough for asecond-class ticket, and would come that instant. If you saw the eyesand heard the whispers of these girls, I am sure you would. I shouldlaugh at such nonsense any other time, but now I only ask to bewretched quietly in a corner. 

 'Your affectionate, nearly crazy, sister, 'CLARA FROST DYNEVOR. '

Mary might well say that there was nothing more expedient than going tosee Clara, and 'much, ' said poor James, 'he should gain by that, 'especially on the head that made him most uneasy, and on which he couldonly hint lightly--namely, whether the girls were 'putting nonsense inher head. '

'If they had done her any harm, she would never have written such aletter, ' said Mary. 

'True, ' said Jem. 'She is a mere child, and never got that notion intoher head for a moment; but if they put it in, we are done for! Or ifthe place were ever so bad, I can't remove her now, when granny is thusoccupied. One reason why I made a point of her going to school was, that I thought doing everything that Fitzjocelyn did was no preparationfor being a governess. '

'Oh! I hope it will not come to that! Mr. Oliver Dynevor talks ofcoming home in a very few years. '

'So few, that we shall be grey before he comes. No; Clara and I arenot going to be bound to him for the wealth heaped up while mygrandmother was left in poverty. We mean to be independent. '

Mary was glad to revert to Clara. 

'I must do the best I can for her for the present, ' said Jem, --'try toharden her against the girls, and leave her to bear it. Poor dear! itmakes one's heart ache! And to have done it oneself, too! Then, in theholidays, perhaps, you will help me to judge. You will be her friend, Mary; there's nothing she needs so much. I thought she would havefound one at school but they are not the right stamp of animal. Shehas been too much thrown on Louis; and though he has made a noble thingof her, that must come to an end, and the sooner the better. '

Certainly, it was a perplexity for a young elder brother; but therecould not but remain some simple wonder in Mary's mind whether theobvious person, Mrs. Frost, had not better have been left to decide forher granddaughter. 

The building operations gave full occupation to the powers of the twocousins, and in good time before breakfast, all was successfullycompleted, --a hand-rail affixed, and the passage cleared out, till itlooked so creditable, as well as solid, that there was no more to wishfor but that Louis should be able to see their handiwork. 

James went away in the better spirits for having been allowed to shakeLouis by the hand and exchange a few words with him. Mary augured thatit would be the better for Clara and for the pupils. 

All that further transpired from him was a cheerful letter to Mrs. Frost, speaking of Clara as perfectly well, and beginning toaccommodate herself to her situation, and from this Mary gathered thathe was better satisfied. 

The days brought gradual improvement to the patient, under Mrs. Frost'stender nursing, and his father's constant assiduity; both of which, ashe revived, seemed to afford him the greatest pleasure, and wererequited with the utmost warmth and caressing sweetness towards hisaunt, and towards his father with ever-fresh gratitude and delight. Lord Ormersfield was like another man, in the sick-room, whence henever willingly absented himself for an hour. 

One day, however, when he was forced to go to Northwold on business, Louis put on a fit of coaxing importunity. Nothing would serve him butsome of Jane Beckett's choice dried pears, in the corner of the oakencupboard, the key of which was in Aunt Kitty's pocket, and no one mustfetch them for him but Aunt Kitty herself, he was so absurdly earnestand grave about them, that Jane scolded him, and Mrs. Frost sawrecovery in his arch eyes; understanding all the time that it was allan excuse for complimenting Jane, and sending her to air herself, visitthe Faithfull sisters, and inspect the Lady of Eschalott. So sheconsented to accompany Lord Ormersfield, and leave their charge to Mrs. Ponsonby, who found Louis quite elated at the success of hismanoeuvre--so much disposed to talk, and so solicitous for the good ofhis nurses, that she ventured on a bold stroke. 

His chamber was nearly as much like a lumber-room as ever; for anyattempt to clear away or disturb his possessions had seemed, in hishalf-conscious condition, to excite and tease him so much, that it hadbeen at once relinquished. Although the room was large, it was alwaystoo much crowded with his goods; and the tables and chairs that hadbeen brought in during his illness, had added to the accumulation whichwas the despair of Mrs. Beckett and Mr. Frampton. Mrs. Ponsonby thoughtit was time for Louis to make a sacrifice in his turn, and ventured tosuggest that he was well enough to say where some of his things mightbe bestowed; and though he winced, she persevered in representing howunpleasant it must be to his father to live in the midst of so muchconfusion. The debonnaire expression passed over his face, as heglanced around, saying, 'You are right. I never reflected on thestretch of kindness it must have been. It shall be done. If I loseeverything, it will not be soon that I find it out. '

It evidently cost him a good deal, and Mrs. Ponsonby proposed that Maryshould come and deal with his treasures; a plan at which he caught soeagerly, that it was decided that no time was like the present, andMary was called. He could move nothing but his hands; but they wereeagerly held out in welcome: and his eyes glittered with the brightsmile that once she had feared never to see again. She felt a moisturein her own which made her glad to turn aside to her task even while hecomplimented her with an allusion to the labours of Hercules. It didnot seem uncalled-for, when she began by raising a huge sheet of paperthat had been thrown in desperation to veil the confusion upon thetable, and which proved to be the Ordnance map of the county, embellished with numerous streaks of paint. 'The outlines of the oldSaxon wappentakes, ' said Louis: 'I was trying to make them out in blue, and the Roman roads in red. That mark is spontaneous; it has beenagainst some paint. '

Which paint was found in dried swamps in saucers, while cakes of lakeand Prussian blue adhered to the drawing-board. 

'The colour-box is probably in the walnut-press; but I advise you notto irritate that yet. Let me see that drawing, the design for thecottages that Frampton nipped in the bud--'

'How pretty and comfortable they do look!' exclaimed Mary, pleased tocome to something that was within her sphere of comprehension. 'If theywere but finished!'

'Ah! I thought of them when I was lying there in the dell! Had theybeen allowed to stand where I wanted them, there would have been nolack of people going home from work; but, 'Quite impracticable' came inmy way, and I had no heart to finish the drawing. '

'What a pity!' exclaimed Mary. 

'This was Richardson's veto, two degrees worse than Frampton's; and Ishall never be able to abuse Frampton again. I have seen him in histrue light now, and never was any one more kind and considerate. Ha, Mary, what's that?'

'It looks like a rainbow in convulsions. '

'Now, Mary, did not I tell you that I could not laugh? It is a diagramto illustrate the theory of light for Clara. '

'Does she understand _that_?' cried Mary. 

'Clara? She understands anything but going to school--poor child! Yes, burn that map of the strata, --not that--it is to be a painted windowwhenever I can afford one, but I never could make money stay with me. I never could think why--'

The _why_ was evident enough in the heterogeneous mass--crumpledprints, blank drawing-paper, and maps heaped ruinously over and underbooks, stuffed birds, geological specimens, dislocated microscopes, pieces of Roman pavement, curiosities innumerable and indescribable;among which roamed blotting-books, memorandum-books, four pieces ofIndian rubber, three pair of compasses, seven paper-knives, ten knives, thirteen odd gloves, fifteen pencils, pens beyond reckoning, a purse, akey, half a poem on the Siege of Granada, three parts of an essay uponSpade Husbandry, the dramatis personae of a tragedy on QueenBrunehault, scores of old letters, and the dust of three years and ahalf. 

Louis owned that the arrangements conduced to finding rather thanlosing, and rejoiced at the disinterment of his long-lost treasures;but either he grew weary, or the many fragments, the ghosts of departedfancies, made him thoughtful; for he became silent, and only watchedand smiled as Mary quietly and noiselessly completed her reforms, andarranged table and chairs for the comfort of his father and aunt. Hethanked her warmly, and hoped that she would pursue her kind taskanother day, --a permission which she justly esteemed a great testimonyto her having avoided annoying him. It was a great amusement to him towatch the surprised and pleased looks of his various nurses as eachcame in, and a real gratification to see his father settle himself withan air of comfort, observing that 'they were under great obligations toMary. ' Still, the sight of the arrangements had left a dreary, dissatisfied feeling with Louis: it might have been caught from Mary'sinvoluntary look of disappointment at each incomplete commencement thatshe encountered, --the multitude of undertakings hastily begun, laidaside and neglected--nothing properly carried out. It seemed a merewaste of life, and dwelt on his spirits, with a weariness of himselfand his own want of steadfastness--a sense of having disappointed herand disappointed himself, and he sighed so heavily several times, thathis aunt anxiously asked whether he were in pain. He was, however, somuch better, that no one was to sit up with him at night--only hisfather would sleep on a bed on the floor. As he bade him good night, Louis, for the first time, made the request that he might have hisBible given to him, as well as his little book; and on his fatheradvising him not to attempt the effort of reading, he said, 'Thank you;I think I can read my two verses: I want to take up my old habits. '

'Have you really kept up this habit constantly?' asked his father, withwonder that Louis did not understand. 

'Aunt Catharine taught it to us, he said. 'I neglected it onehalf-year at school; but I grew so uncomfortable, that I began again. '

The Earl gave the little worn volume, saying, 'Yes, Louis, there hasbeen a thread running through your life. '

'Has there been one thread?' sadly mused Louis, as he found the weightof the thick book too much for his weak hands, and his eyes and headtoo dizzy and confused for more than one verse:--

 'I am come that they might have life, And that they might have it more abundantly. ''

The Bible sank in his hands, and he fell into a slumber so sound andrefreshing, that when he opened his eyes in early morning, he did notat first realize that he was not awakening to health and activity, norwhy he had an instinctive dread of moving. He turned his eyes towardsthe window, uncurtained, so that he could see the breaking dawn. Thesky, deep blue above, faded and glowed towards the horizon into gold, redder and more radiant below; and in the midst, fast becoming mergedin the increasing light, shone the planet Venus, in her pale, calmbrilliance. 

There was repose and delight in dwelling on that fair morning sky, andLouis lay dreamily gazing, while thoughts passed over his mind, moredefined and connected than pain and weakness had as yet permitted. Since those hours in which he had roused his faculties to meet withapproaching death, he had been seldom awake to aught but the sensationsof the moment, and had only just become either strong enough, orsufficiently at leisure for anything like reflection. As he watchedthe eastern reddening, he could not but revert to the feelings withwhich he had believed himself at the gate of the City that needsneither sun nor moon to lighten it, and, for the first time, heconsciously realized that he was restored to this world of life. 

The sensation was not unmixed. His youthful spirit bounded at theprospect of returning vigour, his warm heart clung round those whom heloved, and the perception of his numerous faults made him grateful fora longer probation; but still he had a sense of having been at theborders of the glorious Land, and thence turned back to a tedious, doubtful pilgrimage. 

There was much to occasion this state of mind. His life had beenwithout great troubles, but with many mortifications; he had never beenlong satisfied with himself or his pursuits, his ardour had only beenthe prelude to vexation and self-abasement, and in his station in theworld there was little incentive to exertion. He had a strong sense ofresponsibility, with a temperament made up of tenderness, refinement, and inertness, such as shrank from the career set before him. He hadseen just enough of political life to destroy any romance ofpatriotism, and to make him regard it as little more than party spirit, and dread the hardening and deadening process on the mind. He had adismal experience of his own philanthropy; and he had a conscience thatwould not sit down satisfied with selfish ease, pleasure, orintellectual pursuits. His smooth, bright, loving temper had made himhappy; but the past was all melancholy, neglect, and futile enterprise;he had no attaching home--no future visions; and, on the outskirts ofmanhood, he shrank back from the turmoil, the temptations, and theroughness that awaited him--nay, from the mere effort of perseverance, and could almost have sighed to think how nearly the death-pang hadbeen over, and the home of Love, Life, and Light had been won forever:--

 'I am come that they might have life, And that they might have it more abundantly. '

The words returned on him, and with them what his father had said, 'Youhave had a thread running through your life. ' He was in a statebetween sleeping and waking, when the confines of reflection anddreaming came very near together, and when vague impressions, hardlynoticed at the time they were made, began to tell on him without hisown conscious volition. It was to him as if from that brighteningeastern heaven, multitudes of threads of light were floating hither andthither, as he had often watched the gossamer undulating in thesunshine. Some were firm, purely white, and glistening here and therewith rainbow tints as they tended straight upwards, shining more andmore into the perfect day; but for the most part they were tangledtogether in inextricable confusion, intermingled with many a brokenend, like fleeces of cobweb driven together by the autumn wind, --somesailing aimlessly, or with shattered tangled strands-some white, somedark, some anchored to mere leaves or sprays, some tending down to theabyss, but all in such a perplexed maze that the eye could seldom tracewhich were directed up, which downwards, which were of pure texture, which defiled and stained. 

In the abortive, unsatisfactory attempt to follow out one fluctuatingclue, not without whiteness, and heaving often upwards, but frail, wavering, ravelled, and tangled, so that scarcely could he find oneline that held together, Louis awoke to find his father wondering thathe could sleep with the sun shining full on his face. 

'It was hardly quite a dream, ' said Louis, as he related it to Mrs. Frost. 

'It would make a very pretty allegory. '

'It is too real for that just now, ' he said. 'It was the moral of allmy broken strands that Mary held up to me yesterday. '

'I hope you are going to do more than point your moral, my dear. Youalways were good at that. '

'I mean it, ' said Louis, earnestly. 'I do not believe such anillness--ay, or such a dream--can come for nothing. '

So back went his thoughts to the flaws in his own course; and chieflyhe bewailed his want of sympathy for his father. Material obedienceand submission had been yielded, but, having little cause to believehimself beloved, his heart had never been called into action so as tosoften the clashings of two essentially dissimilar characters. Insteadof rebelling, or even of murmuring, he had hid disappointment inindifference, taken refuge in levity and versatility, and even consoledhimself by sporting with what he regarded as prejudice or unjustdispleasure. All this cost him much regret and self-reproach at eachproof of the affection so long veiled by reserve. Never would he havegiven pain, had he guessed that his father could feel; but he had grownup to imagine the whole man made up of politics and conventionalities, and his new discoveries gave him at least as much contrition aspleasure. 

After long study of the debates, that morning, his father prepared towrite. Louis asked for the paper, saying his senses would just servefor the advertisements, but presently he made an exclamation ofsurprise at beholding, in full progress, the measure which had broughtSir Miles Oakstead to Ormersfield, one of peculiar interest to theEarl. His blank look of wonder amused Mrs. Ponsonby, but seemedsomewhat to hurt his father. 

'You did not suppose I could attend to such matters now?' he said. 

'But I am so much better!'

Fearing that the habit of reserve would check any exchange of feeling, Mrs. Ponsonby said, 'Did you fancy your father could not think of youexcept upon compulsion?'

'I beg your pardon, father, ' said Louis, smiling, while a tear rose tohis eyes, 'I little thought I was obstructing the business of thenation. What will Sir Miles do to me?'

'Sir Miles has written a most kind and gratifying letter, ' said LordOrmersfield, 'expressing great anxiety for you, and a high opinion ofyour powers. '

Louis had never heard of his own powers, except for mischief, and thecolour returned to his cheeks, as he listened to the kind and cordialletter, written in the first shock of the tidings of the accident. Heenjoyed the pleasure it gave his father far more than the commendationto himself; for he well knew, as he said, that 'there is somethingembellishing in a catastrophe, ' and he supposed 'that had driven outthe rose-coloured pastor. '

'There is always indulgence at your age, ' said the Earl. 'You havecreated an impression which may be of great importance to youby-and-by. '

Louis recurred to politics. The measure was one which approved itselfto his mind, and he showed all the interest which was usually stifled, by such subjects being forced on him. He was distressed at detaininghis father when his presence might be essential to the success of hisparty, and the Earl could not bear to leave him while still confined tohis bed. The little scene, so calm, and apparently so cold, seemed tocement the attachment of father and son, by convincing Louis of thefull extent of his father's love; and his enthusiasm began to investthe Earl's grey head with a perfect halo of wisdom slighted andaffection injured; and the tenor of his thread of life shone out brightand silvery before him, spun out of projects of devoting heart and soulto his father's happiness, and meriting his fondness. 

The grave Earl was looking through a magnifying-glass no less powerful. He had not been so happy since his marriage; the consciousness of hisown cold manner made him grateful for any demonstration from his son, and the many little graces of look and manner which Louis had inheritedfrom his mother added to the charm. The sense of previous injusticeenhanced all his good qualities, and it was easy to believe himperfect, while nothing was required of him but to lie still. Day andnight did Lord Ormersfield wait upon him, grudging every moment spentaway from him, and trying to forestall each wish, till he became almostafraid to express a desire, on account of the trouble it would cause. Mary found the Earl one day wandering among the vines in the oldhothouse, in search of a flower, when, to her amusement, he selected astiff pert double hyacinth, the special aversion of his son, whonevertheless received it most graciously, and would fain have concealedthe headache caused by the scent, until Mrs. Frost privately abstractedit. Another day, he went, unasked, to hasten the birdstuffer infinishing the rose-coloured pastor; and when it came, himself broughtit up-stairs, unpacked it, and set it up where Louis could best admireits black nodding crest and pink wings; unaware that to his son itseemed a memento of his own misdeeds--a perpetual lesson againstwayward carelessness. 

'It is like a new love, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'but oh! how much dependsupon Louis after his recovery!'

'You don't mistrust his goodness now, mamma!'

'I could not bear to do so. I believe I was thinking of his fathermore than of himself. After having been so much struck by hisreligious feeling, I dread nothing so much as his father finding himdeficient in manliness or strength of character. '

CHAPTER VIII. 

A TRUANT DISPOSITION. 

 Gathering up each broken thread. WHYTEHEAD. 

'Tom Madison is come back, ' said the Vicar, as he sat besideFitzjocelyn's couch, a day or two after Lord Ormersfield had gone toLondon. 

'Come back--where has he been?' exclaimed Louis. 

'There!' said the Vicar, with a gesture of dismay; 'I forgot that youwere to hear nothing of it! However, I should think you were wellenough to support the communication. '

'What is it?' cried Louis, the blood rushing into his cheeks sosuddenly, that Mr. Holdsworth felt guilty of having disregarded theprecautions that he had fancied exaggerated by the fond aunt. 'Poorfellow--he has not--' but, checking himself, he added, 'I amparticularly anxious to hear of him. '

'I wish there were anything more gratifying to tell you; but he tookthe opportunity of the height of your illness to run away from hisplace, and has just been passed home to his parish. After all yourpains, it is very mortifying, but--'

'Pains! Don't you know how I neglected him latterly!' said Louis. 'Poor fellow--then--' but he stopped himself again, and added, 'Youheard nothing of the grounds?'

'They were not difficult to find, ' said Mr. Holdsworth. 'It is the oldstory. He was, as Mrs. Smith told me, 'a great trial'--more and moredisposed to be saucy and disobedient, taking up with the mostgood-for-nothing boys in the town, haunting those Chartist lectures, and never coming home in proper time at night. The very last evening, he had come in at eleven o'clock, and when his master rebuked him, cameout with something about the rights of man. He was sent to LittleNorthwold, about the middle of the day, to carry home somesilver-handled knives of Mr. Calcott's, and returned no more. Smithfancied, at first, that he had made off with the plate, and set thepolice after him, but that proved to be an overhasty measure, for theparcel had been safely left. However, Miss Faithfull's servant foundhim frightening Mrs. Frost's poor little kitchen-maid into fits, andthe next day James Frost detected him lurking suspiciously about thegarden here, and set Warren to warn him off--'

Louis gave a kind of groan, and struck his hand against the couch indespair, then said, anxiously, 'What then?'

'No more was heard of him, till yesterday the police passed him home tothe Union as a vagabond. He looks very ill and ragged; but he is inone of those sullen moods, when no one can get a word out of him. Smithdeclines prosecuting for running away, being only too glad of theriddance on any terms; so there he is at his grandfather's, ready forany sort of mischief. '

'Mr. Holdsworth, ' said Louis, raising himself on his elbow, 'you arejudging, like every one else, from appearances. If I were at libertyto tell the whole, you would see what a noble nature it was that Itrifled with; and they have been hounding--Poor Tom! would it have beenbetter for him that I had never seen him? It is a fearful thing, thisblind treading about among souls, not knowing whether one does good orharm!'

'If you feel so, ' said Mr. Holdsworth, hoping to lead him from theunfortunate subject, 'what must _we_ do?'

'My position, if I live, seems to have as much power for evil, withoutthe supernatural power for good. Doing hastily, or leaving undone, areequally fatal!'

'Nay, what hope can there be but in fear, and sense of responsibility?'

'I think not. I do more mischief than those who do not go out of theirway to think of the matter at all!'

'Do you!' said the Vicar, smiling. 'At least, I know, for my own part, I prefer all the trouble and perplexity you give me, to a squire whowould let me and my parish jog on our own way. '

'I dare say young Brewster never spoilt a Tom Madison. '

'The sight of self indulgence spoils more than injudicious care does. Besides, I look on these experiments as giving experience. '

'Nice experience of my best efforts!'

'Pardon me, Fitzjocelyn, have we seen your best?'

'I hope you will!' said Louis, vigorously. 'And to begin, will youtell this poor boy to come to me?'

Mr. Holdsworth had an unmitigated sense of his own indiscretion, andnot such a high one of Fitzjocelyn's discretion as to make him thinkthe interview sufficiently desirable for the culprit, to justify thepossible mischief to the adviser, whose wisdom and folly were equallyperplexing, and who would surely be either disappointed or deceived. Dissuasions and arguments, however, failed; and Mrs. Frost, who wasappealed to as a last resource, no sooner found that her patient'sheart was set on the meeting, than she consented, and persuaded Mr. Holdsworth that no harm would ensue equal to the evil of her boy lyingthere distressing himself. 

Accordingly, in due time, Mr. Holdsworth admitted the lad, and, on asign from Louis, shut himself out, leaving the runaway standing withinthe door, a monument of surly embarrassment. Raising himself, Louissaid, affectionately, 'Never mind, Tom, don't you see how fast I amgetting over it?'

The lad looked up, but apparently saw little such assurance in the thinpale cheeks, and feeble, recumbent form; for his face twitched allover, resumed the same sullen stolidity, and was bent down again. 

'Come near, Tom, ' continued Louis, with unabated kindness--'come andsit down here. I am afraid you have suffered a great deal, ' as the boyshambled with an awkward footsore gait. 'It was a great pity you ranaway. '

'I couldn't stay!' burst out Tom, half crying. 

'Why not?'

'Not to have that there cast in my teeth!' he exclaimed, with bluntincivility. 

'Did any one reproach you?' said Louis, anxiously. 'I thought no oneknew it but ourselves. '

'You knew it, then, my Lord?' asked Tom, staring. 

'I found out directly that there was no cement, ' said Louis. 'I hadsuspected it before, and intended to examine whenever I had time. '

'Well! I thought, when I came back, no one did seem to guess as 'twasall along of me!' cried Tom. 'So sure I thought you hadn't known it, my Lord. And you never said nothing, my Lord!'

'I trust not. I would not consciously have accused you of what wasquite as much my fault as yours. That would not have been fair play. '

'If I won't give it to Bill Bettesworth!' cried Tom. 

'What has he done?'

'Always telling me that gentlefolks hadn't got no notion of fair playwith the like of us, but held us like the dirt to be trampled on! Butthere--I'll let him know--'

'Who is he?'

'A young man what works with Mr. Smith, ' returned Tom, his sullennesshaving given place to a frank, open manner, such as any one but Louiswould have deemed too free and ready. 

'Was he your great friend at Northwold?'

'A chap must speak to some one, ' was Tom's answer. 

'And what kind of a some one was he?'

'Why, he comes down Illershall way. He knows a thing or two, and cango on like an orator or a play-book--or like yourself, my Lord. '

'Thank you. I hope the thing or two were of the right sort. '

Tom looked sheepish. 

'I heard something about bad companions. I hope he was not one. Iought to have come and visited you, Tom; I have been very sorry I didnot. You'd better let me hear all about it, for I fear there must havebeen worse scrapes than this of the stones. '

'Worse!' cried Tom--'sure nothing could be worserer!'

'I wish there were no evils worse than careless forgetfulness, ' saidLouis. 

'I didn't forget!' said Tom. 'I meant to have told you whenever youcame to see me, but'--his eyes filled and his voice began toalter--'you never came, and she at the Terrace wouldn't look at me!And Bill and the rest of them was always at me, asking when I expectedmy aristocrat, and jeering me 'cause I'd said you wasn't like the restof 'em. So then I thought I'd have my liberty too, and show I didn'tcare no more than they, and spite you all. '

'How little one thinks of the grievous harm a little selfishheedlessness may do!' sighed Louis, half aloud. 'If you had onlylooked to something better than me, Tom! And so you ran into mischief?'

Half confession, half vindication ensued, and the poor fellow's storywas manifest enough. His faults had been unsteadiness and misplacedindependence rather than any of the more degrading stamp of evils. Thepublic-house had not been sought for liquor's sake, but for that of theorator who inflamed the crude imaginations and aspirations thateffervesced in the youth's mind; and the rudely-exercised authority ofmaster and foreman had only driven his fierce temper further astray. With sense of right sufficient to be dissatisfied with himself, andtaste and principle just enough developed to loathe the evils roundhim, hardened and soured by Louis's neglect, and rendered discontentedby Chartist preachers, he had come to long for any sort of change orbreak; and the tidings of the accident, coupled with the hard wordswhich he knew himself to deserve but too well, had put the finishingstroke. 

Hearing that the police were in pursuit of him, he had fancied it wason account of the harm done by his negligence. 'I hid about for aday, ' he said: 'somehow I felt as if I could not go far off, till Iheard how you were, my Lord, and I'd made up my mind that as soon asever I heard the first stroke of the bell, I'd go and find the police, and his Lordship might hang me, and glad!'

Louis was nearer a tear than a smile. 

'Then Mr. Frost finds me, and was mad at me. Nothing wasn't bad enoughfor me, and he sets Mr. Warren to see me off, so I had nothing for itbut to cut. '

'What did you think of doing?' sighed Louis. 

'I made for the sea. If I could have got to them places in the Indies, such as that Philip went to, as you reads about in the verse-book--heas killed his wife and lost his son, and made friends with that therebig rascal, and had the chest of gold--'

'Philip Mortham! Were you going in search of buccaneers?'

'I don't know, my Lord. Once you told me of some English Sir, as killsthe pirates, and is some sort of a king. I thought, may be, now you'dtell me where they goes to dig for gold. '

'Oh, Tom, Tom, what a mess I have made of your notions!'

'Isn't there no such place?'

'It's a bad business, and what can you want of it?'

'I want to get shut of them as orders one about here and there, withnever a civil word. Besides, ' looking down, 'there's one I'd like tosee live like a lady. '

'Would that make her happier?'

'I'll never see her put about, and slave and drudge, as poor motherdid!' exclaimed Tom. 

'That's a better spirit than the mere dislike to a master, ' said Louis. 'What is life but obedience?'

'I'd obey fast enough, if folk would only speak like you do--not driveone about like a dog, when one knows one is every bit as good as they. '

'I'm sure I never knew that!'

Tom stared broadly. 

'I never saw the person who was not my superior, ' repeated Louis, quietly, and in full earnest. 'Not that this would make rough wordspleasanter, I suppose. The only cure I could ever see for the ills ofthe world is, that each should heartily respect his neighbour. '

Paradoxes musingly uttered, and flying over his head, wore to Tom anatural and comfortable atmosphere; and the conversation proceeded. Louis found that geography had been as much at fault as chronology, andthat the runaway had found himself not at the sea, but at Illershall, where he had applied for work, and had taken a great fancy to Mr. Dobbs, but had been rejected for want of a character, since the goodsuperintendent made it his rule to keep up a high standard among hismen. Wandering had succeeded, in which, moneyless, forlorn, and unableto find employment, he had been obliged to part with portions of hisclothing to procure food; his strength began to give way, and he hadbeen found by the police sleeping under a hedge; he was questioned, andsent home, crestfallen, sullen, and miserable, unwilling to stay atMarksedge, yet not knowing where to go. 

His hankering was for Illershall, and Louis, thinking of the judiciouscare, the evening school, and the openings for promotion, decided atonce that the experiment should be tried without loss of time. Hedesired Tom to bring him ink and paper, and hastily wrote:

'DEAR MR. DOBBS, --You would do me a great kindness by employing thispoor fellow, and bearing with him. I have managed him very ill, but hewould reward any care. Have an eye to him, and put him incommunication with the chaplain. If you can take him, I will writemore at length. If you have heard of my accident, you will excuse moreat present. 

 'Yours very truly, 'FITZJOCELYN. '

Then arose the question, how Tom was to get to Illershall. He did notknow; and Louis directed his search into the places where the loosemoney in his pocket might have been put. When it was found, Tomscrupled at the proposed half-sovereign. Three-and-fourpence would payfor his ticket. 'You will want a supper and a bed. Go respectably, Tom, and keep so. It will be some consolation for the mischief I havedone you!'

'You done me harm!' cried Tom. 'Why, 'tis all along of you that Iain't a regularly-built scamp!'

'Very irregularly built, whatever you are!' said Louis. But I'll tellyou what you shall do for me, ' continued he, with anxious earnestness. 'Do you know the hollow ash-tree that shades over Inglewood stile? Ithas a stout sucker, with a honeysuckle grown into it--coming up amongthe moss, where the great white vase-shaped funguses grew up in theautumn. '

'I know him, my Lord, ' said Tom, brightening at the detail, given withall a sick man's vivid remembrance of the out-of-doors world. 

'I have fixed my mind on that stick! I think it has a bend at theroot. Will you cut it for me, and trim it up for a walking-stick?'

'That I will, my Lord!'

'Thank you. Bring it up to me between seven and eight in the morning, if you please; and so I shall see you again--'

Mr. Holdsworth was already entering to close the conversation, whichhad been already over-long and exciting, for Louis, sinking back, mournfully exclaimed, 'The medley of that poor boy's mind is the worstof my pieces of work. I have made him too refined for one class, andleft him too rough for another--discontented with his station, and toodesultory and insubordinate to rise, nobleness of nature turning toarrogance, fact and fiction all mixed up together. It would be a study, if one was not so sorry!'

Nevertheless, Mr. Holdsworth could not understand how even Fitzjocelyncould have given the lad a recommendation, and he would haveremonstrated, but that the long interview had already been sufficientlytrying; so he did his best to have faith in his eccentric friend's goodintentions. 

In the early morning, Tom Madison made his appearance, in his bestclothes, erect and open-faced, a strong contrast to the jaded, downcastbeing who had yesterday presented himself. The stick was prepared toperfection, and Louis acknowledged it with gratitude proportioned tothe fancies that he had spent on it, poising it, feeling the cool greybark, and raising himself in bed to try how he should lean on it. 'Hang it up there, Tom, within my reach. It seems like a beginning ofindependence. '

'I wish, my Lord, ' blurted out Tom, in agitation, 'you'd tell me ifyou're to go lame for life, and then I should know the worst of it. '

'I suspect no one knows either the worst or the best, ' said Louis, kindly. 'Since the pain has gone off, I have been content, and askedno questions. Mr. Walby says my ankle is going on so well, that it isa real picture, and a pleasure to touch it; and though I can't say thepleasure is mutual, I ought to be satisfied. '

'You'll only laugh at me!' half sobbed Tom, 'and if there was butanything I could do! I've wished my own legs was cut off--and serve meright--ever since I seen you lying there. '

'Thank you; I'm afraid they would have been no use to me! But, seriously, if I had been moderately prudent, it would not havehappened. And as it is, I hope I shall be glad of that roll in Fernydell to the end of my life. '

'I did go to see after mending them stones!' cried Tom, as if injuredby losing this one compensation; 'but they are all done up, and thereain't nothing to do to them. '

'Look here, Tom: if you want to do anything for me, it is easily told, what would be the greatest boon to me. They tell me I've spoilt you, and I partly believe it, for I put more of my own fancies into you thanof real good, and the way I treated you made you impatient of control:and then, because I could not keep you on as I should have wished, --as, unluckily, you and I were not made to live together on a desertisland, --I left you without the little help I might have given. Now, Tom, if you go to the bad, I shall know it is all my fault--'

'That it ain't, ' the boy tried to say, eagerly, but Louis went on. 

'Don't let my bad management be the ruin of you. Take a turn from thismoment. You know Who can help you, and Who, if you had thought of Him, would have kept you straight when I forgot. Put all the stuff out ofyour head about one man being equal to another. Equal they are; butsome have the trial of ruling, others of obeying, and the last are thelucky ones. If we could only see their souls, we should know it. You'll find evening schools and lectures at Illershall; you'd bettertake to them, for you've more real liking for that sort of thing thanfor mischief; and if you finished up your education, you'd get into aline that would make you happier, and where you might do much good. There--promise me that you'll think of these things, and take heed toyour Sundays. '

'I promise, ' said Tom. 

'And mind you write to me, Tom, and tell how you get on. I'll write, and let you know about your grandfather, and Marksedge news and all--'

The 'Thank you, my Lord, ' came with great pleasure and alacrity. 

'Some day, when you are a foreman, perhaps I may bring Miss Clara tosee copper-smelting. Only mind, that you'll never go on soundly, noreven be fit to make your pretty tidy nest for any gentle bird, unlessyou mind one thing most of all; and that is, that we have had a newLife given us, and we have to begin now, and live it for ever and ever. '

As he raised himself, holding out his pale, slender hand from his whitesleeve, his clear blue eyes earnestly fixed on the sky, his face allone onward look, something of that sense of the unseen passed into theconfused, turbulent spirit of the boy, very susceptible of poeticalimpressions, and his young lord's countenance connected itself with allthe floating notions left in his mind by parable or allegory. He didnot speak, as Louis heartily shook his hardy red hand, and bade himgood speed, but his bow and pulled forelock at the door had in themmore of real reverence than of conventional courtesy. 

Of tastes and perceptions above his breeding, the very sense of his owndeficiencies had made him still more rugged and clownish, and removedhim from the sympathies of his own class, while he almost idolized thetwo most refined beings whom he knew, Lord Fitzjocelyn and CharlotteArnold. On an interview with her, his heart was set. He had takenleave of his half-childish grandfather, made up his bundle, and marchedinto Northwold, with three hours still to spare ere the starting of theparliamentary train. Sympathy, hope, resolution, and the sense ofrespectability had made another man of him; and, above all, he dwelt onthe prospect held out of repairing the deficiencies of his learning. The consciousness of ignorance and awkwardness was very painful, and helonged to rub it off, and take the place for which he felt his powers. 'I will work!' thought he; 'I have a will to it, and, please God, whenI come back next, it won't be as a rough, ignorant lout that I'll standbefore Charlotte!'

'Louis, ' said Mary Ponsonby, as she sat at work beside him thatafternoon, after an expedition to the new house at Dynevor Terrace, 'Iwant to know, if you please, how you have been acting like a gentleman. '

'I did not know that I had been acting at all of late. '

'I could not help hearing something in Aunt Catharine's garden that hasmade me very curious. '

'Ha!' cried Louis, eagerly. 

'I was sowing some annuals in our back garden, and heard voices throughthe trellis. Presently I heard, quite loud, 'My young Lord has behavedlike a real gentleman, as he is, and no mistake, or I'd never have beenhere now. ' And, presently, 'I've promised him, and I promise you, Charlotte, to keep my Church, and have no more to do with them things. I'll keep it as sacred as they keeps the Temperance pledge; for sureI'm bound to him, as he forgave me, and kept my secret as if I'd beenhis own brother: and when I've proved it, won't that satisfy you, Charlotte?'

'And what did Charlotte say?'

'I think she was crying; but I thought listening any more would beunfair, so I ran upstairs and threw up the drawing-room window to warnthem. '

'Oh, Mary, how unfeeling!'

'I thought it could be doing no good!'

'That is so like prudent people, who can allow no true love under fivehundred pounds a year! Did you see them? How did they look?'

'Charlotte was standing in an attitude, her hands clasped over herbroom. The gentleman was a country-looking boy--'

'Bearing himself like a sensible, pugnacious cock-robin? Poor fellow, so you marred their parting. '

'Charlotte flew into the house, and the boy walked off up the garden. Was he your Madison, Louis? for I thought my aunt did not think itright to encourage him about her house. '

'And so he is to be thwarted in what would best raise and refine him. That great, bright leading star of a well-placed affection is not to beallowed to help him through all the storms and quicksands in his way. '

Good Mary might well open her eyes, but, pondering a little, she said, 'He need not leave off liking Charlotte, if that is to do him good; butI suppose the question is, what is safest for her?'

'Well, he is safe enough. He is gone to Illershall to earn her. '

'Oh! then I don't care! But you have not answered me, and I think Ican guess the boy's secret that you have been keeping. Did you notonce tell me that you trusted those stones in Ferny dell to him?'

'Now, Mary, you must keep his secret!'

'But why was it made one? Did you think it unkind to say that it washis fault?'

'Of course I did. When I thought it was all over with me, I could notgo and charge the poor fellow with it, so as to make him a marked man. I was only afraid that thinking so often of stopping myself, I shouldbring it out by mistake. '

Mary looked down, and thought; then raised her eyes suddenly, and said, as if surprised, 'That was really very noble in you, Louis!' Then, thinking on, she said, 'But how few people would think it worth while!'

'Yes, ' said Louis; 'but I had a real regard for this poor fellow, andan instinct, perhaps perverse, of shielding him; so I could not accusehim on my own account. Besides, I believe I am far more guilty towardshim. His neglect only hurt my ankle--my neglect left him to fall intotemptation. '

'Yet, by the way he talks of you--'

'Yes, he has the sort of generous disposition on which a littledelicacy makes a thousand times more impression than a whole pile ofbenefits I hope and trust that he is going to repair all that is past. I wish I could make out whether good intentions overrule errors indetail, or only make them more fatal. '

Mary was glad to reason out the question. Abstract practical viewsinterested her, and she had much depth and observation, more originalthan if she had read more and thought less. Of course, no conclusionwas arrived at; but the two cousins had an argument of much enjoymentand some advantage to both. 

Affairs glided on quietly till the Saturday, when Lord Ormersfieldreturned. Never had he so truly known what it was to come home as whenhe mounted the stairs, with steps unlike his usual measured tread, andbeheld his son's look of animated welcome, and eager, outstretchedhands. 

'I was afraid, ' said the Earl, presently, 'that you had not felt sowell, ' and he touched his own upper lip to indicate that the samefeature in his son was covered with down like a young bird. 

Louis blushed a little, but spoke indifferently. 'I thought it a pitynot to leave it for the regulation moustache for the Yeomanry. '

'I wish I could think you likely to be fit to go out with the Yeomanry. '

'Every effort must be made!' cried Louis. 'What do they say in Londonabout the invasion?'

It was the year 1847, when a French invasion was in every one's mouth, and Sydney Calcott had been retailing all sorts of facts aboutwar-steamers and artillery, in a visit to Fitzjocelyn, whose patriotismhad forthwith run mad, so that he looked quite baffled when his fathercoolly set the whole down as 'the regular ten years' panic. ' There wasa fervid glow within him of awe, courage, and enterprise, the outwardsymbol of which was that infant yellow moustache. He was obliged, however, to allow the subject to be dismissed, while his father toldhim of Sir Miles Oakstead's kind inquiries, and gave a message ofgreeting from his aunt Lady Conway, delivering himself of it as anunpleasant duty, and adding, as he turned to Mrs. Ponsonby, 'Shedesired to be remembered to you, Mary. '

'I have not seen her for many years. Is Sir Walter alive?'

'No; he died about three years ago. '

'I suppose her daughters are not come out yet?'

'Her own are in the school-room; but there is a step-daughter who ismuch admired. '

'Those cousins of mine, ' exclaimed Louis, 'it is strange that I havenever seen them. I think I had better employ some of my spare timethis summer in making their acquaintance. '

Mrs. Ponsonby perceived that the Earl had become inspired with a deadlyterror of the handsome stepdaughter; for he turned aside and began tounpack a parcel. It was M'Culloch's Natural Theology, into which Louishad once dipped at Mr. Calcott's, and had expressed a wish to read it. His father had taken some pains to procure this too-scarce book forhim, and he seized on it with delighted and surprised gratitude, plunging at once into the middle, and reading aloud a most eloquentpassage upon electricity. No beauty, however, could atone to LordOrmersfield for the outrage upon method. 'If you would oblige me, Louis, ' he said, 'you would read that book consecutively. '

'To oblige you, certainly, ' said Louis, smiling, and turning to thefirst page, but his vivacious eagerness was extinguished. 

M'Culloch is not an author to be thoroughly read without a strongeffort. His gems are of the purest ray, but they lie embedded in ahard crust of reasoning and disquisition; and on the first morning, Louis, barely strong enough yet for a battle with his own volatility, looked, and owned himself, dead beat by the first chapter. 

Mary took pity on him. She had been much interested by his account ofthe work, and would be delighted if he would read it with her. Hebrightened at once, and the regular habit began, greatly to theirmutual enjoyment. Mary liked the argument, Louis liked explaining it;and the flood of allusions was delightful to both, with his richness ofillustration, and Mary's actual experience of ocean and mountains. Shebrought him whatever books he wanted, and from the benevolent view ofentertaining him while a prisoner, came to be more interested than hermother had ever expected to see her in anything literary. It wasamusing to see the two cousins unconsciously educating each other--theone learning expansion, the other concentration, of mind. Mary couldnow thoroughly trust Louis's goodness, and therefore began by bearingwith his vagaries, and gradually tracing the grain of wisdom that wasusually at their root; and her eyes were opened to new worlds, whereall was not evil or uninteresting that Aunt Melicent distrusted. Louismade her teach him Spanish; and his insight into grammar and keendelight in the majestic language and rich literature infected her, while he was amused by her positive distaste to anything incomplete, and playfully, though half murmuringly, submitted to his 'goodgoverness, ' and let her keep him in excellent order. She knew whereall his property was, and, in her quaint, straightforward way, wouldrefuse to give him whatever 'was not good for him. '

It was all to oblige Mary that, when he could sit up and use pen andpencil, he set to work to finish his cottage plans, and soon drew andtalked himself into a vehement condition about Marksedge. Mary'spatronage drew on the work, even to hasty learning of perspectiveenough for a pretty elevation intelligible to the unlearned, and ahopeless calculation of the expense. 

The plans lay on the table when next his father came home, and theirinterest was explained. 

'Did you draw all these yourself?' exclaimed the Earl. 'Where did youlearn architectural drawing? I should have thought them done by aprofessional hand. '

'It is easy enough to get it up from books, ' said Louis; 'and Mary keptme to the point, in case you should be willing to consider the matter. I would have written out the estimate; but this book allows for bricks, and we could use the stone at Inglewood more cheaply, to say nothing ofbeauty. '

'Well, ' said Lord Ormersfield, considering, 'you have every right tohave a voice in the management of the property. I should like to hearyour views with regard to these cottages. '

Colouring deeply, and with earnest thanks, Fitzjocelyn stated theinjury both to labourers and employers, caused by their distance fromtheir work; he explained where he thought the buildings ought to stand, and was even guarded enough to show that the rents would justify theoutlay. He had considered the matter so much, that he could even haveencountered Richardson; and his father was only afraid that what was soplausible _must_ be insecure. Caution contended with a real desire togratify his son, and to find him in the right. He must know the wishesof the farmer, be sure of the cost, and be certain of the spotintended. His crippled means had estranged him from duties that hecould not fulfil according to his wishes, and, though not a hardlandlord, he had no intercourse with his tenants, took little interestin his estate, and was such a stranger to the localities, that Louiscould not make him understand the nook selected for the buildings. Hehad seen the arable field called 'Great Courtiers, ' and the farm called'Small Profits, ' on the map, but did not know their ups and downs muchbetter than the coast of China. 

'Mary knows them!' said Louis. 'She made all my measurements there, before I planned the gardens. '

'Mary seems to be a good friend to your designs, ' said the Earl, looking kindly at her. 

'The best!' said Louis. 'I begin to have some hope of my doings when Isee her take them in hand. '

Lord Ormersfield thanked Mary, and asked whether it would betrespassing too much on her kindness to ask her to show him the placein question. She was delighted, and they set out at once, the Earlalmost overpowering her by his exceeding graciousness, so that she wasnearly ready to laugh when he complimented her on knowing her waythrough the bye-paths of his own park so much better than he did. 'Itis a great pleasure to me that you can feel it something like home, ' hesaid. 

'I was so happy here as a child, ' said Mary, heartily, 'that it mustseem to me more of a home than any other place. '

'I hope it may always be so, my dear. '

He checked himself, as if he had been about to speak even more warmly;and Mary did the honours of the proposed site for the cottages, a wastestrip fronting a parish lane, open to the south, and looking full ofcapabilities, all of which she pointed out after Louis's well-learnedlesson, as eagerly as if it had been her own affair. 

Lord Ormersfield gave due force to all, but still was prudent. 'I mustfind out, ' he said, 'whether this place be in my hands, or included inMorris's lease. You see, Mary, this is an encumbered property, withevery disadvantage, so that I cannot always act as you and Louis wouldwish; but we so far see our way out of our difficulties, that, ifguided by good sense, he will be able to effect far more than I haveever done. '

'I believe, ' was Mary's answer, 'this green is in the farmer's hands, but that he has no use for it. '

'I should like to be certain of his wishes. Farmers are so unwillingto increase the rates, that I should not like to consent till I knowthat it would be really a convenience to him. '

Mary suggested that there stood the farmhouse; and the Earlapologetically asked if she would dislike their proceeding thither, ashe would not detain her long. She eagerly declared that Louis would be'so glad, ' and Lord Ormersfield turned his steps to the door, where hehad only been once in his life, when he was a very young man, trying tolike shooting. 

The round-eyed little maid would say nothing but 'Walk in, sir, ' inanswer to inquiries if Mr. Norris were at home; and they walked into aparlour, chill with closed windows, and as stiff and fine as the lilacstreamers of the cap that Mrs. Norris had just put on for theirreception. Nevertheless, she was a sensible, well-mannered woman, andafter explaining that her husband was close at hand, showed genuinewarmth and interest in inquiring for Lord Fitzjocelyn. As theconversation began to flag, Mary had recourse to admiring a handsomesilver tankard on a side table. It was the prize of a ploughing-matcheight years ago, and brought out a story that evidently always wentwith it, how Mrs. Norris had been unwell and stayed at home, and hadfirst heard of her husband's triumph by seeing the young Lord gallopingheadlong up the homefield, hurraing, and waving his cap. He had takenhis pony the instant he heard the decision, and rushed off to be thefirst to bring the news to Mrs. Norris, wild with the honour of SmallProfits. 'And, ' said the farmer's wife, 'I always say Norris was aspleased with what I told him, as I was with the tankard!'

Norris here came in, an unpretending, quiet man, of the modern, intelligent race of farmers. There was anxiety at first in his eye, but it cleared off as he heard the cause of his landlord's visit, andhe was as propitious as any cautious farmer could be. He was strong onthe present inconveniences, and agreed that it would be a great boon tohave a _few_ families brought back, such as were steady, and would notburden the rates; but the _few_ recurred so often as to show that hewas afraid of a general migration of Marksedge. Lord Ormersfieldthereupon promised that he should be consulted as to the individuals. 

'Thank you, my Lord. There are some families at Marksedge that onewould not wish to see nearer here; and I'll not say but I should liketo have a voice in the matter, for they are apt to take advantage ofLord Fitzjocelyn's kindness. '

'I quite understand you. Nothing can be more reasonable. I only actedbecause my son was persuaded it was your wish. '

'It is so, my Lord. I am greatly obliged. He has often talked of itwith me, and I had mentioned the matter to Mr. Richardson, but hethought your lordship would be averse to doing anything. '

'I have not been able to do all I could have wished, ' said the Earl. 'My son will have it in his power to turn more attention to theproperty. '

And he _is_ a thorough farmer's friend, as they all say, ' earnestlyexclaimed Norris, with warmth breaking through the civil formal manner. 

'True, ' said Lord Ormersfield, gratified; 'he is very much attached tothe place, and all connected with it. '

'I'm sure they're the same to him, ' replied the farmer. 'As aninstance, my Lord, you'll excuse it--do you see that boy driving in thecows? You would not look for much from him. Well, the morning thedoctor from London came down, that boy came to his work, crying so thatI thought he was ill. 'No, master, ' said he, 'but what'll ever becomeof us when we've lost my young Lord?' And he burst out again, fit tobreak his heart. I told him I was sorry enough myself, but to go tohis work, for crying would do no good. 'I can't help it, master, ' sayshe, 'when I looks at the pigs. Didn't he find 'em all in the park, andme nutting--and helped me his own self to drive 'em out before Mr. Warren see 'em, and lifted the little pigs over the gap as tender as ifthey were Christians?'

'Yes, that's the way with them all, ' interposed Mrs. Norris: 'he hasthe good word of high and low. '

Lord Ormersfield smiled: he smiled better than he used to do, and tookleave. 

'Fitzjocelyn will be a popular man, ' he said. 

Mary could not help being diverted at this moral deduced from thepig-story. 'Every one is fond of him, ' was all she said. 

'Talent and popularity, ' continued the Earl. 'He will have greatinfluence. The free, prepossessing manner is a great advantage, whereit is so natural and devoid of effort. '

'It comes of his loving every one, ' said Mary, almost indignantly. 

'It is a decided advantage, ' continued the Earl, complacently. 'I haveno doubt but that he has every endowment requisite for success. You andyour mother have done much in developing his character, my dear; and Isee every reason to hope that the same influence continued will producethe most beneficial results. '

Mary thought this a magnificent compliment, even considering that noone but her mamma had succeeded in teaching Louis to read when a littleboy, or in making him persevere in anything now: but then, when LordOrmersfield did pay a compliment, it was always in the style of LouisXIV. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE FAMILY COMPACT. 

 Who, nurst with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack-hare COWPER. 

'Mary, ' said Mrs. Frost. 

Mrs. Ponsonby was sitting by the open window of the library, inhalingthe pleasant scents of July. Raising her eyes, she saw her aunt gazingat her with a look somewhat perplexed, but brim full of mischievousfrolic. However, the question was only--'Where is that boy?'

'He is gone down with Mary to his cottage-building. '

'Oh! if Mary is with him, I don't care, ' said Aunt Catharine, sittingdown to her knitting; but her ball seemed restless, and while shepursued it, she broke out into a little laugh, and exclaimed, 'I begyour pardon, my dear, but I cannot help it. I never heard anything sofunny!'

'As this scheme, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, with a little hesitation. 

'Then you have the other side of it in your letter, ' cried Mrs. Frost, giving way to her merriment. 'The Arabian Nights themselves, the twoviziers laying their heads together, and sending home orders to us tomake up the match!'

'My letter does not go so far, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, amused, but anxious. 

'Yours is the lady's side. My orders are precise. Oliver has talkedit over with Mr. Ponsonby, and finds the connexion would be agreeable;so he issues a decree that his nephew, Roland Dynevor--(poor Jem--hewould not know himself!)--should enter on no profession, but forthwithpay his addresses to Miss Ponsonby, since he will shortly be in aposition befitting the heir of our family!'

'You leave Prince Roland in happy ignorance, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, blushing a little. 

'Certainly--or he would fly off like a sky-rocket at the first symptomof the princess. '

'Then I think we need not alter our plans. All that Mary's fathertells me is, that he does not intend to return home as yet, though hissuccessor is appointed, since he is much occupied by this newpartnership with Oliver, and expects that the investment will besuccessful. He quite approves of our living at the Terrace, especiallyas he thinks I ought to be informed that Oliver has declared hisintentions with regard to his nephew, and so if anything should arisebetween the young people, I am not to discourage it. '

'Mary is in request, ' said Mrs. Frost, slyly, and as she met Mrs. Ponsonby's eyes full of uneasy inquiry. 'You don't mean that you havenot observed at least his elder lordship's most decided courtship?Don't be too innocent, my dear. '

'Pray don't say so, Aunt Kitty, or you will make me uncomfortable instaying here. If the like ever crossed his mind, he must perceive thatthe two are just what we were together ourselves. '

'That might make him wish it the more, ' Aunt Catharine had almost said, but she restrained it halfway, and said, 'Louis is hardly come to thetime of life for a grande passion. '

'True. He is wonderfully young, and Mary not only seems much older, but is by no means the girl to attract a mere youth. I rather suspectshe will have no courtship but from the elders. '

'In spite of her opportunities. What would some mammas--LordOrmersfield's bugbear, for instance, Lady Conway--give for such achance! Three months of a lame young Lord, and such a lame young Lordas my Louis!'

'I might have feared, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 'if Mary were not soperfectly simple. Aunt Melicent managed to abstract all romance, and Inever regretted it so little. She has looked after him merely becauseit came in her way as a form of kindness, and is too much his governessfor anything of the other sort. '

'So you really do not wish for the other sort?' said Mrs. Frost, halfmortified, as if it were a slight to her boy. 

'I don't know how her father might take it, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, eagerto disarm, her. 'With his grand expectations, and his view of thestate of this property, he might make difficulties. He is fond ofexpressing his contempt for needy nobility, and I am afraid, after allthat has passed, that this would be the last case in which he wouldmake an exception. '

'Yet you say he is fond of Mary. '

'Very fond. If anything would triumph over his dislike, it would behis affection for her, but I had rather my poor Mary had not to put itto the proof. And, after all, I don't think it the safest way for amarriage, that the man should be the most attractive, and the woman themost--'

'Sensible! Say it, Mary--that is the charm in my nephew's eyes. '

'Your great-nephew is the point! No, no, Aunt Kitty; you are under adelusion. The kindness to Mary is no more than 'auld lang-syne, ' andbecause he thinks her too impossible. He cannot afford for his son tomarry anything but a grand unquestionable heiress. Mary's fortune, besides, depending on speculations, would be nothing to what LadyFitzjocelyn ought to have. '

'For shame! I think better of him. I believe he would be unworldlywhen Louis's happiness was concerned. '

'To return to James, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly: 'I am glad thathis uncle should have declared his intentions. '

'Oh, my dear, we are quite used to that. I am only glad that Jem takesno heed. We have had enough of that!--for my own part, ' and the tearsarose, 'I never expect that poor Oliver will think he has done enoughin my lifetime. These things do so grow on a man! If I had but kepthim at home!'

'It might have been the same. '

'There would have been something to divide his attention. His brotherused to be a sort of idol; he seemed to love him the more for hisquiet, easy ways, and to delight in waiting on him. I do believe hedelays, because he cannot bear to come home without Henry!'

Mrs. Ponsonby preferred most topics to that of Mrs. Frost's sons, andwas relieved by the sight of the young people returning across thelawn--Fitzjocelyn with his ash stick, but owing a good deal of supportto Mary's firm, well-knit arm. They showed well together: evenlameness could not disfigure the grace of his leisurely movements; andthe bright changefulness and delicacy of his face contrasted well withthe placid nobleness of her composed expression, while her complexionwas heightened and her eyes lighted by exercise, so that she was almosthandsome. She certainly had been looking uncommonly well lately. Wasthis the way they were to walk together through life?

But Mrs. Ponsonby had known little of married life save the troubles, and she was doubly anxious for her daughter's sake. She exceedinglyfeared unformed characters, and natures that had no root in themselves. Mary's husband must not lean on her for strength. 

She was glad, as with new meaning, she watched their proceedings, tosee how easily, and as a matter of course, Louis let Mary bring hisfootstool and his slipper, fetch his books, each at the proper time, read Spanish with him, and make him look out the words in thedictionary when he knew them by intuition, remind him of orders to bewritten for his buildings, and manage him as her pupil. If she ruled, it was with perfect calmness and simplicity, and the playfulness wasthat of brother and sister, not even with the coquettish intimacy ofcousinhood. 

The field was decidedly open to Roland Dynevor, alias James Frost. 

Mrs. Ponsonby was loth to contemplate that contingency, though in allobedience, she exposed her daughter to the infection. He was expectedon that afternoon, bringing his sister with him, for he had notwithstood the united voices that entreated him to become Fitzjocelyn'stutor during the vacation, and the whole party had promised to remainfor the present as guests at Ormersfield. 

Louis, in high spirits, offered to drive Mrs. Ponsonby to meet thetravellers at the station; and much did he inflict on her poorshattered nerves by the way. He took no servant, that there might bethe more room, and perched aloft on the driving seat, he could only usehis indefatigable tongue by leaning back with his head turned round toher. She kept a sharp lookout ahead; but all her warnings of comingperils only caused him to give a moment's attention to the horses andthe reins, before he again turned backwards to resume his discourse. In the town, his head was more in the right direction, for he wasnodding and returning greetings every moment; he seemed to have abowing acquaintance with all the world, and when he drew up at thestation, reached down several times to shake hands with figures whomhis father would barely have acknowledged; exchanging good-humouredinquiries or congratulations with almost every third person. 

Scarcely had the train dashed up before Mrs. Ponsonby was startled by ashout of 'He's there himself! Louis! Louis!' and felt, as well assaw, the springing ascent to the box of a tall apparition, in a scantylilac cotton dress, an outgrown black mantle, and a brown straw bonnet, scarcely confining an overprofusion of fair hair. Louis let go thereins to catch hold of both hands, and cry, 'Well, old Giraffe! whathave you done with Jem?'

'Seeing to the luggage! You won't let him turn me out! I must sithere!'

'You must have manners, ' said Louis; 'look round, and speak rationallyto Mrs. Ponsonby. '

'I never saw she was there!' and slightly colouring, the 'Giraffe'erected her length, turned round a small insignificant face slightlyfreckled, with hazel eyes, as light as if they had been grey; andstretched down a hand to be shaken by her new relation, but she waschiefly bent on retaining her elevation. 

'There, Jem!' she cried exultingly, as he came forth, followed by thetrunks and portmanteaus. 

'Madcap!' he said; 'but I suppose the first day of the holidays must beprivileged. Ha! Fitzjocelyn, you're the right man in the right place, whatever Clara is. '

So they drove off, James sitting by Mrs. Ponsonby, and taking care toinform her that, in spite of her preposterous height, Clara was onlysixteen, he began to ask anxious questions as to Fitzjocelyn'srecovery, while she looked up at the pair in front, and thought, fromthe appearance of things, that even Louis's tongue was more thanrivalled, for the newcomer seemed to say a sentence in the time he tookin saying a word. Poor Mrs. Ponsonby! she would not have been happierhad she known in which pair of hands the reins were!

'And Louis! how are you?' cried Clara, as soon as this point had beengained; 'are you able to walk?'

'After a fashion. '

'And does your ankle hurt you?'

'Only if I work it too hard. One would think that lounging had becomea virtue instead of a vice, to hear the way I am treated. '

'You look--' began Clara. 'But oh, Louis!' cried she, in a sort ofhesitating wonder, 'what! a moustache?'

'Don't say a word:' he lowered his voice. 'Riding is against orders, but I cannot miss the Yeomanry, under the present aspect of affairs. '

'The invasion! A man in the train was talking of the war steamers, butJem laughed. Do you believe in it?'

'It is a time when a display of loyalty and national spirit may turnthe scale. I am resolved to let no trifle prevent me from doing mypart, ' he said, colouring with enthusiasm. 

'You are quite right, ' cried Clara. 'You ought to take your vassals, like a feudal chief! I am sure the defence of one's country ought tooutweigh everything. '

'Exactly so. Our volunteer forces are our strength and glory, and area happy meeting of all classes in the common cause. But say nothing, Clara, or granny will take alarm, and get an edict from Walby againstme. '

'Dear granny! But I wish we were going home to the Terrace. '

'Thank you. How flattering!'

'You would be always in and out, and it would be so much morecomfortable. Is Lord Ormersfield at home?'

'No, he will not come till legislation can bear London no longer. '

'Oh!'--with a sound of great relief. 

'You don't know how kind he has been, ' said Louis, eagerly. 'You willfind it out when you are in the house with him. '

Clara laughed, but sighed. 'I think we should have had more fun athome. '

'What! than with me for your host? Try what I can do. Besides, youoverlook Mary. '

'But she has been at school!'

'Well!'

'I didn't bargain for school-girls at home!'

'I should not have classed Mary in that category. '

'Don't ask me to endure any one who has been at school! Oh, Louis! ifyou could only guess--if you would only speak to Jem not to send meback to that place--'

'Aunt Kitty will not consent, I am sure, if you are really unhappythere, my poor Clara. '

'No! no! I am ordered not to tell granny. It would only vex her, andJem says it must be. I don't want her to be vexed, and if I tell you, I may be able to keep it in!'

Out poured the whole flood of troubles, unequal in magnitude, but mosttrying to the high-spirited girl. Formal walks, silent meals, setmanners, perpetual French, were a severe trial, but far worse was thecompanionship. Petty vanities, small disputes, fretful jealousies, insincere tricks, and sentimental secrets, seemed to Clara a great dealmore contemptible than the ignorance, indolence, abrupt manners andboyish tastes which brought her into constant disgrace--and thereseemed to be one perpetual chafing and contradiction, which made hermiserable. And a further confidence could not help following, thoughwith a warning that Jem must not hear it, for she did not mind, and hespent every farthing on her that he could afford. She had been teasedabout her dress, told that her friends were mean and shabby, andrejected as a walking companion, because she had no parasol, and thatwas vulgar. 

'I am sure I wanted to walk with none of them, ' said Clara, 'and whenour English governess advised me to get one, I told her I would give into no such nonsense, for only vulgar people cared about them. Such ascrape I got into! Well, then Miss Salter, whose father is a knight, and who thinks herself the great lady of the school, always bridledwhenever she saw me, and, at last, Lucy Raynor came whispering up, tobeg that I would contradict that my grandmamma kept a school, for MissSalter was so very particular. '

'I should like to have heard your contradiction. '

'I never would whisper, least of all to Lucy Raynor, so I stood up inthe midst, and said, as clear as I could, that my grandmother hadalways earned an honest livelihood by teaching little boys, and that Imeant to do the same, for nothing would ever make me have anything todo with girls. '

'That spoilt it, ' said Louis--'the first half was dignified. '

'What was the second?'

'Human nature, ' said Louis. 

'I see, ' said Clara. 'Well, they were famously scandalized, and thatwas all very nice, for they let me alone. But you brought far worse onme, Louis. '

'I!'

'Ay! 'Twas my own fault, though, but I couldn't help it. You mustknow, they all are ready to bow down to the ninety-ninth part of aLord's little finger; and Miss Brown--that's the teacher--always readsall the fashionable intelligence as if it were the Arabian Nights, andimparts little bits to Miss Salter and her pets; and so it was that Iheard, whispered across the table, the dreadful accident to ViscountFitzjocelyn!'

'Did nobody write to you?'

'Yes--I had a letter from granny, and another from Jem by the nextmorning's post, or I don't know what I should have done. Granny wastoo busy to write at first; I didn't three parts believe it before, butthere was no keeping in at that first moment. '

'What did you do?'

'I gave one great scream, and flew at the newspaper. The worst was, that I had to explain, and then--oh! it was enough to make one sick. Why had I not said I was Lord Ormersfield's cousin? I turned into afine aristocratic-looking girl on the spot! Miss Salter came andfondled, and wanted me to walk with her!'

'Of course; she had compassion on your distress--amiable feeling!'

'She only wanted to ask ridiculous questions, whether you werehandsome. '

'What did you reply?'

'I told them not a word, except that my brother was going to be yourtutor. When I saw Miss Salter setting off by this line, I made Jemtake second-class tickets, that she might be ashamed of me. '

'My dear Giraffe, bend down your neck, and don't take such acommonplace, conventional view of your schoolfellows. '

'Conventional! ay, all agree because they know it by experience, ' saidClara--'I'm sure I do!'

'Then take the other side--see the best. '

'Jem says you go too far, and are unreasonable with your theory ofmaking the best of every one. '

'By no means. I always made the worst of Frampton, and now I know whatinjustice I did him. I never saw greater kindness and unselfishnessthan he has shown me. '

'I should like to know what best you would make of these girls!'

'You have to try that!'

'Can I get any possible good by staying?'

'A vast deal. '

'I'm sure Italian, and music, and drawing, are not a good compared withtruth, and honour, and kindness. '

'All those things only grow by staying wherever we may happen to be, unless it is by our own fault. '

'Tell me what good you mean!'

'Learning not to hate, learning to mend your gloves. Don't jerk thereins, Clara, or you'll get me into a scrape. '

Clara could extract no more, nor did she wish it, for having relievedher mind by the overflow, she only wanted to forget her misfortunes. Her cousin Louis was her chief companion, they had always feltthemselves on the same level of nonsense, and had unreservedly sharedeach other's confidences and projects; and ten thousand bits ofintelligence were discussed with mutual ardour, while Clara's ecstasybecame uncontrollable as she felt herself coming nearer to hergrandmother. She finally descended with a bound almost as distressingto her brother as her ascent had been, and leapt at once to the embraceof Mrs. Frost, who stood there, petting, kissing her, and playfullythreatening all sorts of means to stop her growth. Clara reared up hergiraffe figure, boasting of having overtopped all the world present, except Louis! She made but a cold, abrupt response to her cousinMary's greeting, and presently rushed upstairs in search of dear oldJane, with an impetus that made Mrs. Frost sigh, and say, 'Poor child!how happy she is;' and follow her, smiling, while James looked annoyed. 

'Never mind, Jem, ' said Louis, who had thrown himself at full length onthe sofa, 'she deserves compensation. Let it fizz. '

'And undo everything! What do you say to that, Mary?'

'Mary is to say nothing, ' said Louis, 'I mean that poor child to haveher swing. '

'I shall leave you and James to settle that, ' said Mary, quitting them. 

'I am very anxious that Clara should form a friendship with Mary, ' saidJames, gravely. 

'Friendships can't be crammed down people's throats, ' said Louis, in aweary indifferent tone. 

'You who have been three months with Mary--!'

'Mary and I did not meet with labels round our necks that here were apair of friends. Pray do you mean to send that victim of yours back toschool?'

'Don't set her against it. I have been telling her of the necessityall the way home. '

'Is it not to be taken into consideration that a bad--not to say abase-style of girl seems to prevail there?'

'I can't help it, Fitzjocelyn, ' cried Jem, ruffling up his hair, as healways did when vexed. 'Girls fit to be her companions don't go toschool--or to no school within my means. This place has soundsuperiors, and she _must_ be provided with a marketable stock ofaccomplishments, so there's no choice. I can trust her not to forgetthat she is a Dynevor. '

'Query as to the benefit of that recollection. '

'What do you mean?'

'That I never saw evils lessened by private self-exaltation. '

'Very philosophical! but as a matter of fact, what was it but the senseof my birth that kept me out of all the mischief I was exposed to atthe Grammar School!'

'I always thought it had been something more respectable, ' said Louis, his voice growing more sleepy. 

'Pshaw! Primary motives being understood, secondary stand common wearthe best. '

'As long as they don't eat into the primary. '

'The long and short of it is, ' exclaimed James, impatiently, 'that wemust have no nonsense about Clara. It is pain enough to me to inflictall this on her, but I would not do it, if I thought it were more thanmere discomfort. Her principles are fixed, she is above thesetrumperies. But you have the sense to see that her whole welfare maydepend on whether she gets fitted to be a valuable accomplishedgoverness or a mere bonne, tossed about among nursery-maids. There'swhere poverty galls! Don't go and set my grandmother on! If she grewwretched and took Clara away, it would be mere condemning of her torudeness and struggling!'

'Very well, ' said Louis, as James concluded the brief sentences, uttered in the bitterness of his heart, 'one bargain I make. If I amto hold my tongue about school, I will have my own way with her in theholidays. '

'I tell you, Louis, that it is time to have done with childishness. Clara is growing up--I _won't_ have you encourage her in all that wildflightiness--I didn't want to have had her here at all! If she is everto be a reasonable, conformable woman, it is high time to begin. Ican't have you undoing the work of six months! when Mary might makesome hand of her, too--'

James stopped. Louis's eyes were shut, and he appeared to becompletely asleep. If silence were acquiescence, it was at leastgained; and so he went away, and on returning, intended to impress hislessons of reserve on Clara and her grandmother, but was prevented byfinding Mrs. Ponsonby and her daughter already in the library, consulting over some letters, while Clara sat at her grandmother's kneein the full felicity of hearing all the Northwold news. 

The tea was brought in, and there was an inquiry for Louis. He cameslowly forward from the sofa at the dark end of the room, butdisclaimed, of course, the accusation of fatigue. 

'A very bad sign, ' said James, 'that you have been there all this timewithout our finding it out. Decidedly, you have taken me in. You don'tlook half as well as you promised. You are not the same colour tenminutes together, just now white, and now--how you redden!'

'Don't, Jem!' cried Louis, as each observation renewed the tide ofburning crimson in his cheek. 'It is like whistling to a turkey-cock. If I had but the blue variety, it might be more comfortable, as well asmore interesting. '

Clara went into a choking paroxysm of laughter, which her brother triedto moderate by a look, and Louis rendered more convulsive by quoting

 'Marked you his cheek of heavenly blue, '

and looked with a mischievous amusement at James's ill-suppresseddispleasure at the merriment that knew no bounds, till even Mrs. Frost, who had laughed at first as much at James's distress as at Louis'stravestie or Clara's fun, thought it time to check it by saying, 'Youare right, Jem, he is not half so strong as he thinks himself. Youmust keep him in good order. '

'Take care, Aunt Kitty, ' said Louis; 'you'll make me restive. A tutorand governess both! I appeal! Shall we endure it, Clara?'

'Britons never shall be slaves!' was the eager response. 

'Worthy of the daughter of the Pendragons, ' said Louis; 'but it losthalf its effect from being stifled with laughing. You should commandyourself, Clara, when you utter a sentiment. I beg to repeat MissFrost Dynevor's novel and striking speech, and declare my adhesion, 'Britons never shall be slaves!' Liberty, fraternity, and equality!Tyrants, beware!'

'You ungrateful boy!' said Mrs. Frost; 'that's the way you use yourgood governess!'

'Only the way the nineteenth century treats all its good governesses, 'said Louis. 

'When it gets past them, ' said Mary, smiling. 'I hope you did notthink I was not ready to give you up to your tutor?'

Mary found the renunciation more complete than perhaps she hadexpected. The return of his cousins had made Fitzjocelyn a differentcreature. He did indeed read with James for two hours every morning, but this was his whole concession to discipline; otherwise he was morewayward and desultory than ever, and seemed bent on teazing James, andamusing himself by making Clara extravagantly wild and idle. Tired ofhis long confinement, he threw off all prudence with regard to health, as well as all struggle with his volatile habits; and the more he wasscolded, the more he seemed to delight in making meekly ridiculousanswers and going his own way. Sometimes he and Clara would make anappointment, at some unearthly hour, to see Mrs. Morris make cheese, orto find the sun-dew blossom open, or to sketch some effect of morningsun. Louis would afterwards be tired and unhinged the whole day, butnever convinced, only capable of promoting Clara's chatter; and readythe next day to stand about with her in the sun at the cottages, to theincrease of her freckles, and the detriment of his ankle. Theirfrolics would have been more comprehensible had she been moreattractive; but her boisterous spirits were not engaging to any one butLouis, who seemed to enjoy them in proportion to her brother'sannoyance, and to let himself down into nearly equal folly. 

He gave some slight explanation to Mary, one day when he had beenreminded of one of their former occupations--'Ah! I have no time forthat now. You see there's nobody else to protect that poor Giraffefrom being too rational. '

'Is that her great danger?' said Mary. 

'Take my advice, Mary, let her alone. Follow your own judgment, andnot poor Jem's fidgets. He wants to be 'father, mother both, anduncle, all in one, ' and so he misses his natural vocation of elderbrother. He wants to make a woman of her before her time; and now hehas his way with her at school, he shall let her have a littlecompensation at home. '

'Is this good for her? Is it the only way she can be happy?'

'It is her way, at least; and if you knew the penance she undergoes atschool, you would not grudge it to her. She is under his orders not todisclose the secrets of her prison-house, lest they should disquietAunt Catharine; and she will not turn to you, because--I beg yourpardon, Mary--she has imbibed a distrust of all school-girls; andbesides, Jem has gone and insisted on your being her friend more thanhuman nature can stand. '

'It is a great pity, ' said Mary, smiling, but grieved; 'I should nothave been able to do her much good--but if I could only try!'

'I'll tell you, ' said Louis, coming near, with a look betweenconfidence and embarrassment; 'is it in the power of woman to make herdress look rather more like other people's without inflaming the bloodof the Dynevors--cautiously, you know? Even my father does not dare togive her half-a-sovereign for pocket-money; but do ask your mother ifshe could not be made such that those girls should not make her theirlaughingstock. '

'You don't mean it!'

'Aye, I do; and she has not even told James, lest he should wish tospend more upon her. She glories in it, but that is hardly wholesome. '

'Then she told you?'

'Oh, yes! We always were brothers! It is great fun to have her here!I always wished it, and I'm glad it has come before they have made herget out of the boy. He will be father to the woman some day; and thatwill be soon enough, without teasing her. '

Mary wished to ask whether all this were for Clara's good, but shecould not very well put such a question to him; and, after all, it wasnoticeable that, noisy and unguarded as Clara's chatter was, therenever was anything that in itself should not have been said: though hermanner with Louis was unceremonious, it was never flirting; andrefinement of mind was as evident in her rough-and-ready manner as inhis high-bred quietness. This seemed to account for Mrs. Frost'snon-interference, which at first amazed her niece; but Aunt Catharine'selement was chiefly with boys, and her love for Clara, though verygreat, showed itself chiefly in still regarding her as a mere child, petting her to atone for the privations of school, and while she mightassent to the propriety of James's restrictions, always laughing orlooking aside when they were eluded. 

James argued and remonstrated. He said a great deal, always had theadvantage in vehemence, and appeared to reduce Louis to a condition ofquaint debonnaire indifference; and warfare seemed the normal state ofthe cousins, the one fiery and sensitive, the other cool and impassive, and yet as appropriate to each other as the pepper and the cucumber, toborrow a bon mot from their neighbour, Sydney Calcott. 

If Jem came to Mary brimful of annoyance with Louis's folly, a mildword of assent was sufficient to make him turn round and do battle withthe imaginary enemy who was always depreciating Fitzjocelyn. To makeup for Clara's avoidance of Mary, he rendered her his prime counsellor, and many an hour was spent in pacing up and down the garden in thesummer twilight; while she did her best to pacify him by suggestingthat thorough relaxation would give spirits and patience for Clara'snext half year, and that it might be wiser not to overstrain his ownundefined authority, while the lawful power, Aunt Catharine, did notinterfere. Surely she might safely be trusted to watch over her owngranddaughter; and while Clara was so perfectly simple, and Louis suchas he was, more evil than good might result from inculcating reserve. At any rate, it was hard to meddle with the poor child's few weeks ofhappiness, and to this James always agreed; and then he came the nextday to relieve himself by fighting the battle over again. Soconstantly did this occur, that Aunt Kitty, in her love of mischief, whispered to Mrs. Ponsonby that she only hoped the two viziers wouldnot quarrel about the three thousand sequins, three landed estates, andthree slaves. 

Still, Louis's desertion had left unoccupied so many of the hours ofMary's time that he had previously absorbed, that her mother watchedanxiously to see whether she would feel the blank. But she treated itas a matter of course. She had attended to her cousin when he neededher, and now that he had regained his former companion, Clara, sheresigned him without effort or mortification, as far as could be seen. She was forced to fall back on other duties, furnishing the house, working for every one, and reading some books that Louis had broughtbefore her. The impulse of self-improvement had not expired with hisattention, and without any shadow of pique she was always ready to playthe friend and elder sister whenever he needed her, and to be gratefulwhen he shared her interests or pursuits. So the world went till LordOrmersfield's return caused Clara's noise to subside so entirely, thather brother was sufficiently at ease to be exceedingly vivacious andentertaining, and Mrs. Ponsonby hoped for a great improvement in thestate of affairs. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. 

 For who is he, whose chin is but enriched With one appearing hair, that will not follow These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers 'gainst France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege. King Henry V. 

The next forenoon, Mary met James in the park, wandering in search ofhis pupil, whom he had not seen since they had finished their morning'swork in the study. Some wild freak with Clara was apprehended, butwhile they were conferring, Mary exclaimed, 'What's that?' as a clatterand clank met her ear. 

'Only the men going out to join old Brewster's ridiculous yeomanry, 'said Jem. 

'Oh, I should like to see them, ' cried Mary, running to the top of abank, whence she could see into the hollow road leading from thestables to the lodge. Four horsemen, the sun glancing on theirhelmets, were descending the road, and a fifth, at some distance ahead, was nearly out of sight. 'Ah, ' she said, 'Louis must have been seeingthem off. How disappointed he must be not to go!'

'I wish I was sure--' said James, with a start. 'I declare his follyis capable of anything! Why did I not think of it sooner?'

Clara here rushed upon them with her cameleopard gallop, sending hervoice before her, 'Can you see them?'

'Scarcely, ' said Mary, making room for her. 

'Where's Louis'!' hastily demanded her brother. 

'Gone to the yeomanry meeting, ' said Clara, looking in their faces inthe exultation of producing a sensation. 

James was setting off with a run to intercept him, but it was too late;and Clara loudly laughed as she said, 'You can't catch him. '

'I've done with him!' cried James. 'Can madness go further?'

'James! I am ashamed of you, ' cried the Giraffe, with greatstateliness. 'Here are the enemy threatening our coasts, and our townsfull of disaffection and sedition; and when our yeomanry are lukewarmenough to go off grouse-shooting instead of attending to their duty, what is to become of the whole country if somebody does not make anexertion? The tranquillity of all England may depend on the face ouryeomanry show. '

'On Lieutenant Fitzjocelyn's yellow moustache! Pray how long have youbeen in the secret of these heroic intentions?'

'Ever since I came home. '

'We all knew that he meant to go out if he could, ' said Mary, in a tonecalculated to soothe Jem, and diminish Clara's glory in being soleconfidante, 'but we did not think him well enough. I hope it will dohim no harm. '

'Exertions in a good cause can do no harm!' boldly declared Clara;then, with sudden loss of confidence, 'do you really think it will?'

'Just cripple him for life, ' said James. 

'Mr. Walby wished him not to attempt riding, ' said Mary. 'He thinksany strain on the ankle just now might hurt him very much; but it maybe over caution. '

'Mr. Walby is an old woman, ' said Clara. 'Now, Jem, you said soyourself. Besides, it is all for his duty! Of course, he would riskanything for the good of his country. '

'Don't say another word, Clara, ' exclaimed James, 'or you will drive medistracted with your folly. One grain of sense, and even you wouldhave stopped it; but neither you nor he could miss a chance of hisfiguring in that masquerade dress! Look at the sun, exactly like ared-hot oven! We shall have him come home as ill as ever!'

Clara had another milder and more sorrowful version of the scoldingfrom her grandmother, but Lord Ormersfield escaped the day's anxiety bybeing so busy with Richardson, that he never emerged from the study, and did not miss his son. 

It was an exceedingly sultry day, and the hopeful trusted that Louiswould be forced to give in, before much harm could be done; but it wasnot till five o'clock that the hoofs were heard on the gravel; and Jemwent out to revenge himself with irony for his uneasiness. 

'I hope you are satisfied, ' he said, 'dulce est pro patria mori. '

Louis was slowly dismounting, and as he touched the ground gave aslight cry of pain, and caught at the servant's arm for support. 

'No more than I expected, ' said James, coming to help him; and at thesame moment Lord Ormersfield was heard exclaiming--

'Fitzjocelyn--! what imprudence!'

'Take care, ' hastily interrupted James, finding Louis leaninghelplessly against him, unable to speak or stand, and his flushed cheekrapidly changing to deadly white. 

They lifted him up the steps into the hall, where he signed to be laiddown on the seat of the cool north window, and trying to smile, said'it was only the hot sun, and his foot aching _rather_; it would soongo off. ' And when, with much pain and difficulty, Frampton hadreleased his swollen foot from the regulation-boot, into which he hadfoolishly thrust it, he went on more fluently. 'He had thought it hisduty, especially when Mr. Shaw, the captain of his troop, had chosen togo away--he had believed it could do no harm--he was sure it was only alittle present discomfort, and in the present crisis--'

He addressed his aunt, but his eyes were on his father; and when heheard not a single word from him, he suddenly ceased, and presently, laying his head down on the window-sill, he begged that no one wouldstand and watch him, he should come into the library in a few minutes. 

The few minutes lasted, however, till near dinnertime, when he calledto Mary, as she was coming downstairs, and asked her to help him intothe library; he could remain no longer exposed to Frampton's pity, asdinner went in. 

He dragged himself along with more difficulty than he had found forweeks, and sank down on the sofa with a sigh of exhaustion; whileClara, who was alone in the room, reared herself up from an easy-chair, where she had been sitting in an attitude that would have been despairto her mistress. 

'Ha, Clara!' said Louis, presently; 'you look as if you had been theobject of invective?'

'I don't care, ' exclaimed Clara, 'I know you were in the good oldcause. '

'Conde at Jarnac, Charles XII. At Pultowa--which?' said Louis. 'Ithought of both myself--only, unluckily, I made such frightfulblunders. I was thankful to my men for bringing me off, like othergreat commanders. '

'Oh, Louis! but at least you were in your place--you set the example. '

'Unluckily, these things descend from the sublime to the other thing, when one is done up, and beginning to doubt whether self-will cannotsometimes wear a mask. '

'I'm sure they are all quite cross enough to you already, without yourbeing cross to yourself. '

'An ingenious and elegant impersonal, ' said Louis. 

Clara rushed out into the garden to tell the stiff old rose-trees thatif Lord Ormersfield were savage now, he would be more horrid than ever. 

Meanwhile, Louis drew a long sigh, murmuring, 'Have I gone and vexedhim again? Mary, have I been very silly?'

The half-piteous doubt and compunction had something childish, whichmade her smile as she answered: 'You had better have done as you weretold. '

'The surest road to silliness, ' said Louis, whose tendency was tomoralize the more, the more tired he was, 'is to think one is going todo something fine! It is dismal work to come out at the other end ofan illusion. '

'With a foot aching as, I am afraid, yours does. '

'I should not mind that, but that I made such horrid mistakes!'

These weighed upon his mind so much, that he went on, half aloud, rehearsing the manoeuvres and orders in which he had failed, from thedifficulty of taking the command of his troop for the first time, whenbewildered with pain and discomfort. The others came in, and Jameslooked rabid; Louis stole a glance now and then at his father, whopreserved a grave silence, while Clara stood aloof, comparing theprostrate figure in blue and silver to all the wounded knights inhistory or fiction. 

He was past going in to dinner, and the party were 'civil andmelancholy, ' Mrs. Frost casting beseeching looks at her grandson, whosat visibly chafing at the gloom that rested on the Earl's brow, andwhich increased at each message of refusal of everything but icedwater. At last Mrs. Frost carried off some grapes from the dessert totempt him, and as she passed through the open window--her readiest wayto the library--the Earl's thanks concluded with a disconsolate murmur'quite ill, ' and 'abominable folly;' a mere soliloquy and nearlyinaudible, but sufficient spark to produce the explosion. 

'Fitzjocelyn's motives deserve no such name as folly, ' James cried, with stammering eagerness. 

'I know you did not encourage him, ' said Lord Ormersfield. 

'I did, ' said a young, clear voice, raised in alarm at her ownboldness; 'Jem knew nothing of it, but I thought it right. '

Lord Ormersfield made a little courteous inclination with his head, which annihilated Clara upon the spot. 

'I doubt whether I should have done right in striving to prevent him, 'said James. 'Who can appreciate the moral effect of heroism?'

'Heroism in the cause of a silver jacket!'

'Now, that is the most unfair thing in the world!' cried James, alwaysmost violent when he launched out with his majestic cousin. 'There isnot a man living more careless of his appearance. You do him justice, Mrs. Ponsonby?'

'Yes, I do not believe that vanity had anything to do with it. A manwho would bear what he has done to-day would do far more. '

'If it had been for any reasonable cause, ' said the Earl. 

'You may not understand it, Lord Ormersfield, ' exclaimed James, 'but Ido. In these times of disaffection, a sound heart, and whole spirit, in our volunteer corps may be the saving of the country; and who cantell what may be the benefit of such an exhibition of self-sacrificingzeal. The time demands every man's utmost, and neither risk norsuffering can make him flinch from his duty. '

'My dear Jem, ' said a voice behind him at the window, 'I never see myfollies so plainly as when you are defending them. Come and help me upstairs; Granny is ordering me up; a night's rest will set all smooth. '

It was not a night's rest, neither did it set things smooth. In vaindid Louis assume a sprightly countenance, and hold his head andshoulders erect and stately; there was no concealing that he was verypale, and winced at every step. His ankle had been much hurt by thepressure of the stirrup, and he was not strong enough to bear withimpunity severe pain, exertion, and fatigue on a burning summer day. Itwas evident that his recovery had been thrown back for weeks. 

His father made no reproaches, but was grievously disappointed. Hisexaggerated estimate of his son's discretion had given place to a noless misplaced despondency, quite inaccessible to Mrs. Ponsonby'sconsolations as to the spirit that had prompted the performance. Hecould have better understood a youth being unable to forego theexhibition of a handsome person and dress, than imagine that any one ofmoderate sense could either expect the invasion, or use these means ofaverting it. If imagination was to be allowed for, so much the worse. A certain resemblance to the childish wilfulness with which his wifehad trifled with her health, occurred to him, increasing his vexationby gloomy shadows of the past. 

His silent mortification and kind anxiety went to his son's heart. Louis was no less disappointed in himself, in finding his own judgmentas untrustworthy as ever, since the exploit that had been a perpetualfeast to his chivalrous fancy had turned out a mere piece ofself-willed imprudence, destroying all the newly-bestowed andhighly-valued good opinion of his father; and even in itself, incompetently executed. 'He had made a fool of himself every way. 'That had been James's first dictum, and he adopted it from conviction. 

In the course of the day, goodnatured, fat Sir Gilbert Brewster, thecolonel of the yeomanry, who had been seriously uneasy at his looks, and had tried to send him home, rode over to inquire for him, complimenting him on being 'thorough game to the last. ' Louis relievedhis mind by apologies for his blunders, whereupon he learnt that hisgood colonel had never discovered them, and now only laughed at them, and declared that they were mere trifles to what the whole corps, officers and men, committed whenever they met, and no one cared exceptone old sergeant who had been in the Light Dragoons. Louis's veryrepentance for them was another piece of absurdity. He smiled, indeed, but seemed to give himself up as a hopeless subject. His spiritsflagged as they had not done throughout his illness, and, unwell, languid, and depressed, he spent his days without an attempt to rally. He was only too conscious of his own inconsistency, but he had notenergy enough to resume any of the habits that Mary had so diligentlynursed, neglected even his cottage-building, would not trouble himselfto consider the carpenter's questions, forgot messages, put offengagements, and seemed to have only just vigour enough to bedesultory, tease James, and spoil Clara. 

Lord Ormersfield became alarmed, and called in doctors, who recommendedsea air, and James suggested a secluded village on the Yorkshire coast, where some friends had been reading in the last long vacation. Thiswas to be the break-up of the party; Mrs. Frost and the two Marys wouldresort to Dynevor Terrace, Clara would return to school, and Jamesundertook the charge of Louis, who took such exceedingly little heed tothe arrangements, that Jem indignantly told him that he cared neitherfor himself nor anybody else. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A HALTING PROPOSAL. 

 Shallow. Will you upon good dowry, marry her? Slender. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request. Merry Wives of Windsor. 

The first thing that Louis did appear to care for was a letter thatarrived about three days previous to their departure, addressed to'Lord Fitsgosling, Hawmsfield Park, Northwold. ' Rather too personal, as he observed, he must tell his correspondent that it hurt hisfeelings. The correspondent was Tom Madison, whose orthography laggedbehind his other attainments, if his account might be trusted of 'theylectures on Kemistry. ' His penmanship was much improved, and he wasprospering, with hopes of promotion and higher wages, when he shouldhave learnt to keep accounts. He liked Mr. Dobbs and the chaplain, andwished to know how to send a crown per post to 'old granfer up atMarksedge; because he is too ignorant to get a border sinned. Please, my lord, give my duty to him and all enquiring friends, and to Schirlt, up at the Teras. '

Highly amused, Louis lay on the uppermost step from the library window, in the cool summer evening, laughing over the letter. 'There, AuntKitty, he said, 'I commit that tender greeting to your charge, ' and asshe looked doubtful, 'Yes, do, there's a good aunt and mistress. '

'I am afraid I should not be a good mistress; I ought not to sanctionit. '

'Better sanction it above board than let it go on by stealth, ' saidLouis. 'You are her natural protector. '

'So much the more reason against it! I ought to wish her to forgetthis poor boy of yours. '

'Ay, and light Hymen's torch with some thriving tallow chandler, whowould marry a domestic slave as a good speculation, without one sparkof the respectful chivalrous love that--'

'Hush! you absurd boy. '

'Well, then, if you won't, I shall go to Jane. The young ladies areall too cold and too prudent, but Jane has a soft spot in her heart, and will not think true love is confined within the rank that keeps agig. I did think Aunt Kitty had been above vulgar prejudices. '

'Not above being coaxed by you, you gosling, you, ' said Aunt Kitty;'only you must come out of the dew, the sun is quite gone. '

'Presently, ' said Louis, as she retreated by the window. 

'I would not have been too cold or too prudent!' said Clara. 

'I well believe it!'

'You will be one if you are not the other, ' said Mary, gathering herwork up, with the dread of one used to tropical dews. 'Are not youcoming in?'

'When I can persuade myself to write a letter of good advice, a thing Ihate. '

'Which, ' asked Mary; 'giving or receiving it?'

'Receiving, of course. '--'Giving, of course, ' said Clara and Louis atthe same instant. 

'Take mine, then, ' said Mary, 'and come out of the damp. '

'Mary is so tiresome about these things!' cried Clara, as their cousinretreated. 'Such fidgetting nonsense. '

'I once argued it with her, ' said Louis, without stirring; 'and she hadthe right side, that it is often more self-denying to take care ofone's health, than to risk it for mere pleasure or heedlessness. '

'There's no dew!' said Clara; 'and if there was, it would not hurt, andif it did, I should be too glad to catch a cold, or something to keepme at home. Oh, if I could only get into a nice precarious state ofhealth!'

'You would soon wish yourself at school, or anywhere else, so that youcould feel some life in your limbs, ' half sighed Louis. 

'I've more than enough! Oh! how my feet ache to run! and my throatfeels stifled for want of making a noise, and the hatefulness of alwayssitting upright, with my shoulders even! Come, you might pity me alittle this one night, Louis: I know you do, for Jem is always tellingme not to let you set me against it. '

'No, I don't pity you. Pity is next akin to contempt. '

'Nonsense, Louis. Do be in earnest. '

'I have seldom seen the human being whom I could presume to pity:certainly not you, bravely resisting folly and temptation, and with sodear and noble a cause for working. '

'You mean, the hope of helping to maintain grandmamma. '

'Which you will never be able to do, unless you pass through thisordeal, and qualify yourself for skilled labour. '

'I know that, ' said Clara; 'but the atmosphere there seems to poison, and take the vigour out of all they teach. Oh, so different fromgranny teaching me my notes, or Jem teaching me French--'

'Growling at you--'

'He never growled half as much as, I deserved. I cared to learn ofhim; but I don't care for anything now, --no, not for drawing, which youtaught me! There's no heart in it! The whole purpose is to getamazing numbers of marks and pass each other. All dates and words, andgabble gabble!'

'Ay! there's an epitome of the whole world: all ambition, and vanity, and gabble gabble, ' said Louis, sadly. 'And what is a gosling, that heshould complain?'

'You don't mean that in reality. You are always merry. 

'Some mirth is because one does not always think, Clara; and when onedoes think deeply enough, there is better cheerfulness. '

'Deeply enough, ' said Clara. 'Ah! I see. Knowing that the world ofgabble is not what we belong to, only a preparation? Is that it!'

'It is what I meant. '

'Ah I but how to make that knowledge help us. '

'There's the point. Now and then, I think I see; but then I go off ona wrong tack: I get a silly fit, and a hopeless one, and lose my clue. And yet, after all, there is a highway; and wayfaring men, thoughfools, shall not err therein, ' murmured Louis, as he gazed on the firststar of evening. 

'Oh! tell me how to see my highway at school!'

'If I only kept my own at home, I might. But you have theadvantage--you have a fixed duty, and you always have kept hold of yourpurposes much better than I. '

'My purpose!' said Clara. 'I suppose that is to learn as fast as Ican, that I may get away from that place, and not be a burthen togranny and Jem. Perhaps Jem will marry and be poor, and then I shallsend his sons to school and college. '

'And pray what are your social duties till that time comes?'

'That's plain enough, ' said Clara: 'to keep my tone from beingdeteriorated by these girls. Why, Louis, what's that for?' as, with abow and air of alarm, he hastily moved aside from her. 

'If you are so much afraid of being deteriorated--'

'Nonsense! If you only once saw their trumpery cabals, and vanities, and mean equivocations, you would understand that the only thing to bedone is to keep clear of them; take the learning I am sent for, butavoid them!'

'And where is the golden rule all this time?' said Louis, very low. 

'But ought not one to keep out of what is wrong?'

'Yes, but not to stand aloof from what is not wrong. Look out, not forwhat is inferior to yourself, but what is superior. Ah! you despair;but, my Giraffe, will you promise me this? Tell me, next Christmas, agood quality for every bad one you have found in them. You shake yourhead. Nay, you must, for the credit of your sex. I never found theman in whom there was not something to admire, and I had rather notsuppose that women are not better than men. Will you promise?'

'I'll try, but--'

'But, mind, it takes kind offices to bring the blossoms out. There--that's pretty well, considering our mutual sentiments as to goodadvice. '

'Have you been giving me good advice?'

'Not bad, I hope. '

'I thought only people like--like Mary--could give advice. '

'Ah! your blindness about Mary invalidates your opinion of yourschoolfellows. It shows that you do not deserve a good friend. '

'I've got you; I want no other. '

'Quite wrong. Not only is she full of clear, kind, solid sense, like apillar to lean on, but she could go into detail with you in yourtroubles. You have thrown away a great opportunity, and I am afraid Ihelped you. I shall hold you in some esteem when you are--to concludesententiously--worthy of her friendship. '

Clara's laugh was loud enough to bring out the Earl, to summon themauthoritatively out of the dew. Louis sat apart, writing his letter;Clara, now and then, hovering near, curious to hear how he hadcorrected Tom's spelling. He had not finished, when the ladies badehim good-night; and, as he proceeded with it, his father said, 'What isthat engrossing correspondence, Louis?'

'Such a sensible letter, that I am quite ashamed of it, ' said Louis. 

'I wonder at the time you chose for writing, when you are so soon topart with our guests. '

'I have no excuse, if you think it uncivil. I never have spirit to setabout anything till the sun is down. '

His father began at once to speak softly: 'No, I intended no blame; Ionly cannot but wonder to see you so much engrossed with Clara Dynevor. '

'Poor child! she wants some compensation. '

'I have no doubt of your kind intentions; but it would be safer toconsider what construction may be placed on attentions so exclusive. '

Louis looked up in blank, incredulous amazement, and then almostlaughingly exclaimed, 'Is that what you mean? Why, she is an infant, ababy--'

'Not in appearance--'

'You don't know her, father, ' said Louis. 'I love her with all myheart, and could not do more. Why, she is, and always has been, myshe-younger-brother!'

'I am aware, ' said the Earl, without acknowledging this peculiarrelationship, 'that this may appear very ridiculous, but experience hasshown the need of caution. I should be concerned that your heedlessgood-nature should be misconstrued, so as to cause pain anddisappointment to her, or to lead you to neglect one who has everyclaim to your esteem and gratitude. '

Louis was bewildered. 'I have been a wretch lately, ' he said, 'but Idid not know I had been a bear. '

'I did not mean that you could be deficient in ordinary courtesy; but Ihad hoped for more than mere indifferent civility towards one eminentlycalculated--' Lord Ormersfield for once failed in his period. 

'Are we talking at cross purposes?' exclaimed Fitzjocelyn. 'What haveI been doing, or not doing?'

'If my meaning require explanation, it is needless to attempt any. -- Isyour ankle painful to-night?'

Not a word more, except about his health, could Louis extract, and hewent to his room in extreme perplexity. Again and again did he revolvethose words. Quick as were his perceptions on most points, they wereslow where self-consciousness or personal vanity might have sharpenedthem; and it was new light to him that he had come to a time of lifethat could attach meaning to his attentions. 

Whom had he been neglecting? What had his father been hoping? Who waseminently calculated, and for what?

It flashed upon him all at once. 'I see! I see!' he cried, and burstinto a laugh. 

Then came consternation, or something very like it. He did not want tofeel embarked in manhood. And then his far-away dream of a lady-lovehad been so transcendently fair, so unequalled in grace, so perfect inaccomplishments, so enthusiastic in self-devoted charity, allundefined, floating on his imagination in misty tints of glory! Thatall this should be suddenly brought down from cloudland, to sink intoMary Ponsonby, with the honest face and downright manner for whomromance and rapture would be positively ridiculous!

Yet the notion would not be at once dismissed. His declaration that hewould do anything to gratify his father had been too sincere for himlightly to turn from his suggestion, especially at a moment when he wasfull of shame at his own folly, and eagerness to retain the ground hehad lost in his father's opinion, and, above all, to make him happy. His heart thrilled and glowed as he thought of giving his father realjoy, and permanently brightening and enlivening that lonely, solitarylife. Besides, who could so well keep the peace between him and hisfather, and save him by hints and by helpfulness from giving annoyance?He had already learnt to depend on her; she entered into all hisinterests, and was a most pleasant companion--so wise and good, thatthe most satisfactory days of his life had been passed under hermanagement, and he had only broken from it to 'play the fool. ' He wassick of his own volatile Quixotism, and could believe it a relief to bekept in order without trusting to his own judgment. She had everyright to his esteem and affection, and the warm feeling he had for hercould only be strengthened by closer ties. The unworldliness of theproject likewise weighed with him. Had she been a millionaire or aDuke's daughter, he would not have spent one thought on the matter; buthe was touched by seeing how his father's better feelings had conqueredall desire for fortune or connexion. 

And then Mary could always find everything he wanted!

'I will do it!' he determined. 'Never was son more bound to considerhis father. Of course, she will make a much better wife than Ideserve. Most likely, my fancies would never have been fulfilled. Shewill save me from my own foolishness. What ought a man to wish formore than a person sure to make him good? And--well, after all, itcannot be for a long time. They must write to Lima. Perhaps they willwait till her father's return, or at least till I have taken my degree. '

This last encouraging reflection always wound up the series thatperpetually recurred throughout that night of broken sleep; and when herose in the morning, he felt as if each waking had added a year to hislife, and looked at the glass to see whether he had not grown quiteelderly. 

'No, indeed! I am ridiculously youthful, especially since I shaved offmy moustache in my rage at the Yeomanry mania! I must systematicallyburn my cheeks, to look anything near her age!' And he laughed athimself, but ended with a long-drawn sigh. 

He was in no state of mind to pause: he was tired of self-debate, andwas in haste to render the step irrevocable, and then fit himself toit; and he betook himself at once to the study, where he astonished hisfather by his commencement, with crimson cheeks--'I wished to speak toyou. Last night I did not catch your meaning at once. '

'We will say no more about it, ' was the kind answer. 'If you cannotturn your thoughts in that direction, there is an end of the matter. '

'I think, ' said Louis, 'that I could. '

'My dear boy, ' said the Earl, with more eagerness than he could quitecontrol, 'you must not imagine that I wish to influence yourinclinations unduly; but I must confess that what I have seen for thelast few months, has convinced me that nothing could better secure yourhappiness. '

'I believe so, ' said Louis, gazing from the window. 

'Right, ' cried the Earl, with more gladness and warmth than his son hadever seen in him; 'I am delighted that you appreciate such sterlingexcellence! Yes, Louis, ' and his voice grew thick, 'there is nothingelse to trust to. '

'I know it, ' said Louis. 'She is very good. She made me very happywhen I was ill. '

'You have seen her under the most favourable circumstances. It is theonly sort of acquaintance to be relied on. You have consulted your ownhappiness far more than if you had allowed yourself to be attracted bymere showy gifts. '

'I am sure she will do me a great deal of good, ' said Louis, stillkeeping his eyes fixed on the evergreens. 

'You could have done nothing to give me more pleasure!' said the Earl, with heartfelt earnestness. 'I know what she is, and what her motherhas been to me. That aunt of hers is a stiff, wrongheaded person, butshe has brought her up well--very well, and her mother has done therest. As to her father, that is a disadvantage; but, from what I hear, he is never likely to come home; and that is not to be weighed againstwhat she is herself. Poor Mary! how rejoiced she will be, that herdaughter at least should no longer be under that man's power! It iswell you have not been extravagant, like some young men, Louis. If youhad been running into debt, I should not have been able to gratify yourwishes now; but the property is so nearly disencumbered, that you canperfectly afford to marry her, with the very fair fortune she musthave, unless her father should gamble it away in Peru. '

This was for Lord Ormersfield the incoherency of joy, and Louis wasquite carried along by his delight. The breakfast-bell rang, and theEarl rising and drawing his son's arm within his own, pressed it, saying, 'Bless you, Louis!' It was extreme surprise and pleasure toFitzjocelyn, and yet the next moment he recollected that he stoodcommitted. 

How silent he was--how unusually gentle and gracious his father to thewhole party! quite affectionate to Mary, and not awful even to Clara. There was far too much meaning in it, and Louis feared Mrs. Ponsonbywas seeing through all. 

'A morning of Greek would be insupportable, ' thought he; and yet hefelt as if the fetters of fate were being fast bound around him, whenhe heard his father inviting James to ride with him. 

He wandered and he watched, he spoke absently to Clara, but felt as ifrobbed of a protector, when she was summoned up-stairs to attend to herpacking, and Mary remained alone, writing one of her long letters toLima. 

'Now or never, ' thought he, 'before my courage cools. I never saw myfather in such spirits!'

He sat down on an ottoman opposite to her, and turned over somenewspapers with a restless rustling. 

'Can I fetch anything for you?' asked Mary, looking up. 

'No, thank you. You are a great deal too good to me, Mary. '

'I am glad, ' said Mary, absently, anxious to go on with her letter;but, looking up again at him--'I am sure you want something. '

'No--nothing--but that you should be still more good to me. '

'What is the matter?' said Mary, suspecting that he was beginning torepent of his lazy fit, and wanted her to hear his confession. 

'I mean, Mary, ' said he, rising, and speaking faster, 'if you--if youwould take charge of me altogether. If you would have me, I would doall I could to make you happy, and it would be such joy to my father, and--'(rather like an after-thought)'to me. '

Her clear, sensible eyes were raised, and her colour deepened, but theconfusion was on the gentleman's side--she was too much amazed to feelembarrassment, and there was a pause, till he added, 'I know betterthan to think myself worthy of you; but you will take me in hand--and, indeed, Mary, there is no one whom I like half so well. '

Poor Louis! was this his romantic and poetical wooing!

'Stop, if you please, Louis!' exclaimed Mary. 'This is so verystrange!' And she seemed ready to laugh. 

'And--what do you say, Mary?'

'I do not know. I cannot tell what I ought to say, ' she returned, rising. 'Will you let me go to mamma?'

She went; and Louis roamed about restlessly, till, on the stairs, heencountered Mrs. Frost, who instantly exclaimed, 'Why, my dear, what isthe matter with you?'

'I have been proposing to Mary, ' said he, in a very low murmur, hiseyes downcast, but raised the next moment, to see the effect, as if ithad been a piece of mischief. 

'Well--proposing what?'

'Myself;' most innocently whispered. 

'You!--you!--Mary!--And--' Aunt Catharine was scarcely able to speak, in the extremity of her astonishment. 'You are not in earnest!'

'She is gone to her mother, ' said Louis, hanging over the baluster, soas to look straight down into the hall; and both were silent, till Mrs. Frost exclaimed, 'My dear, dear child, it is an excellent choice! Youmust be very happy with her!'

'Yes, I found my father was bent on it. '

'That was clear enough, ' said his aunt, laughing, but resuming a toneof some perplexity. 'Yet it takes me by surprise: I had not guessedthat you were so much attracted. '

'I do like her better than any one. No one is so thoroughly good, noone is likely to make me so good, nor my father so happy. '

There was some misgiving in Mrs. Frost's tone, as she said, 'DearLouis, you are acting on the best of motives, but--'

'Don't, pray don't, Aunt Kitty, ' cried Louis, rearing himself for aninstant to look her in the face, but again throwing half his body overthe rail, and speaking low. 'I could not meet any one half so good, orwhom I know as well. I look up to her, and--yes--I do love herheartily--I would not have done it otherwise. I don't care for beautyand trash, and my father has set his heart on it. '

'Yes, but--' she hesitated. 'My dear, I don't think it safe to marry, because one's father has set his heart on it. '

'Indeed, ' said Louis, straightening himself, 'I do think I am givingmyself the best chance of being made rational and consistent. I neverdid so well as when I was under her. '

'N--n--no--but--'

'And think how my father will unbend in a homelike home, where allshould be made up to him, ' he continued, deep emotion swelling hisvoice. 

'My dear boy! And you are sure of your own feeling?'

'Quite sure. Why, I never saw any one, ' said he, smiling--'I nevercared for any one half so much, except you, Aunt Kitty, no, I didn't. Won't that do?'

'I know I should not have liked your grandpapa--your uncle, I mean-tomake such comparisons. '

'Perhaps he had not got an Aunt Kitty, ' said Louis. 

'No, no! I can't have you so like a novel. No, don't be anxious. Itcan't be for ever so long, and, of course, the more I am with her, thebetter I must like her. It will be all right. '

'I don't think you know anything about it, ' said Mrs. Frost, 'butthere, that's the last I shall say. You'll forgive your old aunt. '

He smiled, and playfully pressed her hand, adding, 'But we don't knowwhether she will have me. '

Mary had meantime entered her mother's room, with a look that revealedthe whole to Mrs. Ponsonby, who had already been somewhat startled bythe demeanour of the father and son at breakfast. 

'Oh, mamma, what is to be done?'

'What do you wish, my child?' asked her mother, putting her arm roundher waist. 

'I don't know yet, ' said Mary. 'It is so odd!' And the disposition tolaugh returned for a moment. 

'You were not at all prepared. '

'Oh no! He seems so young. And, ' she added, blushing, 'I cannot tell, but I should not have thought his ways were like the kind of thing. '

'Nor I, and the less since Clara has been here. '

'Oh, ' said Mary, without a shade on her calm, sincere brow, 'he hasClara so much with him because he is her only friend. '

The total absence of jealousy convinced Mrs. Ponsonby that the heartcould hardly have been deeply touched, but Mary continued, in aslightly trembling voice, 'I do not see why he should have done this, unless--'

'Unless that his father wished it. '

'Oh, ' said Mary, somewhat disappointed, 'but how could Lord Ormersfieldpossibly--'

'He has an exceeding dread of Louis's making as great a mistake as hedid, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'and perhaps he thinks you the best security. '

'And you think Louis only meant to please him?'

'My dear, I am afraid it may be so. Louis is very fond of him, andeasily led by a strong character. '

She pressed her daughter closer, and felt rather than heard a littlesigh; but all that Mary said was, 'Then I had better not think aboutit. '

'Nay, my dear, tell me first what you think of his manner. '

'It was strange, and a little debonnaire, I think, ' said Mary, smiling, but tears gathering in her eyes. 'He said I was too good for him. Hesaid he would make me happy, and that he and his father would be veryhappy. ' A great tear fell. 'Something about not being worthy. ' Maryshed a few more tears, while her mother silently caressed her; and, recovering her composure, she firmly said, 'Yes, mamma, I see it is notthe real thing. It will be kinder to him to tell him to put it out ofhis head. '

'And you, my dear?'

'Oh, mamma, you know you could not spare me. '

'If this were the real thing, dearest--'

'No, ' whispered Mary, 'I could not leave you alone with papa. '

Mrs. Ponsonby went on as if she had not heard: 'As it is, I own I amrelieved that you should not wish to accept him. I cannot be sure itwould be for your happiness. '

'I do not think it would be right, ' said Mary, as if that were herstrength. 

'He is a dear, noble fellow, and has the highest, purest principles andfeelings. I can't but love him almost as if he were my own child: Inever saw so much sweetness and prettiness about any one, except hismother; and, oh! how far superior he is to her! But then, he isboyish, he is weak--I am afraid he is changeable. '

'Not in his affections, ' said Mary, reproachfully. 

'No, but in purposes. An impulse leads him he does not know where, andnow, I think, he is acting on excellent motives, without knowing whathe is doing. There's no security that he might not meet the personwho--'

'Oh, mamma!'

'He would strive against temptation, but we have no right to expose himto it. To accept him now, it seems to me, would be taking too muchadvantage of his having been left so long to our mercy, and it mightbe, that he would become restless and discontented, find out that hehad not chosen for himself--regret--and have his tone of mind lowered--'

'Oh, stop, mamma, I would not let it be, on any account. '

'No, my dear, I could not part with you where we were not sure the'real thing' was felt for you. If he had been strongly bent on it, hewould have conducted matters differently; but he knows no better. '

'You and I don't part, ' said Mary. 

Neither spoke till she renewed her first question, 'What is to be done?'

'Shall I go and speak to him, my dear?'

'Perhaps I had better, if you will come with me. '

Then, hesitating--'I will go to my room for a moment, and then I shallbe able to do it more steadily. '

Mrs. Ponsonby's thoughts were anxious during the five minutes of Mary'sabsence; but she returned composed, according to her promise, whatevermight be the throbbings beneath. As Mrs. Ponsonby opened the door, shesaw Louis and his aunt together, and was almost amused at theirconscious start, the youthful speed with which the one darted into thefurther end of the corridor, and the undignified haste with which theother hopped down stairs. 

By the time they reached the drawing-room, he had recovered himself soas to come forward in a very suitable, simple manner, and Mary said, atonce, 'Louis, thank you; but we think it would be better not--'

'Not!' exclaimed Fitzjocelyn. 

'Not, ' repeated Mary; 'I do not think there is that between us whichwould make it right. '

'There would be!' cried Louis, gaining ardour by the difficulty, 'ifyou would only try. Mrs. Ponsonby, tell her we would make her happy. '

'You would try, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, kindly; 'but I think she is right. Indeed, Louis, you must forgive me for saying that you are hardly oldenough to make up your mind--'

'Madison is younger, ' said Louis, boyishly enough to make her smile, but earnestly proceeding, 'Won't you try me? Will you not say that ifI can be steady and persevering--'

'No, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'it would not be fair towards either of youto make any conditions. '

'But if without them, I should do better--Mary, will you say nothing?'

'We had better not think of it, ' said Mary, her eyes on the ground. 

'Why? is it that I am too foolish, too unworthy?'

She made a great effort. 'Not that, Louis. Do not ask any more; it isbetter not; you have done as your father wished--now let us be as wewere before. '

'My father will be very much disappointed, ' said Louis, with chagrin. 

'I will take care of your father, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, and as Mary tookthe moment for escaping, she proceeded to say some affectionate wordsof her own tender feeling towards Louis; to which he only replied bysaying, sadly, and with some mortification, 'Never mind; I know it isquite right. I am not worthy of her. '

'That is not the point; but I do not think you understand your ownfeelings, or how far you were actuated by the wish to gratify yourfather. '

'I assure you, ' cried Louis, 'you do not guess how I look up to Mary;her unfailing kindness, her entering into all my nonsense--her firm, sound judgment, that would keep me right--and all she did for me when Iwas laid up. Oh! why cannot you believe how dear she is to me?'

'_How dear_ is just what I do believe; but still this is not enough. '

'Just what Aunt Kitty says, ' said Louis, perplexed, yet amused at hisown perplexity. 

'You will know better by-and-by, ' she answered, smiling: 'in themeantime, believe that you are our very dear cousin, as ever. ' And sheshook hands with him, detecting in his answering smile a little relief, although a great deal of disappointment. 

Mary had taken refuge in her room, where a great shower of tears wouldhave their course, though she scolded herself all the time. 'Have done!have done! It is best as it is. He does not really wish it, and Icould not leave mamma. We will never think of it again, and we will beas happy as we were before. '

Her mother, meanwhile, was waiting below-stairs, thinking that sheshould spare Louis something, by taking the initiative in speaking tohis father; and she was sorry to see the alacrity with which the Earlcame up to her, with a congratulatory 'Well, Mary!' She could hardlymake him comprehend the real state of the case; and then hisresignation was far more trying than that of the party chieflyconcerned. Her praise of Fitzjocelyn had little power to comfort. 'Isee how it is, ' he said, calmly: 'do not try to explain it away; Iacquiesce--I have no doubt you acted wisely for your daughter. '

'Nothing would have delighted me more, if he were but a few yearsolder. '

'You need not tell me the poor boy's failings, ' said his father, sadly. 

'It is on account of no failing; but would it not be a great mistake torisk their happiness to fulfil our own scheme?'

'I hoped to secure their happiness. '

'Ay, but is there not something too capricious to find happinesswithout its own free will and choice? Did you never hear of the heart?'

'Oh! if she be attached elsewhere'--and he seemed so much relieved, that Mrs. Ponsonby was sorry to be obliged to contradict him in haste, and explain that she did not believe Fitzjocelyn's heart to be yetdeveloped; whereupon he was again greatly vexed. 'So he has offeredhimself without attachment. I beg your pardon, Mary; I am sorry yourdaughter should have been so treated. '

'Do not misunderstand me. He is strangely youthful and simple, bent onpleasing you, and fancying his warm, brotherly feeling to be what youdesire. '

'It would be the safest foundation. '

'Yes, if he were ten years older, and had seen the world; but in thesethings he is like a child, and it would be dangerous to influence him. Do not take it to heart; you ought to be contented, for I saw nothingso plainly as that he loves nobody half so well as you. Only bepatient with him. '

'You are the same Mary as ever, ' he said, softened; and she left him, hoping that she had secured a favourable audience for his son, who soonappeared at the window, somewhat like a culprit. 

'I could not help it!' he said. 

'No; but you may set a noble aim before you--you may render yourselfworthy of her esteem and confidence, and in so doing you will fulfil myfondest hopes. '

'I asked her to try me, but they would make no conditions. I am sorrythis could not be, since you wished it. '

'If you are not sorry on your own account, there are no regrets to bewasted on mine. '

'Candidly, father, ' said Louis, 'much as I like her, I cannot be sorryto keep my youth and liberty a little longer. '

'Then you should never have entered on the subject at all, ' said LordOrmersfield, beginning to write a letter; and poor Louis, in hispraiseworthy effort not to be reserved with him, found he had beenconfessing that he had not only been again making a fool of himself, but, what was less frequent and less pardonable, of his fatherlikewise. He limped out at the window, and was presently found by hisgreat-aunt, reading what he called a raving novel, to see how he oughtto have done it. She shook her head at him, and told him that he wasnot even decently concerned. 

'Indeed I am, ' he replied. 'I wished my father to have had some peaceof mind about me, and it does not flatter one's vanity. '

Dear, soft-hearted Aunt Kitty, with all her stores of comfort readyprepared, and unable to forgive, or even credit, the rejection of herLouis, without a prior attachment, gave a hint that this might be hisconsolation. He caught eagerly at the idea. 'I had never once thoughtof that! It can't be any Spaniard out in Peru--she has too much sense. What are you looking so funny about? What! is it nearer home? That'sit, then! Famous! It would be a capital arrangement, if that terribleold father is conformable. What an escape I have had of him! I amsure it is a most natural and proper preference--'

'Stop! stop, Louis, you are going too fast. I know nothing. Don't saya word to Jem, on any account: indeed, you must not. It is all goingon very well now; but the least notion that he was observed, or that itwas his Uncle Oliver's particular wish, and there would be an end ofit. '

She was just wise enough to keep back the wishes of the other vizier, but she had said enough to set Louis quite at his ease, and put him inthe highest spirits. He seemed to have taken out a new lease ofboyishness, and, though constrained before Mary, laughed, talked, andplayed pranks, so as unconsciously to fret his father exceedingly. 

Clara's alert wits perceived that so many private interviews had somesignification; and Mrs. Frost found her talking it over with herbrother, and conjecturing so much, that granny thought it best tosupply the key, thinking, perhaps, that a little jealousy would do Jemno harm. But the effect on him was to produce a fit of heartylaughter, as he remembered poor Lord Ormersfield's unaccountableurbanity and suppressed exultation in the morning's ride. 'I honourthe Ponsonbys, ' he said, 'for not choosing to second his lordship'sendeavours to tyrannize over that poor fellow, body and soul. PoorLouis! he is fabulously dutiful. '

But Clara, recovering from her first stupor of wonder, began scoldinghim for presuming to laugh at anything so cruel to Louis. It was notthe part of a friend! And with tears of indignation and sympathystarting from her eyes, she was pathetically certain that, thoughgranny and Jem were so unfeeling as to laugh, his high spirits wereonly assumed to hide his suffering. 'Poor Louis! what had he not saidto her about Mary last night! Now she knew what he meant! And as toMary, she was glad she had never liked her, she had no patience withher: of course, she was far too prosy and stupid to care for anythinglike Louis, it was a great escape for him. It would serve her right tomarry a horrid little crooked clerk in her father's office; and poordear, dear Louis must get over it, and have the most beautiful wife inthe world. Don't you remember, Jem, the lady with the splendid darkeyes on the platform at Euston Square, when you so nearly made us missthe train, with the brow that you said--'

'Hush, Clara, don't talk nonsense. '

CHAPTER XII. 

CHILDE ROLAND. 

 A house there is, and that's enough, From whence one fatal morning issues A brace of warriors, not in buff, But rustling in their silks and tissues. The heroines undertook the task; Thro' lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, -- Rapped at the door, nor stayed to ask, But bounce into the parlour entered. Gray's Long Story. 

'No carmine? Nor scarlet lake in powder?'

'Could procure some, my Lord. '

'Thank you, the actinia would not live. I must take what I can find. Alump of gamboge--'

'If you stay much longer, he will not retain his senses, ' mutteredJames Frost, who was leaning backwards against the counter, where thebewildered bookseller of the little coast-town of Bickleypool wasbustling, in the vain endeavour to understand and fulfil the demands ofthat perplexing customer, Lord Fitzjocelyn. 

'Some drawing-paper. This is hardly absorbent enough. If you have anyblock sketch-books?--'

'Could procure some, my Lord. '

James looked at his watch, while the man dived into his innermostrecesses. 'The tide!' he said. 

'Never mind, we shall only stick in the mud. '

'How could you expect to find anything here? A half-crown paint-box istheir wildest dream. '

'Keep quiet, Jem, go and look out some of those library books, like awise man. '

'A wise man would be at a loss here, ' said James, casting his eye alongthe battered purple backs of the circulating-library books. 

'Wisdom won't condescend! Ah! thank you, this will do nicely. Thosecolours--yes; and the Seaside Book. I'll choose one or two. What ismost popular here?'

James began to whistle; but Louis, taking up a volume, became engrossedbeyond the power of hints, and hardly stepped aside to make way forsome ladies who entered the shop. A peremptory touch of the arm atlength roused him, and holding up the book to the shopman, he put itinto his pocket, seized his ash-stick, put his arm into his cousin's, and hastened into the street. 

'Did you ever see--' began Jem. 

'Most striking. I did not know you had met with her. What anidea--the false self conjuring up phantoms--'

'What are you talking of? Did you not see her?'

'Elizabeth Barrett. Was she there?'

'Is that her name? Do you know her?'

'I had heard of her, but never--'

'How?--where? Who is she?'

'I only saw her name in the title-page. '

'What's all this? You did not see her?'

'Who? Did not some ladies come into the shop?'

'Some ladies! Is it possible? Why, I touched you to make you look. '

'I thought it was your frenzy about the tide. What now?--'

James made a gesture of despair. 'The loveliest creature I ever saw. You may see her yet, as she comes out. Come back!'

'Don't be so absurd, ' said Fitzjocelyn, laughing, and, with instinctivedislike of staring, resisting his cousin's effort to wheel him round. 'What, you will?' withdrawing his arm. 'I shall put off without you, if you don't take care. '

And, laughing, he watched Jem hurry up the sloping street and turn thecorner, then turned to pursue his own way, his steps much less lame andhis looks far more healthful than they had been a month before. Hereached the quay--narrow, slippery, and fishy, but not without beauty, as the green water lapped against the hewn stones, and rocked thelittle boats moored in the wide bay, sheltered by a richly-woodedpromontory. 'Jem in a fit of romance! Well, whose fault will it be ifwe miss the tide? I'll sit in the boat, and read that poem again. --Oh! here he comes, out of breath. Well, Jem, did the heroine dropglove or handkerchief? Or, on a second view, was she minus an eye?'

'You were, ' said James, hurrying breathlessly to unmoor the boat. 

'Let me row, ' said Louis; 'your breath and senses are both lost in thefair vision. '

'It is of no use to talk to you--'

'I shall ask no questions till we are out of the harbour, or you willbe running foul of one of those colliers--a tribute with which the FairUnknown may dispense. '

The numerous black colliers and lighters showed that precautions wereneedful till they had pushed out far enough to make the little fishytown look graceful and romantic; and the tide was ebbing so fast, thatLouis deemed it prudent to spend his strength on rowing rather than ontalking. 

James first broke silence by exclaiming--'Do you know where Beauchastelis?'

'On the other side of the promontory. Don't you remember the spirerising among the trees, as we see it from the water?'

'That church must be worth seeing. I declare I'll go there nextSunday. '

Another silence, and Louis said--'I am curious to know whether you sawher. '

'She was getting into the carriage as I turned the corner; so I wentback and asked Bull who they were. '

'I hope she was the greengrocer's third cousin. '

'Pshaw! I tell you it was Mrs. Mansell and her visitors. '

'Oho! No wonder Beauchastel architecture is so grand. What animpudent fellow you are, Jem!'

'The odd thing is, ' said James, a little ashamed of Louis having putMansell and Beauchastel together, as he had not intended, 'that itseems they asked Bull who we were. I thought one old lady was staringhard at you, as if she meant to claim acquaintance, but you shot out ofthe shop like a sky-rocket. '

'Luckily there's no danger of that. No one will come to molest ushere. '

'Depend on it, they are meditating a descent on his lordship. '

'You shall appear in my name, then. '

'Too like a bad novel: besides, you don't look respectable enough formy tutor. And, now I think of it, no doubt she was asking Bull how hecame to let such a disreputable old shooting-jacket into his shop. '

The young men worked up an absurd romance between them, as merrily theycrossed the estuary, and rowed up a narrow creek, with a whitewashedvillage on one side, and on the other a solitary house, the gardensloping to the water, and very nautical--the vane, a union-jack wavedby a brilliant little sailor on the top of a mast, and the arbour, halfa boat set on end; whence, as James steered up to the stone steps thatwere one by one appearing, there emerged an old, grizzly, weather-beaten sailor, who took his pipe from his mouth, and caughthold of the boat. 

'Thank you, Captain!' cried Fitzjocelyn. 'I've brought home the boatsafe, you see, by my own superhuman exertions--no thanks to Mr. Frost, there!'

'That's his way, Captain, ' retorted Jem, leaping out, and helping hiscousin: 'you may thank me for getting him home at all! But for me, hewould have his back against the counter, and his head in a book, thisvery moment. '

'Ask him what he was after, ' returned Louis. 

'Which of us d'ye think most likely to lag, Captain Hannaford?' criedJem, preventing the question. 

'Which would you choose to have on board?'

'Ye'd both of ye make more mischief than work, ' said the old seaman, who had been looking from one to the other of the young men, as if theywere performing a comedy for his special diversion. 

'So you would not enter us on board the Eliza Priscilla?' cried Louis. 

'No, no, ' said the old man, shrewdly, and with an air of holdingsomething back; whereupon they both pressed him, and obtained foranswer, 'No, no, I wouldn't sail with you'--signing towardsFitzjocelyn--'in my crew: ye'd be more trouble than ye're worth. Andas to you, sir, if I wouldn't sail with ye, I'd like still less to sailunder you. '

He finished with a droll, deprecating glance, and Louis laughedheartily; but James was silent, and as soon as they had entered thelittle parlour, declared that it would not do to encourage that oldskipper--he was waylaying them like the Ancient Mariner, and wasactually growing impudent. 

'An old man's opinion of two youngsters is not what I call impudence, 'began Louis, with an emphasis that made Jem divert his attack. 

Those two cousins had never spent a happier month than in these smalllodgings, built by the old retired merchant-seaman evidently on themodel of that pride of his heart, the Eliza Priscilla, his littlecoasting trader, now the charge of his only surviving son; for this wasa family where drowning was like a natural death, and old CaptainHannaford looked on the probability of sleeping in Ebbscreekchurchyard, much as Bayard did at the prospect of dying in his bed. Hisold deaf wife kept the little cabin-like rooms most exquisitely neat;and the twelve-years-old Priscilla, the orphan of one of the lost sons, waited on the gentlemen with an old-fashioned, womanly deportment andstaid countenance that, in the absence of all other grounds ofdistress, Louis declared was quite a pain to him. 

The novelty of the place, the absence of restraint, the easy life, and, above all, the freshness of returning health, rendered his spiritsexceedingly high, and he had never been more light-hearted and full ofmirth. James, elated at his rapid improvement, was scarcely less fullof liveliness and frolic, enjoying to the utmost the holiday, whichperhaps both secretly felt might be the farewell to the perfectcarelessness of boyish relaxation. Bathing, boating, fishing, dabbling, were the order of the day, and withal just enough quarrellingand teasing to add a little spice to their pleasures. Louis was overhead and ears in maritime natural history; but Jem, backed by Mrs. Hannaford, prohibited his 'messes' from making a permanent settlementin the parlour; though festoons of seaweed trellised the porch, ammonites heaped the grass-plat, tubs of sea-water flanked the approachto the front door; and more than one bowl, with inmates of a suspiciousnature, was often deposited even on the parlour table. 

On the afternoon following the expedition to Bickleypool, Louis wasseated, with an earthenware pan before him, coaxing an actinia with rawbeef to expand her blossom, to be copied for Miss Faithfull. Anotherbowl stood near, containing some feathery serpulas; and the weeds wereheaped on the locker of the window behind him, and on the back of thechair which supported his lame foot. The third and only remainingchair accommodated James, with a book placed on the table; and asemicircle swept round it, within which nothing marine might extend. 

Louis was by turns drawing, enticing his refractory sitter, exhortingher to bloom, and complimenting her delicate beauty, until James, witha groan, exclaimed, 'Is silence impossible to you, Fitzjocelyn? I wouldgo into the garden, but that I should be beset by the intolerable oldskipper!'

'I beg your pardon--I thought you never heard nor heeded me. '

'I don't in general, but this requires attention; and it is past allbearing to hear how you go on to that Jelly!'

'Read aloud, then: it will answer two purposes. 

'This is Divinity--Hooker, ' said James, sighing wearily. 

'So much the better. I read some once; I wish I had been obliged to goon. '

'You are the oddest fellow!--After all, I believe you have a cravingafter my profession. '

'Is that a discovery?' said Louis, washing the colour out of his brush. 'The only person I envy is a country curate--except a town one. '

'Don't talk like affectation!' growled James. 

'Do you know, Jem, ' said Louis, leaning back, and drawing the brushbetween his lips, 'I am persuaded that something will turn up toprevent it from being your profession. '

'Your persuasions are wrong, then!'

'That fabulous uncle in the Indies--'

'You know I am determined to accept nothing from my uncle, were he tolay it at my feet--which he never will. '

'Literally or metaphorically?' asked Louis, softly. 

'Pshaw!'

'You Dynevors don't resemble my sea-pink. See how she stretches herelegant fringes for this very unpleasant bit of meat! There! I won'ttorment you any more; read, and stop my mouth!'

'You are in earnest?'

'You seem to think that if a man cannot be a clergyman, he is not to bea Christian. '

'Then don't break in with your actinias and stuff!'

'Certainly not, ' said Louis, gravely. 

The first interruption came from James himself. Leaping to his feetwith a sudden bound, he exclaimed, 'There they are!' and stoodtransfixed in a gaze of ecstasy. 

'You have made me smudge my lake, ' said Louis, in the mild tone of'Diamond, Diamond!'

'I tell you, there they are!' cried James, rushing into wild activity. 

'One would think it the Fair Unknown, ' said Louis, not troublinghimself to look round, nor desisting from washing out his smudge. 

'It is! it is!--it is all of them! Here they come, I tell you, and theplace is a very merman's cave!'

'Take care--the serpula--don't!' as James hurriedly opened the doorleading to the stairs--disposed of the raw meat on one step and theserpulas on another, and hurled after them the heap of seaweed, all butone trailing festoon of 'Luckie Minnie's lines, ' which, while his backwas turned, Louis by one dexterous motion wreathed round the crown ofhis straw hat; otherwise never stirring, but washing quietly on, untilhe rose as little Priscilla opened the door, and stood aside, mutelyoverawed at the stream of flounced ladies that flowed past, and seemedto fill up the entire room. It was almost a surprise to find that, after all, there were only three of them!

'I knew I was not mistaken, ' said a very engaging, affectionate voice. 'It is quite shocking to have to introduce myself to you--Lady Conway--'

'My aunt!' cried Louis, with eager delight--'and my cousin!' he added, turning with a slight blush towards the maiden, whom he felt, ratherthan saw, to be the worthy object of yesterday's rapture. 

'Not quite, ' she answered, not avoiding the grasp of his hand, butreturning it with calm, distant politeness. 

'Not quite, ' repeated Lady Conway. 'Your real cousins are no fartheroff than Beauchastel--'

'Where you must come and see them, ' added the third lady--a portly, cordial, goodnatured dame, whom Lady Conway introduced as Mrs. Mansell, who had known his mother well; and Louis making a kind of presentationof his cousin James, the two elder ladies were located on two of thechairs: the younger one, as if trying to be out of the way, placedherself on the locker. Jem stood leaning on the back of the otherchair; and Louis stood over his aunt, in an ecstasy at the meeting--atthe kind, warm manner and pleasant face of his aunt--and above all, atthe indescribable pleasure imparted by the mere presence of thebeautiful girl, though he hardly dared even to look at her; and she wasthe only person whose voice was silent in the chorus of congratulation, on the wonderful chance that had brought the aunt and nephew together. The one had been a fortnight at Beauchastel, the other a month atEbbscreek, without guessing at each other's neighbourhood, until LadyConway's attention had been attracted at the library by Louis'sremarkable resemblance to her sister, and making inquiries, she hadlearnt that he was no other than Lord Fitzjocelyn. She was enchantedwith the likeness, declaring that all she wished was to see him lookless delicate, and adding her entreaties to those of Mrs. Mansell, thatthe two young men would come at once to Beauchastel. 

Louis looked with wistful doubt at James, who, he knew, could not brookgoing to fine places in the character of tutor; but, to his surpriseand pleasure, James was willing and eager, and made no demur, exceptthat Fitzjocelyn could not walk so far, and the boat was gone out. Mrs. Mansell then proposed the ensuing Monday, when, she said, she andMr. Mansell should be delighted to have them to meet a party ofshooting gentlemen--of course they were sportsmen. Louis answered atonce for James; but for himself, he could not walk, nor even ride theoffered shooting-pony; and thereupon ensued more minute questionswhether his ankle were still painful. 

'Not more than so as to be a useful barometer. I have been testing itby the sea-weeds. If I am good for nothing else, I shall be a walkingweather-glass, as well as a standing warning against man-traps. '

'You don't mean that you fell into a man-trap!' exclaimed Mrs. Mansell, in horror. 'That will be a warning for Mr. Mansell! I have such adread of the frightful things!'

'A trap ingeniously set by myself, ' said Louis. 'I was only too gladno poor poacher fell into it. '

'Your father told me that it was a fall down a steep bank, ' exclaimedLady Conway. 

'Exactly so; but I suppose he thought it for my credit to conceal thatmy trap consisted of a flight of stone stops, very solid and permanent, with the trifling exception of cement. '

'If the truth were known, ' said James, 'I believe that a certain scampof a boy was at the bottom of those steps. '

'I'm the last person to deny it, ' said Louis, quietly, though notwithout rising colour, 'there was a scamp of a boy at the bottom of thesteps, and very unpleasant he found it--though not without the bestconsequences, and among them the present--' And he turned to LadyConway with a pretty mixture of gracefulness and affection, enough towin the heart of any aunt. 

Mrs. Mansell presently fell into raptures at the sight of the drawingmaterials, which must, she was sure, delight Isabel, but she was ratherdiscomfited by the sight of the 'subject, '--called it an odiouscreature, then good-humouredly laughed at herself, but would not sitdown again, evidently wishing to escape from close quarters with suchmonsters. Lady Conway likewise rose, and looked into the basin, exclaiming, in her turn, 'Ah! I see you understand these things! Yes, they are very interesting! Virginia will be delighted; she has beenbegging me for an aquarium wherever we go. You must tell her how tomanage it. Look, Isabel, would not she be in ecstasies?'

Miss Conway looked, but did not seem to partake in the admiration. 'Iam perverse enough never to like what is the fashion, ' she said. 

'I tried to disgust Fitzjocelyn with his pets on that very ground, 'said James; 'but their charms were too strong for him. '

'Fashion is the very testimony to them, ' said Louis. 'I think I couldconvince you. '

He would perhaps have produced his lovely serpula blossoms, but he wasforced to pass on to his aunt and Mrs. Mansell, who had found somethingsafer for their admiration, in the shape of a great Cornu ammonis inthe garden. 

'He can throw himself into any pursuit, ' said James, as he paused atthe door with Miss Conway; but suddenly becoming aware of the slimyentanglement round his hat, he exclaimed, 'Absurd fellow!' and pulledit off rather petulantly, adding, with a little constraint, 'Recoverydoes put people into mad spirits! I fancy the honest folks here lookon in amaze. '

Miss Conway gave a very pretty smile of sympathy and consolation, thatshone like a sunbeam on her beautiful pensive features and dark, softeyes. Then she began to admire the view, as they stood on the turf, beside Captain Hannaford's two small cannon, overlooking the watertowards Bickleypool, with a purple hill rising behind it. A yacht wassailing into the harbour, and James ran indoors to fetch a spy-glass, while Lady Conway seized the occasion of asking her nephew his tutor'sname. 

Louis, who had fancied she must necessarily understand all his kindred, was glad to guard against shocks to Jem's sensitive pride, and eagerlyexplained the disproportion between his birth and fortune, and hisgallant efforts to relieve his grandmother from her burthens. He waspleased to find that he had touched all his auditors, and to hearkind-hearted Mrs. Mansell repeat her special invitation to Mr. FrostDynevor with double cordiality. 

'If you must play practical jokes, ' said James, as they watched thecarriage drive off, 'I wish you would choose better moments for them. '

'I thought you would be more in character as a merman brave, ' saidLouis. 

'I wonder what character you thought you appeared in?'

'I never meant you to discover it while they were here, nor would you, if you were not so careful of your complexion. Come, throw it at myhead now, as you would have done naturally, and we shall have fairweather again!'

'I am only concerned at the impression you have made. '

'Too late now, is it? You don't mean to be bad company for the rest ofthe day. It is too bad, after such a presence as has been here. She isa poem in herself. It is like a vision to see her move in that calm, gliding way. Such eyes, so deep, so tranquil, revealing the sphereapart where she dwells! An ideal! How can you be savage after sittingin the same room, and hearing that sweet, low voice?'

Meantime the young lady sat back in the carriage, dreamily hearing, andsometimes answering, the conversation of her two elders, as theyreturned through pretty forest-drives into the park of Beauchastel, andup to the handsome, well-kept house; where, after a few words from Mrs. Mansell, she ascended the stairs. 

'Isabel!' cried a bright voice, and a girl of fourteen came skatingalong the polished oak corridor. 'Come and have some tea in theschool-room, and tell us your adventures!' And so saying, she draggedthe dignified Isabel into an old-fashioned sitting-room, where a littlepale child, two years younger, sprang up, and, with a cry of joy, clunground the elder sister. 

'My white bind-weed, ' said Isabel, fondly caressing her, 'have you beenout on the pony?'

'Oh I yes, we wanted only you. Sit down there. '

And as Isabel obeyed, the little Louisa placed herself on her lap, withone arm round her neck, and looked with proud glee at the kind, sensible-faced governess who was pouring out the tea. 

'The reconnoitring party!' eagerly cried Virginia. 

'Did you find the cousin?'

'Yes, we did. '

'Oh! Then what is he like?'

'You will see when he comes on Monday. '

'Coming--oh! And is he so very handsome?'

'I can see how pretty a woman your Aunt Louisa must have been. '

'News!' laughed Virginia; 'when mamma is always preaching to me to belike her!'

'Is he goodnatured?' asked Louisa. 

'I had not full means of judging, ' said Isabel, more thoughtfully thanseemed justified by the childish question. 'His cousin is coming too, 'she added; 'Mr. Frost Dynevor. '

'Another cousin!' exclaimed Virginia. 

'No; a relation of Lord Ormersfield--a person to be much respected. Heis heir to a lost estate, and of a very grand old family. LordFitzjocelyn says that he is exerting himself to the very utmost for hisgrandmother and orphan sister; denying himself everything. He is to bea clergyman. There was a book of divinity open on the table. '

'He must be very good!' said Louisa, in a low, impressed voice, andfondling her sister's hand. 'Will he be as good as Sir Roland?'

'Oh! I am glad he is coming!' cried Virginia. 'We have so wished tosee somebody very good!'

A bell rang--a signal that Lady Conway would be in her room, where sheliked her two girls to come to her while she was dressing. Louisareluctantly detached herself from her sister, and Virginia lingered tosay, 'Dress quickly, please, please, Isabel. I know there is a new bitof Sir Roland done! Oh! I hope Mr. Dynevor is like him!'

'Not quite, ' said Isabel, smiling as they ran away. 'Poor children, Iam afraid they will be disappointed; but long may their craving be tosee 'somebody very good!'

'I am very glad they should meet any one answering the description, 'said the governess. 'I don't gather that you are much delighted withthe object of the expedition. '

'A pretty boy--very pretty. It quite explains all I have ever heard ofhis mother. '

'As you told the children. '

'More than I told the children. Their aunt never by description seemedto me my ideal, as you know. I would rather have seen a likeness toLord Ormersfield, who--though I don't like him--has something strikingin the curt, dry, melancholy dignity of his manner. '

'And how has Lord Fitzjocelyn displeased you?'

'Perhaps there is no harm in him--he may not have character enough forthat; but talk, attitudes, everything betrays that he is used to beworshipped--takes it as a matter of course, and believes nothing sointeresting as himself. '

'Don't you think you may have gone with your mind made up?'

'If you mean that I thought myself uncalled for, and heartily detestedthe expedition, you are right; but I saw what I did not expect. '

'Was it very bad?'

'A very idle practical joke, such as I dislike particularly. Aquantity of wet sea-weed wound round Mr. Dynevor's hat. '

Miss King laughed. 'Really, my dear, I don't think you know what youngmen like from each other. '

'Mr. Dynevor did not like it, ' said Isabel, 'though he tried to pass itoff lightly as the spirits of recovery. Those spirits--I am afraid hehas too much to suffer from them. There is something so ungenerous inpractical wit, especially from a prosperous man to one unprosperous!'

'Well, Isabel, I won't contradict, but I should imagine that suchthings often showed people to be on the best of terms. '

Isabel shook her head, and left the room, to have her dark hairbraided, with little heed from herself, as she sat dreamily over abook. Before the last bracelet was clasped, she was claimed by her twolittle sisters, who gave her no peace till her desk was opened, and amanuscript drawn forth, that they might hear the two new pages of hermorning's work. It was a Fouque-like tale, relieving and givingexpression to the yearnings for holiness and loftiness that had grownup within Isabel Conway in the cramped round of her existence. Thestory went back to the troubadour days of Provence, where a knight, theheir of a line of shattered fortunes, was betrothed to the heiress ofthe oppressors, that thus all wrongs might be redressed. They hadlearnt to love, when Sir Roland discovered that the lands in disputehad been won by sacrilege. He met Adeline at a chapel in a littlevalley, to tell the whole. They agreed to sacrifice themselves, thatrestitution should be made; the knight to go as a crusader to the HolyLand; the lady, after waiting awhile to tend her aged father, to entera convent, and restore her dower to the church. Twice had Isabelwritten that parting, pouring out her heart in the high-souled tenderdevotion of Roland and his Adeline; and both feeling and descriptionwere beautiful and poetical, though unequal. Louisa used to crywhenever she heard it, yet only wished to hear it again and again, andwhen Virginia insisted on reading it to Miss King, tears had actuallybeen surprised in the governess's eyes. Yet she liked still betterAdeline's meek and patient temper, where breathed the feeling Isabelherself would fain cherish--the deep, earnest, spiritual life and highconsecrated purpose that were with the Provencal maiden through all herenforced round of gay festivals, light minstrelsy, tourneys, and Courtsof Love. Thus far had the story gone. Isabel had been writing a wild, mysterious ballad, reverting to that higher love and the true spirit ofself-sacrifice, which was to thrill strangely on the ears of thethoughtless at a contention for the Golden Violet, and which she hadadapted to a favourite air, to the extreme delight of the two girls. To them the Chapel in the valley, Roland and his Adeline, were verynearly real, and were the hidden joy of their hearts, --all the morebecause their existence was a precious secret between the three sistersand Miss King, who viewed it as such an influence on the young ones, that, with more meaning than she could have explained, she called ittheir Telemaque. The following-up of the teaching of Isabel and MissKing might lead to results as little suspected by Lady Conway asFenelon's philosophy was by Louis XIV. 

Lady Conway was several years older than her beautiful sister, and hadmarried much later. Perhaps she had aimed too high, and had met withdisappointments unavowed; for she had finally contented herself withbecoming the second wife of Sir Walter Conway, and was now his serene, goodnatured, prosperous widow. Disliking his estate and neighbourhood, and thinking the daughters wanted London society and London masters, she shut up the house until her son should be of age, and spent theseason in Lowndes-square, the autumn either abroad, in visits, or atwatering-places. 

Beauchastel was an annual resort of the family. Isabel was moreslenderly portioned than her half-sisters; and she was one of thenearest surviving relations of her mother's cousin, Mr. Mansell, whoselarge comfortable house was always hospitable; and whose wife, a greatdealer in goodnatured confidential gossip, used to throw out hints toher great friend Lady Conway, that much depended on Isabel'smarriage--that Mr. Mansell had been annoyed at connexions formed byothers of his relations--but though he had decided on nothing, the deargirl's choice might make a great difference. 

Nothing could be more passive than Miss Conway. She could not rememberher mother, but her childhood had been passed under an admirablegoverness; and though her own Miss Longman had left her, Miss King, thesuccessor, was a person worthy of her chief confidence. Attwo-and-twenty, the school-room was still the home of her affections, and her ardent love was lavished on her little sisters and her brotherWalter. 

Going out with Lady Conway was mere matter of duty and submission. Shehad not such high animal spirits as to find enjoyment in her gaieties, and her grave, pensive character only attained to walking through herpart; she had seen little but the more frivolous samples of society, scorned and disliked all that was worldly and manoeuvring, and hungback from levity and coquetry with utter distaste. Removed from hernatural home, where she would have found duties and seen variousaspects of life, she had little to interest or occupy her in herunsettled wanderings; and to her the sap of life was in books, indreams, in the love of her brother and sisters, and in discussions withMiss King; her favourite vision for the future, the going to live withWalter at Thornton Conway when he should be of age. But Walter wasyounger than Louisa, and it was a very distant prospect. 

Her characteristic was a calm, serene indifference, in which herstepmother acquiesced, as lovers of peace do in what they cannot help;and the more willingly, that her tranquil dignity and pensive graceexactly suited the style of her tall queenly figure, delicate features, dark soft languid eyes, and clear olive complexion, just tinged withrosebud pink. 

What Louis said of her to his tutor on the Monday night of theirarrival was beyond the bounds of all reason; and it was even morememorable that Jem was neither satirical nor disputatious, assented toall, and if he sighed, it was after his door was shut. 

A felicitous day ensued, spent by James in shooting, by Fitzjocelyn, inthe drawing-room; whither Mrs. Mansell had requested Isabel's presence, as a favour to herself. The young lady sat at work, seldom raising hereyes, but this was enough for him; his intense admiration and pleasurein her presence so exhilarated him, that he rattled away to the utmost. Louisa was at first the excuse. In no further doubt of hisgood-nature, she spent an hour in the morning in giving him anagrams toguess; and after she had repaired to the schoolroom, he went oninventing fresh ones, and transposing the ivory letters, rambling on inhis usual style of pensive drollery. Happiness never set him off toadvantage, and either there was more froth than ordinary, or itappeared unusually ridiculous to an audience who did not detect theunder-current of reflection. His father would have been in despair, Mrs. Ponsonby or Mary would have interposed; but the ladies ofBeauchastel laughed and encouraged him, --all but Isabel, who sat in thewindow, and thought of Adeline, 'spighted and angered both, ' by aNavarrese coxcomb, with sleeves down to his heels, and shoes turned upto his knees. She gave herself great credit for having already createdhim a Viscount. 

In the afternoon, Louis drove out lionizing with his aunt; but thoughthe ponies stopped of themselves at all the notable views; sea, hill, and river were lost on him. Lady Conway could have drawn out a farless accessible person, and her outpouring of his own sentiments madehim regard her as perfect. 

She consulted him about her winter's resort. Louisa required peculiarcare, and she had thought of trying mineral baths--what was thought ofNorthwold? what kind of houses were there? The Northwold facultythemselves might have taken a lesson from Fitzjocelyn's eloquentanalysis of the chemical properties of the waters, and all old Mr. Frost's spirit would seem to have descended on him when he dilated onthe House Beautiful. Lodgers for Miss Faithfull! what jubilee theywould cause! And such lodgers! No wonder he was in ecstasy. All theevening the sound of his low, deliberate voice was unceasing, and hiscalm announcements to his two little cousins were each one morestartling than the last; while James, to whom it was likewise allsunshine, was full of vivacity, and a shrewd piquancy of manner thatgave zest to all he said, and wonderfully enlivened the often ratherdull circle at Beauchastel. 

Morning came; and when the ladies descended to breakfast, it was foundthat Lord Fitzjocelyn had gone out with the sportsmen. The childrenlamented, and their elders pronounced a young gentleman's passion forshooting to be quite incalculable. When, late in the day, the partyreturned, it was reported that he did not appear to care much for thesport; but had walked beside Mr. Mansell's shooting-pony, and hadfinally gone with him to see his model farm. This was a sure road tothe old squire's heart, and no one was more delighted with the guest. For Aunt Catharine's sake, Louis was always attracted by old age, andhis attentive manners had won Mr. Mansell's heart, even before hisinquiries about his hobby had completed the charm. To expound and tolisten to histories of agricultural experiments that really answered, was highly satisfactory to both, and all the evening they were eagerover the great account-book which was the pride of the squire's heart;while Virginia and Louisa grumbled or looked imploring, and Isabelmarvelled at there being any interest for any one in old Mr. Mansell'sconversation. 

'What is the meaning of this?' asked James, as they went up stairs. 

Louis shrugged like a Frenchman, looked debonnaire, and said'Good-night. '

Again he came down; prepared for shooting, though both pale and lame;but he quietly put aside all expostulations, walking on until, aboutfifty yards from the house, a pebble, turning under the injured foot, caused such severe pain that he could but just stagger to a tree andsit down. 

There was much battling before Mr. Mansell would consent to leave him, or he to allow James to help him back to the house, before going on toovertake the party. 

Very irate was Jem, at folly that seemed to have undone the benefits ofthe last month, and at changeableness that was a desertion of the queento whom all homage was due. He was astonished that Louis turned intothe study, a room little inhabited in general, and said, 'Makehaste--you will catch the others; don't fall in with the ladies. '

'I mean to send your aunt to you. '

'Pray don't. Can't you suppose that peace is grateful after havingcounted every mortal hour last night?'

'Was that the reason you were going to walk ten miles without a leg tostand upon? Fitzjocelyn! is this systematic?'

'What is?' said Louis, wearily. 

'Your treatment of--your aunt. '

'On what system should aunts be treated?'

'Of all moments to choose for caprice! Exactly when I thought even youwere fixed!'

'Pur troppo, ' sighed Louis. 

'Ha!' cried Jem, 'you have not gone and precipitated matters! Ithought you could never amaze me again; but even you might have feltshe was a being to merit rather more time and respect!'

'Even I am not devoid of the organ of veneration. '

His meek tone was a further provocation; and with uplifted chin, hairruffled like the crest of a Shetland pony, flashing eyes, and distinctenunciation, James exclaimed, 'You will excuse me for not understandingyou. You come here; you devote yourself to your aunt and cousins--youseem strongly attracted; then, all on a sudden, you rush outshooting--an exercise for which you don't care, and when you can'twalk: you show the most pointed neglect. And after being done-upyesterday, you repeat the experiment to-day, as if for the mere objectof laming yourself for life. I could understand pique or temper, butyou have not the--'

'The sense, ' said Louis; 'no, nor anything to be piqued at. '

'If there be a motive, ' said James, 'I have a right to demand not to betrifled with any longer. '

'I wish you could be content to shoot your birds, and leave me inpeace: you will only have your fun spoilt, like mine, and go into afury. The fact is, that my father writes in a state of perturbation. He says, I might have understood, from the tenor of his conduct, thathe did not wish me to be intimate with my aunt's family! He cannotknow anything about them, for it is all one warning against fashion andfrivolity. He does not blame us--especially not you. '

'I wish he did. '

'But he desires that our intercourse should be no more than proprietydemands, and plunges into a discourse against first impressions, beauty, and the like. '

'So that's the counterblast!'

'You ought to help me, Jem, ' said Louis, dejectedly. 

'I'll help you with all my heart to combat your father's prejudices. '

'An hour's unrestrained intercourse with these people would bestdestroy them, ' said Louis; 'but, in the mean time--I wonder what hemeans. '

'He means that he is in terror for his darling scheme. '

'Mrs. Ponsonby was very right, ' sighed Louis. 

'Ay! A pretty condition you would be in, if she had not had too muchprinciple to let you be a victim to submission. That's what you'llcome to, though! You will never know the meaning of passion; you willescape something by it, though you will be twisted round his lordship'sfinger, and marry his choice. I hope she will have red hair!'

'Negative and positive obedience stand on different grounds, ' saidLouis, with such calmness as often fretted James, but saved theirfriendship. 'Besides, till I had this letter, I had no notion of anysuch thing. '

James's indignation resulted in fierce stammering; while Louisdeliberately continued a viva voce self-examination, with his ownquaint naivete, betraying emotion only by the burning colour of cheekand brow. 

'No; I had no such notion. I only felt that her presence had thegladdening, inspiriting, calming effect of moonlight or starlight. Ireverenced her as a dream of poetry walking the earth. Ha! now onehears the sound of it--that is like it! I did not think it was such aconfirmed case. I should have gone on in peace but for this letter, and never thought about it at all. '

'So much the better for you!'

'My father is too just and candid not to own his error, and bethankful. '

'And you expect her to bear with your alternations in the mean time?'

'Towards her I have not alternated. When I have made giggle with Claraunder the influence of the starry sky, did you suppose me giggling withLyra or the Pleiades! I should dread to see the statue descend; itseemed irreverence even to gaze. The lofty serenity keeps me aloof. Ilike to believe in a creature too bright and good for human nature'sdaily food. Our profane squinting through telescopes at the Lady Moonreveals nothing but worn-out volcanoes and dry oceans, black gulfs andscorched desolation; but verily that may not be Lady Moon's fault--onlythat of our base inventions. So I would be content to markher--Isabel, I mean--queenly, moonlike name!--walk in beauty andtranquillity unruffled, without distorting my vision by personal aimsat bringing her down to my level. There--don't laugh at me, Jem. '

'No, I am too sorry for you. '

'Why!' he exclaimed, impatient of compassion; 'do you think itdesperate?'

'I see your affection given to a most worthy object, and I know whatyour notions of submission will end in. '

'Once for all, Jem, ' said Fitzjocelyn, 'do you know how you are usingmy father? No; Isabel Conway may be the happiness or thedisappointment of my life--I cannot tell. I am sure my father ismistaken, and I believe he may be convinced; but I am bound not to flyin the face of his direct commands, and, till we can come to anunderstanding, I must do the best I can, and trust to--'

The last word was lost, as he turned to nurse his ankle, and presentlyto entreat James to join the sportsmen; but Jem was in a mood to donothing pleasing to himself nor to any one else. A sacrifice isusually irritating to the spectators, who remonstrate rather thanlisten to self-reproach; and Louis had been guilty of three greatoffences--being in the right, making himself ridiculous, and submittingtamely--besides the high-treason to Isabel's beauty. It was well thatthe Earl was safe out of the way of the son of the Pendragons!

Fitzjocelyn was in pain and discomfort enough to make James unwillingto leave him; though his good-will did not prevent him from keeping upsuch a stream of earplugs and sinister auguries, that it was almost theclimax of good-temper that enabled Louis to lie still, trying to read agreat quarto Park's Travels, and abstaining from any reply that couldaggravate matters. As the one would not go to luncheon, the otherwould not; and after watching the sound of the ladies' setting out fortheir drive, Louis said that he would go and lie on the turf; but atthat moment the door was thrown open, and in ran Virginia. Explanations were quickly exchanged--how she had come to find Vertot'sMalta for Isabel, and how he had been sent in by hurting his foot. 

'Were you going to stay in all day?' said Virginia. 'Oh, come with us!We have the pony-carriage; and we are going to a dear old ruin, walkingand driving by turns. Do, pray, come; there's plenty of room. '

There could be no objection to the school-room party, and it was nosmall relief to escape from James and hope he was amused; soFitzjocelyn allowed himself to be dragged off in triumph, and James wasacceding to his entreaty that he would go in search of theshooting-party, when, as they reached the hall-door, they beheld MissConway waiting on the steps. 

There was no receding for her any more than for Louis, so she couldonly make a private resolution against the pony-carriage, and dedicateherself to the unexceptionable company of little sister, governess andtutor; for James had resigned the shooting, and attached himself to theexpedition. It was an excellent opportunity of smoothing his cousin'sway, and showing that all was not caprice that might so appear: so hebegan to tell of his most advantageous traits of character, and toexplain away his whimsical conduct, with great ardour and ingenuity. He thought he should be perfectly satisfied if he could win but onesmile of approbation from that gravely beautiful mouth; and it came atlast, when he told of Fitzjocelyn's devoted affection to Mrs. Frost andhis unceasing kindness to the old ladies of Dynevor Terrace. Thusgratified, he let himself be led into abstract questions ofprinciple, --a style of discussion frequent between Miss King andIsabel, but on which the latter had never seen the light of a man'smind thrown except through books. The gentlemen whom she had met wereseldom either deep or earnest, except those too much beyond her reach;and she had avoided anything like confidence or intimacy: but Mr. Dynevor could enlighten and vivify her perplexed reflections, answerher inquiries, confirm her opinion of books, and enter into all thatshe ventured with diffidence to express. He was enchanted to find thatno closer approach could dim the lustre of Louis's moon, and honouredher doubly for what she had made herself in frivolous society. He feltsure that his testimony would gain credit where Fitzjocelyn's would beregarded as love-blinded, and already beheld himself forcing full proofof her merits on the reluctant Earl, beholding Louis happy, and Isabelemancipated from constraint. 

A five miles' walk gave full time for such blissful discoveries; forMiss Conway was resolute against entering the pony-carriage, and walkedon, protesting against ever being fatigued; while Louis was obliged tooccupy his seat in the carriage, with a constant change of companions. 

'I think, my dear, ' said Miss King, when the younger girls had gone totheir mother's toilette, 'that you will have to forgive me. '

'Meaning, ' said Isabel, 'that you are bitten too! Ah! Miss King, youcould not withstand the smile with which he handed you in!'

'Could you withstand such an affectionate account of your cruel, tyrannical practical joker?'

'Facts are stubborn things. Do you know what Mr. Dynevor is doing atthis moment? I met him in the gallery, hurrying off to Ebbscreek forsome lotion for Lord Fitzjocelyn's ankle. I begged him to let Mrs. Mansell send; but no-no one but himself could find it, and his cousincould not bear strangers to disarrange his room. If anything werewanting, it would be enough to see how simply and earnestly such a manhas been brought to pamper--nay, to justify, almost to adore, the whimsand follies of this youth. '

'If anything were wanting to what? To your dislike. '

'It would not be so active as dislike, unless--' Isabel spoke withdrooping head, and Miss King did not ask her to finish, but said, 'Hehas not given you much cause for alarm. '

'So; he is at least a thorough gentleman. It may be conceit, or wrongself-consciousness, but from the moment the poor boy was spied in theshop, I had a perception that mamma and Mrs. Mansell marked him down. Personally he would be innocent, but, through all his chatter, I cannotshake off the fancy that I am watched, or that decided indifference isnot needed to keep him at a distance. '

'I wish you could have seen him without knowing him!'

'In vain, dear Miss King! I can't bear handsome men. I see hisfrivolity and shallowness; and for amiability, what do you think ofkeeping his cousin all the morning from shooting for such a merenothing, and then sending him off for a ten miles' walk?

'For my part, I confess that I was struck with the good sense andkindness he showed in our tete-a-tete--I thought it justified Mr. Dynevor's description. '

'Yes, I have no doubt that there is some good in him. He might havedone very well, if he had not always been an idol. '

Isabel was the more provoked with Lord Fitzjocelyn, when, by-and-by, heappeared in the drawing-room, and related the result of his cousin'smission. Jem, who would know better than himself where to find hisproperty, had not chosen to believe his description of the spot wherehe had left the lotion, and, in the twilight, Louis had found his footcoiled about by the feelers and claws of a formidable monster--no otherthan a bottled scorpion, a recent present from Captain Hannaford. Hedid not say how emblematic the scorpion lotion was of that which Jemhad been administering to his wounded spirit all the morning, but heput the story in so ludicrous a light that Isabel decided that Mr. Dynevor was ungenerously and ungratefully treated as a butt; and sheturned away in displeasure from the group whom the recital was amusing, to offer her sympathy to the tutor, and renew the morning'sconversation. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

FROSTY, BUT KINDLY. 

 Go not eastward, go not westward, For a stranger whom we know not. Like a fire upon the hearthstone, Is a neighbour's homely daughter; Like the moonlight or the starlight, Is the handsomest of strangers. Legend of Hiawatha. 

'What a laboured production had the letter been! How many copies hadthe statesman written! how late had he sat over it at night! how muchmore consideration had he spent on it than on papers involving thesuccess of his life! A word too much or too little might precipitatethe catastrophe, and the bare notion of his son's marriage with a pupilof Lady Conway renewed and gave fresh poignancy to the past. 

At first his anxieties were past mention; but he grew restless underthem, and the instinct of going to Mrs. Ponsonby prevailed. At least, she would know what had transpired from James, or from Fitzjocelyn toMrs. Frost. 

She had heard of ecstatic letters from both the cousins, and Mary hadbeen delighted to identify Miss Conway with the Isabel of whom one ofher school friends spoke rapturously, but the last letter had beenfromJames to his grandmother, declaring that Lord Ormersfield wasdestroying the happiness of the most dutiful of sons, who was obedienteven to tameness, and so absurd that there was no bearing him. Hislordship must hear reason, and learn that he was rejecting the mostadmirable creature in existence, her superiority of mind exceeding evenher loveliness of person. He had better beware of tyranny; it waspossible to abuse submission, and who could answer for the consequencesof thwarting strong affections? All the ground Fitzjocelyn had gainedin the last six weeks had been lost; and for the future, James wouldnot predict. 

'An uncomfortable matter, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, chiefly for the sake ofreading her daughter's feelings. 'If it were not in poor Louis's mindalready, his father and James would plant it there by their contraryefforts. '

'Oh! I hope it will come right, ' said Mary. 'Louis is too good, andhis father too kind, for it not to end well. And then, mamma, he willbe able to prove, what nobody will believe--that he is constant. '

'You think so, do you?' said her mother, smiling. 

Mary blushed, but answered, 'where he really cared, he would beconstant. His fancy might be taken, and he might rave, but he wouldnever really like what was not good. --If he does think about MissConway, we may trust she is worthy of him. Oh! I should like to seeher!'

Mary's eyes lighted up with an enthusiasm that used to be a stranger tothem. It was not the over-acted indifference nor the tender generosityof disappointment: it seemed more to partake of the fond, unselfish, elder-sisterly affection that she had always shown towards Louis, andit set her mother quite at ease. 

Seeing Lord Ormersfield riding into the terrace, Mary set out for awalk, that he might have his tete-a-tete freely with her mother. Oncoming home, she met him on the stairs; and he spoke with a sadsoftness and tone of pardon that alarmed her so much, that she hastenedto ask her mother whether Louis had really avowed an attachment. 

'Oh no, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'he has written a very right-mindedletter, on the whole, poor boy! though he is sure the Conways have onlyto be known to be appreciated. Rather too true! It is in his MissFanny hand, stiff and dispirited; and his father has worked himselfinto such a state of uneasiness, that I think it will end in his goingto Ebbscreek at once. '

'O mamma, you won't let him go and torment Louis?'

'Why, Mary, have you been learning of James? Perhaps he would tormenthim more from a distance; and besides, I doubt what sort of counsellorJames is likely to make in his present mood. '

'I never could see that James made any difference to Louis, ' said Mary. 'I know people think he does, because Louis gives up wishes and plansto him; but he is not led in opinions or principles, as far as I cansee. '

'Not unless his own wishes went the same way. '

'At least, Lord Ormersfield will see Miss Conway!'

'I am afraid that will do no good. It will not be for the first time. Lady Conway has been his dread from the time of his own marriage; andif she should come to Northwold, he will be in despair. I do think hemust be right; she must be making a dead set at Louis. '

'Not Miss Conway, ' said Mary. 'I know she must be good, or he wouldnot endure her for a moment. '

'Mary, you do not know the power of beauty. '

'I have heard of it, ' said Mary; 'I have seen how Dona Guadalupe wasfollowed. But those people were not like Louis. No, mamma; I thinkJames might be taken in, I don't think Louis could be--unless he had avery grand dream of his own before his eyes; and then it would be hisown dream, not the lady that he saw; and by-and-by he would find itout, and be so vexed!'

'And, I trust, before he had committed himself!'

'Mamma, I won't have you think Miss Conway anything but up to hisdreams! I know she is. Only think what Jane Drummond says of her!'

When the idea of going to see how matters stood had once occurred tothe Earl, he could not stay at home: the ankle and the affectionspreyed on him by turns, and he wrote to Sir Miles Oakstead to fix anearlier day for the promised visit, as well as to his son, to announcehis speedy arrival. Then he forgot the tardiness of cross-countryposts, and outran his letter, so that he found no one to meet him atBickleypool; and on driving up to the gate at Ebbscreek, found alllooking deserted. After much knocking, Priscilla appeared, round-eyedand gasping, and verified his worst fears with 'Gone to Bochattle. 'However, she explained that only one gentleman was gone to dine there;the other was rowing him round the point, with grandfather;--they wouldsoon be back--indeed they ought, for the tide was so low, they wouldhave to land down by the shingle bar. 

She pointed out where the boat must come in; and thither the Earldirected his steps, feeling as if he were going to place himself undera nutmeg-grater, as he thought how James Frost would receive theimplied distrust of his guardianship. 

The sunset gleam was fading on the sleepy waves that made but a feintof breaking, along the shining expanse of moist uncovered sand, whentwo figures were seen progressing from the projecting rocks, castinglong shadows before them. Lord Ormersfield began to prepare amollifying address--but, behold! Was it the effect of light so much tolengthen Jem's form? nay, was it making him walk with a stick? Asudden, unlooked-for hope seized the Earl. The next minute he had beenrecognised; and in the grasping hands and meeting eyes, all wasforgotten, save the true, fond affection of father and son. 

'I did not expect this pleasure. They told me you were dining out. '

'Only rowing Jem to the landing-place. I told him to make my excuses. It is a dinner to half the neighbourhood, and my foot is alwaystroublesome if I do not lay it up in the evening. '

'I am glad you are prudent, ' said his father, dismissing his fears inhis gratification, and proceeding to lay his coming to the score of hisfoot. 

Fitzjocelyn did not wish to see through the plea--he was much too happyin his father's unusual warmth and tenderness, and in the delights ofhospitality. Mrs. Hannaford was gone out, and eatables were scarce;but a tea-dinner was prepared merrily between Priscilla, the Captain, and Louis, who gloried in displaying his school-fagging accomplishmentswith toast, eggs, and rashers--hobbled between parlour and kitchen, helping Priscilla, joking with the Captain, and waiting on his fatherso eagerly and joyously as to awaken a sense of adventure and enjoymentin the Earl himself. No meal, with Frampton behind his chair, had everequalled Fitzjocelyn's cookery or attendance; and Louis's reminiscencesof the penalties he had suffered from his seniors for burnt toast, awoke like recollections of schoolboy days, hitherto in utter oblivion, and instead of the intended delicate conversation, father and son foundthemselves laughing over a 'tirocinium or review of schools. '

Still, the subject must be entered on; and when Lord Ormersfield hadmentioned the engagement to go to Oakstead, he added, 'All is well, since I have found you here. Let me tell you that I never felt moregrateful nor more relieved than by this instance of regard for mywishes. '

Though knowing the fitful nature of Louis's colour, he would have beenbetter satisfied not to have called up such an intensity of red, and tohave had some other answer than, 'I wish you saw more of them. '

'I see them every year in London. '

'London gives so little scope for real acquaintance, ' ventured Louisagain, with downcast eyes. 

'You forget that Lady Conway is my sister-in-law. ' Louis would havespoken, but his father added, 'Before you were born, I had fullexperience of her. You must take it on trust that her soft, prepossessing manners belong to her as a woman of the world who cannotsee you without designs on you. '

'Of course, ' said Louis, 'I yield to your expressed wishes; but my aunthas been very kind to me: and, ' he added, after trying to mould thewords to their gentlest form, 'you could not see my cousins withoutbeing convinced that it is the utmost injustice--'

'I do not censure them, ' said his father, as he hesitated betweenindignation and respect, 'I only tell you, Louis, that nothing couldgrieve me more than to see your happiness in the keeping of a pupil ofLady Conway. '

He met a look full of consternation, and of struggles between filialdeference and the sense of injustice. All Louis allowed himself to saywas, however, 'Surely, when I am her own nephew! when our poverty is aflagrant fact--she may be acquitted of anything but caring for mefor--for my mother's sake. '

There was a silence that alarmed Louis, who had never before named hismother to the Earl. At last, Lord Ormersfield spoke clearly andsternly, in characteristic succinct sentences, but taking breathbetween each. 'You shall have no reason to think me prejudiced. Iwill tell you facts. There was a match which she desired for suchcauses as lead her to seek you. The poverty was greater, and she knewit. On one side there was strong affection; on that which sheinfluenced there was--none whatever. If there were scruples, shesmothered them. She worked on a young innocent mind to act out herdeceit, and without a misgiving on--on his part that his feelings worenot returned, the marriage took place. '

'It could not have been all her own fault, ' cried Louis. 'It must havebeen a willing instrument--much to blame--'

His father cut him short with sudden severity, such as startled him. 'Never say so, Louis. She was a mere child, educated for that solepurpose, her most sweet and docile nature wasted and perverted. '

'And you know this of your own knowledge?' said Fitzjocelyn, stillstriving to find some loophole to escape from such testimony. 

The Earl paused, as if to collect himself, then repeated the words, slowly and decidedly, 'Of my own knowledge. I could not have spokenthus otherwise. '

'May I ask how it ended?'

'As those who marry for beauty alone have a right to expect. There wasneither confidence nor sympathy. She died early. I--we--those wholoved her as their own life--were thankful. '

Louis perceived the strong effort and great distress with which thesewords were uttered, and ventured no answer, glancing hastily throughall his connexions to guess whose history could thus deeply affect hisfather; but he was entirely at a loss; and Lord Ormersfield, recoveringhimself, added, 'Say no more of this; but, believe me, it was to spareyou from her manoeuvres that I kept you apart from that family. '

'The Northwold baths have been recommended for Louisa, ' saidFitzjocelyn. 'Before we knew of your objections, we mentioned MissFaithfull's lodgings. '

What the Earl was about to utter, he suppressed. 

'You cannot look at those girls and name manoeuvring!' cried Louis. 

'Poor things. '

After a silence, Lord Ormersfield added, with more anxiety thanprudence, 'Set my mind at rest, Louis. There can have been no harmdone yet, in so short a time. '

'I--don't--know--' said Louis, slowly. 'I have seldom spoken to her, to be sure. She actually makes me shy! I never saw anything half solovely. I cannot help her reigning over my thoughts. I shall neverbelieve a word against her, though I cannot dispute what you say of myaunt. She is of another mould, I wish you could let me hope that--'

A gesture of despair from his father cut him short. 

'I will do whatever you please, ' he concluded. 

'You will find that time conquers the fancy, ' said the Earl, quickly. 'I am relieved to find that you have at least not committed yourself:it would be no compliment to Mary Ponsonby. '

Louis's lip curled somewhat; but he said no more, and made noobjections to the arrangements which his father proceeded to detail. Doubtful of the accommodations of Ebbscreek, Lord Ormersfield hadprudently retained his fly, and though Louis, intending to sleep on thefloor, protested that there was plenty of room, he chose to return tothe inn at Bickleypool. He would call for Louis to-morrow, to take himfor a formal call at Beauchastel; and the day after they would gotogether to Oakstead, leaving James to return home, about ten dayssooner than had been previously concerted. 

Lord Ormersfield had not been gone ten minutes, before James's quickbounding tread was heard far along the dry woodland paths. He vaultedover the gate, and entered by the open window, exclaiming, as he didso, 'Hurrah! The deed is done; the letter is off to engage the HouseBeautiful. '

'Doom is doom!' were the first words that occurred to Louis. 'The lionand the prince. '

'What's that?'

'There was once a king, ' began Louis, as if the tale were the newest inthe world, 'whose son was predestined to be killed by a lion. Aftermuch consideration, his majesty enclosed his royal highness in a tower, warranted wild-beast proof, and forbade the chase to be mentioned inhis hearing. The result was, that the locked-up prince died oflook-jaw in consequence of tearing his hand with a nail in the pictureof the lion. '

'I shall send that apologue straight to Ormersfield. '

'You may spare that trouble. My father has been with me all theevening. '

'Oh! his double-ganger visits you. That accounts for your freaks. '

'Double-gangers seldom come in yellow-bodied flys. '

'His lordship in propria persona. You don't mean it. '

'He is sleeping at the 'George' at Bickleypool. There is a lettercoming to-morrow by the post, to say he is coming to-day, with everyimaginable civility to you; but I am to go to the rose-colouredpastor's with him on Wednesday. '

'So there's an end of our peace and comfort!'

'I am afraid we have sadly discomposed his peace. '

'Did you discover whether his warnings have the slightest foundation?'

'He told me a history that somewhat accounts for his distrust of myaunt. I think there must be another side to it, and nothing can bemore unjust than to condemn all the family, but it affected him soexceedingly that I do not wonder at his doing so. He gave no names, but I am sure it touched him very nearly. Can you tell who it couldhave been?' And he narrated enough to make James exclaim, 'It ought totouch him nearly. He was talking of himself. '

'Impossible!--my mother!' cried Louis, leaping up. 

'Yes--his own version of his married life. '

'How do you know? You cannot remember it, ' said Louis, though too wellconvinced, as he recollected the suppressed anguish, and the horrorwith which all blame of the young wife had been silenced. 

'I have heard of it again and again. It was an unhappy, ill-assortedmarriage: she was gay, he was cold. '

'My Aunt Catharine says so?'

'As far as she can blame anything. Your mother was a sweet blossom ina cold wind. She loved and pitied her with all her heart. Your auntwas talking, this very evening, of your father having carried hersister to Ormersfield, away from all her family, and one reason of herdesire to go to Northwold is to see those who were with her at last. '

Louis was confounded. 'Yes! I see, ' he said. 'How obtuse not to readit in his own manner! How much it explains!' and he silently restedhis brow on his hands. 

'Depend upon it, there are two sides to the story. I would not be apretty, petted, admired girl in his keeping. '

'Do you think it mends matters with me to fasten blame on either?' saidLouis, sadly. 'No; I was realizing the perception of such a thread ofmisery woven into his life, and thinking how little I have felt forhim. '

'Endowing him with your own feelings, and then feeling for him!'

'No. I cannot estimate his feeling. He is of harder, firmer stuffthan I; and for that very reason, I suspect, suffering is a moreterrific thing. I heard the doctors saying, when I bore pain badly, that it would probably do the less future harm: a bad moral, but Ibelieve it is true of the mental as of the physical constitution. 'Answering something between a look and a shrug of James, he mused on, aloud--'I understand better what the wreck of affection must have been. '

'For my part, ' said James, 'I do not believe in the affection that cantyrannize over and blight a woman. '

'Nay, James! I cannot doubt. My very name--my having been called byit, are the more striking in one so fond of usage and precedent. Thingsthat passed between him and Mrs. Ponsonby while I was ill--much that Ilittle regarded and ill requited--show what force of love and griefthere must have been. The cold, grave manner, is the broken, inaccessible edge of the cliff rent asunder. '

'If romance softens the rough edge, you are welcome to it! I may aswell go to bed!'

'Not romance--the sad reality of my poor father's history. I trust Ishall never treat his wishes so lightly--'

Impatient of one-sided sympathy, James exclaimed, 'As if you did notgive way to him like a slave!'

'Yes, like a slave, ' said Louis, gravely. 'I wish to give way like ason who would try to comfort him for what he has undergone. '

'Now, I should have thought your feeling would have been for yourmother!'

'If my mother could speak to me, ' said Louis, with trembling lips, 'shewould surely bid me to try my utmost, as far as in me lies, to bringpeace and happiness to my father. I cannot tell where the errors mayhave been, and I will never ask. If she was as like to me as they say, I could understand some of them! At least, I know that I am doublybound to give as little vexation to him as possible, and I trust thatyou will not make it harder to me. You lost your father so early, thatyou can hardly estimate--'

'The trial?' said James, willing to give what had passed the air of ajoke. 

'Exactly so--Good night. '

CHAPTER XIV. 

NEW INHABITANTS. 

 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad-- Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-haired page in crimson clad, Goes by to towered Camelot; And sometimes, through the mirror blue, The knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal knight and true-- The Lady of Shalott. TENNYSON. 

'Oakstead, Oct. 14th, 1847. 

'My Dear Aunt, --I find that Fitzjocelyn is writing to you, but I thinkyou will wish for a fuller account of him than can be obtained from hisown letters. Indeed, I should be much obliged if you would kindlyexercise your influence to persuade him that he is not in a conditionto be imprudent with impunity. Sir Miles Oakstead was absolutelyshocked to see the alteration in his appearance, as well as in hisspirits; and although both our kind host and hostess are mostsolicitous on his account, it happens unfortunately that they are atthis juncture quite alone, so that he is without companions of his ownage. I must not, however, alarm you. The fact is, that circumstanceshave occurred which, though he has acted in the most exemplary manner, have harassed and distressed him a good deal, and his health suffersfrom the difficulty of taking sufficient exercise. James will triumphwhen he hears that I regret having shortened his stay by the sea-side;for neither the place nor the weather seems to agree with him: he hashad a recurrence of wakeful nights, and is very languid. Poor boy!yesterday he wandered out alone in the rain, lost his way, and camehome so fatigued that he slept for three hours on the sofa, but to-dayhe seems better--has more colour, and has been less silent. We go toLeffingham Castle from Monday till Thursday, when I shall take him toLondon for Hastings to decide whether it be fit for him to return toChristchurch after the vacation, according to his own most anxiouswish. With my love to Mary Ponsonby and her daughter, and bestremembrances to James, 'Your affectionate nephew, 'ORMERSFIELD. '

The same envelope contained another letter of many sheets, beginning ina scrawl:--

'Scene--Rose-coloured Pastor's Nest. Tables, chairs, books, papers, despatch-boxes. The two ex-ministers writing and consulting. ViscountF. Looking on like a colt running beside its parent at plough, thinkingthat harness leaves deep marks, and that he does not like the furrow. 

'October 13th, 1847. --That correct date must be a sign that he isgetting into harness. 

'Well, dear Aunt Kitty, to make a transition from the third to thefirst person, like Mrs. Norris, you have in this short scene an epitomeof the last fortnight. Lady Oakstead is an honourable matron, whom Ipity for having me in her way; a man unable to be got rid of by thelawful exercises of shooting and riding, and with a father alwaysconsulting her about him, and watching every look and movement, tillthe blood comes throbbing to my temples by the mere attraction of hiseyes. To be watched into a sense of impatience and ingratitude, is atrial of life for which one is not prepared. My father and Sir Milesare very busy; I hang here an anomaly, sitting with them as being lessin their way than in Lady Oakstead's, and wondering what I shall betwenty years hence. I am sick of the only course of life that willcontent my father, and I can see no sunshine likely to brighten it. But, at least, no one's happiness is at stake but my own. Here is akind, cordial letter from Lady Conway, pressing me to join her atScarborough, make expeditions, &c. My father is in such a state aboutme, that I believe I could get his consent to anything, but I supposeit would not be fair, and I have said nothing to him as yet. On Mondaywe go to Leffingham, which, I hear, is formality itself. After that, more state visits, unless I can escape to Oxford. My father fancies menot well enough; but pray unite all the forces of the Terrace toimpress that nothing else will do me any good. Dragging about in thisdreary, heartless way is all that ails me, and reading for my degreewould be the best cure. I mean to work hard for honours, and, ifpossible, delude myself with hopes of success. Work is the need. Here, there is this one comfort. There is no one to talk to, no birdsin last year's nest, sons absent, daughters disposed of, but, unluckily, the Pastoress, under a mistaken sense of kindness, has askedthe Vicar's son to walk with me, and he is always lying in wait, --anEnsign in a transition state between the sheepish schoolboy and thefast man, with an experience of three months of depot. Having rousedhim from the pristine form, I regret the alternative. 

'Did I ever write so savage a letter? Don't let it vex you, or I won'tsend it. What a bull! There is such a delectable Scotch mist, that noone will suspect me of going out; and I shall actually cheat theEnsign, and get a walk in solitude to hearten me for the dismal statedinner party of the evening. 

'October 14th. --Is it in the book of fate that I should always treatthis rose-coloured pastor like a carrion crow? I have done it again!And it has but brought out more of my father's marvellous kindness andpatience. 

'I plunged into the Scotch mist unsuspected and unpursued. The visibleebullition of discontent had so much disgusted me that I must needs seewhether anything could be done with it, and fairly face the matter, asI can only do in a walk. Pillow counsel is feverish and tumultuous;one is hardly master of oneself. The soft, cool, mist-laden air, heavybut incense-breathing, was a far more friendly adjunct in the quietdecay of nature--mournful, but not foul nor corrupt, because man hadnot spoilt it. It suited me better than a sunny, glaring day, such asI used to revel in, and the brightness of which, last spring, made mepine to be in the free air. Such days are past with me; I had betterknow that they are, and not strive after them. Personal happiness isthe lure, not the object, in this world. I have my Northwold home, andI am beginning to see that my father's comfort depends on me as Ilittle imagined, and sufficiently to sweeten any sacrifice. So I havewritten to refuse Scarborough, for there is no use in trying to combinetwo things, pleasing my father and myself. I wish the determinationmay last; but mine have never been good for much, and you must help me. 

'Neither thinking nor fog conduced to seeing where I was going; andwhen my ankle began to give out, and I was going to turn, I ran into ahedge, which, looming through the mist, I had been taking for a finerange of distant mountains--rather my way of dealing with otherobjects. Being without a horse on whose neck to lay the reins, I couldonly coast the hedge, hoping it might lead me back to Oakstead Park, which I had abandoned in my craving for space and dread of being doggedby the Ensign. But the treacherous hedge led me nowhere but to ahorsepond; and when I had struggled out of the adjacent mire, andattained a rising ground, I could only see about four yards square ofbare down, all the rest being grey fog. Altogether, the scene wasworth something. I heard what I thought the tinkling of a sheep bellthrough the cloud, which dulled the sound like cotton wool; I pursuedthe call, when anon, the veil began to grow thin, and revealed, lookingjust like a transparency, a glimpse of a little village in a valleyalmost under my feet, trees, river, church-spire and all, and the bellbecame clearer, and showed me what kind of flock it was meant for. Iturned that way, and had just found a path leading down the steep, whendown closed the cloud--a natural dissolving view--leaving me wonderingwhether it had been mirage or imagination, till presently, the curtaindrew up in earnest. Out came, not merely form, but colour, as I haveseen a camera clear itself--blue sky, purple hills, russet and orangewoods, a great elm green picked out with yellow, a mass of brown oaks, a scarlet maple, a beech grove, skirting a brilliant water meadow, witha most reflective stream running through it, and giving occasion for asingle arched bridge, and a water mill, with a wheel draperied withwhite foam; two swans disporting on the water (I would not declare theywere not geese), a few cottony flakes of mist hanging over dampcorners, the hill rising green, with the bright whitewashed cottages ofthis district, on the side a rich, red, sandstone-coloured church, latearchitecture, tower rather mouldering--all the more picturesque;churchyard, all white headstones and ochreous sheep, surmounted by amushroom-shaped dark yew tree, railed in with intensely white rails, the whole glowing in the parting coup-de-soleil of a wet day, everytear of every leaf glistening, and everything indescribably lustrous. It is a picture that one's mental photograph ought to stamp for life, and the cheering and interest it gave, no one but you can understand. Iwished for you, I know. It looks so poor in words. 

'After the service, I laid hold of the urchin whose hearty stare hadmost reminded me of Tom Madison, and gave him a shilling to guide meback to Oakstead, a wise measure, for down came the cloud, blotting allout like the Castle of St. John, and by the time I came home, it waspitch dark and raining hard, and my poor father was imagining me at thefoot of another precipice. I was hoping to creep up in secret, butthey all came out, fell upon me, Lady Oakstead sent me tea, and orderedme to rest; and so handsomely did I obey, that when next I opened myeyes, and saw my father waiting, as I thought, for me to go down todinner with him, I found he had just come up after the ladies hadquitted the dining-room. So kind and so little annoyed did he seem, that I shook myself, to be certified that I had broken no more bones, but it was all sheer forbearance and consideration--enough to go toone's heart--when it was the very thing to vex him most. With greatpenitence, I went down, and the first person I encountered was the verycurate I had seen in my _mist_erious village, much as if he had walkedout of a story book. On fraternizing, I found him to be a friend ofHoldsworth. Lady Oakstead is going to take me, this afternoon, to seehis church, &c. , thoroughly; and behold, I learn from him that she is anotable woman for doing good in her parish, never so happy as introtting to cottages, though her good deeds are always in thebackground. Thereupon, I ventured to attack her this morning on cottagegarniture, and obtained the very counsel I wanted about ovens andpiggeries, we began to get on together, and she is to put me up to allmanner of information that I want particularly. I must go now, not tokeep her waiting, never mind the first half of my letter--I have notime to cancel it now. I find my father wants to put in a note: don'tbelieve a word that he says, for I am much better to-day, body and mind. 

 Goosey, goosey gander, Where shall we wander, Anywhere, everywhere, to remain still 'Your most affectionate, 'FITS GOSLING. '

Dear Aunt Kitty! One of her failings was never to be able to keep aletter to herself. She fairly cried over her boy's troubles; and Mrs. Ponsonby would not have known whether to laugh or cry but for James'sdoleful predictions, which were so sentimental as to turn even hisgrandmother to the laughing party, and left him no sympathizer butMary, who thought it very hard and cruel to deride Louis when he wastrying so earnestly to be good and suffering so much. Why should theyall--Aunt Catharine herself--be merry over his thinking the spring-daysof his life past away, and trying so nobly and patiently to resignhimself?

'It is the way of the world, Mary, ' said James. 'People think they arelaughing at the mistaking a flock of sheep for the army of Pentapolinof the naked arm, when they are really sneering at the lofty spirittaking the weaker side. They involve the sublime temper in theridiculous accident, and laugh both alike to scorn. '

'Not mamma and Aunt Catharine, ' said Mary. 'Besides, is not half theharm in the world done by not seeing where the sublime is invaded bythe ridiculous?'

'I see nothing ridiculous in the matter, ' said James. 'His father hasdemanded an unjustifiable sacrifice. Fitzjocelyn yields and suffers. '

'I do believe Lord Ormersfield must relent; you see how pleased he is, saying that Louis's conduct is exemplary. '

'He would sacrifice a dozen sons to one prejudice!'

'Perhaps Miss Conway will overcome the prejudice. I am sure, if hethinks Louis's conduct exemplary, Louis must have the sort of happinesshe used to wish for most, and his father would do his very best togratify him. '

That sentence was Mary's cheval de bataille in her discussions withJames, who could never be alone with her without broaching the subject. The two cousins often walked together during James's month atNorthwold. The town church was not very efficiently served, and wasonly opened in the morning and late evening on Sundays, without anyafternoon prayers, and James was often in the habit of walking toOrmersfield church for the three o'clock service, and asking Mary tojoin him. Their return was almost always occupied in descriptions ofMiss Conway's perfections, and Mary learnt to believe that two beings, evidently compounded of every creature's best, must be destined foreach other. 

'How well it is, ' she thought, 'that I did not stand in the way. Oh!how unhappy and puzzled I should be now. How thankful I am that dearmamma understood all for us so well! How glad I am that Louis iswaiting patiently, not doing anything self-willed. As long as hisfather says he is exemplary, it must make one happy, and mamma willconvince Lord Ormersfield. It will all turn out well; and howdelightful it will be to see him quite happy and settled!'

Mary and her mother had by this time taken root at Dynevor Terrace, andformed an integral part of the inhabitants. Their newspaper went theround of the houses, their name was sent to the Northwold book-club andenrolled among the subscribers to local charities, and Miss MercyFaithfull found that their purse and kitchen would bear deeper haulsthan she could in general venture upon. Mary was very happy, workingunder her, and was a welcome and cheerful visitor to the many sick, aged, and sorrowful to whom she introduced her. 

If Mary could only have induced Aunt Melicent to come and see with herown eyes, to know Mrs. Frost and the Faithfull sisters, and, above all, to see mamma in her own house, she thought one of her most eager wisheswould have been fulfilled. But invite as she and her mother might, they could not move Miss Ponsonby from Bryanstone Square. Railroadsand country were both her dread; and she was not inclined, to overcomeher fears on behalf of a sister-in-law whom she forgave, but could notlove. 

'You must give it up, my dear, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 'I let the timefor our amalgamation pass. Melicent and I were not tolerant of eachother. Since she has given you back to me, I can love and respect heras I never did before; but a little breach in youth becomes too wide inage for either repentance or your affection, my dear, to be able tospan it. '

Mary saw what a relief it was that the invitations were not accepted, and though she was disappointed, she blamed herself for having wishedotherwise. Tranquillity was such a boon to that wearied spirit, eachday was so much gain that went by without the painful, fluttered lookof distress, and never had Mrs. Ponsonby had so much quiet enjoymentwith her daughter and her aunt. Mary was perfectly contented in seeingher better, and had no aims beyond the present trivial, commonplacelife, with so many to help by little ordinary services, and her motherserene and comfortable. Placid, and yet active, she went busilythrough the day, and did not forget the new pleasures to which Louishad opened her mind. She took up his books without a pang, and wouldsay, briskly and unblushingly, to her mother, how strange it was thatbefore she had been with him, she had never liked at all, what she nowcared for so much. 

The winter portended no lack of excitement. Miss Faithfull's roomswere engaged. When Miss Mercy ran in breathless to Mrs. Frost with thetidings, she little knew what feelings were excited; the hope and fear, the doubt and curiosity; the sense of guilt towards the elder nephew, in not preventing what she could not prevent, the rejoicing on behalfof the younger nephew; the ladylike scorn of the motives that broughtthe lodgers; yet the warm feeling towards what was dear to Louis andadmired by Jem. 

What a flapping and battering of carpets on the much-enduring stump!What furious activity of Martha! What eager help of little Charlotte, who was in a perfect trepidation of delight at the rumour that a realbeauty, fit for a heroine, was coming! What trotting hither andthither of Miss Mercy! What netting of blinds and stitching of chintzby Miss Salome! What envy and contempt on the part of other landladieson hearing that Miss Faithfull's apartments were engaged for the wholewinter! What an anxious progress was Miss Mercy's, when she conductedMrs. Frost and Mary to a final inspection! and what was her triumphwhen Mary, sitting down on the well-stuffed arm-chair, pronounced thatpeople who would not come there did not understand what comfort was. 

Every living creature gazed--Mrs. Frost through her blind, Mary behindher hydrangea in the balcony, Charlotte from her attic window, --whenthe lodgers disembarked in full force--two ladies, two children, onegoverness, three maids, two men, two horses, one King Charles'sspaniel! Let it be what it might, it was a grand windfall for the MissFaithfulls. 

Mary's heart throbbed as the first carriage thundered upon the gravel, and a sudden swelling checked her voice as she was about to exclaim'There she is!' when the second lady emerged, and moved up the gardenpath. She was veiled and mantled; but accustomed as was Mary's eye tothe Spanish figure and walk, the wonderful grace of movement anddeportment struck her as the very thing her eye had missed ever sinceshe left Peru. What the rest of the strangers were like, she knew not;she had only eyes for the creature who had won Louis's affection, anddoubtless deserved it, as all else that was precious. 

'So they are come, Charlotte, ' said Mrs. Frost, as the maiden demurelybrought in the kettle. 

'Yes, ma'am;' and stooping to put the kettle on, and growingcarnation-coloured over the fire. 'Oh, ma'am, I never saw such a younglady. She is all one as the king's sister in The Lord of the Isles!'

While the object of all this enthusiasm was arriving at the Terrace, she was chiefly conscious that Sir Roland was sinking down on theramparts of Acre, desperately wounded in the last terrible siege; andshe was considering whether palmer or minstrel should carry the tidingsof his death to Adeline. It was her refuge from the unpleasantfeelings, with which she viewed the experiment of the Northwold bathsupon Louisa's health. As the carriage stopped, she cast one glance atthe row of houses, they struck her as dreary and dilapidated; she drewher mantle closer, shivered, and walked into the house. 'Small rooms, dingy furniture-that is mamma's affair, ' passed through her mind, asshe made a courteous acknowledgment of Miss Mercy's greeting, and stoodby the drawing-room fire. 'Roland slowly awoke from his swoon; awhite-robed old man, with a red eight-pointed cross on his breast, wasbending over him. He knew himself to be in--I can't remember whichtower the Hospitallers defended. I wonder whether Marianne can findthe volume of Vertot. '

'Isabel, Isabel!' shrieked Virginia, who, with Louisa, had been roamingeverywhere, 'here is a discovery in the school-room! Come!'

It was an old framed print of a large house, as much of a sham castleas the nature of things would permit; and beneath were the words'Cheveleigh, the seat of Roland Dynevor, Esquire. '

'There!' cried Virginia; 'you see it is a castle, a dear old feudalcastle! Think of that, Isabel! Why, it is as good as seeing SirRoland himself, to have seen Mr. Dynevor Frost disinherited. Oh! ifhis name were only Roland, instead of that horrid James!'

'His initials are J. R. , ' said Isabel. 'It is a curious coincidence. '

'It only wants an Adeline to have the castle now, ' said Louisa. 'Oh!there shall be an heiress, and she shall be beautiful, and he shan't gocrusading--he shall marry her. '

The sisters had not been aware that the school-room maid, who had beensent on to prepare, was busy unpacking in a corner of the room. 'Theysay, Miss Louisa, ' she interposed, 'that Mr. Frost is going to bemarried to a great heiress--his cousin, Miss Ponsonby, at No. 7. '

Isabel requited the forwardness by silently leaving the room with thesisters, and Virginia apologized for not having been more cautious thanto lead to such subjects. 'It is all gossip, ' she said, angrily; 'Mr. Dynevor would never marry for money. '

'Nay, let us find in her an Adeline, ' said Isabel. 

The next day, Miss Mercy had hurried into No. 7, to declare that theladies were all that was charming, but that their servants gavethemselves airs beyond credence, especially the butler, who played theguitar, and insisted on a second table; when there was a peal of thebell, and Mary from her post of observation 'really believed it wasLady Conway herself;' whereupon Miss Mercy, without listening topersuasions, popped into the back drawing room to effect her retreat. 

Lady Conway was all eagerness and cordiality, enchanted to renew heracquaintance, venturing so early a call in hopes of prevailing on Mrs. Ponsonby to come out with her to take a drive. She conjured uprecollections of Mary's childhood, declared that she looked to her fordrawing Isabel out, and was extremely kind and agreeable. Mary thoughther delightful, with something of Louis's charm of manner; and Mrs. Ponsonby believed it no acting, for Lady Conway was sincerely affableand affectionate, with great warmth and kindness, and might have beenall that was excellent, had she started into life with a different codeof duty. 

So there was to be an intimacy. For Fitzjocelyn's sake, as well as forthe real good-nature of the advances, Mrs. Ponsonby would not shrinkback more than befitted her self-respect. Of that quality she had lessthan Mrs. Frost, who, with her innate punctilious spirit, avoided allfavours or patronage. It was curious to see the gentle old lady fireup with all the dignity of the Pendragons, at the least peril ofincurring an obligation, and, though perfectly courteous, easy, andobliging, she contrived to keep at a greater distance than if she hadbeen mistress of Cheveleigh. There, she would have remembered thatboth she and Lady Conway were aunts to Louis; at Northwold, her carewas to become beholden for nothing that she could not repay. 

Lady Conway did her best, when driving out with Mrs. Ponsonby, to drawher into confidence. There were tender reminiscences from her heart ofpoor sweet Louisa, tearful inquiries respecting her last weeks, certainties that Mrs. Ponsonby had been of great use to her; for, poordarling, she had been thoughtless--so much to turn her head. There wascause for regret in their own education--there was then so much lessattention to essentials. Lady Conway could not have borne to bring upher own girls as she herself and her sisters had grown up; she hadchosen a governess who made religion the first object, and she wasdelighted to see them all so attached to her; she had never had anyfears of their being too serious--people had learnt to be reasonablenow, did not insist on the impracticable, did not denounce moderategaieties, as had once been done to the alarm of poor Louisa. 

Sweetest Louisa's son! She could not speak too warmly of him, and shedeclared herself highly gratified by Mr. Mansell's opinion of hismodesty, attention, and good sense. Mr. Mansell was an excellentjudge, he had such as opinion of Lord Ormersfield's public character. 

And, at a safe interval, she mentioned the probability that Beauchastelmight be settled on Isabel, if she should marry so as to please Mr. Mansell: he cared for connexion more than for wealth; if he had aweakness, it was for rank. 

Mrs. Ponsonby thought it fair that the Earl should be aware of thesefacts. He smiled ironically. 

He left his card with his sister-in-law, and, to have it over whileLouis was safe at Oxford, invited the party to spend a day atOrmersfield, with Mrs. Frost to entertain them. He was far tooconsiderate of the feelings that he attributed to the Ponsonbys to askthem to come; and as three out of the six in company were more or lessin a state of haughtiness and coolness, Lady Conway's graces failedentirely; and poor innocent Virginia and Louisa protested that they hadnever spent so dull a day, and that they could not believe their cousinFitzjocelyn could belong to such a tiresome place. 

Isabel, who had undergone more dull days than they had, contrived toget through it by torturing Adeline with utter silence of all tidingsfrom the East, and by a swarm of suitors, with the fantastic Viscountforemost. She never was awake from her dream until Mr. Holdsworth cameto dinner, and was so straightforward and easy that he thawed every one. 

Afterwards, he never failed to return an enthusiastic reply to thequestion that all the neighbourhood were asking each other--namely, whether they had seen Miss Conway. 

No one was a more devoted admirer than the Lady of Eschalott, whosewebs had a bad chance when there was one glimpse of Miss Conway to beobtained from the window, and the vision of whose heart was that Mrs. Martha might some day let her stand in the housemaid's closet, tobehold her idol issue forth in the full glory of an evening dress--athing Charlotte had read of, but never seen anything nearer to it thanMiss Walby coming to tea, and her own Miss Clara in the scantiest ofall white muslins. 

But Mrs. Martha was in an unexampled state of vixenish crossness, andsnapped venomously at mild Mrs. Beckett for the kindest offers ofsparing Charlotte to assist her in her multiplied labours. She seemedto be running after time all day long, with five dinners and teas uponher hands, poor woman, and allowing herself not the slightestrelaxation, except to rush in for a few seconds to No. 7, to indulgeherself by inveighing against the whole of the fine servants; and yetshe was so proud of having lodgers at all, that she hated them fornothing so much as for threatening to go away. 

The object of her bitterest invectives was the fastidious butler, Mr. Delaford, who by her account could do nothing for himself, grudged hermistresses their very sitting-room, drank wine with the ladies' maidslike a gentleman, and ordered fish for the second table; talked ofhaving quitted a duke, and submitting to live with Lady Conway becausehe compassionated unprotected females, and my Lady was dependent on himfor the care of Sir Walter in the holidays. To crown his offences, henever cleaned his own plate, but drew sketches and played the guitar!Moreover, Mrs. Martha had her notions that he was making that sicklyFrenchified maid of Miss Conway's much too fond of him; and as to hiscalling himself Mr. Delaford--why, Mrs. Martha had a shrewd suspicionthat he was some kin to her first cousin's brother-in-law's shopman'swife in Tottenham-court-road, whose name she knew was Ford, and who hadbeen picked out of a gutter! The establishment of such a fact appearedas if it would be the triumph of Mrs. Martha's life. In the meantime, she more than hinted that she would wear herself to the bone ratherthan let Charlotte Arnold into the house; and Jane, generallyassenting, though seldom going all lengths, used to divert theconversation by comparisons with Mr. Frampton's politeness andconsideration. He never came to No. 5 to give trouble, only to help. 

The invectives produced on Charlotte's mind an effect the reverse ofwhat was intended. Mr. Delaford, a finer gentleman than Mr. Framptonand Mr. Poynings, must be a wonder of nature. The guitar--redolent ofserenades and Spanish cloaks--oh! but once to see and hear it! The veryrudeness of Mrs. Martha's words, so often repeated, gave her a feelingin favour of their object. She had known Mrs. Martha unjust before. Poor Tom! if he had only been a Spaniard, he would have sung about thewhite dove--his pretty thought--in a serenade, but then he might havepoignarded Mr. James in his passion, which would have been lessagreeable--she supposed he had forgotten her long ago--and so much thebetter!

It was a Sunday evening. Every one was gone to church exceptCharlotte, who was left to keep house. Though November, it was notcold, the day had been warm and showery, and the full moon had risen inthe most glorious brightness, riding in a sky the blue of which lookedalmost black by contrast with her brilliancy. Charlotte stood at theback door, gazing at the moon walking in brightness, and wandered intothe garden, to enjoy what to her was beyond all other delights, readingGessner's Death of Abel by moonlight. There was quite sufficientlight, even if she had not known the idyll almost by heart; and in atrance of dreamy, undefined delight, she stood beside the darkivy-covered wall, each leaf glistening in the moonbeams, which shed asubdued pearliness over her white apron and collar, paled but gave ashadowy refinement to her features, and imparted a peculiar soft goldengloss to the fair braids of hair on her modest brow. 

A sound of opening the back gate made her give one of her violentstarts; but before she could spring into the shelter of the house, shewas checked by the civil words, 'I beg your pardon, I was mistaken--Itook this for No. 8. '

'Three doors off--' began Charlotte, discovering, with a shy thrill ofsurprise and pleasure, that she had been actually accosted by the greatMr. Delaford; and the moonlight, quite as becoming to him as to her, made him an absolute Italian count, tall, dark, pale, and whiskered. He did not go away at once, he lingered, and said softly, 'I perceivethat you partake my own predilection for the moonlight hour. '

Charlotte would have been delighted, had it not been a great dealharder to find an answer than if the old Lord had asked her a question;but she simpered and blushed, which probably did just as well. Mr. Delaford supposed she knew the poet's lines--

 'How sweet the moonlight sleeps on yonder bank--'

'Oh yes, sir--so sweet!' exclaimed the Lady of Eschalott, under herbreath, though yonder bank was only represented by the chequer-work ofMrs. Ponsonby's latticed trellis; and Mr. Delaford proceeded to quotethe whole passage, in a deep mellow voice, but with a great deal ofaffectation; and Charlotte gasped, 'So beautiful!'

'I perceive that you have a fine taste for poetry, ' said Mr. Delaford, so graciously, that Charlotte presumed to say, 'Oh, sir! is it truethat you can play the guitar?'

He smiled upon her tone of veneration, and replied, 'a trifle--a littleinstrumental melody was a great resource. If his poor performancewould afford her any gratification, he would fetch his guitar. '

'Oh, sir--thank you--a psalm-tune, perhaps. It is Sunday--if you wouldbe so kind. '

He smiled superciliously as he regretted that his music was not of thatdescription, and Charlotte felt ready to sink into the earth at theindignity she had done the guitar in forgetting that it could accompanyanything but such songs as Valancourt sang to Emily. She begged hispardon humbly; and he declared that he had a great respect for a lady'sscruples, and should be happy to meet her another evening. 'If Mrs. Beckett would allow her, ' said Charlotte, overpowered with gratitude:'there would be the moon full to-morrow--how delightful!' He couldspare a short interval between the dinner and the tea; and with thispromise he took leave. 

Honest little Charlotte told Mrs. Beckett the whole story, and all hereager wishes for to-morrow evening; and Jane sighed and puzzledherself, and knew it would make Martha very angry, but could not helpbeing goodnatured. Jane had a great deference for Martha's strong, rough character; but then Martha had never lived in a great house, anddid not know 'what was what, ' nor the difference between 'low people'and upper servants. So Jane acted chaperon as far as her easydiscretion went, and had it to say to her own conscience, and to theangry Martha, that he never said one word that need offend any youngwoman. 

There was a terrible storm below-stairs in the House Beautiful at theidea of Delaford taking up with Mrs. Frost's littlekitchen-maid--Delaford, the lady's-maid killer par excellence, whereverLady Conway went, and whose coquetries whitened the cheeks of MissConway's poor Marianne, the object of his attentions whenever he had noone else in view. He had not known Charlotte to be a kitchen-maid whenhe first beheld her, and her fair beauty and retiring grace had hadfull scope, assisted by her veneration for himself; and now the scornof the grand Mrs. Fanshawe, and the amusement of teasing Marianne, onlymade him the more bent on patronizing 'the little rustic, ' as he calledher. He was deferential to Mrs. Beckett, who felt herself in herelement in discussing plate, china, and large establishments with him;and he lent books, talked poetry, and played the guitar to Charlotte, and even began to take her portrait, with her mouth all on one side. 

Delaford was an admirable servant, said the whole Conway family; he wastrusted as entirely as he represented, and Lady Conway often gave himcharge over her son in sports and expeditions beyond ladies'management: he was, in effect, nearly the ruler of the household, andnever allowed his lady to go anywhere if he did not approve. If it hadnot been for the 'little rustic's' attractions, perhaps he might havemade strong demonstrations against the House Beautiful. Little didMiss Faithfull know the real cause of her receiving or retaining herlodgers. 

CHAPTER XV. 

MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 

 For better far than passion's glow, Or aught of worldly choice, To listen His own will to know, And, listening, hear his voice. The Angel of Marriage--REV. I. WILLIAMS. 

The friendships that grew up out of sight were far more effective thananything that Lady Conway could accomplish on the stage. Miss King andthe Miss Faithfulls found each other out at once, and the governess wasentreated to knock at the door at the bottom of the stairs whenever herpupils could spare her. 

Then came eager wishes from her pupils to be admitted to the snuggery, and they were invited to see the curiosities. Isabel believed the'very good' was found, and came with her sisters. She begged to beallowed to help in their parish work, under Miss Mercy Faithfull'sguidance; and Sir Roland stood still, while she fancied she waslearning to make little frocks, but really listening to theirrevelations of so new a world. She went out with Miss Mercy--sheundertook a class and a district, and began to be happier than everbefore; though how much of the absolute harder toil devolved on MissKing, neither she nor the governess understood. 

This led to intercourse with Mary Ponsonby; and Isabel was a verydifferent person in that homely, friendly parlour, from the lofty, frigid Miss Conway of the drawing-room. Cold hauteur melted beforeMary's frank simplicity, and they became friends as fast as two ladiescould beyond the age of romantic plunges, where on one side there wasgood-will without enthusiasm, on the other enthusiasm and reserve. They called each other 'Miss Conway' and 'Miss Ponsonby, ' and exchangedno family secrets; but they were, for all that, faster friends thanyoung ladies under twenty might imagine. 

One winter's day, the crisp, exhilarating frost had lured them faralong the high road beyond Mr. Calcott's park palings, talking overIsabel's favourite theme, what to wish for her little brother, when thesound of a large clock striking three made Isabel ask where she was. 

'It was the stable clock at Ormersfield, ' said Mary, 'did you not knowwe were on that road?'

'No, I did not. ' And Isabel would have turned, but Mary begged her totake a few steps up the lane, that they might see how LordFitzjocelyn's new cottages looked. Isabel complied, and added, after apause, 'Are you one of Lord Fitzjocelyn's worshippers?'

'I should not like to worship any one, ' said Mary, lookingstraightforward. 'I am very fond of him, because I have known him allmy life. And he is so good!'

'Then I think I may consider you exempt! It is the only fault I haveto find with Northwold. You are the only person who does not raveabout him--the only person who has not mentioned his name. '

'Have I not? I think that was very unkind of me--'

'Very kind to me, ' said Isabel. 

'I meant, to him, ' said Mary, blushing; 'if you thought that I did notthink most highly of him--'

'Don't go on! I was just going to trust to you for a calm, dispassionate statement of his merits, and I shall soon lose all myfaith in you. '

'My mother--' began Mary; but just then Lord Ormersfield came forthfrom one of the cottages, and encountered the young ladies. Heexplained that Fitzjocelyn was coming home next week, and he had cometo see how his last orders had been executed, since Frampton and thecarpenter had sometimes chosen to think for themselves. He was veryanxious that all should be right, and, after a few words, revealed aperplexity about ovens and boilers, in which Mary's counsel would beinvaluable. So, with apologies and ceremonies to Miss Conway, theyentered, and Isabel stood waiting in the dull kitchen, smelling of rawplaster, wondering at the extreme eagerness of the discussion with themason over the yawning boiler, the Earl referring to his son's letter, holding it half-a-yard off, and at last giving it to Mary to decipherby the waning light. 

So far had it waned, that when the fixtures had all been inspected, Lord Ormersfield declared that the young ladies must not return alone, and insisted on escorting them home. Every five minutes some onethought of something to say: there was an answer, and by good luck arejoinder; then all died away, and Mary pondered how her mother wouldin her place have done something to draw the two together, but shecould not. She feared the walk had made Isabel more adverse to allconnected with Ormersfield than even previously; for the Ormersfieldroad was avoided, and the question as to Fitzjocelyn's merits was neverrenewed. 

Mary thought his cause would be safest in the hands of his greatchampion, who was coming home from Oxford with him, and was to occupyhis vacation in acting tutor to little Sir Walter Conway. Louis came, the day after his return, with his father, to make visits in theTerrace, and was as well-behaved and uninteresting as morning callingcould make him. He was looking very well--his general health quiterestored, and his ankle much better; though he was still forbidden toride, and could not walk far. 

'You must come and see me, Aunt Kitty, ' he said; 'I am not availablefor coming in to see you. I'm reading, and I've made a resignation ofmyself, ' he added, with a slight blush, and debonnaire shrug, glancingto see that his father was occupied with James. 

They were to dine with Lady Conway on the following Tuesday. In theinterim, no one beheld them except Jem, who walked to Ormersfield onceor twice for some skating for his little pupil Walter, and came backreporting that Louis had sold himself, body and soul, to his father. 

Clara came home, a degree more civilized, and burning to confide toLouis that she had thought of his advice, had been the less miserablefor it, and had much more on which to consult him. She could notconceive why even grandmamma would not consent to her accompanying theskaters; though she was giving herself credit for protesting that shewas not going on the ice, only to keep poor Louis company, while theothers were skating. 

She was obliged to defer her hopes of seeing him until Tuesday, whenshe had been asked to drink tea in the school-room, and appear in theevening. Mrs. Frost had consented, as a means of exempting herselffrom the party. And Clara's incipient feminine nature began to flutterat her first gaiety. The event was magnified by a present from Jem, ofa broad rose-coloured sash and white muslin dress, with a caution thatshe was not to consider the tucks up to the waist as a provision forfuture growth. 

She flew to exhibit the finery to the Miss Faithfulls, and to consulton the making-up, and, to her consternation, was caught by Miss Conwaykneeling on the floor, being measured by Miss Salome. To Isabel, therewas a sort of touching novelty in the simplicity that could glory inpink ribbon when embellished by being a brother's gift; she looked onwith calm pleasure at such homely excitement, and even fetched somebows of her own, for examples, and offered to send Marianne down withpatterns. 

Clara was enchanted to recognise in Miss Conway the vision of theEuston-square platform. The grand, quiet style of beauty was exactlyfitted to impress a mind like hers, so strongly imbued with sentimentslike those of Louis, and regarding Isabel as necessarily Louis'sdestiny, she began to adore her accordingly, with a girl-reverence, quite as profound, far more unselfish, and little less ardent than thatof man for woman. That a female vision of perfection should engrossClara's imagination, was a step towards softening her; but, poor child!the dawn of womanhood was to come in a painful burst. 

Surprised at her own aspect, with her light hair dressed by Jane andwreathed with ivy leaves by grandmamma, and her skirts so full that shecould not refrain from making a gigantic cheese, she was inspected andadmired by granny and Jane, almost approved by Jem himself; and, exalted by the consciousness of being well-dressed, she repaired to theschool-room tea at the House Beautiful. 

Virginia and Louisa were, she thought, very poor imitations of Louis'scountenance--the one too round, the other too thin and sallow; but boththey, their brother, and Miss King were so utterly unlike anything atschool, that she was at once at ease, and began talking with Walterover schoolboy fun, in which he could not be a greater proficient thanherself. Walter struck up a violent friendship for her on the spot, and took to calling her 'a fellow, ' in oblivion of her sex; andVirginia and Louisa fell into ecstasies of laughter, which encouragedClara and Walter to compote with each other which should most astonishtheir weak minds. 

In the drawing-room, Lady Conway spoke so graciously, that Clara, wasquite distressed at looking over her head. Mary looked somewhatoppressed, saying her mother had not been so well that day; and she wasdisposed to keep in the background, and occupy herself with Clara; butit was quite contrary to the Giraffe's notions to be engrossed by anyone when Louis was coming. As if she had divined Mary's intentions ofkeeping her from importuning him, she was continually gazing at thedoor, ready at once to claim his attention. 

At first, the gentlemen only appeared in a black herd at the door, where Mr. Calcott had stopped Lord Ormersfield short, in his eagernessto impress on him the views of the county on a police-bill in course ofpreparation for the next session. The other magistrates congregatedround; but James Frost and Sydney Calcott had slipped past, to thepiano where Lady Conway had sent Miss Calcott and Isabel. 'Why did notFitzjocelyn, come too?' was murmured by the young group in the recessopposite the door; and when at last he became visible, leaning againstthe wall, listening to the Squire, Virginia declared he was going toserve them just as he used at Beauchastel. 

'Oh, no! he shan't--I'll rescue him!' exclaimed Clara; and leaping upto her cameleopard attitude, she sprang forward, and, with a voiceaudible in an unlucky lull of the music, she exclaimed, 'Louis! Louis!don't you see that I am here?'

As he turned, with a look of surprise and almost rebuke, her own wordscame back to her ears as they must have sounded to others; her facebecame poppy-coloured, nothing light but her flaxen eyebrows; and shescarcely gave her hand to be shaken. 'No, I did not know you werecoming, ' he said; and almost partaking her confusion, as he felt alleyes upon her, he looked in vain for a refuge for her. 

How welcome was Mary's kind face and quiet gesture, covering poorClara's retreat as she sank into a dark nook, sheltered by the oldblack cabinet! Louis thanked Mary by a look, as much as to say, 'Justlike you, ' and was glad to perceive that James had not been present. He had gone to ask Miss Faithfull to supply the missing stanzas of aJacobite song, and just then returned, saying that she knew them, butcould not remember them. 

Fitzjocelyn, however, capped the fragment, and illustrated it with someanecdotes that interested Miss Conway. James had great hopes that shewas going to see him to the best advantage, but still there was a greatdrawback in the presence of Sydney Calcott. Idolized at home, successful abroad, young Calcott had enough of the prig to be aperpetual irritation to Jem Frost, all the more because he could nevermake Louis resent, nor accept, as other than natural, the goodnaturedsupercilious patronage of the steady distinguished senior towards theidle junior. 

Jacobite legends and Stuart relics would have made Miss Conwayoblivious of everything else; but Sydney Calcott must needs divert theconversation from that channel by saying, 'Ah! there Fitzjocelyn is inhis element. He is a perfect handbook to the byways of history. '

'For the diffusion of useless knowledge?' said Louis. 

'Illustrated by the examination, when the only fact you could adduceabout the Argonauts was that Charles V. Founded the order of the GoldenFleece. '

'I beg your pardon; it was his great-grandfather. I had read myQuentin Durward too well for that. '

'I suspect, ' said Isabel, 'that we had all rather be examined in ourQuentin Durward than our Charles V. 

'Ah!' said young Calcott, 'I had all my dates at my fingers' ends whenI went up for the modern history prize. Now my sister could beat me. '

'A proof of what I always say, ' observed Louis, 'that it is lost labourto read for an examination. '

'From personal experience?' asked Sydney. 

'A Strasburg goose nailed down and crammed before a fire, becomes aStrasburg pie, ' said Louis. 

Never did Isabel look more bewildered, and Sydney did not seem at onceto catch the meaning. James added, 'A goose destined to fulfil theterm of existence is not crammed, but the pie stimulus is not requiredto prevent it from starving. '

'Is your curious and complimentary culinary fable aimed against readingor against examinations?' asked Sydney. 

'Against neither; only against the connecting preposition. '

'Then you mean to find a superhuman set of students?'

'No; I'm past that. Men and examinations will go on as they are; thegoose will run wild, the requirements will be increased, he will nailhimself down in his despair; and he who crams hardest, and has thehottest place will gain. '

'Then how is the labour lost?' asked Isabel. 

'You are new to Fitzjocelyn's paradoxes, ' said Sydney; as if gloryingin having made Louis contradict himself. 

'The question is, what is lost labour?' said Louis. 

Both Sydney Calcott and Miss Conway looked as if they thought he wasarguing on after a defeat. 'Calcott is teaching her his ownobtuseness!' thought James, in a pet; and he exclaimed, 'Is the aim tomake men or winners of prizes?'

'The aim of prizes is commonly supposed to be to make men, ' loftilyobserved Sydney. 

'Exactly so; and, therefore, I would not make them too analogous to theStrasburg system, ' said Louis. 'I would have them close, searching, but not admitting of immediate cramming. '

'Pray how would you bring that about?'

'By having no subject on which superficial knowledge could make a show. '

'Oh! I see whither you are working round! That won't do now, my dearfellow; we must enlarge our field, or we shall lay ourselves open tothe charge of being narrow-minded. '

'You have not strength of mind to be narrow-minded!' said Louis, shaking his head. 'Ah! well, I have no more to say; my trust is in thenarrow mind, the only expansive one--'

He was at that moment called away; Lord Ormersfield's carriage had beenannounced, and his son was not in a quarter of the room where he wishedto detain him. James could willingly have bitten Sydney Calcott forthe observation, 'Poor Fitzjocelyn! he came out strong to-night. '

'Very clever, ' said Isabel, wishing to gratify James. 

'Oh yes, very; if he had ever taken pains, ' said Sydney. 'There isoften something in his paradoxes. After all, I believe he is readinghard for his degree, is he not, Jem? His feelings would not be hurt bythe question, for he never piqued himself upon his consistency. '

Luckily for the general peace, the Calcott household was on the move, and Jem solaced himself on their departure by exclaiming, 'Well done, Strasburg system! A high-power Greek-imbibing machine, he may be, butas to comprehending Fitzjocelyn--'

'Nay, ' said Isabel, 'I think Lord Fitzjocelyn ought to carry about apocket expositor, if he will be so very startling. He did not stay totell us what to understand by narrow minds. '

'Did you ever hear of any one good for anything, that was not accusedof a narrow mind?' exclaimed James. 

'If that were what he meant, ' said Isabel, --'but he said his trust wasin the narrow mind--'

'In what is popularly so called, ' said James. 

'I think, ' said Mary, leaning forward, and speaking low, 'that he didnot mean it to be explained away. I think he was going to say that theheart may be wide, but the mind must be so far narrow, that it willaccept only the one right, not the many wrong. '

'I thought narrowness of mind consisted in thinking your own way theonly right one, ' said Isabel. 

'Every one says so, ' said Mary, 'and that is why he says it takesstrength of mind to be narrow-minded. Is not the real evil, thejudging people harshly, because their ways are not the same; not thebeing sure that the one way is the only right! Others may be betterthan ourselves, and may be led right in spite of their error, butsurely we are not to think all paths alike--

'And is that Lord Fitzjocelyn's definition of a narrow mind?' saidIsabel. 'It sounds like faith and love. Are you sure you did not makeit yourself, Miss Ponsonby?'

'I could not, ' said Mary, blushing, as she remembered one Sundayevening when he had said something to that effect, which had insensiblyoverthrown the theory in which she had been bred up, namely, that allthe sincere were right, and yet that, practically every one was to becensured, who did not act exactly like Aunt Melicent. 

She rose to take leave, and Clara clung to her, emerging from the shadeof her cabinet with colour little mitigated since her disappearance. James would have come with them, but was detained by Lady Conway for afew moments longer than it took them to put on their shawls; and Clarawould not wait. She dragged Mary down the steps into the darkness, andgroaned out, 'O Mary, he can never speak to me again!'

'My dear! he will not recollect it. It was very awkward, but newplaces and new people often do make us forget ourselves. '

'Everybody saw, everybody heard! O, I shall never bear to meet one ofthem again!'

'I think very few saw or heard--' began Mary. 

'He did! I did! That's enough! The rest is nothing! I have been asbad as any one at school! I shall never hold up my head there again asI have done, and Louis! Oh!'

'Dear child, it will not be remembered. You only forgot how tall youwere, and that you were not at home. He knows you too well to care. '

James shouted from behind to know why they had not been let into thehouse; and as Clara rushed in at the door and he walked on with Mary toleave her at home and fetch his grandmother, who had been spending theevening with Mrs. Ponsonby, he muttered, 'I don't know which is mostintolerable! He neglects her, talks what, if it be not nonsense, mightas well be; and as if she were not ready enough to misunderstand, Sydney Calcott must needs thrust in his wits to embroil herunderstanding. Mary! can't you get her to see the stuff he is made of?'

'If she cannot do that for herself, no persuasion of mine will makeher, ' said Mary. 

'No! you do not half appreciate him either! No one does! And yet youcould, if you tried, do something with her! I see she does not thinkyou prejudiced. You made an impression to-night. '

Mary felt some consternation. Could it depend on her? She couldspeak naturally, and from her heart in defence of Louis when occasionserved; but something within her forbade the thought of doing so on asystem. Was that something wrong! She could not answer; but contentedherself with the womanly intuition that showed her that anything ofpersuasion in the present state of affairs would be ineffectual andunbecoming. 

Meantime, Clara had fled to her little room, to bid her childhoodfarewell in a flood of bitter tears. 

Exaggerated shame, past disdain of the foibles of others, the fancythat she was publicly disgraced and had forfeited Louis's good opinion, each thought renewed her sobs; but the true pang was the perceptionthat old times were passed for ever. He might forgive, he would stillbe friend and cousin; but womanhood had broken on her, and shown thatperfect freedom was at an end. Happy for her that she wept but for theparting from a playfellow! Happy that her feelings were young andundeveloped, free from all the cruel permanence that earlier vanity orself-consciousness might have given; happy that it could be so freelywashed away! When she had spent her sobs, she could resolve to be wiseand steady, so as to be a fit governess to his children; and the tearsflowed at the notion of being so distant and respectful to hislordship. But what stories she could tell them of his boyhood! And inthe midst of--'Now, my dears, I will tell you about your papa when hewas a little boy, ' she fell asleep. 

That party was a thing to be remembered with tingling cheeks for life, and Clara dreaded her next meeting with Louis; but the days passed onwithout his coming to the Terrace, and the terror began to wear off, especially as she did not find that any one else remembered heroutbreak. Mary guarded against any unfavourable impression by a fewsimple words to Isabel and Miss King as to the brotherly terms that hadhitherto prevailed, and poor Clara's subsequent distress. Clara came infor some of the bright tints in which her brother was viewed at theHouse Beautiful; Walter was very fond of her, and she had been drawninto a friendship for Virginia, cemented in the course of long walks, when the schoolroom party always begged for Mr. And Miss Dynevor, because no one else could keep Walter from disturbing Louisa's nervesby teasing her pony or sliding on dubious ice. 

As Mrs. Ponsonby often joined in Lady Conway's drive, Mary and Isabelwere generally among the walkers; and Mary was considered by Louisa asan inestimable pony-leader, and an inexhaustible magazine of storiesabout sharks, earthquakes, llamas, and icebergs. 

James and Miss Conway generally had either book or principle todiscuss, and were usually to be found somewhat in the rear, either withor without Miss King. One day, however, James gave notice that heshould not be at their service that afternoon; and as soon as Walter'slessons had been despatched, he set out with rapid steps forOrmersfield Park, clenching his teeth together every now and then withhis determinate resolution that he would make Louis know his own mind, and would 'stand no nonsense. '

'Ah! James, good morning, ' said the Earl, as he presented himself inthe study. 'You will find Louis in his room. I wish you would makehim come out with you. He is working harder than is good for him. '

He spoke of his son far differently from former times; but Jem onlyreturned a judiciously intoned 'Poor fellow. '

Lord Ormersfield looked at him anxiously, and, hesitating, said, 'Youdo not think him out of spirits?'

'Oh, he carries it off very well. I know no one with so strong a senseof duty, ' replied Jem, never compassionate to the father. 

Again the Earl paused, then said, 'He may probably speak moreunreservedly to you than to me. '

'He shuns the topic. He says there is no use in aggravating thefeelings by discussion. He would fain submit in heart as well as inwill. '

Lord Ormersfield sighed, but did not appear disposed to say more; and, charitably hoping that a dagger had been implanted in him, Jem ranup-stairs, and found Louis sitting writing at a table, which looked asif Mary had never been near it. 

'Jem! That's right! I've not seen you this age. '

'What are you about?'

'I wanted particularly some one to listen. It is an essay on thePolice--'

'Is this earnest?'

'Sober earnest. Sir Miles and all that set are anxious to bring thematter forward, and my father has been getting it up, as he doeswhatever he may have to speak upon. His eyes are rather failing forcandle-light work, so I have been helping him in the evening, till itstruck me that it was a curious subject to trace in history, --theCensors, the attempts in Germany and Spain, to supply the defectivelaw, the Spanish and Italian dread of justice. I became enamoured ofthe notion, and when I have thrown all the hints together, I shall tryto take in my father by reading them to him as an article in theQuarterly. '

'Oh, very well. If your soul is there, that is an end of the matter. '

'Of what matter?'

'Things cannot run on in this way. It is not a thing to lay upon me togo on working in your cause with her when you will not stir a step inyour own behalf. '

'I am very much obliged to you, but I never asked you to work in mycause. I beg your pardon, Jem, don't fly into a Welsh explosion. Noone ever meant more kindly and generously--' He checked himself inamaze at the demonstration he had elicited; but, as it was notaccompanied with words, he continued, 'No one can be more grateful toyou than I; but, as far as I can see, there is nothing for it but to bethankful that no more harm has been done, and to let the matter drop;'and he dropped his hand with just so much despondency as to make Jemthink him worth storming at, instead of giving him up; and he went overthe old ground of Louis being incapable of true passion and unworthy ofsuch a being if he could yield her without an effort, merely for thesake of peace. 

'I say, Jem, ' said Louis, quietly, 'all this was bad enough on neutralground; it is mere treason under my father's own roof, and I will haveno more of it. '

'Then, ' cried James, with a strange light in his eyes, 'you henceforthrenounce all hopes--all pretensions?'

'I never had either hope or pretension. I do not cease to think her, as I always did, the loveliest creature I ever beheld. I cannot helpthat; and the state I fell into after being with her on Tuesday, convinced me that it is safest to stay here and fill up time andthought as best I may. '

'For once, Fitzjocelyn, ' said James, with a gravity not natural to him, 'I think better of your father than you do. I would neither treat himas so tyrannical nor so prejudiced as your conduct supposes him. '

'How? He is as kind as possible. We never had so much in common. '

'Yes. Your submission so far, and the united testimony of the Terrace, will soften him. Show your true sentiments. A little steadiness andperseverance, and you will prevail. '

'Don't make me feverish, Jem. '

A summons to Lord Fitzjocelyn to come down to a visitor in the librarycut short the discussion, and James took leave at once, neither cousinwishing to resume the conversation. 

The darts had not been injudiciously aimed. The father and son wereboth rendered uneasy. They had hitherto been unusually comfortabletogether, and though the life was unexciting, Louis's desire to beuseful to his father, and the pressing need of working for his degree, kept his mind fairly occupied. Though wistful looks might sometimes beturned along the Northwold road, when he sallied forth in the twilightfor his constitutional walk, he did not analyse which number of theTerrace was the magnet, and he avoided testing to the utmost the powersof his foot. The affection and solicitude shown for him at homeclaimed a full return; nor had James been greatly mistaken in ascribingsomething to the facility of nature that yielded to force of character. But Jem had stirred up much that Louis would have been contented toleave dormant; and the hope that he had striven to excite came almostteazingly to interfere with the passive acquiescence of an indolentwill. Perturbed and doubtful, he was going to seek counsel as usual ofthe open air, as soon as the visitor was gone, but his father followedhim into the hall, asking whither he was going. 

'I do not know. I had been thinking of trying whether I can get as faras Marksedge. '

Marksedge would be fatal to the ankle, solitude to the spirits, thoughtthe Earl; and he at once declared his intention of walking with his sonas far as he should let him go. 

Louis was half vexed, half flattered, and they proceeded in silence, till conscious of being ruffled, and afraid of being ungracious, hemade a remark on the farm that they were approaching, and learnt inreturn that the lease was nearly out, the tenant did not want arenewal, and that Richardson intended to advertise. 

He breathed a wish that it were in their own hands, and this led to astatement of the condition of affairs, the same to which a year beforehe had been wilfully deaf, and to which he now attended chiefly for thesake of gratifying his father, though he better understood whatdepended on it. At least, it was making the Earl insensible to thespace they were traversing, and the black outlines of Marksedge wererising on him before he was aware. Then he would have turned, butLouis pleaded that having come so far, he should be glad to speak toMadison's grandfather, and one or two other old people, and heprevailed. 

Lord Ormersfield was not prepared for the real aspect of the hamlet. 

'Richardson always declared that the cottages were kept in repair, ' hesaid. 

'Richardson never sees them. He trusts to Reeves. '

'The people might do something themselves to keep the place decent. '

'They might; but they lose heart out of sight of respectability. Iwill just knock at this door--I will not detain you a moment. '

The dark smoky room, damp, ill-paved floor, and cracked walls producedtheir effect; and the name and voice of the inmate did more. LordOrmersfield recognised a man who had once worked in the garden, andcame forward and spoke, astonished and shocked to find him prematurelyold. The story was soon told; there had been a seasoning fever as awelcome to the half-reclaimed moorland; ague and typhus were frequentvisitors, and disabling rheumatism a more permanent companion tolabourers exhausted by long wet walks in addition to the daily toil. At an age less than that of the Earl himself, he beheld a bowed andbroken cripple. 

Fitzjocelyn perceived his victory, and forebore to press it toohastily, lest he should hurt his father's feelings; and walked onsilently, thinking how glad Mary would be to hear of this expedition, and what a pity it was that the unlucky passage of last August shouldhave interfered with their comfortable friendship. At last the Earlbroke silence by saying, 'It is very unfortunate;' and Louis echoed, 'Very. '

'My poor Uncle Dynevor! He was, without exception, the mostwrong-headed person I ever came in contact with, yet so excessivelyplausible and eager that he carried my poor father entirely along withhim. Louis! nothing is so ruinous as to surrender the judgment. '

Fully assenting, Louis wondered whether Marksedge would serve nopurpose save the elucidation of this truism, and presently anotherensued. 

'Mischief is sooner done than repaired. As I have been allowing you, there has never been ready money at command. '

'I thought there were no more mortgages to be paid off. The rents ofthe Fitzjocelyn estate and the houses in the lower town must come tosomething. '

He was then told how these, with his mother's fortune, had been setapart to form a fund for his establishment, and for the first time hewas shown the object of arrangements against which he had often inheart rebelled. His first impulse was to exclaim that it was a greatpity, and that he could not bear that his father should have deniedhimself on his account. 

'Do you think these things are sacrifices to me?' said the Earl. 'Myhabits were formed long ago. '

'Mine have been formed on yours, ' said Louis. 'I should be encumberedby such an income as you propose unless you would let me lay it out inmaking work for the men and improving the estate, and that I had ratheryou undertook, for I should be certain to do something preposterous, and then be sorry. '

'Mrs. Ponsonby judged rightly. It was her very advice. '

'Then!' cried Louis, as if the deed were done. 

'You would not find the income too large in the event of your marriage. '

'A most unlikely event!'

His father glanced towards him. If there had been a symptom ofunhappiness, relenting was near, but it so chanced that Marksedge wasreigning supreme, and he was chiefly concerned to set aside thesupposition as an obstacle to his views. The same notion as JamesFrost's occurred to the Earl, that it could not be a tenaciouscharacter which could so easily set aside an attachment apparently sofervent, but the resignation was too much in accordance with hisdesires to render him otherwise than gratified, and he listened withcomplacency to Louis's plans. Nothing was fixed, but there was anunderstanding that all should have due consideration. 

This settled, Louis's mind recurred to the hint which his father hadthrown out, and he wondered whether it meant that the presentcompliance might be further stretched, but he thought it more likely tobe merely a reference to ordinary contingencies. Things were far toocomfortable between him and his father to be disturbed by discussion, and he might ultimately succeed better by submitting, and leaving factsand candour to remove prejudice. 

To forget perplexity in the amusement of a mystification, he broughtdown his essay, concealing it ingeniously within a review flanked byblue-books, and, when Lord Ormersfield was taking out a pair ofspectacles with the reluctance of a man not yet accustomed to them, heasked him if he would like to hear an article on the Police question. 

At first the Earl showed signs of nodding, and said there was nothingto the purpose in all the historical curiosities at the outset, so thatLouis, alarmed lest he should absolutely drop asleep, skipped all hisfavourite passages, and came at once to the results of the recentinquiries. The Earl was roused. Who could have learnt those facts?That was telling--well put, but how did he get hold of it. The verything he had said himself--What Quarterly was it? Surely the Christmasnumber was not out. Hitherto Louis had kept his countenance and voice, but in an hiatus, where he was trying to extemporize, his father cameto look over his shoulder to see what ailed the book, and, glancingupwards with a merry debonnaire face, he made a gesture as if convicted. 

'Do you mean that this is your own composition?'

'I beg your pardon for the pious fraud!'

'It is very good! Excellently done!' said Lord Ormersfield. 'Thereare redundancies--much to betray an unpractised hand--but--stay, let mehear the rest--' Very differently did he listen now, broad awake, attacking the logic of every third sentence, or else double shotting itwith some ponderous word, and shaking his head at Utopian views ofcrime to be dried up at the fountain head. Next, he must hear thebeginning, and ruthlessly picked it to pieces, demolishing all theVehme Gericht and Santissima Hermandad as irrelevant, and, when he hadmade Louis ashamed and vexed with the whole production, astonishing himby declaring that it would tell, and advising him to copy it out fairwith these _little_ alterations. 

These _little_ alterations would, as he was well aware, evaporate allthe spirit, and though glad to have pleased his father, hisperseverance quailed before the task; but he said no more than thankyou. The next day, before he had settled to anything, Lord Ormersfieldcame to his room, saying, 'You will be engaged with your more importantstudies for the next few hours. Can you spare the paper you read to melast night?'

'I can spare it better than you can read it, I fear, ' said Louis, producing a mass of blotted MS in all his varieties of penmanship, andfeeling a sort of despair at the prospect of being brought to book onall his details. 

His father carried it off, and they did not meet again till late in theday, when the first thing Louis heard was, 'I thought it worth while tohave another opinion on your manuscript before re-writing it. I triedto read it to Mrs. Ponsonby, but we were interrupted, and I left itwith her. '

Presently after. 'I have made an engagement for you. Lady Conwaywishes that you should go to luncheon with her to-morrow. I believeshe wants to consult you about some birth-day celebration. '

Louis was much surprised, and somewhat entertained. 

'When will you have the carriage?' pursued the Earl. 

'Will not you come?'

'No, I am not wanted. In fact, I do not see how you can be required, but anything will serve as an excuse. In justice, however, I shouldadd that our friends at the Terrace are disposed to think well of theyounger part of the family. '

Except for the cold constraint of the tone, Louis could have thoughtmuch ground gained, but he was sure that his holiday would be damped byknowing that it was conceded at the cost of much distress anduneasiness. 

Going to Northwold early enough for a call at No. 5, he was greeted byMrs. Frost with, 'My dear! what have you been about? I never saw yourfather so much pleased in his life! He came in on purpose to tell me, and I thought it exceedingly kind. So you took him in completely. What an impudent rogue you always were!'

'I never meant it to go beyond the study. I was obliged to write itdown in self-defence, that I might know what he was talking of. '

'I believe he expects you to be even with Sydney Calcott after all. Itis really very clever. Where did you get all those funny stories?'

'What! you have gone and read it!'

'Ah, ha! Mrs. Ponsonby gave us a pretty little literary soiree. Don'tbe too proud, it was only ourselves, except that Mary brought in MissConway. Jem tried to read it, but after he had made that SpanishSociety into 'Hammer men dead, ' Mary got it away from him, and readthrough as if it had been in print. '

'What an infliction!'

'It is very disrespectful to think us so frivolous. We only wished allreviews were as entertaining. '

'It is too bad, when I only wanted to mystify my father. '

'It serves you right for playing tricks. What have you been doing tohim, Louis? You will turn him into a doting father before long. '

'What have you done with Clara?'

'She goes every day to read Italian with Miss Conway, and the governessis so kind as to give her drawing lessons. She is learning far morethan at school, and they are so kind! I should hardly know how toaccept it, but Jem does not object, and he is really very useful there, spends a great deal of time on the boy, and is teaching the youngladies Latin. '

'They are leaving you lonely in the holidays! You ought to come toOrmersfield, your nephews would take better care of you. '

'Ah! I have my Marys. If I were only better satisfied about the dearold one. She is far less well than when she came. '

'Indeed! Is Mary uneasy?'

'She says nothing, but you know how her eye is always on her, and shenever seems to have her out of her thoughts. I am afraid they areworried about Lima. From what Oliver says, I fear Mr. Ponsonby goes onworse than ever without either his family or his appointment to be arestraint. '

'I hope they do not know all! Mary would not believe it, that is onecomfort!'

'Ah, Louis! there are things that the heart will not believe, but whichcut it deeply! However, if that could be any comfort to them, hewishes them to spare nothing here. He tells them they may live at therate of five thousand pounds a-year, poor dears. Indeed, he and Oliverare in such glory over their Equatorial steam navigation, that I expectnext to hear of a crash. '

'You don't look as if it would be a very dreadful sound. '

'If it would only bring my poor Oliver back to me!'

'Yes--nothing would make Jem so civil to him as his coming floated inon a plank, wet through, with a little bundle in one hand and a parrotin the other. '

Mrs. Frost gave one of her tender laughs, and filled up the picture. 'Jane would open the door, Jane would know Master Oliver's black eyesin a moment--'No, no. _I_ must see him first! If he once looked up Icould not miss him, whatever colour he may have turned. I wonderwhether he would know me!'

'Don't you know that you grow handsomer every year, Aunt Kitty?'

'Don't flatter, sir. '

'Well, I most go to my aunt. '

He tarried to hear the welcome recital of all the kind deeds of thehouse of Conway. He presently found Lady Conway awaiting him in thedrawing-room, and was greeted with great joy. 'That is well! I hopedto work on your father by telling him I did not approve of young mencarrying industry too far--'

'That is not my habit. '

'Then it is your excuse for avoiding troublesome relations! No, not aword! I know nothing about the secret that occupied Isabel at Mrs. Ponsonby's select party. But I really wanted you. You are more aufait as to the society here than the Ponsonbys and Dynevors. Ah! whendoes that come off?'

'What is to come off?'

'Miss Ponsonby and Mr. Dynevor. What a good creature he is!'

'I cannot see much likelihood of it, but you are more on the scene ofaction. '

'She could do much better, with such expectations, but on his account Icould not be sorry. It is shocking to think of that nice young sisterbeing a governess. I think it a duty to give her every advantage thatmay tend to form her. With her connexions and education, I can have noobjection to her as a companion to your cousins, and with a fewadvantages, though she will never be handsome, she might marry well. They are a most interesting family. Isabel and I are most anxious to doall in our power for them. '

'Clara is obliged, ' said Louis, with undetected irony, but secretwonder at the dexterity with which the patronage must have beenadministered so as not to have made the interesting family fly off at atangent. 

Isabel made her appearance in her almost constant morning dress of softdove-coloured merino entirely unadorned, and looking more like a maidenin a romance than ever. She had just left Adeline standing on thesteps of a stone cross, exhorting the Provencals to arm against adescent of Moorish corsairs, and she held out her hand to Fitzjocelynmuch as Adeline did, when the fantastic Viscount professed hisintention of flying instead of fighting, and wanted her to sit behindhim on his courser. 

Lady Conway pronounced her council complete, and propounded the fetewhich she wished to give on the 12th of January in honour of Louisa'sbirthday. Isabel took up a pencil, and was lost in sketching waysidecrosses, and vessels with lateen sails, only throwing in a word or twohere and there when necessary. Dancing was still, Lady Conway feared, out of the question with Fitzjocelyn. 

'And always will be, I suspect. So much for my bargain with Clara todance with her at her first ball!'

'You like dancing?' exclaimed Isabel, rejoiced to find anotherresemblance to the fantastic Viscount. 

'Last year's Yeomanry ball was the best fun in the world!'

'There, Isabel, ' said Lady Conway, 'you ought to be gratified to find ayoung man candid enough to allow that he likes it! But since thatcannot be, I must find some other plan--'

'What cannot be?' exclaimed Louis. 'You don't mean to omit thedancing--'

'It could not be enjoyed without you. Your cousins and friends couldnot bear to see you sitting down--'

Isabel's lips were compressed, and the foam of her waves laughedscornfully under her pencil. 

'They must get accustomed to the melancholy spectacle, ' said Louis. 'Ido not mean to intermit the Yeomanry ball, if it take place while I amat home. The chaperons are the best company, after all. Reconsider it, my dear aunt, or you will keep me from coming at all. '

Lady Conway was only considering of tableaux, and Louis took fire atthe notion: he already beheld Waverley in his beloved Yeomanry suit, Isabel as Flora, Clara as Davie Gellatley--the character she would mostappreciate. Isabel roused herself to say that tableaux were very dullwork to all save the actors, and soon were mere weariness to them. Herstepmother told her she had once been of a different mind, when she hadbeen Isabel Bruce, kneeling in her cell, the ring before her. 'I wasyoung enough then to think myself Isabel, ' was her answer, and she drewthe more diligently because Fitzjocelyn could not restrain aninterjection, and a look which meant, 'What an Isabel she must havebeen!'

She sat passive while Lady Conway and Louis decked up a scene for FloraMacIvor; but presently it appeared that the Waverley of the piece wasto be, according to Louis, not the proper owner of the Yeomanryuniform, but James Frost. His aunt exclaimed, and the rehearsals werestrong temptation; but he made answer, 'No--you must not reckon on me:my father would not like it. '

The manful childishness, the childish manfulness of such a reply, wereimpenetrable. If his two-and-twenty years did not make him ashamed ofsaying so, nothing else could, and it covered a good deal. He knew thathis father's fastidious pride would dislike his making a spectacle ofhimself, and thought that it would be presuming unkindly on to-day'sliberty to involve himself in what would necessitate terms moreintimate than were desired. 

The luncheon silenced the consultation, which was to be a great secretfrom the children; but afterwards, when it was resumed, with theaddition of James Frost, Fitzjocelyn was vexed to find the tableauxdiscarded; not avowedly because he excluded himself from a share, butbecause the style of people might not understand them. Theentertainment was to be a Christmas-tree--not so hackneyed a spectaclein the year 1848 as in 1857--and Louis launched into a world ofcouplets for mottoes. Next came the question of guests, when LadyConway read out names from the card-basket, and Fitzjocelyn was infavour of everybody, till Jem, after many counter-statements, assuredLady Conway that he was trying to fill her rooms with the mostintolerable people in the world. 

'My aunt said she wanted to give pleasure. '

'Ah! there's nothing so inconvenient to one's friends as good nature. Who cares for what is shared indiscriminately?'

'I don't think I can trust Fitzjocelyn with my visiting-list just yet, 'said Lady Conway. 'You are too far above to be sensible of the gradesbeneath, with your place made for you. '

'Not at all, ' said Louis. 'Northwold tea-parties were my earliest, most natural dissipation; and I spoke for these good people for my ownpersonal gratification. '

'Nay, I can't consent to your deluding Lady Conway into Mrs. Walby. '

'If there be any one you wish me to ask, my dear Fitzjocelyn--' beganLady Conway. 

'Oh no, thank you; Jem is quite right. I might have been playing onyour unguarded innocence; but I am the worst person in the world toconsult; for all the county and all the town are so kind to me, that Idon't know whom I could leave out. Now, the Pendragon there will helpyou to the degree of gentility that may safely be set to consorttogether. '

'What an unkind fling!' thought Isabel. 

Louis took leave, exclaiming to himself on the stairs, 'There! ifcomporting oneself like a donkey before the object be a token, I'vedone it effectually. Didn't I know the exclusiveness of the woman?Yet, how could I help saying a word for the poor little Walbys? and, after all, if they were there, no one would speak to them but AuntKitty and I. And Isabel, I am sure she scorned the fastidiousnonsense; I saw it in her eye and lip. '

After a quarter of an hour spent in hearing her praises from MissFaithfull, he betook himself to Mrs. Ponsonby's, not quite withoutembarrassment, for he had not been alone with the mother and daughtersince August. 

'I am glad you did not come before, ' said Mary, heartily; 'I have justdone:' and she returned to her writing-table, while her mother wassaying, 'We like it very much. '

'You have not been copying that wretched concern!' exclaimed Louis. 'Why, Mary, you must have been at it all night. It is a week's work. '

'Copying is not composing, ' said Mary. 

'But you have mended it, made it consecutive! If I had guessed that myfather meant to trouble any one with it!'

'If you take pains with it, it may be very valuable, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 'We have marked a few things that you had better revisebefore it goes to Oakstead. '

'Goes to Oakstead!' said Louis, faintly. 

'Your father talks of sending it, to see if Sir Miles does not think itmight tell well in one of the Reviews. '

'I hope not. I should lose all my faith in anonymous criticism, ifthey admitted such a crude undergraduate's omnium gatherum! Besides, what an immense task to make it presentable!'

'Is that the root of your humility?'

'Possibly. But for very shame I must doctor it, if Mary has wasted somuch time over it. It does not look so bad in your hand!'

'It struck me whether you had rendered this Spanish story right. '

'Of course not. I never stuck to my dictionary. '

A sound dose of criticism ensued, tempered by repetitions of hisfather's pleasure, and next came some sympathy and discussion about thefarm and Marksedge, in which the ladies took their usual earnest part, and Mary was as happy as ever in hearing of his progress. He said noword of their neighbours; but he could not help colouring when Marysaid, as he wished her good-bye, 'We like the party in the HouseBeautiful so much! Miss Conway is such an acquisition to me! and theyare doing all you could ever have wished for Clara. '

Mary was glad that she had said it. Louis was not so glad. He thoughtit must have been an effort, then derided his vanity for thesupposition. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE

 Age, twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And call a train of laughing hours; And bid them dance, and bid them sing: And thou, too, mingle in the ring. WORDSWORTH

The 12th of January was the last day before James and Louis meant toreturn to Oxford, Jem taking Clara on from thence to school. It was tobe the farewell to Christmas--one much enjoyed in Dynevor Terrace. Fitzjocelyn's absence was almost a relief to Clara; she could not makeup her mind to see him till she could hope their last encounter hadbeen forgotten; and in the mean time, her anticipations were fixed onthe great 12th. She was aware of what the entertainment would consist, but was in honour bound to conceal her knowledge from Virginia andLouisa, who on their side affected great excitement and curiosity, andmade every ostentation of guessing and peeping. Gifts were smuggledinto the house from every quarter--some to take their chance, somedirected with mottoes droll or affectionate. Clara prepared a fewtrifles, in which she showed that school had done something for herfingers, and committed her little parcels to her brother's care; andMiss Mercy was the happiest of all, continually knocking at the lockeddoor of the back drawing-room with gilded fir cones, painted banners, or moss birds'-nests, from Miss Salome. 

Miss King and Isabel had undertaken the main business. When rousedfrom her pensive stillness, Isabel could be very eager, active, andanimated; and she worked with the exhilaration that she could freelyenjoy when unrestrained by perceiving that she was wanted to produce aneffect. What woman's height and hand could not perform fell to theshare of James, who, with his step-ladder and dexterous hands, wasinvaluable. Merrily, merrily did the three work, laughing over theirsuspended bonbons, their droll contrivances, or predicting theadaptations of their gifts; and more and more gay was the laugh, thetutor more piquant, the governess more keen and clever, the young ladymore vivacious, as the twilight darkened, and the tree became moreladen, and the streamers and glass balls produced a more brillianteffect. 

Proudly, when the task was accomplished, did they contemplate theirwork, and predict the aspect of their tinsel and frippery when dulylighted up. Then, as they dispersed to dress, James ran home, andhastily tapped at his sister's door. 

'What is the matter?' she cried. 'Have the tassels come off my purse?'

'Nothing of the kind, but--' he came quite in, and looked roundrestlessly, then hastily said, 'You gave me nothing for Miss Conway. '

'I wished it very much, ' said Clara, 'but I could not bear to doanything trumpery for her. Oh, if one could give her anything worthhaving!'

'Clara, I had thought--but I did not know if you would like to partwith it--'

'I had thought of it too, ' said Clara; 'but I thought you would notlike it to be given away. '

Pulling out a drawer, she opened an odd little box of queercuriosities, whence she took a case containing an exquisite ivorycarving, a copy of the 'Madonna della Sedia, ' so fine that a magnifieralone could fully reveal the delicacy and accuracy of the features andexpression. It was mounted as a bracelet clasp, and was a remnant ofpoor Mr. Dynevor's treasures. It had been given to Mrs. Henry Frost, and had descended to her daughter. 

'Should you be willing?' wistfully asked James. 

'That I should! I have longed to give her what she would really carefor. She has been so very kind--and her kindness is so very sweet inits graciousness! I shall always be the happier for the very thinkingof it. '

'I am glad--' began Jem, warmly; but, breaking off, he added--'Thiswould make us all more comfortable. It would lessen the weight ofobligation, and that would be satisfactory to you. '

'I don't know. I like people to be so kind, that I can't feel as if Iwould pay them off, but as if I could do nothing but love them. '

'You did not imagine that I rate this as repayment!'

'Oh! no, no!'

'No! it is rather that nothing can be too precious--' thenpausing--'You are sure you are willing, Clary?'

'Only too glad. I like it to be something valuable to us as well as initself. If I only had a bit of black velvet, I could set it up. '

In ten minutes, Jem had speeded to a shop and back again, and stood byas Clara stitched the clasp to the ribbon velvet; while there was anamicable dispute, he insisting that the envelope should bear only theinitials of the true donor, and she maintaining that 'he gave the blackvelvet. ' She had her way, and wrote, 'From her grateful C. F. D. AndJ. R. F. D. ;' and as James took the little packet, he thanked her withan affectionate kiss--a thing so unprecedented at an irregular hour, that Clara's heart leapt up, and she felt rewarded for any semblance ofsacrifice. 

He told his grandmother that he had agreed with his sister that theycould do no otherwise than present the ivory clasp; and Mrs. Frost, whohad no specially tender associations with it, was satisfied to findthat they had anything worth offering on equal terms. 

She was to be of the party, and setting forth, they, found the HouseBeautiful upside down--even the Faithfull parlour devoted to shawls andbonnets, and the two good old sisters in the drawing-room; Miss Salome, under the protection of little Louisa, in an easy chair, opposite thefolding doors. Small children were clustered in shy groups round theirrespective keepers. Lady Conway was receiving her guests with thesmile so engaging at first sight, Isabel moving from one to the otherwith stately grace and courtesy, Virginia watching for Clara, and bothbecoming merged in a mass of white skirts and glossy heads, occupying awide area. Mrs. Frost was rapturously surrounded by half-a-dozen youngmen, Sydney Calcott foremost, former pupils enchanted to see her, andkeeping possession of her all the rest of the evening. She was adangerous person to invite, for the Northwold youth had no eyes but forher. 

The children were presently taken down to tea in the dining-room byMiss King and Miss Mercy; and presently a chorus of little voices andpeals of laughter broke out, confirming the fact, whispered by Delafordto his lady, that Lord Fitzjocelyn had arrived, and had joined thedownstairs party. 

While coffee went round in the drawing-room, Isabel glided out toperform the lighting process. 

'Oh, Mr. Dynevor!' she exclaimed, finding him at her side, 'I did notmean to call you away. '

'Mere unreason to think of the performance alone, ' said James, settingup his trusty ladder. 'What would become of that black lace?'

'Thank you, it may be safer and quicker. '

'So far the evening is most successful, ' said Jem, lighting above asshe lighted below. 

'That it is! I like Northwold better than any place I have been insince I left Thornton Conway. There is so much more heartiness andfriendliness here than in ordinary society. 

'I think Fitzjocelyn's open sympathies have conduced--'

Isabel laughed, and he checked himself, disconcerted. 

'I beg your pardon, ' she said; 'I was amused at the force of habit. IfI were to say the Terrace chimneys did not smoke, you would say it wasLord Fitzjocelyn's doing. '

'Do not bid me do otherwise than keep him in mind. '

Down fell the highest candle: the hot wax dropping on Isabel's armcaused her to exclaim, bringing Jem down in horror, crying, 'I havehurt you! you are burnt!'

'Oh no, only startled. There is no harm done, you see, ' as she crackedaway the cooled wax--'not even a mark to remind me of this happyChristmas. '

'And it has been a happy Christmas to you, ' he said, remounting. 

'Most happy. Nothing has been so peaceful or satisfactory in mywandering life. '

'Shall I find you here at Easter?'

'I fear not. Mamma likes to be in London early; but perhaps she mayleave the school-room party here, as Louisa is gaining so much ground, and that would be a pledge of our return. '

'Too much joy, ' said James, almost inaudibly. 

'I hope Walter may spend his holidays here, ' she pursued. 'It is agreat thing for him to be with any one who can put a few right notionsinto his head. '

Jem abstained from, as usual, proposing Fitzjocelyn for his example, but only said that Walter was very susceptible of good impressions. 

'And most heartily we thank you for all you have done for him, ' saidIsabel, doubting whether Walter's mother appreciated the full extent ofit; 'indeed, we have all a great deal to thank you for. I hope mysisters and I may be the better all our lives for the helps andexplanations you have given to us. Is that the last candle? Howbeautiful! We must open. '

'Miss Conway--'

'Yes'--she paused with her hand on the key. 

'No, no--do not wait, ' taking the key himself. 'Yet--yes, I must--Imust thank you for such words--'

'My words?' said Isabel, smiling. 'For thanking you, or being happyhere?'

'Both! both! Those words will be my never-failing charm. You littleguess how I shall live on the remembrance. Oh, if I could only conveyto you what feelings you have excited--'

The words broke from him as if beyond his control, and under thepressing need of not wasting the tapers, he instinctively unlocked thedoor as he spoke, and cut himself short by turning the handle, perhapswithout knowing what he was about. 

Instantly Lady Conway and Miss King each pushed a folding leaf, Isabeland James drew back on either side, and the spectators beheld the tallglistening evergreen, illuminated with countless little spires oflight, glancing out among the dark leaves, and reflected from the giltfir-cones, glass balls, and brilliant toys. 

'Sister! sister!' cried Miss Mercy, standing by Miss Faithfull's chair, in the rear of the throng, and seizing her hand in ecstasy; 'it is likea dream! like what we have read of! Oh, the dear little children! Sovery kind of Lady Conway! Could you have imagined--?' She quite gasped. 

'It is very pretty, but it was a nicer Christmas-tree last year at LadyRunnymede's, ' said Louisa, with the air of a critic. 'There we hadcoloured lamps. '

'Little fastidious puss!' said Louis, 'I thought you keeping in thebackground out of politeness; but I see you are only blasee withChristmas-trees. I pity you! I could no more be critical at such amoment than I could analyse the jewels in Aladdin's cave. '

'Oh, if you and Miss Faithfull talk, Cousin Fitzjocelyn, you will makeit seem quite new. '

'You will deride the freshness of our simplicity, ' said Louis, butpresently added, 'Miss Salome, have we not awakened to the enchantedland? Did ever mortal tree bear stars of living flame? Here arerealized the fabled apples of gold--nay, the fir-cones of Nineveh, thejewel-fruits of Eastern story, depend from the same bough. Yonder lampsshine by fairy spell. '

'Now, Cousin Fitzjocelyn, do you think I suppose you so silly--'

'Soft! The Dryad of the Enchanted Bower advances. Her floating robes, her holly crown, beseem her queenly charms. '

'As if you did not know that it is only Isabel!'

'Only! May the word be forgiven to a sister! Isabel! The name isall-expressive. '

'She is looking even more lovely than usual, ' said Miss Faithfull. 'Inever saw such a countenance. '

'She has a colour to-night, ' added Miss Mercy, 'which does, as you say, make her handsomer than ever. Dear! dear! I hope she is not tired. Iam so sorry I did not help her to light the tree!'

'I do not think it is fatigue, ' said her sister. 'I hope it isanimation and enjoyment--all I have ever thought wanting to that sweetface. '

'You are as bad as my prosaic cousin, ' said Louis, 'disenchanting themagic bower and the wood-nymph into fir, wax, and modern youngladyhood. '

'There, cousin, it is you who have called her a modern young lady. '

Before Louisa had expressed her indignation, there was a call for her. 

'The Sovereign of the Bower beckons, ' said Louis. 'Favoured damsel, know how to deserve her smiles. Fairy gifts remain not with theunworthy. '

As he put her forward, some one made way for her. It was Mary, and heblushed at perceiving that she must have heard all his rhodomontade. As if to make amends, he paused, and asked for Mrs. Ponsonby. 

'Much more comfortable to-night, thank you;' and the pleasant, honestlook of her friendly eyes relieved him by not reproaching him. 

'I wish she were here. It is a prettier, more visionary sight than Icould have conceived. '

'I wish she could see it; but she feared the crowd. Many people in aroom seem to stifle her. Is Lord Ormersfield here?'

'No, it would not be his element. But imagine his having taken towalking with me! I really think he will miss me. '

'Really?' said Mary, amused. 

'It is presumptuous; but he does not see well at night, and is notquite broken in to his spectacles. Mary, I hope you will walk over tosee after him. Nothing would be so good for him as walking you back, and staying to dinner with you. Go right into the library; he would begreatly pleased. Can't you make some book excuse? And you have thecottages to see. The people inaugurated the boilers with Christmaspuddings. '

'Mr. Holdsworth told us how pleased they were. And the Norrises?'

'Mrs. Norris is delighted; she has found a woman to wash, and says itwill save her a maid. The people can get milk now: I assure you theylook more wholesome already! And Beecher has actually asked for twomore houses in emulation. And Richardson found himself turned over tome!'

'Oh, that's right. '

'I've been at the plans all the afternoon. I see how to contrive thefireplace in the back room, that we could not have in the first set, and make them cheaper, too. My father has really made a point of thatold decrepit Hailes being moved from Marksedge; and Mary, he, andRichardson mean Inglewood to be made over to me for good. I am to putin a bailiff, and do as I can with it--have the profits or bear thelosses. I think I have an idea--'

In spite of her willingness to hear the idea, Mary could not helpasking, 'Have you sent off the Police article?'

'Hush, Mary; it is my prime object to have it well forgotten. '

'Oh! did not Sir Miles like it?'

'He said it wanted liveliness and anecdote. So the SantissimaHermandad, and all the extraneous history, were sent to him; and thenhe was well content, and only wanted me to leave out all the Christianchivalry--all I cared to say--'

'You don't mean not to finish? Your father was so pleased, Isabel somuch struck! It is a pity--'

'No, no; you may forgive me, Mary--it is not pure laziness. It wasmere rubbish, without the point, which was too strong for the twopoliticians; rubbish, any way. Don't tell me to go on with it; it wasa mere trial, much better let it die away. I really have no time; if Idon't mind my own business, I shall be a plucked gosling; and thatwould go to his, lordship's heart. Besides, I must get these plansdone. Do you remember where we got the fire-bricks for the ovens?'

Mary was answering, when Walter came bursting through the crowd. 'Whereis he? Fitzjocelyn, it is your turn. '

'Here is a curious specimen for our great naturalist, ' said Mrs. Frost, a glow in her cheeks, and her voice all stifled mirth and mischief. 

It was a large nest of moss and horsehair, partly concealed under thelower branches, and containing two huge eggs streaked and spotted withazure and vermilion, and a purple and yellow feather, labelled, 'Dropped by the parent animal in her flight, on the discovery of thenest by the crew of H. M. S. Flying Dutchman. North Greenland, April1st, 1847. Qu. ? Female of Equus Pegasus. Respectfully dedicated tothe Right Honourable Viscount Fitzjocelyn. '

'A fine specimen, ' said the Viscount at once, with the air of aconnoisseur, by no means taken by surprise. 'They are not veryuncommon; I found one myself about the same date in the justice-room. Idare say Mr. Calcott recollects the circumstance. '

'Oh, my dear fellow, ' exclaimed Sydney, instead of his father; 'youneed not particularize. You always were a discoverer in that line. '

'True, ' said Louis, 'but this is unique. North Greenland--ah! Ithought it was from a Frosty country. Ha, Clara?'

'Not I; I know nothing of it, ' cried Clara, in hurry and confusion, notyet able to be suspected of taking liberties with him. 

'No?' said Louis, turning about his acquisition; 'I thought I knew thefemale that laid these eggs. The proper name is, I fancy, GlaciesDynevorensis--var. Catharina--perhaps--'

Walter and Louisa had brought their mother to see the nest, the pointof which she comprehended as little as they; and not understanding howmuch amusement was betokened by her nephew's gravity, she protestedthat none of her party had devised it, nor even been privy to it, andthat Mr. Dynevor must bear the blame, but he was very busy detachingthe prizes from the tree, and hastily denied any concern with it. AuntCatharine was obliged to console Lady Conway, and enchant Louis byowning herself the sole culprit, with no aid but Miss Mercy's. Together they had disposed the nest in its right locality, as soon asthe Earl's absence was secure. 

'I had not courage for it before him, ' she laughed. 'As for thisfellow, I knew he would esteem it a compliment. '

'As a tribute to his imagination?' said Isabel, who, in her mood ofbenevolence, could be struck with the happy understanding between auntand nephew revealed by such a joke, so received. 

'It would be a curious research, ' said Louis, 'whether more of thesenidifications result from over-imagination or the want of it. '

'Often from want of imagination, and no want of cowardice, ' said Isabel. 

'That sort of nest has not illuminated eggs like these, ' said Louis. 'They are generally extremely full of gunpowder, and might be paintedwith a skull and crossbones. I say, Clara, has Aunt Kitty consideredthe consequences? She has sacrificed her ostrich eggs! I can neverpart with these original productions of her genius. '

He exhibited his mare's nest with his own gay bonhommie to all who werecurious, and presently, when every one's attention had been againrecalled to the wonders which Isabel was distributing, and he hadturned aside to dispose of his treasure, he heard a sound of soliloquyhalf aloud, 'I wonder whether she has it!' from Clara, who stood alittle apart. 

'What?' asked Louia. 

'My ivory clasp with the Madonna, ' said Clara. 'Jem and I thought itthe only thing worthy of Miss Conway. '

'Hem!' said Louis; 'it is not your fault, Clara; but it would begraceful to learn to receive a favour. '

'A favour, but not a grand thing like this, ' said Clara, showing abeautiful little case of working implements. 

'Hardly worth, even intrinsically, your mother's bracelet, ' said Louis. 'But I am not going to talk treason to the family doctrine, though itis very inconvenient to your friends. '

'Then you think we ought not to have done it?'

'That depends on what I can't decide. '

'What's that?'

'Whether you give it out of love or out of pride. '

'I think we gave it out of one, and excused it by the other. '

'Very satisfactory. To reward you, here is something for you to do. Ishall never get at Aunt Kitty to-night. I see the midshipman, youngBrewster, will not relinquish her; so will you or will she administerthis letter to the Lady of Eachalott?'

'You don't mean that is Tom Madison!' exclaimed Clara. 'Why, it islike copper-plate. No more Fitsgoslings!'

'No, indeed! Is he not a clever fellow? He has just reached the stageof civilization that breaks out in dictionary words. I have been, inreturn, telling him the story of the Irish schoolmaster who puzzled themagistrate's bench by a petition about a small cornuted animal, meaninga kid. But I should think it would be very edifying to Charlotte tosee herself commemorated as the individual at the Terrace, and hisgrandfather as his aged relative. He sends the old man ten shillingsthis time, for he is promoted. Don't you think I may be proud of him?Is Mary gone home? She must hear about him. '

As he turned away in search of Mary, Clara felt a soft hand on hershoulder, and Isabel beckoned her to follow into the back drawing-room, where the tree was burnt out and deserted. 

'I may thank _you_, ' said Isabel, in a low, sweet voice, pressing herhand. 

'And Jem, ' said Clara; 'he thought of it first. '

'It is the most beautiful Christmas gift; but I do not like for you topart with it, my dear. '

'We both wished it, and grandmamma gave leave. We longed for you tohave something we prized like this, for it belonged to my mamma. It isJem's present too, for he went out and bought the black velvet. '

'Clasp it on for me, dear Clara. There!' and Isabel kissed the fingerswhich obeyed. 'It shall never leave my arm. '

Clara's face burnt with surprise and pleasure amounting toembarrassment, as Isabel expressed hopes of meeting again, and engagedher to write from school. She looked for her brother to take his shareof thanks; but he was determinately doing his duty in cutting chickenand cake for those who desired supper, and he did not come in their wayagain till all the guests were gone, and good-night and good-bye wereto be said at once. 

Lady Conway was warm in expressing her hopes that Walter would enjoythe same advantages another holidays, and told Mr. Dynevor she shouldwrite to him. But Jem made little answer, nothing like a promise. Clara thought he had become stiff from some unknown affront, perhapssome oppressive present, for he seemed to intend to include all theyoung ladies in one farewell bow. But Isabel advanced withoutstretched hand and flushing cheek, and her murmured 'Thank you' andconfiding pressure drew from him such a grasp as could not easily beforgotten. 

Clara's heart was all the lighter because she was sure that Fitzjocelynhad forgiven, and, what was more, forgotten. She had spoken naturallyto him once more, and was ready for anything now--even though they hadmissed all confidential discussions upon school. 

She gave Charlotte Tom Madison's letter. The little maiden took it, and twirled it about rather superciliously. 'What business had myyoung Lord, ' she thought, 'to fancy she cared for that poor fellow?Very likely he was improved, and she was glad of it, but she knew whatwas genteel now. Yes, she would read it at once; there was no fearthat it would make her soft and foolish--she had got above that!'

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE RIVALS. 

 'Which king, Bezonian?'--Henry IV. 

Sir Roland of Provence remained in suspense whether to be a novice oran irrevocably pledged Hospitalier. The latter was most probable; andwhen Adeline's feelings had been minutely analysed, Miss Conwaydiscovered that she had better not show her morning's work to hersisters. 

Clara and Louis pronounced Jem to be as savage as a bear all throughthe journey. Clara declared it was revenge for having been civil andamiable all through the vacation; and Louis uttered a theatrical aside, that even _that_ could not have been maintained if he had notoccasionally come to Ormersfield to relieve himself a little upon theirtwo lordships. 

Laugh as he might, Fitzjocelyn was much concerned and perplexed by hiscousin's ill-humour, when it appeared more permanent than could bepuffed off in a few ebullitions. Attempts to penetrate the gloom madeit heavier, and Louis resolved to give it time to subside. He waitedsome days before going near James, and when he next walked to hiscollege found him engaged with pupils. He was himself very busy, andhad missed his cousin several times before he at length found him alone. 

'Why, Jem, old fellow, what are you about? You've not been near myrooms this term. Are you renouncing me in anticipation of my plucking?'

'You won't be plucked unless you go out of your senses for theoccasion. '

'No thanks to your advice and assistance if I am not. But it wouldconduce to my equanimity, Jem, to know whether we are quarrelling, asin that case I should know how to demean myself. '

'I've no quarrel with you. You have far more reason--But, ' added Jem, catching himself up, 'don't you know I have no leisure for trifling?The Ordination is the second week in March. '

'The Ordination!'

'Ay--you know it! My fellowship depends on it. '

'I never liked to contemplate it. ' He sat down and mused, while Jamescontinued his occupation. Presently he said, 'Look here. Sir MilesOakstead asked me if I had any clever Oxford friend to recommend. Ifhe comes into office, he--'

'I'll be no great man's hanger-on. '

'This matter is not imminent. You are barely four-and-twenty. Wait ayear or two; even a few months would--'

'You have tried my forbearance often enough, ' broke in James; 'myobject is--as you very well know--to maintain myself and mine withoutbeing liable to obnoxious patronage. If you think I should disgracethe office, speak out!'

Louis, without raising his eyes, only answered with a smile. 

'Then, what do you mean? As to your notions of a vocation, ninety-nineout of a hundred are in my case. I have been bred up to this--nothingelse is open--I mean to do my duty; and surely that is vocation--no onehas a right to object--'

'No one; I beg your pardon, ' meekly said Louis, taking up his stick togo; but both knew it was only a feint, and James, whose vehemence wasexhausting itself, resumed, in an injured tone, 'What disturbs you?what is this scruple of yours!--you, who sometimes fancy you would havebeen a curate yourself!'

'I have just inclination enough to be able to perceive that you havenone. '

'And is every one to follow his bent?'

'This is not a step to be taken against the grain, even for the bestearthly motives. Jem! I only beg you to ask advice. For the veryreason that you are irreproachable, you will never have it offered. '

'The present time, for instance?' said James, laughing as best he might. 

'That is nothing. I have no faith in my own judgment, but, thinking asI do of the profession and of you, I cannot help believing that mydistaste for seeing you in it must be an instinct. '

'Give me your true opinion and its grounds candidly, knowing that Iwould not ask another man living. '

'Nor me, if I did not thrust it on you. '

'Now for it! Let us hear your objection. '

'Simply this. I do not see that anything impels you to take HolyOrders immediately, except your wish to be independent, and irrevocablyfixed before your uncle can come home. This seems to me to have asavour of something inconsistent with what you profess. It might befine anywhere else, but will it not bear being brought into the lightof the sanctuary? No, I cannot like it. I have no doubt many go upfor ordination far less fit than you, but--Jem, I wish you would not. If you would but wait a year!'

'No, Fitzjocelyn, my mind is made up. I own that I might havepreferred another course, and Heaven knows it is not that I thinkmyself worthy of this; but I have been brought up to this, and I willnot waver. It is marked out for me as plainly as your earldom for you, and I will do my duty in it as my appointed calling. There lies mycourse of honest independence: you call it pride--see what those arewho are devoid of it: there lie my means of educating my sister, providing for my grandmother. I can see no scruple that should determe. '

Fitzjocelyn having said his say, it was his turn and his nature to betalked down. 

'In short, ' concluded James, walking about the room, 'there is noalternative. Waiting for a College living is bad enough, but nothingelse can make happiness even possible. '

'One would think you meant one sort of happiness, ' said Louis, with acalm considering tone, and look of inquiry which James could not brook. 

'What else?' he cried. 'Fool and madman that I am to dwell on thehopeless--'

'Why should it be hopeless?--' began Louis. 

'Hush! you are the last person with whom I could discuss this subject, 'he said, trying to be fierce, but with more sorrow than anger. 'I mustbear my burthen alone. Believe me, I struggled hard. If you and I bedestined to clash, one comfort is, that even I could never quarrel withyou. '

'I have not the remotest idea of your meaning. '

'So much the better. No, so much the worse. You are not capable offeeling what I do for her, or you would have hated me long ago. Do notstay here! I do not know that I can quite bear the sight of you--Butdon't let me lose you, Louis. '

James wrung the hand of his cousin; and no sooner was he alone, than hebegan to pace the room distractedly. 

'Poor Jem!' soliloquized Fitzjocelyn. 'At least, I am glad the troubleis love, not the Ordination. But as to his meaning! He gives me tounderstand that we are rivals--It is the most absurd thing I everknew--I declare I don't know whether he means Mary or Isabel. Isuppose he would consider Mary's fortune a barrier--No, she is tooserene for his storms--worthy, most worthy--but she would hate to beworshipped in that wild way. Besides, I am done for in that quarter. No clashing there--! Nay, the other it can never be--after all hisefforts to lash me up at Christmas. Yet, he was much with her, he madeClara sacrifice the clasp to her. Hm! She is an embodied romance, deserving to be raved about; while for poor dear Mary, it would besimply ridiculous. I wish I could guess--it is too absurd to doubt, and worse to ask; and, what's more, he would not stand it. If I didbut know! I'm not so far gone yet, but that I could leave the field tohim, if that would do him any good. Heigh ho! it would be en regle tobegin to hate him, and be as jealous as Bluebeard; but there! I don'tknow which it is to be about, and one can't be jealous for two ladiesat once, luckily, for it would be immensely troublesome, unless a good, hearty quarrel would be wholesome to revive his spirits. It is a badtime for it, though! Well, I hope he does not mean Mary--I could notbear for her to be tormented by him. That other creature might reignover him like the full moon dispersing clouds. Well! this is thequeerest predicament I ever heard of!' And on he wandered, almost asmuch diverted by the humour of the doubt, as annoyed by the dilemma. 

He had no opportunity for farther investigation: James removed himselfso entirely from his society, that he was obliged to conclude that theprevailing mood was that of not being quite able to bear the sight ofhim. His consolation was the hope of an opening for some generousproceeding, though how this should be accomplished was not visible, since it was quite as hard to be generous with other people's hearts asto confer a benefit on a Pendragon. At any rate, he was so confidentof Jem's superiority, as to have no fear of carrying off the affectionof any one whom his cousin wished to win. 

James was ordained, and shortly after went to some pupils for theEaster vacation, which was spent by Louis at Christchurch, in studyinghard. The preparation for going up for his degree ended by absorbinghim entirely, as did every other pursuit to which he once fairlydevoted himself, and for the first time he gave his abilities fullscope in the field that ought long ago to have occupied them. When, finally, a third class was awarded to him, he was conscious that itmight have been a first, but for his past waste of time. 

He was sorry to leave Oxford: he had been happy there in his owndesultory fashion; and the additional time that his illness had kepthim an undergraduate, had been welcome as deferring the dreaded momentof considering what was to come next. He had reached man's estatealmost against his will. 

He was to go to join his father in London; and he carried thitherhumiliation for having, by his own fault, missed the honours that toolate he had begun to value as a means of gratifying his father. 

The Earl, however, could hardly have taken anything amiss from Louis. After having for so many years withheld all the lassez-aller ofpaternal affection, when the right chord had once been touched, hisfondness for his grown-up son had the fresh exulting pride, and almostblindness that would ordinarily have been lavished on his infancy. Lord Ormersfield's sentiments were few and slowly adopted, but they hadall the permanence and force of his strong character, and his affectionfor Fitzjocelyn partook both of parental glory in a promising only son, and of that tenderness, at once protecting and dependent, that fathersfeel for daughters. This was owing partly to Louis's gentle andassiduous attentions during the last vacation, and also to his longillness, and remarkable resemblance to his mother, which renderedfondness of him a sort of tribute to her, and restored to the Earl someof the transient happiness of his life. 

It was a second youth of the affections, but it was purchased by a steptowards age. The anxiety, fatigue, and various emotions of the pastyear had told on the Earl, and though still strong, vigorous, andhealthy, the first touch of autumn had fallen on him--he did not findhis solitary life so self-sufficing as formerly, and craved the homefeeling of the past Christmas. So the welcome was twice as warm asLouis had expected; and as he saw the melancholy chased away, the sterngrey eyes lighted up, and the thin, compressed lips relaxed into asmile, he forgot his aversion to the well-appointed rooms in JermynStreet, and sincerely apologized that he had not brought home morecredit to satisfy his father. 

'Oakstead was talking it over with me, ' was the answer; 'and wereckoned up many more third-class men than first who have distinguishedthemselves. '

'Many thanks to Sir Miles, ' said Louis, laughing. 'My weak mind wouldnever have devised such consolation. '

'Perhaps the exclusive devotion to study which attains higher honoursmay not be the beat introduction to practical life. '

'It is doing the immediate work with the whole might. '

'You do work with all your might. '

'Ay! but too many irons in the fire, and none of them red-hot through, have been my bane. '

'You do not set out in life without experience; I am glad youreducation is finished, Louis!' said his father, turning to contemplatehim, as if the sight filled up some void. 

'Are you?' said Louis, wearily. 'I don't think I am. It becomes myduty--or yours, which is a relief--to find out the next stage. '

'Have you no wishes?'

'Not at the present speaking, thank you. If I went out and talked toany one, I might have too many. '

'No views for your future life?'

'Thus far: to do as little harm as may be--to be of some use athome--and to make turnips grow in the upland at Inglewood, I have somevague fancy to see foreign parts, especially now they are all in such arow--it would be such fun--but I suppose you would not trust me therenow. Here I am for you to do as you please with me--a graciouspermission, considering that you did not want it. Only the firstpractical question is how to get this money from Jem to Clara. Ishould like to call on her, but I suppose that would hardly beaccording to the proprieties. '

'I would walk to the school with you, if you wish to see her. My auntwill be glad to hear of her, if we go home to-morrow. '

'Are you thinking of going home?' exclaimed Louis, joyfully coming tolife. 

'Yes; but for a cause that will grieve you. Mrs. Ponsonby is worse, and has written to ask me to come down. '

'Materially worse?'

'I fear so. I showed my aunt's letter to Hastings, who said it was thenatural course of the disease, but that he thought it would have beenless speedy. I fear it has been hastened by reports from Peru. She haddecided on going out again; but the agitation overthrew her, and shehas been sinking ever since, ' said Lord Ormersfield, mournfully. 

'Poor Mary!'

'For her sake I must be on the spot, if for no other cause. If I hadbut a home to offer her!'

Louis gave a deep sigh, and presently asked for more details of Mrs. Ponsonby's state. 

'I believe she is still able to sit up and employ herself at times, butshe often suffers dreadfully. They are both wonderfully cheerful. Shehas little to regret. '

'What a loss she will be! Oh, father! what will you do without her?'

'I am glad that you have known her. She has been more than a sister tome. Things might have been very different, if that miserable marriagehad not separated us for so many years. '

'How could it have happened? How was it that she--so good andwise--did not see through the man?'

'She would, if she had been left to herself; but she was not. Mymother discovered, when too late, that there had been foolish, impertinent jokes of that unfortunate trifler, poor Henry Frost, thatmade her imagine herself suspected of designs on me. '

'Mary would never have attended to such folly!' cried Louis. 

'Mary is older. Besides, she loved the man, or thought she did. Ibelieve she thinks herself attached to him still. But for Mary'sbirth, there would have been a separation long ago. There ought tohave been; but, after my father's death, there was no one to interfere!What would I not have given to have been her brother! Well! I nevercould see why one like her was so visited--!' Then rousing himself, asthough tender reminiscences were waste of time, he added, 'There yousee the cause of the caution I gave you with regard to Clara Dynevor. It is not fair to expose a young woman to misconstructions and idlecomments, which may goad her to vindicate her dignity by acting in amanner fatal to her happiness. Now, ' he added, having drawn his moral, 'if we are to call on Clara, this would be the fittest time. I haveengaged for us both to dine at Lady Conway's this evening: I thoughtyou would not object. '

'Thank you; but I am sure you cannot wish to go out after such news. '

'There is not sufficient excuse for refusing. There is to be no party, and it would be a marked thing to avoid it. '

Louis hazarded a suggestion that the meeting with Clara would be tolittle purpose if they were all to sit in state in the drawing-room;and she was asked for on the plea of going to see the new Houses ofParliament. The Earl of Ormersfield's card and compliments wentupstairs, and Miss Frost Dynevor appeared, with a demure and astonishedcountenance, which changed instantly to ecstasy when she saw that theEarl was not alone. Not at all afraid of love, but only ofmisconstructions, he goodnaturedly kept aloof, while Clara, clinging toLouis's arm, was guided through the streets, and in and out among theblocks of carved stone on the banks of the Thames, interspersing hernotes of admiration and his notes on heraldry with more comfortableconfidences than had fallen to their lot through the holidays. 

His first hope was that Clara might reveal some fact to throw light onthe object of her brother's affections, but her remarks only added tohis perplexity. Once, when they had been talking of poor Mary, andlamenting her fate in having to return to her father, Louis hazardedthe conjecture that she might find an English home. 

'There is her aunt in Bryanston Square, ' said Clara. 'Or if she wouldonly live with us! You see I am growing wise, as you call it: I likeher now. '

'That may be fortunate, ' said Louis. 'You know her destinationaccording to Northwold gossip. '

'Nonsense! Jem would scorn an heiress if she were ten times prettier. He will never have an escutcheon of pretence like the one on the oldsoup tureen that the Lady of Eschalott broke, and Jane was so sorry forbecause it was the last of the old Cheveleigh china. '

Louis made another experiment. 'Have you repented yet of giving awayyour clasp?'

'No, indeed! Miss Conway always wears it. She should be richlywelcome to anything I have in the world. '

'You and Jem saw much more of them than I did. '

'Whose fault was that? Jem was always raving about your stupidity instaying at home. '

He began to question whether his interview with James had been a dream. As they were walking back towards the school, Clara went on to tell himthat Lady Conway had called and taken her to a rehearsal of a concertof ancient music, and that Isabel had taken her for one or two drivesinto the country. 

'This must conduce to make school endurable, ' said Louis. 

'I think I hate it more because I hate it less. '

'Translate, if you please. '

'The first half-year, I scorned them all, and they scorned me; and thatwas comfortable--'

'And consistent. Well?'

'The next, you had disturbed me; I could not go on being savage withthe same satisfaction, and their tuft-hunting temper began to dischargeitself in such civility to me, that I could not give myself airs withany peace. '

'Have you made no friends?'

One and a half. The whole one is a good, rough, stupid girl, who comesto school because she can't learn, and is worth all the rest puttogether. The half is Caroline Salter, who is openly and honestlypurse-proud, has no toad-eating in her nature, and straight-forwardlycontemns high-blood and no money. We fought ourselves into respect forone another; and now, I verily believe, we are fighting ourselves intofriendship. She is the only one that is proud, not vain; so weunderstand each other. As to the rest, they adore Caroline Halter'senamelled watch one day; and the next, I should be their 'dearest' if Iwould but tell them what we have for dinner at Ormersfield, and whatcolour your eyes are!'

'The encounters have made you so epigrammatic and satirical, that thereis no coming near you. '

'Oh, Louis! if you knew all, you would despise me as I do myself! I dosometimes get drawn into talking grandly about Ormersfield; and thoughI always say what I am to be, I know that I am as vain and proud as anyof them: I am proud of being poor, and of the Pendragons, and of notbeing silly! I don't know which is self-respect, and which is pride!'

'I have always had my doubts about that quality of self-respect. Inever could make out what one was to respect. '

'Oh, dear! les voila!' cried Clara, as, entering Hanover Square, theybeheld about twenty damsels coming out of the garden in couples. 'Iwould not have had it happen for the whole world!' she added, abruptlywithdrawing the arm that had clung to him so trustfully across many aperilous crossing. 

She seemed to intend to slip into the ranks without any farewells, butthe Earl, with politeness that almost confounded the little elderlygoverness, returned thanks for having been permitted the pleasure ofher company, and Louis, between mischief and good-nature, would notsubmit to anything but a hearty, cousinly squeeze of the hand, norrelinquish it till he had forced her to utter articulately the messageto grandmamma that she had been muttering with her head averted. Atlast it was spoken sharply, and her hand drawn petulantly away, and, without looking back at him, her high, stiff head vanished into thehouse, towering above the bright rainbow of ribbons, veils, andparasols. 

The evening would have been very happy, had not Lord Ormersfield lookedimperturbably grave and inaccessible to his sister-in-law'sblandishments. She did not use the most likely means of disarming himwhen she spoke of making a tour in the summer. It had been a longpromise that Isabel and Virginia should go to see their old governessat Paris; but if France still were in too disturbed a state, they mightenjoy themselves in Belgium, and perhaps her dear Fitzjocelyn wouldaccompany them as their escort. 

His eyes had glittered at the proposal before he recollected the sorrowthat threatened his father, and began to decline, protesting that heshould be the worst escort in the world, since he always attractedaccidents and adventures. But his aunt, discovering that he had neverbeen abroad, became doubly urgent, and even appealed to his father. 

'As far as I am concerned, Fitzjocelyn may freely consult his owninclinations, ' said the Earl, so gravely, that Lady Conway could onlyturn aside the subject by a laugh, and assurance that she did not meanto give him up. She began to talk of James Frost, and her wishes tosecure him a second time as Walter's tutor in the holidays. 

'You had better take him with you, ' said Louis; 'he would really be ofuse to you, and how he would enjoy the sight of foreign parts!'

Isabel raised her head with a look of approbation, such as encouragedhim to come a little nearer, and apeak of the pleasure that herkindness had given to Clara. 

'There is a high spirit and originality about Clara, which make her amost amusing companion. '

Isabel replied, 'I am very glad of an hour with her, especially nowthat I am without my sisters. '

'She must be such a riddle to her respectable school-fellows, thatintercourse beyond them must be doubly valuable. '

'Poor child! Is there no hope for her but going out as a governess?'

'Unluckily, we have no Church patronage for her brother; the onlylikely escape--unless, indeed, the uncle in Peru, whom I begin toregard as rather mythical, should send an unavoidable shower of gold onthem. '

'I hope not, ' said Isabel, 'I could almost call their noble poverty asacred thing. I never saw anything so beautiful as the reverentaffection shown to Mrs. Dynevor on Walter's birthday, when she was theQueen of the Night, and looked it, and her old pupils vied with eachother in doing her honour. I have remembered the scene so often inlooking at our faded dowagers here. '

'I would defy Midas to make my Aunt Catharine a faded dowager, ' saidLouis. 

'No; but he could have robbed their homage of half--nay, all its grace. '

They talked of Northwold, and Isabel mentioned various details of Mrs. Ponsonby, which she had learnt from Miss King, and talked of Mary withgreat feeling and affection. Never had Louis had anything so like aconversation with Isabel, and he was more bewitched than ever by theenthusiasm and depth of sensibilities which she no longer concealed bycoldness and reserve. In fact, she had come to regard him as anaccessory of Northwold, and was delighted to enjoy some exchange ofsympathy upon Terrace subjects--above all, when separated from theschool-room party. Time had brought her to perceive that the fantasticViscount did not always wear motley, and it was almost as refreshing asmeeting with Clara, to have some change from the two worlds in whichshe lived. In her imaginary world, Adeline had just been rescued fromthe Corsairs by a knight hospitalier, with his vizor down, and wasbeing conducted home by him, with equal probabilities of his dying ather feet of a concealed mortal wound, or conducting her to her conventgate, and going off to be killed by the Moors. The world of gaiety wasmore hollow and wearisome than ever; and the summons was as unwelcometo her as to Fitzjocelyn, when Lord Ormersfield reminded him that theladies were going to an evening party, and that it was time to takeleave. 

'Come with us, Fitzjocelyn, ' said his aunt. 'They would be charmed tohave you;' and she mentioned some lions, whose names made Louis look athis father. 

'I will send the carriage for you, ' said the Earl; but Louis had learntto detect the tone of melancholy reluctance in that apparentlyunalterable voice, and at once refused. Perhaps it was for that reasonthat Isabel let him put on her opera-cloak and hand her down stairs. 'I don't wonder at you, ' she said; 'I wish I could do the same. '

'I wished it at first, ' he answered; 'but I could not have gone withouta heavy heart. '

'Are you young enough to expect to go to any gaieties without a heavyheart?'

'I am sorry for you, ' said he, in his peculiar tone: 'I suppose I amyour elder. '

'I am almost twenty-_four_, ' she said, with emphasis. 

'Indeed! That must be the age for care, to judge by the change it hasworked in Jem Frost. '

The words were prompted by a keen, sudden desire to mark their effect;but he failed to perceive any, for they were in a dark part of theentry, and her face was turned away. 

'Fitzjocelyn, ' said the Earl, on the way home, 'do not think itnecessary to look at me whenever you receive an invitation. It makesus both appear ridiculous, and you are in every respect your ownmaster. '

'I had rather not, thank you, ' said Louis, in an almost provokinglyindifferent tone. 

'It is full time you should assume your own guidance. '

'How little he knows how little that would suit him!' thought Louis, sighing despondingly. 'Am I called on to sacrifice myself ineverything, and never even satisfy him?'

CHAPTER XVIII. 

REST FOR THE WEARY. 

 Therefore, arm thee for the strife All throughout this mortal life, Soldier now and servant true, Earth behind, and heaven in view. REV. I. WILLIAMS. 

The first impression on arriving at Northwold was, that the danger hadbeen magnified. Mrs. Frost's buoyant spirits had risen at the firstrespite; and though there was a weight on Mary's brow, she spokecheerfully, and as if able to attend to other interests, telling Louisof her father's wish for some good workmen to superintend the mines, and asking him to consult his friends at Illershall on the subject. 

Lord Ormersfield came down encouraged by his visit to the invalid, whomhe had found dressed and able to converse nearly as usual. She beggedhim to come to dinner the next day, and spend the evening with her, promising with a smile that if he would bring Louis, their aunt shouldchaperon Mary. 

When the Earl went upstairs after dinner, the other three closed roundthe fire, and talked in a tranquil, subdued strain, on various topics, sometimes grave, sometimes enlivened by the playfulness inherent in twoof the party. Aunt Kitty spoke of her earlier days, and Louis and Maryventured questions that they would have ordinarily deemed intrusive. Yet it was less the matter than the manner of their dialogue--the deep, unavowed fellow-feeling and mutual reliance--which rendered it sorefreshing and full of a kind of repose. Louis felt it like thestrange bright stillness, when birds sing their clearest, fullestnotes, and the horizon reach of sky beams with the softest, brightestradiance, just ere it be closed out by the thunder-cloud, whose firstdrops are pausing to descend; and to Mary it was peace--peace which shewas willing gratefully to taste to the utmost, from the instinctiveperception that the call had come for her to brace all her powers ofself-control and fortitude; while to the dear old aunt, besides herenjoyment of her darling's presence, each hour was a boon that shecould believe the patient or the daughter, relieved and happy. 

Louis was admitted for a few minutes' visit to the sick-chamber, andwent up believing that he ought to be playful and cheerful; but he wasnearly overcome by Mrs. Ponsonby's own brightness, as she hoped thather daughter and aunt had made themselves agreeable. 

'Thank you, I never was so comfortable, not even when my foot was bad. '

'I believe you consider that a great compliment. '

'Yes, I never was so much off my own mind, nor on other people's:' andthe recollection of all he owed to Mrs. Ponsonby's kindness rushingover him, he looked so much affected, that Mary was afraid of hisgiving way, and spoke of other matters; her mother responded, and hecame away quite reassured, and believing Mrs. Frost's augury that atthe next call, the invalid would be in the drawing-room. 

On the way home, however, his father overthrew such hopes, and made himaware of the true state of the case, --namely, that this was but thelull before another attack, which, whether it came within weeks ordays, would probably be the last. 

'Does Mary know?'

'She does. She bears up nobly. '

'And what is to become of her?'

The Earl sighed deeply. 'Lima is her destiny. Her mother is bent onit, and says that she wishes it herself; but on one thing I amresolved: she shall not go alone! I have told her mother that I willgo with her, and not leave her without seeing what kind of home thatman has for her. Mary--the mother, I mean--persists in declaring thathe has real affection for his child, and that her presence will savehim. '

'If anything could--' broke out Louis. 

'It should! it ought; but I do not trust him. I know Robert Ponsonbyas his wife has never chosen to know him. This was not a time fordisguise, and I told her plainly what I thought of risking her daughterout there. But she called it Mary's duty--said that he was fully to betrusted where his child was concerned, and that Mary was no stranger atLima, but could take care of herself, and had many friends besidesOliver Dynevor there. But I told her that go with her I would!'

'You to take the voyage! Was not she glad?'

'I think she was relieved; but she was over-grateful and distressed, and entreating me to be patient with him. She need not fear. I neverwas a hasty man; and I shall only remember that she bears his name, andthat he is Mary's father--provided always that it is fit Mary shouldremain with him. Miserable! I can understand that death may well comeas a friend--But her daughter!' he exclaimed, giving way more than hemight have done anywhere but in the dark; 'how can she endure to leaveher to such a father--to such prospects!'

'She knows it is not only to such a father that she leaves her, 'murmured Louis. 

'Her words--almost her words, ' said the Earl, between earnestness andimpatience; 'but when these things come to pressing realities, it ispast me how such sayings are a consolation. '

'Not if they were no more than sayings. '

There was silence. Louis heard an occasional groaning sigh from hisfather, and sat still, with feelings strongly moved, and impelled toone of his sudden and impetuous resolutions. 

The next morning, he ordered his horse, saying he would bring the lastreport from the Terrace. 

That afternoon, Mrs. Ponsonby observed a tremulousneas in Mary's hand, and a willingness to keep her face turned away; and, on more minuteglances, a swelling of the eyelids was detected. 

'My dear, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 'you should take a walk to-day. Pray goout with the Conways. '

'Oh no, thank you, mamma. '

'If the cousins come in from Ormersfield, I shall tell Louis to takeyou to look at his farm. It would be very good for you--My dear, whatis it?' for Mary's ears and neck, all that she could see, were crimson. 

'Oh, mamma! he has been doing it again. I did not mean to have toldyou--' said Mary, the strong will to be calm forcing back the tears andeven the flush. 

'Nay, dear child, nothing can hurt me now. You must let me share allwith you to the last. What did you say to him?'

'I told him that I could not think of such things now, ' said Mary, almost indignantly. 

'And he?'

'He begged my pardon, and said he only did it because he thought itmight be a relief to you. '

'Only; did he say 'only?'

'I am not sure. At least, ' she added, with a deep sigh, 'I thought hemeant only--'

'And you, my dearest, if you had not thought he meant _only_?'

'Don't ask me, mamma; I cannot think about it!'

'Mary, dearest, I do wish to understand you. '

'Is it of any use for me to ask myself?' said Mary. 

'I think it is. I do not say that there might not be insuperableobstacles; but I believe we ought to know whether you are stillindifferent to Louis. '

'Oh, that I never was! Nobody could be!'

'You know what I mean, ' said her mother, slightly smiling. 

'Mamma, I don't know what to say, ' replied Mary, after a pause. 'I hadthought it wrong to let my thoughts take that course; but when he spokein his own soft, gentle voice, I felt, and I can't help it, that--he--could--comfort--me--better--than--any one. '

Not hesitating, but slowly, almost inaudibly, she brought out thewords; and, as the tears gushed out irrepressibly with the last, shehastened from the room, and was seen no more till she had recoveredcomposure, and seemed to have dismissed the subject. 

Louis kept this second attempt a secret; he was not quite sure how hefelt, and did not wish to discuss his rejection. At breakfast, hereceived a note from Mrs. Ponsonby, begging him to come to the Terraceat three o'clock; and the hope thus revived made him moreconversational than he had been all the former day. 

He found that Mary was out walking, and he was at once conducted toMrs. Ponsonby's room, where he looked exceedingly rosy and confused, till she began by holding out her hand, and saying, 'I wish to thankyou. '

'I am afraid I vexed Mary, ' said Louis, with more than his usualsimplicity; 'but do you think there is no hope? I knew it was a badtime, but I thought it might make you more at ease on her account. '

'You meant all that was most kind. '

'I thought I might just try, ' pursued he, disconsolately, 'whether shedid think me any steadier. I hope she did not think me verytroublesome. I tried not to harass her much. '

'My dear Louis, it is not a question of what you call steadiness. Itis the old story of last summer, when you thought us old ones so muchmore romantic than yourself. '

'You are thinking of Miss Conway, ' said Louis, blushing, but withcurious naivete. 'Well, I have been thinking of that, and I really donot believe there was anything in it. I did make myself rather a foolat Beauchastel, and Jem would have made me a greater one; but you knowmy father put a stop to it. Thinking her handsomer than other peoplecan't be love, can it?'

'Not alone, certainly. '

'And actually, ' he pursued, 'I don't believe I ever think of her when Iam out of the way of her! No, indeed! if I had not believed that wasall over, do you think I could have said what I did yesterday?'

'Not unless you believed so. '

'Well, but really you don't consider how little I have seen of her. Iwas in awe of her at first, and since, I have kept away on purpose. Inever got on with her at all till the other evening. I don't believe Icare for her one bit. Then, ' suddenly pausing, and changing his tone, 'you don't trust me after all. '

'I do. I trust your principle and kindness implicitly, but I think thevery innocence of your heart prevents you from knowing what you areabout. '

'It is very hard, ' said Louis; 'every one will have it that I must bein love, till I shall have to believe so myself, and when I know itcannot come to good. '

'You are making yourself more simple than you really are, ' said Mra. Ponsonby, half provoked. 

Louis shut his eyes, and seemed to be rousing his faculties; then, taking a new turn, he earnestly said, 'You know that the promises mustsettle the question, and keep my affections fast. '

'Ah, Louis! there is the point. Others, true and sincere as yourself, have broken their own hearts, and those of others, from having madevows in wilful ignorance of latent feelings. It would be a sin in meto allow you to bind yourself to Mary, with so little comprehension asyou have of your own sentiments. '

'Then I have done wrong in proposing it. '

'What would have been wrong in some cases, was more of blindness--ay, and kindness--in you. Louis, I cannot tell you my gratitude for yourwish to take care of my dear girl, ' she said, with tears in her eyes. 'I hope you fully understand me. '

'I see I have made a fool of myself again, and that you have a right tobe very angry with me. '

'Not quite, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, smiling, 'but I am going to give yousome advice. Settle your mind as to Miss Conway. Your father isbeginning to perceive that his distrust was undeserved; he has promisedme not to object in case it should be for your true happiness; and I dobelieve, for my own part, that, in some respects, she is better fittedfor his daughter-in-law than my poor Mary. '

'No one ever was half as good as Mary!' cried Louis. 'And this is whatyou tell me!'

'Mind, I don't tell you to propose to her, nor to commit yourself inany way: I only tell you to put yourself in a position to form areasonable judgment of your own feelings. That is due to her, toyourself, and to your wife, be she who she may. '

Louis sighed, and presently added, smiling, 'I am not going to raveabout preferences for another; but I do want to know whether anythingcan be done for poor Jem Frost. '

'Ha! has he anything of this kind on his mind?'

'He does it in grand style--disconsolate, frantic, and frosty; but hepuzzles me completely by disclosing nothing but that he has no hope, and thinks me his rival. Can nothing be done?'

'No, Louis, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly; 'I have no idea that thereis anything in that quarter. What may be on his mind, I cannot tell: Iam sure that he is not on Mary's. '

Louis rose. 'I have tired you, ' he said, 'and you are very patientwith my fooleries. '

'You have been very patient with many a lecture of mine, Louis. '

'There are very few who would have thought me worth lecturing. '

'Ah, Louis! if I did not like you so well for what you are, I shouldstill feel the right to lecture you, when I remember the night Icarried you to your father, and tried to make him believe that youwould be his comfort and blessing. I think you have taught him thelesson at last!'

'You have done it all, ' said Louis, with deep feeling. 

'And now, may I say what more I want to see in you? If you couldacquire more resolution, more manliness--will you pardon my saying so?'

'Ah! I have always found myself the identical weak man that all booksgive up as a hopeless case, ' said Louis, accepting the imputation moreeasily than she could have supposed possible. 

'No, ' she said, vigorously, 'you have not come to your time of lifewithout openings to evil that you could not have resisted if you hadbeen really weak. '

'Distaste--and rather a taste for being quizzed, ' said Louis. 

'Those are not weakness. Your will is indolent, and you take refuge infancying that you want strength. Rouse yourself, not to be driftedabout--make a line for yourself. '

'My father will have me walk in no line but his own. '

'You have sense not to make duty to him an excuse for indolence anddislike of responsibility. You have often disappointed yourself byacting precipitately; and now you are throwing yourself prone upon him, in a way that is unwise for you both. '

'I don't know what to do!' said Louis. 'When I thought the aim of mylife was to be to devote myself to his wishes, you--ay, and hetoo--tell me to stand alone. '

'It will be a disappointment to him, if you do not act and decide foryourself--yes, and worse than disappointment. He knows what yourdevotional habits are; and if he sees you wanting in firmness orenergy, he will set down all the rest as belonging to the softer partsof your nature. '

'On the contrary, ' exclaimed Louia, indignantly, 'all the resolution Iever showed came from nothing else!'

'I know it. Let him see that these things make a man of you; and, Louis--you feel what a difference it might make!'

Louis bowed his head thoughtfully. 

'You, who are both son and daughter to him, may give up schemes andpleasures for his sake, and may undertake work for which you have nonatural turn; but, however you may cross your inclinations, never beled contrary to your judgment. Then, and with perseverance, I thinkyou will be safe. '

'Perseverance--your old lesson. '

'Yes; you must learn to work over the moment when novelty is gone andfailure begins, even though your father should treat the matter as acrotchet of your own. If you know it is worth doing, go on, and hewill esteem you and it. '

'My poor private judgment! you work it hard! when it has generally onlyrun me full-drive into some egregious blunder!'

'Not your true deliberate judgment, exercised with a sense ofresponsibility. Humility must not cover your laziness. You have suchqualities and such talents as must be intended to do good to others, not to be trifled away in fitful exertions. Make it your great effortto see clearly, and then to proceed steadfastly, without slackeningeither from weariness or the persuasions of others. '

'And you won't let me have the one person who can see clearly, and keepme steady?'

'To be your husband, instead of your wife! No, Louis; you must learnto take yourself on your own hands, and lean neither on your father, nor on any one else on earth, before you can be fit for Mary, or--'

'And if I did?' began Louis. 

'You would make a man of yourself, ' she said, interrupting him. 'Thatis the first thing--not a reed shaken with the wind. You can do it;there is nothing that Grace cannot do. '

'I know there is not, ' said Louis, reverently. 

'And, oh! the blessing that you would so bring on yourself and on yourdear father! You have already learnt to make him happier than I everlooked to see him; and you must be energetic and consistent, that so hemay respect, not you, but the Power which can give you the strength. '

Louis's heart was too full to make any answer. Mrs. Ponsonby lay backin her chair, as though exhausted by the energy with which she hadspoken the last words; and there was a long silence. He thought heought to go, and yet could not resolve to move. At last shespoke--'Good-bye, Louis. Come what may, I know Mary will find in youthe--all that I have found your father. '

'Thank you, at least, for saying that, ' said Louis. 'If you would onlyhold out a hope--I wish it more than ever now! I do not believe that Ishould ever do as well with any one else! Will you not give me anyprospect?'

'Be certain of your own heart, Louis! Nay, ' as she saw his facebrighten, 'do not take that as a promise. Let me give you a fewparting words, as the motto I should like to leave with you--'Quityourselves like men; be strong. ' And so, Louis, whatever be your fixedand resolute purpose, so it be accordant with the Will of Heaven, youwould surely, I believe, attain it, and well do you know how I shouldrejoice to see'--She broke off, and said, more feebly, 'I must not goon any longer. Let me wish you good-bye, Louis: I have loved you onlyless than my own child!'

Louis knelt on one knee beside her, held her hand, and bowed down hisface to hide the shower of tears that fell, while a mother's kiss and amother's blessing were on his brow. 

He went down stairs, and out of the house, and took his horse from theinn stables, without one word to any one. The ostlers said to eachother that the young Lord was in great trouble about the lady at theTerrace. 

Mary came home; and if she knew why that long walk had been urged onher, she gave no sign. She saw her mother worn and tired, and sherestrained all perception that she was conscious that there had beenagitation. She spoke quietly of the spring flowers that she had seen, and of the people whom she had met; she gave her mother her tea, andmoved about with almost an increase of the studied quietness of thesick-room. Only, when Mrs. Frost came in for an hour, Mary drew backinto a corner with her knitting, and did not speak. 

'Mary, ' said her mother, when she came back from lighting her aunt downstairs, 'come to me, my child. '

Mary came, and her mother took both her hands. They were chilly; andthere was a little pulse on Mary's temple that visibly throbbed, andalmost seemed to leap, with fearful rapidity. 

'Dear child, I had no power to talk before, or I would not have keptyou in suspense. I am afraid it will not do. '

'I was sure of it, ' said Mary, almost in a whisper. 'Dear mamma, youshould not have vexed and tired yourself. '

'I comforted myself, ' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'I said things to him that Ihad longed to say, and how beautifully he took them! But I could notfeel that he knew what he was about much better than he did the firsttime. '

'It would not be right, ' said Mary, in her old tone. 

'I think your father might have been persuaded. I would have written, and done my utmost--'

'Oh, mamma, anything rather than you should have that worry!'

'And I think things will be different--he is softened, and will be moreso. But it is foolish to talk in this way, and it may be well that thetrial should not be made; though that was not the reason I answeredLouis as I did. '

'I suppose it will be Miss Conway, ' said Mary, trying to smile. 

'At least, it ought to be no one else till he has seen enough of her toform a judgment without the charm of prohibition; and this he may dowithout committing himself, as they are so nearly connected. I mustask his father to give him distinct permission, and then I shall havedone with these things. '

Mary would not break the silence, nor recall her to earthly interests;but she returned to the subject, saying, wistfully, 'Can you tell methat you are content, dear child?'

'Quite content, thank you, mamma--I am certain it is right, ' said Mary. 'It would be taking a wrong advantage of his compassion. I fall toofar short of what would be wanted to make him happy. '

She spoke firmly, but her eyes were full of tears. Her mother felt asif no one could fail of happiness with Mary, but, controlling theimpulse, said, 'It is best, dearest; for you could not bear to feelyourself unable to make him happy, or to fancy he might have more peacewithout you. My dear, your prospect is not all I could have wished orplanned, but this would be too cruel. '

'It is my duty to go to papa, ' said Mary. 'What would be selfish couldnot turn out well. '

'If you could be sure of his feelings--if he were only less strangelyyouthful--No, ' she added, breaking off, as if rebuking herself, 'it isnot to be thought of, but I do not wonder at you, my poor Mary--I neversaw any one so engaging, nor in whom I could place such confidence. '

'I am so glad!' said Mary, gratefully. 'You used not to have thatconfidence. '

'I feared his being led. Now I feel as sure as any one can dare of hisgoodness. But I have been talking to him about self-reliance andconsistency. He is so devoid of ambition, and so inert and diffidentwhen not in an impetuous fit, that I dread his doing no good as well asno evil. '

Mary shook her head. Did she repress the expression of the sense thather arm had sometimes given him steadiness and fixed his aim?'

'The resemblance to his mother struck me more than ever, ' continuedMrs. Ponsonby. 'There is far more mind and soul, but almost the samenature--all bright, indolent sweetness, craving for something to leanon, but he shows what she might have been with the same principles. Dear boy! may he do well!'

'He will be very happy with Miss Conway, ' said Mary. 'She will learnto appreciate all he says and does--her enthusiasm will spur him on. Ishall hear of them. '

The unbreathed sigh seemed to be added to the weight of oppression onMary's patient breast; but she kept her eye steady, her brow unruffled. 

All the joys did indeed appear to be passing from her with her mother, and she felt as if she should never know another hour of gladness, norof rest in full free open-hearted confidence, but she could not dwelleither on herself or on the future, and each hour that her mother wasspared to her was too precious to be wasted or profaned by aught thatwas personal. 

Mrs. Ponsonby herself realized the weary soon to be at rest, theharassed well nigh beyond the reach of troubling. She treated eachearthly care and interest as though there were peace in laying it downfor the last time. At intervals, as she was able, she wrote a longletter to her husband, to accompany the tidings of her death; and sheheld several conversations with Mary on her conduct for the future. She hoped much from Mary's influence, for Mr. Ponsonby was fond of hisdaughter, and would not willingly display himself in his worst coloursbefore her; and Mary's steadiness of spirits and nerves might succeed, where her own liability to tears and trembling had always been aprovocation. Her want of judgment in openly preferring her ownrelations to his uncongenial sister had sown seeds of estrangement anddiscord which had given Mrs. Ponsonby some cause for self-reproach, andshe felt great hope that her daughter would prevail where she hadfailed. There was little danger that he would not show Mary affectionenough to make her home-duties labours of love; and at her age, andwith her disposition, she could both take care of herself, and be anunconscious restraint on her father. The trust and hope that she wouldbe the means of weaning her father from evil, and bringing him home achanged man, was Mrs. Ponsonby's last bright vision. 

As to scruples on Lord Ormersfield becoming Mary's escort on thevoyage, Mrs. Ponsonby perceived his determination to be fixed beyondremonstrance. Perhaps she could neither regret that her daughtershould have such a protector, nor bear to reject his last kindness; andshe might have lingering hopes of the consequences of his meeting herhusband, at a time when the hearts of both would be softened. 

These matters arranged, she closed out the world. Louis saw her butonce again, when other words than their own were spoken, and when thescene brought back to him a like one which had seemed his own farewellto this earth. His thread of life was lengthened--here was the momentto pray that it might be strengthened. Firm purpose was wakeningwithin him, and the battle-cry rang again in his ears--'Quit yourselveslike men; be strong!'

His eye sought Mary. She looked, indeed, like one who could 'sufferand be strong. ' Her brow was calm, though as if a load sat on her, borne too patiently to mar her peace. The end shone upon her, thoughthe path might be hid in gloom: one step at a time was enough, and shewas blest above all in her mother's good hope. 

A hush was on them all, as though they were watching while a tired, overtasked child sank to rest. 

There was a space of suffering, when Mary and Miss Mercy did all thatlove could do, and kept Mrs. Frost from the sight of what she couldneither cheer nor alleviate, and when all she could do was to talk overthe past with Lord Ormersfield. 

Then came a brief interval of relief and consciousness, precious forever to Mary's recollection. The last words of aught beneath were--'Mydearest love to your father. Tell him I know now how much he has toforgive. '

The tender, impulsive, overhasty spirit had wrought for itself some ofthe trials that had chastened and perfected it, even while breakingdown the earthly tabernacle, so as to set free the weary soul, to enterinto Rest!

CHAPTER XIX. 

MOONSHINE. 

 He talked of daggers and of darts, Of passions and of pains, Of weeping eyes and wounded hearts, Of kisses and of chains: But still the lady shook her head, And swore by yea and nay, My whole was all that he had said, And all that he could say. W. MACKWORTH PRAED. 

Mary's strength gave way. She was calm and self-possessed as ever, shesaw Lord Ormersfield, wrote to her aunt, made all necessaryarrangements, and, after the funeral, moved to Mrs. Frost's house. But, though not actually ill, she was incapable of exertion, could not walkup stairs without fatigue; and after writing a letter, or looking overpapers, Aunt Catharine would find her leaning back, so wan andexhausted, that she could not resist being laid down to rest on thesofa. 

She shrank from seeing any fresh face, and the effort of talking to theEarl resulted in such weariness and quiet depression, that Mrs. Frostdared not press her to admit any one else, except Louis, who rode tothe Terrace almost every day; but when the kind aunt, believing theremust be solace in the sight of her boy, begged to bring him in, Maryanswered, with unusual vehemence, 'Pray don't: tell him I cannot seeany one. ' And when Mrs. Frost returned from a sorrowful talk withLouis, she believed that Mary had been weeping. 

Louis was sad enough. Out of the few friends of his childhood he couldill afford to lose one, and he grieved much for his father, to whom theloss was very great. The Earl strove, in his old fashion, to stiflesorrow in letters of business, but could not succeed: the result was, that he would discuss the one, Mary's past, and the other, Mary'sfuture, till time waxed so short that he gladly accepted his son'sassistance. Conversations with Richardson and orders to Framptondevolved on Louis, and the desire to do no mischief caused him toemploy his intellect in acquiring a new habit of attention and accuracy. 

His reverence for Mary was doubled, and he was much concerned at hisexclusion, attributing it to his mistimed proposals, and becomingsensible that he had acted boyishly and without due respect. With alonging desire to do anything for her, he dared not even send her agreeting, a flower, or a book, lest it should appear an intrusion; andbut for his mournful looks, his aunt would have been almost vexed athis so often preventing her from going to make another attempt toinduce his cousin to see him. 

Mary first roused herself on finding that Lord Ormersfield was takingit for granted that she would wait to hear from her father beforesailing for Peru. The correspondence which had passed since her motherhad begun to decline, had convinced her that he expected and wished forher without loss of time, and the vessel whose captain he chieflytrusted was to sail at the end of May. She entreated to be allowed togo alone, declaring that she had no fears, and would not endure thatthe Earl should double Cape Horn on her account; but he stood fast--hewould not be deprived of the last service that he could render to hermother, and he had not reliance enough on her father to let her go outwithout any guardian or friend. 

Recent letters from Mr. Ponsonby and from Oliver Dynevor reiteratedrequests for an intelligent man conversant with mining operations, andOliver had indicated a person whom he remembered at Chevleigh; but, ashis mother said, he forgot that people grew old in the Easternhemisphere, and the application was a failure. Finding that Maryregarded it as her charge, Fitzjocelyn volunteered to go to Illershallto consult his friend Mr. Dobbs; and his first meeting with Mary wasspent in receiving business-like instructions as to the person for whomhe should inquire. 

There were some who felt dubious when he was seen walking back from thestation with a young man who, in spite of broadcloth and growth, wasevidently Tom Madison. 

'I could not help it, Mary, ' said Louis, 'it was not my fault thatDobbs would recommend him. '

Mr. Dobbs had looked this way and that, and concluded with, 'Well, LordFitzjocelyn, I do not know who would answer your purpose better thanthe young fellow you sent here a year ago. '

It appeared that Tom had striven assiduously both to learn his businessand to improve himself; and, having considerable abilities, alreadybrightened and sharpened by Louis, his progress had been surprising. He had no low tastes, and was perfectly to be relied on for allessential points; but Mr. Dobbs owned that he should be relieved byparting with him, as he was not liked by his fellows, and was thoughtby the foremen to give himself airs. Quarrels and misunderstandingshad arisen so often, that he himself had been obliged to exert aninfluence on his behalf, which he feared might make him obnoxious tothe accusation of partiality. He considered that the lad had worth, substance, and promise far beyond his fellows; but his blunt, haughtymanners, impatience of rough jokes, and rude avoidance of theunrefined, made him the object of their dislike, so that it wasprobable that he would thrive much better abroad and in authority; andat his age, he was more likely to adapt himself to circumstances, andlearn a new language, than an older man, more used to routine. 

The vision of the land for digging gold and silver seemed about to berealized, just as Tom had been growing learned enough to despise it. Enterprise and hopes of fortune made him wild to go; and Mary afterreading Dobbs's letter, and laying before Louis the various temptationsof Lima, found that he thought England to the full as dangerous for hisprotege. She, therefore, sent for the young man, and decided asdispassionately as she could, upon taking him. 

The Ormersfield world was extremely indignant; Frampton and Gervasprophesied that no good would come of such a choice, and marvelled atthe Vicar, who gave the lad lodging in his house, and spent theevenings in giving him such mathematical instruction and teaching ofother kinds, as he thought most likely to be useful to him. 

To his surprise, however, Tom was much more grave and sober-mindedunder his promotion than could have been expected. Louis, who hadundertaken his outfit, was almost disappointed to find him so much outof heart, and so little responsive to cheerful auguries; and at last alittle hint at bantering about the individual at the Terrace explainedhis despondence. 

It was all over. Charlotte had hardly spoken to him while he waswaiting at No. 5, and Miss Faithfull's Martha had told him there hadbeen nothing but walking and talking with Lady Conway's fine butler, and that Charlotte would never have nothing more to say to him! Now!Just as he might have spoken! Was it not enough to knock the heart outof it all! He never wished to go near No. 5 again. 

Louis strongly advised him at least to know his fate, and declared thatfor his part, he would never take any Mrs. Martha's word, rather thanthat of the lady herself. Speak out, and, of course, Montrose's famousmotto came in, and was highly appreciated by Tom, though he still shookhis head ruefully, as he recollected what a lout he had been at hislast meeting with Charlotte, and how little he could compare with sucha fine gentleman as had been described, 'And she always had a taste forgentility. '

'Well, Tom, I would not wish to see a better gentleman any day, thanyou have stuff enough in you to make; and, if Charlotte be a girl worthhaving, she'll value that more than French polish. You're gettingpolished, too, Tom, and will more as you get better and sounder, andthat polish will be true and not French. '

Meantime Charlotte had been in twenty states of mind. Had Tom strivenat once to return to the former terms, the Lady of Eschalott might havetreated it as mere natural homage, compared him with Delaford'sdelicate flatteries, and disclaimed him. She had been chilling and shyat the first meeting, expecting him to presume on his promotion, butwhen he was gone, came no more, except for necessary interviews withMiss Ponsonby, and then merely spoke civilly, and went away directly, her heart began to fail her. Neglect mortified her; she was firstaffronted, sure she did not care, and resolved to show that she didnot; but then the vexation became stronger, she wondered if he hadheard of Delaford, was angry at her intercourse with the butler beingdeemed an offence, and finally arrived at a hearty longing for a returnto old times. Vanity or affection, one or the other, demanded Tom'sallegiance. 

And Tom came at last. He did not come by moonlight--he did not come atall romantically; but as she was washing vegetables, he stood by thescullery door, and made no elegant circumlocutions. Would she be hiswife, some time or other? and he would try to be worthy of her. 

Fitzjocelyn had judged her rightly! Sound true love had force enoughto dispel every illusion of sentimental flattery. Charlotte burst intoa flood of tears, and, sobbing behind her apron, confessed that shenever liked nobody like Tom, but she was afraid he would think she hadbeen false to him, for she did like Mr. Delaford's talk, all aboutpoetry and serenades; but she never would heed him no more, not if hewent down on his knees to her. 

Tom was a great deal more likely to perform that feat. 

He stood his ground when Mrs. Beckett came in, and told her all aboutit, and the good old soul mingled her tears with Charlotte's, wishedthem joy, and finished washing the greens. Nevertheless Mrs. Frostthought the kitchen-clock was very slow. 

Their 'walking together' was recognised. Martha was very angry withJane, and predicted that the young vagabone would never be heard ofmore; and that the only benefit would be, that it would settle thegirl's mind, and hinder her from encouraging any more followers. Andeven Mrs. Frost had her doubts. Her prudent counsel interfered withTom's wish to carry out poor little Charlotte as his wife; and they hadto content themselves with a betrothal until they should have 'savedsomething, ' exchanging brooches, each with a memorial lock of hair. During the remaining week, the Lady of Eschalott neither ate nor slept, and though she did her work, her tears never seemed to cease. Shedefended herself by averring that Miss Ponsonby's pillow was soakedevery morning; but if Mary's heavy eyelids corroborated her, herdemeanour did not. Mary was busy in dismantling the house and inpacking up; speaking little, but always considerate and self-possessed, and resolute in avoiding all excitement of feeling. She would not goto Ormersfield, as the Earl proposed, even for one day, and a few booksconnected with the happy lessons of last summer, were given into Mrs. Frost's keeping, with the steady, calm word, 'I had better not takethem. ' She made no outpouring even to that universal, lovingconfidante, Aunt Catharine; and the final parting did not break downher self-restraint, though, as the last bend of her head was given, thelast chimney of Northwold disappeared, her sensation of heartachealmost amounted to sickening. 

She was going to Bryanston Square. Her aunt had been as kind aspossible, and had even offered to come to Northwold to fetch her home;but Mary had been too considerate to allow her to think of so dreadfula journey, and had in fact, been glad to be left only to her own AuntCatharine. The last letters which had passed between Mrs. Ponsonby andAnnt Melicent had been such as two sincere Christian women could notfail to write in such circumstances as must soften down all asperities, alleviate prejudice and variance, and be a prelude to that perfectunity when all misunderstandings shall end for ever; and thus Mary hadthe comfort of knowing that the two whom she loved so fondly, hadparted with all mutual affection and cordial honour. 

She really loved the little prim stiff figure who stood on the stairsto welcome her. The house had been her home for ten of the mosthome-forming years of her life, and felt familiar and kindly; it wasvery quiet, and it was an unspeakable comfort to be with one who talkedfreely of her father with blind partiality and love, and did notoppress her with implied compassion for her return to him. 

Yet Mary could not help now and then being sensible that good AuntMelicent was not the fountain of wisdom which she used to esteem her. Now and then a dictum would sound narrow and questionable, objectionsto books seemed mistaken, judgments of people hard, and withoutsufficient foundation; and when Mary tried to argue, she found herselfdecidedly set down, with as much confident superiority as if she hadbeen still sixteen years old. Six years spent in going to the otherside of the world, and in seeing so many varieties of people, did notseem to Aunt Melicent to have conferred half so much experience assleeping every night in Bryanston Square, daily reading the MorningPost, and holding intercourse with a London world of a dozen oldladies, three curates, and a doctor. 

The worst of it was, that a hurt and angry tenderness was alwaysexcited in Mary's mind by the manner of any reference to Northwold orOrmersfield. It seemed to be fixed, beyond a doubt, that everythingthere must have been wrong and fashionable; and even poor dear AuntKitty was only spoken of with a charitable hope that affliction hadtaught her to see the error of her days of worldly display. 

It was allowed that there was nothing objectionable in Clara Frost, whowas subdued by the sight of Mary's deep mourning, and in silent formalcompany could be grave and formal too. But there was a severe shock ina call from Lady Conway and Isabel; and on their departure Mary wascross-examined, in the hope that they had been outrageously gay atNorthwold, and for want of any such depositions, was regaled withhistories of poor Lady Fitzjocelyn's vanities, which had not lost bytheir transmission through twenty-two years and twice as many mouths. 

Still more unpleasant was the result of a visit from the Earl and hisson to appoint the day of starting for Liverpool. Louis was in no moodto startle any one; he was very sad at heart, and only anxious to beinoffensive; but his air was quite enough to give umbrage, and causethe instant remark, 'I never saw such a puppy!'

Nothing but such angry incoherency occurred to Mary, that she forciblyheld her peace, but could not prevent a burning crimson from spreadingover her face. She went and stood at the window, glad that MissPonsonby had just taken up the newspaper, which she daily read from endto end, and then posted for Lima. 

By and by came a little dry cough, as she went through thepresentations at the levee, and read out 'Viscount Fitzjocelyn, by theEarl of Ormersfield. '

Mary's mind made an excursion to the dear Yeomanry suit, till her aunt, having further hunted them out among the Earls and Viscounts summed upat the end, severely demanded whether she had known of their intention. 

'I knew he was to be presented. '

'Quite the young man of fashion. No doubt beginning that course, as ifthe estate were not sufficiently impoverished already. I am notsurprised at the report that Lord Ormersfield was very anxious tosecure your fortune for his son. '

This was too much, and Mary exclaimed, 'He never believes in anyfortune that depends on speculation. '

'Oh, so there was nothing in it!' said Miss Ponsonby, who would haveliked the satisfaction of knowing that her niece had refused to be aCountess, and, while Mary was debating whether her silence wereuntruthful, her bent head and glowing cheek betrayed her. 'Ah! mydear, I will ask no questions; I see you have been annoyed. It alwayshappens when a girl with expectations goes among needy nobility. '

'You would not say that, if you knew the circumstances, ' said Mary, looking down. 

'I won't distress you, my dear; I know you are too wise a girl to bedazzled with worldly splendours, and that is enough for me. '

The poor old furniture at Ormersfield!

Mary held her tongue, though reproaching herself for cruel injustice toall that was dearest to her, but how deny her refusal, or explain themotives. 

Not that her aunt wanted any explanation, except her own excellenttraining, which had saved her niece from partaking her mother'sinfatuation for great people. She had a grand secret to pour into thebosom of her intimates in some tete-a-tete tea-party by-and-by, andpoor Mary little guessed at the glorification of her prudence which wasflowing from her aunt's well-mended pen, in a long letter to Mr. Ponsonby. She thought it right that he should be informed, she said, that their dear Mary had conducted herself according to their fondestwishes; that the relations, among whom she had unfortunately beenthrown, had formed designs on her fortune, such as they had everyreason to expect; that every solicitation had been employed, but thatMary had withstood all that would have been most alluring to girlsbrought up to esteem mere worldly advantages. It was extremelygratifying, the more so as the young gentleman in question might beconsidered as strikingly handsome to the mere outward eye, which didnot detect the stamp of frivolity, and the effect of an earlyintroduction to the world of fashion and dissipation. She trusted thattheir dear young heiress would have a better fate, owing to her ownwisdom, than being chosen to support the extravagance of a young titledadventurer. 

Having worked herself up into enthusiastic admiration of her own work, Miss Ponsonby was kinder than ever to her niece, and pitied her forbeing harassed with Lord Fitzjocelyn's company to Liverpool. 

Mary was not as much relieved as she had expected, when her hand hadbeen released from his pressure, and she had seen the last glimpse ofhis returning boat. 

Henceforth her imagination was to picture him only with Isabel Conway. 

And so Viscount Fitzjocelyn was left with more liberty than he knewwhat to do with. He was disinclined to begin the pursuit of MissConway, as if this would involve a want of delicacy and feeling, and hehad no other object. The world was before him, but when he drove tothe Liverpool Station, he was unwilling to exert his mind to decide forwhat ticket to ask. 

The bias was given by the recollection of a message from his father toFrampton. It would be less trouble to go home than to write, and, besides, Aunt Catharine was alone. She was his unfailing friend, andit would be a great treat to have her to himself. 

Home then he went, where he spent the long summer days in listless, desultory, busy idleness, often alone, dreaming over last year, oftenpassing his evenings with his aunt, or bringing her to see his designs;dining out whenever he was invited, and returning odd uncertain answerswhen Mr. Calcott asked him what he was going to do. 

Mr. Holdswolth was going to leave James in charge of his parish, andtake a walking tour in Cornwall, and perversely enough, Louis's fancyfixed on joining him; and was much disappointed when Mrs. Frost proved, beyond dispute, that an ankle, which a little over haste or fatiguealways rendered lame, would be an unfair drag upon a companion, andthat if he went at all, it must not be on his own feet. 

At last, Lady Conway made a descent upon Northwold. Paris had becomeso tranquil that she had no hesitation in taking her two elderdaughters to make their promised visit; and such appeals were made toLouis to join them, that it became more troublesome to refuse than tocomply, and, at the shortest notice, he prepared to set out as theescort of the Conway family. 

'Now for it!' he thought. 'If she be the woman, I cannot fail to findit out, between the inns and the sights!'

Short as the notice was, the Lady of Eschalott could have wished itshorter. No sooner had Mr. Delaford set foot in the House Beautiful, than Mrs. Martha announced to him that he would be happy to hear thatCharlotte Arnold was going to be married to a very respectable youngman, whom she had known all his life, and to whom Mr. Dynevor and MissPonsonby had given an appointment to the gold mines, out of respect forLord Fitzjocelyn. Mr. Delaford gravely declared himself glad to hearit. 

But Delaford's purpose in life was, that no maiden should fail of beingsmitten with his charms; and he took Charlotte's defection seriously toheart. His first free moment was devoted to a call in Number 5, butCharlotte was scouring in the upper regions, and Mrs. Beckett onlytreated him to another edition of the gold mines, in which, if theybecame silver, the power and grandeur of Mr. Oliver were mightilymagnified. Mr. Delaford thrummed his most doleful tunes on the guitarthat evening, but though the June sun was sinking beauteously, Charlotte never put her head out. However, the third time, he foundher, and then she was coy and blushing, reserved and distant, and somuch prettier, and more genuine than all his former conquests, thatsomething beyond vanity became interested. 

He courted the muses, and walked in with a pathetic copy of verses, which, some day or other, might serve to figure in the countynewspaper, complaining of desertion and cruelty. 

Charlotte sat at the little round table; Jane was upstairs, and withouther guardian, she felt that she must guard herself. He laid the versesdown before her with a most piteous countenance. 

'Please don't, Mr. Delaford, ' she said; 'I asked Mrs. Beckett to tellyou--'

'She has transfixed my breast, ' was the commencement, and out poured aspeech worthy of any hero of Charlotte's imagination, but it was nothalf so pleasant to hear as to dream of, and the utmost she could saywas a reiteration of her 'please don't!'

At last she mustered courage to say, 'I can't listen, sir. I neverought to have done it. I am promised now, and I can't. '

A melodramatic burst of indignation frightened her nearly out of hersenses, and happily brought Jane down. He was going the next day, buthe returned once more to the charge, very dolorous and ill-used; butCharlotte had collected herself and taken counsel by that time. 'Inever promised you anything, sir, ' she said. 'I never knew you meantnothing. '

'Ah! Miss Arnold, you cannot interpret the heart!' and he put his handupon it. 

'Nor I don't believe you meant it, neither!' continued Charlotte, withspirit. 'They tell me 'tis the way you goes on with all young women ashave the ill-luck to believe you, and that 'tis all along of yourhard-heartedness that poor Miss Marianne looks so dwining. '

'When ladies will throw themselves at a gentleman's head, what can apoor man do? Courtesy to the sex is my motto; but never, never did Ilove as I love you!' said Delaford--'never have I spoken as I do now!My heart and hand are yours, fairest Charlotte!'

'For shame, Mr. Delaford; don't you know I am promised?'

He went on, disregarding--'My family is above my present situation, confidential though it be; but I would at once quit my present post--Iwould open an extensive establishment for refreshment at somefashionable watering-place. My connexions could not fail to make itsucceed. You should merely superintend--have a large establishmentunder you--and enjoy the society and amusements for which you areeminently fitted. We would have a library of romance andpoetry--attend the theatre weekly--and, '--(finishing as if to clenchthe whole) 'Charlotte, do you know what my property consists of? Ihave four hundred pounds and expectations!'

If Charlotte had not been guarded, what would have been the effect ofthe library of poetry and romance?

But her own poetry, romance, and honest heart, all went the same way, and she cried out--'I don't care what you have, not I. I've promised, and I'll be true--get along with you!'

The village girl, hard pressed, was breaking out. 

'You bid me go. Cruel girl! your commands shall be obeyed. I goabroad! You know the disturbed state of the Continent. --In someconflict for liberty, where the desperate poniard is uplifted--there--'

'Oh! don't talk so dreadful. Pray--'

'Do you bid me pause? At a word from you. You are the arbitress of mydestiny. '

'No; I've nothing to do--do go! Only promise you'll not do nothingdangerous--'

'Reject me, and life is intolerable. Where the maddened crowd riseupon their tyrants, there in thickest of the fray--'

'You'll be the first to take to your heels, I'll be bound! Ain't youashamed of yourself, to be ranting and frightening a poor girl thatfashion?' cried the friendly dragon Martha, descending on them. 

'Do you apply that language to me, ma'am?'

'That I do! and richly you deserve it, too, sir! See if your missusdoesn't hear of your tricks, if I find you at this again. '

The 'sex' fairly scolded the courteous Delaford off the field; andthough she turned her wrath on Charlotte for having encouraged him, andwondered what the poor young man over the seas would think of it, herinterposition had never been so welcome. Charlotte cried herself intotranquillity, and was only farther disturbed by a dismal epistle, conveyed by the shoe-boy on the morning of departure, breathing thelanguage of despair, and yet announcing that she had better think twiceof the four hundred pounds and expectations, for that it was herdestiny that she and no other should be the bride of Delaford. 

'If I could only know he would do nothing rash!' sighed Charlotte. 

Jane comforted her; Martha held that he was the last man in the worldwho would do anything rash. Miss Conway's Marianne, who was leftbehind, treated Charlotte as something ignominious, but looked so ill, miserable, and pining, that Miss Mercy was persuaded she was going intoa decline, and treated her with greater kindness than she had met sinceshe was a child. 

In the meantime, Fitzjocelyn had begun with a fit of bashfulness. Theknowledge that this was the crisis, and that all his friends looked tothe result of the expedition, made him feel as if he were committinghimself whenever he handed Isabel in or out of a carriage, and find nocomfort except in Virginia's chattering. 

This wore off quickly; the new scene took effect on his impressiblemind, and the actual sights and sounds drove out all the rest. Hishigh spirits came back, he freely hazarded Mrs. Frost's oldboarding-school French, and laughed at the infinite blunders for whichVirginia took him to task, was excessively amused at Delaford'snumerous adventures, and enjoyed everything to the utmost. To MissConway he turned naturally as the person best able to enter into thecountless associations of every scene; and Isabel, becoming aware ofhis amount of knowledge, and tone of deep thought, perceived that shehad done Mr. Frost Dynevor injustice in believing his friendship blindor unmerited. 

They were on most comfortable terms. They had walked all overVersailles together, and talked under their breath of the murderedQueen; they had been through the Louvre, and Isabel, knowing it well ofold, found all made vivid and new by his enthusiastic delight; they hadmarvelled together at the poor withered 'popular trees, ' whose name hadconferred on them the fatal distinction of trees of liberty; they hadviewed, like earnest people, the scenes of republican Paris, anddiscussed them with the same principles, but with sufficient differencein detail for amicable argument. They had thought much of things andpeople, and not at all of each other. 

Only Isabel thought she would make the Viscount into a Vidame, both asmore quaint and less personal, and involving slight erasures, and Louiswas surprised to find what was the true current of his thoughts. WithIsabel propitious, without compunction in addressing her, with all thenovelty and amusement before him, he found himself always recurring toMary, trying all things by Mary's judgment, wondering whether he shouldneed approval of his theories in Mary's eyes, craving Mary'ssympathies, following her on her voyage, and imagining her arrival. Was it the perverse spirit of longing after the most unattainable?

He demanded of himself whether it were a fatal sign that he regrettedthe loss of Isabel, when she went to spend a few days with her oldgoverness. Miss Longman had left the Conway family in order to takecare of the motherless children of a good-for-nothing brother, who hadrun too deeply into debt to be able to return to England. He was nowdead, but she was teaching English, and obtaining advantages ofeducation for her nieces, which detained her at Paris; and as she had abed to offer her former pupil, Isabel set her heart on spending herlast three days in the unrestrained intercourse afforded by a visit toher. Louis found that though their party had lost the most agreeablemember, yet it was not the loss of the sun; and that he was quite asready to tease his aunt and make Virginia laugh, as if Isabel had beenlooking on with a smile of wonder and commiseration for their nonsense. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 

 Search for a jewel that too casually Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's. Shrew me If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe!--Cymbeline. 

'My dear Fitzjocelyn, what is to be done? Have you heard? Delafordsays these horrid creatures are rising! There was an attack on theHotel de Ville last night! A thousand people killed, at least!--TheNational Guard called out!'

'One of the lions of Paris, my dear aunt; Virginia is seeing it instyle. '

'Seeing it! We must go at once. They will raise those horridbarricades;--we shall be closed in. And Isabel gone to that governess!I wish I had never consented! How could I come here at all?Fitzjocelyn, what is to be done?'

'Drive round that way, if you are bent on going, ' said Louia, coolly. 'Meantime, Virginia, my dear, I will thank you for some coffee. '

'How can you talk of such things?' cried his aunt. 'It is all thosesavage wretches, mad because the national workshops are closed. Delaford declares they will massacre all the English. '

'Poor wretches, I believe they are starving. I think you are makingyourself ill--the most pressing danger. Come, Virginia, persuade yourmamma to sit down to breakfast, while I go to reconnoitre. Where arethe passports?'

Virginia had lost all terror in excitement, but neither she nor hermother could bear to let him go out, to return they knew not when. Thecarriage had already been ordered, but Lady Conway was exceedinglyfrightened at the notion of driving anywhere but direct to the railwaystation; she was sure that they should encounter something frightful ifthey went along the Boulevards. 

'Could not Delaford go to fetch Isabel?' suggested Virginia, 'he mighttake a carriage belonging to the hotel. '

Delaford was summoned, and desired to go to fetch Miss Conway, butthough he said, 'Yes, my Lady, ' he looked yellow and white, andloitered to suggest whether the young lady would not be alarmed. 

'I will go with you, ' said Louis. 'Order the carriage, and I shall beready. '

Lady Conway, to whom his presence seemed protection, was almostremonstrating, but he said, 'Delaford is in no state to be of use. Hewould take bonjour for a challenge. Let me go with him, or he willtake care the young lady is alarmed. When we are all together, we cando as may seem best, and I shall be able better to judge whether we areto fight or fly. '

Outside the door he found Delaford, who begged to suggest to hislordship that my Lady would be alarmed if she were left without eitherof them, he could hardly answer it to himself that she should remainwithout any male protector. 

'Oh yes, pray remain to defend her, ' said Louis, much amused, andhastening down-stairs he ordered the carriage to drive to Rue ----, offthe Boulevard St. Martin. 

He thought there were signs boding tempest. Shops were closed, and menin blouses were beginning to assemble in knots--here and there thered-cap loomed ominously in the far end of narrow alleys, and in thewider streets the only passengers either seemed in haste like himself, or else were National Guards hurrying to their alarm-post. 

He came safely to Miss Longman's apartments, where he found all on thealert--the governess and her nieces recounting their experiences ofFebruary, which convinced them that there was more danger in returningthan in remaining. Miss Longman was urgent to keep Isabel and LordFitzjocelyn for at least a few hours, which she declared would probablybe the duration of any emeute, but they knew this would cause dreadfulanxiety, and when Fitzjocelyn proposed returning alone, Isabel insistedon accompanying him, declaring that she had no fears, and that hermother would be miserable if her absence should detain them. Perhapsshe was somewhat deceived by the cool, almost ludicrous, light in whichhe placed the revolution, as a sort of periodical spasm, and MissLongman's predictions that the railway would be closed, only quickenedher preparations. 

After receiving many entreaties to return in case of alarm, they tookleave, Louis seating himself beside the driver, as well to keep alook-out, as to free Miss Conway from fears of a tete-a-tete. Exceptfor such a charge of ladies, he would have been delighted at theexcitement of an emeute; but he was far from guessing how serious aturn affairs were taking. 

The dark blue groups were thickening into crowds; muskets and pikeswere here and there seen, and once he recognised the sinister red flag. A few distant shots were heard, and the driver would gladly havehastened his speed, but swarms of haggard-looking men began to impedetheir progress, and strains of 'Mourir pour la patrie' now and thenreached their ears. 

Close to the Porte St. Denis they were brought to a full stop by adense throng, above whose heads were seen a line of carriages, the redflag planted on the top. Many hands were seizing the horses' heads, and Louis leapt down, but not before the door had been opened, andvoices were exclaiming, 'Descendez citoyenne; au nom de la nation, descendez. ' The mob were not uncivil, they made way for Louis, andbade him reassure her that no harm was intended, but the carriage wasrequired for the service of the nation. 

Isabel had retreated as far as she could from their hands, but sheshowed no signs of quailing; her eyes were bright, her colour high, andthe hand was firm which she gave to Louis as she stepped out. There wasa murmur of admiration, and more than one bow and muttered apologyabout necessity and the nation, as the crowd beheld the maiden in allher innate nobleness and dignity. 

'Which way?' asked Louis, finding that the crowd were willing to letthem choose their course. 

'Home, ' said Isabel, decidedly, 'there is no use in turning back. '

They pressed on past the barricade for which their carriage had beenrequired, a structure of confiscated vehicles, the interstices filledup with earth and paving stones, which men and boys were busily tearingup from the trottoirs, and others carrying to their destination. Theywere a gaunt, hungry, wolfish-looking race, and the first words thatIsabel spoke were words of pity, when they had passed them, andcontinued their course along the Boulevards, here in desolatetranquillity. 'Poor creatures, they look as if misery made themfurious! and yet how civil they were. '

'Were you much alarmed? I wish I could have come to you sooner. '

'Thank you; I knew that you were at hand, and their address was notvery terrific, poor things. I do not imagine there was any realdanger. '

'I wish I knew whether we are within or without the barricades. Ifwithin, we shall have to cross another. We are actually becominghistorical!'

He broke off, amazed by Isabel's change of countenance, as she put herhand to the arm he held, hastily withdrew it, and exclaimed, 'Mybracelet! oh, my bracelet!' turning round to seek it on the pavement. 

'The ivory clasp?' asked Louis, perceiving its absence. 

'Oh yes!' she cried, in much distress, 'I would not have lost it forall the world. '

'You may have left it at Miss Longman's. '

'No, no, I was never without it!'

She turned, and made a few retrograde steps, searching on the ground, as if conscious only of her loss, shaking off his hand when he touchedher arm to detain her. 

A discovery broke on, him. Well that he could bear it!

'Hark!' he said, 'there is cannon firing! Miss Conway, you cannot goback. I will do my utmost to recover your clasp, but we must not stayhere. '

'I had forgotten. I beg your pardon, I did not think!' said Isabel, with a species of rebuked submission, as if impressed by the calmnessthat gave authority to his manner; and she made no remark as he madeher resume his arm, and hurried her on past houses with closed doorsand windows. 

Suddenly there was the sound of a volley of musketry far behind. 'Heaven help the poor wretches, ' said Louis; and Isabel's grasptightened on his arm. 

Again, again--the dropping sound of shot became continual. And now itwas in front as well as in the rear; and the booming of cannonresounded from the heart of the city. They were again on the outskirtsof a crowd. 

'It is as I thought, ' said Louis, 'we are between both. There isnothing for it but to push on, and see whether we can cross thebarricades; are you afraid to encounter it!'

'No, ' said Isabel. 

'There is a convent not far off, I think. We might find shelter foryou there. Yet they might break in. It might not be easy to meet. Ibelieve you are safer with me. Will you trust in me?'

'I will not have you endanger yourself for me. Dispose of me as youwill--in a convent, or anywhere. Your life is precious, your safety isthe first thing. '

'You are speaking in irony. '

'I did not mean it: I beg your pardon. ' But she coloured and faltered. 'You must distinctly understand that this is only as Englishman toEnglishwoman. '

'As Englishman to Englishwoman, ' repeated Louis, in her own formula. 'Or rather, ' he added, lowering his voice, 'trust me, for the sake ofthose who gave the clasp. '

He was answered by her involuntary pressure of his arm, and finally, toset her at ease, he said, hurriedly, 'If it went wrong with me, itwould be to Lima that I should ask you to send my love. '

There was no time for more. They were again on the freshly-tornground, whence the pavement had been wrenched. The throng hadthickened behind them, and seemed to be involving them in the vortex. Above their heads Louis could see in front between the tall houses, thesummit of another barricade complete, surmounted with the red flag, andguarded by a fierce party of ruffians. 

All at once, tremendous yells broke out on all sides. The rattle of adrum, now and then, might be distinguished, shouts and shrieksresounded, and there was a sharp fire of musketry from the barricade, and from the adjoining windows; there was a general rush to the front, and Louis could only guard Isabel by pressing her into the recess ofthe closed doorway of one of the houses, and standing before her, preventing himself from being swept away only by exerting all hisEnglish strength against the lean, wild beings who struggled past him, howling and screaming. The defenders sprang upon the barricade, andthrust back and hurled down the National Guards, whose heads were nowand then seen as they vainly endeavoured to gain the summit. Thisdesperate struggle lasted for a few minutes, then cries of victorybroke out, and there was sharp firing on both sides, which, however, soon ceased; the red flag and the blouses remaining still inpossession. Isabel had stood perfectly silent and motionless throughthe whole crisis, and though she clung to her protector's arm, it wasnot with nervous disabling terror, even in the frightful tumult of themultitude. There was some other strength with her!

'You are not hurt?' said Louis, as the pressure relaxed. 

'Oh no! thank God! You are not?'

'Are you ready? We must make a rush before the next assault. '

A lane opened in the throng to afford passage for the wounded. Isabelshrank back, but Louis drew her on hastily, till they had attained thevery foot of the barricade, where a space was kept clear, and there wasa cry 'Au large, or we shall fire. '

'Let us pass, citizens, ' said Louis, hastily rehearsing the French hehad been composing. 'You make not war on women. Let me take thisyoung lady to her mother. '

Grim looks were levelled at them by the fierce black-bearded men, andtheir mutterings of belle made her cling the closer to her guardian. 

'Let her pass, the poor child!' said more than one voice. 

'Hein!--they are English, who take the bread out of our mouths. '

'If you were a political economist, ' said Louis, gravely, fixing hiseyes on the shrewd-looking, sallow speaker, I would prove to you yourmistake; but I have no time, and you are too good fellows to wish tokeep this lady here, a mark for the Garde Nationale. '

'He is right there, ' said several of the council of chiefs, and apoissarde, with brawny arms and a tall white cap, thrusting forward, cried out, 'Let them go, the poor children. What are they doing here?They look fit to be set up in the church for waxen images!'

'Take care you do not break us, ' exclaimed Louis, whose fair cheek hadwon this tribute; and his smile, and the readiness of his reply, wonhis admission to the first of the steps up the barricade. 

'Halte la!' cried a large-limbed, formidable-looking ruffian on thesummit, pointing his musket towards them; 'none passes here who doesnot bring a stone to raise our barricade for the rights of the RedRepublic, and cry, La liberte, l'egalite, et la, fraternite, let it fithis perfidious tongue as it may. '

'There's my answer, ' said Louis, raising his right arm, which wasdripping; with blood, 'you have made me mount the red flag!'

'Ha!' cried the friendly fishwife, 'Wounded in the cause of the nation!Let him go. '

'He has not uttered the cry!' shouted the rest. 

Louis looked round with his cool, pensive smile. 

'Liberty!' he said, 'what _we_ mean by liberty is freedom to go wherewe will, and say what we will. I wish you had it, my poor fellows. Fraternity--it is not shooting our brother. Egalite--I preach thattoo, but in my own fashion, not yours. Let me pass--si cela vou estegal. '

His nonchalant intrepidity--a quality never lost on the French--raisedan acclamation of le brave Anglais. No one stirred a hand to hindertheir mounting to the banquette, and several hands were held out toassist in surmounting the parapet of this extempore fortification. Isabel bowed her thanks, and Louis spoke them with gestures ofcourtesy; and shouts of high applause followed them as they sped alongthe blood-stained street. 

The troops were re-forming after the repulse, and the point was to passbefore the attack could be renewed, as well as not to be mistaken forthe insurgents. 

They were at once challenged, but a short explanation to the officerwas sufficient, and they were suffered to turn into the Rue Richelieu, where they were only pursued by the distant sounds of warfare. 

'Oh, Lord Fitzjocelyn!' cried Isabel, as he slackened his pace, andgasped for breath. 

'You are sure you are not hurt?' he said. 

'Oh no, no; but you--'

'It is very little, ' he said--'a stray shot--only enough to work ontheir feelings. What good-natured rogues they were. I will only twistmy handkerchief round to stop the blood. Thank you. '

Isabel tried to help him, but she was too much afraid of hurting him todraw the bandage tight. 

They dashed on, finding people on the watch for tidings, and meetingbodies of the National Guard, and when at length they reached the PlaceVendome, they found the whole establishment watching for them, andVirginia flew to meet them on the stairs, throwing her arms round hersister, while Lady Conway started forward with the agitated joy, andalmost anger, of one who felt injured by the fright they had made hersuffer. 

'There you are! What has kept you! Delaford said they wereslaughtering every one on the Boulevards!'

'I warned you of the consequences of taking me, ' said Louis, droppinginto a chair. 

'Mamma! he is all over blood!' screamed Virginia. 

Lady Conway recoiled, with a slight shriek. 

'It is a trifle, ' said Louis;' Isabel is safe. There is all cause forthankfulness. We could never have got through if she had not beenevery inch a heroine. '

'Oh, Lord Fitzjocelyn, if I could thank you!'

'Don't, ' said Louis, with so exactly his peculiar droll look and smile, that all were reassured. 

Isabel began to recount their adventure. 

'In the midst of those horrid wretches! and the firing!' cried LadyConway. 'My dear, how could you bear it? I should have died offright!'

'There was no time for fear, ' said Isabel, with a sort of scorn; 'Ishould have been ashamed to be frightened when Lord Fitzjocelyn took itso quietly. I was only afraid lest you should repeat their horridwar-cry. I honour your refusal. '

'Of course one would not in their sense, poor things, and oncompulsion, ' said Louis, his words coming the slower from theexhaustion which made him philosophize, rather than exert himself. 'Ina true sense, it is the war-cry of our life. '

'How can you talk so!' cried Lady Conway. 'Delaford says the ruffiansare certain to overpower the Guard. We must go directly. Very likelythis delay of yours may prevent us from getting off at all. '

'I will find out whether the way be open, ' said Louis, 'when I have-'

His words failed him, for as he rose, the handkerchief slipped off, agush of blood came with it, and he was so faint that he could hardlyreach the sofa. 

Lady Conway screamed, Virginia rang the bells, Isabel gave orders thata surgeon should be called. 

'Spirits from the vasty deep, ' muttered Louis, in the midst of hisfaintness, 'the surgeons have graver work on hand. '

'For heaven's sake, don't talk so!' cried his aunt, without daring tolook at him; 'I know your arm is broken!'

'Broken bones are a very different matter, experto crede. This will beall right when I can stop the bleeding, ' and steadying himself withdifficulty, he reached the door, and slowly repaired to his own room, while the girls sent Fanshawe and Delaford to his assistance. 

Lady Conway, unable to bear the sight of blood, was in a state ofnervous sobbing, which Virginia's excited restlessness did not tend tocompose; and Isabel walked up and down the room, wishing that she coulddo anything, looking reproachfully at her mother, and exalting to theskies the courage, presence of mind, and fortitude of the woundedknight. 

Presently, Delaford came down with a message from Lord Fitzjocelyn thatit was of no use to wait for him, for as the butler expressed it, 'thehaemorrhage was pertinacious, ' and he begged that the ladies woulddepart without regard to him. 'In fact, ' said Delaford, 'it was aserious crisis, and there was no time to be lost; an English gentleman, Captain Lonsdale, who had already offered his services, would take careof his lordship, and my Lady had better secure herself and the youngladies. '

'Leave Fitzjocelyn!' cried Virginia. 

'Is it very dangerous, Delaford?' asked Lady Conway. 

'I would not be responsible for the consequences of remaining, myLady, ' was the answer. 'Shall I order the horses to be brought out?'

'I don't know. Is the street full of people? Oh! there is firing!What shall I do? Isabel, what do you say!'

Isabel was sitting still and upright; she hardly raised her eyelids, asshe tranquilly said, 'Nothing shall induce me to go till he is better. '

'Isabel! this is most extraordinary! Do you know what you are saying?'

Isabel did not weaken her words by repetition, but signed to Delafordto leave them, and he never ventured to disregard Miss Conway. Virginiahung about her, and declared that she was quite right; and Lady Conway, in restless despair, predicted that they would all be massacred, andthat her nephew would bleed to death, and appealed to every one on theiniquity of all the doctors in Paris for not coming near him. 

Poor Louis himself was finding it very forlorn to be left to Fanshawe, whose one idea was essences, and Delaford, who suggested nothing butbrandy. Some aunts and cousins he had, who would not have left him totheir tender mercies. He was growing confused and feeble, speculatingupon arteries, and then starting from a delusion of Mary's voice torealize his condition, and try to waken his benumbed faculties. 

At last, a decided step was heard, and he saw standing by him avigorous, practical-looking Englishman, and a black-eyed, white-hoodedlittle Soeur de Charite. Captain Lonsdale, on hearing the calls forsurgical aid, had without a word, hurried out and secured the brisklittle Sister, who, with much gesticulation, took possession of thearm, and pronounced it a mere trifle, which would have been nothing butfor the loss of blood, the ball having simply passed through the fleshypart of the arm, avoiding the bone. Louis, pleased with this encounteras a result of the adventure, was soon in condition to rise, thoughwith white cheeks and tottering step, and to present to Lady Conway hernew defender. 

The sight of a bold, lively English soldier was a grand consolation, even though he entirely destroyed all plans of escape by assuring herthat there was a tremendous disturbance in the direction of theNorthern Railway, and that the only safe place for ladies was justwhere she was. He made various expeditions to procure intelligence, and his tidings were cheerful enough to counteract the horrible storiesthat Delaford was constantly bringing in, throughout that Saturday, thedreadful 24th of June, 1848. 

It was late before any one ventured to go to bed; and Louis, weak andweary, had wakened many times from dreamy perceptions that somewonderful discovery had been made, always fixing it upon Mary, and thenfinding himself infinitely relieved by recollecting that it did notregard her. He was in the full discomfort of the earlier stage of thisoft-repeated vision, when his door was pushed open, and Delaford'strembling voice exclaimed, 'My Lord, I beg your pardon, the massacre isbeginning. '

'Let me know when it is over, ' said Louis, nearly in his sleep. 

Delaford reiterated that the city was bombarded, thousands of armed menwere marching on the hotel, and my Lady ought to be informed. Adistant cannonade, the trampling of many feet, and terrified voices onthe stairs, finally roused Louis, and hastily rising, he quitted hisroom, and found all the ladies on the alert. Lady Conway was holdingback Virginia from the window, and by turns summoning Isabel to leaveit, and volubly entreating the master of the hotel to secure it withfeather-beds to defend them from the shot. 

'Oh, Fitzjocelyn!' she screamed, 'tell him so--tell him to take us tothe cellars. Why will he not put the mattresses against the windowsbefore they fire?'

'I should prefer a different relative position for ourselves and thebeds, ' said Louis, in his leisurely manner, as he advanced to look out. 'These are the friends of order, my dear aunt; you should welcome yourprotectors. Their beards and their bayonets by gaslight are a grandmilitary spectacle. '

'They will fire! There will be fighting here! They will force theirway in. Don't, Virginia--I desire you will not go near the window. '

'We are all right. You are as safe as if you were in your owndrawing-room, ' said Captain Lonsdale, walking in, and with his loudvoice drowning the panic, that Louis's cool, gentle tones onlyirritated. 

Isabel looked up and smiled, as Louis stood by her, leaving his auntand Virginia to the martial tones of their consoler. 

'I could get no one to believe me when I said it was only thesoldiers, ' she observed, with some secret amusement. 

'The feather-bed fortress was the leading idea, ' said Louis. 'Someladies have a curious pseudo presence of mind. '

'Generally, I believe, ' said Isabel, 'a woman's presence of mind shouldbe to do as she is told, and not to think for herself, unless she beobliged. '

'Thinking for themselves has been fatal to a good many, ' said Louis, relapsing into meditation--'this poor Paris among the rest, I fancy. What a dawn for a Sunday morning! How cold the lights look, and howyellow the gas burns. We may think of home, and be thankful!' andkneeling with one knee on a chair, he leant against the shutter, gazingout and musing aloud. 

'Thankful, indeed!' said Isabel, thoughtfully. 

'Yes--first it was thinking not at all, and then thinking not in theright way. '

Isabel readily fell into the same strain. 'They turned from daylightand followed the glare of their own gas, ' said she. 

So they began a backward tracing of the calamities of France; and, asLouis's words came with more than usual slowness and deliberation, theyhad only come to Cardinal de Richelieu, when Captain Lonsdaleexclaimed, 'I am sorry to interrupt you, Lord Fitzjocelyn, but may Iask whether you can afford to lose any more blood?'

'Thank you; yes, the bandage is loosened, but I was too comfortable tomove, ' said Louis, sleepily, and he reeled as he made the attempt, sothat he could not have reached his room without support. 

The Captain had profited sufficiently by the Sister's example to beable to staunch the blood, but not till the effusion had exhaustedLouis so much that all the next day it mattered little to him that thecity was in a state of siege, and no one allowed to go out or come in. Even a constant traveller like Captain Lonsdale, fertile in resource, and undaunted in search of all that was to be seen, was obliged tosubmit, the more willingly that Fitzjocelyn needed his care, and theladies' terror was only kept at bay by his protection. He sat besidethe bed where lay Louis in a torpid state, greatly disinclined to beroused to attend when his aunt would hasten into the room, full of somehorrible rumour brought in by Delaford, and almost petulant because hewould not be alarmed. All he asked of the Tricolor or of the DrapeauRouge for the present was to let him alone, and he would drop into adoze again, while the Captain was still arguing away her terror. 

More was true than he would allow her to credit and when the littleSoeur de Charite found a few minutes for visiting her patient's wound, her bright face was pale with horror and her eyes red with weeping. 

'Our good Archbishop!' she sobbed, when she allowed herself to speak, and to give way to a burst of tears. 'Ah, the martyr! Ah, the goodpastor! The miserable--But no--my poor people, they knew not what theydid!'

And as Louis, completely awakened, questioned her, she told how thegood Archbishop Affre had begun that Sunday of strife and bloodshed byoffering his intercessions at the altar for the unhappy people, andthen offering his own life. 'The good shepherd giveth his life for thesheep, ' were his words, as he went forth to stand between the hostileparties, and endeavour to check their fury against one another. Sheherself had seen him, followed by a few priests, and preceded by abrave and faithful ouvrier, who insisted on carrying before him a greenbranch, as an emblem of his peaceful mission. She described how, atthe sight of his violet robes, and the white cross on his breast, thebrave boy gardes mobiles came crowding round him, all black withpowder, begging for his blessing, some reminding him that he hadconfirmed them, while others cried, 'Your blessing on our muskets, andwe shall be invincible, ' while some of the women asked him to carry thebandages and lint which they wished to send to the wounded. 

On he went, comforting the wounded, absolving the dying, and exhortingthe living, and at more than one scene of conflict the combatantspaused, and yielded to his persuasions; but at the barricade at theFaubourg St. Antoine, while he was signing to the mob to give him amoment to speak, a ball struck him, and followed by the weeping andhorror-struck insurgents, he was borne into the curate's house, severely wounded, while the populace laid down their weapons, to sign adeclaration that they knew not who had fired the fatal shot. 

'No, no, it was none of our people!' repeated the little nun. 'Not oneof them, poor lost creatures as too many are, would have committed theact--so sacrilegious, so ungrateful! Ah! you must not believe themwicked. It is misery that drove them to rise. Hold! I met a youngman--alas! I knew him well when he was a child--I said to him, 'Ah! myson, you are on the bad train. ' 'Bread, mother--it is bread we musthave, ' he answered. 'Why, would you speak to one who has not eaten fortwenty-four hours?' I told him he knew the way to our kitchen. 'No, mother, ' he said, 'I shall not eat; I shall get myself killed. ''

Many a lamentable detail of this description did she narrate, as shebusied herself with the wound; and Louis listened, as he had listenedto nothing else that day, and nearly emptied his travelling purse forthe sufferers. Isabel and Virginia waylaid her on the stairs to admireand ask questions, but she firmly, though politely, put them aside, unable to waste any time away from her children--her poor wounded!

On Monday forenoon tranquillity was restored, the rabble had beencrushed, and the organized force was triumphant. Still the state ofsiege continued, and no one was allowed free egress or ingress, but theCaptain pronounced this all nonsense, and resolutely set out for awalk, taking the passports with him, and promising Lady Conway toarrange for her departure. 

By-and-by he came in, subdued and affected by the procession which hehad encountered--the dying Archbishop borne home to his palace on alitter, carried by workmen and soldiers, while the troops, who linedthe streets, paid him their military salutes, and the people crowded totheir doors and windows--one voice of weeping and mourning runningalong Paris--as the good prelate lay before their eyes, pale, suffering, peaceful, and ever and anon lifting his feeble hand for alast blessing to the flock for whom he had devoted himself. 

The Captain was so much impressed that, as he said, he could not getover it, and stayed for some time talking over the scene with the youngladies, before starting up, as if wondering at his own emotion, hedeclared that he must go and see what they would do next. 

Presently afterwards, Fitzjocelyn came down stairs. His aunt wasjudiciously lying down in her own apartment to recruit her nerves afterher agitation, and had called Virginia to read to her, and Isabel waswriting her journal, alone, in the sitting-room. Lady Conway wouldhave been gratified at her eager reception of him, but, as he seemedvery languid, and indisposed for conversation, she continued heroccupation, while he rested in an arm-chair. 

Presently he said, 'Is it possible that you could have left thatbracelet at Miss Longman's?'

'Pray do not think about it, ' exclaimed Isabel; 'I am ashamed of mychildishness! Perhaps, but for that delay, you would not have beenhurt, ' and her eyes filled with tears, as her fingers encircled theplace where the bracelet should have been. 

'Perhaps, but for that delay, we might both have been shot, ' saidLouis. 'No, indeed; I could not wonder at your prizing it so much. '

'I little thought that would be the end of it, ' said Isabel. 'I amglad you know its history, so that I may have some excuse;' and shetried to smile, but she blushed deeply as she dried her eyes. 

'Excuse? more than excuse!' said Louis, remembering his fears that itwould be thrown away upon her. 'I know--'

'He has told you!' cried Isabel, starting with bashful eagerness. 

'He has told me what I understand now, ' said Louis, coming near in aglow of grateful delight. 'Oh, I am so glad you appreciate him. Thankyou. '

'You are inferring too much, ' said Isabel, turning away in confusion. 

'Don't you mean it!' exclaimed Louis. 'I thought--'

'We must not mistake each other, ' said Isabel, recovering herself-possession. 'Nothing amounting to what you mean ever passed, except a few words the last evening, and I may have dwelt on them morethan I ought, ' faltered she, with averted head. 

'Not more than he has done, I feel certain, ' said Louis; 'I see it all!Dear old Jem! There's no such fellow in existence. ' But hereperceiving that he was going too far, he added, almost timidly, 'I begyour pardon. '

'You have no occasion, ' she said, smiling in the midst of her blushes. 'I feared I had said what I ought not. I little expected such kindsympathy. '

She hastily left him, and Lady Conway soon after found him so full ofbright, half-veiled satisfaction, that she held herself in readinessfor a confession from one or both every minute, and, now that the panicwas over, gave great credit to the Red Republicans for having servedher so effectually, and forgave the young people for having been soprovoking in their coolness in the time of danger, since it proved howwell they were suited to each other. She greatly enjoyed theuniversally-implied conviction with regard to the handsome young pair. Nor did they struggle against it; neither of them made any secret oftheir admiration for the conduct of the other, and the scrupulousappellations of Miss Conway and Lord Fitzjocelyn were discarded formore cousinly titles. 

The young hero fell somewhat in his aunt's favour when he was missingat the traveller's early breakfast, although Delaford reported him muchbetter and gone out. 'What if he should be late for the train?--whatif he should be taken up by the police?' Virginia scolded her sisterfor not being equally restless, and had almost hunted the Captain intogoing in search of him; when at last, ten minutes before the moment ofdeparture, in he came, white, lame, and breathless, but his eyesdancing with glee, and his lips archly grave, as he dropped somethinginto Isabel's lap. 

'Her bracelet!' exclaimed Virginia, as Isabel looked up with swimmingeyes, unable to speak. 'Where did you find it?'

'In the carriage, in the heart of the barricade at the Porte St. Denis. '

'It is too much!' cried Isabel, recovering her utterance, and risingwith her hands locked together in her emotion. 'You make me repent myhaving lamented for it!'

'I had an old respect for Clara's clasp. '

'I never saw a prettier attention, ' said his aunt. 

'It is only a pity that you cannot fasten it on for her. '

'That could only be done by the right hand, ' muttered Louia, under hisbreath, enjoying her blush. 

'You have not told us how you got it!' said Virginia. 

'It struck me that there was a chance, and I had promised to lose none. I found the soldiers in the act of pulling down the barricade. What anastonishing construction it is! I spoke to the officer, who was verycivil, and caused me to depose that I had hired the carriage, andbelonged to the young lady. I believe my sling had a great effect; forthey set up a shout of acclamation when the bracelet appeared, lying onthe cushion as quietly as if it were in its own drawer. '

'The value will be greater than ever _now_, Isabel, ' said Lady Conway. 'You will never lose it again!'

Isabel did not gainsay her. 

The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked sagacious at hispatient's preparation for the journey before him. 

Louis gravely looked into his face as he took leave of him, and said, 'You are wrong. '

The Captain raised his eyebrows incredulously. As they left the city, the bells of all the churches were tolling for the martyred Archbishop. And not for him alone was there mourning and lamentation through thecity: death and agony were everywhere; in some of the streets, eachhouse was a hospital, and many a groan and cry of mortal pain wasuttered through that fair summer-day. Louis, in a low voice, remindedIsabel that, on this same day, the English primate was consecrating theabbey newly restored for a missionary college; and his eyes glistenedas he dwelt with thanksgiving upon the contrast, and thought of the'peace within our walls, and plenteousness within our palaces. '

He lay back in his corner of the carriage, too much tired to talk;though, by-and-by, he began to smile over his own musings, or to makesome lazily ludicrous remark to amuse Virginia. His aunt caressed herwounded hero, and promoted his intercourse with Isabel, to hisexquisite amusement, in his passive, debonnaire condition, especiallyas Isabel was perfectly insensible to all these manuoevres. 

There she sat, gazing out of window, musing first on the meeting withthe live Sir Roland, secondly on the amends to be made in the 'Chapelin the valley. ' The Cloten of the piece must not even be a Vidamenothing distantly connected with a V; even though this prototype wascomporting himself much more like the nonchalant, fantastic Viscount, than like her resolute, high-minded Knight at the Porte St. Denis. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES. 

 The page slew the boar, The peer had the gloire. Quentin Durward. 

Great uneasiness was excited at Dynevor Terrace by the tidings of theinsurrection at Paris. After extracting all possible alarm from herthird-hand newspaper, Mrs. Frost put on her bonnet to set off on aquest for a sight of the last day's Times. James had offered to go, but she was too restless to remain at home; and when he haddemonstrated that the rumour must be exaggerated, and that there was noneed for alarm, he let her depart, and as soon as she was out of sight, caught up the paper to recur to the terrible reports of the first day'swarfare. He paced about the little parlour, reviling himself for nothaving joined the party, to infuse a little common sense; Fitzjocelyn, no more fit to take care of himself than a baby, probably running intothe fray from mere rash indifference! Isabel exposed to every periland terror! Why had he refused to join them? The answer was maddening. He hated himself, as he found his love for his cousin melting under theinfluence of jealousy, and of indignation that his own vehement passionmust be sacrificed to the tardy, uncertain love which seemed almost aninsult to such charms. 

'What needs dwelling on it?' he muttered; 'doubtless they are engagedby this time! I shall surely do something desperate if they come here, under my very eye. Would that I could go to the Antipodes, ere Iforfeit Louis's love! But my grandmother, Clara! Was ever man somiserably circumstanced?'

A hand was on the door; and he strove to compose his face lest heshould shock his grandmother. 

It was not Mrs. Frost. 

'Louis! for Heaven's sake, where are they!'

'In the House Beautiful. '

James breathed--'And you! what makes you so pale? What have you doneto your arm?

'A little affair of the barricades. I have been watering the FrenchRepublic with my blood. '

'Rushing into the thickest of the row, of course. '

'Only escorting Miss Conway through an assault of the Garde Nationalesaid Louis, in a tone as if he had been saying 'walking up the HighStreet. ' How could he help teasing, when he could make such amends?

James began to pace up and down again, muttering something aboutmadness and frenzy. 

'It was not voluntary, ' said Louis. 'When the carriage was confiscatedfor the service of the nation, what could we do?--I can tell you, Jem, 'he added, fervently, 'what a gallant being she is! It was the gloriousperfection of gentle, lofty feminine courage, walking through theraging multitude--through shots, through dreadful sights, like Unathrough the forest, in Christian maidenly fearlessness. '

James had flung himself into a chair, hiding his face, and steadyinghis whole person, by resting his elbow on his knee and his brow on hishand, as he put a strong force on himself that he might hear Louis outwithout betraying himself. Louis paused in ardent contemplation of theimage he had called up, and poor James gruffly whispered, 'Go on: youwere happy. '

'Very happy, in knowing what cause I have to rejoice for you. '

James gave a great start, and trembled visibly. 

'I did not tell you, ' pursued Louis, 'that the single moment when shelost her firmness, was when she thought she had lost a certain ivoryclasp. '

James could endure no more: 'Louis, ' he said, 'you must try me nolonger. What do you mean?'

Louis affectionately put his hand on his shoulder: 'I mean, dear Jem, that I understand it now; and it is a noble heart that you have won, and that can value you as you deserve. '

James wrung his hand, and looked bewildered, inquiring, and happy; buthis quivering lips could form no words. 

'It was a time to reveal the depths of the heart, ' said Louis. 'A fewwords and the loss of the bracelet betrayed much: and afterwards, asfar as a lady could, she confessed that something which passed betweenyou the last evening--'

'Louis!' cried James, 'I could not help it! I had been strivingagainst it all along; but if you could imagine how I was tried! Younever would come to plead your own cause, and I thought to work foryou, but my words are too near the surface. I cut myself short. Ihave bitterly reproached myself ever since, but I did not know the harmI had done you. Can you forgive me? Can you--No, it is vain to ask;you never can be happy. '

'My dear Jem, you go on at such a pace, there is no answering you. There is no forgiveness in the case. Further acquaintance had alreadyconvinced me that she was lovely and perfect, but that 'she is na mineain lassie. ' Yes, she caught my imagination; and you and my fatherwould have it that I was in love, and I supposed you knew best: butwhen I was let alone to a rational consideration, I found that to meshe is rather the embodied Isabel of romance, a beauteous vision, thanthe--the--in short, that there is another who has all that I am wantingin. No, no, dear Jem; it was you who made the generous sacrifice. Have no scruples about me; I am content with the part of Una's Lion, only thankful that Sans-Loy and Sans-Foy had not quite demolished himbefore he had seen her restored to the Red Cross Knight. '

It was too much for James; he hid his face in his hands, and burst intotears. Such joy dawning on him, without having either offended orinjured his cousin, produced a revulsion of feeling which he could notcontrol, and hearing the street-door opened, he ran out of the room, just before his grandmother came hurrying in, on the wings of theintelligence heard below. 

'Yes! I knew my own boy would come to me!' she cried. 'Even MissConway has not begun to keep him from me yet. '

'Nor ever will, Aunt Kitty. There are obstacles in the way. You mustbe granny, and mother, and sister and wife, and all my womankind, alittle longer, if you please. ' And he sat down fondly at her feet, ona footstool which had been his childish perch. 

'Not distressed, you insensible boy?'

'Very happy about Isabel, ' said he, turning to look at her with eyesdancing with merry mystification. 

'A foolish girl not to like my Louis! I thought better of her; but Isuppose my Lady has taught her to aim higher!'

'So she does, ' said Louis, earnestly. 

'Ungrateful girl! Why, Charlotte tells me you led her straight overthe barricades, with cannon firing on you all the time!'

'But not Cupid. '

'Then, it is true! and you have really hurt yourself! And so pale! Mypoor boy--what is it? I must nurse you. '

'I had so little blood left, that a gnat of tolerable appetite couldhave made an end of me on Sunday, without more ado. But, instead ofthat, I had a good little Sister of Charity; and wasn't that aloneworth getting a bullet through one's arm?'

Aunt Catharine was shuddering thankfully through the narration, whenJames came down, his brow unclouded, but his manner still agitated, asif a burthen had been taken away, and he hardly knew how to realize hisfreedom from the weight. 

Mrs. Frost could not part with her boy, and Jane Beckett evidently hada spite against 'they French bandages;' so that Louis only talked ofgoing home enough to get himself flattered and coaxed into remaining atNo. 5, as their patient. 

The two young men went in the afternoon to inquire after the Conwayparty, when they found that her ladyship was lying down, but Isabel, who had been summoned from a wholesale conflagration of all the MS. Relating to the fantastic Viscount, brought down Miss King, apparentlyto converse for her; for she did little except blush, and seemed unableto look at either of the friends. 

As they took leave, Louisa came into the room with a message that mammahoped to see Mr. Frost Dynevor to-morrow, and trusted that he had madeno engagements for the holidays. 

James murmured something inaudible, and ran down stairs, snarling atLouis as he turned to the Miss Faithfulls' door, and telling him hewanted to obtain a little more petting and commiseration. 

'I could not waste such an opportunity of looking interesting!' saidLouis, laughing, as he tapped at the door. 

Delaford marshalled out the poor tutor with a sense of triumph. 'Hishopes, at least, were destroyed!' thought the butler; and he proceededto regale Marianne with the romance of the Barricades, --how he hadhimself offered to be Miss Conway's escort, but Lord Fitzjocelyn haddeclared that not a living soul but himself should be the young lady'schampion; and, seeing the young nobleman so bent on it, Mr. Delafordknew that the force of true affection was not to be stayed, no morethan the current of the limpid stream, and had yielded the point; and, though, perhaps, his experience might have spared her the contaminatingpropinquity of the low rabble, yet, considering the circumstances, hedid not regret his absence, since he was required for my lady'sprotection, and, no doubt, two fond hearts had been made happy. Then, in the midnight alarm, when the young nobleman had been disabled, Delaford had been the grand champion:--he had roused the establishment;he had calmed every one's fears; he had suggested arming all thewaiters, and fortifying the windows; he had been the only undauntedrepresentative of the British Lion, when the environs swarmed withdeadly foes, with pikes and muskets flashing in the darkness. 

Fanshawe had been much too busy with her ladyship's nerves, and tooignorant of French, to gather enough for his refutation, had she wishedfor it; and, in fact, she had regarded him as the only safeguard of theparty, devoutly believing all his reports, and now she was equallywilling to magnify her own adventures. What a hero Delaford was allover the terrace and its vicinity! People looked out to see thedefender of the British name; and Charlotte Arnold mended stockings, and wondered whether her cruelty had made him so desperately courageous. 

She could almost have been sorry that the various arrivals kept thedomestic establishments of both houses so fully occupied! Poor Tom!she had been a long time without hearing of him! and a hero was turningup on her hands!

The world was not tranquil above-stairs. The removal of the one greatobstacle to James's attachment had only made a thousand others visible;and he relapsed into ill-suppressed irritability, to the disappointmentof Louis, who did not perceive the cause. At night, however, when Mrs. Frost had gone up, after receiving a promise, meant sincerely, howeverit might be kept, that 'poor Louis' should not be kept up late, Jamesbegan with a groan:

'Now that you are here to attend to my grandmother, I am going toanswer this advertisement for a curate near the Land's End. '

'Heyday!'

'It is beyond human endurance to see her daily and not to speak! Ishould run wild! It would be using Lady Conway shamefully. '

'And some one else. What should hinder you from speaking?'

'You talk as if every one was heir to a peerage. '

'I know what I am saying. I do not see the way to your marriage justyet, but it would be mere trifling with her feelings, after what haspassed already, not to give her the option of engaging herself. '

'I'm sure I don't know what I said! I was out of myself. I wasashamed to remember that I had betrayed myself, and dared not guesswhat construction she put on it. '

'Such a construction as could only come from her own heart!'

After some raptures, James added, attempting to be cool, 'You candidlythink I have gone so far, that I am bound in honour to makeexplanation. '

'I am sure it would make her very unhappy if you went off inmagnanimous silence to the Land's End; and remaining as the boy'stutor, without confession, would be a mere delusion and treacherytowards my aunt. '

'That woman!'

'She is not her mother. '

'Who knows how far she will think herself bound to obedience? Withthat sort of relationship, nobody knows what to be at. '

'I don't think Isabel wishes to make her duty to Lady Conway morestringent than necessary. They live in utterly different spheres; and, at least, you can be no worse off than you are already. '

'I may be exposing her to annoyance. Women have ten million ways ofpersecuting each other. '

'Had you seen Isabel's eye when she looked on the wild crowd, you wouldknow how little she would heed worse persecution than my poor auntcould practise. It will soon be my turn to say you don't deserve her. '

James was arguing against his own impulse, and his scruples onlydesired to be talked down; Louis's generous and inconsiderate ardourprevailed, and, after interminable discussion, it was agreed that, after some communication with the young lady herself, an interviewshould be sought with Lady Conway, for which James was alreadybristling, prepared to resent scorn with scorn. 

In the morning, he was savage with shamefacedness, could not endure anyspectator, and fairly hunted his cousin home to Ormersfield, whereLouis prowled about in suspense--gave contradictory orders to Frampton, talked as if he was asleep, made Frampton conclude that he had left hisheart behind him, and was ever roaming towards the Northwold turnpike. 

At about four o'clock, a black figure was seen posting along the centreof the road, and, heated, panting, and glowing, James came up--made adecided and vehement nod with his head, but did not speak till they hadturned into the park, when he threw himself flat on the grass under anold thorn, and Louis followed his example, while Farmer Morris'srespectable cows stared at the invasion of their privacy. 

'Tout va bien?' asked Louis. 

'As well as a man in my position can expect! She is the most noble ofcreated beings, Louis!'

'And what is her mother?'

'Don't call her mother! You shall hear. I could not stay at home! Iwent to the Faithfulls' room: I found Miss Mercy waiting for her, tojoin in a walk to some poor person. I went with them. I checked herwhen she was going into the cottage. We have been walking roundBrackley's fields--'

'And poor Miss Mercy?'

'Never remembered her till this moment!'

'She will forgive! And her ladyship?'

'That's the worst of it. She was nearly as bad as you could havebeen!--so intensely civil and amiable, that I began to think her all onmy side. I really could be taken in to suppose she felt for us!'

'I have no doubt she did. My good aunt is very sincerely loth to hurtpeople's feelings. '

'She talked of her duty! She sympathized! It was not till I was outof the house that I saw it was all by way of letting me downeasy-trapping me into binding myself on honour not to correspond. '

'Not correspond!' cried Louis, in consternation. 'Are you not engaged?'

'As far as understanding each other goes. But who knows what may beher machinations, or Isabel's sense of obedience?'

'Does she forbid it?'

'No. She went to speak to Isabel. I fancy she found it unwise to testher power too far; so she came down and palavered me, --assured me thatI was personally all that heart could wish--she loved her dear childthe better for valuing solid merit. Faugh! how could I stand suchgammon? But I must perceive that she was peculiarly circumstanced withregard to Isabel's family, she must not seem to sanction an engagementtill I could offer a home suited to her expectations. She saidsomething of my Uncle Oliver; but I disposed of that. However, I daresay it made her less willing to throw me overboard! Anyway, shesmoothed me and nattered me, till I ended by agreeing that she has nochoice but to remove instanter from the Terrace, and forbid me herabode! And, as I said, she wormed a promise from me not to correspond. '

'You have no great loss there. Depend upon it that Isabel would neitherbrave her openly by receiving your letters, nor submit to do anythingunderhand. '

'Nor would I ask her!--but it is intolerable to have been tricked intocomplacent consent. '

'I am glad your belle-mere knows how to manage you. '

'I told you she was only less unbearable than yourself. You have itfrom the same stock. '

'The better for your future peace. I honour her. If she had let theWelsh dragon show his teeth in style, he would only have had to makeunpleasant apologies when the good time comes. '

'When!' sighed James. 

'If Isabel be the woman I take her for, she will be easily content. '

'She is sick of parade; she has tried how little it can do for a mindlike hers: she desires nothing but a home like our own--but whatprospect have I of any such thing? Even if the loss of my fellowshipwere compensated, how could I marry and let Clara be a governess? Claramust be my first consideration. But, I say, we ought to be going home. '

'I thought I was at home. '

'My grandmother and Jane won't be pacified till they see you. Theythink you are not fit to be in a house by yourself. They both fell onme for having let you go. You must come back, or my grandmother willthink you gone off in despair, as you ought to be, and I shall neverdare to speak to her. '

'At your service, ' said the duteous Fitzjocelyn. 'I'll leave word atthe lodge. '

'By-the-bye, are you up to walking?'

'Candidly, now I think of it, I doubt whether I am. Come, and let usorder the carriage. '

'No--no;--I can't stand waiting--I'll go home and get over the firstwith granny--you come after. Yes; that's right. '

So the hunted Louis waited, contentedly, while James marched back, chary of his precious secret, and unwilling to reveal it even to her, and yet wanting her sympathy. 

The disclosure was a greater shock than he had expected from her keenand playful interest in matters of love and matrimony. It was arevival of the mournful past, and she shed tears as she besought himnot to be imprudent, to remember his poor father, and not rush into ahasty marriage. He and his sister had been used to poverty, but it wasdifferent with Miss Conway. 

He bitterly replied, that Lady Conway would take care they were notimprudent; and that instant the granny's heart melted at the thought ofhis uncertain prospect, and at hearing of the struggles and sufferingsthat he had undergone. They had not talked half an hour, before shehad taken home Isabel Conway to her heart as a daughter, and flown inthe face of all her wisdom, but assuring him that she well knew thatriches had little to do with happiness, auguring an excellent living, and, with great sagacity, promising to settle the Terrace on his wife, and repeating, in perfect good faith, all the wonderful probabilitieswhich her husband had seen in it forty years ago. 

When Louis arrived, he found her alone, and divided between pride inher grandson's conquest, and some anxiety on his own account, whichtook the form of asking him what he meant by saying that Isabel aimedhigher than himself. 

'Did she not?' said Louis; and with a sort of compunction for a playfulallusion to the sacred calling, he turned it off with, 'Why, what doyou think of Roland ap Dynasvawr ap Roland ap Gruffydd ap Rhys apMorgan ap Llywellwyn ap Roderic ap Caradoc ap Arthur ap Uther apPendragon?' running this off with calm, slow, impressive deliberation. 

'Certify me, Louis dear, before I can quite rejoice, that this fun isnot put on. '

'Did you think me an arrant dissembler? No, indeed: before I guessedhow it was with them, I had found out--Oh! Aunt Kitty, shall I ever getMary to believe in me, after the ridiculous way in which I have behavedto her?'

'Is this what you really mean?'

'Indeed it is. The very presence of Isabel could not keep me fromrecurring to her; and at home, not a room, not a scene, but is repletewith recollections of all that she was to me last year! And that Ishould only understand it when half the world is between us! How mad Iwas! How shall I ever persuade her to forget my past folly? Past!Nay, folly and inconsistency are blended in all I do, and now they havelost me the only person who could help me to conquer them! And now sheis beyond my reach, and I shall never be worthy of her. '

He was much agitated. The sight of James's success, and the return tohis solitary home, had stirred up his feelings very strongly; and heneeded his aunt's fond soothing and sympathy--but it was not difficultto comfort and cheer him. His disposition was formed more foraffection than passion, and his attachment to Mary was of a calmernature than his fiery cousin would have allowed to be love. It took agood deal of working-up to make it outwardly affect his spirits ordemeanour, in general, it served only as an ingredient in thepensiveness that pervaded all his moods, even his most arrant nonsense. 

The building of castles for James, and the narration of the pleasingdelusion in which he had brought home his aunt, were sufficient toenliven him. He was to go the next morning to call upon Lady Conway, and see whether he could persuade her into any concessions: James wasvery anxious that Isabel and his grandmother should meet, and wasbeginning to propose that Louis should arrange an interview for them inMiss Faithfull's room, before the departure, which was fixed for Monday. 

'I intend to call upon Lady Conway, ' said Mrs. Frost, with dignity thatmade him feel as if he had been proposing something contraband. 

Louis went first, and was highly entertained by the air of apology andcondolence with which his aunt received him. She told him howexcessively concerned she was, and how guilty she felt towards him--ascore on which, he assured her, she had no need to reproach herself. She had heard enough from Isabel to lead to so much admiration of hisgenerosity, that he was obliged to put a stop to it, without beingskilful enough to render sincerity amiable, but she seemed satisfied, eagerly assured him of her approval, and declared that she fullyunderstood him. 

Had she explained, he would have thought her understanding went toofar. She entirely forgave him. After all, he was her own sister'sson, and Isabel only a step-daughter; and though she had done her dutyby putting Isabel in the way of the connexion, she secretly commendedhis prudence in withstanding beauty, and repairing the dilapidatedestate with Peruvian gold. She sounded him, as a very wise man, on thechances of Oliver Dynevor doing something for his nephew, but did notreceive much encouragement; though he prophesied that James was certainto get on, and uttered a rhapsody that nearly destroyed his newreputation for judgment. Lady Conway gave him an affectionateinvitation to visit her whenever he could, and summoned the youngladies to wish him good-bye. The mute, blushing gratitude of Isabel'slook was beautiful beyond description; and Virginia's countenance wasexceedingly arch and keen, though she was supposed to know nothing ofthe state of affairs. 

Lady Conway was alone when Mrs. Frost was seen approaching the house. The lady at once prepared to be affably gracious to her apologies anddeprecations of displeasure; but she was quite disconcerted by thedignified manner of her entrance;--tall, noble-looking, in all thesimple majesty of age, and of a high though gentle spirit, Lady Conwaywas surprised into absolute respect, and had to rally her ideas before, with a slight laugh, she could say, 'I see you are come to condole withme on the folly of our two young people. '

'I think too highly of them to call it folly, ' said the heiress of theDynevors. 

'Why, in one way, to be sure, ' hesitated Lady Conway, 'we cannot callit folly to be sensible of each other's merits; and if--if Mr. Dynevorhave any expectations--I think your son is unmarried?'

'He is;' but she added, smiling, 'you will not expect me to allow thatmy youngest child is old enough to warrant any calculations on thatscore. '

'It is very unfortunate; I pity them from my heart. An engagement ofthis kind is a wretched beginning for life. '

'Oh, do not say so!' cried the old lady, 'it may often be the greatestblessing, the best incentive to both parties. '

Lady Conway was too much surprised to make a direct answer, but shecontinued, 'If my brother could exert his interest--and I know that hehas so high an opinion of dear Mr. Dynevor--and you have so muchinfluence. That dear, generous Fitzjocelyn, too--'

As soon as Mrs. Frost understood whom Lady Conway designated as herbrother, she drew herself up, and said, coldly, that Lord Ormersfieldhad no church patronage, and no interest that he could exert on behalfof her grandson. 

Again, 'it was most unlucky;' and Lady Conway proceeded to say that shewas the more bound to act in opposition to her own feelings, becauseMr. Mansell was resolved against bequeathing Beauchastel to any of hiscousinhood who might marry a clergyman; disliking that the place shouldfall to a man who ought not to reside. It was a most unfortunatescruple; but in order to avoid offending him, and losing any chance, the engagement must remain a secret. 

Mrs. Frost replied, that Mr. Mansell was perfectly right; and seemed innowise discomfited or conscious that there was any condescension on herladyship's part in winking at an attachment between Miss Conway and aDynevor of Cheveleigh. She made neither complaint nor apology; therewas nothing for Lady Conway to be gracious about; and when the requestwas made to see Miss Conway, her superiority was so fully establishedthat there was no demur, and the favour seemed to be on her side. 

The noble old matron had long been a subject of almost timid venerationto the maiden, and she obeyed the summons with more bashful awe thanshe had ever felt before; and with much fear lest the two elders mighthave been combining to make an appeal to her to give up her betrothal, for James's sake. 

As she entered, the old lady came to meet her, held out both arms, anddrew her into her bosom, with the fond words, 'My dear child!'

Isabel rested in her embrace, as if she had found her own mother again. 

'My dear child, ' again said Mrs. Frost, 'I am glad you like my Jem, forhe has always been a good boy to his granny. '

The homeliness of the words made them particularly endearing, andIsabel ventured to put her arm round the slender waist. 

'Yes, darling, ' continued the grandmother; 'you will make him good andhappy, and you must teach him to be patient, for I am afraid you willboth want a great deal of patience and submission. '

'He will teach me, ' whispered Isabel. 

Lady Conway was fairly crying. 

'I am glad to know that he has you to look to, when his old grandmotheris gone. '

'Oh, don't say--'

'I shall make way for you some day, ' said Mrs. Frost, caressing her. 'You are leaving us, my dear. It is quite right, and we will notmurmur; but would not your mamma spare you to us for one evening? Couldyou not come and drink tea with us, that we may know each other alittle better?'

The stepmother's affectionate assent, and even emotion, were a greatsurprise to Isabel; and James began to imagine that nothing was beyondMrs. Frost's power. 

Louis saved James the trouble of driving him away by going to dine withMr. Calcott, and the evening was happy, even beyond anticipation; thegrandmother all affection, James all restless bliss, Isabel serene amidher blushes; and yet the conversation would not thrive, till Mrs. Frosttook them out walking, and, when in the loneliest lane, conceived awish to inquire the price of poultry at the nearest farm, and sent theothers to walk on. Long did she talk of the crops, discourse of theFrench and Bohemian enormities, and smilingly contradict reports thatthe young lord was to marry the young lady, before the loversreappeared, without the most distant idea where they had been. 

After that, they could not leave off talking; they took granny intotheir counsels, and she heard Isabel confess how the day-dream of herlife had been to live among the 'very good. ' She smiled with humbleself-conviction of falling far beneath the standard, as she discoveredthat the enthusiastic girl had found all her aspirations for 'goodness'realized by Dynevor Terrace; and regarding it as peace, joy, andhonour, to be linked with it. The newly-found happiness, and theeffort to be worthy of it, were to bear her through all uncongenialscenes; she had such a secret of joy that she should never repine again. 

'Ah! Isabel, and what am I to do?' said James. 

'You ask?' she said, smiling. 'You, who have Northwold for your home, and live in the atmosphere I only breathe now and then?'

'Your presence is my atmosphere of life. '

'Mrs. Frost, tell him he must not talk so wrongly, so extravagantly, Imean. '

'It may be wrong; it is not extravagant. It falls only too far shortof my feeling! What will the Terrace be without you?'

'It will not be without my thoughts. How often I shall think I see thebroad road, and the wide field, and the mountain-ash berries, that werereddening when we came; and the canary in the window! How little myfirst glance at the houses took in what they would be to me!'

And then they had to settle the haunts she was to revisit atBeauchastel. An invitation thither was the ostensible cause of therapid break-up from the House Beautiful; but the truth was not soveiled but that there were many surmises among the uninitiated. Janehad caught something from my young Lord's demeanour which certifiedher, and made her so exceedingly proud and grand, that, though she wastoo honourable to breathe a word of her discovery, she walked with herkind old head three inches higher; and, as a great favour, showedCharlotte a piece of poor dear Master Henry's bridecake, kept for luck, and a little roll of treasured real Brussels lace, that she had savedto adorn her cap whenever Mr. James should marry. 

Charlotte was not absolutely as attentive as she might have been tosuch interesting curiosities. She had one eye towards the window allthe time; she wanted to be certified how deeply she had wounded thehero of the barricade, and she had absolutely not seen him since hisreturn! The little damsel missed homage!

'You are not heeding me!' exclaimed Jane at last. 

'Yes; I beg your pardon, ma'am--'

'Charlotte, take care. Mind me, one thing at a time, ' said Jane, oracularly. 'Not one eye here, the other there!'

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Beckett. '

'Come, don't colour up, and say you don't know nothing! Why did youwater your lemon plant three times over, but that you wanted to belooking out of window? Why did you never top nor tail the gooseberriesfor the pudding, but sent them up fit to choke my poor missus? IfMaster Jem hadn't--Bless me! what was I going to say?--but we shouldsoon have heard of it! No, no, Charlotte; I've been a mother to youever since you came here, a little starveling thing, and I'll speakplain for your good. If you fancy that genteel butler in there, say sodownright; but first sit down, and write away a letter to give up theother young man!'

Charlotte's cheeks were in a flame, and something vehement at the endof her tongue, when, with a gentle knock, and 'By your favour, ladies, 'in walked Mr. Delaford. 

Jane was very civil, but very stiff at first, till he thawed her bygreat praise of Lord Fitzjocelyn, the mere prelude to his ownmagnificent exploits. 

Charlotte listened like a very Desdemona. He was very pathetic, andall that was not self-exaltation was aimed at her. Nothing could havebeen more welcome than the bullets to penetrate his heart, and heturned up his eyes in a feeling manner. 

Charlotte's heart was exceedingly touched, and she had tears in hereyes when she moved forward in the attitude of the porcelainshepherdess in the parlour, to return a little volume of selections oftender poetry, bound in crimson silk, that he had lent to her some timesince. 'Would she not honour him by accepting a trifling gift?'

She blushed, she accepted; and with needle-like pen, in characters fineas hair, upon a scroll garlanded with forget-me-nots, and borne in midair by two portly doves, was Charlotte Arnold's name inscribed by thehero of the barricades. 

Oh, vanity! vanity! how many garbs dost thou wear!

Delaford went away, satisfied that he had produced an impression suchas he could improve if they should ever be thrown together again. 

The Lady of Eschalott remained anything but satisfied. She was touchyand fretful, found everything a grievance, left cobwebs in the corners, and finally went into hysterics because the cat jumped at thecanary-bird's cage. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS. 

 When full upon his ardent soul The champion feels the influence roll, He swims the lake, he leaps the wall, Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall. Unshielded, mailless, on he goes, Singly against a host of foes! Harold the Dauntless. 

'Jem! Jem! have you heard?'

'What should I hear?'

'Mr. Lester is going to retire at Christmas!'

'Does that account for your irrational excitement?'

'And it has not occurred to you that the grammar-school would be themaking of you! Endowment, 150 pounds--thirty, forty boys at 10 poundsper annum, 400 pounds at least. That is 550 pounds--say 600 pounds forcertain; and it would be doubled under a scholar and a gentleman--1200pounds a year! And you might throw it open to boarders; set up thehouses in the Terrace, and let them at--say 40 pounds? Nine houses, nine times forty--'

'Well done, Fitzjocelyn! At this rate one need not go out to Peru. '

'Exactly so; you would be doubling the value of your own property as asecondary consideration, and doing incalculable good--'

'As if there were any more chance of my getting the school than of therest of it!'

'So you really had not thought of standing?'

'I would, most gladly, if there were the least hope of success. Ican't afford to miss any chance; but it is mere folly to talk of it. One-half of the trustees detest my principles; the others would thinkthemselves insulted by a young man in deacon's orders offering himself. '

'It is evident that you are the only man on whom they can combine whocan save the school, and do any good to all those boys--mind you, theimportant middle class, whom I would do anything to train in soundprinciples. '

'So far, it is in my favour that I am one of the few University meneducated here. '

'You are your grandmother's grandson--that is everything! and you havemore experience of teaching than most men twice your age. '

James made a face at his experience; but little stimulus was needed tomake him attempt to avail himself of so fair an opening, coming so muchsooner than he could have dared to expect. It was now September, andthe two months of waiting and separation seemed already like so manyyears. By the time Mrs. Frost came in from her walk, she found the twoyoung gentlemen devising a circular, and composing applications fortestimonials. 

After the first start of surprise, and telling James he ought to go toschool himself, Mrs. Frost was easily persuaded to enter heartily intothe project; but she insisted on the first measure being to consult Mr. Calcott. He was the head of the old sound and respectable party--thechairman of everything, both in county and borough--and had the castingvote among the eight trustees of King Edward's School, who, by oldcustom, nominated each other from the landholders within the town. Shestrongly deprecated attempting anything without first ascertaining hisviews; and, as the young men had lashed themselves into great ardour, the three walked off at once to lay the proposal before the Squire. 

But Mr. Calcott was not at home. He had set off yesterday, with MissCalcott and Miss Caroline, for a tour in Wales, and would not returnfor a week or ten days. 

To the imaginations of Lord Fitzjocelyn and Mr. Frost, this was fataldelay. Besides, he would be sure to linger!--He would not come homefor a month--nay, six weeks at least!--What candidates might notstart--what pledges might not be given in the meantime!

James, vehement and disappointed, went home to spend the evening on theconcoction of what his grandmother approved as 'a very proper letter, 'to be despatched to meet the Squire at the post-office at Caernarvon, and resigned himself to grumble away the period of his absence, secretly relieved at the postponement of the evil day of the canvass, at which all the Pendragon blood was in a state of revolt. 

But Louis, in his solitude at Ormersfield, had nothing to distract histhoughts, or prevent him from lapsing into one of his most single-eyedfits of impetuosity. He had come to regard James as the sole hope forNorthwold school, and Northwold school as the sole hope for James; andhad created an indefinite host of dangerous applicants, only to beforestalled by the most vigorous measures. Evening, night, and morning, did but increase the conviction, till he ordered his horse, andgalloped to the Terrace as though the speed of his charger would decidethe contest. 

Eloquently and piteously did he protest against James's promise to takeno steps until the Squire's opinion should be known. He convinced hiscousin, talked over his aunt, and prevailed to have the letterre-written, and sent off to the post with the applications fortestimonials. 

Then the rough draft of the circular was revised and corrected, till itappeared so admirable to Louis, that he snatched it up, and ran awaywith it to read it to old Mr. Walby, who was one of the trustees, andvery fond of his last year's patient. His promise, good easy man, waspretty sure to be the prize of the first applicant; but this did notrender it less valuable to his young lordship, who came back allglorious with an eighth part of the victory, and highly delighted withthe excellent apothecary's most judicious and gratifyingsentiments, --namely, all his own eager rhetoric, to which the good manhad cordially given his meek puzzle-headed assent. Thenceforth Mr. Walby was to 'think' all Fitzjocelyn's strongest recommendations of hiscousin. 

There was no use in holding back now. James was committed, and, besides, there was a vision looming in the distance of a scholar from aforeign University with less than half a creed. Thenceforth promptmeasures were a mere duty to the rising generation; and Louis draggedhis Coriolanus into the town, to call upon certain substantialtradesmen, who had voices among the eight. 

Civility was great; but the portly grocer and gentlemanly booksellerhad both learned prudence in many an election; neither would make anyimmediate reply--the one because he never did anything but what Mr. Calcott directed, and the other never pledged himself till all thecandidates were in the field, and he had impartially printed all theiraddresses. 

Richardson, the solicitor, and man-of-business to the Ormersfieldestate, appeared so sure a card, that James declared that he wasashamed of the farce of calling on him, but they obtained no decidedreply. Louis was proud that Richardson should display an independentconscience, and disdained his cousin's sneering comment, that he hadforgotten that there were other clients in the county besides theFitzjocelyns. 

No power could drag Mr. Frost a step further. He would not hear ofcanvassing that 'very intelligent' Mr. Ramsbotham, of the Factory, whohad been chosen at unawares by the trustees before his principles haddeveloped themselves; far less on his nominee, the wealthy butcher, always more demonstratively of the same mind. 

James declared, first, that he would have nothing to do with them;secondly, that he could not answer it to the Earl to let Louis ask afavour of them; thirdly, that he had rather fail than owe his electionto them; fourthly, that it would be most improper usage of Mr. Calcottto curry favour with men who systematically opposed him; and, fifthly, that they could only vote for him on a misunderstanding of hisintentions. 

The eighth trustee was a dead letter, --an old gentleman long retiredfrom business at his bank to a cottage at the Lakes, where he waswritten to, but without much hope of his taking the trouble even toreply. However, if the choice lay only between James and therepresentative of the new lights, there could be little reasonable fear. 

Much fretting and fuming was expended on the non-arrival of a letterfrom Mr. Calcott; but on the appointed tenth day he came home, and thenext morning James was at Ormersfield in an agony of disappointment. The Squire had sent him a note, kind in expression, regretting hisinability to give his interest to one for whom he had always so muchregard, and whose family he so highly respected, but that he hadalready promised his support to a Mr. Powell, the under-master of alarge classical school, whom he thought calculated for the situation, both by experience and acquirements. 

James had been making sure enough of the school to growl at hisintended duties; but he had built so entirely on success, and formed somany projects, that the disappointment was extreme; it appeared a cruelinjury in so old a friend to have overlooked him. He had been muchvexed with his grandmother for regarding the veto as decisive; and heviewed all his hopes of happiness with Isabel as overthrown. 

Louis partook and exaggerated his sentiments. They railed--the onefiercely, the other philosophically--against the Squire's domineering;they proved him narrow and prejudiced--afraid of youth, afraid ofsalutary reform, bent on prolonging the dull old system, and onbringing in a mere usher. They recollected a mauvais sujet from thesaid classical school; argued that it never turned out good scholars, nor good men; and that they should be conferring the greatest benefiton Northwold burghers yet unborn, by recalling the old Squire to abetter mind, or by bringing in James Frost in spite of him. 

Not without hopes of the first, though, as James told him, no one wouldhave nourished them save himself, Louis set forth for Little Northwold, with the same valour which had made him the champion of the Marksedgepoacher. He found the old gentleman good-natured and sympathizing, forhe liked the warm friendship of 'the two boys, ' and had not the mostremote idea of their disputing his verdict. 

'It is very unlucky that I was from home, ' he said. 'I am afraid thedisappointment will be the greater from its having gone so far. '

'May I ask whether you are absolutely pledged to Mr. Powell?'

'Why, yes. I may say so. Considering all things, it is best as it is. I should have been unwilling to vex my good old friend, Mrs. Frost; andyet, ' smiling benignantly on his fretted auditor, 'I have to look outfor the school first of all, you know. '

'Perhaps I shall not allow that Mr. Powell is the best look-out for theschool, sir. '

'Eh? The best under the circumstances. Such a place as this wantsexperience and discipline more than scholarship. Powell is the veryman, and has been waiting for it long; and young Frost could do muchbetter for himself, if he will only have patience. '

'Then his age is all that is against him? The only inferiority to Mr. Powell?

'Hm! yes, I may say so. Inferior? No, he is superior enough; it is amere joke to compare them; but this is not a post for one of your youngunmarried men. '

'If that be all, ' cried Louis, 'the objection would be soon removed. Itmay be an inducement to hear that you would be making two people happyinstead of one. '

'Now, don't tell me so!' almost angrily exclaimed the Squire. 'JemFrost marry! He has no business to think of it these ten years! Heought to be minding his grandmother and sister. To marry on thatschool would be serving poor Mrs. Frost exactly as his poor absurdfather did before him, and she is too old to have all that over again. I thought he was of a different sort of stamp. '

'My aunt gives her full consent. '

'I've no doubt of it! just like her! But he ought to be ashamed to askher, at her age, when she should have every comfort he could give her. Pray, who is the lady? There was some nonsense afloat about MissConway; but I never believed him so foolish!'

'It is perfectly true, but I must beg you not to mention it; I oughtnot to have been betrayed into mentioning it. '

'You need not caution me. It is not news I should be forward tospread. What does your father say to it?'

'The engagement took place since he left England. '

'I should think so!' Then pausing, he added, with condescendinggood-nature, 'Well, Fitzjocelyn, I seem to you a terrible oldflint-stone, but I can't help that. There are considerations besidestrue love, you know; and for these young people, they can't have pinedout their hearts yet, as, by your own showing, they have not beenengaged three months. If it were Sydney himself, I should tell himthat love is all the better for keeping--if it is good for anything;and where there is such a disparity, it ought, above all, to be testedby waiting. So tell Master Jem, with my best wishes, to take care ofhis grandmother. I shall think myself doing him a kindness in keepinghim out of the school, if it is to hinder him from marrying atfour-and-twenty, and a girl brought up as she has been!'

'And, Mr. Calcott, ' said Louis, rising, 'you will excuse my viewing mycousin's engagement as an additional motive for doing my utmost topromote his success in obtaining a situation, for which I consider himas eminently fitted. Good morning, sir. '

'Good morning, my Lord. '

Lord Fitzjocelyn departed so grave, so courteous, so dignified, soresolute, so comically like his father, that the old Squire threwhimself back in his chair and laughed heartily. The magnificentchallenge of war to the knife, was no more to him than the adjurationhe had heard last year in the justice-room; and he no more expectedthese two lads to make any effectual opposition than he did to see themrepeal the game-laws. 

The Viscount meanwhile rode off thoroughly roused to indignation. Thegood sense of sixty naturally fell hard and cold on the ears oftwenty-two, and it was one of the moments when counsel inflamed insteadof checking him. Never angry on his own account, he could beexceedingly wrathful for others; and the unlucky word, disparity, drovehim especially wild. In mere charity, he thought it right to withholdthis insult to the Pendragons from his cousin's ears; but this veryreserve seemed to bind him to resent it in James's stead; and he wasfar more blindly impetuous than if, as usual, he had seen James sovehement that he was obliged to try to curb and restrain him. 

He would not hear of giving in! When the Ramsbotham candidateappeared, and James scrupled to divide the contrary interest, Louislaid the whole blame of the split upon Mr. Calcott; while, as to poorMr. Powell, no words were compassionate enough for his dull, slouching, ungentlemanly air; and he was pronounced to be an old writing-master, fit for nothing but to mend pens. 

But Mr. Walby's was still their sole promise. The grocer followed theSquire; the bookseller was liberal, and had invited the Ramsbothamcandidate to dinner. On this alarming symptom, Fitzjocelyn fell uponRichardson, and talked, and talked, and talked, till the solicitorcould either bear it no longer, or feared for the Ormersfield agency, and his vote was carried off as a captive. 

This triumph alarmed Mrs. Frost and James, who knew how scrupulouslythe Earl abstained from seeking anything like a favour at Northwold;and they tried to impress this on Louis, but he was exalted far aboveeven understanding the remonstrance. It was all theirdisinterestedness; he had no notion of that guarded pride which wouldincur no obligation. No, no; if Jem would be beholden to no one, hewould accept all as personal kindness to himself. Expect a return! hereturned good-will--of course he would do any one a kindness. Claims, involving himself! he would take care of that; and off he went laughing. 

He came in the next day, announcing a still grander and more formidableencounter. He had met Mr. Ramsbotham himself, and secured his promisethat, in case he failed in carrying his own man, he and the butcherwould support Mr. Frost. 

The fact was, that Lord Fitzjocelyn's advocacy of the poacher, his freeaddress, his sympathy for 'the masses, ' and his careless words, hadinspired expectations of his liberal views; Mr. Ramsbotham was notsorry to establish a claim, and was likewise gratified by the frankengaging manners, which increased the pleasure of being solicited by anobleman--a distinction of which he thought more than did all theopposite party. 

To put James beyond the perils of the casting vote was next the point. Without divulging his tactics, Louis flew off one morning by the train, made a sudden descent on the recluse banker at Ambleside, barbarouslyused his gift of the ceaseless tongue, till the poor old man was nearlydistracted, touched his wife's tender heart with good old Mrs. Frostand the two lovers, and made her promise to bring him comfortably andquietly down to stay at Ormersfield and give his vote. 

And so, when the election finally came on, Mr. Calcott found himselfleft with only his faithful grocer to support his protege. Three voteswere given at once for the Reverend James Roland Frost Dynevor; thebookseller followed as soon as he saw how the land lay; and Ramsbothamand Co. Swelled the majority as soon as they saw that their friend hadno chance. 

Poor Mr. Powell went home to his drudgery with his wrinkles deeper thanever; and his wife sighed as she resigned her last hope of sending herson to the University. 

Mr. Calcott had, for the first time in his life, been over-ridden by anunscrupulous use of his neighbour's rank; and of the youthfulness thatinspired hopes of fixing a claim on an untried, inexperienced man. 

The old Squire was severely hurt and mortified; but he was verymagnanimous--generously wished James joy, and congratulated Mrs. Frostwith all his heart. He was less cordial with Louis; but the worst hesaid of him was, that he was but a lad, his father was out of the way, and he wished he might not find that he had got himself into a scrape. He could not think why a man of old Ormersfield's age should gofiguring round Cape Horn, instead of staying to keep his own son inorder. 

Sydney was absent; but the rest of the family and their friends wereless forbearing than the person chiefly concerned. They talkedfuriously, and made a strong exertion of forgiveness in order not tocut Fitzjocelyn. Sir Gilbert Brewster vowed that it would serve himright to be turned out of the troop, and that he must keep a sharp lookout lest he should sow disaffection among the Yeomanry. Making friendswith Ramsbotham! never taking out a gun! The country was gone to thedogs when such as he was to be a peer!

END OF VOL. I.